Letty’s head throbbed as though a hammer was pounding on it. The pain in her hip where Cecil had kicked her with his heavy boot ached as if it had a life of its own.
The worst part of her pain was the humiliation of being completely vulnerable and helpless against a man’s superior strength. Dear God! This was what little Helen had endured. This and more! Much more. The agonizing thought screamed ceaselessly through Letty’s mind.
She began to cry again, tears making her blind to her surroundings. She wept silently. Automatically holding the reins, she urged the mare down the road toward home—and Mike.
CHAPTER
18
The sky was bluer than he had ever seen it, the air fresher. Mike looked toward the sun. In another hour it would be noon, and soon after that Letty would be home. Letty. His wonderful, sweet Letty loved him. They would be married, find a way to tell Patrick that he was his father, and together they would live here on this land until the end of their days. Mike’s heart was fairly singing.
Before he came out to the field he had tied the scrap of blue ribbon to the lilac bush that grew beside the porch. Letty would see it and know that he had carried it with him all the years they were apart.
He laughed aloud.
The thought of all the unnecessary chances he had taken while he was in France wiped the smile from his face. What his comrades had thought was bravery had actually been a reckless disregard for his own life. Dear God! If one of the bullets that had sailed over his head as he zigzagged across open ground between trenches had been inches lower he’d never have known this happiness.
It was difficult to keep his mind on what he was doing as he walked behind the one-horse corn drill. He had set the plate to drop the seeds fifteen inches apart as Jacob had instructed. He was making a great effort to keep the rows straight and exactly three feet apart so that the field could be cultivated a couple of times before the corn got high and had to be weeded by hand. Thank God, Jacob had a riding cultivator to make the work go faster. In another year they would also have a riding two-row planter.
His thoughts switched back to Letty and plans for the future. He was going to buy her a washing machine with a gasoline motor and a wringer as soon as he could afford it. Scrubbing overalls on a washboard was backbreaking work. He knew a lot about motors. He had been assigned to the motor pool until he had gotten into a fight with the sergeant in charge and was transferred to the artillery. He was counting on blacksmithing to bring in a little extra cash money. Another thing he wanted to get was an automobile and to teach Letty to drive it. He laughed aloud at his galloping ambitions. Maybe the car would have to wait until they were better set.
At the end of the field he refilled the seed hopper, turned the horse, and started back down the field. He was almost at the other end when he saw Letty’s buggy coming down the lane that ran alongside the wheat field. To get to the lane she’d had to turn off the road before she reached the Watkins farm and cut through a grove that was overgrown with brush. Why would she do that and chance breaking a wheel?
“Christ!” he exclaimed when he realized that she was driving much too fast and must have been for some time. The mare was lathered. A knot of fear formed in the pit of Mike’s stomach. Something had happened or she wouldn’t be coming toward him at such speed. He stopped the horse, tied the reins to the plow handle, and hurried down the row toward the end of the field.
At the edge of the plowed ground Letty pulled up on the reins. Mike grabbed the cheek strap on the harness to help stop the blowing animal. As soon as the horse calmed enough to be released, Mike hurried to the side of the buggy, threw his hat on the ground, and reached for Letty. Dear God! There was blood on her mouth and chin. Her hair hung in strings, her dress was torn and dirty. Her face! Her dear, sweet face was swollen and bloody and wet with tears.
Letty burst into loud sobs and threw herself into his arms. The force of her weight staggered him. His breath left him in a grunting rush, but he held her tightly against him while he regained his balance. She wrapped her arms around him and hid her face against the curve of his neck.
“Ah, my sweet girl . . .” he crooned to her and lifted her face with gentle fingers beneath her chin. “What happened? Did you fall? Are you badly hurt?” He kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her eyes. “Shhh . . . don’t cry, love. Let me look at you.” He held her tenderly and murmured comforting words.
“Mike . . . Mike . . . I love you—” she gasped between sobs.
“I know, honey! And I love you too. Ah . . . don’t carry on so. You’re scaring me to death. What happened, sweetheart?”
