by Lynn Emery
“No, but he had a string of bad luck after falling for the woman.” Vernon sat back with his arms crossed as though that settled the case.
“It never ceases to amaze me, man.”
“What you mean?”
“How folks in a small town can build up these legends over simple things.” Chandler shook his head. “Okay, okay. I admit that supernatural stuff is sorta silly. But you gotta wonder about her going through men like a hot knife through butter. Look at my cousin.” Vernon’s bushy eyebrows went up.
“Sounds like those guys had problems before they met her,” Chandler said. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Vernon rubbed his chin. “Come to think of it, that’s a fact.”
“Besides, I just met the woman. We’re not engaged for goodness sakes.” Chandler turned his back to Vernon and tapped in an access code on the computer keyboard. “Might not even see her again,” he mumbled.
“If you say so,” Vernon said with a touch of disbelief in his voice. “Just cause you think she’s fine, doesn’t mean you’re going to go out or anything.”
Chandler chose to ignore the obvious attempt to draw him out. “Uh-huh. Taylor should be here any minute. Let’s go over these figures again.”
“Okay.” Vernon could not keep the disappointment from his voice.
For the next three days, Chandler was off from work. After resting the first day from the twelve hour swing shifts, he decided to begin researching old court records. He wanted to document stories his grandfather had told him about one of their ancestors. Josuha Macklin was a black Union soldier who’d fought in a critical Civil War battle in this very part of the south. At least according to Grandpapa Henry. So Chandler set off to downtown St. Francisville to visit the local historical society. Quite appropriately, it was located above an antique shop. Those history buffs who wished to consult the Historical Society of the Felicianas had to go through the main showroom and up a staircase to get it. Chandler gave in to temptation and wandered around looking at delightful old lamps, furnishings and jewelry. A pocket watch made him think of Grandpapa Henry.
“Hello again,” a voice said from just over his shoulder.
Chandler knew it was her instantly by the way his scalp tingled. He was smiling as he turned. “Hello, Ms. Ross.”
This woman set off some kind of weird reaction in him. Yet it was a pleasant. He was not the kind of guy that undressed women mentally or thought of them as sex objects. But Neva Ross set off a warm buzz in his body that was erotic. He could not deny it. Her voice, rich and sultry, made even hello sound like an engraved invitation just for him. Here was practical, feet on the ground Chandler Macklin letting his imagination go crazy. Weird indeed.
“You remembered my name.” Neva held her head to one side.
“Of course,” Chandler said automatically then blushed. “I mean, we just met a few days ago.” He hoped evidence of his carnal urges were not flashing like a neon sign!
“Of course.” Neva echoed his words in a velvet voice, a knowing look on her lovely face.
Chandler cleared his throat. “Haven’t had a chance to try out those fishing spots you suggested.” Real smooth. But it was the best he could come up with at the moment.
“You’ve got plenty of time before it gets too cold. Fishing is pretty much year round depending on where you go. Fresh water fishing that is.” Neva unwrapped the cape she wore against the fall chill.
“Yes, well....”
Chandler was fascinated by her movements. She pushed back the folds of the deep wine colored fabric to reveal a matching cotton sweater underneath. Neva then shrugged out of the cape with a rolling motion of her shoulders.
“Of course you might want to– is something wrong?” Neva gazed at him with a slight frown.
“What?” Chandler snapped to attention. If he did not get himself together, the lady would slap him silly for leering at her. “I mean, no nothing. I’ve been working a lot of overtime lately.”
Neva gave him a sympathetic smile. “I know what you mean. That store has been my life for the last six or eight weeks.”
“Sounds like we both needed a break. You took a day off?” Chandler tried to thing wholesome, platonic thoughts.
“Yes. I was passing by on the way to the library and saw you.” Neva stared at him. “Thought I’d say hello.”
Chandler stared into her eyes until he felt like someone had set his pants on fire. He blinked and looked away. “Oh, well....”
