These Sheltering Walls: A Cane River Romance

by Hathaway, Mary Jane

  “We were fifteen miles out of town. Nobody was going to die. One wrong turn in six years and nobody forgets it,” Tom said.

  Henry had her hand over her mouth, eyes crinkled in laughter and Gideon had trouble not cracking a smile in response. She looked beautiful, as always, and he wished they’d had a few seconds to talk before everyone arrived.

  “I’ll go in her car. It looks more comfortable.” Father Marcel was already pushing his walker toward Henry. “I’ve got this bad back. I can’t stand those little foreign cars y’all drive. She’s got a Ford. They got real comfortable seats.”

  “Father Marcel, I thought you could come with me,” Tom said. He turned to Gideon and whispered, “We discussed this. He’s meaner than a skillet full of rattlesnakes. We can’t let him go with Henry.”

  “I know,” Gideon whispered back but he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. He couldn’t tackle the old guy. A movement caught his eye and he saw Father Luke shuffling in the same direction, Seemed like the whole group wanted to go with Henry. He didn’t blame them in the slightest.

  Henry was already walking toward her car, ready to assist Father Marcel into his seat. Father Luke reached the car first, slapped the hood and yelled, “Shot gun!”

  “Fine, but I’m driving,” Father Marcel said and held out his hand to Henry. “Keys, if ya please.”

  She looked to Tom, confusion on her face.

  “Father Marcel, you know you don’t have a license,” Tom said.

  “I was drivin’ our old farm truck to school when I was ten. Nobody needs a license to drive. That’s just a formality.”

  “Get on with yo’self,” Father Andre muttered. He raised his voice and said something in Creole French that was both too fast and too complicated for Gideon to understand. Then he added, “Miss Henry is the director of the Cane River Creole park. You’re so proud of that display of your family history. You get her in trouble and she just might lose all those pictures.”

  Henry opened her mouth, probably to assure them she’d never do any such thing, but Marcel was already shrugging. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind holding the map. I’ll make sure we don’t get lost like we do when Tom drives.”

  Tom let out a sigh. “It was one time. One.” He turned to Gideon. “If she never speaks to us again, you can blame me.”

  “She’ll be fine. She’s a lot tougher than she seems.” Gideon watched her opening the back door and helping Father Luke get settled. Apparently, he’d given up his claim on the passenger seat. Father Marcel eased himself into the front seat as Henry struggled to fold the walker. He could hear Marcel giving her directions.

  “When’s the wedding?” said a familiar bullfrog voice and Gideon turned to see Father Toussaint leaning on his cane, his figure even more frail than last year, but his black trousers and shirt were nicely pressed.

  “Excuse me?” Gideon hoped he could feign ignorance all the way into another conversation.

  “You need to go through pre-marriage counseling, remember that. Ya got to take classes now.” Father Toussaint leaned closer and whispered. “Waste of time if you ask me. Nobody ever calls off the wedding because they took one of those personality tests.”

  “No, sir. We’re not engaged. We just met a few months ago.”

  “That counselin’ takes six months, so if she wants a spring wedding, you’ll have to get started right away. Of course, everybody wants to get married at the minor basilica but those dates fill up by Christmas.” Father Toussaint straightened up for a moment. “You’ll probably have Tom here officiate but if for some reason he’s unavailable, I’d be honored to stand in for him.”

  “Father, I haven’t asked her to marry me. There’s no wedding,” Gideon said, glancing toward Henry, hoping she was out of earshot.

  “Well, there’s no limit on celebrants, actually.” He nodded his head, as if everything were all settled. “You could have as many of us as you want. But I give the best homily. Don’t let Father Marcel do it, he talks forever and his jokes are never funny.”

  Tom wasn’t even trying to cover his laughter by now and Gideon shot him a glare. If it got back to Henry, she might wonder what he’d been telling all these priests. “Let’s get you in the car, Father Toussaint. You can have the front.”

