by Alice Duncan
“Right,” I said, spooning beans onto his plate.
“None for me, thank you, dear,” said Esther in her sugary voice. “You rugged westerners enjoy food much spicier than I’m used to.”
Rugged westerners, were we? I wondered where she’d come from. From her accent, somewhere south, I supposed. Way, way, way south. I only smiled sweetly some more. “Sure thing, Miss Strickland.” She didn’t deserve any of my mother’s beans anyway.
When the line thinned out and most of the rodeo attendees and participants had been fed, Myrtle and I filled our plates and wandered over to where people were scattered around on blankets spread out on the ground. Phil and his cowboy friends had been sitting on an old plaid blanket under a pecan tree, but when he saw me with my plate, he scrambled up and rushed over to me. His chivalry made me feel kind of good, so I welcomed him with a smile.
Taking my plate, Phil said, “Come on over here, Annabelle and Myrtle. You can meet Bill Carson and Sonny Clyde from the Handlebar, over near Tatum.”
I nudged Myrtle and said under my breath, “Here’s your chance to snare a handsome cowboy, Myrtle.”
She blushed, but I know she was glad to be invited to sit with the guys. Myrtle is a pretty girl, but she’s kind of shy, and I know she wishes she had a special gentleman friend in her life. After all, we were both almost twenty years old. In a year or two, people would begin to wonder—probably out loud—why we weren’t married yet, and I don’t think Myrtle’s excuse was the same as mine. At least she’d never voiced a desire to run off and see the world before she settled down. She’s around my height, which is five feet, four inches tall, and she has brown hair that’s a little darker than mine, and brown eyes. She’s a little skinny, but that’s not a bad thing, especially since all the magazines say a “thin, boyish figure” is all the rage. People like me, who have curves, are out of fashion, but Phil never seemed to mind. Until recently.
We had a good time eating together. Sonny Clyde was very funny, telling joke after joke, and making us all laugh until our stomachs ached. He also seemed quite taken with Myrtle. It looked that way to me, anyhow, because he was eyeing her the whole time—and Tatum isn’t very far away from Rosedale. My heart, which had been behaving erratically of late, alternately glowed and ached, happy for Myrtle, and confused about me.
Stupid heart. I just hate when it does stuff like that.
Chapter Five
After the barbecue, we all gathered around the campfire again. Well, all except some of the women, who had to clean up after us. I swear, not only did the women have to cook the food and serve it, but then they had to do mop-up duties. Sometimes—often, in fact—I don’t think the world is a fair place. I ventured to say so to my mother once. She only laughed and recited that old saw: “Men’s work ends at the setting sun, but a woman’s work is never done.” Which only proves my point.
The choir director from the Bethel Baptist Church and the choir director from our church (First Methodist-Episcopal Church, North) were going to lead us all in another sing-along. They didn’t just have us sing religious songs, either, in spite of the Stricklands being among the sing-along participants. I thought that showed a good deal of common sense. I mean, no matter how religious a person is, he or she still likes a bit of fun every now and then. At least I do. Maybe that proves I’m a sinner. I’d ask Myrtle, but she’d probably only confirm my suspicion.
And Phil sat next to me! I was happy about that. I was less happy to see Josephine Contreras and my brother-in-law sneaking off behind one of the barns. I found Hannah in the crowd, sitting next to Zilpha and not watching what her husband was doing. I was pleased that she didn’t see her husband behaving in a suspicious manner, but darn it, what was going on between Josephine and Richard, if anything?
However, other things were good. Kenny Sawyer was lavishing attention upon Sarah for a change, and Myrtle was sitting next to Sonny Clyde on the other side of Phil and me. They seemed to be getting along quite well, and I was pleased for Myrtle. Even if she had been kind of annoying in recent days, she still deserved a good man in her life.
Hmm. I wonder if that’s true. It seems to me that little girls are always told they need good little boys in their lives, but why? Why can’t little girls grow up to be happy women complete unto themselves? Most of the marriages I’ve seen haven’t been all that great, my parents’ happy marriage excepted. And really, I didn’t know what went on between them when I wasn’t around. Maybe they secretly hated each other, although it didn’t seem likely and I didn’t like to think about that possibility.
Oh, there I go again. Pay no attention. Back to the sing-along.
