by Deborah Camp
“I bet you call him Mister Lonestar in his presence,” Pansy said around another girlish giggle.
Gussie imitated her giggle as best she could, making the two girls stop their twittering. “No, I call him ‘honey,’ ‘sweetheart,’ and ‘all mine’ mostly.” She savored the disgruntled expressions that earned her. “And let me tell you . . .” She leaned closer to them, lowering her voice to a whisper and smiling coyly at them. “He’s made me a very happy and satisfied woman.”
The sisters reared back from her as if they were joined at the hip. Daisy narrowed her blue eyes and her upper lip curled.
“You are disgusting, that’s what you are!” Daisy said.
Gussie smirked. “And you are jealous, that’s what you are.”
“Of what? I wouldn’t wipe my shoes on Max Lonestar!”
“That’s right,” Pansy declared.
Gussie chortled at that. “You think I didn’t notice at our wedding that you were eating him up with your eyes, you wanted him so bad? Why, a person would have to have been blind not to witness it.”
“That’s a lie!” Daisy said, almost spitting at her, she was so riled. Evidently, Pansy noticed because she rested a hand on her sister’s arm to placate her.
“Keep telling yourself that,” Gussie said, moving away from them. “Someday you might believe it.”
Aggravation built in her and Gussie was fairly seething inside by the time Susan finally announced that she was satisfied with her purchases and suggested they stop in at the newly opened tea room for a cup and a biscuit. All five tables were occupied, but then Susan pointed out that one was opening up at the back of the small, cramped space. Gussie followed her, their shoes tapping like soldiers’ boots on the wood floor. She heard her name spoken, followed by giggles. Someone else spoke up behind her, loud enough to be easily heard by everyone.
“Yeah, I reckon he didn’t waste any time seeding her. She’ll be popping out papooses in a few months.”
Her feet stuck to the floorboards and she whirled about, her hot gaze landing squarely on Bob Babbitt’s grinning visage. He sat at a table a few feet away from her. He wasn’t alone, and Gussie wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the flower girls were with him. Gussie’s aggravation boiled over into searing anger and she closed the space between her and Babbitt.
He looked like a grinning buffoon as he raised his bushy brows under the rim of the brown, sloppy hat perched on his round head. The sight of him and the snide smiles of the two women obliterated any sensible notions Gussie had managed to hold onto. With a swiftness that made the air whistle around her, she snatched the hat off Babbitt’s head, slapped him across the face with it, and then threw it into his lap. The flower sisters gasped and Babbitt’s face colored a dark red.
“Didn’t your parents teach you any manners? Don’t you know better than to wear a hat indoors?” She leaned toward him, glaring into his narrowed eyes. “Or were you raised in a barn? Oh, wait.” She straightened and tapped her forefinger against her chin in a pondering gesture. “No, that can’t be right. Because if you’d been raised in a barn, you’d have set it afire. Isn’t that right, Babbitt?”
“Gussie!” Susan hissed behind her and grasped her elbow. “Come along.”
“Why, you . . .” Babbitt’s squinty eyes spat venom at her. “I don’t know what you think you’re accusing me of, but—.”
“Setting fire to our barn,” Gussie said, glad that her voice carried easily across the hushed room. “Is that clear enough for you?”
“You’re crazy,” he said, gathering his hands into fists atop the table and giving it a pounding that made the dishes and the women sitting with him all jump. “If you were a man, I’d knock you into next week.”
“Gussie, please!” Susan tugged at her arm and sounded panic-stricken.
“And if you were a man, you wouldn’t be sitting in a tea room gossiping with these two like an old woman.” She spun around and walked with Susan to the table, keenly aware of the people’s stares and frantic, shocked whispers.
“Let’s get outta here,” Babbitt said.
Sitting opposite Susan at the small, round table, Gussie scoffed as she watched Babbitt and the flower sisters take their leave. A few other tea drinkers left, too, making a show of it as they flung pointed glares at Gussie.
“He’s a despicable snake, that man,” Susan whispered. “And it’s a wonder he held his temper. He’s known for flying off the handle.”
