Tenderness (6 page)

Jesse went quietly out the door and stood for a moment on the step. She had relieved her bladder only one time since noon
and she badly needed to use the “convenience.” A glow of light led her to the small building. She picked up the lantern and
went inside. The privy was spacious and clean. Half of a Sears Roebuck catalog lay on the seat, ready for her to use its pages.
Liberal use of lime had kept the stench to a minimum. Again, Jesse was pleasantly surprised.

Wade was waiting beside the stoop when she returned to the house. He took the lantern, raised the globe and blew out the flame.
In the kitchen he hung his hat on the peg beside the door, filled the washpan with water from the teakettle and set it in
the sink.

“Wash up and we’ll eat,” he said. “It’s been a long day and it’s going to be longer.” He took a towel from the drawer of a
chiffonier and hung it on the pump handle.

“Thank you.” Jesse soaped and rinsed her hands, then splashed water on her face. The cloth she dried with was edged with tatted
lace—a company towel. “Beautiful lace,” she said, folding the towel. “It’s almost too pretty to use.”

“They need to be used once in a while,” he said while pumping water into the pan to wash.

“Did your mother make the lace?”

“Humpt!” he snorted, his hands splashing water on his face. It was a noncommittal sound. Finally, as he was drying his face,
he said, “My granny.”

Jesse stood behind the ladder-backed cane-bottomed chair. Wade was acutely aware that she was watching him. It was a diabolical
combination of pleasure and agony having her here in his home. All the beauty that he had ever suspected life held was summed
up in her. She was indeed a paradox: strong, resourceful, quick-witted, with a sparkling sense of humor, not beautiful, but
still alluringly feminine. He had known women more beautiful, but none had stirred him like this one.

Usually he went to women for the gratification of very elemental needs. That he would want more from a woman had not often
occurred to him. Jesse had impressed him the moment he had seen her face in his field glasses. She had won his esteem by her
actions today. Now, he was eager that she regard him in a favorable light.

He couldn’t imagine what she was thinking. Her face was calm, but the fingers gripping the back of the chair told him that
she was nervous. Surely she wasn’t worried for her safety.
It could be that she feared she would have to sit at the table with Jody.
Wade knew a moment of panic.
Was she all he had thought her to be or a bigot like the rest of the folk in Harpersville?

Wade dragged his eyes away from her, cursing himself and this sudden attack of self-consciousness. He felt like a gawky kid
instead of a man who had been around the world and seen everything he considered worth seeing.

Jody moved between them carrying a black iron kettle to the table.

“Put the beans in a bowl, Jody. We have company.”

“Don’t regard me as company, please.” Jesse moved away from the chair. “I feel I’ve been thrust upon your hospitality. I’ll
set the table.” She opened the glass doors of the china cabinet and lifted three plates from the shelf, and from a drawer
beneath the doors, she chose three sets of utensils. She laid out the place settings knowing that Wade was watching her, testing
her to she how she would react to eating at the table with a Negro.

At an early age Doctor Forbes had emphasized to his children that Negro people were no less human than white people. He looked
beneath the color of a man’s skin and saw what lay in his heart and judged him by his character.

“I done et,” Jody said and placed an ironstone bowl of steaming beans and ham on the table.

“You didn’t finish your meal,” Jesse said lightly. “Sit down, Jody. A growing boy can surely eat more than one plateful. Isn’t
that right, Mr. Simmer?”

Wade waited to speak until her blue eyes were looking directly into his.

“Right as rain, Nurse Forbes.” His voice was deep, husky, his expression remote. Holding her eyes with his, Wade moved around
the table and pulled out her chair.

Jesse sat down. She was emotionally shaken. She would never have dreamed when she left home this morning that she would be
completely at the mercy of this notorious man—not that he had made an ungentlemanly move, she assured herself. Still, her
logical mind told her, he was so… big and dark and unpredictable. One moment he smiled and the next moment he looked as if
he would bite the head off a snake. He did have a beautiful smile, she finally admitted, and wondered why he was so stingy
with it.

D
ick Efthim closed and locked the double glass doors of his emporium and put the key in his pocket. He stood for a moment looking
up and down the street. This was the quiet time of day—sup-pertime. Most of the businesses were closed, but a light blinked
here and there. Two men came toward him on the raised boardwalk that fronted the stores in the block.

