A Peach of a Pair Read online

  “He called to say a girl’s coming around to meet us. I told him not to bother.” Yes, she’d snapped at the man and was more than happy to put the fear of God in him so he would forget about this foolishness. She was quite capable of taking care of her sister, thank you.

  “Well, he won’t listen to you. I told him, he finds someone he thinks will do to send them by.” Lurleen gulped for air. “But before I die of thirst, do you think you could bring me a glass of tea? I’m beyond parched. And for the love of Pete, put some sugar in it this time.”

  7

  NETTIE

  The bus was crowded and smelly, thanks to the unseasonably hot spring day. When it stopped in Blaney, an older woman got on and sat down across the aisle from me. As I was saying hello, a serviceman plopped down next to me, no greeting to myself or the old woman. I looked straight ahead, the LIFE magazine I’d splurged on clutched to my chest. I’d picked it up on a whim because fellow redhead Elaine Stewart’s cover photo was powerful and sultry, beautiful. Inspiration for my new life. But it wasn’t until I got on the bus that I’d realized the starlet was in the news because she was going home to visit her folks.

  Not me, Satsuma was the last place I wanted to be.

  The name on the man’s stiffly pressed khaki uniform read Gerwaski; he was minimally decorated. A private maybe?

  Even with Fort Jackson in the general vicinity of my all-girls school, I knew surprisingly little about army boys. Most likely because I was promised to Brooks and never paid attention. Girls who did go for the boys in uniform seemed to yearn for white-hot love affairs that burned until their beau was shipped elsewhere and they found another. Though there were a few girls, some army brats themselves, who selected boys by taking in their stripes before they looked at their handsome faces.

  As the bus rumbled along, the private caught my eye and nodded. “Ma’am,” he said, his accent clipped. Definitely not from the South, and, with those bedroom eyes, definitely flirting.

  Sitting over the rear axel, the ride was less than smooth, oftentimes swaying the two of us hard against each other. Each time the private’s smile got a little wider, his eyes a little softer, coaxing me to blush or return his greeting. I nodded back but gave him no encouragement. I could feel him staring, smiling, waiting for my face to go hot. Brooks used to do that all the time, especially in church. Making me blush and think things that felt normal but the reverend called un-Christ-like.

  Across the aisle, a baby cried. Instinctively I glanced to see the little butterball sitting on his mother’s lap, his fat fist shoved in his mouth, teething for all he was worth. Every cell inside me clinched when the baby smiled at me, making my heart swell and then deflate with the truth; I would never have that with Brooks. I didn’t want to smile back at the baby, but then he did this thing covering his eyes with a full-on grin that made me think boys come into the world knowing how to flirt. When he attacked his fist again all wide-eyed and happy, I realized I was smiling, grinning.

  “Private First Class Gerwaski, ma’am. At your service,” he said like I was watching him instead of the baby.

  “Hello.” That was all I gave the private, but he seemed sure it was an invitation to try a little harder.

  “And you are?” He waited patiently for me to break into a smile and flirt back. When I didn’t, he added, “The prettiest girl I think I’ve ever seen.” And I didn’t even blush. I was immune to his charm, his chiseled face, his bedroom eyes.

  “You’re not going to talk to me, pretty girl?” His smile was full on and would have made the collective student body of Columbia College sigh. He might as well have being making eyes at the old woman across the aisle, who harrumphed at his efforts. She shook her head with a steely glare meant to ward off the private’s unwanted attention, but he either didn’t notice her or didn’t care.

  Content to wait me out, I could feel him grinning at me until the bus hit a bump in the road. “Where are you headed?” He nodded at me with that amorous stare, still flirting.

  “To see my boyfriend,” I lied.

  “Lucky guy.” He smirked. “You’ll have to forgive me. You’re just so damn pretty, and I didn’t see a ring on your finger.”

  I shifted in my seat and faced the window, hoping that would shut him up.

  “I’m going to see my girl,” he said less flirty. I had no idea why he thought he needed to tell me.

