These Sheltering Walls: A Cane River Romance

by Hathaway, Mary Jane

  “That’s wise,” Henry said. She gave his hand another little squeeze and let go. “You let me know when I should be here to help move, okay?”

  “Will do,” Tom said. “Are you two done for the night?”

  Gideon wanted to say they had hours left, but Henry was already moving toward the table. “I think so.”

  “Then let’s close this place up and get out of here. I don’t want a confrontation unless there has to be one. Barney Sandoz is starting to sound like he’s more than a little crazy,” Tom said.

  After they walked out of the basement, Gideon carefully replaced the metal panels that held the padlock.

  “Interesting skill set you have there,” Tom said. “You take a class on that in college?”

  “Just common sense.” And maybe a few things he picked up from the things he heard in prison. It was amazing how many ways a thief could get into your house.

  They chatted easily as they walked toward the parking area. The block was almost empty of other people and the night air was warm without being muggy. In a few minutes they reached Henry’s car and Gideon had just finished saying something about the photos they’d scanned that evening, when Henry stepped closer and kissed him on the cheek. Again.

  Seconds later she was gone and he hadn’t moved a muscle.

  “Are you okay? You need anything? Bucket of ice water?” Tom sounded like he was trying not to laugh out loud.

  “Hilarious.” Gideon forced himself to start moving toward his car. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to her,” he said, mostly to himself.

  “It wouldn’t be love if you did,” Tom said.

  Gideon opened his mouth to say he wasn’t in love with Henry, but with a terrible realization, he knew he was. Somehow, it had happened without him knowing, without any fanfare.

  “Hey,” Tom said, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Take a deep breath. This is a good thing. Nothing to it.”

  He tried to push back the fear, but it roared around in his head, drowning out all Tom’s advice. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but none of us do. We’re all just doing our best, day by day.”

  Gideon said nothing, envisioning all the ways loving Henry would end in pain and loss. All the ways he would break her heart.

  “Look at me,” Tom said.

  He turned, already shaking his head. “This is bad.”

  “This is good. Repeat after me. This is good.” Tom looked like he was trying not to laugh, but also knew Gideon was losing it just a little bit. “Any other woman and I might agree with you, but Henry is different.”

  “She is. You’re right.”

  “She’s not looking to change you. She wants you just the way you are. And loving someone isn’t a crisis. It’s normal. Lots of people do it. They love each other and the sky doesn’t fall. The world doesn’t stop turning.”

  “Right,” he said. When he was with Henry, he never panicked at the thought of being near her. It all felt so normal, so easy. “I just don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to screw up.”

  “I’m not sure whether I should tell you this or not, but you will. I can guarantee it.”

  “Not helpful,” Gideon said.

  “Sorry. That’s my job, right? To tell you the ugly truth that you don’t want to hear? And I’m telling you that you shouldn’t aim for perfection because that path is paved with good intentions and we all know where that leads.”

  Gideon nodded, but inside he was resolving to never, ever let Henry down. She deserved someone who was as close to perfect as he could get. He would do everything he could to make sure he never made a mistake with her, never let his past get in the way of their future. He would be the kind of man she deserved.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I didn't lie! I just created fiction with my mouth!”

  ― Homer Simpson

  “For someone who lives upstairs, I don’t get to see near enough of ya,” Bix said. He handed a customer a bag of books and came around the counter. By the Book was packed, but then, it was the weekend and tourists often came to visit the little vintage bookstore full of cats.

  “Sweet of you to say. Tell Ruby I said hi.” Henry gave him a kiss on the cheek. “This is my friend, Patsy. She and her husband are thinking of moving down here.”

  Patsy gave a little wave and Henry hoped she’d remember to explain about Bix’s eyesight before they met again. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “You must know a lot about vintage books, working in this beautiful store.”

  “Oh, not really. I mostly feed the cats, pick up the mail, and get in the way.” He gave Henry a huge wink. “And there might be a little babysitting in my future.”

