“I ain’t been to no revival meetin’.”
“You’ve been hanging around outside trying to pick fights. Another thing, you’ve been out to the pavilion at Spring Lake causing trouble.”
“What’s that?” Walter’s words were becoming more and more slurred. Evan wondered how he could even carry on a conversation after so much booze. “I went … danc-in’, is all I done.”
“I’m warning you, Johnson. Stay away from the revival meeting and the Spring Lake dance hall.”
“I got rights to go where I want to. Ain’t no business of yores.”
“You have no right to disrupt a religious service or to disturb young folk having a good time. If you do, it’s my business and I’ll do something about it.”
The marshal rocked back on his heels, and his sharp eyes went from Walter to his son.
“I’m not his keeper,” Evan said stoutly, feeling that the man was conveying a message.
Sanford shook his head in disgust, set the whiskey bottle on the table with a bang and walked out of the room. The deputy followed. On the porch, Sanford turned to Evan, who stood with his back to the screen door.
“It’s like talking to a stump.” When Evan nodded in agreement, Sanford continued, “Drunk or sober, he’s been trouble for as long as I can remember.”
Evan nodded again.
“Ain’t you able to do somethin’ with him?” The deputy spoke for the first time.
“I didn’t come back here to be a nursemaid for Walter. I came to see that my mother’s farm wasn’t run into the ground.” Evan looked the cold-eyed deputy in the eye, wanting to make his position clear.
“The way he’s goin’, I ain’t goin’ to be surprised if someone ups and kills him.” Deputy Weaver walked to the end of the porch and spit into the Rose of Sharon bush.
Evan shrugged. “If they do, they do.”
“Be fine with you, huh? You’d have the farm. I reckon it’s worth a pretty penny. Right?” The deputy came back, stopped within a few feet of Evan and eyed him through half-closed lids.
“I’ll have it anyway,” Evan replied, looking the deputy squarely in the eye.
“Yeah, but maybe you ain’t wantin’ to wait.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Weaver shrugged, his eyes still on Evan’s face, his lips curled in a sneer.
Marshal Sanford stepped in to break the tension between the two men. He held out his hand to Evan.
“I’d be obliged if you’d do what you can to keep him away from town.”
“I appreciate the fact that it’s your duty to keep peace in this county, but as I said before, I’m not Walter’s keeper. He’s a grown man—a poor excuse for one, I admit—but he’ll have to take responsibility for his own actions.”
“He’s your pa, ain’t he? Don’t ya think it’s your duty to look out for your pa?” Weaver taunted.
Evan decided that he didn’t like the man’s attitude and gave him a cold stare.
“No. I don’t think it’s my duty to look out for him. If he breaks the law, it’s your duty to do something about it. It’s what you’re being paid for, isn’t it?”
“That’s clear enough,” Deputy Weaver sneered. “You don’t care if he disrupts church services, harasses young people or exposes himself to womenfolk. Did ya know that only about one in a hundred young ladies ever report being raped?”
“Damn you! Of course I care, but there’s not much I can do about it.”
“We’d best be getting on back to town.” Sensing the antagonism growing between Evan and his deputy, the marshal stepped off the porch and headed for the car. With one last openly contemptuous look at Evan, the deputy followed.
Evan stood on the porch and waited for his temper to cool. He watched until the big touring car turned around in the barnyard and headed back down the lane to the road before he went back into the house.
One glance told him that Walter had downed what was left in the whiskey bottle. Dead drunk now, he was sprawled out on the couch, mouth open, spittle running from the corner. There was a big wet spot on the front of his overalls. It was a thoroughly disgusting sight.
Needing to get out of the house, Evan stepped onto the back porch and picked up the staff he used when he walked out into the pasture to drive in their three milch cows. Walking along the fence line, he pondered what that smart-mouthed deputy had said. Was he accusing Walter of rape?
Good grief! Walter had always talked nasty. His mother had said that he did it to shock folks and get attention. Evan remembered the fear on the face of Julie Jones. Had he just talked nasty to her or had he threatened her and her younger sister?
If he touches either one of them I swear I’ll kill him!
Evan did the chores as quickly as possible, then washed and put on clean clothes. He was looking forward to going to the ball game and seeing Julie Jones again.
Chapter 4
W HERE’S JASON?”
The family had taken their places at the kitchen table for the light supper. Remembering Walter Johnson’s threat, Julie became alarmed when she saw that Jason’s chair was empty.
“Where’s Jason?” Julie asked again, louder this time.