“Did you hear what he said about me popping out papooses?”
Susan winced. “Yes.”
“You think I’m wrong to snap back at him?” Her voice held a quiver of anger and she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and tried to quell the fury still firing inside her. “It’s one thing for people to snub me, but it’s something entirely different when they insult me like that. I won’t cotton to it. I won’t! Not anymore.”
“You’re right, Gussie. Absolutely right.” Susan sipped in a breath and tried on a smile. “Calm down. It’s over now. Let’s have some tea and remember we’re ladies.”
A waitress approached, somewhat warily. “What y’all having?”
“A pot of tea and two biscuits with jam, please, Agnes.” Susan said. “How’s your mother doing?”
“She’s a lot better. Thanks for asking.” The waitress scampered away.
“Doesn’t that sound good? I love a cup of tea now and again, don’t you?”
“I’m partial to coffee, but tea’s okay.”
“My mother loved hot tea. She used to drink a cup every afternoon before she began cooking supper.”
Gussie managed a smile at Susan’s valiant attempt to salvage their outing. Glancing around, she saw that they were still being eyed, but the hubbub had died down. “We don’t have to mention this to your brother.”
Susan nodded. “Yes. No need for that. Max would be . . . well, it would upset him.”
“He has enough reasons to detest Babbitt. No use in giving him one more.”
The waitress brought a tray with the tea pot and biscuits. She set the items on the table, along with a tiny bowl of butter and another containing red jam. “It’s strawberry. I hope that’s okay.”
“Oh, yes. Thank you, Agnes.” Susan reached for the tea pot. “I’ll pour.” She waited for the woman to move away before pouring the dark tea into the two, delicate cups. “We have a little pitcher of cream here, Gussie, and some sugar, too.”
Gussie doctored the tea with both and then lathered butter and jam onto a golden-topped biscuit. “I reckon what happened will be the talk of the town for a few days.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Let’s not fret about it.”
“I’m not. Just saying.” Gussie partook of some biscuit and jam before picking up the conversation again. “It riles me that Babbitt isn’t punished for setting fire to our barn.”
“You don’t know that he did for sure, do you? You didn’t see him around your place.”
“No, but who else would do it? He’d been there and left mad as a rabid dog. And he’s the type to do something cowardly like setting a fire and running off like a sneaky coyote.”
Susan released a quick sigh. “Gussie, put it all behind you. Dwelling on something you can’t do anything about sours your soul. Erik and Max will have the barn repaired in a few weeks. You didn’t lose any livestock. Be grateful and move on.”
Because she liked Susan so much, Gussie held her tongue, although she wanted to tell her sister-in-law that what she spouted was poppycock. Be grateful? For what? For yellow-bellied enemies? For neighbors who didn’t think enough of you to look you in the eye? For being mocked and insulted in a public place? Grateful, her backside!
The only thing she was truly grateful for at the moment was that Susan had agreed not to tattle about the scrimmage to Lonestar. What he didn’t know wouldn’t rile him.
She counted them. Thirteen men and ten women, six boys and nine girls. Gussie wiped her dishwater hands on her apron and surveyed the act
ion around her as men and boys worked diligently to complete four walls of a barn for the Anderson family while women and girls readied an afternoon meal for them. It was a splendid day for a barn raising with a breeze cool enough to dry off sweaty brows and the sun low enough in the sky so that it wasn’t beating a hole through the top of your head or blinding your eyes.
The aroma of fried chicken and apple betty perfumed the air as the womenfolk swarmed around the two long tables and benches someone had brought and set up under a canopy of ash trees. Velma Anderson, a chubby-cheeked blond who was pregnant with her third child, gushed over the array of food being placed on the tables. She and her husband, Norm, had spent most of the past few hours thanking everyone and shaking hands. Everyone except the Lonestars, Gussie amended as a sour taste coated her mouth.
