Cast a Road Before Me

by Brandilyn Collins

  I swung my feet to the floor, a prickle of fear rolling up my spine. How had my “good idea” soured so in one afternoon? The fickleness of hope and hopelessness roiling through the town bespoke an angst much deeper than I’d allowed myself to realize. I’d had my head in the clouds. So busy planning my life of service to others, I couldn’t see my own family’s—and town’s—needs. I dropped my head in my hands, staring at the carpet. And this “idea” of mine—I had to admit it had been more for me than for the town. Six weeks would be just enough time to see me on my way to Cincinnati. Even if things fell apart then, I’d be long gone. It wouldn’t be my concern.

  Suddenly I was utterly sick with myself.

  When we heard Lee Harding’s truck pull up out front, we both trotted for the door. I made it to the porch first, frantically searching my uncle’s face for a clue as he climbed out of the truck. Slamming the door shut, he caught sight of us both watching him like hawks. “Well, that’s quite a welcome!” He grinned, and I realized I’d hardly seen him smile since I’d returned to Bradleyville. Relief washed over me like a clean spring rain.

  “Riddum said ‘yes,’” Aunt Eva uttered, leaning against the porch post for support. Uncle Frank strode up the steps.

  “That he did. Thank God. Lee did all the talkin’, and he was mighty persuasive. Riddum promised he’d look over the books and give us an answer August first. I hope things’ll keep quiet until then. Evidently, even Riddum, stubborn mule that he is, saw the sense in givin’ everyone time to cool off.”

  “Jessie!” Lee’s voice rolled up the sidewalk over the chugging of his truck engine. He was leaning over the seat to look out the passenger window, his muscular left arm curved around the steering wheel. “Good goin’!”

  Surprise flicked across my face. He’d done all the work; why should he congratulate me? “Good going to you,” I called back.

  “And to your uncle.” He flashed me a smile. “Anyway, I gotta get home for supper. See y’all in an hour or so.”

  “Thanks for the ride, Lee,” Uncle Frank waved.

  “Well!” Aunt Eva sighed with satisfaction as Lee drove off. “Let’s go have some soup before the hordes descend.”

  And descend they did. Almost double the number of men had crowded into our living room by 7:30, eager to hear details of the good news, which had whipped through Bradleyville in record time. They squeezed themselves into every chair we could find in the house, with many left standing. The atmosphere was vastly different from the night before, the imminence of calamity greatly diminished.

  I was glad I’d made six pies and that we’d decided to switch to paper plates. I’d run to the store for them after supper, quelling Aunt Eva’s panic about not having enough dishes. Busily cutting the pies into eight pieces each, I listened to the boisterous voices in the next room, smiling to myself. All my baking had been worth it; Lee certainly deserved his apple pie. I was so grateful for the relief that was already smoothing the lines on my uncle’s forehead. Suspending my knife before cutting the last piece, I calculated the number of servings, biting my lip. The knife went into the sink. Lee would get a double portion.

  Aunt Eva bustled in, two empty pitchers in her hand. “My, how those men go through iced tea! It’s a good thing this’ll be the last meetin’, I don’t think I could take much more a this.” She banged the plastic pitchers on the counter and pushed loose hair off her flushed cheek. “Those pies ready? You buy enough plates and forks? Where’s the napkins? We’d better hurry; they’ll be callin’ the meetin’ to order soon.”

  I suppressed a laugh. She could get herself in such a dither. “Yes to both questions, and the napkins are right here. Help me serve.”

  I pushed the plate with Lee’s piece into the corner. “I’ll take that one in; it’s for Lee.”

  “Oh!” She threw me a pleased-as-punch grin. “How nice to see you two gettin’ along so well!”

  I was sorry I’d said anything. “It’s just a piece of pie, Aunt Eva.”

  “Sure, sweetie.” She patted my arm. “I know.” Sweeping up two plates of pie, she trotted out of the kitchen, humming under her breath. I made a face at her back.

