Eleanor Tatum

Trevor Coffman takes us into his private “wouldas, couldas, shouldas”, before exploring his new opportunities and adventures in our Carolina swamps.

Trevor allowed his lake blue eyes to stare back at himself from the small dressing table mirror. Shaving was difficult while grooming for an appointment at sunset. Recalling the gunshot had his straight edge razor jumping, threatening his tender skin.

What had Catherine said? She’d been truly shaken, but had she talked about Cranfield and a pinecone? What on earth! Planning to question her further, he was pleasantly excited to see her again. When was the last time euphoria flowed through his system?

It had been too long. God Knows. He had been too exhausted with the business of responsibilities and family rights. He shook his shoulders to cast off the feeling as his clean, but wrinkled, linen shirt slipped over his head. Mercer had promised laundry service, but evidently ironing was not included in this swamp.

His euphoria followed him around the tiny room. He bent over to yank boots over his clean socks. Cranfield’s sister, Eloise, appeared uninvited in his mind and the positive feelings faded. Trevor rested his elbows on his thighs and lifted his head to stare at nothing. The wall supported a cheaply framed print of the Swiss Alps. He briefly wondered why anyone would decorate a hotel in the swamps with mountain scenes. Trying to cool off the guests? The snow stared back, but he wasn’t cooled nor was he in the alps.

His mind walked into that stuffy, overly furnished, formal parlor, sipping weak tea, trying to compliment the Cranfield family cook for the far-too-sweet cakes, and making inane comments about the weather. Eloise had sat as straight as any slide rule, or ledger page. Together they waited for her mother to complete a conversation that didn’t need remembering. Did Eloise say anything that afternoon? Was she shy? Did she look at him or even move? She had blushed when he entered the room.

Was that an acknowledgement of everlasting love and devotion?

Who mentioned marriage first? It was her mother. Yanking his mind back to the swamp, Trevor groaned outloud.

He abruptly stood and had intended to pace the three or four steps it would take to get to the door, but his unbuckled bootstrap slapped hard against his knee and forced the important question to slap back.

How did he manage to become engaged to that stiff woman?

Trevor violently banged his fist against the wall. Damn! He was broke. He needed Eloise, no, the Cranfield money.

The late afternoon sun slanted a reflected glare off his mirror. He put the Cranfields and their money on the back burner and smiled as the warm bliss returned. Trevor left his room, locked the door and headed out to the front. His objective was the Gray Lace cottage down the sandy road to his left.

Egad! Enough! (until later)