“I don’t know who you are, but you’re standing in my light.” She jabbed her spade into the rich soil of her garden plot, sat back on her heels, and dusted the dirt off her gloveless hands. Then she placed them on her waist, and waited. The shadow thrown over her was long and slender and masculine looking; and although it did not really hinder her work as the noon hour was quickly approaching and there was plenty of light, she still felt irked. Natalie despised being startled unnecessarily. Although she did not jump when the shadow fell over her from behind, something had jerked sickeningly in her stomach. She was surprised, and not pleased, that her reaction was still so visceral to something as simple as a shadow passing over her. Still.
The stranger cleared his throat and walked around to stand in front of her, beginning to apologize. “Please!” she exclaimed. “Don’t stand on the …” sighing impatiently and frowning, she waved him back, spade in her hand once again.
“Oh! Oh, sorry.” The man took a step back, then added in a bit of a mumble, “Looked like just plain grass to me.”
“Recently planted,” she replied briefly, her tone civil but guarded.
“Oh, yes. Right you are. Now I see, um hm.” He was looking all around.
She glanced up at him, squinting against the bright May sunlight. Brit, she thought. Another import. What’s with this school? Don’t they think Americans are good enough for them? Again, she was surprised at her quick irritation. She always enjoyed gardening; and she held no personal grudge against British folks in general. Then she realized it was his silent approach from behind that had put her in this mood so quickly. She wondered how long he had stood, watching her, and felt something sickening rise in her throat.
He continued apologetically, “It’s such a fresh…spring green…” his voice trailed off, “I should have realized.” Despite the contrite words, he appeared to be quite unperturbed under her silent, rather unwelcoming gaze. He saw light blue eyes framed with long dark lashes assessing him from beneath a fair hand held to her forehead. Powder blue, he thought, her eyes are so light, like the sky. Amazing.
The day was one of those lovely spring days, warm and sunny with low humidity and a gentle, cool breeze. It was perfect, the kind of day one would wish to last the entire summer. Despite the breeze moving softly through the willow trees nearby, her face, which he noticed was prettier in person than her pictures—all he had seen were black and whites—her face was brightly flushed, glistening with a sheen of perspiration. He was searching for words when, to his surprise, she wiped her hands on her jeans again, then raised her arm and sighing, wiped her face with the long sleeve of her cotton blouse. Like a farmhand, overheated from loading bales of hay, he thought, and felt a grin play at the corners of his mouth.
“Glorious day, don’t you think?” He glanced around the yard appreciatively. “And just think, there’ve been days like this for thousands of years.” He nearly grimaced at his own remark. Totally lame.
“Hmph,” she replied, as she ducked her head, rolling her eyes, and studied the white impatiens she had just planted, pressing the soil here and there. The new archeology professor, of course. Who else could it be? “Actually, this weather is pretty usual for this time of year around here,” she countered.
“Oh? Well, hm.” He glanced around again. His long practiced eye took in the design and symmetry of the garden. At first glance, the eye was filled with color and the senses overwhelmed with beauty. But he knew the natural look of cascading colors and blooming areas flowing one into another had been carefully planned and executed by a master gardener. Exquisitely done, he thought. “I would guess so, now that you mention it.”
She grabbed the long handled shovel lying beside her and used it almost as a crutch to pull herself up. He moved around quickly, “May I help you?”
But not quickly enough. “No, thanks, I’m already up.”
“Please, don’t let me interrupt you. I …”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” She thought she sounded rather short, nearly testy. She was suddenly too hot, too hot to be outside a single moment more, and definitely not ready to talk to strangers, especially ones who appeared noiselessly behind her. However, thinking she must sound rude and feeling a bit of guilt, she smiled to soften her brief words. The clock in the college tower on campus a few blocks away sounded the three-quarter hour. “I’ve stayed at this longer than I intended to anyway. I have a faculty meeting to attend in a little bit.”
“Really? Oh, yes, of course. It is today, isn’t it, at 1:30?”
She nodded. “Yes, in Hale Hall. Do you know where that is?”
“I do believe I …it’s just next to the clock tower, the grey stone building?”
“Yes, you can’t miss it.” She indicated gracefully with her hand. It’s right down the street a couple of blocks. You’ll see it on your left.” She turned to leave.
“Please, before you go, let me apologize. I hope you’ll forgive me if I startled you. That was not my intention. I was out for a walk and saw the flowers and wondered whose…that is, they were so beautiful, I couldn’t help turning in to take a look. I hope you don’t mind. You really have done a magnificent job.” He spoke smoothly but sincerely. Embellishing the truth had not been a problem for him for several millennia. What’s wrong with just a little mixture anyway? He asked himself. Makes things more interesting.
Hmpf, she thought. That’s a bit much. Is he sucking up? Trying to impress? “Thank you.” Her tone belied her thoughts as pride in her garden and southern social graces took over. “I’m glad you like them. The azaleas are very showy right now, and the camellias—did you know they have no fragrance? That’s one reason I like them. And the peonies. I think they’re my favorite, like a rose, only more so.”
He smiled at her description and she smiled back. She could not help herself. He was rather nice looking after all, not the curmudgeonly stuffed shirt they had all expected; at least he did not appear to be. He was tall and slender with brown hair, interesting hazel eyes, the broad forehead of a scholar, and a strong jaw line. His voice was pleasantly pitched, and that tended to put her at ease, even attract her somewhat. She could tell many things about a person just by the sound of the voice, by the way one talked, by one’s little habits of speech. And he looked almost younger than she. In spite of herself, she was becoming interested.
She jerked herself up short, sighing. What am I thinking? She bent abruptly to gather her gardening tools and grimaced at the pain in her back. Seeing her hand go to her back, he bent to help as a simple gesture of courtesy. “It’s all right, really,” she protested, “I can gather these up.”
He quickly placed a couple of the tools in her basket and handed it to her. “Right. Right you are. Oh, by the way, I’m Pierson, Adam Pierson, new to the archeology department here.”
Bond, she thought, James Bond, fighting the inclination to roll her eyes again. Nodding, she said, “Yes, of course, and I’m (off to see the wizard, she thought) Natalie St. John, language department.” But of course, you knew that, didn’t you? Her thoughts were off and running. She bit her tongue, put the back of her hand to her forehead and pushed her golden red hair back from her face, leaving a smudge of dirt on her cheek.
“May I carry some of this for you?” Adam felt a slight headache and a bit of dizziness flow over him. He had felt it earlier as he stood at the trellised entrance to the yard. And now again. Was it indeed her, or was there someone else, he wondered. He glanced around trying to identify the source.
Why is he being so insistent, hanging around? She wondered. I wish he would just go. “No, no. The tool shed is just over there. I’ve --”
“Natalie!” a familiar voice called out from the sidewalk.
She turned and smiled with relief. It was her next-door neighbor and closest friend from childhood, Tom Hoffman. The next moment he was at her side, asking, “What are you doing still out here? And without your hat! It’s nearly noon.”
“I lost track of time, I reckon. Tom, this is Adam Pierson, the new archeology professor. Dr. Pierson, Dr. Tom Hoffman, German professor, who along with his interest in Germanic studies also has an unending fascination for everything very, very old. In fact, if it isn’t dusty and falling apart, Tom won’t even look at it.” Natalie poked gentle fun at her friend.
Tom grinned at Adam and replied, “She’s right you know. I don’t deny it. In fact,” Tom frankly looked Natalie up and down, “you’re looking fairly dusty yourself right now.”
“And if you say I’m getting older by the minute, I’ll make those brown eyes of yours black and blue,” Natalie threatened with a wry grin.
Adam listened intently, watching the interaction between the two friends, and wondered just how far their friendship went. But more than that, he wondered if their words held double meanings which he as an outsider would not ordinarily understand. He was sure he had felt the gentle buzz which he recognized as belonging to an immortal not yet become truly immortal. Not once, but twice.
“I’d like to see you try,” Tom gave his usual retort to Natalie’s threat.
“Don’t make me teach you another lesson, “Natalie quipped back, but the tartness was gone from her voice.
Concerned, Tom said, “We’ve got to get you inside, out of this sun. Just because the breeze is cool doesn’t mean…” he left the sentence hanging, the rest of the sentence unnecessary, took the shovel from her with one hand, and offered his other to Adam. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Pierson.”
