Dorothy Garlock Read Free Page A

ribbons and buttons, allowing them time to visit, then selected a spool of thread from the thread cabinet. As she approached with the bolt of material, Murphy stepped back.
    “Find somethin’?”
    “Curtain material. How much is it, Mr. Hogg?”
    “Twelve and a half cents a yard, miss. It’s top quality. There’s some five-cent goods over there, but I can’t guarantee the colors won’t run.”
    “I’ll need four yards. That’d be half a dollar. I’ll look at the cheaper—”
    Murphy lifted the bolt from her hand. “She wants this.”
    “But Papa—”
    “No buts, darlin’.”
    Mr. Hogg unrolled the material from the bolt and measured it against the notches carved along the counter.
    “I’ll give ya good measure, Miss Donovan.”
    “Thank you.”
    “I’ll load this and be back in to pay.” Murphy picked up a box and carried it out to the car.
    On the way out of town, Murphy told Annabel that he was leaving that afternoon and wouldn’t be back for a week or ten days.
    “Boone will be here,” he said when she turned to look at him.
    “Boone isn’t you, Papa.”
    “I’m hopin’ this’ll be the last year, darlin’. Maybe then we can buy a house in St. Louis.” When Annabel didn’t say anything, he continued, “In the city ya can be the lady ya are; go to shows, parties, and maybe meet a nice young doctor or lawyer …” His voice trailed when Annabel laughed.
    “You’re the limit,” she teased. “You know I would be perfectly content to live in a town like Henderson. I’m not the type for parties or meeting nice young doctors or lawyers.”
    “Ya be thinkin’ ye’re not good enough?” His voice rose in irritation. “Yer blood is good as any in the whole damn country. Yer mother was a fine woman—”
    “Calm down. I didn’t mean that. I meant that I’m not interested in that kind of social life. I saw enough of the jockeying around among the husband-hunting crowd in school to convince me that I’ll never do it.”
    “I want ya to be havin’ a home and a man to care for ya.”
    “I’d hitch with a doctor or lawyer about like a donkey would hitch with a Tennessee walking horse.”
    “Which bein’ the donkey?” A scowl covered Murphy’s face.
    “Not me, Papa.” Annabel’s eyes teased him.
    He drove another mile before he spoke again.
    “I ain’t goin’ to always be here, darlin’.”
    “I worry about you being in this dangerous business.”
    “It won’t be for much longer.”
    They passed the lane leading to their closest neighbors. Clothes were flapping on the line and a flock of white chickens searched for tidbits in the grass around the house. A woman wearing a bib apron stood at the corner of the house and watched them pass.
    “I’m thinkin’ I shoulda put ya in a boardinghouse somewhere.”
    “Papa, you forget I’m a grown woman. If you put me in a boardinghouse, I’d not stay. I want to be where you are.”
    Not another word was said until he stopped the car beside the back door.
    “I’ll have a word with Boone before I carry in what we brought from the store.”
    After the noon meal, Murphy took his suitcase to the car, then went to the barn, where he spoke at length with Boone before he came back to the stoop where Annabel waited.
    “Boone or Spinner will be here. Ya got the pistol if ya should be needin’ it.”
    “I’ll be all right. Don’t worry.”
    Murphy pulled out the choke, stepped on the starter and the motor started. The powerful engine rocked the car. Murphy adjusted the throttle and put his hand out the window to clasp hers.
    “’Bye, Papa. Be careful.”
    Murphy squeezed her hand and drove away.
    Annabel walked around the house and watched the car until it was out of sight. Then loneliness settled over her like a dark cloak. She went up onto the front porch and sat down in the porch swing. The worry was always there. Whenever he left, she always feared that he would never come back.
    She heard the jingle of harness before a wagon