Roses (5 page)

“Mary?”

She turned at the sound of the familiar voice, as agile as a girl of fourteen, but she was confused. How had Percy gotten
behind her? She had just seen him standing beneath the elm on the courthouse common.

“Percy, my love…,” she greeted him in surprise, hampered by the cane and handbag from holding out her arms. “Did you have
to drink
all
my soda? I wanted it that day, you know, as much as I wanted you, but I didn’t know it. I was too young and silly and too
much of a Toliver. If only I hadn’t been such a fool—”

She felt herself shaken. “Miss Mary… it’s Matt.”

M
att?” Mary repeated, blinking into the concerned face of Percy’s grandson.

“Yes, ma’am,” Matt said.

Oh, Lord, Mary thought as her confusion cleared and she read Matt’s expression. She’d let a very old cat out of a very old
bag. How could she explain her way out of this? But she was loath to let go of the memories of that day while the feelings
still lingered. How great it had been to go back for those few throbbing minutes when the juices still flowed and her blood
had thrilled. To see Percy again at nineteen….

Senility did have its rewards.

She smiled at Matt and patted the starched front of his shirt. Like his grandfather, he dressed in coat and tie, even in summer.
“Hello, dear. Did you catch me talking to myself?”

“I can’t think of a better person to have a conversation with than yourself, Miss Mary,” Matt said, his eyes, bright blue
like his grandmother’s, alight with curiosity and surprise. “It’s good to see you. We’ve all missed you this past month, Granddad
especially. Were you headed somewhere special? Let me walk you there.”

“Actually, dear, I just got back,” Mary said, smiling cryptically, indulging herself. “From the past,” she added, seeing his
brows raise. She suspected he’d been watching her from a courthouse window and knew she hadn’t been anywhere. What difference
did it make now, anyhow? Matt was young enough to get over anything and old enough to understand the indiscretions of which
he now suspected her and his grandfather guilty. She looked at him fondly. “You haven’t lived long enough to have a past,
but you will someday.”

“I’ll soon turn thirty-five, creeping up there,” Matt said with a grin. “Now, come on, where are you going?”

“Nowhere, I guess.” She suddenly felt tired. She saw that Henry’s hunger pangs had driven him out on the sidewalk to look
for her. She nodded toward her limousine, and he struck off eagerly toward Amos’s office.

“Henry’s gone for the car,” Mary said. “Walk me back to the corner, will you? It’s been a while since we talked.” She slipped
her hand under Matt’s arm, wielding the cane with the other. “When are you going to marry, Matt? You can’t be hurting for
choices.”

“You’d be surprised. Lots of choices, but none too choice. How is that great-niece of yours, by the way? Any hope she’ll be
paying us a visit soon? You know, I haven’t seen her since Mister Ollie died. She was around sixteen or seventeen, I recall—already
a beauty then.”

“Seventeen,” Mary murmured, her throat suddenly tightening. “She was born in 1956.”

It was something else she’d have to account for, her hand in keeping Matt and Rachel apart. Ever since they’d met the first
time, when Rachel was fourteen, she’d speculated on the supreme irony of the two of them attracting each other and something
coming of it down the line. At their second meeting—Ollie’s funeral—three years later, they had already developed into the
breed they would become—Rachel the planter and Matt the lumberman—a combination that never would have worked… not for Somerset.

She’d felt the spark between them on that occasion, had seen the interest in Matt’s eye, the admiration in Rachel’s, and decided
right there and then that the two should never be in Howbutker at the same time. It had not been difficult to arrange. Matt
had already graduated from college by then, and for most of his young adult life his grandfather had had him out of town learning
the business of Warwick Industries’ far-flung operations. When he did manage to get home for short visits and holidays, Mary
had made sure that Rachel was occupied elsewhere. Any lingering curiosity her great-niece may have had about Percy’s handsome
grandson, she’d discouraged by simply never bringing up his name and changing the subject when it invariably was. There was
five years’ difference in their ages, and she’d counted on Matt being married by the time Rachel had graduated from Texas
A&M and was ready to settle down.

