The gentleman stood and turned, his blue-eyed gaze landing directly on Rebekah. His lips curved into a wry grin. “Thank you, Eugene, but Miss Hardin and I have already met.”
Rebekah’s stomach tightened into a knot. She forced a wobbly smile. “H-hello, Devlin.”
Devlin
Devlin sat in silence while Rebekah and the overgrown country boy she’d brought with her ordered breaded trout, wilted greens, and wild rice. He took note of her trembling hands, the slight waver in her voice. But he couldn’t determine the source of her nervousness—was it him, her clumsy dining companion, or the well-to-do people surrounding them?
When the waiter left, Devlin rested one elbow on the edge of the table and settled his gaze on Rebekah’s pink-stained face. “I didn’t think staff members ate in the dining room.”
She spread her napkin over her lap. “We don’t. I mean, not on our workdays. But this is Sunday, so…”
“So you brought a friend to enjoy Mr. Cooper’s good cooking.”
She turned her face to the window and didn’t answer.
Devlin gave Cal Adwell a slow perusal. This was the man who Belvy claimed pestered Reb, the one she said had grown up on the land behind hers. She said she knew him, but she hadn’t called him a friend. And yet here they were together. A knot formed in his throat, and he forced a sharp “ahem” to clear it.
The man jumped.
“Sorry,” Devlin said, but he didn’t mean it. It tickled him that such an insignificant sound caused such a start. He tapped his foot, wishing someone would say something. Anything. Conversations rose from every other table in the room—children jabbering, parents scolding, lovers whispering. He felt as alone as he had before Rebekah and her pal Cal joined him.
He cleared his throat again and dropped his hand to the tabletop with a light smack. Both Reb and Cal looked at him. “So what brings the two of you here this fine sunless noon?” Are you trapped in darkness today? He pushed the inner voice aside.
Cal flicked a solemn look at Reb and then shrugged.
She sighed and faced the table. “Cal and I were at church together, and he offered to give me a ride to the hotel since Daddy predicted rain.”
Just as she said the word rain, fat drops dotted the window.
Devlin grinned. “It appears he was correct.”
A slight smile lifted the corners of Rebekah’s lips. “Cal also wanted to talk to me about something, so we decided to have lunch together so he could…talk.”
Which meant Devlin was creating a barrier. He ought to feel guilty about it, but he didn’t. He swung his grin on the big-boned, blond-haired man who sat scowling from the other side of the table. “Please don’t allow me to interfere with your intentions. I’m happy to watch the raindrops race one another down the window. I won’t pay you a bit of attention.” He held up his hand as if making an oath. “I promise.”
Cal’s scowl deepened.
Rebekah ducked her head. “I’m sure Cal would rather wait until we’re alone.”
The man hadn’t said a word to Reb or Devlin. If he hadn’t ordered his dinner, Devlin wouldn’t know whether or not he was capable of speech. Now a cunning look entered Cal’s eyes, and he slowly shifted to Reb. “If you don’t mind this fella listenin’ in, I’ll tell you what I wanted you to know. Y’see, I—”
The waiter arrived carrying a large round tray with three dinner plates. Two held whole trout complete with eyes and tails, and the third, Devlin’s, contained a very tame-looking serving of lamb chops. He deftly transferred the plates from the tray to the table and then cast a smile over them. “Do you have need of anything else?”
Cal licked his lips. “Can I have some ketchup?”
Rebekah coughed into her hand, and Devlin nearly choked, swallowing a laugh.
The waiter seemed to freeze for a moment, but then he nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll bring some right away.”
“Thanks.” Cal looked happier than he had since they sat down.
The waiter scurried off, the tray tucked under his arm.
Rebekah raised her eyebrows, her expression innocent. “Who would like to say grace?”
Devlin wasn’t surprised by her question. She and Tolly had bowed their heads over the meager picnic items they carried into the cave. Since she’d indicated she and Cal attended church together, he expected Cal to volunteer. But the big man clamped his mouth closed and didn’t look up from his plate.
Devlin’s father offered long-winded prayers when guests visited on holidays. He supposed he could emulate and shorten one to satisfy Reb. Someone needed to before their food grew cold. “I will.”
