The Storm

by Shelley Thrasher

Sadly she wasn’t able to work magic, so she gently applied a new bandage and touched Jacqueline’s cheek again. “You’re supposed to keep it as clean and dry as you can.” Then she left the room while she still could.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Molly missed Jacqueline so much she ached, like someone had kicked her heart. Patrick looked sad after she went home, while Mr. James seemed the same as ever, and Mother Russell acted positively gleeful.

  As she stripped the bed, she spotted a few stray black hairs when she balled up the sheets, and she chided herself. Jacqueline just lived a mile or so down the road, and Molly could telephone her any time. But it wasn’t the same as her living under the same roof and being only a few steps away, depending on her for practically everything.

  Jacqueline had been even more withdrawn than usual during the first two days she’d spent with them and spoke with Patrick more than anyone during her convalescence. He stayed by her bed for hours and chattered but sat quietly while she slept or rested. At times, Jacqueline had gazed out at the rose garden, though she squinted when it was sunny and said the roses had lost most of their fragrance.

  What a strange statement, because the flowers smelled as wonderful as ever. And Jacqueline flinched when anyone spoke in a loud voice. Her dark eyes had looked as muddy as the pond after a rainstorm. She’d gradually improved, though she apologized for being too tired to help much around the house.

  Hopefully, she wouldn’t push herself waiting on those two men, and Eric would remember that Mr. James was watching him to make sure he quit drinking so much.

  Molly needed to keep her eyes open too, or she’d fret herself to death wondering what was happening at the McCades’.

  *

  “How about some scrambled eggs for breakfast?” Eric asked when Jaq came downstairs the morning after she got home from Molly’s. “I’ve learned to make a few dishes while you were gone. Sit down and let me show you.”

  She studied him as he scurried around the kitchen. He wasn’t limping quite so bad. What a pair the two of them were.

  “Here you go. Eggs, biscuits, and gravy. Pop and I’ve already eaten.” He set a steaming plate in front of her and seemed so proud of himself, she had to give him a small smile.

  “Thank you, Eric. I could get used to this.”

  “Sure thing. I bet I can learn a lot more about cooking.” He acted as eager to please as Patrick did.

  She ate in silence. Though the food smelled and looked good, it didn’t have much taste. But neither had anything at Molly’s.

  “Jaq.” Eric waited until she looked up from her plate. “I can’t say how sorry I am. I’ve never hit a woman and I never will again. Something in me just snapped, and the whiskey didn’t help. I’m on the wagon now and feel a lot better. My sight’s a little blurry, but I can tolerate the light indoors. Direct sunlight still bothers me.”

  She didn’t know what to say. Should she trust him or should she make him suffer for what he’d done? She knew what it was like to lose control and regret her actions. Boy, did she ever. She thought about poor Henry every day, but that couldn’t bring him back. If Eric felt that way for hitting her, he was being punished enough.

  “I can’t say that I’ll forget what you did, Eric, and I’ll probably be careful around you until I’m sure I can trust you. But sometimes we all do things we regret. Just be good to yourself and get well as soon as you can. And find your father some help so we can leave here. That’s all I ask.”

  Eric looked like a load had dropped off his shoulders. “I understand. You’re a doll. I’ll show you I’m not a total dud. Thanks for the chance.” He scooped up her dishes and carried them to the sink.

  “Not so fast,” she said as she rose. “I’m not an invalid either. I can do my own dishes, and thanks again for breakfast. You better go help Angus.”

  *

  “It’s great to see you, Molly,” Jaq said. “These cookies are the best I could manage. A glass of milk might make my cooking edible, if you don’t mind pulling up a cold tin of it from the well.”

  “You shouldn’t have bothered. I didn’t come for the refreshments. Seeing you refreshes me enough.”

  Molly flushed, and Jaq agreed that their Wednesday visits were the highlight of her week. When Molly wasn’t there, she usually sank into a funk. She couldn’t think of anything but Molly’s soft hands and her musical voice. She didn’t want to waste a second. She needed to get enough of Molly to last till Sunday, when she could see her at the church.

