These Sheltering Walls: A Cane River Romance

by Hathaway, Mary Jane

  The door to By the Book was propped open and the smell of fresh brewed coffee wafted out to greet him as he stepped through the doorway.

  “There’s my favorite historian,” Bix said as Gideon crossed the foyer. He had a pen tucked behind one ear and an armful of paperbacks. “Oh, I guess I can’t say that anymore, since Miss Henry arrived. I can’t really choose between you. I sure enjoy that gal. She just puts the pepper in the gumbo. Don’t you agree, Alice?”

  “Sure do,” Alice said, and something her smile made Gideon wonder if there was a story there somewhere. “Scoot, Van Winkle.” She stacked papers on the desk, nudging a fat tabby cat out of the way. “I’m happy to see you out and about, Gideon. When I heard about your troubles, Paul said we needed to find you the best defense lawyer in the country, but Bix told me you already hired Blue Chalfant.”

  “I did,” he said. Alice was looking at him without a hint of fear or wariness, unlike most of Natchitoches.

  As if reading his mind, Alice said, “You’re wondering why I’m assuming you’re innocent.”

  “Well, truth be told… yes.”

  “He’s my friend. ‘Course he didn’t kill that ol’ con artist.” Bix puffed out his chest.

  Gideon appreciated Bix’s loyalty but Alice would be a fool to take his word at face value.

  “It’s because of Henry, actually. She believes you’re innocent and if she does, I will.” Alice cocked her head, a slight smile touching her lips. “I haven’t quite figured it out, but there’s something different about her. Do you know what I mean?”

  “I do.”

  “She’s a sweet gal. Real quiet, though. And she gets this funny look on her face sometimes, like she’s thinking about something far away,” Bix said, setting the books down on the counter.

  Alice said, “Well, we know you’re innocent and I hope the board gets their heads on straight and gives you back your job soon.”

  “Me, too. They’re still processing my appeal. I can understand their desire to be cautious,” Gideon said. It made him sick to imagine his leave of absence being permanent but they’d taken a chance when they hired him three years ago. It was a one-strike-you’re-out sort of situation. Gideon could only hope they would realize this wasn’t a strike.

  “It was a real shock to hear you found Barney stone cold dead, right in your own house,” Bix said.

  “I wager it was a bigger shock for Gideon than for you,” Alice said, sending him a sympathetic look.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He didn’t bother to elaborate. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since.

  “And rightly so,” Bix said. “And they still haven’t found the culprit?”

  Gideon shook his head.

  “Well, maybe the jambalaya feed will bring him out of hiding,” Bix said. “Nothing like a pan of sausages sizzlin’ in a pan, or the smell in the house when you got a whole fryer chicken cut up and cookin’ away in the oven. I always add a little chicken fat to my pan before I start to brown the rice. It’s real different from lard, although my cousin Shirley swears by two week old bacon grease. Says if you use it and pour it back in the jar it’s better than any―”

  “Excuse me,” Alice said, walking around the counter. “I’m just going to get some air.” Her face was pale and there was a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. A large black cat appeared at the top of the range and fixed Gideon with an accusatory stare.

  They watched her leave and then Bix said, “Shoot. I keep forgetting Miss Alice has got that sensitive stomach. She never used to be that way. We could talk food all day. Now that a baby is on the way, she can’t hardly hear about food or she gets sick.”

  Gideon blinked. He hadn’t heard Alice and Paul were expecting a baby. Of course, it was the natural step after a couple got married, but Paul spent a lot of time in New York City. If Paul didn’t change his living arrangement, he wouldn’t be there to protect them if they needed help or someone broke in. Gideon had always hated the thought of Henry living over the bookstore. Maybe some night a thief would break in, and then realize there might be better things to steal― or worse― upstairs.

  “Gideon? What can I help ya with?” Bix had a look on his face that told Gideon he’d already asked once before but he hadn’t heard him over his own anxiety.

