A Taste of Dixie

by Suzanne D. Williams

  “Your small voice is smarter than mine. Mine said, ‘Go for it,’ and next thing I know, I’m in too deep.”

  “You got yourself out,” he replied. “You brought yourself here. Maybe you went about it wrong ... taking off like you did. But it’s a lot of miles to travel alone, and you made it without getting too lost.”

  They fell silent, the low of cattle forming a backdrop. Lottie heaved a breath.

  “There’s a small problem,” she said. “I have to somehow return the rental car ... since I’m staying until spring.”

  That was a definite issue. Any rental places were a day’s drive away or more. He didn’t remark on it. It could be someone in town would travel that way, and they could make a deal.

  “You think we’ll know who we are before then?” she asked.

  Harlowe dipped his mouth even lower, unspeaking. Way before.

  As much as Lottie wanted him to kiss her, she was glad he didn’t. But then, Harlowe was the master of restraint. Over the next few days, he proved that to her even more. The weather turning much colder, he’d leave before dawn, bundled up, and return, his cheeks frosty, not making one complaint about any discomfort, although she could see he had plenty of them.

  She worried about him doing so much alone, and it sat on the tip of her tongue to ask him to teach her to help. Sunday church services arrived first. They hadn’t gone the Sunday before, distance and time being a huge factor. Mrs. Chapman seemed determined today, however, setting a brisk pace at breakfast and while they dressed, and shuttling them out the door.

  Lottie wished she had something pretty to wear and not the same ill-fitting shirts. She’d made this problem, though, and had to live with it. Still, entering the building, the congregation mostly looking at her, the newcomer, the wish almost choked her.

  “You’re Hoyle’s daughter. I heard you were visiting.”

  The woman speaking was tall, five-foot-eight or nine, with shoulder length blonde hair coated in what smelled like an entire can of hairspray. She extended her hand. “Gloria Meachem. I knew your dad. We went to high school together. Had to ride the bus for miles to get there.”

  Lottie smiled. “He used to tell me about that, usually at the start of the school year and in the frame of ‘look at how good you have it’.”

  Gloria laughed, high-pitched.

  “Dearest, Pastor Harris has asked to speak with us.”

  Distracted by a man Lottie assumed to be her husband, Gloria turned aside.

  The three of them, her, Harlowe, and Mrs. Chapman, headed down the center aisle, sliding into seats midway up. A woman whose face she oddly recognized took a seat in front of them, a girl around age ten sitting at her side. Mrs. Chapman’s stiff reaction confirmed their identity.

  Lottie drank in the anger on her face, the set of her jaw, the stiffness of her posture. This went way deeper than the average dislike. She glanced toward Harlowe. This was betrayal. Did he know? It was plain to her, but then, she’d seen that look before. It was the same one she’d gotten from people as the “other woman”.

  The young girl turned around, her lips curved in a joyful smile. “Hi. You’re new. I’m Mallory.”

  Mallory Butler, Kees’s adopted sister. Which made the woman beside her, his mom, as she’d suspected.

  “Lottie Stratton,” she replied.

  The girl’s gaze switched to Harlowe.

  “Hi, Harlowe.”

  “Hey, Mal. We’re going to set up the carousel for you.”

  The girl’s happy expression somehow brightened further. “Fun! Daddy promised he’d ask. I hope you’ll both come.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it,” he replied.

  Mrs. Butler took her hand, and the girl faced forward.

  Riding home after the service, the incident returned to Lottie’s mind. She stared at Mrs. Chapman’s reflection in the rearview mirror for a moment, and dared herself to say what was foremost in her thoughts.

  “I met my ... coworker’s wife inadvertently.”

  The man she’d had the affair with. Harlowe and his mom seemed to know what she meant. He glanced at her, then returned his gaze to the road. Mrs. Chapman shifted in her seat, as if uneasy.

  She hadn’t shared with her the details of what’d happened at home, but she was sure enough had been said that Mrs. Chapman could guess.

