Seeing his tears flooded her eyes. She pushed away and wiped her cheeks with her palms. “How’d we get back on this same old tired subject?”
Henry shrugged. “Don’t we always?”
“I guess we do.” Lifting on her toes, she kissed him on the cheek. “Will you kindly go wash for supper now? You’ve stirred enough trouble for one day, even for you.”
He swatted her behind, the old Henry once again. “If I clear my plate, can I have me some more of that chocolate?”
Sarah went back to her stove. “I believe you’ve had quite enough. Besides, I might like one more little taste before it’s all gone.”
“I reckon Dandy would, too.”
She glanced back at his too-innocent face. “What did you say?”
“I said Dandy might want him one more bite. That old mule sure liked it.”
She swiped at him. “You ain’t fed my candy to that no-’count critter!”
Henry laughed and dodged. “Jus’ a taste. But he sure was hankering for more.”
“Well, I hope he enjoyed it, because neither one of you sorry mules will see another morsel of it.” His words from moments before came back to her, and she wanted to whack off her tongue. But he still grinned like he didn’t notice, so she hit him with the towel.
“Git on, now. And don’t come back until you’re fit for the table.”
Smiling, Sarah watched him leave the room. Their talk had lifted some of the weight from around her heart. They should try it more often.
She turned back to the stove and gasped. The tea!
Lifting the pot, she raised the lid to peer inside at the oily dark brown liquid.
Ruined.
It had been left to steep far too long, and the result would be a bitter, distasteful brew. Given the way the day had gone so far, it seemed a fitting addition to scorched beans and crumbly, dried-up corn bread.
T had tried hard to turn away. His mama would expect no less of him. But it wasn’t every day he saw two grown women–though the scene before his eyes made him question that estimation–standing in a bucket of water. There they were, Magda and his own little Bertha, up to their calves in a washtub. They clung to each other, inching their way in a tight circle and laughing like addlepated loons.
Gerta Hayes reacted as if miles of skin were showing, instead of the two inches of bare leg above the line of the pan. “Girls! Vot on earth? Cover yourselves!”
The two froze and looked her way, but the hilarity didn’t leave their tear-streaked faces until they spotted Thad. Then the jostling in the pail increased tenfold as they worked their way around to their stools and sat down hard. The visible skin disappeared to the point where Thad knew their hems had gone under.
Mr. Hayes, evidently content to let his wife fend for their modesty, never flinched. But his curiosity proved less restrained. “What y’all doing, Magda? Ain’t never seen that jig danced before. Least not in a tub of water.”
The red-faced girls, still feet-first in water like a pair of wading ducks, watched owl-eyed as their audience drew near.
“Answer your papa, Magdalena, and be quick about it.”
Magda averted her eyes and lowered her head. Bertha, cute as a newborn calf even with her mouth agape, gawked at Thad.
When Mr. Hayes cleared his throat, Magda dared to raise her eyes. “Sorry, Papa. We were turning, see?” She twirled her finger in the space between them. “To opposite sides.”
Bertha awoke from her daze and pointed behind her. “The fire. It got too hot on the one side.”
Magda nodded. “So we turned.”
“Yes, to the cooler side.”
Thad groaned at the manner in which they had stumbled into Mr. Hayes’s web. Innocent lambs to the slaughter.
The older gentleman stepped forward, nodding his head. “Oh yes, I see it now.” He glanced behind him, his expression sincere. “Don’t you see it, Thad?”
Thad could only grin and wait.
“So, girls. . .what you’re saying is you were done on the one side, so you flipped over to roast the other’n.” He fell forward, clutching his knees to stay upright, and laughed at his own joke. He pointed at the pan and all but shouted as he delivered the kicker. “I see you saved some time by sitting in your own basting sauce.”
Mr. Hayes’s laughter turned out to be more contagious than his smile, and Thad felt his good breeding start to slip. His own grin turned to a chortle then a full-blown howl. He leaned into Magda’s papa to stay upright, and the two braced each other while they laughed. The girls pouted at first, but a quick glance at each other’s faces set them off, too. The only sane person in the house stood scowling from the stove.
“You two best be glad this stew’s not ruined. Now hush, all of you, and come to supper.”
