They were alone, so they could talk freely.
Johnny said, “I never thought much beyond the day ahead of me. The job at hand. I blew all my money on cards and tequila. And women. Now I have no suit for Saturday night and no money to buy one with. I rode in with not much more than just the clothes on my back.”
“I’m sure Ma can alter that suit before Saturday night.”
And she did. With a measuring tape, a pair of scissors and a needle and thread, she worked her magic. Come Saturday night, the suit fit like it always had.
He didn’t know how to tie a tie, so he turned to Matt for help.
As Matt worked on the tie, and Johnny stood with his chin held up to give Matt room, Matt said, “One thing a businessman learns is how to tie a tie.”
“I’m not a businessman,” Johnny said.
“That’s right. You’re a wild and woolly gunfighter.”
“Not so woolly, maybe.”
Johnny had to borrow one of Pa’s white shirts. He wore a pair of black shoes he had left behind three years ago. They still fit.
He found Ma and Pa in the parlor. Matt had come down ahead of him and was standing in the suit he had bought.
“Well, now,” Matt said. “You look downright civilized.”
“I’m hearing that a lot lately. Don’t quite know how to take it.”
Ma was beaming a smile. “My, don’t you look dapper. Don’t listen to your brother.”
“I try not to.”
Johnny noticed his parents weren’t dressed for the dance. Pa was in a work shirt and suspenders and had a book in one hand. A pipe was in his mouth. Ma had a piece of cloth suspended inside a wooden hoop and was embroidering a picture of flowers. Looked like she was working on a pillow case.
Johnny said, “Aren’t you two coming to the dance?”
“Not this time,” Pa said.
Ma said, “Your Pa’s back is acting up, and I’m going to stay home with him.”
Luke came bounding into the room. He had a suit the color of Johnny’s. “Hey, Matt, I need some help with this tie.”
“Where’s Joe?” Pa said.
Johnny nodded with his head toward the stairway. “He’s still upstairs. Tying his own tie.”
Matt said, “How does he know how to tie a tie?”
Johnny shrugged. “Beats me. He’s a man of mystery.”
“That’s your brother,” Ma said. “Always the silent one. Silent and mysterious.”
“So,” Pa said, looking at Johnny. “Are you meeting Becky there?”
Johnny shook his head. “I’m picking her up at the Drummond house.”
Pa nodded with approval. “That’s what a gentleman should do. You don’t meet a girl at a dance. You meet her at her house and escort her to the dance.”
Joe came down the stairs. He was wearing his buckskin jacket over a white shirt he had borrowed from Pa, and a string tie was in place but listing to one side. His pants were the same faded cavalry pants he had worn when he first rode in. Looked like he might have dusted them off a bit.
“Joe,” Matt said, “you’re not among savages now. You should have a suit to go to a dance.”
“I’m not gonna to climb into a monkey suit for anyone,” Joe said, glancing at Johnny. “And I’m not gonna be there to dance. Only for the beer.”
Ma threw her hands in the air, in a gesture of resignation. “I didn’t hear that.”
“Ma,” Matt said, bending down to give a peck on her cheek, “with this crowd, there’s probably a lot you don’t want to hear.”
Pa was chuckling.
The boys stepped out the door. Johnny and Joe had grabbed their hats. Joe’s was tan colored, and it was floppier and more tattered than Johnny’s. He wore it tilted back a bit on his head so the drooping brim wouldn’t block his vision. There was a small rip in one side of the hat’s crown.
Matt said, “You’re not wearing those things into town, are you? You’ll look like a couple of desperadoes.”
“We are desperadoes,” Joe said. “Let’s ride.”
Johnny and Joe had saddled their horses already, and hitched a team to the buckboard. Matt climbed onto the wagon seat, and Luke landed beside him.
“Here,” Matt said, handing the reins to him. “You’re almost a man, now. You drive.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t go calling him sir,” Johnny said. “It’ll go to his head.”
They rode down the long driveway to meet with the road that would lead them into town.
Luke said, “Hey, Joe, is that a bullet hole in your hat?”
Joe nodded. “A Blackfoot bullet. Took the hat clean off my head. Took a little skin with it, too. I got me a scar. My hair covers it.”
“What’s a blackfoot?”
“An Indian.”
Matt said, “And Ma and Pa don’t need to hear about that, either.”
Luke shrugged. He held the reins in his hands and drove along.
The Everett farm was ten miles away. At about the halfway point, the road leading to their place split off from the main road to town.
“Hold up,” Matt said to Luke.
Luke gave the reins a tug, and a call of “Whoa!” He brought the wagon to a stop.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
“Not a thing. But you can’t expect Johnny to bring Becky Drummond to the dance on the back of a horse.”
Johnny swung out of the saddle. He said, “A lady would never be caught riding astride a horse. Though I’ve known a few Indian women who did it. Didn’t seem to hurt ‘em none, or make ‘em any less proper.”
Joe snorted a chuckle.
Matt climbed down from the wagon.
Joe also dismounted, and he handed the reins of his horse to Matt.
Joe said, “I’d better ride Bravo. That stallion is only half-broke.”
“How am I gonna ride?” Luke said.
