Roses (28 page)

“What do you mean?” Mary asked, her heart lurching. Emmitt grunted shortly and sat a few inches straighter.

“The bank can loan you only forty percent of the value of your collateral, which, since the war and cotton prices having dropped
so drastically, is considerably less than what it was. Let’s see…” The banker consulted the deed. “We’re talking two sections.
Their value today, what with the house, buildings, and equipment, would be…” As if he could not bear to say the sum aloud,
he wrote a figure on a sheet of paper and passed it across the desk.

Mary snatched it up. “But Fair Acres is worth twice that!” she cried, mentally calculating that a loan based on the bank’s
appraisal would not begin to cover the cost of her expenses. She handed the slip to Emmitt.

“It is to you, but not to the board of directors, I’m afraid,” the banker said.

Emmitt cleared his throat. “Oh, come on, Raymond. Surely there’s something you can do. You control the board of directors.
If Mary defaults—even if you lend her fifty percent of the true value of Fair Acres—you can sell it and still make a profit.”

Raymond Withers considered a moment. “Well, there is one condition that might sway the board if Miss Toliver agrees to it.”

Mary’s hopes rose. “And what is that?”

“That you do not replant your acreage in cotton. It’s too risky a cash crop. Peanuts, sorghum, sugarcane, corn, rice—there
are any number of crops, even cattle, that land would support. We might see our way to lending you what you ask if you’d agree
to put all of your plantation under another, more favorable form of production, but not cotton. That way, the bank would have
a better assurance of having its money returned.”

“I can’t possibly agree to that,” Mary said, appalled that the man would even suggest such a thing to a Toliver. “Somerset
is a cotton plantation—”

“
Was
a cotton plantation,” the banker corrected, his patience clearly growing thin. “You would be wise to accept that point of
view, Miss Toliver. The day of cotton is past in East Texas. Its sun is setting. Other countries are producing as much as
and a better quality of cotton than the whole Cotton Belt put together and selling it cheaper. Are you aware of a new fabric,
a synthetic to replace silk, that is being produced in France?” he asked. “It’s only a matter of time that it will replace
cotton in garments and be manufactured over here. Synthetic material is lighter in weight, inexpensive to manufacture, and
more durable than cotton. That’s a mighty lot of competition for a crop that can hardly withstand the devastation of the boll
weevil, let alone—as you’ve now witnessed—the destruction of nature.”

The banker leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his suit vest. “Now, if you’re willing to replant with any
revenue source but cotton, I believe I can persuade the board to increase the loan by ten percent of its original value. Otherwise,
forty at the appraisal price.”

Mary was too numb to speak. Again Emmitt cleared his throat. “What would it take to get what she’s asking, Raymond?”

“Well…” The banker unlaced his hands and addressed Emmitt as if Mary were not there. “If she were able to get someone of whom
the bank approves to cosign the note, we might be able to lend her the money. That person would have to understand that he’s
on the hook to the bank if Miss Toliver defaults. Because she’s under twenty-one, she cannot legally be forced to pay him
back since, as you know, the law does not hold minors responsible for loans.” He returned his attention to Mary. “Do you know
of anyone who would be willing to cosign your note under those conditions, Miss Toliver?”

The trace of innuendo in the question sent a shock through her. He knows about Percy and me, she thought in alarm. He thinks
I dashed his and Isabelle’s hopes that she would become Mrs. Percy Warwick. Did the whole town know about her and Percy, and
if so, how much? “Do you have someone in mind?” she asked, keeping her gaze level.

The banker’s smile slid into a smirk. “Why, the bank would highly approve of Percy Warwick’s signature, which should not be
too difficult for you to obtain, Miss Toliver, your… families being so close and all.”

Mary gathered up the papers she had brought. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Withers. Mr. Waithe and I will give this some thought
and get back to you as soon as possible.”

“Don’t wait too long, Miss Toliver,” the banker said, rising. “We have only so much cash to lend to farmers, and already there
are others submitting applications.”

Following Mary out of the bank, Emmitt appeared shaken. “Mary, my dear, what are you going to do? What do you have in mind?”

