“Trey,” he said. She glanced up in confusion and he added softly, “Three.”
Her own card showed a crowned lady and a red heart.
“Queen of hearts,” he explained. “Beats my trey.”
His third card proved to be another three, but by the time she’d dealt four cards each, nothing else on the board showed promise. With trembling hands she turned up his last card: a seven of spades matching nothing. Before turning over her own last card, she stared at the figure on its back. It seemed to shimmy before her eyes. Her heart knocked in her throat. Her pale eyes met Gandy’s dark ones across the table, while the smoke from his cigar rose between them. He sat as calmly as if waiting for dessert, while she trembled as if with the ague.
“No hard feelin’s, whatever it is,” he said.
She agreed with a silent nod of the head, not trusting her voice to come out steadily.
She took a deep breath, held it, and slapped the last card over.
It was a two. His pair of threes beat her pair of deuces.
She stared at it and swallowed. He let his eyes slide closed and expelled a soft breath through his nostrils, struck by the irony of winning Willy with one of the worst hands he’d ever been dealt. He opened his eyes to find Agatha looking gray and stunned. His strong hand flashed across the table, covering the back of hers and squeezing hard... hard.
The future of three people, decided on the turn of a card. What was it men found so God Almighty exciting about gambling? She felt sick, hollow, afraid to raise her eyes and see in Scott’s the glitter of victory.
But no sign of victory glittered in Gandy’s eyes. Instead, they looked bereaved.
“Gussie, I—”
“Don’t!” She jerked her hand away. “Don’t say anything noble. I lost fair and square. Willy’s yours!”
She jerked to her feet. The chair squealed back, but she moved too quickly and rocked against the edge of the table. The liquor sloshed over the rim of the glass and made a black blot on the green cloth, but neither noticed as Gandy, too, lurched to his feet.
“Gussie, wait!”
She picked up her skirts and limped quickly for the back door before she disgraced herself by crying in front of him.
When she was gone he stood in the silent murkiness of the cold saloon, telling himself it had been a fair hand; she had even dealt it. Fate had made the choice.
Then he grabbed the table and with a vile curse overturned it, sending chairs reeling and cards flying across the room. The glass shattered. The bottle rolled against a table leg, where it lay, gurgling its contents onto the raw floorboards.
Listening to it, he felt worse.
He sank to a chair, slumped forward, and clasped his skull. Lord Almighty! How could he take that boy away from her? She had nobody in the world. Nobody! And he had so many. He sat that way until somebody touched him lightly on the wrist. He straightened as if he’d been shot.
“What’re you doin’ up?” he demanded, none too gently.
“I heard a noise,” Willy replied. “You all right, Scotty? You got the trots again or somethin’?”
“No, I’m all right.”
“You don’t look all right. You look kinda sick. What happened to the table?”
“Forget it, sprout. Listen... come here.”
Willy padded toward Scott’s outstretched hands, then found himself swung up onto his lap.
“I’ve got somethin’ t’ tell you.” Scott’s long hand ran up and down Willy’s back, over the scratchy long underwear he wore now that cold weather was here. “Remember I asked you about the plantation—whether you’d like t’ live there? Well, you’re goin’ to. It’s called Waverley, and it’s where I lived when I was a boy your age. I’ll be closin’ up the saloon any day now and movin’ back there, but I’m takin’ you with me, Willy. Would you like that?”
“You mean I’ll live with you for ever and ever?”
“That’s right. For ever and ever.”
“Wow!” Willy cried, awed.
“Y’ think you’d like that?”
“Sure—gee!” His face lit up.
“We’ll ride on the train. It’s a long way to Miz’sippi.”
“A train—golly!” His delighted eyes grew as bright as a pair of Southern pecans. “I ain’t never ridden on the train before.” Then he tipped his head, closed his hand around one of Scott’s lapels, and looked straight into his eyes. “Will Gussie be goin’ with us?”
Scott had expected the question. Still, it hit him with the force of a fist in the solar plexus. “No, son, she won’t. Gussie lives here. Her business is here, so she’ll be stayin’.”
“But I want her t’ come along with us.”
Scott wrapped both arms around Willy and tucked him against his chest. “I know y’ do, but it just isn’t possible.”
Willy pushed himself away and glared into Scott’s eyes again. “But she’s our friend. She’ll feel bad if we go away without her.”
