Lost Man's River (45 page)

“It made me sad, of course, that I never saw Rob either, because I loved him, too. But the little brother I adored, who lived right here in southwest Florida and never bothered to inquire how we might be getting on even when he was right here in the city!”

Though Carrie wept in her pent-up emotions, she was less sorry for herself than overjoyed to see him. “I know, dear, I
know
! I do! You had all you could handle, maybe more! I never forgot that, and I never stopped loving you all these years—”

He was close to tears himself. “I don't forgive myself, Carrie. I—”

How sad, he thought later, that just as they drew near, a visitor should come tapping on the screen, a small man in a dark suit with sallow skin and dark pouches under his eyes. Seeing Carrie, he entered, then stopped short at the sight of Lucius. Carrie introduced them, adding, “Mr. Henderson is my kind neighbor, my gentleman caller. Stops by every day to ask if I am dead, and if I am not, offers to run an errand.”

Lucius smiled and she smiled back, but she was not quite ready to be mollified. She did not send Mr. Henderson on his way, as Lucius hoped she would, and the man perched himself like a chaperone on a side chair, folding cold hands together. Carrie paid him no further attention, as if he had been leaned into the corner, but her tone with her brother had turned cool. “Faith and Betsy are your other pretty nieces,” she reminded him, directing Lucius's attention to piano pictures of her daughters and grandchildren.

In a photo of Walter and Carrie taken in New York City about 1917, Carrie made a handsome subject, proud-bosomed in a white dress, and Banker Langford in a houndstooth tweed appeared portly and prosperous. His hairline, slicked back hard for the big city, had receded, but his lifelong amiability seemed undiminished. If he no longer resembled the lean-faced young cow hunter of Ruth Ellen's photos, neither did he look the least bit like a man whose liver was to fail him three years later.

“You were off in the World War when that was taken. Walter had to meet people from New York City, he had to go there now and then, and the president of our First National Bank couldn't very well behave like a cracker cowboy! In New York City, he hired a governess to teach his children manners, teach his wife how to conduct a formal dinner—all of the things our family had to know in order to do well in the banking business. And we studied hard right beside our children, read the same books of etiquette, learned how to dress.”

“Oh I'm sure there was no need of
that
!” Mr. Henderson exclaimed, and Carrie laughed, delighted by his consternation. She cried, “Oh yes, Mr. Henderson, yes indeed there was! Folks couldn't believe what that cowboy and that Oklahoma tomboy had turned into! We could go anywhere and feel that we belonged! But Walter never became snobbish, he always remained a kind and generous man. We had our beautiful old colonial house on First Street, then the brick house near the bridge, remember? Did you ever see it?”

“Carrie? I came to Walter's funeral! I arrived late—”

“Forgive me. Of course you did.” Carrie Langford nodded. “But that was very long ago, and I don't really know you anymore.” Unable to hide the tremor in her voice, she would not look at him. Then she relented, and her eyes misted. “Lucius, I needed you back then. I got almost no help from Walter's partners, and could not accept charity from others, even my own brothers. Had they offered it. Which they did not. For different reasons. You, at least, were always generous when you had anything, I will say that.” Again, she raised her hand to ward off explanations or regrets. “I made my own way and did my best to be gallant in misfortune, as poor Papa had to do so often! I was never a good businesswoman, but even fools do famously in real estate. I saw to it that my daughters married well, and we came out all right in the end. Betsy was always after me for money, and she always got it.”

Her gentleman caller shot a warning glance, which she ignored. He cleared his throat as smoothly as an undertaker. “Carrie Langford is one of the most gracious hostesses in all of Florida,” he intoned. “Before Mr. Langford's untimely demise, she entertained Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Alva Edison in her gracious home, and also their friend Mr. Henry Ford, and many other prominent Americans.”

“My goodness, Mr. Henderson, you sound like a brochure!” Bemused, she contemplated this circumspect little man before turning her attention back to Lucius.

“Two years ago I wasn't well, and I thought, Darn it all, I want to see Lucius before I die, so I told Eddie to go hunt you up. He learned you were living scarcely thirty miles away, on some old houseboat! I wanted you to come for Christmas, a real visit, but Eddie said you were drinking too much, that all you wanted was to rot on your old boat, live like a hobo.” She paused, searching his eyes. “Said you seemed to think your family was ashamed of you, and that it might be best if you stayed away.”

