Authors: Deborah Smith
“I like you anyway,” she told the tree. “You’re mine, and I like you.”
The sound of cars pulling up her graveled driveway made her get to her feet anxiously and go to the front door. Dinah switched on the porch light and gazed out at a half-dozen assorted vans, pickup trucks, and cars that were vying for parking space alongside her station wagon. “What in the world?” she said aloud. It’s a lynch mob, she thought sarcastically.
But familiar people, including students, fellow teachers, Walter, Dewey—wearing street clothes instead of his uniform—and Lula Belle, climbed out of the vehicles. They bore bags and cardboard boxes, and they started singing “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” as they made their way up the porch steps. Blinking in shock, Dinah opened the frame door and watched them through the screen of the outer door. They came to a stop on the porch and sang to her loudly, off key, and with great cheer.
“How do,” Walter said when they finished. “We came to have a party. Saturday night is a fine time for a Christmas party, don’t you reckon, Mayor?”
“I reckon,” she answered blankly.
“Then open your screen door and step aside.”
She did as he directed and they marched past her, smiling and nodding their individual helios. Within minutes they’d converted her kitchen table into a party center, complete with punch bowl and an array of food. Lula Belle went to the baby grand in the living room and began pounding out “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.”
Dinah took a cup of punch from Dewey and sat down weakly on the hearth. When Lula Belle finished playing, Walter called for a toast. “To our fine mayor,” he said solemnly, “who doesn’t know how much we need her.”
Dinah ducked her head and fought back tears. “Thank you. Thank you all. The past week has been … fantastic.” She’d gotten supportive cards and letters from nearly everyone in town. Her students had deluged her with small presents, mostly food and handmade Christmas ornaments. She’d hung the ornaments proudly among her mother’s finery on the bedraggled little tree.
“I have a poem for you, Miss Sheridan.” Dinah raised her eyes to find Dewey’s eight-year-old daughter, Lucille, gazing at her with nervous brown eyes.
“A poem for me?” Dinah gave her a wide, encouraging smile. “Let me hear it!”
Lucille held up a piece of notebook paper and began to read: “She works hard and never stops, looking out for our homes and shops, teaching history in our school, living by the golden rule, smiling out at everyone, with pretty eyes all full of fun. We wish she’d stay and never go, and all because we love her so.”
“The rhyme’s a little funky,” Dewey noted, “but the spirit’s right.”
Dinah wrapped Lucille in a hug that made the startled little girl squeak with surprise. “It’s beautiful,” Dinah told her fervently. “The best.” Lucille was grinning when Dinah let go of her. Her grin slowly faded.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, studying Dinah’s face. “I made you cry!”
Dinah hurriedly brushed the tears off her cheeks. “I’m crying because I’m happy! I’m so happy that you all feel the way you do.… You’re magnificent She got up and headed toward the hallway. “I’m so … happy …”
“So happy that she’s got to go powder her nose!” Lula Belle interjected tactfully. “Go on, Dinah. Well crank out some more Christmas songs on the piano until you come back.”
“Thank you. This is really wonderful.” Dinah hurried to her bedroom and shut the door. “Happy,” she whispered hoarsely, leaning against it, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, Rucker, you were right about them. Oh, Rucker, I miss you.”
• • •
The next day, Sunday, she called his house repeatedly but got no answer. More people dropped by, just out doing their pre-Christmas visiting, they said as they politely admired her ugly tree and plied her with gifts. By the end of the day she had six fruitcakes, four dozen Christmas cookies, two bottles of liquor, and a stack of coupons good at local businesses courtesy of Wally Oscar and the Chamber of Commerce. This is a conspiracy, Dinah thought. And I’ve never felt so honored in my life.
But then evening came, the visitors left, and depression settled in again. Dinah called Rucker’s house one more time, got no answer, and wearily went into the living room to grade papers. A clock ticked loudly from its place on the bookshelves. The fire popped and sizzled. Stillness and silence enveloped her as she sat cross-legged on the couch, her briefcase on her knees. Dinah read one essay, stared into the fire for a long time, read another essay, stared into the fire for another long period, then finally set the briefcase on the floor and stared into the fire full-time.
She heard a car pull into the driveway. More fruitcakes, she thought, but was glad for the diversion. Dinah went to the bathroom to check her hair and makeup. When she came back the visitor was rapping firmly on her door. The visitor was Rucker.