“C-Cecil Weaver. He caught me . . . behind the s-store and hit me—”
“He caught you? He . . . did this?”
“He . . . h-hit me and kept on h-hitting me. He knows that . . . Helen doesn’t have the m-mumps . . . said I played him for a f-fool. I was so ashamed. P-people gathered around and . . . gawked.”
“He”—his voice broke—“hit you?” She nodded and a curse burst from his lips. “I’ll kill him! I’ll kill that bastard!” His voice was cold and hard, but strangely soft.
“He . . . just went crazy! He knocked me down and k-kicked me. Then Oscar came and . . . fought him. Oh, Mike, I was so scared— I just wanted to get home to . . . you.”
The phrase cut into Mike’s heart. These were the same words she had said when she was fifteen. He was so consumed with rage at the man who had hurt his precious woman that it took all his control to master his fury and tend to Letty. Tenderly, he sipped at the tears on her cheeks and whispered endearments.
“Darling . . . sweetheart, don’t cry. He’ll get what’s coming to him. I promise you.”
“There’s more. Just hold me for a while. What’ll I do? I can’t let Patrick and Helen see me like this.”
“Of course you can’t.” Mike moved toward the shade of a tree, sank down on the grass, and pulled her down onto his lap. She curled up in his arms like a little lost rabbit. “I’ve got a jug of water at the end of the field. I’ll get it in a little while.” He cuddled her to him, smoothing her hair back from her face. “It tears me up to see you like this.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed gently at the blood on her chin.
She lifted her lids and looked into his eyes. “I look ugly.”
“Not to me. Never to me. Ah, sweet Letty. Sweet soft woman of mine,” he whispered, his voice thick and full of wonder.
“It was so awful—”
“The man who did this to you will wish he was dead before I get through with him.”
Her hand cupped his cheek. “When I was ten years old, you tackled a bully who was trying to push me out of a swing. You were so handsome with your black curly hair and your daredevil smile—too wonderful for this world. Later when you noticed me and we became friends, then sweethearts, I knew that I was the luckiest girl on earth.”
“And now?”
“I still think so.” She wedged her nose beneath his chin and kissed his neck.
“Letty . . . my love,” he whispered, his face aglow with love and desire. He kissed her. His mouth was tender on hers, almost reverent, giving, yet taking. “I love you so much it purely scares the hell out of me. I’m afraid I’ll wake up and discover that finding you was all a dream.”
“For me too. I didn’t realize how lonely I was.”
“We’re together now. Letty and Mike. Mike and Letty and—Patrick.” His hand traveled possessively over her back, soothing, caressing.
“All I could think of was getting back here to you.”
She exalted in the freedom she had to move her hands over his face and neck, and feel the rough drag of his whiskers against her palm. It was heaven to be held close in his arms, feel his strength, share his kisses.
Mike lifted his head and gazed at her upturned face. Her eyes were teary bright and full of love for him. His arms tightened and he slowly lowered his head to hers and kissed her puffed and cut mouth, her wet cheeks. The yielding sweetnes
s of her mouth, the softness of her woman’s body and the warmth of her skin made him tighten with desire but he held himself in check. She needed his comfort now, not his passion. This woman was his life. It was as simple as that. He loved her with every breath and would give his all to keep her safe and happy. He sat holding her, arms wrapped around her. She fit so perfectly in the nest made of his arms and thighs.
“Cora is in Piedmont,” Letty said as if just remembering. “She’s going to hold a street meeting tonight.”
“That’s strange. Why would she waste her time in a town the size of Piedmont?”
“She’s got a reason. She’d not be there otherwise.”
“Maybe it has nothing to do with you, sweetheart.”
“Oh, Mike. You know better than that. It’s got everything to do with me or Grandpa or this farm.”
“I don’t think it’s the farm. If it were sold for cash money, it would be only a drop in a bucket to Cora.”
“She would take it to keep me from getting it.”
“Jacob would have something to say about that. Let’s not worry about Cora now. She can’t do anything to hurt us.”
