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BOOK: Dorothy Garlock - [Dolan Brothers]
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“I reported it to Sheriff Watson, but I’m not expecting much help from him. He has the whole county to patrol.”
Henry Ann watched as Tom placed his son on the seat, backed his car out of the yard, and drove slowly away.
The Austins and the Newmans were the last to leave. When Christopher returned for the Austins, Henry Ann had to endure the gushing of Mrs. Austin, and had to ward off the offers to have Christopher come over to give her a hand. Christopher stood, hat in hand, while his mother did the talking. Henry Ann looked at him with pity.
Didn’t he have enough gumption to speak for himself?
“But, dear, your field is gettin’ weedy. Christopher will bring over a couple of hands and take care of it before the weeds crowd out your plants.”
“No, thank you. Johnny, Isabel, and I will make quick work of it.”
“If you’re sure, dear.”
Henry Ann breathed a sigh of relief when they left. Johnny came to take the tables off the porch.
“You’ve been such a help today, Johnny. Everything went just as Daddy would have wanted. I don’t know if I could have done it without you.”
“You’d a got by.”
“Where’s Isabel?”
“Don’t know.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“Pete Perry still here?”
“His horse is.”
“Well, if that doesn’t beat all!”
Henry Ann stepped off the porch and marched around the house and toward the barn. The doors were closed. She flung them open. Isabel was not there, nor was she in the shed where they kept the car. Pete Perry was a good ten years older then Isabel. She had no business going off alone with him. Henry Ann scanned the edge of the woods that lined the creek, then turned back toward the house.
The slanting wooden door of the cellar began to open as she approached. Pete stepped out and reached down to pull a giggling Isabel out behind him. She blinked when she came into the bright sunlight. Neither of them noticed Henry Ann until she spoke. Her voice was loud and angry.
“Isabel! Have you lost your mind?”
Pete turned and grinned. “Hi, Cousin Henry Ann. We were countin’ the fruit jars.”
“I bet you were, you . . . you lowlife polecat. You stay away from her. Hear me. She’s only fifteen years old.”
“I am not!” Isabel yelled.
“My mama had me when she was fourteen, Cousin Henry Ann. Your mama wasn’t hardly more’n that when she had you. ’Sides . . . all we done was a little kissin’. You jealous?” He continued to grin cockily.
“I’d sooner kiss the back end of a mule.” She turned on Isabel. “I’m warning you. Stay away from this scoundrel or out you go. Out! You’ll go back to Oklahoma City to the orphans’ home.”
“I ain’t goin’ to no orphans’ home. I got a brother and a sister and I got part a this farm. Ain’t that right, Pete?”
Pete lifted his shoulders in a noncommittal gesture.
“You’ve got no claim to this farm. Get that through your head right now. If you want to straighten up and act decent, you can stay here. If not . . . get out.”
“Now ain’t ya bein’ hard on the girl, Cousin? She didn’t do nothin’ but help me count fruit jars.”
Henry Ann was so angry she could hardly breathe. She took a couple of deep breaths before she spoke.
“Get your horse and get off my land. If you come back, I’ll go to the sheriff and have you arrested.”
“For what? Comin’ to help my . . . cousin?”
“I don’t want your help.”
“He can come here anytime he wants to.” Isabel snuggled up close to Pete and rubbed her cheek against his arm. “Me and Pete’s goin’ to enter the dance marathon. We’ll win the prize, too.”
“What dance marathon?”
“The one that’s comin’ to Red Rock.” Pete rubbed his knuckles on Isabel’s cheek. “They’re goin’ to build a platform on Main Street across from the Five and Dime. It’ll bring folks to town. Already got ten couples signed up. I’d’a asked you, Cousin Henry Ann; but Isabel here is no bigger than a minute, and I figure I’ll have to hold her up while she sleeps.”
“Find someone else. She’s not doing anything as idiotic as that. Go to the house, Isabel.”
“I will not. You’re not my boss.”
“Ya better go, sugar. We got to keep old Henry Ann pacified . . . for a while.”
“Will you be back?”
“He will not be back,” Henry Ann interjected before Pete could speak.
“Oh . . . you make me so mad.” Isabel stamped her foot. “You’re just a prissy old maid.”
“Old maid or not, I know what’s decent and what isn’t. You’re too young to be messing around with the likes of Pete Perry.”
“We’ll see.” A cunning look came over the girl’s face. “I’ve got rights here, same as you.”
Johnny came across the yard toward them.
“Howdy, boy,” Pete called. “You been busy as a bee . . . helpin’ the ladies with the fixin’s. Me’n Isabel had to go to the cellar, ’cause there was so many folks around we couldn’t find a place to do any kissin’.” His bright blue eyes glittered when they flashed at Henry Ann.
Johnny walked past Pete without saying a word. He went to the corral and Pete followed.
