Emmett & Gentry (an Emmett Love Western) Page 6

“I forgot you can’t reach behind you to hold the apron.”

  She stands and says, “Hold still a minute.” Then leaves the kitchen, goes to the base of the stairs in the hallway and calls for Ellie. Moments later, Ellie is standing behind me, holding the apron out to catch all the hair May is cutting. When she finishes my hair, she has Ellie hold the apron beneath my chin, and uses the scissors to cut most of my beard and mustache off.

  When that’s done, May sends Ellie back upstairs. Then she takes the apron outside for a few minutes. When she comes back in, it’s folded. She places it back in the drawer where she’d got it earlier, then soaps my face and begins stropping the razor. When she’s happy with the edge, she shaves me as expert as any barber ever has, and doesn’t nick me but twice. Both cuts are very small, and only occurred at the corners of my nose. She apologizes all over herself, and says she’s usually much better than this, but she’s out of practice, and it won’t ever happen again.

  “May, that’s as good a shave as I’ve ever had,” I say.

  “Well, I did cut you twice.”

  “Both times were my fault.”

  “Sweet of you to say.”

  She washes my face with a wet towel, then dries it and steps back to survey her work.

  “You look ten years younger,” she says.

  “I believe it. Thank you.”

  We’re both quiet a minute while May puts her things away and washes out her pail. Then she says, “I know you want to hear what Gentry told me.”

  “I do.”

  “It’s not much, and I don’t know if it’ll prove helpful. But I’ll tell you, directly. Before I do, I wonder if you’ll allow me to ask you a few questions.”

  “Of course.”

  “You’ve always been an honest man, far as I can tell.”

  “I try hard to be.”

  “And a generally decent man, though you’ve consorted with prostitutes your entire life.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “When you weren’t killing men in the streets, or beating them senseless.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Or plying decent town men with alcohol, and enticing them to gamble and fornicate with loose women of low moral character, despite the fact these men were married and made promises before the Lord.”

  I’m workin’ hard to practice my plan to be more tolerant of proper women, knowin’ their naggy, bitchy ways helps raise good-mannered, useful children and keeps towns alive when others leave. But I ain’t had much experience bein’ told off in such a casual way before, and don’t know how long her list of things is that don’t make me a generally decent man, so I say, “You had some questions for me?”

  “I do. But they might give you pause.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You might hesitate to be honest, in an effort to spare my feelings.”

  “That would be the gentlemanly thing to do,” I say.

  “Not in this case. I hope you’ll be willing to tell me the truth, regardless of how it might make me feel.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “To answer truthfully?”

  “Yes.”

  “I promise.”

  She nods. “Good. Because I’m counting on your honesty.”

  “Ask your questions, May.”

  She takes a deep breath and says, “My husband, Earl.”

  “What about him?”

  “I know he played cards at the Spur.”

  “He did.”

  “And I know he drank.”

  “He did.”

  She pauses. While she does, I think about May’s husband, Earl. The thing I remember most about him is he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. He went from one whore to the next. He’d fuck one, then another, then go back and fuck the first one again, all in the same night. He even fucked Leah, when the others were busy.

  May’s ready to speak. Before she does, she looks me deep in the eyes. Then says, “Did he have a particular favorite among the whores?”

  “Earl?”

  “Yes, Emmett,” she says. “I’m asking about Earl.”

  “Why, Earl didn’t visit the whores at all, May.”

  “Well, of course he did!”

  “Not to my knowledge. And I ought to know.”

  Her bottom lip starts tremblin’ slightly. “You’re positive?”

  “Completely. He never visited the whores, and they knew to leave him alone.”

  She looks down at the table.

  I say, “The thing about whores, if they know a man ain’t interested, they won’t trouble him about it. They’d rather spend time with a likely prospect.”

  I notice she’s cryin’ softly.

  “What’s the matter?” I say. “It’s a good thing, right?”

  She looks up at me with moist eyes. “It’s a very good thing. Except…”

  “Except what?”

  “I can’t tell you how many nights he’d come home, smelling of rose water and perfume. We fought about it all the time. I was certain he was fornicating.”

  She cries some more. Harder, this time. I reach out and pat her hand.

  “It ruined our relationship,” she says.

  “No it didn’t,” I say. “If it had, he would’ve spent time with the whores.”

  “I didn’t allow him to touch me the last four years of his life.”

  Earl died a year ago. I cipher it out in my head, and say, “What about Molly?”

