Plots and Pans (22 page)

Desta’s laughter brought her chin back up. “Maybe we’ll make my garden the first to cultivate corn … with conversation on the side!”

All those years of academy classes on clever discourse and genteel flirtation—wasted
. Jess marveled at her aunt’s version of witty repartee.
Some things can never be taught in a classroom
.

“Sounds like you’ll be serving up something special.” Tension eased from Ralph’s shoulders, his loosened stance edging his bulk a bit closer. “Tucker here can tell you, I never turn down a meal.”

Desta fairly glowed up at Ralph, while Tucker started to look uneasy for the first time in the conversation. He shifted his weight as though trying to find more room. Given his proximity to Ralph, who took up even more space now that he’d relaxed his rigid posture, that seemed a reasonable assumption. But something Jess pegged as concern crossed Tucker’s face, making her think he wanted to distance himself from the discussion, too.

Maybe it’s taken him this long to realize they’re talking about more than crops
. Jess corralled a smirk of her own, not wanting the other occupants of the room to misread her expression.
And now that there’s some kind of emotion attached, it unsettles him
.

She saw a chance to capitalize on his discomfort, cashing in on his awkwardness to earn some answers. Jess wasn’t about to let her suspicions lie fallow like that untouched patch of ground outside. Tucker swore it’d be worth the sacrifice, but what they planted would almost certainly wither in the heat. Obviously he stood to gain something else.
But what?

“I believe you don’t turn down meals, Ralph.” Jess kept her voice even and unthreatening. “What I’m hoping you can help me understand is why Tucker’s willing to sacrifice your assistance for the sake of a too-late garden.”

“I can’t rightly say, Miz Jess. Maybe just the satisfaction of knowin’ he’s got things squared away like yore father would’ve wanted.” Ralph paused respectfully at the mention of her father, and Jess was grateful he hadn’t plowed ahead. That extra moment meant she wouldn’t miss the rest of his words because the mention of her father still brought with it a cold shock of grief.

“Lotsa things got pushed back this year, but Tucker is a better-late-than-never sort of man. Even if he has to put somethin’ off, he still makes sure it gits done as soon as can be.”

“It’s our final chance, even if it does fail.” Tucker looked both abashed and determined. “We won’t have a second to spare once Ed gets home.”

Yes. Other things will change once Ed gets home
, she tried to reassure herself, doubt hollowing her stomach as it did every time she mentioned her brother’s return. It made the tiny, vicious voice from the back of her brain start wondering whether or not Ed would welcome her at all. It’d be the shock of his life to find her already ensconced at the Bar None when he thought she’d stayed in England—and the brother she remembered didn’t like surprises.

Jess swallowed and tried to recall the peace she’d felt up on the windmill, calming as she thought about the change she’d set in motion.
Even if Tucker were inclined to keep nipping at my heels, I laid down the law. And it looks like he actually listened, since he’s turning his focus back to getting the ranch caught up again
.

At that heartening thought, she wondered how he’d react if she excused herself from the kitchen and headed for the stables right then and there. Surely he wouldn’t dare tag along?
Maybe I’ll tell Aunt Desta not to bother with supper yet. I’ll grab a fishing pole and head for the old stunted oak to catch afresh supper instead
.

She eyed the trio standing with unnatural stillness near the shelves and tried to figure out how many fish she’d need to catch since Desta all but invited the men to dinner. Ralph alone would eat heaven-only-knew how many. Tucker couldn’t match his friend’s appetite and wouldn’t set the pace, but he’d do his best to keep up. The man couldn’t stand to be left behind or left out.

Which was why she wanted to test him by taking off.
Even if he’s inclined to buck my orders and ride along, he won’t have the time. By planting Ralph here to sow the garden, Tucker won’t have a moment to spare, much less hours to waste playing my new shadow
.

