Guarded

by Angela Correll

  She gave up. Woody was hopeless, bless his heart.

  “Everybody’s in the front room,” she said in a normal voice and bent over to check on the pies. Just a bit more time for browning the meringue. Woody had gone into the front room when she rose from peering in the oven door. She recognized voices as Betty and Joe Gibson came in and then Scott and Mary Beth, who were without her two children this weekend. Next she heard Lindy and then Tom’s mellifluous voice, which made a body feel like all would be well no matter how twisted the problem.

  With the hot pads, she slid the pies out of the oven and placed them to cool on trivets. Coconut cream and chocolate, her favorites. Even better, they would still be warm in time for dessert. Her job was finished, so she wiped her hands, and joined the others in the front room where Evelyn had prepared wine punch and sparkling grape juice to go with the appetizers. This was a fancy party, not like their normal sit-right-down-at-the-table functions. Beulah noticed Evelyn still had on her apron. She eased in front of her friend and nodded down when she passed Evelyn, hoping she would get the hint.

  Evelyn caught the nod, looked down, and blushed red. She did an about-face and reappeared seconds later without the apron.

  She accepted a glass of sparkling grape juice from Jake. It was well enough for Evelyn to serve wine punch, but she would never be caught serving alcohol in her own house. Evelyn was a Presbyterian and they had different views from the Baptists on whether or not the wine was fermented at the Cana wedding.

  Evelyn was talking with Tom Childress and seemed a bit calmer now. Sometimes the anticipation of a thing was more nerve-wracking than the thing itself. Betty and Joe were talking with Scott, the young preacher at the new community church, and Mary Beth, the elementary school teacher, about marriage. Actually, Betty was giving marital advice and Joe was listening. Beulah hoped Scott and Mary Beth would take a grain of salt with whatever wisdom Betty was imparting.

  The appetizers looked tasty and she took some bread with green sauce on it and popped it in her mouth. Oh no. Garlic. The one spice she could not tolerate. One more of those and she would be up all night with the indigestion.

  “How did you like it?” Annie asked, leaving Jake with Lindy and Woody. “I helped Evelyn make the pesto and she taught me how to cut and toast the bread, then put the sauce on at the end.”

  Beulah needed to strike a balance. She did not want to discourage Annie from cooking. Her granddaughter needed to learn a few things if she was ever to set up housekeeping. The key was to be agreeable, but not gush, or else Annie would be fixing pesto regularly.

  “Right tasty,” Beulah said. And it was tasty, just not to her liking.

  “Try this,” Annie said. “It’s bruschetta, same concept except it has tomato sauce.”

  Garlic again, she thought. Beulah managed to nod her head while she was eating it. She needed to get away from Annie before being asked to try something else.

  “I better see if Evelyn needs anything,” she said while easing away.

  When Tom saw her coming toward them, he greeted her warmly.

  “Beulah, I was just telling Evelyn how much I appreciate what you two do for these young folks. Lindy loves having lunch on Sundays with you all. It’s helped her transition back to small-town life after years at the university in Lexington.”

  “It gives us a great deal of pleasure to do it. They keep us young. It was an added bonus to see Scott and Mary Beth develop a relationship after being at our table,” she added, and looked to Evelyn for agreement. But just then, a look of panic swept over Evelyn’s face and she excused herself and headed to the kitchen. Beulah followed, as fast as her recently operated-on knee would allow.

  Evelyn stood for a minute at the counter and looked at the finished pies. She turned to her, relief washing over face.

  “Thank you, Beulah. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’m a scatterbrain!”

  “You had too much on your mind. It’s a nice party, it’s obvious you put a lot of work into it.”

  “Do you think so?” Evelyn asked. For a moment, her expression took Beulah back thirty years to the young bride Charlie Wilder brought home with him down from Lexington. Evelyn was raised up with fine things and good schooling; farm life was new to her. Beulah had taught and coached her because Evelyn wanted to learn and to make a life, as hard as the change was.

