The Splendour Falls (28 page)

There were echoes of that theme in Maddox Point. Shawn kept saying how good it would be for the area. I had to admit, it would probably be good for Paula, too.
Just because it rang like a party line didn't mean it wasn't true. So I knew I should just tell that little voice in my head – which sounded a lot like Rhys at the moment – to shut up.

Shawn polished off the last crumb of his pie. ‘I'll take you to see the site sometime, if you like. It's not much more than a bunch of forested acreage and a big sign by the road right now, but that will change.'

‘So you haven't started building?'

‘Not yet.' Shawn waved to Kimberly to bring the check. ‘Have to get the right approvals and all. Doesn't help that the guy the state sent out to survey by the river busted up his leg before he could finish his report.'

I winced in deep sympathy for the man, but the mention also rang a more recent bell. ‘Did he fall by the river embankment? Dr Young told me about that.'

‘Yeah, that was him.' He looked at me curiously, almost a little warily. ‘What else did Dr Young say?'

With a wry smile that I hoped hid any evasion – I didn't need to tell Shawn we'd talked about his family, past and present – I replied, ‘To watch out for alligators.'

Shawn laughed, drawing the attention of the eavesdroppers in the restaurant. I could feel their speculation ratchet up another notch. ‘Now, that is good advice.'

I had to agree, because sometime during lunch I'd decided I needed to watch my step with Shawn. If my performer instincts recognized Shawn's charm as stage presence, didn't that mean that some part of me was thinking he was putting on at least a little bit of an act?

Shawn didn't ask if I wanted him to drive me back to the house: he just assumed he would, and it was one time I was happy to let him presume. I did attempt to pay for my own lunch, but when he insisted it was his treat, I realized that arguing would attract more attention than simply giving in. As it was, between the people who stopped by the table while we waited for the check and the change, and those who greeted us on our way out, I was sure by tomorrow morning the whole county would know that Shawn Maddox had taken Sylvie Davis on a date.

At Bluestone Hill, he pulled into the front drive, hauled my bike out of the truck and leaned it against a big fluted pot, pausing to look at it sadly. ‘If it was a horse, you'd have to shoot it.'

I privately agreed, but his scorn for the poor thing made me perversely attached to it. ‘It got me where I was going. More or less. Gigi and I are grateful for the ride back, though.'

When I'd set her down, Gigi had run to the grass for a quick pit stop, then pranced to the house and up the steps so she was closer to eye level. The better to watch Shawn as he asked, ‘So, about this Catfish Festival. Would you like to go?'

I suspected I wasn't going to be able to get out of it. It felt like a fait accompli, and only sheer stubbornness made me ask, ‘Is this a Maddox asking a Davis? Or Shawn asking Sylvie?'

He shrugged amiably. ‘We can't help who we are and what it means around here.'

That wasn't exactly an answer. But given my feeling of inevitability, maybe it didn't really matter. ‘I'll think about it,' I said.

‘Is it because of the cousin thing?' he asked earnestly. ‘Because really it's like fourth cousins twice removed.'

That rated a half-smile. ‘It's more the catfish thing. I don't eat them.' I turned, and Gigi trotted beside me as I walked along the porch, heading for the back door.

Shawn accompanied us at more of a stroll, but he stopped when he saw the garden where I'd been working. ‘Hey, you're clearing out around the big rock.'

‘Yeah.' He jumped off the porch and went through the hedges. Gigi barked and ran after him, and I followed, too, surprised Shawn was so interested. I was proud of my start, but there was still an overwhelming amount of ground to cover.

I joined him at the central planting bed, not sure why I needed to explain, ‘It was something to do. Paula's big into the whole “idle hands are the tools of the devil”, I think.'

‘Are you going to uncover the rock?' he asked, nodding to the vine-covered stone in the middle. ‘I always wondered what this garden was supposed to look like.'

‘Yeah,' I said, answering his question. ‘I need some better clippers, though. That vine is insane. Is it kudzu?'

‘The vine that ate the South,' Shawn confirmed. ‘I'm surprised it hasn't blanketed this whole garden. You may have a tough time getting rid of it.' He
glanced down at me with a smile of approval. ‘This is a good sign.'

‘The kudzu?' I asked doubtfully. My dad had told me it was originally imported and planted to prevent soil erosion, but it grew out of control and turned into an invasive nuisance, an example of what happened when you introduced something and upset the natural balance of an ecosystem.

Shawn laughed. ‘No, that you're working on the garden. You know, digging into the old family place.'

He winked, acknowledging the pun. But the statement shook me, resonating with my childhood fascination with how cut plants would put down roots, what I'd told John seemed magical to me. Dad had taken pains to cut himself off from his family tree and transplant himself halfway across the country. Was I now grafting myself into the very place he'd left?

I couldn't ignore the question that wrapped around my mind like the kudzu around the rock. What if there was a good reason that Dad had left here in the first place?

A
fter Shawn went home, I let Gigi run around for a few more minutes before we headed for the back door. Paula was in the kitchen with Clara, so I left the dog on the porch to play with one of her toys.

‘How was your meeting?' I asked, making conversation.

‘Just fine.' She sat at the table, still wearing her going-to-town clothes, a big glass of iced tea in front of her. ‘How was your lunch?' she returned with pointed curiosity.

‘Oh my God.' I fell into my usual chair, stunned – but also not – that the news had made the rounds so quickly. ‘You mean it didn't even take an hour for it to get back here?'

Clara, not bothering to hide her amusement, joined us, settling down with her own glass of tea. ‘Rhonda Maxwell from Paula's bridge club called from her cell phone before you'd even ordered your meal. Did you like the lemon chess pie?'

