It was Jimmy Joe who broke the spell.
"Here he is, Cissie. I found him like you said. And he says he'll be my partner in the race, so you won't have to."
Jimmy Joe hesitated a moment, as if he was afraid of giving offense.
That's all right, isn't it, Cissie? I mean, you didn't want to race this year, did you?"
"It's perfect, Jimmy Joe." Sarah's voice and smile reassured him. "I'd much rather cheer you on."
"Okay." Relief was apparent in the boy's voice. "Aunt Cinda said she wanted to see you. She's under the big oak tree. I'm gonna go throw horseshoes with Bobby Wade now, if that's okay," he told Sarah. "You don't need me for nothin' else, do you?"
"Not until just before lunch. You go on and play." She stood watching for a moment as the boy disappeared in his direction of the farmhouse, then turned slowly toward Jordan.
"Good morning, Sarah," he said softly and watched as a faint pink blush tinged her cheeks.
"Good morning, Jordan," she answered, her eyes downcast. "How are you today?"
"I survived the gauntlet. It was worth it."
Sarah's eyes came up, wide and concerned. They searched the crowd over his shoulder, sweeping the groups of people clustered around the large yard. "Did anyone—?"
Jordan smiled and shook his head. "I haven't had time to speak to anyone yet. But I can see the questions in their eyes." He forced himself to remain still, retaining the distance between them, wanting to ignore the curious glances being cast in their direction. If he took two steps forward, two small steps, he would be able to sweep her into his arms.
She gave him an understanding look. "We don't usually bring outsiders to the picnic. Too imitating. Nearly everyone here will be family, engaged or married to family or, in the case of a few, a significant other. Once my cousin Sue brought a date. She didn't particularly like him, but she said he kept pestering her for a date, so she finally invited him to the picnic."
Jordan smiled wryly. He couldn't help feeling a little sympathy for the hapless fellow. "Did it work?"
Sarah nodded. "Sue said he never bothered her again."
"Is that why you invited me?"
The shocked look on Sarah's face was a eloquent a denial as her answer. "Oh, no, Jordan. I warned you."
"Yes you did," he said, looking into her face, feeling both tender and fierce. Ignoring the prying eyes of those around them, he moved to her side and managed to content himself with casually draping an arm around her waist. "I meant what I said. It was worth it.
"I don't know, Jordan. You've hardly started," she warned him. Her hesitation was evident, but she didn't move away. "I have to take you to meet Aunt Cinda now."
"She really came down from her mountain?"
Sarah nodded. "This is the first time she's attended the picnic in years. I'm not sure why..."
"Don't be coy, Sarah. She wants to meet me." He took her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry so about it. I've been told I'm very good with sweet old ladies."
"Don't expect Aunt Cinda to be your typical sweet old lady," Sarah cautioned.
"I'm expecting a wise old woman who cares a great deal about you. How could I not like her? Now, which way to the royal oak?"
Jordan had seen the dried apple-head dolls in various native craft and tourist shops in the area and had always considered them whimsical caricature creations. His first sight of the old woman sitting regally in the shade of the spreading oak tree made him reevaluate his opinion.
She was small, even smaller than Sarah, so tiny, in fact, that the lawn chair she was sitting in seemed to dwarf her. Her crisp cotton dress, its high neck and long sleeves edged in white lace, gave the impression of coolness in spite of the day's heat. White wisps of hair peeked from under the wide rim of her old-fashioned poke bonnet.
The people paying court around her turned in their direction, and all conversation ceased as Jordan and Sarah approached. It took Jordan a moment to realize that the bright eyes of the old lady, the ones that seemed to be looking straight into his soul, were all but sightless, at least in the conventional sense of the word. No wonder the family was so insistent that she move from her lonely mountaintop. In the case of an accident, she'd be as helpless and alone as a small wounded bird. The silence around them was all but discernible as he led the way to the space directly in front of the old woman's chair.
"Aunt Cinda, I'd like you to meet my friend, Jordan Matthias. Jordan, this is my great-aunt, Mrs. Cinda Shields."
"I'm very happy to meet you, Mrs. Shields," Jordan said formally.
