Call Me Softly

by D. Jackson Leigh

  “Well, perhaps I can repay you for your hospitality by referring an excellent young chef who has just relocated here and is looking for work.” She filled Kate in on Catherine’s qualifications.

  “She sounds perfect,” Kate said. “You sure know a lot about her to only have been here a few weeks yourself.”

  “She was an applicant for the cook position I advertised, but way overqualified just for me. Swain has known her several years and referred her.”

  “Ah, I see. Just about everybody in town knows Swain.”

  Lillie was surprised at the surge of jealousy that washed over her.

  Apparently reading her expression, Kate quickly explained. “Everybody knew Abigail and she often had Swain in tow.” Kate paused and studied Lillie. “Please don’t take this wrong, but I think Swain was the daughter Abigail never had. I could just choke that son of hers for cutting them off like he did. You were practically grown before she ever got to meet you.”

  Lillie stared at her juice and shrugged. “I’m sure Dad had his reasons, but I felt a bit cheated, too.”

  Kate resumed her cooking. “Anyway, those two are cut from the same cloth.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Abigail was probably one of the wealthiest women in town, but would be the first to pitch in to help. Swain’s the same way. She’s not wealthy, but she’ll ride horses all day and still show up to lend a hand to whoever needs help.”

  “She’s been very obliging since I arrived.”

  Kate gave Lillie an odd look and chuckled. “I’m sure she has.” She turned to extract a tray of tea biscuits from the oven. “Anyway, about a year after Swain landed in town, I got really sick with bronchitis one week and was completely booked with reservations for the weekend. My assistant was starting to panic at the thought of cooking alone for all those people. Swain heard about it and came right over. She’s a chef, too, you know.”

  “Yes. I’ve had the pleasure of dining on her shrimp and grits.”

  Kate smiled broadly. “Fantastic, isn’t it? She helped me the next weekend, too. She wouldn’t take a penny for all she did while I was laid up.” She handed Lillie two finished plates. “Swain should have a table ready. I’ll join you after I check on my two guests.”

  Lillie found Swain on the veranda where she had set up their table a discreet distance away to allow both parties some privacy. The white linen tablecloth moved lazily in the slight breeze that ruffled a trellis of purple morning glories opening their petals to the sunshine.

  She closed her eyes at the first mouthful. “These crepes are divine.”

  “Aiken is small, but has plenty of hotels and fine dining that meet the standards of people who’ve traveled all over the world,” Swain said.

  “Have you?”

  “Have I what?”

  “Traveled much?”

  Swain snorted. “When you turned eighteen at the children’s home, you were on your own with two hundred dollars and your clothes. I figured that, at best, I could get a bus ticket to Charlotte or Atlanta, where I hoped to find some way to support myself. But when they turned my brother and me out, we each got twenty-five hundred. I’d read about lots of places I wanted to see, so I figured I’d hit the road and work here and there until I found a place I wanted to settle.” She laughed. “New Orleans was my first stop, then Florida. But I never got past Wellington once I saw them playing polo there.”

  “Did they tell you why they gave you more than the usual?”

  “Yeah. They said it was restitution paid by the driver who killed our mother.”

  “Your mum was killed in an accident?”

  “Yeah, sort of. She was in labor and driving herself to the hospital. Another driver turned in front of her and she hit his car. She actually died of a blood clot several days after she delivered me and my brother, but the doctors said it resulted from her injuries in the car accident, not from giving birth.”

  Was Swain aware of how clearly her emotions showed on her face? Her expression went from hurt to angry to sad in a matter of seconds.

  “The other driver was charged with involuntary manslaughter. I guess some judge decided that growing up without a mother was worth only five thousand dollars.” Swain frowned. “I’ll never understand people who think money can wash away their sins.”

  Thirty-Two Years Earlier

  Bonner Whitney placed a thick briefcase on the desk and opened it. “One hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Mr. Johnston.”

