Diamond Duo

by Marcia Gruver

  Bertha waved her finger in the direction of Thad’s house. “Thaddeus Bloom can show you a thing or two about reckless bold. The deceitful scoundrel held my hand in Julius Ney’s barn. Kissed my forehead on my own front porch. He’s dangled me like a love-struck marionette for the sake of his ego, all the while knowing he’d be riding away tomorrow. Nothing I do at this point can stack up to the shameless thing he’s done.”

  Magda tilted her head, compassion clouding her dark eyes. “Oh, Bertha. . .” Steeling herself, she held up her paper and waved it. “What about my list? I’ll be in trouble with my folks.”

  Bertha patted her hand. “Don’t fret, then. I understand. I’ll find my own way.” She started climbing down, but Magda latched onto her skirt and pulled her back.

  “No, you won’t, blast you.” She released the brake and whipped the surrey around in the middle of the street. “I must be teched in the head, but we’re on our way. We have to hurry, so sit tight and hang on to your corset.”

  As they raced through town, Bertha’s thoughts went to Papa, waiting for her in front of the drugstore, and her promise not to get him into any more trouble. Then her jilted heart took over again, crowding guilt aside. She took the reins from Magda’s hands and urged the horse to go faster.

  H

  Henry pulled to the servants’ entrance behind Brooks House, and Sarah scrambled to the ground without waiting for his help. She left him to tether Dandy and, with no thought to who might be watching, lifted the hem of her dress and ran. After a series of undignified knocks, she lost all patience and reserve and pounded the door with clenched fists. The door jerked opened at the same time Henry bounded up to join her.

  Thomas Jolly, Doc Turner’s head porter, scowled at them from the threshold. “Well, if you two ain’t the last folks I expected to see making a ruckus behind this door. Why you be trying to beat it down, Henry?”

  Traitor Henry pointed her way. “Ain’t none of me. It was Sarah.”

  Thomas shifted his lazy gaze. “You, Sarah?”

  “Yes, me. Now stand aside. I need to see Jennie Simpson right away.”

  Still blocking the door, he gave her a puzzled look. “You heard already? Can’t see how. It jus’ happened.”

  Sarah and Henry shared a look.

  “Poor old Jennie,” Thomas went on. “I’s loath to see harm come to such a fine, hardworking woman, but the good Lord done decided it be her time to rest.”

  Sarah clutched Henry’s hand so tightly her fingers ached.

  Thomas stepped aside. “I guess you come for to see her. Step right this way. We laid her out on the kitchen table.”

  Sarah’s world spun. Sweat popped out on her lip, and all the sap drained from her legs. Henry’s hand on her back was the only thing holding her in place. If only he’d just remove it, she could ease out of there and find the strength to run.

  Thomas’s voice echoed in her head. “Well? Is you coming in or not? I got to shut this door before Miss Jennie draw flies.”

  Sarah’s stomach lurched. She turned and buried her face in Henry’s shirt, but he gently guided her to the door, whispering in her ear all the while.

  “Stop it, now. Straighten up and act natural. Don’t attract no attention to yourself.”

  Trying to say yes and no at the same time, her head bobbled like a fishing cork. “I can’t go in there, Henry.”

  “Yes, you can,” he hissed. “We come to see, and we gon’ see. If we leave now, it won’t look right. You got to carry through.”

  It felt like Henry had ten arms at work behind her, pushing, prodding, and lifting, until she made it down the long, dim corridor outside the kitchen. Thomas, who led them the whole way, opened the door and went inside.

  Sarah dug in her heels. “I can’t, Henry. I won’t stand looking down at her, knowing it’s all my fault.”

  He gripped her arm hard. “Shush your mouth, Sarah. It was an accident.” He let go of her arm and cradled her face in his hands. “Whatever happens, we face it head-on. I ain’t gon’ let nothing bad happen to you. But you got to hush saying it’s your fault, or I can’t protect you.”

  He ran his fingers through her hair. “Straighten your back, now. Raise your chin. That’s right. Now follow me.”

  He took her wrist, his hold so tight she couldn’t break free if she tried. When he opened the door and pulled her inside, she closed her eyes, dread squeezing her chest. She heard milling footsteps and low murmurs in the room, and a woman’s clear, steady voice rising above the others.

