Swan's Way (10 page)

He rose and offered his hand to help Ginna up from the couch.

“You won’t tell Neal, will you?”

“Not until you want me to.”

“That will be
never!”
She forced a laugh. “And I don’t want him to know where I work. Understood?”

“Why on earth not?”

She smiled. “He thinks I’m
mysterious
. Dr. Kirkwood, no one has ever thought of me as mysterious before. It feels good. I’d like to keep a little mystery between us.”

“I understand, Ginna. Hey, I have an idea! You said you have the next two days off. Why don’t you stay here at Swan’s Quarter with us? A short vacation for you, and everyone here would love to have you.”

The thought of not having the long trip home when she was feeling so rocky and getting to spend more time with Neal brought a bright smile to her face. But reality set in fast.

“I don’t have anything with me—not even a toothbrush. Besides, I’m not sure I can afford this place, not even for two nights.”

Dr. Kirkwood patted her shoulder, affectionately. “You’ve more than earned your keep at Swan’s Quarter, Ginna. And I’m sure the ‘terrible threesome’ can provide you with whatever you need. If there’s anything else, just let me know.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Ginna was positively beaming.

“Just say you’ll stay. That’s all I want to hear. Deal?” He stuck out his hand, and she shook it.

“Deal!”

When Dr. Kirkwood opened the door, Neal was pacing the hall outside, his face like a thundercloud.

“I’m fine, Neal.” Ginna spoke quickly, since it looked like he was about to explode. “The doctor thinks I got a bad hamburger or something. Nothing to worry about”

“And just to make sure,” Kirkwood added, “I’ve persuaded Ginna to stay here for a couple of days, so I can keep an eye on her. She told me she’s on vacation right now, so I figured we’d take advantage and keep her right here with us.”

Neal, grinning like a kid now, slipped his arm around Ginna’s waist and gave her a squeeze. “That’s great! Now you can really show me around.” He paused and looked at her closely. “Are you sure you’re all right now, Ginna?”

She hugged him back, while Dr. Greenwood looked on approvingly. “I’m just fine. Stop worrying about me. In fact, I think I’m completely back to normal. I’m starved! Is that fried chicken I smell cooking?”

“Yes. It’s our regular Sunday dinner special,” Leonard Kirkwood answered. “According to Elspeth, that’s been the traditional Sunday fare here since back in plantation days, when her great-grandmother, Polly, was the Swan family’s cook. Old Polly’s ‘secret recipe’ is still used in the kitchen to this day. As soon as I arrived and started making a few changes around here, Elspeth took me aside and told me in no uncertain terms that this particular menu was not to be tampered with. She said she had been eating fried chicken every Sunday for her whole life, and she wasn’t about to change now—cholesterol or no. She claimed that, at her age, her old joints needed a healthy dose of grease once a week to keep them working right. I added baked chicken to the menu for those who prefer to eat more cautiously.”

“Bless Elspeth’s heart!” Ginna exclaimed, ignoring the doctor’s pointed remark about the baked chicken. “Fried chicken is my favorite food in the whole world. How about you, Neal?”

He was still holding onto her, almost as if he was afraid to let go, for fear she might have another fainting spell. “Actually, I’m a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, but I’m not hard to please. A few years in the Army will teach you pretty quick to bite anything that doesn’t bite you first. Why, when I think of the months I lived on hardtack and ground corn for coffee …”

Neal’s words broke off when both Ginna and Kirkwood stared at him oddly. He couldn’t think why he had said such a thing. He had heard of hardtack, of course, but he had no idea what it was. And ground corn for coffee? The very idea of such a thing turned his stomach.

Before any questions could be asked, Neal took Ginna’s arm and headed down the hall. “We’ll see you later, Doc. Chow calls!”

When they were safely out of earshot, Ginna asked, “Neal? What made you say that? I thought the Army ate C rations.”

“Only in the field. Army chow was pretty good, actually. It sure was a lot better than I ever learned to cook for myself.”

Ginna stopped in an alcove and turned to face him. “You’re avoiding my question. What would
you
know about eating hardtack?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. I don’t even know what it is. I have no idea why I said that. Let’s just drop it, Ginna.”

“No, Neal! I don’t want to drop it. Something funny is going on, and I’d like to know what. Hardtack was a sort of cracker of pressed meal that soldiers ate during the Civil War.”

