This Loving Land - Dorothy Garlock [71]
Sadie went to her quickly. “Are you sure, Mary?” The whispered words sounded choked in her throat.
“Pee, pee,” Mary said again, and Sadie groaned inwardly. Why did she have to say it so loud? She drew her behind the curtain and pulled the chamber pot from beneath the bunk, lifted the child’s nightdress, and set her on the rim. As Mary let the water go, the tinkling sound caused Sadie to grind her teeth. Replacing the lid, she slid the pot under the bed, and lifted Mary back on it.
“Go to sleep, baby.” She leaned over and kissed her cheek, ignoring the green eyes that stared at her in the semidarkness, and went back into the kitchen, keeping her own green eyes turned from Jesse.
She had no more than sat down and lifted her cup to her lips, when Mary came out from behind the curtain and made a beeline for Jesse.
“Mary . . . baby . . .”
Mary ran the last few steps and crawled up on Jesse’s lap. He lifted her up and cuddled her against him. Sadie reached to take her.
“Let her stay,” Jesse said, stroking the curls back from the child’s face. “I don’t get to hold such a pretty girl very often.”
Sadie stood uncertainly beside the chair, and an emotion rose up in her as acute as pain. A longing to be held, cuddled, protected and cherished was so strong in her that she felt weak and sat down, but not before Jesse’s sharp eyes caught the look of yearning on her face.
He lifted the child up closer in his arms, liking the feel of the small, warm, trusting little creature clinging to him. God . . . what must it be like to have one of your own?
“Where did you live before you came to Hamilton?” He wanted to hear her voice. It had a light, musical quality to it.
“Just about all over. Georgetown, Austin . . . even Waco.” She lifted clear eyes to his. “My . . . husband was like a skeeter. He flitted around a lot.”
“Did you love him?”
“No!” Her voice was almost angry, then softened. “No, but he warn’t so bad.”
“Why did you marry him?”
Sadie shrugged the question off.
“Did you have to marry?” Jesse persisted.
Her nostrils flared, angry lights flashed in the green eyes, and she said through tight lips:
“No, I didn’t! If you got to know why, it was cause I ain’t built to pull no plow, that’s why!” She tossed her head and glared at him. “Why do you do what you do?”
In Jesse’s mind a thousand thoughts clashed in riotous confusion. Why did he do what he did? Because he had found a niche for himself, that’s why. He had Ellen, a job, responsibility. It was enough reason for any man.
“I do what I do because I want to.” He hadn’t meant the words to sound so harsh.
It was as if cold water had been thrown in her face, but her reserve of strength came to her rescue, and she looked straight at him, studied his broad, long eyebrows, his rather long, straight nose, the strength of his jaw and his stern mouth. She watched his hands and saw that they were big, and how ridiculously small her own were in comparison. She knew now that those big hands would never hold her, reach out to her in tenderness. She might as well “throw in the cards,” as Harm used to say.
“Don’t get yore back up, Mr. Thurston, I ain’t askin’ you nothin’!” she said scathingly.
A bolt of lightning flashed, even as she spoke, bringing the room to brilliant brightness. Long before the lightning died, the house was filled with a stunning crash of thunder. It was still echoing when another bolt rent the air outside, and in its deathly light Sadie’s face showed stark fear. A fierce gust of wind struck the house, sending sheets of rain against the windows.
“My name’s Jesse.” The quiet face studied her, as his hand continued stroking Mary’s hair.
Minutes passed. The storm raged outside, and Sadie put more rugs by the doors to keep the water out. She lit a candle and went into Summer’s room. Water was coming in the window and under the door. She laid rags on the window sill and more rugs in front of the door.