These Sheltering Walls: A Cane River Romance (11 page)

            “You
know what I mean.” Sandoz spat the words in his direction and walked away.

             Gideon
felt Tom’s hand on his arm. “Let it go,” he murmured.

            “What
did he mean?” He could hear the fear in his own voice.

            “It’s
nothing. He’s trying to get you riled up. Don’t pay him any mind.” Tom said.
“Let’s take Henry’s groceries home and then we can get out of this crowd.”

            He
looked up, seeing for the first time the curious gazes of several people who
had stopped to watch the argument. Shame washed over him and he nodded. It had
been a long time since anyone had ever been able to get under his skin that
way.

            A
minute later, they caught up with her just as she reached her door.

            “I’m
so sorry―” she started.

            “I
apologize―” Gideon said.

            He
stopped and let out a breath. “I apologize for getting you into that.”

            “Into
what?” She shifted the bag onto her other hip. “Barney Sandoz is a very
unpleasant person and possibly a thief, although I can’t prove it.”

            “A
thief?” Tom asked.

            “He
wants to be part of the excavation project without really saying why. He talks
around me instead of to me. My
mamere
says people like that could find a
loophole in a stop sign and I don’t want him near my crew.” She looked fierce
and Gideon wondered how Sandoz had the guts to approach her more than once. “Again,
I can’t prove it but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s looking for something to
steal. Early Americana items are worth a pretty penny on the antique market. I’ve
got better sense than to let someone without credentials walk onto out our site
and start digging around.”

           
Intuitive.
Insightful.
 He thought of Patsy’s delighted smile at his guesses. Henry
had good sense, but maybe it was more than that.

            “Anyway,
I’m sorry you had to be part of that ugliness.” She ran a free hand over her
hair. “Thank you for giving me a hand, Father Tom. I appreciate it.”

            “Not
a problem,” he said, handing over the bag. “Are you making a pot of jambalaya
for St. Augustine’s jambalaya feed? It’s in late October. I think we’ll have
quite a crowd. You like to cook, right?”

            “Of
course,” she said and then looked up into Gideon’s eyes.

            He
lifted an eyebrow. Not more than twenty four hours ago, she’d told him she
couldn’t cook at all.

            “I
mean, Gideon offered to lend me a hand. We’ll bring two pots.” He could hear
the laughter lurking in her words.

            Tom
looked from Henry to Gideon. “Is that so?”

            “It
is. Just so,” he said. He loved the way Henry’s eyes scrunched up when she was
trying not to laugh.

            “Well,
lookey, it’s a party and I wasn’t invited,” Blue Chalfant said, coming toward
them. Gideon covered his surprise. That was the second time in less than an
hour that someone had walked up to him and he hadn’t noticed until they were
only feet away.

            Blue
shook hands with Tom and Gideon, beaming around at the group, his gaze resting
on Henry.

             “Hi,
Blue. How’s the new practice coming along?” Tom asked.

            Bernice
had bragged for weeks when her nephew had come home to Natchitoches and opened
his law office. Gideon liked to hear young people were returning to the Cane
River area as much as the next person, but he hoped they weren’t in for a long
lecture on his practice.

            “It’s
been a great day, Father Tom. I just signed another client and I’ve got a date.
We’re going for ribs at The Red Hen.”  

            Henry’s
face went pink and she glanced back at the door. “And I’m nowhere near ready,
so I’d better get going.”

            The
pieces fell together and Gideon suddenly wished they’d never run into Henry,
never walked her back to her apartment, never seen Blue Chalfant, standing
there in all his eagerness and optimism.  Gideon wondered what she thought when
she looked at the three of them together.  
A lawyer, a priest, and a
murderer walk into a bookstore...

            “Can
I help you bring those upstairs?” Blue was already reaching for the door.

            “Nope,
I’m perfectly able to handle it from here.” She softened her words with a
smile. “Thank you,” she said, and then looked from Blue to Gideon and Tom. “All
of you.”

            “Anytime,”
Tom said.

            They
stood there for a moment, watching her disappear inside.
This door alone you
might not open, and you did.
She said she hated first dates and all the
prying questions, but maybe Blue was an exception. He could see why.

