Persuasion, Captain Wentworth and Cracklin' Cornbread

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  Janessa seemed to notice that Lucy hadn’t responded. “Anyway, that’s all off topic. I came to discuss this Free Clinic thing. It’s got to be stopped. Our home is a historic landmark and there will be sick people all over it, touching things,” she emphasized, as if the germs they carried would infect the very structure of Crawford House.

  Lucy’s shoulders sagged. “It’s not something I wanted, either.”

  “Then let’s stop it now, before they starting bringing those people to our front door.”

  “It’s not so simple. We need the money. The clinic will pay double the home equity payments so we’ll be able to be out of debt in a few years. Daddy’s latest investments didn’t make anything near a profit, and he’s drained all his accounts.”

  “Impossible. He has savings accounts set aside for times like this. He just needs to—”

  “Right, transfer the money.” Lucy chewed her lip. There was a fine line between setting her sister straight and causing a family rift. “He’s told me that, too, but I’m not seeing it happen. We’re going to lose the house. The bank will foreclose on it and we’ll have to leave. Crawford House will no longer be owned by Crawfords.”

  Janessa’s eyes went wide. “But banks always threaten that kind of thing.”

  “No, they don’t. And there are more creditors than just the bank. ” Lucy looked out the window, her throat tight. “Every day the message machine is full of calls from debt collectors. There are more bills than I can keep track of, and the minimum payments are too much for me, on this salary.”

  “Have you talked to Paulette? She should be responsible for some of that, right?”

  Lucy wanted to laugh, but couldn’t find the energy. “Paulette says that Daddy gave her permission to use those credits cards. She’s not going to change her spending habits just because the bills are going unpaid. Plus, she says she’s cut back a lot this year.”

  Janessa snorted. “She went to that bridal show in Atlanta and ordered samples of everything. By the time she actually gets engaged, she’s going to have several apartments full of wedding material.”

  “That’s another thing. If Paulette moved home, Daddy wouldn’t have to pay for her apartment. She says she’s an interior designer, but she never decorates anything but her own place.”

  Janessa flicked at an invisible speck on her white linen jacket. “You think anyone is going to be interested in a girl her age still living at home? She needs to be able to entertain in freedom.”

  Lucy grimaced. Entertain better not mean having men sleep over. She wasn’t a prude, but the Crawford women were better than that.

  “I know what you’re thinking. I can read it on your face.” Janessa leaned forward, half-laughing, half-angry. “And let me tell you, I wish I’d dated around a bit more before I married Isaiah. Once you settle down and have kids, everything changes. There’s no passion, no spark. When we have date nights, I just wish he would go out by himself and let me watch TV in bed.”

  “Maybe you should take a vacation together? Maybe you need more than one evening to get back into the groove.” Lucy felt ridiculous giving her sister marriage advice, but she couldn’t stand thinking of Isaiah being dismissed like a babysitter. He was a good man. Not particularly interesting, and he loved duck hunting a little too much, but he was solid. He was a good father, and that meant a lot when you had kids at home.

  “Can I take that vacation with another man?” Janessa looked up and let out a belated laugh.

  Lucy could tell her sister was well and truly done with her marriage, and it made Lucy’s stomach twist to think of two adults living so unhappily together with the kids stuck in the middle of it.

  “I’m just saying”—Janessa crossed one slim leg over another and adjusted her tailored shirt—“that Paulette should be able to sow her wild oats without any interference. That will be better for everybody.”

  Lucy nodded, gaze landing on the little leather diary. Hattie Winter had shorn off her hair, risked jail by impersonating a man and joined some of the nation’s worst battles to find the man she loved. Lucy would wager Hattie hadn’t sown any wild oats before she’d fallen in love with Bismarck.

  “Anyway, Paulette won’t want to live in Crawford House with all those people coming in and out. I was just there this morning and I ran into Jeremiah Chevy. You remember? The one you met at those spoken-poetry nights in East Tupelo? I knew who he was right away, and for a moment, I thought he was back to hanging around our house, waiting for you.” Janessa let out a long laugh. “Remember that time he brought a big pan of cornbread to our garden party? Oh, my word, I can’t think of that without laughing.”

