by Pamela Morsi
That was what was best about working with him, Althea decided. He did his share and more. And he did it with such a light heart as if work itself was not a burden, but a privilege. Maybe, she thought, he knows better than the rest of us.
Her brow furrowed in concentration and she bit down on her lip again thoughtfully. That not-very-bright girl might not be able to appreciate Jesse as he deserved. Perhaps he needed someone who could do more than just accept him, someone who could admire him.
"Good morning!"
The call made them both turn and look. Althea rose to her feet and shaded her eyes with her hand as she stared into the morning sunshine to see Oather Phillips walking across the yard toward them.
His hair was slicked back as he reverentially doffed his hat and offered a little bow to Althea. He was not dressed in his Sunday suit, but his working clothes were of good quality and they were clean and neatly pressed. He'd obviously come a-courting, but with Granny's admonition he was ready to prove his worth as a hand also.
Baby-Paisley, who'd been sitting in the dirt near the smokehouse, relating the tree adventures of One-Wing the Chicken to Runt, jumped to his feet and called out to the new arrival.
"I didn't pee the bed!" he bragged.
"Baby-Paisley!" his mother shushed him. "That is not a thing to be discussing with strangers."
Oather Phillips seemed more amused than disapproving of the little fellow's enthusiasm. He smiled warmly at Althea before turning his attention to the child.
"Jesse must have been right," Oather said to the boy.
Baby-Paisley nodded enthusiastically. "He's right 'bout lots of stuff. Just 'cause he ain't smart, doan mean that he's dumb."
Oather and Althea exchanged glances before looking over at Jesse. He blushed, embarrassed, but obviously pleased with the little boy's words.
"Baby-Paisley and I are friends," Jesse said, by way of explanation. "Guess he ain't scared of me no more."
Oather nodded in agreement. "How are you this morning, Mrs. Winsloe?" he asked Althea. "You look very lovely, if I may say so."
The words seemed so stilted and rehearsed, Althea had to stifle the urge to giggle. Sitting as she was, with her arms up to the elbows in the salt brine crock, she was sure that she could be described as most anything but lovely.
"I am very well, sir," she managed to respond politely. "And yourself?" she inquired. She felt more than a little foolish with the forced formality.
"As you see, I've come dressed to help," he said. “Taking Granny Piggott's advice, I suppose."
"I'm afraid today's chore is both messy and malodorous," she warned.
Oather shrugged as he rolled up his sleeves, apparently eager to take up the task. "But venison jerky is such fine eating, Mrs. Winsloe," he said, "that the temporary unpleasantness is well worth the outcome."
Readily she agreed with him.
To Althea's surprise the morning passed quickly and was especially pleasant for her. Hanging the venison was basically a two person endeavor. One person to fish the strips out of the brine and the other person to hang them so that absolutely the most of the meat would be exposed to the smoke. Oather worked with Jesse and Althea found that what she was most called upon to do was make conversation and bring out coffee.
She did give some consideration to leaving the men to their task and going on to some other needed errand, but the sun was high, the wind blustery, and the narrow area around the smokehouse too inviting.
They had finished the hanging and were setting the fire when she excused herself to start the noon meal.
"You must stay to eat with us," she told Oather.
"It would be my pleasure," he said. "But only if it is no trouble."
Althea was about to assure him, politely, that it was not, when Jesse intervened.
"Nooning with Miss Althea will about make it even for the work you done," Jesse pointed out. "You got to stay. You don't want the woman to feel beholding."
Oather's face turned a vivid scarlet with embarrassment. Of course, it was part of the courting process for the female to feel beholden to the gentleman. Oather was clearly as embarrassed as if he'd been caught at it. Althea wanted to laugh, but managed to resist the impulse.
Oather put such a polite face on everything. It felt so unnatural, so constrained. He was much aware of the rules of etiquette. Somehow she found Jesse's more honest assessment much more to her liking.
But it was Oather to whom she might well find herself married, she reminded herself. She must compare him to Eben Baxley, not Jesse Best.
