Diamond Duo

by Marcia Gruver

  Henry answered for them both. “How you today, Miss Bertha?”

  “Just fine, and you?”

  “Oh, we doing all right.”

  Bertha’s kind eyes settled on Sarah. “And your papa?”

  Her daddy’s warm smile and merry eyes crowded Sarah’s mind, and she grinned. “Much the same, Miss Bertha. Thank you kindly for asking. He still gets the crimps in his knees of a chilly morn. Slows him down some, but mostly he’s all right.”

  Bertha gave a sympathetic nod. “My papa suffers something fierce with that old rheumatism. Makes him dread the winter.”

  “Tell him to carry a potato in his pocket,” Sarah said eagerly. “Draws the misery right out of your bones.”

  Bertha’s brows met in the middle. “A potato?”

  “Daddy swears by it.”

  “Well, thank you kindly, Sarah.” Bertha reached to pat her arm. “I’ll pass that along to Papa.” She lifted her chin toward the smiling stranger. “This here’s my friend Miss Annie Moore from Cincinnati. Annie, meet Sarah and Henry King.”

  Annie’s face lit with a sweet smile.

  Sarah gave a brief nod of her head. Ill at ease in the company of the lady, she hurriedly changed the subject. “Been meaning to come by and tell you folks we got plenty of those turnips your mama be so partial to. Had a bumper crop this year. Come on around and pull some before they get stringy. You can take all you like. Henry just gon’ plow them under soon.” She glanced back at her husband.

  “Ain’t that so, Henry?”

  “It sho’ is.” Obviously pleased with her gesture, he flashed all his teeth. “That goes for you, too, Miss Magda.” His gaze lit briefly on the older woman before he squirmed and looked away. “Well, for all of you.”

  Sarah tried to picture this Annie person kneeling in a turnip patch, but her imagination failed her. She doubted the woman knew what to do with a turnip.

  “We’ll ride out and get some, then,” Bertha said. “It’s a generous offer.” She winked up at Henry. “I see Sarah got wind of Mr. Stilley’s new shipment. Bet your arm’s fairly sore.”

  “My arm?” Henry rubbed his right shoulder. “Why you say that?”

  Bertha grinned all over. “From the twisting Sarah gave it to get you in here.”

  Sarah watched the meaning of the girl’s words fly over Henry’s head like southbound geese.

  Bertha didn’t seem to notice. “Have you picked out something nice, Sarah? Something bright like you been pining for?”

  Sarah shook her head. “We come for something else today. You see, Henry–”

  “Don’t hold these ladies up, Sarah,” Mr. Stilley boomed behind them. “They want to be about their business.”

  The woman called Annie took a tighter grip on Bertha’s arm. “You ready, sugar? It’s time to go. My man won’t sleep all day.”

  Bertha turned and stared up at her companion as though hexed. “Yes, Annie. I’m ready.”

  “Well, come on. Show me this mysterious place of yours so we can commence with your edification.”

  Arm in arm, the three turned and made their way to the door, and Sarah wondered how they’d pass through linked up like a chain. Forgetting herself in her concern for Bertha, she called after them. “You girls be careful, now, you hear?” When they left the store, she spun around and made big eyes at Henry.

  He smiled.

  Mr. Stilley turned from watching the door and swiveled the box in their direction. “All right, now, Sarah. I believe you were just about to have some of this for yourself.”

  Henry cleared his throat, anxious eyes on Sarah while he spoke. “Mr. Stilley, we’ve had a minute to ponder, and I believe we’ve changed our minds.”

  Sarah smiled and nodded her approval. Her broad-shouldered, straight-backed husband became a giant in her eyes.

  His gaze locked on hers, Henry crossed the room and rested his arm around Sarah’s shoulders. “We decided Sarah might better have some nice ice cream or a soda drink instead.”

  Mr. Stilley looked about, as if trying to figure how to produce the items Henry had named, his brows a puzzled line on his forehead. He nodded at the chocolate. “A minute ago, you had your mouth set for one of these.” He pushed the box toward Sarah, as if a closer look might change her mind. “Don’t you want to be the first of your kind in town to try it?”

