When Venus Fell (14 page)

Sophia nodded wistfully. “But he has had a bad day. Isabel and Ruth are mad at him. He was supposed to keep track of Gib all day, but Gib chased him away. They say Carter gave up too easily, but how can
anyone
tell Gib what to do, the way his mind is right now? But still, Carter is in trouble with Isabel and Ruth. They heard about what happened at the sawmill.” She paused. “I told them everything on the phone after you came back. About you, too.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “Keeping secrets would be very bad for my health.”

I watched Carter Macintosh parade among his entourage, laughing and hugging. He’d apparently returned them to their cars and pickup trucks, which they’d left in the parking lot earlier. Carter released the goat and threw himself into the midst of the chortling females, then devoted himself to a series of back-bending, flat-on lengthy kisses with each of his big-haired concubines. Even the goat looked embarrassed.

“I’ve never seen a hornier-looking beast,” I said. “And the goat, too.”

Sophia smiled sadly. “You cannot tell by tonight, but Carter has worked hard at the Hall the past year. They needed him. Don’t be fooled by tonight. He is sweet. Before he moved to Tennessee he planned to marry.”

“Oh? Up in Oklahoma?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“They found out about each other.”

“Who?”

“All three of the girls he proposed marriage to.”

I watched Carter with even less approval. He threw his arms around a pair of women and wandered to his truck. He got into the cab with them. The other five prodded the goat to jump back into the pickup’s bed, then went to their cars, laughing and waving good-night.

The whole caravan peeled rubber onto the two-lane and disappeared into the dark summer night. A minute later Ella
wandered outdoors, looking delicate in a gauzy rose-hued silk shift and thong sandals with white plastic daisies on the toepieces. She scrubbed a hand over her sleep-ruffled hair. She still looked like a little girl at times. “What was all that noise?” she asked.

I decided to tell her about Carter from the get-go, and lay it on thick. Every irresponsible, untrustworthy moment I’d witnessed. “Carter MacIntosh,” I said. “A Cameron cousin.”

“No! I missed him? Did he introduce himself? Oh, you should have woken me up.”

“Well, let me put it this way,” I said with steely intent. “His Cherokee name is probably Dances With Livestock.”

Ella and I ate eggs and biscuits with cream gravy at the diner at dawn, while the Eddie Bauer couple invaded our small table and told us stories about their hiking adventures. They had been chased by a black bear in the state park near New Inverness. “I expected a few cute squirrels and some mountain scenery for my photo album,” the woman complained. “The park ranger was a gap-toothed redneck who didn’t warn us that there were large animals in the woods.”

“Where did you buy your tickets?” I asked.

“Excuse me?”

“The tickets for the theme park. None of this is real, you know. The wildlife are all high-class robotic imitations. You didn’t notice when the bear did a wheelie and rolled back in the woods on his little computerized monorail?”

My sense of humor failed to enlighten or entertain them, but it did make them sidle back to their own table and leave us alone.

“Are you premenstrual?” Ella asked gently as we walked across the sunrise-pink parking lot in a well-greased stupor.

“No, I’m pre-Camerons.” Carter Macintosh’s purple truck zoomed into view. I reached in my leather tote bag. “I’ll
fend off Mr. Macintosh and his goat with my pepper spray,” I warned, only half joking.

Ella gasped at the potential social calamity of me spritzing one of our hosts. “Don’t you dare!”

The truck careened across the cracked concrete and halted not more than a dozen feet from us. A dark blue minivan arrived seconds later and pulled in beside it. A young woman drove.

Carter Macintosh vaulted from the truck, looking as hollow-eyed as a playboy with a hangover and a seedy reputation
should
look. But his charisma was still in full force, the long, glossy hair, the tight jeans, the honey-brown forearms bulging in a snug gray T-shirt. He flashed a pearly-white grin as he tromped toward us in red lizard-skin cowboy boots. Suddenly he veered toward Ella, then halted. His eyes widened as if he’d suddenly brought her into focus.

“Hello, Mr. Macintosh,” Ella said quickly, warding off trouble with melodic tones, her voice as lilting as a flute. “I’m Ella Arinelli and this is my sister, Venus. We’re very glad to meet you. My sister saw you last night. Where did you leave the goat? I’d love to meet it, too.”

His cocky grin fading, he gazed raptly at her. She gazed at him, too, as if he’d materialized from golden air. He nodded his head at me, and then with slower emphasis at Ella, almost giving her a small, courtly bow. His silver earring danced in the morning sunshine. The pendant was a tiny abstract figurine of a big-chested woman.

