by Pamela Morsi
"So yer daddy's a-saying yer to take up courtin' the Winsloe widder," she commented to Oather.
The young man nodded. "I'm going up to escort her here as soon as you're settled, Granny."
The old woman gave him a shrewd perusal and commented thoughtfully, "I was thinking you was dead-set against marrying altogether, least of all for acquiring a good corn bottom."
Oather shrugged and looked distinctly ill at ease. "I suppose I've changed my mind," he answered. "Anyway, I'd best hurry or she'll be down the mountain already on some other fellow's arm."
"That Eben Baxley most likely," Granny agreed. "He's a slick, good-looker if ever I seen one. Got a way with the ladies, that Eben has."
"I hardly think that serves to recommend him as a husband," Oather replied.
Granny hooted with good humor and slapped her knee. "No, I guess you wouldn't think that it would, but it always does."
She watched Oather's expression turn dark and her own turned to puzzlement. "I wouldn't fret on it, boy," she told him. "You don't have his charming ways, nor the Broody twins' sense of fun, or even Tuck Trace's steady ways. But I've always seen ya as a right smart feller and you treat yer mama and sister good. That's a true test of how a man will be to his wife. You see how he deals with the womenfolk he's already got."
Oather sighed with what sounded like resignation. "You can be sure, Granny, that I'll treat Althea with respect and consideration."
She nodded solemnly, and took a long smooth drag off her pipe. "I know you would. Indeed, boy, I know you would." She chewed upon her pipe thoughtfully as she considered him. "I suspect, though, that it would be a lot to expect for you to love her."
"Do you think Eben Baxley will love her?" Oather asked, venom clearly discernible in his voice.
"No, I don't imagine so," Granny admitted. "Still, it kindy seems like she deserves as much, don't it?"
Oather was saved having to answer by the boisterous arrival of Ned and Jed Broody. Just the sight of them lightened Granny's heart. It was with difficulty that she held on to her trademark cranky demeanor.
"If it ain't the two most bone-idle worthless young rollix-raisers in two counties."
Ned and Jed chuckled delightedly at her unkind description. The twins, who looked just alike and were rarely ever seen separately, hurried up to Granny with the naughty-little-boy grins that neither the intervening years nor the cares of the world would ever dim.
"I knew I smelted tobacco in this glade," Jed declared to his brother in an astonished tone.
Ned attempted to seat himself in the old woman's lap. When she swatted him away, he squatted in front of her chair. "Well, are you going to smoke without us, Granny, or are ya willing to let a couple of your favorite young gentlemen have a puff or two."
"You young varmits are big enough to get yer own pipe and pokeweed," she answered, feigning a scold.
The Broody twins only grinned more broadly. Jed took on the posture of a supplicant, begging, "Please, please, Granny. Just let me have one puff, one little puff. I don't get green and throw up no more."
Granny slapped the young man's hands and declared him a sheer loss of foolishness.
Oather, seeing the old woman was to be well looked after, took his leave and headed up the mountain. He was walking his future bride to the Literary, he announced. The very thought of which set sour in his stomach. But Oather Phillips was determined upon this. The good-for-nothing, lowlife lothario who ruined his sister was not going to marry and live as neighbor to Mavis for the rest of her life.
The subject of Oather's unhappy thoughts, Eben Baxley, watched him go from the far side of the clearing.
The Broody twins were still laughing and teasing. But not so much that Granny failed to notice Eben Baxley hurrying off down the road. It struck the old woman as interesting that rather than trying to scamper up the ridges to beat Oather Phillips to Althea Winsloe's door, Eben Baxley took off in the direction of the Phillips General Store.
* * *
He saw her before she saw him. That was fortunate. She'd been avoiding him as if he carried plague. But then, he did plan to plague the woman in one sense of the term.
Heaven knew that he should be up the mountain, smiling and bowing over Mrs. Althea Winsloe. He'd seen Oather Phillips heading up that way. He firmly intended to marry Althea, but this week it hadn't been his future bride that was most often in his thoughts. It had been this woman coming up the road to the Marrying Stone, this woman from his past.
