by Caryl McAdoo
Lucy scooped up her baby. “I love you, sweetheart. You are so smart!”
Beaming, she nodded with rapid bobs, then brought one shoulder to her ear as if a bit embarrassed. She signed, 'I love you, too.'
Neck nuzzles followed kisses and twirls, but then the time came to get back to the matter at hand. With baby girl in her chair again, Lucy faced her littlest sister. “Please don't rush into anything.”
“What about you and Earl? Before the big storm, you didn't even know he was sweet on you.”
“That's not true. I've known him my whole life! He grew up here in the valley. And I knew he was sweet on me way back when. But. I chose Jake. I guess Earl only got the nerve up to say something, since . . .
“Anyway, it’s totally different than with Mister Sheffield. We don't know him from Adam's off ox.”
She looked to the end of the table. Servilia looked rather soft, restrained. Why hadn't she put her two bits in. “What do you think?”
“That Melody's old enough to know what she wants, and he seems to be a good man. He's a preacher, after all.” She shrugged. “Says he's got a cousin he thinks would be a good match for me. I'm going to write the man. See if I want to go with Zeke and Melody in the fall.”
“What?” She looked at Melody. “You've already got a trip planned with him? Where do you think you're going?”
“To Saint Joseph.”
“Why in the world?”
“Well, I'm not sure. Zeke said it’s near the middle.”
“The middle of what, Melody?” Her brows furrowed. “I can't believe you've planned all this!”
“The middle between here and Chicago. That's where his cousin lives. He's a professor at a university there.”
“A professor?”
“I'll only go with them if I decide I want to meet him after we've written back and forth.”
“I don't believe this.” Had they both been eating loco weed? “So you're fine with our baby sister getting married?”
“Well . . . I did forbid it at first.” She hiked one shoulder. “But she said with or without our blessing, she was going to wed Ezekiel Sheffield. She doesn't need our permission, she's eighteen years old. I figure, why not make the best of it?”
“There! It's settled.” Melody jumped to her feet. “Can we celebrate now?”
“Not so fast, young lady. Let's hear what the man has to say for himself. Then—and only then—we'll see about celebrating.”
Chapter Seven
D
ear Mister Sheffield,
Servilia crumpled that piece of paper, threw it in the waste basket then grabbed another, dipped her quill then carefully put pen to paper.
Dear Rupert,
I hope that you won't find it too presumptuous on my part, using your Christian name, but I'm soon to be your cousin's sister-in-law. While Zeke has not been here in Red River County long, it seems he and my baby sister Melody have fallen deeply in love.
For some reason I know not, he is of the opinion that you and I might possibly be a match.
I have never been in love myself. Oh, several men
and a few boys in my youth who struck my fancy, but never moved beyond a genuine fondness.
Alas, it appears that I am perhaps too sharp of tongue and keen of wit for the lot. I'm twenty years of age, by the way, how old are you? Ezekiel didn't say.
It's my understanding that by trade you teach
mathematics at the university. I believe that to be a
noble pursuit, sir.
My personal interests lean more toward the literary,
as I love curling up with a good novel or a collection of
poems. Do you read much, sir?
And if so, who might your favorite author be? In my
opinion, that says a lot about a person. I'd have to
admit I'm enthralled by May Meriwether's offerings.
Her stories evoke such emotion. I both laugh and
cry with every novel, and to me, that's what makes
a book great.
Have you ever read any of her stories? Though
romances, they all contain loads of action and adventure you're sure to enjoy as a man.
Your cousin has been so kind as to call me beautiful.
My looking-glass may be rather harsh compared to his eyes, so I make no claims. At best, I would describe myself as pleasant.
Both my parents are with the Lord. Mother when I
was two. She passed giving birth to my aforementioned baby sister, while my beloved father and my older sister's husband both perished in the war.
Horrible stupid war! I hate the practice of it!
Killed and maimed so many men, but praise God, it's over, and hopefully, the nation can be healed and reunited.
We've not had much trouble here with
carpetbaggers and scallywags, but some. I fear I'm prattling on. It's a bit perplexing, I admit. I mean, what does a young lady say to a man whom she's never even met?
But would love to have a missive from?
Like our father before us, my sisters and I farm. We
have sixty acres in cotton, a two-acre vegetable garden,
and a small orchard hedged by berries. The rest of our home place, six hundred acres total, remains as pasture with some timber.
We milk a cow, raise a few chickens, slop a sounder
of hog, and pretty much live off our land. Hard work and I are not strangers. I have all my teeth, and I've never been sick more than a day or two here and there.
Oh mercy, Rupert, you're sure to get the
impression I'm some kind of old maid spinster,
writing you like this, but you are six hundred miles
away, and if you want to burn this missive and forget the whole thing, I will fully understand.
Servilia picked up the page. A desire to tear the paper into a hundred pieces itched her fingers, but . . . she resisted the urge and exhaled. The few men she'd even consider in the valley chased after the demure sweetie pie doll idiots who knew little more than to bat their lashes and lie through their teeth. Humph. Zeke thought Rupert might be a match . . .