  “Naw, I better go with Miss Henry. Marcel is gonna send her right off the road with all his complainin’. Plus, she drives a Ford.” Father Toussaint glanced back to Tom and Gideon. “No offense, of course.”

  “None taken.” Gideon caught Tom’s eye and shrugged.

  After settling Father Sal and Father Gabriel in the back seat, he walked to Henry’s car. She was just closing the trunk and looked up with a smile that took his breath away. Really, everything about her took his breath away.

  “Looks like you ended up with most of the crew,” he said. “I can’t imagine why.”

  “Maybe they all know women are better drivers.” She glanced behind her and then said quietly, “I showed Father Marcel that my phone has voice activated GPS and he asked it the best way to get to New Orleans. But he didn’t like the answer and now they’re arguing.”

  “Father Marcel and Father Andre?”

  “No, Father Marcel and the phone.”

  “You’re a good sport. Thanks for coming.”

  “I’m happy to help. Plus, I wouldn’t miss your birthday.” She must have read the surprise on his face because she hurried to explain. “Bix spilled the beans. I hope you’re not mad at him.”

  “No, not mad at all.” That was a little bit of a lie, since Gideon was sure that was no slip. He reached out and took Henry’s hand for a moment. “I can’t think of a better way to spend my birthday.”

  Her cheeks went pink and she nodded. “Me, too. Your birthday, I mean. Not mine. Mine is in March. Who knows what will be happening in March…. with us.” She raised a hand to her eyes. “Please stop me.”

  “Never,” he said, laughing.

  The back window whirred as it went down and Father Toussaint peered out. “Marcel is askin’ that doohickey how to get to Miami. It’d take us fifteen hours, but only if we leave right now before traffic gets bad.”

  Tom walked toward them, a harried look on his face. “Are we ready?”

  “I was born naked and ready. They just put clothes on me,” Father Toussaint said and window slowly slid upward.

  Henry tried to cover her laughter, but it came out as a snort and a cough.

  “I’ve got the food, the water, blankets in case the weather turns, the camera, and just enough patience to get us there and back in one piece.” Tom glanced at Henry. “If Father Marcel gives you any trouble, ask him about his time as an Army cleric. He loves talking about it.”

  “We’ll be fine. Are you leading, Father Tom?”

  “Sure. And you can follow―”

  “The birthday boy,” she said, tossing them a grin as she got behind the wheel.

  “Bix is in big trouble,” Gideon said to Tom, but he didn’t mean it. In fact, celebrating his birthday didn’t seem as awful as it always had. This year, things were different.

  This year, everything had changed.

  ***

  Henry set the last plate on the picnic table and bowed her head as Father Marcel said grace. The smell of the woods was so different from the Cane River area that she would have known they were somewhere else even if she’d been blindfolded. She gave an extra prayer of thanks after that car ride. Father Marcel and Father Andre correcting the others’ version of the last twenty years made it feel much longer than an hour.

  “Don’t be shy,” Father Tom announced to the group. “Take as much as you want. Lucille Rondeau heard we were coming up here and gave us most of the dishes folks dropped off after her cousin Bob’s funeral. May he rest in peace.”

  “So, how did it go?” Gideon asked as he walked up. He handed her a plate and she thought he looked like what would happen if GQ decided to do a photoshoot on a hilltop in Louisiana. She focused on carefully splitting a biscui
t and swiping on a bit of peach jam.

  “No problems at all,” she said. “My phone was exhausted by the time we arrived, but I had a great time. How about you?”

  “Father Gabriel prayed the rosary and Father Sal went to sleep so I was left to wonder what was happening in the party car.” He lifted a pitcher of sweet tea and started to pour a cup.

  “Well, Father Toussaint says I need to pick our wedding date soonish because he always takes a trip to Atlanta to see his sister in the spring and he doesn’t want to miss it.”

  Gideon poured tea all over the table cloth and spent the next few seconds scrambling to clean up the mess.

  “It’s okay. I told him we were going to live in sin. He said he’s driving back with you so he can set you straight,” Henry said.

