Scarlet Woman

Chapter 3

“Who is it?” Melinda called downstairs to Ruby when she heard the doorbell.

“Uh, it’s…Mr…. What did you say your name was?”

“Humphrey. Jonas Humphrey.”

“Jonas Humphrey, ma’am.”

Now, who could that be? She knew Prescott’s few associates, or thought she did. During the last two years, Blake had been their only visitor. But after that bombshell Blake had dropped about her late husband’s finances, she couldn’t be sure about anything concerning Prescott. She kicked off her bedroom shoes, stuck her feet in a pair of loafers, and went downstairs.

“I don’t think we’ve met, Mr. Humphrey. What can I do for you?”

“Well, miss—” he looked around, shifting his gaze from place to place as if appraising the room’s appointments “—could we sit down, perhaps? I’d like a soda or anything cold, if you don’t mind.”

She knew a shifty look when she saw it, and she wasn’t going to be taken in by this interloper. “Would you please tell me why you’re here?” she asked the man. Around forty or forty-five years old, she supposed, he projected self-confidence, though she wouldn’t have credited him with a right to it.

She leaned against the piano and trailed the fingers of her left hand rapidly over the bass keys in a show of impatience. “Well?”

He cleared his throat and looked approvingly at the Steinway grand. “I don’t suppose you know it, but my beloved Heddy passed on about six months ago, and I find the burden just too heavy to bear. When your dear father was preaching night before last, it came to me clear as your hand before you that he was leading me straight to you. I own a little shop down at the end of Main Street.” He took a card from his pocket, handed it to her, and she read Humphrey’s Firewood. “It’s not much, but everybody around here needs wood.”

Where was this leading? “What does all that have to do with me?” she asked him, though she’d begun to guess the answer.

“Reverend Jones said a woman shouldn’t be alone, that she needs a man’s protection. I’m sure he taught you that from childhood. Well, since we’re both alone, and…well, I thought we might get together. I see you like music. I do, too.” He sat down and crossed his knee, though she remained standing. “I got all the records Sister Rosetta Thorpe and Hank Williams ever made. I had one by Lightnin’ Hopkins, but my dear beloved smashed it one day when she got mad with me. God rest her soul.”

She’d had enough. More than enough, in fact. “Mr…er…Humphrey, did you say your name was? I am not interested in getting married. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d excuse me.” She called Ruby. “Would you please let this gentleman out? And, Ruby, don’t let anybody else in here unless you know them.”

The door closed, and Ruby called up to her. “All right, ma’am. He said he knowed Mr. Rodgers. I’m telling you some of these mens is the biggest liars.”

Had her father put that man up to proposing to her? She sat down and telephoned him.

“Jonas Humphrey?” he asked her, a tone of incredulity in his voice. “You mean that thief down on Main Street? Why, he’d steal a cane from a blind man. Of course I didn’t send him over there. You watch out, girl, because they’ll be hearing about that will. Not that it would hurt you to get married. A woman shouldn’t be alone—”

She’d heard that a hundred times already. “Sorry, Papa, but I have to go. Talk to you again soon.”

“All right, but you come to prayer meeting tomorrow night.”

She dressed and rushed to meet Rachel at Side Streets Restaurant. The historic old mill pleased her more than the wonderful seafood served there. Its quaintness gave her a sense of solidness, of permanence. They had barely seated themselves when Ray Sinclair entered with his latest girlfriend. In her single days, she’d been enamored of Ray, but he had ignored her, often seeming to make a point of it. The day he stepped in front of her and got into the taxi she’d called, her affection for him dissipated like chaff in a windstorm. But on this occasion, he seated his date, left her at the table, and walked over to speak with Melinda.

“Terribly sorry to hear of your great loss, Melinda. If I can do anything to help, just snap your fingers.”

She leaned back in the booth and spoke with dispassion. “I don’t need anything, Ray. My husband provided well for me and, if he hadn’t, I provide well for myself. Nice seeing you.”

Rachel’s eyes seemed to have doubled in size. “Why’d you dust him off like that? He’s the most eligible man around here. If that doesn’t beat all—”

Melinda threw up her hands. “When I had a crush on him before I got married, he flaunted it, showed me as often as he could that he thought himself too good for me. Now he wants to know what he can do for me. I guess he’s been listening to all the gossip, or maybe he’s heard about the will. That poor girl he’s got with him is welcome to him.”