“You goin’, Pete?” Isabel’s voice was anxious.
“Yeah, I’m goin’. See ya around, sugar.”
“’Bye, Pete.” Isabel turned on Henry Ann like a spitting cat. “I hope you’re satisfied. You’ve run him off. He said you’d be jealous if he paid more attention to me than to you. You’re just like
her.
She didn’t want me ’round when she was doin’
it
with a new man. I hate you. I hate you more’n I hated her.” Isabel ran to the house, leaving Henry Ann shocked to the core of her being.
* * *
Tom had stayed at the Henrys’ until it was time to do chores. The Austins and the Newmans seemed to be in no hurry to leave either. Pete Perry’s horse was still in the corral, but there was no sign of him or the flitty young girl Miss Henry had brought back from Oklahoma City.
Jay had missed his afternoon nap and was asleep by the time he stopped the car in front of the shed. He decided to leave him there until he found out what kind of mood Emmajean was in. As he approached the house, she came out onto the porch.
“Where’s Jay?” she called.
“Asleep in the car. I’ll leave him there while I do chores.”
“I’ve got a surprise for you.” Emmajean was smiling.
Oh, Lord! What now?
She held the screen door open for him and followed him into the house. He could scarcely believe his eyes. There were no clothes scattered about, the bed was made, and the floor freshly swept. His face registered his surprise.
“That’s not all,” Emmajean trilled. “Come to the kitchen.” She grabbed his hand and tugged.
The work counter had been cleaned off, the table was covered with a cloth, and a vase of flowers set in the middle of it. Something was cooking in a pot on the stove. His eyes scanned the room.
His cot was missing, but the crib he’d built for Jay was still there.
“Well?” Emmajean waited like a child expecting praise.
“It’s certainly an improvement.”
“I worked all day.” She went to him, wrapped her arms about his waist, and snuggled her face into the curve of his neck. “I’ve not been a very good wife,” she whispered sorrowfully, then added brightly, “but that’s all changed now. You’ll see. I’m going to keep house and cook and . . . be the best wife a man ever had.”
“That’s what you say now, but it seems that I’ve heard this many, many times before.” He took her arms and peeled them from around him. “How about your son, Emmajean? How about Jay? You said nothing about taking care of him.”
“I will! Oh, I will. I’ve missed him today. I’ve just been so lonely and so anxious to see my baby.” Large blue eyes looked pleadingly into his.
Tom wished that he could believe her, but he couldn’t. He studied her face. She had washed her hair and painted her face, thinking that it was what made her pretty. She was pretty. He had to admit that. She was pretty until she opened her mouth.
“I’ve got beans cooking. We’ll have a nice supper, then sit on the porch.”
“I’ve got to do chores.”
“Yes, yes. Go do them. I’ll have supper ready.”
Tom left the house and headed for the barn. Leaning against the side of the house was his cot; the mattress and bedclothes in the dirt. He knew what Emmajean was up to. She was trying to force him into her bed. No matter how lonely he got, or how much he ached, it would never happen. He would never, never, take the chance that his seed would take root in her body; she would never have another child of his.

 

Chapter Five
During the following week Henry Ann not only had to cope with the grief of losing her father but had to adjust to all the responsibility of the farm and living with Isabel. Aunt Dozie stayed for three days after the burial. If not for Isabel, she would have stayed longer. Henry Ann spoke to her old friend about it.
“Aunt Dozie, you’re going because of Isabel, aren’t you?”
“I be like a sore toe in a tight shoe to the gal. It make thin’s better if I go for a while.”
“I’m so sorry. I worry about you. What are you doing for money?”
“I gettin’ by. I does a little a this, little a that. I got chickens, I got a garden, I got a roof over my head. It more than some folks got.”
“I’ll always have room here for you. I hope you know that.”
“I knows it, chile.”
“Johnny will take you home when you’re ready to go.”
Many times Henry Ann wished that she’d never gone to Oklahoma City. She’d missed out on being with her daddy during his last days, and she had brought home a peck of trouble.
At daybreak several mornings after Aunt Dozie went home, Henry Ann awakened Isabel and insisted that she put on an old hat and come to the cotton field with her and Johnny. The girl had whined that it wasn’t fair for her to do “nigger” work. She sulked through breakfast and all the way to the field.
Henry Ann was patient with her and showed her how to hoe the weeds from around the cotton plants. After watching her for a few minutes, Henry Ann started weeding down her own row. After a short while she looked back to see that Isabel had chopped out everything in the row; weeds, cotton plants and all. Twenty feet of cotton plants had been deliberately wiped out.
“Isabel! Stop!”
“There just ain’t no pleasin’ you, is there?” She leaned on the hoe handle and glared at Henry Ann.
“Don’t you know a weed from a cotton plant?”
“No. I don’t know a weed from a cotton plant,” she echoed.
“Then you can learn.”
