“Were you a midwife, Granny?”
“Only one fer miles in them days. Brung more’n a hundred younguns in the world. Didn’t lose more’n a dozen.”
“You must know everyone around here.”
“—And their folks and their folks’ folks. Some come from good sturdy stock. Pure hickory, they is. Some’s offshoots of a rotten vine and ain’t never goin’ to be nothin’ else but rotten like their folks. Ya ain’t goin’ to have to kill a chicken for Sunday, Mr. Lester, now we got the possum.”
Hod Gordon was waiting at Merfelds’. He escorted Jesse on her rounds and to four additional families who had sent word that they had sick children. Her supplies were running dangerously low by mid-afternoon, and she knew that she would have to send another message to her father or make the trip to Harpersville herself.
No sign had been seen of her escort of the previous day. And no word about him other than an insulting remark made by Otis Merfeld.
“Fed up with the nigger-lover already?” He whispered the words slyly when he caught Jesse alone. “Told ya not to go off in the dark with ’im. Feel ya up, did he?”
Never in her life had she detested anyone as much as she detested Otis Merfeld, and she longed to tell him what a pitiful excuse for a man he was. But she ignored him because his wife and his children needed her.
The hill people welcomed Jesse into their homes but seemed in awe of her; she had to work hard to make them comfortable with her presence. By the time she reached the Baileys’, where she would spend the night, she was bone-tired, and her back ached from bending over the beds and pallets of her patients. Mrs. Bailey’s son, Homer, a forty-year-old with the intelligence of a ten-year-old child, was waiting to take Molly to the shed behind the house.
Jesse hadn’t counted on Mrs. Bailey’s delight in having her as an overnight guest. The supper table was covered with a rose-patterned oilcloth and set with heavy stoneware, some pieces of which were cracked and chipped, but obviously the best she had. The delicious aroma of roasted chicken and gooseberry cobbler filled the house. A platter of pickled pigs’ feet and a bowl of pickled beets sat on the table alongside several dishes of relishes and jams.
“This is a regular feast, Mrs. Bailey. You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.”
“Fiddle!” Mrs. Bailey’s plain face beamed with pleasure. “Go on in the room there and wash up. Wade brung ya a satchel from your pa.”
“Mr. Simmer went into town? Oh, I wish I had known he was going. I need more medical supplies.”
“Brought it just afore ya got here. Said you’d be needin’ what’s in it.”
The suitcase was on the bed. She opened it anxiously. On top were two dresses, two aprons, and a note from her father. Beneath the clothes, wrapped in newspaper, were the precious medical supplies. Relief mingled with puzzlement. Wade Simmer not only had made the trip to the schoolhouse, but had been to Harpersville. He had covered a lot of territory today unless he had sent Jody into town again.
Jesse unfolded the note and scanned it quickly. Her father was confident she could handle the epidemic and told her that if there was anything she needed to tell Wade Simmer. He or Jody would come for it. Simmer had assured him, he said, that she would have an escort as she made her rounds. So he had gone to Harpersville. Doctor Forbes closed his letter by saying she had a nice surprise waiting for her when she got home.
Jesse smiled, folded the note and tucked it into her pocket. Had Susan attempted to make the berries into jam by herself? Then she remembered that this was Saturday. Oh, foot! Pauline was going to come today and help put up raspberry jam. The surprise would be no surprise at all—Pauline and Susan had picked the berries and made the jam.
Later Jesse felt guilty lying in Mrs. Bailey’s bed while that good woman occupied her son’s cot in the kitchen. Homer had taken his blankets to the shed. After supper Mrs. Bailey had urged her son to show Jesse the handles he made for hoes, rakes and shovels. Carved from white ash, they were hard and strong and as smooth as silk. Jesse was suitably impressed with the fine workmanship and told him so. Before they retired, he had proudly given her a beautifully crafted rolling pin. The look on his homely features was adoring when she told him that she would treasure his gift forever.
