No Shadow (Prodigal Sons of Cane) (6 page)

“They don’t,”
Helen said, smoothing down the long skirt of her dress. “I raid yard sales and
thrift shops. There are a few vintage shops I like to browse in too, but I only
occasionally have enough money to buy clothes there.”

“It’s so cool
you have such a distinct, personal style. I always thought it a shame that everyone
insists on dressing like everyone else.”

Helen laughed
and felt her cheeks warm again. For some reason, talking about something so
personal to her in front of Andrew made her feel conscious of herself in a way
she wasn’t used to.

She couldn’t
help but wonder what he thought of how she dressed.

“I guess that’s
a nice way of saying I’m totally out of style.” Before Melissa could object,
she added, “I’m just teasing. Although I’m used to students looking at me like
I’m crazy. I don’t know—it just doesn’t bother me very much. I wear what I
like.”

“That’s so
great.” Before anyone else could chime in, Melissa changed the subject. “I
think the dog needs to go out. That’s the way he sniffs when he has to go. Andrew,
can you?”

Andrew blinked.
“What?”

“Carry him
downstairs and take him out,” Melissa explained. “I think he needs to go. You
should never have let him climb all the way up the stairs. He’ll hurt his
little leg even more. I don’t want him to have to walk all the way down.”

Helen waited to
see if Andrew would admit to his part in the dog’s ascent up the stairs, but he
just tightened his lips and stood up. He grumbled as he leaned over to scoop up
the dog again, but Helen wasn’t fooled.

After what
she’d seen earlier, she was sure his displeasure was just an act.

Melissa must have
known the same thing because she beamed at her brother and told him how
incredibly sweet he was.

As Helen
watched Andrew leave the room, his handsome face grumpy and his tall, lean form
hampered by a whimpering dog, she experienced the oddest swell of feeling. So
different from the way she’d felt about him before.

That would have
been good, but this new feeling could lead to a great deal of trouble.

She was attracted
to Andrew, but that wasn’t the end of the world. He was handsome and masculine,
and she couldn’t help but notice. She’d been attracted to men before, but there
was something else—starting to bloom inside of her as she thought about what
she’d seen of him tonight. His absolute commitment to his family. His
tenderness and care with his sister. His willingness to put aside his own
desires in order to answer someone else’s needs. And the way he tried to hide
his obvious affection for a helpless dog.

He was still a
somewhat infuriating man, but she was feeling more than attraction. And she
knew nothing good could come of it.

Because what
she felt was…fond.

***

Andrew waited outside as the dog
took care of its business, and he was surprised to realize that the sun was
already at the horizon. Dinner had gone better than he’d expected, and he
couldn’t believe how quickly the time had passed.

After an iffy
beginning, Melissa had warmed up and blossomed in her conversation with Helen. Andrew
was surprised by such a development, but he couldn’t help but also be thrilled.

It was the
first time in so long she’d made any progress at all. Maybe it was a sign that
she was finally close to taking the first step toward healing.

He rubbed the
tense muscles at the back of his neck and made himself admit that his enjoyment
of the evening wasn’t just because of his sister’s progress. Helen was beautiful,
intelligent, and generous, and she had a dry sense of humor he wouldn’t have
expected from her quiet, old-fashioned appearance.

She also had
the most beautiful speaking voice he’d ever heard. When she’d recited that poem
earlier, he’d been swept away by the pitch of her voice and the haunting
loveliness of the cadences.

He shook his
head, telling himself not to get distracted. She still was an unknown quantity,
and she was his main obstacle to obtaining the manuscript.

Although he
obviously found her attractive, there was almost no chance of his ever pursuing
that attraction. He didn’t engage in casual flirtations anymore, and nothing
else was possible with Helen.

He was only in
Cane for the month, and then he’d say goodbye to it—and everyone here—for good.

When the dog
limped back over to him, Andrew lifted him again and carried him back up the
stairs. He muttered under his breath about canine moochers who abused their
owner’s generosity and good-nature, but he couldn’t help but scratch the dog
behind the ears when the brown eyes gazed up at him adoringly.

Dogs were just
impossible to dislike.

