by Lenora Worth
Margie broke a cookie in half. “As far as I can tell, no one knows you’re related to the Dubois family.”
Relief flooded over Tomas. “Let’s keep it that way.”
Eunice handed him a cookie. “But...maybe if you did talk to Callie and tell her the truth, maybe she’d understand.”
“I can’t do that,” he replied. “I’m not ready for that.”
The sisters fell quiet, their expressions full of both disapproval and understanding. And loyalty.
Tomas stared out at the sloping backyard. The brilliant colors hurt his eyes. He couldn’t talk about this anymore. He had to get over Callie. “I’m sorry I took things out on both of you,” he said, standing. “I’m going to eat my lunch now.” He grabbed an extra cookie just for show.
“He’s eating again,” Margie said to Eunice. “That’s a good sign.”
“Silly, he never stopped eating,” Eunice retorted. “But he did stop smiling.”
“I can hear you,” Tomas called with a wave of his hand.
“We know,” they said in unison.
That did make him smile. Where would he be without Eunice and Margie and Old Bob? They’d protected him from an early age and he’d never forgotten their kindness. They would remain in his house, under his watch, for as long as they needed.
Determined to get on with his life, Tomas took his tray out onto the terrace. Settling on one of the black wrought-iron chairs, he took a bite of the chicken salad sandwich and tried not to think about days when Callie was out there in her floppy hat, Elvis by her side. This was his garden, after all.
Then he thought up a new tactic. He could always call her and file a complaint. Callie would come running if she thought her work was below par. He hurried through his lunch then headed out into the yard. He had to find something that would bring Callie back out here to check on her work. And once she was here...well then maybe he could talk to her and find out what was really going on.
But an hour later, Tomas was even more frustrated than ever. The place was as perfect and pristine as Callie had left it over two weeks ago. Tomas stood there, his hands on his hips, surveying the immaculate gardens. She’d placed trails everywhere, so anyone who came to Fleur House could stroll among the azaleas, crape myrtles and dogwoods, or smell the lilies and the magnolias. The scent of Confederate jasmine and newly budding gardenias wafted through the air. Wisteria threads bloomed up in some of the old pine trees, their vines clinging tightly. Callie had insisted on leaving a few of the old roots so the wisteria could decorate the backyard.
He watched as a blue heron walked gracefully through the shallows down by the new dock. A fine lady enjoying his garden in her own lazy way. The graceful bird only added to the natural beauty that Callie had nurtured and pruned and weeded and cleared.
She’d also done that to his heart, too.
So why had she suddenly decided to avoid him?
When someone tapped him on the arm, Tomas almost jumped with joy, thinking it might be Callie.
“She’s in town, working at the community garden,” Margie said, her tone knowing. “I mean, she’s watching everyone else work at the community garden. Bob’s there and just called me. There’s a big lot beside the church that she wants to use to grow vegetables, but the owner’s playing hardball about selling it to the church.” She leaned in. “Bob says Callie looked tired and frazzled when he saw her there earlier.”
“How much?” Tomas asked, hope rising like the tide out in the bay.
Margie named a price.
“Do you know who owns the land?”
“Sure do. We all do. Bob’s tried to convince him to let it go at a fair price, but...he wants the money more than he wants to do a good deed, I reckon.”
“Do you have a number where I can reach him?”
Margie bobbed her head. “We’ve all got that man’s number. He lives on the edge of town, out toward the shipyards.”
Tomas followed Margie into the house and waited while she found the phone number. Pointing to the information, she said, “He’s a real estate agent, so his signs are all over the place.”
Tomas nodded, thanked Margie then got in his car and headed out to the edge of town.
* * *
Callie stood surveying the beginnings of the meek little garden they always planted behind the church. She was late in getting started this year, but they’d have beans and peas, tomatoes and cucumbers and several other vegetables in a few weeks. She was disappointed that Mr. Tillman refused to part with the half acre of land right next to the church.
But then, she’d been disappointed in a lot of things lately. She had to get this done before she went into New Orleans for her first round of chemo. Her summer would be a rough one, with treatments every two weeks. She’d been through another biopsy, but at least no major surgery for now. She was thankful for that.
So it was either plant in the old, smaller garden or have no vegetables to share for the rest of the summer. Besides, she needed something to do to keep her mind off of cancer and...the man she couldn’t forget.
She went over the grid with Bob and the other volunteers. “So, tomatoes, corn, field peas, butter beans, okra, green and red peppers, hot peppers. Did I forget anything?”
Bob pointed to the tender shoots sitting on the bed of the old pick-up. “Potatoes and turnips. And herbs. You know how much Alma uses fresh herbs.”
“Yes. Margie and Eunice requested those, too.” Callie stopped when they heard a motor rumbling.
Tomas. Pulling up to the church office.
What was he doing?
Her heart beating enough to shake her ribs and remind her of the sore spot where her doctor had done the biopsy, she turned and regarded the dirt for all it was worth. Maybe he wouldn’t notice her out here.