  When the bus stopped in Lugoff, the private nodded and got off. “Good riddance,” the woman across the aisle muttered.

  I smiled at her, but the whole exchange made me wonder if my mother had watched Brooks flirt with Sissy. Of course my sister had been flirting with Brooks since she could walk, so Mother was no stranger to the practice. While I truthfully didn’t want to know how it happened, I couldn’t stop myself from wondering, from screwing the knife in so deep, it had disappeared into my back and clean through my heart.

  Thankfully, the bus finally rolled onto Camden’s Broad Street. It was a large town, compared to Satsuma, small compared to Columbia. I got off the bus and waited for the driver to unload my small yellow suitcase. It felt odd taking it to a job interview. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it when I got to Dr. Wilkes’s office farther down Broad, so I left it on the stoop along with a prayer that it would be there when I got back.

  I stood on the threshold of a small reception area, dressed in my very best lemon yellow Lorette skirt and white cotton sweater set. A lovely girl, not much older than me, was behind the desk on the telephone. When she glanced up to see me, her face lit up, so much so that I looked behind me to see if her gaze was directed at someone else. She was beautiful, petite, with a stylish short black haircut and impish brown eyes. She was dressed in a smart, fitted cap-sleeved pullover the color of robins’ eggs. The front yoke had a delicate ecru starburst design around the collar, making it look rather glamorous for a receptionist.

  “Yes, well I need to get off the phone; we have other patients who might be trying to call to get an appointment, you know.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes at me, waving me into the office. “Of course I believe you’re sick, Mignon. Truly sick. Why, you just saw Remmy a few days ago. Heard you tracked him down at the dime store lunch counter and he wrote you a prescription right there on the spot.

  “Maybe you should give yourself some time to get better, make sure that works before you try something else. Oh, and definitely stay home. Goodness knows, you might be contagious. Wouldn’t want half of Camden to come down with whatever you have this week now, would we? And don’t you worry one bit; I’ll be sure and give Remmy your regards. Feel better.” The receptionist ended the call with a smirk.

  “You must be Nettie. Don’t be shy, come on in,” she said, but didn’t rise to shake my hand. Good thing since I was as jittery as dying June bug. “You are staying overnight aren’t you? I don’t see a bag.”

  “Oh, yes.” I blushed and reached back for my suitcase.

  “Great. I can’t wait to hear what’s going on at the college. I graduated cum laude, class of forty-nine,” she said brightly. “Same year Remmy graduated med school.” Her smile faded into a thin line for a moment. “I absolutely adore dear old C-Square.” Her lips turned up, although her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  I nodded and moved to her desk, where a wheelchair was folded up, tucked away on the other side. I let out a deep breath, steadied myself and executed a good, firm handshake. “Pleased to meet you, Katie, and thank you for your very kind invitation to spend the night.”

  She folded her other hand over our clasped ones and gave me a genuine smile. “So glad to meet you, Nettie Gilbert. You’ll have to excuse me. While I’m normally quite professional on the phone, there are a lot of husband-hunting women in this town, of which Mignon Coffey is one. They only see two things about my brother: he’s single and a he’s a doctor.”

  I nodded. “Is she going to be okay?”
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br />   “Mignon? Well, if I don’t kill her for calling the office every five seconds, yes. My brother says she’s a hypochondriac, but she’s really a desperate flirt who will never get her hooks in Remmy if I have anything to say about it,” Katie said. “Trouble with my brother is he’s too good. If he charged for every coquette after him, we’d both be rich, but he sees patients all the time for free. Checks in on the Eldridge sisters most every day. Rarely bills them for anything, but then he doesn’t bill the likes of Mignon for tracking him down for a prescription,” she said, making bunny ears around the last word.

  She wouldn’t have to worry about me; I certainly wasn’t on the hunt. But I did glance at her hand to see she was unmarried. Surprising, such a beautiful girl, young and vivacious enough to make any man forget about the chair. Before I could offer to help, Katie gave the wheelchair a jerk to unfold it, lifted herself into the seat, and started down a long hallway.