Because I was curious—and perhaps because I’m mean at heart—I scanned the crowd for the Stricklands to see how Miss Esther was enjoying the fact that both of her prey were sitting with other women. When I located the Stricklands, I regret to say—because it speaks of a petty and childish nature—that I was not pleased. Esther Strickland seemed to have her full attention focused on her brother, at whom she was smiling her appealing, innocent smile. She looked almost as if she were what she claimed to be: a nice Christian woman who believed in what she was doing with this revivalist stuff. And who, coincidentally, was the most ravishingly lovely creature on earth. When she noticed me watching her, she smiled such a sweet smile, you’d have thought she were made of spun sugar.
I didn’t believe it. Nobody could be that sweet and innocent and above petty jealousies and stuff like that. Or maybe I was projecting again. Perhaps she was above such nonsense. All I know for sure was that I’m not, and that I didn’t like her—which proves my point, I reckon.
Naturally, the party wasn’t altogether rosy. For one thing, I still harbored a lingering worry about my sister Hannah’s husband. Then there was Hazel Fish, who managed to squeeze herself in between Myrtle and me and, naturally, fling some dirt in my ear.
“It looks to me,” she whispered, all titillation and excitement, “that Miss Strickland has lost both of her beaux.”
I turned deliberately and frowned at her. “I don’t feel like listening to gossip, Hazel Fish.”
She looked at me as if my words had offended her. Can you imagine that? “I’m not gossiping! I just take note of what’s going on around me. Besides, it’s the truth. Just look at Sarah and Kenny. And did you see the expression on Miss Strickland’s face? She isn’t thrilled to see you and Phil sitting together, either.”
“She looks exactly the same to me.” I glanced again at Miss Strickland, hoping to find some of the jealousy Hazel pretended she’d seen. Nope. Wasn’t there. Darn it.
“Humph. I know what I’m talking about. She’s jealous, Annabelle, and you know it as well as I do.”
“I know nothing of the kind.”
“You would if you were honest with yourself. And not only that, but I saw something that would surprise everybody if I wanted to tell it, but I’m not going to, because it’s nobody’s business. So I’m not gossiping!”
Tired of her, I said, “Here, Hazel, have a s’more.” And I shoved my just-put-together campfire treat at her. Maybe if she had something sweet in her mouth, she’d stop being so sour.
“Thanks, Annabelle.”
So she ate my s’more and I had to make another one. I didn’t mind too much. I’d much rather listen to Hazel chew than listen to her talk.
As the evening progressed and we sang and laughed and had fun together, I stopped watching out for my sister and her husband and Josephine Contreras and Sarah and Kenny and the Stricklands. What’s more, I stopped listening to Hazel Fish, who got tired of being ignored and wandered off. Therefore, I enjoyed myself. I know that people were getting up here and there and moving around, and that different people were getting refills of cocoa from the big pot by the fire and roasting marshmallows at different times and so forth. Therefore, I didn’t take any special notice of Kenny Sawyer.
Until he suddenly jumped to his feet, holding his stomach, and cried out in a hoarse voice, “Ho
ly God!”
That brought things to a standstill for a heartbeat. Then Sarah scrambled up, too, and grabbed him by the arm. “Kenny! What’s wrong?”
He doubled over for a second or two, then stood upright, looking abashed. He grinned slightly and said, “Sorry for disrupting the fun, folks. Cramp. I think I’d better take a little walk.” And he climbed over a few people and faded into the night. Sarah, clearly worried, went with him, still holding onto his arm.
After the shock had worn off, we all got back to singing, laughing, drinking cocoa, roasting marshmallows, squashing same between graham crackers with bars of chocolate, and having a grand old time. The incident had reminded me of Esther Strickland, though, and I sought her out in the crowd. She still sat with her brother, and she had a slightly worried expression on her face. Maybe she wanted to rush after Kenny and comfort him but didn’t dare, what with Sarah having reestablished a proprietary interest in him and all. I’d sure be glad when those revival-tent people left town.
All went well for about a half hour, I suppose, and I for one had forgotten all about Kenny, when we heard a shriek from the dark, outside the circle of our big campfire. Several people leaped to their feet. Then Sarah Molina appeared, looking pretty much like I’ve always pictured the mad Mrs. Rochester during the fire at Thornfield Hall. Pulling at her hair and streaming tears, she rushed into the circle and shrieked, “He’s dying! Kenny’s dying! Where’s a doctor?”
