“Jason didn’t want him to go to the Humphreys’,” Jill called.
“Why not? He always goes with Jason.”
“There’s a kid over there that’s scared of him. The Humphreys have to keep their dog tied up.”
“Go back and stay with Jill and Joy, Sidney. You can’t go to town.” She waited until the dog had settled down by the porch step before she was on her way again.
Julie breathed in deeply; the air was tinged with fresh-cut, sweet-smelling hay. Buttercups and broom clover grew along the edge of the lane. Bees buzzed amid wild honeysuckle. Beams of bright sunlight slanted down through the trees. The grove was alive with the cheeps and chirps and rustlings of the birds. A mockingbird scolded her from the high branch of a towering oak tree.
The summer day was serene and beautiful.
A pompous rooster was picking and scratching in the lane ahead. The chickens were confined to the chicken house only in the winter. The rest of the year they were as free as the wild birds to roam the farm wherever they wished. They never ventured far, however, from the security of the farmyard, where from dawn to dusk they could be found picking up grain, undigested tidbits from animal manure, grass and all the insects they could catch.
Julie had to smile when a rooster, upon finding a choice morsel, called his harem of hens with a “Tut, tut, tut, tut.” A couple of gullible fat hens came running, but there was nothing left for them. The rooster made a great show of being a good provider and strutted away. Having the fluffy white hens at his beck and call seemed to do great things for his ego.
Julie had been born on this farm in the room across the hall from the parlor. She had walked the mile to town and the additional quarter mile through town to school from the time she was six years old. Living on the edge of town, she had been considered a country girl and had not been invited to the socials held by her classmates, even though she had been a favorite of the teachers and was one of the prettiest girls in school.
Her school days had come to an abrupt end the summer she was fifteen. She tried hard not to think of that terrible summer or the following winter at home taking care of the family and her mother, who had never fully recovered from influenza.
As she walked along the hard-packed road, Julie’s mind roamed. Like all young girls, she had dreamed of a handsome man who would fall madly in love with her and take her away. The dream was becoming dimmer and dimmer. Besides, the chance of finding such a man in Fertile, Missouri, was about as likely as waking up some morning and finding the sun coming up out of the west.
Was her lot to be the old-maid sister living out her life here on the farm? The boys would leave, marry and start families of their own. Jill was so pretty, she’d have no trouble finding a husband. Already the boys were eyeing her, even if Jack wouldn’t tell her so. He’d told Julie he’d punched one boy in the nose for talking about Jill’s bosom.
Julie walked the downhill road toward town and the river beyond. It was easy walking. Coming back up the road to the farm would require much more effort. She rounded a curve in the road and the town of Fertile, a huddle of buildings scattered along the bank of the Platte River, came into view.
Only the tall red-painted grain elevator and two white church steeples rose above the two-story brick shops and the wooden residences. The town sloped down to the river where the old mill stood. It had stopped operation several years before the Great War.
Julie crossed the railroad tracks. The train station was a one-room frame boxlike structure with a cattle pen on one side and the elevator on the other. The grass alongside the tracks was charred, deliberately burnt to keep the weeds from taking over.
A lumber wagon, its long box filled with large rolls of barbed-wire fencing and oak posts, rumbled past her and continued on down Main Street after the driver had tipped his hat politely. A Ford, rattling as if it were going to shake to pieces, rolled past and came to a stop in front of the drugstore, a building of heavy limestone that dwarfed the tiny jewelry shop next to it. In front of the shop was a large wooden clock that for as long as Julie could remember hadn’t run.
A few automobiles were parked on the streets surrounding the county courthouse. Most merchants set aside an area for teams and wagons behind their stores. Fertile had a large and prosperous business area because it was the only town of any size in the county. The nearest large town was St. Joseph thirty miles to the west.
Behind the shops that lined the street sat neat cottages and some large comfortable houses surrounded by picket fences. Closer to the river, in the less prosperous part of town, the houses were unkempt, unpainted frame shacks, most with a cow or a horse staked out behind them.
Julie felt uncomfortable and out of place every time she walked alone down the main street of Fertile. A certain element of the population drew a discriminatory line between town people who “belonged” and those who lived on the surrounding farms and did not.
Next to the Palace, Fertile’s movie house, was Carwilde and Graham’s, the largest mercantile store in town. A clear glass window, installed just this year, displayed dresses and men’s suits on mannequins that reminded Julie of corpses with painted faces.
“Good afternoon, ma’am. May I help you?”
Scott Graham, who stepped from behind the counter, wore his hair parted in the middle and slicked down, a high stiff collar and blue arm garters on his starched white shirt. Scott had been in Julie’s class at school, but he never acknowledged that he knew who she was. Had she known that he would be the one to wait on her, she would not have come in.
“What can I do for you?”
“I need two spools of number fifty white thread.”
“Right this way.”
Her head held high, Julie followed him down the aisle as if she intended to buy out the store instead of two five-cent spools of thread. Scott opened a drawer on the thread cabinet and selected the thread.
“Anything else?”
“I’d like to look at the dress goods, please.”
“This way,” he said, as if she couldn’t see the bolts of material piled on the table not six feet away.
Julie selected a blue and white check to make a new Sunday dress for Joy, who had outgrown the only one she had, and a length of white lawn to sew a new shirtwaist for Jill. She paid for her purchases and left the store, glad to leave the presence of the dandy who had waited on her.
