Pamela Morsi (22 page)

Dudley nodded. “It’s a deck of playing cards.”

Stuart whistled appreciatively.

“Where’d you get those?” Conrad asked.

The boy shrugged. “I got ‘em,” he answered simply.

It was almost possible to see the respect for Dudley grow in their eyes.

Joe passed the pipe to Conrad and held out his hand for the cards.

Dudley blithely handed them over as if they mattered to him almost not at all.

Joe slid the flat wooden lid out of its grooves and
then upended the contents of the box in his hand.

They were old and worn, yellowed, with corners frayed, but they were playing cards. Rans had never seen any close up. Of course, he was not about to say so.

“Are they all there?” Conrad asked. “It looks like a short deck to me.”

Dudley puffed up angrily, taking offense at his cousin’s suggestion. “They are all there,” he said. “Do you want to count ‘em?”

Conrad’s face immediately turned beet red. It was well known that he was extremely poor at ciphering. He just could never quite get a handle on the logic that if you had two bushel baskets on one side of the fence and two on the other, that you actually had four bushels. Dudley, being family, would naturally pick up on the weakness in a way that outsiders would be too polite to do.

Conrad took another couple of puffs on the pipe and handed it over to Rans.

He was not totally unfamiliar with tobacco. But his experience was not particularly positive. He’d made himself absolutely green on several occasions and had once burned his throat so badly he could hardly speak.

Gamely, he took a long draw and managed to let the smoke out slowly, suppressing a strong desire to cough. He glanced up confidently, only to discover that no one was paying his success any attention. They were completely focused upon the cards.

Rans tamped down his disappointment That was the way it should be, he decided. Men didn’t watch other men to see if they could smoke. It was understood that they did or did not by preference.

“Do you play much poker?” Joe asked Dudley.

“Sure,” Dudley answered with the enthusiasm of feigned confidence that so often accompanied lying.

“Oh, he don’t know the first thing about it,” Conrad told them snidely.

“I do so!” Dudley insisted.

“Oh yeah?” Conrad taunted. “Then you tell us: What’s an inside straight?”

Dudley hesitated, his big ears and the back of his neck both beginning to color up floridly.

Rans felt a sudden strong sense of protectiveness for Dudley. The boy was younger and therefore of little importance, but Rans understood how keenly a boy could need respect at his age. Rans himself was considerably wiser and more experienced. Having on occasion been the target of Conrad’s ridicule, he responded to a deep inner need to defend those he perceived as younger or weaker. He had no idea what an inside straight might be either, but he was pretty sure what it wasn’t. Like the cavalry coming in for the rescue, Rans lazily sat up and gave the older Samson boy a dismissive glance.

“We know what you think it is, Conrad,” he said. “You think it’s getting the cards all back in the box neatly.”

Howls of laughter erupted from the boys around him. Rans himself didn’t even smile. He knew it would be necessary to stare down Conrad, who would undoubtedly want to start something.

The portly older boy was head and shoulders taller than Rans and probably weighed more than double. But with his prickly pride and quick temper, Rans had of necessity become quite a scrapper. He had complete confidence in his ability to fight Conrad Samson. He
might not win, but Rans knew he could show himself well, take whatever the bigger fellow dished out, and that’s all that really counted for a man.

Conrad was apparently not as sure of himself and after a long, assessing look at Rans, decided to take the better part of valor. He pretended that it was a joke and chose to laugh rather than take offense.

When he did, Rans wisely laughed with him and the moment passed as a complete victory for the younger boy.

Stuart was shuffling the playing cards and began explaining the intricacies of poker.

“You betthat what you hold in your hand is what is better than what is in everybody else’s,” he said.

“What do we bet?” Dudley asked.

“Money,” Stu answered.

He looked around the group. Every one of them was shaking his head shamefaced Rans momentarily wished he had back the penny he put in the collection plate.

“Dudley, go gather some acorns,” Joe said.

“Acorns? What do you think I am? A squirrel?”

“We can use the acorns as if they were money,” Stu told him.

Reluctantly the boy headed for a nearby oak tree.

