The Banty House

by Brown, Carolyn

  “We should’ve brought flowers,” Betsy moaned. “Mama’s had pretty flowers on her grave ever since she passed away.”

  “We can do that when the headstones get here,” Ginger said.

  Kate went over to Belle’s grave and laid a hand on the tombstone. “Sloan, the cemetery sure looks nice since you’ve taken it over.”

  “Are you ready to go home now?” Betsy asked.

  “Y’all go on without me,” Ginger told them. “I think I’ll stay for a little while.”

  “I’ll be glad to bring her home when she’s ready,” Sloan offered.

  “All right, then,” Kate said. “We’ll leave the door unlocked in case you get home after we’re already in bed.”

  “Thanks.” Ginger waved as the three went to the car.

  Sloan tucked her hand in his and together they walked across the cemetery, through the gate, crossed the yard to his house, and climbed the steps. “Want a glass of tea or a bottle of cold water?”

  “Water would be good.” She dropped his hand and sat down in one of the two old red rocking chairs on the porch. “I can see myself rocking the baby out here in the evenings.”

  “I hate to ask you to get up, but I’ve got something I want you show you,” Sloan said. “We can come back out here after you see it.”

  He held out a hand. “Need some help?”

  She tucked her hand into his, and he pulled her up. “I’ll be glad when Dumbo gets here. It’s gettin’ harder and harder to get up and down.”

  “Hey, now, be careful.” He smiled. “You might mark that sweet little girl by calling her that and she’ll have big ears.”

  “I don’t believe all that superstitious mumbo-jumbo,” Ginger said.

  Sloan led her through the small living room, down the hall, and into his granny’s old bedroom. “I brought this out of the barn and cleaned it up. My grandfather slept in it when he was a baby and then my dad and me. I thought if we could put the new little girl in it, then . . .” He didn’t get the rest of the sentence out before Ginger let go of his hand and grabbed him in a tight hug.

  “Oh. My. Goodness.” She pulled his face down to hers and kissed his cheeks, his eyelids, and his chin. Then she let go of him, went straight toward the bed, and put a hand on it. “It’s beautiful, Sloan. I never dreamed that I’d have something like this for her.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” He realized in that moment that he’d fallen in love with Ginger. Someday maybe she’d feel the same, but he was a patient man and willing to give her time to learn that she could love someone without fear of losing them.

  “This is going to be my room? Do you think your granny would mind?” She went from the poster bed to the dresser to the rocking chair over by the window and back to the baby bed.

  “Yes, this will be yours and Martha Belle’s bedroom, and no, Granny won’t mind at all. She’d be happy to have you here,” he answered.

  “I can feel her spirit in here.” Ginger ran her hand over the wooden rail of the baby bed. “Everything is just perfect.”

  “Well, we do need a mattress for the bed, and I thought you didn’t believe in mumbo-jumbo superstition,” he teased.

  “You don’t mark a baby by calling her Dumbo, or eating strawberries, but it’s okay to feel a sweet spirit in a room,” she told him. “Martha Belle is going to love this room. See? She’s tellin’ us so.” She picked up his hand and laid it on her belly. “Those kicks mean she wants to sleep in that bed the first night that she comes home from the hospital. She’s trying to get right in it.”

  Sloan felt like he was the baby’s biological father right at that moment—and it didn’t scare him one little bit. Matter of fact, he felt ten feet tall and bulletproof, like the lyrics of the old country song.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ginger was so ready to move into Sloan’s house by the end of the week that she could hardly wait, but she’d promised Betsy that she’d stay until the doctor said she could lift things again. Not that it would matter, since she’d be working there with the sisters every day anyway, but she’d keep her word. Still, every time she had to climb the stairs, she let out a little groan.

  On Thursday morning, she checked to make sure she had everything she needed for the day and left her bedroom. She really hoped that the doctor would release Betsy that day. It didn’t take a genius to tell that the woman was cranky from sitting around doing nothing for days on end.

