Thing With Feathers (9781616634704) (5 page)

“Blair!”

She bolted from the roof of the lean-to, skipping down the wood pile with the gracefulness of a doe, and rushed to the wagon. “I finished the wash, Father.” She looked away from him as she spoke. “I just took a moment to rest.”

He grunted. “When you’re through watering the horses, you may get ready the canning shed. I have fresh jars and pectin in the back here. Be quick, child. It is getting late.” Under his breath, he griped, “Child must have the weak mentality of her quadroon mother.”

“Yes, Father.” Blair grabbed the reins and pulled the horses around the back. “Like you’re not a sandwich short of a box lunch,” she murmured to herself.

Chapter 7

“H
iya, Blair.”

Again, the poor girl nearly jumped from her skin.

“Oh…uh…I’m awful sorry if I scared you, Blair. I just came by to…uh…well, to see if you could help me with something.”

“Papa would be angry if he saw me talkin’ when I should be tendin’ to the horses,” she said to her shabby boots.

“If I could help ya finish your chores, then will you help me with something?”

What does he want?
she screamed to herself.

Then her voice inside grew firm.
You just stay quiet, Blair, an’ let me handle this,
the voice said. The eyes glanced up through long, dark lashes quite seductively. “Don’t know how’s I can help you, Sean. Anywise, I have to unload the cannin’ goods to the shed…”

“I’ll do that for ya, Blair. Pretty girl shouldn’t have to lift those heavy cases. Show me where they go.”

It was the most Blair Bowman had ever said to anyone that she could recall. Her heart pounded for it, but the voice inside was very insistent.

Just quiet yourself and let me do all the talking,
it said.

And Blair was far too meek to refuse the order. So she had become that other girl again, she marveled, the one who was sometimes her only friend but at other times looked upon her and her father when they did unmentionable things in the bedroom and called her names like
pathetic
and laughed cruelly at her whenever he beat her.

Having given the horses a quick brushing and a watering and stacking all the crates in the shed, she turned to Sean Marshall and batted her eyelashes.

“It…ah…I’m…uh…let’s go down by the river and…uh…I want to take some pictures, and I need someone to kind of stand-in so I can adjust for the light. I mean, you don’t have to model for me if it makes you uncomfortable. We can take some pictures of the critters we spot.”

She rocked a little and smiled lightly. “Okay.”

Chapter 8

R
uth Snyder and her lover, Judd Gray, were to be electrocuted at Sing-Sing. Mavis Marshall bypassed that article and the one about Babe Ruth’s sixtieth home run for the Yankees, stopping at the piece about Amelia Earhart’s flight across the Atlantic. She eyed her husband over the tops of the newspapers. Growing impatient, she willed her eyes to penetrate his paper that he might note she was disturbed by something. But Wyatt Marshall was a purposeful man, and he read his newspaper from headline to finish, stopping only for a sip of marvelous Brazilian coffee. Finally, Mavis’s patience ran out.

“Wyatt, put down that paper!”

He neatly folded his paper so as not to lose his place and raised his eyebrows at his wife across the plank table. “What is it, Mother?” He had begun addressing her by the familiar name since the day of their first son’s birth.

“What do you suppose has gotten into Sean? He’s not called on Rebecca one time this week. And he seems to be spending an awful lot of his time with the Bowman girl. That boy worries me, Wyatt.”

“Well now, Mother, I reckon Sean’s right about one thing, and that is we need to recognize he is not a boy any longer. I’d taken my wife by the age he is now, had my profession picked out too,” he added with just a sprinkle of disdain. “He may be a might slow in choosing, but it’s his business, Mother. I think we ought’a not speculate too much about his courtships. Maybe he changed his mind about Rebecca. Ain’t none of our business.”

“It is our business, Wyatt. I distinctly felt the Preacher Bowman was a might displeased with the attention our son has been bestowing on his daughter.”

“Well, we don’t want to be offending anyone so close to royalty as the Preacher Bowman,” Wyatt tried with humor, only to be met with a glare that could light a hurricane lamp. “Oh, Mother, stop your worrying. That poor Blair Bowman could use some attention from a nice b—man, like our son. Something’s terrible odd about that girl. Preacher’s not up to the task of raisin’ that downhearted child without a mama. She needs more of a family than she’s got with him.”

Mavis started to object.

