Someone Like You (12 page)

Chapter Twelve

Reed was up well before daylight. He finished the morning chores early, then went to see how Violette was feeling. At least that’s the story he wanted everyone to believe. Of course, he knew that Violette would be feeling fine—a little headache, perhaps, but otherwise fine. What he really wanted was to see Susannah.

He spotted her before he reached the house. She was hard to miss, bathed in the yellow light of dawn, talking to Peony as she led the milk cow up from the pasture, picking her way across the wet grass like a dancer. Behind her the sun spread out like a halo on the horizon. The early morning air was crisp and fragrant with the smell of damp grass and the heavy sweetness of honeysuckle in bloom. A mockingbird in the mulberry bush, filling the air with the celebration of his song, seemed as carried away with the moment as Reed was.

She stepped like a ballerina, her movements lissome, smooth, and elegant, yet artless. Her motions flowed in perfect rhythm, each movement with a purpose, creating a dance he had never seen before. How unaffected she was now, how childlike and natural. He had never seen her like this, because, he realized, she allowed the beauty of her soul to shine forth only when she was alone.

He wanted to see more of this real, expressive, and emotional Susannah, so he stayed where he was, partly obscured by the wagon, content to observe her until she sensed his presence.

Just outside the gate, Peony stopped and stretched out her neck, letting loose with a long, mellow
moooooo
, which must have delighted Susannah, for she threw her arms around the cow’s neck and began to laugh. Never had he heard such laughter from her. Gay. Spontaneous. Heartfelt. Beautiful. He wanted to capture it, to hold it in reserve for the time when he knew there would be no Susannah in his life. But he could dream…
If I had someone like you.

Susannah removed her arms from around Peony’s neck. She took up the lead rope and began to dance ahead of the cow, singing, leaping, twirling, then bouncing back to give Peony a few words of endearing encouragement. It occurred to him that her body was speaking for her, that there was power there and the ability to say and be all the things that Susannah could not, would not allow herself to show. Her soul was wild and free, just as her body had the ability and desire to be. It was her mind that was frozen.

Question was, why?

A rooster on the fence behind him crowed. He heard the flapping of Daffy’s wings and then a crash followed by a dazed honk. Normally he would have looked and more than likely laughed. But not today. Today all his attention was for Susannah, only Susannah.

He saw her glance in the direction of the commotion and freeze when she caught sight of him. Right before his eyes her naturalness and childlike manner vanished. In their place was the rigidly controlled woman he knew. He walked up to her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Your chores—”

“Are all done. I was up early.”

“You look like a man with a mission. Where are you off to now?”

“I’m on my way up to your house to see how your aunt is faring.”

“Aunt Violette is fine. I don’t think it’s a good idea to disturb her.”

He started to say something, then realized he could not. To say more would cause her to ask questions, and when that happened, he might reveal things about himself better left where they belonged—in the past.

He realized all of a sudden just how alike they really were. There was something in her past that she kept hidden away, too, something that made her strive against her true nature, no matter what the cost. By not allowing her past to speak out, she became silent and this silence had quieted her very soul. Quieted the joy, the gaiety, the laughter. She was a peacock who thought herself a sparrow. How long, he wondered, could she keep up the pretense?

Not that he was casting stones at her—far from it, for he carried too similar a burden. But whereas she closed her eyes to her burden, he had opted to run from his. How strange that he had to see her blindness before he could see his own. Now that he saw it, he did not know what to do about it. Running was all he knew. It helped him forget, at least for a while.

“Why are you staring at me like that? Is something wrong?”

Shaken out of his daze, he realized she had spoken. All he could manage was a weak, “What?”

Peony tossed her head and Susannah calmed her. It was obvious that Susannah was a bit put out with him, and she let it show. “I asked what you were staring at. You were looking a hole through me.”

“I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.”

“You were lost all right. It didn’t look like there was anyone there for a moment.”

Reed wanted to laugh outright. If only she knew there hadn’t been anyone there for a long, long time… He had been dead inside for years, and yet, observing her a moment ago and standing here with her now he perceived a slight thread of remembrance, a fragrance he had smelled before, a road he had traveled down once, long ago.

He forced out his words, trying to make them sound light. “It’s a bad habit of mine—this tendency to lose myself to the point I’m not aware of anyone or anything around me.”

“What were you thinking?”

“I was remembering something.”

“From the painful past?”

“Is that how you see the past? As painful?”

She rolled Peony’s lead rope around her hand, obviously agitated. “Don’t put words into my mouth.”

“I was curious, that’s all.”

“Curious people have bad memories.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

“I am merely repeating what I’ve heard.”

“I’ve heard it said that curiosity is a keyhole to which many an eye is pasted. Much as I hate to admit it, curiosity is another fault of mine. Alas! In less than five minutes you’ve discovered two of my faults.”

She wasn’t amused. “I’m not interested in your faults. I’ve got Peony to milk.”

“Ah yes, Peony. The cow with the unusual name. Did you name her?”

“Aunt Violette did.”

He smiled.

“You find that funny?”

“In a way, I suppose I do. It is when she is most amusing that I am reminded of what a remarkable woman your aunt is. An original. A bundle of delightful eccentricities.”

She stroked Peony’s neck and fixed him with a bewildered look. “Sometimes you speak strangely. You use words ordinary people don’t use. It could be because of where you come from, but I don’t think so. There is something else that makes you different. I don’t know what it is yet, but I intend to find out.”

“I was trying to say that your aunt is different. She’s herself. She never does anything in exactly the way one expects, or the way everyone else does it. Not even when naming her farm animals.”