“He’ll be along. Hurry up, Sis. Joe’s gonna play catch with me.” Jack, her sixteen-year-old brother, would rather play baseball than eat.
“Did Jason—”
“He’s finishing his chores.” As Jethro spoke, his youngest son came hurrying in through the back door. “Wash up, son. We’re waiting for you.”
Jason placed a basket of eggs on the workbench. “That danged old biddy pecked me.”
“She doesn’t peck me,” Jill said smugly.
“Then you can have the job. It’s woman’s work anyhow.”
“Sit down so Papa can say the blessing.” Julie placed a platter of sliced bread on the table and took her place next to Joy.
While the family helped themselves to fresh bread, apple butter, jam and scrambled eggs, Julie debated with herself about whether to tell her father and the boys about her meeting with Walter Johnson. If she didn’t and something happened to Jason or Jill, she would never forgive herself. She would talk to them later, she decided, when the younger kids were not around.
“I asked Evan Johnson to come play ball.” Joe reached for the bread platter. “Reckon the neighbors will snub him?”
“Because of his pa?” Jack asked.
“You know how the Birches are. Pete and Clem can be stiff-necked at times, and they hate Walter Johnson like poison.”
“Can’t blame Evan for his pa.” Jethro’s eyes swept around the table.
“Just like folks can’t blame me for mine,” Joe teased and hit his father on the shoulder.
“Watch it, young scutter. You’re not too old to whop.”
“Joe’s too big,” Joy said seriously.
“You’re not.” Jill couldn’t pass up the opportunity for the last word.
“I brought the cooler up out of the cellar,” Julie announced during a break in the conversation. “One of you boys can fill it at the well and take it out to the ball field.”
“Let Jill fill it. She can take it out in the coaster wagon— that is, if she gets through primpin’ for the Taylor boys before dark,” Jack said with a smirk.
Jason giggled.
“You shut up!” Jill rose up out of her chair and glared at her brother.
“Sit down, Sis,” Jethro said. “Stop teasing her, Jack.”
Joe, his dark eyes shining with amusement, winked at Julie. The handsomest of all the Jones siblings and just two years younger than Julie, he was her favorite, if she admitted to having a favorite. They had always been close. Lucky would be the girl who caught him.
“What kind of cake did you make for tonight, Sis?” Joe asked.
“Spice cake, and you stay out of it.”
As soon as supper was over, the family scattered. Jill and Julie hurriedly cleared the table and washed the dishes. The neighbor women were sure to come
into the house and Julie wanted the kitchen to be tidy. Her father came out of the bedroom wearing a clean shirt and a clean pair of overalls.
“You going to town?” Julie asked when he went to the wash dish and dampened his hair.
“Naw. Got splattered up with manure today.”
She glanced at him. He was carefully parting his hair down the middle. It wasn’t like him to take such pains with his appearance and especially for a ball game. Julie wondered what her father was up to.
“Jason, tie up Sidney or put him in the barn.”
“Ah, Papa. Sidney won’t hurt nothin’. He likes to chase balls.”
“Mind what I said, son,” Jethro cautioned sternly.
Julie emptied the dishwater and hung the pan on the porch. When she returned to the kitchen, her father had gone out to the front of the house and, with Jack’s help, was placing an old wooden door on the sawhorses to serve as a picnic table. Every family would bring a dessert of some kind to eat after the ball game. There would be coffee for the grown-ups and milk for the children.
Clem and Pete Birch had adjoining farms and, with their families, arrived in one wagon. The women and children were sitting on bales of hay in the wagon bed. They were a lively, happy bunch. Between the two brothers they had six boys, three girls and both wives were expecting. After they piled out of the wagon, Clem unhitched the team and led them to the grass that grew alongside the lane. Pete was short and husky, Clem tall and thin.
Farley and Helen Jacobs had a girl and two boys. Ruby Jacobs was Jill’s best friend. The two giggling girls vanished into the house.
Joy was anxiously waiting for the Taylors. Besides their two sons, Roy and Thad, they had three girls. Their little Sylvia was Joy’s age. When they arrived the little girls paired off and went looking for mischief.
Ruth and Wilbur Humphrey were the last to arrive. They had five boys and two girls, ranging in age from seventeen to two years old; their twelve-year-old twins, This and That, had bright red hair and faces full of freckles. Their real names, Thomas and Thayer, were known to only a few people outside the family.
Ruth Humphrey, with her two-year-old on her hip, carried a dish wrapped in a tea towel to the picnic table, then came to the porch where Julie sat with the other women. A woman somewhere in her thirties and a girl about six or seven years old were with her.
