“Oh? In that case, I’ll just go my way and return this letter the MacReynoldses wrote you.”
“Give it to me!” Hallie scrambled up. She opened the screen door and reached for the envelope.
He caught her hand, held it easily in spite of her efforts to withdraw it, and examined the wax-stained fingers and nails. “My God, Hallie! You’ll ruin your hands!”
“They’re my hands.” She couldn’t break free without attacking him with kicks, scratching, and teeth. He’d enjoy that. She willed her her hand to be lifeless in his, as a wild creature plays dead. “Give me my letter.”
“MacLeod has a nerve to expect you to slave on your knees like this!”
“He doesn’t expect it. He doesn’t know I’m doing it.”
Raford sucked in his breath. His eyes glittered like sunlit amber. “That makes it worse! You want to break your back for him!” He dropped her hand and caught her shoulders. “You’re beautiful and special, Hallie. You belong with a man who would know how to take care of you.”
She fought down panic at being gripped in those merciless iron fingers. “I’m not a horse or machine. I can take care of myself. Give me the letter.”
His eyes flamed. His grasp tightened. Something in her expression checked him. He muttered a few words beneath his breath and let go of her so abruptly that she had to catch herself against the door.
“Why, when I finally love a woman, does she have to be a fool? Tell me this: are you warming his bed?”
Without thinking, Hallie slapped him as hard as she could, so hard her palm hurt. His arm drew back. She thought he’d hit her back, but after a moment, he laughed with relieved exultation. “He hasn’t had you yet.”
“You—you—”
“Can’t think of anything bad enough?” Raford chuckled. “You missed your only chance to be rid of me, my dear. If you’d blushed or looked ashamed, given away that you’d been with him, I’d have made myself leave you alone. I won’t have MacLeod’s leavings.”
“You thought Jackie was my child.”
“I could forgive a slip that happened when you were little more than a child yourself. But I’ve had a letter from the MacReynoldses, too. They confirm what you told me; that the boy is your half-brother.”
“What can I do to make you believe me? There’s no way on earth I’ll ever—”
She couldn’t even say it. He smiled. “Never say never, Hallie love.”
He gave her the envelope and sauntered toward the Pierce-Arrow that was parked some distance down the road. So he could come up quietly, take her by surprise. Hallie began to tremble. She sat down on the front step to read the MacReynoldses letter.
As she read, slow anger burned in her. It was clear that Raford had given them a dire picture of her circumstances. They wrote that she and Jackie were welcome to come live with them in Maryland, though their house was small and it would be a little crowded. They could look after Jackie while Hallie worked in an office or store.
“Though,” Mrs. MacReynolds admonished, “it really sounds as if you should go back to the Rafords. He’s baffled as to why you left but is willing to give you another chance.”
I’ll bet, Hallie thought grimly. She had written the MacReynoldses a few times that summer but explained there was no way they could answer till the run was over. She had, in fact, got off a letter a few days ago, but they wouldn’t have it yet.
Maybe what she told them would allay their worries over whatever Raford had passed on, but they had been kind to her and she didn’t want them troubled. That was why she hadn’t told them why she’d left Rafords, only that it seemed like a way to keep Jackie from missing his mother so much.
Tonight, while thanking them for their concern and kindness, she would set them straight on that and any other lies Raford might write them in future. She didn’t even consider going to Maryland.
Shaft put up rods for the curtains and helped Hallie hang them. They looked even better than she had hoped, emphasizing and framing the outside views and brightening the colors of the wallpaper. Would Garth like them?
Meg didn’t. “They’ll just get dirty,” she said with a curl of her lip when Hallie stepped back to admire the transformed kitchen windows.
“Then I’ll wash them.”
“They make it dark.”
“How can they? Look, I ordered the rods long enough so the curtains cover the woodwork but don’t shade the window at all unless they’re closed on purpose.”
Meg shrugged and smiled at Jackie, who was wriggling with impatience. “Do you want to show Shaft and your sister what we ordered for Rusty’s kids?”
