Rubal considered the man’s transparent attempt to send him on his way. Truthfully, he couldn’t fault Cleatus. In his place, Rubal would have been pressed to get rid of the competition, too. When Molly returned from the kitchen, Cleatus took her arm in a proprietary fashion that stuck in Rubal’s craw.
“Sure thing,” he replied to Cleatus’s offer. “I’ll be at the bank, bright and early.”
Cleatus ushered Molly across the foyer. When he opened the screen door, Rubal heard the already familiar squawk. He studied Molly, wanting to beg her to stay here; not to ride into the country with this banker who was obviously so much better suited for her than he was.
She didn’t appear real excited about going for a drive with Cleatus, or about picking out a site for her new house. And Rubal sure as hell wasn’t excited about it either. Just before they left the house, he called after her.
“Hey, Molly.”
She turned in the threshold with Cleatus holding the screen door above her head, framing her on one side with his body, a protective stance that shot jealousy straight through Rubal. Molly curled her lips, waiting.
“I’m sorry.”
Her expression changed from distress to anger. “Go to hell.”
Lindy, who had studiously ignored everyone, including Rubal, during dinner, was nowhere in sight when Rubal and the little boys entered the kitchen.
“Miss Lindy’s on her high horse,” Sugar explained. “She’s taken to her room in a fit of temper.”
Which suited Rubal just fine. He regretted hurting her feelings, but he danged sure didn’t want her tagging along on a fishing trip.
As things turned out, he didn’t take the boys fishing. After consultation with Sugar during the dishwashing chores, he decided hunting was more in order.
“How much meat do you figure on needin’ for the week?” he asked Sugar.
“Depends on who all you’ve asked for meals.”
“Quite a few,” he admitted. “I thought it’d help, Sugar. Danged if she couldn’t use a little cash to fix things up around here.”
“And to keep things going, and to keep the younguns in school, and send Travis off.”
“Guess I didn’t do her much of a favor today.”
Sugar disagreed. “Every time one of those townfolks comes up the hill and sees how we really run things, it’s bound to help. Little by little she can wear ’em down—with our help.”
“Why does she bother? Why don’t y’all pick up and move?”
“Move? Away from Apple Springs? Why Miss Molly’s family was the first to settle in this place. They gave it its name, an’ its start. Ain’t no place else she’d want to live.”
“That’s no reason to stay where folks treat you like dirt.”
“It’s not all their fault,” Sugar conceded. “Miss Molly’s give ’em what for more’n once.”
“You’re not sayin’ she’s given them cause to doubt her decency?” Rubal stormed. “I’ll not buy that. Not for one danged minute.”
Sugar grinned. “Not a-tall, mister. Not a-tall. But since her mamma died, Missy’s had a lot on her shoulders. An’ even afore that, she done lost her spunk. Half a year or so afore Miz Suzanna took sick, Molly turned into a regular polecat. Don’t know what come over her, but afore she was done, she’d offended about ever’body in town.”
Guilt prickled along Rubal’s spine. He set the dish he had dried on the table, hoping Sugar hadn’t seen his hand tremble. “That gives them no right to shun her this way. Why, even me, just ridin’ in, can tell she’s a decent, upstanding woman. There’s probably more Christian spirit in her than in all the rest of ’em put together, including the reverend.” He went to stand in the back door, watching the two little boys race around the yard, Willie Joe chasing a bushy-tailed mutt they called Squirrel; Little Sam chasing Willie Joe, his finger in his mouth.
“You think maybe a couple of bucks?”
“To start with,” Sugar replied.
As it turned out he killed two turkey gobblers and one buck. The second chance at a whitetail buck was lost when Little Sam fell into a thicket of brambles and scared him off with his screaming.
But Rubal wasn’t much better at hunting today. Traipsing through the woods behind the house, his mind was mostly on Molly. He wondered where her property was. He envisioned her walking across it in her Sunday dress, holding hands with Cleatus, kissing Cleatus, choosing the site for their home.
