He edged up to lean against the trunk of the willow and pulled her onto his lap.
“Sweetheart, maybe I should go up to Montana and work in the logging camp this winter. By spring I’d have enough money to come get you and take you back with me. Somehow, someway or another, we’ll make it.”
“Oh . . . I don’t think I could bear not to see you all winter. What if Papa finds a preacher to take his church and we leave? How will you find me?”
“I won’t go until I know there’s no chance of that. Honey, I can’t marry you and take you to my folks. Your pa would raise such a stink about you marrying a Catholic that my pa wouldn’t be able to sell a single load of coal to anyone but Catholics, and there’s not very many of them left in town.”
“I know.”
“Our day is coming, sweetheart. We’ve got to be patient a little longer.”
“I’ve loved you for such a long time,” she said in a soft trembling voice. “Do you remember the first time we saw each other? You spilled the milk you were bringing to Papa.”
“How could I forget that? I remember the first time we talked for any length of time. It was the close of the school year. I was fifteen. The upper grades had gone to the river for an all-day picnic. Thank goodness Cora was sick and didn’t go. You were different out from under her watchful eye. I bribed Roy Carroll to exchange places with me so I could sit by you in the wagon. I remember that we played volleyball.” He laughed and raked his knuckles down the side of her face. “When we played blindman’s bluff, I cheated so I could catch you. I thought you were the prettiest, sweetest girl I’d ever seen.” He kissed the end of her nose and whispered, “I still do.”
“There’s plenty of pretty girls in town you could meet without having to sneak around about it. They could go to dances and ballgames with you. I don’t know why you bother with me.” She snuggled her nose into his cheek and kissed the line of his jaw.
“ ’Cause I love you, that’s why. Someday we’ll go to dances and ballgames, and you’ll see they’re not as wicked as your pa says they are. When can you meet me again?”
She slid off his lap. “I don’t know.”
“It would be pure hell to be away from you all winter, sweetheart.” They were standing close, dreading to part. His dark eyes devoured her face. She brushed the black curls from his forehead with trembling fingertips.
“It would be awful,” she whispered. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”
“Working in a logging camp may be the answer, sweetheart. I don’t make enough money at the dairy to support us. Besides, when we marry, we’ll have to leave here. Your pa would make life miserable for us and for my folks if we stayed.”
“You’re right. Kiss me again before I go.”
Tenderly, he threaded his fingers in the hair on each side of her face. He bent his head and reverently kissed her forehead, then her lips. He was filled with indescribable love for her.
“Turn around. I want to be sure there are no leaves or grass on your dress or in your hair. Here’s the ribbon.” He pressed the scrap into her hand. “Tie it on the bush if you can meet me.”
“I love you.” Her back was to him. “Don’t . . . forget me . . . ever!”
“How can you think that?” he whispered in her hair. “Every thought I have is of you. Every plan I make, every dream. I love you.”
Feeling bereft as he always did when she left him, Mike watched her until she was out of sight. Far off down the creek bed a crow sounded its lonely, mocking call as if laughing at human problems. A wagon bumped along the road in front of the schoolhouse. A skinny, forlorn-looking old dog trailed behind it with his head hanging low, his tail between his legs. Mike had seen that dog a hundred times, but today he looked older, more friendless, as if he had been cast out to fend for himself.
An emotion as strong as fear gripped Mike as he watched the dog. It was as though he had a sudden glimpse of a long, solitary future.
* * *
Much to Cora’s disappointment, Reverend Pringle put off his soul-saving crusade until spring rather than leave his flock without a “shepherd.”
The last week in September Mike left for the logging camps in Montana to look for work. Letty’s world fell apart. She went into such a deep depression that her father was sure the devil was trying to possess her soul. Her mother passed her lack of energy off as “fall complaint” and made her take a double dose of Black Draught and drink sassafras tea until she was running to the outhouse every half-hour or so.
