Extensions (14 page)

“What did he offer you?” Adam's eyes are no longer sleepy.

“No price come up. He tell me someone would pay a lot of money for my land, but ah got no interest in that. Ah been workin' hard since ah take my first step and before that, ah was on the back of my Mama stooped over in the cotton fields. Ah drive cattle all the way from California up to this country so we can have a better life. And we have a better life. And them fruit trees, them's my best work.”

Jane is thankful neither man looks at her.

“Why does Butch want your land?”

“Butch don't want it. Coal people want it, though nobody but him come forward.

So Lance made up the conversation with Mackie
, thinks Jane.

“Coal. There's coal here?”

“On the slope, they say. But if there's coal on my property, it must carry through land they can buy. Ah don't own much.”

Both men put on worn jackets, and Louis hands Jane her cloak, testing it for dryness.

“When did this come up? Mother know?”

“Few weeks back. Nobody know, excep' you now, and Miss Jane. Ah try not to think about it too much, just get on with my work. The butcher don't say no more about it, excep when he watchin' me, ah pretty sure what he thinkin.' Always was a coarse fellow, especially with the ladies.”

A snort escapes from Jane without warning. She pulls a handkerchief from the pocket of her skirt and pretends to stifle a cough. She has never known Louis to talk so much without the aid of questions. It is as if he wants these things said.

“Forgive such talk, Miss Jane. Ah've no right to burden you wi' my worries.”

Louis slips Jane a dollar bill and pats his clean clothes lying on the table. “Such a fine job you do. But ah do believe it not safe for a young woman to be out in the forest with cougars roamin' around. Next time ah pick them up.”

“No,” says Jane, too quickly. “I like the walk and fresh air. Sometimes when it's warm, I take the long way home by the bluffs. The wild pansies and oxeye daisies remind me of the slopes of Wales.” She bends quickly to pick up her bag of apples and to pull on Gomer's boots, while Adam is drinking more water. She hopes they will be hidden by her long skirt.

“Bluffs? So far from here? Ah can't remember when last ah been in that direction.”

Adam holds the door for her and his father. Her oversize boots cause her to trip against him, and he steadies her back with his arm. Cool, moist air saves her cheeks from catching on fire. Through the rain-freshened fragrance of moss, cedar, arbutus, and fir she walks between the two men, never feeling safer in her life. They reach the butcher's hut too fast. Jane stops on the road, as Louis turns down the path.

“I'll go on from here.”

“Ah want to gi' you a piece o' pork for your family. Then Adam and ah will walk you home.”

Free meat is not worth standing face to face again with Butch Hargraves. “You've given us a lot already. I must get home now.”

“Ah need my son to help carry the meat, but ah could wait for him here while he accompany you home. He seem strong again to me, but your cheeks so flush, ah believe you catch his fever.”

Jane and Adam look away before their eyes lock. “I'll be all right. And Adam has a boat to catch.” She starts walking backward.

“Well, if you're sure, Miss Jane. We'll watch you awhile.”

“Goodbye, then, Louis,” says Jane, and nods toward Adam, not trusting herself to speak his name. Gomer's boots prevent her from running, but she breaks into a clumsy skip to be out of their view as quickly as she can. What a foolish girl to be caught up with such feelings. And how does she rid herself of them now? She reaches home without knowing how she got there. Her skirt is torn at the bottom. Did a cougar attack her or was it another branch of holly she missed seeing again? Her mind is too full of silly thoughts to notice anything around her until she is outside her house. Fearing she will be late for supper, she bursts through the door. She is surprised to see Roland Hughes sitting at their kitchen table playing gin rummy and drinking beer with Tommy.

“Good day, Jane.” Roland puts his cards down to greet her.

“Hello, Roland.”

Tommy seems relaxed. Gomer has pulled up a chair behind him, fidgeting and watching his big brother's cards. Even Mama is in the sitting room knitting, glancing up between her stitches with a contented view of the young men. “Looks like you got caught in the rain,” she says, referring to Jane's hair.

Jane touches it, wondering how she had appeared to Adam. “A little. Louis made me a cup of tea and I warmed up.”

“Why doesn't the old man pick up his laundry here?” asks Roland, showing no sign of resuming the card game now.

“He has offered many times. And besides I like to get out for a walk in that direction,” Jane says defiantly. “When the flowers are in bloom, I walk to the bluffs on my way home. The heartsease” — she uses her mother's term for wild pansies — “on the hills take me back to Catherine and Margaret, and the way things used to be.” She steps out of Gomer's boots, no longer caring if anyone sees them, hangs up her cloak, and sets the apples in the cool lean-to.

“The bluffs?” Mama says sharply. “Be you careful on those bluffs. Moira McPherson's son was playing with another boy up there and fell over and broke his neck. And this is your home now, no use pining for what once was.”

“Jane's a big girl, Mama, she can take care of herself,” smiles Tommy. “As long as she doesn't wear Gomer's boots to the bluffs. She'd be sure to stumble then.”

Everyone laughs, including Jane. Roland watches her as she brings the pot of soup from the shelves in the lean-to and sets it on the stove. She is careful not to glance too long at him for fear of comparing his pale thin face and slight body to Adam. She is able to breathe more easily now, relieved for the calm. How could she feel such comfort in the company of Louis and Adam, when now from the familiarity of her home, that world seems off limits?