Late in the day Rubal and the little boys returned to the house. Rubal carried the buck across his shoulders; the boys carried the turkeys—which he had tied together—dragging them from time to time in the red soil.
By the time they’d cleaned the turkeys and butchered the buck, dusk had fallen in the clearing, and Molly and Cleatus still hadn’t returned. Sugar took over after supper, sending the boys to bed, and Lindy close behind them.
Rubal wandered out to the porch, knowing he should go up to his room, climb into bed, and stop thinking about Molly Durant and her fiancé—and her hundred and one problems. But he knew now that he had caused some of her problems, and he told himself that was the reason he felt such an urgency to help her.
Molly’s property consisted of a thousand acres, beginning with the site where the Blake House stood on the hill overlooking Apple Springs, and extending in an elongated rectangle three miles westward into the East Texas forest. Cleatus took the buggy along a road that paralleled her property, coming to stop in a small clearing at the far west end. A creek ran through the property, below a slight rise atop which sat an ancient dog-run log cabin. A dense forest of virgin pine and scattered hardwoods surrounded the area.
Molly perused the clearing, as Cleatus handed her down from the wagon. The little hillock was less timbered than the country they had passed through to get here, one of the natural clearings found in the Piney Woods. Molly’s great-grandfather Maybray chose this particular piece of property, because the soil, unlike the red clay around Apple Springs, was a deep gray color. He claimed gray soil was more fertile.
Molly walked toward the cabin, holding her skirts above the ground cover. She had always loved this place. It reminded her of her roots, today with more poignancy than ever, reassuring her that her forefathers had survived worse times than she was experiencing now. If they could make it, so could she. Somehow.
The ride out had relaxed her—three miles of brick-red roadbed, birds singing from the forest to either side, the air redolent with honeysuckle…and springtime. The west side of the road belonged to her and the children—all three miles of it. A thousand acres of original Maybray property, some granted to her great-grandfather, the rest purchased through the years. The house in town had been built before the war by her Grandfather Maybray, and was later renamed the Blake House, for her mother’s second husband, James Blake.
After the war, with no more slaves to tend the cotton, things began to decline. Her grandfather died early; Molly’s own father was killed by a wild hog in the forest, and Grandmother Maybray with the help of her daughter, Suzanna, Molly’s mother, turned the town place into a boarding house.
James Blake followed the timber business to the area, married Molly’s mother, and stayed on. After Blake was killed in a logging accident, Molly’s mother refused to let rooms to loggers. But Jubal was right; it made no sense to continue the practice when they needed the money so desperately.
Molly tested a foot on the rotting porch step, then backed off.
Cleatus stood beside her, but with his back to the cabin. “Once we tear down this old shack, we’ll have the perfect site for the house,” Cleatus was saying. He surveyed the area, as though he were king of all he beheld. “Every man who rides by will envy me. The prettiest wife and the prettiest piece of property in all of Texas.”
Molly wasn’t sure she had heard right. “I can’t tear down Grandpa Maybray’s house.”
He cast a withering glance toward the cabin. “There’s not much left to tear down, honey.” He drew her to his chest and held
her loosely against him. She stared at his collar button, wondering what she would ever do with herself. But he tipped her chin upwards; his lips descended, and before she could object, he kissed her.
Not his usual chaste kiss, this, but a full-blown, passionate attack. After one soft brush, his lips slanted across hers, demanding reciprocation.
When she sighed, he took it as encouragement and tightened his embrace. His tongue found the seam in her closed lips. He rubbed it persistently until at length she opened to him. His kiss deepened. His hands ran down her back, gripping her buttocks through her skirt and petticoat, pulling her against him.
Cleatus had never kissed her with such passion. When she fidgeted, trying to find a polite way to withdraw, he increased his assault. The heel of his hand nudged the side of her breast. She squirmed away, but his hand pursued. He cupped her breast in a hot palm.
