“I can understand that … in a barn, of course they’d not dress up.”
“And they dance barefoot. Shoes are left at the door.”
“Barefoot? Hummm … that’s strange.”
“Not so strange if you knew what they put on the floor to make it slick for dancing.” Birdie was wide-eyed and interested. Thad continued in a serious voice. “City folk wouldn’t understand this … but country folk like to get back to how things were done in the olden days. What do they call it, Joe?”
“Fiddle, I don’t know. Old ways are born and bred in folks livin’ around here. You’d better tell her, Thad.”
“Mrs. Stuart, you need to know that fresh cow pies are brought in to slicken up the dance floor. Best ones are after the cows have fed on fresh green grass. Isn’t that right, Joe?”
“You bet. Green grass makes the manure wetter—doesn’t dry out so fast. It not only makes a better dance floor, but it’s good for feet. Cures itching and scales between the toes.”
“Why, I never heard of such a thing!” Birdie sputtered.
“It’s true. Old-time doctors will tell you that fresh cow manure cures itchy feet,” Thad said without hesitation. “My granny said so, and I read it in one of those old-time medical books. Sometimes, after a hard day, folks put it in a dishpan and soak their feet in it, that is if it’s fresh and the cows have fed on fresh grass.”
“I…I meant that I never heard of dancing in that … stuff.”
“I’m not surprised.” Thad nodded his head gravely. “Some of our traditions never leave this area. I don’t suppose you ever heard about mixing the white on chicken droppings with a spoonful of sugar and taking it for lung congestion. Works like a charm, don’t it, Joe?”
Joe nodded gravely. “Papa took it once. Saved his life, Mama said.”
Thad continued, “Our ways are strange, I’ll admit it. You know what we do to get rid of warts? Rub them with the hand of a corpse three mornings in a row. They’ll vanish slick as a whistle. I swear it.” Thad put his hand over his heart.
“A dead … person?” Birdie’s eyes reflected her horror.
“Yup. Newly dead, if there’s one handy. That’s one of my granny’s remedies. Hers were best. Another one that she swore by was that if a baby kissed a red rooster’s behind before the age of one year, it would never have whooping cough. Folks in this area hold on to that one. That and slickin’ up a dance floor with cow manure is right at the top of the list.”
“That’s …so nasty!” Birdie exclaimed.
“Maybe so,” Joe said, “but it serves two purposes. Folks around here like to kill two birds with one stone.”
No longer able to contain the laughter rumbling in his chest, Evan left the porch, walked quickly around the side of the house to the back porch and ran head-on into Julie. He grabbed her shoulders to keep her from toppling over.
“Sorry.” He began to laugh. “Sorry, Julie.”
A smile was spread charmingly on his usually serious face, rearranging his features until he was … handsome as sin.
“What’s tickled your funny bone?”
His hands still gripped her shoulders. His eyes shone as he laughed. Julie couldn’t take her eyes off his face.
“It’s …that brother of yours and Thad Taylor. I’ll tell you about it sometime. Lord, it’s funny how they can spin a yarn.” Then, realizing he was still holding on to her shoulders, he dropped his hands.
“Hey, Evan.” Joe came down the side of the house. “Why’d ya run off?”
“How could you keep a straight face?”
Joe grinned broadly. “It wasn’t easy. I don’t think we’ll have to worry about Queeny wantin’ to go to the barn dance.”
“Queeny? What in the world are you two talking about?” Julie asked.
“You’re too young to know the ways of men of the world and how we have to connive to get along, little sis.”
“Oh, you. The two of you have been up to something. I hope it wasn’t anything to do with Eudora.”
“No. No.” Joe held up his hands, palms out. “Nothing to do with Miss Meadows. She’s a nice lady.”
“All right, then.” She looked up at Evan. He was smiling into her eyes and tides of warmth washed over her. “I’m going to hold you to your promise to tell me later.” “You’ll have to remind me.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Her silly heart was fluttering like that of a caged wild bird. Her eyes refused to leave his face. “I don’t like the pleased look on my brother’s face. He’s pulled a shenanigan. I know it.”
“I never said a word. But I enjoyed every minute of it.”
“You could have helped us out a little.” Joe clapped Evan on the back.
“You were doing fine without any help from me.”
“Thad was just getting warmed up when I left.”
Still grinning, Evan shook his head. “I’d better get on home. Thanks, Julie, for the cake and lemonade.”
