Deep Dixie

by Annie Jones

  “Thank you. You certainly are no stranger to loss yourself, Miss Fulton-Leigh.” He patted her hand lightly and as quick as the beat of a bird’s wing.

  He cleared his throat and then trained his attention on Riley. “So after we lost Regina to a rare complication of Lupus, I took a year off from my practice just to make sure my daughter was well grounded, that she knew she had a daddy she could count on.”

  All Riley’s doubts vanished. This man wasn’t emotionally unstable, he was a grieving daddy to a little girl for whom he could never be both mother and father. From that moment on, Riley wanted nobody but Summers on his side.

  “As you can imagine, it’s been hard building my practice back up after an extended leave of absence. Of course, I, too, have some of those boyhood/friend clients who’ve stuck by me, and the referrals have begun to trickle in now and again.” He exhaled and his shoulders pulled up straight as though a weight had lifted off them. He even managed a reserved smile. “Not quite ready to try that blind date method of rounding up potential clients, Mr. Walker, but if the two of you do decide to hire me, then I guess I won’t have to resort to that. Not just yet anyway”

  Fulton reached into his pocket and pulled out a smooth, black wallet. Tenderly, he flicked through the photo sleeves, stopped, and fixed his gaze on a picture for a few seconds before showing it to them. “Regina. She was actually very, very sick by the time she had that made. Went to one of those places where they do the lady’s hair and make her up like a movie star.”

  “She’s very pretty.” Dixie brushed her fingertips over the plastic-sheathed photo.

  “Regina was very pretty” Fulton rotated the picture so Riley could see. “Inside and out. She sang in the church choir, pitched in down at my law office, and worked as a substitute teacher when she could manage it just because she loved kids and learning so much. On top of that, she took such good care of our little girl. Here’s Sarah’s picture.”

  “She doesn’t look much older than Wendy.” Dixie tipped the picture toward Riley.

  “Wendy is my daughter.” Riley had his own wallet open and on display faster than a gunslinger could clear his holster in a shoot-out. “She’s six, going on thirty-six.”

  “Sarah is eight.” Fulton put his wallet back into his pocket.

  “When you come to visit Lettie, the girls can play together.” Dixie flashed a bright smile that did not mask her steely determination. “Do you know how much it will thrill your grandmother to wrap that great-grandchild up in a big ol’ hug?”

  “And you thought she’d let the topic pleasantly fade away, didn’t you?” Riley gave Dixie a grin, but his joke did not seem to shame her one bit.

  She kept her gaze on Fulton, clearly waiting for a reply

  His gaze did not waver an eyelash from hers.

  They looked like a pair of bulls staring one another down over a patch of prime pasture. At first, the two of them made a study in contrasts of skin color and gender, but the longer they sat eye-to-eye in silence, the more Riley began to see a similarity that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. The way they held their mouths? Or was it something more vague, like the way they carried themselves?

  “You know, the more I look at you two, the more I have to say—”

  They clapped their cool but openly agitated gazes on him.

  “The more I have to say where’s our waitress?” Riley glanced around the hushed restaurant, saw the woman he had hurried on her way before, and signaled her with a subtle all’s clear nod so she would begin to serve the meal.

  The waitress brought their salads and refilled their glasses.

  Dixie pushed her cherry tomato across the shallow bowl of shredded lettuce with her fork.

  “You honestly think we could do this.” Summers did not make a question of it. “That we could put our past behind us and move forward. You sincerely believe that, don’t you, Miss Fulton-Leigh?”

  “Mr. Summers, your grandmother is like my own grandmother. Your mother was like a sister to my mom when they were young. I think they would want us to try to move beyond the...history that was not of our own making and work together, don’t you?”

  His gaze dipped downward. He did not reply.

  And Dixie did not back down. “This is the right thing to do, Mr. Summers, I can feel it.”

  Riley loved the way her eyes shone with that conviction.

  “All right.” Summers raised his head high. “All right, let’s do it. But Miss Fulton-Leigh, you cannot keep pressuring me to meet with my grandmother. I will do that in my own time, if at all. Do you understand?”

