Gingham Mountain (33 page)

O
n the night of the pageant, Prudence waited with the patience of a stalking cougar for Grant’s wagon to pull up to the schoolhouse.

She’d watched him at church long enough to know he’d be late. Always last in, first out. Those worthless orphans were the cause of his living like that. Her mouth watered when she thought of how she’d rid this town of that trash. The fact that she’d been an orphan didn’t matter. She’d made a life for herself. She’d left the horror of her childhood behind when she teamed up with Horace. The fists of one man were easier to take than the hands of many that she’d had to endure to earn coins on the streets of Boston.

The milling around of the crowd settled down as everyone got inside.

Horace came up behind her and slid his arm around her waist. “Tonight’s the night.”

Prudence nodded. “If this doesn’t work, tomorrow we take what’s ours by force. But we won’t need to. I’ve got it all planned.”

Horace kissed her neck and laughed. She hated the stench of him. It never went away since he’d been working Sour Spring. But they’d get their land, they’d get their money, and they’d leave this stench behind. She hugged his hand tight and leaned back against him, laughing as she counted the money and saw their lives stretched out ahead of them. No more cold weather. No more working that sharp needle. No more hard
times. Grant was their way up, for good this time.

She saw his wagon pull into town and straightened. “This is it.”

Horace turned her around and kissed her soundly. “Do it without messing up.”

Prudence nodded and slipped away from him, then pulled on her cloak. She peered through the window in the front door. She had to time it just right.

Guilt alone got Grant to his children’s pageant.

To avoid the sin of skipping the Easter program, he had to break his promise—given only to himself but a promise just the same—to avoid Hannah. His avoidance plan was all he could come up with to keep from kissing her again.

His children’s excitement defeated self-preservation. Here he stood unloading the children from his wagon when he should have been home adding more rooms onto his house. He was up to six new bedrooms, and he had one more stand of trees he could attack.

As he jumped down, he noticed that Joshua looked him square in the eye. Charlie had picked a birthday and declared himself thirteen. The boy was probably closer to eleven, but Grant didn’t care, unless the boy decided to haul off and build a house and get married, too.

Grant sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets, and let the children go ahead as he secured the team to a hitching post. He trailed glumly behind the others to the brightly lit school as he considered the grand nest he was building that might well be empty soon. He’d deliberately come late, hoping to have only a few minutes to get the kids inside and pick out a spot for himself in the back.

The children ran ahead and he was alone as he stepped into the small entry area. The last in, he stood gathering his courage, holding the door open like an escape route he didn’t dare take. He pulled on the
knob to close himself in with Hannah. Sure the whole rest of the town was here, but Hannah was the only one who was haunting him.

Prudence slipped in. His arm stretched out holding the doorknob in such a way that she stepped into what was nearly a hug. She had that look in her eye that she’d used a few times, right before she attacked him with her lips.

He abandoned the door and backed away. He got just far enough that she could get some real speed up when she swung at him. So unexpected was it, Grant stood and took the full force of the slap without even ducking. The sound echoed in the hallway. She hit him so hard he staggered back into the wall, dazed and barely registering Shirt Lady’s words.

“You promised,” she yelled so loud a little dust sifted down from the rafters. “You lied to me.”

Trying to make sense of her words, Grant shook his head as she launched herself into his arms. A thundering sound that Grant thought at first was from the blow he’d taken was a room full of people rushing into the little entry all at once.

“You said you loved me.”

Grant looked down, trying to figure out what was going on. She caught him in a near stranglehold, and this time he wasn’t quick enough. She landed her fishy lips right square on his. He tried to lift his head, but her grip was like iron. He did look up though. Straight into Hannah’s horrified eyes.

Grant pulled at Shirt Lady’s arms and tore her loose. Freeing her lying lips only gave her back the ability to speak her awful words. “You said we’d be married, or I’d have never let you be with me as only a married couple should be. I might even now be carrying your child.”

