“It’ll take me a few minutes to fill the order,” he said with an air of deference to the pair.
“Take your time,” Miss Olivia said, moving to a bolt of soft yellow fabric. “Sadie, is there anything you need?”
“Ma’am? No, I’m fine.”
Sadie moved to a collection of soaps packaged in pretty white paper. She hesitated to touch the soaps until Mr. Sullivan turned to grab a box of salt. She lifted the soap to her nose, inhaling the soft scent of honeysuckle. She considered spending some of the money she would earn this week on it, but a glance at the twenty-five-cent price tag made her almost drop it.
As she looked around, her gaze settled on a green dress draped from a hanger near several other articles of clothing. She took the fabric in her hands, amazed at how soft it felt. She glanced down at her coveralls, wondering if folks would see her differently if she were wearing a dress like this.
“I have the bill ready,” Mr. Sullivan said, smiling. “Including that gardening journal that you ordered from Richmond.”
Miss Olivia opened her purse and handed him a crisp five-dollar bill. Sadie could only stare at the tremendous amount of money.
“Ruth,” he said, calling into the back. “I’ll need your help.”
Ruth was his daughter, with whom Sadie had gone to school up until Sadie had dropped out last year. Blonde with a pretty enough face, Ruth dressed the best of any girl in school and had the pick of the handsome boys.
“Yes, sir.”
Ruth pushed through the curtain separating the back and front of the store and smiled at Miss Olivia. When her gaze shifted to Sadie, her expression dimmed, as if she might have bitten into a sour apple but did not want anyone to know it.
Ruth went about finding the small items on the list, including cinnamon sticks, baking soda, and rose water. She carefully placed all the items in a box her father had already loaded with flour, sugar, and lard.
Aware Ruth was eyeing her, Sadie dropped her gaze to a hand-drawn sign featuring two dancers. She was not an especially good reader but knew enough to realize there was a party in March.
“Sadie, you sure do look lovely today,” Ruth said.
“Thank you,” she said, stepping away from the dress.
“You thinking about buying that and wearing it to that party?”
Ruth knew darn well Sadie could not afford the dress, and the chances of her going to any party were slim to none. Maybe if her mother could have mended a dress from the church box for her, and maybe if one of her brothers could have taken her to a dance. But neither brother was in town, and her mother was not going to mend a dress and send Sadie alone to a dance.
“I’m chewing on it,” Sadie said.
“I’m going with my beau,” Ruth bragged.
“Really?” Sadie shifted her attention away from the sign to the new Life magazine, featuring four young women dressed in sparkling dresses.
“I wish I’d have known you were coming; I would have saved my old magazines.” Ruth’s voice was so sweet it was a miracle the words were not drawing honeybees. “I know how you like to look through them.”
“No trouble,” Sadie said.
“Mr. Sullivan.” Miss Olivia held up a brown box-shaped camera. “Could you show me this?”
Mr. Sullivan came around the counter with a pep in his step, as he always did when he sold something expensive. But these days, times were hard on most, and money was tight. “Sure. It’s a Kodak camera. Supposed to be easy.”
As the two discussed the contraption, Ruth said in a softer voice, “Remember that time you tried to fix your hair like Carole Lombard—or was it Gene Tierney? I don’t know which, but you tied your hair up in rags the night before, expecting a soft wave. But in the morning, it was a mass of curls that looked more like a German helmet.”
She remembered rushing home and dunking her head under the pump outside the house, soaking her head until the curls were gone. “I don’t remember.”
“You don’t? Good heavens, I still get a little chuckle out of it. You were so cute.”
“How do you like driving Dr. Carter’s Pontiac?” Mr. Sullivan asked as he returned.
“It’s real fine, sir.”
“Not driving like you do when you carry the shine, are you?” Mr. Sullivan said with a grin.
“No, sir. Slow and steady.”
“Attagirl. Don’t want the sheriff coming after you.”
“No, sir.”
