Bittersweet (38 page)

“Did you bring the plans for the library?” Ruth asked, eyeing the rolled-up paper he held. She’d been patiently waiting for most of January to see them and could hardly restrain herself now that they were finally before her.

“Library!” Patricia Sickenger exclaimed. “How wonderful.”

Laney watched the immediate change in Robert. Twice now he’d come out to the Broken P and called on her. Both times Laney had tried to be polite, but she couldn’t summon anything other than sisterly affection for the man. Ruth said she understood, but Laney still suspected Ruth simply hoped for a change of heart. Well, Robert’s heart had apparently just changed. He looked thoroughly besotted—with Patricia.

Laney seized the opportunity. “Mr. Price, I believe you already know everyone here except for Mrs. Moran’s niece. Miss Patricia Sickenger, this is Mr. Robert Price. Mr. Price, Miss Sickenger.”

“It’s a pleasure, miss.”

“Likewise. How very interesting that you’re working on such 296 a project.”

Laney scooted away from the table. “I do hope you will all forgive me. I have a few errands to run while we’re in town. Ruth, please be sure to bring home the plans so I can see them, too. Mr.

Price, why don’t you take my place here?”

Laney restrained the impulse to skip along the boardwalk.
I
should have thought up this solution to the problem before now. Any of the men
Ruth tries to match me up with—I’ll simply match them up with some other
woman they’ll find irresistible
.

She decided to celebrate her scheme by buying some chocolate. The bell over the mercantile clanged as she entered. “Miss Laney! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” Lester asked as he wiped his hands on his green apron.

“There are several little things I need.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“Oh, that southern charm of yours is unmistakable.” Laney could scarcely conceal her glee. “I’ll have to be sure to introduce you to Miss Bradley. She’s a lovely young lady. I’m sure hearing her cultured South Carolina accent is bound to delight you.”

“I wasn’t aware your guest was from the South.”

“Why yes, yes, she is. And I don’t need to tell you how gracious a gently brought-up belle can be. We are so very blessed to have her here. Ruth has convinced Amanda—isn’t that a simply divine name?—well, Ruth convinced Amanda to stay as our town’s librarian.”

“You don’t say!”

Laney picked up a slate and slid it into Lester’s hand. “I suppose since she’ll be in town a fair bit, you’ll want to make her feel welcome.”

“Absolutely!”

She thought for a moment. “It never even occurred to me… .

I’m so very embarrassed to confess this, Lester—but you’re a single man. It must have been ages upon ages since you’ve had a big Sunday supper. Why don’t you plan on joining us after worship on Sunday? I’ll be sure to introduce you to Miss Bradley.”

“I’ll be there!” He used the corner of his apron to wipe a smudge from the slate. Laney felt certain nothing could erase the smile from his face.

Delighted with how easily her plan was coming together, Laney took three chocolate bars and slid them atop the slate he held. Just as Lester turned to go toward the counter, Laney said, “Wait!” She smiled. “I’m accustomed to providing for Ruth, Hilda, and myself. We’ll need one for Amanda, too.”

Lester bobbed his head.

Laney reached for another, then paused. “And there’s Mrs.

O’Sullivan and Ivy and the boys.” She walked her fingers down the stack of Fry’s chocolate bars. “Dear goodness, I believe I’m about to deplete the better portion of your stock!”

“Go right ahead, Miss Laney. Truth is, once you asked me to stock those chocolate bars, I tried one for myself. It’s sort of bitter and sweet all at the same time. The company I’ve ordered candy from is in the North, so I won’t be stocking many of the sweets I have in the past. But these Fry’s bars—they’re from England. You’d be smart to stock up now.”

Laney could practically taste the chocolate. “I don’t want to leave your shelf empty.”

“Tell you what: I have a whole box of a dozen in the back.”

He grinned. “If you’re worried about my display, you can just buy that box.”

She hesitated.

Lester chuckled. “You know you want to.” He lifted two of the three bars off the slate and popped them back on his shelf and slid the third into her hand. “And that one is on the house.

I’ll go get that box now.”

“While I select a few little things, could I trouble you to get coffee? Toledo told Hilda they’re nearly out of it in the bunkhouse.”

“Can’t have that! Did you want the Java or the Rio?”

“A pound of Rio for us; three pounds of Java for the bunkhouse.” Lester shook his head. “You McCains are something else. The Java is more expensive than the Rio, but you buy it for your hands.”

“They’re more than worth it.” While he got the coffee, Laney gathered a few tablets and pencils, along with the latest dime novel.

“You might want to look at the fabric,” Lester called to her.

“The Broken P is one of my best customers, so it’s only fair I warn you that with the tensions between the North and the South, I won’t be stocking merchandise from any company in the North—not candy, not food, nothing.”

“But fabric? Most of what you carry is cotton, and that’s grown in the South.”

Lester’s jaw hardened. “But it’s milled in the North. I won’t have my mercantile support immoral enterprises.”

Instead of getting mired into such a discussion, Laney took his cue and went over to look at the fabric selection. She fingered some buttery yellow flannel. “Two yards—no, three of this, please.”

Men’s Sunday-best shirts, nightshirts, babies’ gowns, and women’s small clothes were all made of white cotton. Just one petticoat would take yards! “And I’ll take whatever’s left on this bolt of white.”

Lester held both bolts and waited as Laney selected three more fabrics. He stacked them all on the counter, and Laney stood nearby to choose buttons. Lester started to measure out how many yards remained on the white bolt. “Nineteen and a quarter yards. This is good cotton, you know. Quality matters, and it shows. The first time I saw that tramp, Ivy, she was wearing a flour—” “Pardon me,
Mr. Pearson
,” Laney cut in. “Surely you aren’t referring to my friend as a tramp.”

