Chapter 23
By Thanksgiving morning, Snow had picked out paint colors, a new couch, and marked off where all the flower beds would be. She’d also earmarked several pieces from the store that would decorate her and Caleb’s first home.
Not that she’d agreed to buy the house. But she really wanted to buy the house. Damn the man for convincing her to look at it.
Though she regretted not spending the holiday with her family, knowing she’d be with them at Christmas made the day easier to get through. She’d called them first thing this morning and spoken to several relatives. Mama must have put them all on their best behavior, since no one gave Snow a hard time about her extended absence.
“Does this pie look burnt to you?” Caleb asked. He’d been fussing all morning, stressed about getting the pecan and apple pies just right. Apparently, knowing his would be measured against Lorelei’s grandmother’s concoctions turned her carefree husband into a frazzled mess .
Of course, he couldn’t be happy with an old-fashioned apple pie. Caleb’s pie had to include caramel. Her husband had a sweet tooth the length of Main Street, and he loved being in the kitchen almost as much as being elbow-deep under the hood of an old car.
Snow leaned over the warm pie and breathed deeply. “Lorelei is going to insist you give her the recipe for that,” she said. “And I’m tempted to cut the thing right now.”
“Don’t even think about it.” He covered the confection with aluminum foil before she could reach for a knife. “Grab a couple bath towels so we can get these over there without burning your lap along the way.”
“My lap?” Snow asked. Why couldn’t his precious pies ride in the backseat?
Caleb ripped another piece of foil. “I’m not taking the chance of these things flying around in the Jeep. One quick stop and they’ll be nothing but a pile of mush on the floor.”
He had a point. Snow retrieved two towels from the tiny linen closet in the bathroom.
“You know,” he said, helping her settle both pies across her lap, “next year, we could be the ones holding this dinner.”
Their eyes met, and Snow winced at the joy in Caleb’s eyes. “Like a real married couple,” she said, cutting her eyes away.
Dropping a kiss on her palm, he said, “I’m thankful I found you.”
“I am, too,” she said, her voice catching on the emotion. “Though I wish I’d never left in the first place.”
“But you got us here.” Caleb gave the pies one last check to ensure they wouldn’t move. “So none of that matters now.”
She wished none of it mattered, but there was still the issue of his mother, who had left Snow a less than friendly message the day before, reminding her that she expected her son to return home by Christmas. Alone.
Snow didn’t want to give her husband up to please the hateful woman, but she also had no idea how or when to make a full confession. What she did know was that she would not ruin Caleb’s Thanksgiving by clearing her conscience today.
“You ready?” he asked.
Coming back to the present, Snow held tight to each pie pan. “Ready and already getting warm thighs. Let’s get moving.”
Dinner was incredible. Rosie Pratchett, Lorelei’s grandmother, along with her friend Pearl Jessup and Lorelei, offered a feast like nothing Caleb had ever seen. He’d grown up with all the typical Thanksgiving staples, but his mother had never touched a ladle let alone prepared the home-cooked versions of what had been on the table today. Eight people had gathered at the Pratchett house to celebrate together, including Carrie, who could barely reach the table for her protruding belly, and Mike Lowry.
“I’m thinking I should have worn sweatpants to dinner,” Spencer said, leaning back in his chair with hands flat on his gut. “These women are trying to kill us.”
“As if I held a gun to your head and made you eat that third helping of dressing,” Lorelei teased, giving Spencer’s stomach a conciliatory rub.
Rosie Pratchett sure knew how to cook a turkey. Caleb had taken it easier than Spencer on the dressing. Though he’d snatched all the white meat he could without hogging it all.
“It wasn’t only females who did the cooking today,” Snow said. “Caleb did make two pies.”
Spencer groaned while Mike said, “I’ve been dying to try that apple pie since my first whiff. I’ll help you cut, Rosie.”
Once the sweets were dished up and passed around, Caleb brought up the suggestion that had come to him a few days before. “Has anyone around here considered setting up a preservation society?”
The table occupants exchanged glances before Spencer said, “Like a historical thing? ”
“Yeah,” Caleb said. “I attended an auction out at the Brambleton place with Snow, and it seems a shame that all those antiques were scattered far and wide. And then there’s Silvester House. Not that Hattie is going anywhere anytime soon, but I’d hate to see the same happen there. Add the Ruby to the list, and Ardent Springs has a solid collection of historic structures.”
“Some of downtown would qualify, too,” Pearl said. “But what would forming a preservation society require?”
Between his family’s association with restoration projects and his own research, Caleb had a ready answer. “First would be to talk to folks around town. Civic organizations. Chamber of Commerce. Merchants. See what kind of interest and response we get on the subject. Eventually, if we really wanted to form a nonprofit, we’d bring a key group in for organizational meetings, draw up bylaws, and file some papers.” Accepting the slice of pie Rosie offered, he added, “The Ruby committee has proven that enough locals are willing to step up with their time and energy. My guess is a full-out preservation society would be a welcome option.”
