WILD OATS (12 page)

Of course he couldn't fix it with a rake, Cora thought to herself, fuming at her own stupidity. The problem was she didn't know how to fix it, or she would have done it long before now.

"Oh, I've got a combination tool," she told him excitedly as she hurried to the flatware box. Rifling through the terrapin forks, salt spoons, and asparagus servers, Cora found what she was looking for. "Here it is," she said, pulling out a queer-looking instrument of wrought iron.

Jedwin examined it momentarily.

"It's pliers, wire cutter, nutcracker, can opener, knife sharpener, corkscrew, and glass cutter all in one," Cora told him grandly. "I bought it from a peddler before I married; he said it was the one household tool every woman should own."

Nodding vaguely, Jedwin gave Cora a hopeful smile and opened the contraption with the intention of taking the bolts off the pump handle. With the pliers open to their widest point, the corkscrew stabbed Jedwin solidly in the palm of his hand. The spurt of blood that ensued was more dramatic than it was painful.

"You're injured!" Cora cried breathlessly. She rushed to his side. Dropping to the floor beside him, she grabbed up the bleeding palm and brought it to her lips to stop the bleeding.

Jedwin's startled intake of breath was greater from the touch of her lips than the prick of the corkscrew. The sight of her tender and intimate ministrations had him setting his teeth determinedly against the sudden surge of pounding blood that curled low in his stomach.

Cora saw his grimace. "It must hurt."

"It's nothing," Jedwin said quickly.

Cora reached into the cabinet behind her and pulled out a clean rag with which she attempted to bind up the wound.

Jedwin gazed at her dark head, bent so tenderly over his hand, and a strange warmth surged through him. She’d made no jokes about his clumsiness or complaints about the trouble. She had touched his body with familiarity, as if it were her own, and now bound his wound with a gentle caring that nearly unmanned him.

"It's fine," he said gruffly. "Don't fuss."

"I just want to make sure you are all right," she said, looking at him, worried.

Jedwin's eyes were drawn to her lips and then lower to the pale flesh of her throat visible above her collar. This was a vyfoman who could ease a lot of hurts, he thought to himself. Determinedly, he pushed the thought away.

Those warm brown eyes pinned Cora to the floor, and she let go of his hand. Nervously she rose to her feet.

"I think you will be all right, Jedwin," she said. "It's not a deep wound, though it may be sore for a day or two."

He shrugged with unconcern. "I won't be able to fix the pump, I guess," he said. "Maybe another time."

"It doesn't matter," she told him quickly. "I've been living with it broken for almost a year now. I'm really quite used to it. Thank you for trying."

Cora looked down at him. He was kneeling before her. The position was one of subservience, but as those intense brown eyes gazed up at her, Cora trembled. He was at her feet, and the power of his humility coursed through her like a fire. Her breathing quickened and her hands ached to trace the strength of his jaw. It had been so long, so very long. She just needed to touch him, to feel the warmth of another human being. She needed to be held in his arms. Was a little closeness too much to ask of life? Why should she deny herself what little comfort that was offered? Her lips parted and as she reached a tentative hand toward him, she saw his eyes widen in pleasure.

Catching herself, Cora jerked back her hand and looked away hastily.

Jedwin calmly began refilling the potato sack with its useless bits of rusting metal as if nothing had happened. "I'll bring some tools tomorrow and fix it," he said.

Cora felt shy. "There is no need for you to do that," she insisted.

Jedwin smiled at her warmly, too warmly.”I want to do it,'' he said softly. "It's some way I can please you that your neighbors won't be gawking at."

Making her way to the table, Cora nervously began fussing with the dishes. "You don't have to please me, Jedwin."

"I don't?" Jedwin asked. There was a hint of humor in his voice. "I thought that was what romances were all about."

Cora's mood turned peevish. "And you should stop talking all this nonsense about romance," she snapped. "I know full
well
that it is not romance you are interested in, but something entirely different."

"And what is that?"

He was standing next to her, his hands on his hips and a grin on his face. Cora raised her chin bravely. "You want to have passion and excitement and . . . and marital relations without benefit of marriage."

Jedwin's bravado faded slightly, but he held his chin high.

"I suspect I could be talked into that, Mrs. Briggs," he said with a lighthearted bravado that tempted Cora to kick him. "But what I'd really like right now is a kiss."

