Deep in the Heart of Trouble

by Deeanne Gist

  “I heard you fired the new toolie last night,” he said finally.

  She hesitated a moment before finishing her bite. “Yes.”

  “Grandpa was none too happy when he found out. According to him, Bryant was the soul of courtesy—fearless, punctual, and hardworking.”

  She scooped up slices of potato and onion.

  “You gonna tell me about it or not?” he asked.

  She dabbed her lips. “You gonna eat or not?”

  He placed a spoonful of soup in his mouth.

  “Mr. Bryant barged into the club after everyone had left and started ordering me around,” she said.

  “Ordering you around? How so?”

  “He demanded we convert all our rigs to rotaries, or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  “Or else we’d become obsolete.”

  “He said that?”

  “More or less.” She waved her spoon at his bowl.

  He took another bite. “I talked at length about the rotary drills with Mr. Bryant before I sent him out to see you. I’d been reading about them and was actually toying with the idea of updating.”

  She set her empty bowl on the small round table between them. “Well, heavens. You’ve not said a word. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was going to, but I’ve been … distracted.” His gaze roved over the sky. There was only the barest hint of magenta left.

  Her heart squeezed and she laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Papa. I know this month has been hard on you.”

  His beard quivered.

  “The rotary drills are terribly expensive,” she said, “but if you’d like for me to write up an assessment, I can.”

  “Please,” he whispered, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and finger.

  She placed her napkin on the table, gathered her skirts and knelt before him. His hand now rested against his entire face.

  She removed the bowl from his lap and placed it on the table. “I’ll write up a report first thing tomorrow.”

  He nodded. “Would you re-hire Bryant also, please?”

  She bit her lower lip. “I’d rather not.”

  Papa lowered his hand and looked at her, his expression turning protective. “Was he fast with you?”

  “No, no. Just … officious.”

  “I imagine he’s not very used to discussing business with a woman.”

  “What’s he doing discussing business with either one of us? He’s a toolie, for heaven’s sake. And a novice at that.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Essie,” he said. “He knows the oil business. Somehow he secured a higher-up position for himself in Morgan Oil without ever having to get his hands dirty. He’s a pencil pusher, not a rope choker. Doesn’t mean he’s ignorant.”

  “I don’t like him.”

  “I don’t think he much likes you, either.”

  “I stopped caring a long time ago what men think of me,” she said. “Anyway, he’s probably already left town.”

  “I saw him at the Slap Out playing checkers with young Harley just before I came home for supper.”

  She took his hands into hers. “Why is he so important to you, Papa?”

  “Why’s he so repugnant to you? It’s not as if you’ve never had to tangle with a fella who didn’t like the idea of taking orders from a female.”

  Full dark had descended and she could no longer distinguish his features. “He said I was too big for my britches.”

  Papa chuckled. “And so you are.”

  She started to pull away, but he squeezed her hands. “Now, Squirt, you know there’s a bit of truth to that. And what does it matter one way or the other? Bottom line is, you’re his boss. He’ll come around.”

  If he’d asked on any other day, she’d have put up more resistance.

  But she simply didn’t have the heart to argue with him tonight. “Will you hire him back, Papa, so I don’t have to?”

  Standing, he brought her to her feet, as well. “I’d rather you do it. I’d like to be alone for a while, if it’s all right with you.”

  She frowned. “You mean, you want me to go find him right now? This minute? And leave you alone in the house?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

  “He’s leaving at first light.”

  “But what if he’s left the Slap Out already? I wouldn’t have a clue as to where he might go. He could be anywhere.”

  “You’ll find him.” The words came out a croak. And she realized Papa truly did need to be alone with his memories without worrying she might overhear him grieving.

  “Very well,” she sighed. “You sure you’ll be all right?”

  He pulled her into another hug but gave her no assurances.

  Tony could not believe he was being trounced in checkers by a ten-year-old. They’d been playing for best out of five, but when Tony went down early by two games, he’d convinced Harley to play the best out of seven. It was three to one. Harley.

