WILD OATS (14 page)

"I—" Cora began, but stopped abruptly. She would not apologize. No other words, however, came to mind. Quickly, without giving herself time to question her actions, Cora rose up on her toes and briefly pressed her lips against his. “If you want a kiss, Jedwin," she said with feigned worldliness, "you will simply have to say so."

She turned to walk away.

Jedwin stared after her. He could still feel the warm touch of her lips against his.
If he wanted a kiss all he had to do was say so?
Jedwin mused. Then he shook his head. He knew that it was not as easy as the lady made out.

Cora retrieved the bucket and began picking up the pecans that had scattered across the grass. For a moment Jedwin watched her with pleasure before helping. As they searched the long grass, occasionally they gave each other shy glances. When the weight of the pecan bucket grew heavier, Jedwin wordlessly took it from Cora's hand and began to tote it himself.

"Is this really your cash crop?"

Cora was noncommittal. "I sell whatever I can. If the pecans do well, I sell pecans. This year that tree has decided to put bread on my table."

Jedwin found himself wishing she could be as grateful to him as she was to the tree.

"You know there are still a lot of pecans up there," he commented as they finished gathering up all that had been spilled.

Cora glanced up. The topmost branches were heavy with clusters of pecans, still cloaked in their dark green overshells. "There are plenty up there," she said. "But they are up there, and we are down here. We'll just have to wait for them to fall."

Jedwin put his hands on his hips in a challenging stance. "So you are a believer in the 'take 'em as the Lord sends 'em' philosophy."

Cora giggled at the way he managed the old saw. "I shake the lower branches," she admitted. "But those high ones, well . . . I just have to wait."

"Squirrels will get most of them."

Cora nodded agreement. "Can't be helped."

Jedwin gazed up at the treetop another minute. "Did you say you've got a rake in the shed?"

"Yes."

"Go get it."

Cora assumed he intended to use the rake to shake the tree a bit higher than she had. It was a good idea, actually. He was taller than her by nearly a head, and with the rake, he'd be able to reach nearly halfway up the tree.

The rake was hanging on its designated nail in the shed and Cora quickly retrieved it. When she returned to the yard, however, Jedwin was out of sight.

Had he gone back into the house? Surely he hadn't just left. She was looking around curiously when she heard him call. "Mrs. Briggs!"

Looking up, Cora's mouth formed a little O of surprise. "What are you doing up there?"

Jedwin stood on the second, rather large branch of the pecan tree. Barefoot, with his sleeves rolled up, he looked more like Huck Finn than the local undertaker.

"You are going to break your neck!"

Grinning as if she'd issued a challenge, Jedwin leaned a hand down to her. "Give me the rake, ma'am, and I'll shake the come-and-get-'em out of this tree."

Cora handed up the rake. "Be careful." Jedwin nodded, but never actually agreed.

Rake in hand, Jedwin propped himself solidly against the tree trunk and reached to a distant limb. Capturing a clump of leafy branches in the rake tines, Jedwin began to pull on the limb with quick jerky motions. Pecans fell, rattling against the ground like a hailstorm.

"These are right ready to fall," Jedwin called down to Cora. "One good stiff wind and you'd have gotten most of them."

Cora was delighted with the windless fall, but continued to keep a wary eye on Jedwin as he moved the rake from branch to branch. When Cora saw that he'd shaken all the limbs he could reach, she called up her thanks. "This is wonderful. Though the poor squirrels will probably starve to death this winter," she joked.

"There are plenty more up higher," Jedwin answered. "There's no reason to leave them."

When Jedwin secured the rake into a limb above him and began to climb higher in the tree, Cora's breath caught in her throat. "Be careful, Jedwin."

She was sure he must have heard, but still he ignored her, climbing even higher in the tree.

"Jedwin!" she protested.

Finally he stopped at what looked to be the highest branch that would support his weight. He smiled down at her reassuringly. "I might as well get all that are ready," he explained as he reached for his rake again.

Cora listened to the mad rustle of leaves and the patter of falling pecans for a good ten minutes before the fruitful rain began to taper off.