Time passed with terrible slowness. At the end of the second month Letty’s greatest fear was realized. The day beneath the willow she had “caught.” Mike’s baby was growing in her body. Sick with worry and weak because she was plagued with constant nausea, she lost weight and was almost continually in tears. Her mind was in a constant turmoil. She had no one to confide in. Days and nights of worry had frayed her nerves until she thought she couldn’t bear it. She lived in dread of what her father would do when he found out. As far as her parents were concerned, she had committed the ultimate sin.
Guilt played no part in her anxiety. What she had shared with Mike had seemed so right. She prayed constantly that she would hear from him even though she knew he wouldn’t write to her for fear that her father would intercept the letter.
One day she met Mike’s little sister at the store and casually asked if they had heard from Mike.
“No, but Mama got a letter from Duncan. He said Mike didn’t get no job in Montana. Mama thinks maybe Mike went on to Id-d-ho or someplace like that. Ya know what? My goat ate Mrs. McGregor’s hat.” The little girl put her hand over her mouth and giggled. Her dark eyes, shining with mischief, looked so much like Mike’s that Letty quickly turned away before she disgraced herself with tears.
* * *
On Sunday morning, while listening to her father’s sermon, Letty considered whether she should go to Mike’s mother, explain her condition, and ask for help in finding a place to stay until Mike came back. Almost as soon as the idea formed in her mind, she discarded it. If her father found out, he would see to it that not one member of his church bought coal from Mr. Dolan. Mike had said that with five children still left at home they were having a rough time making ends meet. She couldn’t add to their burden.
Her father’s booming voice brought her back to the present. He was preaching on sin, guilt, and forgiveness.
“Forgiveness is mine, saith the Lord! There is no sin too big for God to forgive, my friends.”
A heavy frown settled on Letty’s face. God would forgive her, but her father wouldn’t. He was the most unforgiving person she had ever known. He still hadn’t forgiven Grandpa Fletcher for not wanting him to marry his only daughter. Grandpa had said the only reason Albert Pringle wanted Mable was because she didn’t have the sense of a nanny goat and she could play the piano. Her mother had told her daughters the story. She had met Albert Pringle when he came to hold a brush-arbor revival meeting in Piedmont, a small town in northwest Nebraska. The Lord had told her to go help the preacher spread the message. She had gone despite her father’s objection. At the time she had been only a year older than Letty and twenty years younger than the man she married. Mable Pringle was very satisfied being the wife of the preacher. She loved being looked up to and envied by the women of the congregation.
“Come home, O sinner, come home!” Reverend Pringle’s voice was rich and full and sweetly pleading. “I say to you, brethren, the last days are upon us. The Lord cometh, and no man knoweth the hour. Repent and be saved!”
Song books and Bibles were laid aside and the people around Letty began to stir.
“It is written that the wages of sin are death.”
Two women went forward to drop on their knees at the long bench in front of the platform. One cried, one buried her face in her hands.
“Come all ye who are weary and heavy laden and He will give you rest. Jesus died on the cross for your sins. He will pardon and cleanse.”
A
man from the back of the church went down the middle aisle to the altar. A chorus of voices followed him.
“Amen! Hallelujah!”
Reverend Pringle never ceased his entreating pleas. Tears streamed from his eyes. His lips quivered.
“Have Thine own way, Lord. Thou art the potter; I am the clay.” In an angelic pose, with his profile to the congregation, he lifted his face to the ribbon of sunlight that came from the upper window.
Letty twisted her handkerchief and wondered why she was embarrassed by her father’s tearful display. She had seen and heard the act many, many times. Today, however, it seemed almost obscene.
“Ye who have lived in darkness in this weary world of sin, come home. Come home. Come home. You are doomed, my friends, unless you seek the light. Turn your feet from the paths of sin and set them on the path of righteousness. Ye are but poor pilgrims wandering in a sinful world of woe. Take their hands, dear Lord, and lead them home.”
A shrill scream pierced the air.
“Hallelujah!” the preacher shouted. “Praise the Lord! Sister Bonander has got the old-time religion in her heart!” He raised his arms above his head. “A soul has been saved. Thank you, Jesus.”
