WILD OATS (7 page)

Amelia Sparrow's voice had risen to a near caterwaul of frustration. When she turned to find her son's face displaying a wide grin, it turned to fury.

"What are you smiling at?" she screeched.

Jedwin valiantly tried to sober his expression. His relief that he'd not been found out had been quickly followed by amusement at her pique. No one had the ability to nettle Amelia like Haywood. It was one of the things Jedwin liked best about him.

"Now, Mama," he coaxed. "Don't take on so. You know Haywood is from Arkansas and can't be expected to have any manners to speak of."

Amelia turned on her son. "And you send that mannerless hillbilly to represent us to the family of one of my nearest and dearest friends?''

"I am going to the Willoughbys later. I intend to conduct the funeral myself."

"But you're letting
him
do the embalming!"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes!"

"And is that the end of it?" Amelia asked, nearly choking on her own anger. "You think you are too fine to do the kind of work your father had you trained for, so you hire another man to do it. A man who is mannerless, uncouth, and totally lacking in sensibilities. And I am just supposed to accept that. You may not care if he ruins your business, but I do. I am no spring blossom, James Edwin. If your business fails, who will support me in my old age? Will I go to gathering rags? Or would you prefer me to simply beg on the streets?"

Jedwin felt his own temper rising. "I will support you, Mama."

"Like my daddy did?" she asked. "I swear, you are just like him, not a drop of me or Jim Sparrow at all!"

"Mama—" Jedwin's tone was stern and cold.

"I have no time to discuss this with you," his mother interrupted him haughtily. "Poor little Nadine Willoughby lies silent forever, I must go over and comfort my dear friend Needa. Having buried a husband of my own, I fear the memories of my own long-ago grief will haunt me. But I am one person in this family who understands duty."

With an exaggerated sigh, the Widow Sparrow turned her back on her unrepentant son and piously headed toward the doorway. "I suppose that I will need to walk."

"I will drive you," Jedwin ground out between clencihed teeth.

Amelia nodded perfunctorily at her son. "I shall be ready in a quarter hour."

Cora shivered as she drew on her coat and gathered her bucket for the trip to the outdoor pump. Cold weather was approaching, and she was ill prepared. The kitchen pump had frozen up solid the previous winter, and she had hoped all summer to get a little cash money ahead to fix it.

Shuddering, she allowed herself only a tiny moment of self-pity. "Women have survived for thousands of years without running water in the house," she reminded herself sharply.

Pulling her heavy coat on over her gown and work boots, she headed for the yard pump. The grass crackled beneath her feet. Still partially green, it glistened in the morning sunshine with the first hard frost of the year. She glanced up at the pecan tree. It was heavy with bright green clusters of nuts. Gratefully she anticipated the beginning of shelling before the week was out.

She trudged across the small backyard and the garden, now turned for the silent sleep of winter. Stoically, she made her way to the back fence and the water trough that Luther had used for his horses.

Luther had loved fine horses. He'd kept a matched pair of bays for the surrey and a quarterbreed saddlehorse. Luther looked good with horses. The memories of him handling a team or riding hell-for-leather to some forgotten appointment were ones that could still make Cora smile. He was a handsome man. And never more so than with a fine horse.

There were no horses now, and the trough had grown scummy and dark with disuse. As Cora jiggled some life intp the pump, the thin sheet of ice on the surface of the trough cracked into a design like a spindly spider web.

Raising the pump handle to its full height, Cora grasped it with both hands. Throwing all her weight against it, she
rode
it down. When she'd reached bottom, she let the pump handle retreat with a light hand. Forcing it back into the upright position would only delay the rise of water. Unlike the pitcher-spout pump in the kitchen, the non-freezing hand-force pump in the yard was made for tall masculine shoulders and strong muscular arms. It took Cora a half-dozen strong, steady pulls before the frigid, stubborn water began to flow. By the time it had, she was no longer cold. The exertion had broken sweat across her brow.

Her bucket filled, Cora stopped at the woodpile beside the empty stable to grab up an armful of pine. It was green, sappy wood—the cheapest she could buy. Careful not to slosh the water, she made slow progress to her back door.

Once inside, she unceremoniously dropped the pine into the wood box with a loud clatter. Flexing her arm against the strain on her muscles, she then grasped the bottom of the water pail and poured most of it into the heavy iron reservoir built into the side of the stove. She'd already emptied the warm water left from last night into her washbasin.

Retaining the last bit of the freshly drawn water for the tea kettle that she set at the right, she hung the pail on its hook.

