by Karen M Cox
“So, I take it you haven’t received one. You’ve never been a big theater fan,” he reminded me. “Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Cole didn’t think you were interested.”
“Maybe. A little short-sighted on their part though. The Woodhouse and Taylor families have always been generous to local charities. You think the Coles might remember that, given that they’re acquainted with us, even though we’re not close friends.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Nina and Bob received an invitation.” I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not sure I could go to their fundraiser at any rate.” I paused to sip my wine. “Daddy—you know. And don’t give me that poor, pitiful Emma look.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“I’m not sure I even want to go.”
“All right. No problem then.”
“Jane plays very well, doesn’t she?”
“She’s a gifted musician. Found her calling early. In some ways, that’s easier, but it doesn’t come without its own burdens.”
I snorted. “What burden does Jane carry? She’s beautiful, talented, having great success in New York—”
“That’s true enough.” He leaned his back against the wall, arms crossed, and I leaned back beside him so we were elbow to elbow studying the room.
George frowned. “But if that’s the case, why is she here—in quiet Highbury, away from all that success and her fiancé—looking pale and unhappy? I’m concerned about her, Emma Kate. Her spirits seem low. In a high-pressure career, with no strong family support, no real relaxation when she comes back home—her so-called success doesn’t seem to have the same benefits as it would for someone else…like you, for instance.”
“Like me?”
“Yes. Think about it for a minute, and you’ll see what I mean.”
I observed Jane, a thin smile on her face as she talked to Frank and Nina. “I suppose you mean that I still have Daddy, and Nina, and Izzy and Jack and the children, and Jane only has Delores and Helen—and they’re so far away from her. I got to stay in college. I never had to worry about money.”
“It’s not only those external factors. Your personality is different too. Jane is sensitive, timid—the stereotypical artist. She needs to be treated with kid gloves. You dive in, make a situation your own. Have a lot of confidence.” He grinned. “Sometimes too much.”
“Ha-ha.”
“I don’t know anything about Jane’s fiancé, this Mike Dixon, but I can’t help but wonder why he’s across the pond while she’s here, in what looks to me like some kind of distress.”
“Funny you should say that.”
“Why?”
“It’s exactly what Mary Jo said.”
“Really? Maybe my receptionist has more intuition than I gave her credit for.”
“High praise from Professor Knightley.”
“I mean, what kind of man runs off and leaves the woman he loves when she’s down?”
“Certainly not the one in front of me,” I replied lightly, brushing lint off his jacket lapel. “You are too gentlemanly for such a stunt. And speaking of women, you should probably get back to yours. She’s standing all alone over there.”
“Pardon?”
“Julianne,” I whispered and jerked my head toward the doorway. “She’s standing over there by herself with that funny look on her face. Come on, George, pay attention.”
“Oh.” He stepped away, glancing from the woman at the door to the one standing next to him. “So she is. Thanks.” He picked up a second glass of wine and joined Julianne. She took the glass with a “thank you” and smiled wistfully at me.
I felt wistful myself at the sight of the two of them, standing together. A night out with the ebullient Frank Weston was just what I needed to break out of this March funk. I was lonely; that had to be it. For some reason, I wanted to cry—and Emma Katherine Woodhouse never cried.
Twenty-Seven
I entered the Carriage House restaurant bar and stood, unsure, in the doorway while Frank left his car with the valet. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d set foot in a bar since I’d turned twenty-one last year.
My hair, which Frank said looked like spun honey, hung in large, loose ringlets, and I self-consciously flipped one curl behind my bare shoulder. The sales girl at Embry’s had tried to talk me into a strapless Halston dress that tied at the bust, insisting I had the willowy figure that was perfect for it, but I didn’t want to spend my one evening out constantly tugging up my dress. I opted for the one-shouldered red jersey instead. I hadn’t considered height when I bought the platform shoes, but fortunately, Frank was still taller than me.
