Turner's Rainbow 2 - The Rainbow Promise (9 page)

❧

As the days passed, Julia's looks changed, though she was unaware of it. Part of the reason was the new dresses she wore, some made over from Sarah's clothes and one a brand new dress from a piece of sky blue cotton that Sarah had insisted on making. Part of it was the fact that she was eating three good meals a day, and she had lost her earlier gauntness. But the change was more than either of those. The lines of stress and care had melted from her face. No longer was there a narrow groove perpetually between her eyes. Her mouth wasn't grim anymore, the lips held tight and straight.

She felt safe now. She didn't have to fear her husband's volatile temper nor endure his invasion of her body at night. There was no need to worry about the lack of food or whether the crops would be enough to pay back Mr. Harrington or how she would get together the money to clothe and shoe her children.

She looked younger, her hair shinier, her eyes bluer. The delicate color was back in her face, and her mouth was once again soft and full. She had lost the beaten-down look, and she was pretty, even beautiful when the sweet smile touched her face.

Luke and Sarah saw the change, and it pleased them. Sarah began to think happily of matchmaking, turning over in her mind the eligible bachelors available and wondering which of them would be right for Julia. She deserved somebody special.

The next Saturday they went into Willow Springs to get the mail and buy supplies. It was a treat to go to town, and the whole family was excited. Julia wore her new blue dress and proudly put her children in their new clothes. They climbed into the wagon and drove off, Micah and the children in the back and Julia sitting up on the high scat next to Luke and Sarah.

They went first to the seed store, where Luke made his purchases. Micah helped Luke load the heavy sacks into the wagon, then went his own way.

Micah had the rest of the weekend tree, and had two weeks' pay in his pocket. He was feeling good. He'd worn his best shirt and trousers, as well as his father's Mexican-tooled leather belt. He pushed his hat back at a jauntier angle. He planned to enjoy himself today. First he would look around the town a little, find out what was what. He would learn where moonshine could be bought, and he'd buy a jug. There would be dancing someplace, and he'd find that, too. And at the dance, he would find a willing woman.

Micah smiled to himself at the thought. Women, that was what he liked best back here, maybe the only thing. There weren't many women out farther west, particularly not his own kind—if there was such a thing. He had discovered a long time ago that he wasn't like anyone else. He had his feet half in one world, half in the other, and though he could survive in either, he really didn't belong anywhere. His father, a freed slave from Georgia, had been a "buffalo soldier," one of the famed black cavalry. His mother had been a Navajo Indian. When he was little, he hadn't known he was odd, hadn't realized that he was neither fish nor fowl. Around the fort he had fit in. The other men had been like his father: tough, proud, independent black men. There had been several women like his mother, Indians who lived with soldiers. Later, when his father had left the army, they had moved to a small town in the New Mexico Territory, and there his father had plied the trade of blacksmith, to which he'd been trained long ago when he was still a boy and a slave. There had been no one else like Micah's family in that town, no other squaw, no other black man, and Micah had begun to realize how different he was.

He had known that he had no place with the Navajos, but, listening to his father talk about Georgia and his family there, he had decided that his people lay back east. He hadn't been able to understand why his father never wanted to return. When he had asked, all his father said was that here in the West he was free and a man, which made little sense to Micah. He hadn't understood until his father's death when Micah was fifteen and had packed his bag and ridden to Georgia. He hadn't understood until he'd been thrown in jail in Texas because he carried no bill of sale for his horse—and though he was released, he never saw the horse again—and been beaten up in Louisiana for being uppity because he carried his head too high and looked people in the face when he talked to them.

When he had reached Georgia, his relatives had welcomed him. They had listened to his tales of his father with great interest, but they had chuckled and shaken their heads over the stories, and Micah had realized that they thought his father had been touched in the head to go so far from home and live so odd a life. He had seen the doubt in their eyes when they looked at him, taking in the different sheen of his skin, the different texture of his hair, the different molding of his bones. He looked like Sam, too, only not quite. He was their race, and he was family, but he wasn't quite that, either. He talked differently and walked differently. He could ride a horse better than any of the whites in the county, whereas his family had walked all their lives and held themselves lucky to own a mule for their plow. His ma had been a wild Indian, and there was something a link wild about him, too.

