Courting Miss Hattie (9 page)
"Heard you got a little twelve-horse pump that I might
be needing
," Reed said as the two men stood eye-to-eye.
Harm nodded. "It's here in the backyard."
Following Harm, Reed thought that "backyard" was not a good description of the trashy overgrown area behind the shack. Stepping carefully to avoid the loose pipe, metal fittings, and tin shingles that composed some of the items hiding in the knee-high grass, he shook his head in disgust. "Harm," he asked, "did you never hear of a place for everything and everything in its place?"
Harm looked around curiously. "I know where everything is," he said. "I like it spread out so I can see it."
Reed couldn't hide a slight grin.
"Here it is," Harm said. As Reed joined him, the two squatted next to the small motor. Watching as Harm primed it and got it ready to
run,
Reed couldn't help but be impressed with the young man's easy handling of the motor.
"You know a lot about machinery," he said by way of a compliment.
Harm shrugged. "More than I know about people, that's for sure," he said, and quickly changed the subject. "What are you planning to do with this little pump?"
"I'm finally going do something I've been thinking about for years. I'm going to drain that field down by Colfax Bluff and plant it in rice." Reed was unable to keep the pride out of his voice.
"Rice?" Harm repeated, scoffing. "Rice is something they grow in
J-pan.
It don't have
nothing
to do with
"We've already got rice growing in the lowlands. I just want to bring it up here."
Harm shook his head in disbelief. "You're really thinking about growing rice? Everyone knows this is cotton country. If you want to raise rice, you'd best move yourself on down toward the
Mississip
."
"I tell you, Harm," Reed said, his enthusiasm sparked by the younger man's skepticism. "We can grow rice here. The ground is good for it and I'm sure it can be a better crop for us than cotton."
"Hey, I'm no farmer, and that's for sure," Harm said, "but if this land had been meant for rice, our great-grandpas would have planted it when they got here. They came out here and tried pretty near everything on this ground. They found that what grows best is cotton and corn. I don't see
no
need to test it out again."
"You're right, as far as it goes," Reed said. "The ground they found out here was just good for cotton and corn. But it ain't the same ground anymore, Harm."
Harm frowned. "What do you mean, it ain't the same ground?"
It was obvious the younger man's curiosity was piqued, and Reed continued on, determined to convince at least one person that planting rice there was a fabulous idea. "Those big earthquakes of 1811 and 1812 sank all the land in this part of
Harm pulled off his straw hat and scratched his head thoughtfully. "Why, that's ridiculous. An earthquake can't sink half a state. It just ain't possible."
"And a big river like the
Harm raised his hands, conceding the point. "All right, I admit it is possible that the New Madrid Quake might have had some effect on the land hereabouts. But that was nearly a hundred years ago. Things are bound to be getting back to normal by now."
Reed shook his head at the other man's ignorance of science. "I'm
talking
about normal. Earthquakes are
a normal thing that happen
, just like changes in the weather. Dirt isn't like a holy book. It changes every year, and you've got to farm according to the condition of your soil. If you've got marshy wetlands, the thing to do is raise rice. Not try to drain the land and change it to make it fit for cotton."
Harmon looked clearly interested. "You grow cotton, too,
Tyler
?"
"I do. And I plan to keep growing it, especially on the high ground. But if I can make Miss Hattie's rice field prosper like I think it will, in the next ten years, I'm moving into rice in a big way."
Harm listened intently as Reed talked of his vision of the future, the things he had seen in the lowlands and in
and the prospects for rice as the major
don't
it?"
Reed was startled by the question. "Well, a lot more than cotton, I guess. It's different equipment. Preparing the ground, planting, harvesting…
It just can't be compared with cotton. The growing's not the same, either, and the milling is totally different from a cotton gin."
"If you're right and this rice really does grow here, where are you going to get your equipment? How you going to mill it?"
Reed looked at the other man curiously. "Well, I thought to send it down the river. There are dozens of rice mills in
New Orleans
."
"But there ain't
no
rice mill hereabouts." Harm's words were a statement more than a question. "If this were to catch on, the man who owned the rice mill, who could provide the equipment for growing and harvesting, might do mighty
good
for himself."
Reed nodded, surprised by Harm's insight. He hadn't thought about that part of it at all. The challenge to him was the growing, actually producing the crop. Sure, the rice would need to be milled, and a local mill would save time and money for the farmer and make the miller a lucky man.
