These Sheltering Walls: A Cane River Romance

by Hathaway, Mary Jane

  Blue looked around and said, “Well, I’d better go home and get spiffed up. I’m so glad I ran into Henry. I’d been avoiding her since she moved in because my Aunt Bernice kept telling me to look her up. She made such a big deal out of it, I thought there must be something wrong with her. You know how relatives are, always shoving single girls at you from every direction.”

  “Not really, no,” Tom said.

  Blue laughed, showing off his perfect smile. Gideon had never really noticed much before, but Blue was a good-looking kid. He was tall, fit, and had the natural ease of someone born to into an old Southern family.

  “See you later,” Gideon said. He should wish him luck on his date but he couldn’t seem to manage it.

  “You, too,” he said and then he was gone. Tom fell into step beside Gideon as they turned back down the river walk.

  “Well,” Tom said.

  “Yep,” Gideon answered.

  “I didn’t feel like ribs anyway. Let’s get biscuits and ham at the Pastime Cafe.” Tom’s voice held a note of sympathy that Gideon rarely heard. He hated that Tom felt sorry for him, but he was feeling sort of sorry for himself, too.

  His head was filled with alternating themes of ‘I told you so’ and ‘this is ridiculous’. He didn’t want to feel what he was feeling, nor did he want to look too closely at it. The only thing he knew for sure was that a woman like Henry deserved a man like Blue, if she chose anyone.

  “Biscuits and ham sound fine,” he said and refocused on the horizon as they walked. There was something about Henry that made him rethink his life, but losing sight of the life he’d created in Natchitoches was a recipe for disaster. He needed to be content with what he had, and not chase after an impossible dream. Guys like Gideon didn’t get the girl.

  Chapter Eight

  “How many loved your moments of glad grace,

  And loved your beauty, with love false or true,

  But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

  And loved the sorrows of your changeling face.”

  ―Yeats, When You Are Old

  “You look really nice,” Blue said, reaching out for her hand. He’d been early and she’d barely opened the door before he was right there.

  Truth.

  “Thank you,” she said. She resisted the urge to tug at the neckline of her dress. She usually stayed firmly in the office wear section but her mamere had given her this dress for Christmas last year. It was a little tighter, a little lower cut, and a little brighter than she would have chosen, but it was definitely a good first date dress.

  “Look at all these people. Isn’t it wonderful to see tourists come from all over to hear zydeco music? It makes me proud to be Creole.”

  Truth.

  “Me, too. It’s fun to see people experience a live music festival for the first time. And zydeco should always be live. With lots of dancers, if possible,” she said.

  They stepped aside as a group of teens laughing and talking loudly passed by. She looked up and caught Blue’s eye, and smiled when he squeezed her hand. He actually seemed to enjoy the hustle of the influx of tourists. Most locals said they did, because it was good for business, but they resented the Northern accents, the screaming toddlers, and seniors decorated with fanny packs and cameras.

  Maybe this date wouldn’t be like all the others. Not that there had been so many others.

  “I just saw your aunt coming out of Shorty’s Bar and Grill. Poor woman could hardly get out the door,” he said. “It must be a real curse to be so beautiful.”

  Henry swallowed hard. Not a big deal. One reference to Kimberly did not ruin a date.

  “She needs bodyguards just to go to dinner. I don’t know how she manages. It must be frightening,” Blue said.

  Henry felt her stomach tighten. She wanted to say that if Kimberly found it so hard to go to dinner, maybe she should rent out the restaurant for the night. But she didn’t. When celebrities wanted a quiet meal, not a media circus, they managed it. But Kimberly knew how to please her fans. Some would be glad of a chance to get close and touch her, ask for a picture or an autograph, even if they got dragged away. And the others would feel deep sympathy for the poor, beautiful woman who couldn’t risk walking out the door without being mobbed.

  “Was it hard growing up related to her? I can imagine it got really tiresome, especially with how different you are,” he said. “I mean, you’re not― she’s really―.”

