“What’s so funny?” The woman behind one of the display cases leaned over, arms interwoven and eyebrows furrowed.
Andrew said, “This is Mary. Me auntie.”
“I do apologize.” I gave her my sweetest smile. “I’m a homesick Texan. Dr. Pepper was invented in Waco, just up the road about two hours from where I went to college at the University of Texas.”
“Just two hours?” Mary grinned.
“That’s not very far in the States.” Glenda raised an eyebrow.
I nodded. “It takes a good eight or more to cross Texas north to south and at least ten east to west, if you drive fast.”
The bakery clerk scratched her head. “My word.”
Glenda patted her arm, as she seemed to do with everyone she met. “They say a hundred miles is no big deal to Americans, like a hundred years is nothing to us.”
We all laughed. Mary waved her nephew over. “Come give me a proper hug now.”
Andrew’s ears reddened but a little hesitation hung in his response. He scooted by, wrapped his arm around her waist and gave her a peck on the cheek. Then he whispered into her ear. She nodded. “Out back, ya know.”
Andrew shrugged in our direction. “Sorry. My turn to find the loo.” He ducked out the door.
It seemed strange to me he’d have to ask, but I brushed the thought aside and relished in the aromas and sights of the bakery.
“So, you’re Andrew’s buds, eh? Then here.” The lady scooted around the display case and grabbed a Dr. Pepper. She flipped the tab off. “Cheers. On the house, as they say.”
I thanked her with cheeks I am sure resembled the crimson logo on the bottle. “You must come by the American Museum in Bath someday soon. I will be working in the gift shop.”
“I’d like that.” She gave me a brief hug. “My daughter lives there. You two can go pubbing. It’ll be brilliant.”
We exited with eight scones, a dozen shortbread biscuits, two tins of gingerbread, a box of assorted chocolates and a loaf of pumpernickel bread. I laughed. “With so many scrumptious calories, I’ll need to find some way to exercise it off.”
Glenda grabbed my arm. “No time like the present.”
Two men strode purposefully in our direction, heads craning this way and that as they observed people’s movements along the street. We hadn’t yet landed in their line of vision.
She shoved the parcels into the trash bin and grabbed my arm. “Dash, my dear. Quickly into that alleyway. Now!”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
We ducked into the passage behind the bakery and wound our way around to the end of East Street. I turned to see if Andrew had followed. But I didn’t spot him.
“Andrew? Where is he?” My question came in spurts between my huffs for air.
Glenda swallowed. “No time. He can take care of himself.” She led me through a gated garden, around the side of a house, and then up another street. I couldn’t believe my difficulty in keeping pace with her. Either I was really out of shape or she was very fit. I made a mental note to locate a gym in Bath―if we ever arrived. She rounded a corner, grabbed a shawl off the line in a backyard and draped it over her head. She snitched a hooded jacket and tossed it at me. “Here put this on. And cover up your hair.”
I tucked the strands inside the hoodie. “Which way?”
Glenda pointed. “Through the next alley and down there. See the hedges?”
We dashed across a narrow field to some hedgerow, slipped to the other side, and hugged it, crouching low until we reached a river. A few barges lined the banks. Brightly colored, each measured no more than fifteen feet in length by my guess. Small gardens, mostly consisting of plants in tin cans and topiaries, blanketed many of the tops.
“Here.” Glenda motioned to a bright blue one with green shutters. An elderly man stood near the back. His white hair puffed haphazardly from underneath his cap.
She called up to him. “Help us? It’s an emergency.”
He outstretched his hand. She thanked him as he guided her up the plank.
“On the lam from the coppers?”
“Tad of trouble with some thugs who wanted our purses. Made them bloody angry when we resisted. Can you hide us for a bit?”
The man grunted and opened the small door. He helped me aboard. I gave him an out of breath “thank you.” We bent to enter his floating domain. The ceiling crouched little more than a foot above my head, and I’d always been considered on the short side. Small open-sashed windows lined both sides of the room. Pastel floral sheets, cut into café curtains, billowed in the breeze to let in the slight fishy smell of the river. A woman sat knitting as an orange tabby pawed at her ball of string.
