Hornswoggled - An Alafair Tucker Mystery

by Donis Casey

  “Where are you going to wear such a fancy suit, sugar?” Alafair wondered.

  Alice shrugged. “A girl needs a few nice things. Never can tell. I’ll put it in my hope chest.”

  “Ah,” Alafair breathed. She handed the skirt back to Alice. “How are you making it through your month break from Walter Kelley?”

  Alice blinked at her for a second, taken aback by the direction the conversation had suddenly skewed. Her expression became guarded. “It’s hard,” she said.

  Alafair leaned forward and placed her hands on her knees, looking sincere and businesslike. Alice automatically drew back in her chair. The expression on her mother’s face boded no good.

  “Alice, I’ve been hearing things about Walter in the past few weeks,” Alafair began gingerly. “At first, I just asked Scott, and some others who might know something, what they thought about the murder of Walter’s wife. I was only interested in Walter because you’re interested in him, and that whole situation looked to me like something that might hurt you. And I can’t have that. So I hope you’ll understand why I’ve been snooping around, even if you don’t much like it.”

  Alafair paused to allow Alice to comment if she wanted, and after a hesitation, Alice said, “I know you mean to protect me, Mama. And I expect you’re finding out what kind of a person Louise was, and that Walter had nothing to do with her killing.”

  Alafair nodded. “From what I hear, Louise wasn’t nothing to write home about, it’s true. And it seems she got herself into a situation that got her killed, one way or the other. I guess that there’s just no evidence that Walter had Louise murdered. But, honey, I’m also finding out that there was blame enough to go around in that marriage. From what I’m hearing, Walter Kelley is the kind of man who means well, but glides through life without a thought to spare for anyone else…”

  “That ain’t true,” Alice interrupted, calm, but firm.

  “Sugar, I’m afraid if you marry that man, you’ll be unhappy.”

  “I know you don’t like him, Mama,” Alice said, “but you don’t know him. I’m not Louise. I’ll make him happy. He won’t have a reason to look elsewhere if he’s with me.”

  “Oh, honey,” Alafair sighed. “It isn’t so easy for a leopard to change his spots.”

  “Ma, I know that was a bad situation with Louise getting killed and all, and you don’t like to see any of us kids mixed up with anything that doesn’t look just right. But you’ve got to trust me, Ma. Walter is everything I want. He’s fun and handsome and well off, and he really cares for me. I know in my heart that we’ll be happy.” She leaned forward and took her mother’s hand and shook it gently, making her point. “We’re doing what you asked, me and Walter. We’re keeping apart this month just so you’ll see that we’re not fooling. But when this month is up, I expect we’ll be getting married.”

  “Has he already asked you,” Alafair said, surprised, “without talking to Daddy or anything?”

  “No, he hasn’t asked me, yet. But he told me he’ll be talking to Daddy directly. Daddy likes Walter, Mama. Why don’t you?”

  Alafair sat up straight on the bed. “I don’t dislike him. I just don’t like him for you. And I know Daddy likes him, but Daddy doesn’t like what he heard about Walter getting that poor girl from Council Hill in a bad way. That’s what he told me, anyway.”

  “You didn’t tell Daddy about that, did you?” Alice asked, alarmed.

  “He already knew about it, Alice. It ain’t exactly a secret.”

  Alice fell silent. She studied her mother’s face for a long moment. “Are you forbidding me to marry Walter?” she asked finally.

  “I would if I could,” Alafair admitted. “I think he’ll hurt you. I can’t speak for Daddy. But I’m asking you as sincere as I know how to take this last week or so and think about it as hard as you can. Will you do that for me?”

  Alice’s face was still as marble. She was gazing at Alafair thoughtfully from under her eyebrows, her blue eyes inscrutable. It was an expression Alafair knew well.

  “I hear what you’re saying, Mama,” Alice answered at length.

  “You’ll think hard?”

  “Yes, Ma, I’ll think real hard.”

  Alafair stood up. “Thank you, hon. That’s all I ask.” She could hear Grace beginning to squall in the kitchen, so she turned to leave. As she walked out of the bedroom, she heard the rattle of the sewing machine start up again, and Alice humming as she sewed.

