Diamond Duo

by Marcia Gruver

  Charlie nudged him. “There’s only one way to find out. Come on.”

  Charlie walked fast toward the road, and Thad followed. They reached it just as the clouds started to make good on their threat and the occasional plump raindrop became a scattered shower.

  Bertha, facing down with her hands up to shield her hair, picked up speed. She hurried their way, very distressed by the look of her, and didn’t seem to see them yet. Thad cupped his hands around his mouth to call out to her when she raised her head and looked about, likely searching for shelter. Her gaze fell on Thad and Charlie, and she halted, staring as if unable to believe her eyes.

  “Stay there, Bertha,” Thad called. “We’re coming.”

  He rushed to his horse and mounted in one fluid leap then whirled and rode hard in Bertha’s direction. Drawing even with her, he slowed and reached for her hand. She latched on and allowed him to swing her up behind him. Thad felt her arms go around his waist and her cheek rest against his back, and he tasted bliss.

  H

  It seemed the space of a heartbeat from the time Bertha saw Thad until he pulled her onto his horse. She sat sidesaddle on the back of the galloping filly, clinging to Thad for all she was worth. The rain came down in sheets now, and she fought the improper urge to crawl up under his shirt. Instead, she cuddled close against the heat of his back and closed her eyes.

  The rumbling thunder overhead, pounding hooves beneath her, and the rapid beat of Thad’s heart against her face made her feel giddy and reckless. She had no notion where he might be taking her, or why. Such earthly details held no merit. She wanted only to cry out for Saint Peter to open wide the Pearly Gates, because surely the mare would carry them straight into heaven.

  Too soon the road to Beulah Land became the trail to Crawford Street when Thad reined firmly to the right and into Julius Ney’s pasture. The horse roared up the path to Mr. Ney’s barn.

  Bertha clung so tightly to Thad she feared for his ribs, but any less of a grip and she’d spring off into mud and certain disaster. No matter how marshy the surface, the harsh summer sun had baked a brick-hard crust on Jefferson’s soil. Bertha doubted she’d bounce if she went down.

  With Charlie fast on their heels, Thad galloped the horse past the barricaded front of the structure and around back where the wide doors faced the open fields between the barn and the main house.

  In the distance, Bertha saw Mr. Ney running from the outhouse, suspenders down off his shoulders and shirttail flapping. He waved a permissive hand in their direction just as they ducked beneath the threshold and dove inside.

  Thad eased Bertha to the ground and dismounted. Charlie led his horse to a post in the corner and tied him up. Thad did the same with the mare. When Charlie turned, Bertha couldn’t help but laugh. Mud spattered him from head to toe in big gray blotches like the markings on a dappled hound.

  Thad followed Bertha’s gaze to Charlie then halted and stared. “Followed a mite close to my heels, didn’t you, old friend?”

  Charlie looked down at himself and grinned. “Never intended to follow. I was trying to gain the lead.” He brushed at his clothes. “I’ll think better of it next time.”

  Thad took the handkerchief from around his neck and began blotting raindrops from Bertha’s head and shoulders. She watched him while he worked, his face close and intent on the task. When he dried her to his satisfaction, he took a rolled-up blanket from behind his saddle, shook it out, and spread it on the hay. Then he took her arm and led her to it. “Sit on this side. It’s still mostly dry.” After he saw her well settled, he sat beside her on the blanket, a shy smile on his lips.

  He loves me.

  The truth of it washed over Bertha, making her feel weak and warm, as if her bones were melted butter. There’d be no more wondering, hoping, praying. Thad loved her, all right, and now she knew.

  His actions hadn’t confirmed her belief that he cared–any gentleman would do the same for a lady in distress–it was more the manner in which he went about his ministrations. The way he touched her, led her, succored her, with the tenderness a mother might show toward a beloved child. These things gave Thad away, no matter how distant he kept his feelings or how hard he tried to deny them.

  Thank You, God.

  “Bertha?”

  She averted her gaze. She’d been staring. “Yes?”

  “Are you cold? I can close the doors.”

  She shook her head and met his eyes again. A water droplet found its way past his hairline and started a slow trek down his face, pulling her attention to his tanned cheek. Her finger twitched with the urge to touch it. “I’m fine. No need to fret.”

