Cold Sassy Tree

  "Love, I'm grovelin' at yours now. Please, listen to me."

  Ignoring him, she said brightly, "I just had another thought. Maybe that married lady friend is what has brought you back to me. Is she after your money, Clayt? Is she talking about divorcing her husband? She's got you scared, hasn't she? You'd rather marry somebody like me than a divorced person, and if you can take me to Texas, she'll be off your back. Is that it?"

  Mr. McAllister was furious. "Love, will you shut up? I've come back for just one reason. I love you." He reached to touch her arm. She jerked away. Her hands were shaking. She hid them in her skirt.

  "I've changed, Love. God knows it."

  "Well, I don't. So you just pick up that saddle and ride it out of here. I don't want it. It's tainted."

  "You're comin' with me, Love Simpson. You still love me and you know it." It looked like he was fixing to grab her for another ten-minute kiss. Gosh, I didn't think I could watch that again. And had she forgot all about Grandpa? Why didn't she just tell Mr. Cowboy she was already married?

  Right then she came out with it. Almost laughing as she looked up at him, she said sweet and easy, "If you were the last man on earth, Mr. Clayton McAllister, I wouldn't go a mile with you. Even if I was free to."

  "What do you mean?"

  She held the back of her left hand up to his face and wiggled the fourth finger. Then I guess she remembered her wedding band was still on top of the piano. She tapped the finger. "I've got a wedding ring goes on this." A sound on the porch made her look toward the front door. "And I do believe," she said, cool and calm as you please, though I bet her knees were shaking, "I do believe here comes my husband now!"

  Of course somebody must of gone to the store and told Grandpa there was a tall stranger with a silver-trimmed saddle up at his house. And something about the way it was said had made him hot-foot it home, else why would he leave the store on a busy Saturday?

  When I saw him walk in with that clean-shaved face, close-cut dark hair, and thin mustache, my first thought was to wonder if it was really Grandpa. My second thought was to be proud of him, especially for Miss Love's sake. My third thought was that Miss Effie Belle—unless she took Grandpa for another stranger calling on Miss Love—must of run out and told him about the kissing.

  Gosh, in that case he might bust Mr. McAllister's head wide open!

  22

  I DIDN'T KNOW then whether Miss Erne Belle had got to Grandpa or not. But I found out later that white-haired old Mr. Boop had. Papa told us that night how Mr. Boop ran over from the hotel to say a feller wearin' a Stetson hat and cowboy boots had come in on the train from Lula.

  "Where's Rucker at?" Mr. Boop asked, picking up a can of pipe tobacco and handing Grandpa the money.

  "You talkin' to him, Amos." Grandpa grinned and ran his hand over his smooth-shaved face. Papa and them laughed out loud as Mr. Boop stared. "Hit's me all right, Amos. See?" Grandpa held up that left arm and dangled the knotted sleeve in his face.

  "Well, I be-dog. Ain't you a sight! I was just a-wonderin' how Rucker could a-hired a new man and I ain't heard bout it. Well, I want to tell you bout this here stranger, Rucker. He come in the ho-tel totin' a fine brown and white cowhide grip and the fanciest dang saddle you ever seen. Silver dohickies all over it. The feller said he needed to shave and git a bath but might not be stayin' for the night."

  "What's his bizness here?" Grandpa asked, real interested.

  "Didn't state his bizness. But pretty soon he come back to the ho-tel dest. He was cleaned up, slicked down, and wearin' a nice black suit—and still carryin' that dad-gum saddle. You know what he ast, Rucker? Ast where did Miss Love Simpson board at, or would she be at work." After letting that soak in on Grandpa, Mr. Boop said, "I pointed the way to yore house, Rucker, but I didn't bother tellin' him she'd got marrit. Didn't seem to me it was any of his bizness. But I thought you ought to know that a tooled-leather saddle orny-mented with Mexican silver is headin' up North Main towards yore house."

  "Is thet so," said Grandpa. According to Papa, he didn't even look up.

  "This man's so good-lookin', Rucker, I bet he has to use tar soap to keep the ladies from lassoin' him!"

  "Is thet so," said Grandpa. "You goin' down there, Rucker?"

  "I ain't got time right now. I reckon Miss Love knows how to make a stranger welcome."

  Mr. Boop having felt Grandpa's right fist on his jaw one time, he was probably hoping a good fight would come out of the situation.