  Henry threw him a smile. “I’m not offended. We’re really different in appearance. When people bring it up, I just tell them it’s a good thing I’m a historian and not a movie star.”

  He seemed chastened. “Every guy you meet probably asks what she’s really like or if they can get a picture of her. You must get kind of tired of hearing how beautiful she is.”

  Not everybody. Not Gideon. “Oh, I used to, sure, especially as a teenager. But I’ve learned not to take it personally.”

  They stopped in front of The Red Hen and he let go of her hand to open the door. Henry had always loved the little café for its homey décor, the little tables covered with flowered cloths and set with a milk glass vase full of simple flowers. She breathed in the familiar smell of hot biscuits, fried chicken, and the spicy sauce of the famous barbeque ribs. Nita bustled toward them, tucking a pen into the front pocket of her pink apron.

  “Hey there, Henry. Hey, Blue.” The waitress grabbed Henry and squeezed her tight. Nita’s hugs weren’t the short and polite variety. She aimed to let you know you’d been hugged. “Your granddaddy was just in here with your aunty. He about threw a dyin’ duck fit, what with all the folks who came up and bothered them while they was a-tryin’ to have their supper.”

  “I can imagine,” Henry said, her words sounding a little breathless from the squeezing.

  She was released and then it was Blue’s turn. Nita ended her hug by leaning back, cupping his face in both hands and saying, “I say, you look more like your great aunt Lucille every day.”

  “That so?” Blue said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

  “Or maybe Eloise, your second cousin. Whichever one, it’s powerful clear you’re kin to them.” She brushed down her apron and looked around. The room was packed with families, and more than a few curious gazes were fixed on their little group. “Let me find you a quiet little place out of the way of pryin’ eyes.”

  As she led them to a table in a corner, Blue looked back and winked. Henry threw him a sympathetic smile. This would be fun. He might not ask that many questions. Maybe he would share about himself and his family.

  As Blue pulled out her chair and she settled into it, Gideon’s face popped into her mind. As Blue sat down opposite from her, his dark eyes reflecting back the flicker of the little tea light on the table, Henry admitted to herself, for the tiniest moment, that she wished Gideon was in his place. If Gideon asked her questions, she would answer them honestly. If Gideon talked about his family, she would lean forward and listen, instead of looking around the room so she didn’t catch all the clues that made up a lie.

  Henry tightened her ponytail and smiled across the table at Blue. Her whole life it seemed she always yearned for what she couldn’t have, and was always disappointed. It was better to pretend and keep that dusty room of secrets shut tight inside. Not all lies were bad. Not all stories had to be told.

  ****

  Gideon settled on the bench across from By the Book. At almost midnight on a weekday, the river walk should have been empty, but with the festival so near, it was only just now slowly clearing of tourists and revelers. Beside the occasional car passing by, the only sound was the gently lapping of the river against the bank behind him.

  He adjusted his ball cap and folded his arms over his chest. Henry’s apartment had long windows that faced the river and he hoped that if she got up in the night and for some reason decided to look outside, she wouldn’t recognize him from that far away.

  A couple appeared near the corner and wandered toward him, arms
around each other, deep in conversation. The man glanced in Gideon’s direction and he tried his best to look like he was simply enjoying the quiet. He hunched a little into his shirt.

  He must have succeeded because they passed without comment. Gideon tried to get comfortable. It was going to be a long night. He’d had a few cups of coffee but didn’t think he’d need the stimulant. The idea of someone having Henry’s keys was enough to keep anxiety twisting in his gut.

  He wondered how her date had gone and then shut down that line of thought. Whether she had a good time wasn’t important to him. It was the kind of curiosity that drove people to gossip. He had no desire to be privy to the minute details of how well, or how badly, Blue had presented himself.

