"Mama wouldn't miss comin' h'yar lessen it be that she was havin' her own wake," Tater said. "She figgers to pay her respects to Cal and Selene, and welcome the new little one God give ye to take one of them's place."
Sarah stared at Tater in astonishment. He looked like he had to be at least a hundred years old himself, although she supposed the hard life in the mountains could have aged his body beyond his years. Then she looked at the back of the wagon, wondering how old Tater's mama was.
She didn't have long to wait.
"Wyn," Dan called. He turned partially around in his chair. "Where on earth is he? He was right here a minute ago."
Sarah saw Wyn over on the edge of the porch, where he had moved when she approached Dan. As he walked over in response to Dan's summons, he eyed her warily where she stood at the bottom of the steps.
"Oh, there you are," Dan said. "Get a couple men to help you move Granny Clayborne's chair up here beside me, son. Then tell Sissy that Granny's here, will you? She'll want to bring Baby Sarah down and get Granny's blessing."
"Sure, Pa."
Rather than climb down the steps, Wyn launched himself over the railing on the far side of the wagon. The entire crowd of people had gathered around the wagon, so he didn't need to ask for help. Lonnie Fraiser and Patty's father, Jason, jumped up onto the bed.
Curious as to how the rocking chair stayed in the wagon instead of sliding around, Sarah stepped closer. Wooden props had been nailed in the wagon bed, just wide enough apart for the rockers to slide into, with one board laid crosswise in front of the chair. Jason and Lonnie lifted the rocker free easily and scooted it to the edge of the wagon, where Wyn waited. He picked up the tiny figure in the chair and carried her around the wagon, while Lonnie brought the chair.
Wyn hesitated when he saw Sarah, then drew in a breath and swiftly passed her by. She caught a glimpse of a barely wrinkled face and bright blue eyes on the elderly woman in his arms. The eyes pierced straight back into her own gaze in the brief second they made contact. She quickly decided to follow Lonnie, since it was apparent Granny Clayborne was a very important personage on this mountain.
As soon as Lonnie set the chair down, Wyn shoved the young man aside and settled Granny in it. Then he headed into the store, and Sarah heard him finally release his breath. She narrowed her eyes, torn between greeting Granny and going after him to shove her smelly fragrance right under his nose.
"Don't worry 'bout him, child," a warm, full feminine voice said. "He'll come 'round."
Brows lifting in surprise, Sarah turned to Granny Clayborne. The old woman chuckled at her, then waited until Tater wrapped a brilliant multi-colored blanket around her lap and pulled her scarlet shawl back up on her shoulder.
"No need to tell me that Tater looks older'n me," Granny said. "I been told that plenty of times. I tell Tater I've lived a purer life than him, but that ain't really true. Couldn't ask for a better son. He's outlived two wives who were two of the best women God ever put on earth, and it's just him and me now. The young'uns done scattered all over — in and out of the mountains."
She reached beneath the blanket and pulled out a small woven bag, digging inside until she came up with a corncob pipe. Dan immediately handed over his own tobacco pouch.
"Thankee, Dan," she said. After she filled her pipe, Tater lit it for her, then headed out into the crowd of people. Granny rocked back and forth for a few puffs, then pointed the pipe stem at Sarah.
"You're the new teacher."
"Yes, ma'am," Sarah said respectfully.
"Good 'un, too, from what I hear."
"Thank you. I do believe I'm enjoying teaching more than anything I've ever done in my life." Knowing she was staring at the blanket and shawl, and afraid Granny would think her rude, she added, "Could I ask you about your blanket and shawl? I've never seen anything more beautiful in my life. Did someone you know make them for you?"
"Made 'em myself when I could use my hands good enough. Here, feel of the wool."
Sarah reached out and touched the shawl, finding it as soft as the best cashmere. Granny guided her hand to the blanket, which was just as fine.
"The colors have stayed so brilliant," Sarah said.
"You mean for them bein' so old, since I musta made them so long ago, me bein' nigh onto a hundred?"