When had he stopped calling her Miss Jones? Julie hoped that he didn’t know how her insides were acting.
“ ’Bye, Evan.” Julie’s throat tightened as she said his name. With a final smile, she walked away from the most pleasant few minutes of the afternoon, of the week … of a lifetime?
Joe and Evan headed for the back lot, where Evan had left his horse. “
Now Thad’s telling her about the hog roast they’ll have after the dance and that a prize is given to the one that can stuff the longest string of hog guts with mashed pumpkin.” Joe could hardly contain his laughter. “He already told her about the horseshoe games they play with cow pies instead of horseshoes, and about the contest to catch the greased pig and twist its tail off. Thad can sure spin a windy story.”
“You’re no slouch yourself, Joe.”
“I can’t hold a candle to Thad. He used to have a big thing for Julie. I think he’s got over it. She didn’t give him any encouragement at all. They were in the same grade at school when Julie quit to take care of Ma and the rest of us.”
“She doesn’t get out much, does she?”
“She goes to town now and then and to church. She’s tied down with the kids.” Joe sighed with regret, then dug his hands down in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Back to Mrs. Stuart. Do you think she’ll tell Wilbur?”
“Is he the kind to blow up if she does?” Evan settled the saddle on his horse’s back and cinched it.
“Up to now I’d have said no. But she’s his sister and she knows how to make herself pretty and helpless. I hope Pa don’t find out about it. He’d be the one to blow up.”
“He may be a little bit infatuated with her now. But it won’t last. Your pa is too smart.”
“Dammit, I hope you’re right. Come over one night and we’ll play a game of cards.”
Evan nodded and put his heels to his horse.
* * *
Evan rocked gently in the saddle as the horse passed through the woods. His senses swarmed with details of the afternoon’s events. He had only to close his eyes to see Julie’s laughing face: soft mouth, high cheekbones, magnificent light brown eyes. He drew in a deep breath, thinking that he could still smell the warm, woman scent of her.
She was not indifferent to him. He was almost sure of that.
A moment he would always remember was when little Joy looked up at him and said, I like you. The sincerity of the child’s spontaneous words and the grin on her small face when she said them had been one of the most pleasant experiences of his life. Unknowingly, he smiled while thinking about it.
He had never known people like the Jones family. Poor but proud. Hardworking but fun-loving. They were loyal to each other and united in all things that mattered. Lord, he hoped that Jethro Jones came to his senses before he got more involved with Birdie Stuart. The woman could tear his family apart.
As he rode into the farmyard, Evan wondered if Julie had told her family about their date Saturday night. There were only two places they could go: the picture show or
the dance at Spring Lake. How did she feel about being seen in public with the son of the notorious Walter Johnson?
Evan unsaddled his horse, wiped him down and turned him loose in the pasture. He was glad to see that the old nag Walter rode was not in the lot. He’d have the place to himself for a while. On the way to the house, Evan stopped in the middle of the yard and took a deep breath.
The scent of honeysuckle was in the air. A hummingbird was dipping its long beak into the blossoms on the bushes his mother had planted long ago. Evan looked up at the clear blue sky, then toward the pasture at the side of the house where the milch cow was grazing contentedly. The windmill creaked; the hogs rooted in the pen beside the barn; a chicken wandered to the edge of the porch, flapped its wings and pecked at something on the ground.
He loved this place. He wanted to raise a family here. He wanted to love and be loved here—and to be accepted by his neighbors as Evan Johnson and not known as Evan Johnson, son of the town drunk.
In the kitchen Evan looked around at the mess of dirty dishes and cooking pots on the table, the filthy clothes on the floor and the unmade foul-smelling cot. This was Walter’s domain. He ate here, slept here, drank himself into a stupor here.
A vision flashed through Evan’s mind of the neat kitchen at the Joneses’ farm, filled with the aroma of fresh-baked bread, table set for the family meal, a girl with laughing eyes, hair hanging down her back, teasing with her brothers and sisters.
It was a glimpse of the kind of family life that had always eluded him.
An idea had been playing over and over in his mind since shortly after he came back to the farm: How much money would it take to buy Walter out and get him off the farm, out of the county, out of his life?
Evan heard the clang of the gate, then a curse. He went to the door. Walter had returned and he was drunker than a hoot-owl. Evan went up to his room. Now was not the time to offer to buy him out.
Chapter 10
JULIE, LOOK. I FOUND A BIG ONE.” Jason held up a cucumber that was already turning yellow with age.
