Cold Sassy Tree (20 page)

He wasn't laughing now. "You don't know what you talkin' bout." He was mad. "I'm astin' you to marry me, not run off with me."

"You asked me once before, if I remember correctly." She blazed away like a six-shooter, hitting him with words. "And off I went to Baltimore, all dreamy-eyed, to sew my trousseau. Cousin Lottie and I were finishing up the wedding dress when your letter came. It just about killed me, Clayton McAllister." (Gosh, that must of been how she found out he'd eloped with her best friend!) Miss Love sat down on the daybed. "Oh, how I've hated you!"

"I deserve it, Love." He looked miserable. "But I've come to tell you, I'll make it up to you if you'll let me."

She stood up and said, "Well, that's settled. So good-bye."

He took a long breath and pointed at the saddle. "I had that made for you, remember? It's been in the tack room all this time. Nobody's used it. I want you to have it."

"I don't want it. I don't want anything of yours—especially not a saddle that was an engagement present, for heaven's sake! Take it back to Texas."

"Love, I've brung it back to be your engagement present agin. Cain't you understand?" (Gosh, that must mean Miss Love's best friend had died.)

Her lips were trembling like she might cry. She sank down on the daybed again. "Lord, Clayt, you don't have a grain of sense. You write me I'm not good enough for you, and now two years later you—"

"I didn't say that, damnit!"

"Don't you curse at me. Whatever it was you said, that's what you meant." She didn't look about to cry now. She looked mad. "How a philanderer like you could sit in judgment on me, I'll never understand!"

"I felt like you were—like you'd been pretending to be something you weren't. That's why I got so mad at you. How pride could of made me hurt an angel like you—" He moved towards her. There was the same look on his face as on Grandpa's when Granny's hand went limp in his. But there was hope, too. "Love," he whispered, "you're the only woman I could ever marry. You know that." (Gosh, then he'd never eloped with Miss Love's best friend! Loma must of made that up.) "There's been other women in my life," he admitted, "but nobody I wanted to marry but you."

"Ha. What you mean is that the pickings are slim in Texas. You've given up on finding somebody decent out there. Well, if the only white women you know are married ladies or white trash, or both, that's your worry, not mine. Get you a Mexican wife. Get you a squaw. Or spend the winter in town again. Remember my friend Edna Mae? She wrote me they've sent in another milliner from Baltimore."

"But I want you, Love. Only you. And you still care for me. I can tell. Please, Love, forgive me."

I do think that for a moment Miss Love yearned towards him. Then all of a sudden she laughed out loud. "Clayton McAllister, what's there to forgive? Will, you've heard all this. Do you see anything to forgive?"

All this time I was standing in the darkest, out-of-the-way corner I could find. I thought they'd both forgot I was there. "I don't know'm," I mumbled.

"Well, there's not. You did me a favor, Clayt. If you had even pretended to be a forgiving Christian gentleman, I'd now be the lonely wife of a rich, stuck-up philanderer. Meaning you, God help me. Because that's all you were when we met and that's all you were when you asked for the ring back, and that's all you are now. Edna Mae wrote me all about you and that married woman you've been—"

He was real mad. "Whatever Edna Mae said, it ain't true."

"But I believe her. You wanted to marry me in the first place, Clayt, because I wouldn't ... I was just a challenge. You always did want anything you couldn't get. Then when I told you what you didn't want to hear, you—" She stopped, biting her lip. "Well, so here you are again, all the way from Texas. I guess your pride's hurt because I wouldn't read your letters, much less answer them. It's a helpless feeling to get letters back unopened, isn't it, Clayton? I know. In case you don't remember, I wrote you after you asked me to send back the ring. I poured out my heart in that letter. When it came back in the mail, I opened it and read it. Lord, I was glad you never knew how I had groveled at your feet!"

"Love, I'm grovelin' at yours now. Please, listen to me."

Ignoring him, she said brightly, "I just had another thought. Maybe that married lady friend is what has brought you back to me. Is she after your money, Clayt? Is she talking about divorcing her husband? She's got you scared, hasn't she? You'd rather marry somebody like me than a divorced person, and if you can take me to Texas, she'll be off your back. Is that it?"

Mr. McAllister was furious. "Love, will you shut up? I've come back for just one reason.
I love you.
" He reached to touch her arm. She jerked away. Her hands were shaking. She hid them in her skirt.

