Pamela Morsi (16 page)

Now he was also hopelessly silent.

Gussie tried to think of something to say. He had come to see her. It was not her place to start the conversation. Besides, what could she ask him?
Excuse me, sir. Did you come here to make me an offer of marriage?
Even hearing her own words in her head made her fidget. Her knees began to tremble.

Amos looked up.

She smiled at him. He did not smile back. His expression continued to be sober and reflective. She wanted laughter, she wanted joy. They seemed very far from it now.

The silence between them seemed unreasonably long and almost loud. Gussie couldn’t stand it. The anticipation was unbearable.

“It’s certainly been warm the last few days,” Gussie said, feeling a little damp at that very moment She could wait no longer for him to pick up the conversation. “Summer is surely almost upon us.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Summer is hot. Usually very hot.”

“Very hot indeed.”

“Yes, yes indeed. It’s hot.”

There really was no more to say about that Gussie searched her brain for another topic of conversation. Amos was a quiet man. Not at all prone to lengthy discussion. She had forgotten that about him. She’d forgotten that when they were together, any talking done
was mostly done by her. Amos was back to straightening his hat brim.

“How is your business?” she asked him.

“Good,” he answered. “It’s always good this time of year. When it starts getting hot, men want to shave their beards and get the hair off their necks.”

“Yes, and it has been hot.”

“Yes, it’s been real hot so far.”

They were back to that. She had to think of something else. Or he had to start making his speech. She preferred the latter, but it was only the former of which she had some control.

Gussie tried again. “I understand you’re on the fireworks committee for the Fiftieth Anniversary Founder’s Day Picnic.”

He looked up suddenly, his face animated with interest.

“That’s what I came to talk to you about,” he said. “The fireworks or the Founder’s Day Picnic?” “No, no, neither,” he replied. “I came to talk to you about … about Rome Akers.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t think you should see Rome Akers,” he said simply, not looking at her. “What?”

“I don’t think you should see Akers,” Amos repeated. “He’s not the right fellow for you.”

Gussie was a little surprised at his choice of direction. Certainly jealousy had led him here to her door, but it simply made more sense to start with his own feelings, not with those of others.

“I’ve known Mr. Akers for a very long time,” she said. “We are friends.”

Amos looked back at her then. The line of his mouth was as straight as if the taste of his words were bitter.

“You can know someone for many years,” he said. “You can know them and work with them and have a high opinion of them and still not be aware of important aspects of their character.”

“Well, yes, that’s certainly true,” she allowed.

The conversation halted. She had no idea what more to say. Her palms were sweating. Why didn’t he just get on with it?

“I have known Rome for a very long time myself,” Amos continued finally. “And I have always liked and respected him. He’s honest and hardworking. He’s ambitious as well, perhaps in this case too much so.”

Gussie was momentarily startled. Could Amos know about the partnership? She relaxed. He could not know unless she or Rome had told him. Neither of them would be foolish enough to do so.

“I admire Rome a great deal,” Gussie said. “But surely you did not come here to discuss him.”

“Yes, in fact, I did,” Amos told her.

“You did?” Gussie was now very confused.

“I … well, I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been walking out with him,” Amos said. “And I’m not at all sure that he is the right man for you, Miss Gussie.”

She didn’t exactly know what she should say. She couldn’t insist that he
was
the right man, because then it would sound as if Amos had no chance with her. But she couldn’t simply agree that he was not and negate everything in her scheme thus far.

“I like Mr. Akers very much,” she said. “It remains to be seen whether our feelings for each other can grow.”

Amos cleared his throat. It was a nervous, constricting sound.

“I think it would be best, Miss Gussie, if you make certain that your feelings for him do not grow at all.”

Gussie could not fathom Amos’s tack at all. If he wanted to present himself as the better candidate for her husband, then he rightly should be apologizing for having spurned her earlier. And he should be on his knees at that very moment, asking her to give him another chance. Instead he persisted in discussing his rival. Gussie found herself being unexpectedly annoyed.

