Bartered
Chapter Three
"Quit follerin' me around like a dog in heat."
I'm walkin' home right quick, tryin' my best to make it there 'fore the rain sets in. It's been hangin' over our heads fer days, the rain clouds that is. The dirt road travels far ahead of me, windin' around hills an gullies, the red ground rugged with hoof prints, motorcar tracks, an wagon wheel ruts. The pines are bent an bowed over with a stiff breeze that billows through the holler.
Eddie's been follerin' me fer 'bout an hour. That's usually how long it takes me to walk from home to Dr. Gerandy's house an back again. I'd already be sittin' purdy at home if Eddie Cullen hadn't been hinderin' an pesterin' me so, strikin' up casual conversation that I pretend to ignore as I walk an he sits high up on that horse of his.
Eddie's follered me like this fer the past few weeks, sometimes in his fancy motorcar, sometimes on his black mare. He's been bumpin' into me at the dry goods store, the bank, or just takin' a stroll down the road. He's been chasin' me with dogged determination every chance he gits, but I turn up my nose with each advance, thankin' of that gal he's marryin'.
"Let me put those bottles in my saddlebag, Bella," he offers, interruptin' my thoughts.
The pleadin' tone comin' from his mouth causes my mouth to curl up in discomfort. I don't like the way I feel 'bout this man, 'specially since he's gittin' hitched an all, an I'd prefer fer him to treat me real mean, 'stead of bein' so damn nice. It'd sure make thangs easier on me, that's fer sure.
"I've been takin' care of myself fer goin' on eighteen years now, I reckon," I tell him, holdin' my head up high, breathin' in the smell of rain. "I sure don't need no help from you."
"Bella, I don't understand your hostility. Explain what's changed from the time I caught you stealing my chickens up until now."
"Ha! If you don't know, don't concern yourself with it."
He's gittin' mad. He's all bowed up on that big, black horse, frownin' an scowlin' down at me, an I like it. I like angerin' the feller, 'cause maybe if he gits mad enough he'll let me be, an thangs can go back to the way they once were, the way they were 'fore he came whirlin' into my life like a tornado.
I'm so busy bein' so high falutin' with my nose in the air that I don't notice the dip in the road until I'm fallin' towards God's green earth, the deep-hued glass bottles clutched tightly to my chest. My ankle twists beneath me an I cry out in pain, curled up on one side, my hand immediately makin' its way down my leg.
The pain is white-hot an blindin', causin' my eyes to blur up in tears. I hear him dismount the giant beast of an animal, his boots slidin' from the stirrups, the saddle squeakin' as he slings one leg over the horse. He's by my side in a heartbeat, his lithe fingers on my throbbin' ankle, pressin' down here an there, sighin' when I whimper in pain.
"You're hurt," he murmurs, but he sound like the one who's hurt. They's a disheartened tremor in his voice, as though my pain affects him as well, causin' me to glare up at him through my tears.
"I'm fine," I mumble, gatherin' up my bottles, an attemptin' to stand.
The pain becomes almost unbearable, an I grow weak, unable to stand, feelin' my leg give out beneath me. His arms wind 'round me as he holds me up, removin' my weight from one leg an guidin' me unwillingly to the mare.
I begrudgingly hand him the bottles, bearin' all my weight on my good leg as he slowly places the bottles inside his saddlebag, careful not to break them.
"Who's sick?"
"My Ma's got a dry cough," I hedge, avoidin' his lingerin' stare. "She's fine; just needs some good ole rest is all. She's stubborn as a mule. Won't listen to a thang I tell her."
"Sounds like someone else I know," he muses, givin' me a wink that sends my heart putterin' in my chest, an I want to crumble, crumble into him an never look back.
"You gonna help me up on this horse, or what?" I ask, swallowin' my yearnin' down with my pride as I avoid his smile.
It's hard mountin' a horse with one bad leg, 'specially when Eddie's hands are on my back-end, helpin' to hoist me up. My face burns an my cheeks grow red, 'specially when he starts laughin' at my expression, turnin' my embarrassment into anger, but it's short lived. When he slips his booted foot in one stirrup, an swangs the other over the back of the horse, I gasp, 'cause now he's sharin' a saddle with me, pressed up 'gainst my rear-end all snug.
"I spoke to your father today."
Them words brang a chill deep down in my bones. Pa don't much like strangers, an I can't imagine any conversation between him an Mr. Cullen bein' a pleasant one.
"What y'all talk 'bout?"
"I asked permission to court you."
My face grows cold, an my belly flips with those words. I find myself slack jawed an fumblin' fer words.
"What did Pa say?" I finally whisper, swallerin' the knot in my throat.
"Let's just say he's not too keen on the idea."
"My Pa's a good person," I hedge, strugglin' to grasp a good response. "But he's tired an mean. He's wary of folks that ain't from around here."
Eddie's body, pressed so closely to mine, grows stiff 'gainst my back. Glancin' down I notice those same arms wrapped around my waist, grippin' the horse's reins turnin' pale beneath his newfound sunburn.
"Mean?" he questions with a voice filled with trepidation.
"He can git mean as all git-out," I reply, them words slippin' on out like turpentine on my tongue. "You work at a newspaper. You ain't worked a field all your life. It's hard work, that, an raisin' a houseful of young 'uns."
"He just got him a job at the sawmill to help make ends meet. Our farm is small. Ma does all she can to help, but with the baby an all, she can't carry her load as well as my sister an I, so Alice an I work the field while Pa's at the sawmill.
"At the end of the day he comes home coughin' an sputterin', too exhausted from a hard day's work to do much else besides eat supper an fall asleep. I hate myself fer bein' so relieved an all, but I am, 'cause if he's too tired to hit a lick at home, he's too tired to hit a lick at us kids."
I tell Eddie all these thangs, explainin' to him how hard Pa hits when he swangs that old strap, takin' his aggression out on us young 'uns from time to time. It all comes out, the words tumblin' from my lips as I ramble on an on to this man, the first person I've ever discussed private thangs with.
Eddie remains quiet, silently listenin' as I gab, an I thank he's grown disgusted with me, an I tell him so. I tell him so, askin' if he hates me, wonderin' if he's finished bein' moon-eyed at me. Then I turn to gaze at him. He stares at my 'shamed eyes like he's seein' the stars fer the first time.
"I reckon you're tired of chasin' me now. I ain't sassy like you thought I was. I'm weak."
"I'll never grow tired of you, Bella;" he tells me, his voice sure an somber as he stares me directly in the eye. "I care deeply about you."
Ain't nobody ever told me they cared 'bout me. Not my Ma, Pa, or even my lil sister. Tough times create tough people, an affections ain't somethin' commonly discussed among us. I'm leery of his words, leery but eager to accept them.
'Stead of returnin' the compliment, I remain silent, mulin' them words over in my head. The horse walks slowly down the road, each step rockin' me back an forth 'gainst the saddle, back an ferth 'gainst Eddie. When he veers from the road to a trail in the thick brush I ask him just where he thanks he's a-takin' me.
"I need to wrap your ankle, bird thief," he explains, his breath nice an warm on my neck. "Then I'll take you home."
I nod my head, but I secretly hope he doesn't. As sinful as it is, I just wanna stay in that saddle, wrapped in them arms, pressed 'gainst his chest forever.
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