Town Social

by Simmons, Trana Mae

  Now he paused a moment on the porch, running his palm across his face for the twentieth time to make sure he hadn't missed a whisker when he shaved so carefully this morning. His good suit still fit, though it was a tad snug in the waist. Theresa had fixed it up real proper when he took it over there yesterday and made the request, and she's also washed and ironed his white shirt into snowy brightness. Felt like Mary's housekeeper had put some starch in the collar, though. He ran his finger beneath it, trying to loosen the black string tie.

  Removing his hat, he pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his balding head. He caught a whiff of the bay rum he'd used this morning for the first time in too many years. The Texas summer heat usually sucked that right off a feller's skin, but he'd taken that into consideration and been extra liberal with it that morning.

  Dang, maybe he should take time for a smoke first. He stuffed the handkerchief back, then felt inside his coat for his makings. Changing his mind when he realized he was dilly dallying around and putting off the inevitable, he firmly knocked on the door. Dropping his head, he waited — but no one answered.

  Hell, maybe she'd gone to the social. No, he doubted that. He banged on the door louder, then caught a glimpse of a curtain moving on the front parlor window. So that was the way she wanted to play it?

  He tested the doorknob and found it unlocked. With only one deep breath for courage, he shoved the door back and strode inside, going directly into the well-remembered parlor.

  Cassie stood in front of the window, her hand clasped at her throat. For just a brief instant he thought he saw a flash of the young Cassie in the blue eyes that used to welcome him. Just as quickly it was gone, replaced by the dimness and paler color he'd seen over the past years when he got lucky enough to get close to her. That brief flash, however, gave him some fortitude.

  "Hello, Cassie."

  "Please leave," she murmured. "I didn't invite you here."

  "Never used to need an invite," he replied. "And I ain't gonna leave. Not until we have us a talk that's long overdue."

  Back rigid, she started past him to the door. He snaked his arm in front of her and swung her around to face him — close, very close. They'd both been the same height when they stopped growing, and her eyes were on the same level as his. She stared at him in increasing fright, then clamped her eyes shut.

  "Please," she repeated. "We don't have anything to talk about. And even if we did, you can't force me to talk to you."

  "Then you just sit down and listen, Cassie, sweetheart."

  The endearment had the desired effect, and she opened her eyes. "I'm not your...I don't want...oh, please, Duckie. Leave me alone!"

  "No one's called me Duckie in years," he said with a half smile.

  She stepped back and he let her go, as long as she didn't start for the door again.

  "You beat up anyone else who tried to call you that, except Sammie and me," she blurted.

  "Yeah, I remember. And I remember lots of other things, including some big mistakes I made. Sammie's daughter coming to town made me do a lot of thinking."

  Cassie whirled and strode to the settee. "That girl! She never should have come here! She doesn't have any idea what she's done!"

  "That's the problem," Charlie said, walking over and gently pushing her down on the settee. Sitting beside her, he took her hands in his. "She doesn't know. And I think we should tell her."

  "No!" Cassie gripped his hands in a fiercesome hold. "Please, Duckie, you can't! It's over and done with and it's stayed buried all these years. It was hard enough going through it the first time. I can't bear it all over again!"

  "Cassie, I've come to the conclusion over the past few days that we've done our bearing of the situation entirely wrong. We've acted like the guilty ones, instead of holding our heads up without shame. It wasn't our fault, you know."

  "It was!" Cassie shook her head, clenching her teeth and swallowing before she continued. "If I had been...if he hadn't ...if Sammie...."

  "Damn it, listen to me! Remember how young we all were. Maybe if we'd gone to my parents, like I suggested, things would have turned out different. Your folks had just died. You didn't have anyone to turn to."

  "It still would have been just as bad. Even worse on Sammie, after what we saw later on. The best thing to do is let it lie. Send Sunny back to St. Louis where she belongs, before she succeeds in...."

  "Jake came out to the ranch the other night," he interrupted. "He asked me flat out if I was Sunny's father."

