She wasn’t first for anyone else, not even her parents. She was sure of it. In fact, there were plenty of times her whole family had been together, and she’d only found out about it after the fact. They’d forgotten to even ask if she could make it home for the gathering.
Rem put Flannery first, above anyone else, and it made no sense to risk his friendship for something that might fade and whither. She smiled to herself. She would never throw away something so real for a fairy tale promise that might never come true. Austin and Charlie were happy, but they hadn’t had to choose between love and friendship. It had been so simple for them.
A cold drop of rain fell from the edge of her umbrella and directly into Flannery’s coat collar, sliding down the back of her neck with a shock. Shivering, she readjusted her coat. Life was easy for some people. They were born to parents who were devoted to them, cherished by close friends, and love fell into their hands at just the right time. But not everyone was so lucky. Sometimes you were thankful for what you got and didn’t complain about what you didn’t. And she was thankful for Rem. However she got to be with him, it was enough.
“Pippi!”
Flannery turned toward the familiar voice, putting a hand to her heart. It was as if he’d stepped right out of her thoughts. Rem jogged across the wet street toward her, dodging puddles and looking much drier than he should during a rainstorm. He always looked appropriately professorial with his jacket and button up shirt but his hair stuck up like it had since he was ten. A memory flashed through her mind of the day she’d convinced Rem to let her cut his hair. At eleven, she was determined to be a hairdresser. Flannery had seen the hairstylist working on her mother and was sure she could get Rem’s cowlick to behave. She’d promised Rem he’d look so much more handsome after she’d worked her magic. It had been right before picture day and Flannery still felt a little guilty about it.
“Hey, Pip.” Taking the umbrella from her, he held it over the both of them.
“Hey, Punky.” She smiled sweetly. He hated that nickname but she couldn’t resist it sometimes. She really didn’t mind that he called her Pippi. It was the first book she’d ever shared with him and when he’d given it back to her, he’d told her that Flannery was just like the girl in the story. Fierce, imaginative Pippi Longstocking was nothing like the chubby, shy, unpopular girl who spent all her time reading, but for some reason Rem could see how they were the same. That was the moment that Flannery had decided that Remington Becket was the nicest boy she’d ever met.
He looked down at her shoes. “You’re soaked. What are you doing out here in the rain? Where’s your car?”
“I already have a mama, thank you. Did you just come out of the Courthouse?”
“Sure did. Which way are you headed?”
“You don’t have to walk with me. I know my way around.” Her big surprise wasn’t going to stay a surprise if he walked her all the way to By the Book.
He didn’t laugh, just waited expectantly until she pointed toward Front Street. As he started walking, she fell into step beside him. There was something about his lanky stride that always made her smile.
She wanted to know what he’d been doing at the Courthouse, but was afraid he’d ask more questions about her errand on Front Street. “The rain is falling all around, it falls on field and tree,” she said.
“It rains on the umbrellas here, and on the ships at sea.” He finished the verse and smiled down at her. “I packed that book. Not sure why. Probably should have left it in Boston.”
Flannery knew why. Rem had a weakness for children’s literature in general and children’s poetry in particular. Robert Louis Stevenson’s little book, A Child’s Garden of Verses, was just the kind of thing Rem would carry a thousand miles for no good reason.
“Are you missing Boston yet?” she asked.
He glanced over at her. “Are you?”
“Not at all. You know how much I enjoyed the city, especially the music. Remember the Sibelius concert?”
“I do.” The memory seemed to make him happy.
“But this is home.”
“Same here.”
“Too bad you’re only staying for a semester.” Flannery didn’t understand why Rem didn’t just transfer to a university in Louisiana. She was sure he could find a job closer to home, just like she had.
He didn’t answer.
“I know tenure track is a big deal, but maybe you could get tenure and then move. Maybe that’s not a very nice thing to do, but―”
“All’s fair in love and academia.” He lifted his briefcase. “Anyway, since I can tell you’re dying to know but won’t ask, I was making copies of some old records stored in the Courthouse. I thought Gideon would have them down at the archives, or maybe Henry had copies over at Oakland Plantation, but seems like I hit a dead spot in their research.”
“Lucky you,” she said. Maybe that was the difference between a historian and a librarian. She hated tracking down information that should be available in several areas, while he acted like it was a cross between a treasure hunt and Christmas. “Is this for your class?”
“Maybe. Not sure if I’ll include it. I just hate to have a gap.”
“You mean you hate it when your students ask you a question you can’t answer.”
He bumped her with an elbow. “That never happens and you know it. So, where’s your car? Why are you headed this way?”
“It stopped raining for five minutes. I convinced myself that if I walked to the library from the riverfront, then it wouldn’t rain on the way back.”
She was grateful that he didn’t comment on her absurd optimism in the middle of the wettest winter Natchitoches had ever seen. “You should have called me. I would have given you a ride.”
Flannery paused at the corner and gave him a whole body scan. “You’re hiding a car somewhere on your person?”
“Yes, ma’am. Stuart Little loaned it to me. It’s in my brief case.” He looked across the intersection. The brown river flowing down the gutter had overwhelmed the storm drain and a large puddle spread in front of the curb. “Here, hold the umbrella.”
