These Sheltering Walls: A Cane River Romance

by Hathaway, Mary Jane

  “Wise words, my friend,” Paul said.

  “Will you be gone long?” Henry asked. “Should I feed the kitties?”

  “Oh, no, Charlie and Bix can handle the crew.” Alice glanced up at the top of a range and Henry followed her gaze. The giant black cat was still perched there, watching them.

  “That’s Darcy, isn’t it? I met him a little while―”

  The little brass bell tinkled and Henry turned to see Father Tom and Gideon walking through the door. Of all the people she’d expected to show up, Gideon was one of the last. He’d mentioned that he lived in Natchitoches, but seeing him in her building, just feet away, made her mind go blank. She caught his gaze and he smiled politely.

  “Well, this is turning into a real party,” Bix said. There was hand shaking, a few hugs, and the circle expanded to accommodate the newcomers. She couldn’t understand what Gideon was doing in By the Book. Unless he had come looking for her. Henry smoothed her hair, suddenly unsure about where to put her hands. She crossed her arms, then dropped them again.

  “Henry, when you get to know him, you’ll realize that although he looks fierce, he’s really just a big softie,” Alice said.

  Henry stared at Alice. “Who?”

  “Mr. Darcy,” she said, pointing at the cat.

  “Oh, right. He seems very…” She couldn’t think of single positive adjective to describe the green-eyed creature currently glaring down at her. She pushed up her glasses and prayed for someone else to speak. “Soft,” she finally said.

  Father Tom cocked his head, his lips turning up. “Henry, it’s great to see you again. I hear you’ve got big plans for the national park.”

  “Yes, plans,” she said. “Lots of plans.” Her brain had stalled. She looked from Bix who was smiling kindly at her, to Alice and Paul who were waiting patiently for her to elaborate, to Charlie who was still looking up at Mr. Darcy, to Father Tom whose brows had gone up and who seemed to be trying not to laugh. She tried with all her might not to look at Gideon but almost against her will she met his gaze. He was frowning at her, a look of concern on his face. She remembered that he thought she had some sort of anxiety disorder.

  “Henry has archeology students staying at the park for a few months. They’re working on an excavation project in the former slave homes,” Gideon said into the silence. “And she’s kindly agreed to help sort that basement full of historical documents on Trudeau Street.”

  “The old Finnamore place?” Bix asked. “Why not move all that stuff somewhere nicer. That house isn’t fit for habitation.”

  “We just don’t have the room at the archives. And it’s true, from what I understand, the wiring issues and the structural problems might make it unsaleable,” Gideon said. “But I have an agreement with the estate that I can use the basement for now.”

  “Henry, this is excellent news,” Father Tom said. “I tried to help out a bit, but I’m a talker. I probably slowed Gideon down more than anything else.”

  Bix said, “Just don’t take him away from us on Saturdays. Right Father Tom? Bream fishing is good for the soul. Any other day of the week you two can hole up together with your dusty treasures.”

  “Oh, we won’t be working―” Gideon said, speaking at the same time as Henry.

  “No, I’m sure I’ll be―”

  “―at the same time,” he said.

  “―working alone,” she said.

  “Sorry.” Gideon rubbed a hand over his beard. “We’ll both just work… separately.”

  Father Tom looked from Gideon to Henry, then back to Gideon. “But you have to show her where to start, right? You were just saying that. In fact, you said that when I ran into you on Tuesday and twice just this afternoon.”

  “I was trying not to forget.” He was giving Father Tom such a look. “When would be best?”

  “Anytime. In fact, later this evening is fine, if that works for you,” Henry said.

  “How about I came back here around six? Too late?”

  “Perfect,” she said. She wanted to make the easy for him. He was clearly busy. She saw Bix nudge Charlie and glanced around the circle. They were probably keeping Alice and Paul from their trip. “Alice, are you headed out now?”