“You folks wanna try out my New Orleans gourmet coffee?” Sue Garland, the owner of the shop, appeared from behind a large armoire that hid the door to her office.
“I’d like to. Chandler?” Neva turned to him.
“Yeah, sure,” Chandler said. Not that he could have refused her anything at that moment.
He followed the two women to a corner of the store with tables set aside. Behind a counter were coffee machines. Along the counter in jars were small pies, cookies and cakes.
“Thanks. How’s the new mini café doing?” Neva sat down in the chair Chandler held for her.
“Pretty good. Customers like it. What about something to go with that coffee?” Sue said.
“Nothing for me. I’ve been indulging too much since I got home.” Neva shook her head.
“I’ll try one of those little pecan pies. How many calories could that be?” Chandler grinned.
“Coming right up.” Sue gave their order to the bored looking teen behind the counter.
“So are you in the market for antiques?” Neva gave him her full attention once Sue left.
“My apartment is more early eighties leftovers from the divorce,” Chandler said. “These antiques would be embarrassed to be seen there.” He laughed.
“Can’t be that bad.” Neva broke off when the waiter brought their order.
“No, it’s not. But it’s decidedly modern. More my style, for now anyway.” Chandler stared into the mug of coffee. In truth, the townhouse felt more like a motel room. A temporary place with no feel of home.
“I’m sure you’ll find just the right refuge that you can make all your own. With warm colors, woven wall hangings and a big roomy kitchen with a fireplace.” Neva sipped from the mug. Her amber eyes seemed to sparkle.
“How did you know–” Chandler remembered the conversation with Vernon.
“Just a guess. You seem to like warm colors.” Neva pointed to the dark chocolate brown sweater that matched the brown and deep red plaid shirt underneath it. “And who doesn’t like a fireplace?”
“Ah, I see.” Chandler still felt uneasy with those arresting eyes gazing at him. He also felt foolish for feeling uneasy.
“Besides, I was mostly thinking of what I like in a house anyway.” Neva seemed to regard him with amusement.
“Of course,” Chandler said with a sheepish smile. He felt even more like an idiot. Simple. Like most women, she had a clear picture of the kind of house she’d most enjoy.
“So if you didn’t come in for the antiques, then you wanted coffee?”
“Actually I was on my way upstairs to the historical society. I’m doing some research on Joshua Macklin, one of my great-great-great uncles. I’m pretty sure he fought in a Civil War battle near here.”
“Port Hudson probably.” Neva put down her mug.
“Pardon?”
“The battle of Port Hudson. The site is about fifteen miles south of here. It was one of the battles in which black Union soldiers played a major role.”
“That’s great!” Chandler took out a small note pad and wrote on it. “Grandfather only had a few details from his grandfather about exactly where and when he fought. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. The site is a state park, you know. There’s even a small museum with artifacts from the battle. Oh, and they show a short film.” Neva seemed to catch his enthusiasm.
“Fantastic. My dad will be really excited when I tell him.” Chandler was scribbling away. “How do I get there?”
Neva laughed
. “Another map to draw. Seems we’re linked by geography.”
Chandler stopped writing and looked at her. “Maybe it would be simpler if you showed me the way. It’s early, we could go today. If you don’t have plans,” he added quickly.
“One of my few afternoons free.” Neva’s lips curved up as though pleased he was a part of it.
Have mercy. Chandler’s wits fled again. “Oh,” was all he managed.
“I suggest we visit the historical society first. They may have information on black soldiers.” Neva propped both elbows on the table and assumed a thoughtful pose.
“Then we can have lunch and afterwards, head to the park,” Chandler said without thinking. Where did that come from?
A slow smile of acceptance spread across of her face. “That sounds like a lovely plan,” Neva said.
“Sure won’t be bored with my family tree search?” Chandler wanted to be sure that this feeling of connection was not all in his head.
“No way. History is one of my passions.” Neva brush back her long hair.
