The Pepper In The Gumbo: A Cane River Romance

by Hathaway, Mary Jane

  ***

  Paul flopped backward onto his bed, arm over his eyes. The lunch had gone well, surprisingly. His mother and Alice seemed to get along just fine. They spent most of their time in the kitchen talking about food and avoiding him. Well, his mother kept trying to drag him into the conversation, but he stayed out in the living room with Andy.

  Right before they had sat down to eat, a thunderstorm hit and the power flickered. Alice didn’t seem to think anything of it, but Paul wondered how old the electrical system was. He hadn’t wanted to ask her right then, but outdated electrical could be downright dangerous. The storm passed, Alice left for her own apartment, his mama left with a promise to come back in a few days, and Andy passed out on the couch in a food coma. Paul was left to his own thoughts. He paced the living room and watched the storm pass outside.

  Everything I’ve ever looked for, I’m sure he’ll make a wonderful husband and a really great dad. Alice’s words kept echoing around in his head. Of course that sentence was going to continue with a but that included every detail she absolutely hated about him. Despite that, those words settled somewhere in his heart and he couldn’t shake them loose. He got a lot of compliments from women, but none of them had been particularly interested in whether he was a good person or if he’d make a solid partner and father. It seemed as if Alice didn’t care at all that he owned a huge company and had more money than almost everyone in the country.

  Now hours later, he sat up and rubbed his face. It had been a long time since anyone thought those things didn’t matter. A few days ago he would have been outraged. He’d worked years to build his company, missing out on vacation and birthdays, putting in the long nights and most weekends. His fortune represented the entire decade of his twenties. But if he stripped away the company and the money, who was he? And that was why he sat on his bed in a darkened room at two in the morning, unable to sleep. He didn’t want to be that guy who didn’t have much to offer the world. He wanted to be the kind of person Alice saw when she looked at him.

  He stared down at his bare feet. He’d considered it a victory to get permission to build in the historic district, right in the middle of all the fancy buildings. It was his way of sticking it to everyone who looked down on him in high school, every person who ignored his mother when she went into one of those old stores, clearly not the kind of person who could shop there every week.

  Paul stood and walked to the window, looking out at the river. The moonlight shone in the ripples of the water and the trees were like dark sentries, unmoving and ominous. He’d told Andy that his epiphany was about revenge and how it would eat him up from the inside, making him weak and doomed to failure. But maybe there was more to it. He needed to let go of the need for revenge, put his energy into helping the city, and then further. Not just in this town, but everywhere. Christmas donations to The Red Cross were fine, but throwing money at a charity corporation once a year didn’t mean he was making a real difference.

  A plan began to take shape in the back of his mind and he opened his laptop, searching out contact information from several sites. As he clicked into his email, he saw another message from Alice. Paul forced himself to send the short note to the recipients he’d chosen before he opened her letter.

  Dear BWK,

  I hope you had a good Sunday. I spent the day thinking of that line of poetry from Gerard Manley Hopkins:

  I have asked to be

  where no storms come,

  where the green swell

  is in the havens dumb

  and out of the swing of the sea.

  Do you ever feel this way? As if you need a place “out of the swing of the sea”? I never have until now.

  Did you enjoy the zydeco festival? I’m sorry again that we weren’t able to meet. I hope you practice Alexander Pope’s ninth beatitude. It’s the safest way to live.

  I’d like to be peaceful, I think I’m doomed to follow Louisa May Alcott’s path of resolving “to take Fate by the throat and shake a living out of her”.

  Your friend,

  Alice

  Paul let out a chuckle. But his heart dropped as he read the note again and let the poetry sink in deep. Alice felt like she was being tossed around, a piece of flotsam on the ocean of life.

  Dear Alice,

  I enjoy imagining you with your hands at Fate’s throat. She has been kind to me, overall, but I’ve heard she can be an uncompromising, vengeful slacker, reluctant to give what is due. I whole-heartedly approve of your current plan of action.