“I ain’t no field hand.”
“Isabel, I’m getting sick and tired of your attitude. Why do you insist on being so unpleasant?”
“I hate this place. I understand why Mama left it.”
“You haven’t even tried to like it.”
“And I ain’t going to either. I’m goin’ to the house.”
“No, you’re not. Sit down there in the shade where I can keep an eye on you. Johnny’s finished a half row already.”
“He knows ’bout diggin’ in the dirt. He’s a breed, ain’t he?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“His daddy was a dirty old Indian. Mama said so.”
“I don’t want to hear you say that again. You’ve got a mouth on you like the Perrys. And I’m beginning to believe that you’re just as rotten as they are.”
“I take that as a compliment. Pete’s goin’ to take me to see them. He said they’d just love me ’cause I look like my mama.”
“You’re not going anywhere with Pete Perry. And that’s that.”
Isabel sank down on the grass with a smirk on her face.
“I’m thinkin’ that pretty soon you ain’t goin’ to be so smart and know-it-all.”
Henry Ann started down the row, her hoe expertly cutting the weeds from around the foot-high cotton plants. She had never met anyone like her half sister, and she didn’t know how to handle her. She pondered about asking Johnny for help. Even though he had taken over the outdoor work, he was still uncommunicative, and most of the time limited his answers to yes and no.
Ahead Johnny had finished his row and was headed back toward her on the next one. When he got even with her, Henry Ann, on a sudden impulse, stopped him.
“Johnny, wait a minute.”
Johnny wiped his wet forehead with the tail of his shirt. Then he took off his old felt hat, slapped it against his thigh, and slammed it back down on his head before he turned his expressionless face and dark eyes to her.
“What am I to do about Isabel?” Henry Ann wiped the sweat from her own face with a handkerchief she took from her dress pocket. “She refuses to help out, and she’s so mouthy that I’m afraid that one day I’m going to lose my patience and slap her.”
Johnny’s dark eyes came alive, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a grin that lasted for only the space of a heartbeat.
“It worked with me.”
“Oh, Johnny. I felt so bad about that. I’ve never struck another person in my life.”
“I had it comin’.”
“Please help me with Isabel. She’s going to really be in trouble if she hangs around with Pete Perry.”
“She slipped out and met him last night.”
“Oh, no! Oh, Lord! I was so tired I slept like a rock. I’ll talk to the sheriff and tell him that Isabel is underage.”
“Won’t do no good. She’s like
her.
Let her go.”
Henry Ann was shocked into silence for several minutes while she leaned on the hoe handle. In the four years Johnny had been with them he had never mentioned his mother, not even one time.
“Isabel keeps hinting that something is going to happen. Just now she said that soon I’d not be so know-it-all. I want you to know, Johnny, that when I came of age, Daddy deeded the farm to me. I think you can guess why he did it. He was afraid that if something happened to him, Mama would come and take it.”
“She would’ve.”
“Help me with the farm, Johnny. Even if it is in my name, I’ll share it with you.”
“I ain’t no kin of Ed’s. I’ve known that since I was knee-high.
She
told me lots of times that my pa was a blanket-ass.”
“I don’t like that word. It’s obvious that my daddy wasn’t yours, but you should be proud of your heritage. Never be ashamed of it.”
He looked off toward the lower woods and didn’t answer.
“You’re my brother, Johnny. Whether we like it or not, she was our mother. And Isabel’s. I’d like to help Isabel, but I don’t think she’ll let me.”
“Let her go,” he said again. “She won’t do nothin’ but drag you down.” He began hoeing again and never looked back.
* * *
During the following week, Isabel grumbled continually about having to go to the field. She usually took a blanket and slept in the shade. Henry Ann offered her a book to read. She refused. One morning Johnny handed her a hoe and told her to have the weeds at the end of four rows chopped out by the time he returned or he would slap her silly. The threat worked.
Johnny worked from dawn to dusk, taking time out only to do the chores and to move the cattle to the lower pasture. Henry Ann wished that he had behaved this way when her daddy was alive. He had always wanted a son.
Rain was needed badly. The ground was as hard as a rock in some places and powdery dry in others. If rain didn’t come soon, the cotton plants would be stunted, if they lived at all.
One evening, bone-weary after ten hours in the field, they walked back to the house to find a man standing beside the well drinking out of a tin cup.
“Who’s that?” Isabel had pulled up the hem of her skirt to pull out the cockleburs that had stuck to it.
“I don’t know, but put your dress down.”
“Ma’am, I hope you don’t mind that I helped myself to a drink of water.”
“Of course we don’t mind.”
One glance told Henry Ann that the man was a transient, a hobo. He had a week’s growth of light-colored whiskers on his sunken cheeks, and the pack that lay on the ground beside his feet probably held the sum of his belongings. He had removed a checkered cap when he spoke to her. Fair hair was plastered to his head with sweat.
