“I overheard you speaking about a gift, and knowing how prissy your sister is, thought it would be perfect.” Would he ever figure these people out? Her mood changed faster than a twister in Kansas.
“Hmmph.” Phoebe strolled to the rose-colored dress with a lace collar. “It would look pretty against her skin.” She lifted the price tag. “$2.25! I could make one for a fourth the price.”
“But not as purty.” Mr. Dixon joined them. “Every girl deserves a store bought dress once in her life, and Viola’s a young woman now.”
“Fine. What do you have for Callie?”
“Go look in the cardboard box in the storeroom. I think you’ll find something she’ll like.” He winked at Jacob. “You come too.”
Phoebe’s squeal reached them before they made it through the door. She held up a mewling calico kitten. “It’s perfect. How much?”
“Free. I’ve no use for them, and the mama’s a stray that adopted me and the missus. It’ll be ready to go right around Callie’s special day. Pick out a peppermint stick for each of the young’uns before you go. On the house because of your big purchase today.”
“You’ve made my day, Mr. Dixon. And I’ll take the Tarzan book.”
Caught up in the excited look on Phoebe’s face, Jacob dug a dollar out of his pocket. “I’ll take the Gatesby, and a pound of coffee. Phoebe can borrow the book anytime she wants. We’ll trade back and forth.”
Her eyes hardened for a second before she nodded. The girl’s prickly attitude would put a porcupine to shame. Would he ever be able to carry on a conversation with her without saying something wrong?
“Great. Let me help you load this stuff.” Jacob hoisted a sack on his shoulder. “Dixon, you got any idea how many students I might have?”
“Anywhere from twenty to thirty if they all show. Most of them won’t be regular, especially when snow hits. Once that happens only the ones with shoes will make it to school.”
Jacob paused half-way through the door. “Has anyone contacted churches in the city to donate shoes?”
“We don’t take charity, Mr. Wright.” Phoebe bumped his shoulder on her way past.
Jacob shook his head. He guessed the mister in front of his last name signified he once again rubbed the woman the wrong way. He met her by the wagon. “What did I say this time?”
She lifted her chin. “A number of things. First, you buy the book thinking I can’t afford it. Well, I can. I chose not to. Second, you suggest a womanly dress for my sister. You, a stranger. Third, you expect us hill folk to accept charity. We’d rather get frost bite.”
“And you will with that attitude.” Jacob’s face heated. “In my defense, Phoebe, I didn’t take into account whether you could afford the book or not. I love it when I meet someone else who enjoys reading as much as I do. Secondly, I had no ulterior motive for suggesting the dress for Viola.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“I just assumed it would be something she’d like. And, thirdly, I know you don’t accept charity. I’ve ridden the rails up and down this country, and you have got to be one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met!”
“We are what we are, Mr. Wright.”
“Don’t Mister Wright, me.” He tossed the sack into the wagon bed.
Phoebe glanced at his feet. “Maybe you ought to get charity to get you your own new pair of shoes.” With a swish of her dress, she climbed up to the buckboard.
Jacob opened his mouth, then closed it. He’d show the little hellion. “No need, Miss Lillie.” Whirling, he marched back into the store and spent another precious two dollars on a pair of ankle boots Dixon had displayed in the window. He’d be eating nothing but beans for the next week, but he’d show Miss Lillie a thing or two.
New shoes tied together and slung over his shoulder, Jacob stomped his way back to the wagon and climbed aboard. He’d regret his impulsiveness by morning, but he’d still have a new pair of shoes.
“You’re as bad as what you say we are.” Phoebe laughed and urged the horse forward. “Guess you can’t teach school wearing clothes as tattered as your students, can you?”
“Guess not.” He crossed his arms and stared into the trees bordering the road. What was it about this woman that messed with his mind? She gripped his thoughts and actions in a tiny, calloused fist. One smile from her rosy lips could erase an angry thought, or make him stutter like a fool. And because of one smart remark, and the desire to give her a gift in a round-about-way, he held two dollars less in his pocket.
He groaned inwardly and withdrew the book from his shirt. “Here. You know why I bought it. Might as well take it now. Just let me read it when I’m ready.”
