Sweet Dreamin' Baby

by Mary Kay McComas

  "What was the money for?" Buck asked, snatching the words from his brother's mouth. Bryce was having a hard time keeping up with the story, his mind chewing and digesting each new detail.

  "The money was for the old lady's funeral," Anne explained. "So much for the coffin. So much for a new dress out of a catalog. So much for the minister. The woman wanted the entire sum up front in exchange for her promise to Ellis."

  "One thousand, five hundred, thirty-six dollars and eighty-seven cents," Bryce uttered the sum absently. In his mind he kept seeing Ellis beating on the door of the ancient pickup, smoke and flames lapping out to get her. "Blown to hell."

  "What can we do?" Anne asked both men. "They need to be together, Ellis and her baby."

  "Pool our savings? Loan her the money?" Buck suggested.

  A derisive snort broke from Bryce. "I'm tapped. Lent most of it to Liddy and spent the rest at Christmas." Nothing to give. Useless again. "She wouldn't take it anyway. We ain't kin and she's got a notion she needs . . . to do . . . everythin' on . . . her own . . ."

  His words dwindled and tapered away as the seed of an idea took root in his brain, sprouted, and grew a hundred feet tall. He knew exactly what he could and would do to resolve the situation; could and would do to make Ellis happy, completely happy, and fully content.

  A slow grin spread across his lips when his bright gaze caught Anne and Buck staring at him.

  "This is gonna work out fine," he said.

  "Need help?" Buck asked.

  "Like a tomcat needs a weddin' license." Not at all. "I'm goin' up to see her."

  "Oh, can't it wait till morning?" Anne protested. "She needs to sleep, Bryce."

  "I ain't gonna wake her. I just wanna look at her," he said, grinning like an idiot, extremely pleased with his brainstorm. He stopped midstep. "What's the boy's name?"

  "Jonah." Anne twisted in the chair to face him. "She got it from the bible. She said anyone who could be swallowed, carried for three days, and spit up by a big fish would have to be courageous and strong. She said her baby would have to be courageous and strong to grow up in Stony Hollow."

  Bryce wasn't smiling when he opened the door to Ellis's room. From across the room he could hear the slow in and out of her breathing. It consoled him. It was a normal sound, a sound of life. The light from the hall cast shadows over her face as he stood looking down at her. But no shadow could hide her beauty.

  She was a sweet dreaming baby whose face was like that of an angel. But her real beauty was inside. It couldn't wrinkle with age or be disguised with a mask. She had courage and strength and more heart than was good for her. And she was his.

  He crept back to the door, overflowing with the sort of peacefulness one experiences when it occurs to him that just being alive can be so very nice.

  He closed the door softly.

  But when next he opened it, Ellis was gone.

  Twelve

  Bryce found his truck parked on the street in front of Looty's diner.

  He'd checked the old logging road where he'd first discovered Ellis sleeping in her pickup. Driving to the Steel Wheel, he found it locked up tight on the first day of the New Year. He carefully inspected the hull of the burned-out pickup truck, hoping for some sign that she'd been there before him. Frantic, he stopped anyone he found out and about that morning and asked if they'd seen her.

  The sight of his truck bolstered his hopes and sent a tidal wave of relief through his body. But once that was over, he was angry. Angry with himself for acting crazy when he should have known that the first thing Ellis would do after a disaster was pull herself up by the bootstraps and go back to work at Looty's. Angry with her for being so . . . Ellis.

  He had both angries settled and was just plain glad when he pushed open the diner door.

  "Hey, good lookin'," he called his usual greeting to Looty, who immediately wiped her greasy fingers, on her apron, then stood arms akimbo, pleased as punch to see him.

  "A fine way to start the New Year, I swear," she said, beaming at him. "The handsomest young buck in eight counties, and me with a batch of biscuits fresh from the oven, no less. Want a couple?"

  "Yeah, I would, please." He was feeling a great deal better. Still, to feel perfect, he wanted to see Ellis. "Where's that pretty little gal ya got workin' for ya, Looty? We need to discuss truck stealin' . . . among other things."

  "She ain't stole your truck, it's parked there outside," she said, her eyes narrowing as she watched him.

