“This union is strong. Soon, Pecola and I will usher in a new generation of Johnsons who will grow up on Johnson land, eat Johnson beef, and be a part of this community, Ezekiel,” he said firmly.
“I was just saying...” Reverend Moss started again.
“You were saying nothing as far as I am concerned. I cannot see why a supposed man of faith would take exception to tending the flock simply because one of the sheep is black,” Billy Joe told him.
The reverend opened his mouth again but Billy Joe turned his wife and his back to the man, walking away with a pride that required no words. The pickup truck, already loaded, offered shelter to its owner, who climbed behind the wheel of the truck after securing his wife, gave two toots of his horn and rolled across the field to the dirt road. No words were said until they reached the back gate coming onto Johnson land.
“Get behind the wheel, Honey,” he told her. Like before, she pressed down on the brake, eased the truck into gear, and slowly rolled through the gate.
Once inside the vehicle again, Billy Joe was tight-lipped as he drove back to the ranch house. The silence was deafening. The anger was not. It could be heard bouncing about in his head.
“I assume we were married in the courthouse because the good reverend didn’t want to perform an interracial marriage,” she said to his silhouette.
“You would be correct,” he said.
“The anger is misplaced, William. Despite his unwillingness to do his job, the disservice he failed to provide is between him and his God, not you and him. We are still married. We will still start our family and that small minded man has no place in your head nor your heart. He is taking up space that you are going to need to love all this sexiness that is now your wife,” she said. The last part she added with a sister girl mouth twist, followed by a stereotypical neck roll and finger snap.
Billy Joe slowed the truck. The Soft eyes softened; thick black hair stuck up in several directions from the makeshift pillow the night before that seemed to have molested his head. “You are something special, Pecola Johnson,” he told her.
She rolled her neck again. Another finger snap was added. “And don’t you forget it.”
Pecola was excited about having her first guest for dinner. Billy Joe, on the other hand, was working hard on changing out the bed. He said little as he walked into the house with a few tools and began to remove the bedding from the antique metal bed with the squeaky springs. This was also about the time Chad showed up.
“What are you doing, Billy Joe?”
“Getting rid of this lying ass bed,” he told his brother.
“Huh?”
“Sit down on that side,” Billy Joe told him. Chad rested a hip on the side of the bed; it creaked under his weight.
“Now lie back,” Billy Joe said. The bed groaned as if it were being tortured by a weight lifter. “Turn to your left,” he told his brother.
The bed creaked and moaned as he turned his tall muscled body. Billy Joe jumped onto the bed, bouncing a few times. The bed responded to his every move, almost echoing the pleasure of having him bouncing on the coils. The antique metal verbally cried out at his every move.
“See, this bed is a liar. I am not even doing anything as much as it is carrying on like I am working it over,” he said with his brow furrowed.
Chad burst into laughter. “I am sorry, little brother. You thought you were putting a hurting on her and instead all you were doing was moving in an old ass bed,” Chad said aloud.
“Yeah. Well...anyhow,” he said as he got out of the bed. “Help me get this out of here and bring in the wood sleigh bed from the barn.”
As little as he wanted to admit it, working alongside his brother again felt good as they pulled the bed from the storage of the barn. Chad applied a light coating of oil soap over the wood, checking cracks and crevices for spiders before taking it into the house. For some odd reason, the idea of his sister-in-law waking up to a creepy crawly on her didn’t sit well with him. For extra measure, he tapped the frame hard on the ground to shake out any other inhabitants before he took it inside. The bed, set up and remade, brought a large smile to Billy Joe’s face, especially when he lay back on it. No sounds were heard. Chad lay down on the bed and rolled from side to side as well, checking for creaks and squeaks. Billy Joe lay face down, pumping the bed with his hips. Chad, on his back, legs bent at the knees as his butt bounced from side to side on the bed, found himself smiling at the ridiculousness of the situation. Pecola watched the two brothers from the doorway, seeing, understanding, but uncertain of what in the hell to say.