“She’ll try. I know she will.”
“Let her try. If she comes here, we’ll face her together.”
“I hope she doesn’t come, but I’m afraid she will.”
They were silent for a while. The world fell away, and for a moment there was only the two of them. Mike’s fingers worried the hair over Letty’s ears and then gently stroked her cheeks. He could feel her all through him and wanted to hold her forever, but they had to get on with the day.
“It’s almost noon, honey. I’ll be expected back at the house. Why don’t you get in the buggy? I’ll lead the horse around the edge of the field and into the barn from the back way. You can wash and fix yourself in the tack room.”
Letty rolled off his lap and stood. Her body ached in a hundred places. She tried not to flinch but failed to hide her discomfort from Mike’s sharp eyes.
“Honey? Are you all right?”
“Just stiff. I’ll lead the horse around the field. I should walk and work out some of the stiffness. By the time I get to the barn, you’ll have finished planting your row.”
“Goddamn that son-of-a-bitch!” he swore when he turned her face to the sun and saw the bruises. His dark eyes glittered angrily and a muscle jumped in his tightly clinched jaw. “That no-good bastard hit you with his fist!”
“It’s nothing compared to what Helen has suffered.” Letty put her hands on Mike’s chest. “We can’t let her go back to him. Doctor Hakes is going to write to the woman in Lincoln. In the meanwhile we’ve got to keep Helen hidden away.”
“If he sets foot on this farm—”
“—He won’t. He’ll send the deputy. We’ve got to get to Sheriff Ledbetter. Grandpa says he’s a good and decent man.”
“Letty, darlin’,” he whispered, and put his hands on her neck, his thumbs gently caressing the bruised line of her jaw. “No one will ever get the chance to hurt you like this again. I swear it.”
She covered his hands with hers. “Don’t worry. He caught me by surprise—or I’d have taken the buggy whip to him.”
“We’ve got to slip you into the house some way or the other. Go on, honey. I’ve some thinking to do. Wait for me behind the barn.”
It was easier than Letty had thought it would be to get into the house and up to her room without the children seeing her. She waited in the tack room while Mike talked to Jacob. The two men took Patrick and Helen out to the grove to see a nest of young robins that had been hatched that morning. After that, the sack of candy on the porch caught their eyes. Jacob immediately took charge with a promise to divide it after the noon meal.
Patrick was too excited over the candy to notice his mother’s swollen lip and bruised face, but Helen kept looking at her in such a way that Letty launched into an explanation without actually lying.
“There are so many speeding automobiles on the roads now throwing up stones that it’s dangerous to have one pass you. A person’s eye could be put out. Not that the driver would care, mind you. He’d already be miles ahead before he gave it a thought. Helen, Grandpa said you were a big help. He said you peeled the potatoes and that it was your idea to add an onion. My, but they’re good.”
“My mama always put in an onion when she fried potatoes. Sometimes, when we had eggs, we . . . baked cookies.”
“Cookies?” Mike groaned. “I haven’t had cookies since before the war.”
“I’ll make you some,” Helen said, her eyes on her plate.
“What kind?”
“Molasses,” she said, hardly above a whisper.
“My favorite kind. My sister used to make molasses cookies. When her back was turned, my brothers and I would grab a handful and run out the door.”
“Did she chase you?” Helen looked up and giggled, her eyes dancing.
“Sometimes. But we’d run up into the hayloft and pull up the ladder.”
“What did your mama say?”
“Now you boys stop teasing Katy.” Mike’s imitation of a woman’s high voice brought giggles from both Helen and Patrick.
“You can make cookies this afternoon, Helen,” Letty said. “We’ll have them for supper, that is if there’s any left after Mike grabs a handful.” Her eyes sought Mike’s sending a silent message of love.
It wasn’t until after Mike and Jacob went back to the field that Letty went out onto the porch and saw the ribbon tied to the lilac bush. She didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. In the end she did both. With fingers not quite steady, her breath coming fast, her heart thudding irregularly, she carefully untied the ribbon and blinked rapidly to clear her eyes so that she could see it.
