Dunaway's Crossing (8 page)

When the cutting ended, she studied Will’s handiwork. The slit extended from just below her knees to the hem. Stray threads dangled here and there, and the brown weave had already begun to loosen. But the vent allowed air to cool her legs—what a relief. Will tucked his knife back in his boot. When he straightened again, he said, “Whatever you paid in Atlanta was too much.”

“I’ll have you know this skirt is the height of fashion.” Bea Dot put her hands on her hips.

“Mm hmm. But now it makes more sense. Put your hands on my shoulders, and I’ll let you down.”

Bea Dot complied, and Will placed her on the ground the same way he had before. Absently, he kept his hands on her waist as he asked, “Still sore?”

“Not as much. Thank you.” Still looking up at him, Bea Dot removed her hands from his shoulders and took a step back, still nervous around him but this time in a strange, thrilling way, as if she were committing a crime and enjoying it.

He smiled and nodded, then offered his arm. “Then let’s go inside and see your cousin.”

C
hapter 8

L
ola, be sure to remind Ralph to send out that rocking chair.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lola put the Model T in gear, but Netta held on to the driver’s-side door.

“And don’t forget to ask Jim Henry to paint the nursery.”

“I told you, Miss Netta, he planning to do that this Friday.”

Netta sighed and wiped her damp forehead with the back of her hand. What else should she tell Lola before sending her off back to town?

“Miss Netta”—Lola patted her hand with a sympathetic look—“you gone be just fine. Mr. Will and your cousin gone be here shortly. But I got to go. Doc Coolidge need his motorcar back to go see sick folk.”

Netta nodded in resignation and let go of the door. She stepped away from the automobile as Lola revved the engine and chugged the car toward the cart path and to the woods. Netta waved after her as she pulled away, but the housekeeper kept her face forward, having only just learned to drive that afternoon.

Netta walked into the cabin and smoothed the tattered blanket on one of the rickety cots. How was she supposed to sleep on that thing? She hated to question Ralph’s judgment, but with her precarious condition, wasn’t it more logical for Ralph to stay at the camp house and for her and Bea Dot to stay at home? But who was she to contradict the town doctor?

Netta’s emotions played hopscotch all day, and currently, they’d landed in the frustration box. Earlier they’d landed in the fear box as Ralph rushed her and Lola into a packing frenzy and shooed them off to the camp house. When Netta arrived and surveyed the little shack, she hopped into the panic square at the thought of receiving Bea Dot and welcoming her guest in this one-room shanty. But the panic lasted only about an hour because Lola, with her insistence that she return to town, pushed Netta into the resentment square.

Left alone to make the cabin the least bit presentable, all the while unable to lift anything remotely heavy, Netta worked herself into such a dither that she couldn’t think straight. Her heart pounded, and her underarms grew sticky with sweat. The best thing for her, under the circumstances, was to rest in her rocking chair, which she couldn’t do because Ralph made her leave it, in the front yard of all places. The neighbors would surely think she’d gone batty.

Without the rocker, Netta decided to take a walk around the cabin to calm her nerves, and that helped a bit, but the stench of the outhouse and the harsh summer sunshine drove her back indoors. Finally, she sat on a straight-backed wooden chair, the one that wobbled the least, and took a few deep breaths.

She rubbed her rounded belly, a habit she’d developed over the past few months, a kind of tacit signal to her baby that all would be well. When she’d reached the three-month milestone, she wept for joy, with relief that she’d finally have that beautiful child of her dreams. Now, at seven and a half months, she found herself stuck in the middle of nowhere without even her husband, the only person she would trust to deliver her baby.

Netta held her feet up in front of her. The ride to the country and walk outside had exacerbated her swollen feet so that now the tops of them puffed like half-baked loaves out of her slippers, the only shoes she could still wear. Ralph always told her to put her feet up, but if she lay down on that cot, she might not be able to get up by herself. Instead, she pushed the other wooden chair around the table so that the two chairs faced each other. Then she rummaged through a box of housewares until she found her book, Baroness Orczy’s
The Elusive Pimpernel
, a birthday gift from Ralph. Sitting in one chair with her feet in the other, she resolved to ignore the hard seat and focus on whether Chauvelin would succeed in tricking Sir Percy Blakeney in returning to France. She never fancied this kind of romantic fiction. She much preferred an Edith Wharton novel, but the closest library was twenty miles away in Hawkinsville, and its collection was sparse. Buying new books required a trip to Macon, which was impossible for her these days.

