Jacob, riding the planter with Patrick perched on his lap, drove into the yard. Mike went to lift Patrick down, then held the team while Jacob climbed from the iron seat, a look of deep concern on his face.
When Jacob saw what the deputy had done to his brandy, he was more than angry. He was red-hot, hopping mad. His apricot brandy had been ready to siphon and bottle. The lawman had pulled the crock from behind the cookstove where the brandy had been working and had dumped in several scoops of ashes from the ash bucket. Not being satisfied with that, he’d added the soapy water from the dishpan Letty had left on the stove. It filled the crock and ran out onto the floor.
“The dirty, low-down, pea-brained chickenshit!” Jacob’s face was suffused with crimson. He opened and closed his mouth as if strangling.
“Grandpa! Watch what you’re saying.” Letty’s concern was more for him than his language. The veins in his temples stood out, his lips trembled, his voice shook. She feared his heart would give out.
“Son of a mangy polecat had no right to come in a man’s house—”
“I know. You can make more brandy.”
“It ain’t the goddamm brandy, dammit to hell!” Jacob shouted. “ ’Tis the idey that a puff-up pissant can come into my house and do what he done. It ain’t no way right.”
“I know that, Grandpa. You’ll have to talk to Sheriff Ledbetter. He seems to be a reasonable man.”
“You can bet yore bottom dollar I’ll talk to Ledbetter.” Jacob stomped out of the room and onto the porch.
Letty looked after him helplessly, her brows puckered in a worried frown. Patrick, standing quietly in the doorway leading to the parlor, had put his arm around a wide-eyed and trembling Helen.
“Ain’t no reason to be scared, Helen. Grandpa ain’t mad at us.”
Letty had never been more proud of her son.
“Stay where you are for a little bit. I want to mop up this mess first.”
“Letty,” Mike spoke from beside the door. He took the two steps necessary to reach her and lifted her hand. “Did he do this to you?”
Letty looked down at her forearm and was surprised to see the dark bruise where the deputy had squeezed her arm. She had forgotten about it. Now she could see nothing but his big hand holding her, hear nothing but the frantic beat of her heart. When she was finally able to raise her eyes to his, his brows were drawn together in a frown. She swallowed, drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. For a moment her eyes riveted to his lower lip, remembering—
“It’s nothing. I got pretty lippy and he got his dander up.”
“Is this the only place he touched you?” His voice was strained. Her legs were shaking so badly that she locked her knees tightly together.
“Yes,” she whispered, glad now she had said nothing about the deputy’s insulting sexual remarks.
White-hot rage had swept his body when he saw the bruise on her arm, all else deserting his mind. Anger flared brightly in his eyes but he didn’t say anything. Soon a look so tender and a smile so endearing caused her heart to flop over. He raised her hand slowly, giving her time to draw it away, and kissed the bruise on her arm. Then he released it quickly.
Oh, Mike. Oh, my love. Letty held the back of her hand to her lips and watched him walk out the door.
Mike stood on the edge of the porch, his hands in his back pockets, and took a long deep breath. If he had stayed a minute longer, he would have pulled her into his arms. Once he had touched her lips, he wouldn’t have been able to stop kissing her.
“I’ll be taking a trip to town, Jacob.”
“Thought ya would. Better wait till Ledbetter gets back and I’ll go with ya. I’ve been plannin’ to go to Boley soon as the plantin’s done. You ’n’ me has got us some business to take care of.”
Without saying anything more, Jacob went to the planter, climbed up on the seat, and headed for the field, leaving Mike to wonder what he had in mind.
CHAPTER
15
After the deputy’s visit the atmosphere in the house was more relaxed. The relationship between Letty and Mike underwent a change. Although there was frequent laughter and light banter, he made no move to touch her or indicate that he wanted to be alone with her. Letty waited for a sign, but none came.
Mike took a delight in every aspect of farm life. When one of the sows had a litter of piglets, he came to the house, grinning like a schoolboy with a new slingshot, to take Letty and the children out to see the new family. He was equally interested when the chicks Letty ordered arrived and he helped her make a place for them in the chicken house.
