These Sheltering Walls: A Cane River Romance (18 page)

            “Oh,
I know you won’t. It’s just that names are so important.”

            “Are
they?”

            She
straightened up. “Aren’t they? What if I asked you what your other last name
is?” She knew he would refuse.

            “Hardy,”
he said. “Gideon Theodore Hardy. I was named after both of my grandfathers.”

            She
repeated it after him, tasting the names on her tongue. It was odd how she
could see him answering to Hardy just as easily as Becket.

            “Lorelei,”
she said. “My first name is Lorelei.”

             “It’s
pretty.”

            “It
doesn’t fit me.”

            There
was an expression on his face that she couldn’t quite understand. Part
exasperation, part amusement.  “And Henry does?”

            “Better
than Lorelei. And to be fair, I’m sure my mother meant it as a compliment,” she
said.

            “Naming
her baby after a siren who lures men to their deaths with her beauty?”

            “Exactly.”
Henry sighed. There was power in beauty, but it could be a destructive power
and some women knew just how to wield it.

            “All
right, so Patsy calls you Sherlock.” He went back to brushing and she took his
cue, letting out a small breath. “Is she your Watson?”

            “She
is.” 

            “Patsy
doesn’t strike me as the socially refined one in your relationship. And you
don’t seem to be the emotionless, analytical human computer.”

            Henry
started to laugh. “I thought you only read St. Vincent Millay poetry.”

            “I
read a lot of things. And nobody can say they’re a reader if they haven’t read
a few Sherlock mysteries.”

            “We
loved those stories when we were in high school.” Her little square was
finished and she hadn’t found anything of interest. She made a note on the
clipboard and moved the markers to a different spot. Kneeling down, she paused,
brush in hand. “But you’re right. Patsy is more logical, less sensitive. I’m
the one who worries about gossip and how people feel.”

            “That
must be tough, since you’re more tuned in to it all than most people.”

            Tuned
in to it. That was a funny way to put it. “Don’t you worry about gossip?”

            He
looked up. “You mean because of my past?”

            She
nodded. She’d told him that she didn’t want to know, but the more time they
spent together, the more his crime didn’t seem to fit the man in front of her.

            “Is
it gossip if it’s true?” He brushed at the dirt for a few seconds then looked
up again. “Sorry. That wasn’t really an answer. No, I don’t worry what people
say about me. I’m sure most of it is true. What’s not true doesn’t matter.
Nothing could be worse than the truth, anyway.”

            He
said it without heat or bitterness.

            “I
do worry about Tom. I don’t want him to suffer for our friendship,” he said.
“But he seems to be one of those people that can turn a crowd in his favor with
just a few words.”

            “I’ve
known people like that,” she said. “He’s not the kind to abuse his gift but
some people don’t always use it for good. They’re charismatic,  learn how to
manipulate the powerful, sway opinion and come out of it all looking humble.”

            “You’re
talking about your aunt,” he said.

            “I
wasn’t thinking of her exactly, but she’s a good example, sure.” She tried to
sound off hand.

            He
cocked his head. “You really can’t stand her.” When she didn’t answer he said, “I’m
not saying you’re right or wrong. I’m just curious. She’s made a living off her
beauty, true. And she’s silly, yes. And I’m sure being related to her has been
a real trial, but it seems like interacting with Kimberly Gray is the worst
thing in your life.” He was smiling, as if to take the bite from his
observation. “There are so many other things in the world that are worse than
Kimberly Gray being your aunt, in my opinion.”

            She
realized they’d stopped working. She looked at her square, trying to find her
place, wishing she’d never come to this little house, never asked him inside.
The next moment, she was blurting out the truth.

            “She’s
my mother,” she said. “Kimberly Gray is my mother.” The words echoed around in
her head, sounding louder and more powerful than she’d thought they would be.

            There
was a long moment of silence. She finally opened her eyes.

            “Ah.”
He nodded. “That explains a lot.”