  “Oh, you,” Alice said, walking up behind them. “You can’t keep a secret to save your life.”

  “Are you having a baby? Congratulations!” Henry didn’t know why she was so shocked. Maybe because Alice and Paul were living in different cities most of the time.

  As if she knew what Henry was thinking, Alice said, “We’ve been sorting out the details but Paul will be moving their headquarters here. They’re checking out land across the river for a building. He was worried most of his crew would prefer to stay in New York City, which would be fine since they’ll still have a base there, too. But apparently, a lot of them are thinking of coming with him.” She grinned. “Natchitoches is going to have an influx of New Yorkers.”

  “That’s gonna be interestin’, for sure.” Bix shook his head. “I was just tellin’ Father Tom that I could spot someone from out of the parish. They live over the parish line, and I can tell. But this? Whole different ball game.”

  Alice nodded. “I like to think of it as Southernizing a whole new group of people. We’ll make them speak Creole French, listen to zydeco music, and eat jambalaya two times a week.”

  Patsy leaned over to Henry and whispered loudly, “Never mind about moving. We changed our minds.”

  Bix said, “Aw, come on, now. We can really throw a party. I was tryin’ to convince Gideon to let Ruby and me throw him a shindig this weekend. But he said he had somethin’ else planned.”

  “A party?” Henry hoped she wasn’t being nosy. She couldn’t imagine a scenario where Gideon would want a big party, especially one hosted by Bix and Ruby, as wonderful as they were.

  “It’s his birthday, sha. You didn’t know it? He keeps it pretty quiet. Maybe he’s ashamed of bein’ an old bachelor, but I told him he was runnin’ out of time to find himself a wife. He just needs to put down all those letters written by dead people and get out of the archives. He’s not going to find a wife there, for sure.”

  “Well, he’s hardly old,” Henry said. Bix must have forty years on Gideon.

  “I still think a party would have been nice. We could have had music and dancing. Everyone loves dancing.” Bix sighed. “I guess he’s spending the day with Father Tom and a whole bunch of old priests.”

  “And you,” Patsy said, nudging Henry. “Don’t forget you’ll be there. On his birthday.”

  Her face went warm. Now it sounded as if she’d arranged it all. Before Bix could interject, she turned the conversation back to Alice. “I’m so excited for you. When’s your due date?”

  “Middle of May,” Alice said. “I’m a May baby. We’re calm, sweet-natured people.” She smiled in a way that made Henry laugh. That was a lie and Alice wasn’t trying to hide it.

  “You know, this birthday talk reminds me that I forgot to look for a present.”

  “No problem. I’ll sit in that old red chair in the corner. I may never get up, it looks so comfortable, but don’t worry about me,” Patsy said. “And congratulations, again, Alice. My baby is just crawling. Pencil us in for some playdates in about a year.”

  Alice laughed and nodded. “I will.”

  Henry slipped away to the poetry section while they talked. Maybe Gideon didn’t like to celebrate his birthday. Maybe it had bad memories. But she would hate to ha
ve the day pass without any kind of notice. She wandered the aisle, unsure what to choose. She knew he liked Edna St. Vincent Millay, but that meant he probably had a collection of her poetry. Elizabeth Barrett Browning was too romantic. Walt Whitman was too wordy. She pulled out books, then put them back. A collection of greatest love poems was reshelved in record time.

  Just when she thought she was going to have to go back to Edna and her bitter-but-accurate love poetry, she saw a slim volume with a familiar name. She flipped it open and read, Life has loveliness to sell, all beautiful and splendid things. She ran a finger down the words, feeling them breathe into her with a truth she’d forgotten. Blue waves whitened on a cliff, soaring fire that sways and sings, and children's faces looking up, holding wonder like a cup.

  Maybe it was the news of Alice and Paul’s new baby, or of the innocence that Gideon had lost, or the way he’d tried to protect Reggie’s son from being beaten, but the last image had Henry closing the book and walking toward the register. She hoped Gideon would like it, because even after all the ugliness he’d known, there was a whole world of loveliness still to be seen.

