“I agree,” she muttered. “I can’t make coffee. I can’t cook. I can’t seduce a man. What can I do?”
“Yoo-hoo? Anyone home?”
Jilly glanced at her watch. Not yet 6:00 a.m. Who was yoo-hooing at this hour? The voice didn’t sound like Addie’s.
Two young women stood on the back porch. One was short and skinny, very young, the other tall and not so skinny, or so young. They had the same hair color—somewhere between brown and blond, the epitome of dishwater. No make up, bare feet, they sported cutoff jeans and plain dark T-shirts.
“I’m Naomi,” the short one said. “This is Ruth. Wilder.” The tall woman nodded solemnly.
Naomi handed Jilly a cloth-covered dish. “Welcome to South Fork.”
“Thank you. Uh, would you like to come in?”
“Sure.” Naomi practically ran Jilly over in her haste to get inside. “We’d have been here sooner, but Ruth likes to take her time in the morning.”
“Take her time?” Jilly echoed, wondering when people crawled out of bed if 6:00 a.m. was considered late.
“She loves flowers.”
Ruth handed Jilly a handful of wildflowers, as beautiful as any she’d seen arranged by a florist.
“Oh.” Jilly caught her breath. “They’re lovely.”
Ruth smiled and ducked her head.
“She’s shy,” Naomi explained. “Always has been, even when we were kids. Ma and Pa named me Naomi because they were gettin’ up in years when I came along. They knew Ruth would have t’ follow me because they couldn’t.”
At Jilly’s frown, Naomi spread her hands. “Book of Ruth? Wither though goest. Ruth followed Naomi to Bethlehem. My Ruth just follows me everywhere.”
The two women beamed at each other with obvious affection.
“You’re…sisters?” Jilly guessed. Ruth appeared old enough to be Naomi’s mother, hence the lengthy, biblical explanation.
“Yep. Though you couldn’t tell it by lookin’at us, could ya? Ruth here takes after our ma, and I take after our pa.”
Jilly lifted an eyebrow. She’d like to meet their parents, if only to see if they resembled Jack Sprat and his wife.
“Have a seat,” she offered.
They did, then stared at her expectantly.
“Oh!” She whipped the top off the gift, uncovering fresh doughnuts still warm from the…oven? Stove? Microwave? How did one make doughnuts, anyway? It was as much a mystery to Jilly as the coffeepot.
She eyed the contraption balefully. “I’d offer you coffee, but I can’t seem to figure this thing out. It’s more complicated than a NASA spacecraft.”
Naomi’s face creased in confusion. “Where are you from?”
Jilly thought there might be an insult in there somewhere, but since she wasn’t sure, she decided to just answer the question.
“California.” Suddenly she realized she hadn’t shared her name. “I’m Jillian Hart.” She offered her hand. “Call me Jilly.”
Naomi’s handshake was as butterfly gentle as Ruth’s was All-Star Wrestling rough. But their smiles were welcoming and their friendliness seemed genuine. Jilly didn’t know what to make of them.
“The brothers said you just got into town.”
“Brothers? Oh, Larry, Darrell and his other brother, Darrell.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.” Classic television humor was obviously lost here.
“Everything all right so far?”
“No running water, no lights, no bed. But other than that—”
“Anything strange happen?”
Jilly looked up sharply. “Strange how?”
The sisters exchanged glances. Ruth appeared nervous. When a board creaked upstairs, she practically jumped out of her chair.
“You’re asking about the ghost?” Jilly asked.
“There’s more than one.”
“I don’t believe in the first one, and you expect me to believe there’s a convention?”
Naomi shrugged. “No one’s ever stayed here long. They up and leave—usually in the middle of the night. Some even say folks don’t leave, they just disappear.”
“I suppose a few of the travelers passed away in the rooms and their spirits never left. Wooo.” Jilly made a spooky sound and wiggled her fingers.
“Travelers?” Naomi repeated. “What are you talking about?”
