A Home in Drayton Valley (35 page)

“Simon?”

He heard the relief in her tone. Letting the barrel of the gun drop so it pointed at the ground, he limped forward till
his toes bumped the edge of Pappy's porch. “Girl, what'n tarnation're you doin' out here at this hour? I come pret' near to blastin' a hole through your middle!”

She moved to the very edge of the porch, letting a little moonlight touch her. She wrung her hands together. Her eyes looked bright—probably from unshed tears. He hated to have scared her so much, but she'd scared him, too. A black man never knew who might bring mischief to his doorstep.

“I need a place to be spending the night. I didn't want to disturb you and Ruth, so I just thought I'd sleep in your father's old house.”

Simon scowled, befuddled. “But you got a nice place in town to stay.” He looked around, his confusion mounting. “Where're the chillun? You di'n't leave Emmy an' Nathaniel all alone, did you?”

“Joss is with them.”

Simon's jaw dropped. During their evening talks, Joss had 'fessed up about wishing he hadn't given his youngsters to Tarsie. Not that he thought she didn't take good care of them, but he missed them. It had heartened Simon to see Joss changing, bit by bit, as they talked about how God could help him become a pa who set a good example.

He whistled through his teeth. “My, my, my . . . I knew he was thinkin' on it, but I sho' di'n't figger he was ready to take 'em on already.” Simon propped his hand on the weathered porch post. “But it don' seem right for Joss to send you out in the middle o' the night. Ain't safe, Miz Tarsie, for you to be out here. Tell you what, I'll hitch Ransom an' tote you back—”

“No!”

Simon jolted. This girl was plain wrought up. “Why not?”

“I can't be going back.” She folded her arms across her stomach. “Please, can't I stay here tonight? I won't bother your pa's things. I promise.”

Simon stared hard at her, trying to decide the best thing to do. If word got out he'd been talking to a white woman in the middle of the night and had put her up, it could cause a heap of trouble for him. But he couldn't very well refuse her. She couldn't spend the night wandering around the countryside.

He blew out a breath. “All right, all right. You head on in there. You, me, an' Ruth—we'll have us a talk in the mornin'. Early.” Before any of his neighbors woke. “An' I'll be expectin' you to make more sense than you's makin' right now.”

“Thank you, Simon.” Her voice trembled.

Shaking his head, Simon turned and scuffed back to his house. He put the gun on its hooks, tiptoeing as best he could to avoid waking his slumbering family. The moment he crawled into bed, Ruth grabbed his nightshirt and gave it a pull.

“You was gone a long time, an' I heard voices. Ever'thing all right?”

Simon patted her hand. “Ever'thing's fine.” Leastways, he hoped it would be. “Sleep now. I'll tell you all about it in the mornin'.”

Ruth's grip loosened, and she snuggled into the pillow. Soon her steady breathing let him know she'd drifted back to sleep. But Simon laid wide awake, fear holding his eyelids open. He'd just offered shelter to a white woman.

Lawd, I'm countin' on You to protect me ovuh this.

 35 

J
oss plopped lumps of cornmeal mush into three bowls. Even after sprinkling on a good pinch of brown sugar and splashing in the last little bit from the can of milk Tarsie'd left sitting on the windowsill, the food still looked unappetizing. But they'd have to eat it. He didn't have time to make anything else. Actually, he didn't know what else to make. Tarsie always did the cooking.

Another stab of worry pained his gut. Where was she?

He set the bowls on the table and slid in next to Nathaniel. The children sent sour looks at the bowls' contents. Before they could fuss, Joss said, “Hurry and eat now. I gotta get to work. No time to dawdle.”

Emmy blinked at him. “But we gotta pray first.”

Of course they'd want to pray. Mary'd always prayed, and Tarsie had, too. As many times as he'd listened, Joss ought to be able to speak the words, but it didn't seem right. He wasn't in good standing with God. The realization stung. “Well then, go ahead.”

Without pause, Emmy bowed her head and folded her hands. “Thank You, God, for this food.” She sneaked a peek in her bowl with one squinted eye. “An' please make it taste good. Amen.”

“'Men,” Nathaniel echoed.

