Lynna Banning - The Courtship

Jane surveyed the bent figure trudging beside her. He looked healthy enough, but his right shirt-sleeve was pinned up, indicating a missing arm. She couldn’t bear to embarrass him by declining his offer.

“That is most thoughtful of you, Mr. Springer. First, however, I wish to inspect my place of business. Mr. Wilder said it was right next to the mercantile, but I don’t recall seeing anything that looked like a store.”

The old man gave her a sideways look. “No wonder in that, I guess. ’T’aint much of a store, more like a…well, you’ll see fer yourself, it’s just yonder.”

“I don’t care what it is, Mr. Springer, it’s a start. For me, it’s a whole new life!” For a fleeting moment she wondered at herself, talking so freely about her plans. She’d been taught never to speak of things other than the weather and recipes for rheumatism medicine and who’s having a baby, and here she was chattering on about her ideas. Maybe it was because Mr. Springer’s blue eyes snapped with intelligence. Or was it because he was a sweet, frail man whom she sensed was a bit lonely for company? Perhaps he was a kindred spirit. His interest in her venture seemed so genuine she didn’t even mind too much that he was a Yankee.

“You don’t mind me sayin’ so, Miz Jane, you been frownin’ somethin’ fierce ever since you come outta the bank. I never seen anyone look more serious.”

Jane stopped midstride and stared at him. “‘Serious,’ Mr. Springer, does not begin to describe my state of mind. I am committed. Determined. Resolute!” She stopped herself from adding “desperate” only because he was pointing at something behind her.

“There ’tis. Your store.”

Jane whirled to see. “Where? I don’t see a—Oh, you mean that little add-on next to the…? Oh. Oh, my.” Her heart sank.

A tilting clapboard structure no wider than the back end of a wagon leaned against the mercantile building. She stepped closer. The single window, slightly wider than the plain plank door, was so grimy she could not see through the glass. No matter. At the moment, she couldn’t face looking inside. A weathered wooden sign swung on a chain in the wind. Mercer’s Feed & Seed. Cash Only.

“Used to be Rafe Mercer’s feed storage room. Looks kinda worse for wear, don’t it?”

Jane’s mouth was as dry as field cotton. “It looks like the darky quarters back home in Marion County. Only not as clean.”

“Miz Jane, I jes’ gotta say this. This ain’t no kinda place for a lady. Why don’t you take your momma and go back where you come from?”

She bit down hard on her lower lip. “I cannot, Mr. Springer. My mother is…unwell at the moment, and…”

And she had no money for train fare, other than what Mr. Wilder had lent her. Besides, even if her mother could travel, she couldn’t leave Dixon Falls with Papa’s debts still unpaid, and now, on top of that, there was the bank loan to pay back.

The old man’s eyes narrowed in unspoken understanding. “I bet you’d hightail it outta here if’n you could find a way.”

“I’ll find a way,” Jane said quietly. “And the first step is to take down that awful sign and scrub that window.” She nodded her head politely. “Good day to you, Mr. Springer. I’d best visit the mercantile and purchase an extra bar of lye soap.”

“You tell Mr. Mercer I’ll tote yer supplies on over to your store for ya. Meanwhile, I think I’ll mosey on down to the Silver Cup and have some words with an old friend.”

“Dell, you outta be horsewhipped fer what you’re puttin’ that gal through. This ain’t no way to court a lady like Miz Jane.”

Rydell downed the last of his whiskey and looked at Lefty across the oak table. “The courting part comes later. First, she’s got to give up that fool notion about supporting herself and her mother by making dresses.”

“You gonna let her work herself to the bone so’s you kin pick up the pieces? Dell, her hands ain’t never done nothin’ but play the pi-anna and embroider tea towels.”

Rydell looked straight at his friend. “I want a wife who’s a partner, not a decoration.”

“Then choose some other gal. Lord knows you’d have yer pick.”

Rydell ignored him. “Jane’s got more inside her than she knows,” he said. He smoothed one finger around the rim of his glass. “I’ve waited for ten years. I’m willing to wait some more.”

Lefty plunked his beer glass down so hard the liquid sloshed over the side. “You waited ten years cuz her daddy ran you off. Now that he’s gone, why’nt you jes’ grab her? I seen you do that with plenty of other women, so don’t say you don’t know how. Jes’ do it!”

“Lefty, you ever think about a man and a woman? What it means for them to be together?”

“Hell, yes, all the time. Nuthin’ complicated ’bout that. Hug ’em, kiss ’em, and rope ’em quick.”

Rydell grinned. “You’re a smart man, Lefty. How come you’re so dumb when it comes to women?”

“I’m a good forty years older’n you, boy, so I know what I’m yakkin’ about. Women is women.”

“There’s more to it than that. Jane is…Jane. She’s not ready.”

The older man groaned. “You’re a smart man, too, Dell. How come you’re so dumb when it comes to Miz Jane?”

Rydell rose and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “She’s a spinster. Overeducated. Underexperienced. But I like her. Always have. She deserves the chance to learn who she is.”

Tossing a coin on the table, he strolled toward the saloon doorway. “Besides,” he said over his shoulder, “she won’t suffer long. As green as she is in the ways of the world, inside of a week she’ll drop into my hand like a ripe peach.”

“I don’t think so,” Lefty muttered. “I think you’re the one who’s gonna learn the lesson.”

But his words, punctuated by the swish-whap of the swinging doors, echoed in an empty barroom.

“Here’s your tea, Mama.” Jane lowered the silver tray onto the table next to the upholstered settee. “I fixed it just the way you like it.”

“Why, thank you, dear. Such a nice custom, don’t you think? Whenever Ah am in a tizzy, Ah just have my tea and soon it’s all better.”

Jane gazed past her mother’s pale blue eyes to focus on the rose-flowered wallpaper on the wall behind her. How Mama clung to the past, especially when things upset her. Her entire day was made up of rituals from when she had been a belle—hot cocoa served to her in bed, roses arranged in crystal vases, tea every afternoon. Then the War came, and their lives were shattered. Until the day he died, her father referred to that dreadful fighting as The War of Northern Aggression.

“I went to town today, Mama. To the bank and the mercantile.” She forced a gaiety she didn’t feel into her tone.

“I trust you were properly chaperoned?”

Jane hesitated, her hand on the handle of the silver teapot. “No, Mama,” she said softly. She lifted the delicate painted china cup and tipped the pot forward. Her hand shook as she poured.

“Your father spends entirely too much time fussin’ over those peach trees of his. We’ve already got a cellar full of jams and jellies, and Ah can’t bear the thought of another crop comin’ on. We must ask Jonas to bring his darkies to help.”

Darkies! Jane met her mother’s dreamy gaze. Jonas had been her father’s overseer at Montclair. Numb, she tried to think what to say.

“Mama? We haven’t laid eyes on Jonas, or his darkies, for over a decade. Are you feeling a bit tired?” She set the teacup down and took hold of her mother’s soft, cool hand. The skin was so transparent a tracery of blue veins showed through.