“It’s too ripe, Jason. Throw it away.”
After the breakfast dishes were cleared away, most mornings were spent in the garden. It was an everyday chore to pick beans and cucumbers. The root vegetables such as beets, potatoes and turnips would be ready by the time pickles were put up and the beans were canned. Then it would be time to shred the cabbage and pack it down in the crocks to make sauerkraut.
Julie had given Jill her choice of going to the garden or ironing yesterday’s wash, which they had sprinkled with water the night before when they took the clothes off the line. Jill chose the ironing.
“I gotta pee-pee.” Joy backed up to where Julie was searching the cucumber vines and turned around so her sister could unbutton the fold-down flap on the back of her drawers.
“Go squat down behind the bean vines where Jason won’t see you.” Julie gave the child a gentle push.
“He’s seen me pee-pee.”
“That was when you were little. Mind me and don’t argue.”
“I want to do it here.”
Julie looked at the child with an exasperated frown. Joy was a stubborn child with a strong personality.
“You’re asking for a spanking. I said go behind the bean vines. You’re too big to be doing your business in front of Jason.”
“I didn’t ask for a spankin’,” she said sassily.
When Julie reached for her, Joy darted out of the way, ran down the row a short distance and squatted down. She returned to stand a few feet away from Julie.
“You goin’ to spank me?”
“Do you think you deserve spanking?”
“No. Jason didn’t see me.”
“He didn’t see you because he was looking the other way. I told you to go behind the bean vines.”
“I had to go … bad.”
“Come here and let me button your drawers.”
“You like me, Julie?”
“Of course I do, puddin’, but I want other people to like you and they won’t if you’re sassy.”
“Mr. Johnson likes me. He said so.”
“When was this?” Julie finished with the buttons and pulled Joy’s dress down.
“At the ball game. I like him.”
“You do, huh?” Julie stood, straightened her aching back and looked down at the child. “When we get to the house, you’re going to sit in a chair for an hour. If you had told me you had to go so bad, I’d have found a closer place for you to do it. Instead you were sassy and defiant.”
“I wasn’t de-fant.”
“Defiant. Yes, you were. We’ll talk about it later. Let’s go in, Jason,” Julie called. “I’ve got about all I can carry.”
* * *
At the edge of the woods, on the rise behind the farm, a man with a pair of binoculars watched the garden. The little tad was growing like a weed. She was cute as a button. He chuckled when she turned her bare little butt up and squatted to pee. Lately he’d had an urge to see her. Why, he didn’t know. Hell, he’d not wanted to see any of the rest of them. Just knowing they were there had been enough.
He watched until the woman and the two kids disappeared in the house before he lowered the glasses and hung the strap over his shoulder. After looking carefully around, he retraced his steps back through the woods to the rocky path leading to the river.
* * *
Corbin Appleby left the rooming house on E Street where he had taken up residence in Mrs. Shamblin’s upstairs room. It was a pleasant room across the front of the house giving him a view of the Courthouse Square. Dressed neatly in duck pants, a silver star pinned to his white shirt and a tan felt hat on his head, he walked quickly toward Sparky’s Eatery, where he went every morning for breakfast.
Corbin had a lot on his mind this morning. He had not gone to bed until long after midnight. Then, as tired as he was, the events of the night had robbed him of his sleep. The same words floated through his mind over and over. I was not wrong in coming here, I was not wrong in coming here. I was not—
“Mornin’,” Sparky called when Corbin entered the small eatery and hung his hat on one of the pegs along the wall.
“Mornin’.” Corbin adjusted the gun belt around his slim hips before he straddled a stool at the counter. “It’s goin’ to be a scorcher today.”
“Startin’ out like it. What’ll ya have, Chief? The woman’s takin’ out a fresh batch of biscuits.”
“I’ll have gravy with them.”
Sparky was a thin man with a big, bald head and buck teeth. If a prize were to be given to the ugliest man Corbin had ever met and liked, Sparky would win hands down. But he was easy-going, intelligent and if there was one man in town whom Corbin could depend on to back him should he need it, that man would be Sparky. He slapped a heavy mug down on the counter and filled it with coffee from a granite pot with a cloth wrapped around the handle.
“Gonna want to take somethin’ to your prisoner?”
“Yeah. Somethin’ not over ten cents. The town will pay a quarter a day for his eats. I might have to come back for his supper.”
The Edge of Town Page 14