Part 7 (2/2)
Brooks stopped her with a touch on the arm, tugging her around to face him. ”Elsewhere?”
She huffed out a breath. ”As long as there's a baseball game on or food around, guys just don't pay attention to women.”
He blinked, as if he'd been prepared for some other answer.
Caroline went on. ”And that reminds me. If you're thinking I'm going to join Manning and Debbie Mae at Vicksburg, you're crazy. The only thing worse than trying to talk to a guy during a Braves game is trying to talk to a guy while he pretends to have his leg amputated.”
His lips twitched. ”Why would you talk during an amputation? Only a Farb would do that. You're supposed to be enjoying the experience.”
Not bothering to respond, she walked as quietly as possible to the double doors that led to the living room. The heavy maple doors were pulled together, with only a gap between them. Odd, since her mother detested the sound of the cast iron rollers as it hauled the four foot wide door into the wall. She kept them perpetually open, letting the housekeeper dust the long paneled doors once a week. She crept forward, peering into the gap.
”n.o.body, who has not been in the interior of a family, can say what the difficulties of any individual of that family may be.”-- Emma
Chapter Ten.
”Don't you think you should knock?” Brooks whispered. His dimples were showing, as if he were trying hard not to laugh.
”Shhhh! I just want to see who it is before I--”
”Caroline? Is that you?” her mother called.
She shot Brooks a look and tapped on the door. ”Knock, knock!”
The door slid back on its track with a metallic squeal, revealing a middle aged man. His smile was wide but there was a tightness around his pale eyes. ”You must be Caroline! So wonderful to finally meet you!” He gripped her hand and pumped it for several seconds.
She nodded, trying not to flinch at the cold dampness of his palm. ”And this is Brooks Elliot, my friend.”
”A-ha! Your mother said you were entertaining up in your bedroom and I can see why she wouldn't want you disturbed. Young love, how sweet it is!”
He smoothed a lock of hair back from his forehead and smiled again. Caroline wasn't socially naive. She could spot a backhanded compliment at fifty yards and had a practiced smile that didn't betray her irritation. But this man's crude implication left her speechless. She said nothing, at a loss as to which part of his sentence to attack first.
Brooks cleared his throat. ”Are you from the area, sir?” Absalom let out a soft whine and nudged Brooks' leg.
Caroline knew, without turning her head, that Brooks was barely hanging on to his self-control. The calm fury in his voice made her eyes go wide.
”Yes, indeed. Marshall Jackson is the name. My people have lived near Th.o.r.n.y Hollow for centuries.”
”He's been living in Oxford for quite some time and just returned to the area.” Her mother offered that up from her usual place on the couch. Her hair was curled, lipstick applied, and eyelids brushed with metallic blue. Caroline tried not to gape at the garish make up. Her mother believed subtlety was the best course of action at all times, but not today. She looked like an aging movie star, posed in her starched dress, tiny waist displayed to good advantage while leaning back against the silk cus.h.i.+ons.
”Jackson? Are you related to Norman Jackson who runs the hardware store?”
”Hardware store?” Marshall let out a chuckle that was about five seconds too long, mouth open far enough that Caroline could see he was missing a molar. ”No, siree. No merchants here. We're tradesmen, through and through. Carpenters, furniture makers.”
”How wonderful.” Caroline thought she could stand the man if he knew the value of a Victorian highboy.
Marshall sighed. ”Not really. Most of what my forebears spent their time on is worthless now. These old pieces just don't hold the value in today's market. Take this Empire settee.” He motioned to a low sofa near the corner of the living room. Caroline had always loved how the rich mahogany wood contrasted with the pale mint colored silk of the cus.h.i.+ons.
”All that carving is too dramatic for today's discerning homeowner. Honestly, eagle heads and furry feet have no place in a modern Southern house.”
”But I thought the Acanthus leaves signified the cyclical nature of life. And the hairy paw feet are carved like lion's paws.” Caroline c.o.c.ked her head. ”Overall, I think it makes a strong statement for a Southern mansion that survived the Civil War.”
Brooks glanced at her and looked like he was choking back a laugh. She knew what he was thinking. Why on earth was she familiar with acanthus leaves and lion's paws? But give a girl enough time in an old house with nothing better to do and she'll either start a novel or study the furniture. In her case, it had been both.
