Cold Sassy Tree (21 page)

Grandpa had gone to talking politics. He was telling Mr. McAllister about the winter morning when Brother Belie Jones's wife fired up her stove and shut the oven door, not knowing her cat was asleep in there. "By the time Miz Jones opened the oven and found Essie, the dang cat was cooked. Later Miz Jones come down to the store jest a-cryin'. Said, 'Pore Essie. She must a-slept right th'ew. Else why wouldn't I of heard her holler?' Sometimes I think us folks in the South are jest like pore Essie. We sleepin' right th'ew them unfair freight rates, for instance, when we ought to be hollerin' all the way to Washington."

Mr. McAllister laughed. Miss Love laughed, too, but uneasy—like at the circus when the man puts his head in the tiger's mouth and you giggle when what you want to do is cover your eyes.

The husband and the fee-ance really liked each other, I could tell. Grandpa even asked Mr. McAllister to take pot luck and stay to supper. Practically insisted. "We don't git folks from Texas here ever day," he said in his best hospitality voice.

Knowing what I knew and not knowing what if anything Grandpa knew, all this funning and politeness gave me the creeps. Lord knows what it was doing to Miss Love, who had hardly said a word since Grandpa walked in. But the invitation brought the Texan back to the situation at hand. "Thank you, sir, but I got to catch the train to Atlanta. I better get on back to the ho-tel and pick up my grip."

He stood up, and Grandpa and Miss Love stood up, and I did, and there was an awkward minute till Grandpa said, "Well, I wisht you'd stay on, sir. We could put you up for the night."

That must of give Miss Love a start. Picking up the big white hat off the daybed, she handed it to Mr. McAllister and said, nervous as a witch, "He was just leaving when you came, Mr. Blakes-lee. He's got business in Atlanta."

The long tall man flipped his hand in the general direction of the saddle laying on the floor. He said, kind of casual, "This here belongs to your wife, Mr. Blakeslee. I come by to bring it to her—bein' as I was in the vicinity, so to speak."

"You shouldn't have gone to all that trouble, Mr. McAllister," said Miss Love, real formal. "I don't have a horse. You take it on back to Texas."

"Naw," he said. "If you don't want it, Miss Love—I mean Miz Blakeslee—why, sell it. And it wasn't no trouble, you bein' such a friend of the fam'ly while you were out in Texas. The saddle was a good excuse to drop by. And, uh"—he actually winked at her—"if you and Mr. Blakeslee ever get out my way, y'all be sure and look me up. I'd like to feed Mr. Blakeslee some Texas barbecue."

Ignoring the invite, Miss Love said, "It's been nice to see you again, Mr. McAllister." She looked up at him like he was no more to her now than some ten-year-old boy come in for penny candy at the store. Then she placed her trembling hand on Grandpa's good arm, smiling up at him like he was made out of money and honey both. Boy howdy, you wouldn't guess that fifty minutes ago she had been kissing this other man!

Grandpa walked the Texan out to the street, clapped him on the shoulder, good-natured like, and pointed directions to town.

It wasn't till my grandfather came back in the house that he really looked at the saddle. Going over where it lay on the floor, he hooked it up with the toe of one high-top shoe to see it better. "Miss Love, I think—"

"Mr. Blakeslee, I was once engaged to marry Mr. McAllister. He had that saddle made for me. It was his engagement present." She was talking fast, like if she slowed down she might lose her nerve. She told Grandpa in a small pinched voice that what Mr. McAllister really came for was to get her to marry him.

Then Miss Love flung herself face down on the daybed and went to crying. "I-hate-him-I-hate-him-I-hate-him!" She beat her fist on the thin mattress in time to the I-hate-hims.

"She sure told him off, Grandpa," said I, trying to be helpful. "You should of heard her."

Grandpa didn't answer. Just stood there, looking down at the fancy saddle.

"I was a f-fool, Mr. Blakeslee." Her words were muffled sobs. Now it's coming, I thought. She's going to tell Grandpa about the kissing. Instead, she said, "How I ever th-thought I wanted to m-m-marry him, I don't know. I was such a fool. And old enough to know b-better...."

Grandpa sighed and sat down by her on the daybed. "Best fool knows he's a fool, Miss Love. I don't know a soul who couldn't see a fool jest by lookin' in the glass. I been one myself, once't or twice't. So hesh up now. Cryin' ain't go'n do no good." Grandpa just couldn't hardly stand to watch a woman cry.

Well, plainly Miss Love wasn't a big enough fool to mention getting kissed. But thinking to kind of warn her, in case she didn't know that somebody besides me may have seen the peep show, I butted into the silence.