  Henry cleared his throat and pulled Sarah tighter against his side. “No, sir, she don’t. I think we’ll run on over to Mr. Nighthart’s and buy her something from the fountain.” He looked down at Sarah. “Ain’t that right, sugar lamb?”

  She nodded.

  Stilley glanced between them. “You folks sure?”

  Sarah beamed up at Henry, feeling proud enough to pop. “Oh yes, we right sure. Never been more sure of a thing.”

  Outside, Sarah stood on tiptoe and gave Henry a big kiss on the cheek.

  He pushed her back and glanced around but had a wide grin on his face. “You ready for that soda drink now? Or maybe some ice cream?”

  She cupped his strong chin in her hand, caressing the dimple with her thumb. “Reckon I already had myself a treat for the day. If I had my druthers, I’d sooner go back out to the house.”

  “Home?” Henry frowned at her and scratched his head. “But I ain’t fetched you nothing yet.”

  Every ounce of her love for him pushed to the surface and spilled over into her voice. “What you gave me in there tasted better’n a whole box of chocolates with ice cream on top and a soda to wash it down.” She lowered her lashes and dropped her voice to a whisper. “How about we go on home now and let me treat you?” She’d never said a thing so bold, and it brought a flash of heat to her cheeks.

  Instead of the smile she expected, Henry tightened his jaw and brushed her aside. “I ain’t did nothing that special.”

  “But you did. You–”

  He put his hand on the small of her back and guided her, none too gently, toward the rig. “Go on, woman. You want to go home, let’s get there. I got work waiting on me.”

  She stumbled along, hastened by the pressure of his hand, so taken aback she hardly felt her feet touching the ground. “Henry,” she demanded over her shoulder, “what’s wrong?”

  “Ain’t nothing wrong. I got work to do, that’s all.”

  Sarah ground to a stop and dug in her heels. If he pushed on her back till day’s end, she wouldn’t mount the wagon without knowing what had turned his mood. She faced him, letting the set of her jaw and flash of her eyes tell him she’d brook no more. “Henry King, if you’re swelled up because of what I said, then un-swell. I shouldn’t have talked so loose, but–”

  “It wasn’t that.”

  “It’s just that I’m so proud of you.”

  “I said it wasn’t that!”

  She took hold of his hands and peered up into guarded eyes. “Well, what, then?”

  Henry jerked free and swept past, crossing to the rig and climbing aboard, leaving her to clamber up by herself. When he snapped the leads and Dandy pulled away from the boardwalk, Sarah sat so close to the far edge of the seat that she feared bouncing onto the ground at the first deep rut. But she preferred sprawling in the dirt to sitting next to her vexing man.

  Not a word passed between them on the way. Sarah used the time to replay in her mind every detail of the day, desperate to pin down what she’d done to anger him. It had never set well with Sarah to have a body displeased with her. Especially Henry. But given her quick temper and saucy ways, life had proved a peculiar dance up to that point.

  She spent an unreasonable amount of time waltzing on people’s toes and then two-stepping her way out of trouble. Henry once said he considered her sassy mouth to be part of her charm and the very trait that first attracted him. But with the passage of time, he’d grown less enamored by her rowdy tongue.

  When they turned down their lane, Sarah made a last cautious attempt to talk to him, but Henry offered a cold shoulder in return. By the time they reached the yard, hot rage had c
rowded out all desire to make up. She made her way down from her perch before Henry could offer his hand and swept out of the barn, leaving him to tend the rig and settle Dandy.

  She stormed into the house and into their room, slamming the door behind her. Her shoes flew off one at a time with kicks that sent them crashing into the wall. Next came her dress, pulled overhead in angry jerks with the sound of ripping seams. She yanked her nightshirt from the hook and stomped into it, tossing the torn dress into a heap by the bed. By the time she locked the door and slid beneath the quilt, she heard Henry’s heavy steps inside the house.

  She listened while he walked from room to room. First the kitchen, then the parlor, and back again. He paused then crossed to the double windows that faced the side yard and outhouse. When next he moved, his determined stride led him just where she knew it would.

  Least he could do is take off them muddy boots. I know he never wiped his feet.

