“He’s definitely the one to help you. I’m not sure I’ve ever had the entire tour, honestly,” Caroline said. When you grew up in a home, you didn’t need the tour. She took a breath and made an effort to be gracious. “When I saw him on Sunday he mentioned it had been a great experience. He learned quite a lot from your visit.”
“I’m glad. And how wonderful that he takes you out on Sundays. My father always took his older sister to Sunday brunch every week as long as she was alive. Poor thing, it was the only time she ever got out of the house. He was the only way she heard news of the outside world.”
Caroline felt her jaw drop. Lauren just called her an old maid, she was certain of it. So, was she some sort of modern-day Miss Havisham, locked away in her house wearing a tattered wedding gown and only one shoe, with a rotting wedding cake on the table?
“We attend the same church.” It was all she could say and to her horror, she felt her face turn hot in anger.
“How sweet. There’s nothing like being with family in a charming Southern church on a summer morning.” Lauren smiled kindly, as if Caroline was the epitome of sweetness. The blush must have confirmed her innocent nature but her thoughts at the moment were far from sweet. They were downright deadly. She’d never liked Lauren, never felt like she was having a conversation that wasn’t riddled with nasty undercurrents. But she was decided now. Lauren wasn’t worth the trouble of making friends.
“How is the book coming along?” Frank asked.
“Wonderfully. Weeks ahead on the deadline.” Her face had gone tight and she pulled her elbows in to her sides, as if she meant the exact opposite of what she said.
“Can’t wait to see the final product,” Frank said.
“Well, I’ll make sure you’ll be the first.” Something about her tone made Caroline think of secret codes and pig Latin. She glanced at Frank and saw a flash of laughter in his eyes. For a moment, she was absolutely sure they were having a silent conversation right under her nose. But in the next second, it was gone and she wasn’t sure if she had seen anything there at all.
“I’ll let you two finish your lunch. I’m sure we’ll see each other around Thorny Hollow.” Lauren smiled and walked away, her long ponytail swishing against her back.
“I can’t stand that woman,” Frank muttered, reaching for his Coke.
“Because of the traditional versus independent publishing? I don’t see why you two are on opposite sides, honestly. You’re not competing in the same market at all. Coffee table books and Manga? Should be enough room for everybody.”
“I’m sure we could have a civil conversation if she wasn’t such a snob. It’s everything about her. She’s cold, like she grew up in New York City instead of Mississippi.” He shrugged. “Let’s forget about her. We were having such a good time before she showed up.”
Caroline forced a smile. It was terrible to talk about a person the moment her back was turned. She understood what he meant, but a certain unease spread through her as she watched his face. Frank had the ability to make her laugh, to be spontaneous in a way she never was. But there was another side to him that didn’t sit well with her, no matter how hard she tried to excuse his behavior.
He had been in love with Emma, and jealous of Frank Churchill, from about the same period, one sentiment having probably enlightened him as to the other.
Chapter Twelve
Brooks settled himself across at the small wooden table and felt a wave of contentment. This is what it should be like every a Monday afternoon: classes over, his little brother in town, and a triple shot steaming before him. The Daily Grind bustled with students and the late afternoon sun streamed through the window, setting into bas relief every nick and dent in the old wood. The quintessential campus coffee bar, it had Wi-Fi, free trade coffee and rickety chairs circa 1980 with naugahyde covered seats.
Manning was at the counter, talking to the tall, skinny kid who took the food orders. The kid shrugged, pointing at the menu. Brooks smiled to himself.
Seconds later he was at the table, plopping into the chair. “I don’t get it. If you can make fries, you can make hush puppies.”
“I think they just dump frozen fries into the fryer. Hate to get in the way of your national campaign to reclaim Southern food in public places, but hush puppies require a bit of preparation.”
Manning leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not like I’m asking them to outlaw junk food, or to call them Freedom Fries. I just want an even representation of our culture.”
“Starting with fried food?”
