Dunaway's Crossing (9 page)

“Back to town?” Netta asked, the pitch of her voice rising with hope.

“To Dunaway’s Crossing,” he replied.

Netta’s heart sank a little. But at least Will’s new trading post was better than this camp house.

“Where’s that? “ Bea Dot asked. From the worry on her face, Netta could tell Bea Dot loathed the idea of more travel.

“It’s my place,” Will explained. “Just on the other side of the lake. It won’t take long to get there.”

Netta pressed her palms together, but said nothing. It wasn’t home, but Dunaway’s Crossing was a sight better than this sorry shack. His new place might be rustic, but at least he had a telephone and access to the main road. She and Bea Dot could tolerate staying there for the short term until Ralph sent for them again. “Well, I suppose you’re right,” she said cautiously. “Can we take my rocking chair?”

“Certainly,” he said. “If you’ll pardon me a few minutes, I’ll put your belongings in my wagon, and we’ll be off.”

Netta turned to Bea Dot with a triumphant smile. Bea Dot tried to return it, but she failed to conceal the doubt in those dark eyes.

Customers trickled in for now, but Bea Dot felt sure that once word spread of Will Dunaway’s country store, a steady flow of clientele would run in and out his front door. He had stocked shelves with a variety of goods rural folk might need: corn meal, molasses, salt, coffee, tobacco. She relished the store’s scent of raw pine and fresh paint, which was why she’d decided to knit at the kitchen table with a view through the doorway of the busy-ness of trade. She much preferred helping Will behind the counter or arranging items on the shelves to the tedious knit two, purl two of making Netta’s layette.

“Your stitches are so even, cousin.” Bea Dot jumped as Netta’s voice over her shoulder startled her like the tiny shock of static electricity. Her cousin circled the straight-backed chair and faced her. “That’s going to be a precious receiving blanket.”

She took the piece into her own pudgy hands to examine it more closely, and though Netta wore a smile of admiration, Bea Dot knew to expect a word of critique veiled in compliment.

“Oh, dear, you’ve dropped a stitch.” Netta laced her voice in regret. “But at least it’s on this top row. You can still fix it.”

Oh, hooray! There’s still hope for this blanket!
Tacit sarcasm helped Bea Dot bite her tongue at her cousin’s frequent criticisms. Out loud, she said, “I’ll just add a stitch at the end of this row.”

“Yes, you could do that,” Netta said before chewing on her lip, a tell-tale sign of disapproval. Bea Dot counted silently, wondering how long Netta would hesitate before suggesting a better solution. Poor Netta tried so hard to abandon her bossy perfectionism, but old habits died hard. “Then again, you could take out those few stitches and pull the dropped stitch over your right needle.”

Pressing her lips, Bea Dot hid a smile. For a whopping seven seconds, Netta had held in her opinion. A new record for her. Bea Dot nodded, then put the blanket in the basket on the table. “My hands are getting sore,” she lied. “I’ll make fewer mistakes if I come back to this later.”

“In the middle of a row?” Netta’s incredulous blue eyes widened.

“It’ll be all right,” Bea Dot patted her cousin’s shoulder.

“I’ll just finish this row for you,” Netta said, taking a seat across the table.

Bea Dot knew she would.

“I think I’ll see if Will needs any help in the store,” she said as she took a step in that direction.

“Oh, don’t bother him, darling,” Netta replied, already pulling out Bea Dot’s stitches. Bea Dot tried not to be insulted by her cousin’s presumptuous gesture. It was, after all, Netta’s receiving blanket. But Bea Dot still felt a pang of resentment at how quickly her cousin took over her work.

“I’m not going to bother him.” Bea Dot tried to dampen the edge in her voice. “I’m going to offer to help.”

“That’s sweet of you, dear, but I think we should try our best to stay out of his way.” Netta spoke to the yellow yarn rather than to Bea Dot. Her pudgy fingers flew like hummingbirds around the knitting needles. “We’ve already crowded him out of his home. No need to interfere with his work.”