“Evenin’, Mr. Harper. Evenin’, Marshal.”

“Evenin’.” Boyd Harper’s voice boomed so loudly in the quiet that Dick wondered if the man was going deaf. The short, notably
plump banker was puffing on the stub of a cigar he would toss away before he reached home. Roberta Harper, his wife, frowned
on tobacco and spirits. They were allowed in the house only on special occasions when it was socially necessary.

“Howdy, Dick.” Dusty Wright was big, sandy-haired, freckle-faced, and so easy-going that he had managed to get along with
Boyd Harper for the past fifteen years. Named Dunstan at birth, a fact he generally concealed, the marshal had been called
Dusty for as long as he could remember.

“I was just tellin’ the marshal that half the town saw Wade Simmer’s uppity nigger runninn’ slap-dab down the middle of Main
Street. It was a sorry sight to see, but when trash like that thumbs his nose at our town marshal, it’s more’n a body should
have to put up with. Disgraceful, I say. Disgraceful!” Harper continued in his loud voice as he lifted his watch from his
vest pocket and flipped open the case. “Them niggers are just gettin’ uppitier and uppitier. But they know better than to
be in my town after sundown. Isn’t that right, Marshal?”

Dusty nodded and glanced at Dick. He listened to the banker’s advice, then did what he thought was right according to the
law. Now he could scarcely keep the grin off his face. The handlebar mustache that covered his upper lip jerked, the only
sign of his amusement. Both men remained silent and let Boyd talk.

“Keep that trash in the hills, Marshal. We can’t let them sully our town. My granddaddy built this town with his sweat and
blood. He didn’t build it for lazy hill trash.”

When Boyd got on this subject, it always made the storekeeper uncomfortable. A number of hill families did business in his
store. He had extended credit to a few of them and they had always paid when they promised, unlike Boyd, who let his bill
run a year or more and then pretended to have forgotten it. Dick also knew of hillfolk who did business with Boyd’s bank.
The man seemed to forget about that when he launched into one of his tirades.

“You should’ve gone right out and arrested that darkie for indecent behavior.”

“Indecent behavior?” Dusty scratched the back of his head, tilting his hat over his face to hide his amusement. “I don’t even
know what it means when a person ‘thumbs his nose.’ Do you, Boyd?”

“Why, course, I know,” the banker blustered. “It means… it means somethin’… nasty.”

“If I arrested everyone who called me somethin’ nasty, Boyd, I’d have that new jailhouse full and overflowin’. Think of the
expense havin’ to feed that bunch. I’d be havin’ tramps and rotters and good-for-nothin’s thumbin’ their nose just to get
a good warm bed and three squares a day.”

“Well, now.” Boyd chewed vigorously on the end of the cigar. “We’ll write up a new ordinance. Any nigger that acts disrespectful
while in Harpersville—”

“It wouldn’t stand up in court, Boyd. Tennessee law says we can’t have one set of rules for whites and another for coloreds.”

“What do those high-binders over there in Nashville know about what goes on over here in this part of the state?” Boyd puffed
rapidly on his cigar, then took it from his mouth. “I never thought I’d see the day Harpersville would have to put up with
uppity niggers and womenfolk not bein’ safe in their own homes. My granddaddy would turn over in his grave if he knew what’s
been goin’ on in his town.”

“Has another woman been attacked?” Dick asked.

“Not that I know of,” Dusty said. “But women are shamed about talkin’ about such things. I suspect there’s been more’n what
we know about.”

“Do you have any idea who it could be?”

Before Dusty could answer, Boyd’s voice boomed.

“Course, we got a idea. Wade Simmer. He’s got to be brought to justice. There’s been nothing but trouble since he come back
here. Bad blood!” Boyd shook his head so vigorously his jowls quivered. “I got proof written in my granddaddy’s hand, God
rest his soul, that Simmer’s old granddaddy was a smuggler, a thief, a womanizer, and a Yankee to boot. Bad blood was passed
on down to Alvin, then to Wade. Everybody knows Alvin Simmer killed my brother, Buford, and got hung for it.”

What everybody doesn’t know,
Dusty thought to himself,
is the truth about that killing.

“I can’t arrest Wade Simmer without some evidence he’s guilty,” Dusty said.

“Arrest his nigger then.”

