Ribbon in the Sky

by Dorothy Garlock

  Had she married to give his son a name? The thought of her belonging to another man was like a knife in his gut. Letty was his, had always been his. He had a sudden overpowering desire to see the man Letty had married. He turned into the next farm and rode to within a dozen yards of a woman who was taking clothes from a line. She was a large woman with pendulous breasts hanging down over the belt of her apron.

  “Howdy, ma’am,” Mike called before he urged his horse closer.

  “Howdy to you.”

  “I’m looking for Mr. Graham. Is he working here today?”

  “Graham?” The woman’s round, weather-worn face took on a puzzled frown. “I don’t know a Mr. Graham.”

  “Do you know Letty Graham?”

  “Sakes alive. Of course I do. Everyone knows Letty.”

  “It’s her husband I’m looking for.”

  “Letty lives right down the road, but he ain’t there. He died right after Patrick was born.”

  “Is that right? I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “He was working in the logging camps in Montana. Letty was staying with the Fletchers until he could come for her. First her grandma died, then her husband. Poor little thing almost grieved herself to death.”

  “It must have been hard on her.” Mike was doing his best to keep his features arranged soberly.

  “She took hold and managed. It’s hard on a woman now days without a man. Letty Graham’s a mighty fine woman. Did you know Mr. Graham?”

  “I . . . ah . . . met him in the logging camp.”

  “Why don’t you ride on down and talk to Letty. She’s helpin’ out at the school, but she ort to be home by now. Folks round here think a heap of her. Hardest workin’ little woman you ever did see. Don’t know what Jacob would do without her.”

  “I’ll do that, ma’am. Thank you kindly for the information.” Mike tipped his hat again, wheeled the horse, and left before his face broke into a smile.

  Letty had claimed marriage in order to keep her reputation unsullied and Patrick, his son, from being labeled a bastard.

  His sweetheart was alive; she was free. She was the mother of his son.

  She would be his again.

  He laughed aloud; the sound startled him; he hadn’t heard his own laughter for a very long time.

  CHAPTER

  8

  “It’s already past your bedtime.”

  “Aw . . . Ma. Play ‘Crawdad Hole’ again.”

  “We’ve already played it three times. It’s Helen’s turn to choose.”

  “I don’t know any songs.”

  “Don’t ya even know ‘Jesus Loves Me’?” Patrick asked with a disgusted look on his small face.

  Helen hung her head.

  “Maybe Helen’s family didn’t like to sing.” Letty pulled the child up close to her.

  “Her maw couldn’t play the piano, that’s why.” Patrick squeezed up close to Letty’s other side.

  “She could so,” Helen blurted. “But . . . but we didn’t have no piano.”

  “We’ll teach Helen a song, Patrick. How about ‘Get Along Home, Cindy’? It’s easy to learn.”

  “I wish I was an apple hangin’ on a tree,

  every time my Cindy passed, she’d take a bite of me.

  Get along home, Cindy, Cindy, get along home I say,

  Get along home, Cindy, Cindy, I’ll marry you someday.”

  Letty played and sang several verses of the song. Helen stumbled along on the words in a voice so low only Letty could hear. By the time Letty ended with a ripple of extra notes and a few loud chords, the little girl had a huge smile on her face.

  “I like it, Mrs. Graham. Can that be my song?”

  “I don’t see why not.” Letty put her arm around Helen and hugged her close.

  “I don’t want it to be my song. I ain’t never goin’ to sing it,” Patrick grumbled. “It’s ugly.”

  Helen’s smile faded. Letty wanted to shake her son but chose to ignore his remark.

  “That’s all for tonight. Goodness, my fingers are tired.” Letty lowered the cover over the keys and straightened the fringed scarf on the piano. “I’ll go upstairs and light the lamp for you, Helen. Patrick, start getting ready for bed. Your nightshirt is on the chair in the kitchen.”

  Since Helen had come to stay, Patrick slept on a cot in Jacob’s room and Helen on his cot in Letty’s bedroom. When she had time, Letty intended to fix up the room across from hers for Helen. But first she would have to find a place to put the things that had been stored in there for years.

  Grandpa was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper Mike had thrown on the ground at Letty’s feet.

