Alice rested her fingertips on John’s forearm. “Mr. Lawrence, would you mind helping me drain the cast-iron skillets into the grease pot? They’re very heavy.”
“Of course, I’d be happy to help, but please call me John.” He looked to Mr. Bennett for approval and, upon getting a nod, followed Alice through the front door, followed by Daisy and the rest of the sisters. Only there a day, and already the younger girls were all agog. Pearl stayed on the porch next to her father, knowing that Frank would be sure to get in the last word.
When Frank opened his mouth again, the words came in an angry burst. “You know I offered to work at the mill while Wendall was out. You didn’t have to bring some stranger into your house. I told you I’d do it.”
He’s spitting mad, Pearl thought, taking a step back. She’d often heard that expression but never fully understood what it meant. Until now. Rancor radiated off Frank in waves; it was palpable, and it struck her as exciting, like being close to a bear or a bobcat, dangerous in general, but safe in the knowledge she wasn’t the one being targeted.
If her father was afraid, he didn’t show it. “Frank, I know you offered, and I appreciate the thought, but I talked to your father, and he said he couldn’t spare you what with his lumbago acting up and your ma feeling poorly. John needed the work and is willing to sleep in the barn. It’s a fair deal all around.”
“You could’ve told me before you hired someone else.”
“I felt no need to consult you, young Frank. I’ve been making decisions on my own for a long time. Now I think it’s time to bid you a good evening. Thank you for the visit.”
Frank’s eyes widened. He looked just about to say something but seemed to think better of it. “Good night, sir.” He put his hat back on his head and bounded down the steps to his automobile. Opening the door, he said, “Pearl, you tell Alice I’ll be watching for her on Saturday.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
1916
In the barn that night, John was nearly asleep when he heard the barn door open and close. One of the horses whinnied, but none of the animals seemed alarmed. Whoever it was moved stealthily, their footsteps distinct but quiet. He rubbed his eyes, watching through the hanging fabric as the glow of a flame moved closer. The person who’d entered knew the layout of the barn, moving deftly around the horse and cow stalls. Who could it be? Mr. Bennett checking on his stock? Or maybe Frank, wanting to beat him to a pulp? The second was a distinct possibility.
John stood quietly, hearing whoever it was draw closer. His mattress was in one corner of the barn, the space cordoned off by two sheets hanging from lengths of rope. A rather ingenious way to create a private area. Alice had thought of it, according to her father. She had also sewn the cover for the horsehair mattress and made a pillow for him. All the comforts of home.
His eyes adjusted, and he looked around for something that could serve as a weapon, but there was nothing nearby, only the possessions he’d brought from home. Books, so he could study during his free time. Paper, pen, and ink. Some clothing. A comb and his shaving kit. A letter his mother had snuck into his case saying how much she loved him and how proud she was to have him for a son. Nothing he could use to defend himself except the element of surprise.
He readied himself for a confrontation. He’d seen the kind of possessive anger Frank had displayed in other men. There was no reasoning with someone who had no reason. The best thing to do was to avoid such individuals and, if that couldn’t be done, shut them down in a way that didn’t hurt their pride. If men like that felt publicly shamed, they’d carry that grudge to the grave and spend every waking minute in the meantime seeking vengeance. An ugly way to live and hard to understand, but that’s what he’d witnessed.
By the time the intruder was on the other side of the curtain, John was ready and waiting. He flexed his hand into a fist. When he heard the person’s ragged breathing, he pulled the fabric aside in one quick movement, startled to see Pearl holding the handle of a kerosene lantern. It was a shock; he’d come close to hitting her.
“Oh, my word,” she said, her hand to her heart. “Don’t do that. You scared me!” She reached over and gave his arm a light slap, and he suddenly was aware of his lack of clothing. Wearing only pants, he felt shamefully bare. He turned his back on her and grabbed his shirt, then shook his arms into the sleeves while she watched.
When he turned back, she was still there, sizing him up with wide eyes. He said, “I’m surprised to see you here, Miss Bennett. Did your father send for me?”