When Sarah flushed, Granny patted her hand. "There, there, child, don't go on so. I like to tease. I do love my bright colors. Always have. And I ain't the only one on the mountain that can do work like this. I writ down my recipes for the dyes, and my grandchillen and nieces all have them. The material's a mix of sheep and goat fleece, of a type my man brought over from Scotland with him. A few of the families raise 'em for the fleece and we drink the goat milk. Makes mighty fine cheese too."
"I would love to buy a couple of the blankets, and even a shawl, if anyone had any for sale," Sarah said.
"Reckon we can find someone who does."
Granny rocked again, peacefully puffing on her pipe. Seeing the old woman's attention turn elsewhere, Sarah took it as a dismissal and left the porch. She wandered over to the table where food was being set out, only to be told the women had everything under control. Her former escort, Mairi, seemed to have found something more important to do, and she didn't see Mandy anywhere. Not feeling comfortable joining any of the conversing groups, since she had only just met most of the people, she decided to investigate the sounds of children's laughter around the side of the store.
She walked down a well-worn path, glancing up at the side of the building at one point. She'd been able to see the side and rear of the store from her little cabin, but had never actually been on the porch off the back storage room or in the stables where Dan kept his horses. There must also be a cow there, she realized, since milk had regularly appeared at the meals she shared with the MacIntyres. Perhaps Dan kept even more than one cow, since there always seemed plenty of milk for the entire family, as well as butter and cheese.
Thinking to explore the barn, where the noise from the children now seemed centered, she didn't at first notice the two people on the back porch. A man's raised voice finally caused her to halt beside a large newly-leafing bush, which hid her from view. She only caught the last of the man's words, something about whoever he was talking to not understanding. The woman who answered him was Sissy.
"You have two children now, Robert! It was bad enough when it was just you and me. What on earth will I tell Bobbie and Sarah if you're not around to watch them grow up?"
"You knew what I did when we got married," the man Sarah decided must be Sissy's husband, Robert, answered. "This store won't support all of us, and I don't expect it to. It's my duty to take care of you and the young'uns, not your pa's! I tried every danged mine I could get to, and none of them were a'hiring. 'Sides, I do something like that, I might not be around either to watch my young'uns grow up. There's plenty of men not that much older than I am a settin' on porches and coughing up their insides from Black Lung!"
"I didn't want you to go look for work in the mines, Robert. You know that. I love you, and I want to grow old with you. There's got to be something else you can do."
"What? I ain't cut out to be no farmer. I hated every minute I had to hoe weeds on my daddy's place while I grew up — hated every danged kernel of corn I had to shell off of every corncob. If I have to do that, it'll kill me real slow. There's only one thing I do that I enjoy doin', and I do it danged well! But there ain't much call out there in the rest of the world for that."
"Oh, Robert. I'm scared."
Sarah heard movement and peeked around the bush to see Sissy in Robert's arms. He cupped the back of her head with his large palm and bent over her, his eyes closed and a pained look on his face. He was a nice looking man, Sarah admitted, dark where Sissy was blond — dark where Sissy's brother Wyn was fair like her. Sarah shook her head at herself when she realized she was comparing Robert to Wyn.
The storage room door opened, and Sarah recognized Wyn's voice.<
br />
"Granny Clayborne's waiting to see you two," he said. "I've got Baby Sarah here for you. She was sleeping and didn't wake when I picked her up."
Sissy stepped from Robert's arms and took her baby. She hurried through the door, but Robert paused a moment.
"I don't know what to do, Wyn. She ain't changed her mind, and I hate like hell to keep hurtin' her. But I can't sit around and let you and Dan take care of my family. I might just as well head on out and forget I've got a wife and young'uns if I can't take care of them myself."
Wyn laid a comforting arm on Robert's shoulder. "You'll do what you have to do. Most of the men here appreciate you, and even some of the women. Leery's said her remedies work even better when she gets the one ingredient she needs for them from you instead of Cabbage Carter. 'Course old Cabbage don't appreciate losing Leery as a customer, but Leery's only good for a quart or two now and then."
