With This Kiss, page 247
As he pondered this strange mood in himself, he was distracted by the sound of a heated quarrel coming from the cabin. Although etiquette dictated that a guest should ignore any disagreements among family members, Roe found himself hurrying to his feet and taking off at a dead run toward the little homestead that he had somehow become a part of.
He clearly heard Onery's angry yelling long before he even reached the house. It had been a long, hot, sweaty day and he knew the old farmer was unlikely to work up much of a fury when he was tired and worn down. Obviously there was something very wrong and somehow Roe had a premonition that it concerned him.
Perhaps it was the lingering uneasiness he'd felt over plowing. He'd discovered that by starting at the edge of the cornfield, you couldn't turn the mule without leaving the field and tearing up the trees and cover around it. Roe had begun to suspect that maybe there had been some sense to Jesse's early insistence that the plowing shouldn't start at the logical point of entry to the field. But he had quelled his concerns. He was right; he was sure he was right. Jesse did things by tradition and memory. Roe did things by science. Science was always superior, he was sure.
As Roe stepped through the cabin doorway, he clearly heard Onery's angry words for the first time.
"Damnit, Jesse! I learn you and learn you and you do a thing right for ten years. Then up one morning you get a wild hair and do things all wrong as if what little sense you had just left you completely!"
Jesse stood before his father, head bowed, eyes downcast as he blinked back tears of shame and humiliation and endured his father's scolding.
"Your mind don't work right and we all know that. But that ain't no excuse for such plain foolishness as this. I done taught you better and if you cain't pull your share and do your work on this farm, then you're just a burden on the rest of us and we'd do well to just get shed of you completely. A man who cain't carry his own weight in this world is like a mule gone lame, completely worthless and beneath contempt."
Roe was frozen into silence.
Noticing his presence, Jesse glanced up at him for one quick minute. It was only a glance, but it was enough to see those bright blue eyes were red-rimmed and swimming with tears.
"Plowing up and down hill!" Onery continued. "I never heared of anything so dad-blamed stupid in my whole life. That whole field'll have to be replowed tomorrow morning. And we'll be damned lucky if it don't rain tonight and wash what decent topsoil is left up there right down the mountainside."
"I'm sorry, Pa," Jesse whispered.
"Sorry! That you are," his father snarled back. "Lord Almighty, Jesse. It ain't like we got a fine piece of corn bottom that we can just toss some seed near it and wait for the stalks to pop up. This is rocky, poor-yielding hillside ground and if we don't coddle it and nurse it along like a helpless baby, it's going to starve us out for sure."
"Yes, Pa," Jesse whispered.
"You're my son and I love ye. But I cain't let you starve us with your ignorant foolishness," Onery declared. "We're going to the woodshed. There's a board in there that might knock some sense into you."
Roe stepped aside as the two men passed him and went out the doorway, neither meeting his eyes. He stood mutely horrified. A strange silence lingered after they had gone and Roe turned his attention to the only other occupant of the room.
"My God, what is your father so angry about?"
Meggie looked up from the blackberries she was cleaning. Her cheeks were tear-stained but her blue-gray eyes met his directly. "You heard enough to know. The field was plowed wrong."
Roe nodded. "Yes, I understand that. But why is Onery so furious? Why did he say such awful things to Jesse? I know the poor fellow is simple, but there's no ill will in him. How can Onery talk like that to him, to talk of getting rid of him? He's going to beat Jesse?"
Meggie looked up at Roe. Her jaw was set tightly, but not so much in anger as frustration.
"Pa loves Jesse. He loves him more than you could ever understand. It's because he loves Jesse that he has to make him do right and be right."
Meggie's eyes filled again with tears and she stood and went to the hearth to stoke the fire, clearly unwilling to let him see her cry.
"Don't fret about it. Pa won't hurt him all that much and it has to be done."
"It has to be done!" Roe flung her words back to her in anger. "What has to be done? The boy is simpleminded and he made a mistake. I don't think that demands a beating."
