Authors: Annie Jones
“
Are you all right, Miss Fulton-Leigh?
”
Mavis Hornby, who last month would have addressed Dixie by her first name or by some generic endearment like
Sugar
, hovered nearby.
“
Is there something I can get for you?
”
Dixie thought of the coffee—black-as-crude-oil and almost as thick—that Mavis always kept warming on the crusty coffee- maker in the back of the showroom. She stopped herself from making a face and managed to just shake her head.
“
No, thank you. I really need to get back to work. That seems to be the only thing that helps me much, staying busy
”
“
I know what you mean. If it
’
s any comfort to you, I hope you know that everyone who worked for your father is deeply saddened by his passing.
”
Mavis
’
s voice cracked, she paused for a moment, visibly composing herself, then went on.
“
Everyone here at the outlet store, over at the manufacturing plant, even everyone out at the transportation and delivery station, they weren
’
t just workers to your daddy, they were like...they were real people that mattered to him.
”
Dixie noted how Mavis had stopped short of the obvious, saying their employees were like family to her father. She supposed she could think of it as a show of respect. More than likely, though, it was because no one really wanted to be counted as kin, even in sentiment, to the real family who shared the huge old mansion on South Dominion Avenue with her.
She set aside the oatmeal-colored throw pillow she
’
d been hugging, not quite able to meet Mavis
’
s gaze.
“
Thank you. It is nice to hear how much Daddy meant to people.
”
“
We...we
’
ll all miss him very much.
”
“
Yes, I know that his hands-on approach made this business very special to this town.
”
And made the pressure on her all the more intense. She stroked her hand down the woven pattern on the pillow, gave it a pat then finally looked up to the other woman.
“
You may have thought that because I spent most of my time on the road doing sales and marketing for the company, that I didn
’
t realize what a special bond Daddy had with everyone here. But I want you to know…
”
she reached out and gave Mavis
’
s hand a quick, heartfelt squeeze,
“
I do.
”
Mavis nodded. She tightened her grip for an instant then let her fingers slip from Dixie
’
s. It would have been a fine cue for the older woman to make her excuses and get out of there. Instead, she lingered, wringing her hands together as if there were something more she still needed to cull from this conversation.
Dixie uncrossed her legs. Maybe giving the appearance that she was about to get up and go might spur Mavis to say whatever it was she was holding in.
Apparently it worked.
“
Miss Fulton-Leigh?
”
“
Yes?
”
“
Are you sure...
”
She left it dangling there in a way that made Dixie
’
s bone- weary body tense. If there was one thing Dixie wasn
’
t right now, it was
sure
...of anything.
“
Are you sure there isn
’
t something I can get for you?
”
The words rushed out like a kid trying to run a weak fib past a parent.
“
No, thank you, Mavis. I
’
m fine. I just stopped to rest a minute and that gave me time to let my emotions get the better of me, I think.
”
“
Yes, I can understand how that could happen.
”
Mavis moved closer. She sniffled, turning to look out the window as if seized by a sudden fascination for the main street of the tiny town where nothing truly interesting had happened since the much ballyhooed bottle rocket incident that ruined the Fourth of July parade two years ago come summer.
“
Today I ran into your grandfather at the drugstore lunch counter. He gave me one of his business cards, like he does, you know?
”
Dixie nodded.
“
And durned if I didn
’
t tuck that card in my pocket to bring back to give to your father.
”
Mavis withdrew the crisp, rectangular card from her shirt pocket. She sniffled again, her eyes brimming with tears.
“
I was halfway up the stairs to his office before I remembered your daddy wouldn
’
t be there to take the thing, laugh, and file it in the box he keeps to give to your grandfather whenever the Judge says he needs a new batch of business cards.
”
Dixie smiled.
“
You
’
d have thought Grandpa would have caught onto that trick, wouldn
’
t you? Everyone giving those cards back to Daddy? He
’
s been recycling the same box for years now, I think.
”
“
Well, your grandfather never had cause to question it because he had a lot of faith in anything your daddy did. And no one ever told the Judge about the cards because there was no harm in it, far as I can see.
”
Mavis held the business card gingerly, probably being cautious not to smudge or bend it. Her voice held a certain air of caution, too, a quiet kind of testing- the-waters quality that put Dixie
’
s own emotions on alert as the woman continued.
“
You know, your father had a way of inspiring fierce loyalty and an almost unquestioning trust in everyone he dealt with. Everyone knew they could count on your father, for sure.
”
Dixie swallowed hard, trying to force down her apprehensions about the implications of Mavis
’
s remark—and what she suspected lay behind it.
“
A lot of people are wondering if things would still be the same, Miss Fulton-Leigh.
”
Mavis extended her hand with the card between two fingers.
