The Yellow Rose (38 page)

“I thought Zane was going to do that.”

“Oh, he got piled up by a hoss, so I jumped in and offered to take the herd.”

“You mean all by yourself?”

Giving her an offended look, he said, “No, not by myself. I’ve hired four hands to go with me. They ain’t enough, but that was all I could get.”

Al leaned on her shovel and unexpectedly said, “Let me go with you, Clinton.”

“What! On a cattle drive?”

“You know I can ride herd on cattle. You won’t be brandin’ ’em or anything like that. Just keepin’ ’em in the road, ain’t it?”

“Well, that’s right, but there could be trouble. It could be dangerous.

We might meet up with some Comanches or a bear.”

Al didn’t speak again, but something passed across her face. Clinton studied her more closely and could tell something was bothering her.

“What’s wrong, Al? Ain’t you feelin’ good?”

“I’m feelin’ fine, but—well, we’re powerful short of money, Clinton.

I hate to mention it, but we could sure use some extra cash. That’s why I asked for the job.”

Clinton Hardin had a tender heart, and he had become very fond of Al. They had fished and hunted together, and although he didn’t understand her moods at times, he felt an obligation to the whole family. “Well, shucks, if that’s the case, you might as well ride along. You can be the cook. We’re leavin’ early in the morning.”

“Oh, thanks, Clinton! I’ll be ready.”

“You ain’t asked what I’m payin’.”

“Whatever it is, it’ll be more than I’m making here.”

“You be over at our place about daylight. I want to get a good day’s start.” He reached over and shoved her hat down over her eyes. “Better wear some warm clothes.” He grinned. “And don’t wear your hat over your face like that. Makes you look foolish.” He turned and moved away quickly, calling back, “Better bring a pistol if you got one. We might run into some bandits.”

Al pulled her hat up and watched him go, her eyes warm. She began to grow excited, for she had never been to New Orleans or any big city, for that matter.
Maybe we’ll get to go downtown and see some of the fancy hotels and restaurants there,
she thought.
It’ll be fun!

The drive to New Orleans had been as easy as Clinton had hoped. The cattle had not stampeded. There had been no bandits and no storms. The October weather had been nippy, but not bitter. Each night they had built up a fire, and Al had appointed herself cook, and, indeed, she proved to be a good one. She had slept at night away from the men wrapped in a blanket and had been the first one up in the morning so that breakfast was always ready. Once Clinton had said to her, “You’re a right good hand, Al. I’m gonna take you on all my cattle drives.” The remark had pleased her, and she had looked forward to more of the same.

The sale of the cattle went better than Clinton was expecting. Clay had told Clinton what he should get for the cattle, and to Clinton’s surprise, the first offer he had received was only a dollar a head less than Clay had mentioned. He bargained with the buyers and managed to get a better price than Clay had mentioned.

He came back to where the crew was camped and said, “Payday, fellas.” They gathered around, and he paid them off with a bonus. “You fellas might as well go on back when you take a notion, if you can find your way home. Al and me are gonna go see the sights of New Orleans.”

Al brightened up at the chance to see some of New Orleans. After the Mexicans had left, Clinton counted out some bills to her and grinned. “A little bonus there for that good cookin’ of yours.”

“Thanks, Clinton. This will help out at home.”

“Well, what do you say we go see what New Orleans looks like? I don’t figure on leavin’ here until we seen the sights. Tell you what, let’s go get a couple of hotel rooms. Then we can go out and eat and see what the French Quarters have got to offer to a couple of Texans.”

“I didn’t bring any clothes to wear to go out.”

“Well, I didn’t either, so maybe they won’t let us into the fanciest place, but I betcha we won’t starve. Come on, we’ll find someplace.”

Aldora Stuart was excited as they rode around. She had never been in a large city like this, and all the sights and sounds fascinated her. She knew she would have the best time in New Orleans with Clinton that she had ever had in her life. They had cleaned up as best they could, and Clinton had asked a carriage driver for a good place to eat.

“Money is no object,” he had said loftily.

The carriage driver had grinned and said, “You might try Mulate’s.

They make mighty good food.”

“Thanks.”

They had taken the driver’s advice, and twenty minutes later, they were standing in front of Mulate’s. When they walked through the doors, a waiter wearing a fancy suit with a white shirt looked aslant at their garb, but Clinton had slipped him five dollars and said, “We want the best treatment you got.”

