by Jill Barnett
Financially, she and her mother had been comfortable. They owned the flat in Bishoptown, a middle-class section of Chicago. They could even hire care for her mother, who was insistent upon Addie continuing her education. While she attended college, they'd hired a woman to care for her mother. Her father had left them secure enough to afford a few luxuries, one of which was college for Addie. Her mother had said it was what her father would have wanted.
But when Addie graduated, with honors, she'd been alone. Her mother couldn't travel to New York; her weak condition wouldn't have allowed it. So she had received her degree as part of the third graduating class of Dewey's Library School at Columbia University, but she was the only one in her class who graduated alone, with no relations to look proud, no congratulatory hugs, only the hope that maybe her father was watching, was with her in soul if not body. It was that thought that always kept her going, drove her spirit.
She wondered what he would have thought of her today, standing up to a loaded gun. Those chills got her again. Sometimes she amazed herself with the bounds of her own gumption.
The smell of smoke seeped through the walls of the farmhouse, and she pulled back the curtains, peering out at the toad. He had started a camp fire, under her aunt's tree. She frowned and watched as he poured some coffee from a gray-speckled granite ware pot. Then he lounged back against the gnarled tree trunk, sticking those endless legs of his out in front of him as if he was just as comfortable as could be.
He sipped his coffee. It was obvious that he wasn't going to leave. She released the curtains, pausing to brush the wrinkles left from crunching up the printed muslin in her tight fist. There was no reason to damage her belongings just because the toad was out there.
Two could play at this game. She'd just go along her merry way, doing what she'd have done if he'd not found her. Which reminded her. How did he find out she was here? She paced across the dusty plank floor. He must have seen her leave with Custus and her trunks and realized what she intended. In the future she'd have to be sneakier—no… discreet was a better word. She'd be more discreet.
He was a sharp one, but she would not allow him to take what was hers. It was hers; Aunt Emily wanted her to have it. After all, he'd started this land war, and she'd make good and sure he got his fill of battles.
She glanced down. She wasn't dressed for war. She was still in her bedclothes, and she needed to get going on this neglected house. She'd get dressed and working. But first she sneaked a peek outside, through the opening in the curtains. She was reconnoitering the enemy. He still sat there propping up the tree, and all over the tree's thick and knobby branches were his clothes; in particular, one set of bright red longjohns that waved like a knight's battle standard from her aunt Emily's wonderful old tree.
Chapter 4
By noon the sun was high, hanging in the sky like a plump spiced peach. A few clouds, fluffy and white as marshmallow creme, floated slowly across a California sky that was the exact same color as fresh blueberry ice cream. In the distance golden breadloaf-shaped foothills sliced through the western edge of the valley, where fields of butter-yellow grain stood proud. At the base of the hills giant oak trees sprouted up like clusters of dark green broccoli.
Addie was starved.
She closed the back door and glanced around the empty pantry, admitting to herself that she was not half as bright as she'd thought. In her haste to sneak out to the farm, she'd forgotten about food, and there was none in the farmhouse. She went to the kitchen pump, her third trip in the last five minutes, and she drew another cup of water, hoping it would assuage the gnawing in her stomach. Her mind flashed with the image of the Chicago bakery wagon and its doughnuts—the ones that had rolled down Randolph Street. What she wouldn't give for a doughnut right now, even a crumb. She sipped the water and stood at the sinkboard, trying to block out the food images that plagued her mind.
After a few long seconds of staring out the open window, Addie's eyes were drawn to her aunt's tree. Hanging from the lower branches were at least a dozen pieces of that man's clothing, the most prominent piece being those red longjohns, and he sat just below them, with one of his long legs drawn up, an arm casually resting on his knee. He looked at home, and that, more than anything, disturbed her. His faded, blue-checked shirt, the worn denim pants, the muddy hat, all were the image of a western man. Even the dusty boots fit him, looked right on him.
