Mason's Daughter

by Stone, Cynthia J

  I pick up the phone and dial.

  “Of course, dear girl,” Angelique answers. “Come right over.”

  “I want to get your impression of Brett Kennedy.”

  “That will be quite easy. He’s sitting right here on my terrace.”

  For Angelique to give him the time of her day, he must be a well-mannered Southern gentleman, for starters. That much I had observed myself. But for her to invite him over probably means neutrality is already a lost cause.

  Upstairs, I knock on Colton’s door. No answer, but thumping vibrates the walls. I rap again harder and ease the door open, just enough to peek around the edge. With his back to me, he reclines on his bed, his bare feet propped against the wall. No wonder he can’t hear me through his headphones, with “Eli’s Coming” at full throttle.

  Last year, I would have tousled his hair and he would have laughed, but I can’t risk such affection now. The time has come for me to assert my parental authority. I cross my wrists behind my back and step over the pile of discarded clothes and books until I turn to face him. Like Big Jack, he lies there with his eyes closed, but he’s enraptured by the joy of the music, and I hate to break the spell.

  My heart is heavy. Everybody in Mason’s Crossing knew how well I handled the death of a parent, but I would have given anything to save Colton from learning the same excruciating lesson.

  Before I can shake him by the knee, he opens his eyes and stares at me. No surprised expression, as if he anticipated my presence. I tap my ear, and he pulls one side of the headphones toward the top of his head.

  “I’m going out for a short visit to Angelique’s. Can you manage to stay put until I get back?”

  “I don’t drive, remember?”

  As if I am ready to draw a pistol, I shove my hands on my hips. “Why don’t you get started on your homework? Isn’t something due on Monday?”

  “It’s spring break, remember?”

  “Well, try to do something productive while I’m gone.” I turn to go, but spin around. “By the way, I found something else that might help prove Dad didn’t kill himself.”

  I can save my breath. He puts his headphones back on and closes his eyes. His right foot thumps the wall like a bass drum. Our interview is over, and I am dismissed. The little shit.

  Fuming all the way, I drive to Angelique’s. Two vehicles, one I don’t recognize, sit parked in the driveway. The other belongs to Raúl, her occasional live-in restaurateur boyfriend. As I enter the front door, he is putting on a chef’s coat. “Off to the kitchen. Busy night ahead.” He flits past me, jingling his car keys.

  “Of course, it’s Saturday. Good luck.” I wander through the house and find Angelique and Brett on the terrace, a tray of margaritas on the table near them. They huddle against the far wall, heads leaning together. Angelique’s earrings swing to and fro, close enough to graze Brett’s cheek. His hand grips her elbow.

  “Don’t say anything to Raúl,” Angelique says.

  I hesitate. Do I detect electricity in the air, or is it my imagination? When they see me, they both stand erect and smile.

  “What’s up?” I try to sound cheerful.

  Angelique holds out a bowl. “Try some of Raúl’s new mango salsa, too. Just the right combination of sweet and spicy to sweep you off your feet.” She gives Brett what I interpret as a meaningful glance, and I’m not sure if she means food or men.

  “Talented guy,” Brett says.

  I hope my face doesn’t register surprise, as I look from one to the other. Maybe Raúl should skip the restaurant and see what’s cooking here.

  By patting the cushions, Angelique chooses our seats, placing Brett in between us. When she disappears to the kitchen for more drinks, I turn toward him. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me the other day.”

  “Regarding your husband?”

  “Also his father.” I set down my glass. “And my father.”

  “I’m sorry if I made it difficult for you.”

  “Not at all.” I take a deep breath. “You told me Nate Wallace contacted you the same day you refused to buy my father-in-law’s business. Big Jack never would have revealed his intentions to anyone. How did my father know to call you?”

  “He didn’t call me. He–”

  Is he trying to trick me, or is my mind doing the job instead? “But you said–”

  “Nate Wallace dropped by my office, same as you did. Very impressive gentleman, I must say.”