The man motioned us to the wooden table with two paint-peeled chairs that didn’t match. He scooted aside some newspapers and what appeared to be notices and bills. “Please, sit down,” he waved with his hand.
I edged into the chair nearest to me and immediately my legs went rubbery from our run. His wife brought us bottled waters. I decided the heck with being a proper lady and guzzled half of the contents in one tilt. The usually refined Glenda finished close behind in the competition.
When I set the bottle down, our host leaned forward, elbows stretched across the table. “Now, me dear ladies. Shall we discuss the real reason you are running, hmm?” Clear gray eyes couched in bushy eyebrows flashed between us. His wife, I noticed, had returned to her knitting, cat on lap. She didn’t raise her gaze to us, but one eyebrow cocked.
My throat clamped. My cheeks warmed, again. Such is the trouble with red-headed genes, even though my hair now sported a deep brown tint. Blushing happens—a lot. Tom once told me I couldn’t pull off a poker-face for long. A stone slid into my stomach at the thought of him. I wondered if he’d figured out my new location yet.
Glenda cleared her throat and wiggled a bit in her chair. She darted in my direction what I took to be a let-me-handle-this look. I give her an ever so slight dip of my head in response.
She swallowed the last of her water, and zeroed in on the man’s eyes. “You see, my friend here is from Texas. She crossed the pond so I could protect her from her, well…” She glanced at me and took my hand. “If you must know…her stark-raving mad, over-controlling but filthy rich, oil baron husband. The beast will NOT let her alone. He’s a bloody monster, and she’s had enough of him.”
The man changed his glance from Glenda to me. I lowered my eyes.
Glenda continued, “We were having a nice lunch and touring Lacock to do some shopping. I wanted to show her some countryside to get her mind off things. Girls day together, what?”
Our host nodded.
“Something caught my eye outside the shop window. Can you believe it?” For effect she slammed her bottle down on the table. “The lunatic followed her here! All the way from the states. He’s stalking her.” She shook her curls rapidly. “God knows what he will do if…”
His spouse stopped rocking and knitting. I caught her eyes as they narrowed onto her husband. The man stroked his chin with a blue-veined hand, which obviously had been subjected to decades of manual labor.
Glenda scooched forward in her chair. “You have to help us. I think we’ve lost him, but I’m bloody sure he’s lurking nearby somewhere. Along with his hired minders.”
The woman’s voice spoke up―the first thing she’d uttered since we’d invaded her home. “Let them stay awhile, husband.”
The man’s eyes darted to his lap as if pondering what he should do. “Where ya live?”
“Bath. I’ve helped her land a job at the American Museum. She starts on Monday.”
I stared at Glenda. Her face shone with honesty. Okay, most of this tale was true, to some extent. Why did I detect the singe of a lie branding my soul? Did this man need to be told the whole ugly truth? I rubbed the back of my neck and silently asked God for clarity.
The man’s voice raised an octave, which made me refocus my attention. “Bath? It’s where we’ll head tomorrow to do our mont
hly shoppin’. Ain’t that right, wife?”
The woman rocked and nodded in unison. Her cat jumped down and sauntered to one of the sun-faded, blue corduroy-padded benches bolted on either side of the cabin. The wife pointed with her knitting needle. “You two can sleep out here.”
Glenda reached into her waist and pulled out a satin pouch. She snapped it open and took out some currency, folded over in half. “We have money. We’ll reimburse you for your trouble.”
Without a moment’s hesitancy, the man snatched the entire wad from her and shoved it into his shirt pocket. “Deal. Make yourselves at home. Dinner comes early ’round here. Stew’s on the stove.”
My nose focused on the delicious aroma misting through the cabin.
He stood, scalp barely missing the beam above him, as I’m sure it had hundreds of times before. “Well, rest your bones whilst I take care of the mooring.” As he scooted by, his head cocked in the direction of his wife. “She’ll tell you what help she needs down here.” He patted her shoulder several times. “If she’ll let ya near her stove, that is. Heh, heh.”
