Anything For Love

by Janelle Taylor

  Rachel laughed at his comical face. “Of course not, I was always a good girl. Besides, I didn’t have any siblings to get me into trouble, and there were few neighbors around us with children, and none my age. We lived in the country and farmed, too, so I behaved myself on the long bus ride to and from school and in class. Actually, I think I would have preferred a spanking to my father’s disciplinary talks; he was good at them. I would have to explain to him what I did, why I did it, and why I shouldn’t do it again. Reasoning out misbehavior was tough and educational.”

  He glanced at her. “Is that the method you used with your children?”

  “Yes, and it worked beautifully. But I must say, my girls got along very well together, especially after they became teenagers, then young women. They never got into any serious trouble, that I learned about anyway. I’m very proud of them and very fortunate; they’ve given me a lot of happy times.”

  “I have some friends who should hire you to train theirs how to behave. I’ve seen some terrors and whiners. I would never allow my child to act like that or rule my house; that isn’t how I was raised.”

  “Did your parents practice the old saying about being seen not heard?”

  “Nope, they’re just honest, hardworking people, and good parents. Our family was close, is close. Back to Colquitt: we’re known as the Mayhaw Capital of the World. You know what those are?”

  Rachel shook her head. She noticed he left the family topic fast and mused if it was because of his brother, a troubled man according to tabloids.

  “Mayhaws are cranberry-size applelike berries used for jelly; once you smell them cooking, you never forget that delightful aroma; it fills the house and makes your mouth water. I’ll get Mother to send you some. We have the Mayhaw Festival in April; maybe you can go down and take it in one year. We have a famous folk-life play during October called Swamp Gravy. It’s performed by a cast and crew of about one hundred locals; Mother said they’ve been asked to give performances during the ‘96 Olympics in Atlanta; that should put Colquitt’s dot darker on the map.”

  He halted while he slid the potatoes into the oven and set the timer for one hour. He went to work preparing the broccoli to be steamed. “We’re small and country, but we’re close to big cities for entertainment and shopping. Albany is forty-five miles northeast; Tallahassee, Florida, is about sixty miles south; Dothan, Alabama, is forty-five miles west. For recreation—much of ours is watersports and camping, too—we have the Chattahoochee River, Lake Seminole, and the Flint River not far away.”

  “The Flint River, that’s the one that flooded so badly last week.”

  “Yep, but Miller County and my family survived it, thank God. Other counties weren’t as lucky; it did awful damage to our neighbors, Mitchell and Decatur counties, and those northeast of Miller. Some farmers were wiped out; plenty of families and towns, too.”

  “I’m glad your family was all right and my heart goes out to those who weren’t and to those who lost everything. The people of Augusta have been sending food, bottled water, clothing, and other necessary items to the worst areas. Our people are understanding and generous because we’ve suffered several bad floods here, but none like that one. The news reports showed horrible devastation and suffering. It will take them a long time to recover from such losses. I read in the newspaper that Augusta and neighboring counties are going to help fill peanut orders that usually go to South Georgia growers who lost their crops. That’s a terrible way to improve our local economy.”

  “That crazy flood, atop the harsh drought of ‘93, was devastating to farmers on the other side of the state. Daddy told me that when the river crested, three hundred thousand acres were underwater; one hundred fifty thousand of those were planted in peanuts, and peanuts can’t take such abuse. He told me there was a hundred million dollars in crop damages.”

  “When you were young, did you help your family grow peanuts?”

  “Yep, on rented land back then. I bought the farm for them in ‘85 while I was with the 49ers and having a great season.” Gave Casey hysterics over the amount I paid for it, money she couldn’t spend on furthering her modeling career. “Miller County is the number-two producer of peanuts. They generate about twenty-five-million dollars in our county alone. Fifty percent of all peanuts grown in the U.S. are within a fifty-mile radius of southwest Georgia.” He chuckled. “Daddy keeps me informed on facts and figures. I’m sure you remember President Carter was a peanut grower. It’s big business, but it’s hard and you have to know a lot of things.”

  What kind of childhood did you have? “Such as?” she prompted.

  His gaze met hers. “You want a quick education on them?”

