by Jan Watson
Rain started up again, pounding furiously on the tin roof overhead. Just like tears, she thought, pouring out in a veritable torrent’s fall of grief.
Then, of course, she’d fallen in love with Dimmert and everything changed. He did all the taking care of. It seemed his delight was in hers. Most times she didn’t even have to voice what she wanted—Dimm discerned it. Whether it was a cup of sassafras tea on a cool evening or a warm shawl to drape across her shoulders on a cold winter’s morn, her husband supplied it before her thought of need was even fully formed.
It seemed she and Dimm had grown up together in the years they’d been married, molding each other in the best of ways. His listening to her rattle on about whatever was on her mind was something she’d never had before—an audience. His unconditional love let her give voice to her odd quirks and fears.
She taught him to laugh and to play, something Dimmert had never been allowed as a boy. He had barely talked when first they met, and then only in response to her queries. “What are you thinking, honey?” she’d ply. Or “What is your favorite color? food? day of the week?”
The tiniest of smiles tugged the corners of her mouth to recollect Dimmert’s replies. “I reckon if I had to have a best color it would be that gray shade of your eyes, Cara-mine.” And his favorite food: “You can’t never get enough taters.” But the answer she loved best was his favorite day of the week: “Any day I wake up next to you.”
Cara turned off the lamp and went to kneel by the bed of her sleeping niece and nephew. Was it any wonder fear had overtaken her when she lost Dimm? She prayed for God to send back to her the resolve she’d felt earlier in the evening. This time make it stick. I don’t want to live the next two years afraid of tadpoles and typhoid—well, maybe it makes sense to be afraid of typhoid. Okay, Lord? Can You start with tadpoles and maybe snakes? I used to not be scared of them, so that shouldn’t be too hard.
Giving Cleve a little nudge over, she crawled into bed. But something nagged her. What had she forgotten? “Oh!” Crawling back out, she knelt with eyes closed and hands folded. Amen, she finished.
If Cara was going to talk to God, she needed to get herself to church and learn His ways. She knew most Sundays Ace went to the church on Troublesome. She would ask if she could go along. Though Dance rarely went, Cara knew she would not mind if Cara did. Plus, they could take the children, except the baby, of course. Cara could cook a big meal and carry it over to Dance’s on Sunday mornings. They could eat together as a family after service. It seemed a really good plan.
Merky popped her thumb in her mouth and curled up against Cara. Little Cleve’s foot poked her ribs. Sleep overtook her. It was the best rest she’d had in months.
CHAPTER 9
DARCY WAS ALL ATWITTER. Three dresses spread their skirts across her bed. It was a good thing her corset tied up the front or else she’d have had to leave it off because Mammaw’s crippled fingers could not have helped her with the fastening. Then she would be in a pickle, for without the corset none of her dresses would fit. Standing tall as her five-foot frame would allow, Darcy sucked in her stomach and pulled on the corset ribbons until she saw stars. Hmm, which dress . . . which dress? The blue brought out her eyes, but the green flattered her brown hair. “Wonder what Henry’s favorite color is.”
“Did you say something, Darcy?” Mammaw called from the other room.
“Just thinking out loud. Trying to decide what dress to wear.”
“You’re going to be late for church if you don’t get a wiggle on,” Mammaw fussed.
The blue, Darcy decided, definitely the blue. “Now don’t fret. Remember the trip’s much quicker now that we have roads.” She tugged the dress down over her full bosom and peered in the chiffonier mirror. “I look like a powder pigeon. Why can’t I be tall like Cara?”
“Let me see you, girl,” Mammaw said.
Darcy swished her skirts as she stepped into the kitchen.
“You’re the spitting image of me at your age, Darcy Mae. If you think you’re big now, wait ’til you start nursing babies.”
Darcy leaned over to peck her grandmother’s finely wrinkled cheek. “Oh, Mammaw.”
Mammaw tweaked Darcy’s collar, then patted her waist. “What have you got on under that dress?”
“It’s a corset—and a nice one too. Didn’t you ever wear a corset?”
Mammaw smiled and shook her head as if she’d never heard of the like. “No, and you won’t find anybody on Troublesome who does.”
