Summer Lightning (20 page)

It was an evening filled with memories. The two friends talked over their boyhood days in Richey, reminiscing about the wars they’d fought with the other children, the apples they’d stolen, and their explorations of the Cave of Mysteries.

“What cave?” Edith asked.

Louise answered, “We’re only allowed to go in there during the fair.”

“That’s right,” Jeff said, shaking his finger at her. “And then only with a guide.” He looked across the table at Edith. “There’s a limestone cavern above the fairground. It’s a great place but dangerous.”

The two men exchanged a glance that seemed to be made of compressed secrets, sent across from one memory to the other. Jeff said, “Paul and I did a lot of wandering around in there, but even we don’t know all about it.”

“I’ve come at the right time,” Paul said. “I’d like to take another look down there. We had some good times, down in the cave, before . . . Well, I haven’t seen anything that spectacular in California.”

“Surely the gold . . . ” Sam said.

“You know how I discovered gold?” They all shook their heads. “It was the summer after you left, Jeff. I was looking for blackberries. You remember how they grew down the hillside, great tumbling masses of ‘em, like amethyst beads?”

“Sure, they were the best thing I found there.”

“When I waded into ‘em, I caught my shirt on a big thorn. Well, the more I thrashed around, the worse I got tangled and scratched. So I just got mad and ripped the whole plant out of the earth. And at the root was this big ol’ chunk of gold.” He held his hand out as though he clutched the nugget, fingers spread wide. “The whole hillside was like that. No veins to speak of, just chunks of gold like God had gotten tired of ‘em and left ‘em in a heap.”

Jeff chuckled. “Better than the way we used to do it. Breaking our back with panning.”

“Do you remember . .  . ?”

The men began to remind each other of the wild characters they’d met and the fights they’d shared as well as the deprivations of life in a gold camp. They made even the hardships sound like a fantastic escapade out of a storybook.

Edith sat enthralled, her elbows on the table, copying in every detail the attitude of young Louise, right down to her chin propped in her hands. But where Louise never took her eyes off Paul Tyler, Edith watched Jeff, mesmerized.

She saw a reckless youth, eager for adventure, change to a man tried in the furnaces of experience. As the hours passed, she heard his voice deepen as he talked about the child he had delivered, the wounds he’d bandaged and the single time he’d stood up against a bully who held a gun. And when, at last, he’d decided to end the endeavor and come home, she heard nothing but satisfaction with his decision ring in his voice. Not even as Paul described the life he’d been living after his stroke of good fortune did Edith feel any regrets coming from Jeff.

“I’m not running through my money like there’s no tomorrow. A lot of fellows strike it big and go buying everything in sight—big houses, jewelry for their . . . wives, you name it. I’m being careful. My investments have done well. I can’t complain.” Paul accepted another cup of coffee from Sam. Maribel had long since been carried off to bed by her grandfather and Louise’s eyelids seemed to be growing heavy.

“So what are you going to do now? Move back to Richey?”

Paul gave a half-laugh. “No, I don’t think so, though I’m sure my aunts would love it if I did. Tell you the truth, I don’t know what I want. But whatever it is, it isn’t in ‘Frisco. After you left the Trinity, Jeff, I got to know old man Crawder.”

“Crazy Crawder?”

“Yes, that’s what we used to call him. I’d forgotten. You know, he had books in that cockeyed cabin of his, tons of ‘em. Books on everything from history to philosophy to science. Even a couple of law texts that had ‘Harvard’ on the flyleaf.”

Edith whispered, “Reading is a great comfort,” but neither man heard.

Paul asked, “You remember how long those nights are out there?” Jeff nodded in answer, lost in thought. Almost to himself, Paul continued, “You think the stars aren’t moving, that the earth’s stopped moving. The whole heavens seem about ready to fall in on you. And every minute you pray that dawn’s going to come, and it never seems to make it.

“Well, it’s worse if there’s nobody around to talk to. So I started to read. It struck me after a while I was as ignorant a body as ever drew breath. Since then, I’ve had a couple of years of everything money can buy but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m just as ignorant as I ever was. Maybe worse.”

“Couldn’t be worse,” Jeff said, with his wicked smile.

