WILD OATS (4 page)

"Mama, you don't have any idea what's required to change the name of a town."

Amelia shrugged unconcernedly. "Well, you
are
going to find out for me, aren't you?"

Cora Briggs placed the flat-brimmed straw hat on her head and secured it carefully with two long steel hatpins. She tested its position to assure herself it was properly anchored and then, with one last, hasty glance in her mirror, she stepped out her back door.

Her bicycle, a Hawthorne Safety with a duplex drop-frame designed especially for ladies, leaned against the house. She grasped the handlebars and walked it through the front gate to the road. The bicycle's once shiny frame now showed signs of rust and its tires were more patches than rubber these days. The bicycle had been a gift from Luther Briggs in the early days of their marriage.

Luther had given her what she wanted, she thought to herself. She'd asked for a house of her own and a personal mode of transportation. Both represented freedom and security, and at the time that was what she'd most desired. Some might say she now had more of both than she needed.

She mounted her bicycle, carefully arranging her skirts to keep them out of the chain or spokes.

Slowly, sedately, she rode through the Main Street of Dead Dog. Her back extremely straight and her head high, she looked neither to the right nor the left as she passed through town. As always, she felt eyes on her. Few of the local tradesmen missed the opportunity to see the notorious Mrs. Briggs taking her morning ride.

When she reached the railroad tracks, she dismounted and walked her bike over the crossing. Across the tracks was the area known as Low Town. Here were the homes of the town's few blacks, several families of Indians, and the dregs of the white community. As she cycled down the hill she picked up speed. By the time she passed the entrance to Moses Pratt's deserted pig farm, ste was nearly flying, her skirt twirling unseemingly in the wind.

Unlike the calf-length, modish bloomers sported by many ladies back East, Cora's cycling costume consisted of a long and very full bustleless skirt of nondescript navy, a neat press-pleated blouse of creamy white, and a short navy jacket that buttoned nearly to the collar. It was attractive but certainly modest attire.

But the fact that she bicycled at all was scandal enough for the small town. It was thought by some, including Reverend Philemon Bruder of Dead Dog's only church, that bicycling could stir unhealthy passions in women. The minister had warned Luther Briggs when he'd purchased the bicycle for Cora. And it was the preacher's opinion that the Briggs divorce could be traced directly to Cora's love for cycling.

That amused Cora. However, the reverend's disapproval was nothing humorous and she was careful not to purposely draw attention to herself. If he took it upon himself to do so, Reverend Bruder could have her run out of town. With no family, no friends, and nowhere to go, Cora walked a tightrope in Dead Dog. Unable to regain her reputation, she nevertheless could not afford to further antagonize the townsfolk.

That was why she was so concerned this morning about her impetuous plan. Yesterday it had seemed a fine and just revenge to pretend to be having an affair with young Sparrow. The snooty Mrs. Amelia Sparrow deserved to have her nose tweeked a bit, Cora was certain. And it seemed her son was cut from the same mold. But it could be dangerous. For Amelia to suspect an illicit relationship, the whole town would have to suspect, too. And what might that mean? Could Philemon Bruder accuse her of despoiling the town's youth?

It was a real possibility.

As Cora raced the rusty duplex drop-frame along the sandy road through the muted browns, yellows, and greens of the early autumn prairie around her, she contemplated her future.

As Jedwin had suggested, her financial situation was becoming desperate. Luther never sent her a penny, and Cora wouldn't have accepted his money if he did. She alone was aware of his difficult financial situation. No one else in town knew that Maimie had cut him off without a cent. Still, she was a woman on her own and assured herself that she neither needed nor wanted any contact wilh Luther Briggs. And as for accepting money from Jedwin Sparrow, well, that was impossible.

The house was hers, free and clear, and sometimes she almost felt guilty that it was hers instead of Luther's. Determinedly she pushed that thought away. Luther's troubles were of his own making. She had enough worries of her own without borrowing his.