The crowd gasped. Hannah’s face went pure white.

Grant saw Marilyn and Sadie cover their mouths, but their expressions were of shock, aimed at Shirt Lady. They didn’t have a single spark of doubt in their eyes.

Joshua pushed into the room and shook his head, scowling. “Pa wouldn’t do that.”

Shirt Lady broke into desperate sobs.

Grant saw the trust of his children solid in their expressions. He knew they believed him. But the rest of the town—the folks who barely tolerated him and his family to begin with—looked shocked.

He tugged on the little leech still clinging to him but without being rough with her, not wanting to be seen abusing a woman on top of everything else. He couldn’t get her loose.

Gladys Harrison’s eyes grew stone cold as she crossed her arms. “What’s the meaning of this?” Gladys said. “If you made this poor girl promises, then you’ll stand by them.”

Quincy shook his head, thinly veiled contempt on his face.

Then Grant saw Hannah. The color had faded from her face until Grant thought she might faint. And it wasn’t contempt or shock or anger he saw there. It was pain. He’d hurt her. Again.

“This isn’t true.” Grant nearly choked on the words. The humiliation made his face heat up until his ears burned. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

The crowd kept filling up the little entry.

People he respected, people he thought respected him, glared at him. Harold, Mabel, Doc Morgan, the parson. Mixed in were others who looked at Shirt Lady with disgust. Will, Ian, and Megan. His own younger children looked confused. It couldn’t get any worse.

Then Festus Brewster shouldered his way into the entry. “Startin’ a whole new generation of orphans, huh?” Brewster’s pockmarked face, wrinkled from years of grim anger, settled into creases of derision.

“No, I’ve never told her I was interested in marriage.”

“Just playing around?” Brewster shoved Grant’s shoulder, pushing him hard against the outside door. Shirt Lady held tight and staggered back with Grant. “Foolin’ with a woman just like the trash you came from and all the rest of this riffraff.”

“Don’t deny our love, Grant.” The crying rose to a wail. “Anything but that.”

Parson Babbitt stepped just behind Brewster. He didn’t shout, but that only gave his words more power. “This can’t be allowed, Grant. You know you’ve got to do right by this woman.”

“But I didn’t do this.”

The parson shook his head, his eyes burning.

Grant felt guilty even though he’d done nothing. Nothing except possibly lead her on by agreeing to that ride. He’d known she was interested in him. Would she disgrace herself in front of the whole town like this because she was so desperate to marry him? What woman would behave like this? Could she really love him this much?

His guilt must have shown on his face, and everyone interpreted it as an admission that the liar’s words were true because he saw the doubt on many faces shift to anger.

“You’ll do right by that girl, or I’ll see you run out of this whole county,” Gladys said.

“You and your young’uns should
never
have been allowed in this school.” Festus’s hand came down hard on Grant’s shoulder until Grant had to lock his knees to keep from being pushed to the ground. “You’re like a disease this whole town’ll catch if we let you get close.”

Gladys and Quincy Harrison nodded; Agnes and others joined in. Muttering voices rose to a low roar.

The parson looked tired, but his voice was firm. “You will do the right thing by this girl, Grant.”

“No, I. . .”

“I love you, Grant. Don’t leave me in shame. I’m ruined if you don’t marry me. Ruined!” She looked up, her eyes swollen nearly shut with tears. Her nose ran. Her skin was mottled red and white. Grant couldn’t remember ever seeing a more repulsive sight.

“You’ll ruin every good woman in this town, you and the rubbish you’ve taken in.” Festus was three inches shorter but twice as wide, and he
outweighed Grant by fifty pounds. Festus had been harassing him ever since Grant was a teenage boy, taken off an orphan train here in Sour Springs by the Coopers. Festus, sixteen at the time, had made school a nightmare for Grant. And Festus’s children had tormented Grant’s children from the beginning. He knew the Brewsters’d come back to town and he’d been expecting trouble. The trouble had never come.

