After the service, however, several of her old friends approached. Blond, statuesque Cynthia Newman was the first.
“Molly! You look great!”
A lie in itself, Molly thought. Cynthia’s hazel eyes were fastened, not on Molly, but on Jubal Jarrett, new to town and about the handsomest man to set foot in these parts since the last round of drummers.
“Introduce us, Molly,” Jimmie Sue Baker whispered. So she did.
Rubal was cordial, even to curvaceous Betty Sparks who had never lacked for words to express her feelings, nor for the confidence to deliver them. When Betty boldly suggested she’d like to see more of him, Rubal responded with an invitation.
“Come on up to the Blake House for supper some night, Miss Sparks. I can vouch for the food, and I’m sure Miss Durant’s prices are in line with what other folks charge.”
Molly cringed at that, wondering what he thought she would feed all the people he was busy inviting to dinner. Paying guests wouldn’t appreciate their ordinary fare of fried bacon and cornbread and an occasional squirrel killed by Travis. But Rubal’s smile was genuine, and his enthusiasm contagious.
Then he’d admitted to being married. The giddiness in Molly’s stomach had bunched into a knot tight as a mat of honeysuckle vines when Rubal blithely responded to the meddling Mrs. Petersen’s remark.
Mrs. Jarrett isn’t with me. Mrs. Jarrett isn’t with me! Now tongues would really wag. He wasn’t a single man; he was a married one. And his wife was nowhere to be seen.
Molly watched Etta Petersen make a beeline for the tight little group of Ladies’ Aid leaders. Listening to her, they made no pretense of discussing anything other than Molly Durant’s immoral lifestyle. All eyes swiveled on Molly, taking in Cleatus and Rubal by turn. Iola Young’s mouth pinched; Mrs. Rau’s eyebrows lifted; Anna Taylor, wife of Master Taylor, clasped a hand to her breast; and all tongues wagged.
And worst of all, Molly didn’t even care. She let Cleatus assist her onto the wagon seat, grimly determined to face the reverend and his wife with the graciousness her mother would have expected, before she sent Mr. Jarrett back to his wife, wherever in hell she might be.
“What possessed you to invite the reverend for dinner?” Cleatus complained, climbing up beside her on the wagon seat.
Molly’s eyes strayed involuntarily to Rubal who was busy listening to Willie Joe introduce his best friend Tom. Beside them, Little Sam clutched Rubal’s index finger, sucking all the while on his own. He likes children, she thought. And the reason he had taken so readily to these children suddenly came to her: He missed his own.
His own children?
In sullen silence, Cleatus clucked to the team, and they headed up the hill. From the corner of her eye, Molly watched Rubal and the boys fall in behind them.
“Seemed like a good idea, Cleatus,” she snapped. “I have to do something to improve my standing in the community, or I’ll lose the children.”
Beside her Cleatus exhaled. “It’s Jarrett’s doing, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“He’s the one cooked up all this.”
“He and Sugar,” she admitted.
“What business is it of his?”
Silence.
“I’m beginning to wonder just what it is he’s really after—”
“He’s scouting a rail line, Cleatus.”
“Besides that. He comes in here coddling those children, washing dishes, going to church. That doesn’t look like scouting a rail line to me. What does he really want, Molly…from you?”
“Cleatus!” She turned horrified eyes on him, all the more taken aback by the possible truth in his statement.
“I don’t like this, Molly. Jarrett ought to find himself a place that caters to bachelors.”
He isn’t a bachelor, her heart cried. “I need the money, Cleatus.” After a while she added, “You sound like the ladies of the society. Don’t you trust me, either?”
“It has nothing to do with trust, or with you, Molly. You don’t know the ways of men. But the ladies have a point. One of these days, you may find out the hard way.”
“I can take care of myself,” she retorted. But the dark secret from her past needled her. Cleatus would be horrified to know how much she had already discovered about men like Jubal Jarrett.
