Turner's Rainbow 2 - The Rainbow Promise (20 page)

"Oh, no, ma'am. He's very nice." Julia colored a little. "He's easy to work for."

"That's only because Julia is such an efficient employee." James smiled at her.

Julia glanced from him to his mother. She wondered what Mrs. Banks thought. Julia imagined the woman had been horrified to hear James laughing and teasing with the hired help in the hall. She probably thought Julia was brash and forward. Julia wished she knew how to act in a situation like this.

"Won't you join me in the parlor? I'll have Lurleen bring us coffee—and perhaps something sweet?"

"Didn't Lu make her Mississippi mud cake? I'd love a slice of that." James turned toward Julia. "You haven't lived until you've eaten Lurleen's Mississippi mud cake."

Anthea studied her son thoughtfully. There was a light-hearted, youthful quality in his face that she hadn't seen there in years. Her eyes went to Julia. She suspected the change in James's attitude had something to do with this girl. There was something about the way they stood, the way they looked at each other—not quite as if they were in love, but as if they were extremely aware of each other. They weren't simply acquaintances nor just employer-employee. She wondered what was going on.

"Oh, no," Julia protested quickly. "I couldn't. I'm sorry, but I can't stay. I, uh, the children are waiting for me at home. I have to get back and fix their supper."

"Oh. Of course." The light in James's face dimmed, and he turned formal. "Then I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes." Julia looked at Anthea. She fell as if she ought to curtsy, Anthea was so regal looking. She struggled to remember the lessons in manners her schoolteachers had given so many years ago. "It's nice to have met you, ma'am."

Anthea smiled. "The pleasure was mine. I hope you'll visit again someday when you can stay longer."

Julia nodded. She didn't know what to say. She took a step back.

"I'll walk you to the door," James offered.

"Thank you." Julia walked awkwardly beside him down the hall to the front door, feeling Anthea's eyes on them every step.

She was glad when James opened the massive door for her, and she was able to escape. She hurried across the lawn to the office to get her hat and gloves, then left the office by its front door. Involuntarily she glanced back at the main house, James still stood on the front porch. She was surprised to see him, and an unthinking smile broke across her face. He smiled back and raised a hand in a wave. Shyly she waved back, then ducked her head and walked away.

James watched her back until she reached the comer and turned out of his sight. She was as slim as she had been as a girl. The sun glinted gold on her hair where the hat didn't cover it.

He sighed and went back into the house. The day seemed to have ended too soon.

A
fter breakfast Luke went out to the barn and saddled a horse. Sarah stood at the sink, washing the breakfast dishes, and watched him lead the saddled horse out of the barn and mount it. He rode out of the yard without a wave or even a look toward her. He hadn't told her where he was going, but Sarah knew. He was going to see that boy.

She wouldn't think of him as Luke's son. He wasn't. He couldn't be.

She finished the dishes. There were plenty of other chores to do, but at the moment she couldn't summon up the energy or interest to do them. She felt leaden inside. Sarah sat down at the kitchen table and braced her head against her hands, elbows on the table. She stared down at the wood grain of the table, her eyes filling with tears.

Luke had hardly spoken to her since yesterday afternoon. She had seen the disillusion in his eyes when she told him that she didn't want him to bring Tessa Jackson's son home. Luke had always thought she was so good, so perfect. Now he was seeing her as she really was, and he didn't like her

She closed her eyes, and the tears rolled out, plopping onto her cheeks. She couldn't bear to have another child in her dead baby's place. She remembered the dreams she had had for their son. She had imagined him tagging behind Luke out to the fields, the sun gleaming on his white blond hair. She had dreamed of him growing up straight, handsome, and strong, just like Luke but without the sorrow and pain that Luke had experienced. She would have given their son all the love that Luke had never had, all the happiness and joy. They would have been tight knit, the four of them, strong in their love for one another.

But he was dead, and so were those dreams. She wouldn't have the tow-headed boy—and she could not take another child in its place. Luke was trying to replace her baby with this other child. She couldn't do that, and it hurl to think that Luke could, that it was that easy for him. Yet he had called her hard!

What would she do if he brought the boy home? Luke would be furious if she refused to accept him. It would likely be the death blow to her marriage, already crumbling around her. But she couldn't take him in. She simply couldn't!

❧

Luke's thoughts were grim as he rode to George Jackson's farm. He hardly noticed the warm June day around him. He kept thinking about what Tessa had told him, as he had constantly since yesterday afternoon. Had Tessa spoken the truth? Would he be able to tell if the child was his? And if Cal was his son, what would he do?

