A Home in Drayton Valley (32 page)

Joss cleared his throat and took one step toward the path. “That's all right. I don't gotta eat with y'all. I'll just—”

Ruth bounced up and caught his arm, drawing him to the quilt. “Me an' Naomi'll share a plate. Men.” She shot Simon a mock glare. “Allus seein' problems where none exist. Sit down, Joss.” She turned to the creek and hollered, “You chillun get on up here now. We's gon' eat!”

They came and flopped down at the edge of the quilt—Naomi in Ruth's lap, Malachi between his folks, and E.Z. next to Joss. He beamed up at the big man, poking his tongue through the gap where a tooth had fallen out last week. To Simon's surprise, Joss didn't rear back. He didn't smile, either, but he lifted his hand and gave E.Z. a little pat on the back. Hesitant. Like he wasn't quite sure how to go about touching a child. The gesture made something burn in the back of Simon's nose. How he wished the good Lord had given him the ability to read minds. He'd love to know what Joss was thinking right then.

Ruth bumped Simon's elbow. “Say the blessin', Simon, so's we can eat. These young'uns . . . an' Joss . . . 're hungry.”

Simon started to bow his head, but Joss spoke, startling his head upward again.

“An' when we've finished eatin', maybe you an' me . . .” Joss swallowed. “I mean, Simon an' me, could have us a little talk.”

Simon gave a quick nod, then closed his eyes to offer thanks for the meal. While he prayed, though, his thoughts tripped ahead. He'd wondered what was going through Joss's head, and now it seemed he'd get to find out. He added a silent postscript to his prayer:
Lawd, whatevuh it is he's wantin'—an' I'm afeared he might try to get me tangled all up in his an' Tarsie's troubles—give me wisdom in answerin' him. Whatevuh's gon' be, let it be pleasin' to You, Lawd.

 32 

H
itch up Ransom, Simon. I's gotta get straight to town an' tell Tarsie.”

Simon couldn't stop grinning. Ruth nearly twitched right out of her skin. She looked like a young girl again, eyes all twinkling and cheeks rounded up with her smile. But he caught her hand and drew her back down on the little bench tucked beneath the kitchen window of their house.

“Now, Ruth, you know what I shared with you 'bout my talk with Joss is private. He'll nevuh trust me again, you run in an' spout it all to Tarsie.”

Ruth's bright smile turned into a pout. “But it's only fittin' she knows, her bein' Joss's wife an' all. 'Specially since she's prayed so hard he'd go seekin' the Lawd.”

“Oh, she's prayed—I'm for certain sho' o' that. But they ain't married up.” He explained the trick Joss had played, watching disbelief bloom across Ruth's face. Then he added, “An' 'sides that, Joss di'n't make no decisions. Oh, he asked lots o' questions. I answered 'em best I could. Gave 'im plenty to think on, I reckon.” Simon sighed, recalling the way Joss's eyes had lit, then dimmed as he wrestled with accepting the truth that God loved him. Really, really loved him.

Simon took Ruth's hand. “You knows that story in the
Bible—'bout seeds gettin' dropped an' some sprouted but some di'n't?”

“Sho' do. I can even read most o' it on my own now, thanks to Tarsie.”

Simon gave his wife's hand a squeeze, proud of her accomplishment. Maybe someday she'd teach him. He sure would like to read the stories out of God's book all by himself. “Well, today I tossed a handful o' seeds on Joss's road. Others've tossed 'em befo'. He tol' me his wife, Mary, she was a believuh. An' o' course we know Tarsie's a believuh. So there's been lots o' seeds tossed. Now we's just gotta pray Joss'll let them seeds sprout.

“But you cain't say nothin' to Tarsie.” Simon turned firm—something he rarely did with Ruth. “Joss, he don't know what he's gon' do. Pro'bition comes an' the vineyard closes, he says he cain't stay 'round here. An' Tarsie, she don't wanna leave Kansas. So they might be partin' ways. You go runnin' tellin' her Joss done talked to me 'bout the Lawd, it might give her false hope. No sense in that.”

Ruth released a deep sigh. “I s'pose you's right. But it sho' would give her a lift to know he's at least askin'.”

“Ruth . . .”

Ruth waved both hands in the air. “I hears you! I hears you! I ain't gon' say nothin'.” She grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “But I sho' is gon' pray, long an' hard, that them seeds get to bloomin' in Joss's heart. For the Lawd, but also for Tarsie. 'Cause, Simon, sho' as the sun sets in the west, the girl be in love with that man.”

Oh, Lord, why'd You let this love blossom in my heart for Joss when You knew he'd misled me?

Tarsie used a sharp knife and turned the cheese she'd purchased for Joss into thin slivers that she layered on buttered
bread. Two whole weeks, and he still hadn't come home. She'd wanted to have the cheese ready and waiting for him, knowing it was his favorite, but if she didn't use it soon, it would spoil. She'd already had to carve away fuzzy mold from the outer edges. It made no sense to throw out the entire block just because Joss was being stubborn. Tears stung her eyes as she created the sandwiches. Two of them—enough for the children. She wouldn't be able to eat a bite of Joss's favorite cheese without breaking down.

She poured milk—canned milk, since the neighbor had decided not to trade with her anymore—into tin cups. Then she called the children in from the backyard, where they had spent the late part of the morning playing with the chickens in the newly built wire coop. Emmy had named them all, although Tarsie couldn't determine how the little girl could tell Rosie from Posey. The chicks, with their oversized feet and prickly white feathers growing in over their yellow down, all looked alike to her.