"I've changed, Love. God knows it."

"Well, I don't. So you just pick up that saddle and ride it out of here. I don't want it. It's tainted."

"You're comin' with me, Love Simpson. You still love me and you know it." It looked like he was fixing to grab her for another ten-minute kiss. Gosh, I didn't think I could watch that again. And had she forgot all about Grandpa? Why didn't she just tell Mr. Cowboy she was already married?

Right then she came out with it. Almost laughing as she looked up at him, she said sweet and easy, "If you were the last man on earth, Mr. Clayton McAllister, I wouldn't go a mile with you. Even if I was free to."

"What do you mean?"

She held the back of her left hand up to his face and wiggled the fourth finger. Then I guess she remembered her wedding band was still on top of the piano. She tapped the finger. "I've got a wedding ring goes on this." A sound on the porch made her look toward the front door. "And I do believe," she said, cool and calm as you please, though I bet her knees were shaking, "I do believe here comes my husband now!"

Of course somebody must of gone to the store and told Grandpa there was a tall stranger with a silver-trimmed saddle up at his house. And something about the way it was said had made him hot-foot it home, else why would he leave the store on a busy Saturday?

When I saw him walk in with that clean-shaved face, close-cut dark hair, and thin mustache, my first thought was to wonder if it was really Grandpa. My second thought was to be proud of him, especially for Miss Love's sake. My third thought was that Miss Effie Belle—unless she took Grandpa for another stranger calling on Miss Love—must of run out and told him about the kissing.

Gosh, in that case he might bust Mr. McAllister's head wide open!

I
DIDN'T KNOW
then whether Miss Erne Belle had got to Grandpa or not. But I found out later that white-haired old Mr. Boop had. Papa told us that night how Mr. Boop ran over from the hotel to say a feller wearin' a Stetson hat and cowboy boots had come in on the train from Lula.

"Where's Rucker at?" Mr. Boop asked, picking up a can of pipe tobacco and handing Grandpa the money.

"You talkin' to him, Amos." Grandpa grinned and ran his hand over his smooth-shaved face. Papa and them laughed out loud as Mr. Boop stared. "Hit's me all right, Amos. See?" Grandpa held up that left arm and dangled the knotted sleeve in his face.

"Well, I be-dog. Ain't you a sight! I was just a-wonderin' how Rucker could a-hired a new man and I ain't heard bout it. Well, I want to tell you bout this here stranger, Rucker. He come in the ho-tel totin' a fine brown and white cowhide grip and the fanciest dang saddle you ever seen. Silver dohickies all over it. The feller said he needed to shave and git a bath but might not be stayin' for the night."

"What's his bizness here?" Grandpa asked, real interested.

"Didn't state his bizness. But pretty soon he come back to the ho-tel dest. He was cleaned up, slicked down, and wearin' a nice black suit—and still carryin' that dad-gum saddle. You know what he ast, Rucker? Ast where did Miss Love Simpson board at, or would she be at work." After letting that soak in on Grandpa, Mr. Boop said, "I pointed the way to yore house, Rucker, but I didn't bother tellin' him she'd got marrit. Didn't seem to me it was any of his bizness. But I thought you ought to know that a tooled-leather saddle orny-mented with Mexican silver is headin' up North Main towards yore house."

"Is thet so," said Grandpa. According to Papa, he didn't even look up.

"This man's so good-lookin', Rucker, I bet he has to use tar soap to keep the ladies from lassoin' him!"

"Is thet so," said Grandpa. "You goin' down there, Rucker?"

"I ain't got time right now. I reckon Miss Love knows how to make a stranger welcome."

Mr. Boop having felt Grandpa's right fist on his jaw one time, he was probably hoping a good fight would come out of the situation.

But I wasn't hoping it when Grandpa sauntered through the front door of his house. I couldn't think of anything worse for an old man than getting beat up by his wife's former fee-ance. Maybe Grandpa wasn't in a fighting mood that day, or maybe he took one look at Mr. McAllister and figured discretion was the better part of valor, as the saying goes. He not only didn't pitch Mr. McAllister out, he shook hands nice as you please, saying where you from and why don't we go set down in the parlor.

"Miss Love, see if'n they's some a-Miss Mattie Lou's scup'non nectar in the pantry, hear," said Grandpa, taking the rocking chair and motioning Mr. McAllister to Granny's gentleman's chair. "Fix us a drink with thet, Miss Love."

