WILD OATS (8 page)

Titus put a finger to his temple and gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment.

Cora was used to bargaining with him; she knew that he wouldn't give her a penny if he could get by with five mils. But she had confidence in her product. The ladies in town had scooped up her pecans last year. Native pecans were by far the best tasting, but the toughest to shell and prepare.

Finally as if reaching a decision, Penny smiled charmingly at Cora and leaned toward her. "Every year
is
different, Cora honey, just like I said. I don't know how much I'll be able to do for you with pecans this year."

He reached out with studied casualness and grasped the material at the edge of Cora's bicycling costume. Rubbing the cloth with his fingers, as if assessing its quality, he looked up at her, his eyes darker. "It's been a rough year for farmers, Cora honey. It's been a rough year for me."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Cora replied quietly as she surreptitiously moved backward, hoping that he would release her skirt. He did not.

"Don't get me wrong," he said, his eyes still locked with hers. "Business has been real fine. I'm a lucky man. And a happy one. But, well—" He hesitated and glanced away momentarily. "You saw my wife out there," he said finally and shook his head. "Big as a cow already and still three months to go."

Cora felt the blood rushing from her face.

"She says she don't feel well most of the time, and she's taken to sleeping with Maybelle." His eyes traveled to his fingers and the cloth he continued to stroke. His gaze held there for a long moment before rising to look Cora in the eye once more. "A man can get lonely when his woman is nesting."

He looked at Cora for signs of understanding. “That big old bed of mine down on the corner can get mighty cold of a night."

No sound came from Cora's throat. Fear, anger, loathing, and pity all warred together. She wanted to walk away and never return. She wanted to slap Titus Penny's face and call him an adulterer. She wanted to scream that she was divorced, not immoral. She could do none of those things.

Slowly, purposefully, she gained control of her emotions. She needed Titus Penny and she didn't dislike him. He wasn't an evil man: just a somewhat boring and stupid one. There were many times that she had thought him downright kind. This was not one of those times.

With cool determination she stepped back, calmly clasping her skirt and pulling it from his grasp. "I know just what you mean, Mr. Penny," she said with exaggerated pleasantness. "Living alone myself, I do understand how long and cold these winter nights can be."

Penny looked almost stunned at her reply.

"You know what I think you should do," she said without giving him an instant to respond. "You should get Mrs. Penny to sew you up a thick down quilt. I swear, there is nothing in this world like the proper bedclothes on a cold winter night. It's certainly all I need."

Reaching into her basket, she set the jars of watermelon pickles on the desk beside him. "I am late for my morning ride,
Mi.
Penny. If it's not too much trouble, could I pick up some flour and cornmeal?"

Titus Penny's face was bright red, but he immediately followed Cora to the front of the store and measured her some of each and a bit of sugar extra.

Later that day when Cora turned her bicycle into her front gate, she was panting as if she'd run a race with the devil and as tired as if she'd spent the day chopping cotton. After her awkward conversation with Titus Penny, she'd ridden at breakneck speed through Low Town and had kept up a strong enough pace on the road that she managed to top the knoll without hardly slowing. She'd thrown her wand higher and faster than she'd ever managed. And she'd pushed herself to feats she had never before attempted.

None of these things, however, had managed to take the sting out of the morning's events. She was still angry, embarrassed, and unhappy. The injustice she lived with stung as smartly today as on the day of her divorce. Nearly every day she told herself that things were better, that she didn't mind anymore. Sometimes she could actually believe it. Then Amelia Sparrow or Titus Penny or someone, anyone, would remind her that she could not deserve anonymity or contentment.

She leaned the bicycle against the house and removed her basket from the handlebars, automatically checking the contents to insure their safety. Funny, she hadn't worried about her flour and cornmeal when she went flying hell-for-leather down the river road. All she'd thought about was fleeing the present, fleeing the past, and fleeing herself.

She was on the first of the back steps when she saw it. Propped up against the comer of the door was a bouquet of dried flowers. Cora's eyes widened. Tiny sprigs of myrtle surrounded three red roses, their dried color dark and rich, their petals still smooth and perfect. They were wrapped in a half-length of fine white linen and encircled by a blue satin ribbon. Tucked into the ribbon on the right side was a piece of folded notepaper.

