Catching Moondrops (26 page)

And I wished I knew the treasure she'd found inside that worn-out book.

Chapter 18

The next time I showed up for work at Miss Cleta's, I walked in the door with my tail between my legs. She'd given me some days off to help with Gemma's wedding, but I wondered if it was out of kindness or if she was just plain old mad at me. Last time I'd been there, she'd set me firmly in my place, and even though I didn't share her belief in her words, I had felt the full sting of them. I peered over at her favorite chair, where she sat, her morning cup of tea on the table beside her.

She was fanning herself with a piece of paper she'd folded into an accordion. “You plannin' on comin' in, Jessilyn,” she said without looking at me, “or are you goin' to stand there gazin' at me all mornin'?”

“I wasn't so sure you wanted me to come today.”

She stopped fanning and brought her teacup to her lips for a sip. This time her milky eyes met mine. “Child, I ain't a woman to harbor ill against you; you should know that. We had a quarrel. Life's full of 'em. Way I figure it, you've got a whole lot of thinkin' to do and sometimes too much thinkin' gets us all muddled up.” She set her cup down and held her arms out to me. “Come and give an old lady a hug.”

I crossed the room with long steps and sank into her embrace. “I'm sorry, Miss Cleta.”

“Well then, that makes two of us. I can be a cranky woman some days.”

“You weren't cranky. You were just worried.”

She pushed me away so she could look me in the face. “It takes good wisdom to see that.”

“If I ain't got some of that in me after all life's brought, then I guess I shouldn't ever expect to get any.”

“You got more'n you think, honey. You just got to use it, is all.” She waved her makeshift fan at me to make her point, and it slipped out of her hand and onto the floor. I reached for it, but she bent over at the same time and ripped it away from me. Only she didn't get it back before I saw what that paper was.

“You gettin' threatenin' letters from Klan now, Miss Cleta? Somebody let it out about Tal treatin' you; is that it?”

I tried to get a better look at the words scrawled across the page, but she balled it up and tucked it into her apron pocket. “It ain't nothin' but big talk from little people. Made me a right fine fan for a hot mornin'.”

“I've seen what these men can do. They're angry because you let a colored man tend to you, and they'll do whatever they feel like doin' to you to make a point. This town's about to erupt right now.”

“Jessilyn, I got my God here with me, with His angels guardin' my house. Those men—no matter how big they are, no matter how many guns they got—can't do a thing He won't let them do.”

“And what if He lets them hurt you like He let them hurt Noah Jarvis?”

“Then I'll go to heaven and kneel at my Savior's feet. Can't find me a better place.” She fanned her face with her hand. “Won't have to deal with this infernal heat in paradise, I can tell you that.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but she reached out to grip my chin with a firmness that belied her age. “Don't you ever think you know how everythin's got to be done, Jessilyn. Only God has all the answers. Don't go thinkin' you know all you need to.”

My lungs were filled up with all sorts of words I wanted to say about that wrinkled-up note in Miss Cleta's pocket. But I knew she'd sooner box my ears than listen to them, so I swallowed hard to keep them back. I just nodded and said, “Yes, ma'am,” as best I could. As it was, the phrase came out sharply and cut off at the end, like a hiccup.

Her teacup clattered against the saucer as she retrieved it, and I sat back on my heels while she took two long gulps to finish it off. Then she declared, “We need to go shoppin'.”

Her sudden declaration almost managed to bring a smile to my face. “Well, we sure can someday. Soon as you're feelin' up to it.”

She put her cup down and planted her hands on the arms of the chair for leverage. “No, I mean today.”

“Miss Cleta, did you ask Tal about goin' into town? Maybe he figures you ain't in no shape for that.”

“For heaven's sake, that was days ago. And there weren't nothin' wrong in the first place.” I began to argue, but she puckered her lips into a tight circle and eased herself out of the chair. “Don't you go tellin' me what I can and cannot do, Jessilyn Lassiter. I may be old, but I ain't feebleminded.”

“It ain't your taxi day.”

