Pages of Promise, page 9
“First Division.”
Henderson studied him carefully and nodded. “You’ve seen some action then,” he said. He turned to say, “Laurel, you think we could use some turkey and fixings?”
A young woman carrying a child came into the doorway and answered, “Yes, Tom, we sure can.” She smiled at them. She wore a long calico dress, faded past all its original color, and a pair of men’s boots. Though she was small, her figure was trim, and her cheeks glowed with health. Richard looked at the child, who was staring at him owlishly. “What’s his name?” he said.
“John. I’m Laurel Jackson.”
She said no more but turned away and moved back inside.
After the groceries were unloaded, Henderson looked at the stacks of boxes in the kitchen and shook his head. “It looks like enough to feed a regiment. But we’ll make away with it quick enough. How about some hot sassafras tea?”
Logan said with an impish grin, “This here’s a California boy. He ain’t never tasted sassafras tea.”
“It’ll be a treat for you, Richard.” The woman called Laurel soon came out of the kitchen with a pot that sent steam upward. Henderson removed some cups from pegs that hung on the wall, and as Laurel poured with a steady hand, he distributed them. Handing one to Richard, he said, “Hope you like this. It’s a cultivated taste, I think.”
Richard sipped the tea and opened his eyes with surprise. “Never tasted anything like it,” he said.
“There ain’t anything like it,” Logan spoke up. Henderson smiled. “Here, you fellas have a seat.”
Logan said, “Why, sure. Like to sit and visit a while. Tell me what you’re plannin’ for crops next year.”
Richard found a cane-bottomed chair that needed some repair, but it held his weight. He moved it over toward the large wood-burning stove and soaked up the heat, listening as Logan and Tom spoke about farming. He watched people moving in and out of the room, apparently going about their business without regard to the visitors. Besides the two young men who had helped bring in the boxes, he saw several younger women and four or five children. The oldest person he saw was a grand-motherly type who came out of the kitchen from time to time and spoke to the younger women in a quiet voice.
Richard sipped his sassafras tea, and once Laurel came over and refilled his cup. “Do you like it?” she asked. Her voice was deep for a woman, especially such a small woman, and she smiled at him shyly.
“Real good,” Richard said.
“You go out and dig the roots to make the sassafras,” she said. “You’ve never done that?”
“No, I’m a city boy. Don’t know beans about farming.”
She hesitated for a moment, then asked, lowering her voice, “You in the army?”
“The marines.”
“Oh!” She thought that over, and then something passed in her eyes, and Richard could not tell what it meant. He looked down at her hand and saw no ring there, and for the rest of the visit, he watched to see if any of the young men came near her.
Logan got up and reached for his coat, which he had tossed on the floor beside the door. “Got to get goin’.”
“Thanks for the Christmas bounty,” Henderson said. He shook hands with Logan, then with Richard, saying to the latter, “Don’t be a stranger.”
“Good to meet you, Mr. Henderson.”
The three men went outside, and Henderson stood in front of the house until the Chevrolet chugged out of sight. Logan was mystified by the group. “Can’t figure out what they’re doin’ here. They’re sure not farmers, and I’m havin’ a hard time figurin’ out who’s the wife to who.”
“That woman, Laurel. I don’t think she has a husband.”
“What makes you think that?”
“No ring on her finger.”
“Oh, I didn’t notice.” Logan swerved to dodge a pitted hole in the ground and said, “Pretty thing, isn’t she?”
After a long silence, Richard said, “I didn’t notice.” He did not see the smile that touched Logan’s lips, nor could he read the thoughts of the older man. Well, he ain’t too shell-shocked to notice a pretty gal, and that’s good.
Back home, Logan shut the engine off then turned to face his nephew. “I been thinkin’, Richard. How’d you like to stay on for a spell?”
Richard turned to look at him, his eyes widening with surprise. “With you, here?”
“Why, sure. You ain’t got a job to go to, do you?”
“Well, no, I don’t.”