Mary drew in a deep breath. “Something I expect to spend the rest of my life regretting.”

O
n the way back to Houston Avenue, Mary wrestled with the risk she was about to undertake, but what other choice did she have?
She would not put Somerset under another cash crop. That was out of the question. She knew what she was jeopardizing by going
to Percy for his signature.
A deal is a deal,
he’d reminded her, and he would expect her to honor it. Indeed, she was no Toliver at all if she did not. It was she who
had brought up the no-lend policy, but it was not a loan she was seeking, merely a signature. No money need exchange hands.
Yes, he would be on the hook for the loan if the harvest failed next year, but he wouldn’t lose a penny. Fair Acres was hers
outright. If disaster struck, she would sell it and pay Percy back with the proceeds. It knotted every muscle in her body
to think it, but she would be forced to sell part of Somerset as well to pay off her remaining debt to the bankers in Boston.
The risk, however, was worth it.

All she had to do was convince Percy that her request was not going back on her promise—that it was not breaking the rule
the families had lived by for nearly a century. To the clip-clop of Shawnee’s hooves, Mary reflected on that rule, examined
it for the first time since accepting it without question as part of the strong fabric of the families’ history. She asked
herself why they had adopted such a principle in the first place. After consideration, it seemed a cold, even heartless approach
to friendship. Who better to ask for aid than a friend? Who better to offer it than a friend? They were all as close as family.
Why had they agreed to such a practice?

And then, contrary to all she’d prefer to believe, the answer presented itself as clear as the bright afternoon. The head
of each family had known that to borrow from the other was to lose power. Worse, to borrow meant to be beholden, and that
would diminish, if not destroy, the friendship. To be in the debt of a friend was to lose equality with him. Even if the debt
was repaid, the borrower would always owe the lender. It was a reality of human nature.

Well, that’s as may be, Mary told herself, but a signature backed by collateral was not a loan. She was not breaking their
deal.

On Houston Avenue, Mary stopped at a neighbor’s house to put in a call to Percy at his office. Given the probability of the
operator listening in, not to mention the party line, on the rare occasions she’d telephone him, they addressed each other
as mere neighbors and always veiled their conversations.

“Why, Mary Toliver, this is a surprise,” he said, sounding greatly relieved to hear from her. “I’m so sorry about this morning.
Is the damage too great for recovery?”

“Not at all, Percy. The fields are wrecked, but the house was barely touched. That’s why I’m calling. I’m afraid it will need
some repair. Could you send a man out to assess what needs to be done?”

“It will be my pleasure. What time would you like him to meet with you?”

“Shall we say five o’clock?”

“He’ll be there.”

Mary hung up thinking that as careful as they had been, it was no wonder their relationship had been discovered. It took only
the Warwicks’ cook telling somebody else’s cook about the meals for two she often prepared for Mister Percy to take to Lawsey
knew where and on whose account. Since he was not seen with any other belle in town, a good guess was that he was exchanging
salt and pepper shakers with Mary Toliver, the girl he’d kissed in front of God and everybody the morning he left for war.

What did it matter, anyway, Mary reflected, if she and Percy were soon to be married? She inhaled sharply, catching herself.
What did she mean—
if
?

He was already at the cabin by the time she arrived. He had not taken time to change out of his suit but had removed his jacket,
loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. The second she drove up he opened the door and went out to the buggy to help
her down.

“Lord, it’s good to have you in my arms again,” he said with a sigh after kissing her long and hard.

She pressed her face into his neck. “It’s wonderful to be in them, too,” she said.

They went inside, and Percy poured two glasses of iced tea. A breeze was blowing from the lake, stirring the ceiling fans,
providing some relief from the humidity following the rain. Handing her the tea, he said, “I’m happy as a puppy at his mama’s
teat that you wanted to see me, but you must be bone-tired and dead for sleep. Are you sure you shouldn’t be home getting
some rest?”

Mary sat in one of the parlor chairs. “I had to see you, Percy.”

“Judging by your tone, this doesn’t sound like the usual reason.”

“It isn’t. I’m in trouble.”

