“Lemme see. There’s G. An’ O. An’ D.” Concentration deepened Ruth’s husky tone. “An’ them letters, they say . . . Guh. Awww. Duh. Guh-aww-duh. Guh-aww . . .”
Joss held his breath, awareness dawning just before Ruth proclaimed, “God! That say God!” Clapping erupted while laughter rang.
Simon dragged a board into the house and handed it to Joss. “What’s all the hoorawin’ for?”
Joss hefted the board into place. “Ask your wife.” He placed a nail and began banging, but Ruth’s ecstatic voice carried over his ruckus.
“Simon, lookit this! See this word? It say God! Simon, I can read my Maker’s name!”
Something pulled at Joss. Not a physical hand—not anything he could define—but an invisible cord wrapped itself around him and pulled him in the direction of the table. His muscles tensed, fighting the urge, but it won. His gaze found the open Bible, and he followed the line of Ruth’s finger pointing to a single word: God. A tingle crept across Joss’s scalp. G-O-D . . . God. He could see it.
“Get the chillun in here,” Ruth commanded, flapping at Simon’s chest with both palms. Her smile beamed bright, tears rolling down her face. “I want E.Z., Malachi, an’ Naomi to read it, too.”
With an indulgent chuckle, Simon hop-skipped to the door and hollered for the youngsters to come see what their mama’d learned. All of the children came running—the Foster young’uns and Emmy and Nathaniel, too—and the little room got so crowded Joss didn’t have space to swing the hammer. But it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have been able to lift it anyway. He felt as though every bit of strength had drained from his body. Yet something new and powerful pulsed through his middle.
God. He could read it! God.
Tarsie tucked the light quilt beneath Emmy’s chin and whisked a kiss onto the little girl’s forehead. On the other side of the sleeping mat, Nathaniel already slept, his lips slightly puckered. The little boy’d tuckered himself out chasing with E.Z. and Malachi.
“G’night now. Pleasant dreams,” Tarsie whispered.
“G’night.” Emmy’s thick lashes swept up and down in slow motion as she battled tiredness. “You comin’ to bed soon?” Over the past few days, the children had grown accustomed to Tarsie sharing their mat.
Tarsie smoothed her hand over the child’s hair. “Soon.” She pushed to her feet and crept through the gap in the newly constructed wall. Although it was simply built—a few beams upright from the floor to the ceiling and then some side-to-side boards marching from the floor to just higher than Tarsie’s head—the wall created a fine privacy barrier between the sleeping room and the main part of the house.
Joss had used up all of the lumber from the wagon, so he intended to hang a blanket to separate the sleeping area into two spaces until he could afford to buy enough wood to build another wall. Considering the coarse materials he’d been forced to use, he’d done a fine job. When she reentered the main room of the house, where he sat at the table with a cup of coffee between his palms, she told him so.
He jolted. Coffee sloshed over the rim of the cup and dribbled onto the tabletop. Two dark splotches landed very near Tarsie’s Bible, which still lay on the table. He swept the droplets away with his hand, then wiped his hand on his pants. His eyes on the black leather-bound book, he mumbled, “Reckon it’ll do.” With jerky motions, he raised the cup and took a noisy slurp.
Tarsie poured her own cup and seated herself across the table. In less than a week, they’d each adopted a spot. Tarsie and Emmy shared one bench, Joss and Nathaniel the other, with the children and adults sitting diagonally from one another. It worked well to keep their feet from tromping on each other’s, but it put distance between Tarsie and Joss. Sometimes Tarsie appreciated the space.
Tonight, however, she wished she had the courage to slip over next to him. Put her hand over his and tell him she’d seen his expression when Ruth cried out in exulted understanding. Longing had filled his eyes. Not even his stiff stance as he stood with his back pressed to the wall could hide it. But pride would keep him from admitting it.
She took a sip of her coffee, then set the cup down and pretended interest in prying loose a sliver on the table’s edge. “When I walked Ruth and Simon to their cart, Simon told me there’s some saplings growing along the creek behind his pappy’s place.”
Joss peered at her over the rim of his cup, his brows low. “What do I need with saplings?”
“You could cut them down and use ’em to be buildin’ bed frames.” She flicked a glance in his direction. “If you’ve a mind to be buildin’ bed frames.”
Joss took another swig, then plunked the cup onto the table. “And why would I want to build bed frames?”
