The Green Lace Corset

by Jill G. Hall

  The students deserved a peaceful atmosphere that was conducive to creativity, and so did she. She continued to read the blog and write down notes, then adapted some into positive affirmations for herself:

  I will keep my voice calm.

  I will be consistent.

  I will stop early enough that students can help clean up.

  She copied them onto an index card and put it in her backpack. Editing examples of rules and consequences from the blog, she composed four simple rules and three consequences, from warnings to parental notifications, appropriate for her class. She wrote them down neatly on a poster board with markers and couldn’t wait until Saturday to give it all a try.

  30

  Another night had passed. Sally Sue had been on pins and needles since Cliff had yelled at her yesterday while honing that knife. She prayed her plan would work. Ma harped that most women could use their womanly wiles to get a man to do anything, like that fallen woman her father had left them for. Maybe if Sally Sue used her own womanly wiles, she could entice Cliff to take her back to the train and let her go.

  Her first step was to get him off guard and thinking everything was copacetic. “What are you making in there?”

  He sat down at the table, she served him, and he tasted a bite. “This oatmeal is delicious, Sally Sue. What a surprise. I thought you couldn’t cook.”

  “I’m full of surprises.” Her aunt had taught her. Sally Sue sat across from him and smiled slyly, with a hint of flirtatiousness.

  “I bet you are.” He didn’t seem to notice as he added the honey she handed him and took another bite.

  After they finished the oatmeal, he taught her how to make his special apple dish.

  “Now you can bake it anytime you want.” He served her some to taste on a spoon, but it dropped on the ground, and he picked it up and wiped the spoon on a cloth. “Aren’t you getting tired of these dirt floors? I’m gonna start splicing that wood to cover them today.”

  “You’d do that for me?” She clapped her hands. “You’re so thoughtful.” She shot him that look again.

  Before sunset and before he came in, Sally Sue undressed, removed the red dress from the trunk, slipped it on over her head, and looked in the mirror. The dress fit perfectly, showing off her tiny waist. The woman who had lived here must also have been small.

  Sally Sue sighed. Mama, if you were stuck out here in the middle of nowhere with a dangerous man, you might put on a red dress and do something shameful too.

  Sally Sue tugged the scooped neck down around her shoulders and pulled them back, pretending her breasts were two roses in full bloom. She found the flimflam man’s ribbon, strung it through her hair, and tied it underneath like a forest sprite might have done. The short cut was freeing.

  Did Sally Sue have the courage to give this a try? She’d never attempted to use her “womanly wiles” before. She put her hands behind her head and circled her hips. Was that how those saloon women did it?

  She climbed a chair, lit the candles Cliff had put in the sparkling chandelier, and got back down, ready to receive him. She heard Cliff stomping snow from his boots, and then the door opened. Heart galloping, she felt her legs go weak, and she quickly sat at the table.

  He came in, removed his coat, and hung it on a hook.

  She took a deep breath, stood, and strolled toward him.

  At the sight of her, his eyes lit up. “Why, Sally Sue, aren’t you just the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen?” His face was handsome in the candlelight.

  She batted her eyelashes, wiggled her shoulders, and leaned over, showing him a bit of cleavage, just like the girl in the green corset had done.

  She drawled, “You rascal, you. Aren’t you just the complimentinest man I’ve ever known?”

  His smile faded, and he looked away.

  She sauntered closer to him. “Come on, Cliffie. Don’t you find me appealing?”

  His eyes widened, and he backed up, with his palms toward her. “Of course, Sally Sue. You’re a vision of beauty, but . . .”

  “Do you really think so?” She continued to sway toward him.

  “Of course. Look at yourself in the mirror.”

  If he thought she was so pretty, why wasn’t this working? She’d better take it up a notch.

  She put her hand on his elbow and tilted her head up. “Wanna have amorous congress?” She’d learned that term from her aunt too.

  He moved her hand to her side with a laugh and stepped back. “You don’t know what you’re proposing. Why would a nice girl like you say something like that?”

  Embarrassed, she sat with a thud at the kitchen table, put her head on her arms, and wept.

  He was right—she had no idea what it all meant. How could she have acted like such a hussy? She didn’t know the first thing about cajoling a man to do her bidding.

