The Benedict Bastard (A Benedict Hall Novel) (23 page)

C
HAPTER
22

The temperature was well into the eighties as the elder and younger Parrishes, along with Tim, their hired hand, piled into the Model T and drove down the valley to a neighboring ranch. Several other automobiles and two or three trucks were already parked along the packed dirt lane leading to the ranch house. The barn was a weathered two-story structure with an enormous weather vane in the shape of a running horse. Two carriages waited near it, their shafts resting on the ground, the horses that had pulled them stabled in the shade. Long cloth-covered tables had been set up in the yard, and at least twenty people were standing around them. The women wore broad-brimmed hats and printed cotton dresses. The men were in their usual boots and denim trousers.

Everyone turned to wave as Robert and Jenny stepped out onto the running board of the dusty Model T. Tim followed, and then Frank. When Margot appeared, the easy smiles turned to open stares of curiosity, making her glad of the drooping brim of her borrowed hat. She wore a white shirtwaist and a trim linen skirt, and she saw, before she climbed down to the ground, that her skirt was shorter by six inches than any other in the gathering. She was the only one wearing gloves, as well. She found herself wishing Ramona were here to reassure her.

Frank helped her down. He tucked her hand under his arm as they followed his parents toward the group of their friends and neighbors, and he gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze.

He had told her when they went to bed the night before that Elizabeth would probably be present at the picnic. “Everyone comes to these things,” he said. “Old folks, kids, ranch hands—everyone.”

“I understand,” she said. “It’s wonderful, really. Community.”

“They’ll like you,” he added, unnecessarily.

She laughed, and nestled close to him under the age-softened quilt. “For your sake, maybe, Frank,” she said softly. “I’m not much good at social events.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said.

That made her laugh again. “I suppose not. But I warned you.”

He laid his book aside, and reached to put out the lamp. As was their habit, she slept on his right side, so he could encircle her with his good arm as they fell asleep. She laid her head against his shoulder, and sighed with contentment.

He startled her, a good five minutes later, by saying, “Margot, I think you might be surprised by these folks.”

She had been half asleep, but her eyes opened to the starlit darkness, and she glanced up at him. She could just see the lean plane of his jaw, the gleam of silver in his hair. “In what way, Frank?”

“They’re not social the way—say, the way Ramona is. Or Allison.”

“What do you mean?”

She felt the lift of his shoulder beneath her cheek as he shrugged. “Oh, they gossip, of course. Talk about what everyone’s up to. But to me they seem more—more real, I guess.”

“Real?”

“We’re so close to the ground here,” he said, which might have been obscure, but somehow wasn’t. He didn’t speak again, and she didn’t say anything more.

Soon she heard his breathing slow and soften, and she lay listening to it, and listening to the faint night sounds from beyond the open window. She thought about what he had said, applying it to Jenny and Robert, to Tim. Close to the ground. The phrase made sense. They worked hard to care for the land, the animals, to put food on the table. There was nothing artificial in their lives, because there was no room for it.

Before she fell asleep, she couldn’t help comparing Jenny Parrish to Edith Benedict, which was probably unfair. Her mother was a product of her background, and Jenny was no doubt the same. But if Jenny had had a son like Preston, he might have turned out a different man.

Margot thrust the thought aside. Speculating was a waste of time. She turned on her side, and plumped her pillow, and reminded herself that the part of her life with her younger brother, as awful as it had been, was over and done with. Preston was safely stowed, and though her mother longed for him, that couldn’t be helped. She would put it out of her mind, and enjoy the few days of vacation left to her.

She intended to enjoy this picnic, too. She walked beside Frank, and as the introductions began she pulled off her gloves, and shook every hand that was offered to her. She did her best to listen to the flurry of names, each one inevitably followed by a description of where their ranch was in relation to the Parrish place. She met women of Jenny’s age, and younger women with babies braced on their hips. She met older men, a few young husbands, a young man in a wicker wheelchair, several girls and boys in their teens.