“This was a stage stop.”
“That was forever ago. I suspect there are a few ha’nts from then, but mostly they’re from the years Miss Dixie owned the place.”
“Miss Dixie? Who was she?”
Ruth and Naomi exchanged glances again.
“What?” Jilly pressed. “You’re acting like the place was a whorehouse.”
Ruth choked.
Naomi’s eyes widened. “How’d you know that?”
“It was?”
Naomi nodded. “Busiest place in the county. Until they ran Miss Dixie out on a rail.”
“Because she was a…” Jilly wasn’t sure how to say it politely.
“Madam,” Naomi finished.
Jilly hadn’t heard it put quite like that since Heidi Fleiss, but the title was nicer than most. She nodded.
“Well, they didn’t actually run her out because of her business.”
“Why else?”
“Miss Dixie employed colored folks to clean and serve and such.”
“And they—whoever they are—ran her out because of that?”
“No. Miss Dixie didn’t want her people walking home after she closed up. Especially during the dark of the moon. Witches and such are out then. Dangerous times.”
Jilly opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again. What would be the point?
“Whenever her people worked past sundown, when the moon was hid, she’d let them sleep in the kitchen, then go home in the daylight.”
“And this was a problem?”
“The Klan don’t take to colored folks sleeping in the same place as white folks.”
She should have known “they” were the Klan. Who else?
“What year was this?” she asked.
“Sixty-three.”
“The ghost of Miss Dixie has been here for over a hundred and fifty years?”
“Nineteen sixty-three,” Naomi clarified.
Jilly should have been surprised that the Klan was running people out of town in 1963, but she wasn’t. She didn’t bother to address the concept of a bordello in that era.
“Isn’t that right, Ruth?”
Ruth shrugged.
“You two weren’t even born then,” Jilly pointed out.
“We hear stories. Our ma was Miss Dixie’s niece.”
“Where did Miss Dixie go when she left here?”
“Las Vegas.”
Where madam-hood was legal. Good choice.
“Of course she came back,” Naomi offered. “Right before she died, and then she stayed.”
Jilly rubbed her forehead. “Miss Dixie is floating around my inn?”
“So they say, though I ain’t never seen her myself.”
“You seen any other ghosts?”
“Sure. Haven’t you?”
Jilly considered the shadow at the window last night. An intruder, not a ghost, she was certain. The belief didn’t soothe her nerves any.
“No.” She headed for the coffeepot. “I haven’t seen a thing.”
“Place is full of ha’nts. Civil War soldiers, Miss Dixie, some of her gals, a few customers who expired under dubious circumstances. Matthew, of course.”
“Things must be awfully busy in another dimension.”
Jilly continued to fiddle with the coffeepot, but the thing remained a mystery.
“Here, let me.” With deft movements, Naomi cleaned, then realigned all the movable parts.
“The grounds go in here.” She demonstrated. “If you put them in the water, they just make a mess.”
“Oh,” Jilly mumbled.
Could she feel more stupid?
“Mor
ning.” Evan’s voice caused heat to flood her cheeks.
She spun around and, if possible, blushed a deeper shade of crimson. His hair was loose and tumbled, the sight raising memories of a dream where she’d filled her hands with the dark strands, then buried her face in their softness.
“Hey, Evan,” Naomi chirped. “You look tired. Didn’t you sleep good?”
He glanced at Jilly, then quickly away. How on earth were they going to live in the same house after she’d thrown herself at him and he’d tossed her right back?
“You know each other?” Jilly asked.
“The girls have been keeping me in doughnuts since I got here. They’re the best ever made.”
Ruth giggled. The sound, coming from such a large woman, nearly made Jilly laugh herself. But she didn’t want to hurt Ruth’s feelings, even though the idea of her and Naomi bringing Evan doughnuts every morning at six, seeing him all warm and tousled before she’d ever known him, caused an odd burning sensation between her chest and belly. She must be hungrier than she’d thought.
