“You, too, missy. An’ hold your head up like you got nothin’ to be ashamed of, which you ain’t.”
That opinion, Molly soon discovered, wasn’t held by all. Cleatus rose from his chair at the head of the table. When Molly met his gaze, she almost turned and ran.
“We’ve been worried sick, Molly.”
She smiled, nodded to the others present—thankfully only Betty, Cynthia, and Jimmie Sue, other than family, come to see Jubal, she thought. She didn’t trust her voice. Most of her senses were attuned to the back door, expecting his entrance at any moment.
“Where’ve you been, Molly? Don’t you know wild beasts—”
“Take your seat, Cleatus. And pass me the venison, please.”
Cleatus complied with a huff. Molly fixed her plate and made a show of eating, while the girls returned to their chattering, which Molly barely heard. She steeled herself to remain calm and unaffected, while she listened for the back door to open.
It didn’t. The logging wagon, however, rolled in shortly, and she realized the girls hadn’t come to see Jubal after all, but to meet Lindy’s new beau. At the first sound of the wagon, they jumped up, practically knocking each other over in their efforts to see which one could reach the kitchen first.
“We’ll help Sugar,” Lindy explained needlessly.
The little boys followed, leaving Molly alone at the table with Cleatus. An awkward silence ensued. Molly picked at her bread pudding.
“Those girls,” Cleatus complained. “They make more racket than a covey of quail. Giggled and carried on all through supper.”
Molly didn’t respond. She didn’t know what to say, and wouldn’t have trusted her voice if she had. Men’s voices filled the kitchen. Molly recognized Jubal’s among them.
Cleatus glared toward the kitchen, then back to Molly. Throwing his napkin in his plate, he rose and crossed to the kitchen. Molly followed with rising trepidation.
She watched Sugar and the girls serve the loggers. She saw Willie Joe and Little Sam—each claimed one of Jubal’s legs. He stood in the back door, unable to move.
“Where’ve you been with my fiancée?” Cleatus demanded.
Molly watched Jubal concentrate on freeing himself from the boys. “Drove out to look at some pine trees.”
“Pine trees? Hell, there’re plenty of pine trees right here in town. I don’t like you making a spectacle of—”
“Cleatus, I would never make a spectacle of Molly.”
Molly moved between them. “It was business—” she defended, then stopped. Even though that was partially true, the half-lie stuck in her throat. Her eyes found Jubal’s. The glitter in his eyes was anything but businesslike.
“Next time come to me,” Cleatus warned. “I take care of Molly’s business.” He led her by a firm grip through the dining room to the foyer. When he tried to pull her to the porch, she balked.
“Good night, Cleatus.”
“Good night? Is that all I get, after—”
“It’s late, Cleatus, and…”
“Don’t tell me how late it is. You’re the one who’s been flaunting your reputation, which we both know wasn’t too good to begin with.” He shook his head as if unable to believe her conduct. “What were you thinking of, traipsing off to the country with…” pausing, Cleatus jerked his chin toward the house, “…with that…that…logger.”
Molly resisted defending Jubal Jarrett. They both knew he wasn’t a logger. She didn’t have to remind Cleatus; his meaning was clear.
“We rode out to look at my property, Cleatus.”
“The site for our home? What business is it…?”
“Some of the timberland.”
“Timberland?” Cleatus pierced her. “You mean the railroad might come through your land?”
The idea was new to Molly, new and convenient. Instead of out-and-out lying, she shrugged as if to say maybe.
“I’ll drive a hard bargain with L&M—”
“I really must go inside, Cleatus. We have a lot of work to do before tomorrow.”
His eyebrows raised a notch. She could read his mind. If there was so much work to be done, why had she gone riding with Jubal Jarrett? He didn’t say it, though, arguing instead against the dance.
“I’m against it, Molly. You know that.”
“I know.”
“But I’ll be here.” He reached to kiss her on the lips, an act that seemed especially vile since this afternoon. She didn’t pull away. But oh how she wanted to.
“Can’t have those damned loggers dancing with my fiancée.”
