Courting Trouble (24 page)

Katherine slammed the pralines back down where she’d had them, breaking one in half. Essie gave her a confused look.

‘‘Well,’’ Hamilton said, ‘‘it was good to see you again.’’ He turned to Katherine. ‘‘I’ll come back for you after a while.’’ He held her gaze for a moment, telegraphing his thoughts:
And be nice
.

She huffed and turned her back.

————

Essie had forgotten how much she enjoyed selling things. Didn’t matter if it was a bag of nails or a piece of cake. She loved the challenge. And the people. And the competition.

‘‘Mr. Vandervoort!’’ she exclaimed. ‘‘How in the world are you?’’

The old nester sauntered up to the table, then coughed up and swallowed an accumulation of phlegm. ‘‘Well, Miss Essie, things are pretty dull in the Slap Out without ya. No snakes, no mice—’’ he leaned forward with a teasing light in his eyes and whispered, ‘‘—and no ‘mouse catchers.’ ’’

Essie caught her breath.

He winked, then said more loudly, ‘‘Yep. I surely did want me one o’ them mouse catchers. But Hamilton wouldn’t sell me one to save his life.’’

She bit her lip, but not before a giggle escaped.

‘‘What?’’ Mrs. Crook said. ‘‘You’re in need of a mouse catcher, Mr. Vandervoort?’’

Patting his chest, he chuckled. ‘‘Oh, I don’t know that I’m in need o’ one, exactly. But I shore would like another gander at it. That Hamilton won’t let me have so much as a peek.’’

‘‘You mean, we have what you want and he won’t sell it to you?’’

‘‘He has his reasons,’’ Mr. Vandervoort said, rocking back and forth on his feet.

‘‘Well, perhaps I could help you the next—’’

‘‘Can I interest you in some tutti-frutti?’’ Essie interrupted, picking up a square and offering it to him. ‘‘Or perhaps some penuche? Mrs. Whiteselle made it, you know.’’

‘‘Excuse me, Miss Spreckelmeyer,’’ Katherine said. ‘‘I believe Mr. Vandervoort and I were in the middle of a transaction.’’ She smiled at him.

‘‘It don’t matter none,’’ he said. ‘‘I think it already sold, actually.’’

‘‘No,’’ Essie said under her breath.

He nodded. ‘‘You didn’t know? Well, shoot. I was hopin’ you could tell me who the lucky owner was. I’d surely like to know.’’

Covering her mouth with her hand, she couldn’t suppress her amusement. ‘‘That is too bad of you, Mr. Vandervoort. For shame.’’

He guffawed. ‘‘Ah, Miss Essie. You gotta come have a cup o’ coffee with me and the boys. We still talk about the day that cowboy came into town and wound you up so tight with the snake that you ended up dropping all those mice.’’

Mirth fell from her as quickly as if she’d been doused with a bucket of cold water. ‘‘I didn’t drop the mice.’’

‘‘Well, maybe you didn’t. But that feller shore did tangle you up.’’ He picked up a square of tutti-frutti and handed her two pennies. ‘‘We’ll see ya later.’’

She watched him walk away, images of that day flashing through her mind.

‘‘They do talk about it quite often,’’ Mrs. Crook said. ‘‘Seems it was the first time they ever saw the cat capture your tongue.’’

Essie dropped the pennies into a cigar box. She had no idea anyone else had been watching the two of them. But of course it made sense that they would have been the center of attention. Adam had not only been a stranger, but he’d been a gorgeous stranger. Every man and woman in the place would have tracked his every move.

He wasn’t so perfect now, though. He had a crooked nose. She wished they all could have seen that.

‘‘It was the same man who worked on your father’s oil rig. A Mr. Currington, I believe?’’

Nodding politely, Essie scanned the crowd for a potential customer.

‘‘I do declare, he turned every girl’s head in town. But it was evidently young Shirley Bunting who claimed to have captured his heart.’’

Essie whipped her head around. ‘‘What makes you think that?’’

A knowing smile touched Katherine’s face. ‘‘Hadn’t you heard? He was to escort her to this festival. She purchased fabric to make an autumn jacket in honor of the occasion. That’s how I know.’’

Essie didn’t believe it. She would have heard something. But she’d been so absorbed in her own little dreamworld that she hadn’t noticed much of anything since Adam began his seduction of her.

‘‘You’re a bit pale, dear. Are you all right?’’ A look of realization came over Katherine. ‘‘Oh no. You didn’t have . . .
feelings
for him, did you?’’

Essie forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. ‘‘No, no. Of course not. Whatever gave you such an impression?’’

