Chapter Eight
“Are you all right, child?” Charlene asked as Jane hurried into the kitchen.
“What?” She stared at her friend, then tried to smile. “Oh, I’m fine.”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Now don’t go getting any ideas. The Carolina Barringtons have always been too well-bred to allow ghosts in the house.”
Jane moved through the kitchen and picked up the plates for dinner. “I’m a little tired. That’s all.”
“Mmm.” Those shrewd blue eyes saw more than they were supposed to. Still Jane knew that she was safe. Despite the truckers that visited from time to time and her rather flamboyant wardrobe and ways, Charlene was too much of a lady to pry. “I thought you were going to ask Billie to set the table.”
“She’s…ah…Adam, that is, they’re watching the ball game. I didn’t want to disturb them.”
“Well then, you’ll need to get out the good silver. It’s in the middle drawer of the hutch.”
Jane nodded, then escaped from the kitchen to the quiet of the formal dining room.
Lace-covered windows let in the soft, afternoon light.
Underfoot, an antique Oriental carpet provided the color in the elegant room.
The beautiful carved table could seat twenty, with all the leaves.
Even at its smallest, it was too big for four, but Charlene liked to use the good pieces on Sunday and that meant eating in the dining room.
Jane didn’t mind; the formal setting, remembering which forks went where, would occupy her mind.
If she tried hard, maybe she could forget Billie’s conversation with Adam.
It was futile, she admitted, as she smoothed the pressed linen cloth over the table. Her daughter’s pain had ignited her own. “Where is my daddy? Doesn’t he love us anymore?” Her words echoed over and over again.
“I never meant to hurt you, Billie,” she murmured softly, as she folded the napkins. She had hurt her though, and Adam, too. All in all, she’d botched the whole thing. Now what? Should she tell him today? Could she?
“You have to tell him soon. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”
She hadn’t heard Charlene enter the room. “Yes,” she said, as she continued to fold the napkins.
“You have to tell him,” Charlene repeated.
“I know.”
“He’s going to guess, and if he doesn’t, people in town will. She has too much of the Barringtons in her.”
“But she doesn’t really look like him,” Jane said, hopefully, as if convincing Charlene would mean putting off the deed for another day.
“You’re right. She looks like Dani.”
“You think so?”
“Of course. All she needs is to be blond. She’s even got the freckles.”
“I never thought of that.”
“Start thinking.” Charlene placed a silver trivet on the table. “Sophia Yarns called me yesterday.”
Jane opened the center door of the hutch and picked up a handful of flatware. “She was at the New Accounts desk at the bank.”
“She wanted to know if I knew you were unmarried and had a child.”
“She’s just an old busybody.”
“She’s an influential member of this town. And no dummy. You think you can keep your secret after she spends an hour or two with Billie and Adam?”
“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.” She placed the forks at all four places, then went back to collect the knives.
Charlene stepped next to her and laid a restraining hand on her arm. “You can’t run forever.”
“I know.” Jane wanted to crawl away and hide, but she forced herself to look up at Charlene.
The older woman patted her gently. “He’ll hate you for keeping Billie from him.”
Her throat grew tight. “Yes,” she whispered.
“But he will eventually understand.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Charlene hugged her close. Jane leaned into the embrace. The scent of gardenias, the womanly figure, the clinking of the bracelets brought her comfort with their familiarity.
“I am right,” the older woman said. “He’ll forgive you. What I’m worried about is whether or not you can forgive yourself.”
* * *
They had dessert on the front porch. The sounds of summer, birds, children playing, a soft breeze rustling through the leaves, lent themselves to another time when everything had been easier.
If this had been the 1800s, her life would have been different, Jane thought taking a bite of blueberry pie.
Back then, despite her concerns about Adam and their pending marriage, she wouldn’t have run.
Society and circumstances would have forced her to stay and fight for her man.
Now, with the vision of hindsight, the lack of opportunity sounded heavenly.
If she couldn’t risk, she didn’t fail. But even as the simpler time tempted her, she acknowledged that the past nine years had made her a stronger person.
However much she regretted the pain she’d caused and was still going to cause, she’d arrived in the present as a mature human being.