When Neal gently gripped her shoulders and stared down into her eyes, his face was solemn. “You’re right about that, Ginna. Something’s going on, and I’d like to know
what
as much as you would. Ever since I got to Swan’s Quarter, I’ve been having these strange dreams. Time seems to go all lopsided. I’m still here, but I’m not here, either. I’ll walk into my room sometimes and think
What happened to my library table?
or
Where’s the painting that used to hang on that wall?
Then I catch myself and realize that I never had any library table-whatever the hell that is—and the only things hanging on the walls are a couple of prints of birds.”

Ginna felt her arms prickle with goosebumps. This was exactly what had happened to her a short time ago in Dr. Kirkwood’s office. She had no way of knowing what that room had looked like or what it had been used for before Swan’s Quarter became a rest home. Yet every detail of that plantation desk—every mar and scratch on it—was etched in her mind.

“Does the name Channing McNeal mean anything to you?” she asked softly.

Neal frowned, thinking. She could tell he recognized it, but couldn’t quite place it.

“No,” he said finally. “Never heard of him.”

“How about Virginia Swan?” she persisted.

That light kindled in his eyes again—the lovelight Channing had always showered on the woman he adored.“Ah, Virginia!” Neal sighed and drew Ginna close. “I thought you were gone forever. Can you imagine what it feels like to find you after all these years? I’m alive again, and I won’t lose you this time, my love.”

Before Ginna could react to Neal’s inexplicable words-spoken in Channing’s warm Southern drawl—she felt his mouth cover hers. It was a kiss sweet with hunger—a familiar kiss, one she had known before, one she had waited for a long, long time.

When Neal drew away, he looked startled by his own actions. “I’m sorry, Ginna. I don’t know what made me do that.”

She touched his cheek, smiling, her eyes brimming with happy tears. “I’d like to think you did it because you wanted to, and because you knew I wanted to be kissed.”

“Who are those people you asked about—Channing and Virginia?”

Before Ginna could answer, Pansy Pennycock—gussied up in her Sunday best, all purple ruffles and lace—came swishing around the corner and all but ran into them. “So here you are! That dear Dr. Kirkwood just told us the good news, Ginna. We are simply thrilled beyond your wildest imagination.”

Ginna doubted that! It seemed her imagination was exceptionally wild these days.

Pansy grasped Neal and Ginna each by a hand and herded them toward the dining room. “They sent
me
to find you,” she said, importantly. “It’s Elspeth’s job to save our table—the big one by the windows that overlooks the greenhouse. Of course, it’s a table for six, so we were forced to invite Marcellus to join us. But he’ll behave himself, I promise. He’s been put quite in his place already, today. Sister and I beat the pants off him and Elspeth at bridge.” She giggled. “Oh, I wish you could have seen how red his face went when Sister trumped his ace! It was a sight to behold.”

Poor Marcellus!
Ginna thought.
He’s no match for the “terrible threesome!”
However, it would never do to say such a thing aloud. That would only encourage Pansy and the others to taunt the misfortunate man further. Instead, Ginna asked, “And what is Sister’s assignment?”

“Oh, she’s on an important mission in the kitchen. It’s a secret, but you’ll find out after dinner, dear.”

As they approached the dining room door, Pansy hurried ahead to announce their arrival. Neal leaned down and whispered to Ginna, “I’d hoped for an intimate table for two. Will it help if I tip the maitre d’hotel?”

“Not a chance!” She glanced at him, oddly. Once more, he had used Channing’s voice, Channing’s words.

“Yoo-hoo!” Pansy called, waving frantically from their table. “We’re over here. Do come sit! Hobson’s fixing to start serving any minute.”

Having been forced to endure Lynch as her bridge partner, Elspeth had chosen the seat farthest away from him at the dinner table. Two seats were vacant between them. Deciding to go with the boy-girl-boy-girl arrangement, Ginna sat next to Marcellus while Neal took his place between her and Elspeth. From the gleam of her gold front tooth, it was clear that Elspeth was pleased to have Neal beside her. In fact, dinner almost made up for her embarrassment at the bridge table earlier.

“Well, I swannee, it’s a treat to have you two here with us.” Elspeth spoke rather too loudly, wanting to make sure that everyone in the dining room heard and turned to gaze in envy. “It’s always such a pleasure to have company for Sunday dinner.”

