Summer Lightning

by Cynthia Bailey Pratt

  “Well,” Sam said at the end, looking at her nearly full plate. “Seems like nobody’s hungry around here this morning. Not you—that’s a first—and Jeff didn’t want breakfast either.”

  “I do, Gran’pa,” Maribel said, with a hopeful air.

  Sam stood up. “We’ve eaten up all the pancake batter, darlin’. But if a split biscuit with honey’ll do you . . .”

  “Yes, please,” both girls said loudly.

  “All right, all right.” He fixed them the addition to their breakfast and then said, “Go on and take it outside. Pretty day today . . . might pretty.”

  He sat down again after pouring himself another cup of his special thick coffee. “Okay, so how you want to work this?” At her blank expression, he said, “You know . . . the Armstrongs? Now if I were you, I ‘d talk to her first. Millie’s always been strong and a lot less likely to get riled than Ezra. He kind of loses his temper and doesn’t pay much attention to what he damages. Though he’s always sorry afterward, it doesn’t do much good to mend the broken heads and bruises. And there’s nothing in the world that’ll rile a man faster than learning his daughter’s intended is a scoundrel, a hound, and a no-good liar.”

  Sam drained his coffee mug. With an impatient flick of his arm, he threw it against the wall. Edith flinched as the mug smashed into thick white shards.

  Grouchy started to his feet with a muffled woof. Then he left the room, looking reproachfully over his tan shoulder.

  Sam went on as though he’d done no more than put the mug in the sink. “But Millie’s different. She burns down low. If I guess right, she’ll have Sullivan’s hide off him and hung out to dry before he knows what hit him. Dulcie takes after her father more. We may have to hold her off Sullivan, or we’ll be tripping over pieces of him clear to the county line.”

  “What about you, Sam?”

  “Me? I’ve got nothing to do with it.”

  “But last night . . .”

  He waved his anger away. “I guess I was kind of sore. Who wouldn’t be? But it’s really nothing to do with me.”

  Sam reached out for his coffee. When his fingers closed on empty air, he seemed confused. Turning his head, he saw the white fragments scattered widely with splatters of coffee slowly dripping down the wall. Unable to meet Edith’s eyes, he pushed himself out of his chair. “Ought to clean that up,” he said.

  With a greater effort than usual, Edith achieved a state of relaxation. Using her inner sight, she gazed fixedly at Sam. It was obvious to the meanest intelligence that he had strong feelings for Miss Albans. Yet Edith saw no sign of the radiance that surrounded people who loved. Even to her most searching, intense gaze, Sam remained unlit.

  She must be wrong. There was no love in Sam for Vera. His looking after her must just be the responsibility that the Danes seemed to naturally accept for everyone. Even Jeff’s protection in St. Louis could be seen in that light.

  “I’ll go get ready,” she said, rising.

  Soon after, she came down, looking neat and honest, she hoped, in a brown seersucker skirt and waist. It was her least favorite of the four outfits she’d been given. Her little straw hat with the plain silk ribbons gave her an innocent air that Jeff took exception to.

  “If you’re determined to go through with this,” he said, leaning on the buggy’s big rear wheel, “you ought to be wearing tight black satin. Or maybe scarlet.”

  Edith didn’t have a chance to be shy with him. “You would know more about that sort of thing than I would, Mr. Dane,” she shot back. “Or have you forgotten your friend Sabrina?”

  “No, I’m not likely to forget her. I wonder what she’s doing now?” He smiled reminiscently. “Bet I can guess.”

  “Bet you can,” Edith muttered. Then she looked angelically toward the sky as though such a vulgar reply must have originated from some otherworldly source.

  “Get in,” Jeff said, holding out his hand.

  She hesitated. “I thought Sam . . .”

  “I’m driving you. Get in.”

  Wordlessly, Edith took his hand to step up. Before she was ready, he took his support away. Edith sat down harder than she had expected. It was as if he couldn’t bear her touch.

  They drove in silence all the way to town. When he would have stopped before the Armstrongs’ house, however, Edith said, “Would you drive on, please?”

  “Are you scared? Or have you changed your mind?”