Cora picked up the bouquet as gently as if it were a newborn babe and gazed at it with confusion and pleasure. When her hand brushed against the stiff folded paper, she hurriedly opened the note. The script was not penman perfect, but rather a large masculine scrawl.

You are as fragrant as sweet myrtle

And fair as the roses

I can be more romantic

Than you would ever supposes

Staring at the awkward, impromptu poem in her hand, Cora felt the troubles of the morning melt from her shoulders like candles on a hot cookstove. A smile teased the corners of her mouth and then one tiny giggle escaped her throat. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand, but not before real mirth had taken over. In a couple of moments she was leaning against the door, laughing until the tears ran down the side of her face. Laughing as she had not in years.

"Dear Jedwin, dear, dear Jedwin," she whispered as she leaned her head against the door frame. Poetry was undoubtedly one of his conceptions of romance. Smiling, she thought that surely someone should have told him it was best to steal words from Lord Byron.

Still smiling, Cora stepped through the back door. Leaving her hat and coat on the rack, she carried her romantic floral offering to the parlor and placed it carefully on the tea table.

Stepping back, she assessed the placement. She considered a vase, but decided none of the few she tad left were deserving enough. The flowers were lovely in their wrapping, they would just have to stay that way. She moved them slightly to the left, smiled down at them again, and then proceeded with her business. It was a good hour past noon, and Mrs. Millenbutter was a great believer in taking meals at precisely specified times.

Humming to herself, Cora walked purposefully to the kitchen, only glancing back a couple of times at her unexpected gift-It had been a long time since anyone had given her flowers. The last time . . . she couldn't quite conjure the memory. Then suddenly it was bright before her. The last time she'd been given flowers was on her wedding day.

"Here is your bouquet, my Cory," Luther had said warmly as he handed her up into the buggy in front of the Federal Courthouse in Muskogee. The judge had pronounced them man and wife not five minutes before and Cora had clutched the flowers nervously. "I picked those out myself," he admitted. "Mama told me that lilies were not appropriate wedding flowers, but since she couldn't be here, well, I thought they suited you."

Cora had felt a thrill of joy in her heart as she smiled at the unusual bouquet. "They are lovely, Mr. Briggs," she whispered.

As he seated himself beside her in the seat, Cora gazed up at the fancily dressed man at her side. Four times he'd come to call on her. But she'd never expected that he would ask her to marry him. Certainly she hadn't expected it to happen so soon.

Luther smiled broadly at her and Cora almost sighed at the sight. The dazzling bright smile only enhanced the deep blue of his eyes, his thick, curly black hair, and that one rebellious curl that slithered with unruly persistence down his forehead. His strong masculine jawline was tempered by the long, teasing dimples in his cheeks.

Cora's heart was in her throat. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. She was his wife. And she loved him.

"They are so beautiful, but it wasn't necessary, Mr. Briggs," she told him shyly. "I hate for you to waste your money buying me trifles."

Luther chuckled lightly and chucked her under the chin. "Now, Mrs. Briggs," he said. "I'll be buying you whatever I like. I want you to be the happiest woman in the territory."

"I am."

He stared at her seriously for a long moment as if uncomfortable. "Good," Luther replied finally. The word was positive, but somehow his tone was not. "Mama is going to love you, I'm sure of it," he insisted to both of them.

Feeling an attack of nerves skitter through her, Cora was not as certain. "I do hope she likes me, Mr. Briggs. I promise to be as good to her as if I were her own daughter."

Luther gave the team a whistle and started off down the street. "Don't you worry a thing about Mama. When she sees you and talks to you, why, she's going to be as thrilled as if you were her long-lost daughter."

The city streets of Muskogee were crowded with milk carts and surreys, delivery wagons and drays. Although Cora had lived in Muskogee since her father's death, she'd rarely had opportunity to leave the orphanage and take in the sights.

"I do think I'm going to love living in the city," Cora told Luther as she smiled at the excitement and noise surrounding her.

"We won't be living here," he said as mildly as if he'd just suggested the possibility of rain.

"We won't be living here?"

"No, I decided we should move to Dead Dog in Oklahoma Territory. My mama's getting older and she needs me near."

Cora nodded, but her head was full of questions. "I thought your business was here in Muskogee?"

"It is," Luther answered, glancing at her but not really looking at her directly. "I've got a competent foreman to handle things on a daily basis, and of course I'll need to make frequent visits to check on things. But I think that it's best if we live with Mama."

