Flight of Fancie Read online

  She smiled. “So he says. He’s a good guy.”

  Tripp refilled his coffee mug and sat again, the newspaper spread open in front of him. “Good for you.”

  Fancie stepped up behind him. “What are you reading?”

  “Want ads.”

  She poured a cup of coffee and sat across from him. “Did you think about our last conversation? About maybe going to art school?”

  “Me in college? Really?”

  “Art school would be different. You’d focus on one thing. And you have talent.”

  He snorted, but didn’t voice an argument.

  Fancie knew when to shut up and let things simmer. “Are you going to be here for dinner tonight? I’m making Bitsy’s fried chicken.”

  “You’re making fried chicken?”

  “Yep. Mama and I spent time going over some of Bitsy’s recipes.”

  “Doesn’t mean you can cook. Only means you can read.”

  Fancie picked up her coffee. “We’ll see. So, you’ll be here?”

  He shrugged. “I guess. I got nowhere else to be.”

  “Dinner’s at six.” Fancie refilled her coffee and headed upstairs. She had her own job search to conduct.

  She fired up the laptop and began a search. Not one single college in the tri-state area had openings advertised for anyone to teach Creative Writing. She selected four schools and submitted a letter of interest and resume anyway, not feeling at all optimistic. Then she put in a call to her Uncle Avery.

  “Hey, Fancie Face. How are you?”

  “Good, Uncle Avery. I was wondering if you’d like to come to dinner tonight. I’m making Bitsy’s fried chicken.”

  “You don’t have to ask me twice, especially for fried chicken. I’ll pick up ice cream on the way.”

  “Thanks. There’s something I want to talk with you about, but we can do that this evening. Dinner’s at six.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Fancie ended the call and cradled the phone in her lap. Her heart sank a little when she thought of telling her uncle she would take over the management of the newspaper. She knew how demanding that job could be and that it would leave her little time to tend to her novel. She also worried that Luke would get a job in ‘the South,’ but still miles away from Columbus. Maybe she could let her uncle know of her interest, but ask to hold off until Luke had something in place for himself. When she realized she was once again rearranging her life for a man—even if he hadn’t asked her to—she wanted to kick herself.

  Her mother came into the kitchen while Fancie was setting everything out that she would need to prepare dinner. “Need any help?”

  “No, you should rest.”

  “I’ve rested all day. I need to move around. Even my physical therapist says so. And I have to get out of that bedroom for a while. I think I’m about ready to move back upstairs.”

  “Don’t push it. Those steps are longer and steeper than they look. I was wondering why you and Daddy don’t just turn the den into a bedroom permanently. It’s not like it gets that much use except when he wants to watch football and you want to watch something else. You could leave a TV in there, have a recliner for him.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. We’ll have to make some more modifications, put in some type of closet. I’ll call a few contractors and get some bids.” She stretched her neck and examined the items on the counter. “You get the buttermilk for the batter?”

  “I did. I got everything on the list. You’re going to make me nervous if you keep asking questions.”

  Her mother made a zipping motion in front of her lips and grinned.

  “You want some tea?”

  “That would be nice. Can I stay and watch you?”

  “Wouldn’t TV be more entertaining?”

  Her mother hesitated, then said, “I doubt it.”

  Both Fancie and Alicia laughed. The sound reverberated through Fancie. How long had it been since anyone in this house just laughed? So much had happened to the family in the past few months. Finally things were looking up.

  While she followed the directions for making biscuits, Fancie said, “Mama, Luke’s going to try to find a job down here somewhere.”

  “Really? He’s not happy where he is? I never got that impression.”

  “He’s happy there. But he—he’s ready for a change. And we think maybe we could have a future together.” Her mother said nothing and Fancie turned. Then she saw the smile on her mother’s face. “Mama?”

  “I watched you change, become predictable, less spontaneous. You seemed to weigh every word, every action against what Graham would think. That worried me.”

  “You never said anything.”

  “I tried, but I thought if I confronted you about it, you’d only draw away even more, get angry with me. And I thought perhaps you were maturing, that’s what I was seeing. Maybe I was the one having trouble letting go of my little girl. But I see the difference now. You’re back.”

  “How am I different?”

  “You’re relaxed. You’re smiling, for starters. You have an opinion and you state it. You always did have strong opinions, until Graham came along. Luke brings out the best in you.”

  “Luke lets me be myself.”

  “Same thing.” Her mother stood slowly and crossed to the counter. “Let me cut the biscuits. I can do that much.”

  Fancie rolled out the dough and stepped to the side to read the directions for making the batter for the fried chicken. “Did you and Bitsy work together in the kitchen like this after you married Daddy?”

  Her mother nodded. “We did. It’s nice now, you and I doing this together.”

  Fancie bumped her arm against her mother’s. “It is nice. Do you still have those drawings Tripp did when he was in high school?”

  “What made you think of those?”

  “I don’t know. I was just wondering if you had them. I’d like to see them again.”

  “They’re pressed in cardboard and in the top of the trunk in my upstairs closet. You can get them any time you want.”

