Noelani thrust a hand through her long hair, avoiding direct contact with Adam’s serious blue eyes. “God save me from self-appointed preacher men.”
Adam tipped back his head and laughed. “Sorry. I guess I did sound like a soapbox psychologist.”
She pleated and unpleated the skirt of her dress. “Still, you’re dead-on when it comes to analyzing me. The last man I dated said practically the same thing, only he didn’t know about Duke, so he called me a career-driven bitch.” She brushed off Adam’s objection. “I hope you’re right about Jackson. I’d like to think he’s a more compassionate man than his father. Because from where I sit, Duke didn’t do the best he could by us. A checkbook’s a poor substitute for a heart.”
“There’s no getting around the fact you’ve been hurt, Noelani. But Duke’s dead, so there’s no going back. There’s no asking him to explain why he didn’t pick up the phone and call you. Only he never tossed out the letters he wrote to your mother. It seems to me a totally heartless man would’ve burned them and washed his hands of the two of you.”
“I said I don’t want to talk about Duke.”
“This is about us, Noelani.”
“There is no us in that sense, Adam.” She raked his face with sad, brooding eyes. “I like you too much to lead you on. You need a woman who can devote her life to keeping Magnolia Manor spit-polished like the grand old showplace she used to be.”
“I want a wife who loves me, and wants to be the mother of my children. Somewhere on my list, I suppose, is the hope that she’ll take pride in Magnolia Manor, should I be lucky enough to win the bid. I’m not looking for anyone to fill those roles tomorrow. And I’m sure as hell not looking for a housekeeper. So can we proceed, and just play it by ear?”
“You’re wasting your time romancing me, Adam. After today, I’m not an available date. But there’s a whole town full of eligible women out there.”
Appearing to tune her out, Adam slowed to search for a spot to park. They’d reached the museum and both the lot and the street were crowded with cars. “I hope those shoes are comfortable enough for hiking. We might have to park some distance away.”
Noelani craned her neck to study the families wandering the museum grounds carrying plates of food. Kids with balloons chased after dogs. She didn’t see any parades or bands, but laughter drifted in Adam’s open window, along with the burnt sugary scent she loved.
“Oh, someone’s cooking cane. There! There, Adam. That Lincoln Continental pulled out. I think your pickup will fit into the slot he left.”
“You have sharp eyes. I would’ve missed seeing this place.” Adam managed to parallel-park the oversize truck on the busy street in one try.
“You’re going to have to show me how you did that,” Noelani exclaimed, clearly impressed. “I need a city block to park Angelique’s Cadillac. My vehicle of choice is a small Jeep. It may have stiff suspension, but you don’t need the length between two telephone poles to park it.”
Adam got out, then set the picnic basket inside the cab before he locked up and pocketed the keys. “I’m trying to picture you roaring down the road in a Jeep, wearing that dress,” he said, eyeing her obliquely.
“I’ve done it lots of times. See, you don’t really know me.”
He shook his head. “I know more about you than you think. For instance, I know how kind you are. You went out of your way to console Megan. You didn’t have to take her to town to get yarn for her doll’s hair. Also, you can laugh at yourself, and you aren’t quick to jump to conclusions. Instead, you prefer to think things through. You have a feminine streak that lets you indulge in perfume even when you wear jeans and boots to work at a grubby mill. And you choose to work long hours, even though you could sit back and do nothing.” He smiled. “How am I doing so far?”
“Well, I learned something new about you, Mr. Ross. You have keen powers of observation.”
“I do when the subject’s interesting.”
“Here, pin on this name badge. Aunt Esme described the museum’s curator. She’ll have on a wide-brimmed hat and an 1840s burgundy-colored gown with a handmade lace collar. We need to find her and introduce ourselves.”
They found the woman in question teaching a group of children how to make ice cream using an old-fashioned hand-cranked oak freezer.
