Willow Springs

by Jan Watson

  Copper tried a bite and suppressed a shudder.

  “Anchovy,” Hester said behind her napkin. “Just push it around on your plate if you don’t like it.”

  At the other end of the table, Alice surveyed the room with a critical eye. A large circular arrangement of yellow jonquils, purple and white Catawba grapes, and Japanese honeysuckle commanded attention in the middle of the table. Candles in many-armed candelabra flanked the centerpiece and cast a flattering glow on the faces of her guests. The monogrammed silver was old and heavy, the linen aged to a creamy white. The half-dozen serving maids were dressed in stiff black dresses, starched white caps, and frilly white aprons. Every detail of the dinner spoke of old money and privilege.

  One course followed another. First an anchovy relish, then raw oysters, followed by a palate-cleansing tomato bisque, before cucumbers, dressed exactly as she had requested—the French way with oil, salt, and pepper in vinegar. The main course was a joint of beef with fresh asparagus, peas, and corn.

  Alice was known for her social decorum. She settled her sleeve over her wrist and forked a bit of beef into her crimped mouth. She watched with some surprise as her brother’s wife acted as if she’d eaten at the queen’s table all her life, watched as Simon’s little ninny of a wife fawned over Benton, who sat there, his bald head shining, his bulbous nose reflecting the veins of excess, as he soaked it up. The old fool.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad; at least someone had taught her a few table manners. She didn’t eat everything with a spoon. If they could just get through the meal without any major faux pas, perhaps Alice could relax a little.

  Copper was enjoying the meal as much as her constricting clothing would allow. She leaned closer to Benton, who regaled her with tales of big-game hunting in exotic locales like India and Africa.

  “My goodness,” she replied to his story of the elephant he had shot when it stormed his tent, killing his safari guide. “The wildest thing I ever killed was a bobcat, and that was with a sling. My little brother Willy talked about David and Goliath for weeks afterward.” She touched a monogrammed napkin to the corner of her mouth. “Mostly I hunt rabbit and squirrel. Do you like squirrel, Mr. Upchurch? Mam fries up the best you ever ate.”

  Suddenly every eye was on Alice, who was gasping and clutching her neck. Simon’s chair crashed against the floor as he leaped up and pounded her back. One dreadful sound—arrgh— escaped her throat before a chunk of beef plopped onto her plate. Tears streamed from her eyes.

  “She’s all right,” Simon said.

  Margaret Lauderback escorted Alice from the room.

  In a flurry of movement the serving girls cleared the table. With just a nod from Joseph, they placed a finger bowl, floating a single rose petal, in front of each diner.

  Copper dipped her fingers and dried them on her napkin. Quick as a flash the finger bowl was replaced by dessert: a fruit ice and fresh strawberries.

  Conversation flowed. Hester was engaged in discourse with a handsome young man. Simon listened intently to an elderly woman. Benton described another account of his hunting prowess. A couple to his left laughed at his jokes.

  Copper took the opportunity to slip away. Hoping to check on Alice, she followed the sound of voices down the hall to the parlor. The door was ajar, and as she put out her hand to push it open, she heard Alice speak.

  “Heavens above, Margaret, how can I bear this? I am just mortified.” Copper heard Alice wheeze and the soft sound of Margaret patting her back. “How could Simon do this to me when he had every debutante in Lexington, not to mention your beautiful Hester, at his beck and call? We’ll be on every wagging tongue in Lexington.”

  “Now, now,” Margaret soothed. “Here, take a sip of water, and let’s tuck your hair back up. She’s quite lovely, and Simon seems very happy.”

  “Margaret—” Alice coughed a few times—“she eats rodents!” She cleared her throat. “You know the story about her family. . . .”

  “Oh, Alice, that was such a long time ago. I’m sure people have forgotten or don’t connect Simon’s wife to those Taylors. She’s never lived in Lexington, after all.”

  “I hope you’re right, but those kinds of things taint the blood. Mark my words; no good will come of Simon’s bringing her here.”

  The last thing Copper heard as she eased herself away from the door was Margaret’s low voice. “I wonder who her dressmaker is.”