  “I want waffles for breakfast, and I can’t even get the waffle iron out from under the cabinet. When I get well, I may walk right through that damn restraining order and tear Edith’s arm off and whoop her with it,” she fussed.

  “I’ll get things going,” Ginger said. “Maybe today Doc Emerson will let you take the sling off.”

  “I’ve got two minds about that, too,” Betsy continued to complain. “When he does, you’ll move out, so it’s going to be kind of bittersweet.”

  “But I’ll be back every morning and stay until afternoon,” she reminded Betsy. “Kate and I decided that I’d be here from eight until four. That way, I can have dinner with y’all and then Sloan and I can have supper together at his house.”

  “And you’ll come for movie night some of the time, and maybe come play dominoes or cards with us once in a while?” Betsy asked.

  “We’ll be here so often that you’ll want to kick us out.” Ginger set up the waffle iron and got out a mixing bowl to stir up some batter. “What are we making to go with these?”

  “Melted butter and syrup for me. Strawberries and whipped cream for Connie, and Kate likes peanut butter and honey on hers.” Betsy removed her sling and threw it over in the corner. When the thing flew over Hetty and Magic, it startled them so badly that they jumped straight up in the air and then tackled the thing with more determination to kill it than they had her Easter hat.

  “You think that’s wise?” Ginger asked.

  “Probably not.” Kate had come into the kitchen just in time to see the sling go flying. She ignored the cats, her sister, and everything else, and headed straight for the coffee. “I love waffles. I’ll get out the peanut butter and honey.”

  “You!” Betsy pointed at her. “Sit down with your coffee. I’ll see Doc today because I promised I would, but I’m releasing me as of this very moment, and I’ll get out the rest of the toppings for our waffles.”

  “You always were headstrong,” Kate said.

  “Well, you were always the bossy one,” Betsy accused as she opened the refrigerator.

  “I wish I had a sister.” Ginger filled the waffle iron just right and closed the lid.

  “You can have either one of mine,” Connie told her, coming through the kitchen door. “They drive me so crazy that sometimes I have to sleep with at least a dozen stones under my pillow.”

  “That’s why you need your hair done on Thursdays,” Kate smarted off. “It gets all tangled up from them rocks under your head.”

  Ginger knew she would really miss all this, but she sure hoped that the cats killed the sling and that the doctor would agree with Betsy that morning. She was in what the baby books she’d read before she came to Rooster called the nesting mode. She wanted to get settled in her new room and get things gathered together for her daughter. Martha Belle needed more than that cute little bow for her hair.

  Lucy was glad to see them at the beauty shop that morning, and praised Betsy for having such thick hair that grew fast. “It’s already covering where the stitches were,” she said, “and in another month, it’ll all be one length again.”

  “I’d still like to snatch Edith bald-headed,” Betsy fumed. “I’ve decided that since I’m going to be a great-grandmother, I’ll let it go gray. I’ll bet you that Edith stops dyeing her hair if I do. How much you want to wager, Kate?”

  “Not a cent.” Kate picked up a magazine and began to leaf through it.

  “You’re not any fun at all anymore.” Betsy pouted. “What about you, Ginger?”

  “Oh, no.” Ginger shoo
k her head. “I’m saving all my money to buy things for the baby.”

  Kate held up her magazine showing a page of pictures of several different hairstyles. “What do you think about this one, Ginger?”

  She had no idea what style would look good on Kate. “I like the way you wear your hair now.”

  “Not for me—for you. How long has it been since you had a cut and shampoo?” Kate asked.

  “Since the last time I had dinner with the Queen of England,” Ginger joked. “I do like that, but I want to be able to put my hair up in a ponytail, and that looks a little short for that, and I’m not spending money on a haircut when I can do it with manicure scissors.”

  “I can do that style a little longer,” Lucy said. “And you do need to get those dead ends cut or they’re going to split all the way to your scalp.”

  “Let’s do it,” Kate said, “and, Lucy, put Ginger on the books to get her hair done on Thursdays with the rest of us.”