Snuggled in the soft featherbed, Jesse’s thoughts turned to Wade Simmer. In truth, the man had invaded her thoughts all day. She felt a stirring of self-disgust when she recalled his kiss, and her fingertips went automatically to her lips. She had sat there like a dumb ox while he kissed her!
Heaven help her! She hadn’t felt the least bit put-out or afraid of him. She had felt no awkwardness about the arms she had wrapped about his hard body, no guilt about the warmth she had received from leaning on his strength. It had been so sweet and… natural.
What kind of an idiot are you? Jesse questioned herself. The man took advantage of you! He probably thinks you’re just a love-starved old maid. He had hardly been able to get away from her fast enough after he took her to Granny Lester.
But damn him for being so gentle, so attractive… so thought-provoking.
CHAPTER
* 6 *
Pauline Anthony came out of the store where she had purchased embroidery floss and walked past the rooming house, being careful to keep her eyes from the male boarders who sat in the bentwood chairs on the porch. She wore a dark skirt and white middy blouse with an elbow-length cape flung over her shoulders; yet she felt exposed, vulnerable and uncomfortable. She hastened her steps.
She had had her share of suitors since she had been in Harpersville, none of whom was serious. Teachers, reasonably attractive teachers, were usually married within two years. Some didn’t even last out the school year. Pauline loved to teach and was determined not to lose her job by marrying unless she were madly in love.
It was evening. Lights were beginning to shine from the windows of the houses she passed. She turned the corner and walked slowly toward the house at the end of the block where she had roomed since coming to Harpersville. The house looked empty and desolate without her cheerful landlady sitting on the porch. Mrs. Poole had taken the train to Grover to visit her daughter and to see her new grandchild.
Pauline went straight to her room at the back of the house and lit a lamp. This was the first time she had stayed alone since the stories had begun circulating about The Looker. Until now doors in Harpersville had seldom been locked. Pauline looked for keys to the front and back doors. Unable to find them, she wedged a kitchen chair under each doorknob and went back to her room feeling reasonably safe.
At the library table she worked on papers she had brought from the school, but her thoughts were troubled. How would Jesse react to the changes that had taken place in her home since she had gone to the hills to care for the sick? Four days had passed since Pauline and Susan had picked the raspberries and made the jam, or rather tried to make the jam. It seemed they could do nothing right. Susan had certainly been in a surly mood at school the last few days. And was it her imagination, or had Todd’s stuttering worsened?
While Pauline’s thoughts were occupied with what she considered would be a serious problem for her friend, another’s thoughts were occupied with her.
One of the men who sprawled in the chairs on the porch of the rooming house had left the porch after Pauline passed and walked leisurely in the opposite direction from the one that she had taken. Once out of sight of the others, he had cut through the alley behind the stores and come out on the street where he could watch her until she entered the house at the end of the block.
The tall slender man with the quiet blue eyes stood for a moment, pretending to light the cigar he held clamped between his teeth. His mind methodically sorted out what he had found out about the teacher. She had been in Harpersville two years and had spent the better part of Saturday afternoon at the doctor’s house. Of course, he had heard about the scarlet fever epidemic in the hills and had heard that her friend, the doctor’s daughter, was up there. The doctor’s o
ther daughter was just an adolescent girl. Why would the teacher visit her student for hours? One would think she saw enough of her at school.
The tall man pulled his watch from his vest pocket, flipped open the lid, peered at the time, and decided to take a leisurely walk down Main Street past the doctor’s house. It was essential that he find out more about Pauline Anthony and her connection to the Forbes family. She could be the missing piece of the puzzle that would bring everything together.
Later that night Pauline awakened in utter terror. A hand was clamped over her eyes, and fingers squeezed her nostrils together. She opened her mouth to scream and it was filled with a soft cloth. Just as she was about to black out, the fingers on her nose eased their pressure and she filled her lungs with air.
“Shhh… Shhh… I won’t hurt you if you behave.” The whisper was husky and had a nasal twang. Pauline felt the point of a knife beneath her chin and fear kept hysteria at bay. “Good girl,” her attacker muttered soothingly when she stopped struggling.