Katherine cocked her head. ‘‘Well, it only makes sense, him being so handsome and all. And the two of you working so close together right after Hamilton jilted you.’’

Essie stiffened. ‘‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’’

‘‘No need to get defensive, dear. Hamilton told me all about how you chased after him, no matter how many times he tried to discourage you.’’

Mortified, she couldn’t believe he had shared such a thing with Katherine. A spurt of anger shot through her.

She imagined them sharing other intimacies, then talking about her, laughing as they discussed what a pathetic old maid she was. The fragile palisade she’d erected around her heart began to crumble.

‘‘Mr. Currington left town rather quickly, as you well know.’’ Katherine looked left and right, then leaned close. ‘‘The night he left, he came knocking on our back door to settle up his accounts. There had been some trouble. Woman trouble. And the sheriff was running him out of town.’’

Essie felt like an exposed possum caught in the open while a hunter took aim with his shotgun. Too bad she couldn’t ‘‘play dead.’’

‘‘Unbeknownst to Hamilton, I had come down the stairs in my stocking feet to make sure all was well. I stopped when I heard the men’s voices.’’ She licked her lips, warming up to her story. ‘‘I could tell Hamilton was angry. He’d never much liked Mr. Currington, you know.’’

‘‘No,’’ Essie said. ‘‘I hadn’t realized that.’’

‘‘Yes, well. He asked who the woman was, but all Mr. Currington said was that she wasn’t the kind you pay for. Nor was she the kind you’d want to marry. Too old, he said.’’

Breathing grew difficult. The tent, the crowd, the tables began to close in on her. She needed to get out. She needed air.

‘‘At first I thought it was Shirley, but she’s just a young little thing. I wonder who it could be?’’ Katherine gave Essie a penetrating stare. ‘‘Whoever it was, he was clearly using her to slake his thirst for pleasure. Why else would a man like that toy with an older woman?’’

She knew. This woman knew Essie’s secret. Or at the very least, she strongly suspected. If Essie were to run, all would be confirmed.

‘‘Poor Shirley,’’ Essie managed. ‘‘She must be devastated.’’

Katherine chuckled. ‘‘Hardly.’’ She indicated someone with a nod of her head.

Essie turned. Shirley Bunting, in a form-fitting jacket of satin merveilleux shot in copper shades, walked by with an entourage of men trying to gain her favor. The young woman laughed and teased and flirted.

‘‘Well,’’ Essie said, hearing her voice tremble and hoping Katherine didn’t notice. ‘‘I’m so relieved. It would have been tragic for her to have found out Mr. Currington was stringing her along while pursuing interests elsewhere.’’

Katherine raised a brow. ‘‘I do believe, Miss Spreckelmeyer, it wasn’t Shirley he was stringing along. But someone else. Someone older.’’ She smirked. ‘‘But clearly, not wiser.’’

————

Essie strode from beneath the tent and headed to Mr. Lyman’s wagon for some chili. Anything to occupy her hands and her mind. Had Katherine Crook known Essie well, the game would have been up. But she didn’t. And hopefully, Essie had bluffed her way through these last three hours without giving herself away.

The animosity Katherine held toward Essie was as clear as the sky above. What she couldn’t fathom was the reason for it. Why would Katherine dislike her so completely?

It was Katherine, after all, who got the man. Not Essie. It was Katherine who’d had two husbands, while Essie hadn’t had so much as one. It was Katherine who ran the store with Hamilton, while Essie had no purpose in life whatsoever.

It didn’t make any sense. Nevertheless, she’d have to be very, very careful. One little slip and all would discover her shameful secret. She’d told herself it didn’t matter what the townspeople thought, but it did.

It mattered a lot. And not just for her sake, but for her parents’ sakes. It would ruin Papa’s chances for reelection, just a few days away. And it would reflect badly on Mother. The women of her circle would somehow think it was Mother’s fault.

‘‘One bowl, please,’’ she said, handing Mr. Lyman a nickel and patting Wolf on the head. The dog lifted his nose and slapped his tail against the ground in appreciation.

‘‘Here ya are, Miss Spreckelmeyer,’’ he said. ‘‘You better go on now. The peg-legged man’s fixin’ to walk that rope.’’

She glanced over at the crowd that had begun to form and headed toward them. The thick, hearty fare tasted like no other chili she’d ever had before. She welcomed the warmth it provided as the sun began its descent.

Up on the balcony, she could see several men strapping a cumbersome cookstove to a man’s back. The crowd around her chattered with excitement.

‘‘Miss Essie,’’ someone called.

She turned. ‘‘Jeremy!’’