Her heart rate uneven, Dinah opened the door and gazed at him with an expression that she knew held desperate happiness. He looked magnificent in a leather jacket, jeans, and a bulky red sweater, but he would have been a welcome sight even in the grubbiest of his grubby old clothes. He was the dearest sight she’d ever seen, no matter what. And he looked back at her with a greedy attention to detail that exceeded her own.
“I brought you the best Christmas present I could find,” he finally said. “She’s out in the car.”
Dinah raised one hand in a questioning gesture as he turned and walked out to the Cadillac. Bewildered, she squinted into the edge of the porch light as he opened the passenger door and helped a gray-haired woman
out. She wore a full-length fur coat and she carried herself with a dignity that spoke of wealth and prestige. Her eyes flew to Dinah immediately then away just as quickly, as if she were very nervous.
Rucker held the woman’s arm as they walked into the house. She offered a tentative smile as Dinah took the fur and Rucker’s jacket. When she returned from placing them on her bed, the visitor was seated on the couch and Rucker had settled on the hearth. Dinah sat down on the couch and glanced from him to his guest. She was petite and beautifully dressed in a tailored gray suit. A thick strand of pearls adorned her burgundy blouse, and her hands bore diamond rings that caught the firelight. She crossed one fine-boned hand over the other and shifted uncomfortably.
Rucker cleared his throat. “Dee, I want you to meet Mrs. Franklin. Mrs. Franklin, this is Dee—Dinah Sheridan.” Dinah held out a hand. Mrs. Franklin shook it, her eyes rising to Dinah’s in anxious acceptance.
Then she said in a shaky voice, “We met once before, years ago, at a party my brother gave at his home in Atlanta.”
“Your brother,” Dinah echoed blankly, searching for a memory.
“Donald Beaumont,” Mrs. Franklin supplied.
Dinah slowly sat forward on the couch, her pulse skipping. “Of course. My father’s senior vice president. Uncle Beau.”
Mrs. Franklin nodded, and her lower lip trembled. She looked down at her hands, her throat working spasmodically. “Go on,” Rucker told her gently. “Tell her.”
“My brother,” she said after a moment, “was the man who embezzled the money.”
Dinah was dimly aware of the room closing in on her. She put a hand over her parted lips and shut her eyes, feeling as if she might sway dizzily. “You okay, Dee?” Rucker’s concerned voice brought her back to control.
She nodded vaguely and looked at Mrs. Franklin. “Is this a joke?” Dinah whispered.
“N-no, oh, no.”
“Rucker, is this a joke?”
“No, Dee. Sssh. Listen to Mrs. Franklin.”
“Don … had some alcohol problems. He was a good man, at heart … had been a very good man. But he had these problems, you see.…” Mrs. Franklin began to cry softly. “Did you know that he drank too much?”
Dinah frowned, trying to think and having difficulty. “Yes. He and my father were friends for years. They served in the Army together. They went to college together. I grew up calling him Uncle Beau. When he died a few years ago, I went to his funeral. But I didn’t know he was … an alcoholic.”
“He was. There were drugs too. But your father stood by him. You have to understand that your father wanted to save him from the awful mistake he’d made.”
“My father was trying to undo the embezzlement?
Uncle Beau
took the money? Are you certain?”
Mrs. Franklin nodded, still crying. “Your father arranged an early retirement for him. Then he tried to clean up the mess Don had made. Don came out to California to live with my family. He was in a very bad way.… We hospitalized him for months.”
“
He
took the money?” Dinah knew she sounded foolish by repeating the question, but the enormity of Mrs. Franklin’s words kept them from registering. She looked to Rucker for help. “How did you decide to talk to …” She pointed lamely to Mrs. Franklin.
“I’ve been huntin’ for answers,” he told her. “Ever since New York. I … uh … needed something positive to do. So I dusted off my old reporting skills and started nosin’ around. Mrs. Franklin was just one of my leads. The right one, as it turned out. She was ready to help.”
“Ready to confess!” Mrs. Franklin interjected tearfully. She sat forward on the couch, her hands bunched in her lap. She gazed at Dinah with wretched apology. “After your father died in that horrible plane crash, I thought … it’s finished. No one can be hurt now. I
never knew that you were implicated in the investigation. I never knew about your trial … or I would have come forward to help you. I swear I would! But I … I thought that the issue was closed and that, by remaining silent, I could make certain that my brother lived out his last years quietly, without scandal.”