"Oh." Cora had a strange sense of misgiving. "But haven't you built your own house here in town?"

"I'm renting it out."

Cora's curiosity was immediately sparked. Most rented lodgings in Muskogee were crowded and mean. If a man could afford a decent house, then he built his own.

"Who in heaven are you renting to?" she asked him.

He turned to look at Cora closely. His jaw was set tightly. "What does it matter? If we decide to live in Dead Dog, we don't need the house. That is, of course"—he paused slightly before he turned to Cora; his most devastating smile formed at his lips and was aimed full force upon her—"if such a plan suits my new bride."

Blushing, Cora giggled with pleasure. It would take some time, she decided, to understand her new husband. But then, she had the rest of their lives. "Your new bride is pleased with any plan you decide on, Mr. Briggs," she whispered demurely.

Luther chuckled and patted her knee in a husbandly, familiar manner. "That's what I figured, Cory. And why don't you just call me Luther?"

She grinned at him. "Is that permitted?"

Luther laughed out loud. "Oh yes, ma'am," he said. "Just follow my lead. One thing your husband can be trusted to know is what's permitted and what ain't."

Cora laughed with him, running a stray hand through her hair to assure herself that the loose chignon she'd forced her curls into still held. "So tell me, Luther, my husband, what is the next thing that it is permitted for a married couple to do?''

Luther raised an assessing eyebrow. "The next thing . . . well, I suspect the next thing for us to do is check into the Williams Hotel. It'll be sundown before we know it."

Her mouth dropping open in horror, Cora quickly attempted to recover herself and gave her husband a nervous smile.

"Oh yes, of course."

Luther reached between them and gave her hand an encouraging squeeze.

"Now don't go all newlywed-jitters on me, honey," he said, smiling. "Things are going to work out fine. Trust me, Cory."

And she had.

Now, eight years later as she stirred a batch of johnnycake for her solitary luncheon, she regretted that trust.

Chapter Six

Cora awakened with a start. She'd heard noises. Someone was outside. Fear clutched momentarily at her heart and she could hear the blood pounding in her ears. Thoughts of ax murderers, wild Indians, and violent outlaws poured through her head like a flood of headlines from the newspaper. Alone. A woman alone was always vulnerable, always easy prey. A woman alone had to protect herself, because nobody else would. Clutching fearfully at the bedcovers and forcing herself to take long draughts of air, Cora attempted to gain control.

"I'm fine," she whispered aloud. "I am a strong and independent woman. I can take care of myself."

She didn't believe the litany fully, but it helped.

Slowly, silently, Cora drew the bright quilted cover away from her legs and climbed out of bed. The moonlight was vividly bright and shone into the bedroom, leaving a silvery path to the window. Surreptitiously, Cora made her way there.

The noise was growing louder. The distinct sounds of pounding could be heard. Was someone trying to break through the fence? That was absurd. Why not just walk through the gate? It had no latch. Or just climb over it. It was only three feet high!

Reaching the window, she crept to the side and slowly, carefully, with one trembling hand, pulled back the lace curtain. An old-fashioned open-top undertaker's wagon was parked in the grass next to her north fence. Before her mind had time to absorb the information, she caught the gleam of bright blond hair shining in the moonlight and spied a tall, broad-shouldered man pulling a worn picket out of her fence.

She threw open the window.

"Jedwin Sparrow, what are you doing?"

His face turned up to hers with a broad smile. "Evening, Mrs. Briggs," he called up to her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"What are you doing here?"

The young man ran a hand through his hair. "Well, ma'am—" he began, only to be interrupted by Cora.

"Shhhh!" She hushed him as she became aware of the stillness of the evening. "Be quiet, somebody will hear."

Jedwin looked around skeptically, then nodded his compliance. "Well, ma'am," he whispered. "Well, I—" Jedwin looked about him as if disgusted. Trying to yell quietly was not an easy assignment.

He glanced thoughtfully toward the house for a moment. To Cora's complete surprise, he walked over to the house directly below her. Before she could stop him, he got a toehold in the parlor-window ledge and was climbing up the side of the house.

"What are you doing!" Cora was frightened and appalled. A moment later two strong young hands were braced on the sill before her. With the strength of young muscles and the desire to impress, Jedwin chinned himself on Cora's bedroom window.

