2 Emma, Mr. Knightley, and Chili-Slaw Dogs

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  Caroline flipped to another page in the Etsy site and pointed to a deep blue morning coat. “See how handsome this is? You always complain about tuxes. This as far from a tux as you can get.”

  “No.”

  One word, calmly spoken and Caroline felt her blood pressure rise. “Why can’t you just play along?”

  “Explain to me again why you’re throwing this party?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Because Frank will come and be adorably wonderful in his Mr. Darcy suit and you two can dance the night away?”

  Caroline’s mouth dropped open but no words occurred to her for a moment. She couldn’t exactly say why she was determined to throw this party, until Debbie Mae felt like she could share her pain with the rest of their friends. But somehow she had to make it happen. “Yes, I invited Frank and he very graciously agreed do everything he could to make his role as authentic as possible.”

  “Whoo-hoo for Frank.” Brooks dropped his head back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. The lines around his mouth had gone tight. His blue eyes studied the ornate medallion in the high ceiling as if it carried a secret message.

  She let out a huff of air and went back to scrolling through the internet pages, unseeing. Her laptop was at a slightly awkward angle on the dropdown shelf that was meant for a single piece of writing paper and a fountain pen. Her mother complained the entire bedroom set was dark, depressing, and outlandishly dramatic but Caroline loved the look of the scrolling and the dropped finials. The high, arched headboard sported a crest topped with a very detailed carved head. Although mother pointed out that no one knew the identity of the boy with the feather in his cap and wondered how Caroline could sleep with it hanging over her at night, she loved to gaze at the serene face, imagining the woodcarver and the subject, hundreds of years ago.

  Plus, it was built like a tank. Brooks had flopped onto her bed and it hadn’t made as much as a squeak. Sure, the matching highboy and dresser tended to have a sticky drawer or two, especially in the humid summer months, but it spoke of the best kind of history to her.

  She shifted, trying to focus on the screen. The chair was getting harder by the minute and her shorts felt sweaty and wrinkled from sitting for the last hour staring at Regency costumes. It was true, Brooks didn’t have to come. But Debbie Mae really wanted him to see the movie and if Debbie Mae wanted it, Caroline was going to do her best to get him there. She had no idea what bait to use, and apparently appealing to a dormant love of Regency fashion wasn’t going to work.

  “Listen, I know you love a good party,” Brooks said. He rubbed a hand over his face and sat up, planting his shoes firmly on the oriental carpet. Absalom raised his head, apparently wondering if the visit was over already.

  He held up a hand at her snort of laughter. “I mean, a really good party. Not a bridge club meeting and pink lemonade party. And I’m sorry you don’t get to go out more.”

  It was true; she missed having a good time that didn’t include chatting with her mother’s odd friends. She shrugged. It was what it was.

  “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, but I’ve decided to move back here for the summer.”

  “Is your dad worse? Blanche is back now, isn’t she? Does he need full time care?”

  He shook his head. “She’s back now, but I can’t expect her to be making sure he eats and sleeps. I don’t think he needs a caregiver; he’s just lonely. And sad. But he definitely needs enough supervision that I’m down here every weekend. So I might as well just stay for the summer as soon as classes are finished and finals are turned in.”

  “What about your house? You can’t just leave it empty.” Especially in a college town. There would be summer squatters in the garden shed about two minutes after he left the area.

  “I have a friend who needs a place for the summer. I’m going to let her stay there. She can keep an eye on the place and water the grass when needed.”

  “She?” It shouldn’t have mattered, but Mrs. Gray’s ugly little comments were lodged somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind. A woman suddenly takes up residence in Brooks’ house and they’d never even met her? A tall, gorgeous woman appeared in her mind’s eye and she looked an awful lot like Lauren Fairfield, with large gray eyes and a perfect smile.

  “Yes, Finley, it’s a she. You’re as bad as my mother was.”

