by Annie Jones
Meanwhile Wendy had occupied herself with three new fascinations, Dixie’s doll Baby Belle, the feisty little Miss Lettie, and that awful dog named Peachie Too. Wendy had taken to all of them with an instant enthusiasm and affection that both Miss Lettie and Peachie Too returned in kind.
Wendy assured him that Baby Belle was her first new best friend in her brand-new hometown, but Riley had to take the child’s word for that since he did not speak, nor even hear, the language of rag dolls. With Baby Belle beneath one arm and Peachie Too prancing at her heels, Wendy had helped set the table under the often befuddled direction of Dixie’s grandfather.
When Riley had joked about needing a program to keep up with everyone, Miss Lettie had croaked out a laugh and given his hand a pinching shake. “You don’t know the half of it, young man, not the half of it.”
He’d have liked to quiz the delightful old imp about that. In fact, one look in those ancient eyes and he figured he’d found the one person who could pretty much tell him anything he wanted to know regarding anyone he wanted to know about. If anyone had answers for him about this family and its peculiarities, this woman who had raised three generations of them was it.
Unfortunately, she had not felt up to staying on and visiting and asked to take her meal in her room in front of the TV.
“You come calling on me after supper, young lady.” Lettie wagged one crooked finger in Wendy’s direction. “And I’ll tell you a story.”
They put the food on the table, joined hands and said the blessing, each quietly affirming their thanks with an amen until--
“Play ball!” Dixie’s grandfather clapped his hands together.
Wendy squealed with delight.
Dixie rolled her eyes and tucked her linen napkin into her lap while Aunt Sis swooped down on the casserole dish, serving spoon at the ready. “Let me get a portion for Peachie Too first, so I can set it aside to cool.”
Dixie scooted her chair close enough to Wendy to help the child tuck her napkin in. Heads together, they shared a giggle, then began to eat.
Food was passed and plates were filled. Things got quiet for a few minutes except for the scritching of silver forks over china and the occasional pop of ice in the tea glasses.
Then Sis’s poodle sprang up on its hind legs and began spinning around, making a sound that Riley could only compare to plaintive yodeling. Sis shushed it. “You’ll get your dinner, my sweet thing, soon as it cools down. Peachie Too wouldn’t want to burn her widdle tongue, now would she?”
While Sis spoke, the dog’s caterwauling wound down to a soft woo-ooo-ooo. Two seconds after Sis went back to her meal, the wrenching cry went up again.
Dixie’s chagrin at the commotion showed not in her delicate features, but in the white-knuckled grip on her knife as she spread jam on a roll for Wendy. Riley caught her eye and tried to reassure her that it did not bother him, giving her a smile and a sly wink to tell her he understood.
She looked down, then up again, as if testing to see if he had taken his gaze from her. He had not. If he had his way, he would not, not all evening long.
Around them, the subtle charm of the old mansion created a welcome backdrop. Candles flickered at the center of the table, casting the surroundings in a cozy, inviting glow. The aroma of hot rolls and creamy buttermilk salad dressing filled his senses.
Riley let out a long, contented sigh. Except for the psychotic yodeling poodle, the scene had a Norman Rockwellesque, American family dream quality about it. If Riley let himself, he could just picture—
He sat bolt straight in his chair. He did not need to start entertaining those kinds of thoughts now. Not when his mind should stay sharp and focused on his new business and on Wendy’s adoption.
He reached for his tall, crystal glass of sweet iced tea. He’d driven a small wedge into Dixie’s defenses tonight and it had made him cocky, allowed him to relax a bit too much. Yes, she was a lovely woman with a gracious home and a fearlessness that came from some compelling inner flame. Yes, she was fierce about facing life and its demands.
Yet there was so much about her, her business, and her family that Riley still did not know. Like where was George R. Cunningham, this mysterious Judge? Obviously he did not share the family home, something Riley could not hold against the man. When would Riley meet him and how would they work together to bring Fulton’s Cartage up to its full potential?
