Ribbon in the Sky

by Dorothy Garlock

  Letty hung her shawl on the peg beside the door and went to the stove. Patrick’s voice rang in her ears. “Me and Dolan. Me and Dolan.” Damn you, Mike Dolan. You’re not wasting any time. Letty opened the door to the firebox, shoved in several pieces of wood, and closed it with unnecessary force. The loud clang cleared her head momentarily.

  “Helen, would you like to practice the scales on the piano while I get supper going?” Letty asked in as pleasant a tone as she could manage.

  “Oh, yes. I’ll be careful—”

  “I know you will. Take off the scarf and fold back the keyboard cover. Keep both hands on the keys, use all your fingers, and play softly. I’ll light the lamp in a little while.”

  Grateful to be out from under the child’s watchful eyes, Letty let her shoulders slump and the corners of her mouth sag. Damn! Damn! Damn! How in God’s name was she going to endure reliving the agony of a past she had thought was behind her? Being rejected by her parents, fearing her father’s wrath, taking the night trip to Huxley to catch the train, facing her grandparents and telling them she was an unwed mother were things she tried not to think about. The man responsible for all that misery was here trying to win her son away from her.

  Oh, Grandpa, I thought you loved me as much as I love you.

  With her mind in a turmoil, her thoughts racing from one thing to another, Letty put potatoes on to boil, stirred up a batch of baking-powder biscuits, fried side pork, and made pan gravy. When it came time to set the table, she took four plates from the shelf, hesitated, then took another one. She had come to the conclusion that she was not going to lie down and be walked on. This was her home. Patrick was her son. She’d not step aside and let Mike Dolan waltz in and take over.

  The back door opened. Jacob came in and silently went to the washbench. Letty ignored him, bent over the skillet on the stove, and vigorously stirred the gravy. Patrick’s loud and excited voice came from the porch seconds before the door opened again.

  “I played first base, Dolan. I catch better’n Jimmy. Harry played too. He’s Jimmy’s big brother. Mama played, but Grandpa didn’t. Mama couldn’t run fast, but I could, couldn’t I, Mama?”

  “Yes. Wash up,” Letty answered briskly without turning around. “Supper is about ready.”

  “Is this where you want the milk?” Mike had come up beside her and set the full pail on the work counter.

  It took all of Letty’s will power not to cringe. He was taller than she remembered and broader. She grunted a reply, turned, and reached into the cupboard for a jar of pickled beets. Her heart was beating so hard that she was sure he could hear it. She wanted to rant and rave and cry at the injustice of having to endure his presence. Instead, she had to put on a good face for the children’s sake.

  Mike looked down at Letty. Her lips were slightly parted as she breathed through her mouth. The flush on her cheeks and the vein that throbbed in her neck were signs of her agitation. She was smaller than he remembered, or was it that he had grown taller? When he had last held her in his arms, her head had fit nicely on his shoulder. Now if he cradled her against his chest, his chin would rest on the top of her head. So much time had gone by. They had both changed. Only one thing had remained the same. He still loved her with all his heart.

  “Dolan, looky,” Patrick demanded. “Grandpa made me a box so I can reach the wash dish. It was higher when I was little. He cut it off ’cause I’m growin’. Grandpa said I’d be big ’cause he measured me when I was two ’n’ I’d be twice that tall when I was growed up. Will I be tall as Dolan, Grandpa?”

  “More’n likely.”

  Mike watched Letty’s jerky movements. She was hurting. She was afraid that he would tell Patrick that he was his daddy. Oh, sweetheart, someday we’ll tell him together.

  “Hear that, Mama. Grandpa said I’ll be tall as Dolan.”

  While pumping water into the washbasin Mike heard the thump of the dish Letty slammed down on the table. He waited until Patrick washed and was drying his hands before he picked up the soap bar and lathered his own. After he washed, he reached into his back pocket for a small comb and ran it through his unruly hair.

  “Can I sit by Dolan? Mama, can I?” Patrick persisted when she didn’t answer him.

  “You’ll sit in your regular place,” Letty snapped and went to the door to call Helen. “Come to supper, Helen.”