“With me.” Joe stepped up and into Johnny’s saddle, then extended his hand down to Luke, and Luke put a foot in the stirrup and swung up to sit behind Joe.
Johnny climbed into the wagon. “I’m not sure how I’m gonna feel after riding a few miles on this hard, wooden seat.”
Matt said, “I would think after three years in the saddle, you’d have calluses built up where it counts.”
“Different kind of work,” Johnny said with a grin. “Different kind of calluses.”
Matt caught the joke and shared the grin.
“Come on,” Joe said. “Let’s get goin’. I got me a hankerin’ for some beer.”
Johnny gave the horses a click and a snap of the reins, and he was off to town.
The Drummonds had a house just outside of Sheffield. A white clapboard two-floor structure, with a carriage house attached. Built onto the front of the house was a porch with an overhanging roof. Johnny had gotten a kiss from Becky more than once on that porch after dark.
The sky overhead was blue with only a few thin clouds, and there was a light breeze. But this dang humidity, Johnny thought. There was a fine layer of sweat along his back and the side of his ribs. Though, he had to admit, the humidity was probably only part of the reason for the sweat. His inner turmoil over Becky was eating at him.
Johnny knocked at the front door and was greeted by Becky’s father. Even though cowboy etiquette allowed a cattleman or a scout to keep his hat on at all times, etiquette which Johnny usually followed, he had to remind himself this was not Texas. He removed his hat and said, “Good afternoon, sir.”
“Hello, Johnny. Come on in. I’ll go tell Becky you’re here.”
Johnny stood in the entryway while Drummond climbed the stairs. Johnny found he had to wait only a few minutes.
Becky descended the stairs with grace, one hand gliding along the banister, and her face was alight with a smile. Her hair was coiled atop her head, giving plenty of exposure to a long, willowy neck. Her dress was a light, summery blue, with a white lace neckline that fell just off of her soft shoulders. Clutched in one hand was a
drawstring purse of the same material as her dress.
Becky said to her father, “Will you and Mama be coming along soon?”
“Shortly. I have to hitch the wagon.”
Johnny thought he noticed a slight edge to Drummond. Like he was a little miffed about something but wasn’t talking about it.
Becky said, “We’ll see you there, then.”
Johnny held the door for Becky and followed her out onto the porch. He replaced the hat on his head as he stepped out into the sun. As he walked along beside her to the wagon, he was reminded about how awkward he felt without a gun at each hip.
He took one of her hands as she climbed up and onto the wagon. He then leaped up.
He looked at her, and she gave a smile.
He said, “You look beautiful, in case I hadn’t mentioned it.”
“You hadn’t, but thank you. And you look great, including the hat.”
Johnny took the reins and with a gentle snap, the horses began moving. “Matt says I look like a desperado.”
She gave him a mischievous smile. “I kind of like desperadoes.”
The road to the Everett farm took them through some woods. The land rose up in hills at either side and was too steep and rocky for crops or for good pasture land.
A wooden bridge crossed a small stream, the same stream Johnny had made coffee water from a few days ago, if you followed it along far enough. The iron shoes of the horses made a sort of clattering sound on the old boards of the bridge.
“Johnny,” Becky said. “Will you do something for me? There’s a small logging road that should be coming up on our right.”
Johnny nodded. He knew of it. He had passed it on the way into town.
She said, “Could you pull in for a moment?”
Johnny looked at her with a question in his eyes.
She said, “I would just like some time alone with you. A chance to talk, before we get to the dance. Once we’re there, I won’t have you alone for the rest of the night.”
Johnny saw the opening amongst the trees to their right. A small grassy patch. He turned the horses in, they and came to a thin trail with a grassy hump running down the middle. The trail was littered with dried leaves and sticks.
“Looks like this old logging road hasn’t been used in a while,” he said. “When I was here last, Charlie Wheeler was still using it. He sold a lot of firewood.”
“Old Charlie died maybe a year ago. His wife and his daughter own the place. His daughter lives outside of Philadelphia, now. Has a family there. His wife has gone to live with her. His place is setting untended right now.”
Johnny barely remembered Charlie’s daughter. He didn’t remember her name. She had married before he was even ten years old and moved away.
Johnny said, “A man could make a go of it there. Charlie’s place is small, but there’s good land there for tilling. And there’s firewood.”
She nodded. “The right man, in the right situation.”
Again, Johnny thought about the potential opportunity opening its door right in front of him. If only it wasn’t for the open land further west tugging at his heartstrings.
He said nothing, and he followed the logging road along for a short distance.
“This far enough?” he said.
She glanced back toward the road. It couldn’t be seen from here, so there was a fair chance anyone traveling along wouldn’t see the buckboard.
She said, “Yes, this is good.”
Johnny gave a tug of the reins to tell the horses to stop, and lifted one knee and placed his foot on the brake lever, and pushed it down. The rear wheels locked up.
He glanced about and thought there was enough room at either side of the trail for him to turn the wagon around.
“We shouldn’t stay long,” Johnny said. “Your parents will be by, shortly. It wouldn’t look good for us to leave the house before them but arrive at the dance after them.”
