by Karen M Cox
“Absolutely. Made from scratch this morning.”
“And I think this is a party, and you should enjoy yourself,” I said. “I know you love lemonade, Daddy. So, you should have a glass and share some conversation with my amazing aunt Nina.”
“Okay. You always know what’s best, Daughter.”
“I do—and don’t forget it.” I kissed him on the head and left him in Nina’s care.
Mary Jo and I wandered back through the yard. Beyond the kitchen herb garden and the ornamental plants lay the strawberry patch, where the others were clustered in groups, picking berries, and snacking on a few. The lull of relaxed conversation rested on the breeze.
Edie’s shrill laugh rang out, and I braced myself for the verbal onslaught I knew was to come.
“Isn’t this the best, Emma? Just the very best! Strawberries are like manna from heaven! And the day is just beautiful! All this glorious sunshine!”
I tossed Edie a pasted-on smile and retrieved my berry basket from Mary Jo. We worked down from the others, but my gaze alternated between the rolling fields beyond the berry patch and George, who was busy helping Helen and Delores pick berries. I lifted my face to the sun, letting its warmth sift through me, right down to my toes.
“When you decide to get married,” I said to Mary Jo, “don’t do like Edie and marry in the dead of winter. Marry in June—it’s a tradition for a reason—and then you get to have strawberries in season for your wedding.”
Mary Jo ducked her head and reached under a plant to pluck a berry or two. “I doubt I’ll ever marry.”
I stopped short. “Why not?”
Mary Jo shrugged. “It’s complicated.”
“I had no idea you were thinking along these lines already, Mary Jo.”
“I have been thinking about it lately.” She shook her head. “I mean, like I told you, there is a man, and I…I’ve come to admire him, so much. He’s everything a woman could want: handsome, friendly, kind.”
That same rush I felt when I introduced Nina and Bob coursed through my veins. “Yes, I know. So, what’s the problem?”
“Honestly? He’s so far…above me. I think the chances of him feeling about me the way I feel about him? Well, the chances just aren’t very good.”
Edie stood up, her hand at her lower back. “Lordy, bending over like this is hard on a person who isn’t used to farm labor. Oh look, there’s Frank Weston—hello, Frank! We’re over here!” she called, waving. He acknowledged her with a nod and started toward them.
I watched Mary Jo watch Frank’s approach. Tamping down my excitement, I weighed my words carefully so as not to raise hopes but still encourage her. “You know, Mary Jo, times are changing. Even in the so-called old families, people don’t put the same emphasis on a person’s background the way they used to. It’s one of the best things about being a modern woman—the freedom to rise through the socio-economic strata and chart your own path, based on who you are, not what your family has. That freedom extends to men as well, meaning that the object of your affection may surprise you.”
“But he’s…”
“No, don’t even tell me who he is. But I will say”—I nudged Mary Jo with my elbow—“your taste is impeccable.”
Mary Jo giggled.
“But seriously, you’re right to be cautious. Just let his words, his actions be your guide. If he acts interested, you’ll know what to do.”
Mary Jo sat back, munched a berry and considered. “Okay. I’ll do that. Who knows what could happen?”
“Exactly.”
“Lordy, it’s hot,” Edie complained from the other end of the strawberry patch. “This sun is brutal! I love strawberries but picking them is tedious. Cherry picking is much better—because you’re working in the shade.”
“Or apples would be best of all,” said Helen. “Because you have shade and autumn weather. Best of everything. Except if it rains. Rain would put a damper on things, wouldn’t it? Get it? Damp-er.” She giggled at her own joke.
“I’m going to have a seat in the shade while you all finish up. Come on, Jane,” Edie demanded.
“Oh yes, Jane, we can’t let you get too much sun.” Helen turned to her mother. “Jane is so fair. She burns so easily. Maybe you should go with Jane and Edie, and sit in the shade too, Mother.”
I saw Jane’s shoulders stiffen at Edie’s command, but she went along, with Helen and Delores following behind her, Helen chattering all the way.
“Mary Jo,” George called. “You like horses, don’t you?”