  ***

  On the same morning that Alice was creating her trousseau, her intended, Walter Kelley, was sitting on a bench on the sidewalk in front of his barber shop, thinking that it was a mighty fine thing to be alive. Just one year earlier, he had been enduring a miserable marriage to a woman who would neither forgive him nor leave him. And here he was now, on a fine spring day, his life as abloom as the dogwoods that graced the residential streets in town. His business was doing so well that he expected he’d have to hire on another barber directly. Nearly everyone in town treated him like a king since his bereavement. And on top of it all, he was head over heels for the prettiest, wittiest, most understanding girl in the county, who, wonder of wonders, seemed taken with him as well.

  A trill of female laughter, melodious as bird song, floated on the air and into his reverie. He turned his head to see three young women in pastel dresses and flowered hats gliding down the sidewalk in his direction. He smiled at the sheer loveliness of it all.

  All three women looked familiar to him, but he could only call to mind one name. He stood as they neared.

  “Good morning, Miss Lollie June. Ladies. Thank goodness it’s spring, is all I’ve got to say, because y’all look as pretty as a flock of bluebirds in them frocks.”

  The girls giggled, and Lollie June answered. “Why, ain’t you the sweetest thing, Walter!”

  Walter clapped his hand over his heart. “It’s nothing but the plain truth.”

  Lollie June’s ironic smile indicated that she thought his praise a bit overblown, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. “Walter, you remember my friends, Edria Harvey and Maxine Cecil.”

  He took each delicate hand in turn and nodded a greeting. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. I’m glad to meet you, ladies. Where are y’all off to on this lovely day?”

  “We’re doing a bit of shopping,” answered the small and buxom Edria.

  “And we ought to be on our way,” interjected the third one, in a tone of voice that caused Walter to look at her more closely. Maxine, that was her name. She was tall, rawboned, and dark, and while her expression wasn’t exactly unfriendly, she did look wary.

  He smiled his most charming smile. “Well, don’t let me keep you, ladies. I’m doing nothing more useful than holding down this here bench between customers.”

  “I do declare, Maxine,” Lollie June admonished, “you’re always in a hurry. But I expect we’d better get on. By the way, Walter, do you have plans for dinner next Sunday? I noticed that you’ve been coming to church with us Methodists for the last couple of Sundays, then leaving all by your lonesome afterwards. My mother told me that if I ever got the chance, I should invite you along to Sunday dinner with us, and look here how we meet by accident like this! I reckon it’s meant to be.”

  Walter grinned, delighted that the deliciously attractive Lollie June Griffith had been thinking about him. “How very kind you are, to notice my solitary ways and take pity on me. It’s true that the last few Sundays I’ve been on my own. I sure would appreciate a home-cooked meal, Miss Lollie June. Please be kind enough to thank your mother for me and tell her that I’d be delighted to join you for dinner after church next Sunday.”

  “That pleases me no end, Walter, and I’m sure my mother will say the same. Well, then, you know where we live, over there on Franklin. Let’s say one o’clock. That’ll give you time to go home for a bit and freshen up, and me and Mama can get the food on the table by then.”

  “One o’clock it is. And let me say again how
grateful I am for the invitation.”

  After a flurry of courtly good-byes, the girls resumed their walk toward the O R Clothing Company, chatting away, heads together as they receded down the sidewalk. Walter sat back down and watched them thoughtfully until they disappeared into the store.

  He had been awfully bored and lonely since Alice had been unavailable, so he was happy with the prospect of a pleasant Sunday afternoon in the company of a pretty girl and her doting mother. But there was something about that tall, dark haired girl giving him the skunk-eye that made him pause.

  Maxine, he thought. Maxine Cecil. He had seen her before, but that was no wonder. Yet, something niggling at the back of his mind told him they had actually met, and not too long ago.

  Easter, that was it. He had seen her at the McBride farm at Easter dinner. She was Alice’s cousin.

