Just when she thought she was going to have to go back to Edna and her bitter-but-accurate love poetry, she saw a slim volume with a familiar name. She flipped it open and read, Life has loveliness to sell, all beautiful and splendid things. She ran a finger down the words, feeling them breathe into her with a truth she’d forgotten. Blue waves whitened on a cliff, soaring fire that sways and sings, and children's faces looking up, holding wonder like a cup.
Maybe it was the news of Alice and Paul’s new baby, or of the innocence that Gideon had lost, or the way he’d tried to protect Reggie’s son from being beaten, but the last image had Henry closing the book and walking toward the register. She hoped Gideon would like it, because even after all the ugliness he’d known, there was a whole world of loveliness still to be seen.
She brought it to the counter and Alice scanned the little slip inside. “Sara Teasdale,” she said, running a finger over the raised lettering on the front. There was a sweet smile on her lips and a softness in her eyes.
“Is she a favorite of yours? I don’t know much of her poetry,” Henry said.
Alice was quiet for a moment. Then she checked the contents and flipped to a poem near the beginning of the book. “Like barley bending in low fields by the sea, singing in hard wind ceaselessly.” she read. “Once upon a time, I was trying to be like barley bending and a friend told me Sara Teasdale was a moper and I should ignore her. That advice changed the course of my life.” She rang up the purchase and put the little book in a paper bag. “I hope her words bring you happiness, the way they did to me.”
“Thank you,” Henry said. “It’s a birthday present for a friend.”
“Ah,” Alice said. “I hope he enjoys it, then. And tell Gideon happy birthday from us.”
Henry stood there for a moment, trying to find something else to say, but in the end, she just smiled and walked away.
***
“Sherlock!” Patsy’s exasperated tone finally caught Henry’s attention. She whirled around, silky summer dress still clutched in one hand. She’d been standing still in the middle of the boutique, reliving the moment when Gideon had leaned toward her, everything she’d ever wanted.
“Sorry, what were you saying?”
“I was asking if you’d heard from Gideon.”
Henry frowned. “No, you weren’t.”
Patsy smirked. “No, I wasn’t. I was talking about the position I wanted to apply with the state park system studying native insects in the Cane River area, but since you weren’t listening, I thought I’d try something else.”
“I’m so sorry.” She put the dress back and ran her hands through her hair. “I’m listening now.”
“Too late,” Patsy said brightly. “We’re talking about Gideon now.” She pulled a patterned slip dress off the rack and held it up. “This, with those strappy blue sandals you have.”
“For the trip tomorrow?” She couldn’t imagine hiking in that outfit. Or trying to sit on a picnic blanket.
“No, silly. I’m sure there won’t be any romance with all those priests around. I mean for the date, whenever it will be. Has he called yet?”
“No, but I saw him last night,” Henry said.
Patsy eyes narrowed. “Either you are purposefully holding back, or you don’t understand how much I need to hear these things.”
“I’m not hiding anything. I honestly forgot to tell you.” She put both hands to her cheeks. “I feel like I’m losing my mind. I can’t think straight. At the plantation today, I sent out the mail without any stamps. I forgot Clark asked for the key to the storage shed and gave him the one to the cotton mill. Then I was ten minutes late for a tour that I’ve had on the calendar for a week.”
“Oooh, I read an article in the New England Journal of Medicine about this.” Patsy clutched her arm, fingers making tiny indents in her skin. “It afflicts women who spend a lot of time near the Red River area. A little-known relative of the mosquito spreads a disease that attacks the brain. First the women act out of character, changing their appearance and picking up new hobbies. Then there’s the fuzzy thinking and forgetfulness. Then…” She drew a finger across her neck and stuck out her tongue.
“So not funny,” Henry said, turning back to the rack of dresses.
Patsy snickered. “I just had to pull your leg a little, Sherlock. But I do know what the problem is,” she said, flicking through the hangers. “If you want me to tell you.”
