by Linda Joyce
Crossing the threshold to his parents’ farmhouse, he walked into aromas of supper. Savory scents of roast beef made his hunger churn. Homemade creamed corn and zipper peas, his mother’s prizewinning dishes, simmered on the stove. A large bowl of her signature carrot and raisin salad with sliced bananas, just like he liked it, waited for delivery to the dining room table. A feast only made for special occasions.
“I’m starving,” he said.
“Son, when have you ever been anything but hungry?” his mother, Emmeline, teased. Standing on a stepstool, she pulled her fine china down from a tall kitchen cabinet. “Come over here and help your poor mother.”
When she took a good look at him, she drew back and refused to hand over the plates. “You don’t have clean hands. Don’t touch.” She gingerly climbed down from the stepstool with the plates, and then clunked them against granite on the kitchen island.
Granny, his mother’s mother, sat at the other end of the counter and smiled up at him. He grinned as she added buttermilk into in her big wooden biscuit-making bowl. With practiced efficiency, her hands swirled flour, Crisco, and buttermilk into dough. He never sat down to a meal at home when biscuits weren’t on the table. He kissed her cheek. “You’re my favorite girl.”
“Oh, you go on, now,” Granny said.
“Yes, you go on now. Look at you!” His mother scrunched her face as if he were trash too dirty for even the garbage man to pick up. “You’ve got five minutes to take a shower and get your be-hind at the dinner table. Now go!” She swatted at him playfully with a dishtowel, but it would never touch him. His mother never allowed dirt in her kitchen, ever.
Before leaving, he squeezed the tops of Granny’s shoulders. “You’re lookin’ lovely tonight. I’d ask you to go dancing, but the Queen has spoken, so let me take my be-hind out of here, if I have any hope of eating. Do you think she’d torture me by starving me if I don’t shower first?”
“You charmer. Dancing, really. Get washed for supper.”
He saluted, then pushed on the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the formal dining room. When he entered the living room, the lively discussion between his father and grandfather stopped. The two men straightened in their seats like boys guilty of mischief. He glanced from side to side at each of them as he headed to the hall.
His father, Cedrick, seated in his worn favorite easy chair next to the fireplace, cleared his throat loudly. The sound alone begged attention from even the most clueless of person. Something was up.
He winked at his grandfather. “How are things today, Papa? I offered to take your girl dancing, but she turned me down.” Then, he turned to his father, “Hello, sir.” Not waiting for a response, he continued the long walk across the wide living room. “Seems you’ve had a busy day, son.” The amusement in his father’s voice snagged him. He stopped at the entrance to the hall.
“I’m busy most days, sir.” He turned. The back of the easy chair greeted him; his father gazed out the window.
What now?
He glanced in Papa’s direction. The old man pointed his knurled finger repeatedly in the air as though thumping it at Cedrick’s chest. “Just out with it!”
“Fine. Wade Addington called here look’n for you ’bout a house.”
James frowned. His secret was out.
“You think you want to tackle something like that?” Papa asked. “It’s a big undertaking.” The old man’s narrowed eyes disappeared into the wrinkles on his face. To Papa, hard work defined a man, no matter if he had money or not. Farming was all Papa knew, along with hunting to put food on the table. He’d complained more than once that he couldn’t understand anyone who wanted to live in Lakeview, let alone move to a big city like Jacksonville or Tampa. Clearly, Papa understood Mr. Addington’s call meant he would be moving to town. Would there be yet another argument discouraging him about changing addresses?
“Well, I think you’re man enough to do it. Certainly old enough now. ’Bout time if you ask me.” Papa nodded and crossed his arms over his chest, as if daring anyone to refute him.
James chuckled. He hadn’t thought about it exactly in birthday terms, but as far as presents go, a house was a solid gift. And, he was old enough, staring at thirty-one. Most parents wanted their kids out of the house when teenage-itis struck, or when college time arrived, but not his. He’d been a good farmhand since he learned to gather eggs from the hens as a kid, though since college, he’d lived in a single-wide mobile home on his grandparents’ farm.
“Son, I’m curious. How’d you find this house?” his father asked.
“A couple of weeks ago, I was out running errands and drove along the lake. A “For Sale” sign stopped me, and the owner happened to show up while I was looking around. She showed me the inside of the house.”
“I hear Meredith grew up to be a real looker.” A sly smile and a wink came from his grandfather.
Surprised that Papa knew of Meredith, he stood straighter and focused his attention on the conversation.
“Yes, I’m an old man, but I still know a lot of folks.” His grandfather raised one eyebrow as if to caution James about challenging him, then grinned, “Back in the day, I sold meat to her grandmother. I’ve known Meredith since the day she was born.”
“So were you think’n about do’n this all by yourself?” Cedrick asked.
“Well, sir, I don’t know. Meredith wouldn’t tell me her asking price. Turned the deal over to her cousin, Wade-the-attorney. We’ve been going back and forth. I won’t know if the project is doable until I have a contractor’s final inspection report...and the final asking price. I’m waiting on the report, though I did make a contingent offer. It was a low one.”
“The two of you just looked at the house together?” his grandfather asked.
