by Annie Jones
Riley couldn’t help smiling to himself again. Fulton’s Dominion was going to be the right place for him to raise his daughter after all. He just knew it.
Chapter Two
Dixie’s whole body ached. Her head, her neck, her stomach, her calves...everything right down to her toes resonated with dull, throbbing weariness.
That she could handle, of course. A hot bath, a couple of aspirin, and those discomforts would pass. What she could not so easily rid herself of was the building sense of worry and dread that gnawed at her already frayed nerves. Those amplified her grief and left her feeling more alone than she had ever felt in her entire life.
She missed her daddy. Plain and simple. She mourned him as much today as she had just over a week ago when a heart attack had taken him away.
Dixie clutched an overstuffed cushion from the display sofa, which sat with its back to a big plate-glass window in the showroom of Fulton’s Fine Furniture Outlet Store. She closed her eyes and curled forward over her tightly crossed legs. Still, even in her melancholy, she was careful not to let her simple black dress hike up too much or to do anything that could be called unladylike.
She was, after all, Dixie Prescott Fulton-Leigh, daughter of John Frederick Fulton-Leigh, great-granddaughter of Samuel Prescott Fulton. Her great-grandfather had founded this town where even now every family had at least one person working for, retired from, or hoping to get on at Fulton’s Fine Furniture Manufacturing or one of its connected businesses. She had a heritage to live up to, an expectation both past and present to think of. It was only that very old, Southern school of thinking—that notion of propriety, duty, and comportment drilled into her since childhood—that kept her from curling into a ball right now and crying her heart out.
Her daddy’s death may have made her feel like a lost little girl, but that did not mean she had the luxury of wallowing in self-pity or grief. She was a grown woman with very grown-up responsibilities pressing down on her. And if she didn’t get back to work now, those responsibilities could well push her under. And take the better part of Fulton’s Dominion, Mississippi, with her.
“Are you all right, Miss Fulton-Leigh?” Mavis Hornby, who last month would have addressed Dixie by her first name or by some generic endearment like Sugar, hovered nearby. “Is there something I can get for you?”
Dixie thought of the coffee—black-as-crude-oil and almost as thick—that Mavis always kept warming on the crusty coffee- maker in the back of the showroom. She stopped herself from making a face and managed to just shake her head. “No, thank you. I really need to get back to work. That seems to be the only thing that helps me much, staying busy”
“I know what you mean. If it’s any comfort to you, I hope you know that everyone who worked for your father is deeply saddened by his passing.” Mavis’s voice cracked, she paused for a moment, visibly composing herself, then went on. “Everyone here at the outlet store, over at the manufacturing plant, even everyone out at the transportation and delivery station, they weren’t just workers to your daddy, they were like...they were real people that mattered to him.”
Dixie noted how Mavis had stopped short of the obvious, saying their employees were like family to her father. She supposed she could think of it as a show of respect. More than likely, though, it was because no one really wanted to be counted as kin, even in sentiment, to the real family who shared the huge old mansion on South Dominion Avenue with her.
She set aside the oatmeal-colored throw pillow she’d been hugging, not quite able to meet Mavis’s gaze. “Thank you. It is nice to hear how much Daddy meant to people.”
“We...we’ll all miss him very much.”
“Yes, I know that his hands-on approach made this business very special to this town.” And made the pressure on her all the more intense. She stroked her hand down the woven pattern on the pillow, gave it a pat then finally looked up to the other woman. “You may have thought that because I spent most of my time on the road doing sales and marketing for the company, that I didn’t realize what a special bond Daddy had with everyone here. But I want you to know…” she reached out and gave Mavis’s hand a quick, heartfelt squeeze, “I do.”
Mavis nodded. She tightened her grip for an instant then let her fingers slip from Dixie’s. It would have been a fine cue for the older woman to make her excuses and get out of there. Instead, she lingered, wringing her hands together as if there were something more she still needed to cull from this conversation.
