Ribbon in the Sky

by Dorothy Garlock

  “If you’re so all-fired smart, Jacob Fletcher, why don’t you go to Washington and tell Mr. Wilson how to run the government?” she retorted sassily.

  Jacob chuckled. “By God, somebody ort ta do jist that. He’s making a hell of a mess of thin’s.”

  He was still chuckling as he hitched the team to the planter. Things were working out fine. He congratulated himself on reading Dolan right. He hadn’t lost his ability to judge a man. Mike had taken to farming even faster than he thought he would, and, most important of all, the man had a heap of love for Letty and the boy—it was as plain as the nose on his face. He wasn’t a namby-pamby kind of man either. Lord, it had done his heart good when Dolan laid Oscar Phillips out flat with one blow. The bastard had it coming.

  A look of contentment came over Jacob’s lined face. Yes sirree, there’d be a man. A real blood-and-guts man, to look after Letty and Patrick when he was gone. Now there was only one more thing he had to do to make sure that what he’d worked for all his life wasn’t snatched from their hands when he passed on.

  On his way to the field, Jacob stopped beside the tub where Letty was rubbing a pair of Patrick’s britches on the washboard.

  “The least ya could do fer Dolan is wash his clothes.” He cracked the whip over the backs of the mules. “Get on there, Samson. You too, Delilah,” he yelled and left the yard before she could think of an answer.

  Letty stood with her hands on her hips, staring after him. She knew Grandpa. He liked nothing better than to get her riled up. But he was right this time. She should wash Mike’s clothes. She looked out toward the field where Mike was walking behind the heavy drag that was preparing the soil for planting. Saturday he had washed a pair of britches and a shirt and had hung them on the line to dry overnight. He was meticulously clean with his person and his clothing. That much hadn’t changed since he was a boy.

  For a moment she allowed herself to remember the closeness they had once shared. This man, this almost stranger, had been not only her best friend, but her lover, and later the father of her son. Mike, oh, Mike, if only we could turn back the clock.

  She dropped Patrick’s britches back into the soapy water and dried her hands.

  Letty had avoided the room at the front of the barn since Mike had fixed up the end of it for his sleeping quarters. Years ago the room had been partitioned off. Saddles, harnesses, and tools were stored there.

  Feeling like an intruder, she went there and stood hesitantly in the doorway looking around. At one end was a newly made built-in bunk; a blanket covered the straw mattress and another blanket was folded neatly at the foot. On a shelf beneath a cracked mirror was his shaving mug, razor, and a few other toilet articles. Nearby, his razor strop hung on a nail. She recognized the chipped granite pitcher and washbasin on another newly made shelf as one she had stored away when she bought the blue and white set for her room. His clothes hung on nails above the bunk, and a bundle wrapped in his oilcloth slicker sat on the bottom shelf of a makeshift table that held a coal-oil lamp.

  The whinny of a horse caught her attention as she crossed the dirt floor to take Mike’s clothes from the nails on the wall. An answering whinny came from Mike’s horse in the corral beside the barn. She went to the window and stood on her toes to look out. A big man on a gray horse was riding up the lane toward the house. Deputy Elmer Russell. Now what in the world was he doing here? Unwilling to get caught in the barn by this man who had the reputation of being less than proper with women, she hurried out to meet him.

  “Mornin’.” The deputy tipped his hat and, not waiting for an invitation, stepped down from his horse.

  “Good morning.”

  Woodrow came out from the shed with his teeth bared. A low rumble came from his throat.

  “Call off the dog or I’ll shoot him.” He spoke around the plug of tobacco bulging his jaw.

  “It’s all right, Woodrow. It’s all right.” She patted the dog’s head and he moved back to the side of the barn and sat down, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

  Early this morning John Pershing had led his family of females through the grove to the creek. The arrogant goose wouldn’t have been so easily controlled. He would have been determined to get in at least one jab at the deputy’s shiny brown boots.

  Letty had never liked this red-faced, fleshy man. His eyes were small and closely set. Once she had seen him without his hat and realized why he seldom took it off. The scrap of hair that grew down to within a mere inch of his eyebrows was long and combed back to cover the top of his bald head. He wore the wide-brimmed hat and the vest of the old-time lawmen, and Letty was sure he fancied himself comparable to one of the famed Texas Rangers.