“Mr. Sullivan,” Miss Olivia said. “Do you have any new magazines in stock?”
“Just got the most recent Life yesterday. Not even Ruthie has read it.”
“It looks real good,” Ruth said.
“Would you also add that to my order?” Miss Olivia said. “Along with that green dress.”
He glanced toward Sadie. “Sure.”
Mr. Sullivan scanned Miss Olivia’s list and then the contents of the box before declaring the order filled. He hefted the box. “Ruth, get the door for me.”
“Sadie’s right there,” Ruth said. “She can get it.”
Sadie grabbed the handle, knowing Ruth’s father would scold her afterward for her poor manners.
After Mr. Sullivan and Miss Olivia walked through, Sadie waited until Ruth approached before she released the door. It closed in Ruth’s face.
Ruth’s outrage tickled Sadie as she opened the trunk for Mr. Sullivan, who placed the box in the rear compartment.
“Mr. Sullivan, would you be so kind?” Miss Olivia asked. “I’d like you to take a picture of Sadie and me. She’s my first friend in America, and I think that should be documented.”
Mr. Sullivan did not hesitate, but Sadie saw the tension rippling through his body. Miss Olivia stood in front of the Pontiac and waved Sadie to her side.
Sadie came closer, eyeing the camera like it was trouble. She had had her picture taken when she was little, along with her mother and brothers. Her daddy had declined to be included. Sitting there had been no good reason for him to have a picture taken. The picture still sat on the mantel over the fire, but she did not remember who took it or where.
Miss Olivia straightened her shoulders and angled her body sideways. Sadie, too nervous to pose, stared at the lens. “Sadie, you look as if you’re facing a firing squad.”
“Feels odd to me, I suppose. My pa never saw a good reason to have his picture taken.”
“Smile,” Ruth coaxed.
The two women stared at the camera. Miss Olivia’s smile was wide, whereas Sadie’s reflected her unease. Mr. Sullivan gently handed the camera back to Miss Olivia.
As Miss Olivia took her place in the back seat, Ruth hurried up to the car. “Thank you for coming, Mrs. Carter. You let me know if there’s anything I can ever do for you.”
“Thank you, Ruth,” Miss Olivia said.
“Sadie, hope to see you again soon,” Ruth said with a wave.
Sadie slid behind the wheel, ignoring the hollow farewell. She started the car, revving the engine a little to impress the Sullivans.
She pulled away, and neither she nor Miss Olivia said a word. They drove back to Woodmont in silence, and after Sadie pulled around by the kitchen, she hefted the heavy box.
“Can you get that?” Miss Olivia said.
“Yes, ma’am. My mother says I’m part plow horse.”
“Does she?” Miss Olivia opened the kitchen door for her and watched as Sadie carried the box to the kitchen table. “Mrs. Fritz can unload it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Miss Olivia reached for the copy of Life magazine and the bundled dress. She handed both to Sadie. “This is for you.”
“Me?” She held the slick, glossy paper and the wrapped dress. “Why?”
“I think you might enjoy both.”
The pages were smooth and the edges sharp, and the four ladies on the front, dressed in sparkly dresses with hair tumbling gently down to their shoulders, looked like starlets.
“Ruth seemed a bit disappointed she wouldn’t get a cha
nce to read the issue,” Miss Olivia said. “And if you decide to go to that dance, you’ll need a dress.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Her voice sounded tight like a drum. “Thank you.”
Miss Olivia smiled. “Enjoy.”
OLIVIA
It had been raining for three days, and now on this fourth day, the downpour stopped. The clouds remained dark and foreboding.
Olivia had found she could not stand to be cooped up in the main house. She needed to be moving about and breathing fresh air blowing in the open windows of the car.
When the back-right tire hit a slick spot on the road, the Pontiac skidded and jerked to the right. If Sadie had been driving, she would have easily corrected it. This kind of thing happened all the time, especially on back roads.