“Another fake disease?”
Patsy ignored her and walked around the rack so they were face to face. She ticked off the points as she spoke. “You changed your hair. You stopped wearing your glasses. You spend all your free time with the handsomest man I’ve ever seen, who just happens to be an expert in your same narrow field of study. You’re distracted, forgetful, secretive and a little mopey.”
“Mopey?” Henry shot her a look. “I disagree.”
Patsy crossed her arms and said nothing.
“Maybe a little mopey.” She looked around the little boutique. “Let’s go outside. I feel like anything I say will get around faster than taking out a billboard.”
“Fair enough.” Patsy led the way out of the store and they settled on a bench near the river. The shade from a little tree wasn’t quite enough but the weather was much cooler than even a week ago. Natchitoches’ version of fall was on the way.
Henry ran her hands through her hair again, loving the freedom from her ponytail. Patsy was right, as usual. She’d changed a lot since she’d arrived, and not just on the outside.
“Yes, I did see him last night. We were working on the Finnemore House collection,” she said. “And I already miss him. Isn’t that stupid? It hasn’t even been twenty four hours and I keep trying to think of a reason to go to the archives. I can’t concentrate and I’m annoying myself. And you.”
Patsy squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry about me.”
“I don’t even know how it all happened. Every day was pretty normal, usually. But now I look back and everything is different. Everything has changed.” Henry hated how the last word came out squeaky and pinched.
“Change is scary, Sherlock.” Patsy was smiling but there were tears in her eyes.
“I didn’t decide to fall in love with him. There wasn’t one moment where I thought that was a good idea and I should just―” she waved her hands, “wrap my whole life around him.”
“That’s because you can’t decide that sort of thing. It either happens, or it doesn’t.”
“I’m scared,” Henry whispered.
“Why?” Patsy’s tone turned guarded. “You said he was in prison. Do you feel safe with him? If he makes you feel threatened, you need to walk away.”
Henry almost laughed. “No, I’m not scared of Gideon.” She looked out at the river and the families sitting on the grass in the sunshine. “Getting to know him made me take a real good look at myself. I don’t like what I see. I want to be honest with him but I’ve spent so long lying to everyone, I don’t even really know who I am anymore.”
“I know you.”
“You sort of know me,” Henry said. The words seemed to scrape her throat as she uttered them. “I’ve pretended to be this independent woman who didn’t need anyone, who preferred work to friends, who thought love was for the weak.”
“Well, you didn’t act like that when you were my maid of honor,” Patsy corrected her.
“I may not have said it, but I was telling myself that.” Henry brushed back her hair.
“So, now you’re admitting you care a little more than you let on. That’s not an impossible jump.”
“Maybe it is.” She told Patsy the story of Kimberly’s uninvited make over, how Henry had run out to breakfast with Gideon, how she’d come back and launched into an attack on Kimberly that still made her sick to think about.
“Have you talked to her since?”
Henry shook her head. “I think I ruined my chance of ever having a relationship with her. I didn’t think I wanted one at all.
But I was wrong.”
“Do you think she’ll refuse an apology?”
She tried to put away her fear and really consider it. “No, I don’t think she would.”
“Good. Then that’s your next step.” Patsy stood up. “Come on. We need some ice cream to go with this conversation. Love, lies, secrets. We can’t handle all of this without a little mint chocolate chip.” She looped her arm through Henry’s and smiled. “And I’m excited to get to know the real you, Sherlock. Whatever you’ve been hiding is going to be just as wonderful as the parts I already know.”
“Well, first of all, I never liked mint chocolate chip. I just ate it because you did.”
Patsy burst out laughing. “Let the truthing begin!”
Henry let herself be pulled into the ice cream shop and fifteen minutes later, had to agree that a cone of strawberry cheesecake ice cream made everything better. The tangled mess she’d made didn’t seem so impossible to straighten out. Just because she’d spent years hiding her real thoughts and feelings didn’t mean she couldn’t be honest now. She wanted a fresh start. All she needed was courage.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“She is like all the rest of them. Whether they are seventeen or forty-seven, when they finally come to surrender completely, it's going to be in words.”