  Tyrell Johnston stared at the piles of money. It was more than five times what he made in a year fixing cars.

  Bonner closed the briefcase and laid a paper on top, placing a pen next to it. “This is a legal document saying you will not bring any lawsuit or financial claim against my client in the future.”

  Tyrell put down the pocket knife he was using to clean his fingernails and grunted as he picked up the pen. He signed quickly and handed the paper to Bonner.

  “Tomorrow, Mr. Johnston. Don’t let your daughter miss that appointment.” Bonner pulled a business card from the inside pocket of his suit coat. “This is the doctor who will take care of the problem. It’s not a clinic. It’s a private practice. Very discreet. All the medical expenses have been paid. It is imperative that this is taken care of immediately.”

  “Not soon enough for me,” Tyrell muttered as he went back to cleaning the car grease from under his fingernails. “If I catch that boy sniffing around my daughter again, I’ll shoot him.”

  “The family is eager to put this unfortunate incident behind them. Eric is on his way to attend a university overseas—to get a clean start.”

  He looked up with contempt. “Clean start? Mr. Whitney, I kin sit here all day and scrape at the grease from under my nails. But, like them filthy-rich Wetheringtons, ain’t nothing ever going to get all the dirt off ’em.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Swain had insisted they take the Mercedes convertible that morning, and Lillie understood why when they drove slowly along the Avenue of Oaks on South Boundary. Huge trees lined the street on both sides, their branches creating a canopy over the roadway.

  “This is so beautiful,” Lillie said. “It must be spectacular when the leaves change color.”

  “They won’t turn,” Swain said. “These are Southern live oaks. They’re evergreen so don’t lose their leaves in the winter like other oaks. These trees were planted more than a hundred years ago when people were still driving through here in carriages.”

  She detoured a few blocks from the downtown specialty shops to show Lillie the historic Wilcox Inn, its huge white columns and second-floor veranda reminiscent of Civil War–era Charleston. A few blocks from the inn, they parked next to an old carriage house.

  “This is Hopelands Gardens,” Swain explained. “Fourteen acres of beautiful gardens right in the heart of downtown. Mrs. Hope Iselin donated it to the city. They called her the ‘grand lady of racing’ because she was a big supporter of the sport both here and in England. That’s why the Aiken Thoroughbred Racing Hall of Fame and the Carriage Museum are also located on the property.”

  “Fourteen acres? That’s a bit of exercise, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t worry. We won’t walk all the trails today. We’ll tour the racing museum, then find a shady spot to take a break before I show you a real treat this afternoon.”

  The racing museum was filled with old photographs, trophies, and artwork, but Lillie’s brain was beginning to overload with the seemingly endless history lessons Swain provided with each piece. Her version of a quick tour involved several hours.

  “That was lovely,” she said weakly, relieved when they stepped back into the sunlight of the gardens.

  Swain blushed and looked at her feet. It was an adorable look for the usually suave trainer. “I bored you silly, didn’t I? I’m sorry. Abigail and I used to spend hours in there. I forget that not everyone’s that interested in horses and history.”

  Lillie smiled. The more she lear
ned about Swain, the more she wanted to keep peeling back the layers of this complicated, enticing woman. “Kate was right. You are the daughter Abigail must have wished she had.”

  Swain didn’t answer, turning away from Lillie to gather a blanket and picnic basket from the car. She waved toward a brick walkway. “Shall we?”

  With her attention absorbed in the pictures she was constantly shooting of the squirrels and lingering fall flowers, Lillie was soon completely lost as the pathways wound around like an English maze. But Swain seemed certain of their direction and finally stopped next to a shaded pond filled with lily pads.

  They spread their blanket on the grass and sat with the basket between them.

  “I’m having a wonderful time,” Lillie said, taking the glass of wine Swain offered. “Thank you for making the time to do this for me.”

  She sipped her wine, closed her eyes, and turned her face to the sun. They had risen early and she was a bit sleepy.

