Chapter Sixteen
Brooks almost stepped back as Caroline swung open her front door and glared. Her expression was one he didn’t usually see. Maybe one he hadn’t ever seen before. It was the face of a woman who was ready to go toe-to-toe with someone she absolutely despised.
“Hey.” So, it wasn’t the smoothest beginning, but she’d thrown him off his stride.
Her face relaxed into a light frown. “Hey.”
He shuffled his feet, wishing she’d invite him inside. Was their friendship so broken that they couldn’t have a conversation past the threshold?
“I thought you were Marshall. I’m ready to drop kick him into Louisiana.”
A flood of relief went through him. So the fighting stance wasn’t meant for him at all. “He still hanging around here?”
She waved him on into the house and shut the heavy door behind him. “Come in the kitchen. I’ll show you.”
Minutes later he gazed into the antique buffet, mouth open. “All the silver? And the china?”
“Every last bit. He didn’t even really pay her. A few hundred dollars and… this stuff.” Her voice was thick.
“Oh, Finley.” He reached out instinctively and pulled her close. He’d come over to make some peace with her, but that would wait. Under his hands she felt fragile. She dragged in a shaky breath.
“You know what I hate the most?” Her voice was muffled by the front of his shirt.
“What?”
“I look at those dishes and I see my daddy. I see birthdays and Christmases and that time I got a perfect score on my Physics test and he made me waffles for dinner.” She clutched him tighter. “I see him carving the turkey at Thanksgiving and trying that awful casserole I made in high school with the pickles and raisins.”
He choked back a laugh. “Pickles and raisins?”
She lifted her head, face streaked with tears. “Tammy Wiggins said it was the best thing she ever made. She thought it was pretty funny that I fell for the joke.” A small smile appeared. “Daddy got about three bites into it and I think he just couldn’t force down any more. But he never said anything.”
Brooks put a hand to her cheek and wiped a tear away with his thumb. He was going to say something comforting and sensible. His gaze dropped to her lips, swollen with crying. He was suddenly, painfully aware of how tightly she was wrapped in his arms, how close they were from head to toe.
He took a step back, away from her, away what he would have given anything to touch. But he didn’t have any right to her, not that way.
Clearing his throat, he said, “Is anything else missing?”
She slumped into one of the kitchen chairs. “I haven’t found it all yet.” She reeled off a list of items that ranged from Civil War era to fifties kitsch.
“Looks like he’s into American primitives, although that vintage Pyrex serving set could have been worth something.”
“It’s so depressing.” She looked completely defeated. He wanted with everything that was in him to hold her close and make it all better. But neither of those were options. One wasn’t prudent and the other wasn’t possible.
As if realizing he was there in the middle of the week, in the late afternoon, when they were not really speaking to each other, she looked up. “Did you come here for something?”
She blushed. “That didn’t come out right. I mean, did you come here for something other than listening to my tale of woe?”
He smiled. “I know what you meant. And yes, I’m here on a mission. I was right in the middle of working on press release for the Civil War Trust and my phone kept going off. I wasn’t going to answer it because Parker’s Cross Roads is going to be made into a parking lot if they can’t outbid a developer by next week, but…” His voice trailed off. He had thought it might be Caroline. “Anyway, Debbie Mae wants us to try on our costumes before the big dance.”
Caroline’s eyes widened. “Right now?”
“I’m not sure. She’s been trying to call you but you weren’t answering.” He supposed she’d been taking stock of how much of the house had been raided. The idea gave him a fresh wave of fury mixed with a desire to find Marshall and wring his neck.
“Let me call her.” She looked around for her phone, patting her pockets.
“Here,” he dialed and held out his cell.
When she hung up, she said, “Well, I guess we’re all meeting at Badewood. I’ll go change.”
“Do you need to tell your mother?” She’d seemed to be keeping Caroline on such a short leash, he couldn’t imagine that she could leave without permission, even to Badewood.
Her eyes were shadowed and her mouth went tight. “She’s… resting.”
