The Green Lace Corset, стр. 49

“Coming,” she called, and held Socks in her arms. Sally Sue cracked open the door and peeked out. A scrawny fellow with a mangy mustache and beard stood on the porch. He stunk to high heaven, as if he hadn’t had a bath in years. Gnats flew around his sideways hat. His beaded and fringed suede jacket matched his soiled pants.

He looked like a sinful man, tipped-up nose like a coyote. “Kin you spare a poor man somethin’ to eat?” he asked. A mule and a sled filled with what appeared to be beaver furs stood behind him.

At least she had on the men’s clothing. “Wait here. I’ll see what I have.” She closed the door, but he pushed it open and followed her inside.

“Yer purty. I ain’t seen a gurl nigh on a year.” The man grinned at her.

She put Socks on the bed, glanced at the door, and raised her voice so Cliff might hear: “Smells like you haven’t seen a bath in that long, either, you scallywag!”

“But I’ve been up in them peaks,” he whined, and kept walking toward her.

Heart pounding, she kept backing up. “Don’t they have streams up there?”

“Aren’t you the alley cat?” The man lunged toward her with a high-pitched titter.

She reached out and slapped him. “Stay away.”

Tears in his eyes, he put a hand to his cheek. “Why’d you go and do that?”

She tried to keep her hands from shaking as she pulled out a chair. “You set while I make you some fixins. In the meantime, here’s an apple.” She picked a rotten one from the horse stash, handed it to the man, and put the stationery and ink on the mantel.

He pulled out a knife, cut up the apple, and chowed it down quickly. “Mmm. Tasty.” He growled like a wolf, leered at her. What was he going to do?

He rose, scurried around the table, and grasped her wrists with sweaty fingers that wiggled like snakes.

She pulled away with a roiling grimace, grabbed the gun from the hearth, and aimed it at his chest. “Git out.” she hollered.

“You ain’t the shootin’ kind,” he snickered, with a toothy grin.

“Wanna try me?” she asked. “I’ve never shot a man before but have always wanted to.” She cocked the gun.

He winced, backed up toward the door, and opened it.

“Thanks for the apple,” he said, hurrying down the porch steps and out to his mule.

Sally Sue followed and pulled the trigger, and, to her shock, a bullet whizzed out over the man’s head. She was sure Cliff had said the gun wasn’t loaded. The mountain man yelped and hightailed on his mule up to the hills.

“Don’t you ever come back!” she yelled.

Cliff came running from the barn in his long johns. “What in the Sam Hill blazes . . .” He followed Sally Sue’s gaze as the man continued on the path off the ranch.

“You told me it wasn’t loaded.” She’d liked the power of shooting a gun.

“Just a white lie. I wasn’t sure what you would do with it.”

“Are you cockeyed? I could’ve killed him. Besides, I’m no scaredy-cat,” she said, even though she was still shaking in her boots.

Cliff put his hand on her shoulder. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, but he’s gonna be hurting soon.”

“Why?”

“I gave him one of those rotten apples.”

“You’re as wise as an owl.”

“Thank you for the compliment. Now, put your clothes on and teach me how to actually shoot before I really kill somebody.”

He paused and walked with her to the cabin and looked around inside. “Not today. I’ve got something else I wanna do.”

“So, you’ll teach me?” She couldn’t believe it.

“I suppose I might.” He picked up the crib from the corner and carried it toward the door.

“Where’re you going with that?” Sally Sue asked.

“You’ll see.”

“But I use it to dry laundry.”

“You’re wise—figure out something else.”

Her chest prickled; she was sorry to see the crib go. It had reminded her to have hope that she’d escape and have a child of her own to put in one someday. They were foolish desires, but she couldn’t help herself.

As she began to sew the curtains again, a loud sawing exploded from the barn.

What was he up to? For an hour she tried to ignore the noise, but eventually she tiptoed out and peeked through the slats.

“Go away, or I’ll tar and feather you!” he hollered.

She skittered back to the cabin. What in the world was he making?

Around noon, he came in for a bite to eat.

“What’re you making?” Sally Sue asked.

“A surprise.” He raised an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

He finished eating and returned to the barn. Soon a pounding racket ensued.

As the sun set and she was fixing supper, Cliff carried in under his arm an odd-looking leather-and-wood folded contraption and placed it near the corner where the crib had been. He set blankets and a small satchel atop it.

“What’s going on here?” she asked.

He took out a hammer and a small mirror and nailed the mirror above the washbasin.

“A blizzard’s coming.” He eyed her and sat at the table.

She served up supper and sat across from him. “But it’s warmed up considerably. I thought spring was on the way.” They’d even let the fire die out. There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky all day. “What makes you say that?”

“My right knee tells me.”

“Tells you what?” This man didn’t make any sense.

“Aren’t you listening? It’s gonna snow.”

“But winter has passed.”

“I know, but my knee aches when a snowstorm is on its way.”

They ate supper quietly. Her mind awhirl, she hoped he was joking about the storm. She’d thought the worst weather was behind them and that her escape was closer.

After supper he stoked the fire and lit his pipe. She sat in the rocker with Socks in her lap and considered another poem.

“Going to read me one tonight?” He blew smoke from his pipe.

“How about you read me a psalm?” She handed him her Bible.

Soon his deep voice echoed in