Foxfire Light (8 page)

All the way to town her mind kept wandering back to the conversation. It was certainly something she would have to remember to tell her uncle. She knew he'd find it amusing, and interesting.

With the unscheduled stop at Jessie Bates's cabin and the traffic on the highway, it was nearly eleven by the time she reached town. She found a place to park on the main street. There were several nice dress shops within the block and Joanna entered the closest one first to look over their selection.

Despite her growing hunger, she shopped through the lunch hour while the stores were less crowded. At half-past one, she went in search of a restaurant. Two of the small cafes in town were filled with people waiting to be seated. At the third one, there was no one waiting in Line although all the tables and booths were filled.

Since she wasn't sure if she'd have better luck elsewhere, Joanna decided to wait until there was a place. As she shifted the packages under her arm, her glance absently swept the room.

A woman was seated alone at a table for four. It was Rachel Parmelee. As Joanna recognized
her, the woman happened to look up straight at Joanna. Joanna smiled in acknowledgment but the widow looked right through her.

Although it was possible Rachel Parmelee was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to notice Joanna or else she honestly didn't recognize her, it was also possible she was deliberately ignoring her. Remembering how cool and unfriendly the widow had become toward her uncle prompted Joanna to force the issue. She walked to the table for four where the woman was seated.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Parmelee.” There was a slight challenge in her smile as she stopped beside one of the empty chairs at the table.

The woman looked up, a little too blank. “Good afternoon.” Again there was a surface pleasantness that didn't truly welcome.

“I'm Joanna Morgan. We met yesterday in your shop,” she reminded the woman of their previous introduction.

“Yes, of course. How are you, Miss Morgan?” The polite inquiry was just that and nothing more.

“Fine, thank you.” The less welcome she was made to feel, the more determined Joanna became to stay. “The rest of the tables are full. Would you mind if I sat with you?”

Without waiting for an invitation, Joanna deposited her packages on the empty seat of a chair and sat down in the one opposite the widow. Not even Rachel Parmelee could be so rude as to refuse the request and Joanna knew it.

“Please do,” the woman murmured after the fact.

The waitress stopped at their table with a glass of water and a menu for Joanna and a diet plate consisting of tomato slices, cottage cheese, and a hamburger patty for Rachel Parmelee. The waitress left, promising to be back to take Joanna's order. She opened the menu and pretended to study the bill of fare.

“Do you eat here regularly, Mrs. Parmelee?” Joanna inquired as she continued to peruse the menu.

“Yes.”

“I suppose it takes too much time to run home every day and fix lunch for yourself when you have a business to run,” she suggested.

“Yes.”

“Myself, I never eat breakfast in the morning so by noontime, I'm starving,” Joanna chattered away, deliberately keeping the conversation going in opposition to the woman's one-word answers. “Everything on the menu looks good. What would you recommend?”

“All restaurant food has begun to taste alike for me.” Rachel Parmelee disqualified herself as the person to ask. “The restaurant has a good reputation in the area so I'm sure anything you choose would be satisfactory.”

“That's good to know.” Joanna contained a smug smile at the longer reply she had forced from the widow. The waitress returned to the table to take her order, diverting Joanna's attention for the moment. “I'll have the beef and
noodles, and a glass of iced tea, please.” When the waitress left, Joanna let a rueful smile touch her mouth. “I'll probably regret eating so much later on when I start trying on clothes again.”

“Really?” Rachel murmured, displaying little interest.

“Yes. It's been a long time since I've been on a shopping spree. I'm really enjoying it,” she explained. “Reece decided he'd rather stay at the cabin than follow me around while I shop.”

“I'm sure.”

Joanna couldn't help noticing the way the widow seemed to freeze up when she mentioned Reece's name. “The stores here seem to carry a quality brand of clothes. Now I know why you always look so well dressed. Where do you shop locally?” Joanna knew few members of her own sex who were not willing to talk about clothes.

