Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (3 page)

The bearded man who had sent the drunken soldiers on their way sat on a bench in front of the eatery. He stared at Addie and her family. His bold eyes honed in first on Addie, then on Trisha, sweeping them up and down with a look of mingled lust and admiration.

Addie’s nerves were taut already, and the man’s brazen appraisal broke the rein on her patience. When he didn’t look away, Addie put her free hand on her hip and lifted her chin a little higher than she usually carried it. Her large violet eyes glared fiercely at the man. They did nothing to quell his interest; their color was unusual and they sparkled with the light of battle.

“Well, for heaven’s sake! Haven’t you ever seen a woman before?”

The faintest trace of amusement flickered across his face. He jumped to his feet, swept his hat from his head, and replied softly and respectfully; “I mean no offense, ma’am. It be such a pleasure to see womenfolk purty as ya are.”

Addie blushed; then, realizing his sincerity, she laughed at him with her eyes, and her lips twitched.

“I’m sorry for being cross. And I thank you, sir, for helping us earlier,” she said as they passed him.

Simmons had been known as Buffer for so long that he had almost forgotten that his first name was Jerr. He slapped his hat with its turned-up brim back onto his woolly head and watched the wagon leave town. The two small children were in the back, and on the seat, the girl sat at one side of the woman and the boy at the other. Although the boy was driving the team he kept looking over his shoulder as if he expected someone to follow.

A quick scan of the street told Buffer Simmons that his eyes were not the only ones following the woman and her family as they left town. Across the street, leaning nonchalantly against a porch post, was a tall, lean man in buckskins. Buffer squinted, the better to see the man, when, with the silent grace of an Indian, he stepped off the porch and crossed the street to the saloon.

Christ on a horse! What was a man like John Tallman doing in a sink-hole town like Freepoint? Almost as well known as Rain Tallman, his famous father, John was a long way from his mountain ranch in New Mexico Territory.

Buffer scratched his head. What he had thought was going to be a rather boring trip across Indian land now had the prospect of being a mighty interesting one.

*  2  *

T
he wagon turned up the long lane to the weathered-plank house with its sagging porch and cobblestone chimney. Sitting on a rise amid a pecan grove, it was the only home Addie had ever known, and she knew every stick and stone in it.

She took pride in the front yard. It was almost as pretty now as when her mother was alive. The phlox and hollyhocks were in full bloom, as was the moss rose that covered the ground—red, white, yellow, and pink. Towering pecan trees shaded the house. Addie remembered watching her father as he walked along on the limbs, thrashing at the branches with a long pole. He was so nimble and quick, laughing and singing, while she and her mother picked up the fat nuts that rained down on them.

Both of her parents had drowned while trying to get their cows across a swollen creek. At sixteen, Addie had been left alone except for an old uncle of her mother’s who had lived with her until he died three years later.

A year of loneliness had followed his death—until Kirby had come. She could have married even before her uncle died. Suitors had come calling from twenty miles around. First they looked over the farm and, liking what they saw, looked over Addie, also liking what they saw. Addie couldn’t bear the thought of spending the rest of her life with any of them. A few of her suitors were belligerent about being turned away and had spread the word that she was unreasonable and cold-hearted. She became known as a crotchety spinster—until Kirby came along.

When Colin stopped the wagon behind the house, Trisha jumped down and snatched off her bonnet. Her skin was the color of coffee after a generous amount of cream had been added. Her golden brown eyes were large, her nose was thin, and her chin was pointed. She whipped a piece of cloth from her pocket and tied it across her forehead to hold her black curly hair from her face.

“I ain’t never goin’ to town again!”

Addie understood the girl’s fear and tried to allay it. “The war is over, Trisha. You don’t have to be afraid someone is going to claim you. You’re free to go anywhere you want.”

“I ain’t wantin’ to go nowhere, Miss Addie. I want to stay right here with you an’ the younguns. What’s it mean to be free if you ain’t got nowhere to go?”

“And I want you to stay. Lordy mercy! What would I have done without you these last few years? You were there when I needed you most. Then an angel put these two right down on my doorstep.” Addie hugged Jane Ann and smiled at Colin. “And I’ve not been lonely a day since.”

“ ’Twarn’t no angel!” Colin had begun to unharness the team. “ ’Twas old Sikes. He was tired feedin’ us and said other folks’d have to take a turn—like we was dogs. ’Tis a wonder he didn’t just take us out and shoot us.”

