by DiAnn Mills
Grant drew in a deep breath. Mindless dreams had taken over him. She no more cared for him than a cat took to swimming. To make matters worse, the idea of courting Jenny scared him to death.
I’m a fool. Never did have much sense when it came to love.
He shook off the pesky thoughts and opened the door to the sheriff’s office.
“Take a walk with me,” Grant said to Ben.
“A walk? We have privacy right here in my office. It’s already near a hundred degrees out there.”
“But I do my best talking when one leg is firmly planted in front of the other.”
“What’s this all about?”
“Our friend Turner and dear Mrs. DeMott.”
Ben’s brow rose. “For that I’ll concede to a walk in this heat.”
Grant forced a smile. Another reason why he wanted Ben out of his office was to observe how weak he’d become. With Bonnie due any day with their third child, maybe Ben would look into his failing health. If it wasn’t already too late. He wondered how his frail sister would manage on her own. But he didn’t want to dwell on that at the moment. God had the power to heal, and his was a praying family.
“What’s got you all fired up this morning?” Ben chuckled. “I saw you walking Jenny. Are you feuding less and lovin’ more?”
“Very funny. If you have to know, she found the Lord.”
Ben startled. “That is good news. I’ll be sure to tell Bonnie.”
“How is she doing this morning? When I saw her yesterday, she complained from the moment she walked through my door until she left.”
“Big as a barn and anxious for this baby to get here. But you didn’t haul me out here to talk about Bonnie.”
“No. I have a few serious things bothering me.”
The two men walked toward the opposite end of town—away from Martha’s Place.
“I’m ready to listen,” Ben said. He started to say more, but the nagging cough interrupted him.
Grant would not comment on the cough. It would only rile Ben. “Remember when Jenny said that late one night she heard Turner and a man talking outside her window?”
“I sure do. A skunk woke her up. Do you have an idea who that man was?”
Grant nodded. “And I think you do, too.”
“I could about swear on it.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“Started to yesterday when I was at the bank, but Sylvia showed up.”
Grant jammed his hands into his pockets. “I’ve seen him with Martha plenty of times when I’ve treated the girls—and that’s just between you and me. I wonder how he’s kept it from Sylvia all these years.” He shrugged. “She probably ignores it.”
“If it leaked out, Sylvia would kill him.”
“I imagine so. Do you think Turner knows more about Lester than that he’s keeping company with Martha?”
Ben tipped his hat at a passing wagon. “My guess is yes. But I’ve got to figure out what.”
“Besides destroying his marriage, losing his position as deacon at church, and folks taking their money to the next town, what do you think it could be?”
“Something big enough for him to take up with the likes of Turner,” Ben said.
“Enough to burn down a man’s business?”
“Possibly. I’ve considered Lester’s gambling, his fancy house and clothes, the trips he takes by himself . . . and Martha’s boys.”
“I delivered those children.”
“Was Lester around?”
“What do you think?”
“He and Sylvia don’t have any children,” Ben said as though thinking aloud. “Martha is a demanding woman.”
“And Lester is a demanding man. I think I should talk to her, since I know those boys belong to Lester,” Grant said.
“What do you know about the law?”
“About as much as you do about doctoring, but I figure I have a brother-in-law who could tell me what I need to ask. And Martha likes me more than she does you.”
Ben laughed. “We both know the truth in that. Martha despises me, so it’s a deal.”
What a web of deceit existed in their small town. The admittance both saddened and angered Grant. Before, he had ignored Martha and Lester’s business, but in the event of Turner creating one mess after another, he’d have to do what he could to stop it.
Chapter 25
Grant looked forward to Thursday’s Fourth of July almost as much as Christmas. The celebration shifted the lingering uneasiness of the townspeople from Mrs. Lewis’s death to one of games, good food, and firecrackers. Every year, the citizens of Kahlerville met at Piney Woods Church for a community picnic and games. The festivities began late morning and ended at nightfall with firecrackers.
