A Little Country Christmas

by Carolyn Brown

  Collier froze. “Is that something you both agreed to?”

  She nodded. “He insisted on it because of his very strict Christian upbringing, and I had to respect that. But what should’ve been one of the most enjoyable nights of my life was essentially rape. No matter how much I screamed that he was hurting me, he refused to stop. The next day he pleaded with me to forgive him because he’d waited so long to make love to me that he’d gone temporarily insane.

  “It was another month before we tried it again, and the result was the same. It was like he felt he needed to dominate me in and out of bed. That’s when I moved into the spare bedroom and put a lock on the door. It was all about appearances when we were out in public together. No one would’ve ever suspected we weren’t sleeping together. Soon Derrick began scrutinizing everything I wore. It couldn’t be too tight or reveal too much skin, and most of the clothes in my closet were either navy blue or black. No reds because he didn’t want people to think he’d married a harlot.”

  She told Collier that the only time she felt totally free was at the Baltimore high school where she taught art to a small group of very talented students. She hated coming home where her overcritical husband complained that he’d married the wrong woman because she refused to measure up to his standards, and whenever she talked about divorcing him, he threatened to ruin her life so she’d never teach again.

  “There were times when I’d asked myself what I could have done to make my marriage work, but in the end I realized I could never become his ideal. I wanted so much to confide in a few of my colleagues, but I knew they wouldn’t understand. They kept telling me they were jealous because I’d managed to snag one of the Beltway’s most eligible bachelors. If they’d known the hell I was going through, their jealousy would’ve turned to pity.

  “We’d just celebrated our first anniversary when his mother asked when I was going to make her a grandmother. I told her never, and then she went into a rant that my role as a wife was to submit to my husband and give him children. I was past being polite and respectful when I told her if she wanted grandchildren, then she should’ve taught her boy that rape isn’t the same as lovemaking.

  “Later that night, I found myself completely blindsided when he came home earlier than usual and sucker punched me, breaking my nose and fracturing my left cheek. He started to strangle me, but I managed to escape and make it to my bedroom where I locked the door and called the police. By the time they got there, he was gone. They took me to the hospital where I contacted my father and told him what had happened. I don’t know how Daddy got from Fort Benning, Georgia, to Baltimore so quickly, but when he saw my face, he swore he was going to kill Derrick. Once he calmed down he asked if I was going to file charges for spousal battery.”

  Sitting up and cradling her face in his hands, Collier asked, “Did you?”

  “No. All I wanted was my freedom and my name. I hired a prominent divorce attorney, telling her everything about my wedding night, the subsequent rape, and the assault. Even though I didn’t report the assault to the police, hospital records documented what had taken place. I was granted an annulment and a significant settlement if I swore never to disclose the details of our marriage because Derrick had decided to go into politics.

  “The money allowed me to start over when I applied to the Art Institute of Raleigh-Durham for culinary arts. After graduating, I got a position with a popular Charlotte restaurant chain, but I left four months later because the executive chef verbally abused his staff. Once again I loaded up my car and hit the road. After a while I knew I had to stop running, realizing my inability to stay in one place for any extended period of time stemmed from moving from base to base as a child.

  “That’s when I stopped in Charleston. I spent a week there touring the Sea Islands. Then one day I took the ferry to Cavanaugh Island. It had to be karma when I saw the HELP WANTED sign advertising for a pastry chef at the Muffin Corner. Lester said he would hire me on the spot if I could make three fondant leaves, flowers, and hearts, unaware I’d excelled in cake decorating. He kept his word and hired me. I lived at the Cove Inn for two months before this apartment became available.” She exhaled an audible sigh. “So now you know all of the sordid details of my short-lived marriage and why I hadn’t slept with a man in years.”

  Collier brushed his mouth over hers. “Didn’t you realize he was the sick one, not you?”

  “Sick or not, I blamed myself for not leaving him the first time he raped me; I’d stayed too long and if he hadn’t hit me, I probably would still be married to the sicko. I know inviting you to my place was risky, but somehow I felt safe with you. And if you’d turned out to be crazy, all I had to do was tell Sheriff Hamilton that Scrappy did it.”