  “Yep, we’d better be on our way. We’ll only be gone a week. Call me if you need anything. And you have Bix’s number?” Alice reached into her purse and took out a slip of paper. “Paul’s mom lives pretty near and she can run over, too, if you need anything. I know this place can be sort of scary at night, the way it creeks and settles. Don’t let it spook you. Or the cats.” She looked up and gave Mr. Darcy a pointed look.

  “I’m sure everything will be fine. I’m used to living alone,” Henry said.

  There was another round of hugging, a few kisses, and then Paul and Alice were out the door.

  “Hey,” Charlie said. “Did y’all come to see them, or did you need a book? Father Tom, I got a new Clive Cussler in yesterday. But you probably already read his last one.”

  “Actually, I haven’t,” he said. “I’d love to get it. I came in here to see if I could find something for my mom. Her birthday is coming up and I want to get her some new cookbooks.”

  Gideon’s shoulders tensed. She wondered if he was in contact with his parents or if his actions had severed those ties forever. She felt sympathy rise up and then reminded herself that taking responsibility was part of being an adult. So many times she’d had to handle the fall-out of others’ actions, their lies, their inability to admit the truth that was plain to see.

  She let out a long breath and Gideon turned, a question in his eyes. “Was she helping you? We probably just cut in line.”

  “Oh, no, Henry was just browsing in the poetry section,” Charlie said as she led Father Tom toward the cookbook section. “Edna St. Vincent Millay is her favorite.”

  Henry felt a flash of irritation at how easily Charlie shared that bit of information and wondered if she was as free when someone was reading something less appropriate.

  Gideon said, “A very fine poet. People say she’s depressing but I find her refreshing. Perhaps she’s a little too truthful for the romantics among us.”

  “Yes,” Henry said, surprise coloring her words. “Romance and truth don’t always go hand in hand. There is such a thing as too much truth, like in Bluebeard.”

  “This door you might not open, and yet you did,” he said, quoting the first line.

  “Yet this alone out of my life I kept unto myself, lest any know me quite,” Henry quoted back, skipping to the end of the poem.

  “This now is yours, I seek another place,” he said, reciting the last line.

  She smiled. “Romantics believe you have to know someone inside and out in order to love them deeply. People think secrets are bad. But they’re not. Not all of them. Some are meant to be kept.”

  “I’m sure popular opinion would disagree,” he said, “but I think that the closer you are to someone, the more important it is to respect their privacy. In general, living a private life is a concept that is met with suspicion and distrust.”

  “Exactly. We’re expected to offer up our very deepest selves for inspection at any moment, even to strangers.” Henry smiled up at him, feeling for the first time in a long while that she was in perfect understanding with another person. She wanted to freeze the moment, capture it somehow so that later she could present it as evidence that she wasn’t such a misfit. There were places in her heart that she wanted to keep to herself and here was another person who agreed it was perfectly normal. “It’s amazing what people think they can ask, as if interacting with the world has become one long first date.”

  He smiled. “I’ve never been on a date. But considering your take on it, I now consider myself lucky,” he said.

  She felt her mouth drop open a little. “Never? Not a single date?”

  “What’s this about a date?” Father Tom was back, holding a deep green bag with By the Book printed on it. She could see the curiosity in his da
rk eyes.

  “Hey,” Gideon said. He looked around, as if surprised Father Tom had finished so soon. “All done?”

  He held up the bag. “One book of Southern Cakes. One book of Southern Pies.”

  “Your mother sounds like someone I need to meet,” Henry said.

  “You’d like her,” Father Tom said, glancing at Gideon. “The next time they’re in town, I’ll have you both over for dinner.”

  Henry was about to agree when she caught Gideon’s expression, his lips pressed tight together, eyes narrowed. Of course. Two single people in the same room and the entire town starts planning a wedding. Gideon just said he wasn’t interested in dating anyone and here Father Tom was trying to fix them up. “I couldn’t impose,” she said. She stepped away before Father Tom could protest. “Well, I’d better be getting home.”

  “We’ll walk you out,” Gideon said.

  She was already half way across the foyer, headed for the back of the store. “I live upstairs.” She waved a hand. “Nice to see you both again.”