The pair took up their spoons and dutifully dug into the lumpy mess. They made faces, but they ate without complaint, sending surreptitious glances at Joss between bites. Joss knew what they were wondering:
Why is Papa here and not Tarsie?

He'd been shocked to find himself slumped over the table when fingers of dawn sneaked through the window and poked him awake. But the mighty crick in his neck confirmed he'd spent the entire night sitting on that hard bench with his head on his arms. A peek behind the dividing wall confirmed Tarsie hadn't come back at all. As soon as he'd tended to the children, he planned to send out a search party.

“Hurry now,” he prompted again. After they'd finished eating, he'd get them dressed, hustle them to the sheriff's office, and report Tarsie as missing. Then he'd . . . what? He had to go to work. And he couldn't leave the youngsters alone. He nibbled his lower lip, wishing someone could give him some answers.

Then Joss remembered something Simon had told him.
“No matter what we's needin', God can provide. Thing is, Joss, we's sometimes just too all-fired stubborn to ask Him.”
Joss paused with his spoon dipped in his bowl.
All-fired stubborn
—that description sure fit him. He carried his stubborn pride like a shield. And even though it was a heavy burden at times, he didn't know how to lay it down. Could God show him how to do even that? Holding his breath, Joss dared to let the question drift from his heart to the One Simon claimed always listened:
What'm I supposed to do with these young'uns today?

Emmy pushed her bowl aside. A little dribble of milk formed a winding creek in the bottom. “Papa, can I give the rest to Marmalade?” The kitten still slept in the rumpled covers on Emmy's bed.

“Just set it on the floor there. He'll come get it when he's hungry.”

Emmy climbed off the bench and crouched to place the bowl on the floor under the table. Then she tipped her face to Joss. “Papa? Where's Tarsie?”

Joss shook his head. “Not sure.”

“She comin' back?” Emmy's voice quavered.

Joss forced a grin and tousled his daughter's hair. He needed to find a hairbrush and get rid of those tangles. “Sure she will.” His confident tone belied his inner concern. “But I'm not sure when, so we gotta figure out where you an' Nathaniel are gonna go while I'm at work. Maybe Mrs. Bliss next door—”

Emmy made a face. “She don't like us. She shouts at us when we play in the yard.”

Joss chewed the inside of his cheek. He wouldn't leave the youngsters with someone who wouldn't be kind to them. Maybe one of the other neighbors—would they be any more willing? Most of them had started turning up their noses when Tarsie began to teach Ruth.

Stretching to her feet, Emmy placed her hand on Joss's knee. “Can we go to Mrs. Ruth's?”

Why hadn't Joss thought of Simon's wife? The children knew her, and he trusted her. And while he was there, he could ask Simon and Ruth if Tarsie had contacted them. Was Emmy's suggestion of going to the Fosters God's way of answering Joss's question? His heart bumpity-bumped against his ribs. “Sure, honey. But you gotta get dressed. Help Nathaniel, too. Then I'll take you to Mrs. Ruth.”

While the children dressed, Joss stacked the dirty bowls with the pan in the washbasin. He didn't have time to wash them if he was going to visit the sheriff before toting the children to the Foster place. His hands froze mid-task, awareness dawning. He planned to leave his children in the care of a colored woman. And the idea didn't sour his stomach.

When had he stopped looking at Simon and Ruth with
derision and started counting them as friends? A smile tugged at his lips as he considered how pleased Tarsie would be at the change that had taken place inside of him. Then the smile faded, gooseflesh erupting over his entire body. Why didn't he think how pleased Mary would be? When had Tarsie stepped into such an important spot in his life?

He had to find her.

Turning from the basin, he called, “Emmy, Nathaniel, hurry now—we gotta git!”

“So you see, I had to leave.” Tarsie kept her voice low to avoid disturbing the Foster children, who still slept in the corner. She gave Ruth and Simon her most emphatic look. “If I stayed, Joss'd never step into fully caring for his children. And those wee ones need him.” A lump filled her throat. “They need him more than they need me. I'm just a . . . a person who cooks and cleans. He's their papa.”

