it over and over, he'd come to accept it as a part of himself, like his hair and eye color. But that was before he'd known what acceptance meant, known what he would have to learn to live without.
He couldn't stop the sigh that blew through him like grief. He pushed away from the tree and turned to go, then he stopped. Like Lot 's wife, he couldn't resist. He looked back and was lost. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he gave the call of the mockingbird, then waited. His eyes focused on the upper window, he gave the call again, and this time his message was answered.
A slim delicate hand whisked the curtains away, and Bessie Jane Turpin looked down at him. Her hair was tousled from sleep, but her eyes were opened wide, revealing both surprise and fear. They stood staring at each other, able to see perfectly clearly, yet the distance between them was far more than could be measured in miles. They watched, waited. Finally, Harm turned, glanced back once, then walked into the night.
----
CHAPTER 8
« ^ »
F rom the moment Reed put his plow to the earth, he knew he was right. The blade cut through the blue prairie grass and turned the topsoil, revealing water just inches below the surface. As he sliced through the thick layer, the disruption created a thick mud soup that was ideal for rice.
"This is it," he told Hattie. "If I had any doubts, they're all flying in the breeze this morning."
Monday had dawned warm and bright with just a hint of wind. Reed had been so anxious, he'd barely managed to gulp down his breakfast of grits and eggs. But he did take three biscuits with him before he hitched the mules to the plow.
As he headed out to the field, he chanced to look back. Hattie stood on the porch watching him go. She looked more than a little disappointed and very left out. "It's your rice field, Miss Hattie!" he called to her. "Don't you want to come down there with me? Watch the first cut in the soil?"
Her eyes lit up momentarily until discipline and good judgment overruled. "I've got chores to do yet this morning," she said. "I'll be down a little later."
Reed stopped and gazed at her, considering.
"I said I'd come down later!" she called more loudly, apparently assuming poor hearing had caused his hesitance.
Looking at the mules hitched to the plow and ready to go, he said to himself as much as to them, "It just wouldn't be right for Miss Hattie not to be there." He led the team to a shade tree and started back to the house.
"With both of us working," he said as he stepped up onto the porch, "we'll get through your chores in a gnat's age."
Hattie's smile spread delightfully across her face at his words, and was followed by laughter when he added, "But I am not milking that goat!"
"Guard your tongue, Reed Tyler," she said. "If you hurt Myrene's feelings, there'll be nothing but sour-milk biscuits for a month."
Reed said he'd take the hogs and chickens if Hattie milked Myrene and handled the house and garden.
Jerking her straw hat off the wall, Hattie bolted from the porch so quickly, she startled the goat. "Don't a one of you give me a lick of trouble this morning," she warned the occupants of the barnyard. "These are going to be the fastest chores ever done."
Reed laughed at her threats to the dumb farm creatures, but remembering his own remark to the mules, thought it best to refrain from comment.
Hattie showed she was as good as her word, gathering eggs and straining Myrene's milk with her usual efficiency. Like her partner, though, her mind was down at the rice field.
Within an hour the two were walking side by side, leading the team to the bluff. The sun wasn't yet hot, and Hattie carried her straw hat, letting the wind blow through the wisps of hair that had escaped the proper knot at the nape of her neck. With the sky a bright blue and the bees droning their sweet summer song, she felt as carefree as a girl. Reed's smile didn't hurt the situation one bit.
"Look at that cotton, Miss Hattie,"
He couldn't stop the sigh that blew through him like grief. He pushed away from the tree and turned to go, then he stopped. Like Lot 's wife, he couldn't resist. He looked back and was lost. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he gave the call of the mockingbird, then waited. His eyes focused on the upper window, he gave the call again, and this time his message was answered.
A slim delicate hand whisked the curtains away, and Bessie Jane Turpin looked down at him. Her hair was tousled from sleep, but her eyes were opened wide, revealing both surprise and fear. They stood staring at each other, able to see perfectly clearly, yet the distance between them was far more than could be measured in miles. They watched, waited. Finally, Harm turned, glanced back once, then walked into the night.
----
CHAPTER 8
« ^ »
F rom the moment Reed put his plow to the earth, he knew he was right. The blade cut through the blue prairie grass and turned the topsoil, revealing water just inches below the surface. As he sliced through the thick layer, the disruption created a thick mud soup that was ideal for rice.
"This is it," he told Hattie. "If I had any doubts, they're all flying in the breeze this morning."
Monday had dawned warm and bright with just a hint of wind. Reed had been so anxious, he'd barely managed to gulp down his breakfast of grits and eggs. But he did take three biscuits with him before he hitched the mules to the plow.
As he headed out to the field, he chanced to look back. Hattie stood on the porch watching him go. She looked more than a little disappointed and very left out. "It's your rice field, Miss Hattie!" he called to her. "Don't you want to come down there with me? Watch the first cut in the soil?"
Her eyes lit up momentarily until discipline and good judgment overruled. "I've got chores to do yet this morning," she said. "I'll be down a little later."
Reed stopped and gazed at her, considering.
"I said I'd come down later!" she called more loudly, apparently assuming poor hearing had caused his hesitance.
Looking at the mules hitched to the plow and ready to go, he said to himself as much as to them, "It just wouldn't be right for Miss Hattie not to be there." He led the team to a shade tree and started back to the house.
"With both of us working," he said as he stepped up onto the porch, "we'll get through your chores in a gnat's age."
Hattie's smile spread delightfully across her face at his words, and was followed by laughter when he added, "But I am not milking that goat!"
"Guard your tongue, Reed Tyler," she said. "If you hurt Myrene's feelings, there'll be nothing but sour-milk biscuits for a month."
Reed said he'd take the hogs and chickens if Hattie milked Myrene and handled the house and garden.
Jerking her straw hat off the wall, Hattie bolted from the porch so quickly, she startled the goat. "Don't a one of you give me a lick of trouble this morning," she warned the occupants of the barnyard. "These are going to be the fastest chores ever done."
Reed laughed at her threats to the dumb farm creatures, but remembering his own remark to the mules, thought it best to refrain from comment.
Hattie showed she was as good as her word, gathering eggs and straining Myrene's milk with her usual efficiency. Like her partner, though, her mind was down at the rice field.
Within an hour the two were walking side by side, leading the team to the bluff. The sun wasn't yet hot, and Hattie carried her straw hat, letting the wind blow through the wisps of hair that had escaped the proper knot at the nape of her neck. With the sky a bright blue and the bees droning their sweet summer song, she felt as carefree as a girl. Reed's smile didn't hurt the situation one bit.
"Look at that cotton, Miss Hattie,"
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