But it didn’t. At the sound of his footsteps, Molly glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes were round, much rounder than he had ever seen them, and circled with black. He tried to read her expression, but couldn’t.
She wasn’t angry. Molly was generally up front about being angry, like pulling a shotgun on a feller. But instead of the answer he’d expected to see plastered across her face, he saw instead questions.
“Molly…”
She silenced him with the shake of her head, turning back to the eggs. He stood still, watching her, scarcely breathing. Finally she looked back at him.
“Molly, I…”
Again, she shook her head. “Don’t say anything. Just…don’t say anything.” She returned to the eggs. He watched her scramble them. Unable to see the eggs, he could tell what she was doing by the movement of her arms, the sawing motion of her elbow, the…
His heart beat fast. He wanted to cross the room, take her in his arms, and…
And what, Jarrett? What? Feed her more lies?
Sugar’s voice finally penetrated the gloomy fog Rubal found himself drowning in. “I’ll swan if you don’t look all tuckered out, mister. That must have been some dance. Come on over here and pour you’self a cup of coffee.”
As though recovering from a bout of paralysis, Molly and Rubal moved at once. He poured coffee. When she looked at him again, it was with a smile, same as every morning this past week.
“Want some?” he asked, holding out the cup.
“Later. Sit down. The eggs are done. Sugar’s finishing the flapjacks.”
Almost like always, Rubal took his place. Molly set a plate of eggs and fried bacon before him. Sugar brought a stack of flapjacks.
“Maybe the boys and I should try for a hog this week.”
“Good idea,” Molly said. “If half the folks show up for supper who said they would, we could use some big hams.”
“An’ bacon,” Sugar put in. “Bacon’s almost gone.” Sugar’s last words were lost in footsteps on the stairs.
Lindy. Rubal had been here only a week, but already he recognized each person’s individual way of coming downstairs in the morning. He wondered whether Molly, hearing him earlier, had felt the same trepidation that he felt now, knowing he had to face Lindy.
Inadvertently, he glanced at Molly the moment Lindy stepped into the kitchen. Molly shrugged. He could see a mixture of anxiety and amusement in her expression. Together, they looked at Lindy. Then blinked to refocus.
Dressed in a modest—obviously not new, but lovely nonetheless—dress of sprigged muslin, Lindy looked the picture of a young girl on the verge of womanhood. Her hair was caught with a bow at the nape of her neck, and her scrubbed face held the first unaffected smile Rubal had seen on it. His first thought was that this must have been what Molly had looked like at fifteen.
He glanced back to see Molly’s startled expression. Would Lindy grow up to be as beautiful as her sister?
Lindy slid into her place at the table. “Mr. Jarrett…”
Rubal did a double take at that but Lindy’s eyes held no guile. Unable…or afraid…to speak, Rubal nodded for her to continue.
“Would it be all right if Jeff comes to church with us?”
Church? Sunday? Well, what did you think, Jarrett? Sunday usually follows Saturday. One glance told him Molly was as startled by the notion of going to church this morning as he was.
But they went. The lot of them, walking like before. Except this time, he and Molly walked side by side, with Little Sam between them, of course, one hand to his mouth sucking his finger, the other holding onto Rubal for dear life. Willie Joe walked to the other side of Rubal, holding his hand, too. They had latched onto him like a honeysuckle vine to an old pine tree, and he was hard-pressed not to enjoy it.
He would hurt them, too, with his lies and shenanigans. This time when he left Apple Springs, he would hurt a lot of folks, not only one sweet, innocent girl.
Woman, his body corrected.
Ahead of them Lindy and Jeff walked, talking easier the further they went. At first they’d hung back, partially out of self-consciousness, Rubal knew, mostly by design. Behind, they could hold hands, exchange glances.