  Gideon paused, a wad of damp napkins in one hand and the half-filled glass in the other. “Now you’re just being cruel.”

  “Better that you find out now and not after we’re married.” She scooped up some potato salad and let it drop onto her plate with a satisfying plop. “But if it makes you feel better, remember I still have Father Marcel and a working GPS app.”

  He took all the teasing in stride and she loved that about him. She loved everything about him.

  “Henry,” he said, looking down at the napkins in his hand. He shook his head, as if not sure what else to say.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not sending out any invitations,” she said, keeping her tone light. She refocused on her plate. “Father Andre asked me to bring him another biscuit so I’d better go sit down,”

  “Wait.” He dropped the napkins and touched her elbow. “It looks like it might rain, but if you’re willing, I thought maybe we could hike to the summit after we eat lunch.”

  “I’d love that,” she said.

  He glanced behind them. “I think most of them will want to hang out down here and take a rest but I’m pretty sure we can outrun them if we have to.”

  “I’ll be ready to bolt,” she said and turned away, her face warm. So he hadn’t ever called about their date, but hiking to the summit sounded promising. She hadn’t taken any big steps yet, but she was determined to start being herself. And being herself meant letting Gideon know exactly how she felt.

  ***

  The hike to the top wasn’t really a hike, in Gideon’s opinion. It was a leisurely walk and they didn’t break a sweat. The clear sky had clouded over and it looked as if it might rain at any moment but they didn’t turn back. Of course, after Henry had taken his hand he’d stopped wondering if they would get soaked and decided he didn’t care.

  The patter of rain drops on the leaves of the sheltering trees welcomed them as they stepped into the small clearing. A pyramid of stones marked the summit and a display case held a map, the glass streaked with rain. They took turns shielding the visitor’s book as they took it from the little wooden box and signed it.

  “It’s perfect here,” Henry said.

  He wanted to say he agreed, but was afraid he’d blurt something else, something about the way she looked in the rain, the way the drops clung to her lashes. He knew they should head back. Tom would be getting out the blankets and moving everyone to the picnic shelters to wait for their return. Henry pulled up the hood on her sweatshirt, but didn’t say anything about leaving.

  There was a bench next to the map but the metal already held small puddles of water. Gideon wiped it clean as best he could and sat down.

  “Come here.” He patted his knees. “I’ll suffer the indignity of a wet rear end and you can stay dry.”

  She slid a look toward him, one edge of her mouth tilting up. “My mama told me to watch out for boys like you.”

  “Your mama was right,” his voice dropped an octave, “but I am not a boy.”

  “Well, problem solved,” she said and gingerly perched on his knee. She wasn’t sitting. More hovering, barely making contact. “Am I crushing you?”

  Now that she was sitting on his lap, he couldn’t see her face very well, and he gently moved her hood back a bit. “No.”

  “I feel like I’m crushing you. You won’t have any circulation in this leg if I sit here very long. I should―”

  “Wait.” He lifted his left arm and laid it behind her, and she answered his movement by lifting her arm and laying it across his shoulders. He could smell her shampoo. Everything was silent except for the patter of the rain. She relaxed against his side and he had a sudden flash of winding the old grandfather clock when he was a kid. The first few times he’d tried to help, he reached out and grabbed clumsily, setting the weights and pulleys swinging, dull thuds and muted chimes echoing in the wooden cavity. Vince would set it all back to rights by holding each piece until the shudders had stopped.

  He could hear his own heartbeat. He hadn’t thought of that clock in years. His favorite moment was when Vince would start the pendulum swinging with one calculated tap, then gently withdraw his hand and close the door. And it would just go on and on, without batteries or electricity, a miracle of physics and balance and motion.

  “Have you ever been out of Louisiana?” she asked.

  “I traveled to Colorado a few years ago. I didn’t care for all that snow. It felt suffocating.”

  She said nothing, looking out at the hills, all the way into the valley.

