Courting Trouble (26 page)

The door creaked open and he crept out. ‘‘Sorry it took so long. I didn’t know which bed was his.’’

‘‘Did he wake up?’’

‘‘Only for a moment. He’s fallen back asleep now, though.’’

She turned toward the front gate, but he stopped her. ‘‘No, Miss Essie, come this way.’’

‘‘Why?’’

‘‘I’m going to saddle Rosebud and escort you home.’’

‘‘Oh no, Ewing. That’s not at all necessary. I wander these hills alone all the time.’’

‘‘Not when I’m around, you don’t.’’

She smiled. ‘‘Really. I’ll be fine.’’

‘‘Miss Essie, I don’t mean any disrespect, but I’m saddling up Rosebud. If you leave ahead of me, I’ll have to push that ol’ girl in order to catch up. You wouldn’t want to distress her like that, now, would you?’’

She placed her hands on her hips. ‘‘You haven’t changed one single bit, Ewing Wortham. Still blackmailing me into letting you tag along. Didn’t that Nashville Bible school teach you anything?’’

‘‘Yes, ma’am. Taught me to take care of our women. Now, come on and help me with Rosebud. She always liked you better anyway.’’

All Essie wanted was to go home and crawl into bed. Instead, she resigned herself to doing the polite thing and followed the ‘‘preacher.’’

chapter TWENTY-ONE

MOISTURE COLLECTED AGAINST the walls of the barn. Essie tugged her cloak together to ward off the chill, yet it did no good. The smell of leather, hay, and muck filled her senses. Ewing lit a lantern.

Oh my, but he’s grown up,
she thought. Gone was the chubby, freckled kid who’d dogged her every move, and in his place was a young man. Still light-haired, still quick to smile, still on the short side, but there wasn’t anything boyish about him, nor was there an extra ounce of flesh to be seen.

‘‘You must be a cyclist,’’ he said, eyeing her short skirt.

‘‘Yes.’’

‘‘It’s quite popular in Nashville.’’

‘‘You ride?’’ she asked.

‘‘It was forbidden.’’

He pulled a saddle off a rack, threw it over the mare’s back and began to cinch it up. The horse swiveled her head around and bit him.

‘‘Rosebud, no!’’ Jumping back, he rubbed his arm and shot Essie a glance. ‘‘I told you she didn’t like me.’’

Suppressing a smile, Essie hugged herself to keep warm.

‘‘Push the barn door open for me, would you?’’ he asked, slipping a bridle over the horse’s head.

They walked the horse to the front gate, where she retrieved Cocoa and mounted up.

‘‘It sure is good to be home,’’ he said, inhaling deeply.

‘‘You didn’t like Nashville?’’

‘‘I loved it. Never seen a prettier place. But it gets mighty cold in the winter. Mighty cold.’’ He pulled up short. ‘‘Shhhh. Listen.’’

She stopped.

‘‘You hear that? You hear that beetle?’’ he asked.

A noise much like a squeaky hinge sounded over and over again.

‘‘That’s a pine sawyer,’’ he said. ‘‘You know how I know that?’’

She shook her head.

‘‘You taught me.’’

‘‘I did?’’

‘‘Yes, ma’am. You taught me to listen to all the night creatures.’’

‘‘I was probably just trying to get you to hush up.’’

He chuckled. ‘‘You cut me to the quick, Miss Essie.’’

They rode in silence, she with a new ear to the nocturnal. The animals and insects of the night were as familiar to her as breathing. She had no recollection of teaching their identities to Ewing.

‘‘So what have you been doing with yourself since I’ve been gone—besides bicycling, that is?’’ he asked.

‘‘Nothing much, I suppose.’’

‘‘Now, why is it I don’t believe that?’’

She didn’t respond and he allowed the conversation to lag. Something she’d never known him to do before. Maybe that school had taught him a thing or two, after all.

They arrived at her house and he would have gone all the way to the stables with her, but she stopped him.

‘‘Let me put her away for you,’’ he said.

‘‘No. Don’t you remember? Cocoa doesn’t like you, either.’’

He huffed. ‘‘I’d forgotten.’’

‘‘Good night, Ewing. And thank you for seeing me home.’’

He tipped his hat. ‘‘My pleasure, ma’am. I’ll see you tomorrow.’’

‘‘What?’’

‘‘You said you were going to check on Harley. I’ll be there, too.’’

‘‘Oh. Of course. Well, tomorrow, then. Good night.’’

He made no move to leave, so she left him staring after her as she guided Cocoa round back.

—————

‘‘I wanna take some flowers to the rope-walker’s grave,’’ Harley said, pulling a gooey handful of pulp and seeds from inside a pumpkin.

He and Essie were cleaning them out for Lester, the orphanage’s cook. He’d set them up in the dining hall, now empty apart from the two of them and their pumpkins. She scraped the sides of hers with a spoon.

