Diamond Duo (13 page)

“Aus einer Mücke einen Elefanten machen,”
Magda’s mama called over her shoulder. She leaned against the sideboard across the way, cutting venison into lean red chunks.

Magda rose up and frowned at her. “You’re supposed to take my side, Mama. I’m your daughter, remember?” She pointed at Bertha. “This here’s a neighbor child.” She crossed to the table and returned with a pitcher of cold water to pour into the metal pan on the floor. Still pouting, she cast a sullen look at her mama. “Honestly, sometimes you act like it’s the other way around.”

Bertha peeked up at Magda. “What did she say?”

Magda laid the back of her hand on her hip. “She said I’m making an elephant out of a mosquito. Her way of saying I’m blowing things out of proportion.” She took a poker from the corner and bent over to stir up the fire but twisted around to look at her mama while she worked. “Another German proverb. Just what we need around this house. Thank you, Mama.”

“Yer velcome.”

Magda tossed the poker aside and flapped her hands in frustration. “Mama! Why do you always defend Bertha? You don’t even know what our quarrel is about.” She gave Bertha a meaningful stare then
leaned down next to her ear. “That’s right,” she hissed in a forced whisper. “She doesn’t know a thing about it. Just like I promised.”

Bertha considered it most prudent not to respond. She busied herself with checking the heat of the water then eased her feet down into the pan.

Mrs. Hayes scraped the diced meat into a wide stew pot and replaced the lid. “I go now and give you girls a little privacy. Only keep one eye on dis Rehragout, vill you, Magda? Don’t allow your little spat to ruin your papa’s meal.” A satisfied smile softened her face. “You know how Papa likes my venison stew.” She took off her apron, wiped her hands with it, and left it in a heap on the table. “Look, dere’s no more rain. I tink I go help Papa vit chores.”

She lifted her coat from a peg by the door then turned for one last word before she went out. “Have yourselves a nice little talk, girls.” She squinted one eye and leveled it on Magda. “But have dis ting over and done before I come back vit Papa. Ja?”

The obstinate look on Magda’s face told Bertha she felt no pressing need to settle the
ting
between them. But she lowered her head and regarded her mama with raised brows.

“Yes, ma’am.”

As soon as the latch clicked behind Mrs. Hayes, Magda stalked into her parents’ tiny bedroom and came out with another stool. She dropped it in front of Bertha so hard the three legs did a clattering dance, until Magda’s weight settled them onto the floor. Seated directly across from the pan, she stripped off shoes and stockings, pulled back her dress, and crowded her sizable feet in alongside Bertha’s.

Bertha watched her until she looked up. “What are you doing?”

“Soaking my feet. I never meant this water for you. Not in my heart. I only let Mama think I fetched it for you.”

Her smile reminded Bertha of an overindulged child.

She flicked her first finger in the direction of Bertha’s feet. “So kindly withdraw yourself from my foot soak.”

“Magda. . .”

Magda wriggled her feet around Bertha’s until she had forced her
ankles to the sides. “Fine. Keep them there, but you’ll have to take whatever room is left and be happy with it. I drew this water for me.”

Bertha eased her toes from under Magda’s. “For corn’s sake. This is silly.”

“Oh? Silly, is it? But I thought you liked silly. After all, you like silly city women well enough. You like their silly laughs, their silly clothes, and their silly candy. Seems to me silly would set just fine with you.” Magda spouted her tirade in a low, even voice, but the pain laced through it struck Bertha’s heart like a piercing shout.

“I came here to apologize.”

Magda crossed her arms. “Did you bring a list? Because you’ll need it.”

Bertha hung her head. “Where do I start?”

“With not trusting me, maybe? Or forgetting who happens to be your best friend?”

Bertha rose up and gasped. “I’d never forget that.”

Magda’s feet stopped warring for position in the pan, and her whole body stilled. She turned her face to the fire and seemed to study the dancing yellow flames while tears on her cheeks glimmered in the reflected light. “You made me feel like a bother, like unwelcome company.” She took a ragged breath and shook her head. “I’ve never felt so bad in your presence, Bertha.” She looked up and sought Bertha’s eyes. “I don’t ever want to again.” Magda’s tears flowed freely now that the dam had burst, and she wiped her nose on her apron.

