“And just what would I do with my skill set?” he asked Tinker.
The dog ran to the door and whined.
“Okay, okay, we’ll go for a walk, but only up to the old tree this time,” Sloan said. “You were so worn out after we went all the way to the Banty House that I was afraid I’d find you dead the next morning.”
Tinker wagged his tail and shot out the door the second Sloan opened it. The night air was warm, so Sloan left his jacket behind, but he carried the bottle of water with him. The dog was content to walk along beside him and didn’t even chase a cottontail rabbit that ran across the road in front of them.
“Killing that snake took all your energy, didn’t it?” Sloan asked him.
Tinker looked up at him and barked, but Sloan didn’t know if he was saying yes or no. Sloan had been home for only a few weeks when his granny died, and so Tinker had been his only companion for the next months. Then Kate Carson had come to his house, given him a good talking to, and then asked him to work for them a day a week. She’d mentioned that she’d walked down to the cemetery that morning to check on her mother’s grave and found it all grown in. When she left, Sloan had scaled the fence separating his house from the graveyard and was appalled at the condition it was in. His parents’ and his grandparents’ graves had sunk in and needed more dirt and some grass planted on them. Weeds covered the whole pitiful-looking place. That day had been a Monday, too, and he’d vowed that once a week he’d see to it that the cemetery was put to rights.
Tinker plopped down on his tummy at the edge of the old log. A turtle was slowly making its way across the road, and he kept an eye on it, but he didn’t even give it so much as a growl.
Dark clouds drifted back and forth across the sun that evening. When the wind picked up, Sloan could smell a storm brewing off to the southwest. Maybe that’s what had made him and Tinker both so restless. He opened his bottle of water and downed half of it, then held it down and let a slow stream flow out so that Tinker could have a drink.
“Hello again,” Ginger said as she walked up and sat down on the other end of the log. “Do you think we’re in for some bad weather?”
“Kinda looks that way,” Sloan answered. “You take a walk every evening?”
“I didn’t until I got here,” she answered. “I was on my feet all day, running back and forth between the kitchen and the customers at the café where I worked. I was usually so tired when I climbed the steps up to my apartment that I only had enough energy to grab a quick shower and go to bed.”
“What did the baby’s daddy do?” Sloan asked.
“Not much, other than try to scam folks out of their money, sell drugs, and make my life miserable. I was a fool to ever move in with him,” she replied.
“So y’all separated?” Sloan was prying, but he wanted to know more.
“No. He got killed, and his folks came and got his body to take home with them to bury, or maybe they cremated him. His mama was one of those hoity-toity women who looked down her nose at me. Her hair was all done up fancy, and the suit she wore probably cost more than I made in six months as a waitress,” she said.
“I’m so sorry.” Sloan knew what it was to lose friends and still grieved for those he’d lost in Kuwait. A wave of guilt washed over Sloan as he remembered all the friends he’d lost.
She shrugged. “I hate to say it, since he’s the baby’s daddy, but it was more of a relief than a grievin’ burden. That was months ago, and I didn’t even know I was pregnant at the time.”
Some of the heavy chains surrounding Sloan’s heart felt as if they’d been loosened. “Did you go to the funeral? I’m sorry if I’m prying into your business—you don’t have to answer that.”
“Don’t mind answering at all,” she said. “Matter of fact, since I got here, I’ve talked more about Lucas than I have since he was killed. It’s helped to make me see that I don’t have to feel guilty about the way I feel. He was a charmer who talked me into moving in with him and then treated me like crap. I was glad when his parents came to the apartment and told me I wouldn’t be welcome at his funeral. I didn’t have the money to travel from Lexington all the way to the western part of the state anyway.”
“You’re a good person, Ginger,” Sloan said. “You deserve better than that kind of treatment. Are you going to tell them about their grandchild?”
“Nope,” she said. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I figure it’s best just to keep that to myself.”
“What’re you going to tell the baby when it’s old enough to ask?” Sloan handed the water bottle to her. “Tinker and I both had a drink, but it didn’t touch Tinker’s mouth, only mine.” He thought about all the times his grandmother told him stories about his own father. She’d stepped up and been a wonderful mother, but she never let him forget that he’d had parents who loved and adored him.
She twisted the lid off and finished what was left. “When my baby asks about his or her father, I’m going to tell them the truth, that he’s been dead for a long time. What about you, Sloan? Did you always live with your granny?”
“My mama and daddy were big-rig truck drivers. They started that job when I was about two years old, and they’d leave me with Granny when they went on long hauls. We lived in a house in Hondo, but I stayed with her a lot. They were killed out in New Mexico when a gunman walked into a café and started firing a rifle. I was seven at the time, and I went to stay with Granny permanently,” he answered.
A flash of lightning streaked through the sky, followed by a loud clap of thunder that seemed to be right above Sloan’s and Ginger’s heads. Tinker got up and started toward home in a trot.
“Guess that’s our cue to get going toward home, too,” Sloan said.
“I’d say so,” Ginger agreed as she got to her feet.
“Want me to walk you home?” he asked.