  My father in Austin last year? Why didn’t I notice the sudden drop in air pressure or temperature that always seems to accompany his presence? “So nobody told you anything about my father?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “It was the first time we had ever set eyes on each other. He’s not an easy man to forget.”

  Brett Kennedy is not the only man who ever thought so.

  I stretched out on the floor in the downstairs parlor, turning the pages of my picture book. I could make out several letters and sounds, but not read whole words yet. Aunt Mary sat directly in the afternoon sunlight and knitted another wool lap robe. She’d made lots of them by now, all brown and beige or dark green. She knitted them big enough to be blankets and sent them to the USO office for people she calls “our brave men in uniform.” Even though Daddy kept telling her it has been over for several months now, she worried about the war in Europe. Aunt Mary didn’t want anyone to get sick while they were still away from home. But if they did, she wanted them to have one of her blankets so they’d feel better.

  I turned the page and giggled at the picture of a dog and a cat riding in a pirate ship hanging from a hot air balloon. The dog wore an eye patch and the cat had on a black hat in the shape of a triangle. They didn’t know a unicorn was flying under them, about to pop the balloon.

  Mrs. Gussmann entered the room. “Excuse me, Miss Wallace. There’s a man to see Mr. Nate.”

  “Someone here?” Aunt Mary put down her knitting needles and I sat up straight. We didn’t often get visitors to the house.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “A . . . gentleman who says he knows Mr. Nate, um, from the early days.”

  Aunt Mary didn’t like to speak to strangers. “Can’t you just give him the office address?”

  “I would, but he seems like, well . . . with that one eye . . .”

  I closed my book and stood up. I hoped to catch a glimpse of a real pirate. “What does he look like?”

  Mrs. Gussmann’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Like he could use a meal. And a shave.”

  Aunt Mary picked up her knitting again. “Please offer him something to eat and send him on his way. He sounds like a bum.”

  “That’s what I thought at first, until he asked about you.” She nodded like she knew a secret. “He mentioned ‘Nate’s sister, Mary Wallace.’ Those exact words.”

  Aunt Mary tossed the knitting into her basket next to the chair and stood up. “Me? How does he know my name?”

  I thought maybe the man was a magician, which was just as good as a pirate. No one from anywhere ever knew Aunt Mary. According to Mother, she came to us right before I was born with nothing but a ratty old suitcase and a bad case of the sniffles. I turned to Aunt Mary and tugged on her arm. “Let’s go ask him.”

  I followed her into the entry hall, peeking around from behind her skirt. You can’t be too careful around pirates. Besides, I’d been told to let the adults do the talking, but Aunt Mary wasn’t very chatty. A man with red hair stood near the front door, looking up at the chandelier. Before he noticed us, he gave a low whistle.

  I almost crashed into the back of her when Aunt Mary stopped at the edge of the Persian carpet. As I stepped out from behind her, she put her hanky to her mouth. “May I help you?”

  The man stood at attention like he was going to salute. Aunt Mary stiffened when he walked toward us and held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “I’m Clyde Farraday.”

  Since Aunt Mary didn’t move, I reached out and shook his hand, the
way Mother had taught me. He looked like a nice pirate.

  When he grinned, his gold front tooth shone like a nightlight. “You must be . . .?”

  “I’m Sally Mason Wallace.”

  “Nate never told me he has a daughter.”

  The redheaded man really was a magician, as well as a pirate. How else would he have known who my daddy was?

  “Mr. Farraday, is there something I can do for you?” Aunt Mary sounded tired.

  “Uh, yes, ma’am. I was hoping to find Nate at home.”

  “Did he know you were coming?”

  “No, I just got released.”

  Aunt Mary gasped. “From where?”

  I looked down at his boots. There was a hole in one of the toes, but no sock poked through.

  “The Navy.” Clyde winked at me with his good eye and I grinned at him. I couldn’t wait to ask him about his adventures, especially the big scar on his face, probably from when another pirate tried to cut off his ear and poked him in the eye. He looked from side to side and shook his head. Maybe he didn’t care for the new paintings Mother told the man from the store to hang in the entry hall.

