Thing With Feathers (9781616634704) (9 page)

April, 1928

Cloverdale, Oregon

“I
know you don’t care none for the man, Sean. I haven’t asked you about your business, but, son, goin’ to the Justice in the valley when her pa is a preacher? It don’t set right, Sean. People are gonna ask questions.”

“Well, let them ask their questions. Blair’s never been anywhere outside of Cloverdale, so we’re getting married in the valley and spendin’ our honeymoon there.”

He pulled the canopy over the Tin Lizzy and snapped it in place. The car was loaded with their things already. Now, with the canopy in place, they would keep dry even if the thunderstorm that was threatening decided to show itself. He just needed to fetch his bride-to-be and they would be ready to leave.

“Son, I guess there’s no point in stalling about this. It’s time for me to give you some instructions.” Wyatt raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

“Oh, Pa.” Sean groaned. “You don’t got to. Heck, I been on a farm my whole life. I’ve watched the bulls with the cows before.”

“Well, son, I hope you know there’s quite a difference between dairy cows and ladies.”

“Shh.” Sean chuckled with a little embarrassment. “You know what I mean, Pa. I think I understand what goes where. Thanks anyway.”

“Not so fast, boy, I mean, son. It ain’t just a matter of what goes where. And if that’s what you think, then you do need my advice. So now sit down. You got a minute you can spare your old pa.”

They rested in the shade of the car, and Wyatt pondered only for a few seconds about what he should say.

“Women need to be caressed, and they need to be talked to. They need compliments and hugs just as much as they need the sex.”

“Pa—”

Sean tried to interrupt, but his father held his hand out while he took a toke on his pipe.

“You better believe they need it, son. Don’t make the mistake of thinking women have only a passing interest in the bedroom, that they are only fulfilling a wifely duty. They like it too. It just isn’t ladylike to admit it is all. You’ve got to be gentle with Blair, and you got to always remember to talk nice. Say good things, and say them often. Women don’t take a pledge of love as doctrine, Sean. There’s something in the way the female mind works that makes it so they need to be reminded of it often. If you stop telling her you love her, she’ll start thinking you’ve changed your mind. Then this giant fence gets built up with all those unsaid words of love, ‘til that fence is just too darned high and there’s no fight left for climbing. Do you understand me, Sean?”

“Yes, sir. Pa, is that so? I mean about women liking it as much as we do?”

Wyatt leaned into his son’s ear and whispered like a confederate, “Just between you and me, I believe they like it more.” He winked. “Now, are you absolutely certain you know what goes where?”

Sean shook his head and laughed with his father. “Thanks, Pa.” He stood, dusted off the seat of his trousers, and turned to go.

“Sean.” Wyatt turned Sean to face him by placing a concerned hand on his shoulder. “There’s something else that needs saying and…somethin’s not cricket. I know that much, but I don’t know what it is. I suspect it has a good deal to do with the preacher and why you don’t care none for the man. I trust your judgment, my boy, but I don’t want you to get hurt. Have you thought this all the way through?”

“I have, Pa.”

“Well, she’s an awfully sweet girl, son. Pretty as a peach too. But frail, I fear. She’s gonna need lookin’ after more than most.” He gave an amused chuckle. “Your ma is sure in all her glory havin’ Blair around. She’s the daughter…well, I don’t s’pose you’d remember that you had a baby sister for a short while.”

“Really? What happened?”

“Her name was Leslie. She just didn’t make it. It is a hard thing for your ma to talk about. She made me swear to never mention it. You were only two years old when she died. Leslie left us in her sleep without so much as a cry or a whimper. Your ma so wanted a little girl, and our little Leslie was such a joy. Women like havin’ baby girls to dress up like the dolls of their childhoods.”

Sean smiled. “I’m really glad Ma’s taken such a shine to Blair. But you’re wrong about her, Pa. She’s stronger than you’ll ever know.”

Wyatt Marshall nodded sadly. Something else needed to be said there, but how would he put it to words? So much about this pending matrimony was veiled and arcane, and it was clear both Blair and Sean wanted to keep it that way. “Sean, just remember that life is full of trials, and not one of us will win every trial every time.”

His son gave him a questioning look, but Wyatt continued on.

