Courting Trouble

Katherine raised a brow. ‘‘I do believe, Miss Spreckelmeyer, it wasn’t Shirley he was stringing along. But someone else. Someone older.’’ She smirked. ‘‘But clearly, not wiser.’’

  ————

  Essie strode from beneath the tent and headed to Mr. Lyman’s wagon for some chili. Anything to occupy her hands and her mind. Had Katherine Crook known Essie well, the game would have been up. But she didn’t. And hopefully, Essie had bluffed her way through these last three hours without giving herself away.

  The animosity Katherine held toward Essie was as clear as the sky above. What she couldn’t fathom was the reason for it. Why would Katherine dislike her so completely?

  It was Katherine, after all, who got the man. Not Essie. It was Katherine who’d had two husbands, while Essie hadn’t had so much as one. It was Katherine who ran the store with Hamilton, while Essie had no purpose in life whatsoever.

  It didn’t make any sense. Nevertheless, she’d have to be very, very careful. One little slip and all would discover her shameful secret. She’d told herself it didn’t matter what the townspeople thought, but it did.

  It mattered a lot. And not just for her sake, but for her parents’ sakes. It would ruin Papa’s chances for reelection, just a few days away. And it would reflect badly on Mother. The women of her circle would somehow think it was Mother’s fault.

  ‘‘One bowl, please,’’ she said, handing Mr. Lyman a nickel and patting Wolf on the head. The dog lifted his nose and slapped his tail against the ground in appreciation.

  ‘‘Here ya are, Miss Spreckelmeyer,’’ he said. ‘‘You better go on now. The peg-legged man’s fixin’ to walk that rope.’’

  She glanced over at the crowd that had begun to form and headed toward them. The thick, hearty fare tasted like no other chili she’d ever had before. She welcomed the warmth it provided as the sun began its descent.

  Up on the balcony, she could see several men strapping a cumbersome cookstove to a man’s back. The crowd around her chattered with excitement.

  ‘‘Miss Essie,’’ someone called.

  She turned. ‘‘Jeremy!’’

  He wove his way through the crowd until he reached her side. ‘‘It’s mighty good to see ya,’’ he said. ‘‘I shore do miss those lunches you used to bring us.’’

  ‘‘I miss them, too,’’ she answered, smiling sadly as she thought of the picnics she’d shared with Adam and how much she’d enjoyed them.

  She looked Jeremy over. All that cable drilling had added breadth and form to his once-skinny body.

  ‘‘What happened with you and Adam?’’ he asked.

  She stiffened. ‘‘What do you mean?’’

  ‘‘Well, golly, Miss Essie. Anybody could see y’all were sweet on each other.’’

  She forced a laugh. ‘‘Oh, don’t be silly. We were just friends.’’

  ‘‘I don’t know,’’ Jeremy said, looking at her askance. ‘‘I seen the way you two would get yer heads together and whisper-like. And his eyes would light up like firecrackers when he’d see ya comin’.’’

  Did they? she wondered. It made her feel a little better that Jeremy had seen something, too. At least she hadn’t been the only one to imagine an interest that clearly wasn’t there.

  ‘‘I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Jeremy. We were just friends.’’

  ‘‘Well, if ya say so, but you shore never looked at me the way ya looked at him. And you and me is friends.’’

  She cleared her throat. ‘‘Yes, well.’’

  ‘‘He was gonna rope fer everybody today. Remember?’’

  Yes. He was also going to marry me today. She tried to put the thought from her mind.

  ‘‘I could o’ watched him do them ropin’ tricks all the day long. That new feller that works with me now? He ain’t near so easy to get along with.’’

  ‘‘Oh? I’m sorry to hear that.’’

  ‘‘Maybe if ya bring him some lunches, too, it’ll improve his disposition some.’’

  She smiled, then froze as she caught sight of Katherine and Hamilton standing a few feet away. Hamilton’s attention was focused on the tightrope walker. Katherine’s was focused on Essie.

  Her heart started to pound, wondering how much the woman had heard, if anything.

  ‘‘Lookit!’’ Jeremy said, pointing. ‘‘He’s fixin’ to go.’’

  Essie turned and shaded her eyes. The man began to slide across the rope one foot at a time, his wooden leg stiff, his other leg bending for balance.

