“Or you could work for any one of a dozen major national corporations who’d hire an ex-Secret Service agent to coordinate security for their facilities and personnel. And I believe in my heart that if you’re honest about it you’ll admit right now that you’d dearly love to take one of those job offers. Stop kidding yourself. Stop hanging on. You’re not doing the future of your family any service by deceiving them and yourself about your true wishes.”
Silence. We all looked at Gib. I clenched my hands under the table. “The only important truth is this,” Gib said. “The day we went to the sawmill Simon and I had a helluva argument over the future of the valley. Everybody knows that. But what I remember most is that he didn’t want to accept your plan. He was just worried that you were right and there might not be any alternative. I tried to convince him there were other choices.”
“You’re avoiding the point,” Emory said in a soothing tone, as if pressing for honesty were painful to his sympathetic nature. “My plan is the only sensible way to go. Simon knew that deep down. I don’t see how, considering your disability, and your lack of expertise managing this kind of business, I just don’t see how you can find enough help—and the right kind of expert help, the kind of people who could really allow you and Min and your sisters to take Simon’s place and position the Hall for future success.”
Silence. Isabel began dabbing her eyes. “Let’s get it over with. Let’s vote.”
“I have to agree,” Min said dully. “Aunt Olivia, please forgive me.”
Ruth cradled one of Olivia’s hands in hers. “Aunt Olly, I don’t want to vote against you and Gib. Please don’t make me do that.” Ruth gazed up at Gib. To my shock, there were tears in her eyes. “Big brother, I wish I agreed with you about leaving things the way they are, but I just don’t see how we can do that.”
“I have a plan,” Gib said. Silence. Everyone stared at him. He dropped his hands to his sides, the maimed one, as always, slightly hidden behind his right hip. His left hand curled and uncurled slowly. “We contact everyone on the inn’s mailing list. Put the word out. We reopen the first weekend in January. That gives us the rest of the year—three months—to get organized, to learn new routines working together, and get the Hall in top-notch condition.”
Emory sighed patiently. “Very few people visit here in the winter months unless they’ve just come to the mountains to ski. The weather’s too unpredictable. You see, Gib, you’re not even aware how a simple problem such as that guides the seasonal business of managing an inn.”
“He’s right about the winter months,” Min said gently.
Gib took a deep breath. “Of course, I know that. Winter bookings are slow. That’s the point. We’d only have a few guests until spring. We could handle that—we’d practice on them. We won’t take reservations for every weekend, either. Just the first and third weekends of each month, to start. We’ll have plenty of down time to analyze and correct our mistakes and then prepare for the next round of guests. I say we try it.”
“I say you stop procrastinating and vote,” Emory countered.
“Gib, can’t you admit that Emory’s plan is reasonable?” Ruth asked quietly. “It takes wholehearted commitment to supervise this place. None of us wants the responsibility, and we’re not going to judge you if you don’t want it, either. It’s not as if we’d be selling out. We’ll be partners with these investors of Emory’s. We’ll still have a home here. We’ll have a say in how the valley’s developed, and we’ll still control the Hall.”
“We’ll be tenants on our own land.”
“You’ll be honored partners,” Emory countered. “Consultants. Board members. And you’ll all be rich.”
“But you’ll be the richest of all, you bloody bastard,” Bea said.
Emory sighed. “I’ll be investing a lot of my own money, Bea. Of course I expect a healthy return on it.”
Joseph stood. “Just take a little bitty vote,” he prodded in a smooth voice. He grinned at his father. “Like Daddy here always says, There’s no time like the present.”
“Sit down, Joey,” Ruth ordered, “or I’ll bite a plug out of your present.”
Tension crackled in the air. “Agreed?” Emory said, smiling. “All right? Accept my proposal, or reject my proposal. Accept or reject. We’ll go around the table. Minnie, you first. Accept?”
Her face went white. Tears slid down her cheeks. Isabel began to cry, too. Ruth frowned into space. Gib’s stony resistance began to lose ground. It was something barely defined, but I saw defeat sinking him down as if with invisible weights.