"Well, what you think, Roe Farley, don't matter much now does it?" Meggie's reply was brisk. Then, like a balloon deflating, she sighed. "You just don't understand, Roe," she said, turning away from him again. "Pa and I won't always be here for Jesse." She stirred the ashes in the grate listlessly. "At least we can't be sure that we will. We've got to make sure now that Jesse can fend for himself and make himself useful among whatever folks is living on this mountain. He can't be allowed to make foolish mistakes. Foolish mistakes cost food and some winters there just isn't enough for everybody. If folks see Jesse eating, but not producing victuals, it'd be like he was a raccoon or an old bear that was getting into their stores. They'd run him off or kill him for it."
Roe stood silently, stunned. The concept behind her words was medieval, but he couldn't simply consider the idea as another fanciful academic curiosity. This world of the Ozarks was a primitive place where danger and death lurked around every corner. People here were forced to behave differently from those in the brick-paved streets of the Bay State.
But still, it was difficult to fathom that such vehemence and anger could be part of a father's love.
Roe thought of his own father and the times, now so far away, when he'd stood before his desk in the chestnut- paneled library. His father had never been angry. Never. He had looked dispassionately at Roe over the top of his spectacles and observed him as if he were a piece of property that he was thinking to buy. Roe had never felt his father's anger and had certainly never felt his father's hand. But, then again, perhaps he had never felt his father's love either.
Lost in his own thought, Roe was startled when Meggie suddenly touched his shirt to draw his attention. Her blue-gray eyes were grave with worry, but her tone was soft.
"Pa won't hurt him," she said.
"It was my idea." Roe felt a rush of guilt in his confession.
Meggie nodded. "I figured as much," she said. "Jesse didn't so much as lay a smidgen of blame at your feet, but I know he wouldn't have gotten such a fool notion as this on his own."
Roe looked at her.
"You're right, Meggie," he answered quietly. "For me to think I could advise Jesse about farming was a fool 'notion.'"
"Still, you mustn't blame yourself," she said. "Jesse just has to learn, and one of the things that he has to learn is that he must trust what he knows is right, even when somebody tells him different."
Roe nodded. "Yes, he needs to learn that. And I should learn to trust him when he knows more about something than I do."
Without another word, Roe stepped out of the cabin. His steps were determined and resolute. He was still angry, but now he was angry with himself.
He had been puffed up with himself and boastful. He'd read, he'd studied, he'd researched. But when it came to the lessons of life, he really knew next to nothing. Practical tasks had always been left to lesser folks than himself. Lesser folks like Jesse Best.
A loud sound cracked through the evening stillness of the clearing. Roe's eyes widened in shock.
"My God," he whispered under his breath.
He made it to the woodshed quickly. But not quick enough to stop the second blow. The shed door was wide open and Roe could clearly see the tableau inside. Jesse, his eyes dry now and his expression stoic, was bent over and supporting his weight on the crossbar of an old sawbuck. Onery stood behind him, his face a mask of pain as he raised the long green hickory limb he held in his hand and prepared to deliver another blow.
"Stop!"
Both men turned to face Roe, disconcerted by the interruption of a clearly distasteful task.
"You'd best go back to the house, Roe," Onery said quietly. 'This ain't no concern of yours."
"But it is," Roe insisted. "You don't know the truth about what happened today, Onery."
"I told him right," Jesse interrupted.
"You lied to him."
"I didn't."
"Jesse, I know you did. We are friends, remember, friends don't lie to each other."
The young man swallowed hard and stared silently at the dirt floor at his feet. "I won't lie no more, Roe. But I cain't say nothing against you neither."
Roe felt a strange lightness in his chest. No one had ever sacrificed anything for him before. Roe turned to face Onery.
"Jesse wanted to plow the field the right way, sir," he said with deference. "I talked him into what we did. I thought I knew better than he. But it appears that I don't know anything at all."
