It was not easy for Heneretta Woods to speak up in any way that might be construed as contrary to Tiny Tucker’s view, but she was so perplexed by the prayer of welcome that she blurted out, “Tiny, what were you talking about?”
“Let’s trade these recipes first,” Tiny said, collecting one from each member, then redistributing them so that everyone received a different recipe. As she moved about the small living room with its two settees, a rocking chair, and two cane backs, she noticed the wall tapestry of farm women in beige and maroon dresses, picking up armloads of wheat. The women carried the wheat in aprons tied about their waists, dropping them in large stacks for feeding into the thresher. Next to the tapestry was a picture of Jesus in brown tones, framed in rosewood. Tiny marveled that Jesus was such a handsome man, with his well-trimmed beard and long satin-smooth hair.
As she sat back down in the rocker, she started, “I mentioned to Easy last night that something needed to be done about the Sunny-side schoolteacher. We’ve all heard the stories.”
“I haven’t,” Heneretta said. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“That Swenson boy,” Mrs. Tanner whispered.
“Not only that,” Tiny said. “Where have you been, Henny? Didn’t you see her at the Literary? And the way she flirts with our men? She shows no respect.”
“Is she a good teacher?” Henny asked, hoping to find a positive aspect to the young woman’s character. Henny always sought out the good in people, even arguing at last month’s meeting that Joe Tanner had served his country as an Indian scout, and it didn’t matter if he drank too much; he had killed people and needed the drink to clear his conscience.
“We can always find good teachers,” Tiny said, “but we can’t allow the morals of our community to be destroyed. These are our sons and daughters.”
“Let’s go around the room and read our recipes,” Henny said, realizing that Tiny was not to be deterred from her mission. “I have some questions about my crust.”
John Buckhorn started for the door of the Garvey Mill office. “I think I better go home,” John said. “I don’t have anything against Margaret Chambers. She has always done right by me.”
“Wait a minute, John,” Ed said. “You won’t have to do anything. Just take her out. Tell her it’s a dance at the Robinson’s barn tomorrow night. We’ll do the tarring.”
“Wait yourself,” Jay Langston interrupted. “This is moving too fast. Where’d you get this tar and feathers idea?”
“I read about one in the Ellsworth paper a few weeks ago,” Ed said. “Happened back east. In Ohio. Girl was caught with a married man, and his wife’s whole family tarred and feathered her, told her to get out of town, and they never saw her again.”
“That seems a little excessive,” John muttered.
“Why?” Ed said. “If it had been a man with somebody else’s wife, they would have shot him. Besides, a little tar will wash right off and she’ll be good as new.”
“Wash off!” John exclaimed. “My brother tarred our roof, and he thought he’d never get that stuff off. Had to pour kerosene all over his arms and legs, scrub himself with lyso, and he still had black marks on him.” There was silence as this splash of reality landed on the party.
“Well,” John Buckhorn continued slowly, “I’ll go along, but I won’t take her to the dance. You better get somebody else for that.” He moved slowly through the group and out the door.
Chapter Six
Herb Forchet leaned back in his weathered captain’s chair on the boardwalk in front of his barbershop, closed his eyes so as not to be distracted by the candy cane barber pole beside the door, took one last swat at the gnats that hung like fog in the Kansas summer, and slept. The residents of Nickerly went about their business by moving around Herb without disturbing him, knowing that the barber business was good on Saturday and very slow on Wednesdays. Weekends were for getting cleaned up and ready for church on Sunday. For most farmers, that included taking a bath on Friday evening, putting on clean overalls on Saturday morning, and getting to the barbershop about noon. The time didn’t really matter because the whole day was set aside for talking with neighbors, shooting the bull with the city boys at the barbershop, and visiting the hardware store for any new products, like buckets with rubber handles or saws with new teeth configurations that could cut a log in minutes.