“So, Mr. Walker, come over here from Deepwoods, Mississippi?” Dixie’s grandfather rapped on the table with his spoon. “Our Miss Lettie tells me that you made your fortune selling rowboats to rescue operations.”
“What? I...” Riley looked to Dixie for help making head or tails of that pronouncement.
“No, no, Grandpa, that’s not right.” Dixie put her hand to her cheek. “You’ve got Mr. Walker confused with a joke Lettie was telling—”
“Well, tell me the joke, son, and I’ll see if I can’t unconfuse you.”
“I don’t know the joke, sir.”
“There’s your problem!” The round-faced man tapped his spoon to the table again, his red, round cheeks puffing out as he laughed quite congenially over apparently nothing at all. “How can I help people when people refuse to help themselves?”
“If they could help themselves why under the sun would they need your help?” Sis plucked up the elegant bowl into which she’d scooped the first helping of noodles and chicken, then lifted it in the air as if she were going to make a toast with it. “Rowboats? My goodness, imagine getting everything all twisted around like that. That doesn’t even make sense. And
here you have three-fourths of this town calling you--”
Everyone looked to her.
Riley could almost feel them all simultaneously holding their breaths, waiting for Sis to announce what three-fourths of the town was calling Dixie’s grandfather.
Sis eyeballed the food, sniffed it, tipped the bowl left to right in the palm of her hand. She seemed quite unaware that she’d left everyone dangling.
Riley started to say something, anything that might prod her into finishing her sentence or at least get the conversation going again. “I was just going to ask—”
Suddenly, Sis disappeared beneath the table.
After that, whatever Riley would have said just did not seem to matter anymore.
Dixie seemed to jump at the chance to throw out a diversionary tactic, dabbing her napkin to the corner of her mouth and cooing, “Grandpa, you know that this man is—”
Kissing sounds carried up from somewhere beneath their meal, stopping Dixie cold. She cleared her throat and finished, “Mr. Riley Walker, right?”
“I know the man’s name. I know his name,” Smilin’ Bob insisted in a quick fire scolding tone. Then just as quickly, the look on his face shifted. He stroked his thumb and forefinger along his jowly jawline. “Where do I know his name from, though?”
Peachie Too’s growl arose from a place not too far away from Riley’s feet.
“Aunt Sis introduced you to him. She’d invited him, and little Wendy here, to—”
“Wook at the precious puppy’s pwetty teeth.” Sis’s odd combination of pouty baby talk and a cultured Southern accent rose above her pet’s continued snarling.
“Spend the night in our home,” Dixie concluded.
Smilin’ Bob nodded. “I know all that, darling. I’m trying to recall where else I might know the man’s name from, besides meeting him an hour or so ago. Did you really think I didn’t remember shaking the man’s hand when Sis carted him home?” He chuckled and leaned toward Riley. “You’d think I’d get more respect in this house. Worryation, gal! I may be a forgetful old fool, but—”
“You can say that again!” Sis muttered with enough vigor to make herself heard above the sundry thumping and bumping below that rattled the silver on the table and made the stemware tremble.
“Yes, well.” Smilin’ Bob shifted in his seat.
Suddenly Sis let out a quiet but expressive oomph.
&nbs
p; “Sister?” The white-haired gent looked quite surprised even as his twinkling gaze flitted from Dixie to Riley and even over to include Wendy. “Sister? Are those your hindquarters down under there? I was just crossing my legs and my foot must have slipped.”
Sis sighed like a gust of ill wind.
Riley glanced at Dixie, inclined to laugh at the antics but wanting to take his cue from her.
She had her head in her hands.
He swallowed.
“Grandpa, Sis has fed her dogs under this table for as long as I can remember and yet you still pull that ‘is that you under there, Sis?’ routine every third day of the week. If you aren’t crossing your legs and kicking her, you are dropping olives or croutons into her hair.”
“Just trying to improve on a good thing,” he explained to Riley, his face as innocent as a newborn babe’s.
“When are you going to realize it’s not funny anymore?” Dixie demanded.
