Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  Nobody could replace her oldest friend. Henry had forgotten what it was like to talk to someone and not be afraid of the lies. There wasn’t another person like that in her life.

  Except Gideon, her brain corrected. Not that she was completely comfortable around him but she certainly wasn’t afraid of what she was going to hear, and that was miles ahead of everyone else in her life. But that was as far as it went.

  She turned the corner and saw Blue’s office a few feet ahead. The date had gone really well, nothing like the disasters of her college years. They’d laughed their way through a few hours of good southern food, and then he’d walked her home. At her door, he’d given her a sweet kiss on the cheek and told her how much he’d enjoyed their time together. It was nice. He’d already left a message this morning. She’d go out with him again. There wasn’t any reason not to, really.

  Except Gideon.

  Henry let out a huff of air. She wasn’t going to refuse a nice guy like Blue for a man who hadn’t shown any interest in her at all. He’d invited her to participate in a professional endeavor and for that she was incredibly grateful. Nothing more. She told herself this several times as she came closer to the alley that led to the little parking lot. Gideon, the man whose best friend was a priest, looked perfectly content at the prospect of being a bachelor for life. It would be ridiculous to think of him in any way except a professional one.

  A man’s voice called out behind her and she turned, thinking how funny it was to be thinking of Gideon and then for him to appear as if by magic.

  But it was her granddaddy. And her mamere. And Kimberly.

  “I’ve been callin’ you,” Frank said, eyebrows drawing down. He switched to Creole, as if to bring her back to her childhood, when he was the law and she was that child always in the way. “You never listen, always livin’ up in that head of yours.”

  Henry let out a light laugh. “You know it’s so,” she agreed. She let herself be kissed and hugged by each of them in turn. Switching to English, she said, “What are you doing down here?”

  “Well, that’s not a very nice howdy-do,” her mamere said. She lifted one smooth-skinned shoulder and dropped it again, her figure perfectly showcased in a white linen, sleeveless dress. With her waves of dark hair and deep green eyes, Birdie Pascal was the Creole version of Marilyn Monroe, if the actress had lived to her seventies. She was all curves, with a keen sense for sniffing out the person who held the power in any situation.

  “That’s what I said.” Kimberly cocked her head. “It’s almost as if she doesn’t want to know us.” She was as beautiful as ever, her eyes large and luminous, set over high cheekbones. Henry wondered if Kimberly ever looked less than perfect.

  Frank grunted. “Gettin’ too big for your britches. Barney Sandoz said you won’t let him on the property, that you don’t think he got the qualifications to be involved up there.”

  Henry felt her throat go tight with rage. “I don’t trust Mr. Sandoz. He wants to be part of the excavation but hasn’t told me why he should be there. In fact, he spun some tale about his ancestor owning Oakland Plantation. There’s nothing about that in the archives and the Prud’homme family―”

  “So what? It’s not written in a book so it can’t be right? Don’t forget where you came from, girl. You got a degree and you think you know it all but you only got that position because I put in a good word for you.”

  Lie.

  “No, sir. And I’m sorry. I’m running late.” Henry looked at her watch. If she didn’t hurry, the tour group was going to be waiting for her. She took a breath and then did her best to give each person in front of her what they really wanted. “But we should meet up at the festival this weekend. I’ve heard people saying you’ve kept the whole thing on track, granddaddy. Without Frank Pascal, they said, it would have all fallen apart long ago.”

  He straightened up and nodded. “Glad to hear people have a lick of sense. Some days I feel like I’m trying to work miracles, sorting out all the schedules and making sure everybody’s happy.”

  “And I need some advice on how to decorate my new apartment,” Henry said Birdie. “I can’t decide on white on cream, or white with bright pops of color.”

  “Honey, you don’t even need to ask. Leave it all up to me. I’ll make that old place livable in no time.”

  “Thank you so much,” Henry said, forcing an extra note of enthusiasm, even though her stomach was knotting at the idea of her mamere anywhere near those perfectly preserved vintage fixtures. She’d have to make sure she oversaw every step or the place might end up renovated right out of its historical status.

