Warmth flooded Tiller’s body, and weakness shook his knees. He reached for the tub Miss Vee held out, fearing he might not have the strength to carry it.
She seemed unaware of his distress, but the old man’s kind eyes followed him across the room.
Miss Vee paused at the door. "I’ll be back in a while with your lunch. We’ll make it something so special you’re not likely to forget."
Otis smiled, but he still watched Tiller. "You come back in here after lunch, boy. We’ll continue our little chat."
With a hesitant half nod, Tiller followed Miss Vee into the hall.
"What was that?" he asked breathlessly once he’d put some distance between himself and the room.
She lifted her brows. "What was what?"
He pointed. "You didn’t hear? Didn’t feel …"
"All I could manage to do in there was smell." She chuckled. "We’ll have to do better by him from now on, or we’ll miss that reward he keeps crowing about." Turning the corner into the kitchen, she laughed aloud. "I’m just glad it’s God who’s keeping score and passing out prizes. Left to Otis, he wouldn’t remember long enough."
Dazed, Tiller jumped when Mariah opened the back door.
Ashamed that he hadn’t thought of her well-being once they got busy with Otis’s bath, he breathed a relieved sigh that she’d returned safely.
She stepped over the threshold, a basket overflowing with bright red berries on her hip. "Look what we found. A big patch of wild strawberries. Aren’t they nice?"
Miss Vee grunted. "I saw that deplorable Gabe Tabor. What did he want?"
Mariah dunked her basket in a pan of fresh, cold water, drew it out and shook it, then rested it on the counter. "Did you know the fields in the South were once covered by these? Like a great red blanket spread out for miles. Mother told me about seeing them as a child. She called it a glorious sight." She gathered a double handful and dropped them into a bowl. Bending under the counter, she rummaged in the cutlery jar and withdrew a paring knife.
"What were you thinking to go off alone with that man?" Miss Vee persisted. "What was he doing here?"
Mariah ducked her head. "If you must know, he asked me to go on a picnic."
Miss Vee’s mouth fell open. "For heaven’s sake. I hope you told him what bank of the Pearl to jump off."
Mariah turned the color of the glistening fruit in her hand. "I told him I’d love to go." She began to cut thick slices into a bowl on the counter. "In fact, I’m making a pie for the occasion."
Rendered speechless, Tiller stared. He could almost accept the Choctaw brothers as rivals. Any fool could guess what a woman might see in them. But the gangly, potbellied dullard with a lustful glint in his eye? Impossible.
Evidently, Miss Vee shared his thoughts. "Mariah Bell. Please tell me you jest."
Mariah frowned. "Oh, stop. He’s not so bad. His father’s an unreasonable old toad, but Gabe can be quite nice when he wants to be."
Miss Vee hissed through her teeth. "Gabe Tabor couldn’t be nice tied up and knocked unconscious. That son of a toad is twice as warty as his father. At least the elder Tabor has some semblance of morals."
Mariah wiped her hands on her apron. "For pity’s sake. It’s just a picnic. Besides"—she shot an angry glance at Tiller—"I won’t discuss my personal life in front of the hired help."
He winced and started for the door. "I’ll just get on back to work."
Miss Vee clutched his sleeve as he passed. "No, you won’t. We all know you care about this thick-headed girl as much as I do." She glared at Mariah. "Tiller stays. I want him here with me to help talk sense into you.”
Mariah whirled to the sink. "There’s nothing more to talk about."
Miss Vee gripped her arms from behind. "Honey, can’t you see how much you’ve changed? Overnight you’ve become a stranger. The sensible girl I know wouldn’t let that horrible man stand in her shadow, much less court her." She gave her a little shake. "Tell me what happened. What crawled under your skin? You can tell an old friend." She glanced back at Tiller. "And a new one who seems mighty concerned about you right now."
Mariah stood in silence.
Miss Vee tried to turn her around.
Drawing in her shoulders, she shrank farther away. "I simply refuse to talk about this."
Going red in the face, Miss Vee gave Mariah’s back a determined nod. "Very well. Your father will be home soon. We’ll see what he has to say about Gabe as a fitting suitor." Grit in her fiery glare, she pursed her lips at Tiller. "Mark my words. John Coffee will set this mess to rights in a Mississippi minute."
