Summer Lightning (17 page)

The nights had been wild too. Edith, shocked by the thought of him taking an occasional drink, would be horrified by those all-night poker games that had been carried on in an atmosphere of heavy smoke and easy virtue. On occasion, he’d paid for his pleasure, for there were no respectable women near the gold fields.

Yet no kiss, not even from the most expert and wanton woman, had aroused him the way naive Edith Parker’s had done. Perhaps it was knowing that it had been her very first. He’d never tasted lips so sweet or so innocently responsive. Not even with Gwen, for she’d been wildly popular with the boys since her girlhood and had kissed a dozen boys or more before he’d come back into her life.

Jeff supposed he should be ashamed of himself for stealing that kiss from Edith, without, after all, having honorable intentions. Yet he didn’t regret it. As a matter of fact, he wondered when he’d have the chance to do it again before remembering that he had vowed not to.

Chapter 11

As soon as they’d driven away, Sam said, “You know, my wife and I met through a professional matchmaker.”

“Is that so?” Edith asked. “I have never met anyone who owned an agency like mine, although I believe they are very popular in the West. One sees advertisements for brides to come out and get married in almost every paper.”

“It’s a gamble.”

“Especially if one knows nothing about the man except that he wishes to marry. Why, at least with my service, I have had the chance to judge, to some extent, the character of the man. I don’t simply take whoever walks in off the street.”

“It’s a gamble for both, I reckon,” Sam said, giving a little grin. “The woman can’t know much about the man from three thousand miles away, but then, he doesn’t know much about her. She could be a nag or crabby.”

“Or one of them could be married with the intent to deceive. I always ask for a letter from a good reference, like a pastor, before I send any information on prospective brides or grooms.”

“The one that matched up Louise and me ... her style was a little different from yours. I was living in Boston at the time. Before that, I lived in Atlanta. The southern girls are the most beautiful in the world . . . present company excepted, of course.”

Edith dared to tease a little. “Were you this gallant as a young man? I can’t believe the girls of Atlanta let you leave.”

Sam chortled. “I was awfully shy, then. Louise . . . my wife . . . cured me of that. She walked right up to me, the first time we saw each other, and said flat out, ‘If you want to marry me, you’re going to have to talk more.’“

“How bold!” Edith said, trying not to smile.

“Yes, she was bold with as brave a heart as a ... as a lioness. She wasn’t from Boston either. She was from Connecticut, staying in Boston with friends. It was kind of like fate, our both being there on the same night.”

“And this matchmaker?”

“What was her name?” Sam squinted up at the sky. “Miss Eudora something. I remember her first name because she looked just like an Aunt Eudora a childhood friend of mine used to have. Both of ‘em vinegary old maids in loose purple gowns.”

“Purple is not very old-maidish, is it?” She’d once seen a woman in a purple silk gown all spangled with gold braid like a military uniform. At sixteen, such a showy garment had had definite allure for her, though her aunt had sniffed and talked coldly about “a certain type of woman.”

“Lots of old maids keep a purple dress for special times. That kind of dull color, like widows wear when they first come out of their mourning blacks.”

He murmured under his breath, “Pratt, Pryor, Pringle . . . no, I can’t remember. She ran a dancing place where young bachelors could go to meet nice young ladies. My friend Ross dragged me along one night. God, Louise was beautiful,” he added reverently. “She wore white gardenias in her hair.”

“What were you doing in Boston?”

“I was clerking for a dry goods firm.”

“Then you haven’t always been a farmer.”

“A rancher,” he corrected gently. “No, not always. I worked in a stuffy old office until the War. Afterwards, the doctors said I had to get out into the air more. Louise decided that we should move to Missouri as the Armstrongs had moved here. She’d known Mrs. Armstrong when they were girls and not even the War could stop them corresponding.”

“I have no such friends.” Edith feared her tone was wistful.

“Well, you have ‘em now. Even after Jeff marries one of these girls, I’ll write you. Maybe you can find a nice wife for me, after you solve Jeff’s troubles. I miss Louise. I miss having a woman in the house. Mostly, I hate to cook biscuits.”

Edith laughed. She pretended to make a note on her sleeve. “Must bake biscuits. I’ll let you know, if I can find someone to fulfill your stringent requirements.”