The waiter had grinned and said, “Right over here, sir and madam” then led them to a corner table set with fine china and a crisp white tablecloth.

They waited until the waiter gave them a menu, and Clinton looked at it. “Why, I can’t read this. It ain’t English.”

“No, sir, it’s French.”

“Look, you just bring us what’s good in there. I trust your judgment.”

“Why, thank you, sir. I’ll see that you have a fine meal.”

When he returned a few minutes later, he was carrying a bowl which he identified as gumbo.

“What’s in it?” Clinton asked.

“Well, it is one of our specialties with shrimp and a few other things.

I think you’ll find it quite enjoyable.”

The two ate their gumbo while the rest of the meal was coming, and they liked it very much. They had samplings of something called shrimp Creole, and then the waiter brought in a platter full of something that made Clinton exclaim, “What is it, some kind of bug?”

“No, sir, these are crawfish.”

“Why we use them things for fishbait! I ain’t eatin’ no fishbait! Go serve ’em to the cats. They’ll probably cover it up.”

The waiter could not hide his grin. “Yes, sir. Could you eat some fish?”

“Fish sounds mighty good.”

The two ate more samples of the Creole food and finally ended up with something called chocolate
mousse
, as the waiter identified it.

“Moose? You got to kill a whole big moose to make this?” Clinton said with astonishment.

The waiter tried to hide his amusement but said, “Sir, it is a special dessert quite palatable to the taste.”

The two ate until they could hold no more, and then they left the restaurant. They walked the streets of New Orleans, and Al said once, “I didn’t know there was a place this big.”

“It is fair size, but—” He was interrupted when suddenly two women came out of the shadows. They were on one of the side streets only partially lit by lanterns.

“Hey, fellas, you lookin’ for a good time?” one of the women said.

Clinton could barely see the two women in the feeble darkness, but he could smell their strong perfume. One of them grabbed his arm, and the other one moved to stand beside Al. The one holding Al’s arm said, “Come on. I’ll show you a good time, honey.”

Al made an odd croaking sound and pulled away, saying, “Take your hands off me!”

Quickly Clinton said, “I guess you girls better go find other customers. Come on, Al.” He grabbed Al by the arm and pulled her away.

The women’s curses filled the air behind them, and Clinton was laughing.

“They took you for a fella.”

“Those are bad women, Clinton.”

“They sure enough are.”

The two were walking rapidly away toward the main street, and Al said, “Did you ever—”

“Did I ever what?”

“You know. Did you ever have anything to do with women like that?”

“What do you take me for? Why, a fellow would have to be dumber than a hairball to mess with evil women like that! Don’t you know what the Bible says about them? Their steps lead down to hell. I’m surprised you’d even think such a thing of me.”

“I’m sorry, Clinton. I didn’t really think so. They looked awful, didn’t they?”

“I couldn’t see ’em all that well, but they probably did.”

After crossing a few streets, they found the hotel, and both of them went to bed at once.

Clinton said good night and added, “No reason to get up early. We can make good time without those dumb cows to hold us back.”

Al smiled at him. “I had such a good time. I’ll never forget it, Clinton.”

Clinton reached over and squeezed her arm. “You’d better not tell your folks about them two women.”

“I won’t. Good night.”

“Good night, Al.”

They slept out each night on their return trip, exactly as they had before. They had brought enough food on the packhorse for the trip home. Each day when they stopped for the night, Clinton would gather the firewood.

Al would cook a good supper, and afterward they would sit around the fire. Clinton was a great talker, as Al already knew, but she found herself getting more vocal than she had ever been with anyone.

After they had eaten and washed out their dishes in the creek that ran by their campsite, Clinton said, “We’ll be back home tomorrow. You know, Al, I’m kind of sorry it’s over.”

“So am I. It’s been the most fun I’ve ever had.”

“Well, me too, I guess.” He got up, poured coffee into two cups, and came over and sat down beside her.

Al looked up at the skies, which were adorned with glittering stars, and began to recite:

“Star light, star bright
First star I’ve seen tonight,
Wish I may, wish I might
Have the wish I wish tonight.

“I say that every night when I see the first star.”

