Courting Miss Hattie (17 page)

She squeezed his hand. "You've got your next crop and the winter coming and heaven someday, just like the rest of us. Even more, you've got those children of yours to watch grow. You've done your best at raising them. You have cause to be proud."

"Children need love, Hattie," he said quietly. "I know that as well as you. And I think women are better at giving it than men."

"Not always," she said, thinking of her embittered mother.

"Maybe not, but for sure, most women could give it better than me."

"That's why you've decided to marry again so soon?" she asked. "To find someone to give love to your children?"

He shrugged. "That's part of it, for sure. I need a woman to work and to take care of the
younguns
.
Everyone in the county agrees with that."

He looked at her, shifting from one foot to the other before continuing. "But that ain't the half of it, Miss Hattie." He stared out into the obscuring haze. "I need a woman of my own."

He dropped her hand and began to slide his arm around her waist. "Come
eveningtime
, a man
cain't
help but think how good it would feel to have a woman beside him."

Hattie stiffened as she felt his hand crawling along the small of her back. "Mr. Drayton, I don't think that you should—"

"Awhile ago, you was calling me
Ancil
," he interrupted, moving closer, intent on a kiss. "I like hearing you speak my name. It sounds
kinda
special comin' off your lips."

"I think I told you the other night—"

"You told me you don't want no sparking,
that's
true." He smiled down at her. "But
I's
thinking that you being innocent and all, you probably think you got to say that." His hand caressed her spine, and she jumped slightly at the unwelcome touch. "I won't
be doubting
your virtue, Miss Hattie, so there's no need for us not to satisfy our curiosity."

His lips swooped down to take hers, and Hattie swiftly turned her head away. "Ain't
no
need to tease me, honey," he said, his arm tightening around her. "I intend to get my kiss tonight."

Desperately, Hattie tried to pull away, but found herself held fast. "Let me go." Her tone was more plea than demand.

"Don't go all starched on me, woman," he said, hauling her up against the front of his body. "I ain't trying for
nothin
' but a little kiss. That's not much to ask for the man who's courting you."

"I don't like you holding me so close," she said, continuing to struggle against him.

"Well, to tell the truth," he said with a naughty chuckle deep in his throat, "all this squirming of yours, ma'am, I like it a bit
to
much."

She froze like a statue. "Mr. Drayton, I'd like to suggest that we go back in the house." Her voice was prim, demanding, and prudish.

The smile she received in reply was less than gentlemanly. "Miss Hattie, the only reason I can see for goin' back into that house is if you're inviting me to your bed."

With a gasp of mortification, Hattie began struggling again. When she sharply kicked his shin, he released her.

"Dammit, woman! I ain't stealing your virtue, just a kiss."

Hattie replied smartly, "Kisses, like all other favors, should be given freely. Only thieves try to steal."

Livid with rejection,
Ancil
puffed his cheeks out like a toad. Stomping back into the house, he retrieved his hat and slapped it on his head. As he stepped off the porch, he looked back at Hattie.
"'Kisses, like all other favors,'" he mimicked her angrily. "Kissing that toothy mouth of yours wouldn't be
no
favor. Hell, I'd rather kiss a mule!"

* * *

Harmon eased the last of the crawdad soup down his father's throat. The old man was not at all well, and Harm knew it wasn't just whiskey shakes. He was weak as a newborn calf, and although he claimed to be cold, he sweated profusely. As he laid his father back on the cot, Harm sighed heavily at the wreck of a man before him.

At forty-three, his father looked eighty. His formerly blond hair was thin and lifeless, hanging around his shoulder like a worn gray mop. The arms that had once hoisted Harmon into the air were now only bones with the hide on, their strength long drowned in a whiskey dream. His flesh hung with the same ill fit as his clothes, only his distended belly a mockery of his once robust health. His skin was yellow. It had started in his eyes, spreading to his fingers and toes. Now he was mostly yellow, the color of sickness,
the
color of death.

Harmon watched as the old man's eyes closed and he drifted into sleep where, his son hoped, he was happier.

Settling himself in a chair, Harm wished there was a place where he could be happier. He had dreams, of course, a million of them. Dreams of engines and motors and fancy black-glazed machinery. He'd design something unique, something modern and miraculous, something that would make him rich. On nights like this he'd dream about going off north somewhere, where there were modern factories and heavy-duty equipment, where his knowledge of mechanics would be useful, where folks had never heard of drunken Jake
Leege
or his worthless son. On his own, Harm was sure he could make it. Hadn't that trip to
Helena
proved it?

None of the Delta planters had known a thing about him except what they saw, and to a man they'd liked him. They'd actually liked him. It had been an experience not to be taken lightly. He'd said what he knew and asked questions about what he didn't understand, and those men had taken him for an equal.

"Because I
am
equal!" he said under his breath.

In his dreams of triumph he would go anywhere he wasn't known and make a success. He'd have money and respect and
friends. Then he'd come back to town. Everybody in the county would turn out to see him, and all the young girls would swoon and sigh behind their hands. He'd return in triumph in a snappy new rig or maybe even one of those noisy little roadsters. He smiled to himself.
Imagine Bessie Jane's face if I drove up in one of those.

He shook his head as if trying to discard the thought. When he came back, Bessie Jane would be married to Reed Tyler, the man who had turned out to be his friend. When he returned rich and worthy, Bessie Jane would be lost to him forever.

He glanced at his father. He couldn't go anyway. He could never run out on Jake the way his mother had. He would have to
be
there for him from now on. Harm knew that. That's why he hadn't left already. He wasn't free to go.