Cora nudged Letty and motioned toward the piano where their mother was playing “Softly and Tenderly Jesus Is Calling.” It was time for them to sing. Letty turned stiffly to look at her sister. She had the same pious look on her face their father had. The realization came to Letty that it was their church face. She had a strange desire to giggle. Slowly she shook her head.
Cora seemed to be pleased to have the stage to herself. Her mouth tilted in a half-smile. She gave her sister an “I know something you don’t know look” before she stood and moved to the piano, her hands clasped to her breast, her head bowed.
Feeling as if she were somewhere on high looking down, Letty waited until her father was bending over one of the sinners at the altar, then rose and walked quickly out of the church.
* * *
“Explain yourself, sister,” Reverend Pringle roared as soon as he entered the house.
Letty came from the kitchen, her legs trembly, her stomach fluttering like a flag in the wind. She had changed into an everyday dress and had tied an apron about her waist.
“I came home to get dinner on the table, Papa.”
“You left your sister to carry on alone.”
“Cora sang exceptionally well this morning.” Mable removed the hatpin that anchored her hat to her high-piled hair.
“At least I have one daughter that I can depend upon. I want an explanation, missy.” The Reverend’s unblinking eyes fastened on Letty’s pale face.
“Ah . . . my throat is sore.”
“Liar,” Cora said under her breath as she passed Letty to go upstairs.
“You walk out of church again before the service is over, young lady, and you’ll not be sitting down for a week. You’re not too big for the strop. Do you hear?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Did you gargle with hot salt water?” Mable asked.
“Not yet.”
“Well, do it. I swan to goodness. I don’t know what’s got into you lately.”
Letty followed her mother to the kitchen. Silently, she began to dish up the food. She tipped up the iron skillet to pour gravy into a bowl and some of it slopped down the side, making a puddle on the stove.
“For crying out loud!” Mable exclaimed.
“It’s heavy, Mama.”
“It’s no wonder you’re weak. You haven’t eaten enough lately to keep a bird alive.”
“Maybe she’s having trouble keeping anything on her stomach.” Cora had come into the kitchen. She snickered softly and picked up the meat platter to take to the dining table.
Letty kept her head turned so that Cora didn’t see the panic that seized her. She honestly believed that her sister hated her. Cora had always been sly about tormenting her. When they were small, she would pinch Letty and yank her hair to make her cry during prayer meetings, then stand back and watch as she was scolded or spanked. Letty and Mike had talked about her sister. Mike said it boiled down to the fact that Cora was jealous because Letty was the prettier of the two. He also said that Cora wanted all of their father’s attention.
Glory! If Cora only knew! She was welcome to all of it . . . forever.
“Come girls, The Reverend is waiting.”
CHAPTER
2
Letty followed her mother to the dining room, wondering why she never called her husband by his given name, Albert. She always referred to him as The Reverend in the same hushed tones she used when she spoke of God. Her mother, Letty thought, was exactly the kind of wife her father wanted. She was totally subservient to his wishes.
After a prayer which was both lengthy and loud, the meat platter was passed to the head of the table. Reverend Pringle took a generous helping and passed the platter on. Letty helped herself to a small serving from each dish passed to her. Although each bite faced a battle in descending her tight throat, she persisted in nibbling at the food. Her stomach felt as if it would jump out of control at any moment.
“We got a good collection plate today.” Reverend Pringle tucked the corner of his napkin into his shirt collar. “Almost eight dollars.”
“That’s a dollar more than last Sunday,” Mable said happily. “Sister Treloar told me this morning that they’ll butcher a hog for us as soon as the weather turns cold.” She looked at her husband as if she expected praise for imparting such good news. He only nodded and forked another potato onto his plate. “The Cashes will give us honey as part of their tithe. We’ll get potatoes and turnips from the Hendrickses.”
“Turnips? Ugh!” The corners of Cora’s mouth sagged. “James Hendricks can afford to give us chickens, Papa. They’ve got the largest flock of white leghorns in the county.”