Good Lord. What was she doing? Gawking at her enemy and softening? She was slipping, letting her guard down, and that wouldn't do. She had to remember his goal—it was the same as hers; he wanted the farm. She had to remember how he had tried to scare her off, had even shot at her until she called his bluff. She had to remember how he'd acted, rough and obnoxious, with the manners of a toad—a term that fit him just like those boots.
Addie's black eyes narrowed with renewed anger as she watched him rise, rummage through his pack and pull something out. He went straight to his camp fire and squatted, stoking it up with a small stick.
Oh no… She moaned. He had a pot. He was going to cook something.
Rising on tiptoe, she tried to get a gander at what he was tossing in a small black kettle. It's probably a few flies—toad food. Of course at this very moment she'd eat about anything. A minute later Addie groaned. It was bacon—sizzling, smoky bacon. She closed her eyes and breathed in the smell. Her stomach rumbled. He strolled over to a small sack and pulled out a tin can. Beans, she thought, noticing a red and yellow label. Fat little beans in a thick, brown sauce… She chugged down another tasteless cup of water.
The smell of bacon and beans wafted into the room and her mouth began to water. Sweet and savory, the aroma drew her, and she leaned toward the window, gripping the sash and licking her lips. Her stomach growled again. She wanted those beans, wanted to wolf them down. But they were his, so she wanted to cry. She slammed the window shut and marched into the parlor, intent upon continuing her cleaning, to take her mind off food. Instead she scoured the room, searching for something edible.
She could still smell it, the fragrance of his meal, now seeping through the broken doorway. She turned and moved toward it. Standing in the shadows of the house, she looked out longingly. There had to be a way to get some of those beans.
Her pride wouldn't let her ask for them, but maybe she could barter. She turned around and tried to think of something she had, that he didn't, something he needed…
She marched in the bedroom and over to the oak wash-stand, where she snatched up a black leather shaving case. She snapped open the case and noted the contents. Inside were a man's comb and brush; he certainly needed those. A nickel-plated lather brush sat next to a celluloid soap box and a straight razor and strop. She remembered his thick, reddish-brown mustache and the scruffy shadow of hair on his face that was beyond stubble and wasn't quite beard, just hairy. He needed these things too.
A buttonhook sat next to a small whisk broom. He wouldn't need the hook since he wore those leather boots. Somehow, Addie couldn't picture those infinite legs of his ending in high-top, button shoes. But then she had no business "picturing" him in any way, except long gone from her farm.
Her stomach growled a protest. She'd delayed too long, thinking when she should be getting her hands on that food. She noted the last few items, the tooth and nail brushes, a small can of peppermint tooth powder, and a bottle of bay rum hair oil, but one necessary item was missing. There was no mirror. She paused, her face thoughtful. No mirror? Hmmm… If he tried to shave without one, maybe he'd slit his throat. Then her problems would be over. She smiled. It made her feel better, even if she couldn't really do something like that. Besides, didn't toads have green blood?
Rummaging through the top drawers of a dresser, she found a round, nickel mirror with a folding handle. It was perfect. Now she had her bartering booty. At the porch steps she slowed down. It wouldn't do to look too eager. She relaxed her hold on her booty, suddenly aware that she had been clutching it to her breast like a sackful
of rare oranges. She needed a plan here, but unfortunately she'd have to think fast because he'd already spotted her.
She approached him, her march now a casual stroll. Her deep forest-green skirt swished around her legs as she sauntered over, making sure she kept plenty of distance between herself and his grazing horse. She told herself to act as if they were casual acquaintances, just meeting at church. She moved closer and the mouth-watering smell of beans almost brought tears to her eyes.
She stopped in front of him, trying not to lick her lips. He still squatted in front of his camp fire, stirring those wonderful beans. She forced her eyes away from the pot and held out the mirror.
He ladled the beans into a tin plate and she almost groaned aloud.
"Here." She held out the mirror even farther.