“I love them.”
“I thought I’d heard that. Come over here. They’re out in the field behind the barn this morning. Come see.” He put one foot on the fence slat and beckoned her. They stood together, watching the foals with their mamas, engaged in what looked to me like a deep conversation. He glanced over at me and grinned sheepishly. I waved at him, remembering that there was a time he would hardly talk to Mary Jo about anything outside of work, and now, look at him. Conversing easily with an employee with whom he had almost nothing in common.
By the time I finished filling my basket and joined the group in the shade, talk had turned to Jane’s plans, now that Camelot was finished.
“I really think you need an agent,” Edie was saying. “The Coles’ Theater is all well and good, but there’s no reason for you to waste your summer in local productions when you could get work elsewhere that would really build your résumé. My brother-in-law in Atlanta has a college friend who hires talent for cruise ships. I could get you in touch with him.”
“I don’t think I’d like working on a cruise ship. I might get sea sick.”
“Nonsense! The cruise ships of today are so big, you can hardly feel them move at all. That’s what Ima says, and she’s been on several cruises. The ships hire all those singers and dancers to do shows now. It’s the latest thing. It would be perfect for you. You’d be a shoe-in with your Broadway experience.”
“I appreciate you thinking of me, but I’m really not looking for any long-term commitments right now.”
“I know Mike isn’t coming back to the States until August. That’s two months away! What do you plan to do with yourself all summer, Jane?”
“I’m not worried. I’m sure something will turn up.”
An awkward silence settled over the group.
“So, who’s ready for some lunch?” George asked, redirecting everyone’s attention.
He and Mary Jo walked on ahead of the rest, as he pointed off to the right at the barns, then to the left toward the creek. “That’s the main farm. There are other parcels of land for crops: soybeans, corn, and of course, tobacco. It’s a big responsibility, seeing to all of it. My manager is retiring as of September 1, and I’ll need to fill that position right away, because I rely heavily on the farms’ manager to help me run things efficiently. He lives right here on-site, in that guest house at the end of The Lane. You passed it on your way in.”
“Will he stay at the house after he retires?”
“No, he’s going to live with his daughter in Texas.” George glanced back at me, hesitated, but then went on. “So, uh, the guest house will have a new tenant soon.”
“It’s a sweet little house,” Mary Jo answered.
I put myself toward the middle of the group, letting the conversations wash over me and eavesdropping on the lot of them. While George seemed to be giving Bob Weston a run for his money in familiarity and oversharing, Edie continued her insensitive barrage on Jane’s summer schedule. Helen nattered on to her mother about nothing in particular. Delores, in turn, ignored her, and Frank seemed to be getting more and more agitated by the minute. All this intrigue, these social currents winding one way and then another. Good gravy, I could write a book!
I spent lunchtime talking with Nina and Mary Jo and fussing over Daddy’s plate. Guests came and went, snacking, talking, wandering about the common rooms before heading back outside. There was some talk about a stroll down by the creek. I watched Mary Jo a
nd Frank’s interactions and had to admit, her confidence had increased ten-fold from when we first met and I tried to foist icky Tim Elton on her. Mary Jo didn’t seem to be tongue-tied like before nor were her feelings too obvious. Perfect.
I turned to my aunt. “Nina, why don’t you go with the others? You’ve been in here all day, and the weather’s beautiful outside. Go enjoy the sunshine.”
“Are you sure?” Nina glanced over at Daddy, looking through a photo album.
“I’ll keep him company,” I said.
“Thank you, honey. You’re a sweetheart.”
“Look Emma!” Daddy called out from across the room. “Did you see Gary and Joanne’s pictures from Japan? I didn’t know they went to Japan. When was this? How long did they stay? All that rice can’t be good for you.”
I gave Nina an indulgent smile and squeezed her hand. Then, I settled in next to Daddy to look at photo albums until he dropped off to sleep with his feet up.
Walking into the kitchen with Daddy’s plate and a couple of glasses, I nearly dropped them when Jane Fairfax came blowing through the back door, slamming it behind her with a show of uncharacteristic temper. She stopped short, and we stared at each other, both of us startled.