"Might as well call me Aunt Cinda," she said imperiously, stretching out her right hand in his direction. "I'll call you Jordan."
Jordan was completely unprepared for the strong, vibrant sound of her voice when she spoke. He hesitated for a moment, knowing that the women of the older generation had not adopted the business world's habit of shaking hands when greeting strangers. Gently he captured her small, wizened hand between the palms of his larger ones. He saw her smile at his touch and felt a rush of relief.
"Sarah, you can fetch me a glass of lemonade?" Aunt Cinda waved her left hand in the direction of the farmhouse, allowing the right hand to remain cradled between Jordan's larger palms. "Jordan will keep me company."
Sarah looked around uncertainly, only then noticing that the three of them were alone under the oak tree. The others had melted away when they arrived. She gave Jordan a desperate look. He answered with a reassuring smile and a small wink.
"I'll be back in a minute," she said in a resigned voice, and started toward the farmhouse.
"Have a seat," Aunt Cinda told him, gesturing with her free hand.
Jordan lowered himself into a chair, still retaining his gentle hold on her hand. She seemed content to let it remain there. "I'm very glad to meet you, Aunt Cinda," he told her by way of conversation. "Sarah's told me a lot about you."
Aunt Cinda's sudden stillness was almost tangible. Then her mouth curved into a knowing smile. "Has she now? Well, I reckon that saves a lot of time. And what do you think about my great-niece?"
Jordan realized that the old lady had read meanings he hadn't intended into his words, meanings that were unintentional but nonetheless true. He gave her a look of admiration. Did she always conduct her conversations on two levels? It would be difficult—no, probably impossible—to fool Aunt Cinda about most things.
"Sarah is a very special person," he told her.
Aunt Cinda gave a slight nod of her head and again lapsed into total stillness. For a moment Jordan was afraid she had stopped breathing. Then she spoke again. "And you, Jordan Matthias? Did you find what you were looking for?"
"I—I think so." His voice was hesitant.
"You don't sound too sure."
He straightened in his chair. "I am sure, Aunt Cinda," his voice now clear and strong. "I think I'm still a little surprised. You see, for a long time I was looking for the wrong thing. Then, with the help of luck or fate or something, I found what I really wanted." This was the first time Jordan had put his thoughts into words. It was surprising that verbalizing them gave definition to the situation.
Aunt Cinda nodded her head knowingly. "So now that you've found it, what will you do?"
He hesitated. "I'm not sure yet, Aunt Cinda. It's all very new to me. The only thing I'm sure about is knowing what I have. And I don't want to let it go." His last words were almost a challenge—a challenge the old woman completely ignored. She turned instead to meet Sarah. Jordan hadn't even heard her approaching.
"Back already, child? Lawd's sake. You didn't have to run. Jordan's good company. We're gettin' along jus' fine."
Sarah looked from her aunt to Jordan, and then relaxed under the tender, amused look in his eyes.
"Sit yourself down, Sarah. This young man's big enough to take care of himself. Even from an ol' warhorse like me," Aunt Cinda told her sternly. "I weren't going to eat him."
The smile on Jordan's face reassured her. Sandra
settled herself on the grass at Aunt Cinda's feet, close enough to reach out and touch Jordan.
"You're an old fraud," Jordan told Aunt Cinda quietly, knowing both she and Sarah could hear his words. "You just pretend to be tough. Underneath, you're a cream puff." He gave her tiny, frail hand a gentle squeeze.
Aunt Cinda's crackling laugh rolled into the summer air. "Your young man's got nothing to fear from me," she told Sarah. "We understand each other."
"He's not my—my—"
"Then you ain't as smart as I thought," Aunt Cinda snapped without letting her finish.
Sarah looked helplessly up at Jordan, who merely smiled and gave another wink.
"Where'd everybody else go?" demanded the old lady suddenly. "After all the hoop-de-la to get me here, you'd think a body could at least expect a bit of company."
"They were a little squeamish. Didn't want to stay around and see the blood," T.J. said, appearing on the crest of the small hill in time to hear the last remark. He moved to the side of his grandmother's side, ducked his head under the wide brim of the poke bonnet and brushed her papery cheek with his lips.
