The Women of Bayberry Cove

Unfortunately, each of these good intentions was blown all to hell on Tuesday evening.

Just two days after she moved into her little apartment, an unexpected event made her ignore every promise she’d made to herself.

Tired of reading, bored with dusting and totally disinterested in popping a frozen dinner into her microwave, Louise wandered down to the Kettle, where she’d eaten most of her meals the last couple of days. There was a good supper crowd gathered in the diner, but she found a small table and sat down.

After a few minutes Bobbi Lee came to take her order. “Hey, girl, how’s it going?” she said, her red lips curving into a welcoming grin. “How’s that place of yours working out?”

“Just fine, Bobbi Lee,” Louise said. She and Bobbi had established a friendly relationship. In fact, Louise was now beginning to worry about how this steadily increasing bond with the waitress might translate into fat grams.

“What’ll it be tonight?” Bobbi asked.

Louise folded the menu so she couldn’t see the words sausage gravy. “Just a salad.”

Bobbi sauntered off to place the order and Louise sat back and watched the people around her. Four women at a nearby table caught and held her attention. Each lady had a full bottle of Budweiser in front of her. Twice the number of empties sat waiting for the busboy to take them away.

Occasionally the women’s conversation was interrupted by boisterous laughter. But without fail, they quickly resumed a serious discussion once the joviality passed. Other sounds of the restaurant faded as curiosity made Louise tune in their voices. The ladies were obviously close acquaintances even though there was a wide range in their ages.

“All I know is that I couldn’t afford to give up another day’s wages at the factory to stay home with my son,” a young, olive-skinned Hispanic woman said. “Thank goodness he was well enough to go back to the baby-sitter today.”

“Did you tell Justin why you needed to stay home?” an older woman with a long gray ponytail asked.

“I did, hoping he’d be sympathetic. He said, ‘Go ahead, Miranda. Take all the time you need, but come payday—’”

“Wait, don’t tell us,” a slim woman with short blond hair interrupted. “He said, ‘Come payday, your check might be a little less than you expected.’”

Empathetic laughter erupted around the table until the older woman lifted her bottle into the air. “Let’s drink one to Justin Beauclaire, in honor of his unending compassion for his employees and his sense of fair play,” she said.

Something of an expert herself in the subtle deployment of sarcasm, Louise appreciated the old gal’s admirable use of it. She smiled and raised her glass of iced tea in silent commiseration.

Four bottles met and clinked above the center of the table, and each woman took a long swallow of beer. The older woman set down her bottle, wiped suds from her mouth with a napkin and gave her friend a serious look. “You know, Miranda, you could have brought Lorenzo to my house yesterday. It was my day off, and I would have watched him.”

Miranda smiled in gratitude. “Thanks, Bessie, but you’ve got enough to handle just taking care of your husband. Besides, who knows what germs Lorenzo could have brought into your house? If Pete had caught something from him, his emphysema might have gotten worse.”

“How’s Pete doing, anyway?” a woman with coffee-brown skin asked.

“Not too well, Yvonne,” Bessie said, “but thanks for asking.”

“You’ve got to get some help,” Yvonne said. “Between work and Pete, you’re wearing yourself out.”

“Without health insurance, I can’t afford to get outside help,” Bessie said. “Even if I could afford insurance, I doubt I could get coverage for Pete at this stage of his illness.”

Not an individual policy, Louise agreed to herself. But it would have been nice if you’d had family coverage provided by your employer when you started working.

Yvonne, the African-American woman, shook her head slowly. “That’s a shame. My sister’s husband over in Raleigh got coverage for the whole family when he went to work for the paper mill….”

Louise nodded. Right. That’s the way it should be.

“…and tight ol’ Justin Beauclaire won’t even provide coverage for his employees,” the woman continued.

The blonde, the youngest by several years, downed the rest of her beer in one long gulp and curled her lips into a catlike grin. “Yeah, but we get all the candles we can steal,” she said.

Candles? These women must work for the Bayberry Cove Candle Company, which Vicki had mentioned a couple of days ago. The factory was the town’s largest employer.

The young woman unzipped a huge canvas purse sitting on the floor beside her chair and pulled out an eight-inch pillar candle. “I figure this pretty one will set the mood when Luke and I are alone at his place later.”

“Shame on you, Darlene Jackson,” Bessie said. “You took that from work?”