“Oh good,” was all Chandler said.
Inside he felt a hot flash at hearing that word from those lips. Now if he could just avoid making a fool of himself, as he always seemed to do with beautiful women. This time he’d keep his wits about him.
“Ready?” Neva reached for her purse.
Chandler looked away from the lush curve of her breasts accentuated by the soft sweater. Keeping his mind in check was the least of his worries.
For an hour they searched through large books on the history of West Feliciana parish with the help of the president of the society. Mr. Davenport was a spry seventy year old with white hair and bright grey eyes. He darted around pulling out documents he thought would help Chandler.
“Look at this,” Mr. Davenport said in a tone of reverence. “I corresponded with a colleague in Pennsylvania and got copies of letters some of the black soldiers wrote home. Absolutely fascinating.”
He handed Chandler a bound booklet that had been produced by the society.
“I wonder if there is any mention of a Joshua Macklin in here.” Chandler flipped through the pages.
“Can’t remember. But I can recommend a book to you. The Louisiana Native Guards by James G. Hollandworth, Jr. Excellent reference source.” Mr. Davenport beamed at them both. “It’s so gratifying to talk to young people interested in history. Most of my regulars are shall we say of advanced years.”
“Well, you’ve been great,” Chandler said with a laugh. “Thank you.” He shook Mr. Davenport’s hand.
“I’m in touch with some of the oldest folks around here. Tapping their memories can be a gold mine of information. Just let me know what you need and we’ll try to smoke it out,” Mr. Davenport said rubbing his hands together.
“Guess you’ve been talking to my grandmother and great-aunt Florrie.” Neva looked around at the bookshelves lining the wall nearest the window.
“National treasures those old dears,” Mr. Davenport said. “You know, child, your family has been in this area since well before the War.”
“Oh yes. But it’s mostly been oral history.” Neva pulled out a leather book to examine it. “Nobody in the family has really tried to look for more.”
“Really? I could help.” Mr. Davenport bustled out to another room then back again with a folder. “I could search plantation papers to find references to your ancestors.”
“Don’t stop your other work for me. I’ve got enough details about Sterlings and Coates to last several decades.” Neva smiled at him.
“No trouble. Most don’t need much help from me, you know Daughters of the Confederacy, that sort.” Mr. Davenport pursed his lips deep in thought.
“Yeah.” Chandler filled in his meaning. He got a mental image of blue-haired little old white ladies with magnolia blossom complexions smelling of gardenia perfume.
“Their ancestors left behind all kinds of documents. It’s harder to find records on black people earlier than say eighteen fifty. But I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.” Mr. Davenport wore an eager expression that begged her to give him the assignment.
“Sure, go ahead.” Neva smiled at him, he was all ready on the trail.
“Now let’s see, where are those records...” Mr. Davenport went off muttering to himself.
“We’ll be leaving now, sir,” Chandler called after him.
“Sorry, I get carried away.” Mr. Davenport darted back into the room. “Now, Mr. Macklin, just leave your telephone number and name. I know how to call you Miss Neva... Where did I put that pen? Mrs. Larimore has been moving my things around again.”
After giving Mr. Davenport his home phone number and address, Chandler and Neva went to the St. Francisville Inn for lunch. They kept of a steady stream of conversation. Chandler felt none of the awkwardness of just meeting a woman. Before he knew it they were talking about his divorce and her marriage.
“So that’s about it.” Chandler took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to build my whole life on work. I wanted to find some meaning in my life.” He laughed.
Neva wore an intent expression. “I see.”
“What a cliché.” He shook his head. “You must think I’m about as deep as a puddle.”
“Not at all. I think it’s great that you had the courage to change your life. Most people don’t even know they’re missing something.” Neva sounded sincere.
“My grandfather died six. I started thinking about what I wanted to do for the next twenty or thirty years. Sure wasn’t what I was doing.”
“Yeah,” Neva said in a soft voice.