The swelling in her feet subsided a bit, but she doubted they’d ever look the same again. Apparently, the fluid in them had traveled to her bladder because she was about to pop. Of course, lately that need arose hourly. As she tensed her muscles and crossed her legs, her eyes widened in alarm. She could never use that putrid outhouse once, much less a dozen times a day. What would she do?

She tried to read more of the novel, but the building pressure inside her ruined her concentration. Still, she ignored the urgency in her bladder until her belly ached. Shutting her book, she whispered a curse on her husband, then pushed herself out of the chair, shuffled to the door, and waddled down the cement block steps. The sun had lowered itself in the sky, but the temperature had dropped little. That outhouse would be both stinky and stifling. She’d just have to hold her breath while she was in there.

As she neared the rickety wooden structure, its emanating odor withered her resolve. She stopped, considered the alternative for a moment, and then turned toward the lake, just down a slight embankment. At the sound of water lapping the edge, Netta thought she would wet herself, but she held on long enough to remove her underclothes and find a bush thick enough to squat behind.
It would be just my luck for Bea Dot to arrive at this moment
, she thought as she hiked up her skirt and held the fabric in her fist. With her other hand, she grasped the trunk of the bush for balance and squatted. She’d never felt such simultaneous relief and shame. Here she was, a graduate of St. Vincent’s Academy, former secretary of the churchwomen’s guild, and wife of Pineview’s only physician, urinating out in the open into a country lake. Her mother would just die.

When she finished, she put her underclothes back on, and just before turning to go back to the camp house, she spied a large black turtle sitting on a nearby log, staring at her. She stuck her tongue out at it before trudging up the embankment, and then a frightening thought occurred to her. What if that turtle had been a snake? Weren’t there water moccasins out here? What about alligators? She shivered at the thought and made her heavy legs push her up the embankment and into the house. No more outdoor business for her. She would just have to fashion herself a chamber pot and then ask Will Dunaway to phone Ralph. There had to be a better option than this shabby fishing camp.

She went back to the stiff wooden chairs, propped up her feet, and returned to
The Elusive Pimpernel
, taking short breaks to stretch her aching back and to light an oil lantern once the sun began to set.

“Where is my cousin Bea Dot?” she asked the bare walls. Then as if on cue, voices drifted through the open window, and she peered out to see Will Dunaway’s wagon by the lake. Bea Dot stood on the back of the wagon while Will was doing something to the hem of her skirt. What on earth could they be doing? Then he took her by the waist and put her on the ground. He spoke to her briefly before she took his arm and walked with him to the house. They looked like a courting couple, except her hair was a mess, and what in the world happened to her skirt? She went to the open door, stopping at the top step.

“Hello! Bea Dot, dear, it’s so good to see you!” Up close her cousin looked even more disheveled. Her hair was a rat nest underneath her hat, and her dirty face was streaked from drips of perspiration. “Will, thank you for bringing my cousin to me.” She held her arms out to Bea Dot as the young woman slowly ascended the steps. Why did she walk so stiffly, as if she’d just gotten a lashing?

“Hello, Netta,” she said with a tired smile. “It’s good to finally be here.” Bea Dot held her arms out, and Netta embraced her. Good heavens! She smelled like Will Dunaway’s horse.

“Do come in. You must be exhausted.”

Netta led Bea Dot into the camp house, and Netta’s nervousness escalated as she saw Bea Dot’s face fall at the sight of the two rickety cots, the wobbly table and chairs, and the wood stove in the corner.

“I know it’s not much,” Netta said as cheerily as she could. “But it’ll just be for a few days, until Ralph can get that flu bug contained in town. Then we’ll go back to my house. Oh, you’ll love it, Bea Dot. It has such a beautiful porch.”

“Yes, I saw it,” Bea Dot said dully, not taking her eyes off the two cots. Then she turned to Netta and smiled politely. “I’m sure it’s lovely on the inside as well.”

“Excuse me, ladies.” Will entered the cabin carrying Netta’s rocker. Netta’s heart leapt at the sight of it. At last a comfortable place to sit. He set it in the middle of the room. Though a small piece of furniture, it consumed the entire space. Will stood with hands on hips and surveyed the cabin, one eyebrow raised.

“Do you have everything you need here, Netta?” he asked.

Actually, what she needed was her own house. “Well,” she replied uncertainly, “I think we have enough to get us by for the next few days.”

“Hmm.” He stepped over to the table and two chairs and peered into the two crates on the floor. “Is this all the food you brought?”

“Yes.”

“How will you get more if you need it?”

