Guide Me Home

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Tabitha bounded forward like an eager puppy. “I’m Tabitha. That there’s Trudy, an’ that one with her face in Mama’s skirt is Little Nellie. She’s the baby.” She crinkled her nose, looking Devlin up and down. “How come your britches—”

  Rebekah slung her arm around Tabitha’s shoulders and pulled her sister tight to her side. “Tabby, why don’t you and Trudy get back to the garden? See if you can get a whole row chopped and ready for seeds by the time we’re done talking.”

  “All right.” Tabitha grabbed Trudy by the hand and darted off. Little Nellie peeled herself away from Mama and toddled after them.

  Rebekah blew out an airy breath of relief and faced Mama. “Mr. Bale wants to meet the folks who live around the cave, but since he isn’t familiar with the back roads, he needs someone to take him. Would it be all right if I…escorted him?”

  Mama fiddled with her apron, turning the skirt into a wad and then flapping it. “Just you two?”

  Rebekah nodded.

  Mama slowly shook her head. “That ain’t wise, gal.” She jerked her gaze to Devlin. “No offense. Got nothin’ to do with you. We wouldn’t let Rebekah traipse off into the hills by herself with any fella, not even Cal Adwell, an’ we’ve known him his whole life. It ain’t…seemly.”

  Devlin locked his hands behind his back and gave a nod. “I understand.”

  Rebekah didn’t dare look at him. If she saw regret—or worse, indifference—she’d dissolve on the spot.

  Mama turned to Rebekah again. “But if he’s wantin’ to meet folks ’round here, take him to the field an’ let him meet your daddy. Della an’ Jessie’re there, too.”

  “Not Cissy?”

  “Cissy left just a bit ago, takin’ a basket o’ mushrooms to the cook at the estate. She’s gonna finish the housework when she gets back.” Mama began reversing slowly, still worrying the apron. “Nice to meetcha, young man.” She hurried to the garden.

  Rebekah pointed to the break in the trees between the outhouse and the chicken house. “The field’s this way. That is, if you still want to meet my daddy.” After the skittish way Mama acted—and why had she mentioned Cal Adwell?—she wouldn’t blame Devlin if he climbed up on Marey’s back and took off.

  “Of course I would.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely.” His smile warmed her more than the bright sun.

  She quirked her finger. “Follow me.”

  The path to the meadow that Great-Granddaddy had turned under to plant tobacco seventy-five years earlier had never seemed shorter. After Devlin and Daddy met, she’d have to send Devlin off by himself. So she took her time, pointing out wildflowers and a squirrel den and the creek that provided her family’s water supply. Not once did Devlin make fun or act bored, which made it even harder to think about cutting short her time with him.

  They moved from the woods to the open. On the far side of the field, Daddy followed their mule, plow in hand, carving furrows in the winter-packed earth. Della and Jessie trailed behind him, picking up rocks and tossing them on the growing pile near the trees. They all had their backs to the trail’s opening, so Rebekah waited until Daddy turned the mule in their direction before waving her hand over her head.

  Daddy hollered out, “Whoa there.” He draped the reins over the plow handle and trotted across the uneven ground toward Rebekah, his smile bright. Della and Jessie scampered behind him, calling, “Bek! Bek!”

  As hard as it had been to leave her family, these homecoming moments made it all worthwhile. She darted forward and met Daddy in a hug.

  “What you doin’ here, gal? Thought you worked on Saturdays.”

  “I do, generally, but Tolly told me I could take today for something special.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Taking one of the cave guests around to meet folks.” Rebekah caught Daddy’s hand and led him toward Devlin, who waited in the shade at the edge of the field. Jessie and Della came along. She gave Daddy the same introduction she’d given Mama and then watched her father shake hands with the college boy. Her heart pounded in hopeful beats. She wouldn’t explore why it was so important, but she wanted Daddy to like Devlin. And Devlin to like Daddy.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, sir.” Devlin used his customary polite speech, his blue-eyed gaze pinned on Daddy’s face. “You and your wife have a very neat, well-kept farm.”

  Daddy aimed a steady look at Devlin. “It was my daddy’s before me, an’ his daddy’s before him, so I guess you could say I take pride in it.”