After she went to the kitchen, Grandpa winked at Mr. McAllister and said, "Sorry I ain't got no locust beer to offer you. My son-in-law, he makes it by the barrelful. Ever had locust beer?"

"Never cared for it much," said Mr. McAllister. "The other'll be fine, Mr.—uh, what's your name, sir?"

"Blakeslee. E. R. Blakeslee."

"Clayton McAllister, sir."

They stood up and shook hands again, like they'd just met, and went on talking.

Miss Love was gone a good while. When she finally brought in a tray with the pale gold drinks, she had on lots of perfume and a clean yellow dress with a high neck, and her hair was fixed nice. She looked real fresh and pretty.

Grandpa was just the friendliest host you ever saw. He asked how long was the train trip from Texas, spoke of the drought, and discussed the difference between Texas barbecue and the Georgia kind. Then they got to talking hard times, but I couldn't listen for wondering if Miss Love was thinking about Mr. McAllister kissing her. If she was, she didn't let on. But that's what I was thinking about. If God had sent this man all the way from Texas to barge in and tempt her, she sure had been found wanting.

From there I got to thinking about predestination. The Southern Presbyterians believe that what is to be is to be and you can't do a thing about it. I mean, they think that from the day you're born, God knows everything that's going to happen to you. Preordains it, the preacher keeps saying. It hasn't ever made any sense to me to try so hard, or even to pray for something, if God is either going to make it happen despite all your prayers and all you do or don't do, or else make it not happen despite everything. For instance, suppose Mr. McAllister hadn't got mad and called off the wedding, and Miss Love had married him despite his reputation for philandering. Would that mean God preordained them to marry no matter what? Or would it just mean Miss Love wanted to marry him no matter what? I sure wished I could ask Papa how to fit predestination into this puzzle.

Well, suppose the Lord wanted Miss Love to marry Mr. McAllister, hoping she could save him from his sinning ways, and suppose she
had
married him, but then he just kept right on chasing women? Could she ever again have counted on God to steer her right?

It's a pity God ever let Miss Love out of Baltimore. If she'd never met up with Mr. McAllister, she wouldn't of had to get that nasty letter from him so God could show her He didn't approve of the match, and Granny wouldn't of had to die so God would find Miss Love a house. When I tried to make sense out of all that, it seemed like the Bible was right. The Lord does work in mysterious ways His wonders to perform.

Grandpa had gone to talking politics. He was telling Mr. McAllister about the winter morning when Brother Belie Jones's wife fired up her stove and shut the oven door, not knowing her cat was asleep in there. "By the time Miz Jones opened the oven and found Essie, the dang cat was cooked. Later Miz Jones come down to the store jest a-cryin'. Said, 'Pore Essie. She must a-slept right th'ew. Else why wouldn't I of heard her holler?' Sometimes I think us folks in the South are jest like pore Essie. We sleepin' right th'ew them unfair freight rates, for instance, when we ought to be hollerin' all the way to Washington."

Mr. McAllister laughed. Miss Love laughed, too, but uneasy—like at the circus when the man puts his head in the tiger's mouth and you giggle when what you want to do is cover your eyes.

The husband and the fee-ance really liked each other, I could tell. Grandpa even asked Mr. McAllister to take pot luck and stay to supper. Practically insisted. "We don't git folks from Texas here ever day," he said in his best hospitality voice.

Knowing what I knew and not knowing what if anything Grandpa knew, all this funning and politeness gave me the creeps. Lord knows what it was doing to Miss Love, who had hardly said a word since Grandpa walked in. But the invitation brought the Texan back to the situation at hand. "Thank you, sir, but I got to catch the train to Atlanta. I better get on back to the ho-tel and pick up my grip."

He stood up, and Grandpa and Miss Love stood up, and I did, and there was an awkward minute till Grandpa said, "Well, I wisht you'd stay on, sir. We could put you up for the night."

That must of give Miss Love a start. Picking up the big white hat off the daybed, she handed it to Mr. McAllister and said, nervous as a witch, "He was just leaving when you came, Mr. Blakes-lee. He's got business in Atlanta."

The long tall man flipped his hand in the general direction of the saddle laying on the floor. He said, kind of casual, "This here belongs to your wife, Mr. Blakeslee. I come by to bring it to her—bein' as I was in the vicinity, so to speak."