The Splendour Falls

by Rosemary Clement-Moore

  Slipping Gigi a rawhide chew and zipping her up, I let Shawn give me a hand down from the truck and hold the door for me as we entered the Daisy Café.

  It had a certain chrome and vinyl charm, complete with black-and-white checked tiles on the floor and waitresses in little scalloped aprons. The lady behind the counter greeted Shawn with a wave, then came over when she saw me with him.

  ‘You must be Sylvie Davis.’ She had long, cold hands, and pressed my fingers between hers. ‘I’m Daisy, and it’s a delight to meet y’all.’

  I hadn’t realized that ‘y’all’ could be singular. She grinned up at Shawn, pink lipstick on her teeth, a knowing look in her eyes. ‘I should have known you wouldn’t let any grass grow under your feet, Shawn Maddox.’

  That was twice – three times, if you counted the honking car out on the state highway – that people had assumed we were together, or he was courting me. Suddenly I remembered the giggling girls at dinner, when I’d said I didn’t want to poach, if someone had dibs on Shawn. Obviously, I had dibs on Shawn. Or vice versa, which was probably more accurate, and definitely more irritating.

  I noticed he didn’t correct her. But then, denial would only fuel the fire. ‘You got a booth free, Daisy?’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  She didn’t even glance at my tote bag as she led us to a booth with red vinyl seats. I guess I was the only one who could hear the little smacking sounds of Gigi ravaging her rawhide bone. Placing the bag on the seat, I slid in, doing my best to hide it from view.

  Shawn sat across from me, and as soon as Daisy left, I ambushed him with the question I was exploding to ask. ‘Is there some custom in Alabama that says that accepting a ride from a guy means you’re going steady?’

  His smile turned sheepish. ‘It’s because you’re a Davis and I’m a Maddox. Our families go way back. There’s sort of an assumption.’

  ‘Yeah. I’m picking up on that.’ People had told me – the TTC girls, and even Dr Young at the cemetery – but of course I didn’t think it applied in the twenty-first century. ‘So it’s a dynastic thing?’ I asked, wanting Shawn’s reaction.

  He had the sense to look embarrassed. ‘More of a superstition, believe it or not.’

  ‘A superstition,’ I repeated in disbelief. Except that the evidence was obvious in the looks we were getting, the discussions behind menus and even a couple of cell-phone calls. Being a soloist with the ballet hadn’t exactly prepared me for this kind of celebrity.

  His shoulder lifted in a sheepish shrug. ‘It’s good luck when a Davis and a Maddox get together.’

  I sat back, trying to look amused, but feeling a thread of unease weaving through my scepticism. Dancers are notoriously superstitious. So why the idea that two people hooking up could bring good luck was any more unbelievable than lingering spirits, I couldn’t say. Maybe because I felt like my free will was at stake.

  ‘I figure it this way,’ he continued amiably. ‘When the two big families get together it’s usually for business, and business is good for the town.’ His easy explanation took some of the stiffness out of my shoulders. ‘Plus, you’re a knockout,’ he added, with that self-aware cockiness that amused and annoyed me in equal parts. ‘And as you’ve heard, I don’t let any grass grow under my feet.’

  I gave a snort, not giving in to his flirtation. ‘You can flatter yourself, but leave me out of it.’

  ‘Come on. Long legs, gorgeous hair, big brown eyes …’

  Fortunately, our waitress arrived. It was Kimberly from the Teen Town Council study group – she must have been a graduating senior too, since she wasn’t in school. She squealed when she saw me sitting across from Shawn, and welcomed me like an old friend.

  ‘Hey, darlin’! How are you likin’ your digs at the Hill?’

  At the sound of her voice, Gigi gave a muffled yip of greeting. I froze, but no one seemed to have heard it over the music from the jukebox. ‘They’re great,’ I said vaguely, paying more attention to Gigi than the question.

  Shawn gave me a slight smile, and I realized he must have heard Gigi or guessed from my expression what had happened. Kimberly, though, was busy sidelining me with her next question.

  ‘Have you seen any ghosts yet?’

  ‘What?’

  Without any chance to brace myself, my wheeze of shock had given me away. Kimberly’s eyes widened, her mouth opening in a gasp of excited horror. ‘Did you really? Oh my gawd, I would just die.’

