One thing she was certain about was that Johnny had been uncertain.
Etta did not appreciate this. She was uncertain enough, without Johnny adding to it. She supposed it was old-fashioned thinking, and maybe a little irrational, but she believed women were naturally uncertain . . . Uncertainty was a product of their changing emotions, and also a woman’s open-mindedness. She expected men, however, to be certain. Especially if they were going to start bringing up marriage.
It was all a terrible muddle, and the thoughts went round and round in her head as she washed her hair and brushed it shining and sprayed on perfume. She tried to put on a summery dress, but it would not fit over her motherly breasts or thicker waist. At last, promising herself a shopping trip for new clothes, she settled for a cotton gown and her silk robe and a blue ribbon to hold her hair.
For the next hours, she kept looking out the window for Johnny’s return. She hoped he would return sober because she did not think she could handle him drinking. Every bit of hope she was having about them might just be killed outright, should he come in drinking.
It occurred to her that he might not return at all.
* * * *
Johnny returned at quarter past ten. Etta had just sat down in the rocker in the kitchen and was putting Lattie Kate to her breast. She heard Johnny’s truck pull in, imagined it over by the barn. Listened to the engine shut off, closed her eyes, and sighed. He had come back.
Then she immediately wondered if he had returned drunk or sober. She thought to look but kept herself in the chair, rocking harder.
The next instant, when she heard his boots on the porch, she turned her head and saw his shadowy form at the screen door. He rapped lightly, and she said, “Come in,” and quickly threw a diaper over her shoulder, covering her breast and Lattie Kate’s head.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, backing out the door when he saw what she was doing. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s all right . . . come on in. Latrice’s takin’ a hot bath, but she made coffee about an hour ago, if you want some.” She spoke quickly, trying to cover any nervousness, while her heart beat rapidly with the thought: Don’t go!
If he left, she would just have to chase him down. She had things to say. She intended to get some things clear.
His eyes, shadowed by his hat, met hers, then skittered away. Lifting his hat, he tossed it atop the refrigerator, then sauntered over to the counter. He walked straight, although there was the scent of the roadhouse about him, cigarettes and whiskey and a hint of pool playing.
Lattie Kate began to fuss because Etta's tension had allowed only a trickle of milk to flow.
Johnny, pouring a cup of coffee, asked if Etta wanted any, and she said no. “It’s not so good for Lattie Kate.”
He leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee, gazing down at the floor, as if he dared not look at her. Etta was noticing the way his jeans stretched over his thighs, when her milk suddenly let down. She felt the languid heat flush her body, Lattie Kate’s tugging on her breast, and the tugging deep in her womb. And she felt Johnny’s gaze.
She lifted her head to look at him.
He looked at her for a long minute, then he moved to sit at the table and began to tell her about racetracks he’d heard of in the northwest part of the state.
“They got racin’ every weekend at some of those places,” he said, “and they get pretty good money goin’ once in a while. Some of those ol’ boys bring their horses to try out before goin’ on over to New Mexico and Arkansas. We might could take the son-of-a-buck up there and make us a bit of money and run his worth up. Wouldn’t take but a time or two. Woody couldn’t go up there, though, so we’ll need to find someone to ride for us.’’
There, surrounded by the glow of the warm kitchen light, Etta listened to him tell her all about it and rocked softly and felt her daughter tugging on her breast and stirrings deep inside, and thought how she was no longer pregnant and Johnny had asked her to marry him. Again and again, she felt and saw Johnny’s gaze upon her, and again and again, she looked at him, at his dark hair shining in the kitchen light and his sweat-dampened shirt over his thick shoulders and his rough, thick fingers holding his coffee cup.
Latrice came out of the bathroom, looked into the kitchen and said hello to Johnny, met Etta’s gaze, and then closed her bedroom door, leaving them alone again. The refrigerator made a noise, and Lattie Kate sighed a snuffly sigh as she slipped into sleep.
Etta said, “Let me put Lattie Kate in her bassinet, and we can step out on the porch.”
“Okay,” Johnny said, somewhat startled. His gaze hit on her breast, and he caught a glimpse of creamy flesh as she took the baby from her breast.
He rose as she did, and he watched her lay the baby into the basket that sat on the table, watched the opening of her robe hang, revealing the white skin of her neck and swell of the tops of her breasts. Etta straightened and tightened her robe, and Johnny leaned over to gaze at the baby.
He always found himself drawn to doing this. He was nervous about touching the baby, but he was drawn like a magnet to look at her. She looked then as she always did, like an angel sleeping.
Then Etta was at the screen door and looking back at him in an expectant manner.
He followed her out, feeling nervous about the situation.
Feeling much as a schoolboy being brought to account for his foolishness.
Johnny had spoken rashly a little earlier, which now meant some serious talking, of a sort he did not feel at all comfortable with, but which he felt he’d come to have because he just could not stay away from Etta—or from looking at her hips. He really should stop that, he thought, as he pulled the kitchen door closed behind him.
Etta stopped at the edge of the porch and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. The glow through the door window and from a nearly full moon lit all around them. The flowers in Etta’s robe appeared purple, her face and hair somewhere between bronze and gold.
