Diamond Duo (17 page)

“A spleen?”

“Tha’s right.” Jennie placed two fingers beneath her ribs. “It’s right here, next to your gizzard.”

Sarah nodded.

Jennie continued, “After that, I don’t know nothing else they said, ’cause my eyes done lit on her hands. Sarah, that woman be sporting diamond rings so big she can’t hardly lift her hands.”

Sarah leaned forward. “Diamond rings?”

“Big ones. That’s why folks around here call her ‘Diamond Bessie,’ on account of all her diamonds.”

“So it is the same woman I saw in Stilley’s.”

“You reckon?”

“It has to be. Fancy parasol? Diamond rings? Pretty? Ain’t
two strangers wandering Jefferson at the same time to fit that description.”

Jennie touched a finger to her chin. “Wonder why she go by two names at once?”

“Jennie, they ain’t no telling why white folk do like they do. You know that same as me.”

“Hmm. I suppose so.”

Sarah snorted. “Sounds like Diamond Bessie brought her problems on herself, what with lying lips and missing bustles.”

Jennie shook her head. “Don’t know what she trying to hide from that man, but they ain’t nothing that woman done to deserve how he treat her. She jus’ kindhearted as they come, Sarah. I can see it in her eyes. Around the hotel she treat everyone the same, black or white. Don’t seem like she see color at all.”

The words hit Sarah hard. Had she misjudged the dark-eyed stranger?

Jennie pushed her plate away and leaned back, eyes wide and blinking as though she just woke up. “Say, what’s the hour getting on to be? Doc Turner say he gon’ shut the door in my face if I be late one more time.” She turned to look out the window, and panic gripped her face. “How long you reckon I’ve been here flapping my jaws? Can’t rightly tell with those clouds hiding the sun. If it’s too late, I’ll be high-stepping clear to town.”

Sarah laughed and got up from the table. “If that’s your plan, you will need a tonic.” She crossed to the dimly lit pantry and rummaged around the bottom shelf until her fingers closed around one of the last two bottles in the batch.

She handed the brown glass container to Jennie. “Take one teaspoon in water every morning. Not boiling water, but it can be hot. Sip it like tea until it’s all gone.” She tapped the cork with her finger. “You’ll feel spry as a girl before you can say Pete’s pig.”

Jennie raised the bottle and peered at the dark brew. She gave it a shake, but the thick potion just oozed like cold molasses. “You sure I can’t jus’ take a swig right now? It’s an awful long walk back.”

Sarah scowled. “No, you can’t take a swig. It’s too potent. You
liable to take off and fly from here to Brooks House.”

Grinning, Jennie started toward the door. “That be all right by me. My feet hurt.”

Sarah walked outside with her and gazed in Henry’s direction. “I could whistle for Henry and have him harness the rig.”

Jennie waved her off. “Let that man work. If I’m late, I’ll tell Old Doc I came out here after an energy tonic. He’ll be so busy trying to get some of it for hisself, he won’t notice the time.” Chuckling, she stashed the bottle in her pocket and made her way off the porch, lowering one leg at a time and settling her weight before taking the next step. With both feet firmly on the ground, her gaze went to Dickens, still sprawled in the dirt beside his pan.

“Mercy me! Them’s the biggest ears I ever seen on a hound.”

Sarah looked over her shoulder at the dog and laughed. “Ain’t they, though? Henry says if we propped up Dickens’s ears with sticks and pushed him off the house, he’d soar from here to Longview.”

Jennie’s shrill laughter cut the morning stillness, sending the chickens scrambling. “Girl, he’d pass right by Longview and sail clear to Dallas.” After a giggling fit, she turned with a warm smile, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “Sarah, thank you kindly for the tonic. And for breakfast. That was some fine eatin’.” She took a couple of lumbering steps. “If you ever need work, I can vouch for you in the Brooks House kitchen.”

Sarah stared across the field where Henry struggled behind the mule. “I hope I never need take you up on that offer, considering my husband swore to care for me as long as he’s able.”