Rather than the sigh of awe he expected, Jedwin was nearly knocked down the side of the house when Cora grabbed frantically for his shoulders.

"Oh, my heavens! You're going to fall and kill yourself!"

Jedwin threw his elbow into the room to brace himself.”Not unless you push me."

Cora wasn't placated. "Get inside this room right now!" she ordered.

Struggling, Jedwin tried to get a foothold on the worn clapboards outside to pull himself into the room.

"I'm not sure that Romeo did it this way," he said as his legs flailed wildly on the outside of the house.

The more he wiggled and squirmed, the more certain Cora was that the young man would be falling to his death any moment.

With Cora's nervous encouragement, Jedwin determined that he could hoist himself up. Finally he managed to get his waist bent at the window frame. He was moving to bring his knee through the window and climb in when Cora became too impatient.

Leaning out over him with frantic urgency, she tried to get a hold on him to help pull him inside. The most obvious thing to grab was the seat of the young man's pants. Digging her fingers into the strong muscular curves of his buttocks, Cora pulled Jedwin forcefully into the room.

"Whoa!" he cried as he fell on the floor, bringing Cora down with him. He fell flat on top of her. They lay together momentarily stunned.

Jedwin raised himself up on his elbows and looked down into the startled white face beneath him.

"Mrs. Briggs, I—"

No further words came to mind. Jedwin could feel the warmth and softness of her body and the heat of her left him speechless.

"Oh my! Oh my!" Cora was at a loss herself. She began moving frantically, trying to wiggle out from under him.

Jedwin's heart caught in his throat as he felt the scantily clad woman squirming beneath him. Desire raced through him. With a regretful sigh he rolled away, hoping that she hadn't noticed anything amiss.

They both sat up abruptly and quickly began righting their clothes.

"I didn't mean to knock you down," Jedwin said hastily. "Are you all right, Mrs. Briggs?"

Still a bit flustered at suddenly having so intimately felt his body atop hers, Cora stuttered assurances that she was fine. Slowly the absurdity of the situation struck her and she began to giggle.

Jedwin, fidgeting to find a comfortable sitting position, stopped dead cold at the sound of her laughter. Had she recognized his response? Was he the cause of her laughter? He was a twenty-four-year-old who was so green, just the proximity of a female person made him randy! Was that what caused her laughter?

"What's so funny?" he asked.

Cora could no longer keep her hilarity down to delicate, feminine little giggles. She guffawed.

Nearly choking, she tried an explanation. "I thought you . . . and then your legs . . . and then I grabbed you . . . and then we fell and . . ." She couldn't go on. And her laughter filled her until she grabbed her sides.

Her hilarity was contagious, and Jedwin began to forget his own discomfiture and visualize the scene at the window. In his imagination he conjured the picture of his legs swinging wildly out of the side of the house, of Mrs. Briggs hauling him inside by the seat of his pants, and of him falling right on top of her in her own bedroom. Somehow it did not seem like a typical romantic assignation.

Jedwin's own laughter bubbled up in a booming baritone. Hearing him laugh made her laugh harder and the two sat inches apart in the silver stream of moonlight that flowed from the window as tears of mirth rolled down their cheeks.

Cora regained her composure first with the sudden realization that she was sitting with a man in her bedroom clad only in her nightdress. Her nightdress, she reasoned quickly, was quite modest. The Mother Hubbard style was not one usually favored by females of illicit propensities. Only the tiniest piece of lace adorned the high collar and the sleeves were buttoned down decently at the wrist. The only unacceptable showing of flesh was her bare feet peeking from the edge of the material. Bringing her knees to her chest, she tucked the flannel of her gown beneath her feet and assured herself that she was decently covered.

"You really shouldn't be in here." Cora stated the obvious sotto voce.

"I hadn't intended to actually come in, Mrs. Briggs. I'd just thought to come closer to your window so that we wouldn't have to shout."

Jed win was trying very hard not to look at the lovely woman at his side. AH his fantasies of Cora Briggs suddenly seemed to melt into one warm, sweet longing. All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her waist and bury his face in the soft curve of her bosom.

"But what were you doing in the yard?" she asked him.

"I'm fixing your fence," he answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "It's a hunter's moon, Mrs. Briggs. It won't get any lighter than this at night. I didn't figure it would be too discreet, me fixing up your fence in broad daylight."