  “I sometimes wished I was her daughter.” Swain’s voice was little more than a whisper, but it startled Lillie from her lethargy.

  Swain’s admission tore at Lillie’s heart. She wished Abigail had found the courage to be honest with her. “You remind me of her, you know.”

  “I do? How do you mean?”

  “Your love for the ponies and polo. Your air of confidence. You walk into a room and instantly command it.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Swain plucked at the grass under her hand, her expression guarded.

  “You do. I envy you that confidence. You seem to know exactly who you are.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Lillie realized her near slip. Swain was so innately Wetherington, Lillie had to constantly remind herself that she didn’t know about her dad. Swain, of course, heard the words in an entirely different light.

  “Swain Butler is nobody. Just a name my unwed, teenaged mother made up.”

  With all her talk of bloodlines, how could Swain look in the mirror and not see her own? Lillie ached to tell her.

  Swain looked up at Lillie, her words bitter. “When you’re introduced as Lillie Wetherington, people know who you are and treat you like you’re somebody.”

  “I’m just the child of an unwed mother, like you, Swain,” Lillie said gently. “All they really know is that the Wetherington family was kind enough to adopt me.” But not Swain. That would be her first thought if Lillie told her now.

  The conversation had suddenly headed down the wrong track. It was best to turn back to more solid ground. Call softly. She gave Swain her most impish grin. “Besides, I’ve seen people respond, too, when you’re introduced.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “They absolutely do. When they hear Swain Butler is around, they immediately hide their best ponies and lock up their daughters.” Lillie wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Swain barked a laugh at her antics.

  Her grateful gaze acknowledged Lillie’s ploy to lighten the mood. “Let’s pack this stuff and go have some fun.”

  *

  “Sailing?”

  “No, but a lake near here has a marina that rents sailboats. We can do that another day if you like. That is, if you know how to sail, because I don’t.”

  “Skeet shooting.”

  “Not today.” Swain glanced over at Lillie. “You know how to handle a gun?”

  “No, but I’d like to learn. I’ll teach you to sail if you’ll teach me how to shoot.”

  “Deal.” Swain smiled at the opportunity to spend more time together. Lillie’s playful guessing game had put all serious conversation behind them, and Swain was buzzing with the anticipation of how Lillie would react to the surprise she’d arranged. She ignored the nagging little voice that kept repeating, She’s leaving, she’s leaving.

  She pulled the Mercedes slowly into a dirt parking lot with a large truck and long trailer parked next to a two-horse carriage. A matched pair of bay geldings turned their heads to watch them. “Come meet my buddy and help me talk him into a giving us a ride.”

  She chuckled at Lillie’s eager scramble to get out while Swain raised the top and locked the car. She walked over to the wiry, white-haired man propped against the truck and shook his hand.

  “These guys look great, Howard. How are they working out for you?”

  “They’re a pleasure to drive. But you’ll find that out.”

  Lillie stood at the front of the rig, murmuring to the horses as she petted their long faces.

  “Howard, this is Lillie Wetherington.”

  Howard walked over and extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Wetherington. Sorry to hear about Mrs. Wetherington. She had a lot of friends around here.”

  Lillie shook his hand. “Thank you.” She stroked the nearest gelding’s neck. “Your horses are very beautiful.”

  Howard nodded. “You’ve got a natural eye for good horseflesh.”

  “So are we all set?” Swain asked.

  “All set,” Howard replied. “I’ll meet you back here in three hours.”

  “I owe you one, Howard.”

  “Nope. Just repaying one of the many favors you’ve done me. Y’all have a good time.”

  Lillie’s expression was one of childlike joy. “We’re going for a ride in the buggy?”

  “This isn’t just a buggy, Lillie. This is a lightweight competition carriage.”

  “You mean like a racing buggy?”

  “Sort of. Instead of a flat track, the drivers have to take their team through an obstacle course, and they get points for their time as well as other things. One person sits up front to drive, and a second person stands on this platform in the back and uses his weight to help the carriage make tight turns by leaning in the right direction.”

