Marrying Stone (7 page)

Onery and Jesse might be eager to help him prove his premise, but Meggie was only eager to see him gone from this place. She'd sure changed her tune since she'd dropped into his lap that afternoon. Then she'd been as sweet as sugar candy. And soft and warm as a feather bed. Now, it was almost easy to believe that she'd tried to poison him.

"Dear Lord in heaven," Jesse said beside him. "We thank you for food to eat and all the world and life so sweet. We thank you for the stars above and your eternal grace and love."

The words came out by rote in a singsong fashion. Then the young man hesitated. "And thank you, God, fer my
fren' Roe. I like him."

THE BEAR BROTH was not the best soup that Roe had ever tasted. But then, it
had
seemed to ease his stomach. And he didn't think he'd been poisoned, so he supposed that could be considered success. The cornbread was more than half palatable and Roe found himself eating more heartily than he expected.

"So tell me about your people." Onery Best interrupted his thoughts.

"About them?"

"Where they come from, what they do. That sorta thing."

"Oh." Roe nodded, understanding. Apparently things were not so different in the hills than in fine houses on the Eastern Seaboard. All his life he'd been J. Monroe Farley, a scholar with few relevant family connections. It was like a mark he wore upon his forehead or a millstone he wore around his neck.

From the earliest days of his memory he'd been alone. When both his parents were still living, he was sent away to schools. His mother was in frail health and his father, an ambitious businessman, disliked having a child underfoot. By the time he was truly alone in the world, he was almost accustomed to it. His mother's cousins in Philadelphia had shown some inclination of taking him in. But by then, Roe was more inclined to simply lead his own life.

Presently, he was young and healthy and without attachments. He saw absolutely no reason to throw that away anytime soon. Music and history were his family and his life as well as a worthy pursuit. Worthy enough to be a life within itself for a man without family.

But even here, now on the top of this God-only-knows mountain, taking dinner with a gray-bearded Ozarker, his simpleminded son, and his barefoot daughter, here, too, his antecedents deserved consideration.

"My family is of English extraction from the states of Pennsylvania and New York," he said evenly. 'The Farleys were here prior to the Revolutionary War. My own father read law in his own legal firm on Wall Street in New York City," he said. "He was a Harvard graduate, as was my grandfather."

"Lawyers?" Onery asked.

"Yes, Harvard lawyers, for generations."

That fact alone was usually enough to reassure the most persnickety society matron.

Roe smiled warmly, assuming his host was dutifully impressed. But when he looked at Onery, he saw that the older man's forehead was furrowed thoughtfully and his bright blue eyes, shaded by thick silver-tinged eyebrows, turned their gaze to Meggie, his expression thoughtful.

Roe cleared his throat nervously. "My mother's side of the family are old Philadelphia. Came over with William Penn and all that sort of thing. They are very severe Yankee blue bloods, of course."

"Yankees?"

"Yes, of course."

Onery shook his head. "It's best not say another word about this, boy," he whispered. "Folks around here still don't take the War of Secession very easylike."

Roe's eyes widened. He thought Onery was making a little joke. But he appeared totally serious.

"I don't hold nothing like that agin a fellow," Onery continued with grave sincerity. "A fellow cain't be blamed for the family what birthed him. But around here, folks has got peculiar ideas about both lawyers and Yankees."

Shaking his head again, the old man made eye contact with his daughter as if making a pact.

"We won't say nothing about that, son. Claiming to be a Yankee lawyer ain't going to gain you too many friends."

Strangely, Roe felt stung by the criticism. "I wasn't actually looking for friendships," he replied.

"Well, if you're looking to get folks to sing and play songs for you, you'd best be looking for friends. Ain't nobody else going to leastwise."

'That's right!" Jesse said as he slapped his hand loudly on the table. "That's it edzactly." He turned his smiling face to Roe. "You're my frien', folks'll like ye 'cause they like me. Why, this is a lucky day for both of us. I was cheered to get a frien' of mine own. Now, I'm cheered to be a frien' to you 'cause you need one."

"Jesse's talking practically like he's got good sense," Onery agreed. "We'll take you along with us to the church and the Literaries and such. If you're a friend of ours, you'll be welcome. Afore you know it, you'll have ever' song in the hills for your own."

Roe was thoughtful for a moment. They were right, if he intended to make headway here he needed this family. Nervously he glanced in Meggie's direction. It wasn't the best situation here after the fiasco with the young woman, but Roe believed he could win her over. If Jesse and Onery Best were the local musicians, he needed to be with them. "That's wonderful of you, Onery," he said. "I am eager to get started."

Onery chuckled and gave Roe a teasing wink. "Aw, it's the least we can do for the feller what's calling on Meggie."

"He's not calling on me," Meggie ground out through clenched teeth.

Onery roared with laughter.

Roe pulled nervously once more on his collar. The joke about being Meggie's beau was wearing a little thin. "Is there a rooming house somewhere near here?"

"What do you need a rooming house for?" Onery asked.

"I'll need a place to stay."