She’d hardly walked into her house when her phone rang. Ruby had left for the day, so she waited for the voice on her answering machine.

“I was wondering if you might like to go with me down to Lake Kittamaqundi for the Fourth of July celebration. It’s nice and casual. Give us a chance to get reacquainted.”

Why was she supposed to recognize his voice? She did, but he didn’t need to know that. “Who is this?” she asked.

“This is Ray,” he said, obviously crestfallen.

“Now let me see, hmmm. I’ll have to let you know.”

“We’ll have a good time. I’ll order a picnic basket, some wine, and…Listen, we’ll do it up big.”

“Are we still talking about watching kids shoot marbles and dogs play catch down by that lake?”

“Uh…well, there’s the fireworks, you know. Anyhow, I’ll call in a day or so to see what you decided. I’m glad you’re going. It’ll be great.”

It wouldn’t hurt him to hope; he might recall the many times he’d let her hope and pray, and all to no avail. Of all the men in Ellicott City, Ray Sinclair was least likely to get a second glance from her.

If she were certain of the reason for his sudden interest, she might be amused, but she remembered Luther Williams’s insulting suggestion, the awful accusation that had brought her into Blake’s arms, and she no longer felt like playing games with Ray. Who knew what he’d heard or what he wanted? Tomorrow, she’d work on that foundation, much as she hated doing so. But the sooner she finished it and got out of Ellicott City, the happier she’d be.

He knew it was a dead giveaway, opening the door before she’d hardly had time to ring the bell, but the entire day had been one long wait for three-thirty.

“Hi.” He meant it to sound casual, and he hoped it did, but he didn’t feel one bit nonchalant about her. “Ready to tackle that list?” he asked, mostly to remind her, if not himself, that they were together for business and not social purposes.

“That’s why I’m here. Whether I’m ready for it is something else.” She was looking directly into his eyes as if searching for something important. It wasn’t a stare, more like an appraisal. Or a question, as if she didn’t really know him and wanted answers about him.

And she was getting to him, too, so he made light of it. “I don’t have crumbs around my mouth, do I?”

The back of her right hand moved slowly over his left cheek in a gentle, yet astounding caress. “Your mouth is perfect. Let’s tackle the mayor first.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She threw her briefcase on the sofa and walked away from him in the direction of his desk. “I mean the mayor will probably be difficult, so let’s call him and get it over with.”

He caught up with her and stopped her with a hand on her right shoulder. “Baloney. You know I wasn’t talking about the mayor. You walk in here, make a suggestive remark, caress me, and then stroll off as if all you’ve done is toss a piece of paper into the wastebasket.” He pushed back his rising irritation. “Honey, you play with me, and you will get burned as sure as night follows day.”

She stepped away from him. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. I was just being pleasant.”

He imagined that his face expressed his incredulity; he refused to believe she didn’t know a come-on from a pleasant pat. “Pleasant? Yeah. Sure. And I’m standing in the middle of the Roman Forum.”

“Oh, don’t make such a hullabaloo over a simple, friendly gesture. If you wanted to hear some real corn, you should have been in on the conversations I had with two would-be suitors today.”

His head snapped up. “Who? You mean—”

“One guy proposed marriage, and the other one’s an egotist who thinks all he has to do is phone me. Biggest laugh I ever got.”

She could see the perspiration on his forehead, and he knew it, but he couldn’t do a thing about it. He couldn’t even reach for his handkerchief, because she’d glued her gaze on him. He laid his head to one side and decided to go for broke.

“Not bad for one day. At this rate, you can’t miss. If we can finish this list, you’ll be free to get on with that other business.”

Now what had he done? She’d wilted like a crushed rose. He looked downward and kicked the carpet with the toe of his left shoe, ashamed that his words—spoken to hide his own feelings—had bruised hers. The urge to take her in his arms and soothe her almost overwhelmed him, but he knew the consequences if he gave in to it. He’d tempered his opinion of her, but too much remained unexplained, and not all of it was pretty. The wisest thing he could do would be to keep a good solid distance between them. With her standing there open and vulnerable, a defenseless beauty, he laughed to himself. If he was serious about staying away from her, he’d better pray for sainthood.

