The Pepper In The Gumbo: A Cane River Romance

by Hathaway, Mary Jane

  Alice’s throat closed around the words she wanted to say. She’d thought people like BWK were rare, but maybe in his own way, Paul was a little like him. “I understand,” she said, squeezing his hand, feeling the warmth of his papery skin under her fingers. He’d brought joy to Bix in a way that she couldn’t, and she was so grateful.

  “This might not be the right time, but I don’t know what is.” He sighed. “I don’t want to be tellin’ you how to run your life.”

  “But you’re going to.” Alice braced herself. She respected Bix. Beneath all the offbeat habits and the marital TMI, he was a man who had the wisdom of having lived much longer than her.

  “I know you think you’re doin’ the right thing, but I don’t see how fightin’ Paul makes sense,” Bix said. “City hall did what you wanted but nobody’s happy. Charlie said she wasn’t gonna work here anymore if you stopped the construction.”

  Alice froze. “She said that?”

  “Yep, these kids take their technology very seriously. She feels like you’re keeping the city in the Dark Ages.”

  “And where did you hear that it was approved? I just got the phone call.”

  “Everybody knows.” He shrugged. “Small town, sha.”

  “I just don’t think it belongs here. Is that so bad? They didn’t follow the zoning bylaws and nobody even got to vote.” She heard the frustration in her own voice.

  “I know. But it’s done now. The store will bring in a lot of business to the boardwalk.” Bix held up his e-reader. “I don’t see how selling these is so different than what we do.”

  “That’s not what the store is about,” Alice said. “It’s games and gadgets and… junk that people don’t need. We’re becoming a nation of mindless screen-gazers. Nobody ever talks to each other anymore. It’s all Facebook and Twitter and email.”

  “I would try to change your mind, but I don’t think a thing I say will convince you otherwise. Once you’re set on somethin’, you follow it all the way to the very bitter end,” Bix said. “And that’s not always a bad thing, Miss Alice. Lots of folks can’t stay a course to save their lives. You’re stubborn, and I like that about you. I just hope you’re ready for gettin’ your way.” When she stayed silent Bix reached down for the bright-eyed tabby that had come to wind a path around his ankles. “Come on Miss Elizabeth, we’ve got sorting to do.” He put her over one shoulder and turned for the back room.

  Alice plopped into her desk chair and stared at Van Winkle’s sleeping body. She needed to forget about Paul and his store for a minute and do some work. Flipping open the laptop a little more forcefully than necessary, she gritted her teeth as it connected to the Internet.

  She checked her email first and felt a smile touch her lips. BWK had written her even though he didn’t seem interested in being friends in person.

  Dear Alice,

  I’ve taken the liberty of contacting Mr. Crocket. Please forgive me if I’ve overstepped the boundaries of friendship but I don’t believe anyone should be forced to share shelf space, especially with greedy, neglectful nieces.

  Your BWK

  P.S.

  We walked too straight for Fortune’s end,

  We loved too true to keep a friend;

  At least we’re tired, my heart and I.

  Elizabeth Barrett Browning

  Alice read the note twice, three times. He hadn’t said ‘your friend’, just ‘your’. She couldn’t understand how BWK knew Mr. Crocket or how he could have contacted him. The verse was a sad post script, and her stomach rolled every time she read it.

  She clicked the reply button and typed out a quick response.

  Dear BWK,

  I don’t understand. I know I’ll have to call Mr. Crocket to get all of the details but let me say that I would rather battle this horrid niece for years than lose your friendship.

  That verse sounds suspiciously like a goodbye.

  Your friend always,

  Alice

  Alice stood up and paced the floor, returning to refresh her inbox several times. There was no response. She felt tears prick her eyes. She hadn’t known him very long, but he was a friend, and she had very few friends.

  Sitting back down in her chair, she took a deep breath and dialed Mr. Crocket’s number.

  “Yep, Miss Augustine, I was expecting your call.” He sounded extremely cheerful.

  “I’m not sure exactly what happened here. Could you give me the details?”

