Belinda

The Dixie Virgin Chronicles:
Belinda

Book One

Peggy Webb

Copyright 2013 by Peggy Webb, second edition

Copyright © 1991 by Peggy Webb, first edition

Cover Design Copyright, 2013 by Kim Van Meter

Smashwords Edition

The only thing Belinda had ever wanted was a
little house all her own with geraniums on the front porch. What
she had ended up with was a pink slip from the Pets and Paws Beauty
Clinic telling her they didn’t need her anymore to help trim shaggy
poodles and clip surly cats.

This kind of crisis called for some support
from the troops. Belinda sat down the battered little desk in her
tacky furnished apartment, dragged out her laptop, opened her email
and sent off a distress signal.

From: Belinda ([email protected])

To: Janet, Molly, Bea, Clemmie, Joanna,
Catherine

Re: In Deep DooDoo

I got canned. It wasn’t my fault. Really. I
just told that old bat, Martha Crockett, that if she wanted her cat
to have pink fur, she’d better find somebody else to do the job. A
cat’s life is hard enough without standing outside a mouse hole
looking like a wad of cotton candy. My boss nearly died laughing –
I heard him – but then he fired me on the spot. Mainly, because
Martha Crockett is his best customer – she’s got six cats – and was
standing there having a hissy fit.

Now, Janet, before you and Catherine go off
the deep end and start telling me to get my butt in college, let me
remind you that a woman like me is not college material. You’re the
ones who have the brains in this group. Oops, sorry, Bea. Didn’t
mean to leave you out of the brainy bunch.

Now what?

Xoxoxoxo

Belinda

From: Joanna ([email protected])

To: Belinda, Janet, Bea, Clemmie, Joanna,
Catherine

Re: Fun!

You tell ‘em, Belinda! Oh, I wish I could
have seen the look on that old biddy’s face. Come to Madrid! I mean
it. I’ll tell Kirk to send you a ticket. I’m dating a bull
fighter!!! The nuns here at Santa Maria Magdalena Colegio y
Conservatorio de Arte y Musica are about to die. So is my
long-suffering guardian (Poor Kirk!). I’ll find one for you! A bull
fighter – not a nun. LOL! I know you like TALL. These gorgeous
Spaniards tend to be short, but OH MY!

Big Hugs!!!!

Joanna

From: Janet ([email protected])

To: Belinda, Molly, Bea, Joanna, Catherine,
Clemmie

Re: OH MY GOD

That’s exactly what I’m going to tell you,
Belinda. I’ll help you get a scholarship. And Joanna, what the heck
does OH MY mean! If it means what I think it does, let me remind
you that you can catch
diseases,
and smart, independent,
amazing women like us
do not
give away for free what a man
ought to have to earn with a wedding ring. Am I clear on that?
Belinda, call me. I can lend you some money to help you get by till
we can get you in school.

XO

Janet

From: Catherine ([email protected])

To: Belinda, Janet, Molly, Bea, Clemmie,
Joanna

Re: I VOTE FOR SCHOOL

Janet’s right, Joanna, on both counts. Though
I would have added
feisty
to our list of assets. Belinda,
hang in there, sweetie. You’re a gutsy, beautiful, wonderful woman,
and you’re going to come out on top. Meantime, call me. I can give
you a few bucks to tide you over. Gotta run now. OMG, I LOVE this
class on large breed animals!

XOXOX

Catherine

From: Bea ([email protected])

To: Belinda, Molly, Joanna, Janet, Clemmie,
Catherine

Re: Hang onto that Virginia, girls!

I’ll
do the lending. Janet, good
God, medical school is costing you an arm and a leg. Catherine,
that goes for vet school, too. I don’t want to hear any more about
$$$ from anybody except me. I’m no Donald Trump, but I get a
regular paycheck, and I’m working my butt off. Before you know it,
I’ll own this advertising firm! Shoot, I might own all of
Dallas!

