A Home in Drayton Valley

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Somehow in the past weeks, Joss had uncovered a hidden part of himself. And Tarsie witnessed the loving side of him unwrap right before her eyes. A lump filled her throat, a prayer of gratitude building in her heart. Joss could care for his children—he possessed the ability.

  But he wouldn’t as long as there was someone to do it for him.

  By the time Tarsie nipped the thread from the second button, she knew what she must do. It wouldn’t be easy. Her chest ached just thinking about it. But it would be best. For Emmy, for Nathaniel, and for Joss. And Mary would be so pleased.

  Forcing her lips into what she hoped was a bright smile, she crossed the floor and offered the shirt to Joss. “There you are. Good as new. Well . . .” She giggled, the sound shrill. “Almost new.”

  Joss pushed up from the bench and shrugged into the shirt. Deftly, he fastened the buttons, leaving the tail out. He smoothed his hand down the placket, then sent Tarsie a lopsided grin that nearly melted her insides. “Thanks. It looks real fine.” He drew in a big breath, his gaze wandering to the door. “Well, I guess I should—”

  “Could you be staying a few more minutes?” Tarsie pressed her palms to her jumping stomach, certain her face must be blazing red. “I . . . I need to use the outhouse, and . . .” She gestured to the children.

  Joss’s eyebrows flew upward. “Oh! Yes. Sure.” He sank back onto the bench, pink stealing across his whiskered cheeks. “Go ahead. I’ll stay with ’em.”

  “Thank you, Joss.” Her voice quavered, but he didn’t seem to notice. He’d leaned forward with his elbow on his knee, tickling the kitten with his fingertip. The children giggled.

  At the doorway, Tarsie peered back for one long moment, memorizing the sight of them. The dark-haired man and the blond-haired children, all playing together with a marmalade-colored cat. She smiled. It’s perfect, Lord—exactly what Mary always wanted. And then she slipped out into the evening gloaming, knowing she’d never see them again.

  34

  Nathaniel yawned, his face stretching comically. Then he rubbed his eyes. “Tired . . .”

  Joss glanced at the clock. Forty after eight? He’d lost track of time, playing with the kitten and listening to his children’s chatter and laughter. “Let’s put you down for some sleep.” He scooped Nathaniel off the floor, giving him a little swoop that made him shriek.

  Emmy bounced up, her hands reaching. “Me too! Swing me, Papa!”

  Happiness danced in his chest, hearing the eagerness in her voice. He hitched Nathaniel onto one hip and ruffled Emmy’s already bedraggled curls. “Lemme tuck this one in, then I’ll getcha.”

  He stepped behind the dividing wall and blinked through the shadows. Three beds stood in a row, two smaller ones close together on the left, and a bigger one tucked against the wall on the right. Apparently Tarsie’d found someone—mostly likely Simon—to finish the beds. He felt torn between gratitude and guilt. He should’ve been the one to do it.

  “Which one o’ these is yours?” he asked Nathaniel. The little boy pointed, and Joss plopped him onto it, deliberately releasing him a few inches above the folded blankets that served as a mattress. He grinned at Nathaniel’s giggles.

  Then he spun and grabbed Emmy, who’d trailed behind him in impatience. She squealed in delight, nearly piercing his eardrums, but he laughed. A loud laugh. A real laugh. It felt good to let it come out.

  He laid Emmy more gently onto her bed, figuring Emmy wouldn’t want too much roughhousing. Simon didn’t roughhouse with his little girl the way he did with the boys. Joss’d spent every evening since last Sunday with Simon’s family, and he’d learned a lot about daddying just by watching. Simon was a good teacher.

  Emmy wriggled into her bed. “I want Tarsie to come tell me good night.”

  “Tarsie,” Nathaniel echoed.

  “I’ll send her in.” Joss drew up their light covers, then brushed a kiss on each sweaty forehead, breathing in their scent. His children . . . his and Mary’s. Tears stung behind his eyes as love for the towheaded pair swelled in his chest. He’d wasted an awful lot of time. And he had a lot to make up for. If only Tarsie would let him.

