Surrender A Dream

by Jill Barnett

  Now she was angry. "I told you that you didn't have to marry me to ease your conscience!"

  "I'm not, dammit!" He glared back at her.

  Her eyes narrowed into little suspicious slits. "Wait just a minute here," she said, slowly walking around the small lamp table. "If you're not trying to ease your guilt—''

  "I don't feel guilty," he interrupted.

  "Fine, neither do I! And Lord knows you don't care, you made that quite clear…"

  "Now, Addie—''

  "What is 'simpler'?" Her hands landed on her hips. "You want a cook, don't you!" she accused, crossing her arms and waiting for the truth.

  His neck was purple again. "If I wanted a cook, I wouldn't marry you. You haven't made a decent meal yet."

  "You toad!" She grabbed the stereoscope and heaved it at him. He dodged it and started toward her. She scurried behind the table. "You want a slave, to sleep with and to cook and clean house—'' She cut off her sentence and gasped. The house, and the farm. That was it. "You weasel… You want the house!"

  He couldn't look her in the eye. His guilty face told her she was exactly right. She grabbed the box of glass slides and bombarded him with a handful of them. "You seduced me to get the farm!"

  Two glass slides shattered against the west wall.

  "I did not," he defended, backing to the door. "It was an accident."

  She felt as if he'd slapped her. "Get out!" Her finger pointed at the front door.

  "Gladly," he yelled back, then stormed toward the door.

  "Wait!" she called, marching over to him. She bent and picked up the stereoscope. "Here, take these… these hoochy-koochy pictures with you!" The box of slides and viewer rammed into his stomach and she shoved him out the door. "Don't you ever, ever come into my house again!"

  Silent and purple, he stood there, returning her look glare for glare.

  "I hate you!" She slammed the door before he could see her angry tears.

  Chapter 16

  The kitchen door slammed and Addie jumped. A stack of mason lids clattered over onto the kitchen worktable.

  "Where ya want these here fruits?" Custus ambled through the back door, spilling a trail of dark berries from one of the large tin buckets he lugged inside.

  "Set them on the sinkboard, please." She continued to sort through her aunt's canning paraphernalia, counting the lids and making sure she had the same amount of wide-mouth jars. Straight and precise as slats on a picket fence, she lined up her canning tools: the jar wrench, rack and lifter, and Mrs. Sarah T. Rorer's Instructions and Recipes. The cracked, ragged paper cover on the book was tainted a yellow and stained with splatters in different shades of brown, a testimony that it was favored and well-used.

  Addie thumbed through the thin pages until she found the recipe she needed. With a determined step she headed for the sinkboard, but stopped midway when she saw Custus leaning against the sink, idly staring.

  "Them there berries is late and the peaches is early. That means a mild winter," he informed her with typical McGee authority.

  She smiled. "This is California, Custus. The winters are always mild."

  "Just proves me right, then," he said in his rasp of a voice, and then he plucked a handful of ollieberries from the bucket and popped them into his mouth.

  Passing him on her way to the stove, she said, "Supper'll be a little late because of the canning. Help yourself to the cornbread over on the table." She nodded toward the icebox as she lifted a large pot of boiling water. "The butter's in the icebox." She lugged the pot over to the sinkboard, set it down and then dumped the peaches into the scalding water.

  "Yer friend said ta remind ya that he wouldn't be here fer supper since he done gone ta them there Latimers' place."

  Addie's hand closed a bit tighter over the wooden handle of a long fork.

  He shuffled across the room toward the kitchen table and dragged a chair out, making enough noise to wake the dead.

  The loud, scraping noise was welcome. It covered up the sound of her teeth grinding. "That man is not my friend," she informed him.

  Custus grumbled under his breath, and she ignored him and jabbed the fork into a peach, her mind flashing with the grating image of Montana Creed's hands on Rebecca Latimer's waist. With a sharp knife she peeled the peach, strip by strip, and pretended it was Montana Creed's skin, or Rebecca's face.