A long soft cloth was quickly wrapped tightly around her head, covering her eyes. Sounds of newly awakened terror came from Pauline’s throat, and she tried to force the gag from her mouth.
“Shhh… I don’t want to hurt you. Put your arms over your head and grab hold of the bedstead. Do it now,” he commanded sharply. When she obeyed, he quickly bound her wrists to the bedpost.
Realizing how helpless she was, how vulnerable, Pauline panicked. She raised her legs and tried to kick him. Immediately the knife point beneath her chin made itself known.
“Now cut that out! I’m only going to look at you.”
Whimpers came from her throat as she heard the scrape of a match when he lit the lamp. The knife left her chin and quickly cut down through the thin lawn of her nightgown. She felt the cool air on her skin as the gown was folded back exposing her naked body.
“Ahhh… you’re blond down here too.” Fingers combed through her pubic hair. Humiliated almost beyond endurance, Pauline stiffened. “Ahh… don’t be scared.” The guttural whisper came again. “Pretty.” The tip of the knife moved around to her cheek as his hand caressed her belly on its way to her breasts. He rubbed them almost roughly and rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “I like titties,” he murmured. “Yours are so pretty.” Suddenly his mouth was there sucking vigorously.
Shocked, Pauline bucked, but the hand moved down to her mound and held her down. “Be still,” He growled menacingly. Pauline froze, paralyzed. He sucked first one breast and then the other, pulling on her nipples with firm lips.
God help me! I can’t endure this!
“Spread your legs.”
Oh, please—
“Now!” The knife tip pressed against her cheek. The hand on her mound moved and a finger wiggled its way inside her.
Oh, Lord help me—
“Bend your knees and spread so I can see.”
I can’t! Help me… someone help me—
He put his hand beneath her knees, lifted them until her feet were flat on the bed, and roughly shoved them apart. He bent his head over her exposed femininity. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her quivering flesh. Dazed and terrified anew, she lay there helplessly, trapped, exhausted, gasping and trembling.
The man was breathing heavily now. His fingers spread and probed and rubbed her tender flesh. In desperation Pauline tried to close her legs.
“No!” He struck her a sharp blow on her inner thigh. “I only want to look.”
I’ll kill you! Someday, I’ll kill you!
His fingers left her, but his palm continued to hold her to the bed. He kissed her breasts, her belly, his hand going over every inch of her body.
“I didn’t hurt you. You’re the prettiest one yet. You didn’t mind me looking at you, did you?”
Yes! Yes! I minded. You… pervert—
“I’ve got to go now. I’m taking the cloth out of your mouth and untying your hands. You be good now.” He began to roll her in the quilt that was on the bed. “Lie still and count to two hundred before you try to get out. I don’t want to come back and cut those pretty titties. That’s a sweet girl. Thank you, darlin’, for leaving the window open. Thank you for a lovely time.”
Paralyzed with fear, Pauline, rolled tightly in the quilt, strained her ears for sounds of him leaving. There were none. She began to sob, forgetting to count. After a while she could bear the confinement of the quilt no longer and began to roll across the bed. When her head and her arms were free, she was afraid to open her eyes for fear he would still be there.
Pauline lay there for a long time, filled with misery and shame, her mind going in a thousand directions. So this is what the other victims of The Looker had endured. Only now could she appreciate the humiliation, the indignities they had suffered at the hands of this pervert.
Finally, convincing herself that he was gone, she stood up, then, legs atremble, sat down hard on the side of the bed. After a while she lit the lamp with shaking hands. There was no sign, no sign at all, that anyone had been in her room. The papers she had been grading had not been disturbed. Her hairpins were on the table, her skirt over the back of the rocker. Everything was just as it had been before… only she was different.