Tarsie offered a slow shrug. “It seems as though building things pleasures you. You built this fine table an’ benches, and now a wall. I thought, since you’d gotten a taste of . . . buildin’ things, it might’ve made you hungry for . . . more.” She held her breath, her thoughts shifting to the taste he’d been given of reading.
He nodded. “I’ve seen rope beds. I could put one together. But I’ve got no axe to chop down saplings.”
Tarsie beamed at him. “Why, that’s no problem at all. Simon has an axe an’ a sharpenin’ stone. He told me so.”
“’Course he did.”
She pretended not to hear his sarcastic remark and reached for his empty cup. “Tomorrow after supper, we’ll walk to Simon and Ruth’s place. It’s a goodly walk, but a summer evening—especially now that the rains have stopped—is a fine time to be going for a long stroll. You an’ Simon can be cuttin’ down saplings and stripping ’em while I’m giving Ruth another lesson.”
She carried both of their cups to the washstand and placed them gently into the tin basin. With a sigh, she turned to face Joss. “Now that Ruth knows all the letters an’ their sounds an’ how to string them together into words, there’ll be no stopping her. She can be reading anything. Learning anything.” She paused, hoping he might forget his pride and express a desire to read, too. No man, no matter how stubborn, could have witnessed Ruth’s elation and not want it for himself.
Joss sat staring straight ahead, his jaw at a stern angle.
“Joss?”
“Reckon it’d be good to get the young’uns off the floor.” He still didn’t look at her. “But Foster’s place is too far for ’em to walk.”
Tarsie tensed, expecting him to tell her he’d go by himself.
“After work, when I take the horse to the livery, I’ll see about borrowing a buckboard from Keller so we can ride over. We’ll need some way of totin’ the cut saplings back here anyway.”
Clasping her hands beneath her chin, Tarsie tried to rein in her delight. “So . . . we’ll all be goin’ to Ruth and Simon’s place tomorrow?”
“Reckon so.” He rose and headed for the door, arms swinging. “I’ll go outside so you can get changed for bed. Blow out the lantern when you’re done so I know I can come back in.”
He stepped out and clicked the door shut behind him without so much as a glance in her direction. But Tarsie skipped to the partitioned-off sleeping area, her happiness spilling all the way to her toes. He was softening! Oh, he didn’t show it in his tone or in the way he stomped around as if ants were under his feet, but he cared about his children or he wouldn’t be fetching a wagon to save them from having to walk so far. He cared about her desire to teach Ruth or he wouldn’t take her along. He cared—he truly did.
Tarsie quickly donned her nightgown, then slipped to her knees. Folding her hands, she squeezed her eyes shut and poured out her gratitude to God for the changes she’d witnessed in Joss. She finished, “Keep moldin’ him, Lord, just as You’ve been doing. Keep drawing him closer and closer to You, just the way Mary wanted him to be. And help me honor my promise to Mary, Lord—be giving me the strength to be loving. Even when he’s irksome. Amen.”
She hurried back to the main room and blew out the lantern. On tiptoe, she skittered to the sleeping ar
ea and slipped in next to Emmy before Joss entered the house and caught her sneaking around in her nightgown. As she laid her head on the pillow, a worrisome thought captured her. When Joss made the children a rope bed, it likely would be large enough for both of the children . . . but not for her, too. Her mouth went dry. Maybe building beds wasn’t a good idea, after all.
Tarsie worried about the youngsters bouncing off the back of the wagon, since no high sides offered protection, but they arrived at Simon and Ruth’s little house safely. The Foster children were waiting in the yard and ran to the wagon, their faces alight. E.Z. cupped his hands beside his mouth and bellowed, “Ma! Comp’ny’s here!”
At once, several faces poked from neighboring doorways. Tarsie noted narrowed eyes and firmly set lips. A chill crept across her scalp. Joss had warned her the white neighbors might think less of her for spending time with a black woman. For the first time, she wondered if Ruth might pay a price for befriending Tarsie. Her stomach churned.
Ruth charged across the yard, hands outstretched. “Climb on down, girl! Didja bring your Bible?”
Tarsie groaned. “I forgot. Joss was in such a hurry . . .” Hearing the complaint in her voice, she clapped her hand over her mouth.
Ruth chuckled. “Oh, lawsy, it’s no trouble. I gots that one belonged to Simon’s pappy. We can use it instead.”
