Making Hay (2 page)

“Nora, this is my youngest boy,” Jake had said to her mother as he gestured to Vass. “He’s the one I wrote you about. He ain’t much one for talking, but he’s a good hand and a hard worker.”

Vass had glanced in their direction and given them an excessively polite nod of acknowledgment.

Lessy had felt a catch in her throat and a jolt in her heart. He doesn’t have to talk, Lessy thought to herself. I’ll be happy to do his talking for him.

Her sigh of sweet remembrance caught her mother’s attention.

“Lessy-mine, you’re not worried about sharing a bed with this man, are you?”

Her cheeks pinking only slightly, Lessy shook her head.

“No, Mammy,” she said. “I’ve been around the farm long enough to know pretty much what happens. And Vass says it won’t be as bad as I think.”

Her mother’s mouth dropped open in surprise before she threw her head back and laughed. “Lord-a-mighty, you and Vass are the strangest pair of cooing doves I ever laid eyes on. Not as bad as you think?” The Widow Green shook her head in disbelief.

“Is it that funny?” Lessy asked, unable to keep the hint of pique out of her voice.

Nora reached over and patted her hand affectionately. “No, honey, you know I wouldn’t make fun of you or Vass. You are both the dearest to me on this earth. But I swear you two have the oddest ideas of courting that I’ve ever come across in all my born days.”

Lessy raised her chin, still slightly defensive. Their courting had been unique. In fact, it had been like no courting at all. Vass never wooed her or sent her flowers or carried her to a barn dance or church supper. He was a shy man and didn’t like social occasions. Although Lessy had once reveled in carefree fun and meeting with friends, she now only wanted to do what Vassar wanted to do. And what Vassar wanted to do was farm.

“It’s normal for you to be a little scared of your marriage bed,” Lessy’s mother was telling her. “And it’s right for Vass to try to reassure you. But, I’ll swanny, he has a strange way of going about it.”

Lessy didn’t want to talk about Vass. “Did Daddy have to reassure you?”

Nora Green nodded. “He surely did. I was three years younger than you are and had been so sheltered I thought the difference in men and women was the clothes that they wore.”

Lessy laughed and shook her head, refusing to believe her mother’s claim.

“I was scared near to death,” her mother told her. “But when your daddy realized why, he snuck me down behind that big old barn at Granny’s place and kissed me till I was breathless. I was so het up, I told him I didn’t want to wait even one more day. It was only your daddy’s good sense that kept us from making our marriage bed in that damp grass.”

“Oh, Mammy!” Lessy giggled. “I can’t imagine you and Daddy sparking behind the barn.”

“Well, it’s the truth.” Her eyes were soft with the memory. “But if you tell it at church, I’ll deny every word.” Nora Green pointed her finger at her daughter threateningly, and both dissolved in laughter. “If my memory serves me right,” her mother continued when they’d regained composure, “these warm summer days can fire up a young man’s blood and a young woman’s, too. Many a young couple have met the preacher coming back from the well. More than one have lived to regret it. I never heard tell of a pair that were sorry they’d waited till the wedding day.”

Lessy leaned forward and hugged her mother tightly. “Don’t worry, Mammy,” she said. “There is not even a question. Vass and I are going to wait.”

Nora looked at her daughter for a long moment and then nodded in agreement. “I guess I should know that. Vassar is a mother’s dream. He’s polite, respectful, honorable, and upright. But when a man’s in love, it’d be hard to fault him for stealing a kiss or two.”

Lessy’s smile held, but the pleasure behind it faded, and she lowered her eyes to the cotton petticoat that she held in her hands.

T
he singing woke him
. Every morning, as regularly as the sunrise or the cock’s crow, Lessy Green sang as she stoked the fire in the stove and set coffee to boil. Today it was a cheery but subdued “On the Banks of the Ohio.” Vassar was just grateful it wasn’t ‘Ta-Ra-Ra- Boom-De-Ay”!

Without opening his eyes, he sluggishly rolled to a sitting position on the side of the bed. His feet touched the cold boards on the floor.

I am awake, he told himself.

