2 Emma, Mr. Knightley, and Chili-Slaw Dogs

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course I knew what I was doin’. I just didn’t realize they’d already added it. I didn’t taste a thing. It must have been real light and lots of syrup. When I saw that bottle in the kitchen I just thought I would help out.”

  “I see how they might be irritated when the guests started passing out all over the living room.”

  She snorted. “Passing out woulda been an improvement. Charlie Connelly tried to kiss Dr. Sunderlin’s wife and she thought he was a bit forward.”

  “She slapped him silly.” He could still hear the sound in his head. Kathleen Sunderlin had a good forehand from all those Thursday morning doubles matches with the ladies.

  “And then Elaine Connelly joined in faster than green grass through a goose. Those two girls went a-hair pullin’ and a-toe stompin’ like they were protecting their men’s honor.”

  Brooks sighed. Maybe bringing Blanche was tempting fate. He just wanted to look around. Maybe talk to Marshall a little bit. Not with his fists, although it sounded real nice. “Well, there won’t be any hair pulling inside so let’s go in real quiet like.”

  “It’s your visit.” She shrugged. “But when it’s over a woman, anything can happen.”

  He started to remind her it was over old buckets and rag rugs but he just shook his head.

  The shop was on a wide, tourist-friendly part of Oxford. It took a while to find parking, but soon he was standing in front of a window display of the Ashley’s best china. American primitives were hung from pegs around the large glass windows. Grandpa’s Attic was written in gold letters. The irony of the title made anger expand in his chest. Marshall should have titled it ‘Everybody’s Attic’. He was clearing out the best houses in the state.

  “I don’t think Absalom will be welcome in here.” He hooked his leash to the pole in front of the store. “Stay.”

  The charming little string of brass bells announced their arrival and a young woman stepped from behind the counter. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen, with rosy cheeks and long, straight hair. Her pressed shirt and slacks were professional-looking even if her eyes flitted from Brooks to Blanche with a bit of stranger anxiety.

  “Welcome to Grandpa’s Attic. Is there anythin’ special you’re looking for?”

  “No, no, just peekin’ around.” Blanche waved a hand. “Maybe primitives, if you’ve got ‘em.”

  “Oh, we have a wonderful selection. Come on back here.” She led them to a large room packed with wooden and iron and tin. “Let me know if you need anything more.”

  Brooks gazed around. He recognized the old skittle board where he and Caroline used to play a counting game with marbles. He touched the tiny tag hanging from a string. 800 dollars. The multi-colored striped wooden toys they always thought were some kind of bowling pins were marked Indian clubs, 500 dollars. The small wooden skis they used to strap on and use on the back stairs, 300 dollars. The head form for wigs, the painted child’s toy hoop, the old weather vane, the iron shovel for the fire, the washboard they’d rubbed with spoons to make terrible music, it was all here.

  A wave of anger washed over him so fast it made him dizzy. Her whole attic seemed crammed in this room. Caroline’s family had touched these items for hundreds of years and now they were for sale in a crooked antique shop. His gaze roved upward and at first he didn’t believe what he was seeing. On the wall, near the top, was a long strip of painted letters and numbers. His heart stopped in his chest.

  Stepping closer, squinted, looking for the tell-tale mark. And there it was, right on ‘C’. A tiny scrape through the curve of the letter, a scrape Caroline had made one when she was pretending to teach him the letters to his name.

  “Well, is this adorable? It’s a glove turner!” Blanch was working two ends of a gizmo that looked like a giant clapper. “You sewed the gloves, tucked them on, and then this turned them inside-out. How smart is that?”

  He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The tag dangled near enough for him to read: 1800 dollars. He was so angry he felt light headed. Manning had told him someone had broken into the old schoolhouse. He’d thought it was kids, looking for something to steal. Apparently, it had been adults, looking for something to steal. At first glance, he hadn’t noticed anything missing, since the expensive copper pipes were still there and the large teacher’s desk.

  “Look at this one.” Blanche waved a cleaver around. The end shaped like a horse head, hole for the eye completing the picture. “This is a great piece. I bet I could cook real well with this sort of chopper.”