But Olivia had been driving. And when the wheels jerked and slid, she did not know what to do. Sadie reached over and grabbed the wheel. She avoided some of the looming disaster, but the car skidded off the road with a hard jolt.
Sadie insisted immediately that they switch seats. When Olivia’s nerves had calmed, Sadie had left her in the passenger car and hiked the two miles back to Woodmont for help. Several of the men had come and pushed the car out of the ditch. No one had been hurt. The car had suffered minimal damage.
But that night Olivia had lost her baby.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LIBBY
Sunday, June 14, 2020
Woodmont Estate
Libby had enjoyed the dinner and smiled as she wiped lemon cake from Sam’s mouth. The boy sat to her right during the meal and Jeff to her left. She had enjoyed their company and found their rough-and-tough banter very charming. Several times, she and Colton had shared a laugh over something one of the two had said.
“So, Libby, how do you know my mom?” Lofton asked.
Elaine’s daughter, the newly minted lawyer, had been studying Libby from the far end of the long table. She sat to her mother’s left, directly across from her dad.
“Like she said, I was shooting Ginger’s wedding here at Woodmont.”
Colton laid his napkin beside his plate. Though he remained silent, something in Lofton’s demeanor seemed to catch him by surprise.
“And you two must have hit it off?” Lofton asked.
Elaine’s smile dimmed, and she shifted her gaze to her daughter, as if she were waiting for a storm cloud to dump its rain. “Lofton, would you like another glass of wine?”
The young woman smiled at her mother. “No thanks, Mom. I guess I’m curious because it’s not like Mom to invite outsiders to family dinners.”
Colton, sitting to Libby’s right, shifted forward in his seat. He said nothing but did not take his eyes off Lofton.
“I grew up in Bluestone,” Libby said. “In fact, your dad took you to see my dad when you were a sick baby. My father was Dr. McKenzie.”
“He fixed you right up,” Ted offered. “You had a raging ear infection that could have cost you your hearing if gone unchecked.”
“What were we doing in town?” Lofton asked.
“Your great-grandmother Olivia had passed,” Elaine said. “We were here for the funeral.”
“But you and my mother had never met before the wedding?” Lofton continued.
“Correct.” Libby had attended a female boarding school and knew when she was being sized up. “Is there a point to these questions, Lofton?”
“I worry about my mom,” she said.
“I’m capable of taking care of myself,” Elaine said.
Lofton smiled, swirling her half-full glass of wine. This was her third, and the wine was beginning to talk.
Ted sat glaring at his daughter.
“That’s okay, Ted. I don’t mind Lofton’s questions. I’m an open book. Lofton, is there something you want to get off your chest before I leave?” Libby asked.
“Maybe,” Lofton quipped.
“Lofton,” Elaine warned. “She is our guest.”
“I’m sorry if you felt offended,” Lofton said.
The backhanded apology stoked Libby’s temper. She was not sure what bur was under Lofton’s saddle, but she was not going along for the ride. Did she have feelings for Colton that Libby did not see?
“I like having her,” Sam said. “She’s fun.”
“Me too,” Jeff said.
Libby pushed aside her wine and reached for her coffee cup, sitting next to the dessert plate dotted with lemon cake crumbs. She took several sips, knowing it would take the edge off the wine. The trade-off, however, would be that she would not fall asleep before one o’clock the next morning.
Aware that Colton was watching her, she gulped down the last of the coffee, savoring the hint of sweet from the settled sugar in the bottom of the cup. “This has been a lovely evening, but I really have to get back to town.”
“Do you have to go so early?” Elaine asked.
“I really do. It’s going to be a crazy week of edits, and I have several new business meetings. Always have to be hustling when you work for yourself.”
“I admire that,” Elaine said.
When Libby rose, so did Ted and Colton. She shook hands with them all and extended her hand to a seated Lofton, who did not make eye contact.
“Thank you for having me.”
Elaine halted her quick getaway. “Let me wrap up some food for you. We have so much extra.”