  “I’ll never forget the expression on her face,” Lottie continued. “Her husband had cheated before ... with someone else. She’d hardened herself to the pain, pain I’d reignited.”

  Mrs. Chapman said nothing, eventually closing her eyes. Harlowe, on the other hand, looked shaken. Nothing else was spoken until they arrived. His mom went inside, mumbling about food. Harlowe took her hand and walked toward the barn, his footsteps too fast.

  He came to a halt facing the horse’s stall, the animal blinking sleepy eyes overtop the door.

  “Why’d you say that?” he asked, his hold on her tightening.

  Her fingers throbbed, and she wanted to pull them away; but he was stronger, so she didn’t.

  “I’m the other woman,” she replied. She tried to sound more confident than she felt. “I’ve been on the receiving end recently.”

  “My dad never ...”

  “Maybe not once they were married,” Lottie blurted. “But it could be before that. At some point Mrs. Butler and your dad had a fling, and you can hate me for stating it ... or you and your mom both can decide to face the truth. I know what’ll happen if you don’t.”

  What’d already happened, because how long had this gone on? The animosity between the two families was painfully obvious.

  Harlowe said nothing, releasing her seconds later, and it seemed like the distance between them grew as wide as the valley they’d admired from the mountain’s edge days ago.

  CHAPTER 6

  His heart aching, some unknown pain gripping his chest, Harlowe approached his mom’s bedroom, afraid to knock. Suddenly, he was a boy again, worried about how she’d react to what he had to say. He dragged in a labored breath and settled himself. He wasn’t a boy; he was a grown man, and he needed to know the truth.

  How ironic that it’d taken Lottie ... a virtual stranger, who’d turned up on their doorstep ... to bring it out in the open. He’d hated to alienate her after she’d spoken and had seen the discomfort of it on her face. However, he had to figure this out first before he could face their growing feelings again.

  He brought his knuckles down, rapping on the wood surface. “You decent?”

  “Come in,” his mom called.

  He entered, pushing the door closed behind him.

  She was in her favorite chair, an old velour recliner from the mid-1980s. Her Bible open on her lap, one hand flattening the pages, she appeared to be lost in thought instead. The wind rattled the limbs of a fir tree against her window, an eerie noise.

  “I have to ask,” he said.

  She didn’t reply for what was an uncomfortable period, then motioned toward the nearest corner of the bed. He perched there, his hands in his lap. She sighed.

  “It was two months before our wedding. We’d gotten into a fight over silly stuff ...” She waved one hand outward. “I think we were both stressed. There was so much to do. Amidst the wedding plans we were dealing with, he’d also arranged to buy this land. He was worried about paying for it, if we could afford it and how he’d work the cattle. We were young, and it was a lot to take on.”

  She paused and, once more, he waited.

  “I found out afterward what happened. I knew nothing at the time, of course ... not one word of what he’d done until after the ceremony. After our honeymoon. He comes forward, crying, says he was upset and she provided a listening ear.”

  Harlowe’s stomach curled into a ball. “Is Kees ...?”

  His mom shook her head. “He’s Jack’s.” She switched her gaze to his. “It was only that one time, and Kees is younger than you.” She sighed. “I was crushed ... but I have to give her this much, once it was out, Glenda
tried to apologize. I wouldn’t have it. And Jack ...” His mom blew out a breath. “He’s only ever been kind. I’m the one that wouldn’t forgive.”

  “You taught it to me,” Harlowe replied “I’ve looked down on them because you did.”

  “It isn’t all because of me,” she said. “That boy is ... too loose.”

  “Don’t do that,” he replied. “I let hate grow in my heart because of how you and Daddy felt ... without asking why. Don’t excuse it. Now, I have to go to the Butlers’ knowing ...” He swallowed around the lump formed in his throat. “I have to look Lottie in the eye when ...” Choked, Harlowe hushed. He took a few leveling breaths “I have feelings for her.”

  His mom’s gaze softened, and a tiny smile formed.

  “What kind of man am I to not face the trouble in my own life when it mirrors hers?”

  His mom’s happiness faded.