  “My brother is still tending to business, since his work day isn’t quite over yet.”

  I thought Aunt Mary didn’t like the man because he didn’t have a job like Daddy.

  She turned her head and patted the back of her tight little bun. “Perhaps you’d like to call on him at his office.”

  “I’d be glad to, ‘cept I got no car.”

  Aunt Mary called Mrs. Gussmann into the entry and asked her where the chauffeur was. Gone to run errands for Mrs. Wallace, she said. Aunt Mary seemed disappointed.

  “I don’t mind waiting,” Clyde offered.

  “Inside?” She sniffed and glanced around, like she was trying to find some clean place to sit. She shouldn’t worry. Clyde’s pants already had picked up enough dirt so he wouldn’t mind sitting anywhere.

  “I’m used to being outdoors. How about I hol’ up on the front porch ‘til the master returns?” He chuckled. “It’s where I left my duffel bag anyway.”

  Aunt Mary looked like she might faint. After Mrs. Gussmann closed the front door behind our strange visitor, Aunt Mary and I returned to the front parlor. Pretty soon, her medicine made her sleepy again and I slipped out of the room. There was enough sunlight left for me to see the outline of Clyde’s head, resting against the window.

  When I opened the front door and went out on the porch, he sat up. “How’re you, little lady?”

  We talked for a while, and Clyde told me things I had never heard before about my father. “Your papa was a skinny teenager, but he worked real hard. He could lift a bale of cotton twice his weight. Well, almost, anyway.”

  “Did you know my mother, too?”

  “Nah, it was before he got married.”

  I asked him about being a pirate and hoped he would talk about his adventures sailing the ocean.

  He looked up and down the porch and said, “Piracy must pay pretty well.”

  Before we had a chance to get to know each other better, tires screeched in the driveway. My father jumped out of his car and ran across the lawn. I wondered why Daddy was so happy to see me, but he didn’t even notice me.

  “Clyde, is it really you?”

  “After all these years, here I am, like I promised.”

  They shook hands as if they were having a wrestling match, and then my father did something I’d never seen him do with anyone. He put his arms around Clyde’s shoulders and gave him a big hug, almost lifting his feet off the floor. Then I knew Clyde really was our extra special friend. I was glad he’d come, but I also wished my daddy would hug me that way.

  What silly smiles. As they slapped each other on the back, they headed for the front door. Clyde must have been a really good magician because he made Daddy laugh.

  Maybe he also made me disappear.

  I have other questions for Brett Kennedy. “Who told my father about Big Jack’s offer?”

  Brett sighs and peers up at the clouds. “I’m afraid my answer will make it worse for you, and I don’t want . . .” He runs his fingers through his thinning hair before he looks me in the face. “Your husband did. Look, if you want to learn any more details, you’ll have to ask your father.”

  My erect posture gives way as if he had dropped a heavy weight on me. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Jack’s struggle to be free of his father led him to throw himself into Nate Wallace’s web. My husband wasn’t a brilliant man, but this move scaled new heights of stupidity. How could he do that to me?

  Angelique sashays across the terrace with a full pitcher and an ice bucket on a tray. She sets the tray on the table next to Brett. “Have you invited her yet?”

  I sit up straight. “Invited me where?”

  Brett grins and wipes the back of his neck, even though a light breeze cools the terrace. “The Pioneer Festival in Mason’s Crossing starts tomorrow. I know it’s kind of late, but I wanted to ask you to come with me. I bought VIP tickets and a whole table of seating.”

  He might as well be speaking Mongolian. I must appear puzzled, because Angelique repeats my name, but I can’t answer her.

  “A date, Sally,” she says. “He’s asking you on a date.”

  Widowed for one year and three days, and now a man I hardly know asks me out. What would my mother say?

  I can almost hear her telling me to concentrate on Colton’s behavior and solve the unanswered questions about Jack’s death. She assures me I don’t have to go out with Brett Kennedy to get his help.

