If Wishes Were Horses (21 page)

Betsy answered and Etta heard the surprise in her voice when Etta asked for Leon. “Well, yes, Etta . . . just a moment, please.”

When Leon answered, he asked Etta how she was, and she said, “Fine. Leon, can I sell the cattle? I know I owe the bank for them, but could I sell them if I wanted?”

“Etta, cattle prices are way down. You don’t want to sell your cattle.”

“I know I don’t want to, but could I if I wanted? Could I sell anything here I want? I mean, could I sell the tractors?”

“You want to sell the tractors?”

“I don’t know, Leon. What I need to know are my options. Can I sell the cattle, if I want to? Can I sell tractors? Can I sell part of the land?”

“You don’t need to be worryin’ about any of that, honey. The bank’s goin’ to handle it, and Edward will see that you get the best deals all the way around.”

“I’m sure he will, but I want to understand the situation. What can I do?”

He sighed. “I guess you can sell the cattle and the tractors. I didn’t see anything that said the bank held the lien on them. When Roy borrowed the money, he borrowed against the farm, the house, too, which he shouldn’t have done. He should have cut that out. He didn’t, though, and the farm’s all tied up. You can’t sell the farm or parts of it without consultin’ with Edward.

“But you don’t want to be bothered with any of that, honey. When the farm sells, the cattle and equipment will be put up for auction. The bank can handle it, and you don’t need to be concerned with it at all. I don’t like to see you gettin’ all wrought up about this. Who’ve you been talkin’ to?”

“Oh, nobody, really. Obie just mentioned that it would be good if we could sell the cattle—but he told me about the prices bein’ low,” she added quickly, not wanting Leon to be critical of Obie.

He asked about how she was feeling, and she told him fine again and then asked about Betsy in order to deflect attention from herself. Then she was able to say a polite goodbye and hang up.

When she walked back and pushed through the kitchen door, she saw Latrice and Obie, both of them over at the sink. Obie stood behind Latrice, with his body against her, and was kissing her neck.

Etta was so stunned that she just stood there, staring.

Luckily the two did not hear her over the sound of water running in the sink. Etta backed up into the dining room and let the door close softly.

She felt so bad, so alone, that tears came to her eyes. She wondered where Johnny was and pictured him dancing with a nice, slim unpregnant woman who was not an old widow but fresh and lively. Etta felt that she had not been fresh and lively in a long time.

Obie stayed until the moon came out, sitting on the side porch with Latrice. Etta, in the kitchen, could occasionally hear the murmur of their voices through the screened door, along with the chirp of crickets. She listened to the radio the border station that played rock and roll, and made names from the Scrabble letters, while also keeping an ear cocked for the sound of Johnny’s pickup returning.

Obie drove away, and Latrice came inside, saying, “It’s fixin’ to storm.”

They checked to make certain windows were closed. Afterward they sat in the kitchen, Etta at the table making names from Scrabble letters, and Latrice in her rocker with hand-sewing, listening to the radio, now rhythm and blues out of Chicago.

Etta considered asking Latrice if she had changed her mind and decided to encourage Obie after all. She decided she didn’t want to talk about it. Neither of them seemed inclined to talk, and each fell into her own thoughtful silence, until Etta decided she was hungry for something sweet.

“It’s gettin’ awfully bare in here,” she said, searching the pantry. She had developed a powerful craving for sweet chocolate something.

The worry over buying food had been creeping up on her. They had always bought on credit down at Overman’s Bright and White at the crossroads, but there were a couple of those unopened Overman bills in the pile now, too, alongside those from Burgess Feed.

She came up with rice and raisins, and Latrice volunteered to make her sweet rice, using honey from one of Obie’s nephew’s hives. Just when Latrice spooned the rice into a bowl, the storm hit, wind rattling the windows and creaking the walls.

“We might should go down the cellar,” Latrice said, although she moved without haste to the sink and ran water in the empty rice pan.

Etta looked out the window, heard the horses in the corral whinny, although she couldn’t see them. She was glad Little Gus was secure in the barn and out of the storm, but she worried he might get agitated and start kicking the stall.

Neither she nor Latrice ran for the cellar, Latrice because she did not like to go into the ground, and Etta because she didn’t care to run out into the rain to get there. She suggested the closet beneath the stairwell.

