Maud's Line (17 page)

Maud wasn't ready to see Booker. She was afraid
of lying to him and being found out. For two days, she tended the animals, swept the yard, chopped weeds, canned until she ran out of lids, and scrubbed clothes on a board until her knuckles looked like strawberries. When she finally let up, she bathed standing in the tub by the pump, looking out over the wild toward the river. Her mind spun away from her labors and the killings, and tilted toward Booker. A tingle arose. Then a physical sensation gripped her so hard, she ran a hand down to the patch beneath her stomach before she recognized what she was doing. At the first shudder of relief, her mind came to her. She realized she was butt naked in broad daylight and her own brother was on the far side of the wood fence reading a book on the porch. He could see her head if he looked. She flushed, felt the sky and the wild watching like parents, and quickly stepped out of the tub onto a board. She drew her slip from the fence and pulled it over her head and shoulders. She waited until she felt like her face wouldn't give her away, then tilted the water out of the tub. By the time it had made the dirt look like rolled dough, she'd made up her mind to ride Booker's horse to the potato barn the next morning.

At the schoolhouse ruins, she saw Booker in the distance talking to a man. A sack of potatoes sat on the ground between them. Close by, a woman sat in a buckboard and a child was standing in its bed behind her. Maud used the family of strangers to settle the feeling in the part of her body that sat in the saddle, and by the time she reached the buckboard, she thought her face was no more flushed than it normally would be from riding. She talked with the woman until the man picked up his sack and turned toward them.

She and Booker didn't speak until the buckboard pulled out. Then he said, “I want to show you something.” He took Maud's hand and led her to the side of the barn facing the fields. In its shade, he kissed her full on the mouth, pulling her hips to his. When they finally let up, he said, “I have to be with you.” He kissed her again.

Maud had imagined the women in East and West Egg taking pleasure in men like men took pleasure in them. Those images confirmed her inborn inclinations. Only ambition hemmed her in. But against Booker, giving into the pull of love was as easy as limbs swaying in the breeze, as fish swimming downstream, as puppies tumbling in play. She pulled her dress up and he slipped in, their only witness a cow that, before they'd finished, had turned away.

Once that dam broke, Maud and Booker embarked on easy ways in the heat of summer days. At every opportunity, they took pleasure in each other's curves and angles, smells and juices. Maud wanted Booker before sex, during, and also after, when he was soft and tender, and she was melted into a puddle of love. She wanted him when they were together and apart, for those days and for days far away. And Booker, too, seemed as aroused by love as by sex. He talked with eagerness about how she had awakened him from a life half lived and about a future together that included books, indoor plumbing, electricity, and children. He also confessed how he'd felt hemmed in—not by his wife—but by his job, the community's expectations for a teacher, and by his parents, who had turned to Bible-thumping and teetotaling as they'd aged. He liked having an Indian maiden. Inside, he had an untamed streak himself.

Maud thought Booker hadn't yet figured out that Indian maidens weren't exactly the lovely wildflowers they were made out to be in books. But she didn't mind pretending. She felt that was best. She told Booker her father had gone to look for work in the Seminole oil fields. And she avoided the subject of the Mounts. And so did Booker, except for one conversation when he admitted he'd been shocked by the sheriff's suspicions until he'd realized that he had more reason than anyone to know that the sheriff jumped to conclusions. He apologized to Maud, and she accepted his apology, remarking, “Uncle Ryde's right. Sheriff Talley's not bright.”

They used Mustard's bed whenever Lovely was off sparking Gilda, even sometimes when he was around and out in the barn. Once, they didn't hear his footsteps until he hit the planks of the porch, and they had to jump up and hide behind the sheet. After Lovely found them there, whenever Booker was visiting, he started whistling whenever he came back to the house from the barn.

Several days into their bliss, Maud, Booker, and Lovely were sitting on the porch, all three in rockers, because, by then, the heat of the summer even in early evening made chairs useless inside. They each had a feed-store fan in hand. Lovely had Gilda's Bible on his lap. As Booker was telling a story about the Fayetteville superintendent of schools personally holding the Bible for every teacher to make an abstinence vow, they heard a rumble on the road. They turned their heads to see who was coming.

