THE PATH TO A PROMISE Chapters 13 & 14

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 Joplin, Missouri, Thanksgiving Day 1910 

“William, I’m going home,” Henry said. He puffed cigarette smoke into the air. “It being Thanksgiving.”

William Madison crushed his smoke with his shoe. He lounged on the wood railing of the wide front porch. “You sure?”

Henry stared back at his brown-haired, blue-eyed friend sitting with him on the porch. William’s brown tweed coat, linen trousers rolled up one roll to display white socks, set off his brown leather shoes. A fine hat topped William's head in a jaunty display of good fashion. From top to bottom, William Madison had a fashion style to match even the best dressed in Joplin.

Henry marveled at his friend. How could anyone be so suave and debonair in the early in the morning? William Madison could! He was every bit a hard worker and spent his money on the things he valued, which his mother was one. Henry witnessed William caring for his mother every day. He helped her with anything and everything she needed. William was a good son.

Henry burned with shame. He had more than likely made his wife madder than a wet hen and his parents probably disowned him. At least he had his inheritance and owned a parcel of land! What got into him to take off and wander around here and there all the time? This time, being gone, was not a good situation. He was married and Olive was set to have the baby any time now. For all he knew, the baby was already in the world.

He looked at William again. They had been friends for years. They grew up together down in the hills and hollows of Rocky Corners. Even though they shared common interests, William valued men’s fashion as something to behold and mimic and work hard to get. Henry never gave it much thought. And work was drudgery.

“You look like you’re dressed to go somewhere.” Henry’s voice was cool. He wished he had the same style. If he looked nice and smelled even better, Olive might come closer to forgiving him.

William looked down at his attire, scoffing, “These old things? Nah, I just threw them on this morning. Wanted to look nice for the day; you know Mother holds Thanksgiving Day as a sacred time.” His look changed as the color lit his cheeks. “I’m sorry for saying that! I don’t mean to say…”

Henry’s face burned at the truth. He held up his hand. “No offense taken. I’m just wondering if I’m a father yet. I think she told me it was around Thanksgiving. My folks feel the same way your mother does.” He let out a deep breath, “If I start in the next few minutes, I can be home before nightfall.”

“You’ll miss Mother’s good cooking,” William teased. “I know you need to go home, but you’re always welcome here, you hear me? Now get on out of here and tell everyone hello."

Henry stood up, shaking out the stiffness from the early morning chill in the air. “I’ve got quite a bit of money saved up from the jobs I’ve done.” He stuck his hand out to his friend, “Thank you for putting me up. I left a little cash on the table for your mother.”

William stood alongside his friend. “Let me know when you’re a daddy.” His eyes clouded over, and he glanced down at the porch floor. Without looking up, he asked, “Will you do me a favor?”

“Anything,” Henry answered. At this point, he knew he owed his friend a lot of favors. He had an idea what the favor was but waited for William to speak.

“When you see Lizzie tell her that I miss her. Ask her if she might write to me and I’ll write her back. I’ll get down to see her as soon as I can.”

Henry grinned and slapped William’s shoulder. “I’ll surely do that. You got eyes for Lizzie, don’t ya?”

William admitted, “She makes my heart do strange things. No girl has ever made me feel like she does. I want to see her more.”

“I’ll tell her that.”

“No!” William came off the porch railing as if his pants were set afire. “Don’t tell her anything like that!”

Henry reared back laughing. “You told me to tell her…”

William’s brow went up in defense and his square jaw tensed. He stepped toward Henry.Promise me you won’t…”

Henry brought up an arm. “You know I’m just ribbin’ you. I’ll keep it low key. Why don’t you come with me? See Lizzie yourself.”

William thought for a minute, then declined the invitation. “I’ll come another time. After you make amends with your family.”

He watched his best friend leave. 

***

It was early evening when Henry approached the Johnson farm and tied his horse to the post. The November sun was sinking fast, lighting the western sky afire. Looking about the yard, no one appeared. Lights were a soft glow in the windows of the house. The old cur dog, aged into sleepiness, lay on the front porch beating his tail on the wood floor.