Tarsie climbed down while the children dashed around the corner in a happy cluster and Simon loaded an axe and an odd-looking two-handled saw in the back of the wagon.
“Be back afore sundown,” Simon said, leaning in to deliver a kiss on Ruth’s cheek.
Tarsie averted her gaze, embarrassed by their affection. No matter how much Joss changed, she couldn’t imagine him ever kissing her cheek right out in broad daylight.
Ruth waved to the men. “Be careful, now!” The moment the wagon rolled off, she looped her hand through Tarsie’s elbow and aimed her for the house. “I baked some molasses cookies, an’ I got a pot of tea brewin’ so’s we can have a li’l treat while we study.”
Tarsie glanced quickly at the nearby houses. People remained in doorways, staring at her. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Are you sure it’s all right for me to be here, Ruth? I don’t want to be causin’ trouble for you.”
Ruth drew back, her brows crunching together. “Trouble?” Then she looked, too. She let out a little snort. Stepping away from Tarsie, she waved at the nearest neighbor. “Howdy there, Myrtle Mae. You gon’ come ovuh an’ meet my friend? Gettin’ a look-see in the sunlight’ll give you a better idea on how pearly white her skin be.”
Tarsie gasped. The woman Ruth addressed as Myrtle Mae backed quickly into her house and slammed the door. The others followed suit, sending off a series of bangs that reminded Tarsie of Fourth of July firecrackers. Chortling, Ruth sashayed to Tarsie and took her arm again. She ushered Tarsie into the little house and pulled out a chair.
“Set yo’self down.”
Tarsie did so.
Ruth headed to a roughhewn stand in the corner and lifted a plate of brown, crumbly-looking cookies. “An’ take that worrisome look right off yo’ face. You don’t need to be frettin’ one bit ovuh those nosy folks.” She slapped the plate on the table, then stood with her hands on her hips. “They’s just jealous is all. Word’s got aroun’ that you’s teachin’ me. Whole lotta people’d like to be takin’ the lessons, too, but I tell ’em they gotta wait. Soon as I got it all down real good, I’ll be openin’ up a school an’ share what I learnt.”
She tossed her head, making her wiry hair bounce on her broad forehead. “They’s a few callin’ me uppity, but we’s used to that. They already fling that word at my Simon, an’ at his pappy befo’ him, ’cause Mistuh Tollison make them bosses at his vineyard.” She yanked out a chair and plopped down. “But I nevuh pay no mind to foolish talk, an’ you shouldn’t neithuh. The good Lawd, He say, ‘Tarsie, you teach Ruth to read,’ an’ you say, ‘Lawd, Yo’ child hears an’ obeys.’ He’s gon’ bless us for obeyin’, an’ that’s that. Now let’s you an’ me have some o’ them cookies, ’cause once the chillun give up their game an’ come scroungin’ for food, there won’t be nothin’ left but crumbs.”
Tarsie laughed, charmed by Ruth’s no-nonsense approach to life. She reached for a cookie, and she and Ruth munched, jabbering about the kinds of things women discussed—the funny comments their children made, recipes, and the new fabric on display in the window at the mercantile. Then Ruth’s face turned serious. “Tarsie, what’s Joss gon’ do if that vote on pro’bition shuts down the vineyard?”
Tarsie scowled. “What vote?”
Ruth scowled, too, her lower lip poking out. “You mean to say Joss ain’t said nothin’ to you? It’s got to be weighin’ heavy on him, same as it is on Simon.”
“He hasn’t said a word.” Tarsie knew what prohibition meant—alcohol would be illegal. The thought delighted her, given Joss’s past penchant for indulging. Mary’d convinced Joss to come to Kansas to take him away from the saloons, and now it seemed as though he’d be permanently removed from the opportunity to drink. A shiver of delight quivered through her belly. She hugged herself. “Oh, I wish I could vote! I’d vote for prohibition.”
Ruth swept cookie crumbs onto the dirt floor, releasing a disgruntled huff. “Women ain’t nevuh gon’ have votin’ rights. Men, they don’t think women’s got enough sense for politics. But what they haven’t figgered is women is the ones tellin’ the men how things oughta be done.” She tipped her head, her brow furrowing. “You’d vote fo’ pro’bition? ’Cause shuttin’ down that vineyard, it’d put a whole lotta people outta jobs. Includin’ Joss.” A sigh heaved from Ruth’s lips. “Me an’ Simon, we been prayin’ on it, seekin’ the Lawd’s leadin’ ’cause we sho’ want to do what’s honorin’ to Him, but to Simon it’s a fearful thing to mebbe lose the job an’ home you’ve had for your whole life. He thinks nobody else’ll want him, him havin’ that bum foot an’ all.”