  Lucy swallowed hard. That memory had become so nightmarish that just mentioning it made her break out in a sweat.

  Janessa wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “He just stood there in his nice jeans and plaid shirt, looking like a kitchen boy who got lost on the way to the serving tables. Except our caterers would never let the waiters wear anything like that. He looked like he’d crawled right out of the trailer park. And his little dish, with the foil wrapped all over the top . . .”

  Lucy stared out the small window, letting Janessa giggle her way into a hiccuping silence.

  “Oh, now you’re gonna be upset that I brought it up. It was a long time ago, and of course I didn’t say anything to him now. I would never hold being poor against anybody. People can’t help being born into a trashy family.” Janessa paused, as if searching for a way to prove she’d been perfectly nice to Jem. “I asked him if he knew who I was, and he said he did. But he said he wouldn’t have known you at all, you were so different looking.”

  Lucy froze. “He really said that?”

  “Well, sure. And he was right sorry about Zeke being let go. He thought we would have kept him till the very end. But I told him it was your idea and you felt like it had to be done.”

  “Is there a reason you’re here, Janessa? I mean, besides trying to talk me out of saving our home?” Lucy’s words came out a bit more abrupt than she meant.

  “Well, thank you, Billy Sunday.” She stood up, shouldering her large designer tote bag. “I knew you wouldn’t budge on that, but I drove myself all the way over here to see if you wanted to have a late lunch at Xander’s. If you’re going to be so negative, I might as well go back home and leave you to your little poetry books.”

  “It’s a diary, not poetry.” For just a moment, Lucy ached for someone to share Hattie’s story with, to take turns reading aloud the pages and treasuring every word of a centuries-old love story. But instead, she had her status-obsessed older sister dropping by to harass her about going to the fanciest restaurant in Tupelo. Ja­nessa had never invited Lucy to Xander’s, ever. Either she had made up the idea on the spot, or she had been dumped by one of her friends and didn’t want to cancel her reservation.

  “Thank you for the offer, but everyone is gone to lunch. I’ll have to pass.”

  Janessa sniffed, looking Lucy up and down. “Probably just as well. You’re not really dressed for public. It wouldn’t hurt you to wear heels once in a while. Just because you work in a museum doesn’t mean you have to dress like you’re from the fifties.”

  If Lucy dressed like a Southern woman in the fifties, she’d be wearing pearls, a shirtwaist dress and pantyhose with those heels, but she didn’t bother to correct her sister. “There aren’t very many people to impress here.”

  “That should tell you something.” Janessa wagged a finger. “I guess I’ll see you this evening. We’re invited to the Strouds’ for a party. It’s sort of a fund-raiser for the Free Clinic, too, I guess.”

  “We’re . . .” Lucy fought to catch up. “The Strouds’?”

  Letting out a deep sigh of irritation, Janessa said, “Did you get my message? Last week? Normally we wouldn’t go, but since Dr. Stroud just won that award for service to the state of Mississippi, Daddy
thinks we should accept.”

  Lucy vaguely remembered a message about a party, but she hadn’t paid much attention to it. It had sounded like a reminder for every other party she’d been to that year.

  “Daddy doesn’t normally want anything to do with people like Dr. Stroud,” Lucy said.

  “He thinks it will look good for the business if he’s known as a friend of that kind of person.”

  “What kind?” Lucy knew she shouldn’t ask, but couldn’t help herself.

  “You know. The kind that spend all their time helping poor people. It looks good.” With that, Janessa reached for the door. “And please wear something pretty.”