Henry made his way to the porch, and mid-step, he stopped.

Bud came around the corner of the chicken coop. “What in tarnation are you doing here?”

Yep, there it was. Anger. Henry thought before he spoke. “I’ve come to talk to my wife.” He stood tall, feet apart, hands by his side. Determination fueled him.

Bud’s voice was steady and low. “She wants nothing to do with you.” His hands balled into fists.

An owl whooped a lonesome hoot somewhere in the cedar grove. The evening light was fading fast, and darkness would invade the hollow. With the coming of night, the air grew chillier, a whisper of rain swept through the grove of trees.

“I want to hear it from her.”

“You’ll be real smart to get on your horse and get outta here.”

Henry shook his black head. “Not going anywhere old man.”

Ben came up beside his father. “Watch your mouth, Henry.”

Bud drew himself up to his full six feet two inches, his eyes like the fire in the sky. To Ben, he said, “I can handle this. Maybe you oughta go inside and check on the women folk.”

But Ben stayed where he was.

Bud continued. “You’re going to play by Olive’s rules now. No more running in and out of her life with nary a care for what it’s doing to her. You’re going to give my daughter a divorce, or you’ll be deep in misery.”

Henry looked at the house and saw a shadow at the front window. His insides felt like a Missouri thunderstorm. “Is that a threat?”

“Not a threat, but a promise.”

Both men stared at each other.

“You’ve caused my girl a heap of misery, Winters. Now it’s your turn.”

Henry huffed, pulled his shoulders back, and held his ground. The old man had no idea how he felt. And Bud’s anger didn’t bother him. He thought it comical as the older man’s bushy brows rose high like the bluffs at Horseshoe Bend. He saw complete contempt.

“We gave our consent so you could marry our daughter. And ever since that day, you’ve made me wish otherwise. She wants a divorce and you’re going to tuck your tail and run for the hills.”

Henry started to answer, but Bud held up his hand. “No more talk. Get out of here before I throw you off this land. I don’t want to ever see your face or hear your voice again. I’m gonna make sure my daughter and grandson are safe.”

The front door opened, and Lizzie came out to stand on the porch. She yelled, “Olive wants to know why you’re here.”

Henry slumped in relief. The baby! He was a father! "I’ve been working in Joplin with William and the boys.” At that moment he saw his chance and used William to buffer the chaos that threatened. “William sends his regards. He said to tell you hello and that he and Mary Jane might come soon for a visit.”

Lizzie didn’t have time to answer. Olive pushed through the door, standing beside her sister. She held a bundle of white in her arms.

A lump grew in Henry’s throat when he saw Olive holding the baby. His son. An infant child. His.

“Why are you here?” Olive cried out. A thin wrapper covered her nightgown and a long dark braid hung over one plump shoulder.

Henry noted she wasn’t smiling, and her lips thinned to a firm line. But what did he expect? Shouts of happiness? He took a step toward her, his arms outstretched in defense, his body at ease. “I’ve come home.”

Olive opened her mouth to say something, but Henry threw up his right hand. “If we can just sit down together, I’ll explain. Please.” As he spoke, his steps drew him nearer to the porch. He felt his eyes spark with regret and tears threatened to take over. His gut churned with guilt. She had to let him stay. He had to see his boy!

A grumble of thunder sounded in the distance as daylight continued to fade. If the storm brought rain, it might quickly turn to snow by morning.

“How can I believe your story?” At that moment, the baby let out a cry.

Henry came to the bottom of the steps. “My son.” He grinned, the smile crinkling his eyes and bunching his cheeks. “Can I see him?” He put a hand on the railing and a foot on the bottom step.

Behind him, he heard Bud’s growl. “Watch your step. It might be your last.”

Ben moved with his father and stood to the left.

Henry whirled and faced the man. “I’ve come home to my family! We’re married and you can’t change that!” He whirled back to face Olive.

Olive blinked back tears but didn’t look away. A sob escaped. She hid her face in the baby’s blanket to catch the tears.