"You know anything about rice milling?" he asked.
Harmon's mouth curved in a wide handsome grin, and his blue eyes sparkled with excitement. "I don't know
nothing
about nothing," he said. "But I ain't opposed to learning anything. And there ain't
nothing
about machinery I can't figure out."
"Maybe you could be a help to me," Reed said. "I'll
be needing
some advice about the engineering of this crop. A man who understands engineering and the workings of gears and machinery might come in pretty handy. Don't know that I'd be able to pay much."
Harm remained silent for a minute,
then
offered his hand to Reed. "I'm not selling you this pump. I'm giving it to you as an investment. You teach me what you know about the rice business and help me get a jump on Turpin's Dry Goods for supplying the hardware and machinery, and I'll help you however I can."
Reed hesitated. "This isn't a sure thing, Harm. You may have to wait for a cold day in hell to get your money back."
The younger man shrugged. "Maybe it'll be worth the wait." Reed accepted his handshake.
* * *
"I'm out!" Preacher Able said gleefully.
Everyone else groaned, and Hattie picked up the piece of paper sitting on the corner of the table. "That's a fifty for going out, and twenty-five off me. How much are you holding, Mr. Drayton?"
Flattening the rather large collection of dominoes in front of him,
Ancil
said sourly, "Seventy."
"Ten for me," Millie piped up.
Hattie quickly made her calculations. It was practically unnecessary. Preacher Able had soundly trounced them.
"If you ask me,"
Ancil
said, his mouth drawn into a long unhappy line, "there's something not particularly comforting about a preacher who is so good at table games."
The preacher laughed, not taking Drayton's discontent seriously. Hattie could see, however, that Mr. Drayton was quite unhappy. He obviously was not a man who liked to lose.
Hoping to smooth things over, she reached out and touched his sleeve. "Perhaps the preacher has called for divine intervention," she said. "I wouldn't put it past him."
Her gesture had two effects—the one she'd hoped for, a lightening of the mood and a bit of laughter all around, and one she hadn't expected.
Ancil
glanced down at her hand on his arm, and a strange light came into his eyes. He laid his hand on hers and smiled.
Not knowing what to do, Hattie longed to jerk her hand away but restrained herself. She couldn't quite meet anyone's eyes, though.
"You got any more of that apple pie, Miss Hattie?" the preacher asked fortuitously.
"Don't you dare get him another piece," Millie said. "The reverend has had more than enough, and it is past time that we ought to be heading home."
"Oh, you needn't go so soon," Hattie said, hoping that
Ancil
would leave first.
The
Jessups
could not be dissuaded, and a few minutes later, Hattie and
Ancil
were standing in the yard as the other couple climbed into their buggy.
"We'll have to do this again," the preacher said. "Next time at our house."
"How about next week?"
Ancil
asked, causing Hattie to turn her head sharply and stare at him.
"Sounds fine." The preacher nodded toward them both. "Millie and I will be expecting you two next Saturday."
As they drove off, Hattie found herself slightly piqued that neither
Ancil
nor the preacher had asked her if she wanted to go. She hated it when men just assumed women would go along with their plans. Shaking the errant thoughts away, she reminded herself that having a man of her own was worth sacrificing a bit of autonomy.
"Well, Miss Hattie,"
Ancil
said quietly, "it's been a real nice evening."
"Thank you, Mr. Drayton," she answered.
He was standing so
close,
she actually had to tilt her head beck to look up at him. From the light shining through the front screen, she could just make out his face and the hopeful smile beneath his mustache.
"I
was wanting
to have you out to my place for Sunday dinner," he said, sounding somewhat uncomfortable. "But a company dinner is a lot for my little Mary Nell and
I
—"
"Don't think another word of it," she interrupted.
"I would like you to come out to my place sometime," he said. "Just so you could have a look around, see the house and everything."
She didn't know what to say. It was too fast. She wasn't ready to think about his house, his life. She was scrambling for a way to tell him that when she felt his hands on her shoulders. His eyes were closed, and he was leaning toward her with the intent to touch his lips to hers. Like a shot, she was out of his arms, stepping back a good three paces.
"Good night, Mr. Drayton," she said primly.
He stared at her for a moment, obviously displeased with her reaction.
"Good night, then, Miss Hattie," he said at last, his voice glacial. Carefully placing his bowler on his head, he nodded politely and mounted his horse.
CHAPTER
6