  After dinner, Benton insisted on showing Copper his collection of mounted heads. He had hunted on nearly every continent, and the darkly paneled walls of the billiards room bore witness to his expertise. Black and brown bears, a lion, an elephant, and an ugly thing that reminded her of the hogs that ran wild on the mountain behind the cabin stared at them with lifelike eyes.

  “Wild boar. Those tusks can gut a man.” Benton held her elbow captive as he steered her under a whole stuffed tiger and started another story.

  Copper’s mind wandered back to the unclosed door. She was at a loss to understand why Alice didn’t like her. Questions swirled through her mind like tea leaves stirred from the bottom of a cup. And what was that about her family? Had she really stolen Simon away from another? Had Hester been his intended? What would Mam say?

  She looked up at the great striped beast. Its huge mouth frozen midsnarl, its polished fangs as sharp as razors. “Don’t be so quick to take offense.” Mam’s voice from the tiger’s mouth. “If you hadn’t been eavesdropping, you wouldn’t have heard words not meant for your ears.”

  Copper glanced over her shoulder as Benton escorted her from the room, still gripping her elbow. Mam was surely right. Given time, Alice would come to love her. If not, there was room on those polished walls, right between the laughing hyena and the shy antelope, for her sister-in-law to hang a head of her own choosing.

  It seemed to Copper that she met more people that evening than she’d known the whole of her life on Troublesome Creek. Finally, after the last guest departed, Alice, Benton, Simon, and Copper stood outside saying good-bye. Simon pecked his sister’s cheek, thanked her for the lovely evening, and went to fetch the buggy.

  Impulsively, Copper hugged Alice. “Please come to our house for Saturday night supper.”

  “You don’t extend dinner invitations on porch steps,” Alice sniffed.

  “Nonetheless, we’ll be there,” Benton interrupted. “Won’t we, dear?”

  A quiver of pain crossed Alice’s face as Copper watched her twist her elbow from his grip. Her sister-in-law’s voice was as cold as a mountain stream when she said, “Whatever you wish, Benton.”

  The carriage arrived, and Copper nearly flew down the steps to Simon. We’ll start over, she thought as she settled onto the seat. Alice was just overwhelmed with everything. We’ll soon be as close as sisters. She yawned and snuggled under Simon’s arm.

  “Did you have a good time?” he asked.

  “Mostly. Everything was wonderful, but Benton’s quite boring, and I don’t like anchovies. I hid mine under a lettuce leaf.”

  Simon laughed. “At least you didn’t put them in the table drawer. That’s what I used to do every time Alice insisted I eat peas. It worked until the day she watched Searcy wax the dining room furniture. When she pulled out that drawer, I thought my world would come to an end.”

  “I don’t understand, Simon. Sounds like Alice is your mother.”

  “Alice and I are very close. . . .” He paused and traced his mustache. “My mother was so frail I hardly knew her except for supervised visits to her bedside. I owe a great debt to my sister.” A frown furrowed his brow.

  “What did you do tonight?” she teased, playful. “Did you put the peas in your pants pocket? If so, I shall make you eat every one.”

  “For you, I would eat a boxcarful.” He nuzzled her neck. “You were by far the most beautiful woman at the party.”

  “Simon! Reuben will see.”

  He pulled her closer. “There’s nothing wrong with a man kissing his own wife.”


  “All the same—” Copper pushed him away—“we’re in a public place.”

  “Later then, sweetheart. Your yawning is contagious; now I am sleepy too.”

  Jarring sounds sailed up the staircase and woke Copper from a deep sleep. Crash, then thump, thump, thump.

  “What in the world?” Simon jumped from the bed, grabbed his glasses, and threw on his robe.

  Yawning, Copper followed as he dashed down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Searcy was yelling and flailing away with a broom.

  “Get out of Searcy’s kitchen!” she screamed as she swept a hapless chipmunk toward the propped-open door.

  As fast as a greased pig, the fat-cheeked pest slid off the broom and darted behind his box under the pie safe.

  “This vermin’s set up housekeeping,” Searcy huffed, breathing heavily. “He done made hisself a bed.”

  Simon took the broom and poked under the cupboard.

  The chipmunk dodged it, crumbs of corn bread spilling from his mouth.