"Stand back," he called. Then he tossed down the rake. Cora hurriedly retrieved it and carried it back to the shed.

She'd surely make enough on her pecans now to last her through the winter, she thought And at least Jedwin had managed not to break his neck.

The thought had hardly time to pass through her head when she heard the loud crack of a breaking branch. Cora couldn't even see Jedwin in the tree, all she saw was the too-quick rustle of the leaves and then Jedwin Sparrow dropped flat on his back in her yard.

"Jedwin!"

Cora had no time to think as she ran. One moment he was across the yard from her, the next she was kneeling at his side. His eyes were closed and he groaned.

"Jedwin? Oh, Jedwin? Are you all right?" She ran her hands nervously across his body, searching for bloody wounds or broken bones. His arms were straight, his ribs seemed intact, his legs were uninjured.

"Jedwin, darling, speak to me. Tell me you are okay."

He opened his eyes and looked straight into her own. "Is that you, Cora?"

"It's me, Jedwin. Where does it hurt? What can I do?"

He whispered a word as if speaking was painful in itself. Again Cora ran her hand along his chest, seeking a rib that might be stabbing his lung.

"What is it? What is it, darling?" she pleaded.

"Closer." The word was said harshly.

Cora's face was only inches from his, her fear furrowed across her brow, as she gazed at the young man she had come to care for so much.

"What can I do, Jedwin?" she whispered close to his face.

"Kiss me," was his breathless answer.

"What?"

"You said all I had to do was ask."

Cora looked at him, puzzled. His eyes were closed again. Did he think he was dying? Was he dying? Did he want to step out of this world with the taste of her on his lips?

"Of course, my sweetheart," she said, bringing her lips to his, warm and open.

His lack of initial response frightened Cora. Was he closer to the end than she thought? Gently, lovingly, she deepened the kiss and broadened it to include his chin, his upper lip, his cheekbones.

He moaned and she moved back. "Did I hurt you? Oh Jedwin, promise me you aren't going to die?"

His eyes opened and the deep brown intensity of them was directed straight at her. "I think I already have, Mrs. Briggs," he said softly. "You are absolutely heaven."

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her on top of him and raised his head to meet her own.

"Jedwin?" Questions sprang to Cora's mind immediately, but as his mouth met hers and hot lush kisses caressed her lips and face and neck, Cora forgot every one. It was her moans that broke the silence in the yard now as the tender touch of his mouth seduced her.

He rolled her on her back and raised himself up to look into her face.

"You are not hurt, are you." She stated the obvious with a bit of pique.

Jedwin gave her a half grin. "Only my pride, Mrs. Briggs. And I think you've already restored that."

"You should be ashamed—"

"Oh I am, Mrs. Briggs," he whispered against her neck. "I truly am."

His lips gently touched the tender flesh of her throat and then he buried his face in her hair. Cora moved against him to give him better access. This action arched her back, pressing her bosom, which felt strangely taut, more firmly against his chest.

"Heaven," he whispered close to her ear, and the warm breath sent a furrow deep down inside her.

Cora should have reprimanded him, spurned him, fought him. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He was so warm, so strong in her arms. She needed warmth. She needed strength. At that moment she knew that she needed Jedwin Sparrow.

"Oh my sweetheart—" she whispered, before he clamped his hand over her mouth and went dead-still.

Startled, she opened her eyes to see the warning in his. It was then that she heard the faint hum of a man's crusty baritone.

"Rescue the perishing, duty demands it;

Strength for thy labor the Lord will provide;

Back to the narrow way, patiently win them;

Dum
da de
dum
da, de
dam
da de
dum"

Cora raised her head slightly, her eyes wide in fear and her mouth still covered by Jedwin's strong tanned hand. Reverend Philemon Bruder had stopped before her front gate and from the sound of it was working the latch.

She had hardly time to take in the full ramifications of this horror when Jedwin grasped her firmly and rolled over on his back pulling her with him. She was on top, then on bottom, then on top again when he stopped. Having propelled the two of them beneath the overgrown forsythia bush, Jedwin quietly spread the vine around them like a curtain to secure their hiding place. He put a silencing finger to his lips. But his warning was unnecessary. Cora was so scared, she could not have made a sound if she'd wished.