  Lucy nodded, not bothering to respond as her sister left the room. A fund-raiser for the Free Clinic, held at Dr. Stroud’s house, would definitely be attended by Jem. She sank into her office chair. She knew it was impossible to stay out of his way completely, but the idea of socializing at one of those pretentious parties filled her with dread. Women dressed to the nines, men swaggered around in seersucker suits and everyone talked about new jewelry, cars, and vacations. She didn’t like those parties at the best of times. She always found herself trapped in a circle of busybody women, fielding questions about her relationship status and professional trajectory. They must smell her shyness, like sharks tasting blood in the water. Now she would have to stand firm under the usual grilling, with Jem in the same room, maybe even close by to hear how her life had gone nowhere after she’d dumped him.

  Lucy put her hands to her cheeks, feeling the heat against her cold fingers. He’d said she had changed so much he’d hardly recognized her. She walked her fingertips up her face, near her eyes. She gently swiped the area, noting the tiniest of grooves from her lids to her temples. Crow’s-feet. She wasn’t even thirty.

  Pushing back from her desk, Lucy grabbed her keys. She didn’t care if she turned as black as ebony and as wrinkled as a walnut. She needed some sun. And maybe after that she’d cook something without a bit of pork fat in it. If her love life was a lost cause, she might as well make herself happy the only way she knew how.

  His cold politeness, his ceremonious grace, were worse than anything.

  —ANNE ELLIOT

  Chapter Five

  As soon as the Crawfords stepped over the threshold of the Strouds’ home, Daddy hotfooted it over to a group of his golfing buddies. The large living room was packed with guests. At one side, double French doors were open to the evening air, and partyers dotted the large wooden deck outside and the lawn beyond. The sound of polite chitchat and politer laughter competed with that of the live band in the garden. Lucy took a moment to take in the high ceiling, the enormous brass chandelier, the deep-red wallpaper and velvet-cushioned antique settees. From the outside, the home had seemed charming, well kept. Inside the house, her historian’s heart beat double time at the sight of so many well-­preserved Civil War–era furnishings. It was almost as if she had walked into one of the exhibits at the interpretive center. It also made clear how much Crawford House had been updated in the name of current interior design.

  “So glad you made it. Come on outside, Miss Lucy,” Dr. Stroud said as he paused on his way past. He was wearing a three-piece, pale-blue seersucker suit and a matching bow tie, and his bushy white mustache seemed to have been groomed with extra care. He smelled of cigars and bourbon, and for some reason it made her smile. “We were just discussing the next reenactment at Brice’s Crossroads.” A group of older gentlemen waited by the doors for him, tumblers of amber liquid in hand and thumbs hooked into vest pockets.

  “Wonderful, I’ll be right there.” She needed to track down Paulette and beg her not to drink too much. She hated to nag, but Paulette didn’t worry about driving after a party like this. Lucy straightened her shoulders and navigated through the groups of partygoers. She might as well spend time with the Civil War buffs. She didn’t know anyone else here except her father’s golf friends, and her sisters were nowhere to be found. It was a much bigger party than she’d thought it would be. As she passed a tight-knit huddle, a slender woman in an low-cut dress scanned her up and down, then leaned back into the circle, whispering.

  For once, Lucy was glad she’d followed Janessa’s advice to dress up. She still wasn’t approaching the level set by most of these women, in their designer dresses and diamond cuffs, but she was presentable. It had taken her hours, but she was happy with her thirties-inspired bob, the waves lying close to her cheeks. Her mother’s perfectly preserved vintage dress swished softly against her skin as she moved. Pale pink wasn’t her favorite color, but the bias-cut silk was a work of art. A pair of teardrop pearl earrings had been all she added for jewelry. No sequins, no dazzle. But she felt beautiful.

  “Oh, my word,” Paulette said, appearing out of nowhere. “What are you wearing? This isn’t Halloween.”

  “Hi, dear sister, I’m fine. How are you?”

  Paulette ignored Lucy’s sarcasm and put a death grip on her elbow. “You couldn’t find anything else? Were you raiding the attic? You shouldn’t wear Mama’s old clothes. Don’t you think it hurts Daddy to see you in them?” Paulette’s eyes were rimmed with bright-blue eyeliner, and her lashes sparkled with tiny gold flecks. The little black dress she wore plunged disconcertingly and Lucy averted her eyes. She wondered if anyone else felt uncomfortable knowing her sister wasn’t wearing anything under her dress.