  “Mighty good readin’ in this here paper.”

  “Say good night to Grandpa, Helen. Patrick, I’ll be right down.” Letty opened the door to the stairway leading to the upper rooms.

  “Night, Grandpa.”

  “He ain’t your grandpa,” Patrick said belligerently.

  “Patrick!” Letty’s patience with her son was becoming thin.

  “Night, Helen. Come give Grandpa a hug.” Jacob held an arm out to the little girl.

  Letty stood in shocked silence. It was the first overture he had made to the child. Helen’s eyes went to Patrick as Letty gently urged her forward. She went to the old man and shyly kissed him on the cheek. He hugged her just as he hugged Patrick each night. When he released her, she scampered up the stairs.

  Patrick’s lower lip puffed out in a pout and his eyes filled with tears. Letty’s heart ached for him. She didn’t know what to do to ease his pain. Did he fear he was being pushed out to make room for Helen? Oh, sweetheart, you are my life. No one could ever be as dear to me as you are.

  “Why doesn’t Patrick like me?” Helen asked as Letty settled her into bed.

  “It isn’t that he doesn’t like you, honey. I think he’s afraid that if Grandpa and I love you, we won’t love him.”

  “Can’t you love both of us?”

  “Of course. Patrick doesn’t understand that yet.”

  “Mama loved me. She said she d-did.”

  “I’m sure she did. You’re such a sweet little girl.”

  “I m-miss my m-mama.”

  “I know how lost and lonely you feel, but you’ve got your papa, and me, and Doctor Hakes, and Grandpa.”

  “I wish she hadn’t d-died. I wish it’d been Papa!”

  “Honey, it’s hard to understand why things happen,” Letty said when she got over her surprise. This was the first time Helen had mentioned her father.

  “Can I stay here, Mrs. Graham?”

  “For the time being. I don’t know for how long—”

  “Will I have to go with Papa when he gets out of jail?”

  “Honey, I’m not sure—”

  “I don’t want to go with him. I want to stay h-here—” Helen sniffed back the tears. “Will Doctor Hakes make me go?”

  “We can talk to him about it.” Letty saw real fear in Helen’s eyes. The child was afraid of her father! Letty made a mental note to find out more about Cecil Weaver.

  “You don’t have a little girl—” Helen said hopefully.

  “No. But if I did, I’d want her to be just like you.” She kissed Helen’s cheek and smoothed her hair. “Don’t worry about it now. If you want to stay, I’ll do everything I can to keep you here. Go to sleep. I’ll be up in a little while.”

  Letty lingered in the dark outside the bedroom door. The child was scared, she thought, just as she had been when she came here almost six years ago. Memories came flooding back—memories of being cast out by her family, being alone, pregnant, and so hoping she wouldn’t be turned away.

  For the past few hours Letty had involved herself in a frenzy of activity in order to keep from thinking about the afternoon visitor who had brought back the pain she had tried so hard to put behind her. She dreaded having to go to bed. There would be nothing then to keep thoughts of him at bay.

  Letty stopped at the bottom of the stairs. P
atrick, in his nightshirt, was curled up in Jacob’s lap.

  “—But she’s a girl.”

  “What’s wrong with bein’ a girl? Yore mama’s one. Think how you’d feel without a mama or a grandpa and your papa was in jail. Poor little girl is plain scared is what she is. She ain’t got nobody ’n’ yore actin’ mean to ’er.”

  “I ain’t mean.”

  “I reckon ya don’t think so, but it comes ’cross that way. Us men have got to take up for the womenfolk. I just betcha Helen’d take up for you, if it come to a fight.”

  “I ain’t needin’ no girl to fight for me.”

  “By golly, if’n a bunch a rowdies jumped on me, I’d take all the help I could get.”

  “I’ll take care of you and Mama, Grandpa. I’d’a whupped that mean man today. I kicked him a good’n.”

  “Wal, now, I thought ya was a bit hasty on that. Why do ya say he was mean?”

  “He made Mama mad.”

  “She was just surprised to see him. He knew her a long time ago. I kinda liked him.”

  “Ya did? But he was—”

  “Patrick, time for bed,” Letty interrupted.