The day before the Fourth, Jenny arrived to help Mimi with food preparation. She’d been there nearly an hour when Grant walked through the dining room and overheard their conversation.
“What can I do now?” Jenny said.
“Hmm,” Mimi said thoughtfully. “You could remove all the pinfeathers from those chickens.”
Silence.
He heard Jenny walk across the kitchen. “Mimi?”
“Yes, dear.”
“What are pinfeathers?”
“Mercy, child, who cooked at your house?” Mimi said.
Jenny sighed. “The cook. She did everything. Jessica and I weren’t permitted in the kitchen except for meals until we acquired proper etiquette to eat in the dining room.”
“How were you supposed to learn anything?” Mimi blew out an exasperated sigh. “I’m not upset with you. It’s just for the life of me, I can’t figure out the sense of not showing a woman how to be a woman.”
“We weren’t allowed to learn any of the domestic skills. Mother detested kitchen work, and she believed a young lady should learn social graces, poise, and the arts.”
“That’s fine and dandy, but what about the things that matter as a wife and mother?”
Jenny hesitated. “She said housekeeping and cooking would never attract a rich husband.”
“And did you get a rich husband?”
Grant muffled his laughter. Leave it to Mimi to speak her mind.
“No, ma’am,” Jenny whispered.
Grant bit his lip to keep from letting the women know of his whereabouts and peeked around the corner.
Mimi perched her hands on her hips. “Well then, it’s high time someone told you the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. That’s the best way to land a husband. A pretty face like yours is just fine, but when you get to be as wrinkled as me, other things are more important. Like fried chicken. Let me tie an apron around you, and we’ll get busy.”
“I want to learn to cook, Miss Mimi, but I don’t want a husband.” Jenny whirled around to see Grant spying on them. She turned brighter red than the tomatoes ripening on the kitchen windowsill.
Seeing the humiliation on Jenny’s face, Mimi’s gaze flew to the dining room. “You get on out of here, Grant Andrews. This is women’s business.”
Breaking into a peal of laughter, he stepped into the kitchen and snatched up Rebecca. But with another seething glare from his housekeeper, Grant promptly kissed his daughter and set her back on a chair before hurrying to his office.
Shortly after lunch, Mimi caught him alone.
“I will never, ever offer to teach a grown woman what she should have already learned from her mother.” Her dark blue eyes darted about. “All the expensive books and education at Jenny’s fancy university didn’t help her at all to learn what God intended for every woman to master.”
“Well, Mimi, some folks may not agree with you, but I surely understand how you feel. I like to eat. Lots of it.”
By Rebecca’s bedtime, the chickens were fried, strawberry and custard pies cooled on the kitchen table, fresh vegetables were washed and ready to cook, and hot rolls disappeared as Grant came and went from the kitchen. Jenny looked pleased and excited. Mimi claimed she was ready for bed.
The following morning, Grant gathered the food and his favorite three ladies into the buckboard and headed for the church grounds. The day promised to be hot, but thankfully the church and parsonage were embraced by numerous pine and oak trees. A handful of folks had assembled early to lend a hand, and the reverend immediately put them to work gathering up supplies for the various events and activities.
Grant looked out over the grassy area separating the church from the parsonage. Tables constructed of long wooden planks on sawbuck legs stood ready to support the huge amounts of food beginning to arrive. As quickly as the men placed the tables alongside the church, Mimi, Jocelyn, and Jenny covered them with colorful cloths.
As the food appeared, the women arranged each item on designated tables. The first one held the meat dishes: platters of fried chicken, beef and pork roasts smothered in onions and gravy, smoked venison, thick fried steaks, and pork chops. A second table hosted the vegetables and such. It bowed slightly under the weight of the potato dishes, baked beans, corn custard, fresh sugar peas, snap beans and bacon, tender greens, deviled eggs, wilted lettuce, coleslaw, tomatoes, cucumbers, green peppers, onions, and jars of pickles and relishes. On one end of the third table sat corn bread, biscuits, sliced warm brown and white bread, muffins, and baskets of rolls. Beside these the women displayed freshly churned butter, jars of apple butter, honey, sorghum molasses, and every kind of jam and jelly imaginable. They filled the last table full of desserts—layered cakes, fruit, custard, and pecan pies, cobblers with thick sugary crusts, and huge cinnamon cookies. Each family brought their own dishes and eating utensils, but the deacons’ wives provided plenty of tea and sweet lemonade to drink.
