Beyond All Measure (21 page)

The familiar smell of the spicy gumbo and the feel of the new cloth beneath her fingers was a comfort. So often she felt exhausted from the drudgery of endless chores and Lillian’s constant needs, and terrified that despite all her brave plans, she would fail at selfsufficiency. But tonight, sitting in the fragrant kitchen beneath the warm glow of the lamp, she felt calmer, almost at peace.

When the clocked chimed the three-quarter hour, Ada put away her work, stirred the rice into her gumbo mixture, and took the bread from the oven. Then she went to wake Lillian.

The bed was empty.

Ada checked the parlor and the rooms upstairs. Was Lillian hiding again? She peered beneath beds and into dark corners, calling out to the older woman. Lillian had vanished.

Though it was not yet completely dark, Ada grabbed the lantern and ran toward the river, her mind racing ahead of her feet. Had someone—a Klansman maybe—taken Lillian? Was she lying hurt somewhere on the dark path?

Every nerve in her body leapt and shuddered. Wyatt was right. Looking after Lillian demanded all her care and attention. Now Lillian was lost, or worse, and Ada had only herself to blame.

“Lillian?” She lifted the lamp and swung it in a wide arc. “Lillian Willis! Where are you?”

She heard a rustling in the underbrush, and her whole body went taut. At river’s edge, not thirty feet away, a raccoon stood calmly washing its dinner. Ada rushed on, her hem catching on bushes and bits of exposed tree roots. The wind skirled up, sending a few fallen leaves into her path. Her heart jerked against her ribs. How long should she look for Lillian alone before going for help? And who would help her until Wyatt arrived? Oh mercy, he would never forgive her.

She heard a noise on the path behind her and whirled around. “Lillian?”

“Of course it’s me.”

Ada went limp. She searched the older woman for signs of injury. But Lillian, her hair mussed and her face streaked with dirt, grinned as if she’d just won a prize at the county fair.

Ada burst into tears.

“What’s the matter with you?” Lillian demanded. “I’m the one who should be upset. I’m the one who is treated like a jailbird in her own home.”

“I . . . I thought something terrible had happened!” Ada wiped her tears on her sleeve. “Whatever possessed you to up and leave like that?”

“This is my home and my land.” Lillian brushed dirt off her sleeve. “I reckon I can come and go as I please.”

“Not without telling me! You scared me half to death.”

“I don’t care!” Lillian’s expression was downright mutinous. “Those people down at the county hoosegow have more freedom than I do. I felt like getting out on my own for a while, that’s all.”

Ada’s heart wrenched. For the past few weeks, she had devoted every spare moment to her hatmaking, neglecting Lillian in the process. Why hadn’t she paid more attention to the older woman’s needs? She searched her mind for some way to make amends.

“I’m sorry you’ve felt so confined,” she said. “But I have an idea. Why don’t we plan a picnic?”

The older woman brightened. “A picnic? You mean you and me?”

“Why not?” Ada found herself actually warming to the idea. “The weather is nicer now, and it might be fun to spend some time on the river. I saw some poles in the barn. We could try our hands at fishing.”

Lillian’s fine white brows went up. “And just which one of us is going to bait the hooks?”

Ada smiled. Trust Lillian to point out the practicalities of any venture.

“Just as I suspected.” Lillian folded her arms across her chest. “Not that I blame you. I’m not much for handling worms myself.”

Ada grinned and offered Lillian her arm. “In that case, maybe we’ll just pack a picnic.” She picked up the lantern. Lillian took her arm and they started up the path to the house.

“I suppose I owe you an apology, girl.” Lillian pushed aside a low-hanging tree branch. “I’m sorry for giving you such a hard time when you first came here. And for being so cantankerous. I don’t intend to make so much trouble for you.”

“It’s all right.” Ada slowed her steps as they approached a thick root in the path. “But please don’t disappear like this ever again. I was terrified. I didn’t know what to do or where to go for help.”

