Something flickered behind his eyes but Reggie said, “Sure. I got it.”
Flipping open the folder, Gideon scanned the first few pages. Then he closed it. “Know what? How about you tell me the story and then we’ll see where we go from there.”
Slowly, hesitantly, Reggie started to tell the story of a kid who made some very bad choices. Gideon listened quietly as the words dropped into the space between them, echoing with all-too familiar notes of desperation and regret.
Chapter Four
“I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me.”
― S.E. Hinton
It was a hot and muggy Wednesday afternoon and tourists flooded the Natchitoches Historical District. Henry stopped, letting an older couple pass before crossing the street to By the Book. Finding an apartment right in the heart of the Historical District was a dream come true. Add in the fact that it was right over the most charming book store she’d ever seen, and Henry wondered what she’d ever done to deserve it.
Usually, she parked around the back and headed upstairs by the private entrance but she was hoping to find her landlady in the little bookstore. Alice Augustine was leaving for New York that afternoon and Henry wanted to say goodbye. Alice had welcomed her with the enthusiasm of someone who truly loved Cane River and its people, inviting her over for home cooked jambalaya and making sure she knew how much she was appreciated. Some could say that Alice was simply being hospitable to a new tenant, but Henry knew the difference.
A little brass bell on a faded red ribbon tinkled its welcome as she pushed open the door. The air conditioning wasn’t as chilly as in the modern buildings and it felt pleasantly cool on her bare arms. Her pale green summer dress was just tailored enough for work but light enough that she didn’t get heat stroke walking around outside.
She glanced around the sunny interior and didn’t see Alice at her desk. The long rows of antique and rare books gave Henry the feeling of stepping into a grand old library. The whole building was like traveling back in time, with its original hanging lamps, wooden paneling, and iron fixtures. It was one of the most perfectly preserved buildings in the Historic District.
“Hey there, Miss Henry,” a voice called out and she turned to see Charlie straightening up, hands full of the paper bags that were usually stacked behind the front counter. The teen’s hair was dyed bright pink on one side and she had on a Tshirt that said ‘Gameologist’. “Can I help you find something or are you just headed on upstairs?”
“I just wanted to say goodbye to Alice before she left on her trip.”
“She’s at lunch with Bix’s wife, Ruby, but she’ll be right back in a few minutes. They always go to down to the café and get ribs on Wednesdays.”
“Okay, I’ll browse around until she comes back.” She turned toward the poetry section and jumped at the sight of a large black cat perched at the top of the range. He had fixed his bright green gaze on her and it didn’t waver, even as she took a step back.
“Oh, don’t mind him. That’s Mr. Darcy. He doesn’t like anybody.”
Henry tried to calm her heart. She wasn’t really a cat person. Or a dog person. She was more of a book person. “Does he sit up there all the time?”
“Sure does. Unless Bix brings in bacon from The Red Hen, then he’ll come down to get his fair share.”
She imagined Bix, the other employee of By the Book, bringing a whole bag of bacon, because there seemed to be a lot of cats. Bix was at least eighty and couldn’t see more than a foot in front of him. He wore a straw hat and a navy coat from the Second World War. Calling him eccentric might be an understatement but his slow Cane River drawl and Creole accent reminded Henry of everything good about her childhood.
Funny, although she’d seen a lot of cats, she still hadn’t met Alice’s husband. Alice had mentioned she was married but Paul had been in New York City for the past month. Henry asked what he did there, but Alice hedged the question. It was one of the few times Alice had avoided telling her the truth and since Alice was usually so straight-forward, Henry hadn’t felt hurt. Maybe they were having problems. Maybe Paul was employed by an unpopular company. Henry wasn’t sure what the problem was, but Alice had clearly avoided the topic.
She walked toward the end of the range, looking for a volume of Edna St. Vincent Millay poetry. In college, a professor had said Edna was the anti-Elizabeth Barrett Browning, full of heartbreak and the futility of love. She couldn’t really argue with that. Something in that bleakness satisfied Henry’s idea that romantic love seldom worked out.
