The Unplowed Sky (16 page)

Hallie would wager that Felicity had kept all
her
favorite clothes and jewelry. Parting with his familiar playthings must have added considerably to Jackie's distress. Thank goodness—and Shaft and Smoky and Laird, yes, and Meg—that he had so many interesting things to do that he couldn't miss his toys much.

“That's thoughtful of you, Rory,” Hallie told him. “Blowing bubbles is a perfect way to spend a hot afternoon.”

The light from inside cast his face into harsh brightness and shadow. “The problem with bubbles is that they're only air when the rainbow bursts.”

“That's all right,” Jackie said. “I'll just blow more.”

“Do that, laddie.” Rory brushed back the dark curls from Jackie's forehead and went in to supper.

He took the men's joshing in good humor when Hallie passed the chocolates. “Good taste, Rory, my boy,” said Rich Mondell. “Mmmm! Do I love cherry cordials!”

“Nothin' cheap about Rory,” Rusty Wells agreed. “Here, Luke, take another Brazil nut. There's plenty more.”

“Now I know how the man felt who accidentally dropped his pearls in front of a bunch of hogs,” Rory grunted. “Never mind. I got all the toffees.”

Though Garth took only one and Hallie thought he did that for sociability, the chocolates vanished almost as fast the bubbles Jackie was blowing. “That was the nicest candy I ever had,” Hallie told Rory. “And the box is gorgeous. I'm going to save it to hold my sewing things.”

“I'm glad you don't think you have to give it away,” Rory said in a wry tone.

“Please, Rory. I can't let you spend your money on me.”

He shrugged. “I can always lose it in the pool hall or rolling dice.”

Garth was listening. Hallie wondered, didn't he feel like saying that if money burned a hole in his brother's pocket, it could certainly help on the mortgage?
She
felt like saying so but it was scarcely her place.

Jim Wyatt got to his feet. “Let's thank Miss Hallie and Shaft for setting out a supper when they didn't have to. I'll wash. Who'll dry?”

Everyone was willing, but Luke and Rich grabbed the dish towels first. In short order, as Shaft puffed contentedly on his pipe with Smoky purring beneath his beard and Jackie half-asleep on his chest, everything was put away and the kitchen readied for morning. With Cotton and Pat gone, the crew seemed almost like a family. After they called their good-nights, Hallie made up Jackie's bed on the table. He was already asleep, pipe in one hand, Lambie in the other.

“Rory means well,” Shaft said abruptly. “But even if he is a couple of years older than you, Hallie, you know, don't you, that in some ways he's as big a kid as Jackie?”

Hallie stared at his furrowed brow and smothered a laugh. “Don't worry, Shaft! I certainly know better than to take him seriously! If I did, I'll bet he'd run a mile.”

“I'm not that sure.”

“Well, it won't happen, so there's no problem.”

“
That
could be a problem, too.”

“Honestly!”

He patted her cheek. “Don't mind me. It's just that I think a lot of both of the boys, especially Garth. I'd hate to see trouble between them.”

“If there is, it won't be over me.”

“I sure do hope not.”

Hallie gave his beard an affectionate pat. “Don't look so solemn. Rory will fall for the next pretty girl he sees, and Garth will go on being Mr. Touch-Me-Not Grouch.”

Hallie took her nightclothes and went outside to change and brush her teeth. A half-moon silvered the field and shocked grain into an enchanted world. A drifting cloud glowed spun crystal as it veiled the moon. Before Hallie could take off her apron, someone loomed beside her. She started to scream.

A hand closed over her mouth. “Don't yell,” Rory whispered in her ear. “It's only me.”

He took his palm away. She relaxed, but only a little. “Why on earth—”

“Shhh. I just want to thank you properly without the whole bunch flapping their big ears our direction.”

“All right. You've thanked me. Good night.”

He chuckled softly. “You owe me a minute for making such a joke of me and my chocolates. Let's just walk over to that nearest wheat shock.” When she hesitated, he added coaxingly, “You wouldn't have to yell to bring the camp. Lifting your voice would do it.”

“Snakes—”

“They want out of your way more'n you want out of theirs. Never heard of anyone get bit that wasn't trying to kill the snake or accidentally put a hand or foot on it.” Hallie shuddered at the last provision. “Just step hard enough so they'll feel the vibration,” Rory persisted. “They'll vamoose.”