  Her face went hot, not from being called his mother but from being outed as a jealous friend. It didn’t matter what he did with his house. It was really no concern of hers. He was a grown man and he had grown-up friendships with other people, many of whom happened to be women. Now one of those grown-up woman friends would be living in Brooks’ house, touching his dishes, using his bathroom, maybe even sleeping in his bed. She shouldn’t care. But for some reason, she did.

  “As I said, I’ll be here for the summer.” He looked at his hands, as if unsure what to say next. “We can run in the mornings, if you want. I won’t ask you spend weekends at the reenactments because I know your threshold for grits is too low to measure, but maybe we could take a few trips, get out of town.”

  The thought of Brooks being around all summer was like finding out they’d skipped half the year and ended up right at Christmas. She felt a huge smile crease her face and she popped up from her chair, launching herself at him. “You’re probably doing this as an act of mercy to atone for some horrible past sin, but I don’t really care!”

  Her arms were around his neck and she could feel him laughing into her hair. The warmth of his palms went through her cotton t-shirt and right into her skin, filling her with a glow that was like stepping into the sun. When he was gone, how she missed his warmth, his smell, his laugh!

  He pulled back, his blue eyes lit from within by a familiar joy. “You’re just counting all the chili-slaw dogs I’ll bring you.”

  “Absolutely not! It hardly even crossed my mind.” Although, at this moment it seemed like a pretty fine idea. Her arms were still around his neck. She dropped one hand to his tie, absent-mindedly fiddling with the knot. “Honestly, I feel like I don’t have anyone to talk to when you’re gone.”

  “Surely not. You’ve got loads of friends.” His voice was rough.

  Her gaze still on his tie, she frowned. “Not really. I can’t think of a single person to call when I’d like to go out to lunch. You have to admit, that’s pretty sad.” She bit her bottom lip. “I’m not saying I’ve got a short list of people I could call in a time of trouble; I’m saying the list of people I could call for a no-stress social occasion is a complete blank.”

  He said nothing for a moment. “And what about that list of people to call when you’re in trouble?”

  She met his gaze and smiled. “Only one right now. Hope you don’t mind being my go-to guy for everything.”

  Something flashed behind his eyes, an emotion she couldn’t quite catch. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. Before he could speak, she leaned forward and inhaled, her nose inches from his jaw. “Hey, is that a new cologne?”

  He cleared his throat. “I… can’t remember. Maybe.”

  Leaning back, she shot him a look. “Can’t remember? The man who hasn’t changed his brand of breakfast cereal in twenty years? The man who’s had his hair cut at the same barber shop every six weeks since the age of twelve?”

  “Okay, maybe it’s something I picked up recently. I thought it smelled good.” He took a deep breath. “You don’t like it?”

  She leaned closer, eyes squeezed shut. He smelled like Brooks: a combination of soap, guy, and those hot little spearmint candies he liked to chew. She wasn’t quite sure about the cologne. It wasn’t him. She was so used the Brooks she knew, the guy who never changed, steady as a rock. Her nose bumped his jaw as she tried to decide, but another sniff left her feeling just as confused. The thought occurred to her that he was trying something new for someone special, maybe even Lauren.

  Caroline sat back, dropping her hand from his tie. “Did you have someone in mind when you bought this?” />
  He opened his eyes, as if he’d been about to drop off to sleep. “Why?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Did Manning tell you Lauren will be at the party? I’m sure she’ll make a gorgeous Regency woman, with that tall, willowy figure.” An even worse idea occurred to her. “Or maybe you don’t have to go to the party to see her. Maybe you’ve seen her around Thorny Hollow since we all met at the Werlin’s.”

  His chest was rising and falling as if he were angry, but he let out a short laugh. “Haven’t seen her.”

  “But you’d like to.”

  He shrugged, running a hand through his hair. It wasn’t something he usually did and Caroline felt a thrill of alarm run down her spine. Just talking about Lauren unnerved him. “As much as anyone, I suppose.”

  “More than me, I’m sure.” She’d tried to like the woman, really. Once she got past Mrs. Reynolds’ incessant boasting of Lauren’s many accomplishments, she’d thought they could be friends. But Lauren was cool, quiet.

