A Home in Drayton Valley (24 page)

Tarsie worried about the youngsters bouncing off the back of the wagon, since no high sides offered protection, but they arrived at Simon and Ruth's little house safely. The Foster children were waiting in the yard and ran to the wagon, their faces alight. E.Z. cupped his hands beside his mouth and bellowed, “Ma! Comp'ny's here!”

At once, several faces poked from neighboring doorways. Tarsie noted narrowed eyes and firmly set lips. A chill crept across her scalp. Joss had warned her the white neighbors might think less of her for spending time with a black woman. For the first time, she wondered if Ruth might pay a price for befriending Tarsie. Her stomach churned.

Ruth charged across the yard, hands outstretched. “Climb on down, girl! Didja bring your Bible?”

Tarsie groaned. “I forgot. Joss was in such a hurry . . .” Hearing the complaint in her voice, she clapped her hand over her mouth.

Ruth chuckled. “Oh, lawsy, it's no trouble. I gots that one belonged to Simon's pappy. We can use it instead.”

Tarsie climbed down while the children dashed around the corner in a happy cluster and Simon loaded an axe and an odd-looking two-handled saw in the back of the wagon.

“Be back afore sundown,” Simon said, leaning in to deliver a kiss on Ruth's cheek.

Tarsie averted her gaze, embarrassed by their affection. No matter how much Joss changed, she couldn't imagine him ever kissing her cheek right out in broad daylight.

Ruth waved to the men. “Be careful, now!” The moment the wagon rolled off, she looped her hand through Tarsie's elbow and aimed her for the house. “I baked some molasses cookies, an' I got a pot of tea brewin' so's we can have a li'l treat while we study.”

Tarsie glanced quickly at the nearby houses. People remained in doorways, staring at her. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Are you sure it's all right for me to be here, Ruth? I don't want to be causin' trouble for you.”

Ruth drew back, her brows crunching together. “Trouble?” Then she looked, too. She let out a little snort. Stepping away from Tarsie, she waved at the nearest neighbor. “Howdy there, Myrtle Mae. You gon' come ovuh an' meet my friend? Gettin' a look-see in the sunlight'll give you a better idea on how pearly white her skin be.”

Tarsie gasped. The woman Ruth addressed as Myrtle Mae backed quickly into her house and slammed the door. The others followed suit, sending off a series of bangs that reminded Tarsie of Fourth of July firecrackers. Chortling, Ruth sashayed to Tarsie and took her arm again. She ushered Tarsie into the little house and pulled out a chair.

“Set yo'self down.”

Tarsie did so.

Ruth headed to a roughhewn stand in the corner and lifted a plate of brown, crumbly-looking cookies. “An' take that worrisome look right off yo' face. You don't need to be frettin' one bit ovuh those nosy folks.” She slapped the plate on the table, then stood with her hands on her hips. “They's just jealous is all. Word's got aroun' that you's teachin' me.
Whole lotta people'd like to be takin' the lessons, too, but I tell 'em they gotta wait. Soon as I got it all down real good, I'll be openin' up a school an' share what I learnt.”

She tossed her head, making her wiry hair bounce on her broad forehead. “They's a few callin' me uppity, but we's used to that. They already fling that word at my Simon, an' at his pappy befo' him, 'cause Mistuh Tollison make them bosses at his vineyard.” She yanked out a chair and plopped down. “But I nevuh pay no mind to foolish talk, an' you shouldn't neithuh. The good Lawd, He say, ‘Tarsie, you teach Ruth to read,' an' you say, ‘Lawd, Yo' child hears an' obeys.' He's gon' bless us for obeyin', an' that's that. Now let's you an' me have some o' them cookies, 'cause once the chillun give up their game an' come scroungin' for food, there won't be nothin' left but crumbs.”

Tarsie laughed, charmed by Ruth's no-nonsense approach to life. She reached for a cookie, and she and Ruth munched, jabbering about the kinds of things women discussed—the funny comments their children made, recipes, and the new fabric on display in the window at the mercantile. Then Ruth's face turned serious. “Tarsie, what's Joss gon' do if that vote on pro'bition shuts down the vineyard?”

Tarsie scowled. “What vote?”

Ruth scowled, too, her lower lip poking out. “You mean to say Joss ain't said nothin' to you? It's got to be weighin' heavy on him, same as it is on Simon.”