The men worked from daylight till dusk in the fields. Some nights they were so tired that they ate their supper in near silence, and Jacob went to bed shortly afterward. Letty was worried about him. He had lost weight and she noticed a trembling in his hands. She spoke to Mike about it one night after Jacob had left the kitchen.
“Grandpa’s working too hard. I wish—” She looked directly into his ebony eyes. They had some mystical power to make her forget what she was saying.
“I’ve been trying to slow him down.”
“Will you be finished by the end of the week?”
“We’ll wind up the planting in about three days. At harvest time I’m hoping to persuade him to stay out of the field.”
“I seriously doubt you’ll be able to do that. I could help if he’d let me.” Her hands trembled as she stacked the plates to take them to the dishpan.
“You have plenty to do here.”
“Grandpa’s not young, you know.”
“I know, but he has his pride, Letty. Let him do what he wants to do.”
“He seems different since the deputy was here.”
“He wants to finish the planting so he can go to town to see the sheriff.”
“And you?”
“I’ll go with him.”
Letty looked up to meet Mike’s gaze. For a long while they stared, barely breathing. Each was still except for the wild chaos going on inside them. The lamplight illuminated his tired face, showing the dark cast of a day-old beard. The hungry look in his eyes caused her heart to slam against her rib cage. A hot anxious feeling took root in the pit of her stomach, spread, and bathed her with its warmth. If you still want me, say something, Mike. Please say something.
He did, but not to her.
“Patrick, shall we give that old swing a workout while your mama is doing the dishes?”
“Yeah! Oh, boy. Can we fix my stilts too? You said you’d make them higher. I’m gettin’ good at walkin’ on ’em, ain’t I?”
Mike ruffled his son’s dark hair with his fingers. “You betcha. We’ll fix the stilts tomorrow night. How’s that?”
“Will you learn me to whistle, Dolan?”
“I can’t learn you, but I may be able to teach you.”
“Ah . . . Dolan—”
Letty watched father and son leave, Patrick’s hand tucked into Mike’s, and had to admit that she was jealous of her son. She hated herself for it.
Two and a half weeks had passed since the night they had come home from the Pierces’, and Mike had told her he still loved her and would give her time to sort out her feelings for him. It had taken her less than two days to realize that her love for Mike, the boy, would remain eternally in her heart. Both of them had changed since that long-ago time. She had no doubt that now it was Mike, the man, she loved. Oh, but what a tangled web she had woven around herself. To acknowledge him as the father of her son would disgrace not only herself and Patrick, but Grandpa. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t
The next afternoon as Letty carried a bucket of water to her tomato plants, she saw a horse and buggy coming down the road. She pulled the stiff-brimmed sunbonnet forward to shade her eyes and squinted against the sun.
“Horse apples!” she exclaimed when she saw who it was. She darted around the hedge of lilac bushes and into the house by the time Cecil Weaver turned into the farmyard. The sound coming from the parlor told her
that Helen was practicing the scales on the piano.
“Helen,” she called anxiously. “Come here.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No, honey. Your father is here.”
The child stopped in mid-stride. A look of utter terror came over her face before it crumbled. She ran to Letty and threw her arms about her waist, holding on as if her life depended on it.
“Don’t let him . . . don’t let him—”
“Oh, honey! I won’t let him take you if I can help it.” Letty’s mind worked frantically while Helen sobbed against her. There was only one way to buy them some time until she could talk to Doctor Hakes again. “Run upstairs and get into the bed. Hurry.” Letty pried the child’s arms from around her and gave her a push toward the stairs.
Letty yanked off her bonnet and peered out the window. Cecil Weaver had stopped beside the windmill and was letting his horse drink. She went to her sewing basket and searched until she found a ball of darning thread about the size of a walnut, then hurried up the stairs. Helen was in the bed. Her eyes were flooded with tears, but she was choking back the sobs.