Pauline wrapped the quilt around herself and sat down in the rocking chair wondering it she would ever be able to sleep in the dark again. She began to catalog in her mind everything she could remember about the man who had made the night visit. He had smelled of cigar smoke. Most of the men in town smoked cigars. He didn’t have a mustache. Half the men in town were clean shaven. He was light on his feet—she had not heard a sound when he crossed the floor to the window. His hands had been big, or had they just felt big on her body? They were slightly rough, not a plowman’s hands, but not the hands of a man who did no work at all. He had whispered and hissed, so she would never recognize his voice. One thing was sure; he had known who she was and that she would be alone in the house tonight.
It could have been Wade Simmer. People suspected he was The Looker. Or it could just as easily been one of the men on the porch of the rooming house.
Shame set the blood pounding in her ears. She vowed that she would never, never tell anyone what had happened here tonight. If anyone knew, she would be so mortified she’d not be able to stay in town. She had to complete the school year in order to get a recommendation so that she could get another job. It was only one month until school was out for the summer. One more night until Mrs. Poole returned. She would stick it out, then she would leave this town forever.
“I’m going home today, Granny.” Jesse had come back to the Lesters’ to spend her sixth night in the hills. “Papa will be up to see you just as soon as he has time.”
“Now don’t ya be startin’ that over again, girl. I ain’t wantin’ ya to be pesterin’ your pa about me. Hear? I be spendin’ my last days right here with Mr. Lester.” Granny had filled her lower lip with powdered snuff, which was now trickling down the corner of her mouth.
“But, Granny, you might have quite a few more days to spend with him if you would do something about the goiter.”
“Ain’t God’s will to go cuttin’ stuff outta folk’s craw and that’s that.”
Jesse kissed the old woman’s wrinked cheek. “If you change your mind—”
“I won’t,” she said emphatically and spit snuff juice in the can beside her chair. “Ya done good here, girl. Your pa ort to be proud. Folks won’t forget ya.”
“There haven’t been any new cases of scarlet fever the last couple of days. I’m sure the worst is over. I’ll leave medicine at the mill store just in case. Everyone has been generous. I’m loaded down with gifts to take home.” She laughed. “Molly will be worn to a nubbin by the time she gets us home.”
Granny’s eyes twinkled merrily. “It’s downhill all the way to town.”
Jesse climbed into the buggy, picked up the reins and waved at the old couple on the porch. She was glad to be going home, although she
had enjoyed her stay in the hills and had come to know and appreciate the people. They were, for the most part, good people, hard-working. Of course, there were loathsome creatures like Otis Merfeld, but there were some like him in Harpersville too.
She had not seen Wade Simmer since that first day, but his presence had been felt. He had smoothed the way for her, providing an escort for her rounds and a designated place for her to spend the night. He had made two trips to Harpersville for medicine and instructions from her father. At first she had been puzzled that he kept his distance. Then it occurred to her that he was avoiding her. Did he think that she expected him to court her because of the kiss they had shared? When she thought of it, the blood rushed to her face. She was glad to be leaving. She didn’t want to face him. She never wanted to face him again. Even as she had the thought, she knew it wasn’t true.
Jesse paused to say good-bye to Mrs. Bailey and Homer and to thank them for their hospitality. She stopped again to say good-bye to Mrs. Frony. It was almost noon when she left the mill store after declining the invitation to stay for dinner.
The sun sprinkled the ground with gold dust. The birches that lined the road stood whitely clean. A mockingbird trilled high up in the trees and a jay scolded him from the bushes below. Jesse smelled the clean May air and felt the warm sun of the bright blue day.
Suddenly a horseman appeared out of the trees at the side of the road. Jesse drew a deep steadying breath and pulled up on the reins. Her eyes were wide and confused, her face flushed with surprise. Her mouth formed a silent O. She and Wade looked at each other for what seemed to be a long while before he spoke.
“You’re leaving.” His voice was strained.
With an effort she pulled her gaze away from him, determined that he not know how upsetting it was to see him. A thought came unbidden to her brain, undeniable in its truth. He knew that I was going home today. He wanted to see me again.
Tenderness Page 7
