by Norah Hess
"Mike, there is just not enough room for her . . . particularly a young woman. If it was a boy, we could make do somehow. Besides, there's Jarvis. He'd be right after the girl."
Mike frowned. "He's still up to his old tricks, is he?"
"Well I don't know that he is for a fact, but I wouldn't trust him around any female."
Mike nodded in agreement. Then, he said, "I didn't expect you to take her in, Clara."
Clara stared at him, and he became confused. He realized that his question would be harder to ask than he had expected. He stared down at his feet and cursed himself again for becoming involved in Sarie's problems.
Summoning up his courage, he raised his head and blurted out, "I was hoping that you would speak to Darcey Stevens about the girl. I thought maybe she would take the girl in."
Clara slumped back in her chair. "Mike must be out of his mind, thinking that Darcey would give a home to Sarie's sister. It would be asking too much of her."
Then a glimmer of an idea came to her. "Just how much can I tell Darcey about the girl?"
"You can tell her everything, but don't use Sarie's name. She don't want Dorie to know that she lives around here or what she does for a living."
Clara smiled. The possibility of Darcey taking the girl in wasn't so farfetched under those circumstances.
"Darcey might do it if she doesn't know who Dorie really is," she said to Mike. "She has more room at her place than any of the other settlers. She's a fine and sensitive person who has a softness for children. I'll talk to her as soon as possible."
Mike sighed. The first step was taken. Now it was up to Darcey. "I thank you sincerely, Clara."
"That's all right, Mike," she smiled. Then she added, "It might interest you to know that I have a different opinion of this Sarie, now. But I do think she could earn her living in a more respectable way."
"You could be right, Clara," Mike laughed, "but there ain't nothin' she could make more money at."
She slapped out at him and chided, "What a thing to say, Mike."
Mike was about to leave when Jim stepped up on the porch. He had arrived in time to hear Sarie's name mentioned, and his lips spread in a wide smile. Mike chuckled dryly. Jim would be questioning him about Sarie.
He took a seat beside Mike and tilted back in the chair. He glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye, and while Clara was busy on the other side of the room, he spoke in a guarded voice, "Ah . . . about your new woman, Mike, do you see her very often?"
"Often enough," Mike answered in an amused voice.
A few moments went by before Jim added, "Is she as good as they say she is?"
Mike smiled broadly, his white teeth gleaming. He affectionately roughed up Jim's hair and teased, "You're feelin' your mettle, ain't you, boy? How come you ain't bundlin' with some young girl by now?"
The color rose in Jim's cheeks, and he stammered, "Hell, there ain't none old enough."
Mike's mind ranged back and forth between the families of the settlement and realized that there weren't. Girls his age had been snapped up early and already had a couple of children. He darted a glance in Clara's direction.
"Jim, I'll take you with me the next time I go to the mill. While the corn is being ground, I'll introduce you to Molly's girls."
Jim's eyes sparkled, and he opened his mouth to voice his thanks, but Clara interrupted. "I don't think I want you to do that, Mike," she said. "I promised Maw that I'd look out for Jim and raise him decent."
For a startled second, the two men stared at her in amazement. How had she heard their whispers?
Jim's spirits dropped. Mike never went against Clara's wishes. But this time he was giving her an argument. In a voice that was serious, he spoke.
"Clara, you know that the lad is decent, and you should know that it's only natural for him to be curious at this age. Would you rather he got mixed up with some married woman like Meg Johnson, for instance? You're gonna turn him into an old maid."
Clara knew that there was truth in his words and held her tongue. She wondered why it was that Mike could make everything sound so reasonable and proper. Had Jarvis suggested the same thing to her, she would have felt it dirty and sinful.
Mike rose from his chair and took Jim up with him. "Come along, little brother, I'll tell you all about Molly's girls while we chop weeds in my tobacco patch."
As they were about to walk out the door, Mike turned and spoke kindly to Clara. "Don't fret about him. I'll keep an eye on him."