  There was a short silence. “It appears you have a wealthy benefactor. He wishes to remain anonymous but he’s compensated my client for the oversight in the will.”

  Alice choked back a response about how it was clearly no oversight. “Compensated? What does that mean?”

  “I’m not at liberty to give a figure but your friend has offered a sum of money, and we have accepted, that she feels accurately satisfied her suit.”

  She couldn’t respond. She slowly replaced the receiver in the cradle and stared around the store. BWK had paid of Norma Green and the store was completely hers, as it had always been.

  Alice knew she should take a few minutes, or a few hours, before she responded. Instead, she pulled up her email and started to type.

  Dear BWK,

  I understand now. When one party is so completely in the debt of another, can a friendship survive? It’s true, you ‘loved too true to keep a friend’ but I’ll always be grateful.

  I’m sad. I can’t help it. I will miss our conversations.

  I keep thinking of those George Meredith lines:

  Not until the fire is dying in the grate

  Look we for any kinship in the stars.

  Thank you.

  Your Alice

  P.S. I’m sending The Duke’s Secret today. I look forward to seeing it on the site.

  Alice sat back and wiped a hand across her eyes. It was silly. She hadn’t even known him that long. She stared up at the ceiling, thinking of how fast life changed. One day someone is trying to wrest your treasure away, the next someone is giving it back. Along with the news about the injunction, it was a probably the best day she’d had in weeks.

  Except that she didn’t feel particularly happy. In fact, she was wiping tears from her face with both hands now, small sobs escaping. She buried her face in her arms and cried. She’d gotten what she wanted and but it didn’t feel the way she’d thought it would. It felt like she’d ruined everything.

  ***

  After he heard the petition had been approved, Paul retreated to his room. Andy knew better than to bother him. Paul had been worried that Alice would be crushed when her petition was denied. He should have been worried about his company. Along with BWK’s beau geste that rescued her store, but doomed the balance of their friendship, Paul had never felt so low.

  The hours crept by and it was time for bed. He tossed and turned, finally getting out of bed and spending hours on the Browning Wordsworth Keats site, responding to fans and catching up on email. It made him feel just a little better.

  When the sun rose, Paul slipped down the stairs and trudged down the block to Babet’s. Even the smell of maple-cured bacon and hot grits didn’t lift his mood. He ate without really tasting it, then carried an order of biscuits and sausage home for Andy. The air seemed colder, wafting off the river and across the sidewalk, sending a chill through his T-shirt. Paul zipped up his sweatshirt and thought of New York City. He loved the bustle and the smell of Autumn in the city. He’d never thought of it as home, exactly, but he really didn’t belong here, either.

  The hallway was quiet as Paul opened the door and slipped inside. He didn’t want to see Alice right now. They’d laughed together the night before, joking about lawsuits and legal maneuvers. It wasn’t funny now.

  Andy’s eyes lit up when he looked in the bag. “Biscuits? You’re a real friend. Or you’re trying to make me fat so you get all the girls.” He looked up. “Sorry. That came out wrong. I know you’re… you’ve got problems…”

  Paul shrugge
d. “No big deal.” He dropped onto the couch wishing he’d had at least a few hours of sleep. Watching the Saturday-morning financial reports wasn’t the way Paul liked to start the day. The overly-somber reporters and the dire projections irritated him.

  He sat up as the next segment opened. Pictures of the Natchitoches historic district flashed across the screen, tall historic buildings lining the river. A news anchor intoned, “A temporary stay was approved today against ScreenStop, the billion-dollar tech company, and its newest flagship store.” The picture changed to one of the distinctive brick roads in Natchitoches and a horse drawn carriage frequented by tourists. “Local residents objected to the construction of the modern building in the historic district of Natchitoches, saying it illegally bypassed zoning laws. The grand opening of the store was scheduled for the twentieth of this month, withJared Darren scheduled to perform.”

  The picture cut to a crowd of people outside another ScreenStop store. A spotty-faced boy with shaggy hair spoke into the camera. “I’ve been waiting for this release for months. Then I read about the scavenger hunt and the prize so I emptied my college account to pay for tickets down there. Now it’s canceled. I hope they’re gonna refund me all my money.”