“We have to choose our battles.” Manning grinned and jerked a thumb at the counter. “He said his name is Tater. I can’t be mad at a kid named Tater.”
“Agreed. Poor guy, he got the short end of the naming stick, for sure.”
Manning frowned. “Really? I think it’s way better than Joe or Thomas or…”
“Or Manning?”
“Well, no, because that’s a family name. But I don’t think it’s so bad.”
“Are we gonna have a Tater Elliot in the family sometime soon?”
Manning didn’t laugh. He sat forward, wrapping his hands around his mug.
“Hey, don’t take it so seriously. I was just yanking your chain.” Brooks gave him a light punch to the shoulder, the brotherly equivalent of a hug.
“I’m glad you were free this afternoon.” Manning looked up, eyes serious.
He’d always find time for his brother, no matter the day or time. Something in Manning’s expression set off alarm bells. “It’s been a long time since we’ve just sat down and had some coffee.” It wasn’t supposed to be an accusation but it came out abruptly.
Manning glanced up, nodding. “I know, and I’m sorry for that.”
“I didn’t mean-”
“It’s okay. I let things go.” Manning stared at his hands, as if searching for words. “We’ve had a tough year and it seemed easier to batten down the hatches than to come out looking for help.”
Brooks waited, surprised. He and Debbie Mae had seemed so happy. Maybe their marriage wasn’t going as well as everyone thought.
“We wanted to have kids right away but it’s not looking like that will happen.” His face was tight with grief.
Brooks took a moment to process his words. “Have you been to any specialists? Infertility is so common, you should be able to find a doctor to help.”
“No, we’re fertile.” His mouth quirked. “I bet you didn’t think you were going to discuss your brother’s fertility over coffee, did you?”
Brooks waved a hand. He wasn’t squeamish and he wasn’t a jock. Modern men could have a discussion about conception without batting an eye.
“I don’t understand. If you’re fertile, then-” His words broke off as he realized the other alternative. Able to conceive but not carry to birth.
He nodded, eyes cast down again. “We’ve been through the wringer three times now and Debbie Mae is ready to take a break. She says she just can’t handle the heartbreak anymore.”
Brooks wanted to say there would be time, they could try again later, that maybe the fourth time was the charm, but he knew better than to speak up. The last year had been emotionally savage and Manning didn’t need platitudes.
His brother took a drink of coffee and let out a long breath. New wrinkles between his brows, hair a little grayer at the temples. Brooks hadn’t noticed these changes. Of course, he hadn’t seen him much the last year or so.
“Tell me what I can do to help,” Brooks said.
He smiled but his eyes remained shadowed with sadness. “This, what you’re doing right now. Not giving me the ‘what for’ because I’ve been in a cave since this all started. And you can let me borrow your regimental jacket when we go out to Vicksburg.”
“Ha! This has all been a ploy for sympathy. I sewed that jacket myself. I left it out in the weather for six months straight until it was perfectly aged. Besides, it won’t fit you. I’m bigger through the shoul
ders.”
“It’ll look authentic. Tubbs said he’s lost another fifteen pounds and he’ll look nicely malnourished.” Manning patted his gut with both hands. “Debbie Mae cooks too well for me to pull off the starving Rebel but in that jacket it will hang real nice. I’ll look just like a well-fed man gone off to war who’s shrinking away to nothing.”
Brooks laughed but the smile faded from his face. He knew Manning was just trying to lighten the mood. “If I thought that a jacket from 10th Mississippi Regiment, Company H, Rankin Rifles would help, I’d hand it over in a heartbeat.”
“And if I thought it would help, I’d take it.” Manning took a sip of coffee. “When we went to the luminaria ceremony this spring, she cried through the whole thing. Twenty thousand candles commemorating fallen soldiers is a tough sight to behold, but she took it personally. Debbie Mae has really been carrying the burden. It’s been hard for both of us, but she had appointments and the tests and then at the end…” He shook his head.
“You feel helpless.”