Oddly enough, Rosedale, New Mexico, boasted a whole bunch of doctors at the time. This was because it was discovered that Rosedale was a good place to live if you had consumption. And there were, unfortunately, a whole swarm of sufferers of the white plague in the United States. In actual fact, according to a magazine article I read once, we had more doctors per capita than any other city in the country! Therefore, three men immediately stood up and moved forward. Sarah grabbed Dr. Hanks and started tugging him, I presume, to Kenny. Dr. Richardson and Dr. Hilliard followed. Dr. Hilliard paused long enough to say to the assembly, “Don’t worry, folks. We’ll have him right as rain in a few minutes.”
He waved, smiled, and left, and we who were left all sat there, stunned. That state of affairs lasted for about a minute and a half. Then Pastor Stone, from the Bethel Baptist Church, rose to his feet and said, “Well, let’s sing! How about ‘Onward, Christian Soldiers’? We can dedicate the rousing hymn to our very own Kenny Sawyer, who seems to be in some distress.”
So we sang, getting off to a wobbly start. I know I was worried, and I’m sure everyone else was, too, because the party never did regain its full vigor. My heart lurched erratically, but I don’t think any of us were surprised when Dr. Hanks, trying to be invisible (and failing at it), came up to Mr. Gunderson, knelt down beside him, and whispered something in his ear. Mr. Gunderson appeared slightly shocked, rose, and followed the doctor away from the circle. Oh, dear. This didn’t bode well for poor Kenny.
A few moments later, when I felt a tap on my shoulder, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Turning, I saw Mr. Gunderson. Very softly, he said, “Will you and Phil come with me, please, Miss Annabelle?”
“Sure, Mr. Gunderson.” And, making as little fuss as we could, although I could feel the eyes of the entire campfire crowd upon us, Phil and I left the circle and followed Mr. Gunderson and Dr. Hanks to the Gundersons’ house, where Kenny was. Nobody said anything until we got indoors.
Then Dr. Hanks spoke to Phil and me seriously, “I want the two of you to try to keep everybody calm out there. Can you do that? This is a serious business.”
“What’s the matter with Kenny?” I asked, wanting some information before I promised anyone anything.
“He’s very, very ill. He seems to be suffering from some sort of gastric distress. I’m not sure what the problem is, but he’s in extremely bad shape.”
“Gosh, I’m really sorry to hear that,” I said, meaning it. I didn’t much like Kenny, but I didn’t want anything awful to happen to him. The doctor sounded so grave, my unreliable heart gave a sickening lurch.
Mrs. Gunderson, carrying a basin, rushed past us, realized who we were, stopped, and rushed back again. She took my arm. “Annabelle and Phil, if you’ve ever prayed in your life, please pray now, for Kenny.” And with that, she scooted off again, turning into the parlor where I assumed they’d taken Kenny. That didn’t sound good to me, but I vowed that I’d do as she’d asked. A prayer from yours truly might not mean much to God, but it sure couldn’t hurt. As we went back toward the fire circle, I prayed silently, Please, God, help Kenny get through this, whatever it is. And I promise I’ll try to be more charitable from now on.
I can just imagine what God thought of that prayer. I could almost hear him declare, “Don’t give me any of that nonsense about trying, Annabelle Blue. Either do it or don’t do it, but don’t quibble.” He said it in my father’s voice, probably because that’s exactly what Pa always told any of us when we told him we’d try to improve our behavior. My father was a great guy, but a tough disciplinarian. I guess that’s a good thing.
Phil and I weren’t moving awfully fast when we returned to the circle. In my case, my slowness was because I wasn’t sure what to do or say to keep people calm. I presume the same was true for Phil, although I didn’t ask. Anyhow, when we resumed our seats next to Myrtle, the singing faltered, then stopped. The entire throng stared at us, as if asking for enlightenment. And we’d just been charged with making sure nobody panicked. Oh, boy.
However, in an attempt to live up to my promise and my prayer, I smiled a small smile and said, “The doctors are with Kenny now. I’m sure everything will be fine.”
