Down in the Valley

by Jane Shoup

  He shook his head. “Maybe if there was no other work to be had, but there’s a lot of work.”

  “Still,” she mused. “We could provide room and board,” she suggested. “And more pay than they’d ordinarily get, only later. What about that?”

  “I don’t know if it would work, but I guess we could try.”

  Her breath caught. “Really? Wait, did you mean . . . coming here?”

  Moments of silence elapsed. “If you’re sure you want to,” he said warily.

  “If I’m sure?” she repeated. She beamed a smile and clasped her hands together. “I am absolutely, positively sure! But are you sure?”

  He nodded slowly and smiled. “I guess so.”

  She laughed in delight and stuck her hand across the table. “Partner?”

  He took her hand in his and shook it. “Partners.”

  Howerton leaned back in one of the leather wingback chairs in his office with a book in his lap and listened as Tommy explained the situation. When he’d finished, Howerton shut the book on selective breeding he’d been perusing and set it aside. “You’re quitting?”

  Tommy nodded. “Soon as you can spare me.”

  “To go work the Martin farm? Because Miss Wright wants to hire you?”

  “Not exactly. We’re going to be partners.”

  “Partners?” Howerton repeated. “Partners, he says.”

  Tommy resented being mocked. “That’s right,” he replied with a flare of hurt pride.

  Howerton got to his feet and walked to the bar in the back of the office. He picked up a bottle of scotch. “You want a drink?”

  “No, sir. Thank you.”

  Howerton poured himself a drink. “Are you sure you understood her correctly?”

  Tommy shifted on his feet. The truth was, he’d been wondering the same thing. “Yes,” he said anyway.

  Howerton turned back to face Tommy and took a drink. “Alright, Tommy. Go when you want to go. I’ve got enough hands. And, if you got it wrong, for whatever reason, maybe she wasn’t clear enough, you come back. You’ve always been one of my best workers. Hell, you’re probably the very best. Sam’s going to hate to lose you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Tommy turned and started for the door.

  “Oh, Tommy—”

  Tommy turned back.

  “You’re going to learn about some punishment doled out to your brother and Blue,” Howerton said. “It was meted out for my satisfaction. It wasn’t because of you.”

  “Because of you,” Mitchell hissed furiously.

  Every part of Mitchell and Blue that Tommy could see was covered in raised welts. They were alone in the bunkhouse, because everybody else was working.

  “They beat us! Every second, there was a dozen switches flying at me. For five goddamned minutes! Or probably more.”

  “I didn’t know,” Tommy replied.

  “I didn’t know,” Mitchell mocked. “Moron! If you hadn’t gotten in the way—”

  Tommy started packing his few belongings and tried to block out his brother’s voice. He stuffed his clothes into his beat-up leather satchel as quickly as he could, wanting to be clear of this place. He especially wanted to be away from Mitchell.

  “What the hell are you doin’?” Mitchell demanded.

  “I’m leaving.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “God damn it,” Blue bellowed. “I’m hurtin’.”

  “Shut up,” Mitchell yelled at him.

  “I can’t help it,” Blue whined.

  “I said, shut up,” Mitchell yelled even louder.

  Tommy picked up his bag.

  Mitchell barred Tommy’s path. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

  “Miss Wright,” Tommy began.

  “That bitch,” Mitchell spat. “What about her?”

  Tommy took several moments to answer, because he didn’t want to reveal how much the name-calling bothered him. “I bought half her farm,” he said calmly. “We’re going to be partners.”

  “What do you mean you bought?”

  It was telling that Mitchell didn’t question the partnership, only the money he’d spent. “I saved some money and I gave it to her. Then she asked to be partners.”

  Mitchell’s expression was full of disgust. “You are just as stupid as I always said you were.” Tommy made a move to leave but Mitchell grabbed his arm. “I ought to kick your sorry ass right here and now. Now, you go get every penny of that money back from that bitch—”

  With a violent thrust, Tommy shoved him into the wall and pressed his forearm to his brother’s throat. “Never call her that again,” he bit out. He released Mitchell, but continued to glare threateningly for several seconds before he walked out.