I recovered first. “You okay? I thought you went with the others down to the creek.”
“I did. I did go. I—I—I’m glad I found you, Emma.”
“Pardon?” I asked, genuinely surprised.
“Yes, when the others come back and ask after me, could you tell them I went home with…with…a headache? Please? And give Helen and Aunt Delores a ride home? Because I’ll have the car.”
“I don’t understand, Jane.”
“I just need to get home, I think.”
“Okay, but if you’re not feeling well, let me find someone to drive you.”
“No! No, thank you. I can drive myself, honest. I’m used to taking care of myself—I lived all alone in New York after all.”
“You’re all flushed. Shouldn’t you sit? Or let me get you some water or something. You don’t look well at all.”
“I’m not. I’m not well.” Tears filled Jane’s eyes, but she gasped out a laugh, not of humor but a release of emotion. “It sounds crazy, but I’m just exhausted, not physically but… All I need is some time and space to put myself back together. I’ll be fine, but I need to get…”
I got it then. The one-two punch of Edie Bitti trying to get her an unwanted job, on top of Helen’s constant drivel, had finally pushed Jane to her limits. Honestly, I didn’t know how she had stood it even this long. I myself would have blown my stack weeks ago with the lot of them.
“Sure, no problem. We’ve got Helen and Delores, and I’ll tell them you were feeling sick and you left. Don’t worry about a thing.”
Jane leaned forward and put a hand on my arm. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She looked at me with this unusually earnest expression—and here I thought nothing ever got under her skin.
In a blink of an eye, she was out the front door.
Not five minutes later, Frank also stormed in and slammed the door. Annoyed, I stepped into the foyer, pulling the French doors closed behind me.
“Shh, Frank. My father’s sleeping.”
“What? Oh, sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry though. “Christ on a crutch, it’s hot.”
“I thought you walked to the creek.”
“I did. Damned nuisance. Nothing to see down there. Did I mention it’s blasted hot?”
I didn’t bother with a reply, and he began to pace the foyer. “Wanted to get my sunglasses out of my car. Hiked up that hill from the creek. Pretty much missed the whole party anyway because my mother called again this morning about Grandmother. Drove like a mad man to get here, just to have the fun stuff already over with. All I got to do was walk down by the creek. Probably got ticks and chiggers all over me.”
“I don’t think George allows ticks and chiggers at Donwell Farms,” I teased, trying to lighten his mood.
Frank shot me a foul look and kept pacing.
“Come on, Frank. Calm down.” I turned to go back into the sitting room toward Daddy’s gentle snores. “And quit your pacing. You’re just making yourself more hot and miserable.”
“Maybe I’ll just leave. I should have stayed home, but Dad and Nina made such a fuss about me coming over here. Looks like the party’s over. At least from your dad’s point of view. And I saw Jane the Plain leaving the premises like a bat out of hell.”
“Frank,” I admonished.
He shrugged.
“There’s a lunch buffet in the dining room.”
“Not hungry.”
“Maybe you’ll feel better if you eat something.”
“Too hot to be hungry.”
“Suit yourself then.” I sat down on the sofa opposite Daddy and picked up the latest issue of Southern Living magazine.
After a couple of minutes, he followed me in with a plate of sandwiches and fruit. I raised an eyebrow, and he grinned sheepishly.
“Guess I was hungry after all. Is there Heineken?”
“In the fridge.”
“What a whiner!” I mumbled to Daddy’s sleeping form. That moodiness would drive me bats. Good thing Mary Jo is so even tempered.
Frank came in and sat beside me, putting his beer on the coffee table in front of us and picking up the album Daddy had been perusing before his nap.
“Where’s this?” He pointed at the photo of Mr. And Mrs. Knightley in Italy.
“Lake Como.”
“Nice.” He took another bite and flipped the pages of the album. “I should go to Italy. That’s what I should do. Backpack through Europe. I’ve never done that. Every guy ought to do that at least once.”
I laughed. “You never will. Your mom and grandmother would never allow it.”