            Blue
looked around and said, “Well, I’d better go home and get spiffed up. I’m so
glad I ran into Henry. I’d been avoiding her since she moved in because my Aunt
Bernice kept telling me to look her up. She made such a big deal out of it, I
thought there must be something wrong with her. You know how relatives are, always
shoving single girls at you from every direction.”

            “Not
really, no,” Tom said.

            Blue
laughed, showing off his perfect smile. Gideon had never really noticed much before,
but Blue was a good-looking kid. He was tall, fit, and had the natural ease of
someone born to into an old Southern family.

            “See
you later,” Gideon said. He should wish him luck on his date but he couldn’t
seem to manage it.

            “You,
too,” he said and then he was gone. Tom fell into step beside Gideon as they turned
back down the river walk.

            “Well,”
Tom said.

            “Yep,”
Gideon answered.

            “I
didn’t feel like ribs anyway. Let’s get biscuits and ham at the Pastime Cafe.” 
Tom’s voice held a note of sympathy that Gideon rarely heard. He hated that Tom
felt sorry for him, but he was feeling sort of sorry for himself, too.

            His
head was filled with alternating themes of ‘I told you so’ and ‘this is
ridiculous’. He didn’t want to feel what he was feeling, nor did he want to
look too closely at it. The only thing he knew for sure was that a woman like
Henry deserved a man like Blue, if she chose anyone.

            “Biscuits
and ham sound fine,” he said and refocused on the horizon as they walked. There
was something about Henry that made him rethink his life, but losing sight of
the life he’d created in Natchitoches was a recipe for disaster. He needed to
be content with what he had, and not chase after an impossible dream. Guys like
Gideon didn’t get the girl.

“How many loved your moments of
glad grace,

And loved your beauty, with love
false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul
in you,

And loved the sorrows of your
changeling face.”

―Yeats, When You Are Old

            “You
look really nice,” Blue said, reaching out for her hand. He’d been early and
she’d barely opened the door before he was right there.

           
Truth.

           
“Thank
you,” she said. She resisted the urge to tug at the neckline of her dress. She
usually stayed firmly in the office wear section but her
mamere
had
given her this dress for Christmas last year. It was a little tighter, a little
lower cut, and a little brighter than she would have chosen, but it was
definitely a good first date dress.

            “Look
at all these people. Isn’t it wonderful to see tourists come from all over to
hear zydeco music? It makes me proud to be Creole.”

           
Truth.

            “Me,
too. It’s fun to see people experience a live music festival for the first
time. And zydeco should always be live. With lots of dancers, if possible,” she
said.

            They
stepped aside as a group of teens laughing and talking loudly passed by. She
looked up and caught Blue’s eye, and smiled when he squeezed her hand. He
actually seemed to enjoy the hustle of the influx of tourists. Most locals said
they did, because it was good for business, but they resented the Northern
accents, the screaming toddlers, and seniors decorated with fanny packs and
cameras.

            Maybe
this date wouldn’t be like all the others. Not that there had been so many
others.

            “I
just saw your aunt coming out of Shorty’s Bar and Grill. Poor woman could
hardly get out the door,” he said. “It must be a real curse to be so beautiful.”

            Henry
swallowed hard. Not a big deal. One reference to Kimberly did not ruin a date.

            “She
needs bodyguards just to go to dinner. I don’t know how she manages. It must be
frightening,” Blue said.

            Henry
felt her stomach tighten. She wanted to say that if Kimberly found it so hard
to go to dinner, maybe she should rent out the restaurant for the night. But
she didn’t. When celebrities wanted a quiet meal, not a media circus, they
managed it. But Kimberly knew how to please her fans. Some would be glad of a
chance to get close and touch her, ask for a picture or an autograph, even if
they got dragged away. And the others would feel deep sympathy for the poor,
beautiful woman who couldn’t risk walking out the door without being mobbed.

            “Was
it hard growing up related to her? I can imagine it got really tiresome,
especially with how different you are,” he said. “I mean, you’re not―
she’s really―.”

            Henry
threw him a smile. “I’m not offended. We’re really different in appearance.
When people bring it up, I just tell them it’s a good thing I’m a historian and
not a movie star.”