  He grew suddenly stern. “What in the dickens are you doing out in the woods by yourself? You might’ve been lost or shot by a hunter.” He stopped and raised his brows. “Say, how did you get here anyway?”

  “Mose brought me.”

  His face iced over. “Moses Pharr left you standing in the woods in a thunderstorm? I’ll need to say a few words to that bump-headed boy.”

  She held up her hand. “There’s no need, Thad. He’s coming right back for me. He promised.”

  Thad looked skeptical, so she tried to soften him with a smile. “He should be here any minute, in fact.”

  Charlie loped over to join them, a welcome distraction. He dropped onto the blanket beside Thad and reclined his lanky body, placing both arms behind his head for a pillow. “Sure is cozy in here.” He stretched and closed his eyes. “Wouldn’t take me a minute to fall asleep.”

  Thad nudged him. “Wouldn’t take you a minute to fall asleep if you were balanced on a broom handle.” He winked over at Bertha. “I hear tell Charlie slept his way through the last two years of school.”

  Charlie poked him back. “Don’t believe everything you hear, pilgrim. More like the last three.” They laughed together, and then Charlie turned on his side as if ready to demonstrate the virtue of his statement.

  Bertha watched him turn and shared a smirk with Thad. But the smile that began as shared amusement blossomed into an intimate meeting of eyes and soul. The encounter caused Bertha’s breath to catch. Flustered, she turned away to exhale.

  When her breathing settled, she tried to ease the strain between them with small talk. “Mr. Ney did a right fine job on this barn, didn’t he?” She let her gaze follow the neat row of new planks along the wall to the sturdy overhead beams. Above their heads, a wide hayloft seemed bursting at the seams with bales, and matching tied bundles lined the walls on the floor.

  The smell of fresh-milled pine and cut hay filled the room, mixed with the odor of wet clothes, damp earth, and the headiest scent of all, Thad’s hair balm. It smelled of nameless spice and pomade. Mingled with the odor of soap on his cheeks from his shaving mug, it wove an intoxicating halo about him. She grew hesitant to turn his way, because when their eyes met, she felt herself sway toward him against her will.

  She stole a sly glance and discovered Thad seemed rattled, too. He focused on his hands, which wouldn’t stay still in his lap. She expected at any minute he might sit on them.

  Instead, he reached for her hand, pulling her shy fingers with his determined ones, gently tugging until her hand was close enough to gather up and squeeze. The simple gesture made her stomach lurch. The warmth and pressure of his strong hand around hers thrilled her and related how he felt without his saying a word.

  “Bertha, there’s something I–”

  Sloshing footsteps outside cut him off. Mr. Ney appeared in the door of the barn with a feed sack held over his head.

  “You kids all right in here?”

  Thad struggled to his feet. “Mr. Ney, sir. Yes, we’re fine. We just ducked in to wait out the storm.” He jabbed a finger toward the slumbering Charlie. “The three of us, I mean. Sure hope you don’t mind.”

  Mr. Ney stepped inside and shook the water from his sack.

  “The missus sent me out here to fetch you.” He glanced behind him at the pouring rain. “Says you’re wel
come to sit in the kitchen until this thing blows over.”

  For some reason, Thad had become as edgy as a cat the moment Mr. Ney appeared. He smoothed one hand through his wet hair and shook his head. “No disrespect intended, sir, but we’ll stay put until it slacks off, if it’s all right with you. We’d just repay her kindness by tracking half of Texas onto her floors.”

  Mr. Ney shot a look toward Charlie, who hadn’t moved. Then his eyes swept to Bertha. “That all right with you, child?”

  Bertha gave him a wide-eyed stare. “Why, yes, sir.”

  Mr. Ney cleared his throat. “All right, then. I guess that’ll be acceptable. But leave this door open, Thad.” His attention returned to Bertha, and he pointed behind him at the house. “We’ll be just inside. . .if you need us for anything.”

  Bertha wondered why Mr. Ney acted so stern about such a trifling thing as sitting outside in the barn. She guessed she might never understand the ways of men. She offered Mr. Ney her brightest smile. “Give my best to the missus, won’t you?”