  “Don’t forget,” Gideon said. “Tonight at six, Trudeau Street.”

  Henry almost missed her step. “Right. See you then.” Of course she hadn’t forgotten. As she slipped through the back door and up the old wooden staircase to her apartment, she berated herself. She needed to act like a professional, not some awe-struck fan. No more poetry quoting, no more commenting on the lack of privacy, and absolutely no more discussions on dating.

  ***

  They were hardly out the door when Tom turned to him, a grin spreading over his face. “Well, now.”

  Gideon stared straight ahead, refusing to take the bait. He was wishing he’d parked closer because he knew how much talking Tom could do in the length of a block.

  “That was interesting,” Tom said. “Very, very interesting.”

  He kept his expression neutral and watched two young boys navigate the historic district sidewalk crowd on their scooters. There was the tiniest bit of breeze coming off the water but he felt like he was wearing a sweater in the humidity and he ran a finger under his collar.

  “Oh, come on,” Tom finally said, reaching out and nudging him with an elbow.

  “What?”

  “Talk to me,” Tom said, laughter in his voice. “You saw it. Everyone saw it.”

  “I still have no idea what it is you’re talking about.”

  “You stopped her in her tracks. She was like a swamp toad in the beam of the flashlight.”

  Gideon threw him a look. Tom was being intentionally ridiculous just to get a rise out of him. “I didn’t see anything like that.”

  “She was mid-sentence when we came in and lost her train of thought. Then she couldn’t even find words to explain herself,” Tom said.

  “I told you, she has some kind of anxiety disorder. I don’t think it’s funny at all.”

  Confusion flicked over his face. “I don’t think so. I’ve talked to her before when she’s visited St. Augustine’s with Birdie and Frank. She seemed a little serious, but plenty able to hold a conversation.”

  “Maybe there were too many people today. Maybe she does better with just a few friends.” Gideon thought of how she’d been nervous when she’d first met him, but her nerves seemed to translate into babbling rather than reticence.

  “Or she was fine until certain people showed up,” Tom said, the smile returning to his face. He dodged a little white dog straining at his leash and tossed a wave to the older woman attempting to get him under control. “I mean, I understand. You’re a good-looking guy and it’s natural for her to give you a second glance, especially―”

  “I don’t really want to talk about this.” Gideon stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked faster. “You can’t say for sure why she acted the way she did. Maybe she’s afraid of me. You were just saying I needed to lay off the weight lifting.”

  “I think I know what fear looks like.” Tom kept pace with him. “In fact, you’re doing really good impression of a guy who’s had his cage rattled.”

  Gideon spotted his car and let out an internal sigh of relief. He loved Tom like a brother but the guy didn’t know when to quit. “I don’t really want to talk about this anymore.”

  “And why so insistent working separately?” Tom said, completely ignoring Gideon.

  “Nobody was insisting.”

  “Wrong. It was a big deal. Very not together. Very not at the same time. Heaven forbid you two spend some time alone in the same room.”

  Taking out his keys, Gideon hit the unlock button and the car beeped loudly, like punctuation to Tom’s question. “Maybe we’re trying to head off all the small-town gossip that starts when people imagine things where they’re not. Anyway, I don’t have time to babysit her, so I’m happy we’re on the same page about it.”

  “Don’t have time?” Tom asked, skipping over the accusation of being a gossip. “You’re the guy who spends his evenings reading sad love poetry when you’re not trying to deadlift your own body weight.”

  He turned to face Tom. The breeze from the river smelled of mud and fish, and he wished he was already home in his little house at the end of the dusty dirt road, set back under the trees. “You’ve known me for a really long time.”

  “That is true,” Tom said. He crossed his arms over his chest, a smug smile pasted to his lips.

  “And you are also a keen observer of the human condition, a minor expert on the human heart.”

  “I took a few psychology classes during my years in the seminary,” Tom said, grinning.

