The Glorious Prodigal (9 page)

“I’m not going to the meeting.”

Leah blinked with surprise. “Not going! I thought you said—”

“I know what I said,” Stuart said. Stuart’s voice had a hard edge, and he turned to face her. His jaw was set in that stubborn way, and his eyes were troubled. “Look, Leah, I made a mule out of myself working for the last few months.”

“I know you have. You’re working too hard. Let’s take a vacation. I’ve been thinking we could take off and go to
St. Louis. We could take Raimey and go visit Mother. She’s longing to see him.”

“I’m not going to St. Louis. I’m going to stay here, but I’m not going to be tied down anymore.”

“Tied down! What do you mean?”

“You pin a man down too much, Leah. You and the rest of my family. You want to make a puppet out of me.”

“Well, Stuart, I’ve never—”

“Maybe you don’t mean to, Leah. I don’t guess you do. But you try to make me into something that I’m not.” Angrily Stuart threw his arms out in a gesture that was almost violent. “I’m going to work this farm and raise horses, but I’m also going to do some of the things that I want to do.”

Instantly Leah knew exactly what Stuart meant. “You’re going back to playing for dances, aren’t you?”

“Yes! It’s the thing I like best in life, and there’s nothing wrong with it!”

“Not for a young single man, but you’ve got a family now.”

Stuart turned to her and said, “There! You see? You’re pinning me down again. I know several fellows who are married men, and they travel around and play. It doesn’t hurt them.”

“Yes, it does, Stuart. You know it does. How many of those men who play in that band are happy? How many of their wives are happy with them gone so much?”

Stuart felt like a trapped animal and began to lose control. He bit his lip for a moment to gain it back and then said, “You’re pinning me down, Leah.”

Anger suddenly swept across Leah. “Pin you down! That’s what marriage is! It’s two people giving up a part of themselves for another.”

“I don’t see it that way. I don’t try to tell you what to do with your life.”

“That’s because you know I’m here for you, and I live for you and Raimey. But if you go out again playing, you know exactly what will happen. You’ll start drinking and you’ll start seeing other women.”

“That’s your problem, isn’t it! You’re jealous!”

“Should I be, Stuart?”

Leah saw the guilt that flashed into Stuart’s eyes and swept across his face. He dropped his head for a moment, and then finally he lifted his eyes to her. “No point arguing about it. I’m going to have a life of my own.”

The argument went on for some time, and finally Leah felt a weariness and exhaustion and a sorrow that she had never imagined. Quietly she stood there as he put on his coat and prepared to leave. She said something she had never thought she would hear herself say.

“You never loved me, Stuart.”

“Of course I love you, but a man has to do some things.”

“No. You never loved anyone but yourself. Did you think I didn’t know about Cora Langley and your women?”

The words were too much for Stuart. He grabbed his hat and his violin case. Turning back toward her as he reached the door, he said, “I’ll be back. We’ll talk about it.”

But Leah knew as she heard the door slam that talk would not change this wall that had come between her and her husband. She went to the window and watched as he started the car, got into it, and drove off. He did not even look back toward the house, she noticed. As she bowed her head, her shoulders began to shake, and she wept bitterly.

CHAPTER FIVE

“The Walls Came Tumbling Down”

Sitting in the bow of the cypress johnboat, Stuart was conscious of the August sun beating down on his neck, of the mushy, earthy smell of the black dirt soaked with summer rains—but most of all of his four-year-old son who sat opposite him.
It’s hard to believe,
he thought,
that he’ll be five in a few months. Time’s gone by so fast, and he seems to grow up every day more and more.
He studied the summer tan that covered Raimey with a golden glow, and as the boy pulled his straw hat off, Stuart noted that the hair, long over his ears and neck now, was the same intense black as his own.

A strange feeling came to Stuart Winslow then. As he watched his son, he suddenly was jolted back in some sort of time machine, for the few pictures that existed of him revealed that Raimey was an exact copy of himself at that age. The same squarish face, close-set ears, a broad mouth, and above all, the incredibly dark blue eyes—so dark that they seemed at times to be almost black, especially when he grew angry. Stuart had been told many times that his eyes were often a danger signal. Ace had once warned a man at a dance who was looking for trouble, “When Winslow’s eyes turn black, look out!”

“I got a bite, Dad!” Raimey yelled.