  She glanced up at him, as if realizing they weren’t on a shopping trip. She whispered loudly enough to carry clear out the door. “Did you find anything?”

  He nodded. “A few things.” Like the entire room. It was as if he were walking through Caroline’s attic. The memories twisted in his heart, almost painful in their clarity. The worst part, there wasn’t really anything they could do. Her mother had given up the pieces willingly. And he couldn’t prove the teaching stick was from Badewood. “We should go. I just came to check it out.”

  Blanche set down the cleaver and nodded. “Up to you. I could always try to sweet-talk the truth out of him.”

  Brooks choked back a laugh. His grandma had high regard for her own sweet-talking abilities. It worked on him, sure. On a crooked antiques dealer, maybe not so much.

  As they passed through the hallway, he heard voices raised in anger. He held up a hand to Blanche and tried to listen.

  “I’m tired of being your errand girl. I don’t want to do this anymore.” The high voice was near tears, cracking on the final word.

  “Too bad.” Obviously a man, and he would bet the farm that it was Marshall. “You signed up for this. You took money for the job. It’s not finished.”

  “I’m finished. I’ve been to every mansion in three states. I can’t go to one more party and spew that crap about the book deal. Eventually someone will check it out.”

  “That’s not my problem. Set up a fake website. Put out a news release. You thought it was a great plan four months ago and you’ve certainly made enough from it.”

  There was the sound of a door slamming. Brooks stepped to the side, trying to see down the hallway. A woman appeared, her long dark hair swinging from side to side and she stomped out of the shop.

  “Is that who we’re looking for?” Blanche whispered behind him.

  He shook his head. That wasn’t who he was looking for, but now that he’d seen her, it all made sense. “I’m done here. We should head out.”

  They exited the shop in a hurry, brushing off the salesgirl’s offers to take a card. Brooks unlooped Absalom’s leash and quickly unlocked the car.

  “We should stop for lunch. I need something to keep me going. Shoppin’ can be such a drain on an elderly lady’s reserves.”

  “Elderly?” He shot her a glance. “But you’re right about the food. You choose. I’ll take wherever you want to go.” He didn’t have any appetite. There was nothing left for him to feel but anger.

  “I’ve a hankering for some pulled pork. Does that sound good to you?”

  “Sure does.” Pulled pork, pork chops, dog biscuits. It all sounded the same.

  All he wanted right now was a few minutes with Marshall in a secluded area where they could have a little talk, man to man.

  There he was, among the standers-by, where he ought not to be; he ought to be dancing, - not classing himself with the husbands, and fathers, and whist-players […]so young as he looked! […] His tall, firm, upright figure, among the bulky forms and stooping shoulders of the elderly men, was such as Emma felt must draw every body's eyes[…] He moved a few steps nearer, and those few steps were enough to prove in how gentlemanlike a manner, with what natural grace, he must have danced, would he but take the trouble. Whenever she caught his eye, she forced him to smile; but in general he was looking grave.-- Emma

  Chapter Nineteen

  The old barn was opened, both doors pulled wide. Car
oline stepped out of her car, drawing a deep breath of what must be freshly mown alfalfa. The frogs were calling to each other and a few crickets joined the chorus. It was a magical night, perfect in every way. The humidity had let up to a bearable level and she felt like she could inhale without drowning. The fine hairs moved on the back of her neck. Turning, she saw a man walking toward her across the gravel drive. His deep blue morning coat was perfectly cut and the breeches didn’t show a single wrinkle, tapering into leather hunting boots. The vest and cravat glowed whitely in the dim light. Her eyes moved to his face and her mind worked to reconcile what she knew with what she was seeing. From the first glance, she’d known it was Brooks, simply by the familiar movements of his body. As well as she knew her own hand, she knew his walk, his bearing. And she knew that mathematical knot.

  But his expression was not the Brooks she knew. His mouth was a thin line, as if he was steadying himself for something painful. They locked eyes and he nodded at her, jaw tight.