Cora shrugged out of her coat before stoking the coals in the fire box. She noted with dismay that the ash pit was almost full again. Last time she'd emptied it, she'd managed to drop the entire contents on the kitchen floor, and it had taken the better part of a week to remove the thin layer of gray film from the rest of the house.

Maybe the next time she'd bring the wheelbarrow inside. Long ago she had learned that being on her own in the world meant that she would have to innovate. But then, she'd always been on her own.

Her parents had come west from Missouri for the Oklahoma land run. Her mother had still been frail from her last birthing, another blue baby. Cora no longer remembered how many dead sisters and brothers she'd helped bury. But it seemed her mother lost one nearly every year. Finally, that year of the run, she'd lost her mother, too. She'd felt so frightened. Her father seemed to have forgotten her existence; it was as if she were invisible to the world.

Young Cora had spent her every waking moment doing the things her mother had done. Using her mother's broom and scrubboard, ironing her mother's sheets, putting up food in her mother's canning jars.

Despondent over the loss of his wife, and in dire straits due to a bad crop, her father had taken to drinking and gambling. When he lost the farm to a Kansas City card sharp, Cora had cried all the way into town. They'd lived in a tent that winter, with her father working odd jobs and drinking corn liquor.

The fire in the stove grate glowed cherry red with warmth, but Cora shuddered with that remembered cold. Sometimes when her heart was heavy and she felt misused, she'd remember that last winter with her father. It made her troubles today look like trifles.

It was the pleurisy that had killed him. It had happened so fast, Cora had never even thought to find a doctor. Strangers had come to her aid; strangers had laid her father to rest. And strangers had sent her to live at the Methodist Home in Muskogee, with strangers.

Home was what it was called, but not what it had been. The people had tried to be kind; Cora did not fault them. But she had known that her life would begin again some other time, some other place. She had worked and prayed and obeyed. And she had waited. She hadn't known why, but she was sure that someday someone would somehow come to fetch her.

Someone had.

The water in the wash boiler was making little warm whispers against the sides of blackened iron.

Cora gave a hasty glance to insure that all the window shades were drawn tightly. It was undoubtedly the height of indecency for a woman to bathe in the kitchen. But after living alone for eight years, Cora no longer felt the need to follow any conventions but her own.

Slipping her nightgown down to her waist, Cora dipped a clean cotton rag in the wanned water in the washbasin and soaped it lightly with a bit of homemade lye. Mrs. Millenbutter recommended a tepid shower bath for good health. Flushing away the impurities of the skin was a weekly obligation, she claimed. Cora, however, had no shower bath available and preferred more traditional, but daily, ablutions.

Rinsing away the soap and drying her stomach and breasts with a well-worn towel, Cora slipped on her corset cover and buttoned it completely before allowing her nightgown to drop from her hips and continuing her bath. Mrs. Millenbutter might have modern opinions on the occasional necessity of nudity, but the lessons of the Methodist Home stayed with Cora. On no occasion should a female ever be completely unclothed.

The Methodist Home was strict with the young ladies and rigid in their expectations. Marriage was the pinnacle of success. Luther Briggs had brought her that success. And Luther Briggs had taken it away.

Cora shrugged off the dark thoughts as she slipped into her drawers. She had wanted a home and Luther had given her one. The little worn white cottage was cramped and it was beginning to get a bit frayed at the seams, but it was home to Cora Briggs.

With some paint and a few small repairs it would be as good as new, Cora assured herself. The question of where the paint and repairs might come from was not one that she normally allowed herself to dwell upon. Today, however, she did try to consider her options.

Single women were very limited in their ability to make money. A baked-goods shop or a millinery were about the only businesses a woman could run. Most made a living at home taking in sewing or tatting lace. None of those occupations were open to Cora. Any food or clothing touched by a divorced woman was tainted in the eyes of the good women of Dead Dog. If she'd attempted doing business on her own, Cora would have starved to death years ago.

"Thank goodness for Titus Penny," Cora whispered to herself as she twirled her hair into a casual knot and pinned it securely to the top of her head. Titus bought her jellies and jams, even her persimmon syrup, and sold them in his store. He told the good folks of Dead Dog that they were made by the Widow Martin. The good widow also sold goods at the store, but she was old and frail. She couldn't produce nearly as much as Cora could.

And of course, the widow's were more expensive. Titus Penny was no saint, and Cora was sure he'd come by the name "Penny" quite honestly. He offered Cora only a third of what he paid the Widow Martin for the same product.

