“I can’t hold a candle to Thad. He used to have a big thing for Julie. I think he’s got over it. She didn’t give him any encouragement at all. They were in the same grade at school when Julie quit to take care of Ma and the rest of us.”

“She doesn’t get out much, does she?”

“She goes to town now and then and to church. She’s tied down with the kids.” Joe sighed with regret, then dug his hands down in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Back to Mrs. Stuart. Do you think she’ll tell Wilbur?”

“Is he the kind to blow up if she does?” Evan settled the saddle on his horse’s back and cinched it.

“Up to now I’d have said no. But she’s his sister and she knows how to make herself pretty and helpless. I hope Pa don’t find out about it. He’d be the one to blow up.”

“He may be a little bit infatuated with her now. But it won’t last. Your pa is too smart.”

“Dammit, I hope you’re right. Come over one night and we’ll play a game of cards.”

Evan nodded and put his heels to his horse.

* * *

Evan rocked gently in the saddle as the horse passed through the woods. His senses swarmed with details of the afternoon’s events. He had only to close his eyes to see Julie’s laughing face: soft mouth, high cheekbones, magnificent light brown eyes. He drew in a deep breath, thinking that he could still smell the warm, woman scent of her.

She was not indifferent to him. He was almost sure of that.

A moment he would always remember was when little Joy looked up at him and said,
I like you
. The sincerity of the child’s spontaneous words and the grin on her small face when she said them had been one of the most pleasant experiences of his life. Unknowingly, he smiled while thinking about it.

He had never known people like the Jones family. Poor but proud. Hardworking but fun-loving. They were loyal to each other and united in all things that mattered. Lord, he hoped that Jethro Jones came to his senses before he got more involved with Birdie Stuart. The woman could tear his family apart.

As he rode into the farmyard, Evan wondered if Julie had told her family about their date Saturday night. There were only two places they could go: the picture show or the dance at Spring Lake. How did she feel about being seen in public with the son of the notorious Walter Johnson?

Evan unsaddled his horse, wiped him down and turned him loose in the pasture. He was glad to see that the old nag Walter rode was not in the lot. He’d have the place to himself for a while. On the way to the house, Evan stopped in the middle of the yard and took a deep breath.

The scent of honeysuckle was in the air. A hummingbird was dipping its long beak into the blossoms on the bushes his mother had planted long ago. Evan looked up at the clear blue sky, then toward the pasture at the side of the house where the milch cow was grazing contentedly. The windmill creaked; the hogs rooted in the pen beside the barn; a chicken wandered to the edge of the porch, flapped its wings and pecked at something on the ground.

He loved this place. He wanted to raise a family here. He wanted to love and be loved here—and to be accepted by his neighbors as Evan Johnson and not known as Evan Johnson, son of the town drunk.

In the kitchen Evan looked around at the mess of dirty dishes and cooking pots on the table, the filthy clothes on the floor and the unmade foul-smelling cot. This was Walter’s domain. He ate here, slept here, drank himself into a stupor here.

A vision flashed through Evan’s mind of the neat kitchen at the Joneses’ farm, filled with the aroma of fresh-baked bread, table set for the family meal, a girl with laughing eyes, hair hanging down her back, teasing with her brothers and sisters.

It was a glimpse of the kind of family life that had always eluded him.

An idea had been playing over and over in his mind since shortly after he came back to the farm:
How much money would it take to buy Walter out and get him off the farm, out of the county, out of his life?

Evan heard the clang of the gate, then a curse. He went to the door. Walter had returned and he was drunker than a hoot-owl. Evan went up to his room. Now was not the time to offer to buy him out.

Chapter 10

J
ULIE, LOOK. I FOUND A BIG ONE
.” Jason held up a cucumber that was already turning yellow with age.

“It’s too ripe, Jason. Throw it away.”

After the breakfast dishes were cleared away, most mornings were spent in the garden. It was an everyday chore to pick beans and cucumbers. The root vegetables such as beets, potatoes and turnips would be ready by the time pickles were put up and the beans were canned. Then it would be time to shred the cabbage and pack it down in the crocks to make sauerkraut.

Julie had given Jill her choice of going to the garden or ironing yesterday’s wash, which they had sprinkled with water the night before when they took the clothes off the line. Jill chose the ironing.

“I gotta pee-pee.” Joy backed up to where Julie was searching the cucumber vines and turned around so her sister could unbutton the fold-down flap on the back of her drawers.

“Go squat down behind the bean vines where Jason won’t see you.” Julie gave the child a gentle push.

“He’s seen me pee-pee.”

“That was when you were little. Mind me and don’t argue.”

“I want to do it here.”

Julie looked at the child with an exasperated frown. Joy was a stubborn child with a strong personality.

“You’re asking for a spanking. I said go behind the bean vines. You’re too big to be doing your business in front of Jason.”

“I didn’t ask for a spankin’,” she said sassily.

When Julie reached for her, Joy darted out of the way, ran down the row a short distance and squatted down. She returned to stand a few feet away from Julie.

“You goin’ to spank me?”

“Do you think you deserve spanking?”

“No. Jason didn’t see me.”