Dixie uncrossed her legs. Maybe giving the appearance that she was about to get up and go might spur Mavis to say whatever it was she was holding in.
Apparently it worked. “Miss Fulton-Leigh?”
“Yes?”
“Are you sure...”
She left it dangling there in a way that made Dixie’s bone- weary body tense. If there was one thing Dixie wasn’t right now, it was sure...of anything.
“Are you sure there isn’t something I can get for you?” The words rushed out like a kid trying to run a weak fib past a parent.
“No, thank you, Mavis. I’m fine. I just stopped to rest a minute and that gave me time to let my emotions get the better of me, I think.”
“Yes, I can understand how that could happen.” Mavis moved closer. She sniffled, turning to look out the window as if seized by a sudden fascination for the main street of the tiny town where nothing truly interesting had happened since the much ballyhooed bottle rocket incident that ruined the Fourth of July parade two years ago come summer. “Today I ran into your grandfather at the drugstore lunch counter. He gave me one of his business cards, like he does, you know?”
Dixie nodded.
“And durned if I didn’t tuck that card in my pocket to bring back to give to your father.” Mavis withdrew the crisp, rectangular card from her shirt pocket. She sniffled again, her eyes brimming with tears. “I was halfway up the stairs to his office before I remembered your daddy wouldn’t be there to take the thing, laugh, and file it in the box he keeps to give to your grandfather whenever the Judge says he needs a new batch of business cards.”
Dixie smiled. “You’d have thought Grandpa would have caught onto that trick, wouldn’t you? Everyone giving those cards back to Daddy? He’s been recycling the same box for years now, I think.”
“Well, your grandfather never had cause to question it because he had a lot of faith in anything your daddy did. And no one ever told the Judge about the cards because there was no harm in it, far as I can see.” Mavis held the business card gingerly, probably being cautious not to smudge or bend it. Her voice held a certain air of caution, too, a quiet kind of testing- the-waters quality that put Dixie’s own emotions on alert as the woman continued. “You know, your father had a way of inspiring fierce loyalty and an almost unquestioning trust in everyone he dealt with. Everyone knew they could count on your father, for sure.”
Dixie swallowed hard, trying to force down her apprehensions about the implications of Mavis’s remark—and what she suspected lay behind it.
“A lot of people are wondering if things would still be the same, Miss Fulton-Leigh.” Mavis extended her hand with the card between two fingers. “With the Judge’s business cards, I mean.”
That wasn’t what she meant at all. Dixie could tell from the woman’s wary expression. Her eyes said what not a one of her employees would tell Dixie to her face: they were just as scared as she was about this unforeseen, drastic change of command. Probably more so, because even if she ran this business into the ground, Dixie would still have a home, a means to keep dinner on the table, and a future.
Too many of the folks who took home a paycheck that now bore her signature could not say the same thing.
What would she tell those people if she failed? How would she ever make it up to them if she simply could not do what was required of her? Self-doubt gripped her. Who was she to think that she could do this at all?
The plea for reassurances shone in Mavis’s eyes.
Dixie’
s mouth went dry. Who was she, that so many people would dare depend on her?
“Who are you?” Dixie could practically hear the voice of Miss Lettie, the woman who had raised three generations of her family including Dixie herself, ringing in her ears. The gruff but stalwart, long-retired maid with wisdom of nearly one hundred years of living on God’s earth would not abide this feeling sorry for one’s self. She’d shake her gnarled fist and admonish Dixie, ‘You are a vessel of the Lord, an heir to the kingdom of glory, a princess...”
Dixie tensed at the title. Another voice that she had been trying to keep out of her thoughts these last two weeks sprang from her memory: “Is that what you’re saying, Princess Prissypants?”
With vivid detail she recalled her run-in with that... that...that...stubborn yahoo. That belligerent, wild driver who thought being a strong woman who knew how to stand her ground meant she was putting on airs and acting high-handed. That...that man with the unruly waves of black hair that all but begged for a woman’s touch. She flexed her fingers. And the eyes that sparked with mischief even as they hinted at something much more dangerous.
