Four of a Kind: A women's historical fiction (51 page)

BOOK: Four of a Kind: A women's historical fiction
9.44Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

“I wouldn’t dream of breaking your heart with no, now!” I replied with a giggle.

Did I just sound flirtatious?

He munched down, gazing dreamily far off. He finished it in seconds. “Good,” he said, rubbing his hands together to wipe off the crumbs. “What’s next?” His hand halted in mid-air over the basket as he spotted my hair.

I was combing back the hair around my face, the same comb whose teeth had held my roped bun in place. The rope had quickly run its course down my back.

“Your hair – it’s beautiful. May I touch it?”

I nodded and tensed.

I felt his hand touch my back and stroke my hair gently. “My mommy had long hair like that and she would braid it and leave it hanging down. You should do that, too – you’ll look like my people.”

If it were only that easy, to be his people
.

I resumed combing. “My hair is a bear to work with, though; too long and heavy, especially in this heat it feels like a horse blanket on my back. It desperately needs a cut.”

“Well, which is it, a bear or a horse? You know us Indians, we’ll just name you Horse Hair, or Bear Head.”

I smiled coyly, enjoying his attention as I twisted the rope of hair around my hand, and pinned it down at the nape of my neck with my hair comb.

He watched me closely. “You do that quickly and with such grace, you make it look easy. What is my little horse tail back here, maybe three inches?” He turned his head around for me to see. “One leather tie and it is finished.” He turned back to face me. “That’s men’s work for you, but women amaze me how much they handle every day and still manage to look as delicate as a butterfly and as pretty, too.” He smiled at me, his eyes softening, shining again. “You smell of lavender.”

I couldn’t turn away, even with a blush coming on. “Yes we are pretty tough cookies.” I wiped a crumb from his mouth with the corner of the dishtowel that had covered the basket.

I would do no differently with one of my children.

The City Hall bell tower announced one o’clock in the afternoon. “I must go home soon. I left the children home alone for the first time—”

His eyes came closer, his lips. “Ruby?” He touched my face and moved his palm along my jaw line, his fingertips awakening my senses. Time suddenly stood still. This structure around me became our island, only eternity surrounded us out there, the only sound was his breathing, the only sight was his eyes, like stars brightly shining. I tilted my head and looked at his lips, then looked into his eyes, watched them as they closed, and his mouth was on mine, feeling as soft as a butterfly landing on a flower. My eyes closed, my lips reached for more, and he brought his mouth fully onto mine, giving me my first lover’s kiss. Was it for only a second, or was it a lifetime, I couldn’t be sure. But in that space where time didn’t exist, I loved him forever.

I walked home on air, fingers gently touching my lips ever so often, my other hand holding the wild flowers. In my mind’s eye, he’s still here.

“Here, Ruby, before you go,” and he had walked behind the line of trees to the open meadow beyond the park and picked the indigo and coneflower, tied them with the leather string from his hair, and walked back to me with his broad grin, his hair falling forward, touching his shoulders. “My gift to you for a most pleasant lunch. Best cornbread this side of the Blue Ridge. Are you sure I can’t give you a ride home – at least part-way?”

I longed to say yes, to not say goodbye, but I would be traveling along the same street that Robert would be taking and it was crucial I reach home before him. But I hope to be here tomorrow afternoon, I said – to help with petition signatures of course.

I wondered how I would fill up my time before then. The evening, the long dark night and then the morning, it would take an
eternity before I could walk back to the park. I decided to prepare him a linen sachet of my lavender flower blossoms.

I opened my front door to the smell of smoke. A piping of this was coming from the kitchen. I could hear Bess scold and Pearl cry out, the boys yell. I ran to the kitchen to see Bess throwing a bowl of water onto the stove, flames licking their way out from under the round inserts for pots, the lids red-hot.

“My God, what—” Fire caught onto Bess’s sleeve and spread up her arm. I screamed, “More water!” as I jerked her to the water pump, pumping frantically with one hand and smacking her arm with the other., and splashed the little remaining water on her. It didn’t completely go out and I smacked Bess’s upper arm to put the flame out on her dress sleeve. Bess screamed so loud that the boys hushed and stood terrified. Water took an eternity to come through and out it out for good.

“Hush, Bess, it’s gone now, Mama got it all, darling. You’re a brave girl.” I saw the bubbled skin under the charred sleeve and began to cry. “Mama is so sorry, Bess, Mama is so sorry! I should’ve been here, I’m not a good mommy, no!”

Aimee ran in from the back door. “I heard the screaming.”

I ripped the sleeve open more, to give more air to the burns. “I think Bess needs some salve, Aimee,” I said as calmly as possible. “Could you run get Doctor Hughes?”

“Can you walk upstairs, darling?” I asked Bess. She was sobbing but no longer hysterical. “I need to take this dress off.” Bess nodded and we exited the kitchen in small steps and headed through the parlor toward the stairs.

I looked behind me; the boys and Pearl were following closely, mute, coughing, their eyes wide, red and wet. “Bess will be fine. You go outside now and get some fresh air, away from this smoke. You can come up and see her in a little while.”

I looked down and almost stepped on a small bunch of wild flowers tied with a leather string. Fresh tears came as I stepped over them and I walked Bess bit by bit up the stairs.

I sat outside on the front verandah, my rocker creaking with each push, taking in deep breaths of fresh air. After a fitful night and a strong powdered heroin elixir, Bess was sleeping again. Robert had left earlier than usual that morning without disturbing me sleeping with Bess, another day’s reprieve. Aimee had come over later in the morning with bread, cheese, and roast beef. I’d sent the other children off to the creek with a picnic. I simply couldn’t cope with them.

