JOE'S WIFE

by Cheryl St. John

  "Anything you want me to take care of before I go?"

  She took a calming breath. "No."

  "All right, then." His hand and corded forearm appeared in her vision, placing his empty mug on the drain board. His boot heels scraped the floor as he moved away. "Thanks for breakfast."

  The screen door banged shut. Major barked.

  Meg let the tears fall unheeded, wondering when she'd grown so weak.

  The men didn't say much during the noon meal and were seemingly glad to leave the house. By supper she'd pulled herself together and managed a decent meal and some light conversation.

  Tye left the house as soon as darkness fell.

  She sat with her rocker pulled before the fire and listened to the snap and hiss of the burning wood. Was this to be her life, then? A husband who worked hard and played harder? He'd promised he wouldn't shame her with a slattern; he hadn't promised not to visit the saloons.

  Again, he came to bed long after midnight, the night chill emanating from his body.

  "Where were you?" she asked into the darkness.

  He hesitated only a moment before replying, "The Pair-A-Dice."

  The scent of smoke and the yeasty smell of beer drifted to her. "Were you drinking?"

  "I had a couple."

  "Was that necessary?"

  "I thought it was."

  "Are you a drunk, Tye Hatcher?"

  "No, ma'am."

  She turned on her side away from him. She wouldn't chance him cozying up to her this night. She needed her rest.

  Saturday night he stayed out longer than usual but was up and ready for church without her asking. A new tension had developed between them, brought on by his nightly trips to town and her lack of knowledge over what to do or say to correct the situation.

  Once again, Meg endured stares and whispers and deliberate snubs as they attended the worship service and made their way out of the tiny church.

  Reverend Baker greeted them warmly. "I'm looking forward to dinner again," he said, shaking Tye's hand and smiling at Meg. Tye had invited him this time.

  "Why don't you ride out to the ranch with us," Tye offered. "I'll bring you home later this afternoon."

  "That sounds right nice," he said. "Won't have to rent a buggy that way."

  Tye led Meg down the church steps, his hand at the small of her back. He adjusted his hat on his head, the brim angled down over his eyes.

  Edwina, decked in a starched black dress and bonnet, stood with a gaggle of her friends in the shade of a young oak tree. Her adherence to her mourning garb shouldn't have made Meg feel uncomfortable for wearing her apricot ombre with the pleated bust and yoke that her mother had sent her last winter, but the way they stared, she felt as if she'd worn only her old red flannel petticoat.

  "I understand Tye Hatcher is spending his nights in the saloons," one of them said.

  Tye's fingers tensed at her waist.

  "Joe never sullied himself in those vulgar surroundings," another replied, deliberately loud enough for them to overhear. "Of course, Joe's parents brought him up right."

  Meg's steps faltered.

  Tye took her arm securely and led her to their wagon.

  She glanced up.

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. Concealing a grimace, he bent one knee and made a step of his fingers. His hat hid his face.

  Meg placed her hand on his shoulder and her sole in his palms and accepted his assistance onto the wagon. She was at a loss for what to say to him. He'd placed himself in this particular circumstance.

  "Tye—"

  "The reverend should be coming soon." He peered toward the church, squinting beneath the brim of his hat. "Most of the flock has waddled off."

  "Tye." She said it softly this time, almost a reprimand for his outrageous comment.

  "Here he comes."

  "I'll sit in the bed so he can ride up here with you." With a swish of skirts, she climbed over the back of the seat and settled herself in the wagon bed.

  Reverend Baker hauled himself up, and they were on their way.

  At the ranch, the men found something to do while she donned the only silk apron she still owned and ran a palm over it fondly. Her mother had always worn a silk apron over her good clothing on Sundays. Meg set the table with the linen and china and laid out the dinner she'd left cooking that morning.

  Gus and Purdy joined them, and Reverend Baker said grace. The minister took turns eating with nearly every family in Aspen Grove. If he hadn't heard gossip about her and Tye before now, he would soon enough. It would amaze Meg if the citizens condoned the man eating with them. Surely they would have something to say about that!