“P-please d-don’t let him take me away—”
“Helen, you know I’ve told you and Patrick that it’s wrong to tell a lie.” Letty knelt down on the floor and kissed the child’s wet cheek. “But there are times when it’s necessary. I’m going to tell your father that you’re sick. I’ll say that you’ve got the mumps. Open your mouth so I can poke this ball of thread in your jaw. I’ll try to keep him from coming up here, but if he does, your jaw will look swollen. Stay just like this, on your side, with the covers pulled up to your chin. Don’t move. Understand?”
Helen nodded.
“Try not to cry. We want him to think you’re too sick to cry.” A loud knock on the kitchen door caused Helen to jump. Her fearful eyes sought Letty’s face for reassurance. “It’s going to be all right, honey. I’ll go talk to him.”
Letty waited until two more knocks sounded on the door before she stepped out of the parlor and crossed the kitchen to the door.
“Hello, Mr. Weaver,” she said in a hushed tone.
“Good day ta ya, ma’am.”
“Step inside, but keep your voice down.” Letty moved aside to allow him to enter.
While he looked around the tidy kitchen, she looked at him. His ruddy face was bloated, the eyes that refused to meet hers were red and watery. The sickening odor that wafted from his body told her he hadn’t had a bath in months, maybe not a full bath for a year.
“Have you had the mumps, Mr. Weaver?”
“Huh?” His eyes moved from the pot of beef stew simmering on the cookstove to Letty’s face, then away. “Mumps, ya say? I don’t remember.”
“I think you’d remember if you’d had them. They’re very painful.”
“I come for my Helen, but I ain’t in no hurry. We can head back to town after supper, that is if we got a invite to stay.”
“Helen is sick. She’d got a bad case of mumps.”
“What’s that you say? My Helen is sick? Oh, my God! My baby—my only baby—” The beseeching tone in his voice was so insincere it made Letty’s stomach roll over. “Is she goin’ to die? Ma’am, tell me true. Am I goin’ to lose my little girl?”
“Not unless she has a setback,” Letty said. Cecil was so busy wiping his eyes and blowing his nose on a rag he took from his back pocket that he didn’t seem to notice the bite in her voice.
“I got to see my baby. She’s all I’ve got left of my Edith.” His voice had dropped to a whine.
“I wouldn’t advise it if you’re not sure whether or not you’ve had the mumps. It can be fatal to grown-ups . . . especially men. Besides . . . she may be asleep.”
“Jist let me look at her, Mrs. Graham. She’ll think her papa don’t love her no more.”
Letty fixed him with a cold stare and elevated her chin. “You can stand in the doorway for just a minute. She must not be disturbed.”
She led the way up the stairs, thankful that Patrick had gone to the field to take Mike and Grandpa a fresh drink of water. She had to get rid of this poor excuse of a man before her mouthy young son came back and spoiled everything. She peeked around the door and, seeing that Helen lay with her eyes tightly closed, turned to the man following her and held her finger to her lips.
“Shhh . . . she’s asleep.” Letty positioned her body just inside the room, partly blocking the door, so he couldn’t enter. “Her jaws are so swollen she can’t talk.”
Letty noticed that Cecil’s eyes roamed the room before they rested on his daughter. The cunning glint in them abruptly changed to piety. His face puckered as if he would cry. Letty wanted to laugh in his face. He and her father would make a pair. both could turn the tears off and on like a water tap.
“Hello, baby. Your papa’s here,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ll be back in a few days and we’ll go home.”
“Let’s go.” Letty nudged him away from the doorway with her shoulder and closed the door. “I don’t want to awaken her.” She jerked her head toward the stairway and waited for him to precede her down the stairs. When they reached the kitchen, she snatched his hat from the knob of the chair where he had put it, after he finally remembered some manners.
“Goodbye, Mr. Weaver,” she said and held out his hat. “I’ll tell Helen you were here.”
“I ain’t in no hurry. I can wait till she wakes up.”
“You shouldn’t linger. The mump germs are in the air. If you catch them, you could be laid up for a long time.”
“When will Helen be able to come home?”
Their eyes locked. Letty’s words were clipped. “Not for good long time. I’ll have to talk to Doctor Hakes about it.”
