A Home in Drayton Valley (23 page)

 23 

J
ust hold it steady.” Joss talked around two nails caught in the corner of his mouth. He pinched a third nail between his thumb and forefinger and took aim with the hammer. After a dozen sharp whacks, the nail sunk to its square top in the old wood. He gave a brusque nod. “I can do the rest now. Step back.”

Simon shuffled backward two steps, cooperative and uncomplaining, then watched Joss pound nails in the middle and far end of the board to hold it in place. The man's unwavering gaze—the same intent look that observed Joss's movements at the vineyard—set Joss's nerves on edge, but he had to admit that having an extra pair of hands had proven helpful. Though he'd balked when Tarsie'd said Simon would be coming over to help portion off half of the little house for sleeping areas, he wouldn't have made nearly as much progress the past four evenings without Simon's assistance.

Of course, he hadn't missed the disapproving stares of his neighbors when Simon's family came trooping into the yard. And Emmy'd mentioned the neighbor kids had stopped coming by during the day to see if she and Nathaniel wanted to play. Irked him, the neighbors' attitudes. Spending time with a colored man didn't change who he was, deep down.

In the midst of the blunt thuds of boards clunking together and the sharp ring of the hammer on nails, Tarsie's and Ruth's voices reached Joss's ears. Bits and snatches of the reading lessons. Envy burned through his gut as Ruth dutifully named the letters, tracing their shapes on his tabletop with her finger and repeating the sounds they made.

“Y says
yuh, yuh, yuh
. Z says
zuh, zuh, zuh
.”

Joss chanted the sounds in his head but then chased away the chants by whacking another nail into place. He glanced in Simon's direction. “Need another board.” Simon limped out of the house, and Joss stepped back to examine the shoulder-high wall constructed of wagon boards set horizontally. Behind him, Tarsie's lesson took a turn.

“All right, Ruth, you've done well learning all the sounds. Now it's time to put sounds together. That's how words are formed. You ready?”

“Oh, I's ready, Tarsie. Uh-huh, I be ready!”

Tarsie's laugh—a light, joyful, eager trickle of sound—sent pleasure tiptoeing up Joss's spine. He kept his face aimed at the wall but listened intently to a soft
whish-whish
that indicated the pages of a book were being turned. Then Tarsie's voice again. “Look here at this word. Only three letters. Sound it out.”

“Lemme see. There's G. An' O. An' D.” Concentration deepened Ruth's husky tone. “An' them letters, they say . . .
Guh. Awww. Duh. Guh-aww-duh. Guh-aww . . .
”

Joss held his breath, awareness dawning just before Ruth proclaimed, “God! That say
God
!” Clapping erupted while laughter rang.

Simon dragged a board into the house and handed it to Joss. “What's all the hoorawin' for?”

Joss hefted the board into place. “Ask your wife.” He placed a nail and began banging, but Ruth's ecstatic voice carried over his ruckus.

“Simon, lookit this! See this word? It say
God
! Simon, I can read my Maker's name!”

Something pulled at Joss. Not a physical hand—not anything he could define—but an invisible cord wrapped itself around him and pulled him in the direction of the table. His muscles tensed, fighting the urge, but it won. His gaze found the open Bible, and he followed the line of Ruth's finger pointing to a single word: God. A tingle crept across Joss's scalp. G-O-D . . . God. He could
see
it.

“Get the chillun in here,” Ruth commanded, flapping at Simon's chest with both palms. Her smile beamed bright, tears rolling down her face. “I want E.Z., Malachi, an' Naomi to read it, too.”

With an indulgent chuckle, Simon hop-skipped to the door and hollered for the youngsters to come see what their mama'd learned. All of the children came running—the Foster young'uns and Emmy and Nathaniel, too—and the little room got so crowded Joss didn't have space to swing the hammer. But it didn't matter. He wouldn't have been able to lift it anyway. He felt as though every bit of strength had drained from his body. Yet something new and powerful pulsed through his middle.

God.
He could read it!
God
.

Tarsie tucked the light quilt beneath Emmy's chin and whisked a kiss onto the little girl's forehead. On the other side of the sleeping mat, Nathaniel already slept, his lips slightly puckered. The little boy'd tuckered himself out chasing with E.Z. and Malachi.

“G'night now. Pleasant dreams,” Tarsie whispered.

“G'night.” Emmy's thick lashes swept up and down in slow motion as she battled tiredness. “You comin' to bed soon?” Over the past few days, the children had grown accustomed to Tarsie sharing their mat.

Tarsie smoothed her hand over the child's hair. “Soon.” She pushed to her feet and crept through the gap in the newly constructed wall. Although it was simply built—a few beams upright from the floor to the ceiling and then some side-to-side boards marching from the floor to just higher than Tarsie's head—the wall created a fine privacy barrier between the sleeping room and the main part of the house.