“The fellow with the cards is called the dealer.” The instruction went on. “Everybody gets dealt five cards. You can keep all five or throw any or all of them away and get more.”

Rans listened intently, trying to understand the gist of flushes, straights, and three of a kind Poker was a man’s game. He wanted to be able to play it.

When Dudley returned with his shirttail loaded
with acorns, Joe divvied them up evenly and they began to play.

At first Rans was unsure of what was better than what and made a lot of mistakes. He threw away cards he should have kept and kept those that he shouldn’t have. But slowly he began to get a feel for the game and discovered, to the surprise of himself and the rest of them, that he had amazing good luck.

He won hand after hand until his pile of acorns became a small mountain. Poor Dudley had to go back to the oak tree for more, while Rans continued to win. It was the most fun he could remember having in his whole life. Laughing, happy, he was delighted as deal after deal produced three aces or four deuces or his inside straight of four, five, six, seven, and eight.

It was not surprising that the other fellows didn’t find losing the game to be nearly as entertaining. When Delbert and Donald Pusser showed up, they gladly gave it up altogether.

To have the Pusser brothers in their presence was a great honor for the younger fellows. They were completely grown-up men, out in the world, running wild, drinking whiskey, up to no good most all the time. They were the undisputed envy of every boy between the ages of nine and nineteen. Amazingly, at least to Ransom’s thinking, they were not particularly admired among men of their own age.

“Don’t quit your game ‘cause of us,” Donald told them.

“Oh, it ain’t no fun, nohow,” Dudley complained. “Rails has done won all the acorns.”

His brother, Delbert, eyed Rans shrewdly. “So you’re a poker player, Toby?”

Rans shrugged.

“I enjoy betting on a card or two,” he answered with studied nonchalance.

He was thoroughly delighted to be singled out for attention by Delbert Pusser, but thought it best to act as if he really didn’t care.

“We saw you playing Wink-em with the girls,” Joe said, changing the subject.

Delbert shrugged. “Well, we’d a rather played shag-em,” he said. “But none of these Preaching Sunday gals ever want to play.”

The risqué comment brought great guffaws from all within hearing. Dirty talk was just one of the many things young fellows found to admire about the Pussers.

“No sirree,” Joe Browning stated in worldly-wise tone. “There ain’t much shagging getting done here in the Sweetwood.”

“Except by married folks,” Conrad pointed out.

“It ain’t shagging if they’s married,” Stu told him.

“It’s the same thing,” Conrad insisted. “It’s the same exact thing.”

Donald snorted. “Tell that to one of these men around here that’s been married ten years.”

More hoots of laughter ensued.

“I heared that you’ve been shagging that old whore down in Jarl,” Stu said.

“Where’d you hear a thing like that?” Delbert asked.

“Around, I just heared it, around,” Stu said.

“Round,” Donald piped in, teasing. “Why that’s the kindy heels that old whore has got. Round ones, easy to tip her on her back.”

The boys were all laughing once more.

“I heared you got the syphilis from her,” Stu continued.

His words brought an immediate hush. The young boys didn’t know that much about what venereal disease might be, but they had all been warned of the dangers of it.

“Not me,” Delbert answered. “I ain’t got syphilis. It’s Donald that’s got it.”

Donald raised his chin with an expression that was almost prideful.

“She gave it to me,” he joked. “Didn’t make no sense to give it back.”

The boys chuckled again, but this time a little less heartily.

“It ain’t much trouble,” he assured them. “I just get a little twinge with it now and again. And once you got it, you don’t need to worry no longer about getting it.”

That made sense to Rans. He knew that a man got syphilis from consorting with loose women. And consorting with loose women was something men did. Well, at least it was something that some men did. Certainly Mr. Leight never ran around with any round-heeled gals. And Rans had a powerful admiration for Mr. Leight.

Still, it seemed like fast living and fast women were a part of being a man. Rans didn’t want to bypass any aspect of manhood. He wasn’t that interested in gals at the moment. But he made a mental note to add them to his list of things he needed to know about.

Perhaps someday, he ruminated to himself proudly, he could sit around the group of men and brag that he had syphilis himself.