“It appears to me like you could use a bit of peace and quiet.” Logan’s eyes sized up the young man shrewdly, and he said, “I could use some help around the place a little bit. You and me could go huntin’ over in the hills. You’re a sharpshooter—might get us a buck. I’d appreciate the company.”
Richard said, “You know, I think I might like that, for a while, anyhow.”
Logan reached over and slapped the young man’s shoulder. He saw Richard wince, for the wound had not fully healed. “Oh, I’m sorry, boy. I forgot.”
“It’s okay, Uncle Logan.”
He lifted his hand and arm and flexed the fingers, saying, “Almost well now. Are you sure I won’t be in the way?” he asked.
“Why, shoot, boy. You see how much room we got in the house, and me and Annie just ramble around that old place. Pick any room you want upstairs. Don’t even have to come down and talk when you don’t want to. I figure me and you could have a good time together.”
Richard said no more, but later that day he found his parents while they sat at the table drinking coffee. He sat down across from them and said, “I think I’d like to stay on here for a little while. Uncle Logan’s asked me to, and I think I might like it.”
“Might be a good thing,” Jerry said quickly. He had not talked with Logan about this, but the idea seemed good. He knew that Richard was tight as a spring wire, and he knew that there was nothing like the quiet of this rural farm to calm a person’s nerves.
Bonnie agreed, saying, “You know I’d rather have you at home. But it might be good for you to stay here for a couple of weeks. We’ll go on back, and when you get ready to come home, you can fly in.”
Richard nodded. “I’ll stay then. Maybe I can be of some help to Uncle Logan on the place here.” He smiled at them, seeming to relax more, and when Jerry was alone with Bonnie he said, “I think it’s a good thing. He can unwind a little bit, and when he gets over the war, he can come home.”
Stephanie had moved into an apartment with three other young women the previous spring. She felt her presence at her grandparents’ home was creating too much extra work for her grandmother. The day after she returned with her grandparents from the Christmas get-together in Arkansas, Jake arrived at the apartment unexpectedly.
“Jake! What are you doing here?” Stephanie gasped, answering the door in her bathrobe and slippers.
“I came to talk to you.”
“Now? It can’t wait until tomorrow? I’ll see you at work.”
“No. Some things can’t wait. Can I come in?” He slouched against the door frame, but there was an intensity in his eyes that confused her.
“Is it something about work?”
“Why don’t you go get dressed,” he quipped. “And put something over your head to cover up that messy hair.”
Glaring at him for a moment, Stephanie said, “Well, come on in. There’s coffee made in the kitchen. You’ll just have to wait until I change.”
When she came out a few minutes later, she found him in the tiny living room reading the paper, his feet propped on the coffee table.
He put down the paper and smiled at her, but there was tension in his face. He rose and walked over to her; something in his attitude made Stephanie stiffen. She put her hands on his chest as he reached for her and said nervously, “Now, wait a minute, Jake! What’s this all about?”
Taylor took her arms and held them. For a moment his eyes ran over her face, and then he said, “Black hair and green eyes. Stephanie, I’ve tried, you don’t know how hard I’ve tried to keep from saying this, but you’re the most attractive, beautiful, gorgeous, smart, intelligent, charming, sexy woman that I ever met.”
She saw that joking wouldn’t turn this aside. “Please let me go, Jake,” she said.
He released her and said, “I might as well say what I want to say, and I might as well say it now.”
Stephanie sensed danger, as if they were standing on a precipice—she knew if they went over it, there could be no going back. But it was too late—he was already saying the irrevocable words.
“I love you, and I want to marry you.”
He spoke so matter-of-factly and his speech was so at variance with the intensity of his gaze that she could not respond.
“I’m not a very romantic guy, I guess, but I want to be. Right now I want to take you in my arms and kiss you. Would that be all right?”
Stephanie still felt too stunned to answer, but he took her silence as consent. He put his arms around her and kissed her. He held her for a moment, then lifted his head and said softly, “I’ll say it again. I love you, and I want to marry you.”