  “I looked up to him,” Harlowe continued. “Dad’s always been my hero. This tarnishes that.”

  The most painful truth, and having stated it, he couldn’t sit there anymore. Harlowe rose and left his mom’s bedroom ... left the house, saddled a horse, and left the barn as well. He rode north, past the viewpoint he’d taken Lottie to, up a craggy trail, more mountainside than pathway, around twisted trees, to the top of everything, and there, with the world spread out beneath his feet, embraced how small he was. How lonely his life would be if Lottie wasn’t in it. How the forgiveness she sought to give herself had now become his own weight to carry.

  Harlowe was silent, far too silent. He came and went in the days that followed without much looking her way. Jack Butler called Thursday to confirm the plans for Friday’s move of the carousel. Harlowe barely mumbled two words to him before hanging up and promptly retreated to his bedroom. Mrs. Chapman was also strangely quiet, and with the pressure of both, Lottie’s guilt spiked.

  Maybe she’d been too forthright. Maybe it would’ve been better to keep her thoughts to herself. Maybe she should go home.

  Home. For a brief time, she’d considered Montana her new home. She’d seen in it endless possibilities. She’d developed hope. But reexamining things, she’d left her life in Georgia so suddenly, the edges of it frayed and exposed, and it could be she wouldn’t find closure until she returned.

  It could be her leaving would give them the peace they needed.

  Restless, she tossed and turned all night and come the wee hours, Friday morning, had made up her mind. She waited, though, until Harlowe left, until Mrs. Chapman entered the kitchen, made her morning cup of coffee, and retreated again. In the interim, she packed her things, putting her dress back on, leaving the clothing she’d been given laid out on the bed. Her bag in hand, she snuck down the hallway and out the front door.

  Lottie stood on the stoop, shivering, blinking in the orange edges of dawn, and strangely, an image of her dad. This land was part of him. Though staying hadn’t worked out like she’d wanted, leaving settled something in her. Wherever she traveled, he was always there. He’d loved her, would tell her so now, in spite of her mistakes. Forgiveness like that should be cherished.

  Still, backing away from the Chapman’s place, the house disappearing amongst the trees, a silent sob fled her throat. This was bigger now than herself because part of her heart was reserved for a certain handsome cowboy. With trembling hands, her eyes blurred by tears, she sped away, unable to not look back ... half-wishing Harlowe saw her and followed.

  He didn’t.

  She was dry-eyed by the time she reached the airport. She managed to work her way onto a late-night flight headed to Atlanta. She slept, weary, most of the way, and after disembarking, made a collect call from one of several concourse pay phones.

  “Lottie?” her mom’s voice rose through the speaker. “Where are you?”

  “The Atlanta airport. Can you come get me? I know it’ll take you a while, so I’ll be in the downstairs lobby.”

  Harlowe rode up to the house mid-morning, dismounted, and released his horse into the field behind the barn. Judging from the position of the sun, it was time to head to the Butlers’ place and help with the carousel. He dragged his feet, though, reluctant to get there. If only he could shake this malaise he was under.

  When he arrived on the porch, the door opened, and his mom poked her head out. Guilt wreathed her brow atop what looked, strangely, like panic. He halted, considering it, and realized Lottie’s car was gone. He spun on his heel, looking at where it should be.

  “Where is she?”

  “She left,” his mom said. “Not sure when. But she took only what she came with and didn’t leave a note.”

  He couldn’t find his breath. His chest tight, his legs weakening, he grasped a porch post.

  She’d said she was going to stay ... or, at least, he’d asked her to stay. But then, he’d closed himself off over his dad ... and given her already high levels of anxiety, she must’ve assumed he’d changed his mind.

  “What are you going to do?” his mom asked.

  Harlowe straightened. “I have to help assemble the carousel.” He’d promised and a man kept his word, regardless of who he’d made the promise to.

  His mom blew out a huffed breath. “Call Jack and make your apologies, then get in your truck and go.”

  “The animals ...”

  “Will be fine. I’ve lived here longer than you, remember. Leave me a list of anything that has to be done, and I’ll either see to it myself or call someone. You know there are dozens who’ll volunteer.”