  The girls pulled at Rebekah’s sleeve, and she ushered them forward. “Mr. Bale, these are my sisters Della and Jessie.”

  He nodded at them and said hello. Both girls giggled instead of replying. Daddy raised his eyebrows at them, and they ducked their heads and pinched their lips tight.

  Daddy folded his arms over his overall bib and set his boots wide. “So you’re makin’ the rounds to the hills folks, is that it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Devlin imitated Daddy’s stance.

  “What for?”

  The two men were the same height, but Daddy’s shoulders were broader, his arms thicker. Even more so as he puffed up like a grizzly bear. Daddy only acted bear-like when fellows came “sniffing,” as Mama put it, and it worked for keeping would-be suitors from taking advantage of any of his gals. Most boys cowered beneath Daddy’s glower, but Devlin didn’t appear intimidated. He seemed respectful but at ease, which pleased Rebekah.

  “Curiosity, I suppose—discovering how people make a living, what they do for entertainment. I grew up in the city. Country life intrigues me.”

  Daddy slid his hands into his pockets. “Reckon if I came to the city, I’d be curious about the same kinds o’ things. Who all’ve you met so far?”

  Rebekah stepped forward. “Just you and Mama. Tolly thought it would be better if Devlin had an escort with him—someone everybody knew—so folks wouldn’t take a shot at him when he came on their property. I know everybody, and I could introduce him around, but Tolly wanted me to get permission to escort Mr. Bale. So we came here first.”

  Daddy rubbed his chin with his fingers, staring at Rebekah.

  “Mama already said it isn’t a good idea for him and…and me to go up in the hills. All by ourselves.” Daddy’s unsmiling perusal was making her stomach tremble. What was he thinking? “So I brought him out to meet you.” She wished she could add, “Do you like him, Daddy? Huh, do you?”

  “Your mama’s right. Folks might get ideas if they seen you an’ him goin’ from place to place together.” Daddy brushed his knuckles along her cheek, his familiar means of softening a denial. This time it didn’t help at all. “But I s’pose it wouldn’t be indecent if you had somebody else with you, too. A…what’s it called? Somebody who sticks close to a young couple an’ makes sure everybody behaves.”

  “A chaperone?” Devlin suggested.

  “Yep, that’s it.” He grinned at Rebekah. “Maybe…one o’ your blabbety little sisters.”

  She swallowed a happy chortle. Daddy approved of Devlin or he wouldn’t have made such a suggestion. “Can you spare one of the girls?”

  “Won’t take no helpin’ hands away from your mama. But I don’t need both gals pickin’ up rocks behind me. Della or Jessie could go.” He swung his narrow-eyed gaze on Devlin. “ ’Course, if you got some opposition to havin’ one of ’em taggin’ along, you can always just go on by yourself.”

  Cissy

  Cissy left the kitchen with an empty basket on her arm, forty-five cents tied up in a handkerchief in her pocket, and a nickel pilfered from the mushroom money in her shoe. How much did Daddy have in the money tin now? Bek had brought home one half month’s pay, and tomorrow she’d have more. Was the amount getting high enough that Daddy might not notice if she sneaked a dollar or two out?

  Her stomach went all trembly as she thought about taking money that didn’t belong to her. The preacher gave some thundering sermons about stealing. But how else would she get en
ough? The piddly amount she got from selling mushrooms wouldn’t get her far. Only one more week and school would let out. Then she’d be stuck working with Daddy in the field or with Mama in the garden. Every day, all day, getting sweaty and bug bit and rashy from weeds. If only she could catch a train right now and go far, far away.

  She took her time leaving the hotel grounds, stopping to watch some boys use what looked like butterfly nets to toss a ball back and forth. It seemed a silly game, but by their hoots of laughter they were having fun. Neither of them paid her any mind, though, so she moved on.

  More shouts and laughter and a donkey’s bray carried from behind the barn. Curious about what kind of game would include a donkey, Cissy hurried in that direction. She rounded the corner to the small enclosed corral, and she gasped in indignation. Three boys who looked to be around Jessie’s age had climbed up on the fence and were jabbing a little burro with sticks. The animal darted in circles in the small space, braying and bucking, but a rope strung from its neck to a post kept it from escaping. Their taunts and laughter pierced Cissy.