She sighed and walked to the window and watched them walk away. Mike was talking and making motions with his hands while Jim was laughing. Clara grunted. "That Jim, drinking it all up as though it was pure gospel."
CHAPTER 21
It was a hot, lazy day. The old men said that it was the hottest day the hill country had ever known. Darcey believed them as sweat formed in little beads on her upper lip.
It was Sunday and she was making her first visit to church. Cindy had been surprised and pleased when she had announced where she was going.
"It's a good thought, honey," she said, "but what put the idea in your head?"
"Clara said that since I'll be needing the preacher's services soon, I should get acquainted with him."
Cindy's low snort had said plainly that in her opinion that was a poor excuse to go to church.
She wiped the sweat from her lips again and walked on. From the river came the noise of splashing fish as they leaped from the water, snapping at a new fly hatch. The men of the settlement had complained all week that the fish weren't biting because their bellies were full of flies.
She felt the heat of the pine needles penetrate the thin soles of her slippers and wondered how the other women could walk on them barefooted. She had liked walking in warm dirt and delighted in swishing over dew-misted grass but hot pine needles were something she couldn't tolerate.
Every Sunday morning she had watched the women and children pass by the cabin on their way to church. The women always carried their shoes, and she had wondered why. One day, Clara explained it to her.
"Things are hard to come by here in the hills, Darcey. In order to save shoe leather, we walk barefoot whenever possible. When we get close to the church, we put on our shoes."
She had felt embarrassed for their poverty and had blushed and stammered, "What a clever idea for the women to come up with."
She stopped in the shade of a tree and fanned her face. Wild geese squawked and splashed in the river and she wished that she could join them. She gave her hair a final pat and walked on. Soon the village lay sprawled in front of her.
In front of the church several women and a few men stood in a group, waiting for the preacher to arrive. Slowly she let her gaze range over the rest of the village. Everything, with the exception of the tavern, was locked up for the day. In front of the tavern, some horses stood, their heads down and their tails swishing at the biting flies.
"It's so serene and peaceful," she thought.
Then hard on the heels of her thought came the high, nervous laughter of women, mingled with the roar of the male company they partied with. Irritated, Darcey wondered if Mike was there.
With an angry jerk of her head, she returned her attention to the church. For the first time she noticed the small cemetery alongside the building. The enclosed area was liberally dotted with headstones.
Suddenly, she was walking through the small gate and carefully making her way over the vining myrtle that grew in profusion over the ground and headstones.
She read the names engraved on the markers. Scotch and English were predominant. "Such sturdy stock," she mused. "No wonder the settlement has endured."
In a shady corner at the very edge of the forest, she found her grandfather's grave. The myrtle had covered the long, smooth mound, and it was not cold and harsh-looking, as she had feared it would be. Someone had placed a bowl of marigolds in front of the stone and she wondered if Cindy had done it.
Cindy came often to vi
sit his grave and Simon, occasionally on Sunday afternoons. Although Cindy had urged many times, "You'll feel better once you've gone," Darcey could only shake her head. Now, as she knelt beside the grave, a vague and wonderful feeling of her grandfather's presence came over her.
She remarked later to Cindy, "He seemed to be answering all my worrisome questions without me even asking them. I felt the calm assurance that everything was going to be all right."
She lost all track of time in the tranquil atmosphere. A cool breeze came out of the forest, and she continued to sit beside the grave. Then the jangle of a cow bell mingled with the shrill laughter of children brought her out of her reverie. She stared in amazement. The services were over, and the congregation was filing out of the church.
She scrambled to her feet and brushed the dirt and leaves from her dress. What should she do, she wondered.
She was saved from making a decision by the appearance of Clara.
"Oh, Clara," she stammered, "I'm sorry that I missed the services. I hope I didn't cause you any embarrassment."
Clara put an arm around her waist. "Honey, don't worry about it. More good was done you at your grandfather's grave than by any sermon. You're gonna feel much better since visiting Josh."
