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BOOK: Dorothy Garlock - [Dolan Brothers]
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“Pete.” Isabel jerked on his arm. “Come on.”
“Just a minute, honey. No need to get yore ass in a crack, Dolan. Ya got the prettiest woman in the county. Ain’t that enough? But . . . reckon one woman ain’t enough for a horny Irish sod-buster. Huh?" Pete stepped aside and tipped his hat to Emmajean. “See ya later, sugar.”
“I think you’re cute,” Emmajean called over her shoulder as Tom pulled her away before he gave way to the urge to plant his fist in Pete’s mouth and cause a scene that would be gossiped about for months.
“Perry is not a man you should flirt with.”
“Why not? I saw him one day when I was out walking. He was riding his horse.”
“Did he see you?”
“I hid.” She began to whine. “Why can’t we stay with him? You’re jealous ’cause he thought I was pretty. Next time I see him, I won’t hide, and I’ll talk to him all I want to. Stop pushing me! I like him. He liked me, too. I could tell. He’d not say, ‘Stop, Emmajean. Don’t touch me there, Emmajean.’ Oh, you make me so mad,” she fumed, her voice getting louder and louder. “I don’t want to see an old airplane. I want to go see Marty. Why can’t I go see Marty?”
“We’ll go see Marty.” Tom swore under his breath.
It had been a
big
mistake to bring her to town, he thought now as he turned her around and headed for the red-and-white-striped tent. The crowd had thinned out, and only a few men stood out in front, one of them Marty.
“Mar . . . ty!” Emmajean squealed when she saw her brother, and tried to break away from the grip Tom had on her elbow.
Marty came quickly toward them, obviously to head them off.
“Hello, Emmajean, Dolan.”
Emmajean grabbed his arm and tried to kiss him. The brim of her hat hit his cheek and fell to the ground. Marty retrieved it and held it between them.
“Come to see the show?”
A stupid question
, Tom thought. Why else would they be here?
“I wanted to see you, Marty.” Emmajean clung tightly to his arm.
“Show’s about to start. Better get her back in the car outta the sun, Tom.”
“I’m not going back to that old car. I’m staying with you.”
“You can’t. I’ve got work to do.”
“I’ll help—”
“Who do we have here, Marty? Introduce me to your friends.” A handsomely dressed man in a pin-striped suit came up beside them. He had a large nose, a rugged face, and dark red hair. His bright eyes fastened on Emmajean.
“Hel . . . lo. I’m Emmajean.” She smiled up at him.
“Hello. I’m Walter Harrison.”
“I’ll call you Walt. You can call me Emma.” She transferred her hands from Marty’s arm to his. “I’m Marty’s sister.”
“You don’t say. You never told me you had such a pretty little sister, Marty.” The cigarette between his lips lobbed out smoke; his hard eyes crawled over Emmajean like beetles.
“This is her husband—Tom Dolan,” Marty said quickly.
Harrison glanced at Tom. “Howdy.”
Tom said nothing. He was watching Emmajean with growing concern. Marty was watching, too; he tried to capture Walt’s attention.
“Walt, I told Mr. Callahan we’d be over to—”
“—You don’t have to go, do you, Walt?” Emmajean was flirting outrageously with the man, sliding her hand back and forth over his and leaning heavily on his arm. When she leaned her head against his shoulder, Marty looked at Tom with alarm.
“We’d best get back to the car, Emmajean. The show is about to start.” Tom reached to take her arm.
She batted his hand away. “I’m staying here.”
“We’ve got work to do, Emmajean,” Marty said, and tried to give her back the hat he was still holding. “You’d better go with Tom.” She knocked it out of his hand, and it fell to the ground.
“Go, Tom. I’m staying here. Say you want me to stay, Walt. Pl . . . ee . . . ase, please, pretty please with sugar on it. You like me, don’t you? We can go in the tent. No one can see us in there and—” She let her words trail suggestively and trailed her fingers over his chest.
Harrison raised one eyebrow at Marty in an expression that asked:
What’s going on?
“It’s hot out here in the sun.” Marty tried to loosen his sister’s hands from Walt’s arm.
