Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (7 page)

Addie was so angry that words she had never uttered in her life came boiling up out of the rage she had held back since her frank talk with Trisha about why old Renshaw wanted Colin. She was so frustrated that all she could do now was stand there and stamp her feet. Then she burst into tears.

“Miss Addie!” Colin and Trisha rushed to her side. “What that old toad say to you?”

“Oh, Miss Addie! Don’t cry!” Colin’s freckled face was a picture of despair.

“Someday I’m a-gonna shoot that ol’ snot-nosed piss-pot right in the guts!” Trisha lifted the end of the rifle toward the departing buggy.

Addie’s tears suddenly turned to hysterical laughter. She put her arms around Colin and the girl and held on to them because her knees were weak.

“Oh, aren’t we a sight. I cuss ’em and you shoot ’em.” Tears streamed down Addie’s cheeks. “I said things I’ve never said before.”

“Felt good to cuss ’em, though, didn’t it?” Trisha said.

“I lost my temper. I’ve . . . ruined everything—”

“Is he . . . is he gonna make me go?” The desperate look on Colin’s young face tore at Addie’s heart.

“No, honey. You’re not leaving us as long as Trisha and I have shells to put in the gun.”

“It’s what he said, ain’t it?”

“Yes, it’s what he said.” Addie couldn’t lie to the boy even to make it easier for him. “But that doesn’t mean you’ll go.”

“What about Jane Ann?”

“Mr. Renshaw wants only you. The preacher is mad at me because of some of the things I said. He said he’ll find another place for Jane Ann. But he’ll not take either one of you. I’ll find a way. . . .”

The boy’s proud little face crumbled slowly as realization sank in. The tears he had fought to hold back now rolled down his cheeks. Addie pulled him to her and felt the racking sobs that tore through his body.

“C-can’t we go away? Can’t we go to Cala . . . fornie?”

“Try not to worry, Colin. We’ll do everything in our power to keep you right here with us. We’ll think of something.”

“I done thought a somethin’!” Trisha spoke in a choked voice. “I’ll kill that . . . that ol’ butt-pinchin’ pile a horse shit!” For a moment Addie was frightened, for she was sure that the girl was capable of carrying out her threat.

Addie hugged Colin closer to her and felt the wetness of his tears on the front of her dress. Her heart ached for the poor little boy. His arms were wrapped tightly about her waist, something he had never done before. It showed the depth of his despair.

Looking over Colin’s head, Addie saw Mr. Tallman, the “passerby” as Trisha called him, standing on the porch. Dillon was on one side of him, Jane Ann on the other. Both children were still in their nightclothes. Addie’s eyes met the man’s intent dark blue ones and held. His hat was off and she could see the line of irritation that creased his brow.

“Oh, my! I forgot about him.”

When she spoke, Colin stiffened, then tore himself from Addie’s embrace, and bolted around the corner of the house. Addie watched him, then turned stricken eyes to the man on the porch.

“I’ll fix your breakfast,” she said in a dull voice.

Trisha took a step forward, but Addie put her hand on her arm. “See about Colin, Trisha.”

“But—”

“Give me the gun. I’ll be all right.”

Trisha hesitated, then handed it over. “Ya holler if’n he makes a move.”

“I will. Go on now. Colin needs you.”

Trisha lifted her skirt above her bare ankles, then as she ran by the porch, she paused.

“White man, ya hurt Miss Addie, I shoot ya dead.”

With the barrel of the rifle pointed at the ground, Addie went up the steps to the porch and into the house. John and the children followed.

“That girl seems determined to shoot me.”

“She’s distrustful of men. And I can’t blame her.” Addie stood the rifle in the corner. “Jane Ann, you and Dillon go get dressed, then come wash up for breakfast.”

“Why is Colin cryin’?” Jane Ann pulled on Addie’s hand.

“I’ll tell you about it later, honey. Get dressed and help Dillon, will you?”

“Is me and Colin gettin’ took away from here?”

“No, punkin.” Addie hugged the girl to her side for a brief moment, then released her. “Now, scoot.”

After the children were gone, Addie carried the teakettle to the washbench.

“Sit down, Mr. Tallman. I’ll wash right quick, so I can start the meal.” Addie soaped her hands, rinsed them, and splashed water on her face. After she used the towel, she emptied the washbowl and placed a clean towel beside it. “The water in the teakettle is hot.”