Mavis was beautiful. He was struck by that as clearly now as he had been when he'd first seen her grown up, four very long years ago. It was not just the startling red hair and the fairer than fair complexion, her skin so pale it was almost translucent; there was some other quality, some indefinable something that had spoken to him immediately. And it had said to him, You have to have this woman. You have to make her your own.
Having her had proved to be a lot easier than he'd expected. Making her his own, however, proved to be something that would never happen. That was her fault, he reminded himself. His jaw clenched in anger. She'd tried to put him on lead strings. Maneuver him. Force him to do what she wanted. Eben knew about women like that. Nobody told Eben Baxley what to do, especially not some woman.
He remembered that night as if it were happening all over again.
"Mavis, sweet sweet Mavis," he whispered into the soft, sweet scented red hair that lay all around her and pillowed his head. "I love you, Mavis. I've said those words in the past, but I never knew what they meant until this very minute."
He was still inside her, warm and safe and joined. It felt so right. It was unbelievable. He'd been half drunk for two days, celebrating Paisley's upcoming nuptials. He'd thought that after the wedding, he'd simply drink himself into a stupor and then sleep it off. He'd never dreamed that at the infare, the wedding party, he'd find what he'd been searching for his whole life long.
"I love you, too, Eben Baxley," she told him, nuzzling against him like a contented cat. "And it's wonderful. I can't believe how wonderful it is."
He rolled to his side then, but wrapped his leg around her to pull her with him. He wasn't ready to relinquish their union, but he wanted to look into her face. Her pretty pink gingham party dress fluffed like warm strawberry froth between them. The bodice of the gown still clung to her waist, the hem bunched about her hips. Her josie, however, had been discarded completely and lay with his topcoat on the cool grass beneath them. Their illicit pairing in the moonlight had been lustful and eager. But in its aftermath was warmth and affection and intimacy between them.
He grinned down into her clear blue eyes. "Wonderful?" he quipped. "Then you would recommend me to the other young ladies of your acquaintance, Miss Phillips?"
She feigned fury and began to sputter. To halt her words, as she knew he would, he kissed her. He learnedly, lingeringly, lovingly kissed her. And she kissed him back with equal pleasure.
When their lips parted once more, she sighed with sweet regret. She loved his touch, his taste, his tenderness. And she did not hesitate to demonstrate her feelings.
Eben pushed a stray lock of bright red hair away from her face as he gazed at her, his expression more serious.
"I tried not to hurt you," he said, concern clear in his tone. "They say a first time always pains the woman."
Mavis smiled up at him. “That's what I'd heard, too. I was so scared thinking about it this afternoon, I nearly gave in to cowardice. I wasn't sure I could go through with it."
Eben's brow furrowed in puzzlement.
"This afternoon?"
Mavis giggled and looked slightly sheepish. She smiled up at him under lowered eyelids, taunting.
"You think you seduced me, Mr. Baxley," she told him, her tone a teasing challenge. "Well, I saw you first. I've had my heart on my sleeve for you since I was in pigtails. When you came into the store last Thursday I said to myself, that's the fellow that I want. If I don't do something about it, some other girl is going to get
him."
"So you decided to do something about it." Eben's words were strangely quiet.
"I figured I could try to get your attention, but with all the other girls, I wasn't sure that you'd single me out. And even if you did, everybody knows that you're leaving in the morning. And with your cousin Paisley married up, well, there was just no telling when we'd see you again. I decided this afternoon that it was catch you tonight or cut bait."
"So you caught me."
Mavis giggled then, oblivious of the abrupt cooling of the world around her.
Eben disengaged himself from her body and turned away. He began pulling up his pants.
"Eben?" An uneasy tremor had crept into her voice. "Eben, what's wrong?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't answer. His thoughts were whirling. He'd been duped, gulled, bamboozled. This woman, this woman who he thought he might love, actually love, this woman had made a fool of him.
"Oh, you're mad about being caught," she said, finally. "I should have known that you might feel that way. Men are so prickly with their pride. But, Eben, I promise you'll never regret it."