  “Why not?” It involves you and your family. “I’m sure it’s fascinating, and it’s important to Georgia. I shouldn’t be ignorant about one of our leading crops.” Who knows when I can use such facts in my writing?

  He set the steamer with broccoli florets and tender stems aside for cooking later. “Let’s go light the grill while I give you a crash course. I never thought about being a teacher but having you as a student may be fun. I bet you’re a quick and easy learner.”

  Rachel guided him out the back door and to a brick barbecue on a stone patio, the one she had cleaned earlier while Martha worked inside the house. Henry had been there today, so everything was in perfect condition. The shrubs were trimmed and healthy. Recently weeded beds were in bloom with colorful summer flowers. Sunlight sparkled off the clear blue pool water. The outdoor furniture that was placed in several areas was shiny clean, as was the gazebo where ivy grew in and out of its latticework on three sides. Nearby in a pebbled area was a three-tiered fountain of ever-enlarging basins; a fish statue connected to the top one spewed a stream of water from its mouth which cascaded from level to level. Rosebushes flanked it. The cabana had been painted two months ago and cleaned by her last week. The high brick wall around the large yard and tall trees beyond it gave them total privacy from curious neighbors.

  Quentin complimented her on. the tranquil setting, which greatly impressed him. He arranged charcoal briquettes and lit several. While he waited to make certain the fire didn’t go out, he began enlightening her on growing peanuts.

  She was impressed by the depth of his knowledge, and enjoyed his enthusiasm for his topic. It was a pleasure just listening to his voice. “You sound so interested in the business,” she commented as she accompanied him back to the kitchen so he could turn the chops in the refrigerator so the other side would be able to marinate. “Why don’t you want to raise them with your family after you retire from football?”

  “I just don’t care for farming as a career, but I do like ranching. My sister and her husband live on the farm and work with my parents.”

  “I remember my father planting peanuts, but only enough for our consumption. He would toss them atop the shed to dry. Sometimes I would sneak up there and eat them green. Oh, what a bellyache they can give you.”

  He chuckled. “I remember; I’ve done the same thing, eaten them out of the field before they were dried and cured. Ouch!”

  “It sounds as if you love your family and get along well with them.”

  “I do, we do. My parents own a four-hundredfifty-acre farm. Daddy rotates four crops—peanuts, corn, millet, and pasture grasses—on hundred-acre tracts. The other fifty are taken up with their home, barns, sheds, vegetable garden, animal pens, stock pastures, my sister-Mary—and her family’s home, and one worker’s house and grounds. I also have a younger brother—Frank—but he doesn’t live in Colquitt. He works at a car dealership in Dothan, used-to live in Atlanta. Years ago, he got in with the wrong crowd and got into trouble, spent some time in prison for drugs. I’ve tried to help straighten him out, but it’s something he has to want and do for himself. If the media would leave him alone, maybe he could. Sometimes they use his problems to write badly about me, sort of like they did with Billy Carter when Jimmy was in office. Now let’s take that tour of your house befor
e I put on the chops,” he suggested, wanting to get off a touchy subject. “Maybe I’ll pick up some clever ideas to use on mine.”

  Rachel showed him the Florida room with rose bisque floor and walls, white woodwork, and an assortment of silk trees and hanging baskets. “Henry has a green thumb, but I don’t, so this is the only way I can have plants inside,” she said with a laugh. She saw him glance at the wicker sofa and chair with plush cushions, a square wicker end table with a lamp, and a white television set on a wicker stand. Overhead was a brass ceiling fan to stir the air during overly warm periods. She motioned to a glass-topped eating table with a mushroom-styled base and four chairs which were covered to match the other cushions and the shirred balloon curtains over soft shades, all in a tropical forest pattern. “The girls enjoyed eating and doing their homework and visiting with their friends in this room. I spend a lot of time here now because it’s so open and light and relaxing.” She nodded toward a treadmill and a stationary bicycle. “Keeping those handy are the best way to make sure I exercise; with Augusta being so hot and humid in the summer and with pollen and insects and animals outside to worry about, it’s more comfortable and safer to do it inside, unless I use the pool.”