             “You
said that before. Am I that much of a puzzle?”

            “Actually,
yes. Do a lot of people know or am I just out of the loop?”

            It
was strange, really. Her whole life she’d been guarding that secret room, the
one she kept all to herself, the one that held the darkest secrets. He made her
want to open the door and invite him inside.

            “Nobody
knows.”

            “Nobody
in town?”

            She
swallowed hard. “Nobody.”

            “Except
your family.”

            “She
doesn’t know that I know. None of them do.” There it was, the very worst part
about being Kimberly Gray’s daughter.  

            The
laughter faded from his eyes.

            “The
elephant in the room is a world-famous celebrity,” she said, trying to regain
the light-heartedness of the last few minutes.

            Gideon
sat back on his heels. “You’ve always known?”

            She
nodded. “Ever since I can remember.”

            He
didn’t ask how she knew. If he had, she could have told him that a birth
certificate contains a lot of indisputable facts.

             “But
you’ve never told them.”

            “Of
course not.” The idea was ludicrous. White hot anger surged through her. “It’s
not my responsibility to clear the air. They’re the ones who’ve been carrying
on this charade for my entire life.” She swiped at the sweat on her cheeks, or
maybe it was tears. “Every time they call her my aunt, they lie. Every time
they call Lisette my mother they lie. They lie, and lie, and lie. And you think
I should be the only one telling the truth? Why do they deserve it? Why do they
deserve the truth and I don’t?”

            He
stood up and brushed the dirt from his hands. She’d said too much, shown the
dark grief and anger inside. She expected him to answer questions that weren’t
his concern. Maybe she could pretend she’d just been joking around but it was
too late and she didn’t have the energy for a lie that big. She dropped her
head and didn’t bother to wipe her face again.

            Then
he was next to her and lifting her up,
his hands under her
elbows. She said something into the front of his shirt, not even understanding
herself through her tears and not expecting any kind of answer. His arms were
wrapped so tightly around her that it almost hurt, but she didn’t move.

            “Because,”
he said finally, “when you lie right back, you’re letting them have all the
power.”

            She
shook her head against his chest but he didn’t say anything else. She tried not
to cry out loud because crying had always been something that women did for
attention, not what people did when they had reached the absolute end of their
ability to cope.

            After
a while she was aware of how her shirt was sticking to her back, the way her
neck was craned at an angle and how a knee pad was slipping down one leg. He
felt completely solid under her hands and cheek. She took a deep breath and
inhaled the smell of him, that soap-and-something-wonderful combination. He
hadn’t shifted at all and she wondered at his ability to stand so still,
especially with someone having a small breakdown against him.

            She
realized that she would have to step back eventually and look him in the eyes.
Dread crept over her, freezing her in place. Before today, they’d been friends.
Or maybe that wasn’t quite the right term. They had been people who told each
other important things. But now she was a woman who cried and he was a man who
stood there until she was finished.

             He
somehow sensed the change in her and leaned back. She kept her face down,
hoping that some miracle would happen and he would walk straight out the door
without any other conversation. She could see patches of wetness on his shirt
and she hoped it was tears and not from the fact she’d been pressing her runny
nose in that spot.

            “Hey,”
he said and his voice was very soft. It didn’t sound like a man who was
disgusted by the person he was holding.

            She
looked up, afraid of what she’d see in his eyes. She could see a small pale
scar near his jaw and a spot he’d missed shaving.
There
was tenderness in the lines of his face.

            “You
deserve the truth,” he said. “And you deserve to be able to tell the truth.”

            “Thank
you,” she said. Her voice sounded a little soggy and very tired.

            So,
he wasn’t repulsed or annoyed. That was good. She scanned his features, trying
to puzzle him out. His eyes dropped to her lips and he reached out a hand,
cupping her cheek. A second before he leaned forward, Henry realized what he
was going to do and she bolted backwards. Her heels hit the edge of the digging
site and she lost her balance, wind-milling her arms.

