This Loving Land - Dorothy Garlock [107]
“She’ll be awful mad at me, Slater.”
“Well, in that case, go find Jack and tell him I want to see him. After that, tell Teresa you’d like to have some of that pudding she made before Pud eats it all.”
That terrible heavy weight seemed to roll away from John Austin’s shoulders. Things would be all right now that he’d told Slater. It had been silly of him to wait almost three whole days before telling. He was almost running by the time he got to the front of the house, then was running when he reached the yard.
John Austin was sitting in the kitchen when Jack came out of Slater’s room. He was still sitting there when Jack returned with Sadie and Mary. Teresa sat Mary on a chair and gave her a bowl of pudding. Jack and Sadie went into Slater’s room. John Austin could hear loud, angry voices, could hear Slater cursing, Jack’s even tones and Sadie crying. He wanted desperately to hear, but Mary kept on wanting to talk to him. When Teresa wasn’t looking, he slipped into the hall and stood beside Slater’s door.
“It seems goddam strange to me that she’d go off without telling me.” Slater was angry. His voice wasn’t loud, but cold, and dripped with sarcasm.
“I only know what she told me, Mr. McLean.”
“For God’s sake, why the Mr. McLean now, when I’ve been Slater for weeks?” There was silence. “How come she decided to go to the burying? Did Jesse talk her into it? Make her feel obligated? I suppose he wanted to give Ellen . . .” he said the name sardonically, “a decent burial, with soon-to-be family members present.”
“I . . . don’t know,” Sadie said between sobs. “But he didn’t do nothin’! It ain’t his fault. None of it’s his fault.”
“Then why isn’t she back, Sadie? Tell me that. It’s been three days. Ellen had to be put in the ground two days ago, or you could smell her clear over here,” he said cruelly, bitingly. “I know Summer wouldn’t of gone off without John unless she was coming right back—or unless she decided she’d rather have Jesse than me! If that son-of-a-bitch lays a finger on her, I’ll kill him!”
“He won’t! He’s just takin’ her . . ’cause after the buryin’ she wants to go to the Mormons . . . and get chairs and things.”
“You’re lying!” Slater shouted, and John Austin cringed against the wall. For a terrible moment, it was deathly quiet, then Sadie said:
“Do you want me to . . . go?”
“Hell, no, I don’t want you to go! But you’re lying! You’re lying to protect both of them! God! If I could only get on a horse. If only. . . .” Slater was really mad and John Austin was thankful the anger wasn’t directed at him. “Jack, take Luther and whoever else you want and go get her.” His tone was rough, commanding: then, in tones of anguish, he said, “She’s slipping away from me, Jack. I’m losing her! I got to know if she wanted to go—if she changed her mind.”
“We’ll leave at first light, Slater. We’ll find ’er and bring ’er back. She can tell ya herself why she went. Don’t you worry none ’bout us findin’ ’er. I ain’t takin’ Jesse’s part, but I’ve knowed him a long time, ’n I’d bet my boots he’s straight with womenfolks.”
“He better be! By God, he better be!” Slater’s voice was hoarse, strangled. “If anything happens to her, Sadie, you’ll wish you’d never heard of McLean’s Keep.”
“Ain’t goin’ to help you none talkin’ to Sadie that way, Slater.” Jack spoke up hastily and firmly. “From the looks of things, Summer did what she wanted to do.”
“Get the hell out of here! Both of you!”
When Jack and Sadie came out, Sadie’s face was swollen from crying. She walked past John Austin without looking at him, went to the kitchen, thanked Teresa, took Mary and left.
John Austin stood with head bowed. He didn’t want anybody to be mad at him, but if Summer came back, he didn’t care! He wished she was here now.
It was dark when Bulldog rode in. The old man was exhausted and his horse was lame. He didn’t believe he had ever been so worn out. He figured he must have rode sixty miles since daylight. After stripping his horse, he went to the cookhouse and bellowed for grub.
“By God, Bulldog, I