  “The seed that created her was the last I took from that man.”

  “Well, I know he loved you.”

  She cries again, and this time I don’t interrupt. Sometimes a woman needs a good cry. After cryin’ herself out, she says, “I feel terrible.”

  “Why?”

  “For treating him so badly. I’d feel better if he’d been fornicating all those years. I really would.”

  “You don’t mean that,” I say.

  She looks up at me again. “No, of course not.” She dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief that has suddenly appeared in her hand. While I try to figure out how she come by a handkerchief in such short order, she says, “I just wish I’d been a better wife.”

  I give the handkerchief a careful look, then wave my hand, indicatin’ the house, and her life in general. “May, you’ve kept a beautiful, clean house, and a productive garden. You cooked and cleaned and mended for this man, and cared for him when he was sick. You birthed three beautiful girls, and educated them, and taught them skills that’ll make ’em wonderful wives and mothers. And on top of all that, you were a good enough wife to keep your man from strayin’ the entire time I knew him. Even all them last years, when he wasn’t, uh…couplin’ with you.”

  “You think he died happy?”

  “I s’pect he died a happy husband and father.”

  “Thanks, Emmett.”

  “I’m only sayin’ what’s true, May.”

  “Well, thank you for that. I hope you’ll continue telling the truth when I ask my next question.”

  16.

  “EMMETT?” MAY SAYS.

  “Huh?”

  “Do you promise to answer my next question truthfully?”

  “I do. Ask it.”

  “There were ten of us women in that line today,” May says.

  I nod.

  “I know your only interest is Gentry, at this time.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I’m aware if you find Gentry, if she still wants you, everything will be fine.”

  “It will.”

  “I hope it goes the way you want it to.”

  “Thanks, May.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I pause. “Was that your question?”

  “No. What I was wonderin’…”

  “Which of you I’d choose if Gentry weren’t in the picture?”

  “Yes. I mean, I know you’d want Lilly, of course. She’s young, beautiful, and has no children to get in your way. She’d be your first choice wit
hout question.”

  “She would, I s’pect. For all them reasons you said.”

  May nods. “Thank you for being honest.”

  “I said I would be.”

  “You did.” Then she says, “But Lilly’s not interested in you.”

  “I gathered that.”

  “She thinks you’re too old. And questions your morals.”

  “She’s probably right on both counts.”

  “Well, like I say, she’s young. She hasn’t learned there aren’t any perfect men in the world. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “So that leaves nine,” she says.

  “It does.”

  She bites her lip and says, “Do you find me attractive at all, Emmett?”

  I rub my chin, ponderin’ the best way to answer, and get a surprise, havin’ forgotten what a smooth chin feels like.

  I say, “I’ll be honest with you, May.”

  She looks at me with what appears to be a sudden sadness in her eyes.

  “There was only one of the nine I’d a’ put in front of you before tonight.”

  “Just one?”

  “Just one.”

  “Who?”

  “It ain’t important.”

  “It is to me. Is it Alice Crapper?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure about that? She’s five years younger than me, and flirtier, and Alice told us you’ve always had a crush on her.”

  That surprises me, and May can see it in my face.

  “It’s not true?” she says.

  “I don’t mind her thinkin’ that, if it’s what she wants to think.”

  My words seem to please her, but then she scrunches her lips to one side and says, “I can’t see you with Jane. Or Claire.”

  “I was leanin’ toward Margaret,” I say.

  “Margaret? But she’s so…”

  “Old?”

  “Well…I’m just surprised after bein’ with Gentry, who was what back then, seventeen?—that you’d switch to a woman who’s nearly fifty! Why choose Margaret over the rest of us?”

  “Margaret appears to be barely hangin’ on. If I ever lost Gentry’s love, I’d be no more’n a shell of a man, with almost nothin’ to offer a woman. But what little I had left might bring comfort to a woman who understands my loss and feels the same way.”

  “Why Emmett, that’s beautiful.”

  “It is?”

  “In a sad, depressing way, yes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Before tonight,” she says.

  “Excuse me?”

  “When you answered my question you said before tonight you would’ve put one of the nine women ahead of me. Does that mean you’ve changed your mind about Margaret?”

  “No. It means I changed my mind about you.”

  “Really?”

  I nod.

  “Tell me,” she says.

  I think a minute, figurin’ out how best to put it in words. I finally come up with, “It’s everything I’ve seen here tonight. What you’ve done with your life. Your girls. Your devotion to your house, and your town.”