  Gideon sighed. Tom knew that taking a psychology course wasn’t the best way to understand other humans. In fact, every beginner psych student imagines disorders and mental illness in everyone around them. “You’re able to understand people in a way I can’t. You have a natural ability to connect with strangers, to reach out to people in trouble.”

  Tom nodded.

  “You always had lots of friends, even when we were kids. I’ve never had more than one or two. Maybe it’s because I was always too angry, or too quiet, or too untrusting… or maybe it’s not my fault at all. But it is the way it is, and I’m used to it.” Gideon said. “I wouldn’t recommend it, but there’s nothing wrong with the solitary life.”

  Tom said nothing for a moment, just looked down at the asphalt between them. “I won’t tease you anymore about it. I’m sorry I forced the issue.” His voice was subdued and he looked up, all laughter gone from his eyes. “But just because you’re comfortable in your solitude doesn’t mean that you’re meant to be alone forever.”

  “I’m not hiding from the world. I’m out of my house, talking to people all day,” Gideon said.

  “You know I don’t mean chit chat,” Tom said. “We were created to love one another, Gideon. Deeply, unconditionally, the way God loves us. We were made for it. Even if it’s only one or two others. Don’t forget that.”

  He wanted to say it was easy for Tom to say, safe in his vow of celibacy, but he nodded, opened the car and slid behind the wheel.

  Tom stepped forward, putting his hand on the door before Gideon could close it. He looked resigned, as if knowing his next words would be too much. “I know it’s scary, the thought of being rejected. But if we don’t take chances, what are we even doing here?” he asked.

  Gideon looked up at his friend and wished, for the tenth time that week, that he wasn’t Gideon Becket, but some other man who had not lived through decades of viciousness and despair. “I’m not afraid of being rejected, Tom. I can already predict that part of the story.”

  Tom stepped back, letting Gideon close the car door. When Gideon turned the corner at the end of the block, he could see Tom standing there still.

  Chapter Five

  “Lie to me, but in your own way, and I’ll kiss you for it.”

  Fyodor Dostoyevsky

  “There you are!” The voice took a minute to penetrate Henry’s thoughts. She turned, dread making her limbs heavy.

  Kimberly Gray was
trotting towards her, long dark hair flying behind her, one slim arm raised far over her head in greeting. It took a pro to walk in three inch stilettos but somehow Kimberly managed a mincing jog, her skin tight red dress hobbling her stride. Henry glanced around, grateful the street was almost deserted.

  “How did you find me?” she asked.

  Kimberly came to a stop in front of her and adjusted the chain of her purse over her shoulder. “Well, that’s a real fine greeting. I expect more from my niece.”

  Lie.

  “I’m sorry,” Henry said and leaned forward, letting herself be hugged and kissed. She could feel Kimberly’s lipstick on her cheek and resisted the urge to wipe it away. She felt dowdy in her old jeans and T-shirt but she pushed the feeling aside. She wasn’t going to wear a nice dress to work in a cobwebby basement.

  “That sweet old man in the bookstore told me you were headed to the Finnamore place.” She looked around. “He said you were meeting someone.”

  Henry felt panic rise in her throat. “Actually, I’m going to sort some old papers. It’s really not interesting. Can we meet up for dinner later? We can try that new Thai restaurant on LaRose street or we can go to The Red Hen.”

  Kimberly brushed her hair back over her shoulder and beamed. “I’ll come with you. I love old papers.”

  Lie.

  “Really?”

  “Oh, honey, it’s so boring back at your mamere’s. Every time I visit, she invites her bridge group and the St. Augustine’s Women’s Auxiliary and I can’t turn around without having to sign an autograph. Ellie Costa keeps hinting at an invitation to my Malibu beach house and Lana Rae Jepperson wants me to get her daughter into movies, as if I can make directors hire anybody I choose. Everybody wants something from me.”

  Henry bit back several responses. “I’m sure it’s difficult to be so famous.”

  “It really is. You’re so lucky that you were raised by Lisette in a little sleepy town, away from Hollywood types. You had the best childhood anybody could ask for.”