He stopped ladling and looked up, not saying a word, but staring at the mirror.
He was not going to make this easy, but she had to have those beans, so she took a deep breath and said, "I thought you might need this."
His gold eyes burned into her. "Why would I need a mirror? I know what I look like."
Lord, give me patience. Addie wanted to hit him over the head with the mirror. It would give her such pleasure. But then she wouldn't get the food, unless she grabbed it and ran. Her mind flashed with the delightful image of her bopping him, grabbing the beans and running. She couldn't do it though, because there was no way on earth she'd let him know just how badly she wanted that food.
She swallowed a small chunk of her pride. "These were my uncle's. I have no use for them and thought you might. Maybe we could work out a trade."
He appeared enthralled by his food, and shoveled another spoonful into his mouth before asking, "What's in the case?"
"Toiletries."
He coughed. "What?"
"Toiletries," she pronounced slowly, as if she were speaking to Rip Van Winkle just awakening from his twenty-year nap. "You know, tooth powder, soap and a razor, hair oil…"
He grunted, then set down those precious beans and stood. It was all she could do not to drop the case and grab the plate. She could almost taste them now…
He took the case and snapped it open. "What sort of trade?"
Addie pulled her eyes away from the bean kettle. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe… uh, well, is there something you might have too much of?" She refused to look at those beans, so she looked at him. It was a mistake, because he pinned her with a stare that almost went right through her. She had the strangest feeling he could see her thoughts as clear as the California sky.
From the case he pulled out the straight razor and turned it this way and that, letting the sunlight glare off the bright stainless steel.
"I can't think of a thing I could trade." He slid the razor back into the case and then rubbed the hairy stubble that probably hid a weak chin.
The beans! You have too many beans! Addie bit down on her tongue to keep from shouting at him.
"The only thing that comes to mind is that measly pot of beans…''
Thank you, God!
"…But then a city lady like yourself would never eat plain old canned beans." He shook his shaggy head.
"Yes I wou—'' She stopped midword. She'd almost given herself away. "I mean, if that's all you have, I suppose I'll have to take them." There, she thought, that was casual enough.
"Nope." He heaved a heavy sigh. "I couldn't take advantage of you that way."
"But—"
He held his hand up in her face. "No, no, something this valuable, well, I just wouldn't feel right."
His face suddenly took on a look of pure integrity, underscored by a bit of stubbornness. The look assured her that her trade idea wasn't going to work; she'd have to be sneakier.
"Maybe we could find something else, to add to the beans.…'' Her hungry eyes lit up. "That's it! I'll take the beans and something else. Now that's fair."
"Well, I don't know, Miss Pinky."
Addie clamped her teeth together, trying to keep from correcting him again. After all, she needed to be amiable.
"Just look the case over. I'm sure you can find something else to trade. Her eyes were drawn to his plate, almost full of beans and lying on the ground, lonely and forgotten and probably cold, but she didn't care. "Take your time."
She moved closer to the tree trunk. This isn't going well, she thought, pushing the flapping arm of a shirt away from her head. She needed some insurance. The plate still sat there. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed oblivious to her. She stepped back closer to the tree, and the plate. As he examined the shaving kit, she scooted right in mincing little steps, until her left shoe just touched the rim of the tin plate. Very slowly, she pushed the plate closer to the side of the tree. It stopped against one of the nubby roots that protruded from the ground. She swore silently.
She gave him a quick furtive glance. He was unscrewing the hair-oil bottle. She turned slightly, and with a quick flick of her pointed-toe shoe, lobbed the plate over the root and behind the tree.
"Phew!"
Addie spun around, sure she'd been caught.
He was scowling. "Now I understand why they call this stuff 'toiletries.' It smells like it belongs in a toilet."
"Most gentlemen like bay rum. We ladies find it pleasant," Addie informed him in a superior manner that covered up her fear of being discovered.
He snapped the case closed. "Well, I'm not a 'gentleman'…''
No, you're a toad.