“Right. And it’s my job as a man to protect her, to keep her from harm.” His jaw went tight. “I know we’re supposed to be modern, educated men but deep down we all just want to keep our wives and children safe.”
Brooks felt a heaviness settle in his chest. Children. Plural. They had suffered such loss and he hadn’t even known. He wanted to apologize, to say how he’d failed him for not asking, for not visiting. But inserting his own guilt into the conversation seemed wrong.
“Anyway, she’s decided we need to focus on other things. She definitely seems happier, although there are days…” Manning stared into his mug, lines tight around his mouth. “I told her she needed to go see Caroline. They’re best friends and she didn’t even visit her at all this year.”
“I know Caroline missed her.”
“It’ll be good for both of them. Caroline needs to get out of that house before her mother locks her in the attic.”
Brooks laughed. “I was just telling her the same thing. Of course now she has this idea that we’re all going to dress up in Regency costumes for some Austen-themed party.”
“I think that was Debbie Mae’s idea, actually. She saw that PBS special and got it into her head that it would make a great summer shebang.”
He sat back, considering for a moment how Caroline hadn’t defended herself, how she could have easily told him it was all her cousin’s idea. Instead she did her best to convince him to come. He felt a pain in his ribs, part admiration for her loyalty and part sheer dread at the realization he was bound to this party now in a way he hadn’t been before.
“I thought it was pretty crazy, but the more she smiled as she was planning, the more I figured it doesn’t matter if we’re all coming as elephants and bicycling dogs. It makes her happy and I’m doing whatever I can to help her pull it off.”
“I’ll be there. Caroline’s been shopping Etsy for costumes. Promise me you’ll be wearing something equally silly. “
“I think I’m supposed to be a Mr. Martin, a farmer. So maybe I don’t have to wear the fancy suit.”
“If you wear normal clothes and get to carry a pitchfork, I’m switching.”
Manning laughed, holding up both hands. “Ask her if there’s someone else you can be. There must be hordes of villagers. How about some ancient, one-eyed, cripple that begs in the town square? That would be fun.”
“And a cripple couldn’t dance, either.” Brooks made a mental note to push for another role. He didn’t care if he looked like a bum.
“I think Caroline invited that Frank guy from the Werlin’s party. He’ll be perfect for it. They can take turns dancing with him and we can sit in the corner and plan for Vicksburg.”
Brooks frowned. He’d forgotten about Frank. The image flashed before him of Frank squiring Caroline around a dance floor, delicate music accompanying their every move.
The sun beat down through the glass and he could feel the late summer heat on the back of his neck. He stood to adjust the blinds and caught a flash of color. A smooth cheek, a few careless blond curls, the angle of her shoulders.
He jumped up, stepped to the door and opened it just as she walked by. “Caroline?”
“Oh!” She stepped sideways, hand on her heart. “Brooks! You scared me to death.” She laughed and he felt himself laugh in response, although he didn’t really know why. Seeing her there, on the street, was like finding something precious out of the blue. Or maybe something he’d lost a long time ago and forgotten about.
“Come on in and have some coffee.” He held open the door and she stepped through. As she passed, the light scent of her perfume made his smile even wider. He’d missed her and it was only Monday.
Manning stood up and gave her a hug. “I’ll you order for you. What will you have?”
“Single vanilla latte, decaf,” Brooks answered and pulled out a chair for her.
His brother shot him a look and went to the counter.
“What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were headed down this way.” he noticed for the first time she was wearing a pink suit and a simple strand of pearls.
“I was meeting a friend for lunch.” She scooped her curls into a simple ponytail. Tugging a pen from her purse, she maneuvered and twisted the hair around in several swift movements until it was a softly-made bun. Tendrils framed her face and she glanced up at him, smiling. “I went to your office but you were out. So I left a note and was heading for Nick’s Big Bookstore on Thirteenth.”
He nodded. She loved that place. Especially the historical fiction section on the third floor. “If you stay here too long someone might snag your favorite bean bag.”
