Diamond Duo (10 page)

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, just that men spend so much time guarding the virtue of women that they forget to safeguard their own.”

His mouth drooped in shock. “Bertha Biddie. What a forward thing to say.”

“Oh, pooh. It’s only the truth. Annie would agree if she were here.”

When Thad looked blank, she remembered he didn’t know about her new friend. She scurried up and dashed to his side.

“I didn’t tell you, did I? I’ve met the most wonderful person. Her name’s Annie Moore, and she’s lovely. And elegant. And mysterious. And ever so wise. I’ve never seen anything like her. I’ll wager you haven’t, either.”

She paused to gulp air then continued. “In a very short time we’ve become fast friends. Annie’s offered to help me with–” She felt her cheeks heat up, so she lowered her lids. “With a most vexing dilemma.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Annie’s just the one to help me, too. I know she is.”

She found his eyes again. “I do want you to meet her. Oh, promise you will.”

Thad took her by the shoulders and laughed down at her. “Whoa there, sugar. Dig in your spurs. I’ll meet Annie twice if it means that much to you.”

A cloud fell over Bertha’s excitement, heavier than the one over Julius Ney’s barn. “The only thing is, I don’t know when I’ll see her again. The last time I saw her, she was very upset.”

Thad’s brows puckered in the middle. “What about?”

She gazed up at him, trying to decide if she should speak the whole truth. After all, it was Annie’s affair and none of her own. So despite the concern in his big brown eyes, Bertha made up her mind not to tell. “I believe Annie’s in terrible trouble. That’s all I’m at liberty to say. And I don’t know how to help her.”

Thad lifted her chin. “I can’t imagine what sort of trouble might put such a worrisome look on your face, but there’s no trouble in the world bigger than God.”

His words struck Bertha’s heart like a thunderbolt and kindled fire in her muddled mind. “Oh, Thad, that’s it! Annie needs God’s help, not mine.” She pulled him low and kissed him on the cheek, surprising him by the look on his face. “It’s so clear to me now. I know just what to do.”

They heard the sound of an approaching wagon at the same time and moved to the door. Voices shouted Bertha’s name from the road at the end of Mr. Ney’s lane.

“Bertha!” The deep bass bawl had to be Mose.

“Bertha Biddie, where are you?” The high, tinny mewl belonged to Rhodie.

“See! I told you they’d come back for me.”

She started out the door, but Thad clutched her arm and pulled her back. “Bertha, wait. I’ll take you home.”

“I’m not going home. I need to see Annie first.”

“Then I’ll take you to see Annie.”

“It’s out of your way.”

He held up one hand. “I don’t mind. Honest.”

It sounded tempting but made no sense. Thad’s clothes were soaked through. He needed to get straight home before he came down with a fever. She shook her head. “There’s no reason to put you out. Those two are here for me, and they’re headed straight into town.”

The rain had stopped, but heavy drips fell from the eaves over the barn door. She waited, timing her exit to avoid getting splashed on the head.

Thad moved up behind her, his voice unsettled. “Bertha, there’s something I haven’t told you.”

“We’ll talk later. I promise. Don’t forget you still have to meet Annie.” She turned and patted his arm. “Good-bye, Thad. And thank you ever so much for your advice.” Darting out the door, she ran around the barn just as Mose and Rhodie rolled past.

“Wait! I’m here!”

Rhodie whirled on the seat. “Stop, Mose. There she is. Bertha, where were you? We’ve looked everywhere.”

Bertha pointed back at Julius Ney’s barn. “I took shelter in there. It started to rain.”

Mose gave her a disgusted look. “I guess we know that.” He and Rhodie sat atop the unprotected buckboard as wet as two bedbugs on wash day.

Bertha pressed a hand to her mouth to hide her smile. “Let’s get going, then. Before it starts up again.”

Rhodie moved aside to let Bertha board then elbowed her brother. “Don’t get stuck this time.”

Mose clucked at the horse and pulled away.