“Thank you.” She laughed again, the sound tinkling like a brook over stones. “We’ll consider it rent for the mule.”
Again, she left him speechless.
When they pulled into her yard, Jacob leaped from the wagon, wanting nothing more than to get home and away from her contradicting ways. Pretty face or not, she was a thorn in his side.
“JJ!” Phoebe hopped down. “Get the mule for Jacob.”
Oh, so they were back to first names. Jacob shook his head. “What’s its name?”
“We’ve never called it anything but Mule. He’s almost as stubborn as you.”
“That’s calling the kettle black.” Jacob took the harness to a red-toned animal slightly smaller than a horse, then leaped onto its back. With one hand, he gripped the reins, the other his purchases.
Phoebe waved from the porch, smiling and looking prettier than a sunset. Jacob dug his heels into the mule’s sides. Coming to Pine Ridge had landed him over his neck in whiskey and women. He was doomed.
6
Jacob stoked the fire in the woodstove of the schoolhouse then took a pail to fill with well water. A yawn stretched his cheeks and popped his jaws. Thoughts of Phoebe’s sassiness, and the way she’d tricked him in regards to the book, kept him up thinking about her the night before. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to lie down with her and wake each morning with those sapphire eyes shining with love for him.
A glance at his pocket watch showed school would start in fifteen minutes. He peered down the road. Where were his students?
Back inside, he set the water on a stool and stood back to survey the room. His name scrawled across the blackboard. The pile of slates sat within easy reach and warmth from the stove cut the morning’s chill. His new shoes pinched his feet but couldn’t dispel the sense of joy flooding through him. The sound of voices outside magnified the emotion, and Jacob turned to welcome the children.
A scowling JJ led the way for Callie, Noel, and Peter. Jacob smiled wider. Obviously the boy wasn’t excited about schooling at his age. Way to go, Phoebe.
“What happened to your face?” JJ squeezed past him.
Jacob put a hand to his cheek. The bruises should’ve faded by now. He’d glanced in the mirror. Just a trace of yellow below his eye.
Laughing, a mixed group of boys and girls pushed and shoved their way to the school house. Jacob counted twenty-five students from the ages of six to the mid-teen years. He took a deep breath and rang the cowbell hanging beside the door.
“Morn’in, teacher,” was tossed his way as the students filed past and hung coats and lunch pails on nails pounded into the wall. They chose seats by age, youngest in front, oldest in back.
Someone had taught them well. He strode to the front of the room and turned to face the class. “Good morning. My name is Jacob Wright. I expect to be addressed as Mr. Wright.” He winked at the Lillie children. “And I am looking forward to a great school year.”
The day passed in a flurry of getting acquainted and finding where the children were in regards to their studies. Overall, their amount of schooling amazed and pleased Jacob. He stopped JJ at the end of the day. “Who taught before me?”
JJ lowered his head. “My ma, afore she died did some, and Phoebe a while after that. Before them, we had a man, but he got killed by a
feller who made mule whiskey.” He raised his eyes. “Best you take care, Mr. Wright. I know Phoebe’s got you wanting to help her find out what happened to Pa, but some folks in these hills don’t take to strangers at all. Not even if they are trying to help by giving their children an education.”
“Thanks for the information.” Jacob swallowed past the lump in his throat. What in the world was mule whiskey?
The boy stepped off the stoop and turned. “By the way, the circuit preacher is in town, and there’ll be a cake bid after church.” He grinned. “You might want to bid on Phoebe’s. She’ll have the carrot cake.”
Jacob laughed. “Thanks for the tip.”
“Oh, and Grandma said to make sure you come next week for Thanksgiving. She wants me to offer before anyone else. I’ll be going out to get a turkey this weekend.” His smile faded. “There ain’t no school that week is there?”
“No, we’ll have a break. Tell your grandma I’d be happy to come.”
“Friday is Viola’s birthday. You ought to come to that, too.”
Jacob didn’t want to encourage the girl. “I’ll think on it.”
