Free Return of the Dixie Deb by Nina Barrett Page A

breath, his eyes watering. “I can see why there’s a market for it. Thank you, Junior, you’re a lifesaver.”
    “Glad to oblige. Take it easy, sir. A little goes a long way.”
    He moved a chair up to sit beside Jan. One of the other guests had asked a question about the house’s history.
    “It was built originally for George Reynolds Randolph and his bride when he brought her to Fawcett County in the 1830s. He wanted to impress her, because she came from a wealthy New Orleans family. He built the main part of the house and several of the outbuildings.
    “Later on, in the War Between the States, the house was used as a hospital by Confederate forces and then was commandeered by Union General Fitzsimmons and his staff during their northern sweep of the state. It passed through a number of hands afterward and hadn’t been occupied for some years when my parents, the Major and Miss Verbena, acquired it. The Major, a member of the Alabama Hall of Fame, had the back section added on and the landscaping put in with the proceeds from his career in inventing. My sisters and I grew up here as did my daughters, Dahlia and Daisy, when my late husband and I assumed management.”
    From inside, a gong sounded and Miss Lily folded her hands in her lap. Dahlia appeared in the doorway and smiled at the group.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served.”
    He and Jan followed the other guests as Dahlia pushed her mother’s wheelchair.
    The Heart of Dixie dining room was set with bone china, silver, and crystal. The varied pieces seemed to have come from a number of different sets. He put his drink down and held Jan’s needlepoint-embroidered chair as she seated herself at one end of the long, mahogany table.
    Seating himself beside her, he took the linen napkin out of its napkin ring.
    “Dinner tonight is fresh lake trout with new potatoes and creamed peas,” Dahlia said as she filled his water goblet.
    “Sounds great. Last night’s dinner was wonderful.”
    Jan took a long sip from her glass as she turned to talk to her neighbor, a young Japanese woman who appeared eager to practice her English.
    “Thank you. Patsy Evans helps out in the kitchen. She’s a shirttail relative on my daddy’s side. In a county like this, you’re kin to half the people who live ’round here. She made derby pie for dessert so save some room.” Dahlia gave him a smile.
    He listened with half an ear as the man beside him launched a detailed account of the golf courses he and his wife had visited on their trip south. He and the missus, as he put it, were getting their game in shape before their club tournament in the fall.
    Junior, in the role of waiter, entered with salads on a tray as he reached for his drink. Someone must have removed it. He made a face. Beside him, Jan had a firm grip on her own glass as she talked to her neighbor. She transferred her glass to her other hand as she picked up her fork and speared a cherry tomato.
    “It’s great, isn’t it?” Her eyes were bright as she looked up at him.
    “Makes a nice change from fast food on the road.”
    “Better than boiled peanuts?” She let her head rest on his shoulder.
    “Definitely.”
    Her Japanese neighbor said something and Jan turned with a giggle. His neighbor continued with descriptions of their golfing pilgrimage to Augusta National as the salad plates were removed and the entrée served.
    “So how did you hear about this place?” his neighbor asked. “The missus and I pretty much stumbled on it.”
    “It came recommended by some people I work with.”
    “Well, it’s really something. It’s seen its better days.” The golfer’s wife lowered her voice. “But it’s just charming. I mean, the history, the antiques. If these walls could talk, can you imagine the stories they’d tell? And these meals are not to be believed. You don’t see this kind of thing much anymore with all the chain restaurants and motels around.”
    “So it’s pretty much of a steal,