Agreeing seemed the fastest way to get rid of him. Besides, he had taken her disposal of his expensive chocolates with good grace. Placing her things on the lowest limb of a tree, she moved beside him toward the shock of bundled grain. Tomorrow these shocks would be loaded onto wagons which would be driven to the separator, where the bundles would be pitched onto the feeder.

“Does someone cut the binding twine?” she asked.

“Uh?” Rory blinked before he gave a mock sigh and shook his head. “You're supposed to be noticing how the moonlight shines on my hair, not inspecting the bundles. Before self-feeders were invented, band-cutters snipped the twine and men had to feed each bundle by hand into the cylinder.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“It was. But now a revolving knife cuts the twines and a revolving rake combs the bundles apart to feed a nice even flow into the cylinder.”

“Does—”

“Tomorrow you can learn more than you really want to know about threshing bundles.” Rory took her hands in his and moved directly in front of her. “Hallie, I truly am obliged to you. Cotton could have sliced my throat. I owe you more for that than any box of candy.”

“We're even.” Uncomfortable with his solemnity, she tried to joke. “You gave Jackie rainbows.”

“I'd like to give them to you.” His tone roughened. His hands slipped to her wrists in an imprisoning caress. “Rainbows and stars and the moon up there.”

“Moonshine for certain, Rory!” He was young and strong and charming. He delighted her eyes and she liked him. A beguiling warmth spread from his fingers, making her feel strange and lazy. But he wasn't Garth. She tried to slip from his hands. “You've thanked me handsomely. Good night.”

Something pushed in between them. Wagging his tail, Laird looked from one to the other for a welcome. Rory dropped Hallie's hands and stepped back. “On the snoop, big brother?” he asked of the man who moved from the shadow of the neighboring shock.

“You never know when some crazy's going to set fire to a field.” Garth's voice was expressionless. “When I hear voices after dark, I'm sure going to have a look. Didn't mean to bust in on anything.”

“We were just talking,” Hallie said, and then felt like a fool. Why should she feel so guilty? She hadn't done anything. And even if she had, it was none of Garth's business.

“Don't let me interrupt.” Garth's soft whistle took the dog away with him. Rory turned. Hallie fled.

VIII

Hallie glanced out as a loaded wagon rumbled past and an unloaded one pulled up among the shocks. The driver jumped down, tied his reins to the wagon frame, and helped the field pitchers load with three-tined pitchforks. They tossed the first bundles in at random but, as the rack filled, the men expertly built up the sides with straw ends facing out.

There were six bundle wagons in all. Two flanked the separator, where Garth's crew helped the drivers pitch bundles onto the feeder from wagons that were almost empty. Two loaded wagons waited their turn, and two were being filled.

“What are they doing at that other wagon?” Hallie asked. “Look at that man! He just tossed several bundles on at once!”

“Tryin' for a home run,” Shaft snorted. “These young guys like to pretend they're Babe Ruth. One bundle is just a single. Two is second base, and three puts you on third. All well and good so long as they load 'em right. That makes a big difference to the pitchers feeding the separator.”

“Six drivers and six field pitchers!” Hallie fluted the crust of a third blackberry pie. “Thank goodness we don't have to feed them!”

“Miz Halstead's got three daughters and a daughter-in-law to help,” said Shaft. “The whole outfit's either sons, sons-in-law, or grandsons. Not a sloppy pitcher in the bunch. That's good 'cause Garth gets mad as fire if he has to stay on 'em to feed the bundles headfirst and one at a time so they overlap without bein' on top of each other. If that happens, it can clog the separator, and then Garth remembers quite a lot of language he learned in the army.”

Garth hadn't sworn when he found her with Rory two nights ago, but the contempt in his manner stung worse than anything he could have said. Except for unavoidable commonplaces, he hadn't spoken to her since then. In particularly hurt and resentful moments, Hallie thought of quitting but it was never more than a thought. How could she take Jackie away from where he felt needed and liked, away from Shaft and Laird and Smoky? He had a new hero in Luke, who was teaching him birdcalls and animal tracks.