She ran a finger along the spines of books and felt the tension of the day start to leave her shoulders. She hadn’t heard from Gideon since he’d visited Oakland Plantation and she was starting to think he hadn’t been serious about wanting her help. Of course, all she needed to do would be to send him an e-mail. E-mail had always been her favorite way to correspond, even with friends. She couldn’t tell whether someone was lying when there were only words on a page. But just like before, she avoided contacting him. Instead, she went over their conversation, analyzing the things he’d said, and what he hadn’t.
Flipping past a few pages, the words drifted past her without any of their usual weight. She stopped, forced herself to focus on the words. I am but summer to your heart and not the full four seasons of the year. Henry had always loved that line for the bitter-sweetness of it. But today, it seemed all bitter; she’d never been summer to anyone’s heart.
She skipped forward to a sonnet, hoping to find something that could soothe the restlessness in her. It had plagued her all week, making it hard to sleep, hard to concentrate. What lips my lips have kissed, and where and why, I have forgotten. She snapped the book closed and put it back on the shelf. She’d hardly kissed any lips and couldn’t imagine kissing so many that she forgot any of them.
“Henry?” Alice’s voice carried over the range and Henry called back, “Right here.” She headed back to the foyer, a smile already tugging at her lips.
She emerged and stopped short, looking from Alice to the dark-haired, handsome man who had his arm wrapped around Alice’s waist. Alice had always struck Henry as being a classic Creole beauty, but at this moment, her eyes shone with a happiness that was beyond beauty. As she focused on Paul, the tiny mysteries around Alice’s marriage were solved in a second.
“Henry, this is my husband, Paul―”
“Olivier.” Henry held out a hand. It all made sense now. She would have understood sooner if Alice had taken Paul’s name. As it was, she hadn’t realized Alice was married to Natchitoches’ home town boy grown up to be the famous tech billionaire. A flagship store in his chain of electronics and game outlets, a three story glass and steel structure, stood just blocks away. “Now I feel silly for asking what your husband does in New York City.”
“I didn’t mean to make it awkward. It’s just, when you asked me that… It’s hard to explain sometimes.”
“It’s really okay,” Henry said. She certainly understood keeping a secret. “And I probably didn’t give you a chance. Once I get going, I sure talk a lot.”
“Me, too,” Alice said, grinning.
“So, you two had many deep and personal conversations that completely skipped over your dear husband?” Paul turned to Alice. “I’m hurt.”
“I only skipped a few minor details.” She nudged him in the ribs. “He thinks he’s funny. Just because I had no idea who he was when we first met.”
“Oh, it was more than that.” He lowered his voice and whispered, “She fought me tooth and nail, thought I was a scourge on the city.”
Alice’s face went red. “Well, clearly I didn’t fight you too hard because your store is right down the block and I married you.”
“I credit that to the fact that I’m very persuasive.”
Charlie sidled up. “I think it’s because they lived next door to each other. I bet Paul smelled Miss Alice’s famous gumbo from down the hall and―” she snapped her fingers, “that was it.”
“A pot of gumbo did make an appearance. It was a Monday, if I’m not mistaken. I was taking a shower and I thought it was Andy knocking―”
“They don’t want to hear the whole boring story,” Alice interrupted. Her cheeks had gone pink again. Henry could tell the full gumbo story was far from boring. “I say that we connected because we also had several friends in common. Elizabeth, Sara, Gerard, Christina.”
“Don’t forget Alexander Pope,” he said.
Henry blinked, realizing that the friends Alice listed must be all poets. “You two are adorable,” she blurted. Then she put a hand to her mouth. “I mean, you make domestic happiness seem so attractive.”
“They do, don’t they?” Bix had come through the back door while they’d been talking. His pushed back his old straw hat. “It gives me hope for the world, seeing these two together.”
“Now, Bix,” Alice said, but Henry could tell she was flattered.
