Emma, Mr. Knightley, And Chili-Slaw Dogs Part 10

"And if I thought it would help, I'd take it." Manning took a sip of coffee. "When we went to the luminaria ceremony this spring, she cried through the whole thing. Twenty thousand candles commemorating fallen soldiers is a tough sight to behold, but she took it personally. Debbie Mae has really been carrying the burden. It's been hard for both of us, but she had appointments and the tests and then at the end..." He shook his head.

"You feel helpless."

"Right. And it's my job as a man to protect her, to keep her from harm." His jaw went tight. "I know we're supposed to be modern, educated men but deep down we all just want to keep our wives and children safe."

Brooks felt a heaviness settle in his chest. Children. Plural. They had suffered such loss and he hadn't even known. He wanted to apologize, to say how he'd failed him for not asking, for not visiting. But inserting his own guilt into the conversation seemed wrong.

"Anyway, she's decided we need to focus on other things. She definitely seems happier, although there are days..." Manning stared into his mug, lines tight around his mouth. "I told her she needed to go see Caroline. They're best friends and she didn't even visit her at all this year."

"I know Caroline missed her."

"It'll be good for both of them. Caroline needs to get out of that house before her mother locks her in the attic."

Brooks laughed. "I was just telling her the same thing. Of course now she has this idea that we're all going to dress up in Regency costumes for some Austen-themed party."

"I think that was Debbie Mae's idea, actually. She saw that PBS special and got it into her head that it would make a great summer shebang."

He sat back, considering for a moment how Caroline hadn't defended herself, how she could have easily told him it was all her cousin's idea. Instead she did her best to convince him to come. He felt a pain in his ribs, part admiration for her loyalty and part sheer dread at the realization he was bound to this party now in a way he hadn't been before.

"I thought it was pretty crazy, but the more she smiled as she was planning, the more I figured it doesn't matter if we're all coming as elephants and bicycling dogs. It makes her happy and I'm doing whatever I can to help her pull it off."

"I'll be there. Caroline's been shopping Etsy for costumes. Promise me you'll be wearing something equally silly. "

"I think I'm supposed to be a Mr. Martin, a farmer. So maybe I don't have to wear the fancy suit."

"If you wear normal clothes and get to carry a pitchfork, I'm switching."

Manning laughed, holding up both hands. "Ask her if there's someone else you can be. There must be hordes of villagers. How about some ancient, one-eyed, cripple that begs in the town square? That would be fun."

"And a cripple couldn't dance, either." Brooks made a mental note to push for another role. He didn't care if he looked like a b.u.m.

"I think Caroline invited that Frank guy from the Werlin's party. He'll be perfect for it. They can take turns dancing with him and we can sit in the corner and plan for Vicksburg."

Brooks frowned. He'd forgotten about Frank. The image flashed before him of Frank squiring Caroline around a dance floor, delicate music accompanying their every move.

The sun beat down through the gla.s.s and he could feel the late summer heat on the back of his neck. He stood to adjust the blinds and caught a flash of color. A smooth cheek, a few careless blond curls, the angle of her shoulders.

He jumped up, stepped to the door and opened it just as she walked by. "Caroline?"

"Oh!" She stepped sideways, hand on her heart. "Brooks! You scared me to death." She laughed and he felt himself laugh in response, although he didn't really know why. Seeing her there, on the street, was like finding something precious out of the blue. Or maybe something he'd lost a long time ago and forgotten about.

"Come on in and have some coffee." He held open the door and she stepped through. As she pa.s.sed, the light scent of her perfume made his smile even wider. He'd missed her and it was only Monday.

Manning stood up and gave her a hug. "I'll you order for you. What will you have?"

"Single vanilla latte, decaf," Brooks answered and pulled out a chair for her.

His brother shot him a look and went to the counter.

"What are you doing here? I didn't know you were headed down this way." he noticed for the first time she was wearing a pink suit and a simple strand of pearls.

