“Why on earth would you want to stay there? Isn’t that place as backward as they come? Still stuck somewhere in the past?”
If waving to people you pass on the street, common courtesy to your neighbors and showing respect to your elders were all things of the past, then yes, I’d say that Oakville was very much stuck there. But I think I rather liked that. I straightened my shoulders and took a deep breath. “Nonetheless, I’ll have to stay here and take care of this problem. I’m sorry, it wasn’t something I expected, but I’ll need at least another week.”
The lightness in Mr. Howard’s voice dissolved. “No, Emily. You will return to work on your scheduled date. I am not giving you any more time off. Things have been crazy here with you gone, and I need you back.”
I felt both validated and angry at the same time. After years of little to no appreciation for all the things I’d done for that man, he finally saw my value. I should ask for a raise, but not now. I had to focus on my current task while I still had the nerve worked up. His refusal only made me more determined, and his admission that he needed me gave me ammo.
“One more week,” I insisted. “I think I more than deserve the time.” I waited, my stomach doing flops.
His cold words slithered in my ear, draining my bravado. “You know, there are plenty of other girls out there who would love to have a job with such connections. Since you have more important things to attend to, you can have all the time you want. You can pick up your stuff whenever you return.”
The line went dead. I sat there in shock, listening to the dial tone. What had I done? I should call him back, say I was terribly sorry. Sure, there were endless hours and unreasonable requests, but I excelled at being a personal assistant. Any other boss wouldn’t be different.
I paused with my fingers over the buttons. I couldn’t go back to waiting tables, and I’d just gotten used to having my own apartment. Without that job there’d be no way I could afford it.
My eyes landed on the deed on the table. I slowly put down the receiver and took a deep breath.
So be it.
I opened the door to find Buford and Dee talking. Dee smiled at me. I smiled back.
“So, Dee, what’s the monthly rate?”
She looked surprised, and then a grin spread over her features. “Well, I’d say, maybe three-fifty? What do you think?”
“I think I’ll take it.”
Buford’s eyes went wide. “You’ve decided to stay? To keep the house?”
I held up my hand. “Hold on now, I didn’t say that, but since my request for a longer vacation turned into a permanent one, it looks like I have a little more time to hang around and help get the house ready to go on the market. I’ll return home after that.”
Buford and Dee exchanged a look. “That’s wonderful, dear,” Dee said. Her eyes went wide. “Oh! Not about losing your job. That’s not what I meant.”
I laughed. “That’s okay. I know what you meant.”
“I’m glad you’ll be staying with us a little longer. I’ve grown rather fond of you.”
A strange feeling washed over me. “Thanks, Dee. I’m rather fond of you as well.” I looked down at the floor. “I’m also fond of that home cooking of yours.”
Buford laughed. “I reckon everyone who’s ever eaten at Dee’s would say the same thing! Blue ribbon peach cobbler seven years running!”
“Eight,” Dee corrected.
“Oh, speaking of supper tonight,” I said, redirecting the conversation before they could start debating over pie stats, “I won’t be there. Luke wants to go over some house stuff with me and said we could do it at a restaurant. Just wanted to give you a heads up.”
A mischievous twinkle lit Dee’s eyes. “Did he want to go to Macon’s? That’s his favorite.”
“That’s the one.”
“Is he picking you up?”
“No. He said to meet him there—you’d give me directions.” Picking me up would look too much like a date. Which this wasn’t.
“It’s not hard to find. Take a left at the post office. It’s about a mile down the road on your right.”
“Thanks. Buford, is there anything else I need to do?”
“No, I think that about covers it.”
“Okay. Then I’ll see you both later.” I hadn’t yet stepped out the door when Buford called my name.
“I nearly forgot,” he said. “I need your bank account information so we can transfer the funds. Unless you prefer a check?”