* * *
Eben Baxley arrived when the menfolk, Baby-Paisley included, were just pushing back their chairs from the table. Purposely he had ignored Granny Piggott's totally unsubtle advice to arrive early and be ready for work. He had his own plan for winning over the Widow Winsloe and he wasn't going to have to break out in a sweat to do it.
He made little more than a perfunctory knock on the door before barging into the room.
"Good morning, Althea honey," he said. "It's your devoted swain come to call."
The lady in question was bent over retrieving the coffeepot from the hearth. Eben was openly admiring of the view and sorely tempted to apply a playful swat to her round feminine backside. It was Jesse Best's critical, penetrating gaze as much as his own good sense that caused him to forgo the opportunity.
As Althea straightened, she turned to face him. He watched her eyes narrow, but he was not concerned.
"Don't call me honey" she said sternly.
He gave her what he knew to be his most charming grin. "Beg pardon, ma'am," he replied.
Once more his eyes were drawn to Jesse. The simple fellow's expression was, as always, somewhat vague. But there was definitely still a sense of disapproval. Deliberately he pulled his gaze away to glance across the room at his truly sworn rival, Oather Phillips. With more scorn than deference in the gesture, Eben tipped his hat.
"Well, if it isn't Phillips," he said snidely. "Buell's boy"
"Baxley," Oather replied.
The civil greeting was anything but. Eben grinned. There was certainly no goodwill between the two of them. And that was fine with Eben Baxley. He didn't like being made a fool of by Mavis Phillips. He liked it even less that Oather knew about it. Sure, he'd got some revenge on her. Some would say she was treated badly. But Eben was not ever going to be led around and maneuvered. He was not weak like his father.
Turning to hang his hat and coat on the nails by the door, Eben saw Oather's in that place. He pulled them down and replaced them with his own. Casually he tossed Phillips his property.
"Here's your hat. What's your hurry?"
His face red with fury, Oather rose to his feet. Eben wondered if the fellow was ready for another fight. He saw Phillips glance in Althea's direction and immediately begin to rein in his temper.
Clearing his throat, Oather spoke rather more loudly than necessary to Althea. "I'll be taking my leave now, Mrs. Winsloe. It has been my pleasure to assist you with the jerky making and I hope that I will have the honor of sampling the same come the cold weather."
Althea thanked him just as politely.
Oather, rather formally, took Althea's hand in his own and bowed over it as if he was set to give it a kiss. Eben was grateful that he did not. It was all he could do not to burst out laughing as it was.
"If I might return on the morrow, perhaps I can aid Jesse as he begins working on the butchering platform."
"Yes, that would be fine, Mr. Phillips," she assured him. "And thank you for your help with the venison."
“To be of service to you, ma'am, is ever my ambition," Oather answered.
"Lord save us!" Eben blurted out. "He'll be spouting poetry in another minute." He leaned impudently, one hip against the doorjamb. Oather leveled him an angry look. He grinned back.
"Good day, Mrs. Winsloe," Oather said. Turning to the other occupants of the room, he nodded to them as well as he took his leave. When he stepped past Baxley,
it was as if he were keeping his distance, hoping not to be soiled.
Eben chuckled, rather unkindly, as if the sight brought only humor. He pushed away from his position and made his way to the table.
"You got anything left over, honey?" he said. "I ain't even had breakfast yet this morning."
"Don't call me honey," Althea said once more.
"Widder Winsloe," he answered. "You wouldn't let a man go hungry, would you?"
Huffily, she picked up a tin plate and began to pile it with the remaining food. Eben glanced across the table at Jesse, who had remained seated. He remembered the unpleasant revelations of the Literary evening and found that it didn't set well with him at all.
"Didn't expect to see you here today, Simple Jess," he said. "I figured old Onery would have kept you out of sight for a few days until folks get over the shock of things."
"I work here," Jesse answered. "Miss Althea needs me to come and help."
Eben smiled. "But not for very long," he said. "By Christmas Day, she won't be needing to see you anymore." He glanced toward Althea. She didn't meet his gaze. That was good.
