These Sheltering Walls: A Cane River Romance Read Online Free Page B

the most beautiful antebellum plantation homes. Visitors
who came expecting long rows of white pillars and a third floor ballroom would
be sorely disappointed. But for those people who treasured Cane River’s rich
Creole history of free slave industries and farming, Oakland was a jewel in the
crown of the historic park. Meticulously preserved and staffed year round,
Henry had set her sights on working at the small plantation before she’d even
finished her undergraduate degree.
                She
could hear hammering from the small row house to the north. With a full time
staff of five, and a part time construction crew of another ten, she had plenty
of workers. Her previous jobs had been relatively solitary except for an
assistant or two and she’d been worried about being seen as too young or
inexperienced. But, aside from a few small bumps, the staff had made her feel
nothing but welcome. She was intensely grateful for that.
                The
screen door squealed as she swung it open and she made a mental note to check
the hinges. They wanted to preserve everything, including the original
hardware, but one good windstorm and the door might blow clean off, never to be
found again.
                As
she walked into the main foyer, the first thing she noticed was the smell of
stale wood smoke. The next was the body of the main house caretaker near the
wood stove, awkwardly placed on the wide plank oak floor. Her heart seized in
her chest.
                “Miss
Byrne, you back already?” Clark Thompson sat up slowly from his position near
the old woodstove. He grimaced a little and rubbed his back. “They must not
a-had what you needed.”
                She
took a moment to calm herself before answering. The eighty year old handy man
had spent his whole life working on the grounds of the historic park and he
would die here, one day. But not today.
                “Mr.
Thompson, I’m happy to report that they’ll help us in any way they can.”
                “And
how did you find Gideon Becket?” He put a hand on a nearby chair and heaved
himself to his feet. “He seems standoffish, but he’s a good man.”
                Henry
paused. She wasn’t sure how many people knew about Gideon’s stint in prison.
                “Oh,
I can tell what you’re thinkin’. I know about what he done.” He pulled out a
blue hankie and wiped the sweat from his face. “But I believe a person can
change. I believe in grace.”
                Truth.
                Henry
felt a twinge of shame. She couldn’t deny that knowing about his past had
changed her view of him. “Of course. I’m sure he’s a very nice person and I’ll
see him around. We’ll be working together,” she said, more to herself that to
Clark.
                “I
wouldn’t bet on seeing a whole lotta him.”
                “Why
not?”
                He
squinted at the ceiling for a moment. “When I was just a little guy, there was
an old lady name of Miss Aggy, living along the river, way back under the trees
in a little shack. She’d been there years and years. One day, the ladies in the
church decided she shouldn’t be livin’ down there all by herself so’s they came
and dragged her into town. They bathed her and dressed her up real nice.
Everybody was right pleased with themselves,” he said. “And you know what
happened?”
                Henry
shook her head.
                “The
next day, she slipped away from all of ‘em and went right back to her place in
the trees, back to that dark little hut. My mama said that some people like
Miss Aggy spent too much time in the quiet of the woods to be comfortable
living on a sunny porch in the middle of town.”
                “You’re
talking about his time in jail? You think he doesn’t like being around a lot