Cord climbed the stairs slowly to avoid jarring the drowsy woman in his arms. She weighed next to nothing, probably because she didn’t eat any more than Molly and she was still working from sunup until dark doing everything but lifting heavy bushels of apples into the wagon.
He bent at the knees to open the door to her bedroom, maneuvered her through it and laid her on the bed with the bouquet of flowers next to her. Her bedroom smelled like her, roses and lemons and soap. The room was soft, somehow. Feminine. Only a woman would put ruffled blue muslin curtains on a second-floor window nobody could see. Or sleep with a bouquet of flowers scenting the warm air.
It was too warm to cover her with the blue-and-yellow flowered quilt, so he pulled off her shoes and straightened her wrinkled blue denim work skirt. He thought about loosening the top two buttons of her shirtwaist, then decided that would be dancing too close to the devil. He’d have a hard time stopping at just two buttons.
But the air in her bedroom was stifling. Why did women insist on wearing high-necked garments on a steaming hot day like today? He went ahead and unbuttoned her shirtwaist until he glimpsed the lacy top of her camisole. At least she wasn’t wearing a corset. Then he moved to the window and shoved the sash up.
Fresh air wafted in. He turned back to the bed to find her eyes open, studying him.
“Are the children asleep?” she asked in a sleep-fuzzy voice.
“Guess so. Their bedroom door’s closed.”
“Check on them, would you? Danny is good at faking it.”
“Faking it to do what?”
“Reading something he knows I would not approve of.”
“Eleanor, he’s a growing boy. He’s gonna find out about the world outside your farm no matter what you do, so maybe you should let him do some exploring instead of squashing his natural curiosity.”
She giggled sleepily. “I can certainly see how you were raised.”
“No, you can’t.” She stretched her arms over her head and he tried not to stare at the creamy skin he’d exposed.
“Cord, tell me how you were raised.”
“Like he—Heck I will. Some things are private.”
She propped herself up on one elbow, then noticed that the top of her shirtwaist was gaping open. He expected her to screech, but she calmly undid one additional button and flapped the fabric against her chest. “It’s too hot,” she muttered.
Cord stuffed his hands in his back pockets to keep from touching her. “I’ll go check on the kids.”
“Do it later,” she said. “If you won’t tell me about your childhood, tell me about your wife.”
He jerked up as if he’d been shot. “No.” He hadn’t thought about his wife for eight long years, and he wasn’t about to start now. He made a move for the doorway but she caught his hand.
“I’m sorry, Cord. Really sorry.”
“For what?”
“For everything. I’m sorry about Tom and for being so weak after the pneumonia, and I’m sorry about your wife. I’m sorry you saw my apple trees in bloom on your way to California. I’m sorry you stopped.”
He sucked in a breath and held it, eyeing the daisy things he’d laid on the quilt beside her. Then he exhaled in one long, slow stream. “Eleanor, I’m sorry about Tom, and about you being sick. But I’m not sorry about your apple trees, and I’m sure as hell not sorry I stopped at your farm.”
Her eyes went wide. “Really? Why aren’t you sorry?”
“You can’t ask me that.”
“I can, too, ask that. Tell me.”
He picked up the bunch of daisies. “I need to put these in water,” he muttered.
When the door closed behind him, Eleanor lay staring at it for a long time, thinking of Cord’s mouth on hers, his lips asking questions she couldn’t answer.
She stood up, stripped her clothes off down to her drawers and camisole, and poured a pitcher of tepid water into the basin on the bureau. She was bone-tired, but it was too hot to sleep, so she bathed her sticky skin and stood in front of the open window to cool off. She grimaced at the thought of sitting up for another night, rocking back and forth in the wicker rocker.
Two weeks ago she would have sat out in the porch swing, enjoying the fresh night air. Two weeks ago she would have rolled herself up in the quilt and slept out in the backyard under the stars. Now she felt like a prisoner in her own house.
She stretched out on the bed, then sat bolt upright. This was her farm. Hers! She was in charge here. Something had to be done about Tom. And, she thought with an inward sob, something had to be done about Cord.
* * *
Danny and Cord sat hunched over the checkerboard in the shade of the maple trees. Eleanor was working nearby in her flower garden, deadheading yellow daisies with her garden shears, while Molly crooned to one of the captive kittens.
Tom was blessedly absent. There had been a scene at breakfast when Cord had asked for his help loading up the bushel baskets of ripe apples to take to Gillette Springs.
Got things to do in town, Tom had blustered.
Eleanor had confronted him, pancake spatula in hand. What things?
It’s Sunday, right? I’m...going to church.
She had laughed out loud at that. You haven’t seen the inside of the church since the day we were married!