“I understand we’re going to have a treat today, Elspeth: a recipe handed down from your great-grandmother.”

The old woman flashed her gold tooth at Ginna, beaming with pride. “Folks say my great-gran was the best cook in four counties, back before the war. As such, she was the most valuable servant on the place here at Swan’s Quarter.”

Marcellus Lynch, annoyed at being ignored and still smarting from his shame at the bridge table, gave a disgusted snort. “Elspeth, when are you going to learn to call a spade a spade? Your folks weren’t
servants
. They were
slaves!
Colonel Swan
owned
your people, same as he owned his mules for plowing and his cows for giving milk.”

Ginna felt a twinge of pain for Elspeth when her smile faded, and she ducked her chin to hide the tears gathering in her eyes. Ginna reached across Neal and touched the old woman’s arm. “It’s okay, Elspeth,” she whispered.

Sister was not so discreet in her reaction to Lynch’s affront. She glared across the table at the man, her face betraying her rage. “You ungrateful, carpetbagging Yankee!” she seethed. “You’ve got some nerve, putting down Elspeth’s people. Why don’t you tell us about your illustrious ancestors? What were they—rumrunners, moonshiners, or just a bunch of worthless sots like yourself?”

Lynch hurrumphed and glanced about nervously to see if anyone at the nearby tables had heard. If they had, they at least had the decency to ignore Sister’s remarks. Gaining comfort from this, he said loudly, “I’ll have you know, Sister Randolph, that I come from a long line of diplomats and statesmen. Why, a great uncle of mine even married into the royal house of Hanover.”

“Hanover, my hind foot!”
Pansy cried, in such a high-pitched squall that every head in the dining room turned.
“Tell me
about diplomats and statesmen! The only state your ancestors knew was the state of inebriation. You’d best stop trying to put on airs around here, Marcellus Lynch. We know all about you—where you come from, what you did there, and why your daughter brought you way down here to Swan’s Quarter from New Jersey.”

“New Jersey?”
The shocked whisper moved through the room like the wave at a baseball game.

“If there’s one thing I cannot stand and will not abide, it’s a Yankee trying to pass himself off as a Southerner,” Pansy shrilled. “That’s something no one can fake. It’s either passed down in your genes from your ancestors or it isn’t. And were you a true Southerner, Mr. Marcellus
Yankee
Lynch, you would have better manners than to speak to a lady the way you just spoke to Elspeth. And now, sir, we are all waiting for your apology. Even you Yankees know how to apologize, don’t you?”

Tension crackled not only at their table but all through the dining room. Lynch’s face had gone beet-red, then lost all its color. He looked ashen, ill. The minutes ticked by, silent and charged. Ginna shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

Finally, in a bare whisper, Lynch said, “I beg your pardon, Elspeth. Forgive me, please.”

He shifted his gaze her way, pleading silently. The old woman refused to look at him. She sat motionless and silent, slumped in her chair.

“I really am sorry, Elspeth. I’ll leave right now, if you want me to.” He pushed back his chair as if he meant to get up from the table. “I know how you were all looking forward to this meal with our company. I didn’t mean to spoil it for everybody. But I guess I have. I just don’t fit in here, do I?” He paused and let out a heavy sigh. “I should never have come to Swan’s Quarter.”

“Then why did you?” Sister snapped, still unforgiving.

Lynch shook his head and stared down at the pink napkin in his lap. “I really don’t know. It was like I was drawn here. My daughter brought home a batch of brochures and said I should look through them and choose where I wanted to go. When I saw the name “Swan’s Quarter,” I knew this was the place. It seemed familiar somehow, as if I’d been here before.” Bravely, he looked up, staring right at Sister. “You’re right, of course. I’d never been out of New Jersey before I came here. I’m not at all what or who I’ve claimed to be. I should have known you’d find me out for a fraud and a liar. The only connection I ever had with any royalty was an old bum who lived in a packing crate behind a store on my mail route. He wore a tin foil crown he’d made and called himself King Ozzie. He claimed his family had once been guests of the crown heads of Europe—diplomats, statesmen, and bon vivants. He told me wonderful stories every time I came by. Since my life’s been so dull, I guess I thought you would like me better if I used those fantastic stories to make myself sound more interesting. Crazy old coots! King Ozzie
and
me!”

“What happened to him?” Elspeth asked gently, her first words since Lynch’s attack.