These Sheltering Walls: A Cane River Romance

by Hathaway, Mary Jane

  She visibly relaxed, her breath coming out in rush. “I’m not afraid of the dark or being there alone. It’s just―”

  “That door.” He nodded. “And maybe I could try to fix it by shaving off a bit of the wood where it sticks. Tom is claustrophobic so I can understand how the idea of being stuck in there is a little creepy.”

  “Is he? Patsy is, too. She avoids elevators like the plague. But I’m not. Claustrophobic, I mean. I just can’t stop imagining being stuck in there. For some reason my cell phone wouldn’t work and nobody would hear me shouting or notice I was missing, and then I’d be found months later, mummified amid the old letters.”

  Gideon started to laugh but the sound died in his throat. She really believed it.

  “I would notice,” he said.

  “Oh, of course, when you came to sort through the boxes,” she said. “But that could be days.” She stood up.

  He walked around his desk. “What time do you want to meet?”

  “Six?” She was shorter than he’d thought. Maybe she’d been wearing higher heels or maybe she just gave such an impression of confidence that she seemed taller, but now that he was close to her, she only came up to his shoulder.

  “I’ll be there,” he said. Her eyes were such a pale green, almost a sage color, and the rims of the iris were as dark as Kentucky bluegrass. He could imagine women all over the country trying to get that particular combination with colored contacts while Henry tried to hide them, ashamed of the genetic twist that had given her features worthy of a Hollywood star.

  As if to prove his point, Henry dropped her gaze. She murmured something and then she was gone.

  Gideon stood there in the middle of his office, replaying her words, trying to make everything fit together. He’d become so used to reading people in seconds, sensing their fears and their weak spots, and filing them into neat categories. But just when he thought he learned enough about Henry to put her in a slot, she revealed another detail that shifted his perception of her. It was as if she were one of those pictures he’d loved as a kid, the kind with a list of hidden items and the more you looked, the harder it was to see the key or the feather or the pencil hidden in the photo. Then just as you were about to give up, you finally saw it, right there in plain sight.

  He wasn’t a curious man. He’d learned to keep his nose out of other people’s affairs. Living a quiet life meant minding his own business. But there was something about Henry that he just couldn’t shake.

  Chapter Ten

  The beginning of love is the will to let those we love be perfectly themselves,

  the resolution not to twist them to fit our own image.

  ― Thomas Merton

  Henry walked down the sidewalk toward the Finnemore house and tried to calm the anxiety that hummed in her veins. Asking Gideon to work with her in the evenings was a good idea. It certainly erased the nagging fears about being trapped in the basement and no one hearing her calls for help.

  At the same time, though, she found herself replaying the moment she’d left his office that afternoon. The intensity in his gaze had stopped the breath in her lungs. Her whole life she’d avoided looking too closely at anyone. She didn’t want to see the lies flicker across their features as they spoke. When people came too close, she backed away, turned her head, focused somewhere else. For the first time, she wanted to step forward, cup his face in her hands and see as clearly as she was able. She wanted to ask him a million questions, wanted to know everything he was thinking. And that had never turned out well for her before.

  She brushed back a loose strand of hair and turned the corner. Gideon himself said he valued privacy above everything else and she’d agreed with him. She certainly didn’t want anyone prying into her life. She was a hypocrite now, though. She would lie through her teeth if he got too close to her, but she wanted to peer into his hidden room, just like the woman in Bluebeard. And like the end of the poem, it would do nothing but drive him away to some other place.

  Henry saw the old green door cracked and when she pushed, it opened easily, revealing the lamps and the boxes and Gideon, already seated at the table. He’d brought in another chair and she was relieved to see he’d set it at the other end but on the same side. It would be easier to concentrate if they weren’t face to face.

  “Hey,” he said, standing up.

  “Hi,” she said, and was embarrassed to hear a note of shyness in her voice. “It’s cooling off out there in the evenings. The festival is going to be perfect. If it doesn’t rain.”

  “Do you like zydeco music?” he asked, waiting for her to sit down before taking his seat again. She smiled a little at his manners. Kimberly would call him old-timey but Henry thought it was sweet.

  “Like it?” She shrugged. “Does a Creole girl get to choose whether she likes zydeco music? It’s sort of like the air. It’s just there.”

  “True. I suppose I should have asked whether you like dancing.”

  “Again…” she said, smiling. “It’s sort of understood that we Byrnes and Pascals will attend and enjoy ourselves.”

  “Tom loves it. The music, the crowd, the food, everything. I’ll go so he won’t make me feel like I’m failing to uphold our culture, but I’m not a fan of it all.” He spoke easily, as if they were friends and had been for a long time.

  She glanced into the box next to her chair. Everything was as she left it. He really was letting her sort the letters and pictures independently. It was a vote of confidence that gave her a flush of pride. Not that she would have been offended if he hadn’t. It was his project and he had a responsibility to keep track of the work, but it was good to know he considered her an equal at the task.

  Picking up a picture, she read the back, made a note and then said, “You know, if we’re being honest about it, I don’t look forward to it. It’s not like Christmas. I just go because I should.” It felt good to say it. “I do like the meat pies.”