― William Faulkner
“I’ve got a water bottle for each of you and a small pillow if you decide to take a nap,” Gideon said. “As soon as we get you settled in the car, I’ll pass them out.”
“Have ya got a compass?” Father Marcel asked, his voice reedy and feeble. He raised a hand and pointed at Tom. “Last time we took a trip, he got lost. I thought it was the Donner party all over again and we were gonna have to eat each other.”
“We were fifteen miles out of town. Nobody was going to die. One wrong turn in six years and nobody forgets it,” Tom said.
Henry had her hand over her mouth, eyes crinkled in laughter and Gideon had trouble not cracking a smile in response. She looked beautiful, as always, and he wished they’d had a few seconds to talk before everyone arrived.
“I’ll go in her car. It looks more comfortable.” Father Marcel was already pushing his walker toward Henry. “I’ve got this bad back. I can’t stand those little foreign cars y’all drive. She’s got a Ford. They got real comfortable seats.”
“Father Marcel, I thought you could come with me,” Tom said. He turned to Gideon and whispered, “We discussed this. He’s meaner than a skillet full of rattlesnakes. We can’t let him go with Henry.”
“I know,” Gideon whispered back but he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. He couldn’t tackle the old guy. A movement caught his eye and he saw Father Luke shuffling in the same direction, Seemed like the whole group wanted to go with Henry. He didn’t blame them in the slightest.
Henry was already walking toward her car, ready to assist Father Marcel into his seat. Father Luke reached the car first, slapped the hood and yelled, “Shot gun!”
“Fine, but I’m driving,” Father Marcel said and held out his hand to Henry. “Keys, if ya please.”
She looked to Tom, confusion on her face.
“Father Marcel, you know you don’t have a license,” Tom said.
“I was drivin’ our old farm truck to school when I was ten. Nobody needs a license to drive. That’s just a formality.”
“Get on with yo’self,” Father Andre muttered. He raised his voice and said something in Creole French that was both too fast and too complicated for Gideon to understand. Then he added, “Miss Henry is the director of the Cane River Creole park. You’re so proud of that display of your family history. You get her in trouble and she just might lose all those pictures.”
Henry opened her mouth, probably to assure them she’d never do any such thing, but Marcel was already shrugging. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind holding the map. I’ll make sure we don’t get lost like we do when Tom drives.”
Tom let out a sigh. “It was one time. One.” He turned to Gideon. “If she never speaks to us again, you can blame me.”
“She’ll be fine. She’s a lot tougher than she seems.” Gideon watched her opening the back door and helping Father Luke get settled. Apparently, he’d given up his claim on the passenger seat. Father Marcel eased himself into the front seat as Henry struggled to fold the walker. He could hear Marcel giving her directions.
“When’s the wedding?” said a familiar bullfrog voice and Gideon turned to see Father Toussaint leaning on his cane, his figure even more frail than last year, but his black trousers and shirt were nicely pressed.
“Excuse me?” Gideon hoped he could feign ignorance all the way into another conversation.
“You need to go through pre-marriage counseling, remember that. Ya got to take classes now.” Father Toussaint leaned closer and whispered. “Waste of time if you ask me. Nobody ever calls off the wedding because they took one of those personality tests.”
“No, sir. We’re not engaged. We just met a few months ago.”
“That counselin’ takes six months, so if she wants a spring wedding, you’ll have to get started right away. Of course, everybody wants to get married at the minor basilica but those dates fill up by Christmas.” Father Toussaint straightened up for a moment. “You’ll probably have Tom here officiate but if for some reason he’s unavailable, I’d be honored to stand in for him.”
“Father, I haven’t asked her to marry me. There’s no wedding,” Gideon said, glancing toward Henry, hoping she was out of earshot.