“Adam, please. I don’t stand on too much formality,” was the reply as the two men shook hands.
Tom answered, “That’s fine. I prefer it that way, too, most times. But some folks around here set great store by it…uh, that is, they feel it’s very important to adhere closely to certain traditions.” Adam was nodding as Tom took Natalie’s arm and began steering her toward the house. “Good to meet you,” he repeated as they turned to go; then, leaning the shovel against the huge live oak tree a few yards away from the garden, Tom called over his shoulder with a smile, “See you at the meeting.”
“Right. See you there.” Adam watched as the two walked across the yard, up the few steps onto the porch and into the big old house. The man and woman were nearly equal in height. She looked tall in the light blue jeans, her red hair catching the sun’s light and swinging slightly as she walked, quite in contrast to the dark haired, olive skinned man beside her. For a second, Adam’s thoughts flashed on another couple, dark haired man and blond woman. He pushed the thought out of his mind. His forehead drew together a bit as he lingered, his glance taking in every detail of the yard and the house. Vintage Victorian, he thought, and beautifully detailed. He turned away thinking, I know I felt it. One or both of them? This little adventure was proving more interesting by the moment. He frowned. And perhaps more complicated than he had anticipated.
* * * * * *
“Is he gone yet?” Natalie sat in the cool, light blue leather wing back chair with a soft groan.
Tom glanced out the window. “Just leaving.”
“I wonder how long he stood there watching me before he spoke.”
“Probably not long,” Tom saw Adam leave the yard, headed unhurriedly toward the campus. “But I wouldn’t blame him if he did.” He turned and grinned at her. “You’re fun to watch.”
Natalie rudely stuck her tongue out at Tom. “He didn’t make a sound, just was there all of a sudden, standing behind me. I can’t abide sneaky people.”
“I wouldn’t make much of it,” Tom replied easily, crossing the room toward her.
“I know *you* wouldn’t,” she retorted still testy.
Unperturbed he grinned, standing before her. “Lemonade?”
“Water, please, from the bottle on the counter.”
“One cube or two?” he always asked. He had placed a hand on each arm of the chair and was leaning toward her.
Her eyes were closed. “Two.”
Tom raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, “Are we sure?”
Too tired and irritated to play, Natalie put a hand to her head. “Oh, hell, Tom, I don’t care.”
Concerned, Tom knew she had overdone the gardening. He reached for the lightweight throw lying at the corner of the sofa. “Lean forward, please ma’am.”
She obeyed. He slipped the lacey cover behind her and placed it lightly around her shoulders, knowing that without it she would cool off too quickly in the high-ceilinged air-conditioned room. “Back in a sec,” and he withdrew to the kitchen.
Once he was out of the room, she tossed the coverlet back from her shoulders and leaned back. The footrest hidden beneath unfolded and she wilted into the soft cool leather. Good as his word, Tom was back with the water and a B vitamin. She sipped the water gratefully, letting the vitamin dissolve under her tongue. Tom sat in the Queen Anne occasional chair across from her, watching carefully. She set the glass on the end table in the coaster he had brought, then gave him a little smile. “Sorry.”
He shook his head, indicating no apology was needed. “Better?”
“Um hm. I don’t know what hit me. I was fine, getting a little too warm and about to stop, but ok. Then he sneaked up behind me and--”
“Did he really, Nat, sneak, I mean?”
“Well, he was just there, all of a sudden. It startled me, I guess. No. Not ‘I guess.’ He did startle me to the point of making me almost sick to my stomach.”
“Really? You mean nauseous?”
“Um.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the chair, rubbing her temples.
“It’s the sun. You know how easily you get overheated. Hang on.” Tom left and in a moment was back with two cool damp cloths. “Try this.” He carefully placed one on her forehead over her eyes and slid the other round the back of her neck beneath her hair. Then he pulled the coverlet lightly up around her shoulders.
She murmured, “Don’t fuss so.”
“Hush, you,” Tom replied gently. He sat again, drinking his lemonade. “Um um. Good. You still make the best lemonade in the world.” He saw her lips curve slightly upward.
“Next Oprah: Natalie’s Secret Recipe—How I Made My First Million By the Age of Twelve,” she intoned.
“Don’t forget, I was a partner in that wildly successful business concern.”
“We should’ve patented and packaged,” her murmur grew softer.
Tom sat silently, his _expression reflecting his loving concern for his long time best friend. His thoughts raced over her words, considering what he had seen of the new professor, his demeanor, the few words that had passed between him and the young British scholar. Pierson had credentials enough for the three of them, Tom thought, and he found his anticipation growing. Everything was different now that he had met the man. The whole summer held new prospects for Tom, fascinating ones. He could hardly wait to converse at length with Pierson, to simply pick his brain for knowledge.
“Go ahead,” Natalie took the cloth from her forehead. “I know you’re dying to talk to him.”
“I can wait.”
“I know you can, but why should you? I’ve got to shower and change anyway.”
She knows me too well, Tom thought, reads my blasted mind. He assessed Natalie’s color. She was still flushed, but obviously cooler. “Maybe you can catch him before the artsy contingent moves in,” she suggested.
Tom grinned. “Miz Mah-gret Ayun Funderburk? You do have a point there, Nattie.” He grew serious again. “Only if you feel strong enough.”
“Not yet, but I will in a minute. Just--” she paused, looking Tom straight in the eyes, “don’t get too carried away, will you, Tom? Just…wait and see what he knows, generally, about things. For all we know, he’s just another treasure hunting scoundrel who wants…” there was no need for her to continue.
Tom nodded. “I completely agree. Don’t worry.”
“Save me a seat,” Natalie said, covering her eyes again with the cool cloth.
“I always do,” he answered softly. He sat still, watching her, thinking how much he loved her and knowing his life was rich and complete, if only because of her presence in it.
She lifted the cloth from one eye, “So go already,” then replaced the cloth dismissing him.
He stood and said softly, “By your leave, m’lady.” He saw her lips curve upward again, bent and gently kissed the top of her head.
She murmured words from their childhood ritual, “Go swift, good knight, and conquer bravely.” She felt Tom’s gentle hand caress her hair and then he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him.
Tom, she thought. Dear Tom. Closer than a brother and better than a best friend. She was glad he was here instead of roaming a dig half-way round the world. She was glad it was summer. Their summers together were always terrific. But something had thrown a slight shadow over her happiness; and her intuition, which she had learned to trust, was certainly activated, like little pin pricks in her consciousness. The picture of a caterpillar, antennae rotating, catching scents, discerning the wind, came to her mind and she could not help but laugh. Tom said she had great internal 'radar'. She was glad her 'antennae' were not atop her head where everyone could see them rotating.
As she rose to get ready for the meeting, her thoughts were occupied with the plans she and Tom had discussed. The question that would not leave her was looming in her mind: the young professor. Who was he really and how would he fit into their plans? And did they dare trust him? Natalie sighed, pulling the front door closed behind her. No use fretting. They would find out soon enough.
* * * * * *
“I’m coming. I’m coming!” she called for the third time, pulling off the small mask over her nose and mouth, wiping her hands on a cloth, dusting the front of her blouse and capris as she walked toward the front door. “No, Rebecca! Quiet!” she spoke firmly to the white and gold lab/German Shepherd barking and growling without pause. She spoke with authority, “Rebecca,” and laid her hand on the dog’s head. Rebecca looked up at her mistress and obeyed. Natalie said, “Sit.” With a look into Natalie’s eyes, the dog sat, her eyes leaving Natalie’s face, focusing alertly on the door. Natalie opened it.
It was he. Dr. Pierson. She lifted her brows in surprise and smiled. “Hello.” A low, menacing growl from Rebecca accompanied her word.
“Oh!” Pierson swallowed, eyeing the dog. “Hello.” A pause. Natalie’s hand rested on the dog’s head and she hushed. “Um, I…sorry, it looks as if I interrupted you again. Um, sorry.”
Natalie waited a second then said, “No, I was just cleaning.”
“I meant, from the gardening, yesterday, or um the day before, I guess it was. But that’s…um,” He said nothing more, still eyeing the dog.
“Was there something…?”
