The Yellow Rose (32 page)

“Oh, he’s too holy to hurt.”

“Yes, I saw his face, and I’d like to pound Kern Herendeen with a sledgehammer!”

“Guess you’d have to get in line for that,” Clay said.

The two stood there talking for a while, and Barr left them alone. Julie seemed to have something on her mind, and Clay said, “I’ve asked you this before, Julie, but if you want to leave here, we’d be glad to have you.”

“Leave me alone, Clay. I don’t have any place with you.”

“Sure you do. You’re family.”

“You talk like Rice.”

“Smart man. You ought to listen to him.”

Julie reached over and picked up Clay’s root beer. She smiled at him and shook her head. “You’re down to drinkin’ root beer, are you? Well, I always knew you’d go downhill when you wouldn’t marry me.” She tasted the beverage and made a face. “That’s awful stuff!”

“Rice is doing fine at the church, isn’t he?”

“He’s headin’ for a fall. He’s fillin’ that church up with people like me.”

“That wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

Julie seemed moody and restless. She put her elbows on the bar and stared down at it. “I’ll tell you the truth, Clay. This life is no fun anymore, but I can’t be anything else.”

“Sure you can, Julie. You’re just like me. I wasn’t a candidate for the pearly gates either, but if the good Lord took me in, He’ll take anybody.”

Julie did not look up, and Clay had to lean over to hear what she said.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever become a Christian, Clay, but if I did— I guess I’d want to be the kind Rice Morgan is.”

Clinton shoved his plate back and said, “Well, that was a nice breakfast, Ma.”

“Six eggs and a half a side of bacon. I think you’re gonna founder yourself.”

“I got to keep my strength up, Ma. After all, I got to hold this here ranch together.”

Jerusalem had to stifle a laugh, for Clinton’s enormous self-assurance always amused her. He was always sure that he was right, no matter how many people tried to tell him differently. In others it might have been a rather nasty trait, but somehow Clinton, in all his youthful exuberance, found a way into her heart.

Zane had been sitting to one side listening, and now he winked at Jerusalem and said, “I’m glad it was a fine, upstandin’ Christian like you that them two Skull fellers beat up on. Anybody else might be wantin’ revenge, but I know a good Christian lad like yourself will have to forgive ’em.”

Clinton suddenly looked up. “Forgive ’em!” he said with astonishment. “After they beat me half to death?”

“The Bible says to do it, Clinton. You know that. Forgive your enemies, and it’ll pour coals of fire on their heads.”

Both Zane and Jerusalem watched as Clinton struggled with the idea, wondering how he would handle it. They both knew that he had been extremely bitter to have been beaten so unfairly and unjustly. At the same time, he was a strict believer in the Bible and took the Scriptures very literally.

“Well,” Clinton said, taking a deep breath and then expelling it, “I guess I’ll forgive ’em and pour coals of fire on their heads.” He nodded firmly and said, “That’ll burn their brains out!”

Zane laughed, and Jerusalem had to conceal her own, but she said, “You ought to be ashamed talking like that.”

“It’s biblical, Ma. Burn their brains out. That’s what the Scripture says.” He got up and said, “I’m goin’ to go huntin’. I think I’ll stop by and thank that fella Al for lookin’ out for me.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Jerusalem said. She had visited the Stuarts twice and grown fond of them. Now she added, “I’ve baked some fresh bread. I want you to take it over to them. Anne is doing much better, but she’s still too weak to do much cookin’.”

Clinton waited until Jerusalem had wrapped the bread in a cotton sack, and as she handed it to him, he said, “You know, Al seems like a nice young fella. Kind of small, and he shore didn’t help much when I was tanglin’ with Skull.”

Jerusalem smiled at him with something in her eyes. “I think Al Stuart’s nice.”

“Yeah, he’s kind of sissified. You know, Ma, I’m gonna take him in hand. I’ll make a tough fella out of him. Maybe some huntin’ and helpin’ Brodie and me brand some cattle will toughen him up some.”

Jerusalem reached out and grabbed a handful of Clinton’s thick brown hair and shook his head. “You’re always wanting to make people into somethin’. I think you’d better be careful about that.”

Clinton grinned, reached up, and moved his mother’s hand. He held it for a minute and then reached out and squeezed her arm. “I’m gonna start on you, Ma. I’ve been thinkin’ about some ways to improve your disposition. We’ll talk about that when I get back.”

