Sweetwater Run

by Jan Watson

  “Goodness, Remy. I’m not faulting you or Darcy. I just need to figure it out. That’s all.”

  “Funniest thing,” Remy said, “After that storm blowed through yesterday afternoon, Darcy took to watching out the window, like she was expecting somebody to come calling. I teased her some: ‘Ye expecting your gentleman caller?’

  “She said, ‘I wish.’ Then right after dark up rides the devil all in a lather, and next thing I knowed, Darcy’s packing a valise and she’s out the door. But they’ll be back directly.”

  Cara sighed. Her head ached something fierce. “How do you know they’ll be back? Maybe we’ll never see Darcy again.”

  “Oh, they’ll be back,” Remy said. “That lawyer feller left something important behind.”

  Cara wished she had some headache powders. “What did Mr. Thomas leave? His precious money?”

  “His dog there,” Remy said. “He left his dog in my care. Her name is Daisy.”

  Indeed there was a dog lying on a rug in front of the cold fireplace. At the mention of her name, the hound padded over and dropped her head in Remy’s lap. Remy stroked her ears. “There’s a good girl,” she said.

  “How can you be so calm? I feel like I’m about to fly apart.”

  Remy sat with her hand resting on the dog’s head. “Ain’t no use fretting about this old world. Ain’t like we’re in charge of nothing.”

  Boyish laughter sailed in through the open door. Cara looked out across the yard. Dylan had put his straw hat on Pancake. He guided the mule round and round the barnyard. Wilton laughed so hard Cara thought he might fall off. Jay stood off to the side, his mouth turned upside down.

  Fresh tears cascaded down Cara’s cheeks. How could a body make so many tears? “What’s going to happen to these children if Ace doesn’t make it?” Her whole body began to shake. “Dance can’t hardly take care of Pauline, much less the rest of them.”

  “Then we’ll have to do it, won’t we? The good Lord provides, I reckon.”

  Cara was taken aback. Here she was crying and moaning over what might be and Remy, with scarcely anything to call her own, jumped right in with the answer.

  Cara took her hankie from her sleeve, mopped her face, and blew her nose. “You’re right. The good Lord does provide.” She stirred her coffee, then took a sip. “Let’s make a plan.”

  As that dreadful day closed, Cara lay awake in her own bed. Tears wet the pillow slip, but she reckoned it was all right to cry for Dance and the young’uns—and oh, for the sorrow of Ace. At least she’d stopped crying for herself.

  Merky cried out once, then stuck her thumb back in her mouth. Cara was ever so glad for the little girl’s presence. She wondered how Remy was doing with Wilton. That brought a smile. Of all the kids, Wilton was the one who wanted to stay with Fairy Mae and Remy. Who would have figured that? But Remy enticed Wilton with the dog. She told him Daisy needed a buddy just like Wilton, for she missed her daddy too. Cara never would have thought to put it so—in words that a four-year-old could understand—giving truth and comfort at the same time.

  Remy was a puzzle. Cara had never even contemplated Remy’s life. She was always just there helping out—staying in the background, kind of like Martha in the Bible. Cara sat up and blew her nose. She reckoned she and Remy were much alike, both Marthas, neither wanting to be noticed. But Darcy was a Mary if there ever was one. Darcy was bright and shiny as sunlight on water, lighting up a room with her sparkle, always ready for a new adventure.

  Lord, Cara added a new request to the day’s constant prayer, please be with Darcy. Keep her safe and bring her home fast.

  Cara’s head pounded and her nose was so stopped up she could barely breathe. Giving up on sleep, she eased out of bed and drew a light quilt over Merky. One burner of the cookstove still held heat. She stirred the embers to flame, added a chunk of wood, and put the teakettle on.

  When the water was near to boiling, she poured some in a small crock and added two heaping tablespoons of salt. Covering her head with a tented towel, she breathed the cleansing, salty air.

  She was thankful to have this time to herself and thankful to Jean and to Mrs. Hackley, who insisted on staying with Dance and the babies tonight. Jay stayed there also. He would not leave his mother. Brother Jasper and two of the church elders were keeping watch over Ace.