Micah had felt the pull of kinship, the comfort and companionship of being with others whose skin was like his but he hadn't been able to stay there. He had gone back west and worked on a ranch in New Mexico. Ever since then, he'd been a drifter, going from one place to another, never staying long, never fitting in wherever he went. Sometimes the pull of his own kind was too much, the loneliness too great, and then he would go to East Texas or Louisiana. Eventually, the lure of freedom would bring him back west. He had traveled all over the West, and he had traveled throughout the South, rolling back and forth. He was a drifter, out of place wherever he lived; but he was thirty-five years old now, and he'd been doing it for twenty years. He'd gotten used to it.

Micah walked unerringly to the black section of town and strolled around it, looking over the people and watching them look him over He'd gone through that process a lot of times, too. There was always one particular street owner where the young men gathered to talk. Micah soon discovered it and paused to chat with them. He could see them sizing him up, but they answered his questions without hesitation. The best liquor to be had was purchased a mile out of town at Two-toe Jim's (so known because all his other toes had been blown off when his still exploded ten years ago). There was dancing every Saturday at Opal's, where certain types of women also were to be found.

Micah wasn't much for talking, another product, perhaps, of the way he'd been raised, and he soon left the young men. He ate lunch at a rooming house on Ninth Street, and afterward he sat on a low rock wall in front of the house and watched the occasional passersby. That was where he saw the woman.

She was dressed in a prim black skirt with a high-necked white cotton blouse, pinned at the collar with a small cameo brooch. Her hair was slicked back into a tight bun, and on top of her head she wore a flat straw boater hat. She walked in a tight, no-nonsense sort of way. In fact, everything about her was tight and no-nonsense. But Micah could tell that beneath that skirt her legs must be wickedly long, and her waist was so small he could circle it with his hands. The idea of doing just that appealed to him. He liked tall women, and this one's face beneath the hat was classically lovely, her brown skin smooth and soft. She was a contradiction, feminine loveliness reined in tight. A challenge.

He pushed himself up off the wall and followed her, catching up with her in front of the next house. She turned and glanced at him when she heard his footsteps. No expression touched her face, and she turned her head right back, stepping all the way to the side so that he could pass her. Micah smiled and pulled even with her. The sight of her face up close did nothing to discourage his interest. Her skin was as lovely as it had looked from a distance; her eyes were large and luminous under thin, arched brows; and her mouth was full and sensual.

"Afternoon," he remarked pleasantly.

Dovie Mitchell kept her face turned straight ahead and said nothing. She wasn't about to let that man start a conversation with her. She had seen him as soon as she turned the comer, sitting on the low stone fence, a tall man with wide shoulders and well-developed arms. She had guessed immediately that this was the stranger in town, about whom she'd heard everyone talking at her aunt's earlier this afternoon. Not much went on that wasn't all over the black community in a matter of hours.

Dovie had watched him covertly as she'd walked up the block, and she had been fully aware when he stood up and began to follow her. There was a funny little catch of excitement in her stomach when he drew close; and she couldn't stop herself from glancing at him, even though she knew that she shouldn't give a stranger, a drifter, even a look. He was handsome; the gossips hadn't been wrong about that. His features were strong, his face wide, and his cheekbones high. His eyes were pure black, without the least trace of brown, and his skin had a copper tint to its darkness. There was something different about him, something almost foreign, and that made him intriguing.

But Dovie Mitchell was not about to be intrigued by a drifter.

"Nice day," Micah went on when she didn't respond to his greeting.

Dovie kept her mouth shut and her eyes firmly ahead. She wasn't the type to be picked up by a masher on Ninth Street. If the man hadn't been a stranger, he would have known it.