  “There you are!” She waved enthusiastically and walked toward him, holding her long dress tucked in one hand. The curls from her elaborate hair-do blew into her eyes and she brushed them back with an impatient motion.

  “Here I am,” he said. He held his arms out to the side and waited for a verdict.

  “Where did you park?” She didn’t see where he’d come from, it was just as if he’d popped out of the twilight.

  He pointed to the edge of the field, his Brando-mobile leaned in the shadow of the barn. “Wouldn’t we have made a pair, riding through the streets of Thorny Hollow on a vintage triumph, in Regency gear?”

  She giggled. “All the old people would have rushed to the doctors for a tonic.” Holding up the edge of her skirt she said, “Poor dress wouldn’t have survived that kind of treatment, forget about my hair.”

  He bent closer. A small smile touched his lips. “Forget-me-nots. Fitting for a girl who loves a mud pie from Bravard’s.”

  “Right. The chili-slaw dog embroidered dresses were all sold out.”

  He laughed out loud and she felt the breath catch in her throat. Nobody could possibly look better in this costume than Brooks. It wasn’t humanly possible. His gaze locked on hers and for a moment she saw a debate rage inside. And then it was gone. He straightened up, away from her. The laughter was gone and in its place was this new, solemn Brooks.

  “I know you didn’t want to come. If it hadn’t been for Debbie Mae-”

  “I did. I did want to come.” He interrupted. “I just didn’t want to come as someone else.”

  “But you make a perfect Mr. Knightley.” Caroline looked up at him, taking it all in once more. “Really. It’s almost like you’ve walked right out of that PBS movie. I haven’t seen it yet, don’t tell our hostess. She might roast me for the guests instead of the pork shoulder the caterers brought. No, you’re perfect. Definitely taller, but just as handsome.”

  Something in his face softened at her words. “As long you think so.” He paused, shaking his head. “You see what terrible manners I have? My Southern forebears are spinning in their graves. I haven’t yet complimented you on your costume.”

  Caroline laughed, twirling in a circle. “It’s not uncomfortable at all. When Debbie Mae hatched this plan, I thought we were going to be laced into corsets and be struggling with bustles.” She ran her hands down the length of her bodice. “It’s very soft. I think might wear this all the time.”

  “You look beautiful.” It was a pat answer, but something in his voice made her glance up in surprise. The tightness in his face was back and his expression was serious.

  “You don’t have to do this, you know.” She moved forward, laying a hand on his arm. Maybe he had a phobia of costume parties. Maybe he was afraid of what Lauren would think of him.

  His gaze fixed on her hand and he seemed to be choosing his words. “What can it hurt?”

  She nodded, feeling a deep down sureness that he was saying something quite the opposite. What was he dreading? Glancing back at the barn door, she could see the groups moving inside. Bright costumes whirled by and laughter echoed out into the drive. An image flashed in her mind, of Lauren and Brooks sitting on the wrought iron bench together in the botanical garden, admiring Badewood in all its beauty. Her heart squeezed in her chest. Had he asked her out and she refused him? But she seemed drawn to Brooks, just as much as every other woman in the universe.

  “I’ll protect you from all the pretty girls inside, okay?” She forced herself to laugh, but it came out sounding like a pale shadow.

  “All of them? You promise?” He leaned toward her, eyes locked on hers.

  “Promise.” She smiled, hoping it looked genuine. Her heart was tight, wondering how any woman could refuse a man like Brooks. A light breeze spring up, carrying the scent of jasmine and pushing curls into her eyes again.

  He stepped closer. “There’s only one I’m afraid of, honestly.”

  She nodded. Lauren’s bright white Regency dress was stunning in its simplicity, setting off her tan and enormous gray eyes. She had looked like a 19th century painting. Even a glimpse of Lauren must be torture if she doesn’t love him back. “I’ll do my best.”

  “If you said the word, everything would change.” He took a deep breath. “Caroline-”

  “But how?” She shook her head. “I don’t have that much influence over anybody. I know you think I do, but I don’t.” And she certainly wouldn’t tell Lauren to go out with him if she did have the power to change the girl’s opinion.

