Corduroy Road To Love

by Coleman, Lynn A.

  Olin stretched his neck from side to side to release the tension that had filled him when Percy surprised him from behind. There never had been any love lost between him and his cousin. Each meeting tended to end in fisticuffs. Olin redirected his gaze to his father. It was good to see him. He had aged some in the last seven years but still retained his rugged stance and the square set to his shoulders.

  “Aye, but we’ve not seen ye for pretty near a year. Is your mother all right?”

  “She’s fine.” Percy turned toward Olin. “I heard Bobby was back in town and thought I’d pay him a visit.”

  “Well, that be mighty nice of ye. Your aunt has put on quite a spread. Would ye care to stay for dinner?”

  Olin dried his hands on the towel kept by the pump.

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Give me grace, Lord. Olin placed the towel back over the pump handle. He thought about telling his cousin he went by his given name now, but what would be the use? To Percy and the rest of the clan he would always be Bobby.

  “What are ye doin’ these days?”

  Percy narrowed his gaze and focused directly at Olin. “Been making an honest living.”

  Olin walked toward his father, directly past Percy. In the old days Olin would have taken Percy’s words as a challenge. But today—and hopefully the rest of his days—he would continue to let negative comments pass.

  “Doing what?” he asked Percy.

  “Farmin’. Your mother says you’re a tin man. Ain’t got much use for them down in these parts. Them Yankees are cheats.”

  Olin had heard about the Yankee merchants who had come to the South, charging three to four times more for items than they were worth and hurting the poor area farmers. “I am a tinsmith. Came here to set up shop so folks can buy from a local.”

  “And I’m mighty pleased. Good to have ye home, son.” His father enveloped him in a big bear hug.

  “Good to be home, Pa.”

  Olin thought he heard Percy snicker behind him but didn’t let that bother him, either. Nope. A lot of things in the past that would have given him cause to get angry just didn’t seem important now.

  “How was the trip? In your letters ye said you’d be home a week ago.”

  “The roads were in horrific shape. A lot of spring flooding. I had to spend quite a few hours repairing the stretches of corduroy roads. My wagon,” Olin said as he pointed to an overburdened cart, “wouldn’t make it without me fixing ’em.”

  His father whistled. “What’s in there?”

  “All my tools, plus a few things I brought from Pennsylvania to set up my living quarters.”

  “Your mother will persuade ye out of that.”

  “She’ll try.”

  “Why would you want to live in town?” Percy looked down-right confused.

  “Been living on my own for a while now. If I live at the shop, I can work late hours if I have an order that needs fixing as soon as possible.”

  “Ain’t no one in a rush around here.” Percy stepped up to the two of them.

  Olin suspected that Percy still lived at home and enjoyed having his mother do his laundry, clean his room, and make his meals every day. Personally, Olin liked being on his own and felt Percy—at twenty-five years of age—ought to. Then again, folks tended to live at home until they married, and even then they’d sometimes live in their parents’ house until they could build their own home on the family property. Percy’s father was one who kept a tight rein on his money and land, so it was quite possible his father wouldn’t give him a piece of land to build on.

  Olin’s older brothers, John and Kyle, came in from the fields and joined them with warm welcomes and genuine love. Percy seemed to be the only curious feature in the small family gathering. Olin’s sisters were married and living with their husbands. Janet lived in the area and had several children, including a set of twins. Olin’s heart tightened. He hadn’t even come home for his sisters’ weddings.

  They went into the house and sat down at the fancy, dressed table. Mother had even pulled out her Sunday china. He felt like the prodigal son home from his years of squandering. But he hadn’t been squandering his inheritance; he’d been working hard at his trade and at controlling his anger. His mentor, William Farley, had been more than a mentor of tinsmithing. He’d helped Olin heal his heart and develop his relationship with his Savior.

  Percy leaned over to Kyle and whispered, “Wanna run him out of town?”

  ❧

  Ida Mae glanced at Cyrus, then back to Rosey. There is more going on here than Rosey just giving Cyrus a hand. Why would he ask to marry me if he was interested in Rosey? And why do I not feel offended that he might marry her? Ida Mae knew she didn’t love Cyrus but. . .why wasn’t she more upset?