  Collier laughed loudly. “Damn. Poor Scrappy can’t seem to catch a break.”

  Her laughter joined his. “But didn’t you tell me Scrappy has been redeemed?”

  “Yes.” His smile vanished, his expression becoming a mask of stone. “But unlike your ex-husband, Scrappy would never hit a woman. My father taught me real men don’t hit or abuse women, and that’s something I’ve never forgotten.”

  Iris felt Collier withdraw from her, although he hadn’t moved. She’d just bared her soul and now she needed him to do likewise. “What do you want for your future, Collier?”

  The popping sound and the shower of burning embers flared behind the fireplace screen, temporarily garnering Collier’s attention. He still couldn’t believe Iris’s ex-husband had raped her; that despite everything she still hadn’t fallen apart. He stood up, reaching down and bringing her up to stand.

  “Come dance with me.”

  Iris wrapped her arms around his waist. She recognized the song. Brenda Russell’s “Piano in the Dark.”

  The smile parting Collier’s lips slipped into a wide grin as he spun Iris around and around in an intricate dance step. “You smell good enough to eat.”

  Iris leaned back, her grin matching his. “Didn’t you just say you’d eaten too much?”

  They continued to dance without moving their feet. He pressed his mouth to her ear. “I left a little room so that I can taste you.” It took a full minute before Iris caught his meaning. “Did I embarrass you?”

  “Of course not,” she said quickly. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Collier groaned inwardly. Now he knew why Tracy and Iris were such good friends. Both were unyielding when they wanted something. He couldn’t have been more explicit; he wanted to make love to her and she wanted to know about his future. “I want to give the military two more years before hanging up my uniform.”

  “What do you plan to do after that?”

  Collier stared down at her. “I have a few options. I have a one-third share in Happy Hour, but I’d rather remain a silent partner. I’m thinking about buying the auto body shop in the Cove. The owner’s looking to retire in a couple of years.”

  “You want to become a mechanic?” Iris questioned.

  Collier thought he detected a note of incredulity in her question. Did she believe dating a mechanic was beneath her social station? After all, her father had graduated from West Point, her mother was an aspiring artist, and her brother a veterinarian.

  After enlisting, he’d taken advantage of many of the incentives and benefits the Army offered, and one was earning a college degree, something his mother had always wanted for her children. “Yes. I can take apart and put a car’s engine back together, but I prefer restoring classic cars.”

  “Like Classic Car Restoration?”

  He nodded. She’d mentioned the reality TV show that had become one of his favorites. “Yes. My father had ’64 and ’68 Mustangs, and I filled in as his apprentice when he restored them to mint condition.”

  “Did he sell them?”

  “He sold the ’68 but wouldn’t part with the ’64. It was one of the first to come off the assembly line during its inaugural year. It’s parked in the garage behind the house. As soon as I check
it out, I’ll take you for a drive.”

  Cradling her face in his hands, Collier’s tongue traced the fullness of her lower lip. “It’s getting late and you need your sleep, so I’m going to head on home.”

  He’d mentioned going home when it was the last thing he wanted. Sharing Thanksgiving dinner with his sister, niece, and Iris’s family had made this homecoming even more momentous. If he stayed over tonight, he’d never hear the end of it from Tracy. The last thing he wanted was for his sister to believe he was taking advantage of her friend’s vulnerability.

  “Do you have an extra set of keys?” he asked Iris.

  Her forehead furrowed in confusion. “Yes. Why?”

  “I want to come over tomorrow morning to make breakfast. Afterward you’re going back to bed where I’m going to give you the extra-special Ward full-body massage to help relax you.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “But my folks are coming over?”

  “James told me they’re not coming until six, so don’t try to wiggle out of my wanting to take care of you.” Collier kissed her forehead. “Remember, we’re not going to have a lot of time to be together, so what do you say? Yes or no?”