Something in her expression spoke of a whole other story, but she obviously didn’t want to tell it.
Caroline stood up. “Are you ready, Mr. Knightley?”
“Huh. Why couldn’t I have a really good name like Jubal Early? Or Zebulon Baird Vance? Mr. Knightley sounds so…” He shrugged.
“Noble? Refined?”
“Sissified. And why don’t we use his first name? Does anyone even know it?”
“We can ask Debbie Mae. She’s the one who’s in love with all things Austen. You could always be Sylvanus Cadwallader going as Mr. Knightley. A reporter in disguise, looking for a story.”
“Have you been studying up on your Civil War? Cadwallader was an interesting guy. I could do that.”
She poked him in the side as she walked past. “Just because I’m not completely obsessed with the War doesn’t mean I don’t know anything.”
He opened his mouth give a retort, but something else occurred to him.
“Finley.” He cleared his throat, not sure how to start.
“Wait. Is this about our little disagreement?” She stacked a few glasses in the old copper sink, not meeting his eyes.
“Little?” He hoped that was the biggest argument they ever had, and the only one.
“I don’t think we should talk about this. It’ll only make us mad. Can we just call it a difference of opinion and leave it at that?” She walked toward him, laying a hand on his arm. Her face was deadly serious. “I can’t stand being at war with you.”
His gaze dropped to her hand and he wondered if now was the time to speak. He wasn’t prepared, hadn’t thought of how to compose his feelings into something that made sense. His heart jumped into his throat. “It was a terrible week.”
“I know!” She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re my best friend and I kept reaching for the phone to complain about my day.”
My best friend. He forced himself to breathe normally, thankful he hadn’t said more.
“Let’s not argue about Lexi, okay? We both want what’s best for her. She’ll make her own decisions in the end.” She was so close that he could see the golden flecks in her green eyes. She smelled like vanilla and… he leaned forward, inhaling.
“Brooks?” There was laughter and a question in her voice.
“I just realized what you always remind me of.”
“I’m afraid to hear it. My hygiene isn’t the best when I don’t get many visitors. Or maybe that’s why I don’t get many visitors.” She made a face.
“Jordan almonds. You smell like Jordan almonds.”
“Those pastel candy-covered almonds they serve at weddings?”
He nodded. “Must be your shampoo.”
“I don’t think so. But I’m glad it wasn’t gingko fruit. Those trees smell like cat poo.”
“No, definitely not cat poo.”
“I’m going to change. I won’t take long. Feel free to wander.” She didn’t bother to wait for his response but disappeared through the kitchen doorway.
Brooks let out a long breath and didn’t move from the spot. He had come so close to ruining their friendship. If he thought last week was bad, he needed to remember that it could be a permanent situation. Caroline would never want to hurt him. If she felt being his friend, when he wanted more, was hurtful then she wou
ld cut off all contact. Obviously she cared for him. But not that way. Maybe not ever.
Misery covered him like a blanket, dampening any joy he could have felt about putting aside their differences. Like a man caught between a cliff and an army behind him, he didn’t know which fate to choose. Coming clean and losing her friendship, or suffering along in silence. Then again, the battle at Parker’s Cross Roads might apply to the present moment. He lifted his gaze to the pressed tin tile ceiling. Like Nathan Bedford Forrest, outflanked by Federal soldiers, maybe he should ‘charge ‘em both ways’.
The noble thing, the right thing, would be to fight for their friendship until he couldn’t take the pain any longer. And when he reached his breaking point, he would act like the man he was and be honest with her. He had nothing to lose, after all.
***
Debbie Mae held up four large dry cleaning bags. “Let’s see. Caroline, this one is yours.” She handed it over and Caroline was surprised by the lightness of the costume. It seemed there wasn’t much except the bag and the hanger.
“Sweetie, this one is yours. Jacket, shirt, pants. You can use those hobnail boots you have for the reenactments.” Manning accepted his costume and shot a sly grin at Brooks.
“Here, Brooks. Yours was the hardest to find. True Regency from head to toe. As soon as you get into the shirt, we’ll practice tying the cravat.”