  Should she mention to Tye that she'd been hasty in insisting he attend services with her? He'd made it part of his weekly routine now, and she didn't want him to think she'd changed her mind or that she was ashamed of his company.

  She hadn't believed the people she'd known all her life could be so narrow-minded about her marriage. She'd seen their treatment of Tye, heard the talk, but she'd never figured they would turn against her. Why, she was one of them!

  At least she had been.

  He had warned her. And she'd chosen to give them the benefit of the doubt, chosen to believe they'd come around. Perhaps they just needed more time. It hadn't been long, after all. Then again, how could she expect the townspeople to approve of Tye, when even she had her doubts now? She was growing angry with him for betraying her trust by riding off to the saloon every night.

  "You're a fine cook, Meg," the reverend said, finishing his peach cobbler and reaching for his coffee cup with the scalloped edges. "Thank you."

  "Thank you for the compliment, Reverend. It was my pleasure."

  "Shall we retire for a little man talk?" he suggested, giving Tye a wink.

  Tye stood. "Excuse us."

  "Certainly." She watched them pluck their hats from the hooks beside the door and leave the house.

  "I'll do the dishes," Gus offered, flicking his hand at her as though she were a pesky fly.

  She glanced at her mother's china.

  "I'll be careful," he said. "Ain't broke nothin' yet, have I?"

  He hadn't. She changed into her day dress and Joe's knickerbockers and saddled a horse. She'd ride out and check on the cattle. A ride always made her feel better.

  Hunt and Aldo had gone to spend the afternoon with their folks, so she wouldn't run into them. She rode along the stream, cut south and spotted Tye's new fencing. It stretched for a good quarter mile as far as she could see. She couldn't fault his work. The posts looked solid, and he'd chosen straight, strong trees as poles.

  How he'd managed so much was beyond her.

  She'd made a good choice in asking him to marry her. Hadn't she?

  Meg rode on, locating grazing cattle, and finding pleasure with the growth and apparent health of the calves. She turned back in time to put together a light meal before milking.

  The old men joined her. "Your mister hasn't come back from returnin' the preacher to town," Gus said.

  Meg acknowledged the information with an irritated nod. Tye had an early start on the evening if he intended to spend it in a saloon. Were the saloons open on Sunday nights? The sound of the wagon approaching caught her attention, and Meg hated the sense of relief she experienced at Tye's early return. She figured it would take him a while to put the horses up, so his voice outside the back door surprised her.

  The screen door opened and she glanced up.

  She couldn't have been more astonished.

  With one arm, he held a tiny girl, her white-stockinged legs dangling against his holster. She wore a ruffled blue dress and a matching bonnet. Beneath the bonnet, dark hair escaped in ebony ringlets. Her violet eyes were huge and round and glistening with tears.

  Tye eased the door shut behind him with his free arm and stepped farther into the room, taking off his hat and snagging it on one of the hooks. The child had one hand on his shirtfront, and the closer he drew to Meg and the two
men, the tighter she gripped the white cotton in her fist.

  "This is the nice lady I told you about," Tye said, placing his hand over the child's on his chest, hers disappearing beneath it.

  Meg drew her stare from his huge hand to his face, then let it skitter to the girl.

  She stared at Meg, her lower lip trembling. She had pale ivory skin, almost translucent in its delicate beauty, and against its whiteness her lips were shiny and pink like spring berries. She was the most beautiful child Meg had ever seen.

  "Her name's Meg," he said, and for a minute she had forgotten he was talking to the child about her. "Meg, this is Eve."

  Eve. The child he'd promised to care for. Forever.

  She met Tye's gaze again, reading urgency and questioning desperation in their depths. Why had he brought her now? Why this night? Why without notice or forethought or…

  Had Lottie died?

  "Hello, Eve," Meg said gently. And then, remembering they had an audience, she turned. "This is Gus. And Purdy."

  "Hey, there, little missy," Gus said with a nod, and an unexpected smile split his grizzled face.

  Eve didn't say anything, but her expressive gaze moved from the two old men back to Meg, intuitively picking up on her discomfort. She ducked her head against Tye's shoulder, hiding her face.