She looked at him, and he looked back.
He was not about to begin when he wasn’t certain where this was headed. Letting her lead seemed the wisest choice. It had been Johnny’s experience that women liked to lead.
She said, “This evenin’, earlier, when you said we could build together—were you askin’ me to marry you?”
One of the things Johnny liked about Etta was that she could, when she wanted, get to the heart of a matter, although at this moment, he didn’t care for the way she pinned him down.
He nodded. “I guess it’s a pretty wild idea,” he admitted, feeling foolish.
He shifted his stance and propped against the porch post. He did not think she would appreciate the entire truth, which was that his recent successes with the gelding and Etta’s eyes looking at him like they had that evening, when she sat beside him on the porch, had caused him to get carried away with something he wasn’t at all certain could, or even should, happen. Sometimes a man could think crazy thoughts, but usually, if he kept them to himself, they were harmless.
She stood there now, with an expression that demanded more of an explanation.
“It seemed sort of practical. There is something between us,” he said, firmly, because he knew this was truth.
“Yes, there is.”
Her voice was husky and breathless and her eyes were on him, and it all made his palms sweat. She looked away, folded her arms and rubbed her elbows, causing her breasts to push out full.
She said, “You didn’t seem all that certain.”
Johnny shifted his stance. “Maybe I wasn’t. I guess I was wonderin’ what you might think of the idea. Let’s just drop it, okay?”
“You were the one who brought it up,” she said. He sensed he’d insulted her, and he was getting aggravated with her and himself. He stood there trying to get past his fears to find the words to set things straight.
Then she said, “I don’t think it’s a wild idea. I think it’s quite practical, too.” Her eyes s
earched him. “I . . . would you still want to marry me, if we stayed here?” Her voice was earnest, her eyes wide.
“I think I’d need a place we can build together,” Johnny said after a second. “Here, I think I’d always be lookin’ around and knowin’ I came and took somethin’ you already had.”
“But you wouldn’t be. I wouldn’t even have this today, not like it is, without you.”
He shook his head. “I just don’t think we can make it like this. I’ll always be lookin’ over my shoulder at the shadow of Roy Rivers.”
“Only in your mind,” she said, her voice a little sharper than he thought necessary.
“Maybe that’s so, but I guess that doesn’t change how I feel. This is your place, and it always will be. When I get ready to settle down, I want a place I can call my own, and not something I married to get.”
Etta fixed him with an annoyed eye. “If I left here, I’d be goin’ to your place. It’d be a place I got by way of you. Now, tell me why it should be different for me and not for you?”
The only answer Johnny had for that was that he was a man. Since he was fairly certain an answer of this sort would not do, he kept silent. He didn’t see any need in continuing what was turning into an argument.
“This place is here, and it’s a really good place. A house and a barn and corrals . . . twenty acres of alfalfa already planted and growin’. Obie’s cottage down there across the creek. It’s here and all we’d have to do is work it, build it up. You could do that and make it your own, the same as any other place.”
She fell silent, her eyes on him.
“What you say is true,” he said, “but this was still Roy Rivers’s place. It will always be the Rivers farm, Etta.”
“It is mine, too. I think it is more mine because I have stood by it.” She paused, then added quietly, “I can’t just up and leave this place and run off with you. I just can’t.”
She half-turned from him. He thought to reach out for her, felt he wanted to do something to draw her to him, yet he couldn’t seem to move.
Then she rounded on him, saying, “But what I can say is that I don’t want you to leave, Johnny. I really don’t. And I guess maybe you didn’t really mean to ask me to marry you or want to hear all that, but that’s how I feel.”
He heard tears in her voice as she offered him all she could. What she said made him feel foolish and angry and desperate all at the same time.
“Damn, Etta . . . you ask a lot from a man.”
Then he stepped over, slipped his hand to the back of her neck, hauled her against him, and kissed her, hard and thorough. Kissed her until she was weak against him and moaning softly and pressing her lips and pelvis hungrily against his. When he couldn’t breathe, he came up for air and buried his face in her hair, then went back greedily for more at her lips. Finally, out of breath and almost out of his mind, he lifted his head and saw triumphantly that her eyes were glazed.
He said with a ragged, angry voice, “I’ll tell you the truth, you are the first woman who has ever made me think of settlin’ down, and I’m not certain I can even do it for you. I guess we’re just gonna have to let this dark horse run, and see how it goes.”
Then, quickly shoving her from him because he could part no other way, he walked down the steps and away across the yard as fast as his bad knee would allow, quite fully satisfied that he had left her wanting more.
When he got to the barn, he realized he’d left himself wanting more in a way that he himself could not satisfy. He ended up going out back of the barn, stripping naked in the moonlight and spraying himself with cold water from the hose, dancing around from the shock of it, all the while telling himself that Etta was a woman who had recently given birth and didn’t need to be messing with a man anyway.
* * * *
Etta stood in her bedroom looking out the window. She saw Johnny’s pickup drive off. He didn’t head for the highway, though, but turned down the track to Obie’s cottage. She breathed a little easier, seeing that.
