“Sure is. On the historical register and the oldest bookstore in the South. People travel from all over to visit, not just for the building but to see the rare books in the collection,” Bernice said. She sniffed. “But when they see Alice and the babies, they’re always surprised. They assume anyplace that has three kids under three has to rip out the fixtures and just put in a cement floor with a drain in the center.”
“That could be chilly in the winter, but definitely faster to clean up,” Rose said, smiling. “So, are you related to Alice and Paul?”
“Distantly. My third cousin was Alice’s grandmother’s first husband but he died in the war. But we’re all just old friends. Everybody knows Alice and Paul. See, I work at the parish archives and my boss, Gideon Becket is married to Henry, who used to rent the apartment upstairs…” she waved her hand. “It’s complicated. But for now, we’ll just say Blue lives upstairs in one of the apartments.”
Rose looked at him and Blue seemed to sense the unspoken. “I was living in LaFayette for a time and just moved back. My offices are next door. It’s convenient.”
So he wasn’t a small town resident, insulated from the rest of the state. Rose wondered how much he read the paper and watched the news. She hadn’t been able to go to the post office without encountering the harsh whispers and looks of judgement in Baton Rouge. Everybody had known her story.
“I was sure he was gonna bring back a nice girl from LaFayette but I know the right one is out there, somewhere.” Bernice paused, mischief in her eyes. “We just never know when she’s going to walk through that door.”
Rose felt her cheeks flush. The poor guy was going to regret talking to her. But he must get that all the time, as handsome as he was.
“I’d better go. We’ve got a tournament coming up and only four players.” Bernice gave Rose a big smile. “I’ll be praying you get the job, honey. We need more people like you in Natchitoches.”
She forced a smile as Bernice headed for the door. She wasn’t sure prayers would help her, and she certainly wasn’t the type of “people” Bernice thought she was. She glanced at her watch. Six minutes. The foyer was relatively empty except for a teenage boy seated on a stool at the end of the first range and a young couple quietly examining books on the other side. Rose considered standing at the front desk, maybe ringing the little bell she could see near the cash register.
“I’m sorry about that,” Blue said. “If you’re single, you know how it is.”
“But I don’t think nannies get the same treatment. In fact, everyone around us is usually trying to keep us single for as long as possible.”
He laughed and this time Rose didn’t let herself look too closely at him. She knew how easily she could fall back into wishful thinking, dreaming of a life that was closed off from her. Since she was little, Rose had assumed her future would follow the unofficial schedule drawn up for every young person. She’d graduate from a good college, get into law school, meet a nice man, fall in love, graduate with her JD, plan her big Southern wedding as they started their professional lives in a fancy law firm, get married, get promoted to partner, and have two children. Those last few items were a little fuzzy but everything had all gone according to schedule. Right up to the ‘get married’ part and the moment she’d been charged with a crime.
Her carefully ordered life had fallen apart like a shoddy high rise in an earthquake, imploding with a force that shook the earth. She was left to stumble around in the debris of her arrogant dreams, kicking aside things she’d once thought she was entitled to, watching all her careful plans disintegrate.
Rose looked around the sunny bookstore. Her life would never be the same, but this job, with its promise of peace, books, and anonymity was more than she could hope for, and far more than she deserved.
Chapter Three
“Things without all remedy should be without regard: what's done is done.”
― William Shakespeare, Macbeth
Blue knew he should make his apologies and head upstairs to let Rose handle the interview on her own. The day had been crammed with unplanned and complicated appointments, all courtesy of his father, and breakfast was more than a distant memory. To punctuate the thought, his stomach grumbled quietly.
He glanced at Rose, noting the faint line between her brows and the way she fiddled with the buckle of her satchel. Despite her playful introduction, there was an edge about her. She seemed simultaneously determined and worried about the nanny position. As soon as Rose met Alice and Paul, he was sure she’d let go of whatever fears made her choose her words so carefully. He shifted his feet, unsure whether to excuse himself and go upstairs, or follow his gut and keep Rose company.