“That’s how we feel about you and Ruby,” Paul said, as if finishing Alice’s sentence. “We wouldn’t have made our way together without your wisdom.” He looked at Alice and pulled her snug against his side.
She gazed back at him, pure love in her eyes. “I thought we were too different. Or I was too different.”
Bix said, “My first wife always said if you mix up your craziness enough, you’ll be happy. God rest her soul, she was right.”
Henry couldn’t help sighing a little. She’d never been a person who got lonely. In fact, she preferred her solitary life. But something had been stirring in her, a discontent, a feeling of something missing, and for the first time, she felt envious of two people living so closely together. They didn’t need to hide behind half-truths and evasions. Their love was free of secrets.
“But honestly, you should have been here a few years ago, Henry. It was touch and go. I thought I was gonna have to push them into the closet and block the door until they got themselves straightened out,” Bix said.
“Still sounds good,” Paul said, winking at Alice. “Maybe I can think of something to fight her about.”
Charlie giggled.
“Maybe the fact you never stick to a plan? I mean, I love that I’ll have company on the flight up to New York, but I was supposed to come to you, not the other way around.”
“I’m a creative type. We don’t need to follow plans,” Paul said.
Bix tilted his straw hat back and said, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep that creative bent for your work and follow your wife’s directions.”
“Wise words, my friend,” Paul said.
“Will you be gone long?” Henry asked. “Should I feed the kitties?”
“Oh, no, Charlie and Bix can handle the crew.” Alice glanced up at the top of a range and Henry followed her gaze. The giant black cat was still perched there, watching them.
“That’s Darcy, isn’t it? I met him a little while―”
The little brass bell tinkled and Henry turned to see Father Tom and Gideon walking through the door. Of all the people she’d expected to show up, Gideon was one of the last. He’d mentioned that he lived in Natchitoches, but seeing him in her building, just feet away, made her mind go blank. She caught his gaze and he smiled politely.
“Well, this is turning into a real party,” Bix said. There was hand shaking, a few hugs, and the circle expanded to accommodate the newcomers. She couldn’t understand what Gideon was doing in By the Book. Unless he had come looking for her. Henry smoothed her hair, suddenly unsure about where to put her hands. She crossed her arms, then dropped them again.
“Henry, when you get to know him, you’ll realize that although he looks fierce, he’s really just a big softie,” Alice said.
Henry stared at Alice. “Who?”
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, pointing at the cat.
“Oh, right. He seems very…” She couldn’t think of single positive adjective to describe the green-eyed creature currently glaring down at her. She pushed up her glasses and prayed for someone else to speak. “Soft,” she finally said.
Father Tom cocked his head, his lips turning up. “Henry, it’s great to see you again. I hear you’ve got big plans for the national park.”
“Yes, plans,” she said. “Lots of plans.” Her brain had stalled. She looked from Bix who was smiling kindly at her, to Alice and Paul who were waiting patiently for her to elaborate, to Charlie who was still looking up at Mr. Darcy, to Father Tom whose brows had gone up and who seemed to be trying not to laugh. She tried with all her might not to look at Gideon but almost against her will she met his gaze. He was frowning at her, a look of concern on his face. She remembered that he thought she had some sort of anxiety disorder.
“Henry has archeology students staying at the park for a few months. They’re working on an excavation project in the former slave homes,” Gideon said into the silence. “And she’s kindly agreed to help sort that basement full of historical documents on Trudeau Street.”
“The old Finnamore place?” Bix asked. “Why not move all that stuff somewhere nicer. That house isn’t fit for habitation.”
“We just don’t have the room at the archives. And it’s true, from what I understand, the wiring issues and the structural problems might make it unsaleable,” Gideon said. “But I have an agreement with the estate that I can use the basement for now.”
“Henry, this is excellent news,” Father Tom said. “I tried to help out a bit, but I’m a talker. I probably slowed Gideon down more than anything else.”