  Dylan was riding to Hazard to find a doctor and to dispatch a telegraph to Maryland. How sad, Cara mused, for Ace’s parents to hear the news in such an impersonal way. Elder Foster said they should pray that they could get here in time to see their son before he passed on, but Cara would not. Ace would live. She knew it. God would grant a miracle.

  Certain scenes from the day played over and over across her mind’s eye: Ace’s body lying crumpled in the spring; his brown felt hat rolled up against the hickory tree; her apron billowing out over his stony face; Dance standing on the bed, screaming . . . Cara wished the salt water would wash those dreadful images away.

  And there was one more picture she couldn’t get out of her mind. Just before she left Dance’s and started home with Merky, she’d noticed the sheriff standing at the chopping block, holding Ace’s hatchet up to the waning light.

  His eyes narrowed when he saw Cara watching. “As far as you know, Miz Whitt, did anybody use this recently?”

  “Not as far as I know. I thought maybe Ace killed a chicken yesterday.”

  “So you took notice of this blood here?” he asked, flashing the blade. “Any sign of that when you got here? When was it? Early this morning?”

  “Um, well,” Cara stammered, feeling like a moth in a spider’s web. “No, not so early, maybe ten or so.”

  “Any sign of last night’s supper? skillet? dishes?”

  “I don’t recollect—I was only thinking of finding Ace. I think the ladies from church washed some dishes.”

  “Let me ask you something else, Miz Whitt . . .”

  Cara wished he’d quit calling her Miz Whitt. She looked around, hoping to see Brother Jasper or maybe Dylan. Why was the sheriff asking her these questions? She started to back away.

  The sheriff kept his steely blue eyes locked on hers. “Did you ever witness any violence acted upon Mr. Shelton by his wife?”

  Cara swallowed hard. “Violence? No—well, they had the normal tiffs, Ace and Dance, like any other couple.”

  “Did you ever see Ace Shelton lay a hand in anger on his wife?”

  She shook her head.

  “How about the reverse?”

  “Why are you asking me these questions?”

  “Just trying to figure things out,” the sheriff replied. “There was talk around town about Miz Shelton’s hair-trigger temper. A few weeks back Ace had a knot over his eye big as a hen’s egg. He said his wife hit him with a skillet.”

  Now as Cara folded the linen towel and emptied the cold salt water, she pondered the sheriff’s questions. What in the world could he be after? What was he thinking? From experience she thought it couldn’t be good. She figured the lawman had more than questions on his mind, but surely he didn’t think Dance had anything to do with Ace getting hurt. It was an accident, pure and simple.

  Her headache had eased and she could breathe again. Best not borrow trouble—best not make too much of the sheriff’s probing. He was only doing his job.

  She scooted Merky’s limp body over to make some room for herself. What was it her daddy would say when her mama would fret over some small thing? Oh yes. “Let every day provide for itself and God send Sunday.”

  Cara wondered if that was from the Bible. Probably not, for it seemed to her God provided every day. Now He would provide for Ace and for his family. She just needed to stop trying to take everything on all by her lonesome.

  CHAPTER 26

  THE NEXT TIME Henry came with a proposal, Darcy was ready. Somehow she sensed he would come to her this day. Maybe it was in the tension of the afternoon’s summer storm, but it seemed like she could feel his presence, exciting and dangerous.<
br />
  “Be quick,” he said when she went out to meet him.

  So she rushed to gather her things, all the while keeping an eye out the window to where Henry talked with Remy in the fading twilight. Darcy feared he would change his mind any minute and ride off, leaving her behind. She tucked tissue paper into the folds of her wedding costume before she packed it on top of her other things. Try as she might though, her new hat wouldn’t fit in the valise. With a jet-beaded hat pin she secured it atop her head, then ran to tell Mammaw good-bye.

  Mammaw barely opened her eyes when Darcy bussed both of her soft cheeks. “I’ll be back in a day or two. Remy will take good care of you.”