  Dixie cocked her head. “When you say pressure, do you mean—”

  “She understands.” Riley cut her off. “Does this mean we have a new legal representative?”

  “Yes.” Fulton held out his hand.

  Riley took it.

  Dixie shot Riley a daggered glare, but turned her hundred- watt charm on as she shook their new lawyer’s hand and smiled. “You are not going to regret this, you know. Not for one single, solitary minute. You’ll see. Everything is going to work out just beautifully.”

  Riley wanted to believe her. More than that, he needed to believe her. There was only one...no, two things he needed more: the strength to keeping working toward the resolutions they all hoped for, and the grace to accept the outcome, whatever it might be.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Did you make this sofa, Miss Dixie?” Wendy bounced on the edge of the sofa in the front sitting room.

  “Honey, I told you I don’t actually make the sofas, I just...” Dixie followed the child’s movements, her own head bobbing. The hairbrush in her hand waved up and down, never so much as grazing the dark brown hair she was attempting to smooth into some semblance of neatness. “Honestly, sweetheart, trying to brush your hair today is like trying to put one of Peachie Too’s hats on Aunt Sis at the supper table.”

  “You couldn’t do that!” Wendy pointed an accusing finger.

  As Dixie had hoped, the flaw in her thinking got the six-year-old to stay in one place long enough for Dixie to get the brush through her hair and a barrette at the ready to hold it in place. “You can’t put anything on Aunt Sis during supper, not a hat nor nothing, ‘cause Aunt Sis don’t sit still for a minute then.”

  “Doesn’t sit still.” Dixie swept the child’s hair back from her face and snapped the gold clasp in place.

  “Doesn’t sit still. Not for one minute.”

  “There! Now you’re all set for when your grandmother comes to move in with us today” Dixie sighed, but that did not alleviate an ounce of her anxiety over Verdi Walker’s imminent arrival.

  For the past two weeks, Riley’s mother had stayed in Deepwoods with a family friend, using that time to recover from her surgery and establish her physical therapy routine. It had taken some bold reassurances on Riley’s part, but he had finally convinced his mother that the Fulton family descendants lived a peaceful existence and were, in the bigger scheme of things, not so peculiar as some people had said.

  Every other day Riley had made the three-hour round-trip drive to visit his mother, check her progress, and get things in order. He brought over only what they would need and packed the rest up to go into temporary storage. He’d always made a day trip of it, planning his leave of absence to coincide with the time Wendy was in her first-grade class at her new school, which she loved. Last night was the first time he had been gone overnight, leaving Dixie in charge of his precious daughter.

  They’d had a wonderful time, playing with Baby Belle and Peachie Too. Wendy had made quite an adventure of going through Dixie’s closet, dressing up in the fanciest clothes, shoes, and costume jewelry and even smearing on a little lipstick when Dixie had turned her back for one moment.

  Dixie made a quick inspection of the child’s face to make sure she hadn’t missed a spot of that during last night’s bath. After all, Wendy had gotten the stuff everywhere—on her hands, in her hair, and even a little on her lips. When Riley
and Verdi walked in that door in a few minutes, Dixie wanted everything to be perfect. She wanted to show Mrs. Walker and Riley that Wendy was in good hands. Dixie looked at the little girl and her heart swelled. She touched the child’s cheek then leaned over to plant a kiss on the top of her head.

  “Aunt Sis would look funny in one of Peachie Too’s hats.”

  “You think so? Funnier than usual?” Miss Lettie’s furrowed face expressed teasing thoughtfulness.

  Wendy giggled, both hands over her mouth.

  “Sure is good to hear the sound of children’s laughter in this house again!” The old rocker went to creaking out a slow, methodical tempo.

  Dixie nudged Wendy off the sofa and seized the opportunity to work in the subject of Lettie’s greatgrandchild. “You know, Miss Lettie, Wendy doesn’t have to be the only child laughing in this house—”

  “Oh, I know it, lamb. I pray for that all the time, and now Mr. Walker has come to stay with us.” She patted her gnarled hands together just above her lap. “I hope you two has a whole house full of children and that I’ll be alive to see every last one of them born.”

