The Yellow Rose (17 page)
“Well, did you find gold?”
“No, I didn’t find gold. I didn’t even look for gold.”
“Julie told me you were leaving to go prospecting. Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”
“Because I couldn’t.” He came over to her then and stood in front of her. “I came back because I had to, Jerusalem. I got to tell you something.”
Jerusalem felt something stir within her. “What is it?” she whispered.
“Well, I’ve been makin’ a fool of myself. I’ve been doing it for most of my life,” he said, shaking his head with disgust. “But I came back to tell you that I’ve got feelings for you.”
Disappointment filled Jerusalem. She had expected more than this!
“You’ve got feelings for your horse and for Bob!”
“Well, I mean I’ve got
strong
feelings for you, and I want to tell you that you can’t marry Kern Herendeen.”
“And why not?”
“He don’t want you, Jerusalem. He wants this ranch. He’s just using you.”
“Oh?” Jerusalem said, and the rivers never ran colder than her tone.
“A man couldn’t want me?”
“I didn’t say that. I didn’t mean it that way, anyway. But listen. If you’ve got to marry somebody, why, you might as well marry me!”
Jerusalem could not believe what she was hearing. “Is that what you call a proposal?”
“Yes, I reckon it is.”
“Why, even Jake did better than that.”
Clay suddenly seemed to slump. “Well, what do you want, Jerusalem?
You want me to write poetry and sing love songs under your window?”
Jerusalem suddenly smiled. “Yes, that’s what I want.”
“What! You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I?”
Clay could never quite tell when Jerusalem was dead serious. Well, he could, but he pretended not to. Now suddenly he stepped forward and drew her close. “I might as well warn you,” he said. “I’m fixin’ to kiss you.”
“All right. You warned me. Now, do it.”
Clay found her teasing amusing, but he kissed her, holding her tight for a moment, his arms drawing her close. He stepped back, then said, “Now, I’ll say it again. I can’t write a poem about it, but I love you, Jerusalem.”
“Clay, I don’t believe you. And I won’t spend the next forty years with a man who takes me for granted.”
“Takes you for granted! What are you talking about? I’m telling you I love you.”
“And I’m telling you that you haven’t shown it.”
“Well, what do you want me to do?”
Jerusalem stared at Clay and said, “That’s for you to find out, Clay. If you really want me, you’ve got to make me believe it.” She turned and walked away from him, going out the back door of the house.
Clay stood there in shock. He had expected anything but having to prove what he felt for her. Suddenly, he felt a weight on his feet, and he looked down to see that Bob had come over and sat down right on the toes of his boots. “I’m going to marry that woman, Bob, no matter what it takes. You hear me?”
Bob lolled his tongue and leaned over against Clay’s legs. “Whoof!” he barked.
“If I have to shoot Kern Herendeen, I’ll do it. If I have to take a bath every night and shave every day, I’ll do that. No matter what it takes, I’m going to marry her. You got that straight?”
Bob looked up, his tongue hanging out like a red necktie, and replied woefully, “Whoof!”
W
ell, I swan, Clinton. I believe you’d talk to a possum!” A decrescent afternoon sun sinking in the west cast its last feeble rays on the two riders whose horses plodded slowly along. Clay had taken Clinton and Brodie on a cattle drive to New Orleans, and they were now almost within sight of the ranch. The boys had been excited about the trip and had worked hard. Clay had gotten a good price for the cattle, and the money would come in handy, for the expenses of getting settled in at the new ranch had been heavy.
Brodie had cut away when they had passed within a few miles of their old place. He had said rather defiantly that he was going to see Serena, which Clay had, more or less, expected.
Clay himself had been rather silent on the return journey, thinking a great deal about how he could convince Jerusalem of how he truly felt. Clinton, as usual, spilled over with an unending river of talk the whole way back. Clay had finally burst out with some aggravation. “Don’t you ever hush?”
Clinton didn’t take offense. He did not really need a big audience, and he always had plenty to talk about when he could get someone to sit still long enough to listen to him. For the past three miles, he had been talking about his views on the book of Revelation, particularly on the Antichrist, and Clay had managed to tune it all out. Now Clinton said, “This is important, Clay. I mean, after all, when the Antichrist comes along, you’d better know who he is or he’ll get you.”