  The crowd hushed, not daring to breathe as he inched his way across the rope. The stove was obviously heavy and awkward. It looked to Essie as if it was not evenly distributed across his back, but a bit heavier on the left.

  He teetered. The audience gasped, then held their breath until he regained his balance. His clothes were as black as the stove, making the rope slashed across his body more pronounced.

  The farther he came to the halfway mark, the more the rope sagged, giving in to the tremendous weight. The man wavered again, far to the left.

  Essie sucked in her breath. He windmilled his arms, but the stove interfered with his motions. He leaned to the right but overcompensated, and the stove shifted.

  Before anyone could so much as react, the man fell with a crash to the ground.

  chapter TWENTY

  WOMEN SCREAMED. Children buried their eyes in their mothers’ skirts. Men rushed forward.

  ‘‘Let me by,’’ Essie said, shoving aside those in her way.

  When she finally broke through, she saw that the stove had landed on top of the man, trapping him beneath. He was still alive, but just barely. Blood pooled beneath his mop of dark hair, accentuating the clammy whiteness of his face.

  Her father and Dr. Gulick bent over him. Uncle Melvin shooed the crowd back.

  ‘‘Do you want a preacher?’’ the doctor asked.

  No answer.

  ‘‘Can you tell me where you’re from?’’ Papa said.

  Still no answer.

  The crowd parted, making way for Preacher Bogart. He knelt beside the dying man. ‘‘Do you know Jesus Christ, son?’’

  The man’s eyes fluttered open. ‘‘Please,’’ he gasped. ‘‘A rabbi. I am a Jew.’’

  A fleeting look passed between the men.

  Papa caught sight of Essie. ‘‘Get me a rabbi.’’

  They exchanged the briefest of glances, knowing full well there was no rabbi in Corsicana, Texas. But there was a Jew.

  She whirled around and fought her way through the press, heading to the north side of the tent where she’d seen the peddler’s wagon.

  ‘‘Mr. Baumgartner! Mr. Baumgartner! Come quick,’’ she screamed.

  He jumped from his wagon seat where he’d been trying to see over the crowd and raced toward her. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him behind her.

  ‘‘The rope walker,’’ she said over her shoulder. ‘‘He’s asking for a rabbi.’’

  Mr. Baumgartner increased his speed so that by the time they arrived he was pulling Essie behind him.

  Papa and the preacher stepped back. Mr. Baumgartner touched the man’s forehead and spoke over him in Yiddish.

  The man visibly relaxed, said a prayer in Hebrew, and died.

  Mr. Baumgartner closed the man’s eyes and then looked at Papa. ‘‘His Hebrew. It was perfect.’’

  Papa placed a consoling hand on Mr. Baumgartner’s shoulder.

  ‘‘I wonder if he had any kids,’’ little Harley North said, startling Essie. She’d not even noticed him standing next to her. He looked up. ‘‘If he did and there’s no mama, then they’ll be orphans. Like me.’’

  She lifted him into her arms and hugged him close. He encircled her with his arms and legs, pressing his face into her neck. The boy was too young to have witnessed something so horrible. Still holding him, she walked away so the men could do what needed to be done.

  ————

  For the first time in its history, the festival closed down early and th
e horse races were postponed. Essie set Harley in a chair at her mother’s kitchen table, placing a plate of cookies and a glass of milk before him.

  ‘‘Is this where you eat with yer ma and pa ever’ meal?’’ he asked, his gaze touching the gingham curtains framing a window, the indoor water pump Papa had installed for Mother, and the fancy Sunshine cooking range in the corner.

  ‘‘Yes, it is.’’

  ‘‘Golly. I wish I had somethin’ like this. We all eat in that big ol’ ugly room with nothin’ but tables and chairs.’’

  She smoothed back the black hair covering his eyes. He needed a haircut. ‘‘You snack on these cookies while I go put on my bicycle costume,’’ she said. ‘‘Then I’ll give you a ride home on my handlebars. How does that sound?’’

  ‘‘You’re leavin’?’’ His eyes widened and he grabbed her skirt. ‘‘What if the judge comes home? Or yer ma? And they see me eatin’ their food?’’

  ‘‘It’ll be all right, Harley. You just tell them Miss Essie gave them to you. They won’t mind.’’