She looked toward the construction area and her eyes found Lonestar easily. He stood tall and proud. He’d tied a red bandana across his forehead, making her fantasize about how he’d look with a leather band there and an eagle feather stuck in it. Fierce and handsome, that’s how he’d look, she thought. And that’s how he looked now to her admiring gaze. He was all sinew and muscle as he lined up with other men and hoisted a wall frame up, up, up. Grunting and sweating, the men strained to get the wall upright. Gussie could tell that Lonestar was putting his back into it as his features contorted with the physical strain he was asking of his body. With a big push, the wall structure crept up another inch or two until it was plumb. Other men hurried to hammer it into place, then called “let her go, boys.” The barn raisers stepped back and everyone admired their work. Several of the women applauded the effort and its result. Three of the four walls were in place. Only one more to go before the army of men began on the roof rafters.
It was going to be a big barn, Gussie thought. And built to last, thanks to all these generous and industrious folks. Examining each face, she didn’t recognize a one, except for Susan and Mrs. Sherman, the preacher’s wife. Her daughters weren’t attending. Susan said they rarely showed up for anything requiring them to work. They had a cook at home, so neither Daisy nor Pansy knew how to prepare a meal. They were probably with Bob Babbitt, who also didn’t bother to show up. He, too, avoided work whenever possible.
“I’d hate to imagine what our farm would look like now if Babbitt had purchased it,” Gussie had said earlier to Susan when she’d commented on Babbitt not joining in.
“It’d be an eyesore, for sure,” Susan had retorted. “I never did understand why Mr. Poindexter would even consider letting Babbitt buy his place. I suppose he believed Bob’s puffery of what he had planned for the farm.”
Rose Sherman stepped forward, taller than most of the men and all of the women. She waved to garner their attention. “Praise be! We are almost ready to have you men sit down to a meal, so you’d best begin your ablutions!” Her deep voice traveled easily and carried a note of authority that had the men obeying with haste.
The preacher’s wife hadn’t lifted a hand to help with the cooking, but she had issued orders all day. “Set the tables over here!” “We need a tablecloth. Who can fetch one?” “Someone needs to slice these loaves of bread.” “Lucille, cover up those potatoes so the flies can’t land on them.” The women had hopped to it whenever her resonant voice had rung out.
Her close-set gaze landed on Gussie and she pointed a long finger at her. “You there! You can fill the water glasses now.”
Gussie bristled and snapped her teeth together to keep from telling the woman that her name wasn’t “you there.” Susan must have sensed her rise in temper because she burst into action, grabbing up the nearest pitcher and sending the woman a sweet smile as she poured water into the squat drinking glasses marching down the length of the tables. Mrs. Sherman frowned, her gaze moving from Susan back to Gussie. She shook her head, but turned away to supervise the arrangement of food platters.
Forcing herself to be cordial, Gussie grabbed another pitcher of water and joined Susan in the task. Susan sent her a quick smile.
“She just can’t bring herself to say my name,” Gussie grumbled.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Susan admonished. “Be careful about jumping to conclusions, dear Gussie. You can get hurt that way.”
“I doubt it. It’s not a jump. More like a step.”
Susan stifled a giggle.
The men began arriving at the tables, all scrubbed clean and eager to consume the piles of food. Lonestar ambled toward the tables and sat in the middle of one long bench. Gussie noticed that Erik sat on one side of him and the other side was vacant until seating became scarce. Finally, Norm Anderson sat beside Lonestar, looking uncomfortable as he did so.
What did they think would happen if they got too close to him? Gussie wondered, her anger spiking again. Did they fancy he’d knife them? That the bronze of his skin would rub off on them? She’d never seen such a passel of foolish men in all her born days! And the women were almost as bad. Gussie had seen a few of them eyeing Lonestar appreciatively when they didn’t think anyone would notice. It didn’t surprise Gussie because Max Lonestar was the best-looking man in the whole bunch, bar none! Probably the handsomest in the county – maybe even several counties. What with his jet-black hair, sparkling brown eyes, strong jaw, devastating smile, and powerfully built body, he had few contenders. Of course, if Lonestar looked in their direction, they turned their backs on him or stared past him like he was a ghost.