“You’ll not be passed to anyone else, and that’s that. You and Jane Ann are going to stay right here with me and Trisha and Dillon. Land sakes! Trisha and I would never have gotten the corn and cotton planted without you to help and Jane Ann to watch Dillon.”

“An’ I’d be deader than Jobe’s turkey, is what I’d be, if’n you hadn’t a-been there to chop that old rattler’s head off with the hoe when I come on him in the patch,” Trisha assured the boy and shuddered again at the memory.

“Go change into your everyday dress, Jane Ann. And, honey, hang up your bonnet. Trisha just ironed it this morning.” Addie reached into the back of the wagon for the sack of sugar.

“I’ll bring the rifle,” Colin called.

Addie had just walked through the house and opened the front door to allow the breeze to pass through when she saw a buggy coming up the lane.

“Oh, shoot! Here comes Preacher Sikes and Mrs. Sikes with him.”

“I’m a-hidin’ this here sugar.” Trisha picked up the sack and dropped it behind the woodbox. “He see it, Miss Addie, and he’ll start in on that tithe stuff he spouts when he wants somethin’.”

The Sikeses had come to the Ozarks and established a church in the hill country at about the same time as Addie’s parents had arrived to take up a homestead. Addie was sure that because of this longtime association with her parents they felt obligated to keep an eye on her. Preacher Sikes hadn’t seemed such a religious fanatic in the early days, but now he blamed the world’s woes on the sins of the people, claiming they had brought God’s wrath down upon them.

He controlled his flock with a strong hand. If he learned that any of them had as much as sewn on a button on Sunday or splintered firewood for kindling, he was sure to chastise them publicly. He would preach a sermon declaring that they had failed to keep the Sabbath holy and were bound for the fiery furnace.

The buggy stopped beside the house, and Addie and Dillon went out into the yard to greet them.

“Come in out of the sun and have a cool drink.”

“We can’t stay but a minute or two,” said Mrs. Sikes, a spry little birdlike woman. She climbed out of the buggy and was on the porch before her portly husband’s feet touched the ground. “I was eager to know if Mr. Hyde had come in on today’s train.”

“No. He wasn’t on the train. Sit here in the porch rocker, Mrs. Sikes.”

“And how’s that baby boy?” She pinched Dillon’s cheek, her beady eyes bright with affection.

“He’s no longer a baby. He’s three years old.”

“He is? My, how time flies.”

“Afternoon, Preacher Sikes. Come up on the porch. I’ll get a chair and a bucket of cool water. It’s cooler out here than in the house.”

“You gettin’ along all right?” the preacher asked after he had drunk, dropped the dipper back into the bucket, and sunk down on the chair Addie had brought from the house. She cringed, hoping the chair would survive when she heard it creak and groan under his massive weight.

“We’re doing fine. Just fine,” Addie replied.

“There’s men on the road day and night, all of ’em fresh from the killin’ and burnin’ and rapin’. Town’s clogged with deserters and free slaves that don’t know what to do with themselves. You bein’ out here without a man is the devil’s temptation. ’Specially with that trollop here.” His voice boomed in the quiet that was broken only by the buzz of junebugs and the caw of a crow high in a pecan tree.

“I’m not alone. I have the children and Trisha, who most certainly is no trollop,” Addie said indignantly.

“Fiddle-faddle!” The fat preacher snorted. “That lazy nigget gal draws fornicatin’ trash like flies to a honey pot.”

Addie bit back the retort that came to mind. She controlled her temper and took a deep breath. She couldn’t afford to anger the preacher. He was mean enough to take Colin and Jane Ann away from her just to “teach her a lesson.” The flush that covered Addie’s face did not go unnoticed by Mrs. Sikes.

“We worry about you, dear.”

“We sit back from the road. We’re not bothered.” (
Forgive
me, God, for this lie.
)

“You didn’t come to service Sunday,” Preacher Sikes said accusingly. It was not unseasonably hot, but sweat rolled from his forehead and down his cheeks.

“Daisy has a swollen fetlock and I didn’t want to hitch her to the wagon. (
For this lie, too, God.
) It was too hot to walk and carry Dillon.”