  He sat across from her and said slowly, “A gentleman doesn’t take advantage of a fine lady like you.” He blew out the chandelier candles, lit a lamp for her, put on his coat, and left for the night, without so much as a good night. She cried herself to sleep.

  The next morning, he carried strips of wood inside and laid them on the floor. With droopy eyes, she collected pails full of snow and dumped them in the cauldron. Mortified about the night before, she refused to meet his eyes.

  At the breakfast table, he rambled on cheerily as if nothing had happened. “We’ll wait until chances of frost are over, then prepare the ground and plant the garden.”

  Outside the window, sleet flew sideways in icy strips. “What would grow out here in this godforsaken place?”

  “Lots. Corn, squash, and beans. Haven’t you noticed the plot laid out on the side of the cabin? Might even get us some goats, sheep, or cattle to graze. That’d make you happy, wouldn’t it?”

  It didn’t matter to her, because come spring, she wouldn’t even still be there. She changed the subject. “How about teaching me to shoot a gun?”

  He paused. “In this weather?”

  “How about just showing me how to hold one?”

  He stared at her with those eyes. No smile, no frown.

  She tried to gauge Cliff’s emotions, usually evident in his facial expressions. But it seemed like he hid a secret, just like he’d hidden that money somewhere. What was he thinking? Did he want to teach her to shoot, or didn’t he? Maybe his emotions were mixed, like when meadow colors shifted as clouds passed overhead, first blocking the sun and then opening up.

  “I’m going out to slice more wood.” He put on his coat and stomped out the door.

  She spied a clump of gray yarn on the floor. Something must have dropped from her basket. She leaned down to pick up the clump. It was a dead mouse! The poor dear. Sally Sue squinted, grasped the thin tail between her thumb and forefinger, and avoided looking at the teeny buckteeth and closed eyes. The little critter was one of God’s creatures. Was it right to poison them just because they made a mess? Was there a way to pack everything away more carefully? After all, the mice had been here before she was.

  She hurried outside, shivering in the cold, and called to Cliff, sawing in the barn.

  He poked his head out the door. “What have you got there?”

  She held up the mouse. “A dead mouse.”

  “That’s good. Just throw it out and the birds will get it.”

  “But won’t the birds eat it and get poisoned too?” Sally Sue blinked back a tear.

  “Never thought of that. Just a minute.” He went into the barn and got a shovel.

  “Come on.” He motioned for her to follow him to the big oak, broke the ice, and dug a deep hole. Sally Sue laid the mouse in it and said a silent prayer while Cliff covered the poor soul with dirt.

  That evening, Cliff came into the cabin with a sideways grin on his face. “I’ve got something that’ll be a surefire way to keep the mice away.”

  “Not another poison?”

  “Nope.” Cliff stuck his fingers in his front shirt pocket, pulled out a squeaky ball o
f fur, and handed it to her.

  It fit in the palm of her hand. She stroked the kitten’s soft ears. Its eyes were still clamped shut. “This is the most precious thing I’ve ever seen. Wherever did you find him?”

  He took the kitten back from Sally Sue, tilted it onto its back, and pointed at the smooth mound. “He’s a she.”

  “Oh.” She felt herself redden.

  He guffawed. “It’s just nature, Sally Sue. I found her mewing in the hayloft.”

  “What about her mama?” Sally Sue was in awe of the fur’s sleek blackness.

  “There was a feral hussy slinking around. But I haven’t seen her for nigh on five days.”

  The kitten mewed loudly. It had a white chest, paws, and tail tip.

  “If we don’t do something to help, this little one won’t make it.”

  He held the kitten in one hand, grabbed a rag, and went out to the front. “Open up the chest and a fresh milk container.”

  Sally Sue followed his instructions. He dipped the rag in the milk pot and let the liquid drip into the kitten’s mouth; she quickly sucked it up.

  He handed her back to Sally Sue. “Try it.”

  She couldn’t believe how the kitten wouldn’t let go of the rag.

  “You’ll need to feed her every few hours like this. Are you up to the task?”

  “Of course.” Every time the neighbors’ Butterscotch had kittens, there were a slew of them. “Were there others?”