  She turned to Kimberly and put on her brightest smile. For a moment, she didn’t think she could get the words out. It had never been hard to lie to her before. “It’s so great to see you back here, Aunt Kimberly. I know how hard it is to get time off.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “And what a nuisance it is to deal with all the constant attention. I just don’t know how you handle it. I’d lose my mind if I had to live like that.”

  Kimberly’s eyes went wide and her mouth made a little ‘o’. She really did look like a china doll. “You have no idea. But it’s so worth it, just to see all of you.” Kimberly reached out and gathered in mamere on one side and Henry on the other.

  Henry let herself be squeezed for a moment and then said, “And is my Mama coming to visit this weekend? It’s been so long since the whole family was together.”

  The moment the words were out of her mouth, she knew she’d gone too far. Frank stared up at the sky, while Birdie picked at an imaginary speck on her skirt. Kimberly’s eyes went tight. “I’m sure your Mama’ll come visit some other time. You know, Lisette has always been so jealous of my fame.”

  Lie.

  “Yes, ma’am. But I really do have to go,” Henry said, edging past them and toward her car. “But call me and we’ll make plans.” She threw them a frantic little wave and trotted across the little lot, careful not to turn her ankle on the paving stones.

  She slid behind the wheel and turned the key. They thought they were the only ones who could lie while smiling. She had learned from the best. Years and years of watching the people closest to her had taught Henry the fine art of telling falsehoods. Some sleight of hand, a little flattery, and a quick exit. Nothing to it.

  She tightened her ponytail and rubbed her temples. She did what she had to do to keep the status quo and everyone happy. Everyone except me. Her stomach ached with nerves and she blinked back sudden tears.

  As good as she was, as easily as she lied, she’d never quite learned how to live with herself afterward.

  ***

  Gideon poured another cup of strong coffee and headed back to his desk. He needed to make it through the appointment and then he would leave early. He was getting too old to survive on just a few hours of sleep. Plus, the nap was essential in case he had to take another midnight watch.

  Settling at his desk, he took a sip and burned his tongue. He turned over and over in his mind some way to ask Henry if she’d found her keys but in his muddled state he couldn’t think of any reason to bring up the subject. He wished he knew Alice and Paul better.

  Bix! He set down his cup and picked up the phone. He’d ask Bix to ask Henry… and then report back to him? Gideon put the phone back in its cradle and leaned back in his chair. Bix would think it was odd, at the least.

  A knock on his door shook him from his thoughts. Henry appeared, a cautious look on her face. “Hello,” she said.

  Gideon took in her bright lipstick, her ponytail and glasses, and wondered if it was possible to miss someone you barely knew and had only just seen the day before.

  “Oh, good,” Gideon said. He stood and motioned toward the other chair.

  “Good?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. That wasn’t what I meant to say. I am glad you’re here, of course, but I was thinking about something else when you knocked and it just came out that way instead of hello.” He made
a mental note to never talk to Henry when he was exhausted. He lost his censor completely.

  Henry’s lips were lifting in a soft smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

  “Really, it’s no trouble. Sit down. Is there something you need? Can I get you some coffee?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. I had a cup after a tour went through this morning. Three busses of middle schoolers from Lafayette.” She sat down and slipped on her sweater.

  “I’ve got a class of second graders coming through in about an hour. I feel your pain,” he said. “I admire teachers. I don’t think I could do their job.”

  “You don’t like kids?”

  “Not really.” He wondered if it was rude to say that, but figured since she didn’t have any, it wouldn’t offend her. He thought of the little girl on the river walk that morning. “One at a time, they’re okay, I suppose. But the bigger the group, the stranger they seem. Completely uncontrollable, just legs and arms and noise. ”

  “The noise, noise, noise.” She grinned. “As the Grinch said.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Are you calling me a Grinch?”

  “If you are, so am I.”