His wife huffed and batted his hand away. Love shone mutually in their elderly eyes. What a sweet thing to witness. Their deep, lasting affection stirred a yearning inside my chest. Once again, I didn’t let it show. I’d resigned myself to the fact such a love could never be, not for me. I had too many ugly secrets, too much shame. I’d chosen Robert’s wishes over God’s commands, and now I paid the price. The fact I loved a man beyond my reach demanded chastisement. Besides, if Tom ever learned of my secret sin, could he still truly love me? Or would his fundamentalist faith’s meter send off a blaring alarm to back away from a woman who had cratered to her husband’s demands, despite her conscience screaming to stop.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Maybe it was the quiet rocking of the houseboat as the river lapped up against it that lulled me into a peaceful sleep. It could’ve been jet-lag, or the downing of two comfort food meals in one day. Of course, the residual glow of the Pimms mixed with the warm lager offered by our host at dinner might be part of it. I didn’t care. I basked in it.
Darkness fell fast on the river. The rhythmic creaks of the underwater hull rocked me like my grandmother’s chair. I almost sensed her arms once again tucked around me. Even though she returned to Heaven before my ninth birthday, her love had etched a deep groove into my life. Observing the sentiment displayed between this elderly couple had stirred that long-ago emotion inside me.
* * *
I’m sure my parents loved me in their own way. But my mother’s over-the-top concern about our reputation in society attributed to her proper aloofness. My father demanded excellence in my academics more than my affection. I became enveloped in academia to win his approval and pushed aside the normal teenage urges for romance—and floated in that bubble through college to achieve my Masters, and land a teaching position at a posh and proper private school. Thus, when Robert swished me around the dance floor during Fiesta Week in San Antonio, smelling of musky cologne and manly sweat, my long-dormant endorphins jolted into overdrive at the age of twenty-five. His Mediterranean manner and greenish-gray eyes enchanted me. Within a few dates, all my prudish upbringing shed, along with most of my clothes. Totally under his spell, my tightly budded desires burst into full bloom, as depicted in those time-release documentaries. No protection led to the inevitable. But I was so smitten, I would’ve done anything for him.
When the self-administered test showed the plus sign, I assumed he’d be out the door. But, he nursed me through the cramping and consoled me over the loss of the baby. I could still hear his words. We’ll have others, my love. When the time is right and my career is sure. But for now, it’s better if it’s only us. And I’d believed him, mesmerized by the 1.5 carat rock he slid onto my left ring finger. I shoved our sin to the back of my soul, justifying it by the fact he wanted me to be his wife forever. Later, I learned having other babies would never be a possibility. God had only given me one chance.
* * *
I must have been weeping because when Glenda gently shook me, I awoke with a damp pillow under my cheek. Her soft voice whispered through her yawn. “Sweetie, what is it?”
“Nothing.” I rolled away and shoved my face into the cool wooden side of the boat.
“I doubt it. But if you don’t want to tell me…”
I didn’t. I wasn’t sure how much she’d been—how did they phrase it?—read in on my past. But I didn’t want a true confessions moment. One thing did disturb me, though.
“Where’s Andrew?”
She returned to her bed with a deep sigh and a rustles of sheets. “Safe, I’m sure. No need to worry. He knows what he’s doing.”
I half-turned. “Or so the bug in your ear tells you?”
My companion let out a snarky snort. “Not, it’s been silent for some reason. Maybe the reception on this barge? It’s more of an intuition. As Shakespeare said, ‘All’s well that ends well.’ Go to sleep, Niamh.”
* * *
Just before dawn, rustling eased me out of a deep dream state. Shadows danced across my eyelids. I squinted to view our hosts scurrying in what appeared a well-rehearsed routine. The old man opened the latch and disappeared up the stairs into the approaching rose of sunrise.
“Good morning, ducks.” His wife gave us a grin, which revealed two gaps in her teeth. “Muesli is all I can offer for breakfast. We’ll be shoving off in a few.”
I sat up and scratched my head. “We’re leaving?” On the other side, Glenda stretched her arms up from her bench and yawned.
The woman leaned back and laughed. “Of course, girl. How else are we to make it down the Avon to Bath?”
I pushed the floral sheet curtain out of the way to peer onto the scenery. “So, this is the Avon River?” I whispered. “I expected it to be grander.”
