Dorothy Garlock - [Dolan Brothers] (22 page)

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“Not much goes on that he doesn’t know about. He’s been up several times a night lately. I thought someone was prowling around, but I’ve not seen anyone.”
“It’s probably Pete Perry. He knew—”
“Yes. I caught that. He was here spying and saw you walk to the edge of the yard with Dolan.”
“Mr. Dolan is—a friend,” she felt compelled to say. “He was just telling me—that he wants to trade work. I said that he could use the mules and that Johnny would help him for a few days. He’ll work on the car . . . if it needs it,” she finished lamely.
“Do you want me to go along and help, too? He hasn’t weeded his cotton patch. He’ll not get much of a crop if it isn’t weeded soon.”
“Do you plan to stick around through cotton picking?”
“I guess I am.” He said nothing for a minute. Henry Ann would have been surprised to know that his mind had switched to a blond-haired girl with dancing blue eyes and a merry laugh.
After Grant left, Henry Ann stood for a while longer on the porch. The moon had come up over the treetops and in the distance a coyote bayed. She waited for the answering call. When it came, it was closer.
Was it the same coyote who bayed the other night when she was standing under the tree with Tom, his hand warm on her arm, the darkness wrapped around them?
As Henry Ann stood looking up at the sky, she began to realize that her heart had been captured, roped, and tied by a wild-haired man with dark, sad eyes. It was a secret that she would never, could never, share with anyone.
* * *
Tom stood behind the house and looked toward the Henry farm. He heard a coyote calling for his mate, and a feeling of loneliness washed over him. He longed to set his feet in motion and go to where he would be greeted with a welcoming smile, but he was afraid to leave Emmajean alone lest she get it into her head to set fire to the place. She was still lying on the bed where she had thrown herself when they came home from the air show. She had refused to come out when he called her to supper.
Tom began sifting through his thoughts. He would remember last evening, alone with Henry Ann in the moonlight, as one of the most special times in his life. He remembered every word that each of them said, then remembered every move, every gesture.
Henry Ann, is it possible that you dream the same dreams that I dream? Do you dream of my holding you, kissing you, in soft moonlight? Can you imagine our naked bodies pressed closely together? Would you hate seeing your belly grow big with my child? Dear, sweet woman, you would be so beautiful—
Tom looked up at the dark sky and thought of the empty nights he had spent since he’d met her. It was impossible to press down the feelings that surfaced when he thought of her. He had tried to deny the stirrings that sifted and swirled within him, but now he realized that he didn’t want them to stop. They were too new and too wonderful. He wanted to make love to her and to have her love him in return.
But, he thought bitterly, it would never be. He was married to Emmajean until death parted them. And he would never dishonor Henry Ann by declaring a love that could not be fulfilled.
* * *
Five miles south, near the Red River, Christopher Austin was walking beside a slender, dark-haired girl. Holding tightly to her hand, he heard the lonely call of a coyote. Months ago he would not even have heard the mournful sound. It wouldn’t have penetrated into his consciousness. Now he was more sensitive to sounds of loneliness, love, and laughter. His life had been changed forever. Love did that to a man.
“I hate to go, but I must.”
“I know.”
Christopher turned, put his arms around Opal, and held her close. He could smell her, soft like a warm spring rain. She was sweet, loving, and giving. He loved her so much that he ached. How he longed to make a home with her and little Rosemary. Opal’s grandpa was getting up in years, and soon she would be alone.
There were times when Christopher was certain that he hated his mother with a hatred that almost made him sick. She was a narrow-minded, selfish woman and would never accept Opal should he bring her home. He was not sure about his daddy. If he married Opal, he would be forced to leave the farm that he had toiled on and helped to make into one of the most prosperous in southern Oklahoma.
If he gave up his heritage and left home, how could he make a living for Opal and her child? If he could get a job that paid enough, regardless of what it was, he’d work his fingers to the bone for them. But there were no jobs. He had no way to support a wife without the help of his folks.