The other two bowed their heads and closed their eyes. Devlin followed their example and started. “Dear Father in heaven…” Reb’s question about whether he’d be going to heaven someday intruded in his thoughts. “Th-thank You for this food. I ask You to bless it, the hands that prepared it, and those with whom I share this meal today. Amen.”
He looked up and caught a glimmer of approval in Reb’s eyes. Warmth spread through him, and he smiled as he picked up his fork and knife. “So, Cal, before the waiter came, you were about to tell Reb…ekah something. Would you like to continue now?”
“Oh!” Cal plunked his fork back onto the table and turned a serious look on Reb. “See, my grandpa Tilly, Ma’s pa—”
“Your ketchup, sir.” The waiter slid a small porcelain saucer filled with thick red paste next to Cal’s elbow and darted away, as if unwilling to discover what Cal intended to do with the condiment.
Cal spooned globs of the ketchup on the trout, the rice, and even the greens. “My grandpa Tilly, Ma’s pa who lives over in Rhoda, has been farin’ poorly for a couple years already.”
Reb nodded sadly. “Yes, my parents and I have prayed for him.”
Devlin cut away a bit of lamb, dipped it in the creamy herbed mashed potatoes, and carried it to his mouth, pretending not to listen, but Reb’s genuine sympathy made it hard for him to swallow.
“Lots o’ folks have. But he ain’t gettin’ any better.” Cal shoved a huge portion of greens dripping with ketchup in his mouth and spoke around them. “He needs somebody to look after him. So come July, Ma an’ Pa intend to pack up an’ move to Rhoda.”
Reb paused in flaking the meat from the trout’s bones. “For good?”
Cal nodded and took a bite of rice. A few grains dropped from the fork, bounced off his shirt front, and disappeared somewhere below the tabletop. “Ma’ll inherit Grandpa’s house an’ all his household belongin’s, an’ she told Pa they won’t have need for two houses, so Pa’s handin’ me the family cabin an’ land. All twenty-two acres’ll be mine.”
He paused long enough to break off the trout’s crispy tail and pop it into his mouth. “It won’t be long, an’ I’ll have a whole lot more to offer than I did the last time I asked to court you. I figure once your daddy knows what all I’m inheritin’, he won’t have no reason for opposition.”
A tiny smear of ketchup decorated his upper lip, giving his grin a lopsided appearance. “So, Rebekah, get ready for sparkin’, ’cause I’m gonna be your beau.”
The lamb turned to sawdust in Devlin’s mouth. He set aside his fork and dabbed his lips with the napkin. He forced a smile. “Perhaps it would be best if you had this conversation in private.” He dropped the napkin on the table and started to rise.
Rebekah held her hand out to him. “No, Devlin, don’t go.”
The genuine begging in her eyes stilled his movements.
“Y-you haven’t finished your meal.”
He wasn’t sure he’d be able to take another bite. The ketchup swimming in Cal’s plate combined with the unpleasant images of the clumsy hills man’s hands circling Rebekah’s slender form turned his stomach.
“And you might want to ask Cal about the cave on his father’s land.”
Cal shot her a sharp look. “My land. It’s my land, Rebekah.”
She gave a meek nod. “Of course.” She turned her pleading
look on Devlin again. “So…stay. All right?”
She knew how to capture his attention. Devlin eased into the seat and draped his napkin across his knee again. He took up his fork and knife. “Tell me about your cave, Cal.”
The man shrugged. “Just a cave. Lots o’ folks in these parts have holes on their property. Rebekah’s pa’s place has one, too, although the one at my place is—”
“There’s a cave on your family’s property?” Devlin gawked at Rebekah. At her slight nod he clapped his fork onto the table. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Her fine eyebrows tipped together. “You didn’t ask.”
He covered his eyes with his hand and groaned. Her family’s property was so close to the cave estate. What if hers proved to be a new entrance point?
“It’s just a small one, Devlin. A single cavern, actually more like a dome, where we grow mushrooms. I can’t imagine it would interest you.”
He opened his eyes and met her puzzled gaze. “No tunnels leading farther into the earth?”
“No.”
Disappointment eased in, followed by a wave of relief he didn’t understand.