Paul pushed his fist into his friend’s shoulder, slow and easy, smiling back. “So I made up my mind that what I ought to do is travel. See some of this big old world and make sense of it. And not just in the States. I’m going to Europe and maybe even farther. I’ve read about these pyramids in Egypt and a big wall in China. There are forests in South America where whole tribes of people live like nobody ever invented electric light or the telephone.”

“Heck, we’ve got places like that here. Richey, for one.”

Paul shook his head. “I want to see everything before I settle down permanently. There’s a palace in Russia with domes like onions and a whole city that was buried by a volcano in Italy. I read about it in a book by . . .”

“Pliny the Younger,” said a new voice from the doorway.

Everyone turned. Miss Climson stood there, a book clutched I to her chest. “I knocked,” she said, “but I guess you couldn’t hear me.”

Chapter 13

Louise lay awake in a patch of moonlight. Next to her, Maribel whistled in her sleep as her breath rose and fell. The sound coaxed Louise toward sleep but she fought the call. She had a big prayer to deliver.

Though she knew she should get out of bed and kneel on the floor, she always found the best way to pray was to lie very still, looking at nothing. Her arms crossed behind her head, she stared past the ceiling, past the attic, past the roof. Soon she reached the vast sky above. The stars were pale beside the moon. As Louise fell into the sky, her mind opened up, one door after another, until she knew God was listening.

One day soon, her father would marry again. She saw his loneliness and had overheard him and Grandpa talking about it. Also, there had been whispering around town, and whatever the adults said today, the children would say tomorrow. So many adults seemed to think children’s ears were made of wood, at least until their conversations turned interesting. Then they’d chant, “Not in front of the children.”

However, Louise knew the names of the women most likely to become her new mother. She told God that none of them would do. So long the envy of the schoolyard for her liberty, Louise knew she couldn’t give that up for just
anybody.
Her new mother had to be just right, for her sake and for Maribel’s.

Miss Climson? She tried to be stern but the children knew she was soft as butter inside. For that alone, Louise might love her. Yet, she did want to teach, all the time. She’d even corrected Mr. Paul when he’d been talking, his words just like poetry, about countries far away.

Louise let her thoughts drift to Paul Tyler. Almost as handsome as her father, he seemed like a dream prince. He’d actually brought her and Maribel presents, all the way from California. Only someone wonderful could have known exactly what to bring for two girls he’d never met.

Without looking, she reached for the little doll, dressed like an Indian maiden right down to her long black braids and white doeskin boots. The tiny bells sewn on her dress tinkled faintly. Maribel stirred in response.

Glancing over at her sleeping sister, Louise saw how tightly Maribel clutched her new stuffed toy sheep. She hadn’t understood why Daddy had groaned or why Paul Tyler had grinned when he’d pulled a sheep out of his bag.

Louise hadn’t understood either, exactly, though she’d heard that sheep and cows didn’t get on. However, she’d pretended to laugh when the adults did while Maribel just looked confused. She was just a baby still, really. But she could be useful, for she always did as her big sister said.

No, Miss Climson wouldn’t do. Correcting Mr. Paul! As if it mattered where Madrid was, when he was so happy to be going there. Louise relived the sound of his voice and the shine of excitement in his eyes. She would think of that, even when he was far away.

Miss Climson had to be teaching all the time. Louise didn’t want that. She liked school, and was good at it, but she liked to leave learning at the schoolhouse when she heard the bell. How horrible it would be to find education at home as well!

Miss Albans was pretty, the prettiest girl in town, everybody said so. Maybe if she came to live here, Louise could capture some of that beauty for her own. She would like to be able to walk without her knees making her skirt billow and puff. And maybe she could learn to smile in that way, as if it only took seeing you to make a day perfect.

But the benefits of having the prettiest woman in town for a mama were overwhelmed by becoming the daughters of the dressmaker. Who was to say that Miss Albans wouldn’t decide they should be walking advertisements for her business? Louise considered the one dress her grandpa had Miss Albans make for Sundays and special days.

It was a pretty blue, with a deep full skirt, ruffles and real lace on the sleeves and neck. But she had to wear about nine million petticoats underneath it and every time she sat down the skirt flew up. Plus it had tight elbow sleeves, giving her fits. And it was so hard to sit still in it!

