Simple Jess Page 8

  Eben Baxley grinned broadly. "Yep, it means that. It also means that all that she owns, I'll own. That makes the gun mine. And I don't want you taking my gun hunting."

  "You're bespoken for Miss Althea?" Jesse shook his head in disbelief.

  "Yes."

  "She didn't say nothing about it."

  "That's because I haven't declared for her yet. A fellow has got to do the proper thing and ask the question before the woman goes to confiding it about. I just come to the mountain last night. I'm here to do my declaring today."

  Jesse felt a strange hollowness inside him. It was like a bellyache, but not exactly. It was an emptiness, the vastness of which made him feel like he wanted to cry.

  Men don't cry, he reminded himself quickly. Jesse is a man. Men don't cry. Jesse doesn't cry.

  He looked back toward Baxley. The man continued to stand before him. His stance was somehow almost threatening, almost belligerent.

  "I won't take the gun if you say it's yours," Jesse told him. "I'm used to my pa's anyway."

  "That's good, Jess," Eben said. "Just remember that everything on this farm is going to be mine. I don't want you taking anything."

  Jesse almost nodded his assent when a thought occurred to him and he raised his chin in challenge.

  "But the dogs is mine," he said. "She already give me them. That's why I'm working here, to earn the dogs."

  Eben nodded. “That's what I heard." He chuckled out loud. "Lord, leave it to a woman not to know the value of the best pack of hounds on the mountain."

  He slapped Jesse upon the back, another friendly gesture that didn't quite ring true, "I know she made you a bargain, Simple Jess. And you accepted it in good faith. A man can't fault you for that. I'm willing to honor it. You ask any man within a hundred miles of here and he'll tell you that I'm as good as my word. So, Jess, you look them dogs over real good and pick out the one you want. One dog oughter be enough for you, don't you think? You pick out the one you want and I'll give it to you."

  "She said I was earning the whole pack."

  "Yes, but she thought you'd be working here for a long time. Mrs. Winsloe didn't realize how soon I'd be ready to get wed. Now don't worry, Jess. You'll get your dog. Whichever one you want. And you won't have to be working here much longer to get him."

  Jesse's fists clenched with the need to fight. But what he really wanted was to argue. He wanted to say no. With clear crisp language cutting sharp as a knife he wanted to proclaim that the dogs were his. All of them were his. Miss Althea had already given them to him. What she'd already given couldn't be taken back, except by her. If she asked him, he wouldn't hesitate, but she had to ask him, Miss Althea, her own self. He wanted to say that coolly and calmly and with resolution. He wanted to make Eben Baxley understand that he wouldn't be just taking the one. The pack was his and he was taking them all.

  That's what Jesse wanted to say. But he could not. Jesse's mind wouldn't work. It wouldn't order up the terms and phrases in the order needed. The only thoughts that came to him were hurt and angry ones. The only words he could conjure up were no, no, no. And he couldn't just say that.

  He clamped down his teeth and furrowed his brow trying to force the right words, the real words, the words he wanted to say into his brain. But they would not come. It was one of those times when Jesse hated being simple. It was one of those times when he most wanted to be like other men. It was one of those times when he had to hold his peace because his mind was not their equal.

  Eben was unaware of the struggle going on inside Jesse's heart. Without concern he stepped past him on his way to the house and then stopped to glance back.

  "Why don't you clean up that fat gray rabbit first and then bring it up to the house, Simple Jess. I suspect the lady will be inviting me to stay for supper and I ain't had a good haunch of sweet-seasoned hare in a long while."

  * * *

  It had been a major battle to get Baby-Paisley down for a rest. That child was as stubborn as he was smart, Althea thought. He kept on and on. Asking questions, getting thirsty, then needing a trip to the brush, she thought he might never give up the struggle to stay awake.

  She missed the old days. That's how she thought of them. Those wonderful days, almost just yesterday and yet now so long ago when she could take him to her breast and sing him a lullaby and he'd be asleep and dreaming before she could get to the chorus. She glanced over at him lying on her bed at the far side of the room and smiled.