“Hello, Ella Arinelli,” Carter said. He spoke her name as if he’d never heard a prettier sound. She reacted by smiling, and his eyes moved to her mouth hypnotically. A pink blush began to emerge on her cheeks.

My worst fears were leapfrogging ahead. She could be so naive where men were concerned.

“Gib thought you’d pack up and hitch a ride back to Chicago this morning,” the woman called as she slid quickly from the van’s driver’s seat. “That’s why he sent us so early.”

I dragged my stare away from my sister and Carter. The woman was about my age. She was dressed in an ankle-length skirt of soft, crinkled cotton, with large tie-dyed stripes and zigzags of purple, rose, and yellow splashed across the material, and a bright yellow T-shirt. Her hair was lustrously brunette and fluttered around her shoulders in straight shanks. She wore no jewelry. She had a stain on her shirt, probably baby food, judging by the burping towel still draped absent-mindedly across her left shoulder.

Her hands were smeared with brightly colored paint. Thanks to Sophia, I was now a wellspring of Cameron information, trivial and otherwise. This had to be Isabel Cameron. Gib’s sister. Divorced. Her ex-husband was a gambler in Atlantic City. She had moved home to the Hall with her baby son right after Simon died.

“Isabel,” I said politely. “The artist.”

Isabel smiled. “Yes!” She scooted shy glances from me to Ella and back to me, then she reached out her rainbow-colored fingers. I let her take both my hands. Looking relieved, she alternately shook and squeezed my hands before she let go. “We’re all
very
sorry you were drawn into our problems yesterday. We decided it was best for just me and Carter to come get y’all this morning. Not overwhelm you. Gib suggested it.”

I squinted at her. “Is he feeling better today?”

“He’s feeling
sober
for the first time in days,” she admitted. She clasped her hands in front of her then steepled them to her chin, nunlike and supplicating. She was pretty in an apple-cheeked way, and gave the impression of urgent sincerity. “Venus, you stopped my brother from doing something dangerous yesterday. Of course our aunt Olivia insists that’s a sign of the good luck she expected you’d bring. She’s waiting to meet you.”

“It’s all in the timing,” I said, feeling awkward. “It was just a coincidence that I happened along when Gib went to the sawmill.”

Isabel smiled sadly. “You took care of my brother when he wasn’t able to think for himself. That’s not coincidence. It’s a blessing.”

“Oh, yes,” Ella agreed. She and Isabel smiled at each other.

Carter stepped closer to Ella. “I wished I’d stopped by Cousin Hoss’s last night to meet you,” he said to her. “I thought a lady like you only existed in my
dreams
. Are you sure we’ve never met?” Carter delivered that third-rate pickup line then blinked innocently, as if she brought fresh light into his vision.

My sister held out her hand. “I know just what you mean. I feel I’ve looked into your eyes before, too. You have the gentlest eyes.”

I chewed my tongue. After a portentous pause, Carter squeezed her slender hand in his brawny grip carefully, as if it were fragile as an eggshell. Then he held her hand and gazed at it, studying the contrast. “I think,” he said somberly, “that I’m talking to a flesh-and-blood angel.”

Ella’s free hand rose, fluttering, to her throat. She glowed with teary and sentimental appreciation. “Oh,” she sighed.

“Carter, I thought you preferred
goats
,“ I snapped.

Isabel gave me a knowing glance. She shook her head and rolled her eyes toward Carter. He released Ella’s hand. “Aw, last night was just silliness,” he said quickly. “Me and some friends.”

Before I could say anything else, Isabel linked her arm through mine. I looked down at the unaccustomed intimacy and had to force myself not to pull back. Isabel smiled at me. “Why don’t y’all go gather your things at Sophia’s and we’ll take you to the Hall?”

“Why don’t you ride with
me
?” Carter said to Ella. “I’ll give you a tour.”

Her eyes glowed. “Why, I think that would be—”

“Trouble,” I interjected. I snared her by one hand. It was awkward but effective—me hitched to Isabel’s arm, Ella
hitched to me. “Thank you, Carter,” I said coolly, “but we don’t want to put you to any extra effort on our behalf. Besides, unlike your nanny goat, we Arinellis always travel in
pairs.”

As we rode up the valley’s crape myrtle-lined road in the comfort of Isabel’s minivan, Ella sighed and moaned with ecstatic, tearful adoration. Her eyes became glistening green beacons sweeping the scenery, the historical markers, the shadowed blue-green mountains, the wildflowers, and even the buffalo.

