The Widows of Braxton County (5 page)
T
he next two weeks seemed like nothing more than unremitting work as Kate tried to carve out her place in her new family. She had learned to let Trudy handle the cooking. She’d attempted making one meal by herself and the results had been dried-out ham, overdone potatoes, and gravy the consistency of paste.
Joe had laughed and said he hadn’t married her for her cooking and to, please, in the future, let his mother teach her how to cook.
She had agreed with everything Trudy said and performed her assigned tasks exactly the way her mother-in-law expected. Finally, she felt Trudy’s grudging acceptance.
Joe was also pleased with her. She had acceded to his wishes and seen old Doc Adams, who had pronounced both her and the baby well. And she’d agreed to the prenatal vitamins. To her surprise, her energy level increased.
Another surprise—how much she enjoyed working in Trudy’s garden. There was something about being close to the earth that made her happy. Her arms tanned and strands of dark gold appeared in her brown hair from the hours spent in the sun. It also gave her a bond with her husband. When the rains didn’t come and each day was hotter than the last, he grew anxious over the crops wilting in the field and Kate fretted over the garden shriveling in the heat. The shared worries brought them closer.
She established a routine—rising every day before her husband and mother-in-law and using the time to wander the farmstead with coffee cup in hand. Kate was even close to achieving one of the wishes she’d made. On one of her morning strolls, she came across the ugliest cat she’d ever seen. An old yellow tom with golden eyes, he wore the scars of many battles and one ear was missing a piece, yet his lean body spoke of speed and toughness. The cat was a survivor. Fate had dumped him in the middle of nowhere and he’d made the best of it. Kate felt an immediate kinship.
Now every morning she brought him a treat that she’d filched from Trudy’s leftovers. At first he’d run, but as the days progressed, he accepted her presence and the treat as long as she stayed by the old maple. Delighted that Trudy and Joe were unaware of her rendezvous with the old tomcat, she adopted him as hers and looked forward to the day when she had finally earned his trust and could touch him.
This morning after clearing the breakfast dishes, Trudy caught her off guard.
“We’re going to town,” Trudy said abruptly.
“Why?”
“Groceries,” Trudy said, folding a dish towel and placing it neatly on the counter. “Joe has decided you’ve been working too hard and that it’s time for you to meet our neighbors. We’re having a barbecue on Saturday night.”
Kate fought the urge to hug her. “A party!”
“No, a simple barbeque.”
“Great,” she said, grabbing her cell phone off the kitchen counter.
“What are you doing?” Trudy asked, her voice heavy with suspicion.
“I’m texting my girlfriend Lindsay. It’s short notice,” she said, her fingers flying across the keyboard, “but maybe she can come up for the party, err, excuse me,
barbecue
, then stay the weekend. It would be wonderful to see—”
Trudy’s hand suddenly covered hers. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Why?”
“This get-together is for the neighbors. We don’t want to include a bunch of outsiders.”
“But Lindsay is one of my oldest friends,” Kate argued.
“And she would be uncomfortable thrust into the middle of a group of strangers.”
“No, she wouldn’t. Lindsay loves—”
“I said it’s not a good idea,” she reiterated. “You want to fit in around here, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Kate mumbled.
“Well then.” Trudy gave a satisfied nod. “You need to make new friends and not cling to your old life and old friends. And it would please Joe if you did.”
Kate looked down at the half-written text message. There was a certain logic to what Trudy said. If Lindsay did come to the barbecue, Kate would feel obligated to entertain her and, as a result, might neglect the other guests. Reluctantly, she deleted the text.
Trudy smiled, then let her attention wander the kitchen. “We’ve got a lot of work to do between now and then. This house is filthy.”
From behind Trudy’s back, Kate rolled her eyes. They dusted and swept every day. Filth wouldn’t dare enter Trudy’s house.
Trudy’s fingers began ticking off the tasks. “Wax the floors; dust upstairs and down; wash windows—” She paused. “We’d better make a few pies in case no one brings any desserts.
And
I’ll make potato salad,” she added, her lip curling. “Megan Scott will bring hers, but mine’s better. Then—”
Kate didn’t wait to hear the rest of Trudy’s sentence. She ran upstairs and changed into a pair of Capris and a loose cotton shirt. After slipping on sandals, she grabbed the mascara out of her makeup bag and applied a couple of quick swipes to her eyelashes. Studying herself in the mirror, she frowned. How long had it been since she’d worn makeup? With a shake of her head, she twisted her hair into a loose topknot and secured it with bobby pins. One last glance in the mirror and she was out the door and down the stairs, where Trudy stood waiting for her.
She looked Kate up and down. “Why are you all dolled up?”
Kate’s hand plucked at her shirt. “I’m not,” she replied defensively. “I didn’t want to go to the store in my work clothes.”
Trudy lifted an eyebrow as she turned on her heel and left Kate standing at the bottom of the stairs. She rushed to follow.
Twenty minutes later, Kate was still following Trudy, pushing the cart up and down the grocery aisle while Trudy picked over the iceberg lettuce, squeezed the bread, and thumped the watermelons.
The back of Kate’s neck began to tingle, and she glanced over her shoulder. Two women watched from the end of the frozen food aisle. Their carts close together, their eyes focused on Kate—and avid curiosity was written on their faces. When one of the women lifted her hand and whispered to her companion, Kate quickly turned her attention back to Trudy. But she’d disappeared.
To catch up with her mother-in-law, Kate hurried around the corner of the next aisle and smacked into a cart belonging to an older woman.
“I’m so sorry,” Kate apologized as she tried to separate the carts’ locked wheels.
Dressed in knee-length denim shorts, a drab green shirt, and scuffed tennis shoes, the stranger turned and smiled. Her face had the color of tanned leather and was webbed with fine lines, but the blue eyes staring at Kate appeared young and lively. Kate guessed her to be Trudy’s age, or maybe a little older.