  Never in all her days had she peeled fruit so fast. She filled the jars with whole peaches, ramming them inside so soundly that they probably wouldn't need the steam packing. As she stabbed a cinnamon stick into each of the jars, the peach juice slurped. The sound was almost as loud as Custus's chewing. She shook her head. His manners were as gruff as his voice. She reached for the tall, brown brandy bottle and her hand hit empty air. The bottle had been there a moment ago. A belch sounded from behind her. She turned and found the bottle, tilted against his mouth.

  "Custus McGee! Give me that brandy right now!"

  He lowered the bottle, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth. She snatched the bottle out of his hand and tried to shame him with a stern look. His white-bearded face creased into a big grin and his eyes glistened like sun on glass.

  She had to laugh. "You silly old coot. Ought to be ashamed of yourself, swilling my canning brandy like it was water." The almost-empty bottle thudded onto the work-table. "Especially when there's a perfectly good bottle of Napoleon brandy sitting on the tray table in the dining room."

  It was the first time she had heard Custus McGee laugh. And it was something. Mabel and Maud bawling in a train tunnel would have been quieter than the bellows from the old man's mouth. But it made Addie smile. And she needed to smile, because every so often her mind would flash with the image of Montana holding Rebecca Latimer, and if she smiled, the hurt in her heart and her pride might not cut so deep.

  Two hours later a deep bowl filled with black-eyed peas and ham, cooked to perfection, sat on the kitchen table. It had given her great pleasure to make the meal since Montana wouldn't be there to eat it. Addie twisted the jar wrench on the last of the canned peaches, tightening the lid with such force a winch wouldn't be able to open it. She set it with the others just as Custus brought in the milk, mumbling.

  She turned. "Is something the matter?"

  "That there sun set afore the west wind came." He frowned, looking as if the world had come to an end.

  A perplexed look creased her small face. "Is that bad?"

  He nodded, shuffling into the pantry. "Snakes," he called out before the hinges creaked on the cellar door and she heard the hollow clomp of him descending the stairs.

  He was the most superstitious person she'd ever met. What on God's green earth could the wind and sun have to do with snakes? Don't ask, she told herself, sweeping up an armload of brandied peaches and heading for the pantry. The small cellar door angled out from the pantry's south wall, and the splatter of pouring milk echoed up from the cellar. She kept the large milk cans down there to keep them cool until she could get the milk to Mr. Peabody.

  "You need some light down there?" she called out.

  A white head popped up from the stairs. "No sirree! Th' light might wake them there snakes."

  Her eyes grew. "Are there snakes down there? Real snakes?" She'd been in the cellar at least five times this week.

  "Most likely, and if n there weren't before, there'll be now," he told her with conviction. "An' them there devils like ta slither inta them there cool, dark places."

  Her skin crawled and she turned her eyes on the peaches that filled her arms. She had intended to store the jars in the cellar with some of the other foods and supplies that wouldn't fit on the full pantry shelves. She even had the labels marked on the wooden shelves in the cellar's far corner: 634.019, brandied peaches; 634.055, ollieberry jam.

  The milk buckets clanged against each other as Custus climbed through the cellar door. "Did ya know that if n ya kill one of 'em there rattlers and cut it up, it still won't die till the sun sets?"


  Her nose wrinkled and the color drained from her face. Did the pieces wiggle around? She stared at the dark cellar and then looked at the peaches again. She remembered the reason for his snake foreboding. She was being silly. Sunsets and wind and snakes sounded like a foolish superstition. He probably wore garlic to ward off the vampires.

  She descended the stairs. The only light in the room came from the open doors, so she paused for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. It looked the same, no slithering reptiles curling across the dirt floor. She placed her foot on the second to the last stair, and the wood creaked.

  Addie jumped back up two stairs so fast she almost tumbled backward.

