These Sheltering Walls: A Cane River Romance

by Hathaway, Mary Jane

  “I don’t mean to interrupt. Clark told me you were out here.” He took a few steps inside and looked around. He looked just the same, closely shaved and dressed in his usual button up shirt, but he also seemed somehow different. Maybe it was the way the light touched his profile or the way his eyes seemed bluer than she remembered.

  She wiped sweat from her upper lip and then wondered if she’d just given herself a dirt mustache.

  “I wanted to bring you these,” he said, and held out her keys.

  “Oh!” She came toward him, feeling a little hobbled by the knee pads. “Where were they?”

  “In the box you were sorting.” He placed them in her palm, his fingers barely brushing hers. “I went to move it and heard jingling in the bottom.”

  He’d already been down there working without her. She pushed back a stab of disappointment. A small part of her thought he might still want to work together in the evenings.

  “Alice already replaced the locks but I’m so glad to get these back.” She held them up, gazing at the bundle. “I’d hate to have to replace the locks to all the storage and main buildings in the park. I think I’ll be leaving these in my office from now on.”

  He smiled, crossing his arms over his chest and then uncrossing them. He seemed almost nervous.

  Maybe they wouldn’t work together, but he could still be here for another reason. She hoped it would be something that would involve walking through the park under the trees, talking about whatever came to them.

  “I don’t want to keep you,” he said. “You have a lot of work to do.” It sounded like a question.

  “Actually, I don’t really work in here. I’m so busy I don’t know whether I found a rope or lost my horse, but I just needed to get out of my office.” She gestured to the pile of brushes. “I came out here to check how everything was going and my archeology field techs looked close to heat exhaustion. They took the afternoon off to cool down and very nicely allowed me to muddle around in their workspace.”

  She hesitated, feeling shy. “You’re welcome to pick a spot and get your hands dirty.”

  “If you’re sure they wouldn’t mind, I’d love to,” he said.

  “I’m sure.” She hobbled back toward her space. If she’d thought working across a table in a cool, damp basement was awkward, now Gideon would be watching her sweat through her shirt while she crouched in the dirt. Still, she was pleased that he accepted.

  She explained the system, described a few things they’d found, and then they both got down to business. To her surprise, after a few minutes, she felt the same peace settle over her. They worked in silence for a long while.

  “Your friend calls you Sherlock,” he said, not raising his eyes from the square he was brushing.

  She was going to have to talk to Patsy. “It’s not what you think. Well, not completely. I’m not sitting around waiting to catch someone in a lie.” She hated the defensive tone in her voice. “It’s because she doesn’t call me Henry, really.”

  He looked across at her. “And why not?”

  “Because it’s not the name I was called when we were little and when I chose another one, she’s never really gotten used to it. She knows I don’t like my original name so she has to call me something.” She focused on the little whisk in her hand.

  “Interesting.” He was quiet for a moment and the only sound in the room was straw bristles against the dirt. “Can I ask what your other name is?”

  She bit her lip. It was too late to lie but telling the truth was more complicated than he could ever imagine.

  “I promise I won’t call you by it or mention it. I’m curious what name you found so horrible that you refuse to use it.”

  “Oh, I know you won’t. It’s just that names are so important.”

  “Are they?”

  She straightened up. “Aren’t they? What if I asked you what your other last name is?” She knew he would refuse.

  “Hardy,” he said. “Gideon Theodore Hardy. I was named after both of my grandfathers.”

  She repeated it after him, tasting the names on her tongue. It was odd how she could see him answering to Hardy just as easily as Becket.

  “Lorelei,” she said. “My first name is Lorelei.”

  “It’s pretty.”

  “It doesn’t fit me.”

  There was an expression on his face that she couldn’t quite understand. Part exasperation, part amusement. “And Henry does?”

  “Better than Lorelei. And to be fair, I’m sure my mother meant it as a compliment,” she said.

  “Naming her baby after a siren who lures men to their deaths with her beauty?”

  “Exactly.” Henry sighed. There was power in beauty, but it could be a destructive power and some women knew just how to wield it.

  “All right, so Patsy calls you Sherlock.” He went back to brushing and she took his cue, letting out a small breath. “Is she your Watson?”

  “She is.”

  “Patsy doesn’t strike me as the socially refined one in your relationship. And you don’t seem to be the emotionless, analytical human computer.”

  Henry started to laugh. “I thought you only read St. Vincent Millay poetry.”

  “I read a lot of things. And nobody can say they’re a reader if they haven’t read a few Sherlock mysteries.”

  “We loved those stories when we were in high school.” Her little square was finished and she hadn’t found anything of interest. She made a note on the clipboard and moved the markers to a different spot. Kneeling down, she paused, brush in hand. “But you’re right. Patsy is more logical, less sensitive. I’m the one who worries about gossip and how people feel.”

  “That must be tough, since you’re more tuned in to it all than most people.”

  Tuned in to it. That was a funny way to put it. “Don’t you worry about gossip?”

  He looked up. “You mean because of my past?”