“Maybe Roland would like to stay for supper,” says Mama. Tommy clears away the cards and beer glasses.

“Thank you,” says Roland. “And maybe your sister would like to go to the dance with us tonight.”

Tommy looks as surprised as Jane. Mama is the only one who speaks. “Not yet. She might think she's an adventurer, going to the bluffs, but she'll be only sixteen next month and that's still too young for a dance hall full of miners.”

“I'd look after her,” says Roland, with a conspiratorial smile, “in case her brother is too busy with Lizzie Carter.”

Tommy reddens. “Quiet, Hughes.”

“Lizzie Carter?” Jane turns quickly from the stove. “She's been over to Stella's. How do you know Lizzie, Tommy?”

Tommy mumbles, “I've seen her at the store. And she brings lunches sometimes when her father and brother forget.”

Roland leans back in his chair, his eyes darting from Tommy, to Jane, to their mother, amused at the reaction he has provoked. Jane stirs the soup vigourously. Lizzie Carter. Big and bossy. Not as silly as Stella, but not as pretty either. She refuses to imagine her shy, moody, hardworking brother in the clutches of Lizzie Carter. Roland likes to tease, so maybe that's all there is to it, but Tommy is not denying knowing her. At least the talk has shifted from her going to the dance. She is thankful Mama said no, so she would not have to do it herself. Tonight she wants to be home alone.

She sets out plates and bowls on the table and pulls up another chair, wishing it were for Cassie. They would go for a walk later and she would tell her all about today. In the meantime, she will share their meal with Roland Hughes whose eyes are still watching her every move. She remembers Adam's eyes — also alert but with a soft detached merriment — and again, she resists a comparison. Later, when Mama has gone to bed and Roland and Tommy are at the dance, she will write a few lines to Cassie, Margaret, and Gilbert. She will not be signing it Plain Jane just yet.

WOULD I EVER GET ANYTHING RIGHT? Barnwell just wrote our term paper deadline on the board. Not two Wednesdays from now, as I had wanted to believe, but next week. Crane Reese must have noticed the shock on my face because he leaned toward me with the topic list. He pointed to
The influence of Sir James Douglas' early life on his success
as a leader.
He whispered, as Barnwell exited, “Only one left with references still in the library.”

I whispered back unnecessarily. “Thanks.” Sir James sounded as good or bad as the others, since I had not given much thought to any of them.

“I'm almost finished mine.” Crane stood up. “Black immigration. I could give you my books tomorrow or the next day. Then again, maybe I wouldn't want the competition.”

I rolled my eyes. “Believe me, you'd do well in competition with me.”

I followed him out and thought he was going to suggest coffee again but he didn't. He said goodbye in the corridor that led to the library. I got the hint. A sick, empty feeling took over my stomach. Not from hunger, because I had remembered to bring a sandwich this time, but from my usual procrastination.

Everyone was leaving the library. Passing me, each carried an aura of superiority, of having mastered everything he or she had to learn. The only thing I was confident about at that moment was that I was the most inadequate student in the college. A familiar sensation that had played many roles recently. After Ray dumped me, I imagined everyone I encountered to be in a storybook-perfect relationship, and not long after that, I was sure everyone I looked at had a mother. Now they were all diligent students. With boyfriends and mothers.

The librarian informed me they were closing for the day. In a quavering voice that made me think of a punk at his first robbery of a 7-Eleven, I told her I had to have some books.

“Sure,” she said obligingly. “What would you like?”

“Something on Sir James Douglas.”

“You've got a lot to choose from,” she said, typing his name into the computer without a hint of impatience. “Anything in particular about him?”

“His early life.”

“
B.C. Studies
has some articles on his school days, and his mother and grandmother. Journals can't leave the library but I can give you a couple of good biographies. She led me through the shelves and picked off three books. “These should keep you going.”

She signed them out and smiled as I left. I made a mental note to treat my felons with that kind of respect, because I was nothing more than that: a perjurer who had vowed to pass a course for credit and was about to give up on that vow.

I got into my car and took the club from the steering wheel. My forehead slumped against the cold hard plastic. I did not know how to write a term paper. I knew who did, but it would be losing my last shred of dignity to ask him.

Dad.

Dad? Just then I remembered we were to go to the island on Thursday. That was out of the question now with this paper sending a summons for my days off. If I cancelled, Dad would probably never suggest an outing again, sensitive as he was to my schedule. He treated me as if I was the hardest-working person at the most important job in the world, a joke if ever there was one right now. It was just after ten. I was in the area. He would still be up listening to comedy reruns.

He answered the door in his pyjamas. The surprise and concern on his face prompted my next-of-kin visit voice. “It's okay, Dad, I just finished class and thought I would stop by.”

The entire house was dark and silent, even the kitchen where he normally kept company with his radio, grapefruit, and yogurt at this time of night. “Were you in bed?”

He smiled sheepishly, and my face went from worried white to shocked red. “Dad, have you got someone here with you?”

He added a flattered male smile to his embarrassment, then switched on the lights. I followed him into the living room. “No, actually… in other words, I was consulting my finger.” He gestured for me to sit down.

I remained standing. “What?”

“Have you had anything to eat?”

“I'm not hungry. What about your finger?”