A Peach of a Pair Page 10

  Until I opened the refrigerator and poured two glasses of sweet tea, the house was dark save the hall light upstairs. Closing the door, the house was dark again, including the porch. After one day of Miss Emily working me like a Hebrew slave, I knew every inch of the house and made it out to the swing just fine with the scant light from upstairs.

  I sat there for a few minutes, then moved to the glider, then the rocker like Goldilocks. The glider was directly across from the rocker but was squeaky. The runners on the ladder-back rocker were so worn down, the chair barely moved but did just enough to feel unstable, so I chose the swing.

  Remmy came up the sidewalk, walking at a good clip. He was still dressed in his dark slacks and white dress shirt sans tie. Maybe this really was a date.

  What was I doing? Other than the Eldridge sisters, Remmy and I had nothing in common. And he was old, not old old, but certainly a good bit older than me. Experienced I’m sure with the likes of powerful women like Justine. Probably not a good guinea pig to test my prowess, or lack thereof, on.

  “Hey, Nettie,” he said quietly, no kiss on the cheek. My body was aching and too tired to scheme properly, or anticipate his first move. Then he threw me off completely when he took the rocker. I was glad the porch was mostly dark so he couldn’t see my face all flushed. I scooted into the middle of the swing. “Hey, Remmy.”

  “You’re still alive,” he laughed.

  “Barely, but yes. How was your day?”

  “Long.” Silence. Crickets chirped to fill the gap. Absolutely nothing in common. “Started with Jimmy Setzler; he’s six. Mom brought him in for a sore throat, and he bit the crap out of me.”

  “Why?” I laughed.

  “After his mom whipped him good, even after I told her there was no need, the poor kid confessed his older brother told him I was a Communist spy set on snatching him and selling him to the Russian army.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “That’s a big brother for you. When I was ten, I got in trouble for convincing Katie she was adopted. Had her going pretty good until she started to cry because Mama and Daddy had bought her from the gypsies. I’m not sure gypsies deserve the bad rap, but I sure got my hide tanned by Mama and then again when Daddy got home from work.”

  “That’s terrible. They didn’t have to punish you twice.”

  “I turned out all right.”

  “No, I mean what you did was terrible,” I laughed.

  “Katie turned out okay too. You have siblings?”

  I nodded, but I don’t think he could see me. “A younger sister.”

  “And you never did anything like that?”

  “She’s always been my shadow. At first, I accepted it, but when I got to be maybe twelve, I started to resent it. So I told her our house was haunted. I’d take her things, a hairbrush, her favorite doll when she wasn’t looking and then blame it on the ghosts. My grandmother’s and two uncles’ homes were right by ours. I thought maybe she’d go running to one of their homes and stay there forever. But it only made her stick closer to me.

  “One morning my mother couldn’t find her car keys. When my sister burst out crying and told her the ghost must have them, Mother figured out what I’d done. She made me give everything back and apologize before she switched my legs good.”

  “Ghosts, huh?” Remmy chuckled. “So you lived in the middle of an orange grove? What was that like?”

  “I call it an orange grove here because nobody here knows what satsumas are, which is what we call them back home. Satsumas are sweet, smaller than a regular orange, about the size of a mandarin and have a loose skin like a tangerine.”

  “You miss home?”

  I missed the flat fields of billowy white cotton and the tall graceful plots of corn. I missed the gnarly-looking satsumas after they’d lost their leaves and their glossy green foliage when it was decorated with tiny orange balls. I missed the tall pecan trees but not picking them up for Mother and certainly not shelling them. I missed the place I had at home, the eldest grandchild and first of two girls that were treasured even though my father was trying for boys in hopes he’d have more farmhands. I missed my mother and wondered how I was ever going to look her in the eye again after reading her letter or the way I’d last talked to her. And Sissy, who had always been my shadow; I missed her most.

  “Yes,” I whispered, moving the swing slowly back and forth, the old chains groaning under my weight.