  “Night, Grandpa.”

  “G’night, ya little muttonhead.” Jacob dug his fingers into Patrick’s ribs and tickled him playfully.

  Patrick giggled. When he could get his breath, he gasped, “Stop! Stop! I gotta pee-pee, Grandpa—”

  Jacob spread his knees and let Patrick’s feet slide to the floor. “Then get off my lap, ya rascal.”

  “I love you, Grandpa . . . you and Mama—”

  Letty’s eyes misted over when Patrick threw his arms around Jacob’s neck. She had been determined that her son would say the words that she had never heard from her own mother or her father. Grandpa and Grandma Fletcher had said them often to each other. At first Letty had been embarrassed, then later, she cherished the words when Grandma said them to her. Unwelcomed memories flooded her mind. Mike had said he loved her, said it many times. How foolish of her to believe him. He had probably whispered those words into the ears of many women during the past five years.

  After putting Patrick to bed, Letty came to the kitchen and sank wearily into a chair, her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands. She caught Jacob looking at her, dropped her hands, and sat up straight. He moved the newspaper across the table.

  “Cora is comin’ to Boley to hold a revival meetin’. Tells all about it here in the paper. She’s called Sister Cora now. Claims to heal the sick. Hogwash! Anybody that’d be taken in by that shim-sham ain’t got nothing but hot air between the ears.”

  Jacob pushed the newspaper across the table to Letty. With her elbows on the table, her hands cupping her cheeks, she read the article.

  “She won’t come here, Grandpa. She doesn’t want anything to do with a fallen woman. She’s always hated me. It was probably the happiest day of her life when . . . when Papa ran me off.” Letty sighed deeply. “I try not to think of her and Papa.”

  Jacob lit his pipe and puffed on it thoughtfully. Letty scanned the newspaper then tossed it aside. It was a treat to have one, and ordinarily she would have read every word, but tonight her mind was in such a turmoil she couldn’t concentrate.

  “Ya been skitterin’ round like a ant on a hot stove. Yore goin’ to have to simmer down and face a few facts.”

  Letty met Jacob’s stare head-on. He knew what had been eating at her all evening. Suddenly, she wished that she were Patrick’s age so that she could curl up in his lap.

  “What am I going to do?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Nothing. I want things to go on as they are. I don’t need him!”

  “Guess that’s up to you.”

  “He deserted me, Grandpa. Lord, I hate to think of what would have happened to me if not for you and Grandma.”

  “Could be he ain’t lyin’. Could be he was hoodwinked into thinkin’—”

  “Fiddlesticks! You don’t believe that cock-and-bull story about . . . about him thinking I was dead?”

  “Well, seems likely he thought that, considerin’—”

  “He lied. Pure and simple.”

  “Harumpt!” Jacob snorted. “I’d not put nothin’ past Albert Pringle if’n there was a dollar in it somewhere.”

  Letty shook her head in vigorous denial.

  “Mama was never able to stand up to Papa, but she wouldn’t have let him declare me dead, hold a service, and . . . and take up a collection. I know she wouldn’t.” Letty drew in a long ragged breath and continued to shake her head.

  “She let the bastard throw you out, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, but it all happened so fast. She could have thought about it later and . . . worried about me.”

  “Face up to it, girl. Yore maw has the brains of a flea. I knew it from the start, but yore grandma wanted to believe different. Right from the start Mable thought the sun rose and set in Pringle ’cause he could get up at church, shoot off his mouth, and get folks stirred up.”

  “She’d have balked at declaring me dead; I know she would,” Letty said stubbornly.

  Jacob lifted his shoulders in resignation. In the silence that followed, the clock on the mantel chimed nine times.

  “While Mike was at the logging camp, he changed his mind about me,” Letty said as if talking to herself. “He didn’t want to be tied down. When he went back to Dunlap and found me gone, he . . . he just took off to sow his wild oats. Somewhere he must have met up with Cora. She’d have taken delight in telling him that I was a fallen woman and Papa had run me off.”

  “Only saw the girl once. She was spiteful even then.”

