The Unplowed Sky (11 page)

Hallie averted her face as she poured Garth's coffee. “I'm sorry,” she muttered.

He said coldly, “No, I'm sorry. Meg was way out of line.”

“She was disappointed.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “That's life. She's got to get used to it.” Yet he stared after his daughter with bewildered hurt in his eyes, and Hallie knew that whatever his mind said, in his heart he blamed her for Meg's behavior.

Hallie had never had a smidge of enthusiasm for tackling the engine. Now she positively didn't want to, but she couldn't retreat without earning Meg's contempt and probably Garth's. Rory polished off three sugar cookies at once and got to his feet.

“Ready?” he asked.

Hallie eyed the enormous wheels, the boiler that held such might and danger. “Ready as I'll ever be.”

“Come along then, lass. We'll hitch up to the separator, and you get to haul it to the next set.”

Hallie restrained a wail. “Wait a minute,” Garth said. He went over to a box that held his oilcan and tools, and fished out a pair of heavy canvas gloves which he almost threw at Hallie. “Put these on and don't let me see you around the engine without them.”

Protecting his cook's fingers? He barely nodded at Hallie's thanks. His eyes were on his daughter who was almost out of sight with the tank wagon.
I don't want to cause trouble between you. I understand some of the way Meg feels. I'd like to be her friend, but it won't help to let her walk all over me
.

There was no way to say that to this bitter, suspicious man. As she passed him, Shaft touched her arm. “You can do it,” he whispered. “Show 'em all, Hallie, girl!”

Hallie tied her bonnet more snugly, pulled on her gloves, and approached the monster.

An hour later, drenched with sweat caused by terror as much as the scorching sun, Hallie climbed down from the platform, her mind a whirl of Rory's commands: “Easy with the throttle! The gears are cast iron, but they're breakable as glass.… Keep an eye on that water glass—remember, the crown sheet's got to keep covered.… Right-hand lever is your clutch, left one's the reversing gear.… Turn on the injector!”

But she had steered the engine to where it could hook up the separator and had hauled it between the next stacks facing the prevailing south wind. Under Rory's guidance, she maneuvered the engine away from the unhitched separator and circled back to face it. “You're swinging too wide!” he shouted above the racket. “Reverse and cut in sharper!”

“You do it!” she begged.

“You do it.”

On the third try, she lined the engine up with the separator. The men had already leveled the separator, taking a spadeful of earth here and there from beneath the wheels. Rusty Wells and Henry Lowen were stretching the belt from the drive pulley of the separator. The other men pulled the extension feeder around to the south end of the machine. The feeder was perhaps twenty feet long, the same as the separator.

“You did fine,” Rory said in her ear as he took over the wheel. “Now watch how we belt up.”

The engine crawled toward the belt. Rusty shoved the belt over the big wheel on the right side of the engine. Then he moved the reverse gear ever so lightly, backing away as the forty-foot canvas belt slipped and drew tight.

Rusty blocked one of the engine wheels and flashed Hallie a grin that was both surprised and admiring. Garth didn't glance her way at all. Busy squirting oil all over his precious separator, of course!

As she hurried to the cookshack, the searing wind parched the moisture from her clothes and skin. The tense lesson had drained her energy. She felt like collapsing in the shade rather than working over a hot stove.

Jackie ran to meet her, followed at a more leisurely pace by a yawning Laird while Smoky watched from the porch. “You drove it, Hallie!” Jackie hugged her legs tight and gazed up at her as if she had turned into somebody strange and wonderful. “You drove that big ole engine!”

“Well, sort of, honey.” She bent to give him a hug. “At least nothing blew up or got mangled, but I'm a long shot from knowing how to run it.”

“Can I run it when I get big?”

She ruffled his hair, black and curly like their father's. “That depends on if you decide to be an engineer.” She wondered, with a twinge, where they would be when he was that old. For the first time, it struck her fully that she didn't just have the care of a small Jackie, but would be responsible for him as he grew up, as he became a man. She doubted whether she could handle that much better than Garth dealt with Meg's emerging femininity.

“I want to!”

“Then, if you want to hard enough, there'll be a way to do it.”