"I know it, Clara. I should have done it a long time ago. I was such a coward."
"Now, honey, don't go gettin' down on yourself. You wasn't a coward, you were just young. But I think now, you're a grown woman."
As they walked toward home, Darcey's mind wandered back over the months that had forced her to grow up. Suddenly, her eyes were glassed over with tears, and she was sobbing.
Clara folded her to her large breast. "Cry it all out, honey. Get it all out of your system," she murmured softly.
And Darcey did. With her words rolling like water from a spring, she unburdened herself. She told of her first meeting with Mike, how she had fallen immediately in love with him, and up until the time he had taken Meg home with him.
Clara wisely kept her counsel and kept her arms around the wildly crying girl. She patted her back and said soothingly, "I know, dear, I know."
Bit by bit the sobbing stopped, and Darcey wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. "I don't want you to think that I won't be a good wife to Jarvis, Clara. I'll treat him well, and he'll forget his suspicions of Mike."
Clara started guiltily. She knew that right here and now she should tell Darcey of Mike's love. But the thought of bloodshed stilled her tongue. If Darcey should marry Mike, one of the brothers would die.
When she spoke, her only concession was, "Jarvis doesn't deserve you, Darcey, but he wants you so much. You will be good for him, and I think that you can change him. I sincerely believe that in time you will learn to love him and find contentment."
Darcey released herself from Clara's arms as she said, "I hope so, Clara. With all my heart, I hope so."
She started to walk on and Clara stopped her. "I want to ask a favor of you, Darcey. Now if you're against it, please don't hesitate to say so. Do you promise me that you will?"
Darcey gave a little laugh. "Of course, Clara. What is your favor?"
Clara clasped her hands nervously. For a moment she was on the point of forgetting the whole thing. It just wasn't fair to Darcey—saddling her with Sarie's sister. But she had promised Mike, so reluctantly she spoke.
"I know a woman who is looking for a home for her young sister. The girl is fifteen, and I thought maybe you might be interested. She would be company for you."
Darcey's amber eyes shone. "Oh, Clara, I think it's a wonderful idea. I have always wanted a sister or brother. And you're right, she would be company. Sometimes Cindy can go for days on end, just grunting when you talk to her."
Clara took her arm and they walked on. "I'm glad you feel that way about it, dear. This girl needs someone badly."
"When will she be coming?"
"As soon as possible," Clara answered grimly.
They parted at the cabin and as Clara walked toward home, she was grateful that she could give Mike some good news for a change.
It seemed such a short time ago to Darcey, since she had talked to Clara and unburdened herself and promised to take the girl in. But already it was the middle of September.
The days didn't seem to have enough hours to get all the work done. Everyone worked from early morning until late at night, when there was a full moon. They worked to get the harvest in before the fall rains began.
All during the week Simon had swung the scythe, laying the wheat in neat mounded rows, and Darcey and Cindy had walked behind him tying the long stems in bundles. Later, they hand-threshed them on the barn floor.
Then Simon loaded the grain into a wagon and then onto the granary.
While he worked the wheat field, she and Cindy harvested the potatoes. The clumps were large, giving up many large potatoes to her spade. All in all, everything that was planted had produced well. There had been just enough rain and plenty of hot days for the growing season.
Finishing a long row, Darcey straightened up and leaned on the spade to rest her back for a moment. Across the field she saw Cindy coming, a rolled up bundle of burlap bags under her arm. Into these bags Cindy put the potatoes that were piling up in long rows. This evening, after supper, Simon would bring them to the cabin and store them in the cellar.
As Cindy drew closer, Darcey called out good-naturedly, "Why are you so late, Old Lady. The sun has been up for hours."
"It's that raunchy old man I'm married to," she complained, puffing the last few steps, to stand next to Darcey. "Like to have worn me out before I even got the day started."
"What does he think he is, a youngster?" Darcey laughed.
"I don't know. The crazy old coot, the older he gets the worse he is."