“Oh, I expect I’m not saying this exactly right, but I need you to understand something. Sean, there’s just no use pledging war with life’s trials. I’m not saying a good man walks away from ‘em, but a man needs to accept that sometimes the best you can hope for in this life are little victories here and there. There are going to be times in your life when you’ll want more justice, when you’ll feel you deserve much more. But vengeance is the Lord’s wheelhouse, Sean, not ours. Remember, little victories. Anything more must be left up to God. In that, you must have faith, son. If there are any big battles to be wagered against—and I’m referring to genuine evil—those fights must be left to God. Believe in Him, Sean. Believe that He will set all things wrong with the world right again.”

“I sure hope so, Pa, for Blair’s sake.” He kicked lightly at the grass beneath his feet with the toe of his boot. Finally, Sean asked his Pa what he really needed to know. “Have you ever, uh,” he looked up. “I was just wonderin’ if, if you…aw,” Sean shook his head in frustration; he simply wasn’t the sort who was comfortable speaking of such things. “Remember when you used to hold Sunday sermons in the parlor for us and our friends, and you always finished up the worship by saying how grateful we were for our blessings, and how the good Lord should use you as his instrument to do with as He saw fit, ‘cause you gave your whole heart and soul, or life? I think you said something along those lines, anyway.”

“Yes, son. I remember.” Wyatt answered cautiously.

“Okay, good. Well, we—Will and I—always had our heads bowed and our eyes closed, but in my mind, I was sayin’ those things right along with you, through all of those years. And I still include that last part in my prayers, because, well, I believe it.”

“My sons are righteous men.” Wyatt declared, with equal doses of pride and concern. He waited for his son to come out with what was really needling him.

“Pa, did you ever wonder what it would be like if He did it? I mean, if God really decided to tap you on the shoulder and ask you to do something that’s gonna be, you know, hard to do? Did you ever wonder, if He did decide to tap you, how He would do it? Like, I always wondered if He would speak aloud to me, burning bush and all, or speak with a voice inside my own head. Or maybe He would come in a dream, or just kind of, I don’t know, send me a message, sort of heart-to-heart, see?”

Wyatt Marshall sat back down on the stoop, heavily. This burden of his son’s was a tremendous load. Wyatt would do almost anything to take that burden for Sean, whatever it was. But he realized no amount of prayer was going to change the facts: this was Sean’s burden to bear. Wyatt was willing, sure enough, but he had not been called to the Lord’s service. Sean had. With fresh pain clearly written on his face, Wyatt answered his son.

“I have wondered, Sean. I guess I always believed I would just know.”

The men stared silently at one another as seconds ticked by. Finally, Wyatt asked his son the question left hanging in the air. “So, which one is it, Sean? How did our Lord tap you?”

“The last one. And, you do know, Pa. You just know.” He smiled at his Pa. Sean thought his father looked beaten, wrung out. He appeared to have aged some over a matter of days. “Shoot, Pa, you look sad. Don’t be. I think Blair an’ me have a good life ahead. We’re happy,” he promised.

His father said nothing right away. But finally he stood, brushed off his seat again and faced his son. “Then I’m happy for you, Sean. You should be warned that the business of setting things right in the world might not happen soon enough to suit you. That’s exactly why you’ve got to have faith that eventually, our Lord will dispense his justice and even things up. Justice might be slow, but it will come, son. Until then, keep watch o’er your backside.” He took his hand from his son’s shoulder and hugged him fiercely instead, slapping his back with both hands to emphasize his love for him.

“I…thanks, Pa. I love you.”

“I love you too, son. Now, go an’ get that lovely bride a yours an’ get out of here.”

Chapter 19

T
hey were Mr. and Mrs. Sean Marshall. It made Sean feel like he was someone else, an altogether strange sensation. He wondered what his bride was thinking. He was surprised and pleased that Blair had not been too nervous about their being together. If anything, Sean was nervous enough for the both of them. He wasn’t concerned he’d fail in any way, but he was worried about hurting Blair. To his relief, there’d been nothing to worry about. Blair had taken him by the hand, sensing his doubt, and had led them both through a wondrously tender union. He placed his hand over her belly and felt the warmth through the lacy white dressing gown Mavis had given her as a wedding gift. After long minutes of blissful silence, Sean spoke first.

“Blair, are you…okay?”

She smiled, and her hand joined his over the top of her belly. “I feel fine, Sean. I was just thinking about the baby.”

“Say, Blair, do you already have a girl’s name picked out? Because if you don’t and if it is a girl, do you think we could name her Leslie?”

