Blackstone's Bride

by Bronwyn Williams

  “Oh, I—I don’t know where this belongs,” Eleanor said quickly, indicating the folded quilt she was holding. “I could hang it on the line for you if you’d like. Or wash it.” So now, along with all her other sins, she was caught eavesdropping.

  George’s wife regarded her as if she were one of the children who’d been caught wallowing with the pigs. “I expect you’re needing to use the necessary,” she said stiffly. When Eleanor nodded, she went on to say, “George was fixing to put in one of those fancy toilets with the pull chain and a drain pipe, but what with one thing right after another, he never got around to it.”

  Eleanor released the breath she’d been unaware of holding. Evidently she had passed some sort of test, but remembering Varnelle’s early show of friendship, she wasn’t about to put too much trust in it. She and Varnelle had shared gender, but their goals had been vastly different. She didn’t know this woman. “Jed told me about the streak of bad luck you’ve had lately.” She ventured the tentative overture.

  “Bad luck? I reckon that’s one way to describe calling in a man’s loan and then trying to burn him out so as to get his land and his money both.”

  Seeing Eleanor shift her weight, pressing her thighs together, the older woman said, “Go on outside, it’s right through the back door. You’ll see it. There’s not much privacy for a chamber pot, what with babies running all over the place. ’Sides, I get down that low anymore, I have to call George to help me up again.”

  The two women eyed one another warily. Lorly’s lean, dark face softened into what could almost be called a smile. It was as if an invisible dam had broken.

  It’s going to be all right, Eleanor told herself. One way or another, everything was going to work out. Buoyed by a rash of unreasonable optimism, she hurried out the back door into the first faint light of morning.

  Chapter Twenty

  Judging by Jed’s looks when Eleanor joined the others at the kitchen table, he’d had no more sleep than she had. His eyes were shadowed and his face looked almost haggard. Everyone else had eaten breakfast, but no one seemed eager to leave. On the back of the big iron range sat a gray graniteware coffeepot, a pot of oatmeal and one of stewed apples, lending their fragrance to the warm, untidy room.

  “Help yourself,” Lorly said, and Eleanor did.

  The men spoke quietly at one end of the table while at the other end, three children played noisily around their mother’s chair. Eleanor took a place in the middle. Eyes downcast, she strained to hear what was being said as she spooned apples on her oatmeal and added sugar and cream to her coffee.

  “Stanfield knows we’re up to something,” Jed said. “He might even have heard about the money—probably has by now. I’ve got one last ace in the hole, though.”

  “Unless you’ve got some mighty powerful friends, that ace had better be a spade. Word’s out all over about the money. Lee wanted to know about it when he rode over to deliver your wire. Wanted to know if you’d robbed a bank or something.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  George shrugged. “Said I didn’t know. Stanfield knows, though. That daughter of his came sashaying over here the next day after I got your wire, wanting to know when you were coming home.”

  “Vera?”

  Eleanor quietly laid down her spoon, trying to hear more against the children’s noisy games.

  “Only daughter he’s got. Told you she married Pete Marshall right after you left, didn’t I? They had ’em a son not long after that. I reckon that pretty well fixes Pete’s future if the old man ever decides to hand over the reins. Be a big improvement, I can tell you that much. Pete weren’t the one who’s been setting all these fires. I heard tell him and Stanfield had words after the Gillikins got burned out.”

  Jed’s hands gripped his thick coffee mug so tightly his knuckles whitened. “I wouldn’t count on any improvement.”

  “Maybe—maybe not, but I’d sooner deal with a nest of rattlesnakes than deal with the old man. He knows every banker between Asheville and Raleigh. Sure as the world, he knows you’re coming with enough money to pay him off, and he’s trying to scare me out before I can settle up.”

  “Yeah, well, knowing’s one thing. Doing something about it, that’s something else. Like I said, we’re going to need us a good witness when we pay him off, else he’ll take the money and turn around and claim he never got it.” Jed scowled at his empty cup and Eleanor rose and poured him a second cupful, then looked at George.

  George nodded. She refilled his cup. He thanked her and turned back to Jed. “We can make him sign off.”

