Rescued

by Linda Rettstatt

  He turned off the highway onto Natchez Street and pulled into his driveway. Mark had been right, that the house stood like a proud daughter of the old South. But she wasn’t smiling. Rather, eyes gleamed at him from every window—ghosts of the past. Evan got out of his SUV and climbed the front steps. He turned and imagined his great-great-grandfather standing on these steps. He closed his eyes, breathed in the hot, sticky air and coughed. Maybe this would be a better exercise in October. He opened the front door and stepped inside.

  Gleaming hardwood floors reflected sunlight that streamed through the newly-cleaned high-paned windows. To his right, old family photos he’d located in the closet of one of the bedrooms graced the wall of the curved staircase. He set his palm over the newel and shook. It was solid. He was amazed at the way Mark had managed to match up the wooden spindles to replace the few that were missing. He ascended slowly, studying each of the old photographs, looking for a family resemblance. Evan had never much thought about family ties, but now found himself wanting to know more about his own history and the roles the Cades and Whitings played in settling this little town in the upper Mississippi Delta.

  In the same room where he’d discovered the photos sat an old steamer trunk. He tugged it out of the narrow closet and stared down at an engraved silver plate with the initials A.C.W. “This must have belonged to Aunt Amelia.”

  He released the latches and lifted the lid. The musty odor of old paper rose from the trunk. He found neat stacks of old letters bound together with faded ribbon, notebooks that, at a glance inside, revealed they were personal diaries. In the bottom, lay a binder labeled ‘recipes.’

  Setting that aside, he lifted the first diary from the stack, sat in the rocking chair near the window and read the first entry from November 12, 1998. Alexandra came by today to invite me to Thanksgiving dinner at her grandfather’s grill. She’s such a lovely girl, almost a woman. Henry Ramsey has done a great job of raising his granddaughters to be proper ladies. Though that young one, Kellie, still has a bit of a wild streak. I think she’ll give him a run for it in a few years. Alexandra returned my copy of The Collected Stories of Eudora Welty. We had a nice discussion about the stories, but I think Alexandra’s interests lie far deeper in her animals and drawings. She’s a fine young artist, I must say. Not having had the opportunity for a family of my own—husband and children—I so enjoy Alexandra’s presence in my life. I feel sad for the mother who never got to know this exceptional young woman. Kellie seems more independent, doesn’t see the need for someone to give her life direction. I imagine because Alexandra has done that for her. I only wish Alexandra could do the same for herself, trust in her own goodness and talents. But perhaps that’s why the good Lord saw fit to put us together in this life—this old woman and that young one—to give one another the things we’ve missed.

  Evan guessed that Alex was close to his own age or a bit younger, possibly late twenties. This entry would mean she was no more than twelve or thirteen in 1998, if his guess was correct. He could see why she held such strong affection for his aunt. They obviously shared a special bond. Later he would put the diaries, of which there must be at least twenty, into chronological order and read about Aunt Amelia’s earlier life. He set the book back into the trunk which he positioned at the bottom of the four-poster bed. Glancing around at the furniture, it occurred to him it would be a good idea to have an appraiser come in and determine the value of the household furnishings for insurance purposes. One more thing on his to-do list.

  Returning to the restaurant, Evan made his way through construction materials and into the small office behind the kitchen. Menu plans lay scattered on the desk. He needed to get a menu set up. But something bothered him about the design and the name of the place. It was all wrong. Hopefully he’d figure it out and have time to make corrections before the grand opening.

  By the end of the day, he’d exhausted his personal stash of recipes and only come up with six signature items for a menu. The dreamer in him thought the people of Cade’s Point would welcome a fine dining experience that offered international cuisine. The realist in him tossed aside item after item that he knew would never fly.

  The construction crew had packed up and left half an hour earlier. Evan sat in the middle of the cluttered dining room and wanted to weep. He didn’t because Whiting men did not cry. He’d never felt so alone and so unsure of himself. And he had nowhere to go but back to the small room above the grill where he’d pack his things and prepare for his move-in tomorrow. He’d spoken with the movers in New York who would deliver the remainder of his belongings, mostly tools of his trade and a few pieces of furniture.

