by Pamela Morsi
"Sure ain't," he answered. "When you get my age, young feller, you avoid them dang things like the plague."
Testing the rough edge of his tooth once more, Eben cursed vividly. Without another thought he hurried up to the store and took the porch steps two at a time.
His welcome there was uncertain and the pounding in his head relentless; still, he stomped through the open doorway without hesitation.
"Phillips!" he called without ceremony. "You got a looking glass?"
The storekeeper looked up from his book work, his expression far from pleased.
"You got your nerve showing your face in here today, boy," he said. "Oather's mama claims the boy's got two broke ribs. He can't even rise from his bed."
"He started it," Eben shot back. "You shoulda taught your boy better than to take on a feller half again his size and with more than twice his reputation."
"What in the devil were you two fighting about?" the man demanded. "Althea Winsloe?"
Eben didn't answer.
"It's not as if the gal is his or your intended. The woman ain't said who she's willing to marry. There's nothing to come to blows about."
"And there won't never be," Eben counted. "You think any woman'd choose Oather over me?"
The effect of the sneer he attempted was somewhat marred by the bruises on his face. At that moment Eben spotted the looking glass and hurried over to it.
Putting his mouth as close to the glass as he could manage, he raised his swollen upper lip out of the way to assess the damage.
"He marked me!" Eben exclaimed with furious disbelief. "I can't believe Oather Phillips has marked me for life. There's a corner broke off my front tooth sure as the world."
Phillips snorted almost proudly. "So I guess you'll think again before messing with my boy," he said.
Phillips smiled as if he took pleasure at the thought of his son involved in violent fisticuffs. As his attention returned to the present, he shook his head over the mess of cuts and bruises that covered Baxley's face. "He sure banged you up. What in the devil did you do to make that boy come at you like that?"
Eben didn't answer, but turned his attention back to the mirror. It didn't really look as bad as he feared. It felt like he'd lost half a tooth, but it was really just a corner chip. Not enough to spoil his looks. And Eben Baxley was rightly proud of his looks. Even this morning, beaten and battered, he was a handsome fellow. He was tall and a little more slim than was strictly necessary. But working and fighting had insured that his shoulders were sufficiently broad and his arms well muscled. His hair was thick and dark, the color of chestnuts, with just a bit of childhood curl left in it, enough to keep one dangling forelock carelessly drawing attention to his attractive face. Women in Eben Baxley's life twirled around his finger as easily as did that forelock.
Since the days he'd been "Mama's pretty boy," women had been important. His mother made all the rules, set all the standards, and said all that would be done. His father, often drunk and slovenly in self pity before he died, meant nothing to Eben. Nothing except an example of what kind of man not to be. Eben was strong, decisive, confident. It was a purposeful thing with him. And women were always drawn to that. He could walk into any dance hall between here and Calico Rock and know that sooner or later he could be pleating the petticoats of any woman present.
"Ouch!" Eben winced as he unintentionally broke open the new scabs on his knuckles. "Damn this. Phillips, you got any salve in this place?"
The storekeeper pointed to the shelf behind him. "It's a penny a tin. You got money, boy?"
"I got money," Eben answered. "But ain't it usual for an injured man to be treated with hospitality?"
Phillips huffed. "Buy the medicine with cash money and the hospitality will come along in due time."
With cold reluctance, Eben tossed a penny on the counter.
"A fellow'd hate to be broke and close to death in this place," he said sarcastically.
Phillips ignored the jibe and picked up the penny. He set the tin of salve on the counter beside Eben and then leaned backward to call out to the room behind them.
"Mavis! Come doctor this fellow!"
Eben blanched.
"I can tend myself," he said quickly.
"Mavis'll tend you," Phillips answered.
"I don't need her. I can do it myself."
"You talking bad about my hospitality," Phillips told him. "I won't have you going around saying I wouldn't send my wife or daughter to ye when ye had need."
Eben had no time to reply as Mavis Phillips stepped across the threshold that separated the storeroom from the Phillips's place of business. She looked straight at Eben. She looked at him hard. There was no evasiveness in her gaze, no coy lowering of her eyelids.