  “It’s in your voice.” And I swear I felt his smile in the dark. “You wanna talk about it?” I thought he might come sit beside me, but he didn’t, and wanting him to didn’t make me feel very powerful at all. I had no idea what Justine would do in a predicament like this. The truth was she wouldn’t be in a situation like mine, but I suspected if she were, she’d be tight-lipped about it, change the subject.

  “It must be a little strange taking care of patients who’ve known you since you were born.”

  “Indeed, it is strange and frustrating, too. Parts of it are nice.”

  “Do you like being a doctor in your hometown?”

  He blew out a breath. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I could feel he wasn’t comfortable with the question. “Since I met a certain redhead, I’m liking it a whole lot better.” He laughed, but his tone said there was more to it than that.

  “So just yesterday, before that redhead came along, you didn’t like it much?”

  “I’ve wanted out of Camden since I took over my father’s practice. Even interviewed for a job at Baptist Hospital yesterday, which by the way Katie doesn’t know about. Other than the fact that the job isn’t in Charleston, it’s what I’ve always wanted.”

  “What’s in Charleston?”

  “What isn’t in Charleston? Food that could put Cora May’s to shame. And if you tell her I said that, I’ll deny it till my last breath. The culture, so many things that made me feel like I belonged there.”

  “And you never felt like you belonged here, in idyllic Camden?” I teased.

  “When I was a kid, yes. I just never wanted to settle here; it felt too much like I was living my father’s life and not mine. How about you? Do you like it here?”

  “Very much, although the strangest thing happened today,” I said.

  “So what happened, Miss Gilbert, that was so very strange?”

  “A reporter from the Camden Chronicle called and asked if the sisters had any news.”

  “And how is that unusual?”

  “I just thought it was odd she was calling to scare up news.”

  “The Camden Chronicle’s kind of a big deal.”

  “Okay, but why was she calling here for news?”

  “You had a chance to look at a paper yet?”

  “Does using it to clean windows count? Because I did my share of that today.”

  “It was probably Appie Speed Watkins who called; she writes a little bit of everything including the Camden Chatter column. It’s kind of a society column. My mother used to get a call every week, Katie takes the calls now. As a matter of fact, Katie talked to Mrs. Appie this morning; I’m pretty sure you’ll see your name in next week’s paper, unless some other big news eclipses your visit.”

  “My name?”

  “Something like, ‘Last Thursday, Miss Nettie Gilbert, a resident of Satsuma, Alabama, as well as a student at Columbia College, visited Miss Katie Wilkes, also a CC alum. After a superb roast beef dinner prepared by Cora May Johnson, the two sat on the Wilkeses’ porch during the recent power outage and argued the superiority of their school to no avail with the esteemed Dr. Remmy Wilkes.’”

  “That ranks as big news? Kind of disturbing,” I laughed. “What about President Eisenhower or Communist aggression?”

  “They don’t have anything on the Camden Cotillion Club let alone the society page. So you know what this all means, don’t you?” I shook my
head. “You’re big news, Nettie Gilbert.”

  13

  EMILY

  A week ago, Miss Priss showed up for work like she was dressed for church, but not today. In dungarees and a cotton shirt that was no longer crisp or white, she’d positively made the bathroom tile gleam, while answering the cowbell every time it clanged. Yes, it shouldn’t take much more of that to send the girl packing.

  And Emily was reasonably sure something was going on between the girl and the good doctor Wilkes, which would explain why he stopped by every single day. Of course that had to be why. It couldn’t be because Sister was worse. And then Remmy had confounded Emily, who admittedly was eavesdropping, and probably Lurleen too when he’d said Sister should get out of the bed unless she wanted to die sooner. But getting out of her bed might indeed kill her. Honestly, how any institution of higher learning gave that man a diploma to practice tiddlywinks much less practice modern medicine was beyond her.

  “Emily,” Lurleen hollered, ringing the bell.

