Eventide

by Sarah Goodman

  “All right,” I said. “No more shortcuts. I’ll stick to the road next time.” Big Tom smiled his approval and Hettie reached over to pat my knee with stiff sincerity.

  “Good. We want you safe.” Surprised, happy warmth hit my chest. It had been a long while since I’d had someone try to take care of me.

  “We’re here,” Big Tom announced. A sea of wagons and buggies converged from every direction to pack Argenta’s main street. The sidewalks thronged with people, all dressed up and streaming toward a sprawling field behind the train depot. A tall sign lettered in bright red proclaimed the pasture to be, at least for the day, the Pine County Fairground.

  Big Tom steered the buggy into a shady spot under a stand of oaks and climbed out to tie the horse. All the hitching sheds were already occupied. It appeared the entire county really had turned out for the fair. Hettie stood, hugging her jars like treasure, readying to climb down.

  “Let me hold that for you,” I said, reaching for the crate.

  “I’ve got it,” a deep voice answered. Abel had ridden ahead on his own horse, a chestnut gelding with the unexpected name Merlin. Appearing beside the buggy now, he took the box in one hand, then extended the other to his aunt and helped her step down onto the wheel-rutted ground. “You look really nice, Aunt Het.”

  Hettie scoffed, but there was a light in her usually serious eyes. She’d dressed for the occasion in a high-necked burgundy blouse and gored skirt, graying hair coiffed under a ribbon-trimmed straw hat. Life on the farm seemed to offer few breaks from the grinding sunup-to-sundown routine, and it made me smile to see how much Hettie enjoyed this day of respite.

  My smile faded when Abel reached for my hand next, his blue eyes sincere as he took in my white eyelet dress. “And so do you, Verity.” I knew this was a peace offering, not a flirtation, but I couldn’t help thinking of his left-behind love, or how Della pined for him, unaware of his secret.

  I schooled my features to a neutral expression. “Thank you.” His warm, callused hand closed over mine as I stepped lightly to the ground.

  “You’re welcome,” he said as Big Tom and Hettie began filing down a trail worn through the grass toward the fair. We fell in line behind them, Abel with his hands in his trouser pockets, whistling softly to himself. His cream-colored shirtsleeves were rolled up to show tan forearms. I wanted to slap myself for noticing. Scoundrels shouldn’t have such nice arms.

  Dabbing sweat from my upper lip, I scanned the rows of white tents edging the western border of the field. From a livestock-judging area, the lowing of cattle and the fractious bleat of goats and sheep carried over the swirling crowd. Big Tom pressed a quarter into my palm. “Advance on your wages,” he rumbled. I thanked him and pocketed the money, knowing I wouldn’t be spending it on cotton candy or popcorn. I’d need to save every penny I got to buy my and Lilah’s tickets back north.

  “Y’all have a big time,” Hettie said. She squared her shoulders, then marched proudly away to enter her wares in the contest, while Big Tom drifted off to watch Clydesdales in a plow-pulling competition.

  “She’s won three years in a row for her pickles,” Abel noted. “They’re always just the right amount of sour and sweet. Sort of like Aunt Hettie herself.”

  I only nodded in reply, looking away. Abel rubbed the back of his neck. We stood in a pocket of uneasy quiet. He stared off toward the far edge of the field, where a horse race was underway. Standing atop square hay bales, fans shouted their encouragement to a roan stallion making a come-from-behind charge at the black horse in the lead. A jubilant shout went up when the roan nosed his way to the win at the last second.

  “Look, Verity,” Abel began, “we got off to a rough start, and I’m to blame. I didn’t mean to offend you that day in the barn. I’m sorry.”

  “Maybe I was a little touchy,” I said, knowing full well I had been. But I found I couldn’t make myself outright say I was sorry. Not to Abel. “I accept your apology.” My lukewarm response earned a confused frown. Surely he hadn’t expected us to become bosom friends. I had a feeling Abel Atchley had all the close female friends he needed, and then some.

  I crossed my arms and began looking around for Lilah. Instead, I saw Della Loftis sweeping toward us.

  “Abel! Verity!” A high lace collar accented her pretty, round face, and her dress was a deep periwinkle dimity to match the silk flowers on her hat.