  The child’s shiny black hair had been parted on the side but would not stay slicked down. The barrel that the checkerboard rested on came up to his chest.

  He jumped two of Tony’s pieces before landing on his king row, then leaned against his cane chair. “Crown, please,” he said with a smirk.

  The door to the Slap Out—where Corsicanans came if they were slap outta something—was propped open by a basket of oranges, giving Tony a view of the darkening sky. The smell of stale coffee, tobacco, and vinegar wrestled for dominance over the mercantile. Mr. Crook, the slim and fastidious man who owned the store, began to prepare for closing.

  “How’d you learn to play checkers so well?” Tony asked.

  “Miss Essie taught me.”

  “Miss Essie?” Tony asked, his finger poised on the checker he was fixing to move. “Miss Essie Spreckelmeyer?”

  “Yep.”

  The boy’s grin irritated Tony. Because of that pompous, shorttempered woman, he’d be heading over to Powell’s oil patch in the morning looking for another job. “You play checkers with her?”

  Harley shook his head. “Not if I can help it. I cain’t hardly ever beat her.”

  Tony slid his piece into a position to jump one of Harley’s blacks.

  The boy leaned forward and studied the board. “Me and her go way back.”

  Way back? The boy was only ten. “You’re friends, then?”

  “Thicker ’n calf splatter.”

  “She fired me yesterday.” Tony couldn’t keep the edge from his voice.

  Harley snorted. “What’d ya do? Kick a dog or somethin’?”

  “No. I told her she needed to update her father’s rigs.”

  The boy looked up from the board. “Told her or askt her?”

  “Told her.”

  The shopkeeper, sweeping between two tables, began to chuckle.

  Harley shook his head. “She don’t like to be told what to do. But she’s a square shooter and once you’re her friend, she’d back you ’til Sittin’ Bull stood up.”

  “That a fact?”

  “Sure is.” Harley moved his piece out of harm’s way.

  The unmistakable sound of a lady’s bootheels approached the open door, then stopped. Tony looked up. Speak of the devil.

  “Good evening, Hamilton,” Miss Spreckelmeyer said to the shopkeeper. “I was afraid you might be closed already.”

  Crook set his broom aside. “No. Katherine has ladies from the Benevolent Society upstairs fawning over the twins. I thought I’d hide out here for a while longer.”

  Tony couldn’t help staring, though she paid him no mind. She could pretend all she wanted that she hadn’t noticed him there, but he knew better.

  She wore a simple skirt and white shirtwaist with a relatively plain straw hat. Her entire countenance had mellowed the moment she’d seen Crook, and mention of the babies had provoked a tender expression.

  “They’re so adorable, Hamilton,” she said. “I could gobble them right up.”r />
  Crook pushed his spectacles farther up onto his nose. “Yes, they’re something special, all right.” His expression sobered. “I’ve been thinking about you today. How’s your father?”

  The softness about her melted into melancholy. “It’s been a difficult day for us both.”

  “I’m sorry,” Crook said. “What brings you to the store at this hour?”

  She looked somewhat at a loss, then noticed the basket of oranges holding open the door. “I’d like one of these, please.”

  “An orange? You came all the way out here for an orange?”

  “Yes, please.” She picked one up and gently squeezed it. “Can you put it on our tab?”

  Crook eyed her curiously but didn’t argue.

  “Your turn, Mr. Bryant,” Harley said.

  Tony turned his attention back to the board, but he could see Miss Spreckelmeyer out of the corner of his eye. She made a show of noticing them for the first time, then approached the barrelhead slowly, her boots tapping the floorboards.

  “Good evening, Harley,” she said.

  “Hey, Miss Essie. Sorry you’re havin’ a bad time. What’s the matter?”

  She gave the boy a sad smile. “My mother died two years ago today.”

  Harley’s face collapsed. “I’d forgotten it was today. The judge all right?”

  “As good as can be expected, I suppose.”