But then, if Dovie had known Micah, she would have known that he wasn't easily put off. He strolled along beside her, watching her elegant profile and wondering if her icy manner would melt in bed. He would like to find out. "My name's Micah Harrison. I work at the Turner place."

The fact that he had a job didn't change Dovie's opinion of him. He was still a drifter, just working for a week or two until he had the money to go on. She turned and gave him her coolest, blankest stare. He smiled back. She could feel the charm of his smile all the way down to her toes. She doubted that he usually had any trouble finding a woman.

"I hear there be dancin' at Opal's Saturdays. Maybe we—"

"No." Dovie stopped and faced him. "We could not. I have tried to let you know that I am not interested in talking, walking, or doing anything else with you. But apparently I have to tell you flat out. I do not wish to go dancing with you tonight. Nor do I have any desire to speak to you. So, please, stop following me and trying to strike up a conversation."

Micah's smile broadened. "Girl, you sure can talk. I never heard so many fancy words come out of a mouth at one time in my life."

"I hope you understood their meaning, too."

"Oh yes, ma'am." He continued to look at her. He liked looking at her. And he liked her voice, crisp, clean, and educated. "Where you learn to talk that way?"

Dovie's mouth twisted in exasperation. "Leave me alone." She enunciated each word separately and distinctly. "I walk right past the sheriff's office on my way home."

Amusement lit his eyes, and that irritated her further. "And you so important, he gonna run out to protect you?"

Her eyes flashed. "He knows me. He knows that what I say is the truth. Now, if you'd like to put it to the test, we can go see him right now..."

He grinned. "Oh, no, ma'am, you done put the fear of God into me." He tipped his hat with exaggerated politeness. "Good day, ma'am." He started off, but couldn't resist throwing back over his shoulder, "I be seein' you."

Dovie grimaced. "Not if I see you first," she muttered. She started once again for home, walking even faster now in her irritation. She didn't have time for lowlifes like that. She didn't have any interest in them, either. Not even if he did have a good-looking face. Not even if there was something about him that pulled at her.

Behind her Micah sauntered back in the direction from which he had come. It looked like he would have to find someone else to dance with, at least for tonight. He smiled, remembering the fine flash of her eyes. There'd be other nights.

❧

If Julia had been amazed by the way Luke had been accepted at church last Sunday, she was doubly so in town today. He was greeted at the seed store like a valued customer. No one turned away from him; no one called him "Digger"; no one looked at him warily, as if wondering what he might do next. They called him "Mr. Turner" or "Luke," and they nodded or shook his hand. She even heard one of the men asking Luke's advice about purchasing some cattle.

After they left the seed store, they strolled through town, looking in the shop windows and enjoying the day. Eventually they wound up in Harper's store, where the children rushed immediately to the candy jars. Stu Harper, standing behind the counter, laughed, and leaned over the counter to talk to them. "Why, hey there, Emily, who are your friends?"

"Cousins," Emily informed him proudly.

"Cousins?" Stu straightened and looked at Sarah. "Hello, Sarah. Luke."

"Stu." Luke nodded.

"Hi, Stu." Sarah smiled, taking Julia by the arm. "This is Luke's sister, Julia Dobson, and her children, Bonnie and Vance. Julia, this is my brother-in-law, Stu Harper. He's married to my sister, Jennifer."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Dobson." Harper smiled at her.

Julia returned his smile shyly. "Mr. Harper."

Stu reached into one of the glass jars on the counter and pulled out three peppermint sticks. "Think you kids can eat these without getting sticky?"

"Oh yes!" they chorused. Bonnie gazed, wide-eyed, at the candy.

"Here you go, then." He handed them the sticks and came around the counter, ruffling Emily's hair as he passed. "Say, Luke, I got in that wire you've been wanting."

"Good." Luke followed him into the hardware section.

"I hear you've bought another twenty acres from the Widners," Stu commented as they walked away.