Chandler could feel her understanding. He leaned toward her. “I was working twelve hours a day. Of course I had a great salary. But I rarely saw my kid or got to do anything just for fun. That’s no way to live.”
“Your wife didn’t agree.” Neva made the statement in a quiet voice.
“To put it mildly, no. She thought I was going through a phase, an early mid-life crisis she called it. To make a long story short, we divorced after two years of making each other miserable.” Chandler took a swig of iced tea. “Now, your turn.” He raised an eyebrow at her.
Neva shifted and sat back away from him. “Nathan, my late husband, was thirteen years older than I. He was a good man, but....”
“You didn’t love him,” Chandler blurted out in a low voice. When he saw her lip tremble, he was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. I had no business saying that.”
“I did love him just not the way he loved me. I respected him. He was good to me.” Neva looked away. “But we grew apart. I wanted time alone to think about my life.”
Chandler put a hand over hers. He could look at her and see the guilt she felt. “What happened?”
“He drank too much even before I left.” Neva stared down at the remains of her roasted chicken salad. “He was killed in a car accident six months later.”
“I’m so sorry.” Chandler wanted to wrap his arms around her and rock her gently.
Neva withdrew her hand. She swallowed hard. Within seconds, she was back in control. “That’s that.”
“Yes.” Chandler did not know what to say. It was obvious she did not want his sympathy.
“What made you take a transfer so far from home?” Neva switched the subject.
“I was sick of being in an office. Coming to Louisiana was what really interested me. I grew up listening to my grandfather’s stories about the Louisiana Native Guard and the Civil War.”
“Tell me your ancestor’s name again.”
“Joshua Macklin. He moved north after the Civil War along with the rest of the family. I’m afraid my family didn’t keep good records though.” Chandler sat back.
“If anybody can help, Mr. Davenport can. He’s like a hound dog on the trail of a rabbit when it comes to local history.” Neva patted her lips with the cotton napkin. “You’re going to really like the Port Hudson park.”
“Then let’s do it,” Chandler said with exuberance
. When several tourist diners looked up them with raised eyebrows, he smiled in embarrassment.
Neva laughed out loud at the expression on his face. “Come on. I can’t wait,” she said in a loud voice enjoying the scene. She looped her arm through his.
“We’re talking about going to an historical park nearby. It’s supposed to be nice,” Chandler stammered to the couple at the next table. They nodded at him with obvious skepticism.
“I think you’re making it worse,” Neva whispered. She chuckled.
“Like you tried to help me out?” Chandler grinned as they walked to his Pontiac Grand Prix. He unlocked the passenger door and held it open for her.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Neva put on an exaggerated look of innocence.
Chandler got behind the wheel and started the car. “I see you have a mischievous side. I’ll have to keep an eye on you from now on.”
“Will you now?” Neva stared at him for a long moment.
“Yes, I will”, Chandler murmured. He was lost in sensation of staring into those gorgeous eyes for a time. Laughter from a group of people passing by brought him back to his surroundings. “Uh, here we go.” He backed the car out of the parking lot.
The drive took them down Highway 61 also known as Scenic Highway. The leaves had turned gold and red, the sky was a perfect blue. Cool wind coming through the car window stirred Neva’s dark hair around her face making the view quite scenic indeed. Within the twenty minutes it took them to get to the park, Chandler and Neva talked about all the little things that make for amusing light conversation. Anecdotes about family, school experiences and work that were funny but touching at the same time. Neva was someone he not could talk to.
Upon arriving at the park, they took their time examining the battle artifacts. As Neva had suggested, they first visited small museum. Union and Confederate army uniforms and weapons were displayed. Until now, Chandler had only a mild interest in this search, more like a hobby that he kept putting off. But seeing the faces of black soldiers in period photographs moved him. He stared at the solemn expressions of those brave men wondering which one was his own ancestor. Neva and Chandler spoke in low voices as though to do otherwise would be disrespectful.