Plots and Pans (17 page)

He couldn’t let her continue trying her hand at new things—or even old skills only half remembered—if it meant she’d hurt that hand. Or any part of her.

Except maybe her feelings
. For all the talk about soft skin, a woman’s feelings seemed easiest to bruise. He grimaced. At some point after breakfast he’d been tempted to count the number of times the womenfolk cried or barely kept from crying—only to let loose a few moments later. Between Miss Desta and Jessalyn, they’d wasted more water than a leaky washbasin.

He knew clear down to his bones that calm and quiet wouldn’t be nearly as common as they had been just last week. Tucker would tell her something she didn’t like, or she’d do something foolish, and they’d be bickering long before Ed showed up. It didn’t take a particularly tall man to see that far ahead.

Tucker shook his head and tried to stuff thoughts of Jessalyn to the back burner. Now wasn’t the time to try and anticipate the next argument—no man could predict what would ruffle a woman’s feathers under the best of circumstances. For now, he needed to go check on the farthest windmill and try to find where it was creaking.

Then he’d need to make sure the flat area he’d marked for the last day of roundup hadn’t flooded from yesterday’s storm. And if he found a spare minute, he’d assign someone to check the eastern stretch and make sure no cows got stuck in that prickly patch.

Yessir
. There was plenty to do on a ranch, and Tucker Carmichael planned to keep so busy that Jessalyn Culpepper didn’t cross his mind until they crossed paths—and maybe words—again.

N
ot again!” Jessalyn pulled out the needle and stuck her finger in her mouth. Good thing they’d picked a dark skirt. Black wool might not be particularly pretty, but it didn’t show stains and made an appropriate choice for mourning.

“Didn’t they teach you how ta sew at them fancy schools?” Desta clucked her tongue and kept drawing her own needle in even, rhythmic stitches.

Jess shrugged. “They taught me to sew, but I’ve never mastered the fine art of sitting still. The sun’s been shining all day in an invitation I couldn’t accept. Now it’s packing in and setting for the night, and I missed it. My first beautiful day on the ranch, and I stayed cooped up like a chuckleheaded chicken.”

Desta let loose a chuckle of her own. “You do have a way with words, but I understand yore disappointed. Tomorrow you can go for another ride in any one of yore three clean sets of split skirts.” She lifted the finished item and gave it a good shake, loosening any wrinkles before carefully folding.

Chastened, Jess followed her aunt into the kitchen where the scent of three custard pies baking in the oven made her mouth water.

“I’ve waited so many years to be back, it’s silly to think I could soak it all in the first day anyway.” Jess grabbed a dishcloth.

“Mmmmhmmm.” Padding her palm with a cloth of her own, Desta tugged open the oven door, peeked inside, and opened it wide. Together they pulled the pies from the oven and set them to cool. Her aunt didn’t seem eager to leave the warmth and aroma of the kitchen, so they sat down at the butcher-block baking table.

“I know ‘zactly what yore talking about, wanting to take every-thin’ in at once.” Desta ran a palm over the thick wooden tabletop, smoothing the scars left by knives and hot pans. “There come a day I waited for my whole life. I remember it well. When freedom came, my eyes didn’t seem big enough to see the world in a whole new way.”

Nothing could have convinced Jess to interrupt. Here was her aunt’s heart, laid bare and needing to be loved. She hoped Tucker held off for a while longer to pick them up, until Desta was ready to take that next step away from the chains of the past.

“I goggled anyway, trying to take it all in.” A bittersweet smile sketched across her lips. “Even the most common thing takes on a new light when you’ve waited on it.”

“That’s how I feel,” Jess agreed then sucked in a breath.
Is it all right to agree? Seven years made me long for the silliest little details, but that’s nothing compared to being born with no freedom
. How many years did Aunt Desta wait before the Emancipation Proclamation? Then another two years to end the War between the States. How long did she have to accept that other people ordered her life and she couldn’t be her own woman?