  The zydeco festival was pure excitement, from start to finish. I didn’t stay long. I’m afraid Pope’s ninth beatitude of expecting nothing and never being disappointed didn’t apply to me, though.

  I, too, long for a place out of the swing of the sea, but... Do you know how Walt Whitman said that we should let our soul stand cool and composed before a million universes? I’ve never been that type. On the outside, perhaps. But inside I’ve never been able to stand unmoved before any beauty or deep emotion. And so we end up like Goethe, who said the soul who sees beauty may sometimes walk alone. Or live out in the swing of the sea, in our case.

  Your friend,

  BWK

  Paul sent the email and closed the laptop, setting it on his desk. He crossed to the bed and dropped onto the covers, staring up at the ceiling. That probably made no sense at all. He was exhausted and his brain seemed to be tied up in knots. He wished he could shelter Alice, give her the peaceful life she wanted.

  He leaned back against his pillows and shut his eyes. Maybe this was all he would ever get, late night email with poetry sprinkled over it like bitter chocolate shavings. He should just accept that reality.

  His phone dinged and he rolled over, picking it up from his nightstand. A touch of the screen and Alice’s response popped up.

  Dear BWK,

  Are you back home now? You must live on the West Coast. It’s very late here. I can’t sleep. There are so many worries tonight that I didn’t have a week ago. Some are personal, some have to do with my store. All of them (except one) are probably silly in comparison to most problems. Like the fact that I need to get an alarm system installed and I don’t know anything about them. I hate high tech things and I’m afraid I’m going to lock myself out of my own house.

  As for the one problem that’s not so silly, you know that I inherited this bookstore. Well, the previous owner’s niece has filed a lawsuit against me, in hopes of receiving half the estate.

  Paul bolted upright in bed. Alice was being sued?

  We both know you can’t split a bookstore. (I don’t even share shelf space.) If Mr. Perrault had wanted to give her the store, I think he would have. But he’s not here so he can’t tell them that. There’s nothing to be done, really. Just waiting and wondering if the judge will decide this stranger deserves half of the store she’s never seen.

  I’m trying to be “like barley bending in low fields by the sea” as Sara Teasdale wrote, but I’m afraid I’ve never learned how. It’s always served me better to be unyielding, hard as stone. But under all this pressure, I feel as if I’m flint, ready to splinter into a thousand sharp blades.

  Your friend,

  Alice

  Paul sat still, resisting the urge to slip on his shoes and walk down the hallway to Alice’s apartment. He knew she was awake and he knew she would answer. But unfortunately, Alice hadn’t told Paul about the lawsuit. She told BWK. So, even though he felt close to her, she had chosen to share this trial with someone she’d never met.

  He pulled out his e-reader and opened a book he’d uploaded a few weeks ago. In moments, he found what he was looking for.

  Dear Alice,

  When you get your alarm system, remember two things: choose the one you think is the simplest because if you’re not comfortable with it, you won’t use it. And when you get the system installed, use it every time. That’s all the wisdom I have on that.

  As for the once-lost-now-found niece, perhaps you should stop
trying to bend.

  An emerald is as green as grass,

  A ruby red as blood;

  A sapphire shines as blue as heaven;

  A flint lies in the mud.

  A diamond is a brilliant stone,

  To catch the world's desire;

  An opal holds a fiery spark;

  But a flint holds fire.

  I think you should ignore Sara Teasdale (she’s a bit of a moper, to be honest.).

  Take Christina Rossetti’s advice and be fire.

  Your friend,

  BWK, who is still in Natchitoches

  Paul sent the message and then stood up, walking to the long window and staring out at the river. The apartment was quiet, the city was hushed. It seemed like the whole world was asleep, except for two lonely people.

  He heard the ding of his phone from where he stood but didn’t reach for it. He couldn’t guess her response. Would she ask him to meet her? Would she ask where he was staying? For some reason, his stomach was twisting with nerves.

