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Johnny and Grant finished weeding the cotton field, set a row of fence posts, and strung a couple rows of barbed wire to keep the stock from wandering across the creek. Grant took over the garden and the milking chores. He was clean, cheerful, and good company; but at times Henry Ann had seen a sadness in his eyes and wondered what would cause a man, obviously rational and well educated, to take to the road.
Tom Dolan was still suspicious of him and scarcely gave him the time of day when he was around. Henry Ann wondered why. Grant’s help was well worth the small wage she paid him, and she had enough money to continue it. The day after Isabel had left to go to the Perrys, she had gone to the rusty old milk can with the dab of paint on it and found the money her father had told her about. She had been dumbfounded to discover almost three hundred dollars—a fortune—and had put it in a fruit jar and buried it in the soft sand of the cellar floor.
One evening after supper as they sat on the porch, Jay asleep in Aunt Dozie’s lap, Johnny asked Henry Ann if he could use her daddy’s guitar.
“Grant says he can play it and will teach me to play chords.”
“Goodness! Don’t tell me you can play the guitar, too?” Henry Ann asked. “We’ll have to add that to fixing the radio and the electric wires and lancing boils.”
“Well . . . I was forced to lance the boil. Even if I did win the bet, the kid here was about to cut old Stanley’s tail off—we couldn’t have that.”
He likes Johnny! And Johnny likes him.
Henry Ann watched the horseplay between the two and was glad Johnny was no longer under the influence of Pete Perry. It was strange how things happened. She never would have thought her young half brother’s attitude toward her and the farm could have changed so quickly. He had more confidence, spoke out more often, and seemed to enjoy Grant’s friendship.
“About all I can do on the guitar is make the dogs howl.” Grant strummed a couple of times, adjusted the tension on two strings, then strummed again. He picked at the strings making soft, quiet music. At first he hummed, then began to sing as night settled down around them.
“On a day like today, I pass the time away,
writing love letters in the sand—”
“Grant, that was beautiful,” Henry Ann said, when he finished. She was near tears remembering the many warm summer evenings she and her daddy had sat on the porch and he had played that same guitar and sung songs like “Red River Valley” and “Yellow Rose of Texas.”
“All I can say is that I’m glad I’m not trying to make a living singing. I’d starve to death.” Grant’s reply was followed by a small chuckle. He handed the guitar to Johnny. “All right, cowboy, let’s get you started. Who knows, you might be the next Gene Autry, and we’ll be listening to you on the radio.” He placed Johnny’s fingers on the strings and put the pick in his other hand.
* * *
Emmajean had almost stopped talking to Tom. She had asked, one time, where
the brat
was. Tom told her he was being taken care of, and she hadn’t asked again. She had taken to walking along the creek bank and into the Henrys’ woods. Several times Tom had seen her beneath a big pecan tree by the creek bank and on a sack swing that hung from one of its branches. The past few days he had found her wandering the yard in her nightdress, her hair a tangled mess, her bare feet dirty.
This evening, tired from working all day in the field, and anxious to go to the Henrys’ to see Jay, Tom fried raw potatoes and opened a can of peaches. When it was on the table he went to call Emmajean. She was lying on the unmade bed.
“Supper’s ready, Emmajean.”
She didn’t answer. Her eyes were on the ceiling, her hands folded behind her head.
“Come and eat or you’ll be sick.”
She appeared to be unmovable. Unreachable. It was the same as last night. Tom went back to the kitchen and ate, leaving a portion on a plate for her, then washed up the dishes. He looked in on her again just before he left the house. Her eyes were closed, but he wasn’t sure if she was sleeping.
He was puzzled about what to do about her. She was his son’s mother, his wife. It was his responsibility to keep her safe but, dear God, how could he make a living, see to his son, and keep a constant eye on this unstable woman?
He worried constantly that her parents would become aware that she was slipping into insanity and commit her to an institution. In that case they’d try to take the boy away from him.
That would not happen. He would take Jay and flee the country.
It was clear that he’d never be able to bring his son home as long as Emmajean was there. Tonight Tom planned to speak to Henry Ann and make arrangements to pay for Jay’s keep if she would allow him to stay there for a while longer.
Henry Ann.
At times he could hardly think of anything else for the thoughts of her that crowded his mind. He struggled to think of something else, he really tried, but when evening came, he found himself hurrying, not only to see his son, but to see
her.
It was wrong, he knew. And God forbid that she ever know about his dreams of someday holding her . . . loving her. He ridiculed himself for the thoughts, then rationalized that he was allowed to daydream as long as he kept those dreams to himself.