Jennie followed her gaze. “Can’t see as you have anything to fret over in that case. Henry’s a fine figure of a man.” She turned to go with a backward wave. “I better git if I’m gon’ beat that storm back to town. Take care, now, child. And thank you again.”

“You’re welcome anytime,” Sarah called. “To breakfast and my tonics.”

When Jennie crossed the yard and passed from sight, Sarah gazed toward Henry and pondered the woman’s last words. She
allowed herself to consider, just for a moment, how life would be without him. Startled, she pushed away the image of St. Louis that fluttered to her mind. She loved her husband too much to entertain such wicked thoughts.

Didn’t she?

A cold, wet nose against her ankle gave her a start. “Dickens! You old rascal–I thought you was sleeping.” Sarah nudged him with her foot. “You might warn a body before you slip up behind them.” She looked down at his droopy, pleading eyes and shook her head. “You don’t need no more to eat, but I reckon I can scare you up some breakfast scraps.”

Feeling guilty, she glanced toward Henry and wondered if she’d have jumped so high if she had a clear conscience. Luckily, there was no time to dwell on it. A dish-cluttered table and greasy stove awaited her inside. She pulled open the screen door and stepped into the kitchen. The smell of bacon and biscuits hung heavy in the air, less enticing on a full belly.

Life on a farm revolved around food. Sarah no sooner got breakfast cleared than it was time to start dinner. Most days she planned supper while they ate the noon meal. Hard work honed Henry’s appetite as sharp as his plow. Thankfully, she worked just as hard, or she’d be as wide as the barn door.

She pulled on her apron and set to work on the dishes, scraping bits of bacon, egg, and biscuit in a pan for Dickens. Then she heated water and washed dried yolk and grits from the plates, milk and coffee from the tin cups. Lifting the heavy cast-iron skillet with a grunt, she poured bacon grease into a ceramic jar on the stove. Dickens would be hankering after the fresh drippings, but she had to save them for dinnertime biscuits.

The screen door squealed and slammed behind her.

Sarah jerked around. “Henry. You scared me out of ten days’ growth. What you doing back at the house two hours before the noonday meal?”

He chuckled and held out his hand. “I come to get me some salve.”

She left off cleaning the skillet and joined him by the door. “What happened?”

“Jus’ a little cut. Me and Dandy got crossways ’bout which way to go.”

Sarah reached for his big hand and with her apron wiped away the blood flowing from a spot between his thumb and forefinger. She held it up to the sparse light struggling through the kitchen window. “It’s a poke, not a cut, but it ain’t reached the bone.” She rubbed her thumb over his knuckles. “At least he left your fingers.”

Henry grunted. “Only ’cause I got out of his way. When that old mule reckons it’s time to quit, it’s a hard sell to turn him.”

She ruffled his hair. “Maybe he’s smarter than you. Sit at the table. I’ll get my poultice powder.”

She opened the pantry door and lit the lamp. She needed light to find the powder because she wasn’t sure where she’d left it. It could be on the top shelf near the cough syrup she boiled up for croup and the grippe or behind the pokeweed tonic she kept for putrid sore throat. Maybe on the lower shelf next to the last two bottles of energy tonic. She reached to move them aside and froze.

Two bottles? She’d given one to Jennie not one hour ago.

Her eyes shifted to the identical brown containers next to the tonic, and her heart reared up in her chest. She dashed out of the pantry and stood staring at Henry, one twin vessel in each hand.

“We got to get ourselves to town right this minute.”

Henry looked up, and his eyes bulged. “What happened, Sarah? You look like you seen a spirit in there.”

Dazed, she shook her head. “Not yet, but I might get the chance. I’ve done killed Jennie Simpson.”

B
ertha opened her eyes to a darkened room. She thought she’d awakened early until distant thunder pealed, and she realized stormy weather still lingered over Jefferson.

She reached with her big toe to push aside the tasseled shade. The roiling black sky promised rain, but the threat had yet to come through. No new raindrops sprinkled the windowpane, no fresh puddles dotted the path, and Papa puttered with his roses near the trellis, though he wore a heavy coat.