  Mike stood back and waited. It was an effort to keep his eyes off Letty. Somehow he knew that she had deliberately tried to make herself as unattractive as possible. She set the biscuits on the table, pulled out her chair, and sat down.

  “Have a chair, Dolan.” Jacob indicated the place between him and Helen before he took his place at the head of the table.

  “It ain’t fair. She got to sit by Dolan,” Patrick said and stuck his tongue out at Helen who sat across from him.

  “Another stunt like that, young man, and you’ll leave the table,” Letty said harshly. “Bow your head while Grandpa says Grace.”

  Patrick was blissfully unaware of the tension during the meal. It would have been eaten in total silence if not for his continual line of chatter. He was enjoying himself immensely. The grown-ups interrupted only to ask for food to be passed. His mother had said “hush up” one time when he started to tell once again how he had butted Mr. Phillips with his head.

  Mike listened to the child with only half an ear. In his thoughts he was talking to Letty. This is the first time we have sat down to a meal together, sweetheart. The biscuits are as good as I’ve ever eaten. I wish you would look at me without that tight, angry look on your face. Mike’s eyes swung around to Jacob and saw that the old man was eating with a hearty appetite. This was a tough old bird, Mike thought. He had made up his mind that he was doing the right thing by giving him time with Patrick and Letty.

  Milk from Patrick’s glass spread across the table.

  “For heaven’s sake!” Letty exclaimed as she grabbed a dish towel to stop the flow before it ran onto the floor. “That’s what happens when you don’t pay attention to what you’re doing. Now be quiet and eat because you are going to sit there until you clean your plate.”

  Patrick looked at his mother with tear-filled eyes. He was embarrassed because he had spilled the milk, and embarrassed more at being scolded in front of his new friend. His lips quivered. Letty knew she had been unduly harsh, but to sympathize now would invite more tears. She carried the milk-soaked cloth to the tin sink and refilled the glass.

  The meal ended in silence. Jacob went to the big chair and Mike took the rocker. Letty and Helen cleared the table while Patrick sullenly worked at the food on his plate. Letty wanted to hug her son, to tell him she knew he hadn’t turned over the milk intentionally. She couldn’t bring herself to do it with Mike’s watchful eyes on her.

  “Smoke?” Jacob asked.

  “No. Had to give it up.”

  “Had to?”

  “Doc thought it best after I got a whiff of German gas.”

  “I heard tell it’d tear up a man’s lungs.”

  “It does that all right. Throat and eyes, too. Some blisters the skin. I was lucky.”

  “How long were ya there?” Jacob had an inquiring mind and liked to visit.

  “From start to finish.”

  “Harumpt! Influenza got about as many as the war.”

  “That’s what I hear. I lost a little sister while I was away. The epidemic is still going strong in some areas.”

  Hearing snatches of the conversation, Letty wondered if the little girl who had died was the dark-eyed child whose eyes had shone with mischief that day at the post office when she told her that her goat had eaten Mrs. McGregor’s hat.

  “Most folks around here lost someone,” Jacob said and struck a sulphur match to light his pipe.

  “Mama, I cleaned my plate—”

  “Bring it here.” Letty dried her hands on her apron as Patrick got carefully off the stool and carried his plate and empty milk glass to the sink. Before he could dart a
way, she hugged him and whispered to the top of his head. “Mama’s sorry she was cross. We’ll finish Robinson Crusoe tonight and maybe even start Treasure Island.”

  “Goody! Can Dolan hear? Grandpa likes to hear the stories.”

  “I think we should read in the other room and let Grandpa visit.”

  “Ah . . . Mama,” Patrick whined. “I want to sit with Dolan.”

  “Then sit with him,” Letty snapped, unable to hide her irritation. “I’ll read to Helen.”

  In a rage of jealousy but not realizing what it was that was eating at her, Letty finished the cleanup, talking calmly to Helen.

  “Careful, honey, the water from the teakettle is hot. I’ll take the plates out of the rinse water and stack them here on the counter. It’ll be easier for you to reach them. When that towel gets wet, hang it up and get another.”