“You know, you talk like you’re from Boston yourself.”

“My aunt always insisted on correctness of speech. She said that a lady could always be known by the way she spoke.”

“My granddaughters must be a shock to a lady like you, Jeff hasn’t had the heart to scold them much since their mother died. I try, but I don’t know how to raise little girls.”

“I think you’ve both done a wonderful job. They are sweet, loving little girls and, after all, that is what a parent strives for, isn’t it?”

“You seem to know a lot about children.”

Edith gave him a warm smile. “I was a child myself, once. For a while, anyway.”

They drove past the church and many neat homes. Soon they entered the main business district. Richey, Edith was learning, was more than a single-street town. As the county seat, it had an imposing city hall, a round pocket-sized park with a military statue standing strictly to attention, and at least three rival general stores. As Sam drove by, several ladies waved and most of the gentlemen tipped their hats.

“Some people,” Sam said, lowering his voice, “think Jeff ought to run for mayor. But I think an older, wiser head should run things right now.”

“Oh, yes. A mayor must be a man of distinguished record and mature judgment.” Edith didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that Sam wanted to be asked to run. She only hoped father and son would not be competing against each other.

“That’s Miss Albans’ shop down there,” Sam said, nudging her elbow. “Be careful with her. She’s an unusual girl. Bright and cheerful on the outside, but I think she has a tender heart.”

When Edith got down, however, she did not march immediately into Miss Albans’ hat shop. She’d been so interested in talking to Sam that she hadn’t had the chance to work out what she was going to say. After all, she couldn’t possibly walk up to a pleasant, cheerful girl and say, “Marry Jeff Dane, yes or no?”

Remembering a bench in the tiny park, Edith walked back to where the green grass glowed in the summer sunshine. As she sat on the bench, she closed her eyes to think.

Obstinately, however, her thoughts centered around one subject only. Why had Jeff kissed her? And what a kiss! Her toes curled and she found gooseflesh rising on her arms from just remembering the way his mouth had felt on hers.

She blushed to recall her own behavior. Did it take so little to overthrow the constraints of lifetime? Just the slow slide of a man’s hands, or the mere velvet touch of his lips?

Edith rubbed down the renewed gooseflesh. She tried to concentrate on how to approach Miss Albans. Perhaps she could lead up to the subject by mentioning how Jeff was so attractive. If Miss Albans agreed that a man should be tall and strong, that his hair should be so thick that it looked like an animal’s pelt, or that there was something pleasant about the soft abrasion against her cheek where his beard . . .

Closing her eyes again, Edith put her hand to her throbbing temple and tried almost desperately to think of something besides Jeff Dane.

She’d awakened at dawn with the sunlight dazzling across her pillow with shifting beams. She had stumbled up and tossed her dressing gown over the shade, which was too narrow for the window. For a moment, she had peered out at the golden light of the rising sun, but it had been too brilliant for her bleary morning eyes.

She had found it easy to fall back asleep—only to be awakened half an hour later by Sam, whistling a merry air as he made breakfast. Giving up in defeat, Edith had stepped out of bed, and uncovered Orpheus. The little bird sang out at once.

Now, her tiredness caught up with her. Keeping perfectly upright, her head sagged onto her shoulder. Between one blink and the next, she went from sitting in a pleasant park to talking with some aggrieved insects. Fairy laughter gathered around her, and then, breaking her dream, a desolate sob.

Waking up at once, Edith was instantly ashamed. Sleeping in public? Her
aunt would have pressed a hand to a palpitating heart and ordered an explanation. How Edith hated explaining herself! She would stumble over the words, wishing that her aunt would punish her severely rather than insist on knowing why she had been guilty of some unforgivable lapse.

Edith glanced around to be certain no one had observed her lack of moral fiber. The only person nearby was a very little boy. He stood a short distance away from the park bench, obviously trying not to cry.

Every other breath would catch in his chest and be exhaled raggedly. He
stuck a grubby fist in his eye, rubbing tears away, but a few escaped to mark his cheeks.

“Are you all right?” Edith asked. “Can I help you?”