  ‘What is it with you people and ghosts?’ I snapped, a little too vehemently. ‘I never said I saw a ghost.’

  Shawn grinned, like it was a big joke. ‘Oh, come on. Your face said it.’ He leaned forward, elbows on the table. ‘Was it the Colonel?’

  My heart tripled its rhythm, but I denied the question emphatically. ‘No.’ I got that ‘the Hill’ was the local sensation. It was like visitors to New York asking if we ever saw any celebrities. Shawn and Kimberly didn’t – couldn’t – realize this subject had ramifications for me. That no matter what I had or hadn’t seen – which was still debatable in my mind – I couldn’t talk about ghosts or I’d set off warning bells for my handler, Paula.

  ‘That would be crazy,’ I said. The words made me a hypocrite, but it was better than a trip to a shrink. ‘There are no such things as ghosts.’

  Kimberly gave me a disapproving eye. ‘Don’t go saying that down here. Half the people in this diner, including that banker on his lunch break, have their doors painted blue to keep the haints out.’

  ‘What’s a haint?’ I didn’t know the word, but her reasonable tone quieted some of my nerves.

  ‘Evil spirit.’ She said it matter-of-factly, as if anyone should know that, then elaborated. ‘Well, a ghost, but you can never be too careful. My grandmother used to swear the dead were always angry when they came round, ready to make trouble. She had her door painted, a bottle tree in the front yard, and a mirror on the front porch to catch the devil.’

  I looked from her solemn face to Shawn, who had stopped smirking and was watching my reaction, which I hoped was casually curious. I took the chance that mere discussion wouldn’t brand me as nuts, and dug for more information. ‘You guys take this pretty seriously down here. Do you have a particular infestation of the dead, or what?’

  ‘Ooo, don’t even joke about that.’ Kimberly gave a shudder, the beads in her hair clicking together. Raising her order pad, she poised the pen over it and changed the subject abruptly. ‘What are you having for lunch?’

  I reeled for a moment, still contemplating how naturally she’d talked about ‘haints’ and how useless my ‘open-minded but critical’ plan would be if I freaked out and got defensive at the mere mention – possibly even joking – of ghosts. I hadn’t looked at the menu, but Shawn ordered for both of us. Of course he did.

  ‘Sylvie would probably like the avocado BLT without the B.’ He glanced at me for approval, and I nodded, not really caring what I ate, even for the sake of feminism. ‘And a piece of chocolate cream pie. I’ll have the meat loaf and a slice of the same.’

  Glancing at the chalkboard over the counter, I asserted a little independence. ‘I’ll have the lemon chess pie, actually.’ The sandwich sounded good – and I’d noticed he’d avoided egg salad, so points to him for paying attention.

  ‘You want a Coke or anything?’

  ‘Not unless someone wants to rush me to the hospital in a sugar coma,’ I said, returning somewhat to my sarcastic self.

  ‘You got it.’ Kimberly grinned. ‘The pie, I mean, not the coma.’

  She bounced off and I turned to Shawn with a glare. ‘Seriously. I never said I saw ghosts. You’re the one who keeps bringing it up.’

  He shrugged. ‘You heard Kim. It’s not crazy to believe in ghosts.’

  ‘No. Just to see them.’

  ‘Touchy, touchy.’

  I clamped my teeth on a retort as Kimberly brought back two glasses of iced tea (unsweetened, since I’d asked her to hold the sugar coma) and a basket of dinne
r rolls. Somehow, I managed to wait until she was gone to ask, ‘Has anyone actually seen the Colonel’s ghost?’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s one of those things everyone knows about, but no one will fess up to themselves. Friend of a cousin of a classmate. You know.’

  I picked apart a buttery roll, trying my best to act casual. We were, after all, talking hypothetically and without Paula to interrupt us. ‘What does he supposedly do?’

  ‘Hangs around in the study, cleaning his pistol. Some people have heard him whistling “Dixie.” ‘

  That last bit made me suspect he was pulling my leg. And it was stupid to be disappointed that the stories hadn’t meshed with my own experiences. Plus, I was worried too much interest would come off as odd, no matter what Kimberly said.

  So I sipped my tea and changed the subject. ‘I understand that Colonel Davis married a Maddox. Doesn’t that make it kind of gross that people assume we are, or will be, dating?’