Avoiding the back door, Mariah hurried around to the front of the house and slipped inside on tiptoes.
She’d heard Tiller hammering in the barn as she passed. Her six sunburned guests sprawled on benches near the garden, resting their full stomachs after lunch and swapping fish stories. Dicey’s high-pitched chatter drifting from the kitchen told her Miss Vee must be with her, the two of them clearing the dishes.
The only one left was Otis. She’d slip by him then sail to her room and scour the hand Gabe Tabor held, scrub the cheek his wet lips kissed. On second thought, she’d strip and scrub from head to toe, since there wasn’t an inch of her his roaming eyes and leering grin hadn’t bared.
Mariah crossed her arms protectively and shuddered. Easing past Otis’s room, she lifted her skirts and prepared to dash for the parlor stairs.
"Whoa, missy. Could I trouble you for a minute?"
Groaning inside, she froze. She considered pretending she hadn’t heard, but her conscience wouldn’t allow it. Taking three steps back, she peered into the room. "Yes, sir? Do you need something?"
He motioned her inside. "Just a spare second, if you have it."
She wavered, every nerve in her body screaming for the comfort of her room.
Otis smiled and motioned again. "Just a smidgen of your time. I won’t keep you long."
Pushing aside her distress, she approached the bed with a weak smile. "All right, I’m here. Now what can I get for you?"
"Nothing for me." He flashed his gaping grin. "This here’s about you, little missy."
Mariah frowned and cocked her head. "Me?"
Sobering, he nodded and gripped her hand.
The room dimmed, despite the sudden flame that roared up in the hearth. She tried to glance toward the fire, but Otis’s somber gaze held her.
"The burden you carry ain’t your load to bear. I’m supposed to tell you so."
A rushing sound filled her ears. "W–what?"
His kind eyes glowed with compassion. "Like a tender shoot pushing to the surface, truth always seeks the light." He shook his head. "You can’t keep the secret you guard so close, honey. It’s bound to come out."
She fought to look away from him but couldn’t. Stumbling backward, her grasping hands searched for the bedpost to hold her up. "What makes you think I have a secret?"
With a knowing smile, O tis pointed up in the air. "’Blessed be the name of God for ever and ever: for wisdom and might are his…. He revealeth the deep and secret things: he knoweth what is in the darkness, and the light dwelleth with him.’"
Following his finger, Mariah gaped at the low ceiling. Tingly hairs rose on her neck and the backs of her arms, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears. "That’s impossible. How could you know anything about me?"
Otis shrugged. "I don’t. Not really. God don’t always provide me with the details." He gave her a wink and a warm smile. "Just enough to pass on the message … and to pray." He held out a trembling hand. "Can I pray for you, little missy?"
Afraid to take her eyes off him, Mariah backed to the door. When her groping fingers closed around the frame, she launched her body into the hall and streaked for the parlor. Taking the stairs by sets of two, she hurled herself into her room and bolted the door.
NINETEEN
Rowdy laughter and a curious commotion drew Mariah to her bedroom window for a peek.
The men
had carted the dining room table outside under the big oak and spread it with a tattered white tablecloth. Like a colony of ants, they paraded single file between the table and the house, bringing chairs, napkins, and sloshing pitchers of drinks. The last item to arrive appeared to be a brightly colored relish tray, sectioned by green pickles and olives, purple beets, and quarters of sliced red onion.
Mr. Lenard, the lodger she’d promised a double batch of biscuits in the morning, settled a fiddle to this chin and raised his bow. Music filled the air, and Dicey, on her way from the house with a platter of sliced bread, broke into a little jig. Smiling, she danced across the yard to the table and delivered her tray.
Mariah leaned to search the yard for Tiller. She found him standing over the fire pit, tossing catfish fillets into a kettle of roiling fat.
Miss Vee appeared, trailing Dicey, and guilt struck Mariah’s heart. She’d claimed to be ill when Miss Vee poked her head in asking why she hadn’t started supper. Knowing how the woman worried, Mariah felt downright cruel to add to her fears. With a full house, Miss Vee worked half the day cleaning and washing linens. Now she bore the added burden of Mariah’s kitchen duties, and the strain showed in her slumped shoulders and halting steps.