  “Pretty girl like you, Nettie, you must be engaged. Pinned?” So, she’d noticed my left hand as well. I was glad she was ahead of me so she couldn’t see my face burning.

  I’d been promised to Brooks since the fourth grade when he took a skinny brown pine needle off of the playground, braided it into a ring, and married me during recess. Couples got married, divorced, and then remarried by the time the last bell rang at the end of the day, but not me and Brooks. For as long as I could remember, he’d always been mine, and it was impossible to even think about living in a world where I didn’t have him. A world where he belonged to my sister, who’d either bewitched him or had been bewitched by him.

  I wanted to believe it was Sissy who threw herself at Brooks so often, she wore him down. After all, I knew him; at least I thought I did. I’d always been as certain of him as I was my next breath. But maybe I was wrong and in my prolonged absence, he had seduced my sister. The thought made me lightheaded. Moving down the hallway, I realized I wasn’t breathing. When I took in a deep breath, Katie craned her neck around for an answer to her question.

  “Not pinned or engaged,” I said, and meant for my tone to be light, conversational, but it sounded serious. Final. She nodded with a thin smile that made me think she was well acquainted with heartbreak and knocked on the door at the end of the hallway.

  “Remmy?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, just pushed the door open. “This is the young lady I told you about from the college. Nettie Gilbert, my brother, Remmy.”

  The office was a wreck of files and papers strewn across the desk. A little flustered, perhaps with his sister, the man rose and shook my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Gilbert.”

  Remmy Wilkes’s smile was beautiful and as wasted on me as the flirty private’s efforts. He made a halfhearted attempt to straighten some of the papers on his desk before taking off his reading glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked remarkably younger without his glasses. As he moved some books out of the only other chair in his small office, he caught Katie rolling her eyes.

  “Pigsty,” she said under her breath.

  Remmy narrowed his eyes, ignoring her insult, but I could feel him wanting to shoot back some brotherly retort. “Have a seat, Miss Gilbert,” he said with a lazy drawl meant to put me at ease.

  I’d been so distracted by my own calamity, the realization that I’d never interviewed for anything in my life came from out of nowhere. I had been courted by colleges, able to pick and choose. I’d never had to worry about impressing anyone to get what I wanted, much less what I desperately needed. The pulse at the base of my throat kept perfect time with my wildly beating heart, and I was sure he noticed. When I touched the place, his eyes shifted back to mine. He smiled and sat back in his creaky leather chair that needed a good oiling, and pressed the tips of his long fingers together.

  I could see why eligible ladies in this town would feign illness to see Remmy Wilkes. He was undeniably handsome with his jet-black hair, a tiny bit of gray around his temples. He had the same eyes as his sister. Chocolate brown. Smart, but with little creases around his that said he was a good bit older than me. Maybe eight or nine years.

  While I was not the least bit interested in him, I couldn’t help but notice his hands. They were beautiful. Musician’s hands. Long fingers stretched wide, more than enough to comfortably span an octave. They seemed a waste on a small-town doctor when they could be gliding across the keys of a concert piano.

  While my fingers were short, making me work twice as hard when I played, Remmy’s were much like Brooks’s, the same hands I was sure our children would have. Back home, sometimes when Brooks and I were alone, he would sit behind me on the piano bench, his legs tight around my hips, his big hands barely on the tops of mine but completely covering them as they floated across the keyboard, making music together. Had it always been just me making music? No, it was Brooks too, nuzzling my hair off of my neck, pressing kisses there. Making me arch into him.

  “Miss Gilbert?”

  I shook the memory out of my head and was grateful to see the good doctor had his beautiful hands in his pockets. “That’s a good skill you’ve got there, tuning folks out. It’ll come in handy for this job,” he laughed.

  “I’m sorry.” My face burned bright as I sat up extra straight and gripped my pocketbook a little tighter. “You were saying?”

  “About your qualifications, Katie says you’re a crackerjack caregiver. Lots of experience,” he said like he had his doubts.