  Half way to the grill, he heard a thump and the SUV began to wobble. He eased the vehicle off to the side of the road and got out. “Great. A flat.”

  While he removed his AAA card from his wallet and flipped open his cell, a pickup truck pulled up behind him. A man and a woman got out. Three young boys watched from the bed of the truck.

  “Need some help?” the man asked.

  “Thanks.” He showed his AAA card. “I’m calling for help.” Evan held up the phone and paced, trying to catch a signal.

  The man squinted at the card. “Three A’s. That could take a while out here. You got a spare and a jack?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll change it for ya’.”

  The woman smiled. “You’re new in town.”

  Evan pocketed the phone. “Yes. Evan Whiting.”

  “Oh, Miss Amelia’s nephew. You settled into the house yet?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow.” He was distracted by the man who walked up to the driver’s side and reached in to pop open the back hatch.

  The man returned and flipped up the carpeting. He removed the cardboard cover and whirled the wing nut, lifting the tire and bouncing it on the pavement. “Good, it’s got air.” He took out the jack and rounded the vehicle. “I hear you’re opening a restaurant in town,” he said while he worked.

  “Yes, in a few weeks.” Evan reached for his wallet and removed a twenty. When the man had finished his task, which seemed to take only a few minutes, he stood and rolled the flat tire to the back of the vehicle. “I think you can get this one fixed easy enough. Looks like you picked up a nail.” He effortlessly tossed the tire into the back and closed the hatch.

  “Thank you.” Evan offered him the twenty. “I appreciate the help.”

  The man looked at Evan’s hand as if he were holding a live snake. “You’re welcome. You don’t owe me nothin’.”

  “Oh, no. It’s just…I appreciate….”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Whiting. You have a nice evenin’ now.” The man and his wife returned to their truck and pulled away. The boys waved as they passed.

  Evan was left standing with his money in his hand and what he was certain was a shamed expression on his face. In New York, you paid for everything. If you were lucky, the men who stopped to help wouldn’t relieve you of your wallet and strip your vehicle of the remaining good tires.

  It wasn’t until he was back on the road that Evan realized he hadn’t even gotten their names. Yet they knew who he was. Obviously, Evan Whiting had become the talk of Cade’s Point. He only hoped the talk was positive and would extend to his restaurant. Right now he needed a hot shower, a good meal, and a glass of the top shelf Scotch he’d picked up at the liquor store. The odd anticipation he felt at possibly running into Alex at the grill unsettled him, though. Maybe he needed two drinks.

  Chapter Nine

  The following morning, Evan headed out early to his house that was now ready for occupation. His footsteps echoed as he walked from room to room in his new home. After a major cleaning and a little paint, Primrose—he had to admit—looked impressive. The high ceilings, intricate woodwork, hardwood floors all spoke of another era, as did the furnishings his aunt had left. Upstairs, he wandered through the bedrooms—all six of them. The master bedroom, situated above the front door, had a set of French doors that open
ed onto a balcony. Evan opened the doors and stepped out, trying to imagine the view as it might have been in 1861. This house had played a part in history as had his ancestors. He felt a surge of pride and stood a little taller, squaring his shoulders.

  A line of cars sent up a plume of dust as they came up the drive. He leaned on the balcony railing and watched. The three cars came to a stop and doors opened. A dozen women emerged carrying baskets and boxes.

  One of them looked up him, smiled and waved. “Hello. You probably don’t remember me, Mr. Whiting. We met yesterday.”

  For the life of him, Evan didn’t have a clue who the woman was or where they’d met. “I’ll be right down.”

  When he opened the front door, the women clustered on the front entrance. “May I help you?” he asked.

  “I’m Henrietta Atkins. Everyone calls me Etta. My husband changed your tire yesterday.”

  “Of course. Your sons were in the truck, too.”

  “My grandsons, but thank you for the flattery.” She stared expectantly around him to the inside of the house.