One man. Exactly like Jubal Jarrett. Except for one letter in his name, they could be the same man. Why had she allowed him to stay? Turning on the wagon seat, she glanced back at them, unable to still the anguish in her heart. Rubal lifted his and Willie Joe’s locked hands in a wave. She started to respond, then turned away abruptly.
“You could at least support me, Cleatus. I don’t need your reproach; I need your support.”
With a sigh, Cleatus transferred the reins to his left hand, and clasped her knee with his right, in an unsettling show of public intimacy. “You have my support, Molly. You should know that. You have my love, too, but you don’t seem too pleased about it right now.”
“I am, Cleatus. It’s just…well, I’ve been hit from too many sides lately. I need you to stand up for me.”
“I’ll do that, honey. Hell, if it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll run that bastard off soon as we get home.”
She smiled at his protectiveness, pleased somehow that he would offer such a thing. “I can run him off, myself. All I need from you today is your help in entertaining the reverend and his wife.”
While Molly and her brood attended church, Sugar killed three hens, plucked and singed them, and put them on to boil. After she placed two pans of rolls near the fire to rise, she set about sprucing up the dining room. Humming hymns all the while, she added two leaves to the ornate walnut table, then ironed a lace-edged linen cloth and set out a couple dozen matching napkins. She took down Miz Suzanna’s mamma’s Haviland china with the tea rose pattern on it, and polished up the German silver flatware that Miz Suzanna’s grandma had given her on the occasion of her second marriage to Mister James Blake, the younguns’ father.
Lordy mercy, but that Mister Jarrett might get things rollin’ aroun’ here, yet. An’ in the nick of time, to Sugar’s way of thinkin’. Why, already Miss Molly was showin’ more spunk than she had in a year.
Arriving home Molly left Cleatus in the foyer with instructions to greet the Reverend and Mrs. Callicott, to take their coats and hats, and to make small talk while she helped Sugar get dinner on the table.
She raced up the stairs, removed her hat, smoothed back loose strands of hair, started to pinch her cheeks, but found them stained with two crimson spots. She took a big gulp of air and flew down the back staircase. Just as she reached the kitchen the front screen squawked.
A smile painted a glistening half-moon across Sugar’s night-sky face. “Those folks agreed to come?”
“They’re here.” Molly’s gaze darted around the kitchen. When she reached for an apron, Sugar stopped her.
“Run on out there and greet your guests, missy. I’ll serve the dinner.”
“I can’t.” The door squawked again. She heard Willie Joe’s shrill voice. She envisioned Jubal’s face. “They’re not my guests,” she retorted, calling on anger for support. “They’re yours and…and his.”
Ignoring her, Sugar lifted a heavy lid. The savory aroma brought an involuntary smile to Molly’s lips, flooding her with a myriad of contradictory emotions. She watched Sugar pour chicken and dumplings into the largest tureen on the place.
“How many chickens did you kill for this?”
“Three, but I figure the weather’s still cool enough, if we set what’s left in the springhouse, it’ll keep till tomorrow.”
“We’ll need it. That man invited everybody in town to come up the hill for supper this week.”
Sugar turned amused eyes on Molly. “He did, did he? I’ll swan if he ain’t gonna make a difference in things aroun’ here.”
“Not after today.” Molly removed a pan of feather-light rolls from the oven. The last of the wheat flour, she thoug
ht. “As soon dinner’s over, I’m kicking him out.”
Except for the clanking of a serving spoon against the tureen, silence followed this pronouncement. Molly set the pan of rolls down, only to have the steaming tureen thrust into her hands.
Sugar’s eyes narrowed. “Take this to the dining room, missy. I’ll ring the bell, but you have to entertain your guests.”
Molly obeyed, finding refuge in her rising aggravation at Sugar. But when she stepped into the dining room, voices from the foyer drew her attention. She glanced up and grimaced.
Rubal stared intently toward the kitchen doorway, as though waiting for her to emerge. She gripped the tureen tighter; heat rose from the pads with which she held it. But she was unable to move until he did.
With a word to the reverend, he excused himself and stepped into the dining room. Before Molly could get to the table, he reached her.
“Let me take that.”
She gripped the tureen tighter.