‘‘I’ll take you,’’ she said, ‘‘but you’ll need a bath and a haircut first.’’

Scrunching up his nose, he paused. ‘‘The feller’s dead. Why should he care what I look like?’’

The screen door at the front of the dining hall squeaked open, then slapped shut. ‘‘If Miss Essie says it’s time for a bath and haircut,’’ Ewing said, entering, ‘‘then you don’t argue. You simply do it.’’

‘‘Howdy, Ewing,’’ Essie said, then turned back to her task. ‘‘Harley, have you met Mr., um, Preacher Wortham?’’

Harley shook his hand, trying to dislodge a pumpkin seed. ‘‘I met him,’’ he said, accidentally slinging the seed off of his hand and onto her cheek. ‘‘I didn’t know he was a preacher, though.’’

Ewing spun a chair backwards and straddled it. ‘‘Ewing is fine.’’

Her hands were a mess, so she brushed the seed with her shoulder but could not get it off. Ewing leaned his chair forward on two legs and plucked the seed from her cheek.

‘‘Thank you.’’

He smiled.

‘‘Cook’s gonna make some pumpkin soup,’’ Harley said.

‘‘Y’all need any help?’’ Ewing asked.

‘‘Not with the pumpkins, but Harley might need some assistance with his bath.’’

‘‘I don’t need no help. I can do it.’’

‘‘Just the same, will you help him, Preacher?’’

‘‘Be glad to. And don’t call me Preacher. Doesn’t sound right coming from you.’’

‘‘But neither Ewing nor Mr. Wortham is the correct form of address.’’

‘‘Ewing will be fine.’’

She wasn’t so sure about that, but calling him by anything other than his given name did seem a bit bizarre.

She shot a surreptitious glance in his direction. Wouldn’t the girls in town be agog when they saw how he’d changed? It wouldn’t be long before he’d marry one of them. She wondered which one it would be.

‘‘I’m all done with mine,’’ Harley said. ‘‘What about you, Miss Essie?’’

‘‘I’ve still got a little ways to go. Why don’t you and Ewing go on to the creek and wash up. When you return, I’ll be finished here and ready to cut your hair.’’

Ewing stood.

‘‘You gonna wash, too?’’ Harley asked him.

‘‘Might as well.’’ He picked up a rag and wiped the boy’s hands off. ‘‘We’ll be back shortly.’’

‘‘Take your time.’’

————

The water was cold as a Tennessee winter. Ewing dove under, then shot back up with a roar. Harley stood naked and shivering at the edge of the creek.

‘‘Come on in. Feels great.’’

‘‘Preachers ain’t supposed to lie.’’

‘‘I’m not lying. It does feel great. It feels great to be clean and to smell nice. Now, come on.’’

‘‘How ’bout we just say I did. Nobody’ll know.’’

‘‘Miss Essie will know. And then we’ll both be in trouble.’’ He could see the boy wasn’t going to make it in past his ankles. Striding out of the water, he swooped Harley up.

‘‘No, no! I’m gonna freeze.’’ The boy kicked and screamed.

Ewing kept right on walking. Harley put up such a fight that by the time Ewing managed to dunk him, they were both warm from the effort.

But it didn’t last long. He had to soap the boy’s hair and body two or three times to remove all the dirt. His lips turned blue before they were finished.

He toweled them off with worn fabric that was too old for someone’s rag basket and had therefore been donated to the orphanage.

‘‘Here’s some clean clothes. They might not fit just right, but they’ll keep you warm for now.’’

He’d never heard someone’s teeth actually chatter, but Harley’s were clacking up a storm. He’d known all along that they’d need a fire after their swim, so he’d laid some kindling in advance. Now he bent to light it, then pulled on his trousers, shirt, and jacket.

Harley huddled in his oversized clothing and fed the flames with dead leaves and pine needles.

‘‘You must be something special to have Miss Essie looking after you this way,’’ Ewing said.

He shrugged. ‘‘Me and Miss Essie is friends, is all. We go fishin’ together. She ain’t never made me take a bath before, though.’’

‘‘Well, she’s taken a shine to you. Anybody can see that.’’

‘‘I akst her to marry me.’’

Ewing lifted his brows. ‘‘Did you? What’d she say?’’

‘‘She said I had to wait ’til I was taller. Then I could ask her again.’’

The smell of freshly burned pine spread throughout the clearing. Ewing blew on the flames and they surged upward. ‘‘Has she had many beaus?’’

‘‘Lots o’ fellers like her.’’

‘‘Who?’’

‘‘The sheriff. The peddler. The shopkeeper.’’

‘‘What shopkeeper?’’

‘‘Mr. Crook.’’

‘‘Never heard of him.’’