Never in her young life had Stephanie Stuart been so confused and so rattled. “Jake,” she stammered, “I–I don’t know what to say.” She moved away from him, clasped her hands and pressed them to her lips, and her legs felt unsteady, but she determined to remain standing. “All of a sudden you walk in and spring this on me?”
Jake seemed subdued. Her response wasn’t what he’d hoped for. “I know it,” he muttered. “I’m just a mug, an ex-pug with no manners whatever.”
“That’s not true.” Stephanie went over and stood in front of him. “Your manners are rough, but there’s a goodness and a gentleness in you that I admire.”
“You do? Well, that’s good news.”
“But, Jake, marriage to me is a very holy thing.” She saw his eyes blink at the word “holy” and said, “The Lord is very important in my life, and that’s not true of you. How could we get along as husband and wife if we are so different on that one point?”
“I could change,” Jake said quietly.
“I’ve always been afraid of that sort of arrangement,” Stephanie said, biting her lip. “I’ve known women who went with men who weren’t Christians. They said, ‘When we’re married, he’ll be different.’ But I don’t know of any who changed. It was the wives who changed. It’s too important, Jake. And we’re different—incompatible—other ways, too. I saw how you took to my family. You want a regular wife who’ll stay home and have babies and cook for you. That’s not me. I don’t know if I ever want to have children, and staying home—well, to me marriage seems like sort of a trap for a woman.”
He looked surprised at that, so she went on. “I’ve told you I always wanted to be like my granddad. He’s gone everywhere, he knows all sorts of people, he’s had an exciting life. He loves getting the story, and so do I. That’s what I want to do.”
Jake stood stock-still, his eyes fixed on her. “So that’s it?” he said.
“I’m sorry, Jake, but you’d be sorry, too. It would never work.”
She expected him to argue, but he did not. Moving across the room, he picked up his hat from the table where he had thrown it. He went to the door and turned back and said quietly, “All that’s probably true, but it leaves one thing out.”
“What’s that, Jake?”
“I love you, and I got the strange feeling that I’m not going to get over it. Good-bye, Steph.”
He shut the door. Without warning, Stephanie felt tears filling her eyes. She tried to fight them back and could not. She groped her way to the couch, pulled her feet up under her, and began to weep without knowing why, yet aware that something had happened to her that was not going to pass away easily.
Part 2
GOOD TIMES
7
A TRIP TO TOWN
January brought more snow, and Richard stayed out-of-doors constantly. He took many of the chores off Logan’s shoulders, learning to milk the cows and take care of the beef critters, throwing their feed down to them from the loft. He became calmer, Logan and Anne noticed, and the hollows in his cheeks filled out as he began to gain weight on Anne’s cooking.
It was at the end of January, on a sunny Thursday afternoon, when Richard took one of his walks to the hills. He carried a gun, but since meat at the house was plentiful, he didn’t plan to shoot anything. The crust of snow broke beneath his boots, and the air was like wine. The sky was blue with fluffy clouds, and a feeling of goodwill ran through him. He followed the road, then crossed farmland, his eyes always darting here and there. Logan had taught him to recognize many of the birds, and he saw a gray fox that trotted smartly along, took one look at him, then reversed and disappeared into the brush.
He came to a fast little creek that fed into the river, and not wanting to get his feet wet, he decided to leap it. But his left leg, still weak, gave way so that he was off balance, and his right foot slipped and then was caught between two protruding rocks. He sprawled in the water, which instantly hit him in a cold wave. Instinctively holding the rifle out of the water, his face twisted, he pulled his foot loose and then tried to stand up. Pain shot down his ankle, and he had to crawl out of the creek.