  He shook his head. His eyes didn’t meet hers. “Keep her inside.”

  “I know it’s dangerous out there.” She wanted to thank him but didn’t quite know what to say.

  “I guarantee we won’t see any mice for a while.”

  She pictured the kitten grown big and fat, with blood dripping from a mouse in its jaw. “The poor mice.”

  “Don’t worry, darling. Once they know there’s a cat living here, the mice’ll tell each other and stay out.”

  Sally Sue liked that he had called her “darling.” “Is that really true?”

  “Cross my heart.” He waved a finger over his chest.

  She sure hoped so.

  He brought in a box filled with dirt and set it in the corner of the room.

  “I’m gonna name her Socks.” Sally Sue petted the kitten’s soft white paws.

  31

  A week later, the skies had cleared to a cerulean blue and the temperature had warmed. Ducks swam in the thawed pond. The horses grazed in the grass that seemed to have sprung up overnight.

  Hope flowered in Sally Sue’s chest as a horseman appeared on the horizon above the ranch. God, please let this be the answer to my prayers.

  She glanced at the barn. Cliff was in there, sanding away on the last of the floor slats. She shielded her eyes from the sun and waved as the lofty horseman loped on his cream-colored palomino down the pasture toward her. He raised a leather-gloved hand and drew near her, and she recognized the town sheriff.

  She couldn’t contain her exhilaration and shouted, “I’m ever so happy to—”

  “Hold it right there.” Cliff dashed out of the barn with his rifle pointed at the sheriff.

  The sheriff pulled out his pistol, raised it at Cliff, and dragged out his words. “Put your gun down, son. I’m Sheriff Mack. Come out here to welcome you to my territory.”

  Sally Sue tried not to grin at Cliff.

  He lowered his rifle and put on that whopping smile of his. “Sheriff. Good of you to come all this way.”

  “Settling in well?” the sheriff asked, and replaced his gun in his holster.

  “Yes, sir.” Cliff paused.

  “Come on in.” Sally Sue motioned toward the door.

  Cliff lost his smile and glared at Sally Sue. “Now, darling, I’m sure the sheriff’s too busy.”

  “Plenty of time.” Mack set his tree trunk of a body on the ground. He was at least two heads taller than Cliff, and broader also. “Brought you supplies you might be needing.” He handed Cliff a gunnysack.

  “That’s kind of you, Sheriff.” She hoped he’d brought milk. With the kitten, they’d run out, and she had resorted to feeding Socks sugar water instead.

  Mack removed the palomino’s tooled saddle, hung it over the round pen’s railing, and slapped the horse’s flank. “Okay, Dusty.” Dusty skidded off toward the pond.

  As they stepped inside, Sally Sue asked, “Would you care for tea?”

  “I’m sure he can’t stay long.” Cliff kept his voice light, set the gunnysack on the table, and rested his rifle in his arms.

  “I could visit for a spell after riding all this way.” Sheriff Mack removed his hat and coat and put them on hooks by the door. “I brought you some of my missus’s muffins.” He sat at the kitchen table, ran his hands through his tawny-colored hair, opened the gunnysack, and pulled out a tin. Cliff sat too, laid his rifle on the table, and rested his hand on it. With the other, he selected a muffin from the tin Mack offered.

  Mack began to take out other items one at a time. “Here’s some of her blackberry preserves. Jalapeños—she chops them up real small and adds them to sauce. Butter, milk . . .” He grinned at Cliff and pulled out a jug. “And rum.”

  She eyed it. Just what we needed, more liquor.

  “You are ever so thoughtful.” Sally Sue put the kettle on and busied herself with the cups. She picked up the tin and placed the muffins on a plate from the shelf, glad for the fancy blue-and-white dishes to use with their guest.

  “Have another?” she offered Sheriff Mack. How was she going to get a message to him?

  He picked one up, took a bite, and said, “Yes, you got some prime land here.”

  “I plan to do some planting.” Cliff tapped a rhythm on his rifle. Was he fixing to pick it up and shoot the sheriff, and maybe her too?

  “Farm if you like, but I recommend cattle to make your fortune. Sheep can be profitable also.”