“Don’t poker up on me, child.” Desta slanted on her stool to nudge Jess with her shoulder. “I wasn’t tryin’ to take away yore feelings or yore rights to them. Thought it might do you good to know somebody understands and even shares some.”

“It does more good than you know.” She hesitated then plunged ahead. “Didn’t mean to poker up on you, but for all the years I thought of schools as penitentiaries and called them cages, I was wrong. Even on the worst of days, I wouldn’t have thought to compare it to the way you grew up. When you were talking, I didn’t want to interrupt because there’s so much I don’t know about you, so many questions that seem rude to ask.”

Desta rubbed a rough spot on the lip of the table. “I don’t mind you asking, and if ‘n sometimes I mind answering just then, you can let me think on it awhile longer until I’m ready. We’ll do fine thataway.”

“I can do that, so long as you’re not offended.” Once she started talking, the words poured out fast and furious. “I didn’t want to belittle your struggle by comparing our lives. It feels fine if you want to, but presumptuous for me to even think that way.”

“You wanna know the worst part of bein’ a slave?” Desta stopped running her fingers across the table, pinning Jess with the force of her full attention. “It’s prob’ly not what you’d expect, though I won’t play and make you guess.”

“Being separated from your family.” The answer popped out before Jess even considered it. Only when she heard herself say it did she realize she was talking about her own struggle as much as guessing about her aunt’s.

“Many of my people lived that out, but it wasn’t my cross to bear.” They sat in silence for a moment, paying respect to those who’d suffered so, seeing their families torn apart.

“Suddenly strikes me that plenty of former slaves might choose a different answer, and they’d all be ev’ry bit as right as me. I shoulda said the worst part for me.”

“No need to split hairs. Speaking from the heart means it’s personal. It doesn’t rope in anyone else’s opinion. If you want to say what crossed your mind, I’m still listening.”

“All right. You were talking about how you didn’t want to compare our lives. And I know you meant it out of respect, but to me that’s a terrible thing. Most of my life, people wouldn’t think to compare my life with theirs. Because they were different. Because I was different.” Her jaw worked and eyes shone, but she kept on. “And the more differences they heaped between us, the more comfortable they felt keeping me at a distance. You see … when you stop looking for what you have in common with other people, it’s the first step to not seeing them as people a’tal.”

Jess couldn’t speak. There were no words good enough to give.

Aunt Desta wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron, hiding her face until she was ready to finish. “Slavery took the freedom of thousands. But the real power behind it all—the real horror—was how it stole away our very humanity. You think it’s presumption to think we share things in common—I think it’s a gift to want to understand each other.”

“You’re the gift.” She wrapped her arms around her aunt and held her tight. “That’s the easiest thing to understand, and also the best. We can take our time figuring out the rest.”

“That’s what I started out trying to tell you.” Desta drew back and raised a hand to cup Jess’s cheek. “After you been dreamin’ on something for so long, it’s only natural to want to take it all in at once. But if you try, you’ll miss some of the smaller, more special parts.”

“The best parts,” Jess agreed.

“Right. So take yore time letting life unfold. You’ll enjoy it more.”

“We could enjoy these right now and go visit the mess hall tomorrow night,” Tucker suggested. He didn’t think for half a second the women would revise their plans so he could eat more pie, but the luscious look of those custard treats, baked golden brown, beckoned. No man worth the name wouldn’t at least try to claim an extra share.

Or two. Or maybe an entire pie all to himself.

“Best not start sounding greedy, or you’ll miss out.” Desta shook a finger at him. “‘Specially seein’ as how you filled up on my flapjacks this morning, and the other men got nothing more than breakfast as usual.”

She looked serious, so Tucker settled on flattery. “Fine flapjacks, too. Instead of getting riled that I’m slavering for another taste of your baking, you should see it as a compliment.”

He made sure to say “baking” because while he had no problems offering a sincere compliment if the conversation called for it, he wouldn’t stoop to outright falsehood. Not even for pie.

