Damn you, Mike Dolan. Why did you come back?
* * *
On Thursday, after the children left school, Letty lingered to talk to Oleta Pierce who had come to walk home with her sister.
“We’re havin’ a singin’ Saturday night,” Oleta said. “Harry’s bringin’ his guitar ’n’ Papa’ll play his fiddle. Can you come?”
“I don’t think so. We plan to go into town on Saturday. Monday we start the planting.”
“I wish you’d come. Papa says if there’s enough folks for a set we can build a fire in the yard and square-dance.”
“We’ll see. If Grandpa isn’t too tired, we may come for a while.”
“Goody. Well, bye. I told Ma I’d hurry back.” Oleta went to the door, looked out, then shrank back against the wall. “Oh, shoot! Oscar Phillips is out there.”
“What’s he doin’ here?” Letty peeked out. Oscar was stepping down from his horse. Helen, Patrick, and Celia Pierce stopped chasing each other around the schoolyard to watch him.
“I don’t like that man,” Oleta whispered.
“Has he been bothering you?”
“He’s always tryin’ to talk to me. He cornered me last week when I went to town for the mail and tried to hire me to come take care of his kids. Papa ’bout had a fit.”
“I don’t blame your papa.” Letty put her shawl around her shoulders and picked up the lunch buckets. “Let’s go out before he comes in.”
“I’m scared he’ll follow me home.”
“He’ll not follow you. I’ll see to it,” Letty said testily. Then just before they went out the door, “You and Celia scoot on home.”
“Now ain’t this a treat?” Oscar’s voice was loud and overly friendly. “I just never thought I was ’bout to meet up with two of the prettiest women in the county.” His eyes roamed over them and his mouth stretched into a wide smile.
“School’s out, Mr. Phillips. We’re on our way home,” Letty said briskly. “Helen, you and Patrick come get your hats so I can lock the door.”
“I aim to talk to ya ’bout my Alice comin’ to school.”
“Alice isn’t old enough to come to school. It seems to me I’ve told you that before.”
“She’s old as your boy ’n’ she’s smart.”
“I bring Patrick with me while Grandpa is in the field. The school superintendent knows it.”
“Well, I ain’t meanin’ to cause no trouble over it.” He made no attempt to conceal the admiration in his eyes as they roamed down over the front of the white shirtwaist tucked snugly into the band of Letty’s dark walking skirt. His gaze lingered on the six inches of exposed leg and on the “common sense” black oxfords she wore before his obvious stare traveled up to the straw hat anchored to her auburn hair with a large hatpin.
In an attempt to look his best, Oscar had parted his hair in the middle and slicked it down on each side with a curl plastered to his temples. His white shirt had been scorched across the front with a too-hot flatiron. He wore a bow tie and new black shoes.
“Bye, Letty.” Oleta grabbed her sister’s hand and headed for the road.
“See you soon.”
“Ya be careful, Oleta. Hear?” Oscar called. “It ain’t as safe as it was for a pretty gal to be walkin’ the roads.”
“Why is that?” Letty asked, to draw his attention from Oleta and Celia who had started to run toward the woods where they would take the path home.
“Hoboes walkin’ the tracks lookin’ fer a handout. Mrs. Fowler saw a stranger on a big buckskin horse nosin’ around. Nobody seems to know who he is, but ever’ body knows he’s lookin’ for somethin’. White lighnin’, more’n likely.”
“If that’s what he’s looking for, I hope he finds it. Helen, will you shut the privy door? Someone left it open. We don’t need a skunk in there.” Letty poked some loose hair up under her hat and took Patrick’s hand. “Hurry now. We’ve got to be getting home.”
“I’ll walk with you, Letty. That stranger was even snoopin’ round in the graveyard at the church. No tellin’ what kind a feller he is. My girl ain’t got to put up with that sort. Nosiree—”
“Oh?” Letty turned, her eyes were made brilliant by her anger. “Your girl? And who is that, Mr. Phillips?”
“Ah, Letty, hon. You know I’ve had my eye on ya ever since you came ridin’ into Claypool in Doc Whittier’s touring car.”