She didn’t mention the fact that she was his fiancée only in his own imagination, that she had never agreed to marry him on his terms. Suddenly she knew that she was glad Cleatus would be at the dance. She could dance with him, instead of “that logger,” as he called Jubal Jarrett, and she wouldn’t be tempted. Dividing her time between Cleatus and Lindy, perhaps she could even avoid thinking about that dance a year ago. An event that now stood to ruin her chances with Jubal.
That wasn’t all of it, of course. No matter how tempting it was to pretend that Jubal had come to stay, in fact he was only a temporary guest at the Blake House. Temporary. When his job scouting the railroad was finished, he would be gone.
Gone. Like his brother before him. But this time would be different. Another Jarrett would not break her heart. She wouldn’t allow it.
Saturday dawned sunny and hot. Victor Haslett was moving sites, so the loggers got the day off. From the work they were required to do around the Blake House, however, Molly doubted they felt like they’d had a day off.
“You women take the inside,” Rubal told her after breakfast. “Leave the outside to us men.” With that he put the boys—Travis, Willie Joe, and Little Sam—to work cleaning up the yard and clearing a place to string a hitching line between several trees north of the house.
Since he hadn’t inquired which jobs she wanted done outdoors, Molly wondered from time to time what he set the loggers to doing. Hearing hammering out front, she stepped on the porch to see Waldo repairing the shutters. At the sound of chopping, she stepped to a side window to see Calder cutting back the overgrown hedges. And when Molly suddenly realized Lindy had finished mopping the foyer and disappeared, she found her helping Jeff weed the walkway and trim the rose bushes.
“Lindy,” Molly called. “Time to fix refreshments.” She watched Lindy ignore her, saw Jeff say something, after which Lindy came running to the house and helped bake ginger cookies and molasses crisps, and make fresh cucumber sandwiches with more enthusiasm than the girl had shown for cooking in her entire fifteen years.
Rather than relieve Molly, this new grown-up Lindy added to her anxiety. She kept an eye out the windows on Jeff, and caught him and Rubal in an earnest conversation. But she had little hope that anything either of them said to Jeff or Lindy would keep these two eager young people from the disastrous course they seemed hell-bent to pursue.
Sugar fixed a hearty corn chowder for lunch. When Molly stepped out her front door to call the men, she was in for another surprise. She stood, mouth ajar, looking from man to man, finally settling on Rubal, who stood, hands on hips in the middle of the yard.
“Come out here, Molly. Take a gander.”
She stepped gingerly off the porch and crossed the yard without allowing herself to gaze back at the house. When she came face to face with him, Rubal turned her by the shoulders. She stood, silent and still, scarcely drawing a breath.
“Well? What’d you think?”
She watched Waldo, Calder, and Jeff apply a coat of whitewash to the weathered walls of the Blake House. Her eyes filled with tears and still she couldn’t find words. Her hands flew to her mouth, as if to assist her in speaking.
“Don’t you like it?”
“Where did you get the whitewash?”
“Is that all you can say? ‘Where did you get the whitewash?’”
She turned to him then, wanting to throw her arms around his neck in
the worst way, seeing in his eyes that he knew what she was thinking, that he wanted it, too.
“I love it,” she whispered. “Cleatus always says…”
“Don’t bring Cleatus into this, Molly.” His lips pursed. His eyes penetrated to the tender, yearning core of her. “This has nothing to do with Cleatus.”
But it did, Molly thought, deeply affected that Jubal Jarrett had thought to whitewash her house, a house that Cleatus claimed was too run-down to bother with, too old to live in. For the first time in what seemed like forever, she was eager for Cleatus to arrive at the Blake House. She wanted to stand on the porch and greet him. She wanted to see him walk up the walk, stare at the house, recognize how grand it really was.
“We probably can’t finish it all today,” Rubal said. “But we’ll get the front done, and the side where folks will arrive.”
And they did. Barely. After a rushed supper of corned beef hash and biscuits, the men, still wearing their whitewash-stained clothes, moved the chairs and table back against the dining-room wall and left to bathe in the creek. Lindy disappeared without bothering to help clean the kitchen, but Molly didn’t worry. She was upstairs primping. Would she could lock the moonstruck girl in her room until she grew up. Or at least until this dance was over.