The crowd grew quiet enough that Caleb thought maybe he’d crossed a line he didn’t know about. After all, he wasn’t a local, and probably shouldn’t be suggesting how these people should or shouldn’t run their town. But then Spencer broke the silence.
“We were so focused on the Ruby, we missed the bigger picture.”
“When you say ‘file some papers,’ what do you mean?” Lorelei asked.
“Establishing the group as a nonprofit would require filing with both the IRS and the state of Tennessee. That way anyone who donates to the society would be able to write it off on their taxes.”
“And the society wouldn’t have to pay taxes on the money raised,” Lowry added. “But how would this tie in or conflict with the Ruby committee? A group looking to preserve the history would have a lot to say about what restorations should and shouldn’t be done. ”
This was true. Caleb had been involved in a restoration project in the French Quarter that turned into a nightmare when the New Orleans preservation group insisted on approval of the building’s exterior colors. In the end, the building had been painted three times, at an exorbitant expense, only to have the original colors approved in the end.
“That’s a hiccup I didn’t consider, but in this case, the committees would probably share several members, meaning the new society is less likely to become an obstacle. And from what I’ve seen at the meetings, preserving historical details are already a major consideration in the plans for the Ruby.”
“You know where you’d get pushback,” Lorelei said, looking at Spencer.
“We can handle Winkle,” he said.
Caleb hesitated with his fork halfway through his pie. “I thought Winkle was the one who wanted things to stay the same. Why would he be against a preservation society?”
“The auction business, remember?” Snow said, speaking up for the first time. “If these old houses stay intact, he has nothing to auction off.”
“So he’d cut up local history to turn a profit?” Caleb put his fork down. “How did this man get elected again?” With all the stories he’d heard, this was the one mystery he couldn’t solve.
“Same as every other politician with no business being in office,” Spencer said. “Tell ’em what they want to hear, turn up the fear, and make promises you can’t keep.”
“You going to run against him next year?” Caleb asked. Boyd might have been young for politics, but he was a born leader.
Lorelei choked on her pie while Rosie said, “I wish to heck he would.”
Pearl added her support, saying, “I’d vote for him.”
“I’m not running,” Spencer said. “Maybe someday, but not next year.”
His words put Lorelei at ease. “Thank God. ”
“You don’t think Spencer would make a great mayor?” Pearl asked.
“He would,” Lorelei answered. “But you know as well as I do that once anybody gets into that office, they stay for years. Well, anyone other than Jebediah. And then the town acts like he belongs to them.” She took Spencer’s hand. “Call me selfish, but I want him to belong only to me for a while, before the town takes him.”
“I’ll always belong to you, Lor,” Spencer said, leaning in to give her a kiss.
“And I thought this pie was giving me a sugar high,” Pearl said, but the remark was accompanied by a wide smile.
Caleb gave Snow’s hand a gentle squeeze beneath the table. He’d floated the idea of the preservation society with positive results. Now if his second mission of the day went as well, this would be a Thanksgiving that neither of them would forget.
“I can’t believe he looks that good and he cooks. You are one lucky woman,” Lorelei said, as they watched Spencer and Mike do the dishes with Caleb as supervisor. Since the females had cooked, as Spencer had pointed out, the males got to clean. And Caleb’s pies had earned him a reprieve from getting his hands wet.
“Considering that sickeningly romantic display you and your fiancé put on during dessert, you have nothing to complain about.” Snow slid a finger along the rim of her wine glass, enjoying the view of Caleb putting away plates as Mike dried them. This wasn’t the country club set, and yet her husband fit right in. Much better than she would ever fit into his world.
“What are we talking about?” Carrie asked, returning from her fourth trip to the bathroom. Or was it five? The poor woman had reached the waddling stage .
“Nothing,” Lorelei said. “How is little Molly today? Did she like the meal?”
“She’s kicking up a storm, so she either hated it or wants more. I’m not sure which.” Carrie sank into the chair next to the sofa. She took several seconds to connect with the cushion. When Lorelei offered assistance, she said, “I can do it. Getting back up is when I’ll need a hand.”
“I hear you guys looked at a house,” Lorelei said to Snow. “Spencer and I have talked about buying, but neither of us want to leave Granny alone. And, of course, we can’t really afford it right now, with my business still small and his school stuff.”
Spencer was going to school online. Snow didn’t know what something like that cost, but it couldn’t be cheap.
“We looked,” Snow said. “But I don’t think we’re ready for that yet.” When everything blew up in her face—though Snow preferred to say if —she couldn’t afford to buy the house on her own. That meant no home buying until the Vivien issue was dealt with.