“That was almost six years ago. Your wife was pregnant with Billy. You’re a low-down polecat, Oscar Phillips.” Letty glanced toward the woods. In another few minutes Oleta and Celia would be within sight of home.
Oscar laughed. “Hold on, hon. A ball and chain don’t keep a man from lookin’.”
Letty lifted her straight dark brows and stabbed him with her gaze. “You’re . . . despicable!”
“Des . . . what?” His laugh grated on her nerves. “What’s that you’re callin’ me, hon?”
“I’m calling you an ignorant, worthless, sorry excuse for a man with the morals of a tomcat. Now get this straight. Stay away from me and stay away from Oleta Pierce.”
“Or . . . what?” He was still smiling. He reached out and grabbed her arm.
“Turn loose my arm!”
“Ya don’t mean that. Yore a hotblooded woman. I heared tell all redheaded women was hotblooded.”
“If you don’t want to find yourself in a peck of trouble, let go of me and leave.”
“Who’s goin’ to make me?” He moved his grinning face closer to hers.
“Me! Let go of my mama!”
Patrick jerked his hand from Letty’s and charged like an enraged bantam rooster. With all the force of his sturdy little body, he butted Oscar in the groin with his head. Oscar let out a cry of pain and shoved the child so hard that he fell to the ground. With a cry, Letty dropped the lunch buckets and knelt down beside her son.
Oscar was bent over, holding his privates and cursing.
“I hurt ’im, didn’t I, Mama?”
“Yes, honey, you did. Are you all right?”
“I’ll hurt him again.”
Loud gasping screams drew Letty around to look at Helen. The little girl was almost hysterical with fear. She stood with her eyes squeezed tightly shut and her hands clasped over her ears.
“Helen! Oh, honey—” Letty hurried to the child and grasped her shoulders. “What in the world?” she exclaimed as Helen continued to scream.
“Shut that kid up!” Oscar yelled.
Helen’s screams turned to sobs and Letty turned on him. “See what you’ve done. You’ve scared her to death.”
“I hate you! You old . . . poot!” Patrick shouted.
“Patrick!” Letty grabbed her son’s hand to keep him from running at Oscar again.
“He’s nasty. He made Helen cry.”
“Goddamned brats!” Oscar cursed and yanked the horse’s reins from the bush where he had tied them. He mounted the horse and sat looking down at Patrick with loathing on his face. “You little bastard!” he snarled, kicking the horse cruelly and causing the animal to sidestep before taking off in a run.
Letty’s face mirrored her anguish. She felt tears burn her eyes. She turned abruptly away from the children and stared across the field toward home, listening to the clip-clop of Oscar’s horse as he went down the lane toward the road.
You little bastard! Three words. They echoed in her brain, brought a pain to her heart, but she couldn’t let the children see how they had knocked the wind out of her. She smiled brightly and hugged them to her.
“We showed him, didn’t we? Come on. We’ve got to be getting home. Didn’t I promise bread pudding for supper?”
CHAPTER
9
It had taken Mike a full day to get over the shock of finding Letty alive, seeing her, and learning they had a son. It took another couple of days to get his head out of the clouds so that he could make plans. Knowing that she lived filled him with unspeakable joy. They had made a baby beneath the willows and she had given birth to hi
s child. A part of him had been with her all this time. A whole new world had opened to Mike since he had ridden into the Fletcher farmyard.
Letty was angry and hurt that he had not come for her as he had promised. He understood the torment she had endured. But he would never give her up now that he’d found her. Never! He would devote the rest of his life making it up to her. Somehow he would win back her love, and together they would raise Patrick. Partrick, his son. Dear Lord, he had missed out on seeing her body swell with his baby, missed out on five years of his son’s life.
But first things first. He had to make his plans known to Jacob Fletcher. He owed the man for taking care of his family. And they were his. It was a debt far greater than he would ever be able to repay.
It was almost noon when Mike reached the Fletcher farm. The horse he rode up to the watering tank was his. Everything he owned was either in the canvas bag that hung from the saddlehorn or tied behind the saddle. The shaggy brown dog came out of the shed and ran halfheartedly at him when he stepped down from the horse.