“Well, if there was a cyclone, it’s already gone over,” Latrice said, peering out the window. “The rain’s fallin’ in a steady sheet now.”

“I think I’ll go to the stairwell closet, just in case it comes at the back.” It was all right not to be frightened of storms herself, but she had a baby to think of now.

“It won’t,” Latrice said, as if she knew all. Then she said, “Here comes headlights . . . guess it’s Johnny.” And a moment later: “Good Lord, he’s gonna hit the barn—nope, he hit the light pole.”

Etta rushed over beside Latrice. The night-black window reflected her own face. She flipped off the overhead light. Again peering out the window, she saw Johnny’s pickup truck through the falling rain. It sat in the glow of the tall pole lamp at the corner of the barn, its front smack into the thick pole that was waving just a bit in the wind and causing the yellow light to flicker.

“Did he hit hard?”

“Not too hard.”

“Maybe we should go out and check him. He might have hit his head.” Etta’ s mind began to jump with all sorts of morbid pictures, then latch onto the worst, which was hosting another funeral.

“He’s fine,” Latrice said. “No doubt he was limber as a wet noodle from drink. There’s no need in us gettin’ soaked—and possibly struck by lightning—just to find him passed out.”

“Well . . . I suppose.” Etta was not eager to go outside, either.

The next instant, as she wiped fog from the window, the door of Johnny’s pickup swung open, causing the light to come on inside the cab, showing Johnny with his hat on cockeyed. He slipped out of the seat, closed the door, took a lurching step, and fell facedown, splashing brown water up in a wave.

When he did not get up, Etta said, “He’ll drown,” and started for the door.

She was outside when Latrice caught her arm and shoved a slicker at her. Etta threw it on even as she ran off the porch and out into the rain. Behind her, above the sound of the storm, she heard Latrice call loudly for God’s protection.

Johnny remained facedown in the big mud puddle, exactly like a dead body. Etta took hold of him beneath his left arm and jerked him upward, getting his face out of the water. Latrice, in Roy’s old canvas duster, reached them, took hold of Johnny beneath the opposite ann. Together, struggling through the sucking mud, with the rain plastering their hair to their heads and running into their eyes, they dragged him toward the barn. Etta was amazed that he weighed so much. She had not considered Johnny an overly large man.

Just inside the barn door, Latrice let loose, and then Etta did, too, dropping Johnny on his side. For a moment both women stood gazing at each other, gasping for breath. Then Latrice knelt and put her hand on Johnny’s chest. Etta leaned over her shoulder.

Latrice nodded. “He’s still breathin’.”

Relief washed over Etta. She stood looking down at Johnny’s muddy face and chest and hearing the pounding rain and feeling somewhat dazed.

Latrice said, “We brought him this far—we might as well get him into his bed.”

Each taking hold of him once again, they dragged Johnny toward his room.

“Why are we doin’ this?” Etta asked, her relief giving way to annoyance. She was out of breath and miserably wet and all for a drunken man. Her slippers would be totally ruined.

“Because we are Christians,” Latrice said, and not at all like she was happy about it.

Johnny gave out an, “Uhh” when they flopped him on his back on his bunk. Catching a strong whiff of whiskey, Etta had the urge to roll him off the bed and give him a good kick.

But then, after a look at his face, she insisted on wiping it off. “That mud might just cake up his nose,” she said, searching around for something to use—she settled on a sock. “I sure don’t want him to smother after all our efforts.”

She covered him with blankets, too, while Latrice looked on and frowned.

“If he catches pneumonia, guess who’ll end up nursin’ him, because we are Christian women,” Etta pointed out, deciding another blanket was called for.

The next morning Etta saw Johnny coming toward the house. She was at the stove, cooking the bacon. When it had begun to sizzle, she had opened the kitchen door, wondering if the aroma of cooking meat would bring Johnny, an action that made her impatient with herself.

She remained at the stove, while Latrice invited Johnny to sit at the table. With a quick glance she saw he was neatly dressed. He sat carefully, thanked Latrice for the coffee with a murmur, and drank of it deeply. When he glanced over at Etta, she turned quickly away.