The expression on his face made Caroline hold her dress over her face to smother the laughter. It was the look of a man being walked to the gallows. She’d never thought of how Brooks could have joined the reenactments as a colonel or a lieutenant but he’d preferred to wear the threadbare uniform of a conscripted soldier. She was almost positive they had relatives who had earned a high rank in the War.
Debbie Mae clapped her hands. “Off you go. Brooks, should we change in the bathroom on the first floor?”
“That’s fine, there’s enough room for both of us to be throwing our clothes around.” Caroline answered, not waiting for Brooks to bother showing them the way.
“Actually, the pipes are being torn out and redone.” He shrugged. “Always something in these places. Come on back and use my room. Manning and I will change in his old room.”
They followed him back along the narrow hallway, passing the kitchen, down another hallway and past the smaller rooms that were once servants’ quarters. He started up a narrow staircase, a smooth groove worn in each step. “Watch the top step, it’s got a bit of an overhang. It took me weeks to stop tripping on it.”
“Why do you sleep back here again?” Debbie Mae wrinkled her nose. “Manning’s old room is really lovely. What’s wrong with yours?”
“Just the morning sun hitting my face at the crack of dawn.”
“Did you try black out curtains?” Caroline didn’t mind the sun. It was like a natural alarm clock.
“Yes, but the crows gather in the elm right outside. There’s no curtain that can block out that infernal cawing.”
“I didn’t know you weren’t a morning person. Don’t you and Caroline go running every morning?”
“Not every morning, no.” He turned down a narrow hallway and opened a plain oak door. “Ignore the mess.”
They trooped into the room and gazed around. An armoire stood sentry in the corner. Every wall held mahogany floor-to-ceiling bookcases except for a space for an old painting and one area that held an antique roll top desk. The desk faced a simple window with double hung panes of glass. It was tidy, except for the stacks of books by the bed and a few papers on the bedside table. The bed wasn’t particularly wide but certainly long enough to accommodate a full grown man.
“Cozy,” Debbie Mae said, eye brows raised. “You don’t even have your own bathroom?”
“Sure, I do. It’s right down the hall.”
“No, I mean…” She opened the only other door in the room and gazed at Brooks’ clothes in the deep-set closet. “An attached bathroom, like people have when they can live in any room in Badewood. I don’t believe you have 35 rooms to choose from and you picked this one.”
Caroline walked into the room, leaned over the desk and stared out at the view. “You can see for miles! Isn’t that the creek?”
“Yup. I see some herons there every evening, looking for crawdads. I think your house is about there.” He pointed over her shoulder, through the trees.
“I love this view. No wonder you moved out of the front of the house, crows or no crows.” She could see him sitting here, writing articles for big New York magazines. Of course, he was only here for the summer and would leave again in a few short months. She shoved the thought away. She ran a finger along the inset panels of the desk, admiring burl pattern. It was a bigger desk than her secretary, just right for a six-footer like Brooks. She started to lift the top, wondering how his laptop fit inside and if he’d found a way to coil the cord out the back without cutting a hole.
Brooks reached over and stayed her hand. “No snooping, Finley.”
“Ha! Snooping implies curiosity and I was only checking to see how-”
“Come on, you two. Let’s get changed so we can see if we need to make any adjustments.” Debbie Mae was already shooing Brooks from the room. He put up his hands in a ‘no contest’ move. Just before closing the door behind him, he shook his finger at Caroline as if to remind her to keep her paws off his stuff. Like the educated, mature woman that she was, she out stuck her tongue. A flash of his grin and the door was pulled closed.
“Okay, let’s see how this thing fits.” Debbie Mae pulled unzipped the dry cleaning bag and pulled the dress out.