“I have known you for a very long time, Miss Gussie,” Amos told her. “And we have been, I believe, close friends. I would never want to see you hurt or disappointed in any way.”

Gussie frowned.

“Mr. Dewey,” she stated forcefully, “would you please stop beating around the bush and say what you have to say.”

He hesitated, as if he truly did not wish to explain himself. Then he leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice as if relating some sort of secret.

“Rome Akers is not the man for you,” he said with certainty. “There are things about him you do not know, things about him that a lady such as yourself should not know. I’ve come … as a friend … to warn you about him.”

“To warn me about him.”

“Yes. I feel … because of our long association … a certain protectiveness toward you. If you had a father or a brother, I would have been able to voice my concerns directly to them. But as you have no one else but your friends, Miss Gussie, in this you must rely upon the knowledge and judgment of your friends.”

Gussie sat staring at him for a long moment. He hadn’t come to propose. Once again he’d disappointed her. And this time he’d managed to insult her as well. To suggest that she needed his guidance and judgment
in selecting an appropriate suitor! She could manage to support herself financially and run a successful business, but she still was not considered equal to the task of choosing her own gentleman friends. Gussie was absolutely livid. She rose to her feet.

“Thank you for stopping by,” she said, as coldly as civil society would permit.

Amos immediately stood as well.

“I’ve upset you,” he said.

“How could you think that, sir?” she asked, her jaw set tightly. “Who could not welcome the unsolicited interference of an erstwhile friend whose motives are completely inexplicable?”

“Miss Gussie, please I—”

“You have your hat, Mr. Dewey,” she said. “I won’t keep you. You know your way out!”

T
HE AFTERNOON SUN WAS TEMPERED BY A PLEASANT
southeasterly breeze that still held a trace of salt and sea, a fragrance from the Gulf. Rome pushed Gussie in the shaded swing beneath a towering river oak. Her skirts ruffled with the activity, giving him an occasional glimpse of a female ankle clad in white calf boots with brass buttons.

Several sets of strolling citizens made their way through this end of the park. Though the number on a weekday afternoon in no way compared with the Sunday afternoon promenades, many, like Rome and Gussie, could not resist the mildness of the summer day.

The two had cut short their business briefing to take a public turn together. They wanted to be seen, of course. And Gussie seemed particularly keen to get away from the confines of her home. They needed to talk and the park was as good a place as any. Especially since no one in Cottonwood was so rude as to venture close enough to listen in on the couple’s private chat.

“So Amos came to see you, but he didn’t propose?”

Rome posed the question when the swing was near to him.

Gussie shook her head negatively, but didn’t get an opportunity to speak until she had traveled out almost over the edge of the water and then all the way back to where Rome stood ready to push her again.

“He’s not one bit closer to proposing than he was before,” she said.

Rome let that thought sink in as she swung away from him and back once more.

“What on earth did he want if not to make you an offer?”

Gussie was away again without an answer.

Rome was positive that a formally paid call must mean something.

She was back again.

“We simply discussed inconsequential things and then he left.”

Rome continued to watch her. He didn’t quite believe it, but he couldn’t imagine any reason for her to lie. She was back for another push. Carefully he made sure that his hands touched only the seat of the swing, never the derriere of the lady.

“He made a special request to see you,” he said. “Why would he do that and then not have anything to discuss?”

Again he had to wait upon her reply. When it came, it was no answer at all.

“I don’t wish to discuss it further,” she said simply.

Her words were firm and brooked no argument. Rome felt a stab of guilt. Of course she didn’t want to talk about it. She must have been very hurt. She’d thought Dewey was going to propose and he didn’t. Twice now, the man had rejected her. Rome found
himself feeling increasingly annoyed. The fellow flatly didn’t deserve such a fine woman as Gussie Mudd.

Rome thought about something Pansy Richardson had told him. Something to which he’d not paid much attention at the time.