She smoothed out the page, dipped her quill again.
But, if you trust your cousin's judgment and would
like to correspond, I promise to return any letter post
haste with another of my own. God is my witness, sir, I
will never lie or even shade the truth.
Though my tongue might have gotten me in plenty of trouble in the past, it has never ever been for lying. Well, excuse me. There was a time when I was four.
Papa caught me in a fib and gave me my one and only switching. It quite broke my heart, but I learned my lesson well. No matter how much the truth hurts, that's what you'll always get from me.
Blessings sir,
Miss Servilia Parker
She studied the paper, debated with herself for the longest, but the what-did-she-have-to-lose argument won the day. She folded the page and tucked it inside the envelope she'd already addressed with Zeke's introduction.
Tipping the candle, she dripped over the flap, kissed her finger, then touched it to the warm wax.
Oh Lord, send Your favor with this letter if this man is the one You've created for me.
She stood and surveyed the room with a sigh. Would she be doomed to live the whole of her life there alone, never knowing the love of a man?
She changed into her nightgown then slipped into bed. Instead of reading herself to sleep, she turned her lamp down and took to picturing Mister Rupert Sheffield in her mind's eye.
Servilia Sheffield . . . a beautiful alliteration.
The first two crows, she wove into her dream. The third forced her awake. For an instant, she remembered her night vision, then it vanished, leaving only a warmth of heart. She quickly dressed and hurried downstairs.
As usual, Lucy had beat her up, but not by much as the coffee hadn't boiled yet.
“Sleep well?”
“And they're already planning a trip in the fall? It's ludicrous. You don't know something I don't, do you?”
“Something you don't know? I don't—” The meaning behind the question hit her like a mule's kick. “Lucinda! Absolutely not. He's a preacher, after all, and she's . . . she's . . . Melody! Why ever would you think such a thing? I am surprised to say the least.”
“You're right. I'm sorry. There was the night of the storm, and I wondered . . . Please don't say anything or think poorly of me.”
“I never could.” Servilia shrugged. “You see, I accused her of the same thing. But quite Mel style, she about bit my head off for even thinking it. Besides, Harmony has been with her the whole time she was there alone.”
“Still, they did spend the night together.”
“I totally admit Mel and I have had our differences over the years. But our little sister is neither a liar or a cheat.” Servilia laughed. “You saw to that. How many times did you take the peach switch to her fat little legs when she was only knee-high to a grasshopper?”
“Discipline fell to me, so I had to. Papa only ignored her, and he was powerful partial to you. It about broke my heart the way he acted toward Melody.”
“You've been a good mother . . . to her and Harmony.”
Lucy shook her head. “What's gotten into you, Vili? Passing out compliments like this?”
Her shoulders rose a bit on their own. “I don't know, not for sure. I guess with you getting married again . . . and Melody. At first, the very thought of her tying the knot before me burned my hide.
“But on the way home, we had words. If Harmony hadn't been sitting between us, they probably would have led to another fight. Then in the middle of it, she asked me to forgive her for being nasty and mean.
“It touched me, melted my heart.”
She wiped a tear away. “I don't hate her, never have, but . . .” She sucked in a breath, swallowed the boo hoo, then grinned. “I wrote Rupert last night. Hopefully, you'll let me go to town so that I can post it this morning.”
“That's half a day.”
“What's half a day?”
“Going to town, I want to post my letter to Rupert.”
Melody slipped into her chair. No one had coffee yet, so it looked like her sisters hadn't beat her up by that much. She faced Lucy. “Can I go, too? The school wouldn't be that far out of the way, and I could—”
“No! It's Tuesday, and I am not sending Harmony. Without my baby girl, you wouldn't have a chaperone. And if you're even thinking about getting my blessing to marry, we will abstain from all appearances of evil. I will not have the gossip mongers chewing on you. No, thank you ma'am.”
“But, Lucy! I want to see him. I know he has school to teach, but he has minutes here and there, plus I could have dinner with him.”
Stretching her arms straight out, Vili laid her head on the table, yawning. “I could stay with her. I don't mind. I have a few questions I'd really like to ask Zeke about his cousin.
“Writing a perfect stranger seemed weird, made me realize all the things I don't know about him—not even how old the man is.”
Lucy shook her head, retrieved three cups, and filled them with coffee. “Does it matter? Papa was twelve years older than Mama, but they were happy.”
“What if he's forty? Would you still be interested then?” The very thought of getting to see Zeke two days in a row thrilled Melody, but she couldn't get her hopes up. Lucy hadn't agreed yet. “Well, would you?”
“I don't know, and I certainly am not used to the two of you ganging up on me.” The eldest glanced back and forth between her and the middle sister. “Talk about weird.” She carried two of the cups to the table, setting one in front of her and one in front of Vili who abruptly sat up straight.
“But tell me, Lucy. Why borrow trouble? If you'll let us go then we can find out and know for sure. Please say yes.”
“I find it very hard to believe the two of you want to spend the better part of the day together in such close quarters as a wagon.”
“If you say yes, then I'll hitch the mules while you're fixing breakfast.” Melody nodded toward Vili.