“I'll want to real, real, real hard!” Jackie raced Laird to the cottonwood and resumed building a fortification out of sticks and long strips of bark. Hallie changed clothes, scrubbed her hands, and went inside where the shade of the roof was canceled out by the heat of the stove.

“You wrestled the durn contraption around like a reg'lar engineer,” Shaft greeted her. “Bet Garth's steamin' more'n the engine. How'd you like it?” Nodding at a pan of boiled eggs and another of boiled potatoes, he added, “Want to put together some tater salad? The boys like plenty of sour cream, pickles, and onions.”

Hallie started peeling eggs. “I'm all mixed up about that engine, Shaft. I halfway wish I'd never let myself get trapped into running it, but—well”—she took a deep breath—“it was really a thrill to turn the wheel or move the throttle and control all that power.”

“Yeah. Must of felt kind of like Delilah did when she got Samson to help her spin.” He shot her a sideways glance. “Garth say you done good?”

“He didn't say anything. Didn't even look, as far as I could tell.”

“He looked, you bet. Nothin' goes on around that rig that Garth don't see. So, if he wasn't bellerin' at you, you must of done all right.”

“He'd be the last to say so. Probably blames me because he had to call Meg down for being such a brat!”

“She was, war'n't she?” Shaft heaved a sigh. “She used to be a sweet little gal, but now she's turnin' into a woman while her daddy wants to pretend she's a boy.”

Hallie made a baffled gesture. “That's not all of it, Shaft. I think she plain hates me.”

He started to protest, then nodded slowly. “Maybe so. But even if she don't know it, she's got a mighty big need for a mama or big sister. Keep a steady hand on the throttle, Hallie. Don't crowd Meg, and I'm guessin' she'll come around.”

Would Garth? Hallie doubted it. She vented her frustration on innocent potatoes by whacking them into cubes, two at time.

The crew finished at the Brockett place so late Saturday afternoon that Garth let the men decide whether to move on to the next farm that evening or move on Sunday in order to start threshing early Monday.

“I say let's move tomorrow and go to town tonight,” Rory said. “I'll buy gas, Jim, if we can go in your flivver.”

“I'm ready for town myself,” said Jim. “Need a haircut and new gloves. Many as can squeeze in can ride free.”

“I'll take the spillover,” Buford Redding offered. “I'm ready for some bright lights and ice cream myself.”

“Lights better not get too bright for a married man,” said Rusty. “But I sure would like a banana split with lots of hot fudge and nuts.”

Into the chorus of agreement, Garth said, “All right, lads, I've settled up with Brockett. Won't take too long to figure out shares. You can take it all or however much you want.”

“I want all of mine,” Cotton said. He rubbed peeling skin off his splotched nose. His pale blue eyes flickered past Hallie. “Gonna hunt up a bootlegger and—”

“What you do when you're off is your business.” Garth gave the Texan a hard look. “Just be sure come morning that you're sober and able to hold up your end of the work.” He glanced around at the crew. “In case anybody's forgot, no beer or liquor's allowed while we're threshing—no bottles in the barn or haystack. If you need a toot, have it in town.”

Cotton's bleached eyebrows furrowed. “It's plumb unreasonable that a man can't have a beer or two after work.”

“That's how we voted at the start of the season; no drinking at all while we're on a job.” Jim Wyatt touched the steam burns on his cheek and neck. “Enough can happen when a man's stone sober.”

After supper the men disappeared to get cleaned up. While Hallie and Shaft did dishes, Garth came in with a battered notebook and sat down at the cleared table. A khaki shirt and trousers showed how the breadth of his shoulders narrowed to waist and hard-muscled thighs. Freshly shaved, he smelled of bay rum and pine soap. His hair, that strange blend of silver and gold, was darkened by the water with which he'd made a vain effort to slick it down. Nibbling thoughtfully at the end of his pencil while he worked at his sums, he had a scrubbed boyish look that tugged at an unguarded corner of Hallie's heart.

“Never saw you so shiny-bright, boss,” teased Shaft. “Got a purty widder-woman tucked away in town?”

Even Garth's ears turned red. “I'm taking Meg to the movie. Gave Brockett a dollar to borrow his flivver.” His eyes touched Hallie, then veered away. “Maybe you'd—”

Jackie burst in at that moment and grabbed Hallie's apron. “Hallie! Can we go to the movie? Can we? Rory asked us!”

