Emma, Mr. Knightley, And Chili-Slaw Dogs Part 5

"She took a position at Millsaps right after she got married." The wedding was one of the most romantic she'd ever attended and it still gave her a flush of happiness when she looked at the photos.

"Ransom is a lucky man." Dr. Stroud paused. "But I have to admit I wasn't quite sure whether they were friend or foe the times I saw them together."

Nodding, Caroline couldn't hold back another laugh. "Well, from what I heard, they were enemies who decided it was better to end their little war and become something much better."

"They make a very formidable team, those two historians." He rubbed his chin, the rasp of his whiskers clear to Caroline's ears. "I miss him at our field maneuvers, although I hear he's coming in September for the one hundred fiftieth celebration at the Chickamauga National Military Park. If I have to drive to Georgia to see him, I guess that's what I'll do."

"It's a big year for reenactments. I wish I had more time, but between teaching at Midlands and spending weekends down here..." Brooks' voice trailed off and he shrugged.

"No excuses. We're a dwindling band of old timers with long memories. Brooks, you must come to Iuka next month." He leveled a sharp gaze under heavy brows. "It's not accurate if every able bodied man walks off the field after the skirmish, is it? I'm not asking for a dramatic rendition of their pain and suffering, either. Since the surgical tent is right on the battlefield, I uncork the chloroform and the soldier just pretends to fade away into sleep. I suppose, if they wanted more excitement, they could be one of those few men who struggled during the first stage of anesthesia."

"What would you do? Thump them on the noggin?" Brooks looked like he was relis.h.i.+ng the idea of play-acting a medical reaction.

"Chloroform didn't cause as many complications but it took longer than ether. So, I suppose we could bring out the ether vial, instead." Dr. Stroud rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "But no one would be fooled, as ether smells terrible and usually caused coughing and vomiting."

"Let's skip the ether," Brooks said, grimacing.

"Is there any attendee who might expect the real thing?" Caroline couldn't refrain from asking the question. It was a reenactment. Surely no one expected real ether in the fake surgery tent.

"Absolutely. We like to make it as realistic as possible. That's the fun." He beamed, those bright blue eyes lit from within. "I do wish the men would be more eager to adequately represent a few of the forty five thousand amputee veterans the war produced. Apparently, it's not as heroic as losing one's life on the field. During the last battle, I had to persuade quite a few men that there was no dishonor in losing a limb in my care."

"You can count on me and my limbs." Brooks held out both arms, as if offering himself at that very moment. His large hands curled into fists, thick veins stark against his tan skin. Caroline fought the sensation of rising nausea at the thought of anyone pretending to remove his well-muscled arms. Brooks was a man who spent his days teaching, but he was athletic and fit. Of course, it was all just make-believe but it still filled her with horror.

"I knew I could." Dr. Stroud inclined his head. "Miss Ashley, I hope to see you there. We'll keep you far from the gruesome realities of the war between the states, perhaps in dinner preparations. We can't allow you to Farb your way through, but we can try our best to find something to suit your talents."

She could only smile, hoping against hope she wouldn't ever have to spend the weekend in the baking hot sun, dressed in multilayered petticoats and a bonnet. Or worse, restraining perfectly healthy men as they play-acted an amputation. She knew these men, heard the stories. These were not bored professionals on a weekend jaunt. They were serious historians, sometimes spending tens of thousands a year and sewing their own clothes.

As Dr. Stroud walked away, she leaned close and whispered, "Farb?"

"Farbs do everything the easy way and just pretend they're in the war."

She shot him a look.

He shrugged. "Right, we're all pretending, but some pretending is of a higher quality than others."

She stowed the term in the back of her mind, hoping she'd never have to use it. She'd like to keep the pretending at a minimum, no matter the quality. Brooks had griped about getting the 'anchor' position last time and she'd made the mistake of asking. In the early spring, a man would risk frostbite to sleep alone with the threadbare Confederate-issue blanket. Brooks had explained that on the coldest nights they spooned together for warmth and the end of the row only got warm on one side, half the time. When the commander yelled for the men to flip, the anchor could thaw out his frozen side on his bunkmate... until the next call to turn. Caroline had almost rolled her eyes out of her head at the description but Brooks was a die-hard member. No amount of mockery would change his mind.