“
With the Judge
’
s business cards, I mean.
”
That wasn
’
t what she meant at all. Dixie could tell from the woman
’
s wary expression. Her eyes said what not a one of her employees would tell Dixie to her face: they were just as scared as she was about this unforeseen, drastic change of command. Probably more so, because even if she ran this business into the ground, Dixie would still have a home, a means to keep dinner on the table, and a future.
Too many of the folks who took home a paycheck that now bore her signature could not say the same thing.
What would she tell those people if she failed? How would she ever make it up to them if she simply could not do what was required of her? Self-doubt gripped her. Who was she to think that she could do this at all?
The plea for reassurances shone in Mavis
’
s eyes.
Dixie
’
s mouth went dry. Who was she, that so many people would dare depend on her?
“
Who
are you?
”
Dixie could practically hear the voice of Miss Lettie, the woman who had raised three generations of her family including Dixie herself, ringing in her ears. The gruff but stalwart, long-retired maid with wisdom of nearly one hundred years of living on God
’
s earth would not abide this feeling sorry for one
’
s self. She
’
d shake her gnarled fist and admonish Dixie,
‘
You are a vessel of the Lord, an heir to the kingdom of glory, a princess...
”
Dixie tensed at the title. Another voice that she had been trying to keep out of her thoughts these last two weeks sprang from her memory:
“
Is that what you
’
re saying, Princess Prissypants
?
”
With vivid detail she recalled her run-in with that... that...that...stubborn yahoo. That belligerent, wild driver who thought being a strong woman who knew how to stand her ground meant she was putting on airs and acting high-handed. That...that
man
with the unruly waves of black hair that all but begged for a woman
’
s touch. She flexed her fingers. And the eyes that sparked with mischief even as they hinted at something much more dangerous.
She smoothed down her collar. The man who had made up his mind about Dixie without even knowing her and who had not been any too kind in doing it. She let her hand fall to her side. The creep.
Dixie blinked and realized Mavis was still standing there, waiting. She glanced down at the card held out before her, and noticed the slight tremble in the older woman
’
s hand.
Who was she that so many people would dare depend on her? Dixie straightened her shoulders. She was the last best hope for her town, her family, and her business. Her parents were both gone, her aunt and grandfather were worse than no help at all. She was the only one left to do what needed to be done.
She had the strength of her upbringing, the aid of her education, the drive to do the right thing, and the tenacity to see this through.
That
’
s
who she was. That
’
s who she had no other choice but to be.
And sitting here feeling sorry for herself was simply not an option. Dixie stood slowly. She smiled with genuine affection and gratitude as she reached out to accept the white card with the neatly embossed black lettering.
“
You tell everyone who
’
s wondering that I will do everything within my power to see that things stay the same, Mavis. Starting with recycling Grandpa
’
s business cards.
”
“
Thank you, Miss Fulton-Leigh.
”
Mavis reached out and caught Dixie up in a brief, impromptu hug, which Dixie happily returned.
A shrill beep signaled that someone had just come in the showroom door.
Mavis pulled away.
“
I
’
d better see to that.
”
“
Sure. I
’
ve got to get on upstairs to the office myself. I have a meeting with Daddy
’
s attorney—
my
attorney—this afternoon. I
’
d like to see what I can get sorted out on my own before he gets here. Don
’
t worry, Mavis, everything will work out just fine.
”
Dixie gave a little salute with the business card. Chin up, she headed for Daddy
’
s office and her first real taste of those trials she would have to face and overcome in order to keep her promise.
* * *
Riley sat with his elbow sticking out the open window of one of the newer company trucks. He and Red Braden, the man who would take over most of the running of the mill now that Riley had sold it, had made a long day of it, and a good hour after quitting time they still weren
’
t back at the office. When his cell rang and Riley saw who it was, he pulled over to the side of the dirt road to take the call from Mr. Fulton-Leigh
’
s attorney.
“
Yes, hello. Thank you for returning my calls.
”
Finally
. Riley knew enough proper business etiquette not to say it out loud. He had pushed open the truck door and turned sideways, to give himself both light and leg room.
“
I was a little concerned, Mr. Greenhow. You see, Mr. Fulton-Leigh and I last spoke the day after our first negotiations. We
’
d made a verbal agreement to go ahead with the deal, and he promised that papers reflecting the minor changes I specified were to be drawn up. It
’
s been ten days now and—
”
The attorney, Howard Greenhow, jumped in, speaking in harsh, clipped words as he spilled out a blunt, unemotional explanation that ended with a curt
“
good-bye
”
and the unequivocal
click
of an abrupt hang-up.
“
Yeah, well, good-bye to you, too.
”
Riley swung his legs back inside the cab and slumped in the seat, leaving the door open despite the late February evening
’
s chill.