After the Rain

by Jane Lorenzini

  They finished placing the plants in a shady spot and went their separate ways for just a few minutes: Boone to the livery with Byron, Belle to Baker’s to pack a lunch.

  •••

  As Belle walked up the dock, Boone untied the Judith from a piling that extended up through the dock’s planks.

  “We’re ready to ride,” he said, helping Belle aboard.

  Heading out, Boone kept the boat close to the edge of the river where the water was smooth. Belle was impressed by how easily he made the wind serve him. She tipped her head back and let the breeze dry her moist neck, imagining her completed gardens: tall red firespike rising above orange and yellow marigolds; Cheddar pinks and wild petunias forming a border; fragrant freesia attracting bees and hummingbirds.

  “Here it is,” Boone announced, interrupting Belle’s colorful musings.

  The trip was brief, just twenty minutes up the Caloosahatchee to a quiet niche where Boone said he liked to think and nap. Thick-trunked cypress and oak trees overhung the water, providing wide patches of shade. Soft splashes revealed juvenile fish jumping in the shoreline mangroves. Atop a trunk jutting up from the water, a lanky anhinga dried its outstretched wings. The bird kept losing its balance, its wet wings heavy, lopsided curtains.

  While Boone tied off the anchor line, Belle yawned. Her mind and body were already relaxing, afloat in the sheltered, peaceful setting. When he finished securing the boat, Boone sat down across from Belle on the deck.

  “Do you still use this?” She touched the handle of a coiled cow whip. It looked like a braided-leather snake ready to strike.

  He shook his head no. “The Judith is named after my favorite cow horse, a pretty little Marsh Tacky.” He removed his hat and tousled his hair. “Everything else about my cracker cowboy days I’ve left behind.”

  Belle ran her fingers along the bumpy leather. She was used to seeing the whips wound and tied to the saddles of working cowboys in town. Loose leather at the end of the whip created a loud crack that drove stray cattle back into the herd.

  “Well, let’s see if you still have it,” Belle said as she pushed the whip toward him and smiled.

  He shook his head but grabbed the whip and stood with a grunt. The breeze flirted with his curls, shifting his hair her way. He drew in a deep breath and tightly gripped the whip’s handle. In a smooth, swift motion, he snapped his wrist and arm. The twelve-foot leather rope snaked through the air, breaking its silence at the tip, exploding with the sound of a pistol shot. A flock of startled ducks took off from the water, chattering through liftoff.

  Belle shielded her eyes from the sun and smiled up at him. “Well, now. If I were a cow, I’d do whatever you told me.”

  Shifting his grip on the handle, Boone snapped the whip again. A group of pelicans rose from the water in slow motion, their long wings feathered lungs, gulping for air.

  “That’s enough,” he proclaimed. “I’ve caused enough of a ruckus.” He smiled and sat back down to recoil the whip. As he did, Belle set out lunch on a tablecloth—roasted chicken and skillet cornbread slathered in orange blossom honey.

  “Those are fresh out of Abigail’s oven.” Belle pointed to dessert wrapped in a towel.

  When Boone peeled back two flaps, he closed his eyes. “Mmm. Her ginger cookies.”

  As they ate, Belle peppered Boone with questions about his friendship with Abigail, building up to the one she was most interested in asking.

  “Do you think Abigail and Merle could be more than friends?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Would you like that?”

  She clutched the bottom of her braids, her fists resting on each petite breast. “I like them together. They’ve known each other for a long time, they make each other laugh, and they look out for each other.”

  Boone broke a cookie in half. “Is that what you think love looks like?”

  She shrugged. “I guess it’s what I’d like to think it looks like.”

  He set down the cookie and smiled. “So, if you haven’t known someone for a long time, you can’t fall in love? I don’t believe that.”

  She didn’t know what to believe. “Well . . . then what does love look like to you?”