Rubal knew. And Molly, so close yet untouchable, knew. Molly had handled the situation, waiting at the yard gate, ushering the pair on ahead after Travis dashed out and down the street. Travis, who had dreams of his own to fulfill and was bent on stepping on everyone and anyone who got in his way. Even his sister, who loved him enough to sacrifice just about anything to see his dreams fulfilled. Rubal had considered talking to the boy, but resisted. He’d interfered in this family’s problems too often already.
“You two walk ahead,” Molly had told Lindy and Jeff. “The boys’ short legs will hold you up.”
Although the looks Lindy and Jeff exchanged revealed that they understood the true motive for Molly’s request, they moved ahead without a word.
Other than a mumbled “Morning,” Jeff hadn’t uttered a sound the entire morning, but his beet red face bespoke his embarrassment. Rubal admired the boy for coming to church in spite of the awkward situation. He doubted he would have been man enough to do it.
He certainly hadn’t been man enough to face up to his other responsibilities. They arrived at the church, then, and the first sight of Cleatus erased his own indiscretions from mind for the time being.
Cleatus, who stood expectantly on the steps of the church. Cleatus, whom Rubal would like to punch in the nose and boot out of Molly’s life.
Cleatus, who would take Molly, leaving Rubal to drown in his own deceptions, unable to so much as stake a claim for the hand of this woman.
But he’d be damned if he intended to sit behind them again this Sunday.
Molly stewed all the way to church about what she would do if Cleatus was there. After last night, did she dare sit with him? She didn’t want to, but if Cleatus took her arm, what should she do? What would Jubal do? Would he allow Cleatus to escort her into the building, sit beside her, while…
She wasn’t surprised to see Cleatus standing on the steps. She would have been shocked if he hadn’t been. Not that Cleatus was overly religious, he wasn’t. But in Apple Springs, the banker’s son attended church every Sunday and during the week-long summer revival, every day. In Apple Springs attending church was a social and business necessity.
Cleatus stood beside the reverend, no doubt discussing some fund-raising dinner, or other means of getting the flock together. Either that, or how to redeem the fallen Miss Durant.
The reverend spoke first. “Molly, this is a welcome surprise. I’m glad to see you’re making an effort to attend services more regularly.”
“Especially after the night you must have had,” Martha Callicott added. “I mean, the dance.”
Molly bristled. She heard Jubal clear his throat, but before he could speak, Molly surged ahead through the church door.
Cleatus took the lead. He wedged himself between Little Sam and Molly. “I’m glad to see you, too, Molly.” Edging out Rubal, he took Molly’s arm just as she entered the church, holding it in a grip that issued a warning—breaking away would require a struggle…and create a scene none of them needed. Tensed, she allowed him to usher her toward the pew they had shared the Sunday before. They were barely seated, however, before she saw Jubal drag the little boys past them, taking the pew directly in front, forcing Molly to stare at him the entire miserable service. She could think of nothing but the man in front of her: Jubal Jarrett. Sitting beside her family.
Little Sam curled up with his head in Jubal’s lap and went to sleep, like the Sunday before. Like before, Jubal stretched his arm along the back of the pew, where she had to look at it…look at it and remember…the arm that had embraced her only hours before, the arm that had stretched above his head when he made his startling proposal.
His slightly off-key baritone drifted back during the hymns, reminding her of the way he hummed when they danced in the darkened parlor
, and her body warmed.
For the first time she allowed herself to recall the way he had taken charge of Lindy—the forceful way he had ejected Jeff from the house, preventing the disaster she had feared for the past several days; his anger, pent up, yet controlled; his words. Here in the isolation provided by the service, she took them out of her memory, his words, one by one, and examined them and found them to be true. They were acting like grownups, and it was difficult, and he had said it aloud, not boastful, but beseeching Lindy not to make the same mistake Molly had made with his brother.
The other part, about passion growing better with age, really startled her. He hadn’t intended to make so bold a statement; she knew that. She couldn’t help but wonder whether it was true. The idea that she might discover the truth with this totally open, completely honest, compassionate, and passionate man made her heart beat fast just thinking about it.