“Noelani. Adam. Miss Esme phoned me yesterday and said I should arm-wrestle you into helping out this afternoon.” She thrust a large box full of museum brochures at Noelani. “Plant yourself inside the front door or outside on the porch. Anyone who comes past gets a brochure. Adam, making ice cream is hard work and takes someone with a strong arm. If you’ll finish this batch, I’ll go mix another. Oh, good, Tess,” she cried, leaping toward a young woman hauling two grocery bags. “You found more junket. With the weather turning nice today, twice the number of people we expected have shown up. I’ll locate someone to spell you both in an hour or so,” she promised her two new volunteers.
“Isn’t junket a Chinese boat?” Adam asked in an aside to Noelani.
“That’s a junk.” She chuckled. “Junket is sweetened milk that can be used for making ice cream. In the summer, my tutu mixed the ingredients for ice cream, and since we didn’t have a machine, she sealed it in a plastic bag, put the bag inside a can, and then packed it inside a larger can with rock salt and ice. All the kids in the neighborhood came over and rolled the can back and forth over Tutu’s kitchen floor. Presto, before long we were eating ice cream.”
“Your grandmother more than made up for the love your mother couldn’t give you, Noelani.”
Her eyes suddenly got misty, and she blinked rapidly. “I miss her so much. All these kids running around without a care in the world. That’s how I was as a young child.”
“It’s hard when life forces you to grow up early,” Adam said, his tone slightly gruff.
“Yes. Well, I’d better go handle my assignment. I’ll catch up with you later. When someone relieves me, I want to see all the displays. It says on the schedule there are slave cabins to tour out back, plus a replica of a working mill in the next room. And somewhere they’re cooking down sugar the old way in open copper vats. I want to see everything.”
“We’ll meet up in an hour or so,” Adam yelled over the children who clamored for him to churn faster.
It turned out to be more like two and a half hours later before anyone came to spell either of them. Adam thought his arm might fall off. “The curator said making ice cream was hard. She’s right. I can’t think when I’ve worked harder.”
“My feet are killing me from standing so long on a concrete floor. You warned me about wearing shoes for vanity’s sake. I should have listened. And remind me to quietly strangle Aunt Esme…that dear sweet lady,” Noelani drawled. “It was her bright idea for us to wear Bellefontaine badges. There was hardly anyone here who didn’t take one look and instantly peg me as Duke’s indiscretion. The people who didn’t know about me when they arrived soon found out. I want a tour, but first, I’m getting rid of this darned badge.”
“In their place, wouldn’t you be curious?”
“Curiosity killed the cat.”
“Ah, but satisfaction brought him back. Cats have nine lives,” Adam said lightly when she made a face at him. “Come on, everyone in the county probably had dealings with Duke Fontaine. He was the man when it comes to sugar. If any of his friends won’t admit you do Duke proud, they’re lying, Noelani.”
“You’re full of compliments, aren’t you, Adam?”
“I speak nothing but the truth. Auntie E probably figured let them get a look at you now. So when the end of harvest rolls around and Bellefontaine throws its annual Christmas ball, you’ll be universally accepted as one of the family.”
“I am one of the family. Who gives a damn if people in the community accept me or not?”
“Don’t you care? At least a little?”
Noelani unpinned her badge and stuck it in her purse. She did care, dammit. More than she wa
nted Adam to know. She envied the closeness evident in the easy way Jackson and Casey interacted. They grew up in the protected bosom of a prominent family, yet Casey certainly didn’t trade on the Fontaine name. She’d earned the right to be called a top area grower. Jackson, while more the family politician, did okay at making lemonade out of the lemons life had handed him, too. He didn’t shirk his duty to Megan. Come to think of it, he could have contested his dad’s will.
A month ago, she’d never have believed she might covet anything her half siblings had. A month ago, she preferred to stand on the outside looking in. The longer she spent working with Casey and Jackson, the more she’d begun to wish she was one of them. Too often now, Noelani caught herself vowing to earn her rightful place in the family business.
But that was silly. When the time came for Auntie E to throw her annual Christmas ball, Noelani would probably be on a 747 winging across the Pacific.