Lucius had never said such things to Eddie, whom he had scarcely seen before today, but he'd said them to others, it was true—he had said as much this very day. When he did not defend himself, she said, “Well, those words broke your sister's heart. Were they supposed to?”

Mr. Henderson hitched forward in his chair in case Mrs. Langford needed
his assistance. However, he flinched when Lucius looked at him. Lucius stood up.

“Perhaps I should come back later, Carrie.”

“Now, now,” she teased him. “Mr. Henderson is like one of the family, which cannot be said for
you
!” More kindly, she added, “Did I ever show you what my Faith wrote about her grandpa in her school paper?” Carrie located the paper in a desk, read it aloud:

“ ‘I remember my grandpa with his big chest and broad shoulders and bright blue eyes and ginger brows and beard a wiry dark red, with silver in it, and his skin deep sunburned, a deep reddish brown, and always a nice warm smell of fine tobacco. He was so jolly and kind around us children—we just loved him!' ” Reading this, Carrie smiled at her brother fondly. “ ‘He would come to our house and perch me and Betsy on each knee and tell us stories about the big old owls that lived on Chatham Bend. And as he told about the owls, he would pop his eyes open, like this!' ”

Imitating her child, Carrie popped her eyes at Lucius, then gave that clear peal of delight which brought back their warm childhood days in a great rush.

With both parents dead and Rob and Lucius vanished from her life, the loss of her husband and her two girls married, all Carrie had left in the way of family was her brother Eddie. So it was fortunate, she said with a small smile, that Eddie so adored her. Lucius said with the same smile that he'd always supposed that their esteem was mutual. Carrie cocked her head. “Let's just say,” Carrie said gently, “that dear Eddie felt a little more kindred to his sister's spirit than she felt to his.”

As her gentleman caller peered at them, they nodded at each other. They were starting to have fun.

“Eddie can be very courtly, as you know. He has a sort of old-fashioned charm, at least he used to. And in the old days, he would laugh a good deal more, although his eyes would never, never smile. And that was because the poor old thing has never relaxed in all his life, he is always out to gain something or prove something.

“You were always the opposite—quiet, rather melancholy. But when you smiled, your whole face lit up, and your eyes, too.” The memory of his smile made her smile herself, and he was smiling with her. “See?” she said, pointing at his eyes. “As a young man, you were very handsome, Lucius. You still are. All the Watsons were handsome—beautiful or handsome. But like all the rest, you drank too much.” She took a deep hard breath, and her face darkened. “The Watsons were all handsome, and they all drank too much, myself included,” Carrie told Mr. Henderson rather too harshly, “and I married another handsome drunk while I was at it.”

Beside her on a bare table lay a simple leather book with a single bookmark. “I've waited for thirty years to show you this.” She opened the journal to the bookmarked page and handed it across to him.

Lucius set the journal down. Carrie retrieved it, holding it upright like a hymnal on her lap. “If only you'd come back from those dreadful islands and married poor dear Lucy!” She smiled, encouraging a confidence. Unable to think of one, he rose to go.

His sister accompanied him to the door, waving back Mr. Henderson, who was so accomplished in the social niceties that he could frown at Lucius without meeting his eye. “Please don't stay away forever, darling. Please come back,” she whispered. “
Please
, Lucius dear.” They took each other's hands. “I will,” he said simply, and she knew he meant it, for she went up on tiptoes like a girl and kissed him on the cheek. At last they hugged each other. “I'm counting on you, Lucius!” Carrie whispered. “Don't forsake me.” He waved from the rose gate.

The old Fort Myers cemetery lay within walking distance, in a faded neighborhood off the river road which ran east to La Belle and Lake Okeechobee. In banyan shade by the cemetery gate, under dark branches which extended out over the street, a small figure in Easter hat and white lace collar sat in her old auto looking straight ahead. He trod heavily so as not to startle her as he came along the sidewalk from behind, and Lucy Summerlin did not look around or even stiffen—he admired that. Even in a run-down neighborhood, her stillness said, a Southern lady waiting outside a cemetery was inviolate, and no self-respecting thug or hooligan would dare to interfere with her in the smallest way.

“Goodness gracious, Lucius Watson, is that really you?” Her voice on the telephone had faltered a moment, then returned briskly. “Have you paid your respects out at the cemetery? Well, meet me there! I'll be the rickety old contraption by the gate. Me, not the automobile—oh, don't be silly! It's high time I got out there anyway, saw to the flowers!”