Not as rich as the Baders', but far better appointed than Birdie's homestead, the Polleys' plot was all house and crops, from what I could see. And there was a pump at the corner of the porch. I didn't know why they needed me.
Theo came around to help me from the phaeton, then walked me to the Polleys' front door. He was stiff as a butler, a handsome, well-formed sentinel and nothing more.
Raising my hand, I glanced at him, but he didn't return the look. So I knocked and made myself pleasant when a lovely woman, round as an apple, opened the door to me.
"I'm Zora Stewart," I told her. "The springsweet."
***
Water for the house was no matter at all, I discovered.
Jim Polley walked us the length of his land, waving birdish little hands as he explained. "We're doing all right at the front, but look here." He slapped at a corn stalk that had browned at the edges. "Going short of rain this year, my back forty's dying."
My back ached to water a plot just big enough to feed three; we had walked so far, there was nothing but wheat and corn to consider. I didn't see what another well could do here—I had to admit, I understood nothing of the business of working the land. "You do know I can't call the rain."
"Who can?" Mr. Polley said, a hiccup in his laugh. He stopped, pointing me toward an oasis just in the distance. "See there? That pond belongs to the Gibsons. Not a damned thing I can do about that, either."
Shifting beside me, Theo finally spoke. "But is there something Miss Stewart can do for you?"
Mr. Polley smiled at me winningly. He was a handsome man, with chestnut hair that fell in waves and hazel eyes that reflected the same gold and green shades of his fields. But his prettiness paled when he lowered his voice.
"Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm thinking a spring feeds that pond. Now, if you could tell me if that spring's on my land, that'd be worth two dollars at least."
To cover my dismay, I said, "I do beg your forgiveness, Mr. Polley, I know it's crass to speak of money—nevertheless, I must. It's two dollars, whether I find water for you or not."
Reaching into his pocket, Mr. Polley pulled out a few worn bills. Counting off two, he handed them to Theo—then held another up, as if I were a dog and he tempted me with a savory treat. "I could irrigate a lot of land with a spring. I bet you and your aunt could do with some cheap flour and cornmeal grown right nearby."
His inky voice stained me. Standing there with a fixed smile and a dollar bill under my nose, I couldn't help but remember that it was Jim Polley who told Carl who came and went on Emerson's land. That was the full measure of this man—concerned only with aggrandizing himself, wearing the mantle of concerned citizen to justify it.
My insides boiled and I bowed to him, taking a step back. I'd paid to see enough spiritualists in Baltimore that I could put on a truly spectacular show.
Stamping my feet, I threw my arms out and my head back. Somehow, I found the nerve to pull a scream from my throat. It went on and on, an awful, raw sound that I hoped haunted Jim Polley all his days.
There was a feral sweetness in whipping myself around like that. A vicious pleasure in breaking out of my skin and screaming with no propriety to temper it. No wonder so many made an art of it—how glorious was it to forget to be a lady and to be every wild thing contained in my heart.
Snapping myself out of that posture, I grabbed Mr. Polley's shirt, twisting the muslin as I rolled my eyes at him like some mad beast.
"There!" I cried, shoving him away from me. I pointed to the middle of his fields, far from the Gibsons' property line. "Dig there, sir! Dig deep!"
Mr. Polley spun like a weathervane, following the line of my finger. "Right there?"
With feigned exhaustion, I staggered away from him. Clasping a hand to my forehead, I motioned them from me, putting much space between me and Mr. Polley. "I'm weary with witching and fain would lie down. Thank you, sir. Thank you, kind sir."
"I should see to her," Theo said, and bless him, he took that third dollar right out of Mr. Polley's hand.
He hurried to my side, but there was no gentleness in the way he took my elbow and hurried me along. And I myself trembled with nervous energy, the aftershock of the performance leaving me jittery and unsettled.
It wasn't until the phaeton was in sight that Theo deigned to speak to me. Incredulous, he spat low, quoting the very same ballad I had just incorporated in my play-acted dowsing. "I've been to the wild woods, mother, make my bed soon."
