Diamond Duo (4 page)

The natural slope to the creek leveled out to a wide expanse of tilled ground running from where she stood to the edge of the backyard. To her left at the end of a long furrow, Henry’s plow sat right where he’d left it, the blade still burrowed deep in East Texas soil. Just ahead, a line of young hickory trees marked the boundary of their yard.

A big oak with knobby, exposed roots shaded the house against the summer heat and provided a fine napping spot for old Dickens, Henry’s hound. On a warmer day she’d find the dog sprawled on the cool, hard-packed dirt beneath the tree, growling and twitching in his sleep. But on such a blustery morning, he was more likely in the barn curled up in a nest of hay.

As she neared the porch, the hens left their pecking and pranced away, squabbling and complaining among themselves. They were meant to be inside the weather-beaten old coop, but Henry had given up on keeping them in, so they wandered the grounds at will.

On the top step, Sarah paused and glanced at the corner yard, wrinkling her nose at the odor wafting from the pigsty behind the picket fence. She and Henry had argued about bringing hogs on the place. She never wanted the smelly beasts, though she had to admit the occasional rack of bacon alongside her buttermilk biscuits was a mighty tasty addition to breakfast.

Once inside, Sarah didn’t take long to get ready. She washed off the stench of bayou mud in the basin of water atop the dressing table handed down by her mama. Then she lifted her blue gingham day dress from a hook on the wall and pulled it over her head. Back at the dressing table, she smoothed her black hair into a tight braid, grateful again that she’d inherited Papa’s manageable curls instead of Mama’s wiry cap.

Henry waited outside near the rig. He glanced up and then
turned away smiling when she stepped out the door, but not before Sarah saw him trying to hide his grin. She joined him without a word and let him help her onto the seat. Whistling all the while, he gave Dandy’s harness one more check before climbing aboard the wagon.

No doubt under heaven, her man was up to something, but she couldn’t imagine what it might be. There was no special significance about the nineteenth day of January. No birthday or anniversary. No particular reason to mark a Friday morning, because one day on a farm was like the next, except for the Sabbath.

She wouldn’t ask and ruin his pleasure. Whatever frog had Henry hopping, she’d know it soon enough. Because sure as sure was, it would croak when they reached town.

“So tell me, girls. . .is this a private game, or can anybody play?”

Bertha’s surprise at Bessie’s bawdy laughter rivaled the shock of finding her watching from the doorway of the Brooks House hotel. Breaking free from Magda, she whirled to face her. “Yes, ma’am. I mean, no, ma’am. I mean–”

Magda pushed Bertha to one side. “Pardon my stuttering friend. We couldn’t help but notice you’ve just arrived in town. We’ve come to say hello and to extend a sincere Jefferson welcome to you and your companion.”

Surprise flickered in Bessie’s bright eyes before she offered her hand. “Well, thank you.”

Magda seemed to settle fast into her welcoming committee role. “My name is Magdalena Hayes, and this here’s Bertha. Bertha Maye Biddie.” Magda nudged Bertha hard with her elbow. “Say hello to the lady, sugar.”

So amazed by the manner in which Bessie’s broad smile enhanced her face, Bertha couldn’t muster indignation that her name had inspired it. She took the proffered hand in her own and felt a current pass between them. “Hello,” she managed. “I’m. . .so pleased to meet you.”

“But you haven’t really met me yet, now, have you, Bertha Biddie? I’m Annie. Annie Moore from Cincinnati.”

Bertha blinked. “Annie? But I thought–” She started the question before she had time to think better of it. And the minute she asked, she remembered the man with Bessie had called her Annie, as well.

Annie arched one feathered brow. “I see you have the advantage over me. You know I go by more than one name, yet I don’t know a thing about you.” She smiled, but this time it never reached her eyes. “Your confusion is justified, so allow me to clear things up. You see, I’ve been called many names in the course of my life, and believe me, I prefer Annie to all the rest.”

