"Do you remember how she w-like a windup toy that never wound down? Running up down the stairs, banging doors, yelling ... I swear, she had no sense of decorum at all. Well, now I'd give anything to see her skip, just once. She was always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, and now she hardly talks at all. It's impossible to tell what she's thinking." no. He missed "Does she laugh?" he asked in a rough to her laughter, the infectious giggle when she was up to some mischief, the belly laughs when he told her jokes, the joyous chuckle as she watched foals romping in the pastures.
Lucinda's eyes were sad.
"No. She almost never smiles, and she doesn't laugh at all. She hasn't laughed in ten years."
Roanna glanced at her watch. The county commissioner's meeting was taking longer than usual, and she would have to leave soon or be late for her lunch in Florence. The Davenports had no official authority in county matters, but it was almost traditional that a family representative attend the meetings. Davenport support, or lack of it, often meant life or death to county projects.
When Roanna had first begun attending the meetings in Lucinda's stead, she had been largely ignored, or at best treated to a figurative pat on the head. She had merely listened, and reported to Lucinda; to a large degree, that was still what she did. But Lucinda, when she had taken action on the matters that interested her, had made a point of saying, "Roanna thinks" or "Roanna's impression was," and soon the commissioners had realized that they had better pay attention to the solemn young woman who seldom spoke. Lucinda hadn't lied; Roanna did relay her thoughts and impressions. She had always been observant but so active that she had often missed details, much as a speeder can see a highway sign but pass it too fast to read the message. Now Roanna was still and silent, and her brown eyes roamed from face to face, absorbing nuances of expression tones, reactions. All of this went straight back to Lucinda, who then made her decisions based on Roanna's impressions. Now that Webb had returned, he would be attending the meetings just as he had used to do. This was likely the last time she would be sitting here, listening and assessing, another place where her usefulness was at an end. In some distant part of her psyche she was aware of hurt, and fear, but she refused to allow them to surface.
The meeting was finally dawdling to an end. She checked her watch once again and saw that she had perhaps five minutes before she had to leave or be late. Normally she took the time to chat with everyone, but today she had time only for a quick word with the commissioner.
He was coming toward her, a short, stocky, balding man with a deeply lined face. The creases rearranged themselves into a smile as he approached her in her usual position close to the back of the room.
"How are you today, Roanna?"
"Fine, thank you, Chet," Roanna replied, thinking that she might as well tell him about Webb's return.
"And you?"
"Can't complain. Well, I could, but my wife tells me no one's interested in listening." He laughed at his own joke, his eyes twinkling.
"And how's Miss Lucinda feeling?"
"Much better, now that Webb's home," she said calmly. He gaped at her in astonishment, and for a second, dismay was written plainly on his face. He blurted, "My God, what are ya'll going to do?" before the rest of her statement sank in and he realized that commiseration wasn't appropriate. He turned beet red and started to sputter in his attempt to retrench.
"I-ah, that is-" Roanna lifted her hand to stop his verbal stumbling.
"He'll be taking up the reins again, of course," she said as if Webb's return was the most natural thing in the world.
"It will take him a few weeks to review everything, but I'm certain he'll be contacting you soon."
The commissioner sucked in a deep breath. He looked faintly ill, but he had recovered his composure.
"Roanna, 1 -191
don't think that's such a good idea. You've been handling things just fine for Miss Lucinda, and folks around here will be more comfortable with you-Roanna's eyes were very clear and direct.
"Webb is taking over again," she said softly.
"It would distress Lucinda if anyone chose not to do business with us, but of course that's their choice."
His windpipe bobbed as he swallowed. Roanna had just made it very plain that anyone who didn't accept Webb would find themselves without Davenport support or patronization. She never got angry, never yelled, never insisted on a point, and seldom even voiced an opinion, but folks in the county had learned not to discount the influence this somber-eyed woman had with Lucinda Davenport. Moreover, most people liked Roanna; it was as simple as that. No one would want an open rift with the Davenports.
"This will probably be the last monthly meeting that I'll attend," she continued.
"Don't be too sure of that," a deep, lazy voice said from the doorway just behind her.
Startled, Roanna turned to face Webb as he stepped into the room.
"What?" she said. What was he doing here? He hadn't even changed clothes. Had he been so afraid she would mess up something that he'd rushed down to the commissioner's meeting without even taking the time to unpack?
"Hello, Chet," Webb was saying easily, holding out his hand to the commissioner.
The commissioner's face turned red. He hesitated, then his Politician's instincts took over and he shook Webb's hand.
"Webb! Speak of the devil! Roanna was just telling me you were back at Davencourt. You're looking good, real good," "Thanks. You're looking Prosperous yourself."
Chet patted his belly and gave a hearty laugh. Too Prosperous! Willadean says I'm on a seafood diet-I eat everything I see!"