"Good morning, Grandmother. Did you let this stranger keep his head?"
"Hush now, Timothy James. You'll be scaring him off if you ain't careful."
T.J. laughed. "Believe me, Grandmother, it'll take more than me to scare him off if he doesn't want to go." He turned to Jordan, giving him a sympathetic grin. "So you decided to tackle the clan en masse? How's it going?"
Jordan returned his friendly smile. "I'm enjoying it, and I've survived so far, I think. If I can stay on my feet during the three-legged race, I might even be able to recruit some assistance."
Sarah squirmed uncomfortably, wishing she could think of something to divert the conversation. Whether by accident or design, her cousin came to the rescue.
"Well, Grandmother, now that you're here, are you going to admit the valley isn't so bad? Going to let us settle you down here so Sarah can stop worrying about you?" T.J. was still smiling, but his voice held none of its usual bantering tone.
"You let things be, Timothy James. You ain't the boss of me," Aunt Cinda snapped.
"I don't want to badger you," T.J. protested. "But you can't stay on top of that mountain this winter. The family has dumped the problem in Sarah's lap, and she's so worried about you she doesn't know which way to turn." His voice softened. "You're the one who taught me we can't always have exactly what we want. Give a little Grandmother. We only want what's best for you."
The old lady snorted, then let her stern expression soften. "I'll be off the mountain before the first snow flies. Now you-all stop worrying about me. It'll all work out jus' fine."
Sarah's relief was obvious in her expression. "I've been so worried, Aunt Cinda. You'll see. It won't be so bad. Uncle Hiram's planning a nice big room—"
"I ain't moving in with Hiram. I done raised him once. That's enough."
Jordan had to smile as the old lady's chin jutted forward stubbornly.
She shook her head furiously. "And I ain't moving in with my sister, either. Had enough of that when we was growin' up."
"But, Aunt Cinda," began Sarah, "where are—"
"I'm going to have me a nice new cabin," she continued, paying not the slightest attention to Sarah's interruption. I seen it. A brand spanking new cabin, with nary a ghost, save the one I'll leave there someday." Her voice took on a dreamy quality. "It faces the east, so as to catch the morning sun. The covered porch stretches all the ways across the front. There's a hanging porch swing and a bright red front door. It's going to be one of those new fangled places, too. No more pail and a path. Yep, I think I'm going to like it. Even if it is in the valley."
Sarah looked helplessly at her cousin.
T.J.'s expression was as troubled as hers. "Grandmother," he began, "where—"
"Never you mind," she said. "I jus' told you so you'd stop worrying. I can still take care of my business. It'll be there when I need it. Now talk about something else. Here comes your cousin and that skinny husband of hers. I don't need the whole valley tending my business."
Jordan's eyes widened at the sight of the ponderous middle-aged woman and the tall, thin man walking toward them. Hastily he laid Aunt Cinda's hand in her lap and stood to offer his chair to the large woman bearing down on them. He caught the twinkle in Sarah's eye but was unable to understand its meaning until Aunt Cinda began the introductions.
"Mabel, this is my friend, Jordan Matthias," Aunt Cinda announced in a voice that seemed to set her seal of her approval on him. "Jordan, this here's Mabel and her husband, Parris. Set yourself down Mabel and visit a while."
Jordan avoided Sarah's dancing eyes, trying to keep from laughing as he solemnly acknowledged the introduction. Finally, he risked a quick glance in Sarah's direction, the question in his eyes clearly asking if this was the Cousin Mabel. As Sarah gave a slight nod of her head, Jordan was no longer able to control the smile hovering on his lips. The image of these two incongruous-looking people tied leg-to-leg in a race across the pasture was certainly adequate reason for an attack of giggles.
Jordan could see the curiosity in the woman's eyes. He decided the wording of Aunt Cinda's greeting was deterring her questions. Cousin Mabel acknowledged his presence, then turned her attention to T.J.
"You going to let the Caldwell place get away from you, T.J.?"
Jordan saw the droop of Sarah's mouth and bent over to whisper in her ear. "Your swimming hole?"
Sarah nodded silently.