Flannery took it without question, then let out a squawk as he lifted her just high enough to be off the ground, stepped forward into the puddle and swung her just far enough away from the water. “But now your shoes are wet,” she said after he’d set her down
“They were wet before,” he said and took back the umbrella. “So, why didn’t you just wait at the library for a while? It’s the middle of the afternoon. You have an appointment in the Historic District?”
If anyone else had peppered her with so many questions, Flannery would have been annoyed. Rem was only curious because he usually knew everything about her day. She didn’t make a point of filling him in. It just seemed to happen. It helped her organize her schedule in her head if she talked it over. Now that she thought about it, her particular habit of listing out her next day’s activities was probably as boring as watching grass grow, but Rem never complained.
“I’m meeting Alice,” she said.
“Meeting?”
She’d tried to edge around the fact that she had an appointment but he’d caught it right away. “I said I’d be there―” she checked her watch, “― in two minutes but I saw Bernice and then Charlie. I should have started sooner. And maybe not talked so much along the way.”
They stopped at the corner to let a car pass by and Flannery could see By the Book from where they stood. The three story, century-old building was nestled in the middle of the Natchitoches Historic District, flanked on both sides by smaller but similar buildings. It was decorated with intricate lace ironwork railings and wide balconies stretched across the front of every floor. She’d been to the bookstore hundreds of times in her life, not just because her grandpa worked there or because she was a librarian, but because it was the greatest antique bookstore in the South. Maybe in the whole country.
The traffic cleared and they quickly crossed the street, takin
g refuge under the wide awnings of the local storefronts. Rem lowered the umbrella, shaking it out before folding it up and handing it back to Flannery. “Are you looking at something in the rare book room?”
“I wish.” Flannery imagined an hour perusing the incredible collection of children’s literature in the climate controlled area. There was a folio of Arthur Rackham illustrations for Peter Pan in Kensington Garden, and Flannery had heard rumors that it was valued at nearly sixty thousand dollars. Someone had told her that Paul had purchased the folio before he and Alice had started dating, then he’d given it back to her. Flannery never quite figured out how that had come to pass. She’d have to ask Alice to explain some day.
Rem turned to her and folded his arms. “Pip, unless this is about my Christmas present, you look like you’re plotting something nefarious. Bank heist? Kidnapping? Gothic romance read-a-thon and I’m not invited?”
Flannery snorted, imagining what a Jane Eyre-inspired sleep-over would entail. They could dress up as the fortune teller, pretend to be the crazy wife in the attic, speak French, and sketch their portraits. Mr. Rochester the beat-up looking stray that lived in the bookstore wouldn’t participate, but Darcy, the large black cat would probably come prowl around them with his disapproving glare.
Flannery sighed. She had so wanted it to be a surprise. Rem always knew everything about her life, and for once, she wanted to do something he wasn’t expecting.
“I’m moving in,” she said.
“Where?”
“Here. With you.” He still hadn’t caught on so she smiled brightly and pointed upstairs. “In the bookstore.”
“I―” The smile slid from his face. He looked down the sidewalk at the large ceramic pots of red-orange geraniums, and bright blue wooden trim around the store. He was quiet for several very long seconds. The rain pounded down against the awning, sounding louder in the silence between them.
“Flannery,” he said slowly, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Chapter Four
“Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.”
― Robert Frost
Gideon knocked softly on the door to Henry’s office and waited for her to respond. Oakland Plantation was quiet that day and he wondered if the rest of the staff was doing work in one of the outbuildings, or if they had taken the day off. The cold rain seemed to be keeping the visitors away. He hadn’t seen any small tours wandering around the property. Winter was a slow time for the Cane River Creole National Historical Park, but Henry was busier than ever. She was working hard to make sure everything would run smoothly during her maternity leave. Gideon hadn’t told her yet that he might be taking a forced leave of his own. It wasn’t something a woman wanted to hear in the last weeks before birth.
There was no sound from inside the office, but he knew she was there the same way he knew she was having a bad day.
Bilbo sniffed at the door and looked up at his master. Gideon lifted a hand in a “just wait” motion. The Irish setter refocused on the door.
Gideon considered his own certainty and figured a scientist would proclaim Gideon’s knowledge came from his subconscious picking up on tiny, insignificant signs. Like how low the reception room coffee pot was, or maybe the dried mud tracked in the entryway and the pile of unopened mail on the reception desk. But however Gideon came to the knowledge, he really didn’t care to question why. Henry had taught him that. Sometimes a little mystery was a good thing.
He knocked on the door again. Louder, this time.
“Come in,” she called, and Gideon pushed open the door. It took a moment for him to find his voice. No matter how many days he woke up beside the woman, her beauty was still a shock sometimes. It was something he never mentioned to her. She was sensitive about it in the way some people would be if they had a shriveled limb or a disfiguring scar. He understood why, but it was still difficult not to tell her.
“I brought you some hot chocolate and a book of Teasdale poetry,” he said in Creole French. When Henry was having a bad day, sometimes just hearing their childhood language gave her comfort. He held out the travel mug and the little leather volume. “Nothing you haven’t read, but it’s a pretty little volume.”