  Fancie had wanted to prepare this meal all by herself to prove something. But working side-by-side with her mother proved to be much more fun. They joked and shared memories of Bitsy while Fancie read the recipe, Alicia re-read it aloud, then they made their own adjustments here and there.

  “Bitsy would be horrified to see how we’re modifying her recipes,” Fancie said.

  “Oh, she never followed these to the letter. Always a little bit of this or that added. She was adventurous.”

  Tripp and James both appeared in the kitchen as the last of the fried chicken was removed from the cast iron skillet and drained on waiting paper towels.

  “Smells good in here,” James said.

  “Fancie’s done a great job with your mama’s recipes,” Alicia said.

  “Good thing she’s learnin’ to cook what with her impending nuptials,” Tripp said.

  Her parents both turned to look at him, then all three pairs of eyes turned on Fancie.

  “What are you talking about?” Fancie asked.

  Tripp took a biscuit from the plate and bit into it. “That’s the word all over town, that you and Luke are just waiting to settle down here.”

  Fancie closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. “Marianne Babbitt. We should call her Blab-it.” She explained the encounter with Marianne in the floral shop. “I don’t know why I said what I said. I guess I wanted her to take it back to Graham. I didn’t think until it was too late that she’d blab it all over town.”

  “Well, she has. You’re quite the topic of conversation. Most interesting thing that’s happened in town since Graham jilted you,” Tripp said.

  Fancie shook her head. “Hopefully something else will happen to dethrone me as Queen of Gossip. Tripp, you’re enlisted to help set everything out on the table.” The doorbell sounded. “That’s Uncle Avery, right on time.”

  Fancie was pl
eased when everyone took a second piece of chicken.

  “This is really good,” Tripp said.

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I am. You can read and execute.”

  After clearing the table and serving dessert to everyone in the living room, Fancie returned to the kitchen to load the dishwasher. Tripp joined her. “Want some help?”

  “You?”

  “Sure. But I get to wash.”

  “We have a dishwasher, but you can rinse and stack.”

  “What time do we have to go to the attorney’s office tomorrow for the reading of Bitsy’s will?”

  “We need to be there at ten.”

  “All of us?”

  “Yes. All of us.”

  When the kitchen was cleaned and the dishwasher running, Fancie stuck her head into the living room. “Uncle Avery, can I talk with you in the kitchen for a moment?”

  Fancie stood by the sink with her arms crossed in front of her. “I—um—I wanted to tell you I’m seriously considering your offer to take over the newspaper.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and studied her. “Really?”

  She forced a smile. “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea now.”

  “What? Why not? You said I was perfect for the job.”

  “You are with one exception. It’s not what you want. Is it?”

  Heat rushed into her face. “You can tell?”

  He cupped her chin with his fingers. “Fancie Face, you’ve never been less enthusiastic about something.”

  “I’m sorry, Uncle Avery.”

  “What do you really want to do?”

  “I love teaching. And I want to finish the novel I started writing. Problem is, none of the schools in our area seem to have an opening.”

  “Something will open up for you, I’m sure. You’d be an asset to any school. The world’s a lot bigger than Mississippi, but don’t quote me on that.”

  Fancie wrapped her arms around his ample middle and hugged. “Thank you, Uncle Avery. I really will work at the newspaper if you need me.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Fancie let out the breath she’d been holding. She wished she had her uncle’s faith that things would work out. Now she was back to square one, trying to find a job.

  ~

  “I can’t believe Grandma Bitsy had that much of an estate built up,” Fancie said.

  Her father nodded. “She and your Grandpa were always frugal. I hope you and your brother will be as wise with what she left to each of you. Now, I suggest we have lunch at the diner. I’m starving.”

  A waitress came to take their order. When she spied Fancie, she said, “Hey, I hear congratulations are in order. You don’t waste time, do you? Some guy from up North? Hope it actually happens for you this time.” She lifted her order pad. “So what can I getcha?”

  Marianne Babbitt’s head? “You’ve been misinformed. And I’ll have the grilled chicken salad, Ranch dressing on the side please. If you’ve heard anything, it’s pure gossip.” Fancie glanced toward the door and someone caught her eye. Graham.

  He strode directly toward their table and stopped next to Fancie’s chair. “Could we talk for a minute?”

  She glared at him. “I’m busy.”

  “Until your food arrives.”

  “Fine. What do you want?”

  He glanced around the table, then said, “Privately?”

  “If you have something to say to me, you can say it front of my family.”

  “Francine, I thought you’d moved past the anger. I heard you were moving on with—what was his name? Luke.”

  “Your busybody girlfriend misconstrued something I said.”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay. I just saw you here and came to offer my congratulations. I’m sure the two of you will be happier than you and I would have been.”

  Fancie stared up at him. “Now that’s one thing we agree on.”

  Her father and brother both stood.

  Graham smiled. “Well, I’ll leave you to your family lunch.”

  Fancie growled. “That man is insufferable.”

  “Want me to break his nose this time?” Tripp asked.