"Looks like it might, Cousin Mabel." T.J. shrugged helplessly. "I tried to arrange a lease-option, but they want an outright sale. I heard they'd turned down one offer, but if the buyers meet the offering price, I'm afraid it's gone."
"Your great-grand-pappy had no business trading it for that river bottom," Mabel said, turning on Sarah. "It should've stayed in the family."
Aunt Cinda's intervention saved Sarah from having to answer. "That was a long time ago," she reminded the woman. "And that river bottom grew the best corn in three counties." She turned to Jordan. "You young'uns run along now. Mabel and me got some visitin' to do."
Grateful for the opportunity to escape, the three of them said their goodbyes and started down the hill. They'd only gone a half a dozen steps when Aunt Cinda's voice stopped them.
"Jordan, you take good care of Sarah, you hear?"
Jordan felt a chill on the back of his neck. He turned, blinking as he imagined a dark shadow crossing Aunt Cinda's features. No, that was impossible, he told himself. It was only the shade thrown by the wide rim of her bonnet as she moved her head. "I'll do my best," he assured her.
As they continued down the hill, Jordan tried to shake off the sense of uneasiness caused by Aunt Cinda's parting words.
"When they reached the farmhouse, Sarah turned to T.J. "Are you going to be around for a while?" she asked. "I've got to help in the kitchen."
"You go on. I'll keep an eye on Jordan," T.J. assured her.
"T.J. will introduce you around," she told Jordan. "I'll see you in a little while." She moved away, giving him no opportunity to protest. As Jordan watched her go, his clenched fists hidden deep in his pockets, she turned her head. She gave him a wishful smile over her shoulder, then disappeared inside the house.
"So, Jordan, how about a game of horseshoes?"
I've haven't tossed shoes in years," Jordan answered automatically, his mind still whirling with the implications of Aunt Cinda's last words. He watched as Sarah disappeared through the back door.
"She'll be back," T.J. assured him, clamping a hand on Jordan's shoulder and nudging him toward the side of the house. "In the meantime, sounds like you could use a bit of practice. 'Round here the boys start tossing shoes soon as they're big enough to pick them up."
Resigned, Jordan followed T.J. toward the horseshoe pits, knowing his questions would have to wait. Surely, he told himself, he would be able to find a minute alone with Sarah sometime today.
C
hapter 10
Sitting beneath the artificial lights of the Springdale Rodeo Arena neither Jordan nor the rest of the audience noticed as darkness finally overpowered the lingering twilight.
For Jordan, the day had been an endless cycle of food and faces. All and all, he considered it a success. He and Jimmy Joe had managed to stay well away from the sharp-tongued Cousin Mabel during the three-legged race—a move that contributed to their third place finish. Sarah cheered them enthusiastically from the sidelines, and bashfully gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as a reward. Jimmy Joe, silly boy, had preferred a second slice of homemade fresh peach pie.
Jordan gave Sarah's shoulder a squeeze and pulled her closer to his side, taking a deep whiff of the honeysuckle fragrance wafting from her hair. It had been impossible for them to steal a moment alone all day. Sitting here with one wiggling boy, surrounded by hundreds of spectators, didn't count. Maybe, after they took Jimmy Joe home....
Sarah leaned her head against his shoulder. Jimmy Joe settled back in his seat, still laughing at the antics of the rodeo clown who skipped nonchalantly around the arena enticing an enraged Brahma bull toward the exit chute. As funny and fun as it looked, Jordan knew rodeo competition was a dangerous business. Sarah had told him she was thankful T.J. limited his rodeo activities to the steer-wrestling and calf-roping events.
The announcer's voice blared over the loudspeakers. "Getting settled now in chute number four is Jack Perkins, our last bull rider of the evening. Jack will be aboard Devil Boy. A lot of you folks know Jack. He's from Oklahoma, almost a hometown boy. For those of you who weren't with us last night, Jack was scheduled to ride Thunder in the third-night competition, but rodeo officials scratched the ride when the bull had to be tranquilized after a little fracas in the stock pens. Jack's number five in the national standing right now, and he always gives the crowd a good show. We're ready when you are, Jack."
Stranger on the Shore Page 13