“You can’t tell who the Antichrist is,” Clay said with disgust.
“Oh, sure I can!” Clinton nodded firmly. “I know who the scudder is, all right.”
Despite his irritation, Clay grinned. Clinton never had any doubts whatsoever about any of his notions. Being proved wrong five times in a row never changed his opinion of his own rightness about theological matters. “Well, who is it, then?” Clay said.
“Why, it’s John Quincy Adams.”
Clay laughed out loud. “John Quincy Adams! What in the blue-eyed world makes you think John Quincy Adams is the Antichrist?” John Quincy Adams was, indeed, a Yankee, which qualified him in Clinton’s view for any depth of villainy, but as far as Clay knew, he did not carry a pitchfork or breathe fire and brimstone.
“Why, that scoundrel has kept Texas from joinin’ the Union, Clay!” Clinton said with amazement, staring at Clay. His face was intent, and he nodded firmly. “That’s proof enough, ain’t it?”
“No, you ignoramus, it’s
not
proof enough. There’s lots of politicians up North that want to keep Texas out of the Union. They think we’re gonna expand the slave states—which we would.”
Clinton hesitated, which was rare for him, but then he shot right back, “Well, that ain’t the only reason I know he’s the Antichrist, Clay. There’s his name.”
“John Quincy Adams?”
“Yeah, the Bible says that the number of the beast is six-six-six, and that’s the number of letters in all of them names of John Quincy Adams.”
Clay blinked with surprise. It was difficult sometimes to follow Clinton’s strange reasoning at times. “John ain’t got but four letters.”
“Why, I bet his real name is Johnny, and that’s got six letters sure as you’re born.”
Clay shook his head in disgust. “Clinton,
Quincy
has got six letters.
What about
Adams
?”
“Why, it’s got six letters, Clay. A-d-d-a-m-s.”
“You fool boy! Adams is spelled A-d-a-m-s. That’s only
five
letters.”
This information set Clinton back momentarily, but at once he said, “Well, if it ain’t him, then it’s Santa Anna.”
Clay took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He was wet clear through, for the day had been hot. Settling his hat back on firmly, he said, “Clinton, you can’t make the Antichrist into somebody you just pure don’t like. Now, hush up, will you?”
Clinton was silent only for a short time. No matter how many times people told him to hold his tongue, he simply couldn’t stop from talking. “Clay, I done figured out a way for you to get Ma to marry up with you.”
“Who said I was thinkin’ about marryin’ anybody?”
“Why, everybody knows it, Clay. Julie told me, and I reckon it’s true.”
“People ought to have more to do than sit around gossiping.” He settled down in his saddle, but curiosity got the best of him. “What’s this way you’re thinkin’ about that I could get your ma to marry me?”
“Well, get converted, join the church, and get baptized.”
Clay said shortly, “Listen, Clinton, I can’t join the church just to get a woman to marry me. I ain’t no Christian, and I know that much. Will you please try to talk sense or else hush up. Talkin’ with you is useless! It’s like tryin’ to shoot pool with a well rope!”
Moriah stood still and looked down pensively at Jerusalem, who was on her knees arranging the hem of a new dress that the two had been working on. There was a dance coming in Jordan City, and Moriah had begged her mother to help make a new dress. Jerusalem had come up with the money to buy the material, and now it was almost finished. She put the last pin in, then stood up and stepped back to admire the dress. “That looks real nice, Moriah. It fits you, too. You were bustin’ out of your old dresses.”
“I wish we had a long mirror so I could see myself.”
“Maybe we’ll buy one if Clay gets enough money for the cattle.”
“When are they comin’ back?”
“Why, they should be back this week sometime. It’s hard to tell how fast cow critters will travel.”
Moriah turned around and turned her head, trying to see down her back, and then faced her mother. She noticed that Jerusalem had lines of fatigue in her face, and compassion came to her. She walked over to her mother and put her hand around her waist. “You look tired, Ma. This has been a hard four months gettin’ settled in here.”
“Not as hard as some I’ve known.”
Moriah thought for a moment, and then she said, “How does it make you feel gettin’ courted by two men?”
“I think it’s foolishness,” Jerusalem said.
“Well, Clay and Kern are going to get in a fight over you. Both of them are serious.”