  “Mike knew that he was the only boy I’d ever been alone with, and that if I was pregnant the baby had to be his. He got curious to see it.” Letty recited the words as if they had been playing over and over in her head.

  “He didn’t have to tell a tale just to see Patrick. He could’a just rode up and said, ‘I want to see the boy.’ ”

  Letty’s head jerked up. “If he wanted to claim his son, he did. He’d need an excuse for deserting me. Someday he’d have to explain his absence to Patrick.”

  “Funny thin’. I didn’t read ’im as a man who’d feel he had to explain hisself.”

  “I know him, Grandpa. He’s as proud as a game rooster. The Dolans were poor but proud. He’ll try to get Patrick away from m-me.” The last word was a sob.

  “Bullfoot! What’d he do with him while he’s roamin’ around sowing his wild oats?”

  “Maybe he has a wife somewhere . . . and kids. Catholics have lots of kids. He isn’t getting Patrick! If he comes back, I’ll fill his hide with buckshot.”

  “He’ll be back.”

  “I don’t want him near my son! If he comes while we’re at school, tell him that I don’t want to see him ever again. If he’s got any decency, he’ll not come where he isn’t wanted.”

  Jacob noted the flush on her cheeks. Letty was the daughter he never had. She and Patrick were his life. He dreaded to think of the two of them here alone after he was gone. Every sidewinder in the county would be after her. She was a handsome woman, and she’d have the farm. She needed a good man. He had given careful scrutiny to every single man in the area, and there wasn’t a one that hadn’t come up short.

  He’d seen Mike Dolan’s bleak expression when he asked about Letty’s grave. When she came out of the barn, the shock on his face had to be real. When the shock wore off, his black eyes shone with pure joy, then confusion, hurt, anger. Jacob would bet the farm Mike Dolan had sincerely believed that Letty was dead.

  “Oscar Phillips came by today.”

  “What did he want?” Letty asked absently.

  “Offered to come help with the plantin’. Said he’d like to trade off work with us.”

  “I hope you told him no. All I need is him hanging around. We don’t need anyone, Grandpa. We’ve been doing all right by ourselves.”

  “He’s got his eye on ya.”

&
nbsp; “He can just get it off me! I’m closing school on Friday. Saturday we can start the field work.”

  “Been thinkin’ about gettin’ some sheep and turnin’ ’em loose in the clearin’ north of the woods,” Jacob said after several minutes of silence.

  “Sheep? You said that was full of nightshade and it would kill the sheep.”

  “If’n we had that nightshade cleared out, sheep would clean up the pasture slicker’n a whistle, and we could put cows on it next year. I’m thinkin’ I’ll find somebody to clear it out.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Jacob arched a quizzical eyebrow. Letty’s mind was far from sheep and nightshade. He got to his feet and went to the door. Before he opened it, he glanced back at the girl at the table. Her eyes were focused on the dish towel hanging above the cookstove. Jacob shook his head and headed for the privy. He had some serious thinking to do.

  * * *

  The clock on the mantel downstairs struck three times. In another two and one-half hours she had to start the new day. Letty turned over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. The night had been so long, so black, so quiet. Even with her eyes squeezed tightly shut, she couldn’t get the image of the big dark man with the hard face out of her mind. It was difficult to think of him as Mike, the boy she had loved so desperately. Her Mike had had a quick smile. This grim-faced Mike was as hard as nails. So much had happened to her because of her love for the sweet and gentle boy he had been. Letty flipped over and covered her ear with her arm in an attempt to keep her father’s harsh, angry voice from booming in her head.

  Slut! Whore! You’re a bitch in heat is what you are. Get your hot little twat out of my house. Damn you, and damn your bastard!

  Her father’s words had made ugly the act that had been so beautiful; the act that had given her Patrick. But at the time she had wrapped Mike’s love about her like a cloak and refused to believe that what they had done out of wedlock had been so wrong. For two long, lonely years she had clung to that belief. Finally she’d had to face the truth. With a heart full of love she had given herself to a boy who had taken what she had offered. She had been exactly what her father had said she was—a cheap floozie who had allowed herself to be used to satisfy a boy’s lust. Now she had to suffer the humiliation, the hurt of knowing her son was a bastard.