Thad followed Mr. Hayes to the table, still wiping his eyes. He tried to avert his attention from the circus ring near the fireplace but found the performance too engaging. His headstrong gaze wandered there against his will.
Magda pulled her skirt free from where she had wadded it under her sash and stood up. Bertha, the most fetching clown in the show, freed her dress, too, but remained seated. Magda stepped out on a towel, dried her feet, and slid her shoes on.
Bertha broke eye contact with Thad and tugged on Magda’s skirt. “What about me?”
“What about you?”
“I don’t have shoes to wear.”
Magda handed her the towel. “Dry your feet before they prune up. I’ll see if your shoes are dry.”
Bertha swung her feet to the floor and stared down at them. “Too late. They’ve been wet so long they’re pickled.”
Thad covered his mouth to hide his grin.
Magda bent over a pair of button-strap shoes and lifted one from the hearth. “Still soaked clean through. They might be dry by Christmas.”
Magda’s mama glanced at her from the stove. “Ve just had Christmas.”
“I know.”
After Mrs. Hayes laid another place at the table, she crossed to her bedroom door. “Vait, dumpling,” she called to Bertha. “I think my shoes might fit you, ja?”
Bertha discreetly turned and wrung out her drenched hem over the towel. Then she leaned toward the fire pit and held the damp fabric closer to the flames.
Thad found something else to look at until Mrs. Hayes returned with a pair of worn black boots.
“Not so pretty, but varm and dry at least.”
Bertha took uncommon pleasure in the sight of the boots. Smiling as though she’d been granted a wish, she looked them over. “Oh, these will do fine, Mrs. Hayes. Much obliged.”
Mr. Hayes slapped both beefy palms on the table. “Enough about shoes, womenfolk. That venison tastes good from here. Serve it up, Gertie, before my lint-catcher caves.”
As if her husband hadn’t spoken, Mrs. Hayes stood over Bertha while she tried the boots. “Dey fit you nice. Das gut. You may keep dem, Bert’a. Too big for me.”
Bertha gaped up at her. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly.” Thad watched the idea flit around in her pixie eyes. “But suppose we trade?” She pointed at the bronze shoes, her voice high-pitched with excitement. “Those will never fit me again, I’m sure of it.”
Mrs. Hayes stared toward the hearth. “You give me dose nice shoes?”
“With pleasure.”
Mrs. Hayes gave a quick nod and held out her hand. “Ve have us a deal.”
“Gert, you’ll have more than a deal if you and your daughter don’t start shaking those pots. I’ll give you a knot on the head.”
“Hush, Yacob. We’re coming.” She waved him off as she passed but hustled to the stove with Magda on her heels.
Bertha finished lacing her new boots and stood. Patting her stringy hair and smoothing her mud-caked skirt, she eased toward the table.
Thad leaped to his feet to pull out her chair, and she sat down with a shy smile.
Mrs. Hayes ladled the stew with a flourish. She passed between them nodding and winking, grinning down
at each bowl as though she’d birthed rather than cooked the pleasant-smelling dish. Magda brought a basket of hot, crusty bread and a saucer of soft, churned butter and then returned to the stove for a large bowl of sauerkraut and sausage. She placed it in front of Mr. Hayes and surveyed the spread with a practiced eye.
“Need anything else, Papa?”
“Just space for my elbows and a little time, sugar.”
When they settled around the big oak table, Mr. Hayes bowed for prayer, and Thad followed suit. The amen was barely said before clanking spoons and spirited conversation commenced.
Mr. Hayes lifted his face from his bowl long enough to nod at his wife across the bread basket. “Fine vittles, woman. Mighty fine vittles.”
Thad winked at Bertha and smiled at the older woman. “Your husband’s right, ma’am. This here’s good eating.”
Mrs. Hayes beamed so brightly she lit up the room. “You really tink so?”
“Oh yes, ma’am. You could serve this with pride to Ulysses S. Grant.”
Mr. Hayes stopped eating and glowered at Thad. “Watch your tongue, boy. Don’t go putting crazy ideas in the poor woman’s head. There ain’t no way she could serve this stew to President Grant.”