            He
reached out and grabbed the collar of her shirt, hauling her back by the scruff
of her neck.

            “I’m
sorry I―” she started to say.

            “I
didn’t mean to―” he said.

            “―jumped
like that.”

            “―scare
you.”

            She
let out a nervous little laugh. Typical. She finally found someone she wanted
to kiss and when he made a move, she reacted like a complete nutcase.

            His
cheeks had gone pink and she realized he was feeling as humiliated as she was.
And the worst part was that it was definitely too late to give it another try.
He’d stepped away, hands in his pockets.

            “I’ll
let you get back to work,” he said.

            “Yes,”
she said. “Thanks for my keys. And the help.” She waved a hand over the dirt.
She wanted to say something about listening to her, and the hug, and the almost-kiss,
and the save from falling on her backside but she didn’t.

            He
nodded and was gone. Henry was left in the little building wondering how, after
all this time and effort at keeping everything to herself, one person could
know all her secrets.  

“Why, what could she have done,
being what she is?

Was there another Troy for her to
burn?”

―Yeats

            Gideon
walked the long path back to where he’d parked his car outside Oakland Plantation.
He’d come to drop off her keys and apologize for talking so much during the
dance. Instead, he’d asked questions and for some reason, she’d answered them. 
Maybe Tom was right. Maybe they weren’t the type of people to talk about the
weather.

            He
ducked under a low branch and sighed. Like most guys, he didn’t like to watch a
woman cry. When they did, you were supposed to go over there and offer some
kind of comfort. He’d seen quite a few people cry while touring the archives
and he’d always either carefully retreated from the area, or gotten Bernice’s
attention.  Bernice would hug a fence post if it looked like it needed one.
Ruby was always reaching out to touch his hand, and even Bix and Tom liked to
sling an arm around him. But Gideon always felt like the space between him and
the other person was impossibly wide and by the time he made his way over
there, the person might not want to be touched after all.

            Henry
had started to cry and he didn’t even think until his arms were wrapped around
her. His chest constricted at the memory. She was what Sally would call a
‘tough cookie’, nothing much seemed to bother her. There was a steeliness in
her smile that promised a fight if someone crossed her. She walked the line
with sureness, never wavering. When she talked Cane River history, her
confidence was palpable and she gave the impression of a woman who was used to
relying on herself. When she confided in him, her expression had been heart-breaking,
the way she’d dropped her chin, as if admitting defeat.

            He
couldn’t stand there and let her drown in her grief. At first, she’d hugged him
right back, sobbing quietly into his shirt. She’d fit so perfectly there
against his heart. For one shining moment, it had all seemed so easy, so
natural. This was how it worked. Two people came together and there wasn’t
anything complicated about it.

            A
hawk flew overhead and Gideon watched its graceful trajectory across the bright
white-blue sky. He was completely out of his depth. He’d felt her tense and thought
she was feeling embarrassed, wanted to reassure her that he didn’t think any
less of her, was so honored that she confided in him. She’d looked up with
those green eyes and he’d been lost. He’d wanted to kiss her for weeks and for
some reason, his brain had decided that moment to urge him on. The way she’d
jumped back told him everything he needed to know.

            Henry
was afraid of him.

            He
couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t done anything to earn her trust, and if anything,
she was wise to be wary of him.

            When
he reached his car, he took out his phone and dialed Tom.

            “OK,
you win,” he said when Tom answered.

            “Great.
But it would be nice to know what I won.”

            “Supper
for four. Or five. Or whatever you want to do.” Gideon rubbed his face. “I have
no idea what I’m doing and I could use some help.”

            There
was a brief silence on the other end and when Tom answered, Gideon could hear
the smile in his voice. “So, you’re going for it? You’re not just yanking my
chain?”

             “I
don’t know what going for it means.” He was in a no man’s land of unresolved
feelings and questions without answers.

            “Don’t
worry. Everyone will have a great time. It’ll be painless. I promise,” Tom
said.