Nodding, Jackie opened the catalog on the table to the first marker. “We picked out this dump truck and this locomotive.” He flipped pages to the other things. “And Tinkertoys and a blackboard that makes into a desk and paints and this big teddy bear and a uke-uke—well, a uke! And look! A red wagon like the one I used to have, and Meg’s ordered one for me, too!”
Hallie’s conscience smote her. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Toys would have been in the way during the run, and they had never stayed in one place long enough for Jackie to exhaust the natural possibilities. Now that they were settled, of course he’d miss the toys he used to have.
“I want to pay for the wagon,” Hallie said. It cost $5.98, a week’s pay for being in the cookshack from four in the morning till supper dishes were done about nine in the evening. “And I’d like to help buy the other things, Meg.”
“No. I want them to be from me.” Jackie looked crestfallen. Meg gave him a hug and added, “And from Jackie, of course.” The girl stared at Hallie above Jackie’s dark head. “I want to give him the wagon. You can get him something else.”
Don’t let this turn into a contest, Hallie warned herself. It wouldn’t be good for her brother to sense that he could manipulate them. Jackie’s birthday was a few days before Christmas. She would replenish his toys then. Now she forced a smile and said, “That’s very generous of you, Meg.”
After the others were in bed that night, Hallie waxed the kitchen floor by lamplight. The drawn curtains made her feel safe and protected—as much as she could with Raford living three miles up the road.
He had left no mark on her wrists and hands, yet they felt bruised. Why was he so set on her? It must be because he wasn’t used to being refused, and he found her provocatively different. Also, just as he coveted Garth’s land, he would want any woman he thought Garth might care for—not that he had that reason in her case, Hallie thought. She rubbed the wax vigorously.
It was past midnight when Hallie polished the second coat by sliding around the room on part of an old sheet. Panting and exhilarated, she surveyed the shining floor and gold curtains. It looked beautiful—an entirely changed room—and she had done it, mostly by hard work.
Garth would be home tomorrow night. Surely, surely he would like what she had done.
It was hard to tell whether he did or not. Rory whistled when they entered the kitchen and went back on the porch to wipe his feet on the mat. Garth had wiped his feet well the first time. After kissing Meg and greeting the rest of them, he glanced about the room.
“You’ll tell me the cost of the curtains and whatever you used on the floor,” he said. “I’ll add it to your wages.”
Reminding her that she was hired help, that it was presumptuous of her to do anything without his permission. Hallie felt blood heat her face, but deep as the humiliation was her disappointment. She didn’t speak till she thought she had her voice under control, but it betrayed her by fraying a little.
“Waxing the floor makes it easier to keep clean and take care of. I like curtains, but since I seem to be the only one who does, let’s just consider them mine. I’ll take them with me when I leave.”
“They look spiffy,” Rory approved. “Guess us heathens just never thought about having any. Or waxing floors.”
“It does look different,” Garth said. His face was unreadable, and whether he mean
t his remark as a compliment or a complaint, Hallie couldn’t guess.
Very early the next morning, she found him gluing felt rounds from a dilapidated hat on the bottom of the chair legs and tables. He blushed, as if caught at something shameful.
“No use you spending all your time on floors.” His tone was gruff, but his words were sweeter to her than all of Rory’s blandishments. “This’ll keep the wax from getting scratched so easy.”
“Thank you, Garth.”
He slanted a half-grin at her. His hair was tousled, as if he hadn’t combed it yet. She had an almost irresistible urge to bury her hands in the silvery gold mass and let her fingers trace the contours of his head, smooth away the lines at his eyes, and mouth. The mouth she longed to feel on hers.
“It’s for me to thank you, Hallie. Even an old bachelor like me can see this place looks a sight more like a”—he searched for another word, couldn’t find it, and said doggedly—“like a home.”
He bent to his work. Hallie wished she were brave enough to put her arms around him but she was afraid of being repulsed. Better just be grateful for what he said, the care he was taking to protect her labor. But someday—Someday, maybe.