Caroline gasped, hand to her mouth. She was shocked that the dress wasn’t plain white, a little decorative piping, maybe a velvet doodad here or there. The dress was the palest blue silk, gathered right under the breasts and draping in long, soft folds. A sheer overlay covered the entire dress and tiny embroidered flowers dotted the netting. The neckline was scooped, not too low and edged with froths of lace. The short sleeves were trimmed with deep blue velvet. The real jaw-dropper was the hem. Sprays of flowers inched up from the border, tiny forget-me-nots and lily of the valley embroidered in a repeating pattern that was both delicate and stunning. “What is this? I thought we were going as peasant girls or something.”
Debbie Mae blinked at her. “Peasant girls? Did you read the book like I told you?”
“Oh, I forgot about it. I’ve been busy.” She forgot about the book the moment she’d read the first page and realized it wasn’t in the sort of English she used.
“Well, did you even watch that movie yet? You’re supposed to be Emma! She dresses impeccably, has great style, and is effortlessly beautiful.”
“I don’t have time to watch a six hour special.” She flopped onto Brooks’ bed, not caring if she disturbed the old patchwork quilt. The frame let out an alarming creak and she froze. Probably just old wood. Probably nothing to do with the PopTarts she’d been eating every morning for breakfast. She made a mental note to run a little longer tomorrow morning.
“You better get acquainted with the Regency ideas or you’re going to stick out like a sore thumb.”
Caroline rolled to her side and propped her head in one hand. She could smell Brooks in this room, his soap and the scent that was only his. “So everybody’s going to be so amazingly in character that I’ll look like I was dropped there by aliens?”
“Maybe. Think of it like Brooks and Manning going to a battle. They don’t even carry stuff in their pockets that is from the wrong era.”
“Not even a wallet?”
“Especially not a wallet.” Debbie Mae got a dreamy look on her face. “Manning asked me for a lock of my hair. He keeps it in an old locket, sewn in the hem of his jacket.”
Caroline smiled. “That’s so romantic. He loves you even when he’s pretending to be someone else.”
“I don’t deny that it’s why I decided to join him on the reenactments.”
“I thought it was the goat-tending.” Caroline smirked
, remembering how Manning was determined to be as historically accurate as possible, right down the company goat.
“It’s not bad. I’ve learned a lot of history and met some nice folks. Seriously, maybe you should think about coming with us.”
“No, no. I don’t have anything to wear.” She didn’t really have anything better to do, but Debbie Mae didn’t know that.
“Please? I’d love the company. There aren’t very many women there. I get tired of being stuck in the mess tent.” She unzipped her own dress from the plastic covering. It was pale green silk with soft velvet cream roses dotting the neckline and hem. Simple but elegant.
Caroline chewed her bottom lip. She felt the tug of old guilt and wondered if she’d feel better after the dance. She didn’t want to get dragged all over the countryside every time Debbie Mae said she was lonely. She traced the edge of a quilt patch with one finger, admiring the tiny hand-sewn stitches. It was just like Brooks to have some old thing on his bed instead of a goose down comforter from Lands’ End. She looked up at the painting over the head of the bed. A Confederate soldier stood looking down, his face covered. The top half of a white cross appeared in the bottom of the frame.
Debbie Mae followed her eyes and said, “That’s a real Winslow Homer. It’s called ‘Trooper Meditating Beside a Grave’.”
“How do you know all these things? Is it because you’re a teacher?” She was honestly awed by her cousin’s store of knowledge, mostly because it wasn’t Debbie Mae’s hobby.
She rolled her eyes. “I teach fourth grade. Winslow Homer doesn’t come up too much. Those two talk a lot. You’ve probably noticed.”
Caroline thought back to the meeting at the café. Manning hadn’t talked much. And Brooks did talk, but she was usually running over him with some story of her own. She felt a sharp pain around her ribs. She was a terrible friend, self-centered and oblivious to everyone else’s interests.
“Help me get into this before the guys come back.”
Caroline pulled herself upright and held the dress while Debbie Mae stripped off her striped T-shirt and red shorts. She slipped the dress over Debbie Mae’s head. It was truly strange to see her cousin standing there like a woman out of Regency England.
2 Emma, Mr. Knightley, and Chili-Slaw Dogs Page 16