Nancy stepped onto the porch. A white apron encircled her front side and tied in the back. Her black hair pulled into the familiar tight bun. She had listened to the argument. Following behind her was Pearl with Clara Mae. “Olive, take the baby and get back to your bed, you’ll hurt yourself being up and about.”

Lightning lit the night sky and thunder again warned the storm was growing close. Clara Mae let out a whoop of fear and hid herself in Pearl’s dress. The wind picked up, scattering dried leaves across the yard.

Henry made his way up the steps, his footfalls light, his shoulders at attention. He moved near Olive and touched her shoulder. When she looked up, he saw the remnants of his actions written all over her face. He’d been gone too long. She was clearly upset at his absence. And it was all his fault.

Olive looked back at her father and then her mother.

Nancy heard the approaching storm from the kitchen where she was preparing supper from the leftovers of dinner. Her arthritic bones told her the storm might be a gully-washer. She always trusted her aches and pains when it came to forecasting the weather. “Storm’s getting close now,” she said. “I won’t turn away someone when the weather gets bad.” She looked at her husband.

Bud agreed, but anger boiled over his face. "Go in. But if I say out, you're gone. Understand?"

Henry nodded and thanked everyone as they all moved inside just before the first of the raindrops punched the ground and the wind swooshed through the treetops. While the storm seized the November night, another storm ballooned inside. 

***

Lizzie came into the kitchen, standing at the sink. “Olive says it’s time to talk. And you may see the baby.”

“I’m ready.” Henry stood and followed Lizzie into the bedroom, entered the room, and Lizzie closed the door. Henry stood still and waited. for Olive’s reaction.

Olive sat up in bed, the colorful quilt pulled tight around her. Peter lay by her side. For months she had worried and fretted over Henry’s absence. And now, as quick as that, he was back. She tried to sort her feelings out, but it was hard. How did she feel now that he was truly there in the same house with her? Did she want a divorce? To carry that socially unacceptable weight around with her? How would Nellie Bly feel? What would she do? Olive truly wished she had the answers.

“Sit down and I’ll give him to you.” She eyeballed Henry as he sat on the edge of the bed. He pulled the thin blanket away from Peter’s face.

Peter was sleeping; his eyes closed tightly, his pink delicate mouth pursed into a pout. Downy dark hair covered his head, and his round pert nose was like a little brown button.

“What time was he born?” Henry asked softly.

“Just after midnight.”

“What are we going to name him?”

“I named him Peter Gresham,” Olive said the name aloud and liked how it sounded.

Henry’s face fell. “I thought we might name him after me or Father.”

Olive explained the reason for the baby’s name and watched Henry’s reaction. When she saw his eyes darken, she knew he was not fond of the name she had chosen.

“Let’s give him mine. We can always have another son someday and name him Peter.”

She stiffened, thinking of a way to say what needed to be said. From this remark, she had her answer. Henry was all about himself. She wanted to yell at him. She wanted to punch him in the face. How dare he abandon her and be gone for months, then show up and demand she do things his way! Taking a deep breath, which made her stomach hurt, she lied.

“Mother already recorded his birth. The name stays. He is Peter Gresham Winters. And you better be happy that I gave him your last name; I thought about naming him Johnson.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Henry's face told the truth. Contempt washed over his cheeks and his voice held authority.

Olive’s face grew warm, as her body stiffened. The months of unease fell over her like the rain against the windowpane. Her voice quivered, but she swallowed the fear and spoke from her heart. A heart that was broken.

“You’re lucky that I let you in this house, after what you’ve put all of us through! For a time, the whole countryside believed you were dead before we found out you were in Joplin. I kept the faith that you were working and would return home to finish our house.” Her eyes felt hot like the blazing coals in the fireplace. “But my faith died weeks ago. There’s nothing left here for you.”

Henry stood up, holding the baby in his arms. The jostling stirred the sleeping infant, and he whimpered. Henry ignored the baby and his stare drilled into her.

“Give him to me,” Olive held out her arms.

“He’s my son and you can’t take him from me. Bud said you want a divorce…”

“Give my son to me now!”