  When Collier walked into the apartment earlier that afternoon asking to date her, Iris had felt as if she’d been enveloped in a cocoon with a happiness expiration date stamped on the outside. Collier would be around for another couple of weeks and then he’d be gone. And yet, here he was, offering her a chance at…She didn’t want to say love, because falling in love with him wasn’t an option. But trust perhaps. If nothing else, maybe Collier could finally teach her to trust a man without looking for an ulterior motive in his interest.

  “Wait here,” she told him.

  Iris went into her bedroom and retrieved a second set of keys to the apartment, knowing her life was about to change. She planned to give a man the keys to her sanctuary.

  Returning to the living room, Iris reached for Collier’s hand, placed the keys in his palm, and closed his fingers over them. “Yes.” Going up on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. “Good night, and thanks for making this Thanksgiving one I’ll remember for a very long time.”

  Collier ran a finger down her nose. “Good night, babe. Sleep well.”

  Chapter Five

  Gullah-Style Grits

  4 cups water

  1 tablespoon salt

  ¼ cup butter or margarine

  1 cup old-fashioned grits (not instant)

  Bring the water to a boil in a heavy pot. Add the salt and butter. Once the water is hot, add 1 cup cleaned and rinsed grits. Cook and stir for about 10 minutes until creamy. Cover and let the grits bubble for 20 minutes on medium heat.

  Sausage Gravy

  6–7 sausage patties

  ¼ teaspoon salt

  ¼ teaspoon ground black pepper

  ¼ teaspoon sage

  1 cup self-rising flour

  1 cup milk

  Place the sausage patties in a cast-iron skillet and use a wooden spoon to crumble them as they cook. Turn heat to medium-low. Stir until the sausage cooks through and drippings appear. Add the seasonings. Add the self-rising flour. Mix well until there is no dry flour or lumps left. Pour the milk into the skillet and continue to stir until the mixture reaches the desired texture.

  Collier walked into the kitchen, stopping short when he saw Tracy sitting at the breakfast nook, sipping coffee while flipping the pages of a magazine. He thought she would’ve slept in because schools were closed.

  Her head came around when he moved closer. “What are you doing up so early?” she asked, smiling.

  Reaching into an overhead cabinet, Collier took down a coffee mug. “I could ask you the same thing.” He filled the mug with coffee from the carafe on the countertop.

  Tracy pushed several twists off her forehead, her eyes narrowing behind the lenses of her glasses. “You know I’m a creature of habit. I tried to force myself to stay in bed, but once the sun came up, I decided to get up.”

  Slipping onto the bench seat opposite his sister, Collier peered at her over the rim of the mug. “The girls were still up giggling when I got in last night,” he said, then took a sip of the steaming brew. “What’s up with girls that they have to giggle so much?”

  “You’ll know the answer once you have a daughter. And don’t look at me like that, Scrappy, because I ain’t scared of you.”

  Collier struggled not to laugh. “You just can’t let Scrappy rest in peace, can you?”

  Tracy stuck out the tip of her tongue at him. “Nope, because underneath the spit shine and polish, Master Sergeant Ward, you’ll always be Scrappy.” She paused. “What time did you get in last night?”

  He lifted broad shoulders under his faded sweatshirt. “It wasn’t late, maybe around ten.”

  “Did you ask Iris if she would go out with you?”

  “What’s this, sis? An inquisition?”

  She pushed up the glasses that had slipped down the bridge of her nose. “No.”

  Collier drained the mug, rinsed it, and placed it in the dishwasher. Then he walked to Tracy, leaned down, and kissed her hair. “Yes, I did ask her,” he whispered. “And she said she would.” He stood up straight. “I’m going out.”

  “Where are you going?” Tracy asked, grinning.

  Turning on the heels of his running shoes, Collier waved to her as he walked out of the kitchen. “See you later, Tracy,” he drawled. He didn’t need her monitoring his whereabouts. But then he had to remember that Tracy was always in mother mode and a tad overprotective when it came to him and Layla. If he’d managed to survive serving in two war zones, then he had nothing to worry about while on his home turf.