  Meg was so startled by this unannounced arrival and the sight of the diminutive creature in Tye's embrace, her head barely held a coherent thought. She wanted to ask him a dozen questions, but the child was of an age to understand their conversation. "Are you hungry, Eve?"

  The child burrowed her face into Tye's neck. He carried her to one of the benches and sat, placing her beside him. She didn't release his shirt, and he kept his arm securely around her. "Can we take your hat off?" he asked.

  "It's a bonnet." Her voice, muffled against his shirt, seemed as tiny and delicate as she.

  "So it is," Tye said, and tugged the ribbons loose and removed it. The top of her hair had been caught up and fastened, and the rest cascaded across her shoulders in shiny, sausagelike curls.

  The five of them ate in silence, Eve eating only what Tye managed to slip between her lips. She chewed with her nose in his ribs, and Meg actually found some humor at the sight and grinned.

  "I have some cookies," she said, removing plates from the table. "I don't suppose anyone has any room left, though."

  "I do," Eve said, facing the table for the first time. Her hesitant gaze darted from Meg to Gus and Purdy and back. She actually sat up a little straighter.

  "I 'spect I have some room, too," Gus said.

  Meg set a plate of cookies on the table and placed a glass of milk in front of Eve.

  "Thank you, ma'am." Tye took a cookie from the plate and laid it on the table in front of the little girl. If she wanted it, she'd have to let go and pick it up.

  She turned forward, snatched up the cookie and took a bite, keeping her watchful attention on the adults around the table. Tye kept his arm behind her back for her to lean against, a security she seemed to crave and a gesture Meg wouldn't have expected him to know the child needed. She looked at him in a new light.

  Eve finished her cookie, drank half of the milk and leaned against Tye.

  Gus cleared the table, then he and Purdy headed for the barn.

  "Where's the dog?" Eve asked.

  Meg had been folding her apron and she paused only briefly, going on as if she hadn't heard.

  "He's outside somewhere," Tye replied.

  "Does he come in the house?"

  "He carries in wood for the stove, and Meg lets him stay in the kitchen."

  "Can I see him?"

  Meg met Tye's gaze. "I'll call him," she said. "He's probably chasing squirrels."

  She stepped out back and called Major's name a few times. She rang the bell next—that usually brought him running. Finally, he came loping across the darkening yard, leaves stuck to his fur.

  Meg knelt and pulled them off, then opened the screen door. "Here he is."

  Major wagged his tail, sniffed the air and approached Eve. Wide-eyed, she curled into Tye's side again. "He's too big!"

  "He's a big one, all right." Tye swiveled on the bench, pulling Eve onto his lap and placing a hand under Major's chin. "He wants to smell you. That's how he says hello."

  With her tiny hands drawn up under her chin, Eve warily watched the dog sniff her skirt and her stockings. "Hello, doggy," she said finally, her falsetto voice warbling.

  "His name's Major."

  "Watch," Meg said, coming around to sit a safe distance away on the same bench. She took a cookie from the plate and broke it in two, garnering the dog's undivided attention. "Sit, Major."

  The dog promptly plopped on his haunches, his enormous tail sweeping the floor behind him. His tongue lolled expectantly as he stared at the cookie Meg held.

  "Not yet," Meg said firmly, and reached to place the cookie on his snout. "Not yet," she repeated. The dog sat amazingly still, balancing the sweet on his nose. "Okay!" Meg said.

  With a flurry of his enormous jowls, Major ducked his head so that the cookie bounced from his nose, and he caught it in his mouth, swallowing it in one gulp.

  Eve let out a surprised giggle and brought her palms together in excitement.

  Major stared at Meg expectantly. "Good boy," she said, and fed him the other half of the cookie.

  Still laughing, Eve touched Tye's face with one flattened palm. "Did you see?"

  He grinned. "I saw."

  "Do it again, Meg, do it again!" she cried.

  Amid Eve's delighted giggles, Meg repeated the trick until Tye claimed, "We have to stop. Major will get sick from all those cookies." And then in an aside to Meg, he asked, "How long did it take to teach him that?"