  Seizing the moment, she paused to look at her reflection in Mammaw’s dresser mirror. The lamplight cast a golden glow around her face as she pinched her cheeks and rubbed a little petroleum salve on her lips. The hat didn’t go with the housedress she wore, but she wasn’t about to leave it behind. Guilt stopped her in her tracks as she rushed through the bedroom door. With a sigh she went back to Mammaw’s side. Kneeling by the bed, she took her grandmother’s hand in her own. “I love him. Be happy for me.”

  The screen door screeched. Remy must have come back in. Darcy jumped up, gave herself one more look-see in the mirror, reset her hat, and grabbed her valise. With a “Thank you, Remy,” she was out the door and into the arms of her soon-to-be husband.

  Although Henry was in a dark mood she could not tease him out of, Darcy was in a state of giddy bliss all the way to the train station. It was happening. She was about to marry her beautiful Henry.

  Through the night they traveled until they came to a town with a livery station where Henry could board the horses. She wasn’t sure where they were exactly, but she wasn’t about to vex Henry with questions. Once they got to the depot, he bought tickets and found them a bench on which to rest. Unable to keep her eyes open another minute, Darcy drifted off with her head on Henry’s shoulder until a train thundered into the station and shook her awake. With a great belch of smoke and a terrible screech of wheels, the train stopped on the tracks.

  “Henry,” Darcy said, “are you sure that thing’s safe?”

  Henry had turned distant. He’d barely said three words during the whole night’s journey. Now he guided her to the train with his hand at the small of her back. “Get on,” he said.

  A kindly fellow cupped Darcy’s elbow. “Watch your step, little lady,” he directed as he helped her up the steps. Henry was close behind, loaded down with Darcy’s valise and a set of saddlebags. “I’ll take those,” the man said.

  Henry replied, “No thanks.”

  They sat together in two seats that faced two other seats. Henry slumped against the window, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and fell asleep.

  A well-dressed woman with a wicker basket and a portly man filled the facing seats. The woman looked Darcy over. Her questioning gaze rested on Darcy’s left hand. The man leaned toward the woman and spoke in a low voice. She shook her head like he made her angry, then opened the wicker basket and handed him a meat sandwich.

  Darcy kept her hands rolled up in her apron for hours until all of a sudden the train lurched to a stop and the other couple got off.

  “Henry,” Darcy said, poking his shoulder, “the train has stopped. We must be in Chicago.”

  Henry’s eyes flew open. He looked under the seat, checking their luggage. “This one-horse town is not Chicago. Stay here and don’t let anyone touch our things. I’m going to stretch my legs.”

  When Henry left, Darcy scooted over to his seat. She watched him stride across the wooden platform and disappear into the station. He was so handsome and so smart. She was proud to be his almost wife.

  Soon he was back with two boxed lunches. “There’s a ladies’ necessary inside the station, Darcy. We’ll eat when you get back.”

  The kindly man helped her down the steps.

  “Thank you,” she said, figuring it was the hat that got her special treatment. He probably mistook her for someone important.

  The lavatory was cramped and not very clean. Darcy splashed water on her face and washed her hands. The roller towel was black with grime, so she used the skirt of her apron. Catching a glance of herself in a cracked mirror, she righted her hat and untied the apron strings. She’d stick it in her valise. The station platform was thick with folks coming and going—so exhilarating. Darcy could have watched all day.

  An earsplitting whistle shook the air, and a blast of smoke sent sparks and cinders flying from the train’s chimney stack. “All aboard!” she heard.

  Back on the train, she noticed an upside-down water jug and a long tube holding a stack of paper cones. She pulled on a cone and three fell out. Embarrassed, she tried to stick them back up the tube. She was glad Henry didn’t see.

  The kindly man tossed the cones into a waste can. “Like this here,” he instructed, gently pulling on the tip of one cone. He held it under the water jug and turned a handle. Water trickled into the cup. When it was full, he handed it to Darcy.

  Darcy was delighted. The water was fresh and cold. “You must love your job,” she said to the man.

  “I expect I do.”

  The next time the train shuddered to a stop, Henry grabbed her valise and his bags and motioned her to follow him off the train.

  “Is this Chicago then?” she asked as she scurried to keep up with him.

  “No,” he snapped, “this is Nowhere, USA.”

  “You don’t need to be hateful,” she replied.