  They sat there for a moment, smiling at each other, until she seemed to remember why she’d come in the first place. She cleared her throat and pushed up her glasses, a move he was starting to recognize was more of a nervous gesture than anything to do with the glasses. Her elbows were tucked tight against her body and she tugged at the hem of her dress, smoothing it over her knees. Gideon skipped back over their conversation the day before, his mind grabbing and discarding things he’d said. Whatever he’d done, she was steeling herself against the task of broaching the subject.

  “I came to see if you were coming to the Finnemore place this evening, but now that I’m here, I’m guessing you’re not,” she said.

  He worked through several responses in his head before he managed to ask, “Why?”

  “Why am I asking you?” Her face had gone pink.

  “No, why are you guessing I wouldn’t be working there tonight?”

  “Oh. Because you look exhausted.” She grimaced. “That was rude. My mama raised me better, I promise.”

  “I’m not offended. It’s okay to be honest,” he said.

  “People say that but they don’t mean it.” Although her tone was light, there was a sadness in her eyes.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there tonight.” He picked up his pen and twiddled it between his fingers. “Listen, you don’t have to work down there alone. I’m happy to share the space.” He wanted to tell her that she was easy company, that he preferred her there to being by himself, but the words sat on his tongue unspoken.

  She visibly relaxed, her breath coming out in rush. “I’m not afraid of the dark or being there alone. It’s just―”

  “That door.” He nodded. “And maybe I could try to fix it by shaving off a bit of the wood where it sticks. Tom is claustrophobic so I can understand how the idea of being stuck in there is a little creepy.”

  “Is he? Patsy is, too. She avoids elevators like the plague. But I’m not. Claustrophobic, I mean. I just can’t stop imagining being stuck in there. For some reason my cell phone wouldn’t work and nobody would hear me shouting or notice I was missing, and then I’d be found months later, mummified amid the old letters.”

  Gideon started to laugh but the sound died in his throat. She really believed it.

  “I would notice,” he said.

  “Oh, of course, when you came to sort through the boxes,” she said. “But that could be days.” She stood up.

  He walked around his desk. “What time do you want to meet?”

  “Six?” She was shorter than he’d thought. Maybe she’d been wearing higher heels or maybe she just gave such an impression of confidence that she seemed taller, but now that he was close to her, she only came up to his shoulder.

  “I’ll be there,” he said. Her eyes were such a pale green, almost a sage color, and the rims of the iris were as dark as Kentucky bluegrass. He could imagine women all over the country trying to get that particular combination with colored contacts while Henry tried to hide them, ashamed of the genetic twist that had given her features worthy of a Hollywood star.

  As if to prove his point, Henry dropped her gaze. She murmured something and then she was gone.

  Gideon stood there in the middle of his office, replaying her words, trying to make everything fit together. He’d become so used to reading people in seconds, sensing their fears and their weak spots, and filing them into neat categories. But just when he thought he learned enough about Henry to put her in a slot, she revealed another detail that shifted his perception of her. It was as if she were one of those pictures he’d loved as a kid, the kind with a list of hidden items and the more you looked, the harder it was to see the key or the feather or the pencil hidden in the photo. Then just as you were about to give up, you finally saw it, right there in plain sight.

  He wasn’t a curious man. He’d learned to keep his nose out of other people’s affairs. Living a quiet life meant minding his own business. But there was something about Henry that he just couldn’t shake.

  Chapter Ten

  The beginning of love is the will to let those we love be perfectly themselves,

  the resolution not to twist them to fit our own image.

  ― Thomas Merton

  Henry walked down the sidewalk toward the Finnemore house and tried to calm the anxiety that hummed in her veins. Asking Gideon to work with her in the evenings was a good idea. It certainly erased the nagging fears about being trapped in the basement and no one hearing her calls for help.

  At the same time, though, she found herself replaying the moment she’d left his office that afternoon. The intensity in his gaze had stopped the breath in her lungs. Her whole life she’d avoided looking too closely at anyone. She didn’t want to see the lies flicker across their features as they spoke. When people came too close, she backed away, turned her head, focused somewhere else. For the first time, she wanted to step forward, cup his face in her hands and see as clearly as she was able. She wanted to ask him a million questions, wanted to know everything he was thinking. And that had never turned out well for her before.