She went to the bassinet and checked Lattie Kate, tucked the cotton blanket that didn’t need tucking, stood gazing down at her tiny jewel of a daughter.
Was it all for Lattie Kate? she thought. Is that why she would not leave?
She brought her hand up, making a fist and pressing it at her midriff, thinking without words that there was so much more to why she clung to this place. It had to do with what she had given up to be here, with all that she had lost and with all she was finding again.
She had given up a lot for Roy Rivers. She had given up herself, and she could not allow herself to get that lost in a man ever again.
* * *
Chapter 20
The following day, Johnny came to breakfast, tagging in behind Obie Lee. The two were discussing the condition of the water pump, and Johnny barely paused when Etta put a stack of pancakes in front of him.
His eyes met hers, and then he was reaching for the syrup and going on talking, changing the subject to the various rodeos and races to be held during the coming Fourth of July holiday, about the good chances of Harry Flagg’s horses and the poor ones of Jed Stuart’s. He certainly gave no sign of the intimate conversation he had held with her the previous evening.
Etta had come to the conclusion sometime in the hours since that Johnny had made a rash proposal when he had proposed marriage, and that he regretted it. He obviously wanted to back up and go on as if he had never spoken. The idea depressed Etta, and she did little more than push the food around on her plate.
Since she was already depressed, after breakfast Etta decided to tackle the mail that had stacked up during the days since Lattie Kate’s birth. Bills mostly, although there were a few nice cards of congratulations on Lattie Kate’s birth from people Etta saw on rare occasions. She read them with small slices of wonder and joy.
There were many more people who wished her well than she had imagined—there were congratulations cards on Lattie Kate’s birth from Caroline Fudge and Mary Ellen, and Noreen Overman. Betsy Thibodeaux sent a lovely card and a clipping from the headlines the day of Lattie Kate’s birth, and Maveen, Latrice’s cousin, sent Lattie Kate’s horoscope.
Then Etta came across a letter from Corinne Salyer. There was no return address, but the handwriting was that of a woman, and Etta opened it, looked at the signature at the bottom of the page, and saw Corinne’s name. She jumped up and hurried to the kitchen, where Latrice was mixing headache powders.
“Did you know I had a letter from Corinne? When did it come?”
“Last week, I believe, ‘long with the rest.”
“You should have given it to me,” Etta said, now scanning the letter.
“You were busy learnin’ to be a mother last week. What does it say?”
“Well . . . she says she’s leavin’ town, like Alice told us. She’s gonna stay with her mother for a while in Wichita Falls and then maybe go to Dallas.” Etta read aloud: “'I hope it will be better for both of us if I go. And here’s a parting gift—I heard the other day that you have cattle you can’t sell without a loss. You should see Bill Flowers. Back last winter, he contracted to buy cattle from Roy.'” She signed her name with a flourish.
Etta cast Latrice a puzzled look. “Contracted to buy cattle from Roy? What does that mean?”
Latrice frowned. “I think that means this Flowers person was supposed to buy the cattle at a set price. But I really don’t know.”
“I’d better ask Johnny,” Etta said and went flying out the door, looking for Johnny or Obie, certain either could tell her.
Both men were out behind the barn, where Obie was preparing the old tractor to cut the alfalfa, and Johnny was standing nearby holding tools in the same inept manner he would have held surgical instruments.
Etta showed Johnny the letter and hovered at his elbow, watching his face as he read it.
“Well, now . . ." His eyes came up to hers, and a small smile spread over his face. “You may have just made a bit of money, Miz
Etta.”
“How . . . what does it mean?”
Passing the letter to Obie, he carefully explained to her, “Bill Flowers is a broker, buys and sells cattle hereabouts. He likely contracted with your husband to buy the cattle at a set price on a set day. And likely he hasn’t stepped forward, ‘cause he stands to lose a bit of money, prices bein’ what they are."
“He ain’t stepped forward ‘cause he’s a crooked son-of-a-gun,” Obie said. “Miz Etta, you might best go see if you can find a copy of that contract in Mr. Roy’s papers.”
She looked from Obie to Johnny, then whipped around and went flying back to the house, through the kitchen, and on to the den, with Latrice coming in her wake. Immediately, tossing things topsy-turvy, they searched the single file and desk drawers.
“There’s a lot here to be thrown away,” Latrice said, coming upon receipts dating from ten years before.
“I found it!" Etta exclaimed, actually before she was totally certain it was the contract she was looking for. She checked the date and saw the name of Bill Flowers. She waved the paper at Latrice and ran to holler out the back door at Johnny, who was just then coming across the yard. "I found it! Let’s go."
Twenty minutes later she was getting into Johnny’s truck, with Latrice saying, “You have about two hours, and you’d better get back here to this baby.”
“Take care of my angel,” Etta said, blowing a kiss to the baby. She smoothed her dress—the one Heloise had given her, and she really was going to have to get another one—and waved at Latrice and Obie standing side by side on the porch.
Her gaze lingered there with them and her baby in Latrice’s arms, experiencing a surge of hope in her life. Then she faced forward, clutching the contract in her hands. I can do this, she thought. Then: And Johnny is here to help me.
If Wishes Were Horses Page 28