“Oh, I was just looking for Tom, um, Dr. Hoffman, er Tom. He wanted to look at these papers, but…” Pierson looked down at the thick manila envelope in his hand.
“Did you check at his place, just next door?” Natalie asked politely.
“Well, I …yes, I did, actually.” He shook his head. “Not there. I probably mixed the time up...to meet him there, I mean.” He looked at his watch and stood on one foot then the other, glanced vaguely in the direction of Tom’s house, then up at the porch ceiling and down at the pot of palms by the doorway. “No doubt that’s what I did, the time…hm.” His voice trailed off.
Natalie gazed at him, wondering. He spoke much less smoothly than the other day when he had walked into her garden. If this was an act he was pretty good at it. If he was really this shy, she could not help but wonder how he had come so far so fast in the slow moving world of archeology studies. Tom was utterly convinced of Pierson’s genius. Her thoughts flew. But was it just with her that he was so shy? He seemed to have no problem holding his own with Margaret Anne Funderburk at the faculty cocktail party the night before, as Natalie recalled. Natalie somewhat grudgingly admitted to herself that she did indeed have to admire any man who could handle Margaret Anne Funderburk successfully. Puzzling. She pressed on, “So I take it he’s not there?”
“Oh! Um, right. Right. That’s why I thought perhaps…well, that is, the thought occurred to me that since he…well, you’re neighbors and um, well…I can go and come back later if that would be…”
“I’ll be glad to give him the papers if you like. I’ll probably talk to him sometime today. Not sure when, but…” she waited for an indication from him before opening the door.
“If you’re sure. I don’t want to impose.” He hung back and offered a smile. His eyes looked startlingly green today in contrast to his charcoal gray shirt. She had remembered them as brown.
Natalie shook her head and smiled back reassuringly. She took hold of the dog’s collar before opening the door, half screen-half glass for the summer. “No imposition at all, Dr. Pierson.” She held out her hand and to her further surprise, the slender man hesitated. The dog emitted a low growl, then hushed when Natalie tightened her hold on the collar. His eyes fell to the dog whose hackles were raised. Not good, he thought. Didn’t know about the dog.
Still, he hesitated. She waited, feeling irritation grow inside her all too quickly. He seems to have that effect on me, she noted to herself. Finally he spoke, “Only if you’ll call me Adam. Please. I’d feel more comfortable… if you would?”
Her jaw muscle tightened for a split second before she said, “Okay, sure…um, Adam. And of course, I’m Natalie. I’ll be glad to give him the papers for you.”
“They’re rather important. The only copy I have with me. Here, I mean. In the States.”
“I understand.” He was trying her patience. She waited, somewhat awkwardly, holding the door open, holding the dog’s collar. “I promise to take very good care of them.” Another brief pause. “I promise.”
Adam cleared his throat. “I know this is probably an imposition, but um…would you mind if I…I mean I did tell Tom that I would drop them by myself and well, surely he’ll be back soon. I don’t think I missed him by much. That is, if I was late after all, instead of early.”
Natalie bit her tongue. She was getting the clear impression that Dr. Pierson could be a very frustrating individual. She said it for him. “You’d like to wait here till he comes back.”
He looked so suddenly relieved that he had not had to say the words and so happy that she understood, Natalie was astonished. He smiled broadly, “Yes, indeed. That is, if you don’t mind. I don’t want to interfere with …your cleaning.”
“No, no,” Natalie shook her head, then nodded. “Do come in.” She stepped back pulling Rebecca with her. The dog did not growl but was still in attack mode, Adam could tell. As he stepped gingerly into the house, watching the dog, Natalie shook her head in disbelief, and closed the ornate front door. Bright sunlight filtered through the antique stained glass window in the door and colored her red hair with purples and blues, distracting Adam from the dog for a moment, but only for a moment.
He flattened his back against the wall behind him. “It’s awfully nice of you, I must say. Thank you so very much. I, um …she won’t bite, will she?”
“Well, she has once or twice, but only the people who deserved it,” Natalie answered straightforwardly.
Adam thought he caught the hint of a twinkle in her eye.
“Hm,” was all he said.
Natalie said, “This way,” and directed him gracefully into the living room, formerly the parlor in the early days of the house’s existence. “Please sit down. I’m sure Tom will be back soon from wherever it is he went.” She had no idea where he might be, nor when he would return. “Would you like something to drink? Iced tea? Coke?”
“Tom said your lemonade is the best is three counties, well no…he said in the state, actually, um…lemonade, please? I’d like to try it.”
Still in disbelief, Natalie said, “Surely. I’ll be right back.” She turned to go. Rebecca stayed, eyes on Adam. “Rebecca, come.” The dog did not want to come. She sat. Natalie sighed. “She won’t hurt you, Dr. Pierson…um, Adam. It just takes her awhile to get to know strangers. She’s very protective of me.”
Holding the manila envelope to his chest and watching the dog, Adam murmured, “Yes, I can see that.”
The large dog never took her eyes off him, as she let her front paws slide silently in front of her till she lay on the floor, still watching him. Natalie said, “Stay, Rebecca.”
“Unusual name for a dog, isn’t it?” Adam remarked. “She’s… beautiful,” he added.
Natalie smiled briefly. “It’s a family name. I like it. It seems to fit her.”
“Um, yes, quite right, no doubt.” He watched the dog and she watched him.
Natalie bit her lip to keep from smiling and said, “I’ll just go get the lemonade.”
She was at the doorway, when Adam asked, “You’re sure she won’t bite?”
Natalie looked over her shoulder, “Just don’t make any sudden moves,” and she walked down the hall, grinning wickedly.
* * * * * *
Natalie inhaled deeply and exhaled. The nausea was gone, but her headache lingered, as did Adam Pierson. She was beginning to think of them as one and the same. It had to be more than an hour, she thought, that they had sat in the cool parlor. Natalie’s nerves were stretched. Nagging at her mind was the work she could have accomplished in the attic; she desperately wanted to get back to it. She had sneezed several times as they sat. Pierson expressed concern about a summer cold and Natalie replied she was sure it was the dust. “Allergies, you know. It’s the season for them around here.”
She had answered the professor’s questions politely, but as generally as possible. On her guard, Natalie was still amazed at how subtly disarming the man could be. She steered the conversation as best she could, regaling him with stories about the university’s rich history and the equally unusual characters that peopled the faculty, both past and present. They had finished the lemonade and begun on the fruit punch Natalie made. Tom had called it ‘river mud’. It was a combination of fresh juices which never tasted exactly the same and whose color and consistency Tom, as the forthright child he was, had likened to Tennessee River Mud when Natalie’s mother had first poured him a glass years before. For the umpteenth time, Natalie wondered, Where in the world is Tom?
Adam, as he insisted she call him, was saying something, she did not hear the words, when to her surprise and great relief, and the phone rang. She jumped a little. Rebecca, who had positioned herself between Natalie and Adam, lying with a paw over Natalie’s feet, looked up. Natalie said abruptly, “Move, Rebecca.” The dog stood instantly as Natalie stood. “Please excuse me, Adam. I’ll just go catch the phone.” He unfolded his long legs and was on his feet as well. The dog watched him. Natalie grabbed the cordless handset and walked out the door. Adam watched as she crossed the hall into a room which could only be the library. This he surmised from the shelves lining the walls, floor to ceiling. She pulled a sliding door from its hiding place in the wall, closing it nearly all the way until it stuck a few inches from the wall. The dog had followed her mistress and stood at the door, nose in the opening, waiting.
In a second Adam was at the parlor door. He heard her say, “Here. Where’re you?” then in the local vernacular, “Say what? What on earth…?” and silence as she listened. Adam half smiled. Tom had readily taken the information Adam presented by way of an off-hand remark about some places in New York where he had found books and items that Adam knew would pique Tom’s interest, and apparently he had jetted up there overnight. “Well, that’s just dandy. I’m happy for you.”
Hm, Adam thought, Natalie doesn’t sound very happy at all.