‘‘He runs the Slap Out. So did Miss Essie for a while. That’s where she took the king snake we caught. You shoulda seen it. His name was Colonel.’’

‘‘What happened to it?’’

‘‘Me and Miss Essie and Jeremy let it go free.’’

‘‘Jeremy? Jeremy who?’’

‘‘You know. His granddaddy’s the drunk?’’

Ewing nodded. ‘‘Gillespie. You’re talking about Jeremy Gillespie?’’

‘‘I don’t know. He works on Miss Essie’s oil well. Him and that cowboy fella by the name o’ Adam. The one what likes Miss Essie. ’Cept he cut outta town real quick-like.’’

‘‘Who did? Jeremy or Adam?’’

‘‘Adam. Ain’t you payin’ attention?’’

‘‘I’m trying.’’ Ewing scratched his jaw. ‘‘So this Adam fellow. He was sweet on Miss Essie?’’

‘‘She liked him, too. She never came to see me once when he was in town. I saw her plenty o’ times, but she was always with him and didn’t even know I was there. She even let him ride her bike. He crashed it and ever’thing and she still let him kiss her. I saw.’’

Kiss her? And he’d left town in a hurry?
But Ewing let those questions go unspoken and instead asked another, more important one.

‘‘Does Miss Essie know you saw her kissing this man?’’

‘‘Nope.’’

‘‘Have you told anyone else what you saw?’’

‘‘I tol’ Jeremy.’’

‘‘Anybody else?’’

‘‘Well, I tol’ you just now.’’

Ewing rested his elbows on his knees. ‘‘Harley, there are some things a man does, and some things he doesn’t. He does protect the womenfolk. So if you were spying on Miss Essie—’’

‘‘I wasn’t spyin’!’’

‘‘Excuse me. If you accidentally saw Miss Essie with a man and feared for her safety, then it would’ve been okay to have kept your eye on her. But once you realized she wasn’t in any danger, keeping an eye out for her changed into spying. And that’s something a man doesn’t do.’’

‘‘How can ya tell she ain’t in danger?’’

‘‘When she kisses him back.’’

‘‘Now, how am I supposed to tell who’s kissin’ who?’’ Harley said, clearly exasperated.

‘‘Was she struggling, Harley?’’

The boy looked off into the distance as if recalling what he’d seen. ‘‘No. Can’t say that she was.’’

‘‘Then she was kissing him back and it was time for you to leave. All right?’’

‘‘All right.’’

‘‘And one more thing.’’

Harley looked at him.

‘‘A man never, ever, kisses and tells. And not just when he’s doing the kissing, but when he sees someone else doing the kissing. I don’t want you to ever, and I mean
ever,
breathe a word about Miss Essie and this cowboy to anyone else. You understand?’’

‘‘Yes, Preacher.’’

Ewing ruffled the boy’s head. ‘‘All right, then. Let’s put this fire out and go get you a haircut.’’

————

Something had happened at the creek. Essie could sense the change in Harley and Ewing immediately. A camaraderie. An easiness.

She tied a sheet around Harley’s neck, glad to know he had a new friend, especially one who would be so close by.

They were once more in the dining room, but this time it held a handful of children doing chores. A girl about ten years old in a tattered brown sack dress wiped grime from the windows. A boy a little older than Harley placed chairs on top of the tables while another followed behind with a mop.

Ewing had just finished stacking the chairs closest to him, when he twirled one around and straddled it.

‘‘That crick was cold, Miss Essie,’’ Harley said. ‘‘I don’t ever wanna do that again.’’

Thank you,
she mouthed to Ewing.

He winked.

The gesture so startled her, she dropped her scissors. He grinned and did it again.

‘‘You ever cut a fella’s hair before?’’ Harley asked.

‘‘What? Oh. Yes. Of course. I’ve cut my father’s many a time. Now, sit still.’’

She picked up the scissors and concentrated on her task. She couldn’t fathom why in the world Ewing would wink at her. That would be like, like
Jeremy
winking at her. She shook her head. Ewing might have grown up some, but she couldn’t think of him as anything other than a tagalong that never shut up.

‘‘I hear you’ve been drilling oil wells,’’ Ewing said.

‘‘Yes. Papa has a rig over on Twelfth, though it has yet to produce.’’

‘‘How far down are they?’’

‘‘I’m not really sure.’’

‘‘Who’s working the rig?’’

She pulled a section of Harley’s hair up with her comb, trapping it between her fingers before snipping off its ends. ‘‘Jeremy Gillespie and a man by the name of Cal Redding.’’

‘‘Redding? Who’s that?’’

‘‘He’s new to town. Only been here a month or so.’’

‘‘Who worked the rig before that?’’

‘‘A drifter.’’

‘‘Adam, that cowboy I was tellin’ ya about,’’ Harley piped in.