“I have no evidence it’s him either. He’s no more’n fourteen or fifteen. I figger he’s not smart enough to get in and do what’s
been done to these women without being seen.”

“Hell, man! You got to arrest somebody.”

“I will when I catch the guilty man. This bird is bound to slip up sooner or later, and one of the women will be able to identify
him.”

“It better be soon. I never thought I’d see the day a white woman wasn’t safe in my granddaddy’s town.” Harper looked so indignant
that Dusty wanted to laugh. “Why, I’m havin’ to send Edsel home early to stay with Mrs. Harper. She’s near scared out of her
wits.”

Dusty had a difficult time holding back a smile at the thought of The Looker getting the corsets off Mrs. Harper’s barrel-shaped
body. So far, the man had picked sightly young women and girls. Unless he got the urge to look at a belly shaped like a watermelon
and breasts like two good sized cantaloupes, Roberta Harper was as safe as if she were locked in the bank vault.

When the banker said goodnight and walked on down the street leaving the marshal and the storekeeper standing on the boardwalk,
they looked at each other, careful to wait until Boyd Harper was out of hearing, and they both laughed.

“A man would have to be really sick to want to see Mrs. Harper naked,” Dick said, then added, “I don’t mean to make light
of what’s happened. It’s not a jokin’ matter. I keep wonderin’ who’s doin’ it and if it’s somebody I know.”

“It’s a bet it’s someone who knows what’s going on in town. So far he’s picked women whose menfolk were out of the house.
I don’t think it’s one of the hill people. I don’t have any idea who it is. It’s not one of the bridge crew. I’m almost sure
of that. They don’t bathe from one month to the next and stink like a slop bucket. A woman would notice such as that. It’s
hard for me to believe it’s Wade Simmer. I’m thinkin’ that if he took a notion for a woman, he’d not be sneaky about it. Besides,
he can go up to Knoxville or over to Frederick or Grover or Finny and get a woman who’ll give him a fine time for four bits.
Why risk gettin’ caught just lookin’?”

“Maybe it’s a game with him. Maybe he feels he’s getting back at the town for what it did to his pa.”

“Preyin’ on women?” Dusty snorted. “Ain’t Wade’s style.”

“But you don’t know for sure.”

“No. I don’t know for sure. Could be you, Dick.”

“Or you, Dusty.” Dick laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I heard they got a run of scarlet fever in the hills,”
he said after a pause. “Susan Forbes was in the store and bought sage to send back by that darkie. He was down to get medicine
from the doctor. Miss Jesse will have her hands full. It don’t seem right her bein’ up there all by herself.”

“She’s probably as safe there as she’d be in town right now. If she’s tending the younguns, the hill people’ll look after
her.”

“You a friend of Simmer’s, Dusty?”

“I know him. I was raised in the hills myself. My pa knew his pa. Wade’s a ornery sonofabitch when he’s riled, but he tends
to his own business if folks leave him be.”

“He comes to the store four or five times a year. Seems to have money to buy what he wants. Gives me a bill to fill, pays
and leaves. Don’t say three words all the while.”

“He ain’t a talker, that’s certain. Well, I got to be makin’ my rounds. Night, Dick.”

“Night, Dusty.”

“This piccalilli is delicious.” Jesse spooned a second helping of the relish onto her plate. “Which one of you made it?” She
tried to smile into Wade’s eyes, but he refused to look at her.

“Mrs. Bailey gave us a half dozen quarts last fall,” Wade finally said reluctantly.

“After we sawed up a bunch of—” A quelling glance from Wade stopped Jody’s words.

“I’ll have to ask for the recipe,” Jesse said. “Mine never tastes this good.”

She glanced at Jody and found him looking at her. He scooped a piece of ham out of his plate with his fingers and filled his
mouth, letting the juice run down his chin.
He was being deliberately ill-mannered.
Why? She slanted a quick look at Wade. His face had tightened with a scowl, but he said nothing.

Jesse finished her meal in silence after that. Jody was doing his best to live up to what he thought she expected of him,
and she was
tired
of trying to make conversation with Wade. Since she had stepped inside his home, he had been different—as if he didn’t want
her here. Sitting at the table with a colored was not something she did every day. Not that it bothered her. It was just strange,
and she had tried to make everyone feel at ease with her ceaseless chatter. She could see now that it had been a mistake.