“Several places. I don't patronize any one store. As a rule, I make my own,” Rachel stated, removing herself from any discussion about the relative merits of one shop over another.

“As busy as you are, I'm surprised you find the time to sew,” Joanna murmured dryly.

“After a long day, it helps me to relax although the bulk of my sewing I do in the winter when business is slower,” she admitted.

Joanna ran an appraising eye over the smartly tailored suit of cool mint seersucker. “That's an attractive outfit you're wearing. Did you make it?”

“Yes.”

“With a business to run, I don't imagine you have a chance to go out much—socially.” She surmised the reason Rachel had turned down Reece's invitations.

“No. It keeps me very busy.” Again there was a stiffness in the reply. “I don't mind it a bit. I prefer to be independent rather than to rely on someone else to support me.”

Joanna had the vague impression there was some kind of a dig in the last statement. “I must admit I agree with your philosophy.”

This time Rachel didn't make any comment at all to Joanna's remark. Again she sensed that it was the mention of Reece. But why? If only she could get the woman to open up, maybe she would learn something. With an inner sigh. Joanna returned to the only safe topic she knew—the woman's pride in her business.

“From what I saw the other day, your shop seems to be very successful. That can't happen without a good deal of time and effort.”

“It has taken several years to establish a reputation and acquire a clientele that keeps coming back,” Rachel agreed that it had required an effort.

“How long have you had the store?” she asked. “I know it's been more than six years, because Reece bought me a Kewpie doll. At the time, I wasn't overly enthused about it. I was trying so hard to be accepted as an adult and here was my uncle bringing me a child's gift—or so I thought at the time.”

“He is your uncle?” The question appeared to be startled from Rachel, a wary and surprised look in her eyes.

“Of course, he's my uncle,” Joanna laughed with some surprise at the question and noticed the sudden flush that colored the woman's cheeks. “Who did you think he was?”

“I'm sorry. Of course I knew he was your uncle.” Rachel insisted forcefully and did an excellent job of recovering her poise.

It was beginning to register what the widow had thought. “You didn't believe I was his niece, did you?” she accused thoughtfully. “You had convinced yourself I was his lover masquerading as his niece for the sake of propriety.”

“Is it so illogical?” Rachel no longer attempted to deny it. “Your uncle is an extraordinarily charming man, wealthy—sophisticated. It isn't that unlikely he would have a young mistress, is it?”

“It isn't unlikely,” Joanna admitted. “But it doesn't happen to be true either. And I doubt very much if Reece would try to hide the fact. If he cared enough about a woman to have an affair with her, he certainly wouldn't treat her with the disrespect of a false claim that they were related. He simply isn't made that way.”

“I don't know your uncle all that well,” Rachel asserted in defense of her wrong conclusion.

“From what I can gather, it's your fault that the two of you haven't become better acquainted,” Joanna murmured.

She lowered her gaze, losing her air of self-containment. Joanna was startled to see how unsure the widow seemed, almost vulnerable. But her voice was steady when she replied to Joanna's subtle jibe.

“Considering the circumstances, there has hardly been time to become acquainted with your uncle. Running my business requires most of my hours and the summer is my busiest season. I barely have time for close friends and your uncle is only here one month of the year. That is hardly the basis for a stable relationship, even discounting the fact that we have nothing in common.”

“Nothing in common,” Joanna repeated, a little puzzled. “It would seem to me that you have several things in common, not the least among them would be that you both own and manage your own company.”

“Please, Miss Morgan,” the widow protested in a scathing tone. “Let's not pretend that my little store in any way compares to the large organization Reece runs. He lives in a sophisticated world of high finance and I'm just a little shopkeeper. We hardly travel in the same circles.”

“I don't think we're talking about the same person,” Joanna said with a vaguely amused look. “The man you are describing would be vacationing in the South of France, not the Ozark Mountains of Missouri.”