"Yeah, I'm going to run a few more cattle on it."

Sarah watched them go, a smile playing about her lips. Luke and Stu would never be real friends; but their relationship was a far cry from the day that Stu had accused Luke of marrying Sarah for her farm, and Luke had hit him. They had achieved a certain grudging respect for each other, and Sarah and Jennifer no longer had to smooth the waters between them at every family gathering.

Looking at the two men, Sarah found it hard to believe that she had once thought she was in love with Stu. He was a nice-looking man, handsome and broad-shouldered, but compared to Luke, he was bland. He had none of Luke's spark, none of his sense of fun or his smoldering sexuality. Sarah watched Luke bend and pick up a bucket of nails, his supple fingers curling around the handle, the muscles and tendons of his arm standing out. His hair, the color and texture of corn silk, fell down over his eyes, and he impatiently tossed it back from his face. He glanced up, and his eyes, startlingly blue in his tanned face, met Sarah's across the room. He smiled at her in a slow, sensual way that spoke of the nights they had spent together. A familiar heat curled in Sarah's abdomen. No, there was no comparing Luke with any man.

Luke winked at her, then turned back to his business.

Sarah tried to collect her thoughts. "Let's see now, where's my list? Oh yes, first of all, we need some material for clothes."

"What?" Julia looked horrified. "Oh, no, not for the children and me!"

"Yes, for the children and you. Bonnie and Vance need more everyday clothes and nice little Sunday outfits—a lacy white dress for Bonnie and a suit and shirt for Vance. You ought to have a few blouses and skirts, as well as something special for parties."

"Parties! I don't go to parties."

"You will this summer. In a couple of months it'll be time for the Fourth of July dance."

"I wouldn't be going to that."

"You will, too. I'll be big as a cow by then, and Luke will need someone to dance with. Who better than his sister? I won't have to feel jealous."

"Sarah, I can't accept such generosity."

To Julia's amazement, Sarah looked hurt. "But I want to. It's so much fun—I mean, I can't look good in anything nowadays. Whatever I make for myself will look like a bag, no matter what. I wanted to sew something pretty and have it look nice on you." She paused, gazing sad-eyed at Julia, and Julia was stabbed by guilt.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I hate for you to spend so much money on us, but if you want to... if it makes you happy..."

Sarah smiled. Three years of living with Luke had taught her how to handle the prickly Turner pride. "Yes, it will make me very happy. Come on, let's look at the material."

They sent the children outside to sit on the steps and eat their candy, and Sarah and Julia moved down to the cloth counter. They were soon engrossed in materials and colors, and they hardly noticed the other people who entered and left the store.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Turner." a male voice said behind them.

Julia froze. She knew that voice. Sarah turned.

"Dr. Banks! How nice to see you." Sarah's smile was stiff. Now, this was an awkward situation if ever there was one—Julia having to meet the man who had seduced and abandoned her years ago. Everything Sarah could think of to say seemed wrong.

"You look as if you're feeling well," James went on politely.

"Yes, I am, thank you."

His gaze flickered to Julia, half turned away from them, then back to Sarah. Almost immediately his eyes snapped back to Julia, and he stared. Sarah could have sworn that all the color left his face. "Julie!" The word was barely more than a whisper.

Julia turned toward him slowly, as if it hurt to move. She couldn't bear to look at him, yet she had to. "Ji—that is, ah—" What had Sarah called him? Dr. Banks. Of course, he had been studying to be a doctor. "Dr. Banks."

James pulled his eyes away from Julia. He tried to recapture the thread of his conversation with Sarah. "Are you feeling well?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Sarah replied, forebearing to mention that he'd already covered that topic.

Julia and James both looked at Sarah, but their eyes kept sneaking back to each other. The boy in James was gone, Julia thought. His face was older and tired, stamped with lines of experience. His expression was grave; the sparkle that had once lit up his dark eyes had vanished, and his mouth was set in firm, tight lines. Jimmy had never been one to tease and joke and charm, as Luke had, but Julia had the feeling that now he was not one to smile, either.