  “Neither. But I promised Louise I’d find her a muslin petticoat. She was wearing a wool one yesterday and it was much too hot and itchy. You saw how much trouble she had sitting still in church.”

  “I never sat still in church,” Jeff said, “and I never wore a petticoat either.”

  “Guilty conscience, then?” She gave him a look that told him soulless brutes often had that trouble.

  In the dry goods store, Edith compared children’s petticoats while Jeff rocked back and forth on his heels. “How many are there?” he asked.

  The lady clerk answered, “Oh, we have a wide selection, Mr. Dane. Ranging from the simple muslin at thirty-seven cents to the fine cambric with the lace at one dollar.”

  “The fancy one,” Jeff said.

  “No.” Edith picked up the simple white underskirt. “This one will be easier for Sam to keep clean. Wrap it up, please.”

  As the clerk unrolled brown paper, Jeff said, “I thought you were trying to make Louise feel pretty. You know, I found that hair ribbon you gave her under her pillow last night.”

  “I do want Louise to feel pretty,” Edith said, moved. “But the girls told me that Sam ruins lace by washing it incorrectly.

  They were resigned to losing their nicest things because he just doesn’t understand that lace is different from denim.”

  “Oh,” Jeff said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t know that.”

  The clerk came back. “On your account, Mr. Dane?”

  “Thanks.” He took the package and stood back for Edith to pass in front of him. Edith was aware of his eyes tracing over her from top to bottom and wondered what he was thinking.

  As they walked down the steps, Edith heard someone call, “Miss Parker?”

  Squinting in the bright sunshine after the dark shop, Edith peered across the street. A woman, her lower body hidden behind a cloud of children, waved to her. Looking both ways, cautioning the children not to run in front of a hay wagon, she crossed.

  “Hello, Miss Parker, Mr. Dane,” Mrs. Green said over the children’s heads. Some were laughing, at least two were arguing, and the littlest one in her arms just stared around a fat fist. They were all neat and clean, with the patches in their clothes well mended and even a few new items gleaming here and there. The baby was wrapped in a beautifully ironed shawl, while the oldest girl wore an apron hand embroidered with the fancy stitches Mrs. Green had used at the sewing bee.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to thank you for bringing little Rudy to me the other day.” She looked down fondly to where the blond boy was hanging on her skirt. “He really was frightened, poor lamb.”

  Edith gazed around at the children and then again at Mrs. Green who chortled charmingly. “Oh, yes. I’m taking charge of them all. Stop it, boys.” She spoke without looking at Al and Konrad, obviously plotting some mischief against the girls. Instantly, they looked innocent as angels.

  “Then Mr. Huneker and . . .”

  “I suppose there’s no point in keeping it a secret. We’ll be married very soon. He keeps saying “ . .” Mrs. Green glanced up at Jeff and then twinkled at Edith. “He’s awfully romantic, more like a schoolboy than a grown man. He keeps saying that every day that goes by is a day wasted. So far as he’s concerned he won’t be really living until we’re married.”

  “That is romantic,” Edith agreed, not without a small sigh.

  “And I wanted to thank you, Miss Parker. If you hadn’t brought Rudy along that day, I might not have met Ernst for months. You’d figure in a town this size it would have b
een impossible for us to miss each other, but somehow we did.” She began to sway back and forth as the baby in her arms went gradually limp, the waxy lids falling over big blue eyes.

  A voice called, “Adelia!” Mrs. Green turned at once, her smile mingling tender affection and exasperation. “God love the man,” she said. “I’ve only been gone five minutes.”

  The gray-haired meat cutter came hurrying up, with eyes only for the plump widow. “I remembered what else was needed. Scissors. Bing used them last to pry up some nails and they became very dull and dented.”

  “For goodness’ sake, Ernst. I have scissors. Big ones and little ones. I’ll bring them along when I move . . . after we’re married. Don’t forget your manners. Say hello to . . .”

  Mr. Huneker grasped Edith by the hand and shook it vigorously. “The so-nice young lady who guides my Adelia to me! Like a saint.”

  It was hard to tell which women he meant by his last comment until he turned his gaze once more on his future bride. Edith prepared herself to see a renewed outflashing of the halo that surrounded true lovers. She saw nothing.