Perplexed, Bea Dot leaned in the door sill and watched Netta knit. The temporary living arrangement was the very reason she wanted to help Will. She hadn’t considered her gesture a nuisance. Five days ago, Will had driven the two women and all their belongings to his own small home, which was attached to the back of his trading post. He’d given up his own bedroom, even putting up an extra bed, before moving his own belongings into the storage room on the other end of the store. There he slept on a pallet among the bags of grain and cans of coffee.

“But when I offer to help,” Bea Dot explained, “he seems to appreciate it.”

“Oh, Will wouldn’t complain,” Netta still spoke into her knitting. “He’s too considerate to do that.” She’d already finished a row and started another.

“But after all he’s doing for us, I want to do something to reciprocate, to repay him for all his effort and his hospitality.” What better way to do so than to help him get his new store organized? Weren’t two hands better than one?

“That’s a nice idea,” Netta lifted her head this time and faced Bea Dot. “Instead, why don’t you make him a nice pound cake? I’m sure he’ll love that.”

“Right,” Bea Dot replied uncertainly. “A pound cake.” She backed out of the  kitchen and shuffled through the store and to the back porch, still pondering Netta’s suggestion. Now she didn’t know whether to trust Will on the matter or her cousin. She didn’t want to be a pest, but at the same time, how did Netta know how Will felt about her help? And what good would a pound cake do? Even if she had the ingredients to bake a cake, she lacked the skills to make one. All her life, California had done the cooking, the sewing, the housework.  Bea Dot’s cake would likely turn out heavy as lead, which would be fine if Will really needed a new door stop. Inhaling deeply while pushing down her frustration, she sat on the porch’s log bench and stared through the screen onto the lake.

Bea Dot found the water soothing, so different from Savannah’s Atlantic Ocean. No incoming or outgoing tides, just the consistent gentle waves lapping on the bank. No stale marshland odor or honking seagulls, just the scent of pine, hardwood, and  mud along with the hum of cicadas in the background.

On her first day at the crossing, she’d discovered this welcome respite from Netta’s disguised disapproval. Whenever Netta failed to stifle her bossiness, Bea Dot turned to the lake, reminding herself that in spite of those irritating habits, Netta had invited Bea Dot to Pineview out of love and a desire to protect her from Ben’s wrath.

The screen door creaked behind her. Will stepped onto the porch and sat next to her on the log bench. Gazing out on the water instead of at her, he said softly, “Taking a break from your cousin?”

“Is it that obvious?”  Bea Dot stiffened at the thought. Inside, her nerves hummed. “Does she know that’s why I came out here?”

“I’ve seen her out here too.” Will chuckled softly. “There’s something about this lake.” He shook his head slowly. “It eases the soul.”

Bea Dot didn’t feel at ease, though. “I mean no disrespect to Netta,” she began.

“I understand.”  Will held up his hand to stop her. “You two are cooped up here day and night.” He shook his head twice. “Too much togetherness. You both try your best to get along, but sometimes you need to part ways.”

“The last time we were together, we parted ways…well… it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other.” Bea Dot sighed. No need to burden Will with her problems, although somehow she felt comfortable enough with him right now to do so.

“No need to explain.” Will kept his eyes on the water. “It’s no business of mine. But you’re welcome to help out in the store as much as you’d like.”

“Thank you.” A pang of embarrassment stabbed at her. Had he heard her and Netta’s conversation? She studied his tanned face as he gazed at the lake. His straight brown hair lopped just slightly over his forehead, even though he kept it cropped close above his ears and off his neck. To the side of his throat, a vein ran downward, throbbing rhythmically, as if beneath that calm exterior some troubling thoughts struggled to emerge.

“Actually, I came out here to ask if you’d be willing to mind the store tomorrow,” he said.

“Of course.” Bea Dot nodded enthusiastically, delighted at the chance to help him.

“I must go into town to pick up some orders.  I may be gone a while. I’ll show you where the ledgers are and how to record information in them, but it shouldn’t be too busy. Would you mind?”