“He hasn't said a word.” Tarsie knew what prohibition meant—alcohol would be illegal. The thought delighted her, given Joss's past penchant for indulging. Mary'd convinced Joss to come to Kansas to take him away from the saloons, and now it seemed as though he'd be permanently removed from the opportunity to drink. A shiver of delight quivered through her belly. She hugged herself. “Oh, I wish I could vote! I'd vote for prohibition.”

Ruth swept cookie crumbs onto the dirt floor, releasing a disgruntled huff. “Women ain't nevuh gon' have votin' rights. Men, they don't think women's got enough sense for politics. But what they haven't figgered is women is the ones tellin' the men how things oughta be done.” She tipped her head, her brow furrowing. “You'd vote fo' pro'bition? 'Cause shuttin' down that vineyard, it'd put a whole lotta people outta jobs. Includin' Joss.” A sigh heaved from Ruth's lips. “Me an' Simon, we been prayin' on it, seekin' the Lawd's leadin' 'cause we sho' want to do what's honorin' to Him, but to Simon it's a fearful thing to mebbe lose the job an' home you've had for your whole life. He thinks nobody else'll want him, him havin' that bum foot an' all.”

Tarsie nibbled her lip as she considered Ruth's concerns. “Maybe it's being selfish for me to want no more alcohol. I didn't stop to think about how it would affect other people. I was just thinking of myself and my family.” She aimed her gaze at her lap, uncertain of Ruth's reaction when she shared a secret. “Joss, in times past, has had too much of a taste for liquor. It was hurtful for his wife.”

Ruth grabbed Tarsie's hand. “Joss hurt you?” Her tone held both fury and disbelief.

Tarsie shook her head. “No, not me. His wife—Mary.” She told Ruth how they'd all left New York together at Mary's request, about Mary's death, and about her and Joss's agreement to wed to honor Mary's last wish. “Mary'd dance a jig in heaven knowing Joss would never have another drink. It's what she wanted for him.”

“My, my, my . . .” Ruth shook her head slowly, her dark eyes wide. “Well, 'course that 'splains why them chillun calls you Tarsie 'stead o' Mama. I just figger, hmm, well, they's white folks an' white folks sometimes be diff'rent.” She chuckled softly to herself before scowling once more. “But that about Joss . . . That sho' opens up my eyes. Simon say Joss, he a
good workuh but crusty—short o' temper. A man who's filled hisself with liquor an' then don't have it no mo' is bound to be a little wrought up.” Hunching her shoulders, she angled her face closer to Tarsie's. “Can I be tellin' this to Simon? Might be knowin' that about Joss'd help him decide what he's meant to do 'bout this vote comin' up.”

Tarsie hesitated. Joss'd been softening, but he might turn hard as steel if he knew she'd shared something so intimate with Ruth. She opened her mouth to ask her friend to keep Joss's past between the two of them, but other words popped out. “Tell Simon.” A wave of peace followed her simple proclamation, and then a voice whispered through her heart:
Prepare for change
.

Tarsie looked around the room, startled. Had someone crept in, unnoticed, and spoken those words to her? No one lurked in the room. She pressed her palms to her chest where her heart thudded a wild double-beat.
Prepare for change
. What did it mean?

 24 

J
oss tossed the last ten-foot-long sapling, which he'd stripped of its branches and roots with Simon's axe, into the buckboard. It clattered on top of the others, rolled, and settled. Brushing his hands together, he examined the pile. Ought to be enough there to make the frames for three beds plus a couple of chair frames. Furnishing the house—even if they were only handmade, simple furnishings—made sense. The more he did to make the place comfortable for Tarsie and the youngsters, the less likely she'd be to pull up stakes and chase after him when he left. An odd weight settled in his belly at the thought.

Simon limped up beside Joss, the two-man crosscut saw bouncing on his shoulder. “That gon' be enough, you think?”

“Yep.” Joss added gruffly, “'Preciate the use of your tools. Don't have any of my own.”

Simon's lips twitched into a sad grin. “I wouldn't neither 'cept my pappy had 'em, an' I got his things when he passed on to glory a month back.” He laid the saw in the buckboard's bed, then traced his fingers along the tarnished blade. “Him an' me, we sho' sliced up lots o' trees fo' firewood in our time. Now I reckon I'll be teachin' my E.Z. to man the other end o' that saw. He be named for his grandpappy, so it's only fittin' he be the one to use the ol' saw.”

Joss frowned. “Your pa's name was Ezekiel? Did the workers at Tollison's call him Ol' Zeke?”

Simon nodded. “Yup. Ever'body at Tollison's knew Pappy. Liked him, too.” His eyes turned liquidy, and he sniffed. “I sho' do miss 'im.”