She took a few seconds to look around while tugging satin gloves onto her long, slender fingers. Up close, the diamonds were more impressive, in particular one very large gem surrounded by smaller stones. Annie turned back to Magda, her mood light again. “I must say this is a curious town. Do they always send brawling girls to welcome visitors?”

She laughed, and Bertha winced. She’d never heard a woman laugh so loudly in public. Not even Magda.

“Quite the mismatched scrap, too.” She regarded them each in turn, the mischievous glint back in place. “One so tiny she can’t block the wind, and the other descended from hardier stock. You two are friends, you say?”

Magda took Bertha’s arm. “Of course we’re friends,” she said a bit defensively. “What’s so peculiar about that?”

“Well, darling, I must say I’d never have guessed.”

Bertha nudged Magda with her elbow. “She means because we were quarreling.”

“Quarreling? It was a round of fisticuffs. And a very entertaining bout, I must say. You might’ve sold tickets.”

Bertha knew Magda’s sheepish grin likely matched her own.

Magda waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Oh, that was nothing, really. It’s how we often settle things.”

Annie laughed. “May I point out that it’s an unlikely form of
communication? When Abe communicates with me like that, I end up with beefsteak on my eye.”

Magda frowned at Bertha, and Bertha returned the expression. In the silence that followed, Annie seemed entertained by their discomfort.

“Say,” she said, breaking the spell, “can you girls point me in the direction of the general store? I’ve got a hankering for something sweet.”

Magda looked relieved to change the subject. “Sure we can, considering we spend a good deal of our time there. I have a right demanding sweet tooth myself on occasion.”

Annie leaned closer to Bertha and dropped her voice to a whisper. “The truth is, I could use a stiff drink”–she cast a nervous glance over her shoulder–“but Abe wouldn’t like it. He don’t like me drinking alone.” She straightened and gave Bertha a wink. “So a sweet will have to do for now.”

Bertha swallowed hard and nodded then squared around and pointed down the street. “Stilley’s is just over there a ways, on Dallas Street. We can take you, if you like.”

Annie tucked her velvet reticule inside her yellow sash and linked arms with them. “If I like? Well, I certainly do like, ladies. Lead the way.”

“Whoa, mule,” Henry called, pulling back on Dandy’s reins.

Sarah looked up to find herself in front of the last possible place she’d reckoned on going. She glanced over at Henry, but his purposeful blank expression offered not a clue. After securing the wagon, he hopped to the ground and came around to lift her down.

“Stilley’s?” she asked, ignoring his outstretched arms.

He nodded.

The general store wasn’t a likely setting for the caliber of surprise Sarah expected. She’d spent a fair amount of time inside those walls engaged in commonplace things such as sorting through flour
sacks to find one without weevils or picking over packets of seed. To the best of her knowing, there wasn’t a blessed thing behind those doors that would set a woman’s tender heart to pounding. This made Henry’s behavior quite a poser.

“Why can’t you tell me what it is you might be needing in there?” Without waiting for an answer, she stood up on the seat and leaned into her husband’s outstretched arms.

He swung her up and out of the wagon, set her down on the boardwalk, and reached to straighten her hat. “Girl, I guess you must be the nosiest woman in Marion County.” He tweaked her nose and then tapped the end of it with his index finger. “It’s a wonder this thing is still cute as a button and not stretched all out like a corncob.”

Sarah slapped away his hand. “Curiosity ain’t the same as nosy. Considering how hard you’ve worked to stir mine up, you have only yourself to blame.”

Henry enjoyed a hearty laugh at her expense. “Funny, though, how it’s always my business you get curious about, ain’t it?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You reckon you’re funny, don’t you?”

He pulled her close for a hug. “Don’t fret, now, Mrs. King. You gon’ find out everything directly–that is, if I can get you to hush long enough to go inside.”

She allowed him to nudge her across the boardwalk to the door. They passed beneath the sign reading W. F. S
TILLEY
& C
O
. and stepped inside. Sarah stood blinking while her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light and her nose to the acrid odor of animal skins and cut tobacco, not a pleasant mix. She held her breath as they passed the racks hung with stiffened fox and coon-shaped furs and a shelf laden with bags and tins of chaw, the source of the cloying smell.

