Forgotten Honeymoon. Marie Ferrarella
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her thumb and forefinger vertically.
Bass estimated. “About three inches?”
She nodded. “Yeah. She makes boots and stuff, so she’d know. That might do. How much money ya got?”
“Whoa there, that’s two questions for my one, and a man usually doesn’t disclose...tell...that kind of information about himself to a stranger.”
She put the book and paper on the edge of his bed and stuck the pencil through one of her braids to rest on her ear. The child stood and offered him her left hand. “You can call me Ollie. Now we ain’t strangers no more.”
Offering his hand, Bass leaned over and shook hers. “Bass Parker. Glad to meet you, miss. You can call me Bass.”
“Oh yeah,” she said when their hands released. She grabbed one edge of her overalls and curtsied. “I forgot. Mama said I have to do this when I meet somebody, but I like a good old handshake myself, don’t you?”
“I think mamas always know best.”
“Figured ya’d say that. So how ’bout it?” She grabbed her writing instruments then resumed the interview. “How much money do ya have, Bass?”
Persistent little soul. “Enough to pay for meals and board while we’re staying here.”
The child scratched down words then answered his second question. “Teague’s one of my pals. He comes and goes, but mostly he notices things. I watch him watchin’ other people. He does that real good. Says he likes to keep his eye out for bad men, so I think he must be some kinda special marshal or somethin’. He’s letting the sheriff chase the robbers this time. Somethin’ about jury’s-friction, whatever that is. I figure he’s gonna make sure the town’s safe during the races tomorrow while the sheriff and the posse’s gone.”
Ollie leaned in a little closer as though she was sharing a secret. “When I ask him about being a lawman, he says he won’t tell me I’m right and he ain’t bashful about telling me when I’m wrong. I’m sticking with it ’til I find out for sure, so he’ll see how smart I am, even if I’m only seven and a half. I got him on my for-sure list for Mama, though, if he’s a good man. And he seems pretty good so far.” She exhaled a long breath. “Whew! I ought to get two questions for that big ol’ answer.”
“So Teague is interested in your mother?” Not Petula, Bass was glad to know that. About the widow? She’d grieved more time than most did. He respected her for that. Showed love and devotion. Something Bass respected above all else.
Ollie shrugged. “He likes Mama just fine, but there ain’t no sparkin’ goin’ on. You know that kissy kind of stuff. Now, how ’bout you? Are ya good at kissin’ and do you think you’re handsome?”
Bass acted as if he was rubbing his chin in thought but he needed his hand to hide a grin. “I can answer the one and the other is none of your business, Little Friend.”
Her eyes rounded in surprise.
“I don’t discuss kissing with anyone but whoever I’m kissing and, as far as my looks go, I am not anywhere near as handsome as your daddy was.”
Her mouth gaped. “You knew my daddy? You seen him in real live person?”
Her astonishment hit Bass in the gut. He hadn’t realized Ollie had never seen her father.
Still, it made sense. Daisy must have been with child when he met Knox. Knox died after the war ended, killed in a battle by men who didn’t know a cease-fire had been agreed upon. He must have never made it to his new home in High Plains during his years of conscription. Never held his child in his arms.
Bass’s guilt worsened, twisted something deep in his heart. He owed Daisy Trumbo and Ollie much more than he realized. If only he hadn’t hired Knox, giving him the money to take his place in the war. Reasons that seemed so strong then didn’t measure up to the price the Trumbos had paid. No wonder the widow refused his help and his money. She obviously considered him, not the war, the reason Knox had lost his life. The reason Ollie had never met her father.
Full of remorse, Bass struggled to find appropriate words. Finally, he whispered, “Your daddy was a truly heroic man, Ollie. Handsome and gallant to the ladies, brave and a leader to his men. Knox won many battles. I followed all his victories in the papers, wrote him letters to say how proud I was of him. That’s one of the reasons I’m here. I want to help your mother if she’ll let me.”
By doing so, he could put his guilt about the whole matter behind him and lead him and his sister to a better place. A happier path.
“Then you was his friend?”
“I’d like to think so.” Bass looked around the room, studying the furnishings. The widow had a right to be living much better than this. He could help make that happen if she’d just let him. “Do you know if there’s a stone marker on your father’s grave yet?”
“There’s a perfectly good wooden cross posted,” announced Daisy Trumbo, entering the room with a tea service, “and fresh flowers when the weather allows.”
Tall and thin, she reminded him of a stalk of wheat standing defiant to the wind, exuding a strong silent will that he suspected couldn’t be buffeted easily.
“I help clean up the grave real good every time, don’t I, Mama?” Ollie glanced up from her chair.
“You sure do, honey.”
Behind the widow, carrying another tray, followed a woman whose body was as round as it was tall. Gray hair streaked through her temples and in the chignon pinned atop her head, making her dark hair look salted. Her green eyes could have cut him, they appeared so sharp in color.
“Your money’s still in the bank where you sent it.”
The rotund woman answered what he’d really wanted to know from the widow, challenging him with a lift of double chins.
Bass waited until his hostess set her tray on the table and actually looked at him before shifting his gaze toward the interfering woman. “Is this your cook?”
“I’m Myrtle,” the angry-looking woman spoke for herself. “Cook and most everything else around here, mister. Particularly, friend and protector to the Trumbos. Daisy’s already told me what I need to know about you.”
Bass introduced himself properly anyway to both women since he’d never really officially met Daisy. “We stopped in town wanting to visit with you, Mrs. Trumbo, before continuing on to California, where we’ve sent our things. I hope you’ll change your mind about accepting the money or at least allow me to erect a memorial to Knox in the town square. I’m sure you’d like to see that he has a more permanent marker for his grave. I won’t feel I’ve done him justice until I take that worry off your mind.”
“You should have thought about that when you hired him to take your place fighting.” The cook glared at Bass. “She didn’t want your coward’s money then, she sure doesn’t now.”
“Now, Myrtie.” Daisy held up one palm as if to ward off her cook’s fierce defense. “Why don’t you set your tray down and go about your duties. I’ll feed our guest so he’ll get some rest and be able to get on his way sooner.”
That was the politest way Bass had ever been told neither he nor his money were welcome, but he was determined to put his guilt at rest. To convince her that she should accept his offerings. His stomach rumbled as he got a whiff of something that smelled wonderful.
“Drink this first.” Daisy poured from the tea service and handed him a cup, squarely meeting his gaze. “Verbena tea with a touch of mint will strengthen you faster. That’s the point here, Mr. Parker. I owe you for saving my and Ollie’s lives earlier, but that’s where this ends. I want nothing else from you than for you to get well and continue on down the road.”
“Clear enough.” He took a sip of the tea. She intended to continue fighting his good intentions.