Cleatus loved her; Molly knew that. And he was one of the best catches in Apple Springs. He could have had Betty Sparks or Cynthia Newman or Jimmie Sue Baker. But he chose her. In the three years he’d been back from school in the East, Molly had never known him to court another woman.
The first two years, she avoided his overtures, but he never gave up. Six months ago, after her mother died, he became more persistent, and she gave in and allowed him to call on her…or gave up, she sometimes thought.
The last few desperate months had proved one point: In order to live peaceably in Apple Springs, she needed a husband. Otherwise, the well-intentioned busybodies of the Ladies’ Aid Society would give her no peace. Marriage to Cleatus Farrington, adopted son and legal heir of the local banker, would stop their wagging tongues. The idea was strangely unsettling. She pushed at his chest with flattened palms.
“Cleatus. What’s gotten into you?”
His arms tightened at her resistance. He pulled her closer, until she felt his arousal probe against her belly. A shock of revulsion rocked her. Not in a year had she felt such a thing. Not in a year had she been held so tightly, kissed so possessively. Thank heavens, she was past the age of being swept away by lustful emotions.
“Cleatus, please.” She pushed against his chest, opening a space between them, which he tried to fill.
“Cleatus! You’re treating me like I’m no better than the busybodies in this town say I am.”
He relaxed his hold at that. “I’m sorry, Molly. I just…well, I wanted to be sure you knew how much I love you.”
“Love? That’s called lust.”
“Lust, too,” he confessed. “I’m not ashamed to admit it. I’ll make you happy, Molly. Together we’ll create a life that’s the envy of every person in Apple Springs.”
While she doubted that, she also knew she had no desire to compete with the citizens of Apple Springs. Moving away, she started for the wagon.
“A perfect place,” he called from behind her. “What say I look into getting the plans started this week?”
As though she were being reined in by a stern taskmaster, Molly’s feet halted. Cleatus was pressing too hard, when she needed time, space. But how could she tell him that? His early life had been so difficult that he often misunderstood when she contradicted his ideas, thinking she was rejecting him as a person. “Cleatus, I won’t agree to tearing down my great-grandfather’s house.”
“Molly, honey, that old log cabin isn’t worth saving. And this is the prettiest site on your whole piece of property.”
Desperately, Molly tried to hold onto her temper. To think of the positive side of things. Cleatus loved her. He would take care of her. And he had her best interests at heart. He might balk at raising the children now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t persuade him. When she told him it was either all of them or none, he would agree, she was sure of it.
“What I see,” he was explaining, “is a two-story white clapboard, wrap-around porches, pillars—”
“Exactly what I have in Apple Springs.”
“What you have in Apple Springs is a run-down old house. My God, it was built before the war. You deserve a new house.”
“I don’t want a new house. My grandfather built the Blake House. You can’t touch it today for materials and workmanship.”
“We can. I’m going to give you the finest home money can buy.”
“What money? Do you plan to rob your father’s bank?” Her sarcasm was lost on his serious nature.
“Won’t have to.” He glanced around at the encroaching forest. “I’ll sell off enough trees for building capital.”
Again, Molly was certain she had misunderstood. Or hoped she had. “Sell my trees? For a house? This timberland is all we have. It’s our future—the children’s and—”
“Molly, be reasonable. There isn’t enough timber on this thousand acres to do anyone any good—not in the long run. It’s too far inland. According to my figures, we have just about enough to raise money for one fine house.”
Molly stared around at the beautiful longleaf pines, the stately red oaks, the hickory. Cleatus’s proposal astounded her. “Not my trees. Not for a house.”
“Molly, honey, don’t worry your pretty head over this worthless timber. I’ll take care of business—”
“Worthless? Timber is what’s keeping Apple Springs alive.”
“That isn’t the point. Or, maybe it is,” he reconsidered. “It takes years for trees to come to maturity. There are only a limited amount available—”
“Then why is L&M planning to build a railroad through here?”
“They’re northern timbermen, Molly. Mr. Lutcher and Mr. Moore both came from the north, where they do things differently. Fact is…” he flung his arms wide to encompass the enormous forests to either side, “…soon as the virgin forest is exhausted, Apple Springs will dry up.”