Cal stabbed a chunk of trout. “Mine’s deeper. Crack opens to a tunnel, an’ the tunnel leads to a cavern. The cavern sprouts in three diff’rent directions. Used to go explorin’ there until Andy died. Then my ma had a conniption fit if I even talked about goin’ inside.”
Devlin frowned. The man wasn’t making sense. “Who’s Andy?”
Cal bobbed his head in Rebekah’s direction. “Her brother.”
Rebekah’s face drained of color. She stared at her plate, blinking rapidly.
Devlin’s heart turned over. “He died?”
She nodded.
Cal said, “Been more’n two years ago now. Long time o’ not goin’ inside my cave.”
Devlin couldn’t take his eyes away from Rebekah’s sorrowful pose. She’d never mentioned a brother. Two years ago Cal had said, but her pain must still be raw. A silvery tear slipped down her face, reminding him of the raindrops sliding across the glass window. He reached across the table and touched her hand. “What happened to Andy?”
Her throat convulsed. She sucked in her lips. Another tear rolled.
Cal went on eating, seemingly unaware of his friend’s distress. “Fool boy got himself lost in Mammoth Cave.”
Rebekah jerked to her feet. She sent a frantic glance across both of them and choked out, “P-please excuse me.” She darted from the table.
Cal gawked after her. “Rebekah? You ain’t done eatin’.” But he didn’t rise and follow her.
So Devlin did. She wove her way between tables, murmuring “excuse me” to other diners as she went, moving surprisingly fast for someone hindered by a full skirt and probably half blinded by tears. She was out the door before he made his way out of the dining room, but he found her the moment he stepped out on the boardwalk.
She huddled against the wall with her hands covering her face. Rain, carried by the breeze, fell at a slant and dotted the bottom half of her skirt. The pale pink fabric slowly darkened to the color of cooked salmon. His chest pinched. He wasn’t her beau. He wasn’t even sure he was her friend anymore after their heated disagreement. But he couldn’t leave her alone in such distress.
He took hold of her shoulders and pulled her into his embrace. She continued to hide her face with her hands, but she leaned into his frame. Her body shuddered with silent sobs. Devlin rubbed his hands up and down her shoulder blades. “Go ahead and cry. It’ll wash some of your pain away.”
“It’ll never go away. Not until I—”
He waited, but she didn’t finish her sentence. “Here now.” Gently he set her aside and pressed his handkerchief into her hand. Rain splatted against his back and speckled her clothes. Tears stained her face. She swiped at her cheeks, but new moisture spilled from her eyes, dampening them again. Her chin quivered.
Devlin wished he knew how to help. He’d always been powerless against women’s tears, and not having experienced the loss of a sibling, he couldn’t honestly say he understood her pain. But his heart ached for her.
He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “You told me about your sisters. Why didn’t you ever tell me about your brother?”
She gulped, her gaze dropping to the handkerchief she worried in her fingers. “We…my family…we don’t talk about him. It’s too hard for Mama. And thinking about him only”—she swallowed—“hurts.”
The backs of Devlin’s pant legs were getting soaked. He shifted to lean against the wall beside her, bringing himself more securely beneath the sheltering eave. “When my grandfather died, the whole family gathered, and we took turns telling our favorite memories of him.” A smile of fond remembrance tugged at his cheek. “I was only twelve, but I recall how good it felt to talk about him, to share how important he’d been to all of us. It eased the pain of losing him.”
Devlin licked his lips and lowered his voice to a rasping whisper. “It might help ease your pain to talk about your brother instead of hiding him away in the corner of your heart.”
She jerked her gaze to his. Her eyes snapped, no longer swimming with tears. “Did you kill your grandfather?”
Devlin drew back. “Of course not.”
“Then your loss isn’t the same as mine. I’m not only grieving. I’m guilty. And guilty is even harder to bear.” She jammed the handkerchief into his palm, whirled, and clattered up the boardwalk and around the corner.
Reeling from her unexpected vehemence, he couldn’t make himself go after her.
Footsteps scuffed up behind him. “She gone?”
Devlin turned his worried scowl on Cal. “Yes. She’s very upset.”