She smoothed down her collar. The man who had made up his mind about Dixie without even knowing her and who had not been any too kind in doing it. She let her hand fall to her side. The creep.
Dixie blinked and realized Mavis was still standing there, waiting. She glanced down at the card held out before her, and noticed the slight tremble in the older woman’s hand.
Who was she that so many people would dare depend on her? Dixie straightened her shoulders. She was the last best hope for her town, her family, and her business. Her parents were both gone, her aunt and grandfather were worse than no help at all. She was the only one left to do what needed to be done.
She had the strength of her upbringing, the aid of her education, the drive to do the right thing, and the tenacity to see this through. That’s who she was. That’s who she had no other choice but to be.
And sitting here feeling sorry for herself was simply not an option. Dixie stood slowly. She smiled with genuine affection and gratitude as she reached out to accept the white card with the neatly embossed black lettering. “You tell everyone who’s wondering that I will do everything within my power to see that things stay the same, Mavis. Starting with recycling Grandpa’s business cards.”
“Thank you, Miss Fulton-Leigh.” Mavis reached out and caught Dixie up in a brief, impromptu hug, which Dixie happily returned.
A shrill beep signaled that someone had just come in the showroom door.
Mavis pulled away. “I’d better see to that.”
“Sure. I’ve got to get on upstairs to the office myself. I have a meeting with Daddy’s attorney—my attorney—this afternoon. I’d like to see what I can get sorted out on my own before he gets here. Don’t worry, Mavis, everything will work out just fine.” Dixie gave a little salute with the business card. Chin up, she headed for Daddy’s office and her first real taste of those trials she would have to face and overcome in order to keep her promise.
* * *
Riley sat with his elbow sticking out the open window of one of the newer company trucks. He and Red Braden, the man who would take over most of the running of the mill now that Riley had sold it, had made a long day of it, and a good hour after quitting time they still weren’t back at the office. When his cell rang and Riley saw who it was, he pulled over to the side of the dirt road to take the call from Mr. Fulton-Leigh’s attorney.
“Yes, hello. Thank you for returning my calls.” Finally. Riley knew enough proper business etiquette not to say it out loud. He had pushed open the truck door and turned sideways, to give himself both light and leg room. “I was a little concerned, Mr. Greenhow. You see, Mr. Fulton-Leigh and I last spoke the day after our first negotiations. We’d made a verbal agreement to go ahead with the deal, and he promised that papers reflecting the minor changes I specified were to be drawn up. It’s been ten days now and—”
The attorney, Howard Greenhow, jumped in, speaking in harsh, clipped words as he spilled out a blunt, unemotional explanation that ended with a curt “good-bye” and the unequivocal click of an abrupt hang-up.
“Yeah, well, good-bye to you, too.” Riley swung his legs back inside the cab and slumped in the seat, leaving the door open despite the late February evening’s chill.
“What?” Red’s round face scrunched up into more lines and furrows than a fancy wrinkled pup. “Something go haywire?”
Riley shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know whether to cuss or cry”
“It’d have to be something pretty awful to make you do either one. So I take it this is something big.”
Riley managed a dispirited smile at that. “If you count having most of what you’ve based your future on suddenly all take a nosedive as big, then yes, it’s something big.”
“The old man check out of the deal?”
“The old man checked out of everything, my friend.” Riley exhaled in a hard, quick huff but that didn’t relieve the heaviness sitting high in his chest. “He died, the day after I last spoke to him.”
“Sorry to hear it.” Red removed his hard hat and held it to his chest, bowing his head. Riley noted the gesture with a shake of his head. Of all the traditions and rituals prominent among long-time Southerners, a respect for those who’d passed on, even strangers, remained unflinching. When the other man lifted his head and replaced the hat over his blazing red hair, he shrugged. “So it sort of threw a monkey wrench into your business deal, huh?”