She straightened her shoulders and sat down, and his admiration for her soared.

“Good afternoon, Mayor Washington,” Melinda said, and continued with her reason for calling. “I hope I can count on you to serve.”

She held the phone away from her as if to protect her eardrums, and he took it. He’d rather not get on the wrong side of His Honor, the mayor, but he said, “Frank, this is Blake Hunter. I’d be careful about that kind of talk if I were you.” He winced as he thought of Melinda’s ordeal with the people of Ellicott City. “Mrs. Rodgers is setting up a foundation as prescribed in her late husband’s will. If you slander her as you were doing, she’ll sue you, and as the representative of her husband’s estate, I’d have to take you on.”

“You?” The mayor sounded as if he was stunned.

“You got it. I’d rather not do that, buddy, but you know me. I’ll bite the bullet every time.”

“Sorry, brother,” the mayor went on, “but…you know she’s not fit for something so important as that foundation is to this community.”

Blake tightened his fist, then he ground his teeth. Count to ten, man, he told himself, loosening his tie. “Have you forgotten that there won’t be a foundation unless she sets it up?”

“In that case the money goes to the city. Right?”

“A million will go to the city for the benefit of the homeless alone and the rest to a charity event or organization of my choice. It will pay for you to cooperate.”

“That’s not the way I read it. If necessary, we’ll go to court.”

“Forget that, buddy. You’ll only be wasting time and money.”

Melinda grabbed the phone. “Excuse me, Blake, but I just want to tell the mayor that he will not serve on this board, not now or ever. That’s right, sir.” She hung up.

“You just made an enemy, but he deserved it. Let’s get on with this.”

Well after seven that evening, they could count twelve people who were willing to serve on the board. Melinda leaned back in the chair, locked her hands behind her head, and blew out a long breath.

“I’m pooped.”

He didn’t doubt it. “Me, too. How about something to eat? Let’s go around the corner to Tersiguel’s. I feel like some decent food.”

“Fine. Where’s the ladies’ room? I need to freshen up. I’ll eat what Ruby cooked for me some other time.”

“There’s one just off Irene’s office. I thought you were too pooped to bother with hair and lipstick and things like that.”

“Mr. Hunter, I never get that tired.”

They’d barely seated themselves when Martha Greene paused at their table. “Oh, how nice to see you, Mr. Hunter! Good evening, Melinda.” From hot to freezing in less than a second.

Melinda searched Blake’s face for the question she knew she’d find there. “What is it?” he asked her.

“As far as I know, I’ve never done anything to offend her, but she seems to enjoy being rude to me.”

His eyes softened with what she recognized as sympathy, but she didn’t want that, not from him or anyone else. He reached across the table, evidently to take her hand, but withdrew before she could enjoy the warmth of his touch.

“I believe I reminded you once that most people envy the rich, but when a woman is both rich and beautiful, women will dislike her and men will turn cartwheels for her. Even so, Martha Greene isn’t known as a charitable person.”

Flushed with the pleasure of knowing that he thought her beautiful, she lowered her gaze. “You don’t know how happy I’ll be when the will is settled and this business is history.”

The expression in his eyes sliced through her, and she knew that somewhere in those words, she’d made a blunder. A serious one, at that.

“I imagine you want to get on with your life,” he said, “especially after having spent almost five of your best years in semiretirement. But don’t forget that when you finish this round, you’ve got to show me a marriage certificate.”

She knew that she gaped at him; she couldn’t help it. Her fingers clutched the table, knocking over the long-stem glass of white wine that soaked the tablecloth and wet her dress.

“You kissed me and held me as if I were the most precious person in the world, and now you can say that to me. You’re just like all the others.” As though oblivious to the wet tablecloth and the dampness in her lap, she gripped the table and leaned toward him.

“You at least know that Prescott was happy with me, that I made his life pleasant, and that I was loyal to him. You know I never looked at another man, because I didn’t look at you.”