  He said he would, then with one more weighted look toward Thad, covered his head with the sack and darted for the house. Bertha giggled at the nervous look on Thad’s face as he watched him leave.

  “I can’t imagine how difficult it is to be a man.” She had his attention. Likely more by the way she squinted up at him than by her words.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Oh, just that men spend so much time guarding the virtue of women that they forget to safeguard their own.”

  His mouth drooped in shock. “Bertha Biddie. What a forward thing to say.”

  “Oh, pooh. It’s only the truth. Annie would agree if she were here.”

  When Thad looked blank, she remembered he didn’t know about her new friend. She scurried up and dashed to his side.

  “I didn’t tell you, did I? I’ve met the most wonderful person. Her name’s Annie Moore, and she’s lovely. And elegant. And mysterious. And ever so wise. I’ve never seen anything like her. I’ll wager you haven’t, either.”

  She paused to gulp air then continued. “In a very short time we’ve become fast friends. Annie’s offered to help me with–” She felt her cheeks heat up, so she lowered her lids. “With a most vexing dilemma.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Annie’s just the one to help me, too. I know she is.”

  She found his eyes again. “I do want you to meet her. Oh, promise you will.”

  Thad took her by the shoulders and laughed down at her. “Whoa there, sugar. Dig in your spurs. I’ll meet Annie twice if it means that much to you.”

  A cloud fell over Bertha’s excitement, heavier than the one over Julius Ney’s barn. “The only thing is, I don’t know when I’ll see her again. The last time I saw her, she was very upset.”

  Thad’s brows puckered in the middle. “What about?”

  She gazed up at him, trying to decide if she should speak the whole truth. After all, it was Annie’s affair and none of her own. So despite the concern in his big brown eyes, Bertha made up her mind not to tell. “I believe Annie’s in terrible trouble. That’s all I’m at liberty to say. And I don’t know how to help her.”

  Thad lifted her chin. “I can’t imagine what sort of trouble might put such a worrisome look on your face, but there’s no trouble in the world bigger than God.”

  His words struck Bertha’s heart like a thunderbolt and kindled fire in her muddled mind. “Oh, Thad, that’s it! Annie needs God’s help, not mine.” She pulled him low and kissed him on the cheek, surprising him by the look on his face. “It’s so clear to me now. I know just what to do.”

  They heard the sound of an approaching wagon at the same time and moved to the door. Voices shouted Bertha’s name from the road at the end of Mr. Ney’s lane.

  “Bertha!” The deep bass bawl had to be Mose.

  “Bertha Biddie, where are you?” The high, tinny mewl belonged to Rhodie.

  “See! I told you they’d come back for me.”

  She started out the door, but Thad clutched her arm and pulled her back. “Bertha, wait. I’ll take you home.”

  “I’m not going home. I need to see Annie first.”

  “Then I’ll take you to see Annie.”

  “It’s out of your way.”

  He held up one hand. “I don’t mind. Honest.”

  It sounded tempting but made no sense. Thad’s clothes were soaked through. He needed to get straight home before he came down with a fever. She shook her head. “There’s no reason to put you out. Those two are here for me, and they’re headed straight into town.”

  The rain had stopped, but heavy drips fell from the eaves over the barn door. She waited, timing her exit to avoid getting splashed on the head.

  Thad moved up behind her, his voice unsettled. “Bertha, there’s something I haven’t told you.”

  “We’ll talk later. I promise. Don’t forget you still have to meet Annie.” She turned and patted his arm. “Good-bye, Thad. And thank you ever so much for your advice.” Darting out the door, she ran around the barn just as Mose and Rhodie rolled past.

  “Wait! I’m here!”

  Rhodie whirled on the seat. “Stop, Mose. There she is. Bertha, where were you? We’ve looked everywhere.”

  Bertha pointed back at Julius Ney’s barn. “I took shelter in there. It started to rain.”

  Mose gave her a disgusted look. “I guess we know that.” He and Rhodie sat atop the unprotected buckboard as wet as two bedbugs on wash day.

  Bertha pressed a hand to her mouth to hide her smile. “Let’s get going, then. Before it starts up again.”