  She nodded. She’d told him that she didn’t want to know, but the more time they spent together, the more his crime didn’t seem to fit the man in front of her.

  “Is it gossip if it’s true?” He brushed at the dirt for a few seconds then looked up again. “Sorry. That wasn’t really an answer. No, I don’t worry what people say about me. I’m sure most of it is true. What’s not true doesn’t matter. Nothing could be worse than the truth, anyway.”

  He said it without heat or bitterness.

  “I do worry about Tom. I don’t want him to suffer for our friendship,” he said. “But he seems to be one of those people that can turn a crowd in his favor with just a few words.”

  “I’ve known people like that,” she said. “He’s not the kind to abuse his gift but some people don’t always use it for good. They’re charismatic, learn how to manipulate the powerful, sway opinion and come out of it all looking humble.”

  “You’re talking about your aunt,” he said.

  “I wasn’t thinking of her exactly, but she’s a good example, sure.” She tried to sound off hand.

  He cocked his head. “You really can’t stand her.” When she didn’t answer he said, “I’m not saying you’re right or wrong. I’m just curious. She’s made a living off her beauty, true. And she’s silly, yes. And I’m sure being related to her has been a real trial, but it seems like interacting with Kimberly Gray is the worst thing in your life.” He was smiling, as if to take the bite from his observation. “There are so many other things in the world that are worse than Kimberly Gray being your aunt, in my opinion.”

  She realized they’d stopped working. She looked at her square, trying to find her place, wishing she’d never come to this little house, never asked him inside. The next moment, she was blurting out the truth.

  “She’s my mother,” she said. “Kimberly Gray is my mother.” The words echoed around in her head, sounding louder and more powerful than she’d thought they would be.

  There was a long moment of silence. She finally opened her eyes.

  “Ah.” He
nodded. “That explains a lot.”

  “You said that before. Am I that much of a puzzle?”

  “Actually, yes. Do a lot of people know or am I just out of the loop?”

  It was strange, really. Her whole life she’d been guarding that secret room, the one she kept all to herself, the one that held the darkest secrets. He made her want to open the door and invite him inside.

  “Nobody knows.”

  “Nobody in town?”

  She swallowed hard. “Nobody.”

  “Except your family.”

  “She doesn’t know that I know. None of them do.” There it was, the very worst part about being Kimberly Gray’s daughter.

  The laughter faded from his eyes.

  “The elephant in the room is a world-famous celebrity,” she said, trying to regain the light-heartedness of the last few minutes.

  Gideon sat back on his heels. “You’ve always known?”

  She nodded. “Ever since I can remember.”

  He didn’t ask how she knew. If he had, she could have told him that a birth certificate contains a lot of indisputable facts.

  “But you’ve never told them.”

  “Of course not.” The idea was ludicrous. White hot anger surged through her. “It’s not my responsibility to clear the air. They’re the ones who’ve been carrying on this charade for my entire life.” She swiped at the sweat on her cheeks, or maybe it was tears. “Every time they call her my aunt, they lie. Every time they call Lisette my mother they lie. They lie, and lie, and lie. And you think I should be the only one telling the truth? Why do they deserve it? Why do they deserve the truth and I don’t?”

  He stood up and brushed the dirt from his hands. She’d said too much, shown the dark grief and anger inside. She expected him to answer questions that weren’t his concern. Maybe she could pretend she’d just been joking around but it was too late and she didn’t have the energy for a lie that big. She dropped her head and didn’t bother to wipe her face again.

  Then he was next to her and lifting her up, his hands under her elbows. She said something into the front of his shirt, not even understanding herself through her tears and not expecting any kind of answer. His arms were wrapped so tightly around her that it almost hurt, but she didn’t move.

  “Because,” he said finally, “when you lie right back, you’re letting them have all the power.”

  She shook her head against his chest but he didn’t say anything else. She tried not to cry out loud because crying had always been something that women did for attention, not what people did when they had reached the absolute end of their ability to cope.

  After a while she was aware of how her shirt was sticking to her back, the way her neck was craned at an angle and how a knee pad was slipping down one leg. He felt completely solid under her hands and cheek. She took a deep breath and inhaled the smell of him, that soap-and-something-wonderful combination. He hadn’t shifted at all and she wondered at his ability to stand so still, especially with someone having a small breakdown against him.

  She realized that she would have to step back eventually and look him in the eyes. Dread crept over her, freezing her in place. Before today, they’d been friends. Or maybe that wasn’t quite the right term. They had been people who told each other important things. But now she was a woman who cried and he was a man who stood there until she was finished.

  He somehow sensed the change in her and leaned back. She kept her face down, hoping that some miracle would happen and he would walk straight out the door without any other conversation. She could see patches of wetness on his shirt and she hoped it was tears and not from the fact she’d been pressing her runny nose in that spot.

  “Hey,” he said and his voice was very soft. It didn’t sound like a man who was disgusted by the person he was holding.

  She looked up, afraid of what she’d see in his eyes. She could see a small pale scar near his jaw and a spot he’d missed shaving. There was tenderness in the lines of his face.