“Do you? Do you want to divorce me? Answer me!" His demands held her in a burning glare.

The door banged against the wall. Bud was in the room. “Do it,” Bud demanded.

Henry looked down into Peter’s face. He handed his son over, then backed away from the bed.

“Yes, I want a divorce,” Olive explained. “Your folks know about it. We’ve talked and they are not happy with you, either. From here on out, you don’t worry about me and Peter. I never want to see you again. You stole my innocence, you took my dreams, and you destroyed my faith and hope for us.”

“Seems there’s been a lot of talk.” Henry raised his chin. His accusing voice held anger and bitterness.

Olive’s face spoke without words. Her brow rose high.

“What will you do?” Henry continued.

“Don't worry about it now! I can make it without you for the rest of my life. Don’t bother coming round to see us. Won’t do you any good. When he grows up if he wants to see you, that’ll be his decision.”

Henry was speechless. He never looked back as he charged out of the bedroom door, through the house and outside in the pouring rain.

Olive slid down under the quilt, holding Pete close. She weighed the options of divorcing Henry. If they stayed married, would he change and take care of her and Peter? Probably not. His true colors showed like the sun with this latest scandal. How could she trust him ever again? The minute he set out to go to work, the old feelings of abandonment would surely eat her up.

Shaking her head, she watched the rain running in rivulets against the windowpane, cold as ice. Like her heart. She recalled Christina’s cautionary warnings. And the jinx when he saw her in the wedding dress. It was coming true. Now with a child to raise, that added decision upon decision. She hated making them! The decision to go to Cottey College faded. To learn to write like Nellie Bly and have a career faded. Swallowing the sadness, she let her dream die.

She pulled the quilt up close and decided to nap and let the choices she just made dance in her head for now. Tomorrow would come. God would see that she and Peter were taken care of.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Henry rode home to his parents’ house. His gut felt like it hit the ground and bounced back into his mouth. An ache ran across his forehead and gouged his ears. His wife’s stinging words played over and over. Just when guilt wrenched through him, his pompous attitude filled his thoughts. How dare Olive speak to him like that? A woman with a mouth filled with strife and anger was not a woman for him!

He was determined to show her and her family what he was made of. His chest puffed out as the rain hit his face. He breathed the coolness of the late autumn night. He did what he wanted, and he was a success at it. No one would talk to him like Olive just did ever again! He would count on that. And what was wrong with this situation? He had what he truly wanted. His inheritance! Once he and Olive told his parents they were getting married his inheritance dropped in his lap.

He got the land promised to him. That was what he was after all along. He just didn’t figure having a wife and son into the equation. And the fact that he had to work all of the time to make a living left his mouth dry. He enjoyed his free and easy lifestyle. Freedom to come and go, and return to his father and mother. They were always there, ready to help. He admitted he missed them. Especially his mama. She was the queen of all mothers. No woman on earth could ever measure up like her.

He recalled his brothers and sisters accusing him of being Mama’s Boy, but he didn’t care. They were all jealous. He couldn’t help it if he was the baby of the big family. And that’s what they accused him of. Being the baby, they said he got away with anything and everything.

The good news now was that he didn't have to support a wife and child! Once again, he was free to do as he pleased and go as he pleased. He'd finish the house on his land with the money he'd saved while working in Joplin. Life would be good again!

Putting his horse away in the barn, Henry ran to the house. Lights from the windows were a welcoming sight. The cold had eaten through him, and he needed a fire to thaw out. He pounded on the door and entered the house, apologizing for causing so much worry. “Father, Mama, I’m home!” When he stepped into the warm room, he grinned bigger than the moon hidden behind the clouds. He sat down on the hearth to warm himself before changing out of wet clothes.

“You’ve done it, this time, son." David sat in the rocking chair. “You’ve caused a great deal of trouble between the Johnsons and us.”

Henry's face grew warm, and it wasn't from the fire crackling in the fireplace. He was immediately offended by his father's words. Not even a welcome from his folks! “I’ve done nothing of the kind.” He looked in his father's face. “Ellie’s at fault!” He outright accused her of the misdeeds.