  Shawn laughed. ‘Mary Maddox was my great-great-whatever-aunt. Five generations back. That makes us kissing cousins, as we say down here.’

  ‘A family tree that doesn’t branch, is what we say up north.’

  Another grin. ‘See, that’s why I like you. You say what you’re thinking. Southern girls always say what they think you want them to be thinking.’

  I arched my brows. ‘And Southern boys always make sweeping and sexist generalizations?’

  He grimaced guiltily, and it looked genuine. ‘Yeah. We are prone to those.’

  From what I’d seen, the town thought the sun shone out of Shawn’s butt. So maybe girls down here were in the habit of telling him what he wanted to hear.

  Our food arrived quickly, but Kimberly was too busy to talk. Just as well, since my purse was audibly sniffing Shawn’s meat loaf from across the table. The lunch rush had just started, but the tables were a lot more full than when we’d arrived, with a lot of attention directed our way. Just how seriously did people take this ‘good luck’ superstition? As seriously as they took haints?

  I picked up my sandwich and tried to ignore the feeling I was eating in a fishbowl. I wanted to know more about the bone of contention between Shawn and Rhys, and I wanted Shawn to do most of the talking, so I said, ‘Tell me about Maddox Point.’

  He looked pleased by my question. ‘It’s out on the Cahaba River. A place for city folk who want to enjoy the country, but don’t want to feel like they’re living in the sticks.’

  ‘So you’re bringing the suburbs out here?’

  ‘Well, the lots will be bigger, and wooded. Some houses will have views of the Cahaba, but everyone will have access. There’ll be a marina for putting in boats, docks for fishing, a dredged area for swimming. Plus a clubhouse with a pool, if river water isn’t your thing.’

  ‘So it’s sort of like a really country country club.’

  He chuckled, and acknowledged the slight humour in my description with a tilt of his head. ‘Yeah, there will be tennis courts, and maybe a golf course eventually.’

  I took a big bite of sandwich to give myself time to think. That sounded like a lot of real estate. Maybe the folks at the archaeological park had good reason to worry about encroachment. Swallowing in a gulp, I asked, ‘Where is this in relation to Old Cahawba and Bluestone Hill?’

  Grabbing a plastic bottle, Shawn drew a curved line of ketchup horizontally across the table, then placed a sugar packet next to it, to his left. ‘That’s the Cahaba River and the future Maddox Point.’ He drew a more or less vertical line, which joined with the first and continued down, then added two more packets of sweetener, one for the park and one for the Hill, explaining, ‘The old town – the yellow packet – is here at the junction of the rivers, and your place – the blue – is further down from that.’

  The packets made a triangle, with Old Cahawba at the apex. ‘And where is this town?’ I asked, meaning Maddox Landing.

  He put another sugar packet downriver from Bluestone Hill. Now Maddox Landing and Maddox Point made a triangle with Old Cahawba, with Bluestone Hill in the middle. I didn’t know if there was any significance, but the pattern was distinct.

  ‘Aren’t you worried about the Cahaba Curse?’ I asked, since he was being so informative.

  He gave a confused laugh. ‘The what?’

  I gestured with the hand not holding the sandwich. ‘Floods, yellow fever – I know you’re not building on the old town, but you are right near it.’

  ‘Oh. You’ve been talking to Dr Young.’ He didn’t exactly sound upset about it, more notably neutral. Pointing to the yellow packet, he said, ‘See how the town is in that curve of the Cahaba? It’s surrounded on almost three sides by the rivers. That’s why they kept getting hit by floods. As for yellow fever, I hear they have a vaccine for that now.’ He grinned. ‘But it’s not required to visit Alabama. It’s not a third-world country, no matter what y’all may think up in New York.’

  ‘Point taken.’ I pulled a little piece of crust off my bread and slid it into my bag to reward Gigi for being quiet and good. My eyes, and my brain, stayed on the makeshift map. ‘Did your family originally own Maddox Landing, too?’

  Pushing aside his empty plate – and I do mean empty – Shawn picked up his fork and took a bite of pie. He didn’t seem to think there was anything odd about all my questions. ‘When folks started deserting Cahawba after the war – you know about that, right? – some wanted to stay in the area but get away from the flooding and the bad associations. So my however-many-great-grandfather donated land for a new city hall here.’