She struggled out from behind her desk and limped toward him. “Bless you,” she said, giving him a kiss.
“Feet hurt?”
“I tripped down the porch steps when I went to check on the subsurface work in the old slave and tenant house.” She pointed to a slightly swollen right ankle. “I’m a disaster.”
“You’re―” Beautiful. “A trooper. Just a few more weeks.” He set the tea and book on her desk, and gently guided her into the armchair in the corner. He wished she would start her maternity leave early. She could be safely at home. Gideon caught his train of thought and was irritated at how many times he didn’t give her the benefit of the doubt. Henry would know when it was time to stay home and rest. She wouldn’t risk the baby or herself. He needed to trust her instincts. “You should elevate it while I go get some ice.”
“I did. Clark was ready to call the ambulance. I thought he was going to boil a pot of water and get the scissors, too.”
“Don’t let him deliver this child. Then we’d have to call him Clark.” Gideon made a mental note to thank the old caretaker the next time he saw the man. He was over eighty and although he tended to recite long-winded stories of the good old days, Clark was also wise in a way that some men never achieved.
“Or Clarkette.” Henry reached out and brushed Gideon’s hair back from his forehead. “Any reason for the visit?” she asked.
“Bilbo wanted to come check on you. He noticed you didn’t sleep well last night.”
She tried not to smile. Once she’d accused him of using the dog as an excuse and now he pretended Bilbo was running the show. “Tell him that he’s going to be doing double duty soon. We have to teach him to fetch diapers.”
“Or change them,” Gideon said hopefully.
“That would be very useful, indeed.” Henry tried to bend over to give Bilbo a scratch behind the ears, but ended up leaning sideways, hand outstretched. Bilbo bumped her hand with his head and licked her palm.
“I saw Ruby this morning. She said Flannery is moving into your old apartment over the bookstore.”
Henry straightened up, surprise on her face. “I thought Rem had moved in there.”
“He did. She must be moving into the one next door…” He blinked. “Oh, well, now.”
“I always knew those two were perfect for each other.” Henry was so excited she was almost hopping in her seat, which was adorable and concerning all at once. She might pull a muscle if she kept it up.
“Don’t count your chicks before they hatch.”
Henry stopped her celebration long enough to fix him with a look.
“I admit the odds strongly favor a wedding in their future,” he said hurriedly.
“They’re a perfect match. Your cousin is the kindest, most handsome historian I know―” she held up a finger at the small sound of protest he made. “― besides my own husband. And Flannery is a real character. They don’t make them like her anymore.”
“I know they got on real well but that doesn’t mean―”
“Have you seen those two together? I’ve never seen two people more in love, while insisting they’re not in love.”
Gideon had no reason to doubt Henry’s verdict. His wife was one of those people who came along so rarely that they were nearly an urban legend. A human lie detector, her ability to spot a fib with perfect accuracy used to be her greatest burden. It still made for some painful moments, but she was learning to accept her gift. “Yes, they might be in love, and have been for a long time. But that still doesn’t make them more likely to end up together,” he said.
Frowning at him, she said, “Mais, how do you figure that?”
He gently rubbed her ankle as he organized his thoughts. “I think it might be easier to fall in love with someone
than to admit you’ve been in love with a person for a very long time, and simply couldn’t say anything.”
Her enthusiasm faded. “I can’t argue there,” she said softly.
“We can’t assume Flannery and Rem will choose to be together. Maybe they feel safer as friends.”
“Safer? It’s not like love is a life-threatening disease.”
“I remember how difficult it was for me to tell you that I loved you,” he said, feeling a residual wave of anxiety, like a chill had entered the room. But although she knew now that he loved her, he still felt the old, familiar fear when he had to give voice to hard truths. It had been months since Gideon had been forced to say anything that Henry didn’t know already. She usually sensed a change in his behavior, put the pieces together, and drew it out of him when they were somewhere comfortable, like in front of their fire or walking the river banks. Sometimes she never said anything at all, respecting his privacy and waiting for him to bring it up on his own. She trusted him, and he trusted that she wouldn’t try to ferret out any thoughts that he didn’t want to speak aloud.
But for the past week, Gideon had worked hard to keep any hint of his anxiety from Henry. She was so close to their baby’s due date. He didn’t want anything to cause her grief or worry. He wasn’t a great liar, and even if he was, he’d never met a person who could keep something from Henry. No, Gideon had simply worked to redirect Henry from asking anything about the archives or the new board they were electing. If she did, she would know within moments what he didn’t want to tell her.
Modern Christians denied they could ever be so Old Testament, but children did suffer for the sins of their fathers, and they always would. Henry’s baby was only a whisper away from sharing the burden of Gideon’s crimes. When he’d been hired, the head of the Natchitoches Archives had been willing to give him a chance, despite being a convicted felon. Now, six years later, Mr. (()) had retired, and the new head wasn’t as forgiving. He’d asked that the board review Gideon’s employment, stating that the archives should fall into line with federal and state hiring practices.
Until Winter Comes Again: (An Inspirational Contemporary Romance) (Cane River Romance Book 6) Page 3