Jay Langston was going through town on his way home from the mill when he spotted Herb Forchet at rest. He had known Herb and the Forchet family for years. They had operated a lot of businesses in the community, usually service businesses like the laundry. For a time they ran the only French restaurant in western Kansas, or so they billed it. But the Forchet heritage in French cuisine was pretty weak, and their fancy name didn’t help much in Nickerly. Indeed, there was some prejudice against any kind of foreign food in Nickerly, and the promise of French cooking didn’t do any better for the Forchets than the time egg rolls were introduced on the menu at the Sunflower, Nickerly’s most successful restaurant for the last fifteen or so years. But the Forchets had always been good workers, usually leaving their own businesses in failure, then hiring themselves out to the more successful farmers. Young Herb, however, liked to talk and to gossip and the barbering business was right up his alley. He wouldn’t admit it, of course, but he particularly enjoyed the smell of Wildroot hair cream and the bottled sweet water he used as aftershave. He also liked being his own boss, sleeping in front of the store, and cutting hair. He didn’t mind at all when Jay Langston called out to him from across the street.
Jay walked toward the slowly arousing barber and inquired about the weather, speculating that the heat could break anytime.
“Hello, Jay,” Herb called out, “come in, and we’ll turn the fan on.”
“I don’t need a haircut, Herb,” Jay said. “Just on my way home when I saw how busy you were.”
“Midweek business is slow,” Herb said. “Harvest is over and everyone got a haircut last week. This is a time to spend your money or eat cantaloupes under an elm tree. Good time to have a girlfriend, too.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Jay said, “the boys at the mill need somebody to take Margaret Chambers out. They want to scare her off. Think she would go out with you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well,” Jay started, “just about everyone in town agrees that Margaret Chambers tried to do something with that Swenson boy. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard these stories.”
“I can see she’s got a pretty waist, and I heard she lost her teaching license over in Saline County,” Herb said. “But I never heard about the Swenson boy. What happened?”
“Seems she gave him a ride home from the Literary, in her carriage, and a little love sparked between them. Tiny Tucker says all the kids know. That Swenson boy is gaga over the teacher.”
“So what?” Herb said, shifting in his chair.
“It’s not right,” Jay said. “The boys down at the mill think a little tar might send her packing. But we need somebody to get her outside of town.”
“So you want me to take her out, then you’ll tar her?” Herb asked. “I been out with Margaret before, a couple of years ago, and we didn’t hit it off too well, but I’m game. I’ll give it a try.”
“Call her up,” Jay said. “See if she’ll go tomorrow night.”
“Where will I take her?” Herb asked.
“I don’t know,” Jay said, suddenly realizing he had no concrete plan. “Tell her it’s a dance. An invitation dance at the Robinsons’ barn. She’ll go to that.”
“But what happens?” Herb said. “How do they scare her?”
“You charm her,” Jay said. “Stop the buggy out by Twelve Mile Run, and the boys will come along. Give her a kiss or something.”
“But what will they do?” Herb pressed again.
“I don’t know,” Jay said, “maybe put a little tar on her. Tell her to get out of Nickerly County.”
Herb squinted up at Jay to see if he was foolin
g, but Jay just flashed him that crooked smile. Herb thought the plan sounded possible. He didn’t really like Margaret Chambers. The last time they were out, to a school picnic, he caught her from behind near the coat closet and put his arms around her waist. If a couple of kids hadn’t been there, she might have raised a real ruckus. As it was, she turned and pushed him away, saying he was fresh, and she wanted to be taken home. That had been over a year ago, but it still seemed like there was some unfinished business there. Also, he remembered the smallness of her waist and the fullness of her breasts, memories that still stirred more than a casual interest in being with her again.
“Call her up,” Jay said. “If she can go, tell Ed Garvey and he’ll take care of everything.”
Chapter Seven
Easy Tucker was rummaging through the Garvey Mill storage shed, looking for a can of paint thinner to mix with the roofing tar he brought from home, when he felt the first murmurs of pride about getting Margaret Chambers out of the county. Mrs. Tucker was almost pleading when she placed her hands around Easy’s arm earlier that afternoon and told him to be careful with that roofing tar. In her sternest voice, she said, “Edward, you and the boys make sure that girl understands. We can’t have her in our school.”