  She brought it to the counter and Alice scanned the little slip inside. “Sara Teasdale,” she said, running a finger over the raised lettering on the front. There was a sweet smile on her lips and a softness in her eyes.

  “Is she a favorite of yours? I don’t know much of her poetry,” Henry said.

  Alice was quiet for a moment. Then she checked the contents and flipped to a poem near the beginning of the book. “Like barley bending in low fields by the sea, singing in hard wind ceaselessly.” she read. “Once upon a time, I was trying to be like barley bending and a friend told me Sara Teasdale was a moper and I should ignore her. That advice changed the course of my life.” She rang up the purchase and put the little book in a paper bag. “I hope her words bring you happiness, the way they did to me.”

  “Thank you,” Henry said. “It’s a birthday present for a friend.”

  “Ah,” Alice said. “I hope he enjoys it, then. And tell Gideon happy birthday from us.”

  Henry stood there for a moment, trying to find something else to say, but in the end, she just smiled and walked away.

  ***

  “Sherlock!” Patsy’s exasperated tone finally caught Henry’s attention. She whirled around, silky summer dress still clutched in one hand. She’d been standing still in the middle of the boutique, reliving the moment when Gideon had leaned toward her, everything she’d ever wanted.

  “Sorry, what were you saying?”

  “I was asking if you’d heard from Gideon.”

  Henry frowned. “No, you weren’t.”

  Patsy smirked. “No, I wasn’t. I was talking about the position I wanted to apply with the state park system studying native insects in the Cane River area, but since you weren’t listening, I thought I’d try something else.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She put the dress back and ran her hands through her hair. “I’m listening now.”

  “Too late,” Patsy said brightly. “We’re talking about Gideon now.” She pulled a patterned slip dress off the rack and held it up. “This, with those strappy blue sandals you have.”

  “For the trip tomorrow?” She couldn’t imagine hiking in that outfit. Or trying to sit on a picnic blanket.

  “No, silly. I’m sure there won’t be any romance with all those priests around. I mean for the date, whenever it will be. Has he called yet?”

  “No, but I saw him last night,” Henry said.

  Patsy eyes narrowed. “Either you are purposefully holding back, or you don’t understand how much I need to hear these things.”

  “I’m not hiding anything. I honestly forgot to tell you.” She put both hands to her cheeks. “I feel like I’m losing my mind. I can’t think straight. At the plantation today, I sent out the mail without any stamps. I forgot Clark asked for the key to the storage shed and gave him the one to the cotton mill. Then I was ten minutes late for a tour that I’ve had on the calendar for a week.”

  “Oooh, I read an article in the New England Journal of Medicine about this.” Patsy clutched her arm, fingers making tiny indents in her skin. “It afflicts women who spend a lot of time near the Red River area. A little-known relative of the mosquito spreads a disease that attacks the brain. First the women act out of character, changing their appearance and picking up new hobbies. Then there’s the fuzzy thinking and forgetfulness. Then…” She drew a finger across her neck and stuck out her tongue.

  “So not funny,” Henry said, turning back to the rack of dresses.

  Patsy snickered. “I just had to pull your leg a little, Sherlock. But I do know what the problem is,” she said, flicking through the hangers. “If you want me to tell you.”

  “Another fake disease?”

  Patsy ignored her and walked around the rack so they were face to face. She ticked off the points as she spoke. “You changed your hair. You stopped wearing your glasses. You spend all your free time with the handsomest man I’ve ever seen, who just happens to be an expert in your same narrow field of study. You’re distracted, forgetful, secretive and a little mopey.”

  “Mopey?” Henry shot her a look. “I disagree.”

  Patsy crossed her arms and said nothing.

  “Maybe a little mopey.” She looked around the little boutique. “Let’s go outside. I feel like anything I say will get around faster than taking out a billboard.”