Grant stared hungrily at the feast before him. He’d already walked the length of the tables twice. He felt like an impulsive young boy ready to snatch a chicken leg and run to eat it behind a tree where no one would see him. In fact, no one would miss a little piece of chicken.
The reverend tapped him on the shoulder. “Can’t eat until we’ve said the blessing, and I know exactly what you’re thinking.”
Grant took a quick look around, determined to fill his stomach at the next opportunity. “Yes, but I’m starved. I delivered a baby boy this morning and missed breakfast. I’m beginning to sound like Rebecca—whining when things don’t go my way.”
“Can’t have the town doctor starving.” The reverend’s soft gray eyes glistened in the sun. “I’ll gather folks so we can do God the honors.”
Any other time, Grant would have protested, but he’d risen before three, and his stomach growled. The reverend’s deep voice echoed across the grounds. Soon the crowd formed around him.
“Let’s bow our heads. Heavenly Father, we thank You for a beautiful day of celebration and for our country’s freedom to worship and grow closer to Thee. We humbly ask Thou wouldst be with each and every one of us throughout the day as we enjoy time with our friends and family. Keep us safe in Thy tender care. Bless all of this wonderful food and the hands that have prepared it. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
Lines on each side of the tables formed. Everyone would have an opportunity to throw horse shoes, participate in three-legged races, enter a watermelon seed-spitting contest, race their best horse, show off their muscles to the ladies in a tug-of-war, and just plain visit. Grant watched as the younger men picked out the prettiest girls to impress with their feats of glory and each girl pointed out to her favorite beau exactly what food item she’d prepared. He thought again of Jenny’s attempts at cooking and laughed. Maybe he should warn these good folks.
Grant lost no time in grasping Rebecca’s hand and finding a good spot near the front. Searching the crowd for Mimi and Jenny, he all but knocked into his short, plump housekeeper.
“I’ve saved you an excellent position in line,” he said.
Mimi glanced around as if embarrassed. “Grant, you’re near the front.”
“I know.” He teetered on his heels. “I’m famished.”
Jenny covered her mouth to keep from laughing.
“This should be for the elderly and those with children,” Mimi whispered, leaning into him.
He hooked his free arm into Mimi’s. “Guess I’m all set. Jenny, you take Mimi’s other arm.”
Jenny tried to muffle her laughter, but Mimi shot both of them a disapproving glare. Grant filled Rebecca’s plate and piled his own two layers high. Reluctantly, he turned from the dessert table. His plate didn’t have a speck of room. Selecting a perfect spot for the entire family under a broad-limbed oak, he and Rebecca claimed it and anxiously waited for the other members to arrive. Shortly thereafter, all the Andrews clan joined him. Jocelyn and the reverend carried an extra pitcher of lemonade.
A few feet away, Frank and Ellen Kahler waved in the midst of their own family.
“Oh, they seem so happy.” Jenny sighed.
Casey turned to wave at them. “Yes, extremely happy.”
“Frank’s smile will fade once the honeymoon marks a month,” Morgan said, lifting a glass of lemonade to his lips.
Casey punched him playfully, but Morgan retaliated by giving her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “You are so beautiful today, my dear,” he said. “I declare your loveliness rivals the sun.”
Bonnie laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. “If ya’ll don’t hush, this baby will come this afternoon.”
Grant stole a glance at Jenny. Her cheeks glowed a healthy shade of pink, and her brown eyes fairly danced. She caught his gaze, and he noticed a slow blush. It satisfied him tremendously to realize he caused the extra color in her face.
