These Sheltering Walls: A Cane River Romance (29 page)

“I didn't lie! I just created
fiction with my mouth!”

― Homer Simpson

            “For
someone who lives upstairs, I don’t get to see near enough of ya,” Bix said. He
handed a customer a bag of books and came around the counter. By the Book was
packed, but then, it was the weekend and tourists often came to visit the
little vintage bookstore full of cats.

            “Sweet
of you to say. Tell Ruby I said hi.” Henry gave him a kiss on the cheek. “This
is my friend, Patsy. She and her husband are thinking of moving down here.”

            Patsy
gave a little wave and Henry hoped she’d remember to explain about Bix’s
eyesight before they met again. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “You must know a
lot about vintage books, working in this beautiful store.”

            “Oh,
not really. I mostly feed the cats, pick up the mail, and get in the way.” He
gave Henry a huge wink. “And there might be a little babysitting in my future.”

            “Oh,
you,” Alice said, walking up behind them. “You can’t keep a secret to save your
life.”

            “Are
you having a baby? Congratulations!” Henry didn’t know why she was so shocked.
Maybe because Alice and Paul were living in different cities most of the time.

            As
if she knew what Henry was thinking, Alice said, “We’ve been sorting out the
details but Paul will be moving their headquarters here. They’re checking out
land across the river for a building. He was worried most of his crew would
prefer to stay in New York City, which would be fine since they’ll still have a
base there, too. But apparently, a lot of them are thinking of coming with
him.” She grinned. “Natchitoches is going to have an influx of New Yorkers.”

            “That’s
gonna be interestin’, for sure.” Bix shook his head. “I was just tellin’ Father
Tom that I could spot someone from out of the parish. They live over the parish
line, and I can tell. But this? Whole different ball game.”

            Alice
nodded. “I like to think of it as Southernizing a whole new group of people.
We’ll make them speak Creole French, listen to zydeco music, and eat jambalaya two
times a week.”

            Patsy
leaned over to Henry and whispered loudly, “Never mind about moving. We changed
our minds.”

            Bix
said, “Aw, come on, now. We can really throw a party. I was tryin’ to convince
Gideon to let Ruby and me throw him a shindig this weekend. But he said he had
somethin’ else planned.”

            “A
party?” Henry hoped she wasn’t being nosy. She couldn’t imagine a scenario
where Gideon would want a big party, especially one hosted by Bix and Ruby, as
wonderful as they were.

            “It’s
his birthday,
sha
. You didn’t know it? He keeps it pretty quiet. Maybe
he’s ashamed of bein’ an old bachelor, but I told him he was runnin’ out of
time to find himself a wife. He just needs to put down all those letters
written by dead people and get out of the archives. He’s not going to find a
wife there, for sure.”

            “Well,
he’s hardly old,” Henry said. Bix must have forty years on Gideon.

            “I
still think a party would have been nice. We could have had music and dancing.
Everyone loves dancing.” Bix sighed. “I guess he’s spending the day with Father
Tom and a whole bunch of old priests.”

            “And
you,” Patsy said, nudging Henry. “Don’t forget you’ll be there. On his
birthday.”

            Her
face went warm. Now it sounded as if she’d arranged it all. Before Bix could
interject, she turned the conversation back to Alice. “I’m so excited for you.
When’s your due date?”

            “Middle
of May,” Alice said. “I’m a May baby. We’re calm, sweet-natured people.” She
smiled in a way that made Henry laugh. That was a lie and Alice wasn’t trying
to hide it.

            “You
know, this birthday talk reminds me that I forgot to look for a present.”

            “No
problem. I’ll sit in that old red chair in the corner. I may never get up, it
looks so comfortable, but don’t worry about me,” Patsy said. “And
congratulations, again, Alice. My baby is just crawling. Pencil us in for some
playdates in about a year.”

            Alice
laughed and nodded. “I will.”

            Henry
slipped away to the poetry section while they talked. Maybe Gideon didn’t like
to celebrate his birthday. Maybe it had bad memories. But she would hate to
have the day pass without any kind of notice. She wandered the aisle, unsure
what to choose. She knew he liked Edna St. Vincent Millay, but that meant he
probably had a collection of her poetry. Elizabeth Barrett Browning was too
romantic. Walt Whitman was too wordy. She pulled out books, then put them back.
A collection of greatest love poems was reshelved in record time.

            Just
when she thought she was going to have to go back to Edna and her
bitter-but-accurate love poetry, she saw a slim volume with a familiar name.
She flipped it open and read,
Life has loveliness to sell,
all
beautiful and splendid things.
She ran a finger down the words, feeling
them breathe into her with a truth she’d forgotten.
Blue waves whitened on a
cliff, soaring fire that sways and sings,
and children's
faces looking up, holding wonder like a cup.

            Maybe
it was the news of Alice and Paul’s new baby, or of the innocence that Gideon
had lost, or the way he’d tried to protect Reggie’s son from being beaten, but
the last image had Henry closing the book and walking toward the register. She
hoped Gideon would like it, because even after all the ugliness he’d known,
there was a whole world of loveliness still to be seen.

            She
brought it to the counter and Alice scanned the little slip inside. “Sara
Teasdale,” she said, running a finger over the raised lettering on the front.
There was a sweet smile on her lips and a softness in her eyes.

            “Is
she a favorite of yours? I don’t know much of her poetry,” Henry said.