When Isabel parked on a stone courtyard surrounded by azaleas, the mansion’s tall, carved front doors swung open. Gib stood there with his legs braced slightly and the massive doorway framing him in dark, strong wood. An ominous, magnificent, antique broadsword—as wide as a fist and easily four feet long—jutted from the handle he gripped with his powerful left hand.

The image was so phallic I almost blushed. If his point was to tell me he was the mighty sword and I was the lowly sheath who stole engine keys, it worked. He was dressed today in a handsome black pin-striped suit. A folded bit of red plaid material peeked vibrantly from his breast pocket. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He carefully hung the sword on an iron brace beside the entrance. He kept his right hand turned against his coat so the deformed side was hidden.

Carter opened the van doors. He had donned a fringed western jacket over his T-shirt. He helped Ella out as if she were descending from a royal carriage. “Welcome, pretty lady,” he said. “We’re gonna have a little party in honor of you and your sister this morning.”

I looked questioningly at Isabel, who nodded. I sat in the open door of the van’s backseat, gathering my canvas luggage bag and trying hard to seem busy and not unnerved. Suddenly Gib extended his good hand into my downcast line of vision.
“I’ll take your luggage,” he said quietly. “Welcome to the Hall.”

I raised my head slowly and met his gaze. He was absolutely, perfectly inscrutable. “Thank you,” I said.

And so I walked beside him up a stone walkway more than two centuries old, and we didn’t say another word to each other as we entered the cool, smooth, flower-scented shadows of the Cameron legacy. As we passed the sword Gib touched his fingertips to his lips then placed the kiss on the sword’s deadly blade.

“Tradition,” he said, pointing to a small plaque set above it. It read:
FAMILY, HONOR, HUMBLE SERVICE, A GENTLE MAN WILL FIGHT TO THE DEATH FOR THE SAKE OF SUCH BEAUTY
.

I kissed my own fingertips and touched the sword. I looked up into Gib’s shrewd eyes. “In honor of my parents,” I said.

“You have no honor,” Gib said. “Where’s my key?”

I leaned close to him. He stood well over six feet tall and had the tiniest fleck of blood on the shaved line of his jaw. I perched on tiptoe then whispered in his ear. “Where’s my money?”

He glared at me, but we had no time to torment each other further.

Ella and I halted inside a long entrance hall that opened into a large arched doorway on our right. Ella’s eyes filled with more dewy appreciation. Gib nodded to Isabel and Carter, and they set our luggage at the base of a curving staircase made of gleaming rose-hued woods. Isabel smiled at me, but I noticed bluish circles under her eyes. I had a feeling some kind of family conference had gone on well into the previous night. Gib said, “We tried not to make this a mad rush. We failed.”

The doors flew open. A voice boomed out, “Look at her, Olivia, she’s no’ a wee wish of a star now, she’s quite a looker, our Venus.” A tall, walrus-shaped woman with a jowly face and a short cap of gray hair advanced on me with her arms spread. She was clothed in swathes of white scarves over a voluminous white blouse and matching pants. Confronted by
this giant white human moth, I blurted, “Hello, ma’am,” and thrust out an intervening hand.

But she swooped past my hand and wrapped her gauzy moth arms around me, lifted me on my toes, and gave me a half-hug/half-shake. “I’m no’ a ‘ma’am,’ you bloody beautiful child,” she proclaimed loudly. “I’m
Bea
, you hear? And do no’ be callin’ me
Aunt Bea
because I’m no’ a bloody dull old lady.”

“Bea,” I echoed in a strangled voice. This was the cousin from Scotland, then, the one who had arrived for a visit years ago and never left.

She let me down with another affectionate shake then advanced on Ella, who melted with welcoming outflung hands. “You’ve no’ coaxed your sister Venus here just to dance a jig, I betcha,” Bea said loudly. “You’re the sensible one o’ the two of you, you’re the one who knows it’s a shame to resist what’s good for you!”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” Ella enthused.

Bea grunted then let her go and slapped Gib’s shoulder placidly. “Good work, dear Gibbie.” Then she pivoted and my eyes followed her back to the open door.

“Here’s Min,” Gib said quietly. A woman walked into the hallway, smiling at me under soft wavy brown hair and a gently worn-down face. Min Cameron. Kind, motherly, devoted Minnie, the love of Simon Cameron’s life, Sophia had told me. She was too thin for the pale gray suit she wore, and the color gave her pinched face an ashen tint. Her eyes were large and brown and terrible in their steady sorrow.