"I didn't
ask
you to fix my fence."

"I know you didn't, Mrs. Briggs," he said soberly. "You just asked for a bit of romancing. I'm doing my best, ma'am, I truly am, but I'm probably better at fence mending."

The confession was made with such sincerity that Cora could only stare at the young man wordlessly.

"Did you get my flowers?" he asked.

Cora smiled warmly. "Yes, and your lovely poem, also. I liked it very much."

Jedwin chuckled. "You actually liked it?" He shook his head in appropriate disbelief. "Well," he admitted, "it really was a big improvement over my first attempt."

"Your first attempt?"

"I wrote another one," he said. "It was even worse than the one I sent."

"I loved the one you sent!" Cora insisted.

Jedwin shook his head in disbelief, but gave up the argument.

"I want to hear your first attempt."

"Oh, Mrs. Briggs, it is quite bad."

“Nonsense, I want to hear it. How bad could it be?''

"Well," Jedwin began slowly. "It can be pretty bad. Are you sure you want to hear it?''

"Absolutely, Mr. Sparrow, I'm sure it is lovely, despite your protestations."

Jedwin wasn't so certain, but he cleared his voice bravely, and raising his chin displaying his profile in the moonlight, he commenced his recitation.

"There was a young woman from Dead Dog,

Whose swain was as dumb as a boar hog.

He'd ne'er had a chance

To learn of romance.

So he sat like a knot on a pine log."

Cora kept her face totally void of expression.”That was nice,'' she insisted firmly. "It was . . . well, it was . . . well, I do like your other one better."

"It's the last line," Jedwin said gravely. "The last line just wasn't the thing."

"Well, perhaps—'"

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find something that rhymes with dog and hog?'' he asked her.

"I don't suppose I'd ever really thought about it."

"I suspect not."

The two were silent for a moment before a tiny giggle escaped Cora. "Whose swain was as dumb as a boar hog?" she asked.

Jedwin chuckled with her. "Didn't I just prove that, ma'am, by falling through your bedroom window?''

"Did you fall in? Or were you pulled?"

"A little of both, I guess."

"Are you my swain?" The question was asked quietly.

Jedwin leaned more closely to her and took one of her hands into his own. "I think I've made it evident, Mrs. Briggs, that I would truly treasure the chance to be your swain."

The words were almost quiet enough to be a whisper. Cora looked into his face. The moonlight obscured his eyes and softened the contours of his face. His was a handsome face, a young face.

"You really shouldn't be here," she said.

"Probably not," Jedwin whispered. He could feel the tension radiating from her. Did she think that he would grab her? Did she think that he would try to take advantage? Maybe other men of her acquaintance might try to exploit such unconventional circumstances, but not Jedwin, even though he very much wanted to do just that.

The air between them was thick with unspoken thoughts. Cora was nervous, he realized. But no more so than himself.

Maybe some men could just grab up a woman and kiss her, but Jedwin knew he wouldn't. She'd have to meet him at least halfway.

"I would very much like to kiss you, Mrs. Briggs," he said.

Cora sat up straighter. She had not been married for almost a year without knowing what a kiss meant. The kiss was the beginning. If she allowed the kiss, then before she knew it roaming hands would be pullingjip her nightdress. And Jedwin Sparrow would be rolling on top of her sweating and moaning the way Luther used to do. She certainly didn't want that to happen! However, just the thought of it skittered across her heart with unexpected fascination.

Nervously she swept back the fullness of her lush sorrel hair and attempted a look of condemnation. "I do not think, Jedwin, that such a request is exactly proper."

Jedwin, her hand still gently clasped in his, nodded gravely. Her fear was tangible; he could feel trembling across her skin. "This is my first time in a lady's bedroom," he said with a warm whisper. "I can't be expected to know all of the formalities."

Cora's eyes popped open in surprise. She was unsure whether he was being truthful or joking.

He brought the hand he held to his lips and gently placed a kiss upon her knuckles. Slowly, hesitantly, almost with reverence, he brought the kiss he placed on her hand to the softness of her cheek.

"Oh—" Her tiny, breathless exclamation surged through them both like the warmth of a stove on a chilly morning.