Both cattle guards were closed. The sheriff got out and fumbled with the gates. While he did that, the three on the porch agreed to let Booker do most of the talking. Lovely had grown quieter in the past week, didn't always make sense, and wasn't talking to anybody he didn't have to. Maud was on guard about what she'd seen at the Mounts' and didn't want any of it slipping out under questioning. She'd discussed it with Lovely only enough to be convinced that he hadn't had any part in it and to caution him again about keeping his mouth shut.

Booker was standing by the time the sheriff unfolded from his car and put on his hat. “Sheriff Talley, come on up. Take my chair.”

Maud offered the sheriff a dipper of water. He drained it and handed it back. She hung the dipper on a nail on a post and took her seat. The sheriff looked to Maud and Lovely. “I'm a little short of time, so I'll cut to the chase. I've come out here to ask if you've seen yer dad. Laswell, over at the feed store, says he hasn't showed to work in a while.”

Booker said, “He's gone to look for work in the Seminole oil fields.”

The sheriff looked to Maud. “Which ones?”

“Near Bowlegs.”

“Bowlegs. Now that would be . . . ?”

“Close to Wewoka. He's from there.”

“Have ya heard from him since he went?”

“He's not high on writing,” Maud said.

“Do ya know when he's coming back?”

“If he got work, he'll be staying.”

“Do ya know where he's living?”

“He's got a sister over there. He was gonna park himself with her.”

“Her name would be?” Talley took a pencil and pad out of his shirt pocket.

“Aunt Matilda.”

“Aunt Matilda what?”

“I don't know what she goes by. Her maiden name was Nail. But she's been married a couple of times and may be married again, for all I know. We aren't close to Daddy's people. They're Seminoles.”

Booker interjected, “Is there a particular reason you're looking for Mr. Nail?”

The sheriff tilted back in his rocker and rubbed his eyebrow with his eraser. “He ain't been seen since the business down at the Mounts'. First, he's in Wagoner trying to buy a dog. Or that's the story. Then he's sparking. And now he's over in Bowlegs working in the oil fields and visiting his sister.”

Maud said, “It's normal for Daddy to lay out and around.”

The sheriff looked out toward the wild of the river. “That so? He's visited my jail so many times that I've often wished Mustard would go off somewhere else.”

Maud's temper rose. She wanted to kick the sheriff for running his mouth in front of Booker. She tapped her foot but held her tongue.

The sheriff turned to Lovely. “How're yer shots going?”

“Got my last one today. I'm sore in the belly but don't have the sickness.”

The sheriff took in a deep breath. “Is yer daddy sending home any money?”

“Not yet,” Maud said.

“When he does, I'd like to know. Particularly if there's a return address. I told Western Union to call me if Mustard wires anything. I want to talk to him.”

“That would be about the Mounts?” Booker said.

“Yes, it would.”

“Have you come to any conclusion on that?”

“I've narrowed some things down. We're positive it's them. Neither has showed his face anywhere since. Can't figure out the quilt, though. Don't make sense that somebody would kill them and then burn a quilt.”

Maud looked at her hand resting on the arm of her rocker. She made an effort to keep her fingers stretched out. “You think Daddy had something to do with it?”

“He has the motive. And yer uncle Ryde seems particularly jumpy. But I don't want to leap to conclusions.” He looked at Booker. “I'm capable of learning.”

They watched the sheriff leave through the cattle guards. Then Booker said, “Maybe he's smarter than we thought.” Lovely said, “I'd like to find Dad myself. We need to pay Doc for my shots.”

Money from Blue's renting their fields wouldn't come in until the crops did. The only money they had was Lovely's wages, and he hadn't been able to work full days. They were more broke than usual. But Maud hadn't mentioned that to Booker. And she didn't want Lovely dwelling on it in front of him. She said, “Show Booker your belly.”

Lovely lifted his shirt. His stomach was bruised and covered in welts. “If I had known how bad these shots were, I would've killed the Mounts myself.”

Booker said, “I don't know your father well. Do you think it's possible he could have . . . ?”

Maud answered before Lovely could say anything. “Daddy's more of a fighter than a killer. I think probably somebody unknown got mad over liquor and killed them. They mostly sold poison.”