“Nay, my child.” The preacher shook his head so hard that his jowls flopped. “Mere discomfort is no excuse for staying away from God’s house. Them orphans should’ve been there to hear God’s word,” he said sternly, then added: “The boy’s big enough to do a day’s work to pay for his board, and he’s been asked for.”

“He works
here.
” Addie felt an almost frantic uneasiness leap within her. “You needn’t worry about Jane Ann and Colin. I’m going to keep
both
of them.”

“You’ve done yore Christian duty by ’em. Ya kept ’em longer than ya ort to of. It’s time someone else took on the burden.”

“Colin and Jane Ann are not a burden,” Addie said firmly. “When you brought them here, you said they had no close relatives to claim them. I have as much right to them as anyone.”

“They ain’t got no livin’ kin that I know of. They was left to the church, and I took on the chore of seein’ ’em raised. I’m thinkin’ they be needin’ a stronger hand than what they been gettin’ here. The Lord says, ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child.’ ”

Addie seriously doubted that the Lord meant to
beat
children, but she could see that arguing with Preacher Sikes would only make him more adamant. She choked down her anger and tried to speak reasonably.

“Have you seen the children misbehaving?” she asked, and went on before he could answer: “They’re a part of my family now. A big part. Colin helps with the sheep and in the field. Jane Ann looks after Dillon.”

“Ya ain’t got the means to feed extra when ya ain’t got no man on the place,” he said stubbornly.

“I didn’t have a man on the place when you brought them here. I’ve managed for almost four years. Now that the war is over—”

“Yore man will have a say when he comes home. Ya ain’t heard that he’s dead, have ya?”

“I’ve had no official notice,” Addie said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.

“Well, looky here,” Mrs. Sikes broke in, before her husband could continue the argument. Dillon had placed a crudely made bow and arrow in her lap.

“Colin made it. Wanna see me shoot?”

“Sure do. But be careful you don’t hit something.”

“I hit a chicken once. Didn’t hurt it.” Dillon went to the edge of the porch, placed his arrow on the string, and pulled it back. When he let go of the string, the arrow went a good three feet out into the yard. He ran to get it. When he returned he was smiling happily.

“That was good. Very good. Wasn’t it, Horace?”

“What? Uh . . . yes, good.” The preacher was fanning himself with his hat. “Do you reckon Mr. Hyde’ll want to live here on this place if he . . . when he comes back?”

“I imagine so. I see no reason to move.”

The preacher’s face always screwed up into disapproving lines when he spoke of Kirby. He had met him only once—the day Kirby and Addie had ridden over on his horse and asked Preacher Sikes to marry them. He had heartily disapproved of the hasty marriage and had tried to talk Addie out of it. When she refused to be swayed by his argument, he performed the ceremony with a deep frown on his face.

“If ya get a mind to sell the place, Oran Birdsall is looking for a place for his boy. He’s got cash money.”

“I’ll keep that in mind . . . should we decide to sell.”

“Jist thought I’d mention it. Come on, woman.” The preacher heaved himself to his feet and anchored his hat on his bald head. “We’d best be goin’.”

“Come over, now.” The birdlike woman hopped off the porch. “We’re goin’ to call on the Longleys. Sister Longley is down in the back.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. Say hello for me.”

“I’ll do that. ’Bye, Sister Hyde.”

“Goodbye.”

“ ’Bye,” Dillon echoed.

Addie stood in the yard until the buggy was out of sight. She breathed a sigh of relief as she gathered her son into her arms.

She thought about what the preacher had said about the Birdsalls wanting to buy the farm. The Birdsalls and the Renshaws were the most prosperous families in the hills surrounding Freepoint. She had known for a while that the Birdsalls wanted to increase their holdings.

Addie had secretly longed to spread her wings. There was a big country out there, and she wanted desperately to see some of it. She had hoped that someday she could sell the farm and start a new life in some other place where she could breed and raise her sheep, process her wool, and spin it into yarn. For the last few years the money she had earned from selling or trading the warm garments she and Trisha knitted had provided most of the necessities for her and her family.

But then Kirby, with his laughing eyes and dancing feet, had come into her life and turned it upside down. He had arrived one day and asked to sleep in the barn and work for his board. There had been so much to do, and he had seemed so eager to do it, that she had allowed him to stay. In no time at all he had helped her hoe her small cotton patch, mend the fences, and prune the peach trees. They had worked the vegetable garden together—and together they had picked the wild raspberries.