“So? You think there's only one day for taxi hirin'? You can run next door and use Nate's phone to call Lionel Stokes so he can bring his taxi on over.” She picked up her teacup and shuffled off to the kitchen. “Besides,” she called over her shoulder, “I ain't got you your birthday gift yet. We'll get you a nice dress or two, maybe.”

I rushed off to join her in the kitchen. “Miss Cleta, what in tarnation are you talkin' about? You ain't supposed to spend so much on my birthdays.”

“It's your nineteenth. That's an important one.”

“Ain't nothin' more special about nineteen than there is eighteen, and you know it.”

Miss Cleta gave me one of her belligerent looks. “Listen here, miss. I ain't in no mind to be bossed about by no sassy girl. If I say I'm buyin' you clothes for your birthday, then I'm buyin' you clothes. A woman pretty as you should have some smart things to wear.” She picked up a magazine from the table and flipped through it, frowning. “'Course, Lord only knows if they'll have any in this backward old town.” About a dozen pages whispered through her fingers before she stopped and turned her attention back to me. She laid the magazine down with a sigh. “Jessilyn, you've had yourself a tough time of things of late, what with Gemma marryin' and Noah . . .” His name stuck in her throat, and she closed her eyes to push back the tears that stung at them. “It's just, things have been hard, and I figure it can't but do us good to get out and have a little fun at somethin'. I'm an old woman, child; I've got to take my enjoyment while I can.”

I stood in front of her for a long moment, arms crossed, fighting back my own bout of tears. There we were, two of the most stubborn people in Calloway, locked in a sort of duel until I finally relented and let my arms fall to my sides. “Miss Cleta, there ain't no one in this whole world like you.”

She smiled and patted my cheek. “And you best thank your lucky stars for it. Now,” she cried with a clap of determined hands, “let's get down to business.”

The morning went by in a busy blur, and we were in Mr. Stokes's cab by ten o'clock. There was really only one place to hunt for fancy, ready-made clothes in Calloway, so there wasn't anything to discuss on that front. The store window held things I didn't see much on everyday Calloway residents.

“That yellow thing there's like somethin' off of Ginger Rogers.” Miss Cleta pressed her face close to the glass to accommodate her failing eyes. “You'd look like a real city girl in that frock.”

“Luke says I don't need city-girl clothes to be pretty.”

“Boy's got good sense. But I still say every girl likes to feel fancified every now and again.” She went back to her window gazing and squinted at the price tag. “Wonder how much it is. . . .”

“Oh no, you don't. You had to twist my arm as it was to convince me to get anythin' at all. There ain't no talk about city dresses.”

Miss Cleta sighed loudly. “Stubborn as the day is long. All right! Let's get on in there and find some boring ol' dress.”

“You were the one who suggested a dress.”

“Don't mean I meant a boring one.”

I took her hand and ushered her inside. “I figure you'll manage to be happy with some borin' dress shoppin' somehow, Miss Cleta.”

There was a coldness inside that shop the minute we walked in, and I wondered as I always did how shop-workers in Calloway could think themselves so far above a farm girl. After all, it wasn't like they were rich and famous just because they sold clothes in a small town like ours. But I was used to it and so was Miss Cleta. She just nodded a hello to the shopgirl and pointed toward a display. “There we are. Somethin' like that should work fine.”

The clerk stalked us from a distance like we'd come into the store to rob her blind, and Miss Cleta remarked in my ear, “You'd think she'd have better things to do with her time.”

“Guess all country folk make her suspicious.” I pulled a pair of trousers from the rack and held them to me. “These should do nice, Miss Cleta. Don't you think so?”

She took them from me and held them up so she could see them better. “Jessilyn, I didn't say
trousers
; I said a
dress
. Lord knows you got enough trousers.” Miss Cleta looked over her shoulder. “You best put them trousers down before she calls the sheriff in.” She waved a hand at the salesgirl to get her attention, then said to me, “I want to see you in that yellow thing in the window.”

“Miss Cleta—”

“Don't talk back to me, girl. I get ornery when you do that.” She snapped her fingers in the air twice, matching the uppity manners of the salesclerk. “I'd like this here lady to try on that yellow frock in the window.”