“Look! There’s no need to—”

“Yes, there is. You listen to me. It happened the minute you opened your office door for Prescott and me when we went there to be married. And the first time you came to our home I knew that what I felt for you twenty minutes before I took my marriage vows was definitely not superficial. From then on—at least once a week for almost five years—I had to deal with you. But you didn’t know it, and don’t tell me you did. You don’t know what it cost me, and you’ll never know. So don’t sit there like a judge-penitent and pass sentence.”

She tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the table, grabbed her purse and briefcase. “I’ll eat whatever Ruby cooked. I’ll…I’m sorry, Blake.”

Walking with head high, away from the source of her pain, her eyes beheld only a blur of human flesh and artifacts. She didn’t see the gilded candles on the hanging chandelier, the huge bowl of red and yellow roses on a marble stand beneath it, or her reflection in the antique gold-framed mirrors that lined the walls. Only the gray bleakness of her life. But none of those who accused her would ever see one of her tears. The gossiping citizens of Ellicott City irritated her. But Blake’s words bored a hole in her. She got into her car and sat there, too drained to drive. Should she fault herself for having let him hold her and show her what she’d missed? Maybe she shouldn’t have allowed it. But I’m human, and I’ve got feelings. After a while, she started the car and moved away from the curb. “You’re dealing with your own guilt, Blake,” she said aloud, and immediately felt better. “You wanted your friend’s wife. Well, take it out on yourself.”

Blake washed his Maryland crab cakes down with half a bottle of chardonnay wine and considered drinking the whole bottle but thought better of it. He shouldn’t have plowed into her, knowing he’d hurt her, but she had infuriated him with her tale about the men who wanted to marry her. He knew she’d attract every trifling money hunter and womanizer in Howard County and maybe farther away than that.

As much as he wanted her, he didn’t intend to get in that line. Her apparent eagerness to gain control of Prescott’s millions didn’t sit well with him, especially since she hadn’t once shown the grief you’d expect of a woman recently widowed. His left hand swept over his face. It wasn’t a fair accusation, and he knew it. Not everybody grieved for public consumption. He didn’t covet another person’s wealth; he made a good living and had every comfort that he could want, but he’d earned it. He’d worked for every dime he had, and he couldn’t sympathize with, much less respect, anybody who didn’t work for what they got. He let out a long, heavy breath. How had it come to this? She was in him, down deep, clinging to the marrow of his being, wrapped around his nerve ends. Way down. Right where he lived.

“Oh, what the hell. If it hasn’t killed me so far, it won’t!” He paid the check and left her twenty-dollar bill on the table for the waiter.

He walked into his house, threw his briefcase on the carved walnut dining-room table, and looked at the elegance all around him. Thick oriental carpets covered his parquet floors; Italian leather sofa and chairs; silk draperies, fine walnut tables and wall units and fixtures, and fine paintings adorned his living room. All of it aeons away from the days when water soaked his bed every time it rained, and wind whistled through the cracks of the house in winter. The memory depressed him, and he wondered if the hardships of his youth had made him a tough, cynical man. He hoped not. Shaking it off, he telephoned his mother in Alabama, his thoughts filled with the one problem he’d never solved. His relationship with his father.

“How’s Papa?” he asked her after they greeted each other.

“Just fair. I think he’s tired, and I don’t mean ordinary tired. I sense that he doesn’t feel like going on.”

“You serious?”

“I wish I wasn’t, son.”

“I don’t like the sound of it,” he told her. He’d gotten the same feeling when he spoke with his father the previous morning. “I’ll be down there tomorrow.”

After hanging up, he remembered his promise to visit Phil and Johnny. The warden had separated them from Lobo, who’d set up business as usual there in the jail. Blake called the warden and asked him to explain to the boys that he’d see them on Sunday.

“I’d hoped to hold my grandchildren,” his father told him, “but none of the three of you bothered to get married yet.” His thoughts appeared to ramble. “You had a tough life, but you made something of yourself, and I’m proud of you. I know I seemed hard, maybe too hard, but we had to live. Make sure you find a girl who’ll stick with you through thick and thin. One like your mother.”

The old man’s feeble fingers patted Blake’s hand. He’d never thought he’d shed tears for his father, but when he walked out of the room, they came. And they flowed.