A lump formed in Scott’s throat. He cleared his throat and clumsily closed the top button on Willy’s underwear. “I know she will. But maybe y’all can come back sometimes on the train t’ visit her. Would y’ like that?”
Willy shrugged and stared disconsolately at his lap. “I guess so,” he mumbled. His mood so reflected Scott’s that when the man took the boy by the shoulders he spoke to soothe both their withered spirits.
“Listen, son, sometimes we love people, but we have t’ leave ‘em behind. It doesn’t mean we forget ‘em, or that we won’t ever see ‘em again. And Agatha loves you—you can’t forget that. She’d keep you here if she could, but it would be very hard for her with such a tiny place to live in. At Waverley there’ll be plenty o’ space, and you’ll have a room of your own in the big house—you know, the one on the picture in my sittin’ room? You won’t be sleepin’ in the storeroom anymore. And there’ll be lots t’ see and do. We’ll get you a horse and you can learn to ride. And there’s a river where you can fish.” Scott forcibly brightened his voice. “And wait till I show you the scuppernong vines you can swing on in the woods. Why, they climb up in the water oak trees so high y’ can’t see the tops of ‘em!”
“Really?” Some of Willy’s enthusiasm returned, but it was still underscored by a note of unhappiness.
“Really.”
“But I could come back an’ see Gussie?”
“Yes—that’s a promise.”
Willy thought for a moment, then decided, “She’ll feel better when I tell ‘er that.”
Scott rested a hand on the boy’s fair head. “Yes, I’m sure she will.”
“I’m takin’ Moose, ain’t I?”
This one was tough. Scott had been anticipating it, too, but hadn’t known how to answer.
Mistaking the reason for Scott’s hesitation, Willy amended, “I mean, aren’t I?”
Agatha’s influence. The boy still needed it badly, and Scott was hit afresh by guilt for having held the winning hand. He took Willy lightly by both arms, running his hands up and down. “It would be hard on the train, son. We’ll be beddin’ down in a sleepin’ car, and animals can’t sleep there. But I was thinkin’. You’re right—Agatha’s gonna miss us. Maybe she’d like t’ keep Moose for company.”
“But...” Willy’s eyes began to fill with tears, but he struggled to repress them.
He’d lost so much in the last half year. First his father, now Agatha, and even his cat. It was expecting a lot of a five-year-old to accept these losses stoically.
“As soon as we get t’ Waverley, we’ll get you another cat,” Scott promised. “Deal?”
Willy shrugged and dropped his chin. Scott took him against his chest once more.
“Oh, Willy...” He ran out of false enthusiasm and sat a long time with his cheek against Willy’s hair, staring at the floor. He realized the best thing for all concerned was to make the break clean, fast. He’d order everybody to pack tomorrow and by the following day they should be ready to go.
??
?It’s late. Reckon we oughta catch some sleep?”
“I reckon,” Willy answered glumly. Scott stretched to his feet with Willy riding his arm and reached overhead for the lantern. “Can I come up with you?” the boy requested.
Scott stopped in the doorway to the storeroom. “I think Jube is sleepin’ with me tonight,” he answered truthfully.
“Oh.” Willy’s disappointment was evident before he inquired, “How come she sleeps with you an’ she kisses Marcus?”
“She what?” A line of consternation bisected Gandy’s eyebrows.
“She kisses Marcus. I saw her the night he hurt his hand. An’ the day we went for a picnic they almost did. I could tell.”
“Marcus?” So that’s what was wrong!
“Is Jube an’ Marcus an’ everybody else gonna come to Waverley with us?” Distracted, Scott took some time in answering. “Are they?” Willy repeated.
“I don’t know, sprout.” He entered Willy’s room and tucked him in, still with his thoughts elsewhere. “Now, y’all go to sleep and before you know it morning will be here. We’ll have plenty t’ do t’ get ready.”
“All right.”
Scott leaned to kiss him. Halfway to the door, Willy’s voice stopped him. “Hey, Scotty?”
“What?”
“Are there cows in Miz’sippi?”
“You mean like here, durin’ the drives?”
“Yeah.”
“No. Only the ones we’ll keep for milkin’. Now go to sleep.”
