A Dark and Lonely Place (12 page)

Laura reappeared in the doorway. The sun streamed in behind her, highlighting her hair, her posture, and her fiery eyes.

“Don’t you hurt him, John!” she shouted, as the men grappled.

“Whose side are you on?” he demanded over his shoulder, as he pinned Edgar to the floor and held him there until he lay still, panting and sniffling.

“Calm down now and listen.” John helped Edgar to his feet.

But Edgar would not quit. “You tomcatting, wife-stealing son of a bitch!” He swung wildly at John but missed.

Out of patience, John caught him square on the jaw with a roundhouse right. Edgar toppled like a tree, cracked his head on the metal stove with a loud clang, and crashed to the floor.

He stared up, glassy-eyed. John towered over him, holding the empty shotgun and rubbing his bruised knuckles.

“I need the wooden cradle and the diapers from the bedroom,” Laura sang out from the porch. She peered around the door jamb.

“Didn’t mean to hit ’im so hard, darlin’,” John said apologetically.

“I love it when you call me that, John.”

“Get used to it, sweetheart.” He grinned, then found the items she wanted, hitched up the buggy, and loaded her things into it, along with the children.

Edgar clung to the front door for support, swaying as he watched.

“I need to borrow your horse and buggy,” John told him. “You’ll have them back by this evening.”

“There’s ham in the icebox,” Laura called, “and a fresh loaf in the bread box.”

Edgar stared in disbelief. “You leave now, Laura,” he roared, “and you ain’t never welcome back!”

She gave a quick nod, lips quivering, her eyelashes lowered, as John helped her into the buggy.

Edgar reacted with a savage cry. Shirt torn, bleeding from his nose, his busted lip, and the cut on the back of his head, he charged headlong down the front steps. Midway, he lost his footing, fell forward, and collided face-first with the ground. When he struggled to his knees, he appeared to have lost a tooth. Tears and blood mingled and his nose dripped as he blubbered, “No! Laura, please . . .”

“Stay down on your knees, Edgar,” she told him. “Put your hands together in prayer and thank the good Lord I’m gone. You deserved a better wife.”

“Don’t go!”

She ran her hand through her hair, sighed, and turned away.

“Goddamnit! You’ll burn in hellfire for this, Laura Upthegrove! You’ll both burn!” He staggered after them and shook his fist.

She did not look back. Their little daughter did and began to shriek, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” The baby began to howl, his tiny face red and puckered like his father’s.

When they were finally out of sight, their mother joined in, first a whimper, then full-blown, shoulder-shaking sobs, punctuated by sporadic hiccups.

John listened in pained silence, his eyes on the road ahead. “It coulda gone better,” he finally acknowledged, with a worried sidelong glance. “You sorry?”

She shook her head and wiped her eyes.

“Want to hear about Miami?” He took her hand.

She nodded, between hiccups.

“In Miami,” he began, “they welcome the New Year with firecrackers and steamboat whistles. Last time I was down there, they had an organ grinder with a monkey, and a sightseeing boat that takes you up the Miami River to Alligator Joe’s, where Joe, a crazy three-hundred-pound fella, wrassles the ’gators. Downtown there’s two moving picture theaters,
the Kinodrome and the Alcazar, right across the street from each other. For ten cents you see a picture show and vaudeville artists, along with a Tin Pan piano and a screechy Graphophone.”

He winked as interest kindled in her eyes. “Of course, something else comes free with the show—a Turkish bath, ’cause the theater’s so damn hot. They installed a buncha newfangled electric fans, but they don’t stir much air. Last time I saw a show, the fire chief called the Kinodrome a fire hazard, threatened to shut it down. The theater manager cussed him out, said the chief was just ornery because no dogs are allowed and the fire chief refuses to go anyplace where his dog isn’t welcome.”

She smiled and crinkled her nose.

“The moving pictures get a little jerky and sometimes it’s hard to read the captions, but they sure are entertainin’. Shows start at seven and nine o’clock. You can see both the same night, then go out for ice cream.”

“Who did you take?” Her tears had stopped but not the occasional hiccup.

“Hate to say.” John looked away, avoiding her eyes.

“Who?”

“Somebody special.” He nodded slowly. “Name’s Bobby. Took my little brother, Bobby, to Miami for his birthday.”

She laughed aloud, followed by a tiny hiccup. “Don’t tell me there’s no girls down there.”