“I don’t care.”
Marty turned to Tom and lowered his voice until it was barely more than a whisper. “Get her . . . away from here.”
Tom reached for her arm and pulled her forcibly away from Harrison. “Let’s go, Emmajean.”
“No . . . ooooo! Damn you!” She exploded in fury. As she struck out at Tom, her sharp heels sank in the dirt, and she almost fell. “I want to stay here. You never let me do anything. I hate you!” she yelled shrilly. Her coy expression had changed in an instant to one of hysterical outrage.
Tom knew that there would be no reasoning with her, when she struck out with her fist and hit him in the face. He swung her up in his arms to carry her back to the car, leaving Marty to explain to Harrison.
“Shithead! Horsecock! Bastard! Sonofabitch!” Every foul word she had ever heard exploded from her mouth as Tom carried her kicking and screaming toward the car. “Put me down!” She tried to bite him and scratch his face.
People stared.
Tom prayed that Henry Ann was not witnessing his humiliation.
Marty, head down, carrying his sister’s hat, hurried to catch up with Tom. He reached the car ahead of them and opened the door. Tom sat Emmajean on the seat, gripped her shoulders, and shook her.
“Emmajean! Calm down! You’re making a show of yourself.”
“Ugly, stupid old . . . turd! Stinkin’ . . . shit—” She tried to hit his crotch with her fist and when he countered the blow, she spit. It landed on his cheek. “I’m a Conroy. Mama said Conroys were special, not trash like you. I’ll tell my daddy on you.” Dark smudges surrounded her tear-wet eyes. “Marty!” She looked over Tom’s shoulder. “Let me stay with you,” she pleaded. “I’ll be good. He’ll hurt me. He’ll tie me up and . . . rape me!”
The pity Tom had felt for her was washed away by anger at the situation he found himself in. He wanted to shake her until her teeth fell out. Instead he held her on the seat gently, but firmly, and said to Marty, “I can’t drive and hold her.”
Marty looked at his sister with revulsion, then back to Tom. He tossed her hat into the car and backed away.
“She’s your wife. You married her quick enough, thinking you’d feather your nest with Daddy’s money. Just get her out of here and keep her away from me.”
Emmajean broke down in a storm of weeping. She threw herself down on the seat and Tom closed the door.
“She’s getting worse every day. You’d better tell your folks that I may not be able to take care of her much longer.”
“I’m sure they’ll say it’s your problem, not theirs.” Marty turned and walked away.
Tom stood beside the car for a moment to be sure Emmajean was going to stay in the seat. His eyes swept the crowd of people who were watching and had heard Marty’s words.
To hell with them. Let them think what they please!
He went around the car and got under the wheel. In his haste to get the car started, he almost flooded it. Finally, the motor caught. He backed up and drove out of the field, circled the town, and headed back to the farm, feeling the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.
Emmajean stopped sobbing about halfway home. She sat up, folded her arms across her chest, and stared straight ahead. When they reached the farm she made no move to get out. Tom went around and opened the door.
“Come on. Go in and wash your face. I’ll fix us something to eat.”
When she got out of the car, her big, floppy-brimmed hat fell on the ground. She stomped on it viciously, the heels of her shoes making holes and catching in the straw crown. She would have fallen if Tom had not grabbed her arm. She jerked free of him, looked at him as if she would like to kill him, slipped out of the shoes, and went to the house in her stocking feet. He watched her, then followed. She stamped into the bedroom and slammed the door.
* * *
As they left the field and all through town, Henry Ann looked for a Ford roadster with a box on the back. Relief was mixed with disappointment when she didn’t see it. Her mind drifted back to the night before when she had stood under the oak tree with
him.
She shook her head to rid her mind of the memories that had played over and over in her mind: memories of his hand on her arm, the careful way he had ushered her back to the house, the concerned look in his eyes when he cautioned her to be careful.
He’s married, he’s married, he’s married. You have no right to think about him.
The car stopped in front of the parsonage. Grant got out and extended his hand to Karen.
“See you tomorrow, Henry Ann. Bring Jay to Sunday school,” Karen said, when she stood on the sidewalk.