Donald turned to fix his gaze directly upon Rans.

“I bet you’ve been seeing, or at least hearing, some shagging around your place,” he said.

Rans was momentarily startled by the question. Almost immediately the image of what he’d seen as he happened upon Eulie and Moss that night in the kitchen came to his mind.

“Look at him, he’s blushing,” Conrad said nastily.

Rans couldn’t control the flush in his cheeks. But he could bridle his tongue.

“That Collier has always been downright finicky fellow when it comes to females,” Delbert added. “With as little shag-timing as he’s had, he’s probably wild having a woman within grabbing distance the clock around.”

His words brought more laughter from those around him.

“I bet they’re poking like a pair of rabbits,” Donald agreed.

Rans knew that it was all said in fun, but somehow it didn’t feel very amusing to him.

“That’s my sister you are talking about,” he said finally, sternly, with no less than a hint of implied threat in his tone.

In the eerie silence that followed every eye was upon him. Most stared in startled disbelief.

“You going to take on the Pusser brothers?”

Conrad’s question was both incredulous and taunting.

Rans had no words to answer. Starting something with the Pusser brothers was not at all like taking on Conrad Samson. Even if he lost a fight with Conrad, he’d be able to get in a few good blows and take only a minor beating. The Pusser brothers, however, could easily squash him like a summer mosquito. Still, he
had the right of it. They shouldn’t be talking about Eulie that way. He had the right of it and he was required as a man to uphold the right.

“You’d best keep my sister’s name out of your mouth,” he said.

Donald’s brow was furrowed, as if he didn’t quite understand what was happening. Delbert, however, was watching Rans with some interest. Fortunately, he did not look ready or eager to throw a punch.

“Rans here is right,” he said. “It is his sister and she’s married up fair and square. Even if its true that she got her baby before she got her vows.”

Rans didn’t know what to say about that. Eulie had made people believe that of her. He was in no position to try to proclaim the truth.

“Moss Collier and Eulie Toby,” Delbert said the names together as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “It’s hard to imagine them two as man and wife.”

“Maybe ‘cause you fancied Eulie for yourself,” Donald suggested.

Delbert looked at his brother as if the man had lost his mind. “I never fancied Eulie,” he said. “I had my eye on that Clara. She’s some looker. But if she prefers old bug-eyed Bug to me, well, I suspect she weren’t my sort at all.”

It was Rans’s turn to look incredulous. He could not imagine a fellow like Delbert Pusser giving his sister Clara so much as a second glance. Of course, Clara was pretty. But she was no fun-and-frolic gal, that was for certain.

“You know why I cain’t imagine them two as married?” Delbert said.

“Why not?”

“'Cause they didn’t get no shivaree.”

“How come they didn’t get one?” Joe asked.

“The preacher was against it,” Donald answered. “'Cause Collier was in such a temper, he was afraid that a shivaree would make it worse.”

“They got a pounding,” Rans pointed out.

“It ain’t the same,” Delbert said. “It ain’t the same at all.”

“It don’t seem much like a wedding without a shivaree,” Conrad agreed.

“Weddings are just so girlish,” Delbert said. “A shivaree is a man’s custom. It’s a tradition. No pair should get down the road with nothing to look back on but a few vows and a handful of posies.”

The wisdom of that spoke for itself. There were nods of agreement all around.

“We could still give them a shivaree,” Joe Browning said.

Every eye turned to look at him. Every head considered his words.

“You’re right,” Stu agreed. “There ain’t no time limit that says it’s got to be the first night.”

“No, they sure ain’t,” Donald said with certainty.

“They’ll have been wed four weeks tomorrow,” Conrad put in. “It’ll be kind of a remembrance or something.”

“Let’s do it,” Joe said. “Let’s do it today. Give them a shivaree here, this afternoon.”

The enthusiasm for the idea was unanimous. Now all that needed to be settled was what direction the event should take.

“We could tie him to that horse of his and make her lead him around,” Dudley suggested.

“Or we could tie them both to the horse backwards and send them on a wild ride.”

“Or we could …”

Delbert turned to his brother. “I knew there was a good reason why we brought the boat,” he said.