  His pulse sped as he thought about everything he wanted to tell her. Starting with how he’d voted. Wouldn’t she be happy to know he’d made his X in the box for prohibition? He’d seen the damage drinking could do. He’d seen it in himself, and he’d seen it in the people he loved. Nathaniel’s bleeding foot and Tarsie’s disappointment on top of Mary’s sorrow had pretty much destroyed any desire he had to up-end a bottle. Oh, his flesh still wanted it—as Simon said: “The spirit, it’s willin’, but the flesh sho’ be weak.” He’d battle the urge in his flesh probably for the rest of his life. But if liquor wasn’t easily available, it’d be a lot easier to let his spirit win out.

  He whispered good night to Emmy and Nathaniel, then moved through the main room to the front door. Marmalade pranced at Joss’s heels, batting at a loose thread dangling from the hem of his britches. He picked up the cat and tucked it in the crook of his arm as he went in search of Tarsie. A contented sigh heaved out. He appreciated how she’d left him alone with the youngsters so he’d have a little time with them. He’d sensed her eyes on him, watching as he played. But instead of watching with apprehension, like she was afraid he’d do something hurtful, she’d watched with approval. He’d felt it. And he wanted to thank her.

  On the stoop, with Marmalade’s whiskers tickling his hand, he called, “Tarsie?” Dusk had fallen, the blue sky fading to a washed-out grayish-purple, and long shadows covered the ground. He looked in every direction. Tarsie was nowhere to be seen. He raised his voice a bit and called again. “Tarsie?” He tipped his head, listening. A cricket chirped, and voices drifted from open windows of neighboring houses. But Tarsie didn’t answer.

  He stepped off the stoop and walked around the house, searching. He remembered how she’d looked inside in the lamplight. Shining hair—its reddish color a shade darker than the orangey-yellow of the cat—pulled up in a loose bun, a few spirals falling along her neck. She’d worn a familiar dress. Cream-colored with sprigs of green. The green matched her eyes. He’d always liked that dress. And the light color should be easy to spot even in the muted light.

  He moved past the garden plot, where dark splotches marked the locations of plants in the earth. The outhouse stood well behind the garden, its door with the half-moon cutout pushed inward a good six inches. He stopped, frowning. She wouldn’t be in there with the door unlatched. Where was she? Marmalade squirmed in his arm, but he held tight to the little animal and bellowed, “Tarsie?”

  The kitten mewled and climbed his arm to his shoulder, where its claws dug into his neck. He waited for a few seconds, holding his breath, but when no answering call came he plucked the cat loose and headed for the house at a trot. Worry created an unpleasant taste on the back of his tongue. Had something happened to her? He’d put Marmalade inside, grab a lantern, and start searching. But once he stepped inside again, he realized he couldn’t traipse off looking for Tarsie. He couldn’t leave Emmy and Nathaniel untended. And he didn’t want to drag them all over the place in the dark.

  Joss sank onto the closest bench. Marmalade wriggled loose of his grasp and dashed under the stove, where he peered out at Joss with round eyes. Joss rubbed his jaw, forcing himself to calm. Silly to worry. Tarsie was a grown woman, not a child. She was familiar with Drayton Valley. She’d probably gone for a walk or to visit a neighbor. How often did she get the chance for a few minutes to herself? He recalled Mary sometimes needing a little time alone.

  Yes, surely she’d just taken a walk. Probably wandered farther than she’d intended with no children tagging along. And now, with it being dark, it was taking her a little longer to get back. But she’d be back.

  Crossing to the stove, he checked the coffeepot. It was cold, but it contained a good two cups of liquid. He poured some into a cup from the shelf, plucked out a chunk of the cake with his fingers, then sat back at the table
to wait. He took a nibble of the cake, watching crumbs bounce down his front. Cinnamon chased the unpleasant tang of worry from his tongue.

  She’d be back soon. Sure she would.

  Tarsie moved along the uneven ground toward the little cluster of houses where Ruth and Simon lived. Away from town, the total darkness of the landscape with leafy tree branches creating a canopy overhead and the moon hiding behind a milky smudge of clouds made her shiver, even though the night was pleasant.

  Twice she’d been startled by rustling in the brush, but both times it had proven to be small animals foraging. Even so, she worried she might encounter something larger than a raccoon, so she picked up her pace, determined to reach Ruth’s place and safety.

