WILD OATS (19 page)

"Maybe she hired somebody to fix it," Puser suggested.

"Then why were they hiding?" the preacher asked. The woman nodded in full agreement.

The preacher shook his head and sighed sadly. "I've gone back to her house twice since then, but she hasn't been home. I was really hoping to have a confessing fomicator or adulterer this morning."

"Don't you worry about it," Amelia consoled the minister. "When this diphtheria business is all done, we can take a closer look around us. We'll find the poor man that Jezebel has lured, I know we will." She patted the reverend's arm before turning her attention to her son. "James Edwin." Amelia held out her hand to be escorted to the buggy.

Jedwin's face was pale and his mouth was set in one thin line. "I can't go with you today, Mama," he said evenly. "I have work to do out at the farm."

"The farm?"

"Now son," the preacher interrupted. "Just because we've called off the service doesn't mean it isn't still the Lord's day. I won't have you working on Sunday."

Jedwin's brown eyes were as cold as glass.

"I am not your son, Reverend," he said quietly. "And I will work whenever I choose, following my own conscience if you please."

The preacher huffed in shock.

"But James Edwin?" Amelia asked, clearly horrified. "Who will drive me to Miss Maimie's?"

"Mama, you are perfectly capable of driving yourself," he answered tartly. He placed his hat on his head and offered a curt bow to the assembled group. "I can't imagine a more thorough waste of a beautiful Sunday afternoon than spending it with Miss Maimie."

Jedwin turned and walked away, leaving his mother to stare at his retreating back in disbelief.

The sewing parlor at the Briggs mansion was as dark and dreary as the mood within it. Miss Maimie sat straight-backed in a tufted chair, her feet raised on her ottoman. Amelia sat on the divan and Haywood Puser at her side looking distinctly ill at ease.

"I suppose one must take a day off for a death in the family," Miss Maimie said. "But you must tell Conrad that I will not allow them to remain in my employ if they do not return to work."

Amelia patted her hand comfortingly. “Mr. Puser believes that the Ruggys may come down with diphtheria themselves," she said. "You certainly cannot have them here if they are going to be ill."

Miss Maimie gave Haywood a look of disdain, but didn't reply.

Tulsa May entered the room bearing an elaborate pewter tea service which tottered precariously upon a tray. Holding her tongue firmly in one side of her mouth, she managed to set her burden on the marble-topped tea table before it clattered to the floor.

"Do you want milk and sugar, Miss Maimie?" Tulsa May asked the older woman enthusiastically.

Miss Maimie raised an eyebrow. "A
lady
drinks tea with only a dollop of cream," she said. With a smile she added, "But of course, you couldn't be expected to know that."

"No, I surely wouldn't," Tulsa May answered with an unaffected giggle as she gladly turned tea preparation over to Miss Amelia. "It sure is dark in here. With you never leaving the house, I suspect you hardly know when it is day or night."

Before Miss Maimie could answer, Tulsa May made her way to the long line of windows on the west wall and began raising the shades.

"Please!" Miss Maimie's scold stopped Tulsa May in mid-motion, but not before glorious yellow sunshine had flooded the room. "Young lady, the upholstery in this room is made of the finest silk plush. Sunlight will cause it to age and fade."

Tulsa May shrugged. "Yes, I guess it does the same to us, too," she said. "Let me find some old sheets or something to cover things up. It will be like a lady carrying a parasol."

As the carrot-headed flash swept noisily out of the room, Maimie turned to the woman beside her, eyes full of dismay. "My dear Amelia, you cannot actually expect me to allow this young person to
stay
at my house."

"Now, Miss Maimie," Amelia cajoled. "You said yourself that you will need help and she has volunteered."

"If someone stays with me, it should be yourself."

Amelia flushed with pleasure, wanting nothing more than to agree. Being Miss Maimie's companion would give her much opportunity for positively impressing the older woman.

"I cannot." Amelia was genuinely disappointed. "There are so few of us who can tend the sick, I really must do my part."

"What if
I
become sick?"

"Then I would certainly come and take care of you," Amelia assured her. "Tulsa May is a hardworking and friendly young girl; I'm sure you will have no problems with her."

"Hardworking? Friendly?" Maimie gave a dismissive wave. "What she is, is downright peculiar."

Amelia hastily glanced at Haywood, who looked ready to spit, and then hushed the older woman as Tulsa May breezed back into the room bearing an armload of linens.