A smart tapping on wood brought her attention back to the reverend. He was standing on her porch, glancing around curiously as if assessing the area. He was a very tall man and quite sparse of flesh. As a result his face seemed at least a decade older than his forty-five years, and his attitudes even older than that. His arms were stubbornly folded across his chest, and carefully tucked next to his heart was his black calf-lined morocco leather Bible.

He waited several moments before tapping again, this time more impatiently. "Mrs. Briggs," he called out. "It's Reverend Bruder."

When he still didn't receive an answer, Cora saw him walk to the end of the porch and look out on the side yard.

"Mrs. Briggs!" he called again, before stepping down off the porch to investigate the area. He walked to her workbench, casually picking up the bucket of pecans. The washpan, more than half full with shelled pecans, received only a casual glance. His eyes seemed to be drawn to some other object on the ground.

Cora almost groaned aloud when the preacher took a couple of steps from the workbench and leaned down to pick up a man's heavy, gray, bib-front mechanic's apron, complete with tools. He bent down to examine the pieces of the dismantled pitcher pump. Holding the worn leather cups in his hand for a minute, he slowly allowed his gaze to wander across the area.

Cora could sense that he knew someone was hiding. She expected any moment that he would go ripping open the shed door, flushing out whoever had taken refuge in the stable and batting the bushes in search of sinners.

The reverend did not. Rising to his feet, the gentleman addressed the air as if speaking to a ghost. "I see, Mrs. Briggs, that I have come at an inconvenient time. I will return to speak with you tomorrow."

Chapter Eleven

Amelia found herself making unexpected excuses to go to the business portion of the house. Since the day Haywood had shown her the young man dead of diphtheria, she'd found herself thinking of her son's assistant on the most unexpected occasions. He was a fine-looking man and an entertaining conversationalist, Amelia thought. It was not that she
liked
Puser any better than before, she assured herself. It was simply that she was getting lonely. And Mr. Puser certainly had a way with lonely ladies, she decided ruefully.

Lately, it seemed Jedwin hardly had a moment to speak with her. He left early and came in late. Even when he did have time to visit with his mother, he seemed to avoid her. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought he was up to some scampish adventure. But Jedwin had matured greatly since his father's death, and despite his failings, he had proved himself to be responsible and serious-minded.

"Mr. Puser," she called from the doorway. "Is James Edwin with you today?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

Haywood looked up from the cabinet that he was inventorying. "Jedwin hasn't been here all week," he said. "He's still trying to harvest his oats out at your daddy's farm."

Amelia shook her head and came closer. Her manner was almost coquettish. "Still? My heavens, he's been working at that for over a week. It never took him so long before."

Stepping into the room and walking casually toward Hay-wood, Amelia sighed. "I don't know what I'm going to do with that boy," she said. "I've been trying to get rid of that nasty old farm for years, but he holds on to it like a lifeline." She shook her head. "I can't imagine why; it barely produces enough hay and oats to feed our horses. Of course, that huge flower garden is helpful, but he could manage something more easily here in town."

Haywood shrugged. "He's not got much of that farm planted. And with all the things you expect him to do around here, he doesn't get a whole lot of time to spend out there."

Amelia frowned. “I should know that you would, of course, take his side."

Haywood chuckled. Rising to his feet, he surveyed the mother of his employer. "That I would, Mellie, if I was taking sides. But I'm not taking sides, just stating facts."

"Oh? And just what are the facts?"

Haywood smiled, clearly delighted at the chance to spar with her. "The facts are that Jedwin likes outside work, he likes farming, and he'd devote himself to it wholly if you'd let him. But you've got your heart set on making him into something he's not. And he's doing his best to be a good son to you."

Amelia raised her nose disdainfully. "I will not have a son of mine scratching in the dirt for a living like a hog or a chicken!"

Haywood laughed out loud. "You better keep your voice down when you say that, Mellie. Half the folks in this town fall into either the hog or chicken categories."