That spark of recognition delighted me. With Mrs. Polley on the porch, I didn't dare smile. But I looked up at Theo and nodded faintly. "You really are very good with poetry, Mr. de la Croix."
Eyes blazing, Theo looked as though he wanted to shake me. But ever the gentleman, he instead stood straight and let the hard line of his jaw and brow remonstrate me. "Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but I'm appalled that you would help that man commit such a nefarious deed."
"I didn't." I took the money and tucked it in my pocket. "He'll dig to Peking before he finds water there."
Theo said nothing. He moved not at all. So I thrust my hand at him to make him help me into the buggy. And there I waited for him to round and climb in the other side. Flickers and sparks ran beneath my skin, only slowly leaching away as we drove on. But it was not until the Polleys' farm was well behind us that I turned to him.
"Please believe me," I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I would never do something so awful."
Glancing at my hand, then up at me, Theo appraised me darkly. "You dissemble so easily. And I knew that. That kiss at the fountain was a lie, too—how could I forget?"
I folded myself and turned away. It was a hard thing, to know so clearly that I was hardly an innocent—that I had done wrong. That I had been selfish and hurt him because I'd thought only of myself. Though my throat burned, both from screaming and now from damming emotion, I spoke nonetheless. "I used you badly, and I truly am sorry."
After a moment, Theo said, "That I believe. Thank you."
"Birdie is nothing like me, you should know."
It looked as though Theo intended to answer—his lips parted, and he leaned slightly toward me. But the baffled line at his brow faded, and he recovered his smooth expression. Urging Annabel Lee on, he didn't reply, but the silence was no longer awkward.
It was contemplative.
Fifteen
The Stricklands were blessedly simple. They were, as Birdie said, an older couple with a modest home on their plot. They had no ambitions for a working farm—they had just enough to keep them comfortably, and that was their goal.
When we arrived, Mr. Strickland led me to the well out back. It was built sturdily with stones and had a good crank to pull the water up.
All he wanted to know was if it was in the right place. I suspected he knew—I likewise suspected my aunt had plotted this stop to enforce courting, more than to earn a dollar and two bits.
But I looked in earnest and reassured him he'd struck water good and true. With that, he clapped a hand on Theo's back and walked him off to talk about whatever manly things he thought wouldn't interest me, leaving me to start dinner with Mrs. Strickland.
She was kind, and her kitchen was generous. She had a black iron stove, much like my mama's, and wide counters to work on. With windows thrown open to let in the breeze, and the richness of real white flour dusting my hands, I made pleasant conversation with the lady of the house.
"All our lives," Mrs. Strickland told me as we rolled biscuits at the table, "we hustled and bustled and kept up with New York City. Last year, he had a spell that scared us both, and he said to me, 'Missus, let's go west.' "
Reaching for the bowl of flour, I dusted my part of the table again and offered her a smile. "Just like that?"
"Yes, girlie, and here we are." She breathed deep, warm with a satisfied smile. "Here in the Lord's country, just the two of us, content as can be."
It was sweet, the way she stole looks at Mr. Strickland. To my eyes, he was a b
it bald and a bit wide, his skin mottled and his hands gnarled. But whatever Mrs. Strickland saw made her smile.
"You're very lucky," I said softly.
Without pretense, Mrs. Strickland asked, "What do you think of that boy out there?"
"He's not for me," I answered. Gently, I rolled the dough out again. I tore a little corner off and popped it in my mouth. It was rich with butter and salt, two things I'd never before considered luxuries. "And I'm not for him; we agree on that."
Mrs. Strickland gave me a dusty pat as she went by, checking the heat of her stove. "Then I won't bother leaving you two alone with dessert."
It was strange how much a relief that was. That there was no worrying or troubling over it, that any way I felt was perfectly reasonable. Set free for the moment, I relaxed and let myself enjoy the evening.