Clinton left the room whistling cheerfully, and Jerusalem turned to stare at Zane. “Did I really give birth to that, Zane? He never thinks he’s wrong. One day I’m afraid he’s gonna have a bad fall.”

“He’ll be all right, sis.” Zane grinned. “And I’m interested to see how he improves your disposition.”

“Howdy, Miz Stuart. My ma sent you this bread. Baked it fresh this mornin’.”

Anne Stuart was a small woman with silver hair and clear, gray eyes. She had the look of a chronically ill person, but now she smiled cheerfully and said, “Why, thank you, Clinton. That was mighty kind of your ma. Come in, and I’ll heat it up and put some plum jelly on it.”

“No, thank you, ma’am. Maybe when I come back by.” He had removed his hat and looked around, saying, “I’m goin’ huntin’, and I thought I’d ask Al to go along with me.”

“Why, that would be nice. Look out in the barn. Just birthed a new calf last night. Al’s mighty handy with animals.”

“I’ll bring you back a deer, ma’am. I reckon that would go pretty well.”

“It sure would. I’m partial to venison stew.”

Clinton stepped out on the front porch, turned, and ambled over toward the barn. He stepped inside and found Al crouched beside a newborn calf. “Howdy, Al,” he said. “That your new calf?”

Al turned and said, “Sure is. She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” Al was wearing the same worn clothes, several sizes too large, and the oversized black hat. Clinton noticed the freckles on Al’s face, and as he knelt to look at the calf, he saw that Al’s eyes were a strange greenish color.

“This is a fine calf,” Clinton said as he reached out and stroked the silky hide of the calf. Finally, he said, “I wanted to thank you for helpin’ me get home.”

“It wasn’t nothin’.”

“Well, them two Skull lunkheads caught me off-guard. Next time it’ll turn out different.”

Al smiled, and Clinton noticed that he had regular features and smoother skin than most young men. “Well, I’m goin’ huntin’,” he said.

“I got a fancy for venison. I reckon your folks could use some, too.”

“Grandma loves venison. So does Grandpa.”

“Well, why don’t you come along?”

“Really? You mean it?”

“Sure.” Clinton nodded. “Tell you what. You go get your gun, and I’ll saddle your horse. Which one is he?”

“That little sorrel out in the corral. The saddle’s out on the fence.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Clinton went out to the corral, and the sorrel came to him when he called. “You’re a tame little lady,” he said. He put the saddle on, and by the time he had it cinched and ready, Al had come out of the house. “Can you shoot that rifle?”

“ ’Course I can!” Al said, somewhat offended. “What do you think?”

“Well, I’ll be glad to give you some pointers. Let’s get on our way.”

The sun had fallen deep across the afternoon sky as they rode along side by side. Al told Clay about seeing many tracks at a little creek not far from the Bartley place. When they arrived there, they tied their horses to some low-lying bushes and walked in silence toward the creek. They crouched down, half hidden by a copse of blackjack and post oak saplings, and waited to see if any deer would come to drink. They had a clear view of the creek, and Al said, “Them tracks are right fresh, Clinton. I’ve seen deer here twice about this time in the afternoon.”

“You all loaded and ready to shoot?”

“Of course I am!”

Clinton checked his own rifle, held it across his lap, and then continued to speak. “Like I been sayin’, Al, I owe you a lot for takin’ me home in the wagon, and I figured on a way to pay you back.”

“How’s that?” Al said.

He turned and stared at Clinton amongst the shadows of the big brimmed hat. Al’s eyes were almond-shaped, and Clinton could not decide if they were blue or green or both.

“Well, you ain’t very big, Al, but I reckon you’ll get bigger. How old are you? About fourteen?”

Al suddenly smiled. “At least.”

“Well, you’re just about the age when things get sort of complicated.”

“Complicated? Complicated how?”

“Why, a fella starts gettin’ notions about that time, and them things ain’t good for a fella.”

Al was studying Clinton carefully. “What kind of notions you talkin’ about?”

Clinton was surprised. “Why, women, of course! You’re just about the right age to start gettin’ interested in girls. Now, I figure I owe you somethin’, so I’m gonna give you some advice on how to handle this problem.”

“I’d be right pleased to hear it,” Al said.