  The picture flashed to the Natchitoches ScreenStop store, abandoned and silent. Several dirt movers sat idle where the parking lot should be. “The company spokesperson declined to comment at this time. Though ScreenStop stock is expected to dip in response to the current troubles, long-term predictions for the company are still strong. However, time will tell whether they will be able to hold onto their fan base after this disappointment.”

  “It wasn’t residents. It was only one resident. This is bad. This is really bad.” Andy stared at the screen, both hands clutching his head.

  The reporter continued on with the rest of the news and Paul muted it. “We need to make sure this opening happens.” He grabbed a laptop and logged onto the official ScreenStop site. The red seraph glowed brightly against the black background. Paul paused, thinking of Alice’s copy of Seraphim and Other Stories. That symbol once had meaning just for him, a blend of his favorite poetry and his gaming passion. Now it was intertwined with Alice, just like everything else in his life. Everywhere he looked, he was reminded of her. He couldn’t understand how in just a few weeks she had become so much a part of his life. Or maybe she always had been, her life mirroring his from the beginning. Maybe they had walked around the world for years, unaware of each other as their lives flew forward on a trajectory that would finally collide right here in this tiny town.

  “Need help, sparkly vampire?” Andy was watching him, a worried look on his face.

  “Funny. And no, I got this.” Paul shrugged off his thoughts. “We’ll have to make sure the warehouse is up to code for that kind of crowd. We’ll fly down Tom Wallace and Nancy Sandoz. They handled the Houston opening on a tight timeline.”

  “I really didn’t think she’d get it approved,” Andy said. “You’ve got to hand it to her. On the outside she’s so sweet and pretty, but inside she’s ruthless. She’s not afraid to crush anybody in her way.” He grimaced as he reconsidered his words. “Sorry.”

  “I’m not crushed.” He focused on the screen. “Just surprised. I wasn’t thinking this would happen, either.”

  Andy didn’t say anything for a moment. “She sort of reminds me of you, actually.”

  “Oh, no. Ruthless?” Paul sat forward, trying to type and talk at the same time. “Nothing like me.”

  “Sure she is. Maybe it’s the Southern charm. She’s soft-spoken― wait, until we poke holes in her mantel piece.”

  “She didn’t even yell.” Paul flinched inwardly at the memory. She’d forgiven him but he still felt bad.

  “True. But I guess it’s more about how she’s so concerned for how things should be, like she’s from a hundred years ago. People don’t act like that now. I get the feeling she really didn’t want to sue, but she was doing it for some kind of ideal, the greater good.” Andy seemed like he was just warming up. “She’s making a sacrifice. Everyone’s going to be angry, but she went ahead with it because she believes she’s right. Even if she suffers for it.”

  “Beau geste,” Paul mumbled.

  “What?”

  “It’s from a book. Here, should I say, ‘inconsequential lawsuit,’ or ‘minor legal speed bump’?”

  “The second one,” Andy said.

  “Okay, almost done.” He wanted Andy to stop trying to figure out Alice’s motivations and how she was working against herself. His sleep-deprived mind couldn’t tangle with the problem anymore. He had a company to drag out of the internet gossip sites.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Once a new part of technology rolls over you, if you’re not part of the steamroller,

  you’re part of the road.”― Stewart Brand

  Alice ran her hand over Van Winkle’s sleeping body and tried to sense the usual peace of a Saturday morning spent in By the Book. The bright, fall sun shone through the side windows, and the familiar scent of old books and good coffee filled the air. It should have been the most perfect of mornings, but all she felt was a knot in her stomach and an ache behind her eyes.

  She hadn’t slept well. She hadn’t heard anything from Paul, hadn’t even glimpsed him in the hallway. Of course he wouldn’t want to talk to her, but somewhere inside there had been a tiny spark of hope that he could separate this lawsuit from the two of them. It had been foolish to expect that kind of charity. Her whole body felt heavy and sluggish with the knowledge.