He allowed his left eye to open to a squint. With a moan he closed it again, and only pure strength of will kept him from falling backward onto the bed.

Vassar hated mornings.

“It’s the devil’s own laziness in that boy!” one of his aunts had told his mother. “Never heard of a farmer who didn’t love the first light of day.”

Vass didn’t know if he loved it. He tried very hard not to see it.

The gentle tapping on the door diverted his attention from his own weariness, and he blindly rose to his feet and felt his way across the room.

He pulled open the door wide enough only to reveal his face.

“Good morning, Vassar. It’s a beautiful day outside. Breakfast should be ready in about twenty minutes.”

The sweet shy voice held a revitalizing power, and Vassar obligingly opened his eyes fully for the first time. Lessy stood, fresh-scrubbed and pink, in his doorway. The neat braids on either side of her head were precise and perfect.

The plain calico work dress she wore had been carefully pressed to best advantage, and the sun-bleached apron tied around her waist was as clean and neat as lye soap and a washboard could make it.

“Morning.” His voice was deep and gravelly.

Vassar took the pitcher of warm water she offered, and with a nod that he hoped conveyed his thanks, he shut the door. Then he staggered to the washstand. He poured the water into the basin and set the pitcher aside before bracing himself with both hands and leaning toward the spotted shaving mirror. He grimaced at the wavy reflection he saw there. Farming would be a better line of work if it didn’t start quite so early in the morning.

He closed his eyes once more and almost managed to fall asleep again standing up. His own swaying motion startled him awake, and he looked at his reflection in the mirror with distaste. “Lazy slugabed!” he accused. His tone held real anger and self-disgust. Like most men, Vass had weaknesses. But unlike most, Vass knew that his own failings, his own flaws, had and could cause infinite pain and unending regrets. His own weakness had ruined lives, innocent lives and guilty ones, also. Since coming to the Greens’, he’d determined never to let his weakness show again. So, leaning forward, he scooped a double handful of the warm water and splashed it on his face. Like it or not, the days started early in Arkansas.

By the time he made it to the kitchen, at least he’d begun to look more like a hardworking farmer than a rounder after a wild Saturday night.

Lessy was alone, still sweetly singing. Without a word to her, Vassar reached for the pristine bucket that hung by the chum. Lessy glanced over at him, a warmth of pride lighting her face.

“Oh, I’ve already done the milking.”

Vassar gave a grunt of acknowledgment before he hung the bucket back on its nail. He looked on top of the cupboard to see the elm splint gathering basket was missing.

“Eggs?” he asked.

“Mammy’s gathering them now,” Lessy answered.

He nodded with gratitude and regret. He was late again. What must Lessy think of the man she’d agreed to marry? Milking was surely his task. And although many women gathered their eggs, his father had always both milked and gathered while Mama cooked breakfast.

With a mild feeling of failure Vass seated himself at the table, his pride in shambles. Lessy was perfect. A perfect woman destined to be a perfect farm wife. He eyed her as she bustled about. Cheerful and steady, Lessy’s hardworking life and happy disposition shamed him. Leaning his elbows on the table’s edge, he put his head in his hands. He rubbed his eyes to try to dispel the lassitude that still lingered there, but he could easily have drifted off again had Lessy not set a mug of steaming hot coffee in front of him.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

He took a sip as Lessy moved to put the biscuits beside him, singing again.

She had a pretty voice, and Vass was grateful for it. But how could anyone be so dang cheerful at daybreak! The screen door slammed as Nora Green returned.

“Best get that breakfast on the table, Lessy,” she said before turning her attention to Vass. “I saw a dustcloud out to the west—bet it’s the haying crew coming down the road.”

Vass made to rise, but the widow stayed him. “You can’t be putting in a day’s work on an empty stomach.”

Agreeably Vassar accepted the plate of bacon, biscuits, and grits Lessy set before him. “How many eggs do you want?” she asked.

“Give him a half dozen,” Nora answered for him. ‘That’s a big man you’ve got to fill up, Lessy, and a long day ahead of him.”