            Alice
was quiet for a moment. Then she checked the contents and flipped to a poem
near the beginning of the book. “
Like barley bending in low fields by the
sea, singing in hard wind ceaselessly.
” she read. “Once upon a time, I was
trying to be like barley bending and a friend told me Sara Teasdale was a moper
and I should ignore her. That advice changed the course of my life.” She rang
up the purchase and put the little book in a paper bag. “I hope her words bring
you happiness, the way they did to me.”

             “Thank
you,” Henry said. “It’s a birthday present for a friend.”

            “Ah,”
Alice said. “I hope he enjoys it, then. And tell Gideon happy birthday from
us.”

            Henry
stood there for a moment, trying to find something else to say, but in the end,
she just smiled and walked away.

                                                                        ***

            “Sherlock!”
Patsy’s exasperated tone finally caught Henry’s attention. She whirled around,
silky summer dress still clutched in one hand. She’d been standing still in the
middle of the boutique, reliving the moment when Gideon had leaned toward her,
everything she’d ever wanted.

            “Sorry,
what were you saying?”

            “I
was asking if you’d heard from Gideon.”

            Henry
frowned. “No, you weren’t.”

            Patsy
smirked. “No, I wasn’t. I was talking about the position I wanted to apply with
the state park system studying native insects in the Cane River area, but since
you weren’t listening, I thought I’d try something else.”

            “I’m
so sorry.” She put the dress back and ran her hands through her hair. “I’m
listening now.”

            “Too
late,” Patsy said brightly. “We’re talking about Gideon now.” She pulled a
patterned slip dress off the rack and held it up. “This, with those strappy
blue sandals you have.”

            “For
the trip tomorrow?” She couldn’t imagine hiking in that outfit. Or trying to
sit on a picnic blanket.

            “No,
silly. I’m sure there won’t be any romance with all those priests around. I
mean for the date, whenever it will be. Has he called yet?”

            “No,
but I saw him last night,” Henry said.

            Patsy
eyes narrowed. “Either you are purposefully holding back, or you don’t
understand how much I need to hear these things.”

             “I’m
not hiding anything. I honestly forgot to tell you.” She put both hands to her
cheeks. “I feel like I’m losing my mind. I can’t think straight. At the
plantation today, I sent out the mail without any stamps. I forgot Clark asked
for the key to the storage shed and gave him the one to the cotton mill. Then I
was ten minutes late for a tour that I’ve had on the calendar for a week.”

            “Oooh,
I read an article in the New England Journal of Medicine about this.” Patsy
clutched her arm, fingers making tiny indents in her skin. “It afflicts women
who spend a lot of time near the Red River area. A little-known relative of the
mosquito spreads a disease that attacks the brain. First the women act out of
character, changing their appearance and picking up new hobbies. Then there’s
the fuzzy thinking and forgetfulness. Then…” She drew a finger across her neck
and stuck out her tongue.

            “So
not funny,” Henry said, turning back to the rack of dresses.

            Patsy
snickered. “I just had to pull your leg a little, Sherlock. But I do know what
the problem is,” she said, flicking through the hangers. “If you want me to
tell you.”

            “Another
fake disease?”

            Patsy
ignored her and walked around the rack so they were face to face. She ticked
off the points as she spoke. “You changed your hair. You stopped wearing your
glasses. You spend all your free time with the handsomest man I’ve ever seen,
who just happens to be an expert in your same narrow field of study. You’re
distracted, forgetful, secretive and a little mopey.”

            “Mopey?”
Henry shot her a look. “I disagree.”

            Patsy
crossed her arms and said nothing.

            “Maybe
a little mopey.” She looked around the little boutique. “Let’s go outside. I
feel like anything I say will get around faster than taking out a billboard.”

            “Fair
enough.” Patsy led the way out of the store and they settled on a bench near
the river. The shade from a little tree wasn’t quite enough but the weather was
much cooler than even a week ago. Natchitoches’ version of fall was on the way.

            Henry
ran her hands through her hair again, loving the freedom from her ponytail.
Patsy was right, as usual. She’d changed a lot since she’d arrived, and not
just on the outside.

            “Yes,
I did see him last night. We were working on the Finnemore House collection,”
she said. “And I already miss him. Isn’t that stupid? It hasn’t even been
twenty four hours and I keep trying to think of a reason to go to the archives.
I can’t concentrate and I’m annoying myself. And you.”

            Patsy
squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry about me.”

            “I
don’t even know how it all happened. Every day was pretty normal, usually. But
now I look back and everything is different. Everything has changed.” Henry hated
how the last word came out squeaky and pinched.

            “Change
is scary, Sherlock.”
Patsy was smiling but there were tears
in her eyes.

            “I
didn’t decide to fall in love with him. There wasn’t one moment where I thought
that was a good idea and I should just―” she waved her hands, “wrap my
whole life around him.”

            “That’s
because you can’t decide that sort of thing. It either happens, or it doesn’t.”

            “I’m
scared,” Henry whispered.

            “Why?”
Patsy’s tone turned guarded. “You said he was in prison. Do you feel safe with
him? If he makes you feel threatened, you need to walk away.”

            Henry
almost laughed. “No, I’m not scared of Gideon.” She looked out at the river and
the families sitting on the grass in the sunshine. “Getting to know him made me
take a real good look at myself. I don’t like what I see. I want to be honest
with him but I’ve spent so long lying to everyone, I don’t even really know who
I am anymore.”

             “I
know you.”

            “You
sort of know me,” Henry said. The words seemed to scrape her throat as she
uttered them. “I’ve pretended to be this independent woman who didn’t need
anyone, who preferred work to friends, who thought love was for the weak.”

             “Well,
you didn’t act like that when you were my maid of honor,” Patsy corrected her.