Courting Trouble (31 page)

Essie sighed, wondering what these ladies would do if she were to tell them how troubled and unsure she was over her blossoming relationship with Preacher Wortham.

————

Pumping the handle above the kitchen’s washbasin, Essie filled a bowl with water, then splashed her face. She was glad to be finished with the cleaning and with hearing unwanted advice.

‘‘Oh, thank goodness you’re home,’’ Mother said, entering the room and handing Essie a towel.

‘‘What’s the matter?’’ she asked, dabbing her face.

‘‘Nothing. Your father is in his office with Melvin. They have something they’d like to, um, show you.’’

‘‘I thought Uncle Melvin was out of town,’’ she said, hanging the towel over a rod.

‘‘He’s back.’’

Essie frowned. ‘‘Is anything wrong?’’

‘‘No. Nothing at all.’’

Essie sighed. All morning she’d felt like a carcass that had been pecked and gouged. She wasn’t sure she was up to facing Papa or even Uncle Melvin. Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and headed toward the hallway.

‘‘Perhaps you should freshen up a bit first,’’ Mother said.

‘‘No, I’m sure they won’t mind either way.’’

Mother grabbed her hand. ‘‘Actually, I insist. Come on, I’ll help you change.’’

Too tired to argue, Essie allowed her mother to pull her up the stairs and assist her in replacing work clothes with a simple white shirtwaist and wool skirt. Mother took the pins out of Essie’s hair, brushing it with long, slow strokes.

Essie closed her eyes, relishing the unexpected treat of having someone else see to her needs. ‘‘The church cleaning this morning was awful.’’

‘‘Awful? Why? What happened?’’

‘‘Every single one of those women had advice to offer me on my courtship with Ewing. Seems the entire town has us married already.’’

‘‘Oh dear. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.’’

‘‘It’s all right. I’m just glad the morning’s over.’’

She opened her eyes. Mother had styled her hair in a loose bun at the back with soft tendrils framing her face.

‘‘There.’’ Her mother set the silver brush on the toilet table. ‘‘Ready?’’

Essie met her gaze in the mirror. ‘‘Ready for what?’’

‘‘For your, um, meeting with your father and uncle.’’

Essie swiveled around on her stool. ‘‘What is going on, Mother?’’

‘‘Nothing. Now come along.’’ But she was blushing and Essie found herself reluctant to follow.

Still, they made their way down the stairs and Mother opened the door to Papa’s study. ‘‘She’s home.’’

Essie stepped through the door. The neat and orderly office provided an unlikely backdrop for Uncle Melvin’s slouching form. Covered with dust and dirt, he looked as tired as she’d ever seen him— eyes bloodshot, shoulders wilted, mouth sagging.

‘‘What happened?’’ she asked, going straight to him. ‘‘Are you all right?’’

‘‘Just a little tuckered out.’’

‘‘Where on earth have you been? You look like you rode clear to China and back.’’

He pushed a smile onto his face, but it didn’t stay there long. She turned to ask Papa what this was all about and froze.

Behind her and leaning against the north wall, one hip cocked, was Adam Currington, hat in hand. He was just as filthy as Uncle Melvin, the starch long since gone from his handkerchief and blue shirt.

His eyes stayed on her face, never once venturing to places they ought not go. They were as clear and pretty as ever, but their sparkle had dulled.

‘‘How’s your nose?’’ she asked.

It was a ridiculous question, all things considered, but his nose was so crooked and bruised. Even after six weeks, hints of purple still hovered in the circles beneath his eyes.

He gave a slight smile. ‘‘It’s fine. How’s yours?’’

She smiled back, but her good humor slowly dissolved as she remembered his perfidy. ‘‘Where have you been?’’

His gaze dropped and he pulled away from the wall. ‘‘I owe you an apology, Essie.’’

An apology? He thought to waltz in here with an apology and all would be forgiven?

‘‘Would you like to sit down?’’ he asked, pulling out one of Papa’s chairs.

‘‘No, thank you.’’ She held herself still and straight.

‘‘You’re angry. And I can’t say I blame ya.’’ He swallowed. ‘‘I’ve come back to do right by ya. I’ve offered fer your hand, but your pa won’t give it without your consent.’’

She sank into the previously offered chair, her eyes locking with Papa’s. He’d erected a wall of indifference around him, refusing to let her see what he was thinking. She had no idea if he was angry, relieved, or anxious. But one thing was certain. He wasn’t indifferent, no matter what he pretended.

She turned to Uncle Melvin. ‘‘You went after him, didn’t you? That’s where you’ve been.’’

He said nothing.

‘‘Where did you find him?’’

No one answered.