She sat up beside him. He'd half turned his back to her, but she wrapped her arms around him and lay her head against his shoulder. "I'll be the best wife that you can imagine. I'll cook and clean and keep a place nice for you. I'm sure Papa will build us our own little house and he'll let you work in the store. Everybody knows you aren't much for farming. With your friendly talking ways I'll bet you'll be a real success at business," she told him with great confidence. "And there'll be children, Eben, think of it, our children. I want a half dozen at least. Little boys, little girls, all of one kind or some of each, I don't care. Just so they all look like you."
Eben jumped to his feet. His face was red with fury.
"Oh, you've got it all figured out and neat as a pin, don't you, Mavis Phillips. Me, my life, my work, a wedding and children, all wrapped up and tied with a little pink bow to match your dress. Well, it don't work that way, sugartail."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean goodbye, good riddance, I had a fine time, a great rollix. It was my pleasure taking what you were so eager to give."
"You can't . . ."
"Oh, sugartail, I can and I am. I'm walking away from this and I ain't never looking back. No woman is going to dictate to me, get me under her thumb. You can say frog till doomsday, but I am not going to be hopping."
"Eben, wait, let's talk about this, let me explain."
She was on her knees, wide-eyed with fear and disbelief. Eben's temper was hot and his heart was cold.
"There ain't much left to explain is there? If your belly swells up with a baby, you have my permission to call the boy Eben. But his last name won't never be Baxley. Nobody, you hear this, woman, nobody makes me do nothing I don't want."
He'd left her then. He'd turned from her and strode away as far and as fast as he could. He'd left her there, half-naked in the woods, crying and calling after him.
He had been angry. He was still angry. He stoked that anger as he waited for Miss Mavis Phillips on the broad path from the store to the clearing.
She carried a basket of baked goods on her arm for the feed. All her attention was focused upon it for that moment. It left Eben with the luxury of observing her unnoticed.
She was not dressed in pink tonight. Pink was a young girl's color, a tint of youth and happiness and hope. Her dress was blue, steel blue, almost gray. It wasn't a young girl's color. It was the color of a matron, a widow, a spinster. A color of sorrow and sadness. It was a color meant not to attract. Somehow on Mavis it looked attractive. She was still slim and curvy. The cruelly fired premonition of an unlawful get had proved to be untrue. Still, the intervening years had changed her. She must be all of twenty now, he thought. She was older, quieter, much more solemn. For a moment he remembered her sweet young smile and delighted girlish giggle and it warmed him.
She looked up then. She saw him on the road before her and she stopped still. She looked like a doe catching sight of the sun's glint on the hunter's rifle. She wanted to run. He could tell that she did. She wanted to run. But she didn't. She swallowed bravely and continued walking toward him.
Damned if he didn't admire her. Determinedly he thrust that unwelcome thought away.
"Evenin', sugartail," he said, stepping directly into her path.
Mavis nodded and then moved to step around him. He reached out to take her arm. She tried to pull away, but he held her firmly.
"I think I see your mama and papa coming up the road," he said. "You wouldn't want them to start questioning why you're unwilling to take a gentleman's arm."
She glanced quickly behind her. Her parents were, in fact, some distance behind her, but within sight. Resigned, she allowed him to escort her. But she held herself stiff and silent. He walked circumspectly, her hand on his arm as he carried her basket, just as if he were a benighted beau with his Saturday sweetheart.
"I do love a party, sugartail," Eben said. "Dancing and laughing and wooing the womenfolk just makes life worth living, don't it?"
She didn't answer.
"Why, I was just thinking about the last time I was here for a big night on the mountain. Do you recall that, sugartail?"
Chin high, she ignored the question. He continued his one sided conversation, undaunted.
"Well, sure you do. You probably still think about it from time to time. All that spooning and snuggling and you under me all squirmylike. They say a woman don't forget her first man, no matter how many frolicks and fellers come thereafter."
