The Unplowed Sky (20 page)

“That's enough!” Garth wasn't smiling. “What Miss Hallie decides to do to her hair is none of our concern.”

Rich chuckled. “Seems it is, boss. Haven't known this bunch get so excited about anything since Cotton tried to carve us up. Miss Hallie, is there any more of that raspberry buckle?”

At Rory's insistence, Hallie made a set early the next afternoon and got her hair full of prickly, dusty bits of straw. The rest of the day, she thought of the creek, of rinsing the chaff from her itching scalp, of floating on her back, unencumbered by any garment, as she watched the stars and the slender sickle moon.

Tomorrow they'd be moving on. There might not be a creek near their next stop, or if there was, enough water for a swimming hole. Meg said this one had a limestone bottom and was clear, unlike some silty streams.

Rory always dried dishes for Hallie but as soon as he took himself off and Jackie was tucked in, she was slipping down to the creek with a towel and her nightgown.

Perversely, since she had a plan, the crew got into an argument over whether Coolidge should be elected that fall and loitered over their dessert and last cups of coffee. Then Rory hung around till she made Jackie's bed and said pointedly how late it was getting.

At last her little brother was snuggled against Lambie and Shaft was having his bedtime pipe, sitting on his cot by the side of the shack. Hallie blew out the lantern, collected gown and towel, and went down the creaking steps. She waited till she could see a little in the frail moonlight and made her way cautiously along the fence toward the looming cottonwoods that marked the hole.

A great horned owl demanded eerily, “
Hoo-hoo-hoo
?” Had he already feasted on an unwary cottontail or jackrabbit? Hallie hoped he wouldn't get any bluebirds or cardinals, meadowlarks or gorgeous orioles, though of course he had to live, too.

Contrary to the widespread opinion that snakes liked to bask in searing heat, Jackie said Luke had told him they preferred to be cool and were thus abroad more on summer nights than during the day. Luke also said that rattlers sensed the presence of warm bodies through pits beneath their eyes and could feel vibrations from footsteps. Hallie therefore stepped as heavily as she could, alert for any warning sound or movement.

The creek murmured sleepily beneath the few guardian trees left when the field was cleared for planting. Hallie almost tripped over the huge stump Jackie had mentioned. Perching there, she took off her shoes and then her clothing, leaving her shoes on the stump but hanging her other things on a limb where she hoped they'd be less likely to attract and harbor spiders, scorpions, centipedes, and such explorers.

Hurried as her baths behind the cookshack were, she reveled in feeling the sun and breeze on her flesh. Now, as the strangeness wore off, standing naked in the darkness was even more delightful, spreading her arms to the wind that caressed her body. It seemed a little wicked, though. She sent herself into the water, dipping in her toes, standing where it flowed against her knees, then wading till the languid current rose above her breasts at the deepest place.

She had learned to swim—enough not to drown—in a sand pit on the farm of some friends of the MacReynoldses. Trifling as her skill was, she had no fear of water. Leaning back, she raised her feet from the limestone and floated, with water cradling her skull, lapping gently above her ears. No worry about her hair. Toweled, it would dry in a few minutes. She breathed in the rich odor of decaying wood and leaves and the fresher scent of grass and plants. The current moved her downstream slowly. Her heels struck bottom.

Turning over, she lazily dog-paddled back to the deep water and floated again. Pleasant as this was, when her feet grazed stone again, she'd better get out. Four in the morning came early. She never felt awake till she'd had a cup of Shaft's formidable coffee.

Her left heel dragged, then her right. She was coming to her feet in the thigh-deep water when she heard footsteps coming down the bank. She froze, crouching, then breathed again as she told herself it was too dark in the shadow of the trees for anyone to see her. She certainly couldn't make out the intruder.

Luke, taking another swim? The footfalls sounded too heavy for him. It could be any of the crew, even possibly Mr. Crutchfield's hired man who surely knew the place. Hallie wasn't afraid of physical harm. All she had to do was call out and ask the person to withdraw while she dressed and made her retreat.

But that would be embarrassing. Was there any way she could get her clothes and creep away without an encounter?