  He seemed to think that was funny and she had to force her gaze away from his smile. Who knew that beard was hiding perfect dimples? It was only a matter of time before someone discovered the hermit archivist was worth another look. The idea of Gideon with a girlfriend made her think of how it would be to run into him on a date, which made her think of the awkward moment she stood between him and Blue the other day. Suddenly she groaned.

  He looked up. “Yes?”

  “I meant to return a phone call. Now it’s six o’clock and I just remembered… again.”

  “Feel free. I don’t mind,” he said and went back to his reading.

  Henry felt her face go hot. Blue had called that morning, leaving a message that he’d really enjoyed their date and hoping they could go out again sometime. There was no way Henry could call him now, in front of Gideon. “It’s fine. I’ll call tomorrow.”

  “If you remember,” he said to his papers.

  “True,” she said, laughing a little. “I’m not usually that forgetful.”

  “Sometimes I forget things I don’t want to do,” he said. “I’m not aware of it at the time, of course. My brain is very crafty at hiding my own procrastination from me.”

  Henry hoped that wasn’t the case. Blue was a really nice guy and was the closest she’d come in years to a prospective boyfriend.

  The flame from the lamps reflected on the edges of her glasses and she took them off, laying them on the table. The headache that had been lurking all day seemed to fade away. She picked up another photo. Three small boys in matching overalls stood next to a donkey. The back had such faded writing she couldn’t make it out. She drew the lamp closer and tilted the photo, squinting at the names. Alcide Richards. Alton Richards. Benjamin. Oakland Plantation. 1903 She made a note and looked more closely at the faces of the little boys. Two were clearly brothers or cousins. The third was either an orphan or a child loaned by the plantation, no last name necessary since he didn’t really have a family, or one that mattered enough to write down.

  She looked up, wonderi
ng about Tom and Gideon as children. Tom was shorter, more talkative, more open. They both had the same dark hair, although Gideon kept his cropped short and Father Tom always seemed to need a haircut. Although Gideon’s eyes were blue and Father Tom’s were black, they had the same brown skin and sharp cheekbones. The way the lamplight reflected off his features now put everything in sharp relief. Deep in concentration, there was a little line between his brows and a tightness to his mouth. The more she examined him, the more she suspected they weren’t related at all. Gideon’s mouth was different. Even though he didn’t smile as often, it seemed more expressive. A quirk of one side was like a laugh, when it straightened out in a line his anger was as clear as if he’d raised his voice.

  He looked up, catching her eye. He didn’t say anything, but simply waited for her to speak. Henry scrambled to think of something innocuous to say but in the end, simply said what she was thinking.

  “Clark said you and Father Tom grew up together.”

  “We were in the same foster home.”

  “That’s why you don’t have the same last name.”

  “Yes,” he said. And then he leaned back in his chair. “And no. It’s complicated.”

  She picked up the photo again. “These boys, I was just thinking of names and children and losing one’s sense of place.” She wasn’t making any sense but he nodded as if he understood.

  “I lived with my foster family from the age of five and I took their last name when they adopted me. Tom arrived when I was thirteen and he was eleven. He chose to keep his birth name.”

  “How do your parents feel about that?”

  “My adoptive parents don’t mind, I don’t think.” He paused. “We’re not close.”

  For the first time, Henry saw something in his face that she hadn’t before. His words weren’t quite a lie, but they weren’t exactly true. “You don’t speak to them at all?”

  “No. But Tom is very close to them.”

  Henry placed the photo back in the stack and picked up another. She was trying to put all of the pieces together but none of it fit.

  Something in her expression must have told him what she was thinking because he sighed. “I told you it was complicated. And for someone who has always known their family and always been secure in their name, I can see how it’s confusing.”

  She was the last person to look down her nose at complicated family dynamics, but there wasn’t any way to explain so she said nothing.

  They didn’t talk for a while, the only sound the rustle of paper or the scratch of a pen. After a bit, Henry ran her fingers through her hair and stretched her arms over her head. “Next time, I’ll bring a little electric kettle to brew up some tea. With a few cucumber sandwiches, it’ll be just like a picnic.”

  He shot her a look, trying not to smile. “Some jambalaya and sweet tea sounds better.” He paused as if remembering their agreement to cook a pot together and when he opened his mouth again, she was sure he was going to explain how it had been a joke, a silly exchange meant just for Father Tom’s benefit. Instead he said, “By the way, did you ever find your keys?”

  “Not yet. I’m sure they’ll turn up.”

  He rubbed a hand over his face and she noticed the weariness in his movements, the dark shadows under his eyes.

  “I feel bad keeping you down here. You look so tired. Let me just sort through this last stack and then we should lock up,” she said.

  “No, I can stay as long as you need,” he said and then covered a yawn. He caught her skeptical look and smiled. “But maybe you’re right. Let’s clear up what’s on the table and then head home.”

  She was nearly at the last photo when he straightened his stack of papers and said, “You’re perceptive. That’s your super power, right? The one Patsy was teasing you about?”