            He
seemed chastened. “Every guy you meet probably asks what she’s really like or
if they can get a picture of her. You must get kind of tired of hearing how
beautiful she is.”

            Not
everybody. Not Gideon. “Oh, I used to, sure, especially as a teenager. But I’ve
learned not to take it personally.”

            They
stopped in front of The Red Hen and he let go of her hand to open the door.
Henry had always loved the little café for its homey décor, the little tables
covered with flowered cloths and set with a milk glass vase full of simple
flowers. She breathed in the familiar smell of hot biscuits, fried chicken, and
the spicy sauce of the famous barbeque ribs. Nita bustled toward them, tucking
a pen into the front pocket of her pink apron.

            “Hey
there, Henry. Hey, Blue.” The waitress grabbed Henry and squeezed her tight. Nita’s
hugs weren’t the short and polite variety. She aimed to let you know you’d been
hugged. “Your granddaddy was just in here with your aunty. He about threw a
dyin’ duck fit, what with all the folks who came up and bothered them while
they was a-tryin’ to have their supper.”

            “I
can imagine,” Henry said, her words sounding a little breathless from the
squeezing.

            She
was released and then it was Blue’s turn. Nita ended her hug by leaning back,
cupping his face in both hands and saying, “I say, you look more like your
great aunt Lucille every day.”

            “That
so?” Blue said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

            “Or
maybe Eloise, your second cousin. Whichever one, it’s powerful clear you’re kin
to them.” She brushed down her apron and looked around. The room was packed
with families, and more than a few curious gazes were fixed on their little
group. “Let me find you a quiet little place out of the way of pryin’ eyes.”

            As
she led them to a table in a corner, Blue looked back and winked. Henry threw
him a sympathetic smile. This would be fun. He might not ask that many
questions. Maybe he would share about himself and his family. 

            As
Blue pulled out her chair and she settled into it, Gideon’s face popped into
her mind. As Blue sat down opposite from her, his dark eyes reflecting back the
flicker of the little tea light on the table, Henry admitted to herself, for
the tiniest moment, that she wished Gideon was in his place. If Gideon asked her
questions, she would answer them honestly. If Gideon talked about his family,
she would lean forward and listen, instead of looking around the room so she
didn’t catch all the clues that made up a lie.

             Henry
tightened her ponytail and smiled across the table at Blue. Her whole life it
seemed she always yearned for what she couldn’t have, and was always
disappointed. It was better to pretend and keep that dusty room of secrets shut
tight inside. Not all lies were bad. Not all stories had to be told.

                                                                        ****

            Gideon
settled on the bench across from By the Book. At almost midnight on a weekday,
the river walk should have been empty, but with the festival so near, it was
only just now slowly clearing of tourists and revelers. Beside the occasional
car passing by, the only sound was the gently lapping of the river against the
bank behind him.

            He
adjusted his ball cap and folded his arms over his chest. Henry’s apartment had
long windows that faced the river and he hoped that if she got up in the night and
for some reason decided to look outside, she wouldn’t recognize him from that
far away.

            A
couple appeared near the corner and wandered toward him, arms around each
other, deep in conversation.  The man glanced in Gideon’s direction and he
tried his best to look like he was simply enjoying the quiet. He hunched a
little into his shirt.

            He
must have succeeded because they passed without comment. Gideon tried to get
comfortable. It was going to be a long night. He’d had a few cups of coffee but
didn’t think he’d need the stimulant. The idea of someone having Henry’s keys
was enough to keep anxiety twisting in his gut.

            He
wondered how her date had gone and then shut down that line of thought. Whether
she had a good time wasn’t important to him. It was the kind of curiosity that drove
people to gossip. He had no desire to be privy to the minute details of how
well, or how badly, Blue had presented himself.

            After
several hours, the muscles in his shoulders were tightening up. He rolled his
head to the left and the right. The sun was still hours from rising and he
would have given something precious for reading material. He hadn’t brought a
book because he figured the only thing stranger than sitting on a bench in the
Historic District all night would be to be enjoying a bestseller by flashlight.