He rushed on. “I might as well be struck down for saying it, but I think there’s something not quite square up there,” he said, tapping his forehead, “with the good preacher himself.”

Wyatt Marshall was actually minimizing what he truly thought of Preacher Bowman, but he would never say such a thing within earshot of his wife, knowing how she revered the church. Wyatt suspected that his wife didn’t so much like the preacher as she liked the idea of being close to a man who was close to God, close enough to gain herself, and the rest of them, a private ladder to heaven. He smiled to himself. He never faulted his wife for all her pretensions. She was a good-hearted woman, and he loved her.

“They’re an odd couple,” were his final words on the subject.

He shook his head and went back to his paper. Wyatt Marshall could not possibly know how close to the truth his statement was.

Chapter 9

T
hey played mah-jongg in the parlor. It was cooler that day, like ordinary March weather on Oregon’s coast. Rebecca was being cool too and giving him the silent treatment.

“That’s a good book.” He gestured toward the well-handled copy of
Elmer Gantry
that was lying on the floor at Rebecca’s feet. “I sure like Sinclair Lewis.”

“Seems I’ve had a little extra time on my hands this week and not much to do with it but for reading.” Rebecca looked up at Sean pointedly.

She wanted to stay mad at him, but one look at his handsome face smiling at her and her irritation just melted away. He was not large, but neither was he small. His muscles were firm and chiseled from farm work. Along with his high cheekbones and good, strong chin, his form could have been hewn by a talented sculptor out of a mighty spruce. His smile always reached up into his clear green eyes, as it did then. Whenever he’d shrug and lift his brows and wag his head from side to side with that lopish smile of his, as if to say, “please put up with me even if I am an idiot,” Rebecca’s heart would flip. She knew she would forgive him again, so what was the point of staying mad? Sean couldn’t help himself from getting carried away with that camera of his. And it was just a camera, after all. It wasn’t as though she was competing for him against another woman. She smiled back.

“Yeah, I have been kind of busy this week.”

“Taking pictures, I ‘spect?”

“Lots of pictures, yeah…Blair Bowman’s been helping me. You know, modeling sort of, to help me with the natural light and such.”

“Blair?” Rebecca looked him right in the eyes, and then she had to look away quickly. She saw something there. He was lost to her.
Blair Bowman?
Rebecca wished she could hate the girl, but it wasn’t possible. Blair was to be pitied. Many townsfolk speculated on the quality of that poor girl’s life. But if Blair captured Sean’s heart, she would soon be the luckiest girl in Nestucca Valley.
And did she capture Sean’s heart? Well, that was what I thought I saw in my sweetheart’s eyes, wasn’t it?

“Rebecca…Rebecca, I don’t expect you to understand, and I know you should hate me for this…I wish I could tell you why I’m doin’ it, but—”

“I don’t hate you, Sean.” Rebecca’s eyes betrayed her by spilling over with tears. She willed herself to stop as she stared at the game board pieces, but they grew all blurry, and then she could feel hot tears on her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Rebecca. You know…I love you.” Then it was Sean’s turn to look away, his eyes watering.

“Then why?” Her voice cracked with pain.

“I can’t say. If I told why, then it wouldn’t be a selfless act. I mean…I’ve already said too much, Rebecca. I’m sorry, I…I just can’t tell you why.” He reached for her hand across the game table and gave it a light squeeze. “But…I’m going to ask Blair to marry me.”

One audible sob was all. Sean could not hear how he had broken Rebecca’s heart, but he could see. Her tears dripped onto the wooden board. He looked back at her through tears of his own and could see her slight shoulders shaking beneath her long, yellow hair. He got up from his chair and pulled her up to him and held her close as she cried. Sean stroked her hair and whispered to her that it would be all right, that they were doing the right thing. He promised her that someday they would both be rewarded for ending their love. She looked up once, questioningly, and then embraced him hard. Sean was such a good man. He surely had his reasons, and Rebecca didn’t for an instant believe that it was because he had suddenly fallen in love with Blair Bowman. Though Blair was undeniably beautiful, Rebecca knew that Sean loved her.

Then why?
she kept asking herself. Rebecca began listening with her own heart.
Sean’s reason must be honorable. He’d said “selfless act.” Did he mean sacrificial? Didn’t he just tell me he loved me? Didn’t he say it was the right thing to end our romance?