The sisters brought Evan doughnuts; Addie brought him bread and preserves. How many other women brought food? And why did they feel the need to feed the man? Jilly felt no such need—probably because she felt so many others.
“Coffee’s ready.” Naomi poured three cups and handed them to the women. She obviously knew Evan didn’t drink the stuff.
Jilly’s stomach flared hotter, and she doused the flame with a huge, scalding sip, followed by a doughnut shooter.
Evan was right. They were the best doughnuts she’d ever tasted.
“Jilly’s from California.”
“So I hear.” Evan snagged another doughnut. Where did he put them all?
“I didn’t know anyone could be from California. Thought people just moved there. To be movie stars.”
Jilly smiled. “California’s the third largest state by area, but the first in population. Percentage wise, not very many people are in the movie business.”
“Bright lights, big city.” Naomi sighed. “I bet you can do just about anything you want there.”
“If you’ve got the money,” Jilly agreed. “What do you and your sister do?”
“Live with Ma and Pa.”
Jilly couldn’t imagine cohabiting with her mother. But then Genevieve was not an easy woman. A fact her husbands never discovered until too late.
“Once we find a husband of our own…” Naomi elbowed Ruth, who smiled brightly at Evan. He smiled back and took another doughnut. “Then we can move to a house of our own, too.”
“Ever consider moving to another town?”
Ruth’s eyes widened, and she shook her head frantically.
“Ruth loves it here,” Naomi said, “and what would Ma and Pa do without us to help on the farm?”
“What’ll they do when you marry?” Jilly asked.
“Same thing they do now, but with more help. At least one, maybe even both of us, will take over the place with our man. Your pa’s a farmer, right, Evan?”
Naomi kicked her sister in the foot. Ruth obediently batted her eyes in his direction, but Evan wasn’t paying attention. He was too busy with his doughnut.
“Dairy farmer,” he said, once he’d swallowed.
“You plan to go back and farm, too?”
“Not me. There are five Luchetti brothers. I was never suited to cow-sitting. That’s Dean.”
The Wilder sisters exchanged glances. They were up to something, and Jilly knew what.
“Do you have boyfriends?” she asked.
Ruth snorted. Naomi shifted her shoulders and looked away. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Oldest daughter has to marry first, Pa says. It’s our way.” Naomi brushed sugar off her hands. “We’d best get on home or Ma will have our hide. Gotta plant cucumbers in Gemini.”
Jilly hadn’t known that planting seeds was decided by the signs of the zodiac, but since she’d never planted anything, not even a flower, she’d take their word for it.
The women filed toward the door. Naomi glanced back. “Now that you’re here, Jilly, I guess Evan won’t need us to bring him breakfast.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Jilly muttered.
Though she didn’t care for the way they stared at Evan, she didn’t know how to cook any more than she knew how to plant.
“We’ll stop by in a few days, see how you’re getting on. What are you gonna do here, Jilly?”
“I, uh…” She wasn’t quite sure. “Supervise?”
“You have any other clothes?” Naomi asked.
What was it with people and her clothes? She hadn’t fielded so many questions about them since she’d modeled the spring line for the League of Women Voters luncheon.
“Not really,” she said. “I’ll make do.”
“Huh.” Without further comment Naomi left, Ruth trailing behind her.
“Boy, have they got plans for you,” Jilly murmured.
“What are you talking about?”
She hadn’t meant to speak out loud, but now that she had…
“Ruth has to marry first. Husband takes over the farm. Your dad’s a farmer. In my book, one plus one equals you married to Ruth.”
Evan made a sound of exasperation. “You’re nuts.”
“I’m a woman. I know these things.”
He stared at the door through which the sisters had disappeared. “I escaped from one farm. I’m not going to shackle myself to another.”
“Escaped?”
“Oh, yeah. I did my time.”
“You make the place sound like a prison.”
“For me it was.”