The bar was almost dark and on the cool side, making me shiver. Frank stepped up beside me and pulled my wrap up over my arms.
“Cold?” he asked.
“A little.”
“We’ll just get a drink here while we wait for our table. I made the reservation for six thirty instead of six, apparently, but we’ll still have plenty of time before curtain.” There was a quiet table in the corner, but instead, he led me to the bar. As we settled on the bar stools, Frank called out to the bartender.
“Bart, my man!”
“Weston! What can I get you?”
“Makers and Coke.”
“Sure thing. And for the lovely lady?”
“What’ll you have, Emma?” Frank asked, smiling at me.
“Brandy old-fashioned.”
“Not your usual glass of wine?”
“I’m celebrating a night on the town.”
“Damn straight, you are!” Frank leaned on the bar and tapped it with two fingers. “Brandy old-fashioned—and make it snappy!” he joked.
“Big plans this evening?” The bartender made small talk as he retrieved glasses and poured shots into them.
“We’re going to see Camelot over at Coles’ Theater, after we have some dinner.”
“I’m sure the lady will enjoy that.” He garnished my glass with an orange and a maraschino cherry and pushed it slowly across the bar. “Try this, darlin’—and then tell me it ain’t the best you ever tasted.” He put both hands on the bar and smiled at me expectantly.
The dual edge of sweet and bitter traveled over my tongue. “It’s very good.”
“Best you ever had?”
“I believe it is.”
Frank laughed. “That’s high praise from Emma Woodhouse.”
“Good enough, then.” The bartender grinned and pushed Frank’s drink across the bar. “You coming by this week? We’ll need citrus fruit, and the kitchen needs some kind of special potato for a dish the chef is itching to make.”
“I’ll be here on Tuesday, like usual. If you guys would call ahead, I could get a jump on those orders.”
“I’ll talk to the manager.”
I slid off the bar stool. “Excuse me. Where’s the ladies’ room?”
I walked off in the direction the bartender pointed, careful in my platforms, and curious about the murmurs behind me at the bar. I’ve learned over the years, it’s better to not look behind you.
Twenty-Eight
He had had better evenings, that was for sure. George hadn’t seen or scarcely thought of Julianne in almost a week and was annoyed with himself that he hadn’t realized it until she called him. She wasn’t upset. She wasn’t ever upset with him, for any reason, and that was annoying too. Still, they’d made plans to have drinks and dinner at the Carriage House. She said she had big news to share, so they found a quiet corner in the bar, and over scotch and soda, he asked her, “How are things at the hospital?”
“Going well.” She breathed a sigh of relief, as if he’d given her an opening, and she took a drink as if to fortify her resolve. “I’ve been applying for attending positions for the last few months.”
“I know. You said that there were just a couple of slots open at UK hospital.” His eyebrows shot up and he leaned toward her. “You got the position here in Lexington?”
“Um, well, yeah, I did.”
&nb
sp; He kissed her cheek. “Julianne! That’s great! Congratulations. Why are we drinking scotch when we should be drinking champagne?” He held up a hand to signal the cocktail waitress, but she pulled it back down.
“Wait, George.” She laughed. “Just…wait.”
He settled back in his chair. “Okay.”
“I did get an offer from the University of Kentucky, but I also got two other offers. One is in Chicago, and the other is in Arizona.”
“I see.” He sipped his drink and studied her. “You’re thinking about accepting one of the others.”
“I’m looking at the pros and cons of each one. It isn’t a simple decision. The position in Chicago is in the pediatric oncology department, and there’s some interesting research going on there. Plus, you know…Chicago—it’s exciting. Big city—and it’s closer to my family. But it’s expensive to live in Chicago, and the pay isn’t as good as Arizona. In Arizona, the cost of living is less, and the job isn’t as prestigious—or as stressful. It’s still in the city, but there will be an American Indian population to serve, and you know that’s near and dear to my heart.”