  She tossed the basket aside and charged over, fury roaring through her. She grabbed the first boy by the tail of his jacket and yanked so hard he lost his footing and fell onto his backside.

  He shouted, “Hey!” The other two boys jerked their heads toward Cissy. One of them jumped down, and the other shifted to sit on the top rail and gawk at her.

  More angry than she could remember ever being, she grabbed the stick from the boy on the ground and held it like a sword. The burro continued its complaint, forcing her to holler to be heard over its frantic cries. “You think it’s funny to get poked at? How ’bout I poke you an’ see how you like it, huh?” She jabbed the end of the stick at the boy at her feet, and he rolled away, then came up spluttering near the fence, his jacket and pants coated with bits of grass.

  Cissy aimed the stick at the other two, giving the air a sharp jab for every shrill word leaving her throat. “What’s the matter with you, pickin’ on a poor beast that can’t defend itself? A bunch o’ bullies, that’s what you are. Somebody oughta teach you a lesson.”

  The middle of the boys aimed his stick in Cissy’s direction and sneered. “And I suppose you believe you’re the one to do it, hmm? Well, I’m game. See if you can best me, you crazy girl.”

  Cissy growled low in her throat and bent her knees slightly, her body tense. “I’ll best you, you—”

  “What in tarnation is going on here?” A male voice exploded from behind Cissy.

  The boys took off running, tossing their sticks aside as they went.

  Cissy dropped her stick, too. She dashed forward, slipped between rails into the corral, and curled her arms around the burro’s neck. “There now, you’re all right. They’re gone. Ain’t gonna hurt you no more, I promise.” The animal rolled its eyes, stamped its feet, and shifted nervously. But she kept stroking its neck and ears, speaking low and soft, and eventually it calmed, trembling only a bit within her hold. She smiled, triumphant. “See there? You’re just fine.”

  “But you’re in a peck of trouble, young lady.”

  Cissy whirled toward a tall man who leaned his elbows on the fence. The upper half of his face was shaded by the brim of his bowler hat, so she couldn’t see his eyes, but his mouth was set in a frown beneath a thick gray mustache.

  She frowned back at him. “I don’t know what for. I didn’t do nothin’. Them boys was tormentin’ this beast, pokin’ at him with sticks.” She rubbed the burro’s velvety nose, trying not to smile when it snuffled against her palm. “Nobody else was around to chase ’em off, so I did it.”

  The man’s mustache twitched. He looked her up and down. “You’re not a guest at the hotel, are you?”

  Her face went hot. From his tone, he already knew the answer, and he thought the less of her for it. “No, I ain’t.”

  “What are you doing on the hotel grounds?”

  “Deliverin’ mushrooms.”

  “Excuse me?”

  The burro tried to stick its nose in Cissy’s apron pocket. She giggled and shifted aside, curling her hands beneath its fuzzy chin and pulling upward. “Here now, stop that.” Scratching the animal’s lumpy jaw with both hands, she gave the man a sidelong look. “My family grows mushrooms, an’ Mr. Cooper—that’s the cook—”

  He snorted. “I know who Mr. Cooper is.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You gonna let me talk or not? Mr. Cooper buys ’em. I had just finished deliverin’ mushrooms when I heard a ruckus over here an’ came to see what it was. That’s when I spotted them boys bein’ mean to this poor critter.” She got mad all over again thinking about it. She wrapped her arms around the burro’s neck and rubbed her cheek against its prickly hide. The animal smelled awful, but she didn’t care. No creature deserved to be mistreated, no matter how smelly or unattractive it was.

  “Come on out of there, young lady.”

  Cissy gave the burro a kiss between its eyes and then climbed out the same way she’d gone in. She stood before the gentleman, squinting against the sun and scowling. “You can ask Mr. Cooper. He’ll tell you Cissy brings him mushrooms.”

  “So your name is Cissy?”

  “That’s right. Cissy Hardin.”

  He pushed his jacket lapels aside, giving her a good look at his striped vest. He slid his hands into his trouser pockets and drew in a breath that made his vest fill out. “Do you live around here, Cissy Hardin?”

  “ ’Bout a mile west o’ here.”

  “With whom?”

  Why’d he care? “My folks an’ my sisters.”