  ‘That was very generous,’ I said, noticing he’d left out what Dr Young had told me, about the Maddox of the day offering incentives for people to move to his new town. Then I took a bite of my own pie and, for a moment, I lost track of my line of questioning. ‘Oh my God, this is good.’

  Shawn grinned. ‘I told you. You want to try a bit of mine?’

  I shook my head, not wanting to spoil the tart, creamy goodness with chocolate. ‘Maybe next time.’

  His smile widened, spread up to warm his eyes, making the blue seem darker. ‘I’m glad you’re agreeable to a next time.’

  Crap. I couldn’t help my blush. It was just so hard to keep my guard up around him. It wasn’t just that he was gorgeous and charming, the town golden boy and the big man on campus. It was all those things, plus something I recognized very well from ballet: he had stage presence.

  Of course I was attracted to him. It was logical. I realized that with an odd sort of detachment, even while my stomach fluttered in reaction to his smile. It was completely unlike the way I felt around Rhys, which was totally illogical and inexplicable. The weird thing was, I didn’t know which, if either, reaction was more honest.

  ‘Anyway,’ Shawn continued, and I had to remind myself what we were talking about, ‘Great-granddad needed a town here to support his business interests. It was a win-win situation.’

  There were echoes of that theme in Maddox Point. Shawn kept saying how good it would be for the area. I had to admit, it would probably be good for Paula, too. Just because it rang like a party line didn’t mean it wasn’t true. So I knew I should just tell that little voice in my head – which sounded a lot like Rhys at the moment – to shut up.

  Shawn polished off the last crumb of his pie. ‘I’ll take you to see the site sometime, if you like. It’s not much more than a bunch of forested acreage and a big sign by the road right now, but that will change.’

  ‘So you haven’t started building?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Shawn waved to Kimberly to bring the check. ‘Have to get the right approvals and all. Doesn’t help that the guy the state sent out to survey by the river busted up his leg before he could finish his report.’

  I winced in deep sympathy for the man, but the mention also rang a more recent bell. ‘Did he fall by the river embankment? Dr Young told me about that.’

  ‘Yeah, that was him.’ He looked at me curiously, almost a little warily. ‘What else did Dr Young say?
’

  With a wry smile that I hoped hid any evasion – I didn’t need to tell Shawn we’d talked about his family, past and present – I replied, ‘To watch out for alligators.’

  Shawn laughed, drawing the attention of the eavesdroppers in the restaurant. I could feel their speculation ratchet up another notch. ‘Now, that is good advice.’

  I had to agree, because sometime during lunch I’d decided I needed to watch my step with Shawn. If my performer instincts recognized Shawn’s charm as stage presence, didn’t that mean that some part of me was thinking he was putting on at least a little bit of an act?

  Shawn didn’t ask if I wanted him to drive me back to the house: he just assumed he would, and it was one time I was happy to let him presume. I did attempt to pay for my own lunch, but when he insisted it was his treat, I realized that arguing would attract more attention than simply giving in. As it was, between the people who stopped by the table while we waited for the check and the change, and those who greeted us on our way out, I was sure by tomorrow morning the whole county would know that Shawn Maddox had taken Sylvie Davis on a date.

  At Bluestone Hill, he pulled into the front drive, hauled my bike out of the truck and leaned it against a big fluted pot, pausing to look at it sadly. ‘If it was a horse, you’d have to shoot it.’

  I privately agreed, but his scorn for the poor thing made me perversely attached to it. ‘It got me where I was going. More or less. Gigi and I are grateful for the ride back, though.’

  When I’d set her down, Gigi had run to the grass for a quick pit stop, then pranced to the house and up the steps so she was closer to eye level. The better to watch Shawn as he asked, ‘So, about this Catfish Festival. Would you like to go?’

  I suspected I wasn’t going to be able to get out of it. It felt like a fait accompli, and only sheer stubbornness made me ask, ‘Is this a Maddox asking a Davis? Or Shawn asking Sylvie?’

  He shrugged amiably. ‘We can’t help who we are and what it means around here.’

  That wasn’t exactly an answer. But given my feeling of inevitability, maybe it didn’t really matter. ‘I’ll think about it,’ I said.