“That’s really not necessary,” Libby said.
“I insist.”
To refuse would be rude, and Elaine had been nothing but hospitable. “Thank you.”
Ten minutes later, armed with a bagful of plastic storage bowls stuffed with food, Libby said one last goodbye as she went out the door.
“The boys and I will walk you to your car,” Colton offered.
“You don’t have to do that,” Libby said.
“It’s all they can do to sit still,” he said. “It’s a minor miracle nothing was broken or spilled yet.”
The boys and the dogs raced ahead out of the garden and across the lawn to her car as the sun dipped below the horizon. The farther she got away from Lofton and her pretentious attitude, the more settled she felt. She had not belonged at the dinner.
As if reading her thoughts, Colton said, “Lofton already has a lawyer’s mind. She’s always asking questions and searching for arguments.”
“I have no doubt she’ll be a huge success.”
She pressed the button on her fob, and the door locks opened. Jeff and Sam raced to the door handle and fought for who could be the one to open it.
“Jeff, let Sam,” Colton said.
“But I want to open it,” Jeff said.
“Maybe you could open the back liftgate for me,” Libby said. “I need to load this food.”
Jeff let go of the handle, and Libby pointed to the button that made the liftgate rise. His expression was so serious as he pressed it and then stepped back as it opened.
“Well done,” Libby said.
Colton placed her bags in the back. “You shouldn’t go hungry for a few days.”
“Or weeks,” she laughed. The boys ran up beside their dad. She extended her hand to each. “Thank you, gentlemen, for a lovely evening. It’s been a real pleasure.” They shook her hand and giggled.
When her gaze rose to Colton’s, her smile dimmed a little as she felt that twinge of desire rise up in her. Again, her timing was off. “It was fun.”
“See you soon,” he said.
Colton, making sure all little fingers were away from the door, closed it for her. She started the engine and rolled down the window.
“When should I come back to photograph the greenhouse? Anything exciting happening this week?”
“Glazing windows. Removing stones. Nothing exciting.”
“If that changes, let me know. I want to capture the images.”
“Will do.”
As she drove off, she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the boys waving at her and jumping up and down. She honked the horn and waved back
.
On the way to town, she was still unsure if the evening had been a success or an awkward mess.
Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into her driveway and then carried her leftovers into the kitchen, where she dutifully stocked them in a near-empty refrigerator. Restless, thanks to the caffeine, she walked out back, suddenly curious to see if her old camera equipment was still in the shed.
She crossed the backyard, stepping from flagstone to flagstone until she reached the shed. Though near the center of town, the lot was almost an acre in size. Her father had had the large toolshed erected when she was five, and his plan had been to create a woodworking shop. When he had installed a television and easy chair before the first saw was purchased, her mother had declared it a man cave.
Her father never took up woodworking. His eighty-to-ninety-hours-a-week medical practice made that impossible. But when Libby found her first bellows camera at a flea market and dragged it home, he placed it in the shed. She found more photographic equipment, including a developer, a workbench, and chemical trays. After a year of her stocking and laboring on her photos while home for the summers and holidays, the man cave had been no more. It had become her studio.
She switched on the light and was pleased to see that her father had not removed one item. Instead, he had covered all the equipment with white sheets to protect against dust.
With a tug, she removed a sheet from a developing machine that dated back to the 1970s. It had been her favorite during the summer her mother died. She had spent many hours in the darkroom, creating pictures that she now would consider not particularly artistic. But then, art had not been the goal that summer. It had been to take her mind off her mother.
She crossed to a file cabinet and opened the top drawer. It was filled with black-and-white images. The top ones were of her dad’s dog, Buddy. He had been a German shepherd–mutt mix who had ridden into town each day with her father when he had gone to work. The dog had had a keen sense of time, always knowing on Fridays the two went through the drive-through on the way home, and he would get a hamburger.
She sifted through the images of her backyard, the town, trees, clouds, and lots of nothing that had been of such great interest to her that summer.
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