Summer Lightning (12 page)

He shook it mildly as though to work free all the tension. Edith knew it came from his touch and it wouldn’t subside until he let go. Instead, he reached up, still holding on, and placed her fingers around the teat.

“Start up high, and pull straight down. Remember, gently. Take it slow.”

When the milk splashed into the bucket, Edith laughed in surprise. “Gracious!”

“There you go. You’ve got it now. Try two hands.” He straightened up and stepped back.

“Why is Daddy’s face red?” Maribel wanted to know. Louise hushed her.

Edith sat up. “It’s very interesting,” she said. “Why don’t I let Louise do it, though? She’s so good at it.”

“All right,” Louise said, sitting on the milking stool. “Though I guess you’d get the hang of it pretty quick.”

Jeff said, “Dad’s probably rooted out those bits of sewing I told you about by now. If you want to go take a look . . .”

“The girls want to show me around. Don’t you?”

“Sure,” Maribel answered. “Come look at the baby chicks. Louise is going to show ‘em at the fair.”

“So you said before. But what fair is this?”

“The big fair.” Maribel lifted her arms to show how big.

“Cows and chickens and sheep and goats and ... ice cream!”

Jeff explained, “The county fair travels around the county and this year it’s here again. Starts on Friday, officially. We hold it in Richey’s Meadow out beyond the town. And Maribel’s right. There’s livestock judging and plenty to eat. Dad always enters his roses, though he hasn’t won a prize yet.”

“But they’re so beautiful!”

“Yes, well . . .”Jeff rubbed the back of his neck and looked at her sideways. “It’s like this . . .”

“He was robbed!” Louise said, grinning over her shoulder.

Her father returned her smile. “That’s right, honey. You keep on being a smart girl and you’ll go far in this world.” To Edith, Jeff said, “Dad’s got a competitive nature, that’s all.”

“He seems very nice.”

“Yes, he is. But crazy as a bedbug.”

“Crazy?”

“Completely! At least on the subject of flowers and cattle. It got so I had to quit entering my prize bull, the Black Prince. Dad would sulk if we lost and turn boastful if we won.”

If Jeff thought his father was crazy for that, what would he think of her if he ever found out the truth? Could Jeff believe in her powers? Edith doubted it. He was as attractive a man as she’d ever seen but he was still a man.

Her late aunt had held no very high opinion of the flexibility of the male mind. Edith herself hadn’t enough experience to know if Jeff was one of the rare few who could accept the mysterious at face value. She decided to use her power for him, if she could, but never to tell him. After all, she was hoping to hold on to Jeff Dane’s good opinion for the length of her stay.

“Where are these chicks?” she asked.

Chapter 8

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Edith said, hesitating on the wooden walk.

“Don’t worry. You’ll like them.”

“I’m
sure I will.” But the question in her mind was, Will they like me?

Lady Jessica stood outside the throne room. Within, Her Royal Majesty would soon choose her ladies-in-waiting. Splendid in a white ruff and farthingale oversewn with brilliants, Lady Jessica looked as magnificent as any of the other virgins who were vying to serve the Virgin Queen. She wondered if their knees were knocking as hard as her own. All depended on the vital first impression. A stammer, a misspoken word and she would be banished again to frigid, lackluster Northumberland.

Jeff lifted the basket out of the buggy, telling Grouchy to stay put. “The ladies of Richey, I have to say, can hold their heads up with as much pride as any queen.”

That didn’t make Edith feel more confident. She could imagine all the women huddled in the corner, looking at her with contempt. They’d whisper behind their hands, criticizing every detail of her clothes and hair.

Jeff took her elbow. Though his touch was warming, she gazed up with apprehension at the house next to the church. A vivid garden hardly left room to walk to the door but served to disguise the foursquare style of the house.

“Don’t get Mrs. Armstrong started on her flowers,” Jeff said. “She’s as wild for them as Dad is. When they get together, that’s all they talk about.”

“That must be nice for your father.”

“It would be, if they didn’t argue. Dad likes things neat and Mrs. Armstrong—well, look around.”

Brilliant orange lilies bloomed on top of blazing red asters. Yellow roses poked out from the cone-shaped flowers of a thriving dark purple butterfly bush while blue lobelia warred with a flourishing red phlox. Up the porch supports clambered a screaming yellow and green trumpet vine while a gentle pink clematis made a curtain across the front.

“Well, it certainly is cheerful,” Edith said.

“Yes. Cheerful is what I’d call it.”