            “That’s
terrifying. That’s what doctors say before they hurt you.”

            Tom
laughed and after one last reassurance, he hung up.

            Sliding
into his car, Gideon started back down the long driveway from Oakland
Plantation. Vince had a saying he was fond of when Gideon was little:
you
can pay for your dreams or you can forget about them. 
He couldn’t seem to
let Henry be, but only time would tell what the payment would be for pursing
her. For the first time in a long time, Gideon felt a whisper of fear.

                                                            ***

            Henry
walked toward By the Book, her work satchel heavier than usual with all the
notes she needed to sort, but her thoughts looping over and over. Patsy and
Denny had gone back to LaFayette and her life seemed a lot lonelier than it had
been before they came to visit. It was strange how just one week with them
reminded her that she needed friends. She needed someone to talk to who wasn’t
a coworker. She needed someone who knew her, inside and out, and was always on
her side.

            There
was someone else who knew her, but his loyalties weren’t guaranteed. Her
cry-fest on Gideon’s chest a few days ago had been cathartic but it had also
created a bigger problem. He was in possession of two of the biggest secrets, both
of which could wreak havoc in her life and the lives of her family members.

            She
was torn between acting as if she didn’t care and begging him to keep his mouth
shut. If the man could lie a little, she won’t be so concerned. As it was, all
it would take was Tom asking the wrong question and Gideon would just tell the
whole sordid tale.

            Good
thing he’d fixed that basement door because she was avoiding him completely.

            Just
as she passed Blue’s office she realized that she’d forgotten to call him…
again. She backtracked a few feet, tightened her ponytail and pulled the door
open. The air conditioning was a welcome relief from the late afternoon heat
and the reception area was tastefully decorated. She glanced around at the
comfortable-looking chairs and the Cane River landscape paintings and smiled.
Blue had excellent taste. Not surprising.

            “May
I help you?” The receptionist was a dark-haired young woman with a soft
Louisiana accent and beautiful large dark eyes.

            “Is
Blue available?” Henry was already regretting dropping in. She should have just
called. Except she could never remember.

            “Just
one moment,” she said and reached for the phone. After a few seconds, a door
opened and Blue emerged. Even though he was wearing a nice suit and an
expensive tie, he looked as boyishly charming as ever.

            Henry,
on the other hand, realized that her clothes probably had more than one or two
smudges from walking back and forth in the Cane River park area. “I didn’t mean
to interrupt,” she said. “I’ve just come from work but I wanted to say I got
your message.”

            He
gave her a swift kiss on the cheek and said, “You look tired. Hard day?”

            “Sort
of. But in a good way. I’m headed home.”

            “I’ll
walk you back,” he said and motioned toward the door. The receptionist glanced
up and Henry thought she caught a flash of curiosity in her eyes. Henry
imagined that every woman within a twenty mile radius was curious about Blue
Chalfant. He was Natchitoches’ most eligible bachelor.

            As
soon as they were out the door, Blue asked, “Do you know Barney Sandoz?”

             “Unfortunately.
Seems he pops up everywhere I turn. Is he still talking about how I won’t let
him in on our digs?”

            Blue
looked around. “Let’s sit here for a second,” he said and led her to a bench. Henry
felt a shiver of alarm. A bench on the river walk was more private than his
office, near his secretary, and he didn’t want to be overheard.

            “I
heard Barney talking at Sam’s Roadside diner a few nights ago. He was drunk and
maybe everything he said was a lie―”

            “No
maybe about it,” Henry said. “He’s lied to me every single time we’ve talked.”

             “Are
you and Gideon Becket working on some secret project?”

            It
took Henry a few moments to understand. “Oh, the Finnemore papers? It’s not
secret.”

            “Finnemore
as in the Finnemore house over on Trudeau Street?”

            “Right.
Gideon was friends with Arthur. When he died, he donated the entire collection
of Cane River history to the archives.”

            Blue
frowned. “So, the archives have possession of these papers?”