She was still beautiful. James thought. Not with that fresh, heart-stopping loveliness he remembered, but still delicately lovely. She was a woman now, with a woman's fuller, more rounded body. Her pale gold hair was done up in a tight twist, its full glory hidden. Her eyes held shadows, and there were faint lines around them. How fragile she was—he'd forgotten over the years. He thought angrily that Dobson was not taking good care of her. Her hands were rough and reddened. She needed more color in her cheeks, and she was too thin. Had she been ill?

"My sister-in-law and her children are staying with us," Sarah said, to fill in the awkward silence. "Julia's husband passed away a few weeks ago."

"Oh? My condolences." That explained the wanness, the faint air of sadness. Her husband had died, and she mourned him. The son of a bitch.

"Thank you."

James glanced at Julia again, then at Sarah. He didn't know what to say. He had never expected to see her again. Certainly, he hadn't expected to feel this rush of fierce, clashing emotions. It had been years. He had gotten over the hurt long ago. Or, at least, he thought he had. "I, uh, it was nice to see you again, Mrs. Turner. Mrs. Dobson."

It was hard to say her name. He couldn't remember what he had come into the store for. He turned and walked out the door.

Julia watched him leave. Her chest was so tight she could hardly breathe. She hadn't thought about this happening, even though it was only natural that eventually they would run into each other in a town this size. Why hadn't she realized that? Why hadn't she prepared herself to face it?

She looked at Sarah, who was studying the bolts of material again. She wondered if Sarah knew about her and Jimmy. Luke had known it; he'd practically forced her to tell him. But had he told his wife?

"I think the pale pink and the blue," Sarah said.

"What? Yes, of course, if you want."

"They'll look pretty on you. So would the red."

"Oh, no. Not the red." It was too vibrant, too blatant. She would feel like a—well, she guessed she was a fallen woman, even if she had saved her reputation somewhat by getting married, but she wasn't that sort. Not the kind to wear red.

"I guess not," Sarah agreed regretfully. It was too bold for a nice woman their age. That was too bad, because it would brighten up Julia's looks nicely.

"So Jimmy is a doctor, too?" Julia asked with great casualness.

Sarah shot her a sharp glance. "Yes. Old Dr. Banks died not long after Emily was born, and James took over his practice."

"They call him James now?"

Sarah nodded. She knew Julia wanted information about him, though she was probably embarrassed to ask. "I'm going to see him. He's the only doctor around for mites."

"No doubt he's a good one."

"That's what I hear." Sarah paused. "He lives in the house behind his office. His mother is still alive. He never married."

"Really?" Julia stared. She would have thought some woman would have snapped him up long ago.

"Not for lack of trying, you understand. Half the mothers in Willow Springs have thrown their daughters in his path."

"How odd," Julia murmured.

"People say he's married to his work."

"Oh."

Sarah wondered what had happened between Julia and James, exactly. Luke had said that James had refused to marry Julia. But Sarah had seen the look on his face when he recognized Julia, as if the building had tumbled down around his ears. And in the little time Sarah had spent with him, he hadn't impressed her as a callous man who would spurn a woman carrying his baby. He'd never married. She hadn't thought about it before, but now that she did, she realized that it was unusual for a man in his early thirties, a wealthy, handsome doctor like James Banks, to be unmarried. She wished she knew how he and Julia had parted. But she couldn't very well ask Julia.

"Well," Sarah said brightly, gathering up the cloth. "It's j about time to go."

"Yes, of course." '

Sarah purchased the material and the rest of her supplies, and Luke loaded them onto the wagon. Numbly Julia followed Sarah outside and climbed up into the wagon with the rest of them. Luke clucked to the mules, and the wagon began to roll. They passed through the town and out into the country, but Julia didn't see any of the scenery. Luke and Sarah talked beside her, but she was deaf to what they said.

Her mind had traveled back eleven years.