The Pilgrim Song (25 page)

“Well, hello, Sheriff.”

“Afraid we’re gonna have to inspect your vehicle.”

Josh forced himself to smile. “Sure, I’ll open it for you.” He got out of the truck and opened the back while the other man, a chunky, barrel-shaped individual with a hat pulled down to his eyebrows, glanced in.

“Empty except for that tarp, Ed.”

“Okay, you can go on, mister,” Ed said. “Sorry to detain you.”

“It’s all right, Sheriff.” Josh shut the tailgate, aware that his knees were weak and his hands were trembling. He climbed back into the driver’s seat, waved at the two revenuers, and headed on down the road. Shaken by the experience, he drove very slowly all the way to the Skinner place.

Seeing nobody in front of the house, he got out, and as he walked up the front steps, Dora came out. She was wearing the same dress she’d been wearing when he’d first met her—a flimsy affair that hung off one shoulder. The dress didn’t seem warm enough for such a cold day. She didn’t appear uncomfortable, however, even standing on the front porch barefoot. Her hand on one hip, she smiled at him with a lazy, bold insolence. “Why, come in, Josh. I’ve been expecting you.”

Josh stepped tentatively inside and looked around. “Is your dad here?”

“No, him and the boys are out makin’ up a new batch. Here, take your coat off. I got coffee on. Or maybe you’d rather have a drink.”

“I really ought to be going, Dora.” Josh started back out the door, but she grabbed him, pulling at his coat, and he had no choice but to slip out of it. Shivering from the cold, the
idea of a drink pleased him. He reached into his pocket and came out with the roll of bills. “Here’s the money.”

She took it and began leafing through it. “You have any trouble?”

“Two lawmen stopped me, but it was after I’d gotten rid of the stuff. If they’d stopped me earlier, it would all be up.”

“You’re gonna have to disguise what you’re carrying, Josh,” she said, walking to the fireplace and grabbing a box from the mantel. She shoved the bills inside and said, “We should have thought of that.”

“I thought about getting some hay. I could make a tunnel in it and put all the liquor in the back, and it’d look like a full load of hay.”

“That’s a good idea. We’ve got plenty of hay in the barn. We’ll do that next time. Now, you sit down and make yourself comfortable.”

Dora shooed two cats and a dog off the old, worn couch and indicated a seat for Joshua. She poured both of them a glass of whiskey from a jug in a corner cabinet, and as she did so, he could not help noticing again her skimpy dress and the way she filled it. As she turned with the drinks in hand, he averted his eyes before she could see him staring at her.

Dora had noticed, however, and she smiled knowingly. “Drink up,” she whispered, nestling close beside him on the couch.

He drank the fiery liquor too quickly, and it hit his stomach with a jolt. He gasped, his eyes watering.

“Don’t be in such a hurry. We’ve got plenty of time.”

“I . . . I have to pick my sister up at six,” he muttered weakly. The whiskey began taking effect at once, and she watched him with a raw angular light in her eyes.

“Tell me about New York some more,” she murmured. “What’s it like?”

“It’s big.”

“Well, I know that! Did you go to the theaters a lot? Tell me about it. What about the women you went with there?”

He began to speak freely as the liquor loosened his tongue, and she urged him to tell her more of his exploits with women. He did not really have that many experiences to talk about, but she took great pleasure in the conversation, laughing heartily with him as she egged him on. Suddenly she said, “Oh, I’d better pay you.” She pulled the box off the mantel and got out the roll of bills, peeling off several of them. Coming back to Josh, she handed him the money. “A little bonus in there and a jug to take with you.”

“I’d better take more than one.”

“No, I want you to come back soon. This way I know you will.”

Josh tucked the money into his shirt pocket as she poured him another drink. He had been cold when he’d arrived, but now the room felt delightfully warm with the fire popping in the fireplace and the whiskey burning inside. Her face was growing hazy, and he shook himself. “I think I’d better go.”

“My family won’t be back until late tonight,” she murmured, leaning hard against him.

Her meaning was unmistakable, and he tried to push her away, knowing that this road would lead to nowhere but trouble. But she got her arm around him and pulled his head down with surprising strength.

At that moment Josh Winslow could have turned and left, putting this woman behind him as one of many temptations. But the liquor had weakened his good sense, and all resistance left him. He returned her embrace and murmured her name as she pulled him to his feet.

