Nan Ryan (29 page)

Dissolving with laughter, Helen tossed the sticker away and impulsively hugged the dirty, boisterous little boy who almost daily skinned a knee, an elbow, or his chin, bumped his head, fell from a tree or out of the swing, stubbed a toe, stepped on a burr, or got stung by a yellow jacket or a red ant.

Helen was proud of herself. She had gotten used to Charlie’s calamities and no longer panicked at the sight of blood freely flowing from one wound or another on his small body. She had learned to remain calm, or at least to appear so. It wasn’t easy. Charlie was all boy and a real handful. And she had come to love him too much not to worry a little. Well, all right, more than a little.

“Charlie, you’re awfully warm,” Helen commented, brushing back the sweat-dampened blond hair from his dirty forehead.

“I’m as hot as a road lizard,” he said, again sounding a lot like Jolly Grubbs.

“Why don’t you sit down here for a while and help me shell peas?”

Charlie shrugged. “All right.” He dropped down on the steps.

The two of them were still there half an hour later, Charlie enthusiastically helping Helen shell peas while Dom dozed peacefully beside him, one furry paw resting near Charlie’s scabbed left knee.

In the dazzling Southern sun, inertia had set in and Helen was almost as sleepy as Dom. Idly nodding yes or no to Charlie’s countless questions, it was all she could do to hold her eyes open.

She was quickly pulled from her lethargy when Charlie announced loudly, “Somebody’s coming to see us! In a big black buggy.”

Smiling, expecting to look up and see the Ellicott brougham, Helen frowned when she recognized the fancy leather-hooded carriage and high-stepping steeds pulling it. Niles Loveless was paying one of his unexpected, unwelcome calls.

Helen offered a silent blessing for Charlie’s presence. Thank heavens he was right here with her on this particular afternoon. And thank heavens that his father was nowhere in sight. Niles Loveless would have liked nothing better than to be able to report to his plump, spoiled wife Patsy that he had caught the widowed Helen Courtney alone with her Yankee hired hand.

The Loveless carriage rolled to stop at the south side of the yard and Niles climbed down. A big black mastiff jumped out, barking excitedly, and accompanied his master toward the house.

Niles Loveless was impeccably dressed in one of his expensive, custom-cut summer suits of crisp white linen. He reached the porch, removed his white straw planters hat, and bowed grandly to Helen.

Smiling broadly, he nodded to Charlie. “Hello, young man. You must be Northway’s son.”

“Captain Northway,” Charlie corrected, and proudly confirmed, “He’s my daddy.”

Niles smiled. Then he said to Helen, “Mrs. Courtney, you’re certainly looking well. I do believe you just get prettier every time I see you. Having tenants living right here on the place must agree with you.”

Helen stayed as she was, where she was. Seated on the porch steps, shelling peas. “What’s on your mind, Niles?” she asked in a tone less than cordial.

“Why can’t a gentleman pay a visit to a dear lady of whose family he’s always been fond?” His teeth flashed in a widening smile and he winked at Charlie.

“Save the small talk, Niles. What do you want?”

“As you wish.” Niles’s smile faded only slightly. “I come forward in a frank and friendly manner to lay my cards on the table. The purpose of this visit is the same as all my previous calls. I want to buy this property. I’m
going
to buy this property. From you or from the tax court when you default. Sell it to me and you will get some small equity. I mean to own it, Helen, one way or the other.”

Frowning, Helen dropped her unshelled peas, rose to her feet, and put her hands on her hips. Charlie quickly mimicked her, leaping up, placing his small hands on his hips, and glaring at Niles Loveless.

“I have told you, Niles,” Helen said with deliberate slowness, “this farm is not for sale.”

Niles shook his blond head, tapped his white straw planters hat against his trousered thighs, and chuckled patronizingly. “Now, my dear, I am only trying to help you. Why, it’s out of the goodness of my heart that I’m prepared to pay you far more than this place is worth. You’re a smart woman—act like one. Take my generous offer and put an end to this ugly talk that’s going around.”

Bristling, knowing he meant unkind stories were being whispered about her relationship with Kurt North-way, Helen hotly ordered Niles to leave.

Dom had come out of his stupor and moved down the front steps. He crouched down flat to the ground, lowered his head, and hissed warningly at the intruders. Niles’s big black mastiff yelped like he’d been wounded, turned tail, and bounded out of the yard.