Monday had been washday at the MacReynoldses, and Hallie resumed the custom here. She might have lamented the MacReynolds’ electric machine more if she hadn’t had a summer of washing with the stomper and wringing by hand. After that, it seemed luxury enough to simply turn the lever that propelled the rotating apparatus in the High Speed Wizard that had a corrugated lining inside its wooden outer tub. It could wash six sheets at a time. Hallie ran the laundry through the hand wringer, drained the machine through the drain cock at the bottom, filled it up with water from the pump, rinsed white things twice and coloreds once, and hung them out on clotheslines that ran from the machinery shed to two steel posts.
She was battling a flapping sheet when she heard a motor. A hacking one, not the smooth purr of Raford’s Pierce-Arrow that could scarcely be heard from a distance. Subduing the sheet with more clothespins, Hallie turned as a roadster churned up to the house. Cotton Harris got out.
Hallie froze. She was sure he hadn’t forgotten how she’d swung the mop in his face. Shaft was fixing fence on the north boundary. Except for the children, she was alone. She glanced around in vain for a handy weapon. The willow clothes basket wasn’t formidable. There were lots of tools in the shed, but she didn’t want to show her fear by running in search of one.
She started for the house, heartily wishing for a butcher knife, hammer, or any such defense. Her only comfort was that if Cotton was working for Raford, or hoped to do so again, he would know of Raford’s interest in her and be afraid to do her any real harm.
“Does my heart good to see a woman doin’ woman’s work.” Cotton’s twisted grin revealed tobacco-stained teeth and though the summer was past, he still was sunburned. “It was a plumb disgrace, the way you wore overalls and drove that engine.”
“What do you want?”
His pale, pink-rimmed eyes slid over her. “What I want and what I’m here for are two different things. Reckon you know Quent Raford’s running for the state legislature.”
“I’d heard that.”
“You aimin’ to vote?”
“I can’t. I’m not twenty-one.”
He spat in the dust. “It’s a scandal women can vote at all. But Mr. Raford’s hired me to go find him votes, so I thought I’d be neighborly and stop by.”
“You know no one here would vote for him.”
“Plenty will. Sophie Brockett’s organizin’ ladies’ meetings and socials and such.” He tilted his head—he hadn’t removed his sporty felt hat—and squinted through narrowed eyes. “Mr. Raford can charm females, and we’ll sure take their votes, but I’ll promise you one thing. Bein’ in the legislature is just a leg up toward runnin’ for governor.”
“Mr. Raford’s plans are none of my concern.”
“They will be.” Cotton drew himself up but he was still only a few inches taller than Hallie. “I have his solemn word that he’ll make it so hot for Catholics and Jews and niggers and red niggers like your friend Luke, and draft dodgers like Henry Lowen that they’ll be glad to get out of Kansas alive.”
Hallie’s scalp crawled at the hatred in his eyes and voice. “You do belong to the Klan, don’t you?” she whispered.
“I do, and I’m proud of it. Just a few years ago, there weren’t hardly any of us, but now we’re everywhere and gettin’ stronger.” He crossed his arms. His slow appraisal was an insult. “We’re goin’ to make America decent again. Down in Texas, I’ve helped whip women who divorced their husbands or voted or cut off their hair or wore face paint or men’s clothes. One gal who led me on and then tried to play righteous and pure, we fixed her good. Mr. Raford’s told me he’s got plans for you, but if that ever changes, I’ll make you sorry you ever swung that mop at me.”
“I don’t want to tell Garth MacLeod you’ve been here, but I will if you don’t get off this place and stay off.”
“Got no reason to stay. But I’ll just leave you a handbill.” Hallie wouldn’t take the yellow poster. He swaggered to the door and thrust it in the screen.
Raford’s likeness smiled at her. A PATRIOT WHO DARES TO SAY AMERICA’S FOR AMERICANS! trumpeted the lines above his head. Beneath was lettered: A NEW DAY FOR KANSAS.
Hallie tore the offending handbill from the door and crumpled it. Cotton just laughed. “You’ll get what’s coming to you,” he called as he got into the roadster. “I hope I get to give it, but one way or another, it’ll come.”