”Well, I hate to break it to you, son.” Marshall smoothed his hair again, a gesture that Caroline was beginning to recognize as a sort of conversational pause. ”But antiques are my specialty and these just aren't hardly worth the wood they're made from. Now, if this set was a Federal table and chairs? Then you'd be sittin' pretty.”
He leaned forward, smile widening, waiting for them to chuckle at his pun. Caroline caught a whiff of stale cigarette smoke and onions.
”I see.” It was all she could muster. She glanced at her mother, surprised that she was entertaining a man who talked about the value of furniture in broad daylight. Nice folks like the Ashleys just didn't stand around discussing the resale possibilities of family heirlooms. For some reason Marshall Jackson was not only forgiven, but encouraged.
”I should go,” Brooks said quietly, touching her arm. Absalom s.h.i.+fted, not sure whether to snuffle Caroline or stay where he was.
”But you just got here.” She hated the desperate sound to her voice.
Her mother spoke up from her place on the couch. ”Our Brooks loves to be in other people's houses while we do not.” Her tone was affectionate and Brooks nodded agreement.
”It's true. I'm drawn to this place like a magnet. But my father will be wondering where I am.”
”Okay, I'll see you...” Not tomorrow because Lauren would be there, impressing him with her knowledge of old mansions. She wished he would stay just a bit longer. Caroline tried to catch his eye but he resolutely ignored the message she was beaming into his head.
Being left with Marshall and her mother was not in her top ten list of great ways to spend the afternoon. Not even the top fifty. She had an Austen party to plan and Brooks was slipping out the door with hardly a backward glance. Absalom turned and gave her a lingering look, as if worried whether she'd survive the afternoon with these two. It was definitely more support than she got from his owner.
Men. She let out a sigh and went to sit next to her mother, struggling to refocus on Marshall's monologue. ”And everyone loves those Carolina ladder back rockers but a little company in Houston is turning out porch furniture that shows true craftsmans.h.i.+p.”
Caroline grimaced. She didn't care what company it was, but surely her great grandparents' rockers were better than anything new. ”Didn't you just send them to be refurbished, Mama?”
Her mother s.h.i.+fted against the cus.h.i.+ons. ”Yes, well, I'm not even sure they can be saved.”
Caroline sat up with a gasp. ”Saved? But they were perfect!”
Marshall chuckled. ”They might have looked perfect but those old things were riddled with termites.”
”Impossible. I sat in one a few weeks ago.” Brooks had come by and they'd sipped tea on the porch, listening to the peepers in the creek. The idea that the rockers were falling apart was alarming.
”I can't imagine you would be able to spot the problems, not being trained in the mysteries of antique wood.” He shrugged his shoulders and his thick fingers fiddled with his tie, as if it were too tight. ”But we'll do our best to save them.”
Caroline stared at him, her mind working overtime. Was her family home being eaten away by termites? Her gaze raked the high ceilings, searching for cracks and stains. It looked immaculate, but looks could be deceiving. Perhaps beneath the perfection of this historic home, it was rotten from beam to bas.e.m.e.nt. Marshall seemed an irritating sort of guy who dismissed anything that wasn't completely modern, but maybe he knew the signs of rot and she didn't. The thought sent horror coursing through her.
Brooks was glad he'd walked to Caroline's place. He was so angry his jaw felt wired shut and he could hear his own pulse pounding in his ears. Getting in a few good jabs to Marshall's soft middle would have helped his mood, but walking with Absalom through the tall gra.s.s back to Badewood was probably better in the long run.
A few minutes of deep breathing and forcing Marshall out of is thoughts, Brooks felt his emotions slip back into something closer to their usually sedate rhythms. Fury wasn't a feeling he enjoyed. Everything about that man set his teeth on edge.
He stopped under a weeping willow at the edge of the creek and gazed toward Badewood. Absalom let out a deep bark of happiness, chasing b.u.t.terflies from their roosts and splas.h.i.+ng through the shallow creek water in search of frogs. Badewoode rose proud and stately in the distance, the afternoon sun bathing it in golden light. The trim and roofline gleamed whitely, while even at this distance the long windows sparkled. This was the perfect spot for a panoramic shot. Lauren would want to see this tomorrow. Perhaps they could walk out after lunch, Absalom always needed a good walk around then.
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