Adam pulled out the chair next to hers and sat down facing her, his spurs jingling. ‘‘None of that is important. What matters is that I’m back. And I’m back for good. Ready to do the honorable thing.’’

‘‘Did Uncle Melvin have to threaten you?’’ she asked. ‘‘Cuff you and force you here by gunpoint?’’

Hurt and irritation mingled, providing her heart some protection against the shock of seeing him again. She’d dreamed so often of his return that she could hardly credit the fact that he was actually here.

Still, she’d never considered he would have to be tracked down and dragged back.

‘‘No, Essie. Not at all. I’m here of my own free will.’’

He must think she was an idiot. And not surprisingly, considering the poor decisions she’d made concerning him. ‘‘Really? What took so long?’’

He glanced at Melvin.

‘‘Don’t look over there for help,’’ she said. ‘‘It’s me who’s asking and me whom you’ll be answering to.’’

‘‘Essie,’’ he said, rotating his hat round and round in his big, bronzed hands, ‘‘I have no excuse to offer other than cowardice. The thought of being hogtied by matrimonial ropes made me as nervous as a long-tailed cat under a rockin’ chair. So I left in such a hurry I forgot to take my right mind with me.’’

She waited, but no more was forthcoming. ‘‘That’s it? That’s your excuse?’’

He frowned. ‘‘I’m back, ain’t I?’’

‘‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’’ She jumped out of her chair. ‘‘Surely you don’t think I’m going to crumple at your feet for doing me the great service of returning, do you?’’

‘‘Well,’’ he drawled, glancing at Melvin, then back at her. ‘‘Yes, ma’am. I guess I sorta did.’’

He was serious. Completely serious. An initial rush of anger was quickly replaced with disappointment.

‘‘I’d like to speak to Adam alone,’’ she said.

‘‘Absolutely not,’’ Papa answered.

Her heart softened toward her father for the first time in over a month. Walking to his desk, she held out her hand. He enveloped it in his.

‘‘If he tries anything,’’ she said, her voice gentle, ‘‘I will break his nose again myself.’’

She squeezed Papa’s hand. He looked at Melvin, then the two of them left the study, closing the door behind them.

Essie sat in Papa’s throne, hoping the position would imbue her with the strength she suddenly needed. ‘‘Where were you?’’

‘‘Dallas.’’

‘‘Doing what?’’

‘‘It don’t matter.’’

‘‘It does to me.’’

‘‘Well, it shouldn’t. What should matter is that I’m back.’’

‘‘Why? Why did you return?’’

‘‘To marry you.’’

She leaned against the warmth of Papa’s chair. The fire crackled in the hearth. ‘‘What changed your mind?’’

He paused. ‘‘The sheriff changed my mind, but not how you’d think. He didn’t threaten me or try to whup me. He just talked to me, is all.’’

‘‘About what?’’

‘‘You.’’

She studied him. So serious, so solemn. ‘‘I heard you were supposed to take Shirley Bunting to the Harvest Festival.’’

He slowly straightened. ‘‘Who told you that?’’

‘‘Is it true?’’

His gaze darted about the room.

‘‘Before you answer, please do not insult me with a falsehood. Furthermore, remember that this is a very small town and most everyone knows everyone else’s business.’’

He wiped a hand across his mouth. ‘‘I might’ve led Shirley to believe I might possibly escort her to the festival, but I wouldn’t have.’’

She didn’t miss the ease with which he used the girl’s first name.

‘‘Did her father know you were calling on her?’’

‘‘I wasn’t callin’ on her.’’

Shooting to her feet, Essie pressed her hands against the giant desk, a horrible thought robbing her of breath. ‘‘Did you compromise Shirley, too?’’

‘‘No, ma’am,’’ he said, standing as soon as she did.

Relief swept through her, but only momentarily. ‘‘Were you thinking to?’’

He didn’t answer. His disheveled hair grazed his forehead. Several days’ worth of whiskers shadowed his jaw. His broad shoulders stretched taut the blue shirt he wore. He was such a gorgeous man, even after riding for days on end. But he was not so handsome on the inside—and she didn’t need to look in his mouth to determine as much. The thought of spending the rest of her life with him was rapidly losing its appeal.

‘‘How many others, Adam? How many other women in this town were you carrying on with?’’

Tunneling his fingers through his hair, he moved to the window. ‘‘Don’t ya want to get married, Essie?’’

‘‘Yes. Oh yes. More than anything in the world. I’m just not sure anymore that it’s
you
I want to marry. A man who has such a voracious appetite for the female gender. A man who prefers wandering to planting down roots. A man who would run out on a woman he’d said he would marry and who might have been carrying his babe. A man who may not even believe in Jesus Christ.’’