"It's a good thing you had your grandmother's recipe for that special tea all the years, or you'd have a passel of children by now."
Cindy smiled at her slyly. "It's a good thing for you too, honey. Did you ever stop to think how many youngin's you would have by now if it wasn't for my grandmammy's tea?"
Darcey laughed and agreed that there would be a bunch.
"Speakin' of youngin's, look who's comin' across the field," Cindy said, smiling fondly.
Darcey followed her pointing finger and saw the new addition to their family. Dorie was a beautiful and delicate child, and Darcey found her enchanting.
From the time Clara had brought the pitiful little thing to her, Darcey's mind had been taken over in the care of her.
Dorie had been unbelievably dirty. Everything, from her slight body to the rags that clothed it, was ground in grime. Her knees and feet were crusted, and Darcey wondered if she had ever been bathed.
After Clara had gone, Cindy filled the wooden tub with warm water and sprinkled some of Darcey's favorite bath salts in it. She had then stepped back and waited for Dorie to step in. But Dorie had stood staring at the water, her blue eyes full of fright.
"Come on, honey," Darcey coaxed. "Get out of your clothes and take your bath."
Dorie whispered fearfully, "I ain't never been in that much water afore, I might drown." Darcey and Cindy laughed, sadly amused.
Helping her out of the shift, the only garment on the girl, Darcey urged, "You won't drown, dear. Just step in and sit down slowly."
It had taken a lot of pleading and persuading before Dorie had gingerly stepped into the water and squatted down. But as the warm softness swirled around her, she had relaxed and grinned up at them.
She sat in the tub for over an hour, soaking and loosening the dirt. But finally her body was clean and glowing pink. Wrapping a towel around her, Darcey then washed her hair, lathering it three times before the natural color shone through. And what had appeared to be a brown-gray color, turned out to be a beautiful shade of dark blonde. Freed of its dirt, it fell into waves and loose curls.
When they burned her dirty clothes in the fireplace, Dorie's eyes filled with tears. "I can't run around naked," she sobbed.
But her tears dried, and her eyes sparkled when Darcey brought out a simple dress and some undergarments. Dorie had never worn underwear before, and she fingered and stroked the soft silk as it clung to her body. And when Cindy pulled the dress over her head, hiding it, Darcey smiled at the disappointment that flickered across the small face.
The dress did not fit her. It was too large in the bust and a trifle long. But it would do until Cindy could alter some for her.
Looking at her now, Darcey could see little resemblance between this bright-eyed young woman and the shy retiring youngster who had appeared at her door a short time ago.
She reached out an arm, lay it across her slim shoulders, and drew her close. "Where have you been, punkin'?"
"I wuz awalkin' with Jim a mite," she replied, encircling Darcey's waist.
Darcey grimaced at the bad English and the fact that she had been alone with Jim again. Jim had met Dorie shortly after her arrival and had been hanging around ever since.
She would have been surprised to learn that Mike had sent Jim over in the hopes that they would take to each other.
The first warning signal had come to Darcey the night of the barn raising. She had seen the pair disappear into the loft, where they had remained until the party was breaking up. She hadn't liked the sparkle in their eyes, nor the disarray of Dorie's clothing. She wondered now just how far she could trust Jim.
She didn't want to seem prudish, but she knew that their hot, young blood could carry them all the way. If Dorie should get in a family way, it wouldn't make her look very good as a guardian.
As Dorie and Cindy talked and laughed, as they usually did, Darcey pondered her problem of the young lovers. She decided finally that starting tonight, and every night, Dorie would drink a cup of the tea. She would tell her it was a tonic to build up her blood.
Darcey had been right in thinking that maybe the relationship between Dorie and Jim had ripened into a love affair.
As soon as Jim had seen Dorie, he had decided that she was the one for him. Almost immediately, he set out to train her to his liking. Mike had said one time, "Get yourself a young one and teach her what you like from the start. Being young, she won't know the difference and will do anything you tell her to."