Jenny got off his lap and shook out her skirts. “You do that! I take it as a promise. But now I’d better get back to really working, or Mamie’ll be after me.”
Tom stood up and stretched his back, hanging onto the chair as he did it. He hated to just walk out. Which gave him an idea.
“Would you see it as me going back on my word, if I was to kiss you? Just that?”
Jenny came close again, her eyes kind of shiny. “I wouldn’t see it that way at all. And I’d like it fine.”
She was almost up against him already, but he reached out and pulled her in the rest of the way. He’d kissed her before, but that was in bed, or just after, and all mixed up with what else they were up to. This was more like the couple of kisses he’d had with neighbor girls, except not much like those, really. Those girls hadn’t known much more’n he did. And there’d been awkward feelings on both sides, part of trying to be something different with each other from what they’d been all their lives. This was — was more like what he’d dreamed a kiss could be, before he tried it and found it not so sweet as all that.
Kissing Jenny was sweet as molasses candy. And it somehow made him want to get teary-eyed. And he didn’t want to stop.
But Jenny had to go back to her work, much as he hated the work she did. And he’d rather be the one to pull back first. So he did, but gently, sliding his hands from her back to her shoulders and giving her a little squeeze before letting go.
There didn’t seem more worth saying, after that. He stood looking at her just a little longer, and then made his way out.
Chapter 13
Tom looked down the road for maybe the tenth time that morning, saw no buggy coming, and chided himself for being so impatient. “Doc’ll get here when he gets here. He’s got his breakfast to eat, and the missus to visit with, and maybe even church. Right, Cochise?”
Cochise blew out a snort as if to give his opinion on how likely Doc was to bother with church. Tom laughed, in spite of how nervous he’d got, and scratched behind Cochise’s left ear. “Well, maybe not. But I won’t hurry him by fretting, will I?”
Cochise cocked his head as if unsure whether fretting might not do some good, after all, seeing as he didn’t know much about how things worked for people.
“Sorry I can’t take you with me. A fair fool I’d look, riding in a buggy with you trotting alongside or following after. But I’ll tell you all about it later.”
Horses couldn’t shrug, but the way Cochise looked at Tom and away from him and put his head down to graze seemed like it had much the same intention.
Movement caught Tom’s eye. The buggy! Doc had finally shown up, his mare Nellie-girl pulling the buggy at a pace that could’ve been quicker. Tom tried to slow his hearbeat down to match, meeting the buggy as it swung into the yard, the wheels kicking up dust.
Doc watched close as Tom hoisted himself into the buggy, good leg first, and then relaxed against the driver seat as Tom made it without either himself or the wooden leg falling back on the ground. Clapping Tom once on the shoulder, he said, “All ready to speechify?”
“I guess we’ll find out. Don’t know how to get readier, anyhow.”
Doc turned his attention back to driving, maybe to give Tom time to settle down. It didn’t work so well. He got more nervous, not less, with every clip-clop of hooves and rumble of the wheels. And he could tell himself he was sweating due to the day being so warm and close, but he’d’ve been sweating anyway.
He’d better find something to say to Doc. “Thanks again for the ride.”
“Glad to do it! I’d have passed pretty close to your place in any event. And I don’t mind an excuse to sit back and relax instead of riding Nellie-girl.”
Excuse or no, Doc had spent money to hire the buggy. And he’d brushed off Tom’s offer to pay him back. Which didn’t mean Tom wouldn’t do it, if his scheme actually led somewhere.
As they pulled up to the bunk house of the Two Rivers Ranch, he had to take hold of his breathing to keep from panting. Doc swung down from the buggy, big doctor’s bag in one hand, while Tom made his own clumsy way to the ground. Meanwhile, a couple of cowboys had come up, one hailing Doc. “Come on in! We’ve got a broke thumb and a maybe-broke ankle waiting, and a big ol’ cut needs stitching.”
The other one eyed Tom and said, “You got yourself a new assistant? Sorry to say, he ain’t near as pretty as your missus.” The cowboy gave a horselaugh at his own wit.