  Temptation steps into my path. Too many years have passed since I spent time with a man who is attentive and intelligent. Maybe Brett’s wealth will make him interesting instead of conceited. I can overlook that fact that he isn’t taller than I or as handsome as Jack. Is it too much to expect that he will turn out to be a good dancer?

  Before I answer, I point a finger from Angelique to Brett and back. “What about the two of you? I saw you together just now, as if . . .”

  Brett frowns and shoots Angelique a questioning look.

  She lofts her throaty laugh and shakes her head. “I tripped on my high-heels and Brett caught my arm before I fell. Can’t go around spilling drinks on my own terrace, now can I?”

  “It would be best to tell Sally the rest of it, don’t you think?”

  I stare at her margarita glass and wonder if she could possibly have drunk more than she realized, like last Christmas when she stood under the mistletoe for an entire three hours, sipping mulled wine between smooches from everyone who attended her open house reception. She spent all the next day in bed, her feet as hung over as her head. Now I check for extra brightness in her eyes and cheeks too rosy.

  With a sly grin, Angelique arches one eyebrow. “You know how handsome men make me swoon.”

  I‘ve seen her react that way often enough, but her adjective lets Brett off the hook. While not unattractive, his looks can be described as average in every way.

  “Angelique suffered a dizzy spell,” Brett says. “She almost fainted.”

  I stand up and move next to Angelique. Silly to think I can protect her. My breathing grows shallow, as if there isn’t enough air to go around.

  “What will you darlings wear to the Pioneer Festival dance?” Angelique pulls a cigarette from her gold case and holds it near her cheek between two artfully cocked fingers. “The invitation reads ‘cowboy chic,’ but that term is an oxymoron.”

  I touch her arm. “You told Brett not to mention something to Raúl.”

  She bends her head toward Brett as he flicks and steadies her lighter. During the first long exhale, she smiles as if she’s indulging a child. “He’ll only worry. And you shouldn’t fret either. I merely stood up too quickly, that’s all.”

  Despite our protests, Angelique insists she doesn’t need to go for a check-up. She steers the conversation back to the motion on the floor, as she puts it. After a few minutes of her wheedling and ca
joling, I accept Brett’s invitation, and before I leave, we settle on a time for Sunday afternoon.

  In the distraction of the moment, I forget my purpose was to get Angelique’s impression of Brett Kennedy. His concern for her health and safety, plus his hesitancy to reveal circumstances I might find uncomfortable, gives me enough insight to relax. It is only one date, in front of everyone in Mason’s Crossing.

  I belt out “Country Roads” with John Denver on the radio all the way home, until I turn the corner to my street. I wonder how Colton will take it when I break the news that some stranger will be escorting me to our town’s biggest social event. One my family’s history makes possible.

  Why can’t I try to rewrite my past and weave a new future at the same time? Mother, are you listening?

  The first opportunity to tell Colton of my Sunday plans comes at the dinner table. It is what any responsible single parent would do.

  “So what?” Colton takes another bite of grilled chicken.

  “You don’t mind I have a date with–”

  “I told you I don’t care. Do what you like.”

  “I just wanted to be sure you didn’t object.”

  “It’s your life.” He carries his dishes to the sink. “I’m going with the Cromwells anyway. Max and I are running the ring toss booth for the church youth fellowship.”

  “You’re supposed to be grounded–”

  Colton shoots me a quick glance. He looks away so fast, I can’t tell if I read fear or the usual anger in his eyes.

  “–but I can make an exception, since it’s for the church.”

  “As long as I don’t have fun, right?”

  How much trouble can he get into with all those friends and neighbors around? Mike Avery’s presence should provide a big deterrent, if nothing else.

  “It’s your last chance for a while. Have all the fun you want.”

  Maybe we both will. We can certainly stand a little playtime for a change.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Folks in Mason’s Crossing always go all out for the Pioneer Festival. Usually I accept a major volunteer role, but the planning committee chair had given me a lighter load this time. Before Christmas, I made a few phone calls to ask the local wholesale nurseries to supply potted plants for decorations, and my responsibilities ended. No one took me seriously when I said I’d rather be busier.