  As I turned to reach for Lee’s serving, a sudden awareness of what I was about to do stayed my arm. Shyness crept over me as I imagined handing him his plate. Was he going to read implications into that dessert as Aunt Eva had? Implications that I certainly never intended? My eyes roved over all those pieces of pie covering the counter. Well, if he did, it was just too bad. I certainly didn’t have time to bake something else now. Firmly, I picked up his piece and another plate. I would serve him and whoever sat next to him at the same time saying absolutely nothing—that’s what I’d do. Lee was so distracted, he’d probably forgotten last night’s comment, anyway.

  I exited the kitchen, my head held high, scooting aside to avoid being mowed down by Aunt Eva on her way back in. My eyes swept the living room. Fortunately, I didn’t have to weave through too many men to get to Lee. He was perched on a metal folding chair in animated discussion with Al Bledger, who was shaking his head in disgust. The cynicism twisting Al Bledger’s mouth sent unexpected pinpricks of anxiety up my arms. My heart sank as I realized from his expression how tenuous the promised six weeks of peace would be, despite all that Lee had done.

  “Excuse me,” I mumbled, ducking through other conversations as I approached the two men.

  “Okay, okay, we ain’t gonna cause no trouble,” Al Bledger was saying in response to Lee’s black look. “But if it don’t go well after that, don’t expect us to wait any longer.”

  “Mr. Bledger, would you like some dessert?” I shoved the plate toward him none too ceremoniously. He accepted it in silence, barely noticing me.

  “Lee?” I held out his huge piece, attempting an unassuming expression. His eyes flicked over the plate, stopped in surprise, then lifted to my face. Our gaze met and held. The barest hint of a smile curved his lips as he took the plate from my hand, his fingers grazing mine. “Thank you.”

  I gave a slight shrug. “Sure.”

  Unable to think of anything else to say, I turned and walked away, feeling his eyes burning into my back.

  chapter 13

  What’s new? I ain’t been in town since Monday. I hear the mill agrindin’ as usual. Oh, I also need two pound a them nails, by the way.”

  “Yep, the men’re still workin’. Still grumblin’ too. But they’re tellin’ each other to hold calm, waitin’ it out till August.” Dozens of nails hissed, metal against metal as they were sight-measured and weighed. The hardware store clerk poured them into a paper bag. “Tell you what, though, business is already down, what with folks savin’ in case there’s rainy days ahead. And I ain’t the only one; the IGA and dime store say the same thing, so does Tull’s.”

  “That so.” His customer gazed unseeing at the worn wooden counter.

  “What’re you thinkin’?”

  “That I’m glad I’m a farmer ‘bout now.”

  “I hear ya.” The clerk leaned over the counter, lowering his voice. “Tell ya somethin’ else, though.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Even though those meetin’s at the Bellinghams is done for now, Lee Harding’s still beatin’ a path to Frank’s door.” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Why’s that?”

  “He’s sweet on young Jessie. Took her home from church, I heared; plus they went out on a date Tuesday.”

  “Well now, ain’t that a couple.” The man reached into his pocket. “How much I owe ya?”

  The clerk worked his register. “Ten dollars and eighty-six cents.”

  Roughened hands counted out bills and change. “That Lee’s a busy man. Keepin’ things peaceful at the mill, fixin’ up his mama’s house, his poor sister havin’ a baby, and now he’s courtin’ a girl. Lord a mercy, that’s some load.”

  They both laughed.

  chapter 14

  Sometimes I wonder what would have happened had I not baked those apple pies
.

  I went to bed that Friday night with Lee’s dark eyes still burning in my head. As I drove to Albertsville again that weekend to buy more fabric and thread, vacuumed Aunt Eva’s house, rescued two packing boxes at the IGA before they were flattened, and sewed in earnest, I thought about those eyes. At church on Sunday Aunt Eva led me and Uncle Frank like baby ducks to file into the pew that Lee and his family occupied, even though we usually sat farther down front with the Matthewses. Halfway in, she realized she’d be between Lee and me, and even Aunt Eva couldn’t find a solution graceful enough for the house of God. Yet even with her between us, I still felt him, was aware of his every move. And I knew he was aware of mine. After the service he asked if he could drive me home. I opened my mouth, ready with an excuse, but heard myself say “yes.”