“Come here, now. Wash your hands and then climb up to the table.” She gave the directions kindly, but she heard the tiredness in her voice. The children had stopped asking her to play games or dance jigs with them. Somehow, she'd lost an element of joy for living. Even Ruth had expressed concern when she came in, alone, for her evening lessons, telling Tarsie, “You gots to buck up, girl—ain't doin' you or them chillun no good to have you mopin' aroun' all the time.” Tarsie knew her friend was right, but losing Joss had stolen something from her, and she didn't know how to retrieve it.

Emmy and Nathaniel dried their hands on a towel and dashed to the table, eager to eat. Nathaniel continued to use his toes to support his injured foot, even though the wound had healed nicely. She supposed she should insist he stop babying the foot, but she was too weary for a battle. So she helped him onto the bench and then prayed with them. At
their chorused “Amen,” she moved back to the stove, pretending busyness so she wouldn't have to sit down and think about the meals when Joss had sat catty-corner across from her and helped Nathaniel cut his meat or carry his cup of milk to his mouth.

She stared out the window, lost in thought, dimly aware of the children's chatter behind her. Despite the fact that he'd sent her away when she went to see him, she knew he cared about her and the children. A man who didn't care wouldn't arrange to have a dozen chicks and a bundle of chicken wire delivered, or hire someone to build a pen for the little cluck-clucks, as Nathaniel called them. A man who didn't care wouldn't leave the bulk of his pay on the stoop where she'd find it so she and the children could live in a little house while he slept on a pallet in the corner of a summer kitchen. A man who didn't care wouldn't stay in a town in which he hadn't wanted to live just so he'd be close enough that he could make sure her needs were met.

He cared. And she cared about him. But he'd still sent her away.

“Why?” she whispered for the hundredth time in the two weeks since he'd stormed out the door. But she didn't receive an answer.

“Tarsie?” Emmy's voice cut into Tarsie's musings.

“What?” she responded without turning around.

“Can we go to the mercantile today? Remember you need buttons to finish my new dress. I wanna pick some out.”

Had Joss been able to replace the button she'd torn from his shirt?

“Can we go, Tarsie? Huh?”

Tarsie sighed and offered Emmy a weary smile. “If Nathaniel will be wearing his shoes and walk all the way there and back again, then we can go. I can't be carrying him.” She barely had the strength to carry herself these days.

“He'll walk, won'tcha, Nattie?” Emmy grinned and shoved the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth. “I want pink pearl buttons for my dress.”

“As long as they don't cost more than plain.”

Tarsie tied Nathaniel's shoes, loosening the bows when he complained. Emmy fetched the big shopping basket Ruth had made, and they set out. When they reached the edge of the business district, Emmy pointed.

“What's that?”

Tarsie squinted against the sun and peered ahead. Some sort of red-and-white-striped tent had been erected in the middle of Main Street. An American flag hung from one side of it, flapping in the breeze. Men stood in a line under the sun, talking softly with one another and scuffing their boots on the ground. Although no sign indicated the tent's purpose, Tarsie knew.

“It's a voting tent.” She searched the line for Joss, her heart leaping with hope. She wouldn't be able to miss him, taller than most and with that thick thatch of dark, wavy hair. He would always stand out in a crowd. But no tall man with broad shoulders and a rakish mustache held a place in the line.

“Can we go in it?”

“Go in it?”

Both children pulled at Tarsie's skirt, begging. Tarsie pushed their hands away. “No. It's for grown-ups.”

Which way were the men casting their votes—to outlaw liquor or to keep it? She wished she could go in and peek at the ballots. But of course she couldn't, so she cupped the backs of the children's heads and gave a little push. “Come along, now.”

With chins low and lower lips poked out, they complied. Emmy cheered up, however, when Tarsie allowed her to select a card with six pink pearl buttons from the little drawer in the dry goods area. They cost one cent more than plain buttons,
but Tarsie decided it was a small price to pay to see such a beaming smile on Emmy's face. However, when the children clamored for gumdrops, Tarsie remained firm in her refusal. Buttons were necessary to fasten Emmy's dress. Candy they could do without.

She stepped up to the counter and waited for the mercantile owner to finish whatever he was doing in the back room so she could pay for the purchase. The children leaned against her legs, pouting, but she ignored them. As she dug through her little coin purse, Emmy began yanking on her skirt again. Tarsie sent a stern look at the little girl. “Emmy, I said you cannot be having candy. Stop your pestering now.”

But Emmy wasn't looking at the candy jars. Instead, she peered toward the mercantile's screen door, her eyes wide and an uncertain expression on her face. Bringing up one hand to shield her mouth, as if telling a secret, she whispered, “Tarsie? Papa's here.”

Joss froze in the doorway of the store when he spotted Tarsie and the youngsters at the counter. The other vineyard workers who'd already gone through the voting tent waited near the wagon that would carry them all back to work—Mr. Tollison had arranged their transportation, thereby ascertaining they'd all have the chance to vote. But Joss had wanted to get out of the sun, so he'd ducked into the mercantile. He sure hadn't reckoned on encountering Tarsie.

Part of him wanted to back out—pretend like he hadn't seen her. But Emmy stared right at him, her blue eyes round and full of questions. Nathaniel leaned on Tarsie's skirts, halfway hiding, with one finger in his mouth. Sadness gripped Joss's heart. Simon's youngsters ran to their papa but his youngsters hung back.