Summer Lightning

by Cynthia Bailey Pratt

  “It wasn’t necessary for you to stand up for them, Miss Parker. I’m not a brutal father.”

  “I know it.” She looked down at the mud circles she’d seen so carefully placed and patted until they took on a favorable appearance. The edge was even crimped by Louise’s fingers in imitation of real pastry crust.

  “But I insist on decent behavior in front of guests. They have to learn to be respectful. I can’t have them growing up like wild Indians.”

  “Of course not. I can see you must do your duty.”

  Edith unbuttoned her gloves and stripped them off, tucking them into the belt at her waist. Gingerly, she bent her knees and sank down above the mud puddle. With care, she arranged her skirt, turning a breadth up to keep it clean.

  Looking up, she saw him standing in amazement above her, his well-shaped mouth open. “I always wanted to do this,” she explained. “My aunt never allowed it. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “Mind? Uh, no.”

  He watched her take a handful of the solid mud. With care she brushed off the twigs and bits of grass that blemished the surface. Weighing the clod in her hand, she peered around for a suitable rock, exactly like a woman in an unfamiliar kitchen.

  “Here.”

  Jeff walked to the flowering border beside the house and pulled loose a more or less square gray stone from the edging. He knelt, one knee in the grass. With a solemnity that did not feel at all out of place, he handed her the stone.

  “Thank you.”

  Copying the children, Edith reversed her hand, placing the mud with a solid plop on the stone. It was a peculiarly agreeable noise. With a stick, she scraped the sides so they were even with the stone, flinging the excess mud back into the wallow. A few white pebbles arranged in the center for effect and Edith nodded her approval as she dusted her dirty hands.

  “That looks nice,” she said, turning her head toward him. Her happy smile wavered at the expression in his eyes.

  Suddenly, she realized how completely insane she must appear. Hastily, she began to stand up. She stepped on her skirt, hearing an ominous rip. Trying to stand and step back at the same time, Edith tripped over her feet. She felt herself falling, destined to land in the mud at her feet.

  Then his arms were tight around her. She staggered, only his solid strength keeping her upright. “Whoa there. Hold on.”

  His voice was in her ear, thrilling with its deep register. Across her breasts lay one of his heavy arms, his hand squeezing her upper arm. His other arm clasped her waist. She had never felt so safe. And yet . . . Edith knew she was on the brink of a great danger. Was it brave or foolhardy to dare it?

  She turned her head to look into his eyes, so close that she could see the golden flecks in their depths. “Thank you,” she whispered, not moving.

  That strange look appeared in his eyes again. Edith saw that she was making a fool of herself. Surely by now he was ready to put her on the next train out of Richey, even if it went to the moon or the Badlands. She dropped her gaze and lifted her arms to free herself.

  In his arms, she weighed no more than a fine porcelain figurine, liable to break at an irresponsible touch. As though she had rocked upon her shelf, Jeff very carefully released her.

  “I’ll have to get some fill dirt to dry up this spot,” he said, clearing his throat.

  “Must you? The girls were enjoying it so much.”

  “I guess I don’t have to do it right this minute. But it’ll have to be done. Any more rain and we’ll have a sinkhole big enough to lose the wagon in.”

  Edith nodded gravely. “Yes, a farm like this must be a great responsibility.”

  She moved away from him, wishing her heart would return to its usual place. At the look in his eyes when he held her, it had leaped up into her throat.

  “If you don’t mind my changing the subject,” she said, “I wonder when you would like me to begin working. The sooner, the better, as my aunt used to say.”

  She did not explain that her aunt had used this chestnut only in reference to an unpleasant task. Pleasure could always be deferred. The disagreeable must be done at once.

  “You shouldn’t worry about it today. After that long train ride, you should rest. Take a day or two to just kick back.”

  “No, that would be stealing your time, Mr. Dane. Let’s plan on driving into town a little later today. If you will introduce me to your candidates . . .”

  “I have a better idea,” Jeff said. “Tomorrow there’s a sewing bee for one of the preacher’s girls, Dulcie. She’s getting married and all the women have been cutting out this and that. You know, women’s stuff.”