"A kiss?" Cora shook her head adamantly. "A kiss is all you want, Jedwin? You've been hanging around here trying to gamer my favor because you want a kiss?" Cora's mouth narrowed into a thin line of displeasure. "I thought you were determined to be honest?"

"I honestly want a kiss."

"There are girls all over this town who would be willing to chance a kiss with you. I suspect a number of them already have."

"I've kissed a few," he admitted.

"So, there."

"But I've never kissed one the way I wanted to. I've never kissed anyone the way I want to kiss you."

He took a step forward, and Cora stepped away from him. Finding the back of her knees against the seat of the chair, she simply sat down. She assumed that he would seat himself as well, out of politeness. He did not. Instead Cora found herself at eye level with the buttons on his trousers.

With a shocked intake of breath at her desire to loosen those buttons, Cora attempted to rise once again to her feet. A pair of strong, masculine hands stayed her.

She looked up at his eyes now, fearful. The long straight arms that held her in place were heavily muscled and masculine. Men could sometimes lose control, she knew. He was bigger and stronger than she, and if he chose he could take what he wanted. That's why there were rules about unmarried couples being alone, reason reminded her. The rules of society were for a purpose. But Cora was a fallen woman, a divorced woman. The rules no longer applied to her, and therefore neither did the protection.

"Please don't hurt me, Jedwin."

The intensity of Jedwin's brown eyes darkened as a puzzled look came over his face. "Hurt you?" He shook his head slowly and then squatted down beside her chair. "I would never hurt you, Mrs. Briggs. I would hope that you knew that about me already."

Cora could look straight into his eyes now and she relaxed a little. His visage was young and strong, but there was no evil in it, no fiatred or corruption.

He moved closer to her. The tiny niggling fear she still held quivered inside her, but didn't spark to fright.

"Please let me kiss you, Mrs. Briggs," he whispered only inches from her lips. "I am no expert, but I promise it will not hurt at all."

Cora didn't answer. But she didn't pull away, either. Slowly, hesitantly, Jedwin brought his mouth to hers. He was barely an inch away when he stopped and nervously swallowed. Cora watched him bite his lip for courage and then turn his head slightly before bringing his lips to her own.

The touch of his mouth on hers was warm and soft as a whisper, but Cora immediately laid a soft hand on his jaw and pushed him back gently.

"You are supposed to shut your eyes," she whispered.

He pressed his cheek more firmly into her palm, reveling in her touch. "If I close my eyes, Mrs. Briggs, then I won't be able to look at you. And looking at you is one of the sweetest pleasures of my life."

Cora smiled. He was so close. The heady feel of his admiration coupled with his warm masculine smell and the sincerity of his words, seduced her as no gallant poem ever could.

"Close your eyes, Jedwin," she told him. "And open your mouth. Isn't that how you really want to kiss?"

Jedwin didn't bother to answer. A heavy fringe of pale blond lashes lowered over his eyes and his lips parted—eager to taste her.

Cora met his kiss more willingly than she would have ever admitted. Kissing was wonderful. It was the same warm, tender sweetness she remembered. And as she let her hand steal from his jaw to curve around his neck and bury her fingers into the hair at his nape, a sigh of pleasure escaped from the depths of her throat. It had been so long.

He answered her sigh with a moan of desire. He wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss. His mouth was hot and questing. There was the tenderness Cora remembered, but there was more. Something hot and wild and infinitely frightening. This was not Luther Briggs.

With a tiny fearful cry, Cora pulled away. Jedwin still held his arms tight around her, but as he saw her frightened expression he reluctantly loosened his grasp. He was breathing rapidly and the wildness that she'd felt in his arms was now visible in his eyes.

"Didn't I get it right that time, Mrs. Briggs?" he asked.

"No," she answered without thinking and then at his puzzled expression she said, "I mean yes, yes, it was fine."

Could she tell a young man that his kiss was too passionate? She supposed not. Her only experience in kissing, first kiss to last, had been with Luther Briggs. Luther's kisses were always respectful preludes to the exercise of marital rights. They had certainly never made her as jittery as Jedwin's just had. Nor had her lips ever tingled in the aftermath.

And they definitely tingled now. Obviously a man didn't kiss a wife the way that he would a woman of dubious reputation. The ignoble thought flittered through her brain that here at last was an advantage to being a fallen woman.