  Dixie stared at her, her well-planned comments vanishing in the face of this startling comment. “Miss Lettie! Riley and I aren’t... We never...” She put her hand to her suddenly aching head. How did you tell a frail, elderly woman who’d just wished to live long enough to see you have children that she should forget it without sounding like she might as well just give up and die now because it was never going to happen?

  “Miss Lettie, Riley and I aren’t even married.”

  “I know, not yet you’re not, but—”

  “Dixie and my daddy are getting married?” Wendy leapt in the air. “Hooray! Hooray!”

  “No, honey, we’re not. Miss Lettie is just a little confused about—”

  “Can I be in the wedding? I know just what I’ll wear.” Wendy whirled around and darted up the stairs.

  “Don’t change your clothes, Wendy, I’ve got you dressed just right for greeting your grandmother!”

  “C’mon, Aunt Sis, help me get ready,” was her only reply.

  “No lipstick!” Dixie demanded.

  “I have to wear lipstick,” came Aunt Sis’s protest.

  Dixie turned to find Miss Lettie humming happily and rocking.

  “Now just look at all the mischief you’ve started!” Dixie shook her head.

  Miss Lettie tapped her foot and hummed a little louder.

  Dixie shut her eyes. She wasn’t angry or panicked, not yet, but she certainly didn’t possess Miss Lettie’s abiding calm about the situation. Any minute now Verdi Walker would come into this house and get her first impression of them.

  “Here comes the bride...” Sis was belting out the words to the tune Dixie now recognized Lettie had been humming. Dixie’s aunt descended the staircase in grand fashion, Peachie Too snarling in her arms. Looking a bit like a slightly deranged Southern belle reliving the triumph of her debutante ball, the woman drifted downward slowly, singing la-la-la in place of the lyrics.

  Sis caused such a racket, the Judge popped out of his office—the sitting room just to the right of the staircase—and hollered. “Can’t anyone get any work done around this place?”

  Wendy appeared at the top of the stairs in one of Dixie’s old formals, a half slip on her head like a bridal veil, and carrying the bowl of potpourri from the bathroom as a flower girl might carry delicate rose petals.

  The sight set Lettie laughing like a hen cackling on the nest.

  “Quiet, ya’ll, please!” Grandpa flung his arms out and stomped his foot as if making a call to an invisible little leaguer. “I am trying to practice my umpiring technique for heaven’s sake!”

  Above the chaos of Lettie cackling, Sis la-la-ing, Peachie Too barking, and Grandpa stomping, waving his arms and calling out “Safe!”, Wendy tossed back her satiny white headcovering and announced to the world, “I am practicing for Dixie and Daddy’s wedding.”

  “If this is your idea of a peaceful, ordinary family, son, then I don’t think I raised you right!”

  Dixie spun around to see the look of stunned horror on the face of an older woman standing next to Riley in the open doorway. “Welcome, Mrs. Walker!”

  * * *

  “Every time this phone rings, I almost jump out of my skin.” Riley clicked off the cell phone and pitched the thing gently onto a crumpled-up canvas tarp in the middle of the floor.

  “Who was it this time?” Dixie glanced up from where she was rolling a length of pale blue wallpaper out on their makeshift workable. Riley took in her overalls, gray work shirt and her hair pulled back into a ponytail underneath a red baseball cap, and held back a grin.

  “Just Mavis going over some rough spots in last week’s paperwork.” He pushed up the sleeves of his faded maroon sweatshirt. “Almost a month of seeing my writing on the forms and she still can’t tell my fours from my sixes.”

  “Guess you’re thankful that’s all it was.” She measured the long strip of thick paper once, stood back and scrunched up that adorable face of hers, then measured again.

  “Yeah, ever since Fulton ran those ads, I’ve lived in dread that Marcia would call. Or worse, just show up.”