  "I was just teasin'. Ya musta heard what happened last night."

  "Hmm. A sorry piece a work, that Reuben Evans. Never did cotton to him. Heard they caught him over in Knott County close to dawn sometime."

  "Good. I hadn't heard."

  “Young Ellis'll be glad to hear he won't be givin' her no more trouble."

  A chill shot through his heart. "Ya haven't told her?"

  "Didn't know ‘bout it when I seen her."

  "She ain't here now?"

  "Well . . . no. She was here awaitin' on me when I come to open up. Asked for the day off and for the pay I owed her."

  “The pay?" he repeated, his mind traveling faster than a greased pig in third gear.

  "Course. After hearin' ‘bout what happened, I figured she'd be needin' some. I offered a little extra to tide her over a spell. Said it could be a loan. But she only wanted what was comin' to her."

  "And she took the day off?"

  "Yep. Said she had somethin' important she had to do today. Said it couldn't wait no longer. She left your truck parked yonder and walked off down the street toward the motel. Want me to tell her you was lookin’ for her when she passes back this way?"

  Folks caught the Greyhound Bus in front of McKee's Motel.

  "She ain't comin' back, Looty," he said, rising from the stool beside the counter and heading for the door. "She's gone back to Stony Hollow."

  ~*~

  She couldn't stop touching him. For months she'd held a photograph of him in her heart, but seeing him . . . He'd changed. Fractionally taller, a little plumper. He talked faster.

  "And see, mama. This is my bunny," Jonah said proudly, his giant blue four-year-old eyes never leaving his mother's face. He watched for her surprise, her pleasure, and her approval of his pet—he watched to make sure she wouldn't disappear again. "Granny said I was a good boy, and if I let her rest in the evenin's and if I took very good care of him, I could keep him. He eats greens. And water. I feed 'im. By myself. He's quiet too. Like me. Not like a dog. He leaves droppin's. That's not so fine."

  Ellis nodded, paying grave attention to all the information he had to impart.

  "He's a grand bunny, Jonah. How long before he's all mended?" She hadn't forgotten how wonderful it was to watch the animation in his face when he spoke, or his slight lisp, or the way he took deep breaths between gushes of words. She observed his hands, chubby and fumbling one second, agile and precise the next. And his hair—blonde and soft as chick down.

  "Granny says maybe next Sunday . . . That's the day she goes to see the preacher. We get to set in Granny's chair while she's away. We don't touch nothin', and we don't go outside. That's 'portant."

  She palmed his face, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs while her heart ached. He was too young to be left alone. Too young to be away from his mama. Too young to have to hide.

  "You're a fine, fine boy, Jonah. I love ya so," she said, struggling to keep her voice from cracking. “Ya know that, don't ya? I love ya more than anythin' else in the whole world. Ya won't forget that, will ya? Ever?"

  The light in his eyes flickered out, and he didn't respond.

  "Jonah?" She glanced briefly away when the door opened and the widow Yeager stomped the snow off her boots before walking in. "Jonah? Don't ya believe me?"

  Light-lashed lids lowered over his eyes, and he bent his face away from her. She gripped the front of her shirt to keep her heart from falling apart.

  "Jonah?"

  "Ellis?"

  "Br
yce?" Her hands fell to her son's small shoulders. She stared open-mouthed at the tall male form across the room.

  "Visitor," Granny Yeager announced. She wasn't as quick as she once was.

  The visitor closed the door and advanced into the two-room dwelling with a deceptively confident step. He stopped several feet away from the mother and child, his eyes riveted on the woman. He studied her long and hard, guessing at her thoughts, questioning her emotions. And when he found no answers, he knew he'd have to resort to words.

  "Good bodyguard ya got there," he said, indicating the old widow with his head. Ellis could only nod as she continued to stare. The same question kept spinning around in her head, but it couldn't seem to find an outlet. She saw his gaze lower to Jonah.

  "Said he'd walk up the barrel of my shotgun and punch my lights out if I didn't let him see ya," Granny grumbled. She settled herself in a creaky rocking chair. "Pin-headed thing to do, so I figured him harmless."

  Adelaide Yeager wasn't accustomed to explaining her actions to anyone, nor did she usually connect more than two words together in a single oration. But nobody seemed impressed. In fact, they may not have heard her at all.