  "Oh, my God!" Cassie pulled her hands free and placed them on his forearms. He covered one of her hands with his palm, allowing himself at least that much.

  "What did you say?" she asked in a anxious voice.

  "I dodged answering him. Let him know it was none of his business. But Sunny's got a right to know, Cassie. And we're the only ones who can tell her."

  "No! No, no, no! What gives her more rights than I have? I've suffered through this for nineteen years, Duckie! I'm begging you. If you have any feelings left at all for me, for the friendship we once had, please don't let all of this come out again."

  "It's not me that's digging into it," he said with a tired sigh. "And if I recollect right, bulldog persistence is a trait you and Sammie both had, so you can bet your niece has it, too. Remember that time you were bound and be darned you were gonna catch that old carp that lived in the swimming hole? You fished every day for two weeks. You even learned to put your own worms on the hook, after I wouldn't do it for you any longer."

  "I caught him, too, didn't I?" Cassie's face creased with a smile, making her look more like the younger Cassie he had known. "But I put him back. You thought we should eat him!"

  "The swimming hole is still there. I was out there a couple days ago. It was awful lonesome there by myself, though. It's been awful lonesome for a great many years now."

  Cassie faced him rebelliously. "I don't care how many times you bring up the past, you're not going to talk me into it. It's past, and we can't change what happened. I guess I can't stop you from doing whatever you want to, but if you do I'll be forced to leave town. And I have nowhere else to go. Please don't do that to me, Duckie."

  Charlie stood. Jamming his hands into his pants pockets, he strolled over to the parlor window. He'd known she was stubborn. Hell, he probably knew her better than she knew herself. She wasn't easy to manipulate, but he'd done some developing himself over the years. And his father had always said the best way to handle the stubborn mares without breaking their spirit was to let them think whatever you wanted them to do was their own idea all along.

  "All right, I'll keep quiet for now," he agreed as he turned back to her. "But you need to quit blaming yourself, Cassie. You need to stop hiding in this house and start holding your head up again. Haven't you punished yourself enough for something you didn't have any control over?"

  Cassie chewed her bottom lip in a remarkably girlish manner. He remembered her doing that whenever she was trying to decide if she wanted to go along with some suggestion he and Sammie had made for the day or force them to submit to her own idea for fun instead. Nine times out of ten Cassie's plan had won out.

  She was even the one who came up with what needed to be done nineteen years ago, he reminded himself. Sammie and he had both leaned on her, neither of them realizing how shattered her own emotions must have been. He'd only seen that later, that first visit home from St. Louis.

  Cassie rose, scanning Charlie's clothing as though noticing it for the first time. She glanced down at her own plain black gown, a frown furrowing her forehead.

  "I never did look good in black. Sammie could wear it, but she didn't much care for it. Her blond hair was set off by it, though, while mine used to have more brown in it. Black washed it out even further."

  "Your hair used to sparkle with gold in the sunlight," Charlie told her. "But I like that pretty color you have now, too."

  "It's grey," Cassie sneered. "Seems like it turned grey overnight. Ma
ma grayed early on, too."

  "It's a nice soft white, like your mama's was," Charlie said. "You remember what I told you I once heard my dad say to my mother one winter night when I snuck out of bed? Just because there's snow on the roof...."

  "...doesn't mean there isn't a fire in the furnace," Cassie finished, then clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled. Dropping her arm, she released a deep sigh. "But there's too many cinders in the furnace now. It's too late to do anything about them."

  Charlie's hopefulness faded as Cassie took a step toward the parlor door. "It was nice seeing you again, Duckie. And thank you for agreeing to keep quiet about everything. You'll soon realize it's the only way to handle this."

  "Maybe I've changed my mind," Charlie said truculently.

  Cassie gasped and her eyes widened as she whirled to face him again. "You promised!"