  When Henry gave a low chuckle beside her, Sarah thought she must be hearing things. She opened one eye and peeked at him. A mixture of glee and sheer relief warmed his face, and his firm grip on her waist became a caress. The next sound was the loud bray she’d last heard at breakfast.

  “Dat’s de funniest story I ever heard, Miss Bessie. Go on, tell another.”

  Sarah opened both eyes and spun toward the sound. Jennie sprawled on the sturdy oak table, her jolly face aglow. All activity in the usually bustling kitchen had ceased, and the staff stood in a quiet circle around her. Everything that once graced the table–assorted utensils, a lantern, several baskets, and a set of nested bowls–they had placed beneath the table or pushed to the floor. One of Doc Turner’s maids had a rag and a pan of water and was washing Jennie’s legs, while the woman she called Miss Bessie, but Sarah knew as Annie Moore, sat at Jennie’s feet prodding her bruised and swollen ankle.

  Before Miss Annie could speak, Jennie caught sight of Henry towering above the others and sent her roaming gaze in search of Sarah. “Why, looky who come to see about me. Ain’t that nice. You two heard about my fall, then?”

  Henry cleared his throat. “We heard a little, but not the whole story. Why don’t you tell us what happened?”

  The woman needed no stronger bidding. “All right, den. You see, I was hurrying to get to work on time, only I know’d for sure I’s gon’ be late. So I crawled under a fence and struck out over a pasture, thinking to save time travelin’ as the crow flies. I got clear to the other side of the field when I stepped in a hole, and down I come, right on a fresh cow patty.” She rolled her head on the table and laughed, her cheeks so round they hid her eyes. “I was a funny sight, I’m tellin’ you. Busted my ankle up real good, though.”

  Jenny rose up and motioned for Sarah. When Sarah came close, she understood why the young maid who scrubbed Jennie’s legs held her nose and why Thomas had fretted over flies. Jennie had brought most of the cow pie back with her.

  “I’d be laid there still, wallowing in my mess, if Mr. Ney and his boys hadn’t come along. They helped me up and loaded me on their big old wagon then brung me all the way here.”

  Jennie waved toward Miss Annie with the handkerchief she held in her hand. Pale blue embroidered silk. Sarah knew it didn’t belong to her.

  “This sweet soul got wind of my troubles and come all the way downstairs, fussing over me and wiping my brow with this nice little hankie.” She held it up for Sarah to see. “Then insisted on tendin’ my broke ankle herself.”

  The well-dressed woman glanced up from her work, a smile in her bright eyes. “Jennie, my dear, you have a sprain, not a break. You’ll be fit as a fiddle in a few days. But you need to stay off of it until then.”

  Jennie leaned up on her elbows with alarm in her eyes. “What you mean stay off it? I cain’t stay off it. How am I supposed to work standing on one foot?”

  Miss Annie flashed Sarah a wink and a smile. “A sprain is good news. Have you forgotten you believed your ankle to be broken just a moment ago?” She finished winding long strips of white cloth around Jennie’s injury then patted her leg above the wrap. “I’d say this means you’re not supposed to work, for a while at least.”

  Thomas stepped closer, nodding his head. “I jus’ said the same to Henry by the door. The good Lord must done decided you been working too hard, Miss Jennie. The scripture do say, ‘He maketh me to lie down. . . .’ The good Lord means for you to rest a sp
ell.”

  Henry surprised Sarah by speaking up from his place by the door. “God ain’t struck this woman in the leg, Thomas. He don’t do such things.”

  Jennie fell back and commenced to thrashing and wailing. “I cain’t rest for a spell, Thomas. I’ll find myself wanting a job if I do.” She covered her face and started to cry. “What am I gon’ do? Doc Turner gon’ fire me now for sho’.”

  Miss Annie stood, her lacy blue gown out of place in the greasy, cluttered kitchen. “Now, now, dear lady. Dr. Turner seems a reasonable man and a kindly sort. I doubt he’d be inclined to fire you for getting hurt.”

  Sarah eased out of the way as Miss Annie moved to Jennie’s side. When Jennie uncovered her face and stopped her tossing, Miss Annie smiled down at her. “If you think it’ll help, I’ll be happy to say a word to him on your behalf.”

  Jennie blinked away her tears. “You’d do such a kindness? For me?”