  Henry stopped outside the door and tried the knob. “Sarah?”

  She turned away, hurling a string of insults in her mind.

  He rattled harder. “Open up. What you doing in there?”

  She knew if she didn’t answer, he’d stand there asking addlepated questions all night. “I’m resting, Henry.”

  “Resting?” he called in a low voice. “It’s midday. You ain’t ailing, are you?”

  How like him to act like nothing was wrong. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

  The long pause from the other side of the door said things she knew Henry couldn’t find the words for. When he finally spoke, he said just the wrong thing. “What about dinner?”

  She sat up and threw her pillow. “There’s chickens running over the yard because you can’t mend a fence. Pluck one and eat it. Frying pan’s on the hook.”

  She’d have some apologies to make later, but for now Sarah hunkered down, swaddled in spiteful indignation, and tried to sleep. No more sound came from inside the house. In the silence, she listened to the racing pulse in her temple beat a rhythm against her pillow. She couldn’t quiet it any more than she could silence the gentle voice in her head. Frustrated, she flopped on her back and kicked the covers to the floor.

  Why should I, Lord? I don’t care to feed that stubborn-hearted, per-plexing man. Why would You ask me to? She had searched her heart and couldn’t find a single excuse for Henry’s bad behavior. If he couldn’t offer her one, let him starve.

  Sarah turned on her side again and huddled against the cold until it became more work to resist than to obey. Miserable, she spun around and sat up. Very well, she’d give him food, but that was all. There’d be no need to speak to him. She slipped a shawl around her shoulders and opened the door.

  In the kitchen, Henry sat slumped at the table, but his head jerked up when she entered the room. He had already fetched the kettle of beans and ham she’d cooked the day before from the springhouse he’d built down by the bayou. He’d been right proud of himself for building the small house over the water to keep her vittles cool, but the thing had become a source of irritation for Sarah, considering Jefferson boasted an ice plant. The folks in town sat in their parlors and waited for the iceman to put blocks of ice in special wooden boxes sitting right in their kitchens. A pot of beans would last for days in a contraption like that.

  Without a word, she took down the iron skillet and scooped in bacon grease from the jar near the blacktop stove. The solid grease turned to liquid as soon as it hit the pan, so she know the fire was hot. She hurried to mix the cornbread, poured the batter, and set the skillet on the stove with more force than was called for.

  Behind her, Henry cleared his throat. “Did you see all the chocolate that woman had, Sarah? She done bought herself a whole mess of chocolate.”

  Sarah planted her knuckles on her waist and twisted to look over her shoulder. “I saw it all right, and some other things, too. I saw you looking mighty hard at that fancied-up white woman.”

  Henry drew back, and pain flickered in his eyes. “What you going on about?”

  Sarah knew when she said it the accusation was unjust. In all the years she’d been Henry King’s wife, she’d never once caught his eyes on another woman. She reached for the beans, slamming the pot on the stove. “You know just what I’m talking about.”

  It would be nice if she knew it herself.

  “How could I be looking at a woman? You’re all these eyes have wanted since they landed on you four years ago at Lawetta Draper’s backyard social. You still in braids and looking so sweet in that pretty white frock we had to fight off the bees. From that day until now, I can’t see past you to look at anyone else.”

  “The bees swarmed because Markas Scott sloshed cider on my dress.” She kept a hard edge in her voice, but still Henry chuckled.

  “Markas Scott was jus’ trying to sit close to you. The man knows a good thing when he sees it.”

  Sarah longed to turn but kept right on stirring the beans. The scrape of Henry’s chair on the pinewood floor told her he was coming to stand behind her. She steeled herself until his hands on her shoulders melted her resolve as fast as the skillet had melted the grease. When he pulled her close, she leaned into him despite herself.

  “Girl, what’s wrong with you?” he whispered. “Your man takes you into town to fetch you a surprise, and this is how you act?”

  She picked up the dishcloth to wipe her hands and turned. “You the one acting up today. What happened to you down at Stilley’s?”

  The glow in his eyes faded, and waves of pain rolled in to take its place. He squirmed like he didn’t want to answer her question, and his expression changed so many times she gave up trying to read him.

