Diamond Duo (6 page)

Least he could do is take off them muddy boots. I know he never wiped his feet.

Henry stopped outside the door and tried the knob. “Sarah?”

She turned away, hurling a string of insults in her mind.

He rattled harder. “Open up. What you doing in there?”

She knew if she didn’t answer, he’d stand there asking addlepated questions all night. “I’m resting, Henry.”

“Resting?” he called in a low voice. “It’s midday. You ain’t ailing, are you?”

How like him to act like nothing was wrong. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

The long pause from the other side of the door said things she knew Henry couldn’t find the words for. When he finally spoke, he said just the wrong thing. “What about dinner?”

She sat up and threw her pillow. “There’s chickens running over the yard because you can’t mend a fence. Pluck one and eat it. Frying pan’s on the hook.”

She’d have some apologies to make later, but for now Sarah hunkered down, swaddled in spiteful indignation, and tried to sleep. No more sound came from inside the house. In the silence, she listened to the racing pulse in her temple beat a rhythm against her pillow. She couldn’t quiet it any more than she could silence the gentle voice in her head. Frustrated, she flopped on her back and kicked the covers to the floor.

Why should I, Lord? I don’t care to feed that stubborn-hearted, per-plexing man. Why would You ask me to?
She had searched her heart and couldn’t find a single excuse for Henry’s bad behavior. If he couldn’t offer her one, let him starve.

Sarah turned on her side again and huddled against the cold until it became more work to resist than to obey. Miserable, she spun around and sat up. Very well, she’d give him food, but that was all. There’d be no need to speak to him. She slipped a shawl around her shoulders and opened the door.

In the kitchen, Henry sat slumped at the table, but his head jerked up when she entered the room. He had already fetched the kettle of beans and ham she’d cooked the day before from the springhouse he’d built down by the bayou. He’d been right proud of himself for building the small house over the water to keep her vittles cool, but the thing had become a source of irritation for Sarah, considering Jefferson boasted an ice plant. The folks in town sat in their parlors and waited for the iceman to put blocks of ice in special wooden boxes sitting right in their kitchens. A pot of
beans would last for days in a contraption like that.

Without a word, she took down the iron skillet and scooped in bacon grease from the jar near the blacktop stove. The solid grease turned to liquid as soon as it hit the pan, so she know the fire was hot. She hurried to mix the cornbread, poured the batter, and set the skillet on the stove with more force than was called for.

Behind her, Henry cleared his throat. “Did you see all the chocolate that woman had, Sarah? She done bought herself a whole mess of chocolate.”

Sarah planted her knuckles on her waist and twisted to look over her shoulder. “I saw it all right, and some other things, too. I saw you looking mighty hard at that fancied-up white woman.”

Henry drew back, and pain flickered in his eyes. “What you going on about?”

Sarah knew when she said it the accusation was unjust. In all the years she’d been Henry King’s wife, she’d never once caught his eyes on another woman. She reached for the beans, slamming the pot on the stove. “You know just what I’m talking about.”

It would be nice if she knew it herself.

“How could I be looking at a woman? You’re all these eyes have wanted since they landed on you four years ago at Lawetta Draper’s backyard social. You still in braids and looking so sweet in that pretty white frock we had to fight off the bees. From that day until now, I can’t see past you to look at anyone else.”

“The bees swarmed because Markas Scott sloshed cider on my dress.” She kept a hard edge in her voice, but still Henry chuckled.

“Markas Scott was jus’ trying to sit close to you. The man knows a good thing when he sees it.”

Sarah longed to turn but kept right on stirring the beans. The scrape of Henry’s chair on the pinewood floor told her he was coming to stand behind her. She steeled herself until his hands on her shoulders melted her resolve as fast as the skillet had melted the grease. When he pulled her close, she leaned into him despite herself.

“Girl, what’s wrong with you?” he whispered. “Your man takes you into town to fetch you a surprise, and this is how you act?”

She picked up the dishcloth to wipe her hands and turned. “You the one acting up today. What happened to you down at Stilley’s?”