Then again, when she wore it, she couldn’t play at all, let alone as hard as she usually did. To be the daughter of the dressmaker would mean keeping clean all the time, not just on Sundays. So, no, Miss Albans was out.

Louise’s eyes fluttered closed. Tossing her head to keep awake, she thought of Mrs. Green. If she could have changed just a few minor things, Mrs. Green would have made the perfect new mother. She was warm and understanding. She baked terrific cookies. But she’d never seen her father laugh in Mrs. Green’s company. And then, there were those two boys.

They were noisy and too often teased her about all the things that bothered her most. Like the time they’d spent the whole recess imitating her, AI with a mop on his head. It wasn’t until she punched him in the stomach that they stopped.

Louise hated Al. Hank could be nice sometimes but Al was the worst boy in the whole school. No way was she going to be a sister to him! Not while she had her strength!

Also, Maribel didn’t like the way Mrs. Green smothered them both with big kisses every time she saw them. Once she’d even shed a few tears, calling them poor motherless lambs. Al had spent the rest of the week “baa-ing” at her.

No, Mrs. Green, Miss Climson and Miss Albans all had their good points, but they weren’t perfect. Louise abruptly rolled on her side. With one hand, she groped under her pillow and brought out a length of blue satin hair ribbon, neatly folded. She thought about Cousin Edith.

From the front porch beneath their room, she could hear the voices of the grown-ups. It was a restful sound, punctuated by quiet laughter. As it rose and fell, Louise felt safe and very sleepy. She held the ribbon tightly.

Yawning, she finished her prayer. “Cousin Edith might do, God. I’d like to wait and see, but Daddy said she’ll only be here a week. That’s not much time so I’m just going to try my best. I’ll leave whether she’s the right one or not up to you. Bless Daddy and Grandpa and Mama in Heaven. Oh, and Maribel, too. Amen.” She yawned again and snuggled down beneath her light blanket. Sleep took her away.

Down on the porch, as the clock in the parlor rang the half hour, Miss Climson said, “Goodness, it’s late. I’d better be going.”

“Me, too,” Paul said, standing up. “I’m so tired I won’t care if I have to sleep on a plank tonight.”

“If I know your aunts . . . ” Jeff started to say.

“Actually, I think they’ve given me every pillow in the house and enough blankets to outfit an Eskimo army. I guess I’ll be suffering tonight, but we’ve slept in worse places, hey, Jeff?”

“That’s right. The biggest danger at your aunts’ is from overeating. You remember to watch out for their pancakes. They’re light as a feather and trick you into thinking you have room for a second double stack.”

Miss Climson let a bubble of her delightful laughter escape. “That’s very true. When I board with them, I limit myself to four, though they’re good enough to live on by themselves.”

“You board there sometimes?” Paul asked.

“Why, yes. As the schoolteacher I board with all the families in turn, one month at a time. Even though your aunts have no children in the school, they very kindly take me in every May. I’m always sorry to see June.”

Sam said in the slight silence, “Better be going.”

Miss Climson stood up, saying, “Thank you again for your hospitality, Mr. Dane. I’m sure Louise will improve her studies this year. I look forward to having Maribel, too. She is a very sweet-natured child.”

“I’ll have a talk with Louise, but I’m hoping by the time the school year starts that she’ll have a mother to help her.”

There was enough moonlight on the porch to show Edith that Miss Climson was perfectly sensible of Jeff’s meaning, if a little embarrassed by such plain speaking. She wondered how much gossip there’d been about his choices for a new bride. Did all three women know they were in the running?

Sam said, “There’s room in the wagon for you, Miss Climson.”

“I do enjoy walking, but . . ,”

“Please do come,” Paul said. “I’d rather talk to you than to ol’ Grouchy.”

“Is that any way to talk about me?” Sam said. The three of them chuckled as they stepped off the porch to go around to the barn. Edith and Jeff could hear Paul asking Miss Climson eager questions about English history. Her answer came back to them faintly, “I’ve heard that story. To me, Beckett was a ...”

“They like each other,” Edith said softly.

“Yes, they do.” Jeff looked up at her, standing in silhouette against the moon.

She couldn’t look at him. “Well, it’s late, so I’ll say . . .”