"Was it all right or not?" Jedwin asked. "For me, it was wonderful, but I want to please you."

"Oh, it was fine," Cora answered hurriedly. "It was quite good in fact. You do that rather well."

Jedwin stared at her quizzically for a moment and then shook his head and offered a deep masculine chuckle. "You speak as if I'd just made a splendid croquet shot."

Cora blushed and lowered her eyes. "It was a very pleasant kiss, Mr. Sparrow. Are you seeking compliments?"

Jedwin shrugged. "No, not necessarily. But I might be seeking another kiss if you are interested."

As she raised her head quickly, she had it on the tip of her tongue to agree. But Jedwin's face was so close and the taste on her lips still so fresh and frightening that she shook her head.

"I believe we've had enough romance for tonight."

Jedwin smiled broadly as he teased her. "Romance, Mrs. Briggs? Or passion?"

Before Cora could think of a witty reply, Jedwin had risen to his feet. As he took her hand in his, Cora thought for a moment that he would kiss it too, but he did not. He only gave it a warm slight squeeze and then gently released it.

Reaching for his hat and coat on the hook, he helped himself as if he were at home rather than merely a guest. It was a good thing, as Cora was still slightly befuddled.

Jedwin shrugged into his coat and hooked the top button before smoothing the hair on the top of his head and donning his hat. He kept his gaze on Cora, who seemed frozen in place, still seated in her chair. Smiling at her warmly, he placed his hand on the doorknob before bidding her farewell. "I'll try to come tomorrow and bring some tools to fix your pump," he told her.

"You really don't have to do that, Jedwin," Cora insisted.

"I know that I don't, Mrs. Briggs. But it seems a perfectly good excuse to get another kissing lesson."

She wasn't sure if he meant for himself or her.

Chapter Nine

Amelia Sparrow stepped into the embalming room with an angry and impatient look upon her face. Absently she rubbed her jaw, as if that would ease the pain there.

"Jedwin's not here, Mellie," the man standing by the table said without looking up. "I would have thought you'd have known that by now."

Amelia took a step closer and looked down on the young man lying pale and still on the table. "Who is he?" she asked.

Haywood glanced up momentarily. "His name's Whitlow. That's all I know. Nobody's sure where he's from or if he's got family. He'd been living in Low Town for about six months. Ross Crenshaw is trying to locate some folks that know him."

"How did he die?"

"Doc Perkins says asthma," he answered with a sad shake of his head. "I say diphtheria."

"Diphtheria!"

Haywood nodded. "There's an epidemic of it in Indian Territory. Just because we haven't seen it, doesn't mean it isn't here."

"Doesn't the doctor know about the epidemic?"

"Of course he does, but the truth is he ain't much of a doctor. He's one of those blamed hydropaths, Mellie. If you can't wash it away, he don't know nothing about it."

"But diphtheria," Amelia whispered. "How can you be sure?"

"I'm not
sure,"
Haywood answered. "But I took a good look in his mouth. He's got a gray veil over his throat. I never heard of an asthma that would do that."

Mrs. Sparrow nodded agreement.

"That's why I volunteered to embalm him."

Amelia complete forgot her fear of contagion as she huffed with disapproval. "They should have just buried him. We'll never recoup a penny for the embalming."

Haywood gave her a look of displeasure. "Embalming fluid costs very little and I'm donating my time."

"Well, it's certainly easy for you to do that," she complained. "After all, we pay for it."

"Oh hush up," Haywood snapped. "Look at him, Mellie. He's about Jedwin's age, I think."

Quieting immediately, Amelia came closer and looked down at the pale stiff features of the young man on the table.

"It's such a shame," Haywood said softly. "His whole life before him and it ends too soon. He hadn't yet started to live before he died."

Amelia reached up and straightened a reddish brown curl that had strayed to the young man's forehead. "He does look to be about the size of James Edwin. Maybe we should give him that old gray suit he doesn't wear anymore."

Haywood's deep blue eyes studied Amelia for a moment before he nodded approval. "That would be real nice of you, Mellie," he said.