  “You have a way with animals.”

  She shrugged. “Always’ve had critters on our place. Pigs, goats, chickens, a mule…” Her throat went tight. “An’ we don’t treat any of ’em bad. My daddy says God entrusted the animals to our care an’ it’s our beholden duty to see to them properly. That burro there?” She pointed at the animal with its drooping head and sloped back and ratty tail. “Whoever owns him oughta be ashamed.”

  “Why?”

  She gawked at the man. “Ain’t you got eyes, mister? He needs brushin’ an’ a good wash. He’s all tied up, so he can hardly move. The sun’s beatin’ down on him, an’ he don’t have water close by to drink.” She huffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Those boys were plumb cruel to be pickin’ at him like they did, but whoever owns him’s just as bad, leavin’ him stuck where he can’t drink or even lie down.”

  Very slowly the man pulled his right hand free and placed it over his chest. “Miss Hardin, my name is Judson Temperance, and I’m the, er, proud owner of that sorry-looking beast.”

  Cissy wished the ground would open up and swallow her. “Oh.”

  He popped his hat off and held it against his thigh. Now that she could see his whole face, she noticed his eyes were almost as gray as his mustache. And they were twinkling. So he wasn’t mad. The realization restored her courage. And her indignation.

  She tipped up her chin and met his gaze. “If you’re gonna own a burro, Mr. Temperance, you oughta take better care of it.” She marched over to her basket and scooped it up. “So see that you do.” She started for the road.

  “Wait a moment, Miss Hardin.”

  She stopped and glared at him over her shoulder. “What?”

  He laughed. “I believe you’re even more prickly than the burro.”

  She wasn’t sure how to respond to a comment like that. So she stayed in place with her lips clamped tight and waited for him to amble up beside her.

  He fanned himself with his hat. “Miss Hardin, I purchased the burro from a farmer near Bowling Green two weeks ago and brought him here to be used as a prop for photographs.”

  Cissy squinted. “Photographs?”

  “Yes.” He touched her shoulder and guided her to the shade of a large cottonwood. “I’ve been hired to take souvenir images of guests for the hotel over the spring and summer seasons. I thought it would be clever to include a burro, allow the
guests to sit on its back or hold its reins for a photograph.” He grimaced. “Unfortunately, the animal is most disagreeable. Yesterday it bit two guests and bounced around so exuberantly that another guest fell off its back before I could take the picture.”

  Cissy covered her mouth with her fingers, but her giggle sneaked out.

  He scowled at her. “It’s hardly amusing. Someone could have been hurt.”

  “Maybe he don’t want to have his picture taken. Burros have feelin’s, too.”

  “It’s not his choice.” Mr. Temperance frowned at the animal. “I canceled all of today’s scheduled photographs to give him time to adjust to his new surroundings. But if he doesn’t settle down and start behaving himself, I intend to sell him to a glue factory and purchase something more docile.”

  She gasped. “You can’t sell him to a glue factory!”

  “I certainly can, and I will. Unless…” He turned a sly smile on Cissy. “He seemed very well behaved for you. Would you come to the estate tomorrow afternoon? I’d like you to serve as the donkey’s trainer, so to speak, and convince him to pose for the photographs. If he cooperates, then I won’t need to replace him.”

  She scratched her cheek. Her hand smelled like the burro. He really needed a bath. “You’re wantin’ me to make him stand still while somebody’s sittin’ on his back?”

  “Long enough for me to take the photograph, that’s right. Are you interested?”

  She squinted up at him. “Is this a payin’ job?”

  “Only if you’re successful in controlling him.”

  Then it’d be a paying job. She swung the basket, plans whirling in her mind. “The thing is, Mr. Temperance, I go to church with my folks on Sunday, an’ I’ll prob’ly be wearin’ my best dress when I come over here. I can’t be standin’ next to a smelly burro in my best dress. So before I can say yes, I gotta know if you plan to clean him up some before tomorrow.”

  The man’s lips twitched. “I can arrange for him to receive a thorough scrubbing.”

  “An’ brushin’? He’s got burrs in his tail an’ his mane. He’ll be a good bit happier if all them’re combed out, an’ I won’t hafta worry about gettin’ stuck, either.”