“I was hoping you would help me with that.” Netta smiled sheepishly.

Will frowned slightly and stepped to the door, looking out. After a pause, he returned. “Ralph didn’t leave the Model T with you?”

“No, he said he needed it in town to call on patients.” She knew he should have left that machine. Even Will thought so.

Will rubbed the back of his neck and looked out the door at the setting sun. Outside the world was turning gray. He exited the cabin and disappeared around its corner.

“Where is he going?” Bea Dot asked.

Netta shrugged. Then she asked, “How was your trip? Was the train on time?”

Bea Dot opened her mouth to answer, but Will reentered the house before she could speak.

“You hardly have any firewood out there. Did you know that?”

She hadn’t given firewood any thought. She always had plenty at home. Ralph saw to that.

“And someone should dig you a fresh latrine. Smells like something fell in that one and died.”

Netta curled her lip, and Bea Dot covered her mouth with her hand at the grotesque image.

“Netta, I know Ralph wants you to be safe, but staying at this camp house can’t be the solution. Seems like he didn’t think this plan through.”

Hallelujah! Will was going to take them back to town!

Outside, crickets chirped, and the room had grown dark except for the oil lamp, which at least improved the look of Bea Dot’s dirty face. Will scratched his head and thought a moment before continuing. “Well, I can’t leave you two out here. I suppose you’ll have to come with me.”

“Back to town?” Netta asked, the pitch of her voice rising with hope.

“To Dunaway’s Crossing,” he replied.

Netta’s heart sank a little. But at least Will’s new trading post was better than this camp house.

“Where’s that?” Bea Dot asked. From the worry on her face, Netta could tell Bea Dot loathed the idea of more travel.

“It’s my place,” Will explained. “Just on the other side of the lake. It won’t take long to get there.”

Netta pressed her palms together, but said nothing. It wasn’t home, but Dunaway’s Crossing was a sight better than this sorry shack. His new place might be rustic, but at least he had a telephone and access to the main road. She and Bea Dot could tolerate staying there for the short term until Ralph sent for them again. “Well, I suppose you’re right,” she said cautiously. “Can we take my rocking chair?”

“Certainly,” he said. “If you’ll pardon me a few minutes, I’ll put your belongings in my wagon, and we’ll be off.”

Netta turned to Bea Dot with a triumphant smile. Bea Dot tried to return it, but she failed to conceal the fatigue in those dark eyes.

C
hapter 9

C
ustomers trickled in for now, but Bea Dot felt sure that once word spread of Will Dunaway’s country store, a steady flow of clientele would run in and out his front door. He had stocked shelves with a variety of goods rural folk might need: cornmeal, molasses, salt, coffee, tobacco. She relished the store’s scent of raw pine and fresh paint, which was why she’d decided to knit at the kitchen table with a view through the doorway of the shop. She much preferred helping Will behind the counter or arranging items on the shelves to the tedious knit two, purl two of making Netta’s layette.

“Your stitches are so even.” Bea Dot jumped as Netta’s voice over her shoulder startled her like a tiny shock of static electricity. Her cousin circled the straight-backed chair and faced her. “That’s going to be a precious receiving blanket.”

She took the piece into her own pudgy hands to examine it more closely, and though Netta wore a smile of admiration, Bea Dot knew to expect a word of critique veiled in compliment.

“Oh, dear, you’ve dropped a stitch.” Netta laced her voice in regret. “But at least it’s on this top row. You can still fix it.”

Oh, hooray! There’s still hope for this blanket!
Tacit sarcasm helped Bea Dot bite her tongue at her cousin’s frequent criticisms. Out loud, she said, “I’ll just add a stitch at the end of this row.”

“Yes, you could do that,” Netta said before chewing on her lip, a telltale sign of disapproval. Bea Dot counted silently, wondering how long Netta would hesitate before suggesting a better solution. Poor Netta tried so hard to abandon her bossy perfectionism, but old habits died hard. “Then again, you could take out those few stitches and pull the dropped stitch over your right needle.”

Pressing her lips, Bea Dot hid a smile. For a whopping seven seconds, Netta had held in her opinion. A new record for her. Bea Dot nodded, then put the blanket in the basket on the table. “My hands are getting sore,” she lied. “I’ll make fewer mistakes if I come back to this later.”

“In the middle of a row?” Netta’s incredulous blue eyes widened.

“It’ll be all right.” Bea Dot patted her cousin’s shoulder.

“I’ll just finish this row for you,” Netta said, taking a seat across the table.