  The remembrance caused his heart to skip a beat. Dang it all, this was the trouble with being sweet on a girl with as many relations as Adam and Eve. His alarm faded quickly, however. Alice would surely hear about his dinner invitation, but Alice was about as different from Louise as an ox was from a hat. Alice understood him. He sat back on the bench, thinking that it was a mighty fine thing to be alive.

  Chapter Fifteen

  To pass the time profitably while waiting for the jars of green beans to seal, Alafair sat for a while in the kitchen next to the back door, churning butter, worrying about Alice. She had already skimmed the cream off of the milk, which had been separating for several hours in a five-gallon milk can next to the stove. She had poured the cream into the tall, narrow crock that sat between her knees, and she pumped the dasher rhythmically with her hands. The repetitive motion was hypnotic, and Alafair found herself gazing dreamily out the open back door, where she could see a few of her children playing in the yard. Mary was in the garden, and Martha was moving around the kitchen, making noodles. The clinks and clanks of her chore accompanied the drowsy progression of the afternoon.

  Alafair could see Gee Dub coming up to the house from the stable, where he had been helping Shaw with the horses. He’s probably hungry, she thought. Gee Dub was accosted by Charlie, Sophronia and Blanche as he came into the yard. He good-naturedly allowed himself to be diverted into a game. Alafair was aware of the sound of the rolling pin as Martha began to roll the noodle dough out on the cabinet.

  Alafair couldn’t hear what the children were saying, but she watched Gee Dub pantomime instructions to Charlie, who took up a position standing with his back to his brother, his arms down stiffly at his side, like a soldier at attention.

  The dasher pumped up and down. Alafair’s arms were tiring. Her eyes wandered away from the yard and toward Martha, who was cutting long, thick noodles from the flattened slab of dough. After she had cut the dough into strips, Martha lifted each noodle off the cabinet, one by one, and hung them like pieces of Christmas tinsel over the dish towel draped across her forearm; then she began to scrape and clean the countertop with her free hand.

  Alafair looked back out into the yard to see Gee Dub put his hand under each of Charlie’s ears and lift him bodily off the ground by his head. Blanche and Sophronia were clamoring for a turn. Alafair stood, irritated and amused at once, walked across the back porch and leaned out the screen door.

  “Gee Dub, stop that,” she called. “You’ll do somebody an injury.”

  The young kids groaned, disappointed that their game was interrupted, but Gee Dub was unbothered. “Okay, Mama,” he said, and came up the steps into the house.

  Alafair sat back down in her chair and lifted the lid of the churn to check the progress of her butter. “Are you after something to eat?” she asked Gee Dub.

  “Yeah,” he admitted. “Daddy said he couldn’t concentrate for my stomach growling.” The boy was in the midst of a growth spurt. Sixteen years old, skinny as a wire, but seemingly two inches taller every day. All angles and feet. Shaw had observed that when Gee Dub stood still, he looked like the letter L. He ate more than any two people in the family.

  “There’s potato patties left over from dinner,” Alafair told him. “Make yourself a sandwich.”

  The idea appealed to him and he moved to the task straight away. “Are we having beef and noodles tonight?” he asked Martha, as he sawed a couple of slices off of a loaf of bread.

  Gravity had worked to double the length of the noodles hanging over Martha’s arm, and she was peeling them off one by one and laying them back on the counter to cut into manageable size. “I planned on drying these,” she told him. “I can make some noodle soup to go with the leftovers from dinner, though, if you want it.”

  They both glanced at their mother, whose eyebrows peaked with interest. “Sounds good to me,” she said.

  Gee Dub assembled his potato patties on the bread, with some sliced onion and slathers of mustard, and wandered back outside with his sandwich in his fist.

  “He’s a bottomless pit,” Martha observed, as she separated her noodles.

  “He’s a growing boy.”

  “Growing right along,” Martha agreed. “He’s going to be tall.”

  “Yes, he is, if you can predict by the size of his feet,” Alafair said. “This butter is just about made. Hand me them paddles, hon.” She removed the lid and dasher and poured off the buttermilk through a sieve into a crock she had ready on the table, leaving big golden lumps of butter in the churn. Alafair spooned the butter onto a stone butter slab.