Her eyes fell on Ralph while she mused. The man took up most of the kitchen, so he naturally drew the eye—and suddenly Jess saw things clearly. She looked from Tucker to Ralph and back again, fuming.
I forbade Tucker from shadowing me, but he hasn’t abandoned the job. Instead he’s trying to outmaneuver me by delegating it!

Even worse, he thought he’d gotten away with it. Jess’s fingers curled with frustration as the entire plan took shape in her thoughts. No one planted a garden when it was nearly June, and she’d been absolutely right about Tucker not having manpower to lose right now. But for him the timing was perfect. In a couple of days, Ed would be home and could ostensibly take her in hand without Tucker dirtying his anymore.

But until then, he’d concocted a scheme to free up his time and still keep an eye on her. Ralph might make a garden, but his true work was making sure Jess didn’t fly free in Tucker’s absence. She opened her mouth to denounce their plot and tell them they couldn’t keep her cooped up like a willy-nilly peahen.

But Desta spoke first. “Well, I reckon we all know there’s gonna be plenty of changes ‘round here, so why don’t we start with a good’un? Jess and I’d be honored if you two would share our supper.”

Ralph’s enthusiastic acceptance overrode whatever Tucker muttered about how he might not make it back to the main grounds before supper. It also overrode Jess’s need to let them know they hadn’t fooled her. Watching Ralph and Desta fan their tail feathers and dance around made her realize there were worse things than letting someone think they got the best of her.

Like stealing away what’s best for someone I love
. Jess’s jaw unclenched, and her fingers uncurled as she looked at her aunt’s eyes, shining emerald bright. Exposing Tucker’s plot would make him cancel the whole thing, which meant Jess needed to consider her options.

Cut someone’s schemes short, or cut everyone a little slack
. Jess caught herself bristling at that one, since the whole group denied her any leeway while they reined her in. But a choice went deeper than the decision, so she looked at the reasons beneath:

Be selfish to appease my temper and call Tucker on the carpet—or be patient for Desta and give Ralph the chance to come calling
. Jess smiled. When you got to the heart of the matter, the only thing that mattered was the hearts involved.
I’ll table my temper and keep quiet long enough for Aunt Desta to cultivate that conversation
.

S
ay something!
Desta couldn’t figure whether the voice in her head and the voice in her heart joined forces to yell at her or if one of them was trying to holler at Ralph. Either way, her nerves jangled.

She and Ralph left Tucker and Jess in the kitchen to talk over whatever crossed their minds, which meant they’d be crossing a lot of other things before they got through. Swords if they could’ve reached such a pair of weapons, words since those could cut just as deep, and—though Desta hadn’t seen it firsthand as of yet, she felt sure the day would come—even crossed eyes when the whole hullabaloo got to be too much.

But however they chose to say it, at least those two were talking to each other instead of themselves. Desta couldn’t think of a single thing that didn’t sound false, forward, or flat-out silly, and Ralph showed no signs of opening a discussion. She started to sigh, caught herself, and glanced sideways to see if Ralph took notice of the odd, hiccuping sort of noise that came out instead.

“Thinkin’ on how you want to get on with things?” He gestured in the general direction of her garden and the barren plot beyond.

You got no idea
. Desta tightened her lips against the laugh, refusing to let loose another strange sound. It got harder the more she thought about it.
For all that back-and-forth about cultivating conversation, I sure don’t have much to get to work with!

“Always thinkin’ out how to get on with something or other, but as for the garden, Simon and I mapped it out ages ago. I’ll dig it out of his study for us to follow—wouldn’t set right to change anything now that he can’t have his say anymore.” She drew a shallow breath, unable to avoid the pricks of grief imbedded in the memory.

Funny thing about painful memories—once you got prepared for the pain in them, you stopped thinking of those times as often. Maybe that was how it worked; time wore away the sharp edges until even the worst memories slid alongside less hurtful ones. But grief for Simon was still fresh enough to catch her off guard—and often.

“Some folks like flowers, but Mr. Culpepper had a practical bent. I’m thinking he’d appreciate yore choice to honor his memory this way. Keeps a bit of him alive and growing alongside you.”