  “Fair enough.” Patsy led the way out of the store and they settled on a bench near the river. The shade from a little tree wasn’t quite enough but the weather was much cooler than even a week ago. Natchitoches’ version of fall was on the way.

  Henry ran her hands through her hair again, loving the freedom from her ponytail. Patsy was right, as usual. She’d changed a lot since she’d arrived, and not just on the outside.

  “Yes, I did see him last night. We were working on the Finnemore House collection,” she said. “And I already miss him. Isn’t that stupid? It hasn’t even been twenty four hours and I keep trying to think of a reason to go to the archives. I can’t concentrate and I’m annoying myself. And you.”

  Patsy squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “I don’t even know how it all happened. Every day was pretty normal, usually. But now I look back and everything is different. Everything has changed.” Henry hated how the last word came out squeaky and pinched.

  “Change is scary, Sherlock.” Patsy was smiling but there were tears in her eyes.

  “I didn’t decide to fall in love with him. There wasn’t one moment where I thought that was a good idea and I should just―” she waved her hands, “wrap my whole life around him.”

  “That’s because you can’t decide that sort of thing. It either happens, or it doesn’t.”

  “I’m scared,” Henry whispered.

  “Why?” Patsy’s tone turned guarded. “You said he was in prison. Do you feel safe with him? If he makes you feel threatened, you need to walk away.”

  Henry almost laughed. “No, I’m not scared of Gideon.” She looked out at the river and the families sitting on the grass in the sunshine. “Getting to know him made me take a real good look at myself. I don’t like what I see. I want to be honest with him but I’ve spent so long lying to everyone, I don’t even really know who I am anymore.”

  “I know you.”

  “You sort of know me,” Henry said. The words seemed to scrape her throat as she uttered them. “I’ve pretended to be this independent woman who didn’t need anyone, who preferred work to friends, who thought love was for the weak.”

  “Well, you didn’t act like that when you were my maid of honor,” Patsy corrected her.

  “I may not have said it, but I was telling myself that.” Henry brushed back her hair.

  “So, now you’re admitting you care a little more than you let on. That’s not an impossible jump.”

  “Maybe it is.” She told Patsy the story of Kimberly’s un
invited make over, how Henry had run out to breakfast with Gideon, how she’d come back and launched into an attack on Kimberly that still made her sick to think about.

  “Have you talked to her since?”

  Henry shook her head. “I think I ruined my chance of ever having a relationship with her. I didn’t think I wanted one at all. But I was wrong.”

  “Do you think she’ll refuse an apology?”

  She tried to put away her fear and really consider it. “No, I don’t think she would.”

  “Good. Then that’s your next step.” Patsy stood up. “Come on. We need some ice cream to go with this conversation. Love, lies, secrets. We can’t handle all of this without a little mint chocolate chip.” She looped her arm through Henry’s and smiled. “And I’m excited to get to know the real you, Sherlock. Whatever you’ve been hiding is going to be just as wonderful as the parts I already know.”

  “Well, first of all, I never liked mint chocolate chip. I just ate it because you did.”

  Patsy burst out laughing. “Let the truthing begin!”

  Henry let herself be pulled into the ice cream shop and fifteen minutes later, had to agree that a cone of strawberry cheesecake ice cream made everything better. The tangled mess she’d made didn’t seem so impossible to straighten out. Just because she’d spent years hiding her real thoughts and feelings didn’t mean she couldn’t be honest now. She wanted a fresh start. All she needed was courage.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “She is like all the rest of them. Whether they are seventeen or forty-seven, when they finally come to surrender completely, it's going to be in words.”

  ― William Faulkner

  “I’ve got a water bottle for each of you and a small pillow if you decide to take a nap,” Gideon said. “As soon as we get you settled in the car, I’ll pass them out.”

  “Have ya got a compass?” Father Marcel asked, his voice reedy and feeble. He raised a hand and pointed at Tom. “Last time we took a trip, he got lost. I thought it was the Donner party all over again and we were gonna have to eat each other.”