Lillian gave Ada’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “When there’s no other name to call, you can call on the Lord. He’s the One who is always listening. Even in the darkness.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

Lillian nodded. “And I’ll try to watch my tongue. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain.”

Ada thought of Norah Dudley’s blurted comment about Yankees and her own sharp reply. “That happens to all of us, I reckon.”

Lillian burst out laughing. “Did you hear yourself just now? We might make a Southern girl out of you yet.”

She tightened her grip on Ada’s arm and they climbed the small hill toward the house. At last, they reached the kitchen door.

Lillian paused to catch her breath. “You might be half Yankee, Ada Wentworth, but you’re a good woman.”

Ada’s eyes filled. “So are you, Lillian Willis.”

She opened the door and helped Lillian inside.

The older woman shuffled to her wheelchair and plopped down, obviously exhausted from the long walk. “I reckon you’re just about the best friend I’ve got, this side of heaven.”

“Yes,” Ada said softly. “I reckon I am.”

Wyatt tossed his hat onto the hook behind the door, toed off his boots, and heaved a weary sigh. What a day!

The steam generator had quit again, and it had taken him and Sage most of the day to fix it. Without enough work to do, Charlie Blevins and a couple of the other sawyers grew bored and quarrelsome, and Wyatt finally sent the three of them home to cool off. Then a wheel on one of the delivery wagons broke, and Josiah Dawson declared it beyond repair.

What a relief when the workday finally ended and he could ride Cherokee out to Aunt Lillian’s for supper. To his delight, Ada had made gumbo. It wasn’t exactly the way he’d remembered it from his visits to New Orleans, but it was close enough—thick with okra and tomatoes and fragrant with spices and fresh fish. Ada had baked a peach pie for dessert, and she served it with plenty of fresh coffee.

Lillian looked tired but freshly scrubbed, and Wyatt was pleased to see that she and Ada seemed to be involved in some sort of mysterious female conspiracy. He couldn’t help noticing the way they grinned at each other all during supper.

He was sorry now that he’d waited so long to give Ada his blessing for her hat venture. It had been good for both her and Lillian, though he couldn’t help worrying that Ada would grow weary of all the burdens of running a business. He wished he could spare her the headaches he knew were coming, but there was little he could do about that.

What bothered him now was the town hall meeting he’d attended after dinner. Jasper Pruitt and a couple of his friends had shown up again, demanding that something be done about rousting the colored families out of Two Creeks.

“I tell you, Sheriff, they’re stealing me blind. I can’t turn my back on ’em for a single minute.” Jasper pounded on the table so hard the mayor’s wooden gavel jumped.

“Have you actually seen them taking anything?” Sheriff Eli McCracken never seemed to take Jasper too seriously—a mistake, in Wyatt’s opinion. When a man’s livelihood was threatened, there was no telling how far he might go to protect it.

“No,” Jasper said. “Because I make ’em stay out back and give me their orders though the door. But I can’t be everywhere at once, and all I know is, the last time I took inventory I was short on canned goods and flour. It’s the coloreds sneaking in and taking things when my back is turned. You’ve got to do something, Sheriff.”

“I can’t arrest them for being black, Jasper.” McCracken had pulled out a bag of tobacco and filled his pipe. “I’ve got more worrisome things on my mind these days.”

Now Wyatt padded over to the stove in his stocking feet and poured himself a cup of coffee. He didn’t want to alarm Lillian and Ada, but lately he’d been worried too. He couldn’t forget the face in Lillian’s window, that set of footprints in her garden. But without more to go on, what could he do about it?

He pushed open the door and sat down in his rocking chair, propping his crossed ankles on the porch rail. He looked out over the darkened road and sipped his coffee, watching as, one by one, the lights in the distant farmhouses went out. A whip-poor-will called. From the little creek behind the house came the deep rumble of frogs and the soft burbling of water flowing over stones. Normally such peaceful sounds took the edge off even the most frustrating of days, but now a deep concern for Ada and for the town crowded his mind.