I tilted my head. With no local branches, a transfer would probably be simpler. I didn’t know when exactly I would be going back home, and a transfer would give me more immediate funds to pay boarding at Dee’s and start repairs on the house. “No, I think a transfer would be best.”
After getting the necessary numbers for Buford, I bade them a good afternoon and headed back to Dee’s to get ready for my dinner with Luke, trying to ignore the feelings spiking my blood pressure. I was not staying in Oakville, I was not keeping a house that had been in my family for generations, and I most certainly was not interested in the preacher.
I stomped up the stairs and ignored the nagging voice in my head that insisted I was, indeed, doing all the things I wasn’t.
Stepping through a massive oak door, I tilted my head to admire a ceiling of exposed polished wood beams, and then let my eyes flow down the plank wood walls to a brick floor. Nice restaurant. Almost like a high-end lodge but without the stuffed animal heads and antler chandeliers. Soft music played over the sound system, and coupled with the candlelight it created a very romantic atmosphere.
Luke and I followed a hostess through an intimate seating area, only half-filled with patrons. Luke pulled out my chair for me, and then sat across the small round table. Had he spent extra time grooming for tonight? I studied him. A fresh shave left no hint of a five o’clock shadow. Thick, dark strands resisted their forced parting and were drawn down to those mesmerizingly blue eyes. I allowed myself one painful moment of wishing I could be on a date with Luke in a romantic restaurant anywhere but here in Oakville where family ties were difficult and he was merely a handyman and not the local preacher.
I chided myself. No point in wishing. No blue ferries or morning stars ever broke the bonds of cynicism. This night could be nothing more than its intended purpose: a business meeting and nothing more.
I took a sip from my water glass and waited for Luke to talk. His idea, his restaurant, his move. He picked at the cuticle on his thumb. Finally, he glanced up and noticed me staring. I dropped my eyes to the menu but couldn’t read anything printed there.
Luke cleared his throat and dropped his hands to his lap. “So, what do you think of Macon’s?”
I let my eyes wander over the small restaurant again. “The ambiance certainly is nice. I’ll wait to issue full judgment until after the food arrives.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I promise, it’s really good. They focus on local, organic produce and fresh meats.” He looked down at his menu.
Sure enough, once I forced my eyes to comprehend the printed word I found the menu featured “seasonal” and “local” quite a bit.
When the waiter arrived, I settled on farm-raised chicken with glazed bell peppers and onions, and Luke selected a fire-grilled pork chop. With the waiter gone and the excuse to be occupied with the menu over, we had nothing left to do but to look at each other. I hoped he didn’t notice me fidgeting with my hands under the table.
“So,” Luke said, “I guess we should get started on the business at hand.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s best.”
“I’ve had a chance to look over some costs. I haven’t checked all the pipes yet, but by my estimate, if you had to replace everything, well, it’s going to cost several thousand. Then you look at the repairs for the roof, and the paint and odds and ends, well, it gets on up there.” He looked at me intently, probably trying to judge my reaction.
I took my time answering by taking a moment
to evaluate the level of sweetness in this restaurant’s tea, and then dabbed my lips with a black cloth napkin. When I looked up, he was still watching me. I drew a long breath. “I got fired today.”
Shock registered on Luke’s face, but the waiter robbed him of his chance to reply by choosing that very moment to arrive with our food. Either the kitchen operated at light-speed or I’d been sitting awkwardly with Luke for longer than I’d thought. The plate in front of me looked like something straight off a cooking channel. I breathed in the aroma, suddenly starving.
“I’m sorry, Emily. After we say grace would you mind telling me what happened?”
Ah, yes. I had forgotten about the prayer. Good thing I hadn’t picked up my fork yet. I bowed my head without answering.
