Someone Like You (8 page)

“I remember studying the Revolution in school.”

“The Tea Party?”

She shrugged, turning her head to one side. “That, yes. And about Paul Revere…”

“And his midnight ride.”

She nodded. “You have snow there?”

“Every winter. Sometimes the drifts come up so high, they cover the windows. Have you ever seen snow?”

She shook her head. “Not like that. Twice, since I came to live with my aunts, we had snow. Once it was very light. It barely covered the ground. The second time it was a real honest-to-goodness blizzard with a foot or two of snow. It was so beautiful. My aunts made snow ice cream for me.”

“Snow ice cream?”

“Snow, vanilla, milk, and sugar. It was wonderful. I cried for days when the snow melted, knowing I’d never have snow ice cream again.”

“When did you come here to live with your aunts?”

“They are actually my great-aunts.”

She had smoothly avoided his question. “I suppose it was hard to find yourself suddenly without parents.”

“Yes, I’ve missed a lot of the normal things in life, things most people take for granted. I not only had no parents to grow up with, but I had no brothers or sisters either. I always envied people with large families.”

“You were spared the fights.”

“What I wouldn’t have given for a busted lip or a bruise—anything that would have shown that I belonged.”

“At least you had your aunts.”

“Oh, yes, and I am truly thankful for them. But they’re old, you know, and set in their ways. If there had been just one older child about… You know, I used to have dreams about growing up in a large family.” The enthusiasm seemed to drain from her face. “I soon learned no one is interested in dreams. Reality is the stuff of life here. Work, weather, sickness, religion—these are the things they understand. So, I let my dreams go and I watched them drift away like clouds driven by the wind.”

“Where did you live before you came here?”

She licked her lips as if her mouth had suddenly gone dry. “Louisiana.”

“New Orleans?”

“Yes.”

“I was in New Orleans a couple of times. Now, down there they really know how to cook fish. Do you remember much about it? Do you recall the place where you lived?”

Suddenly she grabbed up her bundle and sprang to her feet. She hurried across the log so fast, her feet barely skimmed its rough surface. As her feet touched dry ground, she turned angrily toward him. “Yes, I remember. I remember more than I’d like. Just once I’d like to forget, but there is always someone…someone like you, who won’t let me.”

He came to his feet, tempering his next words, speaking softly, doing his best to be gentle. “What’s the matter? If I said something wrong, I apologize. I didn’t mean to cause you to dig up old and painful memories.”

“How do you know I was digging up old and painful memories? Maybe I don’t like prying men who stick their noses in other people’s business.”

She started walking home. She heard him call her name and started running. The sound of his voice faded away behind her, but even then Susannah did not stop until she reached the sanctuary of the back porch.

The sky was turning black and clouds were churning. Gusts of wind stirred up sand and bits of debris so that, even safe in the recesses of the porch, she had to shield her eyes. It was going to be nasty weather, a real summer storm. Already, large, scattered raindrops were pelting the ground, leaving behind the sweet smell that comes only when rain first begins to hit dry dirt.

A brilliant bolt of lightning flashed, then ripped across the sky, but she didn’t hear a sound. The sky was turning darker and the clouds were in turmoil. Hail began to come down in marble-size pellets. The yard was dusted with white.

For a long time she stood on the porch and watched the storm and listened to the
ping, ping, ping
on the roof. She thought about the fish and wondered how Reed was faring. Then she reminded herself harshly that she didn’t care.

That night the thunderstorm grew worse, with fierce, howling winds that uprooted trees and knocked down fences. When Susannah walked into the kitchen early the next morning to get the stove going, she found the kitchen flooded.

She stood in the doorway for a few minutes, just looking around the room, taking in the state of things. “Well,” she told herself, “this kitchen isn’t going to mop itself,” so she removed her shoes and waded into the room to start the cleanup, holding her skirts aloft.

There was a gaping hole in the ceiling where she could see clear through the roof to the blue sky overhead. She was thankful the storm had blown on through, but mighty put out that it had taken part of the roof with it.