Darcy poured her grandmother another cup of coffee. “I like to look nice. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Mammaw cocked her head. Darcy saw her studying look. She could never put anything over on her sharp-witted grandmother.
“I might as well tell you. I’ll be bringing Henry Thomas home after church. I thought I could ask him to stay for dinner.”
Mammaw patted her chest. “Henry Thomas? What about Dylan Foster?”
“Dylan is just a friend.” Darcy sighed. “You’ve always read too much into that.”
“Is anybody to home?” a rough voice called from the porch.
“There’s Remy,” Darcy said with relief. Just in time. Thank the good Lord for Remy Riddle.
The screen door screeched as Darcy swung it open. “Come on in. I’ve saved you some coffee.”
“Let me hug your neck,” Mammaw said, and Remy did. Darcy bet Mammaw was one of the few humans Remy Riddle would allow that close.
Fastening her hat with a long, jet-beaded hat pin, Darcy said, “I’ll be off then. Thanks ever so much, Remy.”
It was a fine spring day. Birds chirruped overhead, a soft breeze blew, and all along the road, trees fairly burst with new growth. Despite the harsh winter recently past, the road was in good shape. Better than the one that led into town, Darcy thought as her little bay mare trotted along. Dimmert had searched high and low to find a horse for her. Chessie was just right, not too big for Darcy to handle. He’d taught her how to curry Chessie’s coat for the ultimate sheen and how to braid Chessie’s pretty black mane.
Darcy missed her brother. They were the closest of all the kids in her family. She wondered how he was today and if he got to go to church. Would he go if he could? Darcy hoped so. She didn’t know how he could make it if he didn’t have the Lord to help him through the next two years. Poor Dimmert, poor Cara. They didn’t deserve what had happened to them. She’d ask the preacher to pray for them during the service.
“Giddyup, Chessie.” She flicked the reins lightly. “We’ve got people to see and things to do.”
Church had already started with all four verses of “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” Darcy wanted to save the aisle seat for Henry, but she scooted over on the wooden pew when Ace nudged her arm. Wilton and Jay scurried in ahead of their father, who carried Cleve. Oh, well, she’d save the other side. But, no—here came Cara up the outside aisle to sit beside her there. Cara carried Merky. Then Wilton pitched a little fit to sit beside his aunt Cara. With a stern look, Ace shook his head at his misbehaving son.
The preacher stopped midverse on “Bringing in the Sheaves” to let the family settle. “Page 104, Brother Shelton,” he said kindly.
Wilton screwed up his face, and Darcy knew it was not to sing. She was glad Henry was late. She wouldn’t want him to see this scene. As Wilton took another breath, Ace reached around the perfectly behaving Jay to thump Wilton on the back of the head with the knuckle of his index finger. Darcy swallowed a smile. She remembered her father reprimanding her in the same way during the long church services of her youth. She would have taken Wilton onto her lap, but she didn’t want to muss her dress. Instead, she patted his knee. Giving in, Wilton leaned against her arm.
“‘We shall come rejoicing,’” Darcy sang, “‘bringing in the sheaves.’” Looking Cara’s way, she raised her eyebrows in question. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw Cara at church. It was odder than seeing her sister Dance here, and Dance rarely darkened the doors
. Cara shrugged and took her side of the songbook. Darcy wondered if she knew the words.
When the song service was over, the minister asked for prayer requests. Mrs. Sharp asked for prayer for her son who had enlisted in the Army. Mrs. Hackley brought up the needs of a neighbor as she always did. She looked out for others. Several folks stood and asked for this or that to be remembered. Cara didn’t stand and neither did Ace, so Darcy kept quiet. She couldn’t rightly ask for prayer for Dimmert and Cara with Cara sitting right there.
She couldn’t stand anyway, for Wilton had slumped across her lap in sleep. A large patch of drool stained her skirt. She wanted in the worst way to turn and glance at the benches behind her. Maybe Henry had slipped in and was sitting in the back. She didn’t dare a glance, though. If he was there, she wouldn’t want him to see her need. Better to have him looking for her. It was good to have Wilton tethering her to the spot. She’d let him sleep until the service was over.