  “It’s nice to have a beautiful view and a fan while you’re working up a sweat. I’ve surely spent plenty of hours outside in all kinds of weather; we play in rain, sleet, snow, high winds, and sweltering heat. A game isn’t called unless there’s lightning or a blizzard strikes. I suppose that TV keeps you from getting bored while you’re exercising.” She smiled and nodded. “Maybe you can catch a few of our games this winter. I like the aquarium,” he remarked, changing the personal subject as he leaned over to see what kinds of fish she had in it.

  Rachel’s fingers drifted across the edge of the tank that was positioned atop a wrought-iron stand. As she watched the fish swim about, she said, “I bought it for the girls after Daniel’s death; I thought it would be soothing and distracting. Karen was twelve and Evelyn was ten when the plane crash occurred. They never asked for cats or dogs, thank goodness, because I’m a big-dog person—like boxers and collies—who like plenty of space to romp in, not a small and landscaped yard. I had both when I was young.”

  “I had a collie, too, named Ranger. You’re right, and kind; they have a hard time living in a fancy subdivision where they have to be cooped up. They’re like cowboys; they prefer big, open spaces and running free. I plan to get another dog, after I start ranching. Kids love ‘em ‘cause they’re so gentle and affectionate.”

  There you go mentioning children again. “Come this way.”

  She guided him through the hallway to a large laundry room and walk-in pantry with shelves almost to the ceiling. “It’s nice to have plenty of work space and a fan to cool you off while you’re washing and folding clothes,” Rachel explained. “As for the extra-large pantry, without one, you can never have enough storage space or keep things in easy reach and view. I keep holiday decorations in here so I don’t have to haul them back and forth upstairs. My children always loved decorating for every season: Easter, July Fourth, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas: I have things for all of them. In fact, they still like getting an Easter basket and a plastic pumpkin filled with treats.”

  As Quentin eyed the items, he said, “It sounds as if you were a good mother, Rachel; I’m sure it was hard raising two kids alone.”

  “It was at times, but one-parent families are common these days. Now let me show you the dining room; you’ll probably be doing a lot of entertaining and my decorator did some wonderful things in there.”

  Quentin sensed she was escaping a painful topic, as he had done earlier. He looked at a fancy half-bath for guests before they toured the striking dining room where he did collect several ideas.

  “If you have time before you leave town and you’re interested, you may want to talk with Scott Cooper for suggestions,” Rachel offered as he nodded appreciatively. “He’s the husband of one of my best friends. He’s in construction and he’s done several projects like this.”

  “That might be smart of me to make time to see him.”

  Rachel realized that gave her a good excuse for asking him to go to Becky and Scott’s pool party on Saturday. Besides, Scott was one of the best builders in town and could be helpful to him. Perhaps she’d invite him…

  Quentin looked in the living room again, paying close attention to the faux-marble fireplace and recessed lighting, before he followed her upstairs where four bedrooms and baths were located. The girls’ rooms were almost as they left them—Rachel told him—for return visits: Karen’s was in blues, white, and greens, and Evelyn’s was in mauves, blues, and greens, colors and patterns the girls had chosen. Childhood and teenage keepsakes were scattered about the bed, floor, walls, and dresser in each.

  Those mementos told Quentin a great deal about the girls’ interests and the Gaineses’ lifestyle. “I didn’t see a piano anywhere.” Quentin was puzzled, since there were programs from piano recitals among the items. “Did you get rid of it?”

  “Evelyn took it with her when she moved to Ohio; she still plays, and she hopes her daughter, Ashley, will when she’s older. She’s three and her son, Alex, is one. I’m biased, but they’re precious children.”

  “I bet you miss having them live nearby; I would.”

  Rachel saw him pause to look at pictures with Daniel in them as she responded, but tried not to brag about her family. After peeking into a lovely guest room, she led him to Daniel’s old office which she used as a project and writing room, though her private work was kept out of sight.