  Jasper and a girl I didn’t recognize walked on either side of her. Matching sandy hair, gray eyes, and lanky forms marked them as brother and sister. Jasper loped along with loose-limbed ease, but the girl, dressed in a simple dark skirt and pin-tucked ivory blouse, carried herself as though she had a fireplace poker down her corset.

  “I’m so glad you could come today, Verity.” Della snatched me into a quick, unexpected hug. “This is my friend, Katherine Ausbrooks.”

  Katherine inclined her head, and I got the impression she was trying to appear dignified. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The words were kind enough, but her tone and the look she darted at me, standing there beside Abel, were anything but. “Abel’s told us so much about you.”

  “Really?” I said. Beside me, Abel went still. I read embarrassment in his face, and wondered if he’d been saying disparaging things about the rude Yankee girl.

  Della laughed, a buoy in the sinking conversation. “Nothing bad! Abel’s really glad you came along. Big Tom and Hettie have needed help for ages. And it’s good to have more young people around here,” she said. “Y’all come on now, the music’s about to start.”

  With that she linked arms with Abel in a familiar gesture. They fell into stride with one another. The back of Abel’s neck was a suspicious shade of red. I frowned, wondering what else he’d said—or at least thought—about me. I followed a step behind, weaving through the crowd, flanked by the Ausbrooks siblings.

  Jasper talked about the game booths he wanted to visit later and a sulky race we should all go watch. I couldn’t help being a little touched that he’d included me in the group plans. We stopped near the center of the midway, where a quartet made of two guitarists, a tall man with a mandolin, and a plump bearded fellow tuning a fiddle stood on a pine board stage. The fiddler stepped forward with a grin to point his bow at Della. “Now that our soloist is here, we’re going to kick things off with a special song by Miss Della Loftis.”

  The knot of onlookers clustering around clapped politely. Della took a nervous breath and smoothed her hands over her purple skirt. Abel nudged her in the ribs. “You’ll be wonderful, Del. You always are.” His words were all the encouragement she needed, it seemed, and she hitched her skirts and stepped onto the stage with confidence.

  While Della and the band put their heads together on which song to perform first, Katherine sidled closer to me. “You’re in for a treat. Della’s got a beautiful voice. Prettiest in the county, I’d wager. Sometimes at church, she’ll sing duets with Abel.” She paused, giving me a sheathed dagger of a look. “They make a good pair. They’ve always matched up really well.” Some current of meaning slid along under her words, and it took me a moment to catch the implication. From what I knew of Della, I strongly doubted she would appreciate her friend’s snide insinuations.

  And little did either of them know, I was far and away the least of Della’s worries.

  Katherine was still looking pointedly at me. I shrugged one shoulder. “If you say so.”

  “I do. So does everyone else in Wheeler. We all know they’ll end up together. Della’s had her eyes on Abel since we were little.”

  “Where are his eyes, though?” I said before I could stop myself. Katherine gave me a look that could strip paint from a wall and turned her attention back to the stage.

  The band finished the introduction to their song. Della lifted her chin and began to sing. Her voice rang clear and pure, running along the hills and valleys of melody with ease. The audience began clapping in time with the spirited beat. By the second song, I found myself toe-tapp
ing along. Even Katherine loosened up a tad to nod her head to the rollicking tune. When Della launched into a song called “The Arkansas Traveler,” Abel whooped in approval as an older man and woman stepped out of the crowd and began to dance.

  When her song ended, the audience applauded with real vigor. Della flushed and waved her thanks, moving to step down from the stage. “Play something we can do the Virginia reel to!” the elderly dancer hollered, not ready for his fun to end.

  “Nobody does the reel anymore, old-timer,” a younger man in suspenders called back with good humor. The old fellow waved both hands in jovial dismissal.

  “Della, didn’t your granddad teach you the calls?” Abel asked. “Can you lead it?”

  “Give it a try,” the old man shouted, with his geriatric dancing partner chiming in her support. The chorus of encouragement spread over the gathered crowd until everyone was cheering for Della to call the reel. Della lifted a dark brow, giving Abel the kind of look only shared between friends who’ve known each other long and well. It said “look what you’ve gotten me into now.” He beamed in reply.

