Under the Summer Sky

by Lori Copeland

  “No. Jones. Period.”

  “Your parents didn’t give you a first name?”

  “They didn’t figure I’d need one.” His grin widened. “Anyone ever tell you that you can’t hide your feelings? I think your hair gets redder when I get your goat.”

  She jerked herself up straight. “Then tell me, Jones, what am I thinking?”

  “That you’d like to knock my head off.”

  “Close,” she admitted. “But back to business. Thirty-one dollars less—but you close the deal right now.”

  “Right here in the middle of the road? With no deed?”

  “Right here.” Sweat was rolling down her temples now. “The deed has to be somewhere. I’ll find it.”

  “Thirty-one dollars less.” He looked up at the cloud, studying the offer. “You have any livestock you want to throw…”

  “Thirty-one! Don’t try to back out!”

  “Now there you go, talking like we have an agreement.”

  She clamped her lips shut. She knew that he had her. She could stay around until the cows came home and hope to get back to Sioux Falls, or she could loosen up and admit she was stuck. He’d probably give her the money to get home if she’d be a tad more agreeable. Her hair was curling in the humidity. She must look a mess, but she refused to be beholden to him.

  Jones dismounted, keeping the reins tight in one hand. Approaching her, his smile faded. “Let’s sit a spell. The heat’s fearsome.”

  She trailed him to the roadside and they sat down beneath a tall maple. Shade mercifully canopied their heads. Uncapping a canteen, he offered her a drink of water. She carefully wiped the rim, aware of the devilment in his eyes. “I’m desperate,” she said. Relief filled her eyes as the admission tumbled out. She needed an ally.

  “What makes you so desperate? Your land will sell even if I don’t buy it.”

  She briefly explained what had happened after he’d ridden off on the first day they met. “I had gone down to the water to do the wash when the ruckus started. I wasn’t really aware there was a problem until you shoved me in the barrel, though.”

  “About that,” he interrupted. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but when I saw what the men were up to and then spotted you at the water’s edge, I figured I didn’t have time to explain my actions.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  “I’m not apologizing. I’m explaining.”

  She fixed him with a schoolteacher stare.

  He took another swig of water. “Go on.”

  “Anyway, the men ransacked the house and left me nothing. And then the grasshoppers came.” His frown told her she didn’t have to elaborate.

  “The house is the only thing left standing?”

  “The house…and not much in it. I didn’t know what to do until Benjamin happened along and told me I might have an aunt in Dwadlo. I used the last of the money for a train ticket and came here to find Pauline, hoping she could give me the money to get back home to Sioux Falls.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Ninety-four.”

  He whistled.

  “I know, ancient—but she looks to be faring well for one her age.”

  “How did your visit go with her today?”

  “Not well. She didn’t know me, of course—but that’s no great surprise, since I was very young when she last saw me.”

  Leaning back, Jones took another long swallow of water. He lowered the tin and frowned. “Maybe your aunt will eventually recognize you—you or your name.”

  “I doubt it. Like Benjamin said, she doesn’t appear to know front from sideways. It’s highly unlikely that she would share any of her meager savings with a great grandniece she doesn’t recognize.”

  Jones replaced the cap on the canteen, tapping it tightly into place. “So that’s how Benjamin fits into the picture. I wondered.”

  “It was pure providence that he came by just as the grasshoppers swarmed in.”

  Chuckling, he studied the ground. “Sounds like he had quite a hankering for your aunt.”

  “Still does, if he followed me here.”

  Jones paused to study her. Her cheeks reddened even more under his slow perusal. “I’ll have to have a clear deed to your land.”

  Her heart sank. She had only Rob’s word that the land belonged to the family, and Pauline wouldn’t even speak to her.

  He seemed able to read her thoughts. “Your aunt could have one tucked away somewhere,” he said gently.

  “Maybe…but her memory’s so bad.”

  He stood, mounted his horse, and turned back toward town. He looked down at her. “You bring me that deed, and we have a deal.”

  “I thought you were leaving.”