  Dadgummit! This was stupid! She threw back her small shoulders and marched down the steps. Four leaps on tiptoe and she was at the corner shelf, stacking the mason jars in their proper position. Every so often she'd pause and listen for the sound of snakes. Silence greeted her. Finally she laughed at herself and turned to leave. The stopper was off one of the milk cans, so she walked over and plucked it off a crate and recorked the can. She turned and her elbow tapped against something and it thumped to the dirt floor. Then she heard it. The rattle.

  She grabbed the wooden stair rail and vaulted over it. Her skirt caught and the sound of tearing cloth, scurrying little female feet, and one hell of a scream hung in her wake. She all but flew through the cellar door and around the pantry, skidding to a heaving stop right in front of Custus and a light-haired stranger who stood next to him.

  "Snake!" she gasped between breaths. The men ran past her and she sank into a chair, sagged back against the kitchen table.

  A few minutes later the stranger reentered the room. "Pardon me, ma'am, but your father asked me to find out where exactly you saw the snake."

  "Over by the milk cans," she told him, and he disappeared before she could tell him that Custus wasn't her father. She wondered who he was, but only for a minute, because she heard Custus yell that he'd found it.

  Addie relaxed and then debated whether she should leave the room. She wasn't sure she wanted to see the dead snake. The thought made her freeze, then peer toward the window. It was dark outside, so she relaxed. The snake would die, and hopefully they wouldn't have to cut it up. She cringed.

  A short time later the men came into the room, Custus leading with his hands behind his back. "I got yer snake."

  The sound of the rattle pierced the room.

  It must still be alive! "Kill it!" She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and crunched up her shoulders, waiting.

  It rattled again and she was ready to run from the room when she heard the distinct sound of a man's laughter. A second later Custus's belly bellow filled the room.

  She pried open one eye. He held a plump, pear-shaped gourd by its neck. She sat straight. He shook it and the gourd rattled like a snake.

  Addie turned beet red, while her hired hand and a complete stranger laughed at her. She crossed her arms and waited for them to finish. Tilting her head so she didn't have to look at them, she tucked some hair up into her bun, then picked at the tear in the hem of her skirt and waited. She lost patience. "This is all your fault, Custus. Walking around here mumbling about snakes and sun and cool places. And I don't think it's that funny!"

  The other man snorted, and she blessed him with a glare. "And who are you?"

  He swallowed his laughter and said, "Like I was about to tell your father—''

  "He's not my father, but that doesn't matter, because who are you?"

  "Oh, sorry. My name's Murdoch, Will Murdoch, and I'm looking for a friend of mine. Montana Creed. I understood that this was his place."

  Addie jerked a bit straighter. "This is our place."

  The man was stunned. "How'd he find the time to get married?"

  "He didn't." She'd set him straight.

  The man blushed. "Oh."

  Custus snorted, and she realized what this Murdoch fellow thought. She glared at Custus, then said, "It is not what you think! We both own the farm. The buildings are mine and the land is his."

  Mr. Murdoch appeared thoughtful, then he grinned one of those same male smirks that Montana did whenever he found something especially humorous. They had to be friends.

  Addie's nose went up. "Mr. Creed is visiting a neighbor, but you can wait if you'd like."

  The man's eyes drifted over to the table and he stared at the food.

  "We have plenty, Mr. Murdoch. Wash up at the outside pump and then you can join us." Addie lifted the cool supper and went to the stove to reheat it.

  An hour later the three of them sat at the kitchen table in companionable and replete silence. Addie had changed her opinion of Will Murdoch. He was a nice man. He and Custus had spoken about everything from grain farming to water rights. He'd made sure to include her in every conversation, and his interest in her opinion was genuine. He treated her on an equal level, intellectually, which made her estimation of him rise like hot air. He'd told her of his four sisters—all but one were younger than he—and Addie could tell he cared about his family.

  But now Custus had decided she should get an in-depth description of exactly how silly she'd looked during the snake incident. So she sat there, listening to her hired hand's droll description of how she'd looked and watching Will Murdoch valiantly try to keep from exploding with laughter. Finally, when Custus said her scream was loud enough to peel the wallpaper, Addie gave in to her own laughter.

