“I grew up.” Her voice and manner were soft, as he remembered, but she seemed perfectly poised. He couldn’t reconcile this woman with the plain, shy girl he remembered.
“I work at the Cane College library now,” she continued, “I was just talking to Thomas about the Geneva Bale manuscript. He mentioned you’re interested in acquiring it.” She lifted her inflection at the end like a question.
“Yes. I am.”
“I’ve been working with the Harrison family for months now, arranging for the sale of the manuscript to the library for the Bale collection.”
Andrew arched his eyebrows, noting her cool tone and the disapproving expression in her eyes. “That’s unfortunate. It’s only fair to let you know that I’m committed to buying it.”
She brushed a stray wisp of hair back from her forehead. “Manuscripts like this are not financial investments. Their value is in what they offer to history and literary studies. Private collectors hide them away from the world. Libraries make them part of the rich body of knowledge—which is essential for the advancement of learning in these fields.”
She’d stepped forward out of the fall of sunlight, and he realized how much he’d been mistaken on first sight of her. She was indeed pretty—with classic features and perfect skin—but her radiance was merely a trick of the light.
She looked almost prim now, in her outdated hair and outfit, and she’d actually spoken to him with condescension and disapproval.
Andrew was accustomed to supervising, to leadership, to being in authority. He certainly didn’t appreciate being lectured by a small-town librarian like he was a rowdy little boy.
He gave her a stern look that always cowed his subordinates. “That sounds very impressive, but you have no idea what I plan to do with the manuscript after I buy it.”
His tone ruffled her, annoyed her, rather than intimidating her as he’d expected. “The library has the best collection of Bale artifacts in the world. Whatever your intentions, the library is where the manuscript belongs.”
“I disagree.”
Helen was angry now. She was suppressing it well, but the color in her cheeks had deepened and her hands had fisted at her sides.
Andrew wasn’t happy with her either. He’d been hoping this purchase would go smoothly, but she was clearly going to put up a fight.
He remembered the way Thomas had been looking at her before. She might have more advantages than he’d expected.
Stiffening his spine, Andrew started to work out a different strategy. Helen would find him a formidable adversary. He certainly wouldn’t cave like Thomas to a captivating blush or the tilt of a pretty mouth.
“It’s bound to be awkward,” Thomas put in, distracting them from the gaze that neither Helen nor Andrew had been willing to break first. “But I’m sure we can work something out.”
He was obviously trying to placate them. But Andrew knew there was no way to work this out to everyone’s satisfaction.
Only one of them could buy the manuscript, and he intended for it to be him.
***
“He made me so mad!”
Helen’s father—who everyone in the community referred to as Pastor Jack—leaned back in his desk chair with a familiar expression in his eyes. Half sympathy, half skepticism.
“You should have seen him,” she continued vehemently. “He was actually wearing a suit. In Cane! As if that was supposed to impress us. And he spoke to me like I was one of his employees, like I was an inferior. And his eyes were so cold and arrogant.”
After the encounter with Andrew Cane, she had walked down the block to First Church, where she knew her father would be in his office working on his sermon for Sunday.
She’d been annoyed and frustrated and had needed a sympathetic ear and the opportunity to vent. Ever since her mother had died three years ago, her father was her chief confidant. Talking to her father usually made her feel better, but just the memory of Andrew’s handsome, aloof face roused her anger again.
“He thinks he can just sweep in here and take whatever he wants,” she bit out.
“You know for sure that’s what he’s thinking?”
“Of course. Those boys always had everything—looks, intelligence, talent, popularity. And now he’s made a bunch of money and thinks he’s some powerful businessman. Of course, he feels entitled to whatever he wants.” She scowled as she added, “And he doesn’t even want the manuscript for any good reason.”
“How do you know why he wants to buy it?”
“That’s what he said,” she admitted begrudgingly.
She could very clearly visualize Andrew’s face just fifteen minutes ago—the dark gray eyes, strong nose, tight mouth, and the distinctive line of his jaw. He’d eyed her so coolly and distantly, as if she were barely worth his notice, and he’d refused to listen to her strong case for why the library should acquire the manuscript.
She remembered Andrew from when she was a child. She’d always looked at him from afar as some sort of handsome, perfect prince. Always smiling, always at the center of attention, always charming those around him with his charismatic personality.
The years had matured him into something else. She’d noticed little lines by his eyes and nose—perhaps from stress—and a tightness in his mouth that hadn’t been there before. She certainly hadn’t seen any evidence of charm or charisma, although he was handsome enough that she imagined he probably attracted plenty of women anyway.
When she’d been a child, she’d considered him eminently out of her reach, but she resented the feeling now. She wasn’t going to cave to his sense of authority or entitlement, and she wasn’t going to run away from him, as she had literally run on one mortifying occasion in the back of the church when she’d been ten.
Returning to her present conversation, she added, “Thomas said Andrew wanted the manuscript as an investment. It’s just about money to him.”
“You know that for sure?”