Of course, all that conniving had happened a number of years before the full picture of the tragedy she was creating had begun
to emerge… before Rachel’s falling-out with her mother and the breakup with her air force pilot. How could she have foreseen
that Rachel—within sight of thirty and Matt nearly thirty-five, the same age difference between her and Percy—would be unmarried
still? Matt had moved home for good. He had taken over as head of Warwick Industries, and, but for the codicil, Rachel would
have been coming home, too…. She halted.
What if she had destroyed another what-should-have-been?
The thought was like a knife plunged into her lungs.

“Miss Mary, what is it?” Matt covered her clutching fingers with his hand, his brow furrowed in concern. “Tell me.”

Mary turned her disturbed gaze up to him. He had inherited his grandfather’s height and build and a rougher-cut version of
his handsomeness. She had always preferred his face to Percy’s. It comforted rather than devastated and had an appeal entirely
his own. She could see nothing of Percy’s wife, Matt’s grandmother, about him except his light brown hair and bright blue
eyes. “How’s Lucy?” she asked.

Looking baffled, Matt eased into his grandfather’s grin. “Why, the same as always. Full of piss and vinegar. I just got back
from a visit with her in Atlanta. Should I mention that you asked about her next time I talk to her?”

Mary threw up a hand. “Oh, good Lord, no! She might have a heart attack.”

Matt chuckled. “You two. I don’t suppose I’ll ever learn what came between you.” I imagine you have a pretty good idea already,
Mary thought, amused, and wondered if Matt would question Percy about what he’d overheard. Probably not. He’d let the creek
lie still, rather than go fishing. No telling what he might drag up that would embarrass his grandfather. It had all happened
so long ago, anyway.

“I can see that you’re not going to relieve my curiosity,” Matt said, “so let’s go back to Rachel. When can we expect her
next visit?”

“Oh, in about two or three weeks, I’d say,” Mary said, her attention on her limousine drawing up to the curb. It was white,
ancient, and in impeccable running order, much as she’d once thought of herself. “Here’s Henry, so I’ll say good-bye, Matt.”

She gazed up at him through her sunglasses, a constriction suddenly in her throat. He’d always been such a good boy. She remembered
when he and his mother, Claudia, Percy’s daughter-in-law, had come to live at Warwick Hall. Matt had been only a few months
old. He had reminded her of Matthew, his namesake. Matt had been their rainbow after the storm. Pain swelled in her breast.
“Matt—” she started to say, but to her dismay, a sob blocked her words.

Matt said, “Hey, here now… what’s this?” and drew her into his arms. “You look too lovely to cry.”

She felt in her purse for a handkerchief. “And you’re wearing too nice a jacket to cry on,” she said, finding a tissue and
pressing it to a wet spot on his lapel, appalled at herself. “I’m sorry, Matt. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Memories do that to you sometimes,” he said, his expression gentle and knowing. “How about letting Granddad and me come down
for a drink around six? He’s missed you this past month—more than I can say.”

“If you’ll promise not to say a word to him about my… behavior.”

“What behavior?”

Henry had come around to assist. “Aunt Sassie’s havin’ ham and black-eyed peas and collards and fried cornbread for lunch,”
he said. “That’ll fix her up.”

“Sounds like just the ticket,” Matt said, but Mary caught the look he exchanged with Henry that belied his confidence. Before
closing the door, he leaned in and placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll see you this evening, Miss Mary. Okay?”

She patted his hand. “Okay,” she said.

But of course it wasn’t okay. She’d think of some excuse and have Sassie call down to Warwick Hall later with her apologies.
After their month’s separation, Percy would have a fit, but she was in no state to see him. She needed her emotional and physical
strength for her encounter with Rachel tomorrow, and she must still attend to that final task in the attic. “Henry,” she said,
lifting her glasses to wipe away the last of her tears, “I’d like you to do something for me when we get home.”

Henry cast her a stricken look through the rearview mirror. “Before lunch, Miss Mary?”

“Before lunch. I want you to go up to the attic and open Mister Ollie’s World War One footlocker. Have Sassie get the keys
from my top bureau drawer to unlock the lid. Leave the keys up there. Shouldn’t take too long, then you can have your ham
and black-eyed peas.”

In the mirror, Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Miss Mary, you feelin’ all right?”

“I’m feeling sensible, Henry, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his tone expressing doubt.