  “For goodness’ sake.” Copper shook her head and glared at Simon. “You’ll scare him to death.” She knelt on the floor, plucked up the trembling creature, and carried him outside. They all watched him tunnel through the dew-soaked grass, making a beeline for the garden.

  “Watch out for Old Tom,” Copper called. “You might not be so lucky next time.”

  Simon smoothed his hair with the flat of his hand. “Laura Grace, you can’t be handling strays. That mangy old cat has already scratched you. I’ve a good mind to have Reuben shoot it.”

  “Simon Corbett, I can’t believe you would think of such a thing! Tom was only hungry, and the chipmunk was hurt; that’s why I brought him in.” She dismissed his concern with a toss of her head. “Such a fuss over nothing.”

  Simon’s temper flared. He looked at her standing there in her nightgown, her hands on her hips, sassing him in front of the housekeeper. She hadn’t even dressed her hair, and it flared in wild disarray. He had to stop himself from pulling her back into the kitchen, sitting her down, and having a word with her. She wasn’t on Troublesome Creek anymore; there was such a thing as decorum.

  Instead he took the mug of coffee Searcy handed him. “No breakfast for me,” he flung over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs. “I’m late.”

  Miz Corbett sat at the kitchen table. Tears trickled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Searcy. I always seem to do the wrong thing.”

  Searcy was at a loss. She had never had a white woman share a confidence with her. Oh, she’d heard plenty. Most acted like she was stone deaf unless they wanted something fetched or washed. Now here sat this little girl-woman talking to Searcy like they were the same kind of people. Her heart wanted to hug Miz Corbett, pat her back, tell her everything would be all right, but her brain told her to mind her own business. She settled on offering her a cup of tea and a clean hankie.

  Copper mopped her tears. Simon slammed the front door. A punctuation mark for the argument they hadn’t even had. She sighed and stood up. “I’ll go get dressed; then I can help you.”

  “Oh no, Miz Corbett, you find something light to do. Maybe some needlework or some reading. When Miz Alice lived here, she had her nose in a book all the time.”

  “I’ll soon cease to be a guest, and you will have to find me some work to do,” Copper replied. “I can’t bear being idle. Besides, it’s not fair to put all the work off on you, Searcy.”

  “Ain’t no hardship. Searcy been taking care of this house most all her life.”

  Back in her bedroom, Copper chose a muslin day dress with pink satin-ribbon trim and a matching sash. The white dress was covered with tiny pink dots. She studied herself in the mirror. Looks like I have the German measles. Maybe I should change.

  She picked up her Troublesome Creek pebble and squeezed it so tight that it left a perfect impression on her palm. Finding her trunk, she took out the rest of her treasures: a flat, gritty piece of sandstone; a tumbled-smooth creek rock; a jagged edge of shale; and her prize—a lump of shiny black coal. She arranged them on the windowsill, where a little zephyr blew and puffed out the curtains. Kneeling on the floor with her nose to the sill, she let the warm wind blow the scent of the mountains around her. Her heart ached with longing as she prayed her morning prayers.

  Finally comforted, she went downstairs and into the library. Early morning sunlight, filtered through lace curtains, streamed across the table that sat precisely in the middle of the room. Mahogany barrister bookcases with glass fronts filled one wall and held important-looking books bound with burgundy- and camel-colored leather.

  Over the fireplace hung oval portraits of Simon’s mother and father, Old Doctor and Miss Lilly. Copper saw a strong resemblance between Simon and his father: the same clear, direct gaze; long, straight nose; full bottom lip; and dark, wavy hair. Instead of a mustache, however, Old Doctor sported a clipped Vandyke beard. She saw nothing of her husband or Alice in Miss Lilly. The painting revealed a slip of a woman with a narrow face and wispy gray hair.

  “I think I would have liked you,” Copper said to the lady on the wall. “Perhaps you would have liked me too.”

  What am I to do with myself? Wandering about the room, she picked up the morning edition of the Lexington newspaper and settled into an overstuffed chair. She kicked off her black patent leather pumps and rested her feet on the chair’s matching ottoman.