“No, but why else would he want it? He’s not a scholar or a literary historian, and its deeper significance seems to be meaningless to him. The manuscript belongs in the library, and he’s just being selfish and greedy to try to take it from us.”
Her father’s expression, more skeptical than sympathetic now, suddenly made Helen feel ashamed of her attitude. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, looking down at her hands in her lap. “He made me mad.”
“I can see that.”
“I know I’m being resentful and making assumptions and probably judging him unfairly. But I have trouble feeling any sort of sympathy for him—and not just because of the manuscript. He had everything, and he gave it all up. He left it all behind.”
“You think he just gave up?” Her father’s eyebrows had lifted but there was a softer look in his eyes now.
“Yeah. Didn’t he? He left his father, his hometown, his faith.”
“You know his spiritual state?”
Helen swallowed. “Well, not personally. But everyone says…”
Her father didn’t chide her for listening to gossip. Instead, he said mildly, “Andrew Cane was the most devout boy I’ve ever known in all my years pastoring. That’s the truth. Can you imagine what it must have taken for him to let his faith go, even temporarily?”
Helen stared at the floor and thought about that for a long time. She recalled her impressions of Andrew from when he’d been a teenager, and she couldn’t doubt her father’s word. So what had happened to change that?
“No,” she said at last, raising her eyes back up to meet her father’s. “I can’t imagine. Do you think he went through some sort of trauma or something?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken with him in years, but I can’t help but think it’s significant that he’s finally returned to Cane.”
“He came to get the manuscript.”
“Maybe. Or maybe that was the excuse he used to return for deeper reasons.”
Helen silently struggled against the resentment she still felt from
her confrontation with Andrew. “But the manuscript. What if I lose it? I’ve worked so hard.”
She felt like crying at the thought of not getting the manuscript for the library—after all the time, energy, and emotion she’d invested in the process.
Her father gave her a sympathetic smile and didn’t say anything.
With a twist of her mouth, she asked, “Do you think I should try to talk to him again? Just to make sure there are no hard feelings or whatever.”
“It might be a good idea.”
Something cringed inside her at the thought. She’d tried to remain cool and confident as she’d spoken to Andrew earlier, but she’d stumbled over her words, said a couple of stupid things, and basically felt like she’d made a mess of it.
Now she’d be more nervous than ever, and he’d probably make her mad again.
“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me,” she said. “He might take it the wrong way.”
“That’s not your responsibility.” Her father smiled at her—a wide, compelling smile that was exactly like hers. “What do I always say?”
Helen smiled back. Knew the words by heart. “Do the right thing and let God take care of the rest.”
Chapter Three
On Monday, Helen worked up the courage to talk to Andrew again.
She decided to stop by his house after work. She could have telephoned, but cold calls were the bane of her existence. She always felt more comfortable in person. If he wasn’t at home when she got there, at least she could take comfort in having made the effort.
She drove through town, slowed down briefly by the line of traffic through Main Street.
Cane was built in a valley of the Appalachian Mountains. Cane College was on one side of the town, and the older homes on the other. In between was a small downtown area with a number of businesses, a few restaurants, and a small independent grocery store.
Most people who lived in Cane had been born there, except for those who moved to work at the college and the few families who worked in the larger towns nearby but lived in Cane because of the affordable housing.
When Helen turned down a wide, tree-lined street, she couldn’t help but admire the large historic houses, even though she’d seen them for years. The Cane house was at the end of Oak Street, its grounds extending all the way up the mountain.
She felt flutters of anxiety in her belly as she got out of her car and walked up to the stately Georgian home. The Cane house had three stories and eight bedrooms. As a kid, she’d thought it was a mansion.
Helen wasn’t nearly as shy now as she’d been as a girl, but she still preferred to talk with people she knew, with people she was sure would welcome her presence. Who knew how Andrew would greet her?
She saw his fancy black SUV in the drive and pushed away her judgmental assessment of how much the vehicle must have cost. Probably more than the house she lived in.
Andrew was obviously home. It was time for her to get this over with.
She prayed silently as she rang the doorbell.
The door was answered by a middle-aged woman who told her no one was home.
Helen frowned, glancing over to what she knew was Andrew’s SUV. Surely he hadn’t brought more than one car to Cane. Maybe he’d walked somewhere. Or maybe he was home and didn’t want to see her.
There was nothing she could do about it, so she forced back her annoyance at what felt like a dismissal and smiled politely at the woman who must be a housekeeper.
Walking back to her car, she saw a flicker of movement from the trees that lined the yard before it transitioned into woods that sloped up the mountain. She turned her head quick enough to catch someone darting behind the trees.
“Hello?” she called out, “I just came over to…” Her voice trailed off as no one appeared.
She knew she’d seen someone, but she couldn’t imagine Andrew Cane lurking in the trees, hiding from her. The image of the strong, authoritative man doing such a thing tickled her humor, and she had a private giggle about it.
Her curiosity getting the better of her, she walked across the yard toward the trees. “Hello?”
