How old was the barn anyway? He knew it wasn’t quite as old as the house. He pushed back the brim of his hat to wipe off some sweat.
Gannie had had the outside of Gledhill painted not long ago; and he knew in his bones it was fine. But if he was going to take care of his family, he would have to see to it that the entire property passed some sort of inspection.
And while he was at it, he made a mental note to arrange for Sam’s housekeeper to have her grandson continue tending to the yard work. Weeds needed pulling and the honeysuckle was getting a little ragged-looking. He couldn’t maintain things in any way other than a haphazard manner himself. There was no time.
Heading out of the barn, Matt vowed to check everything before the end of the summer. The barn wasn’t leaning into the garage or anything. And he hated to think of tearing it down; the stalls might come in handy. But he needed to know that everything on the property was safe. There was a child to consider.
The baby. It wasn’t too soon to think about an overnight bag for the hospital and a baby monitor for his office. More 800 numbers. That though ground him to a halt
Why couldn’t he have told her the reason he hadn’t moved his stuff over from his place? Why hadn’t he admitted that he just couldn’t bring anything of the past with him into this marriage? With no love to bring, everything in his house on Ransom property seemed tainted by the lack.
But Matt wanted this baby and certainly lusted for his wife. By his lights, that had to count for something, surely.
Our baby, Matt thought with sudden, fierce need. Something he had assumed to be a part of his future had only taken twelve years of hell and sorrow to bring about.
The baby would bind Perri to him, Matt knew. She wouldn’t leave agam. Even if he couldn’t give her the love she deserved, she would stay with him for the child. He didn’t want to seem insensitive to that fact.
He understood that his triumph over the baby and his ruthless pushing weren’t very romantic. He had hidden that sensation of victory instinctively as best he could. But he hadn’t been able to completely hide his feelings the day he had realized she was carrying.
He now vowed to do everything; to do more. More for her than any man who might be able to love Perri could or would do. Maybe he could grab some shred of the ability to love he had once felt and build on it. “Enough,” he said firmly, returning his attention to the chores.
We’ve sure been lucky with our weather, Matt mused as he carried a bucket from the back porch of the house to the vegetable garden. It was a glorious day. The newly mowed grass gave off a familiar scent of summer. The wind was remarkably soft and gentle here on the hill. There were vegetables to gather from the garden. And, thankfully, there were butterflies. Hot, dry summers could affect their food supply, making them scarce.
No unforgiving weather, no tornadoes had come barrelling down directly into Spirit. Every one of Mother Nature’s destructive impulses had, so far, gone around or over them. There had been just enough hail and lightning to make it interesting. He hunkered down to gather tomatoes.
In that instant, a quail shot right past his nose and out of the patch. She hovered over him, squawking fit to be tied. Five of her young streaked out single-file and under the fence, into the relative safety of the neighboring Ransom pasture.
Matt would have ignored her and continued about his business, only mama did not let up. After a careful scan, his eye found the missing baby. The little one was frozen with fear under a tomato plant. While its mother continued to flap out a distraction, Matt rose and moved off.
As soon as he had removed himself far enough to gain mama’s approval, the tone of her squawks changed. The little slowpoke then scooted out and headed under the fence for dear life. The quail hovered over her young all the way, like a low-flying, feathered helicopter.
He could just see Perri hovering and squawking over their child the same way. The image made him laugh out loud as he moved back and quickly gathered tomatoes. He’d spent the day thinking about Perri. It had been hard to concentrate on anything else.
Matt set the bucket of tomatoes to one side and returned to watering the yard. All the while he wondered where his wife was now. She had really gotten to him this morning. Perri had seemed distant in the morning after all the wild loving; distant from the connection they had shared in the night.
He felt a little hurt at that. And yet Matt knew he was being foolish. He was giving her all he had to give. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough to build on, certainly. But it represented his best effort. She’d said she loved him. It set his mind at ease, even if his own conduct couldn’t.