  "Major is Joe's dog," she said softly. "Joe taught him."

  Something flashed behind his eyes. Tye looked at the dog as though he'd somehow spoiled the happy mood he'd hoped to create. "I'd better start the chores."

  "I'll do it. You two stay here." She got up.

  "Thank you," he said, and she knew it wasn't the milking he was referring to. It was for helping to put Eve at ease.

  "You're welcome," She hurried to the barn. Gus had already started the milking.

  "I put the horses up," he said.

  Meg had forgotten all about the team; Tye must have, too. "Thanks, Gus."

  "There's a bag and a trunk in the back o' the wagon."

  "I'll get the bag. Tye can get the trunk later. Can you get the pails?"

  He nodded and carried the milk to the house. Meg handled the bags, covered the pails and wished Gus good-night, thinking all the while about this latest development, feeling eager for the chance to speak with Tye.

  She couldn't get the picture of him with that little girl out of her head. Over and over, she remembered Eve's hand grazing his cheek, demanding his attention with a touch he could overcome with the flick of a wrist. But the child had won his immediate compliance by her mere helplessness. No. Because of it.

  Meg poured water over beans to soak for the next day's meal before blowing out the lantern in the kitchen and discovering Tye around the corner.

  He sat on the floor, Eve sleeping in his arms, her fingers once again gripping his shirtfront like a lifeline. Major sprawled beside them. Tye glanced up, a look of confusion on his face. "What do I do with her?"

  Meg looked her over. She was still fully clothed. "Is she staying?"

  He nodded.

  "Maybe there's a nightgown in the bag I carried in."

  "Sorry. I forgot about her things. And the horses—"

  "Gus took care of the team. You can get the trunk later. I guess we'd better get her out of those clothes and figure out where she's going to sleep."

  "How about the pallet I made in the attic? I can bring those blankets down. I'd suggest she sleep in the bed with you and I sleep out here, but…"

  Meg nodded. "But I don't think she likes me."

  "She will. It's just that everything
's strange to her, and she's scared."

  "Tye, did—"

  "We'll talk after we get her settled," he said, and leaned to place Eve on the braided rug. He straightened, flexing his leg, and reached for the rope to pull down the attic stairs. Working together, Tye and Meg made up a padded bed safely away from the fire he'd started earlier, and Tye gently placed Eve on the thick nest.

  Meg unbuttoned Eve's shoes and slipped them off, rolling her stockings off next. Tye went for the bag Meg had left in the kitchen and set it nearby.

  She worked the dress and petticoats from the sleeping child.

  Tye turned his back.

  She slanted a glance at his broad shoulders. "What are you doing?"

  "Giving her some privacy."

  "She's asleep, Tye. Besides, she's … she's … how old is she?"

  "Five and a half. Her birthday's behind Thanksgiving."

  Meg blinked at that one, but said, "Turn around here and help me."

  "No, I—"

  "Come on now, she's like a noodle."

  Reluctantly, he turned.

  "Why, you're embarrassed," she said with a grin.

  But he helped Meg stuff limp arms into sleeves. And in minutes they had Eve in a white cotton-and-eyelet nightgown and covered with a crisp sheet that smelled of outdoors. Major curled up beside her and eased down with a canine sigh.

  Meg exchanged a look with Tye.

  "Maybe the dog will keep her company. You know, a warm body if she gets restless," he suggested.

  She did know. She'd slept with the scruffy animal a few times herself during the long, lonely nights of Joe's absence. "He can stay."

  "I'm going out for a minute." Tye let himself out the front door.

  She moved into the bedroom to get her own clothing changed. Turning down the lamp and reaching for the window shade, she noticed the orange glow of Tye's cigarette at the edge of the yard. She pulled down the shade, dressed in her nightclothes and climbed into bed.

  He entered the room minutes later, closing the door purposefully. He removed his gun belt, rolled it around the revolver and stored it under the bed. Meg shut her eyes. She listened as he stripped off his clothing, piece by piece, emitting a stifled groan.

  She sat up. "I didn't take care of your leg."