  “I was looking for some poetry.” He waved a hand toward the section. “I’ll just go browse.”

  Bix ignored that last part and picking up a lithe, graceful cat with golden brown eyes. “Come on, Miss Elizabeth. Our book sortin’ can wait. The man needs some poetry.” He put her over one shoulder and headed for the poetry range, the cat watching him with an amused expression. A Siamese darted out from behind the counter and followed them, yowling petulantly. “And you, Mrs. Bennet. We can’t leave you behind, of course.”

  Gideon had no choice but to follow.

  “Looking for anyone in particular?”

  “Sara Teasdale. I got a collection of hers for my birthday and I’d like to see what other volumes you have in stock.”

  “Oh, we have a few others, I’m sure.” Bix turned and shot him a sly smile. “For your birthday, huh? From anybody special?”

  Gideon didn’t know how to answer so he pretended he hadn’t heard. Of course Henry was special. Henry was everything.

  “Well, here ya go.” Bix pointed to a small shelf of slim books at the far end of the range, near the wall. “Let me know if ya need anything else.”

  “I will,” he said. “Oh, Bix? I almost forgot. I have tickets to New Orleans next weekend that I can’t use. I can’t get a refund but I can transfer them to someone else. Do you think you and Ruby could use them?”

  “Oh, because of not being able to leave town? Maybe they’ll catch the guy before then and you’ll be free to travel.”

  “Even if they do, I changed my mind. I’d like you two to use them.”

  “Well, that’s mighty nice of you.” Bix considered it for a moment. “For how long?”

  “It’s just for the weekend, flying in on Saturday and out on Sunday. Maybe you could take in some live bands and do a little dancing. I can drop you off and pick you up at the airport here.”

  “Ruby would be real pleased to take a trip like that. Her cousin Bonnie lives in New Orleans and she’s always askin’ us to come on down there. It sure sounds like a good time. We haven’t been out of town for ages, not since I stopped driving. I’ll go call her up and see what she thinks.”

  Gideon smiled as Bix started to whistle a familiar tune and shuffle-stepped his way back down the aisle, the kitty on his shoulder swaying from the movement.

  Now that the tickets were out of his hands, he let out a sigh of relief. He’d seen Henry only a few times since that day in his living room, and he’d felt so guilty he could hardly look her in the eyes. She’d watched his face, and he was unbearably aware that if he spoke one wrong word, she would know everything. He was technically innocent of Sandoz’s murder but he’d been willing to commit another. Exhaustion, shock, losing his job, flashbacks of prison and the murder of his family had all combined into one really bad decision, but Tom had been there to break his fall. Giving those tickets to Bix and Ruby might redeem a little of that dark moment of weakness and temptation. They could take it and turn it into a beautiful memory.

  He turned back to the shelf and took a moment to appreciate what a collection Alice had arranged. In some bookstores there were multiple copies, dog-eared paperbacks next to hardbound library editions or a few modern editions next one or two tattered, turn of the century books. In By the Book, it seemed every volume had been chosen for its appearance as well as content. Shining gold leaf gleamed against warm leather spines and the books were nestled gently together, not crammed in so tightly that a careless customer could damage them trying to take it from the shelf.

  Reaching out, he slipped a Teasdale collection from its place and opened it. Sara Trevor Teasdale was born on August 8, 1884. Gideon smiled at her middle name, thinking of Henry. He flipped forward, op
ening the page at random, to a poem titled The Wanderer. I saw the sunset-colored sands, The Nile, like flowing fire between. He hadn’t left Louisiana more than a few times but he’d never really felt at home here, either. And many skies have covered me, and many winds have blown me forth, and I have loved the green, bright north, and I have loved the cold, sweet sea.