But he’d stormed out to the barn anyway, saddled up that black gelding of his and clattered off down the road. She and Danny had helped Cord load up the baskets of apples, and now she was cutting flowers for bouquets, grateful the peace and quiet of a morning broken only by a meadowlark somewhere in the pasture. And Cord’s voice.
“Next,” Cord said to Danny, “you force my piece into the corner, like this. And then you...” Eleanor heard four crisp clicks as Cord apparently did something clever and Danny laughed.
“Gee, that’s real swift, Cord. I bet Mark Rose doesn’t know that trick!”
“Don’t be too sure, Dan. Mark has Rooney for a grandpa, and you can be sure that foxy old man is giving him some pointers.”
“When did you learn to play checkers, Cord?”
“When I was a kid, about your age.”
“Whereabouts was you?”
A pause. “Oh, here and there.”
“Yeah? Where’s ‘here and there’?”
Eleanor stopped her flower-snipping to listen more closely.
“Where was you borned, Cord?” Molly’s voice.
“Uh, Virginia.”
“Where’s Ginia?” Molly asked.
“Does your school map show the Southern states, Dan?”
“Sure. Virginia’s right next to Kentucky. What’dja do then?”
Cord cleared his throat. “When my ma died, my father took me to live with an aunt in Charleston. I didn’t like it much, and neither did Pa, so when he died I struck out for the West and ended up in Kansas.”
“How old were you?” Molly asked.
“Twelve. Almost.”
Eleanor dropped her shears. Twelve! Why, that was hardly older than Danny! Against her better judgment she moved closer and found herself shamelessly eavesdropping.
“Didja have a girlfriend?” Molly questioned.
“Yeah, Cord,” Danny echoed. “Didja?”
Cord laughed. “Hey, you want to learn to play killer checkers or not?”
“I wanna learn about you,” Molly sang.
Eleanor nodded in agreement. Girls were always more curious than boys.
“Didja have a girlfriend, Cord?” Danny asked again. “I won’t tell anybody, honest.”
“Well, not until I was older. Now, Dan, back to checkers. When you get a king—”
“How old was ‘older’?”
There was an awkward pause. “About fifteen, I guess. Almost.”
Eleanor almost laughed out loud. He’d been only fourteen years old! She would bet Cord had left a string of broken hearts all the way to Kansas. Ask him when he fell in love, she silently urged. When he got married.
“Cord, didja ever read a book called David Copperfield?”
“That what you’re reading in school?”
“Aw, heck, no. Miz Panovsky would prob’ly have a fit if she knew.”
“Why’s that?” Cord lowered his voice. “Strong language?”
“N-no, not really.”
“Naked ladies?” Cord’s voice sounded as if he would laugh if given half a chance.
“Huh? Shoot, no.”
“Then how come Miss What’s-her-name doesn’t like it?”
“Ma doesn’t like it, either,” Danny said.
“Why not? What’s this book about?”
“It’s about this boy who gets adopted by a rich lady.”
“And?”
“He gots a girlfriend,” Molly crowed. “A real pretty one.”
“Aw, how would you know?” Danny shouted.
“Cuz,” the girl announced, “I can read, too!”
Eleanor jerked upright.
Molly is reading? She’s reading David Copperfield? Molly is only seven years old!
Cord redirected the conversation. “Molly, can you play checkers, too?”
“No. I like playing with my dollies better.”
“Cord,” Danny interjected. “Maybe later you can tell me about some naked ladies, huh?”
Cord chuckled. “Years later, maybe. That’s for grown-up boys. Fourteen at least, okay?”
“Sixteen!” Eleanor blurted out aloud.
There was a long, quiet pause. “Okay, sixteen,” he called.
Eleanor pressed her lips together. “That’s still awfully young for naked—”
Cord gave a hoot of laughter. Eleanor’s face went hot and she dropped her shears into a patch of nicotiana.
“Why don’t you come on out, Eleanor?” Cord called. “You could hear even better over here.”
She bit her lip.
Cord listened for a moment but heard nothing but the snip-snick of her garden shears. He figured Danny was ready to give Rooney’s grandson a run for his checker money, so he drew the lesson to a close. But Molly wasn’t finished with him yet.
“Cord, d’you like boy dollies or girl dollies better?”
He hoped Eleanor was still listening. “I like girl dollies, honey.”
“How come?”
“Well...” He listened for the sound of snipping shears and when he heard nothing he couldn’t help smiling. He knew she was all ears.
“Girls are special,” he said loudly. “They look pretty and they smell good and they’re soft and warm. And they can do all kinds of things boys can’t.”
“What things?” Danny and his sister said in unison.
“Well, for one thing, girls can make cookies.”
“Boys can make cookies, too!” Danny said. “I can make oatmeal cookies bigger’n saucers.”