  He opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better if it. He smiled, shrugging. “A man can always try.”

  The sound of footsteps reached them right before Manning’s voice called out. “You two! Stop dilly-dallying around outside and come help me out. I’ve got more women than I can possibly partner.”

  “Oh, joy.” Brooks sighed and threw a sharp look at Caroline as she laughed out loud.

  “I thought you were resolved to be dancing tonight.”

  “I only had one partner in mind.” He mumbled the words under his breath as he jammed the top hat on his head. Setting off for the door, looked grimly determined, he held out his arm.

  She took it, holding the hem of her gown in one hand. They really should have been wearing gloves but it was so warm. She noticed the softness of his jacket, how the heavy material felt under her hands. No wonder he wasn’t thrilled with this party. He must have been wearing a good five pounds of fabric compared to her loose and comfortable dress. The bodice was fitted but it only came to the top of her rib cage. Nothing like the long coat he wore.

  The room was booming with sound and she gasped in happiness. The band was already playing a reel and couples were marching up and down a long line. Brooks pulled her to one side and they stood, watching the swirl of dresses and tails.

  “Word must have gotten out,” he said into her ear. “This party is definitely bigger than Debbie Mae intended.”

  Caroline nodded, a huge smile spreading over her face. “I bet it was Blanche. She can really pull the folks together when we need it.”

  The barn had been decorated with long swags of greenery. White-clothed tables held serving dishes piled with food and several punch bowls filled with a deep rose colored drink.

  He noticed her surveying the barn and leaned down again to say, “Manning hung the boughs. I swept the pigeon poop. I think I should get more points for tackling such a job.”

  She turned, laughing. His face was close to hers, and he looked happy, relaxed. “Gold star, definitely.”

  The band at the front moved in time to the music, three older African American men who let out an occasional hoot to go with the dancer’s directions. A tiny woman, stooped with age, waved a hand and called out dance terms in a breathy whisper into the microphone. Her feet moved to the song and Caroline grinned at the idea of this little woman dancing her whole life to these ancient tunes.

  The reel finally ended and the couples bowed to each other, then clapped fo
r the musicians. Most were in costume but there were a few T-shirts and shorts mixed in.

  Blanche appeared next to her. “Honey, you look perfect! Look at the stitchin’!” She leaned down to examine Caroline’s dress.

  “Did you order your dress, Blanche? It’s a beautiful color.” The deep purple stood out in all the whites, creams, and pinks.

  “No, I made this myself.” She held out an arm. “See that velvet trim? Hardest thing I ever did try.”

  Her eyes went wide. “I had no idea you could sew. This must have taken ages.”

  “Not really. Brooks told me you all were havin’ this party a month ago. I did work it all the way up to this afternoon, but I could have done it sooner if I hadn’t been running all over the state with my grandson.” She winked at Brooks.

  Caroline cocked her head. Running all over the state?

  “Grandma, are they going to go another round? I think I see the-”

  “Oh, you didn’t tell her about going up to Oxford?” She turned to Caroline. “He went lookin’ for your Stubbs china. We found the place, alright. Packed full of good ol’ family antiques.”

  She turned to him, questions on her lips. His cheeks had gone pink.

  “I didn’t want to bring up a painful subject. I wanted to know… what he had done with them.” He darted a look at his grandmother that clearly was meant to keep her quiet.

  The fiddlers played a bar of music and the guests clustered at the front. The tiny African American lady held up a hand for attention. “This here’s a favorite o’ mine. I want my friend in the back to come up here. And bring the pretty gal with you.”

  Brooks opened his mouth and shut it again.

  “Resistance is futile,” Caroline said, laughing. She tugged him by the hand, all the way up to the front of the barn. Guests parted to let them through. Debbie Mae stood next to Manning, looking as beautiful as on her wedding day. Tiny rosebuds dotted her up-do. She patted Caroline as she passed and whispered ‘good luck’. Murmurs reached her ears as they passed.