“And what about here?” he asked quietly.
“Here is…familiar. I know the department, the staff, the buildings, but the pay isn’t very good.”
“The pay doesn’t matter.”
Julianne gave him a rueful smile. “It wouldn’t matter to you, George, but I have a lot of medical school debt. It actually is an important factor.”
He looked almost offended, but she plunged ahead with her list of pros and cons. “If I stayed here, I wouldn’t have to move…”
“You have friends here.” He paused. “I’m here.”
“Yes,” she answered. “You are.” They sat quietly for a minute, both absorbed in their own thoughts before she went on. “I never expected to have such good choices. I’d planned to stay here, but I knew the positions were few and far between, so I hedged my bets and applied several places, and, well, here I am—with a pretty complicated knot to untangle. George?” She followed the direction of his gaze.
“What the hell is she doing in a bar by herself?” he muttered under his breath.
“Isn’t that Emma Woodhouse?”
“It is at that.” The red dress had caught his eye. He always appreciated a beautiful woman well-dressed, but when he recognized who was in the dress, his heart damn near stopped. It started pounding again when Frank Weston stepped in, took her elbow, and escorted her to the bar.
Julianne poked him in the ribs. “Don’t look so shocked, honey. She is over twenty-one, you know.”
“What?”
“Emma is not a wayward teenager sneaking into a bar. She’s an adult.”
“I know that. I’m just surprised, that’s all. She doesn’t go out much.”
“You heard her say she and Frank were going to see Camelot. I guess they decided to have dinner too.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“George?”
“Hmm?”
“About the attending position?”
“Yes, of course.” He forced his attention from the bar, but it was no good. Julianne’s words were just buzzing in his head. “Excuse me. I’m going to get another drink. Would you like one?”
Julianne sat back against the booth, resigned. “No thanks.”
He reached the bar just in time to hear Frank say to the bartender, “I dated her in high school.” By the time the bartender said, “Go for it,” his pulse was pounding in his temple.
“I might do just that.” Frank’s frat boy arrogance crawled all over him. George didn’t bump him on purpose, not exactly, but he didn’t much care if Frank spilled bourbon all over that half-buttoned polyester shirt.
“Glenlivet on the rocks,” he blurted out.
“Knightley! How’s it going?”
“Fine. Was that Emma I saw come in with you?”
“Yep. Taking her to see her cousin in Camelot.”
“Aren’t you generous?”
“I like to think so.” He turned to Julianne and sent her a wave. “Well, there’s the lovely doctor. Mind if I walk over and say ‘hello’?”
“We’re waiting on a table.”
“Really? Us too. You want to join us?”
George started to refuse, considered, and finally pasted on a smile, surprised at the grim satisfaction he got out of this chance to supervise Emma’s date. “Now that sounds like a good idea.”
“Great, I’ll see if they can change the reservation. Emma and I will come over and join you in a minute.”
Twenty-Nine
April 17, 1976
I sat in the gazebo watching spring rain fall all around me while Maude napped at my feet. I took a sip of the iced tea in my hand. I considered wine, decided it was too early for it. A modern woman didn’t depend on wine to get through a Saturday afternoon rut. It was a bad habit to get into.
But lordy, I felt so alone.
I’m not alone, I reminded myself, channeling George Knightley in my head. I have my father, my sister, my aunt, my friends. Although I hadn’t seen so much of Izzy lately. She was pregnant again. Henry and Taylor were running her ragged, she said. She rarely left Louisville these days, except for family get-togethers.
Nina was still close by, but Bob had her hopping most of the time too—business meetings couched as social functions, weekend getaways, antiquing. When she was home, they worked on the old Randalls’ place together.
And Mary Jo? Well, it was a little odd. She hadn’t been around my house in quite a while. Mary Jo Smith had suddenly become very engrossed in her career. Then again, I had been busy preparing for graduation—term papers and exams and such. Maybe we’d just missed each other.