The glow in his eyes faded, and waves of pain rolled in to take its place. He squirmed like he didn’t want to answer her question, and his expression changed so many times she gave up trying to read him.

“Tell me, Henry.”

“I don’t care to start it up again, Sarah.”

“Well, I need to know.”

He shook his head. “You know I can’t sort the words in my head good enough to say ’em aloud.”

“Try.”

Henry stared at the floor without speaking until Sarah pulled his attention back to her.

“Just say it.”

He rubbed circles on his thick brows with his thumb and forefinger then looked up with anguished eyes. “All right, then. If that’s what you want.” His big chest moved up and down, and he opened his mouth twice before the words came out. “Sarah, today was the first time you ever said you was proud of me. Did you know that?”

She could only stare.

“And for what?” he continued. “For showing spite to Mr. Stilley? Never mind that I took you there in the first place to buy you something nice.”

Sarah back-stepped and slung the dishcloth across the room. “I can’t help it! I can’t abide all that bowing and scraping! If you want to surprise me, Henry King, then live up to your name.” She knew she’d gone too far but couldn’t stop. “Looks like, you being a farmer and all, you could grow yourself a nice backbone.”

She pushed him aside and moved about the room with gyrating hips, batting her eyes and spouting hateful words. “ ‘Yes, suh, Mr. Stilley, suh. Let old Henry move his big black bottom out the way
for these fine white folk.’ ”

When she dared a glance his way, she saw his face was red, his fists clenched.

“That’s enough, Sarah. You wrong, and you know it. I don’t show out like that. And Mr. Stilley treats us good as anybody.”

“Good as anybody?” She sneered and nodded. “Why, sure he do. When nobody’s looking.”

His fierce glare cut straight through her bones. “What you want from me, Sarah? This ain’t St. Louis. I told you it would be different here.”

When she didn’t answer, he shook his head. “Small as you are, you got a sizable ornery streak. I love you, but your pride’s gon’ see me hanged.”

Sarah returned to the stove, her back as rigid as her mind-set.

The door opened then closed behind Henry, and only then did the enormity of her words overwhelm her. She stood as if poured out and forged to the spot by the heat of her anger, until the acrid smell of burning beans and deep regret assailed her nostrils. She pushed the pot off the fire, untied her apron, and sank into Henry’s chair. On a shelf above the sideboard, the ragged spine of Mama’s Bible leapt out at her. A single verse from Proverbs seemed to sprout wings and fly out from the dog-eared pages.

“Death and life are in the power of the tongue: and they that love it shall eat the fruit thereof.”

She sat for a bit, gingerly chewing the fruit of her words, finding it less than tasty. If she’d ever doubted that particular scripture, she didn’t now. The pall that settled about her, heavy in the room, felt like the death of her husband’s love.

What has my big mouth done?

She turned and stared at the place where he’d gone out, her pride, more than the solid oak door, an impenetrable wall between herself and Henry. A simple apology wouldn’t do for this one, no matter how fast she danced.

Dear Lord, what have I gone and done now?

A
voiding the main road was the smartest plan. One of the nosy old hens Bertha saw scratching about town might ask too many questions and then go squawking to Mama. If Mama caught her at Lover’s Leap, it’d be the woodshed for certain. The fact that no one ever forbade her to go to the bluff was but a trifle, though one she’d use to her advantage should she be caught. Mama’s unreasonable views on the subject were clear, voiced or not. But it was the only interesting place left in the whole of Marion County.

If they timed it right, they could catch Mose and Rhodie in an empty wagon, headed back to the bayou for more wood. Bertha squinted at Annie’s fine yellow dress. “We have to run. Can you keep up?”

Grinning, Annie tucked her parasol under one arm and extended her hand. “Just try me.”

Bertha returned the smile with an equal measure of glee and clasped Annie’s hand. “Come on, Magda. Follow us,” she cried and then darted between two shops with Magda’s plaintive cry to wait echoing in her ears.