"Why, you can stay here," Onery told him. "You can sleep up in the loft with Jesse."

"Oh, I couldn't impose."

"They's room in the loft," the older man said. "I sleep in that bed there in the corner and Meggie fixes herself a pallet on the floor. There ain't no impose about it. And there ain't no rooming house neither. In Marrying Stone you got to stay
with
somebody and we're inviting you to stay with us."

"Please stay!" Jesse begged. "We can be frien's all summer long." His bright blue eyes were wide with excitement.

Roe's glance strayed over to Meggie. Her expression was cold, and her blue-gray eyes so chilling that he could almost feel the stab of icicles at two paces. Clearly, she was far from delighted by this turn of events.

"I don't want to make a nuisance of myself," he said somewhat uneasily.

"You can help around to earn your keep," Onery declared. "Lord knows we need another hand around this place."

"I know nothing about farming."

"Ye can learn cain't ye?" the older man asked.

"Well certainly I could, but perhaps…" Meggie was glaring at him so frostily he couldn't finish his sentence. Once more Roe pulled his boodle bag out of his trousers. "I can pay."

Onery snorted. "We don't need yer money, boy. We need yer back."

Roe cleared his throat nervously. "I don't believe that I—"

"Don't ye worry. We'll start you out easy and we'll have those city-boy hands toughened up before the summer's half over."

The old man's tone seemed to settle the matter. Roe glanced over at the young man who claimed him as a friend. Jesse would be disappointed if he didn't stay. Onery might well be insulted. He needed them both.

Unwillingly he turned to the remaining person. "Miss Best, I—" he began.

"Oh, don't mind Meggie none," Onery said. "She'll be grateful for the help and I promise you, her cooking is something that you kindy get accustomed to after a while. She don't poison us ever' day." The old man howled with laughter and slapped his thigh.

Meggie's face was pale, her jaw set tight. The deed was done. Her father had invited the man and the only thing to do was to make the best of it.

"You'd need to stay right here," Onery continued. "Why, how else are you two gonna make up your little spat if you ain't around to sweet-talk her some more?"

Meggie thought that Granny Piggott had said it best. "Sweet-talking menfolk is a bit like razorback hogs. A
smart
woman knows to leave 'em alone."

As Meggie picked up the last of the dinner dishes from the table and emptied the scraps into the feed bucket, she remembered those words. She'd been mistaken. J. Monroe Farley, not a prince at all but some kind of professional man from that Harvard College place, was setting up his Edi-phone on the far side of the room. He was the sweetest-talking man that she'd ever seen. And he'd had an openmouthed kiss, a good laugh—and a bad bellyache at her expense. She was determined to leave him alone. She had to, for the sake of her good sense and her heart.

"The Edison phonograph," he was explaining to Jesse, as if her brother could actually understand, "is one of Thomas Edison's inventions. You do know Thomas Edison?"

Jesse's face was completely blank.

"He's not from around here," her father stated.

"No, sir," Roe agreed. He appeared a little nonplussed.

Jesse was seated on the floor next to the machine. He picked up his long-stemmed clay pipe from the tobacco saucer on the hearth and tapped it thoughtfully.

"Don't you dare light that thing in this house!" Meggie's voice was startling and shrill even to herself.

"I'm just holding it, Meggie," her brother insisted. "I ain't done nothing to be scolded about."

Roe and her father were both looking at her curiously. She usually was so even tempered.

"Women, they get their humors in a snit when they's a gentleman in the house," Onery told him.

Meggie turned back to her dirty dishes, determined not to pay attention to any of them.
Humors in a snit
! Indeed. It was as if her father was trying to bait her.

"Mr. Edison designed a way to capture sound on wax cylinders," Roe began again. He held up one of the objects for the men to examine.

"Looks like a corncob weaving spool," Onery said. "It's made of wax you say?"

"Yes, sir," Farley answered. "It's just regular wax like candles or sealant. But it can catch whatever you say or sing and keep it until you want to hear it again."

"Why would you want to hear yourself again?" Best asked.

Roe didn't have an answer for that. "Why, posterity," he said finally.

Meggie turned back to look at them. Her brother and father were staring at him blankly waiting for him to explain. Instead he began setting up the machine.

"I want to demonstrate how it works for you," he told them. "Once you see how this new machine can accurately represent your own voice, and play it back to you, you'll be very enthusiastic to participate."

"We've already said we are gonna sing fer you," Onery told him. "And we've promised to introduce you around the  mountain so folks won't think you're a stranger. I don't know why you'd be needin' us to be enthusiastic about it."

Roe didn't answer, but he did smile and then glanced over toward Meggie.

She blushed furiously. She'd be dad-burned and blasted before she'd show one more iota of interest whatsoever in this sweet-smelling, fancy-dressed city man, his strange machine, or his silly songs. She looked away. Saving their sounds for posterity! That was the biggest pile of foolishness she'd ever heard. Every song on the mountain was known to every soul that lived there. They sang them when they were happy or blue or grieving. They taught them to their children and those children taught them to theirs.