The sting of disappointment dampened Darcy’s sunny mood as she gathered her fussy nephew, her Bible, and her knitted purse and stood for the doxology. Henry Thomas was nowhere to be seen. What could that mean?
The congregation filed out the open door, stopping on their way to shake the preacher’s hand and exchange a few words about the service. Darcy had the misfortune to follow Mrs. Sharp, who always took more of the reverend’s time than was proper. Wilton hung like a deadweight on her hip. He was much too big a boy to be carried, but it was that or listen to him scream.
Straining to peek around Mrs. Sharp, Darcy noticed folks gathering in small groups to chat. Usually Darcy loved to participate. Invariably she’d get a compliment or two on her apparel, and everyone always asked after Mammaw’s health. But today she just wanted to get away to nurse her heartache in private.
Wilton swung his legs, kicking in frustration. She was glad Ace was already outside or else the boy would have been in for a spanking. One of his feet landed a soft blow on Mrs. Sharp’s posterior, and the woman shot him a mind-your-manners look. Darcy acted like she didn’t notice. Truthfully, she wanted to kick Mrs. Sharp along herself. Long-winded old biddy.
Goodness gracious—where’d that come from? Mammaw would take her to the woodshed if she heard Darcy say such a thing.
To make up for her hateful thoughts, Darcy took extra time to converse with Mrs. Sharp once they stepped outdoors. She heard about her family and her chickens and her ducks. Darcy feigned interest. Mrs. Sharp never paused for a reply anyway.
Then she saw him and her heart skipped a beat. Henry Thomas stood in all his glory just on the other side of the knee-high wall that delineated the churchyard. Darcy’s grandfather had helped build that dry-stacked rock wall. Oh, my goodness. Henry held the reins to Chessie as well as to his own powerful-looking horse. My, my, tongues will wag if people notice. She sort of hoped they did.
Looked like someone already had, for on his way across the yard, Dylan stopped on a dime and gawked at Henry. Ever since Darcy could remember, Dylan had fetched her horse for her after services on Sunday. Often they rode their horses together until she peeled away in the direction of her house and he continued on to his. Child’s play, she thought. He’d have to get used to the fact that she was a grown woman now and she would choose whom she wanted to spend her time with. Still, she didn’t aim to hurt him, and the crestfallen look on his face let her know that she had.
She didn’t speak as she crossed his path on her way to Henry, for really what could she say? Even worse than Dylan’s reaction was the look Darcy saw pass between his parents. Mrs. Foster was Mammaw’s good friend, and she’d always been nice to Darcy. Mammaw would not be happy.
She kept her back to the folks in the churchyard as she exchanged a few words with Henry. She was afraid if she looked back, it would spoil the mood of excitement Henry stirred in her.
Forevermore, Darcy thought as Chessie trotted along behind Henry’s horse, who put me in charge of everybody’s sentiments anyway?
Soon she forgot all about anyone’s feelings but her own, captivated as she was by the way Henry sat in the saddle. It took a man to handle a horse like his, and Henry, with his stature and sure ways, was quite the man for her.
With one motion, Henry indicated for Darcy to follow him off the road up an unfamiliar logging trail. It wasn’t far, maybe a quarter of a mile, before he reined in his horse and came to help her down.
“I was wondering,” Henry said as his gaze swept the forested land. “Is this part of Fairy Mae’s place?”
“Um, no, Mammaw would never allow any trees to be cut. Her three hundred acres starts the other side of the road and goes down the mountain. It ends at Gristle Creek. I know that for sure. Dimmert staked it all out when Mammaw gave property to him.”
“Just wondering.” Henry tapped the trunk of an oak tree with the knuckles of one hand. “This timber must have sold for a bundle.”
What Darcy saw was devastation. Where once huge oak, cherry, and walnut trees spread their branches heavenward, now the ground was littered with stumps and dead limbs. “It’s an abomination if you ask me,” she said, “just an abomination to strip the land this way.”
“There’s plenty more where they came from.” Kneeling, Henry fingered a tiny sapling growing beside a rotting log. “See here? The forest will take care of itself.”
“A bird couldn’t land on that. A squirrel couldn’t build a nest there.”
Henry looked up, his black eyes deep as a bottomless pool. Darcy could willingly drown there. “I hope you’re not one of them, Darcy Whitt.”