It was a good dinner and a pleasure to sleep in a grass ticking bed. It smelled of the prairie, sweet and green. For the first time since I'd slept in Emerson's bed, I was warm and comfortable, and I dreamed the whole night through.
Come morning, Mrs. Strickland warmed last night's biscuits and spooned white gravy on our plates to soften them. She even packed us off with a few apiece, to have on the road.
Apparently, Mr. Strickland had shared some fineness with Theo, too, for he smelled of cherry pipe tobacco and sat more easily beside me. Though we made no particular conversation, things simply felt better.
It was a beautiful day.
***
At the Johnsons', I finally had earnest work to do.
They'd been hauling water from a nearby stream. The winter past, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson both had to do the chore, because the water froze and had to be hacked apart and let to melt.
The burgeoning curve of Mrs. Johnson's belly told me all I needed to know—this winter, she would hardly be fit to take a pick to frozen streams, and soon they would need rather more water to get through their everydays.
I relished calling up the visions for them; I made no show of it at all. I simply reached for that pulse and led them to the exact spot when I found it. Their well would be a hundred steps from their back door.
"That wasn't very impressive," Theo said unexpectedly.
Stretching in the seat beside him, I yawned. "The truth doesn't need embellishment."
"How did you learn to do it?"
"I didn't." With a shrug, I settled beside him again. "I thought I could, and I did."
"But how did you even conceive its possibility?"
He sounded like a little boy trying to puzzle out a riddle. I would have been glad to give him an answer, though I suspected he'd have remained unsatisfied. Stretching my feet out, I pointed my toes, then relaxed once more. "I had a friend once; she saw the future."
"She doesn't anymore?"
Closing my eyes, I said, "She's no longer with us."
Theo made a sympathetic sound and took my hand gently. He neither petted nor stroked me; there seemed to be no intention in it at all but to comfort. "Forgive my curiosity."
"She's a fond memory, and I'm glad for it," I told him. "I'm fine now."
And mostly, I meant it. There would always be a tender part of me, unhealed from that disastrous summer. How could it be anything but, with my first love and my first best friend, and so many others, given to death in it?
But my mother's words came back to me, clearer than ever, and finally I believed her-—I was alive. It was no longer a curse, no matter how complicated things had become here.
I leaned against Theo's arm and said idly, "It wasn't just her. She was the first, of course. But now there's me-—and I know someone who can whisper a tree to life."
"I hope you won't take this with any malice; I don't mean any," Theo said. He knitted his brow, a faint smile at the corner of his lips. "But your life is very strange."
"Thank you, sir. I was entirely unaware."
Returning his hand, I stretched beside him once more. The sun had dipped low; we had driven across the whole of Oklahoma Territory, it seemed. I was glad that we had but one more call between here and home.
I would tell Birdie that Theo hadn't proposed—it was the truth. And then I would tell her that she had to let Emerson come to court. My time lingering in shadows had ended. Wherever I would go, whatever I would do—I would do it deliberately.
How funny that despite my sorry history of making plans, I made them nonetheless.
***
Edgar Larsen met us at the edge of his property.
Gaunt in the cheeks and dark beneath his eyes, he had plainly suffered for the land he claimed in the run. He shook Theo's hand, and I had to hold back a shudder when he shook mine. It was like holding a bag of bones, and I struggled to offer him a smile.
"Pleased to meet you," I forced myself to say.
When he let go to run his fingers through his white-blond hair, I was grateful. He nodded; it seemed he was too exhausted even for pleasantries. Leading us toward the small cabin, he said, "Get you all some coffee?"
Theo and I both demurred. Pressing a hand to my chest, I said, "It's much appreciated, but it's getting late and we've been on the road two days now."
"Right," he said. He stood there, then creaked to motion again. His pale skin was chapped red, and beneath his shirt, I could make out every awful knob of his shoulders when he turned to lead us to his well.
Like Mr. Larsen, the land was withered. Only very low grasses grew here, and even then, sparsely. The rest was marred with scars, long, bald runs of dust that swirled round and round with nothing to tether it.