“You’re just not good with people, son. You’ve got to learn how to make conversation. Especially women. Stop asking so many questions. Tell ‘em a joke. Nobody likes feeling like they’re on a quiz show.”
No, he must seem like some kind of oddball, following her into the bookstore and monopolizing her time. And when he’d asked about her middle name, she’d looked positively alarmed. It was something a creep would say after he’d dragged a girl back to his cabin in the woods and pulled the burlap sack off her head.
“How many apartments are there?” Rose looked up at the ceiling, as if she could see them through the copper tintype panels from where she stood.
“Just two. The other is empty right now, which is fine by me.”
“You don’t like neighbors?”
“Love ‘em. But there’s a bit of a rumor about those apartments. An urban legend, I guess you could say.” Alice had a theory that the apartments brought couples together and so far, it hadn’t been disproven. Blue was perfectly fine being the lone occupant of the top floor. As much as Aunt Bernice, and every other female in his family, wanted to get him married off, it wasn’t a good time for that kind of distraction. It probably wouldn’t be a good time for a long while. He was barely in control of his life as it was, and falling in love couldn’t possibly help the situation.
“Are they haunted?” Rose reflexively shivered, glancing around the room. Blue knew what she was thinking. The building was over a hundred years old and perfectly preserved. The exposed brickwork on the walls and dark wood detailing told her Alice wasn’t eager to embrace modernity. “That’d be good for tourism, I guess.”
He shook his head. “No, no way. Alice wouldn’t put up with that kind of nonsense.”
“So, she wears the pants in the marriage?”
That was an odd question but Blue supposed Rose needed to know whether there was potential marital drama. “I meant about ghosts. Alice wouldn’t stand for the place being haunted. She’d put her foot down.”
Blue could see that Rose wasn’t sure how someone would go about putting their foot down with the supernatural, but she hadn’t met Alice yet. “To answer your question about their marriage, let’s just say they’re well matched.”
“Which means they fight a lot?”
“Not at all. I’m not being purposely mysterious. You just have to meet them. In fact…”
She turned to follow his gaze.
Alice was headed toward them across the large foyer of the bookstore. She held a tiny baby in each arm and a shrill wailing issued from one of the newborns. Alice’s smile was bright, matching her red lipstick and patent leather ballet flats. Aunt Bernice said Alice had more style than almost any other woman in Natchitoches, even if it was a style that never moved past the glamor of the nineteen fifties.
Little Aurora followed behind Alice, her expression curious but wary. Lately Aurora seemed to be picking out her own outfits and today was no exception. She wore a purple skirt, green leggings tucked into blue boots and a red T-shirt with the words, “It’s Not Time To Worry Yet”, which pierced him with sadness. Harper Lee’s passing was fresh in everyone’s thoughts. He wondered if Alice would create a whole line of To Kill a Mockingbird shirts in tribute to one of the greatest authors who had ever lived.
“Welc
ome to By the Book,” Alice said. “You must be Rose Black.” Her words were hard to hear over the crying, but her expression was clear. Blue thought of how he’d never seen Alice treat anyone with anything less than a good Creole welcome. Paul claimed that Alice had tried to throw him out of her bookstore the day they met, but there were no witnesses to it and Blue had his doubts Alice had been as horrible as they both insisted.
“Thank you. Is this Aurora?” Rose crouched down so she and Aurora were eye-to-eye.
Blue met Alice’s eyes and tried not to grin. Just the other day, Alice explained how she could tell a lot about a person by how quickly they acknowledged Aurora. Some people could spend half an hour talking and never glance Aurora’s way, no matter how much she interrupted or moved around the room. Others might mention her after a few minutes, but only a compliment directed to Alice about Aurora’s curls or how the little girl had Alice’s green eyes. Then there were the people who asked her name, introduced themselves, and although Aurora couldn’t keep up with the conversation, included her in some small way or another.
“She sure is,” Alice said. Peering out from behind her mother’s leg, Aurora examined this new person, turning her head from side to side, dark curls brushing her shoulders. Rose didn’t make any move to come closer but smiled at Aurora until she hid her face again.