Until now.

“My young’uns come home from this school every day wearing a stench from sittin’ next to the dung heap of your family. I’ve been busy gettin’ settled’r I’d’a been in here afore now to clear out this rat’s nest.”

Shirt Lady wept and pleaded.

The parson frowned.

Brewster pushed and goaded.

Grant’s fists clenched.

He saw Hannah and knew he’d ruined this play that had meant so much to her. He’d somehow allowed this scene and shamed his children, undone all the hard work that had allowed them to be accepted in the school.

“You will do right by this girl, Grant.” The parson had always been a supporter of Grant’s. Now he looked so disappointed. Grant felt his will being crushed. The guilt and the trapped-rat feeling choked off any more self-defense.”

“Many of us in town saw you courting her.” Harold looked between the crying woman and Grant. “You can’t walk away from this responsibility.”

Mabel nodded.

Charlie slipped up to Grant’s right side. “He’s not going to marry you,” Charlie shouted in his childlike voice, high enough to carry over the madness.

“You stay out of this, boy.” Festus Brewster put his hands on Charlie, and Grant saw red.

Charlie was tough, a fighter, but he had taken on too big a target
with the likes of Festus Brewster.

Festus was diverted from hassling Grant. He looked down at Charlie with a sneer on his whiskered face. “You’re another one’a them orphans. Stay out’a this. I don’t need to hear nothin’ from the trash they sweep up off’a the alleys in the city and dump on us.”

“You get away from Pa, and you. . .” Charlie jabbed this woman who had turned herself into Grant’s noose.

Grant noticed the little cry-baby, frowning in anger, in contrast to the tears that kept falling. He had the first inkling that, whatever her motives for crying and shouting lies, Shirt Lady wasn’t all
that
upset. Just determined.

His humiliation faded, and his head worked for about two seconds before Festus grabbed Charlie by the front of his shirt and lifted him off the ground to eye level. With a vicious shake, Festus said, “I told you to stay out’a this.”

“Get your hands off him.” Grant caught Festus by the wrist. The night, so hopeful, so full of the Lord and the joy of the season of resurrection, was ruined and Grant was in the center of the whole mess. Everything was ruined for his children, for all of the other pupils and parents, and for Hannah. It was supposed to be a night of joy; instead it was going to be a brawl. The match was lit by Shirt Lady’s accusations, the crisis deepened by Festus, but the situation was pushed into a free-for-all by Grant-the-orphan, the one who brought all of these unwanted children into their midst. Because Grant wasn’t going to stand by and watch Charlie take a beating at Brewster’s hands.

Just as Festus appeared ready to toss Charlie to the floor and turn on Grant, Charlie reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “This is a marriage license. The lady who threw herself at Pa is married. Her husband has been hiding out in her house all this time.”

The whole crowd froze. Eyes blinking, the parson reached between Charlie and Brewster’s burly stomach and took the paper.

Shirt Lady grabbed at the document.

The parson evaded her and stepped out of her reach. Then he looked at her, fire and brimstone in his eyes. “What is the meaning of this?”

She let go of Grant’s neck to wrestle the parson for the paper, but the parson blocked her. “I don’t know where the boy got that.”

Grant saw the cold, calculating look harden her features. He saw something close to pure evil as she dove for that paper.

Grant stopped her.

Charlie spoke into the stunned silence. “I deliver parcels all over town. The day Pa came to tell Prudence he couldn’t go riding with her, after she tricked him into asking her, I looked in her window after Pa told her he wasn’t interested in seeing her ever. I saw her with a man. A man standing with his gun drawn, held backward like he was going to hit someone with it.

“You, Pa, if you’d have gone inside. While you were talking to Miss Cartwright, I sneaked inside and hunted around. It didn’t take long to find that paper. I knew she was up to something, with all her lies and the way she chased after you. So I kept it.”