Chapter 10

Noah was on a ladder, painting the white clapboards. He got lights set up so he could paint at night. A voice below him caused him to look down. It was his father.

"Getting late. Cold," he said, "I've got to finish." Frank admired his son's work.

"Nice job. Though I'm not sure I'd paint it white," said his father. "Oh, yeah? What color would you paint it, Dad?" "Black. That's the color of mourning, isn't it?" Noah laughed as he climbed down the ladder to grab some paint.

"Yeah, I suppose it is," he descended as his father broke up in an ugly coughing spell.

"You okay?" Asked Noah, "Never better," he replied as he handed Noah the paint bucket.

"I'm worried about you, son. You know I'm not one to give a lot of advice, but you are letting this young lady take over your life. It's not right to be so crazy over a house. Working day and night, never eating or sleeping, never having a moment to enjoy yourself. It's not going to bring her back."

"No?" Noah questioned. "No. If building a house could restore a lost love, your mother would be here, and we'd all be living in the Taj Mahal."

"Sure, Dad. I understand." "Now, I'm going to grab a beer and sit down by the fire. I'm freezing my tail out of here. You going to come?" "No, Dad. I've got to finish."

"Okay, then. I'll go back inside and talk to your mother. She's a good listener, you know." His father headed for the house. Noah watched his father climb the steps and disappeared inside.

***

"Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust," the pastor delivered a simple eulogy to a very small crowd. When Noah's father died at the end of the summer, the house was all he had.

Elgin patted Noah on the back and set a small bunch of flowers on the grave. Noah looked at the side-by-side tombstones for his mother and father through dark sunglasses. Together at last.

The Windsor Plantation house was starting to come together and in time, Noah finished the house.

Noah was making furniture, beautiful furniture. Each piece is made especially for its place in the house.

He took a good look at what he'd accomplished, got rip-roaring drunk for ten days, thought seriously about setting it on fire, and finally, put the house up for sale.

Noah chased a prospective buyer off his land. He had a number of interested buyers, but he always found a reason not to sell it to them. Either their bids were too low, or, if they met his asking price, he felt it was worth a lot more.

Noah walked through the house. Each room was truly splendid. He told the man who offered him $2,000 over his price that no one in his right mind would do that, and he wouldn't have a lunatic living in his house.

As he moved outside and headed for the water, he saw the finished house and it was perfect.

At the Combahee River, early in the morning, he was out of his kayak, rowing. The workout was intense, but Noah was driven, each stroke knifing into the water with precision.

He worked out his frustration with life on the creek every morning, and built furniture to earn a living during the day.

***

In the evenings, to temper the sting of loneliness, there was Martha Shaw. He was at Martha's house. Martha Shaw was at her mid 30s, very southern. Noah laid in bed, post coitus. She played with the hairs on his chest.

Martha was a war widow, who lived in Quail Ridge, a town away.

"Hungry? I could make you something," she said. "No, thanks," said Noah absentmindedly.

"I've got some lemonade," she offered, "okay," he agreed this time. She got out of bed and went to the kitchen.

"Want to have a picnic tomorrow? We could go down to the river," suggested Martha, "I can't. I've got work."

Martha returned with the lemonade and Noah drank. "What do you want, Noah?" "What do I want?" He rhetorically asked.

"From me. I swear, I don't know. Sometimes when you talk to me, you don't even see me. A woman knows when a man looks into her eyes and sees someone else."

"Look, Martha, I like you. But the things you want from me, I can't give. They're gone. Broken. Reserved for someone else who doesn't want me." Ouch! That really hurt her.

***

Allie's mother stood with Aunt Kitty, Aunt Georgia, Aunt Jeanette, and Allie's bridesmaids, Linda Jean, Heather Lynn, and Rosemary. They were having a discussion with James, the dressmaker.

"You can't have the bridesmaids wearing the same color as the bride, Annie," said Aunt Kitty.

"It's just not done," said Aunt Georgia.

"Why not? Where's the rule? I want the whole wedding to be white. Flowers, place settings, everything. As far as the eye can see," said Allie's mother.

"May I suggest the lightest of pink?" Said James as he showed her a swatch of chiffon.

"Powder puff. White in the sun, but inside? Definitely pink," he said.

Allie exited the dressing room wearing her wedding dress. It needed to be pinned, but she was absolutely stunning. Her mother's eyes filled with tears and the women screamed with approval.

"Is the veil too much?" Asked Allie. The ladies rushed her.

Are you kidding? You look perfect. You're the most beautiful bride ever," complemented Linda Jean.

"You look gorgeous, honey," said Aunt Jeanette. "Wait until Lon sees you in that dress. He'll go crazy," Aunt Georgia beamed with excitement.

"He won't be able to take his eyes off you. Or his hands," added Heather Lynn enthusiastically.

"Did you see this morning's paper, Allie? The Herald says it's the social highlight of the season," said Aunt Kitty.

"Of the season? Honey, this is going to be a celebration the likes of which this town has never seen," Allie's mother said proudly picturing the event in her mind.

"Mama, you don't plan, you plot," said Allie as Aunt Kitty handed her the newspaper to Allie. "Right here you see?" Gestured Aunt Kitty.

"Gosh. It mentions that the Governor's coming."

"He better. Let me see," requested her mother.

As Allie opened the paper, she froze. On the opposite page there was a large photograph of Noah standing in front of the Windsor Plantation. The caption read : OLD NEW BERN HOME FULLY RESTORED.

"Oh, boy," her mother contemplated.

Allie stared at the picture, losing her breath. Her eyes rolled upwards and she slid into the floor, out cold. The girls flocked around her, asking if she was alright. James got a cold compress for her head, and Allie was all well.

"I'm okay. I just need to get out of here," she ran out of the dressmaker shop.