A difficult price to pay, she thought as she glanced up and met Adam’s gaze.
He offered her a quick, sympathetic smile.
He’d been nice ever since he’d seen her in the doorway, listening to Billie talk about her “missing” father.
No doubt he had a few theories of his own as to why she’d bolted.
At this moment he probably felt badly, maybe even let himself like her.
All that would change as soon as she worked up the courage to tell him the truth.
“This is delightful,” Charlene said, picking up her last blueberry in her fingers and popping it into her mouth. “You always did magical things with a crust.”
“It’s my mother’s recipe. I’ll pass along the compliment.”
“Do that. And give her my best. I should probably call her before I leave for Greece. I’ve just been so busy what with my various—”
“Charlene—”
“Don’t say anything—”
Adam and Jane spoke together. His aunt drew herself up straighter in her wicker chair and frowned. “Why do you always assume I’m going to say something inappropriate?”
“Because you usually do,” Adam said wryly.
Billie looked up from her dessert. She’d perched herself on the steps leading up to the porch, while the adults sat around a glass and wicker table. “What’s inappropriate?” she asked.
“It means—” Jane paused. “Something that’s not appropriate.”
“Now that’s a clear definition,” Adam teased.
“You think you’re so clever, you try,” she shot back.
“Yes, Adam,” Charlene said, putting her plate on the table in front of her. “Go ahead.”
“Inappropriate means something that isn’t polite.”
Charlene shook her head. “I was going to be very polite.” She glared pointedly at Jane. “And appropriate.”
“All right.” Adam took another bite of pie and chewed thoughtfully. “Inappropriate.”
“Yes.” Billie waited patiently. “Should I go get the dictionary?”
Jane chuckled.
“Absolutely not,” Adam said. “I won’t be defeated by a word. It means—”
“It means that your mother and Adam think I was about to say something you’re too young to hear.” Charlene rose to her feet. “And they were wrong. But my feelings are already hurt, so I’m leaving.” She held out her hand. “You can come with me, Billie, and help with the dishes.”
“Aw, do I have to?”
“Yes. Because I found out that someone here broke one of my prize roses. And I have a feeling it was you. Not—” She glared at Jane, then at Adam. “I repeat, not that anyone had the good manners to tell me. I had to find out on my own. The poor thing is crushed beyond repair.”
Jane stared intently at her plate and struggled not to laugh. “Charlene, I know how much you care about your roses. I meant to say something earlier. It slipped my mind.”
Billie hung her head. “I’m sorry. I’m always breaking stuff.”
Charlene squeezed her hand. “I forgive you. Children are supposed to break things.”
“I’ll be happy to reimburse you,” Jane offered.
“No, thank you. But this is a good time to remind you that charm school would take care of many of her problems.”
Billie rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to go to charm school. It’s dumb, girl stuff.”
Adam leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Explain that to me, Charlene. You are the least conventional woman I know, yet since you’ve met Billie, you’ve been trying to turn her into the Southern ideal of a lady.”
Charlene shook her head. Tendrils from the upswept style bounced off her cheeks and her long silver earrings jingled.
“Power, Adam. It’s all about power.” She gave Billie the plates and urged her toward the door.
“First you have to learn the rules, then you can break them. That’s always been our strength.
What was that movie? Steel Magnolias. Look at Jane here.
Nine years ago she was a child with no direction, confused.
Afraid. Now she’s grown into a beautiful woman capable of taking care of herself.
We’re strong. We just don’t want everyone to know right off. ”
Billie balanced the plates in her arms. “I don’t understand.”
“You will,” Charlene said, patting her head. “Learn to be a lady and control the world.”
“I’d rather learn a curve ball.” Billie thrust out her lower lip. “Do I have to help with the dishes?”
Charlene nodded. “Think of it as repaying me for that rose you killed.” She followed Billie inside, then turned back. “You two just sit here and talk. We’ll take care of everything else.”
“What do you think of Charlene’s theory?” Adam asked.
“I think she’s right about the rules. I tell my students that in my English classes.
You have to know how to construct a sentence before you can start switching things around.
As for the power—” She shrugged, then laughed.
“I’ve never felt especially powerful. Maybe that’s saved for the true Southern belles. ”