“Wouldja listen to Mr. Tucker trying to sweet-talk his way into dessert!” Desta teased. “I never thought he hid a silver tongue.”

“He keeps it hidden.” Jessalyn smoothed the front of her apron and joined in. “It’s hard to see any silver under so much slobber!”

“Slobber?” Revolted, Tucker stopped eyeing the pies. “We don’t use that word for people much. Calves get the slobbers—and let me tell you, it’s not a pretty picture.”

“I know!” She hooted, and Desta joined in. Since their laughter made a big improvement from the morning’s weeping, he played along.

“Are you done insulting me?” he grumbled. “I can’t have you calling me greedy or saying I’ve got the slobbers around the other men. No undermining the foreman’s dignity.”

They were all funning around, but it seemed a good idea to work in the warning. Jessalyn in particular might well need a reminder before he let her within earshot of the others.

“It’s not your dignity we’ll be undermining if you try and sneak off with that pie.” She slid one of the tins into his hands and picked up another, leaving Desta to carry the third. “It’s your sweet tooth.”

“Children have sweet teeth. Men have appetites.” As soon as he said it, the words chased themselves around, clanging against his ears with a bad note. It was too much to hope the women wouldn’t notice. Their eyes sparkled and mouths opened at the same time, savoring his misspoken phrase.

He glowered at them. “Don’t say it. If you want this pie to make it out of this kitchen in one piece, let it slide.” His warning fell on deaf ears. Neither woman could hear him through the sound of their cackles.

“Sweet teeth?!” they chorused, delighted and disbelieving.

“I’ve heard something can be lip-smacking, finger-licking good,” Jess gasped, “but teeth-tasting is a new one. Sweet teeth …”

“You know ‘tooths’ isn’t a word,” he defended himself, if somewhat sheepishly. “It didn’t sound right either way, so I chose good grammar.”

“Reading rules don’t much apply to sayin’s,” Desta told him. “Part of the reason I like ’em so much.”

Tucker muttered one of his favorites. “The old one saying not to go around ‘brayin’ like a jackass eatin’ cactus’ comes to mind.”

“Such language!” Jessalyn’s eyes sparkled with mirth, but she sounded genuinely surprised. Looked like the lady lessons finally kicked in.

“It’s another term for donkey,” he elaborated. “But it’s not funny to say it that way. That’s all.”

“I knew what you meant. But you say you don’t slobber, and I say ladies don’t bray.”

“Leastwise, we don’t,” Desta agreed. “Though I’ve met a few women who put me in mind of mules more’n once in my life. Course, mule-headed men outnumber those without even trying!”

Mule-headed
. Tucker compared it to his earlier thoughts on the nature of stubbornness and couldn’t help but grin. Little wonder the Good Book stuck to all those
p
words. Perseverance sounded much more virtuous.

“Well, if you want introductions to the men on the ranch so you can decide whether or not they fit that description, we’d better get a move on. Every minute spent dillydallying around is another chance for me to find a fork.”

Finally the women decided they were ready. As they ambled over to the mess hall, where he’d told the men to grab a seat for supper and stay put after they’d finished, Tucker breathed in the scent of custard. It was enough to make a man forgive the extra time waiting on the women. He looked at the pie, glanced over at Jessalyn, and nodded to himself.

Yep.
Some things are just worth waiting for
.

W
ait one second.” Desta’s request brought everyone up short about four paces from the front of the mess hall.

Jess fidgeted. It felt like she’d been doing nothing but waiting—and some sewing, which didn’t improve the time or speed things up any—all day. Until she met the ranch hands, she wouldn’t be able to roam freely around the Bar None. If it weren’t for the way her aunt confided in her earlier and how nervous Desta looked now, Jess would’ve protested this delay.

“Something wrong?” Tucker tilted his head the same way an animal perked its ears, straining to hear telltale signs of trouble.