He tugged.
She refused to give it up, as though by holding it, she could retain a measure of control over her life.
“I’m not married, Molly.”
His voice was low, for her ears only, which made it all the more threatening. She clamped her teeth together, pulled on the tureen, but he refused let go.
“I should care?”
“I said it that way so they wouldn’t…I mean they’re so against you renting to bachelors, I thought—”
Of a sudden she loosened her hold on the tureen. “Take your lies somewhere else, Mr. Jarrett. I’m not interested.”
At the table, she placed a trivet before her setting, from where she could dish out servings of chicken and dumplings. Rubal followed. He set the tureen squarely on the trivet.
“It wasn’t a lie, Molly.”
She inhaled, puffing up her bosom.
“There’re several Mrs. Jarretts.”
She stood at the table, eyes on the stack of plates before her, fingers repositioning the silverware.
“None of them happen to belong to me, that’s all.”
No response.
“My brothers’ wives.”
Her head shot up. The look she gave him was filled with raw pain. He knew what she was thinking. Somewhere inside him joy leapt to life. But so many layers of lies covered that joy, it might never see the light of day.
When she tried to move away, he grasped her wrist. “Two, actually. Only two of my brothers are married. Kale and Carson. The rest of us are…unattached.”
Although she didn’t look at him or even respond, he felt her relax. When she pulled at her hand, he released it, watching her return to the kitchen.
Sugar banged the dinner bell. Molly gathered her wits, or tried to, and returned to the dining room. Travis was absent, at the Taylors’, she supposed. But Lindy was here, pinafore, bow, and scowl in place.
“Would you be so kind as to return grace before we take our seats, Reverend Callicott?” Molly requested.
The reverend had obviously expected to be called on, for his prayer was tailored especially for those at this table.
“We ask your blessing on this household, O Lord. Guide Miss Durant in all her choices. Keep her chaste and pure, as you have decreed our women to be. We ask a special blessing on these poor orphaned children, O Lord. In Your Wisdom, help each of them find permanent, respectable, Christian homes before the year is out.”
By the time the prayer was over Molly was fuming and Rubal was feeling guilty. She had warned him about the overzealous people in this town. And he’d gone right ahead and put her through the torture of entertaining them, anyway. Glancing down the table he watched her spoon generous servings of chicken and dumplings on a plate, pass it along, then another, and another, serving the diners one by one. Her face had lost its color. Her lips were pressed tightly together.
Rubal glared at the reverend who hadn’t waited until the last plate was served before diving into the savory meal. Rubal wanted to jerk the pious bastard from his chair and boot him out the door.
He turned back to Molly who had finished serving Little Sam and Willie Joe and was in the process of serving her own plate. Little Sam picked up his spoon in a tight fist and shoveled a heaping bite into his mouth.
“Little Sam,” Rubal called. “Wait until your sister is served. It isn’t polite to begin eating until your hostess has served herself.”
Little Sam held the spoon frozen in midair, the food still in his mouth, as though he wasn’t sure what to do. His eyes found Rubal’s and the look of betrayal left Rubal feeling like more of a meddling fool than ever. In addition to the table manners Benjamin drilled into his siblings, he’d also taught them the Golden Rule—or tried to. Rubal began to wonder whether most of his brother’s teachings hadn’t been lost on him.
Across the table the reverend quietly set down his spoon and wiped his mouth with his napkin. Molly pierced Rubal with a look that said she would tolerate no more of his interference.
Cleatus saved the day, or at least the meal, by conducting his typically one-sided conversation from his place at the head of the table, a fact that in itself rankled Rubal. Even though he knew he had no cause to be jealous, he was. Any other time, he would whip the feller and be done with it. But he was the underdog around here. And he seemed to be making all the wrong moves.
Martha Callicott was either ignorant of the tension or oblivious to it. Midway through the meal, she took the conversation away from Cleatus by inquiring of Molly, “When did you say you and Cleatus plan to marry, dear?”
Molly swallowed the food in her mouth, dabbed at her lips, and turned a pained smile on her guest. “I didn’t.”