Thad’s gaze jumped back to Mrs. Hayes. She had lowered her head and folded her hands in her lap. All trace of her pleasure had vanished.
Magda, red-faced and scowling, rose to her mama’s defense. “And just why not, Papa?”
“I don’t intend to leave him any, that’s why!”
Mrs. Hayes, who Thad reckoned should know her husband better by now, tittered with relief and picked up her spoon. “Aw, go on, Yacob Hayes. Eat your stew and behave.”
The tension eased around the table and a spell of quiet, companionable eating followed. The venison stew really was hands-down the best Thad had ever tasted. Especially when he dipped the soft middle of the fresh bread in the thick, dark broth and followed it with a bite of chewy, buttered crust. Never one for eating cabbage, the savory kraut and sausage surprised him. He sat contemplating seconds when Gerta Hayes broke the silence.
“Your mama vill be vorried about you, Bert’a?”
Bertha swallowed a bite and wiped her mouth on her napkin. “Yes, ma’am. I expect she’ll be on the porch craning her neck when I get home.”
Thad took his chance. “Bertha, I’ll be glad to take you straight home after supper.”
Mr. Hayes shook his head and spoke with bread-stuffed cheeks. “No sense in you young people riding horseback in the rain, not when we got Gert’s two-seater in the barn. I’ll see her home, Thad. But you kin tie your horse to the back and ride with us.”
Thad raised a finger to protest, but Mr. Hayes cut him off. “Won’t be no trouble a’tall.”
“I’m coming with you, Papa.”
“No, daughter. You stay put and help your mama. I won’t be long.”
Magda settled back in a pout while Bertha leaned forward to help Thad. “Won’t we bog down in the surrey, sir?”
Mr. Hayes shoved another broth-soaked piece of bread in his mouth and proceeded to talk around it. “Never been stuck a day in my life. A body just has to recognize when it ain’t smart to push your luck.” He slapped the table near Thad with his free hand. “Get it, son? You ain’t got to know where to go, just where not to.”
He ducked his head to peer under the tasseled shade on the window. “Most the water’s run off anyway, now that the rain’s dwindled. The ground under that lane is packed solid, little Bertha. Take a bigger cloudburst than we had today to soften it up.” He dismissed any more discussion with a wave of his hand. “Eat up, now. Let’s get this young lady home before they round up a search party.”
Thad went back to his bowl, but his heart found no more pleasure in venison stew. He comforted himself with thoughts of sitting next to Bertha in the surrey on the way to town. If Mr. Hayes cooperated by focusing his attention on the road ahead, the trip presented the chance to cuddle close to her on the rear seat, maybe even hold her hand. The prospect caused a chill down his back that had nothing to do with the steadily plummeting temperature outside.
The rain had ushered in a cold snap no one had prepared for, especially Bertha. She wore a lightweight dress with short sleeves and no stockings inside her boots. After they finished the meal and cleared the table, Mr. Hayes went around back to hitch up the horse while his wife found Bertha a suitable wrap. When the wagon pulled to the front door, Thad thanked Mrs. Hayes for dinner and helped Bertha into her borrowed coat. Bertha kissed the still-pouting Magda on the cheek, and they ran outside.
Mr. Hayes had arranged purchase of the ten-year-old surrey and the horse to pull it at the same time. Thad reckoned the seller knew he’d never unload the poor creature otherwise. The gelding looked white some days, gray on others, depending on the quality of the light. The grayish cast of his skin extended to the rims of his smallish eyes, his overlarge mouth, and the insides of his droopy ears in such a way that he always appeared slightly dirty. His overlarge teeth, which he displayed with amusing regularity, were stained brown as if he smoked a pipe.
Despite being hard on the eyes, the aging horse was a favorite with the locals. More than sixteen hands tall with the disposition of a kitten, he made up in size and character what he lacked in good looks. Mrs. Hayes had rigged a straw hat for him to wear, cutting two large holes in the sides for his ears, and insisted on braiding his tail. To his credit, the old gentleman never seemed to mind.
When Mr. Hayes jumped down from the surrey and lifted Bertha onto the leather seat beside him, Thad’s mood bottomed out. A ruinous trick of fate, somehow stronger than his love for Bertha, was determined to keep them apart. He exchanged a grim look with her as he climbed into the backseat alone. Her mournful eyes told him she must be thinking along the same lines.