  That short drive led to an invitation for our first date on Tuesday evening—dessert and coffee at Barbara’s Café in Albertsville, a cheery little place with red vinyl booths and a pink rosebud at each table. Aunt Eva was ecstatic when she heard of our plans and couldn’t stop extolling Lee’s virtues. Listening to her rattle on at supper Monday night, I realized she and Miss Wilma must have begun their scheming long before I’d returned home. The whole town had probably already heard the efficacy of her matchmaking. Give it another week, I thought, and no-nonsense Bradleyville would be planning a wedding.

  I didn’t care. Let the town think what it would. No matter how much Aunt Eva schemed, I was on a direct road out of Bradleyville at the beginning of August. And nothing, certainly not a few dates with a man, however attractive, could turn me aside. But then, sitting across from Lee at Barbara’s, I could not possibly have guessed where that first date would lead. I only knew that his presence sparked something within me, like a flickering filament.

  As it would happen, after all the tumult, I would indeed drive away from Bradleyville on a hot August morning. But at such a cost.

  Had I not been so naïve, perhaps I would have guarded my heart more carefully. I was hopelessly inexperienced with men. I’d rarely dated in college—hadn’t found time between classes and working and volunteering. And during high school in Bradleyville, I’d been too wrapped up in my grief.

  At the end of our first evening together, Lee and I lingered in his truck, still talking. He asked to take me to Barbara’s again on Thursday. It would mean losing another evening’s work on his house, but he shrugged it away. I said yes without a second thought. Sleep eluded me that night, my mind filled with him. The next two days seemed to drag by, even though I kept myself busy sewing. Finally, Thursday evening arrived. As we drove into Albertsville, the very air around us tingled. Looking at him across the café table, I was tongue-tied.

  “Won’t you miss your family when you move?” he ventured.

  “Sure. But Cincinnati is where I want to be.”

  “To me, where anybody would want to be is near family. I rented a place here in Albertsville when I started workin’ at the textile factory, but when Mama broke her hip, I went back to Bradleyville. Didn’t like Albertsville anyway. Luckily, the mill job came through, so I didn’t have to drive back and forth to work very long. Connie ended up movin’ back too. Who’d a guessed that.”

  I was curious about Connie’s ex-husband, but seeing Lee’s expression, I didn’t dare ask. “Is she doing okay?”

  “Gettin’ awful big. And she’s scared, thinkin’ a raisin’ a baby herself. Wonderin’ who’s gonna want her, with someone else’s child.”

  “I should visit her again.”

  “She’d welcome that. So would Mama. They both like you a lot.”

  Self-consciously, I swirled the coffee in my cup.

  “So, who do you know in Cincinnati?”

  “Not too many people. I suppose some of our old neighbors are still around. My apartment’s not too far from where we used to live. But most of the friends I had in high school have scattered. I do know Brenda Todd, the director at Hope Center. She’s anxious to have me back, and I can’t wait to see her again. And, of course, I’ve met my boss at work. As far as friends, though, I’ll just have to meet new people.”

  “Sounds pretty lonely to me.”

  “No.” I wanted him to understand. “Well, maybe at first, but it’s okay, because I know it’s what I’m supposed to do with my life. My mother spent a lot of her time volunteering at the Center, and I’m following in her footsteps. Plus, even my career will involve helping people.”

  “Sounds like a good plan for your life.” Absently, he fingered the pink rosebud on our table. I watched his strong hand, imagining the sensation of its touch. Something in his tone bespoke a disappointment with my unflinching desire to leave Bradleyville.

  “Mm-hmm. My aunt and uncle sure don’t want me to go, though. Especially Aunt Eva. And you know how well she keeps her feelings hidden.”

  He laughed. “Can’t say as I blame her. If I had you that close, I wouldn’t want you to go either.”

  The words flowed lightly enough, but I sensed an undercurrent. I glanced at him, not knowing how to respond, then looked away. The rest of the evening we avoided the subject of my leaving. We talked about the sawmill, about Bradleyville and its people. Things were still testy at the mill, Lee responded when I asked. Riddum wasn’t doing much to change the men’s feelings about him. But, Lee added, he’d promised himself we wouldn’t discuss it. He got enough of that at work. Somehow, from that subject we spring-boarded to a discussion about politics and the Vietnam War. I told him how my mother would have hated the war, how she was against all violence and had instilled the same passion within me. He looked thoughtful at my pronouncement.