He continued to chat, undeterred by the cold silence beside him. He spoke of the simple mountain pleasures, but always with a hint of more earthy meaning in his words.
They had reached the edge of the glade. People were arriving from every direction. A few more steps and they would be among them. His current course of conversation could continue and none would be the wiser. He might well hang on her arm all night and folks would think little or nothing of it. But nothing, nothing of substance would be said between them. Mavis stopped and turned to him.
"What do you want, Eben Baxley?" Her voice was quiet, but it was cold enough to freeze tree sap.
"What do you think I want, sugartail?"
"I haven't any idea. To hurt me? Spurn me? Humiliate me? You've already done all of those. What punishment is left?"
"Punishment? Ah, sugartail, why would I want to punish you? I want to be your swain."
"My swain?" She scoffed at the word.
"Surely so. I told you, didn't I, that I plan to marry up with Paisley's widow. She's got a fine farm for sure. Ain't no other way I'm ever going to own a piece of ground so fine. And the McNees and Winsloe clans, they are counting on me. I'm not about to let them down. But, truth to tell, I don't imagine prickly Althea will be much pleasure in beating the bed tick, if you get my meaning. Even Paisley thought she was downright chilly between the thighs and he chose her for a wife on purpose."
"So you plan to marry her and have me for your . . . your . . ."
"Whore, I guess, is the word you're looking for," he said.
Mavis swallowed thickly and held her chin ever so slightly higher. Eben smiled.
"It ain't a sweet word, or one that womenfolk like overmuch. But the truth is, Mavis, that you enjoyed me and I enjoyed you. You tried to hogtie me to your apron strings and get a ring on your finger. You found out I'm too much a man to be led around like that. There ain't no going back, sugartail. What's done is done. But if I recall correctly, the two of us sure stir up a love storm. There's no reason we should deny each other that pleasure."
"Leave me be, Eben Baxley. I want nothing to do with you."
He eased himself closer to her, his voice a low, husky whisper. "That's what your pretty little mouth says, sugartail. But your body still warms up to me real nice. I can tell that about a woman, you know. I've had so many gals, I can tell from clear across a room when a woman's got an ache for me. You got one, sugar
tail. You can feel me up between your legs right now, can't you, Mavis?"
Her cold fury exploded to white-hot anger as red splotches of color stained her cheeks. She pulled away from him, but he grabbed her arm.
"Think about it, sugartail," he said. "Right now you're still plumb mad at me and can't think about nothing else. But you'll remember how good I made it feel for you. You'll remember how much you liked it. You let your mind give in to what your body already wants. I'll be ready. You just say the word and I'll fix us up a nice safe bower somewhere and I'll pleasure you till you can't walk straight for a week."
"Stay away from me, Eben Baxley," she said stonily.
"Ah, sugartail, are you trying to tell me what to do? Didn't you learn your lesson on that already? I do what I please. Not you nor no other woman can make me do anything that I haven't a mind to."
* * *
Althea Winsloe was nearly ready to scream with frustration by the time she arrived at the Literary. Oather Phillips as escort had been an unwelcome surprise. Her mind had been in such an uproar the last couple of days that she had looked forward to the outing with great pleasure. Now it looked like it was to be just another occasion where she would be pushed, prodded, and pressured to remarry.
She didn't dislike Oather. In truth, she liked him and respected him. Even as a boy he had been kind and generous. Perhaps he had been a little too serious. But his father was forever watchful and critical of him as a child. It was difficult for a boy to be a boy, when his father was singularly determined to make him a man. If Oather had grown up to be rather reserved and distant, he was also hardworking and unfailingly polite. Any father should have been proud of that, Althea believed. And any woman should have been pleased to have him as her beau. But Althea was not pleased. Althea didn't want a beau.
"So in actuality," he was saying, "the transition of man from the singular existence in the wilderness to a grouping of domiciles in communion brought about both the need for mutual cooperation and the development of civil law."
"Uh-huh," Althea agreed lamely. She didn't know or care about what he was saying, but she had listened with as much patience as she could manage from the minute he'd stepped up on her porch.