“Here,” she continued. “Your new study buddy’s been in my parlor all afternoon with a manila envelope that must be the original Hammurabi or something. He’s hanging on to it for dear life. Said y’all had an appointment to meet up and …. tomorrow? How convenient…wonder how, if you’re up there? Look, Tom….I know…I know….I know! You could easily live in there and not come out for six months. It’s not the first time you’ve been there….No, it’s not… Nope. Don’t you remember? Our junior high trip at the end of 9th grade?” Why do I argue with him, she wondered. He just does it to get my goat. “Right…right….that’s great. Yes, yes…well, Joe Schmoe. Look, get your fanny back down here, wouldja?.... No, I’m exhausted…you have? All day?” She patted her pants. “I could swear I put it in my pocket. Musta fallen out when I was working….Where do you think? And I was making progress, too…I know there’s more…”she suddenly sneezed, one big one followed by two small ones. “Well, if you hadn’t gone running off up there…when? No, tomorrow….No….no. I can do anything I want…I know you know that. Tomorrow,” and then softly, “Please, Tom.” Silence. “Ok…ok…first, ok?...Ok. Be safe. Love you too. Bye.” She set the phone on its cradle, frowning.
Tom said he and Adam had planned to meet tomorrow. Pierson had said today. Natalie was willing to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. However, she could not fully believe Pierson had truly mixed up the days. It happens, she argued with herself. You do it, all too often. “That’s different,” she muttered. “That’s me.” She pressed fingertips to her sinuses and sank into the chair in front of the desk. Despite using the air filter and wearing the mask over her nose and mouth, the dust was hard on her. Perhaps Pierson’s coming when he did was better for her anyway, if only to get her out of the attic. She would leave the filter running all night and try again in the morning.
Adam had heard all he needed to hear. As he stepped away from the parlor door, his eyes fell on a table across the room. He stared. Were his eyes deceiving him, he wondered, or perhaps the light playing tricks on him? He moved as if drawn against his will toward the highly burnished antique cherry table, loaded with framed photographs and small oil portraits. Amazed beyond belief, he recognized one of them. It was a small oil portrait, done in the style of the small European portraits, held in a simple elegant gilt frame. By the clothes the woman wore, Adam guessed the portrait was done early 1800’s. He stared, transfixed. There could be no question. The blue eyes, the creamy skin, the color of her hair, were all captured quite well by the portrait artist. Of course, Adam knew of the belief that every one on earth has a double, but this was too incredible a likeness. In all his years on earth, he had never met another woman who looked exactly like her, if it was indeed she. And if it was, this was certainly an episode of her life about which nothing had been written, or at least there was nothing that he had found concerning it. How had she managed to appear in the lineage of this one particular family? In America, of all places, and in the South? What were the odds? This was more than he could possibly have hoped for.
He reached for the portrait and looked more closely. The likeness was too strong to be coincidence. He turned the portrait over and there, to his further surprise, was her name, faded with the years certainly, but clearly inscribed, no doubt by quill, in her smooth flowing hand with the year ‘1802’ beside it. He could hardly believe his own eyes, but there could be no question now. Aside from recognizing the style and slant of the letters, Adam was astonished that she had actually used her own name. He felt something rise inside his chest and fill his throat. He turned the frame back over and the afternoon sunlight fell on the portrait, illuminating the golden red hair as if with a halo. There could be no mistake. The woman in the portrait was Rebecca Horne.
“Did you know her?” Natalie asked softly from the doorway.
Adam was able to stifle the surprise he felt. So she could move quietly. He half smiled as he turned, “She’s quite beautiful. I thought she looked familiar and then I realized…it’s you. Your resemblance is stunning.” He adroitly avoided truthfully answering the startlingly straightforward question from Natalie.
Natalie laughed. “Oh, not really. Perhaps it’s the coloring. We Scots-Irish-English-French, true Americans I might add, tend to be fair folk.”
“Fair, indeed.” Adam smiled admiringly at her.
Natalie felt her cheeks grow warm, and then warmer as she felt irked by her inability to control those blushes. Blushing was the bane of her existence while growing up; and the fact that as an adult, she still could not control that aspect of her appearance caused by a stray gene she had happened to inherit, still jabbed like a thorn in her side on occasion.
She moved toward the sofa. “I meant the coloring, of course. I think that’s the main resemblance. She came from France in the early years of this country, as Napoleon was about to appoint himself emperor and wreak his havoc. Not much was written about her in the family history, but I’ve always been fascinated by her. Perhaps it’s from her that I get my love for things French.”
“And flowers,” Adam remarked. Natalie’s eyebrows rose. Adam went on smoothly, “Well, that is, French gardens of the 1700’s and early 1800’s were exquisite. The tapestries of the period are replete with floral designs and renderings of the royal gardens.” He paused. “I would imagine she might have spent time embroidering some of them, perhaps even some from her own garden.”
Natalie replied softly, “As a young girl, yes, I suppose so. Though as she grew older, I’m not so sure she’d have had the time. Things were not going so terribly well for the aristocracy during those years, don’t you recall?”
“You refer to the revolution, of course.”
“Of course,” Natalie’s _expression was fairly inscrutable. She does it well, Adam thought.
“But the eyes, I think it’s your eyes, her particular shade of blue is yours as well,” he glanced at the painting as he set it down on the table. “Like looking into the sky.” He turned and smiled at her again.
Natalie did not see, her gaze fixed on the portrait. “I think the artist must have loved her very much. He seems to have captured her soul in the paint somehow. She looks so alive in that small portrait. I never tire of looking at it.” Natalie’s voice softened. “Sometimes I almost think she’ll say something if I listen hard enough…”
Adam murmured, “I completely understand.”
Natalie swallowed and shook herself mentally. “Um, that was Tom on the phone. He went chasing off to New York after some of those books you told him about.”
Adam feigned a bit of surprise. “Just like that?”
“Just like that! He forgot that we visited The Shakespeare Bookstore on a trip to New York and Washington when we graduated from junior high. Well, he said he forgot. I don’t see how he could have, except that his mind goes so fast sometimes he can hardly keep up with it. At any rate, he’ll be back tomorrow. So you can catch up with him sometime in the afternoon, I reckon. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow. Right.” Adam did not want to leave. He was enjoying Natalie’s company. He liked watching her tell her stories. He admitted to himself that Southern women were still uniquely fascinating to him. Natalie was charming and well spoken, as one would expect her to be, given her education and obvious family heritage. Even through the impatience he sensed in her at his doltish behavior, she had been warm, courteous, hospitable and even entertaining.
Adam impulsively stepped forward and took her hand. “I just wanted to say, Natalie, thank you very much for spending this afternoon, allowing me to visit. I hope I didn’t rob you of too much time. You made me feel so comfortable, quite at home, and, well, I’m afraid I stayed too long.”
Natalie felt the last of her impatience dissolve. His eyes were clear as he gazed at her. His hand was warm holding hers; and he sounded utterly sincere. She tended to feel guilty for doubting his motives. He was probably feeling at loose ends, not really knowing folks well yet, she thought, like any one in a new position, especially in a foreign country. She relaxed. “You’re welcome, I’m sure. Visiting is such a tradition around here; it’s practically an unwritten law. I hope I didn’t bore you with all the school history.”
“Bore me? Impossible. After all…”
“History is not only your job, it’s your hobby, too, right?” she laughed.
“Something like that,” he agreed.
She caught her bottom lip with her upper teeth and gently extricated her hand from his. “Um, well…”
“Oh, I really should go.” They walked toward the hall.
Natalie asked, “Did you want to leave the papers, or…”
“Oh. The papers. Right. Well, I can just hang onto them till tomorrow, I suppose. Or..”
“No, that’s fine. Perfectly fine. Just however you want to, um, …I’m sure Tom’ll be fascinated when he gets back. Tomorrow, probably late afternoon.” They had reached the door.
Adam paused. “I say, would you be interested in a bite to eat? Do you have a favorite café or pub you enjoy? I’d love to …that is, my treat if you’re feeling hungry.”
“What a nice offer, Adam. I’m really not hungry yet. I suppose you’re still on London time? Perhaps tomorrow. I’ll plan to fix dinner for you and Tom and you can discuss to your heart’s content. How does that sound?”
He let her see just a bit of his disappointment, then exclaimed, “Terrific idea. Sounds great.”
“Are you a vegetarian? Or, are there any foods you avoid?”
“No, not to speak of, no. At least nothing that might appear on a regular menu.” He squelched his sudden, vivid recollection of a meal from the past that try as he might, he simply could not erase from his memory.