Doc smiled and waved Tom forward. “This here’s Tom Barlow, and he did a service for one of the hands over at the Double T that you’ll want to hear about. He can tell you all about it while I tend to those who need tending.”
The second cowboy nodded amiably to Tom and headed into the bunk house, beckoning Tom to follow. “We can gather in the mess hall where there’s room for everybody, and you can tell us what Doc’s talking about. Jim, get everyone there who ain’t busy.” The first cowboy grunted and headed off to corral some others.
It would’ve been easier if Tom had the saddle to show. Instead, he’d had to scrounge up some more leather and make the feathers over again, along with a few other patterns he thought likely to appeal — wildflowers, lassos linked together, horseshoes, mountains. As cowboys filed into the bunk house and filled maybe half the tables, Tom’s guide led him to one end of the big room. “You can stand there, if you can holler loud enough to reach the other end.”
He hadn’t done much hollering lately, at least on purpose, but he reckoned he could manage. He used his sleeve to wipe sweat off his forehead, then took his place and pulled the leather sample out of his vest, waiting for the cowboys to quiet down. They didn’t, altogether, but it didn’t seem waiting any longer would help. He cleared his throat and fairly shouted, “A good morning to all of you!”
A few of the cowboys called back greetings of one kind or the other. The rest just looked at him. Was it hotter’n outside, for all he was out of the sun?
“My name’s Tom Barlow. I live some ways from here on my family’s farm, but these days I spend most of my working time at Finch’s — he’s the cordwainer what also makes and fixes saddles. And one thing I do that Finch won’t is engrave decoration on saddles. Haven’t done any for you folks, but this here shows what I can do.”
He held up the leather. Those closest to him leaned forward to squint at it, but the rest were too far away to see much. Tom, his chest tight, handed it over to a cowboy at the nearest end of the nearest table. “I’ll pass it around for you all to take a look.”
The cowboy peered at it and ran a finger over the lasso pattern before handing it to the fellow next to him. Slowly, as Tom watched and tried not to fidget, the piece of leather made its way from one cowboy to the next, some of them just handing it along without looking, others studying it with their eyes or fingers or both. When it finally made its way back to Tom, he took it, tucked it away, and looked around the room. “Who’s got questions?”
A cowboy in the middle of the mess hall called out, “What’ll you charge for that kind of work?”
This much he’d thought out ahead of time. “The one time Finch had me do this kind of work, he charged the customer five dollars for it. I’ll take three. More if you want something that’d take much longer, and we could talk that over when you come tell me about it.”
Another stood up and almost glared at him. “How long’d it take? How long’d I be stuck with no saddle?”
Tom tried for a look somewhere between glaring back and seeming cowed. “If you’re getting a new saddle, you’d have your old one in the meantime. If you’re wanting something added to the saddle you’ve already got, I’d put that job first to keep the wait as short as I can. I did that other job in a bit less’n a day. Anyone else?”
The first cowboy who’d looked the sample over asked, “What if I have my own idea of what I want, something you didn’t show us?”
Tom could feel his face brighten up. “I’d like that fine. Always looking to do something new. I could
make you a bit of it right then, and you tell me if it’s what you’re looking for.” He’d have to make sure he had scraps of leather on hand, not knowing ahead of time when someone’d show up.
Doc came through the door and joined Tom, calling out across the room, “Anyone else here need my attention before my friend and I head out?” No one spoke up, and a few cowboys shook their heads.
Tom looked around and said, “If anybody has more questions, you can stop by the farm of an evening or on Sunday, and I’ll do my best to answer.” And then, not knowing what else to say, he added, “Hope to be seeing you!”
Doc gave a general wave to the room and headed out again, Tom following. When they reached the buggy, caught up with Nellie-girl, and harnessed her again, Doc lingered beside the buggy while Tom climbed in, doubtless in case Tom needed a hoist or maybe rescuing. Tom made it on the first try, thankful not to look too much a fool in front of any cowboys who might be watching, and they headed back toward the farm, a breeze picking up the dust of the road and swirling it like tiny twisters.