  “Grandpa isn’t here. He’s in the field.”

  “I saw him, Dolan’s out there too.”

  “Then why did you stop here?”

  “My business is with you.” He gazed steadily at her breasts.

  “Then state it.” Letty felt the flush of anger heat her face.

  “What do you know about this fellow Dolan?”

  Elmer Russell’s beady brown eyes had a way of sliding away from a direct confrontation. But now they moved up. He fixed his hard gaze on Letty’s face.

  “He’s a good worker.”

  “What else?”

  “What else is there to know?”

  “You know what I mean. Where’s he from? What’s he doing here?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “I’m askin’ you.”

  “He told Grandpa that this time last year he was in France fighting the Kaiser. But then you wouldn’t know about that, would you?”

  Letty could use her voice unkindly. She did that now. Her tone made it clear what she thought of him.

  “Goddamn you!” He made no attempt to hold back his anger. “You’re talkin’ to the law. Somebody ort to take the strut out of you once and for all. Now you tell me where this man comes from and what he’s doin’ here, or—”

  “—Or you’ll arrest me?” Letty looked him in the eye and laughed. “I doubt that Sheriff Ledbetter would allow it.”

  “Watch your mouth, you little twat.” His hand flashed out and caught her forearm. “The sheriff is down at the Capitol and I’m in charge here.”

  “Get your hands off me, you yellow-backed, pompous ass!”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I’ll scream my head off and Grandpa and Mr. Dolan will come.” Letty tried not to wince when he squeezed her arm cruelly. She jerked her chin up and glared at him. He looked away from her accusing eyes and threw her arm from him. After tying his horse to the fence, he headed for the house.

  “Where are you going?” Alarmed, Letty followed close behind him. “There’s no one in there but my son and Helen Weaver and they’re sleeping.”

  “Oh, yes. The Weaver girl.” He whirled around so fast she bumped into him, then sprang back. “Cecil will be out to fetch her in a day or two.”

  Letty’s face went notably pale. “She’s in my care. He’ll have to get a court order.”

  “That’s easy to do. She’s his kid.”

  “He mistreated her, you stupid dolt!” Letty hissed. “He’ll not get her.”

  “We’ll see about that. I’m not here to argue the matter. Where does Dolan sleep? In your bed?” he added caustically.

  A red flood of anger washed over Letty. She eyed him with open distaste as if he were something rotten.

  “It’s not difficult to tell where your mind is, Deputy Russell.”

  He grinned at her and chucked her on the chin with his fist. He laughed when she jerked her head away.

  “Right between yore legs, sweetheart. Bet you ain’t never had nothin’ as big as I got.”

  “How dare you talk to me like this! I’ll tell Sheriff Ledbetter—”

  “You do that, honey. It’ll be your word against mine. Now where is Dolan’s—”

  “Mama—” Patrick, in his nightshirt, came out onto the back porch rubbing the sle
ep out of his eyes. “Can I have my breakfast?”

  “Go on back in the house, honey. I’ll get it in a minute.”

  “Hold on there, son. You know who I am?”

  Patrick squinted up at the big star on the man’s chest. “Yes, sir.”

  “Go into the house, Patrick,” Letty said sternly.

  Something in Letty’s voice made Patrick obey. He went inside and stood looking out the screen door. Something was wrong. He wished that Dolan were here. As he watched, he saw the deputy go toward the barn. His mother hurried to keep up with him, talking all the while. After they disappeared inside, Patrick slipped out onto the porch to stand with his arm wrapped around the support post. He stood there wondering what the deputy and his mother were doing in the barn. He jumped off the porch to go see. His mother came out and met him in the yard.

  “What’s wrong, Mama?”

  She didn’t answer until they reached the porch. “Put on your shoes and go get Grandpa and Mr. Dolan. Tell them to get back here fast.”

  “In my nightshirt?”

  “Don’t take time to change, but put on your shoes because there’s cockleburs. Hurry!” she said urgently.