  Lillie’s smile disappeared. “I have to stand in the back?”

  Swain laughed. “Not today. We’ll go to a competition some time so you can see how it’s done. But today, you can ride up front with me.”

  Lillie’s smile was instantly back.

  Swain helped her into the seat and climbed up beside her. She pulled on a pair of thin leather gloves and picked up the reins, then made a kissing noise and the horses moved slowly down a wide dirt path.

  “This is Hitchcock Woods,” she explained. “More than two thousand acres. A foundation solicits donations for operating and upkeep expenses to maintain it. Even though Abigail didn’t ride here much, she was a regular donor. She supported anything equestrian.”

  “So it’s not just for carriage driving?”

  “Nope. Hikers, runners, dog walkers, horseback riders, carriage drivers are all welcome. No bicycles or motorized vehicles. Those would scare the horses.” Swain flicked the long reins to softly slap them against the horses’ backs, and their walk picked up to a trot. When they took a quick turn, Lillie wrapped one hand around Swain’s arm and held on to the seat’s rail with the other. Swain chuckled at her delighted expression. A road of hard-packed clay stretched before them. “Ready to go faster?”

  “Yes!”

  Lillie’s fingers tightened around her arm when she flicked the reins again and gave a firm “hup.” The pair of geldings picked up their pace to a blazing-fast trot, their bodies moving in perfect sync.

  The carriage swayed as it bumped over small ruts. Lillie laughed wildly, the sound a melodic accompaniment to the rhythmic hum of the wheels and the steady beat of the horses’ hooves. Swain’s chest swelled because she was responsible for Lillie’s pleasure.

  She slowed the horses as they neared the end of the straightaway, then turned them onto a winding trail before gently pulling on the reins.

  “Why are we stopping?”

  “You want to learn to drive, don’t you?” She began to peel the leather gloves from her hands.

  “Really?”

  “Sure. But you have to wear gloves. These reins will rub blisters on your hands before you know it.” Instead of handing the gloves to Lillie, Swain took her left hand and fitted the supple leather over Lillie’s slender
fingers.

  “I know how to put gloves on,” Lillie said quietly in Swain’s ear. Swain felt her cheeks flush, but she didn’t look up from her job of adjusting the glove over Lillie’s hand. She couldn’t stop herself from finding excuses to touch Lillie, and she’d been caught. Chastised, she offered the other glove, but Lillie held out her right hand and made no move to take it. Swain looked up to see her smiling.

  “You did such a good job with the left, I thought you should put this one on as well.”

  She carefully fitted the second one to Lillie’s hand, taking more time than necessary. “Soft on the bit,” she coached when she handed over the reins.

  Lillie felt tentative at first, but the team was very responsive. They took the curves slowly, her confidence growing with each one. “Shall we go faster?”

  “As soon as you feel comfortable.”

  Lillie lightly slapped the reins against the broad backs and the horses quickened their pace. She directed them around a wide turn to find another long straightaway stretching before them. As if anticipating her thoughts, the horses flicked their ears back and forth, awaiting her command.

  She lifted the reins again and uttered a soft “hup” as she’d heard Swain do. The horses smoothly shifted from a fast walk to a jog. Another flick of the reins and they moved to a fast trot. She bent forward, this time her “hup” bold and firm. They responded, stretching their legs in the ground-eating pace of their Standardbred bloodlines.

  Lillie’s blood sang and laughter bubbled up from deep inside, only to be carried away by the wind that cooled her cheeks and whipped her hair.

  Swain’s arm was firm against her back, holding on to the seat. When they hit a shallow rut and the carriage swayed, Swain’s hand moved to her rib cage, steadying her since her hands were occupied with the reins.

  Swain touched Lillie’s shoulder and pointed to where the road disappeared into a curve just ahead, so Lillie reluctantly slowed the team to take the turn. The horses had obediently shortened their stride, but tossed their heads impatiently.