  “Changed my mind. I’ll stick around another day or two—give you time to get your business in order. No point missing out on a prime piece of land.”

  What were the odds that a ninety-four-year-old woman would remember where she kept the deed to land that had been in the family since she was a girl?

  “How long do I have?”

  “Two days.”

  She nodded. “I’ll go to Pauline’s right now.”

  “Good.” He stopped just before pressing his heels into the horse’s flanks. Trinity followed his gaze as he eyed Benjamin’s jenny, its hair still stripped clean. “How did that happen, by the way?”

  “Grasshoppers. They ate her fur.”

  He grinned. “Well, let’s hope those hoppers don’t have a craving for property deeds.” He kicked the horse and trotted off, leading the jenny behind him. Trinity set off behind him. She’d be fine. He’d buy her land and she could return to her life in Sioux Falls. All she had to do was locate the deed.

  Like that would be a stroll in the park.

  Ten

  Early the following morning Trinity sliced white bread and then spread a thin coat of butter on the four crusty pieces. Mae stood at the counter rolling out a crust for her fresh peach pie. Trinity gritted her teeth as she worked. She was not a quitter.

  “I can’t get her to acknowledge me, but I have to try something. I thought a picnic would allow us time to become acquainted.” Beyond the question of the land and the deed, Trinity had so many questions to ask Pauline. What had her mother been like? Her father? Had they been giddy in love that morning when they’d struck out for town and supplies? Her life before she was orphaned was a blank slate, and her aunt might possibly be able to fill in the blanks. Family ties were distant, but surely Pauline knew part of the family history. Surely the stories hadn’t been lost completely.

  “Well, she never particularly favored picnics, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try.” Mae slid the peach pie in the oven and then closed the door. She fanned away the heat from her rosy features. “She wasn’t receptive to you yesterday. What makes you think she would accompany you on a picnic today?”

  “I have no reason to believe that she will.” Trinity layered thick slices of ham on one of the buttered pieces of bread. “But I’m not going to give up until she agrees to spend time with me. There are so many things I’d like to know about the family if she can remember them—or perhaps she’s recorded names in journals. It would be nice to know who I am and where I come from. I can’t remember much from before my parents died.”

  Mae paused beside the work table and eyed her work. “Put a little sugar on Pauline’s bread and butter. She has a dreadful sweet tooth.”

  Trinity reached for the sugar bowl and pinched a few grains. “Won’t you come with us?”

  “Not today. The mail is always heavy at the end of the month and I want to catch a nap this afternoon once I finish sorting it. The hot weather is dragging me down.”

  Trinity wouldn’t have pegged Mae for a woman who napped. She was constantly on the run, working at the store or doing an errand or making supper for an ailing neighbor. She was a marvel.

  Trinity wrapped the sandwiches in white cloth and slid them into a wicker basket.

  “There are plenty of peac
hes,” Mae reminded her. “No use letting them go to waste.” She swatted a gnat away from a piece of overripe fruit.

  “Thank you.” Trinity added a few of the plump fruits and two cloth napkins before she closed the lid. “Well, wish me luck.”

  “Luck?” Mae turned from the sink and grinned. “I’ll be praying for an act of God.”

  The sun was reaching its highest point in the sky when Trinity neared the Farley place. Nothing seemed to be stirring. The front porch rocker sat empty and when she hesitantly paused and listened she couldn’t hear a sound coming from inside the cottage. Most likely Pauline and Miz Farley were chatting away, working on hand stitching or piecing a quilt. Miz Farley had been so good to welcome Pauline into her home. The women must spend long hours enjoying each other’s company.

  Meadowlarks chirped and flittered overhead.

  Approaching the porch, Trinity gripped the wicker basket and mentally rehearsed her invitation. “Good morning, Aunt Pauline!” she would say. “It’s such a beautiful day that I thought a picnic was in order. I brought ham sandwiches and peaches!” She prayed her aunt wouldn’t recall her earlier visit and might even welcome the company. Folks had warned her that one never knew where Pauline’s mind was from day to day.