Bix said, “Just don’t take him away from us on Saturdays. Right Father Tom? Bream fishing is good for the soul. Any other day of the week you two can hole up together with your dusty treasures.”
“Oh, we won’t be working―” Gideon said, speaking at the same time as Henry.
“No, I’m sure I’ll be―”
“―at the same time,” he said.
“―working alone,” she said.
“Sorry.” Gideon rubbed a hand over his beard. “We’ll both just work… separately.”
Father Tom looked from Gideon to Henry, then back to Gideon. “But you have to show her where to start, right? You were just saying that. In fact, you said that when I ran into you on Tuesday and twice just this afternoon.”
“I was trying not to forget.” He was giving Father Tom such a look. “When would be best?”
“Anytime. In fact, later this evening is fine, if that works for you,” Henry said.
“How about we meet there at six? Too late?”
“Perfect,” she said. She wanted to make this easy for him. He was clearly busy. She saw Bix nudge Charlie and glanced around the circle. They were probably keeping Alice and Paul from their trip. “Alice, are you headed out now?”
“Yep, we’d better be on our way. We’ll only be gone a week. Call me if you need anything. And you have Bix’s number?” Alice reached into her purse and took out a slip of paper. “Paul’s mom lives pretty near and she can run over, too, if you need anything. I know this place can be sort of scary at night, the way it creeks and settles. Don’t let it spook you. Or the cats.” She looked up and gave Mr. Darcy a pointed look.
“I’m sure everything will be fine. I’m used to living alone,” Henry said.
There was another round of hugging, a few kisses, and then Paul and Alice were out the door.
“Hey,” Charlie said. “Did y’all come to see them, or did you need a book? Father Tom, I got a new Clive Cussler in yesterday. But you probably already read his last one.”
“Actually, I haven’t,” he said. “I’d love to get it. I came in here to see if I could find something for my mom. Her birthday is coming up and I want to get her some new cookbooks.”
Gideon’s shoulders tensed. She wondered if he was in contact with his parents or if his actions had severed those ties forever. She felt sympathy rise up and then reminded herself that taking responsibility was part of being an adult. So many times she’d had to handle the fall-out of others’
actions, their lies, their inability to admit the truth that was plain to see.
She let out a long breath and Gideon turned, a question in his eyes. “Was she helping you? We probably just cut in line.”
“Oh, no, Henry was just browsing in the poetry section,” Charlie said as she led Father Tom toward the cookbook section. “Edna St. Vincent Millay is her favorite.”
Henry felt a flash of irritation at how easily Charlie shared that bit of information and wondered if she was as free when someone was reading something less appropriate.
Gideon said, “A very fine poet. People say she’s depressing but I find her refreshing. Perhaps she’s a little too truthful for the romantics among us.”
“Romance and truth don’t always go hand in hand. There is such a thing as too much truth, like in Bluebeard.”
“This door you might not open, and yet you did,” he said, quoting the first line.
“Yet this alone out of my life I kept unto myself, lest any know me quite,” Henry quoted back, skipping to the end of the poem.
“This now is yours, I seek another place,” he said, reciting the last line.
She smiled. “Romantics believe you have to know someone inside and out in order to love them deeply. People think secrets are bad. But they’re not. Not all of them. Some are meant to be kept.”
“I’m sure popular opinion would disagree,” he said, “but I think that the closer you are to someone, the more important it is to respect their privacy. In general, living a private life is a concept that is met with suspicion and distrust.”
“Exactly. We’re expected to offer up our very deepest selves for inspection at any moment, even to strangers.” Henry smiled up at him, feeling for the first time in a long while that she was in perfect understanding with another person. She wanted to freeze the moment, capture it somehow so that later she could present it as evidence that she wasn’t such a misfit. There were places in her heart that she wanted to keep to herself and here was another person who agreed it was perfectly normal. “It’s amazing what people think they can ask, as if interacting with the world has become one long first date.”
Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series Page 35