“Sure, there are. Lots of ’em. A gal named Fanny, a real pistol, and a pretty little blonde, name of Bessie Burdine. Her daddy runs the trading post.”

Laura stopped smiling.

“And that,” he said quickly, “is where I met Carl Fisher, a millionaire from Indiana. Invented the headlights, or something, for Henry Ford’s cars. Plans to build a city on that beach off Miami. Said it’ll be a great place to raise a family. That we should settle down there.” He gazed fondly at her and the children. “The man offered me a job, Laura. Said he needs all the help he can get.”

“But I heard that beach is a swamp, nothing but mangroves.” Laura’s head rested on his shoulder, her hiccups gone.

“Don’t you believe it, darlin’. Fella, name of Collins, plans to build a
wooden bridge across the bay, all the way from Miami to the beach. The whole place is gonna grow like wildfire. It’s where the future lies, darlin’. Our future.” He kissed her hair. “The beauty of it all is that Henry Flagler, who’s building the railroad, promised to keep a cap on it. Says he’ll keep Miami a little fishing village, to provide services to his railroad, steamships, and hotels.

“Population’s nearly seven thousand, and they predict it’ll be ten thousand by 1910. Every minute I spent in Miami, I wished you were with me, darlin’. Miami is the city of the future, yours and mine.”

“Is there a church?” she asked, her hand on his knee.

“Is there a church?” He laughed with such a joyous peal that she smiled. “Six of ’em! And every bell is different. People can tell ’em apart by the sound. There’s two Methodist churches, one for Yankees and the Southern Methodist for the rest of us. Like Mr. Fisher said, it’ll be a swell place for raising kids.”

He smiled at the baby now asleep in her arms, then flashed his killer grin at Laura. “’Member when I was fourteen and you were twelve? I wanted to kiss you more than anything in the world, but you were scared it might cause a baby and you always ran away. But we did promise to raise kids someday. You wanted two, a boy and a girl.”

“You still remember that?” she said dreamily.

“Damn straight, darlin’. But I never thought you’d go ahead and do it without me.”

“Stop! Slow down, John! Stop! Right now!”

Startled, he pulled up the horse. “What’s wrong, darlin’?”

She jumped down from the buggy, the baby in her arms, and walked swiftly down the rutted road ahead.

“Laura? What the hell are you doing?”

She ignored him.

“Come on, girl, where you going?”

She paused for a moment, her chin up. “Well, I can’t go back to Edgar. You heard what he said. So I guess I’m going to my mother’s.”

“Why?”

Arlie, the little girl still in the buggy, yawned, sat up, smiled, and cut her eyes at him, so much like Laura that he had to stare. She quickly glanced away.

“God help the little boys you meet at school,” he murmured. Arlie giggled.

“What did you say?” Laura demanded. She stood in the road in front of them.

“I asked you, ‘Why?’ ”

“Because I refuse to spend the rest of my life listening to you discuss my mistakes. Hand that child down to me right now, John.”

“Nope. If you leave me, I’m keeping her. I refuse to spend the rest of my life without hearing a female whine, cry, and hiccup.” He winked at the little girl, who slid over and tucked her arm in his, then he turned to her mother.

“Come on, Laura. I didn’t mean it, I swear. Won’t ever mention it again, darlin’. Never. Now get back in here with me and your little girl before you turn your ankle. Your pretty skirt and nice shoes are getting all muddy.”

She stopped to check her shoes and hemline. He was right.

He pulled the horse up beside her, made eye contact, then leaned across and reached out. She clasped his hand and he swung her up and back aboard.

“I already forgot whatever it was,” he said. “The future is what counts, darlin’. And it’s waiting for us in Miami. It’s the perfect time to start out there, with the railroad, the steamship line, and the cross-Florida barge canal. Miami’s got the only sewer system south of Saint Augustine. They already have sawmills, rock quarries, machine shops, and supply houses. Even three Chinese laundries! You won’t ever have to wash my shirts, darlin’, I promise.” He crossed his heart with his index finger, then stretched his arms out wide as if to embrace the entire horizon. “It’s gonna be big, Laura, and we will be too. We’ll grow with it. Everybody will know our names. I know it. I can feel it in my bones. We can be happy there. Forever.”

His smile faded slightly. “Though I may have to watch my back for a while. Did I thank you for unloading Edgar’s weapons?”