  Her self proclaimed "man of the house" lay balled up upon his side, his short chubby thumb buried comfortingly in the depths of his baby mouth. She gently straightened the light coverlet she'd thrown over him and resisted the urge to lean down and kiss his brow.

  It was warm in the room. Althea moved toward the kitchen cupboard on tiptoe. She'd been baking bread all morning and the evidence of that effort was lined up along the cooling board. Three loaves were usually more than enough for her and Baby-Paisley. But she'd made twice that much this week. Simple Jess was, it seemed, very partial to her light bread. She wanted to be sure to have plenty for him.

  Althea wiped her hands on her apron and then tested the coolness of each loaf. She didn't resent the extra bit of flour it took. There probably wouldn't be enough to last through the winter—it would be turnip kraut and poor-do before they knew it—but Simple Jess was going to put meat on her table. Meat was more important than bread. With his help, they'd get through this winter. And next year . . . next year—

  "Well, ain't this a scene to warm the cockles of a man's heart."

  Althea started and turned with a hand pressed upon her heart to the man who stood in the doorway.

  As quickly as recognition dawned, she glanced anxiously toward the sleeping child.

  "Hush! You'll wake the baby!" she admonished him in a scolding whisper.

  As if noticing the child for the first time, Eben nodded and tiptoed over to the side of the bed and stared down at him for a long minute.

  Althea used the time to compose herself.

  Eben Baxley was here. Beulah Winsloe must have sent for him. And the man undoubtedly thought they were to wed. What a coil!

  Althea remembered him well. She'd met him for the first time when she was little more than a girl. He'd been a handsome, smiling fellow even then. Some of the girls had giggled and cooed over him. Maybe Althea had herself a time or two. She wasn't that easily impressed anymore.

  She'd spoken with him a couple of times that short spring that Paisley had courted her. He and Paisley were carousing partners and had been since their early teens. Eben would show up on the mountain, the two would soak up a crock full of donk, and she'd not have her gentleman caller until Paisley managed to sober up two or three days later.

  He looked up from his inspection of the baby and smiled at her. So handsome. Always smiling. Eben Baxley reminded Althea of her daddy. It was a memory that could not be described as fond.

  He walked toward her. His steps quiet and careful. His expression friendly and warm. She was not afraid of him. Not at all. Still, when he came to stand right in front of her, less than an arm's length away, she stepped back.

  "He's a fine boy, Althea," Eben said softly. "I know Paisley would be right proud of such a son."

  She nodded, mutely accepting his words.

  "I know if he was my boy," Baxley continued, "I'd think myself a damned lucky fellow."

  Althea raised her chin haughtily.

  "There is no need for cursing, sir," she said sharply.

  Eben raised a curious eyebrow and chuckled lightly. "Damned ain't much of a curse, honey," he said.

  She looked him straight in the face, unmoved by his humor.

  "It's a curse word all the same. And I won't have it around me or my child."

  Eben folded his arms across his chest. His eyes narrowed and he gazed at her assessingly.

  "All right, honey," he said finally. "I suspect I can bridle my tongue if your mind is set that direction."

  "And you m
ay call me Mrs. Winsloe," she added. "I am not anybody's honey."

  His own jaw came up at that, seeing it clearly as a challenge.

  "We're kin, h—Althea," he said. "Distant kin for now, but soon to be closer, I'm hoping. I cain't be calling you Miz Winsloe like you was some old crone with a wart on your nose."

  "You will call me Mrs. Winsloe or keep my name off your tongue altogether," she said.

  Eben sighed heavily. "All right, all right. You sure think you're the last button on Gabe's coat, now don't you?"

  Althea didn't answer.

  "I can tolerate that," he continued. "I'm not the kind of man that needs to make a woman think less of herself so that he can pretend he's better."

  He relaxed and smiled broadly at her, taking a small step forward and almost casually leaning his hand upon the wall behind her.

  "I do hope," he said more softly, "that you won't be one of them starchy women and expect me to be calling you Miz Baxley after we're wed."

  "No, you won't ever have to call me Mrs. Baxley," Althea answered. "Because we are never going to wed."