  He slowly swiveled his body on the deck so he was facing Belle. As the Judith gently rocked, he said, “To me it looks like a beautiful woman with a spirit so strong you can’t help but want to be near her.” He brushed the back of his hand across her cheek. “It looks like brown eyes that see beauty in all things growing.” He lightly placed his palms on Belle’s shoulders. “It looks like me taking some of the weight off your small shoulders.”

  Belle drew in a deep breath. She wanted to believe that Boone could fall in love with her. He’d certainly fallen into her life when she needed someone to trust with a secret.

  “May I kiss you, Belle?” Boone cupped his broad palm on her cheek and ran his thumb across her lips.

  She answered by closing her eyes. He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

  Her arms circled his neck as he gently pressed his lips to hers. Boone then drew away slightly and gazed into her eyes. He said softly, “It looks like this.”

  They kissed again, and Boone pulled her closer. He parted his lips slightly, and she followed his lead. When she dropped her arms from around his neck and placed her hands on his crossed thighs, he stopped kissing her and ran his hand down one of her braids.

  “I want us to go slowly. You’re so special, Belle.”

  She bit her lip. “Did I do something wrong?”

  He chuckled. “No. You did everything so right that I need to . . . cool down a bit.”

  She smiled and took his hand. “All right. Maybe we should lie down on the deck and watch the clouds.”

  White puffs budded and bloomed above the pair as they lay next to each other, holding hands. As the sun faded behind a cloud, a wave of nausea passed through Belle’s body. She swallowed, surprised by the sudden sickly stomach. Was it something she ate? She used her free hand to cover her eyes. After several minutes, the queasiness passed. She tenderly squeezed Boone’s hand and decided she was simply not used to the rocking motion of a small boat.

  Chapter 22

  Merle had invited Abigail to Duggan’s for a chat, but she’d declined, saying that if he wanted to visit, it would have to be with a spoon in his hand at Baker’s. She needed to gut two pumpkins so the pies she’d promised to boarders would have time to bake before supper.

  “Just plop everything on the ground,” she now instructed, plunging a large spoon into the pungent, stringy mess.

  The two sat along the river with pumpkins in their laps. Abigail had already carved holes in the tops of both.

  Merle chuckled. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had a conversation with you eye to eye, Abigail. You’re always . . . doing.” He gripped his spoon and began scraping.

  Without looking up, she said, “The day I slack off is the day Mary Mather takes out an entire page in the Press to announce that I did.”

  Mary Mather owned the other boardinghouse in Fort Myers and ran it as if the entire town worked for her. She and her daughters, Cora and Celia, made it known to locals that all visitors should be directed to the Mather House. Their announcements in the newspaper read:

  “SEND US THE SICK AND THE SOON TO SETTLE—WE’LL SHOWER THEM WITH SUNSHINE AND HOSPITALITY!”

  They “invited” guests to spread the word that the Mathers offered better service and softer beds than the Palms Hotel. Any suggestion that their food was superior to Baker’s was ignored by residents. It was common knowledge that Mathers’ guests ate in the saloon to avoid the gut-roiling grub turned out by the bossy sisters.

  “Oh, phooey,” Merle said, his hand at rest inside the pumpkin. “Baker’s reputation is untouchable.” He softened his tone. “You could take a trip with me . . . let me spoil y
ou for a week . . . and your business wouldn’t skip a beat.” He resumed the spoon work, pleased he’d gotten the words out.

  Abigail ignored his comment and pointed toward the river. “There it is.” She put down the pumpkin and spoon. “C’mon.” She motioned for Merle to do the same.

  He sighed. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

  They stood on the riverbank, looking at a large whiskered snout, its nostrils flared, breaking the surface of the water. A manatee that often fed in the area was up for air. Within seconds, it dropped back down to continue eating wild celery on the river bottom.

  “My first sighting this season,” she noted.

  “Hmm,” Merle said. He waited a few beats. “You know something? I’m a bit like that sea cow.” He kept his gaze toward the river, as did Abigail. “I’m ready to come up for air after a long stretch of holding my breath.”

  Abigail crossed her arms and sighed. “Please don’t make me do this again, Merle. It was hard enough the first time.”