  “Tell me, Henry.”

  “I don’t care to start it up again, Sarah.”

  “Well, I need to know.”

  He shook his head. “You know I can’t sort the words in my head good enough to say ’em aloud.”

  “Try.”

  Henry stared at the floor without speaking until Sarah pulled his attention back to her.

  “Just say it.”

  He rubbed circles on his thick brows with his thumb and forefinger then looked up with anguished eyes. “All right, then. If that’s what you want.” His big chest moved up and down, and he opened his mouth twice before the words came out. “Sarah, today was the first time you ever said you was proud of me. Did you know that?”

  She could only stare.

  “And for what?” he continued. “For showing spite to Mr. Stilley? Never mind that I took you there in the first place to buy you something nice.”

  Sarah back-stepped and slung the dishcloth across the room. “I can’t help it! I can’t abide all that bowing and scraping! If you want to surprise me, Henry King, then live up to your name.” She knew she’d gone too far but couldn’t stop. “Looks like, you being a farmer and all, you could grow yourself a nice backbone.”

  She pushed him aside and moved about the room with gyrating hips, batting her eyes and spouting hateful words. “ ‘Yes, suh, Mr. Stilley, suh. Let old Henry move his big black bottom out the way for these fine white folk.’ ”

  When she dared a glance his way, she saw his face was red, his fists clenched.

  “That’s enough, Sarah. You wrong, and you know it. I don’t show out like that. And Mr. Stilley treats us good as anybody.”

  “Good as anybody?” She sneered and nodded. “Why, sure he do. When nobody’s looking.”

  His fierce glare cut straight through her bones. “What you want from me, Sarah? This ain’t St. Louis. I told you it would be different here.”

  When she didn’t answer, he shook his head. “Small as you are, you got a sizable ornery streak. I love you, but your pride’s gon’ see me hanged.”

  Sarah returned to the stove, her back as rigid as her mind-set.

  The door opened then closed behind Henry, and only then did the enormity of her words overwhelm her. She stood as if poured out and forged to the spot by the heat of her anger, until
the acrid smell of burning beans and deep regret assailed her nostrils. She pushed the pot off the fire, untied her apron, and sank into Henry’s chair. On a shelf above the sideboard, the ragged spine of Mama’s Bible leapt out at her. A single verse from Proverbs seemed to sprout wings and fly out from the dog-eared pages.

  “Death and life are in the power of the tongue: and they that love it shall eat the fruit thereof.”

  She sat for a bit, gingerly chewing the fruit of her words, finding it less than tasty. If she’d ever doubted that particular scripture, she didn’t now. The pall that settled about her, heavy in the room, felt like the death of her husband’s love.

  What has my big mouth done?

  She turned and stared at the place where he’d gone out, her pride, more than the solid oak door, an impenetrable wall between herself and Henry. A simple apology wouldn’t do for this one, no matter how fast she danced.

  Dear Lord, what have I gone and done now?

  Avoiding the main road was the smartest plan. One of the nosy old hens Bertha saw scratching about town might ask too many questions and then go squawking to Mama. If Mama caught her at Lover’s Leap, it’d be the woodshed for certain. The fact that no one ever forbade her to go to the bluff was but a trifle, though one she’d use to her advantage should she be caught. Mama’s unreasonable views on the subject were clear, voiced or not. But it was the only interesting place left in the whole of Marion County.

  If they timed it right, they could catch Mose and Rhodie in an empty wagon, headed back to the bayou for more wood. Bertha squinted at Annie’s fine yellow dress. “We have to run. Can you keep up?”

  Grinning, Annie tucked her parasol under one arm and extended her hand. “Just try me.”

  Bertha returned the smile with an equal measure of glee and clasped Annie’s hand. “Come on, Magda. Follow us,” she cried and then darted between two shops with Magda’s plaintive cry to wait echoing in her ears.

  Bertha clung to her new friend and led her down the cluttered lane past discarded barrels, stacked crates, and piles of odorous trash. At the end, they cut to the left and ran behind staggered rows of shops along the back alleys of Jefferson with Magda panting far behind.