Christina sat in a winged-back chair and lay her mending aside. “I never want to hear you accuse that poor girl again!"

“But Mama…" He watched her dark brown eyes crease and felt the twitch of shame.

“It’s time that you straighten yourself out! Take responsibility! You abandoned your wife! You caused this mess and now you’ll endure it.”

“Has my own family has turned against me?” Henry asked his father.

“If you deny what you’ve done, we can’t help you.” David’s voice was steady. "A person won't change until they want to. I can't make you do something that you don't want to do! Our family is connected to the Johnson family, and that will not change. I’ll not lose Lizzie and Olive and Clara Mae and your son because of your shenanigans! And a word of advice: you better help Olive take care of your boy."

Henry shook his head. “I’m going to bed.”

David stated, “There’s nothing left here for you.”

Henry lowered his head, arms at his side. His parents sided with his wife. Surprise climbed up his back and settled on his shoulders. He had not expected this turn of events. He knew one thing: he wouldn't stay around his parents and take their chewing out. Without looking at them, he said, “I’ll be leaving in the morning. I’m going back to Joplin.”

Christina sniffed into her handkerchief, and David nodded his head. It was finished. 

                                                                   ***

The winter in Southwest Missouri was normal. Cold winds blew in small snow storms every few days, littering the barren and frozen ground. It wasn't enough for building snowmen or making snow ice cream, and it kept the daytime temperatures cold. For three straight days in February, the thermometer registered bitter nights. That made travel dangerous. Church attendance was down for two weeks, and no one attended school. The mail delivery stopped, and very few people were out and about. Eventually, the cold days gave way to warmer spring temperatures, and spring hit the Ozarks as the trees budded and leafed out. Colorful blossoms filled the orchards, white, pink, and yellow from the fruit trees.

Olive healed from the birth, and Peter grew quickly. With each passing month, she was surprised to see progress in him. His dark hair grew from tufts into curls, and his nose upturned in the sweetest way. Soon, he rolled over on his blanket and onto the floor. He laughed and gurgled all sorts of sounds, his chubby arms batting the air.

Clara Mae helped out by allowing Peter to play with her toys. She talked to him and sang songs. He gurgled with laughter. Sometimes, jealousy made her run and hide under her bed, where she fell asleep.

Olive was in the process of getting a divorce from Henry. The lawyer told her she had to prove he abandoned her and asked if she wanted Henry to pay alimony. The money would help her take care of Peter. Proving abandonment was easy enough. The entire countryside knew what he had put his family through. If she needed witnesses, she had them. She waited on a court date at Pine Hills. Soon, the marriage would be put to rest.

Bitterness settled in her bones, preventing her from having second thoughts. She could never, would never forgive him. There was a problem, however. How would she keep him from seeing Pete? Especially if he was with David and Christina. Would she let him go with his grandparents? She had to stop worrying about the future. It was enough to worry about here and now. She had to get a job. The weather was warming up, and travel was easier. She planned to talk to her parents about going to town and asking for available jobs. She would pray about it and knew that God would answer. Smiling, she hoped to pay her father back the money she owed for the divorce, then buy a typewriter at the mercantile in Rocky Corner.

Clara Mae turned six years old on a warm spring day in April. She helped her mother make a cake for the evening supper. Lizzie stoked the fire to warm the oven enough to bake and pumped water from the hand pump at the sink. Water flowed into a granite dishpan to wash dishes after the meal.

When Lizzie wasn’t looking, Clara Mae put the long wooden spoon covered with bits of cake batter to Peter’s lips. He licked the spoon and tried to grab it from her hands, but Clara Mae pulled back quickly. Peter smacked his lips and puckered his face in protest. He wanted the spoon.

Lizzie turned to see what her daughter was doing and laughed until tears came. “Clara Mae, you ornery little imp! See what you’ve done. He’s mad at you now.”

“It tastes good,” Clara Mae said, giggling. She whirled the spoon in the glass bowl to coated it again with bits of batter, then put it to Peter’s waiting lips. His chubby hands grasped it and pulled it from Clara Mae's grip.