“The world is full of women like her—white trash. Sure, she was all frilled up in that fancy pink dress last Sunday, but she’s still half cracker, half Jezebel.”

“Mr. Pearson!”

Lester shook his head as he started rolling the material back around the bolt. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s not just her. Galen’s every bit as much to blame. His father must be spinning in his grave. If it weren’t for Mrs. O’Sullivan and those boys, I wouldn’t be conducting business with Galen, either. As I mentioned earlier, I won’t have my mercantile support immoral enterprises. How many yards of the yellow flannel did you want?”

“I’m sorry to have put you through the trouble, Mr. Pearson.

I won’t be making any purchases today.”

He gave her a startled look.

Laney carefully set the chocolate bar on the counter and drew her shawl up over her shoulders. “I must also apologize for speaking too soon when I first came in. I won’t be introducing you to my friend Miss Bradley. Since the O’Sullivans are always honored guests at the Broken P and I’ll be extending an invitation for them to dine with us after church on Sunday, I accept your regrets that you’ll be unable to join us after all.”

Lester spluttered as Laney walked toward the door. As she reached to open it, he called out, “But what about the coffee and the chocolate?”

Laney turned and looked at him. “Mr. Pearson, I cannot patronize this establishment any longer.” The bell tolled as she left.

The baby moved. Sort of like a small tadpole swishing its tail, the sensation came and left just as quickly. Ivy drew in a breath and let it out.
Ever’thang’s gonna turn out alright. It’s gotta
.

“This is the first time you’ve been still all day.” Mrs.

O’Sullivan tossed a dishtowel over the pan of supper rolls.

“I reckon I’ve been restless.”

“We’re caught up on all the chores, and until the supper rolls rise, there’s nothing special that needs to be done. I’m going to read my Bible. Would you like me to read aloud?”

“It’s nice—right nice—of you to ask, but I thank I’ll stretch my legs. Spring’s jist round the corner. If ’n I tromp about today, I’ll be shore to spot the changes in a few weeks.”

“Wear your shawl.”

“Yes’m.” Ivy didn’t need to be reminded. She’d never had a shawl of her own. Depending on how the light caught it, the one Laney had given her was either gray or whitish. Pearl colored, Laney called it. Ivy whispered that pretty description to herself as she shut the door.

She’d wear the shawl now, but once the babe came, she’d wrap him up in it, and folks would all see what a fine baby she had and what a good mother she was. By then, she’d be a woman Galen would be proud to have at his side, and he’d take to the child and love it like it was his own.

Ivy had it all planned out. She’d learn the highfalutin manners like how to use a napkin and sit with her knees together. She’d practice at fixing up her hair so it looked all proper-like. By spending time with the gals from the Broken P, she’d even learn how to talk good and not say the wrong things like
doggone
and
legs
. Most important of all, she’d learn to read. If she could read from his Bible, that would make Galen happy. She was sure of it.

Back when Pa didn’t let her go to school, Ishy would scribe letters in the dirt. Laney drew them on a paper for her and taught her a song so she could recollect them in order. Ivy didn’t want to get the paper dirty, so she’d carefully folded it and kept it in the pocket of her wedding present apron. Now that she was far from the house, she sat on the boulder she’d taken a liking to and pulled out the page.

For a moment, Ivy stared in wonder at the beautiful paper.

Stationery, Amanda called it. ’Twas a sight to behold—two perky little finches sitting on a dogwood branch that went across the top. She’d wanted to show it to Ishy, but that wasn’t easy. Galen still demanded she and Ishy not be alone together. At mealtimes, Ivy sat side-by-side with Ishy and tried to share all the things they’d stored up to tell each other.

Galen insisted on paying Ishy. It wasn’t much, but Ishy said since he was getting fed better than he’d ever et and had a roof o’er his head, he reckoned that was worth plenty. Ishy—he was working harder than ever. Ivy knew why, too. He didn’t want to give Boss a reason to kick him out.

Ishy didn’t know Galen wasn’t the baby’s father. That was the one and only lie Ivy had ever told him.
I don’t want him to ever find
out the truth
.

Shoving aside all of those thoughts, Ivy concentrated on the paper. She held it in her left hand with her right pointy finger hovering over each letter as she started singing, “A-B-C-D-EF—” She stopped. “Mr. F, you look like Mr. E, but the bottom done fall offa you.”

Over and over, she sang and studied. Suddenly a shadow fell over her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I
’ve been looking for you,” a man said in an oily voice.

Ivy shivered as she looked at the black-haired man who used to bring corn for the still.

“Where’s my money?”

“I ain’t got no money, mister.”

“Then where’s the corn whiskey?”

Ivy gave him a wary look. “Ain’t you been thar? The whole thang blowed up. Weren’t a drop left.”

“That’s all a little too convenient. I won’t be cheated.”

He stepped so close, the reek of whiskey and cigar smoke made Ivy want to be sick. “Mister, ain’t nobody cheatin’ you. The whole thang burnt up. Pa died.”

“You owe me.”

More than anything, Ivy wanted to crawl off the back of that big old rock, roll it over this awful, wicked man, and run away. He was too big and powerful for her to succeed, so she squared her shoulders and gave him the meanest scowl she could concoct.

“Yore trespassin’. Get off my man’s land.”

He laughed. Just as quickly, his expression changed. As he dashed away, he called over his shoulder, “I’ll see you again!”