“Let him take it. You’ve got to give him a chance to hook himself.”

“What do you think it is?”

“A crappie. If it had been a bass, he would have run off with
it. See how the cork moves away real slowly? Hang on now.” Stuart grinned at the excitement that kept Raimey’s hand white around the cane pole. When the cork moved slightly underwater, he said, “All right. Don’t jerk. Just lift him up slowly. He’s got a tender mouth. You’ll yank the hook out if you pull too hard.”

Raimey lifted the pole, and a shiny, flashing fish cleared the water. It struggled to free itself as Raimey carefully lifted it up and swung it over to where Stuart sat. Grasping the fish, Stuart removed the hook and put the fish in a tow sack that kept their catch underwater. Peering into the sack, he said, “We’ve got at least ten or twelve nice crappies. You ready to go in?”

“No, Dad. Let’s catch some more.”

“All right. What do you say we try for a bass?”

“Good. Let’s try for a bass.”

Stuart grinned, for he noticed that Raimey had the habit of repeating things he said to him word for word. He knew that the boy did not do that with everyone, and it pleased him. Indeed, Raimey was the most pleasant thing in his life at this period, and as he picked up the paddle and began moving the johnboat along the edge of the lake, he asked, “What do you want for your birthday this year?”

“What can I have?”

Stuart laughed aloud, his eyes merry. “That’s coming right out with it. Well, you can’t have a full-grown horse.”

“Can I have a forty-five pistol?”

“No, you can’t have a forty-five pistol!”

“Oh, Dad, I can shoot it! You let me shoot it one time. Remember?”

“Yes, and I was holding on to it all the time. You’d probably shoot Merle or Thunder or one of the horses.”

“Can I have a pet?”

“What kind of a pet?”

“A dog.”

“Well, that might be in order. What kind of a dog were you thinking of, Raimey?”

“A big dog that could hunt rabbits and bears.”

“Well, we don’t have any bears around here, but a good rabbit dog wouldn’t be hard. Won’t be long before you’ll be having your own gun.”

“When?” Raimey demanded instantly.

He was that kind of a youngster, always alert and conscious of time. Tomorrow never came soon enough, and this trait amused Stuart. “We’ll have to talk to your mother about that. She doesn’t like guns too much.”

“Did you have a dog when you were my age?”

“I had a cat.”

“A cat! Cats are for girls!”

“This one wasn’t. He was the biggest cat I ever saw, a big brindle. Must have weighed twenty pounds. He could whip every dog in the neighborhood.” Easing the boat into a small cove practically covered with lily pads, Stuart put the paddle in the bottom and thought back to when he was a boy, and the memories softened his features. “He was a big tomcat,” he said softly. “He and I did everything together. He would come when you’d whistle for him just like a dog.”

“Sure.”

“He went hunting with me, too. Every time I’d leave the house, he’d go right along. When I came home from school I’d plunk down, and that big cat would jump right up in my lap and we’d talk. I’d say, ‘Moose, what have you been doing all day?’ And he would talk back to me.”

“Ah, Dad, he couldn’t really talk!”

“Sure he could. Cat talk, of course, but I understood him. He’d tell me how many mice he’d caught and how he almost caught the mockingbird that came to our front yard every day. And I’d tell him the fights I had, about my girlfriends, and, oh . . . we had all kinds of conversations.”

Raimey’s tanned face grew solemn. “Could you get me a cat like that?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think there are any more like that. You see that spot over there where there aren’t any lily pads? The clear place.”

“Yes.”

“I want you to put your minnow right in there. Just plop it down. Here. I’ll put the minnow on.” Picking up Raimey’s hook, he hooked a minnow through the tail right behind the fin and held it up. “All right. Easy now.”

Raimey swung the pole around and dropped the line into the open space. The red-and-white cork rolled on the small ripples of waves that came, and Raimey became very still. It never ceased to amaze Stuart how such an active boy could sit so quietly for long periods of time. He did not remember doing that when he was a boy. It was something Raimey had gotten from his mother.

Five minutes passed by and neither spoke. Stuart felt the tension flowing out of him and wished briefly that he could do nothing but fish with Raimey. Over the past four years, the relationship between him and Leah had become more difficult, and he knew deep in his heart that it was all his fault. Something in him would not let him live the placid, easy life that Leah so desired for him. He also knew that he had been running from God, and even as the thought came to him, he shoved it away, which had become habitual with him.