She couldn't help but be amused, but rather than give in to his argument, Amelia deftly changed the subject.

"Have you seen any more of Doc Perkins's 'asthma' victims?" she asked.

Haywood's expression sobered. "Two more," he replied. “A young woman and her baby. Conrad Ruggy brought them in last night, says they are shirttail kin of his. I did them right away. They put them to ground together this morning."

Amelia nodded gravely.

"What does Conrad say? Is there much 'asthma' in Low Town?"

"Seems so," Haywood answered. "I told Conrad to keep the healthy separate from the sick and call me to get the dead right away. Folks live close down there. The diphtheria will be spreading like a prairie fire."

She knew he was right. "James Edwin should be here to help you," she said sharply.

"I don't want him here."

Amelia looked up at him with consternation.

"I'm planning for the worst. I'll send Jedwin to Guthrie for chemicals, but I don't want him in here."

Folding her arms stubbornly, Amelia was clearly piqued. "You'll
send
him for supplies. You don't
want
him in here. Have you forgotten whose mortuary this is, Mr. Puser?''

"No," he answered easily. "But Jedwin don't mind me telling him what to do. And you, Mellie, ain't big enough to stop me."

"Why you—"

"How's that tooth?"

"What?"

"Your bad tooth. Is it still bothering you?"

Amelia was slightly befuddled by his abrupt change of subject. "My mouth, Mr. Puser, is no concern of yours."

Haywood grinned. "I can't help but be concerned about your mouth, Mellie. It seems to always be spouting off at me."

He reached over and grabbed her by the chin. "Open up and let me have a look. I know as much about dentistry as I do about everything else."

"Whith ith pwatically miffing!" Amelia attempted to retort haughtily as he held her jaw firmly.

Haywood pulled her forward until she was nearer the lamp and peered down into her mouth. "Well, Mellie, your teeth ain't as old as you are. But that school-days molar is going to have to come out."

Forcefully, Amelia jerked her chin out of his grasp. “Nothing is going to come out!"

"Now, Mellie," Haywood cajoled. "We all lose a tooth or two. It don't mean we are over the hill. As I said, your teeth look pretty good. But that bad one is like a rotten apple. You keep it in there and you end up losing everything you chew with."

"It is certainly none of your concern, sir."

"It is," Haywood insisted. "If you get where you can't chew, well, don't forget I have to eat here and I'd prefer a little something for my meals besides mush and soup."

"Oh!" Amelia was insulted to the tips of her toes. She slammed out of the room in a huff, but she could hear his laughter behind her. Why had she ever thought she enjoyed conversing with that man!

Cora Briggs headed out of town right on schedule. Her bicycle ride was such a predictable event, the folks in Dead Dog could almost set their watches. She kept up her usual sedate pace and followed her ordinary route, so no one suspected anything amiss. But then no one in town knew that Mrs. Millenbutter's book, the marbles bag, and the Lewis wand were no longer in Cora's basket. Instead, she carried a fried chicken, some potato pancakes, a large jar of barley broth, pickled beets, a loaf of white bread, and a pecan pie.

The chicken had arrived on her back-door step that morning, killed and cleaned and plucked. It was wrapped in a clean white dishtowel, surrounded by a wreath of dried herbs, and a note was pinned to the bird's chest.

A swain who hungers for your kisses,

A swain who hungers for your charm,

A swain who hungers for fried chicken,

Waits for you at Pratt farm.

Cora smiled as she crossed the railroad tracks, riding through Low Town at her usual downhill pace. But before the difficult climb up the hill, she stopped and looked in all directions and then turned into the overgrown entrance of Moses Pratt's old hog farm.

It was the third day she had had a secret rendezvous with Jedwin Sparrow. And after each one she had sworn to herself that she would never meet him again. It was something that could only come to no good,
bat
she felt powerless to stop it. The sweet, handsome young man was becoming entirely too important to her and she should nip the situation in the bud. .That was what she
should
do. But increasingly, she found herself doing rather what she
wanted
to do.

After Reverend Bruder had stalked out of her yard like the wrath of hell itself, the two had lain quietly together for a few moments.