"…And I don't want to be one if I have to smell like a sissy. You can keep it." He set the case down and moved toward the tree. He was heading for the place where he'd set down the beans, her beans. She stepped up on the root, hoping her skirt would help to protect her hiding place. She'd had it now. Her humiliation was complete. He would know that she was trying to swipe his food.
But a second later she was saved. A buggy rattled up the drive and captured his attention. Addie sagged back against the tree trunk and blew out the breath she'd been holding.
Her lawyer, Levi Hamilton, drove, and his passenger was the other lawyer, Wade Parker. Levi reined in the buggy.
"So this is where you two are," he said, sounding annoyed. "We've been trying to find you all morning!" He bobbled down and walked right past Mr. Creed and straight toward her. He was supposed to be on her side, but right now he didn't look too happy.
She had better explain why she'd left the hotel, especially since in her rush to get out here, she'd completely forgotten about him.
"I thought I'd have a better chance before the judge if I was already living here, but I had no idea he'd do the same." Addie pointed an accusing finger at Montana, who was deep in conversation with Mr. Parker.
Levi took her arm and led her toward the other two men. "The judge was here this morning—"
"Oh good!" She interrupted, picking up her pace. "Just give me a minute and we can leave. What do you think my chances are? Do you think he'll rule in my favor?"
Mr. Hamilton stopped her.
"He's already ruled." The comment came from Wade Parker. He stood with his client by the buggy.
Her stomach dropped. She looked from her lawyer, who nodded, back at the two tall men. Oh God, she thought, he's won.
She turned to Levi and asked so quietly her words were almost whispered, "Who won?"
"Both of you."
"What?" Addie and Montana shouted in unison.
"He found you both had legal claims," Wade Parker explained.
"So what are we supposed to do?" Montana asked sarcastically. "Pretend we're Solomon and slice the place in half?"
"The judge already did that," Levi answered. "In fact, that's one of the reasons we're here." He gestured to Wade. "As your attorneys, we have to inventory each client's holdings to submit for the court's records."
"What did I get?" Addie asked, dying to know but scared at the answer.
"The buildings," Levi answered with a satisfied smile.
Addie's heart jumped. She'd won! She'd be
en awarded her aunt's property!
"Then what the hell did I get?" Montana shouted.
"The land."
She hadn't won. He had, and when she caught a glimpse of him, she could read on his angry face the same confusion she felt.
Wade explained. "Miss Pinkney, you own the farmhouse and Mr. Creed owns the land. Montana, you own the water, but she owns the well. She owns the fences, but you own the pasture. She owns the barn, windmill, chicken yard, and so on, but you own the land on which they sit. The orchard is divided equally, as will be any crops grown in the fields."
"But the fields are mine! Goddammit! Wade, this land is mine. She has no right to it. How could any judge in his right mind come up with something so damn stupid?"
"It's not stupid!" Addie shouted back. "It's very fair, and wise." She was so happy she'd gotten the place, even if it was only the buildings. At least she could live here, in her aunt's home. She didn't have to leave, and that was such a relief because she had been really worried she'd lose and have no place to go. She wasn't quite strong enough to face that prospect, and now she wouldn't have to.
Addie looked at Mr. Creed's red face and yellow eyes, glaring at her as if he could melt her. She couldn't stop herself from goading him. "I'm perfectly happy with the decision."
"Well, if I were you Miss Pinky, I would be too. You've just stolen my farm!"
"Knee! Pink-ney! And it's mine! Even the judge thought so!" She planted her fists on her hips and glared back at him, giving him her most scathing look.
He rudely turned his back on her. "When can we appeal?"
Mr. Parker looked uncomfortable. "The circuit judge won't be back in this area until after the first of the year."
"That's eight months!" Montana jerked his hat off his head and slammed it to the ground, just as he'd done earlier, only this time he swore through his teeth. "Son of a bitch!"