Momentarily taken aback, Eden faced her temerariously. Then a cynical smile took over his expression and his glance became sultry.
"Why if it isn't Miss Mavis Phillips, the prettiest little redheaded gal on this mountain."
Mavis held her chin high and her face devoid of any inkling of her thoughts as she moved toward him.
"What do you need, Mr. Baxley?"
Eben's smile became downright lecherous as he glanced toward Phillips, then leaned closer not to be overhead. "I believe, Miss Mavis, that you already know more about what a feller needs than a single woman ought."
He watched, satisfied, as she swallowed nervously and two bright spots of color appeared on her cheeks.
"Got my knuckles all cut up," he said more loudly. "Seems like I accidentally run into some young fool's face."
Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the lid on the tin of salve.
"Been a good long while since I seen you, Mavis," he whispered, deliberately moving closer to her. "Course, the last time I seen ye, I seen a lot."
The lid on the salve clattered noisily upon the counter.
She grabbed his right wrist before dipping two of her fingers into the rather vile smelling yellow medicine and slapping it roughly onto his hand. Eben winced.
"Damn, woman!" he cursed. "But then you never did have much of a gentle touch. You left scratches on my back I could feel for a week."
"What are you doing here?" she demanded in a whisper between clenched teeth. "You promised to stay away."
"And I have, sugartail," he answered. "I've stayed away four long years. But I can't stay gone no longer. Haven't you heard? I'm getting married and going to live right here on this mountain."
"Don't you do it," she said, her tone threatening. "If you do I'll—"
"You'll what?" he asked. "Confess all?" He shook his head, disbelieving. "You already done that with your dear brother Oather and he cain't even get out of his bed this morning. Are you wanting me to whip your poor old daddy, too?"
She raised her chin higher, prouder. "My mama's a Piggott," Mavis reminded him. "The whole family would take up arms against you if I just spoke the word."
"And my mother's a McNees," he answered, unconcerned. "Are you thinking to start up a feud, Mavis? Is that what you want? You've heard about feuds, ain't you? Whole mountains of good, decent folks end up dead over some falling out. Is that what you want, a bunch of folks dead? Dead over your honor?"
Mavis blanched.
"What your honor wants is me dead, Mavis," he told her, his eyes as cold as a mountain winter. "But I'm not dying, sugartail, and I'm not giving up this chance to have my own farm here on the mountain."
"You've got no shame, Eben Baxley," she hissed. "You've got no shame at all."
"I've got shame," he answered. "If I'd a raped you, I'd be real shamed. I might be shamed enough to stay away from here. I might even be ashamed enough to let your daddy kill me. But it wasn't rape now, was it, Mavis?"
"I hate you," she said.
"Sugartail, you hate yourself," he told her. "It's time you acknowledged the corn. There's none to blame here but yourself. You made gravy before the meat was cooked. You ain't the first woman to do it and won't be the last, but it's done and
for good." He chuckled without humor and shook his head. "Didn't your mama warn you about rollicking with men that never made you no promise?"
"I thought—"
"You thought if you gave it to me, I'd offer for you. That's what you thought and I know it. But I'm not obliged to do that, sugartail, not for you, nor any other woman that I've beat down the grass with. And I've got no such intention of marrying you, Mavis Phillips."
She shuddered. It was an involuntary movement, but he watched her struggle against it. He looked at her closely. Were there tears in her eyes? If there were she managed to hold fast against them. He wanted her to cry. He wanted her to cry and beg and plead. He wanted to leave her on her knees.
"I don't see what you've cause to complain about," he continued cruelly. "You got a pure-dee rollix off me and you admitted right out how much you liked it. It ain't like I didn't leave you with no prospects. Poor old Widow Plum is of an age to retire, I'm thinking. This mountain'll be needing a new, young whore and I can testify that you'd make a good one."
A tiny cry escaped her then and he looked at her. Her pretty mouth was opened in horror and he was sure that those sweet blue eyes he still saw in his dreams were darkened with tears.