  Henry froze, her hand hovering over the papers. She wanted to nod and hope the subject never came up again. Of all the secrets she held, this was one that carried the most weight, the one that could prove the most disastrous if it came out in the open. It was the secret that held up all the others.

  She was suddenly so tired of lying. The words stuck in her throat like thick chunks of bread. She thought of the way she smiled in the face of a lie, and the way she smoothly lied right back. Gideon’s hedge about his adoptive parents was the first time she’d sensed anything less than complete honesty from him and it made her realize how much she yearned for it.

  “I don’t know how to explain,” she started.

  “It’s a complicated super power?” he asked, his voice softly teasing.

  “Oh, you have no idea,” she said. “I’m… I’m one of those people… a person that…” What if he didn’t want to be near her after he knew? Nobody wanted their darkest secrets exposed. All the problems she’d ever had with making friends or finding a boyfriend were suspended in the moment. Nobody liked a peeping tom, and that was what Henry was, psychologically speaking.

  “Hey,” he said, concern shadowing his face. “It’s okay. Whatever it is.”

  Truth.

  “I’m a human lie detector,” she blurted. The next moment, she closed her eyes, unable to watch his reaction.

  “A what?”

  She cracked an eye.

  “There are people who can always tell when someone is lying. Always.” The words sounded louder than normal in her ears. Patsy had always known from childhood and although they laughed about it, Henry had never said the words. Until now.

  He leaned forward, realization dawning. “The people that the CIA or FBI use for interrogations?”

  “Or to review confessions or to help solve murders,” she said, wishing it hadn’t come to that so quickly.

  He looked up at the ceiling and didn’t speak for a few moments. “This explains a lot.”

  “Does it?”

  A slow smile spread over his face. “Yes, it really does clear up quite a few puzzles.”

  Henry felt such a wave of relief that she was glad to be sitting down. “Don’t you want to try it out? Patsy calls it my party trick.”

  “You show it off at parties?”

  “No, no.” She shook her head. “Nobody knows. Patsy just thinks it’s funny when we’re in a group and someone lies and she can read it on my face.”

  “But I bet you don’t think it’s funny,” he said.

  She dropped her gaze to the table. “I hate it,” she said softly. “It’s terrible what people will lie about.”

  “Isn’t it better to know who your enemies are? I can imagine that would come in handy.”

  “Enemies?” She considered that. “It’s usually someone I’ve just met telling me they love history but it actually bores them to tears, or a friend saying they’re too tired to go out but they really want to go with someone else because they don’t like the way I talk through a movie, or a guy I like saying he thinks I’m beautiful, he really likes me and he wants to date exclusively.” Residual shame rose up as she finished speaking. Being around other people was sometimes like hearing out loud all the terrible things she’d ever thought about herself.

  He grimaced. “So, this guy wanted to date other people?”

  “Oh, all three were a lie. He just wanted his grandmother off his case and he figured that I would agree since I seemed sort of awkward and pathetic.” There wasn’t any reason to hold back. “People lie about everything.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, then uncrossed them. She could tell he was still working through it.

  “I try to turn it off. I don’t want to hear everybody’s business, I promise,” she said.

  “I bet,” he said. “I don’t want to know what’s going on in everybody’s head, either.” He leaned forward, eyes shining with interest. “So, how accurate are you? Eighty percent? Ninety?”

  She let out a laugh but it sounded bitter to her ears. “Freakish percent. Can that be a choice?”

  The lamplight flickered across his face. “Fascinating. Or, is that offensive. I don’t want to off
end you.” He meant it. “Do you mind talking about it?”

  She didn’t quite know how to answer him. “Like I said, I’ve never told anyone. I know some people make a good living with it, but I just don’t think I could stand it, day in and day out, listening for lies.” She looked up at him, relief edging out her shyness. “I don’t mind talking about it with you.”

  “What languages do you speak?”

  “What?”

  “Creole? French?”

  “Yes, and I took two years of Italian.”

  “No German? I took two years of German in college.” He grinned. “Let’s try it in a language you don’t understand.”

  She laughed, catching a bit of his enthusiasm. She’d never been able to play with her talent before. It had always been something dark and ugly, something better kept hidden away.

  “I’m going to say three things. One will be a lie. Ready?”

  She nodded, and listened closely as Gideon lied to her. “The second thing was a lie,” she said. “I don’t know what it was, but it was a lie.”

  “Good guess. Let me try again.”

  She listened. “The first thing was a lie.”

  “Try again.”

  “I’m going to close my eyes this time,” she said. After he was done she said, “The first was a lie again.”

  “Unbelievable,” he whispered, sitting back in his chair. “Why close your eyes?”

  “It’s harder when I can’t see the person. Or all of their face. When you had a beard, it was like talking to you behind a screen.”

  “So you can tell better now?” He ran a hand over his face, as if smoothing his beard. “Is it only people you know? Or strangers, too?”

  She started to say that he was a stranger, but it wasn’t true. “Everyone. And I don’t really know how it happens. It’s not any one thing, like blinking or a stutter.” She thought back to that morning with Kimberly and her grandparents. “But if I know someone well, I start to recognize the pattern, even when they’re not speaking. If they disagree with me, even if they don’t say a word, I can see it.”