"That was close," Jedwin had whispered quietly.

"Too close," Cora agreed. "Oh Jedwin, if the preacher had found out about you, I would have never forgiven myself."

"Found out about me?" Jedwin joked. "I told you the first day, Mrs. Briggs. A scandal only enhances a man's reputation."

Cora nodded. "But it would have hurt your mother."

"My mother?"

"Actually," she confessed. "That's why I decided to let you call on me in the first place. I
wanted
her to find out. I wanted the
whole town
to find out. I wanted to hurt and embarrass her the way she has hurt and embarrassed me."

Jedwin lay quietly absorbing her words. "That's why you've let me call?" he asked finally.

Cora nodded.

Glancing out toward the now empty porch, Jedwin said, "It seems that you have changed your mind." It was almost a question.

"I didn't expect to like you so much," she whispered.

She
hadn't
expected it. Hadn't wanted to. But now as she rode her bike around the twisting lane that skirted the front field of the farm, there was little she could do about it.

"Hullo!"

She heard the call and looked toward the field. Jedwin sat high upon an old and slightly rusty table reaper. He waved his arm in greeting and Cora waved back. Stopping the bike, she leaned it against a small blackjack tree next to the fence. Leaning casually against the tree, she watched him, his blond hair glistening in the sun and his shirt already damp with sweat, causing it to stick to the muscles of his chest.

Jedwin slowly drove the team in the general direction of Cora Briggs. He needed to keep his edge on the field and he needed to work as much as he could. Even though he would have preferred to pull the horses to a stop and spend time with her.

The reaper slowly moved across the sea of bright gold oats. The sharp blades cut down the plants at the bottom. As they fell upon the machine's sheaving table, a mechanical arm swept across each cut, pulling it into a bundle that was automatically tied with a piece of oats. When several sheaves were collected on the table, they were released to stand together in a shook. The tepee-shaped stack would help the oats resist the rain and cold while the grain dried enough to be put into the barn.

Jedwin's movements across the field were slow and sure. Cora thought he never looked so certain of himself as he had these last days here on the farm.

"Whoa!" he called to the team as he neared the fence. Casually, as if he had all the time in the world, Jedwin released the horses from the heavy burden of the reaper and allowed them to graze, in harness, in the tall grass near the fence.

"Good morning, Mrs. Briggs," Jedwin said conversationally as he walked toward her. "Nice day for a bicycle ride."

Cora grinned at him. "Yes, indeed," she said. "Beautiful weather that we're having, don't you think?"

Jedwin had removed his hat and was standing next to her, just on the other side of the split-rail fence. "Yes, it's mighty pretty, ma'am. But not nearly as pretty as you."

Cora laughed and Jedwin reached for her. Circling her waist, he pulled her as close to the fence, and himself, as possible. His lips met hers in a welcome that was at the same time both tender and ardent.

"I've missed you," he whispered next to her throat.

"You saw me just yesterday."

"It feels like a lifetime ago," he told her. "When you leave my sight it's as if you take the sunshine with you."

Cora pulled back from him and smiled, attempting to keep the tone light. "You
are
becoming quite the poet now, Jedwin."

"A woman like you will bring the poetry out of a man."

With a youthful spurt of energy, Jedwin vaulted the fence and took her arm, like a gentleman leading a lady out to a dance.

"I really have missed you, Mrs. Briggs," he told her as they began a slow walk toward the homestead. Cora's picnic basket was clasped neatly on her arm. "These days it seems like whenever I'm not with you, I'm thinking about you."

Cora felt the same way, but was much too cautious to say so.

Her silence made Jedwin a little unsure and he ran his hand restlessly through his thinning hair. "I need a haircut," he blurted out without thinking. Then he cursed himself when she turned her attention to his head, where the cure of raw onions was not particularly working.

Cora reached up and caressed the fall of pale blond curls at his nape. "Oh, don't cut it yet, Jedwin. I think your hair is beautiful."

"What's left of it."

Stepping back slightly, Cora assessed his appearance. "It saves you from looking boyish, you know."

"What?"