“Would you look at that,” Violette said, coming into the kitchen behind her, the strings to her dressing gown trailing into the water.

“You better hitch up your nightie, Aunt Vi.”

Violette hitched without missing a step. “Is anything ruined?”

“I don’t know. I just came down.” Everything was wet, Susannah noted, but nothing was damaged beyond repair, save the peach pie that was sitting on the table and the salt and pepper in the shakers. The curtains and tablecloth would have to be washed, along with everything else in the kitchen, and the floor would probably buckle and there would be watermarks on the walls, but it could have been worse. “Nothing too important is ruined, but there’s a lot of washing and cleaning to be done.” She glanced up at the roof. “Of course, I don’t know what we’ll do about that.”

“We’ll get Reed in here, that’s what we’ll do.”

Reed… Her aunt said that as if she had suddenly glimpsed the Messiah. Next she supposed she would be hearing that Reed could walk on water. Him! The one who didn’t even know how to fish. But then she remembered he had caught the biggest fish she’d seen in these parts. Luck. That’s all it was. Pure luck.

She remembered, too, the softness in his voice, the downy grayness of his eyes. He was a man of contradictions. Hard as nails one minute, soft as a gosling the next. He troubled her and filled her thoughts, and that made her irritable.

“I’m mighty glad we have him. I’m certain Reed will have that hole patched in no time.”

Susannah crossed her arms in front of her and looked at her aunt. “Reed Garrett isn’t the answer to all our problems. I doubt he can fix a roof. And the last thing we need is someone up there who doesn’t know the first thing about what he’s doing.”

“That’s what I say,” Aunt Dahlia agreed, coming into the room. “Have you looked at his hands? Sissy hands if I ever saw them. Soft as a baby’s bottom and just as clean. They aren’t the hands of a laborer, I’ll tell you that.”

“If that reasoning were true, then I’d be a carpenter,” Aunt Violette said, holding up her hands. Then turning to Susannah, she said, “Why don’t you get dressed and go find Reed. Tell him to come over as soon as he finishes feeding the stock.”

Susannah knew that tone of voice and knew, too, that it wouldn’t do any good to offer any resistance. Aunt Violette was an easygoing sort, but when her mind was made up, it stayed that way.

Susannah went to find Reed, which she did, delivering Aunt Violette’s message, as requested.

He came to survey the damage an hour later. After looking inside the kitchen, he put a ladder against the house and climbed onto the roof. She could hear him tromping around up there like a wounded buffalo.

A few minutes later, he poked his head through the hole and called down to Susannah. “Can you hear me?”

“They can hear you in Fort Worth. Do you need something?”

“No, just wanted to let you know that I don’t think it’s too bad. Nothing structural, just some shingles that need replacing. Once that’s done, I can patch up the ceiling in the kitchen.”

Susannah stood in the kitchen below looking up at him. His head was upside down. She found it annoying that he was so nice looking even upside down. “How long do you think it will take?”

“If I can get the materials, not more than two or three days.”

Susannah nodded. “I guess you’d better drive the wagon into town and get the supplies right away, in case we’re due for any more rain.” She made a point to turn around as soon as she’d spoken. It wouldn’t do for him to think she wanted to look at him any longer than necessary.

She heard his clomping footsteps on the roof, then the sound of him going down the ladder, and breathed a sigh of relief. Now that he was gone, she could get her mind on something constructive, like cleaning up this mess.

She waded over to the back door and opened it, letting in the warm spring air and the fresh smell that came with it. She inhaled a lungful and found her spirits lifting. The most important thing now was to get the water off the floor, so she hitched her skirts up over her knees and, armed with a broom, she began sweeping the water out the back door. When she finished, she took the mop and bucket and began the arduous task of mopping up what the broom had left behind.

The bucket was half full of water when Susannah heard someone knock on the door. She turned around and saw Reed standing there looking better than a blue-ribbon bull. She was about to ask him what he wanted, when she realized he was looking at her rather strangely and hadn’t said a word. She wanted to ask him just what he was gaping at when she remembered her skirts. She yanked them down.