  “Yes. Perhaps it would be best if I met the ladies under the appearance of a social call. After all, it would be impolite to let them know they were being looked over.”

  She furrowed her brow, as she thought of a delicate question. “But what should I bring to the bee? It would be very rude to arrive both uninvited and empty-handed.”

  “You can sew, I guess?”

  “Yes, I can, but I have nothing prepared.”

  “Seems to me there must be a couple of half-finished things of my mother’s around. She didn’t often get to finish the fancywork. There was always a button I was missing. And Dad’s awful hard on the elbows of his shirts.”

  “But I couldn’t take something of your mother’s. You should keep them. I know I’d give anything to have something that belonged to my mother.”

  “Do you remember her?” Jeff stirred the top of the mud with the toe of his boot.

  “No. I was very young. But I sometimes dream about her. At least, I think it may be her.” She knew the loving presence that hovered over her as she slept was definitely not Aunt Edith.

  “What . . . ?”

  The banging of the door broke into what he was going to ask. The two girls came tearing out of the house as though hornets were after them.

  “We’re clean!” Maribel shrieked as the girls began to dance around the grown-ups. Water sprayed them, thrown off by Maribel’s wringing wet braids. The collar of her dress dripped diamond points of water. Louise looked a little better, with only a large water stain spreading out from her abdomen.

  “I can see that,” Edith and Jeff said at the same time. They gave each other a smiling glance.

  “Are you ready, Cousin Edith?” Louise asked.

  “Ready?”

  “You wanted me to show you around, remember?”

  “Oh, yes. Please.”

  “Come on, then.” Louise took Edith’s hand and began to walk away. Perforce, Edith had to follow, with Maribel dancing alongside to a song of her own making. Jeff took a step after them, unsure whether he wanted to accompany them or to keep Edith by him another moment.

  Edith looked over her shoulder at him. He was staring down ruefully at his boots, sunk to the ankles in mud.

  Behind the house was a lazy, looping path that ran through a large garden before opening out into fenced pastureland. Edith would have liked to stop to admire the flowers and vegetables but Louise kept a steady drag on her hand. Once clear of the garden, Louise abandoned the path to cut straight across the grass toward the large barn.

  The two girls chattered about everything, hardly stopping for breath. Maribel was excited about starting school in a few weeks. Louise, an old hand at school, was more interested in the fair that was to take place at the end of the week.

  For some moments Edith had been bothered by an impossible sight. She had casually dismissed the large black objects in the pastures as monolithic stones. In the back of her mind, she had wondered if this part of Missouri was volcanic or had been patterned by some sort of Druid of an earlier age. Now, however, she turned uneasily to watch the “stones.” Had that one moved?

  Close to the fence, a “stone” turned its hefty head and mooed. Edith stared in openmouthed wonder. Cows couldn’t possibly grow this big!

  More like shifting slabs of night than beasts of the field, they had coats that reflected a high gloss
. They showed not a spot of white, nor even brown. Seeing that Louise observed her amazement, Edith said, “I had no idea they’d be so huge.”

  “Shucks, Aberdeen Angus aren’t big. Daddy says they’re compact, compared with the longhorns or the ... the . . .”

  “The Herefords,” Maribel piped up.

  “That’s it. Mr. Rivers got some Herefords. They’re great big . . . bigger’n’ours by . . . I don’t know. A whole lot.”

  “These will do just fine for now,” Edith said.

  Still awed by the fact that anything that big could move at all, she was in no hurry to see greater wonders. The black cattle had blocky bodies that looked as though someone who had never seen a cow had tried to sculpt one. The fine detail was absent. And they were so black they might have been made of the jet mourning jewelry Aunt Edith used to wear.

  Down at the big barn, the two girls took her to meet the dairy cow. After seeing the massive beasts in the field, Edith felt quite safe with the almost insignificant creature. A mild brown eye regarded the children indulgently as the jaw moved pensively. The while tip of her snout made her look as though she’d been dipping into her own milk pail.