Once the students left, Jacob sat behind his desk and gazed over the empty room. A successful day. He gave the glory to God, and prayed the majority of the students would be consistent in coming. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe they’d come during planting or harvesting. That left only a few months to crowd in as much teaching as possible.
He planted his hands flat on the desk and pushed to his feet. Tomorrow was another day. He’d make school as exciting as possible to encourage the children to return. He smiled. A Christmas program would be just the thing to get the kids and their families involved.
*
Phoebe sat beside the trundle sewing machine converting one of Callie’s old dresses into something the fast growing Maggie could wear. She’d been delighted to find a catalog stuffed in among her purchases and ordered both little boys new overalls. They could wear the ones she ordered to school and save the old ones for play and work.
Beside the fireplace, Grandma’s knitting needles clacked, providing background music to the whir of the machine. The socks she made would keep their feet warm during the winter months. Canned goods lined the shelves in the pantry, meat hung in the smokehouse, and potatoes nestled in the dirt and straw below the house. If not for the uncertainty of her pa’s fate, Phoebe would count herself a lucky girl.
“What do you think about that teacher fellow?” Grandma’s question caused Phoebe to press hard on the trundle, sending the fabric off to the side.
She sighed and prepared to rip out the stitches. “What?”
“Jacob Wright. What do you think about him?”
“Don’t think about him much. He’s nice enough. The kids like him.” Phoebe bit the thread.
“Purty, ain’t he?”
Phoebe spun on her stool. “What are you trying to get at, Grandma?”
“There’s two girls of marrying age beneath this roof. I aim to snag him for one of them.”
“Don’t we have a say in the matter?” Jacob’s curls and emerald eyes shone before her eyes. Although she didn’t believe she had time for a husband and family, not with the load of responsibilities she carried, Phoebe knew she wouldn’t be able to handle Viola winning the man’s heart.
“Don’t need to. Young people don’t have a lot of sense anyway.” Grandma cackled. “I’m going to help Viola bake a cake for Sunday. Maybe pretty boy will bid on hers. She’s turning seventeen. Plenty old enough to keep time with a fellow.”
Phoebe raised her eyebrows. Unfortunately, Viola’d been “keeping” time with fellows since she was fourteen. What would Grandma and Pa think if they knew of Viola’s flirtatious ways? Pa’d probably whip the skin right off her legs. Phoebe turned back to her job. Nope, she didn’t want her loosy-goosey of a sister winning over Jacob Wright.
When the setting sun made sewing difficult, Phoebe rose and headed outside to bring in some meat for a stew. She reached into the smokehouse and grabbed some pork fat, then latched the door closed against the animals.
Something rustled in the brush. Phoebe whirled and clutched the meat to her chest. “Who’s there?”
“It’s the widow Williams.” A thin woman in a faded and patched dress stepped from the bushes. “I was hoping to see your pa.”
“I haven’t seen him in a week.”
The woman sagged against a tree. “He went hunting then stopped by my place to drop off one of the two rabbits he’d killed. Then said he had to be getting home to you young’uns. It pains me to know he didn’t make it.”
“What do you know?” Phoebe gripped her arm.
“I saw Ben’s face in my mirror this morning.” Tears ran down her face. “You know what that means. Something bad must’ve happened. You come by my place tomorrow. I’ll show you what I know.”
“What’s your name?” Although Phoebe worked hard at tossing the old superstitions aside, the widow’s speaking of foreboding sent a shiver down Phoebe’s spine.
“Nancy.” She melted into the shadows. “You come see me.”
The evening chill alerted Phoebe to the fact she stood without a sweater in the deepening dusk. After last night’s hail of rocks, she didn’t want to be outside after dark. With another glance around her, she dashed for the house and burst inside. The faces of her family stared at her.
“Uh, I heard something.”
“Haunts, I reckon.” Grandma pushed to her feet. “No moon tonight. There’s bound to be a few wandering around. Dead things can’t hurt you. It’s the living you got to worry about.”
Ghosts. Phoebe shook her head. Of course, Nancy Williams had resembled a specter with her pale skin and flyaway hair. Was her pa courting the widow? Didn’t she have a load of children herself? Phoebe shrugged. If he married again, her load would be lightened, and she could find out God’s plan for her life. There had to be more than mothering her siblings. The thought made her more determined to find out what happened to her pa.