  Martha covered her drying noodles with a dishcloth, then retrieved two wooden paddles from the cabinet. She handed them to Alafair, who used them to shape the butter into a loaf.

  “Don’t you want your butter mold?” Martha asked.

  “No, we’ll have this little bit eaten up by tomorrow. No need to be fancy.” As she worked the salt into the butter, Alafair glanced up at her daughter. Martha was easy around the kitchen. She was a good cook and housekeeper, neat and organized. She could have run her own house with her eyes closed, Alafair thought. Why, then, does she seem to have no interest in the idea?

  Martha had not lacked for beaux in the past few years, and had, in fact, considered at least one marriage proposal. But she had turned him down, and apparently wasn’t looking for a replacement fiancé any time soon.

  Alafair was proud of Martha’s initiative and wasn’t bothered by her lack of eagerness to marry, but it did make her ponder. Her daughters were a different type of creature than Alafair and her sisters had been. It was a new century. The way things had been done for time out of mind were coming to an end. The girls had options that had been unavailable to Alafair. It would have been impossible for her to be as independent as Martha, or as forward as Alice. The idea would never have entered her head.

  This Twentieth Century was shaping up to be something entirely original in human history, Alafair mused, and it wasn’t just that for the first time, people could drive without horses, make light without fire, or even fly. Those were outward things.

  A new species of person was being born, one who didn’t admit impossibilities. Alafair paused and stared at the butter, suddenly able to see something of the future. Her children were going to be able to think thoughts that had never been thought before. The hair on the back of her neck rose.

  How could she prepare them for a world that she couldn’t even imagine?

  “Ma?” Martha said, and Alafair started. “I reckon you’ve worked that butter to within an inch of its life.”

  “I was gathering wool,” Alafair confessed. “Mercy, the day is getting away! I’ve got to get into town for more canning jars before milking time. I’ll just wrap this butter and put it in the bucket in the well to cool. If you’ll clean the churn for me, I’ll go do that, and fetch Mary to go into town with me. Grace will be up from her nap directly. Listen for her, will you? I’ll take her with me if she wakes up before I get gone. Phoebe’s been in town today, but her and John Lee are coming for supper. Ruth is in the parlor—get her in here to sweep this floor.”

  Martha
held up her hand to stop Alafair in mid-rant. “Yes, Mama,” she soothed. “Go get Mary and put your butter in the well. I promise not to let the house fall down for the little while you’re gone.”

  ***

  Half an hour later, Alafair rode into town with Mary and Grace to pick up more quart Mason jars from Hattie Tucker’s general store. It was a beautiful spring day, with no hint of the storminess that was all too common at this time of year, and the front door of the store was wide open, inviting passersby to come in for a chat; a benevolent snare, Alafair thought, to catch Hattie some company and some good gossip.

  The long, narrow room was bordered on three sides by counters, behind which the walls were lined from floor to ceiling with shelves. The wooden floor was swept within an inch of its life, the finish worn white where customers habitually walked and stood. Every step on the well-worn floor produced a homey, comforting creak. The high, white, pressed tin ceiling sported a repeating pattern of squares and curlicues. Three dark brown ceiling fans of molded metal and wood were arrayed in a line down the middle of the room. They were off on a cool day like today, but in the summer they turned lazily, just enough to move the sodden air.

  Hattie’s store carried an eclectic mix of dry goods and groceries; cloth and sewing supplies, hardware and tools, flour and sugar and canned goods—many of the things that the local farmers couldn’t produce for themselves, including the canning supplies that Alafair had come to buy. She was delighted to find Scott inside, sitting in a cane-bottomed chair next to the cracker barrel, visiting his wife during a break in his afternoon rounds.

  Hattie was behind the counter, leaning on her elbows, her curly light brown hair askew as usual. “Afternoon, gals,” she called to them when they walked in. “Come on over here and let me do some lovin’ on that baby.”

  “Me, first,” Scott interposed. “I don’t get enough chance to dandle little girls on my knee, either.”