  “That’s mature.” She glared at her brother. “Let’s just have a nice lunch.” She raised her water glass. “Here’s to Grandma Bitsy.”

  Tripp leaned close. “I’m proud of the way you stood up to Graham. It’s like you’ve become your old self again. Fancie, BG.”

  “BG?”

  “Before Graham.”

  She thought to argue, but reconsidered. “Thanks, Tripp.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Fancie had to admit, even in the midst of her grief for her grandmother, she felt more like herself than she had in a long time. It had felt good to stand up to Graham.

  ~

  Two days later, Fancie flipped through the mail, separating the garbage from the real stuff. She came to an envelope addressed to her and from the University of Mississippi. She set the rest of the mail on the table in the front hall and worked the envelope open, removing the official looking letter inside. She read and then she squealed. “Yes!”

  “Fancie, what is it?” her mother called from the living room.

  Fancie rushed into the room, waving the letter. “I have an interview at Ole Miss.”

  “How did that happen? I thought you said no openings were posted.”

  “There weren’t. I guess something just opened up.”

  Her mother beamed. “I’m so happy for you. I know you’ll get the job. You’re an alumnus of the school. Not to mention a brilliant teacher.”

  “I can’t believe this.” Then she frowned. “What if Luke gets a job somewhere else, though? I mean, he could end up in Memphis or even in Atlanta or New Orleans.”

  “They’re all closer than New Hampshire. Besides, your work is about you. Oh, Fancie, I’m happy for you. When is the interview?”

  “I have to call and confirm I can be there on Friday at two. That’s day after tomorrow.”

  ~

  Fancie gave herself one last look in the full-length mirror. She looked like a librarian in her plain white blouse with tailored grey skirt and short-waisted jacket. That seemed appropriate for someone who wanted a job teaching in the English Department. She looked professional. There was something about interviewing at her alma mater than gave an added edge to her anxiety.

  Her mother smiled at her from the living room as she descended the stairs. “You look beautiful.”

  “I was going for professional.”

  “That too. Good luck.”

  “Thanks, Mama. I’d better get going. It’s a two hour drive.”

  She located the office of Dr. Gary Spooner and introduced herself to the receptionist.

  After Dr. Spooner reviewed her resume, he sat back and smiled. “Impressive.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The position here would require teaching Introduction to Creative Writing, Southern Literature Throughout History, and would also require you to mentor an advanced study group in Literary Fiction Writing.”

  The excitement almost made her body vibrate. This was a dream job.

  “I understand you left the position in New England to care for your parents after an accident?”

  “Yes.” Then she narrowed her eyes. How did he know that? She didn’t put that in her resume.

  Before she could ask, Dr. Spooner flushed. “Did I tell you I graduated from high school with your Uncle Avery?”

  Like the tumblers on a safe, everything clicked into place. “You know Uncle Avery.”

  “He speaks very highly of you. His recommendation means a great deal.”

  “I see.”

  “Good. So, the position opens for the fall term. If you might be interested, I’ll have my secretary send you a contract for review.”

  “When do you need to have an answer?”

  He frowned. “I want to have the open positions fo
r fall filled before June. I’m traveling in Europe for a month over the summer. My wife and I are celebrating our thirty-fifth anniversary.”

  “Congratulations. So, I have some time.”

  His eyebrows knit together. “Is there a problem? I got the impression from Avery that you were eager to settle again with a teaching position.”

  “I am. And I promise I won’t take long. There are just a few things I need to consider. Please do send me the contract.”

  “Okay, then.” He stood and extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure meeting you. Please give my best to Avery when you see him.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  She wasn’t sure how to feel. On the one hand, she was grateful to her uncle for putting a word in for her. On the other hand, she was embarrassed that, at almost thirty years of age, she had to have her uncle run interference for her. Although, technically, she didn’t have him do anything. He’d taken it on all by himself.

  She stopped by Square Books to browse before making the drive back home. A book store always helped to clear her head. Fancie thought about what her father had said to Mr. Colt, about how he was proud of Fancie and the good decisions she’d made for herself. As much as she loved Ole Miss and the idea of teaching there, something in her gut told her this was not right. One thing was right for her—and he lived in New Hampshire.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Fancie played a game of pros and cons on the drive back to Columbus. By the time she parked her car, she knew exactly what she wanted to do. It was time to muster the courage the old Fancie had possessed. She pulled her phone from her purse as she opened the front door. “Hello, this is Francine Hollensby. May I please speak with Dr. Archer?”

  “Please hold, Miss Hollensby.”

  When he came on the phone, Dr. Archer sounded pleased to hear from her. “Miss Hollensby, how are you? And how is your family?”

  “They’re fine. Thank you for asking. As for me—well, that’s why I’m calling.”

  “Oh?”

  “I find that I’ll be returning to Henniker after all, and I wondered if there is any chance of getting my job back.” Why beat around the bush and make small talk? This is what she needed to know.

  He waited a few beats. “I see. When would you be returning?”

  “As soon as possible.” She fought the urge to beg.