Bertha stood up in the pan and leaned to wrap her arms around Magda’s neck. The awkward angle of her feet, still curled on each side of Magda’s, rendered her bent and bowlegged, but she didn’t care. “I’m sorry, sugar. I never meant to hurt you. Can you ever forgive me? I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. I swear.”

“Don’t swear. You know you’re not supposed to.”

“Promise, then. I promise on my life.”

“You don’t have to go that far. I’ll just take your word that you’ll never do it again. A mite less costly than your life, don’t you think?”

Bertha laughed and nodded. “Just a mite.”

“But you have to mean it, Bertha. If I know you mean it, I’ll forget it completely and not hold it to your account.”

Bertha drew back to look her in the eye. “I mean it. On my honor, I mean it.”

Magda gave a solemn nod. “All right, then.”

Bertha leaned to kiss her ruddy cheek. On impulse she kissed her cheek again then twice more on the other side.

Magda squealed and pushed her away. “You don’t have to get me all soggy. And speaking of soggy, kindly sit down before you land bottoms-up in this bucket.”

The words had barely left her mouth when Bertha lost her footing, and her toe slid hard against Magda’s side of the pan. She squealed in pain and thrashed wildly to regain her balance. Magda caught both her hands and held on while she lowered her backside onto the stool.

She picked up her foot and scowled down at the throbbing big toe. “Look what you made me do. If this thing puffs, it won’t fit into my shoe.” She looked up at Magda and found her smiling. “Stop it, now.” She held her toe higher. “This hurts to beat all.”

Magda’s grin turned to a belly laugh. “I imagine it smarts, all right, but I’m not laughing at your toe. I’m laughing at your ruckled-up face.” She pointed at Bertha’s shoes drying in front of the fire. “It’s about as puckered as those poor things, which, by the way, will never fit you again, swollen toe or not.”

Bertha followed Magda’s gaze to the crumpled brown shoes on the hearth. “And that will be a bother to everyone but me. Those things were fashioned in the pit of perdition.”

“But what will your mama say?”

“Oh, she’ll be scandalized. She’ll pester and fuss for days and make me work off their cost with chores.” Bertha winked at Magda. “And it will be a small price to pay to never have them on my feet again.”

He had found her.

Thad knew the deeper ruts meant Mose had stopped long
enough for the weight of the wagon to sink the wheels a bit in the soft mud, and there were marks on the ground from restless hooves. They’d stopped, all right, and the lone set of footprints that led to the swollen ditch in front of Magdalena Hayes’s house meant Bertha would be inside.

Runoff rain poured into the trench, causing it to crest. Bertha had jumped it before it filled; otherwise she’d never have made it across the rushing surge. And the lane was completely gone, swallowed up by standing water. She may have walked up to the house, but she’d never make it out on foot.

He turned his horse, jumped the ditch, and rode across the pasture to the house. Magda’s parents came out of the barn and picked their way across the higher ground in back of the property. Thad waved and they waved back; then he rode up to where they waited on the porch.

Tall, potbellied Mr. Hayes wore the same wide grin on his face he had plastered there the first time Thad ever saw him. According to local legend, he was born with it and couldn’t change expressions if he tried. The man pushed back his hat with two fingers and beamed in Thad’s direction.

Thad worked hard not to look straight at him, because the infectious nature of the jolly gentleman’s smile made it impossible to keep a straight face. He returned the wife’s nod instead. “Good day, folks.”

“Thad,” Mr. Hayes said, as if apprising Thad of his name, “what you doing way out here on a day like today?” His brows, raised in twin peaks over laughing eyes, told Thad he already knew.

Thad squirmed in his saddle and pointed back over his shoulder. “Me and Charlie–Charles Gouldy, that is–were over yon way, fishing.”

“Catch anything?”

“Not this time. Seems we were the ones caught. Out in the storm, I mean.”

“Where’s Charlie now?”