“You never know.” He smiled, more like himself. “Maybe I’ll take them with me.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Maybe I’ll take you with me.”
“We’d get lost or distracted and never make it back.”
“Are you going to Dad’s Churchill Downs thing on the nineteenth?”
“I suppose.” I sighed. “It’s not Italy.”
“No, but it’s somewhere that’s not Highbury.”
“I thought you loved Highbury.”
“It has its attractions. Is your friend Mary Jo going along? To Churchill Downs, I mean.”
“Yes, I think everyone that’s here today will also be there at Churchill Downs.”
“I’ve seen the Downs. It was named for some great-uncles’ cousins, twice removed or something. I’ll be bored and grumpy.”
“We’ll get you a mint julep, and you’ll be fine.”
“No, I’ll hang out with you girls. You’ll be my mint juleps. I’ll go, because I’ll be even more grumpy if I know you’re there having fun without me.”
“Well, pick your poison then. Grumpy here or grumpy there. Makes no difference to me.”
Voices on the veranda signaled that the others had returned.
“If it will make you happy, I’ll go to Churchill Downs,” Frank told me as he took hold of my hand and swung it back and forth.
“I’m glad. You’ll enjoy yourself. I know it. I won’t allow you to do otherwise.”
Thirty-Six
The day of the Churchill Downs outing arrived with an ominous array of clouds, gray and purple, like a gigantic bruise hovering over the Earth. The group gathered at the old Randalls’ place and split off into cars. George offered to drive Helen, who couldn’t stop talking about how treacherous the weather had turned, and Jane, who lived in the city, and didn’t do much driving at all. Frank then stepped in and said he would drive Mary Jo and me.
“But Frank,” I said, “you drive a two-seater, and counting you, there are three of us.” I thought perhaps he would relegate me to George’s car. It would mean traveling with Helen, God help me, but I thought I could take one for the Mary Jo and Frank team
so they could be alone together. Before I could suggest it, however, Frank offered to drive my car instead.
“I can drive my own car,” I protested, but he wouldn’t be swayed.
“If I let you drive in this weather, and in downtown Louisville—now, what kind of gentleman would I be?”
“A modern one that gives me a little credit for driving my own car?” I whispered to myself. No one heard me but George; his lips twitched in amusement.
Bob was already in Louisville, having driven up that morning to make sure all was ready. Tim and Edie announced if they had known about the carpooling, they could have carried a passenger, but they were in his sports car and had no room. There were no comments as no one wanted to ride with them anyway.
Frank held his hand open. “Give me your keys, Emma Kate. I’ll bring your car around.” I scowled at him and dropped them in his hand. I might not have relented, but he threw me off when he called me by my nickname. It was like nails on a chalkboard. No one ever called me Emma Kate, except for George Knightley. He made it sound more elegant, like Anne Marie from That Girl and less like Billie Jo from Petticoat Junction.
Frank was back in a couple of minutes. “Your chariot, my lady.” He opened the passenger side door with a sweep of his arm. After I was inside, he opened the door for Mary Jo, casting a look over his shoulder at the crew in George’s new Volvo. As soon as he got in the car, however, and he had no audience but the two of us, all that chivalrous charm faded away. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him so glum, not even the day of the strawberry party.
About half way to the city, the skies opened, and lightning sprayed across the sky like fingers, followed by the crash of thunder, and a torrent of rain.
“We sure picked a good day for the racetrack,” I said, hoping to get some conversation out of either one of my companions. Mary Jo stared out the window, saying nothing. I turned to Frank.
“Huh?” he answered.
“Never mind.” I reached over and turned on the radio.
The fissures in our group persisted once we reached Churchill Downs. Bob tried to mix and mingle, include us all in one tour, but he had other guests to attend to, and the Highbury crowd never really coalesced. I was disappointed in the entire outing. Instead of a charming tour of the racetrack in glorious sunlight with good company, and steeped in the ambiance of wealth and tradition, I was stuck inside, sitting with a vapid Mary Jo and a Frank who kept sighing and scowling and fidgeting.