"You cannot put sheets on my furniture," Miss Maimie snapped. "It will appear as if no one lives here."

Tulsa May grinned at her, unconcerned. "It's either sheets, Miss Maimie, or fading upholstery. I figured you would prefer sheets."

Miss Maimie's face turned red and her cheeks puffed out like a toad. "It would be infinitely simpler to pull down the shades!"

"But then the sun couldn't shine in," Tulsa May answered with youthful exuberance, heedless of Miss Maimie's fury. Placing a finger to her lips thoughtfully, Tulsa May gazed at the bare white windowsills. "What you need, Miss Maimie, is flower boxes. If you could see the blooms every day, why it would just cheer you right up."

"I don't want any flower boxes!"

"Of course you do," Tulsa May assured her.

"Window boxes, young lady," Miss Maimie began, her tone dripping with condescension, "are for poor people who have no gardens. I have some of the most beautiful gardens in the territory."

"Yes, you do, Miss Maimie. But you never go outside to see them. So it seems to me it's the same as not having them at all."

Haywood managed to cover his chuckle with a discreet cough.

"What seems to you—"

Haywood didn't allow her to finish. "Mrs. Sparrow, I'm sure that if you asked Jedwin, he'd spend an afternoon building some boxes for Miss Maimie. We don't want him in around the funeral parlor with this contagion."

"Oh yes!" Tulsa May exclaimed. "Get Jedwin to come out right away and build the flower boxes, then I can plant them while I’m still here."

Maimie’s expression was stunned, her disbelief nearing apoplexy. "It's winter!"

Amelia hurriedly changed the subject. "Everyone is talking about changing the name of the town."

Miss Maimie momentarily continued to stare daggers at young Tulsa May. Since the girl seemed so unaware of the furor she had created, Miss Maimie reluctantly allowed herself to be led to a new topic. Her mood, however, was clearly dark. "Talking won't do a thing," she said. "If you want to have the name changed, you will have to write letters and circulate petitions."

"That's what I intend to do," Amelia assured her. "Of course, with the epidemic going on, I won't have much time—''

Miss Maimie waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal and gave Amelia a particularly friendly smile. "I do understand, Amelia," she said. "Not being able to follow through with an idea just comes natural to you, a heritage from your late father, no doubt. That farm would have been something to see if he had just managed to raise himself out of his lazy nature and work the place. With Moses Pratt for a father, believe me, dear Amelia, I could never hold your inpromptitude against you."

Amelia colored, but held her voice firm. "I have every intention of following through, Miss Maimie. But it will have to wait until the current crisis is past."

"I could write letters for you," Tulsa May suggested eagerly as she took a seat opposite Haywood. As they watched, however, Tulsa May's expression changed suddenly. "Of course, I really shouldn't," she said. "I don't want the town named Briggston. So it would be a type of lie to write letters suggesting it."

"What!" Both women were shocked.

"I don't think it's a very good name," she admitted with wide-eyed honesty.

Miss Maimie raised a disapproving eyebrow, her pleasant tone laced with an edge as hard and cold as steel. "What would you like to name the town, dear? Tulsa? Oh, I believe that is taken."

"You are not supposed to name things after people who are still alive," Tulsa May answered. "I think it must be a bad omen or something." She looked to Mr. Puser for support, but he only shrugged noncommittally. "I'm sure I read that somewhere," she said.

"Tulsa May," Amelia answered quietly. "We are not trying to name the town after someone alive. Trapper Briggs has been dead for many years, I'm sure."

The young girl shook her head. "Nobody in this town cares a thing for the old trapper," she said with a warm and unconcerned giggle. "I don't see any reason, in present company, not to be completely truthful about this. You, Mrs. Sparrow, want to name this town for Miss Maimie."

Haywood Puser held the reins with a look of disgust on his face.

"I just can't imagine what has gotten into James Edwin," Amelia Sparrow was saying as she sat beside him. "He has been escorting me to Miss Maimie's every Sunday since his father died. Why in the world would he make other plans today?''

"I tell you that boy of yours is just downright smart," Haywood said.”I wish I'd thought to make some other plans."

Amelia bristled. "No one begged you to drive us out."

"I'd been plenty happy to drive you both to Guthrie for a fall outing, but I'll tell you the truth, if I'da known what I was getting into today, I wouldn't have gone."

"Don't be silly," Amelia reproved him. "What have we gotten into?"

"I think Jedwin had it right, the biggest waste of a pretty Sunday afternoon I ever saw in my life."

