These Sheltering Walls: A Cane River Romance (24 page)

            “Don’t
you worry. We’ll keep you accountable,” Ruby said.

             “Accountability
only works as well as the trust on both sides,” Gideon said. He accepted a
plate from Bix and picked up his fork. “If I decided to track him down, I
wouldn’t announce my plans. I’d just quietly head on over to New Orleans to pay
him a little visit as soon as he got back home. And if I did announce it, nobody
here could stop me.”

           
From
killing him.
He didn’t need to finish his sentence.

            She
looked at Ruby, Bix and Father Tom. Here they were, discussing real temptation,
the sort of temptation that sent a man to prison for life. She’d never really
known that kind of honesty. She kept her fears inside, hoping nobody saw past
her bravado.

            “Not
even all of us, together?” Henry asked.

            “I’ve
spent half my life in federal prison. I don’t think a priest, two old people
and a historian are going to cut it,” he said, but his tone was gentle.

            Nobody
else spoke.

             “Not
even if we― if we locked you in somewhere?” she asked.

             “You’d
have to get me into that somewhere first,” Gideon said.

            “Well,
that would be easy. I bet I could lure you in, no problem.” She took a bite of
the bread pudding, letting the warm sweetness melt against her tongue. “I know
what men want and I’m sure you’re no different.”

            His
face flushed red and he blinked once, twice. Ruby giggled and Father Tom
coughed into his fist, as if he’d swallowed wrong. Bix let out a low whistle.

           
 
“A
flat screen TV, a football game, hushpuppies, chicken wings, maybe some hot
mustard and ranch dressing.”
She ticked off the items on her
fingers. “Am I right?”

            “Yes,
ma’am.” Gideon’s mouth twitched. “But… baseball.”

            “What?”

            “I
prefer baseball. For future reference, for the luring.”

            “Duly
noted,” she said and was in the process of taking another bite when she
realized why Ruby had laughed.

                                                            ***

            Gideon
tried to enjoy his dessert but he was too busy watching Henry’s face turn
color. She was adorable. He’d never thought any woman could be simultaneously
adorable and so alluring that he lost his appetite.

            He’d
told Tom that he only wanted to be sure she wasn’t afraid of him, just so they
could work together peacefully. That had been a lie.

            She
made him want to walk away from the life he’d built, where everything was
orderly and safe. He wanted to take chances with his heart, even if there was a
real possibility she would reject him. It was the opposite of everything he’d
believed for the past seventeen years. He didn’t care. He had to chase even the
slimmest possibility of knowing what it was like to be loved by her.

             Henry
Byrne made him want to live.

“The truth does not change
according to our ability to stomach it.”

― Flannery O'Connor

            Henry
rolled out of bed in one smooth movement and stretched, arms high over her
head. The sun was shining through the long windows of the small bedroom and she
couldn’t fight the feeling of absolute optimism. Weekends had always been
something she suffered through just to get back to work, where she was
happiest. But after moving to Natchitoches and taking the position at the park,
her life had slowly evolved to something much bigger than a Monday to Friday
job. For the first time, she was didn’t dread the evenings when the rest of the
world enjoyed their friends and families. A lot of that had to do with Gideon.
Actually, it was all about Gideon.

            She
padded into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Leaning against the
counter, she couldn’t help smiling. He had
lied.
Gideon had lied as
easily as anyone she’d ever seen, the little casual nicety falling from his
lips without embarrassment. It was silly to be so happy. It had nothing to do
with her life. The man was healing from a terrible childhood tragedy and
learning to forgive himself for a terrible crime. It was only natural that he
would eventually love someone, especially with so many good friends around. He
didn’t have to be so guarded, he could build a life and a future.

            The
coffee pot beeped and Henry rummaged for a mug.  Pouring herself a cup, she realized
she was out of milk and got out the powdered creamer. She needed to take this
slow. Gideon’s life and future didn’t automatically include her. She wasn’t
even sure what they
were
. Colleagues seemed too formal, friends too
casual. There was that one moment in the outbuilding when he’d leaned in to
kiss her, but otherwise, she didn’t even know if he thought of her in a
romantic way. A few seconds of shoulder contact did not a relationship make.

            Henry
sipped the scalding liquid. As much as she tried to convince herself that
Gideon’s sudden change didn’t affect her life, her heart was full of the most
wonderful anticipation. She’d told Father Tom she couldn’t really trust someone
who had nothing to lose. For her, it had been the only thing standing between
them.