Perfectly deadpan, Natalie said thoughtfully, “I was planning a local delicacy, deep fried crawdads with chocolate covered grasshoppers.”
Adam paused a second, then, “Are you sure I can’t persuade you to go out to a restaurant with me tonight?”
Natalie laughed, “I take that as a ‘no’ on the local delicacies?” She sighed, still teasing him. “Now I’ll have to rethink the whole meal.” She opened the door.
Adam gave her a grin that showed the long creases beside his mouth. Hm, she thought, what a nice smile. Dimples, too. He walked out, then said, “Thanks again, Natalie. Till tomorrow.”
“Till tomorrow,” she nodded, closing the door. “See you.” Natalie leaned against the heavy door and sighed. What green eyes he has, she thought. Her next thought was the image of him staring at the portrait of Rebecca Horne. It was his only unguarded moment in the entire visit; and it was the briefest of moments. But Natalie knew she could read people, and she was certain of what she saw in those few short seconds on the young professor’s face. It was recognition, pure and simple, despite his clever attempt to obscure it with words to the contrary. Somehow, Dr. Adam Pierson, professor of archeology, all the way from England, expert in the study of antiquities and newest addition to the university faculty had recognized her ancestor, Rebecca Horne. There was no doubt in her mind. And even more curious, for some reason yet to be discovered, he had felt he had to deny it.
Natalie could hardly wait to tell Tom.
*****
“All right. Let’s hear it. What was so enthralling at the bookstore in New York and why didn’t you tell me so I could go, too? You know I always find stuff you miss.”
“Not always,” Tom countered.
“Yes, always,” Natalie shot back. “You go too fast.”
“You go too slow.”
“I’m thorough.”
“You dawdle. Like now, for instance. Why don’t you start the car and get us out of here?”
“Pushy, pushy. Don’t rush me. I’ll start the car when I’m good and ready.” Natalie sat for ten more seconds, checked her seat belt for the third time, made sure the air conditioner was off before turning the key. Tom looked out the passenger window, grinning. He loved to needle Natalie. Thirty seconds in her presence and he was in adolescent mode.
Natalie started the car and Tom chuckled. “You’re so much fun to tease. You’re like a feisty little Shit Tzu—all soft and fluffy and bright eyed till somebody or something gets your back up and then you show your teeth and even snarl a bit.”
“Oh, I’m like a dog now. How very nice of you.”
“A cute one, Nat, a cute one. All cute and cuddly, then you start to bark and you’re so fierce and it sounds like “roo-roo-roo.”
“Tom.”
“What?”
“Shut up.”
He laughed and at the sound, she half-grinned. She could not help herself. “That the best you can do?”
“Look, be serious for a moment, will you? I’ve got a lot to tell you and I think you have some things to tell me and we don’t have much time.”
“It’s just…what—“he looked at his watch, “ten after one. I did the best I could.”
She gave a little exasperated huff, then muttered, “If this dingo will just move it…” then she was silent for a moment, negotiating the exit from the airport onto the highway. Then she asked, using one of their favorites from a huge collection of rural colloquialisms. “D’j’eat?”
He replied, “No. D’j’ou?”
“No, I was waiting for you.”
“You wanna stop somewhere?”
She frowned. “Well, I want to get home. I want to see what you found. But—“
“But you think Pierson’ll show up—“
“—If he sees the car in the driveway.”
“I thought you said he’s coming for dinner.”
“I did. He is. But he’s—“
“What?”
“I don’t know. Something—“
“Bugs you about him.” They finished each other’s sentences. They had since childhood.
“Yeah. He’s so…persistent, or…something.”
“Well, I can’t blame him, Nat. You are a stone fox.”
She snorted. “Thought you just said I was a dog.”
“Like a dog, Nattie, and a cute one, honey, a cute one.”
“You need one of Aunt Mamie Lou’s Special Cures.”
Tom grinned. Aunt Mamie Lou’s Special Cure was Aunt Mamie Lou’s answer for the ills of mankind. Aunt Mamie Lou, who happened to be his great aunt, had served as school nurse for forty years. Her career was one of distinction because every year, without fail, she single handedly defeated the hooky epidemic that swept through the school in April and May, when the weather was warm and fishing was great and Spring Fever hit the boys hard. The youngsters soon found out that grumbling to the school nurse in order to be excused from class resulted in a process of treatment which they found both repugnant and totally unnecessary. They had all been subjected to it at least once and had all lived to tell about it. Rather than suffer it in shame, Tom had turned it into a badge of honor, a sort or rite of passage for one to have survived Nurse Mamie Lou’s Special Cure. He spared no graphic detail in the telling of his own tale, and without blinking, embellished with serious fervor to the horror of his comrades. Aunt Mamie Lou’s Special Cure was nothing more, or less, than a Fleet’s enema.
“Is that your polite way of saying I’m full of, uh…crap?”
Natalie made a little face. “You said it, sweetie, I didn’t.”
“Come to think of it, I am hungry. You?”
“A sandwich would do me fine.”
“Murphy’s? It’s just off the next exit.”
She replied with exaggerated sarcasm. “I *know* where it is, Dr. Hoffman. Thank you *very* much.” Then simply, “Okay by me.”
* * * * * *
Once settled in the cool booth at Murphy’s, and orders were given, Natalie said, “So, tell.”
“You first.”
She inhaled and said, “Okay. But you’re not ready for this. I was upstairs late last night, just getting to the bottom of that trunk I’ve been working on, when I found these.” Natalie reached into the oversized bag she was carrying and slowly withdrew a plastic freezer bag and laid it on the table between them. Tom’s eyes widened. Inside the bag was a packet of envelopes tied with a faded, orchid colored satin ribbon.
“Did you read them? What did they say? Who wrote them?”
“No. I don’t know, and …I’m not sure. They are addressed to Rebecca, as you can see.”
“All of them?”
She shook her head. “Some of them are addressed to a man named Jules-Roman LeFevre.”
“Nattie!” Tom exclaimed. “But how could you wait?”
“I wanted us to open them in the lab, and you have the only key, dear heart, now that school is out.”
“A lock never stopped you before.”
“I know.” She gazed at the letters. “I just couldn’t bring myself to open them alone. Not in the house anyway. It was really late when I found them and my head was pounding from the dust. And I knew you’d be home today. And besides…”
“Besides what?” She looked into his warm brown eyes and he saw the sparkle in her blue ones and felt the excitement coming from her. “What? What? Tell me, Nattie!”
She whispered, “I also found this.” With great care and something of a dramatic flourish, she withdrew another object from her bag. It too was encased in a plastic bag, zipper securely closed. She placed it carefully on the table. Tom looked but did not touch it. “It was in a hidden pouch in the lining of the trunk.”
“Is that what I think it is?”
Natalie nodded, a radiant smile animating her face. She laughed out loud. “It is! It is!” Then she murmured, “It’s Rebecca’s journal.”
“Please tell me you *did* read this one.”
“I scanned it, or rather, I tried.”
“What do you mean, Nat? Just tell me.”
“Well, hush and I will.” She swallowed half a glass of ice water. “Some of it is in a sort of code, or…well I recognized some of the words as a dialect of ancient Gaelic with some Latin and even archaic German thrown in. Very hard to make out. It seemed ambiguous to me. You’ll have to help with that part.”
“Ambiguous?”
“Of course, it was very late when I found it and my brain was pretty fuzzy. And I hate to admit it, but I got really spooked.”
“What do you mean? How?”
“I felt—guilty, almost. Reading someone else’s own personal diary. It was as if…well, I could almost feel someone there in the room with me.”
Tom’s eyebrows drew together, half frown half grin. “Come on, Natalie, don’t you remember? You always get spooked late at night.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, well, you did as a kid, when we were in the tree house after dark.”
“And it couldn’t possibly have been those horror stories about one-legged pirates with a patch over their eye, always grinning madly, brandishing a long, curling knife, and abducting fair maidens from their own bedrooms, that you delighted in telling me, could it?”
He did grin then. “I always knew I’d got you when your eyes would get so round—“ She looked down her nose at him, squinting slightly in disdain. “Here comes the food,” he added.