"I'm doing you a favor, Cera," he'd said, grinning at her in that irritatingly familiar manner of his. "If I don't buy this from you, nobody will."

Cora said nothing and kept her face free of expression, as he twirled the ends of his waxy, reddish moustache.

"What'll it be, Cora honey?" he said. "A little money or none at all?''

She'd wanted to raise her chin in defiance and strut out the front door of his store in a huff. But he was right. She had no place else to go, and something was just a little better than nothing.

With her hat on straight, Cora grabbed up her marketing basket and opened the back pantry. There was little left to sell. Berries had been scarce last summer and the drought had kept her garden from flourishing. Placing the last three jars of watermelon pickles in her basket, she carefully hid them from sight with a dishcloth.

"I have to lie to my own wife about this," Titus had often warned her. "It'd ruin my business if folks suspected I was helping you."

Cora cared little about ruining Penny's business. But he was her only source of income.

She banked the fire in the stove and carried her jars out to her bicycle. She needed flour or cornmeal. Sugar would be nice, although she could always substitute molasses for sweetener, but there was no substitute for bread.

The morning air was brisk as Cora made her way down the street. With the heavy basket hung on the handlebars, she had to be especially careful of the slick spots and holes in the road. It wouldn't do to fall and break her last jars of watermelon pickles.

As usual she kept her eyes to the center of the street. But as she passed Sparrow Mortuary she couldn't prevent her gaze from straying to the mammoth red-brick edifice with the wide, white-trimmed porches.

For the last two days she had tried, without much success, to keep her thoughts away from Jedwin Sparrow. But for someone whose only excitement was wondering how soon poverty would turn into destitution, the thrill young Sparrow had brought into her life couldn't be ignored.

She would simply send him away the next time he showed up, she assured herself.

Her decision so distracted her that she failed to check whether there were patrons in Penny's store. She'd already opened the door when she saw two women.

Standing in the middle of the floor was Titus's wife Fanny talking to Mrs. Amelia Sparrow, herself.

Chapter Five

Surprised at her own blunder, Cora stared momentarily at the two women.

Equally stunned, Fanny and Amelia stared right back. Fanny was dressed in a bulky calico that was designed, not too cleverly, to camouflage the fact that she was nearly six months pregnant. Her coat was apparently suited to her usual wardrobe and the buttons would not meet in the front, so she allowed it to hang open sloppily. In contrast, Amelia's gray silk, trimmed smartly with tiny intricate bits of black lace, was the height of mourning fashion and enhanced the attractiveness of her fair complexion and pale blond hair.

Cora almost blurted out an apology for interrupting, before she reminded herself that she had every right in the world to come to town and to visit a store. It was one of the facts of her life that Cora avoided Amelia Sparrow. Most of the other ladies in town were disapproving, but Amelia sought open confrontation.

Setting her chin with as much defiance as she could muster, Cora gave the women a civil nod.

A tiny huff of air exploded from Fanny Penny's throat at the horror of practically being spoken to by
that
woman. She gave Amelia a hasty, nervous glance.

"Whatever is she doing here?" Amelia asked Fanny in a whisper just loud enough for Cora to hear.

Cora determinedly turned her attention to the selection of pot lids in the corner of the store. Her heart was pounding as if she'd just made the top of the river knoll on her bicycle. Deliberately she attempted to slow her breathing and ignore the other occupants of the store.

"She trades here sometimes," Fanny admitted with some embarrassment. "I told Titus never to allow her credit," she quickly offered as proof of her own innocence. “He says she always pays cash in advance."

"Cash money in advance?" Amelia huffed as if scandalized. "Heaven only knows how she comes by it." Her tone suggested that she had her suspicions.

Cora kept her gaze on the pot lids. Experience had taught her that when the flames weren't fanned the fire faded out. Although Amelia Sparrow, of course, could always be counted upon to fan her own flames.

"I swear," she said to Fanny with a soulful sigh. "That dear Maimie Briggs has more to bear than the good Lord should ever have cast upon her."

Both women gave a half glance in Cora's direction.

"Yes, dear soul," Fanny agreed.

"What with having her only son so far from her, and the scandal she's had to live down." Amelia tut-tutted sadly.

Fanny nodded in agreement.

"Why, I do declare that the woman is practically a saint."

"A saint," Fanny echoed, nodding.

"With all she's had to bear, it just seems like the town ought to do something special for her. Something to lift her spirit from the pit that some have dragged her into. Something to acknowledge that none of us hold her responsible for the sins of others. Something just to show how much the whole town really loves her."