“It is a big commitment,” Lorelei said. “I don’t blame you for waiting until you guys are better off financially.”
Snow couldn’t help but laugh at the comment. As if money was the obstacle.
“What’s so funny?” Carrie asked.
Surprised by the question, Snow realized she’d never shared much about Caleb’s background with her friends. “Well ...” she hedged. “Caleb is kind of ... rich.”
Lorelei and Carrie looked at each other, then back at Snow. “How rich?” Lorelei asked.
“Like ‘trust fund baby in line to inherit a giant media conglomerate’ rich? But he doesn’t really want the business. I don’t think.” She knew that Caleb wanted to make his own way in the world, but would he really turn down running the company? Or would staying with him mean she’d someday be thrust into high society whether she liked it or not ?
“Shut. Up.” Lorelei stared with wide eyes and mouth agape. “You tried to walk away from that?”
The question rang in Snow’s ears. Yes. She’d tried to walk away from that. Was still trying. She never wanted to leave Caleb. His money, upbringing, and impending inheritance were what scared her into running. Regardless of where they lived, he was still heir to the fortune. He still lived with enormous expectations, and if they stayed together, so would she.
Before Snow formed an answer for Lorelei, the men joined them.
“What’s that look about?” Spencer asked Lorelei as he sat down beside her with a beer in his hand. “You look like someone said Neiman Marcus is moving in downtown.”
“Close,” Lorelei said, her eyes shifting from Snow to Caleb and back.
Snow wanted to change the subject, to defuse the situation, but her mind was racing like a rat caught in a maze. She loved Caleb. They could buy a house and start their life together. Embrace a second chance and get it right this time.
But someday, everything would change. Her life would be turned upside down. She would be Mrs. McGraw, obligated to host dinner parties for executives and their wives. Attend charity functions and don the fake smiles that Vivien had perfected long ago.
No. Snow would never be Vivien. She’d never be a petty, materialistic manipulator who endured her bitter existence with the aid of vodka and tonic.
“Did I miss something?” Caleb asked.
“No,” Snow said, rising to her feet and sliding her arm through his. “I was telling the girls a little about your background.” She loved Caleb and would not be embarrassed or intimidated by who and what he was. Not anymore. “I mentioned you’ll someday run your father’s company.”
As if talking about the weather, Caleb said, “I might own it someday, but that doesn’t mean I’ll have to run it. I’m sure Jackson McGraw will groom someone else for that job, since I’ve refused to do it. ”
“What kind of company are we talking about?” Spencer asked.
“McGraw Media,” Caleb said. “Newspapers, TV stations, and a few radio stations around the Southeast.”
“Your family owns all that,” Carrie asked, “and you’re selling ads for the Advocate ?”
“My father owns it,” Caleb corrected. “And yeah, I’m selling ads for the local paper. There’s something rewarding about making a living that has nothing to do with who my parents are.”
Relief washed over Snow as she watched their friends process Caleb’s explanation. She wouldn’t be throwing dinner parties for elites wearing suits that cost more than her car, but now she had a new fear. Would these people see Caleb as the same person? As the man who’d joined their community and instantly gave back? If the truth of his background changed that vision, they could always start their life over somewhere else.
The thought took Snow by surprise. In order for Caleb to be happy, she would give up everything she’d built in Ardent Springs. Sell the store, withdraw the offer on the house, and return to Baton Rouge if that’s what it took. Something she should have been willing to do before now.
“I get that,” Spencer said, snapping the line of tension that tightened Snow’s shoulders. “So when our preservation society goes looking for donations, we come to you first?” His brown eyes showed total acceptance, and Snow audibly exhaled.
“I’ll have to ask my wife,” Caleb said, “but if she agrees, then sure.”
“Did you say wife?” Rosie Pratchett asked as she stepped up behind the couch. “Did you two run off and get married without telling the rest of us?”
Lorelei stared at Snow, her blue eyes wide and questioning. Caleb hadn’t said anything to Snow about revealing their state of matrimony. It was one thing to tell the others that he had money, since he’d already shared as much with Miss Hattie, but he should have talked to her first before letting everyone know that they’d been lying to them for weeks .
Before anyone said another word, Snow’s reality shifted into slow motion.
Ignoring Rosie’s question, Caleb dropped to one knee.
“Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat,” Carrie said.
Snow’s left hand shook in Caleb’s warm grasp. He pulled something from his back pocket, never breaking eye contact.
“Snow Cameron,” he said, love clear in his eyes, “will you make me the luckiest man in the world and be my wife?”
She didn’t know how to respond. Though they were already married, Snow had never been proposed to before, especially not in front of an audience. Did she remind him that they were already hitched? Did she say yes and keep up the act? Did it really matter if everyone knew the truth?
No. No it didn’t.
“Yes,” Snow said, the tears falling freely. “Yes-yes-yes!”