  She lifted her hand and started to knock when the door flew open and she gasped as a pan of dishwater hit her full in the face. Staggering backwards, she dropped the wicker basket, wicked words forming in her mind. When she cleared her eyes, she saw Pauline staring at her. “Great balls of fire! Are you back?”

  Trinity fisted water from her eyes. “I…yes…Why did you…I mean…Do you have a cloth?”

  “Yeh…Hold on a minute.” The door shut and Trinity sank to the porch, still half blind and her eyes stinging. Pauline returned shortly carrying a damp dishcloth. “How was I to know that you were standing in the way of me dumping the dishwater?”

  No apology. No polite “I’m sorry!” Aunt Pauline made it sound like it was Trinity’s fault that she’d thrown slimy dishwater in her niece’s face.

  Trinity took the damp cloth gingerly and mopped at her eyes, cheeks, and hair. “Do you not have a back door?”

  “I ain’t got no door, missy. None I can call my own.” The old woman lifted her by the arm and hefted her to her feet. “You’re startin’ to be a pest, do you know that?”

  Wringing out the cloth, Trinity was tempted to sass but then thought better of it. “I hope you haven’t eaten dinner.”

  “Dinner? I just finished the breakfast dishes.” She turned and shaded her eyes to stare at the sun. “It’s another hour or two afore dinner.”

  Trinity returned the cloth, and then hefted up the wicker basket to show her. “I brought a picnic lunch. I thought perhaps you would enjoy an outing. It would give us a chance to visit and get to know each other.”

  “I don’t like picnics.”

  “But you like bread and butter sandwiches sprinkled with sugar, don’t you? And Mae sent along fresh peaches!”

  Pauline appeared to consider the offer, and then tossed it aside. “I’m not hungry.”

  “But you will be in a couple of hours.” Determined, Trinity lowered the basket. “Let’s walk a ways. It’s a pretty morning and I noticed the wildflowers are particularly lovely today. Do you need to tell Miz Farley that you’re leaving?”

  “I’m leaving?”

  “You’re going on a picnic.”

  “I don’t like picnics.”

  “Miz Farley?” Trinity called through the open door. It wasn’t long before a stout white-headed woman appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a stained apron.

  “I’m taking Pauline on a picnic.” Guilt rushed through her when she remembered her manners. She really should invite the woman to come along, but this picnic involved personal business, so she couldn’t. “We’ll be gone for a while.”

  “Hallelujah and thank the good Lord.”

  Trinity wasn’t sure how to take the comment. “We won’t be gone long.”

  “The longer the better.” She slammed the door.

  Pauline tired easily. They hadn’t walked far at all when she suddenly gave out and sat down under a tree. Trinity followed, carrying the wicker basket. The spot was as pretty as any along the roadside and the sun was starting to bake the earth.

  “Did you bring anything to drink?” Pauline asked.

  “Mae handed me a jar of fresh lemonade just as I was walking out the door. She’s always so thoughtful.”

  “Mae’s a good girl. Always thought if I had a daughter, I’d want her to be like Mae.”

  She’d just opened the door to one of the subjects uppermost in Trinity’s mind. “If it isn’t too personal a question, why didn’t you ever marry?” If what Benjamin said was true, Pauline had been pretty enough in her younger years to have her choice of available men.

  “I came close a couple of times but always backed out.” Pauline settled on the grass, perspiration gathering on her upper lip. “Decided I didn’t need a man.”

  “Have you ever regretted your choice? I only ask because often I think the same thing.”

  Pauline’s eyes grew distant. “There was one—once. A long time ago. Probably should have paid more attention to him, but that’s water over the dam. Can I have a glass of that lemonade?”

  “Of course.” Trinity opened the basket, uncapped the jar, poured the contents into a glass, and handed it to her. Pauline drank thirstily.

  “I suppose you and Miz Farley are having a grand time together, sewing and visiting and cooking?”

  “That old heifer? She’s a wart on my soul. I wish a hole in the ground would open and swallow her up.”

  Taken aback, Trinity cleared her throat. “If you don’t care for Miz Farley, why are you living with her?”