“Okay boys, time to stop molesting the bed,” she said softly.
They both bolted up from the mattress as if they had been caught doing something terrible. Billy Joe ran his fingers through the thick black hair, his eyes lowered in shame at being caught in such an unflattering, compromising position. His cheeks were red from embarrassment.
“Come on; time for supper,” she told them.
Billy Joe’s eyes were wide as he looked at the spread on the dining room table. His wife had pulled out the cloth napkins and the good glasses and had picked some wildflowers to go in the vase. The table setting was lovelier than when their mother set it for Thanksgiving dinner. A moment of nostalgia went through the brothers as they eyed the table, bringing back a flood of memories. His wife had done all of this for his brother.
“I found the rib roast in the freezer. I made a special quick marinade,” she told them as Billy Joe helped her with her chair. “I hope you enjoy the meal.”
A blessing was offered for the supper as both men cut into the meat, bypassing the vegetables and rolls that she made from scratch. Pecola nudged Billy Joe under the table.
“What?” he asked with a mouth full of meat.
She nodded towards Chad.
Chad picked up on it right away. “You two are up to something,” he said.
“No,” Pecola said with a smile. “We just want your feedback on an idea.”
Billy Joe slowly began speaking to his brother about the plans for the ranch. He spoke with passion laced with enthusiasm and a bit of idealism when he told him about the layout, the cabins and the fees that would be charged. The tender eyes were filled with hope that was knocked crossways by Chad’s next words.
“That bed wasn’t the only thing lying to you, Billy Joe!” he said as he set down his knife and fork. “You get a belly full of good food and some hot loving and lose your God dang mind!” He turned to Pecola.
“And you! You are probably putting it on him like he has never had, making him willing to do whatever you want. Those prices for a cabin is your fancy New York ideas; it will not sell out here,” Chad said adamantly.
In that second of time, she saw Billy Joe’s entire childhood flash before her eyes. The disappointment on his face spoke volumes to her of a young man who hid in books, afraid to be whom he really was. Everything he ever wanted to do or try had been squashed by his brother or his father. She could see a young Billy Joe being forced to conform, to use words that were smaller than his grand ideas so that he could fit in. The time for fitting in was over. He had a vision and she was going to help him bring it to fruition. This time, Chad was not going to get away with it.
She exhaled loudly. “I guess in order to get you on board and make you fall in line with the program, I am going to have to take you in the bedroom and whip some of this good good on you as well, Chad,” she said as she rose from the table. Her hand went to her blouse as she reached for the buttons.
Both her husband and brother-in-law’s jaws hung loosely, watching her in disbelief. Billy Joe’s mouth was moving and no words were coming out, but the look on Chad’s face was worth the price of admission. “You two are too easy,” she said. “I made a peach pie. Who would like a slice?”
Chad’s head nearly rolled off his neck as he leaned back in the chair, letting loose a gut busting laugh. Billy Joe found no humor in any of her words, uncertain if this was another
one of her little games. “Honey, that is nothing you play around with,” he said softly.
“And you should be playing around with that preposition, English Man,” she said with a wink. It was the expression of hurt in his loving eyes at the thought of his wife offering a gift to his brother which should be only for him that prompted her next words.
“William, if anything should ever happen to you or me, it will be up to Chad to raise our children. Our children will carry on the Johnson name. Our children will take care of the Johnson land, but we need him in our lives and in theirs. When I bring your son into this world, I need your brother to be at your side to understand the responsibility for little William is also on his shoulders,” she said as she turned to face Chad.
“Can I trust you with the life of my children, Chadwick Johnson?” she asked in a more threatening tone than she had planned.
“What if I don’t want that responsibility?” he asked her.
Pecola quietly sat, allowing her thoughts to fill the empty space in the room for a minute, choosing her words carefully. “Responsibility is coming your way whether you want it or not, Chad. Here’s a question to you,” she said with a slight pause, “How often does your brother go for a swim in the lake?” she asked.