The incline that led to the river bluff was steep and Cora slowed considerably. For the last several yards she was forced to stand on the pedals to make the top of the hill. Reaching the summit, slightly breathless, she dismounted and retrieved the contents of her basket before laying the bicycle gently on its side.

The highest spot for miles, this overlook of the winding, red, muddy Cimarron was Cora's own personal, private thinking place. She came here daily to restore her soul and refresh her health.

Carefully she laid out a worn quilt on the trampled grass and gently set her very tattered copy of Daisy Millenbutter's
A Ladies' Guide to Good Health, Fine Posture, and Spiritual Completeness
upon it. Removing her jacket and hat, she took a small flannel pouch containing a pound of marbles from her belongings and set it carefully on the top of her head like a beret. With precise, pointed-toe goose steps, Cora began to march back and forth across the knoll. With her chin high and her head held perfectly straight, the marbles did not roll and the pouch sat securely upon her head. According to Mrs. Millen-butter, fine posture and daily exercise were the keys to both good health and happiness.

Cora wasn't sure about that, but having been quite athletic all her life, she enjoyed fresh air and exercise. And perhaps it was not spiritual completeness, but Cora's outings helped relieve her troubles and lightened her burdens.

After several moments of posture exercise, Cora exchanged her marbles pouch for her Lewis wand. The hollow wooden pole, not quite four feet in length, could be adapted to sixty-eight different exercise activities. Cora started by turning it rapidly in one hand and then began twirling it wrist over wrist before her. Throwing the wand high in the air, she turned around rapidly before reaching up to catch it. The wand landed unceremoniously on the ground three feet in front of her.

Placing her hands on her hips, Cora looked at the wooden instrument as if it were a traitor.

"I never miss!" she announced. Stalking over to the wand, she jerked it off the ground and began twirling again.

Today her lack of concentration was evident, but Cora couldn't seem to free her mind of her concerns.

"If you had any sense at all, you'd send that young man away the minute he shows up at your door," she told herself aloud. But she knew she had no intention of doing so. The opportunity for revenge against Amelia Sparrow was too priceless to pass up. Since the day Cora'd arrived in Dead Dog as Luther Briggs's bride, Mrs. Sparrow had done everything that she could to make her feel unwelcome. Certainly the fact that Maimie seemed to pit her daughter-in-law against Amelia didn't help much, either. Although Maimie, if she'd been reasonable, should have been content that her son had married a decent, healthy woman who appeared capable of bearing children and was a "real orphan" rather than some fallen woman's unlawful get, Maimie wasn't content at all. Cora's refusal to kowtow to Maimie and her determination to move into the cottage across town infuriated her even more.

Out of spite, Maimie turned her attention to Amelia, flaunting her preference for her distant cousin.

Then had come the divorce. She could easily have forgotten Amelia Sparrow as she'd forgotten the rest of her former so-called friends . . . except for the way Amelia handled the divorce. Maimie
knew
the truth behind the whole ugly mess, so she never said a word. She'd let Amelia Sparrow speak for her. And it was Amelia who spouted off lie after lie until the women in Dead Dog pulled their skirts out of Cora's way and the men declared open season on her virtue. Cora Briggs tried hard not to hate anyone. Hatred was a wasted emotion that fostered choler in the blood and acid in the stomach. For health reasons alone, Cora never hated anyone. But what she felt for Amelia Sparrow was about as far as one could get from friendship.

Again, Cora threw the wand high into the air. She swirled around in two neat turns and deftly caught the well-varnished piece of wood in her hand. Twirling it before her a couple of times, she leaned forward slightly and with her left hand tossed the wand right to left across the small of her back. Catching it with the right hand, still turning, she passed it to her left hand again and made the same movement across her neck. With one more orchestrated throw to heaven and a successful catch, Cora tossed the wand on the blanket and seated herself cross-legged for her deep breathing exercises.