On target. He'd wounded. Victorious, he stepped back and examined the greasy mess that now swathed his knuckles.
"Why, thank you, Miss Mavis," he said loudly. "This is as fine a nursing job as any I've ever had."
He turned toward the still preoccupied storekeeper busily assessing his books across the room. "I tell you, there is something about a woman's touch that just heals a man. Don't you agree, Mr. Phillips?" he asked. "Don't you agree that the touch of a woman is kind of like a miracle?"
The old man grunted with unconcern.
Eben laughed in a way that sounded more angry than amused.
"You tell Oather that I'm sorry he's laid up in bed today. I'll be heading up to my cousin Paisley's place to see if I can offer comfort to his widow," he said. "Maybe I can get me a miracle there, too."
He turned back to Mavis behind the counter.
"It's been a real pleasure to see you again, sugartail," he whispered.
"Lord, ain't she just the prettiest little redheaded gal I ever saw," he called out to the storekeeper. "It's a wonder that you ain't got her married up already, Phillips. Cain't she find no one man to set her heart on?"
The storekeeper shrugged. "Not none that she tells me," he said.
Eben chuckled unkindly, his gaze still upon Mavis. "Women do keep their little secrets, don't they?"
Chapter Six
He'd caught two rabbits and a possum in his snares. Jesse was busy at the back of the smokehouse scraping the meat from the hide. He was happy. Miss Althea had been pleased that he'd gotten all the tall grass cut, stacked, and covered, and she'd been impressed with his catch of the day. He'd be bringing her a deer, he promised himself. If two rabbits and a possum could make her so excited, a big haunch of venison on the hoof would probably thrill her near to death.
The cool crisp scent of fall was in his nostrils and the bright colors of turning trees were all around him. His belly was full and Miss Althea had smiled at him. Yes, Jesse was happy. He couldn't resist humming a tune. As the old words came to his mind, he began to sing, the meaning of the verse as obscure as the rhyming sounds within it.
"My gal lives at the head of the holler,
Hi di rinktum diddle dum a day;
She won't come and I won't foller,
Hi di rinktum diddle dum a day;
Geese in the pond and ducks on the ocean,
Hi di rinktum diddle dum a day;
Devil's in the women when they take a notion,
Hi di rinktum diddle dum a day!"
"That's the God's truth if ever I heard it."
The unfamiliar voice startled Jesse and he jerked his chin up quickly to face the intruder, his hand gripping the scraping knife in a defensive manner.
The fellow who'd come walking upwind of him was leaning against the broad trunk of an old elm tree as if he owned the place. He smiled very deliberately at Jesse and spoke with intentional friendliness.
"Good morning, Simple Jess." The fellow glanced up to the sky and gave a rather carefree laugh as he reconsidered. "Well, I suppose that it's afternoon already. The day kind of gets away from a feller when he wakes up late, I guess."
Jesse made no comment on the time of day or the attempt at humor.
The man straightened up and took a step forward. He was dressed up good enough for Sunday. His trousers were city-made black duck and were held up with real elastic web suspenders. He hadn't bothered to put a collar on his blue striped shirt, yet he was slicked up and starched and looked as fine as a hair tonic peddler at a family reunion.
"I don't expect you remember me," he said, folding his arms across his chest and staring down at Jesse.
Rising to his feet, Jesse still clutched the knife in his hand, but the tension in him had eased.
"I know who you are," he said. "You're Eben Baxley, cousin to Paisley Winsloe."
Eben raised an eyebrow in appreciation. "Why, that's exactly right, Simple Jess. Very good."
There was something about the way the words sounded to Jesse's ears that made him think it wasn't quite praise at all.
"I seen you at Miss Althea's wedding," Jesse told him. "You was real drunk at the time."
The man's eyes narrowed and he cleared his throat. Jesse continued.
"Ain't seen you around here since."
"I haven't been around here," he said. "I didn't have no reason 'til now. I come to see Althea Winsloe."