Their hostess was a plump, red-cheeked woman well into her fifties. Everyone, it seemed, called her Grandma. She wore a bib apron just like one of Hattie’s, and was busily supervising the food. Every family had brought something. Jenny had been up early frying two of her fattest hens. There were bowls of potato salad, loaves of fresh bread, a large platter of cucumbers in vinegar, and an array of pies. Grandma greeted Margot and Frank over her shoulder, and said, “So glad to meet Frank’s young lady at last. Hope you came hungry!”

Margot eyed the bounty with appreciation. She wished she could take a photograph to send to Hattie. She said, “It all looks wonderful.”

She turned from the table, and found Frank shaking the hand of a pretty, rather soft-looking young woman in a white cotton dress and a matching hat. She was smiling, looking up into Frank’s face and holding his hand with both of hers. He took a step back, releasing her, and reached for Margot to draw her forward.

The young woman’s smile faded as he said, “Margot, this is Elizabeth. Elizabeth—my wife. Margot.”

Margot extended her hand, and Elizabeth, after a fraction of a second, took it. Her hand was hot and dry, and her cheeks were pink with heat beneath the white straw. Margot said, “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s good to meet you at last.”

There was a moment’s pause, not long enough to be truly awkward, but distinct. Elizabeth pulled her hand back and said bluntly, “I don’t know what to call you. Since you’re a doctor, I mean.” Her eyes were a soft blue, but there was strength in her mouth, and despite the feminine dress, with its layers of lace and ruffles, she looked sturdy, as if she was used to physical labor.

Margot found her frankness refreshing. It eased things somehow. She was glad not to have to come up with some artificial courtesy. “Since my husband has known you for so many years, Elizabeth, why don’t we go straight to Christian names?”

“Sure.” Elizabeth tilted her head up, and gave Margot a measuring look. “Your photograph doesn’t do you justice.”

Margot blinked. “My photograph?”

“Jenny showed me your wedding pictures.”

“Oh.” Margot laughed a little. “I’m no good at being photographed. I always look too tall and too bony.”

Frank took her hand, and tucked it under his elbow again, pressing it tightly against his side. She glanced at him sideways, and gave him a small smile. It was uncomfortable, meeting Elizabeth, but they had expected that. She could see he didn’t know how to ease the situation.

“Well,” Elizabeth said unexpectedly, “I have to say you don’t look like a lady doctor.”

At this Margot laughed aloud. “You must tell me what a lady doctor looks like!”

Elizabeth broke into a grin, and Margot felt an odd sense of relief. She could understand, she thought, why Frank had once cared for this woman. Elizabeth said, “You know. Spectacles. Gray hair, maybe.”

“I’m sure I’ll have those one day,” Margot said easily, feeling comfortable now. “Not yet, thank goodness.”

“No, I see that.”

Someone hailed Frank, and he waved. Margot said, “Go ahead, Frank. I’m fine here.”

Elizabeth said, “We’ll get some lemonade, and sit over there in the shade.” She indicated a wide-limbed tree of some type Margot didn’t recognize. It had wooden chairs beneath it, and a little table that sat crookedly on the bare ground.

“That sounds nice,” Margot said. Frank nodded, and walked away across the yard. Margot and Elizabeth poured themselves glasses of lemonade, and carried them to the chairs, settling in the welcome coolness of the tree’s shade.

Elizabeth said, “You operated on Frank’s arm, Jenny says.”

“Yes.”

“I saw it before that, when he was in the hospital in Virginia.”

“I know you did. Frank told me.”

“I’m ashamed of that time,” Elizabeth said. “I didn’t behave well at all.”

Margot was struck again by her lack of dissembling. She couldn’t be sorry Elizabeth and Frank had broken off their engagement, but she felt a wave of sympathy. “To someone who’s not a medical professional, his amputation must have looked awful,” she said gently. “It was disturbing even to me, and I’ve seen a good many disturbing things.”

“I hurt him, and I sure didn’t mean to.”

“Perhaps you couldn’t help it, Elizabeth.”

The other woman shrugged, and sipped at her lemonade. “Guess I wouldn’t have made him much of a wife, if I couldn’t handle that.” Her eyes met Margot’s over the rim of her glass. “You’re the perfect woman for him, it seems.”

