Twice in a Lifetime (14 page)
He shrugged, hands moving a little restlessly on the steering wheel. “That, sure. Any lawyer could do that for her. What she really wants is to find out what happened to Ned. That’s where I’ve let her down.”
His concern touched her. He really did care about her grandmother as more than just a client.
“I can’t say I’ve done any better. It’s felt fairly hopeless from the beginning.”
He nodded. They’d passed the last of the development now, and the road stretched ahead, bordered only by tall pines and live oaks with their swags of Spanish moss.
“You know…” He hesitated. “We haven’t really talked about how to handle it if Miz Callie is wrong. If everyone else believes that Ned was a coward who ran away rather than fight…” He shrugged. “There has to be some basis for that belief.”
“Miz Callie believes in Ned.” “And you?”
“Let’s say I’m trying to have faith that she’s right.”
He gave her a half smile that did funny things to her heart. “I’ve heard it said that faith is believing when common sense tells you not to.”
“‘The substance of things hoped for,’” she quoted softly. “I guess I’m praying that, as well.”
The silence stretched between them for a moment. It would have been natural for him to reply in kind, but he hadn’t. Because he didn’t believe?
Surely it wasn’t that. He sent Lindsay to Bible school, and Miz Callie said he’d come to church with her several times. “Those war years seem far away to me,” he said in what Georgia thought was a deliberate attempt to change the subject. “I’ve done some reading since Miz Callie got me involved. None of my school history courses ever got as
far as World War II.”
“I know what you mean.” If he needed to shy away from the subject of faith, she had to respect that. “We’d make it to the Roaring Twenties if we were lucky, and then school would be out and the next year we’d start with Columbus again. Most of my ideas about the war come from old movies.”
He nodded, frowning at a motorcyclist who had just swung widely around them. For an instant she saw him as
one of those gallant heroes off to fight. A hint of something tough and ready for battle under Matt’s civilized exterior made him fit the part.
Who was he, really, under that facade he wore so well? She’d had glimpses from time to time, but all they served to do was whet her curiosity.
He’d come through adversity—she could see that in the lines around his eyes and the wary expression he wore so often.
At first she’d thought that was the effect of his wife’s death, but she’d begun to believe it ran deeper. She’d never know, unless he let her. The massive control he exerted kept his feelings well hidden.
His daughter was trying to emulate his control, and it wasn’t working for her.
Georgia’s heart twisted. Poor child. Had anything she’d said to Lindsay helped at all? She doubted it.
Matt was the only one who could help. Someone had to talk to him about it.
Not me. Please, Father. I wouldn’t be any good at it.
That selfish prayer got just the answer it deserved. She knew what she had to do. Had known since those moments with Lindsay at the turtle nest.
She fought to quell the nervous tremor that came from deep inside her. If she had to be the one to bring it up, she would, but after they’d talked to her great-aunt, not before. One difficult conversation at a time was plenty.
When the landmarks began to appear, she leaned forward. “Have you been to Beaufort yet?”
“Afraid not. I’ve been too busy with work to take any side trips.”
“You’re in for a treat, then. Great-aunt Lizbet claims it’s the most beautiful town on the coast, and there are plenty who’d agree with her. Not a Charlestonian, of course.”
“Of course,” he said with mock seriousness and a hint of a smile. “I’ve already noticed how humble Charlestonians are about their city.”
“It’s yours, too, now.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess adoption may take a few generations.”
The busy outskirts of Beaufort gave way suddenly to the gracious old town with its antebellum houses and hundred-year-old live oaks.
“We turn left at the next light.” Maybe a warning was in order. “Miz Callie and her sister aren’t much alike. And Lizbet is a couple of years younger, so I’m not sure we can expect her to remember much. She might not have known the same people.”
He negotiated the turn. “At this point, any lead is a good one.”
She tried to hang on to that thought as they pulled to the side of the road in front of her great-aunt’s house. Graceful old trees arched over the street adding an air of serenity.