Tarsie nibbled her lip as she considered Ruth’s concerns. “Maybe it’s being selfish for me to want no more alcohol. I didn’t stop to think about how it would affect other people. I was just thinking of myself and my family.” She aimed her gaze at her lap, uncertain of Ruth’s reaction when she shared a secret. “Joss, in times past, has had too much of a taste for liquor. It was hurtful for his wife.”
Ruth grabbed Tarsie’s hand. “Joss hurt you?” Her tone held both fury and disbelief.
Tarsie shook her head. “No, not me. His wife—Mary.” She told Ruth how they’d all left New York together at Mary’s request, about Mary’s death, and about her and Joss’s agreement to wed to honor Mary’s last wish. “Mary’d dance a jig in heaven knowing Joss would never have another drink. It’s what she wanted for him.”
“My, my, my . . .” Ruth shook her head slowly, her dark eyes wide. “Well, ’course that ’splains why them chillun calls you Tarsie ’stead o’ Mama. I just figger, hmm, well, they’s white folks an’ white folks sometimes be diff’rent.” She chuckled softly to herself before scowling once more. “But that about Joss . . . That sho’ opens up my eyes. Simon say Joss, he a good workuh but crusty—short o’ temper. A man who’s filled hisself with liquor an’ then don’t have it no mo’ is bound to be a little wrought up.” Hunching her shoulders, she angled her face closer to Tarsie’s. “Can I be tellin’ this to Simon? Might be knowin’ that about Joss’d help him decide what he’s meant to do ’bout this vote comin’ up.”
Tarsie hesitated. Joss’d been softening, but he might turn hard as steel if he knew she’d shared something so intimate with Ruth. She opened her mouth to ask her friend to keep Joss’s past between the two of them, but other words popped out. “Tell Simon.” A wave of peace followed her simple proclamation, and then a voice whispered through her heart: Prepare for change.
Tarsie looked around the room, startled. Had someone crept in, unnoticed, and spoken those words to her? No one lurked in the room. She pressed her palms to her chest where her heart thu
dded a wild double-beat. Prepare for change. What did it mean?
24
Joss tossed the last ten-foot-long sapling, which he’d stripped of its branches and roots with Simon’s axe, into the buckboard. It clattered on top of the others, rolled, and settled. Brushing his hands together, he examined the pile. Ought to be enough there to make the frames for three beds plus a couple of chair frames. Furnishing the house—even if they were only handmade, simple furnishings—made sense. The more he did to make the place comfortable for Tarsie and the youngsters, the less likely she’d be to pull up stakes and chase after him when he left. An odd weight settled in his belly at the thought.
Simon limped up beside Joss, the two-man crosscut saw bouncing on his shoulder. “That gon’ be enough, you think?”
“Yep.” Joss added gruffly, “’Preciate the use of your tools. Don’t have any of my own.”
Simon’s lips twitched into a sad grin. “I wouldn’t neither ’cept my pappy had ’em, an’ I got his things when he passed on to glory a month back.” He laid the saw in the buckboard’s bed, then traced his fingers along the tarnished blade. “Him an’ me, we sho’ sliced up lots o’ trees fo’ firewood in our time. Now I reckon I’ll be teachin’ my E.Z. to man the other end o’ that saw. He be named for his grandpappy, so it’s only fittin’ he be the one to use the ol’ saw.”
Joss frowned. “Your pa’s name was Ezekiel? Did the workers at Tollison’s call him Ol’ Zeke?”
Simon nodded. “Yup. Ever’body at Tollison’s knew Pappy. Liked him, too.” His eyes turned liquidy, and he sniffed. “I sho’ do miss ’im.”
Joss crunched his brow so tight his forehead hurt. Not once in the month he’d worked with Simon had the man said a single word about mourning his father. Of course, Joss hadn’t mentioned mourning Mary, either, but he hadn’t smiled and laughed and gone on like he didn’t have a care in the world the way Simon had. Joss blurted, “You don’t act like it.”
A Home in Drayton Valley Page 18