Vass was wide awake when the haying crew led by Roscoe Doobervale pulled up into the yard. Roscoe had been doing business at the Greens’ farm since before Lessy was born. He was a fellow of about Mammy Green’s age and sported a bushy gray mustache that seemed constantly in need of trimming.

“Blessed day to you, Vassar,” was the older man’s greeting.

“Looks like a blessed day for hay cutting, if you’re ready.”

Roscoe nodded and gestured toward the men who were just beginning to jump down from the back of the hay wagon where their gear was stowed. Trailing behind the wagon, like stray dogs following a sausage truck, were the machines that made modem haying a quick and reasonable task for a half dozen men. Vass immediately found his steps leading him to the shiny mechanical wonders. Almost with reverence he gently caressed the cold, brightly painted metal of the rake bars.

“You know most of these boys,” Roscoe said, interrupting Vass’s communion with the farm implements.

Looking up hastily, dismayed at his own bad manners, Vass acknowledged the men in the crew who were familiar to him. “John, Angus, Claidon.”

Handshakes were exchanged.

“That boy is Angus’s,” Roscoe said, pointing at a ruddy- complexioned young man in his teens. “His name’s Tommy. And this here is Ripley. He’s quite a hand with the machinery. He’s got that newfangled haykicker of mine slipping through the fields like a knife through butter.”

A man in his mid-twenties jumped from the back of the wagon. There was a sauntering laziness to his walk, but no shortage of implied power in his thick muscular arms and thighs. His coal-black hair hung in loose curls around his head, and bright blue eyes gazed out of a strong, handsome face. He gave a friendly nod to Vass, his smile was broad and his teeth straight and white, and one long, deep dimple curved down his left cheek. The new man was only a few inches shorter than Vassar and had to look up only slightly to meet his gaze. After wiping his hand casually on his trousers, he accepted the offered handshake. Vassar’s huge bearlike paw was much bigger than Ripley’s own, but his grip was of a man to his equal.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Green. You got some fine good fields a-growing here.”

“The name’s Muldrow, Vassar Muldrow.” He glanced around with pride. “I grew the fields, but they aren’t mine. The Widow Green owns this place.”

Ripley nodded with polite apology at his mistake and then raised a teasing eyebrow as he glanced around at the other men. “Widow, huh? I’m right partial to widows.” His words brought a guffaw of laughter from the rest of the crew. Vass felt vaguely unsettled.

“That Ripley’s got him a gal on every farm we’ve been through this year,” John Crenshaw explained. “I suspect half the gals in Arkansas are expecting him to come back at the end of the season and put a ring on their finger.”

Those words brought a spurt of laughter from the crew.

Vassar grinned companionably with the rest.

Old Roscoe shook his head with disapproval. “There’s more truth to that than I want to think about.”

“I swear I don’t know how he does it,” John said. “He just smiles that pretty smile and talks some pretty talk, and them gals are clinging to him like ivy on bramble vines.”

Ripley shrugged with feigned innocence and chuckled good-naturedly.

Vass was grinning more easily now. “I hope you don’t set your sights on Widow Green. She ain’t much of a woman for foolishness. My daddy sent me here for her to straighten out my ways. You start talking pretty to her, and she’s liable to wash your mouth out with soap.”

Ripley nodded, his words open and friendly. “Thank you, Muldrow. I consider myself warned. And call me Rip—everybody does.”

Vass slapped Rip on the back.

It took the better part of the morning to unload all the equipment. The crew would be camping out near the hay barn, where they could shelter in case of inclement weather.

Vass began hitching up the teams to the equipment and found Ripley at his side. He’d already noticed the man had a good mind for tools and implements as well as a quick wit. Rip had kept up a steady stream of conversation, which more than once brought a blush to Vass’s cheek and a grin to his lips.

“ ... and so the Quaker stood back a moment and recovered himself, and then he reached over and patted that mean old milk cow on the flank and said, ‘Nay, Bossy, I shall not strike thee. But on the morrow I’ll sell thee to a Baptist, and he’ll beat the hell out of thee!’ ”

Vass chuckled at the image and shook his head. But as he reached over to take the tie from Ripley, he saw the young man’s gaze was looking past him.