Easy was so in love with his wife of seventeen years, he thanked God every night for sending her to him. He knew he wasn’t a handsome man, and he had heard the snickers throughout his youth about his pancake nose. He was painfully aware of all the aspects of his humiliation; he minded terribly when girls moved to another seat rather than sit beside him. It often happened in church or at Literaries. When mothers and daughters would suddenly find themselves near him, and move to another pew. But Tiny had never flinched from his company. The first day they met in church in Ellsworth, she had led her family of brothers and sisters into the church pew, watching Easy Tucker every step of the way past the maroon songbooks and sat down right beside him. Once during the service their shoulders touched, and she did not pull away. Easy Tucker was in love from that moment on and would have walked to Colorado to prove his affection. Indeed, his neighbors said the real reason he turned all his crops to cash so quickly was just so he could buy things for Tiny Tucker. If she was threatened, he was threatened. And if she wanted Margaret Chambers out of their community, he would see that it happened. He was only too happy to bring the roofing tar to Garvey’s Mill.
Easy found the thinner in the corner of the shed under a stack of feed bags, bound with twine string. He thought they might have a use for the bags as well, so he tucked them under his arm. The paint thinner can was only about half full. That was alright since he only had a one-gallon pail of tar anyway. He had poured the tar from a ten-gallon drum into an open pail, and it had already started to jell during the trip from the farm to the mill. He had to get some thinner into the tar quickly or it would be too thick to handle, despite the 90° August heat.
Easy climbed into the back of his wagon and was pouring the thinner into the pail of tar when Jay Langston rode up. Easy gave the tar a quick stir with a tree limb, motioned for Jay to go inside, then picked up the bags and followed Jay through the screen door.
“Howdy, Easy,” Jay said with his usual swagger. “Got everything ready?”
“I got the tar,” Easy said. “The only problem is, that stuff’s so damn thick I don’t know if we can use it.”
“Hell,” Jay said, slipping into language he could never use in front of the Reverend Aaron, “we’re not trying to keep her from leaking.” All three laughed. “We’re not trying to cover the roof,” Jay continued, trying for another laugh. “We’re just going to throw it on her, dump the feathers, and beat it.”
“Wait a minute,” Ed Garvey cautioned. “We have to do this right. We have to make sure she knows we want her out of town.”
“Hell,” Jay repeated, “everyone in town knows what we want. Three of the boys called me this afternoon. As I was coming through town, Tiny Wilson yelled at me to say, ‘Club will be there.’ Everybody knows. I’m amazed Margaret Chambers doesn’t know.”
“Hank Simpson is coming on his new motorcycle, with one of his cousins from Russell,” Ed Garvey said. “They both got bikes. I hope they don’t scare the horses. Joe and Piney will meet us here if they can get here by eight. We have to be at Twelve Mile by eight thirty.”
“I just hope we can depend on Herb to do his part,” Ed continued. “I went over it with him this morning, but he halfway likes that girl. Plus he gets so nervous, I don’t know if he can get her out to Twelve Mile Run or not.”
Jay Langston hiked up his trousers, grabbing the silver belt buckle he had won at the County Fair two years ago and pulled it up until his trouser cuffs no longer touched the ground. Jay’s face was red from working in the sun during harvest and a wild shock of brown hair hung over the side of his forehead. Even his mother said he always looked like he was up to no good. While his face was slightly crooked, it had an angular quality that girls liked, and he often bragged about going to neighboring towns for square dances. But he also had a reputation for meeting girls, promising to take them on a picnic at some future date, and then not showing up. The word was that he had to stay away from Ellsworth for nearly a year until some of those promises were forgotten.
“What’s Herb gonna do?” Jay asked.
“He’s supposed to stop the buggy down by those cottonwood trees at Twelve Mile, take Margaret off for a few kisses, and then we’ll teach her how girls are supposed to act in Nickerly County.”
Margaret Chambers laid out her newest dress. It wasn’t that she wanted to impress Herbie Forchet so much, but an “invitation only” barn dance was an important event. No doubt they’d hired a local square dance caller, probably Everett Fenton and his boys from Tescott. Besides, she had learned in college that it always paid to wear your best in public, especially if you might meet other boys.