“I love you,” he whispered desperately. “I hate it that we can’t be together.”
“I know.”
“It’s unfair that you’re blamed—”
“Shhh . . .” She put her fingers over his lips. “I’ve told you that in spite of the
way
I got Rosemary, I’ve no regrets. Next to you, she’s the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me.”
“You still won’t tell me . . . who?”
“I don’t know, Christopher. I’ve told you that.”
“The miserable bastard. I’d kill him!”
“I know. Then I’d lose you forever.” Her voice was beginning to crack. He could feel her trembling warmth.
“You’ll never lose me,” he said with feeling. “It has to be like this for a while. We don’t have a choice. We’re meant to be together. I know that as sure as I’m standing with two feet on the ground.” He lifted her chin and kissed her gently. “I’ve told you, sweetheart, that Rosemary will have a daddy. She’ll be my little girl, and I’ll love her as much as I’ll love the children we have together.”
“You’re so good. You deserve someone special.”
“I have someone special.” He cupped her cheek with his palm and felt her tears. “Kiss me, sweetheart. It’s got to be enough for a while.”
Wrapped in each other’s arms, lips pressed tightly together, they were lost in a world of their own. Until—
“Well, well. Look who sneaked here to see my girl.” Pete Perry came out of the shadows and stopped several yards from them. His arms were folded across his chest.
Chris whirled around, his arm sweeping Opal behind him.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“What’a ya think I’m doin’ here? I came to see my girl.”
“Your girl? Stay away from Opal.”
“Ya got a claim?”
“Yes, I’ve got a claim.”
“Well, now . . . I may have somethin’ to say about that.”
“You’ve nothing to say about anything that concerns Opal.”
“Maybe it’s the other girl I come to see.
My
little . . . kinfolk.”
A low growl came from Chris’s throat, and he took a step forward. Opal dragged on his arm.
“No, Chris! He’s not worth it. He’s drunk and lookin’ for an excuse to fight.”
“You son of a bitch!”
“Yeah, I’m probably just that.” Pete laughed. “Don’t bother me a damned bit.”
“I’ve told you before that I don’t want you around here,” Opal said firmly. “Now go.”
“Go and leave ya to smooch with mama’s boy? Not on yore life, sugar-puss. I’m stayin’. I brought yore grandpa a fruit jar full of good bootleg whiskey.”
“He don’t need that rotgut.”
“I ain’t sayin’ he
needs
it, but he wants it. Ask him.”
“I’ll do no such thing. Take it and go.”
“You heard her, Perry,” Chris said.
“Stay outta this, mama’s boy—”
Chris lunged. A hard fist landed square on Pete’s chin. He backtracked several steps before he sat down hard on the ground.
“Don’t ever call me that again,” Chris snarled, ready to strike out again as soon as Pete got to his feet.
Pete took his time standing. He rubbed his chin, then suddenly there was a knife in his hand. He crouched, ready to spring.
“Yo’re close to bein’ gutted,
mama’s boy
!”
“No!” Opal cried.
“Back off, Pete.” Grandpa Hastings, shotgun in hand, appeared out of the darkness. “Back off, or I’ll blow ya in half.”
Pete turned. “Ya got shells in that thin’, grandpa?”
“Ya betcha.”
“I ain’t believin’ ya.”
“Wal . . . there be a way to find out. I’m gettin’ plenty fed up, by grab, on the likes of ya comin’ round here pesterin’ Opal.”
“Ya shoot me and the whole shebang down on Mud Creek’ll kick up a stink and be all over ya like a swarm a hornets.”
“Not if they don’t find ya, they won’t. Got me a dry well out back that needs fillin’.”
Pete laughed. “Is this any way to treat a suitor comin’ to call on yore granddaughter? Brung ya a jar of white lightnin’, too.”
“It’s Opal’s call who comes courtin’, not mine. Now get. Don’t come back till ya can act decent.”