“And we can eat on the way. Please? Come on, Sissy.” She finger-combed her hair, grinning then sipped her coffee. “Haven't you always wanted us to be friends? Treat each other better?” She snuggled her shoulder against her cheek like she was six and pouted her lips as if a favorite aunt withholding a cookie was the object of her begging.
The closest thing Melody ever had to a mother shook her head, but instead of giving voice to her reservations when she filled her lungs, she just closed her eyes.
Obviously considering—then after too long a wait, she opened her eyes.
“Best get to it then. And you'll both get all your chores done as soon as you get home whether it's dark or not, so I suggest you make good time. Don't dawdle.”
“Oh, thank you, Lucy!”
“And if this peace you two have forged breaks, then it will be the last time I let you go to town in the middle of the week. You hear me? The very last time.”
Half a step ahead of her sister, Melody reached Lucy, kissed her cheek, then dashed out the kitchen door balancing her coffee out front. She liked—no, really loved—being in cahoots with Vili.
Absolutely way more fun than fighting all the time. Once the mules were hitched, Melody drained her cup and looked over its back.
“Hey, has Lucy said where she and Earl are planning on living?”
“No, we need to talk about that.”
“What about you and Zeke?”
“I'd suppose I'll move in with him and help at the school.”
“Do you know anything about Chicago?”
“No, not really. All I remember from geography is that it's very windy there. I think it's on a river, or maybe one of the great lakes. But it's pretty far north, so probably has winters lots colder than Texas, but not so hot in the summer.”
“It's big, right? Think they have theaters? It'd be dreamy to see a new play every month.”
“Why not one a week?” Melody laughed. “I suspect professors make a pretty penny, way more than us poor farm girls.”
“I suspect you’re right. Let's get loaded and on our way before Sissy changes her mind. We'll be burning daylight in two shakes of a dead dog's tail.”
Normally, Melody would have taken exception. She'd always hated her father's old saying. Hated thinking of a dead dog and besides, they couldn't wag at all.
But she bit her tongue instead of taking any chance of getting Vili riled. She'd liked the new version willing to chaperone way better than the mean one she grew up with.
“Just need to buckle the cross lines. Have you got breakfast packed?”
“I do.”
“We saw that play in Dallas that time, do you remember? You were twelve, and I was ten.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Who could forget that? Romeo and Juliet. I'll never forget it, such a tragedy. Jake was still sparking Lucy then, remember? Best trip ever. Shame DeKalb doesn't have a playhouse. I'd like to be an actress.”
“You'd be good at it.” Melody latched the last one. “I'm done, are we ready?”
“We are. Let's make hay while the sun shines.”
“I'll run say our goodbyes and tell her we're leaving.”
“Harmony's up, so don't let her slow you down. We need to get going if we're stopping by the school.”
As though Lucy's sisters and beau had conspired against her—or rather on her behalf—Earl showed before she'd barely started the chores. Harmony stood next to Mister Draper and clapped each time a barn cat got a spray of warm milk.
Her Papa had done the same thing milking that cow's grandmother and the cat's, what, triple-grand-grandmother?
If only her parents . . . She put that thought away. They'd gone on to their rewards and dwelling on the loss would only dampen her joy. Anyway, the Parker barn cats have enjoyed many generations of healthy squirts. She smiled.
Standing, Earl stepped toward her and took the milk pail from her hand. “Where would you like this?”
“You are such a dear. Put it in the well, please.” She turned the opposite direction, but hesitated. “I'll fetch some grain so Harmony can feed the chickens. It's her favorite chore.”
“I see.” Earl slipped in beside her. “You're blessed, you know, to have a hard worker like her.”
“That's true!” She laughed. “Even if it does take me more time, letting her do it. But she loves it. And I love her.” When the man returned, she tore her eyes away from her daughter and faced the man. “Mister Sheffield has asked Melody to marry him.”
“Wow. That was fast.”
“My sentiments, exactly.” It relieved her that Earl agreed with her. She'd need all the support she could muster if she was going to convince Melody to wait. “We hardly know anything about the man, or his people—well, other than old man Simpson.”
Then her fiancé wavered. “Now he did know about that storm. Everyone in the valley considers him a prophet. You know, that he definitely hears from God. And . . . from everything I'm hearing, the boys at his school all love him.”
“I know, but—”
“And Harmony here. Got to admit she thinks he hung the moon.”
“I have thought of that.” Maybe he wouldn't be on her side of the debate after all. “Do you remember the story of Balaam?”
“Wasn't he the guy with the talking donkey? What about him?”
“Well, you've got the right story, but he was a prophet, yet . . . not a nice man at all. God kept him from cursing the Israelites—which he was all ready to do for money—but he still told King Balak how to corrupt the young men.”
“Yes, but if Ezekiel Sheffield was like that man, wouldn't he have come with his hand out? Lord knows after that storm, he could have made a pile of money telling folks their future.”
She wanted an ally, not male logic, but the whole affair wasn't only the thought of losing her baby sister—except she really wouldn't be.