  She stepped away from him and busied herself at the hearth. The fire was low and nearly perfect for the last bread in the oven. She poked and stirred it anyway.

  Eben chuckled again and shook his head. "Your mother-in-law said you were determined to be mulish about this."

  "And I certainly am," Althea told him with a determined glance. "Not just mulish, I am downright resolved not to marry."

  "Now that's the biggest foolishness I've ever heard spoken. I never thought you to be a foolish woman, Miz Winsloe."

  "There is nothing foolish about not marrying up with you, Eben. I'd think it to be about the smartest thing a woman could do."

  He chuckled again. His handsome smile was a sight to behold, but Althea barely bothered to glance at it. "I'm not saying that there ain't women out there that would agree with you," he admitted. "I've done broke some hearts, I suspect, and I've been known to rollix aplenty. But that wildness about me, that's all in the past. When I settle down with a woman, I intend to be hardworking and dependable so that woman will have no regret in marrying up with me."

  "Well, I'm sure that woman will be very pleased to hear it," Althea told him. "But she isn't me."

  Eben's good humor faded visibly. "Are you hoping for Oather Phillips?" he asked. “To my thinking, he ain't much of a prize. Personally, he's not a bad sort. But you take on a man, you take on his family. You'd think that a gal that already has dear cousin Beulah as her interfering mother-in-law wouldn't be so eager to take on bleating Buell Phillips as the other side of the family."

  "I am not marrying Oather," she answered, sighing heavily.

  "Who then? Those Broody twins are a little young for you," he pointed out. "And Beulah would have a fit if you was to latch up with one of those drunken Weston boys."

  "I just told you, I do not intend to marry at all."

  "You don't plan to marry at all?" His question was offered with skepticism. "With due respect, Miz Winsloe, you are going to have to marry. And everybody including you knows it."

  Althea's face flamed, but her words were stubborn. "I certainly don't know why."

  "Somebody's going to have to take care of this place. You can't do it alone. Even Paisley couldn't do that. That was why he took on a wife to help him."

  "And you're thinking that you want to help me take care of this place." Her tone was exaggerated irony.

  "That I would," he answered.

  "I've never known you to be very work-brickle, Eben Baxley," she said. "Drinking and dawdling are more true to your reputation."

  Eben raised his hand as if giving a pledge. "I've not tried to deny it. But I've come to the end of my youthful ways, Miz Winsloe. And I'm ready and willing to become a dull and dutiful husband."

  Althea snorted with disbelief.

  "I'm speaking as honest as the day is long," he said.

  Eben rubbed his hands together thoughtfully. "I can't claim to love you," he said. "Oh, I suspect I could speak some pretty words to try and turn your head. But we both would know I don't mean 'em."

  He glanced up at her hopefully. As if to determine if honesty was really the best policy.

  "I could tell you some pretty lies and try coaxing you into that lonely bed of yours," he continued. "I'm a pretty fair hand at lovin' and truthfully, it might be easier to win you that way than to speak the truth. But you're going to have to have a man for this farm. Even if you could manage it yourself, folks ain't going to let you do that. They want you married up."

  Althea knew he was speaking the truth. But she didn't want to hear it.

  "It ain't the way for a young woman to be single," he continued. "And folks don't like the idea of that boy growing up without a man."

  He shook his head and told her honestly, "You're going to have to marry. Folks are going to insist on that. And it's going to be soon. I ain't perfect and I'm not claiming to be. But I am Winsloe kin."

  Althea gave him a raised eyebrow, saying to him, in effect, that she didn't consider that a recommendation.

  "I'm not afraid of work," Eben assured her. "I don't think you'd regret matching up with me. You might even come to have feelings for me."

  Althea felt as if the room were choking her. So much of what he said was true. They were going to insist that she marry. All of them, Winsloes, McNees, Piggotts, the entire mountain community was set upon it. Could she go against all of them? Was she strong enough to withstand them? She never had been. Could she now? Could she for Baby-Paisley's sake?

  "Mr. Baxley, at this very moment, I have all the feelings for you that I ever intend to have," she answered tightly.