  Ginger had no idea what that kind of thing cost, but she figured that amount of money would buy at least one little outfit for Martha Belle and maybe more if she shopped at a thrift store. She started to protest, but Betsy held up a hand.

  “Consider it part of your benefit package.”

  “Y’all are spoiling me.” Ginger smiled.

  “Not as much as we’re going to spoil the baby,” Kate told her, then went back to flipping through the magazine.

  Ginger almost went to sleep while Lucy was giving her a shampoo. When she had wrapped a warm towel around Ginger’s head, she led her over to a chair, combed all the tangles out of her still damp hair, and then began to cut it.

  “You’ve got really lovely hair,” Lucy said. “I have a lot of customers who’d pay good money for this color. I can’t even mix my own dyes to get this kind of true blonde. Now, let’s blow-dry it and see what you think.” When she finished, she turned the chair so Ginger could see herself in the mirror.

  The girl’s eyes widened and she threw her hand over her mouth. “It’s so shiny and silky.”

  “Amazing what the right volumizing shampoo and a good cut will do, and you can still get it up in a ponytail,” Lucy said. “Kate, you’re next.”

  “Give us some of that shampoo you used on Ginger when we leave,” Kate said as she took her place in the shampoo chair. “She’s like most young girls this day and age. She washes her hair every night, so she’ll need it.”

  Ginger found herself wishing she could sit in the chair and stare at her reflection all day. Even with her huge pregnant stomach pushing out the cape she still wore around her neck, she felt every bit as pretty as the girls who had gotten to go to prom when she was in high school.

  Ginger was afraid they’d be late to the doctor’s appointment that day, but they arrived at the doctor’s office right on time, and Linda, the nurse, ushered them right back to an exam room. She did all the preliminary vital signs and temperature checks, then said, “Doc wants to get away by noon so he can have lunch with his golfing buddies. Y’all are our last patients for today.”

  Doc Emerson came in and frowned when he saw that Betsy wasn’t using her sling. “So you decided to be me and release yourself, did you?”

  Betsy lifted her chin a notch and said, “Yes, I did, and I did fine all day. I even made a chocolate cream pie for you. It’s out at the desk. The whisking went just fine.”

  “Well, then.” He patted the table. “Let’s look at your head and arm, and I’ll see if I agree with you.”

  She eased onto the table. “My leg still looks like a three-hundred-pound football player tackled me, but it don’t hurt no more.”

  He did a brief exam and said, “If you promise not to get into any more fights, I’ll release you to do whatever you want.”

  “Can’t make that promise, but I will tell you this.” Betsy shook her finger at him. “If Edith wants another round, you’ll be takin’ care of her, not me.”

  Doc laughed and turned to Ginger. “Your turn.”

  Betsy left the table, and Ginger took her place.

  Doc checked the baby’s heartbeat, then measured her belly. “Girl, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there ain’t no way around this.”

  Linda nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  Betsy gasped.

  Kate threw her hand over eyes.

  Connie took Ginger’s hand in hers. “Is there no heartbeat?”

  “Oh, no,” Doc said. “The baby is fine, but there’s no way Ginger is going to deliver it naturally. It’s just too big, so I’m going to have to order a cesarean section for this one.”

  All three sisters sighed.

  Ginger felt like she might faint. “How am I ever going to pay for something like that?”

  “I work for moonshine,” Doc said. “And Kate always overpays me, so this one is on the house. We do this kind of delivery two weeks early, and I’m going out of town for a week on May tenth, so . . .” He looked at the calendar on the wall. “Linda, set this up for May sixth.” He turned back to Ginger. “We’ll check you into the hospital the night before, and keep you a couple of days afterwards. That way I’ll be here until you go home.”

  “That’s next week.” Ginger suddenly felt light-headed, and woozy. She couldn’t be ready for a baby in only a week. “I don’t have things ready for her.”

  “Honey, it don’t take much at the beginning,” Linda reassured her.