Percy sipped his tea casually, but his brows arched over the rim like two warning flags. He took a seat on the couch, away
from her. Mary interpreted that as a bad sign. He had guessed why she’d come. “Well, let’s hear it,” he said.

She swallowed at the gush of raw fear making its way to her throat. She took a cooling draft of the tea and tried to curb
the wild thrashing of her heart. “I went today with Emmitt to negotiate a loan at the Howbutker State bank. We spoke with
Raymond Withers….” There was no reaction to the name of his former lover’s father, and she hurried to tell him of the niggardly
value he attached to the land, deliberately omitting the banker’s condition that she grow another cash crop in order to secure
the loan she needed. “The amount he’s willing to lend won’t cover the cost of seeds,” she said, exaggerating, “much less see
me through another year.”

“So, what’s your next step?” he asked, his gaze steady.

There was nothing to do but come right out with it. Against the warning shouts in her head, she said, “He’s willing to loan
me the amount I need if you will cosign the note.”

In the ensuing silence, the innocent tinkle of ice in Percy’s glass sounded like a gunshot. “And what did you tell him?”

“I… told him I’d let him know.”

“I would have thought you’d have given him his answer right then. Why didn’t you? We made a deal.”

Mary sat forward. “Yes, I know we did,” she said, “but this is not going back on our deal. All I want is your signature, for
heaven’s sake. It’s not the same as asking for money. As a matter of fact, you wouldn’t be out a penny, even if I default.”

“How’s that?”

“If we have another bad year, I’ll sell Fair Acres and even part of Somerset if I have to. You’d get your money back in full.
I give you my word, Percy.”

Percy unfolded his powerful legs and stood up. She had the frightening impression of a bull pawing the ground with nostrils
flaring. “Your word,” he repeated. “You gave your word right here in this room that you’d never ask me to bail Somerset out
if it got into trouble. You promised to let it go and be content to be my wife.”

“Percy, this is not the same thing. You’re not bailing Somerset out. All I want is your signature. It’s not the same thing.”

“The hell it isn’t. You’re splitting hairs and you know it. I’m sorry for what’s happened, and that’s the truth, Mary, but
I’m holding you to our deal.”

She stood up slowly. Shock whitened her face. “You’re… you’re not going to help me?”

“No, I’m not cosigning your note.”

He had begun rolling down his sleeves. Mary watched in horror. He was
leaving
! She crossed to him and slipped her hands up his chest, beseeching his understanding with all the power of her great beauty.
“Percy, I know this looks as if I’m reneging on our agreement, but try to see it another way. My promise was not to ask you
for
money
to save Somerset. How am I breaking that promise by asking for your signature? You won’t be out a cent.”

She felt his chest contract and knew she’d aroused him, but he continued buttoning his cuffs. “Suppose you get your loan and
you have another bad year. What then? With Fair Acres gone, you’ll have nothing else to use as collateral.”

“I’ve told you. I’ll sell part of the plantation. I promise, Percy. You have to believe me.”

“I wish I could.” He removed her hands and tightened the knot of his tie. “This will happen again. You know it will. You’ll
expect to have a cash reserve to see you through, just like you did before you bought Fair Acres. But how long do you think
that money will stay in the bank when the temptations of new products, machines, irrigation systems, and
land
come on the market? Mary Toliver Warwick will be the first in line to buy, if I know her, and you’ll be right back in the
same pickle you are now when disaster strikes again.”

“We’re not talking about then. We’re talking about
now.
”

“And I’m saying that things will be no different then than now.” He took a step nearer her, his eyes bleak with dissolving
hope. “This isn’t about the money, Mary. You know that. This is about the agreement we made. I promised to support your… obsession
for Somerset—God knows that’s what it is—but if it failed, you promised to let it go without it affecting our marriage. Prove
to me you meant what you said.”

She turned her back to him, clasping her hands tightly. Tears darted to her eyes. “This is so unfair. You’re trying to force
my hand when all I want is your name on a piece of paper.”

He came to stand behind her, and she could feel his desperate need that she tell him what he wanted to hear—what he
must
hear. “What would happen to us if you had to fall back on me again after we’re married and I denied you—forced you to sell
Somerset to meet your debts?”