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It was on one of those rainy, cold, dismal days that she and Rayburn were sitting in his den looking through a picture album that he had asked her to help him organize. She looked at photographs of Zack as an infant, a young boy, and a student. He grinned back at her wearing basketball shorts, track shorts, baseball uniforms, and even from behind a football helmet. Was there nothing he didn’t excel in? There were prom night pictures with a girl swathed in pink organza clinging to his arm. Was this the girl that he had loved? The one who had hurt him so deeply? The one he was trying to forget in Snow Bird? Had they dated for years, and then as an adult had she decided to marry someone else?
There was a serious Zack in a cap and gown at his high school graduation, and a beaming college graduate with a tight grip around his father’s shoulders. Camille’s heart swelled with pride and pain. This was a part of Zack’s life she could never share with him. Now it seemed as if she’d share none of it.
Before she could control them, tears spilled down her cheeks and fell into the trembling hands covering her face.
“Now, my dear, please don’t get upset. I can’t stand to see you this way.” Rayburn offered her a snowy handkerchief that she used to stem the flow of tears though their source refused to check them completely.
“I… I’m sorry, Rayburn,” she sputtered. “I don’t want to upset you. I’m so ashamed.”
He enfolded her in his arms and stroked her shoulders. “There has never been anything for you to be ashamed of, Camille.” He spoke with parental concern. “When I first saw you in Atlanta, I had a flickering hope in the back of my mind that you and Zachary might find each other attractive. You reminded me of my Alice. Oh, not physically. But you had a radiance about you that she had had. It’s a rare thing to see such exuberance for living in a woman any more. It seems as though women have forgotten to be feminine, glad in their womanhood. Careers are fine. I’m no chauvinist. But I still like to see a woman who glories in the fact that she is just that. A woman. I’m old-fashioned, I realize.” He paused reflectively for a moment as if trying to regain his train of thought after his digression.
“That first afternoon that you were here, I could feel the currents flashing between you and Zachary. Of course, then, I didn’t know about what had happened in Utah almost two years before. Funny how coincidences happen, isn’t it? That morning in the hospital when I awoke to the sound of you two scuffling on that ridiculous rollaway bed, I was thrilled. Please don’t be embarrassed,” he said kindly as he reached out to pat her hand. He had noticed her deep blush. “It’s perfectly natural that you should delight in each other’s bodies. Alice and I… well, anyway, it took a lot of restraint to keep from shouting my joy that you two were caught in an affectionate clench. By that time, I had come to love you, too, Camille. I couldn’t have chosen a woman I’d rather have for a daughter, and wife for my son.” He looked deeply into her tear-flooded eyes and stroked her cheek softly. “Then imagine my dismay when I heard the conversation that was to follow. Had I not been sick and weak, my son would probably have been on the receiving end of a beating. I was furious with him for making you carry such guilt and remorse. And the way he talked to you was shameful. I was glad his mother wasn’t around to hear it. That’s when I conceived the plan to surprise you with a wedding.”
Camille hung her head shamefacedly. “You did it then only in compensation for Zack’s behavior in Utah?”
“No, my dear. I did it because I thought—and still think—that you and Zachary love each other and just won’t admit it. If you had been a hussy or a schemer or someone otherwise undesirable, I would have forgotten the incident then and there. If I hadn’t thought a great love and beautiful, intelligent children could come out of this alliance, I would never have taken such drastic measures to bring you together.”
“I
know your motives were pure, Rayburn.” Camille couldn’t meet his knowing eyes. She looked down at her lap, over his head, around the room, trying to escape the intelligent blue eyes, hooded by bushy white eyebrows that victimized whomever they gazed upon. “It’s just that… Zack and I… It’s just not going to work out. I wish for your sake that it could. I honestly do, but…” her voice trailed off. But your son doesn’t love me, she silently added. He loves someone else.