Clinton sipped his coffee and said, “What’d you wish for?”

“You can’t tell what you wish for. It won’t come true if you tell someone.”

“Well, I ain’t superstitious. I’ll tell you what I wish. I wish Brodie and Quaid would find my sister. That’s what I want most in the world. She’s been gone a long time.”

“That’s a good wish, Clinton. I’ll wish that, too.”

“You know, I’ve been worried about my Aunt Julie.”

“She’s really nice.”

“She sure is, but she’s workin’ in a saloon, and you know what that means. I’ve talked to her a whole lot, but she just laughs when I try to tell her she’s livin’ wrong.”

“I guess people have to come to find out what they are by themselves.”

Clinton drained the rest of the coffee, set the cup down, and turned to face her. The moon was full, and he was struck by her even features. “I don’t know what you mean by that. There’s got to be folks to tell us what’s right and what’s wrong—like preachers and parents and people like your grandma and grandpa.”

Al did not argue with him. She had discovered that arguing with Clinton was like arguing with an anvil. It made no impression whatsoever.

Clinton finally sighed and said, “It seems like I spend half my time tryin’ to straighten people out.”

Al suddenly laughed. “You certainly do. Maybe I need to spend a little while straightening you out.”

“Me?” Clinton said, staring at her with blank astonishment. “Why, I don’t need no straightin’ out.”

“Yes, you do.”

Clinton glared at her. “What would you straighten me out about?”

“Well, for one thing, you make an absolute fool over yourself running around after Lucy Abbot.”

Al’s words touched a sore spot, and Clinton said, “I ain’t neither. I’m gonna keep on chasin’ her, too.”

“You won’t catch her. Everybody knows it except you.”

“What do you know about it?”

“I know what everybody knows. She’s a stuck-up, spoiled young woman who will marry a rich man ’cause that’s what her parents want.

That’s what she wants, too.”

Clinton reached over and grabbed her arm and shook it. “Don’t you talk like that about Lucy!”

“Turn loose of me!” Al said. She tried to jerk away, but Clinton took her other arm and pulled her around.

“Listen to me,” he said, “I’m tellin’ you—”

Al wrenched aside and slapped at Clinton. She had not intended to hit his face, but she did. Instantly, she was sorry.

“Why, you little varmint!” He grabbed her shoulders to shake her, and she pulled away. Clinton was pulled off-balance, and when she fell backward, he kept his grip on her. Her hat fell off, and her soft hair that had been tucked up underneath fell down in soft waves around her face.

Clinton was a strong young man, and he pinned her to the ground, “Now, you just listen to me, Aldora Stuart. I won’t have no kid tellin’ me how to run my life!”

“I’m not a kid! Let me go!”

Clinton’s face was over Al’s, and her struggles were nothing to him.

He was looking at her lips and was shocked when he realized how beautifully shaped they were. They were round and curved, and his whole attention fastened on them. Al grew very still, and he looked deeply into her eyes. He saw something in them he didn’t understand and was uncomfortably aware of the rounded form that he rested on. Clinton Hardin, for all his purity, suddenly lowered his head and kissed Aldora. The softness of her lips came as a shock to him, and he sensed her response, which he had not expected. He had grown so used to thinking of Al as a good friend, someone to fish and hunt with, but now he was aware that she was a woman, soft and desirable.

Al twisted her head away and said, “Let me go!” He released her at once, and she shoved him away.

“I . . . I’m sorry, Al. I didn’t know—I mean, I didn’t mean—”

“You get away from me, Clinton Hardin!” She scrambled to her feet and gave him one withering look. “Go on and make a fool out of yourself over that ol’ Lucy Abbot!”

She marched off to where she had placed her blankets ten yards beyond the fire. Clinton struggled to find something to say, then called out, “Hey, Al, we’d better leave early in the morning.” He got no answer, and he sat down before the fire staring at it for a long time. He was confused and upset with himself.
What’s the matter with me? I must be losing my mind. I’ll be glad when we get home!

Jerusalem had sensed that something was wrong with Clinton the minute he returned from the cattle drive to New Orleans. Two days later he came out with it when they were alone. He told her the whole story and said, “I don’t know what got into me, Ma, but we was wrestling around, and suddenly my face was right next to hers, and I just—well, I up and kissed her.”