  With a sigh, he stopped on the platform and set down his load. “I’m sorry, Darcy Mae. I’m just weary.” He caught her chin with his thumb and tipped it. “What if I kissed you right here in front of all these people? What would you say?”

  “I’d say I love you, Henry Thomas.” She melted when his eyes got warm like they were now, like she was the only person who mattered in his world.

  “Afterward we’re coming right back to this spot, and I’m going to claim that kiss.”

  Darcy’s heart skipped a beat. Could it be? “After what?”

  Henry pointed down the road. “Just the other side of the hotel there is the courthouse. I figured we’d take advantage of the opportunity. How about it, little Darcy? Will you marry me?”

  Her heartbeat changed from a skip to a flutter. She was so happy she might die there on the spot. “Do I have time to change my clothes?”

  At the hotel Darcy stood back as Henry procured a room. “Mr. and Mrs. Jones,” she heard Henry say, and “two nights.”

  The desk clerk dipped a pen in a pot of ink and added their names to a list. Henry handed the man two packets from the saddlebag and watched as they were placed in the hotel safe.

  “I’ll wait downstairs,” Henry said after he unlocked the door to their room and set her valise and his bags inside. “Take your time.”

  The room was pretty with flowered wallpaper and polished cherry furniture. Darcy emptied her suitcase and spread her dress across the bed.

  A light knock at the door startled her. She cracked the door and peered out into the hallway.

  “Hot water?” a maid asked.

  “Please,” Darcy replied.

  The maid smiled and poured steaming water from a bucket into a blue and white pitcher that sat in a matching bowl on the washstand. From a cart in the hall the maid brought fluffy white towels and rose-scented bath soap.

  “How did you know to bring me this?” Darcy asked.

  “Your husband paid extra,” she said. “You are a lucky woman to have a man so attentive to your needs.”

  “Yes,” Darcy said. “Yes, I am.”

  Darcy’s gloved hand trembled in the crook of Henry’s elbow as they walked the short way to the courthouse and climbed the wide marble stairs. Again she stood back as Henry made arrangements. She saw money change hands before a clerk led them to a wood-paneled room where a man in black robes seemed to be studying a stack of papers.

  “Everything’s in order,” the cl
erk said in answer to words she couldn’t hear.

  She and Henry waited on heavy wooden benches like church pews while the clerk went to find some witnesses. Tall windows let light stream into the room, but still it was an intimidating place. Darcy was losing her courage. In spite of her pretty outfit, this didn’t feel like getting married. Where was her church? Where was her family? This was not the day her dreams had spun.

  “Wait here,” Henry said, rising.

  Darcy clutched his arm. “Don’t leave me in this place alone.”

  “I’ll only be a moment,” he replied, peeling her hand off his sleeve. “There’s something I forgot.”

  Darcy’s teeth chattered as she watched Henry disappear through an open door. She needed a water closet in the worst way.

  The unmistakable sound of long skirts swishing against hardwood floors drifted in from the hall. Darcy took heart. Rushing out, she found a woman dusting the wide window ledges. “Is there a facility I can use?” Darcy asked.

  With kindness the cleaning lady showed Darcy to a small room off one of the many corridors. When she was finished, Darcy washed her hands, pinched her cheeks, and stepped back into the hall. Now, which way had she come? All the corridors looked alike. Choosing one, she hurried along, looking into each room she passed, but there was no judge, no Henry. When she came to the end of the hallway, she turned and scurried back the way she had come and tried another. Frantic, she felt like screaming. She was going to miss her own wedding.

  She nearly fainted with relief when she saw the charwoman with her bucket of rags wiping baseboards. Just beyond her was the judge’s chamber; Darcy was sure of it.

  Her heart settled when she saw Henry waiting. He handed her a posy of tiny white flowers and pink rosebuds nearly the same shade as her dress. “You have to have flowers on your wedding day,” he said.

  Suddenly everything was just right. She didn’t need a church. She didn’t need her family. All she had ever wanted was right here by her side.

  Much later, after dark, Henry kept his pledge. Like children they swung hands as they walked back to the train station. There on the wooden platform, Henry took her in his arms and kissed her. “I love you, Mrs. Thomas. You are precious to me.”