Grant Gifford was a nagging threat in the back of Tom’s mind. He had already admitted to himself that he was jealous of the man’s being there day after day. Hell! He had no right to feel anything for Miss Henry but gratitude.
Grant had wandered off the road and made himself at home at the Henrys’. Tom had nothing against him personally. He worked hard. He’d been good for Johnny. It was just that he was there, a man who more than likely had snakes of his own to kill or he wouldn’t have taken to the road, but also a man who could very well wriggle his way into Henry Ann’s heart. The thought did not sit well with Tom, and he cursed himself for being a fool. It was insane even to think about her.
He was tied to Emmajean—for life.
When he reached the Henry farm, Tom stopped beside the shed to watch what was going on in the yard. Gifford was tossing a ball to Jay. The shaggy old dog lay nearby, his head resting on his paws. His son’s childish laughter and the man’s low tones of encourgement mingled with the sounds of birds settling in the trees for the night and the squeak of the pulley as Johnny drew a bucket of water up out of the well.
The scene was peaceful, homelike. Tom was plagued by the ache of awful emptiness in his heart. He stood there in utter misery until his son looked up and spotted him.
“Daddy! Daddy!” The game was forgotten. Jay ran to him. He scooped his son up in his arms, loving the feel of the small arms that wrapped about his neck.
“How are you, son? I’ve missed you.”
Jay’s hair had been cut, and he was wearing new coveralls with a drop-down seat.
“Looky, Daddy.” Jay pulled on the front of his coveralls. “Aunty make.”
“Hey, now. That’s great.” He stood his son on his feet and took his hand. “Did you thank Aunty?”
“Uh-huh.” Jay pulled on his hand. “Aunty make pie.”
“Supper ready.” Dozie came out onto the back porch. “Come on in, Mistah Tom. We’s late eatin’. Henry Ann been to town.”
“I’ll wait out here on the porch—”
“Why yo do dat? Come on in dis house. Dar’s plenty.”
“Thanks, but I’ve had supper.”
“Den have some more. Did yo have green tomato pie? Did yo have turnip greens and corn bread?”
“No use arguin’, Tom.” Johnny passed him with a bucket of water. “You’ll not win an argument with her.”
“An’ yo ain’t goin’ to either, ya rascal. And don’ ya slush no water on dat clean lin-ole-um floor. I ’bout scrubbed dem flowers off’n it a cleanin’ up after yo muddy feet.”
When Tom went into the kitchen, Henry Ann was setting another place on the oilcloth-covered table.
“Hello, Tom. I set a place for you there by Jay.”
“Evening. I . . . didn’t come to get a meal.”
“We know that. You got to wash your hands, puddin’,” she said to Jay. “Then you can sit by your daddy.”
During the meal Henry Ann listened to the banter between Grant and Johnny, and the teasing of Jay. The child giggled, his dark eyes going often to the big, shaggy-haired man beside him. She marveled at the gentle way Tom’s big hands cut up the food on Jay’s plate and how the dark eyes beneath the thick brows rested lovingly on his son’s face.
“Our peaches are about ready to pick.” Henry Ann filled in the void in the conversation because she thought she should say something. “In another week or two we’ll be busy canning.”
“There’s two good peach trees on my place, but someone slipped in and picked them. I doubt there’s a half bushel left.”
“I remember Daddy saying that someone always stripped those trees.” In the silence that followed, Henry Ann said, “I was in town today. Everyone is excited about the air show. We plan to go. Do you mind if we take Jay?”
“No. I’d appreciate it. I thought I’d take Emmajean. She needs to get away from the house once in a while.”
“Would you rather Jay go with you?”
“If . . .” Tom paused. His eyes circled the table quickly. “I think he’d have a better time with you. His mother isn’t . . . up to taking care of him.”
“We’d love to have him. Aunt Dozie is going to make a picnic. You and your wife are welcome to eat with us. My friend, Karen, will be there.”
Henry Ann watched Tom fill his plate for the second time after urging from Aunt Dozie. He was hungry! Didn’t his wife cook for him? The question hung in her mind during the meal and afterward as they sat on the porch. Jay was in his lap.
Shep came up to him and nuzzled at Jay’s foot.
“Hello, Shep.” The child reached down and patted the dog’s shaggy head. Shep whined softly, his eyes peering upward, then lay down on the floor beside the chair. It was quiet and peaceful sitting in the dark with her family around her. The only sound was the squeak of the porch swing as Henry Ann rocked it gently with the toe of her foot.
“This fellow’s all tuckered out,” Tom said later, and got to his feet, holding his son.