The man glanced past Jesse toward the house. Something tightened in Jesse's chest. The need to protect came upon him as instinctual and unlearned as hunger or thirst.
"How is the lovely widow today?" Eben asked.
This was Miss Althea's baking day. By now she must have the last loaves in the oven and she'd be letting the fire wane.
They'd eaten the nooning over an hour before. Fried catfish and hot bread. Heaven. And Miss Althea sitting across from him at the table, smiling and talking. Heaven again.
Jesse glanced with concern once more at the house behind him in the distance. He knew as if he could see it himself that inside there, Miss Althea—smelling of yeast and looking young and bright as sunshine—would be tiptoeing about her chores. Baby-Paisley would be napping as usual on Miss Althea's bed and she'd be busy with the quiet chores of the household.
"She's up to the house?" Baxley asked.
Jesse didn't answer. This man was Paisley's kin. Jesse knew that. Kin wouldn't hurt kin. Jesse knew that, too. But somehow Jesse sensed a threat from this man. He sensed a threat and he'd die, bloody and maimed, before he'd let anyone hurt Miss Althea.
"What do you want around here?" Jesse asked, nearly snarling the words.
Baxley's eyes widened in surprise. His jaw hardened and his expression turned belligerent.
"That's a question that should more likely be put to you than me," he said. "What are you doing around here, Simple Jess?"
"I work for Miss Althea," he said.
"Miss Althea?" Eben's features softened as he apparently found Jesse's words amusing. "She's been Mrs. Winsloe for four years, but I suspect a fellow like you don't know the difference."
Jesse did know that she was Mrs. Winsloe because she was married, but he didn't bother to explain himself. He'd always called her Miss Althea and she'd never complained a word about it. Just because a woman got married didn't mean that she became somebody else. Maybe when she got old like Granny Piggott, or got real fat like Beulah Winsloe, he might call her something else. Still, she'd always smell like Miss Althea, so it wasn't like she would ever be another person.
Eben gestured toward the gutted animals at Jesse's feet. He'd just begun skinning the possum. The rabbits lay off to the side.
"Did you get that meat with squirrel shot?"
"Snares," Jesse answered.
Baxley shook his head.
"Snares take too much time, boy. I've not got the patience for them."
Jesse wasn't a boy, he was a man. For a minute he thought to tell the intruder just that. But he didn't. Baxley's opinion didn't matter to him all that much. He knew Eben to be a lazy hunter. When he used to come looking for game with his cousin Paisley, the two spent more time drinking down donk than pressing the dogs.
"Snares are clean and quick," Jesse told him. "I save the gun for real game."
"You got your own gun now, Simple Jess?" He sounded surprised.
Jesse felt the flush of embarrassment in his cheeks. He wanted his own gun. Like owning his own dogs, it had been a long-time ambition. But for now, it was still something in his future.
"Miss Althea's going to let me use Paisley's Winchester," he said proudly. "I usually hunt with my pa's but she says I can use his."
Eben Baxley's brow furrowed and then, to Jesse's puzzlement, he shook his head.
"No, I don't think so, Jess," he said.
"You don't think what?"
"I don't think you should be using Paisley's gun," Eben answered.
"I been hunting for years," Jesse told him. "I ain't going to hurt myself."
Baxley chuckled. "I wasn't worried about you," he said. "I'm thinking about that gun, boy. It's a fine Winchester and I don't want you fooling with it, maybe fouling it."
Jesse wanted to protest, but the words jumbled in his mind. He was not about to foul the gun. He knew about guns. He was very careful. He'd memorized what to do. When he carried the gun he never let his mind wander. He recited the rules to himself over and over.
Jesse sputtered momentarily and then managed to protest. "Miss Althea said!"
Eben took a step forward and patted Jesse on the shoulder. "I know she did, boy. And I'm real sorry that she got your hopes up like that. You see, Simple Jess," he said, feigning friendship, "I'm marrying up with your 'Miss Althea.' You know what that means, don't you?"
Jesse was stunned momentarily.
"Of course I know what marrying up means," he declared. "It means you live with a gal and sleep with her and get babies on her."