Her eyes were suddenly bright and full of warmth. “Her soul is afire with a wild sort of joy.”

“You are very close to her, aren’t you?”

“I adore her. I owe her so much. She has been like a mother to me. I cannot imagine what my life would have been like without her. Of course, I love Aunt Dally and I don’t mean to slight her in the least. It’s just that Aunt Vi… I will miss her terribly when she is gone.”

Her tone touched him. She touched him. He wanted to touch her in return, and not only in the physical sense. She looked so fresh now, so pure standing there in her plain blue dress. “You will always have a part of her that will live in your memories, in the things she taught you.”

“Yes, she has left deep footprints. They will be easy to follow.”

He absorbed her words and thought about what she had said. “You have a knack for expressing yourself and a wisdom far beyond your age.”

“Humph! It isn’t age that gives one wisdom, but experience.”

“And you’ve had a lot, I imagine?”

She paused for so long that, not wanting to keep his gaze on her face, he had time to fix in his mind the exact slope of her neck, the narrow shoulders, the dusting of blond hairs on her arm, the taper of her waist, the flare of her hips, and every detail of the things in between.

“I’ve had enough.”

A reply came swiftly to his lips, but he was never able to utter it, for at that moment Peony shook her head violently, her bell clanging to signal the end of her patience and their conversation, or at least Susannah must have thought so, for she said, “I must get the milking done. Excuse me.”

She tugged at Peony’s lead and started around Reed, close enough now that he could have reached out and touched the enchanting curve of her cheek. He knew better, of course, so he had to be content to watch her, which he did for some time, until she disappeared behind the darkness that lurked behind the barn door. It was only after she was gone that he whispered the poetic words he had learned long ago—words that had held no meaning for him until now.
Many a flower is born to blush unseen, and waste its sweetness on the desert air.

He stood where he was for some time, staring at the last place he had seen her, as if doing so would prolong his time with her. The yellow light of dawn grew brighter. The rooster crowed as he had earlier, only this time his cries were not punctuated by the flapping of Daffy’s wings. In the mulberry bush, the mockingbird went on with his song.

Everything was as it had been before. And yet it was different.

Reed waited around a bit; then, in spite of what she had said about not disturbing her aunt, he walked on to the house. When he stepped onto the back porch, he saw Dahlia sitting in a rocker. She was sorting through a basket of greenery at her side.

“Good morning,” he said, eyeing a red mark on her arm. “Did you burn yourself?”

Dahlia didn’t look up. “Burned it last night when the kerosene lamp fell off the table, not that anyone cares.”

“The kerosene lamp? Are you sure? I was told we were all out of kerosene. Susannah said you’d been burning candles since last Monday.”

Dahlia finished tying a bundle of wild buckwheat, but he didn’t miss her quick glance in his direction, or the subdued voice when she spoke. “Maybe I burned it on the stove, then.”

He forced himself not to smile. “It’s a pretty nasty burn. Have you put anything on it?” He asked this even though he knew she had doctored it thoroughly with one of her remedies.

“What do you take me for? A fool? Course I did.”

“With what?”

She tilted her head to one side and gave him a look that didn’t come within a hundred miles of trust. “Why do you want to know?”

“I just wanted to make sure you put something on there that will keep it from getting infected. You…”

“Boiled onions and salt,” she said, not really listening to him. “Then I used elderberry bark mixed with fat. This morning I made creosote tea and mixed it with badger oil.”

“Good God! You drank it?”

“Now why would I do a stupid thing like that? What do you take me for, an idiot? The burn is on my arm.”

Reed shrugged. “Good.” He looked toward the kitchen door. “Is Violette up?”

“Of course she’s up. You think she’s a lady of leisure?” She paused. “What do you want with Vi?”

“Just checking to see how she’s feeling.”

“Like she had too much port, how else?”

He knocked on the door anyway. “I want her to know I’m concerned.”

“If that’s all you’re about, I can tell her.”

“I want to tell her myself.”

“Oh, go on in, since that’s what you want to do anyway. Don’t know why you wasted all this time dawdling with me. I’m not the one you came to see. Nobody ever comes to see me.”

“Are you certain it’s okay to go in?”

“Of course. You afraid you’ll catch her in her drawers?” She laughed at that. “Well, don’t stand there looking like a sack of potatoes. Go on in. She’s in the parlor pretending she’s doing the mending, but she’s catnapping.”

He removed his hat, opened the door, and went into the kitchen. A pot of chicken stew bubbled on the stove, filling the room with a delicious smell and reminding him that he had missed breakfast. He snatched a cookie from the plate sitting on the table, then went down the hallway to the parlor.

He found Violette sitting in a rocking chair next to an open window. Today she was wearing her red petticoat under her dress, but he could see part of the ruffle peeking out beneath her skirt. A pink knit shawl was draped around her shoulders. Her hair was slicked back into a bun with three buzzard feathers poked into it.

He tapped lightly on the wall. “Are you awake?”

“Of course I am. I saw you talking to Susannah,” she said, turning away from the window and looking at him. “Come on in.”

He stepped into the room.

“You finished your chores mighty early this morning.”

“I wanted time to check on you. How are you feeling?”

“Fit as a fiddle, save for this cannon going off in my head. Dally said I was as stewed as a boiled owl. Course, I can’t remember if I was or not.” She laughed and waved her hand toward a chair across from her. “Take a load off your feet and have a seat.”

He smiled. “You aren’t trying to tell me that’s the first time you’ve ever overindulged, are you?”