Luke’s smile was brief, but his sigh was long. “There are a sight more women than Indians, Miss Hallie. Now you have the vote, you should be able to change things.”
“We can’t change human nature.” Hallie thought of Raford and Cotton, of an eighteen-year-old Henry Lowen imprisoned for his faith. “But we can work for what’s fair. You’d better hurry, Luke, or you’ll be too late to swim.”
Returning from Garth, Luke said with happy eyes, “Mr. MacLeod says he’d appreciate my making sure the kids don’t drown. And please, he’d like the buckle for supper.” Luke frowned. “What is a buckle, Miss Hallie?”
“It’s sort of a fruit pudding pie,” she reassured him. “You’ll like it.”
He smiled and hurried toward the creek. Hallie began to plait her hair. How she wished that Garth would say it shone like a blackbird’s wing—even a crow’s! But he would only say she should braid it before it blew full of tangles.
Even braided, it got full of dust and chaff. If it were short—Well, why not? If Garth liked her hair long, she’d have endured it; but he clearly thought it a nuisance, to be pinned up as soon as possible.
She had never had it cut, even though Mrs. MacReynolds thought she’d look nice with a bob. For a moment, Hallie wavered. Then she thought of how much cooler she’d be, how much lighter and better her head would feel without the weight of the braids and tightness of pins. Before she could change her mind, she jumped up and went to the door.
“Shaft?” she called softly. “Your music’s so beautiful I hate to interrupt—that was Dvořák, wasn’t it? But I wonder if you could cut my hair.”
The tune stopped with a discordant crash. Shaft got up so quickly that Smoky almost fell from beneath his beard. Judging by Shaft’s expletives, the kitten saved herself by sinking in her claws. Soothing and smoothing the little gray cat, in spite of his own scratches, Shaft tucked Smoky under his arm and stared at Hallie, shaggy eyebrows drawn together above his long, crooked nose. “Did I hear right? You want me to cut your hair?”
“Yes, please.” He looked as if she were urging murder, so Hallie said defensively, “It’s so hot, Shaft! And I can’t keep it clean. If my hair were short, I could wash it every day or two.”
“Yes, honey, but your hair’s plumb beautiful!”
All the wrong men thought so. “If you won’t cut it, I will.”
“Lordy-Lord!” Shaft appealed, as if a higher power might intervene. When it didn’t, he sighed. “All right, if you’re bound ’n’ determined. But that hair took a long time to grow, and once it’s whacked off, you can’t put it back. Sure you wouldn’t like me to just thin it some?”
“I’m sure I want a bob.”
Shaft put down his fiddle. “It’s your scalp. But let’s spread a tarp so you can save the hair. You could make a coil or something to pin on when you get sick of your nice cool bob that looks like every other youngish woman’s.”
Hallie clenched her fists to keep from wincing when the first long, shining locks fell to the tarp; but as Shaft worked, squinting over each intended cut of the scissors, her head began to feel refreshingly light and free. She shut her eyes, enjoying the deft, gentle touch of Shaft’s fingers. Now Garth MacLeod couldn’t growl at her to pin her hair up out of the way.
“What in the world are you doing?” His voice made her straighten so abruptly that the scissors snipped dangerously close to an ear. “Maybe she doesn’t know any better, Shaft,” Garth seethed. “But I’d expect you to—”
“Expect him to what?” Temper rising, she stared into wrathful gray eyes. “You should approve! You didn’t like the wind to blow my hair, remember?”
He let out an exasperated breath. “You had wonderful hair!”
“That isn’t what you said!”
“Now you’ll look like any city girl. I suppose the next thing will be to smoke, paint, and roll your stockings below your knees!”
“If I want to do any or all of those things, Garth MacLeod, it’s none of your business!”
“Roll one cigarette, and you’re fired!”
“Of all the nerve! I’ve never wanted to smoke, but you may just start me!”
“Children, children!” Shaft begged. “Boss, you’re way out of line. Hallie’s the best help I’ve ever had. Fire her and I go, too.”