“You look absolutely beautiful today, too,” he said, barely loud enough for Jenny to hear.
“Thank you,” she said in the same hushed tone. “But my dress isn’t green. It’s blue.”
“Who says you have to be dressed in green?” Grant searched his thoughts, somewhat bewildered at her statement.
“No one. All I have to do is look at Rebecca.” A dimple in her left cheek deepened—the same as his daughter’s.
“Have you considered Mimi may have a fondness for green?”
Jenny laughed. “She favors blue.” And Grant noted Mimi’s pale blue blouse with her deep navy blue skirt.
“All right. I confess. Green is my favorite.”
They both turned their attention to Rebecca, who was dressed from head to toe in her father’s favorite color.
Jenny giggled and brushed a wayward chestnut curl from her face. “Rebecca’s first word must have been green.”
“It was ‘Papa,’” he said in feigned annoyance.
A shout from the road caught his attention. A young boy raced a mule bareback toward the church. “Doc Andrews!” He jumped from the animal and glanced frantically about.
Grant stood and signaled for the boy’s attention.
“Who is it?” the reverend said with the familiar look of concern on his brow.
“Timothy Detterman.” Grant shielded his eyes from the sun. He reached for his hat on the ground and walked toward the dark-headed boy.
Timothy tied his horse to the hitching rail and ran toward Grant. “Doc Andrews,” he said breathlessly. “You gotta come fast.”
Grant gently took him by the shoulders. “Slow down. What’s wrong?”
Taking a deep breath, Timothy tried again. “It’s Aaron. He fell out of the barn and hit his head. Ma sent me to fetch you. He’s just lying there, Doc. He ain’t movin’ nothin’, and his leg’s all twisted.”
“Calm down, son. I’m coming. I’ve got my bag with me, but I need to stop at my house and get a few other things. I’d best take the wagon in case I need to bring him back.” He swung his gaze to Mimi. “Will you mind Rebecca?”
“Yes. Don’t worry about a thing.”
Jenny instantly rose and faced him. “Please, let me go with you. Maybe I can help.”
He didn’t want to take the time to argue, just dissuade her. Aaron’s condition meant more than contemplating whether she co
uld be a help or hindrance. “I don’t know what I’ll find, and I have no idea when I’ll be back.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’d like to go.”
He reluctantly agreed and met the reverend’s gaze. Quickly, a look of understanding passed between them. Sam Detterman was a hard man, and he despised doctors. While Timothy raced for his mule, Jenny and Grant hurried toward the buckboard.
“You go on back and tell your ma and pa I’m on my way,” Grant called to the boy. “I won’t take long to fetch my other things.”
Timothy shook like a brittle leaf, and Grant stopped long enough to show him that several folks were standing to watch them leave. The reverend had announced Aaron’s unfortunate accident, and the crowd stood to pray.
“Prayer is the best medicine,” Grant said. “I’ll be right along.”
Grant stepped up onto the buckboard and gave Jenny a hand up. He said nothing. He needed to think through Timothy’s description of his brother’s condition. Finally, he wet his lips. “I sure hope Aaron had his eyes closed because of the pain in his leg and nothing else.”
“A broken leg and a head injury sound serious.”
“Have you ever seen a dead person?”
Jenny sucked in a breath. “My grandmother passed on in her sleep, and Mrs. Lewis.”
“This isn’t the same. It’s not too late to change your mind. Besides, the injuries are only half the problem.”
Jenny’s confused glance flew to his face. “What do you mean?”
“Aaron’s father doesn’t believe in doctors.” He pulled the horse to a halt in front of his house. “This is your last opportunity to change your mind.”
“No. I’m going. You can tell me about the boys’ father while we’re on our way.”
Stubborn woman. Makes me wonder if I’ve met my match. He raced up the front walk and returned a few moments later with splints and straps along with a handful of cloth strips. As soon as he stepped onto the buckboard, she asked about Mr. Detterman.
“A few years back, their oldest son died when a mule kicked him in the head. I couldn’t save him.”