“No. We’d better just go our separate ways, or we might get stuck at one place or the other when the rain starts,” she said. “Besides, I won’t melt.”
“See you later, then.” He stood up and waved.
“Maybe tomorrow night if the weather lets up,” she yelled over her shoulder.
Sloan made it home moments before the first big drops of rain fell from the dark clouds. He went straight for the old wall phone in the kitchen and called the Banty House. Kate answered on the second ring and assured him that Ginger had gotten back to the house just fine.
He hung up the phone and slumped down on the sofa beside Tinker. The dog was already snoring, so evidently he was content to stay in the house now. Sloan leaned his head against the back of the sofa and thought about what Ginger had told him. They’d both been orphaned. The only difference was that he’d had a loving grandmother who was willing to raise him, and evidently Ginger hadn’t had anyone to take care of her.
He didn’t pity her. He applauded her for taking charge of her own life.
“I guess it’s way past time for me to crawl up out of my own pity pool and do the same, ain’t it?” he asked Tinker.
The dog barely opened one eye and thumped his tail once.
“You’d never pass the exam to be a full-fledged therapist.” He scratched the dog’s ears. “But I’m glad you’re here to listen to me. There’s just something about having someone trust me again, even with a little of her life’s story, that sure feels good.”
Tinker looked up at him and barked.
“Okay, okay. Yes, I know the Carson sisters trust me, and the folks trust me with the cemetery, and people around town trust me to do a good job when they hire me to do odd jobs, but this is different.”
Tinker wagged his tail and licked Sloan’s hand.
“I’m glad you can’t talk and ask me why, because I couldn’t answer that question.”
Chapter Eight
Kate was in the basement working on a recipe for blackberry shine when someone knocked on the door at the top of the stairs. “Come on down,” she called out.
She knew who it was th
e minute she heard combat boots on the old wooden steps. Someday, she kept telling herself, she was going to ask Sloan to replace the stairs and maybe paint them white, so as she got old they’d be easier for her to see.
“I’m glad you’re here.” She didn’t even look up from her notebook. “That rain last night blew down all kinds of limbs. Reckon you could work a few hours?”
“Not today, but I’ll sure get them on Friday,” Sloan said when he reached the bottom of the stairs. “I’m on my way into town for supplies. Y’all need anything?”
“Nothing I know of, but you might check with Betsy,” Kate replied.
“Maybe some cat food?” He pulled a kitten from behind him and held it out to her.
Kate dropped the pencil on her worktable and reached out with both hands. “Where’d you get it? Can we keep it?” She held it close to her chest like a baby and swayed back and forth. The kitten snuggled down into her arms and began to purr.
“I guess so. It showed up on my porch this morning. Poor little thing was havin’ a fit for something to eat. I fed her a scrambled egg and some milk, but she’ll probably do better on her own kind of food. Y’all said something a while back about lookin’ for another cat, so I thought maybe you’d want her,” Sloan said.
“We’ve never had a girl cat in the house,” Kate said. “When we were kids, we had a big old gray fluffy boy named Dutch.”
“Why’d your mama name him that?” Sloan sat down on the bottom step.
“Dutch is a breed of Bantam chickens, so it seemed appropriate, and the cat was colored up like a banty rooster that had been on the property when she was a little girl.” Kate eased down into an oak rocking chair and started it in motion with her foot.
“That little girl is solid black, so I’ll be interested in what name y’all come up with. I’ll be going now. See you in a couple of days,” he said.
“Thank you,” Kate said. “This will help Betsy so much if Ginger decides to leave.”
“How about you and Connie? Think it will help y’all if Ginger leaves?” he asked.
Kate swallowed a lump in her throat. “I’m sure it will, but honestly, Sloan, I want her to stay as much as Betsy does. Things were gettin’ so routine and old around here. She’s spiced things up for us.”
“Kate Carson, are you about to cry?” he asked as he got to his feet.
“How can a person get attached to someone in only five days?” She wiped her eyes with her shirtsleeve.
“Looks like you already fell in love with that cat in only five minutes,” he said. “Ginger is a sweet woman. It wouldn’t be hard to get attached to her, especially knowing what all she’s been through. I don’t think she’d want your pity, though.”
“You’re right,” Kate said. “She needs a friend, not pity.”
“My granny used to tell me that friends were better than gold,” Sloan said.
“Your granny was one of the wisest women I ever knew,” Kate told him.
“Yep.” He nodded. “See you later.”
She sat there for several minutes, just simply enjoying holding the baby kitten in her arms. Then the door at the top of the stairs opened and Connie’s voice echoed off the walls. “Kate, you got to come up here and see what Ginger found on the back porch.”
“I’m on the way.” She pushed up out of the rocking chair and headed up the steps with the baby kitten still in her arms. She’d wanted a while longer to savor having it all to herself, but it was only fair to share with her sisters.
Betsy held out something as Kate emerged from the doorway and said, “Look!”
Connie, Betsy, and Ginger all seemed like they might break into a jig any minute.