“I really don’t care what anyone thinks. Not after three years.” She reached a hand to his jaw. “I have missed you, Johnny.”
Her mouth found his. They kissed long and hard. His hands were at the back of her neck and on her bare shoulders. Her neckline slid down her shoulders an inch or two, which just ignited the passion inside him more.
The kiss ended and his mouth was on her neck and shoulder, and she was breathing like she was running long and hard up a hill. She reached to his tie and gave it a tug, and it came undone. He would never get it tied again, but he didn’t care. His hat tumbled away, bouncing off his shoulder to land somewhere on the ground below.
“Do you think this is wise?” Johnny said.
She answered by starting to work on the buttons of his shirt.
“People will know,” he said. “We don’t show up to the dance until later, people will know.”
“They’ll know anyway. Anyone with eyes can see how we always were when we were together. I never felt more alive than when I was with you, Johnny. When we were together, the way a man and woman are supposed to be. I’ve been waiting for you for so long.”
She had finished on his shirt and gave the tails a tug, and they came loose from his pants. He was wearing no undershirt, as a way of trying to combat this danged humidity. She slid her hands over his chest. He reached behind her and began to unfasten her dress.
When the back of the dress was loose, he gave a glance to the back of the buckboard and then looked at her with a question in his eyes. It wasn’t like they hadn’t danced this dance before. And it wasn’t like they hadn’t christened this buckboard before, either. They knew the cargo bed was just their size.
He stepped over the seat into the bed, and with her hand in his and the back of her dress hanging open, she followed him.
17
Matt hadn’t left a girl behind like Johnny had, but he had escorted a young lady to a couple of dances and there had been a kiss or two. Sylvia Roberts was her name. He sought her out now, thinking he might ask her to dance. They could talk. Get reacquainted.
But as he asked for her, he found her name was now Sylvia Barnes. Mrs. Chet Barnes, to be exact. Sylvia was standing with Chet. She was holding the hand of a child old enough to walk.
Matt shook his head with amazement. In his mind’s eye, Sylvia was still seventeen. Smiling in a shy but flirty way that made Matt uncomfortable in a good way. But here she was. Twenty, married and a mother.
Life had gone on without him. He had been off at sea, fighting pirates and storms and learning the sea the way Pa knew farming. Matt knew that none of the folks in Sheffield would suspend their lives and wait for his return, but it was still kind of strange to see how much some of them had changed since he had last seen them.
It was like two ships at sea, he thought. Sailing side-by-side. You look away for a little while, and when you look back, the other ship has changed its course and is now halfway toward the horizon.
He felt out of place. A stranger in a place he had once called home. He wasn’t as torn up about it as Johnny was, because he hadn’t left behind a woman like Becky Drummond, but he understood the feeling.
He started making an active search for unmarried women to dance with. He happened upon Trudy Larkin, who had been in his class in school before she dropped out to help her parents with their farm.
Trudy had never struck Matt as particularly intelligent or charming, but she had the misfortune to fill out her blouse ahead of the other girls in school and was too polite to refuse a request. Matt had escorted her to the woods behind the barn at a dance once and learned the shy farm girl wasn’t so shy, after all.
He found Trudy at the punch bowl. She now had a child for every year he had been gone and another on its way. She was married and still apparently doing what she did best.
Matt continued to wander about.
A girl was standing alone by one wall. A girl Matt didn’t recognize, which struck him as odd. In a town as small as Sheffield, he expected to know everyone. The girl’s hair was as blonde as
corn silk and tied behind her head in a ponytail. Her complexion was light, almost pale, and her eyes were the color of a clear summer sky.
Matt felt he should remember a girl this pretty. Maybe she was new to the area. The town had grown, so he figured maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised to see folks he didn’t know.
A girl this pretty shouldn’t be standing alone. Matt figured he would remedy that.
“Excuse me,” he said to her. “Could I have this dance?”
She turned her blue eyes to him and smiled. “Of course.”
The band was playing a waltz. As close to the Vienna Waltz as a fiddle, a banjo, and a guitar could come. Matt took the girl’s right hand in his left and placed his right hand behind her left shoulder, and she fell into place with him as they glided across the barn floor to the music.
“Should I call you Mister McCabe?” she said. “Or may I call you Matthew?”
“You know who I am?”
She gave a smile that was one part shy, and one part flirtatious. “But of course.”
He had to admit, he was starting to realize there was something about her he thought he should recognize. “You do look a little familiar. But I can’t quite place you.”
“Hmm. I remain a mystery.”
Matt laughed. “Isn’t that the job of a woman? To be a mystery?”
“I thought it was to drive men mad.”
“I bet you do that easily enough.”
Her brows rose a notch. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
It was then that the curve of her face, the shape of her nose and jaw, seemed to bring a name to mind. Not a particular first name, but a family name. “Everett. Are you one of the Everetts?”
“And we have a winner.”
“Amy? Aggie’s little sister?”
She said, “And the man is two for two.”
“But it can’t be,” he said. “Aggie was a year ahead of me in school. She got married before I left town, if I remember right. But her little sister is just a child. Or, at least, she was when I left.”
Johnny McCabe (The McCabes Book 6) Page 8