When he
returned to his sister’s sitting room, he was shocked to discover that she and
Helen were talking about spiritual matters. Melissa was sharing how she’d
become a Christian—at a youth group she’d attended for two years before the
year she’d started shutting herself off from the world.

“It all just
kind of clicked,” Melissa explained. “That Jesus was the one I needed. I don’t
know what I would have done for the last ten years without him. Andrew has been
so good to me, but I can’t help feeling…” She trailed off. Darted a quick look
over at Andrew. “I can’t help feeling so alone a lot of time.”

Andrew felt his
heart tighten in his chest, and he realized his sister was worried about
hurting him. She
had
hurt him. Because he’d tried so hard to give her
everything she needed and he’d obviously failed at that.

“Of course,”
Helen said softly. Her eyes rested briefly on Andrew’s face, and he hoped she
hadn’t seen his pained reaction. “How could you not feel alone? At least you’ve
had a brother as good as Andrew to help.”

He swallowed,
wondering if she’d said that out of kindness to him and then wondering why she
would have done so when she’d never shown any signs of liking him.

Melissa’s eyes
filled with tears. “Yeah. I guess God knew what he was doing when he brought me
to that youth group.”

As always,
unable to resist the need to comfort his sister, Andrew reached over and put a
hand on her arm. “And, since he knows what he’s doing, he won’t just help you
get through it. He’ll heal you all the way. He’ll—”

Andrew broke
off, hardly believing what he’d just said.

It wasn’t that
he didn’t mean it. He was spiritually conflicted about some things, but he still
believed.

But he couldn’t
believe he’d said it out loud, and now he wished he hadn’t.

Melissa’s
shocked, awed expression made him feel awkward, and Helen’s obvious surprise
made him self-conscious. He wondered what she thought about his spiritual
condition. They’d been part of the same church growing up. Had she assumed he
no longer believed anything at all?

He didn’t like
that idea, but he wasn’t sure how to address it.

“Andrew, the
dog wants up on the window seat with me. Can you help him up?”

Taken
off-guard, Andrew automatically leaned down to help the dog up. His sister
could have done it herself, but he was grateful for the chance to do something,
to be active, when the topic of faith made him feel so incredibly helpless.

The women
continued chatting, and Andrew listened with half an ear as the topic shifted
to First Church and Helen’s father as the pastor.

He couldn’t
help but wonder what his life would have been like if he’d never strayed from his
faith, from the church. He knew he would have made some different choices, but
more deeply he wondered if he would have found the security and contentment—the
peace—he still seemed to be lacking.

He was
distracted from his broodings when Melissa asked, “Andrew, he wants down now.
I’m trapped by the table.”

Andrew shook
off his reverie and assessed the situation. Melissa was boxed in by the table
they’d pulled up to the window seat, and the dog indeed appeared to be trying
to jump down. The animal was nervous, however, and kept making false starts,
pulling back before he made the plunge.

With a long
exhale, Andrew got up from his chair again. “I’m not sure how I’ve become the
dog’s personal servant.”

“Who better?”
Melissa teased.

Giving an
exaggerated scowl, mostly for the females’ benefit, Andrew reached over to grab
the dog under the ribs.

But the dog had
been intent on getting down on his own, and he didn’t recognize the help that
was coming to him. He jumped just as Andrew reached for him.

Taken by
surprise, he made a lunge for the dog, grabbing it just in time to keep it from
landing hard on its hurt leg. Andrew, however, was thrown off balance by his
sudden bend at the waist. He managed to get the dog on the floor unscathed but
then realized he was in danger of toppling over himself.

He grabbed for
the table to steady himself but missed the edge. Instead, he grabbed the table
cloth, which provided him no support. He tried to counter the momentum of his
forward fall by jerking himself back.

It didn’t work.
He sat down hard and ungracefully, and he’d failed to release the table cloth.
In his descent, he pulled the table cloth with him and a clatter of dishes,
silverware, and glasses cascaded down around him to the floor.

He blinked,
dazed by the fall and the sudden onslaught of table settings.

Then he heard a
giggle.

He shot
suspicious eyes over to the onlookers and saw Melissa beginning to laugh openly
and Helen with her mouth covered in poorly stifled amusement.