Johnny drew a cylinder of water from the well and dumped it into the water bucket on the bench and into the washpan sitting beside it. Henry Ann removed her wide-brimmed straw hat, pushed up the sleeves of her father’s old shirt that she wore over her sleeveless dress, and splashed water on her face with cupped hands. With her face dripping, she slicked her hair back with her wet palms. The skin on her face and neck had turned golden from the sun.
“I’d like to speak to your husband, ma’am, about doing a few days’ work for some grub.”
“She ain’t got a husband,” Isabel said with a snort. “And as prissy as she is, she’ll probably never get one.”
“Shut up!” Johnny hissed, and jerked her arm.
Henry Ann ignored her. “We’ve made it a rule not to hire from the road. I’ll give you a meal and you can be on your way.”
“I’d appreciate the meal, but I’ll work for it.”
“Johnny?” Henry Ann left the decision to her brother.
“He can fill the tanks while I mix the slop for the hogs.”
“All right. I’ll milk, then make supper. Feed the chickens, Isabel.”
“Ma’am, I’m a right good hand at milkin’—”
Henry Ann looked into serious blue eyes. He was somewhere around thirty, she imagined. He spoke like an educated man. What bad luck, she wondered, had brought him to this stage in his life.
“Very well. But be sure to wash. I’ll set the milk pail on the porch.”
Henry Ann moved the soap dish over near the washpan, motioned to Johnny, and headed for the house. When they were a short distance away, she whispered, “Keep an eye on him.”
“What’er ya whisperin’ for?” Isabel asked loudly.
“Weren’t you told to do chicken chores?” Johnny turned on his heel and left them.
Isabel stuck out her tongue. “Feed the chickens, water the chickens, gather the eggs,” she chanted. “What’s got into him? He acts as if he owns the place . . . already.”
Henry Ann hung her shirt and hat on the peg beside the door and lit the two-burner kerosene cookstove they used during hot weather. She peeled potatoes and sliced them into a heavy iron skillet. After adding lard and a chopped onion, she placed the pan over the flame. She set the table for three, then added a fourth plate.
No need for the man to eat his plate of food on the porch as long as Johnny was here.
“That damned old hen pecked me again.” Isabel came in and plunked down the egg basket. “Someday I’m goin’ to wring her neck.”
Henry Ann took the basket from the countertop where she was working at the cabinet and set it on the floor.
“I showed you how to get the eggs without disturbing the hen.”
“Are you goin’ to let that bum eat with us?” Isabel eyed the four plates on the table.
“Do you have any objections?” Henry Ann unscrewed the zinc lid from the fruit jar and forked spiced peaches into a bowl.
“I’ll swear! You ain’t got no pride a’tall. First you let that old nigger woman eat with us and now a bum.”
“You can take your plate to the porch if you like.”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot.” Isabel peered into the mirror above the washstand. “Look at my face,” she wailed. “I’m gettin’ all freckled.”
Henry Ann went out onto the porch to meet Johnny and the
bum
when they came from the barn with the milk.
“Set it here on the porch.” She covered the full bucket of milk with a clean cloth. “After supper I’ll run it with the morning milk through the separator.”
“I’ll be glad to do that for you, Miss—” The man snatched off his cap.
“Henry. You know how to run the separator?”
“Yes, ma’am. Necessity has turned me into a jack-of-all-trades. I’ve packed ten years of education into two.” He smiled, showing exceptionally even white teeth. For all his ragged appearance, he oozed confidence. “Name is Grant Gifford, ma’am.”
“Come in—both of you. Supper is ready.”
Johnny stepped up on the porch. The man hesitated.
“I appreciate being asked in, Miss Henry. It’s been a while since I put my feet under a table.”
Henry Ann was almost too tired to eat. Isabel picked at her food, complaining that she didn’t like raw-fried potatoes and why couldn’t they have tomatoes and spaghetti. Johnny ate hungrily, as did Mr. Gifford.
“How come you’re a bum?” Isabel asked with her eyes riveted on the stranger. “You’ll not amount to anythin’ roamin’ around beggin’ off folks.”
“Isabel! Don’t ask rude questions.” Because she was tired, Henry Ann spoke more sharply than usual.
“I suppose you think you’ll amount to somethin’,” Johnny mumbled, his eyes on his plate.
Isabel heard. “More’n you, clodhopper!”
“Please,” Henry Ann said tiredly.
“It’s all right, Miss Henry. I’ll answer the young lady. I’m a bum because I want to be. I have no one to look out for but myself. I’m satisfying my wanderlust. I’ve been from coast to coast and from border to border. I’ve learned things and seen things that I never would have experienced if I’d stayed in one place. And . . . I’ve never asked for a handout without offering to work for it first.”
BOOK: Dorothy Garlock - [Dolan Brothers]
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