by Hope Ramsay
Boxwood and summer perennials perfumed the balmy night. “Your garden is quite lovely,” he remarked in a bald-faced attempt to get on her good side. Gardeners, he knew from long experience, could be easily wooed into long, benign conversations.
“Well, thank you, son, but it’s not my garden. I have a brown thumb when it comes to plants. Lord knows what will happen when Harry leaves me.”
“Harry?”
“My husband of fifty-one years. I’m afraid the Lord means to take him from me soon.” She gazed out toward the screen of pines that hid her home from the street. She seemed melancholy, and Hugh decided to remain silent until he could politely get away to his room, where a great deal of work awaited him. His prototype had been built, of course, but he and his handpicked team of engineers (basically a bunch of classmates from university who were moonlighting on the project) were still working out some of the kinks in the planned manufacturing process. There would be dozens of e-mails to read.
Miriam lifted her old hands from the rocker’s arms, and Hugh noted the swellings at each joint. His old Great-Aunt Maude had suffered terrible arthritis in her hands, and often the pain would drive her from her bed and down into the ladies’ parlor, where old Sam would set a fire for her in the stone fireplace. Sometimes, when Hugh had come home from school on holiday, he’d sit up with her well into the wee hours, telling stories over tea, just to help ease her pain.
Great-Aunt Maude had been gone for almost fifteen years. He relaxed into the movement of the rocker and let the nostalgia settle in. It was a lovely, star-filled night—perfect for reverie.
Miriam took another deep breath and let it out. “You know I keep praying that the Lord will send Dash a gardener, but that’s a selfish kind of prayer. The Lord will send Dash what Dash needs, and Lord knows that boy needs a great deal. I reckon I’ll have to be happy if He sends a strong woman, even if she does have a brown thumb like me.”
“Well, I suppose Dash could always hire a gardener if push came to shove.”
“Ah, so you’ve been in town long enough to know the state of my nephew’s bank account.”
“Well, I had heard something along the lines that he was well off.” Which begged the question as to why Miriam Randall’s house looked as if it might tumble down around her ears. Was Dash one of those selfish bastards?
“Hiring a gardener would break Harry’s heart. Harry loves this garden, and the house, too. He used to work on things all day long. Kept him fit until the last year. Now he can’t breathe well enough to walk across the room. Dash hired a man to do some weeding, and Harry nearly ’bout had a fit.”
She let go of a long breath. “Well, I don’t have much to complain about. Fifty-one years of happiness is more than most of us get, I reckon.”
Perhaps Dash wasn’t selfish at all. And the old lady didn’t need or want any kind of affirmation of what was, after all, a platitude. Fifty-one years of happiness were more than many got, but if one was left behind, it would still never be enough.
She rocked a long moment in silence. “I do like a man who knows when to keep his mouth shut.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was intended as such. And more so, given what you’ve been up to this evening.”
“Ah, I was wondering when you’d get to that. Shall I pack my bags and take myself off to the Peach Blossom Motor Court?”
Miriam laughed and turned her head. The yellow porch light caught a glimmer in her dark, myopic stare. Her eyeglasses were perched on the top of her head, and the twin indentations on either side of her nose told him that she was probably blind without them.
He knew the feeling. He was utterly blind without his contact lenses. But there were times when leaving them out and letting the world blur would give him a moment of inner peace.
“No, I don’t think I’ll send you off to the Peach Blossom. That would put you at Lillian Bray’s mercy.”
“Lillian Bray?”
“Hmm. She’s the chair of the Christ Church Ladies Auxiliary, a member of the town council, and the chair of the Garden Club. Now there is a woman who takes gardening seriously. Her gladioli are legendary.”
“Really?” he said politely, as if he were sitting down to tea with Great-Aunt Maude.
“Yes. And she’s on your side, if you must know.”
“Well then, I will have to seek her out and enlist her work on my behalf.”
“You do that.” There was a sour note in Miriam’s voice.
“I take it you’re not keen on my building a factory here in Last Chance. Would it change your mind if I told you it would employ two hundred people?”
“Not if it means disturbing the angels who’ve been watching over this town for a hundred and fifty years.” She stopped rocking. “You know about the angels, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, Caroline was very thorough with her briefing. I told her we needed to get the angels on our side.”
Miriam huffed a laugh. “Lord a’mercy, you are a funny man. But honey, that may be harder than you think.”
“Why not? The factory will create jobs. If the angels are interested in protecting the town, wouldn’t they see that?”
“Hmmm. Good point. But you see, the angels are probably on the side of the environmentalists. And even if they aren’t, I’m thinking Elbert’s angels are more interested in having people learn their Bible by playing golf than helping with the unemployment situation. And that’s why we formed our committee. The golf course could easily save the town. It is a marvel, and well, there is only one Golfing for God, and there are factories everywhere.”
“That’s a very good point. I wonder if it would be possible to move the golf course.”
“Move it?”
“Hmm. Yes, all the statues and whatnot.”
The old woman leaned forward. “Hugh, honey, have you seen the golf course?”