  I never heard of such mayhem, she mused. The city seemed full of wanton destructiveness. A whole column was devoted to the arrest record of people, mostly men, for robberies, public drunkenness, petty thefts, and such.

  Poor Henry Thomas would be in jail all the time if he lived here. She wouldn’t mind seeing Henry, her longtime friend, even though he was a chicken thief. She shook her head to remember how people said he’d stolen from Brother Isaac’s henhouse to make the money to buy her pie at a pie supper. Then just before Henry had plunked down his quarters, Simon had parted the crowd and claimed her pie. Claimed her, too, truth be told.

  Hmm, strange how things turn out. If that copperhead hadn’t bitten Daniel, I’d never have met Simon. Funny, his visiting his elderly relative at just the time my little brother decided to play snake handler.

  Copper closed her eyes for a moment only to drift off to sleep. A dream carried her home to the dear place she’d never thought to leave. Her bare feet caressed the log porch floor, rubbed smooth from years of wear. Her ears picked up the rush of water over rock; the creek was up. It must have rained. And, oh, there sat Daddy in his rocker. Smoke from his pipe of sweet-smelling tobacco tickled her nose.

  Her heart soared. “Daddy,” she said in her dream, “I’m back. I never should have left.”

  But he didn’t answer, just tamped his pipe and walked into the cabin as if she were invisible.

  Her head drooped to her shoulder and she startled awake, not sure where she was for a moment. Wiping drool from the corner of her mouth, she glanced about, glad to see there was no witness to her laziness. She folded the paper and put it back on the library table. Hands overhead, she stretched backward until she felt the release of tension in her neck and lower back. She drifted around the house, idly filling time before boredom drove her back to the library with its treasure trove of mystery.

  The library was where Simon found Laura Grace midday when he returned for dinner. She lay on her belly on the Venetian red carpet, elbows bent, her hands supporting her chin, engrossed in one of his hefty medical tomes. Her legs, clad in white stockings, were revealed to the knee as she swung her crossed ankles slowly back and forth while she read. He could have stood there all day, quietly observing her, taking her in. He cleared his throat and stepped into the room.

  Her welcoming smile dazzled him. “Oh, Simon, I’m glad you’re home. Are you hungry? My stomach is growling.”

  He sat down in the chair that faced her. She sat up, holding the heavy book open in her lap. Her sunny greeting surprised him. After their spat, he’d been prepared for days of silence. Le
aning forward, he cupped her jaw, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry I was short with you this morning, sweetheart.”

  “I’m sorry too.” She looked up at him. “I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

  He pulled her to his lap. The book fell to the floor; he reached around her and closed it. “You don’t need to fill your mind with this, Laura Grace.”

  “But it has wonderful color plates of the human body!” she exclaimed. “Did you know there is a tube that runs from your throat to your . . . well, never mind. . . . But it has to do with digestion, and it pushes food along with little waves called . . . peri . . . something or other. Makes me think of a slithering snake.”

  “Peristalsis,” he said, pulling on his mustache. “Your analogy was good; peristalsis does somewhat mimic the movement of a snake. I may crib that for my next lecture.”

  They stood, and Simon put the volume back in its proper place, thankful she was reading about digestion and not procreation, else they might never consummate their union. Not that they were making any progress in that department anyway. She was so much just a girl still—except in looks, of course. Her verdant beauty threatened to be his undoing.

  “I’ll stop by Hester’s and ask her to bring you some appropriate reading material.”

  Laura Grace took his hand and pulled him along to the dining room. Her good nature filled the space around them, sweet as clover honey, a balm to the ache in his heart, a soreness he hadn’t known was there until he met her.

  His mind took him back to that humble cabin on Troublesome Creek and to the hardworking family he had met there. The boy had been his main interest when he’d stepped onto the rough-hewn porch that muggy evening last summer. Daniel lay on his father’s lap, nearly comatose from the snake’s venom coursing through his young body. Daniel’s twin, Willy, showed such concern for his brother. Grace, the mother, puzzled Simon before he learned her story. He’d never expected to find a scholarly, cultured woman in the hollows of eastern Kentucky, but she was there, and because of her Laura Grace was educated, albeit unsophisticated. And because of her father, that bear of a man, she was too self-reliant, much too rash.