Hallie caught his hand. “Shaft—”
“Hell’s bells!” Garth erupted. “Pluck out your eyebrows and make them over with a pencil! Wear clothes that make you look like a washboard instead of a woman! Ruin your breath and teeth with nicotine! Frizz the hair you’ve got left! I was beginning to think you had a little sense but this”—he bent to catch up and flourish a shimmering strand of black—“shows how wrong I was!”
He stalked away. “Damn him!” Hallie choked, blind with furious tears. “Double damn and drat him! First my hair’s too long! Now it’s too short! And he starts in on me for things I detest as much as he does!”
“Yes.” Shaft sounded so happy that Hallie blinked and gaped at him.
“What made Garth act like that?” she appealed.
“My grandmother was a great one to read out of the Bible.”
“Was she?” Hallie couldn’t see where this was leading.
“Every night, three chapters before anyone could go to bed. Mighty tedious when we were stuck in the ‘begats.’ But I always liked the battles and angels. ‘How art thou fallen from heaven, Lucifer, Son of the Morning.’ I could shut my eyes and see Michael and Gabriel with their great wings all bright with power and glory. And somewhere it said that women should not uncover their hair because of fear of the angels—as if an angel could be snared in a girl’s long hair, fall crazy in love, and plumb forget his heavenly chores.”
“Yes, but—”
“I think Garth was scared of gettin’ tangled in your hair.”
Hallie’s heart leaped, but she scoffed. “He’s probably afraid I’ll set Meg a bad example, though it’s hard to imagine what kind of woman he’d think is a good pattern.” Hallie looked down at the arm-length tresses and gave a rueful laugh. “It’s funny, Shaft. It’s lovely not to have all that weight piled up or tugging down. I feel light as a cloud. But I feel sort of naked, too, like a shorn lamb.”
“You’ll get used to it. And it’ll grow out. Look in the mirror and you’ll feel better.”
Hallie peered into one of the mirrors hung above the washbasins. Her hair still shone like heavy black silk. Oddly enough, since it wasn’t pulled straight back, it framed and softened her angular face and high forehead. “Ohhh! I—I don’t look too scalped, do I, Shaft?”
“You look fine. Instead of not seeing anything but that crown of hair, folks have to notice your eyes and mouth.”
Would Garth? Both exultant and regretful, as if she were discarding some part of herself, Hallie located an old pillowcase and carefully folded her hair into it. This new, liberated Hallie could entertain scandalous notions; for as carefree shouts came from the swimming hole, she thought, Why can’t I get in the water? I can’t swim much but how heavenly it would be to cool off when I’m so hot after doing the supper dishes! Just play and splash by myself and not worry about getting my hair wet. I think I will!
As the men sat down to dinner, Luke eyed her hair sorrowfully but didn’t say anything. Henry’s broad, open countenance showed distress, as did Lefty Halstead’s thin one, but they, too, held their peace. “It must be a sight cooler,” Rusty said gamely though he looked dismayed.
“Why should women get headaches to suit men?” Jim Wyatt added.
“Why indeed?” Rich Mondell smiled at her. “But that braided coronet, Hallie, it really was your crown.”
“Crowns are pretty uncomfortable in a cookshack,” she told the young professor.
“It looks silly to have a flapper bob with plain old dresses,” Meg said.
“Your hair’s bobbed,” Luke pointed out.
Color brightened Meg’s tanned face. “That’s different. I can’t have a lot of hair getting i
n my eyes while I’m doing a man’s job.”
“Boy’s job,” Baldy corrected.
Meg scowled at him. Rory cocked his head and studied Hallie till her cheeks burned. “We-e-ell,” he pronounced judiciously, “your eyes look enormous. I never noticed before how thick and long your eyelashes are, and how your eyebrows arch like wings. Say, have you always had that inside-out dimple in your chin? And your mouth—”
“That’s enough!” Garth wasn’t smiling. “What Miss Hallie decides to do to her hair is none of our concern.”
Rich chuckled. “Seems it is, boss. Haven’t known this bunch get so excited about anything since Cotton tried to carve us up. Miss Hallie, is there any more of that raspberry buckle?”
