Joe's Wife. Cheryl St.John
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a coin. “Thanks.”
Sometimes he wondered why he’d come back here after the war. He could have ridden anywhere in the country and started his life over where no one knew him, where he didn’t have a past...or a reputation hanging over his head. Sometimes he wondered why he’d chosen instead to return to the town he’d grown up in, the place where he’d never been accepted. His mother was dead now, and there was nothing physical binding him.
More than once he’d lain on his lumpy bed at the boardinghouse and wondered what had drawn him here. Something more than sentiment or lack of? Something less tangible probably. Something like pride.
The bell over the door clanged, and Emery glared at Tye. Tye leaned insolently back against the counter, crossed his ankles and watched three women enter the store and pass through a dusty patch of sunlight streaming in the window. Edwina Telford, hair as steely gray as iron, her stiff black skirts rustling up dust motes, led her two daughters-in-law into the mercantile. Tye had rarely seen Edwina in any color but black. She’d worn it after the death of her parents and after the death of her husband. And now she wore black following the death of her eldest son, Joe.
Joe’s widow, Meg Telford, and her blond sister-in-law, Gwynn, trailed behind the stalwart woman like ducklings on their way to a morning swim.
“Good morning, Mr. Parks,” Edwina called.
“Morning, Telford ladies,” the shop owner called, addressing the trio. “What can I do for you today?”
“We’re shopping for Forrest’s birthday celebration,” Edwina said with pride.
“How old is the little fellow?”
The woman had reached the front counter, and Edwina skirted Tye as though he were a barrel of rat poison. Her powdery verbena scent made him want to sneeze. “My grandson will be four tomorrow. His father is surprising him with the pony he’s been asking for. Harley went to great pains to find a well-trained Shetland.”
“The little guy will like that, won’t he? He must be glad to finally have his daddy home from the war.” Emery spoke conversationally, as though Tye weren’t standing there.
Gwynn, too, stepped deliberately past Tye and replied, “We’re all grateful to have Harley home safe.”
Meg reached the spot where Tye stood, but instead of pretending he didn’t exist, she nodded and gave him a hesitant smile. “Morning, Tye.”
Her use of his first name caught him by surprise, but he held securely to his nonchalant expression. A knot of humiliation burned in his gut, and he resented feeling it. No reason why this woman seeing him spurned should make any difference. “Morning,” he returned.
Meg received a scathing look from her mother-in-law and hurried to join her.
Tye studied her straight back in the plain black dress and remembered her in vivid colors, remembered her dancing with Joe at socials, remembered her as a young and smiling girl. She still had the curviest figure in town. And though her hair was bound in a knot shaped like a figure eight, he recalled the rich tresses the color of dark honey that had flowed down her back in her school days.
The women gave their list to Emery and chattered among themselves.
Tye replaced his hat after tipping it to the ladies. “Nice chattin’ with ya.”
Meg smiled apologetically, embarrassed for him and for her rude in-laws who didn’t acknowledge he’d spoken.
Emery looked up from the list with a scowl.
With a discernible limp, Tye sauntered from. the store.
“Of all the impertinent men,” Edwina huffed, pressing her hankie to her nose as if she could keep Tye Hatcher’s taint from entering her bloodstream through her nostrils.
“Been in here ever’ week askin’ for a job,” Emery said. “Think he’d take the hint by now that nobody wants him in town and head out.”
Meg studied their disapproving faces, then glanced at the door Tye’s tall form had disappeared through. Why had he come back? Surely the rude treatment he received had discouraged him long before now. Even in school the kids had snubbed him because of their parents’ attitudes toward his illegitimacy and his mother’s questionable vocation.
He was regarded as a troublemaker; whenever there’d been a brawl in one of the saloons, he’d reportedly been present. In Meg’s company he’d always been reserved and mannerly, so she had a difficult time relating the solemn-faced young man with the haunted eyes to those tales of carousing and drinking.
Edwina was going over the list of things they’d need for baking that afternoon. Meg’s attention wavered to the jars of hard candy lined across the counter, and an acute ache stabbed through her chest. She would never come in here without remembering her Joe’s fondness for peppermint sticks.
It had been nearly a year since she’d received news of his death at the battle of the Potomac. But the reality of him never coming home hit her afresh at every turn. Why him? Why her Joe?
She steadied herself against a rough barrel exuding the sharp smell of salted meat and tried not to wonder what was going to become of her without him. It was the same quandary she faced every day. Even her well-meaning in-laws and her own family added to her dilemma with their constant insistence that she sell the ranch and move in with them.
“Meg? Are you all right, dear?”
At Gwynn’s gentle touch on her sleeve, Meg blinked away her oppressive thoughts and conjured up a smile. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” She busied herself with looking at skeins of colorful yarn in a nearby bin. I’m fine. Just fine. I’ve never been so fine. A tear fell on the back of her hand, and quickly she brushed it away. “I just need some air. I’ll be outside.”
Not caring what her in-laws might think, she hurried out the door, the bell clanging behind her.
The rustle of clothing and a scrape on the wooden floorboards alerted her to someone’s presence. She turned, just as Tye Hatcher flicked a cigarette butt end over end into the dusty street. The mellow smell of tobacco drifted to her.
His dark gaze met hers. “Ma’am,” he said politely, thumbing his iron gray hat back on his head. He took an awkward step forward. “I never had a chance to tell you how sorry I was to hear about Joe. He was a good man.”
Silence stretched between them. A buggy clattered past on the deeply rutted street.
“I’m sure you saw a lot of good men die,” she said softly.
His dark gaze revealed no emotion. “Yes, I did, ma’am. On both sides.”
For some reason it sounded odd to hear him call her ma’am. She’d known him since she could remember. She hadn’t known him well, but he’d always been there, always been a part of Aspen Grove. “We had to send for his body after the war, you know.”
“I know.” He looked out across the expanse of the street, offering her the opportunity to study his face, his smoothly shaven square jaw. His brows and sideburns were as black as the waves that curled over his collar. He was a man now; a handsome one, regardless of the unsmiling slash of his full lips. The sadness she sensed had always been there. But now it was more, more than just the disillusionment of a young boy.
Would Joe have looked that much older, too? Would the war have etched similar years on his face?
“I’ve always wondered if we really got the right one,” she blurted. “If the man we buried was Joe.” She hadn’t expressed that doubt to anyone before, and she wondered why she’d revealed it now. She looked away, but she felt him swing his gaze back to her face.
She realized then she had no reason to feel embarrassed in front of this man. Somehow she knew he understood her apprehension. She raised her chin and met his eyes. She could have sworn she recognized