  “We can make him write his name on a piece of paper, but who’s going to know if he writes it a different way so he can claim later that we forged it? Simplest thing in the world to do, change a man’s handwriting,” Jed reasoned. “Without a witness, the law’s not likely to pick up on it. It’d be his word against ours, and he’s got more powerful friends than we have.”

  “Then we get a witness to stand by while we hand over the money and get the note back. Was that the ace in the hole you were talking about?”

  Jed’s dark eyes were twinkling, and Eleanor tried to picture him as a boy in this same shabby, comfortable kitchen. He couldn’t have looked anything at all like George, or any of George’s children. They were all fair. Jed’s hair wasn’t the kind that started out fair and darkened with age. He’d probably been born with hair as black as hard coal.

  “Know where it’s located, this tract of land I sold to the railroad?”

  “Somewhere around Winston? Didn’t you say that’s where you were when you won it? I reckon land’s pretty valuable around those parts.”

  “Happens, it’s just over on the far side of Notch Ridge.” He chuckled softly. “Know what that means?”

  George’s eyes widened slowly behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. “Lord ha’ mercy,” he said reverently. And then he began to chuckle.

  Grinning broadly, Jed raked back his chair and stood. “Thank you kindly for the breakfast, Lorly, that was mighty good.”

  Lorly had been holding three-year-old Reba on her lap, entertaining her with a game of catch-finger while she listened to the men’s conversation. Having finished her breakfast, Eleanor began collecting dishes to wash, half expecting Lorly to stop her at any moment.

  George’s wife obviously hadn’t quite made up her mind about her. Eleanor couldn’t really blame her. In Lorly’s place, Eleanor might have had a few doubts, too.

  The men excused themselves, Jed to get ready for his trip to town and George to get a mount saddled. The children swarmed around a basket filled with week-old kittens.

  “Don’t mess with those babies,” Lorly warned halfheartedly.

  “We won’t,” they chorused, and promptly reached into the basket, cooing and cuddling the tiny creatures.

  Lorly sighed and patted her swollen belly, apparently content to allow Eleanor to clean up after breakfast. “George bought me that oatmeal special when I complained about having to eat grits and cornmeal mush every morning. Even with money so scarce, he treats me like I was a princess.”

  Eleanor couldn’t help but contrast that with the way her own husband had treated her. “Your son looks just like him,” she said, cautiously reaching out to accept the proffered olive branch. There was something restful about a kitchen that smelled of cinnamon, coffee and new kittens.

  Three-year-old Reba climbed back up on her mother’s lap, reached for her hand and placed it flat on the table. Absently, Lorly snatched it away before her daughter could slap a tiny palm down on her fingers. Reba lunged, grabbed four of Eleanor’s fingers and shouted gleefully, “I winned, I winned!”

  From the corner of the room by the cat basket, Zach cried, “You did not, neither. You never win, you’re too little.”

  “I did so winned, didn’t I, Mama? Didn’t I?”

  “Shh,” Lorly patted her daughter’s hand, her attention obviously straying. “’Course you did, sugar babe. Zach, don’t tease your
sister.”

  Some twenty minutes later Jed emerged from the back of the house and headed out the back door just as Eleanor was spreading the dish towel on the rack. He was wearing borrowed boots, a clean pair of Levi’s that fit like a glove—a tight glove—and one of his brother’s shirts that hugged his chest and shoulders with the cuffs rolled back over his muscular forearms. He had shaved off his beard, revealing a square, oddly pale jaw.

  Eleanor could only stare, remembering the man who had staggered up her hill less than a month ago. That Jed had been her secret—hers to hide and to heal.

  This Jed no longer needed her. He had his family.

  Zach tired of playing with the kittens and came to lean against his mother’s side. “Read me a story, Mama.”

  “After supper tonight,” Lorly promised. “Right now I’ve got beans to pick over and a load of your dirty overalls to wash.” She said it with a tired smile.

  Eleanor said, “Let me do the beans while you collect your wash. I’d do that, too, only I wouldn’t know where to look.”

