One afternoon on Arthur's next visit, he and Eliza were on her bed as he began unbuttoning her bodice and hiking his hand up her skirts, leaning down to kiss her. As he unbuttoned his breeches, she ran a hand up under his shirt.
"Off," she whispered. "Off."
He reached back and pulled it up over his head, messing his hair in the process, and dropped it to the floor as he returned to her. He hurriedly got situated between her legs and heard her suck in a sudden breath. "What?" he said looking down and back up at her face. Her eyes were clenched closed, her lips pressed tightly together. "Did I hurt you?"
She shook her head and began to breathe again. "Maybe not quite so quickly next time."
When he saw her mouth etch into a slight grin, his expression relaxed. "Sorry," he breathed a chuckle.
"It's all right," she said wrapping her arms around his lower back.
Just when she began to moan and sigh, she gasped and lifted her head from the pillow. "Arthur, wait, wait. I hear someone. A wagon."
He looked up and ducked his head to peer through the window as she propped herself up on her elbows, her mouth pink from having just been kissed. "'S that that Andrews?" He groaned. "He's got a fine sense of timin'."
"Yes, he's here with our groceries. I gotta go meet 'im outside."
"Oh no, don't do it to me, hun," he whined as he kissed her, hoping to stop her protests. "We're halfway through!"
She tried and failed to keep from letting out a breathy laugh through her nose as he kissed her. "No, Arthur, I gotta get out there."
"Well, just—" he huffed. "We finally got the kid down for a nap. Let's finish here fir—"
"No, no, seriously, Arthur! We can't let him knock on the door," she panicked, swatting him. "I gotta get out there! Let me up."
He sighed and relented, and she immediately scrambled to her feet. Sitting on the end of the bed she put her boots on and laced them, hurriedly glancing in the mirror and buttoning her bodice as she left the room. She swept a hand through her hair, taking a deep breath and smiling brightly as she opened and stepped through the front door, closing it behind her.
"How've you been, Mr. Andrews?" she said as she stepped off the front porch and walked toward him.
"Oh, 'bout like that, Miss Eliza," he said. "We're all gettin' by."
She approached the group of dry goods and sundries he'd already unloaded from the cart.
"Okay…" he said pointing to each item. "Gotchyer buckwheat, cornmeal, oats, salt, salt pork…"
Still without a shirt, Arthur buttoned up his breeches as he entered the sitting room and peered from a distance through the crack in the curtains.
"Potatoes—sweet and otherwise… Coffee, canister of olive oil, good ol' Misty Willow honey, couple bars of soap, and a bag of peanuts," Andrews said. "Didn't bring any dairy this time, 'cause I know you got that milkin' cow now."
Remaining behind the curtains, Arthur approached the window and lit a cigarette as he watched the interaction out front, Eliza with her back to the house. He left the cigarette between his lips as he loaded his rifle.
"And I know you said you've got that garden goin' and you found some fruit trees round the place, but things of that nature can take a while to grow," Andrews said. "So I threw in some canned veggies, fresh fruit, and a small bag of sugar, 'cause I know you like makin' them pies," he grinned. "Don't have to pay me back for that, since it wasn't agreed upon beforehand."
"You didn't have to do that. Thank you, Mr. And—"
"Oh!" Andrews said reaching for his back pocket.
Arthur lifted his rifle and took aim at the old man, his breathing cool and even.
"And today's paper," Andrews said with a smile, pulling out a folded newspaper.
Arthur lowered his rifle and let out a puff of smoke, keeping his eye on the stranger.
"Thank you, that's awful thoughtful of you," Eliza said.
"Not a problem. All right, I'll go ahead and start gettin' these things into the house for ya," he said beginning to stoop for the sack of buckwheat.
"No, no, just leave it there," Eliza said quickly, then realized how sudden and forceful she'd sounded. She smiled as he stood upright. "Wouldn't want you to burden yourself further."
"Well, I always do it that way for ya. It ain't no trouble," he said. "I brought 'em this far; I can take 'em all the way."
"I'll take 'em in. That's fine. Thank you."
"No sense in you carryin' these heavy things by your lonesome."
She cleared her throat, catching his eye. "That's just fine, I say, Mr. Andrews," she said slowly with a gentle smile. "Please leave 'em where they lie. Thank you." She watched as he eyed her. She knew it wouldn't be long before his mind ventured to questioning just how she'd get the items into the house without him.
Mr. Andrews noticed her hair in disarray as she nervously tried to tuck it back, her cheeks flushed, and one of the buttons on her bodice mismatched from its hole. He glanced back at the homestead and squinted at her. "He here?" he finally said. "Boy's father."
Eliza swallowed as their eyes locked.
He sighed, his jaw tense. "I watched you suffer alone because of that bastard."
"I wasn't alone." She kept her eyes on him, seeing him take her meaning. "He'd thank you, for what you did…if he knew. I know he would." She squinted at him in the daylight, trying not to think on the fact that she knew no such thing. She watched the cogs in his head turn. She knew he wasn't stupid, that at this very moment he was considering the fact that if everything were decent and normal, she'd be inviting him inside to meet the person they were discussing, rather than halting him and keeping him several yards back from the house. She felt herself start to squirm as he looked at her, sensing she was standing on ice that was about to shatter at any moment. "Please, Mr. Andrews. Turn away and go on home. Please."
He looked into her eyes and softened when he recognized her pleading. He sighed, turning to leave, and his eyes were sad and full of concern. "You just…try to take care of yourself, all right, Miss Eliza? It's plumb clear ain't no one can do it for ya."
She nodded forlornly and watched him shake his head as he got into the wagon seat. And she briefly got a glimpse of how others must see her: young, reckless, and hopeless; foolish to the point of her own detriment; living in sin, caught in a whirling hurricane; and getting mixed up in something far worse than anyone fully understood.
As he began to goad the horses onward, she walked back towards the house. When she came through the front door she saw Arthur standing shirtless at the window, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and his rifle aimed at Mr. Andrews.
"Arthur, my god!" she gasped, lunging at him. "What are you doing? Put that away!"
He looked at her from the corner of his eyes, keeping his weapon aimed at the man as he left the property. "Can't blame me. I don't know him from Adam," he said snidely.
She hurriedly tried to get him to lower his gun.
"I ain't about to let him pull a gun on you and I'm none the wiser," he said as he finally lowered it and looked down at her. "Shoot first, ask questions later—it's what I live by. Why I'm still standin'. 'Sides. He robbed me! That's enough for me to make him suspect."
She shot him a confused look.
"Robbed us of a right fine finish to that little session of ours back there," he said.
She rolled her eyes. She looked down at Arthur's hands, seeing his tight grip around his rifle. Her gut was mangled at the thought of Arthur's barrel covering someone so gentle. She couldn't understand his world, and she hoped she never would.
Arthur looked at her, then out the window, but quickly looked back at her when something sincere in her eyes caught him.
She looked up at him, her eyes serious and pleading, but her voice calm and even. "Please don't ever do that again."
.
"She's a good hearted woman
in love with a good timin' man.
She loves him in spite of his wicked ways
that she don't understand.
Through teardrops and laughter,
that pass through this world hand in hand.
Lord knows she don't understand him,
but she does the best that she can."
- Waylon Jennings, "Good Hearted Woman"