Molly tried on three gowns before she admitted that she had no choice in what to wear. The forest green gown she had worn that dreadful night Rubal had come to the Blake House was the only party dress she had, other than the buttercup yellow gown she had taken up for Lindy.
Even though Molly had lost some weight in the past year, the green gown still fit. Looking in the mirror, she paled at the deep décolleté. She hadn’t worn a gown cut this low in a year. What would Cleatus think?
What would Jubal think? Nothing, she rebuked. Absolutely nothing. It was his brother who had seen her in this dress—and practically out of it.
Hastily, she brushed her hair until it shone, then caught her mass of unruly curls to the top of her head with a green ribbon.
Every few minutes she looked out her window, which fronted the street. She wanted to see Cleatus’s reaction to the house. Suddenly that became more important than anything. It tempered her worry over Lindy and Jeff; it dimmed her distress at wearing “Rubal’s dress,” as she’d come to think of this gown. Now she was glad she hadn’t gotten around to burning it, which she had vowed to do.
Waldo and Joe Don had already arrived and were warming up by the time Molly saw Cleatus approach from down the street. She tucked one last pin in her hair and dashed out the door. At the head of the stairs she collided with Rubal.
Stunned by his virility, by his crisp white shirt, fresh denims, and leather vest, by his clean-shaven, smooth face, she momentarily forgot Cleatus. She warmed beneath Rubal’s sensual perusal. When he lifted her fingers to his lips, she knew he felt her tremble.
Finally, she managed to regain her senses. “Come on,” she urged with a broad grin. Dragging him willingly after her down the staircase, she rushed out the front door and stopped abruptly on the porch.
Rubal stopped beside her, still trying to grip his emotions at seeing her in the gown that he had dreamed about for over a year. Why had she worn it? What was she telling him? Asking him?
He watched her clasp her arms around the near pillar, a grin as big as Texas on her lips. Following her gaze, his desire turned sour at sight of Cleatus, who approached the house, obviously deep in thought.
“A welcoming party? For Cleatus?” Rubal’s ire provoked, he turned to go back inside, but Molly caught his arm.
“Watch his expression when he sees the house.”
Her hand burned a ring around his arm. “I didn’t paint this danged house for him, Molly. I painted it for you.”
“I know.” They watched Cleatus step through the gate. One step. Two. Then he came out of his stupor. Stopping in midstride, he gawked.
Her eyes on Cleatus, Molly spoke under her breath. “He’s always telling me how old and ugly this house is. How it isn’t worth saving. Now, he’ll see the truth.”
Rubal felt her tremble beside him, heard the triumph in her voice. Turning he saw the jubilation on her face and he’d never wanted to kiss her so badly in his life. Kiss her until she forgot a banker named Cleatus Farrington existed. Kiss her and hold her and love her…
…love her? Or make love to her?
While Rubal was still coming to grips with the situation, Cleatus approached. “What the hell’s going on here?”
“Jubal and the loggers whitewashed the house.”
“I can see that,” Cleatus barked. “Why?”
“Why?” Molly asked.
Rubal heard her confusion.
“Why?” Cleatus repeated with more vehemence.
“Now you can see I was right. It is beautiful.”
Rubal heard her beg Cleatus to agree, to approve.
“A little whitewash doesn’t alter the fact that this house isn’t worth living in.” Cleatus turned furious eyes on Rubal. “You wasted your time, Jarrett.”
Rubal wanted to come off the porch and punch Cleatus Farrington in the nose. Wanted it in the worst way. But he didn’t. He didn’t even ask Cleatus how much time he’d wasted around the place lately…or even tell him to go to hell.
Instead he shrugged. “Molly likes it.” That said, he stalked back inside.
The dance went off without a hitch. So many people came from town that Molly soon lost count. Travis had been stationed in the foyer with a cigar box to collect the twenty-five-cents admission fee. Twice during the evening Molly saw Jubal take the money out and carry it discreetly upstairs, as they had agreed he would.