  Cliff grimaced. “I’ve heard they get covered in worms and insects.”

  “You dip ’em in creosote to kill the vermin.”

  Sally Sue didn’t like the sound of that. She gathered up Socks, sleeping in a ball on the carpet, and a rag and handed them to Cliff. He put Socks on his lap, opened the milk bottle, and fed her.

  Mack leaned over and petted Socks. Sally Sue wandered to the trunk, lifted the lid, and reached for the letters.

  Cliff turned. “Honey pie, come on over and set with us.” He shook his head at the sheriff. “A woman’s work is never done.”

  She closed the lid and sat at the table.

  Mack looked around, and then at Sally Sue. “I like how you’ve cleaned up the place.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She tilted her head toward the mantel, the array of artifacts there. “Where did those come from? Did savages bring gifts to the Ivrys?”

  “Hell, no. Sorry for my cursin’, ma’am. Injuns probably traded those things for food. That doll there’s a Hopi kachina; the basket’s Navajo. Both tribes live out in the nearby desert.”

  “What happened to the Ivrys?” she asked.

  “About six months ago, they just up and left.” He shrugged. “Coulda been the rough weather, a family matter, a yearning for gold farther west, or maybe even those damn Apaches. No one knows for sure.” He exchanged glances with Cliff.

  The kettle whistled. Sally Sue jumped up, put a hand on her beating chest, and made the tea. She set the pot and cups around the table and sat back down.

  Cliff grinned. “I’ve told her not to stray far. Injuns, wolves, and bandits prowl hereabout.”

  Mack eyed Cliff’s rifle. “Don’t worry, little lady. Seems you’re well protected. Careful, though. I hate to scare you, but there might even be a murdering bank robber hiding out somewhere nearby.” He lit a long cigar, handed one to Cliff, and said, “I’m putting together a posse. Wanna join?”

  Cliff didn’t even flinch. “Don’t think I should. We’re still trying to settle in here. I’m cleaning up the barn, putting in these wood floors, and plan to build a front porc
h and another room on the cabin.”

  Sally Sue wondered if he really meant all that. She poured the tea from the pot and pushed over the honey and milk for them to use.

  “Mighty handy of you.” Mack blew on his tea, sniffed it, and eyed the jug he’d brought. “Got anything stronger?”

  Cliff grasped the jug and poured some rum into Mack’s teacup and his own. He tilted it toward Sally Sue, but she shook her head.

  “I understand.” Mack handed Cliff the wanted poster. “Keep an eye out. They say he’s mighty crafty. Big hat, beady eyes, maybe a beard too. It’s hard to tell with that bandanna over his mouth.”

  Cliff surreptitiously put his hand on the kerchief on his neck.

  Standing behind him, Sally Sue tried to catch Mack’s eyes, tilted her head toward Cliff and down at the poster. Cliff turned around and shot her a dagger look.

  “Yes. He looks terrifying. I hope never to meet him.” She wanted to scream, It’s him!, hide behind the sheriff, and ask for his protection, but with Cliff’s rifle so nearby, she didn’t dare. Instead, she sat down and picked up her cup, but her hands were shaking, so she put it back down.

  Cliff stood and kept his tone light. “You must be pretty busy. We don’t mean to keep you.”

  “It’s fine.” Mack ate another muffin from the plate. “Yes, you’ll like Arizona. Spring’s here, summer weather is delightful, and come fall the aspen leaves change color.” He drank from his cup.

  “Lots of nearby natural sights too. Up north of here, there’s a canyon deeper and wider than anyone has ever seen. East of here, giant buttes and bluffs decorate the desert. If you want to go further over into New Mexico, there’s the strangest darn church. Señors and señoritas walk on their knees for miles to get to it. They scrape dirt that’s supposed to have healing powers from a hole in the ground to get over what ails them.”

  “You don’t say,” Cliff said.

  Sally Sue thought it all sounded far-fetched but fascinating.

  Cigar smoke filled the cabin, more rum got poured, and the men chatted. Cliff acted as if Mack was his new best friend. Sally Sue took Socks from Cliff and moved to the rocker. The kitten opened her blue eyes and blinked at Sally Sue. How was she going to get Mack alone and tell him who Cliff really was?