  She’d told Molly a little about her school days in New Orleans, but today she’d promised to describe some of her adventures after she left there. She hadn’t said a word about Sister Mary Therese and Willie because that might shock Molly and scare her away. She enjoyed Molly’s company and knew nothing would ever grow beyond friendship, but she wanted to spend as much time with her as she could before she left New Hope. Maybe she’d like to hear about her Aunt Françoise and her Aunt Anna, and her visit with them before she sailed to London.

  “Are you comfortable sitting here on the porch, Molly? The breeze is swell this afternoon.”

  Molly settled into the old oak rocker and looked like she couldn’t wait for her to begin. Molly was a great listener, so it was fun to tell her tales. She supposed Molly felt the same way when she played the piano for her.

  She slipped back to 1912, right after Christmas, when she’d left New Orleans for good. “Aunt Françoise—she’s Mother’s younger radical sister—took me to a big suffragist parade in Washington. Miss Alice Paul organized it and planned it for the day before President Wilson’s first inauguration because she wanted him to realize how much women want to vote.”

  “A parade. How exciting.”

  “Yes, I was young and agreed to go because I was bored, but I’m glad I did. You should have seen all the marchers, thousands of them. And so many floats, bands, and cavalry squadrons. Women from all over the world participated, and a lot of women who worked in so many different jobs did too.

  “Miss Paul organized all that in just two months. In fact, my uncle said she’d probably be a better legislator than most of the men she’s up against.”

  Molly jumped up from her rocker. “I wish I could have been there.”

  “You could have, if you’d belonged to the women’s organization that marched in the parade. Every state sent delegates.”

  Molly sat back down. “Huh. I can just see Mr. James and Mother Russell letting me attend those meetings. They begrudge me the time I spend planning our music programs at the church.”

  “I bet you could if you really wanted to. But you’d probably have a hard time finding a chapter nearby. Now, if you lived in Tyler, or Dallas, or Austin—”

  “Even if Harrison had one, Mr. James would never drive me eight miles there and eight miles back. Saturdays are the only time he and Mother Russell make that trip. I don’t even get to go with them unless I want to buy something special at the dry-goods store.”

  “Why, you ought to learn to drive. Then you could go wherever you want.”

  Molly looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “That’ll be the day. Mother Russell and Mr. James would think I’ve gone off the deep end. Don’t forget, our automobile is still up on blocks. Besides, I tried to learn once. What a disaster.”

  Molly seemed so down in the dumps that she jumped back into her story to distract her.

  “I almost got to meet Miss Paul that day, but a disturbance broke out and we had to leave. Some troublemakers shoved into the parade, but the police didn’t stop them. In fact, one of the marchers asked a policeman for help, and he told her he’d break his wife’s head if she showed up there. The 15th Cavalry finally came and straightened things out. A couple hundred people were injured, but that wasn’t too bad, out of the half a million there. I read all about it the next day in the newspaper.”

  She put the porch swing into motion then focused on Molly, who looked thoughtful. Was she really wishing she could have been there or glad she�
��d avoided all the uproar? Finally, Molly said, “I’ll go pull up that tin of milk now and bring our refreshments out here. You just sit still.”

  “But I—”

  “Don’t be silly. I need to stretch my legs and you need to rest. I’ll let you wait on me when you’re stronger.”

  So here she sat in the swing and rocked slowly, watching the puffy clouds drift by and listening to the birds sing. Molly would be back soon. She could wait as long as it took. And after she healed and Eric finished his business here in New Hope, she’d be gone, a free woman once again. What if Molly were free too? But she wasn’t, so Jaq tried to keep her hopes from singing like the birds in the trees.