  Evan stepped back, opening the door wider. “Please, ladies. Come inside.”

  They filed past him like a flock of hens, clucking and cooing over the interior of the house. He ushered them into the front parlor and closed the door. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “We’re with the local chapter of the Daughters of the Confederacy. Your Aunt Amelia was a lifelong member, rest her soul. We’re here to welcome you officially to Cade’s Point.”

  “I see. Thank you.” He stared at them and they stood, holding their baskets and boxes and staring right back. Then common courtesy kicked in. “Please, have a seat. I’ll bring a few chairs in from the dining room.”

  “The house looks beautiful. Amelia would be so proud.”

  “Thank you. It’s a very nice home.”

  “And I hear you’re opening a restaurant.” Henrietta seemed to be the spokeswoman for the group. The other women sat, hands folded in their laps, smiling and nodding.

  “Yes. I hope you’ll all come by sometime.”

  “Perhaps we will. We hold luncheon meetings a few times a year.”

  An awkward silence ensued with another staring contest.

  Evan said, “I’d offer you all a cold drink, but I’m afraid I have nothing prepared.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. We brought you some things.” Henrietta presented him with a basket. “Southern fried chicken and all the fixin’s. You won’t have to worry about dinner this evenin’.”

  “Thank you.”

  One by one, the women each made their presentation—everything from pecan pie to hand-crocheted kitchen towels.

  “Thank you so much. I’m not sure what to say. This is quite unexpected.”

  “It’s our way of welcoming new residents. Well, to be truthful, no one’s moved here to Cade’s Point for quite a long time. But you bein’ Amy’s nephew and all, we wanted to make sure you feel at home.” Henrietta stood and the other women all shot to their feet. It was clear who was in charge of the group. “We won’t keep you, Mr. Whiting. Is there a Mrs. Whiting who will be joining you?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “No Mrs. Whiting.”

  “Well, if you need anything at all, give us a shout. Everyone’s card is with their gift.” Henrietta motioned to the other women. “Ladies.”

  Evan stood at the top of his front steps as the women climbed back into their vehicles and completed the loop around the circular drive.

  Daughters of the Confederacy? He felt like there was an entire segment of his life, his history that he knew nothing about. His family had roots deep in Southern culture. He had ancestors who had fought in the Civil War—on the other side. Or what he’d always thought of as the other side—until now.

  One more thing to add to his ‘to do’ list—research the Whiting and Cade families. His grandfather, because of a rift with Amy, didn’t talk much about the family. Evan had grown up thinking his family history went back only as far as his grandfather. Evan only learned of his southern great-aunt when his grandfather died. And he didn’t have much of a chance to get to know her then.

  Here he was living in her house—in his great-grandfather’s house in the Deep South, a place steeped in history. A history that had never been spoken of when he was growing up.

  He glanced at his watch. He had an hour before he needed to be at the restaurant for interviews. He put away all the food the women had brought, with the exception of one chicken leg. He bit into it and his mouth watered. It was the best fried chicken he’d ever tasted and he wondered if he could get Henrietta’s recipe. Probably not.

  The restaurant was not quite as ready for occupancy as was the house. Scaffolding filled the center of the dining room while a worker repaired the ceiling from an old leak and replastered. The new tables and chairs had arrived and were stacked against the walls on either side.

  Evan found Mark in the kitchen. “Am I going to make the grand opening in two weeks?”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “Mark, I’m rethinking the willow tree murals and the theme, as well as the name. I want the restaurant to fit in here in Cade’s Point, to seem homey, but with a touch of class. You have any suggestions?”

  The contractor furrowed his eyebrows. “I think you’re right about those willow trees. Every time I’m standin’ next to them, I think I have mosquitoes buzzin’ around. You might could leave them on that one wall on the side. They’d be less overwhelming.”

  Evan considered the suggestion. “Good thinking. What else?”

  “Well, if you really want it to fit into Cade’s Point, why don’t you tie it to your aunt in some way? She was an important part of this community. Her and her family.”

