The Glorious Prodigal (10 page)

She chatted on mostly with Raimey, but her eyes kept coming back to Stuart.

As for Stuart himself, whenever he was around Cora, he felt drawn to her as steel is drawn to a huge magnet. She had some power over him that he could not explain, and though he had fought against it every time she came home from one of the long travels with her husband, he somehow knew it even before he was told. Memory rushed over him and brought a dark flush to his face.
I must be the weakest man in creation! Here I am with a wife and a son and flirting with another man’s wife. . . .

Finally he said, “Better put the fish back, son.”

“All right, Dad.”

As soon as Raimey was gone, Cora leaned over, reached out, and put her hand on Stuart’s cheek. It was cooling and warm at the same time, and the very touch sent something like an electric current through Stuart. He stood there willing himself to move away and was aware that she could sense his struggle. It seemed to amuse her.

She lowered her voice and said in a husky whisper, “Carter has gone to Pine Bluff for two days. Come tonight.”

For some reason Stuart had a sudden impression that he was much like the fish Raimey had caught. That fish had struggled with all of its might but had been drawn into its doom. Now Stuart hoarsely said, “I told you. It’s all over, Cora.” He shook his head, pulled away from her touch, and turned.

“You’ll be there.” Her whisper floated to him.

Stuart shook his head slightly and without turning back went to the wagon. Raimey had gotten the fish back into the sack, and he lifted it over and put it into the pail of water.
The two of them climbed into the wagon, and Stuart kept his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead while Raimey turned and waved at Cora. “She’s a pretty lady.”

“Yes, she is,” Stuart answered tersely. He did not say another word on the rest of the trip home, but his face was red, as if he had been burned by her touch.

****

All afternoon, after they had gotten back from their fishing trip, Stuart worked with Merle and his oldest son, Wash. They were building a new barn, and Stuart was not a particularly good carpenter. Merle was, though, and his boy Wash, at eighteen, knew how to handle a hammer and nails, as well. Wash was a strapping young man, excellent with horses, so that he and Stuart always had plenty to talk about. As they were nailing on the decking that would take the roofing, Merle spoke of the horses that he so fondly loved even more than Stuart, if that were possible. Both of them loved fine racing horses, although they also raised mules for sale to the surrounding farmers. The quality animals that came from the Winslow place were always in high demand.

“Mr. Stuart, you know what I think?”

Stuart carefully nailed on another board and said, “What’s that, Wash?”

“I been thinkin’ if you would breed Princess to Thunder—my, that would be a fine colt!”

Stuart hit his thumb with a hammer, swore, and stuck it in his mouth. “Oh, that hurts!” he said. “Don’t you ever hit your finger?”

“No. I hits the nail, boss. That’s what hammers are for.”

Stuart scowled at him. “You always do have a smart answer.”

“Yes, sir, but I’m tellin’ you. That would be one fast hoss if we could just get a good colt out of Princess and Thunder.”

“I been thinkin’ the same thing. You’re a pretty smart fellow, Wash.”

“I learned a lot about hosses from you, Mr. Stuart. You know more about hosses than anybody I know of.”

The praise felt good to Stuart, and he continued working on the roof, trying not to hit his finger again. The two talked more about breeding and future colts until finally Annie appeared from the house.

“Supper’s ready! Come and get it.”

“I’m ready. I’m not much of a carpenter,” Stuart said, setting his hammer down.

“You do all right, boss, but you do better with hosses and playin’ that music. My, I wish I could play like you can!”

“You’re doing well with the guitar. We’ll have another lesson after supper tonight.” Stuart had been teaching Wash how to play and had discovered that the young man had the potential to be a fine picker. “Maybe come Christmas we’ll get you a really good instrument. That makes all the difference, you know.”

The two men came down the ladder and went to wash up. By the time Stuart got inside, Annie had already left to go feed her family.

When Stuart sat down he found Raimey was still talking about the fish. Stuart listened with amusement and finally said, “That fish is gettin’ bigger every time you tell it. By the time we get him mounted, he’ll be as big as this dinner table.”