He stilled, thinking of how she’d looked naked on the rumpled sheets. Matt had needed to look at her. He had needed to look at her breasts and thighs, golden in the morning light. The bed linens had been aqua, he thought unexpectedly.
Last night he hadn’t even noticed what color they were. In the light of day, aqua sheets and honeyed skin had affected him deeply. He had held her to him for as long as he could, inhaling her scent in an attempt to somehow wrap her around him for the day separate from her.
Matt would push without much mercy if he had to. It was second nature. He would push to maintain the new, fragile connection ; to build a marriage. He’d use sex ruthlessly to bind her to him. He’d use anything to keep Perri close, to keep her here The trip to the Gulf he wanted them to take ought to help, at least he could hope.
Flowers, Matt thought, suddenly inspired. He would buy her some flowers. That was romantic, wasn’t it? The thought caused the whole afternoon to brighten around him.
Maybe they sold some candles at the florist’s. too. Matt had never bought a woman a candle in his life. Flowers should help. he thought almost as a prayer. Matt turned off the hose and coiled it away. He gave up on the idea of calling a florist immediately when Perri’s car pulled up the drive.
An intense, possessive urgency clutched at him as she stopped the car by the front porch. Matt was just about to grill her on why she hadn’t called when he was saved from such momentary foolishness. Perri got out and headed into the house without so much as a glance at him. He swore and gathered up the bucket of tomatoes before tracking her down.
Eight
Facedown and half asleep, Donnie grabbed at the phone next to her bed. Missing by a mile, she tried again. Her poor, overworked brain couldn’t quite grasp why the ringing was coming through so clearly. It was truly puzzling. She had gone to bed wearing her earplugs for just this reason.
As the phone in her hand made successful contact with her ear, she continued her steady crawl toward consciousness. The moment finally arrived when Donnie realized she did indeed have an earplug still lodged in one ear. It was the ear to which she was now dumbly holding the phone.
Its mate was pushing into her cheek. It didn’t hurt or anything, she noted sluggishly. And where was her pillow? She had to either change ears in order to use the technological wonder now clutched in her hand, or she had to remove her remaining earplug. Nothing was easy.
“Will you please say something,”Perri demanded through the receiver. “You’re making me nervous.”
As Perri continued to talk, LaDonna Marlowe got it together. After careful consideration. she rolled over and successfully placed the receiver to her unplugged ear. This caused the earplug residing between her cheek and the mattress to roll under the bed. The annoyed groan that followed this chain of events didn’t really qualify as “hello.”
“I’ve been listening to the tapes and reading some of the transcripts and I think this idea will work,” Perri continued the conversation as if Donnie had a clue what she was talking about. “So all I need you to do is to sit there and agree with what I’ve already settled on. Just back me up,” she urged. “A few minor decisions are all that need to be resolved. Like the vegetables. How about a squash and cheese casserole?” she asked. “Hello? Say something.”
“Please,” Donnie whimpered softly. “I just woke up. Don’t say the wo
rd ‘squash’ to me, okay?” Something unforgettable, made with squash and a can of mushroom soup, had been brought to Gledhill around the time of Gannie’s funeral No one who’d tasted it had, as yet, fully recovered.
“You’re right. It’s overdone by this time of year. Sorry.” Perri paused thoughtfully. “What about okra?”
“I’ve never liked you,” Donnie muttered. “You are a heartless woman.”
“I’m sorry,” Perri repeated, contrite. “I never know a good time to call when you’re working nights. I woke you, right?”
“Yes,” Donnie replied, “and I’m begging. Please, do not start my day speaking of anything green or yellow. Not until after I have had my coffee. I’m too fragile,” she said, pawing at her remaining earplug. Donnie, being the fragile sort, only drank coffee she had first boiled to death on the stove.
“It’s three p.m., cousin,” Perri declared cheerfully. “I regret waking you. But this is war.”
That roused Donnie enough for her to sit upright and lose her remaining earplug in the bed linens. “All right, why are you calling me?” she demanded as she searched through the sheets.