The talk around the town hall was that some of the Klan were planning to take matters into their own hands and force the sharecroppers out of Two Creeks. As long as that land was up for grabs, the potential for violence was very real. And as long as the Klan were prosecuting their sick agenda, intimidating the coloreds among them, maybe they’d decide to rid Hickory Ridge of its resident Yankee do-gooder as well. But how to warn Ada, without causing her undue worry, was a problem. She was a stubborn little thing. She wouldn’t take kindly to being told what she could or could not do.

NINETEEN

“Oh, Ada! It’s exquisite. I absolutely adore it!” Mariah peered at her reflection in the hand mirror she’d brought to the quilting circle. Her fingers brushed the velvet brim of her saucy toque and lingered on the silky rust and gold flower adorning the crown. “This flower is the perfect finishing touch. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“My mother bought it in Paris when I was a girl.” Ada smiled, relieved that her first customer seemed satisfied with her purchase, and that the style she had chosen complemented Mariah’s rosy complexion and lively brown eyes. “She found it in a little antique shop on the Left Bank. Supposedly it once adorned the hat of a French countess.”

Mariah laughed. “I may not be a real countess, but this hat makes me feel like one.”

Lillian took out her needles and thimbles. “If the fashion show is over, may we please get to work? We’re shorthanded today, in case you haven’t noticed, and I promised Mrs. Lowell we’d have these quilts to her by tomorrow.” She peered at the others. “Don’t make the orphans suffer because you’re besotted with a hat.”

The ladies settled at the quilt frame and began work.

“Where is Carrie today, anyway?” Mariah asked. “I saw her after church last Sunday, and she didn’t say a word about not coming today.”

“Henry isn’t well,” Mariah reported. “He hasn’t been at the mill all week. No doubt Carrie is looking after him.”

“He’s probably just lovesick.” Bea reached for her scissors. “I heard that he’s over the moon about Mary Stanhope ever since she baked that pecan pie for his birthday. They say she left the telegraph office door standing wide open in the middle of the day to deliver it.”

Lillian peered at Mariah over the top of her spectacles. “What’s ailing Henry Bell?”

“I have no idea. Dr. Spencer drove out there yesterday morning to check on him.” Mariah’s hands stilled. “I’m surprised the doctor could even think straight after what happened on Monday night.”

“What happened?” Bea asked. “I’ve been so busy at school, getting ready for the next board meeting, that I haven’t heard any news all week.”

“You haven’t heard? While Dr. Spencer was in town last Sunday night, looking after a patient, a woman from Two Creeks rode up to the Spencers’ place. Mrs. Spencer said the poor woman was half crazy with fear because her daughter was having a baby and it wasn’t coming out the right way.”

Lillian nodded. “Breech birth. My husband attended a few such deliveries during his career. Mariah, please hand me that last blue square.”

Mariah handed it over. “Anyway, Mrs. Spencer went down there to see if she could help. And then, Monday night, somebody burned a cross in their yard and slaughtered all their chickens. And their chicken coop burned clear to the ground.”

The women gasped.

“Is Eugenie all right?” Lillian asked. “They didn’t harm her?”

“She’s all right,” Mariah said. “Terrified, of course. Sage said the Spencers might leave Hickory Ridge.”

Fear and anger jolted through Ada. How could Mariah and the others take this news so calmly? How could anyone feel safe with such criminals running about? “I hope the Spencers reported this crime to the sheriff.”

“I’m sure they did, but what good will it do?” Mariah’s dark eyes flashed. “There’s no proof of who did it. There never is. I wish that, just once, the Klan would get caught. That might make them think twice before they go around terrorizing people who are only trying to do some good around here.”

“Well, it’s too bad for the Spencers,” Bea said, “but that’s what happens when people don’t follow the rules.”

“I hope this isn’t a foretaste of what’s to come in Hickory Ridge,” Mariah went on. “Sage said there was a long discussion about Two Creeks at the mayor’s meeting last week. There’s been some talk about moving the coloreds out of there.”

Lillian picked up her scissors. “My lands, where on earth would they move them to? Leave ’em be, is what I say. They’re not bothering anybody.”