  "You're terrible," she told him, biting her lip. "I guess I did look a little silly… but I still have you to blame, talking about cutting snakes into pieces and all."

  "There's one borned ever' minute," Custus said. "Just make sure, little missy, that there's no witnesses when ya make a jackass outta yerself."

  She tried to look put out but couldn't. He was right. She must have looked awfully foolish.

  "It's a good thing Montana wasn't here," Will said.

  "Why?" she asked.

  "He's got a thing about snakes himself," he answered, and then went on to explain. "Can't blame him, though. His ma was killed by a rattler when he was ten. His pa was gone and Montana came in from the fields and found her. I guess by then her leg was all puffed up and blue-black. There wasn't anything he could do but hold her hand until she died. He told me once that she cried the whole time."

  Addie closed her eyes, thinking about what a horrible thing that would be for anyone to experience, much less for a ten-year-old boy. When she was ten she had two loving parents and a secure and protected life. She hadn't had to work in farm fields. She had school and leisurely Sunday walks in the park and the joy of eating ices on a hot summer's day. All that had changed when she lost her father, but she had been older when she was forced to fend for herself and learn to deal with that empty part of her life. At ten that would have been difficult.

  There was a hard edge to Montana Creed that she hadn't understood. There had been times when he was kind—like saving her chickens—and there were times when he seemed to like to spar with her, and last night he'd held her and made her feel that he'd die if she asked him to leave her bed. But there were also the times when he'd grow cold and harsh. At those times she almost hated him. Well, she amended, maybe feared was a better word than hate. She hated him because of what he made her feel and do. She feared him because she didn't understand the cruel streak inside him. After what Will had just told her, her fear lessened. Montana's past might be the key to what she didn't understand.

  She pictured him as a boy, at his mother's side, and imagined his young face and yellow-gold eyes. Then one of the men clattered his silverware against a plate, startling her out of her daydreaming. Her gaze shot up and met a pair of burning gold adult eyes. Montana stared at her through the window. Surprised, she blurted out, "Montana…''

  Will jumped up and was out the back door by the time she and Custus had risen from their chairs. Custus followed him out the open door, but Addie lagged behind. After this morning she felt used, and angry because she had let hers
elf fall in love with him when all he wanted was the farm—and her body for a night. He really hadn't even wanted her body. Addie closed her eyes. This morning he'd called sleeping with her an "accident." When she remembered that, the pain sliced through her like a serrated knife, cutting into ragged pieces both her heart and her precious pride.

  She bowed her head for a second, trying to handle the biggest mistake of her short life. Straightening, she stacked the plates and carried them over to the sinkboard, banging them on the counter. Damn him!

  Montana walked in the back door. She looked up and right through him before turning back around and scraping clean the plates. Will and Custus followed, and she could feel their stares. She couldn't very well ignore them all, so she turned and leaned against the sinkboard, wiping her hands on her apron.

  The deep voice she loved and hated cut through the room. "I've offered Will a place to stay in exchange for helping me plant the wheat." He looked as if he were expecting an argument.

  She refused to give him one. Besides, she actually liked Will Murdoch. They could use the help, and the better the crop, the higher her split of the profits.

  "Fine," she said.

  "Thanks, Miss Pinkney," Will said. As he grabbed his hat off a hook near the door he added, "Thanks for the meal too. It was one of the finest meals I've ever had."

  Montana turned and looked at his friend as if he'd lost his mind.

  "Yep, best black-eyed peas and ham I ever et," Custus agreed, then told Will he'd show him where the men slept.

  Addie went back to the table and heard Montana mutter something that sounded like "no wonder." She gathered the rest of the dishes, acting as if he wasn't there.

  "Hettie asked about you," he told her.

  She didn't say a word.

  "She wanted to know if you were coming to the women's meeting at the church tomorrow night. They're planning something to support the grange."

  "I heard." She filled a tin tub with dishwater and dumped in the dishes.

  "She wondered if you needed a ride to town." He paused. "I told her I'd take you."