Doc waited just long enough to be out of earshot before asking, “How do you think it went? Will you have any takers?”
“Hard to tell. A fair number of ‘em looked at the samples. I expect maybe one or two’ll turn up sooner or later. But if they want new trim on the saddle they’ve already got, I’ll have to work fast.”
Doc took that in. “And new saddles are a major expenditure. Still, once word gets around, I suspect any cowboy investing in a saddle won’t be satisfied with a plain one. They’ll want your artistry.”
That was a pretty fancy word for what Tom could manage, even if Jenny’d said it first, but he could hardly argue the point. Besides, there was one thing troubling him that Doc must’ve already done some thinking on. “You work Sundays sometimes, don’t you?”
Doc started to smile and then went real sober instead. “I do, when a patient needs me. You may recall I came to you on a Sunday morning.”
It was plumb foolish to think, all of a sudden, that if he’d told Doc to wait and take care of him on the Monday, maybe Doc could’ve saved his leg. . . .
But Doc had more to say. “There’s plenty of folks who can’t put aside work on the Sabbath altogether. Farmers, for instance. You can’t tell a cow she’ll have to hold her milk until next morning. And I don’t know as I’ve seen a farm leave eggs in the coop that could’ve been sold or used for breakfast. Not to mention many farmers that harvest on Sundays, especially if rain or snow threatens.”
Many, maybe, but not all. Some would rather keep the Lord’s day than make sure of their crops. Ma and Pa, now, they’d always done what couldn’t keep and nothing more.
Nellie-girl clopped along. Doc kept talking. “I’m not one to tell any man how to practice his religion. We all make our choices and have our reasons. Just as an example, you go to Madam Mamie’s and see Jenny now and then.” He paused, maybe to see just how hot Tom was flushing. “The Bible calls that fornication. You might call it any number of other things, and I won’t go saying you’d be wrong.” Then, quieter: “When I used to go there, I might have called it keeping my body healthy, or lifting spirits that had sunk very low. The preacher might not care what I called it, but I never troubled to ask him.”
Nor did Tom plan to tell the preacher about Jenny, not for all the coin in Cowbird Creek. But he might just talk to him about Sabbath-keeping.
The first step in talking to the preacher was actually going to church. He’d gone with the family all his life, before he lost his leg. Afterwards, he’d had plenty of reasons not, what with how he felt about God letting it happen, and not wanting everyone staring when he walked in. After a while Pa had made Ma stop asking.
He felt kind of bad about how Ma’s face lit up when he came down to breakfast in his Sunday clothes, knowing as he wouldn’t’ve gone without a particular reason. Martha and Billy sat there goggling at him, which he barely managed to pretend he didn’t notice. Pa just stroked his beard for a minute and then attended to his breakfast.
Once they all climbed into the wagon and headed for town, it seemed like everyone on the road, almost, took a good look as they rode past. The womenfolk seemed most interested, mothers smiling at him like he’d finally done his chores or read from the Bible without stumbling on the words. Had every soul in Cowbird Creek noticed that Tom didn’t come to church no more?
He was less surprised to see the preacher raise his eyebrows when they walked in. After a service that hadn’t got any shorter since Tom had been there last, he hung back to let everyone else leave first. Pa gave Tom one of his long looks and then shepherded Ma and Martha and Billy out toward the wagon.
The preacher hovered like a hawk, and then fair dove at Tom once no one was in the way. “What a pleasure to see you joining us, young man! I have continued to hope your misfortunes might turn your heart toward the Lord.”
All right, he had not come today with the design of punching a preacher. He supposed he couldn’t fault the fellow for taking that view of it. Though he’d mightily like to know whether the preacher’d feel the same if it was his own leg cut off and thrown away.