  Brooks answered, as if he hadn’t really heard her. “It’s true she’s coming to Badewood tomorrow to look around. She wants to take some pictures of the ballroom and the greenhouses.” He paused. “Would you like to come, too?”

  Caroline stood up and went to the laptop, fiddling with the screen for a moment. Of course she wanted to go hang out with Brooks. She loved every inch of Badewood, almost as much as she loved her own home. When they were kids they’d run a dirt path through the adjoining pasture between their houses that was visible to this day. But she didn’t want to be there while Lauren took her photos, amazing Brooks with her knowledge of antebellum mansions and porticos and Greek revival architecture.

  “No, you two have fun. I’d just be in the way.” She clicked through a few screens, trying to find her place in the Regency costumes again.

  He let out a sigh. “Finley, you wouldn’t be in the way. You’re so at home there, it’s almost like your house, too.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.” She looked up, laughing. “My own house is enough for me. Just think how much of a mess I’d make if I tried baking triple layer cakes in your kitchen, too.”

  He said nothing for a moment, then stood. “I’d better get on home for dinner.”

  Absalom jumped to his feet in excitement. Caroline had to smile at an eighty pound dog doing the whole body wag. “You don’t want to stay? I think there’s lasagna in the fridge. Don’t worry, Angie made it.”

  His lips tilted up. “I’m not worried. And I’d stay but my dad’s refused to eat anything but boiled chicken breasts for weeks. I’m going to try and tempt him with some simple pasta.”

  Weeks? Caroline’s heart clenched in her chest. She complained about her mother’s hovering but she was eating well enough and seemed healthy, if a little obsessed with keeping track of her only child. Brooks was dealing with parental issues in a whole other realm of seriousness.

  “I’ll walk you downstairs.” She folded down the page. “I need to get some iced tea before I melt into a puddle, anyway. What I wouldn’t give for AC up here.”

  They walked through the narrow hallway and onto the landing, Absalom’s nails ticking against the pine plank flooring. The sound of voices drifted up the wide staircase as they neared the first floor.

  “Your mother has company.”

  Caroline frowned, trying to identify the speaker. “If it’s Mrs. Reynolds, you’re on your own.” There was only so much inane chatter she could take, especially when it revolved around Lauren and her brilliance.

  He stepped onto the landing. “Sounds like a man. Expecting anyone?”

  She shook her head and wondered if Frank had popped by. It wasn’t likely, since he lived in Spartainville and would have called. Or maybe not. He seemed a spontaneous sort of guy. She smoothed down her wrinkled shorts, adjusting the pretty blue polka dot scarf she was using as a belt. The red striped T-shirt had seemed bright and cheerful earlier but now seemed immature, even a little silly. It was too early for the Fourth of July and she looked like she should be twirling a baton in a Main Street parade.

  “You look fine,” Brooks said.

  She rolled her eyes at him and started down the stairs. “Right, to you. The problem with men is that I could have lipstick on my teeth, crazy bed head and wearing three shades of green, and you’d think everything was fine.”

  “Are you saying I’m unobservant?”

  “No, I’m saying your focus is elsewhere.” She’d reached the last step and the man’s voice was much clearer. Definitely a male, Southern, and able to entertain her mother. The low laughter echoed from the living room.

  Brooks stopped her with a touch on the arm, tugging her around to face him. “Elsewhere?”

  She huffed out a breath. “As long as there’s a baseball game on or food around, guys just don’t pay attention to women.”

  He blinked, as if he’d been prepared for some other answer.

  Caroline went on. “And that reminds me. If you’re thinking I’m going to join Manning and Debbie Mae at Vicksburg, you’re crazy. The only thing worse than trying to talk to a guy during a Braves game is trying to talk to a guy while he pretends to have his leg amputated.”

  His lips twitched. “Why would you talk during an amputation? Only a Farb would do that. You’re supposed to be enjoying the experience.”