  Perhaps it had been foolhardy to simply walk away. It was certainly irresponsible, but underneath, she believed she’d done the right thing. Emmy and Nathaniel had already lost their mother. They needed their father. And, based on what she’d seen this evening, he needed them. She was just an outsider—Mary’s friend, brought along to provide care as it was needed. Well, her services weren’t needed any longer. So she would move on. And they’d be fine.

  An owl hooted, and then a coyote howled. Tarsie hugged herself and continued walking. The little community of colored folks should be close. She’d left town behind nearly an hour ago. Although she’d never made this journey in the dark, she knew she had the correct roadway. The sweet song of Little Beaver Creek, which ran on the other side of the thick brush, accompanied her. It would guide her to Ruth.

  The wide dirt pathway led uphill, and when she topped the rise she spotted the dark shapes of houses below. But no lights burned in any of the windows. Not even at Ruth and Simon’s place. She moved slowly along the narrow, uneven pathway that wove between the houses. Should she tap on their door and awaken them? They wouldn’t be angry. But they’d certainly have questions, and their talking might awaken others.

  Then she remembered Ruth saying Simon’s father had lived in the little house beside theirs. Ruth intended to turn it into a school when September rolled around. Tarsie stifled a giggle, recalling how Ruth had fussed, “But befo’ I can make it ready for teachin’, Simon’s gon’ hafta move ever’thing out o’ there. Ol’ Zeke, he gots that place so cluttered up with stuff there ain’t hardly room to turn aroun’!”

  As far as she knew, Simon still hadn’t gotten around to clearing out the little house. So there’d be a bed available. She doubted Simon kept the house locked. She would spend the night in Ezekiel’s house and talk to Ruth in the morning.

  The decision made, she moved directly to the door. Dangling from a little hole was the string that would lift the crossbar on the other side. She gave the string a pull. Wood squeaked on the other side as the bar slid upward. But just as she cracked open the door, she heard the click of a shotgun hammer being cocked right behind her. Then a voice growled, “Who are you, an’ what’choo think you’s doin’ sneakin’ ’round here?”

  Simon’s knees wobbled as he pointed the barrel of Pappy’s shotgun at the stranger. When Ruth had poked him and said she heard somebody wandering around outside, he’d thought she was dreaming. But a peek out the window revealed a ghostlike figure moving toward Pappy’s house. So he fetched the gun and made it outside in time to see the person—a female, judging by the clothes—open Pappy’s door. He didn’t like the idea of pointing a gun at a woman, but nobody had any business in that house.

  Bobbing the gun, he made his voice as snarly as he could and repeated his question. “I says, what’choo want ’round here?”

  The woman turned very slowly, her hands held away from her body. “Please . . . don’t shoot.”

  The slanted roof covering the warped porch on Pappy’s house put her fully in shadow, but he knew that voice. He squinted through the inky night. “Miz Tarsie, that you?”

  “Simon?”

  He heard the relief in her tone. Letting the barrel of the gun drop so it pointed at the ground, he limped forward till his toes bumped the edge of Pappy’s porch. “Girl, what’n tarnation’re you doin’ out here at this hour? I come pret’ near to blastin’ a hole through your middle!”

  She moved to the very edge of the porch, letting a little moonlight touch her. She wrung her hands together. Her eyes looked bright—probably from unshed tears. He hated to have scared her so much, but she’d scared him, too. A black man never knew who might bring mischief to his doorstep.

  “I need a place to be spending the night. I didn’t want to disturb you and Ruth, so I just thought I’d sleep in your father’s old house.”

  Simon scowled, befuddled. “But you got a nice place in town to stay.” He looked around, his confusion mounting. “Where’re the chillun? You di’n’t leave Emmy an’ Nathaniel all alone, did you?”

  “Joss is with them.”

  Simon’s jaw dropped. During their evening talks, Joss had ’fessed up about wishing he hadn’t given his youngsters to Tarsie. Not that he thought she didn’t take good care of them, but he missed them. It had heartened Simon to see Joss changing, bit by bit, as they talked about how God could help him become a pa who set a good example.

  He whistled through his teeth. “My, my, my . . . I knew he was thinkin’ on it, but I sho’ di’n’t figger he was ready to take ’em on already.” Simon propped his hand on the weathered porch post. “But it don’ seem right for Joss to send you out in the middle o’ the night. Ain’t safe, Miz Tarsie, for you to be out here. Tell you what, I’ll hitch Ransom an’ tote you back—”

  “No!”