  "Yeah, well, maybe I lied." He jammed his hands into his pockets again to keep from reaching for her to assure her that he would never do anything to hurt her. Sometimes, his father used to say, you had to hurt a person for the person's own good. "Maybe I'm tired of letting you push me around and always have your own way. Maybe I should have done something about that nineteen years ago."

  "I did what I thought was best for us! All of us, you and Sammie included."

  "What you thought was best," Charlie repeated, the emphasis he gave the words at odds with her own meaning. "Now, I'm gonna do what I think is best."

  "And what would that be?" Cassie asked cautiously.

  "I find I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go," Charlie mused. "And just down the street is a nice town social. I find I'm wanting to go to that social, but I don't wanna wander around all alone."

  "You know everyone at that social."

  "Well, I guess then it's more important to me who's not at that social. And I intend to see that she is there. Go change your dress, Cassie, sweetheart. Put on something blue, like your eyes."

  Cassie glared at him. "I...you can't force me to go with you!"

  "Don't bet on it," Charlie said sternly. "And there's something else I expect you to do for me, if you want me to keep quiet."

  "Are you trying to blackmail me, Charlie Duckworth?"

  "If I am, what are you gonna do about it? Have me arrested, so I can let Jake force me into telling him what hold I have over you that I thought you might be willing to pay for my silence for? Why, Jake might even bring me to trial if I plead not guilty. Then the whole town would be there to listen when I broke down and admitted what I was guilty of."

  "You wouldn't!"

  "Don't bet on it," Charlie repeated.

  "You've changed, Duckie," Cassie said, shaking her head.

  "No...well, yes, maybe I have," he admitted. "Or maybe you're just seeing the real me. Charlie instead of Duckie."

  Cassie's shoulders slumped in defeat. "What do you want me to do?"

  Charlie took his hands from his pocket and crossed his arms over his chest. When Cassie glanced at him again, he could have sworn he saw a little respect in her eyes. He cupped his chin in his palm, stroking a finger on his clean cheek.

  "Seems like I've got a house that needs a woman's touch. My mother took most of the stuff with her to Dallas, and I ain't got around to fixing things back up again. There's a few things up in the attic at the homestead, but I wouldn't know which ones would fit. Or reckon I could just order new stuff through some of them catalogs over at Fred's store, if I got someone to give me some advice on what would look nice."

  "You've been living out there in an unfurnished house ever since your mother moved to Dallas four years ago?" Cassie asked in astonishment. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

  "No more ashamed than you should be for spending almost all your time inside these walls, even if they do have somewhere to set or lay down in them."

  "I'll help you pick out some furniture, Duck...Charlie," Cassie said.

  "Well, I figure I'm gonna need some little doo dads to put around here and there, too," Charlie mused. "Things like what might be on sale at that social. Things some of the women in town might've made up for people to decorate their homes with. I find myself wanting my old place to be a home again, not just a house."

  Digging in his inside coat pocket, he strode to the settee and sat. "I'll just wait here and have a smoke while you change, Cassie. Bring me an ashtray, would you? Unless you want me to flip the ashes in the fireplace."

  "You'd end up dropping them on my rug!" Cassie fumed.

  He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she stomped over to a lamp table beside the window. Picking up a cut-glass bowl, she came back and shoved it at him. "I don't have any ashtrays. And when did you start smoking? I don't like the smell of those things."

  "Well, now." Charlie took the bowl and set it on the end table. "Reckon if I had someone it was important enough to, I might give up my smokes." He concentrated on rolling the tobacco inside the paper as he went on, "But it would have to be somebody pretty danged important. Not just anybody can make a man give up something as serious as his smokes."

  Charlie knew she was inwardly smoldering when she propped her fists on hips not much fuller than they had been nineteen years ago. Lifting his leg, he laid his boot on his knee and struck a matchstick on the sole. He lit up, drew in the smoke and let it out directly into her face. She coughed and backed away, turning toward the door.

  "Don't forget," he called after her. "I like you best in blue. Blue's a serious, important color in my mind."