  “Goddamn,” Blue said behind him.

  Mitchell rubbed his aching throat. “Shut the hell up,” he rasped.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Somewhere between the Triple H and the Martin farm, Tommy began to feel foolish and queasy with anxiety. Had Em meant for him to come back right away? All of Mr. Howerton’s questions and doubts about whether he could have misunderstood her were plaguing him. Could he have? If he had, there was no way he’d go straight back to the Triple H, because how stupid would he look then? No, he’d have to find somewhere else to sleep, at least for the night.

  She was beating a rug when he rode in. When she heard and turned toward him, shielding her eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun, he held his breath. A split second later, her relieved smile lifted the weight of uncertainty from him. “What did he say?” she called when he reached the house.

  He dismounted. “Said it was okay.”

  “I’m so glad. I am so relieved.”

  He couldn’t hold back a smile because she didn’t know what glad and relieved were. “There’s enough coverage so . . . he didn’t need me to stay.”

  “It doesn’t feel quite real,” she admitted, still smiling.

  “No, it doesn’t,” he agreed.

  Her smile waned. “Um, about sleeping arrangements.”

  “I’ll sleep in the barn.”

  “Oh, no,” she replied firmly, her brown eyes flashing. “It gets cold at night.” She stuck the handle of the rug beater under her arm and avoided his gaze. “What I was thinking is . . . you could sleep in Ben’s old room,” she said haltingly. “I know it sounds inappropriate, but it wouldn’t be,” she continued, speaking faster and blushing. “See, there’s a bedroom downstairs and two rooms upstairs. I . . . I’m upstairs,” she said, stammering in her nervousness. “I always was. I mean that was my room and it still is.”

  “I could sleep in the barn,” he repeated. “I wouldn’t mind.”

  She huffed. “Well, I would. You’re the one who’s making it possible for us to exist here. So if you’re going to insist that someone sleep in the barn, it’s going to be me.”

  He laughed at the preposterous thought.

  “And if that won’t do,” she continued. “Then we’ll just have to make do with both of us being in the house right now.”

  He thought about it. “People might talk.”

  She sighed and shrugged. “People are going to talk anyway. Besides, we don’t get many visitors out here and we can tell people you’re sleeping in the barn if anyone asks, which I doubt they will. And we can start on a bunkhouse. Right? We’re going to need one, anyway. Sometime.”

  She was trying too hard and talking too fast. He’d been a wreck all the way there, but seeing her so nervous actually calmed him. “I guess so.”

  “Good.” She turned to pull the rug down from the clothesline.

  “I’ll get that,” he offered.

  “Thank you,” she said, stepping back. “So, it’s settled?”

  He pulled the rug down. “If that’s what you think is best.” He turned back to face her, and it looked as though she had something else to say, something that was weighing on her. “What is it?” he asked.

  “As far as people talking . . . they do,�
�� she said. “I know that better than most.”

  He nodded, thinking he knew it pretty well himself.

  “I don’t think we should worry about it,” she added nervously.

  “I was only worried about you,” he said.

  She smiled. “I have a feeling that’s what we’ll do. You’ll worry about me and I’ll worry about you.”

  The smile he returned was one of wonder, since no one had ever worried about him. They started back to the house together, which was strange. It was strange to be acting like he belonged here. When he followed her inside, he smelled food.

  “It goes there,” Em said, pointing to the spot on the floor.

  He walked over and placed the rug on the floor.

  “And your room is through there,” Em said, gesturing to a door and then quickly turning away to hide her blushing. She walked over to stir the contents of a pot, and he went to look in the room. There was a wide bed, a dresser, wardrobe and chest of drawers—but no personal possessions sitting around. Some butterflies kicked up in his stomach, knowing that she must have cleared them out for him.