Scott felt somewhat better as he left Willy, realizing the boy’s thoughts were turning inquisitive. It was the first solid sign of enthusiasm since Willy had learned Agatha wouldn’t be accompanying them. But by the time he’d reached his room, he’d traded thoughts of Willy for those of Jube.
She wasn’t in his bed as he’d expected. It made sense, though. Now it all made sense.
Willy was on his stool beside Agatha’s sewing machine early the next morning, holding Moose in his arms. With typical childish directness he told her, “I have to go away with Scotty on the train an’ live with him in Miz’sippi an’ he says you can’t go with us.”
She intentionally kept sewing. Somehow, fingering the moving fabric kept her from breaking down. “That’s right. The prohibition law is closing the saloon, but I still have to make dresses and hats for the ladies of Proffitt, don’t I?”
“But I told him you’re gonna feel bad. Ain’t you gonna feel bad, Gussie?”
She pedaled as if her very body drew life from the flashing needle. “Of course I will, but I’m sure I’ll see you again.”
“Scotty says I can come back on the train.”
The pedaling stopped abruptly. Agatha reached for Willy’s hand, unable to help herself. “He did? Oh, that’s so nice to know.” Her consolation prize. But it was of little value at the moment. So she forced herself to begin working again. “I’m making you a pair of warm woolen britches to send with you.”
“But, it’s warm there,” he reasoned.
“You’ll still need them.”
“Scotty says there’s vines to swing on an’ he’s gonna buy me a horse so I can ride.”
“My, won’t that be something?” Yes, all the things this child deserves.
“But, Gussie?”
“Hmm?”
“He says I can’t take Moose. Will you keep ‘im?”
Please, God, make Willy dash off to some other pursuit. Make this day rush past on wings. Let me get through it without breaking down in front of him.
But she had to stop sewing again because she couldn’t see the needle through her tears. She bent to pick up a scrap from the floor, secretly drying her eyes before facing Willy and giving Moose a quick scratch beneath his chin.
“Why, of course. I’d love to have Moose. Who else would do the mousing around here if you took him?”
“Scott says I can get a new cat when we get there. I’m gonna name him Moose, too, prob’ly.”
“Ah, a good choice.” She cleared her throat and turned back to her work. “Listen, dear, I have a lot to do. I wanted to try to get a shirt cut out and stitched up for you, too.”
“Could you make it white, with a collar that comes off, like Scotty’s?”
Please, Willy, don’t do this to me! “Wh... white—wh... why, of course.”
“I never had one with a collar that comes off.”
“By tomorrow you w... will, dear.”
“I gotta go tell Scotty!” He jumped off his stool and tore off. When the door slammed, Agatha leaned her elbows on the machine and covered her face with both hands. Everything inside her trembled. How long would the pain continue to intensify before finally leaving her numb?
Shortly after noon Willy came down with a note for Agatha, but she was busy out front with a customer, so he gave it to Violet instead.
“I’m not s’posed t’ bother her when she’s busy,” he confided earnestly.
Violet smiled shakily and produced a nickel from her pocket. “Very good, sir. I’ll deliver the message when the customer leaves. Now you run along and buy yourself a sarsaparilla stick.”
He looked from his palm up to Violet’s watery blue eyes. “A whole nickel! Thanks!”
“Hurry along now. I’ve got things to do.” She had very little to do, but it was a relief when Willy dashed out again and she could blot her tears in private.
When the customer left, Violet parted the lavender curtains and entered the front room.
“Willy delivered this for you a while ago.”
Her eyes dropped to the envelope. She recognized Scott’s writing by the single word: Gussie.
Violet stood smack before her, squeezing four fingers tightly with the opposite hand, watching Agatha’s eyes as she read the message aloud:
Dear Gussie,
Willy and I request the pleasure of your company at Paulie’s for supper tonight. We’ll pick you up at your door at six o’clock.
Affectionately,
Willy and Scott
Violet was blinking hard. “Well... my... isn’t that nice?”
Agatha serenely folded the note and slipped it back into the envelope. “Yes,” she said quietly.
Violet fluttered a hand. “Well, you must... you must let me close up tonight, and go upstairs early to get dressed.”