Onery nodded solemnly. Roe saw a new aspect to the old man's gaze. He recognized it as respect. "I thought as much," he said. "Although my boy didn't so much as even mention your name."
"You should know he wouldn't," Roe answered. "He's an honorable man."
"Yes," Onery agreed. "I suspect he is."
"Then you can see that he shouldn't be punished."
At that Onery raised an eyebrow and then shook his head. "Jesse's got to learn to do things right. Even when there is temptation not to. Wanting to please a man he likes and respects can be as dangerous a temptation as that snake in the Garden of Eden."
"Mr. Best, please!" Roe said. "It was my fault. I admitted that. Don't hit Jesse anymore."
The gray-bearded man looked over at him but didn't comply. "I've got to keep my word," he said simply. "I promised him five and five he's going to get."
Onery turned away from Roe.
"Wait!"
Stopping once more, Onery gave Roe an exasperated glance.
"He's got three more to go," the old man insisted.
Roe nodded. "Then let me take them."
Both men looked at him in shock.
"You promised him five," Roe said firmly. "Five it should be, but rightly most of those should be mine."
"Roe, no—" Jesse began.
Looking at the tall, broad-shouldered young man in plain homespun clothes. Roe smiled. "You know I deserve it," he said to Jesse. "Friends tell each other the truth and the truth is those licks belong to me. I can't have my friend taking them for me."
Onery looked at Roe thoughtfully, then at his own son. "I don't go around whipping strangers and visitors to the mountain."
Roe nodded in agreement. "But I'm not like a stranger. You've promised to help me with my work and let me stay here like one of the family. If I'm not to be treated like one of the family, I can't accept your hospitality."
"You don't have to take my licks, Roe," Jesse said with big, imploring eyes. "I don't mind 'em so much."
'They aren't your licks, Jesse. They are mine and I don't want you to take them for me."
For a long moment Onery and Roe stared at each other assessingly. Finally the old man nodded.
"I suspect you are right about that. It ain't quite the thing to see another man punished when you are as guilty as him." Onery nodded brusquely to his son. "Move along now, Jesse. It's Roe's turn."
His eyes wide with disbelief and admiration, Jesse moved to stand in the doorway next to Roe. Clasping hands, the two young men exchanged one brief moment of camaraderie before Roe took his place.
"Bend over and grab the sawbuck," Onery directed.
Roe did as he was bid, feeling a strange mixture of elation at having won the battle of words and humiliation at the ignominious position he found himself in.
He heard the faint whistle of green hickory through the air only an instant before the switch landed with considerable force against the seat of his trousers.
"Yeow!" Roe straightened immediately and turned to the man behind him. "That hurts!" he told Onery.
From the doorway of the shed came a little giggle. Roe turned to see Jesse's big silly grin. "It's supposed to hurt," he told Roe. "But you're not supposed to yell."
As the sting on his backside lessened, Roe could almost see the humor in the situation. "I'm not supposed to yell?"
Jesse shook his head. "No. It ain't manly. Ain't you never took a dose of hickory limb oil before?"
Roe shook his head. “This is my first time."
Jesse nodded gravely. "Well, think real hard about not yelling out or making any noise and it takes your mind off the pain some."
"You don't have to do this," Onery said quietly beside him.
Roe nodded firmly. "Yes, I do."
Bending once more over the sawbuck, Roe dug his fingernails into the soft pine and willed himself to take the next blow in what Jesse would consider a more manly fashion. He secretly hoped that the old man would stint on the delivery, but the second blow was laid across his backside with the same force as the first. Roe clenched his jaw and ground his teeth, but he managed not to yell out. The third blow came almost immediately, before Roe had even a chance to catch his breath and a slight moan escaped through his lips. But apparently it wasn't too noticeable because when he stood up, Jesse was beside him, smiling and eager with praise.
"You did real good," he told Roe generously. "The first time Pa switched me, why I cried for half a day for sure."