  “There’s no call for you to—”

  “Please?”

  With a nod, Lorly indicated the bin where the dried beans were kept. “I get so tired…sometimes I wish we’d waited another year before we started this baby.”

  Through the back door both women could see George leading out a bay mare. Jed crossed to meet him and the two men stood talking. Eleanor longed to hear what they were saying. Instead, she sat at the table and began picking over the beans. Lorly left to collect the dirty laundry, and the children trooped outdoors, Zach helping two-year-old Sara down the steps.

  Eleanor wondered what it would feel like, having brothers and sisters—having children of her own. Her hands grew still. No matter what happened in the future, she told herself, at least she no longer felt as if she were walking a fragile tightrope over a mile-deep drop.

  Lorly returned, her arms layered with clothes to be laundered. “Let the beans wait. Come on out to the washhouse, you might as well make use of the hot water before I dump these filthy things in to soak. I declare, the girls are just as bad as Zach is when it comes to playing in the dirt.”

  Bemused, Eleanor rose and followed her to the washhouse, attached to the house by a boardwalk. Evidently she had passed some vital test.

  Inside the unpainted room there was a fireplace, a small potbellied stove and two tubs, one a galvanized washtub, the other a copper hipbath that had been polished to a soft gleam. “George ordered it for me from the mail-order catalog right after we were married,” said the older woman, pride lending her plain features a becoming glow.

  “Oh, my…are you sure you don’t mind?” Eleanor could hardly take her eyes off the tantalizing sight of the tub. Nearby, an enormous kettle sent up clouds of steam.

  Lorly reached for the kettle, but Eleanor shook her head. “Let me. Please. I’ve never wanted anything so much in all my life as I do this bath.” With soap instead of a handful of sand and gravel, she sincerely hoped. Plain lye soap would be just fine. She would take whatever was offered and be grateful.

  Lorly chuckled softly. “I told you George spoils me rotten. He’s got his eye on one of those big porcelain bathtubs with water piped up from the well, if we ever get through this mess.”

  As much as Eleanor wanted to see Jed again before he left—if he hadn’t already gone—she wanted a bath even more. Once the tub was filled, cold water added to that from the kettle, Lorly produced a bar of genuine French milled soap from her apron pocket. “It’s lavender,” she said. “George gave me a dozen bars when I told him we were having us another baby.”

  “Oh, I can’t use your good soap,” Eleanor protested, avidly eyeing the sweet-smelling oval. “Laundry soap is just fine.”

  “’Course you can. I’ll tell you the truth, it’s so good to have another woman to talk to, I’d give most anything and call it fair trade. The only woman left in the valley now that the Scotts and the Gillikins have gone is Vera Marshall, and I’m not about to take up with the likes of her, that I’m not!”

  Lorly left, promising to lay out something for Eleanor to wear until her own things could be washed and dried. “It won’t be what you’re used to, but I reckon it’ll be some better than what you’re wearing now.” There was no insult intended and none taken.

  Left alone, Eleanor quickly undressed and lowered herself into the warm water. Oh, bliss…sheer heaven! She ducked her head and then worked lather into her hair, knowing that it would take more than French milled soap to undo the damage done by nature and long neglect.

  She was trying to rinse the soap from her hair when Lorly brought in a towel and an armful of clothes. The water had already grown cool. Longingly, she eyed the kettle, just beginning to steam again.

  “I’ll just put the overalls to soak in the bath water once you’re done with it. George and Zack’s things always take a good soaking before they’re even fit to wash.” She held up a green calico. “This dress used to fit me perfectly before Zach was born. After Reba came I couldn’t squeeze into it. You’re welcome to it if you can wear it.”

  She gazed wistfully at the white-collared dress and shook her head. “Lord, the dreams a woman dreams when she’s young.”

  Eleanor knew about dreams. “About love, you mean. Did you know? I mean, what did you think the first time you met George?” Standing, she wrapped the towel around her, using the ends to blot her hair.

