knew some steps. “Fern told me you
were a good dancer.”
“Not as good as Fern. She’s good at everything. Dancing, golf, skiing.”
“I’ve never been on skis. They don’t have too much of that in Arkansas.”
“She likes golf best. I heard about your golf game this week. Buddy told me.” She even laughed like Fern, the laughter starting
out low and throaty and then spilling out of her, her chest lifting and her head falling back.
“I admit defeat,” he said.
“That’s why she loves you, I guess you know. Some guys felt threatened by her back in Ardmore.”
“I once thought you were called Faye. Did I imagine it?”
“Oh, that. I’m Donna Faye Coulter.” Her dark eyes took in all the dancers moving in around them. “After college, I started
going by my first name. I’m settling down. I want to find someone like Fern has, I mean, more seriously than before.”
Jeb spun Donna and drew her back in front of him. “Did she date anyone seriously? Not that I care, but did she?”
“Who, Fern?” She coughed.
“It’s all right to say. The past is the past and all that.”
The dance ended. Donna clapped like the others, who had milled onto the floor. “Looks like Fern found your dinner party host.”
Fern and a woman seated at a long banquet table talked. Fern was still standing. Jeb invited Donna to join him and they commenced
to walk across the dance floor. He escorted her around several chairs and had one more table to get around when Fern turned
and withdrew from the party. She left the Venetian Room and disappeared into the hallway.
“Big Sister must have needed the powder room,” said Jeb.
Donna rested one hand on an empty chair at the head of the table. The other hand rested on her hip until her gaze seemed to
land on a male guest seated at the banquet table’s opposite end. “I’m going to go and join my sister in the powder room. You
get us three chairs, will you, Jeb?”
She excused herself and left Jeb standing awkwardly alone, staring into the face of their host.
Eleven or so people were seated around the long table, faces pale in the candlelight, and eyes glassy. One woman across the
table smiled and said, “You must be the fiancée of that beautiful woman who just dropped by? And I guess that was her sister
just now?”
The man at the table’s end glanced at Donna exiting the Venetian Room and then looked up at Jeb.
A woman wearing a gold-threaded outfit garnished right out front with a big bow smiled at Jeb. “Esther, don’t you know her?
That was Fern Coulter, Francis and Abigail’s daughter. Can you believe it?”
The man next to her came to his feet and thrust out his hand. “Reverend Nubey, I’m Henry Oakley.” He was a slightly younger
man than Jeb had imagined, thick dark hair that glistened under the low-hanging lights. A bit of salt and pepper at the temple.
The woman in the bowed dress was his wife, he said, and then she introduced herself as a close friend of Rachel Flauvert.
“I’m Marion. I hope we didn’t scare off Miss Coulter.”
“Did she mention where she was going?” asked Jeb.
The man seated at the table’s end said, “I’m sure she’ll be back.” He glanced back toward the door and then pulled out an
empty chair next to him. “Please have a seat next to me, Preacher.”
“Walton, I won’t let you hog Reverend Nubey all to yourself. Ignore him, Reverend,” said Marion. She had reserved two chairs,
one next to her for Fern, and then a chair across from her for Jeb. Her face reddened when she told Walton, “I’m pulling rank
on you.”
Walton conceded defeat.
Jeb shrugged apologetically for Walton’s benefit and accepted Marion’s invitation.
Marion slid a tray of hors d’oeuvres toward Jeb. “Get this away from me. I’ll eat the whole plate of those things.”
Jeb placed two of the concoctions on his plate, cucumbers pieced together with circles of bread and pasted with creamy spread.
were a good dancer.”
“Not as good as Fern. She’s good at everything. Dancing, golf, skiing.”
“I’ve never been on skis. They don’t have too much of that in Arkansas.”
“She likes golf best. I heard about your golf game this week. Buddy told me.” She even laughed like Fern, the laughter starting
out low and throaty and then spilling out of her, her chest lifting and her head falling back.
“I admit defeat,” he said.
“That’s why she loves you, I guess you know. Some guys felt threatened by her back in Ardmore.”
“I once thought you were called Faye. Did I imagine it?”
“Oh, that. I’m Donna Faye Coulter.” Her dark eyes took in all the dancers moving in around them. “After college, I started
going by my first name. I’m settling down. I want to find someone like Fern has, I mean, more seriously than before.”
Jeb spun Donna and drew her back in front of him. “Did she date anyone seriously? Not that I care, but did she?”
“Who, Fern?” She coughed.
“It’s all right to say. The past is the past and all that.”
The dance ended. Donna clapped like the others, who had milled onto the floor. “Looks like Fern found your dinner party host.”
Fern and a woman seated at a long banquet table talked. Fern was still standing. Jeb invited Donna to join him and they commenced
to walk across the dance floor. He escorted her around several chairs and had one more table to get around when Fern turned
and withdrew from the party. She left the Venetian Room and disappeared into the hallway.
“Big Sister must have needed the powder room,” said Jeb.
Donna rested one hand on an empty chair at the head of the table. The other hand rested on her hip until her gaze seemed to
land on a male guest seated at the banquet table’s opposite end. “I’m going to go and join my sister in the powder room. You
get us three chairs, will you, Jeb?”
She excused herself and left Jeb standing awkwardly alone, staring into the face of their host.
Eleven or so people were seated around the long table, faces pale in the candlelight, and eyes glassy. One woman across the
table smiled and said, “You must be the fiancée of that beautiful woman who just dropped by? And I guess that was her sister
just now?”
The man at the table’s end glanced at Donna exiting the Venetian Room and then looked up at Jeb.
A woman wearing a gold-threaded outfit garnished right out front with a big bow smiled at Jeb. “Esther, don’t you know her?
That was Fern Coulter, Francis and Abigail’s daughter. Can you believe it?”
The man next to her came to his feet and thrust out his hand. “Reverend Nubey, I’m Henry Oakley.” He was a slightly younger
man than Jeb had imagined, thick dark hair that glistened under the low-hanging lights. A bit of salt and pepper at the temple.
The woman in the bowed dress was his wife, he said, and then she introduced herself as a close friend of Rachel Flauvert.
“I’m Marion. I hope we didn’t scare off Miss Coulter.”
“Did she mention where she was going?” asked Jeb.
The man seated at the table’s end said, “I’m sure she’ll be back.” He glanced back toward the door and then pulled out an
empty chair next to him. “Please have a seat next to me, Preacher.”
“Walton, I won’t let you hog Reverend Nubey all to yourself. Ignore him, Reverend,” said Marion. She had reserved two chairs,
one next to her for Fern, and then a chair across from her for Jeb. Her face reddened when she told Walton, “I’m pulling rank
on you.”
Walton conceded defeat.
Jeb shrugged apologetically for Walton’s benefit and accepted Marion’s invitation.
Marion slid a tray of hors d’oeuvres toward Jeb. “Get this away from me. I’ll eat the whole plate of those things.”
Jeb placed two of the concoctions on his plate, cucumbers pieced together with circles of bread and pasted with creamy spread.
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