            A
movement at the corner caught his eye and he squinted toward a dark figure
walking his direction. There was something familiar about the gait and seconds
later he recognized the shadowy outline of Tom.

            As
he came closer, Tom’s expression drifted from polite disinterest to surprise
and then outright concern. He stopped in front of Gideon and looked left, then
right. “I’m sure there’s a really good explanation for you to be out here at four
in the morning.”

            Gideon
stood and stretched. “Ditto, my friend.”

            “Mrs.
Lefevre’s family called me to administer Last Rites,” Tom said.

            “I’m
sorry to hear that. I thought she was recovering.”

            “She
was. But since this morning, she’s gone downhill. She was awake and aware, so
that was good.” He frowned. “And you still haven’t told me what you’re doing
parked on a bench outside…” He seemed to realize where they were standing and
his head swiveled toward By the Book, realization dawning.

            “She
lost her keys,” Gideon said quietly.

             “And
you think someone could have picked them up? Or stolen them?”

            “Alice
is in New York with Paul. Henry said she’d call her in a few days if she hadn’t
found them yet. I know this looks bad but honestly, I―”

             Tom
reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to explain.”

             “You
get it, right? You know just as well as I do what’s out there.” He didn’t like
to talk about the darkness in the world. It was a reality he avoided
confronting until he had to, but now that Tom was here, he found himself giving
words to the fear that had stalked him since that afternoon. “I’ve seen evil,
Tom. I’ve looked it in the eyes, shaken its hand. But she hasn’t. And I don’t want
her to.”

            Tom
seemed to be having trouble finding words. “You’re a good man, Gideon. I’m
proud to call you my friend,” he said finally.

            “We
wouldn’t even be friends if it weren’t for you and your stubborn self,” Gideon
said.    “I just hated losing my fishing buddy,” Tom said, nudging him with an
elbow. “I could have brought you a photo of me when you finally let me visit,
but I knew what would really bring you around.”

            Gideon
remembered the moment. He hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, finally
getting up to pace his cell, reciting his memorized apology, trying to make the
words big enough to hold everything he felt. It was the day before he turned
twenty three but Tom didn’t bring him a birthday card. His gift was a picture
of the spot where the Red River passed between Shreveport and Bossier City. Vince
had taken them fishing there every weekend in the summer and it was one of the
few places Gideon had ever felt at peace. Gideon had wanted to hand the picture
back, saying he wasn’t that kid any more, but he didn’t. Just like the letters
that arrived every week, it was one more way that Tom reminded Gideon who he
was, not the person he was becoming in prison.

             “As
soon as she changes the locks, I’ll go right back to minding my own business,”
Gideon said.

             “If
you say so.”

            Deciding
to ignore that last comment, he sat back down on the bench. “Better get on home
and get some rest.”

            To
his surprise, Tom sat down next to him. “What kind of friend would I be to let
you sit here without any company?”

            “One
who has a seven-day-a-week job?”

            “I’ll
survive.” Tom stretched out his legs. “It’s been a long time since we had all
the time in the world to just sit and talk.”

            “Or
sit and not talk.” Gideon was too tired to try and hedge Tom’s questions.

             “Fine.
We can just be two guys on a bench, enjoying the stars. But you know what would
make this perfect?”

            “What?”

            “A
nice spot on the river and some cane poles,” Tom said.

            “Yep.”

            After
a long while, Gideon could see the sky lightening up. There were worse ways to
spend a sleepless night. “This time of year always reminds me of that Faulkner
line from
The Sound and The Fury
.”

            “Which
one?”

            “
Some
days in late August at home are like this, the air thin and eager like this,
with something in it sad and nostalgic and familiar
,” Gideon recited.

            Tom
nodded, head tilted back, eyes on the last fading stars above. “Have you been
thinking a lot about the past?”

             “A
guy I started mentoring reminds me so much of myself. Angry, defensive, on the
edge in a way I can’t really put my finger on. It’s like looking into the past,
into those months before I ran away. I want to shake this kid and make him
understand the risks he’s taking. You’d think a prison term would have done
that already, but I don’t think he learned his lesson the first time. He’s got
that same stubborn streak I had.”