Barrels littered the floor, some filled with corn, some with wheat. Large sacks of flour and sugar were stacked on one side of the room, bags of beans on the other. On the counter, tall jars filled with licorice, peppermint sticks, and assorted penny candies were
arranged in a lively display.

Sarah’s inventory of the familiar room uncovered something new. Against the back wall, a row of bright colors caught her eye. Two steps closer revealed the only thing in the store she might be itching to get her hands on.

“Mr. Stilley! Why, looky here. You done got in a shipment since I was here last, ain’t you?”

Behind the counter, the clerk smiled and nodded.

Sarah crossed the room and ran her fingers over the new bolts of fabric while a shiver of pleasure ran down her spine. They were pretty. Every single one. She’d take the plainest of the lot and still be as pleased as a suckling pup.

“These just come in from New Orleans?” she asked without looking up.

“Nope,” Mr. Stilley called. “Brought ’em back from New York. Got a good buy that I can pass on to you folks.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “That so?”

Mr. Stilley nodded again. “Pick you out a nice color, Sarah.” He winked over at Henry. “I’m sure me and Henry can strike a fair bargain.”

Henry traded with Stilley on occasion, hauling in hides on consignment and corn to sell outright. But the money they got always went toward the bare necessities.

Sarah glanced at her husband. Might this be Henry’s surprise? It wasn’t the sort of thing he would think of. And she reckoned he knew nothing about her fondness for piece goods or her longing to have a new dress.

Henry stood shifting his weight back and forth, his cheeks nigh to splitting from the grin on his face. One thing was sure. Whatever they had come here for was about to take place.

Oh, please, please, Lord.

“I ain’t come here for no trifling cloth,” Henry announced, still grinning like a dolt. “I got something sweeter in mind.”

Sarah’s heart plunged to the muddy depths. She barely heard his next words.

“I come here to buy Sarah a slab of that chocolate.”

Stilley beamed. “The new milk chocolate? I see word gets around.” He reached under the counter, beneath the jars of candy, and pulled out a wooden box brimming with dark brown blocks in irregular shapes and sizes.

Henry beckoned. “Get on over here, sugar, and pick you out a nice piece. I got enough corn in the back of the rig to cover whatever you want.”

Whatever I want?
Sarah sighed.
If only you knew.
She forced a smile to her lips as fake as George Washington’s teeth.

“Special occasion, Henry?”

Because Mr. Stilley had asked the question she’d wondered all day, Sarah looked up. The pleasure on Henry’s face made his dark cheeks glow. “No, sir. No special occasion to speak of.” His voice grew soft with embarrassment. “Jus’ wanted to show my wife a little appreciation for how hard she been working. Heard about your chocolate and figured she might like some.”

“A fine choice, Henry. I understand you can mix it in milk to make a sweet drink or eat it right out of your hand. It’s all the rage up north.” He winked at Sarah, and Henry turned to face her.

“Sarah?” Henry King had the look of Christmas morning on his face. “Ain’t you coming, girl?”

She pulled her shoulders back, gave the bright bolts one last glance, and headed for her husband’s side. “ ’Course I’m coming. Mr. Stilley, scoot that box a little closer if you please, so’s I can reach it better. I got to pick me out a piece of chocolate.”

“Did you say chocolate?” someone bawled behind them. “That sounds like just the thing I need.”

The bold, strident voice seemed better suited to a man, but when Sarah turned, she found a powerfully beautiful woman standing on the threshold, flanked by two girls. When they stepped into the store behind the woman, Sarah realized she knew them both.

It took one look to know their companion wouldn’t be welcome to Sunday supper. But daring as day and big as you please,
Bertha Maye Biddie and Magdalena Hayes congregated with her like long-lost friends. If their mamas were anything like Sarah’s had been, those two would feel the sting of a hickory switch before nightfall.