“Soon,” came the reply from the head of the table. “In fact I have a little surprise planned for Molly this afternoon.” He favored Rubal with a conspiratorial grin. “While Jarrett takes the boys fishing, I’m going to drive Miss Durant out to her country property so we can settle on a site for our home. I want to start construction before summer sets in.”
That announcement hit Rubal like a swift kick to the gut. He glanced down the table in time to see Molly flash Cleatus a warning frown.
“Well, I declare, now if that isn’t the best piece of news,” Martha Callicott was saying.
Molly ignored the comment, asking the reverend, “May I serve you some more chicken and dumplings?”
He passed his plate.
Willie Joe and Little Sam, who had recovered from Rubal’s chastisement by now, wriggled in their seats and giggled across the table at each other.
Serving the reverend’s plate, Molly passed it back along the line. “I must ask a favor of you, Mrs. Callicott. Since Cleatus and I aren’t ready to make an announcement, yet, we would consider it a favor if you wouldn’t mention what you’ve heard here today.”
“Why, I wouldn’t dream of spoiling your surprise, Molly, dear. But you mustn’t dillydally.” She lifted pious eyes to Rubal, then smiled at Cleatus, returning her attention to Molly with concern in her voice. “You know how folks talk, Molly. The sooner you and Cleatus are married, the better, that’s what we say.”
Rubal glared at the woman. We, who? he wondered. We, the reverend and I? Or We, the gossips of Apple Springs? But he held his tongue. He had caused Molly enough grief today. Besides, he knew the answer.
The reverend and his lady excused themselves as soon as dinner was over, saying they had a call to make in the country and needed time to return home before nightfall. Rubal lingered in the threshold between the dining room and foyer, while Cleatus and Molly said good-bye to the Callicotts.
“A mighty fine meal, Molly,” the reverend complimented.
“Indeed,” his wife agreed. “You don’t suppose I could have the recipe for that chess pie?”
“Well, I—”
“Miss Durant is putting together a cookbook of Blake House recipes,” Rubal chimed in. “You plan to have them ready by the holidays, don’t you, Miss Durant?” Her glare told him she would like nothing
better than to slap his face, unless it might be to strangle him.
She turned back to the reverend’s wife, making a valiant attempt at graciousness. “I—”
“A grand idea,” Martha Callicott interrupted. “If today was an indication of the kind of recipes you’ll include, it should be a success. Perhaps we can persuade you to donate some copies to sell at the bazaar.”
“I…uh…”
“You’re likely to end up with more guests at your board than you bargained for,” the reverend was saying.
“Not for long,” Cleatus vowed. “This nonsense will stop once Molly and I are married.” He added hastily, “Not that we won’t have you and the missus to Sunday dinner, Reverend.”
Rubal bided his time, waiting for the Callicotts to leave so he could apologize to Molly for putting her through such an ordeal. Cleatus, however, didn’t give him a chance. Molly barely had time to shoot Rubal a withering, I told you so look, before Cleatus took her by the elbow.
“Get your bonnet, Molly. Sunshine’s wastin’.”
The little boys pulled Rubal toward the back of the house.
“Wait until I help Sugar with the dishes,” he heard Molly object.
Cleatus called after him. “You wouldn’t mind taking kitchen duty again today, would you, Jarrett? Like the reverend said, it’s best to return to town before nightfall. Wolves, bears.”
Darting past him, Molly disappeared into the kitchen, while Cleatus was talking. Lindy followed her. The little boys clamored around Rubal, ready to go fishing. Before he could disentangle himself, Cleatus spoke again.
“How long you figure on your job taking, Jarrett?”
Rubal studied the man, seeing through the line of questioning even before it began. “That’ll depend on how cooperative the sawmill owners and logging contractors are.”
“The offer still holds.”
“Offer?”
“To help you out, any way I can. Fact, if you’ll come by the bank bright and early tomorrow, I’ll have a list of sawmills and contractors ready for you.”
Secret Surrender--Jarrett Family Sagas--Book Four Page 8