  “Yes,” she said with all the confidence she could put into one word. “It’s wonderful! And everybody is enjoying themselves. You need to relax and enjoy it yourself.”

  “You’re right! I do. This is a celebration, after all.”

  They all moved into the dining room and feasted on pork loin with mashed potatoes, green beans, glazed carrots, and a frozen salad. The conversation flowed like warm butter.

  They were nearing the end of the dinner when Betty looked down the table at Woody.

  “Woody, Joe said you went up to Chicago to buy a new horse. What kind did you get?” she asked with a devilish glint in her eye.

  Woody leaned back in his chair.

  “I spotted several I like. I’m going back next weekend to pick ‘em up. This was just a scouting trip,” he said and scooped up a huge forkful of mashed potatoes.

  Aha. Beulah looked at Betty to see how she was taking that little tidbit. Betty’s eyes glinted in satisfaction.

  “Stella Hawkins lives in Chicago, doesn’t she?” Betty asked and then jumped like she had been kicked under the table. She cut her eyes at Joe.

  “Chicago?” Woody said. “Big place. Ever been there, Tom?”

  He might not be too smooth on the outside, but Woody Patterson was wily as a fox.

  ***

  After the dinner party, Jake helped Beulah into the house and she went on up to her bedroom and let Jake and Annie have the downstairs to themselves. She was eager to read another letter from her brother, Ephraim. It was as if she was going to have a visit from him, even if it was only a short one.

  After getting her nightgown on, she slid under the cotton quilt made by her mother and pulled out another brown envelope.

  North Africa

  May 17, 1943

  Dear Mother,

  I am sending you some money and I want you to use it for anything you want. I can’t be there to help on the farm, so at least I can do this.

  How is everyone by this time? I’m fine, the only thing is, I’m about to burn up during the day. It is hotter than any Kentucky summer except it is a dry heat, not like our humid and hazy afternoons. At night, it cools down like October at home.

  How is everyone to-nite? I’m feeling fine and staying busy.

  You asked me if I have heard from Bessie Sprinkle. Yes, she has written me but I have not written back. I don’t know what to say to her. She is a good girl and I like her. I am just not sure how to write her or if I should, not knowing how long we will be over here.

  Has Dad put out any tobacco yet? How much corn did he plant? I will be there next spring to help, I hope. Farming and more farming is what I want when I get home.

  I hope you are both not working too hard. Mother, don’t worry about me for I will be okay. Tell everyone hello for me and I’ll be home soon.

  Love,

  Ephraim

  Beulah sighed deeply. Ephraim wasn’t home the following spring—or any of the following springs. He was headed to a date with death, just months later. But instead of sadness, the pleasure of his love flowed from the letter to her soul.

  She took off her glasses and turned off the bedside lamp. In the dark, she imagined herself as a young girl, safe in the upstairs room of the old stone house. Her parents were sleeping in their bed across the room. Her brother was asleep in the other bedroom. In that sweet memory, they were all alive and happy, living under one roof.

  Chapter Nine

  FROM THE WILDER’S STOCK barn, Annie crossed her arms and wished she had worn a sweater while she watched a dump truck scatter lime in the field beyond. Jake dug around in a toolbox and handed her a pair
of work gloves.

  “You’ll need these,” he said. He carried the toolbox to the bed of the side-by-side utility vehicle. “Ready?”

  “I hope you know what you’re getting into,” she said, climbing on the seat next to him. “I’m better known for breaking things than fixing them.”

  “I know what I’m getting into,” he grinned, his eyes focused on what was ahead.

  Annie smiled back at him, taking in his dark hair and light blue eyes. There was a tiny scar just above his left eyebrow from sliding into home base when he played high school baseball. These features she knew as well as her own and the warmth of love spread all over her heart once again.

  They bumped over rough ground and the openness of the farm made her worries seem far away. It was a beautiful day, the sun bright against the deep blue sky, the air clean and crisp with all the haze of summer gone. Days like these were precious and few with colder weather right on their heels.