  Picking up his phone, he held it in his hand, feeling the cool metal against his fingertips. If she asked him to meet her, then he’d go through all the emotion and anxiety he’d felt before the dance. And even though he knew it was selfish, Paul didn’t know if he had enough bravery to try and tell her twice in one weekend.

  He touched the screen and her response popped up.

  Dear BWK,

  Yes, be fire!

  Tomorrow, I’ll spark the flame.

  Thank you.

  Your friend,

  Alice

  Paul felt the huge grin spread over his face. That’s my girl, he thought. And moments later, tried to erase the idea. She wasn’t his girl. She was a lot of things to him but she wasn’t his.

  He shut off the phone and fell into bed, a smile still touching his lips. He fell into sleep like falling under water, all at once. He dreamed of bright sparks and her kiss and piles of old books. He tried to keep them apart, knowing even in his dream that it would be a disaster, but in the end, it all merged together into a towering flame.

  Chapter Seventeen

  We live in a society exquisitely dependent on science and technology, in which hardly anyone knows anything about science and technology. ―Carl Sagan

  Alice gave herself a silent pep talk. She was about to do something she could never have imagined just weeks ago. She was going to sue Paul Olivier and her beloved city of Natchitoches. She had only one friend who might be crazy enough to file that kind of paper for her and she quickly looked up his number. A few minutes later, she set the phone back down, her heart pounding in her chest. Randy Rittenberg, an old high school friend who lived in LaFayette, asked her more than once if she was sure she wanted to go ahead with it. Once she’d convinced him she wasn’t backing down, he agreed. By noon, he would fax the papers to city hall. She would have to go down there, sign and file them.

  Alice picked up the old rotary phone and dialed again, letting the loud ringing in her right ear act as a sort of wake up call. Two cups of coffee weren’t enough to get her sluggish brain moving after a night of worry. After BWK had given her a pep talk, she’d finally been able to rest, but that had only been a few hours before dawn.

  “Mayor Cointreau speaking,” said a gravelly voice.

  “Hello, mayor. It’s Alice Augustine, from By the Book. I was hoping we could meet sometime today and talk about that new store that’s going up in the historic district.”

  There was a long silence at the other end and Alice could imagine Mayor Cointreau straightening his tie. It was a nervous tic, like other people cleared their throats. “I suppose you can come by, if you like, but everything’s already been approved. I can hear them working on it from here.”

  Alice took a deep breath. “I’ve decided to file a petition seeking a temporary injunction with the city to block the construction of ScreenStop in the historical district. And I’m going to sue to seek the enforcement of the zoning laws.”

  There was another long silence and this time she couldn’t imagine what he was doing. Finally he said, “I don’t think you could win that case, Alice.”

  “I’m claiming undue hardship, since that store will bring down my property prices.” Alice hadn’t been sure what sort of claim she could make but Randy had given her several options, the best of which was that By the Book would suffer.

  “I would suggest you rethink that course of action. We went to a lot of trouble to make sure ScreenStop could build quickly and without issues. Whatever has happened between you is no cause for that kind of behavior.”

  “What?” She nearly choked on her words. “Nothing has happened. I mean, it’s not what you’re thinking. I decided this before―”

  “If you do find someone to file this, I’ll have to come out and say that I’m against your actions and that the city supports Mr. Olivier.” His tone was cold.

  That was pretty clear and nothing that she hadn’t expected, but it was still hard to hear. “I understand,” she said and hung up the phone.

  If Alice had ever wondered how Paul had gotten that building permit without it going through the board, she knew now. The application hadn’t followed the city bylaws. No matter what Paul had said, or what he’d been told, that store was being constructed without being properly approved.