  ‘‘Ever’body minds. Nobody wants a orphan in their kitchen. Nobody.’’

  She frowned. ‘‘That’s ridiculous and not the least bit true. Why, I want you in our kitchen and I’m somebody.’’

  His eyes darted to the back door.

  ‘‘Hush now, and eat up. I’ll hurry. I promise.’’ She pried his hand from her garment and quickly made her way upstairs.

  Removing her skirt and petticoats, she began pulling on a short skirt, bloomers, and leggings. The wonder in Harley’s voice as he’d examined their kitchen provoked feelings of compassion and not a little guilt. She’d just this morning resented their home, thinking of it more as a prison than anything else. Yet little Harley would give his eyeteeth to live here.

  She fastened the final button of her boot. She had already taken so much time, she didn’t want to delay any longer. Not bothering to change her shirtwaist or hat, she came out of her room, heard voices, and quickened her pace.

  Harley stood on a chair before a table with an apron wrapped twice around his little body. He pounded a lump of dough with one fist and then the other as if he were trying to annihilate it.

  ‘‘I’m makin’ some biscuits, Miss Essie,’’ he exclaimed, his eyes bright.

  Smiling, Mother cracked an egg into a bowl. ‘‘Watch what you’re doing, Harley, or else you might miss the dough and deliver a fatal blow to the table.’’

  Realizing the trip to the orphanage would wait, Essie removed her hat, picked up the empty plate and glass Harley had snacked from earlier and carried them to the washbasin. Then the three of them continued with dinner preparations, Mother and Essie doing most of the work and Harley doing most of the talking.

  ‘‘What do ya think they’ll put on the peg-legged man’s grave? ‘Here lies a man with one leg. If ya knows where he’s from, please make his mark here.’ ’’

  Essie and Mother exchanged glances.

  ‘‘You think he has family?’’ Harley continued. ‘‘Do Jews have families, Miss Essie?’’

  ‘‘Yes, of course they do,’’ Essie answered.

  ‘‘How do ya know? He only had one leg. Ladies are awful picky. I’d bet they’d want their fella to have both his legs.’’

  ‘‘You can’t judge a man by the way he looks,’’ Essie said. ‘‘A good man without legs would be a far better friend than a bad man with both his legs intact. It’s not what’s on the outside that counts, but what’s on the inside.’’

  ‘‘Unless you’re a orphan. Nobody wants a orphan no matter what he looks like on the inside.’’

  She started to contradict him, then held her tongue. What he said had some truth to it. Folks put a lot of stock in family backgrounds. If someone from a good family were to marry an orphan, there would be a scandal of huge proportions.

  Still, she had come from a good family, and nobody’d wanted her. They’d especially not want her now. Now that she was a full-fledged spinster. And a ruined woman.

  But Harley was different, she told herself. He had his whole life ahead of him. And who could resist him, orphan or not?

  ‘‘That’s not true,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Is too.’’

  ‘‘Is not.’’

  Harley studied her for a moment, then opened his mouth as wide as he could, showing her every single tooth and his tonsils to boot.

  She blinked.

  ‘‘Well?’’ he asked. ‘‘What do you think? Am I purty on the inside?’’

  She smiled. ‘‘The best I’ve ever seen. And that’s the truth.’’

  ‘‘Really?’’

  ‘‘Really. Now, use this pin and roll out that dough.’’ She positioned the roller in his hands. ‘‘Start in the middle and work your way to the edges.’’

  He couldn’t manage it, so Essie placed her hands over his and guided him. With Mother puttering around behind them, Essie could almost pretend Harley was her son. Almost.

  She thought of Adam and once again tried to imagine what their child would have looked like. Or what a child of hers with Hamilton would have looked like. What would it be like to have her stomach swell as it held a life that God had knitted together with His own hands?

  She inhaled, then stopped herself midstream. Harley needed a bath.

  ‘‘Maybe the peg-legged man was a orphan,’’ the boy said, ‘‘and that’s why he was by hisself.’’

  ‘‘Possibly.’’ She moved the roller to a thick section of dough.

  ‘‘Here, try to spread it out evenly. Like this.’’

  The dough started sticking to the pin. Essie sprinkled it with flour.