“Probably. I’ll sacrifice.” She gazed around. “It’s been so long since I’ve been in here. It really brings back memories. Shelby and I used to come here, before she moved.”
“Does she come home at all?”
“Every now and then, but this summer she and Ransom are coming to stay in Flea Bite Creek for a while. He’s probably more concerned with the 150th reenactments this year than visiting her parents, but he’s a good sport about it.”
“We’re not in the same company, but I remember him at the Battle of Booneville. He was die-hard, head-to-toe and never stepped out of the role. When tourists came up to take his picture, he kept giving the name of a real Rebel soldier.” Brooks grinned. “Folks never questioned whether Gideon Johnson Pillow was really his name. The only time I saw him break character was when he was talking to the African American guys who made up the Corps D’Afrique. One of them had his great-great-granddaddy’s medal of honor and Ransom had to go get his camera from Shelby so he could take a picture.”
Caroline leaned forward. “Now explain to me why this is perfectly normal and dressing up in Regency gear is not.”
He blinked. “Finley, because the Civil War is history.”
“So is Regency England.” She laughed, eyes bright. “Just because we’re not firing cannons or riding horses, doesn’t mean it won’t be fun.”
Manning arrived, setting her latte on the table. “Hey, maybe we should bring that new cannon. Although, I still haven’t got it to the firing stage yet.”
“No, you should bring the Parrott 30-pounder. Not as impressive but at least it’s functional.”
“Now, you two. We’re not firing any artillery. Can you imagine what a disaster a wild shot would be around all those people? It’s too dangerous!” Caroline said.
“Wild shot? They’re extremely accurate up to a mile. No one is going to get hurt. And if we want to be really historically accurate, we can stage a little battle. Not sure which, but I’m sure they were in some kind of war at that time. England was always in a war with somebody,” Manning said.
“I don’t think the Napoleonic Wars count since it wasn’t on English soil. We’re not turning this into a battle field. There will be music and dancing and fine food and gracious conversation.” She ticked them off on her fingers, one by one.
“Oh, great idea.” Brooks brightened. “We can borrow the smoothbore Napoleon. It’s Southern made, but no one will know that.”
“I wish they hadn’t cleaned it.” Manning shuddered. “It was a perfectly acceptable oxidized patina, but some misguided soul thought he should shine it up. Now it’s as shiny as a new penny.”
“I’ll carry my Cavalry revolver. The musket has the bayonet and doesn’t look as dressy.”
“The Colt 1860 Army?” Manning leaned forward. “I’ve been looking and looking but no one will part with one for any price. I don’t care if I come in a hat and tails if I get to carry a Colt .44.”
“Listen to me!” Caroline held out both hands, one to each brother. “This is Debbie Mae’s party. If she wants cannons, she’ll tell you to bring cannons. If she wants everyone to bring their rusty old service revolvers, she’ll tell us. As far as I know, this is a weapons-free dance.”
“Rusty?” Brooks sat back like he’d been slapped. “It’s not one of the cheaper brass replicas. It’s the original steel frame with engraving on the cylinder, although it’s a Navy scene on an Army gun and nobody can explain why. Anyway, I’ve got the attached shoulder stock but I can just use the holster. It’s not anything close to rusty.”
She let out a sigh. “I’m sure it’s pretty. But can we just forget what we want and pull together for Debbie Mae?”
Manning was silent, nodding his head. Brooks realized Caroline didn’t want to have a Regency party any more than he did. His chest tightened. She was someone who put the needs of her friends above her own, no matter how silly and inconsequential they seemed. He, on the other hand, didn’t want part of any activity unless he got his own way. A wave of shame went through him at the comparison. Caroline had always been the kinder person, and the more thoughtful, of the two of them. “You’re right. No firearms. No cannons. We’ll be there and we’ll be as Regency as possible.”
“Thank you,” she said, laying a hand on his. He could tell a weight had lifted from her shoulders.
2 Emma, Mr. Knightley, and Chili-Slaw Dogs Page 12