She shook her head at Dinah. “But I knew how wrong I had been when I heard about you in the news recently. And that awful story on
USA Personal
. I realized that I’d made an unforgivable mistake by not revealing my brother’s crime. I didn’t kn-know what to do.”
“But when I called her, she came through like a champ,” Rucker said. Dinah realized suddenly that he’d relied on all his easygoing charm to coax this terrified creature into the open.
She felt Mrs. Franklin’s tear-stained eyes on her, and met them. The frail hand reached out to her. “I’m so sorry that you’re suffering again on Don’s behalf! I’ll make it right! I’ll tell everything to the authorities! To the bank …”
“What about the rest of the money?” Dinah asked, her voice raspy. She didn’t know what she felt at this moment. Happiness? The story hadn’t had time to produce happiness yet. Anger? Yes. “My father died!” she said tersely. “He was innocent, and he died from a careless flying error caused by being distracted and worried! And it was all because of your damned brother!” Mrs. Franklin bent double and sobbed into her skirt. Rucker rose quickly but looked uncertain as to which of them needed soothing the worst. “Where’s the rest of the money!” Dinah demanded.
“In … in an account in Switzerl-land!” Mrs. Franklin cried. “Your father was trying to move all the embezzled f-funds back w-where they b-belonged. He h-had a plan! But when he died I d-didn’t know how to return the part I knew about! So I j-just left it there!”
“And how did embezzled money end up in my savings account?”
“Don put it there! He was so … irresponsible. He told m-me it was a secret g-gift for you because h-he
liked you! I thought no one would ever trace where the money came from!”
“How foolish can you be!”
“Dee, go easy, go easy on her,” Rucker urged. He patted Mrs. Franklin’s shoulder then sat down between them. Dinah kept staring at Mrs. Franklin and vaguely felt Rucker clasp her hand tightly in his.
“Go easy on her? I’m sorry, but th-this is too much! I’ve spent y-years—” now Dinah heard her own voice begin to sound like Mrs. Franklin’s “—y-years despising my f-father … my father … because I didn’t know …” Dinah put her free hand over her face. “Oh, Daddy, forgive me!”
Rucker took her in his arms then and rocked her gently. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.” He kissed her forehead. “Let go, Dee, let go.”
“I’ll make it all right!” Mrs. Franklin murmured pathetically. “I’m so s-sorry!”
Remorse compelled Dinah to pull away from Rucker and vault to her feet. He grabbed at her hand, obviously thinking that she was bent on violence. She stepped past him and put her arms around Mrs. Franklin’s pitifully quivering shoulders. Instinct, some need to heal and be healed, was the guiding force.
“I’m trying to understand, I really am,” she whispered raggedly. “I know what happened wasn’t your fault. I know I’m hurting you.”
Dinah sank down to her knees and Mrs. Franklin’s arms went around her. “Poor dear,” Mrs. Franklin sobbed against her shoulder. “I’ll make it right, I swear.”
“You already have. You’ve … given me my father back.” Dinah gazed tearfully over Mrs. Franklin’s head at Rucker. He leaned back on the couch, his expression drawn tight with control, his eyes riveted on her. She mouthed the words
I love you dearly
to him. He nodded but didn’t offer the pledge in return. The pain of that subtle rejection made Dinah close her eyes and bow her head close to Mrs. Franklin’s, thinking wretchedly, I’ve got everything now. Everything except what I need most.
• • •
When Mrs. Franklin was bundled in her fur again and seated in his car for the return trip to the city, Rucker came back in the house to get his jacket. Dinah presented it to him in worried silence, her eyes locked on his face. He looked down at her with a guarded expression.
“I’m going to stay in Mount Pleasant,” she said desperately. “I’m not … running. I’d already decided that, before you came here tonight.”
He showed no reaction. His voice was low and casual. “What made you change your mind?”
“Faith. I got my faith in people back. They”—she waved a hand to indicate the townspeople—“have been wonderful to me. They don’t want me to go.”
“I’m glad, Dee.”
She stared up at him, her heart racing. “Is that all?”
His jaw worked for a moment, and he frowned. “For right now, that’s all.”
“Rucker?” she said fearfully. “I—”
“You’re real grateful to me right now,” he interrupted. “But bein’ grateful isn’t the same as …” He struggled for a moment then cleared his throat. “It isn’t enough. Maybe after the grateful feelin’ wears off, you’ll remember that you’re ashamed of me and my methods.”