She unwrapped her arms from his shoulders and took a step back. Slowly, she lifted her head and smiled at him through her tears. “I won’t ever ask you why again, Sean. I trust that your reasons must be good ones. Will you still be my best friend?” Her voice broke with the torture.

“I pray it with all my heart, Rebecca.” He held her to him again, fiercely, unready to let her go.

Chapter 10

T
he clanging of the dinner bell reached all corners of the two-hundred-acre homestead. The Marshall men and all the farm hands immediately dropped what they were doing and headed for the large, warm kitchen that was sure to provide a bounty of hearty dishes for Mavis Marshall’s hungry men. Sean was the last one in the door. He took his seat across from his mother, beside his brother, Will, neither commenting on the wonderful smells coming from the roasted chickens nor lifting his head to acknowledge the presence of the others.

Mavis Marshall exchanged a look with her husband, who sternly shook his head no so that his wife would not pester Sean. Mavis snapped her napkin open and exaggeratedly placed it in her lap, trying to get her young son’s attention. Finally, Wyatt Marshall cleared his throat. Everyone bowed their heads and folded their hands in front of them. Their growling stomachs were eager for someone to say grace so they could dig into the bounty of delicious-smelling foods before them.

“Sean, will you say grace for us?”

Sean thanked the Lord a might quickly, and while that was just fine with the other men at the table, Mavis was clearly displeased. Everyone began reaching for and passing around bowls of early garden peas, mashed potatoes and turnips with gravy, platters of roasted bird and buttermilk biscuits, fresh beets, and some of Mavis’ treasured golden russet apples that she cooked with brown sugar and cinnamon. Two enameled pots holding strong, black coffee were placed at either end of the long-planked table. Once everyone had served himself or herself and the table noise quieted down, it became obvious to all that Sean was upset about something.

One of the farm hands who bunked in Sean’s room, Johnny Arthur, threw a biscuit at Sean’s head. “Hey, wake up. Been spending too much time with the ladies, Sean? Pretty Rebecca tire you out today?”

Sean picked the biscuit up off the floor and put it on his plate. Nothing went to waste in Mavis Marshall’s kitchen. “Just not feeling well,” he answered by way of explanation.

“Well, son, what do you suppose is wrong with you? Still some of that stomach trouble?” Wyatt reached over and placed his hand atop his son’s.

Sean withdrew his hand from the table. “Naw. I’m okay, Pa. I just been doin’ a lot of thinking, an’ I’m kind of tired is all. Been thinking about what you an’ Ma said about learning myself a real profession. Engineering interests me. I’d like to go to the college in the valley and learn to be an engineer of the surveying sort.” He looked up into the surprised faces of his parents.

“That’s wonderful, Sean,” his mother answered guardedly. To her husband, she asked, “Can we afford it, Wyatt?”

“I suppose if we have another good year, we could manage it. How ‘bout it, gentlemen? Can we have a good enough year so that Sean here can go to college?”

“Ya mean so we don’t have to spend another dinner looking at his hang-dogged face? I’ll work double hard, Pa.” His brother, Will, ribbed him.

“Sure thing, Mr. Marshall,” said another hand.

Sean irritably shrugged his brother off.

“I’m sorry, Sean. I was just kidding around. Means that much to ya, we’ll all work extra hard so you can go.” Will patted him lightly on the back.

He knew that his brother had no interest in the farm. Some men were not meant to be dairy farmers. A job like that you had to love, and it just wasn’t for Sean, not that Sean didn’t work hard. On the contrary, Sean got up earlier than anyone and was always last in from the fields. And he worked hard while he was at it. That way, he didn’t have to feel guilty about spending time with his photography hobby. No one else really understood Sean’s passion for the camera or believed he’d ever make a living with it. But it was Sean’s life, and if he wanted to work like an ox so he could enjoy a hobby, there wasn’t anyone who faulted him for it.

“Sorry, Will.” Sean looked over at his older brother. “Just got a lot on my mind is all. I know you all are just having some fun with me.”

“Not much!” Johnny Arthur chimed in, which made everyone laugh.

“That’s okay, little brother.” Will laughed. “Here. Have another biscuit.”

He dunked that one in gravy and grabbed his brother by the neck to shove it in his face. The two brothers wrestled right out of their chairs and brawled harmlessly on the floor.