  *

  Molly pulled her everyday white gloves from her pocket and loosened the knot that secured the hemp rope. She’d read a brief newspaper account of President Wilson’s inauguration and recalled something about a women’s parade. But when she’d mentioned it, Mother Russell had scoffed and Mr. James had chuckled and said that nothing would ever come of such nonsense. He’d written them off as a bunch of hysterical women who ought to be home cooking and cleaning.

  She’d found it the most interesting news item she’d read since she moved to the farm. She recalled wishing she could have seen the parade. But Patrick had been little then, and she needed to stay home and take care of him, not go running off to Washington, DC. Still, she wished she’d done some of the exciting things Jacqueline had.

  But such thinking would only make her unhappy. She tugged on the heavy bucket full of water and the tin of milk. The good Lord had sent Jacqueline to her so she could have both Patrick and an exciting, interesting life. She’d savor every moment of Jacqueline’s experiences and pretend she’d been right beside her. She’d take every opportunity to visit with and listen to her because Jacqueline wouldn’t be here very long. But she didn’t know how she’d cope after Jacqueline was gone. Thank goodness for Patrick and her music.

  The heavy oak bucket finally swung into view, and she grabbed it and pulled it toward her. She set it on the ledge of the well, lifted out the cold tin bucket, then dropped the big oak one. After a few seconds it hit the water with a dull thunk, which was how she would feel when Jacqueline left New Hope.

  She grabbed the cold pail and hurried back into the house. She didn’t want to waste any more precious minutes.

  *

  “Here you go.”

  Molly handed her a cool glass of milk and set a plate of cookies next to her on the swing. Then Molly took one for herself and returned to the rocking chair. Jaq wished she’d sit next to her but was just happy that Molly was here.

  “Thank you. Are they edible?” She picked up a small one, surprised when it didn’t fall apart.

  “Uhm. Good.”

  Molly didn’t actually gobble hers, but at least she didn’t spit it out. Maybe she wasn’t a total failure in the kitchen. Besides, if Eric could learn to cook, so could she.

  Feeling more confident, she said, “Let me tell you about the other aunt I visited before I went to London. Aunt Anna’s my father’s half sister, and none of us ever knew her well because she always lived up North. When I visited her in New York she drove me all over the place in her little old automobile. She taught me to enjoy driving fast.”

  Molly nibbled another cookie and sipped her milk. She seemed almost sad.

  “Why, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just that you’ve been so many places and met so many people, and I’ve never been out of Texas.”

  She tried not to smile. “That’s exactly how I felt when I met Aunt Anna. She’d been a doctor for twenty years when I visited her and had even taught classes at her medical school.”

  “My goodness. A real doctor?”

  “Yep. But now she works at a laboratory in New York City where she tries to discover new medicines or ways to treat diseases. She and her lab partner, Mr. Park, discovered something called an antitoxin that helped wipe out diphtheria.”

  “Oh. If only they’d found it sooner, my poor sister might still be alive,” Molly said. “That’s what killed her when she was in school.”

  She put her hand on Molly’s arm. “I’m so sorry. I’ll tell Aunt Anna about her in my next letter. She’s made some important discoveries about rabies too, and she and Mr. Park even wrote a textbook that all the medical students have to study.”

  “What’s your aunt’s name? Maybe I’ll find it in the newspaper sometime.”

  “Dr. Anna Wessels Williams. If you could see her, you’d think she’d be really stuffy. But, like I said, she loves to drive fast and even goes up in aeroplanes with stunt pilots when she can. She’s never married or had any children, but she loves to write when she’s not at work. She has a whole drawer full of short stories.”

  Molly just sat in her rocking chair and stared at her like she’d arrived from another planet. Hopefully she didn’t consider her too strange. Her aunts were so different from Mother that at first she hadn’t known what to think of them. But the longer she lived, the more she admired their independence and their forward-thinking ways.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mrs. Russell chucked hen scratch at the chickens. Felt good. The chickens pecked as near her as they dared then scattered as she pelted them again.

  Having to put up with Molly and Jacqueline laughing and carrying on made her sick to her stomach. And now Molly visited Jacqueline every Wednesday, so she had to make her share of Red Cross bandages and Molly’s too.