  “Cyrus, is the house habitable?”

  “Yes, it’s all set.”

  “Good, I’ll be moving back in tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Cyrus and Rosey said in unison.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “No, it’s just I’ve been talkin’ to Rosey about renting the house and farming the place for you. I was meanin’ to speak with you about it next week.”

  Rosey put her hands on her hips. “Cyrus, you said. . .”

  Cyrus’s cheeks flamed scarlet red. “Rosey, honey, I meant to speak with her. I just got busy, is all.”

  Ida Mae sighed. She didn’t want to get in the middle of a lovers’ spat. And at the moment she wasn’t too pleased with herself for even considering the possibility of marrying Cyrus. “Let’s go inside; I want to see the work you’ve done.”

  After a fifteen-minute tour of the house, they sat down at the kitchen table Cyrus must have built. There were only three chairs, but that worked fine.

  “See, Ida Mae, I was planning on asking you if I could live in the house and do the farming on the land. I’ll show a profit to you every year. Unless, of course, the good Lord brings about bad weather and insects.”

  Every farmer knew they were dependent on the weather, rainfall, and no swarming locusts to have a good crop.

  “I’ll even pay ya something to rent the house, if’n ya feel it’s necessary. But if Rosey and I are going to be able to save for our own farm, it will take longer.”

  Rosey smacked Cyrus on the arm. “Tell her all of it.”

  “Me and Rosey got married this morning. Family don’t know yet. We’re planning on keepin’ it a secret for a spell.”

  Ida Mae rubbed the back of her neck. “You’re married?”

  “Yup, got the paper right here.”

  “Pa will explode,” Rosey interrupted, “since Cyrus don’t own his own land and home yet.”

  All the pieces came together—why the secret, why the desire to rent her property. And it solved the uncomfortable problem she had with returning to her home where her parents had died. She hadn’t expected much from the land this year, what with her brothers being unable to help and their parents’ estate unfinished, not to mention the house needing to be rebuilt. But now. . .

  “I’ll have my father’s attorney draw up a lease agreement for one year. I’ll pay you a percentage of the profit from the harvest, if there is a profit. I won’t charge for the house, but I’ll expect you to finish the barn and do upkeep on the house. How’s that?”

  Cyrus’s smile barely curved his lips. “Sounds right nice, thank you.”

  “Come to town tomorrow eve and I’ll have the paperwork ready to sign.”

  His Adam’s apple bouncing up and down in his throat, Cyrus swallowed hard. Rosey beamed.

  “I best be going, seeing as it’s your wedding night and all.” Ida Mae pushed her chair from under the table and got up to leave. Minnie would not be happy with her staying in town.

  “Cyrus, can I speak with you for a moment outside?”

  “Be my pleasure, Ida Mae.”

  Her backbone twitched just hearing his words. Memories of his latest proposal—a mere month ago—flooded back into her mind, leaving her f
eeling rankled. The walk out to her horse helped soothe her nerves. “You’ve been planning this for a while, and you didn’t speak with me.”

  “I’m sorry, Ida Mae, I meant to. I’ve been so busy getting the house ready, plowing the fields, and courtin’ Rosey, I just ran out of time.”

  “It’s not sound business, Cyrus.” Not to mention, the last time we spoke you proposed marriage to me. I hope Rosey knows what she’s getting into.

  “You’re right. You always did have a good eye for business. Take a look at the fields I’ve been plowing and planting.”

  Scanning the fields, Ida Mae saw little done. Father would have had it all plowed and planted by now, she thought wistfully. “Are you planning on planting all the fields?”

  “No, I felt most of the land would prosper better with a year of rest. I’m going to bring the cows and horses out in the idle fields over the summer and allow them to do their job.”

  Resting the land was not an uncommon practice, and since she hadn’t given him any orders, or even spoken with him about the farm, it seemed a reasonable plan. Something she realized she should have considered much sooner. But farming had been far from her mind, and living on the farm once the house was rebuilt, even farther. “That will be fine, Cyrus. I’ll expect to see you tomorrow eve.”