Sarah didn't want Cal. Luke still found it hard to believe that Sarah, his sweet Sarah, had so coldly rejected a child who needed their help. He knew she was grieving for the baby she had lost. He, too, felt the pain and the empty ache inside. But he couldn't imagine Sarah, even grief stricken, not reaching out to help a child. She was a stranger to him now.

They had never had a real argument, a serious disagreement, in the whole time they'd been married. Luke had never ridden roughshod over her or ignored her wishes. There were husbands, he knew, who ruled like despots over their families, but Luke was not that kind. To him, his wife was a gift to be cherished and cared for, not commanded. He hated the idea of arguing with her. He hated even more to go directly against her wishes. But if Tess's boy were really his, he could not turn his back on him.

Luke turned his horse onto the dirt path leading to the Jackson house. It gave him a funny feeling, going up the path that had once been so familiar, but on which he hadn't set food in nine years. He slopped in front of the Jackson house and sat, looking at it. It was the same: a small, square frame house with a narrow lean-to attached to it, the faded white paint peeling from its walls. He remembered Tessa standing on the porch, looking for him. He would round the comer and stand until she saw him, then cut off to the left into the trees. She would leave the porch and meet him there. She had always been so hot and eager, and it had only added to the excitement to know that if her Bible-thumping father discovered them, he'd probably take a shotgun to Luke. That was the way it had been with Tessa, all excitement and danger—the way it had been with all of them. He hadn't known love in lying with a woman until he'd had Sarah, and then he'd discovered that it provided an excitement far more intense than any he'd ever experienced.

Luke slid off his horse and looped the reins around the narrow porch pillar. He knocked on the door, and after a few moments a tired-looking woman answered it. Her brown hair was screwed up into a tight knot atop her head, and she wore a faded calico skirt and blouse. Her face was as faded as her clothes, Luke couldn't figure out who she was. She looked older than Tessa, but he was sure that Tessa had said that her mother had died.

The woman's eyes widened, and she stared. "Luke?"

"Yes."

His puzzlement must have shown, for she chuckled mirthlessly and said? "You don't know me, do you? I'm Rachel, Tessa's sister."

"Rachel." He tried not to let his surprise show. Rachel was a year younger than Tessa, but she looked far older. He wasn't sure which of them was worse off, Tessa selling her body in the city or this girl, staying at home and slaving for her tyrannical father, growing older and more careworn every day.

"It's been awhile." Rachel paused. "Pa'll kill you if he sees you."

"I didn't come to see him. I want to talk to Tessa's boy. Where is he?"

Rachel frowned. "You oughta go."

"I'm not leaving 'til I see him."

She gnawed on her lower lip. Finally she said, "He's down slopping the hogs." She hesitated, then added, "Pa's out in the fields,, but he'll be back by noon."

Luke nodded and walked away. As he approached the outbuildings, nerves began to jangle in his stomach. A boy came from behind the barn, carrying a large pail. He was barefoot and dressed in patched calico shirt and trousers, so faded that they were no particular color. A rope tied around his thin waist acted as a belt.

The boy climbed up on the low fence and poured the contents of the pail into the pigs' trough. He stood with his back turned to Luke, so that all Luke could see was his wiry frame and a cap of dark blond hair. He turned at the sound of Luke's footsteps. His face was thin and suspicious, dominated by large, pale blue eyes. Luke sucked in his breath sharply and stopped.

The child was his.

He knew it instantly, all through him. There was no mistaking it. The boy's hair was a darker blond than Luke's had been as a child (though up close Luke thought that was as much due to dirt as to natural color). But the sharp blue eyes, the skin color, the facial structure were all his. He might have been looking at a mirror image of himself as a child. Even the narrowing of his eyes, the closed expression, the defiant, sullen stance, were exactly as he had stood and looked. It was eerie, like seeing a ghost of himself.

There was a purpling bruise just below Cal's left eye and another, yellowish one on his neck. Luke's hands tightened into fists. He was certain Jackson had beaten the boy. His son. A fierce, cold anger swelled in him.

Cal backed up a step, but continued to face him, his chin thrust out. Luke knew that the anger on his face had scared the child, so he forced himself to relax his taut muscles and smile, "Hello."

The boy nodded, saying nothing.

"My name is Luke Turner." Cal's eyes widened, and he backed up again, until he was stopped by the railing of the sty "What's yours?"

"Cal. Cal Jackson."

"You're Tessa's boy."

"What of it?"

"Nothing. I'm just trying to strike up a conversation with you."