“He didn’t see you because he was looking the other way. I told you to go behind the bean vines.”

“I had to go … bad.”

“Come here and let me button your drawers.”

“You like me, Julie?”

“Of course I do, puddin’, but I want other people to like you and they won’t if you’re sassy.”

“Mr. Johnson likes me. He said so.”

“When was this?” Julie finished with the buttons and pulled Joy’s dress down.

“At the ball game. I like him.”

“You do, huh?” Julie stood, straightened her aching back and looked down at the child. “When we get to the house, you’re going to sit in a chair for an hour. If you had told me you had to go so bad, I’d have found a closer place for you to do it. Instead you were sassy and defiant.”

“I wasn’t de-fant.”

“Defiant. Yes, you were. We’ll talk about it later. Let’s go in, Jason,” Julie called. “I’ve got about all I can carry.”

* * *

At the edge of the woods, on the rise behind the farm, a man with a pair of binoculars watched the garden. The little tad was growing like a weed. She was cute as a button. He chuckled when she turned her bare little butt up and squatted to pee. Lately he’d had an urge to see her. Why, he didn’t know. Hell, he’d not wanted to see any of the rest of them. Just knowing they were there had been enough.

He watched until the woman and the two kids disappeared in the house before he lowered the glasses and hung the strap over his shoulder. After looking carefully around, he retraced his steps back through the woods to the rocky path leading to the river.

* * *

Corbin Appleby left the rooming house on E Street where he had taken up residence in Mrs. Shamblin’s upstairs room. It was a pleasant room across the front of the house giving him a view of the Courthouse Square. Dressed neatly in duck pants, a silver star pinned to his white shirt and a tan felt hat on his head, he walked quickly toward Sparky’s Eatery, where he went every morning for breakfast.

Corbin had a lot on his mind this morning. He had not gone to bed until long after midnight. Then, as tired as he was, the events of the night had robbed him of his sleep. The same words floated through his mind over and over.
I was not wrong in coming here, I was not wrong in coming here. I was not
—

“Mornin’,” Sparky called when Corbin entered the small eatery and hung his hat on one of the pegs along the wall.

“Mornin’.” Corbin adjusted the gun belt around his slim hips before he straddled a stool at the counter. “It’s goin’ to be a scorcher today.”

“Startin’ out like it. What’ll ya have, Chief? The woman’s takin’ out a fresh batch of biscuits.”

“I’ll have gravy with them.”

Sparky was a thin man with a big, bald head and buck teeth. If a prize were to be given to the ugliest man Corbin had ever met and liked, Sparky would win hands down. But he was easy-going, intelligent and if there was one man in town whom Corbin could depend on to back him should he need it, that man would be Sparky. He slapped a heavy mug down on the counter and filled it with coffee from a granite pot with a cloth wrapped around the handle.

“Gonna want to take somethin’ to your prisoner?”

“Yeah. Somethin’ not over ten cents. The town will pay a quarter a day for his eats. I might have to come back for his supper.”

“How about a few biscuits, a piece of sowbelly and a jar a coffee?”

“I doubt he can chew sowbelly. He was busted in the mouth last night.”

“Fightin’s taken serious down there at Well’s Point.”

“They can fight each other all they want, but when they start destroying property, I’ll step in.”

Sparky set a plate of biscuits and a bowl of steaming sausage gravy on the counter. Corbin put two split biscuits on his plate and covered them with the gravy.

“I heard he set fire to a boat. S’that right?”

“Among other things. Tell your wife these are damn good biscuits.”

Corbin ate quickly, drank his coffee and placed a dime on the counter for his meal. He reached for the sack Sparky had prepared for his prisoner.

“Put this on a tab. If the judge don’t let him out, I’ll be back for his supper.”

Corbin passed the hardware store on the way to the jail. A woman was sweeping dirt from the store out onto the sidewalk.

“Morning,” she said with a shy smile.

“Morning.” Corbin tipped his hat and walked on.

He had been surprised when he met Shirley Poole, the wife of Ron Poole, the owner of the store and a member of the town council. The two didn’t seem to go together. Ron was a big, well-built man whom even Corbin considered rather handsome. His wife was small and shy, while he was large and seemed never to meet a stranger. Mrs. Poole was neat and had a pleasant way about her. Long ago, Corbin had given up on trying to figure out what attracted a man and a woman to each other, especially Ron and Shirley Poole.

Frank Adler was rolling down the awning in front of the drugstore when Corbin passed. They exchanged a greeting and Corbin crossed the street to the courthouse. He had a feeling that the druggist was watching him. At the door to the courthouse, he turned slightly to see the man standing in the doorway of his store staring at him and continuing to do so even with Corbin looking at him. Corbin thought about staring back, but decided that it would not be wise to irritate the man.

The prisoner was lying on the cot, his hands behind his head, when Corbin opened the door. He swung his feet off the cot and sat up.

“It’s ’bout time. When do I get outta here?” he growled through puffed, split lips.

“That’s up to the judge. I’ll take you up to see him when he comes in.”

“When’s that gonna be?”

“In about an hour or so. Here’s some breakfast. You’ve got water there and a towel. My advice is to use it and make yourself as presentable as possible before you see the judge.”