  Bryce examined the boy from head to toe. Ellis stood tall and proud, her hands on her son's shoulders. She wanted Bryce's favor, but she was ready to demand his respect.

  “You Jonah?" he asked, his soft southern baritone generating nothing but gentleness.

  Jonah, who moments earlier had determined that his mama would be going away again—without him—and who had been quietly assessing the stranger who had made his mama go suddenly silent and tense, simply nodded.

  "I brought ya somethin'," the man said. "A gift."

  He reached into the pocket of his coat and, with a bit of difficulty, pulled out a shiny red toy pickup truck an inch bigger than the palm of his big hand.

  Jonah wanted it. Badly. He appealed to a higher authority.

  Ellis looked down into her son's face and saw the question . . . and the caution. She smiled. Bryce was one person in the world Jonah could trust.

  "Jonah, this here's Mr. LaSalle. He's ..." How to explain it to a four-year-old? "He's my very best friend. Can ya tell him thank you for the truck?"

  He sure could. He even smiled—Ellis's smile—when he went to Bryce, took the truck, and made his loud thank you before falling to an empty space on the floor to test it out.

  "What are ya doin' here?" she asked with a half laugh when the question finally took form on her lips. She still couldn't believe he was there.

  "I brought somethin' for you too," he said, standing to face her. "A gift."

  "Ya came all this way to give me a gift?"

  From his other pocket he produced a white envelope and handed it to her. She broke the seal and looked inside, shaking it to count the eighty-seven cents.

  "What's this?" she asked, her mouth going dry.

  "The money ya need . . . and a little more to get started on," he said, every word leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

  There were a variety of questions she could and wanted to ask but the first one out of her mouth was, "Where'd ya get it from?"

  He shrugged. "Ain't important. Thing is, ya got it and now ya can take Jonah outta this place. Start new someplace like ya planned to."

  "It is important. Where'd ya get the money? You ain't a rich man."

  That hurt. "I told ya it ain't important. What do you know about what I got and what I ain't got?"

  "I know ya ain't got any money. Not this kinda money."

  "For crissake, Ellis," he shouted, then noticing the frightening effect it had on Jonah, he lowered his voice and said, "Will ya just take it, and get the hell outta here? Ya don't belong here." As it occurred to him, he added, “Ya never belonged here."

  'Tell me where ya got it."

  "What do you care?" he asked. She was going to pull that independent, "it ain't none of your concern" routine again, and as much as he admired it, it irritated the hell out of him. Especially now, when every breath she took concerned him.

  "I care," she said, her tone of voice changing to a tender caress. "I care with all my heart."

  That did it! Now he was really confused. Compounded with the intense pain he was feeling, he got angry. But rather than admit it; he attacked.

  "Well, ya got a fine way of showin' it," he shouted. Again, he noticed that Jonah didn't appreciate having his mama bellowed at. "Is there a place we can talk? Alone."

  Without a word, she walked past him, grabbed her coat from the peg on the wall, went out the door, across the path and the side yard to the wood shed. If he was aiming to give her a thrashing, it was the best place.

  She watched as he paced the length of the shed, again and again, choosing his words and battling his temper. When he spoke, she guessed that he'd lost the battle. And she didn't mind a bit.

  "Dammit, Ellis! I . . . I . .." He threw up his hands and growled in utter frustration.

  He was, at last, showing her his full ire as she'd expected him to so many times before, without satisfaction. Strange thing, his obvious anger didn't frighten her. Physically or emotionally.

  She wasn't the commander of a confederacy of smarts, but she knew when she was in danger, and she knew when she was loved. Bryce loved her, and she trusted him absolutely.

  "I'm tryin' to understand why ya didn't tell me about the boy . . . 'cuz of all the things I said about Evans desertin' his and all, and you thinkin' I'd look poorly on you too? And I can't believe you'd just give up and come back here," he said, holding out his hands to show her that he was totally lost to her thinking. "I mean, I . . . Why, Ellis? Ya got folks who love ya and care about ya in Webster. We'da helped ya. And . . . and I know ya don't think ya need a man, but I wouldn't of held ya down. Ya coulda done anything with your life. Still can, if ya put the rest of that money to good use and get the hell outta this place." He grasped her forearms and bent his knees to equalize the plain between them. “Take Jonah and go, Ellis. If ya don't wanna live with me, then go somewhere else. But don't let yourself get bogged down in this place because of your pride. You take that money and get as far from here as ya can. That's all I'm asking from ya."