“What do you have in mind?" Fanny asked.

Amelia smiled, quite proud of the ingenious way she'd managed to approach the subject that was quickly becoming close to her heart. "I think we should name the town after her."

"Name the town?" Fanny looked skeptical. "The town already has a name."

"Certainly not a very good one."

"I suppose not," Fanny admitted.

"And certainly not a name that sounds like a county seat," Amelia said. “With statehood coming, we need to be ready to take on whatever responsibilities are thrust our way."

"Yes, of course." Fanny was gaining enthusiasm for the idea. The only way for the Pennys' business to grow was for the town to grow. And being chosen county seat was a very certain way to do that. “Why, a more prestigious name could be a great boon to the community."

"It certainly would. And we don't want to call it some unpronounceable native word, or name it after someplace back East—Boston, Oklahoma, just will not do."

Fanny giggled in agreement. "Oh no, nothing like that."

"I feel that for all concerned, the community should be named after its first and finest family." Amelia sighed with pleasure. "We should call it Briggston."

Cora Briggs completely forgot her nonchalant pose and turned, mouth open and eyes horrified, to stare at Amelia Sparrow.

Amelia glanced at her sharply and raised a disapproving eyebrow. "I've heard that those who are wont to eavesdrop frequently hear ill of themselves," she said sweetly.

Cora's jaw snapped shut and her face flushed in anger. Words of fury flew through her brain, forcing themselves to her lips, but she bit them back.

Briggston!
Her brain screamed the word. No, no, she just couldn't believe it. It was bad enough that she was ostracized by her community, but to have that community named for that evil old crone who had ruined her life was almost beyond bearing. She wanted to scream, cry, roar the building down, demand to know who was responsible. But then she knew who was responsible: Amelia Sparrow.

Vicious words formed in Cora's mind, but she was saved from resorting to fisticuffs, not-to mention social impropriety, by the sound of a little girl's black leather shoes beating a hasty gallop from the back of the store.

"I want a red one! I want a red one!" A cotton-headed child of about five years hurried to the counter, which displayed large colorful jars of hard, brightly colored candies. She jumped up and down in excitement, her thick white blond curls dancing and bobbing around her head. "A red one! A red one!"

"Maybelle!" Fanny Penny crossed her arms impatiently. "I told you, no more sweets until after lunch."

The little girl gave her mother a quick, blue-eyed glance. "Daddy said yes," she said with complete confidence in the outcome and returned to her cheerful hopping. "A red one! A red one!"

"Titus?" Fanny called to her husband as he entered slowly from the stockroom in the back.

The proprietor of Penny's Grocery and Dry Goods waved away his wife's objection. "Oh, let her have the candy," he said easily as he slipped behind the counter and unscrewed the lid of one of the large glass jars. "She's been a good little girl this morning."

"You'll spoil her," Fanny objected.

Titus didn't even look up. "Daddy's pretty little blondy deserves to be spoiled. What kind do you want, Maybelle baby? The red or the white?"

"I want both!" Maybelle declared loudly.

"Titus—" Fanny's tone was threatening, but her husband paid no notice.

"Then both you shall have," Maybelle's father told her. "One for now and one for later."

As Titus Penny filled each of his daughter's small pudgy hands with candy, Fanny turned back to Amelia, shaking her head disapprovingly. "I just don't know what to do with Titus. He just thinks the sun rises and sets on Maybelle."

Having grown used to having his wife speak about him as if he weren't present, Titus paid no visible notice to the women's discussion. But, of course, he plainly heard every word.

"Men just have no sense about children," Amelia said as she nodded with understanding. "Dear Mr. Sparrow, God rest his soul, would have allowed Jedwin to follow his own nature if I hadn't put my foot down. Fathers just don't think as clearly about their children's future as mothers do."

Amelia looked at the happy child, her mouth stuffed with candy.

"Mr. Penny thinks only to make Maybelle smile today. It never occurs to him how difficult it will be to find someone to marry her if she becomes ill-favored and gluttonous."

"She don't have to marry a soul," Titus Penny interrupted with displeasure. "She can stay right here and work in the store till her dying day. I'd be happy if she'd just brighten the life of her daddy in his old age."

Turning his attention to Maybelle, Titus heightened his voice to a childish decibel. "You want to just stay home and take care of your daddy when you grow up?''

Her mouth still filled with candy, Maybelle couldn't reply but nodded her head enthusiastically.