"The bit of hair you've lost. Your features are so fine that I'm afraid with a full head of hair you would look downright pretty."

"You're being kind."

"No," Cora answered, looking him straight in the eye. "I'm being honest. I like your looks just as they are."

Jedwin looked at her closely, not quite believing. "Miss Maimie says that Luther has the thickest head of black hair she's ever seen."

Cora paused momentarily, surprised. "Yes," she said finally. "I suppose that he does. Luther Briggs is a very handsome man."

They walked together silently for a moment.

"Are you jealous of Luther, Jedwin?"

He hesitated only a few seconds. "Yes, Mrs. Briggs, I suspect that I am."

"Because he had a full head of hair?" There was clearly humor in her question.

But Jedwin's expression was serious. "Because he's been your husband."

There was no reply to that. After a moment, she took her hand from its rather formal position in the crook of his elbow and wrapped her arm around his waist. He returned the gesture and linked they walked up the slight incline to where the house, barn, and outbuildings stood, weathered and slightly forlorn.

"You love this farm, don't you?" she asked.

Jedwin nodded, grateful for the change of subject. "Yes," he said. "I do love it." He chuckled lightly. "When I was a boy and Grandpa Pratt was still alive, I used to run off a couple of times a week and come to help him."

"What did your parents think of that?"

Jedwin shrugged. "My father never said anything, he'd just come up here and fetch me. But Mama was always furious. She told me that Papa was very disappointed in me."

"She didn't want you to farm."

"She didn't want me to take after Grandpa Pratt!" Jedwin shook his head, smiling in remembrance. "She used to say that 'Grandpa Pratt was lazier than a rock.' " He made a face that resembled Amelia Sparrow almost perfectly.

Cora giggled. “Was she right?''

Jedwin considered the question. "Well, it's true that Grandpa Pratt didn't have a lot of ambition. He raised a few chickens and pigs and he only grew enough crops to feed himself." He gestured to the surrounding countryside. "We own everything from here to the riverside," he said. "Including that pretty knoll that you are so fond of. But Grandpa left nearly all of it fallow year in and year out."

Cora nodded. "What would you do with it, Jedwin?"

He looked at her curiously. "You mean if I had time to really work it?"

She nodded.

"Well," he said thoughtfully. "I'd put most of it in wheat, I think. Folks around here think that com is the only crop, but I think this country is better suited to wheat. And it's the coming thing."

"So you would be a wheat fanner?"

"That would be my cash crop," he said. "At least at first. I have some other ideas."

"Such as?"

"Commercial floraculture," he answered simply without meeting her eye.

Cora's expression was puzzled. "What is 'commercial floraculture'?"

Jedwin allowed himself one uncertain glance before he shrugged out an answer. "It's flower fanning."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Flowers as a farm crop? Can you do that?"

"Are you asking if
I
can do it, or if it's being done?"

Cora gave a sigh of exasperation. "Of course I'm asking if it can be done."

"It's being done in some warmer climates already," he told her. “There are farmers making four thousand dollars an acre on floral and nursery plots."

"That much!" Cora was astounded.

"Of course, a farmer's got to establish a market first," he explained quickly. "I can't just walk out in this field and plant ten bushels of canna bulbs and expect to be rich by spring. But I think it can be done."

Cora gazed out over the fallow fields and her eyes widened in delight. "Whole fields of flowers! What a beautiful idea."

Her enthusiasm was contagious, and Jedwin found himself confessing his most wistful dreams.

"Over there," he said, indicating a treeless rocky ridge near the barn, “I could build a hothouse. With proper care, flowers will grow inside all winter long. And somewhere over this way"—he gestured toward the blackjack woods—"I could build a drying house."

"A drying house?"

"Like the ones they use for tobacco. I think I could use a shed like that for drying my excess summer crop and then market them mail order as immortelles."

Cora stopped walking and turned to look at him. "This is what you really want to do with your life, isn't it?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Why aren't you doing what you want?"

Jedwin took her hand and urged her to resume the walk. "Starting up will take money," he said. "And time, more time than I've got these days."

"But you are going to do it"