Suddenly the cork disappeared with a
PLOP!

“Pull on it hard, Raimey. You’ve got a big one!”

Raimey came to his feet and would have fallen over if Stuart had not leaped forward and grabbed him by the back of his overalls. “He’s a big one! Keep the tension in the line! He’ll shake that hook out if you let him.”

Raimey’s face was fixed on the taut line, and his eyes were enormous as he struggled with the fish. It was indeed a large fish for such a small boy, and a full five minutes went by with the fish zinging the line in circles as it tried to tangle it in the snags of the shallows. Unobtrusively, Stuart helped the boy without appearing to do so. Finally, when the exhausted
fish was drawn to the side of the boat, Stuart reached down, jammed his thumb into the mouth of the bass, and lifted it up. When the fish cleared the side of the boat and Stuart held it up, he grinned at Raimey’s expression. “Biggest fish you ever caught. Must weigh at least six or seven pounds.”

“He’s a big one, isn’t he, Dad?”

“He sure is.”

Raimey reached out and ran his hands along the fish’s shiny scales, and Stuart Winslow knew at that moment that when he was an old man, this picture would still be in his mind as fresh and clear and brilliant as was the sight itself. Raimey, his eyes enormous, stroked the side of the large bass. Stuart smiled at all the pleasure and joy and excitement of youth pictured in Raimey’s face. He enjoyed the simple pleasure of just being alive and sharing the joy of this good experience for the first time with his son.

Stuart reached out and ran his hand over Raimey’s black hair. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “How about if we don’t eat this fellow. We’ll keep him alive, and I’ll take him into Fort Smith and have him mounted on a board. We’ll have a brass plaque put on there with your name and the date. Would you like that?”

“Sure, Dad. I’d like it a lot.”

“All right. We’ll head in now. Anything after this would be an anticlimax.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means nothing that we could do today will be more fun than catching this fish.”

They pulled in their lines, secured the fish carefully, and then started back.

“I’ll tell you what. When I get rich, Raimey, we’ll go down to the Gulf. I’ll take you out on a big boat, and you’ll catch a fish as big as this boat we’re in right now.”

“Really, Dad?”

“Really. It’s just a matter of time. You’ll see.”

****

On their way home from the lake, Raimey chattered like a magpie. He was more excited over catching his big bass than Stuart had ever seen him. Inwardly, Stuart made a resolution.
I’ve got to do this more often. He’s growing up so fast, and all I’ll have left will be a few memories.
He had resolved this before and had always broken such vows, but now as they rode behind the chestnut team that pulled the wagon along at a fast clip, Stuart made a decision to spend more time with Raimey. He knew that a wall had risen between him and Leah, but he did not want the same to happen between him and Raimey, so he determined to get close to his son.

Raimey looked up and said, “There’s Mrs. Simms, Dad. Stop and let me show her my fish.”

Momentarily Stuart hesitated, and then he drew over to the side of the road and saw that Cora Simms had done the same. He got out and went to the back of the wagon and pulled out the bass that was already getting stiff. Handing it to Raimey, he said, “You carry it and show it to Miss Cora.”

Stuart followed behind as Raimey ran quickly to where Cora sat in the wagon and thought,
I shouldn’t be doing this. I ought to know better.

“My, what a big fish! Did you catch him yourself, Raimey?”

Cora Simms was even more striking, if that were possible, than she had been four years earlier. Her auburn hair was done up in the most fashionable mode, her green eyes sparkled, and she still had the same perfect complexion and attractive figure that had captivated Stuart before his marriage. She had shaken off much of her earlier shady reputation because she and Carter spent much of their time traveling. Simms’s business ventures had blossomed, and they had money enough to do whatever they chose. Taking off his hat, he said, “Hello, Cora.”

“Well, hello, Stuart.” Cora’s eyes fixed on the dark handsomeness of Stuart Winslow’s face, and something stirred
in her. He was wearing a thin white shirt, and the smooth muscles of his shoulders and his deep chest were obvious. “Give me a smile, Stuart. You are so solemn these days. I always loved it when you smiled. Your eyes disappear. Do Raimey’s do that? Give me a smile, Raimey.”