Natalie slipped the two objects into her bag, zipped it closed, and placed the bag on the inside of the booth bench, resting her elbow on it. After the waitress left, Natalie said, “So we should go straight to the lab from here, don’t you think?”
“Well we could but we won’t have much time. You’re cooking dinner tonight, aren’t you?”
“Just ka-bobs and salad.”
“Still…”
“Okay, my house. But we mustn’t let Adam Pierson see them.”
“For Pete’s sake, Nat…”
“Tom, you weren’t here yesterday. You didn’t see what I saw.”
“All right,” he said, picking up his sandwich. “I’ll eat. You talk.”
Natalie recounted her visit with the new professor on the prior afternoon, subject by subject, mentioning every detail, up to Tom’s phone call. “Tom, you said y’all were planning to meet today. He made out like it was yesterday you were supposed to meet. That is totally misleading.”
“Maybe he just got it mixed up, Natalie. Anybody could. We discussed a couple of different times to meet. He gets lost in thought sometimes, or that’s how it seemed to me when we spoke. Maybe he didn’t hear the correct time.”
“Tom. He heard it. He doesn’t miss a thing, and that’s a fact.”
“Natalie—“
“Wait, Tom, let me finish. When I came back to the parlor, he was staring at the painting of Rebecca.” About to take another bite of his sandwich, Tom stopped, looked closely at Natalie, and put the sandwich on the plate. She nodded. “He was holding it and looking as if he’d seen a ghost.”
“Did you ask him--?”
“If he knew her? Darn right I did. I watched him first. I saw his face, Tom. He knew who she was, all right. Then I spoke very softly. Anybody else would’ve jumped out of his skin. Not him. He never flinched. I asked him point blank if he knew her.”
“What did he say?”
“Some kind of bull about it being my resemblance to her that made her seem familiar to him. Very smooth.”
“Sounds plausible.”
Natalie sighed. “You’re really not *that* naïve.”
“You’re too cynical.”
“I have reason to be,” Natalie shot back.
Tom paused, then answered softly, “Granted. You do, indeed.” He drank deeply from his glass of sweet tea, set it down, and moved it slowly in a circular motion for a moment. “So you don’t really trust him.”
“I…he’s given me no reason to. First watching me and creeping up on me in the garden.” Tom frowned. She continued, “Then appearing on my doorstep, practically inviting himself in, not to mention his prevarication about when you were to meet. If I hadn’t had Rebecca with me, he never would have gotten in the house, you may be sure. I’d have sent him packing.”
Tom passed the cloth napkin over his mouth, then laid it gently by his plate. He spoke quietly, “All right. I know you have great intuition, Nattie. I’ve known you long enough and seen you turn out to be right enough times to trust your impressions, and live to regret the times you didn’t. If you think we shouldn’t trust him, then we’ll keep our mouths shut.” Natalie sighed with relief. Tom added, “At least till we find out if he knows anything.” She opened her mouth to protest, but Tom covered her hand with his own warm hand. “I have pretty good instincts, too, Nat, and I think…no, I’m sure he knows a lot more than he has told us. Hell, it’s only been a couple of days. No doubt he’s wondering if he can trust us too.” She sighed, showing a bit of impatience. Tom smiled and signaled the waitress. “A couple of go boxes, please.” Then, “You hardly touched your food, Natalie. I’ll drive and you eat. How’s that?” The waitress arrived with the check and boxes. Tom gathered up the food, they slid out of the booth and headed for the cash register. Something, some movement in her peripheral vision caught Natalie’s eye and she glanced across the room.
As Tom paid the check, she spoke softly beside him, “Don’t look now, but that man in the corner, Tom, he looks familiar. No, not yet. Wait. Ok, now. Wasn’t he at the airport? In the baggage line.”
Tom turned, took the USA Today paper from the vending machine and glanced up. He recognized the man. “So what if he was, Nat? a lot of people were there.”
“Yes, but they aren’t all here now, are they?”
Tom accepted his change and turned to face her. He looked into her blue eyes, so intent on his face, and said, “Maybe he was hungry, too, Nattie. After all, they didn’t serve lunch…”She had already turned in a huff and headed for the door. “…on the plane,” Tom finished softly and watched Natalie stride quickly toward the door, her back straight as a ramrod, her shoulders squared. He knew her chin was set and sticking out a bit. He had seen her like this too many times over the years, when they seemed to disagree. He recalled, then, how often she was right and how often his reasonable, logical explanations had become the proverbial bucket full of holes, holding no water whatsoever. Tom folded the newspaper under his arm, turned back for a mint, then found his eyes locked with the eyes of the stranger. The man did not acknowledge recognition; rather, he returned to eating. In that second, Tom remembered seeing him enter the men’s room aboard the aircraft. He had indeed been on the same flight. Their eyes had made contact on the plane and the man had looked away then, as well. Tom’s skin crawled over his scalp and his neck felt prickly.
He headed out of the restaurant and followed Natalie to the car with something of a knot in his stomach. He did not want to jump to conclusions. It went against his scientific training and his experience in archeology. There had to be evidence and more evidence, tests and more tests, lots of confirmations and ruling out all other possibilities before he could positively draw any conclusions, much less be unequivocal about them. But thirty years of knowing Natalie and watching her follow her ‘inner voice’, as she called it, as well as the uncomfortable knot presently in his own gut, led Tom to admit to himself that in all likelihood, something unusual was indeed going on here, and that once again, Natalie was probably right.
* * * * * *
“You’re the Gaelic expert, Natalie. You read this part.” Tom and Natalie sat close together, hunched over the desk in her library with a magnifying glass and Rebecca Horne’s journal. Natalie had pen and pad in hand, scribbling various meanings for the words she was reading.
“I tried last night, Tom. Just when I think I’m getting the gist of it, she inserts a word or phrase I don’t recognize. Or, it doesn’t seem to make sense in the context. Even the Latin is ambiguous, don’t you think?”
“Her usage is somewhat unusual, I do agree on that, but we’ll figure out that part easily enough.” He turned several pages. “Look at this.”
“I know. I saw that. The old German is your area, Tom. Can you make it out?”
He was silent for a few moments. “Some of it is familiar. For instance, over here it sounds almost like she’s telling a tale, a story from mythology. The style is different from her other entries, rather like including a legend in her daily accounts.” Tom sat back and gazed at Natalie. With her eyes still searching the text, Natalie did not see his _expression, nor did she seem to hear his words.
“And here, in French, she mentions this LeFevre and how interested he was in her …sword. Tom…her sword!” She read, “ ‘Jules says to keep it close to me always. But of course! What else would I do with it!’” Natalie paused. “What in the world would Rebecca need with a sword, unless…” She looked questioningly at Tom, who raised his shoulders in a small shrug. Natalie read on, “ ‘…Given to me by a member of the royal family.’” That’s what it says. When, Tom? Prior to her coming to America, I assume. Was this LeFevre connected to the royals in some way?”
Tom interjected, “We could probably verify that without too much trouble; although, given the chaotic times…”
Natalie interrupted, “Did she meet him while she was still in France-- she would have been so young,” Natalie murmured, “or after arriving in America?” She sighed. “It seems all jumbled up. I think we need to just start at the beginning again.”
“I know.” Tom rubbed his eyes. “I see what you mean when you said ‘ambiguous.’ This ancient German is tough, that’s for sure. I’m going to need some time with this.”
Natalie spoke softly, “We’ve both heard the legend associated with my family, and it seems to have begun with Rebecca. At least, that’s what Dad insinuated. It’s a miracle I heard the story correctly before he died. If I’d only been here when he…maybe I could have…” Natalie dropped her head forward onto her arm resting on the desk and groaned in frustration. Her muffled voice sounded tired. “I can’t stand it. To have her journal in my very own hands and not be able to decipher what she’s saying. I just know it will explain things to me, answer my questions.”
Tom patted her back, then rubbed her neck. “Don’t worry, sugar, we’ll figure it out. We’ve got enough gray matter between us to sort through it.”
She half sat up. “Mmm. I had no idea she was such a linguist, though Dad did say she was an extraordinary woman. Archaic German, for heaven’s sake, and Gaelic! Women were not usually so well-educated in those days, were they?” Natalie was wondering aloud.