Joss crunched his brow so tight his forehead hurt. Not once in the month he'd worked with Simon had the man said a single word about mourning his father. Of course, Joss hadn't mentioned mourning Mary, either, but he hadn't smiled and laughed and gone on like he didn't have a care in the world the way Simon had. Joss blurted, “You don't act like it.”

Simon blinked at Joss, his dark face reflecting surprise. “What you mean?”

Joss snorted, irritated with himself for spilling his thought. “We pass Ol' Zeke's grave every day, walking from the vines to the dinner barn. Never've seen you stop there, or even look over at it.” If he were in White Cloud, he'd be at Mary's grave. A lot. He wouldn't be able to stop himself. “So if you miss him so much, who don't you . . . visit him?”

Simon stared into Joss's face. His dark eyes, all moist with unshed tears, seemed to glow with a compassion Joss didn't understand. “I don't visit 'cause he ain't there.”

“Ain't there?” Joss barked out a harsh laugh. “Why'd you put that cross up if he's not there?”

Slowly, Simon shook his head, meeting Joss's gaze the whole time. Simon had a way of looking at a man that made it seem like he could see under the skin. “His body's there, fo' sure. We done buried his shell. But his soul, it be in heaven with his Lawd an' Savior, Jesus Christ.” His eyes glimmered. Partly from moisture, but partly from something else. Something within. Something Joss interpreted as joy.

Envy twined through Joss's middle, erupting in an angry outburst. “And it's fine with you that he's dead and gone? That you'll never see him again?”

“Oh, I'll be seein' him again.” Simon placed his hand on Joss's shoulder, his grip warm and firm. “On the day I leaves my shell behind, I'll be goin' on up to heaven, too. I'll have eternity with Pappy. An' with my ma an' all the saints who've gone before me. When I get to missin' Pappy too much, I think on that, an' it perks me right up. You see”—he squeezed Joss's shoulder, then let his hand drop away—“what time we got down here? It's just a tiny little drop in the mighty ocean compared to eternity. In no time at all, I'll be seein' Pappy again. Until then, well, I just carries him right here.” He placed his palm on the center of his chest.

Joss wanted to hold his own chest. It ached like a bad tooth. Instead, he stomped toward the wagon. “We're done here. Let's get back.”

He didn't utter a single word on the drive to Simon's house. When they pulled into the yard, Simon's two boys and Emmy came running.

“Papa,” Emmy called, a bright smile lighting her face, “Miss Ruth made 'lasses cookies, an' I saved you one. Come eat it.”

He held tight to the reins. “Get Nathaniel an' Tarsie an' let's get.”

Emmy's face fell. “You don't want your cookie?”

“Just come on!”

Tears welled, and Emmy hung her head.

Joss turned away from her dejected pose, images from his own childhood rising up to strangle him. Why'd he speak so rough? He hated hearing his pa's voice come out of his own mouth. Hated himself for using it. But he still did it over and over.

Simon climbed down from the seat and hitched the few feet needed to reach Emmy. Joss watched out of the corner of his eye as the black man rested his hand on Emmy's tangled hair. “Come inside with me, little'un. We'll fetch yo' brother
an' Miz Tarsie like yo' papa wants, an' we'll ask Miz Ruth to wrap up that cookie in some paper so's you can take it with you.” Simon's voice, so gentle, stung Joss.

“Papa don't want it.”

“Aw, now, honey, yo' papa's just too tired from hard workin' to chew right now.”

Emmy flicked a resentful look in Joss's direction. “He's not tired. He's just mean.” She turned and raced into the house. E.Z. and Malachi followed her, their apprehensive gazes pinned on Joss.

Simon stared after the children for a moment, rubbing his hand up and down on his pant leg as if trying to convince his legs to work. Then he crossed to stand by the wagon and curled his leathery fingers over the edge of the seat. “Joss, I ain't yo' pa, or even yo' preachuh. Right now we's just two men, all sweaty from labor, 'stead of a foreman an' one o' his workers. . . .”

Joss bristled, narrowing his gaze.

Simon didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. “But I gots to tell you, you's gon' do a heap o' damage if you keep barkin' at your chillun 'stead o' lovin' 'em. The Good Book tells fathers not to provoke their chillun to wrath but to bring 'em up in the love an' admonition o' the Lawd Hisself.” He leaned in, his eyes blazing with conviction. “If chillun don't feel love from their pappies, they go lookin' for love in places that ain't so healthy for 'em. I don't reckon you wanna send yo' sweet little Emmy into the arms o' some man who ain't worthy of her, now, would you?”