"Yeah." Robert sighed deeply. "Well, I better go pay my respects to Granny."
Wyn dropped his arm, and Robert left the porch. Sticking his hands in his pockets, Wyn walked over to the porch railing. Sarah tried to leave silently, but when she took a step back, a stick snapped loudly beneath her heel. Frowning, Wyn leaned past the railing until she realized he could see her.
Chapter 9
Thinking Wyn would immediately withdraw, Sarah remained quiet. But he continue to stare at her, his face closed to any emotion she could detect at that distance. Finally she picked up her skirts and started forward.
"I was going out to the barn to look for . . ."
Wyn vaulted over the porch railing — a drop of at least eight feet — and landed in front of her with barely a sound. Sarah gasped and laid a hand on her breast. Land sakes, for such a muscular man he moved awfully gracefully. She literally felt a stab of apprehension at his emotion-laden eyes, now clearly visible. The blue was darkened to an actual thunderstorm color, and she sensed a warning as clear as the one preceding a summer lightning display.
She tilted her chin defiantly, and repeated, "I was going out to the barn to look for the children. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't come close enough to get a whiff of my odor and upchuck on me! Though I can't smell it myself, I'm assuming from the actions of the people I've met today that there's still a trace of it. And even a trace seems to be too much for you."
His mouth twitched and the color of his eyes lightened. He took a step backward. "You shouldn't be eavesdropping."
"I know. I didn't mean to. I . . . heard a strange voice along with Sissy's and stopped. I should have called out. I realize that now."
Slipping his thumbs into his belt, Wyn continued to study her. His action drew her gaze downward, where his fingers curled in a relaxed manner near the point where his thighs joined. Only recently had her married friend, Eve, explained the hows and wherefores of the marriage act to her. Learning of Sarah's betrothal, Eve had taken pity on her motherless state and passed on both the lore her own mother had given her and the actuality of the process.
Funny, though. After her extremely enlightening chat with Eve, she hadn't had even a touch of desire to surreptitiously examine Stephen's manly attribute, like she was trying to avoid doing with Wyn right now. Eve had said that men were made diversely from each other down there, and those variations could make a huge difference in how a woman enjoyed the Act. With Stephen, she had thought to probably have to tolerate what sounded like an extremely uncomfortable Act in order to fulfill her desire for children. With Wyn, that one little word "enjoy" seemed to take on a great deal more importance.
Wyn's trousers twitched right before her eyes, like his lips had a minute ago. A horrible blush spread over Sarah's face — she could feel the heat like a summer brushfire — and she curled her fingers in her dress bodice. On either side of her hand, her nipples puckered into hard pill balls. Some darned little imp seemed to be sitting on her shoulder, though, holding her head in place so she couldn't jerk her eyes free. It wasn't until Wyn took a step forward that she wrenched her eyes free to look at the ground.
"Th . . . there's a patch of violets!" she said with a gasp. "Aren't they pretty?" Disregarding the potential stain to her dress, she knelt and reached beside the bush to pick one of the small, purple blooms.
She placed the violet to her nose, inhaling the light scent. When she started to rise again, Wyn held out his hand to her. Since he was standing right beside her, it would be extremely rude to ignore his offer of assistance. Besides, the alternative, given her awkward position, was to sit on her rear and scoot away from him before she attempted to get to her feet.
She did the polite thing and took his hand. Rising, she quirked a brow and held the violet out. He took it, inhaling the scent, and she felt the tickle on her own nose, as though she still held the flower.
"Johnny Jump-ups," he said. "That's what we call them here. Not violets."
"They're the same flower. With the same odor."
"Truthfully," Wyn said after a second and in a low voice, "there's not enough hint of the encounter you had yesterday left to bother me or anyone else. I think the people you're meeting have just heard about it and are trying to see if they smell anything without hurting your feelings."
"Mandy used vinegar and even some lemon along with the tomatoes this morning. But if it worked to get rid of the smell, why have you been keeping as far away from me as you can today?"