"I thought y'all were go'n have a coconut cake for supper, Grandpa. Miss Effie Belle came over with one just now."

Miss Love shot to a sitting position, her hands covering her mouth and the whites of her eyes showing. "Miss Effie Belle? She came over here?"

"Yes'm. I reckon she wanted to get a good look at Mr. McAllister. But I went out on the porch and told her y'all were talkin' bizness and maybe it'd be best if she came callin' tomorrow."

"Oh, Lord." Miss Love moaned.

"She forgot to hand me the cake."

Miss Love wasn't interested in the cake. "Did she ... uh, did she see Mr. McAllister?" I could tell she was really worried and dying to find out what else I knew. Importance swelled me up inside.

At that point Grandpa held up his right hand like a policeman. "Y'all shet up. Lemme think a minute. Hear?"

Well, Miss Love and I shut up, and Grandpa commenced pacing the floor. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. From the neck down he was the same old Grandpa Blakeslee; from the neck up he was a distinguished, smooth-faced stranger who looked kind of familiar. After while he slowed down to bite off a plug of tobacco and move it into his cheek. Then he paced some more. Finally he stopped in front of the saddle, shoving it with his foot.

Just to look at Grandpa, most people wouldn't know he was upset. But I could tell. All the time he was pacing, his shoulders kept twitching forward, one or the other or both—a sure sign—and every minute or two he stopped to scratch his head hard and fast.

When he finally spoke, what he said was "Miss Love, you want to marry Mr. McAllister?"

Why would he ask a thing like that when she was already married and also had just finished saying how much she hated the man?

She was as surprised as I was. Too surprised even to answer.

Just sat on the daybed staring at Grandpa with wide-open eyes and a wide-open mouth.

"Cause if'n you do, or if'n you have a mind to after you git over bein' so mad at him, why, we could git this'n annulled. Folks in Cold Sassy will have a good time talkin', but if you go on off to Texas, why, you won't have to put up with nothin' on account of it. So you want to marry him or don't you?"

M
ISS LOVE
rose to her feet, looking just about as stunned as old Cholly Smith did after he sold the family home place and heard the new owner had found a bag of gold coins behind a square of crumbling plaster in the dining room.

Walking slowly toward the back door, she stood looking out for a long time, twisting her hands and saying nothing. Finally she turned and spoke, sounding like a wrung-out dishrag. "Mr. Blakeslee," she said, her eyes cast down, "I don't want an annulment. If I weren't married to you, I still wouldn't marry him."

He went over close and she looked him square in the face. "I reckon you done answered my question," he said.

But then Miss Love's hands were on her mouth again. "Oh, Lord! Maybe you were trying to say—maybe what you mean is that you, sir, want an annulment. I don't blame you. I've embarrassed you before the wh-whole t-town." Big new tears streaked down her cheeks. "You want me to l-leave, don't you, Mr. Blakeslee?"

"God A'mighty, why would I want thet?" I could see him thinking he would have to hire him a housekeeper if she left. "If'n it was in my mind to ast you to leave, thet's what I would a-said, Miss Love. So in which case the subject is closed. Now what bout thet there saddle?"

"I don't w-want it." Trying to stop crying, she snuffled and blew her nose.

"Well, now," said Grandpa. Sitting down, he lifted the saddle onto his knee and looked close at the silver and the tooling. "Hit shore is a handsome thang."

"I don't care." She glanced at Granny's clock on the mantelpiece. "Will, I want you to run up to the hotel with it. If he's not there, take it to the depot."

"Now let's think about this a minute, Miss Love," said Grandpa, motioning me to wait.

"I don't want it."

"Thet ain't the point. A man with a bad conscience, and stubborn enough to lug something this heavy all the way from Texas, he ain't a-go'n lug it back home. You send it up to the ho-tel, why, he'll have to bring it back down here. Miss Effie Belle's neck will break off, tryin' to keep up with all the back and forths. Besides, Mr. McAllister might miss his train." He grinned. "You keep it. Then thet will be the end a-thet and you won't need no more truck with him."

Miss Love was speechless.

Thinking to get in a lick for her, I said, "Gosh, Grandpa, what good is a saddle without a horse? Haw, I can just see Miss Love sittin' up on that fancy gee-gaw on your old mule."

"Haw, yeah, old Jack'd pure die from embarrass-ment," said Grandpa, laughing for the first time since Mr. McAllister left. "But I cain't afford no hoss. Miss Love, I reckon you'll jest have to hang up thet saddle for a orna-ment."

She didn't answer. Just kept snuffling.

Grandpa was pacing around nervous, scratching his head hard and fast again. "Shet up, hear?" he finally said to Miss Love. "One thang I cain't stand is a cryin' woman."