“Hi. I’m Rose,” she said softly. It was hard to hear her over the crying.
Aurora poked her head out and asked, “Do you have popcorn?”
He almost laughed at Rose’s startled expression. Customers were always remarking on how odd it was for full sentences to come out of such a small person.
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“Sha, say hello to Miss Rose.” Alice’s voice was a gentle rebuke. She shifted slightly, and the crying baby paused just for a moment, then started again.
“ ‘Lo, Miss Rose. Blue brings popcorn.”
She probably thought he owned one of those businesses that had a little popcorn machine in the foyer. The local tire shop had one. If you were kept waiting too long, you smelled like a movie theater for the rest of the day. Then again, after a day like today, with all the grief his father was bringing into his law office, the idea of owning a tire shop didn’t sound half bad.
“I brought her popcorn one time. She doesn’t forget a thing, this girl. I should hire her as my personal assistant.”
Alice said something, but neither Rose nor Blue heard the words.
“Here,” Rose said, “Can I help―?”
“Alice, let me,” he said at the same moment. They’d both moved forward to take the red-faced infant, but Rose was there first, hands already lifting the baby from Alice’s arms. Their eyes met. Only a certain type of person chose a screaming baby over a peaceful one. Rose’s lips quirked up with silent amusement.
“Let me have her. She might spit up on your suit,” she said.
“I have other suits. Let me take her. You won’t be able to hear a word, otherwise.”
“No, she’s fine.” Rose put the tiny girl on her shoulder and rubbed her back in a circular motion. The crying didn’t stop, but seemed a little lower in register.
“He’s right,” Alice said, intervening. “Let him have Elizabeth. She’s the loud one. We won’t be able to hear each other at all if she’s between us.”
Rose reluctantly passed her back. Blue glanced at her little shirt, which said “Eat At Milliways” in pink neon script. Alice wasn’t a Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy fan and he smiled, knowing who had given the baby that particular shirt. He turned Elizabeth facing out, one hand under her little bottom, one hand around her waist. His theory was that Elizabeth was just frustrated at not being able to see all the action. He bounced her gently and she quieted down a little, letting out small whimpers every few seconds.
“I’m not sure you need me,” Rose said. “Looks like you have the baby whisperer on hand already.”
“Oh, there’s plenty of work to go around,” Alice said, laughing. She held out Elizabeth’s twin and Rose cradled her in the crook of her arm. Striped blue leggings, a shirt with what looked like the original cover of Alice in Wonderland, and a little ribbon around each tiny pigtail completed her outfit. She smoothed the fine wisps of dark hair flat against the baby’s forehead and stroked the curve of her cheek. The baby regarded Rose with the placid calm of a philosopher, unsmiling but not breaking into tears, either.
“These two are so different from Aurora.” Alice glanced at the baby. “Even the hair. Fine as frog’s hair split four ways,” she said.
“My mamere used to say that.” She looked back down at the baby. “So, that one is Elizabeth… As in Bennet?”
“As in Mrs. Gaskell, a literary hero of mine.” Alice lifted Aurora into her arms. “And you have Emily Jane.”
Blue lowered the baby, now quiet, and cradled her against his side. Rose looked from one baby to the other, clearly looking for some identifying feature to keep them straight. The twins were fraternal, but at a glance, Blue couldn’t tell them apart either.
“She’s the quiet one,” Rose said. “So, named after Emily Brontë? A keen observer of human nature but never says much herself.”
Alice let out a soft sigh. “I was right, Blue. I told you she was the one. Oh, and she speaks Creole French.”
Blue glanced up in surprise. Of course it was important to Alice that Aurora speak Creole French as fluently as possible and whoever spent time with her would need to speak it, too. More and more of the Cane River heritage was slipping away every year, the old ways were being forgotten, and young people moving out of Natchitoches as soon as they were able. Alice was determined that her own children would never lack for a sense of place. They’d know their people, their language, and their history.