  After several hours, the muscles in his shoulders were tightening up. He rolled his head to the left and the right. The sun was still hours from rising and he would have given something precious for reading material. He hadn’t brought a book because he figured the only thing stranger than sitting on a bench in the Historic District all night would be to be enjoying a bestseller by flashlight.

  A movement at the corner caught his eye and he squinted toward a dark figure walking his direction. There was something familiar about the gait and seconds later he recognized the shadowy outline of Tom.

  As he came closer, Tom’s expression drifted from polite disinterest to surprise and then outright concern. He stopped in front of Gideon and looked left, then right. “I’m sure there’s a really good explanation for you to be out here at four in the morning.”

  Gideon stood and stretched. “Ditto, my friend.”

  “Mrs. Lefevre’s family called me to administer Last Rites,” Tom said.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I thought she was recovering.”

  “She was. But since this morning, she’s gone downhill. She was awake and aware, so that was good.” He frowned. “And you still haven’t told me what you’re doing parked on a bench outside…” He seemed to realize where they were standing and his head swiveled toward By the Book, realization dawning.

  “She lost her keys,” Gideon said quietly.

  “And you think someone could have picked them up? Or stolen them?”

  “Alice is in New York with Paul. Henry said she’d call her in a few days if she hadn’t found them yet. I know this looks bad but honestly, I―”

  Tom reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to explain.”

  “You get it, right? You know just as well as I do what’s out there.” He didn’t like to talk about the darkness in the world. It was a reality he avoided confronting until he had to, but now that Tom was here, he found himself giving words to the fear that had stalked him since that afternoon. “I’ve seen evil, Tom. I’ve looked it in the eyes, shaken its hand. But she hasn’t. And I don’t want her to.”

  Tom seemed to be having trouble finding words. “You’re a good man, Gideon. I’m proud to call you my friend,” he said finally.

  “We wouldn’t even be friends if it weren’t for you and your stubborn self,” Gideon said. “I just hated losing my fishing buddy,” Tom said, nudging him with an elbow. “I could have brought you a photo of me when you finally let me visit, but I knew what would really bring you around.”

  Gideon remembered the moment. He hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, finally getting up to pace his cell, reciting his memorized apology, trying to make the words big enough to hold everything he felt. It was the day before he turned twenty three but Tom didn’t bring him a birthday card. His gift was a picture of the spot where the Red River passed between Shreveport and Bossier City. Vince had taken them fishing there every weekend in the summer and it was one of the few places Gideon had ever felt at peace. Gideon had wanted to hand the picture back, saying he wasn’t that kid any more, but he didn’t. Just like the letters that arrived every week, it was one more way that Tom reminded Gideon who he was, not the person he was becoming in prison.

  “As soon as she changes the locks, I’ll go right back to minding my own business,” Gideon said.

  “If you say so.”

  Deciding to ignore that last comment, he sat back down on the bench. “Better get on home and get some rest.”

  To his surprise, Tom sat down next to him. “What kind of friend would I be to let you sit here without any company?”

  “One who has a seven-day-a-week job?”

  “I’ll survive.” Tom stretched out his legs. “It’s been a long time since we had all the time in the world to just sit and talk.”

  “Or sit and not talk.” Gideon was too tired to try and hedge Tom’s questions.

  “Fine. We can just be two guys on a bench, enjoying the stars. But you know what would make this perfect?”

  “What?”

  “A nice spot on the river and some cane poles,” Tom said.

  “Yep.”

  After a long while, Gideon could see the sky lightening up. There were worse ways to spend a sleepless night. “This time of year always reminds me of that Faulkner line from The Sound and The Fury.”

  “Which one?”

  “Some days in late August at home are like this, the air thin and eager like this, with something in it sad and nostalgic and familiar,” Gideon recited.

  Tom nodded, head tilted back, eyes on the last fading stars above. “Have you been thinking a lot about the past?”