  But I wasn't hoping it when Grandpa sauntered through the front door of his house. I couldn't think of anything worse for an old man than getting beat up by his wife's former fee-ance. Maybe Grandpa wasn't in a fighting mood that day, or maybe he took one look at Mr. McAllister and figured discretion was the better part of valor, as the saying goes. He not only didn't pitch Mr. McAllister out, he shook hands nice as you please, saying where you from and why don't we go set down in the parlor.

  "Miss Love, see if'n they's some a-Miss Mattie Lou's scup'non nectar in the pantry, hear," said Grandpa, taking the rocking chair and motioning Mr. McAllister to Granny's gentleman's chair. "Fix us a drink with thet, Miss Love."

  After she went to the kitchen, Grandpa winked at Mr. McAllister and said, "Sorry I ain't got no locust beer to offer you. My son-in-law, he makes it by the barrelful. Ever had locust beer?"

  "Never cared for it much," said Mr. McAllister. "The other'll be fine, Mr.—uh, what's your name, sir?"

  "Blakeslee. E. R. Blakeslee."

  "Clayton McAllister, sir."

  They stood up and shook hands again, like they'd just met, and went on talking.

  Miss Love was gone a good while. When she finally brought in a tray with the pale gold drinks, she had on lots of perfume and a clean yellow dress with a high neck, and her hair was fixed nice. She looked real fresh and pretty.

  Grandpa was just the friendliest host you ever saw. He asked how long was the train trip from Texas, spoke of the drought, and discussed the difference between Texas barbecue and the Georgia kind. Then they got to talking hard times, but I couldn't listen for wondering if Miss Love was thinking about Mr. McAllister kissing her. If she was, she didn't let on. But that's what I was thinking about. If God had sent this man all the way from Texas to barge in and tempt her, she sure had been found wanting.

  From there I got to thinking about predestination. The Southern Presbyterians believe that what is to be is to be and you can't do a thing about it. I mean, they think that from the day you're born, God knows everything that's going to happen to you. Preordains it, the preacher keeps saying. It hasn't ever made any sense to me to try so hard, or even to pray for something, if God is either going to make it happen despite all your prayers and all you do or don't do, or else make it not happen despite everything. For instance, suppose Mr. McAllister hadn't got mad and called off the wedding, and Miss Love had married him despite his reputation for philandering. Would that mean God preordained them to marry no matter what? Or would it just mean Miss Love wanted to marry him no matter what? I sure wished I could ask Papa how to fit predestination into this puzzle.

  Well, suppose the Lord wanted Miss Love to marry Mr. McAllister, hoping she could save him from his sinning ways, and suppose she had married him, but then he just kept right on chasing women? Could she ever again have counted on God to steer her right?

  It's a pity God ever let Miss Love out of Baltimore. If she'd never met up with Mr. McAllister, she wouldn't of had to get that nasty letter from him so God could show her He didn't approve of the match, and Granny wouldn't of had to die so God would find Miss Love a house. When I tried to make sense out of all that, it seemed like the Bible was right. The Lord does work in mysterious ways His wonders to perform.

  Grandpa had gone to talking politics. He was telling Mr. McAllister about the winter morning when Brother Belie Jones's wife fired up her stove and shut the oven door, not knowing her cat was asleep in there. "By the time Miz Jones opened the oven and found Essie, the dang ca
t was cooked. Later Miz Jones come down to the store jest a-cryin'. Said, 'Pore Essie. She must a-slept right th'ew. Else why wouldn't I of heard her holler?' Sometimes I think us folks in the South are jest like pore Essie. We sleepin' right th'ew them unfair freight rates, for instance, when we ought to be hollerin' all the way to Washington."

  Mr. McAllister laughed. Miss Love laughed, too, but uneasy—like at the circus when the man puts his head in the tiger's mouth and you giggle when what you want to do is cover your eyes.

  The husband and the fee-ance really liked each other, I could tell. Grandpa even asked Mr. McAllister to take pot luck and stay to supper. Practically insisted. "We don't git folks from Texas here ever day," he said in his best hospitality voice.

  Knowing what I knew and not knowing what if anything Grandpa knew, all this funning and politeness gave me the creeps. Lord knows what it was doing to Miss Love, who had hardly said a word since Grandpa walked in. But the invitation brought the Texan back to the situation at hand. "Thank you, sir, but I got to catch the train to Atlanta. I better get on back to the ho-tel and pick up my grip."

  He stood up, and Grandpa and Miss Love stood up, and I did, and there was an awkward minute till Grandpa said, "Well, I wisht you'd stay on, sir. We could put you up for the night."