  Quentin smiled as he strolled around the masculine area with a cognac leather sofa and matching bergere chair with ottoman. There was a kidney-shaped table in warm and shiny burled walnut, the same as was the desk, credenza, and file cabinet. One wall was comprised of shelves with books and decorative items. Most of the pictures and paintings were outdoor scenes, several of them were of the Augusta National Golf Course and Master’s Golf Tournament. He noticed two pieces of crystal, an apple and a bird, which he recalled her purchasing at the glass factory near Caracas. He forced himself not to stare at them or to let his mind linger on that wonderful day. The windows were covered by Roman shades in various colors, one matching the walls and carpet, the same fabric covering two cushions on the sofa. “I like this room, Rachel,” he said with genuine enthusiasm. “A person could do great work in here. I wish I had my camera with me so I could take pictures of things you’ve done.”

  “Thanks for the compliment; I have to admit I love this house; moving would be difficult. I’m sorry I don’t have any film for my camera. If you brought yours with you to Augusta, you can take pictures another day; I don’t mind at all; in fact, I’m flattered you see things you’d like to use.”

  Yes, he had brought a camera and a camcorder for business reasons. “It’s at the hotel, so I’ll do that before I leave, if you’re sure it’s okay.”

  Rachel knew that gave her another chance to see him alone and was glad. “It is. Of course, some of the credit goes to my decorator and builder. But I did what you’re doing now, looked around for ideas and used them.”

  Quentin gazed at her, smiled, and said, “Always knew you were an intelligent woman; that’s a good quality to have, Rachel. You have plenty of them. I really enjoy spending time with you.”

  Don’t stare into those incredible blue eyes or listen to that mellow voice or you’ll lose those wits he’s complimenting you on! Darn you, Quentin, why must you be so irresistible? “Thanks. I have fun with you, too.” Change the subject and mood fast! “One thing you might like to include if you don’t already have one is a wall or floor safe for jewelry, valuable papers, and irreplaceable keepsakes like old family pictures. We—I have one buried in the garage cement; a burglar would have to dynamite or jackhammer it out to steal it. Scott also installs them in walls between steel beams to prevent removal. In case Mother Nature or misfortune strikes your home, valuables are saved.�
�� Rachel decided not to show it to him unless he asked to see it, as pictures and mementos of their cruise were locked away in it, protected from discovery by the wrong person and safe from harm.

  Quentin nodded his approval. “I have one behind a painting, but I suppose it would be easy for almost anyone to axe it out and steal it; I surely don’t want to lose my Superbowl and Championship rings and personal papers. That’s another good idea.”

  Rachel knew he had at least four Superbowl rings for being on the winning teams in ‘82, ‘85, ‘93, and ‘94. He was wearing the one from ‘85 when he was with the San Francisco 49ers where he played the last quarter in terrible pain from an injured knee. She wondered what drove such men to risk permanent damage just to stay in the game. Had he done it for glory, out of ignorance of how badly he was hurt, from a sense of responsibility and loyalty to teammates, for sheer love of the sport, or the misconception he was invincible or irreplaceable?

  In her bedroom, Quentin grinned, nodded, and complimented her taste once more, admiring the light and dark lavender sponged walls, white woodwork with superbly crafted moldings, a trey ceiling with ivy and roses wallpaper, a green marble fireplace with a Victorian scene painting above it, a cozy sitting area with a wicker sofa and round table near the hearth, and an entertainment unit in a pickled wood finish to make it look antiqued. She pointed out furniture placements that might be of interest to him, and various objets d’art that she treasured. A ceiling fan—as in almost every room of the house—was suspended near the foot of the king-size bed. Ivory softshades and antique lace panels gave privacy to the windows where curtains were draped over leafy verdigris rods. The room and aura hinted of romance, beauty, serenity, and femininity, the Victorian period.

  Quentin strolled into a large bathroom with a corner shower which had cherubs and fleurde-lis sprays etched into frosted glass. A matching Jacuzzi was situated in another corner, with decorative items placed along a tiled shelf surrounding it: three different bottles of bath oil with dried flowers floating inside, a cherub soap dish, and a square glass container of Passion bath oil beads. He noticed a collection of Passion body powder, lotion, and perfume placed among other decorative and feminine items on a white marble-topped vanity. It was the scent she was wearing, the one his mother also favored. It was a good choice for her, a woman of great passion he remembered too well…He forced his mind from the memory and pointed to the white ceiling fan. “I like that idea; it can get mighty hot when you’re bathing and dressing in a hurry.” Or doing other things.