"I was meeting a friend for lunch." She scooped her curls into a simple ponytail. Tugging a pen from her purse, she maneuvered and twisted the hair around in several swift movements until it was a softly-made bun. Tendrils framed her face and she glanced up at him, smiling. "I went to your office but you were out. So I left a note and was heading for Nick's Big Bookstore on Thirteenth."

He nodded. She loved that place. Especially the historical fiction section on the third floor. "If you stay here too long someone might snag your favorite bean bag."

"Probably. I'll sacrifice." She gazed around. "It's been so long since I've been in here. It really brings back memories. Shelby and I used to come here, before she moved."

"Does she come home at all?"

"Every now and then, but this summer she and Ransom are coming to stay in Flea Bite Creek for a while. He's probably more concerned with the 150th reenactments this year than visiting her parents, but he's a good sport about it."

"We're not in the same company, but I remember him at the Battle of Booneville. He was die-hard, head-to-toe and never stepped out of the role. When tourists came up to take his picture, he kept giving the name of a real Rebel soldier." Brooks grinned. "Folks never questioned whether Gideon Johnson Pillow was really his name. The only time I saw him break character was when he was talking to the African American guys who made up the Corps D'Afrique. One of them had his great-great-granddaddy's medal of honor and Ransom had to go get his camera from Shelby so he could take a picture."

Caroline leaned forward. "Now explain to me why this is perfectly normal and dressing up in Regency gear is not."

He blinked. "Finley, because the Civil War is history."

"So is Regency England." She laughed, eyes bright. "Just because we're not firing cannons or riding horses, doesn't mean it won't be fun."

Manning arrived, setting her latte on the table. "Hey, maybe we should bring that new cannon. Although, I still haven't got it to the firing stage yet."

"No, you should bring the Parrott 30-pounder. Not as impressive but at least it's functional."

"Now, you two. We're not firing any artillery. Can you imagine what a disaster a wild shot would be around all those people? It's too dangerous!" Caroline said.

"Wild shot? They're extremely accurate up to a mile. No one is going to get hurt. And if we want to be really historically accurate, we can stage a little battle. Not sure which, but I'm sure they were in some kind of war at that time. England was always in a war with somebody," Manning said.

"I don't think the Napoleonic Wars count since it wasn't on English soil. We're not turning this into a battle field. There will be music and dancing and fine food and gracious conversation." She ticked them off on her fingers, one by one.

"Oh, great idea." Brooks brightened. "We can borrow the smoothbore Napoleon. It's Southern made, but no one will know that."

"I wish they hadn't cleaned it." Manning shuddered. "It was a perfectly acceptable oxidized patina, but some misguided soul thought he should shine it up. Now it's as shiny as a new penny."

"I'll carry my Cavalry revolver. The musket has the bayonet and doesn't look as dressy."

"The Colt 1860 Army?" Manning leaned forward. "I've been looking and looking but no one will part with one for any price. I don't care if I come in a hat and tails if I get to carry a Colt .44."

"Listen to me!" Caroline held out both hands, one to each brother. "This is Debbie Mae's party. If she wants cannons, she'll tell you to bring cannons. If she wants everyone to bring their rusty old service revolvers, she'll tell us. As far as I know, this is a weapons-free dance."

"Rusty?" Brooks sat back like he'd been slapped. "It's not one of the cheaper bra.s.s replicas. It's the original steel frame with engraving on the cylinder, although it's a Navy scene on an Army gun and n.o.body can explain why. Anyway, I've got the attached shoulder stock but I can just use the holster. It's not anything close to rusty."

She let out a sigh. "I'm sure it's pretty. But can we just forget what we want and pull together for Debbie Mae?"

Manning was silent, nodding his head. Brooks realized Caroline didn't want to have a Regency party any more than he did. His chest tightened. She was someone who put the needs of her friends above her own, no matter how silly and inconsequential they seemed. He, on the other hand, didn't want part of any activity unless he got his own way. A wave of shame went through him at the comparison. Caroline had always been the kinder person, and the more thoughtful, of the two of them. "You're right. No firearms. No cannons. We'll be there and we'll be as Regency as possible."