He doused the lamp, pushed open the screen door, and stepped out onto the porch. The fog was thick, oppressive, constricting. He wanted to get out, get away. To go someplace where he could breathe.

After one hesitant backward look into the shack, Harm jumped off the porch and loped down the path toward town. He didn't need a lantern to find his way. He'd traveled this route so many times, so many nights. He followed his heart, which led him unerringly to Arthur Turpin's big white house on the other end of town.

When he reached the foot of the giant elm, he gazed up at the curtains at the second-story window. In the dense fog he could barely make them out, but he knew they were there. She was there. He gave the call of the mockingbird and saw her face immediately at the window. She'd known he would come. She'd been waiting.

They stood looking at each other, both trying to read the other's thoughts and still the pounding of their blood.

"Go away!" Bessie Jane's hushed plea filtered down through the strange thickness in the night air.

She was right, Harm thought. A man with any sense at all would simply go away. He jumped to catch the first limb on the elm and pulled himself up. Using a familiar route, he climbed to her bedroom window. She watched him in silence, and on her face he saw dread warring with jubilation. When he reached her, standing on a limb that was a mere step from the windowsill, she seemed frozen, unable to speak.

"Shut the window, sweet Bess," he whispered. "Shut the window and go to bed. Forget that I came here tonight. Forget that I still want you."

"I
can't," she said in a choked voice.

"I
know." He stepped onto the windowsill,
then
sat down as her eyes seemed to devour him.

"Why did you come?" Bessie Jane asked, blinking back tears. She ached to reach out to him, touch him.

"I've come many times," he said. "Dozens of nights I've watched this window and dreamed of climbing that tree again."

She wiped away a stray tear and swallowed with difficulty.

"I want to come in, sweet Bess," he whispered. "Say that you've changed your mind, that you can't live without me. Break it off with Reed, and I'll take you in my arms again."

Her arms were trembling with the need to hold him, but she straightened her shoulders and stiffened her spine. "Nothing has changed, Harm," she said, ignoring the errant tears that continued down her cheeks. "Daddy still does not like you. He says you can't provide for me. If I married you, the whole town would be laughing up their sleeves. 'Bessie Jane and the junkman.'"

Harm's jaw
tightened,
and his lips thinned into one dangerous line. "Quit listening to your daddy, Bess, and listen to your heart." With effort, he softened his tone. He understood how frightened she was. He didn't know how he'd provide for her either, but he wanted to and was certain he could. "I've got no land, that's a fact. I live in a shack and have my father to care for. But I am the man you love."

Hearing the words out loud set Bessie Jane to trembling. She had fought against this so long, fought against the weakness in herself, the weakness for this man. She could not give in, not now, not ever. "I love Reed Tyler."

"You're lying, Bess. We don't need to argue that, we both know it." She opened her mouth as if to disagree, but he stopped her. "I've seen you together. He's fond of you, all right. He thinks you're sweet and pretty, but he doesn't love you. I don't know how you managed to get him to propose, but it wasn't 'cause he's in love. I don't think he even knows what love is."

"I can be a good wife to him," she insisted.

"Maybe, but you can never love him. You love me."

"No! The real world is not some romantic fantasy with brave knights and castles in the air. These days, a woman has to think of the practical things."

"Who's speaking now, Bess? Not the sweet girl I once knew. It sounds more like a tired old shopkeeper who sees life more in dollars and cents than hearts and flowers."

"My father only wants what's best for me."

"Reed has no more than me, Bess. He's a sharecropper for Miss Hattie. Sure he wants to make something of his life, but so do I. I have plans too. Would you listen to my plans? Share my dreams?"

"Reed comes from a good family," she said, as if by rote. "Good stock makes a good herd."

"You know nothing about herds, Bess," he said gently, knowing it was her father speaking, not herself. "Your daddy judges a man like he would a hog, but it's not the same.
It's
love a woman needs, and Reed Tyler can never love you like I do."

"He does love me!" she said angrily. "He loves me more than you can ever imagine."

"Then why isn't he here?"

"Because he has more respect for me than to risk my reputation."

"When a man and a woman love each other, reputation is an afterthought for the both of them." Reaching out to touch her face, he caught a tear on his finger and held it up to her. "Is this how happy your good reputation has made you?"

He laid the tear against his own cheek. "Sweet Bess, I would take your tears as my own for a lifetime."

"It can't work," she insisted. "We're
to
different."

"Different? Yes, but do you forget we are one?"

Her eyes widened. "Don't speak of that! You promised not to speak of it, ever."

"I don't speak of it, sweet Bess. But do you think on nights like this, nights like we've shared, I could forget how it was with us? What we've been to each other?"

Bessie Jane stiffened her resolve and hardened her heart. "What we have been to each other is two naughty children caught up in a game we didn't understand. I am a woman now. I will not sell my life so cheaply."

Carelessly flinging a hank of fine blond hair behind her shoulder, she continued with sudden disdain. "I want more for myself and my children than a dirty shack and a heritage of family disgrace. You have nothing else to offer me, Harmon
Leege
."

"I have love, sweet Bess," he replied. "It's all I have, but it's worth more than all else you crave."

"It's not enough." Her words were brusque, unyielding. "Now I would appreciate it if you would leave the premises and stay away for good. I'm to marry Reed in the fall, and I don't want the slightest rumor to besmirch my reputation."

Harmon looked at her, his longing and frustration roiling into anger. He had loved her since they were children. No other woman had ever captured his heart. Her games and teasing had taunted him throughout adolescence, but their love had been worth every second of waiting, every unfulfilled ache of desire. Now she had thrown it away like soiled linens.