  “Thank you, Ida Mae. And again, I’m sorry for not speakin’ with ya sooner.”

  “I understand.” Ida Mae climbed onto her horse and sat in the saddle sideways, already regretting having made such a hasty decision.

  She waved him off and headed back toward town. It would be dark before she returned and she hadn’t brought a lantern with her. Lord, there’s a part of me that isn’t excited about renting the house and having Cyrus farm the land for me, but honestly, I can’t do it. I wasn’t planning on becoming a landlord. Give me grace and the knowledge to handle all this.

  Her mind wove back to her other tenant, the murderer, if Minnie was correct. Truth was, she trusted him more than she trusted Cyrus. Dear God, please give me wisdom.

  ❧

  Olin sat back in his chair. Percy left just before it was time to clear the table and do evening chores. The ring of Mother’s finest silver on the china reminded him of many meals he’d eaten with his family over the years, so unlike the past seven years.

  “It’s good to have ye home, son. And don’t ye worry none about Percy. Folks just need to gossip every now and again. Once you’ve been living here for a while, things will get better. Won’t they, Kyle?”

  Kyle forked the last potato chunk from his plate. “Yes, sir. And after ye were gone, folks were pretty divided about who started that fight. Everyone that was at the fight acknowledged it wasn’t your fault.”

  Olin nodded.

  “Bobby, why’d ye come back?” his oldest brother, John, asked.

  “Mum wrote about the Yankee traders selling tinware in the area and how so many folks paid too much for them. I’m fairly good at the trade and thought folks would like to buy tin made from someone who grew up here.”

  John wiped his mouth with the linen napkin. He raised his right eyebrow and said, “I accept that. Welcome home, brother, and I’ll do whatever I can to help ye and your business.”

  “Thank ye, I appreciate it. I know some folks, like Percy, won’t be pleased with my returning. But Percy and I never did get along.”

  Kyle laughed. “Does a cow have spots? You two have fought since ye were in diapers.”

  “He started it.”

  Mother chimed in with her own riotous laughter. “The Lord be praised, I haven’t heard that in years.”

  “Glad the boy can tickle ye, Mother.” His father turned back toward Olin. “Bobby—”

  “Olin, if ye don’t mind, sir. I’ve not gone by Bobby since I left town.”

  “Olin it is, then. Why don’t we start unpacking that wagon of yours?”

  Olin pushed his chair back. “I have my things for tonight, ’tis all.”

  “Bobby?” His mother’s voice quivered.

  “Mother, I mean no disrespect, but it’s good for me to establish my business, living at the shop. I promise I’ll come home as often as possible.” He flashed the smile that got him out of trouble more times than he could count. “My cookin’ don’t compare to yours.”

  “I wish ye would stay. It’s safer,” she mumbled.

  Olin walked behind his mother and put his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll be fine, Mum. The good Lord’s taught me a few things about my anger. I haven’t been in a fight since.”

  She nodded, but he could feel the tension in her body.

  “Have ye met your pretty landlord?” Kyle smiled.

  “Aye.”

  John got up from the table and picked up his plate and silverware. “Do ye remember Minnie Jacobs?”

  Olin nodded. That gal didn’t know how to keep her mouth still, from what he could remember of her.

  “She’s Ida Mae’s cousin and, from what I hear, bends Ida Mae’s ear quite often.”

  John’s message was perfectly clear. Ida Mae no doubt knew all about him. If not before she rented the shop to him, certainly by the end of this day. “Thank ye.”

  “Come on, son. The sun be settin’ soon.”

  “Yes, sir. Thanks for such a wonderful dinner, Mother.” Olin bent down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “It’s good to be home.”

  She placed her wrinkled hand on his. Another twinge stabbed his heart. When had his mother aged so? With a brief squeeze, he extracted himself and went outside with his father to discuss the comments about his homecoming that had come up at the dinner table. Olin prayed he hadn’t made a mistake coming back home.