Ruth squeezed her hand. “You's a heap more'n a cook an' housekeeper, Tarsie, an' you knows it.” She sighed, turning her dark-eyed gaze on Simon, who'd sat stern and silent all through Tarsie's explanation. “But she's right 'bout Joss. 'Less he has to, he won't start bein' a papa to those chillun. Gots so much fear built up inside o' him, 'cause o' the way his own daddy treated him. But with Tarsie away, he'll hafta do his duty.”

Tarsie leaned in, hesitant hope rasping her voice. “So you'll help me? You won't tell Joss where I am?” If Joss found her and asked her to return, she'd go. Even as much as she believed she shouldn't, she'd do it for love of Mary and for love of the children. And—she forced herself to accept the truth—for love of Joss. But she'd be miserable. She could no longer live a farce. To protect herself, she had to stay away. Loving him and not being loved in return would eventually kill her spirit.

“I won't tell,” Ruth vowed. She continued to look at Simon.

Simon drew in a slow breath. Deep lines formed furrows across his forehead. He spoke to Ruth as if Tarsie weren't sitting across the table. “You know how much trouble this's gon' bring down on us? You forget we's colored an' she's white? So far folks've only frowned at us fo' takin' up with Miz Tarsie. Knowin' she's teachin' you to read an' write, an' knowin' you'll be teachin' others, they's pret' much held their tongues. But this's goin' beyond learnin' from her. This is housin' her. Hidin' her. You think folks 'round here gon' keep silent on that? Nuh-uh, they's gon' speak right up. An' when they do, others'll get wind of it. An' trouble—
big
trouble, more'n we've ever known befo'—is gon' come marchin' right up to our door.”

While he spoke, his low tone increased in intensity until the fine hairs on Tarsie's neck stood up. Although he didn't define the kind of trouble he expected, Tarsie could surmise. There were always those who viewed any person of color as inferior. Joss's attitude on the trail had rankled her, and his reaction—holding his distance, speaking with superiority when addressing their black co-travelers—was mild compared to stories she'd heard of white men's cruelty to colored men.

She pushed up from the table. “I can't be bringing trouble on you. I'll—”

“You's gon' stay put.” Ruth's firm voice held Tarsie in place. She whirled on Simon, grabbing his hand and giving it a good tug. “All this time you been preachin' at Joss 'bout trustin' God. 'Bout lettin' God meet his needs. 'Bout believin' God can make changes in a man's natural inclinations. An' now you're sayin' God cain't change folks' inclination 'round here if'n they start to get riled?” She snorted, pushing his hand aside. “Shame on you, Simon Foster.”

For a long moment, she sat glowering at her husband's low-slung head. Then she sighed and curled her hand around the
back of his neck, her thumb gently caressing the spot below his ear. “I's sorry, Simon. You be a good man. I know you's only thinkin' o' yo' family right now—wantin' to protect us, an' I loves you for it. But this here's a chance to show yo' chillun what it means to stand firm an' do what's right, even when it might cost you somethin'. We cain't turn Tarsie away. It'd be the coward's way, an' no place in God's Book does it call us to be cowards.”

Simon looked deep into his wife's face. Uncertainty showed in the set of his lips and his puckered brow. But slowly his expression softened. He plucked Ruth's hand from his neck and gave it a long squeeze. “Aw right then, woman . . .” A steely determination crept across his features. “Tarsie can stay in Pappy's house long as she needs to so's Joss'll go back to his place, where he belongs. An' we'll be prayin' God'll work ever'thing out to our good.”

“An' His glory,” Ruth added.

Simon gave a solemn nod.

Tarsie eased back into the chair. “I only intend to stay long enough to collect my few things. Then I'll be makin' my way elsewhere.”

Ruth gawked at her. “Not all the way back to New York!”

A shudder rattled Tarsie's frame. “Never there.” She forced a carefree shrug. “But there're many cities in Kansas where a woman can settle an' be makin' her own way. I'm handy with a needle an' thread. I won't go hungry.” Her bravado faded a bit, thinking of being alone again. How she'd come to depend on Mary's family to provide companionship for her. Then she set her chin at a determined angle. “Just as Simon's been teachin' Joss, God will be meetin' my needs.” For food, shelter . . . and companionship. She tossed her head. “I'll be fine. Just fine.”