Bartered

Chapter Two

I see Eddie Cullen again today.

The clouds hang over our heads in thick, rollin' waves, grey an dreary, full of rainwater an edged with thunder, but no chance of rain. No, no chance 'tall.

That's how it looks when I stare into Eddie's eyes, like a storm's 'bout to blow over an wipe us all away, takin' me an everythang else along with it. It's terrifyin' an exhileratin' all at once.

I sit in the back pew of the church with Pa an Ma on my right, an Alice on my left. Mama's got the baby just a-bouncin' him on her lap. Them front teeth's just comin' on in, an drool's just a rollin' down that lil chin. He's smilin' an kickin' them legs, an it makes me smile an want to kick my legs too, seein' him happy. I would kick my legs, if they weren't so blasted tired from all the walkin' I've been doin'.

My family an I, we've been walkin' everywhere. After the stock market crashed back in twenty-nine, thangs started steadily goin' downhill. What lil money we had saved up in the bank is now gone.

Pa says thousands of banks failed, an many of our friends, family, an neighbors are hit hard by the tough times, too. We's so broke we was forced to sell Pa's tractor an truck. Now we walk or take my Papaw's old buggy to town, an hitch up the old mule when we plow.

I'm pulled from my thoughts as I hear Eddie's voice. He's at the front of the church, standin' with the hymn-book in his hand, but he ain't got it open. No siree, he's sangin' from memory an doin' it well, too. I hear him clean over all the other voices inside the clapboard walls, them voices reverbratin' an echoin' in the early mornin' air, an it's purdy, his voice.

I watch him, all mornin', sangin' an prayin', his face occasionally hidden, as the ladies sittin' in front of me fan their faces; the fans an flowery hats obscurin' my view of him from time to time. If he knows I'm watchin' he shows no inclination of it.

No, his attention is focused on the preacher man, who's shoutin' an gesturin' with his hands, wipin' the beads of sweat from his brow with that old hanky. It's near the beginnin' of April, but damn it's hot. It's hot one day an cold the next, an Pa says it's twister weather. He must mean it too, 'cause Pa don't say nothin' he don't mean.

I skidaddle outside, once church services end. Standin' near the front door, shiftin' my weight from foot to foot, I'm caught in a bind with my affections. I'm half wishin' he'd come on out an see me standin' here, half wishin' he won't. Truth is, I'm scared of this man. I'm scared of the sinful ways I think 'bout him, 'bout the night I met him in that cotton field, pressin' himself 'gainst me. I'm scared of these feelins' I got deep inside, like I'm on the verge of dyin' every time I look at his shiny hair an green eyes. I'm scared he's gonna tell Pa 'bout catchin' me on his land.

Ma steps out of the church buildin', slippin' right on over to where Mrs. Henderson stands just a-waitin' on her. They ease into idle conversation 'fore the gossipin' begins; gabbin' 'bout who's cheatin' on who an why the sheriff came on down to the Lesley house last Wednesday. I sigh in discontent 'cause we just got out of church, an gossipin' is a sin, but so is lustin' after some strange man, so I'm not one to judge. When I hear the 'Cullen' name mentioned, my ears perk up.

"I heard he's Old Man Cullen's sister's child," Mrs. Henderson whispers, the black hat an big, fake flowers bobbin' on her head as she nods. "I heard he's college educated too, a journalist from Knoxville, Tennessee!"

"College educated?" Ma murmurs, proppin' the baby on her hip, an shootin' an uneasy look at the church door. "Reckon how long he's in town?"

"No one's fer certain," Mrs. Henderson gushes, her voice edged with excitement. "But rumor has it that he's decided to stay here fer a while, take over the farm an git it back on its feet. Maybe he'll stay here permanently."

"That'd be nice," Mamma muses, castin' me an Alice a sideways glance. "Maybe he'll find him a wife an settle down."

"Oh, he's already engaged," Mrs. Henderson interrupts, trepidation evident in her voice. "I hear she's a beauty, too."

"Is that so?" I speak up, startlin' the two old birds. Mama's hazel eyes look rightly abashed by my accusatory tone an disruptive manner. "He's gittin' hitched?"

"That's what I heard," Mrs. Henderson nods, that big ole hat just dancin' on her gray head. "He's engaged to a Hale gal."

My soul is wounded. I'm a hollered out log, full of ants an termites, or maybe a cotton boll covered in weevils, devoured an empty. I'm nothin' but a dried up stem left as evidence to the world that I did, at one point, exist.

Eddie steps out of that old church buildin' gazin' at me with a face as bright as the impendin' sun, peakin' out after day upon day of torrid, thunder clouds. Alls I want to do is hang my head an cry, fer I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed of lettin' this man hurt me the way he has. I'm ashamed of fallin' fer a man I know nothin' 'bout.

I'm ashamed of allowin' myself to feel anything 'tall, just fer a chicken or two.

Reviews = Eddie singin' the old-time hymns