  That must of give Miss Love a start. Picking up the big white hat off the daybed, she handed it to Mr. McAllister and said, nervous as a witch, "He was just leaving when you came, Mr. Blakes-lee. He's got business in Atlanta."

  The long tall man flipped his hand in the general direction of the saddle laying on the floor. He said, kind of casual, "This here belongs to your wife, Mr. Blakeslee. I come by to bring it to her—bein' as I was in the vicinity, so to speak."

  "You shouldn't have gone to all that trouble, Mr. McAllister," said Miss Love, real formal. "I don't have a horse. You take it on back to Texas."

  "Naw," he said. "If you don't want it, Miss Love—I mean Miz Blakeslee—why, sell it. And it wasn't no trouble, you bein' such a friend of the fam'ly while you were out in Texas. The saddle was a good excuse to drop by. And, uh"—he actually winked at her—"if you and Mr. Blakeslee ever get out my way, y'all be sure and look me up. I'd like to feed Mr. Blakeslee some Texas barbecue."

  Ignoring the invite, Miss Love said, "It's been nice to see you again, Mr. McAllister." She looked up at him like he was no more to her now than some ten-year-old boy come in for penny candy at the store. Then she placed her trembling hand on Grandpa's good arm, smiling up at him like he was made out of money and honey both. Boy howdy, you wouldn't guess that fifty minutes ago she had been kissing this other man!

  Grandpa walked the Texan out to the street, clapped him on the shoulder, good-natured like, and pointed directions to town.

  It wasn't till my grandfather came back in the house that he really looked at the saddle. Going over where it lay on the floor, he hooked it up with the toe of one high-top shoe to see it better. "Miss Love, I think—"

  "Mr. Blakeslee, I was once engaged to marry Mr. McAllister. He had that saddle made for me. It was his engagement present." She was talking fast, like if she slowed down she might lose her nerve. She told Grandpa in a small pinched voice that what Mr. McAllister really came for was to get her to marry him.

  Then Miss Love flung herself face down on the daybed and went to crying. "I-hate-him-I-hate-him-I-hate-him!" She beat her fist on the thin mattress in time to the I-hate-hims.

  "She sure told him off, Grandpa," said I, trying to be helpful. "You should of heard her."

  Grandpa didn't answer. Just stood there, looking down at the fancy saddle.

  "I was a f-fool, Mr. Blakeslee." Her words were muffled sobs. Now it's coming, I thought. She's going to tell Grandpa about the kissing. Instead, she said, "How I ever th-thought I wanted to m-m-marry him, I don't know. I was such a fool. And old enough to know b-better...."

  Grandpa sighed and sat down by her on the daybed. "Best fool knows he's a fool, Miss Love. I don't know a soul who couldn't see a fool jest by lookin' in the glass. I been one myself, once't or twice't. So hesh up now. Cryin' ain't go'n do no good." Grandpa just couldn't hardly stand to watch a woman cry.

  Well, plainly Miss Love wasn't a big enough fool to mention getting kissed. But thinking to kind of warn her, in case she didn't know that somebody besides me may have seen the peep show, I butted into the silence.

  "I thought y'all were go'n have a coconut cake for supper, Grandpa. Miss Effie Belle came over with one just now."

  Miss Love shot to a sitting position, her hands covering her mouth and the whites of her eyes showing. "Miss Effie Belle? She came over here?"

  "Yes'm. I reckon she wanted to get a good look at Mr. McAllister. But I went out on the porch and told her y'all were talkin' bizness and maybe it'd be best if she came callin' tomorrow."

  "Oh, Lord." Miss Love moaned.

  "She forgot to hand me the cake."

  Miss Love wasn't interested in the cake. "Did she ... uh, did she see Mr. McAllister?" I could tell she was really worried and dying to find out what else I knew. Importance swelled me up inside.

  At that point Grandpa held up his right hand like a policeman. "Y'all shet up. Lemme think a minute. Hear?"

  Well, Miss Love and I shut up, and Grandpa commenced pacing the floor. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. From the neck down he was the same old Grandpa Blakeslee; from the neck up he was a distinguished, smooth-faced stranger who looked kind of familiar. After while he slowed down to bite off a plug of tobacco and move it into his cheek. Then he paced some more. Finally he stopped in front of the saddle, shoving it with his foot.