The chill in her room made her loath to give up her quilt, and in her head were memories of Thad she wanted to linger with a bit. He’d been so tender on the ride home, so mindful of her feelings. He even tried to explain away Annie’s rebuke in an effort to lift Bertha’s spirits. When they arrived on her porch, she knew he itched to tell her his important news. Instead, he pressed his lips to her forehead and insisted she get some rest.

But rest hadn’t come easy. After tossing all night on her cotton mattress, she wound up encased in a blanket cocoon. In the early morning hours, she finally surrendered to drowsy lids and fell into a fitful sleep where she and Annie skipped arm in arm through town dressed in nightshirts and corsets, chased by a menacing Abe.

“Bertha Maye!”

She cringed. The tone of Mama’s voice meant she’d found Gerta Hayes’s boots–Bertha’s boots, now–and would require an explanation.

Last night Mama had been so busy scolding her for coming home late, she never noticed her feet. Though Bertha preferred getting all the fussing done at once, she hadn’t the heart to rekindle Mama’s ire once she finally settled down. So she left the boots on the porch and hustled to her room without mentioning her trade with Mrs. Hayes.

She would pay for it now.

The door swung open and slammed against the wall. Mama stood on the threshold holding the boots away from her with two fingers, as if afraid they might bite.

Bertha took her stature from Papa’s pocket-sized family. Emeline Biddie, a foot taller and pounds heavier than Bertha, struck an imposing figure hovering in the doorway.

“Bertha Maye Biddie, did you hear me call?”

She swung her feet to the floor. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Why didn’t you come?”

“I was about to.”

It would do no good to explain that between Mama’s call and her appearance, there hadn’t been enough time to come. If Bertha had tried, she’d be crumpled in a heap between the door and Mama’s prized William Morris wallpaper in the Daisy pattern. Such logic generally escaped the woman’s notice.

Mama held the scruffy black boots higher. “Would you care to explain?”

Bertha pointed. “Those are boots.” Not a wise response.

Indignation swelled Mama to twice her size. “I know what they are, Bertha Biddie. What I don’t know is how they came to be in your possession.” She widened her eyes as a warning. “Don’t try to deny them. Not even your papa’s feet are this small. You’re the only one here who could wear them.”

She hadn’t planned to deny them but decided not to mention it.

“I’ve tolerated your old lace-ups because Papa said you need
them for chores. But I won’t abide a second pair.” She took a closer look at the footwear dangling from her hands. “And these are even more horrid. Where on earth did you get them?”

“They were a gift.”

Disbelief shaped Mama’s posture from tilted head to jutting hip. She took advantage of the protruding hip and rested her free hand on it. “Do you intend to sit there and break three of God’s commandments at once?”

Bertha drew back in shock. “How have I managed that?”

Mama ticked them off on her fingers. One finger. “Your answer is clearly not the whole truth, which makes it a lie by default.” Two fingers. “I believe your attitude toward me in this matter is far less than honorable.” She shook the boots at Bertha and held up the third digit. “Your evasive answer about these monstrosities gives me cause to believe you stole them.”

Bertha grinned and nodded. “That’s three, all right.”

“Don’t be fresh, Bertha Maye.” She tossed the boots in a corner and lifted a rigid shoulder. “I never imagined a daughter of mine would have such an aversion to shoes.”

It seemed a cruel twist of fate on both their parts. The fashionable shoes Mama loved to the point of obsession, Bertha considered instruments of torture. In the past she’d tried to conform but had never found comfortable footwear that pleased her finicky mama.

“I’m sorry.” Bertha stood up and walked around the end of the bed. “I didn’t lie or steal, and I never intend to dishonor you. It just happens.”

Mama jabbed her finger toward the corner. “No more nonsense, then. Tell me where those came from.”

Bertha steeled herself and plowed ahead. “Magda’s mama gave them to me in exchange for my shoes.”

It took a full three seconds for the news to sink in before Mama turned around and stared in disbelief. “Your beautiful bronze pumps?”

She held up both hands. “Before you bust a gut, just listen. They weren’t beautiful when I gave them.”