True or not the claim had caught Lindy’s attention. And probably Jeff’s. For those two sat on the pew with Jubal, on the other side of Little Sam, as chaste and proper as could be expected from two young people who were attracted to each other. They touched only at times when it seemed accidental, like when they held the hymnal together or when they bowed their heads and their elbows jutted out slightly, touching, lingering, undoubtedly grateful for the reverend’s penchant for lengthy prayers.
But Molly’s attention was, for the most part, reserved for the man in front of her. She studied his head, dark hair curling down around his neck, not long, not short. Just right. She studied the way his black leather vest stretched across muscles enhanced by hard work. She pictured his face, smooth-shaven, often solemn with a hint of misgivings, other times breaking into a grin that defied her not to respond.
All these things she considered while sitting beside another man in the house of God. But one thing she did not dare recall—Jubal Jarrett’s startling proposal of marriage.
It had staggered her, almost knocked the wind from her lungs. He hadn’t meant it, of course. It had come as the result of stress and anger and unfulfilled carnal yearnings.
She knew that…in her brain. But her heart took her brain to task for rejecting his intentions out of hand. They had been spontaneous, yes, but didn’t spontaneous actions come from deep inside a person, where truths reside. Truths yet unexamined?
Truth or fiction, his proposal remained unexamined during the following days, while he went about the job assigned to him, and Molly struggled to maintain decorum in a boarding house set topsy-turvy by a multitude of new patrons. She added the additional seating she had thought of the night of the dance; not only on weekends, but three days a week. The extra cooking and cleaning, not to mention being present to greet the guests, were not only time-consuming, but tiring. Which she considered a blessing, since she and Jubal had little contact from day to day.
The stress of not being able to dance with him was nothing compared to the stress of not being able to talk to him.
As soon as dinner was over that Sunday afternoon, he had called Jeff to come with him, and the two of them rode off to tend to what Jubal termed business. Never mind that the timber business bowed to local custom and took the Lord’s day off.
Molly was left behind with a houseful of guests and Cleatus, feeling alone and abandoned. And angry for it.
She admonished herself that she was being unreasonable, that Jubal needed time to think, that she wasn’t ready to discuss the startling turn their relationship had taken.
Why, hadn’t she been the one to resist talking about it that very morning? He had come into the kitchen, obviously ready to talk.
To rescind, she argued. To apologize. She had seen it on his face, heard it in his voice. That was the reason she refused to talk about it. He had sounded contrite, when she wasn’t ready to turn loose of the joy that had begun to fill her heart, in spite of her best efforts to stem it.
Eventually they would talk. After all, hadn’t he termed them grown-up? That meant sensible, sane, practical…lonely.
It always came back to that. To loneliness. She’d been left by one Jarrett, and she feared being abandoned again. Feared it to the depths of her being. Feared it with every beat of her heart. If he left…
When he left…
The Taylors had come for Sunday dinner and lingered on after the other diners left. Molly wasn’t surprised to see them, considering how they’d enjoyed themselves the night before. But if she thought her troubles with the Taylors had ended on the dance floor, she was mistaken. Cleatus was right. One Saturday night dance was all it had been. One dance changed nothing.
“We’ve brought some papers to discuss with you, Miss Durant,” Master Taylor told her. Travis stood stoically beside the schoolmaster and his wife.
“Papers?”
“Adoption papers,” Anna Taylor explained. She might as well have thrown a pitcher of cold water over Molly’s head.
“The judge will come through in a week or two,” Master Taylor was saying. “If you’ll sign the papers before he arrives, the matter can be expedited, and Travis won’t miss school.”
Molly studied the defiant but dear face of the brother she had all but lost. Even if she sent him to school, would he ever truly belong to the family again? She doubted it.
“Adoption won’t be necessary, Master Taylor.”
“Molly—” Travis began.
“Mr. Jarrett has helped me find a way to send Travis to school. We’d appreciate any help you can give, though, so he can be ready to leave for San Augustine when the time comes. Why don’t you come into the parlor now, and we’ll discuss the costs and what he’ll need to take—books, clothing, things like that?”