“I’m sorry… The door was open… I had no idea—”

She cut him off. “What do you want?”

“Do you need anything from town?”

“A new roof.”

“Got that on order,” he said in remarkably good humor, then turned away.

She walked to the back door and watched him. She wondered what he was so chipper about. Maybe it was the fish chowder. She opened the screen door and called out. “How was your fish chowder?”

“I didn’t have any.”

“What did you do with the fish?”

“I threw it back.”

“Why?”

“Because some golden-eyed girl asked me to.”

“You go around doing everything a woman asks you to do?”

He climbed into the wagon and picked up the reins. “Yes. Genteel cowards run in my family.”

Chapter Six

The sun was beating down on him all the way into town. A snake doctor landed on the back of his hand, and Reed waved his arm to make it fly away. A puff of wind, faint and fragrant, carrying the scent of peach blossoms… He imagined Susannah standing in a shower of petals with her back against a tree…the first glimmerings of desire…a face he could not forget. Her memory was enslaving, like a charm, the whispered promise of more to come.

Susannah racing up the path from the creek…birds fluttering and chirping on the wire fence along the side of the road…the sound of her voice…the sun beating down on the road that stretched ahead and turned it to the color of burnished gold…Susannah’s eyes…

He remembered yesterday down at the creek. She had been so lovely. The way she looked when she came face-to-face with that fish.

Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? Susannah standing in the kitchen, barefoot… Susannah riding up from the creek with her skirts hitched up and her long white legs gleaming…the musical sound of her laughter…the earthy color of her hair…the empty place in her bed at night…the empty place in his bed every night.

He was glad to see he was on the outskirts of town. Now he could get his mind on something else.

He quickly found everything he needed at Peterson’s Hardware Store, loaded up and was ready to go. He was starting to head off when he spotted the UNITED STATES POST OFFICE sign on the Buck and Smith General Store.

He remembered the letter in his pocket, the one he’d written to his family, and pulled to a stop.

Susannah was in the kitchen ironing curtains when he knocked on the back door. She knew it was Reed because she’d seen him through the window as he passed by in the wagon. “Come in,” she called out.

She had been thinking about him while she ironed. Well, not him precisely, but rather she was making a mental list of things for him to do—aside from his regular chores. So far the list included painting the fence, chopping wood, and putting new wire on the chicken house and a new seal on the pump.

The door opened slowly, and Reed poked his head through. “Pardon the intrusion. I wanted to let you know I’d be working on the roof. There might be a shingle or two falling down, so it would be best if you and your aunts didn’t come out the back door until I finish.”

Susannah nodded. “I’ll tell them. Thank you.” She picked up the iron and pressed the ruffle around the bottom of the curtain, mindful that Reed Garrett was still standing in the door looking at her. When he made no move to leave, she put the iron down again.

“Is there something else, Mr. Garrett?”

“No, I don’t suppose there is. I’ll be getting on to work, then.”

“Fine,” she said, not bothering to watch as he shut the door behind him.

The moment he shut the door, she took a deep breath. She didn’t know why he disturbed her, but he did. She wanted to dislike him and tried very hard to give him that impression, but in truth she could not find one thing about him that wasn’t likable. It wasn’t him personally that she had a problem with. It was simply the fact that he was a man. She didn’t just fear Reed Garrett. She feared all men.

She picked up the iron and listened to him climbing up the ladder, knowing the exact moment when he began removing the old shingles.

She told herself that anyone who found pleasure in listening to a man throw shingles into a wagon bed ought to be locked up. She pushed him out of her mind and began ironing furiously. She swore not to think about him again, then carried the iron to the stove to heat it. While she waited, she washed the enamel pan sitting in the sink—the one she had used to gather eggs this morning. That done, she thought about him again.

She found herself wishing her life had been a normal one. What would it be like, she wondered, to love someone like him? How would it feel to let her fear go, to reach out and accept the friendship, and more, that she knew he offered? How would he react if he knew the truth about her?