“No. I gather Caroline is trying to schedule something for tomorrow.”
Miriam chuckled. “You know, I wouldn’t count on Rocky being entirely on your side on this.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not counting on her.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “She’s conflicted, of course. I’m certainly not above using her local knowledge. But I’m not foolish enough to trust her.”
“If you don’t mind my saying so, I think you had better count on the fact that you aren’t going to get that land. You’d have to convince God, and He’s on Elbert’s side, I believe.”
“That’s too bad for the people of Last Chance, isn’t it? Because I’m very close to losing my patience. I could very easily return home to the UK, marry Lady Ashton, and forget about this project altogether.”
Miriam turned and pulled her glasses down and rested them on her nose. They were thick trifocals, upturned at their corners and decorated with rhinestones. They reminded Hugh of Aunt Petal’s eyeglasses, although Miriam’s frames were a steely blue and Aunt Petal wore frames the color of a male gnome’s hat—holly berry red.
Miriam eyed him through the glasses as if seeing him for the first time, which was probably the case given the thickness of the lenses. He braced himself for the well-worn suggestion that he should find another site for his factory.
But Miriam surprised him when she said, “Lady Ashton? Really? Is she rich?”
“Well, yes.”
“So did someone tell you that you should be looking for a woman who will bring you a fortune?”
“Well, to be honest, Mrs. Randall, my forebears have made a science of doing that sort of thing. You know, I come from a long line of aristocrats, who were not a particularly talented bunch, unless you count picking the right brides.”
“Right brides? All of you? Do you have the sight then?”
“The sight? No, we’re just a practical bunch. Every one of my forebears going back ten generations or more has picked a bride who has brought wealth to the family.” He hesitated for a moment. “Except my father, poor sot. His marr
iage was a disaster and then he died quite young. My father, I’m afraid, was a failure.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey.”
Hugh shrugged. “Well, I was only three at the time. I don’t remember my parents. Before I went off to school, I was raised by my grandfather and my Aunts Maude, Petunia, and Petal. I am well aware that marrying the right woman is important for a person such as myself. Lord knows Granddad drilled that point into my head relentlessly. Marrying well is practically a duty in my family.”
She reached over and squeezed his arm. “Hugh, honey, listen to me. You should be looking for a wife who will help you find your fortune. Just remember that, and you’ll do just fine.”
He cleared his throat. “Um, can I ask you something?”
“How do I know?”
“Well, no, that’s not what I was going to ask. I was going to ask why you aren’t concerned about losing the factory.”
She snickered like an old lady enjoying herself. “Oh, I reckon the factory will work its way out. My main concern in life is to make sure people find their soulmates.”
“What? I’m sure my forebears were more interested in money than love.”
“All the more reason you should listen to me.”
She turned and started to rock again, pushing her glasses up to the top of her head and closing her eyes. “Sometimes I can just see how two people fit together. Folks around here say I’m a matchmaker, but that’s not really what I do. God makes the matches, but sometimes He clues me in.”
“Really?”
“You’re humoring me.”
“Maybe a little.” He was skeptical of fortune-tellers. And of course, he was trying very hard to break out of the deBracy mold. He didn’t want to marry for money, as Granddad had done. He wanted to be a success on his own merits. Maybe if he could make a go of this factory, he could finally lay Granddad to rest.
“You know,” the old woman said, “folks around here say that I’ve never missed with one of my predictions.”
“Quite impressive, I must say.” And just a little bit depressing, given what she’d predicted for him.
She continued to rock. “I see you aren’t convinced.”
“Well, I haven’t ever heard of a matchmaker quite like you. But I will keep your advice in mind. Thank you,” he said very politely.
But of course, he wasn’t going to take her advice seriously, even though he had a deep romantic streak and sometimes wanted to believe in fairies, and angels, and all things supernatural.
But Miriam had simply parroted back his own history, which is exactly what charlatans and fortune-tellers did. The fact that her forecast was likely to come true meant nothing. All the family had ever expected of him was to marry well. And Lady Ashton had almost been handpicked for him. Victoria had been waiting for a long time. But it appeared as if her wait was about to come to an end.
If he had to marry Victoria to save Woolham House and keep a roof over Petal and Petunia’s heads, he would do it. He knew his duty.
He stood up. “It’s been a pleasure, Mrs. Randall, but tomorrow is going to be a busy day.”
“Honey, you have no idea.”
CHAPTER
6
The next morning, after she’d confirmed the schedule for the day with Lord Woolham, Caroline donned one of her gray business suits, and drove down to the Allenberg County courthouse. She arrived just as the place opened its doors, and spent more than two hours poring over land records. By the time she had finished, she had a good idea of who owned what property and what they’d paid for it.
Something fishy was going on in Last Chance, South Carolina, and it didn’t involve cane poles, night crawlers, or the Edisto River.
Her morning’s research had turned up a big surprise: Jimmy didn’t own nearly as much land in Allenberg County as Caroline had thought. In fact, Dash Randall had been snapping up land faster than anyone, and he’d bought most of it from Jimmy over the last year. Dash had paid somewhat inflated prices for the land, too.