Her eyes were dry by the time they turned into the wide, tree-canopied street of Houston Avenue, passing houses of grand proportions
set back on rolling lawns in manicured order. “When we get to the house, let me out in front, Henry,” Mary instructed.

Henry shot her another bewildered glance through the rearview mirror. “In front of the house? You don’t want me to drive you
round to the side door?”

“No, Henry, in front. Don’t bother to get out to help me. I can manage.”

“If you say so, Miss Mary. Now about Mister Ollie’s army trunk. How’ll I recognize it?”

“It’s the sickly green one pushed against the far right wall. His name is printed on it: C
APTAIN
O
LLIE
D
U
M
ONT
, US A
RMY
. You can’t miss it once you get the dust off. The lid hasn’t been opened in so long, you’ll probably need to use a crowbar.”

“Yes’m,” Henry said, drawing the limousine to a stop before a wide flight of verandah steps. He watched with anxious eyes
as his mistress maneuvered herself out of the backseat and began her ascent to the white-columned porch. She waved him off
as she was halfway up, but he waited to pull away until she’d reached the final step. A short while later, Sassie Two, so
called because she was the second Sassie in her family to serve as the Tolivers’ housekeeper, flung open the front door and
came out, demanding, “Miss Mary, what you doin’ out here? You know this heat ain’t good for you.”

“It’s not bothering me, Sassie, really.” Mary spoke from a deep white plantation chair, one of a number of pairs that graced
the wide verandah. “I told Henry to drop me off in front because I wished to climb the steps again, to get the feel of entering
my house by the front door. I haven’t done that in ages, and it’s been even longer since I’ve sat out here, observing the
neighborhood.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to observe about the neighborhood ’cept the grass growin’. Everybody else is inside where it’s cool. And you
ain’t goin’ to find a blade of that grass changed since the last time you sat out here, Miss Mary. Why’re you doin’ it now,
of all times? Lunch is about ready.”

“
Dinner,
Sassie,” Mary corrected firmly. “
Dinner
is about ready. When did we southern folks start calling our noon meal
lunch
?”

“Oh, about the time the rest of the world did, I imagine.”

“Well, the rest of the world can be hanged. From now on, we have
dinner
here at noon. Dinner and
supper
. The world can have its
lunch
and
dinner
.”

Hands on her ample hips, Sassie regarded her mistress tolerantly. “That’s fine by me. Now about your
dinner.
Will you be ready for it in about ten minutes when Henry comes down from the attic?”

“That’ll be fine,” Mary said. “Did you give him the key to Mister Ollie’s trunk?”

“I did. What in the world do you want it opened for?”

“There’s something I need from it. I’ll go up after dinner and get it.”

“Can’t Henry find whatever it is?”

“No!”
Mary barked, clutching the arms of the chair in panic. Sassie’s dark face flooded with alarm, and she added in a mitigating
tone, “I’m the only one who knows what I’m looking for. It’s… something I must do myself.”

“Well, all right.” The housekeeper looked skeptical. “You want some iced tea?”

“No, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, Sassie. I know I’m acting a little odd today, but it feels good to kick the traces a
bit.”

“Uh-huh,” Sassie murmured. “Well, now, I’m comin’ back to get you soon as Henry comes down.”

Mary sensed Sassie’s concerned backward glance and regretted causing her worry. No doubt she and Henry thought she was finally
losing her mind. Something cold would have tasted good. She wished she hadn’t refused the offer of iced tea, but it was too
much trouble for Sassie to have to come back.

She made herself comfortable and directed her gaze slowly up and down the avenue. The Toliver mansion sat high enough to permit
a good view of the neighborhood from the verandah. Her great-great-grandmother had seen to that. How she loved this house,
this street. Little about it had changed since she was a girl. The carriage houses were now garages, sprinkler systems had
replaced the hand watering once done by the household help, and a few of the old trees had finally toppled, but the antebellum
grace of the avenue remained the same, a small part of the South not yet gone with the wind.

Would Rachel ever appreciate what it had cost her to take this place away from her? Would the child ever fathom what it had
been like for her to live the final weeks of her life knowing that she would be the last Toliver to reside in the family home
place, the house her forebears had built? Most likely not. That would be asking an awful lot from the girl….