He closed his
eyes. “I know you are both too kind to mock.”

The women proved
him wrong. His aggrieved tones pushed them into real laughter, and their
amusement rung out merrily over his abject indignity.

Then the dog
had the gall to limp over and lick him tentatively on the hand, as if he hadn’t
been the cause of the whole debacle.

Andrew grumbled
and threatened retaliation, of course, but he couldn’t help but gaze up at
Melissa and Helen, so pretty and uninhibited in their hilarity.

It had been
ages since he’d seen his sister having so much fun. His heart warmed as he
watched her.

And as he
watched Helen, who had seemed to turn his world upside down in just over a
week.

.

The next day, Andrew went about
his business—taking care of decision-making and correspondence for his company,
checking into some lingering legal matters connected to the Cane estate, and
arranging for some necessary work to be done at the house—without his typical,
unwavering focus.

On the phone
with a contractor, he tried to explain all that needed to be done on the
grounds, including getting a stronger hatch door and a lock on the dugout
cellar, but he kept losing his concentration. He had to try three times to
complete his request.

He couldn’t
stop thinking about Helen.

Andrew tried to
explain it away as his gratitude for the way she’d started to pull Melissa out of
her shell, but something told him it went beyond simple gratitude.

She wasn’t at
all the kind of woman he’d been attracted to before. He was accustomed to poised,
outspoken women who were used to getting what they wanted.

Helen was
reserved and soft-spoken, almost reticent. Except when provoked, of course.
Then she knew how to put up a good fight, all the more effective because her
stubbornness was so unexpected.

She wasn’t
sleek or cosmopolitan. Her hair was always falling down in soft wisps around
her face, and she wore quaint, old-fashioned clothes that seemed to suit her
perfectly. Despite her appearance, she wasn’t prim or stuffy. It might take
some encouragement, but when she got going she spoke so passionately about the
things she loved—books, ideas, her family, her faith.

She’d never so
much as slanted him a flirtatious look—much less come on to him—which was a new
enough experience for Andrew to be disorienting. But last night after dinner, when
he’d walked her down from Melissa’s suite, she’d said goodbye to him with the
most radiant smile. It had transformed her face, like she was lit from within.
The expression had taken his breath away, and he’d stood for a long time
staring after her, even after she’d driven away.

Nothing about
his interest in Helen Walton made sense, but Andrew was having harder and
harder a time convincing himself that he
wasn’t
interested.

Thinking of
Helen led inevitably to thoughts of the manuscript of
Shadow Past
—the
one that meant so much to his beloved grandmother and her memories of the man
she had loved long ago. Deciding it would be best for his sense of purpose and
composure to take care of the matter as quickly as possible, Andrew called
Thomas up to ask about the status of the potential purchase. Thomas explained
that the sale was held up since the manuscript was still being appraised, but
he hoped to entertain offers by next week.

Feeling
encouraged by this news of a possible conclusion, Andrew asked him if there
were any other papers or items connected to Geneva Bale or the manuscript in
Ezra Harrison’s possessions.

“Not that I
know of,” Thomas said. “But I haven’t gone through everything. There are still some
unsorted old papers in the attic I need to get at.”

Intrigued, Andrew
asked, “Would it be all right if I look through them some time? I’d be
interested in purchasing anything connected to Bale or the family history
during that time period.”

His grandmother
told stories of old, romantic letters that her beau had read to her—written to
Geneva Bale around the time she’d written
Shadow Past
—and Andrew
wondered if they were still in Harrison’s possession.

Thomas hesitated
only briefly. Then agreed it would be fine. They arranged for Andrew to come by
the house that evening, since Thomas was working there all day.

Andrew was
pleased when he hung up the phone, relieved to have something concrete to do.
He doubted he’d be fortunate enough to find those old letters—surely someone
would have recognized their worth before now—but it couldn’t hurt to check.

Once the
manuscript issue was resolved for good, maybe he could get Helen out of his
mind.

Content with
his plan, he was able to concentrate on work for the rest of the afternoon. Then
he had a quick dinner with Melissa and headed over to the Harrison house.

The first thing
he noticed was a blue, midsized sedan parked on the street. With a kick in his
chest, he wondered what Helen was doing here.