Before he could knock, the front door opened. A very tall, blonde girl, her figure as fully developed as Sabrina Carstairs’, stood on the threshold, her hands outstretched in welcome. She had a warm, happy smile that seemed, like the sun, destined to beam on everyone. It showed her slightly prominent front teeth more than a prudent girl would have allowed.

“Hello! You must be Mr. Dane’s Cousin Edith! I’m Dulcie. Come on in.” She stepped back, nearly knocking over a white Devonshire vase, filled with every color of gladiola.

“Oops,” Dulcie said, grabbing and righting it. She moved very quickly for a large girl, especially one who seemed all legs and arms. Edith was reminded of the large daddy longlegs that used to inhabit the attic at a former flat of her aunt’s.

Jeff held out the basket. “Here’s some things from Dad.”

“Isn’t Mr. Dane the sweetest thing?” Dulcie asked Edith.

She smiled, hoping she wasn’t committing herself to an opinion. It all depended on
which Mr.
Dane Dulcie meant.

“I mean,” Dulcie rushed on heedlessly. “For a grown man to spend his life in a calico apron . . . that’s sweet!”

“He seems to enjoy it,” Edith said, now certain.

“Oh, I don’t see how he could. I hate cooking.”

Since Edith had already been awakened by Sam’s joyful, tuneless yodeling while he baked, she felt sure he enjoyed doing the baking. And when she’d seen his high, light meringues, garnished with blackberries and mint leaves, she had known he loved it. He’d whipped a pint of fresh cream to be served alongside the delicious circles of sweet puffs.

Dulcie peeked inside the basket. “Ooh!” Turning her head, she called, “Mother!”

“Yes? Coming.”

The woman who came through the arched doorway did not present the image that Edith had expected after seeing her garden. Mrs. Armstrong dressed with Quakerish plainness, as befitted the wife of a preacher and the mother of hopeful girls. But on closer inspection, Edith saw that her hazel eyes had the same zest for life that her garden expressed.

She greeted Edith and said, “Arnie Sloan has told me so much about you, I feel like we’re friends already.”

Edith had never been greeted with such warmth. She couldn’t quite meet the Armstrongs’ eyes. To know she was there under false pretenses was as embarrassing as the time her garter fell in the greengrocer’s.

She said, “You have a lovely garden, Mrs. Armstrong.”

Jeff heaved a sigh, “I’d better be going along to the meeting, Edith. You’re going to have a fine time. I’m leaving you in the best of care.”

“Ooh, you darling!” Mrs. Armstrong flung her arms around his waist. “You can’t go ‘less you give me a little kiss. Just a little smooch . . .”

“Why sure, you beautiful creature, you.”

To Edith’s surprise, Jeff swept Mrs. Armstrong into a bear hug while Dulcie turned her dark brown eyes up to the ceiling in exasperation. “Mo-ther!”

At the end of the hall, a man appeared who looked more like a blacksmith than a preacher. “What?” he bellowed. “My wife in the arms of another!”

Edith backed up, her hand fumbling for the white vase. Was she about to witness a sensational scene of adultery revealed? She couldn’t quite believe it of Jeff, yet the evidence was before her very eyes.

He put the preacher’s wife behind him, valiantly. “You’ve surprised us, sir.”

“And in front of my daughter!”

Edith decided the vase wouldn’t stop such a big man from tearing Jeff into little bits. Blindly, she sought behind her for the cast-iron fruit bowl also on the table.

The preacher walked forward and sadly shook hands with Jeff. “If you want her, my son, you must have her. I’ll want five dollars and a good cow.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Armstrong shrieked, stepping out from behind Jeff and punching her husband in the upper arm. “Is that all I’m worth to you? After twenty-four years of marriage?”

“Has it really been twenty-four years?” her husband asked wonderingly. “It seems like yesterday you were batting your lashes at me.”

“I never . . .”

Mr. Armstrong peered into his wife’s eyes. “Why, you’re mighty pretty, Miss Drake. I think I’ll follow Jeff’s example.”

Once more Mrs. Armstrong was swept into a strong embrace. This was no mock kiss, however, but a thoroughgoing effort. On both sides.

Edith took her fingers from around the foot of the bowl. Obviously, this melodrama had been a joke. She turned her eyes to Jeff, who winked at her. Instantly, she dropped her gaze. Would he be insulted that she had thought the worst of him?

Dulcie said, “Fa-ather! Really!”