"I'm earning my dogs," Jesse said.
"Yes indeed," Eben replied. "You get the dogs, Jesse." He leaned closer and whispered loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. "But I get the bride. We won't be seeing you around here after Christmas Day."
Althea banged the plate of food down on the table in front of him. "Jesse is my friend and neighbor. He has been a great help to me in getting ready for the winter. Jesse will always be welcome in this house."
Eben raised his eyebrows and grinned broadly. "I know how fond of the feller you are, honey," he said. "Why, I'm thinking we should change his name from Simple Jess to Kissing Jess. What do you think about that?"
Bright red blooms of shame heightened the color in Althea's cheeks. The target of his teasing, however, just continued to stare at him. Jesse Best was too stupid to know when he was being made a fool of.
"Stop makin' fun of Jesse!"
That order surprisingly came from the small boy seated on the opposite side of the table.
"Jesse is my friend," he announced. "Doan you say nothing agin him."
"It's all right, Baby-Paisley," Jesse intervened. "He ain't saying nothing. He just thinks he's being funny. Fellers are sometimes wrong about that."
Eben let Jesse's assessment pass without comment. "Well, how are you this morning, Baby-Paisley?" he asked with exaggerated friendliness.
"It ain' morning," the little boy replied. "It's plum noon and we already et."
"But I haven't," Baxley told him. "And I am extremely fond of your mama's good cooking."
Eben retrieved his spoon from his trouser pocket and took a bite of the food Althea's table offered. "This is good, honey," he said. "This is real good. It's going to be a lucky man who marries such a fine cook."
Both Jesse and Baby-Paisley glared at him as he ate, but Eben didn't let it bother him. Having long had a reputation as a black sheep, he knew well how to laugh and smile in the face of disapproval. He didn't hesitate to do so now. He filled the lengthening silence around him with pleasured sounds of mmmmmm and ahhhhh as he oversavored the delectable fare.
"I doan like you!" Baby-Paisley said suddenly and with such childhood certainty that it was momentarily heart stopping. "I doan like you at all."
"Baby-Paisley!" Althea scolded immediately. "We do not talk to guests in our house that way. You apologize this minute."
The little boy looked mutinous, and Eben was glad for the opportunity to save the day.
"It's all right, honey," he said to Althea. "The boy's just being honest, aren't you, son?"
Eben's easy agreement threw the child into confusion.
"I know you don't like me, Baby-Paisley," Eben continued. "It saddens me a little because I knew your daddy. But I don't blame you for it."
He reached across the table to pat the boy on the head. Baby-Paisley drew back, but Eben pretended that he didn't notice. "You don't know much about me, do you, son? And what you do know, well, there ain't much in there to like."
Baby-Paisley's brow furrowed in puzzlement. Eben saw Jesse's expression turn suddenly wary as if he sensed a trick. Deliberately he didn't look at Althea. A mother, whether she was bear, coon, or woman, would protect her cub. Eben didn't want to stir up her ire.
Setting down his spoon, he leaned back in his chair and smiled broadly at the little boy. It was his best and most winning smile. He knew it would be hard for the little fellow to resist.
"Sometimes," he continued more softly, "you can be wrong about a feller. Has that ever happened to you?"
Baby-Paisley didn't answer. Eben continued.
"Have you ever thought you didn't like somebody only to find out that you do?"
The question was well thought out and well crafted. Yesterday he'd picked up on the story of the child's newfound friendship with Jesse. He didn't see any reason not to use the facts that he knew.
The boy's face looked thoughtful for a moment before Eben saw him give a quick glance toward Jesse.
Eben smiled again. It was going to be almost too easy.
"Baby-Paisley, go look in the pocket of my coat," he said.
The little boy hesitated.
"Go ahead," Eben urged him. "There's something in there that I brought for you."
Reluctantly the child went over to the nails by the door. He had to stand on the doorstop to reach the coats, but within a minute he pulled out the surprise gift that Eben had brought him.
"What is it?" he asked, holding the fluffy piece of brown and white hide before him.