Tom replied, “If she was close to the royals, she’d have had access to their library and perhaps even their tutors. There’s probably a key somewhere that will clarify everything. We just have to find it.” Natalie dropped her head to her arm on the desk again and made no reply. “You’re beat, honey. What time did you get to bed last night?”
“I don’t know, around 3:30 I reckon, but I was too excited to sleep till way after 4:00.”
“Geez, no wonder you’re foggy. I didn’t get a whole lot more sleep myself.”
“We haven’t even gotten through the diary or the letters, much less glanced at your stuff yet.”
“It’s all right. Look. You go take a nap. It’ll all still be here when you wake up. I’ll run pick up some steaks to grill. With a potato and salad, you’re all set for tonight.”
She looked sideways at him, head still on her arm. “Steaks are marinating in the fridge and potatoes are ready to nuke. Just the salad is left to do.”
“You know I make a mean salad. Let me take care of that.”
Natalie sat up slowly, “If you’re sure—all the stuff you’ll need is in the fridge.”
Tom touched her arm gently. “Come on, I’ll walk you up.” He stood and offered her his hand; she took it gratefully and stood. Tom folded his arm around her. “ ’Ou just let old Tom hep ‘ou, little Missy.” She snorted and jabbed his rib with her elbow. “Ow! Gee willikers, Nat. You been lifting weights?”
“Unh hunh,” she nodded her head, then leaned it over against his shoulder.
“ ’Ou just a feisty liddle t’ing?”
Natalie rolled her eyes. “Can it, Tom. I’m not five anymore.” But she was smiling.
His arm tightened briefly. “I’m well aware of that, sweetie. Very well aware.” He walked her up the stairs to her bedroom door, kissed her forehead and said, “Sweet dreams. Don’t worry, I’ll wake you in plenty of time.”
“Okay. Um, Tom? Put that stuff away, would you, before Pierson gets here? I’m not ready to confide in him just yet. At least, not until we know some things for sure…and till we know whether we can trust him or not.”
“I’m there ahead of you, Nat. Will do. Sleep well and don’t worry.”
She nodded and closed the door. Tom stood there for another moment, not wanting to leave her just yet. He wouldn’t mind a nap himself, and the thought of holding Natalie while they slept was too sweet to walk away from so quickly. Finally, he turned and walked back downstairs to the library. He felt guilty for his less than honest reply to Natalie about translating the ancient German. It was clear enough to him as he scanned it. But he could not bring himself to tell Natalie yet. She was tired and this simply was not the time. And there was another thing he had seen in the journal that he did not point out to Natalie. It was an insignia, a sort of mark in a circle, exactly like the one he had seen on a book in the store in New York, a very old book, several hundred years, he was guessing. He did not recall having seen that particular insignia before, but it struck his attention like a blow to the midsection when he saw it. Just as he was reaching for that book, its reddish-brown leather binding scarred and frayed with the years, the young man who was helping him called him to come see the books he had found, some of the ones Adam suggested Tom might be able to locate in New York. Oddly enough, they were not in the stores Pierson had mentioned. As a last resort and on impulse, Tom had stopped at the Shakespeare; and despite the lateness of the hour, the young man working there had been more than willing to help.
Tom hesitated, wanting very much to examine the old book on the desk, but the young man called again and Tom responded, “A moment. I’m coming.” When he returned to the desk, a man named Joe Dawson, who Tom learned was the proprietor of the shop, was sitting behind the desk with a pile of assorted books, large and small ones, covering nearly the entire surface of the desk. Tom began to inquire about the other book, the very old one, but Dawson evaded his questions, not admitting knowledge of it. He gave Tom no further opportunity to discuss it, saying it was past closing time and that Tom would have to leave.
The fact that Dawson had no intention of allowing him to see the book led Tom to assume it was precisely the one he wanted. Tom’s assumption solidified into conviction when Dawson reached across the desk to pick up a large, beautiful book, obviously written and illustrated in the medieval period, and offered it as an item that might interest Tom, no doubt in an attempt to distract his attention from the other book. The man’s shirt cuff slid up a bit on his arm and to Tom’s shock, he saw the same insignia on Dawson’s wrist as was on the cover of the book. To hide his reaction, Tom dropped several of the books he was holding, letting them fall both on the desk and the floor. In gathering them up, he spied a small leather bound book protruding from beneath the pile, much like the larger edition he wanted so badly, and without a second thought, Tom palmed the book like a pro and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
It was not a habit of Tom’s to steal. His conscience would never let him live with it. In fact, his life as a thief had ended at age eight when, on a dare, he had taken a box of bubblegum cigarettes from Harold Tinsley’s general store. The store was the kids’ favorite place to go on allowance day. However, after that day, Tom could not bring himself to go back. One week with the secret on his conscience was all he could stand. In agonies of guilt, he told Natalie first and then his dad who wisely went with Tom to Mr. Tinsley, heard the boy make confession, and allowed him to work off the amount owed by sweeping up and stocking shelves. Tom learned his lesson.
Downstairs, in the library once again, Tom did as Natalie asked and carefully collected the items, turned and swung a painting on hinges away from the wall, revealing a safe. He spun the dial quickly and placed the precious book and letters, as well as their notes, inside. He took the small book from his jacket pocket and held it, running his fingers over the soft leather, tracing the insignia on the cover with his index finger. For no reason he could think of, the man in the restaurant who had been on the airplane, popped into his thoughts. Something about him bothered Tom. He realized that it was not simply his presence in the same restaurant after being on the same flight as Tom. It was the man’s purposeful denial of recognition that bothered Tom. It was not natural. Even a slight nod between fellow travelers would have seemed more natural a response than the blank, non-committal look when the man’s eyes met his in the restaurant.
Puzzled, Tom shook his head and then placed the small book in the safe. He closed it, spun the dial, and put the painting back in place. He straightened the objects on the desk, and then stepped back to view the effect. Satisfied that all looked well, Tom headed for the kitchen. He had a salad to make.
* * * * *
Sitting at the end of the dining room table, Tom watched Adam watch Natalie. She had wakened refreshed from her nap and in a better mood after her shower and a cup of coffee. Tom thought she looked like a delicate orchid in the filmy blouse of that same color, with sheer sleeves fashionably slit from shoulder to elbow, caught, then slit from elbow to wrist, caught again at the satin cuff. The material flowed and billowed with her arm movements. Like angel wings, Tom thought. Her strawberry blond hair was upswept in a French twist with tendrils curling softly around her face and neck. Pierson had arrived promptly at 7:00 with flowers and a bottle of Australian Merlot. They had Chablis with hors d’oeuvres—crab puffs, which were Natalie’s specialty, and pate de fois gras. Now all three were full of shish-ka-bobs, rice, Tom’s salad, and the Merlot, and Natalie was relaxed, enjoying her role as hostess.
Tom loved watching her in social situations. Natalie had been taught the social graces and groomed in the Southern traditions of hospitality by aunts and cousins and female friends of the family, including Tom’s own mother. To Tom, Natalie was by far the most gracious hostess he knew, able to put anyone at ease and help the shyest guest feel comfortable and truly welcome. However, Tom knew her secret was not merely following rules of etiquette. She had developed the ability to make interesting small talk, which was a gift, in and of itself. Natalie’s grace was genuine, because it came from her heart as a real desire to provide a comfortable and enjoyable event for her guests.
“So, Tom,” Adam was speaking to him now, “how was your visit in New York? Find anything of interest?”
Tom swallowed the last bit of wine in his glass, opened his mouth to answer and Natalie spoke instead. “Before you get started on this subject, let me just ask, who’s ready for dessert? It’s very light- - sherbet and a cookie.”
“Count me in,” Adam replied.
“Me, too, Nat. Can I help?” Tom offered.
“Not at all. It’ll just take a couple of minutes.”
The kitchen door swung closed behind Natalie, who looked tall and chic in the black satin slacks
which complimented the soft blouse that billowed gently around her as she walked. Adam’s eyes followed her appreciatively. Tom rested his elbow on the table and place his chin in his hand. “To answer your question, Adam, yes, I think I did find an interesting group of books. I found a few charts and maps as well.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and I do believe the oldest one is an original—from a province in Persia.”
Adam nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll be glad to take a look at it, if you like.”
“Sure,” Tom agreed. “After dessert.”