“Okay, let’s see. Another thing girls can do is dance.”
“Boys can dance, too!” Molly shouted.
Cord frowned and stroked his chin dramatically.
“Well...” Eleanor, are you listening to this? “Girls can make you feel better when you’re hurt.”
“Oh, yeah, I guess so,” Danny murmured.
“And girls can...uh...rock you to sleep at night,” he added.
Molly nodded her head so vigorously her curls bobbed.
“And girls can—” Cord closed his eyes briefly “—leave you all hot and bothered so you can’t sleep at night.”
“Huh?” Danny tugged his forearm. “What does ‘hot and bothered’ mean?”
Cord listened again for the sound of shears in the flower garden behind the trees, took a deep breath and answered the boy’s question. “Hot and bothered is something special that happens to grown-up boys. It means you can’t breathe right and you feel a funny kind of ache below your belly.”
“How ‘grown-up’ is a grown-up boy?” Danny wanted to know. And then he immediately added, “What kinda ache, Cord?”
Cord grinned. “It’s an ache that happens every time a special girl is near you. Not just a pretty girl, but a special one.”
Danny lowered his voice. “You mean a naked lady?”
Cord laughed. “Well, no. A lady doesn’t have to be naked to make a boy feel that ache.”
“Well, what does she have to be?”
“Don’t you dare answer that!” Eleanor shouted. She flew out from behind the maple trees and confronted him, fists propped on her hips.
Danny looked up, his expression bland. “Oh, h’lo, Ma.”
“Mama, you wanna play with my dolly?”
Cord got to his feet. “We were talking about David Copperfield, and one thing led to another.”
She glared at him. “Have you read David Copperfield?”
“Yeah, actually. When I was in, uh, Missouri I did a lot of reading. Some books I wouldn’t recommend for Daniel just yet. Come to think of it, Eleanor, have you read David Copperfield?”
“Certainly not!”
“Why not?” he asked, keeping as straight a face as he could manage.
“Because it’s...it’s... Well, I don’t have the time.”
He couldn’t help grinning. In the middle of a tense week, the last hour had been halfway enjoyable. Arousing, even. Just talking about a male reaction to something exciting had gotten him swollen and achy in a place he didn’t dare look at.
Girls can tie a man in knots.
“Dan, why don’t you and your sister go get some lemonade from that pitcher on the front porch?”
When the kids galloped off, Cord stepped toward Eleanor. “Okay, I admit I knew you were listening, and I was having some fun teasing you.”
“Fun! It was downright embarrassing!”
“Yeah, maybe it was. But there’s nothing wrong with David Copperfield. And maybe you shouldn’t get so hot and both—So het up about a book you haven’t read.”
“Don’t you tell me how to raise my son.”
“I’m not telling you how to raise him. I’m telling you not to criticize something you don’t know anything about.”
“Oh.”
Her furious scarlet face told him his remark had hit home. She stalked toward him. He stood unmoving, and when she got within two feet she began pelting him with the flowers she’d picked. At first he tried to catch them, but as the rain of asters and daisies and little furry-looking pink things pelted him, he gave up. When her hands were empty, he stepped in close and pulled her into his arms.
Her whole body was shaking. He pressed her head against his shoulder, noticing that her hair smelled of carnations. “Eleanor, don’t cry.”
“I—I’m n-not crying. I’m just mad.”
“What about?”
“What about!” she sobbed. “How can you ask that?”
He waited, not saying anything.
“About everything, I guess,” she said in an unsteady voice. “I just f-feel overwhelmed.”
He walked her to the front porch and poured a glass of cool lemonade. “Drink this.” He folded her hands around the glass. After she downed three good gulps, he propelled her up the steps and settled her in the porch swing.
“I threw away all the flowers I picked,” she said.
“I noticed,” he said with a smile. “You want me to go gather them up?”
She shook her head. “I was deadheading.”
“What’s that?”
“Snipping off the spent flowers. It makes them bloom even more.”
“Kinda like shaving, I guess.”
She gave a choked laugh. “I never thought of it like that, but yes. I guess shaving makes a man’s whiskers grow even more.”
He sent her a sharp look. “That’s true of other things, too.”
“Really? What other things?”
“Well, how about this. Someone told me once that if something doesn’t kill you, it makes you stronger. I thought about that a lot in prison.”
Her head drooped. “Oh, Cord, some days I feel like I’m in prison on this farm. And it’s my farm.”
“You’re not in prison,” he said bluntly. “You have no idea what being in prison is like. It changes you.”
She frowned down at the glass in her hand. “This summer is changing me. I’m not sure who I am anymore.”
Cord said nothing. This summer is changing me, too. And it scared him.