  “I got to milk her,” Louise said. She went forward to walk the cow into the shed, laying a hand on its rear quarters for encouragement.

  Involuntarily, Edith exclaimed, “Do be careful, dear!”

  “It’s okay, Cousin Edith. I been milking Tammy since I was Maribel’s age. She sometimes kicks the bucket over in flytime, but she’s never kicked me.”

  In a moment, the milk was falling into the wooden bucket with a musical beat. Peering over the gate, Edith saw the little girl with her head pressed against the large animal’s flank. Her thin arms pumped up and down to the rhythm of milking. The splashing was almost hypnotic as the blue-white milk fell.

  Looking up, Louise asked, “You want to try, Cousin Edith?”

  Edith shook her head. Then she realized how preposterous it was to make mud pies eagerly but shrink from the real work this girl did every day. “All right, if you’ll show me how.”

  The teats hanging from beneath the full udder were firm and warm. Edith winced when she took one tube between her thumb and forefinger. “It feels so alive,” she murmured.

  “ ‘Course,” Louise said, giving her a perplexed frown. “What did you think?”

  “I can’t say I’ve ever thought about it very much. In the city, we buy our milk in bottles.”

  “Well, you knew it came from a cow.”

  “As I said . . . I never thought about it. The bottle was just there on the doorstep, every morning.”

  Maribel shrieked with laughter. “Daddy,” she said, running out of the barn. “Cousin Edith thinks milk comes in bottles!”

  Jeff came in, Maribel carried in the crook of his arm. Seeing Edith still sitting on the milking stool sent the little girl off again. “Bottles, Daddy. Milk in bottles.”

  Louise looked fiercely at her sister. “Hush, Maribel. It’s not polite to tell someone how stupid they are.”

  “That’s right,” Jeff said, putting the little girl on her feet. “Besides, some places milk comes in a bottle. I’ve seen it myself. A man comes around with lots and lots of bottles in a big white wagon and drops a bottle off at each house.”

  “Oh, Daddy,” Maribel said, clearly doubtful.

  Edith had sat up straight when Jeff came in, letting go of the teat. It seemed somehow indelicate to milk a cow with a man watching. She preferred to concentrate on the children, even though she began to feel as stupid as they thought her.

  She said, “The milkman has a white horse, to pull his wagon. And you have to get up very early in the morning to see him, because he has to go to all the houses before the people are up.”

  Two pairs of hazel eyes studied her with pity. “That’s okay, Cousin Edith,” Louise said. “You don’t have to make up ‘the milkman’ for us. We don’t even believe in Santa Claus anymore.”

  “Not since we were little,” Maribel said, sucking on the tip of her braid.

  “That’s right,” Jeff said again, but Edith noticed something sad at the back of his eyes as he looked at his daughters.

  Giving himself a shake, as though he were waking up, Jeff walked over to stand above her. “Doing the milking for us, Miss . . . Edith?”

  She looked at the cow, who regarded her over her shoulder as though to say, “What is the hold up?”

  “Louise was planning to show me how, but I think now . . .”

  “Oh, I’ll show you.” He reached over and took her hand. “It’s simple enough, really. You just reach . . . you have to be relaxed. Gentle. You’re all tense. Let your hand go floppy.”

  He shook it mildly as though to work free all the tension. Edith knew it came from his touch and it wouldn’t subside until he let go. Instead, he reached up, still holding on, and placed her fingers around the teat.

  “Start up high, and pull straight down. Remember, gently. Take it slow.”

  When the milk splashed into the bucket, Edith laughed in surprise. “Gracious!”

  “There you go. You’ve got it now. Try two hands.” He straightened up and stepped back.

  “Why is Daddy’s face red?” Maribel wanted to know. Louise hushed her.

  Edith sat up. “It’s very interesting,” she said. “Why don’t I let Louise do it, though? She’s so good at it.”

  “All right,” Louise said, sitting on the milking stool. “Though I guess you’d get the hang of it pretty quick.”