  Evan grinned. “That’s brilliant. You know what, scrap the murals altogether. Take them down or paint over them. Make the one side wall dark green, an accent wall. I’m going to bring some antiques from the house to place along that wall.” He slapped Mark on the shoulder. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” The man looked confused as to what, exactly, he’d done.

  In the office, Evan pulled out the sketches he’d made for signage. He took a blank sheet of paper and wrote across it: Amelia’s. Not only did this honor his aunt, but it tied his restaurant to a pillar of this community, gave it class and yet allowed for informality.

  He returned to the kitchen and presented his ideas to Mark. “Can you create a new entrance with pillars without breaking the bank?”

  “I might could do that,” Mark replied.

  “You…uh…. Okay. Thanks.”

  Evan returned to his office. He hoped ‘might could’ meant it would be done. In the short time he’d lived in Cade’s Point, he’d more than once wished he had a translator.

  Over the next two hours he interviewed for a hostess, kitchen staff, and wait staff. He had a few excellent possibilities and several questionable applicants. He was about to leave when someone knocked on the door. “Yes?”

  The door opened and a woman peered inside. “Mr. Whiting?”

  “Yes.”

  She stepped into his office. “I’m Beth Ann Lyons. I’m here about a kitchen position.”

  “I’m sorry. The scheduled interviews are all completed.”

  “Yes, but I…I heard about your restaurant. I’ve been working for one of the casinos and they have me in the buffet. I’m a chef.” She grinned nervously. “I have the papers to prove it.” Clearing her throat, she motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “May I sit down?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thank you. Look, I’ve only ever wanted to be a chef. But I find myself in a position that allows for little in the way of creativity. I’m good. And I’ll be happy to prove that to you. All I need is a chance. I can cook just about anything—French, Italian, Brazilian, Asian….”

  “Miss Lyons.” Evan held up a hand. “Can you cook basic American Southern cuisine?”

  “Are you kiddin’
me? I learned from the best. My grandmama was an amazin’ cook.” Her proper pronunciation fell away and a thick Southern drawl took its place. “I have some great ol’ family recipes.”

  He studied her for a moment. “I’m not sure I can compete with the salary at the casino.”

  “I’d bet you can. And even if you’re offering a little less, it’ll be worth it to be able to actually cook what I want, not an assembly line of catfish and mac and cheese.” Her face reddened. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I make a mean mac and cheese.”

  Evan hadn’t planned to hire another chef. He was a chef. He had interviewed a cook, but had not been overly impressed with the man’s experience. It might be nice to have a Sous Chef who could handle the kitchen, give him a bit of break to be out front, at least at first. He’d need to build up a relationship with his patrons.

  “Tell you what, you choose three of your top entrees. As you can see, this place is still under renovation. Do you know where Natchez Street is? I live at 374. Bring what you need. I have plenty of pots, pans and utensils there. Be there at four tomorrow. You impress me with two out of three of your recipes, and I’ll hire you on a trial basis. Six months.”

  Her grin broadened into a full smile. “It’s a date. I mean, a deal. I’ll be there.” She stood and shook his hand vigorously. “You won’t be disappointed. I promise.” She turned toward the door and smiled back at him. “Thank you so much.”

  Evan nodded and watched her leave. She was attractive in a mid-twenties sort of way. Young, but she had energy and optimism. He’d only promised a six month trial. If the business didn’t warrant two chefs, he’d left himself a way out.

  After all that talk of food, his stomach reminded him he’d missed lunch. It was after two and he still needed to go back to his room above the grill and gather the last of his things. He told Mark he was leaving and asked him to lock up when they were finished for the day.

  Outside, he stood and studied the front of the building. The new entry would definitely give the place a more regional look. And naming the restaurant for his aunt was sheer genius. Everyone in this town loved Amy. He decided that, once he had lunch and packed his car, he’d park in town and take a walk, maybe meet a few of the townsfolk. He needed to start his own brand of social networking. He knew enough about the restaurant business to know that, while the quality of the food was most important, a good rapport with the owner kept patrons coming back. Evan was going to make sure the people of Cade’s Point liked him enough to give his restaurant a chance.