Matt walked around the car to join her at the gate. “I feel as if we’ve stepped back a couple of centuries.”
“Me, too. Progress passed Beaufort by, and I think the town is the better for it.”
She started to open the gate, but Matt reached around her to do it, his arm brushing hers. A wave of warmth swept over her skin at the simple touch. He smiled down at her.
She took a breath. She’d better put on a little armor— Aunt Lizbet had an unquenchable urge to spot romance in the most unlikely duos. Georgia preceded Matt up the walk, trying not to notice his protective hand on her elbow as she negotiated the uneven flagstone walk.
“Aunt Lizbet better get those stones fixed before one of
her cronies takes a tumble on them.” Trying to ignore the slightly breathless sound of her voice, she went up the four steps to the wide, gracious porch. She had to be careful, very careful. And not just because of the uneven walk.
T
he door was flung open, and Aunt Lizbet threw her arms around Georgia in an exuberant hug. “Here you are at last, Georgia Lee! Goodness, it’s about time you’re coming to see me. I’d begun to think I’d have to trek way up to the island if I wanted a glimpse of you.”
“You ought to come, even if not to see me. I know Miz Callie would love that.”
She looked affectionately at her great-aunt. Callie and her sister had a strong family resemblance, but they couldn’t be more different in personality. Callie was most at home in cutoffs, sandals and a floppy beach hat, while Lizbet made seasonal trips to Atlanta to replenish an already extensive wardrobe. And while Callie was walking on the beach looking for her beloved turtles, her sister spent her days in a round of social activities that would exhaust a woman half her age.
“You’re looking wonderful, Aunt Lizbet.” The compliment was true. She was perfection from the delicate blush on her cheeks to the soles of her Italian leather pumps. “You didn’t need to dress up for us.”
“Oh, darlin’, not that I wouldn’t have, but you know, my
garden club is coming for a meeting in an hour.” She turned toward Matt. “And who’s this? Have you replaced that fiancé of yours already?”
Her own cheeks were suddenly pinker than anything Aunt Lizbet’s blush could achieve. “This is Matthew Harper. He’s taking care of some legal work for Miz Callie. Matt, this is my great-aunt, Elizabeth Dayton.”
Aunt Lizbet extended her hand as if she expected it to be kissed. Matt shook hands with a faint twinkle of amuse-ment in his eyes.
“Mrs. Dayton, it’s a pleasure. Thank you for inviting us to your home.”
“Well, now, the pleasure is all mine, especially when Georgia brings such a handsome young man.” She batted her eyelashes in her most extravagant manner, knowing perfectly well she was being outrageous. If Matt hadn’t figured out by now that her family tree was filled with eccentrics, he was a lot slower than she’d given him credit for being.
“Behave yourself, Auntie.” Georgia put her arm around her great-aunt’s waist. “If your garden club is coming in an hour, we don’t have time to waste on flirting.”
“Flirting is never a waste, darlin’.” Aunt Lizbet patted her cheek and swept another glance over Matt. “Next you’ll be telling me that I’m too old for him.”
“I’m afraid I might be too old for you, Miz Dayton,” Matt said smoothly. Georgia was enjoying this gallant Matt—he was full of surprises.
Clearly flattered, her great-aunt led the way into her parlor. “Georgia, sugar, you need to snap this one up right away.”
If she got any redder, she might just go up in flames. “I just broke my engagement. I’m not—”
“Oh, poof, what’s a little broken engagement? Why, a girl has to have a few discarded sweethearts in her wake, or how’s she going to know she’s got the right one?”
“You stop playing Scarlett O’Hara for a minute and sit down.” She tried her best to frown at her great-aunt, but it was impossible. It would be like frowning at the frilly, unlikely angel on top of the Christmas tree. “We’ve got to get our business taken care of before your ladies descend upon us.” Matt took the seat her great-aunt indicated, looking slightly appalled at the thought of a whole garden club full of Scarlett O’Haras, and Georgia sat next to her on the rose velvet loveseat. It was hard to concentrate seriously on anything in Aunt Lizbet’s parlor, decorated as it was in the very height of Victorian whimsy by some earlier generation of Daytons, and accented by her great-aunt with
Dresden shepherdesses and lacy pillows.