  Not bothering to respond, she walked as quietly as possible to the double doors that led to the living room. The heavy maple doors were pulled together, with only a gap between them. Odd, since her mother detested the sound of the cast iron rollers as it hauled the four foot wide door into the wall. She kept them perpetually open, letting the housekeeper dust the long paneled doors once a week. She crept forward, peering into the gap.

  “Nobody, who has not been in the interior of a family, can say what the difficulties of any individual of that family may be.”-- Emma

  Chapter Ten

  “Don’t you think you should knock?” Brooks whispered. His dimples were showing, as if he were trying hard not to laugh.

  “Shhhh! I just want to see who it is before I--”

  “Caroline? Is that you?” her mother called.

  She shot Brooks a look and tapped on the door. “Knock, knock!”

  The door slid back on its track with a metallic squeal, revealing a middle aged man. His smile was wide but there was a tightness around his pale eyes. “You must be Caroline! So wonderful to finally meet you!” He gripped her hand and pumped it for several seconds.

  She nodded, trying not to flinch at the cold dampness of his palm. “And this is Brooks Elliot, my friend.”

  “A-ha! Your mother said you were entertaining up in your bedroom and I can see why she wouldn’t want you disturbed. Young love, how sweet it is!”

  He smoothed a lock of hair back from his forehead and smiled again. Caroline wasn’t socially naïve. She could spot a backhanded compliment at fifty yards and had a practiced smile that didn’t betray her irritation. But this man’s crude implication left her speechless. She said nothing, at a loss as to which part of his sentence to attack first.

  Brooks cleared his throat. “Are you from the area, sir?” Absalom let out a soft whine and nudged Brooks’ leg.

  Caroline knew, without turning her head, that Brooks was barely hanging on to his self-control. The calm fury in his voice made her eyes go wide.

  “Yes, indeed. Marshall Jackson is the name. My people have lived near Thorny Hollow for centuries.”

  “He’s been living in Oxford for quite some time and just returned to the area.” Her mother offered that up from her usual place on the couch. Her hair was curled, lipstick applied, and eyelids brushed with metallic blue. Caroline tried not to gape at the garish make up. Her mother believed subtlety was the best course of action at all times, but not today. She looked like an aging movie star, posed in her starched dress, tiny waist displayed to good advantage while leaning back against the silk cushions.

  “Jackson? Are you related to Norman Ja
ckson who runs the hardware store?”

  “Hardware store?” Marshall let out a chuckle that was about five seconds too long, mouth open far enough that Caroline could see he was missing a molar. “No, siree. No merchants here. We’re tradesmen, through and through. Carpenters, furniture makers.”

  “How wonderful.” Caroline thought she could stand the man if he knew the value of a Victorian highboy.

  Marshall sighed. “Not really. Most of what my forebears spent their time on is worthless now. These old pieces just don’t hold the value in today’s market. Take this Empire settee.” He motioned to a low sofa near the corner of the living room. Caroline had always loved how the rich mahogany wood contrasted with the pale mint colored silk of the cushions.

  “All that carving is too dramatic for today’s discerning homeowner. Honestly, eagle heads and furry feet have no place in a modern Southern house.”

  “But I thought the Acanthus leaves signified the cyclical nature of life. And the hairy paw feet are carved like lion’s paws.” Caroline cocked her head. “Overall, I think it makes a strong statement for a Southern mansion that survived the Civil War.”

  Brooks glanced at her and looked like he was choking back a laugh. She knew what he was thinking. Why on earth was she familiar with acanthus leaves and lion’s paws? But give a girl enough time in an old house with nothing better to do and she’ll either start a novel or study the furniture. In her case, it had been both.

  “Well, I hate to break it to you, son.” Marshall smoothed his hair again, a gesture that Caroline was beginning to recognize as a sort of conversational pause. “But antiques are my specialty and these just aren’t hardly worth the wood they’re made from. Now, if this set was a Federal table and chairs? Then you’d be sittin’ pretty.”

  He leaned forward, smile widening, waiting for them to chuckle at his pun. Caroline caught a whiff of stale cigarette smoke and onions.