But not nearly as inflated as the land adjacent to Golfing for God, which had been owned by Jimmy Marshall. Jimmy had made a killing on that real estate—selling the parcels for ten times their assessed value.
Why would Hugh’s partner do a thing like that? Of course, it was common for land prices to rise on rumors of a big development. But as far as she knew, no one in Allenberg was aware of the factory proposal prior to the sale.
And then there was the problem that the land Hugh’s partner had purchased had swamp on it. Not a lot of swamp, but just enough to make developing it expensive.
Caroline knew a lot about wetland abatement issues. You couldn’t live in South Carolina without being aware of something like that. And putting industrial development near any swamp was sure to bring out the environmentalists and the snake lovers, not to mention the government with a whole passel of red tape.
Hugh really was up the swamp without a paddle.
But there was something else going on—something way more ominous.
Why the heck was Jimmy Marshall selling off the family land like that? Caroline wondered if his daddy knew what Jimmy was up to. Of course, Lee Marshall was about eighty-five years old, but last she’d heard, he was still pretty sharp. Lee would never have sold the family land like that.
The plant was cutting corners, but Jimmy was still selling land for top dollar. Where the heck was the money going, if not into the business? Maybe the chicken plant was in worse trouble than Rachel had made it sound.
Or maybe Jimmy was getting ready to sell out.
Either way, the town of Last Chance was in deep trouble.
The plan to convince Lord Woolham to build a factory upstate didn’t seem like such a good plan after all. Last Chance might actually need his high and mightiness.
She was climbing into Stone’s truck for the drive back to town when her cell phone rang. She checked the ID. It was Rachel.
“Hey, what happened after I left you last night?” Caroline asked her friend. “How’s Bubba?”
“It’s awful, Rocky. The doctor couldn’t save his teeth.”
“Oh, no.”
“And he’s got stitches all over his upper lip, and his nose is broken.”
“Great.”
“The oral surgeon told him he should sue Lord Woolham. I’m thinking maybe the doctor is right.”
“Come on, Rachel, Lord Woolham was just protecting me. Bubba is the one who started the fight.”
“I know. But that man didn’t have to break his face, did he? I mean we were going. It would have been okay, and besides, there was the whole Miriam Randall prediction, which, by the way, you didn’t say a word about last night.”
“Uh, okay, you mean that stuff about how I should be looking for the salt of the earth, a regular Joe, a guy who works with his hands?”
“Right. Exactly.”
“Okay. First of all, what does that have to do with Bubba’s broken face? And second of all, I didn’t get a chance to tell you about Miriam’s prediction because we were busy talking about the problems at the chicken plant, and then Bubba arrived, and the rest is history.”
“Don’t you see, Rocky? Miriam is talking about Bubba.”
“What? No.”
“Of course she is.”
“No, Rachel, Miriam is not talking about Bubba.”
“But she described him to a T. And this morning everyone in town is saying that you and Bubba are going to get back together. Momma even said at breakfast that you and Bubba are a match made in Heaven, and that fistfight down at the Pig Place was just a confirmation of everything. Really, Rocky, you know you ought to consider it. Bubba is always looking after you, you know? He practically worships the ground you walk on.” Rachel’s voice sounded wobbly.
“Uh, Rache, this makes no sense. I dumped Bubba twelve years ago. Remember? And Bubba’s face was smashed last night because he decided to come after me. How is that a sign of anything except his infernal stubbornness?”
“I know, but everyone is saying it’s proof that he loves you in spite of everything, and you will come around to understanding it eventually.”
“Oh, great. Look, I don’t love Bubba.”
“But you will. Miriam said so.”
“Honey, it’s not going to happen, okay? There are plenty of regular Joes out there. I’m sure I’ll stumble on one of them one of these days. But in the meantime, I’ve got bigger problems. I need to figure out this factory mess. I spent the morning at the courthouse and you won’t believe who sold Lord Woolham the land adjacent to the golf course.”
“Who?”
“Your boss man. And Jimmy ratcheted up the price, land shark that he is. Do you think he really expected my daddy to sell out? Or was he just playing a flim-flam game with his Lordship?”
“Oh, no. Do you think Hettie knows Jimmy did that?”
“I have no idea. Probably not. But that’s not the important thing—there’s something off about the whole situation. Jimmy’s been selling off a lot of land lately, Rache. Like he’s either in deep financial trouble or… I don’t know.”
“Shoot. This is bad. I heard something else this morning in the break room.”
“What?”
“Roy Burdett was complaining, like he always does. But this time Harlan Gregory said Mr. Marshall was paying off the state OSHA inspector to look the other way.”
“Well, that might explain where some of this money is going. Rachel, if Jimmy is bribing inspectors, we’ve got to say something about it to the authorities.”
“We don’t have proof. We just have something I overheard.”
“Even so, we might want to make a couple of calls to the authorities.”
“No. I can’t. If I blow the whistle and the factory closes, everyone will blame me.”
“Not if you do it anonymously.”
