Making Hay (4 page)

Watching young Vass, Lessy had come to know him. He looked at Sugie Jo Mouwers. But he was more comfortable talking to Maizie Watson, the preacher’s wife. He played dominoes and chinkerchecks, but he preferred to spend his evenings reading the Farm Bulletin. He could sing quite fair and was light on his feet at the local dances. But he was happier walking the land and humming to himself.

Lessy watched and had learned. She was now as easy to talk to as the preacher’s wife, totally content with an evening of reading, and openly stated her preference for farm activities over social outings.

In point of fact, Lessy did love the farming and had never dreamed of a different life. But though she’d become everything Vass wanted, for four long years Vass had fought the love that she offered.

Having plucked the last stringy thread of cornsilk from the roasting ear, Lessy threw it into the basin and grabbed another from the basket.

Now Lessy had won him at last. Their marriage was only weeks away. And she and Vass were now perfectly matched.

Grabbing the dark husk tips of corn, she ripped down with her usual efficiency. She gave a startled little cry and dropped the ear abruptly. A big, furry green and brown corn borer lazily crawled along an eaten-out path of kernels. She shuddered slightly before determinedly jerking up the corn and flicking the hideous worm into the pile of husks bound for the compost heap. She hated creepy, crawly things, especially corn borers. It was amazing how they could hide so completely in what appeared to be a perfectly developed ear of corn.

Lessy snapped off the wormy piece and threw it in the husk pile before she cleaned the silk out of the untouched portion and continued her work.

Again she gazed across the fields to the hay meadow. The haykicker made its noisy way behind the men and mower, and Lessy’s eyes were drawn to it. Her lips widened to a smile.

That Ripley was about the best-looking fellow she’d ever seen in her life. And with his pretty face came a silver tongue. That man could talk snakes into buying shoes. Her memory strayed to the touch of his hand on her cheek. She tutted to her self and shook her head. Clearly, Mr. Ripley had a way about him that was likely fatal to the female sex.

Ripping open another ear of corn, this time more hesitantly, fearing more corn borers, she absently wished that Vass had some of those winning ways. Then she forcibly pushed the thought from her mind. If Vass was not the romantic type, then the romantic type was not what she wanted.

I
t was
full dark before Vass stepped in through the back door.

“You still at it?” he asked of Lessy, who was noisily puttering about the kitchen.

She shook her head and smiled at him warmly. “I’m just getting a little ahead for tomorrow. Mammy’s already gone to bed, and I was really waiting up for you.”

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Vass cast a nervous glance toward the bedroom Lessy shared with her mother. Being alone with her was surely asking for trouble.

“You want to go walking out?” The question was asked almost incredulously. Everybody on the farm had been working almost nonstop since daybreak, and the whole crew was bone tired. If Vass didn’t go to sleep now, he wouldn’t be able to rise until noon tomorrow.

“Oh no,” Lessy assured him quickly. “I know you’re tired, and... well, the barnyard and the orchard don’t seem quite our own with the hay crew staying there.”

Vass nodded in agreement.

“I’d just like to sit in the parlor a few minutes if you’d like to,” Lessy said. “Perhaps we could just visit a little, tell each other about our day.”

Tiredness aside, an unchaperoned evening in the parlor was something that Vass knew he should discourage. Still, they were betrothed, and a few moments of his time during a busy working day seemed such a simple request.

Vassar nodded. Lessy was more precious to him than anything he’d ever worked for in his life. She deserved heaven on earth, he was sure of that. Unfortunately, he had a lot less to offer. If she wanted a bit of companionship, it was certainly his duty as well as his pleasure to provide it.

Stimulating conversation, however, was not one of Vassar’s strong points, and as the two settled themselves on opposite ends of Mammy Green’s brocatele divan, he began his usual turn of phrase.

“Did you see that new haykicker out there? Is that some kind of machine or what? I’d be sitting pretty with a piece like that hitched behind my team.”

“It’s a very fancy machine,” Lessy agreed.

“We got a lot done today.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. If it keeps up this way, we may be done by the end of the week.”

‘That’s wonderful.”

As the subject concluded, a long pause ensued.

“How are the hens laying?” he asked finally.

“Only nine this morning,” she answered. “But you know how much they hate this heat.”

“Hmmph,” Vass agreed. “What about Sissy—she don’t look to go dry?”

Lessy shook her head. “Sissy’s just fine. She seems to be in the prime of health. I think she spends the hot afternoons sitting down in that shady spot in the little creek.”

“Umph,” he agreed. “I saw the garden as I came in. It looks plenty big still. You’ve got enough tomatoes out there to feed the Arkansas Guard.”

Lessy smiled warmly and tilted her head to give him a welcoming look. “I know how much you love tomatoes.”

Vass smiled back, his face flushed with pleasure, and cleared his throat absently.

‘The peach orchard looks—”

“Vass.” Lessy interrupted him gently. In her mind’s eye she saw the corn borer inside what looked to be a perfect roasting ear. “Let’s talk about something else.” “Something else?”