Bea Dot knew she would.

“I think I’ll see if Will needs any help in the store,” she said as she took a step in that direction.

“Oh, don’t bother him, darling,” Netta replied, already pulling out Bea Dot’s stitches. Bea Dot tried not to be insulted by her cousin’s presumptuous gesture. It was, after all, Netta’s receiving blanket. But Bea Dot still felt a pang of resentment at how quickly her cousin took over her work.

“I’m not going to bother him.” Bea Dot tried to dampen the edge in her voice. “I’m going to offer to help.”

“That’s sweet of you, dear, but I think we should try our best to stay out of his way.” Netta spoke to the yellow yarn rather than to Bea Dot. Her pudgy fingers flew like hummingbirds around the knitting needles. “We’ve already crowded him out of his home. No need to interfere with his work.”

Perplexed, Bea Dot leaned in the doorsill and watched Netta knit. The temporary living arrangement was the very reason she wanted to help Will. She hadn’t considered her gesture a nuisance. Five days ago, Will had driven the two women and all their belongings to his small home, which was attached to the back of his trading post. He’d given up his bedroom, even putting up an extra bed, before moving his own belongings into the storage room at the other end of the store. There, he slept on a pallet among the bags of grain and cans of coffee.

“But when I offer to help,” Bea Dot explained, “he seems to appreciate it.”

“Oh, Will wouldn’t complain.” Netta still spoke into her knitting. “He’s too considerate to do that.” She’d already finished a row and started another.

“But after all he’s doing for us, I want to do something to reciprocate, to repay him for all his effort and his hospitality.” What better way to do so than to help him get his new store organized? Weren’t two hands better than one?

“That’s a nice idea.” Netta lifted her head to face Bea Dot. “Instead, why don’t you make him a nice pound cake? I’m sure he’ll love that.”

“Right,” Bea Dot replied uncertainly. “A pound cake.” She backed out of the kitchen and shuffled through the store and to the back porch, still pondering Netta’s suggestion. Now she didn’t know whether to trust Will on the matter or her cousin. She didn’t want to be a pest, but at the same time, how did Netta know how Will felt about her help? And what good would a pound cake do? Even if she had the ingredients to bake a cake, she lacked the skills to make one. All her life, California had done the cooking, the sewing, the housework. Bea Dot’s cake would likely turn out heavy as lead, which would be fine if Will really needed a new doorstop. Inhaling deeply while pushing down her frustration, she sat on the porch’s log bench and stared through the screen toward the lake.

Bea Dot found the water soothing, so different from the coast’s tidal creeks and rivers. No incoming or outgoing tides, just the consistent gentle waves lapping on the bank. No stale marshland odor or honking seagulls, just the scent of pine, hardwood, and mud along with the hum of cicadas in the background.

On her first day at the crossing, she’d discovered this welcome respite from Netta’s disguised disapproval. Whenever Netta failed to stifle her bossiness, Bea Dot turned to the lake, reminding herself that in spite of those irritating habits, Netta had invited Bea Dot to Pineview out of love and a desire to protect her from Ben’s wrath.

The screen door creaked behind her. Will stepped onto the porch and sat next to her on the log bench. Gazing out on the water, he said softly, “Taking a break from your cousin?”

“Is it that obvious?” Bea Dot stiffened at the thought. Inside, her nerves hummed. “Does she know that’s why I came out here?”

“I’ve seen her out here too.” Will chuckled softly. “There’s something about this lake.” He stretched his legs out in front of him. “It eases the soul.”

Bea Dot didn’t feel at ease, though. “I mean no disrespect to Netta.”

“I understand.” Will held up his hand to stop her. “You two are cooped up here day and night.” He shook his head twice. “Too much togetherness. You both try your best to get along, but sometimes you need to part ways.”

“The last time we were together, we parted ways . . . well . . . it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other.” Bea Dot sighed. No need to burden Will with her problems, although somehow she felt comfortable enough with him right now to do so.

“No need to explain.” Will kept his eyes on the water. “It’s no business of mine. But you’re welcome to help out in the store as much as you’d like.”

“Thank you.” A pang of embarrassment stabbed at her. Had he heard her and Netta’s conversation? She studied his tanned face as he gazed at the lake. His straight brown hair lopped just slightly over his forehead, even though he kept it cropped close above his ears and off his neck. To the side of his throat, a vein ran downward, throbbing rhythmically, as if beneath that calm exterior some troubling thoughts struggled to emerge.

“Actually, I came out here to ask if you’d be willing to mind the store tomorrow,” he said.