He stared at her for a moment with eyes suddenly cunning. His lips closed down over his buck teeth like a trap. When he spoke, all pretence of civility was gone.
“I ain’t no dumb cluck, Mrs. Graham. You’re wantin’ to keep my Helen ’cause you’re likin’ that five dollars a month you’re gettin’ for takin her in, ain’t ya?”
Letty was shocked by the sudden attack. She felt the hot blood rise to the surface of her flesh to stain her cheeks.
“Helen came here in rags. I’ve spent the money on decent clothes.”
“All of it?”
“Every damn dime.”
“I ain’t likin’ my Helen being here with a cussin’ woman. I’ll tell that to the sheriff.”
“You do that. I have a few things to tell the sheriff myself. Goodbye, Mr. Weaver.”
Anger darkened his face. “Goodbye, Mr. Weaver,” he mimicked. “I ain’t hearin’ no stay fer supper, Mr. Weaver.” His lips curled in a sneer. “Just get rid of the girl’s papa. It ain’t no wonder things around here is slicked up so grand. Ya got ya a hired girl to do your work and five a month to boot.”
“Leave, Mr. Weaver. I don’t have to listen to your insults.”
“I’m goin’. But I’ll be back. That girl ort to be home where she belongs, keepin’ house for her pa.”
“Get out.”
Letty opened the door and slammed it shut after him. She was so angry that she ground her teeth and stamped her foot. Only with effort was she able to hold her temper and not run after him and tell him to never set foot on this farm again. Under her breath she called him every foul name she could think of. That low-down, dirty sidewinder wanted a little ten-year-old girl to come back to keep house for him; cook his meals and wash his filthy clothes and suffer his abuse.
Letty had to do something—but what?
* * *
It was dark by the time supper was over, the dishes washed and put away. Letty set out what she would need for an early breakfast, then called Patrick and Helen in to get them ready for bed. Patrick fussed as usual, but his eyelids were drooping even as his head hit the pillow.
Letty went up to say good night to Helen. She was in her nightgown and ready for bed. During supper she had kept her head bowed and her eyes on her
plate as Letty had described Weaver’s visit, leaving out the heated words she had exchanged with him before he left.
“I know you’re worried you’ll have to go back to your father.” Letty kissed the child’s cheek. “Just remember you’ve got me and Grandpa and Patrick and . . . Mr. Dolan. We all love you and want you here with us.”
“He’ll be b-back.”
“But not for a few days. We fooled him good.” Helen got into bed. “Would you like for me to leave the lamp on for a while?”
“No, ma’am.”
Helen turned her face to the wall, and stuck her thumb in her mouth. She lay staring into space, almost as if she were in a stupor.
A worried frown puckered Letty’s brow. She blew out the lamp, groped her way to the door and down the stairs.
Mike came up from the creek where he had hurriedly bathed. The water was too cold for him to linger. He sat down in front of the barn and tilted back on the chair’s hind legs, as he did each night, to watch the house until all the lights were out. As he rested his head against the rough barn boards, water from his wet hair trickled down his neck and glistened on his bare chest, matting the dark hair around his nipples.
He had never been happier. He had found his love, he had a son, and he loved the work he was doing. One day soon he’d have Letty back in his arms again. The trips to the creek each night served two purposes: to clean himself and to cool, for a time at least, his feverish body so that he could sleep. He found it more and more difficult to handle his nightly discomfort. Every night he wakened rock-hard and hurting. In France he had visited a few whores. They had eased his aching loins for a time, but he had always come away feeling dissatisfied and guilty.
Oh, God, Letty. I ache for you. I love you so damn much.
Closing his eyes, he relished the night breeze swirling over his shoulders and chest like a caress. The air was fresh and clean as if it had not been used before. He opened his eyes and gazed up at the sky. The stars were not faded as they had been when he lay in the trenches in France not really caring what the next day would bring. Tonight they were brilliant. The moon looked as if someone had hung a huge yellow balloon in the velvety sky. The night lacked only one thing to make it perfect—Letty beside him. He longed for her with all his heart. His whole being was starved for her.
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