Supportive as Riley would have liked to have been of Dixie’s point, the image of Sis rising up from the floor of the elegant dining room with olives perched in her bouffant hairdo, like tiny eggs in a nest, got to him. He laughed out loud.
Dixie glared.
Smilin’ Bob smiled.
Wendy went right on gobbling down her food.
“Anyway, the thing is, of course I remember greeting our guests, Mr. Walker and his little daughter.” Smilin’ Bob reached out and patted the child on the head. Then he turned to the limp doll sitting in the vacant chair between himself and Wendy. “My, but this is a well-behaved child. Very quiet and hardly eats a thing.”
“She’s a doll!” Wendy clamped her hands over her mouth while her little shoes slapped into each other as she wiggled her legs and giggled. “I’m the little girl. I’m Wendy Walker.”
The man made a big show of looking over Baby Belle then Wendy. “Well, so you are. Pleased to meet you again Miss Wendy Walker. Have I given you one of my cards?”
He started to reach into one of his jacket pockets, then the other. Then he patted his hands down his sides, his face a mask of confusion and concern. Just when Riley was about to tell him not to bother with it, hoping to ease any discomfort the obviously muddled man might feel, Smilin’ Bob raised one hand in the air.
“Ahh, there it is.” He produced a perfect, white business card, seemingly out of thin air.
Wendy clapped her hands.
Riley chuckled.
Dixie rolled her eyes at the act, but a big grin shone on her face.
Smilin’ Bob acknowledged it all with a bow, then handed Wendy the card with a flourish of his hand.
Despite the warning about the state of Dixie’s family Riley found it almost impossible to think ill of this jovial character who’d been so sweet with Wendy. Smilin’ Bob seemed far more daft than dangerous, making Riley think the whole shoplifting thing might just be another kind of mix-up.
“So, now, Mr. Walker, tell me more about these rowboats.” Smilin’ Bob sounded quiet serious.
Riley winced. Ok maybe the shoplifting wasn’t a mix-up, it came more from a mental condition than a moral failing.
“Grandpa, there are no rowboats! Honestly!”
“Daddy, I’m done eating, can I go see Miss Lettie now?”
“Miss Lettie! Excellent suggestion!” Smilin’ Bob threw his napkin onto the table. “She is the one who knows about these rowboats. Let’s go see Miss Lettie.”
“Can I, Daddy?” Wendy already had Baby Belle in a neck- hold, ready to jump off her seat and go with Dixie’s grandfather.
“It’s just down to the end of that hallway.” Smilin’ Bob pointed.
Riley looked to Dixie. In light of his own agenda, he liked the idea of getting Wendy away from the table. That way he might finally be able to talk to Dixie.
He’d gotten past a few of the woman’s formidable barriers today. Maybe this was his chance to really get some concrete information at last. If nothing else he could try to arrange a time to meet the rest of the family
“Miss Lettie did ask her to come in after supper,” Riley reminded Dixie. “Do you think it’s all right?”
“If Miss Lettie’s resting, you have to promise to come straight back here.” Dixie wagged her finger at her grandfather even as he slipped from his seat then moved to pull out Wendy’s chair so she could come along. “I don’t want you going in there and getting her all riled up. Do you hear me?”
Smilin’ Bob muttered what Riley could only assume was an agreement.
Meanwhile, everything under the table must have gone well because the growling had given way to sound worthy of a lion sinking its teeth into the day’s fresh kill.
Sis popped her head up so quick it made her hairdo wobble. “Hold it right there! I just got our Lettie settled in good and I won’t leave it up to Mr. Slippery Foot’s judgment as to whether or not he is disturbing her. I’ll go with.”
Wendy ran to Riley and threw her arms around him. “You come, too, Daddy.”
“In a few minutes, sweetheart. I’d like to stay and help Miss Dixie clear away the dinner things, maybe help with the washing up first.” He kissed her cheek and then the cheek of the doll she thrust out toward him. “Baby Belle, you and Miss Wendy behave yourselves like proper young ladies in Miss Lettie’s company.”