  Jeff said, “Dad’s probably rooted out those bits of sewing I told you about by now. If you want to go take a look . . .”

  “The girls want to show me around. Don’t you?”

  “Sure,” Maribel answered. “Come look at the baby chicks. Louise is going to show ‘em at the fair.”

  “So you said before. But what fair is this?”

  “The big fair.” Maribel lifted her arms to show how big.

  “Cows and chickens and sheep and goats and ... ice cream!”

  Jeff explained, “The county fair travels around the county and this year it’s here again. Starts on Friday, officially. We hold it in Richey’s Meadow out beyond the town. And Maribel’s right. There’s livestock judging and plenty to eat. Dad always enters his roses, though he hasn’t won a prize yet.”

  “But they’re so beautiful!”

  “Yes, well . . .”Jeff rubbed the back of his neck and looked at her sideways. “It’s like this . . .”

  “He was robbed!” Louise said, grinning over her shoulder.

  Her father returned her smile. “That’s right, honey. You keep on being a smart girl and you’ll go far in this world.” To Edith, Jeff said, “Dad’s got a competitive nature, that’s all.”

  “He seems very nice.”

  “Yes, he is. But crazy as a bedbug.”

  “Crazy?”

  “Completely! At least on the subject of flowers and cattle. It got so I had to quit entering my prize bull, the Black Prince. Dad would sulk if we lost and turn boastful if we won.”

  If Jeff thought his father was crazy for that, what would he think of her if he ever found out the truth? Could Jeff believe in her powers? Edith doubted it. He was as attractive a man as she’d ever seen but he was still a man.

  Her late aunt had held no very high opinion of the flexibility of the male mind. Edith herself hadn’t enough experience to know if Jeff was one of the rare few who could accept the mysterious at face value. She decided to use her power for him, if she could, but never to tell him. After all, she was hoping to hold on to Jeff Dane’s good opinion for the length of her stay.

  “Where are these chicks?” she asked.

  Chapter 8

  “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Edith said, hesitating on the wooden walk.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll like them.”

  “I’m sure I will.” But the question in her mind was, Will they like me?

  Lady Jessica stood outside the throne room. Within, Her
Royal Majesty would soon choose her ladies-in-waiting. Splendid in a white ruff and farthingale oversewn with brilliants, Lady Jessica looked as magnificent as any of the other virgins who were vying to serve the Virgin Queen. She wondered if their knees were knocking as hard as her own. All depended on the vital first impression. A stammer, a misspoken word and she would be banished again to frigid, lackluster Northumberland.

  Jeff lifted the basket out of the buggy, telling Grouchy to stay put. “The ladies of Richey, I have to say, can hold their heads up with as much pride as any queen.”

  That didn’t make Edith feel more confident. She could imagine all the women huddled in the corner, looking at her with contempt. They’d whisper behind their hands, criticizing every detail of her clothes and hair.

  Jeff took her elbow. Though his touch was warming, she gazed up with apprehension at the house next to the church. A vivid garden hardly left room to walk to the door but served to disguise the foursquare style of the house.

  “Don’t get Mrs. Armstrong started on her flowers,” Jeff said. “She’s as wild for them as Dad is. When they get together, that’s all they talk about.”

  “That must be nice for your father.”

  “It would be, if they didn’t argue. Dad likes things neat and Mrs. Armstrong—well, look around.”

  Brilliant orange lilies bloomed on top of blazing red asters. Yellow roses poked out from the cone-shaped flowers of a thriving dark purple butterfly bush while blue lobelia warred with a flourishing red phlox. Up the porch supports clambered a screaming yellow and green trumpet vine while a gentle pink clematis made a curtain across the front.

  “Well, it certainly is cheerful,” Edith said.

  “Yes. Cheerful is what I’d call it.”

  Before he could knock, the front door opened. A very tall, blonde girl, her figure as fully developed as Sabrina Carstairs’, stood on the threshold, her hands outstretched in welcome. She had a warm, happy smile that seemed, like the sun, destined to beam on everyone. It showed her slightly prominent front teeth more than a prudent girl would have allowed.