She’d assign more chores to lazy Viola, thus giving herself time to search the mountain more thoroughly. Phoebe glared at her sister. If it became a competition between the two of them for the attention of Jacob Wright, would the man want a decorative woman, or someone useful? She shook her head. There wasn’t time for fanciful dreaming.
“JJ, can you step outside for a minute?” Phoebe motioned toward the door then stepped onto the porch. When her brother joined her, she moved to the small square of light spilling from the window. “The Widow Williams spoke to me. She was hiding in the bushes when I went to the smokehouse.”
“So? Pa’s been keeping company with her for a few months now.”
“Why didn’t I know?”
“You’re always too busy. You never have any fun since Ma died.” JJ hooked his thumbs in the straps of his overalls. “Did she say where Pa is?”
Phoebe shook her head. “Doesn’t know. Thought he’d come home. She wants me to go up to her place tomorrow. Said she’s got something important to show me.”
So do I. I got tired of waiting for Pa to come home so I busted the lock on his shed with a rock.” JJ took Phoebe’s arm. “Come see what I found. You ain’t gonna like it.”
Her heart leaped into her throat, and her hands chilled as she followed her brother behind the house. Her pa’s shed sat back against the tree line making Phoebe wish she’d brought a lantern. “It’s too dark to see anything.”
JJ lit a candle he picked up from the ground. “I stuck this here earlier today.” He lit the stub with a match from his pocket then held it high as he swung the door open.
Phoebe peered inside and gasped. Sacks of sugar lined the walls and were piled as high as the roof. Glass jars of clear liquid lined a shelf over her head. A sawed off shotgun lay on top of one of the sugar stacks. She hadn’t known her father possessed a hog leg, much less kept it in a shed.
Tears welled in her eyes. In front of her was all the proof she needed that her
father was involved in moonshine. If he didn’t make it, he supplied or sold it. All the times he told her he never touched the stuff had been lies. She slammed the door shut.
“What do we do with all this? We can’t let anyone know.” If Jacob found out, he’d want nothing more to do with them.
“I’m taking the hog’s leg. If whiskey runners got Pa, they might be coming here next. Especially if they find out we have a fortune in sugar stashed on our property. Not to mention jars of the stuff.”
Phoebe sagged against the side of the building. “There’s more here than we’re seeing. Most of the people on this mountain keep a jar or two for medicinal purposes. Nothing seems wrong with that. That sheriff from Compton shows up here once a month, nosing around. He’s even taken a sip with Pa. You don’t think Pa has a still stashed away somewhere, do you? Or that the Sheriff’s playing both sides of the fence?”
“I don’t see how Pa’d have the time. Not with the hours he spends in the fields. I can’t speak for the Sheriff.” JJ shook his head. “No, Pa’s either holding this for someone else, or he stole it.”
Phoebe’s blood ran cold. “Stole it?” Not her pa. The man who’d held her as a baby. The God-fearing person who shunned wrong and embraced right. He’d taken very seriously the scripture stating to raise up a child in the way they should go. “I don’t believe it. Something else is happening here.”
JJ raised an eyebrow. “The evidence speaks for itself.”
“You’re reading it wrong.” Phoebe chewed the inside of her cheek. Pa wouldn’t steal or make moonshine. Not if he could help it.
Unless it meant life or death for someone.
7
A rooster crowed. Phoebe glanced at the window. Barely daybreak. She lay in the bed beside her sister and stared through the dawn toward the ceiling. Thoughts of her father mixed up in moonshining chilled her blood. Even on the mountain, they’d heard of prohibition. She’d read stories in the out-dated newspapers of gunfights and people dying over an imagined wrong. She’d witnessed her share of deaths over something as simple as trespassing. Most of the people she knew had stills to make their own drink, none of the scale of what she now suspected was happening in Pine Ridge. Should she send for the sheriff?
Woman of Courage (Four Full length Historical Christian Romances in One Volume): Woman of Courage Series Page 74