She peered through the line of trees, seeing a creek running through the side yard, parallel to the driveway. She also noticed a tire swing on one of the largest trees. This must have been a great place to grow up.
“Hello?”
Still no answer. She decided to give up. She could hardly trespass in someone else’s yard just because she was sure someone was hiding from her.
She started to turn around when she heard a whimper.
The pitiful sound came from farther up toward the house. It sounded distinctly like someone was in pain.
Her crisis instinct triggered, she hurried toward the sound, avoiding tree roots and wishing she weren’t wearing her granny boots because the high heels kept sinking into the soft ground.
The whimper sounded again, and this time was accompanied by scrabbling noises. She located it as coming from what appeared to be a hatch door in the ground.
With a flare of panic, she wondered if a child had fallen in. “Hello? Is someone hurt?”
No answer. Just more whimpers and scrabbles.
Helen ran over and squatted down to peer into the hatch door opening. It must be an old dugout root cellar, over which the shed had been torn down long ago. It was dark down in the cellar, but she saw something moving when her eyes adjusted.
“Are you all right?” she called down, her voice a bit shaky.
When she heard the next whimper she realized it wasn’t human, and she soon made out the form of a light-colored dog on the dirt floor several feet down.
“Poor little thing,” she murmured. “Did you fall in?”
Without thinking, she climbed down the ladder, wishing she’d chosen to wear slacks today instead of the plaid A-line skirt. The ladder was rather rickety, but it held together as she descended.
The cellar was dark and musty, and the poor little dog tried to slink away from her at first. It limped, however, and couldn’t get very far.
After she’d coaxed it into submission, she ran her hands over its body and discovered that the back right leg was what made it jerk away from her hands.
“Poor old fellow,” she said in a cheerful voice, “Let’s see if we can get you out of here.”
She picked it up and realized it was heavier than she’d thought. Close to thirty pounds. When she approached the ladder, she realized her problem. The ladder wasn’t stable. She’d need both hands to get out of here, and she couldn’t hold the dog and climb at the same time.
She put the dog down and her heart clenched in sympathy as it whimpered. “I know it’s bad. I’ll get some help and be right back. I promise.”
She climbed up, and when her head emerged, she blinked in the daylight. Then she saw another flicker of motion to her right, in the trees.
This time, she caught sight of a slight young woman with shiny brown hair. “Oh, hi there,” Helen called out. “Can you help? There’s an injured dog down here, and I can’t get it up myself.”
The woman froze in place. She was dressed in jeans and a long sleeved shirt. She had a pretty, delicate face and a terrified expression.
“I don’t think it’s serious,” Helen clarified, assuming the woman must think there was a serious emergency. “But can you stand up here at the top and take the dog when I hand him out?”
The other woman still didn’t move.
Not understanding the hesitance, Helen added, “It’s not dangerous. I’ll go down and get him. Just come to the hatch door, will you? He’s a nice little fellow. He won’t bite.”
She started down the ladder again, assuming anyone with half a heart would respond to her request and come to help her.
When she got to the bottom and picked up the dog, she saw the young woman’s anxious face peeking down. She looked college-aged, maybe a little older. Her straight hair was cut in a stylish bob, and her skin was a perfect pale ivory.
He
len had to balance a couple of rungs up on the ladder before she could reach the other woman’s outstretched hands. She sighed in relief when the stranger was able to pull the dog out of the cellar.
Quickly, Helen ascended the ladder, but near the top one of the rungs snapped. She lost her balance, and her hands slid on the old wood, causing stings of pain as she picked up multiple splinters.
Unable to catch herself, Helen landed back on the dirt floor with a jarring thud.
There was a gasp from the hatch opening. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” Helen said, orienting herself enough to assess the damage. She managed to stand up, wincing a little at the bruises she’d probably have on her rear end. “Just sat down hard.”
She tried the climb again, winded and little dizzy from the hard impact. Her hands burned painfully. She managed to get up by skipping the broken rung, and the girl helped heave her out through the hatch door.
“Thanks,” Helen said, carefully lowering herself to the grass and wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “Does he look all right?”
“I think it’s just his leg,” the girl said in an oddly breathless voice. “It was nice of you to go get him.”
“As if I’d leave him down there hurt and alone. Does he have tags? Do you know who he belongs to?”
For the first time, Helen wondered who the girl was.
“He looks like a stray.”
“Then we’ll have to get help for the little guy.”
The young woman scanned Helen’s messy hair, dirty face, and bloodied hands. “I think we better fix you up first. Come on into the house.”
Helen stumbled to her feet and followed, astonished and curious about the relationship of the girl to the Canes.
The housekeeper opened the door for them. “Missy! Are you all right? What happened?” The woman stared at Helen with what looked like blank horror.
Confused, Helen said, “We had a little adventure.”
“She climbed down into the old dugout to rescue this poor dog.” The young woman’s voice still wavered a little, and her gray eyes were huge and nervous. “But she hurt herself.”
No Shadow (Prodigal Sons of Cane) Page 3