An hour later, her ironing finished, she thought about carrying him a bucket of cool water. Not because she was thinking about him, mind you. This would be an act of pure benevolence. What he was doing was hot work—tedious and slow. More than once she had heard his sudden exclamation and surmised he must have hit something, most likely his finger. She bit her lip. The last thing in the world she wanted was for Reed Garrett to think she gave him special notice.

She removed her apron and hung it on the peg. Just as she turned to leave the room, she saw the water pail on the cabinet next to the stove. She paused a moment and eyed the pail, her mind at war over what to do.

Give him a drink…

Go on with your chores…

Over and over the two choices reverberated through her head. All right, she thought, she would take him some water. After all, giving a body a drink of water didn’t exactly indicate any special interest. She would do the same for a stray dog.

She was about to pick up the pail when suddenly the hammering stopped and she heard an outburst that sent chills down to the very center of her righteous core.

“Good God almighty! Dammit to hell! Son of a bitch! Shit, damn, hell, piss!”

Her horrified eyes on the ceiling above her, she listened with disgust as he went stomping around the roof, flinging out the same oaths—and a few even more profane ones—over and over as loud as he could.

Without wasting a moment, Susannah grabbed her broomstick and headed out the back door. By the time she cleared the porch, she saw that creature with the devil’s own vocabulary walking toward the well.

He was drawing up a bucket of water when she came up behind him and let him have it.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

“This is a farm run by decent Christian women. We don’t allow any filthy talk around here.” She whacked him again for good measure.

He jumped a country mile and turned in midair, saying as he came down, “What in God’s name…?”

She whacked him again. “You leave the good Lord’s name out of this.”

He had the grace to look ashamed. “Beg your pardon. I hit my thumb, hit it hard…with the hammer. I’m afraid I let my temper get the best of me.”

She barely glanced at the thumb he was holding up, choosing instead to give him a look that said she wasn’t the least bit sorry for him. “And God was to blame, of course, for your being foolish enough to whack your own thumb.”

“I don’t suppose I was thinking much about blaming anyone at the time.”

Her muscles rigid, her gaze locked on him, she said, “You will have a heap of explaining to do come Judgment Day.”

“I don’t doubt that for a minute, but perhaps the good Lord will be merciful and take into consideration the punishment I’ve already received from the working end of that broom,” he said, nodding at the broom she still clutched in her hands.

She relaxed her grip on the broom and slowly lowered it to the ground. “I won’t tolerate any more outbursts like that.”

“Then you will be happy to hear that was just about the extent of my wickedness,” he said loudly.

“Will you lower your voice? I don’t want to disturb my aunts. You obviously never heard of stately quiet.”

“You can have stately quiet when you’re dead.”

She made a disbelieving sound and turned away.

“Don’t you want to look after my thumb?”

She paused, glanced over her shoulder at the thumb he was holding out in front of him. “Suck on it,” she said with as much venom as she could muster.

He laughed. “I’ve already tried that. It didn’t help.”

“Douse it with a little water and get back to work,” she said as she started walking back to the house. “Honest hard work will take your mind off your thumb, as well as your obvious need for profanity.”

She marched up the back steps and opened the door, deposited the broom in its proper place, then loudly closed the door behind her.

“What was all that ruckus?” Aunt Dahlia asked as she hurried into the kitchen.

Susannah did her best to look casually indifferent. “Nothing to worry about, Aunt. It was just that hired hand making a fool of himself and making light of the Lord’s name.”

Dahlia gasped. “The devil you say!” She went to the kitchen window and peered out. The action caused her gold-rimmed glasses to slide down her nose. She promptly pushed them back up, then moved in closer for a better look. “Why, that heathen! I knew him for a sinner the moment I saw him.” She narrowed her eyes, as if that made her short-sighted vision more acute, and looked at him again. “The devil in disguise, that’s what he is. Right here in Bluebonnet, right here on our farm. Why, it’s enough to make an angel cry.”

She glanced back at Susannah. “Tell me, what did he say?”

“Suffice it to say that he has a large vocabulary of curse words.”