“Let’s get busy then,” she said on a shaky voice, her emotions as clotted and dry as this unearthed soil. She started barking orders like there was no tomorrow.
And in her case, that might become the truth.
When she heard the motor revving again a few minutes later, Callie glanced up and watched as Tomas took off in the other direction. He’d never once glanced her way.
What was he up to, anyway?
A few minutes later, Reverend Guidry came out of the office with a big grin on his face. “Y’all won’t believe what just happened,” he said as he jostled up to the group.
Bob gave Callie a wink. “Tell us, Rev.”
The minister rocked back on his heels. “He really didn’t want anyone to know, but since y’all just saw him leave...Mr. Delacorte just bought old man Tillman’s lot and then donated the whole space to us for our garden.”
“He did what?” Callie had to sit back on the tailgate of her truck. “Are you sure?”
Reverend Guidry nodded. “Oh, yeah. Very sure. He paid Mr. Tillman with a check—a mighty big check. They did a gentleman’s deal and shook on it, but Tomas said he’d have the lawyers make it all legal. But we can start digging over there. Like right now.”
Callie couldn’t believe what Tomas had just done. How could she ever thank him? And why had he done it without so much as a word to her?
Because you’ve hurt him, she told herself. Because you’ve shut him off without an explanation. He did it to show you in the only way he knows that he still cares. And she still cared, too, even if his act of kindness had involved throwing around a lot of money. At least this was for a good cause.
But he hadn’t bothered to come and tell her himself.
Of course not. She’d been rude to him without any explanation. But...she couldn’t talk to him, couldn’t see him now. She’d fall into a heap if he so much as looked at her.
Nice to know he could be so kind, and it was sweet of him to do, but Callie reminded herself that in spite of his good deed, sh
e couldn’t have a relationship with Tomas. It wouldn’t be fair to him.
She’d rather hurt him now than get closer to him and cause him a horrible kind of grief later, the same grief he must have gone through with his wife. Callie didn’t want Tomas to stay out of some sort of misguided obligation.
“Let’s refigure this and get busy over there then,” she said, smiling in spite of the pain arching through her system. “We’ve got some land to clear.”
Reverend Guidry gave her a sympathetic smile. “You need to thank Tomas, Callie.” He’d also encouraged her to tell Tomas the truth.
“I will,” she promised. “One day very soon.”
* * *
That day came sooner than she’d imagined.
Tomas Delacorte came to church the next Sunday morning.
She should have known it was him when she heard the whisperings and rustlings that always occurred when someone new walked into the church. But she’d been so involved in reading the bulletin, so involved in trying not to think about Tomas and how much she missed him, that she’d completely missed his entrance.
But when all eyes seemed to move from her to the aisle behind her, Callie turned around to find him heading straight to her pew, his eyes clearly centered on her and only her.
Papa, looking worried and pale, gave her a long, hard stare. She knew that look. He was wondering when she planned on telling everyone about her illness. Papa wanted as many prayer warriors on the case as possible.
While Callie only wanted to be done with it.
Alma poked her in the ribs, a hopeful look on her face. “Do you see what I see?”
“Yes,” she said on a hiss of a whisper. “What should I do?”
“Pray?”
“Funny. I’ve done that already. A lot.”
“Well, God might have heard you. And maybe He’s giving you the answer right now.”
“Not the answer I was looking for.”
“Hello, Tomas,” Alma said, smiling up at the man standing there, waiting for Alma to move over.
“Alma.” He looked past her to Callie. “Is this seat taken?”
“No,” Alma replied before Callie could find her tongue. “In fact, I’m waiting for Julien. I’ll just move down so you can sit here, by Callie.”
Callie wanted to throttle her sister, but she was in the Lord’s house, after all, so she couldn’t commit any acts of violence. Instead, she waited for Tomas to sit down then she looked straight ahead.
“Hello,” he said into her ear, facing forward.
“Hi.” She looked down at her hands. Her work-worn hands.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Yes. I mean no, not really. I’ve been busy.”
“With your big garden behind the church?”
“Yes, that and well, it’s that time of year. A new spring.”
“You don’t bluff very well, Callie.”
She finally looked up and into his eyes. What she saw there tore through her system. He looked frustrated and confused. His eyes were an angry storm.
“No, I’m not good at hiding the truth. And...I was going to call you to thank you for what you did the other day. We’ve already started on tilling the new acreage. We hope to plant the garden on Good Friday.”
“I’d like to help out.”
“But...you have work of your own.”
“And I’m the boss, so I can take a few hours off here and there.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I want to help.”
“Okay.”
The organist started playing a loud rendition of “Love Lifted Me.”
Tomas leaned close, his breath tickling at Callie’s neck. “We need to talk. Can I take you to lunch after the service?”
Callie didn’t know what to say. Should she go to lunch with Tomas and tell him the truth? Or should she tell him she wasn’t interested and watch him walk away?
“We’ll talk later,” she replied, motioning to the choir.