Amelia Sparrow was in a much better mood than her escort. "I thought the time passed rather well, actually," she said. "It's not often that I have Miss Maimie all to myself. And I'm sure she appreciated the company. Days can be very long when you are alone."

Haywood's grin was wry. "Days can be very long when you spend them discussing how to change the name of a town."

Amelia smiled. "She does seem very pleased with the idea," she said proudly. "And it is the perfect time to be taking on a new and distinct discernment of our community."

He shook his head. "This community could use a doctor, a grain elevator, and a good clean saloon more than a distinct discernment."

"A saloon? Mr. Puser, really."

"Mellie," he said. "I don't care if you want to change the name of the town. Dead Dog ain't much of a name, I agree. But I suspect that when most of us think of the town, we just think of it as Town."

Amelia couldn't help but nod in agreement.

"But," Haywood continued. "If you are going to change the name, then that little Bruder gal is right. Think of a good name to give it."

"Briggston is a perfectly good name," Amelia said.

"Oh, yes," he agreed. "If your purpose is to suck up to that mean-spirited old crone, I guess it's about perfect."

"Miss Maimie is not mean-spirited," she insisted.

Haywood looked down at her with disapproval. "That old woman is as sour as that awful punch she serves." His jaw was set harshly. "I felt so sorry for that Tulsa May, I thought I was like to cry in sympathy."

Amelia sighed. "Well, yes, Miss Maimie is a bit uncomplimentary to poor Tulsa May. But surely you understand her motives. That girl is downright peculiar and just plainly ill-favored. Miss Maimie is only trying to encourage her to make the best of what little she has."

"There is plenty of room on God's earth for every kind of appearance and person:" Haywood shook his head disdainfully. "That little gal seemed sweet enough and plenty smart. Those attributes will get a gal a lot farther than most people think."

Nodding, Amelia agreed. "She is a dear, isn't she? But she's so dreamy. Sometimes I think she doesn't even listen to what is being said around her."

Haywood shrugged. "Well, I hope she wasn't listening when that spiteful old peahen called her everything but snout face."

"Don't speak of Miss Maimie that way. She is the most important matron in our community."

"She's a bitter old witch who loves to berate people and make them feel bad about themselves," he said. "For heaven's sake, Mellie, she even does it to you."

"She only means to be helpful."

Haywood ignored her flimsy excuse. "She watches people and searches for their weak points. When she finds one she attacks."

Amelia shook her head at his fanciful description. "You make her sound like a ruthless pirate on the Spanish Main."

"I think I'd prefer spending my Sundays with a pirate," he replied.

Amelia giggled like a young girl and Haywood couldn't help but smile at her.

"I don't like the way she talks to you," he said.

"What on earth do you mean?" Amelia asked.

"She finds fault with your hair and your clothes and everything you say and do."

Amelia blushed self-consciously. "I am not a close relative of Miss Maimie's. I did not grow up with many of the advantages of society." Amelia folded her hands together nervously as if embarrassed about these admissions. "Miss Maimie tries to help me to mask my less than fortunate origins."

Haywood stared at the woman beside him in stunned disbelief. "Dammit, Mellie, everybody in Dead Dog knows that you are the smartest and prettiest woman in this town."

His compliment was so unexpected that Amelia just stared at him in openmouthed amazement.

"Why . . . why ... ah, thank you, Mr. Puser."

"Most of the men in this town, married or not, can't keep their eyes off you," he said. "I know I sure can't."

Amelia stared at him stupidly. Haywood Puser paying her compliments? Suddenly, she found herself very uncomfortable. As they made the turn up Main Street, she noted how deserted the town had become. She was inexplicably conscious of being alone with Haywood Puser. Desperately, she plunged back into their previous conversation, feeling safer with his displeasure than his admiration.

"Miss Maimie is of an age where speaking bluntly comes more natural." She was looking straight ahead and waited patiently for Haywood's next volley. When his silence continued, she turned to look at him. A broad grin was splashed across his face.

"What
are
you smiling at?" she asked curtly.

If possible his grin actually widened. He slipped the team's lines into his left hand and as casually as if he did so every day, put his right arm down on the buggy seatback and around Amelia Sparrow.

Her mouth dropping open in shock, Amelia immediately sat forward away from his touch. “Just what do you think you are doing, Mr. Puser?" she asked coldly.

Haywood raised his eyebrows wickedly. “Oh, just enjoying a nice Sunday buggy ride with a good-looking woman."