Courting Miss Hattie (16 page)
As a woman unblessed with a pretty face, she always assumed that life for those with comely looks was easier. Perhaps it wasn't so. Prettiness might attract a man, but what was necessary to hold one? Of course, she mused, for a man like Reed a woman would be willing to do most anything. That thought flittered through her mind before she had a chance to guard against it. Forcing herself to concentrate on Preacher
Able's
sermon, she put such fancies behind her. The meaning of them did not bear close scrutiny.
* * *
Reed stopped the buggy near the cottonwood tree at the top of Colfax Bluff and helped Bessie Jane down. The rice was so important to him he had to share it with her.
"You won't believe how much we've done," he said excitedly. He looked out over the huge expanse of plowed acreage and gestured with his arm. "Come this time next week, all of this will be planted in Honduras Red, and Miss Hattie and I will really be in the rice business." Pride resonated in his voice. "This is just the beginning for us. Someday most of this farm can be put in rice, and we'll be headed to the bank. Let the other farmers worry about weevils and cotton prices. Rice is the crop of the future."
Glancing back at Bessie Jane, Reed saw that she was not admiring the black beauty of his well-designed field but was staring off at something down near the river. Following her gaze, he saw Harmon on the river levee, working on the pump. Cupping his hands around his mouth, Reed called Harm's name. When the other man looked up, he waved an arm in a gesture of welcome.
"Let's go down and see what he's doing," said Reed, reaching for Bessie Jane's hand.
She hesitated. "I'll just wait here."
His smile faded into annoyance, and he grasped her hand firmly. "He is
my
friend, Bessie Jane," he said, assuming her reticence was more of her ill-conceived concept of superiority. "You will treat my friends with due respect, young lady. I will not accept anything else."
His authoritative voice was so like her father's, she immediately obeyed and followed him down the tricky slope to the rice field. As they gingerly made their way across the new levee, Bessie Jane concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.
Harm had seen them coming. Reed and Bessie Jane together was not an unusual sight, but he wasn't used to speaking to them as a couple. Bessie Jane looked beautiful, he thought. Dressed all in gauzy white, she was like an angel against the dark background of
Why had he come here today?
he
asked himself. He should have guessed Reed would bring her out to see what he was doing. Why hadn't he had the sense to stay away? Well, it was too late now. He stood, wiping his hands on his trousers. He would not make a fool of himself or worse yet, embarrass or discomfit Bessie Jane.
"Don't you know Sunday is the day of rest?" Reed asked as they drew near.
Harm shrugged. He strove to keep his gaze on Reed and not look at the lovely young woman following him. "I just wanted to come out and have a look at things," he said as Reed stopped in front of him. "I guess you'll be planting next week."
Reed nodded, obviously pleased at the prospect,
then
turned to draw Bessie Jane up beside him. "Sweetheart, you remember Harmon
Leege
, don't you? Harm has furnished us with the pump and drawn up the plans for the levee system. He's a partner with Miss Hattie and me."
Bessie Jane was well aware of these facts, but having Reed related them forced her and Harm to acknowledge this new bond between them. She still had not looked at him, and Harmon felt protectiveness well up inside him. He held out his hand to her, determined to set a polite tone.
"It's nice to see you again, Miss Turpin." He smiled, first at Bessie Jane, then at Reed. "Miss Turpin and I were in grammar school together," he explained, as if that were the last time the two had met.
"Good afternoon, Harmon," she said in an even voice.
"Reed has spoken well of the work you've done here."
Her formal words were off-putting, but Harm didn't fail to note that she still had not looked him in the eye. Was that how far she had gone? Was he now unworthy of even a glance?
"I came out here to show Bessie Jane how much we've done," Reed said. "I guess I've talked so much about this rice field, I just wanted her to see it."
Harmon nodded his understanding but couldn't help noticing that Bessie Jane continued to concentrate on the ground immediately around her shoes. She seemed to have not the slightest interest in the rice field.
"It's really taking shape," he said. "It's something you can be proud of, Reed. Even if you don't get one grain of rice to grow, just taking the chance is impressive."
"It'll grow, all right," Reed said with an easy smile. "This dirt was sent from heaven just for rice growing, I'm convinced of it."
Harm smiled at his little joke, and Reed glanced over at Bessie Jane to see if she was amused. She was studying her fingernails and had apparently not heard a word.
"I'm about done here," Harm said, making a couple of final adjustments on the pump. "I suspect I'd better head for home."
"We've brought a picnic lunch, Harm," said Reed. "Why don't you join us?"
Bessie Jane finally looked at him. Her head snapped up in surprise. Harm gazed into her eyes, her beautiful deep blue eyes, and saw stark terror.
"My pa's not well," he said. "I got to be getting back home to check on him."
Reed nodded, and Harm chanced one glance at Bessie Jane. Her relief was a tangible thing.
"I hope it's nothing serious," Reed said.
He shrugged. "He seems kind of off his feed these days. Guess he's just getting old."
Reed didn't press for details, and Harm was grateful not to have to give any. The drink seemed to be dragging his father down these days, but he didn't want to discuss that with Reed. Strangely, he did want to pour his heart out to Bessie Jane. She was beyond listening, though.
They walked with him down the levee to where he'd tied up his boat.
"Where'd you get this little bucket?" Reed asked, examining the small wooden craft.
"I traded for it down at St. Francis," Harm answered. "It was in pretty bad shape, but I put a little time and some new lumber in it. I take it out fishing most mornings."
"What do you catch?"