So they sat in silence, Alma and Julien and Papa on the pew with them. Alma kept leaning forward to check on Callie, her expression a mixture of curiosity and concern. Callie tried to focus on the sermon, but Tomas was close, so close. Close enough that she remembered being in his arms, remembered kissing him, remembered how sweet and gentle he’d been as they’d moved through his house, as he’d taken her heart.
Reverend Guidry talked about a perfect heart, a heart for Christ. “This kind of heart forgives our sins,” he said, his tone low and dramatic. “But before we can have our own perfect heart, we have to be open to God’s love and grace. We should have a gracious heart, a forgiving heart, a heart that understands, a heart that takes a risk for love’s sake.”
A perfect heart.
A risk for love’s sake.
Callie thought about that and wished she did have a perfect heart, but her heart was bruised and battered and scarred and hiding. Yes, she was hiding her heart. She couldn’t take that leap of faith, that risk of opening herself up to pain.
Was she trying to protect Tomas? Or herself?
She didn’t want her heart to be broken again. She didn’t want to watch another man walk out of her life because of her illness. So she prayed that God would give her the strength she needed to get through this next phase of her life. Without Tomas.
I might not survive here on earth, Lord. But I’ll fight until the bitter end. Don’t take me yet. Just let me live to be around him. Just near him. For a little while. Like now, having him here in church with me, so near.
She inhaled the clean, soapy scent of Tomas and thanked God for getting him this far into the fold. Before she could get things clear in her whirling mind, the sermon was over and everyone was standing.
Tomas turned to her. “Well?”
She looked around for an excuse. “I... We usually have Sunday lunch with Papa, out at his house.” She swallowed, prayed. They’d have to be careful what they talked about. She hadn’t told many people about her cancer.
Tomas frowned at her silence. “I really need to talk to you.”
Callie decided she had to talk to him, too. “Would you like to join us?”
Surprise sparked through his eyes. “Is that your way of avoiding being alone with me?”
Yes. “No, not at all. I just don’t want to disappoint Papa. If you can’t come—”
“I’d love to eat Sunday lunch with your family—that is, if you can stand me being there.”
“I don’t mind,” she said, warming to the idea even though her hands were cold with fear. “You did us a big favor and your good deed deserves a good meal, at least.”
His eyebrows lifted like the wings of a hawk. “That’s mighty gracious of you, but I didn’t do it to impress anyone. I did it for you. You don’t need to repay me.”
Callie didn’t know what to say other than a whispered “Thank you.” His eyes told her he wanted more than gratitude.
A gracious heart. Yes, she certainly had that. She wanted to take Tomas by the hand and run away. Run as fast as she could to a place that was safe and gracious and comforting and without pain or illness. A place where they could walk through the garden, hand in hand, with no worries.
But instead, she nodded to him. “I can never repay you for what you did, but...I’d like you to come and eat with us.”
He followed her out of the pew, seemingly unaware and untouched by the prying eyes all around them. “Will you and I have a chance to talk? Alone?”
She hoped not. “Maybe. We’ll have to see.”
“Yes. We certainly will.”
* * *
Tomas felt out of place in this long, mismatched cottage by the water. The house was an interesting maze of add-ons and porches. Rather charming if he weren�
�t so nervous and edgy. This was a family house, full of love and laughter and life.
While his stone mansion up on the hill was a cold, drafty museum of a place—lovely but silent. Unless Callie was there, of course.
“More mashed potatoes?” Mr. Blanchard gave Tomas a pointed look then shoved the bowl toward him. “You don’t need any fancy manners here, Tomas. Just need to be hungry.”
Tomas slid a sideways glance toward Callie. “The food is wonderful, as usual. You have a lovely home.”
Mr. Blanchard grunted a reply. “It suits my needs.”
The tension threading through the sparse conversation made Tomas think he probably shouldn’t have crashed this meal. Everyone in the room seemed coiled and ready to snap. Mr. Blanchard’s expression was etched in sadness. Maybe worry? Julien and Alma, both usually talkative and pleasant, only spoke in muted tones and glanced toward Callie.
Did they resent him being here?
“The roast beef is good,” Julien said to no one in particular.
“Alma always cooks a mean pot roast,” Callie replied with a forced smile.
Tomas noticed the portrait over the fireplace. “You resemble your mother,” he said to Callie. Then because he didn’t want to offend Alma, he added, “You all do.”
“Oui, dey sure got dere maman’s genes,” Mr. Blanchard said on a low chuckle. But his eyes held a hint of grief.
Julien filled in the silence. “And her spirit.” He winked at Alma. “Independent thinkers, are these Blanchard girls.”
Alma shook her head and looked down at her plate. “We’re trouble, that’s for sure.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Tomas said, giving Callie another glance. “Sweet but stubborn.”
Mr. Blanchard let out a hoot of laughter. “Well, you’ve met all of my daughters so now you know.” His smile disappeared while his gaze moved to Callie.
Tomas smiled, glad Callie’s father had lost the mantle of sadness. “Yes, I have. Talented bunch.”
Callie frowned as she stood. “Okay, time for dessert.”
Mr. Blanchard’s smile softened. “What did Daughter Number Two bring for us today?”