He hid a grin and ignored the jab. His grandfather had always been too nosey. “We did a walk-through. Meredith showed me around and gave me the history of the house. There was another woman along. Pretty, but very aloof. Couldn’t discern if she was a prospective buyer or just along for the ride. She didn’t tour the house with me.”
But he hadn’t forgotten the pulsing sensations when he held her hand in his. She might not have looked him in the eye, but he’d bet money she had experienced the pulsing, same as he. More than once a day, his thoughts had drifted to her. Maybe she wasn’t ignoring him that day, maybe ignoring the attraction? It didn’t matter really, she absolutely wasn’t his type. She probably liked opera and belonged to the country club. Her perfectly manicured nails said a lot about what she didn’t do in life. No sense in expending time and energy on something doomed from the start.
His father motioned him over to his easy chair, then held up a pad and pointed. Wade’s name, a phone number, and a dollar amount scrolled neatly on the paper. He shook his head in confusion.
“This is her asking price,” his father said. He circled the number with the pencil he pulled from behind his ear.
“What? You sure?” He looked hard at his father. “That can’t be right.” He looked again at the circled numbers. Two-hundred thousand.
“Seems she wants to be rid of the house pronto and you’re the buyer for her. Wade muttered something about you and your family moving in as soon as possible. All you have to do is call and accept the offer. Your family? What did he mean by that?”
“Hot damn,” James snorted.
From the dining room, Granny called, “Language becoming of a gentleman, please. We’re almost ready to eat. Well, those of us whom are clean.”
“The house is at least four thousand square feet. Sits on over an acre. I’m sure it will appraise for more than that amount, even in these real estate times. The family thing. Meredith says the house needs a family. I told her if I bought the house, someday I’d have that.”
“Shower. Now.” His mother’s fists were planted firmly on her hips as she stood between the dining and living room.
“I’m going,” he told her.
His fath
er tapped him on the arm. “Son, she has one condition. You and your family must have a housewarming party within a year and invite her.”
“I can’t believe that’s what she wants for the house. It’s below market value,” James said, ignoring any mention of family, though suspicion rubbed his conscience. Did the house need a lot of work, and she knew it? Did she think because he looked like a redneck that he couldn’t afford the house at any price? And why hadn’t Wade called his cell phone rather than calling the house and leaving this information? “I want the place, but it’s still contingent on an inspection and an appraisal. Have to have the due diligence.” He’d been fooled once by a pretty face. Houses, like women, might look great on the outside, but dig a few inches and looks could be deceiving. His hard-earned cash wouldn’t leave the bank a moment before he had a complete status and hard numbers for repairs.
“Son, Wade said it needs some minor work. Insisted that Meredith had a contractor look at it when she inherited it. They say the needed work is only cosmetic.”
Papa rose slowly from his chair, hobbled over to him, and slapped him on the back. “I answered the phone and reminded Wade of our family’s long-time connection. But I’m so hard of hearing, even with that darn speakerphone, couldn’t understand half of what he was saying. Had to get your dad involved.”
“Dinner is ready,” his mother called from the dining room.
James glanced in her direction. She stood behind her chair waiting as she always did whenever they had a formal meal. His father would pull out her chair and she would sit, then place the cloth napkin in her lap. Family traditions learned from his grandparents.
Not wanting to irritate his mother, he sprinted down the hall. By the time everyone had a beverage of their choice, he’d be done and ready to eat.
“Finally,” his mother said when he returned. “Your grandmother was kind enough to get you sweet tea.” She pointed to the glass next to his plate.
His mother ladled gravy over roast beef and handed the first plate to him. “James is this really necessary?” she asked.
“The house, you mean?” He knew she wasn’t asking about the food, but he wanted to tease her. Had she made his favorite meal as a bribe to make him stay or as a farewell dinner?
“Yes, this house business.” She sniffed. “How can you afford this? I don’t think you should buy a house until you can afford it.”
“She means that she’s worried that once you move to town permanently, you’ll get too busy to come see us,” Granny said.
He took a bite of the meat and chewed. “This is great, Mom. With cooking like this, I’ll come every time I’m invited.” He hoped flattery might distract her, and then he could change the subject. One of his mother’s...interesting…pastimes was gossiping after church on Sunday with the church’s ladies’ committee. Unfortunately, they viewed gossip as a sport or competition. He wanted his private life to remain off limits to the ears of those with loose lips. He’d learned a hard lesson very well when he and Caroline broke up. And, old men, gossiped just as much as old women.
“I’m glad you like the food. I made all your favorites.” She smiled modestly. “But what about the house?”
“Now Emme, stop that,” Granny said gently. “Leave the boy alone. If he says he wants to buy the house, then he must have a way to work it out.”
Granny corrected his mother? In front of others? Usually, she played the gentle mediator, always finding something good to say about everything, smoothing over any potential conflict.
“Momma,” his mother whined, “I don’t know how he could possibly afford it with all of his education loans.”
“Your son’s a grown man with a doctorate degree. If he says he can afford it, then you should believe him.” Papa’s low tone carried a sharp threat. Emmeline squared her shoulders, lowered her eyes, and picked at the food on her plate.