“As I said, you and John are invited to a cookout,” Perri repeated briskly. “Saturday, I’m pretty sure. I have an idea for using the Donated Land to comply with the terms of the will. I’ll run it by you once I’ve got it all worked out. The only thing I need you to do for Saturday is to make a three-layer pie.”
The thought of a rich, gooey three-layer pie, resting on a pie crust loaded with chopped pecans was much easier for Donnie to handle than the notion of squash or okra. “Aren’t we a little too mature for that sort of thing?” she asked, mainly for form. There was no way to be too mature for three-layer pie.
“It’s not for us. It’s for the men,” Perri confided “Strategy.”
“Cooking as guerrilla warfare,” Donnie mused. “I’ve always maintained that you only look like a nice girl.”
“You’re too kind,” Perri replied graciously. “If you could also hunt up that recipe for caramel-fudge brownies I would be forever in your debt.”
“You’re heartless. You know that?” Yawning, Donnie paused to consider. “I’ve always liked that about you.”
“I’ll have fresh fruit for yon, some shortcake if we want it. I guess that means whipped cream,” Perri muttered absently. “It seems redundant with the three-layer pie.”
“Wait a minute,” Donnie interjected cautiously. “Caramel-fudge brownies along with pie is not redundant, but whipped cream for shortcake is? I’m not awake enough for this. I must be missing the finer points. Is all this dessert angst because it’s your first dinner party since getting married?” she asked.
“No,” Perri huffed. “I think I’ve figured out what to do with Gannie’s project. I’m hoping to sell them on the idea over dessert.” She paused. There was no reason to hide her concern from Donnie. “I wish I didn’t feel as if my idea had to be perfect,” she said. “I feel like I need it all planned out, with every detail in place just to get Matt to so much as listen to me. Back me up like you always do, okay? And come early,” she added lamely.
“Sure. Anything for our side,” Donnie said on another yawn. “But I think you’re going about it wrong. You need some of it to be his idea. Make it good, but leave some obvious room for improvement. Something needs to be improved upon for Matt to complain about,” she advised. “Make it something he can make better, something that he can fix.”
“I’m so glad I woke you,” Perri replied respectfully. “What have you been reading? Scarlett O’Hara’s Guide to Estate Management?”
“Let’s see,” Donnie ignored her and retrieved an earplug from among the sheets. She placed it carefully on the nightstand. “The brownie recipe is in the same cookbook as the three-layer pie. And I’m willing to do anything if it will get the father of the year off my back until you give birth,” she declared, leaning against the headboard. “He’s married to you, you know. You are the one he’s permitted to torment, not me. I’m just your poor, little old spinster cousin.”
“Oh, probably nothing will get him off your back,” Perri answered, cheerfully. She turned as Matt strolled into the kitchen, his cell phone to his ear. She smiled at him expectantly.
“Is that Donnie?” he inquired. “Saturday works for John.”
“It’s Donnie,” she relied “We’re on for Saturday,” she said into the phone. “Go back to sleep.”
Donnie hung up the phone and scrubbed at her eyes. She was awake, sort of. She was upright. That was a plus. Yawning, she gathered up enough steam to work herself to where she could hang over the edge of the bed and grope around for her other earplug. As the blood rushed to her head, the phone shrilled.
She considered ignoring it. She knew she’d sound like she was being hung from her heels if she answered. But it couldn’t be helped. She wasn’t moving fast enough yet for there to be an alternative. Swearing, Donnie arched her back enough to reach for it. “Well, what?” she demanded.
“It’s me,” Deepwater announced pleasantly. “Why do you sound like you’ve just run a mile of bad road?”
Donnie gave out with an exasperated sigh. “At this point, I am a mile of had road,” she said. “You know, Johnnie, that patch of land isn’t worth all this aggravation.”
“No,” John replied agreeably, “it’s worth just enough to have gotten them inside a church.”