“Hello, boy. Remember me?” Mike held out his hand. Woodrow tilted his head and looked at him, tongue lolling. “Come on. I think we can be friends after we get to know each other.” He reached into his pocket for a lemon drop, squatted down, and held it out on the flat of his hand. Woodrow eyed the candy, then inched forward and took it with only his cold nose touching Mike’s palm. Mike patted his head. “Good boy.”
With loud squawking and hissing, John Pershing suddenly shot out from under the back porch as if propelled by a slingshot. With his long neck stretched out in front of him, he came at Mike on the run.
“Good Lord! You again.” Mike looked around for a cob to throw, but it wasn’t needed. Woodrow, fearing he would have to share the unexpected treat, snarled and lunged at the gander. Startled by his barnyard companion turning on him, John Pershing flew for a yard or two, then ran a few steps, and flew again until he was a safe distance away. “Thanks, friend.” Mike gave the dog another lemon drop and patted his head.
Jacob came out and stood on the porch. “Tie your horse up there by the windmill and come on in,” he invited.
Surprised and pleased by the invitation, Mike tied the horse, patted the dog’s head again, and went to the house.
“I figured you’d be back,” Jacob said.
“I’d have come if I’d had to crawl on my belly through a den of rattlesnakes.”
Mike followed Jacob into the kitchen. He stopped just inside the door, his hat in his hand. This was where Letty had been all the time he had thought she was lost to him forever. The flesh on his face tingled. He could feel her presence in the pores of his skin and in the air he drew into his lungs. His dark eyes roamed the room. Her apron and a shawl hung on the peg beside the door. Against the far wall a Sears Roebuck treadle sewing machine was covered with a lace-edged scarf. A stick horse made from a broomstick stood in a corner. Beneath it was a small-size baseball bat, an iron locomotive, and a set of building blocks. A lamp hung over the table which was covered with a flowered oil-cloth. In the center was a spoon holder and silver-based cruet set. The checked curtains at the windows were freshly ironed.
A feeling of deep peace settled over him.
Chopping potatoes in a skillet with the open end of a shiny tin can, Jacob watched the big dark man. Mike stood as still as a stone, gazing first at Patrick’s toys in the corner, then at Letty’s apron on the peg.
“You et yet?”
“No—”
“Hang your hat. There’s plenty.”
“I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“No trouble. We feed our hired hands.”
“You have a hired hand?”
“Not yet. Yore lookin’ fer a job, ain’t ya?”
“Do you have one?”
“Plantin’ time, ain’t it? I got a mess of nightshade that needs to be cleared out. Windmill needs greasin’ ’n’ I’m gettin’ too damned old to climb it. Board and five a month. Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it.” A wave of elation flooded Mike, causing his heart to pump like a piston.
“Wash up then. Ain’t nothin’ better than fried taters to my way a thinkin’. Letty boils plenty for supper so I can fry ’em for dinner.” Jacob attacked the potatoes in the skillet with the improvised chopper.
Mike hung his hat on the knob of a chair, went to the tin-lined sink, and pumped cold well water into the washbasin.
“Warm it from the teakettle if ya want.” Jacob took a bowl from the cupboard and filled it with the potatoes. “We ain’t fancy here as some; ain’t as righteous either. I got me a batch of apricot brandy workin’ in that crock behind the stove. You got anythin’ to say about that?”
A smile spread over Mike’s face, changing it magically. “Not a word. How long has it been working?”
“ ’Bout a week. Another week or two ’n’ I’ll siphon and bottle it.”
“My Pa makes home-brew.”
“That right? Have any trouble with the law?”
“Not as long as he makes it for his own use.”
“Maybe we can make us up a batch . . . if you’re here long enough. Get the coffee.” Jacob set a crock of butter and a jar of jam on the table.
“What’s Letty going to say about me being here?” Mike poured coffee and set the pot on a trivet within reach.
“Oh, she’ll fly off the handle ’n’ rave for a spell, but she’ll simmer down after a while. Sit and cut me off a hunk of that bread.”