  Patrick put his bare feet in his shoes and, not taking time to tie them, dashed from the house. Holding up his nightshirt, he ran across the yard to the gate leading to the field. His mama was scared—he could tell. She needed Grandpa and Dolan and was depending on him to go get them. Why was she scared of the deputy? Deputies were supposed to help people. Weren’t they?

  Patrick ran as fast as he could over the plowed ground. Suddenly, he stubbed his toe on a clod and sprawled face first in the dirt.

  “Shitfire,” he muttered as he sprang to his feet. After he wiped the dirt from his eyes he saw Dolan at the far end of the field coming toward him. “Dolan! Dolan!” he shouted.

  Mike had turned the mules and was heading back up the field when he saw someone coming across the plowed ground toward him. At first he thought it was Helen. After a closer look, he saw that it was Patrick in his nightshirt. Good grief, what had possessed the kid to come out before he was dressed?

  “Dolan! Ma . . . Ma wants you to come ho . . . ome—”

  The frantic urgency in the child’s voice reached Mike and sent a chill up his back. He felt cold with sudden dread.

  “Dolan! Hur . . . ry!”

  Something has happened to Letty! A wave of sickness rolled over him. Please, God, don’t do this to me. I love her so much. The words caught in his throat but resounded in his heart.

  He dropped the reins and ran toward Patrick as fast as he could. It seemed a million miles across that field. Soon his lungs were on fire and his heart was pumping like a steam engine going uphill, but he kept going. He was so afraid, so goddamn afraid.

  Patrick had lost one of his shoes by the time Mike reached him and was dancing around on one foot.

  “What is it?” Mike demanded. “What’s happened?”

  “Mama said get you and Grandpa.”

  “But what happened?”

  “The deputy’s there. Mama’s scared. She told me to hurry . . . not to take time to put on my clothes— She said . . . she said tell you to come fast.”

  “Is she hurt?”

  “She didn’t act hurt. But she’s scared—I can tell—Dolan?”

  “Go tell your grandpa,” Mike said over his shoulder and took off on a run for the house.

  Letty wasn’t hurt. Thank God! But why in hell was she scared of a deputy? “Letty, my beautiful, wonderful Letty.” The words came hissing through his teeth as he ran. “I love you so damn much. Without you I—” He swallowed, shuddered, and dragged air into his tortured lungs.

  Mike was still a distance away when he saw a man come out the back door. Letty, with her arms around Helen, followed and stood on the porch. The man mounted his horse, moved up close to the porch, and spoke to Letty. Then he kicked his mount into a gallop and left the farmyard. By the time Mike reached the gate, the horse was headed down the road toward Piedmont.

  “Letty, for God’s s-sake!” he gasped. “What h-happened?”

  “You shouldn’t have run across that field. The way your lungs—”

  “To hell with my l-lungs. D-did that man hurt you?”

  “He didn’t hurt me. Sit down.”

  “Thank God!” Mike sank down on the edge of the porch, his chest heaving. “Jesus! I thought sure— Oh, Lord—” He hung his dark head between his knees and fought for breath. Finally, when it became easier for him to draw air into his lungs, he lifted his head.

  “Are you all right?” Letty asked anxiously.

  “Just g-give me a minute.”

  “I’m sorry I panicked and sent Patrick for you. It didn’t occur to me that you’d need to run a half mile over that plowed field.”

  “Oh, God, Letty. You scared the living hell out of me.” His whispered voice was rough with emotion. He raised his eyes to her face; they were filled with utter misery. She was standing in front of him. Helen’s arms were wrapped about her waist, and the child’s face was buried against her breasts.

  “What did Patrick tell you, for Pete’s sake?”

  “That . . . that you wanted me to come . . . home. And to . . . hurry. I was sure that you’d had an accident, or . . . or something.”

  “As you can see, nothing like that happened. I thought you should be here. It’s probably better that you weren’t. There might have been trouble.” Then she added slowly. “He’s the law.”

  Mike got to his feet. “What did he do to you?” he asked tightly.

  “Nothing to me.” Letty pried the child’s arms from around her waist, then wiped the tears from her eyes with the end of her apron. “Go get dressed, Helen, while I talk to Mr. Dolan.”