  Annie leaned down and patted her wet face. “And why not? I’ll go tend to it right away.” She picked up Jennie’s hand. “Will you be all right now?”

  Jennie gazed up at Miss Annie as though she’d sprouted a halo and wings. “Oh, yes’m. I will, now you done fix me up.” Smiling, she held up Miss Annie’s handkerchief. “Here’s your pretty hankie back.”

  Miss Annie patted the hand holding the delicate scrap of cloth. “Would you like to keep it?”

  Jennie’s eyes bulged. “Oh yes, ma’am. If you really don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind one bit.”

  It amazed Sarah how comfortable Miss Annie seemed, how at home in a messy hotel kitchen filled with Sarah’s people. She marveled at how Annie listened to them with interest, how she touched Jennie with genuine affection. Sarah had never seen such behavior from a white woman before, not even in St. Louis.

  The fancy woman. . .no, the special lady met Sarah’s eyes. “Don’t I know you? Sarah, from the dry goods store, isn’t it?”

  Sarah tried to lower her gaze, but the soft gray eyes held hers. “Yes’m. That’s right.”

  Miss Annie held out her hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

  Astonished, Sarah reached a timid hand and let the lady take it in her own.

  “May I leave our Jennie in your care? You’ll see she gets up to her room, won’t you?” She raised her brows at Henry. “You’ll help her?”

  Henry nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll see to it.”

  “Thank you both,” Miss Annie said and gave Sarah’s fingers a gentle squeeze.

  When she started for the door, Sarah watched her closely, because she needed to know. Miss Annie crossed the whole length of the kitchen, pausing once to give last-minute instructions to Thomas, then left the room, without once wiping her hand on her skirt.

  Jennie tugged at her sleeve. “You want to hear the worst part, Sarah?”

  Fighting tears, she pulled her attention from the door. “What’s that?”

  Jennie patted a wide stain around her skirt pocket. “I done broke my bottle of tonic. Now what am I gon’ do?”

  Sarah smiled down at her childlike pout. “Sounds to me like you ain’t about to need no energy tonic. But if it makes you feel better”–she reached into her own pocket, pulled out a brown bottle, peered closely at the contents, and then slipped it into Jennie’s waiting hand–“just so happens I got another one right here.”

  At the door, Henry started to laugh. “Miss Jennie, take some advice from old Henry. No matter how much you like the first helping, don’t go for seconds. Some things is better in small doses.”

  Halfway to Thad’s house, Bertha pulled the surrey to a stop along the dense wall of pine by the side of the road. She met Magda’s gaze and answered her unspoken question. “Go back, Magda. I’ve changed my mind.”

  When she handed over the reins, Magda’s confused look changed to bewilderment. “After all this? Why?”

  “I shouldn’t have asked this of you. It’s bad enough I’ve brought down calamity on my own head. Poor Papa’s, too, more than likely. I have no right to pile it on yours, as well. Go on back and see to your errands. I can walk to Thad’s from here.”

  Magda sighed. “I’ve come this far. It’s no more trouble to take you the rest of the way.” She flicked the reins and whistled, goading the horse back onto the street. They rode in silence until Magda cut her eyes at Bertha. “I am still wondering if this is a good idea. I mean, it is sort of. . .”

  Bertha twisted on her seat. “Sort of what?”

  Magda swallowed and faced forward, taking her time to answer. “You know.”

  “Please quit studying that horse’s behind and say what you’re itching to say.”

  Magda glowered at her. “Brazen. It’s downright brazen.”

  The words caused anger to rise in Bertha’s throat. She whipped around and slapped the wooden seat so hard it rattled her bones. “You just don’t know when to hush, do you?” She pointed at the ground. “Let me off this thing right now.”

  Magda hauled back on the reins. The surrey rolled to a stop and the two sat facing each other in angry silence. Magda crossed her arms. “Well, go ahead. Get down and run off. It’s why you stopped, ain’t it?”

  Bertha managed a nod.

  “Well then, why don’t you?”

  Grief crowded Bertha’s throat, blocking her answer. The weight of her predicament pinned her to the seat, so heavy she could barely lift her shoulders in a helpless shrug. Tears stung her eyes, tears she couldn’t stop if she tried. When Magda’s startled face dissolved into a reflection of her pain, she released the pent-up flood.