“What is this plan?” the schoolmaster demanded instead.
“If you think to make enough money by feeding people from town, it won’t work,” Anna Taylor argued. “You’ll never be able to make—”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Taylor.” Molly shifted her attention to Master Taylor himself. “I’ve found a way to send Travis to school. Now, will you help us with matriculation? Or will we have to ask—”
“Don’t work yourself into a dither, Miss Durant,” the schoolmaster interrupted. “Surely you must realize how much my wife has planned on this.”
Molly eyed the downcast woman, whose mouth was bowed in an upside-down U and whose black eyes glimmered with tears. Molly reached to ruffle Travis’s hair. Surprisingly, he stood still for it. “Anyone would want Travis for a son, Mrs. Taylor, but he’s part of our family. We can’t let him go. You shouldn’t have trouble finding a child.”
“But not one with the intelligence—”
“Children need love, Mrs. Taylor, at least as much as they need education. A lot of children in this world have no one to love them.” She looked down at Travis. “But the ones in this house are not among them.”
Although Anna Taylor was very near tears and the schoolmaster was miffed, they left with promises to provide Molly what help she needed to get Travis ready for school.
Travis lingered behind. It was the first Sunday Molly could recall him not clamoring to spend the day with the Taylors.
Soon enough she discovered the reason. The Taylors weren’t out the yard gate before Travis’s skepticism surfaced. “How, Molly? You didn’t answer Master Taylor’s question. Do you intend to sell this house like Cleatus says?”
“Never,” Molly vowed. They stood on the porch. The breeze was already warm with summer heat. Bees buzzed around the honeysuckle. Molly crossed the porch and sat in the swing, rocking it back and forth with her heels to the floor. “Come here, Travis. Let me explain.”
Although he refused to sit in the swing, he perched on the porch rail nearby.
“I’ll never sell this house. This is the house our grandfather built. I understand that you don’t see the value of it right now—”
“I’m not ignorant, Molly. Master Taylor says—”
“I know what Master Taylor says. As much as I respect him, Jubal is right. It takes more
than brains to run this world. Common sense and a knowledge of where you’ve come from, of where you are going, plays a big role in whether a person is happy or not.”
“You’re sweet on him, aren’t you?”
“Sweet?”
“On Jubal Jarrett.”
“Sweet on him?” Molly felt herself flush. Sweet on him didn’t begin to explain how she felt about Jubal. “No…I, uh, I don’t know how to answer that, Travis. To be sweet on somebody is like having a girlhood crush. That isn’t…”
“Lindy told me about last night.”
Molly rocked, silent, resigned to the lecture she was sure to get from a child who didn’t yet see girls as anything other than a nuisance—or someone to cook and clean for him.
“He had no right to kiss you that way.”
“Really?”
“And he had no right to say those things to Lindy…or to throw Jeff out of the house.”
Molly studied the serious youngster. “I kissed him back, Travis. And Lindy…well, I’m sure Lindy didn’t tell you everything. You couldn’t very well object to Jubal teaching her what it means to be a responsible young lady.”
“Cleatus is right.”
“Cleatus?”
“He’s after something, Molly. Jubal Jarrett is after something from you, from us.”
Molly frowned, curious to hear how Travis’s young brain, intelligent as it was purported to be, had deciphered her and Jubal’s relationship. “What does he want, Travis? Do you know? Does Cleatus know?”
“Cleatus said Jubal’s making you look like a tramp to the folks in town. Master Taylor said—”
“Hush. Just hush.” Despair of ever reaching this child overwhelmed her. She stood. “I don’t want to know what Master Taylor has to say about something he has no information on. I repeat, no information, Travis. Master Taylor is an intelligent man. He’s teaching you…what did you call it? Qualitative thinking? Well, doesn’t that mean you don’t make judgments without using all available information? Without all the facts?”
Secret Surrender--Jarrett Family Sagas--Book Four Page 18