  Well the old girl must have forgotten about her hired help. Emily turned on the radio. Backstage Wife would be on any minute. She hurried down the hall to the bathroom, where the girl was scrubbing twenty years’ worth of mineral deposits off of the toilet with a pumice stone. “The bell tolls for thee.” Emily smirked at her clever remark that earned the tiniest hint of a sneer.

  The girl threw the stone on the floor, making spatter marks on the outside of the toilet. “And you’ll clean that up when you come back,” Emily said.

  She rinsed off her hands and pushed by Emily without a word, and Emily couldn’t blame her. The girl’s attempts at kindness and humor the first few days had been rebuffed so often, she didn’t try anymore. But she did use the breaks Emily gave her to sit with Lurleen, read to her. And Lurleen seemed to really like the girl’s cooking, because she’d cleaned her plate every meal, which she hadn’t done in weeks. It was a slap in the face to Emily, although she was so pleased with Lurleen’s appetite, she had no intention of complaining.

  “She wants you,” the girl said flatly, without a smidgeon of manners.

  At five minutes to four? What was Sister thinking? If she made Emily miss her story . . .

  She entered the room to see her sister propped up on pillows in freshly pressed cases, sheets with every single wrinkle pressed out, not just once, but, after Emily pointed out the error of the girl’s ways, twice. “The girl said you wanted to see me.”

  “She has a name. It’s Nettie, and she’s sweet and helpful, and a very good cook, I might add,” Lurleen barked. “Close the door.”

  Emily sucked in a breath and dug her fists into her hips. “Are you saying I’m not a good cook?”

  “I’m saying you’re a bitch.”

  Emily’s heart lurched hard against her chest; she closed the door and spun around to glare at Lurleen. “What did you say to me?”

  “You heard me. I’ve only said that word one time in my life, and I won’t say it again.”

  “You’ve lost your mind.”

  “No, but I believe you have. And keep your voice down or so help me Emily, I’ll never speak to you again.”

  The words children say all the time but don’t really mean, that adults say without thought, settled between them. Emily hated the threat, the reminder of that horrible time in their lives when Lurleen didn’t speak to her.

  “You. Working that poor girl like a rented mule. What in the world is wrong with you? She’s here to take care of me and help you. She promised me she wouldn’t let you run her off, but honest to Pete, if I were her, I would have reneged on that promise without a second thought. And in her condition; she’s—”

  Emily blinked at Lurleen and pretended to be unaffected. She was wounded, but she’d die before she let it show. Lurleen droned on, her tone hushed until Emily couldn’t take it anymore. “Oh, pishposh, Lurleen, what condition? She’s hired help. She’s doing it for the money.”

  “She’s doing it for me,” Lurleen hissed. “And I think she’s expecting.”

  “Expecting? Well, then she’s got to go. We can’t have some wayward woman in our home.”

  “She’s not wayward, and don’t say a word about it because I’m not one hundred percent sure. What I am sure of is she’s not going anywhere. She’s staying right here for as long as she likes. So I’m asking, no, I’m demanding that you stop acting like the Pharaoh’s taskmaster this instant.”

  “Sister, you’re in no position to be making demands,” Emily snapped.

  “Don’t make me get out of this bed and haul that sweet girl up to you face-to-face so you can see what you’re doing to her. It’s not right, Emily, and I won’t stand for it.”

  Emily bit her lip to keep from saying what she was really thinking. Lurleen swearing at her. Lurleen taking up for the girl, gobbling down her cooking like she hadn’t eaten anything worth having in weeks. Who did she think she was? “I don’t want her here. You knew that, that g.d. doctor knew that, but did you listen to me? No.”

  “I don’t care what you want, Emily. Her being here is for your own good and mine. But as tough as she is, you’re wearing her down to the nub and I won’t have it.”