She rolled the earplug between her fingers, considering. “Twenty bucks says she talks Matt into the project,” Donnie challenged as she hauled herself back in line with the world. “After he kicks and screams awhile, seeing as how it’s her idea.”
John considered. Betting against would just encourage Donnie to work that much harder for. “You’re on, squirt,” he said with a grin.
No one blinked. It’s sort of like poker without the deck And when the truth hit her, Perri almost started. Each of them wanted this to work, she realized, but nobody wanted to cave in too quickly. John wanted this for Gannie. That devil had only bet Donnie the twenty bucks to throw her off. And Matt was just looking for a way to say yes.
The four of them were seated around the kitchen table. The wind had been fierce enough to make dining outdoors unrealistic. A tornado had touched down four miles due west of Spirit Valley. For a time, it had been a toss-up over whether or not to head for the basement.
Even now, the air crackled with electricity. But the storm had passed on over the Red to worry Texas. Donnie had checked in with her dispatcher and learned that the Spirit Valley Fire Department had announced the all clear. No one in Spirit had been injured during the storm’s passage. A couple of abandoned railroad cars bad been struck, however. Fortunately, they’d toppled on an equally abandoned stretch of track.
And so, as three-layer pie, caramel-fudge brownies and fresh fruit were passed around, gratitude was apart of dessert They had joined hands and voiced a prayer of thanks that the storm had left unharmed those they held dear. This time.
“So, what kind of a building are you talking about?” Matt asked skeptically.
“Well, I’d like something that won’t blow away,” Perri joked. “That would be nice.”
“Ah,” he nodded, “a bunker.”
Here was the moment for which he had bided his time. Matt knew that by agreeing to the project he could get what he wanted most: Perri firmly entrenched in life here in Spirit Valley. He could keep her here and occupied. This project could silence her idea of getting a job with some Oklahoma City bank. On the other hand, it was a staggering amount of work. She couldn’t do it alone.
“I think it’s doable, Matt,” she answered firmly, reading his look. “And I think it’s worth the effort This may very well be the only existing record of what happened to some of the 89ers,” she declared “We all know that records were fast and loose before the Territory achieved statehood, that births and deaths weren’t always recorded. People lived out their entire lives here with no official record And we all know that’s how
some of them wanted it.”
“Gannie obtained eyewitness accounts of the Run; plus the stones that were passed on from families who had settled in the townsites,” Perri went on. “We have the information and the land to house the centers. And some of this stuff is fascinating, simply because it’s so human. It just makes me want to cry. There are dozens of stories of hope and striking courage, of prosperity after hard times, and of disaster.”
“Perri, you don’t know enough about it to realize what you’re undertaking,” Matt challenged.
“I know enough to realize that this feels right to me,” she countered. “Look, all we have to do is hire a company to do the technical stuff and we could set up a center for the voices by the lake.”
Perri wasn’t aware she’d referred to Gannie’s tapes as “the voices.” Donnie was. So was John.
“There’s plenty of furniture here at Gledhill, plenty of antiques to give any building a period feel,” Donnie interjected. She smartly tossed the ball into Ransom’s court. “You guys must have some idea about what type of building would be best.”
“Why not use what we’ve got on hand,” Perri continued, “and just find a way to synthesize it into something more? Matt, I know that it means pushing a lot of paper, but once it’s done, that’s it There is only a finite amount of data,” she declared. “And we would be giving something back, restoring our history, if you will. Unless you would want to go further, and try to return the grassland back to the way it was.”
“Nobody is going to want to come here to look at some tall-grass,” Matt declared. “And besides, what do you know about reseeding the prairie anyway?” he demanded.
“What do I need to know?” Perri shot right back. “A person can’t spit in this part of the world without hitting a fanner, a field, or a combine. So, will y’all at least think about it? The stories are important,” Perri averred softly. “After all, hasn’t the land and its history always been for all of us, the one, lasting motif?”
The Bridal Promise Page 14