“Well, well,” the handsome young man drawled with a grin. “The widow might not be quite my style, but that one with her would be worth getting a mouth washing for.”

Curiously Vass turned to see Mammy Green and Lessy setting up the dinner table in the yard beside the house.

“That young one will do me just fine,” Rip was saying. “I ain’t close enough to see if she’s pretty, but she’s got a handsome way about her. See how she moves. It’s like her feet don’t touch the ground at all.”

Following Ripley’s gaze, Vassar watched Lessy walking around the table. It was kind of an interesting walk. He’d never noticed it before.

‘That’s Lessy. Widow Green’s daughter.”

Rip’s grin widened. “Her daughter? You’ve been holding out on me, Muldrow. Dirty Devils awaiting, I’ll be slicking my hair back when I go a-sparking her.”

Words sticking strangely in his throat, Vass finally managed to cough out a curt reply. “Miss Green is my intended.”

Ripley turned his attention back to Vass. His eyebrows were raised in surprise before he grinned wryly and with a feigned look of disgust folded his arms belligerently across his chest. “Well, if that ain’t a jackass pa-toot! Why didn’t you say so in the first place? You let me get my hopes all up and then tell me the gal is claimed. You warning me off?”

Vassar scoffed and shook his head as he hooked the traces to the crupper. “There’s no need for ‘warning you off,’ Ripley. Lessy is a quiet, hardworking woman without a thought in her head for flirting or vanity.”

Rip raised a speculative eyebrow. ‘Two peas in a pod, hey?”

Vass shrugged. “More like two sheaves of grain,” he said. “We’ve grown up together these last four years and have common goals for ourselves and the farm. We have a shared past and have expectation for a shared fate.”

“A shared fate?” Ripley whistled with admiration. “Now, I’ve told a gal or two that we were destiny, but I sure never made it sound as doggone boring as you do.”

Vass felt stung. “Maybe my Lessy likes boring.”

Ripley shook his head. “The gal may like you, but they ain’t no gals that like boring.”

T
he platter
of fried chicken was so heavy it took both Lessy and her mother to carry it. Feeding seven working men was a chore, and the two had started cooking the midday meal as soon as Vass had left from breakfast.

“Is that everything?” Lessy asked, surveying the heavily laden table.

“Good graces, I’ve forgot the bread!” Widow Green exclaimed. “Go call the hands to dinner and bring those loaves on your way back.”

Lessy hurried to the back porch and clanged the triangle loudly with the wand that hung from it by a string. With only a hasty glance toward the men near the bam, she stepped into the kitchen to get the bread. Six perfectly brown crusty loaves, still warm from the oven, were already piled in a wicker basket. She grabbed it up, but before hurrying out, she hastily checked her reflection in the small looking glass imbedded into the inlay of her mother’s china cabinet. Her hair was still in place, but she smoothed it nonetheless. Her brown eyes were big, too big she thought, and too close together to be truly attractive, but she didn’t really mind. Her nose, however, was thin and straight and sharp. Without thinking, she tapped the end of it with her index finger, a habit she’d formed years ago when Sugie Joe had told her that it came to a point like a butcher knife.

Reassured, Lessy let her fingers drift to the underside of her lower left jaw. A bout with smallpox as a youngster had left three small craters there that never shrank even after being massaged with cream treatments or browned with sun. Vassar was too kind to have ever mentioned the marks.

With a determined huff, she fought back the wave of self-pity that had churned up inside her. In fact, Vass really never commented on her appearance. Vass was not a man to be lured with a pretty face or charmed by vain foolishness, she mused. There was no flour on her nose or grease splatters on the bib front of her apron. She was clean and neat. That was all a good woman was expected to be. Raising her chin with determined pride, she headed out to the table spread under the maple tree.

Vass had already seated himself at the head of the table when Lessy set the basket of bread in front of him. He looked up and smiled. Her heart lifted with the flash of his white teeth, and shyly she returned his grin with one of her own.

Clearing his throat, he placed his elbows on either side of his plate and clasped his hands together before laying his forehead against the knuckles. “God, our blessed Father,” he began.