“Well, the first thing you got to understand, Al, is that you have to stay away from women who ain’t following after God. Oh, a few of them ain’t like ma and like your grandma, but most of them is tricky. Oh, they are tricky! They’re always tryin’ to get a man in trouble. Why the Bible says, ‘The lips of a strange woman drop as a honeycomb, and her mouth is smoother than oil: but her end is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-edged sword.’”

“It says that, does it?”

“Oh, sure, and a lot more. You let me have your Bible, and I’ll go through and mark all them parts about bad and sinful women. A young fellow like you needs all the help he can get, especially just comin’ into what you’re facin’.”

“So, women always try to get men in trouble,” Al said. “How do they do that?”

“They got ways, Al. Yes, they got ways!”

“What kind of ways?”

“Well, the first thing is they take lots of baths so they smell good.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Well, I reckon that ain’t too bad, but I’ve always felt like too much bathin’ was unseemly.”

“What else do they do besides take baths?”

“Why, they use perfume.”

“Don’t that make ’em smell better?”

“Oh, they don’t do it just to smell better. They do it to draw men down into their clutches, don’t ya see? And then they paint up their faces, which ain’t scriptural.”

“Does the Bible say that?”

“Well, I’m studyin’ on it right now. I ain’t found it yet, but it’s in there somewhere. It’s got to be, don’t it? But I’m tellin’ you that paintin’ their faces ain’t the worst.”

“What’s the worst, Clinton?”

“Leanin’. That’s the worst thing.”

“Leaning? What do you mean
leaning
?” Al asked.

Clinton reached down, picked up a straw of grass, and put the end of it between his teeth. His eyes were half closed, as if he were engaged in some sort of deep meditation. “Well, I’ll have to be downright specific here, Al. I expect you’ve noticed that men and women, they’re—well, they’re built different.”

Al stared at Clinton curiously. “Different—how?”

“Oh, you know what I mean. And you’ll sure be noticin’ it a lot more.

They’re just—different.”

“You mean men are bigger than women?”

“Well, of course they’re bigger, but it ain’t just that. Oh, confound it, Al, you just take a look at a woman and then take a look at a man. You’ll see the difference.”

“All right, I will. But what about leaning?”

“Oh, they
do
that. They put on perfume, and then they come around you, and then they
lean
on you, you know? And that can get a fella all mixed up. You got to watch that leanin’, Al. It can tempt a man something fierce.”

Al’s voice was shaded with admiration. “I just don’t understand how you managed to stay out of their clutches, Clinton. There must be a powerful heap of girls been leaning on you.”

“I’m wise to ’em, Al! They can’t fool me! No siree! And you see, the thing is . . .” He took the straw out of his mouth and waved it as if it were a wand. “You got to keep ’em in their place, don’t you see? A firm hand, that’s what it takes.”

“Well, what if they won’t mind?”

“Well, then it’s just like breaking a horse. You got to give ’em discipline.”

“I see, and have you had to discipline many, Clinton?”

Al’s voice was slow, and there was a tenor in it that caused Clinton to turn and look.

“Oh, it wouldn’t be proper of me to speak of it. Not to a young feller like you. Look, Al, you just take my word for it. Women are a snare and a trap, and a man’s got to keep himself thinkin’ about that all the time. Now, there’s a few more things I need to—”

Suddenly, Al reached out and clutched Clinton’s arm and pointed toward the creek. Clinton looked up and saw two deer step out of the underbrush. He watched carefully, then leaned over and whispered, “You take the doe, and I’ll take the buck. You shoot first.”

Al nodded, and they both slowly raised their rifles into position.

Clinton waited, and when Al’s rifle sounded, he was disconcerted when the doe leaped straight up, covering the form of the buck. The doe was hit, but by the time she had fallen, the buck had whirled and was headed away. Clinton took a quick shot but missed.

“Confound it,” Clinton said. “Shucks!” He saw Al looking at him and said, “I got somethin’ in my eye just about the time you fired. Come on.

We got one anyway.”

“Yes,
we
did,” Al said.

They walked over, and Clinton began to point out Al’s errors. “You didn’t aim quite low enough. Next time lower your rifle just a bit and move that shot a bit forward.”

Al stared at Clinton and then suddenly laughed. “All right, I’ll write all that down when I get a chance. Now, let’s get this meat back home.”

Al pulled out a skinning knife from beneath the bulky coat that he wore, but Clinton shook his head. “Nah, we’ll put her on your horse and dress her out at your place.”

“You want me to walk?” Al asked, frowning.

“No, we’ll ride double.”