“Come on, the bedroom’s in here. . . .”

****

Jenny had worked hard since noon cleaning Reverend Crutchfield’s house, and now at three-thirty she looked around with satisfaction. The house had indeed been a mess, and she knew that what she had learned since coming to live in the old farmhouse had toughened her. She put on her
coat, went to the school, and waited until the children came running out, the noise of their cries filling the air. She spotted Dorcas and Jeff, and when they stopped before her, she asked, “Did you have a good day?”

Jeff nodded, but Dorcas merely shrugged her shoulders.

She doesn’t like me,
Jenny thought,
but I don’t expect she likes many people.
“Come on, you can help me fix supper.”

“I don’t cook,” Dorcas said stubbornly.

“Well, you can watch me, or maybe you can do your homework.”

****

While Jenny had the supper preparations under way, Devoe came home and looked around. The house was clean, the floor was swept, and he did not have to dodge his way between toys and garments. Besides that, the air was filled with the pleasing aroma of food.

“I’m home!” he called out from the front entryway.

Jenny stepped out of the kitchen, wearing an apron that had once belonged to his wife. When he saw her standing there, Devoe Crutchfield could not speak. He had loved his wife deeply and passionately, and now memories of her came flooding back.

Jenny saw something change in the tall, angular man’s face, and she said, “What’s wrong? Is something the matter?”

“No . . . not really,” Devoe murmured. He forced himself to smile and waved his arm around expansively. “The house looks great. You’ve done a wonderful job.”

“Well, I hope the supper turns out as well. I warned you, I’m not much of a cook.”

They all sat down, and as Jenny expected, Devoe bowed his head and asked a blessing. As soon as it was finished, she said, “I’ll bring the food in.”

She had cooked pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans, and biscuits. She had been worried about the biscuits, for she had only made them twice before, and neither time had been
particularly successful. Fortunately, the Crutchfields had a better stove than the Winslows did at the farm, so they had turned out fine after all. The whole supper had turned out very well.

Devoe ate, praising almost every bite, but the children said nothing. Jenny noted a mulish look on Dorcas’s face. The girl ate well enough, as did Jeff, but Jenny expected that she had been the object of talk between the two youngsters.
Maybe they resent me because they don’t have a mother,
she thought, but that didn’t seem likely. Her first opinion had been that they were spoiled, and nothing she had seen that afternoon had changed her mind. She had practically forced the two to clean up their rooms, and it had required stern threats.

“Now for dessert,” she announced.

“You should have told me,” Devoe moaned, holding his stomach. “I would have saved room.”

Jenny smiled and went into the kitchen, returning with two pieces of coconut cake. She put one down in front of Devoe and the other one at her own place. Devoe apparently expected her to go back and get two more for the children, but she sat down and began eating.

“What about me?” Jeff cried. “I want some cake.”

“So do I,” Dorcas said.

“I had to tell the children several times to clean up their rooms, and when I told them they wouldn’t get any dessert tonight if they didn’t cooperate, they both said they didn’t care. So they don’t get any dessert.” She took a bite calmly and then looked up to see Devoe staring at her in shock.

“Don’t you think we might make an exception? After all, they did eventually clean their rooms.”

“No, Brother Crutchfield, they have to learn to mind me without arguing.”

Jeff cried, “You’re mean!”

And almost at the same instant, Dorcas spat, “I hate you!”

Jenny did not change expressions but took another bite of cake and sat there feeling sorry for the minister. She could
almost read his mind.
He loves those kids, and he wants them to have cake, but he knows they need discipline. I wonder who’ll win, them or me?

Finally Devoe took a deep breath and said, “Well, kids, that’s it.”

“You’re not going to let me have any cake, Daddy?” Jeff whined.

“You had your choice, Jeff, and you too, Dorcas. I expect if you’ll mind Miss Jenny promptly, there’ll be plenty of cake tomorrow.”

“That’s right. It’s a big cake,” Jenny said. “It’s good too, if I do say so myself.”

Dorcas and Jeff stared at her; then Dorcas jumped up and left the room, crying, “I’ll never do anything you say!”

Jeff, however, stopped and looked at the cake. “I’ll do whatever you say tomorrow, Miss Jenny.”