  The old plank fence on the perimeter of the farm was in bad shape, sagging in places and missing planks, and the paint faded from white to the gray, aged wood. Annie saw where Jake had repaired parts of the fence, but there was much to be done. He stopped the utility vehicle next to a pile of new wooden planks.

  “I thought you’re doing mostly electric fence.” She met him at the back of the vehicle.

  “I am … inside the farm. Electric fence gives me the ability to move the herd around for intensive grazing. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t use plank anywhere, except around the house. It’s a trade-off with Mom since she’s given me free rein with the rest of the farm.”

  Jake smiled at her and grabbed the toolbox. Annie followed him to the fence.

  “If you’ll hold the plank, I’ll nail this side.” The new unpainted boards were rough and splintery.

  “I’ve been reading all these pioneer letters and it makes me think about how it must have been back then,” Annie said, looking around. “Imagine us out here with Cherokee on the prowl. There’s nowhere to hide.”

  “I imagine the Indians felt pretty vulnerable, too, with everybody moving in here and settling down in their territory.” Jake dropped some nails inside the pocket of his khaki work shirt. “Any luck so far?”

  “It’s slow going. The script is hard to read and some of the words are misspelled, so I have to interpret what he means. If I don’t find anything in his letters, there are more letters from other pioneers, even diaries. The frustrating thing is not knowing if there’s anything about the house. It could be a wild-goose chase.”

  “The house isn’t going to be torn down now, so you don’t have to keep looking,” Jake said, taking her end of the board, and squatting down to position the bottom plank.

  “I know, but getting one of those grants would help so much. And I would like to know for sure if it’s the oldest stone house in the state—for us and for Vesta. Her family had as much to do with building the house as mine did. If there’s a way to honor the work of both families, I would like to do it, especially while she is living.”

  Jake handed her another plank and she held it up.

  “You’ve really taken to Vesta,” he said, smiling.

  “It’s strange, like I’ve known her all my life. I want you to meet her.”

  Jake nodded and pounded a nail, the metal on wood echoing off the hill behind the pasture.

  “Maybe you can find a way to honor the work even if it’s not the first stone house,” Jake said.

  Annie steadied her end of the plank while Jake nailed.

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, but there’s bound to be something. Talk to Beulah and see what she thinks.”

  “Right now we can hardly communicate. She’s in the 1940s and I’m in the 1700s,” Annie said.

  “I wish I had letters to blame for the way Mom’s acting,” Jake said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I found her portable phone in the mailbox yesterday. I brought it to her and she got embarrassed and said she was talking on the phone and must have laid it there when she picked up the mail.”

  Annie shrugged. “That could happen, especially if she’s distracted.”

  “I came in to do my laundry the other day and found her sitting at the kitchen table and staring at the wall.”

  Jake reached for a nail, placed it on the wood and hammered.

  “Did you ask her if anything’s wrong?”

  “As soon as I said something, she stood up and acted a little flustered.”

  “I’ll ask Grandma. She’d know if something was wrong.”

  ***

  Annie’s grandmother leaned over a simmering pot of soup and stirred.

  “Anything you want me to do in the garden?” Annie asked as she poured a glass of iced tea.

  Beulah laid the wooden spoon on the spoon rest and turned to face her. “You can pull up the green beans now. Make sure you get any beans still on the vine, and you can cut me some greens while you’re out there.”

  Annie reached for a large metal bowl and the kitchen scissors.

  “Grandma, have you noticed anything wrong with Evelyn? I mean, does she seem okay to you … mentally?”

  There was a slight hesitation before her grandmother responded.

  “No, she’s fine. Why?”

  “Nothing really, just a couple of things Jake noticed.”

  Before Beulah could prod her further, Annie went out to the garden.

  Situated at the end of a row, she searched for beans as she pulled plants and thought how familiar the garden was to her now and how foreign it had seemed earlier in the summer. At first, she had hated losing her life in New York for a small town rural life she had left long ago. What had seemed the end of the world became a beginning. Since then, she had learned so much: gardening, preserving and canning food, repairing fences, painting. She had even learned to cook a little and the art to making good sweet tea.