“Yeah.” Riley nodded. “I’m heartsick about that, too. I won’t deny it. But I also feel bad about the man himself. I liked that guy, Red. I honestly looked forward to being in business with him, not just with his company but with him.”
Red didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands.
Riley understood his uneasiness. Good-ol’-boy heart-to- heart talks seldom occurred in these parts without the aid of at least one six-pack, or a hunting trip, or a really good story about your favorite hound dog. But Riley had just had his whole world turned wrong-side-up and he felt like talking, so he pressed on.
“You know, I saw a little bit of myself in John Frederick, in the way he wanted to make sure the company he owned stood for something more than the bottom line. The way he didn’t tolerate a bunch of pretense or any insincerity.” Riley gave a little laugh. “Did I tell you about how right after I met with John Frederick I came across this woman who—”
“You told me. You told everyone, boss. Twice.”
Riley nodded, smiling still at the memory of his last sight of her.
“I guess I feel bad that I misjudged her like that, probably in part because I was all worked up about the things Fulton-Leigh had just told me. You know, how he’d gone on about how much he loved his daughter and how he had to do what was best for her future by bringing fresh blood into the organization. It got to me because that’s just how I feel about my Wendy.”
He paused a moment to allow the tightness the comparison caused in his throat to pass.
“I was thinking all about how I was going to move to Fulton’s Dominion and how much better a place it would be to raise my girl than a mill town. Then that woman sort of upset my little apple cart and I wasn’t very nice to her.”
“Yeah, you told me. Twice.” Red held up three fingers.
“What does that all matter now anyway?” Riley rubbed one hand back over his hair. “The deal isn’t going through. None of those things I’d hoped and planned for are going to happen now at all.”
Red’s hand dropped to the dash. “What are you saying, boss?”
“The deal. It’s as dead as the man who offered it to me.” The minute Riley heard the hardness of his own words, he hastened to add, “God rest his soul.”
Red mumbled a sympathetic agreement then scratched at the back of his thick neck. “But you’d reached some kind of agreement with Fulton-Leigh. Ain’t his family obliged to honor that?”
“Nothing was signed.” Riley pulled the truck door shut with enough force to communicate his animosity over the whole mess to anyone within hearing distance.
“The man shook your hand on it.” Red frowned. “He gave you his word. Don’t that count for nothing?”
“According to this attorney, it doesn’t. Seems this fellow pretty much has taken control of the whole works for now. He told me he has power of attorney for the older pair of Fulton- Leigh’s survivors, so even if the family wanted to honor any deal the old man had cooking, this lawyer could veto it without breaking a sweat.”
“Veto it, change it, or push it through against the family’s wishes, it sounds like. Lawyers!” Red set his jaw and squinted out the windshield like a man spoiling for a fight. “They go and ruin everything.”
“Not all of ‘em, Red. Not all of ‘em.”
“Oh, sorry, forgot that you’re dating one, boss.” Red ducked his head.
Am not, he wanted to say, but everyone in town thought different and the lady lawyer in his life had done nothing to set the record straight. We’re good friends, he wanted to tell Red, that’s all.
Companions for dinner on Friday nights, someone to sit by in church...that was it. There was no future there. That’s what he wanted to tell Red, but he didn’t. He’d never let Carol believe that he would ever return her feelings. Still, as a gentleman (and he was one despite what certain princess-types with their Bubba- mobile cracks might think) he wouldn’t humiliate Carol.
“This lawyer, Greenhow, let me know right off that the deal had not been finalized and therefore was not valid.” Riley hooked his thumb in the steering wheel. “Called himself the ‘go-to guy’ on all that family’s business from now on out. Said there would be no need to bring in another partner as long as he maintained control. Said it kind of snotty, too. Like he didn’t think my money was good enough for them now that he was in charge of everything.”