“Which ones?”

“I am not about to repeat them, Aunt. Nor would you want to hear them.”

“Well, of course I would—just to verify what a heathen he really is, of course.”

Susannah smiled. “Of course,” she said. She crossed the room to stand by her aunt, and the two of them resumed their spying on the heathen through the window. They watched him turn away from the well and walk across the yard toward the house.

‘Just look at the way he walks,” Dahlia said. “Now, I ask you, have you ever seen a God-fearing man walk with such…such pride? Proud as a peacock, if you ask me.” She nodded her head, apparently satisfied with that comment and added, “‘Pride before destruction’, as the Good Book says.” She nodded her satisfaction again, and two fat sausage curls fell down across her eyes. She pushed the curls back and patted them into their proper place.

Susannah was still looking at the way he walked, which was, as Aunt Dahlia said, prideful, when she began to notice something else. Of course, she knew now he’d enjoyed a life of some wealth and privilege. Still, he had presented himself to them as simply a down-on-his-luck drifter going through life the same way he moved from job to job. He did not have that lock-hipped way of walking that characterized a man who had spent a lot of time in the saddle. The more she watched, the more she was convinced there wasn’t a cowboy bone in his body. Maybe he hadn’t left Boston very long ago. Maybe he’d been chased out of Boston. Stood to reason. Him, with his Satan black hair and the devil’s own gray eyes.

“He’s a devil, I tell you,” Dahlia said. “A real
bête noire
. Why, just look at him, all black and fierce. He’s enough to frighten a decent woman out of her wits.”

Susannah looked at him again and thought that for once she agreed with something Aunt Dahlia said. As she turned away from the window, she couldn’t help wondering if he would prove to be her own personal
bête noire
as well. She decided then and there that she would be on the lookout for any clues he might give as to who he was and why he was here.

Violette came bouncing into the kitchen amid a profusion of lavender ruffles, her white hair looking like a cotton ball perched atop her head. But it was the two red dots of rouge on her cheeks that made Susannah bite her lip to keep from smiling.

“Lovely, lovely day, isn’t it? I can’t remember when I’ve seen one finer. I woke up this morning thinking—” Violette stopped in midsentence and looked at Susannah and Dahlia. “Has someone died?”

“No, Aunt, why would you think that?” asked Susannah.

“You look like you’re in mourning. Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Dahlia replied. “We were merely observing that heathen you hired to work here.”

Violette walked to the window and peeked out. “He looks pretty good to me,” she said matter-of-factly. “Nothing I can see that would sour a woman’s stomach.” She studied Reed a bit longer. “Makes me wish I was twenty-five again.”

“Violette Wakefield! I told you the man is a heathen. Why, Susannah heard him saying the vilest of curse words. Things were going quite nicely around here, but now that he’s got God all stirred up, no telling what will happen.”

Violette leaned closer to the window, trying to get a better look. “I don’t rightly know, but man was made in God’s image. If God looks like that—” She paused. “Maybe we shouldn’t criticize.”

“Hogwash! I was made in God’s image. Do you think God looks like me?”

Violette turned to stare at her sister. “Lord, I hope not.”

Susannah stifled a laugh and said, “Somehow, I don’t picture him with sausage curls.”

Violette looked in Reed’s direction once more. “A man like that, he could tell you to go to hell and you’d look forward to the trip.”

Susannah smiled. Aunt Vi had misbuttoned her dress again, and the hem on one side was a good three inches longer than on the other. “Were you looking for me?” she asked, hoping to get the conversation off Reed Garrett and onto something else.

“Yes, I was. I heard the two of you talking, so I thought I’d come on down and tell you that the new dress I am sewing for you is coming along beautifully. Perhaps you can wear it to the church picnic at the end of the month.” She waved her hand back and forth like a fan to cool the heat from her round face. Susannah noticed that the buttons at her sleeves were undone, so the cuffs flapped back and forth with each movement of her hand as if they didn’t know which way to go—something that seemed to fit perfectly with Violette’s rather absentminded manner.