“I’d have to ask his . . . daddy about taking him to a Baptist church. He’s Catholic. I’ll stay home tomorrow so Aunt Dozie can go to her church.”
“Jay can stay with me and Grant while both of you go,” Johnny said.
“That problem is solved.” Karen looked up at Grant. “Are you not a churchgoing man, Mr. Gifford?”
“Who’s Mr. Gifford?” Grant looked up and down the street. “Yes, I go once in a while, Karen.”
“If you’re planning on beating up that bully, you’ll need the Lord on your side. You’d better go to church more than once in a while.”
“If I’d known you had so little confidence in me, I’d have put more muscle behind the punch I gave Big Mouth. I was afraid I’d hurt him and he’d bleed all over the picnic.”
Karen rolled her eyes toward the heavens. “Henry Ann, I want to be invited for Round Two. I’ll bring the first-aid kit.”
“I’ll see that you get a front-row seat.”
“Mercy me. What yo younguns talkin’ ’bout?”
“The next big heavyweight fight, Aunt Dozie.” Karen’s cheery laughter rang out. “Pete Perry’ll not forget that punch. Watch your back, Mr. Jack Dempsey Gifford. ’Bye. Thanks for the lunch, Aunt Dozie. See you tomorrow.”
Grant watched as she ran up the steps to the porch, then waited as she turned and waved before he got back in the car.
On the way back to the farm Henry Ann felt a sudden tinge of alarm. Karen was attracted to Grant and he to her. Lordy. She knew nothing at all about him. Tom could be right about his being a jailbird and that it was risky taking in a man off the road. Grant was pleasant company, but people said that about Al Capone and Clyde Barrow. She’d heard that Baby Face Nelson was as nice a fellow as you’d meet, but he was a bank robber and kidnapper.
One thing was sure: Grant Gifford was no
ordinary
bum.

 

Chapter Eleven
“Why didn’t ya hit him back?”
Isabel was worried. Pete hadn’t been acting as she had expected he would when she left Henry Ann’s to go to the Perrys’, at Mud Creek. He hadn’t come home for three days and when he had, he hadn’t seemed particularly glad to see her.
“What you doin’ here, sugar? I told ya to hang in there so we’d know what was goin’ on at the Henrys’. Ya gotta get Johnny to go along with us.”
“He ain’t goin’ to. He called me a slut. I just couldn’t stay there, Pete, and I come here to my own folks.”
“It’s all right, honey. Ya can stay here . . . or over at Fat’s.”
Later she had heard him arguing with Hardy.
“Son, I ain’t understandin’ why ya ain’t takin’ yore pleasure with ’er. Hell! She’s old enough and got all the bumps in the right places. I could’ve had her on her back in two shakes of a dog’s tail if I’d a half tried. Got Dorene’s blood in her, ain’t she?”
“Stay outta her, Hardy. I ain’t takin’ no chance of her gettin’ knocked up. I’m goin’ ta wait until I find out if she’s got a real claim on that farm; if she does, I’ll marry her. Meanwhile I want to partner her in the dance marathon. I could use that five hundred bucks.”
“Hell, it’ll take ya two months’ a dancin’ to get it. We could get that much in one or two jobs.”
Isabel paid attention only to Pete’s promise to marry her and his expressed desire to dance with her in the marathon. She worried some that he was gone a lot, and she never could find out where he went. He and Hardy went off together and were gone for a day at a time—sometimes overnight. That damn Jude was always making remarks about how stupid she was to think that Pete would marry her. Lately, when Pete was so cross and not even interested in kissing her, she had begun to believe Jude was right.
“I said, why didn’t you hit him back.” She trotted to keep up with Pete’s long legs as they went toward where Jude sat in an old Model T truck. Isabel had ridden to town with Jude. Pete had ridden ahead on his horse, a palamino with a flowing white mane and tail. The animal was Pete’s pride and joy. When he had an audience, he liked to show off his riding skills by causing the horse to rear up on its hind legs.
BOOK: Dorothy Garlock - [Dolan Brothers]
2.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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