True to his word, Mr. Hayes expertly guided them down the long drive and onto the street without mishap, and they set off toward town. Bertha lived on the other side of Jefferson, near the bridge on the road that led to Marshall, so Mr. Hayes turned off Broadway and headed south on Polk.
Bertha started to fidget, and Thad leaned to touch her arm. “What is it, Bertha?”
She stared west toward Vale Street, her eyes narrowed, brows drawn. Instead of answering Thad’s question, she squared around to face Mr. Hayes. “Excuse me, sir. Would it be too much trouble to cut over and drive past Brooks House? There’s someone there I need to see.”
Mr. Hayes reached a finger to scratch a spot up under his hat. “Well, I don’t know, darling. Didn’t you say your mama would be watching for you? We don’t want to fret her none, do we?”
Up ahead and one street over, the back side of the hotel appeared through the trees. Bertha swiveled on her seat as they passed it by, squirming as though she might jump off and run if the surrey didn’t stop. She latched onto Mr. Hayes’s arm so tightly her fingers turned white. “Please, sir. It will only take a minute. I have an urgent errand to attend.”
Thad scooted to the edge of his seat and cleared his throat. “I’ll gladly go along to see that she returns in a timely fashion.”
Mr. Hayes pulled up on the reins, and the horse eased to a stop. He looked back at Thad, still not convinced. “I don’t know, boy.”
“I assure you it will be quick, right, Bertha?”
Her head bobbed up and down. “Oh yes. Very quick.”
Before Mr. Hayes could say anything more, Thad hopped to the ground and turned to help Bertha down. He untied his horse from the back and climbed into the saddle, pulling Bertha up behind him. The next idea came to him before he had time to feel guilty. “As a matter of fact, there’s no reason for you to wait. I’ll help Bertha with her errand and see her straight home. You have my word.”
Mr. Hayes spun around on the seat. “Now wait a second, Thad.”
Thad tipped his hat. “You can count on me, sir. I won’t let you down.” He tapped the horse with his heel and reeled into the street with Bertha clinging to his middle.
They rode the short distance to Austin Street and turned back up toward Vale before Bertha started to laugh. “Shouldn’t you be ashamed of yourself? You left him with his mouth gaped so wide he’ll be catching flies.”
Thad chuckled. “As fond of the man as I may be, it’s worth him eating the odd fly to have a moment alone with you. It’s right hard to steer you away from prying eyes, you know.” He patted her hand. “Besides, I got you a chance to go see your friend.”
She tightened her grip around his waist, and he could hear a smile in her voice. “You most certainly did. And for that, Mr. Bloom, I thank you.”
Within a few feet of the next crossroad, he felt Bertha tense behind him. “Speaking of Annie, there she is now.”
Thad’s head swung around. “You see her? Where?”
She pointed past the horse’s nose. “There. Coming out of the Rosebud.”
At the corner of Austin and Vale crouched a saloon of dubious reputation. Said to be “the rendezvous of judges, lawyers, and men with notched guns,” the Rosebud was a lively watering hole, and it nagged Thad a bit that someone Bertha cared so much for would find the gin mill worthy of her time.
The woman Bertha indicated was in the company of a tall, dark-haired man. Unaware of Thad’s approaching horse, they clung together and lurched toward Vale Street. When Thad and Bertha drew alongside them, it took the couple a moment to realize they were there. But by the time Thad dismounted and helped Bertha down, the two stood swaying and staring their way.
Without waiting for Thad, Bertha hurried toward them. “Annie!”
The woman glanced at the man with panicked eyes. Then she shoved him aside and started to walk away, but he clutched her arm and held her.
“Whoa, now! Where you going in such an all-fired hurry?” He dragged her around to face him, but she wouldn’t meet his pointed glare.
“Where do you think I’m going, silly? Back to the hotel.”
Her companion gave her a little shake. “S’matter, you deaf? This little lady’s speaking to you.”
Annie flung her head from side to side. “No, Abe. You’re mistaken. She isn’t.”
Diamond Duo Page 11