“Hello, everyone. I want you to meet my sister-in-law, Birdie Stuart. She and Elsie have come to stay with us … for a while.”
Julie got to her feet and extended her hand. “Glad to meet you. Come on up and sit down. When the game starts we can take some quilts and sit on the grass. Hello, Elsie.”
The shy child bobbed her head but didn’t speak.
The Humphrey girls yelled, “Come on, Elsie. Let’s play on the sack swing.”
The child shook her head and moved close to her mother. Birdie Stuart was a woman with hazel eyes and thick blond hair cut in a stylish bob. She had a lovely light peaches-and-cream complexion and full rounded breasts. She seated herself carefully on the edge of the porch after dusting it off with her handkerchief.
“Do you enjoy baseball, Mrs. Stuart?” Julie asked, trying to make the woman feel a part of the group.
“I don’t know. I’ve never watched a real game.” She spoke with a soft southern accent.
Julie laughed. “This is far from a real game. There’s plenty of horseplay, and at times the rules are stretched a bit.”
“Well, glory be,” Grace Birch exclaimed. “Here comes Evan Johnson. What’s a Johnson doing here? You never see him out anywhere, not even at church.”
“The boys invited him to come play ball.” Julie tried to keep the irritation out of her voice.
“Oh, well, of course. Guess you can invite anybody you want to your place.”
“He came to eat some more of Birdie’s custard pie or I miss my guess. Howard took him one for fixing our bailer.” Ruth winked at Julie, making her wonder if Ruth was trying to make a match between her sister-in-law and Evan. Birdie Stuart must have been five or six years older than Evan, but Julie guessed that it wouldn’t make all that much difference if they took to each other.
“He’s not much on visitin’. Leastways that’s what Pete says. He met him on the road and all he said was howdy.” Iona Birch, standing at the end of the porch, placed her hand on the small of her back and stretched.
“Come up here and sit in the swing, Iona, and rest your back.” Ruth Humphrey set her small son on his feet. “When are you due?”
“I figure in about six weeks. I’ll be big as a barrel by then. The marshal was out at the Johnsons’ today,” Iona announced after she had settled into the swing. “I wonder what that nasty old man’s been up to now.”
“I know what it was,” Helen Jacobs said. “He’s been hanging around outside at the revival meetings, drinking, talking loud and nasty. My, my. I don’t know how he’s lived as long as he has. Twenty years ago, he’d have been lynched for pulling some of the stunts he’s pulled. Folks now put up with most anything.”
“Has anyone ever found out why Evan came back?” Ruth asked.
At the mention of his name, Julie’s eyes turned to where Evan was playing catch with Joe. Most of the men were wearing overalls. Evan wore khaki-colored britches and a blue-and-white- striped shirt. He impressed Julie as an alert man who had a purpose for everything he did. Had he come to the ball game because he thought Birdie Stuart would be here with the Humphreys?
“A lot of gossip is goin’ around. Some think he lost the money his grandpa left him and he had to come back. I don’t think that for a minute. Amos Wood is falling all over him. There’s got to be money involved for Amos to give a Johnson the time of day.” This came from Helen Jacobs.
“The farm was Evan’s mother’s. It appears that she left it to Walter ’cause he’s still there. Why in heaven’s name would she do that? Mrs. Yerby said Evan was thrown out of the army for something he did in France.” Grace closed her mouth with a snap, signifying her disapproval of the man.
“How would she know that?” Ruth Humphrey asked.
“Mrs. Yerby knows everybody’s business in town. Ask her anything and she’ll give you an answer.”
“Looks like they are finally going to get down to business and choose up sides.” Julie thought it was time to change the subject.
Jethro came from the side of the house. “I’ll carry out chairs if you ladies want to watch the game.”
“I’ll take them, Papa,” Julie said.
“I can do it. You bring a quilt, Sis.”
Jethro picked up a chair in each hand and carried them out to the shade of the oak tree. He returned quickly and picked up two more. By then the women had come down off the porch. He walked alongside Birdie Stuart and her little girl. Julie couldn’t hear what he said, but he was smiling first at the woman and then at the child. Glory be! Her papa was flirting with Birdie Stuart. She was the reason he had put on a clean shirt and overalls.
Julie was a little taken aback by the discovery. Her father had not shown the slightest interest in a woman since her mother’s death. She had assumed he never would. But she realized that he was only forty-two years old. He had been twenty and her mother eighteen when they married. Nevertheless, it shocked her to think of her father bringing another woman into the family.
The Edge of Town Page 5