by Pamela Morsi
“That just happens to folks," his sister Meggie would have said to him.
Jesse hated that it mostly happened to him.
"I can get these for you, Jesse," Mr. Phillips said. "It won't take a minute."
It took a whole lot of minutes, Jesse thought. He stood on first one foot and then the other, anxious.
Dogs. Paisley Winsloe's dogs. It was all he could think about. He knew them. He had hunted with them. Old Poker, Sawtooth, Queenie, and Runt. The memory of them was sights and sounds and smells and it filled his brain until he could think of nothing else.
Dogs. Paisley Winsloe's dogs.
Mr. Phillips handed Jesse his purchases wrapped neatly in heavy brown paper.
"Thank you, Mr. Phillips," he said.
The storekeeper smiled at him. "Why don't you just look around a bit more, Jesse. Just look all your fill, while I finish my business with the city man here."
"Oh, no, sir," Jesse answered. "I got to leave now. I got business."
"Business?" Phillips chuckled. "What kind of business could you have, Simple Jess?"
"I'm buying me some dogs."
The storekeeper stared at him, stupefied.
* * *
Althea Winsloe wasn't angry. Not anymore. She was cold and calculating and determined. She wasn't marrying anybody. Not Eben Baxley, not Oather Phillips, not anybody. And if the folks on the mountain wouldn't listen to her, they could sure mind her actions. She was selling Paisley's dogs.
It really was a smart thing to do, she told herself. She didn't hunt, didn't know a thing about dogs except that they ate and slept a lot. Baby-Paisley would want hunting dogs, every man did. But by the time he was big enough for hunting, the hounds they had now would be old. It made perfect sense to sell these off and get new ones when Baby-Paisley was older. She should have thought of that before. There was no sense feeding animals that she couldn't use. And it was more than simply getting rid of the dogs. It would send a message. Only the owner could sell an animal. Those hounds had been Paisley's pride, but they were hers now. They did not belong to her mother-in-law and they were not a dowry. She would do with them as she saw fit.
Her eyes narrowed slightly in distaste as she thought of fast-talking, good-looking Eben Baxley, always about half drunk, always laughing in that kind of nasty way.
And she didn't think much better of ponderous, slightly patronizing Oather Phillips. Especially with Buell Phillips trying to force a courtship with him down her throat.
So the men set quite a store by those dogs of Paisley's. Althea set her jaw firmly. She'd poison the whole pack before she let either of them get ahold of so much as a flea off those hounds. She'd sell them all right, and she'd sell them to someone else, that she would.
The thing that made her the maddest, however, was not really the dogs. It was folks trying to tell her what to do. She was standing up to them. At least she had so far. But it was hard for her to do.
The people on this mountain, kith and kin alike, had been telling Althea McNees Winsloe what to do for most of her life. Sweet, quiet Althea. She works hard. She's not much trouble. That's what the relatives would tell each other when they'd pass her around. Spring cleaning with Aunt Ada, then summer caring for Cousin Pugh's children. Harvest time with Great-Uncle Nez. And winter, winter when times were hardest and food was scarce, winter with whoever was least luckiest that year. Althea was an orphan, or at least half of one. Her mother died when she was just a baby. Her father had married a woman from the White River country. He'd left his only child from his first marriage with his family and moved off with the new wife, who wanted no reminders of a woman who had come before.
Althea had stayed on the mountain. She had been an extra child, an extra mouth to feed. Even as a little girl, she'd known that. So she'd done what she was told and she never caused trouble.
She hadn't caused trouble the year she'd married either. All that summer and fall she had worked and prayed and minded her elders. Slicked up and sporting fine clothes. Paisley Winsloe had called on her only twice before he'd asked Uncle Nez for her hand.
"He's got his own farm, Althea," her uncle had told her excitedly. "The best corn bottom for miles. He's got the finest pack of hunting hounds on the mountain and a milk cow that just come fresh. You cain't do better than that, gal."