His babyish blue eyes met hers in a look of mute misery. The round chin quivered. In a rush, his fat little legs pumping, he ran over to her and buried his head, still wispy with baby curls, in her lap.

Taken aback, Edith hardly had enough presence of mind to pat the boy’s shaking shoulder. She noticed a large, uneven darn in the yoke of his shirt. His hair had not been brushed for some time, as it was terribly tangled in the back.

‘There, now,” she said, the comforting sounds limping off her tongue. “There, now. Don’t cry. Are you hurt?”

Though still hidden in her lap, the little head shook.

“No,” Edith answered for him. “You’re not hurt. Are you hungry?”

He looked up, his face all slobbered with tears. Edith reached for her bag and took out a clean handkerchief. With a silent gulp, she gingerly wiped his running nose and eyes. “You
are
hungry.”

Nodding, he said, “An’ losted.”

“Losted?”

Once again his chin started to quiver. “Sister’ll be mad.”

“Now, don’t cry. I’m sure no one will be mad at you.”

She held out her hand for her handkerchief but the little boy held on to it. Rubbing the white square of cotton against his cheek, to the ruin of its whiteness, he said, “Smells . . .”

Edith didn’t know what to do. He was lost and hungry and so very small.

Sam wouldn’t be back for some time, he had said, so he was no help. Miss Albans’ shop was just down the way. She might know who the boy belonged to. But on the other hand, Edith didn’t think Miss Albans would know any more about comforting a small lost boy than she did herself. And he was in need of a kind of motherly comfort no maiden lady could give.

He was rocking back and forth, the handkerchief wadded up in his cupped hand, as he pressed his cheek into it. His eyes were closing. “Mama?”

That decided her. There was one person in Richey who not only could but undoubtedly would take care of this child.

“Come along, little boy,” she said. He clutched her hand with all the trust in the world, even smiling as she towed him along. The little nails were too long, and black. Edith only hoped he wasn’t carrying anything alive on his person.

A few minutes later, Edith knocked at a house she’d visited before. She knocked twice more before she heard Mrs. Green yodel, “Come in!”

Feeling like an intruder, Edith pushed open the door and went in, the little boy still in tow.

“Why, Miss Parker. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon! Not that you aren’t . . . who’s that?”

“I found him in the park.”

“Park? Oh, the square.”

“He says he’s lost.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can’t be.” Mrs. Green knelt down and looked the little boy in the eyes. Her smile was motherly. “You’re not lost at all. You’re here, with me.”

The little boy didn’t even glance at Edith. He jerked his hand out of hers and barreled into Mrs. Green’s arms. Talking rapidly, he seemed to be telling her about an open gate and a dog he had followed. Edith hardly understood one word in ten, but Mrs. Green didn’t seem to have any trouble.

“Then I got losted.” He heaved a big sigh, as though he’d dropped all his fears and worries onto this comfortable woman’s shoulders. Edith tried not to feel envious of the boy’s instant faith in Mrs. Green. He’d even dropped her handkerchief. Yet a certain yearning had been born when she’d felt his little fingers clasped in her own.

It was similar to the feeling she’d had when Jeff had kissed her, as if the two were related. Her lips tingled at the memory of the way his mouth had felt, moving eagerly over hers. She’d wanted more, just as she wanted a deeper joy than holding the child of a stranger. But what did kissing a man and holding a baby have in common? Except that they were things she’d never before imagined herself doing.

Edith said, “I think he’s hungry.”

“That at least we can mend. Right now!” Lifting the boy up into her arms as she stood, Mrs. Green stepped into her pantry. A moment later, she came out, the little boy still in her arms. In each of his hands, however, was a doughnut, with one already missing half of its circumference.

Mrs. Green, smiling maternally down at the tousled head, glanced up when Edith said, “I didn’t know who to bring him to. I thought as you have boys of your own . . .”

“My boys! They’ll be sure to know who he is. As it’s almost dinnertime, they’ll be back soon.” She hefted the boy in her arms into a more comfortable position. “Woof, you’re heavy.”

“I’m a big boy,” he said, stretching his mouth around the second doughnut.

“Yes, you are. What’s your name?” He mumbled something that Edith couldn’t catch. “Well, Rudy,” Mrs. Green said, “do you know where you live? Who’s your momma?”