“Anytime, darlin’,” she said, his dreams of Miami and the future reflected in her eyes.

CHAPTER NINE

J
ohn insisted she close her eyes as he took a detour. “Okay, you can open ’em now,” he finally said.

“I already know where we are.” Laura smiled. “I hear it, and I can feel it in the air.” She opened her eyes. “Oh, John, I was right. It’s the river, where we . . .” Her eyes glistened and her voice trailed off.

He couldn’t resist visiting the familiar place where they’d shared all their secrets and childhood memories.

“This reminds me,” she said, softly, “a year or so after you left, the artist, Winslow Homer, came back. He’d aged a lot and looked frail. Sam wasn’t with ’im. Said he grieved so when that little dog died that he never wanted another one.

“He was surprised that you’d gone. He said you’d be back. He was so sure; I should’ve known. I should’ve listened. I posed for him again down here by the river, but it wasn’t the same without you. Nothing was. He said it took the two of us and the river to make magic.”

“He was right,” John said. “I still have his sketch of you. Built a wood frame for it. Think of you every time I look at it.” He nuzzled her ear.

Her eyes closed again. They were sultry and heavy-lidded when she opened them. The glade shimmered in the afternoon sun and the water gleamed like green glass. He took a blanket from the buggy, his own buggy, which had been repaired.

He helped her down, backed her up against a young tree, and wrapped his arms around them both. “I had to be alone here with you again,” he whispered, then kissed her.

It seemed the time had come to fulfill their youthful passions. Or maybe not.

“We can’t,” John said, as they reclined on the blanket. “The kids are awake.”

“They’re babies, John.” Her skin felt scorched where he’d touched her cheek. “They won’t remember.”

“Hell, I’d remember their little faces. It’s not right. What if they were scarred for life? I was when I finally figured out the reason for all my new baby brothers and sisters. It finally dawned on me that Mama and Pop were doing a whole lot more than sleeping together. Damn, no child needs to know for sure that their mother and father do it.”

Laura’s thick, dark lashes dropped. “You are absolutely right, John. We can’t even strip naked,” she said, her eyes anchored on his, “and take a swim to cool off, unless we go one at a time. The other has to stay to protect the children every minute. Why, they could tumble into the water and float downriver like baby Moses in the bullrushes. Even asleep, they’re not safe. A rattler might slither out of that grass and strike. A cougar could carry ’em off. A bear would just devour ’em on the spot.”

“Damn right.” John touched her skin and winced as though it burned his fingers. “A big hawk could easy fly off with the little one. Or they might see us do things that would give ’em bad dreams.”

“I’m glad you’re so sensitive about their tender spirits,” she whispered, her sweet mouth close to his. “I agree. We can wait. It’ll just be five, six years or so.” She sighed and tucked the tip of her tongue into his ear. “Then we can send ’em off to school and have a little bit of time alone together at last. Or maybe not. We might have to homeschool ’em ourselves.”

She began to unbutton his shirt.

“You’re right,” he solemnly agreed. “We need to be strong, trust in Jesus, and control ourselves till they grow up and move out.”

He unfastened his belt.

She stood up, stretched, gazed at the river and at her children, now asleep. She unfastened her skirt, let it fall to the ground, then sank back down into his arms.

Suddenly shoes, boots, and undergarments began to fly in all directions. “What if they wake up?” he said hoarsely.

“They’ll get over it,” she gasped. “This is something we started a long time ago. At last, it’s our time. This place will always be ours.”

They laughed. They shouted. She hiccuped. He moaned aloud and groaned in her ear. He explored, took a guided tour of her body as she whispered directions.

He held her tight.

“Are you as excited as you were back then, Johnny?”

“Do we have to talk about that now?”

“Yes.”

Reluctantly, he quit what he was doing, caught his breath, and squinted as he tried to remember the question. “In a way, it was more exciting when we were kids,” he finally said, “because it was forbidden. We knew we couldn’t, shouldn’t, and damn, it hurt like hell to stop. But in so many other ways it’s better now.” He ran his hand along the curve of her hip. “Back then, it was first love. We’re grown now and it’s still first love. I love you, Laura, and I sure hope I’m better at it than Edgar.”

She laughed and rolled over to straddle him. “It’s like we’ve never been apart, John. I swear, it’s already hard to remember what Edgar looks like. I only see you.”