Her smile widened. “That’s all right. I shouldn’t have left it in the middle of the aisle.” As she reached over to help disengage the carts, her focus darted to a spot on Kate’s left.
Her eyes narrowed. “Trudy,” she said in a clipped voice.
“Rose,” Trudy replied stiffly.
Kate’s attention bounced back and forth between the two women who continued to size each other up like two gunfighters facing off down the center of Main Street. At any minute she expected one of them to mutter the timeworn line—“This town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”
To break the building tension, Kate shot out her hand. “Hi, I’m Kate.”
The woman, Rose, eyed her hand suspiciously then reluctantly took it in her own.
“Rose Clement,” she said with a quick shake before again focusing her attention on Trudy.
“I’m Joe Krause’s new—”
“I know who you are,” she said, turning toward Kate and studying her. Her lips pursed and she shook her head. “Good luck. You’ll need it.” With a parting glance at Trudy, Rose yanked on her cart to free the wheels, then quickly pushed the cart down the aisle.
Kate stared after her, stupefied. “Who was that?”
“Rose Clement. Her farm’s on the other side of Dutton.” Trudy gave a snort. “She’s buried two husbands and is looking for another one.”
A perplexed look crossed Kate’s face. “But she’s—”
“Eighty if she’s a day,” Trudy said, finishing her sentence for her. “And she’s been a thorn in the side of this family for each and every one of them.”
“Why?”
Trudy grabbed their cart and began to move away. “Never mind. Just stay away from her.”
Kate dropped the subject but, on the drive home, wondered what had caused such animosity between Trudy and Rose. It was evident that the hatred was shared. Staring out the window, she reminded herself to ask Joe about the feud the minute they were alone.
When they pulled into the driveway, Kate’s heart thumped with excitement. Joe’s pickup sat next to the house. He was home early. As soon as the car came to a stop, she flung open her door and ran off in search of him.
She found him out back, walking toward the fence line that separated the bean field from the yard. One hand held a rifle, with its barrel resting on his shoulder. In his other hand, he carried the carcass of a small animal. Blood matted the striped yellow fur. Kate’s sandals slid in the dry grass as she came to a halt. She watched with tears pouring down her face as her husband walked to the fence and flung the body out into the field.
“What have you done!” she screamed at him.
Joe whirled, dropped the rifle, and strode toward her. “Kate—what’s wrong?”
“You killed him,” she sobbed.
He grabbed her upper arms. “Killed who?”
Her throat clogged and she could barely answer. “My cat!”
He shot a look over his shoulder at the bean field. “That old yellow tom?” He sighed. “I caught him killing Ma’s baby chicks.”
Kate jerked away from him. “You didn’t have to shoot him,” she exclaimed.
“Yes, I did,” he said in an even voice. “We can’t have an animal around killing stock. If he’d stayed in the barn where he belonged—”
Kate’s wail cut him off and she fell to her knees. Oh God, it was her fault. If she’d left well enough alone and not lured him closer to the house, he might not have attacked the chickens.
Trudy, hearing the commotion, came running around the corner of the house, a bag of groceries still in her arms.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Kate’s upset that I shot the old yellow tomcat. I caught him in with the chickens.”
Trudy stared down at Kate sobbing in the grass, and with a shake of her head turned on her heel.
“You’d better learn how to control your wife, Joe, before she embarrasses you in public.”
Summer 2012, the Clement family farm
R
ose Clement parked her pickup in the shed and, after unloading and putting away her groceries, grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator. She strolled out onto her wide front porch and plopped down on the porch swing. Holding the ice cold can to the side of her face, she looked out over the waving stalks of corn.
My goodness, it was hot and if the rains didn’t come soon, the crops would suffer terribly. Already yields were going to be down. She knew the young man who rented her farm ground was worried and was already hinting at leasing at a lower price next year.
She shrugged. She’d probably agree. Her bank account would see her through a couple of bad years, and she had no wish to put the young farmer out of business.
The swing moved slowly back and forth as she gently pushed with one foot. The same couldn’t be said for some of her neighbors. Many were hanging on by a thread, and a failed crop could put them under. Even the Krauses. She frowned, thinking of her encounter with Trudy. She detested that woman, but did she hate her enough to take joy in her son Joe’s failure? He’d been a gambler and speculator just like his grandfather, and now it looked as if it was about to catch up with him. If the rumors were true, he could lose everything. If that happened, she hoped she’d find some sympathy for him even if they had always acted like they were above everyone else. That act had never fooled her—she knew the truth.
Rose thought back to the stories her grandmother Essie had told her about the first Joseph Krause and his father, Jacob. And Jacob’s wife, Hannah. Essie had only been a child at the time, but she had big ears. Rose always surmised that Essie had noticed things that had failed to be obvious to the adults of that time.
Poor Hannah. According to her grandmother, Jacob had ruled his family with an iron fist and would’ve run the county the same way if someone hadn’t killed him first.
Frowning, she shook her head. Old Jacob’s descendants weren’t much better. She’d heard how Joe had found his new wife on an online dating site. Rose sniffed. Didn’t surprise her—the women around here were smart, and they knew if they took on Joe, they’d get Trudy in the bargain. Already the gossip mill was churning with stories of how Trudy treated the young woman like her personal slave.
The new wife seemed friendly enough and Rose did feel sorry for her, even if she didn’t have much sympathy for the rest of them.
She drained her beer and stood, her old bones creaking and popping. Too hot to sit outside any longer and time to push thoughts of the Krauses aside. Whatever happened to Joe and his new wife wasn’t her business. Rose opened the door and took one last look at the still green fields.
What had Essie always said? . . .
“The sins of the father . . .”