Leah had been pleased that Stuart and Raimey had enjoyed the fishing trip so much. She had duly admired the fish and had seen to it that it was frozen with ice left over in the icehouse. Whenever the river froze over, they always kept ice covered with sawdust and buried deep in the ground. They all liked tea with ice in it, but she had sacrificed enough to keep the fish fresh until it could be stuffed.

Sitting down now, Leah bowed her head and asked the blessing without comment. There was never any question about this. Stuart never argued, but he also never could be persuaded to ask the blessing himself. He had said to her
when she had once requested it, “I’m not a man of God, Leah. It wouldn’t be right.”

Leah saw something wrong with his answer, and she had said quietly, “But you must be thankful for something, Stuart. Someday you’ll know God, but you can be thankful even now.”

She had never brought it up again, but her words had stayed in Stuart’s mind for a long time. He thought of it even now as he looked over the table. Pushing the thought aside, as he often did with matters concerning God, he said, “It’s a fine supper.”

It was a fine supper indeed—baked country ham, candied yams, beet salad, and pecan pie for dessert.

As Raimey was working on his pie, Stuart asked, “How do you feel, Leah?”

“Very good. It’s much easier than last time.”

“The last time what?” Raimey demanded. He had a considerable amount of his supper on his shirt, for he ate rapidly and often spilled some.

“The last time I had a baby—which was you.”

“Why is this one easier?”

“I don’t know, Raimey. I guess maybe the first child’s always hard for a woman.”

Raimey considered that thoughtfully. He had a way, Leah saw, of thinking things over and knew that this trait came from her. Stuart was impulsive, but her own habit of meditation and thoughtfulness had been passed along to this dark-haired son of theirs.

“Can I have a brother?”

Leah laughed suddenly. She had a good laugh, and then she shook her head. “That’s not up to me. God decides that.”

“Maybe you could have two babies—a boy and a girl.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so. At least your grandmother says I’m not. She says it’ll be a girl.”

“How does she know?” Raimey demanded after a moment’s silence.

“Your grandmother’s a very wise woman. You ought to listen to her more.”

Raimey continued to eat his pie, and finally he turned to Leah and said, “Dad says that when we’re rich we’re gonna go to the Gulf and catch a fish that’s big as a boat.”

“I’d like to see that, but it would sure be hard to clean, wouldn’t it?”

The idea amused Raimey and he grinned, his dark eyes glowing. “I wouldn’t care,” he boasted. “I’d clean it myself.”

For a while the three sat there, the adults listening to Raimey as he had to tell his mother again exactly how he had caught the fish. As he spoke, Leah felt a pang of sadness. Times like this were all too rare for the three of them. More and more over the past years Stuart had pulled away from her and from their son. She hoped their little fishing trip would be the beginning of more special times.

Stuart had become one of the most popular musicians in the county and even beyond. Invitations to play arrived constantly, and Leah knew Stuart found his real contentment in playing for people. Anymore, the horses were the only part of the farm that interested him.

It was different with Leah, for she loved her home and everything about it. But now as she looked silently across the table at Stuart, she knew there was a gap between them that was growing wider every day.

****

Stuart left the house after supper and walked down to the stock pond. The August days were long, so that even at seven-thirty the sun was not yet down. He walked around the pond, watching the small circles that appeared where the brim rose to take the insects that came too near the surface. Once a bass broke the surface, splashing the water and shattering the stillness of the evening air. He had put that bass in himself when it had weighed no more than a pound, and now he guessed it probably would be as large as the one Raimey
had caught. He had stocked the pond so that Raimey could catch it one day. Now as he circled the pond, he smiled as he thought of the boy’s pleasure.

Sitting down on the stump of an old cedar tree that had fallen the previous year in a storm, Stuart still smelled the aromatic, pungent odor of the cedar oil. The heat of the day was passing away from the earth, and he sat for a long time simply soaking in the sight of the sun slowly dipping behind the hills, leaving the golden glow in the heavens. The longer he sat there, the more aware he became of his surroundings. At his feet a tiny green snake slithered in the grass. He did not move but watched the strange grace of the reptile as it moved away. Overhead a hawk was circling in the last vestiges of daylight, and Stuart felt a moment’s envy for the freedom of the raptor.