This question also grabbed Billy Joe’s attention.
“I have no idea,” Chad said dismissively.
“Well, someone else does. Last week a bunch of debris was left where William usually dives into the lake, making us go further downstream. Conveniently downstream where we came face to face with a very pissed off water moccasin,” she told him.
Chad exclaimed, “Water moccasins are not found in Montana, Pecola!”
“Exactly my point. If someone is trying to kill your brother, who will get this land?” she said with no expression on her face. “Doing nothing doesn’t lessen your responsibility, because how many people are aware that you are not in the will, Chad?”
“Excuse me,” she said as she rose to clear the table. The brothers were left alone to begin a long overdue conversation nearly five years in the making.
17. Lizards and Leprechaun...
The new bed provided a more peaceful night’s sleep without each telltale sign that her husband was turning over. It was even better when she had to get up several times to go to the bathroom because of the second cup of coffee over dinner, that she did not wake him. Not that it really mattered; each time Pecola slid back under the covers, Billy Joe’s arm was like a Vaudevillian hook, cast out, grappling and pulling her back to him. An extremely warm body snuggled close to her as soft exhalations of breaths caressed her cheek, lulling her back to sleep.
A silent house met her when she rose from the bed to a fresh pot of coffee waiting on the stovetop like a long lost friend. It had never occurred to her before leaving New York how empty her life actually had been. Words were the only companion she had outside of the crazy blind neighbor Danessa who made herself a surrogate mother although no one ever asked her for any assistance. Many of the author friends that were at her side during her climb to fame fell to the wayside like autumn leaves when the pseudonym Montana Hart made the USA Today Bestseller’s list. The indie author Montana Hart, now signed to a major publishing house, quickly made the New York Times Best Seller’s list. Several of the close friends who used to be supportive now became snarky, if not combative when she called them to meet for coffee. Pecola found out the hard way that becoming famous was not all it was cracked up to be. Most times she was alone on the top floor of a brownstone in Brooklyn, writing about wagon trains heading west to start a new life.
She had started a new life by heading west. Eyeing herself in the mirror, a faint glow was on her skin and she saw a new woman looking back at her. Gone was the shy little lady who hid behind her words. A stronger woman stood in the kitchen of a 100-year-old ranch house that was now her home. Friends, even at her new home in Montana were still lacking, with the exception of the lizard that snuck in between the cracks at the living room fireplace during the midday heat.
“Good morning, Herman,” she greeted the little lizard who had shown up in the morning instead of the afternoon. Common sense told her not to feed it, but a little leaf of kale wasn’t going to do him any harm. The crunch of tires on the gravel drive indicated she also had another visitor.
Pecola moved to the front window to peer from the curtain to see Avery arriving with a basket of what looked like fruit and baked goods.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” she told her cousin-in-law as she opened the front door.
“Mama sent over some apples, oranges, and fresh peaches since she knows Billy Joe is such a carnivore,” she said to Pecola.
“I’m just getting my day going. You want some coffee, eggs...,” she began to say when her cell phone rang.
“Pardon me for a minute,” she whispered to Avery. The cell phone in hand, a shaking finger slid across the screen. Her agent’s face glaring at her with the same look of pity she saved only for Pecola. “Montana Hart, how may I help you?”
“Montana, Heidi Strom here...great news! You have been nominated for the Frunkenberry Award!” her agent yelled in the phone.
“That is wonderful news,” she said softly.
“The award ceremony is this Saturday, so I need you back in New York by Thursday. I know you are going to need hair and make-up. There are a lots of press and publicity shots, you will need to look your best,” she told her.
“Okay, but I will have a date,” she told her.
“You? A date?”
“Yes, so I will need an extra ticket,” she said softly.
“And who is this date, if you don’t mind me asking?” Heidi said with some sarcasm in her voice.
“My husband, William. Please send over a tailor on Friday morning to fit him for a tux for Saturday,” she said. “Thanks, Heidi.” Pecola clicked off the line.