  Tony had learned Mrs. Spreckelmeyer was deceased, but, of course, had no idea this was the anniversary. The anger he felt toward Essie dulled a bit in light of the circumstances.

  She turned to him. “Mr. Bryant.”

  He stood, snagging Harley by the shirt collar and lifting him to his feet, as well.

  “Miss Spreckelmeyer,” he said. “I’m sorry for your loss.” Harley squirmed away from Tony’s grip.

  “Thank you,” she said. “And, please, don’t mind me. Go ahead and resume your game.”

  He grabbed a chair from beside the potbellied stove and brought it to the barrel, holding it in readiness. Smoothing her skirts beneath her, she sat. He and the boy followed suit.

  “Who’s black?” she asked.

  “I am,” Harley replied.

  “Hmmm.” She and Harley exchanged a smile.

  Tony frowned at the board.

  “Shouldn’t you be home having supper?” she asked Harley while cutting into the orange’s skin with her thumbnail.

  “Ma, Brianna, and a couple of ladies are upstairs fussin’ over Mrs. Crook’s babies. Ma told me to wait here for her.”

  “Brianna’s here?” Essie asked, glancing at a curtain that led to a back room. “Brianna Pennington?”

  “Yep.”

  “I heard you’ve been teaching her how to fish.”

  Harley scratched his chest. “Reckon you heard right.”

  Essie cocked her head. “How’s she doing?”

  “She won’t put worms on her hook. Thinks it’s mean. So I’m gonna take her snake hunting. No killin’ involved in snake hunting.”

  Tony glanced at Essie, waiting for her to raise an objection to Harley doing something so foolhardy—particularly with a girl in tow. But she didn’t so much as bat an eye.

  “Who’s Brianna?” he asked.

  “You know,” Harley said. “She’s one of them Pennington girls.

  There’s a whole passel of ’em, aren’t there, Miss Essie?”

  “There sure are.” She turned to Tony. “Bri’s the youngest of the cooper’s eight daughters. Her mother died about three years ago.”

  Nodding, Tony moved his piece. Essie paused in the peeling of her orange to assess his move and again gave Harley the slightest of smiles.

  “We’re playing best of seven,” Harley said. “I’ve already won three out of four.”

  Tony stiffened. Essie might have been irascible last night due to her distress over her mother’s anniversary, but that was no call to fire him, nor to gloat over him being beaten by this kid in knee pants.

  She split open the orange, and its fresh smell filled their corner of the store.

  “Hadn’t seen ya around much lately,” Harley said.

  She offered him a sliver of fruit. “I’ve been busy training Mr. Sharpley for the bicycle race.”

  She offered Tony a piece, too, but he declined with a wave of the hand.

  Harley popped his slice into his mouth. “How come you’re not trainin’ him tonight?”

  “I had planned to spend the evening with Papa, but he retired early.”

  “I hear Sharpley’s purty fast.” He slid a black piece onto a square that would allow him to jump one of Tony’s, unless Tony jumped him first.

  Tony propped his elbows on his knees, trying to figure out if it was a trap.

  “I have high hopes for Mr. Sharpley,” she said. “You should come by one evening and see him for yourself.”

  “Sure. That is, if Ma will let me.”

  “I’ll speak to her for you.”

  The boy beamed. “See?” he said to Tony. “I done told you she was a good egg.”

  Her gaze touched Tony’s before skittering away. Just then, several chattering women poured through a curtained partition at the back of the store, disrupting their concentration.

  Essie moved to greet them. Tony stood.

  “Hello, Essie, dear. Have you seen the babies yet? Precious, simply precious.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Vandervoort. They are indeed adorable. How do you do, Mrs. Tyner, Mrs. Whiteselle?”

  The women greeted Essie with warmth, then swept past her and Crook, pulling on their gloves while continuing to extol the virtues of the babies they’d been to visit.

  “Hey, Harley,” said a girl of about eight with reddish brown braids. “Whatchya doin’?”