Joss had used up all of the lumber from the wagon, so he intended to hang a blanket to separate the sleeping area into two spaces until he could afford to buy enough wood to build another wall. Considering the coarse materials he'd been forced to use, he'd done a fine job. When she reentered the main room of the house, where he sat at the table with a cup of coffee between his palms, she told him so.

He jolted. Coffee sloshed over the rim of the cup and dribbled onto the tabletop. Two dark splotches landed very near Tarsie's Bible, which still lay on the table. He swept the droplets away with his hand, then wiped his hand on his pants. His eyes on the black leather-bound book, he mumbled, “Reckon it'll do.” With jerky motions, he raised the cup and took a noisy slurp.

Tarsie poured her own cup and seated herself across the table. In less than a week, they'd each adopted a spot. Tarsie and Emmy shared one bench, Joss and Nathaniel the other, with the children and adults sitting diagonally from one another. It worked well to keep their feet from tromping on each other's, but it put distance between Tarsie and Joss. Sometimes Tarsie appreciated the space.

Tonight, however, she wished she had the courage to slip over next to him. Put her hand over his and tell him she'd seen his expression when Ruth cried out in exulted understanding. Longing had filled his eyes. Not even his stiff stance as he stood with his back pressed to the wall could hide it. But pride would keep him from admitting it.

She took a sip of her coffee, then set the cup down and pretended interest in prying loose a sliver on the table's edge. “When I walked Ruth and Simon to their cart, Simon told me there's some saplings growing along the creek behind his pappy's place.”

Joss peered at her over the rim of his cup, his brows low. “What do I need with saplings?”

“You could cut them down and use 'em to be buildin' bed frames.” She flicked a glance in his direction. “If you've a mind to be buildin' bed frames.”

Joss took another swig, then plunked the cup onto the table. “And why would I want to build bed frames?”

Tarsie offered a slow shrug. “It seems as though building things pleasures you. You built this fine table an' benches, and now a wall. I thought, since you'd gotten a taste of . . . buildin' things, it might've made you hungry for . . . more.” She held her breath, her thoughts shifting to the taste he'd been given of reading.

He nodded. “I've seen rope beds. I could put one together. But I've got no axe to chop down saplings.”

Tarsie beamed at him. “Why, that's no problem at all. Simon has an axe an' a sharpenin' stone. He told me so.”

“'Course he did.”

She pretended not to hear his sarcastic remark and reached for his empty cup. “Tomorrow after supper, we'll walk to Simon and Ruth's place. It's a goodly walk, but a summer evening—especially now that the rains have stopped—is a fine time to be going for a long stroll. You an' Simon can be cuttin' down saplings and stripping 'em while I'm giving Ruth another lesson.”

She carried both of their cups to the washstand and placed them gently into the tin basin. With a sigh, she turned to face Joss. “Now that Ruth knows all the letters an' their sounds an' how to string them together into words, there'll be no stopping
her. She can be reading anything. Learning anything.” She paused, hoping he might forget his pride and express a desire to read, too. No man, no matter how stubborn, could have witnessed Ruth's elation and not want it for himself.

Joss sat staring straight ahead, his jaw at a stern angle.

“Joss?”

“Reckon it'd be good to get the young'uns off the floor.” He still didn't look at her. “But Foster's place is too far for 'em to walk.”

Tarsie tensed, expecting him to tell her he'd go by himself.

“After work, when I take the horse to the livery, I'll see about borrowing a buckboard from Keller so we can ride over. We'll need some way of totin' the cut saplings back here anyway.”

Clasping her hands beneath her chin, Tarsie tried to rein in her delight. “So . . . we'll all be goin' to Ruth and Simon's place tomorrow?”

“Reckon so.” He rose and headed for the door, arms swinging. “I'll go outside so you can get changed for bed. Blow out the lantern when you're done so I know I can come back in.”

He stepped out and clicked the door shut behind him without so much as a glance in her direction. But Tarsie skipped to the partitioned-off sleeping area, her happiness spilling all the way to her toes. He was softening! Oh, he didn't show it in his tone or in the way he stomped around as if ants were under his feet, but he cared about his children or he wouldn't be fetching a wagon to save them from having to walk so far. He cared about her desire to teach Ruth or he wouldn't take her along. He cared—he truly did.

Tarsie quickly donned her nightgown, then slipped to her knees. Folding her hands, she squeezed her eyes shut and poured out her gratitude to God for the changes she'd witnessed in Joss. She finished, “Keep moldin' him, Lord, just as You've been doing. Keep drawing him closer and closer to You, just the way Mary wanted him to be. And help me
honor my promise to Mary, Lord—be giving me the strength to be loving. Even when he's irksome. Amen.”

She hurried back to the main room and blew out the lantern. On tiptoe, she skittered to the sleeping area and slipped in next to Emmy before Joss entered the house and caught her sneaking around in her nightgown. As she laid her head on the pillow, a worrisome thought captured her. When Joss made the children a rope bed, it likely would be large enough for both of the children . . . but not for her, too. Her mouth went dry. Maybe building beds wasn't a good idea, after all.