Althea knew perfectly well that her uncle's own corn that year hadn't made
doodley-squat and that his failing eyesight was taking a toll on the game he brought in. So she'd married. She'd married well. And she'd done it to save the family another winter mouth to feed.
She hadn't liked her husband all that much. But she'd been soft spoken and loyal to him and had birthed his son. She'd minded her husband as she had her family and would have done whatever he said until the day she died. But he had died. That had changed everything.
She glanced down at the little boy walking beside her. Baby-Paisley was her child, the joy of her life. He would never be what she had been, the leftovers of a long-ago marriage.
She would have no other husband, not now, not ever. She would keep the farm. No other man would ever claim it as his. And when he grew up to be a man, it would be Baby-Paisley's.
That vow, of course, was easier to make than to live with. She hadn't been able to put in a crop by herself. And no one thought she needed to. She was still young enough to get her a man to do that. There was a hog to slaughter, but ham and bacon wouldn't go that long a way without fresh game to supplement the meat stores. And any man that hunted for her would be expecting something for his trouble sooner or later. She'd put up plenty of goods from her garden. But she didn't have the firewood yet to keep a blaze in the hearth. Winter was coming and she was far from ready.
Althea heard a noise in the distance behind her. She hardly had time to glance back before her young son bellowed out a bloodcurdling scream.
"He's chasing us!"
With a rush of strength that was innate, maternal, and as powerful as that of any she-bear or panther puss with a threatened cub, Althea grabbed the child up into her arms and turned to face the unknown menace, her teeth clenched, defensive and ready.
What she faced was Jesse Best hurrying up the trail behind them. At the sight of her fighting stance he stopped abruptly as if she had called for him to halt. He just stood there, waiting as her shoulders relaxed.
"He's a-goin' to get us!" Baby-Paisley wailed in her arms.
Althea looked down at her son in surprise. "It's only Simple Jess. He's not going to hurt us."
The little boy did not appear to be convinced. Althea set him on his feet and motioned Jesse to come forward.
"You startled me," she told him, not willing to explain that her son was afraid of him. "I wasn't expecting anybody on this trail."
Jesse came toward them slowly. He was a huge, almost hulking fellow with powerful shoulders undisguised beneath their covering of butternut homespun. When he was about a yard and a half away he jerked his hat off his head.
"I didn't mean to scare you or the boy," he apologized. "I didn't mean nothing." His eyes lingered overlong on Baby-Paisley as if he hoped to reassure him. "I just wanted to talk to you, Miss Althea, ma'am."
"What about?" she asked.
He appeared, at first, to be hesitant to meet her gaze. Then, as if he'd mustered his courage, he looked straight at her. His eyes were startlingly true blue. And his expression was totally free of perfidy or guile.
"Dogs," he said.
"Dogs?"
"You said you was selling the dogs."
"Paisley's dogs. Yes, I am selling them," she answered.
"I might like to buy one," Jesse said.
Althea was momentarily surprised. "You would?"
"Yes, ma'am, and I got two bits," he said.
“Two bits?"
Jesse nodded solemnly. "A day's work at a man's wages. I unloaded the mule train for Mr. Phillips. He give me two bits and five sticks of that licorice," he said, pointing to the candy still clutched in
Baby-Paisley's hand. "It's my favorite."
"It's your favorite," she said. "Honey, share a piece of your candy with Simple Jess."
Baby-Paisley looked up at his mother as if she were a traitor, but dutifully handed over one strip of the sticky sweet candy, snatching his hand back quickly as if he feared the big man might bite it.
"Thank you," Jesse said to him quietly.
She watched as he brought the candy to his mouth. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if enthralled with the aroma alone. Ripping off just a little piece of the licorice string with his teeth, he chewed it very slowly as he seemed to focus every bit of his attention upon its sweet taste and texture, savoring it. Althea was momentarily mesmerized. She had never seen anyone show so much pleasure in something so ordinary and simple. It was his favorite.
When he finished his bite and swallowed, he allowed his tongue to run the full length of both his lips, upper and lower, before he turned his attention once more to Althea.