Avery, trying desperately to not eavesdrop, had been listening. “Wow, you are headed back to New York for the weekend? I ain’t never left the state of Montana,” she said softly.
“You are welcome to come with us,” she said us with some hesitation. A sudden nervousness overcame her at the thought of Billy Joe coming with her to New York. In truth, it was perfect. Many of the authors he would want to come to his writer’s ranch would be in that room on Saturday night. If he was looking for an opportunity to pitch his idea, this would be a perfect time.
“Are you sure I ain’t gonna be in your way or a third wheel?” Avery asked, her gray eyes searching Pecola’s face.
“No, I would love for you to come, hang out, and see my world,” she said. “Or rather my other world. Hey, why did you stop by this morning?”
Avery ran calloused fingers through her dark hair, eyes wide at her absentmindedness. “Oh shoot. I came out to bring you...oh man, crap on a horseshoe,” she said as she ran back out to the beat up old Ford truck. Instead of going to the driver’s side, Avery went to the passenger door to open it and take out what looked like a painting.
The painting came through the door first as she turned it around to face Pecola. The image on the canvas stole her breath. It was a watercolor painting of her in Billy Joe’s arms on the dance floor at the barn raising. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at the image. Pecola used her knuckle to wipe away the salty droplet that ran down her cheek.
“This is beautiful, Avery. I ...I love it. You painted...this is amazing,” she said, staring at the beautiful image. She leaned the canvas against the wall too so that she could hug her new friend. “I will cherish this painting forever,” she said, staring at it.
“What do I owe you?” Pecola asked her.
Avery was shocked. “It is a gift. A wedding gift for you and Billy Joe. I wouldn’t want you to give me money for it,” she told Pecola.
“I’m sorry. I meant no offense,” she said.
“I would be more offended if you don’t get a cup of coffee in my hand,” Avery said with a smile.
“Sure thing. One cup of coffee coming right up,” Pecola told her.
Pap’s old eyes surveyed every movement Billy Joe made while the younger man unloaded bales of hay to feed the horses. In the past week, the foreman had seen a great deal of growth in Billy Joe, as well as a calmness in his spirit. Seeing Chad back on the ranch was also a welcome sight. The little spitfire of a woman Billy Joe chose as a wife seemed to be perfect for the man who stood before him now. Pap didn’t have to worry as much about the boy being alone out here if anything should ever happen to him. The word about the poisonous snake was also a concern. Where there is one snake, there is always another. The crew went up and cleared away the debris around the lake, finding only one shed skin, but it still freaked Pap out a bit. Someone was trying to harm Billy Joe. That didn’t sit well with him.
“Hey Pap, whatcha thinking so hard about?” Billy Joe asked him.
“Shit hell, that damned poisonous snake,” he said in a low voice.
“Yeah, that is a point of concern,” Billy Joe said as he continued to feed the horses.
“I garunbetcha it was that shady ass banker and his teetotaler racist preacher brother,” Pap said with a nod of his head.
“That’s a lot of adjectives, Pap.”
“There you go again with your fancy ass college talk, but like I said, shit hell, I knowin' betcha it was one of dem,” he said nodding his head again for punctuation. A lull came into the conversation. “How is the little wifey, son? Has she stopped passing out?”
Billy Joe’s face softened as he stood still in the middle of the corral. His lips twitched a bit at the corners, forming the beginning of a smile. My wife.
“Pap, I cannot believe how blessed I am,” he said going back to work. In his head, he was counting down the number of bales it would take to feed the horses. Mentally, he began to calculate how long it would take to get the hogs fed, and then it would be lunch time since the chickens were fed by one of the ranch hands. He would be back in the house with her. In a year, all the livestock would be gone with the exception of a few horses for riding. It would be a different life for him, a happier life filled with a new purpose. Moreover, he would have time to enjoy his land. Hopefully, I can write.
Montana (Modern Mail Order Bride Book 2) Page 11