  He laughed lightly. “I’ll say.”

  When Belle was seventeen, Merle told Abigail he was interested in spending more time with her, in a romantic way. The topic was risky, but he was tired of reining in his feelings for the woman who’d captured his heart. They’d been good friends for years before Belle ever moved into Duggan’s, but in the three years she’d helped him care for the teen, he realized that he not only admired Abigail, he desired her, too.

  “I have to stop myself from grabbing your hand whenever we walk somewhere together,” he’d confessed.

  What he didn’t tell her was how often he’d found himself wondering how long she’d lounge in bed with him after they made love. He imagined himself telling her, “Forget about those noisy coops and dirty cups.” He’d offer to keep watch over the minutes while she rested in his arms, her unwound bun spilling long locks across his chest.

  But back then, she’d immediately shut down his offer. “You’re a wonderful man, Merle. The best I know. I simply will not risk losing your friendship to an experiment,” she’d said.

  And that was that. Awkward weeks led to the eventual return of a solid, caring friendship. He was Squirrel again and she was his gal.

  Abigail turned away from the river back toward the chairs but left her pumpkin on the ground once she sat down. Merle joined her and turned his chair to face hers. A wide grin stretched across his face.

  “That sea cow thing scared you, didn’t it?”

  She couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Oh, all that kind of talk scares me.” She held her palms up and shrugged. “If you’re a sea cow, I’m a gopher tortoise. I like to crawl around all day and then tuck back into my shell at night. I like my predictable life.”

  He shook his head and scratched it at the same time.

  “I think you can like your life and love me.”

  Abigail waved him off. “I’m just saving you time,” she said. “This town is full of women who’d love to stroll hand in hand with the strapping Merle Duggan.” She counted off names on her fingers as she spoke. “Harriet Stone, Marge Addison, and Opal Ann Jackson are all interested.”

  Merle tilted his head to the side. “Why do you say that?”

  “I’m not blind, Squirrel. Each of them has deliberately dropped something while shopping in your store, right near you, so you’ll come around the counter and give them some extra attention.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “And you noticed this?”

  Abigail rolled her eyes. “How could I miss it? One dropped an entire ham, the other two somehow each lost their grips on a sack of flour.”

  Merle leaned his head back toward the sky and lightly snapped his suspenders.

  “My goodness. The ways of women are mysterious.” He looked again at Abigail. “That ham bounced around the floor for quite a while, didn’t it?”

  They laughed together, Merle using his fist to mimic a ham bouncing across the air.

  “Oh, my gal. That’s one of the many qualities I love about you. No mystery. You tell it like it is.” He rubbed his beard. “I just wish you’d tell me something different when it comes to us.” He put his hands on the chair seat, about to raise himself off it. “I suppose I’ll leave you be for now.”

  She picked up her pumpkin and nodded toward his. “I’ll finish these.” She patted the side of the squash and said quietly, “I’m a pumpkin, Merle. A bit of a mess on the inside.” She looked up at him.

  He squinted at her, wondering.

  “Well, this ‘wonderful man’ is headed back to work.” He stood. “Please let yourself think about it a bit longer this time.”

  He turned and moved toward the gate, his hand held up in a wave.

  Chapter 23

  As Belle approached the Abbotts’ house, she was relieved to see that the Seminoles who’d traveled in from the Everglades were still awaiting the doctor’s return. Several tribe members busied themselves in the sandy yard, re-thatching their temporary chickee huts with palmetto fans. Others collected eggs from the Abbotts’ chicken coops, a gesture of gratitude in advance of the doctor’s care. The Seminole women wore colorful skirts, capes, and weighty strings of pea-sized glass beads, light and dark blue, red the most prominent. The striking beads hid their necks within a thick stack that started under their chins and graduated down to their shoulders. At small trading posts along Florida’s southernmost rivers, including the Caloosahatchee, Indian women traded dressed deerskins and alligator hides for the coveted beads.