This hope shattered as Garth's voice came softly through the night. “Who belongs to these clothes?”

X

Though she knew he couldn't see her, Hallie plunged into the deepest water. The current seemed to quicken and surge. It was hard to keep her feet planted on the bottom. The pounding of her heart filled her ears.

“You know those are my things, Garth MacLeod!”

“Enjoying your swim?”

“I
was
!”

“Well, go ahead. Enjoy. I'll stay at this end.”

“You mean swim
together
?”

“Why not? It's dark as pitch.”

“But—” In spite of the cool water lapping around her shoulders, Hallie felt consumed by a fiery blush.

He knew she was naked. How could he suggest they share the swimming hole? Was he that indifferent to her? Well, she wasn't that impervious to him! Even if twenty feet of water flowed between them, she'd be conscious that nothing solid was there—that the water coursing around her had just washed over him.

The splashing he made as he moved into the water almost panicked her. “Wait! I'm getting out!” She swam for the shallows a few strokes away.

“Seems a shame to run away from your first swim this summer.”

“How do you know it's my first one?”

“Because I go in every night when we're close to a creek. Must be my selkie blood.”

“What's that?”

“A seal. Folks used to believe they could take human form. Hundreds of years ago, a man of my family stole a beautiful selkie maiden's skin.” Garth's tone resonated, mingling with the heavy beat of her own heart, traveling through her veins to reverberate in every part of her. “That MacLeod fisherman hid the selkie-lass's garment so she couldn't go back to the sea.”

In the darkness, Hallie could almost believe the story. “What happened to the selkie-girl?”

“The MacLeod took her home and wed her. She could never go into the deep sea again. But they say as long as she lived, she would go to the rocks to swim with the seals. They would always come when she sang to them.”

“It was cruel of the man to keep her.”

“Men in love do cruel things—and women, too.” His voice grew brisk. “Anyway, prairie creeks are nothing like the wide bay below my island village, but I still crave the water.”

“Doesn't Rory?” Hallie had reached her clothes. She knew Garth couldn't see even her dim outline but she toweled hastily and pulled on her nightgown before she rubbed her hair.

“Rory would rather play cards or roll dice.”

The disgust in Garth's words made Hallie ask, “You don't gamble?”

“All the time. Will it rain and slow down the threshing or ruin the grain? Will a farmer wait till I get to him or hire an outfit that turns up quicker? Will I clear enough to make the payments on the machinery?” He gave a rough laugh. “I gamble so much that I'm sure not risking a cent I don't have to. But Rory's a kid. He'll grow out of his crazy notions.”

“Like teaching me to handle the engine?”

“That's his craziest stunt yet.”

“Shaft doesn't think so! Shaft says it's the only threshing job a woman can do outside of hauling water or fuel.”

“He's just trying to make you feel as if it's fine to leave him with your work while you get ready for something that won't happen.”

“How do you know it won't?”

“Because I've already got a dandy backup engineer.”

Squelched, Hallie thought and asked in a small voice, “Jim Wyatt?”

“Yes. He ran his own outfit for six years. By rights, he should be running my engine. But Rory hates pitching.”

And he's too careless to tend the separator, and you want to keep him with you. “Didn't you hear Jim say he might be able to borrow enough on his veteran's bonus to put with his savings and buy another engine and separator before next season?”

“That's next year.” Garth's tone was remote. “Did you plan to ask for a job then?”

Why, after being interesting and almost friendly, had he gone back to stiffness? “I—I hadn't really thought about it,” she floundered.

And she had tried her best not to think about the end of the threshing run, when Jackie would miss Shaft and Laird and Smoky, Meg and the crew so painfully. She herself would wretchedly miss belonging, would miss Shaft's caring and wisdom. Most of all, she would yearn for this man who spoke now with explosive impatience.

“You'd better start thinking. You have your—brother to take look after.”

“I know that better than you do!”

“He'll need to be in school winter after this one.” Silence thickened the night between them. After a moment, Garth continued carefully, “Apparently Raford offered you a well-paid job.”

“He hired Sophie to run his hotel.”

“I expect he'd find a place for you.”