She sniffed again, comforted by his understanding. “I hadn’t thought of it like a tribute, but now I will. A place to think on him surrounded by life and plenty … we have to make sure it thrives.”

“Lotsa ways to go ’bout building something up,” he told her, “with only one way to tear it down. We’ll build this garden yore brother’s way, but lay the groundwork with extra-special care.”

“I don’t think I could stand it if ‘n I saw Simon’s memory garden full of withered, dying things,” she admitted. “So tear away anything that’s kept it from bearing fruit so we can start fresh.”

“Could say the same thing ’bout most folks I know needing a fresh start so they can make their days fruitful. Soil ain’t got soul, but the promise of either one can be buried beneath rough spots, thorny patches, and rocks until nothing good takes root.”

“You got a special way with explainin’ things. If ‘n you ever get tired chasin’ cows and don’t want to plow more fields, you might could consider preachin’.” Desta slanted a sideways glance at him and smiled.

“Readin’ catches me up most times,” he admitted. “Though if I sit with a pencil I can usually make sense of the words before me.”

“Making sense of scripture sometimes takes a lot more sense than regular reading folk can boast.” Desta paused, considering whether or not she should tell him she couldn’t read a lick. In the end, she decided to keep the focus on what she wanted to know about Ralph Runkle instead of what she didn’t like telling about herself.

“That don’t qualify me to preach. God’s got to call a man to that.” His voice, so deep it never seemed truly quiet, deepened another notch. “So I’ll be sticking around awhile longer.”

“Then we can settle this here garden!” She tried to leave it light and playful, but something prodded her toward honesty. “And I’m glad. Selfish though it may be, I’d hate to think I drove you off the very first time we talked.”

“You think atwixt the both of us, one or the other would’ve figured out a way to strike up an acquaintance long ago.” His message hit her heart-deep, and she breathed it in like air itself. “But I wouldn’t do it. Not when Tucker and Mr. Culpepper worked so hard to make sure the men wouldn’t dare to pester you. Me trailing around after you would give others the wrong idea and undo too much of yore protection. I couldn’t risk it. I wouldn’t risk you.”

“I can make up my own mind ’bout taking risks, Ralph Runkle.” She had to chide him, but the words lacked heat.
I held back, too
.

“Now things ‘round here is changing, yore more protected with the men knowing yore connection to the family, and having Miz Jess in the house helps keep things proper if ‘n I’m around. I thought that straight off when you two came to the mess hall—that now I might find a chance to get to know you better.” He grinned, and she did the same. “So now that we’re standing here, tell me about yoreself. Even after that announcement, yore still made up of mysteries.”

Not so much mysteries as secrets
. The light, joyous feeling he brought her began to evaporate as she tried to figure out what to tell him and how much she could venture before the old ghosts raised by the conversation haunted her once more.
Start slow and easy
.

“My mamma was mulatto.” Desta started with the obvious. “So with my father bein’ white, I’m what they call a quadroon.” Black enough to be a slave, too light to be accepted by the others. Quadroon seemed a good description, since it spoke to having her life parceled out in pieces that cut her off from everyone else.

“God decided what went into making you, and that’s all I need to know ’bout that. Pretty as you are, it ain’t yore hide that makes you who you are. That’s just the covering.” For the first time that day, Ralph’s smile disappeared. He suddenly seemed even bigger than before, staring down at her so fierce. “Don’t tell me about
what
you think you are, Desta. Tell me
who
you’ve grown into on the inside.”

Dumbstruck, Desta stared at him. Her heart softened and stretched toward the man standing in front of her, the sensation both a wonder and a warning. She fought to find the right words. “All my life, people seen my skin and thought they knew everything they needed or cared to know. Going deeper’s going to take some getting used to.” She hesitated. “It’s going to take some time.”

Ralph’s smile returned. “It takes time to grow anything worth keeping. I don’t mind the time spent cultivating our conversations, if it means we grow together. I’ll put in however long it takes.”