            The
toast popped up behind her and she jumped, sloshing hot coffee on her hand.
Hissing with pain, she set down the mug and ran her hand under cold water. After
a few minutes, she pulled it out, wincing at how her skin was red and painful
to the touch. She didn’t believe in seeing signs everywhere, but maybe she’d
better put the brakes on all this optimism. She should take it one day at a
time, and today was full of Kimberly.

                                                            ***

            Gideon
made his way down the river walk, intensely aware of the beautiful morning.
Memories of last night’s supper ran on a loop through his mind. He looked up at
the sky, wondering if it was so blue and clear yesterday, or if it came from
that subtle change in the weather that September brought. Or maybe he was
simply seeing the world differently.

            As
he turned the corner to the Finnemore house, Gideon saw several utility trucks
parked at the curb. The front door was standing open. A man in coveralls
emerged, carrying a spool of wire over one shoulder.

            “Hey,
there,” Gideon called out.

            The
man paused, shading his eyes with one hand. “Are you the realtor?”

            “No,”
Gideon said. He introduced himself. “I’ve been working in the basement on some
papers Arthur Finnemore left. What kind of work are y’all doing on the house?”

            “Everything,”
he said. “Looks like the rats done chewed through the wiring upstairs. Got raccoons
living in the attic space. Water damage in the bathroom, went all the way
through the floor.”

            “So,
the estate is serious about selling?” Gideon gazed up at the house. It was
beautiful, in its own way. “That’s a lot of work for no guarantee.”

            “I
dunno. It seemed like the realtor man was sure of sellin’ it.” He turned around
and gazed up at the structure, crossing his arms over his chest. “But if ya ask
me, I’d burn it down and start over. Some of those premade homes are real nice,
even if they bring ‘em in on a truck and stick ‘em together.”

            “I
suppose,” Gideon said. He suspected that the builder wasn’t keen on local
history. If he were, any amount of renovation would be worth preserving the
place. “Well, I’m headed downstairs.”

            The
man nodded, already turning back toward his truck.

            Gideon
walked around the side of the house and started down the basement steps. The
keys were in his hand and he was just a few feet from the door when he saw the
splintered frame, the dents in the heavy oak panels and one long crack that
stretched from top to bottom. He froze, reaching out a finger to trace the
marks. He pushed against the door and it held. Turning the key in the lock, it
resisted for a moment then swung inward. Gideon walked inside, his heart
pounding in his chest. But instead of seeing an empty basement with only a few
scattered papers, he saw the boxes stacked in orderly rows, everything just as
he’d left it.

            The
scanner was there, clean towel draped over the top to keep out the dust. He
always backed up his files and kept the current work on a flash drive, but he’d
left his tablet on the table the night before, right next to the master list
that contained the description and the number assigned to the letter or
picture. Maybe the work on the house had made thieves suspect there was
something of value in the basement. Maybe it was a random act of vandalism.

            He
wiped a hand over his face and was surprised to feel cold sweat. He’d come
close to losing all his work. Putting everything in one place could be a
disaster. All the time and effort he and Henry had spent would be for nothing.
And more than that, his dream of a Cane River Creole history database would be
gone.

            Slumping
onto a chair, he took a shaky breath. He had to figure out a way to store
everything off site as soon as he could organize it. The entire operation had to
be moved. This was a warning he was going to heed.

                                                            ***

            A
soft knock at the door startled Henry into pausing mid-step from the bathroom
to the bedroom. She looked down at the towel she had wrapped around herself and
debated whether she had time to get clothes on before her visitor left. Since
the back door was usually locked, it was probably Alice. Or maybe Charlie.

            Henry
tip-toed across the living room and listened for any sounds outside. There was
only silence. “Hello?” she called out.

            “Open
the door, sweetie,” Kimberly called back. “I’m here to help you get ready.”

            Henry
leaned her forehead against the door and closed her eyes. She could just
imagine all the help Kimberly was going to give her. “You’re five hours early.”

            “Are
you going to open the door?”

            She
turned the bolt and opened the door, revealing Kimberly in all her glory. Her
bright red dress was paired with several long gold necklaces and she carried
garment bags over one arm. She raised one hand and touched her hair, as if to
make sure it wasn’t catching whatever had happened to Henry’s head.

            “I
just got out of the shower,” Henry explained.

            Kimberly
bustled in. “Lorelei, get that product in and your hair dried or I won’t be
able to do a thing with it. What are you wearing? I brought a few things for
you to try on.”

            She
nodded, heading for the bedroom. A memory of her high school prom flashed
through her mind. She hadn’t wanted to go, hadn’t even been asked, but Kimberly
somehow arranged for the school quarterback to take Henry. He sent her a note
saying he’d pick her up at six. He’d never even spoken to her before that
night. Kimberly arrived at noon that day and spent the next five hours making
sure Henry was perfect for her big night. The quarterback showed up, stood
still for pictures, and ditched her as soon as they got to the dance so he
could spend the evening with the girl he’d really wanted to bring.