Cal sighed. “I know. But she left half her dinner in there. Waste of a dollar an’ ten cents.”
Devlin’s jaw dropped. He’d never encountered a more callous individual. “I hardly think the cost is as important as Reb’s—” Should he say grief or guilt? He wished he understood what she’d meant. He fully faced Cal. “You said Andy got lost in the cave. Was Rebekah with him?”
Cal shrugged. “No. He was in there by himself. Why?”
If she’d accompanied him, become separated somehow, and he’d died, then her guilt would make sense. He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Will you go talk to her?”
“Why? Won’t change the fact that Andy’s dead an’ he ain’t comin’ back. ’Bout time she accepted it.” Cal shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders, squinting at the gray sky. “Don’t look like this rain’s gonna let up. I might as well head on home.” He sighed, his breath carrying the scent of fish and ketchup, a nauseating combination. “Wish I’d brung a jacket or hat. Don’t much like getting wet from head to toe. But there ain’t no other way of it.” He angled a glance at Devlin. “If you wanna see the cave I told you about, come on out to my place sometime.” A calculating gleam entered his eyes. “Might wanna put it on your map.”
Cissy
Cissy paced the narrow space between beds in her sleeping room. She gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached. Daddy’d sent her in after their lunch as a punishment. Most times she wanted the room to herself—wanted privacy for dreaming or thinking or just being. But she also wanted to make the choice to be alone, not have it forced on her. How humiliating to be banished to solitude. Daddy was downright cruel sometimes.
The rain fell and fell and fell, pattering against the roof and the closed shutters. When would it ever stop? Daddy was right about Mr. Temperance not being able to take photographs today. Who’d want to stand outside and get all wet? Even if the people didn’t mind a soaking, Mr. Temperance wouldn’t risk ruining his camera. He babied that Seneca City View camera like it was a living creature. As much as he liked her, if she and the camera fell in the river, he’d go after the camera instead of her, and that was a fact.
She plopped onto the edge of the bed and hugged herself, bouncing her heels against the floor. Seventeen people had signed up to sit
on Beau today and pay their quarter for a photograph, but she didn’t worry about them. Mr. Temperance would find a way to fit them in during the week. She’d get her money by and by. But she’d never be able to make up the lost time with Nick.
She growled and jabbed her fists in the air. He’d go to the barn just like he promised at five o’clock, but she wouldn’t be there. Because Daddy wouldn’t let her.
Pop-pop-pop exploded from the front room, and a cheer rang out. Cissy whirled toward the sound, her mouth watering. Mama was making popcorn. Cissy loved popcorn, all crisp and snowy. She liked it best in a glass with milk poured over it. They were probably fixing the treat just to torment her.
Daddy’s chuckle rumbled. “Here now, settle down. Mama’ll serve up that popcorn when it’s ready. Lemme get this fairy-tales book open. Seems like we read ‘Rapunzel’ already, so we’re ready for ‘The Three Little Men in the Wood.’ ”
“Are there three little men in the woods behind our house, Daddy?”
He laughed, and Cissy held back a snort. Trudy didn’t understand what tale meant. If Cissy wasn’t in disgrace, she’d be able to tell her little sister that a tale was a made-up story. She pictured them out there, gathered around the fire, munching popcorn and listening to the story written by the Brothers Grimm. She growled. Wasn’t fair how they—
An idea swooped in, setting her heart to pounding.
Daddy’d told her to stay in her room, and he’d told the little girls to stay out. For the whole day. That meant she had hours stretching in front of her when not a one of them would pay her any mind. She could probably go all the way to Alaska and back without anybody noticing. But she didn’t want to go to Alaska. She only wanted to go the Mammoth Cave estate.
She squeaked the door open a crack and peeked out. Sure enough, they were all gathered on the rug watching Mama shimmy the covered pot back and forth over the flaming logs. Daddy held the open book on one knee and Little Nellie on the other. For a moment her heart caught. They all looked so happy together. Something deep inside of her wanted to sit with them, feel the fire’s warmth, smell the popcorn, and hear Daddy’s voice saying all the pretty words from the fairy-tales book. Would they maybe look up and say, “Come on, Cissy”?
Guide Me Home Page 24