  Three

  Ida Mae stretched, trying to wake up. She snuggled deeper under the covers. Work demanded her attention. She tossed off the covers, went to the washbasin, and scrubbed the sleepy sand from her eyes.

  The clanging of the storefront doorbell her father made had her glance at the clock and groan. Today’s going to be a wonderful day, she mumbled, leaving her living area and running toward the front of the shop.

  Peeking through the heavy linen curtain, she saw Olin Orr smiling without a care in the world. How could he be a murder? Shouldn’t murderers look. . .evil? Speaking through the closed door, she asked, “What can I do for you, Mr. Orr?”

  “I have your rent.”

  “I’m sorry.” Looking down at her nightclothes, she asked, “Can you bring it back in half an hour?”

  “As ye wish. May I bring my wagon to the barn?”

  “Yes.” Minnie’s haunting words came back. Ida Mae fired off a quick prayer. “I’ll be ready in thirty minutes.”

  He nodded, and his vibrant black hair bounced. Ida Mae suppressed the vain desire to run her fingers through his wavy locks. Her tactile senses were excellent for a spinner. Touch was so important in producing fine thread and yarn. But how does one resist such an urge for propriety’s sake? She shook off her foolish ramblings and ran back to her room to dress. She didn’t have time for entertaining such fanciful thoughts. Two hours behind and an order due this evening. Ida Mae would have to push herself hard.

  The bell over the entrance jangled not more than thirty seconds after she’d unlocked the door and opened for business. Ida Mae turned, expecting to see Olin. Instead, John Alexander Farres stood with his broad shoulders squared, wearing a trim, three-piece business suit. “Good morning, John Alexander.”

  “Morning, Ida Mae. I came to say I’ll be pickin’ up my order two days from now. I’m heading out of town on business and Mother said she could wait until my return.”

  “It will be ready.”

  John Alexander reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. “I know it will. Is it true that you married Cyrus yesterday?”

  “No.” Cyrus and Rosey had sworn her to secrecy. “How do you suppose that rumor started?”

  John Alexander scratched his beard along his right jaw. “Half a dozen folks said they heard it from so-and-so, who supposedly h
eard it from Cyrus.”

  “I can’t imagine who started the silly rumor, but I won’t be marrying Cyrus.”

  A smile broadened on John Alexander’s face. “Cyrus is a fine man, but I don’t think he’d like having a wife who can handle financial matters as well as—if not better than—himself. I heard you rented out your father’s blacksmith shop.”

  The delicate hairs on the back of her neck rose, sensing what? Fear? Concern that another would think her unable to discern good character in a person? “Yes.”

  “Heard he was a tin man from the north.”

  “From Pennsylvania.”

  “Not too fond of those Yankee traders. Took my uncle’s winter cash one year, selling him a clock that didn’t work and a bunch of tinware that fell apart the first time he poured something hot into the cup.”

  Did she dare tell him that he might be a local boy? “We shall have to see how good of a workman he is. He had high recommendations from those he worked with in Pennsylvania.”

  “I’ll keep a watch out for you. I’ll check on you when I come into town and see how you’re faring.”

  “Thank you. It isn’t necessary, but I appreciate your lookin’ after me.”

  “Your pa wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  John Alexander was ten years her senior. He wouldn’t make a bad husband, she thought.

  Sitting down at the spinning wheel, Ida Mae had just put her hand to the spindle when the bell over the door jangled again. This time it was Olin Orr. Not a glimpse of the smile she had seen thirty minutes prior remained. “Mr. Orr?”

  “Here’s your rent.” He slapped the money down on the counter. “Do you have the papers for me to sign?”

  Ida Mae got up, opened the locked cabinet door in her desk, and pulled out a rental agreement. “I’ve signed my name and dated it.” She handed him the papers.

  He read it over. “May I?”

  He held his hand out for a pen. Ida Mae dipped the pen in the inkwell and handed it to him. He signed with a flare she hadn’t seen in most men’s handwriting.

  “Thank you, Mr. Orr.”

  He nodded and left without saying another word. What has him in knots? she wondered.