He'd built the well nicely, a strong stone circle with an inset lid. But when he raised that lid, he released a rank scent. Slick and moldering, it fouled the air, though Mr. Larsen seemed, at this point, resigned to it.
"It's been off a while now," he explained.
When he moved to pull the bucket up, I stayed his hand. I had no need to see what would come out of a place that smelled of decay. Whatever water collected in this well, and I was sure it was only rain that occasionally filled it, it had gone stagnant. Although ashamed to think it, I was doubly glad we'd declined his offer of coffee.
"Let me see if I can find something for you," I said. I didn't need to walk out into the open expanse behind his cabin. My intent was to draw Mr. Larsen and Theo away from the wretched stink—I had walked through Baltimore alleys more fragrant.
Now my nerves jangled with need, my skin tight and parched with the yearning to be cleansed. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, a hard rush of blood that raced too fast for someone standing still. Something was wrong—I felt nothing here, just my own body, my own dry tongue in my mouth.
The well had unsettled me in ways I had hardly expected. I smiled at Mr. Larsen, though it felt plastered and stiff. "Just trying to focus. I'm a bit tired is all."
Reaching again, I sought out that well within me, that strength that had split stone and brought water to the surface at the Coles' farm. It was like digging fingers into my chest, plundering skin and plucking bones, but nothing would come. No matter the depth of my breath, no matter my earnestness, this land had no pulse.
My face grew hot, and I wandered out a little farther. Perhaps the sunset kept me from seeing—perhaps I was overwhelmed with the resignation. I could imagine a hundred excuses, but the result was the same. We stood on barren stone.
"I can't find anything," I said helplessly. "You could get a rain barrel, or, or ... if you know the Gibsons, they've got a spring on their land. They might let you dip from it."
Mr. Larsen dug into his pockets, pulling forth change instead of bills. Counting them into Theo's palm, he shook his head. "Believe I'm a quarter short, Miss Stewart."
"It's all right," I said, but he walked toward the house.
Theo hurried over, turning my hand in his to put the change in my palm. "You can't keep this."
"No, I didn't intend to." Pushing my hair off my face, I stared at the horizon. It had darkened, the first shades of purple twilight, but even with th
e coming dark, I could find not a single light in it. Dumbfounded, I murmured, "How can there be nothing?"
The answer was a shot. It rent a gouge in the air, echoing plaintively into the distance.
Theo grabbed me, but our animal senses knew what our thinking ones hadn't yet realized. There was no danger in this, not for us. We both turned toward it, not away—and found ourselves facing the desolate little house into which Mr. Larsen had just disappeared.
"Stay here," Theo said.
My head roared with old thunder, with an old flash. I saw splashes of red, and white skin, and the smooth, cool nothing that crept into lifeless eyes. Time couldn't dull that shock-new plans couldn't soften that horror. It was mine, and it always would be—but it didn't have to be anyone else's.
I ran after Theo, grabbing his shoulder. "No. Drive us into town. We'll speak to the marshal."
"We can't simply—"
"Yes we can!" I made him face me. "Trust me when I tell you this: it will change you. What waits in there, you'll never be clean of it."
"Zora," he said, strained.
I dug my fingers in deeper, clinging to him for his own good. "It may break you, and you don't deserve that. Not for paying me and my aunt a favor. That's not the wage of chivalry. Please."
Stricken, Theo scrubbed his hands over his face. He looked at the house, then back at me. And he struggled, his expression leaping, trying desperately to find some center. "But if he's..."
"There's nothing we can do for him." I took his hand, and I pulled him along, soothing as I could be with my own emotions run so ragged. "Please, walk me to the phaeton and drive us into town. Please."
Automatically, Theo took my elbow. We both walked in a daze, and I felt him hesitate beside me, deciding whether he should put me in the car and go back anyway. But he lifted me up and followed instead of going round.
"Straight to town," I told him gently, and as we pulled away, I dropped seven quarters into the dust.
The Springsweet Page 14