"I don't have nothing to say."

"How old are you?"

"Just turned nine. What's it to you?"

Luke sighed and gazed off at the trees for a moment. How in the hell was he supposed to say this? It was suddenly very important to him that the boy not hate him. "Your ma came to see me yesterday. She told me something that I'd never known. She told me that I had a son."

Cal's mouth curled in disgust. "She's always lying. I wouldn't believe what she said. Don't you know what she is?"

"Yeah. I know. She's lied about me before. But she wasn't lying this time. She told mc that you were my son. I can see it with my own eyes."

"Grandpa says you hurt her. He says you forced her to have his baby. He says you got sent to prison for it."

"What does your ma say?"

He shook his head. "She's a liar."

"I didn't hurt your mother I never forced her to do anything. But I did go to prison—because she lied about me."

"Grandpa says you're wicked. Even wickeder than Ma, 'cause you put the devil in her."

"Well, I may be wicked. There's those that think so. But I'll tell you one thing: I never hit a kid."

He reached out to touch the bruise on Cal's face, but the boy twisted away. He stood with his shoulders hunched, jaw set stubbornly, and stared down at the ground. Luke knew, as surely as he knew himself, that the boy would be hell to raise.

"Do you like it, living here with your grandfather?" Luke asked.

Cal shot him a single, flaming glance. His mouth twisted. "I hope the old son of a bitch dies."

A laugh escaped Luke. "Tell you the truth, that's the way I feel about him. Look, You're my son. I want you to come live with me. That's what your mother wants, too."

"Maybe I don't want to."

"I thought you hated living with your grandpa."

"I do."

"How much worse could it be with me?"

He shrugged. "None, I reckon,"

"It'll be a lot better. I guarantee you. At least you'll be fed well and you won't get beaten." Luke wanted to reach out and touch the boy's head, but he knew better. He also knew better than to tell Cal that he would be loved and his life would be happy. Cal would assume he was lying.

Cal shrugged.

"Go on in the house and pack, and we'll go back to my place."

The boy pressed his lips together "Grandpa says you live in sinful splendor."

Luke's face lifted in amusement. "Does he, now? I wouldn't call it splendor. But you'll like it, I think."

"I reckon," Cal said slowly, "if you're wicked, you won't care so much about my being wicked."

"I doubt you're wicked. You're young for that."

"Grandpa says I was born in sin."

Luke contemplated hanging around long enough to beat George Jackson to a pulp. He drew a breath. "I'm no preacher, but I can tell you, you weren't born sinful. And you'll never be as full of wickedness as that old man,"

"Grandpa?" Cal's eyes rounded in amazement, and, unexpectedly, he grinned.

"Yeah, Grandpa. Come on, let's pack your things." He laid a hand on the boy's shoulder

Cal flinched away. "I ain't got nothin' much to pack."

Luke followed the boy to the house. When they reached the front porch, where Luke's horse was tied. Cal stopped. He gazed for a moment at the horse, then up at Luke. There was awe in his eyes. "Is he yours?"

"Yeah. His name's Jo-Jo"

Cal reached out a tentative hand toward the horse, then drew it back, glancing at Luke.

"Go ahead. You can touch him. He's not ornery."

Cal touched his nose, and the horse bent his head to nuzzle at him. Cal slid his hand along the horse's neck, and there was a mingling of tenderness and longing in his face. "Sometime, do you think you'd let me take care of him?"

"Sure. You can help brush and feed him. You can learn to ride him if you'd like/"

"Really?" Cal stared. For an instant his face was eager before it returned to its habitual closed expression. Reluctantly he moved away from the horse. "I'll be back in a minute."

He went inside the house, and Luke waited for him on the porch. Inside he could hear a woman's voice raised in exclamation. Then the door opened, and Cal came out, carrying a small bundle. Rachel followed him, her face drawn with worry. She went to Luke.

"You can't do this. Don't take him. Pa will be fit to be tied when he finds out where he's gone."

Luke's lips drew back over his teeth in a smile that contained no humor "Tell him to come over to my place, and I'll be real happy to discuss it with him."

"Luke, you can't!"

"I'm sorry if your father takes his anger out on you, but there's nothing I can do about that. I won't leave my son here for George Jackson to beat and vilify and ruin his life the way he did to all his children. Your father likes to talk about everyone else's sin and wickedness, but I'll tell you plain: He's got a blacker soul than anybody I know." Luke turned. "Come on, Cal."

He swung the boy up onto the horse and mounted behind him. They rode out of the yard, leaving Rachel standing on the porch, gazing after them.