Lifting her chin, she stared straight at Adam. “It’s already mid-October. That gives you plenty of time to figure out who you’ll escort to the Fontaine ball. With luck, by Christmas, I’ll be well on my way to owning Shiller’s. Hana Sugar. Has a nice ring, doesn’t it?”
Adam let her say her piece. Maybe she thought he was slow, and that he wasn’t getting the message. Unfortunately, her statements were about as subtle as a two-by-four upside the head. Noelani Hana had no interest in him, and no plans to stay in Louisiana. He had a hard head, but he wasn’t a masochist. If she wanted him to get lost after today, get lost he would.
Their last exchange sapped much of the joy he might have experienced in touring the museum. History, though, was solid and real and constant. Sugar had played a huge part in shaping lower Louisiana’s political and economic climate. As they wandered around, looking at old photos and reading the captions, it became increasingly evident how influential the Fontaine family had been in the history of this territory.
“Jackson and Casey must be really proud of the contributions their family’s made to the state,” he murmured.
“To sugar,” Noelani said without hesitation. “It’s not an easy business now, but the early cane farmers operated in primitive conditions. That workman’s shack is devoid of the slightest convenience we take for granted today. I’m glad to see the Fontaines freed their slaves voluntarily. Just think, those families must have descendants living in and around the area.”
“Quite possibly some still work at the mill,” Adam pointed out.
“Have you ever stopped to think how you might react to a current plantation owner whose ancestors could conceivably have owned yours?” she asked.
“No. Have you? Wait—you’re not hatching some theory that all the stuff happening to Jackson and Casey is a result of some long-standing grudge dating back to before the Civil War?”
“You’re right. I’m going off the deep end here.”
“If I recall, the longest recorded feud in American history took place in the Appalachians. It ended before you and I were born.”
“Someone recorded a feud? Wow, that’s amazing.” Noelani shrugged. “I didn’t really suppose Bellefontaine’s problems had anything to do with slavery or the Civil War, but reading all this history, I happened to think what if—and my mind went wild shooting off ideas.”
“Hmm. Maybe you ought to concentrate on appreciating how many times Fontaines took leadership roles over the years. Look how often they’ve underwritten agricultural programs whose purpose is to find better ways to farm and harvest cane.”
“Have you ever seen Aunt Esme’s family scrapbooks? They’re impressive. I have so few pictures of my family,” she said, sounding pensive.
“Ditto. I have one picture of my dad in his uniform, and a small one of my parents at their wedding.”
“I never thought to ask about the antiques and such that must’ve been at Magnolia Manor when you lived there. Are any of them left?”
He placed a hand at her waist and moved her out into the fading afternoon sun. “As far as I know, when Mom fell on hard times, everything was auctioned off to pay our creditors.”
“As far as you know?” Noelani turned. Her mind had probably skipped some bit of information Adam had already given her.
“Mom suffered a series of nervous breakdowns. The worst happened when I was in junior high. Our football team went to conference up on the Mississippi line. It was before the days of cell phones. Looking back, I’m not sure the authorities would have tried to reach me, anyway. After all, I was a mere kid. Anyway, I arrived home in the middle of the night to the news that she’d slit her wrists. By then the asylum had pushed through a court order committing her and seizing Magnolia Manor as payment. Later, they auctioned the contents. It took years before I learned the truth. I assumed she’d willingly signed it over. Of course, at the age of thirteen or so, how could I have made a difference? I was sent to live with a great-uncle, who has since died. No one knew the sanatorium would require Mom to sign over the house and her military allotment before they’d agree to admit her.”
“Good Lord, Adam. Your mother…died in some horrid state mental institution?”
“She’s not dead.”
“But I assumed—so, where is she? Not still in the place that fleeced her?”
“No. I got her moved to a private facility before I spent one cent on college.”
“Do you see her often? Is she better? Oh, I hope for both your sakes that she’s improved.”