“Our Gracious Heavenly Father, we thank you for this beautiful day you have made. I pray your blessings upon Emily. Give her the courage to follow the right path, and place your hand of guidance on her steps. Teach her to draw on your strength in the days ahead and please cover her with your protection. We thank you for the meal you have provided for us, and we ask you to bless it. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
I said my “amen” and clutched my fork without looking at him. Apparently, he’d learned how to say grace from Dee. Sandwiched between the usual “dear God” and the “thanks for the food” came an array of very personal stuff directed at me. And since it came from the preacher, God probably listened to Luke as much as Dee. Maybe more. I slowly cut my chicken into smaller pieces, contemplating these people’s praying audacity.
“So, what happened with your work?”
His question roused me from my musings. I lifted my eyes from my plate. “Well, I called my boss to ask for another week off so I could work on some stuff down here. He said he needed me back. When I pushed for the extra week, he said I didn’t need to come back at all.”
His brows knitted. “That’s pretty tough. Did you explain the situation to him?”
“Trust me, my reason for staying makes no difference to him.”
Luke opened his mouth to say something, but the look on my face must have made him change his mind.
“Anyway, the reason I told you about my job was because you were talking about how much the repairs were going to cost.”
“Oh, and you’re worried about the money because you no longer have the income. I’m sure I can work something….”
I held up my hand. “No, that’s not what I’m getting at. Yes, I am a little concerned about the costs, but my aunt left me enough money to cover them.” I chewed my lip. He looked at me expectantly, the silence stretching between us. Oh, why not? A little time with Luke couldn’t hurt, could it? Strictly platonic, no big deal. “Well, you said I could save costs if I helped work on the house, right?”
He brightened. I didn’t allow myself to wonder why. “Sure. If you have some time on your hands, we can do most of the work ourselves. I can get wholesale prices for the supplies, and that will save you a good bit.”
“And what about your fee?” My voice must have been harsher than I intended, because his face became serious, suddenly all business again.
“Let’s just worry about that later.”
“No, I….”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry, I promise I’ll give you a fair price. Much better than anything else you’ll find. We’ll determine that after we see how much work has to be done.”
I studied him. I could probably trust him. Besides, it wouldn’t look too good to the community if the preacher screwed me over. “Okay. Thank you.” I shoveled in a forkful of creamy potatoes, savoring the slight garlic flavor while simultaneously avoiding elaboration.
“So, how’s your supper?”
I shielded my mouth with my napkin. “Fabulous!” I said around the bite I knew was too big to be ladylike, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks.
Luke laughed. “Good. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
We ate in silence. The kind of silence that feels more comfortable than awkward, brought on by enjoying a meal too much to continue the conversation.
The waiter came back to check on us and offered a dessert menu. The only place I could possibly put more food was in my pocket, so I declined.
“Cheesecake, please. And bring two spoons, in case she changes her mind.”
I laughed. “Not likely. But thanks.”
He polished off the entire piece without my help. If this was his normal eating habits, the man should weigh a ton. But then, I guess he burnt a lot of calories doing physical labor, as was evidenced by the arms that stretched the sleeves of his polo shirt. I adverted my eyes.
We talked about the weather and, thankfully, somehow avoided the topic of church and his alternate profession, until the waiter returned to clear the table. He handed Luke the check without even asking if we wanted to split it.
I reached for my purse to cover my half. Luke waved me away.
“No, I got it. I invited you here.”
“But, I think I should pay for my own. This was a business meeting, after all.”
An expression flickered across Luke’s face, but he replaced it with a friendly smile before I could decipher its meaning. “Yes, and as a contractor, it’s perfectly normal to take a client out for a business meal.”
He had a point. Besides, I’d be paying him for all the work on the house, so my meal would probably factor in there somewhere. “Okay. You win. Thank you for a very nice dinner.”
“You’re welcome. Thank you for joining me.” He looked at me like he wanted to say more. I waited, hoping he would.
The waiter returned and took Luke’s card, and the moment passed. Luke cleared his throat. “Let’s meet tomorrow morning at the house and make a list. Then we can go for supplies.”
I’d make a horrible handyman’s assistant, but he couldn’t fire me, so I might as well give it a go. “Sounds good. Meet you around nine?”
