The evening sun blazed a canvas of purplish-red across the sky as Bess stood in the backyard and breathed in the clean scent of the clothes hanging on the line. She had volunteered to take them down in part to escape the cloying atmosphere inside the house.
No, that was the wrong. The happy whistles Agnes made as she cooked and cleaned, the photos of Daniel and Judd roping calves and winning at rodeos hung on the walls, the piano with its worn keys, were all the trappings of a normal life. Only Bess, whose world had been one of mere survival for too long, would find the Taylor house oppressive somehow.
Jethro loped over to her, nudging Bess’ thigh with his strong, square head. She patted the slick fur, flexing her fingers across the ridges of the bloodhound’s thick bones. “Such a good boy,” she told him.
“He doesn’t like just anybody,” Judd’s voice said from behind her.
She felt her back stiffen and her momentary peace evaporate. She took a deep breath and continued with the clothes line, hoping that if she ignored him, he would just go away. The cicadas began their chirping song. A breeze kicked up the sand that was everywhere around them. She could feel him standing beside her, smell the musk scent of his cologne and something that seemed to be all Judd, a mix of leather and the earth.
Finally, she couldn’t stand the silence anymore. “Are you out here to interrogate me some more?”
He cleared his throat. “You deserve the benefit of the doubt, I suppose.”
She turned to look at him, not sure she had heard him correctly. He was looking out toward the horizon, his thick jaw clenched, the vein at the base of his neck pulsing. Bess doubted he could maintain treating her civilly, but did she really have a choice?
“Truce, then?” she pushed through tight lips.
He crossed his arms and sighed. “A mother-to-be deserves a safe environment, whether she’s related to me or not.”
Bess took the last shirt off the line and started to bend to pick up the full basket. Her hands collided with Judd’s, and she pulled back as if she had been scalded. He chuckled and headed back into the house without waiting for her. Bess stood with her heart beating rapidly in her chest, wondering why the irritating man flustered her.
When she stepped into the kitchen, Agnes was already ironing the shirts, trousers and dresses that had been flapping in the wind since early afternoon. She had a perfectly serviceable gas dryer in her laundry room, one her boys had purchased for her on the occasion of her sixty-fifth birthday, but she preferred the smell of the sun in her clothes, she’d told them. And so, the appliance sat gathering piles of the magazines Agnes collected to donate to various mission projects.
She looked up at Bess and smiled that toothy grin which promised warm oatmeal on cold winter mornings and sturdy hands to tuck one in at night and nodded toward the nearest kitchen chair. “I wanted to ask you about our Dr. Warren, Bess,” she said. “He’s been our family doctor since the boys were born. I thought we’d make an appointment for you next week, if that’s all right.”
Bess shifted on the chair and chewed her lower lip. The only doctors she’d ever seen were brusque critics with cold hands who couldn’t be finished with her quickly enough. “I hadn’t really planned on seeing one,” she mumbled.
Agnes’ hands stilled. She studied Bess for a long moment so that the younger woman felt as if Daniel’s mother was reading into her very past. “The last thing Dr. Warren would ever do is make you feel judged. He really cares about his patients and will come to their aid at all hours of the night. I don’t think the man has had a warm supper in forty years.”
Bess rubbed her belly. “I’m sure the baby is healthy. I feel just fine.”
“But don’t you want to be sure, dear? There’s no need to have any surprises. I can assure you of that. When Judd came, I was so long in labor, Dr. Warren had to perform a C-section.”
Bess smiled. “So, he was stubborn from the womb, then?”
Agnes chuckled, then waved her finger at Bess. “No distracting me, now, girly. I want you to see a doctor. Let’s make sure you are as healthy as you feel. Would you prefer a female physician?”
Bess’ head jerked up. “They have female doctors?” she asked. As soon as the words left her lips, she wanted to bring them back again. Of course there were female doctors. Now, Agnes would know that Bess barely had a high school education.
But, Agnes didn’t poke fun or even acknowledge Bess’ stupidity. Instead, she kept her face passive and simply repeated, “Would you prefer a female doctor, Bess? Many women are more comfortable with one these days.”
Bess glanced around the kitchen, with its chipped but clean white cabinets and avocado-green counters. She had only been in this house for a few days, but already it was the closest thing to a home that she had ever experienced. Using the doctor Agnes preferred seemed a small enough thing to do.
“It’s all right,” she said. “I’ll see Dr. Warren.”
Agnes went back to ironing. “Good. I’ll call his office first thing in the morning.”
The doorbell rang, and a few moments later Judd walked into the room, followed by a balding young man and a thin, blond woman. Agnes introduced them as her pastor and his wife. Michael and Michelle Jones. Bess forced a smile to her lips. She’d had even fewer reasons to like religious people in her life than doctors.
“We look forward to seeing you on Sunday,” Mrs. Jones said, smiling so that her round cheeks puffed into two red balls.
Bess glanced at Judd, who was studying the tablecloth as if he couldn’t even look at her. She had been on the verge of making an excuse not to go to any sermon, but the thought that skipping was exactly what Judd would expect her to do made her re-think her decision.
“I look forward to being seen, then,” she said, satisfied when Judd’s head jerked up, caught her eyes briefly and skidded to the screen door.
The couple stayed for supper, discussing the next summer’s mission trip to Guatemala, the upcoming Christmas pageant, and the church’s need for more volunteers to teach the children’s Sunday school. Bess kept her eyes mainly on her plate and tried not to think about the well-meaning men and women who would come to the orphanage and preach about Jesus and then go home to their love-filled houses without realizing that the soul was the last concern of a young heart that didn’t know what it meant to belong.
When they finally left, Agnes went straight to bed, leaving Bess sitting in the living room alone when Judd came back inside after seeing the couple to their car. He sat down in a chair across from Bess, his posture reserved and perfect. One long finger tapped the edge of the chair, and the silence of the room lengthened.
“It’s almost killed my mother, losing Daniel like that,” Judd said. “He didn’t even write to tell us he’d married.”
“You hadn’t wanted him to enlist,” Bess nodded. “I guess he was punishing you.”
“Guess. You don’t know?”
Bess squared her shoulders. “It was a whirlwind romance.” She bit her lip, hating the disbelieving look Judd did nothing to hide. So much for his truce. “If I am going to stay here, I suppose I owe you some sort of explanation. My story isn’t exactly pretty.”
He held up a hand. “You look tired, Bess. Go to bed.”
Before she could register her shock, he stood, smoothing his hands on his thighs and shaking his head at her look of disbelief. “Your marriage certificate checks out,” he said. “Besides, Agnes deserves to hear your story, don’t you think?”
Bess swallowed. “Yes, but she hasn’t asked me for it.”
He didn’t even blink. “Well, when she does.”
“You’re so sure she will?”
He smiled. “I’m sure you’ll tell her, eventually.”
As she made her way to the bedroom, thinking about the kind way Agnes managed her household, getting even the dogs to behave without raising her voice, Bess figured that Judd was probably right. Before all was said and done, Bess was almost guaranteed to empty herself to the other woman.
The only problem was that once the words began, Bess feared that her emotions would spill out and swirl around her until she was lost inside the black hole of sadness that was her life. What would kind Agnes do then?
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