“Well, this is a pretty mess!” he said in disgust. He looked around for a stick and saw none. “Sure would hate to crawl back home.” He tried to get his bearings and was grateful he had learned to know the land pretty well. The closest place was the Vine, only a half a mile or so away. “I can make it that far,” he grunted. He unloaded the rifle, got to his feet, and grasping the top of the barrel, used it as a cane. It was slow going, and he had to stop several times to rest. He came to an overgrown two-track road and said aloud, “This probably goes to the Vine.” He hobbled along, and his ankle gave out. It had been numb, but now pain was shooting through it, and he could not stand to touch it. May be broken, he thought, more annoyed than alarmed. He stood there uncertainly and then heard a sound. Looking up the road he saw a man coming on horseback and knew a great relief. He kept his eyes on the rider and soon recognized Tom Henderson. He waved, and Henderson kicked the horse into a gallop.
Pulling up, Henderson took in the wet clothes and the muddy end of the rifle butt. “Have some trouble, Stuart?”
“Twisted my ankle in the creek back there. Can’t stand to put it on the ground.”
“Here. Get on board.” Henderson slid off the horse, which had no saddle. He led the horse closer to Richard and said, “Whoa, boy!” then turned to Richard. “Let me give you a lift.”
Richard laid the rifle down and put his hands over the tall bay’s back. “Can’t give much push,” he said, then he felt his left leg grasped, and as he was lifted into the air, he managed to throw his injured leg over the horse. “Okay,” he said, and Henderson handed him the rifle and sprang up easily behind him saying, “Better get you out of this weather. You might catch pneumonia.”
The horse headed for home at a walk. Richard said, “Glad you came along, Tom.”
Henderson’s face broke into a grin. “Maybe I’m an angel sent to look after you.”
Richard thought about that, then said, “Well, I need some lookin’ after.”
“Don’t we all!”
The fire was warm, and the crackling of the white oak and the hickory logs had a soporific effect on Richard. For some time he had been watching the women work, and the men were all outside doing their chores. He thought over the past four days and was mildly surprised at the history of it. He had arrived at the house with Henderson and had been half carried inside. The older woman, who everybody simply called Granny, and the young woman, Laurel, had carefully removed his boot.
Granny Stevens shook her head. “You got a bad sprain there, sonny. Can you move that foot this way?” She made him move his foot every way and nodded. “Nothin’s broke, but you ain’t gonna be runnin’ foot races for a week or two.”
“Can you send for Uncle Logan to come after me?”
“Sure I can,” Tom said. “But what’s the hurry? It’s already getting late. Let these women doctor that foot of yours, and I’ll go over and tell Logan what happened.”
“I wouldn’t want to be intruding.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” Laurel said unexpectedly. “I’ll make up a bed for you in the back bedroom.” She rose and left, and Henderson said, “There’s your invitation, okay?”
“Well, all right. I guess I can stay the night.”
The night had turned into two nights, then three. Logan had come over the day after the accident. He found Richard cheerful and comfortable, though his ankle was swollen to an enormous size. “Gonna take that thing a while to go down,” Logan said. He looked around and said, “You can come home, but it looks like you got more nurses here and no stairs to climb.”
Henderson, who had been sitting beside the pair, grinned and said, “The women are going crazy cooped up in the house. A sick man to practice on, that’s just what they need.”
Richard’s ankle had grown steadily better, and now he came to his feet, grabbed the cane that Logan had whittled for him, and moved across the floor. Laurel came out of the kitchen and said sharply, “You shouldn’t be on that foot!”
“Got to do something, Laurel,” he said. “I’m going crazy.”
“Well, you be careful, you hear?” She had a worried look and shook her head at him as if he were a naughty child. “Come on in the kitchen, then. You can help me peel potatoes.”
Carefully Richard moved into the kitchen, and for some time he sat next to her, working on the potatoes. She had revealed little of herself, only that she came from Tennessee. She never once spoke of a husband, Johnny’s father, which seemed rather strange. He asked, “How long have you been here?”
“Oh, I’ve been here for two years. I came just after Johnny was born.”
Richard hesitated, then said, “Laurel, where’s your husband?”