“No, I ain’t.” Jay roused and put his arms around his daddy’s neck.
“I think you are, son.”
“I think he is, too.” Henry Ann reached for the child.
“I’ll take him to his bed.”
Tom followed Henry Ann into the house. She switched the overhead light on in her room, and he saw the neatly made bed before she took off the cover and folded it as his mother used to do. The room with its pictures on the wall and a crocheted scarf on the dresser reminded him of how bleak his own home was.
He placed Jay on the bed and removed his shoes. Henry Ann took a nightshirt from beneath the pillow and held it out to Tom.
“I . . . ah . . . usually have him . . . go in the chamber under the bed. If you want to take care of that, I’ll get a warm cloth to wash his face and hands.” She was out the door before he could see the flush of embarrassment that covered her cheeks.
Tom was slipping the nightshirt over Jay’s head when Henry Ann returned. She gently wiped the child’s face, then his hands, and pulled the sheet up to cover him.
“It’s warm tonight. Are you sure you want the cover?”
“Uh-huh.”
“No matter how hot it is, he wants the cover. It must make him feel safe. Good night, puddin’. If you want me, call out. Aunt Dozie and I are never far away.” She kissed him on the forehead and walked away to give Tom a few minutes alone with his son.
After Tom switched out the light in the bedroom, he went to the kitchen where Henry Ann was drinking from the dipper that hung over the water bucket. She lifted her gaze to his. Did she imagine a flicker of longing on his face?
“I don’t know how to thank you. He’s never been so . . . happy.” His voice was a husky whisper.
“Are we going through
that
again?” she said in a teasing tone. Her palms grew damp and a wild desire rose in her to put her hands on his worried face, smooth the tired lines away, and comfort him.
“I guess not. I’ve got to get back, but first I’d like to talk with you. Will you walk with me? Just to the edge of the yard?”
He waited expectantly until she nodded. Then he opened the screened door, and she preceded him out onto the back porch and down the steps to the yard.
Chapter Nine
Henry Ann was unaware of the cloudless sky, the bright stars, and the quarter moon beginning its nightly journey across the sky. She knew only that she was alone in the dark with this big, wild-haired man who could break her in two with his two hands, yet was so gentle with his son.
She walked beside Tom to the place where the house yard ended and the cotton patch began. They stopped beneath a giant oak, the oldest tree on the farm.
“My daddy said this tree was here when the men fought at the Alamo and for Texas’s independence at San Jacinto.” Henry Ann placed her hand on the rough bark and traced her name, which had been cut into the trunk when she was a child. “Indians once camped where the house sits. We’ve found flint arrowheads and stone hatchets. The town of Red Rock got its name when a cowboy died here, and they marked his grave with a big red rock.”
“Was he killed by the Indians?”
“No. He was bitten by a rattlesnake.”
Henry Ann fell silent, realizing that she had been babbling on about something that was probably of little interest to him. She gripped her two hands together in front of her and stared silently out over the neat rows of cotton plants.
She didn’t know that he was looking at her face and wishing with all his heart that he were free to reach out to her and tell her what being alone with her meant to him. She heard a coyote baying to the moon and an answering cry dying away in the still night. Looking up at the man beside her, Henry Ann thought she had never seen anyone who looked so sad, so lonely.
“How much longer”—Tom’s voice came out hoarsely. He cleared his throat and continued—“will Gifford be here?”
“I’m not sure. Why?”
“I was going to ask for the use of your mules for a few days, but with two men here, you don’t need my help in return.”
“You don’t have to pay back—”
“I can’t take and not pay back. I owe you enough as—”
“I . . . understand you don’t wish to be obligated.”
“It isn’t that. I’ve already imposed, and I’ve got to ask for more. Will it be all right if Jay stays a while longer?”
“Of course, he can. I’m begining to dread the day you take him home,” she said with a soft laugh.
“Oh, God . . . oh God—” He leaned his forehead against the rough bark of the tree.
The moan that came from him startled her. “What’s . . . what’s wrong?”
“I’m just so glad he’s got a safe place. I’m so glad you want him—like him.”
“He’s a sweet little boy. I don’t see how anyone could not love him—want him.” As soon as she said the words she wished that she could take them back. Tom had said Jay’s mother didn’t want him. “I’m sorry. I forgot for a moment that Mrs. Dolan is ill.”
“Henry Ann—May I call you that, please?”
“Of course.”
“You can’t know what it means to me to know that Jay is taken care of. That he’s with folks who . . . are fond of him. You’re . . . you’re . . . I . . . If ever I can do anything to repay—” Before he realized what he had done he had placed his hand on her arm.