  “A guy I started mentoring reminds me so much of myself. Angry, defensive, on the edge in a way I can’t really put my finger on. It’s like looking into the past, into those months before I ran away. I want to shake this kid and make him understand the risks he’s taking. You’d think a prison term would have done that already, but I don’t think he learned his lesson the first time. He’s got that same stubborn streak I had.”

  “You have,” Tom corrected.

  “Funny. But there’s something about him that’s so familiar. Listening to him just brings everything back.”

  “You’ve already confessed everything. Don’t go back to it. You’d don’t carry the guilt for that crime anymore.”

  “You’re right. But I’m not thinking about the murder.” He watched a car pass by and when the lights had faded, he said, “I’ve been thinking about when I planned everything, about how I lied so easily and laughed at the dinner table and pretended I was who they thought I was.”

  “I was just as guilty. I knew what you were doing and I approved. I wished there was someone I could have taken revenge on. If I could have, I would have joined you.”

  “We were a pair of con artists, lying through our teeth. We accepted their shelter and food and love, while plotting something that would break their hearts.”

  Tom’s eyes reflected the street lamps. “We didn’t know how much it would hurt them, all of them, until you were gone.”

  Gideon felt sick. Tom knew better than to mention Austin but he knew his foster brother must have been crushed. “I ruined that family.”

  Tom turned to look at him. “Vince and Sally’s family? No, you didn’t,” he said. “I won’t lie and say it was good, but it made them stronger.” He turned back to watching the sky. “And it made me finally take a good look at myself. I went to church with them every Sunday, walked up the aisle for communion like getting on the school bus. I’d never thought any of it was real, that it mattered. Years of motions and words and agreeing to something I didn’t even believe in. But I didn’t know that. I’d never bothered to look that closely at any of it.”

  “I did believe it. I always have. But I chose to walk away.”

  “And come back,” Tom reminded him.

  “And come back.” It had taken almost a decade, but he had, trusting there was still a place for someone like him.

  They sat in silence for a while.

  “This thing you’re doing now―” Tom started.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Gideon hated the abruptness in his tone.

  “You mean you don’t want to talk about her. Which I
won’t.”

  “Okay.”

  “Anyway, sitting here makes me think of a poem called a Prayer for This House. Have you ever read it?” Tom asked.

  Gideon shook his head. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “Probably not, since it’s cheerful and doesn’t involve much moping. I know how you love your sad poets.” Tom said. “So, it starts out with ‘may nothing evil cross this door’ and mentions each part of the house and what the poet wanted for the people inside. I don’t remember it all except it mentions laughter and peace, but it ends ‘though the sheltering walls are thin, may they be strong to keep hate out and hold love in’. And you sitting here keeping watch on her house feels a little bit like that prayer.”

  He wanted that, to be someone who kept hate out and held love in. Even if it meant that Henry’s love was for Blue Chalfant, or someone else, but he wanted Henry to be happy.

  Tom went on, “I guess what I’m trying to say is that when you were fifteen you could have memorized that prayer and recited it to anyone, but you never would have thought to sit here in the dark so that a person you barely knew was safe.”

  The early morning sun touching everything with a pinkish-peach hue and as Tom turned to look at Gideon, his face was half in shadow. “You’re not the man you were then. Don’t look back unless it’s to see how far you’ve come from that place. How far we’ve both come.”

  Gideon nodded. A light breeze blew toward them off the river, smelling like late summer and early mornings. The river used to terrify him. Even the sound of the water or a glimpse of the brown eddies and currents would send him into a panic attack.

  He folded his arms over his chest and watched the light touch the cast iron ornamentation on the upper floor of By the Book. When Gideon first met Vince, his foster father asked him if he’d like to go fishing and Gideon had turned so pale they made him rest in a darkened room. Sally had brought him a glass of cold lemonade and held his hand until he’d felt well enough to come out again. But Vince hadn’t given up. He’d known that unless Gideon avoided water the rest of his life, he had to face his fears and confront the nightmare he’d lived through when he was five.