“I don’t know whether they are or not. Sometimes I think they’re both so foolish I wouldn’t have either one of them on a bet.”
Indeed, the past four months had been hard financially and in other ways, but Clay and Kern Herendeen had indeed driven her nearly to distraction. Kern was straightforward about his intentions and had been quick to ask her out to every social event. He had even taken her to church, which Clay had never offered to do. Kern was not a member of the church, but he was not letting any opportunities slip to spend time with her. Clay, on the other hand, was not so forward. He took occasion to be with her every chance he had, and, as always, Jerusalem enjoyed talking with Clay as much as she had ever enjoyed speaking with anyone. He had a dry wit and a deep wisdom that showed itself in many ways. She had noticed that the two men were becoming more short-tempered and knew that Moriah was right. They were both strong-willed men, and it would not take a great deal to push them into a fight.
“I’m more interested in
your
man, Moriah.” Indeed, she was interested in Leonard Pennington, who had been courting Moriah from the first time they had met. Pennington was twenty-five years old, no more than medium height, and very trim. He had crisp brown hair, warm brown eyes, and a neat mustache. He was a lawyer by profession, very proper, and better educated than most. Jerusalem had watched the progress of the courtship, which seemed like a whirlwind in nature, but she was troubled by the thought of Moriah marrying him.
“Do you love this man enough to marry him?”
“Yes, Ma.”
“He’s not a country man. You said he’ll want you to move to St.
Louis. He’s ambitious, and he won’t be satisfied in a little one-horse town like Jordan City. Would you like that?”
Moriah hesitated, then shrugged. “I . . . I think so. It’s a wife’s place to make her home with her husband, isn’t it, Ma?”
“Yes it is, but city living can be hard for a woman who’s only known the country like you have.”
“Well, how can I know for sure that he is the right man, Ma? Tell me.”
Suddenly, Moriah seemed very vulnerable to Jerusalem. She was eighteen years old now, intelligent, pretty, a hard worker, but there was still something of the little girl in her that troubled Jerusalem. She wanted to say, “If you’ve got doubt about marrying him, don’t do it,” but that seemed harsh. Instead, she said, “Well, you’re asking the wrong woman, Moriah. I’ve been struggling with what to do with Kern and Clay for months now.” She laughed and hugged Moriah. “Maybe we ought to be just maiden aunts or something.”
Mary Aidan came bursting in at that instant. She never walked anywhere but plunged forward at a dead run. “Clay and Clinton are here— Clay brought me a present!” She held up a new doll, and her eyes were sparkling. “Her name is Agnes.”
Jerusalem was surprised at the sudden relief she felt. She had been worried about Brodie and Clinton, but, as always, whenever Clay left there was something about his absence that disturbed her. She had seen her husband, Jake, ride off so many times and not return for months or even two years on one occasion. Clay, of course, had always talked of going to hunt for gold or going back to the mountains, and she could not afford to tie herself to another wanderer. “Well, let’s go see how they did in New Orleans.”
The two went downstairs and saw that Clinton and Clay were dirty and exhausted. “You’re back.” Jerusalem smiled.
“We’re back, Ma,” Clinton said cheerfully. “I had me a good time in New Orleans. You ought to see what those folks eat there. There’s somethin’ that looks like bugs.”
“That was shrimp, you dummy.” Clay grinned. He looked at Jerusalem and Moriah and took his hat off. He slapped it against his leg, and the dust flew. “Well, you got all dressed up for our homecoming?”
“Why, no,” Moriah said. “We’re going to the dance. Leonard’s taking me, and Mr. Herendeen’s taking Ma.”
Jerusalem saw something pass across Clay’s face. Disappointment, she thought, and she said, “We didn’t know when you’d be back, Clay, or I’d have waited.”
Clay shrugged. “Well, I’ll get cleaned up and go by myself. Just save me a dance, Jerusalem.”
Jerusalem hesitated for one moment, for she knew that Kern would not like it, but she smiled and said, “Of course I will.”
The dance was well attended, for there was little in the way of diversion in the area. Whenever a dance was announced, farmers and ranchers with their wives and dates would come from as far as twenty miles away to the schoolhouse that had been cleared to use for a dance hall. It was really a combination of city hall, school, and anything that called for a larger number of people than could gather together in other buildings.