The salesgirl's eyebrows shot up like bread popping out of a toaster. “It's not on sale, you know.”

Miss Cleta narrowed her eyes at her. “I didn't ask if it was on sale. And don't you worry about money. I could pay for a dozen of 'em if I wanted.” I made to argue, but she stopped me short with a finger across my lips. “Don't you go spoilin' my day, Jessilyn. This makes me happy, and there ain't much an old lady can say does. So keep that mouth of yours closed for a change and try on the darn dress!”

“Miss Cleta, you're startin' to talk like a sailor.” I shook my head at her but couldn't help a smile. The salesgirl returned and reluctantly motioned me to a changing room. I gave Miss Cleta one last shake of the head before following. “Stubborn as a mule,” I murmured.

I changed into the dress knowing full well I shouldn't accept it while knowing full well I'd have to. But as soon as I felt that fabric swirling about my legs like a cloud, I knew I wanted to accept it. In fact, I figured I'd likely never want to take it off.

Miss Cleta's hand shot up to her mouth when I stepped out. “Child, you are a sight for sore eyes. Would you look at yourself?” She pointed me toward a mirror. “Just look at that. You'd give Ginger a run for her money in that thing.”

“You're talkin' nonsense.”

“No, I am not, and don't never accuse me of it. If there's one thing I pride myself in, it's that I always speak the truth.” She pulled my hair up and twisted it to the side of my head. “You need a hat.”

“A hat? No, ma'am. I got me a serviceable hat.”

“When did you ever see Ginger Rogers wear anythin'
serviceable
?”

I grabbed her arm and pulled her aside, whispering, “Miss Cleta, now you best stop thinkin' of spendin' all your money on me. I just won't have it.”

For once she didn't smart-mouth me or order me about. This time she took my face in her two trembling hands and looked me square in the eye. “Jessilyn, my Sully left me off just fine. Most people don't know it since we ain't lived uppity and whatnot. But I got me enough to live another twenty years, and you know sure and simple the good Lord's goin' to take me home before then.” She looked to the sky and murmured, “Least I pray You do, Lord.” Then she eyed me again and said, “I figure I may as well enjoy spendin' some of it while I can.”

I just looked at her for a few moments, thinking all sorts of things but only coming up with the idea that Miss Cleta had lived long enough to earn the right to spend whatever she wanted wherever she wanted. My hands went up over hers, and I smiled. “You sure are a spitfire, Miss Cleta.”

“And don't you forget it.” She returned my smile and kissed me soundly on the cheek. “Now slip out of that thing so we can pay the girl. She's about to keel over dead from fearin' we'll hightail it out of here with these things like a regular Bonnie and Clyde.”

The bell on the shop's door jingled the arrival of another customer, and Miss Cleta came as near to swearing as I'd ever heard before. “Blast it all,” she whispered. “Imogene Packard! Ain't never a day I seen that woman when she ain't had nonsense pourin' from that big mouth of hers.” Then her eyes flitted to me with a bit of shame in them. “Don't go copyin' my words, Jessilyn. They ain't fittin'.”

I didn't get out more than a “Yes'm” before Mrs. Packard caught sight of us and screeched out, “Cleta Terhune! What on God's green earth are you doin' in
this
store?”

Miss Cleta's hands hopped up to her hips and dug into them like moles in a garden. “Any reason why I shouldn't be here?”

Mrs. Packard glanced from me to Miss Cleta and then back to me. “I see. You're shoppin' for the Lassiter girl, not yourself.” Her mouth spread into a wry grin for the benefit of Miss Cleta. “I was wonderin' what you'd expect to find in here for a lady of your . . . generation.”

“We are of the same generation, Imogene,” Miss Cleta answered haughtily. “Lest you forget, you only appeared on this earth eight years after I did.”

Mrs. Packard breathed out a disgusted “Well!” but she must not have had any sort of effective rebuttal because she turned her attention to an entirely different subject. She grabbed Miss Cleta's arm and dragged her into a confidential huddle without so much as a nod of agreement from her. “Cleta, I feel it my duty to tell you there is a wretched rumor goin' about town that involves you.”

“And I can see it pains you to tell it to me.”