With a determined sigh, Mariah closed the curtain and hurried from her room. She could face anything as long as she didn’t have to see Otis Gooch.
At the back end of the hall, she slipped down the kitchen stairs. Stopping to check herself in the mirror, she gasped. The pillows had mussed her hair, and her eyes were red from crying. She straightened her topknot the best she could, but only time would ease her swollen eyelids.
Snatching the bowl of peeled potatoes, she moved to the counter for her sharpest knife to cut them into slices just as Dicey and Miss Vee breezed in behind her.
Dicey’s excited prattle ended midsentence, and she gaped at Mariah with startled eyes.
Mariah laughed. "Don’t fret. I’m not sick in the body. It’s my mind that’s vexed, and that’s not contagious."
There were many things Miss Vee might have said at that point, but she thankfully declined. "I’ll finish cutting those, Mariah. Take this batter out to Tiller, if you will. You look like you could use the fresh air."
Mariah wasn’t eager to face Tiller, but she didn’t know how to refuse gracefully. Her unbearably trying day had taken another foul turn. Wiping her hands on a cloth, she slid it under the bowl to catch any spills and pressed open the door with her shoulder. Her teeth gritted, she stepped out to the lively strains of Mr. Lenard’s fiddle and his friends singing "Turkey in the Straw" at the top of their voices.
"Met Mr. Catfish comin’ downstream.
Says Mr. Catfish, ‘What does you mean?’
Caught Mr. Catfish by the snout,
And turned Mr. Catfish wrong side out.
Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay,
Roll ’em up and twist ’em up a high tuckahaw
And twist ’em up a tune called Turkey in the Straw."
A gentle breeze lifted her hair as she crossed the porch. With the early summer sun resting on the treetops and a wide patch of shade under the oak, it was a perfect evening to take a meal outside in the yard.
The aroma of golden fried fish reached her before she reached Tiller, and a deep, hungry growl rumbled her stomach. During her lunchtime picnic, Gabe’s determined advances kept her too busy to eat a bite of her lovely sandwich or taste a nibble of her strawberry pie.
"Any room in the pot for these fritters?" she called.
Tiller glanced up from the iron kettle, the thoughtful frown on his handsome face warming to a delighted smile.
Mariah’s heart stirred. The man seemed achingly glad to see her—unexpected after the way she’d treated him.
"Miss Vee said you were feeling poorly. I was just weighing the consequences of sneaking upstairs to check on you."
She handed him the batter. "You mean the threat of catching my illness?"
He grinned. "The threat of a skillet upside my head if Dicey caught me skulking near your room."
Tilting her head, she laughed into his merry eyes, but the familiarity of the moment sobered them.
Mariah lowered her lashes. "It’s kind of you to be concerned about me. Especially after I … well, you know."
He plopped a dollop of batter into the hot fat, jumping back when it sizzled and splattered. "After you set me on my swaggering ear … and rightfully so?"
She searched his face for the cocky manner he used to cover his feelings. There wasn’t a trace.
"I mistook your kindness and offer of friendship for something else." His features softened, and he smiled. "I apologize. It won’t happen again."
She longed to cover her ears, to stretch out her hand and cover his mouth. Instead, she touched his arm. "Oh, Tiller."
The fiddler reached the end of his song and swiveled in his chair. "Smells mighty good, young fella’. Got any samples of that fish yet?"
"I’d even taste a bite of fritter," another man called. "Whatever you’ve got, bring it over."
Laughing, Tiller hefted the heaping tray of catfish. "I’ll go tame them down with this batch. You’d better hurry Miss Vee along with the rest of the meal. I’m not sure how long I can hold them off." He stepped toward the table then spun on his heel. "Mariah, Miss Vee may have the right to frown on the man who courts you. I reckon I don’t, only …" He chewed his bottom lip then released it. "Please be careful, won’t you?"
Squirming, she couldn’t hold his gaze.
"If you ever need to talk, I make a pretty good listener," he said then turned to go.