“She has her ups and downs. I used to visit weekly, but then she got it in her head I was my dad. The doctor had to sedate her heavily. Now I go twice a month to check on her. If she’s having a good day we sit in the courtyard and have lunch. I’ve given up on the idea of bringing her home to Magnolia Manor. Unfortunately, she has fewer and fewer good days.” Like yesterday, which had been really bad.
“Her care must be very costly, Adam. No wonder you’ve had difficulty saving up enough to bid on the house.”
“She’s my mother, Noelani. And I don’t have a lot of other expenses. Still, I really appreciate Jackson letting me stay free of charge in the garçonnière. I should be able to apply most of what I earn on this job to my bid. So save your pity.”
“I didn’t mean—sure, Adam.” Noelani pulled back from his ferocious scowl. She knew what he meant about pity. She hated feeling pitied, too. Lordy, but she had a ton of baggage. So, apparently, did Adam. Another reason why they simply shouldn’t hook up for even the short time she’d be here.
Noelani absorbed the sights and sounds of a southern evening as Adam drove back to Bellefontaine. He was either doing the same or felt too irritated with her to make conversation. Nor did he bother to put in a CD. Had she upset him so much that he couldn’t even find refuge in the music he loved?
They’d almost reached home—in fact Adam had signaled to turn onto the property—when the gates swung open and Jackson’s Jaguar shot out onto the highway.
He slammed on his brakes and threw the car into reverse. Adam stopped and rolled down his window.
“Is that Noelani with you?” Jackson yelled.
She released her seat belt and scrambled across the bench seat to poke her head out Adam’s window. “I’m here. What’s wrong?”
“There’s been an accident at the mill.”
“Is it bad? What happened?”
“Come on, ride with me. I’ll tell you about it on the way.”
Noelani flew across the seat and opened the passenger door. She grabbed her purse, then patted at the floor, hunting for the tote bag that held her work clothes.
“What are you looking for?” Adam asked.
“I’ll need to change into my jeans and boots again. I can’t tromp through the mill in heels and a dress.”
“I tossed your bag in the back with the picnic basket. Tell Jackson we’ll follow him. You’ll save time if you change in the pickup en route.”
“Okay. Thanks. Except then how will I learn what happened?”
“When we get there, I guess.”
“All right. But can you hurry and grab my bag? Jackson looked positively haggard. Maybe he shouldn’t be driving.”
Adam missed the last of her message as he’d left the cab. He soon returned, tossing her the tote. “A truck driver’s been injured. Jackson said his cane box didn’t release when the crane went to pick it up. The driver hit the release a second time, but the crane operator thought the box was stuck, so he applied more leverage. The box separated too fast, tumbled end over end and landed on the cab of the truck, pinning the driver inside.”
“You got all that in the few seconds you were retrieving my tote?” Noelani glanced at him in amazement as she extracted her jeans, shirt and boots from the bag.
“Jackson talks fast. The fire department’s on the scene trying to free the driver. It remains to be seen what condition he’s in. Of course, the windshield’s broken all to hell. If he didn’t duck, he might’ve been crushed.”
“Stop, already! I can do without worst-case scenarios.” Noelani kicked off her heels, hiked up her skirt and began wiggling into jeans stiff with the sugary substance that permeated the air inside the mill.
Adam gave a long, low wolf whistle.
“Keep your eyes on the road, buster. You’re driving, and it won’t do anyone any good if we have a wreck on the way.”
“Story of my life. A striptease going on right under my nose and I don’t get to watch.”
“Aw, gee. Give me a minute. As soon as I get out of my dress and back into this yucky T-shirt, I’ll find my violin.”
“I’m only trying to take your mind off the accident.”
“If it is an accident, I’ll feel better. I’m trying to decide if there’s a way someone could have jimmied the hydraulic release on purpose.”
“I’m sure Jackson’s worried about the same thing.”
“We find the slightest evidence to that effect, and I swear I’m going to camp at the mill day and night until I catch whoever’s doing this.” Her voice sounded muffled, coming as it did from under yards of dress material.
The Secret Daughter Page 18