“Of course.” Bea Dot nodded enthusiastically, delighted at the chance to help him.

“I must go into town to pick up some orders. I may be gone awhile. I’ll show you where the ledgers are and how to record information in them, but it shouldn’t be too busy. Would you mind?”

“Certainly not,” she said. “I’d be happy to.”

“Thank you.” He stood. “And if you’d like, I can send word home while I’m in town. Do you have a message for your husband?”

Bea Dot’s heart skipped a beat, and a grip of caution seized her, a familiar tension she realized she hadn’t felt since she’d arrived at the crossing. Maybe she should inform Ben of her whereabouts, but she felt safer keeping him in the dark. Besides, it was easier not to think about her problems at home. “I don’t think so,” she said. “But I’m sure Netta would like you to take a note to Ralph.”

Will nodded. “All right. I’ll ask her.”

He went back into the house and left her there listening to the lapping lake and the song of the cicadas.

A thunderstorm brewed up during dinner. Bea Dot and Netta ate quietly by lamplight while listening to the wind and rain.

“I hope Will isn’t on his way home in this storm,” Bea Dot said, looking anxiously out the window.

“So do I,” Netta replied, “but if I know Will Dunaway, he’s probably stopped at a neighboring farmhouse until the storm passes. He’s very resourceful.”

Her cousin was right. In the short time Bea Dot had known Will, she’d witnessed several instances of his self-sufficiency. Still, she hated the thought of someone so kind being caught in the wind and rain.

“Are you finished?” she asked.

Netta nodded, and Bea Dot took up both plates and put them in the dishpan, then pumped some water into it before rubbing the dishrag over her plate.

“Don’t you want to heat the water on the stove before washing with it?” Netta asked.

Bea Dot straightened her back and gritted her teeth, trying to summon more patience, but her supply had run low. She exhaled slowly, trying to release at least some irritation. “Netta,” she said smoothly, “maybe you’d like to wash the dishes. Then you could make sure they get done right.”

“What does that mean?” Netta asked, raising her eyebrows and straightening her back, which meant,
How dare you talk to me that way
?

“I mean exactly that,” Bea Dot told her, dropping the dishrag in the pan. “I can’t do anything to suit you.”

“That’s not true,” Netta said, folding her napkin, then flattening it with her palms. Bea Dot could tell Netta was trying not to get flustered.

“Yes it is. Heat the water. And bake a pound cake. And tear out my stitches.” Bea Dot’s voice escalated. She couldn’t help her next remark. “And not marry Ben.”

Netta huffed. “Advice you clearly should have heeded.”

Resentment fired into anger, and Bea Dot stomped to the back porch before she said something she’d regret. Outside, the rain had subsided and the evening had cooled. The pine trees bent in the wind, the needles whipping the air. The screen door creaked as Netta joined Bea Dot on the porch.

“I’m sorry,” Netta said. “That was insensitive of me.”

“Don’t apologize.” Bea Dot faced her cousin. “You were right—as usual.” She hated admitting that.

Netta paused before answering. “I would rather have been wrong. It breaks my heart to see what he’s done to you.”

“To see? What do you mean?”

“The way you walked the day you arrived. And that cut on your lip. He’d . . . he’d thrashed you hadn’t he?” Netta’s face scrunched up as if uttering the thought caused her physical pain.

Netta didn’t realize the half of it, but Bea Dot preferred that her cousin believe Ben had beaten her rather than know the truth. She turned her gaze toward the lake. The water rippled in the wind. “Yes.”

“Oh, sweet Bea Dot.” Netta’s voice quaked, revealing tears on the offing. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Ralph and I would have loved to have you come stay with us.”

“How could I have known that?” Stung by her cousin’s remark, Bea Dot faced Netta again. “You boycotted my wedding, and I never heard from you.”

“What do you mean?” This time Netta frowned, hands on hips. “I sent you many letters of apology. You never wrote back.”

“Really? When?”

“Here and there for the past several months. I also sent you a card on your birthday.”

“I never got them,” Bea Dot said, slowly shaking her head. She stopped as she realized why.

“None of them?” Netta asked.

“No.”

“That’s the strangest thing I ever heard. I can understand one letter getting lost in the mail, but all of them?”

“They didn’t get lost, Netta. Ben took them.” Bea Dot put her hands on her hips as her heartbeat sped at the thought. “That makes perfect sense now. He never wanted me to bring in the mail. He insisted on doing it himself. He hid your letters from me.” That goat. Her chest burned with hatred for him.