“Maybe I wanted to see my little sis . . . or cousin.”
The old man lifted the shotgun.
“No!” Opal shouted, and rushed toward her grandpa. “He’s just rattlin’, talkin’ big.”
“Was it him, girl? Or his . . . pa?”
Drunk as he was, Pete realized that he was close to dying.
“I told you it was dark, and I couldn’t tell who it was.”
“I was just a pullin’ yore leg, Mr. Hastings,” Pete said, trying to put a note of laughter in his voice.
“It ain’t nothin’ to joke ’bout, boy. Now, if ya ain’t wantin’ to see yore guts nailed to that tree behind ya, ya better get.”
Pete looked at Chris. “Ya ain’t always goin’ to have a old man with a shotgun backin’ ya.”
Grandpa Hastings followed Pete down the lane to where he had left his horse.
“I allus liked ya, Pete. Thought ya a cut above the rest down on Mud Creek. Now I ain’t so sure. Don’t pull this stunt again.”
“I ain’t likin’ that mama’s boy hangin’ around.”
“As I said, it ain’t yore call. Opal ain’t wantin’ ya for her man, and that’s that.”
“I ain’t courtin’ her. I got bigger fish to fry than a—” Pete caught himself.
“Than a what?”
“Than a gal young as Opal.”
“I’m hopin’ that’s what ya meant to say.”
Pete swung up in the saddle. Anger was like a burning fire in his belly. He couldn’t leave without doing something to soothe his injured pride. He took a glass jar from his saddlebag and, with all his strength, threw it against a tree trunk. The sound of breaking glass and the smell of moonshine whiskey reached them.
“There’s yore white lightnin’, old man.”
“Thanky.”
Grandpa Hastings watched Pete spin his horse around and ride off in the night. He waited until he was sure Pete had left before he turned and went back to where Opal and Chris waited.
Opal went to him immediately. “Grandpa, I swear! You scared me to death. You don’t have any shells in that gun.”
“Maybe I saved one back.”
“And maybe you didn’t. You haven’t had shells for a week or more.”
“Good Lord!” Chris exclaimed. “That was some bluff you were running. Pete Perry can be mean.”
“’Twarn’t nothin’ to it. Kinda fun. Ya better watch yore back. Pete’s turned ugly lately even when he ain’t drunk.”
“Why didn’t you tell me your grandpa was out of shells?” Chris asked. “There’s tramps and bootleggers roaming up and down the roads. They say that somewhere in southern Oklahoma there’s a bank robbed every day.”
“Nobody’d come here lookin’ for money,” Grandpa Hastings said.
“I’ll bring a box of shells tomorrow . . . or the next day.”
“You don’t need to, Chris.” Opal clasped his arm with both hands. “You’ve already brought us flour and sugar and coffee—”
“I’ll see to it that you have shells, Mr. Hastings. I don’t want you folks out here without protection.”
“As long as I’m livin’, they’ll have it.” The old man walked back to the house.
“Grandpa’s got pride. It almost kills him for folks to think we’re trash. If he could, he’d take me and Rosemary away from here.”
“Oh, Lord, no!” Chris groaned. “I’m glad he can’t. Hold on a little longer, sweetheart. Something’s bound to happen to make things better.”
“Be careful. Watch out for Pete. I’ve never seen him so mean.”
“Does he come here often?”
“Not often. He comes once in a while and visits with Grandpa. Usually I take Rosemary and go to the garden.”
“I’ll try to be back tomorrow or the next day. Kiss me, sweetheart. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too. Be careful.”

 

Chapter Twelve
Early on Monday morning, Johnny and Grant hitched the mules to the wagon and left for the Dolan farm. Aunt Dozie had packed lunch in a bucket for the two of them and Henry Ann carried it to the wagon. She stood in the yard as they prepared to leave and waved as they headed down the road. After a trip to the privy, she went into the house to see if Jay had awakened. He was in the kitchen with Aunt Dozie.

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