  “Yes, I have some experience.” Which didn’t seem like a huge lie when I spoke to his sister over the phone, until now. But, with leaving school, I was desperate.

  Leaving school? Good Lord, what was I thinking? Of course, I wasn’t thinking at all, but I couldn’t go back now. Not after the show I put on yesterday for Justine and her biddies. Could I ever go back to the college? Could I ever go home? The last thought made me wince hard, but Dr. Wilkes just kept yammering on, rearranging the mess on his desk like he was tidying up on my account.

  “As you can imagine, with the sisters being old maids, always living together, Miss Lurleen’s illness has been hard on the both of them.”

  For the first time since Mother’s letter arrived, I felt a tiny sliver of the whole horrible truth that I hadn’t just lost Brooks, I’d lost my only sister. Forever. “Of course it is.” My eyes stung. I blinked hard and prayed to God to let me get out of that office without bursting into tears.

  “That’s pretty much the long and the short of the job.” Of which I hadn’t even heard the first detail, but did it really matter? I needed the job; Katie had talked me up, and the way she made it sound, it was as good as mine. “I’ll be honest with you, Miss Gilbert, the sisters are at best difficult. By no means am I trying to ward you off, but no one around here wanted the job, mainly because the pay isn’t much more than four dollars a day.”

  “And room and board,” I confirmed rather desperately.

  He nodded, studying me. “Katie says you’re taking a leave of absence from the college. It’s a little late in the semester for that, isn’t it?”

  “I assure you, Dr. Wilkes—”

  “Remmy. Please.”

  “Yes, it is late, but if that’s a concern, let me assure you, I’m a straight-A student with an impeccable record, and I’m extremely hardworking.”

  He nodded, studying me, long fingers pressed together again. I hoped he was either too much of a gentleman to demand to know why I was leaving school or too anxious to fill the position to care. “Look, Miss Gilbert, as much as I’d like to hire you, something tells me maybe this job isn’t for you. It’s going to be hard work, and I know the college is, well—” He actually smirked.

  If he thought the diplomas behind him intimidated me, two belonging to him and two to his father, both from the College of Charleston and the medical college there, he was dead wrong. Even though there would be no sheepskin for me, I was proud of my school.

 
“Columbia College is not a glorified finishing school, if that’s what you’re implying, Dr. Wilkes.”

  “With all due respect, Miss Gilbert, my sister is an alumna. Sidled up next to the army base and USC, not to mention its connection to Wofford, which as I’m sure you well know is all boys, the college is known for being a good place for a girl to get her MRS degree.”

  “Maybe it was like that way back when you were in school,” I snapped, my backbone suddenly appearing.

  He laughed, his eyes dancing with that same impish look I’d seen in his sister’s. “I’m sure you are quite capable, Miss Gilbert. I didn’t mean to insult you, and if I did, I’m truly sorry.” But I got the distinct feeling Remmy Wilkes liked riling me as much as he did his sister. “What say we ride over to Laurens Street, you meet the sisters, and if you still want the job, it’s yours.”

  EMILY

  Emily sat beside the bed for most of the day with the small embroidery hoop, working on a monogrammed pillowcase. Her sister’s face was peaceful, but Emily was taken aback by how very old Lurleen looked. Yes, Sister had never looked after her appearance like Emily did. Not even when John was living. Now, her skin had a ghostly pallor and her gray hair, always unruly, even when they were girls, was even more so. The dark circles under her eyes that were still clear and beautiful, the prettiest azure blue, resembled spent tea bags. Matching lines above and below her lips looked as if invisible stitches had once sewn her mouth shut.

  Emily’s chest squeezed tight as she pushed away the memory of Lurleen’s silence.

  Glancing at the clock intermittently, Emily prayed the old girl would stay settled until well after four. She continued the neat, even stitches even though the tightness in her chest was still there. Maybe it was from thinking about Lurleen’s condition, her age, maybe it was from thinking about John. Something Emily hadn’t allowed herself to do in a long time, and, sitting next to her sister’s bed it felt wrong.