Bertha looked back to find Thad standing outside the barn with a curious look on his face–part longing, part desperation, with a touch of sadness around the edges. She leaned to peer closer, but the jostling wagon had put too much distance between them. She raised her hand in a last merry wave, but Thad didn’t wave back.

As she watched, Charlie came around the side of the barn and joined him. He patted Thad on the back with what could only be described as sympathy. Charlie’s gesture was the last thing she saw before the two men fell out of sight around the bend of a tree-lined curve.

S
arah leaned closer to the window, so near her breath fogged the glass. She stretched to her tiptoes to peer over the misty spot and checked the road again. No sign of Henry. When he first slipped out, without angry words or slammed doors, her shame and pride had pronounced him weak. With the passage of time, his meekness turned to strength against the memory of her railing fit.

She traded her nightdress and shawl for the torn dress and boots and set out to find him. She soon learned he didn’t ride away, because Dandy stood in his stall munching hay. The indisputable sight of the big gray mule meant the wagon would be in its place. Though Henry’s rage may have given him the strength to pull it, he’d lack the inclination.

He wasn’t in the fields. She roamed the yard and peered in every direction, at first sashaying in a casual way, stealing furtive glances in case he lurked somewhere and watched. The longer she searched, the more scared she became, fear turning her easy sway into determined strides.

Though it made no sense, he had vanished. Unless the Lord had come for his children and left her to stew in her sins, Henry had departed the place on foot–walked when he had a perfectly fine means of transportation lollygagging in the barn.

After one more rambling search of the place, Sarah stumbled back inside to begin her vigil. A glance at the stove reminded her she had placed a towel over the corn bread and set the beans off the fire a good two hours ago. She lifted the lid and stared into the pot. The mingled odor of pintos and ham hock wafted up. Her favorite food. Another day she’d give in to the grumble in her stomach and dish up a bowl, but dread had taken her appetite. She needed to put them away before they spoiled–
Lord knows we have no food to waste
–but she couldn’t muster the strength to care. Henry was all that mattered. She had to find him, confess her sorrow over how she had treated him. Again.

Her mind settled, Sarah pulled off the blue gingham dress just long enough to sew up the seam she’d ripped under the arm in angry impatience. Another casualty of her unbridled temper. If she hadn’t stripped down and hopped into bed in the middle of the day to pout, she’d never have torn her dress. She held it up, surprised to see a neat row of stitches despite her haste. Slipping it overhead, with more care this time, she ran out the door, without stopping to return the sewing kit to the drawer in the console table or to store the corn bread and beans.

Dandy stood in the same place she’d found him earlier, pulling lazy bites of hay from a handcart in the corner. She slid the bridle onto his head then jerked him away from the hay and over to the saddle rack hanging on the wall. Sarah’s size and Dandy’s interest in the hay made the task hard, but she got him saddled and led him from the barn, where Henry kept a stool near the fence just for her. She stepped on it and slipped her foot in the stirrup then swung up on Dandy’s back and gave him a swat. “Let’s go, mule.”

Dandy heaved a rebellious sigh against the straps on his belly and listed to the side. Sarah knew what came next. The ornery cuss would side-step to the fence and try his best to rake her off, a trick he knew not to play on Henry. She outsmarted him by lifting her leg just in time, but it was a close call.

“Blast you, Dandy! We got no time for your shenanigans today. You best smarten up and recall who feeds you. If you don’t help me
find Henry, I’ll let you starve, I swear it.”

As if he understood every word, the mule took off down the lane, lit out for the road, and gave her no more trouble on the way into town.

The distance to Jefferson was walkable for sure but an easier ride, and Henry had no reason to go there. They only rode in earlier in the day on account of his notion to buy her a treat, the foolish idea that started the whole dreary mess. Common sense said he would be down by the bayou, skipping stones across the water or lying sprawled under a tree to pout. No matter how unreasonable, something led her straight to Jefferson as fast as Dandy could plod.