Amelia felt a strange and unexpected sense of comradery. Without understanding it, she hastily pushed the feeling away, uncomfortable with it. She watched silently as Haywood made a slight incision in the side of the young man's arm. With a trocar, Haywood carefully raised a large artery at the border of his muscle about an inch outside of the wound. There was no bleeding to speak of, but still Haywood wiped the area with a damp cloth. Using a pair of scissors, he cut the vein straight across and inserted a tube into the artery, securing it by the tying of two small threads.

Amelia watched, fascinated, as he attached the other end of the tube to the bottle of embalming fluid and began to slowly infuse the fluid into the body.

"How do you know which vein to use?" she asked him.

Haywood was momentarily startled by the question. He'd always figured that a woman with a husband and son who were undertakers would already know the basics of embalming.

"We don't use veins, Mellie," he answered easily. "No excuse for that. The veins will collapse on you. It's always best to use a good, strong artery. It doesn't matter which one."

Amelia peered curiously into the small cut in the man's arm. The web of vessels was fascinating. "How do you know which ones are arteries?"

Haywood took his thumb and forefinger and widened the incision ever so slightly so that Amelia could see inside. "The arteries are the white ones," he said. "I usually pick a good-sized one so the tube will fit in easily. You want to flush the fluid back down the arteries and toward the heart." He gestured to the tube in the man's arm and then laid a hand gently on the still, silent chest.

Amelia nodded and continued her curious inspection of Haywood's work. She felt his eyes upon her and started slightly when she realized that she was standing so close and that he was looking right at her.

"This doesn't bother you at all, does it?" he asked.

"Of course not," Amelia replied adamantly. "If you were thinking that James Edwin got his squeamishness from
my
side of the family, well you can just think again!"

"I wasn't thinking about Jedwin's 'squeamishness' at all," he said with more than a hint of impatience. "I think that it is perfectly natural for anyone to be disturbed by the sight of death and to be overset by having to prepare bodies. Undertaking is not for everyone."

Amelia shook her head in disapproval. "There you go again, trying to make excuses for that boy." She sighed with disgust. "There just isn't any excuse. From the time he was big enough to walk, Mr. Sparrow brought him in here and tried to teach him the business. That boy wouldn't learn a thing. He was always choking and coughing and racing to the door to lose his breakfast."

"He doesn't like the smell of formaldehyde," Haywood said evenly. "It is not a pleasant smell. It makes a lot of people sick to their stomachs."

Amelia dismissed his excuse. "A lot of people don't own their own mortuary! It is just completely beyond my understanding. I spanked him until he was too big for it, scolded him until he was old enough to outreason me, and warned him that his father would never forgive him, but it didn't do any good. He never was a lick of help to his father in the business."

Walking away from the table, Amelia casually perused the contents of the shelves and cabinets. She occupied her eyes with the trivia] as her mind stayed mired in her disappointment.

"I was so proud when he passed his embalming examination," she said quietly. "He had the highest grade of anyone who took the test that year. I could hardly wait to tell Mr. Sparrow. He was very pleased, too."

Shutting a glass-fronted cabinet quietly and turning back to look at Haywood, her expression was derisive. "That lasted three whole days. Then old Addie Macon died and Mr. Sparrow asked James Edwin to prepare her."

"And?"

Folding her hands across her chest, Amelia made her way back to the table. "I heard him from the upstairs window," she said. "He was heaving and vomiting like a drunkard with a batch of bad brew."

"Just because he knows exactly
how
to do it," Haywood said, "doesn't mean that he might not still be sickened by doing it."

Amelia nodded. "That's what we discovered. I swear it nearly broke his daddy's heart All he wanted to do was leave his business to his son, and. no matter how much he tried, his son didn't want it"

Haywood glanced down at his work. "Did his daddy ever forgive him?"

Amelia shrugged. "Oh, I suspect so. He didn't ask him to work in the embalming room much after that. And he seemed to take some pleasure in James Edwin's interest in the flowers." She shook her head.

"I'm sure your husband forgave him," Haywood said.

Amelia looked up, surprised. "Why do you think that? You didn't even know him."

He shrugged. "I guess because he was an undertaker like me."

' "And undertakers don't want their sons to follow in their footsteps?" she asked.

Haywood shook his head. "Some people think that undertaking is a trade," he said. "Like carpentry or shoemaking. But Mellie, it's not like that at all. Caring for the dead is not something that just anybody can do. I think it's a lot like preaching. It's more a calling that it is a profession." Haywood nodded, sure of himself. "Your husband
had
to understand that. I don't believe that he'd blame his son for something that was just not in his nature."