  All Ginger could think was that she had six days to get ready for a baby and that in between now and then, the ladies would be getting ready for the Rooster Romp. When the doctor helped her sit up, her thought pattern shifted to Sloan. He thought he had until the end of the month to get mentally prepared for a baby, and now it was coming in less than a week. What would he think of that?

  To Sloan, the week seemed to last forever. He could be patient, but only up to a point. Now that Ginger had agreed to move in with him, he was eager to get her settled into the house. The mattress for the baby bed had arrived on Tuesday, but they had no sheets for it. He and Ginger needed to visit about things, like whether she wanted a specific color or if pink was all right, and just how prissy Martha Belle’s corner of the room should be.

  He picked up the phone to call her at noon, but before he could hit the number for her, his phone rang. It startled him so badly that he fumbled the telephone and dropped it right on Tinker’s head. The dog jumped up and growled at him. The phone scooted under the sofa, and Sloan had to get down on his hands and knees to even locate it. There it was all the way back against the wall. He had to lie on his belly and stretch his arm as far as it would go just to get a grip on the thing.

  “Hello.” He was breathless when he finally answered on the fifth ring.

  “Well, at least you answered this time,” Commander Watterson said. “Were you out doing PT? You sound out of breath.”

  “Dropped the phone,” Sloan said.

  “I was wondering if you’d thought about that idea of training guys for me and helping put teams together. I’ve been given the green light to pick a civilian assistant for that job. You’d have to pass the psych eval, and it’s a seven-to-three job,” the commander said.

  “Where?” Sloan asked.

  “San Antonio at the Bullis Army Base,” he answered.

  “Are you kiddin’ me?” Sloan’s heart kicked in an extra beat. “That’s only half an hour from where I live.”

  “You’d start July the first. I’ve got a whole new bunch of recruits coming out of Lawton, Oklahoma, for training. That would give you plenty of time to come over here, get all the paperwork in order, and be ready if you want to give it a shot,” Commander Watterson said. “Pay and benefits are pretty much the same as what they were when you were on active duty.”

  “Yes,” Sloan said. “I would like that very much, and thank you, sir.”

  “Then I’ll get the preliminary paperwork done and call you in a couple of weeks with the schedule for all your tests. Have you kept in shape, or am I going to
see a beer belly?”

  Sloan glanced down at his camouflage pants. “I’m still wearing the same clothes I came home with.”

  “Good,” Commander Watterson said. “Then the only big hurdle will be that psych eval. Pass it and we’re good to go. You told me once that your dream had been to make a career of the military. I can’t get you back in with the discharge that you have, but I can give you a job within the ranks that will get you a twenty-year retirement.”

  “I can’t tell you what this means to me, sir,” Sloan said, “or thank you enough for the opportunity you’re giving me. I’ll be waiting for your call.” He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until it all came out in a whoosh. Surely, he hoped to God, he would pass that evaluation exam.

  “I’ll send paperwork before I call,” he said. “I’ve got your address right here in front of me. Talk to you soon.”

  Sloan had just ended the call when someone rapped on his door. He crossed the living room to open it and found Ginger on the other side. She looked like she was either scared out of her mind or about to explode in anger.

  “I’ve got something to tell you,” she said.

  “I’ve got some news for you, too,” he told her. “Do you want to sit on the porch or come inside?”

  She brushed past him and went straight to what was to be her bedroom. “Oh, my! There’s a mattress in the bed.” Then she covered her face and broke into tears.

  His first thought was that there was something wrong with the baby. She’d probably just come from the doctor’s office. Cold chills chased down Sloan’s back. What if it was going to be stillborn?

  He took her by the hand and led her to the rocking chair. Then he sat down and pulled her onto on his lap. She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.

  “Talk to me, Ginger. Tell me what’s wrong,” he said.

  “The baby is coming in six days,” she said between sobs. “And I don’t have anything ready for her, and I don’t even know what to buy or where to go to shop. I’ve never bought anything new in my life. I could get her things from a thrift shop, but I wanted her to have something new and pretty to come home from the hospital in, and . . .” She stopped to catch her breath.