“Something else besides the farm. That’s all we ever talk about, it seems. We just talk about the farm. Why don’t we talk about something else tonight.”

“Well, sure, Lessy,” he agreed. “We can talk about whatever you want.”

The two sat smiling silently together for a long moment. “Sure hope this weather holds,” Vassar blurted out finally-

Lessy nodded. Silence.

“There’s talk at church about a harvest revival,” she said.

Vass nodded. Silence.

“I see your mother is fixing to switch rooms with me.” Silence. Lessy blushed furiously, and Vassar coughed, mentally kicking himself in the head.

The room became quiet once more. Vass scanned the ceiling boards as if topics for conversation might be written upon them.

“Roscoe told me that he and his wife took the train to Kansas City last year,” he said finally.

“Oh, really?”

“Um-hum. He said they just drove the buggy up to DeQueen to catch the train, then sat back and watched two states go by from their window.”

Lessy sighed. “That sounds wonderful.”

“You like traveling?”

She giggled. “I wouldn’t know,” she told him. “I’ve never been anywhere.”

Vass smiled. “Well, I don’t care for it much. It’s a lot of heat and bother, and I like sleeping in my own bed. But maybe we could go up to a stock show or something sometime. Just so you could say you’ve been somewhere.”

“Oh, no, please,” Lessy said. “I wouldn’t want to go just for me. If you don’t like traveling, then we’ll just stay here.”

His expression softening, Vass reached over to take her hand and squeezed it gently. “Sweet Lessy, I believe you are a sainted angel that God sent to me.”.

He ascribed the vivid blush that swept her cheeks to modesty. Lessy seemed disconcerted, giving him quick encouraging little smiles and then dropping her gaze to her hands.

Vass searched his brain for lighter topics. Perhaps they could discuss last Sunday’s sermon. Unfortunately, he didn’t remember a word of it. He grabbed upon and then discarded numerous subjects because they were farm-related. When he was almost ready to give up in defeat, Lessy spoke.

“You know, the funniest thing happened to me today,” she began.

“What?” he asked.

Lessy shrugged, a little unsure of herself. “Well, it’s really ... I probably shouldn’t even tell you this.”

‘Tell me,” he insisted with a warm, open smile. “After a hard day’s work a man needs a bit of humor come evening.”

“Well, it was really quite embarrassing, actually,” she said. “Sometimes our most embarrassing moments can really be very funny.”

Vass chuckled with agreement, remembering some of his own. “I can’t imagine what you could ever be embarrassed about,” he said. “But I’m sitting with my ears perked, waiting to hear.”

Lessy smiled a little shyly before giving a big sigh of resignation. “You know that tune you hum all the time?”

‘Tune?”

“You know, the tune you hum while you’re working.”

“I hum?” He looked at her quizzically. “I didn’t realize it.”

“Yes, you are always humming this tune. I swear, every time I get near you or we’re working together, you start humming this tune. I’ve come to think of it as sort of a part of you.”

Vass was still smiling but shrugged in disbelief. “I can’t imagine what it is.”

“It goes—” Lessy hummed a few bars. Her rendition was a little off key, and Vass listened intently before he shook his head without recognition.

“Well, it’s called—” She hesitated and then swallowed a giggling blush. “It’s called ‘Plowing Millie.’ And I was humming it in the bam, not knowing what it was about. And that Mr. Ripley came in and started singing it. I declare, I must have turned every shade of red in the sunset.”

Her words had run together rather quickly, but as she spoke, Vassar’s eyes widened in shock and his jaw dropped open far enough to drive a team through.

In memory he saw himself, his older brothers, and their friends sitting behind the corncrib back at his daddy’s farm. They were drinking root beer and pretending it was the real thing. Between swapping stories and speculation about women’s anatomy, they sang the raunchy beer tunes of hardened rounders.

S
weet Millie whined

Now please be kind.

I almost am a virgin.

Except for Joe and Cousin Moe

And the baseball team at Spurgeon.

“
R
ipley sang
that song to you!” The words came roaring out of Vassar’s mouth with such fury that Lessy jumped.

“He sang the chorus, Vassar, only the chorus,” Lessy insisted quickly. “He said that the verses weren’t proper for me to hear.”

“Nothing about that song is proper for you to hear.”

Vass had risen angrily to his feet, and his hands were clenched in suppressed rage.

“It was my fault,” Lessy insisted. “I was the one that was humming the song after all.”

Vass turned to look at her, his eyes wild. “It was not your fault,” he told her, keeping his voice deliberately controlled. “You would never think of doing anything shady or wicked.”

Vassar was perfectly clear about whose fault it was. It was his own. What evil demon in his soul had him humming whoring ballads in the presence of a lady! Be sure your sins will find you out was more of a promise than a threat. Every day, every day, he tried to be worthy of Lessy, to be worthy of the woman of his dreams. But still he couldn’t manage to live up to the man she believed him to be. He couldn’t live up to the man that she deserved. His past sin might be forgiven, but the wickedness that still haunted his thoughts and his nights was not so easily vanquished.