The Reverend led them in prayer and the men set to filling their bellies. As Gussie made her way toward him, pausing at each man to fill the water glasses, she caught his eye and her heart fluttered wildly when his gaze softened and the corners of his mouth tipped up in an intimate smile. She couldn’t help but smile back at him as she felt her cheeks warm. There had been more moments like this since they’d joined their bodies. Special, singular moments when they’d spoken only with gestures and yearning gazes.
She filled his water glass and rested her free hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze before she moved on to Erik. He raised his eyebrows in greeting and made a mumbling sound since his mouth was full of fried chicken.
Gussie sat with Susan in the shade while the men ate and joked with each other. Erik talked with Lonestar. Several men talked with Erik, but Gussie couldn’t tell if they included Lonestar in their discussions. Probably not, she surmised with a scowl.
Desserts were served, and when the men were mostly finished, Rev. Sherman stood and cleared his throat to arrest their attention. When he had it, he spread out his arms in an encompassing gesture and bestowed a smile on them. “We should all appreciate what we have here. Not just the wonderful meal these fine women have set out for us, but also the camaraderie apparent here today. This community makes me proud. Proud that you all step forward eagerly when a neighbor has a hardship. Like the Andersons here. They needed helping hands and we all came together to make sure they had what they needed. No one in this community feels alone and that’s a beautiful thing and will put jewels in your heavenly crown when it’s your time to face God Almighty.”
Every word of his little speech was like a hot poker gouging Gussie’s heart. She bit her lower lip, telling herself to keep quiet, but when she saw the men at the table and the women standing around it all nodding, proud as peacocks with themselves, she couldn’t stay quiet. Her attention moved unerringly to Lonestar. He stared at his plate, his hands balled into fists on either side of it. She set down the pitcher and stood at the other end of the table, glaring across the length of it to the reverend who had married her to Max Lonestar.
“I’d be careful if I were you, Rev. Sherman,” she said, and she was grateful that her tone was clear and didn’t waver. “You don’t want the folks here to catch you in a white lie.”
He made a sound of affront and his face grew as red as a raspberry. “What are you saying? I would never!”
The others stared holes in her and she felt Susan move behind her, one hand touching her shoulder in a warning she had no d
esire to heed. Lonestar’s head came up.
“You just said that everyone in this community looks after each other and we all know that is not the God’s honest truth.” Lifting her chin, she kept her gaze on the preacher’s red face even as she felt Lonestar’s hooded stare. “Me and my mister are surely glad to help out the Andersons, although we have never seen them until today. But our barn was set afire a couple of weeks ago and Lonestar and Erik have been slowly replacing the burned parts. Nobody’s come by to help or ask if we need anything.” She let her gaze travel slowly from face to face around the table. “I’m glad to be here today, if for no other reason than to see y’all since nobody has come a calling to our place, other than our kin.” She locked onto the preacher again. He sat down slowly in his chair and his face blanched. His eyes blazed with contempt. She sensed everyone staring at her, some in shock and others in anger. “No, Rev. Sherman, everyone in this community doesn’t reach out to help their neighbor. Wish it were so, but it’s not.” She gave a quick shrug, then turned away from them and walked to where the desserts stood ready to be spooned onto plates. Susan stood beside her and they both grabbed utensils and busied themselves with slicing into cobblers and cakes.
Slowly, the people behind them began talking in hushed voices. One man’s rose above the others.
“Some women, like children, should be seen and not heard,”
Chuckles and guffaws followed the comment. Susan nudged Gussie with her shoulder, slanted her a cautionary glance and shook her head. Gussie received the message with a sigh. Her little tirade had probably done no good. In fact, it might have made things worse. But, dang it all, she wouldn’t take one word of it back! These people were horrible toward Lonestar and it hurt her heart to bear witness to it.
She finished slicing a cake and set down the knife to wipe her sweaty palms on her apron. As she did, she caught sight of Lonestar standing at the corner of the Anderson’s house. He gave a jerk of his head and then disappeared from view.