“Dry up?”
“Unless we can bring in new businesses or return to old ones—like farming.”
“Farming? You?”
He laughed, catching her around the waist in a rare show of exuberance. “Farming—me! Or, I should say, us. We’ll build back here and save enough land for a good-sized farm. Once the trees are cleared—”
“Save enough land? Save, from what? What are you talking about?”
His eyes danced much like Willie Joe’s had when he rushed in the house on muddy feet to tell her about the big yellow cat that had pulled him in the river.
“I’ve taken the liberty of speaking with a buyer who’s interested in purchasing your town property, Molly. Including the Blake House.”
“What?”
“I—”
“You arranged to sell the Blake House, and my land—”
“Nothing is arranged yet.”
“Without consulting me? Cleatus, how could you?” Turning swiftly she started to run for the wagon. He jerked her to a stop, clinching a fist around her upper arm.
“I did it for us, Molly. For us.”
“You found a buyer for the Blake House? I don’t want to sell—”
“Honey, you have a lot on your mind. I only thought—”
She stopped his words with a look of fury. “Two things you’d better get straight right now, Cleatus Farrington. I’ll never sell my land, and I’ll never put the children out for adoption. If you want to marry me, those are the conditions.”
He looked abashed, recovered meekly. “But Molly, I’m only thinking of what’s best for you.”
“I’ll decide what’s best for me.” Shaking him off, she climbed to the wagon seat unassisted. Already the sun was beginning to set. It would be dark by the time they returned to the Blake House. She wondered about the children.
Had the boys caught any fish? Had Lindy behaved herself? Had Travis returned from the Taylors’? She wondered, but suddenly she realized she hadn’t worried about them all afternoon.
Jubal was there.
Jubal Jarrett, who infuriated her by his very appearance, by his name, by the way he had waltzed in and taken charge of everything. He had come into her life little more than twenty-four ho
urs ago, yet already he had caused her more pain and anguish and had brought her more peace of mind and hope than she’d experienced since her mother died. Or since his scoundrel of a brother ran out on her.
Cleatus flicked the reins and turned the team about. They rode in angry silence through the gathering dusk.
Rubal considered himself a danged fool. He had no hankering to watch Cleatus paw Molly when he told her good-night. But he waited in the shadows of the porch, nevertheless. He owed her an apology, and by damn, she was going to stand still and let him apologize.
The swing, outside the parlor windows, was enveloped in deep shadows. He had seen to that himself, extinguishing the lamps in the foyer and the parlor. When at last he heard the clip-clop of the horses and the crunching of wagon wheels along the rutted roadbed, he stilled his feet on the porch floor so creaky ropes wouldn’t alert them to his presence.
He’d promised himself he would look away when Cleatus kissed her goodnight, otherwise he’d likely do something foolish, and she would flounce indoors like last night.
The wagon drew to a stop. Someone jumped to the ground. It sounded like Molly; wasn’t heavy enough for Cleatus. Rubal listened, peering in vain into the thick mat of honeysuckle vines that enclosed the swing on two sides.
A horse snorted. The wagon seat creaked. Molly’s voice came loud and clear.
“There’s one other condition, Cleatus.” Rubal noticed her tone was none too light. In spite of himself, he grinned. “I’ll never live any place except here. Here in this run-down old house with my brothers and sister!” Rubal pictured her pointing with that lovely outstretched arm toward this relic of a home. He pictured her bodice snugged across her breasts, like it had when she stretched to get in the wagon after church.
“Don’t get down, Cleatus,” her voice warned. “I refuse to discuss this tonight.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I’ll decide that tomorrow. Tomorrow’s a new day.”
Rubal heard her footsteps on the path, listened for Cleatus to cluck to the team, to move away. Mad as she was, she’d rush right in that door, if he didn’t stop her. He’d learned that much in twenty-four hours.
Secret Surrender--Jarrett Family Sagas--Book Four Page 9