There was a loud
smack
as Mr. Armstrong came up for air. His wife looked dazed and she held onto her husband’s thick arm as though to keep from going over weak at the knees.

Jeff said, “Oh, woman, woman. Faithless . . . I go my way. Brokenhearted.”

He dragged his feet all the way to the door, while the Armstrongs laughed at him. “Alas, cruel fate,” Jeff moaned. “Edith, I’ll pick you up at four o’clock. If I don’t drown my sorrows in the watering tank first.”

“I hope you won’t,” Edith answered with a smile. “I’d hate to walk all the way back to the ranch.”

He gave her a quick, frowning glance as he opened the front door. Mr. Armstrong said, “Wait a minute, Jeff. Are you going to the fair-committee meeting?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me come along too. I’ve heard a distressing rumor about the games of chance—that whiskey is to be one of the prizes. Now it’s bad enough that the Red-Eye will be open during the fair hours but we mustn’t allow . . .”

Jeff held up his hand. “You don’t have to convince
me.
Come along to the meeting. I’m sure the boys will hear you out.”

“Thanks. Let me get my coat. I’ll meet you out front.”

As the door closed behind Jeff, Edith felt as though she’d been abandoned by her last friend. She looked toward the Armstrongs, trying to smile.

Mrs. Armstrong said suddenly, “Gracious! You must be thinking we’re all touched, Miss Parker. Such awful behavior in front of a stranger!”

“I thought you were wonderful!” She relaxed. Maybe it would be all right. A rush of enthusiasm carried her into making an impertinent suggestion. “Have you ever thought of taking that performance on the stage?”

Mrs. Armstrong shook her head, a motherly smile on her lips. “We don’t believe in acting in public. And no dancing.”

“Mo-ther,” Dulcie said. “Miss Parker isn’t going to kick up her heels in the hall!”

“It’s best she should know these things. And shouldn’t you be doing your hair? The other guests will be along in a moment.”

“Am I early?” Edith asked, instantly sure she was imposing dreadfully upon this nice family.

“Oh, no,” Mrs. Armstrong said. “Everyone else is late.”

“Jeff said . . .”

“Men!” Mrs. Armstrong looked lovingly up as her large husband came into the hall again, working his arms into the sleeves of his black coat. “They always think things like this start on the minute, as though we’re running a railroad. And as for you, Ezra Armstrong . . .”

“I’m going, I’m going.” He rolled comical eyes at Edith and hooked a thumb at his wife. “You see who’s master in my house.”

“We said a long time ago that you’ve got the church you can be boss of. The house is my business so git!”

“Yes, madam trail boss.” He snapped off a salute as he left, his wife and daughter gazing after him lovingly.

Edith left her eyes stinging, and didn’t know why. She blinked the water away fiercely. “Is there anything I can do to help you get ready?”

“Lands sake, child, no. You’re our guest. Go and have a sit-down in the parlor. I’ll come in a minute. Got to get those children washed.”

Obediently, Edith went into the rose-pink and wisteria-purple parlor. It was hot there, for the morning sun illuminated the triple windows at one side. She wished she hadn’t put on that extra petticoat, but had thought “better safe than sorry.”

A small, uncomfortable-looking chair beckoned to her. She moved it into a corner and sat down. It gave way beneath her.

Unable to jump up in time, Edith crashed to the floor. The fall rattled her right to her teeth.

The Armstrongs came rushing into the room. There were a lot of Armstrongs. Three boys, ranging from a young man to a tow-headed boy with two missing teeth, pointed at her. Two young girls, one with slightly lowered skirts and one still in pigtails, giggled. The oldest boy of the group, tall and dark, shook his head. He came over to offer her a hand and hauled her up out of the destruction. All that remained of what had been, no doubt, a treasured relic of the house were a few pathetic sticks.

“I’m so sorry,” Edith whispered. She wanted to rub where it hurt but she folded her hands instead.

“Are you all right?” Mrs. Armstrong asked. “I should have warned you. That old chair isn’t fit to sit on.”

“Wasn’t fit, Ma,” the young man said. He must have been nineteen or twenty. “I don’t guess it can be fixed now.”

“I’ll be happy to replace . . .”

Mrs. Armstrong shook her head. “Can’t be done.  Miss Parker. Wouldn’t be worth it, anyway. Piece of old junk. Put it right out of your mind.”

“But really . . .”

She wasn’t allowed to finish her offer. Her hostess led her by the hand to the plush settee. “You just sit down. I’ll get you a cup of tea. You must be shook from head to foot.”