At Rory’s insistence, Hallie made a set early the next afternoon and got her hair full of prickly, dusty bits of straw. The rest of the day, she thought of the creek, of rinsing the chaff from her itching scalp, of floating on her back, unencumbered by any garment, as she watched the stars and the slender sickle moon.
Tomorrow they’d be moving on. There might not be a creek near their next stop, or if there was, enough water for a swimming hole. Meg said this one had a limestone bottom and was clear, unlike some silty streams.
Rory always dried dishes for Hallie but as soon as he took himself off and Jackie was tucked in, she was slipping down to the creek with a towel and her nightgown.
Perversely, since she had a plan, the crew got into an argument over whether Coolidge should be elected that fall and loitered over their dessert and last cups of coffee. Then Rory hung around till she made Jackie’s bed and said pointedly how late it was getting.
At last her little brother was snuggled against Lambie and Shaft was having his bedtime pipe, sitting on his cot by the side of the shack. Hallie blew out the lantern, collected gown and towel, and went down the creaking steps. She waited till she could see a little in the frail moonlight and made her way cautiously along the fence toward the looming cottonwoods that marked the hole.
A great horned owl demanded eerily, “Hoo-hoo-hoo?” Had he already feasted on an unwary cottontail or jackrabbit? Hallie hoped he wouldn’t get any bluebirds or cardinals, meadowlarks or gorgeous orioles, though of course he had to live, too.
Contrary to the widespread opinion that snakes liked to bask in searing heat, Jackie said Luke had told him they preferred to be cool and were thus abroad more on summer nights than during the day. Luke also said that rattlers sensed the presence of warm bodies through pits beneath their eyes and could feel vibrations from footsteps. Hallie therefore stepped as heavily as she could, alert for any warning sound or movement.
The creek murmured sleepily beneath the few guardian trees left when the field was cleared for planting. Hallie almost tripped over the huge stump Jackie had mentioned. Perching there, she took off her shoes and then her clothing, leaving her shoes on the stump but hanging her other things on a limb where she hoped they’d be less likely to attract and harbor spiders, scorpions, centipedes, and such explorers.
Hurried as her baths behind the cookshack were, she reveled in feeling the sun and breeze on her flesh. Now, as the strangeness wore off, standing naked in the darkness was even more delightful, spreading her arms to the wind that caressed her body. It seemed a little wicked, though. She sent herself into the water, dipping in her toes, standing where it flowed against her knees, then wading till the languid current rose above her breasts at the deepest place.
She had learned to swim—enough not to drown—in a sand pit on the farm of some friends of the MacReynoldses. Trifling as her skill was, she had no fear of water. Leaning back, she raised her feet from the limestone and floated, with water cradling her skull, lapping gently above her ears. No worry about her hair. Toweled, it would dry in a few minutes. She breathed in the rich odor of decaying wood and leaves and the fresher scent of grass and plants. The current moved her downstream slowly. Her heels struck bottom.
Turning over, she lazily dog-paddled back to the deep water and floated again. Pleasant as this was, when her feet grazed stone again, she’d better get out. Four in the morning came early. She never felt awake till she’d had a cup of Shaft’s formidable coffee.
Her left heel dragged, then her right. She was coming to her feet in the thigh-deep water when she heard footsteps coming down the bank. She froze, crouching, then breathed again as she told herself it was too dark in the shadow of the trees for anyone to see her. She certainly couldn’t make out the intruder.
Luke, taking another swim? The footfalls sounded too heavy for him. It could be any of the crew, even possibly Mr. Crutchfield’s hired man who surely knew the place. Hallie wasn’t afraid of physical harm. All she had to do was call out and ask the person to withdraw while she dressed and made her retreat.
But that would be embarrassing. Was there any way she could get her clothes and creep away without an encounter?
This hope shattered as Garth’s voice came softly through the night. “Who belongs to these clothes?”
X
Though she knew he couldn’t see her, Hallie plunged into the deepest water. The current seemed to quicken and surge. It was hard to keep her feet planted on the bottom. The pounding of her heart filled her ears.
“You know those are my things, Garth MacLeod!”
“Enjoying your swim?”
“I was!”