It would not be a girl, Blair knew. Her father always got what he set out for, and he’d said it would be a boy. “I wouldn’t mind it at all. Leslie…it’s a pretty name for a girl, Sean. But what if it’s a boy?”

“Think it will be?” His thrill at the thought was evident.

“Could be just as easy.”

“Hmm. Just before we left Cloverdale, Pa gave me, you know, a fatherly talk. And he gave me some advice for the both of us. He said we’d come across some battles in our life together and we shouldn’t expect to win them all. Battles against evil, you know—”

“I reckon I do,” Blair interrupted with contempt for the thoughts Sean’s words brought to mind.

Sean turned onto his side and stroked his wife’s cheek and gently tucked some stray curls away from her temple. “Anyhow, Blair, he said that we should leave it to God to fight the big trials since that’s what our belief is all about, knowing He’ll save or avenge us from the larger evils, so long as we keep faith. But Pa also said that we can hope to win the little battles for ourselves, little victories, he’d said. So I was thinking that if it is a boy, maybe we should name him Victory.” He looked at her relaxed face, her deep brown eyes. “Whaddya say, Blair? No one but us knows we even won this little victory over evil, no one but us and the preacher. I think it’s a masterful name for a son of ours.”

“Victor…our little Victory.” She squeezed his hand. She’d been surprised at her level of grief and worry over whether the music man might have harmed her baby. She was growing to love the small mound that was forming in her belly. It was time to give that love a name, wasn’t it? “Yes. I like it, Sean. In fact, I love it.”

Chapter 20

T
alk around town said that Blair was made pregnant by the man who raped her. Rebecca wasn’t so sure. She was the only person who knew that Sean had decided to step in and marry Blair before the act of rape had occurred. Sean could not have predicted such a horrible fate would befall Blair. But he’d known something.

Is it his child?
A tight, frayed little voice in her head wondered.
No!
You must not think such thoughts,
Rebecca admonished herself. She knew in her heart of hearts that Sean would not have done such a thing. His was an act of mercy, of charity. Without him actually saying so, Rebecca suspected that Sean’s intentions concerning Blair were for her salvation. She’d promised Sean that she would never ask him why, and she wouldn’t. But it was a black secret that concerned Blair’s pregnancy, and Rebecca only prayed that Sean would not be harmed by it.

Chapter 21

“G
uess tomorrow we ought’a be getting that barn roof finished, eh, Preacher? Rain’s gone for a while, and things dried up. Best get to it while the gettin’s good, make hay while the sun shines, as they say.” Angus Tjaden elbowed the preacher’s ribs.

“Yes, I s’pose now’s a good a time as any,” Bowman replied, tucking his scowl away. “Is the work party willing?”

“Wyatt Marshall says he can make himself available. Will and Sean told me they could be there to help, and me and my three boys will show. Couple o’ the others here today said they’d try to get free for a while.”

“Well then, I guess I better get to makin’ a barrel of iced-up tea. I’ll supply some fried cush as well to keep the men going,” Bowman said. Cush was a southern tidbit made of well-salted cornmeal and bacon left sit to congeal, then cut into bars and fried in bacon grease. Bowman saw that Angus flinched some, then caught himself at it just a tick later. The man’s cherub cheeks pinked up on the spot. Bowman knew folks hallowed Angus Tjaden as a neighbor and friend, and one of the main reasons was that big round face of his, plain as potatoes, which registered every emotion that swept across his five-gallon noggin. The man was incapable of deceit.
I guess talk of such paltry fixin’s amid the fine-smoked salmon and oysters and other delectable dishes present at one’a his barbecues is too vulgar to mention.
Bowman burned
.

“Well, that’s good of ya to offer it, Preacher. You bein’ on your own these days an’ all, why not let the womenfolk handle the food? My Signey offered to send some cold fried chicken and slaw.”

“Nonsense!” Bowman said. “The unwritten rules of a barn-raising dictate the holder to bring the food and drink. I can manage it.” Bowman then softened a tad. Blair was gone and he couldn’t cook much other than eggs and oatmeal for himself, both of which he would be pleased to never eat again. He shot a withering glance in his daughter’s direction. He would not have minded some fried chicken and slaw. “Uh, but if Mrs. Tjaden is so inclined…” he added, noting the relief clearly written on Angus’s face.