  It was all about how you dissolved the sugar and how the tea steeped.

  Back then, she remembered thinking it was too quiet. But once her ears tuned to the sounds of nature, she was amazed to find it could be downright noisy at times. Squawking birds, croaking frogs, mooing cows, and a breeze moving tree limbs and bushes. Rain and hail on a tin roof along with thunderstorms that turned gurgling creeks into rushing streams.

  There were still so many things she didn’t know, and hardly a day went by that wasn’t marked by a new discovery. Just last week she had cut a pan of greens, thinking it would be enough for both her and her grandmother. Beulah had laughed and sent her back to the garden for more, and even then it cooked up so much it barely made a hearty serving for each of them.

  As a teenager, her mind was on other things, and she never considered all her grandparents did to run the farm. There were the chickens, of course. That was her main responsibility as a teenager. Now the chicken house was empty.

  Inside, she let her eyes adjust to the dark. It was quiet now, a few dust mites swirling in the light from the window. A double row of nesting boxes clung to the back wall. Roosting rails were suspended near the window. Nutmeg, the horse Woody loaned her for the summer, had gone back home, leaving cows as the only living things on the farm.

  It would be nice to have more life on the farm.

  ***

  Annie put the pan, mounded up with greens, on the kitchen counter.

  “Thank you,” Beulah said, and turned two grilled cheese sandwiches over on an iron skillet. “Add some salt water, please, so we get all the worms off.”

  “Sounds tasty,” she said, as she set the table for lunch.

  “It’s a fact,” Beulah said. “Food was never meant to look like it came from Disney World. Everything’s so sterilized and pretty these days with no taste at all.”

  “You’ve been talking to Jake.”

  “He talks sense. It’s how I was raised. Somehow, we got off track.”

  They sat at the table and Beulah offered grace.

  “I was
thinking about getting a few chickens,” Annie said.

  “Sounds like a real good idea,” Beulah said. “I always loved country eggs. These pale, anemic eggs from the grocery don’t have the same taste.”

  “I’ll need feed. I remember something about oyster shells.”

  “They’re mixed in so the chickens get enough calcium. Pine wood shavings are good for the nesting boxes,” Beulah added, wiping her mouth.

  “Where do I get chickens?”

  “There are mail-order hatcheries who ship. Be several months before you’d be able to start collecting full-sized eggs. You might want pullets or young hens,” Beulah said.

  “I’ll check with Jake. He’s getting a bunch next spring, so he probably knows a source,” she took her dishes to the sink.

  “Where are you off to?” Beulah asked.

  “Back to the stone house.”

  “Well don’t go diving down the stairs again, please.”

  ***

  Annie had just parked the truck next to the house when she realized she had gone off without her phone. She was expecting a call from Jerry about when they would start work. Instead of driving the truck back, she jogged on the farm lane back to her grandmother’s house and saw Betty Gibson’s Cadillac parked in the driveway. Again.

  She didn’t want to get caught up in Betty’s nosy questions. If she slipped in the front door, she could go up the steps and to her room without being seen. She was just inside about to quietly take the stairs when she heard her name mentioned. She hesitated at the base of the stairs.

  “Beulah, it’s in her blood, and blood runs thick when it comes to things like this. None of those Taylors can handle a long-term relationship, let alone marriage. You name one Taylor who has married and stayed married? Most don’t even make it to the altar,” Betty said.

  Annie stood, unable to move a muscle.

  “Now Betty,” Beulah said, her voice chided.

  “You saw it yourself. Eddie Taylor left Jo Anne when Annie was a baby and didn’t even come home when Jo Anne got sick and died. He wanders the world and lives in some foreign place nobody here can pronounce. I know you don’t like to hear it, but Annie’s just like him. Look at the past ten years. She’s been everywhere but here. Mark my words; she’ll leave Jake Wilder high and dry sooner than later. Nobody in town believes she’ll stay here. Why do you think no one’s offered her a job?”