“I washed at the well when I realized I’d not be seen by your visitor.”

“It’ll take a little time to get the oven hot enough for biscuits.” As she spoke, Addie opened the firebox and shoved in another stick of wood. Her motions were jerky and her hands shook as she put the flat pan on the stove, added grease, then brought the bowl she used for making biscuits to the work bench.

Trying to keep her back to the man at the table, she made a well in the flour in the bowl, then added salt, soda, and a spoonful of lard. After pouring in buttermilk, she worked the flour into the dough until it was stiff enough to pinch off, shape, and put in the pan.

Her heart was pounding. More than anything she wanted to crawl away to cry, but she worked swiftly and without unnecessary movement. Soon the gravy was bubbling in the skillet and she began to set the table.

John watched every move the woman made. Something was tearing her apart inside. She had not looked directly at him, but he caught the shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes.

“Dillon won’t let me fasten his ’spenders. He runs off.” The small boy, with Jane Ann behind him, ran into the room and wedged himself between his mother and the table. “See there,” Jane Ann said. “He’s actin’ up ’cause of the company.”

“Dillon, please, behave now.”

“Come here, you little sidewinder.” John reached out and lifted the child onto his lap. “My sister’s got a young scutter about your size. He’s as frisky as a pup.”

Surprised to find himself sitting on a man’s lap, Dillon went stone-still, with his eyes locked on John’s face.

“We had a dog.”

“Was he big and mean?”

“He barked and pulled on the rope.”

“What was his name?”

“Lincoln.”

“Lincoln? I bet that would tickle old Abe—”

“Can I touch your mustache?”

“If you’ll let me fasten your suspenders.”

The boys’ eyes were round and blue and solemn. “Me first?”

“Not until we shake on it man to man. I’ve got to be sure you won’t break and run. A man keeps his word.” John held out his hand. Dillon put his into it. “I promise to let you feel my mustache.”

“Um . . . I promise to let ya hook my ’spenders.”

As Addie watched her son sitting on the man’s lap, a tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly and turned to Jane Ann.

“Wash up. I’ll brush and braid your hair after breakfast.” Addie went to the door. “Trisha! Colin!” she called. “Breakfast is ready.”

Addie was pulling the pan of golden-brown biscuits from the oven when the two came in. Colin went directly to the washbowl. Trisha scowled at Dillon as he sat on the passerby’s lap, his chubby fingers fingering the mustache that drooped down on each side of the firm mouth. Jane Ann leaned against the man’s knee and giggled.

“Get out a jar of plum butter, please, Trisha. We’re ready to sit down.”

Trisha brought the jar to the table, then backed off to the far corner of the kitchen.

“Take your places. That means you too, Dillon,” Addie said when the child made no move to leave John’s lap. “I’ll pour the coffee.” Addie wrapped a cloth around the handle of the granite coffeepot and returned to the table. Trisha remained standing, her back turned, looking out the open door. “Trisha, take your place and help Jane Ann.”

John looked up, saw the worry in Addie’s eyes, and realized that Trisha was afraid he would feel insulted if she sat at the table.

“I’ve not had biscuits like these in months, miss,” he said to Trisha. “I’ll not be able to enjoy them if I have to worry about you shooting me in the back. And it’s been longer than that since I sat at the table with
two
pretty ladies.”

“Why you sayin’ that, white man? You know I’m a colored,” Trisha hissed as she spun around. Her golden eyes shone like those of an angry cat.

“So you’ve got a dab of color. I’m part Irish, part Scot, part French. My pa’s stepfather was Shawnee. My grandmother married him because she wanted to, not because she had to. I’m named for him. John Spotted Elk Tallman. Is that the reason you won’t eat at the table with me?”

“Ya know it ain’t!”

“Then please sit down. I’m so hungry for these biscuits I could eat a sick dog.”

“Ugh!” Jane Ann said, and stuck out her tongue.

Trisha flounced around the table and plopped herself down in her chair.

Addie hadn’t realized that she was holding her breath until she let it out. She looked into the man’s eyes and silently thanked him with hers.