Bertha clung to her new friend and led her down the cluttered lane past discarded barrels, stacked crates, and piles of odorous trash. At the end, they cut to the left and ran behind staggered rows
of shops along the back alleys of Jefferson with Magda panting far behind.

Bertha longed for her soft, low-slung boots instead of the bronze leather heels fastened by little buttoned straps that Mama insisted she wear that morning. They were far too tight with ridiculous pointed toes that pinched her feet. Bertha detested shoes and always had, much preferring the comfort of worn-in boots or bare feet. She wondered if the day would ever come when she might learn to tolerate fashionable shoes.

They passed behind Mr. Steinlein’s clothing store on Walnut Street and cut across an open field before bursting onto the road in time to see Mose’s rig approaching in the distance. Bertha and Annie doubled over in laughter, clutching their sides.

Magda, still hobbling across the field, gripped her waist in apparent pain and scowled her displeasure. When she reached them, her complaint was an accusation aimed at Bertha. “You didn’t wait.”

Guilt tickled the edges of Bertha’s conscience. “I clearly said we had to run,” she panted. “You heard me say it.”

“But I asked you to wait.”

“I don’t have the wind to argue, Magda. Besides, here come Mose and Rhodie.”

The boy spotted Annie from forty feet away. His wide eyes were fixed on her, and the freckles on his pale face stuck out like stars in a cloudless sky. The ever-unflappable Rhodie sat quietly beside him, hands folded in her lap. They drew alongside, and Mose reined in the horse. “Why, looky here, Sissy. If this ain’t our lucky day.”

His openmouthed smile reminded Bertha of a happy jack-o’-lantern. She moved closer, pulling Annie along for bait. “Hey, Mose.”

He pulled his gaze from Annie long enough to address Bertha. “Well now, it ain’t often I get to see the prettiest flowers in Jefferson, much less stumble upon them twice in one day.” His eyes swiveled back to Annie. “And I see there’s a mighty fair rose been added to the bunch.”

“Hello.” Annie stuck out her hand and clasped his palm as if it weren’t calloused and covered in filth. “I’m Annie. Bertha’s friend.”

It wouldn’t seem two simple words held the power to induce such joy, but they swept over Bertha in waves, leaving a rush of contentment behind. Her elation lasted as long as it took to catch the wounded expression on Magda’s face.

Mose tipped his hat with his free hand. “Moses Pharr. Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. This here’s Rhodie, my little sister.”

Annie released his hand and beamed past him at the girl. “Oh, but this darling girl isn’t so little. She’s a young woman, and a pretty one, too. I always did envy girls with red hair.”

Whether the compliment was genuine or a simple courtesy, it pleased Rhodie to no end. She returned a smile as sweet as hot cross buns, and a flush rose to her cheeks. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.”

With a furtive glance behind her, Bertha decided they could exchange pleasantries later. “Mose, are you two headed back toward the bayou?”

A light flickered in Mose’s eyes. “Why? You gals needing a lift?”

Bertha grinned back at him. “We sure are.”

“Hop aboard, then. We got an empty wagon this time, so take all the room you need.” He looked past them to Magda and spoke to her for the first time. “You can come, too, if you like.”

Magda’s frown darkened. “Really? Well, ain’t I blessed?”

Bertha let go of Annie and caught Magda’s hand. “Come, my beloved. Your carriage awaits.”

The struggle not to smile played over Magda’s face, but the effort proved too great, and she allowed Bertha to pull her toward the rig. “Save your sweet talk for those who don’t know you so well, Bertha Biddie.”

Bertha grinned and squeezed her fingers. “Just get in, you sour old crabapple.”

Mose ordered Rhodie to the rear so Annie could join him on
the seat. Though Rhodie complied swiftly and without complaint, Annie refused to take her place even after Bertha tried to convince her. Instead, Annie hiked up her skirts and climbed into the wagon bed, seemingly oblivious to the cypress twigs and wood chips. When all was said and done, Annie, Bertha, and Rhodie sat cross-legged in back, and Magda wound up on the seat beside a scowling Mose.