He looked down at his fingernails. ‘‘I’d be true to ya, Essie. Once we was wed, I’d be true.’’

‘‘How many illegitimate children have you sired?’’

He looked at her then, his eyes bleak with regret. ‘‘I don’t rightly know,’’ he whispered.

Sorrow crashed through her. ‘‘Oh, Adam.’’

‘‘I think about it all the time. Wonderin’.’’ He blinked several times. ‘‘Might be none, ya know.’’ His voice was sandpaper rough. ‘‘And I’d have done all that worryin’ fer nothing.’’

She went to him then. He folded her into his embrace and she felt moisture from his eyes slide against her cheek.

‘‘I want you to stop carrying on with women who aren’t your wife.’’

Pulling back, he untied his neckerchief and wiped his eyes and nose. ‘‘I done told you already, I wouldn’t cheat on ya.’’

She gave him a sad smile.

He stilled. ‘‘You ain’t gonna marry me, are ya?’’

‘‘I’m sorry.’’

He searched her eyes. ‘‘Why not?’’

‘‘Marriage is a sacred and blessed thing. I’m beginning to realize entering into it only because we had relations would be a very foolish thing indeed.’’

‘‘Then why did the sheriff traipse all over the state just to track me down?’’

‘‘Because he loves me and I’m sure he thought you were what I wanted. So he must have decided to go and get you for me.’’

He nodded. ‘‘Yer lucky to have him. And your ma and pa, too.’’

‘‘You have a father and grandfather who love you. Perhaps you should go and see them.’’

Lifting her hand to his lips, he placed a soft kiss against her knuckles. ‘‘Maybe I’ll do that, Miss Spreckelmeyer. Maybe I’ll do that very thing.’’

She gently withdrew her hand. ‘‘Good-bye, Adam.’’

He put on his hat and tugged its brim. ‘‘Miss Spreckelmeyer, I’ll never forget ya and I wish you nothin’ but the very, very best.’’

————

Essie scrubbed Papa’s shirt against the washboard, her hands shriveled from being in the water so long. Washing was never pleasant, but washing when the weather turned wintry was downright onerous. The hot water burned her fingers, the cold breezes chafed her skin.

She glanced at the back door. Inside, Papa sat cloistered with Mr. Davidson, the oil scout, discussing the future of the still-dry well. The well she’d been forbidden to so much as inquire about.

Mother wrung out the clothes, then hung them on the line.

The back door slammed.

‘‘Doreen?’’ Papa called from the porch.

Mother stopped.

‘‘I need you to take a message to Melvin for me. Tell him I’m with Mr. Davidson right now, but that I’ll collect everyone and meet him at the jailhouse in thirty minutes.’’

‘‘What’s happened?’’ Mother asked.

‘‘Looks like Harley’s gotten himself into some trouble.’’

Essie released the shirt she’d been cleaning, allowing it to slide into the water. ‘‘
My
Harley? Harley North?’’

‘‘I’m afraid so.’’

Drying her hands with her apron, she crossed the yard. ‘‘What kind of trouble? What did he do?’’

‘‘It’s a long story. Melvin’s got him locked up for now.’’

‘‘Locked up! He can’t put a seven-year-old in jail.’’

‘‘He can if the boy committed a crime. He can if he wants to scare the living daylights out of him.’’

Essie quickly removed her apron and flung it over the back-porch rail. ‘‘I’ll go.’’

‘‘Would you like me to go with you?’’ Mother asked.

‘‘No. I’ll send word if I need you.’’

She raced to the barn, not bothering to change out of her work dress or to remove the handkerchief from around her head. ‘‘When will you be done?’’ she hollered back at Papa.

‘‘Hopefully within half an hour.’’

————

She had to hike her skirts clear up to her knees in order to keep them from tangling in Peg’s chains. With one hand holding her skirts and the other on the handlebars, she couldn’t go as rapidly as she wanted, but it was quicker than saddling Cocoa. Ewing would just have to understand this was an emergency. After this, though, she’d put the bike away.

She whizzed through the heart of town. Katherine Crook swept leaves from the Slap Out’s porch, gasping when she saw the spectacle Essie made. Mr. Klocker’s horse became spooked by the bike and pranced to the side, forcing an oncoming buggy to swerve out of the way.

Essie didn’t slow so much as a mite. She had to reach Harley. She turned onto Jefferson Avenue, spotting the sheriff ’s office and jailhouse.

Ever since Uncle Melvin had returned with Adam in tow, things had smoothed out between her, her uncle, and her parents. Both Melvin and Papa were relieved she wasn’t going to marry the cowboy and they had wasted no time in sending Adam on his way. She hoped this time he had gone home to his family.