Mike looked unflinchingly into Jacob’s faded eyes.
“Before I accept your grub, I want you to know that I didn’t get Letty pregnant and abandon her.”
“I ain’t the one ya need to be tellin’.”
“It’s important to me to square things with you. I’ll be forever in your debt for taking her in.”
“Letty ain’t a taker. She gived as much as she got.” Jacob spooned sugar into his coffee cup.
“Her folks put out the word she was dead. It’s the truth, so help me God. I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my hands off Pringle if I come face to face with him.”
“Be all right with me. I ain’t never had no use for the bastard.”
“He cheated me out of five years with my wife and child.” Mike’s knife and fork were gripped in his hands, the ends resting on each side of his plate. He leaned forward. “Letty is my life. I’ve loved her since I was seventeen. I was eighteen when I went off to earn money so I could marry her.”
“I believe ya. Pass the butter.”
“The boy is mine. I want to be with her and my son.”
“Don’t be gettin’ any notions about a claim on that boy if she don’t want to give it to you.”
“When I went back to Dunlap and heard that she was dead, I almost went out of my mind.”
“Pringle’s a hardhearted flimflammer. Never had no use for him.”
“Letty was scared to death of him.”
“She grieved somethin’ awful when ya didn’t come.”
“I’ve been through hell. During the war I didn’t give a damn if I lived or died. I told myself that I’d come here and find her grave, that maybe I could let her go, and get on with my life.”
“She says she don’t want ya. Patrick thinks his daddy is dead.”
“I’ve got to change her mind.”
“I’ll give ya a chance, but if she don’t want ya, ya’ll hightail it outta here in front of my shotgun if need be.” With his fork poised over his plate, Jacob’s wrinkled face took on a look of grim determination. “I think a heap of that girl. I’m a old man. My life is about over. But before I go I aim to see her and the boy settled with a good man to take care of them. Know this now, if ya hurt that girl, I’ll put a bullet right between yore eyes.”
“Fair enough.”
“Know anything about farmin’?”
“Some.”
“I can’t abide a shiftless farmer. I keep things tidied up.”
“I can see
that. You better know now that I’ve not had much farming experience.”
“I ain’t worryin’ none ’bout that. I got plenty.”
“All I’ve got to offer Letty and my boy are these two hands, a strong back, and a heart full of love.”
“Reckon it’s more’n what most women get,” Jacob said and took a gulp of hot coffee.
“How long do I have to change her mind about me?”
“Middle of summer.”
“Fair enough,” Mike said again. “First thing I’ll do is grease the windmill.”
* * *
Patrick, kicking clods of dirt with the toes of his shoes, walked a few paces ahead of Letty and Helen. He could hardly wait to get home to tell his grandpa how he had made Mr. Phillips let go of his mother’s arm. Grandpa had said that men had to take care of their women and he had. He wished he was bigger. He would have bloodied old Mr. Phillips’s nose. A puzzled frown spread over his small freckled face. Mr. Phillips had said, “you bastard.” What was that? If he was one he wanted to know what it was. The way Mr. Phillips said it, it couldn’t be anything good. Grandpa would know. Grandpa knew everything.
When they reached the farm, Patrick ran ahead. He shouted a greeting to Jacob, who had pulled his grain drill planter out of the shed and was working on it.
“Hey, Grandpa—” Patrick skidded to a halt when he saw the mechanical sowing machine that was a source of wonderment to him. “Whatcha got that out for?”
“Goin’ to sow some wheat.”
“When?”
“Soon as I get the field dragged.” Jacob poked the long neck of the oil can into a working joint on the planter.
“Can I ride on it?”
“Nope.”
“Ah, shoot! You said I could when I was bigger, and I’m bigger.”
“I said when yore big enough to handle the mules.”
“That’ll be a long time.”
“Not if ya get busy and grow some.”
“I’m growin’ as fast as I can.” Patrick stuck his lips out in a pout. Then he remembered his exciting news. “Guess what, Grandpa? I butted Mr. Phillips like a billy goat. He let go of Mama . . . pushed me down and yelled something awful.”
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