The meal would have been eaten in silence had not Dillon and Jane Ann kept up a continual chatter. They were enjoying themselves. Addie had told them to hush up only once, when Dillon started to say something about going to the outhouse. John talked to Jane Ann and Dillon, knowing the others had troubles on their minds.

“When I was a boy, I found a baby skunk. I don’t know what happened to its mother.”

“Did it stink?” Jane Ann asked.

“Not at first. I carried it around in a pouch I hung around my neck. One day I climbed a tree and couldn’t get down with the pouch. My mother stood under the tree and told me to drop it and she would catch it. I dropped it. We discovered then it was old enough to . . . you know.”

The children laughed. Colin sat with his head bowed over his plate.

“What did she do?” Dillon asked, gazing into John’s face.

“She made me take it to the woods and let it go.”

“What was its name?”

“Rose. I guess I hoped she would smell like one.” John caught Addie’s eye and winked. Just a hint of a smile touched her lips before she turned away. “Thanks for the meal, ma’am. I don’t know when I’ve had better. I’d like to repair that rail fence if the boy here would give me a hand. In a few places a good strong wind will blow it over.”

Colin got to his feet without looking up. Addie rose too.

“Colin . . . if you’d rather not—”

“I want to. I can’t spend my life hidin’ behind your skirts, Miss Addie.”

Addie stood in the doorway and watched the boy walk across the yard with the tall man. She was suddenly struck with the thought that had Kirby Hyde been more like this man, he would have survived to come home to her and their son, and now she wouldn’t feel so alone and scared.

*  5  *

B
y midmorning, six posts had been replaced and rails added to the fence where needed. Colin worked alongside John, speaking only when spoken to. The boy was a good worker, often anticipating what was needed and fetching it before John asked. When they finished with the fence, they stood back to survey their work.

“It wouldn’t hold a herd of wild horses, Colin, but it’ll do for a horse, a cow, and a couple of sheep.”

“Daisy and Myrtle wouldn’t run off if we left ’em in the yard.”

John looked down at the boy. It was the first time he had volunteered anything.

“They’re a couple of smart horses. They know which side of the bread the butter is on.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means they know a good thing when they see it. In other words, they want to stay with folks that are good to them and feed them.”

Trisha, working in the garden, was watching them. The rifle was never far from her hand. John wondered if the gun was intended as protection against him or if she was expecting someone else.

The scene he had witnessed in the early morning stayed in John’s mind as a disturbing presence. He could still hear Addie Hyde’s heartbreaking sobs and see the two women and the boy holding on to one another in their despair. When Addie had looked up and seen him, her pride had taken over. She had lifted her head high; and although her cheeks were wet with her tears, she had sailed by him and calmly gone about doing what she had to do.

“Let’s get a cool drink, Colin. I think we deserve it, don’t you?”

At the well, John loosened the rope and let it slide through the pulley until he heard the bucket hit the water. After it filled, he drew it up, set it on the plank platform around the well, and reached for the dipper hanging on the post. He offered it to Colin.

“That crosspiece holding the pulley is pretty wobbly. If you have a length or two of wire, we could strengthen it.”

After Colin drank, he handed back the dipper and walked to the barn. John drank, then carried the water bucket to the chickens’ watering trough and emptied it.

Colin returned with a piece of rusty wire and a pair of iron pincers.

“It’s the section resting on this post that’s loose,” John said, moving around the side of the well. “If I hoist you up on my shoulders, you can reach it and wrap that wire around it and the post in a figure eight.”

Colin nodded. John took off his hat and swung Colin up to sit astride his neck. Then he steadied him while Colin put his bare feet on his shoulders and stood. John held on to the boy’s legs while he worked. When he was finished, John lifted him down.

“Good job. It’ll hold until that wire rusts through.” John picked up his hat. “Are you ready to tackle the hole in the wall of the chicken house? It’s a wonder a fox hasn’t discovered that loose plank.”

Colin shrugged.

“I’ll get a sheet of loose tin from behind the barn. Do you have any nails?”

Colin nodded and went into the barn. When they met at the chicken house, the boy had a dozen square, rusty nails.

“If you have extras, it’s a good idea to stick them down in lard or goose grease. Keeps ’em from rusting and they drive easier.”

After they had repaired the side of the flimsy chicken house, John boosted Colin up on top to nail a piece of tin over a hole in the roof. Later, he followed the silent boy into the barn and they put away the tools.