A dissatisfaction for the emptiness of his life came to him, and he could not shake it off. This part of his being he could never understand. The day had been a good one. He had enjoyed it as he had few other days in the past months. It was a joy for him to be around Raimey, and one thing he knew for certain. The love he had for this boy of his was stronger in him than he had ever dreamed possible. Once again the resolution came.
I’ve got to do more with Raimey. I’ve got to be a real dad to him. He deserves that.

But another thought rose from deep within him and surfaced, and he fought it off. It was the memory of Cora. She was intoxicating and seemed to possess a power over him he could not define. Vainly he struggled to put the thought of her out of his mind.

He got up, kicked angrily at a stone, and sent it spinning into the pond. He turned and walked rapidly, gritting his teeth.
I’ve got to shake her. I can’t go on this way,
he thought.
I won’t go.

He went at once to the house that he had helped Annie and Merle build and found them sitting on the porch with Wash, watching their three younger children playing a game
of tag in the yard. “I’d like to try that new idea for a shoe we were talking about, Wash,” Stuart said abruptly.

“Why, yes, sir! Yes, Mr. Stuart, we’ll work on that. I’ll get the forge fired up right now,” Wash said.

Annie watched the two go off and shook her head. “That Stuart ain’t got no peace and no contentment.”

“No, he ain’t. It’s like somethin’ on the inside is fightin’ him all the time,” Merle said sadly. “He’s got the world by the tail and everything a man could want, but it ain’t enough for him.”

The two sat there quietly, both disturbed in their minds, and soon they heard the sound of the hammers striking on steel, and they knew that it would go on until Stuart Winslow exhausted himself.

****

Leah lay in bed running her hand over her swollen abdomen. The baby was beginning to move, and always she was awed by the life that was growing within her. She lay there thinking of the child to come in a few months until Stuart slipped into bed beside her, and then she waited for him to speak. He had stayed out at the forge until almost eleven o’clock, and she had gone to bed, too tired to stay up. Her thoughts troubled her, and she whispered, “Stuart.”

“Yes. What is it?”

“The baby’s moving. Here. Feel it.”

Her hand tugged at him, and he rolled over slowly and put his hand on her abdomen. He could feel the quick movement of the baby, and he, too, was struck with a sense of awe. “I hope it’s a girl,” he said.

“I thought you wanted another son.”

“A girl would be more company for you.”

Leah laid her hand on Stuart’s and said, “I do get lonely, Stuart. You’re gone so much.”

Quickly he pulled his hand away. “I have to do it. I don’t know why.”

Leah felt a sense of pain and anger. For years she had been losing this man, and now it all seemed to rise within her, and she said, “A woman needs a man, Stuart. You’re my husband and I’m losing you.”

“You’re not losing me.”

“You think I don’t know about what you do? You come in smelling of perfume and whiskey. It’s Cora, isn’t it? Why don’t you just go to her?”

As soon as she had spoken the words, Leah could have bitten her tongue. She had vowed she would not be a shrew, that she would never bring up such an accusation. She had known about Stuart’s old affair with Cora, and she knew he was still infatuated with her, yet she had vowed never to say a word. But now it had slipped out.

Stuart went rigid, and then with a violent gesture he came to his feet. “All right. I will!”

“Stuart, I didn’t mean it.”

Stuart did not hear her, for a mixture of anger and old attractions filled him as he threw on his clothes. “I’m going to Fayetteville,” he said. “I’ll be playing there for three nights.”

As soon as he was dressed, he picked up his suitcase, threw some clothes in, and then moved toward the door.

For Leah it seemed to be the end of the world. The truth about Cora was out in the open now between them. She got up and fixed her eyes on him. She stood between Stuart and the door and said, “Stuart, don’t go.”

“Don’t try to stop me, Leah. I’m going.”

And then Leah said in a voice that was not her own, “If you go, don’t bother to come back!”

“Maybe I won’t!” he said, then shouldered past her.

She heard the door slam. Stiffly she moved over to the chair beside the bed and sat down in it. All her strength seemed to drain out of her, and she cried out, “Oh, God, what’s happening? I’m losing everything.”