  “Climbin’ a tree. What does it look like I’m doin’?”

  Scrunching up her nose, she stuck her tongue out at him.

  Mrs. Vandervoort, a woman with salt-and-pepper hair and shaped like a cracker barrel, signaled the children.

  “I gotta go, Mr. Bryant. Miss Essie can take my place for me.”

  “Oh, I’m sure—” he began.

  “I’d be glad to finish up the game for you, Harley,” Essie said.

  Smiling, the boy nodded. “Come on, Bri.” He waved to Tony and ran out the door to catch up with Mrs. Vandervoort, who looked better suited to be his grandmother than his mother. Brianna scampered behind him, braids bouncing.

  Essie settled into Harley’s seat and took a small bite of orange. A drop of juice formed at the corner of her mouth. Without ever taking her attention off the board, she pressed the butt of her hand to the liquid, stopping its descent.

  “I’m afraid Harley has you in a pickle, Mr. Bryant. Would you like to cry uncle?”

  He had no interest whatsoever in playing checkers or anything else with this woman. But he’d be hornswoggling something fierce before he gave up, especially to her. “I’m not sure all is lost just yet.”

  “Whose turn is it?”

  “Mine.” Reclaiming his chair, he jumped the disc Harley left open.

  She quickly moved a piece on the other side of the board. The store owner carried the carton of oranges inside, allowing the door to slam shut behind him.

  “Your turn,” she said.

  She studied him with eyes the color of bluebells, disconcertingly direct. Having a ten-year-old flounce him was humiliating enough. He wasn’t about to let Essie Spreckelmeyer do the same. Tony needed time to examine the board, but after she’d moved her piece so quickly, he’d look like a fool if he dawdled.

  He slid a disc into her king row. She crowned it and moved one of her pieces toward the center.

  “I’m calling it a day, Essie,” Crook said, removing his apron. “Will you turn down the lantern when you’re done and go out the back?”

  “Of course.” She twisted around. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  He smiled. “You know I don’t. Just make sure this fella goes with you when you leave.”

 
; “Will do. Good night, Hamilton.”

  “Good night, Essie.” He nodded toward Tony. “Bryant.”

  Crook’s footsteps clunked on a set of stairs behind the partition before the sound of a door opening and closing sealed off the silence in the mercantile.

  “You and Mr. Crook must be pretty good friends for him to let you stay in here after hours.”

  “I used to work here, is all. He knows I’ll leave everything in its proper place. It’s your turn.”

  Of his four pieces left, he could only move his crowned one safely. He headed it in the direction of one of her more vulnerable blacks, trying to figure out why she had offered to finish out the game for Harley. From all indications, she didn’t care for his company any more than he cared for hers.

  She slid her king into an attacking position. Tony would have no choice but to move out of her way or be jumped.

  “Why did you stay just now, Miss Spreckelmeyer? Why didn’t you leave when Harley and the others did?”

  Her lips flattened a bit. “Actually, I was looking for you.”

  “Me?” Surprise tinted his voice.

  “Yes.” She struggled for a moment, clearly unhappy with whatever it was she had to say, then straightened her spine and gave him her full attention. “Papa wants me to reinstate you.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he hooked an arm over the backrest.

  Well, well, well. What do you know about that? “He was in here just before sunset. Why didn’t he say something?”

  “He wanted to discuss it with me first.”

  “And what happened when the vote was one in favor and one against?”

  She rent the last two slivers of orange in two. “I conceded under duress.”

  “Duress?”

  “I didn’t want to upset Papa by arguing with him tonight. But rest assured, had it been any other night, you would be on your way out of town.”

  He leaned his chair back on two legs. “What makes you so allfired sure I still even want to work for Sullivan Oil?”

  Hope kindled within her eyes. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

  He dropped his chair to the floor and slid his checker to a safer square. She finished off her orange, then bullied another of his discs with a different king. Their pieces danced for several more moves— hers charging his, then his charging hers.

  “Are you going to switch to rotary drills?” he asked.