E
ULIE
was surprised at the pleasant turn of the afternoon. She had certainly looked forward to having her family together. She had dreamed with great longing what Preaching Sunday would be like with the Tobys reunited. But she had not, in all her schemings and imaginings, thought about how delightful, pleasant and just plain fun it could be to be a new bride—a new bride with a doting husband-man beside her.

Playing Wink-em had been a joy. They’d laughed and laughed. Moss Collier had a wonderful, deep-throated laugh. The sound went through her in some curious way and warmed her heart. From his own admission, Moss did not laugh a lot. Eulie decided that it was her mission, for the few more weeks that he was here, to see that he laughed every day.

After the game was over, she fully expected him to go on about his business. He would stand around jawing with the other men and she would wander around to check on the children and then settle herself among one of the small circles of women to do handwork and make idle chatter.

But that was clearly not to be. The husband-man took her arm and they strolled among the crowd
together. It was wonderful to walk next to him, to have him tall, broad-shouldered and so masculine, at her side.

He was probably uncomfortable, she told herself. Although he did know nearly every person who was there, he had never been a frequent attendee of Sunday service. Undoubtedly he was ill at ease and required her presence to relax. However, that was not at all how he behaved. One would get the impression from watching and listening to him that he actually preferred her company to anyone else’s. Surely that could not be true.

They talked with Lathe Dickson about fall molasses making. Moss didn’t own his own mill and typically transported his sorghum to the Dicksons', where he traded a day’s labor for the pressing. To her amazement, Moss discussed the matter as if he fully intended to still be in the Sweetwood when the time came. That would be September at the very earliest, and in lots of years, the seed tassels on the cane wouldn’t brown up until well into October. She supposed that he was striking a bargain on behalf of her and the children.

When they stepped away, Eulie asked him about it.

“It seems almost unfair to hope that Mr. Dickson would accept a day of my labor or the children’s as equal to that of yours,” she said.

Moss appeared startled. It was as if he’d forgotten that he was leaving.

“We’ll work something out,” he assured her.

They stopped and chatted with Yeoman Browning for several minutes. Eulie felt very much as if she were in the way. It wasn’t just that the talk was of wood traces and tracking. Yeoman, who had been an acquaintance
of hers for years, was now suddenly embarrassed to be around her. It was, of course, easily attributable to her terrible scheme to trap the husband-man. Yeoman was a friend of Moss’s. And he’d been forced to be a part of a wedding that Moss clearly had not wanted.

Eulie tried more than once to simply step away and let the men talk in private, but the husband-man slipped his arm around her waist and kept her firmly at his side. Eulie didn’t understand his reasoning, but suspected that he wanted to get all the uneasiness over with. So she stood there, smiling as serenely as possible, as the two men discussed hunting.

“I saw a big rub up on Spider Bald,” Yeoman told him. “It’s that same brown, I’m sure of it.”

“The one you’ve been trailing all summer?” Moss asked.

Yeoman nodded. “I don’t have no time to go after him between now and the end of the season, but I was thinking that once my crop is in, I might just run him to ground.”

“If you can catch him just before he settles in for winter, he’ll be sluggish and easier to bring down,” Moss pointed out.

Yeoman nodded. “Sounds like a good plan,” he said. “You want to go with me? He’s plenty big enough to share.”

“It’s mighty tempting,” Moss admitted. “If I can get everything caught up around the place, maybe I could take a day or two.”

“A nice, juicy bear steak sure would go down easy this winter,” his friend said.

Moss nodded. “And there is no finer eating in this
world than a big hunk of fresh, light bread sopping up bear grease.”

“Mmmm,” Yeoman agreed.

“You men,” Eulie teased. “It’s hardly halfway to suppertime and you’re already making hunger noises.”

The two laughed.

“Do you think there is any of that cobbler left?” Moss asked her. “Maybe they’d let me have another piece.”

As they moved in that direction, Eulie questioned him. “So bear is one of your favorite foods?”

He nodded.

“It’s such a sweet meat and not a bit gamy,” he said.