  Opening the front door, he stepped out onto the porch. The rain had stopped and the warmth had returned. Minutes later he backed the rental out of the driveway, heading for the business district. Collier slowed when he spied the banner hanging from lampposts as he maneuvered onto Main Street: WELCOME HOME, M.SGT. COLLIER WARD.

  “Damn,” he swore under his breath. His name and rank were strung across the street among the colorful Christmas decorations. He knew it would be only a matter of time before everyone in the Cove knew he was back. Cavanaugh Islanders had always loved traditions and honoring those who’d served in the military, beginning with the Revolutionary War and up through the war in Afghanistan.

  There was another sign advertising caroling and sleigh rides for children under ten. New York City had its Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, Philadelphia their Mummers Parade, and for Sanctuary Cove it was a Winter Wonderland Festival held the weekend before Christmas. It began at five in the evening and ended at midnight, weather permitting. The festival brought out locals and tourists alike.

  The merchants belonging to the chamber of commerce went all out when they hired a company to spray fake snow on the streets and sidewalks. Vehicular traffic was replaced with horse-drawn sleighs, and vendors lined the sidewalks selling carnival-type foods; the carnival rides were the only thing missing.

  The single event to eclipse the post-Thanksgiving celebration was the summer island-wide celebration, which began July 1 and ended with a spectacular fireworks show at midnight on the Fourth of July. The carnival-like events included amusement park rides, picnics, and fun and games for all ages. Even when he’d attended military school, Collier always returned home for Thanksgiving and the Cove’s Winter Wonderland Festival weekends.

  He’d missed the past three celebrations, but this year he looked forward to sharing it with Tracy, Layla, and Iris. The clock over the bank read seven o’clock, and with the exception of the supermarket and the Muffin Corner, none of the other stores were open for business.

  Collier had traveled the world, and still he felt more at home on an island where everyone knew everyone and their business. He maneuvered into the parking lot between Jack’s Fish House and the variety store and walked the short distance to the rear of A Tisket A Basket.

  Unlocking the door to Iris’s apartment, he recalled the
conversation he’d had with her father. James had asked if he was aware of what his daughter had gone through with her ex-husband. Collier was forthcoming when he repeated what Tracy had told him, but at that time he hadn’t known the full extent of the abuse. That’s when the retired colonel told him in no uncertain terms that he would willingly spend the rest of his life in jail for killing the next man who hurt his daughter.

  Collier hadn’t blinked an eye when he told James he’d walk away from Iris before hurting her. She’d suffered enough. However, Collier suspected Iris didn’t know her own emotional strength. She’d survived and started over with a new career, new friends, and a place she could call home.

  He opened the door, encountering silence, and left his running shoes on the mat. Helping to put away leftovers had afforded Collier a glimpse of the contents of Iris’s well-stocked refrigerator. He planned to prepare a traditional Gullah breakfast with grits, scrambled eggs, and sausage gravy.

  Collier had grown up eating Asian-fusion and Lowcountry cuisine. However, it was the Gullah dishes he favored most. His paternal grandmother had taught all her sons to cook the dishes indigenous to the region, and Garrett in turn taught his wife. His parents would occasionally compete to see who made a particular dish the best. His father usually won, because his wife invariably included an Asian spice, which subtly changed the flavor.

  Making his way to the kitchen, he heard singing coming from the bathroom. Slowing, he peered inside to find Iris in the shower, singing loudly. Collier could make out the outline of her body through the frosted glass, and it took all his willpower not to strip naked and join her.

  Without warning, the singing stopped and the door to the shower opened, Iris stepping out onto a mat, dripping wet. She didn’t notice him standing there like a deer caught in the headlights until she reached for the towel from a stack on a low bench. With wide eyes, she watched his approach. Collier took in everything about her in one sweeping glance: firm breasts perched high above a narrow waist; a flat belly; firm, slender thighs and legs. Moisture shimmered on her hair and face, turning her into a bronze statue.