  Pauline turned dour eyes on her. “Do I have a choice?”

  Trinity hadn’t thought about the arrangement. Obviously Miz Farley wasn’t a bucket of sunshine, but the nursing home wouldn’t be ready until fall. She changed the subject. “How often did you manage to see my parents when they were alive?” she asked.

  Lowering the glass of lemonade, Pauline studied on the question. “Don’t rightly recall. Who’d you say your folks were?”

  “John and Francine Franklin.”

  “Oh, I remember them. No, didn’t see them much. Once every few years, maybe, if they happened to come through Dwadlo, which they didn’t—that I recall. So I guess I didn’t see them often.”

  “Oh. Then you didn’t know much about my mother?”

  “She was a real nice woman. I recall she always had a good word to say about everyone.”

  “And my father?”

  “That louse?” She took another swig of lemonade from the glass. “He was polite enough, but had a cowardly streak a mile wide if you were to ask me.”

  “Cowardly?” Trinity frowned. Rob mentioned that their father had a temper, but she’d never heard him called cowardly.

  “I thought so—coupled with a mean streak. Your mother never took any guff off him, but I’ve heard family members say they didn’t know why she put up with a man like that.”

  Cowardly and mean. Which of those traits had she inherited? Trinity tried to absorb the information. Somehow she’d expected glowing recollections of the man who’d fathered her. Rob’s nature had always been pleasant and patient.

  “Do you recall me and Rob when we were young?”

  “Don’t recall you now, young’un. I just tolerate you because you won’t go away.”

  “Aunt Pauline,” Trinity chastised, “you need to learn manners. It isn’t nice to be so blunt with your words. You hurt people’s feelings.”

  “You asked me, didn’t you? If you don’t want to know the truth then don’t ask.”

  Trinity slowly unwrapped one of the sandwiches and handed it to her aunt. Pauline stared at the offering. “Not really hungry.”

  “I sprinkled sugar on it.”

  “Sugar?” She glanced up. “How’d you know
I like sugar on my sandwiches?”

  “Mae told me.”

  Her aunt eyed the sandwich Trinity was now unwrapping. “I shore do favor ham.”

  Trinity extended the sandwich to her. “You’re welcome to this, but…you don’t have teeth.” Heat crept up her neck at the blatant observation, but the words slipped out without proper thought.

  “Since when have missing teeth stopped me from eating ham?”

  “I just thought…I’m sorry. I’ll eat the bread and butter.”

  “Nope. Wouldn’t be polite to eat your ham. I’ll have the bread and butter.” She settled back and bit into the fare, gumming the bread. “Then if you haven’t finished your sandwich I might have a bite of ham.”

  Trinity made a mental note to save at least half of it.

  They ate in companionable silence, watching an occasional wagon pass. The occupants waved and called a friendly hello. The people of Dwadlo were a friendly lot. Folks always seemed to have a smile and kind word for a stranger. Mae said they’d all pitched in and helped bring the town back to normal after the train derailments.

  Time passed and Trinity knew she should question Pauline about the deed, but she was afraid to ruin the moment. They had formed a quiet truce and now that the ice between them was broken, there would be plenty of opportunities to convince Pauline that she needed help with her personal business and Trinity was there to serve her.

  Around one o’clock, Trinity gathered the remains of lunch and packed everything into the basket. Pauline was tiring visibly, and the picnic had been most pleasant. They had chatted about ordinary things—Dwadlo and Pauline’s intermittent recollections of years passed. Trinity recognized that back in her day, Aunt Pauline would have been fascinating company. She was knowledgeable about a good deal of subjects even with her faulty memory.

  By the time they’d returned to Miz Farley’s and said goodbye, Trinity was convinced that she and Pauline were going to become good friends—and, with a little help from the Lord, close family.

  Eleven

  The smell of supper lingered in the air as Pauline pushed open the screen door and settled in the porch rocker. Trinity, still a ways down the road, could just make out her slight figure. She knew she was pushing her luck with two visits in one day, but the picnic had been so productive that she wanted more.