  Della threw her arms out wide, her voice ringing over the sawing of the fiddle as she shouted, “Ladies on the left, gents on the right.”

  A giggling girl of about my age grabbed a protesting Katherine and me, hauling us to one side while the men and boys in the group lined up directly across from us. From the stage, Della met my eyes, slyly tilting her head toward Jasper. “Now bow to your partner.” Jasper bent his lanky form double in my direction.

  “I’ve never done this before,” I said, trying to back away and finding myself hemmed in by the circle of boisterous onlookers. Still holding his bow, Jasper gave me an encouraging nod.

  “It’s not hard,” he said. “Just follow my lead.”

  With no way to escape, I responded with the worst curtsy in history and resigned myself to my fate.

  “Swing your partner,” Della called as Jasper swooped over to link his arm with mine.

  “Here we go,” he said, spinning us in a high-stepping circle.

  All around, other couples joined in the giddy spin, switching arms to repeat the turn in the opposite direction. The music bobbed along as we changed partners in succession, working our way down the line in dizzying loops of swirling skirts and stamping boots.

  Before I knew it, the dance partnered me with Abel just as Della shouted, “Promenade.” Abel lifted both hands, palms facing me. “Like this,” he said.

  I pressed my hands to his and joined in a bouncy side step that carried us between the rows of cheering dancers. Katherine gave me a disapproving shake of her head as we passed. Abel looked for the briefest instant into my eyes, then dropped his gaze to the trampled grass. Spots of color appeared on his cheeks. Maybe he felt ashamed of being here, dancing and having fun, while somewhere his abandoned girl had no such option.

  The contagious vigor of the reel jostled aside those unpleasant thoughts. The fiddle took the lead, its twangy notes soaring into the pure blue sky like birds bursting into flight. As the song wound down, I partnered with Jasper again for a final twirl before the music swelled to a joyous ending.

  Our audience burst into applause. I joined in, breathless and laughing all at once. Onstage, Della and the band took their bows.

  “I’m a terrible dancer,” I said to Jasper. That fact hadn’t surprised me in the least, but it was a pleasant little shock to discover I’d loved dancing regardless.

  At the edge of the knot of onlookers, amid the cheerful watchers, a white-haired man in a somber black suit fixed our little band with a mirthless stare. Under a sparse beard, his face was hollowed and lined. The narrow build and gaunt face spoke of frailty, but the look he swept our way held fire.

  I had the feeling I’d just been deemed unclean. No mean-spirited stranger would squash my joy. Squaring my shoulders, I met his stare.

  The man’s gaze faltered, and a look of something I couldn’t quite place—was it surprise? shock?—swept over his stern face. I broke the taut line of attention, looking away, confused at his reaction. When I glanced back, I caught a glimpse of the man’s slim, dark-clad form slipping away into the crowd.

  8

  I watched him go, uneasy. My stewing was interrupted by Della throwing an arm over my shoulders. “Was that your first time dancing a reel? You’re a natural.”

  Tearing my thoughts from the stranger, I looked to Della’s rosy face. “That’s a lie. But a sweet one.”

  “Come on, let’s go get something to drink,” she said, drawing hearty agreement from Jasper and Abel.

  “I heard there’s a stand selling Coca-Cola,” Katherine offered.

  Della’s eyes lit. “Perfect.” The others fell together, their voices and conversations overlapping one another. I followed a step behind, looking over my shoulder for the glowering man. His scrutiny had shaken me. The expression I hadn’t at first been able to place, the look that had briefly wiped away the scorn and judgment, had been one of recognition. Impossible, for I was sure I’d never laid eyes on the man before.

  When a lull fell between the others, I quickened my step to edge between Della and Katherine. “Did anyone see that man with the white beard watching the dance? He had on a black suit and hat. He looked … angry.”

  “Eyes as mean as a snake?” Jasper put in.

  Della whacked his arm sternly. “Be nice, Jasper. That was Reverend Mayhew. I saw him from the stage. He preaches at the First Baptist Church here in Argenta. Dancing’s a sin in his book.”