She glanced at him, feeling her mouth tilt up at the man she knew better than any other man in the world. A universe of contradictions, a wealth of knowledge, and the gentleness of a friend. There was no one who could replace him, no one who could ever come close.

"She will never submit to anything requiring industry and patience, and a subjection of the fancy to the understanding."-Mr. Knightley

Chapter Seven.

Dr. Stroud joined an older woman with a pinched-looking expression and crimped blond hair. She met Caroline's eyes for just a moment than turned away, muttering out of the corner of her mouth. They moved toward the large, arched doorway of the gla.s.s-enclosed Atrium.

"Finley, as I was saying..." Brooks began, his voice pitched low. He'd leaned closer and his breath s.h.i.+fted the hair that hung near her cheek, as if he was running a finger across her skin.

She put up a hand to halt what would undoubtedly be a long speech on the merits of a more traditional writing career. Or at least something that didn't involve Franklin Keene. "You've already made up your mind not to like him but I'm glad there's somebody interesting around here for once. Th.o.r.n.y Hollow is made up of nosy old ladies and desperately single young women." Staring straight ahead as the guests shuffled toward the entrance, she could hear Mrs. Werlin directing people to one side or another as they entered. "Anyway, Frank seems perfectly normal and just because he wears a suit in a style you don't like, doesn't mean he's running a scheme."

"It's not the suit." His words came out on a groan of aggravation. He dropped his voice again as they stood shoulder to shoulder with the other guests. "And it's not his age or his stupid hair. He seems to ferret out what you want him to say, and then makes sure you hear it. He's s.h.i.+fty."

Caroline bit her tongue and tried her best not to respond. She gazed around the enormous, gla.s.s-domed atrium. The evening light sparkled against the newly restored leaded panes and potted citrus trees stretched toward the ceiling. The air was thick with the rich scent of hibiscus and orchids. She could see Frank across the room, talking to Lauren Fairfield and Mrs. Reynolds. She couldn't quite catch a glimpse of Lauren's expression unless she craned her neck, but Mrs. Reynolds was smiling and chatting animatedly. "I appreciate the heads up but I don't intend to give him my bank account number. I'm interested in joining the workforce. I would think you'd be happy about that."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him shaking his head. "So now I'm the bad guy for saying you need to get out of the house. Flipping burgers is a job, too. I don't see you running for the striped hat and matching ap.r.o.n."

With every new body in the room, they s.h.i.+fted a few more feet along the rounded wall of the greenhouse, nodding and exchanging smiles with guests. She moved a little farther from a woman with a prodigious bee-hive hairdo and perfume so strong it made Caroline's eyes water. They stood directly under a mandarin orange tree and she focused on the glossy leaves and neon colored fruit. She didn't want to fight with Brooks. He was being strangely unreasonable and she couldn't even guess at the reason why. She would just wait patiently for Mrs. Werlin to begin the tour of the reconstruction. Ten seconds pa.s.sed in acute silence and she felt Brooks at her shoulder, his brooding presence like a small thundercloud ready to crackle with lightning.

It was impossible to stand so close together, seething with unsaid words. She turned her head a fraction. "I appreciate the advice, I really do, and if I was in any position to lose my professional reputation, then I would be grateful for the warning. As it is, I'm not risking anything except my mother's approval. When she hears I'm thinking of looking for employment, she won't be happy."

It was the first time she'd stated the situation so plainly and she felt the relief of being honest at the same time she saw the anger slide from his face. He nodded, as if finally understanding her position. "I know."

She leaned turned her attention back to the center of the room, determined to enjoy the rest of the party. Historically accurate renovations took tens of thousands of dollars and whole teams of advisors. It was a thrill to witness the Werlins' mansion restored to its ante bellum beauty.

If she could just reconcile her dreams with all the expectations around her, then life would be perfect. Caroline straightened her back and breathed deeply, the scent of tropical foliage and rich soil filling her with optimism. The time for change was now. Brooks might argue and complain, but surely he could see that this was a wonderful opportunity. It could be the first step out of her present life, the one that was dictated by bridge club meetings and failed chocolate cakes.