  He stopped to think on that, wondering if he’d ever loved any place at all. His little farmhouse had been a sanctuary, but it seemed tainted now. He loved the river, but maybe only for the fact Tom was usually with him. But what to me are north and south, and what the lire of many lands, since you have learned to catch my hands and lay a kiss upon my mouth. Gideon was hit by a powerful memory of Henry catching his hands in hers, pressing a kiss to his mouth. The image was so strong, he could almost feel the warmth of her lips and smell her shampoo.

  Every moment they weren’t together, he missed her presence. The day she asked him to fight for his innocence, she’d taken his hand and spoken her truth as plainly as she could. She needed him, and he would never forget it. He wasn’t sure how they’d work their way back to where they’d been before the fire, but he was patient.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  He turned, wondering if the power of the poem and his own memory had somehow conjured her up, like a dream. Henry stood there, hair loose around her shoulders, a hand on her hip. The pale blue of her top made her eyes seem very green, even from where he stood. Her tone was all sass, but the nervous way she fiddled with her watch strap was the real Henry.

  “I heard all the smartest girls hang out in the poetry section so I thought I’d see who turned up.”

  She raised an eyebrow and walked toward him. “You’re looking for a girl?”

  “Only one,” he said. If Tom were here, he’d be groaning at the awkward flirting but it was the best Gideon could do.

  “You do have my phone number.”

  He wanted to slip an arm around her waist and bring her close. He would press a kiss into her hair and let himself savor the feel of her, all soft curves to his angles, fitting perfectly to him as if made to be there. Instead, he said, “You’ve started me on a Sara Teasdale binge. I like this one called The Wanderer.” He read it for her slowly, letting the last few lines linger in the air between them.

  “I don’t think I really understood that poem until now,” she said and everything she felt for him was there in her eyes.

  “It’s sort of perfect, isn’t it?”

  “It is. Everything is,” she said. Then she held up a finger. “All that’s left is for you to be cleared to go back to the archives, and find a good place to work on what’s left of the Cane River collection. Your database has been on hold for a week or two but no more. We’ve got to get back to sorting and scanning, and then life will be perfect.”

  Gideon smiled. There were so many other things Henry could have listed. She truly loved Cane River history as much as he did. “Well, prepare for perfection because Peter Breaux said we could use his empty office space. He’s been trying to rent it out but didn’t have any luck. I can’t keep the boxes at the archives any longer…” His voice trailed off. He didn’t know if he’d ever get to return as director. “Anyway, it’s only a block from here, and it’s small, but there’s enough room for a table, the scanner, and the two of us. I wish we had someplace more comfortable but―”

  “We were working in a moldy basement without electricity and it was just fine. It was more than fine.”

  Her gaze flicked down to his mouth and he wanted to answer her with a kiss, but the sound of Bix whistling nearby reminded him where they were, and the tickets he’d given away. He hesitated and a moment later, the opportunity was gone.

  “Is everything okay?” Her tone was suddenly wary.

  “Sure. Everything is fine.”

  Her eyes widened just a bit and he wondered what he sounded like to Henry, how ugly the lie looked to her.

  “It’s been a tough week for you,” she said.

  “Right. A lot to take in.” He had the oddest feeling that she was hoping to draw the truth out of him and for the first time, he felt panic in the face of her ability. Her gaze was so steady, as if every detail, every flicker of emotion was being filed away and analyzed. He stared right back, forcing the tickets into the back of his mind. None of that mattered now. They’d once agreed, right in this very store, almost in this very spot, that not every secret had to be shared. After a moment she looked away and he let out a breath.

  “Yet this alone out of my life I kept unto myself,” he said.

  “Bluebeard again?”

  “Sorry, yes.” He closed the book. “Wrong poet, different topic.”

  She was quiet for a moment, tracing the spines of the books with one finger. “You’re welcome to come into that place I’ve kept to myself, if you want. There’s not much there. Some bad memories, a few crazy fears.”

  He knew what she was offering him, and how much it cost her to say it. “Is there anything in there about why you stopped answering my calls?”

  “I don’t know if this is the time to―”

  “No, no, of course. Some other day. I was just curious.”