That made her cry worse.

All of a sudden Grandpa slapped his leg, excited. "Y'all, I jest recollected a letter I got from Cudn Jake, not long fore Miss Mattie Lou died. You know Cudn Jake, son."

"I ain't sure, Grandpa."

"Well, maybe you too young to remember the last time he come to Cold Sassy." He turned to Miss Love. "Jake lives jest this side a-Cornelia. Raises Thoroughbred racehosses." She looked up from her crying, curious to know what Grandpa was driving at. "Jake's near bout gone broke on them racehosses. Not from bet-tin'. He's got too much sense to bet. He jest cain't find much of a market for'm right now. Anyhow, he offered to give me a three-year-old if'n I'd come git him. Said the hoss had been broke to a halter and thet's all, but if I had a mind to fool with it I could have her for nothin'. Said it would save him feedin' thet big mouth another winter. At the time, the last thang I wanted was a dang racehoss. But ... Miss Love, you want her?"

"I, uh, I never thought to want a racehorse, Mr. Blakeslee, but—"

"Think you could train him?"

"Didn't you say it was a her?"

"I don't recollect. Same difference. A gelding, maybe. Point is, could you train it to thet there saddle? I cain't pay nobody to train it, but Will Tweedy here could hep you. So you want a free hoss or don't you? Ifn ole Jake ain't got shet of it already."

"Yes. Yes, I do want it! Oh, I do!" Miss Love was up and practically hopping, she was so excited.

"Then what say we let Will Tweedy go git him?" Grandpa looked at me and winked. "Son, what's today? Sarady?"

"Yessir."

"Well, early Monday mornin' I want you to hitch old Jack to my buggy and go git thet hoss. Maybe you could carry the Predmore boy along for comp'ny."

It was my turn to be hopping now. You'd of thought I'd been in jail for three weeks instead of in mourning. Boy howdy! Then I had another idea, which I didn't waste time presenting. "How about if I borrow Grandpa Tweedy's covered wagon, sir, and us boys go campin' in the mountains. We could go by Cudn Jake's on the way home. Can I? Please, sir?"

"Shore, if'n Mr. Tweedy can spare the mule team and yore folks say so. But it cain't be no long campin' trip."

"Sir?"

"Yore daddy's go'n be leavin' for New York City in two or three weeks. I don't recollect the exact date, but I don't want yore mama stayin' by herself whilst he's gone. I shore wish she'd change her mind and go on with him. Miss Mattie Lou would want her to. Hit'd do her good, and hit's jest a dang shame to waste a free boat ticket."

I was so excited I hardly noticed when Miss Love left the room. "We'll just camp a few days," I told Grandpa.

"Them mountains is the best place in the world to be in the hot summertime," he said. "I jest hope yore mother and them see fit to let you go."

"Yessir, I do, too." But I wasn't worried. With Grandpa practically ordering me to go, there wasn't any real question about it.

"Miss Love?" he called. "I'm a-goin' on back to the store now. Will Tweedy, you come on with me. I got a sack a-groceries I need delivered."

I'd of liked to stay and talk with Miss Love. I wanted her to know I wouldn't tell on her. Miss Effie Belle would, of course. But I wouldn't.

We were halfway to town when Grandpa said sternly, as if I was leaving for Cornelia in a few minutes, "Now you be careful with thet hoss, Will Tweedy."

"I will, sir."

"Tie him up good to the back of the wagon and don't let them fool boys try to ride it or git to cuttin' up with him or anythang. Or you, either."

"Oh, no, sir."

"Likely he's skittish and high-strung. Most racehosses are. If I know Cudn Jake, thet free hoss may have more wrong with it than havin' to eat. How-some-ever, Miss Love needs something to take her mind off of Mr. Texas. Hope she can ride good as she says she can."

"I think Miss Love can do just about anything, Grandpa." I was thinking if she can marry you like she did, and turn you into ajudge with just a shave and a haircut, and tell off a man like Mr. McAllister, then I reckon she can train a horse.

Grandpa didn't mention the Texan again that day. In his mind, Mr. McAllister was dead as he'd ever be.

Well, he wasn't dead to me. Even walking along beside Grandpa, I kept remembering the kissing. I figured Miss Effie Belle couldn't have helped seeing—but hey, with her coming out of the bright sunshine, maybe she couldn't see down the hall! I'd like to of comforted Miss Love with that possibility. It wasn't going to be easy for her to cook a nice supper for Grandpa when her reputation depended on the eyesight of a mean old lady with a lip wart and the loyalty of a fourteen-year-old boy who had never been known to keep his mouth shut.