"Thank you," she said, laying a hand on his. He could tell a weight had lifted from her shoulders.

Brooks opened his mouth to respond but a car at the corner caught his eye. The familiar bright red Miata paused at the busy intersection to let foot traffic pa.s.s and he could see Lauren at the wheel. She leaned over to kiss her pa.s.senger. A hand slipped behind Lauren's head, fingers threaded through her dark hair. After several seconds she leaned back and the pa.s.senger door opened. Frank jumped out, shutting the door and jogging to the other side of the street.

"Isn't that Frank Keene?" He pointed across the street.

Caroline half-stood, shading her eyes with her hand. "Sure is. We had lunch a few hours ago at this kooky little cafe on the East side of town. He taught me to swing dance and it was so much fun." She watched Frank jog down the sidewalk. "He must really be in a hurry. I think he mentioned he had a meeting."

"Why were you at lunch together?"

She glanced at him, surprised. "Because he asked me."

"How come you've never come down to have lunch with me?"

"Because you've never asked!" She laughed again, watching Frank until he was out of sight.

"Lauren dropped him at the corner and-"

She sat down, shaking her head. "No, must have been someone else. They can't stand each other. She showed up at the same cafe when we were eating and they near about had a fight over nothing."

Brooks glanced at Manning, hoping he'd seen the kiss. Manning looked back and forth between them as if he were watching a tennis match.

"I'm pretty sure I saw them-"

"I don't think we'd want to put those two in the same car. There might be trouble." She grinned at him, green eyes crinkling at the corners. "He was pretty clear about how much he dislikes her uppity att.i.tude."

He took a slow sip of coffee. "You came all the way to Spartainville for lunch?"

She nodded. "It was nice to get out. The cafe might be real retro, or just weird, I'm not sure. The short order cook kept playing Dixie on the jukebox and they had a big poster of Jefferson Davis."

"Did they have hush puppies?" Manning asked.

"Don't mind him." Brooks paused, wondering if he should push the issue. "I really think I saw Lauren drop him at the corner. It even seemed... it seemed like she leaned over and gave him a kiss."

Caroline's eyes went wide and she stared at him for a full three seconds. Then she burst out laughing. "Oh, Brooks, that's impossible! Gave him a kiss?" She laughed until tears came to her eyes. "At your age, eyesight is first the thing to go. Maybe you should schedule a check-up."

Manning let out a low whistle and pretended to examine the poster of a Scottish castle on the wall.

Brooks sat back, setting his jaw. He wouldn't try again. He knew what he'd seen. For some reason, Frank was determined to pretend that he and Lauren were enemies. What that meant for Caroline, he couldn't even guess. From the sinking feeling in his gut, it couldn't be good.

"Look," she said, leaning forward and putting a hand on his. "I know you want to protect me just like an older brother, but I promise I'm not jumping into anything. Plus, Frank wouldn't be kissing Lauren in the middle of traffic if he was ..."

"What? Swing dancing in a little cafe with you?"

"I'll be right back. I need to... get some napkins." Manning bolted from the table.

Caroline's face went pink. "I'm surprised at you. I always figured you for the kind of guy that accepted a person without judgment. But you've made up your mind to dislike him and I don't know why."

Brooks clamped his lips together. It didn't matter what he said now. Caroline was convinced Frank was a good guy and he was sure he was not. He hadn't liked him the first time they'd met and now he positively loathed him.

She let go of his hand and they were both silent for a moment. "Do you have any more cla.s.ses today?"

"No, no but I forgot I have something to take care of." He stood up as Manning came back to the table. "I'll see you at Pegasus Pizza at six. And you're welcome to join us, Caroline."

"I have to get back." She looked at her coffee. "I'll just finish this."

"I'll keep you company." Manning sat down, glancing at Brooks. "Go do your thing. I'll catch up with you later."

"Drive safely." He put his half full cup of tepid coffee in the rubber bin for used dishes and walked headed for the door. His stomach was in a knot and he felt a dull throb in his right temple. He'd always loved Caroline's company. He preferred her over just about anybody else. But right now, sitting across from her was like having a knife stuck in his chest.