“I just might have to agree with you,” Blue said, switching to Creole.
Rose tilted her head at him, as if she thought he was testing her. “That can’t be the entire interview,” she answered. Her accent was a little more traditional French than Creole, but the words were straight out of Cane River. “I appreciate the compliment, but knowledge of the literary greats won’t help me much when all three kids are crying at once.”
He grinned, shifting baby Elizabeth to his shoulder. He wanted to stand there all day, listening to Rose talk, getting to know her. He’d been amused by her teasing when they’d met, but now he was intrigued.
Blue was suddenly aware of how they stood facing each other, he and Rose, matching poses, each with a baby in their arms. He probably looked like he wanted to apply for the nanny position.
“Of course you’re going to play football. I did, your grandpa did, and all your uncles. You’ve got to carry on the Chalfant name. You’ve gotta be quarterback, too, when you get to high school. What else are you going to do? Sit in your room and write poetry? Oh, yeah, I know about your little notebook. Don’t be such a girl. Pretty soon you’ll be heading over to your Aunt Bernice’s and asking to babysit.”
He looked away, pretending to search for Mr. Darcy, the large black cat that prowled the top of the ranges.
“Come on, I’ll give you a quick tour.” Alice turned toward the first row of shelves. “My husband will be here in a few minutes. This is our poetry section, one of the largest antique and rare book collections in the nation. It’s where I met Paul and it’s played a significant role in bringing about several of our town’s recent weddings.”
“Well, then. As much as I love poetry, I’ll be sure to stay out of there,” Rose said.
Blue snorted. He held out a closed fist and Rose stared at it for a moment before cracking a smile and bumping it with her own.
“Oh, you two,” Alice said, but she didn’t seem annoyed. She glanced at the hand Blue had dropped. “You’ve got ink on your hands. Are you practicing again? Good for you.”
“No… not really. I just…” Blue curled the fingers of his right hand toward his palm. He didn’t want to talk about his projects in public. He’d never told A
lice that his family thought his hobby wasn’t something that men did. Not real men, anyway.
Alice raised her eyebrows but didn’t pursue it. “Anyway, this is our classic literature section. Next we have romance, heavy on the gothic. And here we have the science fiction section. Charlie is our sci fi expert so if that’s your type of book, just ask her for help. She’s usually at the front desk but she left right before you arrived. She’ll be back any time now.” Rose peered down each aisle as Alice talked. “The last row on this side is vintage natural history guides. You know, travel journals, birds, animals. Very fun turn of the century and earlier stuff in here. After the tour, we’ll go over the babies’ schedule and take you up to see the apartment. But let’s go to the other side where I can―”
Blue held up his free hand. Alice had said it so quickly he almost hadn’t caught on. “Wait. What about the apartment?”
“I didn’t get a chance to explain the plan to you yet,” Alice said. Her voice was a little too cheerful. “You know how we’ve been using the other apartment as a sort of nursery, where I can take Aurora and the babies up for lunch or naps.”
“Right.” He could see Rose watching him and he tried his hardest to keep his expression neutral. She was probably wondering what his deal was. He wasn’t a recluse. He loved kids. He didn’t mind having neighbors who thumped the wall and cried through his lunch hour. It was the other bit, the part about the weird way anyone living next door tended to end up engaged or married. He couldn’t help sliding a look at Rose. Her brows were lowered and her eyes narrowed.
Aurora had had enough of the talking and wiggled free. “I wanna color,” she said and ran toward the end of the ranges.
“Should I follow―” Rose started forward.
“Sure, we’ll head over that way. There’s a play room for the kids right there, near the desk.” Alice cleared her throat and turned back to Blue as Rose followed Aurora. “Well, the apartment is included with the position. Rose will share it with the children. Naps, feedings or anytime Paul or I need to bring them up, Rose’s door will be open.” Alice was trying to make it less about Rose and more about the entire family, but Blue knew better. Rose was the tenant, handpicked by Alice to be his neighbor.
Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series Page 100