“Miz Callie has asked Matt to try and find out what happened to Uncle Ned—my granddad’s brother, that is…”
“I know who your uncle Ned was, child, even though he’s not related to me, exactly.” She tipped her head to one side. “Let’s see, he’d be my sister’s brother-in-law, so that would make him—”
“We hoped you might remember him,” Matt interrupted.
Good, Georgia thought. Let her embark on family connec-tions, and they’d never get anywhere. “We’d like to find out what happened to him after he left Sullivan’s Island in 1942.” Aunt Lizbet turned to him with a flattering smile. “Oh, goodness, so long ago. You might not realize it, but I’m quite a bit younger than Callie. Why, I was hardly more
than a baby at the time.”
Georgia bit her lip to keep herself from pointing out that, according to the family tree, there were only eighteen months between them.
“Of course I understand that,” Matt said, his tone soothing. “But sometimes very young children do
remember the oddest things. We’re especially interested in anything that happened that summer involving Ned.”
Her aunt’s gaze strayed to the drop-leaf table, already arrayed with a silver bowl of roses and her heavy silver tea service. “I just don’t believe I can help.”
“That’s all right,” Georgia said briskly. “I told Matt that you wouldn’t have nearly the memory that Miz Callie does, but he insisted we come and see you anyway.”
If Matt was surprised, he managed to hide it.
“Callie, indeed!” Aunt Lizbet’s indignation peaked. “I remember things twice as well as she does. Anybody who knows us will tell you that I always had the better memory. I won the county spelling bee three years in a row.”
“That’s a wonderful accomplishment.” Matt leaned forward, capturing one of Aunt Lizbet’s hands in his own. “I can see we should have come to you right off. Won’t you tell us about Ned?”
“Well…” For a moment, she seemed to be at a loss, but then her eyes brightened. “I can tell you something nobody else knows, not even Callie. It was a secret, and I kept it all these years.”
Georgia’s pulse quickened. A secret? Were they really going to learn something helpful? She opened her mouth and closed it again at a commanding glance from Matt.
Well, all right, if he thought he could get more out of her great-aunt than she could, let him try. Although come to think of it, Aunt Lizbet was far more likely to respond to a handsome man any day of the week.
“It was a rainy evenin’, I remember.” Aunt Lizbet’s hand rested in Matt’s. “The others were all inside, listening to the radio, but I went out on the beach.”
“By yourself?” Matt prompted.
She nodded. “Mamma wouldn’t have let me if I’d asked, so I didn’t ask. It wasn’t curfew yet, just dark
because of the rain. I’d left my pail full of shells where we’d been playing, and I wanted to get it before the tide came in.”
There was something soothing and timeless about that, something in common between those children who’d played on the beach in the midst of a war and the ones who played on it today.
“I got the bucket and then stopped there on the dunes for a minute, just looking at the water. Then I saw her.” She stopped, as if the image was one she didn’t want to see.
“Who was it?” Matt asked softly.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. One of the summer people. She’d waded way out in the water with her clothes on. Imagine. She even had a hat on her head, and there she was. All of a sudden a wave knocked her down.” Her face puckered in imitation of long-ago distress. “Before I could think what to do, Ned Bodine came running past me. Straight into the water, with his clothes on, too, and swimming out toward her.” She smiled, seeming to recall herself to the present. “Funny how that picture is still so fresh in my mind. Ned was always the best swimmer of all the kids.”
“He pulled her out?”
“Land, yes. It didn’t take him any time at all. Then he brought her up the path, and he saw me and stopped. He patted my cheek, and he said I should go home. And not to tell anyone, because the lady would be embarrassed. It was our secret.”