Darlene shrugged. “Why not? I haven’t had a raise in three years. I figure the company owes me.”

Bessie sighed. “The last thing I want to see when I leave the factory every day is another candle.”

“Yes, girl,” Yvonne said, and then shook a finger at Darlene. “Especially when you’re wasting it on Luke Plunkett. When are you gonna wise up and find yourself a nice fella?”

Darlene stuffed the candle back in her purse and frowned. “As soon as Justin Beauclaire pays me a wage that allows me to put a little away each week so’s I can walk outta that factory for good. And you all know that’s not likely to happen.” She set her elbows on the table and cradled her chin in her hands. “Until I can afford to get outta here, Luke is about all I got to look forward to each night.” She gazed at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact with her friends. “Besides, he can be nice.”

Yvonne stared at Bessie and said in a conspiratorial voice, “Is it snowing in hell, Bess?”

Darlene stood up, dug into the pocket of a pair of skin-tight jeans and tossed a few bills onto the table. “I heard that, Yvonne,” she said. “But even you’ve got to admit that a girl can’t sit home with her momma and daddy every night on a big, lonely farm. And like I said, Luke can be nice.”

She draped the purse strap over her shoulder and pushed in her chair. “I’m off to the Brew and Bowl. Luke will be wondering where I am.” She straightened her spine defiantly and lifted her chin. “See you all next Tuesday night, I guess. And tomorrow at work.”

Louise munched on the last of her salad and watched with the three other women as Darlene strutted from the restaurant.

“I don’t know what will become of that girl if she stays with Luke,” Bessie said with a shake of her coarse gray ponytail. “She’s got a big heart, but I don’t think that boy will ever appreciate the goodness in her.”

Miranda ran a hand through her long dark curls and sighed. “I worry that Luke will get drunk and really hurt her. Deputy Blackwell has broken up a couple of fights between them, but one day Darlene won’t be so lucky. She needs to get away from that devil before it’s too late.”

Yvonne smirked. “Not much chance of that as long as she’s working for Beauclaire and earning minimum wage. She can’t afford a place of her own.”

Louise had heard enough. The problems at the candle factory were issues she understood well in her capacity as a corporate lawyer, though she’d never really studied them from the employees’ point of view. Her promise to avoid work-related entanglements abruptly abandoned, Louise stood up and went to the table.

“Pardon me, ladies,” she said. “I couldn’t help overhearing. I’m Louise Duncan, attorney. Do you mind if I sit down?”

None of the women spoke, apparently too surprised to respond. Finally, Bessie pressed her booted foot on the leg of the chair Darlene had just vacated, and pushed it away from the table. “It’s a free country,” she said.

Miranda narrowed her dark eyes suspiciously. “Not to an attorney it isn’t.”

Louise dropped onto the chair and scooted close. She waved off the Hispanic woman’s comment with a flutter of her hand. “Don’t concern yourself with what you’ve heard about lawyer fees,” she said. “If you ladies and I come to an agreement about some things, and I decide that I can help you, I’ll take on this project strictly for the experience—and the fun of it.” She smiled at the women.

“I know a little about corporate law, ladies,” she continued. “And a thing or two about labor regulations.” She looked at each woman. “If you three have a little more time this evening, I’d like you to tell me all about the factory and your employer, Justin Beauclaire.”

The two younger women looked to Bessie, who chewed her bottom lip a moment and finally said, “Girls, I can’t see as it would hurt to talk to her.”

CHAPTER FIVE

WESLEY CAME AROUND the third corner of the town square jogging path and slowed to an easy trot, just as he’d done the last two mornings. He looked up at the three windows above McCorkle’s New and Used Furniture Store on Main Street—just as he’d done the last two mornings. He knew his actions must be conspicuous, and he felt like a fool. If Louise were looking out one of the windows, she’d surely notice that he altered his pace each time he passed this particular part of the track.

She wasn’t there. In fact, she hadn’t shown her face since Sunday when, in front of half the population of Bayberry Cove, she’d hollered a greeting from her window and cheerfully wished him a good morning. And now it was Wednesday, and he hadn’t felt nearly as cheery since. He waved at his grandfather, seated, as always, on a bench, and picked up his speed, heading into his second lap. “Forget about her, Wes,” he puffed to himself on short, choppy bursts of air exploding from his laboring lungs. “Louise Duncan is the last woman on earth you should be interested in.”