  “So are playing cards, going to movie theaters, and doing anything but sitting and reading the Bible on Sundays,” Jasper said. We approached a wheeled cart with a red awning emblazoned with the white Coca-Cola logo, and Jasper began fishing in his pocket. “Me and Katherine got dragged to a few revival services Reverend Mayhew preached when we were kids. He had me about scared to breathe wrong or I might end up in Hell.” He pulled out a fistful of coins. “My treat,” he announced, turning to me first. “Care for a bottle, Verity?”

  I wavered, not wanting to take his money.

  “Father gave me and Katherine extra pocket money today. We’ve got plenty to share.” I noted that Katherine hadn’t volunteered, and when she heard her brother’s generous offer, she scowled. That was enough to make me accept.

  Jasper bought five bottles and handed them around, pointing to a stand of trees just beyond the perimeter of the fairgrounds. “Let’s take a load off in the shade,” he suggested.

  We settled into the lush grass, all except Katherine, who sniffed and perched herself on the edge of a tree stump. I took a long drink, savoring the sugary fizz.

  “This is so good, the reverend probably thinks it’s wicked by default,” Jasper said after downing half his cola in one go.

  “You shouldn’t be so hard on him,” Della said. For my benefit she added, “He and his wife lost their daughter. It’s been around nineteen years now, but folks say they never got over it.” She gestured with the neck of her bottle toward a concession tent, where a middle-aged lady with graying auburn hair worked. The woman handed a paper bag of popcorn to an eager little boy, a tired smile deepening the creases around her light blue eyes. She watched her young customer leave, and a flicker of sorrow crossed her face. “That’s Mrs. Mayhew.”

  I found it hard to believe such a gentle-looking person was married to the stern preacher. “What happened to their daughter?” I asked.

  Katherine spoke up for the first time. “Her name was Mary. When she was about our age, she got in trouble with some boy. He left her and went away out of state somewhere.” I couldn’t help shooting a look at Abel, who seemed intent on watching beads of condensation slip down the sides of his bottle. “She hid her condition from her mama and daddy. They didn’t have a clue why she was so melancholy, or why she kept to her room all the time.”

  “It might’ve all gone differently,” Jasper said. “Except it was the worst winter in a hundred years, and her folks got snowed in at a
church event in another town. That night, Mary’s baby came. But it was too early, and it didn’t survive.”

  “It drove Mary out of her mind,” Della said, low and quiet. “All the hiding and secrets, going through it alone. Then the baby dying.” A cloud lowered over our group. “I know when my little sister Josie died, it almost did our mother in. It was like all the stuff that was Mama got scooped out, and she was just this empty thing for a long time.” I wondered what had happened to Della’s sister, but decided it wasn’t the time to ask.

  Katherine took up the story again, with a little too much relish, I thought. “Mary Mayhew buried her baby in the parsonage rose garden. Then she walked off into the storm.”

  Jasper, stretched full length on the ground, propped himself on one elbow. “When I first heard folks whispering about the lost Mayhew girl, I remember hoping she’d just gone off somewhere and met up with her young man. Maybe he’d seen the light and come back for her, and they left together to start over somewhere.”

  His sister shook her head, lips pinched. To me, she added, “She died somewhere in the snow. Della’s dad investigated her disappearance.”

  I looked to Della, who nodded. “She didn’t take any warm clothes with her, not even shoes. They lost her tracks in the snow, and it stayed well below freezing for days after she disappeared. And I don’t think she left with the father of her baby, either. When Daddy dug up the little grave in the garden…” Della paused, clearly troubled by the thought of this long-dead young woman’s pain.

  Katherine seemed less inclined toward sympathy. “He found a ring,” she said. “One of those fancy hidden-message rings, with little panels all the way around that flip open so you can see pictures or words under them. One of the panels was torn off, but it’s still really pretty. Della showed it to me once.”

  Della’s apple cheeks flushed. “I shouldn’t have, I know, but I always thought the story was so sad and … well, interesting. The Mayhews didn’t want the ring, since they knew it must’ve been from the boy who got their girl in trouble. They told Daddy to get rid of it, but my mother wouldn’t hear of it. She stuck the ring in a dresser drawer at our house. It has a little love note carved into it. And heliotropes.” Her dark eyes flicked toward Abel, who had listened to the tale so far with a hard, flat expression.