Cora shuddered, but Jedwin knew it was not from the cold. He wanted her. His body ached for the warmth he knew he could find in hers. But she wasn't sure. Despite her reputation and experience, Cora Briggs was not some round-heeled sow to be easily pushed to her back and enjoyed. She was a person. A very lovely person. A person Jedwin wanted to kiss and caress and roll in the bedclothes with all night. Maybe for a thousand nights. He didn't want to frighten her. He wanted her to relax with him. He wouldn't risk his thousand nights with clumsy haste. He'd make her trust him. He'd make her want him. He'd make her laugh.

"And I believe you might be right, Mrs. Briggs," he continued.

Cora glanced at him quizzically. "Right about what?"

"I think I was
pulled
in, ma'am. I can still feel the marks from your fingernails on my behind."

Cora gave a little choking sound of horror as Jedwin came to his feet. He stood before her, leisurely rubbing the affected area.

"Mrs. Briggs, I swear I don't think I'll ever wash my backside again."

Before she had a chance to react, Jedwin had thrown one leg over the windowsill and was letting himself out of the window with a good deal more grace than when he'd come in.

Cora scurried to the window just in time to see him touch the ground.

“Jedwin,'' she called to him.

Looking up, he saluted her smartly and then, as if it were broad daylight, began repairs on the fence.

Cora watched his fluid movements as he went about his work ... the gleam of moonlight silver on his blond hair and the shadow of his lithe body moving so gracefully in the darkness.

Cora was chilled in the evening air and hurried back to her bed to grab a quilt. Wrapping it around her, she seated herself once more by the window and watched him work.

He was kind and funny, she thought. A good worker and a man of principles, no doubt. He would make some lucky girl a fine husband.

She thought of the indecency of having him alone with her in her bedroom. What would the people of the town think if they found out about that! For certain, they'd be thinking the worst, and she couldn't really blame them. A handsome man in the wicked Mrs. Briggs's own bedroom. It was a scandal, indeed.

The staccato hammer strokes were rhythmic and comforting. Cora yawned and leaned her head against the windowsill. She actually liked him, she decided.
He's never washing his backside again,
she thought as she drifted into sleep.

"Come on, Cory, that's it, come on." Cora heard Luther's words hot and breathy next to her ear. "That's it, move with me, Cory, move with me."

Cora's whole body was jittery and tense. The hairs on her arms stood straight up as if she were cold, hot, both.

"What is it, Luther?" she whispered. "What's happening?"

"Move with me, Cory. Get what you want," he said. "This is pleasure. It's here for the taking."

Cora
was
moving against him. She couldn't seem to stop herself. She heard the bedstead banging against the wall. She smelled the raw, rough scent that was Luther Briggs all around her. She opened her eyes to see him above her. His dark good looks were obscured by a grimace. His teeth were clenched as if in rage. Powerfully he thrust into her again and again. Pushing her toward that precipice, pushing her over.

"Oh!" Cora cried out as her private parts, clear up to her womb, tightened into a white-hot knot and then quivered as the spasms flowed through her.

"I'm sorry," she heard Luther cry as he found his own release.

She suspected, even then, that the apology was not meant for her.

Amelia Sparrow hummed to herself as she made her way up the front steps. The morning had gone beautifully, almost perfectly. She'd managed to speak with the wife of every businessman in town. "Briggston" was practically a reality already.

Smiling, Amelia remembered Cora Briggs and her slack-jawed stare at Penny's Grocery yesterday. Did that unrepentant floozy believe that she could keep the Briggs name in the gutter with her? Amelia gave a sigh of defiance. Not as long as she was a member of the family. And she
would
be a fully accepted member of the family soon. Once she got the town's name changed, why Maimie Briggs would welcome her with open arms.

Stepping into her front foyer, Amelia carefully set her parasol against the stand and slowly removed her gloves, being especially careful to neither stain nor tear them. Even after twenty years of relative affluence, pretty things were still too precious to be taken for granted.

"James Edwin," she called softly down the hallway. Living in a funeral parlor, she had adjusted to keeping her voice at a respectfully low level most of the time. "James Edwin!" she called more loudly when he did not respond.

Hearing movement in the casket display room, Amelia went to the door. “James Edwin?''

"It's just me, Mellie," Haywood answered, giving her a broad smile full of wicked insinuation. If Amelia had not been so familiar with him, she might have taken offense.