  “But . . . that man s-s-said—” Helen began to sob.

  “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Go get dressed. Patrick and Grandpa will be here in a few minutes. Don’t worry. Grandpa will know what to do.”

  “What did he say to her?” Mike frowned darkly when he saw the anguish on the little girl’s face.

  “He said her father was coming to get her.” Letty’s words brought fresh tears to Helen’s eyes. “But he’ll not take her if she doesn’t want to go.” Letty hoped fervently she would be able to keep her promise. “That wasn’t why the deputy was here though. Go get dressed, Helen. We’ll talk about it when Grandpa gets here.”

  When she heard the screen door slam, Letty looked up into Mike’s face. She saw him take a deep quivering breath. It had been days since she had looked directly at him. He held his jaws rigid. The shining pain in his eyes caused her innards to roll and pitch violently. Oh, Lord! It was both agony and elation to remember the sensation of being in his arms, the pressure of his mouth on hers, a part of him inside her body. Inhaling the earthy scent of him, she was almost overcome with an inner trembling. Emotion and pride seesawed for dominance. He kept staring at her face. She began to feel that helplessness his look and nearness brought to her confused and weakened willpower.

  Mike lifted his hands, lightly touched her arms, then let them drop to his sides and ball into hard fists. Wordlessly, he stared into her face and was dumbfounded by the perfection of her skin, the glint of sunlight in her auburn hair. Long gold-tipped lashes framed her eyes. Her pink lips were slightly parted, reminding him of an unfurled rose. He longed to press them with his once again. She was more beautiful now than she had been at fifteen. The scent of breakfast cooking, soapsuds, and the pure sweet musky smell of woman wafted to him from her person. It quickened his nostrils, made his flesh ignite. Her breasts rose and fell quickly with each breath. He suddenly realized she was not as calm as she pretended to be. His hopes rose.

  “The deputy questioned me about you.”

  He watched her mouth move. Slowly the words sank into his mind.

  “He saw me and Jacob in the field. Why didn’t he ride out?”

  “I don’t think he wanted you here when he . . . when he went thr
ough your things.”

  “That’s strange. I have nothing to hide. But I resent him prowling in my belongings.”

  “Come see what he did. It’s why I sent Patrick to get you.”

  Mike followed her to the barn. She stepped aside when they reached the door to the tack room. He went in.

  “Good Godamighty!”

  One end of the room had been completely ransacked; Mike’s clothes jerked from the wall, the lining of his army overcoat split open, the pad on his bunk ripped, the straw scattered. The personal belongings he had wrapped in his rain slicker had been dumped on the floor: his war medals, letters from his mother, leather money belt, his discharge papers. On the dirt floor, ground beneath the high heel of a boot was a small white envelope. Mike scooped it up. The scrap of faded blue ribbon was still inside. He breathed a sigh of thankfulness, folded the envelope, and put it in his shirt pocket.

  “I tried to stop him.” Letty stood in the doorway.

  “Did he say what he was looking for?”

  “He wanted to know where you were from and what you were doing here.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That you were working for Grandpa.”

  “He could see from these letters from my mother where I’m from. Why should he care? There’s no warrant for my arrest. Good Lord, I haven’t been home long enough to get into any trouble.”

  “He thinks you’re building a still.”

  “A whiskey still?” Mike gave a snort of disgust. “Where’d he get that idea?”

  “From the forge you and the Pierce boys are setting up in the shed.”

  “The man must be a fool. It doesn’t take a forge and an anvil to make a still. All you need is good spring water, barrels, and sheet copper rolled into tube-shaped pipes and soldered.”

  “He asked me if you’d mentioned Chicago, or Kansas City.”

  “I get it now. He thinks the big-city mobs are going to move in and take over this territory. Why should they move out of a city of a million or more to a county that probably has less than three thousand people? Our good deputy is not a deep thinker.”

  “Evidently logic isn’t a requirement for being a deputy.” Letty backed out the door. “Grandpa’s going to be madder than hob when he sees what the deputy did to his apricot brandy. Thank goodness he didn’t go down in the cellar and find what Grandpa’s got bottled up down there.”