  Letty kept her eyes away from the men at the end of the room, but she couldn’t turn off her ears. Jacob was telling Mike that Sheriff Ledbetter had stopped by several times this spring looking for whiskey runners.

  “Somebody’s furnishin’ them bootleggers with whiskey from Canada,” Jacob added.

  “They’ll have to legalize alcohol sometime,” Mike said. “The gangsters in Omaha and Chicago are getting rich. The government might as well be getting the tax money.”

  The conversation moved around to airplanes, and Mike told Jacob about the German flying ace they called the Red Baron, and that he had heard airplanes were carrying mail between New York and Chicago.

  “Who’d a thought them flyin’ things would come to any use?” Jacob shook his head in disbelief. “Things is movin’ fast. Some folks in town is thinkin’ they got ta have a automobile and a telephone. We ain’t got neither ’n’ I don’t see it’s hurtin’ us none.”

  Letty worked until there was nothing else to be done. She dreaded having to turn around, and wished that there were some way she could get to the parlor without having to face Mike and her grandfather. She hung the wet dish towels on the line above the cookstove and removed her wet apron.

  She headed for the parlor, and in spite of her resolve not to do so, her eyes flicked to the end of the room and hung there. Patrick was curled up in Mike’s lap, his head resting on his shoulder. Shiny black curls tumbled on the foreheads of both father and son. Two pairs of intense black eyes gazed at her from beneath straight dark brows. Realization struck Letty with the force of a kick in the stomach. A poof of air came out of her mouth. Patrick was the spitting image of Mike. Anyone with half an eye would see the resemblance.

  Mike’s dark eyes soberly searched her face. Letty felt a stir of something in the marrow of her bones and in that small corner of her heart that she kept locked away. She knew it for what it was; a hunger for the love she had thought she had, a yearning for someone to share her thoughts, her dreams. A spurt of anger knifed through her. Her eyes widened and the pounding of her heart warmed her face. In a hurry to get out from under Mike’s straightforward stare, she walked quickly from the room.

  Mike had seen the stricken look on Letty’s face. Did she hate him so much that she resented his holding their son? Did she think he was trying to steal the child’s affection away from her? He eased Patrick off his lap and stood.

  “It’s time for me to turn in.”

  “Where’ll ya sleep, Dolan?”

  “In the hayloft.”

  “Grandpa let a bum sleep in the barn once. Why can’t you sleep in the house?”

  “There’s nice soft hay in the loft . . . and I’m not used to sleeping in a house.” Mike’s hand lingered on the top of Patrick’s head as if reluctant to break contact with his son.

  Jacob pushed himself up out of his chair. “I’ll have Letty get some blankets.”

  “Don’t bother. I have a bedroll. Tell Letty to set out a clean pail and I’ll milk in the morning.”

  “You ain’t goin’ to go?” Patrick asked.

  “No. I’ll be here a while. I’m going to help your grandpa put in the crops.”

  “Can I help?”

  Mike chuckled. “We’ll see. Good night.”

  “Night, Dolan,” Patrick called.

  Letty heard the door close, then her son was there leaning against her knee. Resentment churned inside her. Now that he was gone Patrick came to her. Letty hated herself for the thought.

  A half-hour later she finished the final chapter of the book and closed it.

  “Is that all?” Patrick asked.

  “It’s all for tonight. It’s time to get ready for bed.”

  “Ah . . . you said you’d start Treasure Island—”

  “It’s too late to start a new story. You can hardly keep your eyes open. Helen’s tired too.”

  “But you said . . .”

  “Stop whining!” Letty snapped, then in a gentler tone. “Go on, Patrick, and be quiet. Grandpa’s already gone to bed.”

  * * *

  Mike leaned against the door frame of the barn. He was too keyed up to think of sleep. In spite of Letty’s attitude, he had never spent a more wonderful evening. His Letty was a lovely woman. He had watched her as she went about her work, and he had held his son on his lap. It was more, much more, than he had expected when he left Piedmont that morning. One thing was sure in his mind; Letty wasn’t indifferent to him. His presence had made her cross.