“Well, sir, he rode on home.” In his nervous state, Thad allowed
his gaze to linger too long on the older man’s face and right away felt his mouth begin to twitch.

“And you didn’t?” Mr. Hayes found so much humor in Thad’s discomfort, the tops of his cheeks reddened from the strain of overtaxed muscles.

Thad lowered his head. “No, sir, I didn’t. I came out here to see about–”

Mr. Hayes held up his hand. “Don’t tell me, now. Let me guess. You started out this day a-fishing, and now you’ve come a-hunting.” He pointed back toward the house. “A mighty fine tracker you are, too, since your prey sits cornered inside that door. Get on in there, boy, and flush her out.”

Thad looked to Mrs. Hayes for help but found no comfort in her toothy smile.

“Ja, go inside, Thad. A bowl of venison stew should sit vell on such a day.”

Thad tipped his hat. “I won’t likely turn down such a fine offer on a good day, ma’am, much less on this dreary afternoon. If you’re sure there’s enough. . .”

“There’s more than plenty, son,” Mr. Hayes boomed. “And I can smell it from here. Get down from there and come on in.”

Thad dismounted and tied his horse to the porch rail. By the time he made it to the top step, Mr. Hayes had opened the door. From somewhere past the entrance came shrill laughter and a spate of uproarious giggles.

Mr. and Mrs. Hayes exchanged a look.

“What them gals up to, Gerta?”

She gave him a vacant stare. “I couldn’t say, Yacob.”

Grinning, Mr. Hayes led the way past the entry with his wife on his heels. Thad, burning with curiosity now that he’d recognized Bertha’s laugh in all the glee, brought up the rear. When Jacob and Gerta Hayes parted before him like the Red Sea, Thad smiled every bit as widely as Mr. Hayes.

I
t started to rain in earnest as Sarah and Henry pulled past the gate. They barely got Dandy inside the barn before the sky opened all the way up. Behind the rain came a chill, blustery wind that rattled the wide doors and raised the hair on Sarah’s neck.

She left Dandy in Henry’s care and hightailed it to the house to kindle a fire. When the flames blazed high and hot, she put the kettle on and ran shivering to their room, pulling the gift from Henry out of the saddlebag as she went. Dropping the wet leather bag on the floor outside the bedroom door, she stepped inside and carefully placed the wrapped parcel in the middle of the bed.

She peeled out of her blue gingham dress and threw it over the door to dry, certain she’d never changed in and out of the same garment so many times in one day. The square of linen cloth she pulled from the bar on the washstand to blot her wet hair reminded her of her new fabric, so she crossed to the bed where the package lay. Wiping her hands on the linen rag, she laid it aside to open the end of the wrapper and shake the material out onto the quilt.

She wondered at Henry’s choice. Not that the sight of it didn’t set her heart racing and make her limp with joy. But she couldn’t imagine where in their dusty country house she might store it, much less where in their dusty Texas town she might wear it. If they were
still in St. Louis, it would be different.

Sarah smoothed one finger over the glistening white weave. The cloth was truly the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, much less owned. What a lovely dress it would make.

And I know exactly which one it should be.

She dropped to her knees and reached under the bed, using the feel of the boxes against her fingers to find the right one. When she had hold of it, she pulled it out into the light. The wooden crate held every favorite gown that ever belonged to her or her mama. Of course they weren’t really garments anymore, just the cut-out parts. The tied-up bundles resembled stacks of puzzle pieces more than clothes–an arm here, skirt there, a bodice and back. Whenever Sarah got ready to make a new frock, she’d choose from one of the old fabric puzzles and cut out a pattern. Sometimes she mixed and matched just for fun.

Near the bottom of the box she found the right one and slid it from under the rest. The dingy pieces were wrinkled and smelled of camphor, but no matter. She’d wash and press them before she started. The pattern would fit her too small now, but she would adjust for that when she traced.

A tender smile stole over her face when she held up the stack of cloth pieces that had once been a sassy white dress, the same one she wore to Lawetta Draper’s house the day she first laid eyes on Henry. It might need a touch here and there to make it more stylish, but she’d chosen the perfect pattern.