  “You deserve the truth,” he said. “And you deserve to be able to tell the truth.”

  “Thank you,” she said. Her voice sounded a little soggy and very tired.

  So, he wasn’t repulsed or annoyed. That was good. She scanned his features, trying to puzzle him out. His eyes dropped to her lips and he reached out a hand, cupping her cheek. A second before he leaned forward, Henry realized what he was going to do and she bolted backwards. Her heels hit the edge of the digging site and she lost her balance, wind-milling her arms.

  He reached out and grabbed the collar of her shirt, hauling her back by the scruff of her neck.

  “I’m sorry I―” she started to say.

  “I didn’t mean to―” he said.

  “―jumped like that.”

  “―scare you.”

  She let out a nervous little laugh. Typical. She finally found someone she wanted to kiss and when he made a move, she reacted like a complete nutcase.

  His cheeks had gone pink and she realized he was feeling as humiliated as she was. And the worst part was that it was definitely too late to give it another try. He’d stepped away, hands in his pockets.

  “I’ll let you get back to work,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said. “Thanks for my keys. And the help.” She waved a hand over the dirt. She wanted to say something about listening to her, and the hug, and the almost-kiss, and the save from falling on her backside but she didn’t.

  He nodded and was gone. Henry was left in the little building wondering how, after all this time and effort at keeping everything to herself, one person could know all her secrets.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Why, what could she have done, being what she is?

  Was there another Troy for her to burn?”

  ―Yeats

  Gideon walked the long path back to where he’d parked his car outside Oakland Plantation. He’d come to drop off her keys and apologize for talking so much during the dance. Instead, he’d asked questions and for some reason, she’d answered them. Maybe Tom was right. Maybe they weren’t the type of people to talk about the weather.

  He ducked under a low branch and sighed. Like most guys, he didn’t like to watch a woman cry. When they did, you were supposed to go over there and offer some kind of comfort. He’d seen quite a few people cry while touring the archives and he’d always either carefully retreated from the area, or gotten Bernice’s attention. Bernice would hug a fence post if it looked like it needed one. Ruby was always reaching out to touch his hand, and even Bix and Tom liked to sling an arm around him. But Gideon always felt like the space between him and the other person was impossibly wide and by the time he made his way over there, the person might not want to be touched after all.

  Henry had started to cry and he didn’t even think until his arms were wrapped around her. His chest constricted at the memory. She was what Sally would call a ‘tough cookie’, nothing much seemed to bother her. There was a steeliness in her smile that promised a fight if someone crossed her. She walked the line with sureness, never wavering. When she talked Cane River history, her confidence was palpable and she gave the impression of a woman who was used to relying on herself. When she confided in him, her expression had been heart-breaking, the way she’d dropped her chin, as if admitting defeat.

  He couldn’t stand there and let her drown in her grief. At first, she’d hugged him right back, sobbing quietly into his shirt. She’d fit so perfectly there against his heart. For one shining moment, it had all seemed so easy, so natural. This was how it worked. Two people came together and there wasn’t anything complicated about it.

  A hawk flew overhead and Gideon watched its graceful trajectory across the bright white-blue sky. He was completely out of his depth. He’d felt her tense and thought she was feeling embarrassed, wanted to reassure her that he didn’t think any less of her, was so honored that she confided in him. She’d looked up with those green eyes and he’d been lost. He’d wanted to kiss her fo
r weeks and for some reason, his brain had decided that moment to urge him on. The way she’d jumped back told him everything he needed to know.

  Henry was afraid of him.

  He couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t done anything to earn her trust, and if anything, she was wise to be wary of him.

  When he reached his car, he took out his phone and dialed Tom.

  “OK, you win,” he said when Tom answered.

  “Great. But it would be nice to know what I won.”

  “Supper for four. Or five. Or whatever you want to do.” Gideon rubbed his face. “I have no idea what I’m doing and I could use some help.”

  There was a brief silence on the other end and when Tom answered, Gideon could hear the smile in his voice. “So, you’re going for it? You’re not just yanking my chain?”

  “I don’t know what going for it means.” He was in a no man’s land of unresolved feelings and questions without answers.

  “Don’t worry. Everyone will have a great time. It’ll be painless. I promise,” Tom said.

  “That’s terrifying. That’s what doctors say before they hurt you.”

  Tom laughed and after one last reassurance, he hung up.

  Sliding into his car, Gideon started back down the long driveway from Oakland Plantation. Vince had a saying he was fond of when Gideon was little: you can pay for your dreams or you can forget about them. He couldn’t seem to let Henry be, but only time would tell what the payment would be for pursing her. For the first time in a long time, Gideon felt a whisper of fear.

  ***

  Henry walked toward By the Book, her work satchel heavier than usual with all the notes she needed to sort, but her thoughts looping over and over. Patsy and Denny had gone back to LaFayette and her life seemed a lot lonelier than it had been before they came to visit. It was strange how just one week with them reminded her that she needed friends. She needed someone to talk to who wasn’t a coworker. She needed someone who knew her, inside and out, and was always on her side.