  ‘‘You sure are good at this, Miss Essie. How come you ain’t married?’’

  She heard Mother pause in the middle of chopping some carrots.

  ‘‘I don’t know,’’ Essie answered softly.

  ‘‘Ain’t ya purty on the inside?’’

  Mother resumed her task with sudden vigor.

  No, Essie thought. I’m not.

  He twisted around when she didn’t answer. ‘‘Lemme see.’’

  She shook her head.

  ‘‘Come on. Open up. I’ll tell ya the truth.’’

  She glanced at Mother, but the woman acted as if chopping vegetables required every bit of her attention.

  Essie slowly opened her mouth.

  Harley studied her for so long that she became embarrassed and closed her mouth. See, I told you so.

  ‘‘Well,’’ Harley said, ‘‘I ain’t never peered inside o’ anybody before. Only horses. And I can tell ya this, yer insides is a whole lot purtier than Mr. Mitton’s horses. And he boasts somethin’ awful about them beasties.’’

  ‘‘Thank you,’’ she whispered.

  ‘‘Miss Essie, do ya think ya might could wait ’til I get a little taller? Then you and me could marry up, seein’ as how we both think the other ’un is purty on the inside.’’

  A rush of affection for the boy filled her. ‘‘Well, Harley. Those are some mighty strong words to say to a lady. So, I’ll tell you what. When you get a little, um, taller, if you find that you are still interested, why don’t you ask me again?’’

  ‘‘You’re just sayin’ that ’cause you don’t wanna marry no orphan.’’ His shoulders drooped.

  ‘‘No, no, that’s not true. It’s just that you are supposed to speak with my father first. But I think you probably ought to wait a few years before you do that. All right?’’

  ‘‘All right. And as soon as they let me, I’ll start votin’ fer him, too.’’

  She smiled. ‘‘He’d like that very much. Now, put the rolling pin aside. It’s time for the biscuit cutter.’’

  —————

  They ended up riding Cocoa to the State Orphan’s Home. After the excitement of the festival and the big dinner they’d fed Harley, the boy could barely keep his eyes open. He’d have fallen asleep and tumbled off the bicycle’s handlebars, so they’d taken the horse instead.

&n
bsp; ‘‘Listen, Harley,’’ she whispered. ‘‘Do you hear that cricket with evenly spaced chirrups?’’

  ‘‘Uh-huh.’’

  ‘‘That’s a temperature cricket. If you count the number of chirps within a fifteen-second span, then add forty, you can calculate the temperature outside. Let’s try it. Ready? Go.’’

  She silently counted. ‘‘I counted sixteen. That would mean it’s fifty-six degrees outside. How many did you count?’’

  A soft snore escaped Harley as he relaxed against her. She wrapped her cloak more tightly around them, trapping their warmth inside. The stench of his dried sweat breached the covering. The boy reeked, but she’d not had time to give him the promised bath. She planned to return to the orphanage tomorrow to see he received both that and a haircut.

  A nighthawk darted by, startling Essie with its sudden, erratic advance. Its nasal peent cut through the drone of insects. Essie couldn’t see it anymore or the female it was trying to impress, but she could hear the explosive ruffle of its wings as it dove toward the ground, swooping upward at the last possible moment.

  She suppressed her irritation. Wasn’t there anywhere she could go without being constantly reminded of males and females and their courtship rituals?

  The entire world goes two by two, Lord. All except for me. Why? Why did you cut me out of my inheritance?

  And now it was too late. She was ruined. Even if the Lord sent a man her way, she’d not be able to marry him without confessing she’d given herself to another.

  And that would be the end of that. So why even bother? She would have to resign herself to life as a spinster.

  But she didn’t want to. She couldn’t quite let loose of that elusive dream. She wanted it so badly. Was Mother right? Would a man be willing to accept a woman who’d been used by another? She didn’t think so.

  What if she didn’t tell him? What if she pretended he was the first?

  She discarded the thought immediately. Even if he never found out, she would know. And God would know. Deceit simply wasn’t an option.

  She sighed. It was a waste of time to contemplate such things anyway. Her chances for catching a man were over. Over. The sooner she accepted it and moved on, the better.

  They crested a hill, and Cocoa blew a gust of air from her lungs, shaking her mane. Essie steadied her.