  Simon jolted. This girl was plain wrought up. “Why not?”

  “I can’t be going back.” She folded her arms across her stomach. “Please, can’t I stay here tonight? I won’t bother your pa’s things. I promise.”

  Simon stared hard at her, trying to decide the best thing to do. If word got out he’d been talking to a white woman in the middle of the night and had put her up, it could cause a heap of trouble for him. But he couldn’t very well refuse her. She couldn’t spend the night wandering around the countryside.

  He blew out a breath. “All right, all right. You head on in there. You, me, an’ Ruth—we’ll have us a talk in the mornin’. Early.” Before any of his neighbors woke. “An’ I’ll be expectin’ you to make more sense than you’s makin’ right now.”

  “Thank you, Simon.” Her voice trembled.

  Shaking his head, Simon turned and scuffed back to his house. He put the gun on its hooks, tiptoeing as best he could to avoid waking his slumbering family. The moment he crawled into bed, Ruth grabbed his nightshirt and gave it a pull.

  “You was gone a long time, an’ I heard voices. Ever’thing all right?”

  Simon patted her hand. “Ever’thing’s fine.” Leastways, he hoped it would be. “Sleep now. I’ll tell you all about it in the mornin’.”

  Ruth’s grip loosened, and she snuggled into the pillow. Soon her steady breathing let him know she’d drifted back to sleep. But Simon laid wide awake, fear holding his eyelids open. He’d just offered shelter to a white woman.

  Lawd, I’m countin’ on You to protect me ovuh this.

  35

  Joss plopped lumps of cornmeal mush into three bowls. Even after sprinkling on a good pinch of brown sugar and splashing in the last little bit from the can of milk Tarsie’d left sitting on the windowsill, the food still looked unappetizing. But they’d have to eat it. He didn’t have time to make anything else. Actually, he didn’t know what else to make. Tarsie always did the cooking.

  Another stab of worry pained his gut. Where was she?

  He set the bowls on the table and slid in next to Nathaniel. The children sent sour looks at the bowls’ contents. Before they could fuss, Joss said, “Hurry and eat now. I gotta get to work. No time to dawdle.”

  Emmy blinked at him. “But we gotta pray first.”

  Of course they’d want to pray. Mary’d always prayed, and Tarsie had, too. As many times as he’d listened, Joss ought to be able to speak the
words, but it didn’t seem right. He wasn’t in good standing with God. The realization stung. “Well then, go ahead.”

  Without pause, Emmy bowed her head and folded her hands. “Thank You, God, for this food.” She sneaked a peek in her bowl with one squinted eye. “An’ please make it taste good. Amen.”

  “’Men,” Nathaniel echoed.

  The pair took up their spoons and dutifully dug into the lumpy mess. They made faces, but they ate without complaint, sending surreptitious glances at Joss between bites. Joss knew what they were wondering: Why is Papa here and not Tarsie?

  He’d been shocked to find himself slumped over the table when fingers of dawn sneaked through the window and poked him awake. But the mighty crick in his neck confirmed he’d spent the entire night sitting on that hard bench with his head on his arms. A peek behind the dividing wall confirmed Tarsie hadn’t come back at all. As soon as he’d tended to the children, he planned to send out a search party.

  “Hurry now,” he prompted again. After they’d finished eating, he’d get them dressed, hustle them to the sheriff’s office, and report Tarsie as missing. Then he’d . . . what? He had to go to work. And he couldn’t leave the youngsters alone. He nibbled his lower lip, wishing someone could give him some answers.

  Then Joss remembered something Simon had told him. “No matter what we’s needin’, God can provide. Thing is, Joss, we’s sometimes just too all-fired stubborn to ask Him.” Joss paused with his spoon dipped in his bowl. All-fired stubborn—that description sure fit him. He carried his stubborn pride like a shield. And even though it was a heavy burden at times, he didn’t know how to lay it down. Could God show him how to do even that? Holding his breath, Joss dared to let the question drift from his heart to the One Simon claimed always listened: What’m I supposed to do with these young’uns today?

  Emmy pushed her bowl aside. A little dribble of milk formed a winding creek in the bottom. “Papa, can I give the rest to Marmalade?” The kitten still slept in the rumpled covers on Emmy’s bed.