  Belle typically enjoyed admiring the women’s dramatic appearance, but this afternoon she was focused only on what she desperately needed from them. She parked her tricycle and nodded at the Indians who watched her walk up to the house and knock on the door. Dr. Abbott’s wife answered after what seemed like ten minutes.

  “Well, hello there, Belle.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Abbott.” She looked down. “Hi, Lulu.” The little girl ran off, leaving her smiling mother in the doorway.

  “It’s nice to see you. We’ve missed you riding by.”

  Belle forced a smile. “I’ve moved from Duggan’s to Baker’s, and I’m afraid I’ve been busy with some gardening work for the Edisons.” She gestured toward a clump in the yard that was more graveyard than garden. “But I’d be happy to give yours a freshening up if you’d like.”

  “Oh heavens, no. Thank you, but I’ll just neglect it again. You focus on the Edisons’. Are they returning this winter?”

  Belle nodded. “They hope to.” She drew her palms together as if in prayer. “I know you’re very busy, Mrs. Abbott. I came to ask you a favor.” She lowered her voice. “Abigail has a young boarder visiting from Virginia with her family. I overheard her telling a fellow traveler that she’s pregnant . . . and terrified.”

  “Poor dear,” Mrs. Abbott offered.

  “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. They were in the dining room and didn’t know I was in the kitchen. She was crying as she spoke to the other woman. Maybe she felt she could confide in a stranger, I don’t know. She’s convinced her family will disown her because she’s not married.”

  The sound of giggling children floated through the doorway from inside the house.

  Mrs. Abbott shook her head. “I’m sorry, Belle, but Dr. Abbott is working in Key West, and he doesn’t do . . . that sort of thing.”

  “Oh my goodness, no.” Belle touched Mrs. Abbott’s arm. “Forgive me for not being clear. I’m not here for Dr. Abbott’s help. I thought perhaps the Seminole women knew of anything that might help this girl. An herb or . . . something natural.”

  Belle pulled out a wooden clothespin doll from her pocket and showed it to Mrs. Abbott.

  “How clever. Did you make her?” Mrs. Abbott reached out and touched the doll’s tiny beaded necklace.

  “I did.” Belle had gathered together fabric remnants, a wooden clothespin, and
paint she found in the shed. She’d dipped the tip of a pine needle into black paint and dotted two eyes on the bulb of the pin. Onto the stout body she sewed a Seminole-inspired red skirt, white blouse, and yellow cape. Tiny glass beads in her sewing stash worked beautifully as a thread-strung necklace.

  “I thought perhaps you could help me ask one of the Seminole women for a remedy in exchange for this doll.”

  Mrs. Abbott put her hands on her hips and sighed. “I know how grueling it is to get a baby from the womb into this world, Belle. And even if this young girl survives the delivery, with no family support she’ll face a bleak future.”

  “Yes,” Belle said softly.

  “Well, Richard is much better than I at communicating with the Indians, but we can certainly try. Let me get his word notebook and check on the children, then I’ll be right out.”

  Belle crossed her palms over her heart. “Thank you, Mrs. Abbott.”

  Once alone, Belle leaned her forehead against the doorframe, weakened by relief. She hadn’t slept for days, horrified that her fear Julius would haunt her from the grave had actually come true. When her bleeding hadn’t come that month, she refused to believe he’d violated her the night of the attack. When she felt sick aboard Boone’s boat, she still denied the possibility of a pregnancy. But when both conditions continued for more than a week, she had to take action, before there was any movement inside of her.

  Every night since she’d accepted the hideous truth, that Julius had impregnated her, she lay in bed staring into the dark and berating herself for thinking she’d escaped a destiny out of her control. The growing sense of freedom inside her had been real; she’d truly turned a corner. But there was Julius, waiting for her, demanding to shape the rest of her life with yet another despicable secret. And this time, the secret had to remain with her. Merle and Abigail would be at their wits’ end with worry whether she chose to carry or miscarry a baby, not to mention having to reveal her history with Julius. Boone? She certainly couldn’t tell him. He’d never want to be with a woman whose body once carried such a twisted man’s child, even if only its beginnings.