Joss set his jaw to hold back words of indignant fury. That Simon—so sure of himself. So righteous. So
right
. But how could Simon know how Mary's pa had beat her nearly every day in drunken rages, then pushed her out the door to fend for herself? She'd married Joss out of desperation. Oh, she'd come to love him. He never doubted that. Why else would she
have stayed with him after that street preacher convinced her to give her heart to Jesus and all those feelings of unworthiness and shame from her upbringing melted away? Mary had been too good for Joss, and Joss knew it.

Simon leaned in, his eyes nearly sparking. “Would you?”

At the insistent question, Joss whirled on the man. “'Course I want more for Emmy. But if you're so all-fired smart, how come you haven't figured out I don't know
how
to give her more? Not like fellas go to school to learn daddyin', now, do they? A man does what he knows, an' that's all he can do.” He straightened in his seat and faced forward. “Go get my woman an' young'uns. It's time we got outta here.”

Simon lay wide awake, staring at the shadowy ceiling beams overhead. Ruth, nestled close with her head on his shoulder, breathed slow and steady. Sleeping soundly. Her hair tickled his cheek, but he made no effort to pull away. He needed her closeness tonight. It comforted him after his argument with Joss.

Maybe he shouldn't call it an argument. Mostly he'd talked and Joss hadn't listened. But at least he thought he now understood why Joss had such closed ears, such a sour face, and so much anger burning in him.
“A man does what he knows, an' that's all he can do.”
Being raised with anger, of course Joss would be full of it himself. Only made sense.

Ruth shifted slightly, burrowing, and Simon moved his arm to pull her closer. As his fingers closed on her rib cage, her eyes popped open, settling on his. “Why ain't you sleepin'?” She smacked her lips, the scent of spices from the rich molasses cookies wafting on her breath. “Been a long day between workin' at Tollison's an' then cuttin' them saplings with Joss. You gotta be plumb wore out.”

“I am. But I cain't shut down my thinkin'.”

Ruth pushed herself up on one elbow and used her other hand to rub circles on Simon's chest. “Thinkin' 'bout what?”

“What you tol' me 'bout Joss bein' a drinkin' man. An' what Joss tol' me 'bout just doin' what he knows when it comes to bein' a papa to his chillun. It's all tied together somehow, an' he's a man in need o' fixin', but I cain't wrap my mind around how to fix 'im.”

Ruth's low chuckle rumbled. She gave him a little pinch, then went back to making lazy circles with her palm. The touch felt good. Comforting. “Simon Foster, if there's one thing you learned from yo' pappy more'n anything else, it's that God's the only fixer. We's just helpless people. We got no power to change nobody. Leastways, not on our own.”

“But Joss, he ain't gon' look to God for fixin'. You oughta see him get all prickled up when we talk o' God or Jesus. Ooo-wee, his hair just almost stand out like the tail on an angry cat. Nope, he ain't gon' look where he needs to, an' those chillun o' his, they's gon' be the ones to carry all that anger onward 'cause they ain't gon' know no bettuh.”

Ruth settled back into the curve of his neck, draping her arm across his torso. “They's learnin' bettuh from Tarsie. She's lovin' to 'em, an' she knows the Lawd.”

“Gon' take more'n Tarsie. They needs a man to lead 'em.” Simon toyed with a loose thread on Ruth's nightgown, his thoughts tumbling onward. “An' Joss needs a man to lead him . . .”

A soft snore told him Ruth had drifted off again. He kissed her forehead, then rested his cheek against her hair, falling silent. On the other side of the house, his children slept, peaceful and content. Beneath his arm, Ruth slumbered. Outside, wind teased a lullaby from the trees, and a lonely coyote sang a mournful song. And still Simon couldn't sleep.

He sighed, aiming his gaze at the square windowpane that offered a view of the dark night sky sprinkled with stars.
Behind those stars was the One who never slept, whose ears were always open to His children, and who held the answer to any question Simon might ask.

“Lawd,” he whispered, “don't make no sense for me to stew ovuh a man like Joss Brubacher who don't care nothin' 'bout me. An' 'cause it don't make no sense, onliest thing I can figger is You planted that carin' in me. Ruth's right—I cain't be fixin' that man. But I learned good from my pappy how to be patient an' lovin' with my chillun. I learned good to teach 'em to love an' serve You. An' it just seems to me, since Joss didn't nevuh learn it when he was a young'un from his own pa, he needs to learn it now, from somebody else. Somebody who knows.”