The Reverend nodded his head in agreement. “It’d not hurt them to share with us. Mable, the next time you’re with Sister Hendricks, you might mention how fond I am of chicken.”
“The Bible says it’s more blessed to give than to receive,” Cora said, smiling sweetly at her father.
“Yes, sister, it says that.” Reverend Pringle smiled fondly back at his eldest daughter, then frowned at the younger one. “Eat your dinner, Letty. Many a poor orphan would be glad to have what you’re pushing around on your plate.”
“I’m not very hungry.”
“Are you sick?” Cora asked sweetly.
Letty looked across the table at her sister and saw the high color on her cheeks and the smirk on her face. Cora’s eyes met hers and held them.
She knows! Oh, dear God!
After a silence broken only by the thump of her heart pounding in her ears, Letty drew in a sharp, hurtful breath and wished that she could just drop dead and escape the scene that was coming.
“Are you bilious again?” A note of impatience tinged her mother’s voice.
“Maybe.”
“You’re not. You know you’re not bilious.” Cora took a long drink of buttermilk, leaving a white ring on her upper lip. With deliberate slowness she licked it off. The eyes she fastened on her sister’s face were as watchful as those of a snake ready to strike.
“Maybe I am.”
“You know you’re not!” Cora set the empty glass down with a thump, and Letty knew her sister was going to drag out her torment as long as possible.
“Bilious or not. Eat your dinner. Waste not, want not, I always say.” The Reverend spooned gravy over the potatoes on his plate.
“She’s sick all right,” Cora exclaimed.
“Hush your prattle. She’s not sick.”
The rebuke from her beloved father stung Cora, causing her to stop her game of cat-and-mouse with Letty and get right to the point.
“Tell Papa how long it’s been since you washed your monthly rags, Letty, dear!”
“Sister!” Reverend Pringle looked up, startled, then pounded the end of his knife handle on the table. “Such ta
lk should be only among womenfolk. It’s not decent.”
“This affects all of us, Papa. Letty hasn’t had her flow for two months. It’s my guess she’s been fornicating and a bastard is growing in her belly.”
Reverend Pringle’s fork fell to his plate as the import of Cora’s words reached into his mind. Silence, broken only by his strangled breathing fell on the room.
“Oh, dear! Oh, my!” Mable looked as if she were about to swoon.
“Blub . . . blub . . . ugh . . . er—” The choking sounds came from Reverend Pringle.
“Cora! How can you say such a thing about your sister?”
“Because it’s true, Mama! Ask her!”
“Say . . . she’s wrong—” Mable gasped. Her face had turned as white as the tablecloth; her double chin trembled.
“Well, sister, say I’m wrong.” Cora’s eyes, bright with excitement, rested on Letty’s anguished face.
“Oh, Lord! Oh, sweet Jesus! I feel . . . faint—” Mable dipped her napkin in a glass of water and held the wet cloth to her forehead.
The Reverend was still making unrecognizable sounds.
“Was it Hadley Wells?” Cora rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward to ask in a conspiratorial whisper, “Did you catch him between fits? Or was it one of the wild Dolan boys?” The questions hung in the air for a long silent moment. “See there, Papa. She can’t deny it.”
Letty looked at the three accusing faces. She didn’t know them. They were strangers. They wouldn’t understand no matter what she told them. Refusing to answer Cora’s accusations, she jumped up from the table and ran up the stairs.
“Letty!” her father roared.
“Oh, Lord, help us!” her mother wailed.
“I was right,” Cora chortled happily. “One of those horny Catholics got in her drawers!”
Letty reached the top of the stairs, stumbled into the room, and slammed the door.
“Mike! Oh, Mike!”
* * *
A long time later, when she had no more tears to cry, Letty lay on the bed with her fist pressed to her mouth. She had expected her father to come to the room with the buggy whip. The family had been shocked beyond measure. Letty, meek and obedient, had disgraced them. The house was quiet. No doubt the three of them were discussing a face-saving plan.
Ribbon in the Sky Page 2