  Long ago Mike had ceased to wonder why this woman had remained the all-consuming factor in his life. He had been a mere boy when he gave his heart to her. Since that time, she had been his love, his only joy. The urge to be near her was so strong that, at times, it gave him an odd, uneasy feeling.

  There had to be a way of convincing her that what he had told her was true. He hadn’t deserted her! Dear God. He would have crawled through a snowstorm on his hands and knees to reach her if he had known she was alive and carried his child. Ideas floated around in his mind. His mother would write and tell Letty the truth if he asked her. The thought roamed around in his mind, then he decided he would bide his time and wait until Cora came to Boley. He would force her to tell Letty what her parents had done or he would choke it out of her.

  His thoughts turned to his son. The kid was really something. All boy . . . and smart. Resembled him too. Mike’s mouth spread in a grin. He and Letty had a son to carry their blood into the next generation. It was a miracle.

  The house had been dark for a long while. Now suddenly there was light in the upstairs room, and his eyes became glued to the small square of light. A restless, twisting feeling churned inside him at the thought of Letty lying in bed remembering, in vivid detail as he did, the time they had spent together. Did she remember the words she’d said as they lay beneath the willows?

  “I want to give back to you as much as you’ve given to me. Oh, Mike, I love you so!”

  After what seemed an eternity, Letty passed the window and Mike realized that she hadn’t been to bed. Had she been sitting in the darkness thinking of him? As he watched, his breath suspended, she removed the pins from her hair. Thick, auburn tresses fell down over her shoulders to her waist and hung in wide, deep waves.

  Thank God she hadn’t bobbed it. He had been shocked at hairstyles when he returned from the war. Some “finger-waved” their hair in tight stiff waves and others wore it as short as a man’s.

  She was undressing. He shouldn’t look, but he couldn’t force his eyes away. She opened her dress to the waist, wiggled her shoulders and arms out of it, and let it slide down over her hips revealing the white undergarment she wore beneath it. Lifting her arms, she massaged her scalp with her fingertips, turning slowly toward the window. Her head was bowed and her shoulders sagged wearily.

  Then, as if she could feel his eyes on her, she lifted her head and seemed to be looking right at him. For a second or two, she froze like a frightened doe sensing danger. Then she stepped out of his sight and the light was gone.

  Mike drew in a deep, ragged breath and cursed. His hunger for her was driving him out of his mind.

 
Letty, sweetheart, I’m so damned lonesome.

  CHAPTER

  11

  On Saturday, Letty rose at first light, dressed, and hurried downstairs to prepare breakfast.

  “I’m going to town this morning, Grandpa,” she said when Jacob came from his room and headed for the wash dish. “I’ll leave something in the warming oven for your dinner.”

  “There’ll be two of us,” he growled, sloshing water on his face with his two hands. “What ya goin’ to town for?” he asked as he jerked the towel from the towel bar.

  “Well, for one thing I want to see Doctor Hakes.” She set a platter of meat and eggs on the table.

  “You sick?”

  “No. I want to talk to him about Helen. And I need a few things from the store.” She pulled biscuits, hot and golden brown, from the oven and set them on the top of the stove to keep hot while she took butter and jelly from the cupboard.

  “Dolan milked.” Jacob jerked his head toward the full pail of milk on the work bench as if Letty hadn’t noticed it there. “Reckon he’s doin’ the rest of the chores.” When Letty didn’t say anything he said, “He’s right handy ’bout fixin’ thin’s. Fixed the windmill up good ‘n’ proper. It don’t hardly squeak atall anymore.” He paused while he ran the comb through his hair. “He’ll drag the south field this morning and I’ll plant.” Jacob pulled a dish towel from the line over the stove and used it as a pad when he lifted the hot coffee pot. “It’ll be good havin’ him here when we harvest the winter wheat.”

  “Anything you want from town, Grandpa?”

  Jacob gave her a cold, exasperated stare. “Yeast,” he growled.

  Letty’s face was set in a blank mask and her lashes veiled her eyes. She chose to ignore his grumpy tone.