“It has grieved me to see the two of you so unhappy, Camille. I hoped that if I forced you into marriage you would recognize the love I still insist you have for each other, but I’m a reasonable man, and I can’t hold you to a union that makes you and Zachary both so abysmally miserable. I’m going to miss you, Camille, when you go, as I know you will. You’re too honest to go on forever living a lie. And please remember that you always have a home here at Bridal Wreath.”
“Thank you, Rayburn,” she said around her constricted throat. She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “You can rest now, and don’t worry about any of this. You couldn’t have known that Zack and I have problems that can’t be resolved.”
Before she left the room, Rayburn halted her. “Camille, the day after tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Would you stay until then? Indulge an old man one more time. I want us to be a family on that day.”
“Of course I will,” she promised. Then she added, almost as an afterthought, “You’ll always be my family.”
Twelve
Like women all over America, Camille and Dearly spent most of the next day in the kitchen preparing food for the Thanksgiving meal. Camille did the odd jobs like chopping fruits and nuts, washing vegetables and greens for salads, and measuring condiments for Dearly, who mixed them together with astounding alacrity, creating the most delicious-looking and aromatic dishes Camille’s taste buds had ever anticipated.
“I won’t interfere if you don’t want me to, but I’ve been told even by my mother that I make a pretty good pecan pie,” Camille teased the cook.
“Be my guest, Camille. And I happen to know that pecan is Zack’s favorite.” She rolled her dark eyes and threw Camille a goading look.
“Well, I hope that everyone will enjoy it,” Camille remarked noncommittally.
Later in the afternoon she was tiredly going up the stairs when Zack’s voice stopped her. “Camille.” She turned toward him in surprise. He had not initiated a conversation with her for the past week, and she couldn’t imagine what he wanted with her now. He mounted a few of the steps until he stood just below her. When he reached his hand up toward her face, she flinched and drew back quickly. The lines around his mouth hardened and the planes of his jaw went rigid.
“I was only going to brush away a spot of flour on your cheek,” he said very low. “Actually it looks quite charming.” He stared at her pensively for a few moments before he continued. “I know you and Dearly have been working all day in the kitchen, and she’s tired. Dad suggested that we go out to dinner and give her the night off. I’m going to fix him something before we leave. Is that all right with you? We haven’t been to Under-the-Hill yet, so I thought we’d go there and eat catfish.”
It didn’t mater to him that she was tired, too. He hadn’t wanted to take her out to dinner. Rayburn had suggested it. She had a momentary flair of resentment and started to tell him “no, thank you,” but he looked so handsome standing on the stair below her, staring up at her with those azure eyes that never failed to stir her. She was going to leave soon, and this might be one of the few times that she and Zack would be alone together. Her decision was made. “Yes, that sounds nice,” she said calmly, though her heart was racing. She wasn’t going to let him see how the prospect of being alone with him for an evening affected her.
“It’s okay to go casual. Where we’re going, jeans are fine. Besides, the weather isn’t conducive to dressing up.”
She glanced over his shoulder to the windows beside the front door and saw that the rain hadn’t abated.
“Fine. What time?”
“How long does it take to wash the flour off your face?” She was too flustered to answer right away, and, when he saw her confusion, he reached up and took possession of one of her hands. The touch of his fingers seared her skin, and she felt the tingle all the way up her arm. “Hey, I was only joking! Let’s say seven o’clock and make it an early evening. Okay?”
He no doubt had a late date with Erica. “Okay,” she replied dispiritedly, and, reluctantly withdrawing her hand from his, retreated upstairs.
* * *
Natchez-Under-the-Hill was rich in history. At one time the settlement under the bluffs overlooking the Mississippi River had boasted five streets. It had been the site of numerous bawdy houses, taverns, gambling establishments, and any number of less than circumspect businesses. As if in judgment for all the iniquitous deeds that happened in this unsavory part of the city, God used the river to eat away at the banks and reduced Natchez-Under-the-Hill to only one street and a smattering of buildings. Most of these antique structures had been converted into fashionable boutiques, drinking establishments, and antique stores. The area was a main tourist attraction.