"Two centuries ago, a pioneer brought cedar saplings in a cigar box from China. Today, those trees stand healthy and strong, greeting every visitor to this house."

Mrs. Werlin's voice carried through the atrium as though she were holding a microphone. The s.p.a.ce had amazing acoustics, despite being filled with all sorts of shrubs and trees, including the one currently poking an especially sharp branch into Brooks' shoulder, even as he hunched awkwardly to avoid one of the tree's lower limb. He s.h.i.+fted closer to Caroline, wis.h.i.+ng he was about four inches shorter than his full six feet.

He tried to focus on the presentation, rather than the awkward position he held. Mrs. Werlin continued, "Twenty nine acres of manicured gardens include a fountain and award winning azaleas. Along with our goal of updating the heating system, we included a major renovation of the outbuildings. The carriage house, barn, cottage, and schoolhouse were repaired and repainted in keeping with the original paint colors."

Schoolhouse. Brooks felt his lips twitch. The Elliot mansion also had a schoolhouse. It was just a one-room, pine-floored room with a potbellied wood stove that leaked smoke from a crack in the pipe, but he used to spend a lot of time there when he was young. One summer he'd pried up a few floor boards and found Indian head pennies and clay marbles that had been lost by children a hundred years previously. By the time he'd grown out of playing school, Caroline had taken up the game. On certain summer days he could peek in and see her teaching an imaginary cla.s.s while waving a battered yard stick. The floor would be littered with little pieces of broken chalk and she would be in the middle of sending some invisible trouble maker to the naughty stool in the corner.

His gaze wandered to the curve of her cheek and he almost let out a laugh to see the blush of pink. She remembered, just as he did. He leaned close, keeping his voice just a murmur. "Maybe if you're good, Mrs. Werlin will let you be the teacher."

She turned her head just a fraction and wrinkled her nose, before returning her attention to the speech. He felt laughter rising up in his chest and he fought the urge to give her a little poke in the side. She was so much fun to tease.

"The decision to add a large home theater was a difficult one for us, but it made perfect sense as we looked over our time here." Mrs. Werlin cast a loving glance at her husband, who nodded, unsmiling.

Caroline whispered out of the corner of her mouth. "Home theater?"

"I guess so." He was a little surprise they had added something so out of character in the historic home.

"The pool was enlarged to Olympic size and the wrap-around deck can now accommodate several hundred people. The new hot tub can hold thirty guests at once," Mrs. Werlin said.

Caroline turned her head this time, catching his eye. Her expression was a mix of confusion and curiosity. He understood her unspoken question. What would they need with a deck that size? The guests in this room numbered barely a hundred and it was very unlikely the majority of them would be taking a soak in the new hot tub.

She seemed to notice for the first time that he was crouched forward under the citrus tree branch and tugged on his sleeve. "Here," she whispered, "switch places with me. I'm shorter."

"Our home has been a landmark in Th.o.r.n.y Hollow for close to two centuries and we're delighted to be announcing a new chapter." Mrs. Werlin was moving toward a small easel in the middle of the atrium, her hand hovering over the white cloth that concealed a placard.

Brooks stepped to the right and Caroline slipped behind him, ducking under his arm. She put a hand on the back of his suit coat and smiled up at him. He loved how the tiny gap between her front teeth added to her smile. "See? Now we fit perfectly."

He grinned back at her, noting the way her hair just brushed the gnarled branch. Turning his attention back to Mrs. Werlin, he watched her pause, silent. Then with a flourish, she lifted the white cloth from the square board and as it floated up, his eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment.

There was a sound in the room as if all the air had been sucked out in one loud whoosh. Caroline's fingers clenched into a fist, pulling the fabric of his jacket tight. That tiny movement, unseen to anyone else in the room, matched his own dismay. A hard lump of despair settled in his gut as he read the words on the s.h.i.+ny bra.s.s plaque.

Cedar Point Hotel and Restaurant, engraved in a fancy font, beamed out at the room in an unequivocal fas.h.i.+on. There was no denying this renovation had been for one purpose only: turning one of the most beautiful antebellum estates of Th.o.r.n.y Hollow into a commercial enterprise.