Once there, Sarah had no idea where to look. She relaxed the reins and let Dandy follow his nose. She hardly expected him to snuffle the ground for his master’s scent like old Dickens would’ve done before he led her straight to Henry. But she reckoned Dandy could put forth more effort than it took to follow the same route he trod every trip into town. She couldn’t rightly blame him. It did seem like just another trip to Stilley’s to trade skins. She closed her eyes and allowed herself the luxury of pretending it was.

Her eyes flew open when a high-pitched squeal from nearby startled her. Dandy, too, by the way he flinched. She looked toward the grating sound and found it came from Charles Gouldy’s sister, Isabella, her face puffy and red, her hair a wild nest of tangles. A strange man, somebody’s husband no doubt, had Belle pressed against the wall in a nearby alley. Sarah wondered how much he had paid for a bit of time with her.

Belle turned her painted face toward Sarah as she passed. Her eyes were glazed and her mouth a big red smear. She offered a brazen smile. “Afternoon, Sarah.”

Embarrassed, Sarah turned away. Dandy passed up the alley just as the man pulled Belle deeper into the shadows. Sarah shuddered. For all her problems, she wouldn’t trade places with Isabella Gouldy if they threw in fame and fortune to sweeten the deal.

Up ahead, Jennie Simpson stepped off Lafayette Street onto
Polk, looking none too spry. She wore a stiff black dress and white apron, but the woman inside the dress had lost her starch. Doc Turner insisted all his help wear the same sort of clothes, except the men, who pranced around in black bow ties and knickers. Most likely Jennie had spent the morning changing beds and cleaning floors behind Doc Turner’s paying guests over at Brooks House.

The thought of it caused guilt to twang in Sarah’s heart like a chord from a busted fiddle. She knew if not for Henry, she’d be a chambermaid at Brooks House, too. Or maybe the Commercial Hotel. She worked as hard as anyone, but when she smoothed fresh sheets on a bed, she and Henry slid between them that night. And when she wiped a table and served food, she got to sit right down and eat. For all of her trouble, Jennie Simpson got a bent back, calloused hands, and a pitiful, pinchpenny wage. Jennie was another poor soul with whom Sarah wouldn’t agree to trade fortunes.

Since her man had given her so much in life, Sarah wondered why she seemed driven to throw it all away. And why she continued to hurt him. She sighed. All roads in her mind led right back to Henry. She wished the one Dandy trudged down now would do the same.

Sarah rode up even with her friend just as she started to cross the street. “Afternoon, Jennie.”

Jennie looked up at her with tired eyes. “Why, Sarah King, don’t I see you in town most every day of late? Ain’t you got enough at home for to keep you busy?”

She waved her hand. “Pissh! Got me more’n enough, thank you kindly. Say, you ain’t seen Henry around anywhere, have you?”

Jennie gazed all about as if she expected to see him then shook her head. “Naw,” she said, drawing the word out the length of Dandy’s ears. “Not since yesterday.” She scrunched her chubby face. “Don’t see how you managed to lose a man that size. Didn’t he ride in with you?”

Sarah cleared her throat. “Not this time.”

“Then how’d he get here?”

Sarah avoided the question by standing up in the stirrups and
making a show of searching the street. She’d be careful not to say anything more to set off Jennie’s curiosity. “Don’t fret yourself. I’ll find him.”

Jennie opened her mouth to speak, but Sarah cut her off. “Girl, you look plumb tuckered. Are you finished for the day?”

Jennie shook her head in exaggerated fashion. “Uh-uh, honey. Don’t I wish? I jus’ come to fetch a jar of molasses for Doc Turner’s tea. He swear by it as a restorative for the blood.” She rested the back of her hand on her hip. “S’pose I need some myself to get me through this day. When I get back, I still got me a mess of laundry and two more rooms to clean.”

Sarah’s heart went out to her. “Sound like you gon’ be there most all night.”

Jennie reached to stroke Dandy’s neck. The old mule’s coat trembled in pleasure at her touch. “Don’t know why I bother to drag myself to my room some nights, when I got to be back in the main house before sunrise to start all over again.”

“Forget about molasses. What you need is a good tonic. Ride out to the house, and I’ll give you one made from blessed thistle. It’s the best thing there is for the droops.”