  “Think? I don’t reckon I thought at all, at least not with my head.” She laughed, looking far younger for a moment. “First time I ever met him, he was twelve and I was ten. He stuck a cocklebur in my hair. Next time we came through the valley, he picked a persimmon and dared me to eat it. It wasn’t ripe yet.”

  Eleanor laughed and reached for the coarse cotton drawers. The ring of flowers embroidered around the lower flounce gave her a glimmer of what Lorly Dulah was really like before pregnancy, overwork and worry had dulled her spirit.

  “I’ll do your things later in clean water.” Lorly dropped the laundry into the hipbath and poked it down with a broom handle. “There, that’ll wait a spell. One thing I learned after the babies started coming—it doesn’t matter if a chore doesn’t get done on time, it’ll still be waiting for you when you get around to it.”

  Both women laughed, and Eleanor felt a fresh rise of optimism. For the first time since the day she had first set out with her brand-new husband for his romantic-sounding mountaintop home, she felt like the future was wide-open before her.

  “Want me to trim your hair for you?”

  “I doubt if a trim would be enough.” Eleanor touched the wet, tangled hair that had always been difficult to manage. Devin had called the mop of tight curls her crowning glory, but then, Devin hadn’t had to rinse the soap out with vinegar, then rinse the vinegar out, and then brush it until her scalp ached.

  She glanced toward the window, wondering if by some miracle Jed was still there. Interpreting her look, Lorly said, “He’s left. Won’t get there before the bank closes, but if everything works out, he’ll be back tomorrow.”

  Setting aside her own selfish interests, Eleanor said, “I hope it does. I’m sure it will.”

  “My knees are worn out from praying.” With a rueful smile, the older woman added, “Can’t get up from praying any easier than I can from peeing. Once this baby’s born, I’m going to nurse him until he’s ten years old. They say as long as you’re nursing, you can’t get caught.” A stricken look came over her. “You did say you’d been married, didn’t you? I run on at the mouth like I’d never had company before.”

  Smiling, Eleanor said, “I know how that is. My husband died about six months ago and I’ve lived alone ever since. My neighbors were… Well, let’s just say they weren’t very friendly. I used to talk to my two laying hens.”

  “I’ve got the children and George, when he’s not out working. He’s not much for talking anymore, though. Too worried, I guess.”

  Lorly collected her scissors and s
aid, “Come on out on the side porch, let’s cut it now before I have to go out back again. These past few months I’ve worn a regular trough out to the privy.”

  Lorly draped the towel around Eleanor’s shoulders and sat her down on a backless chair. The scissors went whack, whack as clumps of matted hair fell to the floor. “Did I tell you my father used to ride through here once every month or two when I was a little girl? Turn your head this way—that’s right.”

  Eleanor felt the cool blade slide along the back of her neck. Her hair hadn’t been trimmed in nearly five years. “I’m going to look like a plucked chicken,” she whispered.

  “Hush, that you’re not. Papa taught George to read, did Jed tell you that? Him and Pete Marshall. Jed, he was too stubborn, couldn’t sit still long enough. My, but that boy was a handful. Pretty, though, I still remember that. With those dark eyes and that wicked grin, I reckon he’s got away with more mischief than the law allows. Turn this way now, let me trim around your ears.”

  Around her ears? “My mercy, how short are you cutting it?”

  “No shorter than I cut Reba’s hair starting when the weather gets warm. Hers is almost as thick as yours, but straight as a stick. Makes it easier to manage.”

  They were still there when the neat little trap with a woman at the reins pulled up before the house.

  Lorly said, “Oh, my sakes, it’s Vera.”

  Eleanor swallowed hard. The last thing she needed was to meet Jed’s beloved Vera when she was dressed in a faded gown that didn’t fit, with her so-called crowning glory lying in untidy heaps around her feet.

  “Where’s Jed?” the visitor demanded as she hurried up the front walk. She was short, plump, and overdressed for a morning visit in Eleanor’s estimation. “Papa said he was back.”

  “And Papa would know,” muttered Lorly. When the woman reached the steps, she said, “Morning, Vera. I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. This is Mrs. Miller. Eleanor, say hello to Mrs. Marshall, our neighbor.”