Aimee had offered to take my place at the petition booth so what could I say, but
yes, thank-you
? And off she went … toward town, her footsteps on the boardwalk fading ...

My last chance to see him ... fading.

I clutched the arms of my chair to keep from running after her, my bandaged fingers stinging in protest.

Back and forth the rocker creaked his name. Each creak amplified the sound of my heart slowly breaking. He’s was so close and yet ... fading.

After today he would be gone forever and I hadn’t said goodbye. Or said
come back and visit us
in a light airy way. Or
keep in touch
. Or
I love
... I had so much to say and yet could say nothing. These balusters might as well be my prison bars. I reached inside my apron pocket, found the leather tie and once more held it between my fingers, searching for solace there.

I looked up at the blue sky. So blue...I’m feeling blue without you, blue eyes...oooh, a whole new meaning to ‘out of the blue’. I listened to the quiet around me and to the steady clip-clop of a distant horse. Like a school girl, I closed my eyes and imagined his lips on mine – oh to be kissed on your mouth so completely! Our lips were pressed like two pie crusts sealed together, the cracks no longer there, to make the perfect pie. I licked my lips for the sweet taste.

From the sound of it, the horse was coming closer. I opened my left eye to the street and a man on a horse came into my vision. He was two houses down, peering closely at each house he passed. He turned his head from side to side - I opened both eyes wide – he had
a pony tail! My heart flew into my throat and I sat unmoving, watching in disbelief. And then I was up and running, down the stairs and down the boardwalk. I stopped dead in my tracks in front of my other next door neighbor’s house, one hand at my throat to soothe the throbbing there.

What am I thinking of doing – throw myself into his open arms?

I bounced on my toes to keep me in place and instead threw my best smile as his horse approached and he drew back on his reins. He looked down at me, giving me his own, the sun shining blue tones to his black hair. We simply gazed at each other, me not quite believing he was really here. The horse shook its head and snorted and this brought me out of my trance. I stepped down from the boardwalk onto the cobbled street and patted the horse’s neck. This was as close as I dared get, my hand longing to touch his boot, but touching the horse made me somehow feel closer to him, as if touching an indirect part of him.

“I came as soon as I heard.” He motioned to my bandaged hand. “Aimee told me what happened when I asked where you were. I know I shouldn’t be here, but—”

I looked up into his eyes and the neighbors disappeared. “I am happy you are here.”

He swung down from his horse in one powerful movement and I suddenly found myself face to face with him. There was not enough air between us to breathe.

Touching my bandaged hand lightly, he asked, “Does it hurt?”

I glanced at it, not quite remembering why it was bandaged. “Not anymore.”

He grinned broadly at me and I let out a soft laughter that felt so good. There had been nothing but pain since I had left him at the park yesterday, and now the pain was all gone. I had the urge to grab his hand and run through the fields beyond the houses; run with our hair blowing freely behind our backs. Running ... freely …

“Your daughter? How is she?”

“Much better, thank you. It will take time for her to heal, but heal she will. May I - may I invite you to join me on the verandah?
I can make a cool drink – I think I have some lemons and there should be some ice left in the ice box—”

“I don’t think that would be proper,” he broke in, but he wasn’t glancing around at neighbors’ windows. His eyes didn’t leave my face. It looked as if he was trying to memorize my features. “I’m not here to cause problems for you, Ruby. You have children; you would have to make explanations. You might have to lie and that would only make something ugly out of something beautiful. That is how I will remember you – something beautiful.” He took in a jagged breath. “We didn’t say goodbye yesterday, and I can’t leave without it. I can’t explain it.” He reached out to touch my cheek but then having second thoughts, quickly withdrew his finger. “And I know, to be the proper gentleman, I should apologize.”

He leaned his arm against the saddle and looked beyond me, his eyelids drooping heavily ... dreamily. I loved that look about him. Into my memory, I etched and branded every line of his face, shoulders, his arm against the saddle, the deep reds and greens of the horse blanket underneath, his white linen shirt, his chest moving with each breath.

“There is no need to apologize,” I said softly to his lips. I hardly sounded like myself, and yet I felt more like myself than ever before.

“It felt so right, didn’t it Ruby?” He said, encouraged by my words, my tone. He tilted his head down and studied me earnestly.

“It did, Jeremiah.” I felt a surge of happy blush in saying his name.

“I love it when your eyes shine like that,” he said. “No wonder you were named Ruby – you glow like a gem. You ever been told that before?”

“No, but then I’ve never felt like this before.” I felt out of breath; as if we had in fact ran through the fields and only just now paused.

“I made something for you.” He turned to his saddlebag, unbuckled the flap, and brought out something hidden in his large hand. He opened his palm to me. A wooden carving of a dove sat there looking at me. Its head was smooth and round, its feathers carved in careful detail.

“Mommy believed that when a dove rested at your home, it brought love and peace. That is what I bring to you.”

I picked the dove up carefully, as if grabbing it might startle it into flight. “I will treasure this always, Jeremiah. I wish I had something for you.”

“Yesterday was the best gift you could give me, Ruby. I can understand what a sacrifice it must have been, to be there. I’ll never forget it, or you.”

Other books

Present at the Future by Ira Flatow
Winter's Tales by Isak Dinesen
Directed Verdict by Randy Singer
Caught in the Storm by M. Stratton
1635: Music and Murder by David Carrico
The Battle of Jericho by Sharon M. Draper
Rooms by Lauren Oliver
La corona de hierba by Colleen McCullough