For some unknown reason, gooseflesh skittered up the back of Althea's neck. She hadn't realized that the morning was so cool. She met Jesse's glance for only a moment. There was something almost disconcerting about the depth of honesty in his gaze.
"You want to buy the dogs?" she asked him in a somewhat indulgent but businesslike tone.
"One," Jesse answered her. "I suspect two bits, cash money, oughter buy one."
Althea nodded thoughtfully. Was two bits what she might expect to get for a hound? Truthfully, she didn't know. She had thought to sell them together. The dogs had all been trained together and worked together. She had no idea what their individual value might be. But she really hadn't a price in mind for the pack either. One dollar for the four of them. Jesse, simple that he was, probably knew their value better than she.
Back when her late husband was courting Jesse's sister, the simple man had often borrowed Paisley's dogs to hunt. After his marriage to Althea, her husband had had no use for Jesse or any of the Best family. But she'd never heard Paisley, or any other man on the mountain, speak poor of Jesse's hunting skills. He could trap and shoot and run dogs, though he'd never had any of his own.
Althea wanted to get rid of the dogs. She didn't need them and selling them off would show everybody on the mountain that she was pure-dee of her own mind. But she sure didn't want Oather or Eben or her mother-in-law or ... or nearly anybody else to have them. Perhaps Jesse would be the perfect person to sell them to.
But not for two bits. She needed more than that if she was going to try to make it through the winter without cash from a crop.
Althea brought her glance up once more to meet the true blue eyes of the giant man who stood before her. Simple Jesse Best was huge, dependable, and work-brittle. And he was standing silently in front of her, waiting. He wasn't telling her that she should sell him a dog for two bits. He wasn't offering her advice on how she should manage her life. He was waiting for her to tell him what she was going to do.
Slowly the furrow in Althea's brow softened and a smile spread across her face.
"Simple Jess, how would you like to own all Paisley's dogs?" she asked quietly.
He stared at her blankly for a long moment, then stammered slightly in confusion. "I—I—I would, ma'am," he said. "But I ain't got but two bits."
She nodded. "I know how much money you have, Jesse, and I want you to keep it."
It took a minute for him to understand her words. When he did, his jaw dropped open. Clearly her words were more than simply puzzling to Jesse. She felt a momentary need to comfort him as the young man began scratching his head uncertainly.
"Miss Althea, I—"
"I want you to work for me, Simple Jess," she said quickly, excitedly, grinning at him like a giggly young girl. "I want you to earn that pack of dogs," she said.
"Earn 'em?"
"Yes. You know I didn't put a crop in this year. Winter's coming and I'll need firewood and stores and game."
Jesse nodded. "I suspect that's true."
"You can work for me," she said. "You help to get me ready for this winter and by the first snowfall you'll own a whole pack of the best hunting dogs on this mountain."
Chapter Three
She didn't know what she'd expected. But Althea Winsloe had not expected Jesse Best to show up on her doorstep before daylight the next morning.
When the first boot step sounded on the porch, Althea's eyes popped open. The dogs, sleeping under the porch, set up a howl.
Baby-Paisley was asleep up in the loft.
More than that Althea didn't think, she acted. She was out of her warm, cozy bower in one fluid movement. Standing on tiptoes, she jerked the twelve-gauge Winchester from its hooks above the mantle piece and had it cocked, raised to her shoulder, and pointed at the doorway before she spoke.
"Who's on my porch and what do you want?"
There was one instant of silence. Fear beaded up as sweat on her upper lip.
"It's Jesse. Jesse Best."
A sigh escaped her that wilted her shoulders. She lowered the shotgun, surprised at the furious beating of her own heart. She hadn't realized how frightened she had been.
Quickly she unhooked the drawstring latch that was intended only to keep out critters and would have been little deterrent to intruders.
Jesse stood in the darkened doorway, huge as a bear. All four of Paisley's faithful hounds were on the porch with him, their tongues hanging out and their tails wagging happily. They knew him. They knew him to be friend, not foe.
"What are you doing here in the middle of the night?" she asked. "Has something happened?"