"Drum and carp mostly, but occasionally a channel cat. It ain't much, but it's pretty good eating."
"I haven't been fishing in a month of Sundays," Reed said wistfully. "Some morning you'll have to take me with you."
Harm stepped into the boat. "Sure," he said, wondering at the strange twist of fate that had made Reed Tyler the nearest thing to a friend he had in the county. Reed Tyler, who had all that Harmon wanted.
Reed helped to push the boat into the river,
then
watched Harm maneuver it with the paddle until it was headed downstream. Harm was a different kind of man, Reed thought, so private and brooding. When the younger man glanced back for a moment, Reed wondered at the intensity of his expression—until he turned and saw the pale face of the woman beside him.
* * *
Hattie invited
Ancil
to come over for pie after supper. Although she was not sure it was quite proper for the two of them to be alone, she knew that another Sunday meal with his children would not allow them an opportunity to talk. Plying him with her best strawberry pie couldn't help but smooth things between them.
True to her expectations,
Ancil
gobbled down his first slice of pie,
then
licked his lips, his fork. Fearing he might go after his plate, Hattie graciously served him seconds.
"You are a mighty fine cook, Miss Hattie," he said, smiling at her from across the table. "I've been hearing that about you for years, and now I can sure testify to it myself."
"Thank you, Mr. Drayton." She did not blush at the flattery. She knew she was a good cook, and she worked hard at it. Her mother had impressed upon her the importance of good food to a working man.
The silence grew between them, and Hattie was not sure exactly what she should say to break it. She looked over at him as she pondered the situation.
Ancil
was slightly red-faced himself, as if ill at ease, but he managed to choke out a few words. "My Lula was a pretty fair cook, but with all those children and her being in the family way most of the time, she just
kinda
let things go."
Hattie nodded, thinking of Lula Drayton. For years she'd looked tired, even old. Maybe the work had been too much for her. Hattie would have thought her a hardy soul, but some of the most robust-looking women could be delicate.
"I ain't complaining about her,"
Ancil
added quickly. "She was a right fine woman, and I feel real bad about her dying. I'm thinking the whole county thinks I worked her to death." His eyes were wide with distress. "I didn't, Miss Hattie, I swear it. I never pushed her or made a fuss about nothing, especially when she was carrying. I don't know why her heart give out like it did, but I never made her work when she weren't fit for it."
His confession touched Hattie deeply. She had never thought
Ancil
particularly sensitive or softhearted. Was it possible he could be a gentle and caring man? A wave of tenderness flowed through her, urging her to reach out to this poor tortured man who blamed himself for his wife's death. "
Ancil
, there has not been a word said against you," she said. "Everyone knew that you cared for Lula. No one blames you for her death."
"Mary Nell does."
Hattie's jaw dropped in surprise. "No, she doesn't. I'm sure you're mistaken." But she remembered vividly the anger and waspish behavior of his oldest child.
"It's the truth. She told me so herself. She told me not to expect her to kill herself to please me, the way her mama did."
"She's so young and so confused," Hattie said, generously defending the spiteful girl. "She doesn't know what she's saying. When children get that age, they just say things to hurt their parents. There is no rhyme or reason to it. You know that."
"No, I don't. I don't know
nothing
about raising
younguns
." He shifted in his chair, again uncomfortable. "My
stepdaddy
put me in the fields as soon as I was old enough to walk. The only time he ever paid me any mind was when he took a strap to me." He raised his chin up quickly, as if to counter any pity that might be forthcoming. "Not that it hurt me none," he went on gruffly. "It taught me how to work and how to take care of myself. I was no sugar-fed mama's boy. I was doing a man's full day when I was still in
kneebritches
."
Hattie nodded, thinking of Reed. He too had been working from childhood. It hadn't made him hard or unfeeling, though.
"Lula tried to teach me about being a father to my own, but I ain't
no
good at it."
Hattie impulsively reached across the table and laid her hand on his. "I understand,
Ancil
. I do truly."
As he stared at her, she drew her hand away, trying to bring her thoughts into words. "Sometimes the bad that happens to us," she said slowly, "is just as important as the good. You may not be the best father in the county, but you're a sight better than your
stepdaddy
, and your sons may be better than you. That's how it works, you know. Through the generations, easing out the choler in the blood."
"You think so?"
Ancil's
voice was surprisingly hopeful.
She nodded.
"Your children are a fine bunch," she said truthfully.
"That's Lula's doing. She tried to give 'em love and manners and the like."
"But you've given to them what you could," Hattie insisted. "You keep clothes on their backs and food on the table. That's a lot in itself."
Ancil
looked down as if he couldn't agree with the excuse she was giving him. "You're a good woman, Hattie Colfax. Not just a good cook and good housekeeper. You're plainly a good person."
Hattie blushed at this. It was the kind of compliment that could never be taken for granted.
Rising from the table, Drayton reached for her hand. "I think there's a good-sized moon tonight," he said, leading her outside. "It's a shame we
cain't
see it."
The night was shrouded in a fog so thick it made everything seem close and stifling. They stood on the steps of the front porch, the light from the doorway shimmering around them.
Ancil
turned to her. "Do you remember when we were kids, Hattie?" he
asked,
laughter in his voice.
"Of course," she said, wondering what he was getting at.
"Childhood, that's the best time of life. You know who you are and where you're
going,
and all the things that you want seem possible. Sometimes I'm jealous of my own
younguns
. They got all their lives ahead of them to do whatever they want. I don't know if I've got anything ahead of me."