  She’d paired a dark blue silk top with delicate pearl buttons, and a fitted skirt. It usually made her feel pretty and feminine. Today, nothing could shift her mood. The only thing she had to look forward to was Charlie coming in for the day.

  Alice treasured their weekend girl time, with no interruptions from Bix and his unintentionally embarrassing remarks. They would sort inventory, or pore over catalogues, chatting like only two book-lovers could. Charlie would try to convince Alice to read something with a dragon or a broadsword on the cover, while Alice would try to convince Charlie to read something else, anything else. When they closed, Alice treated Charlie to dinner at Babet’s Diner. Charlie reminded Alice so much of herself at that age. Charlie’s family was happy and intact, but something about Charlie’s teenage worries reminded Alice of the girl she’d been, raised by a mamere in a house full of older brothers. Sometimes, a girl needed to talk to someone who wasn’t related, and Alice was happy to be that person. Not that she had a lot of life experience, but she tried her best.

  “Miss Alice,” Charlie said, already talking as she came through the door. “I won’t be helping you today. Or any other day. I can’t believe you kept ScreenStop from opening.” She was panting with anger.

  Alice stood up, struggling to switch between the idea of a normal Saturday in the store with Charlie, and the angry girl who stood before her. “Okay, come sit down and let’s talk. Let me explain why I―”

  “No!” Charlie crossed her arms over her chest. “I always thought you were cool, bein’ a girl and havin’ your own store. But that’s not really important, is it? It’s about how we treat each other.”

  “But I had a reason for the lawsuit. It’s not what you―”

  “You can’t explain it. Not in any way that changes what you did. I just can’t believe you’d do this to Paul, especially after how he offered that grand prize for the scavenger hunt. You just don’t get it and you never will.” Charlie turned back toward the door, blond hair flying out behind her.

  Alice stood there, shock coursing through her. She reached for her necklace, and realized for the hundredth time that her parents’ rings weren’t there. Their loss made every situation worse, like a second wave of pain.

  Paul had won over everyone in town in just a few weeks. He’d given Bix an e-reader and suddenly Bix was on Paul’s side. Charlie had been sucked into the promise of a party with some kind of big prize. She tried to think c
learly, but anger spiked inside. Paul thought he could buy off the world. Maybe that’s why he’d bought the Arthur Rackham portfolio the very first day. For just one horrible moment she wondered if his interest in her was part of a plan, if his kisses had an ulterior motive. She brushed the thought away. Paul would have to be a sociopath to be so appear so generous and noble, but be so scheming in real life.

  The little bell on the door jingled and Mrs. Olivier walked through. She carried a large leather tote and was dressed in a pale-blue linen pantsuit. Alice stood up, but didn’t speak, feeling like a frog on the highway in the headlights of an oncoming truck. Last night, Mrs. Olivier had been polite, if a bit blunt. This morning might be a completely different matter.

  “Mornin’ Alice,” she said.

  Alice nodded. She adjusted the front of her blouse and smoothed her skirt over her hips.

  “You look lovely. Are you going out?” Mrs. Olivier might have just been asking an innocent question but Alice was almost positive she suspected Alice had a lunch date lined up.

  “No, I just thought it was…” She looked down.

  “Pretty? But you always look pretty.” Mrs. Olivier smiled. “Now, I’m sure you know why I’m here. You hear that?”

  Alice shook her head.

  “It’s the perfect silence of a building not being constructed.”

  “Oh, yes. The petition.” She felt her cheeks go warm. She never should have gone over to dinner. Now it felt as if she were repaying their hospitality with a stab in the back.

  Mrs. Olivier reached out and took her hand. “Alice, dear, I understand you love this neighborhood, but so does Paul. He would never hurt it in any way.”

  “It just doesn’t fit here, Mrs. Olivier. I’m sorry.” Alice straightened her spine. Paul couldn’t love this place as much as she did.

  Mrs. Olivier took her hand back. “He’s heard that a lot in his life, you know. That he doesn’t fit somewhere. He doesn’t belong. I think that was his plan, in the beginning, to come back and prove that he really did belong.”