  “But last year, when it snowed in Natchitoches, I realized why people love snow scenes in art.”

  “Like paintings of little cottages under the snow, all the windows lit with a warm, welcoming light? The kind everybody sells at Christmas?”

  “Just like that. And I realized that if you know what’s underneath, you recognize the shape of the hills. The bones of the land never change, they’re just softened. It’s beautiful.”

  She was quiet for a long time and he wondered if she had another question she was afraid to ask. Finally she spoke very softly, “People are like that for me. When I first meet them and they tell me so many lies, all I can see is the snow. I never know how deep it goes or what’s underneath, sinkholes or sharp, broken branches. But after a while, I start to see a pattern. Some people lie about their work, some people lie about how popular or attractive they are. It starts to take shape and eventually, I can see the bones of them underneath all of that.”

  The rain sounded loud in his ears.

  “I have lied to you,” he said.

  “I know.”

  He wanted to ask if she can still see him under all of it. He wondered what he sounded like, if his lies are as ugly as all others. But to her, maybe all lies were the same.

  As if sensing his despair, she turned to him. They were just inches apart and the rain pattered down, landing on the metal of the bench with soft pings. Her lips were tilted up.

  “Remember, I knew you before the snow came,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “How many million Aprils came

  Before I ever knew

  How white a cherry bough could be

  A bed of squills, how blue.”

  ― Sara Teasdale

  She impulsively leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek, except they landed closer to his jaw. He stayed completely still, as if not wanting to scare her away, but his hand tightened on her hip. His skin was warm under her lips. She moved a few inches to the left, the corner of his mouth just under hers, and then she remembered how much there was to lose, how much she relied on him being in her life, and she leaned back.

  Henry thought about making some light-hearted comment and standing up. Being honest with Gideon was like walking into the sun after being in a dark room. Her whole being thrilled at it, but there was a pain to it, too. She wanted to run back to where it was safe, where she could hide in the dark.

  He raised his brows, a question there as plain as day. She loved the dark blue of his eyes, loved everything about him, from the angle of his jaw to the curve of his mouth. It must seem ridiculous how she’d hovered along that curve, like a woman would do if she wanted to tease a man
into believing she was interested.

  He waited, not saying anything and she felt his confusion. For a moment, she balanced between truth and lies, between honoring the words she said to him in the basement and protecting her heart.

  “I’m afraid to kiss you.”

  “Are you afraid it’ll mean more to me than to you?”

  “No. I just… I don’t want to ruin anything.”

  “Ruin? How? Are you that bad at it?” He was being silly, trying to lighten the moment.

  “What if things don’t work out?” She felt her cheeks go warm. She didn’t want to say the rest, about how she hadn’t known him very long, but she didn’t want to live without him.

  “What if things go well and Father Toussaint demands to officiate at our wedding?”

  “I think if things go really badly, we’ll still have to get married. He’s counting on us. We’ll just have to live in unhappily wedded discontent for the rest of our days.”

  She loved the way his dimples appeared even when he wasn’t outright smiling. “You’re not really selling me on this kiss.”

  “I just think we should consider all the possible outcomes, not just the good ones. Maybe we shouldn’t ruin what we have by changing our friendship.”

  “Henry,” he said.

  “Excuse me?” She bristled at his tone. If he’d been Ruby he would have said ‘bless your heart’.

  “Look at us,” he demanded. He looked down, squeezing her hip. His other hand was resting on her knee. She had one arm wrapped around his shoulders, her fingers resting against the back of his neck. Her other hand was tucked between them, right near his heart.

  He leaned closer, putting his mouth just inches from her ear. The low rumble of his voice sent shivers down her spine. “I don’t think we’ve been just friends for a very long time.”

  She closed her eyes against his words but the truth of it sank deep into her heart. All this time, she’d been worried about taking a step that was already made. She turned her head, just a little, just enough that his lips met her cheekbone. And then she tilted her head up, finding her way by touch alone. His mouth was warm and soft, and she thought she could feel him smiling against her lips.