Eulie couldn’t help but agree. “Mr. Pierce killed a bear and brought us a fine haunch of it the autumn when Mama was sick,” she said. “It sure tasted mighty good.”

Moss smiled down at her. “Well, maybe Yeoman and I will bring him down.”

“I hope so,” she said.

Obviously he was going to stay long enough to go bear hunting as well as getting the crop in, building a root cellar, and making molasses. With all that he was planning, Moss was going to be lucky to get headed toward Texas by midwinter.

“Do you think they have bears in Texas?” she asked.

Moss was surprised at the question, and his brow furrowed thoughtfully.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I never thought about it. Every place has bears, doesn’t it?”

Eulie shrugged. “I couldn’t say. I’ve never been anyplace but here,” she reminded him.

“They must have some kind of bears,” he said.

“If it’s all grass and no trees,” Eulie pointed out, “I don’t know where the bears would hide.”

Moss considered that for a long moment.

“Maybe they hide behind the buffalo,” he said.

Eulie giggled delightedly. “Are buffalo that big?” she asked.

Moss shook his head. “You’ve seen as many of them as I have,” he told her, laughing.

It was at that moment that her attention was captured by a movement across the clearing. The Pusser brothers were hurrying toward them with a trail of young boys following in their wake.

The oddness of the moment was such that Eulie was momentarily frightened. Perhaps something had happened to one of the children.

“What is it?” Moss asked.

Before she could answer, he’d turned to see for himself.

The little group of men and boys were running toward them now. One of the Pusser brothers was carrying a rope.

“Shivaree!” someone cried out.

There was hardly enough time for it to be considered a warning. Almost immediately, somebody grabbed Moss. They held his wrists and pulled his arms behind his back.

“What are you doing?” Eulie protested. “What are you doing?”

“Shivaree!” somebody shouted again, as if that answered everything.

Moss was struggling, kicking and fighting, a half dozen men and boys trying to hold on to him. Eulie took her cue from that. Throwing herself at Donald
Pusser’s back, she began flailing at the man with all her might. With one hand he dusted her off of him as if she were a pesky gnat. She landed on the ground with a thud, but immediately she was on her feet.

She saw Rans in the crowd and her heart lightened.

“Help me,” she called out to him.

It was at that moment that she realized that her brother was actually a part of the horde that had set upon them.

Eulie glanced around, looking for aid. Every person in the clearing was on their feet. Everyone was watching. Some had expressions of concern, but for the most part they were grinning or laughing. This was a shivaree. This was a mountain tradition for newlyweds. This was supposed to be fun.

Moss was yelling, cursing, threatening them, so they gagged him with a worn pocket handkerchief. They tied him tighter than a hog ready for the scalding tank, his wrists and ankles snugly bound so that he could make very little movement at all.

“Let’s go,” Delbert said. “We got him now. Stretch him out and raise him up.”

The band of attackers raised him up lengthwise to their shoulders. Moss had given up struggling, apparently deciding that allowing them to take him where they’d planned might be better than wiggling out of their grasp and being dropped upon the ground.

Eulie followed them, protesting one minute and pleading for assistance the next. No one came to her aid.

The chant of “Shivaree, shivaree,” seemed to ward off any concern the folks around them had for Moss Collier’s safety. They paraded him through the clearing
to give all the folks in the Sweetwood a close look at what was happening. The fact that they did not come forward or offer assistance made them tacitly part of the event, which was far older than anyone in attendance.

The shivaree was the community’s way of helping to forge a strong, lasting bond between a couple just wed. Nothing could do that quicker than setting up a situation of mock danger and forcing the newlyweds to face mutual enemies. It was a time-honored way to teach two individuals accustomed in life to thinking of themselves as
me
and
you
into seeing the world as
us
and
them.

They began heading for the river laughing, chanting, suggesting that they intended to see if he could swim.

Eulie’s heart flew to her throat. If they threw him in the water tied up that way, he would very likely drown.

“Let him go,” she pleaded. “Don’t hurt him. We’ve been married a month. We don’t need a shivaree.”

Her words fell on deaf ears. When they reached the river, Eulie saw a small, flat-bottomed boat waiting at the water’s edge.