“That works for me.”
Luke opened the door for me and walked me to my car. If we’d ridden together, he probably would have opened the car door for me as well. I wrapped my arms around myself. Daddy always did that for Momma. No man had ever done it for me.
“Thanks again.” I didn’t know what else to say or how exactly this non-date-business-dinner-thing was supposed to end.
“Sure.” Luke looked uncomfortable, and that almost made me feel better.
“So, I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
He grinned. “Yep. Ironwood at nine it is.”
I got in my car and drove off, forcing myself not to look in the mirror to see if he waited and watched me leave.
Dee’s house slumbered in the moonlight when I returned. She’d left the porch and hall lights on for me, but appeared to have retired to her room for the night. At least I wouldn’t have to answer any questions about the evening.
I got ready for bed and buried myself under the thick comforters. What a day. Tomorrow promised more of the same. I sighed. Adventure sounded better in books than when you were actually living it. Readers would have loved the tension, awkwardness and that what-could-go-wrong-now feeling they get as they sit in on the character’s ill-conceived attempt at a non-date. But, as the woman at the table….not so much.
I flopped over on the bed. I needed a distraction. Anything to keep me from playing the conversations over in my mind and wondering how much of a fool I’d made of myself. I reached under the bed, slid the diary from its covering, and settled into the pillows propped against the headboard. Let’s see if Lydia has any adventures going on. Maybe some tension in her life would get me to forget about mine. I gently opened the cover and flipped to the next entry.
The handwriting here dashed across the page in hurried, scrawled letters and not in the fluid cursive I’d come to expect.
With a rising sense of anticipation, I began to read.
June 16, 1862
I must write. Today it is not a joy, but a necessity. I must get these words out of my head and onto the pag
e. Perhaps then I will find peace. Twice I have tried to sleep, but the images keep coming every time I shut my eyes. I sit here by candlelight now. I know the dawn will soon be upon me, and I must be ready for the coming day. With Charles gone, it is my responsibility. It is now my fight. Come whatever consequences, it is a fight I will not lose.
I wish now I had never decided to go for a ride around the plantation to check on the fields. The day did not begin by revealing itself to be an evil one, though they never do. The worst days always seem to occur on the most beautiful, and though it is June, an unusual coolness settled on Ironwood. A perfect morning to go for a ride. Taking my job as Lady of the House seriously, I decided instead of my normal leisurely ride, I would take Charles’s route and check the fields and the perimeter. Planning on making it an all-day event, I had Betsy pack a lunch and told Ruth to join me.
We left immediately after breakfast, enjoying the cool breeze and the morning sounds of the birds calling to one another. I settled into the seat and snapped the reigns across Snowflake’s back. She trotted off toward the fields.
“Have you ever ridden in a buggy, Ruth?”
“No, Ma’am.”
I eyed her rigid frame. “Are you all right?”
She wouldn’t look at me, her eyes were focused straight ahead. “No disrespect, Ma’am, but dontcha think maybe you shoulda asked Noah or Tommy or one of the other men to come along with you instead of me?”
I frowned. What an odd question. Ladies did not ride side by side in a buggy with male slaves. It was unheard of. Shouldn’t she know such a thing? “Why on earth would I want to do that?”
“Well, I ain’t no good with horses, I can’t fix no wheel if it gets broken, and I ain’t big enough to be much protection.”
We bumped along the road, the first field growing closer. I could see several dark-skinned men weeding grass from in between the rows. The faint sound of their soulful voices grew louder with our approach. I glanced sideways at Ruth. She was being ridiculous.
I laughed to show my confidence. “Ruth, there is no need for protection. Ironwood is perfectly safe. Noah makes sure everything on the buggy is sound before he hitches the horse up. Now stop worrying. Everything will be just fine.”
Heir of Hope: Return to Ironwood Plantation (Ironwood Plantation Family Saga Book 2) Page 10