Mrs. Millenbutter stressed the importance of freeing the mind of all thought. However, as Cora laid her hands open-palmed on her knees and closed her eyes, what she saw was not the oblivion of spiritual eternity, but the intense maple brown eyes of Jedwin Sparrow.

She shook her head.

Amelia Sparrow had hurt her more deeply than even Luther Briggs. At least Luther had had his reasons, such as they were. Amelia Sparrow hurt Cora just to please Miss Maimie. She deserved to be punished for that, and Cora deserved to be the one to do it.

But Jedwin Sparrow's eyes were not the pretty blue of Amelia's. They were his own eyes, a young man's eyes, eyes that appeared to have already seen too much. Was it fair to use him for her instrument of revenge? No, it was not. Cora knew that she must send the young man away. She would not play out her vengeful plan. She would send him away today!

A wave of disappointment followed in the immediate wake of her decision. In one sense she had told Jedwin the truth. Her life in Dead Dog
was
infinitely boring.

With a sigh of defeat, she reconsidered. The young man might not be guilty of slander as his mother was, but he was certainly guilty of uncouth behavior. Thinking that his grave-digging money could buy him whatever he wanted! Well, he certainly deserved to be set down a peg.

Cora opened her eyes and stared sightlessly into the distance. She'd already set him down a peg. This afternoon she'd let him make a complete fool of himself!

Cora couldn't quite tamp down the smile that came to her face. This was going to be the least boring winter in eight years.

Humming a cheery tune, her cheeks finely dusted with flour, Cora Briggs spent virtually all of her afternoon preparing for her caller. She hadn't baked Indian cookies for at least a half dozen years. Luther disliked them, calling them "a very sorry excuse for dessert." But for some unexplained reason, this afternoon she'd been compelled to bake some.

Her sterling-silver tea service had been sold in Guthrie two years ago, but Cora picked through the best of her dishes and set the table for lavish high tea. The house was immaculate and smelled wonderfully of apples and burnt sugar. Beneath her apron, Cora wore a rusty brown walking skirt with a pleated back drapery that accentuated the curve of her bustle. On most women the color would have been drab, but it was an exact match to Cora's hair and the pale peachy-brown of her blouse brought color to her cheeks.

She knew she looked attractive; she knew her house was inviting; and she knew her refreshments would be tasty. What she did not know was if she was really going to go through with this.

"We'll just have tea," she assured herself. "And I'll tell him that I've changed my mind."

She recited that plan to herself repeatedly as the clock made its torturously slow movement toward the appointed hour. However, she still managed to be startled when at exactly four o'clock she heard the discreet knock on the back door.

Hastily, she removed her apron and hurried to greet him. She would give him tea, she decided, and a few cookies and send him on his way.

"Mr. Sparrow," she said, with an unseemly warm welcome in her voice. "Do come in."

Jedwin, hat in hand, stepped into the kitchen. He cringed a bit at being called Mr. Sparrow. "Jedwin" sounded so much more intimate and he'd been looking forward to hearing his name on her lips.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Briggs," he said politely. He was scrupulously groomed and impeccably dressed. His blond curls were slicked down with spicy-smelling pomade, but still managed to wave attractively. His shirt was definitely Sunday linen and his tie was pure silk.

Cora was impressed. She had thought him attractive yesterday. Today he was even more so. Her hands trembled slightly as she took his coat.

"Please have a seat," she said nervously. "I hope you like Indian cookies, Mr. Sparrow," she began, almost chattering. She indicated the dining table covered with her best lace tablecloth before turning her back to him.

"Jed win."

"Pardon?" She glanced back at him.

"Please call me Jedwin, Mrs. Briggs," he said. "It's so much friendlier."

Jedwin smiled warmly. The next step would be for her to permit him to use
her
given name. Cora. He'd already practiced the name in his head a hundred times since last night, and he was anxious to speak it aloud.

"Very well, Jedwin," she said. "I hope you don't take cream in your tea because I have none."