They cast him into the boat. He squirmed into a sitting position immediately and began struggling against his bonds once more.

Eulie hurried forward to help him.

It was with some surprise that Eulie felt Delbert Pusser grab her. She expected that she’d probably be kept from helping Moss, but she hadn’t anticipated actually being held. Delbert pulled her wrists behind her back, and she cried out.

“Where’s the other rope?” Delbert called out to someone behind them.

Eulie felt the rough scratch of braided cord tighten against her wrists.

“What are you doing? Stop this! Stop it!”

Desperately she kicked at her captors as the other end of the rope was wrapped around her ankles. She caught young Joe Browning right in the mouth and felled him like a tree.

“She busted my lip,” he complained.

The other fellows laughed heartily.

“No wonder Collier got the wedding night before the wedding,” Donald Pusser said. “She’s one feisty little spitfire.”

She saw Moss, struggling in the boat, jerking at his bonds as she screamed her protests.

A moment later, a big, work-muscled arm stayed Pusser’s hand.

“Let her go.”

Bug stood in the midst of them, his voice so low and cold the threat was unmistakable “You don’t harm the bride,” he said. “Shivarees don’t harm the bride.”

“We’re not about to harm anyone,” Delbert assured him. “We’re just going to drop them at the island for a delayed honeymoon.”

Bug considered Pusser’s words for a long minute.

“I’ll tie her,” he said finally.

“All right!” Pusser cheered him.

Bug lightly looped the rope upon Eulie’s wrists and then scooped her up as if she weighed nothing and carried her to the boat. He set her gently beside her husband before pulling the rag out of Moss’s mouth.

“If you don’t get home tonight, I’ll bring a boat to fetch you first thing in the morning,” he promised.

“Thanks,” Moss told him.

Donald waded out to the back of the boat and climbed in, taking up the paddle. Delbert pushed the bow off into the water and jumped aboard. They were out in the middle of the stream in no time and were able to allow the current to carry them downstream with only the token use of paddles.

“You just sit there nice and still now, Collier. No fast moves,” Delbert said to Moss by way of warning. “You may not give a whit about drenching you and me, but this little gal of yours will sure have a tough time swimming to the bank all bound and hobbled like she is.”

Moss kept still.

“If anything happens to her, Pusser,” the husband-man said, “if she even so much as gets a bruise, I’ll beat you to within an inch of your life.”

“Whewee! Did you hear that, Donald?” Pusser answered, with high humor. “Collier’s done got himself lovestruck here. He’s going to pummel me if she so much as gets a bruise.”

“That sounds like pussy-trailing to me,” his brother replied. “I kind of like to see a little black and blue on my women. It’s like marks of ownership.”

Moss twisted sideways to look over his shoulder at Donald. “You touch my wife and you’re dead,” he told the loudmouth with stone-cold certainty.

Donald jerked the paddle out of the water, and for a moment, Eulie thought he was going to hit Moss with it.

Desert’s laughter forestalled him. “He is just full of threats, ain’t he? Don’t pay him no mind.” As Donald eased his paddle back into the water, Delbert spoke to Moss. “This is a shivaree, Collier, not a kidnapping.
We ain’t about to hurt you or your little gal.”

The island, a small stretch of land in the wide, lazy part of the river just above Big Fork, was little more of a sandbar with a stand of oaks and willows. But it figured frequently in tall tales and ghost stories told to younger children. Eulie had never been there, but she wasn’t frightened about going. As long as she was with Moss, somehow everything would be fine.

“I’m sorry,” he said to her, as if he should have been able to prevent the Pusser brothers from undertaking the shivaree.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. And she knew it was true. At his side, she would not be afraid to go anywhere.

The boat traveled downstream as she and Moss tried to talk them out of their plan.

“We can’t just go off together on some shivaree,” Eulie told them. “We’ve got a family. Five youngers that depend upon us. And Uncle Jeptha, too. He’s a war veteran.”

“You’ve already had your fun,” Moss pointed out. “And everybody saw you get the best of me. It really won’t make any difference whether you leave us on the island or let us off on the yonder bank.”