  In a show of good faith, and to meet certain legal requirements, Fulton had placed a notice in the newspaper of any town where they knew Marcia had lived or worked. In theory, this would give her one last chance to come forward and either defend or resign her rights to Wendy. In reality, Riley felt it was asking for trouble.

  “Funny, that’s one of the things I used to pray would happen, that Marcia would call or one day just come home. That she’d pull herself together and want to make amends for all the grief she’d caused Momma. I thought she might realize what a terrific kid she’d left behind and grow up enough to be a part of Wendy’s life again, not to take her from me, but to lend another layer of love and support.”

  “I don’t doubt for a minute that you always truly longed for that to happen.” Dixie flopped the paper down, practically sprawling her upper body over it to get it to lie smooth then shot him as serious a look as her position allowed. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned sitting across from you over a couple of meals a day and in session with you at a few never-ending meetings at work, you put the people you care about first. Even before your own wants and desires.”

  He’d kept his vow to stay away from her, even though every day he spent in her company—especially days like today when she looked at him that way—made him long for something more with her. Still, their present conversation only reinforced to him how much was at stake. So many people were counting on them for so many things that he didn’t dare risk being distracted... not even by Dixie. He would be content with the friendship that had grown strong between them.

  She was watching him carefully. “I know you want Wendy to get to know her mother, Riley, in the right way, at the right time.”

  “Momma still prays for that every day. But me...” He crossed the plush pastel carpet of the small but airy sunlit room, took the wallpaper bedeviling Dixie, unfurled it onto the workspace, and held it down for her to cut. “Dixie, am I a selfish jerk that I hope with all my heart we don’t hear from Marcia before we go to court?”

  “If you are, then you’re not the only selfish jerk in this household. You aren’t even the only selfish jerk in this room!” She laid the straightedge down and scored it with the cutting tool. “We’ve all come to care so much for Wendy. I can’t tell you how much having her here has meant to all of us. She’s like the daughter I sometimes think I may never have.”

  “Don’t say that. You’ll have a family, Dixie.” It made his heart ache to imagine otherwise. That Dixie might end up only caring for her older family members until they’d gone on and she was all alone in this big house, in this whole world...no, he couldn’t stand the idea. “It would be such a waste if you didn’t have a husband and children of your own.”

  She looked up at him, her eye
s shaded by the brim of her hat, her voice husky as she spoke. “I hope you’re right, Riley. I’ve always wanted those things. I’m just not the kind of woman men are looking to marry.”

  “Oh, yeah, men really tend to shy away from women who are smart, beautiful, funny—”

  “Bossy.” She tipped her head back.

  “Confident.”

  “Old-fashioned.”

  “Virtuous.”

  “Always have to have the last word.”

  He sighed, nodded, and let her have that very thing. If this went on much longer his vow of self-denial would mean nothing. He’d find himself down on one knee for sure, promising her that she would never end up alone as long as he drew breath. And that was one promise he could not make, not now—not yet.

  She went on. “As far as Wendy and Marcia are concerned, let’s just say there are plenty of prayers going up that this all works out for the best.” The razor edge of the cutting tool growled against heavy paper as she made her final pass over it.

  “It’s not like I don’t want Marcia to ever see Wendy, you know.” He caught the roll of paper as it fell away from the sheet on the table. “Like you said, ‘right time, right place.’“

  He put his hands to his hips and scanned Wendy’s new bedroom. From the fairy-tale canopy bed with Baby Belle perched on a hand-crocheted coverlet to the brand-new wallpaper with white fluffy clouds they were hanging in the room’s windowed alcove today, he could not have imagined a nicer place for Wendy to say her bedtime prayers and dream the sweetest dreams.

  Dixie poked her tongue out, seemingly unaware of the action, as she fed the prepasted wallpaper slowly into a trough of water.

  That she would spend a sunny April Saturday afternoon working to help make Wendy feel so special and welcome in what was, at best, a temporary home, touched him. She’d done it. Without even meaning to, she’d gotten to him. Big time. If he knew what was good for them all, he wouldn’t do a thing about it.

  “Here, let me do that.” He stepped forward.