Different Drummers by Jean Houghton-Beatty

Eddisville. There ain’t all that much to see, but still and all, there’s more than you saw yesterday.”
    Kathleen eased the letter into her skirt pocket. “Oh, yes please. I’d like that. Just give me a minute while I let Beulah know.”
    What a godsend this was. The prospect of spending the day confined to the house had filled her with dread. Now a respite had presented itself in the form of Freddie.
    â€œWell, I dunno,” Beulah said when Kathleen told her. “What’ll I tell Bobby if he comes while you’re gone?”
    â€œWe shouldn’t be gone all that long. If he does come, you can just say Freddie is showing me around.”
    She grabbed her purse, determined to go. “Please understand, Beulah. It’s just for a little while.” She turned and left before Beulah could raise any more objections.
    â€œI could hear what Beulah was sayin’,” Freddie said. “I don’t mean to cause no trouble, but I felt, well, sort of sorry for you, when you got here yesterday. Just between you and me, this branch of the Conroys ain’t never gonna put themselves out all that much to give you a decent welcome. I guess I just had it in mind to show you a bit of good old-fashioned Southern hospitality.”
    Kathleen couldn’t help but notice the truck had been washed and spruced up. “Don’t worry about it, Freddie. As far as I’m concerned, you’re heaven-sent. I don’t know what I would have done all day if you hadn’t asked me.”
    He smiled as she took a seat beside him. “Well, OK. I was thinkin’ you might like a tour of our town. We’ll take a drive along some of our ritziest streets and then there’s a few places of interest you might like.”
    When they came to a broad tree-lined avenue, Freddie slowed his truck to a crawl. Here they were, the beautiful homes with the wide columned verandas, just like she’d seen in the movies. She’d imagined all along Bob would live in such a house and felt an ache deep down as if she’d been cheated. In fairness to Bob she had to allow he’d told her no such thing and only her own silly romantic imaginings had led her to think so.
    â€œThis here’s Petrie Avenue, one of our prettiest streets. That house on the corner there belongs to the Simpson family. They own a lot of the land hereabouts and have a nice home at the beach. I work for old man Simpson some, and once or twice I’ve gone to the beach to tend to his shrubbery.”
    Kathleen craned her neck. “Is that a swimming pool at the back of his house?”
    â€œYes ma’am, it sure is. There’s money in that family. Oh, and this house next door belongs to William Tate. He owns The Eddisville Gazette . That’s the town newspaper.”
    â€œYou mean a little town like Eddisville has its own newspaper?”
    â€œWell, it’s not a daily like they have in big cities like Columbia. The Gazette comes out on a Friday. The whole town gets it though. It’s full of news about everyone hereabouts, and lots of other stuff some folks find interestin’.”
    They turned from Petrie onto Vine Road. “Old Doc Parker lives in this house. He comes from up north somewhere and owns the clinic downtown. He’s kinda nice, even if he is a Yankee. He’ll do what he can for you and give you a fair price. If you ever get sick, Kathleen, this is the man you need to see.”
    He smiled at her. Kathleen would have said, if anybody had asked her, that Freddie Conroy was a very ordinary looking young man, a nice face but the sort who wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. That was until he smiled. His face changed when he smiled, giving him one of the gentlest looks she’d ever seen.
    After Vine Road they drove down Fairfax Avenue, Freddie singling out particular houses and giving snippets of information about the owners. Then, slowly, as if he’d guessed Kathleen