Glenda swung her legs to the floor and began to fold her blanket. “It’s not like the Mississippi…or the Thames, for that matter, my dear Niamh.”
“Do you think it’s safe to venture above?”
Glenda yawned her reply with a shake of her curls, which I took for a “not yet.” She shook the residual cobwebs away and came to sit next to me. “Better wait a bit, until we get up river. Just in case.” She patted my arm. “In the meantime, Muesli sounds marvelous. Let’s go help.”
With stomachs filled with cereal and hot cream and sugared tea, Glenda and I peered through the opening up the short flight of stairs to the stern. The soft chug of the engine seemed to gather ducks in its wake. I turned to catch a view from the back windows. Bits of leftover Muesli had been tossed from the aft window. A paddling frenzy of quacks ensued.
Above us, the footsteps of our host creaked across the boards as he steered his home through the current. When he beckoned us above, I got up and walked to the steps. My arm felt a jerking tug. Glenda gave me a wide-eyed stare.
I twisted it from her grip. “I only want a peek.” I grabbed my throw off the bench to warm myself from the morning chill.
She released her fingers. “Okay. But be careful. Stay crouched on the steps. Don’t let anyone see you.”
Our captain had one foot on the edge of the boat. When he noticed me, he waved the pipe in his hand. “Her proper name is the Bristol Avon, or the Lower Avon. But only a part of it can be navigated, such as this section from Bath to Bristol. Some, they call this the Avon Navigation, now don’t they?”
I nodded.
He appeared pleased with my absorption of his knowledge. “There are other rivers in England named such. Avon means river in the Welsh.”
I cupped my hand from the rising sun to gaze into his face. “How long have you two lived on the river?”
He walked towards me. “Nigh on fifteen years now, if I’m not mistaken.” He patted the jamb above my head. “She’s quite a boat. The Lady Dundas she be, named after one of the ancient aqueducts below near Bradford. You’ll see them when we pass by.”
I thanked him. But, he contin
ued. “Used to be the canals were the major means for transporting goods to market. Then, these waters became almost abandoned. Railroads, large lorries, you see. But some of us prefer the simpler life.”
“So you live on the river all the time?”
He puffed his pipe. After a moment of gazing the banks, he nodded. “Aye. Tight-knit community we are. Watch after each other.”
For a few moments he fell silent. What seemed like a deep pride filled his face as he smoked and watched the river around him. The man loved his life. I envied him.
Despite the sun, the air remained damp and cool. A slight mossy aroma hovered over the wisp of fog oozing from the water’s surface. On either side, a canopy of tree limbs stretched to meet, but never would. The river lay too wide. It reminded me of Tom’s and my situation. I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and perched on a step.
He tapped his pipe on his pants, dumped the residual ashes into the river and pocketed it. “Ever seen a proper canal lock?”
“No, sir. I’ve read about them.”
“We’ll pass through a few. First be coming up in a bit, now.”
Along the banks, wildflowers bent to the water and willows waved in the breeze, their tendrils met by a lush undergrowth of ferns and vines. On a felled log downstream, a heron balanced one-legged. Our presence didn’t faze him in the least.
Soon after, we came upon a row of about six or seven houseboats, similar in design to the one we rode. Hand waves and short horn toots sounded our welcome. Our host waved back. To my surprise, our steady craft veered toward the left bank. Two men from another houseboat briskly strolled along the shore, then stopped and waited for our arrival.
“Better duck in, now.” Glenda hissed from the bottom of the steps. Her face took on a stern glare, which reminded me of the headmistress in my old school. Almost out of instinct, I obeyed this time.
One of the men called out, “Sally, Everett. How’s things?”
It dawned on me we’d never properly introduced ourselves to our hosts or exchanged names. Everett hopped ashore as the boat chugged to a stop. The men shook hands and laughed. I couldn’t quite catch the conversation. Sally scooted by us with a “Pardon” and armful of sacks. She took them ashore and was received with more smiles, handshakes, and laughter. From the looks on their faces, I imagined these people had known each other for quite some time. Riverbank neighbors.
Legitimate Lies Page 8