Simple Gone South

And for Brantley and her, there would only be leaving.

“Lucy, baby. What’s wrong?” His voice was sweet, his hands on her face gentle.

“Nothing. It’s silly. They are just so beautiful—I’m overwhelmed.”

“That’s the kind of tears I like,” he said. “Come on. You’re tired.” And he led her to bed, turning off lights as he went.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The days of December sped by like pages of a book in the hands of a grand champion speed reader. Lucy was working too much to suit Brantley, but that was winding down. Her clients wanted their work completed for Christmas and Lucy never disappointed.

At least she didn’t disappoint him. Life was great. They had decorated a tree at her house and spent a great deal of time in front of the fire, sometimes clothed, most times not.

He’d had no trouble talking her into spending the holiday with him—the whole kit and caboodle. Potato cheese soup and watching It’s a Wonderful Life before church on Christmas Eve; midnight service at Christ Episcopal; opening one present after church; the whole unwrapping extravaganza and brunch Christmas morning; fancy dinner with some kind of giant piece of cow mid-afternoon, followed by lolling and playing with presents.

Lucy was all in.

He’d thought he’d have to share her with Annelle for at least part of it, but no. Annelle was going to Charleston and Lucy did not want to go. He hoped that at least part of her desire to stay was due to him.

While he still was not looking forward to the holiday, he knew now that he could get through it because she would be there to touch him, smile at him, and laugh for him.

On the other hand, he was looking forward to the week after Christmas. According to Lucy, Annelle always closed the shop from December 23 until January 2. That was not prime time for interior revamping and as far as selling odds and ends, Annelle claimed quality of life meant something and she did not intend to spend her Christmas Eve at the shop in case someone wanted to buy a tablecloth that they should have already bought. That seemed a pretty odd idea for a shop owner, but if it would free up Lucy for him, it was okay by Brantley. That week would be their last chance to play before getting down to serious business on the Brantley Building.

Maybe they would take a little trip. Yes. That would be fun. They’d had fun the day they’d gone to Nashville to Christmas shop and this would be even better. He’d get on planning that—right after he hauled all those boxes and bags of dishes and gewgaws over to the church for Big Mama and Lucy. Tonight was the flower guild Christmas party and, the way he understood it, they decorated tables and there was a prize for the best one. Lucy seemed to be helping Big Mama and when he had asked what about Lucy’s own table, she had laughed. “I don’t have a table. There are only eight and somebody has to die or choose you to take theirs over. I will never have a table of my own.” Big Mama had looked thoughtful and said, “You never know.”

He’d have to go back after the party and haul all that stuff back but, meanwhile, he was going down to Tiptoe Watkins’s barn, where the Rotary Club was building the Santa Claus float for the Christmas parade. Charles had been asking him to come by and Luke, Nathan, and Harris would be there. He wasn’t in Rotary, of course, but he probably would be after he told them he was staying in town. No one knew that yet, not even Lucy.

It might be time to figure out when he was going to do that.

Yeah.

* * *

Three days before Christmas and the morning before the Christmas parade, Brantley entered his grandmother’s house to ask her to make good on a promise. Evelyn, wearing a Christmas sweater with blinking lights, was singing carols to the top of her lungs as she dropped divinity on wax paper. Evelyn loved Christmas. She gave him a piece of still soft divinity sandwiched between two pecan halves and admonished him to “Be sweet.”

That’s exactly what he intended to do.

He found Caroline in the study, sitting beside the Christmas tree, with a notepad and a stack of Christmas cards in her lap.

“Hello, darling.” She lifted her cheek for his kiss. Could she really be as genuinely happy to see him as it seemed? Would she always? He pushed that thought aside. He was not here today for confessions. It might be unfair to ask for what he wanted without confessing, but fair or not, he wasn’t going to do it. Yet. But soon. After he had glued the family back together a little better. “I was just enjoying the tree, reading some cards, and making a list of a few last minute things.”

He sat down in the easy chair opposite hers—the one Papa used to sit in. Usually he avoided that chair but today it felt right.

“I don’t see how you could have anything left to write on a list,” he said. “There’s not room for one more present under that tree or one spot in this house that needs decorating.”

She laughed and laid aside her reading glasses. “There’s always something else to do at Christmas—at least there has been this year.” This year. Yes, because he was here and Lucy had put them back together. Christmases in these past years must have been as empty for Charles and Caroline as they had been for him.

Guilt tried to settle in on him but he turned it away. He couldn’t do anything about it then, but he could now.

“It’s been wonderful this year, hasn’t it?” she said wistfully.

“Yes.” And to his surprise that was true.

“Did you have fun at your dinner out with your friends last weekend?”

“Yes.” It had not been a fancy meal. They had—kids, babies, and all—gone down to Birmingham for a big, loud, messy Mexican meal. Kirby, who was home for winter break, had joined them. He had a girl with him, who the women grilled and the men tried to rescue. “After we had dinner, we drove around in a caravan and looked at Christmas lights. Missy declared it a success so it must have been. She says it’s our new Christmas tradition. Of course, Missy declares a new tradition about as often as the wind changes direction.”

“Still,” Big Mama said, “tradition is nice. History . . . a feeling of belonging. You are all lucky that Missy has appointed herself the gatekeeper for your friendships and traditions.”

“You’ve got that right. She’s the gatekeeper. She decides who gets in and nobody gets out.”

He regretted it as soon as he said it. Big Mama laughed but there was a little sadness hanging around in the background. Big Mama had been the gatekeeper for their family, but he’d been the gate crasher. And now, she was probably wondering if she would ever have another holiday season like this one, or if he’d be off in New England, New Orleans, or Timbuktu, where he might or might not allow her and Charles to meet him at a restaurant on Christmas Day.

It was time. “Big Mama,” he said quietly, “You are the first to hear this. I have told no one else, not even Dad. A long time ago you told me that when the time came, I could choose an engagement ring from the family jewelry. That time has come. Is that promise still good?”

“Well—” He had never seen Caroline Brantley look so befuddled; come to think of it, he’d never seen her look befuddled at all. And her face had gone white. “Well, darling, of course. Yes. But—”

“But what?”

“But who, Brantley?”

She was kidding, right? “Who? Lucy, of course. Who did you think?”

She put her hands up palms out and closed her eyes. “I didn’t think. I mean to say, it’s been such a short time with you and Lucy, that I was afraid . . . I mean, I thought it was possible that . . .”

Even after all this time, she would not say it, would not criticize his choices.

But he would. He crossed to where she sat and settled on the ottoman. “I am not going to marry Rita May, Big Mama. I am never going back to Rita May. I have not heard from her, seen her, or thought about her. It’s all