  She didn’t mind helping somebody that really needed it. But after she’d sewed up Jacqueline’s head, she should have come around in a few days. Shucks. She’d laid there like she’d fought the Hun all by herself and been shot, instead of just reopening a little gash. She’d get up and dry a few dishes or churn a mite, then start looking peaked and run take a nap.

  What if she’d just had a baby and had three or four young’uns hanging on her for every bite they put in their mouths, and a field full of cotton that needed picking, and hired help that needed watching? She’d think worn-out-and-go-take-a-nap. She’d have to be up from daylight till dark, so tired she could hardly put one foot in front of the other. With kids you couldn’t ever get enough rest, even when you were ailing.

  Molly couldn’t keep her nose out of other people’s business, especially people like that snooty Jacqueline. They acted like the world owed them a living and thought they were better than folks that had to work hard to make ends meet. Well, this was the last time she’d let some lazy heifer take advantage of her and James.

  Molly needed to hunt for her diamond. She’d looked high and low, and once in a while Molly poked around in the hay, kinda halfhearted.

  The week after Molly lost it, the Watkins Man came by peddling his wares. Molly had traded two chickens for a bottle of vanilla, some cinnamon and other spices, some ribbons, and some of her precious white gloves.

  But just as the man pulled out of the driveway in his wagon, it came to her like a lightning bolt what Molly had done. The diamond was most likely in one of those chickens, and the more she studied on it, the more certain she was. Molly needed her comeuppance for losing her diamond.

  To top it off, lately Molly had been acting awfully high and mighty about that newfangled rolling pin Jacqueline gave her. Carved out of wood, it had shiny red handles that’d blind you. Kinda gaudy, and probably didn’t cost but a dollar or two, if that. Nothing compared to that diamond.

  And to make matters worse, Jacqueline hadn’t brought her nary a thing. She’d done the lion’s share of the work—sewed up Jacqueline’s gash, changed the bandages until she finally taught Molly how to, and took every one of those stitches out. Did a fine job, if she had to say so herself. She’d like to see Molly stitch somebody’s forehead. And besides all that extra cooking and washing and cleaning, she’d had to put up with two silly, overeducated women instead of one.

  Molly put on airs every time she rolled out some dough with that gadget. At least Jacqueline could have given it to the
both of them. Did she think only young people found new and better ways to do things? Molly seemed as proud of that rolling pin as she’d be of one of those ultramodern washing machines with a wringer to run the clothes through. That new rolling pin probably didn’t work any better than the old amber wine bottle they’d always used, and a washing machine more than likely didn’t get the clothes near-about as clean as boiling them with lye soap.

  But when Molly picked up that rolling pin she acted like she could even cook better than everyone.

  Humph. She’d been baking before Molly’s folks started sparking and never had any complaints. At the New Hope picnic everybody always fought for a piece of her chocolate pie. Molly had some nerve. She’d show her who the best cook was—and whose ways of doing things were best.

  *

  Mother Russell was bristling like the old gray goose did right before it chased Patrick and pecked him on the head. Molly had raced out into the yard and beat it off him, but she didn’t know what to do about Mother Russell. Losing her temper would only make things worse.

  They sat in the yard under a shade tree, shelling black-eyed peas and fanning themselves to stay cool, and Mother Russell gave her a sideways look that usually meant she was up to something. Molly tried to start a conversation about the terrible heat, the hens not laying too well right now, the upcoming New Hope picnic, anything—and Mother Russell positively glowered like she had something to say but wouldn’t tell her what it was. Often she was chatty and almost civil, but nowadays she was constantly in a foul mood.

  After they finished the peas and Mother Russell went to feed the chickens, she telephoned Jacqueline, as she did regularly.

  “Mother Russell’s worse than ever today, and I can’t figure out why.”

  “When did she start acting like this?”

  She hoped Ethel wasn’t listening in. She’d promised she wouldn’t, but you never could tell.