"We're excited to open to the public immediately, including weddings and graduation parties." Mrs. Werlin nodded, as if the idea of hundreds of rowdy high school students tromping through her house was a perfectly wonderful prospect.

The room slowly came back to life and guests began to clap, although not with any sort of enthusiasm.

Caroline was still clutching the back of his coat. He turned, catching her eye. The glint of unshed tears sparkled on her lashes. His throat constricted at the sight. "They must not have had any other option," he whispered in her ear.

"I never liked that woman," she responded, her tone furious.

"Now, now. She's always been nice enough."

"Nice doesn't cut it." She lifted her eyes to his and blinked back tears. "How could they?"

He shook his head. It was a decision every owner of a truly historic Southern mansion must make, at some time. "Finley, these old places don't support themselves. You can't let them fall into ruins, either."

"It was nowhere near ruins. It was fine." She leaned into his shoulder and took a shuddering breath. "It's awful. I can't bear it."

He leaned close, whispering. "Mr. Codd down on Market St. told me that it cost twenty thousand to paint his house the last time, and they'd painted just four years ago. We're lucky to have mostly brick, but these enormous wooden places take so much more than you can imagine."

"No, what I can't imagine is turning a home into a restaurant, overrun by kids from New Jersey on Spring break. It's criminal, Brooks. It's just not right." Her voice was filled with anguish.

Brooks said nothing, feeling the weight of dismay in his chest. His father was tight-lipped about finances, no matter how he offered to help out with any taxes or the costs of the perpetual renovations that occur with a building centuries old. Perhaps Badewood was teetering on the edge of financial ruin as well. He didn't know.

"Why can't everything stay the way it's always been?" She seemed to be talking to herself and not requiring a response.

"Change is inevitable," he said. Depressingly true and painful to admit, but nothing good lasted forever. He wasn't a fatalist; he was a realist.

Caroline's sunny nature seemed to set her up for disappointment, time after time after time. At moments like this, he wished that he could simply wipe away the pain of ruined expectations. He wrapped an arm around her and tried to focus on the rest of Mrs. Werlin's speech, but his thoughts were on the woman next to him.

Caroline fought to control the ache that was creeping up her throat. She would not cry, she would not cry! It would still be here, in all its splendor, just in a different fas.h.i.+on. More visitors, more people to enjoy the beauty of the place. That's what she told herself, over and over.

But the truth of the matter was that she grieved for the Werlin place. Thirty person hot tub, indeed. It was ruined. It wasn't the stately antebellum home she'd always admired. It was now 'Cedar Point Hotel and Restaurant' and it made her heart feel like it was being squeezed in a steel trap. Mrs. Werlin proudly led the group out the far door of the atrium and Caroline wondered if it would be rude to skip the rest of the tour.

"There you are." Debbie Mae grabbed her hands and gave her a huge kiss. Her knee length mint green dress and matching heels were off-set by a few strands of perfect pearls. All that was par for the party course, but her cousin swept up her dark red hair into a complicated hairstyle that reminded Caroline of Regency heroines. Tiny, pearl-studded pins dotted the elaborate hairstyle. The effect was breathtaking. Just like Debbie Mae, her outfit was impossible to ignore. "Can you believe it? Manning told me something was up with that enormous pool. I guess he was right."

Caroline struggled to speak past the lump in her throat. "He certainly was." She'd been excited to see Debbie Mae, but now all she wanted to do was run home and crawl into her own soft bed. Pulling the covers over her head and never coming out had never seemed like such a good idea than at this moment.

"Pretty." Debbie Mae touched the flowers in Caroline's hair and smiled. "I love forget-me-nots. They're so hard to find. Did you order these?"

Brooks coughed into his hand and Caroline shot him a look. "No, I just..." She wasn't sure what to say. 'Found' wasn't quite the right word.

"I want to introduce you to a friend of mine." Debbie Mae scanned the crowd for her friend.