Mariah clutched his arm. "If you don’t mind my saying, you seem different."
He laughed softly. "I’m not surprised. I feel different. I had a long talk with Otis after lunch. I can’t explain it, but the old man knows things about me no one is supposed to know."
Her heart surged. "He does?"
Tiller nodded thoughtfully then blushed. "He said not to worry about the way I feel about you. Said he couldn’t tell me the outcome, but he promised everything would turn out right in the end." He gave her a slow smile. "Once he finished praying, I believed it, too."
Mariah watched him go, holding the platter high over his head and whistling "Turkey in the Straw." Spinning, she tripped over the exposed roots of the oak then stumbled for the house.
First Otis, who seemed to hear directly from God, had read her secret thoughts. Then Tiller, without a whiff of deceit or false charm, had wormed his way deeper into her heart. Now the two seemed in cahoots on some scheme concerning her.
Like it or not, the time had come to persuade Gabriel Tabor to propose.
Tiller stole a peek over his shoulder and smiled. Mariah lurched toward the house, her mind clearly on something besides walking. He felt a little underhanded because he hadn’t told her everything. A gambler kept a few cards close to his chest.
Waving the platter under their noses, he centered the fried fish on the table in front of the men. "Here you go, boys. This ought to hold you until we get the potatoes done."
Returning to the cooking fire, Tiller dropped a few more spoonfuls of batter into the steaming fat. They bobbed and danced before settling to the bottom in a ring of bubbles. In the same way, his insides had bobbed and danced before settling in to hear the rest of what Otis had to say.
After Tiller shared his fears about the black-hearted Mr. Tabor’s intentions, Otis sat straight up in bed and promised with glowing eyes that God would deliver her out of the rascal’s clutches. Then he winked and patted Tiller’s hand, promising to pray every day that Mariah would one day be his.
As Tiller told Mariah, Otis knew things. His messages were cloudy but seemed miraculous for a man who couldn’t remember a name past five minutes. His peculiar insight into people’s hearts convinced Tiller that the gift, talent, or whatever a man might call it, came from a higher source.
Tiller might not be cozy with the Almighty, but he believed. As a frigh
tened boy in Fayetteville, dodging broomsticks and scratching for crusts of bread, he’d felt God’s sheltering arms many times. Living with a half-crazy mama will get a boy searching for something to believe in.
Rescue came when his ma sent him to Scuffletown to live with Uncle Silas. When Tiller heard he’d be leaving her house, he sensed the hand of God reaching down to pluck him from a terrible fate.
Yet with the rash self-centeredness of a foolish boy, he’d managed to spoil everything. He fell in with a group of unruly youths in Scuffletown and barreled headlong into his own destruction.
The women’s voices pulled his head up from the bobbing fritters and his thoughts from the dreadful past. He shuddered as his mama’s shrill taunts faded to 1871 where they belonged.
"Here are the potatoes," Miss Vee said, handing over a large bowl brimming with thin slices.
Tiller took up the crisp fritters then dropped the potatoes by double handfuls into the iron pot. "It won’t take these long to fry." He nodded toward the men hunched over the platter of fish. "And even less time to eat them." He chuckled. "It might be a good idea to cut the pies. You’ll be dishing them up before long."
Dicey swung around to a smaller table where they’d lined up rows of Mariah’s fresh-baked desserts under a low, shady bough of the oak.
Miss Vee gathered a stack of small plates. "Wait, Dicey. I’ll help."
Mariah seemed wary and fretful. Keeping her distance, she watched him from under her lashes.
He’d said too much. Turned her skittish.
Laying aside his tongs, Tiller turned with a smile, but the reassuring words he planned to say turned bitter in his mouth.
Over her shoulder, Tobias Jones and his nuisance sons strolled toward them with wide grins.
Mariah spun to follow Tiller’s gaze, and her shoulders stiffened.
Tobias reached them first. He took off his battered slouch hat and nodded. "Halito, Mariah. Thank you for inviting us to supper."
A tiny frown gave her away. Mariah had no idea she’d extended an invitation. "You’re always welcome, Tobias." She accepted the hand he offered. "All of you."
Bandit's Hope Page 14