"Hell, Sarah, that's not because of any skunk odor." He gave a start as though he'd only just realized what he'd said, then quickly changed the subject. "You're heading in the right direction if you want to find the young'uns. There's a couple litters of baby kittens in the barn, and I imagine some of them are making their picks already, before the litters get all spoken for. One of the hounds — Lady — is fixing to whelp any day, too, so there might be a few men out there checking her over. 'Course Pa don't get out to hunt any more, but he still breeds the best coon hounds on the mountain."
Changing the subject suited her fine, and Sarah came up with the first thing that popped into her mind not having to do with the reason Wyn kept sidestepping her.
"What were Robert and Sissy arguing about, Wyn?" she asked instead of heading to the barn. Her cheeks had cooled while he slowly rambled on about kittens and coon dogs, but her knees still felt a little too wobbly to try to walk yet.
He shook his head. "I don't want to be discourteous, Sarah, but some things are private. Sissy thought she was having a personal conversation with Robert. I figure if Sissy wants you to know what they were talking about, she'll tell you herself."
With a bare break for a breath, he continued, "The services for the wake will begin in another half hour, then we'll eat. If you want to see the barn, you should go on now."
At that moment, a crowd of youngsters exploded from the barn door. Sarah watched them over Wyn's shoulder until he turned also to see where they were headed. The twins led a group of varied-age children, with even a couple boys well older than them tagging along. They rounded the barn and their voices and shouts grew dimmer.
"Land sake," Sarah said. "That was Jute at the head of that group. I hope he's not taking them out to see that skunk's den."
"It still amazes me that you can tell Jute from Luke," Wyn admitted. "And even at a distance like that. It took me until they were a year old to be able to tell them apart, and I saw them every day."
Then his voice grew sterner. "But don't worry about Jute heading back up to that skunk den. He knows better. More than likely, he's checking the compost heap to see if the worms are stirring up where he can get to them yet. I heard Jimmie Jack Carlson tell him the bass were biting in the stream over by the Carlson cabin."
"Oh, I love fresh fish. I wonder if Jute would take me with him when he goes."
"We've got a rule around here you might want to consider before you go offering to help catch fish."
A huge smile spread over Wyn's face, and Sarah paid more attention to it than she did his next sentence. Suddenly what he'd said clicked in her
brain.
"You catch, you clean?" she repeated. "You mean you expect women to clean fish if they catch them?"
"Mairi, Pris and Carrie all know how to clean fish. Sissy, too, although Robert does that for her now. I heard tell my ma could slice off fillets with the best of them, but she turned that over to me after I got old enough to handle a knife. So the only way women in our family get out of cleaning their own fish is if they use their feminine wiles on a man and talk him into doing it for them."
"I guess that leaves me out then," Sarah mused unthinkingly.
The thunderstorm color returned to Wyn's eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Uh . . . I'm going on out to the barn now." Sarah walked around him, but Wyn took her arm and fell into step beside her.
"You didn't answer me, Sarah. Dang it, you're betrothed to some man, so you should be well aware what sort of rewards feminine wiles bring a woman."
Sarah sighed, wondering how long he would keep his mannerly hold on her arm. She didn't need to answer him. As he'd mentioned about Sissy a moment ago, some things were private; and it hurt her deeply to discuss her homeliness. Her father had mentally pounded her lack of beauty into her from the time she could reason, and she'd come to accept it as a fact.
She couldn't change the looks she was born with. Although her gawkiness had filled out some, she still stared down on all her female friends, as she'd done all her life. She'd never be one of those dainty blondes so popular with the male species, or even a wild, fiery redhead. All she could do was keep herself neat and clean, as well as take care with the clothing she chose.
Now, instead of belaboring the looks she could not alter, she concentrated on how well Wyn's steps matched hers. They were both tall and, among other things, one thing Stephen had decried was her long stride. He insisted women should take dainty, tiny steps. Trying to do that only made Sarah feel as awkward as the newborn colt she'd seen once in her father's stables.
Tennessee Waltz Page 12