Olive entered the kitchen holding something behind her back. “What are you up to now, my silly niece?” she asked, eyeing Clara Mae. Then she spied Peter sitting on the floor, holding the wooden spoon, and licking it with gusto.

Olive looked at Lizzie. They both burst out laughing. With one hand, Olive took the now-cleaned spoon from Peter’s grasp as he protested. “That’s enough, son. I don’t want your belly to hurt.”

Lizzie smiled as her nephew let out a squall that nearly shook the rafters. “Now, see what you’ve done?” she said. “You’re spoiling him!”

Olive ignored his cries and brought out a gift for Clara Mae. Clara Mae’s eyes bugged out, her chubby cheeks turned red, and she jumped up and down near the kitchen table.

Olive placed the long box wrapped in newspaper on the table and said, “Happy birthday!”

Clara Mae giggled, clapping her hands as she danced about the floor, singing, “It’s my birthday, it’s my birthday! Happy birthday to me!”

Peter’s cries stopped abruptly to stare at the girl dancing around him. His eyes followed her as she whirled and twirled, then lost his balance. His forehead hit the floor with a thud. That brought on more tears, and he squalled even louder.

Olive rushed to pick him up and dry his face.

The front door slammed, and Bud burst into the kitchen. “I heard him wailing plumb outside!” He chewed on his tobacco, saw the ruckus, and sat at the table. Taking Peter from Olive, he rocked him back and forth while patting his back with his large hand. Peter stopped crying. With a mischievous wink, Bud smiled and said, “There now, Big Boy, I’m here to take care of you.”

“Oh, Pa!” Olive exclaimed. “You’re spoiling him rotten!”

“That’s what grandchildren are for,” he said, rocking Peter to sleep.

“Pa, pray, and then we’ll let Clara Mae see her gifts before we eat.”

After the prayer, Clara Mae clapped and giggled over her gifts. Bud fashioned her a new rocking chair. She screamed with happiness when she saw it. “I can sit with you on the porch, Papa!”

A China head doll was nestled inside when she opened Olive’s gift. Clara Mae lifted the doll from the box and hugged it. “My dolly, my dolly!”

Olive made a soft cloth body for the doll, attaching it to the China head. Black-painted boots covered the doll’s feet. The doll’s smile curved graciously on a beautiful porcelain face. She was dressed in a long lace dress with matching underthings.

After the gifts were cleared away, they sat at the long kitchen table to eat supper. Olive took a tray of food to an ailing Pearl. Afterward, Lizzie served slices of birthday cake. Ben joined them and claimed a spot at the table when he smelled cake.

Eight months later, Olive’s petition for divorce from Henry was complete. On court day, the Brooming County courthouse filled with folks, each there for different matters pertaining to the law. Olive slowed when she approached the courthouse, remembering the day of Daniel’s murder trial. She had never been in a courthouse, so this was a memorable day. She took her turn, seated before the judge, with her lawyer. Swallowing what felt like a stack of pancakes in her throat, she answered the questions from the judge. She told the judge what transpired and why she asked for a divorce.

The judge banged the gavel and quietly told her lawyer to sign all necessary paperwork to undo the marriage vows forever. Abandonment was a serious issue and one that was never taken lightly. Henry’s behavior was certainly frowned upon by all involved. Most community members knew what he had done. The judge declared Olive a free, single woman with the restoration of her maiden name. She had custody of Peter, and Henry was ordered to pay her ten dollars a month.

That did not lighten Olive’s sorrow. She fretted and frowned. “I feel betrayed.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“And you should,” Lizzie answered. “He’s a skunk and if anyone ever trusts him again, they’ll play the fool!”

“What if he comes round to see Pete?”

“It’s up to you. If he does want to see him, maybe that’s a good thing.” Lizzie batted her lashes and shrugged.

“Decisions. I hate making them!” A whoosh of air came out of Olive as she lay back on her bed.

“Then don’t. Wait until it happens, and then you can decide. Like Pa says, ‘Don’t go borrowing trouble!”