Amelia huffed in disbelief. "I just can't agree with that. If somebody leaves you an undertaking business, you had just better change your nature to suit. I told Mr. Sparrow myself, that I was just sure it was some foolish boyhood nonsense and that he would grow out of it. It just breaks my heart that he hasn't."

"What difference does it make, Mellie?" Haywood asked her.

"What difference?" She looked at him as if he were a complete fool. "Why, the difference is your wages, Mr. Puser. If James Edwin would take on his own responsibilities, we wouldn't have to pay an outsider to do our business."

To Amelia's extreme displeasure, Haywood found something quite amusing about that and chuckled heartily. He began washing down the instruments on the surgical tray. "Now Mellie, you don't pay me enough to worry yourself about."

"The fact that I have to pay you at all is infuriating. James Edwin should be doing this. I've done everything a mother could do for a son. You can't know how much I've sacrificed. And this is how he repays me. By being such a coward he can't even face a dead body."

With a deafening wham Haywood slammed a trocar onto the tray. "Damn it, Mellie! Sometimes I'm tempted to take a switch to you. Are you so full of yourself that you can't see Jedwin at all?"

"How dare you talk to me that way!"

"How dare I? Damn it, woman, it's high time that somebody did," he hollered right back. "You love Jedwin, don't you?"

"Well, of course I do! What kind of question is that?"

"It's the kind of question you ought to be asking yourself."

"My whole life has been sacrificed for that boy."

"You've said that already, at least a million times if I haven't lost count, and he's not a boy. He's a man. If you'd quit 'sacrificing' yourself and let him have his own life, you'd both be a lot better off."

"You, sir, know absolutely nothing of which you speak."

“I know a damn sight more about what I speak than you do, because you won't come down off your high horse to see anything."

"I only want what's best for James Edwin."

"And you think you know what's best?"

"I certainly do. We all have our demons to face, Mr. Puser. The only way to deal with them is to raise our chins and confront our fears head-on. It's what I do and it's exactly what my son would do if he weren't such a coward.."

"A coward!" Haywood shouted. He took a deep, cleansing breath. "A coward?" he asked more quietly.

"Yes," Amelia said firmly. "There is no reason not to speak plainly."

"A coward," Haywood said softly and then shook his head. “Mellie, do you remember when your husband died?''

Momentarily distracted by the abrupt change of subject, Amelia hesitated. "Why . . . yes, of course I remember. The loss of one's husband is not something a widow is likely to forget."

"Do you remember the funeral?"

"Yes, of course."

"How much of it do you remember?"

"I remember all of it. What are you getting at? Do you think you know something about the funeral that I don't? You weren't even here in town back then."

"Was your husband embalmed for the funeral?"

"What?"

"Was your husband embalmed?"

"Why, yes, I mean I think so." Amelia hesitated. "Yes, of course he was embalmed."

"And who embalmed him, Mellie?"

There was silence between them for a moment.

"I guess James Edwin did," she said.

Haywood nodded. "Yes, I guess Jedwin did."

Amelia looked down at the young man on the table. Cold and silent, he was a very sad sight. He was someone she didn't know.

"Can you imagine what it was like in here that day, Mellie?" Haywood's words were soft, sorrowful. "Jedwin's hands tremble every time he has to come into this room. Can you imagine the day that his own father lay here?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Haywood ignored her. "The smell would have soured in his stomach before he got much past the door."

"Mr. Puser, please."

"Can you feel him choking on the stench of formaldehyde? Can you see him flinching as he cut the flesh of the man who gave him his life?"

"Don't."

"Can you see the tears running down his cheeks as he begs forgiveness for not being the man his father wanted him to be? Can you see it, Mellie? Can you see it and still call him a coward?"

"Stop it!" Amelia turned away, a hand covering her mouth and her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she desperately tried to still the vivid images that Haywood had conjured up. And unwilling to let him see the tears that she could not hold back.

Haywood turned again to his work. His own eyes had filled with sorrow. He was a man who had seen too much of the world, but he was still able to cry.

The silence lengthened between them and Haywood began to regret his words. He had a grudging admiration for Mellie. There was no excuse for deliberately hurting her. He just wanted her to know what a fine son she really had.