Two little white ears popped up out of the towel that Betsy was holding, and two blue eyes stared right at her. “Ginger found it on the back porch, half-drowned and cryin’ for someone to rescue it.” She opened up the towel and showed Kate the all-white kitten.
Too bad, Kate thought, she didn’t find two out there, and then each of us could have our very own. “Well, look what Sloan just brought us.” She held up the black kitten.
“It’s a beautiful day.” Connie rubbed her hands together. “We’ve got a black one and a white one living in a brothel. Couldn’t be better. We’ll have to have a meeting after supper tonight to talk about names. The white one is a girl.”
“So’s this one,” Kate said.
“Just gets better and better,” Betsy said. “The symbolism is fantastic. Mama would have just loved it. Remember how she used to say that Dutch was gray because it was a mixture of black and white?”
“Want to hold this one?” Kate held her kitten out to Ginger.
“I’ve always wanted a cat, but . . .” She let the sentence trail off as she took the kitten. “Oh, my goodness! It’s so soft. The white one was wet and didn’t feel like this.”
“You’ve never held a kitten before?” Betsy asked.
“Yes, but not one this soft,” Ginger admitted as she held it up close to her face and kissed it on the nose. “I can’t imagine anyone throwing such sweet creatures out in the rain.”
Kate considered herself a strong, independent woman. She’d endured a lot in her lifetime and had overcome even more, so why in the devil was she choking up for the second time that day? Three old women stood there in the kitchen, with a young woman who definitely needed help and two stray cats. What was so emotional about that?
“Are you going to keep them?” Ginger glanced out the kitchen window and caught a glimpse of Sloan picking up a few sticks as he made his way to his truck. He tossed them into the bed, then got into the vehicle and drove away.
“Oh, yes, we are,” Connie answered. “We’ve been talkin’ about gettin’ another cat ever since the old tomcat that came begging for scraps at our back door up and died. That was over three years ago, and we just never got around to it.” She reached for the black kitten, and Ginger handed it over to her. “I decided last week to put a river rock in my bag of stones.” She pulled a velvet bag from her pocket. “Mama said it signifies water and will bring your wishes to you.”
“I don’t believe in all that crap, but I got to admit that the rain was probably what brought these babies to us. Someone most likely dumped them out in Rooster, and they were looking for shelter when the rain started last night,” Kate said.
If these three ladies were this excited over a couple of kittens, Ginger couldn’t begin to imagine how they’d react to a baby. She probably should leave before she gave birth, just so her child wouldn’t be spoiled rotten.
Housework, making another batch of jam, and even the moonshine business got put on hold the rest of the afternoon while they all sat in the parlor and laughed at the two kittens’ antics. The sisters named the black one Hetty after the lady that had helped their mother in the house when they were little girls. She’d been a short, gray-haired woman with a ruddy complexion, which she said came from her Irish ancestors, and the girls had loved her. The white one got tagged with Magic because Connie declared that it was pure magic that they’d gotten two in one day and that they were the same size and got along so well. Maybe they were littermates and Hetty had just gone farther on down the road than Magic had.
Ginger watched the kittens romping around and then falling flat on their stomachs and sleeping, usually at the same time. Would it be so bad to have twins who could grow up together? she asked herself. She hadn’t even thought of having more than one baby until Sloan brought up the possibility. Now she began to yearn for two, even though she had no idea how she’d even support one.
Rain had brought a whole new scent to the land that evening when she took her walk. The city, or even the suburban areas where she’d lived, hadn’t smelled like the wet dirt surrounding her as she set her sights on a different walk. She turned to the right and walked toward what was left of the town of Rooster, only a block or two up the road. She made it to the old post office and sat down on the bench out front.
She’d heard about t
owns so small that they rolled up the sidewalks at five o’clock. She believed it that day, because not one person was out and about and not a single car passed by on the street. Maybe they all went to bed with the chickens, too—whatever that meant.
“Just what time do chickens go to bed anyway?” she wondered out loud.
“As soon as it gets dusky dark,” Flora answered.
Ginger would have recognized that voice anywhere, but it still startled her. “Hello. I’m Ginger.”
“I know who you are.” Flora sat down beside her. “And I know you’re living at the Banty House. I live back behind the old post office with my mother, and I usually get out for a little fresh air in the evenings. This is my spot.”
“Oh—I’m so sorry . . . ,” Ginger stammered. “I should be going anyway.”
“I’ll share with you,” Flora laughed. “Stick around a little while and visit. As you can see, not much happens around here, so we all get excited when someone new comes to town. When’s that baby due?”
“Not real sure. I think about the first of June, but I could be wrong,” Ginger answered.
“Well, the Carson sisters will take good care of you.” Flora sniffed the air. “There’s another storm brewin’ off to the southwest. The television weatherman says it’s going to bring some hail, so we might not oughta sit out here very long. I do love the smell of a good cleansing rain, though, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ginger agreed. “The city don’t ever smell like this when it rains. Just gives off the scent of wet sidewalks.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Flora smiled. “Well, I’d best get on back, as much as I hate to. Mama gets restless when there’s a storm comin’. Maybe I’ll meet up with you again on this bench sometime soon.”
The Banty House Page 10