Listen, Belinda, why don’t you go stay with
Mother a while. She’d love it! How far is Augusta from Florence,
anyhow? Dang, GPS had got me so spoiled I can’t even read a map
anymore.

BTW, girls, you don’t have to worry about me
losing my much-vaunted purity. If anybody’s coveting my Virginia,
I’ll be the last to know. So far, I haven’t gotten close enough for
anybody to touch it with a ten foot pole!

Hugs,

Bea

From: Clemmie ([email protected])

To: Belinda, Molly, Janet, Joanna, Bea,
Catherine

Re: Peppertown or Bust!

Belinda, you’ve got to come to Peppertown,
and that’s all there is to it. I’ve got plenty of room in this big
old boarding house, and all the regulars would LOVE you! It would
be such fun to see you again. Gracious, I can’t remember the last
time we were all together. It seems like only yesterday we were
little girls in pigtails at Camp Piomingo, huddled in our bunks
while Molly scared us with ghost stories, Janet taught Belinda and
me to swim, and Bea organized us into the best little group at
summer camp.

You even wrote rules, didn’t you, Bea?
Whatever happened to them?

Anyhow, Belinda, jump on the first bus. It
won’t come all the way to Peppertown. We’re just a wide place in
the road. Go to Fulton or Tupelo. I’ll pick you up.

Hugs,

Clemmie

From: Molly ([email protected])

To: Belinda, Clemmie, Bea, Janet, Joanna,
Catherine

Re: THE RULES

OMG, the rules! I remember every one of them.
1. Say your prayers. You never know when the camp counselor is
watching, nevermind God. 2. Ask for extra biscuits and stuff them
in your pockets. The food here sucks. 3. Don’t act scared of
anything even if you’re about to pee your pants. 4. Whatever you
do, when the boys from Camp Geronimo come over to visit, hang onto
your Virginia!
We all signed and then put The Dixie Virgins
underneath.

Let me tell you something, girls. Paris is
not an easy city to hang onto your Virginia. Especially when you’re
parading around naked in a sheet. Unfortunately, it’s all in the
name of art! Oh, Belinda, I wish you could come to Paris! Call
Daddy. You still have my home number, don’t you? I know he’d get a
ticket for you. He’s the sweetest man ever born! We’d have such
fun! Do come!

Much love,

Molly

From: Belinda ([email protected])

To: Molly, Janet, Bea, Catherine, Clemmie,
Joanna

Re: Thanks!

I feel so much better!!! Let me think a
while. Keep you posted.

Xoxoxox

Belinda

She was tempted to race off to Mississippi
where Clemmie, the perennial caretaker, would fuss over her, or to
head to Alabama and hole up with Bea’s mom. But it seemed that
would just be postponing the problem.

Forget school. An old fashioned girl like her
who didn’t know half the words other folks did and still said
things like
just peachy
and
gosh almighty
would
be laughed off the campus. And she wasn’t about to travel abroad,
even if she had the money. She couldn’t even drive, for Pete’s
sake. She wasn’t about to fly!

Sure, she’d always been traveling from one
place to another, by bus mostly and all because she’d listened to
the empty promises of men. The first one had been her daddy.

The next town is going to be better,
kids. Just you wait and see.

The next town was never better, only farther
away. She and her two sisters had remained ever hopeful, though,
hanging on their daddy’s words and believing.

The believing got harder after her mother
left. Looking back, Belinda guessed her mother just couldn’t stand
the suspense anymore, never knowing exactly where she would be from
one year to the next.

Lately Belinda had begun to feel like her
mother. She just couldn’t stand the suspense anymore.

The reason she was in Augusta was Charlie
Crocket. He’d said if she’d follow him to Georgia and help out with
the rent till he got his feet on the ground, they’d get married.
Well, she’d followed him, and he hadn’t lasted in Georgia till the
sun got hot.

She knew from the first time she met him that
Charlie needed a little straightening out, but she’d thought all it
if would take was a bit of patience and understanding. She’d sure
guessed wrong about Charlie.