  “Don’t you think it might hurt him more to see you in yours? I hope you used some double-sided tape or you’re going to have a wardrobe malfunction.”

  Paulette smirked. “Nothing wrong with a little side boob. I’d say you’re the one with a wardrobe malfunction. What is this, anyway?” She swept a hand up and down Lucy’s figure. “Pink is so far out of style you might as well be wearing plaid. The little handkerchief sleeves are kind of cute and the open back is pretty, but that high neckline and those ruffles? Really. You look like someone’s old aunt in a nightie.”

  Lucy peered at the rows of tiny ruffles at the ankle-length hem. The gown was dramatic in a way that didn’t mesh with this room of Tupelo’s wealthiest in all black, and she didn’t really care. “I am someone’s old aunt, Paulette.”

  “Huh. Just don’t tell anybody we’re related. It’ll ruin my reputation as the most fashion-forward girl in Tupelo.”

  Lucy wanted to tell her sister she was a woman, not a girl, but Paulette wouldn’t see her point. Her attention was dragged to the brightly spangled item in her sister’s hand. “What’s that?”

  “This?” Paulette’s voice was carefully casual. She held up the little clutch, letting the crystals catch the light. “My new Judith Leiber minaudière. Rihanna has one just like it. I saw it in the pictures of her on the red carpet at the Grammy Awards.”

  Lucy shook her head. “Those cost thousands of dollars and this . . .” It was a bright-blue-topped cupcake as large as a grapefruit and impossible to miss. Her sister didn’t understand that stars were loaned almost everything they wore. They used the items once and gave them back, while her sister was going to have this ridiculous purse forever.

  “It’s a conversation piece,” Paulette sniffed, and hung the chain back over her shoulder. “If you can wear that something from the attic, I can carry this. It may have cost seven thousand dollars but it’s whimsical.” She said the word as if she’d never pronounced it before, carefully enunciating each syllable.

  Lucy almost choked. “They told you that, didn’t they? The people who sold you the shiny cupcake told you it was whimsical.” She would have laughed if it hadn’t been so awful. At least her ugly old thing was free. She didn’t care what Paulette wore, but knew that little fashion gem carried a steep interest rate. Seven thousand dollars of new debt made Lucy’s stomach clench. To be fair, it wasn’t just the debt. If Harvard had let her pay her tuition with a credit card, she would gladly have stayed, ringing up semester after semester on her daddy’s card. The idea of losin
g Crawford House because of something as stupid as a little cupcake purse carried by a pop singer made her want to grab her sister by the shoulders and shake her.

  Lucy rubbed her forehead. “Never mind, Paulette. Forget I said anything. I’m trying to reach Dr. Stroud over there, so why don’t I let you get back to hooking up with your man of the evening.”

  Paulette flipped her long, silky extensions over one shoulder and stalked off to a group of identical-looking young women, all in little black dresses and sky-high heels.

  Lucy sighed. As she went to bed at night, she prayed for every member of her family. She asked God to bless them and keep them safe. And then she couldn’t keep her temper for more than five minutes around her bratty little sister. All Lucy had were good intentions, and they were worth less than nothing when it came to showing love to the unlovable.

  Dr. Stroud caught her eye again and motioned her to join them as they drifted onto the deck, and she lifted a hand. She was getting there, slowly but surely. Passing by the punch table, she couldn’t help a bit of a smile at the crystal bowl of pink lemonade. Some things never changed, especially in the South. It wasn’t a party without a bowl of pink lemonade. A crystal decanter off to the side caught her eye and she paused midstep. It was half-filled, with a slice of orange decorating the narrow mouth. The pale-pink liquid inside was topped with a thin layer of foam. She leaned closer, finally lifting the bottle to take a quick sniff before setting it back in its place. Another bowl was filled with a clear amber liquid that smelled definitely alcoholic, and the light of the room reflected around the edges of the silver rim. She was fairly certain what it was and smiled.