He didn’t want to use Melinda, but when he boarded the plane in Birmingham, his only thought was to have her near him. It might be unfair to her, but life wasn’t fair. Right then, he knew he could handle most anything, if she was there for him. As soon as he walked into the terminal in Baltimore, he dialed her on his cell phone, and when she didn’t answer, he felt as if the bottom had dropped out of him. Surely she didn’t mean that much to him.

“It’s because I know I’m losing my father,” he rationalized. As a child, he’d almost hated the man who’d driven him so relentlessly. How often he’d wondered if he worked so hard to save young boys from a life of crime because he’d had neither a childhood nor the freedom that adolescence gives the young. What the heck! He put the car in Drive and headed for the Metropolitan Transition Center.

For the first time, he thought his private visit with the young boys—this time, Johnny and Phil—was less than rewarding, because he didn’t feel enthusiasm and couldn’t force it.

“You got a load, man?” Phil asked him.

He shrugged; it wasn’t good policy to share your personal life with the prisoners, who tended to focus on themselves.

“You not sick?” Johnny’s question surprised him, because the boy hardly ever showed interest in anyone.

“I’m fine. But I think my father is dy…isn’t going to make it.”

“That ain’t so good,” Phil said and, to his astonishment, the boy put an arm around his shoulder. “It sucks, man. I know how you feel.”

Another time, he would’ve asked Phil about his father, but right then, he was grateful that at last he had a bond with the boys, even if that progress grew out of his own grief. At the end of the hour, he knew their time together had been productive. Driving home, it came to him forcibly, a blast like a ship’s signal in a fog: he’d reached them not because of any ingenuity on his part, but because he had needed their comfort. They understood that and accepted him because they had been able to give something to him. It was a lesson he hoped never to forget.

Shortly after he got home, he answered the phone and, to his disappointment, heard Lacy’s voice.

“I called you half a dozen times,” she said in that whining voice that made his flesh crawl. “At least six times.”

“Right. You said that a second ago. I was at the prison with two boys I’m working with.”

“Why would you waste time with those thugs? When they get out, they’re going right back to dealing drugs and shooting innocent people.” As if she’d been wound up like a top, she held forth on the subject of bad, hopeless children.

“I think every kid deserves a chance to make something of himself, and I’m doing what I can to help.” He looked at his watch. With more things to do than he cared to contemplate, wasting ten minutes listening to Lacy’s prattle didn’t please him. He closed his eyes, exasperated. “These two boys are serving time for petty theft, and there’s hope for both of them.”

He imagined that she rolled her eyes and looked toward the ceiling in a show of disinterest when she said, “If you say so.”

“Lacy, this is one more way in which you and I are as far apart as two people can get. You don’t care what happens to those kids. I do.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake! Are you taking me to Lake Kittamaqundi on July Fourth for the Urban League picnic?”

“I have no plans to go, Lacy. Count me out.”

“But everybody’s going, and I don’t want to miss the fun.”

She still hadn’t gotten the message. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he wasn’t going to that picnic with her. “I’m sorry, Lacy. If you want company at the picnic, you’ll have to ask someone else. Okay?”

After a few seconds of silence, her breathy voice with its sexual overtones bruised his ears. “I don’t want to go with anyone else, but I can’t drag you over there.” A long pause. “Can I?”

“No, you can’t. See you around.” For a woman of classic good looks, he couldn’t figure out why she sold herself so short, insisting on a relationship with him, although he told her in many ways that it wasn’t going to happen.

He thought of calling Melinda, apologizing to her and telling her he needed her, but he couldn’t do that. In his whole life, he’d never let anybody see him down.

“Hold your head up and push your chin out even if you’re dying,” Woodrow Wilson Hunter had preached to his children, drilling it into Blake, the last of the three to leave home. There had to be a gentler method of nurturing a boy into manhood; at times, he still felt the pain. He ate a sandwich and stretched out in bed to struggle with himself and his feelings for Melinda until daylight rescued him.

The telephone rang as he walked toward the bathroom to get his morning shower, and thinking it was probably Lacy, his first inclination was to ignore it. But he heard his sister Callie’s voice on the answering machine and rushed to lift the receiver.

After listening to her message, he asked, “When did it happen?”