Graduation loomed like a specter over my days now. Daddy was doing reasonably well. Unless he took a turn for the worse, caring for him wasn’t going to take all my time, but I wasn’t sure what else to do. Charity work? Sure, I would do some of that; it was a Taylor-Woodhouse family tradition. It was expected. Should I get a job? Perhaps, but where, in tiny little Highbury? Even in Lexington, what could a young woman with a bachelor’s degree in psychology but no work experience do? The only thing I knew how to do was to take care of things, of people. The problem was, my people were doing a reasonable job of caring for themselves these days.
I sat on the sturdy wooden rail and held my hand under the rain dripping from the roof. The pale green of new leaves and the purple of redbud trees surrounded me with shouts of “New life! New beginnings!” And here I sat, inside my well-built gazebo cocoon, insulated from the life teeming all around me. Not on the outside looking in, but on the inside looking out.
My thoughts turned to Frank, as I reached down and absently scratched Maude behind the ears.
Frank Weston. Funny, outgoing, cute hunk of man. We had a great time at dinner the other night, but he was broody after the theater. I was impressed by Jane’s performance and said so, to which he replied, “Yeah, she’ll be outta here and back to New York as soon as she can get away.”
Then he, himself, got away—or rather was taken away a few days later when his grandmother had a stroke. He was gone to Alabama for who knows how long. He’d probably miss Derby, and the big Derby party, and my graduation too.
He acted odd that day he said goodbye to me at Nina and Bob’s house. We were sitting in the living room, just the two of us, when he suddenly turned to me.
“Emma, I…”
He stopped, frowned into his beer, took a drink. I waited patiently.
“You must have seen…well, sure, you must have. You, who see it all. It’s almost impossible for me to hide my feelings, and that night we went to the theater…”
He was interrupted by the arrival of his father. “Well, Emma, this is a sad business, isn’t it? Poor Frank will be leaving us and under such circumstances.” He shook his head. “You’ll tell your mother I’m sorry about Mrs. Churchill, won’t you Frank?”
“Sure, Dad. I will, just like I said I would.�
� Frank looked at me with a sigh and a smile. The moment—and whatever he was trying to reveal about his feelings for me—was gone.
He left with promises to give me a call and let me know how he was doing. But of course, there had been no call.
I, of all people, knew how helping to care for a sick relative ate up one’s time, although I doubted Frank realized how it was going to be.
Thing was, I wasn’t really that disappointed. At the end of our date, Frank walked me to the door, gave me a distracted peck on the lips, and he was gone. It was how I imagined I might feel about kissing my brother, if I had a brother, that is. Well, I have Jack, but kissing Jack would be gross.
So much for Frank’s offer of a graduation weekend in New York, if he was ever even serious. I braced myself for a wave of discouragement but the feeling never came. A New York getaway with Frank didn’t seem like the exciting adventure I envisioned at first, and that spoke volumes. I liked Frank, but his mercurial moods and his impulsiveness did tend to wear on me. He would always rely on me to rein him in, and where was the fun in that? I could never really relax. I could never be myself.
I might as well face facts. I have no real future with Handsome Frank. I sat down on the bench, sipped my tea, and wondered who might be the right girl for Frank Weston.
Maude’s tail thumped against the gazebo deck floor, as she raised her head and let out a joyful bark. A black umbrella appeared at the edge of the garden, bobbing along in the rain. I recognized the gait, the way he moved, and unbidden, a smile spread across my features. The wind kicked up and almost turned the umbrella inside out, but George reached up and took command of it once again.
“Hello there!” I called out. “Nice day for a walk.”
He laughed as he stepped into my gazebo world and filled the space. “Sure it is. That’s why you’re out here in the middle of it.”
“I like the rain. It matches my mood.”
“And what mood might that be?”
“I’m bored, Professor Knightley. Have you come to entertain me?”