Agatha lifted sad eyes, and as they met Violet’s the two women stood locked in a gaze that dropped all pretensions. They were both miserable and heartsore, and neither tried to hide it. Agatha pressed her firm cheek against Violet’s soft, wrinkled one. “Thank you,” she said softly. Violet hugged her hard for a brief moment. Then Agatha backed away and dashed the moisture from beneath both eyes as if irritated that it was there so often lately. “If I don’t tend to business,” she said brusquely, “I’ll never get that shirt done for Willy in time.”
They were all dressed in their best finery when Agatha answered her door at six that night: Scott in his fawn-colored suit and a thick brown greatcoat she’d never seen before; Willy in the Sunday suit he’d gotten for his father’s funeral, and his new wool winter jacket; Agatha in the rust-and-melon dress she’d worn for the governor’s tea, though she’d left the bonnet behind, which pleased Scott. Her hair was too beautiful to cover with birds’ nests and plumes. He’d always meant to tell her that, but somehow he had never found the proper time.
“Good evenin’,” he said when she opened the door. Their eyes met and held until Willy piped up.
“Hi, Gussie. I’m here, too.”
Immediately, she bent to hold his cheeks and kiss him. “Of course you are. And, my stars, don’t you look handsome!”
He smiled proudly and looked up. “Just as handsome as Scotty?”
She looked into the face of the man she would never forget as long as she drew breath. Her answer came out much more quietly than the question. “Yes. Just as handsome as Scotty.”
She had always wanted to tell him that, but she had been bound by the proprieties of the single woman. However,
with Willy putting the question to her, what else could she do but answer truthfully? It wasn’t the way she’d have said it, had she been granted the choice of time, place, and situation, but at least he knew now.
His lips opened, then closed on a faint gust of breath.
She turned away. “I must get my pelisse.” She hadn’t expected him to be so near when she turned from the chifforobe with the garment in her hands. She swung around and bumped his arm. Her heart caromed at his nearness, his scent, his broadness in the heavy winter coat, the striking appeal of his face.
“Here, let me,” he demanded softly, taking the pelisse from her hands.
“Thank you.” She turned and he placed the brown velvet cape over her shoulders, then squeezed her arms tightly and pulled her back against him.
“Please don’t put the hood up,” he requested in a whisper, his lips brushing her ear. “Your hair is too lovely t’ spoil.”
The rush of her pulses seemed to flutter the very air around her. “Scott...” she whispered, closing her eyes, drowning in bittersweet emotions.
“Hey, I’m hungry!” Willy called from the doorway. “Come on.”
Reluctantly, Scott released Agatha and stepped back, allowing her to lead the way out. Willy thundered down the stairs at breakneck pace. Agatha clutched the rail but found her free elbow held tightly by Scott. She could think of nothing to say as they reached the bottom and he let his hand slip all the way down to clasp hers. He held it tightly until they reached the end of the alley. On the boardwalk, he again took her elbow.
The meal was a farce she’d never thereafter recall clearly. She and Scott talked, but of what remained vague. Willy chattered with boyish enthusiasm and asked endless questions of Scott: “Where will my new cat sleep?” “What’s a scuppernong?” “Are there snakes there?”
Scott answered succinctly—in the kitchen; a wild grape; yes—but rarely gave his undivided attention to Willy. He stared at Agatha instead, feeling restive and agitated, semiaroused and guilty. She was lovely. Why hadn’t he really seen it before? What had taken him so long? And she was more of a lady than any woman he’d ever known.
She ate little, but with such incredible delicacy that each movement of her hands and jaws appeared more a dance than the banal acts of lifting food and masticating. He sensed how close to the breaking point she hovered, her tears so near the surface her eyes appeared the deep hue of a magnolia leaf in the spring rain. She was breathless, too, and flushed from trying to contain the emotions so close to welling over. Her fingers trembled and her voice shook, but she forced fleeting laughter for Willy’s sake, whenever the child’s comments demanded it. She seemed unable to meet Gandy’s eyes, though he longed for her to do so throughout the meal. Not until their coffee arrived and he reached for the cheroot and gold scissors did she at last lift her luminous green eyes to his. And once, while he smoked, she closed those eyes and drew a deep breath through distended nostrils, as if savoring the scent for the last, last time. His eyes dropped to the hand she rested on her heart and he wondered if it raced like his. Then she opened her eyes and caught him watching her and hid her face behind her coffee cup.