“Yeah,” said Phil, bless him. “A little stomach trouble is all.”
I don’t think anybody believed us. I know no one felt like singing anymore. We all just sat there, wondering what had gone wrong, some of us whispering. At last Reverend Stone, after conferring with Reverend Farley, our (Methodist) minister, held up his arms and said, “How about we have a prayer for our friend, Kenny Sawyer, folks. Looks like he might need one.”
We all murmured our agreement, and Reverend Stone launched into a prayer that rivaled the one Reverend Strickland had said the day before. When he finally said, “Amen,” and we lifted our heads (which, naturally, we’d bowed in proper, respectful style), Mr. Gunderson stood beside the two ministers. He seemed mighty grim.
He held up a hand, tried to smile, failed, and said, “I guess the party’s over for this evening, folks. Y’all come back again tomorrow for some more exciting events and another campfire and sing-along. Thanks for comin’!”
So, with much whispering and shuffling, everybody got up and started to move toward the field where all the cars and wagons were parked. I don’t think anyone wanted to speak too loudly for some reason. We felt solemn, almost as if we were in church or something.
Myrtle, Sonny Clyde, Phil and I made our way to the field together. Taking my arm, Myrtle said in a hushed voice, “What’s going on, Annabelle?”
“I’m not sure. Dr. Hanks said Kenny is suffering from some sort of gastric upset, and that it’s pretty bad.”
“Phil?” Myrtle said, giving up on me as a lost cause, I guess, “do you know any more about what’s wrong?”
“Sure don’t,” said Phil. He appeared mighty serious. “Only what Annabelle said. Doc Hanks said it was stomach trouble, and it was bad. Hope Kenny’s okay. I don’t like him much, but I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.” That seemed to be the universal sentiment regarding Kenny.
Phil was such a nice guy. Here he and Kenny had exchanged heated words, and they’d been rivals in rodeo events for eons, yet he was wishing Kenny well. Even though Kenny was a strutting-peacock sort of fellow. “Me, too,” I said, feeling guilty about disliking so many people. Heck, if Phil could be generous about Kenny, I guess I shouldn’t be such a meanie about Esther Strickland. Unless, of course, she continued to try to steal Phil from me. And, now that Kenny was apparently out of the running for her affectio
ns, at least for the moment, she might just concentrate her wiles in Phil’s direction. Not that she seemed wily exactly.
Oh, heck, I was just a jealous cat. She was beautiful, sweet, charming, she had a great voice, and I envied her. And I didn’t like the notion of Phil falling in love with another woman, darn it.
“Wonder why it happened so suddenly,” said Sonny.
We all wondered the same thing. “I guess we could look for one of the doctors and ask if they know anything more by now. Or Sarah.” As soon as I mentioned Sarah, I wished I hadn’t. I liked Sarah, but if anything was really wrong with Kenny, I didn’t want to be anywhere near her. I wasn’t keen on histrionics, unless I was watching them onstage or at the flickers.
“Let’s not bother Sarah or the doctors,” said Phil. “They’ve probably got their hands full.”
I considered that a good call. My parents and Jack were waiting for me beside the Model T, so Myrtle, Phil, Sonny and I parted from each other in the parking field. I’d kind of hoped I might have a second or two alone with Phil, just to see if he’d say anything to me, or maybe kiss me or something, but I didn’t get it.
The only one who wanted to talk on the way home was Jack, so he did until Pa told him to shut his yapper. Before that happened, Jack had propounded his theory that one of the other cowboys in the competition had poisoned Kenny, that Kenny had ingested some sort of evil drug, that he’d drunk too much illegal booze, or that Kenny’d had a heart attack or some other kind of fit. None of those theories sounded likely to me, but I knew better than to say so. An argument with Jack was sure to end badly, especially with our parents around to hear it.
The next day was Saturday. Blue’s Dry Goods and Mercantile Emporium was scheduled to close at noon so that the whole family could attend the rodeo. We were all there, Ma, Pa, Jack and me, shuffling around, restocking merchandise, straightening displays and dusting shelves. I don’t know about the others, but I was just wondering how Kenny was doing when in came Hazel Fish, big with news. It was the first and only time I’d been glad to see her, because if anybody knew what had gone wrong with Kenny and what the prognosis was, she would.
