Pleating for Mercy

A loose floorboard creaked in the front room.

I whipped around, caught a glimpse of a woman, and nearly fell off the stool.

Chapter 23

Zinnia James, one of the women who’d come into Buttons & Bows the day Nell had died, stood on the threshold of the French doors.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said.

I looked past her, wondering why the bells on the door hadn’t chimed.

She followed my gaze. “It was open.”

Gracie hopped up. “I’ll get it.” She scurried past Mrs. James and pushed the door closed.

Mrs. James spread her arms, palms up. “You are open?”

I shook off the chill that had crept up my neck, hurrying to her and taking one of her hands in both of mine so she wouldn’t leave. “Oh, yes, of course!”

The cool, papery feel of her skin made me take a closer look at her. She had a heavy hand with her makeup and her silver hair was styled in a big Texas ’do. I could see that she was actively working to stave off aging. The indentation of fine lines curved around both sides of her mouth and her eyes, but her skin pulled tight over her bones and her forehead was smoother than mine.

A face-lift and Botox. I’d seen women far younger than Mrs. James have that frozen-in-time look, the skin so taut it looked unnatural. I didn’t know what Mrs. James had looked like before cosmetic surgery and treatment, but it felt like I was looking at a cloned version of her true self.

“I couldn’t help but overhear you discussing Miriam Kincaid’s divorce. The first in the family, I believe,” she said.

“Gracie was telling me about it. She’s friends with Holly Kincaid,” I said, wondering just how long Mrs. James had been standing there. “I was just curious why Miriam isn’t in her brother’s wedding and—”

“That’s easy enough to answer,” she interrupted. “Keith Kincaid always had political aspirations, but he’s been too indiscreet over the years to run for office.”

She came closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m going to let you both in on a little secret—as a senator’s wife, you know.”

I did a mental head slap of realization. Of course. Her husband was longtime Republican Texas senator Jeb James. I knew she seemed familiar. I’d forgotten they lived in Bliss.

Gracie stood wide-eyed, stock-still, and expectant, as if the secrets of the world were about to be revealed.

“Squeaky clean before you get into office, that’s the golden rule. After you’re elected, you can do whatever you want. People are more reluctant to admit they were wrong once they’ve voted someone into office. They’re more willing to forgive, shall we say, indiscretions.”

Mrs. James rattled on. “Lori hung her hopes on her children, but that was a losing proposition. Nate had no interest in politics. Derek’s a wild card—too unpredictable. And Miriam? Well, she was always the black sheep of the family. She tried to fit in by marrying that newmoney Dallas boy, Jim Dexter, which, as you know, didn’t work.

“I suspect that Miriam’s walkout has nothing to do with Nate or his bride, and everything to do with retribution. Lori never hid how she felt about the divorce. In her world, if there are problems in a marriage, you turn a blind eye or deal with it behind closed doors. Addressing it in public isn’t an option. Nor is the dissolution of a marriage.”

Her explanation left Nate and Josie as unintended casualties of passive-aggressive payback. It also made complete sense. Another thread I could mull over as I sewed through the night.

“There is something else,” she said, turning to Gracie. “You’re Will Flores’s girl?”

Gracie nodded. Mrs. James’s observations of her friend’s family had her looking a little unsteady.

“I mean no offense by this, my dear, and believe me, the irony of what I’m about to say isn’t lost on me, but the same people who are willing to turn a blind eye to a public figure’s . . . extracurricular activities, shall we say? —and who are good, churchgoing folks—are often the first to deem another’s actions immoral.”

Oh, boy, I didn’t like the sound of this. I was quickly learning that the senator’s wife was brutally honest—and blunt—not typical Southern attributes. Personally, I liked that about her, but the stab of anxiety in my gut had me wary. “Mrs. James—”

“That you were born out of wedlock doesn’t bother some folks—”

My brain hiccupped on Gracie’s birth, but it stopped working altogether when I saw the color drain from Gracie’s face.

“—and while a political candidate can speak out for the homeless and stand up for health insurance, close personal relationships with reprobates are less than desirable.”

Reprobates like Will Flores. From Gracie’s stare, I guessed she didn’t understand what Mrs. James was saying. Thankfully.

But the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as the senator’s wife kept on. “An illicit affair resulting in a—”

“Mrs. James,” I snapped.

“—resulting in such a lovely girl as you, but nonetheless, outside of marriage vows, would not look good for the Kincaid family.”

“Miriam isn’t Gracie’s mother,” I said.

“Makes no difference in the eyes of the righteous. Miriam Kincaid involved with someone like William Flores —”

Gracie sprang off the stool. “My dad’s not reprobative or . . . or whatever you said!”

“Simmer down, child,” Mrs. James said, waving her hand as if she were fanning a flame. “Of course he’s not. I’m merely alerting you of how some people think.” She shot a pointed look my way. “You know what I mean, Harlow, dear, don’t you? Being related to Butch Cassidy and all. Talk about reprobates.”

I blinked, my tongue frozen in my mouth. Not many people were direct about the less than reputable side of Butch Cassidy and his Hole-in-the-Wall Gang—and my family’s connection to them. I had to give Mrs. James credit. She didn’t play games or beat around the bush like so many Southerners did. “We like to focus on the good in my great-great-great-granddaddy.”

She gave a solemn nod. “He did leave quite a legacy with the Cassidy women, didn’t he?”

This time I felt the color drain from my face. If people didn’t often talk about Butch Cassidy, they talked less about the charms his descendants were rumored to possess. First Madelyn Brighton had confronted me on the family magic, and now Mrs. James alluded to it. Was there no more subtle pretending in Bliss?

Mrs. James turned back to Gracie. “Knowledge is power. Your daddy is a fine man, and he’s done right by you. It’s not every man who would sacrifice everything to raise his child by himself.”

Any thought about my family’s charms flew out of my head. What had Mrs. James said about Will? Sacrifice everything and raise his child . . . alone?

My heart went out to Gracie. Her insistence that a mother should be there for her daughter hadn’t been indignation over Mrs. Kincaid and Miriam. It must have stemmed from her deepest desire to have her own mother with her, something Meemaw had known wasn’t likely to happen.

This is why Meemaw had bargained with Will. She wanted me to have a relationship with this girl, to be that woman she could talk to, just as Mama and Nana and Meemaw had always been there for me. She wanted her safe in the cocoon of 2112 Mockingbird Lane.

Gracie didn’t blink, didn’t move, hardly breathed. “My dad says my mom blew right out of Bliss like a hurricane. She only came back so she could hand me over to him.”

Mrs. James considered Gracie thoughtfully. “Her loss,” she said.

I’d been in Gracie’s shoes. My father had left my mother when she was six months pregnant with me, when he discovered her gift. His first and only thought was that she was a witch and from that moment on, he’d wanted nothing to do with her—or me. He’d run straight for the hills and had never looked back.

Mama maintained I was all Harlow and Cassidy and had no part of my father’s lineage. Tristan Walker had