Jesse looked momentarily confused. "It's near dawn, Miss Althea," he said. "I'm here to earn the dogs."
Althea shook her head, disbelieving for a minute before glancing toward the distant eastern horizon. Sure enough, there was a pale silver glimmer in the distance.
"You're an early riser," she said.
"I didn't sleep much," he answered. "I was too excited about the dogs. So I come running at first light. I got special excited out here when I thought you were gonna shoot me."
He indicated the shotgun that Althea still held in her hand. It weighted her arm down as if it were made of lead. She released the hammer from the cock notch and handed it to Jesse.
"Hang this up over the fireplace and I'll get some breakfast started. Be quiet though, I don't want to wake Baby-Paisley."
"I'm awake," a little voice called from the loft ladder on the other side of the room.
"Well you might as well come on down here, then," she told him.
Baby-Paisley looked doubtful, his big eyes following Jesse as he returned the shotgun to its place. "I'll wait 'til he goes 'way."
"Simple Jess is not going anywhere. He's working for us for a while," she said.
The little boy looked stricken, horrified.
Althea could do nothing about it. She realized that she was still standing in the middle of the room, clad only in her josie. She pulled the top buttons together, and glanced nervously toward Jesse, who was turned away from her. She'd been so frightened, she'd actually met a man at her door in her underclothes. Hastily she walked to the hook on the wall by the bed where her dresses hung. Glancing back, she saw Jesse had stooped to poke the fire and set the morning blaze to popping. She was clumsy as she gathered her workdress and swiftly slipped it over her head.
She chided herself for such foolishness. Simple Jess was . . . well, he was simple. He probably thought no more of seeing her than if she were his sister. He wouldn't know or care what was a dress and what was a josie. She was decently covered up either way. It wasn't like she'd invited a man into her house when she was half naked. Jesse Best wasn't a man, not exactly. He was big, like a man, and looked like a man, but . . . well, he was something else entirely.
Althea's hair was wild and she pulled it together tightly at the back of her head and twisted it up enough to hold it with one big wooden hairpin.
"Have you broken your fast thi
s morning?" she asked him as she retrieved her apron from its hanging place on the dry sink.
Jesse turned to look at her then. "I had some cold pone and venison jerky," he admitted.
"I suspect it was too early for your sister to fix you a hot meal," Althea said.
Jesse nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Meggie was still lollin' in the bed with her man when I left."
His words brought a bright blush to Althea's cheeks. A vision of bucking bedclothes flashed through her thoughts. Jesse's sister had married around the same time as she and Paisley. They had one child already. But that never seemed enough for menfolk. Like Paisley, he probably wanted to be making babies all the time.
But Simple Jess wouldn't know anything about that. Surely, he only meant that his sister still slept. It was Althea's own wicked mind that imagined lolling before dawn quite differently.
"I don't mind the cold pone and venison," Jesse said. "My sister Meggie ain't much of a cook nohow."
Althea smiled at him. "Well, I'm a pretty fair cook myself," she told him modestly. "If you and Baby-Paisley will see if those lazy hens have anything for us, I'll fry you up a breakfast that'll take you all morning to work off."
Jesse smiled at her.
"I doan need no help gatherin' eggs!" Baby-Paisley shouted angrily.
Althea looked up at her son, surprised. "All right," she said quietly. "You gather the eggs yourself. Simple Jess can feed the hounds. He'd rather do that anyway, I'm sure."
"Yes, ma'am," Jesse answered. With a slight nod to both of them, he hurried outside.
Althea gathered up her big bowl and spoon and commenced mixing flour and soda and water for biscuits. In the distance she could hear Simple Jess calling to the dogs. His voice was deep and sharp with authority. It had a warm, masculine timbre. Althea found herself genuinely enjoying the sound of it.
Her son continued making his way down the loft ladder, his expression sullen. She didn't like to see him pouting.
"Baby-Paisley," she asked him, "why are you so rude to Simple Jess?"
"He ain't right in the head, Mama," the little boy told her dramatically. "And he's mean."