Latrice took dishes out of the cabinets with a clatter and smacked them on the table, “How’s your head this mornin’, Mr. Bellah? You would have drowned last night out there in the mud, if we had not gone out there and dragged you into your bed.”

Johnny’s head jerked up and he looked from Latrice to Etta.

Then, flinching and averting his eyes, he said, “I thank you, ladies. I apologize for my behavior.”

“And well you should, young man,” Latrice said.

Etta didn’t say anything. She felt Johnny look at her, knew he wanted her to respond, but she refused.

She helped Latrice put breakfast on the table, and Johnny sat there and ate it. She imagined he was too uncertain of Latrice not to eat breakfast. He complimented them on the meal and thanked them effusively. He was desperate to please them, Etta saw. This was gratifying and strangely irritating at the same time.

His gaze met Etta’s as he stood and took up his hat from the top of the refrigerator, where he had formed the habit of tossing it. His silvery eyes were very sad and uncertain, and she felt a rush of emotion. Suddenly she had the urge to gather his head down upon her breast.

Quickly she averted her gaze.

She listened to his footsteps and the screen door creak as he left. Raising her eyes, she saw him as a shadow on the other side of the screen. His footsteps scraped on the porch, and his spurs jingled and the fresh morning air puffed into the room, seeming to bring the scent of dust stirred by his footsteps.

Etta wondered if he would leave now, drive away and never return.

Listening for his truck to start, she began to shake inside. She thought fervently that she had to give up that wondering. Getting through this time was hard enough, without waiting every second for Johnny Bellah to be gone.

Later, when she was out grooming Little Gus, Johnny came up to her. “I really want to apologize for what I did last night.”

Staring at her pale hand resting against Little Gus’s coppery coat, Etta said, “You don’t owe me an apology. It is none of my business at all what you do.”

Her gaze met his then, and she saw he looked like she had slapped him.

With a nod, he turned away, all slumped down, as if she had knocked the very breath from him.

She was sorry. She wanted to reach out to him. But she did not.

Johnny walked into the barn and over to where a pint bottle of whiskey was tucked on a wall board. He uncapped the bottle and raised it to his lips. He stopped. Then he drew back and threw the bottle with all his might against the wall, where it shattered. He stared at the stain and inhaled the sharp scent while all manner of thoughts crossed his mind, none of them hopeful.

Though Etta knew it was ridiculous to be annoyed with Johnny—admitted to herself that she had no right to annoyance—she remained highly annoyed. She recalled Johnny’s arms around her and his lips on hers and found herself having feelings she had not known a pregnant woman could have. She blamed Johnny for stirring them, and for disappointing her.

The disappointment was so heavy in her chest that she felt she had trouble breathing. Johnny had turned from her and then shown very poor behavior in getting drunk, which was a further turning. And as always, with such men as Johnny, the horse appeared to be the most important thing to him.

After Etta’s harsh words, Johnny kept to himself, until he discovered the empty grain barrel and that no more grain would be forthcoming.

“We can’t have that,” he said. “We’ve got to keep that red gelding on the rich feed.”

“There is pasture now that we’ve had rain, and we’ve got alfalfa,” Etta said.

Before she finished speaking, Johnny was shaking his head. “We can’t stop the feed now. It’d upset his digestion and everything.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I just don’t have any money for feed,” Etta said.

Johnny went out and bought a hundred pounds of the grain mixture, the price of which had been rising daily since the dry season.

His doing that embarrassed Etta terribly. It made her feel indebted to him, and a bit more afraid of losing Little Gus. It was like she was losing Little Gus to Johnny in pieces.

She did not see any way to stop Johnny from buying the feed, though. Even if she could put her foot down, she wouldn’t. Since Johnny’s comment, she had begun to fear for Little Gus’s digestion. Also, she didn’t want to disappoint Johnny.

The morning the coffee ran out, Etta decided there was nothing else to do but see if Overman’s Bright and White Grocery would continue their credit.

She dressed herself up in a skirt and blouse—in spring colors of yellow and white, her favorite of the number of maternity outfits she had splurged on during those first weeks after she had found out that she was pregnant. She put on lipstick and tied her hair back with a yellow ribbon, intending to go and be as charming and humbling as possible.