  By the time Tommy sat in a rocker on the front porch after supper, he knew this arrangement wasn’t going to last. He didn’t know what was going to happen or when, but this wasn’t going to last. It was too good to last. This wasn’t his life. A breeze blew, an enormous hawk circled overhead and a rooster crowed. Tommy wanted to absorb it all, every minute, so that he’d never forget.

  He heard her footsteps and then the screen door squeaked as she opened it. He wanted to drink in every second, every sound and sight, so he’d be able to recall it when he went back to his real life. Mr. Howerton would be gracious about it and Sam Blake would be glad to have him back again. Some of the others would be glad, too, but Mitchell and Blue would make fun of him every day for the rest of his life. He didn’t look forward to that.

  “Let’s try this,” Em said as she stepped next to him. She had a small bowl and a rag in hand. “Close your eyes and lean your head back.”

  He happily acquiesced. He also slid his hands down to make sure his coat covered the bulge in his trousers that couldn’t be helped. The sight of her was arousing, but even with his eyes closed, he was stirred by her nearness, her voice, her touch. The rag was cool, but her hands warm against the sides of his face. She had no idea how good it felt to be touched by her soft fingers.

  She straightened, but remained standing next to him. She wasn’t touching him, so it was surprising how clearly he felt her. He knew exactly where she was. In different circumstances, he could have put his hands around her waist and pulled her into his lap.

  “Does it hurt much?” she asked.

  “No. The medicine helped a lot.”

  “Good. I’m going to make some tea. Unless you prefer something else?”

  “No. Tea’s fine.” As she walked back inside, it occurred to him that being taken care of was a new sensation. His ma hadn’t been good at it, though she had doted on Mitchell. Not only was Mitchell the baby of the family, but he looked like her. Most of her sons favored her somewhat, but not Tommy. He must have looked like his pa, although he’d never laid eyes on the man or even seen a picture.

  When Em came back, she gently lifted the rag from his eye, redipped it in the solution and then put it back on, saying, “The tea’s steeping.” She was exactly what a woman was supposed to be—soft and pretty, but also strong in her own way. She made up her mind about what was right and then she did it, no matter how hard it was.

  She sat in the other chair and began rocking. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “Evenings have been lonely since Ben died.”

  “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

  “I’m sure you’ll miss the others, though. After being around so many men.”

  “I’m glad I’m here, too,” he repeated emphatically. She laughed and the sound of it made him happy. It was nice to be able to make her smile or laugh.

  Her chair creaked in an easy rhythm. “Where are you from?”

  “North of here. Harrisburg. We came to work the mines, but then we got hired on at the ranch.”

  “Do you miss Harrisburg?”

  He removed the rag and sat up, because it was disconcerting not to see her. “No.”

  “I don’t mean to invade your privacy. Please tell me if I do and I’ll stop.”

  He put the rag back in the bowl. “I don’t mind.”

  “I can talk too much.”

  He grinned. “I probably don’t talk enough.”

  “Then we should balance each other out,” she said with an easy smile as she rose to go check on the tea. Again, the screen door screeched as she pulled it open and banged twice as it shut behind her. He liked the sound. He liked it a lot. It was the sound of a home.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “What are you smiling at?” Tommy asked Em as they rode side by side, exploring the farm.

  She looked at him and shrugged. “It’s been a nice day,” she replied.

  “It has,” he agreed.

  In part, her cheerful mood was due to the unseasonably warm day, but the rest of it was that they were making plans for a future that was beginning to come into focus. They’d been together for more than a week, and each day had been good. Tommy was considerate and appreciative of everything. He was also the hardest worker she’d ever seen. He was up and working when she woke, which was always by seven, and she had to urge him to stop at the end of the day. He’d accomplished more in a matter of days than she had in the last month. Another benefit was that she’d been sleeping soundly since his arrival. He made her feel safe.