“Right you are. After dessert.” There was a pause. Tom waited. Adam remarked, “Natalie really is a remarkable woman, isn’t she?”
Tom nodded, “Absolutely.” He waited.
Fishing for a reaction Adam said, “You’re a fortunate man.”
Tom figured he knew where Pierson was headed, but he decided to go along with it. “How so?”
Adam appeared to search for the words, but then they came quickly, simple and sincere, “To be such good friends with Natalie. She’s extraordinary.”
Tom nodded, “She is that. We grew up together, practically in each other’s cradle, practically like twins. Both our dads were professors, mine taught German and her dad taught history and languages. Her mother was a musician, mine was an artist.”
Adam asked softly, “’Was’?”
Tom replied, “Natalie’s mother died when Nat was twelve. Abigail was a terrific lady. Losing her was devastating to Natalie’s dad, and to Natalie. She was suddenly not a little girl anymore. She grew up virtually overnight. My parents loved her as if she were their own so she spent almost as much time at our house as she did hers. Always had before her mom died, and that continued. Mostly. Her dad was never quite the same, after, you know, but he and Natalie grew even closer. They were inseparable. Very good for each other.” Tom stopped abruptly, wondering why he had told Adam those personal details. He frowned slightly.
“And I’m sure your friendship was pivotal to her coming through that loss so successfully,” Adam responded gently.
Tom’s eyes fell to the tablecloth and his finger traced the floral design slowly. “We were there for each other. I was more than lucky to be her friend. I was, and still am, blessed.”
The door to the kitchen swung open and Natalie brought Tom and Adam’s dessert. “Pineapple sherbet with Ginger Ale for you both. Cookies coming up.”
She disappeared through the swinging door and reappeared in seconds with her own sherbet in a tall parfait glass and a plate of sugar wafers. As she set them down, Natalie remarked, “These surely must have originated in France. Try them, Adam. You’ll see what I mean.”
Adam did as she asked. “Umm. I do see. Paper thin wafers with delicate sweet cream filling. Sort of a variation on mille feuille.”
“Yes, one of my favorite French pastries! My, but Tom loves these. I have to hide them when I buy them, otherwise they’re gone in thirty minutes.”
“Now, Natalie, that’s not fair.” Tom sounded hurt. “I try awfully hard to make them last all day.”
Natalie laughed. At the rippling sound, Adam felt his pulse quicken. His eyes took in her lovely wide smile and the dimples. Ah, there are two, he thought, not just the one I saw yesterday. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Something seemed to flow over him and he felt warmth deep inside despite the cold sherbet in his mouth. Adam realized then, that it emanated from Natalie and seemed to surround him like a cloud. If he closed his eyes he knew he would see it as a thickness in the air with tiny white particles seeping into him through his skin and connecting to a place very deep within him. She was speaking to Tom, but Adam did not hear the words. He saw only the movement of her pretty lips, the bottom one fuller than the top, and as he watched, the warmth spread through him like a stiff brandy, heating his blood.
Adam placed his spoon quietly on the plate, feeling himself settle completely into the chair. He admitted to himself that he was surprised. He knew he had not drunk enough wine to warrant this feeling. Besides, the sensation was different from what he felt after his usual numerous beers. He wondered; then decided this thing, which he felt so rarely, was peace. It was utter peace. He felt totally at peace in her presence, forgetting that Tom was even present. For Adam at that moment, there was no one else in the world, only Natalie; and for him, there was no need for anyone else, only Natalie. She was more than enough.
“Ahem. Adam…Dr. Pierson?” Natalie was looking at him rather closely. Adam’s eyes focused on hers.
“Yes? Sorry, what was that?”
Natalie glanced at Tom, then replied tentatively, “We were discussing whether or not to warn you about accepting an invitation to have dinner with a certain faculty member.”
“Not to besmirch anyone’s reputation or, um…” Tom searched for words.
“Or be guilty of gossip or any such thing,” Natalie added.
“No, no. Right. That’s right,” Tom nodded.
“But, she was, um…well, it seemed she cornered you at the cocktail party and we thought you might want to know—“
“It’s an act of kindness we couldn’t fail to -“ Tom tried.
“We just thought you might appreciate a warning about…”
“Margaret Anne Funderburk,” Tom’s voice sounded ominous. “Poor deluded thing. She truly believes that she’s a good cook and no one has ever had the guts to tell her that, uh, she really…”
“Is not!” Natalie was vehement.
“Please,” Adam held up his hands. “I’m afraid you’re too late.”
Natalie gasped and covered her mouth with her fingers in apparent shock. “No!”
“Yes, actually, last night, as a matter of fact. Dinner at her place.” Adam smiled ruefully.
Tom shook his head. “Man, that’s …whew! And you’re all right today? No, uh, after effects?”
“I managed to survive,” Adam replied glibly. “Believe it or not, I’ve had worse.”
“Really!” Natalie, eyes wide and round, sounded incredulous. Then her lips twitched as she went on, “I didn’t think that was possible.”
Tom grinned at her and she smothered a giggle, saying regretfully to Adam, “I’m so sorry we didn’t warn you in time.” She could no longer suppress her laughter. “Really,” she protested through the rippling sound, “I’m so sorry.”
“Yes,” Adam replied, eyebrow quirked, “I can see that.”
“I must say, you held up all right, Adam. You look none the worse for um…wear.” Tom’s grin was infectious.
Adam lowered his voice, “Just between us, it’s an experience I don’t intend to repeat.”
Tom burst out laughing and Natalie joined him. Adam half grinned. He continued thoughtfully, “However, there was something I was wondering about.” He paused.
“An antidote, perhaps?” Tom quipped.
Adam ran his index finger along the crease in the linen dinner napkin, and paused a moment.
Concerned, Natalie asked, “Do you need something, antacid perhaps, or bicarb?”
“No, no, nothing like that, thank you. It was something she said…uh, Ms. Funderburk.”
Tom suppressed the instant desire to glance at Natalie, whose _expression changed from concern to bemused interest. She leaned back in her chair. “Let me guess. Was it the one about the ghost who haunts the bell tower and stops the clock every year on the day and at the exact time that General Lee surrendered to the Union army?”
“Or the one about the UFO spotted hovering over the science building and the strange way Professor Brennerman has behaved ever since?” Tom chuckled.
“Actually, it was something about the time Jefferson Davis’ sword mysteriously disappeared from its display case and then inexplicably reappeared a few days later,” Adam replied. Natalie’s smile froze. Adam continued tentatively, “I believe she brought the subject up, Margaret Anne, that is, in connection with…” he hesitated, “a terrible tragedy. I didn’t quite get how she connected the two events but –“
“You really mustn’t take to heart everything Margaret Anne says,” Natalie’s voice was calm but the chilly tone was unmistakable.
“Not to give you the wrong impression, Adam, or sully the reputation of another faculty member,” Tom interjected quickly.
“No. But then, in this case, that would be just about impossible.” Natalie retorted softly, her steely undertone not lost on Adam. He looked questioningly at Tom.
Tom began, “Well, I s’pose you could say, um, Margaret Anne loves to, I guess one could say, inform both newcomers and local citizens alike of—“
“Her propensity for embellishment is equaled only by her ineptitude at preparing food that is edible by man or beast.” Natalie’s voice was soft, but the words cut through the air. They seemed to hang there.
Suddenly uneasy, Tom added, “I believe what Natalie’s trying to say is…”
“Tom,” Natalie interrupted, her voice even, “really. It’s not necessary for you to interpret my words for Adam. I spoke in English and I believe I expressed myself quite clearly. Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’ll clear away these dishes and join you in the library. Tom, perhaps Adam would like to see that Persian map you found.”
Tom covered Natalie’s hand with his and spoke, his voice gentle, “That’s a fine idea, honey. I’ll do just that. And you will join us soon?”
“Momentarily.”
Tom gave her hand a squeeze and said, “Dinner was delicious, Nattie. Thank you so much.”
Adam added, “Indeed, everything was excellent. My compliments.”
“I’m glad you both enjoyed it.” Natalie rose, giving the time honored signal that dinner was indeed over and the men were released to gather in the library for after dinner drinks and cigars.
Tom said, “This way, Adam,” and led the way down the hall.