“Well, there’s no limit on celebrants, actually.” He nodded his head, as if everything were all settled. “You could have as many of us as you want. But I give the best homily. Don’t let Father Marcel do it, he talks forever and his jokes are never funny.”
Tom wasn’t even trying to cover his laughter by now and Gideon shot him a glare. If it got back to Henry, she might wonder what he’d been telling all these priests. “Let’s get you in the car, Father Toussaint. You can have the front.”
“Naw, I better go with Miss Henry. Marcel is gonna send her right off the road with all his complainin’. Plus, she drives a Ford.” Father Toussaint glanced back to Tom and Gideon. “No offense, of course.”
“None taken.” Gideon caught Tom’s eye and shrugged.
After settling Father Sal and Father Gabriel in the back seat, he walked to Henry’s car. She was just closing the trunk and looked up with a smile that took his breath away. Really, everything about her took his breath away.
“Looks like you ended up with most of the crew,” he said. “I can’t imagine why.”
“Maybe they all know women are better drivers.” She glanced behind her and then said quietly, “I showed Father Marcel that my phone has voice activated GPS and he asked it the best way to get to New Orleans. But he didn’t like the answer and now they’re arguing.”
“Father Marcel and Father Andre?”
“No, Father Marcel and the phone.”
“You’re a good sport. Thanks for coming.”
“I’m happy to help. Plus, I wouldn’t miss your birthday.” She must have read the surprise on his face because she hurried to explain. “Bix spilled the beans. I hope you’re not mad at him.”
“No, not mad at all.” That was a little bit of a lie, since Gideon was sure that was no slip. He reached out and took Henry’s hand for a moment. “I can’t think of a better way to spend my birthday.”
Her cheeks went pink and she nodded. “Me, too. Your birthday, I mean. Not mine. Mine is in March. Who knows what will be happening in March…. with us.” She raised a hand to her eyes. “Please stop me.”
“Never.”
The back window whirred as it went down and Father Toussaint peered out. “Marcel is askin’ that doohickey how to get to Miami. It’d take us fifteen hours, but only if we leave right now before traffic gets bad.”
Tom walked toward them, a harried look on his face. “Are we ready?”
“I was born nake
d and ready. They just put clothes on me,” Father Toussaint said and window slowly slid upward.
Henry tried to cover her laughter, but it came out as a snort and a cough.
“I’ve got the food, the water, blankets in case the weather turns, the camera, and just enough patience to get us there and back in one piece.” Tom glanced at Henry. “If Father Marcel gives you any trouble, ask him about his time as an Army cleric. He loves talking about it.”
“We’ll be fine. Are you leading, Father Tom?”
“Sure. And you can follow―”
“The birthday boy,” she said, tossing them a grin as she got behind the wheel.
“Bix is in big trouble,” Gideon said to Tom, but he didn’t mean it. In fact, celebrating his birthday didn’t seem as awful as it always had. This year, things were different.
This year, everything had changed.
***
Henry set the last plate on the picnic table and bowed her head as Father Marcel said grace. The smell of the woods was so different from the Cane River area that she would have known they were somewhere else even if she’d been blindfolded. She gave an extra prayer of thanks after that car ride. Father Marcel and Father Andre correcting the others’ version of the last twenty years made it feel much longer than an hour.
“Don’t be shy,” Father Tom announced to the group. “Take as much as you want. Lucille Rondeau heard we were coming up here and gave us most of the dishes folks dropped off after her cousin Bob’s funeral. May he rest in peace.”
“So, how did it go?” Gideon asked as he walked up. He handed her a plate and she thought he looked like what would happen if GQ decided to do a photoshoot on a hilltop in Louisiana. She focused on carefully splitting a biscuit and swiping on a bit of peach jam.
“No problems at all,” she said. “My phone was exhausted by the time we arrived, but I had a great time. How about you?”
Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series Page 55