  He reined his horse to a stop. “See over there?” he asked, pointing to the top of a wide ridge. “The tobacco barn should go up there.”

  “Why there?”

  “Airflow. Tobacco’s got to be kept high and dry.”

  “Ah.” She maneuvered her horse in a wide circle, looking around. They’d decided where to plant tobacco, wheat and corn, and where to locate the new barn and bunkhouse. They were going to build a kitchen that would attach to a dining room or chow hall, as Tommy called it, which would attach to the bunkhouse.

  “What was that barn used for?” Tommy asked, pointing to an old barn in the hazy, blue distance.

  She shook her head. “That was Amy’s father’s land. Her brother only recently died and left it.”

  “Left it?”

  “To Ben. Although it was sold to Mr. Howerton not long ago,” she added with a shrug. “Ben’s land ended just beyond that little gulley.”

  “Let’s go see it,” he suggested, starting his horse forward.

  It was such a glorious day, she didn’t much care where they went. “Amy didn’t want us going there,” she said as they rode. “She acted as if it was cursed,” she added ominously. “I don’t think she had a happy childhood.”

  “Was she happy later?”

  “No. I often wished that Ben had married someone else. For his sake. He deserved someone more . . . loving. She wasn’t content with farm life.”

  “You’d think she’d be used to it, anyway,” Tommy mused.

  “Maybe she wanted to escape it. I don’t know. All I know is that she hated her father’s land. And we were told to stay away from it in no uncertain terms. Jimmy asked why once and she got angry and said it was dangerous. Something about the house burning down. Jimmy said something smart-alecky back to her and she slapped him across the face.”

  “The house burned down?”

  She nodded. “There’s nothing left but part of the brick foundation and a cellar hole and the chimney and part of a wall.”

  He grinned. “How do you know if you weren’t supposed to go there?”

  She grinned back. “How, indeed.”

  It was a half hour ride to reach the barn, which was badly overgrown. They looked around before finding a way in to the dim, cool interior which still smelled of hay and damp earth. Tommy glanced about and then headed up the ladder to the loft. “Be car
eful,” she fretted, crossing her arms tightly. “The wood might be rotten.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  She watched as he reached the top, stepped over and disappeared from view. She rubbed her arms, her eyes still adjusting to the light, and looked around at the implements hanging on the wall, vaguely disturbed that it still smelled so alive.

  “There’s some boxes up here,” he called. “Clothes in them.”

  She looked up to where his voice had come from. “What sort of clothes?”

  “Quilts, curtains, a coat. Moths got to it, though. It’s all ruined.”

  Em walked to the ladder and looked up it, wondering if she had the nerve. She chewed lightly on a knuckle and then reached out for the ladder. Ignoring the anxiety that had her frowning, she started up, concentrating on one rung at a time, hand then foot. She made it to the top and crossed over, ending on her hands and knees. She was trembling all over, but determined to master her fear, and she’d already managed the hardest part. She knew the fear was because of her last encounter with Briar, and she wasn’t about to let him control any aspect of her life.

  Oh, but that day. She’d avoided him for months after the attack, mostly because she’d stayed so close to the house and to other people. But, that day, he showed up again and snuck up on her in the barn. Again. She’d grabbed a pitchfork and threatened him with it, but he rushed her and yanked it from her grip.

  She barely averted his grasp, ran for the ladder and scampered up to the loft—the only place she could go, since he stood between her and the door. Of course, he followed. Laughing, taunting, telling her how much he’d missed her, how much he’d had to jerk himself off because of her. She hadn’t understood the reference, but got the gist and it made her feel sick with panic and revulsion.

  In the loft, she searched frantically for a weapon, but there was nothing, and she was more trapped than ever. “Please, leave me alone,” she begged as he closed in on her.

  “Baby, that ain’t never gonna happen. You are mine. You need to stop fightin’ it.”