When she passed the hotel, she glanced at a man sitting on the porch, his chair tilted back against the wall. His shirtsleeves were cuffless and he wore black arm garters, a linen collar but no tie. Their eyes met; his, friendly and appraising. He smiled and tipped his broad-brimmed hat. She felt his eyes follow her as she walked down the street to the grocery store.
She was greeted by name by the owner. The Joneses were valued customers of Mr. Oakley’s. They had traded with him since he had come to town ten years ago and always paid their tab on time.
“Good day to ya, Miss Jones. Nice day for a walk into town, huh?”
“It was nice walking in, but I don’t expect it to be so pleasant going back up the hill. How are the family?”
“Fit as fiddles. Little ones are growing like weeds. Wish they’d hurry up so they can give me some help here in the store.” He laughed heartily.
“Don’t wish your life away, Mr. Oakley. They will grow up fast enough.”
“You’re right as rain ’bout that. Jethro finished with hayin’?”
“They’ll finish this afternoon. If we get some rain we should have a couple more cuttings before frost.”
“It’s been a good growin’ year so far. Your corn looks good. Me’n the missus passed the field last Sunday when we drove out to visit her uncle.”
“Papa and the boys got it in early.”
“What can I get for you today?”
“I’m walking, so I’ll just take a couple of things I can carry. Joe or Papa will be coming in with the wagon and a list in a few days. I need a can of baking powder and a small bottle of vanilla flavoring to get me by until then.”
Julie waited while Mr. Oakley went to the back of the store. Her eyes roamed the neatly stocked shelves, the barrels of crackers, beans and rice and the bright red, big-wheeled coffee grinder that sat proudly on the counter. She breathed in the mixture of scents: coffee, spices, leather goods and overripe bananas.
The pucker-mouthed wife of the blacksmith waddled into the store, paused to look around, then greeted Julie.
“Ain’t seen ya at church lately, Julie,” she said in an accusing tone.
“I’ve been there almost every Sunday, Mrs. Yerby.”
“I meant durin’ the week. Been havin’ good crowds fer the revival meetin’s.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Julie turned to Mr. Oakley and noticed the jar of peppermint sticks on the counter. “I’ll take a half dozen sticks of peppermint. The kids need a treat once in a while.” As she placed them in her cloth bag, the grocer pulled a thick ledger from beneath the counter, thumbed through the pages to the Jones account and added the purchases.
“Thank you,” Julie murmured, then said more loudly, “Nice seeing you, Mrs. Yerby.”
“Come to the revival, Julie. Ya just might meet a man lookin’ for a wife. Ya ain’t never goin’ to get one jist stayin’ out there on the farm takin’ care of them kids.”
Julie laughed nervously. “I’m not looking for a man, Mrs. Yerby.”
“Pshaw! Ain’t a woman alive who ain’t lookin’ for a man. Yo’re better-lookin’ than most.”
“Thank you,” Julie said dryly.
“Ya won’t have no trouble a-tall if ya just spruce up and show yoreself some. That’s if ya’ve not got yore sights set on one of them good-looking rich fellers like that William Desmond Taylor that got himself murdered out there in Hollywood.” Mrs. Yerby’s laugh was more of a dry cackle.
Embarrassed, Julie angrily turned and adjusted the items in her bag. Mrs. Yerby didn’t seem to notice that she had made Julie uncomfortable and continued in a confidential tone.
“They ain’t found out who killed him yet. I heard a feller say it on the radio. Bet it was that oh-so-pure Mary Miles Minter. Pshaw! Pure, my foot. Ain’t nothin’
pure
in that wicked place.”
Mrs. Yerby picked a raisin from the barrel and popped it quickly into her mouth when she saw Mr. Oakley wasn’t looking. It didn’t stop her from talking.
“That awful Johnson man came to the meetin’ the other night and stood out in the dark lookin’ in. I told ’em that they ain’t ort to hold services in the pavilion with the sides raised up so that hill trash like Walter Johnson can see what’s goin’ on. But they went right ahead and done it, and look what they got.”
“Did he disrupt the service?” Mr. Oakley asked.
“He was drinkin’ and quarrelsome. When church was over he tried to pick a fight with Stan Decker. He called him a blank-blank hypocrite, but out of respect for the church Stan just walked off and left him. That Johnson is the meanest man I ever did see. He’s too mean to live, is what he is. A person can see the devil right in him.”
“I must go,” Julie said. To the shopkeeper she added, “Tell Mrs. Oakley I’m sorry I missed her.”
“Ya better watch that little sister of yores, Julie.” Mrs. Yerby lowered her voice. “It’s said that man’s ruined more’n one young girl in this county. Wouldn’t put it past him to waylay her out in the woods someplace and have his way with her. Now that his boy is back, there’s two of ’em. I heard there’s a girl down in Well’s Point that was sent away sudden-like.”
“Thanks for the warning, Mrs. Yerby.”
Julie stepped out into the bright sunlight. She didn’t want to hear anything more about the town bully or his son. Her intense hatred of the man could be the one thing that would keep her out of heaven. She couldn’t remember when she hadn’t hated and feared him.
O
N HER WAY TO THE LIBRARY
, Julie passed the barbershop and pool room. She glanced through the flyspecked window to see Mr. Clark, the proprietor, shaving a man whose face was covered with lather. Out front another young man held the cord of an awning while talking to an old farmer whose face looked like a piece of old leather. Both men nodded politely to Julie.
“Hel-lo, Julie.” Zelda Wood came out of her papa’s bank to call out.