Andrew found
her with Thomas on the side porch. They were laughing and drinking lemonade,
and Andrew experienced an unexpected stab of jealousy at how friendly the two
of them looked. That radiant smile she’d given him last night was the most Andrew
had ever received from her.

“Hi there,”
Thomas said, getting out of his rocking chair. “I thought it only fair to ask
Helen over to look through the papers too, since the library’s an interested
party. I hope you don’t mind.”

Andrew was
taken aback. His bone-deep competitive instinct was immediately triggered at
what he took as a threat to his claim on the manuscript. But, at the same time,
he was really glad to see Helen.

She smiled at
him shyly. “Hi, Andrew. You’re very polite not to say anything—even if you
do
mind my being here.”

He was a little
unsettled by how well she seemed to know him, even after just a week. Of
course, they’d been raised together, and she’d been a clever, observant little
girl. Maybe she knew him better than he thought.

She was dressed
more casually today than he’d ever seen her—in jeans and a delicate eyelet top.
Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail instead of being pulled up like it
normally was. And she was wearing little wire-framed glasses. She looked
comfortable and relaxed.

And very
pretty.

“Of course, I
don’t mind,” he said with an answering smile. “It’s nice to see you.”

Helen went to
pour him a glass of lemonade, and she appeared so at home here he felt a sharp
jolt of curiosity about her relationship with Thomas.

Surely he would
know by now if they were dating. He certainly didn’t want to be entertaining
thoughts about a woman who was dating someone else. As far as he could tell,
there was nothing obvious between them but friendship, but he’d caught Thomas
looking at her sometimes with an expression that hinted he wanted more.

Helen seemed
completely unconscious of Thomas’s interest.

At her
suggestion, they all went inside and then upstairs with their lemonade.

“It’s a mess,”
Thomas warned on the narrow stairs. “And I can’t promise it will be clean or
free of creepy crawlies.”

“It will be
fine,” Helen assured him, smiling as they entered the attic.

Andrew scanned
the large attic—filled with overflowing boxes, musty trunks, and random items
like old window air-conditioning units and ironing boards.

“I have no idea
why he kept some of this stuff,” Thomas said, staring at a torn Asian screen.

“Oh, but some
of it is wonderful,” Helen countered in a breathless voice. She leaned over and
pulled a skirt out of an opened trunk. The skirt was long, ruffled, and looked
to be a hundred years old.

Andrew caught a
look of hungry delight in her eyes as she shook the garment out.

“Most of it’s
junk,” Thomas said blandly. “You can have that if you want.”

Helen was
tempted—Andrew could tell. He could picture her in that skirt. But she said,
“Oh, no, I couldn’t. You need to sort all this out and find out what has real
value.” With a quirk of her lips, she added, “But if you have a yard sale, I’ll
definitely be there before anyone else.”

Thomas pointed
them toward a corner with three large boxes of old papers. “They’re not in any
order, and some of them aren’t old enough for you to be interested in. You’ll
have to look through everything.”

“No problem,”
Helen said cheerfully, sitting down on a conveniently placed trunk. Andrew
pulled up another trunk beside her and scooted one of the boxes in front of
them.

When they were
settled, Thomas said, “Since I’m up here, maybe I’ll start looking through some
of this other junk to see what it all is.  Unless you need me to help.”

“Oh no! Please
don’t let us take up anymore of your time,” Helen said.

“I’m not sure exactly
what I’m looking for anyway.” Andrew wondered what Helen was looking for or if
she was just here so he wouldn’t get a step ahead. He wasn’t sure what option
he’d prefer.

Helen looked as
excited as a little girl as she pulled a pile of papers out of the box. “I’m
looking for anything connected to Bale,” she said, speaking ostensibly to
Thomas although Andrew saw her dart him a quick look. She started flipping through
the pages on her lap, pausing at a couple but not for very long. “Birth
records, wedding records, old letters, pages of manuscripts. Anything of the
right time period might be of interest.”

Andrew grabbed
his own pile and turned the pages as he disregarded each document. Helen’s list
was the same as the items he himself would be interested in.

Thomas asked a
polite question about Geneva Bale, which was all it took to get Helen going on
what was obviously one of her favorite topics.