He drove away, tires flailing up dust. A Klansman! One of the hooded cross-burning hate group that lynched blacks and etched their victims’ foreheads with KKK or a cross. Hallie had seen them on newsreels in their white sheets and peaked hoods. If they weren’t so scary and horrible, they’d be ridiculous.
Shaken and dizzy, Hallie leaned against the door. Cotton’s eyes had glued themselves to her in a way that made her feel slimy, soiled. That poor girl down in Texas—what had he done to her? The idea of someone like him judging and punishing was such a travesty that Hallie wanted to believe it couldn’t happen—but she knew it could.
That night after the children were in bed, she got Shaft to promise not to tell Garth or do anything himself, and then told the cook about Cotton’s threats.
“Do you think there’s a chance Raford could get elected by catering to the Klan?” she asked. “If there are any of them around Hollister, I certainly never heard about it.”
“That no-account Cotton could be starting groups wherever he finds some likely prospects.” Shaft’s bushy eyebrows met above his crooked nose. “The Klan’s spreading. It’s not just in the Deep South.”
Hallie nodded. “Yes, last year, the governor of Oklahoma called out the National Guard to control Klansmen. When he lost the election a few months later, most people believed it was because he stood up to the Klan.”
“Yeah, and remember this July when they found a minister dead in Michigan with KKK branded on his back?” Shaft’s voice thickened with disgust. “And in August, about the time Henry Ford was praisin’ the KKK as patriots, six Illinois folks got killed in some kind of Klan uproar.”
Hallie shivered. “Cotton said he’d helped whip women down in Texas.”
“He’d get a kick out of that. But Texas has outlawed masks, and Ma Ferguson, who’s running for governor, sure gives the Klan the devil.”
“Coolidge won’t say where he stands, though.” Hallie worried.
“No, but folks like his “Silent Cal” act, and they’re sorry for him because his young son died. He’ll win.”
“It’s so awful! If Cotton had his way, he’d kill people like Henry Lowen and Luke, or run them out of the country. And what he’d do to women!”
“He’s a mean one, but too ign’rant to swing much weight except with his own kind. I doubt if Kansas has too many of ’em since so many folks came here from other countries less than f
ifty years ago. It’s the smooth customers like Raford that we have to worry about.” Shaft tugged disquietedly at his beard. “I sure don’t like that varmint comin’ around you, Hallie. Maybe I better forget the fence and work close to the house.”
“I don’t think he’ll be back. If he is, I’ll tell Raford.” At Shaft’s puzzled look, she explained. “Raford evidently told Cotton that he’s got plans for me and not to do me any harm.”
“I don’t like the sound of that!”
“Neither do I. But, after all, he’s not a robber baron who can kidnap me. I don’t see that he can do much.”
“If Garth knew—”
“He mustn’t! The last thing Garth needs is more trouble. If he got in a fight with Raford, he’s the one who’d wind up in jail or fined for assault.”
Shaft heaved a long sigh. “I’m afraid you’re right.”
“I’m sorry,” Hallie repented. “I shouldn’t have told you, either, and got you upset, but I—I just had to talk to somebody.”
“Aw, honey, you can tell old Shaft anything. If it makes you feel better, I’m at least good for somethin’.”
“You’re good for a lot!” Hallie gave him a quick hug. “I just can’t tell you, Shaft, how glad I am you spoke for me that day we met and got Garth to hire me. It was the luckiest day of my life, and Jackie’s, too!”
Shaft’s rough old hand caressed her cheek. “I hope you’ll say that a year from now, Hallie girl. I reckon I was in luck the day my deputy cousin let me go out the back window and again the day Garth hired me on, but the luckiest day of all my born days was when you and Jackie turned up to be my family.” He looked into her eyes, as if searching for answers. “If Garth wasn’t so blamed scared of women! You be patient with him, honey.”
“I have to be.”
When Shaft looked a question, Hallie met his gaze and said, blushing, “I—I love him.”
Shaft caught in a delighted breath. “So you finally admitted it!”
“Not that it helps—”
“He’ll come around.”
Hallie grimaced. “Even if he does, I don’t think Meg ever will.”
The Unplowed Sky Page 22