            “Let
me just get some clothes on,” she said and tried to close the bedroom door
behind her but Kimberly was already half-way inside, looking for a place to
hang the garment bags.

            “I
also stopped by Lana’s Lingerie shop because the right underthings are so
important.” She unzipped one bag and exposed a bright pink strapless dress. “I
was thinking this one, with a little push up corset I brought. It’s real
fitted, but I think if you don’t eat anything at the reception, it should be
fine.”

             Did
she really believe Henry would get in a corset? There was no way she was going
to sit through a whole wedding ceremony trying not to breathe. A nice dress
from her closet would be fine. It wasn’t as if Henry was wandering around town
in her nightie and slippers.

            “Would
you like some coffee? Or breakfast?” Henry asked.

            “No,
thank you, hon.” Kimberly slid both hands across her stomach. “I had a little
cup this morning but I don’t want to look all bloated. Your
mamere
cooks
so much and then she gets upset when I don’t finish a big plate of it. Just
last night she made cheese grits and biscuits with sausage gravy. Can you
imagine? I can’t eat like that at my age.”

            Henry
didn’t remember her eating like that, ever. She grabbed some jeans from the
closet and a Tshirt , and slipped them on.

            “Oh,
those jeans aren’t really made for your figure.” Kimberly put a finger to her
chin and surveyed Henry’s outfit.

            “I’m
only wearing them to the bathroom.”

            “Still,
you never know who might come by. That waist is way too high. You need to have
it set right on your hip bones so it makes your derriere nice and round in the
back,” Kimberly said, turning Henry and tugging her jeans down a few inches.
She smoothed down Henry’s rear and sighed.

            “You
must have got your daddy’s backside. We Pascal girls have a real bootie. You
should try these exercises I saw in a magazine that are supposed to do what
nature forgot. Men like a bootie, you know. Ask any man and he’ll tell you that
even more than―”

            “I’ll
try those,” Henry said.

            Kimberly
went back to the bags and pulled out a few hangers that held only a scrap or
two of fabric. “Here, these dresses’ll be ruined if you have a panty line so
make sure you wear a thong underneath. I got you some in pink, white, and
cream. You can choose.” She squinted at Henry. “You’re a four, right? You used
to be a size four.”

            Henry
sighed. “I’ve never been a size four. Maybe when I was in the sixth grade.”

            “Well,
thongs don’t really run true to size, anyway. A few sizes too small won’t hurt
you,” Kimberly said.

            Henry
thought of all the things to put on her body, thongs seemed like one of those
items that should definitely be in the right size.

            “Oh,
if you don’t use the corset, I brought these.” Kimberly held up a few more
silky hangers. “A balconet bra is perfect for that silk dress, keeps everything
nice and high. Or this one,” she held out something that was mostly lace, “but
it doubles your cup size and I’m not sure the dress will fit right if you do
that, so better to stick with the corset.”

            She
brought another dress out of the bag and held it up. It was fairly long, but
the front seemed to plunge to the waist. “Auntie, that’s so low cut. I can’t
wear that,” Henry said.

            “Sure
you can. That’s why I brought this bra,” she held out another hanger. “It’s
just for this type of dress. No one will see a thing.”

            Except
for everything she wanted to keep covered. Lisette had never wanted her to
dress nicely, never made any recommendations on how Henry could be more
attractive. She’d grown up figuring she was a lost cause compared to the Pascal
women. Kimberly’s ministrations were about twenty years too late.

            “I’m
going to go fix my hair,” she said and slipped into the bathroom. The wedding
wasn’t until three. Kimberly wasn’t going to leave now that she was in the apartment
and
Henry didn’t think she could keep her temper for a five hour beauty session
that included too-small thongs.

            After
she ran some anti-frizz cream into her hair and brushed it back into a
ponytail, she swiped on a little mascara and didn’t bother with anything else.
Whatever else she did, Kimberly would only undo later for the wedding. Leaning
toward the mirror, Henry looked into her own eyes. She imagined a whole world
of lies swimming around
behind the pale sage green irises. They
drifted, some faster and some slower, in an area much smaller than one would
think would hold a lifetime of untruths, and Henry had to keep them from ever
touching each other. While she talked and laughed and worked, a part of her was
always watching the lies, making sure everything was on track. Because if they
ever collided, even one or two, it would mean the end of the world as she knew
it.