  She brushed back a loose strand of hair and turned the corner. Gideon himself said he valued privacy above everything else and she’d agreed with him. She certainly didn’t want anyone prying into her life. She was a hypocrite now, though. She would lie through her teeth if he got too close to her, but she wanted to peer into his hidden room, just like the woman in Bluebeard. And like the end of the poem, it would do nothing but drive him away to some other place.

  Henry saw the old green door cracked and when she pushed, it opened easily, revealing the lamps and the boxes and Gideon, already seated at the table. He’d brought in another chair and she was relieved to see he’d set it at the other end but on the same side. It would be easier to concentrate if they weren’t face to face.

  “Hey,” he said, standing up.

  “Hi,” she said, and was embarrassed to hear a note of shyness in her voice. “It’s cooling off out there in the evenings. The festival is going to be perfect. If it doesn’t rain.”

  “Do you like zydeco music?” he asked, waiting for her to sit down before taking his seat again. She smiled a little at his manners. Kimberly would call him old-timey but Henry thought it was sweet.

  “Like it?” She shrugged. “Does a Creole girl get to choose whether she likes zydeco music? It’s sort of like the air. It’s just there.”

  “True. I suppose I should have asked whether you like dancing.”

  “Again…” she said, smiling. “It’s sort of understood that we Byrnes and Pascals will attend and enjoy ourselves.”

  “Tom loves it. The music, the crowd, the food, everything. I’ll go so he won’t make me feel like I’m failing to uphold our culture, but I’m not a fan of it all.” He spoke easily, as if they were friends and had been for a lo
ng time.

  She glanced into the box next to her chair. Everything was as she left it. He really was letting her sort the letters and pictures independently. It was a vote of confidence that gave her a flush of pride. Not that she would have been offended if he hadn’t. It was his project and he had a responsibility to keep track of the work, but it was good to know he considered her an equal at the task.

  Picking up a picture, she read the back, made a note and then said, “You know, if we’re being honest about it, I don’t look forward to it. It’s not like Christmas. I just go because I should.” It felt good to say it. “I do like the meat pies.”

  He seemed to think that was funny and she had to force her gaze away from his smile. Who knew that beard was hiding perfect dimples? It was only a matter of time before someone discovered the hermit archivist was worth another look. The idea of Gideon with a girlfriend made her think of how it would be to run into him on a date, which made her think of the awkward moment she stood between him and Blue the other day. Suddenly she groaned.

  He looked up. “Yes?”

  “I meant to return a phone call. Now it’s six o’clock and I just remembered… again.”

  “Feel free. I don’t mind,” he said and went back to his reading.

  Henry felt her face go hot. Blue had called that morning, leaving a message that he’d really enjoyed their date and hoping they could go out again sometime. There was no way Henry could call him now, in front of Gideon. “It’s fine. I’ll call tomorrow.”

  “If you remember,” he said to his papers.

  “True,” she said, laughing a little. “I’m not usually that forgetful.”

  “Sometimes I forget things I don’t want to do,” he said. “I’m not aware of it at the time, of course. My brain is very crafty at hiding my own procrastination from me.”

  Henry hoped that wasn’t the case. Blue was a really nice guy and was the closest she’d come in years to a prospective boyfriend.

  The flame from the lamps reflected on the edges of her glasses and she took them off, laying them on the table. The headache that had been lurking all day seemed to fade away. She picked up another photo. Three small boys in matching overalls stood next to a donkey. The back had such faded writing she couldn’t make it out. She drew the lamp closer and tilted the photo, squinting at the names. Alcide Richards. Alton Richards. Benjamin. Oakland Plantation. 1903 She made a note and looked more closely at the faces of the little boys. Two were clearly brothers or cousins. The third was either an orphan or a child loaned by the plantation, no last name necessary since he didn’t really have a family, or one that mattered enough to write down.