  While Mr. Huneker greeted Jeff, saying he knew him well, Edith rubbed her eyes. The sunlight was very bright but nothing could be brighter than the fire that melded two hearts.

  Frowning, she looked more intensely, concentrating her heart’s gaze on Mr. Huneker. Even if Mrs. Green were not completely in love with him, he was certainly mad for her. Edith still saw nothing but two people smiling giddily at one another.

  Slowly, Edith said, “I wish you and Mr. Huneker every happiness.”

  “As do I,” Jeff added.

  “She has already made the children happy,” Mr. Huneker said, not taking his eyes off her. “And I am always happy now.”

  The oldest girl took the baby from Mrs. Green’s arms and said, “Don’t forget to ask them, Adelia.”

  “Oh, thanks, Friederike.” Mrs. Green said to Edith, “You must come to the wedding. It’s going to be a small, mostly just us, though . . .” She chuckled again. “Though we’re a crowd now all by ourselves. But since you’re really the cause of it all, Miss Parker, we must have you as a witness. And you too, Mr. Dane. Maybe you’d like to bring your girls and your father?”

  Jeff said, “We’d enjoy that. What day?”

  “Next Wednesday. Goodness, is that only a week off?”

  Apologetically, Edith said, “I’ll be gone by then, Mrs. Green. But I do thank you for the invitation.”

  She walked past the children and got into the buggy without waiting for Jeff. He stayed for a moment and said something to Mrs. Green, something that brought the laughter once more into her face. All the children waved as Jeff and Edith drove away.

  She was frightened, feeling as lost as Rudy had been. If only she could run home! But she had no home to go to. She began to tremble. The world was so big—without her special gift, how was she to make her way in it?

  “Edith?” Jeff said, as though he’d said it before. “Edith, what’s the matter?”

  He glanced at her as he drove. Even after the fire when she’d appeared in his hotel, grimed and exhausted, owning nothing but a bird cage, she hadn’t looked this distressed. She was white to the lips. Her fingers worked restlessly in their smooth leather gloves, and she had a haunted look in her eyes.

  “Edith,” he said again, worried now. “I’m stopping.”

  She placed a hand over his as he began to draw on the rein. “No, don’t. I’m . . . I’ll be all right.”

  “Was it Mrs. Green? Did she say something to . . .”

  “No.” She forced a smile. How could she explain to him? He’d only say she couldn’t have lost something that didn’t exist in the first place. “Don’t worry. I’m all right.”

  “Like hell you are.”

  He pulled back on the reins, and the patient bay stopped in the shade of some elm trees. Not caring that half the idlers in Richey were probably watching, Jeff reached across to take Edith by the elbow. He demanded, “Now tell me. What’s wrong?”

  “Really . . .” she protested. “There’s nothing.”

  Jeff pulled her into his arms and kissed her ruthlessly. He paid no attention to her pushing against his chest or her whimpers of protest. Only when those noises changed to ones of pleasure did he let her go.

  “Now tell me.”

  Edith blinked foolishly. “I can’t . . . see anything.”

  “You’re blind?”

  “No, I mean ... of course I can see with my eyes, it’s the other thing . . . I’ve lost it.”

  “Maybe I kissed you too hard. You’re not making any sense.”

  Edith nodded. “I know. But what can you expect from me? Jeff, I’m . . . different.”

  “Why do you think I ... Okay. Let’s have it. What’s the matter with you? Wait, don’t tell me. You’re a Sioux squaw. No, a dancer from some hootchy-kootchy show?” He squinted at her. “I’ve got it. You shaved your beard but you’re really Robert E. Lee.”

  “Don’t joke.” The misery that set her lower lip trembling and filled her dark blue eyes with tears silenced his raillery. “It’s a terrible thing, a secret I’ve always kept. My aunt knew, but she hated for me to speak of it.”

  Jeff gripped her hands, hard. “You’re not married, Edith? Never mind. I know you’re not. And even if you are, there are such things as divorces. I’ll spend every cent I’ve got if that’s what it takes. I’ll get you a divorce.”