It couldn’t be the same scrap of blue ribbon she had cut from her petticoat and tied to the bush so long ago—but it was. The thin white stripe went down one side. The blue had faded; the ends and sides were frayed. He had kept it all these years.
Mike. Oh, Mike. Of course I’ll meet you. It’s been so long.
Letty carefully folded the ribbon and tucked it inside her camisole next to her heart.
* * *
The evening light was fading when Mike rode into Piedmont. A crowd was gathering on the street for Cora’s street meeting. The hotel balcony was draped with light-blue bunting to form a backdrop for the white pulpit that bore a dramatic gold cross. Workmen scurried about putting up strings of lights. A long banner proclaiming: JESUS IS COMING SOON—GET READY was stretched across the front of the hotel. Another banner, PREPARE TO MEET YOUR MAKER, hung from beneath the balcony.
A piano stood on the hotel porch. The musicians, wearing identical gray suits, white shirts and white ties, stood lined up like little tin soldiers with their instruments under their arms. One held a trombone, one a saxophone, and the other, a trumpet. The trumpet player stepped to the edge of the porch and began to play a rousing spiritual—“When the Saints Go Marching In.” People on the boardwalks ceased talking and hurried toward the hotel.
Mike tied his horse in the alley behind the bank and made his way through the crowd to the general store. The double doors were blocked by a group of loafers. They reluctantly moved aside when Mike gave them a cold stare.
Mr. Howard, turning the crank on the giant red and orange coffee grinder, stopped the wheel when Mike walked in. All conversation stopped, and an uncomfortable silence filled the store. A dozen pair of eyes turned on the tall dark-eyed man who stood with feet slightly spread, his thumbs hooked in the side pockets of his trousers. Mike’s head moved in the briefest of nods to the man behind the counter before he turned to address the men staring at him.
“I’d be obliged if one of you would point out a man named Cecil Weaver.”
Silence.
Mike searched each face in the store carefully, pinpoints of light glittering in his black eyes. He waited a full moment. When no one spoke, he turned to Mr. Howard, anger beating through him.
&nbs
p; “Is Cecil Weaver in town?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Mike pulled a coin from his pocket, tossed it in the air and caught it. “A silver dollar to the man who points him out.”
“Whatta ya want him for?” The question came from one of the loafers at the door.
“That’s my business.”
“I betcha I know.”
“Then why did you ask?”
The store owner moved from behind the counter, his hands twisting nervously in his apron.
“You’re Mike Dolan, aren’t you?”
“You know that I am.”
“It was a sorry thing Cecil did to Mrs. Graham, but—”
“—But what?” Mike said coldly.
“Let the law handle it.”
“Has the law handled it?”
“Well . . . not that I know of. But I’m telling you this for your own good. The deputy will come down hard on you if you start something.”
“That deputy has been acting outside the law and will get his wings clipped. Is Sheriff Ledbetter in town?”
“No. He comes up about once a week. His headquarters are in Boley. Now if you’ll take my advice—”
“—I didn’t come in here for advice.” Mike dropped the dollar back into his pocket and headed for the door.
“Mister.” A man in overalls holding the hand of a small boy stepped into the clearing in front of the door. “If Weaver was in town I’d point him out. He needs to have his clock cleaned. I don’t hold with the way he treated his family and I don’t hold with what he done to Mrs. Graham. She’s a good woman, doin’ what she can for a motherless youngun.”
“He’s not in town?”
“I saw him hightailin’ it out a couple hours ago.”
“Which way was he headed?”
“Looked like he was headin’ for Claypool.”
“I’m obliged to you, Mister.” Mike tipped his hat and stepped out onto the board porch.
Oscar Phillips with Sharon Tarr clinging to his arm was coming down the walk toward him. Theirs were the only familiar faces he’d seen other than that of the store clerk who had sold him the lemon drops the day he came to town. Mike waited. Oscar looked up and saw him. His steps slowed then stopped.
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