“I’m not sure if this fellow is really right for you,” he said, voicing Pansy’s words in his own doubt for the first time.

“Oh, but we are!” Gussie insisted immediately and with almost too much certainty.

Rome gave her a long look as the swing took her out to its farthest distance. One of the most common adages of business truth is that people are the most adamant when they are the most unsure. Gussie’s hasty declaration flew in the face of thoughtful, balanced objectivity. He was not certain if love could hear the voice of reason.

“I’m sure that he’s really lonely and alone,” Rome said as she came closer once more.

“Of course he is,” Gussie replied. “And he needs a woman to take care of him.”

Rome couldn’t help but agree with that. Though it did seem to him that perhaps Pansy had had a point. Amos didn’t appear to have gotten over his wife’s death. Maybe Miss Gussie couldn’t see that. Perhaps she was so taken with him that she wasn’t able to.

Rome eyed his boss and co-conspirator critically. Was she all that taken with Amos Dewey? He really hadn’t noticed it. When the man’s name came up, you couldn’t see any change in her complexion. She didn’t get flustered or giggly, the way women in love were supposed to. She didn’t seem to pine for his presence. And he could not recall hearing her say anything particularly fawning about him.

But then, Miss Gussie was not a soft, girlie kind of woman. She was thoughtful, businesslike. Not just any man could move her emotionally. Amos Dewey did not do that. Maybe no man ever could.

He glanced at her and saw her eyeing him with speculation.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he answered too quickly.

“That worried frown always means something,” she insisted.

She had known him too long.

“Is it possible for a woman to be attracted to a man who is all wrong for her?” he asked finally.

Gussie allowed her foot to drag on the ground. Rome grabbed the ropes, assisting her in bringing the swing to a stop. She twisted the lines as she turned to face him.

“How could he be wrong for me?” she asked Rome incredulously. “We have known each other most of our lives. We come from similar backgrounds and upbringing. Both of us have successful businesses. And we’re suited in demeanor and temperament. There can’t be anything wrong about that. We are obviously perfect for each other.”

Rome thought about disagreeing with her. But he didn’t. Gussie Mudd always knew what she wanted. Why was he even questioning the wisdom of her choice? There was not a clearer head for business in town. And not one person’s judgment that he trusted more. She ran her own life and she obviously knew her own heart and mind.

“You must be right,” he said, trying to convince himself. “You certainly must be right.”

He nodded and she did too, but they didn’t meet each other’s eyes.

“You two should be married,” he continued. “We just have to find a way to make that happen.”

Rome reached out, offering his hand. She put her gloved one in his and rose to her feet.

“I think my plan is a good one,” she said. “I don’t know why it hasn’t worked.”

“I thought so too,” Rome admitted. “I thought that when he saw us together, it would spur his jealousy and he’d come around.”

They stood together by the swing, each holding onto one of the ropes as if it were a lifeline for both.

“Maybe he’s not quite jealous enough yet,” Rome suggested. “Do you think it’s time to throw a little more wood in the firebox?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“We should see if we can really raise the heat on Mr. Dewey,” he said, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

Gussie looked at him, all curiosity and speculation.

“It does seems that the jealousy is having an effect Dewey did come calling,” Rome observed. “But obviously it was not enough. We’ll have to give him a more intimate meeting with the green-eyed monster.”

He made a silly, spooky face at Gussie and she giggled.

“And how are we going to do that?” she asked him.

He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “We’ll have to come up with something.”

Gussie was thoughtful for a long moment.

“I wonder what he would do if he caught you giving me a kiss.”

Rome held his body perfectly still. Unbidden, the memory of the previous morning assailed him. It was a guilty memory. He had practically dragged her around the building and then pressed her up against the wall.
He had wanted to kiss her. He had really wanted to kiss her. It was totally, totally wrong.

The level of his bad feeling about it served only to illustrate his current confusion. The very idea of kissing her tantalized him. He felt obligated to resist it.