I couldn’t let him go down alone. Crowded behind my conscience were all the years I wished I had known what to do for Pop at his most vulnerable moments, all those years I’d spent agonizing over how I might have made a difference if I’d only recognized how alone he felt. If I did nothing for Gib now, if he was forced to turn his family’s legacy over to Emory, he’d never recover. Some part of him would be angry and sick with defeat for the rest of his life.
I owed him a measure of loyalty; I owed his brother, Simon, a huge debt of gratitude; I owed this entire family for caring enough to want us here, even if it was for their own purposes. I could make a difference, for once. “What about my vote?” I blurted.
Everyone stared at me. Ruth snorted. “You don’t have a vote. You shouldn’t even be hanging around the voting booth.”
“I certainly do have a vote. All of you have been trying to convince me that my sister and I are full-fledged Cameron kin now. Well, fine. But that means you have to put your, your democracy where your mouth is. Therefore, I deserve a vote. In fact, Ella gets a vote, too. And why doesn’t Carter already have a vote? And Bea? How did she get left out?”
I met Gib’s eyes and saw a certain gleam, challenging and intense. I couldn’t tell if it was admiration for my bravado or just plain curiosity over the meltdown I had started.
Emory rapped the table with his knuckles. “Family votes that involve property issues are voted on solely by Aunt Olivia and her immediate heirs.”
“Why? The rest of us have to live here, too. The vote affects us.”
“Legally, it makes no sense for anyone other than direct heirs to have a say—”
“Legally, these property votes are informal and only Aunt Olivia’s vote really counts,” Ruth corrected. “Her name’s the only one on the deed.”
“She can make the decision herself, alone, if she wants to,” Gib noted.
“Herself has ne’er been a true tyrant and ne’er will be,” Bea said. “She does no’ want to force her choices on her loved ones.”
No, she prefers to coax, bully, and charm us, I thought with a sudden admiration that surprised me. “So what you’re saying is”—I looked innocently from Gib to the sisters and Min, then to Bea and finally Olivia—“that Olivia can choose who votes today and who doesn’t.”
“Exactly,” Gib said.
“Nonsense,” Emory countered.
Olivia tapped the table with the head of her cane. She pointed at me. “Me?” I said. “Do I get a vote?” She nodded regally. “And Ella?” She nodded again.
Ruth groaned. “When pigs fly.”
“And Carter?”
Another nod.
“And Bea, too, then,” Isabel added eagerly.
Olivia nodded.
I grinned. “So we can’t take a vote, because Ella and Carter aren’t even here.”
Olivia nodded.
“Gib?” Isabel said, as a small, hopeful look spread across her face. “You’re really interested in reopening the Hall?”
“Is this serious?” Ruth interjected. “Have you and Venus de Milo here been cooking up something together?”
“What we’ve been discussing is hard to describe,” Gib said, staring at me. “Why don’t you try, Nellie?”
“Well, if I have to spell it out for everybody, I will. You can’t tell me on the one hand I’m going to have the exalted position of musical director of Cameron Hall, while on
the other hand you decide to make this deal with Emory. You promised me a place in this family, dammit. Not a job working for a bunch of investors. Or for Emory. For you, Gib Cameron. I consider your word to me as good as a signed contract.”
“Musical director, my ass,” Ruth said. I’d made that up. She knew it, too.
“Just grease up my little pig wings, Ruthie. Y’all have to remember that Ella and I were raised by a father who owned a successful nightclub in the French Quarter of New Orleans. We don’t just know the music business. We know audiences, customers, the general public—their care and feeding, their habits and habitats. They’re a strange beast, but fairly easy to tame. So I have no doubt that we can help Gib and Min and everybody manage the inn pretty well. For one thing, I’ll play the piano in the evenings. I’m sure Ella will assist me. Not only by playing duets for the guests but … well, my sister is a perfect hostess. Between her and Min and Isabel, the gracious southern hospitality factor should be pretty well covered. There. That’s all I have to say. If I’m out of a job before I’ve even started, then I want to know today.”