Darcy swallowed hard. Whatever “them” was, she wasn’t, if Henry didn’t want her to be. All she needed in the whole wide world was to have those dark eyes looking at her.
Henry rose to stand beside her. The little sapling torn from the earth hung from his fist. If she moved half an inch, her leg would be touching his. She didn’t dare breathe. “What do you mean, Henry?”
“Tree lovers.” Flinging the sapling down, he ground it under the heel of his boot. “Folks who want to hold on to the past with no thought to the future.”
Darcy thought she’d never heard a person speak with such conviction, such passion. His hand brushed hers as he gestured. Sparks hot as cinders shot up her spine. Devil take all, she was lost.
“Sorry,” Henry said, turning those eyes on her again. “I get carried away sometimes.”
“That’s okay,” she replied, hypnotized. “I could listen to you all day.”
“Really?” His hand found hers. “I could look at you all day.”
The kiss was as natural as sunshine on a spring day. Darcy didn’t give a thought as to whether it was right or wrong. It seemed inevitable. She hoped it would never stop. Surely this was what she was born for—loving and being loved.
After long seconds, Henry broke away. “Did you like that, little Darcy?” he asked, cupping her chin.
“Can I have a second helping?”
Henry saw Darcy to the edge of Fairy Mae Whitt’s property line. Though she’d asked him to stay for noon dinner, he’d begged off. He wanted to scout the land down along Gristle Creek—see if Dimmert had put any stakes there when he surveyed the property. He could feel the title already changing hands: from Fairy Mae to Darcy and then by rights to him. A smart man controlled his wife’s inheritance; no court of law would deny him.
Henry didn’t notice the fine spring day. He took no pleasure in the ride toward Gristle Creek, though his horse moved like a well-oiled machine. Dollar bills blinded his sight as row upon row of hardwood trees fell like wounded soldiers in his mind’s eye. If the plan hatching behind his fevered brow came to fruition, he would be rich beyond measure. Money wasn’t his ultimate goal, but with wealth came power and with power he could acquire each inch of Whitt property. This land should have been his already.
At the creek, he tethered his horse and hiked for an hour or more until he could look down on Fairy Mae Whitt’s humble cabin. Unbidden his finger brushed his lips and tur
ned his thoughts to Darcy. He had just kissed lips that had never been kissed before; he was sure of that. Henry had tasted adventure. He’d clawed his way out of these mountains when barely past childhood—gone to law school in Illinois, served in a prestigious firm, and squired his share of young women—so why had that one kiss taken him so by surprise?
Crouched down behind a tree, seeing but not seen, he watched the comings and goings in the house below. Looked like a family reunion, but he supposed it was just a regular Sunday dinner in the hills. In the yard a hound dog squeezed through a hole in the lattice surround underneath the porch. Pointing its long snout up, it sniffed the air, then turned Henry’s way. He’d better get going before the dog sounded an alarm.
A boy he took to be Ace Shelton’s eldest came out the cabin door and flung a bone—probably chicken; what else did women cook on Sunday?—over the side of the porch to the grateful mutt.
Then Darcy stepped out, still wearing the blue dress she’d worn to church. With a wave to the boy, she walked back up the road Henry had brought her down just a short time before.
He wondered where she was going and had to stop himself from following her. “Don’t be a fool,” he admonished himself. “It was just a kiss, no different from a hundred others.”
But Henry’s heart didn’t listen.
The sapling was just where it had fallen. Tenderly, Darcy straightened the stem and peeled off some raggedy leaves. After wrapping it in a square of dampened newsprint, she carried it back toward home. She wished she could stay in the peace and quiet of the forest, reveling in Henry’s kiss, but Mammaw would need her soon.
What a day. She’d barely made it home, trembling and flushed, when Ace pulled his wagon up. All the kids plus Dance and Cara carried in loads of food for dinner. Cara had prepared everything the night before, then persuaded Dance to come and visit Fairy Mae. Ace had gone home after the service to pick up her and baby Pauline. It was a true blessing, for Mammaw was so distracted she never got around to wondering why Darcy was home late from church and what had happened to Henry’s proposed visit.