The Personal History of Rachel DuPree_ A Novel - Ann Weisgarber [94]
Zeb said something, Isaac laughed, and then he turned to me and took my arm. “Rachel,” he said to Zeb.
Zeb put his hand to his heart and bowed. “How do you do?” he said. He was older than Isaac; there was gray in his hair and he hadn’t shaved in four or five days. He was almost as dark as me. His belly hung over his belt, and I thought I smelled drink on him.
“My wife can’t wait to meet the bride,” Zeb told me as we started toward his horses and buggy, picking our way over the dirt road. He took my hand to help me up into the buggy, and I believed that he held it longer than what was needed. I sat in the front and waited as the men strapped my trunk and Isaac’s bag to the back of the buggy. Zeb Butler climbed up beside me then, and Isaac got in the backseat. I didn’t like how Zeb let the side of his leg rest beside mine. I tried to make myself small.
“Yep,” Zeb said after he cracked the reins and the buggy began to roll. “My wife wants to meet the woman that finally caught Isaac DuPree.”
That got me to wondering just how many others had tried.
The Butler house was on the edge of town, not all that far from the train station. It was a faint yellow, it wanted fresh paint, and the yard needed trimming. The house beside it was empty and boarded up. Iris Butler, thinner and taller than her husband, came out to the alley to greet us. Her apron, I saw, was fresh, and that cheered me. She hugged Isaac and then me. “You got yourself a wild one,” she whispered into my ear. “But you’ll tame him. Like I did Zeb.”
Startled, I tried to smile and think of something to say. “Much obliged for the hospitality,” I managed to say. As soon as the words were out, I felt lost and homesick in that strange town. I didn’t know the Butlers. I didn’t know anybody. Isaac was a stranger; even I was a stranger in my beautiful dress. I should be cooking breakfast at the boardinghouse. I should be going home tonight to my parents. I should be sleeping beside Sue tonight, not by this man who somehow had become my husband.
Iris Butler said, “You could stand a washing up. Come on.” I followed her upstairs, and she took me to a bedroom that had a damp smell. She told me that most Negroes that passed through town stayed a night or two with them but Isaac was an old friend and the room was free. The bed, I saw, sagged in the middle, and its spread might have been white a long time ago. “Got you a pitcher of water, a towel too,” Iris said, nodding to the washstand beside the bed. “Breakfast’ll be ready when you are.” She started to turn away but then she stopped. “That’s one fine dress,” she said, her eyes sweeping up and down my figure. She studied me like a man might. My cheeks turned hot. “Isaac did good for himself,” she said. “But he always did have an eye for such things.”
“Oh,” I said, and then I stumbled toward the washstand, feeling faint, not liking the meaning behind her words.
I washed up as best as I could, the cool water in the pitcher perking me up. I told myself that all men had an eye for women and that Isaac was no different. I dried my face and neck with the towel that Iris had laid out, trying not to notice that someone had used it before me. Instead, I reminded myself that I might be wearing a plum satin dress, but I was just the kitchen help. Isaac had married me only so he could stake a claim in my name. That was all I was to him, just a claim.
My hands shaking, I took off my hat and fixed my hair. I gathered my courage, went downstairs, and found the three of them at the kitchen table eating. I sat down with them and picked at the eggs and bacon. Isaac, Zeb, and Iris talked about the army days at Fort Robinson. Zeb and Iris had been married for five years when Zeb joined up, and Iris earned extra money by doing laundry for one of the officers