No, she would endure whatever Garth did short of firing her—and it wasn't just for her brother's sake. She didn't even want to think of the end of the season, when the crew would split up and she would have to find a new job.

Since the separator didn't have to be moved through rows of stacks, it was moved only once, when the wind changed and blasted chaff and grain into the threshers' faces. This was not helped much by the bandannas many of them wore tied beneath their eyes like bank robbers, so the set was moved and another mountain of straw started.

“We'll finish in time to move on to the Thomases tonight,” Garth said at afternoon lunch. He looked past Hallie as if she weren't there, and she felt like sloshing hot coffee on his shins. “That make a problem for you with supper, Shaft?”

Shaft grinned. “Nope. I been keepin' an eye on the shocks and figgered we'd better plan on a move. Hallie's baked two cherry cobblers. There's beans left from lunch, and we'll make potato salad and slaw and slice a ham.”

“I can always count on you.” Garth flicked Hallie a glance that dismissed her as being definitely un-countable on. He reached for another butterscotch bar. “These sure are good.”

“Hallie made 'em.”

“Oh.” Garth changed his reach into an elaborate yawn and stretch and got to his feet. Hallie longed to not only douse him with coffee, but swing the whole heavy enamel pot at him. She hurried to the cookshack and was banging around so wrathfully when Shaft joined her that he stared at her for a second before his eyes glinted.

“You have a dustup with Garth?”

“How can you have a dustup with someone who pretends you don't exist?”

“He seems to be pretendin' a little more since Sunday night.”

“He's looking for excuses to think ill of me, Shaft!” Once Hallie started, it was a relief to pour out what had happened. “So, between Rory's flirting and Garth's suspicions, I can't do anything right!” she concluded.

“Which wouldn't matter if you didn't kind of like Garth, the big ign'rant lummox!” Shaft patted her shoulder. “The Thomases have a pretty brown-eyed daughter Rory took to a dance last year. Maybe he'll shine up to her again. That'd smooth Garth's feathers.”

Sally Thomas's oval face was framed piquantly by short, curly hair, and she did glance at Rory from beneath long, dark lashes when she brought the milk, butter, cottage cheese, and eggs Shaft had asked to buy. She arrived after supper when Rory was drying dishes for Hallie.

“Sally, you just get prettier every time I see you,” Rory said and smiled, but he didn't follow her out to the Thomas flivver. The next evening, her kid brother brought the dairy products.

“You got Sally riled at you, boy,” Shaft teased Rory.

“She's too nice to kid along.”

Shaft's jaw dropped. “Since when did you do anything but kid?”

“Since now.” Rory's gaze rested on Hallie. She was glad that her face was so flushed from heat that her deep, slow blush was disguised.

Should she tell him straight out that she could never be serious about him? It might just make him more determined. Apparently Rory was famous for his butterfly heart, flitting from bloom to bloom. If she gave him absolutely no encouragement, Rory would tire of the siege. He was a boy, and when she fell in love, she wanted it to be with a man.

The Thomas farm was small, and the threshing was finished by mid-morning of the third day. Hallie, Shaft, and Jackie spread lunch under the locust trees. Jackie fanned away flies and ants, and the men ate on the run as they prepared to move on. Shaft and Hallie fastened down everything they could and were taking down the ropes at the four corners when a long yellow runabout sped up and stopped beside Garth, who was eating a sandwich while he made notes in his settlement book. That was where he recorded the details of each job: number of bushels threshed, expenses, the outfit's share, and how to divide it among the crew.

Hallie had to look twice to be sure it was Sophie Brockett in the passenger seat of the Pierce-Arrow. Bobbed hair peroxided almost white, slanted over one eye. Her pouting lips were red. Perhaps that gave them their swollen look. Rouge, powder, purple eye color—Hallie wished for the Brocketts' sake that Sophie had gone farther from home to imitate a flapper. She lit a cigarette and blew a stream of smoke straight at Garth.

Quentin Raford leaned back from the wheel. He didn't speak to Hallie, but his gaze moved slowly, appraisingly, over her, his eyes more yellow than green in the brilliant light. In spite of the heat, Hallie went cold inside. His eyes dwelled on her mouth, her pulsing throat. He smiled—just slightly—and turned to Garth.