“Well, go ahead. Enjoy. I’ll stay at this end.”
“You mean swim together?”
“Why not? It’s dark as pitch.”
“But—” In spite of the cool water lapping around her shoulders, Hallie felt consumed by a fiery blush.
He knew she was naked. How could he suggest they share the swimming hole? Was he that indifferent to her? Well, she wasn’t that impervious to him! Even if twenty feet of water flowed between them, she’d be conscious that nothing solid was there—that the water coursing around her had just washed over him.
The splashing he made as he moved into the water almost panicked her. “Wait! I’m getting out!” She swam for the shallows a few strokes away.
“Seems a shame to run away from your first swim this summer.”
“How do you know it’s my first one?”
“Because I go in every night when we’re close to a creek. Must be my selkie blood.”
“What’s that?”
“A seal. Folks used to believe they could take human form. Hundreds of years ago, a man of my family stole a beautiful selkie maiden’s skin.” Garth’s tone resonated, mingling with the heavy beat of her own heart, traveling through her veins to reverberate in every part of her. “That MacLeod fisherman hid the selkie-lass’s garment so she couldn’t go back to the sea.”
In the darkness, Hallie could almost believe the story. “What happened to the selkie-girl?”
“The MacLeod took her home and wed her. She could never go into the deep sea again. But they say as long as she lived, she would go to the rocks to swim with the seals. They would always come when she sang to them.”
“It was cruel of the man to keep her.”
“Men in love do cruel things—and women, too.” His voice grew brisk. “Anyway, prairie creeks are nothing like the wide bay below my island village, but I still crave the water.”
“Doesn’t Rory?” Hallie had reached her clothes. She knew Garth couldn’t see even her dim outline but she toweled hastily and pulled on her nightgown before she rubbed her hair.
“Rory would rather play cards or roll dice.”
The disgust in Garth’s words made Hallie ask, “You don’t gamble?”
“All the time. Will it rain and slow down the threshing or ruin the grain? Will a farmer wait till I get to him or hire an outfit that turns up quicker? Will I clear enough to make the payments on the machinery?” He gave a rough laugh. “I gamble so much that I’m sure not risking a cent I don’t have to. But Rory’s a kid. He’ll grow out of his crazy notions.”
“Like teaching me to handle the engine?”
&nbs
p; “That’s his craziest stunt yet.”
“Shaft doesn’t think so! Shaft says it’s the only threshing job a woman can do outside of hauling water or fuel.”
“He’s just trying to make you feel as if it’s fine to leave him with your work while you get ready for something that won’t happen.”
“How do you know it won’t?”
“Because I’ve already got a dandy backup engineer.”
Squelched, Hallie thought and asked in a small voice, “Jim Wyatt?”
“Yes. He ran his own outfit for six years. By rights, he should be running my engine. But Rory hates pitching.”
And he’s too careless to tend the separator, and you want to keep him with you. “Didn’t you hear Jim say he might be able to borrow enough on his veteran’s bonus to put with his savings and buy another engine and separator before next season?”
“That’s next year.” Garth’s tone was remote. “Did you plan to ask for a job then?”
Why, after being interesting and almost friendly, had he gone back to stiffness? “I—I hadn’t really thought about it,” she floundered.
And she had tried her best not to think about the end of the threshing run, when Jackie would miss Shaft and Laird and Smoky, Meg and the crew so painfully. She herself would wretchedly miss belonging, would miss Shaft’s caring and wisdom. Most of all, she would yearn for this man who spoke now with explosive impatience.
“You’d better start thinking. You have your—brother to take look after.”
“I know that better than you do!”
“He’ll need to be in school winter after this one.” Silence thickened the night between them. After a moment, Garth continued carefully, “Apparently Raford offered you a well-paid job.”
“He hired Sophie to run his hotel.”
“I expect he’d find a place for you.”
Garth’s tone was neutral, but somehow his words conveyed a slur. “If I’d wanted to work for him, I’d have stayed at his farm,” Hallie retorted.
“Why did you quit? It must have been pretty bad to send you stomping out on the road with Jackie and your suitcases.”
The Unplowed Sky Page 15