“This is ludicrous,” Emory said. He looked as if his eyes might pop. Olivia looked at me with quiet pleasure.
“No, it’s not ludicrous,” Min said suddenly. “If Gib feels that he’s ready to try—just two weekends a month starting in January—then we have to try. And if Venus—who is new to our family—if a newcomer like Venus has so much faith in our ability to start over, then I’m sorry, Emory, but we just have to make the effort.”
“I was ready to tell my investors we had a deal!”
“Tell them you were wrong,” Gib said.
“I’ve been placating these people for a long time. All right, all right, here’s the bottom line.” He jabbed a finger at Gib. “I predict that the opening weekend is all it will take to prove I’m right. One weekend.” He swept his hand at Min and the rest of us. “That’s all y’all are going to need to see that you can’t manage here without Simon. So I’ll come back for a vote in January. Right after the opening weekend. And it has to be a final vote. No second chances after January, Minnie. No history center named after Simon. And no college money for Dylan, Isabel. No campaign nest egg, Ruthie. If you turn me down in January you’ll regret it for the rest of your lives.”
“Your money men will wait until January,” Ruth said brusquely. “They think we’re sitting on a gold mine here. They’ll wait.”
Min said wistfully, “Could you run the tape back and let me see the part about the history center again?”
“Run it back,” Emory ordered, snapping his fingers at Joseph, who hurried to comply. Min leaned forward with one hand knuckled to her lips, intensely studying the drawing of the center again, while the narrator described the wonderful facility that would bear Simon’s name. My eyes stung and I stared at the table. I had no idea if I’d done the right thing by interfering or not.
“You wouldn’t drop this history center from the plans, would you?” Min asked Emory. “I mean, if we told you this winter that we agreed to your development idea, this history center would still be part of it?”
Emory came to her and clasped her hands. “Minnie, I want to honor Simon. I promise you that we’ll build the history center in his name. But Minnie, you don’t need to wait. Don’t be confused by Gib and his … consort’s wishful thinking.” He stared at me. “Young … lady, you and your sister have ingratiated yourselves into this family in a very remarkable and sudden way. I have misgivings about your motivations.” He glanced around magnanimously, finally settling his gaze on Gib. “Let’s not mistake unflattering ambitions for serious loyalty.”
Min drew her hands away and gave him an icy look. “That’s not fair, Emory. Venus hasn’t done anything to deserve that, and I’m ashamed you said it.”
“Absolutely,” Isabel agreed with head-shaking indignation.
Ruth looked grim. “I couldn’t care less about Venus’s part in this. She’s irrelevant. The family’s objections to voting right now are sustained, Emory. If I were your judge I’d suggest that you plea-bargain.”
“This meeting’s over,” Gib announced. He had a look that could wilt flowers. He’d learned it in the Secret Service, no doubt, where agents deliberately made eye contact with people in crowds, analyzing, warning, threatening them without a word. I’d read somewhere that the best “eye men” could make a heckler shut up or ward off much worse.
The look worked because it was backed up by a Zen-like concentration that bespoke total dedication and lack of self-concern. Even though I understood the mechanism—music is built on attitudes, and presenting music to an audience is an exercise in reckless wing-walking and crowd control—I was afraid when Gib looked at Emory that way. Gib said to him softly, “Don’t ever walk into this house again and insult anyone I invited under this roof. You think I’m not up to filling Simon’s shoes. Well, hell, I agree with you. But my brother wouldn’t allow you to insult a guest or a family member, and I won’t either.”
Emory held up both hands. He pivoted toward me. “I’m sorry. I meant nothing but the most sincere concern.”
“Oh, shut up, you bloody fool,” Bea said.
“I’ll be back in January.”
My tour de force of total showmanship had changed the course of Cameron history—at least for the next few months. And it was quite possible I’d doomed these people and the place they loved so deeply. These people included Ella now. And by extension, me.