Most of the
information Andrew already knew. Geneva Bale was an early nineteenth century
author who’d written novels along the lines of Jane Austen—romances set in
upper-middle class society with a strong satiric streak regarding social
manners and behavior. While she’d been lost to scholarship until recently, her
polished prose and excellent eye for character gave her strong literary merit. 
Like Austen, Bale had avoided a lot of the controversial social and political
issues of her day. Her reticence about issues like early feminism and slavery
probably explained why she hadn’t received as much critical attention as her
contemporaries, but Helen was sure the scholarly world was finally catching on
to what a find Bale actually was.

“She didn’t
originally publish under her own name,” Helen said, speaking loudly so Thomas
could hear her in the far corner of the attic. “She published as ‘A Lady of
Virginia.’ It’s only on her original handwritten manuscripts that she wrote her
name.”

“Interesting,”
Thomas said, although Andrew wasn’t sure he truly expected quite so much
information.

“Have you read
any of her novels?” Helen asked, turning to Andrew.

He wondered if
her question was a genuine one or a subtle way to confront him. “Just
Blessed
Heart
. It was the only one I could find in print.”

“Yeah. There
haven’t been any current paperback editions of her novels yet. I hope there
will be soon. What did you think of it?”

Put on the
spot, Andrew told her the truth. “Not my kind of reading. Too much talk of
dances and suitors and dowries.”

Helen sniffed
disdainfully. Her expression asked a silent question which Andrew read as wondering
why he wanted the manuscript if he didn’t like reading Bale’s work, but she
didn’t actually voice it.

“Cane College
has an incredible collection of Bale artifacts,” Helen said, pitching her voice
so that Thomas could hear as she continued rifling through the old papers. “We
have the handwritten manuscripts of her two other novels,
Blessed Heart
and
Noon Light
. We have dozens of letters she wrote to some important
literary figures of the time, including William Wordsworth. We, of course, have
first editions of each of her books. We have an original sketch drawn of her.
We even have some of her clothing and the writing desk she used.”

Andrew frowned
as the list continued. He intuitively understood why Helen was saying all of
this. She was trying to make it clear that the library was the most appropriate
place for the manuscript—to convince either him or Thomas.

“There are very
few historical figures where all of the artifacts are in one collection,” he
said, his voice a little cool. “One can hardly expect to get everything.” He’d
been making his way through his own stack of papers, but there was nothing
relevant. Most of it was far too late to be of interest.

Helen gave him
a narrow-eyed look, her chin sticking out slightly. “Well, that’s all the more
reason for us to try to get everything we can on Bale. To make it accessible to
the scholars who are starting to do important work on her.”

This time, her
words were an obvious challenge. Growing annoyed, Andrew answered it. “You have
no idea whether I’d be willing to make the manuscript accessible to scholars or
not.”

“That’s the point.
A private collector can do whatever he wants. He can destroy it if he wants
to.”

“Do you really
think someone would pay a substantial price for a manuscript and then just
destroy it?”

Helen’s cheeks
had flushed, and a few strands of her hair had escaped her ponytail.
Impatiently, she pushed them away. “You’re intentionally missing my point. I’m
not saying it’s likely. I’m just proving there are no safeguards on a private collector,
nothing to demand the manuscript be kept safe and accessible.”

“Whereas all
libraries, of course, can guarantee its absolute safety.” There was an edge now
to his voice, as Andrew grew more and more exasperated with the woman’s
obstinacy.

“At least
libraries try to do what’s best for literary history, instead of hoarding
manuscripts away as invest—“ She cut herself off abruptly and stared down at
the sheathe of papers in her lap. She was clearly fuming, but trying to control
herself.

He knew how she
felt. He couldn’t understand why she insisted on believing the worst of him and
his intentions and wouldn’t even allow the possibility that he had the
manuscript’s best interests in mind.

When she’d
smiled at him last night, he’d thought she was growing to like him. At least a
little. And it was like a kick in the gut that she was now back at his throat
again.

He needed the
manuscript. He couldn’t let it go. And he’d obviously been wrong to hope that,
once she got to know him, Helen would be willing to back down.