Margot drank, too, finding the lemonade more tart than Hattie’s, and full of lemon pulp. It was perfect for the hot, dry day. The glass was slippery with condensation, and she set it carefully on the rickety table. “If I’m the right woman for Frank,” she said carefully, “I hope it’s not because I was able to repair his arm. I hope it’s because—” She broke off, not sure how to express herself. It didn’t seem right to discuss her emotional life with this woman she didn’t really know, and who had shared an emotional life with her husband long before they had met.

“Oh, no,” Elizabeth said. She didn’t seem in the least embarrassed. “That’s not it at all. No, Jenny tells me the two of you are a love match.” She put her own glass down. “Frank and I weren’t, really. Our parents wanted to merge the ranches, and we liked each other well enough.”

“You’re very plainspoken,” Margot said.

Elizabeth made an apologetic gesture with one hand. “Hope I’m not offending you.”

“Not at all. Quite the opposite.”

Elizabeth’s fair eyebrows rose. “Really?”

Margot chuckled. “Really. I have no talent for small talk. I would always prefer just to be able to speak my mind.”

“Does that come from being a doctor?”

It was Margot’s turn to shrug. “Perhaps. It could be that I don’t have the patience to be polite.”

“You’d like it out here, then,” Elizabeth said with assurance. “We’re plainspoken people.”

“I can see that. And I do like it out here.”

“Good. Good. Jenny and Robert are fine folks, and they miss their son.”

Margot had no answer for this. She was saved by Grandma calling, “Come and get it, everyone!” Two other ladies, also in aprons, shooed people toward the laden table, and Margot glanced up to see Frank coming to fetch her. She smiled at Elizabeth, and went to join him.

 

Darkness crept slowly over the Bitterroot Valley, bringing the welcome coolness of a breeze from the river. Tiny white moths fluttered around the oil lamps someone had set out, and the friends and neighbors sat on into the evening, chatting about children and grandchildren, about the government, about the prices of hay and grain and gasoline. Margot and Frank returned to the chairs beneath the big tree, and sat side by side, not speaking much, but listening to the conversation. Someone had brought a banjo, and plunked quiet melodies from the porch of the ranch house. Stephen Foster, Margot thought. She recognized “Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair” and “Camptown Races.” Her mind was peaceful, and her heart was full as she tipped her head back to watch stars flicker to life in the wide sky. Frank’s hand found hers in the darkness, and their fingers interlaced as if that were their natural position.

When people began to stir, to find their hats, and look for their emptied bowls and casseroles and baskets, Margot sighed. It had been a marvelous day. She was sorry to see it come to an end. Frank rose, and extended a hand to pull her to her feet. They turned in search of Jenny and Robert, and Margot found Jenny at her side.

“Frank, someone would like to see Margot before we go.”

“See me?” Margot said.

“Do you have your bag?”

“It’s in the motorcar.”

Frank said, “Do you mind, sweetheart? I’ll get it for you.”

“No, it’s fine,” Margot said. In truth, she did mind, but she would never let Jenny see that. Or Frank. She had been relaxed, growing drowsy, feeling at ease in the knowledge that she would have a good long sleep, and not rise until she was ready. This sudden summons was jarring.

She didn’t speak about any of this. She followed Jenny across the yard and up onto the porch. Inside the ranch house, a lamp burned in the front window. Frank appeared with her medical bag, and handed it to her with a little shrug of apology. She shook her head, took the bag, and went on into the house.

Jenny said, as they passed through the front room and on into a long, low-ceilinged kitchen, “It’s Cissie Borders. She’s the wife of one of the ranch hands at the Connolly place.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s in here.” Jenny opened a door at the end of the kitchen, and waved Margot through.

Margot found herself in a small bedroom lit only by a candle on a battered-looking bureau. It was the sort of room a cook might have used. Hattie had one like it, though hers was twice the size, well furnished and well lighted. In this one there was a narrow bed with what looked like a handmade quilt on it, and an ancient washstand with a basin and ewer. A young woman—a girl, really—rose from the bed when the door opened. Margot went in, and Jenny came after her, closing the door and standing near it.

Margot felt the shift in herself, the change from relaxed wife and daughter-in-law. She forgot about the interruption of her evening. The girl looked miserable, her eyes too wide in a small face, her skin sallow in the shifting light from the candle. Margot was touched, as always, by the thought that she might be able to ease her unhappiness in some way.