She admired the dress as it lay on her summer lace bedspread—pink with pleated sleeves that gathered just above the elbow, and a white apron that hung from her waist to her ankle. The dress had a high neck with no collar but a red rose embroidered at the throat where the top button hooked. It was light as a breeze, but the evening promised to be quite warm, and she could take a shawl for riding in the buggy. She had ordered the dress from the Parisian Cloak Company in Kansas City, based on a flyer that the company had sent to the Nickerly Dry Goods store.
She picked it off the bed and held it to her shoulders as Ileen stepped into the room.
“Oh, Margaret,” she said, “it’s so beautiful. I can just see you whirling around the room. Although not with Herbie Forchet.”
“It’s just for one evening,” Margaret said. “This could be the last dance of the summer.”
“You mean the only dance,” Ileen smiled. “You know mother doesn’t like these dances.”
“School is about to start,” Margaret said, “don’t ruin my good time. In a few weeks I’ll be grading papers instead of going to parties. I look forward to school, but I hate for summer to end.”
“I like the fall,” Ileen said. “There are more church activities. We start choir practice next week, and I want to be a soloist.”
“How can you sing with all those old ladies?” Margaret continued, turning up her nose, trying to decide whether to wear her brown or black shoes. “I wish I had a pair of shiny shoes, real party shoes, to wear.”
“That’s why people talk about you, Margaret. You’re always drawing attention to yourself. Showing off.”
“Ileen, I’m not showing off. I just want to dress up. The way we did at school.”
“I’m not sure you should even go to this party,” Ileen said.
“Why hasn’t anybody in town mentioned it?”
“Because it’s private,” Margaret said. “Herb says Ed Garvey is going, and he didn’t know who else.”
Ileen got up from the edge of her bed and moved to her dresser, a stand with six drawers that her father had made to fit between her bed and the window
in the middle of the wall. A mirror with a wooden frame and fluted edges leaned against the wall on top of the dresser, her lone claim to privacy. Everyone shared the bathroom, and Margaret had her own mirror attached to her low dresser. But Ileen’s dresser was her private treasure chest. Her mirror had reflected all the raw emotions of her adolescence, especially those moments when she had tried to be pretty, when she had stared for long minutes at her pale face and asked when one of Nickerly’s young men would find her attractive.
“Margaret,” Ileen said, turning to her sister, “I want you to take this with you.” She held out a six-inch silver hatpin with a large pearl on the end.
“Thanks, Ileen,” Margaret said, “but I don’t need that. I know Herbie Forchet. And even if he did something vulgar, I couldn’t use a hatpin. I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”
“You mean my older sister, who’s been to the College of Emporia and who has taught school for a year, couldn’t defend herself with a hatpin?” Ileen teased. “Here. Just take it for me.”
“Ileen, you’re so dramatic,” Margaret said, taking the pin in her hand. “I don’t have anything to wear it on.”
“Just put it in your purse,” Ileen said. “I’ll feel better.”
“Should we wear masks?” Jay Langston asked.
He passed the small brown jug of whisky to Easy Tucker sitting nearby on the wooden benches. Ed Garvey Sr. kept the jug in the closet for an end-of-the-day swig—fortification against Mrs. Garvey and her demand for an accounting. Sometimes farmers stopped by about dusk, knowing Ed and his jug were always available. Of course, the whisky was a gift to be offered, never to be taken. Ed Garvey Sr. was the richest and most powerful man in the county, and his jug was a kind of scepter to be used in granting camaraderie status to select friends and neighbors. The only person brave enough to dip into the jug without Ed Sr.’s blessing was Ed Jr., and he did so knowing that he had better not leave the jug empty. Tonight, Ed Jr. felt the tar party group might need a little fortification, and around six thirty, he brought out the jug for the first round of swigs. By seven thirty the whisky was being consumed in ever bigger gulps, and Ed felt the group had better get going while they were still level-headed.
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