"It's a deer tail," Eben answered. "It's a deertail from the biggest whitetail buck I ever seen."
The child turned it over in his hand a couple of times. He was clearly wary and not too much impressed.
"It ain' the color of the deer me an' Jesse kilt," he pointed out.
"That was a winter deer. Deer in winter are gray. It's springtime when they turn brown like that. Isn't that right, Jesse?"
He didn't give the other man time to formulate his answer.
"In the winter when they are gray they are pretty easy to shoot," he said. "They are cold and sluggish. About anyone can get a shot at a deer then. In the springtime when they are brown like that and just full of vinegar, it takes a real man to kill one."
"Where d'it come from?"
Baby-Paisley walked over to stand near Eben's chair. His wide eyes were focused with growing appreciation on the prize he held in his hands.
Eben had traded the Broody twins for the deer tail just that morning. It had cost him a chipped knife blade and a picture of a big fat woman shucked down to her drawers and corset, but he knew it was going to be well worth the price. It was going to win him a bride and a farm and a little boy's loyalty.
"Well, Baby-Paisley," Eben replied with deliberate casualness. "Your daddy and I killed that deer together before you were born."
"Gar," the little boy replied. His eyes widened and he looked down at the deer tail in newly realized awe. He looked up to his mother questioning. Eben was confident that she couldn't dispute him.
"Did my daddy kill this deer?"
Althea stepped forward and looked at the tail. She was obviously skeptical and gave Eben a penetrating look. It was meant both to question and to warn. Keeping his expression benign, Eben stared back at her, almost daring her to deny his story. She and Paisley hardly knew each other before they'd wed. Althea could no more speak for where he'd been or what he'd done than she could read his mind.
"Your daddy and Mr. Baxley did use to hunt together," she answered her son finally.
"My daddy kilt this deer," Baby-Paisley whispered with near reverence.
"Yep," Eben told him, warming up to the story. "Your daddy shot that deer. Not many men could have done it. Maybe Dan'l Boone or some such feller as that. But not many that ever lived on this mountain."
"Dan'l Boone?" Jesse's tone was astonished. Even he had he
ard of the great hunter's accomplishments.
Eben lowered his voice deliberately to a storyteller's tone. "I remember that day as clear as if it were yesterday itself," he said. "We'd been up high on the mountain trailing that buck, your daddy and I."
Eben shook his head as if he could hardly believe the tale himself.
"Lord it was warm that day, and game was as scarce as silver dollars. We'd about given up as we'd followed him down into the Squaw's Trunk narrows. I figured it was for sure no use, we'd be going home hungry."
Eben pointed across the room as if he were back in the woods on the fateful day.
"Suddenly I spotted that buck way off in the distance," he said. "Eighteen points it had and its antlers gleaming like sunset through cattails. I hollered out to Paisley, 'There's that darned buck.' Pardon, ma'am," he offered as an aside to Althea for the curse word.
"I didn't even lift up my gun 'cause it was so far away." Eben shook his head once more. "Your daddy, Baby-Paisley, he just raised up his Winchester and shot that critter straight through the heart at better than five hundred paces."
"Gar!" the little boy said again, completely enthralled.
Eben glanced around at his audience. Althea's attention was focused completely upon her son, her expression was caring and sorrowful.
Jesse Best looked very puzzled and confused. When Eben met his eye, he spoke. His tone held neither scorn nor skepticism, but was merely a stated fact.
"Paisley weren't all that good a shot," he said.
"He was that day," Eben said quickly, defusing the potential of doubt raised. "That day he was the best shot I'd ever saw." He turned his attention once more upon the boy. Baby-Paisley was now stroking the deer tail almost lovingly. He was completely enraptured by the story of the father he didn't remember and the tangible evidence of his skill and bravery. The child had no difficulty in believing such a tale of the man whose blood he carried.
"Well, son," Eben said, continuing. "Your daddy killed that deer and he gave me that tail as part of my share. I've carried that a long time. Always hoping that someday, I might get as good a shot."