Even the Taylors ended up enjoying themselves. Master Taylor proved proficient on the dance floor. He twirled his wife to the strident sounds of the amateur musicians and told Molly once, “My grandfather used to talk about attending dances in this old house.”
Several other townsfolk claimed the same.
“Place looks wonderful, Molly.”
“Had to come. It’s been years since I danced in this parlor.”
“Used to be the finest home in the country. And the finest people, your folks.”
Molly’s heart swelled with pride. It will be again. And for the first time since her mother died, she believed she could make that dream come true.
Well, some of it, she thought, feeling awkward and faint every time her eyes met Jubal’s. He looked so much like Rubal, it took her breath away.
Or was it Jubal who took her breath? Jubal, who caused her pulse to pound? Jubal, who had brought hope and even the stirrings of joy back to her heart? Jubal, who caressed her with his eyes from across the room, making love to her, much as his brother had done, that fateful night a year ago.
Cleatus wanted to dance every dance, and she complied for the most part, knowing if she was in his arms, she wouldn’t be tempted to go to Jubal. He didn’t ignore her, yet he kept his distance, usually the length or width of the room.
But knowing he was here, catching his eye from time to time, revived the runaway emotions she had felt with his brother, reminded her of that night so strongly, that once she felt sure he, too, knew. From the beginning she’d had trouble separating the two men in her mind. Tonight only heightened her confusion.
But her greatest fear wasn’t realized, nor was her greatest desire—for after all they were one and the same—that Jubal would dance with her. He didn’t.
He danced with Betty and Cynthia and Jimmie Sue, each in turn and once. She counted. He even danced with Anna Taylor. Once.
For the most part, he leaned against the door frame and tried to ignore her, or so she imagined. From time to time she saw him talking to Willie Joe and Little Sam, before Sugar shooed them off to bed. Later, she caught him and the two little boys sitting on the stairs in some sort of discussion that was obviously designed to send them willingly back to bed, for afterwards the little boys vanished.
Jeff and Lindy acted with such decorum that Moll
y ceased worrying about them. She still kept them in sight, and every time she saw the front or back door open, she watched to see who went out.
She’d have to ask Jubal what he said to Jeff, for Jubal had produced this miracle, Molly was certain. Just as he had produced the other miracles taking place tonight.
When the dance was over, she stood in the doorway knowing that Jubal had taken care of most of her worries—he had even oiled the hinges on the screen doors. She shook hands with each departing guest, accepting praise, inviting each and every one to come again. She caught herself repeating Jubal’s praise for Sugar’s cooking; she wondered whether they could set up a second dining table in the foyer. Perhaps they would revive her mother’s practice of having two supper seatings on weekends.
Cleatus was the last to leave, as Molly had expected—and dreaded. He tried to guide her to the swing that was secluded in the shadows of honeysuckle vines. Instead she plopped unceremoniously into one of the rocking chairs. She heard him huff. Stretching her legs out, she molded her back to the back of the chair and rocked.
Cleatus stood in front of her, twirling his hat in awkward hands. “Well, I’ll have to admit it worked better than I feared.”
“Better than I dreamed.”
“Folks didn’t seem to hold it against you.”
“I picked up quite a bit of business tonight.”
Cleatus shuffled his feet, still twirling his hat. “Yeah. Even the schoolmaster and his wife seemed to enjoy themselves.”
“Yes, they surprised me. They acted like normal people.”
“Maybe this was a good thing after all, Molly. Maybe now you won’t mind letting Travis go…and the others—”
“Letting them go?” As was often the case, she didn’t quite understand Cleatus.
“Now that you’ve seen the truth,” he added.
“What truth?”
“That the town has your best interest at heart. The number of townsfolk who showed up tonight should prove that.”
“What does that have to do with letting the children go to foster homes?”
“Nothing, I guess. I just thought it’d make it easier for you to see the truth. There are some damned good folks in Apple Springs, Molly. They’ll make good foster—”
Secret Surrender--Jarrett Family Sagas--Book Four Page 16