  She shot him a venomous look, reminiscent of his young Cassie when he had managed to thwart her one of those rare times, and stormed from the room. When she came back ten minutes later, she wore a summer-sky blue gown, but it didn't quite match the summer-storm color of her eyes.

  "Does this suit your majesty?" she snarled.

  He nodded his head and rose. "It suits me fine. And you, too," he said softly. "Just fine. And I've sorta grown used to you calling me Duckie for the past forty years. Don't much care for 'your majesty'."

  She sniffed, tilting her nose up. "I feel every one of those forty years and then some, especially recently. I've had a nosy niece move into my house, asking questions she has no right to ask. Within a day of that, she brought a noisy little child to stay here and ruined my peace and quiet. Now you come back into my life, ordering me around with threats of blackmail. Don't think that just because I knuckled under to you, I'll forget what you've done."

  "Ah, Cassie, sweetheart." Charlie moved over to her and tucked her hand in his arm. "I'm going to make sure you don't forget me. Not for the next forty years."

  With a wink, he placed his hat on his head and led her from the parlor.

  ~~

  Sunny wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand. Shoot, she wasn't even sure which one of the ladies on the fundraising committee had left the note for her at the house about needing desert mushrooms for some sort of contest at the social. Whoever it was evidently realized how hot this trek would be and sloughed the job off on her. She'd been directed to the field behind the church and informed to make sure she found the driest and flattest mushrooms available.

  Heck, everything out here was dry — seared by the hot Texas sun and lack of rain. The little grass there was crackled beneath her shoes, and the baked rocks reflected even more heat into the air. She'd only seen cactus in books up until today, but plenty of the ones she recognized as the low-growing prickly pear flourished in this area, ready to snag an unwary dress hem with their harmless appearing but far-from-innocuous clumps of feathery prickles.

  She rubbed the side of her arm, which had brushed up against one clump of prickles when she bent to drive her small spade under a flat, brownish mushroom and drop it in her bucket. She thought she'd managed to get all the tiny barbs out by pulling them with her fingernails, but the area was still reddened and swollen.

  Lordy, lordy, it was hot. Her chip straw bonnet shaded her face somewhat, but not enough to keep her nose from feeling warm and on the verge of sunburn.
She should have brought a parasol.

  She hadn't even realized how much she missed real trees until she found herself longing for a little shade. The only thing even close out here was scrubby brush she'd learned was called mesquite. One of the men had been cutting that a while ago, saying something about using it to flavor the steer Mary's foreman, Chuck, had brought in yesterday. The steer was cooking over a pit back beside the church, and the man had left long ago, dragging his cache of wood behind him.

  That darned mesquite had thorns, too, she recalled. Long, sharp thorns. One had pierced the man's heavy gloves, and she felt sure his language in response to the pain would have been much more colorful had he not looked up to see her watching him, her attention drawn by his first yelp.

  "Miss Sunny, over here's one!" Teddy called.

  Picking up her tin bucket, Sunny trudged in the little girl's direction. Her back ached from bending over and a hot knot flared between her shoulder blades. This mushroom would fill her bucket, and if that wasn't enough for whatever crazy contest the note writer had in mind, that person could gather more herself!

  Just as she reached Teddy, the little girl's eyes widened in horror and she froze in place. Sunny immediately identified the sound reaching her ears, and her heart pounded in terror. Eyes searching the rocks around Teddy, she saw the wavering tail of the rattlesnake — a huge tail, covered with a dozen layers of vibrating scales. The sound escalated when she gasped and dropped her bucket.

  "Teddy!" she whispered harshly. "Don't move!"

  Teddy's eyes rolled sideways at her but she obeyed. The terror she saw on Teddy's face matched her own dread. Oh, God! Where was Rowdy? If the dog should try to protect Teddy....

  She cautiously turned her head but didn't see the small brown and white dog. Maybe if they stood still enough, the snake would slither away. Her own knees threatened to buckle, though, and she didn't know how long Teddy could face the snake without breaking and running. If she did, she didn't have a chance of escaping the snake's strike.