  Just to look at Grandpa, most people wouldn't know he was upset. But I could tell. All the time he was pacing, his shoulders kept twitching forward, one or the other or both—a sure sign—and every minute or two he stopped to scratch his head hard and fast.

  When he finally spoke, what he said was "Miss Love, you want to marry Mr. McAllister?"

  Why would he ask a thing like that when she was already married and also had just finished saying how much she hated the man?

  She was as surprised as I was. Too surprised even to answer.

  Just sat on the daybed staring at Grandpa with wide-open eyes and a wide-open mouth.

  "Cause if'n you do, or if'n you have a mind to after you git over bein' so mad at him, why, we could git this'n annulled. Folks in Cold Sassy will have a good time talkin', but if you go on off to Texas, why, you won't have to put up with nothin' on account of it. So you want to marry him or don't you?"

  23

  MISS LOVE rose to her feet, looking just about as stunned as old Cholly Smith did after he sold the family home place and heard the new owner had found a bag of gold coins behind a square of crumbling plaster in the dining room.

  Walking slowly toward the back door, she stood looking out for a long time, twisting her hands and saying nothing. Finally she turned and spoke, sounding like a wrung-out dishrag. "Mr. Blakeslee," she said, her eyes cast down, "I don't want an annulment. If I weren't married to you, I still wouldn't marry him."

  He went over close and she looked him square in the face. "I reckon you done answered my question," he said.

  But then Miss Love's hands were on her mouth again. "Oh, Lord! Maybe you were trying to say—maybe what you mean is that you, sir, want an annulment. I don't blame you. I've embarrassed you before the wh-whole t-town." Big new tears streaked down her cheeks. "You want me to l-leave, don't you, Mr. Blakeslee?"

  "God A'mighty, why would I want thet?" I could see him thinking he would have to hire him a housekeeper if she left. "If'n it was in my mind to ast you to leave, thet's what I would a-said, Miss Love. So in which case the subject is closed. Now what bout thet there saddle?"

  "I don't w-want it." Trying to stop crying, she snuffled and blew her nose.

  "Well, now," said Grandpa. Sitting down, he lifted the saddle onto his knee and looked close at the silver and the tooling. "Hit shore is a handsome thang."


  "I don't care." She glanced at Granny's clock on the mantelpiece. "Will, I want you to run up to the hotel with it. If he's not there, take it to the depot."

  "Now let's think about this a minute, Miss Love," said Grandpa, motioning me to wait.

  "I don't want it."

  "Thet ain't the point. A man with a bad conscience, and stubborn enough to lug something this heavy all the way from Texas, he ain't a-go'n lug it back home. You send it up to the ho-tel, why, he'll have to bring it back down here. Miss Effie Belle's neck will break off, tryin' to keep up with all the back and forths. Besides, Mr. McAllister might miss his train." He grinned. "You keep it. Then thet will be the end a-thet and you won't need no more truck with him."

  Miss Love was speechless.

  Thinking to get in a lick for her, I said, "Gosh, Grandpa, what good is a saddle without a horse? Haw, I can just see Miss Love sittin' up on that fancy gee-gaw on your old mule."

  "Haw, yeah, old Jack'd pure die from embarrass-ment," said Grandpa, laughing for the first time since Mr. McAllister left. "But I cain't afford no hoss. Miss Love, I reckon you'll jest have to hang up thet saddle for a orna-ment."

  She didn't answer. Just kept snuffling.

  Grandpa was pacing around nervous, scratching his head hard and fast again. "Shet up, hear?" he finally said to Miss Love. "One thang I cain't stand is a cryin' woman."

  That made her cry worse.

  All of a sudden Grandpa slapped his leg, excited. "Y'all, I jest recollected a letter I got from Cudn Jake, not long fore Miss Mattie Lou died. You know Cudn Jake, son."

  "I ain't sure, Grandpa."

  "Well, maybe you too young to remember the last time he come to Cold Sassy." He turned to Miss Love. "Jake lives jest this side a-Cornelia. Raises Thoroughbred racehosses." She looked up from her crying, curious to know what Grandpa was driving at. "Jake's near bout gone broke on them racehosses. Not from bet-tin'. He's got too much sense to bet. He jest cain't find much of a market for'm right now. Anyhow, he offered to give me a three-year-old if'n I'd come git him. Said the hoss had been broke to a halter and thet's all, but if I had a mind to fool with it I could have her for nothin'. Said it would save him feedin' thet big mouth another winter. At the time, the last thang I wanted was a dang racehoss. But ... Miss Love, you want her?"