Garth's tone was neutral, but somehow his words conveyed a slur. “If I'd wanted to work for him, I'd have stayed at his farm,” Hallie retorted.

“Why did you quit? It must have been pretty bad to send you stomping out on the road with Jackie and your suitcases.”

“It's none of your”—she searched for an expletive and borrowed one of Shaft's—“none of your blue-eyed cotton-pickin' business!”

“Could be his wife invited you to leave.”

“She didn't!”

“However and whatever, you'll need a job this winter. Might not be smart to drop it to travel with a threshing outfit. You and the lad have to live all year. I thresh between sixty-five to eighty days a year, not counting travel, but the pay won't keep you all winter.”

“Do you mean you don't want to hire me again?” In spite of a stern effort, her voice trembled.

“I didn't say that.”

“You certainly didn't say you wanted to hire me.”

“Far as I can tell, you do your work all right, in spite of fooling around with the engine,” Garth said grudgingly. “Shaft thinks you hung the moon. But since you've got no folks to help you with the laddie or advise you, it seems you should start thinking about the winter.”

“I'm having you save my pay,” she shot back at him. “You know I've drawn only a dollar for that night we went to the movie, so you don't need to act as if I'm like that brainless grasshopper in
Aesop's Fables
who fiddled all summer and came begging to the industrious ant when it turned chilly!” She snatched her clothing off the limb and thrust on her shoes. “I suppose I should thank you for your concern, but I don't! You're insufferable. Good night, Mr. MacLeod!”

His next words stopped her in her tracks. “You could get married.”

“So some man would support me?”

“Women do it all the time.”

“Yes, and they often wind up sad and sorry.” She thought bitterly of Felicity, who had gone straightaway to find another man to replace Robert Meredith, discarding Jackie. “I'll find some way to make a living. And I warn you, Garth MacLeod! Don't you dare try to find me a husband so your most peculiar conscience will be clear when you pay me off this fall!”

She stormed to the fence. A frightened nighthawk launched itself from a post as she climbed between the wires. As she hung her towel over the fence by the shack, Shaft called softly, “You okay, honey? Couldn't tell what was said, but I heard you and Garth hackin' away at each other.”

“He—he the same as said he didn't want to hire me next year.” Hallie choked with wrath, but kept her voice down so as not to rouse Jackie. “He warned me to plan for winter just as if I'd been squandering my wages—and he knows darned well I haven't! He—he even had the gall to say I could get married!”

“Well, I swan,” Shaft mused. Which wasn't very helpful.

The caravan inched down the road next morning, passing two farms Garth threshed ordinarily. “A dog-gone shame,” Shaft growled in Hallie's ear. “Garth's accommodated these folks, let 'em settle up after they sold their wheat when they was short on cash. But Raford gives 'em a cheaper deal, and they forget everything else!”

A Ford truck overtook them, churning dust as it veered around the procession and slowed down beside the separator. The driver pushed a straw hat back from his thin sandy hair. “Garth, can you thresh me?” he shouted above the noise of the engines.

“Thought Raford was going to.”

The man's ruddy face turned redder. “That blame kerosene engine broke down,” he yelled. “Needs a part out of Kansas City. When it does that the first day—well, if you'll come, I'd rather have you. I know you'll get the job done.”

“I'm sorry, Chuck,” Garth shouted back. “If I thresh you now that I've made other promises, I'd run late. That could mean someone who stuck with me might lose some of their crop to rain or hail.”

“Rain or hail's what I'm scared of!” The farmer daubed his sweating dusty face with a bandanna. “Look, Garth, I'll pay an extra cent a bushel.”

“Sorry.”

“You can't pass up a deal like that!”

“I'm going to keep my word.”

“You just want to get even!”

“You're the one who changed threshermen, Chuck.”

The farmer glared and sputtered. When he saw no weakening in Garth's face, he lurched around and drove back the way he'd come. Hallie pulled her apron up to shield her face and Jackie's. Shaft tucked Smoky under his beard. When the dust settled back to the haze puffiing up from the crawling threshing outfit, Shaft glowered at the receding billowing cloud.