“What about the quilt?” Booker said.

Maud regretted the quilts. And she should've realized that the hogs would finish off the bodies—if she'd just taken the time to locate the pen. She felt dumb over that. “For all we know, they could have burnt the quilt themselves. There wasn't a woman in their house that I know of. And it's not winter. Maybe one of them got sick all over it, and rather than try to wash it, they burnt it. Stranger things have happened. Why don't you come help me close up the chickens?”

Booker wasn't staying at the house overnight. After he took his leave, Maud drew water from the pump and went to the kitchen to wash up the dishes. While she waited for the water to warm, she mulled her predicament. She didn't want Booker knowing any more about the Mounts than he already did. She sure didn't want him knowing she'd found their bodies and thrown the quilts over them. She kicked herself for the quilts once again and felt a tenderness rise in her throat for her grandfather and great-uncle. Neither had spoken a word to her about the situation. They'd done their duty, but she felt certain they'd taken no pleasure in it. Her mind turned to her father. He had, in his own manner, been protecting Lovely by killing the Mounts. It was like him to mess up whatever he did, but it was exceptional for him to take up for Lovely. She could hug him for doing that, but she was glad he was gone and hoped he would stay away. She moved the pan from the burner to the sink, slid the dishes in it, and turned her mind to the future.

She and Booker had a heap of hope. People in Oklahoma were growing rich in ways not possible in Arkansas or most other places in the country. Booker's mouth watered for something bigger than teaching school and peddling, something more exciting than high school ballgames, showing up to church, and Sunday afternoon drives. They agreed they would marry and return to Fayetteville only until the school could get a replacement and they could lay firm plans. Maud was more pleased with that vision than she'd been with anything in her life, and she resolved to write each of her sisters the next morning and tell them about her wedding plans. She'd like her sisters to see her get married, but she also thought there was an outside chance that her father was with Peggy, her sister in Sapulpa. In her mind, she worded Peggy's letter to warn him to stay away.

Her thoughts turned to selling eggs to bring in money. Booker could display them on his wagon and see her as a wife who'd help make a living. But when she glanced over to her egg basket, she recalled she'd collected only eight that evening and twelve the evening before. The heat was affecting the laying, and it would until it broke. As she dried her last dish, she tried to think of another way to get a few dollars. The thought of river rocks popped into her head. Nan had some pretty ones sitting on a windowsill; so did Lucy, in a pot next to her bed. The Arkansas polished stones to all shapes and colors; many were beautiful; some even had holes through them and could be strung. They were there for the picking up. Maud had settled on that course by the time she threw the dish water onto a clump of grass she was trying to nourish in the yard.

The breeze had come up from the river and cooled the evening down. Lovely was hunched over the Bible in the fading light. Maud sat down next to him. He closed the book and said, “I wish I was making the progress with Gilda you're making with Booker.”

“She must like your reading.”

“She does. But she's all eat up with holding out for marriage.”

Maud felt a little stab of guilt at that remark. She would've done the same if . . . well, if she'd been able to, and if Booker hadn't already been married before. Men who were used to having a woman didn't play cat and mouse very long. After the first time, she'd used that to justify her actions. She said, “Have y'all talked about marrying?”

“Not directly. I gotta provide. I need a better job than I have. I've lost time to the shots, but I'll have that field cleared by the end of summer.”

“Has Mr. Singer got more work?”

“He'll always hire for the potato fields. But it doesn't pay much.”

“How 'bout a job in town? You can figure and read better than most.”

Other than meeting Booker's parents, who she was certain wouldn't like her skin, Maud's only concern about marrying was leaving Lovely behind. She worried about him fending alone. But she told herself he was surrounded by family and had two bachelor uncles, three counting Gourd. Blue or Early could move in with him and lighten the load for Lucy after her baby came. But if he married Gilda, even better; he could move in with her family. Most men she knew did that. Maud and Lovely talked more and rocked as darkness grew and the stars came out. The farm was peaceful with their father gone. With the crickets and tree frogs singing, Maud's plans seemed to be unfolding as easily as a rose opens from a bud. She had a feeling of deep contentment when she went inside to bed. Lovely soon followed.