He was standing near the back of the room, inspecting a damaged hinge on a new casket. It was an expensive item with a see-through glass half-top. As usual Haywood Puser was clad in the most casual of clothes. The striped overalls made him appear more a farmer than a man of profession. His casual unconcern for formalities irritated Amelia. Not for the first time, she wished that he would shave that untidy beard so that she could get a good look at his face. It was hard to trust a man who was hiding behind a mask of whiskers. And there was something about Haywood Puser that made Amelia uneasy. There were things about him that she was sure he wasn't telling.

Nervously and without conscious thought, Amelia's hands went to her hair to straighten the nonexistent disarray there.

"Where is Mr. Sparrow?" she asked politely, trying to shake off the strange, tingly feeling that she often felt in Mr. Puser's presence.

Haywood shrugged. "Couldn't rightly say, Mellie. As far as I know, he ain't even stirred from his bed yet this morning."

"That's ridiculous," Amelia assured him firmly, ignoring the overly familiar nickname she loathed. "Perhaps my son is not as ambitious as he should be, but he has never been a shig-a-bed."

"No, he sure ain't," Haywood agreed easily. "And he's plenty ambitious enough, if you ask me."

"But, of course, I didn't ask you," Amelia said sweetly. "I would never need to ask
questions
about my own son."

Amelia saw it as no mystery that an employee would defend his boss. Once Jedwin took up his responsibilities again as embalmer, the services of Haywood Puser would be unnecessary and he could be on his way.

Haywood raised a skeptical eyebrow, but then shrugged as he moved around the side of the casket and casually continued examining the defective hinge. “Then I expect you know that he didn't come home last night till nearly dawn."

"What?" She was well aware Jedwin had gone to bed early the previous evening, claiming tiredness. "That's utter nonsense. My son was in his bed before nine o'clock."

"Maybe so," Haywood said and then offered a little tutting sound through his teeth. "But I got a charley horse in my leg last night and had to get up to walk it out. I must have made fifteen trips from my cottage to the carriage house. Then, just as the moon set and the first pink light was coming in from the east, here comes Jedwin driving in that old open-top before sunup. He looked as fag-tired as if he'd put in a full day's work."

"I don't believe you."

Haywood shrugged. "Why would I lie?"

Amelia couldn't answer that. "Where on earth had he been?"

"I got no idea," Haywood answered. "And of course, I didn't ask him, like you would have," he said easily.

He stepped closer to Amelia, close enough that he could look straight down into her eyes. Close enough that Amelia felt obliged to take a step backward.

Haywood rubbed his beard as he studied the pretty woman before him. There was a glimmer of fire in his bright blue eyes. "I Figure Jedwin's a grown man, Mellie, he shouldn't have to tell anyone when he's coming or going."

"Well, he certainly should! He—"

Amelia suddenly recognized the statement for what it was: baiting. Haywood Puser openly disapproved of the way she handled Jedwin, and there was nothing he wouldn't do to try to get between them. But Jedwin was her son and no one else would ever know him like she did.

Sure, Haywood cared for him as a friend, she thought. But to Amelia, Jedwin was her life. And she certainly was not going to allow him to fritter it away on useless pursuits. Where in heaven's name could he have been all night?

Amelia glanced over at Haywood. He was poised, waiting. Just itching for a fight, she thought. But she didn't want to argue about anything today, especially about her son. Things were going to come out favorably with Maimie very soon, and as for Jedwin, she'd deal with him. She always had.

Deftly she changed the subject.

"What are you working on?" she asked.

Haywood was a little disappointed with her lack of spirit this morning. "The damnable peek-a-boo casket that came from Groillers," he answered.

"Oh!" Amelia's eyes were lit with excitement as she moved closer. "Is that the one James Edwin ordered for Maimie Briggs?"

Haywood raised an eyebrow and gave Amelia a skeptical look.”Jedwin said
you
were the one so dang set on getting this casket for Miz Maimie to look at."

"Well, I think perhaps I did suggest—" Amelia began.

'“Cause if it had just been Jedwin a-wanting to order it, I'da talked him out of it in a gnat's age."

Amelia's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Why? I realize that it's expensive, but if our patrons—"

"It don't have nothing to do with expensive," Haywood interrupted. "I believe as strongly as you do that folks ought to have the kind of funeral that they want, all frills or nary a one. What I don't approve is this kind of useless product being foisted off on the public."