  Magda scooted beside her and gathered her close. “Don’t cry, sweetie. Please don’t.” She smoothed Bertha’s hair and rocked her on the seat while she fished a hankie from her bodice. “Here you go.” She tucked the cloth in Bertha’s hand. “You’re right. I should learn when to keep my mouth shut.” She leaned back and tilted Bertha’s chin. “Dry your face, now. I’ll take you straight to Thad’s and won’t say another word about it.”

  Bertha wiped her eyes and tried to swallow the hedge-apple-sized lump in her throat. “No, you were right to speak up. Running after him is the wrong thing to do. If Thad cared about my feelings, he’d have told me himself. Not let me hear it on the street.”

  “Honey, I think he tried.”

  Bertha banged her fist on one knee. “No, he didn’t. He had plenty of chances to tell me.”

  Magda raised her hands in surrender. “All right, then. Thad’s a scoundrel of the first order.”

  Bertha whirled on her. “Don’t say such a thing. He wanted to tell me all along. Isn’t that what Charlie said?”

  Magda patted Bertha’s clenched fists. “Whoa there. Remember, I’m on your side–whatever side it is. But you have to make up your mind.” She lifted her chin toward the road. “And you have to decide if we’re going to Thad’s house. Otherwise I’m turning this contraption and heading back to town.”

  H

  The easy stride of Thad’s horse didn’t match the determination in his soul, yet dread had gathered and settled in the pit of his stomach, preventing him from urging the mare on. The task ahead weighed heavily, pulling him so tight his bones ached.

  His thoughts turned to the words King David cried while in distress. “Have mercy upon me, O LORD, for I am in trouble: mine eye is consumed with grief, yea, my soul and my belly. . . . My strength faileth because of mine iniquity, and my bones are consumed.”

  The ancient words twanged a familiar chord with Thad. His joints hurt as much as his empty, knotted stomach.

  He should’ve told Bertha days ago. Putting it off had spared him seeing her upset, but waiting only stacked up the pain and gave him so little time to say good-bye.

  Well, no more. Though long overdue, today was the day. He swore to himself he’d not return home until he spoke with her.

  He came to the cutoff that led to a shortcut into town, a path the mare always took without his bidding. When she plodded right past and kept with the roa
d, he wondered briefly why she chose the long route but didn’t bother to rein her back. Then he wondered at his willingness to let her go the long way and hoped his cowardice hadn’t returned.

  He didn’t have far to go before he understood why the mare didn’t turn. Around a bend in the road, Magda’s surrey came into sight, pulled to the side with Magda and Bertha aboard. His mare must’ve smelled the old gray horse and decided a visit was in order. Or maybe God Himself desired a swift end to Thad’s procrastination.

  Heart pounding, he approached the carriage. The two girls sat with their heads together, Bertha leaning toward her friend. When Thad saw her wipe her eyes, his heart stopped pounding and crawled up his throat.

  She knew. Somehow Bertha knew. It was the reason they were on the road to his house and the reason she cried. He shoved down the yellow-bellied urge to flee and rode their way.

  Magda saw him first. She watched him come with a mixture of sorrow and anger on her face. Then she sat up, nudged Bertha, and pointed over her shoulder. He came alongside and Bertha stared into his eyes with a look he couldn’t describe.

  He gave her a curt nod. “I was on my way to see you.” It sounded weak, even to him.

  She blinked a few times, as if to convince herself she really saw him there. “I was, too. Until I came to my senses.”

  He hated himself for her tears, her red-rimmed eyes, the pain so evident on her face. “I should’ve told you myself, Bertha. I tried.”

  She looked away, and the rebuff twisted his stomach in knots. He glanced at Magda for help, but she shook her head and put her arms around Bertha.

  “Magda, can you leave us alone? I need to talk to her.”

  The balance of sorrow and anger shifted, and Magda glared at him over Bertha’s head. “I won’t leave unless she tells me to.”

  The wind picked up, whipping and bending the overhead trees, chilling Thad’s poor scattered bones. His insides danced and tossed in time with the treetops while he waited for Bertha to speak, and for the first time that morning, he felt glad he’d had no stomach for breakfast. When her silence stretched on, he thought to turn the mare and ride away, but his heart insisted he stay.