Fanny and Amelia glanced at each other with understanding.

"I'd best take her home," Fanny said with a sigh. She reached for her daughter's hand. When the young girl grasped hers, Fanny made a disapproving sound. "You are always so sticky!"

Maybelle shrugged with unconcern and allowed herself to be led out the front door.

As he watched his wife and child leaving, Titus Penny turned his attention to Amelia. "Would you care for a piece of candy yourself, ma'am?"

Amelia wasn't even tempted. Her bad tooth was already aching this morning, and she'd learned from experience that hot drinks or sugar could make it painful enough to send her to bed.

"No thank you, Mr. Penny," she said. "I am not some child to be bribed by sweets."

Penny nodded, in unhappy agreement. "Here's that roll of white bunting you wanted."

Amelia walked to the counter and fingered the material, considering. A movement on the far side of the room caught Penny's attention. Seeing Cora Briggs, he started.

Amelia looked up at him curiously.

"Fanny said that you allow
her
to trade here," she whispered too quietly for anyone else to hear.

Titus flushed darkly. "I'm the only grocer in town. I can't turn her away and allow her to starve."

Amelia considered his words casually as she considered the bolt of white cloth. "Perhaps if she couldn't buy food, she'd move on."

Titus looked skeptical. "Where would she move, Miz Sparrow? She ain't got no folks that we know of, no money to speak of, and she owns that house of hers free and clear."

Eyeing him again, more critically, Amelia said, "She must have some money or she wouldn't be able to trade here."

Again Titus's face blazed with embarrassment. "I don't give her a nickel of credit," he hedged carefully.

"See that you don't," Amelia's tone was louder and as deceivingly pleasant as her words were threatening. "I'll take this bolt, Mr. Penny, and a half-dozen needles, if you please."

Titus hurriedly wrapped Amelia's parcels. Guiltily he glanced several times at Cora, who continued to browse through the store with feigned unconcern. When he'd tied Mrs. Sparrow's purchases together, he chivalrously escorted her to the door, conversing pleasantly about the weather.

When the door shut behind Amelia, his smile faded and he turned to Cora. "I've told you not to come in here when she's here."

Cora's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "I am not a criminal, Mr. Penny," she said with calm deliberation. "I can come and go in this town as I please. I do try to avoid Amelia Sparrow. However, it is not because I
should
avoid her, but because I
want
to."

Titus Penny, a man who was easily intimidated by the ruffled feathers of his female patrons, quickly backed down. "Yes, yes," he cajoled. "And I want you to avoid her, too. That woman can be pure poison when she sets her mind to it."

"You don't have to tell
me
that, sir." Cora was still reeling slightly from the notion of renaming the town after Maimie Briggs. As far as Cora was concerned, Amelia might be the town venom, but it was Maimie Briggs who was the head of the snake.

Titus Penny nodded at her solemnly. "I suspect you would know." With a guilty glance to the front door, he gestured for her to follow. "Let's step into the back, shall we?" he suggested. "I wouldn't want any other customers interrupting our business."

With a nod of agreement, Cora followed him to the small storage area crammed with goods. A small work desk sat in one corner next to a poor quality yellow glass window that did little more than allow a bit of light to spill into the room. Piled high upon his homemade, shaved plank work desk were account books, invoices, and bills of sale. More papers filled the chair beside it, Titus swept them untidily onto the floor and seated himself. Self-consciously he straightened his moustache and cleared his throat before leaning back slightly in the chair and smiling speculatively at Cora.

"Well, what have you got for me today, Cora honey?"

Ignoring the endearment, Cora stared right back at him. “I have the last of my watermelon pickles," she said calmly. "I will be needing a few things today, but I believe I can wait to purchase my winter stores until after the pecans are in." Her tone was calm, unconcerned, and businesslike. "I had a look at my best tree this morning, Mr. Penny, and it is plainly loaded with pecans."

Titus nodded assessingly. "Pecans is good, Cora, no doubt about it. But I can get bushels of them from the farmers around here for a pittance."

Cora's too-warm smile was clearly feigned. "But would the farmers bring them to you shelled, in perfect halves, and impeccably clean?" she asked, already knowing the answer. "They sold very well last year, sir, if you will recall."

Titus shrugged. "Every year is different, Cora honey," he said. "Sure, you know I'll buy them, but I cain't promise that it'll be enough to keep you in flour and meal for the winter."

She swallowed nervously but continued to smile. "Well, I just know that you will do the best you can for me, Mr. Penny."