Pushing open the Daily Grind's heavy gla.s.s door he headed back to his office. He sucked in a deep breath of the warm afternoon air and tried to relax the tension in his neck. I know you want to protect me just like an older brother. It felt like someone was kicking him in the gut every time he let his mind replay her words.

He walked against the light, half-hearing the beep of a car creeping through the intersection. You've made up your mind to dislike him and I don't know why.

He knew why. Not that he could tell her. It was clear as day to him that he was firmly in stuck in the 'friend zone' with Caroline. That had always been the way he'd wanted it, but now everything had changed. His feelings had changed and hers had not.

He swallowed hard and swung open the door to Allen Hall, seeking the comfort of his academic cave. There wasn't anything he could do but try to put it out of his mind. He'd be her friend, always. As long as he didn't catch Frank anywhere near her, he would probably keep from doing anything stupid. He didn't want to ruin their friendship, but he certainly didn't want to doom it over some slime ball like Frank. He could only pray she saw through the charming exterior before it was too late.

"We think so very differently on this point, Mr. Knightley, that there can be no use in canva.s.sing it. We shall only be making each other more angry." -- Emma

Chapter Thirteen.

Another weekend, another party. That was the way it went in Th.o.r.n.y Hollow. Not that Caroline minded at all, as long as she wasn't the one serving punch. She enjoyed the chatter, the visiting, the guests mingling and gossiping. And it was all so much better that Brooks was coming home for the summer. Just a few more weeks and she wouldn't have to suffer through the dull, boring weekdays without any real conversation. Her mother was up in her room all the time and there was nothing to do but wander the house.

She surveyed her outfit in the mirror, frowning a bit over the length of the skirt. Or lack of length. It was a little short, but nothing too shocking. Frank should be there. He'd seemed... interested. She wasn't quite sure what she felt. Definite interest. Maybe more.

The doorbell rang and she could hear Angie going to let in Brooks. One last smooth with the brush and figured she was set. And now for the heels. Pulling them from the box, she stared at the three inch high stilettos. There was no way she could make it down the stairs. She'd have to put them on right before she met Brooks in the living room.

Minutes later, Caroline teetered into the room, willing herself upright. Brooks turned from the shelf where he'd been examining her set of cloth-bound first-edition George Eliot, a small book resting open in one palm.

His eyes followed her progress across the room and she felt the heavy weight of his gaze. She had taken extra time to shave her legs to a silky smoothness, rubbed thoroughly with a deep moisturizer. Her late summer tan was a perfect complement to long legs and with a skirt that barely reached above her knees, no one could miss them. Her face felt hot and she angrily brushed back her hair. "Let me just get my purse and we can go." She snagged it from the low table, making sure to bend at the knees so her skirt didn't ride up in the back.

Brooks cleared his throat. She turned to see if he was re-shelving the book, but no, he was in exactly the same position as before.

"Are you coming?" She frowned at him, noting the way his jacket draped his wide shoulders just so and the perfect tailoring in his cuffed pants. The man had style and she was just pretending. It was so obvious, it was humiliating.

"Finley, those heels are a bit high for a garden party, don't you think?"

"No, I don't." She smoothed her hair and pretended to be waiting, but inside all her previous resolution was melting away. "Well, maybe a little bit high. I'll be careful."

He raised an eyebrow, that book still open in his hand, and said nothing.

She tapped a foot, hands on hips, gaze fixed on the front door as if she could force him toward it by sheer stubbornness. The seconds ticked on, until she finally dropped her purse on the small table with a resounding clunk. She stalked toward him, stepping ever so carefully over the edge of the area rug so she didn't break an ankle, and stopped directly across from his handsome self.

"Fine! Do you want to know why I'm wearing these heels?" She hated the defensive tone in her voice but his quiet disapproval was galling.

"Sure." The words came out slow and deep, as if nothing she could say was going to convince him that she didn't look ridiculous.