“I need to take a walk,” he announced as he moved toward the door.

Lessy hurried after him. “You’re not going to do anything to Mr. Ripley?”

Vass looked back, surprised. “No, no, of course not.” She was such a darling. Concerned for him, concerned for Ripley, never a thought to the terrible misdeed he had done, exposing her to the lowness of his own weakness. Vass reached over and patted her shoulder comfortingly. “I just need to be alone a while.”

P
ulling
his hat from his head, Vass reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow. The teams had stopped moving, and the men had moved to the shady side of the horses as Lessy made her way through the group with cool water fresh from the well.

Beside him, Roscoe Doobervale spit a wad of tobacco into the new-mown field. “Don’t like the looks of those clouds to the west,” he said. “That’s more than a chance shower, I’d stake my best boots on it.”

Vass glanced in the direction he’d indicated and nodded his head. “I suspect we’d best get what we can into the barn and let the rest meet the rain.”

He didn’t hear the old man’s reply as his attention was drawn to the end of the wagon. Lessy and Ripley stood together, talking and laughing as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Rip was looking down into her eyes, his smile wide and his expression flirty. Lessy was looking back at him with only the palest flush of modesty on her face. What she told him made Ripley laugh, a deep hearty baritone, and she joined in with a tinkly giggle.

Watching them, there was little doubt in Vassar’s mind that they had found something other than farming to talk about.

“Hey, Miss Lessy,” Biggs called out. “Did you bring all that water for Ripley, or can the rest of us have some?”

Momentarily startled, Lessy looked at the water bucket in her hand as if she’d forgotten its existence. Then she gave Rip a feigned look of censure and shook her finger at him threateningly. “That’s why you’re trying to sweet-talk me! You want to keep this water within easy reach.”

Ripley hung his head and placed his arms before her, wrists crossed like a guilty criminal asking to be led away. Lessy shook her head as she moved away, offering water to the rest of the men.

Vass valiantly attempted to focus his attention on what Doobervale was saying, but his eyes kept drifting to Lessy, whose cheeks were pink.

True to his word, he hadn’t spoken to Ripley about the song. It was not Rip’s fault, he’d concluded. It was surely his own. In the long night as he’d walked the peach orchard, he’d mentally cataloged his long list of sins.

He had wanted Lessy even before he’d ever seen her.

“It’s no shame to have desire, son,” his father had told him that long-ago summer. “But there is a place for it, and that place is the marriage bed.”

Vass had hung his head in shame before his father. Shame had become his most familiar emotion. Shame was how he felt, and shame was what he’d brought, on his family and others.

“It just happened,” he’d confessed to his father. “I don’t know how it happened, it just did.”

What had happened was Mrs. Mabel Brightmore. The wife of an aged and somewhat stodgy husband who was the local Granger representative. Mr. Brightmore was out of town quite frequently on business, and he’d hired Vass, then only seventeen, to take care of the heavy chores.

Those heavy chores had turned out to be more burdensome than he’d ever imagined. That long, blissful summer of his seventeenth year had been a sensual feast for a young man nearly starved. Mabel was enraptured with the broad young shoulders and the blushing innocence of the neighbor’s boy.

“You don’t know how lucky you are,” she’d told him more than once as they lay in the lazy afterglow of an afternoon’s illicit pleasures. “Why, your brothers and all your friends would just be green jealous if they knew that you and me were having such a good time.”

He had felt lucky. He was hot and eager, randy and lucky. After a taste of the forbidden, he hadn’t been willing to go back to being just another farmboy. It no longer mattered if Mr. Brightmore was due home any minute; they loitered in his bed illicitly. And if he were in the field, they could linger in the hayloft. And while the quiet, honest man spoke to his neighbors of farming concerns, Mabel and Vassar whispered coarse and wicked words in the seclusion of the Brightmore buggy or the broad daylight of Shady Creek bridge.

And Vass had thought himself the luckiest man on earth. Then his luck ran out.

“Harlot! Jezebel!” Vass could still hear Mr. Brightmore screaming through his tears. He’d surprised the two of them behind the men’s privy at the Granger Hall. Nearly every man, woman, and child in Arkadelphia had been there. They’d heard Brightmore’s words, they’d stared at Mabel’s disheveled clothes, and they’d witnessed Vassar’s shame.

It was only his father and Reverend Watson who had kept old Brightmore from killing Vassar where he stood. There had been times when Vass had wished he had. Mabel left the county in disgrace. His parents could hardly hold their heads up in town. They decided to send him away.

“Hard work and your cousin Nora’s moral values will keep you on the straight and narrow,” his father had prophesied. “The only young woman within miles is little Lessy. And she is the kind you marry, not the kind you lust after.”