“Good, Jeff, then you shall have some cake. Maybe two pieces.”

Jeff brightened immediately and left the room.

“Jeff’s a little more easygoing than Dorcas. She’s very strong-willed.”

“They’re beautiful children, but they are headstrong.”

“I don’t know where they get that from. Me, I suppose.” Devoe shrugged sheepishly.

“I haven’t seen it in you. Was your wife—” She sought for a word, not wanting to say
headstrong
or
stubborn.
“Was your wife strong-willed?” she finally asked.

He dropped his head and studied the piece of cake before him. “Very much so,” he said, “but she was a wonderful woman. I miss her every day.”

“I’m sorry I mentioned her, Brother Crutchfield.”

He looked up and said, “It’s all right. This is great cake, and by the way, I’ll do the dishes.”

“No, I’ve got another thirty minutes.”

“Then I’ll dry while you wash.”

The two cleaned off the table together, and Crutchfield
began telling her about his day. “It was wonderful not having to worry about the children today. I knew they were in good hands. And I can’t believe how much work I got done. I’m very grateful to you, Miss Jenny.”

“Well, you’re paying me for a day’s work, and that’s what I meant to provide.”

“By the way . . .” He reached into his pocket, came out with some bills, and handed her two. “That’s not enough, but that’s all I can afford.”

Jenny took the two bills and stared at them for so long he was troubled.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“This is the first money I’ve ever earned in my life,” Jenny said. “Isn’t that ridiculous at my age?”

“I wish it were more. Could you come tomorrow? I know it’s Saturday, but I have more studying to do to prepare for my sermon. Could you come and keep the children and maybe fix another supper?”

“Yes, but don’t let them have any cake tonight.”

“I believe you’re a little strong-willed yourself.” Devoe smiled at her.

“So I’ve been told.” At that moment the car horn blew, and she said, “There’s Josh. I have to go.”

****

When she climbed into the truck, she noticed that Josh was silent. She herself was proud of what she’d accomplished in one afternoon, and finally she said, “I made two dollars today. The first money I ever made.”

Josh glanced at her, and she saw that his face was stiff. “I made a little money myself. Ten dollars.”

“Why, that’s great, Josh! You know, I’m feeling better all the time. If we all pull together, we can make it.”

He did not answer, but she was very aware of the smell of alcohol on him and could not help blurting out, “Do you have to drink, Josh?”

Josh’s face darkened at her rebuke and he stared ahead as the truck rumbled on over the road. After swerving to miss a chuckhole, he turned and glared at her. “I guess I do, sis.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A Community Celebration

Spring had begun to touch the land, and Clint was on his way home from a visit with Jesse Cannon when the gorged clouds suddenly burst. The unexpected violence of the storm beat the winter’s grass into pulpy brown masses, but Clint did not mind getting caught out in it. He stood in the mud, soaked to the skin, his face tipped toward the sun as it appeared from behind the fleeing storm clouds. There was something about spring that touched the deepest recesses of his soul. He loved watching the earliest spring birds returning, sweeping in graceful circles. He loved the rank smell of the wintry earth springing to life as the sun warmed the cold land.

He had had an enjoyable visit with Jesse Cannon, the elderly neighbor with whom he’d gone hunting twice during the winter. On their expeditions, Clint had been amazed at the old man’s strength and endurance, and he hoped that when he got to be Jesse’s age, he would still be that lively and alert.

He loved listening to Jesse’s Civil War stories, of Gettysburg and that fateful day when Jesse had been among those who had moved upward across an open field, climbing into the very throats of the Yankee cannons. “A lot of us went up, but not many came back,” Jesse had told him sadly. “I still think about those fellers almost every day.”

One of the things that had come out of Clint’s friendship with Jesse Cannon was the offer of a team of mules. Jesse had mentioned it one night when they lay out on the hills listening to Jesse’s foxhounds yapping and howling at their
quarry. The stars had glittered overhead that night like diamonds, and the cold air had been as rich and invigorating as wine. “You gotta have somethin’ to farm with, Clint,” Jesse had said. “I got me a pair of mules I ain’t used in two years. They’re nigh on ten years old but big and strong. And they need workin’. You c’mon over when it’s time for spring plantin’ and fetch ’em.”