EVAN HEADED INTO TOWN for supplies. Not only did he need several items in order to get all the electricity up and running, he needed to get away from Jilly.
Despite a night spent telling himself they could be nothing more than partners, the first sight of her that morning had made his body jolt with awareness.
Talking about the family farm had taken care of any happy thoughts in a heartbeat. He’d lived there for twenty-nine years. He’d wanted to get away for twenty-five of them.
His father had never understood him. He’d always considered Evan lazy because he didn’t work as fast as everyone else. John Luchetti loathed Evan’s long hair, his love of women and his take-it-or-leave-it attitude toward the farm that was John’s life.
Evan wanted so much more. Too bad he didn’t know what the more was that he wanted.
He’d never felt welcome anywhere but South Fork. The hills spoke to him. The pace here was his pace. Slow and steady—do the job right or don’t do it at all.
He didn’t want to leave, but how was he going to stay? It wasn’t as if they had a shortage of carpenters in this neck of Arkansas. They didn’t even need one.
He could marry Ruth, or Naomi, or any of the other farm girls—if he wanted the life he’d already left.
“I’ll pass,” he muttered as he shut off the engine and climbed out of his truck in front of the general store.
The brothers Seitz were playing checkers, as they did every day. Evan wasn’t sure what they lived on, since he’d never heard of them working. His father would have a stroke if he met them.
“How’s it going at your place?” Barry asked, not even looking up from the board.
“Except for Jilly nearly drowning in the creek, not bad. You guys forget something the other day?”
All three frowned, then shook their heads.
Evan sighed. What was the point? The sign was up now. And Jilly knew better than to take the wrong trail even without it.
“So how long till you sell the place?” Barry asked.
“Too long.”
“Suppose you could use extra hands out there.”
“Can’t afford them,” he said quickly. “You fellas know where there’s a pay phone?”
“None ’round here. But you can use the phone inside. Just leave fifty cents on the counter. Or a few dollars if’n it’s long d
istance.”
Evan nodded his thanks and left the brothers to their game, which appeared to be the same one he’d observed the last time he’d been to town. He’d never seen any of them play; they just talked about it.
“If I move that black ’un you’ll have t’ crown me,” Barry said.
“I’ll crown ye all right,” Jerry informed him. “Upside the head if you move that piece.”
Evan found himself smiling. Brothers were the same everywhere. No matter their age, race or zip code, they liked to fight just for the sake of fighting. Habits begun in the cradle died hard.
He slapped five dollars onto the counter and grabbed the receiver. Dialing long distance on a rotary telephone took awhile, but within minutes the phone rang, then was picked up, in Gainsville.
“Yeah?”
“Dean. Pal. Brother. Friend.”
“What the hell do you want?”
Just because Dean had discovered the nature of some of his problems lay in undiagnosed ADHD hadn’t made him a more cheery fellow.
“A doodle.”
“Done. Where should I send it?”
“Arkansas.”
“Still? Thought you’d be out of there by now. Who goes to Arkansas on purpose?”
“You’d be surprised, flatlander,” he said, using the derogatory nickname fashioned by those north of the Wisconsin-Illinois border for all those south of it.
“Watch it. I might come down there and flatten you.”
“As if you could.”
Evan had been taller than any of his brothers before his sixteenth birthday, which had put a stop to a lot of the teasing but, amazingly, none of the wrestling.
“You’re lucky I didn’t call you a FIB,” Evan sneered.
The acronym consisted of more swear words than not, and had caused more fistfights at interstate sports events than most people knew about.
“If you had, I’d know you were no longer allowed to step foot in the Land of Lincoln. When you coming home?”
Never whispered through his head. He missed his mother, his sister, his niece. But everyone else? Not so much.
“Could be a while.”
Dean grunted. “Mom’ll be pissed.”
“Isn’t she always?”
“Pretty much. She’s still ticked that Colin got married on the sly. Although from the size of his wife’s belly when we met her, he didn’t have a moment to lose.”
The Husband Quest Page 7