“Clever cuss!” Shaft muttered with a wink and grin.

Hallie didn't think it was so funny. How could she disappoint Jackie? But, for pity's sake, why had Jackie hurtled in just when it seemed Garth was going to invite her? He said gruffly now, “If you and your brother would like to ride in the truck—”

And crowd in by Meg, who would be sulky as an out-of-patience mule? Anyway, crowded into Jim's flivver with half the crew and with Jackie along at the movie, there was no way even brash Rory could consider this a courting occasion.

“Thanks,” she told Garth, “but we'd better ride with Jim.”

“And Rory!” said that young man, entering. Like his brother, he wore khakis and fairly sparkled from his ablutions. He shot her a look of laughing triumph. “Hop into some clean clothes, Jack. Wash up good, and I'll part your hair and lend you some of my Brilliantine.”

Shaft wrinkled his nose. “That what it is? Thought a mouse had crawled into a corner and died.”

Rory gave the cook's shoulder a playful jab. “You're just getting a whiff of yourself, you old polecat. When's the last time you had a bath?”

“Last time I fell in the creek.” Shaft turned to Garth. “Reckon I'll stay here and enjoy my pipe and an early night, boss. Would you buy me a coupla bags of Bull Durham and a sack of Mail Pouch chewin' terbaccer and charge it against my pay?”

Garth frowned. “You starting to chew as well as smoke?”

“Naw.” Shaft's tone was virtuous. “Chewin's a nasty habit. But nothin' cleans out your insides like eatin' half a sack of ole Mail Pouch once a month.”

“You
swallow
that stuff?” Rory's eyes widened. “I'd think it'd kill you.”

“Ain't done it yet.” Shaft gave them a benign smile. “Keeps the breath sweet, hair from turnin' gray, cures the rheumatiz, and keeps me in a sweet and gentle mood no matter how aggravatin' you boys are.” He gave a pull at Hallie's apron that undid the strings. “I'll finish up, girl. You get yourself ready. Jim's slow-movin' and soft-spoke, but when he climbs under that wheel, ever'body better be packed in solid and keep their heads down.”

Hallie concealed clean underwear in her best cream-colored sprigged muslin, then recklessly added her silk stockings. No debate over shoes; she had only her best patent leather and her sturdy everyday ones. No time to use the curling iron. Anyway, she could scarcely heat it at the lamp and wield it in front of the men. Adding comb, hairbrush, towel, and washcloth to her things, she carried them to the rear of the shack, filled a washbasin, and did the best she could at getting fresh and presentable in the dark.

It was interesting to listen to the men as they came in for their wages. Cotton and young Pat O'Malley drew all their money. “Still of a mind to quit, Pat?” asked Garth.

“It just don't make any manner of sense to lose a big customer like Mr. Raford.” Pat managed to sound belligerent and apologetic at the same time. “I want to work where I can make the money. It don't look like that'll be with you.”

“Good luck,” Garth said.

He counted out Pat's share. Cotton must have been watching because he demanded, “How come I didn't get the same as Pat?”

“Because you borrowed for gloves, a hat, and tobacco.” Garth's tone was even. “See here? It's written down.”

“Quite a bookkeeper, ain't you?”

“Do my best.”

Cotton gave a disgusted grunt. “C'mon, Pat. Let's have a smoke. Buford won't let us light up in his car.”

“Good for Buford,” Garth said. “Remember, boys—don't toss away a stub till you can mash it to little pieces in your hand. This stubble would burn like crazy.” As the acrid smell of cheap tobacco prickled Hallie's nose, the door opened and shut gently and Garth's voice warmed. “What'll you have, Rusty?”

Hallie could almost see the husky freckled man squinting as he did some calculations in his head. “Reckon a dollar'll cover tobacco and that banana split I been cravin'. Will you make my wife out a check for the rest, boss, so's I can just stick it in this envelope and get it mailed?”

“Your family in kind of a tight?”

“Well, our baby's had such bad earaches, he got mastoid and needed the doctor and lots of medicine. 'Course we run up a bill at the store durin' the winter in spite of tradin' in our butter and eggs. And we're still payin' on my daddy-in-law's funeral and hospital bill.”