  “I don’t know where she lives.”

  At this, his mom returned inside. Harlowe followed her and met her again in the hallway. She extended a square of paper toward him, a phone number scrawled in the center.

  “There’s the number she called. You can also call Malcolm; he’ll know. Now, go ... sometimes you have to follow your heart.”

  Still, he paused, and her hard stance softened. She raised one hand to his cheek. “I forgave your father. He was a good man, a wonderful husband, a loving dad. One mistake didn’t frame his life. Don’t let it frame yours.”

  And if he let Lottie leave, it’d be the worst mistake he’d ever make. His adrenaline spiked. “I ... I need to pack.”

  Standing in the Atlanta terminal, exhausted the next day, he was more out of place than he’d ever been. The busyness of the airport and the size of the city temporarily emptied any concrete thoughts. He shook himself and aimed for payphones on the far side. He called Malcolm first.

  “Hey, it’s Harlowe. Long story short, I’m in Atlanta. I need to find your niece.”

  There were hundreds of missed calls on her cell, one after the other every couple minutes until, strangely, they ended sometime the previous Sunday. Lottie scrolled through the list again, her fear heightening, then reset the phone to its factory settings and removed the battery. She called the cell company and had the account closed.

  Her mom entered the room and took a seat at the breakfast table. Her stare pressed uncomfortably on Lottie’s shoulders. They hadn’t spoken about everything yet. Not a word was said while returning from the airport, nor anything once they arrived home. She’d showered and gone to bed, trying to escape it all. When she awakened, she’d put on the prettiest thing she owned and started a load of laundry.

  “Talk to me.”

  Lottie’s mood deflated even further. This moment had been coming for a long time. She moistened her lips and sought for the right words. “I was involved with a man at work. He’s married,” she finally said.

  “Lottie ...”

  “I know. It was wrong, but he said nice things and I guess I ate it up. We never went too far and yet we did. Sneaking around in the office was wrong. I went out a few times to meet him late. He ... he wanted to rent a hotel room, but I kept putting it off. Then he turned weird.”

  “Weird how?” Concern rose on her mom’s brow

  Lottie forced herself to look her in the eye. “Stalkerish weird. The more I withdrew, the more he followed. He
called all the time, tried to corner me more than once. Word started spreading around the office that I was his latest fling, and ...”

  She hushed. And people had said the most horrible things. The dozens of hateful comments whisked through her head, as real as they’d ever been, and the size of her immoral actions returned.

  “I was scared,” she said. “I wanted Dad ... badly enough I thought going to Montana would bring him back.”

  “He’s gone, sweetheart.”

  Lottie shook her head. “If there’s one thing all of this taught me, it was that he isn’t gone at all. You don’t talk about him, but I needed you to talk about him. I needed to see he was with me all the time. I needed to remember how much he loved me, and though I wasn’t there long, Montana gave me that.”

  “You came home.”

  Her mom said the remark almost inaudibly, and her dad’s face was replaced by Harlowe’s. She wasn’t ready to talk about him yet.

  “I’m home,” she replied instead. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, so please don’t pressure me. I have a lot of thinking ahead and choices to make. I’d like to see Uncle Mal.”

  Her mom gazed at her, silent. “You can call him and I imagine he’ll work that out,” she replied, offering her a smile. “He and Brenna came by a couple days ago. They’ve gone to visit Beverly now ... or, at least, he’s taking Brenna there. I think he had some other business to attend to ... but I’ll get you his number.”

  Yet, her uncle’s phone number in her hand, Lottie delayed the phone call, debating on what to say. As with everything else, the truth was best. Her uncle was the closest thing she had to her dad right now and deserved to know why she’d behaved like she had.

  Just the same, saying it would be hard.

  Late afternoon, she secreted herself in her room and made herself call. He answered in a rich, baritone voice.

  “Lottie?”

  “Hey, Uncle Mal.”

  “Are you home?” he asked. “Had a call from a friend, and it seems you left without telling him.”