“Certainly not,” she said. “I’d be happy to.”

“Thank you.” He stood. “And if you’d like, I can send word home while I’m in town. Do you have a message for your husband?”

Bea Dot’s heart skipped a beat, and a grip of caution seized her, a familiar tension she realized she hadn’t felt since she’d arrived at the crossing. Maybe she should inform Ben of her whereabouts, but she felt safer keeping him in the dark. Besides, it was easier not to think about her problems at home. “I don’t think so,” she said. “But I’m sure Netta would like you to take a note to Ralph.”

Will nodded. “All right. I’ll ask her.”

He went back into the house and left her there listening to the lapping lake and the song of the cicadas.

#

A thunderstorm brewed up during dinner. Bea Dot and Netta ate quietly by lamplight while listening to the wind and rain.

“I hope Will isn’t on his way home in this storm,” Bea Dot said, looking anxiously out the window.

“Neither do I,” Netta replied. “but if I know Will Dunaway, he’s probably stopped at a neighboring farmhouse until the storm passes. He’s very resourceful.”

Her cousin was right. In the short time Bea Dot had known Will, she’d witnessed several instances of his self-sufficiency. Still, she hated the thought of someone so kind to her being caught in the wind and rain.

“Are you finished?” she asked.

Netta nodded, and Bea Dot took up both plates and put them in the dish pan, then pumped some water into it before rubbing the dish rag over her plate.

“Don’t you want to heat the water on the stove before washing with it?” Netta asked.

Bea Dot straightened her back and clenched her teeth. She exhaled slowly, trying to summon more patience, but her supply had run low. She exhaled slowly, trying to release at least some irritation.

“Netta,” she said smoothly, “maybe you’d like to wash the dishes. Then you could make sure they get done right.”

“What does that mean?” Netta asked, raising her eyebrows and straightening her back, which meant,
How dare you talk to me that way
?

“I mean exactly that,” Bea Dot told her, dropping the dish rag in the pan. “I can’t do anything to suit you.”

“That’s not true,” Netta said, folding her napkin, then flattening it with her palms. Bea Dot could tell Netta was trying not to get flustered.

“Yes it is. Heat the water. And bake a pound cake. And tear out my stitches.” Bea Dot’s voice escalated. She couldn’t help her next remark.  “And not marry Ben.”

Netta huffed. “Advice you clearly should have heeded.”

Resentment fired into anger, and Bea Dot stomped to the back porch before she said something she’d regret. Outside the rain had subsided, and the evening had cooled. The pine trees bent in the wind, the needles whipping the air. The screen door creaked as Netta joined Bea Dot on the porch.

“I’m sorry,” Netta said. “That was insensitive of me.”

“Don’t apologize.” Bea Dot faced her cousin. “You were right—as usual.” She hated admitting that.

Netta paused before answering. “I would rather have been wrong. It breaks my heart to see what he’s done to you.”

“To see? What do you mean?”

“The way you walked the day you arrived. And that cut on your lip. He’d…he’d thrashed you hadn’t he?” Netta’s face scrunched up as if uttering the thought caused her physical pain.

Netta didn’t know the half of it, but Bea Dot preferred that her cousin believe Ben had beaten her rather than know the truth. She turned her gaze toward the lake. The water rippled in the wind. “Yes.”

“Oh, sweet Bea Dot.”  Netta’s voice quaked, revealing tears on the offing. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Ralph and I would have loved to have you come stay with us.”

“How could I have known that?” Stung by her cousin’s remark, Bea Dot faced Netta again. “You boycotted my wedding, and I never heard from you.”

“What do you mean?” This time Netta frowned, hands on hips. “I sent you many letters of apology. You never wrote back.”

“Really? When?”

“Here and there for the past several months. I sent you a card at Christmas and on your birthday.”

“I never got them,” Bea Dot said, slowly shaking her head. She stopped as she realized why.

“None of them?” Netta asked.

“No.”

“That’s the strangest thing I ever heard. I can understand one letter getting lost in the mail, but all of them?”