Rachel Parmelee was plainly at a loss to argue
that point although her mouth opened on several attempts. “Perhaps,” she said finally and appeared discomfitted by the admission.

Letting instinct guide her, Joanna asked a question that seemed to be off the subject, but the inner workings of her mind were already plotting a use for the answer. “You surely don't work seven days a week at the store, do you? I should think it would be impossible to keep up a pace like that.”

It took a second for the widow to adjust to the apparent change of subject. “No. Since the weekends are generally our busiest time, I take off on Friday to rest up for them.”

“You mentioned that you'd lost your taste for restaurant food. Why don't you have dinner with us Friday night and enjoy a home-cooked meal for a change?” The invitation bordered on a challenge. Rachel's initial reaction was what Joanna had expected—refusal.

“No.” She seemed to struggle to find an acceptable excuse. “I'll be too busy. It's the only time I have to wash clothes and clean. I—”

“This way you won't have to worry about fixing a meal,” Joanna reasoned.

Rachel abandoned her pretence. “I know what you're trying to do and it just won't work,” she insisted. “After five minutes with your uncle, I run out of things to say.”

The remark confirmed Joanna's suspicions that the widow's coolness was an attempt to conceal she felt awkward and self-conscious with Reece. “So?” She made light of it. “If that
happens, you can talk to me instead. Will you come?” She watched the hesitation and indecision in the woman's face. “You have nothing to lose—and, maybe, everything to gain,” she prodded softly.

A very human expression took over Rachel's features as she yielded to the temptation. “All right, I'll come,” she agreed and smiled a little foolishly. “I'm probably making a big mistake.”

Satisfaction swelled inside Joanna until she thought she would burst, but she managed to contain most of it. “Look on the bright side,” she reasoned. “You can always blame me and say I told you so.”

The waitress came to the table with Joanna's order. She glanced at the widow. “Was there anything else you wanted, Rachel?”

The query seemed to prompt Rachel Parmelee to glance at her watch. “No.” She was surprised at the time that had passed. “I have to get back to the store. It's much later than I realized.”

“Do you know where we're staying?” Joanna asked as the woman gathered up her purse and her luncheon check.

“Yes, I do.” She still didn't look positive that she had been right in accepting the invitation.

“Dinner will be ready at seven on Friday. You can come at six or six-thirty—any time you like,” Joanna said. “We'll be expecting you.”

“Friday at seven.” There was a responding nod.

As Rachel walked to the cashier, Joanna couldn't help feeling very pleased with herself.
The sheer fact that Rachel had accepted the invitation indicated that she was attracted to Reece. Joanna really hadn't needed to twist her arm that much. She could hardly wait to see Reece's face when she told him Rachel was coming to dinner.

I
t was late afternoon by the time Joanna had finished her shopping and returned to the cabin by the lake. Her uncle wasn't on hand to greet her. A note on the table reminded her that he had gone fishing. In her excitement to relay the day's momentous events to him, it had slipped her mind that he'd mentioned his fishing plans when she'd left in the morning.

It was a letdown to have to wait to tell him about what had happened. She carried her packages up the stairs to the loft bedroom where she removed the price tags from the garments she'd purchased.

The windows were opened to admit any breeze but there wasn't a breath of air stirring. All the
afternoon heat seemed to have gathered in the second floor of the cabin, stifling in its staleness and humidity. Perspiration trickled down her neck as she hung the new clothes in the closet.

By the time she was through, she was hot and sticky. She was considering a shower when she glanced out the bedroom window and saw the beckoning waters of the lake. Splashing around in it sounded infinitely more refreshing than a cool shower. In five minutes, Joanna had changed into her turquoise green swimsuit and grabbed a terrycloth beach jacket and towel.

She didn't bother with sandals, which she regretted seconds after stepping off the back porch onto the gravel-based earth. Unable to face the thought of climbing those stairs back to the stifling heat of the second floor for the sandals, Joanna minced her way across the stony ground barefoot to the lake shore.