Now he had to fess up to what he’d come to ask. The preacher’s face never had far to go for a frown, and it went there quick and kept going. By the time Tom finished, he’d call it a scowl. “I am disappointed, truly disappointed, to hear you contemplate such a course. From what I hear, you’ve managed, by Mr. Finch’s good grace, to obtain gainful employment despite your limitations. You should be thanking your Savior for His mercy instead of indulging in the fatal sins of ingratitude and discontent. Your needs are provided for, and yet you seek to amass more wealth, and gratify your ego, by taking on work you can only perform on the Lord’s Day? I must hope — and I will pray — that you think better of it, and repent the impulses to which you have yielded.”
Tom could think of absolutely nothing to say that wasn’t cussing or worse. And the preacher might even tattle to Finch! He turned on his heel, almost losing his balance — and wouldn’t that have made a pretty picture for the preacher to be smug about — and stalked out. He almost slammed the door.
Chapter 14
Today it was Sophie who got the job of going to town along with Jenny. It was Jenny’s good luck, or maybe Mamie doing a little favor along with still insisting on a chaperone, that Sophie was so easygoing and didn’t fuss about it. What’s more, she let Jenny pick where they went first and next. And when Jenny asked her opinion on what fabric would look best for Jenny’s next new dress, she read Jenny’s face and picked the one Jenny was lingering at already.
Then, when they passed the ice cream shop on their way back to Mamie’s, Sophie even let Jenny go inside on her own. “Bessie’d be less’n pleased if I ate ice cream without her. You go on, and I’ll wait for you on a bench in the square. I can work on my bird calls. Bessie likes it when I do bird calls.”
That suited Jenny more’n fine. She liked Sophie’s company, usually, but by now, doing something by herself would be as much of a treat as ice cream.
The owner undressed her with his eyes the way most men did, but he didn’t say nothing rude and handed over her ice cream without making her wait longer’n anyone else. And it was a pretty day, still warm enough that the owner’d propped the door open for breezes, but not humid like a couple of weeks before.
To put the cherry on the sundae, so to speak, a lady just a little older’n Jenny came in with a baby, a cute little boy with a sweet round face, his plump arms and legs all waving around. Jenny loved babies. She’d tended neighbor babies often enough as a girl, all the way up until she left home.
Bringing her plate of chocolate ice cream with fudge syrup, she came toward mother and baby, smiling. “He’s so precious! How old —”
The woman snatched the baby out of his basket and clutched him to her breast, starting him howling. Over the noise, she said, voice colder’n any ice cream, “How dare you approach us, a hussy like you!” Turning her shoulder to
Jenny, she crooned to the crying baby, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t let the nasty lady hurt you.”
The woman stood up as if to hurry her baby out of reach of whatever poison it might breathe in, just from being near Jenny. But Jenny ran out first. Only outside did she realize she was still holding her plate and spoon. She crouched to leave them at the door, took a deep if shaky breath, and walked as quick as she could to find Sophie. It wasn’t until Sophie looked at her with big eyes and wrinkled forehead that she realized she was crying.
Mamie saw them come in and marched downstairs to stand at the bottom with hands on hips, looking like a hanging judge. Jenny still hadn’t managed to stop crying, so Sophie had to do the talking, as much as she could from whatever Jenny had blurted out on the way. Then, for a wonder, Mamie made things better, opening her arms for a hug. Jenny couldn’t remember Mamie giving her a real hug before, nor her wanting such, but now she rushed into Mamie’s arms and fair snuggled up against Mamie’s big bosom. Mamie stroked her hair. “There, there, girl. Bitches will be bitches, and we can’t hardly stop ‘em.”
Jenny had to laugh, which stopped her crying. She pulled back enough to wipe her face on her arm — or would’ve, if Mamie hadn’t pulled a handkerchief from somewhere like a magician with a hat. By now Sophie had gone off somewhere, probably to tell Bessie all about it.
Jenny wiped her face and followed Mamie to the empty small lounge. Mamie gave her a little push toward an easy chair, one usually reserved for the men, and went behind the bar, pulling out a bottle and pouring two glasses. She handed one to Jenny and sat down next to her. “Join me, why don’t you, in a little sherry. It’ll relax you and maybe help you get some perspective on this afternoon’s events.”
What Frees the Heart Page 9