            “No,
they’re still in the basement at the Finnemore house. Why? What’s going on?”

            He
ran a hand through his hair and sat back on the bench. “He wants to hire me to
sue for possession of the collection.”

            Henry
couldn’t speak for a moment, then she started to laugh. “But why? First of all,
they’re worth nothing to a man like Barney Sandoz. Secondly, they were given to
Gideon.”

            “To
Gideon, or the archives? Was it in the will? Or was it just a verbal promise?”

            “I…
I’m not sure.” She tried to think back to what Gideon had said when he’d
described the project.

            “And
why hasn’t he moved the boxes? If they were given to the archives, they
shouldn’t still be in the house, right?”

            “Gideon
said there wasn’t room and he had an understanding with the real estate agent to
use the basement until the house sold.” She shook her head, still amused at the
way Barney had tried to insert himself into the project. “I can’t imagine what
Barney wants with all those pictures and letters. Gideon is documenting them
for an online data base.”

            “He
says it’s worth a lot of money to museums and that Arthur Finnemore promised
him the collection.”

            “He’s
slicker than a greased pig, that one. I’ll let Gideon know that he might have
trouble there.” She turned to Blue, realization dawning. “Are you taking his
case?”

             “You
don’t have a very high opinion of me,” Blue said. “Personally, I wouldn’t take
that case because I wouldn’t want to work with someone like Barney Sandoz
unless I absolutely had to. Professionally, it wouldn’t be ethical for me to be
talking to you about it if I did intend to take the case.”

            “That’s
obvious now. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

            “No
harm done,” he said and meant it.

            “Thank
you.” Henry realized how forgiving Blue was, how little he took to heart. She
wished she could be more like him. Every word and action seemed to carry such
weight. She also seemed to assume the worst of everyone.

            “So,
I was wondering if you wanted to get supper at Peggy’s Place, down at the end
of the river walk. I’ve heard their smothered cabbage and alligator fingers are
amazing.”

            Henry
opened her mouth to agree but Gideon’s words came back to her in a flash.
You
deserve the truth, and you deserve to tell the truth.
And the truth was
that dating Blue wasn’t what she wanted. She saw in the tiny gestures he made,
the softness in his voice, the attention he paid to her that he cared more for
her than she did for him, and it would likely always be that way.

            “Or
maybe you’re more of a seafood girl? My Aunt Bernice said the crabmeat remick
is almost better than her mama’s.”

            “Blue,”
she started, “I really like you.”

            He
winced. “But.”

            “But,
I just don’t think… It’s not because of you, really.” She’d never had to give
anyone the ‘just friends’ talk before and she realized she was awful at it.

            “Henry,
it’s okay.” He closed his eyes for a second. “I understand. I don’t think I
ever had a chance, really.”

            “A
chance?” Henry reached out and covered his hand with hers. “I really do like
you. From the first day we met, I’ve thought you were the sweetest guy around.”

            He
laughed a little but it sounded strained. “Sweet. That would be great if I
wasn’t up against Gideon, bad boy historian.”

            “It
has nothing to do with Gideon,” she said, feeling the shock of his words travel
down into her heart. “And I don’t like bad boys,” she added a little belatedly.
She didn’t. She’d never understood the bad boy mystique and shook her head at
women who signed up for angst and heartache when they could have chosen a
better kind of guy.

            “Then,
it’s the historian part.” He smiled and she could tell that although his ego
was taking a hit, he wasn’t bitter. “The first time I saw you two together, I
wondered. But I knew for sure at the Zydeco Festival.”

             “He
asked me to dance because… It’s hard to explain. ”

            “Listen,”
he said. “I don’t blame you. He’s smart, handsome, and as dedicated to Cane
River as you are.”

            “You’re
all those things, too.” Henry didn’t know why she was digging this hole. She
should just agree with him and go on. “You came back here when you could have
opened an office anywhere. Your family is here. Just because he’s a historian
and you’re not, doesn’t matter to me.”