I covered my eyes and groaned, not really exaggerating my consternation. ‘It's like I've gone through a time warp to the fifties, but with better telecommunication.'

Paula actually laughed; her meeting must have gone very well. ‘That Shawn Maddox. He doesn't move slow.'

‘I don't get it.' I wished I could enjoy the moment, that I could be a normal girl being teased about her social life by her relatives – in Clara's case, an honorary one – and not be unnerved by this outdated matchmaking.

‘Well, honey,' said Paula, misinterpreting my confusion, ‘not to put too fine a point on it, you're a novelty. You'd be getting plenty of interest even if you were uglier than a coonhound. But you're not.'

‘Plus, I'm a Davis.' Sobering, I sat up in the chair, getting to the crux of my unease. Gossip was one thing. But this level of excitement about my social life made the townspeople's expectations more than irritating. ‘How much of this is because it's supposed to be good luck when our families get together?'

Paula took my question seriously, maybe picking up on my disquiet. ‘I know it seems strange to you. It's just that the Davis and Maddox families have a long history together. In business, and otherwise.'

‘I get that a hundred years ago people sealed deals with marriages and dowries and stuff. But seriously, this is the twenty-first century.' I couldn't explain my sense of outrage. Maybe I was again identifying with the Colonel's hypothetical daughter, the duty she'd have to marry for money, or business reasons, or class. Adding ‘luck' to the list of reasons didn't seem quite fair.

‘It's just a silly superstition, honey.' Paula patted my hand. ‘Don't let it bother you.'

The patronizing hand pat annoyed me and made my reply sharp. ‘Did it seem silly to you when
you
were young?'

Paula's eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. ‘Before I was as ancient as I am now, you mean?'

Clara chuckled, defusing the moment, and rose from the table. ‘I'll leave you to this family discussion. Addie will be home from school soon and I want to make sure she studies before her council meeting.'

I looked up, momentarily distracted. ‘Is that tonight?' It seemed ages since the conversation in Caitlin's car.

She shook her head as she went to the door. ‘I swear sometimes it feels like every night.'

Turning back to Paula, I began a new question. ‘About when you were here when you were young—'

‘For heaven's sake, Sylvie! No one tried to set me
up.' She got up and took her glass to the sink, dismissing the question, and me.

My tone turned chilly. ‘I was going to ask about my dad, actually.'

Contrite, she returned to the table, resting her hands on the back of her chair. ‘Go ahead.'

‘Do you know if anything happened the last summer he was here?' For all we didn't get along, I didn't want to purposefully hurt my cousin's feelings. She talked about the past like it was something ideal, and I imagined it would sting to know Dad had never mentioned his family history. ‘I just mean … It seems strange he never came back to visit.'

Paula gave the question some thought. ‘I don't know, honey. I was a year or two older, and stopped coming before he did. When you grow up, you don't have the luxury of summers off.'

‘I don't suppose Shawn has an aunt about Dad's age.' I was half joking. But only half.

Paula didn't smile. ‘I just figured he became too busy to visit. I only came back once or twice until I inherited the place.'

‘From your parents?' I asked, trying to sort out the family tree.

‘From my grandfather. Your dad's great-uncle. I'm the only child of his oldest son. Though, of course, primogeniture doesn't really matter, since there's no one else.' Her gaze lost focus as memory reeled her in. ‘Granddad Davis was old as the hills when he finally passed away. He'd been in a home for the last ten years, so the place was empty …' She trailed off and looked
at me. ‘No wonder people see you as a good omen! Young blood, back in the old family manor.'

‘Somehow this conversation has failed to reassure me,' I said sceptically.

She smiled, seeming almost sympathetic. ‘We are very set in our ways down here. Even – no,
especially
– when it comes to socialization.'

I had a sudden, horrible thought. ‘I'm not going to have to do a cotillion or anything like that, am I?'

‘Of course not,' Paula said, with no apparent irony. ‘Debutante season has already passed.'

My stricken expression made her snort. ‘Honestly, Sylvie. It won't do you harm to get a bit involved here. Of course people are going to be all in your business. You're the last of your line.'

‘So?' In the back of my mind I'd realized this, but something about that phrasing made me uneasy, which made me grumpy. Grumpier than usual, I mean.

‘So …' Paula drew out the word, her subtext very I-can't-believe-you-haven't-figured-this-out-for-yourself. ‘I have no children. I hope it will be a long time from now, but you'll eventually inherit Bluestone Hill.'

‘Not if you sell it.' Her look of absolute horror told me what she thought of that suggestion.

‘And you,' she continued, as if I hadn't voiced the idea, ‘will have the money to really fix it up, if you want.'

My forehead knit in confusion. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, your father's trust.' She registered my blank
look and explained, matter-of-factly, ‘That's the way things split up. His side got the ironworks – which has since gone public, and the funds put into a trust. My side got the house and all the land.'

My stomach twisted. Had I been living on the Colonel's money all this time? ‘I thought my allowance came from what Dad invested from his business. And the life insurance.'

‘I don't know about that. I suppose it does, because you won't have access to the Davis trust until you're eighteen. That's the age your dad used the money to move away and go to school.'

I sat back, flummoxed. ‘I just thought it was all Dad's money. And not—' I made a ballooning gesture, encompassing the weight of a family legacy.

‘It's all your dad's money, honey,' Paula said pragmatically. ‘You should really find out more about your business affairs. You're almost eighteen, for heaven's sake. Not a child.'

You wouldn't know that from the way she treated me, but my irritation took a back seat to my resurgent anger and confusion. Dad had – well, not hidden this, exactly, since I would have found out in a few months, even if I hadn't come down here. But he'd certainly kept it separate and secret.