Staying out of the fray, intent on enjoying the feast of his favorites, he kept his attention on his food, took a fork full of zipper peas, and savored the flavor. No matter what, his mother could cook.
He shrugged off the family debate. In truth, he could afford it. No one knew that but his grandfather, who had taught him the value of money at an early age. However, if it hadn’t been for his father’s heart attack five years ago, he would’ve bought a house in town when he first accepted the teaching job at the community college. A thirty mile, one-way commute every day, mostly traveling a two-lane blacktop, got old.
“Great biscuits, Granny.” He smeared butter between two halves.
Granny beamed. “Emmeline, if the boy buys the house, maybe that’s a signal that he’s ready to find the right woman and settle down. Maybe this time, he’ll do it—house, marriage, then baby.”
His mother brightened. “Grandchildren?”
The ringing telephone interrupted the banter. Silence smothered all conversation. The house rule—no one answered the phone during a family meal. His father always enforced it. Especially after Caroline had started calling whenever his truck was parked in the driveway at his parents’ house. At first, her calls had been pleading, she wanted him back, but when he ignored her, she turned to issuing threats never meant for his mother or grandmother’s ears. It wasn’t that he wanted to purposefully hurt her, he’d just been too hurt by her to care how she felt now. She was none of his business.
After five long rings, the phone turned silent. Papa launched into a joke, a corny one that only an old man could pull off, and everyone laughed.
Caroline. James pushed the pain of the past from his mind. After dinner, Granny and Papa would stay “at the big house” with his parents for a while and listen to his mother play the piano. They’d sing hymns to practice for Sunday services at the Baptist Church. Meanwhile, he’d take Beau for a run down the sandy limestone road to Papa’s and back. Beau needed a workout, and James needed the exercise to clear his head. It was bothersome that a woman he’d met only once had captured his fascination. And that irritated him. After all, a woman in pearls and jeans with high heels shouted pampered and spoiled. Branna had to be the “high-maintenance” type. She’d kept her eyes trained on his boots the whole time, as though he wasn’t good enough somehow. He couldn’t name the color of her eyes, but he expected they would be as hypnotic as she was seductive. Still, the pulsing sensation between them mystified him. He had to shake it off.
A run with Beau would do him good. Afterward, he’d join the family, listen to his mother play...and begin to plan his future.
One without Caroline or baby Katie.
Chapter 3
The phone rang in the kitchen.
Branna jiggled the key in the door lock, praying it would turn the first time. She shifted the grocery bags in her arms when the lock wouldn’t open.
“I’m coming!” Lowering the bags on her right arm to the ground, she jiggled the key harder. The ringing continued.
“I said, I’m coming!”
When the lock finally turned, the door opened, and she tripped across the threshold, barely staying upright. Her sunglasses slid down her nose. She grabbed for the phone.
“Yes?” she said, then set the three bags hanging from her wrist on the counter and shook out the pain in her hand.
“You must come. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Why did Momma always think that being chipper when issuing a command would make everyone snap-to and do her bidding?
“Momma, I’m sorry. We talked about this already. I can’t make it for Memorial weekend.” She picked up the bag she’d left at the threshold and nudged the door closed with her foot. She hoped that WD-40 in the lock would fix the ingress problem. She pulled the can from the bag and set it on the counter.
“The Mayor has agreed to speak. I hired that blues band you used for that wedding on New Year’s Eve. The Mayor and I decided that the cover charge for the event is a minimum of five-cans-of-food per-person to replenish the food bank. However, I need your help.”
“I know this is you
r first run at handling a charity Memorial Day picnic, and I’m here for moral support. You can bounce any new ideas off me. But this isn’t your first outing, and I’m sure you’ve got it under control.”
Every day, she’d been on the phone with Momma about one or another function scheduled at Fleur de Lis. Often more than once a day. Her mother had suddenly bumped the charity-hosting schedule from one big event a year—the Valentine Auction and Valentine’s Day Dance—to three, with under a month before the date of the first new one. Which meant flyers and invitations needed to be designed, printed, and then mailed, along with contacting local vendors to secure their financial support.
Was Momma purposely trying to drive her crazy?
“You know the family’s gathering schedule. It’s tradition we count on.” Momma sounded disappointed, and but did she have to played the tradition card?
“I am the face of family tradition. I’m the one deeded the duty to keep all Fleur de Lis traditions alive—in the future. I can recite the schedule in my sleep, but I can’t put aside my work responsibilities here.” She wouldn’t allow Momma’s tone to sway her from her focus. She couldn’t be running back and forth to Mississippi if she ever intended to have a life of her own, to learn that she was strong enough and truly worthy of the Keeper’s role. Birth order didn’t guarantee she had the talent to protect the legacy.
“Branna Noël Lind, I can’t believe my ears. Are you suggesting that blood isn’t thicker than water? Being Keeper is an honor, not prison time. Do I need to remind you of the benefits you have reaped because you are the first great grandchild?”
“I moved. I didn’t lose my memory,” she muttered. “I have a job, Momma.” With the phone scrunched between her shoulder and ear, she put a milk carton in the fridge.