Caroline tried not to sigh out loud. Of course Debbie Mae was on a mission to keep Brooks from ending up an old bachelor but introducing him to every woman under forty wasn't really going to work. He just wasn't the type to ask for anyone's number. Unless the woman was very, very special. Caroline couldn't help trying to pick out which friend Debbie Mae had in mind.

She motioned to a young woman on the far end of the greenhouse. "There she is. We met at the party the firm threw last month in Oxford. Her grandfather lives in Th.o.r.n.y Hollow, running the gas station on Sixth Street. Small world, right?"

Caroline raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Brooks wasn't a sn.o.b. In fact, he was probably the most open-minded man she knew. But the woman making her way toward them couldn't have been more than nineteen. A fitted red dress, matching high heels and an updo featuring lots of glossy curls might have been overkill on someone else, but she had a quiet confidence that pulled it all together.

Smiling shyly, a dark-haired girl paused a few feet from Debbie Mae. Large brown eyes framed by thick lashes made Caroline think of a doe. "This is Lexi Martinez. She's a very talented artist and she designed the new logo for Manning's firm."

Debbie Mae finished the introductions and went on. "She's been accepted to Ole Miss so we'll only have her around for the summer, then off she'll go off to change the world."

"Wonderful to meet you, Lexi. What's your favorite medium?" Brooks asked.

"I've been working with computer graphics for a few years but I really love to sketch. Pen and ink, mostly." Even her voice was soft and pretty. She glanced at Debbie Mae, as if making sure she'd said the right thing.

Caroline felt a twinge of sympathy. It seemed the confidence only covered the dress. Having an actual conversation was a bit harder. She couldn't imagine standing in this atrium filled with the area's oldest and wealthiest families when your father ran a gas station on Sixth Street.

"You'll be majoring in art, then?" Caroline could remember exactly how it had felt to leave her friends and family for college. That summer stretched endlessly in her memory, full of promise and thrilling fear.

Lexi shook her head, one dark curl on each side sweeping against her sharp cheekbones. "No, I think I'll major in accounting. It's safer."

Caroline felt her eyes go wide. How awful to know your pa.s.sion lay in art, but you were going to be an accountant to pay the bills. "You'll minor in art, at least?"

"I don't think so. I need to get through school as quickly as possible."

"It's a shame you can't make a living right now from your art. In fact," Caroline swiveled around searching for Frank in the atrium, "we were just talking to someone who works in a publis.h.i.+ng company, with those manga comics."

"Really?" Lexi had lit up like someone had shone a spotlight on her. She peered around, eyes sparkling.

"But he wasn't hiring artists, really." Brooks voice cut in, his tone measured.

"He made it sound as if his company was growing by leaps and bounds." Caroline ignored the warning note in his voice. "I just think it's a shame you're going to major in accounting when you'd rather make a living in art."

"We all make some sort of compromise, I suppose." Debbie Mae shrugged lightly.

"Did you?" She wasn't trying to provoke an argument, but she was fairly sure that Debbie Mae had always wanted to be a teacher.

Her cousin's cheeks went pink. "Not really, I suppose. There was a time I wanted to get a doctorate in education, but by the time I got my master's in teaching, it seemed like overkill. I'm happy teaching fourth graders."

Caroline said nothing, her point made. She thought she glimpsed Frank's profile and a flash of Lauren's silky black hair but the next moment they were gone. "Lexi, give me your number and when I talk to Frank, I'll ask him about any jobs in the art department."

"That would be great," Lexi said, rummaging in her small black purse for a pen. "I'd love to talk to him."

As she scribbled her number on a slip of paper and handed it over, Caroline could feel Brooks at her shoulder, disapproving. In the few minutes that followed, he didn't say a word. The shock of Mrs. Werlin's announcement was wearing off and Caroline was filled with resolve. She wouldn't allow a young girl to throw away her dreams because of sheer pessimism. Someone had told Lexi to put her dreams in a box and bury them deep. Well, Lexi was going to get the chance to be an artist, if Caroline could help it. If everyone compromised their pa.s.sion, then all they'd be left with was thirty person hot tubs and a world of accountants.

"Upon my word, Emma, to hear you abusing the reason you have, is almost enough to make me think so, too. Better be without sense than misapply it as you do."

-Mr. Knightley