I skittered a glance at Olivia. Her silent mouth quirked at one corner. Her eyes glowed.
Whether I’d meant to or not, I had served her purpose grandly.
“Why did you do it?” Gib asked. We stood in Simon’s office. The shades had been drawn for over a year; the big, comfortable space smelled musty.
“Because to me Emory and Joseph represent all the smug, judgmental, self-entitled haves in a have-not world. I don’t like them. I’ve dealt with men like them for years.”
“That’s not good enough. Why did you do it?” he asked again.
“Because Emory’s plan would change everything that’s brave about this valley and your family.”
“Why?” he insisted.
“Because I need a job to do here.” My voice rose. “I have to stay busy or I’ll lose my mind worrying about Ella!”
“Why?” he said between gritted teeth.
I sank into an old wooden desk chair with rumpsprung damask pillows. I shut my eyes. “Because I’d like to stay here and help you if I can.”
He touched my cheek with the backs of his fingers. I looked up at him breathlessly. He sat down on the edge of the desk. “By God, Nellie,” he said in a soft voice, “if we can’t do this together then it can’t be done.”
“Was Emory right? Have you had job offers?”
“Yes.”
“Would you really rather move on? Tell me. I’m not really part of your family, so you can’t hurt me with the truth.” What a lie, but it sounded good.
“There have been days—” He paused. Then, “Weeks, months, when all I could think about was walking away from everything here. But not now.”
“Why?”
He looked heavenward. “Oh, why does she ask why?” Then he looked at me, arching a brow. “Turnabout is fair play?”
“Why?” I persisted.
“I’m getting stronger.”
“Why?”
“I’m accepting what happened to my brother as an accident. I don’t blame myself as much. Going back to the sawmill was a turning point.”
“Why?” I said.
“For God’s sake. Because I’m starting to think I might actually belong here, running this inn, under the right circumstances.” He slapped his legs. “Now, the first thing we have to do is get to work on that mailing. I’ll go through the inn’s computer files. I’ll get Min to help me. But there’s a helluva lot to do, Nellie. We’ll be busy for the next three months. Painting, polishing, fixing. There’ll be menus to discuss with FeeMolly, food suppl
ies to order, liquor and the wine cellar to be inventoried and restocked, plus the Hall will have to be cleaned from top to bottom—all the guest bedrooms, the communal rooms—and you have to do whatever it is you do to plan your musical performances or whatever you call them.”
“I’ll go to the cottage,” I said dryly, “change into some grungier clothes, and be right back to start disciplining that darned lazy piano of yours.” I hurried to the door.
“Nellie,” he called. I halted. His voice, deep and warm, went through me.
“Hmmm?” I glanced back at him.
“Why have I stopped thinking about leaving?” He paused, then nodded to me. “Because it’s interesting to see what you’re going to do every day. So far, you’ve put on a helluva show.”
“Oh? The prospect of aggravating me gives you a reason to get up every morning?”
He laughed, flicked a switch on a desk lamp, and turned away.
Twenty
“You’re the what?” Ella asked. She stood in the library still holding her cosmetic bag and wearing a filmy peach-colored dress that Carter had bought for her during a shopping trip in Chicago. A pea-sized diamond perched on the third finger of her left hand. Like a hen on a nest of eggs, it sat on a cluster of smaller diamonds.
Our RV was history, my sister was gloriously happy for the moment, and Carter was being dutifully polite to me, as I was to him. I think Ella was shocked that I calmly welcomed her back with the news of my new status.
“I’m the Hall’s musical director,” I repeated. “And you’re my assistant.” I looked at her over the baby grand, where I’d spread out lists of several hundred pop tunes and classics. I’d offered to discuss the selections with Gib—not because I wanted his input, but to honor his detail-oriented angst. “The inn’s re-opening in January,” I added.
She laughed, bounded over, and hugged me. “I knew you’d fit right in here as soon as I gave you a little push!”
“You didn’t give me a push. You jumped off a cliff and I jumped after you.”