  "Now, don't go all starchy on me again," Eben said, grinning. "We've got to come to some understanding here, Althea. I said I was willing to try. I think you ought to do the same."

  "Why on earth should I? You're just another fellow who wants to get his hands on this farm!"

  He nodded and looked her in the eye. "You don't think that's reason enough to marry?"

  "No, I don't."

  "Wasn't that why you married Paisley Winsloe?"

  Althea's eyes widened. She felt as if she'd been slapped.

  "Mama?"

  Startled, she turned immediately to her son. He was sitting up in the middle of the bed, his expression pouty as he rubbed his eyes.

  "Oh, we woke you!" she exclaimed as she hurried toward him. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

  Sitting beside him on the bed, she urged him to lie down once more. "You just go on back to sleep and we'll be real quiet."

  "I doan wanna go to sleep," he whined. "Who's he?"

  Althea glanced back at Eben, still standing by the fireplace.

  "That's Mr. Baxley." She hesitated, wondering what more she ought to say. "He was a cousin of your daddy's."

  Baby-Paisley immediately sat up again and looked more closely at the stranger.

  "Did my daddy look like him?" the child asked.

  Althea felt the blood drain from her cheeks. She had known, of course, that Baby-Paisley didn't remember his father, but to hear the little boy admit as much aloud grieved her.

  "No," she answered evenly. "Mr. Baxley doesn't favor your daddy much. Your daddy looked more like Grandma Beulah."

  Baby-Paisley's expression was positively horrified.

  "Gwamma's an old lady!" he said.

  Eben Baxley laughed uproariously.

  Althea gave him a harsh look and he quieted, but there was still a twinkle in his eyes. He stepped to the bed.

  "Don't worry, son," he said. "Your daddy didn't look one bit like an old lady."

  Baxley's grin was infectious and the young boy smiled back.

  "Now what, may I ask," Eben said, leaning toward him curiously, "is a big old boy like you doing lolling in the bed in the middle of the day?"

  Baby-Paisley's eyes widened. "Mama makes me take a nap," he admitted.

  "A nap? I thought naps were only for babies," Eben
said, glancing toward Althea in feigned horror. "You're no baby, are you, son?"

  "Nope."

  "Then you'd best get yourself outside to play."

  "Wait just a minute!" Althea interrupted as her son rolled out of the bed. "Paisley Orville Winsloe, what do you think you're up to?"

  The boy stopped immediately, but his expression was mutinous.

  "The man said I could go outside an' play."

  "What the man said is what the man said, but what Mama says is the law."

  The boy lowered his head and his lip protruded obstinately.

  Althea glanced over at Eben. His grin was infuriating. She sighed heavily.

  "All right," she said. "You can go out and play now. But you're going right to bed after supper, young man."

  "Yes, Mama," he agreed, his feet fairly slapping the plank floor as he hurried out the door.

  "See ya later, mista," he called out to Eben.

  "I hope so. I sure hope so, son."

  Althea watched her little boy's departure, nonplussed. She turned her fury to the instigator of it.

  "Eben Baxley, what are you thinking of, coming into my house and ordering my child about?"

  Eben grinned and stepped closer.

  "I was thinking about getting the boy's mother alone," he answered with a chuckle. "Looky here, the bed's already mussed. And it’d be a shame to waste it."

  To Althea's total surprise, he slid his arm behind her knees and easily picked her up. He laid her on the bed in one smooth motion. He was on top of her before she even had a moment to grasp what was happening.

  Althea Winsloe was not for one instant afraid. Eben Baxley was teasing and she felt not the slightest moment of danger.

  "I thought you weren't going to try to win me with pretty words and sweet lies," she said.

  He grinned down into her face. "Actually, right now, I wasn't thinking about winning anything. I was just planning on a pleasant passing of the afternoon."

  "Oh, for heaven's sake." She pushed at him ineffectually.

  "It's like I said, honey," he continued. "These folks are determined that you marry. Now, you may not be thrilled about that, but I'm sure I could find a way or two to thrill ye."