But Niles made no move to leave.

Charlie shouted at Niles, “You go away!”

Niles Loveless merely laughed, reached out, and ruffled Charlie’s blond hair.

But then a deep, commanding voice from behind him said, “Where are your fine Southern manners, Loveless? The lady asked you to leave.”

Niles Loveless turned, grinned at the approaching Kurt, and said, “I was just leaving, Yankee.” Niles put his white planters hat back on his head. “Thought any more about selling me that sorrel thoroughbred?”

Kurt moved past Loveless. In no particular hurry he climbed the front steps. He turned to face Loveless, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned a muscular shoulder against a solid white porch column.

Gently, he said, “The stallion is not for sale.” There was a note of authority in his voice, as if he were a man accustomed to giving orders and to being obeyed. “Nor, says Mrs. Courtney, is this farm. Good afternoon, Loveless.”

Kurt, Helen, and Charlie watched as Niles, no longer smiling, muttered under his breath, turned on his heel, hurried to his carriage, and quickly drove away. When he had turned into the tree-bordered lane, Helen turned to the tall silent man standing beside her.

“Thank you,” she said, wanting to say more, wanting to touch him.

Kurt merely nodded. Then said to his son, “Charlie, anytime that gentleman shows up, you’re to come get me immediately.”

“I will, Daddy,” Charlie promised eagerly. Then, as Kurt pushed away from the porch column, Charlie asked, “Where are you going?”

“Time to milk old Bessie.”

“Can I come with you?”

“Have you finished shelling the peas?”

“Oh, I forgot!” Charlie said, making a face. “Almost. Will you wait for me?”

“You go on,” Helen told Charlie. “I can finish this.”

“Helen can finish this,” Charlie told his father. “Can I milk Bessie? You think she’ll let me? Will she mind me pulling on her—”

“Let’s go find out,” Kurt smoothly interrupted. “Want to ride piggyback to the barn?”

Charlie was jumping up and down and stretching his short arms up to Kurt before the sentence was finished. He squealed with joy when Kurt effortlessly plucked him up off the ground, swung him around, and settled him gently on his back.

Smiling, Helen watched the pair walk away, Charlie clinging tightly to his father’s neck, laughing merrily and calling to Dom to follow. The Russian Blue raced ahead. When they had disappeared around the house, Helen slowly sank back down on the steps.

She reached out and touched the white porch column. The column which Kurt had leaned against just moments ago. The tips of her fingers gliding over the weathered wood, Helen reviewed the brief but pleasing little scene in her mind.

Kurt had come to her defense. He had stepped up onto the porch and stood protectively close beside her. He had coolly ordered Niles Loveless to leave. One word from him and Niles had turned tail and fled. Just like his big cowardly mastiff!

Helen laughed aloud. As long as Kurt Northway was around, she needn’t worry about Niles Loveless bothering her again.

He wouldn’t dare.

Nor, Helen realized gratefully, would anyone else. She was, she knew, safe here on this remote coastal farm as she hadn’t been in years. She had almost forgotten what a good feeling it was to have a fearless man to watch out for her, take care of her.

Picking up her pan of shelled peas, Helen sighed. She’d better not get
too
used to the security. It was, she reminded herself, only temporary. The summer was slipping away. It was already the last day of August. Tomorrow September began. Soon the leaves would start to fall and the sun would come from a different angle.

And by the first frost of October, the crops would be in and the Northways would be gone. Helen didn’t want to think about it. She went inside to start supper.

Jolly showed up by the time Helen reached the kitchen. When she told him they were having fried catfish and black-eyed peas and flour gravy for supper, he said, “Well, what are you dilly-dallying for? Put on the skillet and I’ll set the table.”

They were all glad to see him, glad to have him stay for the evening meal. Charlie because he hadn’t seen his best friend all day. Helen and Kurt because they now wouldn’t risk being alone together once Charlie finished his meal and rushed off to play.

Besides, Jolly was never at a loss for words. He welcomed the opportunity to pontificate and his steady, spirited monologue kept Helen from having to talk to Kurt. And vice versa.

His first bit of news was that storm warnings had been hoisted eastward from Pensacola across the Panhandle.

Hearing that, Helen immediately tensed. “Awfully early in the season, isn’t it?” she said, concern clearly written on her face. “Should we take precautions?”