  Emily looked at her watch. She’d already missed the prologue of her story, and now Mary Noble’s sweet voice sounded in peril. Without a word, she turned on her heel and left Lurleen’s room, slamming the door before taking her place on the wingback beside the radio. She pulled the footstool out and propped up her feet, trying to forget about how horrible Lurleen had been to her and trying to decipher what had already happened in the story.

  But she was so angry with her sister, even sweet Mary Noble couldn’t save her. Emily picked up the girl’s magazine and flipped through the first few pages. Larry Noble was being a horse’s ass to poor Mary. It was a bad day all around for good women everywhere. But Emily had found that new soap opera by luck. It was a good story, although not quite as racy as Backstage Wife.

  The girl came out of the bathroom. She hadn’t eaten any lunch, not that Emily knew of. Was she expecting? She didn’t look it, and if she was, it wasn’t good for her to skip meals. Or perhaps work so hard. “Did you eat?” She looked at Emily like she’d suddenly sprouted nine heads. “You heard me. Did you eat today?”

  “Breakfast,” she clipped. It was after four, and she’d had nothing since six a.m.? That wasn’t good. The girl eyed her magazine in Emily’s hands. No, Emily had not asked for permission; this was her house. She’d do as she pleased. “But I’m not hungry,” she added.

  “Well, you are going to eat, even if it’s just a little something. I don’t know what you said to my sister to get her so riled, but I won’t be accused of starving you.” Emily raised her eyebrows. “So, even if it’s just a piece of fruit, you’ll eat. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am, but I won’t discuss Miss Lurleen with you,” she said evenly.

  Oh, the gall of that child. “Do as I say.” Emily pointed to the kitchen. The girl disappeared and returned with a glass of tea and held an apple up for Emily’s inspection. “I’ll be on the porch until your soap opera is over. Then I’ll finish the toilet.”

  “See that you do.”

  REMMY

  Nettie?” She looked gaunt, almost comatose, and completely undone. “Are you all right?” Remmy hurried to the swing, dropped his bag, and sat down beside her. Her fingernails were broken and ragged, hands that were so graceful were now rough and chapped. Her long, beautiful red hair was in a sad ponytail, the tattered tie nearly falling out. “Honey, are you all right?”

  “I shall not be moved,” she said with such little conviction, Remmy was tempted to take her pulse. “And did you just call me honey?”

  From nine until around eleven, he’d spent the last seven nights with Nettie, and they were the nicest he’d had in a very long time. She’d sat in the glider while he’d sat in the swing and t
hey’d talked about music, which Remmy knew absolutely nothing about except he liked it, and Nettie seemed to need it to breathe.

  She’d asked him about being a small-town doctor, which should have stuck in his craw, but Nettie had seemed utterly enchanted with his stories. She seemed to like him, but she was still adamant about Katie not knowing about his after-dark visits.

  Remmy hadn’t said anything to Katie because it was none of her damn business. Besides, he liked having those two hours to himself with just Nettie. She was smart and funny, and he felt her soft drawl in his bones. All good reasons to avoid talking to her about the baby. If she’d run from whatever her situation was with this Brooks fellow, she might run from him too if he pushed the issue, and that bothered him even more than the idea of that bastard fathering her child. Besides, he liked her and he wanted her to like him enough to trust him enough to tell him about the baby.

  “I wasn’t being forward. Honey.” Remmy smirked, resisting the urge to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Instead he reached for her wrist. Her pulse rate was way too fast for someone resting. “You scared the hell out of me, Nettie. You just looked so—”

  “Bedraggled? Thanks a lot, Remmy.”

  Yanking the tie out of her long, red mane, she shook her head, then arched her back and gathered it into a ponytail, securing it with the ribbon and raising her eyebrows at him. Happy? God, yes, and if she didn’t look so tired, he’d ask her to do that again.

  “Is that you, Remmy Wilkes?” Miss Emily called from inside. “Leave Nettie alone; she’s resting.”

  “I’ll be in to check on Miss Lurleen in a few minutes,” Remmy hollered, smiling at Nettie.