He wove his way through the crowd until he reached her side. ‘‘It’s mighty good to see ya,’’ he said. ‘‘I shore do miss those lunches you used to bring us.’’

‘‘I miss them, too,’’ she answered, smiling sadly as she thought of the picnics she’d shared with Adam and how much she’d enjoyed them.

She looked Jeremy over. All that cable drilling had added breadth and form to his once-skinny body.

‘‘What happened with you and Adam?’’ he asked.

She stiffened. ‘‘What do you mean?’’

‘‘Well, golly, Miss Essie. Anybody could see y’all were sweet on each other.’’

She forced a laugh. ‘‘Oh, don’t be silly. We were just friends.’’

‘‘I don’t know,’’ Jeremy said, looking at her askance. ‘‘I seen the way you two would get yer heads together and whisper-like. And his eyes would light up like firecrackers when he’d see ya comin’.’’

Did they?
she wondered. It made her feel a little better that Jeremy had seen something, too. At least she hadn’t been the only one to imagine an interest that clearly wasn’t there.

‘‘I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Jeremy. We were just friends.’’

‘‘Well, if ya say so, but you shore never looked at me the way ya looked at him. And you and me is friends.’’

She cleared her throat. ‘‘Yes, well.’’

‘‘He was gonna rope fer everybody today. Remember?’’

Yes. He was also going to marry me today
. She tried to put the thought from her mind.

‘‘I could o’ watched him do them ropin’ tricks all the day long. That new feller that works with me now? He ain’t near so easy to get along with.’’

‘‘Oh? I’m sorry to hear that.’’

‘‘Maybe if ya bring him some lunches, too, it’ll improve his disposition some.’’

She smiled, then froze as she caught sight of Katherine and Hamilton standing a few feet away. Hamilton’s attention was focused on the tightrope walker. Katherine’s was focused on Essie.

Her heart started to pound, wondering how much the woman had heard, if anything.

‘‘Lookit!’’ Jeremy said, pointing. ‘‘He’s fixin’ to go.’’

Essie turned and shaded her eyes. The man began to slide across the rope one foot at a time, his wooden leg stiff, his other leg bending for balance.

The crowd hushed, not daring to breathe as he inched his way across the rope. The stove was obviously heavy and awkward. It looked to Essie as if it was not evenly distributed across his back, but a bit heavier on the left.

He teetered. The audience gasped, then held their breath until he regained his balance. His clothes were as black as the stove, making the rope slashed across his body more pronounced.

The farther he came to the halfway mark, the more the rope sagged, giving in to the tremendous weight. The man wavered again, far to the left.

Essie sucked in her breath. He windmilled his arms, but the stove interfered with his motions. He leaned to the right but overcompensated, and the stove shifted.

Before anyone could so much as react, the man fell with a crash to the ground.

chapter TWENTY

WOMEN SCREAMED. Children buried their eyes in their mothers’ skirts. Men rushed forward.

‘‘Let me by,’’ Essie said, shoving aside those in her way.

When she finally broke through, she saw that the stove had landed on top of the man, trapping him beneath. He was still alive, but just barely. Blood pooled beneath his mop of dark hair, accentuating the clammy whiteness of his face.

Her father and Dr. Gulick bent over him. Uncle Melvin shooed the crowd back.

‘‘Do you want a preacher?’’ the doctor asked.

No answer.

‘‘Can you tell me where you’re from?’’ Papa said.

Still no answer.

The crowd parted, making way for Preacher Bogart. He knelt beside the dying man. ‘‘Do you know Jesus Christ, son?’’

The man’s eyes fluttered open. ‘‘Please,’’ he gasped. ‘‘A rabbi. I am a Jew.’’

A fleeting look passed between the men.

Papa caught sight of Essie. ‘‘Get me a rabbi.’’

They exchanged the briefest of glances, knowing full well there was no rabbi in Corsicana, Texas. But there was a Jew.

She whirled around and fought her way through the press, heading to the north side of the tent where she’d seen the peddler’s wagon.

‘‘Mr. Baumgartner! Mr. Baumgartner! Come quick,’’ she screamed.

He jumped from his wagon seat where he’d been trying to see over the crowd and raced toward her. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him behind her.

‘‘The rope walker,’’ she said over her shoulder. ‘‘He’s asking for a rabbi.’’

Mr. Baumgartner increased his speed so that by the time they arrived he was pulling Essie behind him.

Papa and the preacher stepped back. Mr. Baumgartner touched the man’s forehead and spoke over him in Yiddish.

The man visibly relaxed, said a prayer in Hebrew, and died.