“No. No need for it this time,” Jolly said quickly, wishing he hadn’t brought it up. No one knew better than he just how frightened Helen was of hurricanes. Since a surprise storm had killed her parents at sea when she was only a child, she had been terrified of wind storms.

“Are you sure we’re not in danger?” With effort Helen kept her voice calm, but Kurt noted her anxiety.

“No danger at all, child,” Jolly reassured her. “Might get a little rain out of it, nothing more. Really.”

Jolly tucked his napkin into his shirt collar and quickly changed the subject. He told, between bites of catfish, of the latest goings-on in Spanish Fort and Mobile. The Livingston sisters had been tut-tutting about Em Ellicott shamelessly chasing after Coop. The widowed Yasmine Parnell was away on holiday; she had gone down the eastern shore to that fancy Point Clear resort for a couple of weeks. The famed actor Tyrone Power was appearing at the Water Street Theater in Mobile. And on and on.

“And I almost forgot,” said Jolly, halfway through the meal, “Tom Blake’s opened a sawmill over in Bay Minette.”

“Really?” Helen’s eyebrows raised. “Now, Tom Blake … isn’t he the …”

“Old Vance Blake’s only grandson. Vance and your granddaddy were the best of friends. Vance married a little gal from Bay Minette and moved over there so she could be near her folks,” Jolly said. “I think Tommy the grandson might be on to something with this sawmill idea. Lord knows there’s a big demand for building lumber.”

Agreeing, Helen asked question after question about Tom Blake’s new sawmill. She and Jolly discussed it at length while Kurt politely listened, surprised by Helen’s keen interest in the subject.

Concluding, Jolly said, “Tommy’s a smart young man. He should do real well with the saw mill.”

Jolly continued to carry the conversation. But as he spoke, he quietly studied the two grown-ups and noticed, as he had on his last few visits, that something had changed between them.

Again.

They were right back where they started.

Or were they?

Jolly wasn’t sure, but he suspected he knew what had happened. If his assumption was correct, if they were starting to care more than they cared to, then likely it would be only a matter of time before they were forced to face up to it. At least he hoped they would. Before it was too late. Before Kurt and Charlie had gone.

Finishing his meal, Jolly patted his full round belly, sighed, pushed back his chair, and said, “Charlie, come sit on my knee a minute.”

Responding instantly, Charlie slipped out of his chair and hurried to climb up on Jolly’s lap. Charlie leaned his head against Jolly’s chest and his pale golden hair was smoothed by a weathered, wrinkled hand.

“Charlie, have I told you about the gumbo-cooking contest they hold every autumn up in Bay Minette?”

“No,” Charlie said, “when is it? Will we go?”

The child never saw both his father and Helen frowning and shaking their heads no at Jolly. Jolly did, but he paid them no mind. “Every year in late September, folks from miles around go to Bay Minette for …”

Stroking Charlie’s hair, Jolly talked at length about the upcoming gumbo cook-off, telling how he himself never missed it, since he cooked the best gumbo to be found anywhere in Baldwin County. Said he went to Bay Minette every September for three or four days. Said he always stayed for the whole shebang and it was more fun than anything. Said lots of boys Charlie’s age would be there.

Helen could have pinched Jolly’s white head off.

But when, lowering Charlie to his feet, Jolly rose and said he’d better be getting on home, Helen tried to get him to stay.

“Why, the sun’s not completely down,” she argued. “Stay and we’ll get out the checkerboard.”

Jolly couldn’t be persuaded. He left for home. Charlie tagged after him as far as the shortcut through the woods. There they said good-bye and Jolly promised he’d be over again tomorrow.

Kurt had excused himself as soon as Jolly left. Helen cleared the table and cleaned up the kitchen.

As dusk descended, she stepped out onto the back porch and heard the sound of an ax striking wood. She shook her head. Kurt Northway was chopping more firewood. Never had she known a man to work as hard as he. He never stopped. Never rested for a minute. From dawn to dark he toiled as if obsessed.

Helen went down the steps and started toward the smokehouse. She was planning to bake several loaves of bread come morning, so she would need to bring in a big sack of flour. Swinging happily back and forth, Charlie spotted Helen, leaped out of the swing, and came racing over to her. He followed her into the shadowy smokehouse, asking questions, looking around at all the interesting things stored there.