  Rhodie moved aside to let Bertha board then elbowed her brother. “Don’t get stuck this time.”

  Mose clucked at the horse and pulled away.

  Bertha looked back to find Thad standing outside the barn with a curious look on his face–part longing, part desperation, with a touch of sadness around the edges. She leaned to peer closer, but the jostling wagon had put too much distance between them. She raised her hand in a last merry wave, but Thad didn’t wave back.

  As she watched, Charlie came around the side of the barn and joined him. He patted Thad on the back with what could only be described as sympathy. Charlie’s gesture was the last thing she saw before the two men fell out of sight around the bend of a tree-lined curve.

  Sarah leaned closer to the window, so near her breath fogged the glass. She stretched to her tiptoes to peer over the misty spot and checked the road again. No sign of Henry. When he first slipped out, without angry words or slammed doors, her shame and pride had pronounced him weak. With the passage of time, his meekness turned to strength against the memory of her railing fit.

  She traded her nightdress and shawl for the torn dress and boots and set out to find him. She soon learned he didn’t ride away, because Dandy stood in his stall munching hay. The indisputable sight of the big gray mule meant the wagon would be in its place. Though Henry’s rage may have given him the strength to pull it, he’d lack the inclination.

  He wasn’t in the fields. She roamed the yard and peered in every direction, at first sashaying in a casual way, stealing furtive glances in case he lurked somewhere and watched. The longer she searched, the more scared she became, fear turning her easy sway into determined strides.

  Though it made no sense, he had vanished. Unless the Lord had come for his children and left her to stew in her sins, Henry had departed the place on foot–walked when he had a perfectly fine means of transportation lollygagging in the barn.

  After one more rambling search of the place, Sarah stumbled back inside to begin her vigil. A glance at the stove reminded her she had placed a towel over the corn bread and set the beans off the fire a good two hours ago. She lifted the lid and stared into the pot. The mingled odor of pintos and ham hock wafted up. Her favorite food. Another day she’d give in to the grumble in her stomach and dish up a bowl, but dread had taken her appetite. She needed to put them away before they spoiled–Lord knows we have n
o food to waste–but she couldn’t muster the strength to care. Henry was all that mattered. She had to find him, confess her sorrow over how she had treated him. Again.

  Her mind settled, Sarah pulled off the blue gingham dress just long enough to sew up the seam she’d ripped under the arm in angry impatience. Another casualty of her unbridled temper. If she hadn’t stripped down and hopped into bed in the middle of the day to pout, she’d never have torn her dress. She held it up, surprised to see a neat row of stitches despite her haste. Slipping it overhead, with more care this time, she ran out the door, without stopping to return the sewing kit to the drawer in the console table or to store the corn bread and beans.

  Dandy stood in the same place she’d found him earlier, pulling lazy bites of hay from a handcart in the corner. She slid the bridle onto his head then jerked him away from the hay and over to the saddle rack hanging on the wall. Sarah’s size and Dandy’s interest in the hay made the task hard, but she got him saddled and led him from the barn, where Henry kept a stool near the fence just for her. She stepped on it and slipped her foot in the stirrup then swung up on Dandy’s back and gave him a swat. “Let’s go, mule.”

  Dandy heaved a rebellious sigh against the straps on his belly and listed to the side. Sarah knew what came next. The ornery cuss would side-step to the fence and try his best to rake her off, a trick he knew not to play on Henry. She outsmarted him by lifting her leg just in time, but it was a close call.

  “Blast you, Dandy! We got no time for your shenanigans today. You best smarten up and recall who feeds you. If you don’t help me find Henry, I’ll let you starve, I swear it.”

  As if he understood every word, the mule took off down the lane, lit out for the road, and gave her no more trouble on the way into town.

  The distance to Jefferson was walkable for sure but an easier ride, and Henry had no reason to go there. They only rode in earlier in the day on account of his notion to buy her a treat, the foolish idea that started the whole dreary mess. Common sense said he would be down by the bayou, skipping stones across the water or lying sprawled under a tree to pout. No matter how unreasonable, something led her straight to Jefferson as fast as Dandy could plod.