  He looked so terribly fierce that Edith couldn’t bear it. She laid her hand against his cheek and forced him to meet her eyes. “Of course I’m not married. But I am ... abnormal.”

  “What? How?”

  “I ... see things. Or, rather, I saw things.”

  “What things? Some people see spots that aren’t there; it doesn’t mean anything.”

  Edith shook her head, tiredly. Telling him was harder than she had guessed it would be. He wanted so much to explain away her dismay, to make all her troubles light enough to float away. The only thing to do was to tell him straight out, no beating around the bush. Then he’d know what to make of her.

  “I can look at someone and know about them. At least, I can tell if they are in love, or if someone is in love with them.”

  Jeff stared at her. “You can . . .”

  ‘The desk clerk at the hotel, the porter ... I told them about their true loves. It’s also how I know that Dulcie isn’t in love with Mr. Sullivan. She couldn’t be because there was nothing to see.”

  “What are you trying to make me believe?” His frown was black.

  Now that she’d opened her heart, the words poured out. “I can’t explain it very well. It just happens. I’ll look at someone and I understand. Only love, though. I can’t tell who you hate or respect. Take you, for instance. I knew as soon as I saw you that you weren’t in love with anyone and that no one was in love with you.”

  “You could tell all that from a glance.”

  The disbelief in his voice was enough to wilt her. “I hoped ... I guess I should have known better. Take me to Vera’s, Jeff. Then I’ll catch the first train back to St. Louis.”

  He caught her hand. She struggled for a moment, then let it lay passively in his grasp. “Edith, forgive me. This is a lot to throw at a fellow all at once. If you believe it, honey, that’s good ...”

  “No. It’s better if I go. I couldn’t stand for you to start looking at me as if I were crazy . . . but I can see it’s too late for that.” Edith pulled her hand free. “All I can say is that I’ve always been able to do this thing. Except . . .”

  “Except?”

  “Just now I couldn’t do it.” She told him about Mrs. Green and Mr. Huneker, how they should have out shone the sun, but that nothing had happened. “I can’t imagine what has changed or how it happened. Even when I concentrated . . .”

  “I know what changed.”

  “How? You don’t believe . . .”

  “I happened.” He had a funny look, half-ashamed, half-boastful. “The ri
de in the buggy happened. You were so sweet, Edith. And a little drunk, I guess, on Miss Minta’s wine. One thing led to another. You don’t remember what happened next. You . . .” He hesitated, as though looking for a gentle word.

  “I remember,” she said, putting her fingers on his lips.

  “You do?” He kissed her fingertips. A familiar gleam came into his bright eyes. “That’s a pretty overwhelming experience for a girl, especially one like you who’s never had a whole lot to do with men. I was your first kiss, wasn’t I?”

  Edith was blushing painfully. “You could tell?”

  “There’s nothing crazy about you. Oh, maybe you think too much, and imagine too much, and you definitely talk too much sometimes . . .”

  “But . . .”

  “But that doesn’t mean you’re crazy, honey. Though I don’t suggest you go telling anybody else in town what you just told me. Not everybody has seen as much of the world as I have.”

  “Then you . . . believe me?”

  He tugged at his earlobe as he looked at the ground. “I believe you believe it. But . . .”

  “That will have to do, I guess.” She could face the next ordeal, now that Jeff hadn’t rejected her utterly. The world seemed to shine a little more brightly, compared to the despair she’d been thrown into a few minutes since. She wondered if Jeff was right. Had the physical pleasure she’d known overthrown her mental powers?

  Straightening up, Edith said decisively, “I think we must stop at Vera’s first, as Sam isn’t here to talk to her as we agreed. I didn’t think he’d back out.”

  “You’re still going ahead with this?”

  “Unless you’ve thought of another way to save Dulcie and Vera.”

  Jeff reached for the reins, with a fatalistic shrug. “I guess we’re about out of options.”

  Driving down the street, Jeff nodded toward a familiar-looking wagon. “Dad hasn’t backed out. Look. He’s there now.”

  “But the girls?”

  “They’re all right. He’ll have taken Mrs. Jackson to stay with them by this time. The girls love Ida. She spoils them rotten. She wants to spoil Dad too, but he’s not having it.”