She covered his hand with hers. It was a spontaneous gesture.
“Don’t speak of payment.”
“She threw the frog you gave him in the stove,” he said softly, sorrowfully.
“He told me his frog had gone to heaven.” Henry Ann stood rooted to the spot. She couldn’t have moved away from him if her life had depended on it. “Aunt Dozie made him a bean bag, and he’s been playing with a clown made out of stocking.”
“Was it yours? When you were little?”
“No. I bought it at a church bazaar when I was about sixteen.” She laughed a little and let her hand drop to her side. “I was a little too old for dolls, but I had my first pay from the Five and Dime, and it was burning a hole in my pocket.”
The hand on her arm was warm and rough, and prickles of some undefinable something skidded up her spine. Her gaze slid over his face. She saw the hollows beneath his cheekbones, the dark circles that ringed his eyes. She longed to wrap her arms around him, comfort him, tell him that she would do everything she could to help him protect his son.
Grant’s voice calling “Good night” blasted through her reverie and made her aware of her surroundings. She stepped back, and Tom’s hand fell from her arm.
“Would you like Johnny to help you for a few days?”
“I’m thinking about giving up on the cotton crop. In another week it’ll be too high to cultivate with a team; and if it’s to be saved, it’ll have to be hoed.”
“Let us help you.”
“I couldn’t ask that. I—”
“—I’ve no way of paying back,” she finished for him. “The time is coming when our car will need some work and—” She left the sentence unfinished.
“—Just let me know.”
“I’ll speak to Johnny about coming over on Monday. He’s takin’ a likin’ to that team.” She tried to speak lightly. “They’re almost as stubborn as he is. I don’t know about Grant.”
“I can’t offer them a meal.”
“Aunt Dozie will pack a lunch. Now, about the air show. We’ll park the car near the field north of town. We’d be happy if you and Mrs. Dolan—”
“No,” he said quickly, “But thank you. I don’t know if she will even go. She’s been acting strange. Stranger,” he corrected. “I want to get her to Doctor Hendricks.”
“Well, if you change your mind . . .” His hand was on her elbow steering her back toward the house, and her thoughts became confused.
“I’d better be getting on back.” Tom had seen movement along the brush that edged the field—the blur of something white. He stopped at the back steps, anxious suddenly to be gone. “Does Johnny sleep in the house?”
“Of course. Why?”
“Peaches being stolen and cattle slaughter tells me we have some night thieves.” His hand dropped from her arm. “Good night, Henry Ann. Thank you for the supper.”
“You’re welcome, Tom. Good night.”
Keeping alert, Tom hurried along the edge of the field. He saw nothing of the white blur that he had glimpsed before. When he reached his house, he lighted the kitchen lamp and opened the door to Emmajean’s room.
She lay in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin.
Fully clothed, Tom stretched out on his cot, his hands beneath his head, his ears straining for sounds from the other room. He heard the floor squeak. What was she doing? He eased up and looked out the door to see if a light was coming from her window. It was dark. She hadn’t lit the lamp. Although she had been in bed when he came home from the Henrys’, he was almost sure she wasn’t sleeping.
He played over in his mind every minute he’d spent with Henry Ann.
Lord! He had no business thinking about her.
He had no business thinking about anything but how he was going to live out his life with a woman who was mad or close to it and how he was going to make a living while raising his son.
When he had seen the white blur moving along the edge of the field, he had thought sure that it was Emmajean and that she had followed him to the Henrys’. After she had come so close to killing Jay, Tom was not sure of what other cruelties she was capable. Sometimes in the moments just before he fell asleep, he envisioned the long lonely years ahead and wondered if he had the strength to endure them.
He slept, but restlessly.
* * *
Morning came. Tom started a fire in the cookstove and put on the coffee, then went out to do the chores. When he returned, Emmajean was sitting at the table drinking coffee. She was smiling. Her hair was combed and she was wearing one of her frilly robes.
“Would you like to go see the air show?” Tom asked, after he had washed.
“Oh, yes. And I can see Marty.”
“We’ll go about noon. I’ve got to fix a hole in the bottom of the water tank first.”
“I can hardly wait. I need to look my best so Marty will be proud of me. I’ll wear my white dress with the puffed sleeves and the hat with the big floppy brim. I wonder how it would look with a pink-satin rose pinned on it. And—I’ll wear my high-heeled shoes. Oh, dear. Do I have time to wash my hair?”
“I would think so.”