Jesse's smile was so warm and so full of admiration, Roe found he could almost ignore the sharply stinging stripes on his backside.
"We're going down to the crick," Jesse told his father.
Onery nodded. "Don't you fellers be too late. I'll have Meggie set some supper in the warming bin for you."
Roe followed Jesse outside and they headed down the wooded path to the creek. The young man was laughing excitedly and talking about their shared punishment. Walking behind him, Roe listened with amused interest.
Taking those licks was exactly the thing to do. He felt a strange sense of pride in his actions. Still, he couldn't help but wish that they had made less of an impression upon him. When they reached the wide flat place where they usually fetched water, Jesse turned upstream. Roe followed him up the narrow snaky creek bank for nearly a half a mile.
The scratchy cadence of crickets portended the lateness of the day. The riffling and babbling of the little mountain creek beside him was surprisingly loud in the gray light of the evening. The air was alive with flying and buzzing creatures. And Roe watched with pleasure as the lightning bugs glowed in mixed concert across the creek and in the woods.
A big brown river rock jutted out into a wide place in the stream. A couple of inches of cool, clear white water flowed rapidly across the rock. Jesse stopped and began undoing his overalls.
"What in the world are you doing?"
The young man smiled at him. "Ain't nothing like an ice-cold mountain stream to take the fire out of hickory."
A few minutes later both men were naked and lolling out on the river rock, laughing and talking and sharing the beauty of the clear summer night, their stripes cooling in the crisp, clear water.
The moon was high in the sky before the two returned to the cabin. Onery was snoring in his bed and Meggie lay silently in her pallet on the floor as Jesse and Roe retrieved their supper tins from the small square warming oven built above the firebox.
Tiptoeing, the two went back outside to eat on the porch. There was a quiet companionship between the two men who, in the last hours, had become equal partners for the first time. The cool waters that had eased their pain and forged their companionship now chilled them in the evening breeze and spurred their appetites. Meggie Best's plain beans with fat back had never tasted better.
"Jesse, are you all right?"
The words came from the doorway and both men turned to see Meggie standing there. She was bundled up in a thin cotton wrapper over her josie, her long hair hung loose down her back, nearly to her waist. Her blue-grey eyes were drooping with sleepiness.
"I'm as right as rain," Jesse answered, his voice a whisper in concession to his snoring father. He looked over in pride at the man beside him. "Roe took three, I only got two."
Meggie stepped out onto the porch. "I know," she said. "Pa told me."
She looked over at Roe, her expression free of its usual wariness. "I thank you very much, Mr. Farley." Her voice was soft and sincere.
"Don't be too nice to me, Meggie. I ain't sick," Roe answered, mimicking Onery's heavily accented words and the little Ozark joke he often used.
Meggie giggled, delighted.
Roe felt a strange lightness in his head. In the silvery moonlight, Meggie Best looked like an angel. Her sweet-spoken words had a gentleness that was both innocent and enticing. And tonight, to Roe's eyes, she was beautiful. Her long hair glistened and fell in loose attractive waves down her back and across her bosom. Those shiny curls lured a man's hand to reach up and touch them. Her amply curved figure was finely displayed in the soft, oft-washed homespun cotton. And Eve in the Garden of Eden couldn't have managed more womanly allure.
Roe felt a tightening in his groin and an expansion in his heart as he looked at her. Neither feeling was especially welcome. He hadn't completely forgotten his startling view of the naked Meggie Best. Or her overenthusiastic kissing. But he had no business thinking those kinds of thoughts about a woman he hardly knew and to whom he had no intentions at all.
"He's just fooling with ye, Meggie," Jesse said with a happy giggle that echoed across the barnyard in the stillness of the night. He scooted over, leaving a broad empty space between himself and Roe. "Sit down with us, Meggie. It's as pretty a night as you can see on the mountain and the lightning bugs are twinkling all over the place."