Before him there had been Matt Hankins. He
was a beautiful man full of beautiful promises. Just when she’d
been ready to pick out the wedding dress, he’d up and joined the
army.

Belinda crumpled the pink slip and threw it
into the wastebasket; then she took her purse off the couch and
counted her money.

She was through being a traveling woman; she
was done with suspense. What she was going to do was get on a bus
and go as far as her money would take her.

She didn’t know where that would be, but she
did know one thing. When she got there, she was going to be a new
woman—and in complete charge of her life.

Reeve Lawrence lifted his head, listening.
The house was too quiet. He shoved his chair back from his desk and
headed for the door.

“Quincy.
Quincy!”

Quincy appeared in his doorway, drying her
wet hands on her apron.

“You don’t have to holler, Mr. Reeve. I’m not
deaf.” Her rubber-soled shoes squeaked as they bore her massive
weight into his study. When she was inside, she craned her neck to
look up at him, and shook a finger in his face. “You got no
business gettin’ yourself all worked up, settin’ in here bellowin’
like a wounded bull. What’s the matter with you?” She studied the
dark circles under his eyes and the lines of fatigue around his
mouth. Quincy had been taking care of Reeve since he was in
diapers, and she wasn’t about to shirk her duty now.

Her face softened as she reached up to pat
his face and smooth down his collar. “You want to have a stroke and
die? Then where would your poor motherless children be?”

“Where are the children?”

“Out in the yard—running a lemonade
stand.”

“My children are running a lemonade
stand?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Betsy and Mark are out in the street like
two little urchins, peddling lemonade to strangers?”

“I don’t know about urchins, but I know about
you.” Quincy planted her hands on her hips and faced him down.
“You’ve turned mean since Miss Sunny died. She’s dead, and there’s
nothin’ me or you either one can do about it.”

Reeve didn’t deny that he’d turned mean since
his wife’s death. He’d also turned cold, but thank God Quincy
didn’t point that out. She was getting too bossy in her old age. He
probably should let her retire, but she was the only one of his
household staff who had remained faithful since Sunny had been
gone.

Sometimes he thought of Sunny’s death in that
way: he pictured her merely gone on an extended journey
somewhere—say to the Greek Islands—laughing and tanned in her gold
bikini. It was easier than thinking of her in a crumpled car,
broken and lifeless.

“You all right, Mr. Reeve?”

Quincy’s soft inquiry brought him back to the
matter at hand. He put one hand on her shoulder, and gave her a sad
smile.

“I know I’ve been asking too much of you,
taking care of my house and my children, too.”

“The angels are no trouble at all.”

“They are rambunctious hellions, and you’ve
worn yourself to a rag trying to watch after them since Miss Phepps
departed.”

Quincy snorted. “She didn’t depart. She
hightailed it out of here like the devil was after her.”

“I admit her departure was hasty.”

“All the highfalutin’ women you call nannies
have been hasty leavin’ here. There’s no pleasin’ you where the
children are concerned.”

Quincy was right again. Eight nannies had
come and gone since Sunny’s death, less than two years ago. He’d
sent three of them packing, but the other five had left on their
own. Miss Phepps, the last one, had called him a dictator. That was
mild compared to what the others had called him. The redoubtable
Miss Grimes had called him a cold heartless bastard.

“You’re damned right I’m hard to please. My
children are my life.” Reeve ran his hand through his hair, a habit
he’d developed lately. “Look, Quincy, I’m sorry I’m such a bear. Go
back to your work and don’t worry about the children. I’ll watch
after them.”

He strode from the den, a tall muscular man
with haunted dark eyes. To the casual observer, he was still a
commanding presence, a man whose very walk denoted wealth and
power. But to Quincy he was a sad, shattered man, a man in need of
a woman’s loving touch.

She clucked her tongue as she watched him
go.

“It’s not the children I worry about, Mr.
Reeve. It’s you.”