Tom watched her hand flutter up to her face and down to the neck of her robe. Then with her eyes on his face she pulled on it until the tops of her breasts showed. Suddenly, she was on her feet and around the table to lean on his back and with her arms around him. He could feel her breath on the side of his face.
“It’s just like it used to be, isn’t it, sweet man? Just you and me. You’ll be proud of me. When we walk down the street, people will say—‘Look at Mrs. Dolan—isn’t she pretty? Tom Dolan is a lucky man.’ We’ll go to the restaurant and—”
“We’d better eat a bite here before we go. The restaurants will be crowded.”
He was suffocating. He wanted to tear her arms from around him. She nuzzled the side of his face with her lips, and it took all his willpower to keep from shoving her away. He sat as still as a stone. Suddenly her sharp teeth sank into his earlobe and she bit him, viciously. He yelped and jumped to his feet. She backed away laughing.
“I’ve always wanted to do that.”
A steady drip of blood fell on his shirt. At the washbench he wet a towel and held it to his ear.
“I hope it leaves a scar.” She giggled happily. “Little old me put a scar on big Tom Dolan.” She went to him. “Let me see.”
Tom turned on his heel and went out the door.
* * *
Red Rock was teeming with several times its normal population when Johnny, with Grant beside him, and Henry Ann, Aunt Dozie, and Jay in the back, left town and parked the car along the edge of the flat pasture which served as an airfield. People had come from miles around, and wagons far outnumbered cars. Teams were staked out, quilts spread on the grass, children ran and played. People streamed from town carrying blankets to sit on and umbrellas to protect them from the hot Oklahoma sun.
Grant lifted Jay from the car while Johnny, wearing a clean white shirt and a wide-brimmed hat, offered a hand to Henry Ann. His black eyes sparkled with excitement. In just a few short weeks she had become terribly fond of him.
“I ain’t a movin’ from dis here seat,” Aunt Dozie announced when Johnny reached for her hand. She unfurled a big black umbrella and held it over her head. “’Sides, I ain’t wantin’ to get eat up by no chiggers. Watch dat baby. I tie his britches down to keep dem chiggers off his legs.”
They had stopped at the ice dock in town and bought ten pounds of ice for the water cooler. Grant lifted the cooler from the car and covered it with the two old comforters Henry Ann had brought along to insulate it from the hot sun. While she was spreading a quilt on the ground for Jay to sit on, the Austins pulled up and parked beside them. Christopher was driving, Mrs. Austin beside him and Mr. Austin in the backseat.
“Yoo—hoo, Henry Ann,” Mrs. Austin called.
Henry Ann groaned. Of all the people she knew, why did it have to be the Austins who parked next to them? She lifted her hand and waved, then smiled at Christopher.
“Are you going to ride in the airplane?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Not me. I can’t climb up on a chair without feeling dizzy,” she said with a laugh.
Thank goodness
, she thought, when someone pulled in on the other side of the Austins and drew Mrs. Austin’s attention.
Johnny and Grant went out to where a group of men were gathered around one of the planes. Henry Ann returned Jay to the car seat so that he could sit behind the wheel and pretend he was driving the car.
“Dat ole hen a-lookin’ at dat child.” Aunt Dozie leaned over and spoke in a low voice. “What yo goin’ to tell her?”
“The truth. I’ll not tell her anything if I don’t have to. If I do, I’ll say that Mrs. Dolan is ill and we’re helping a neighbor.”
“Yo best get yo mouth set. Dat Miz Austin, she comin’ dis way.”
“How are you, Henry Ann?” Mrs. Austin ignored Dozie. “Are you holdin’ up?” She clicked her tongue and shook her head sadly. “My, my, I still can’t believe Ed is gone.”
“I’m doing fine. Have you been to an air show before?”
“No. I was not for coming, but young folk want to see the sights. What could I do?”
You could have stayed at home.
“Now what do we have here?” Mrs. Austin patted Jay’s head. “It’s the little Dolan boy, isn’t it?”
“Yes,
he’s
the little Dolan boy. His name is Jay.”
“Well, well. Are the Dolans going to picnic with you?”
“I’m not sure. Oh, hello, Karen. I was wondering if you would find us.”
Karen, wearing a large-brimmed straw hat, her full skirt swirling around her legs, came quickly toward them.
“Hello, Mrs. Austin. Hi there, Aunt Dozie. Hello, sugarfoot.” She kissed Jay on the cheek. “Are you driving this car?”
“Daddy let me.” Jay continued to turn the wheel. “Ooo . . . gaa, ooo . . . gaa,” he shouted in imitation of a car horn.

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