  He was the beatin'est man! He was finally, truly angry with her, and it was for all the wrong reasons!

  "Ain't ya mad that I stole your truck? Or that I set out without tellin' ya?" she asked, scowling at him, wishing that just once he'd react in an appropriate fashion.

  "Ya didn't steal my truck, ya left it at Loory's," he said, thrown off track. "And I ain't mad that ya left without tellin' me . . . just . . . just hurt is all."

  His hands fell to his sides when he walked away from her.

  “Ya thought I was runnin' away from ya. And that I wasn't comln' back. Ya thought 'cuz I lost all my money last night that I'd give up on my dreams. Well, you ain't gonna get bowlegged totin' your brains around, Bryce LaSalle."

  He turned to look at her. She was as angry as a rooster in an empty henhouse.

  "If brains was dynamite, ya wouldn't have enough to blow your nose. Tomorrow's a whole new day that ain't been touched yet," she told him with a wave of her arm. "I ain't about to waste it here, and I'm . . . I'm . . . insulted that you'd think it of me. I'm insulted that ya don't know how much I love ya. And you're wrong about me not needin' ya in my life. I need ya to love me and to make me feel safe and to make me laugh and . . ." She was losing steam fast. Her voice lowered. "I wouldn't . . . couldn't ever leave ya, Bryce. But I was missin' my baby somethin' fierce."

  What air she had left in her lungs was abruptly squeezed out when Bryce scooped her into his embrace, lifting her off the ground to twirl her about.

  "Gawd, ya had me scared to death," he said, skimming his mouth over hers, in a hurry to kiss as much of her beautiful face as he could. "Next time leave me a note or somethin', will ya?"

  "I bought a two way ticket. I'da been home by suppertime."

  His kiss was hard and deep and greedy. "Just come home."

&n
bsp; Rifle fire split the silence of the woods, echoingthrough the hollow and in their ears.

  Granny Yeager stood at the corner of the cabin with her smoking shotgun in hand.

  "Nuffa that," she said. "More visitors."

  "Jonah," Ellis muttered under her breath, dashing off.

  Bryce followed, but at a leisurely pace. He wanted to whistle in the wind, hang upside down in a tree and act like a nut. He was a lucky man, and he knew it.

  She was back at the door of the cabin with Jonah in her arms. She was trying hard not to look too frightened or panicky, but she wasn't succeeding. She knew she still had a few minutes—Granny could smell trespassers a mile off, and she'd warned them off with her shot. Ellis wanted to run into the woods and hide, but thought she ought to stay and explain the situation to Bryce. He was leaning casually against the side of the cabin, happy and content as a goat in a can factory.

  "It's the boys. The Johnson brothers," she hissed, whispering as if they might hear her. "I came in through the woods but somebody mighta seen me, and if ya drove through the hollow comin’ after me, they'll have heard. They're comin' after Jonah."

  "Pay your debt to the old woman, Ellis," he said, unmoved. "I'm of a mind to take ya home and get you and Jonah settled in my house once and for all. Then I'm gonna let ya show me how pretty ya look in that necklace of yours."

  "Bryce . . ." He pushed himself away from the wall, looking down the slope of the mountain at two men walking briskly toward them.

  "Pay her and we'll go." He started walking out to meet them.

  "Bryce . . ." He paid her no heed.

  She hesitated on the threshold, torn between keeping her baby safe and trusting Bryce. Not an easy decision for a person who believed that safety and distrust equaled survival.

  But mere survival wasn't good enough for her anymore. Jonah's birth had determined that for her. She wanted a life of her own and to pass that freedom on to her son. Stony Hollow destroyed her belief in fairy tales. She wasn't looking for perfect. But she believed in her power to create change. She believed in the plans she'd made for her future. She believed in her dreams. And . . . she believed in Bryce.