Wendy laughed, spun around and grabbed Smilin’ Bob’s offered hand. With him tottering at her side, she skipped off through the arched doorway.
“You love her very much, I can tell.” Dixie stood.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that light of joy in her eyes.” Riley stood, too. “It’s not that she’s an unhappy child. I just haven’t been around her in long enough stretches lately to see just how happy, how wonderful she truly is.”
Dixie began stacking up the plates around her.
“I’ll take up the silverware,” he said, starting to do just that.
“Don’t feel you have to hang back with me, Mr. Walker. Go on, be with your daughter, enjoy this special time together.” She picked up Wendy’s plate, and Riley’s attention went to the stark white business card left on the table there.
“Don’t worry, she and I will have plenty of time together from now on.” He followed in Dixie’s wake, gathering the knives, forks, and spoons onto the tray that had held the rolls. “I just have to find a place for us to live here in town, get her and her grandmother settled in and assume my new duties at—”
The dish in her hand clattered against another place setting as she roughly piled one on top of the other. “Please don’t start up with that again. We were getting along so well.”
“Yes, well enough that I thought we could finally approach this discussion.” He lightly pitched a serving spoon onto the heap of silver. “Why can’t we just talk about this like two mature adults?”
“Because we are not two mature adults. We are two people at cross purposes in a potentially messy situation with a lot at stake.” She clunked the plates down and stood behind the empty chair at the head of the table. “I cannot talk about this until I have seen with my own two eyes what Howard Greenhow has done.”
The candle’s flames jumped and danced as if reacting to the rising tensions between them.
“Look, it was all legal, if that’s what you’re implying.” He picked up the napkin lying at the place where Wendy had sat and wiped his hands on it. “I had done my research before I ever showed up here. Now granted, the deal changed a little after—”
She lifted her head high, but her chin trembled as if she were holding back great emotion.
Riley ran his fingers back through his hair, sighed then dropped his hands to his hips. “Dixie, I went over those papers with a fine-tooth comb today. The deal is signed, sealed, and airtight.”
“Sounds more like a crypt than the formation of a lasting partnership.”
“Fine. It’s clear you aren’t going to listen to me now. But eventually, you will have to get past all this because our companies are going to have to work in u
nison.”
“My family’s companies already work in...no! The deal Howard Greenhow brokered for you wasn’t to become an equal partner in each enterprise!” She put her hand to her forehead. “Why did I just assume that?”
“Maybe because your father had first talked to me about buying 20 to 25 percent of each concern, but—”
“What have you and that awful Greenhow done? What did you mean when you told me we were going to be partners?”
“Just that. That our success would depend on us working together, as partners, your business and mine.”
“Oh my.” Even in the golden hue of the candlelight he could tell she had gone pale. “You’ve got control of our delivery and transportation branch!”
“Uh-huh. You can make all the fine furniture you want, but you’ll need my company to haul, ship, and deliver it.” He held his hands open. “That’s not a threat, Dixie, that’s just the way it is and why I keep saying that you and I have to figure out how to work together as true partners, with the judge, too, of course.”
“The Judge. Why didn’t I see that coming?” She shut her eyes.
“I’m hoping you can arrange for the two of us to meet tomorrow.”
“Meet? Tomorrow? What do you mean?”
“Mr. Greenhow worked as the go-between in this. We never met face to face.” Hearing it out loud now left him a little uneasy. “It’s all very legitimate, I assure you.”
“Oh, I have no doubt.” She just stood there for a moment staring, but not seeming to be really looking at anything. Then, slowly, she started to shake.
“What are you laughing at?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“You and me, really. Here I’ve been so worried that you were in cahoots with Greenhow, it never occurred to me that he could be taking advantage of you every bit as much as he was of me.”
“Taking advantage? How?” He put his hands on his hips, his shoulders pulled up defensively. “What do you mean?”
“The name on the papers you signed, my other relative that you hope to meet, the one who is now your partner? Can you tell me what that name was?”