  The knowledge made her furious and hopeful at the same time. If she could prove it, she could stop it. Alice wiped her hands on her linen skirt and took a deep breath. She didn’t mind tangling with city hall. Authority figures had never bothered her. It was the thought of facing Paul after he discovered what she’d done.

  Be fire. Alice held on to those words, repeating them to herself as she slipped out from behind her desk and paced the small front room. She needed to let her anger spark itself into something that would create change, not just let it smolder inside, growing hotter and more painful.

  Jane Eyre came out from around a range and jumped into her lap. Alice buried her face in the short-haired tabby’s fur and tried not to cry. The kitty was quiet, loving, and kept to herself, but she had a sort of sixth sense for when Alice was upset.

  “Thanks for the womanly commiseration,” she whispered. Alice took a tissue from her desk and wiped her eyes. She was sure what she was doing was the right thing, but her emotions were still a mess. But that was what happened when you fell for the man you’d promised to fight.

  ***

  Alice walked out of city hall without feeling the joy she thought she would. She was taking action and not allowing some big corporation take over her beautiful city. She was standing up for a simpler way, an educated life of books and conversation, rather than mindless flashing TV screens. But even though she knew she was right, her stomach rolled with the realization of what she’d done. As much as wanted to believe she could separate Paul from his business, she couldn’t. She felt as if she’d just attacked a friend.

  ***

  Alice looked up to see a blond man in a business suit and two technicians walking through her store’s front door. She felt sweat instantly appear on her forehead. Paul said he would call someone, but she hadn’t expected it so soon. And here she just returned from throwing a wrench into his building plans. She felt more than a twinge of guilt. She stood, brushing papers to the side and startling Van Winkle.

  “Miss Alice Augustine? I’m Larson McGee. I own Cane River Home Security.” He held out a hand and Alice took it, hoping her palms weren’t sweaty.

  “Paul said you needed a consultation. We were working down the street and I said I’d stop in on the way back. Did you want to set up a time to go over what we could offer you in terms of security for your business and home?”

  Alice cleared her throat. Be fire. She needed to make decisions as quickly as possible so she wasn’t spending the whole night awake. “I’m free right now, if you are.”

  Larson smiled. “Works for me. Why don’t you show us around and then we can talk about different packages.”

  She stepped ar
ound Mr. Rochester who was giving the intruders a cold stare, and headed for the rare book room. “Let’s start here.”

  ***

  Paul pushed open the door to By the Book and felt his mouth go dry at the sight of Alice. She stood up from her desk and turned, her dark eyes fixed on him. He took a second to admire her red silk top and pencil skirt, and then he forced his eyes upward.

  Her expression wasn’t just surprise but dread. Paul paused halfway across the floor. Maybe she thought he’d become a stalker. They’d spent most of the day together yesterday and then emailed in the middle of the night. He certainly was showing up every time she turned around. “Hi, Alice. I’m sorry I didn’t call but I have something for Bix.”

  “For Bix?” she asked. Her dark eyes flickered down to the small box he held in his hand.

  A tall black cat leaped from the top of the range, landing gracefully in front of him. Paul managed not to jump out of his skin. “That’s Darcy, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She frowned down at the cat who had taken up a position in front of her, green eyes unblinking. “He doesn’t usually come down here. Either he really likes you or he really doesn’t.”

  He continued towards her and Darcy didn’t twitch a muscle. The two of them stood like soldiers at a guard station. “How will I know which it is?” He stopped a few feet away.

  “You won’t.” Alice put a fist to one hip and winked. “We’re good Southerners. We know how to be hospitable.”

  Maybe it was the saucy wink that got him but Paul stepped forward. “Mm-hmm,” he said, letting his voice drop to a level that was just between them. “I think I can tell the difference. Not always, but every now and then it’s pretty clear.”

  Her face went pink and he couldn’t help a little smile. Man, she was beautiful. “Will he be in today?”

  “Who?” Alice asked.

  He lifted the e-reader box. “Bix. I’d like to show him how this operates.”