  But then she seemed to change her mind and turned to face him, shoulders back, anxiety in every line of her body. “That day, when you went into the fire...”

  “You were angry because you didn’t want me to get hurt.” That was Tom’s explanation.

  “Yes. Well, no,” she said. “Not quite. It’s… hard to explain.” She searched the titles on the shelves, as if there was an answer there somewhere. “I felt like if you really cared for me, you wouldn’t put yourself in danger.”

  He frowned, struggling to find the subtle difference between the two.

  “I took it personally.”

  Not everybody loved a hero. Some people didn’t want to be the ones waiting at home, hoping their loved one would return. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

  “Right. I was worried, but it was more. The truth is that…” Her voice trembled on the last word but she looked up, determination written on her face. “You didn’t know it, so I can’t blame you, but the truth is that you carried my heart with you.”

  He couldn’t think of a single word to say. He wanted to rewind the moment listen to her words again, memorize the look in her eyes, wanted tuck the truth of it deep inside where all his fears lived. He was standing there, lies on his lips and she was handing him her heart. He didn’t deserve her. He never had.

  “You did that day, and you still do.” She lifted his hand and kissed his palm. “Now that I’ve told you, I have to ask you to do something for me.”

  “Anything.” She could ask for the moon. He would go any distance, fight any enemy, even sacrifice himself if that’s what she needed.

  “You have to take care of this man.” She reached out and put her hand on his chest. “You can’t put him in danger. You can’t be careless with his life. Or his freedom.”

  Her last word echoed in his ears and guilt flashed through him. For one moment, he considered confessing everything: his plan to murder Duane Banner, how Tom had convinced him to wait, the slow realization that he’d been so very wrong.

  “I will.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. She stepped toward him and he opened his arms in time for her to relax against him, her ear somewhere over his heart.

  Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed the top of her head, wonder filling him. He wanted to tell her that he loved her more than life itself but all he could do was hold her close, as if shielding her from the world. The words gathered in his throat but he kept them in. Right now, life was perfect, balanced on an invisible knife’s edge. He couldn’t do anything to risk losing her again.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  You may choose to look the other way,

  but you can never say again that you did not know.

  ―William Wilberforce

  “Hey, you two. Break it up. I don’t wanna have to call yo
ur folks,” Bix called as he passed the aisle.

  Henry laughed into the front of Gideon’s shirt. “He’s bluffing. Ignore him.”

  “I’m not so sure. I think we should heed the warning.”

  “Or at least move ourselves somewhere more private,” she said. A moment later her face went hot. “That sounded― I didn’t mean―”

  “Is that an invitation?” His voice dropped an octave. “Excellent. I’ve never seen your apartment.”

  She swatted his arm. “Get away with you,” she said. “You’ll see it soon enough when you teach me how to cook jambalaya.”

  “I don’t even get a preview of the kitchen?” he asked and lowered his head to nuzzle her ear.

  His stubble tickled the sensitive skin near her jaw and she cleared her throat. “For a guy who claims not to have any experience with women, you’re mighty forward.”

  “I mean it,” Bix called as he passed by again. “I’m fixin’ to find Frank and Birdie’s number in the book.”

  “I sure don’t want your mamere down here after me.”

  She couldn’t help a little sigh as he moved away. When he was close to her she felt whole, complete. She didn’t even fight it anymore. She’d conquered the fear that kept her from opening her heart to him. “I only came to bother you because as I was heading out the back door, I saw Alice outside and she told me you were in here. I’m headed back to Oakland for an evening tour.”

  “You don’t usually give tours so late, do you?” There was a little frown line between his brows.

  “No, but it’s a motorcycle group who scheduled the tour a few weeks ago. They’re visiting all the major historical sites along Red River. They called this afternoon and said they’d be late and asked whether we should schedule it for tomorrow.” Henry shrugged. “Tomorrow didn’t work so I told them to let me know when they arrived.”