  “She told you, ‘don’t lift your hand to anyone?’ What if you were in danger? What if your family was threatened?”

  The bitter memory of crimson fingerprints against my mother’s cheek flashed through my head … the stinging words of my grandfather—you’ll never be good enough! I looked at Lee squarely, feeling my jaw set. “Even then. There’s always another way. Violence is just … unchecked temper. And it doesn’t do anybody any good.”

  He nodded, taking a slow drink of coffee.

  “I guess you don’t agree with me.”

  He set the coffee mug on the table with great care. “I don’t think violence is ever ‘good,’ Jessie. But sometimes a country needs to go to war. Right now, our leaders say we need to be in Vietnam. I’m glad I haven’t had to go fight, but if I was called, I’d go. As for my own life right here, I like peace as well as the next guy. I certainly don’t go ‘round pickin’ fights. And you know I’ve tried to keep peace at the sawmill. But I’ll tell you this right now, if somebody came against my own, I’d do whatever I needed to protect ‘em. I’m all my mother and sister’ve got right now, and they’re both doin’ poorly. No way would I stand back and watch ‘em get hurt.” He smiled, trying to lighten the conversation. “You’d probably do the same thing if it came right down to it.”

  His smile was so warming, I almost shrugged the comment away. But I wasn’t about to let the discussion end there. “No, I wouldn’t,” I replied. “It’s wrong, and that’s all there is to it. I’m supposed to help people in this world, not hurt them.”

  A second, then two, ticked by as we locked eyes. Somehow, that initial testiness between us had crept its way over the table. I couldn’t quite place its origin, sensing only that there were depths to Lee Harding comparable to his massive frame. He seemed to be gauging his response, deciding whether to argue or let it go. Suddenly, he grinned, the faint dimple in his cheek showing.

  “You’re a mighty tough one to be so pretty, Jessie Callum.”

  The warmth returned, seeping through me like butter on toast. “I’m tough. What about you? You started it.”

  “I ain’t started a one of our little ‘discussions.’ You always have.”

  My lips pressed together. “Are we gonna argue about this too, Lee Harding?”

  He leaned forward, spontaneously taking my hands in his and lifting them, lac
ing our fingers. A tingle ran up my arms and down my spine. “No.”

  And that was the end of that.

  I don’t remember much of the conversation that followed. Only that my last bite of cake remained uneaten because I didn’t want to withdraw my hands from his. By the time we finally left the restaurant, Barbara’s was closing. Lee leaned against the cab of his truck and drew me close.

  “You really are beautiful, you know,” he whispered, lifting a strand of my hair. I couldn’t think of a thing to say. Tilting my chin up, he bent down to kiss me. I had to stand on tiptoe, my head at such an angle that I nearly got a crick in my neck. But his lips were warm and surprisingly soft, and I didn’t want to let go. Something sounded in my throat. He sank his fingers into my hair, kissing me until I pulled away, breathless. “Ooh,” I winced, rubbing my neck, “we should have done that sitting down.”

  We got in his truck. He pulled me over to the middle and kissed me again. Even sitting, he was still much taller, and my neck began to throb. I didn’t care; I felt as though I were floating, quite separate from my body. We drove all the way back to Bradleyville with his arm draped around me, my head on his shoulder. A mile outside of town, he withdrew his arm without explanation, and I scooted over toward the door. No need to stoke Bradleyville’s fire.

  We made plans for Saturday night. I volunteered to make a picnic; he said he’d bring a blanket. He knew just the place, on a tree-lined hill about ten miles out Route 347. We’d watch the stars come out, the lights of Bradleyville come on.

  Somehow on Friday, I managed to finish a second dress, reminding myself of the reason I needed a new wardrobe. No matter how exciting the next few weeks in quiet little Bradleyville might be, my life was on its own course. That was where I needed to focus my thoughts. But twice as I found myself daydreaming about Saturday night, I nearly sent the sewing machine needle through my finger.