  “Tell me, Emmett.”

  “You’re makin’ the best of a terrible situation, and doin’ it with style and grace, from what I can see. You’re a bit preachy for my taste, and I think you’d be quick to nag at me. I don’t think you’d shy away from pointin’ out my shortcomin’s, neither.”

  “But?”

  “But you’re a good woman, and a wonderful mother. You’re independent. A givin’ person. If I felt there was any life worth livin’ without Gentry in it—which I doubt—then it’d likely be with a woman like you, who don’t give up when things go sour. I’d need the type a’ woman who has positive thoughts and can carve a pleasant life from the worst circumstances.”

  May’s smilin’ very warmly, which tells me I’m sayin’ all the right things, like when I lied about Earl not consortin’ with our whores. I’m hopin’ this friendly talk will earn me another slice of rhubarb pie.”

  May says, “It’s been almost six years for me.”

  “Huh?”

  “Six long years since I’ve enjoyed the close company of a man.”

  I nod. “That’s a long time. A woman like you probably has a lot of love to give the right man.”

  “So if Gentry’s moved on and no longer wants you?”

  “I’d have to go through a terrible period before havin’ thoughts of bein with another woman.”

  “Yes, of course. But wouldn’t it be comforting to know there’s someone else in the world who’d love to have you if that awful thing happens? Even if that person had a history of being a preachy, nagging woman?”

  “That’d be a good thing to know. But I’m countin’ on Gentry wantin’ me.”

  “You’ve been very patient with me,” May says, “and I’ll tell you my news about Gentry very soon. Will you do me the favor of turning your head first, for just a moment?”

  I turn my head and hear her walk out of the room, which gives me time to wonder if there’s any pie left. A half minute later, I hear her come back in.

  “You can turn your head back now,” she says.

  When I do, I almost faint from shock. May Gray is standin’ before me stark naked!

  I jump to my feet and give out a loud groan.

  “Oh, Emmett,” she says. “You’ve been so long without a woman!”

  What? Does she think I’m groanin’ for sex?

  I’m not!

  I’d been so startled, I forgot my injuries. I’m gaspin’ from the pain of bangin’ into the side of the table just now, not her nakedness! But I don’t want to hurt her feelin’s. Specially after feedin’ and shavin’ me, and cuttin’ my hair. I’m confused how things got to this point. One minute I’m thinkin’ about rhubarb pie, now I’m bracin’ myself against the table, as May moves closer.

  “May—”

  “Shhh!” she says, and before I know what’s happenin’, she’s kissin’ me, and her hand is suddenly inside my baggy pants, and somehow she’s loosened the rope I was usin’ for a belt. I feel my pants slidin’ down my legs, and she’s gropin’ around, reachin’ for…

  “Do you find me attractive at all, Emmett?” she says, as my pants fall to my ankles and her hand finds what it was searchin’ for.

  “I—”

  “Do you find me attractive at all?” she gasps, and starts strokin’ and pullin’ on me. One of my arms is headin’ skyward without any help from me. My arm shouldn’t be able to do that without a tremendous amount of pain, but for some reason I don’t feel it at all, and now I realize my head is lookin’ upward too, and my mouth is wide open, makin’ silent screamin’ sounds. I’m tryin’ to make my brain understand that what’s happenin’ ain’t supposed to be happenin’, but it’s like my brain has gone somewhere else and all that’s left is a feelin’ I ain’t felt in a helluva long time. This ain’t somethin’ I wanted to happen, but it sure enough is happenin’, and I’m tryin’ to think of the right words to say, and they ain’t comin’ to my lips, but I finally force my mouth to gasp “Gentry!”

  “I know,” May says. “You love Gentry. I bet you love it when Gentry does this!”

  She pulls me toward her, and when I realize what she’s tryin’ to do, I almost laugh out loud because there’s no way she can get me inside her from this angle. But then she amazes me by hikin’ her leg on top of the table. I take a split-second to marvel at her bendability, ’cause that’s somethin’ you wouldn’t expect a proper woman to even think of, much less do. It’s clear at this point May ain’t got the skills to match a seasoned whore, but she’s much more determined, and that counts for plenty. In fact, she’s so close to achievin’ her goal, I have to jump back to keep from cheatin’ on Gentry, though I suppose a critical observer might accuse me of havin’ crossed that line already.

  “Take me, Emmett!” she gasps.

  I put my hand out to hold her back, but she grabs it to her breast.

  �
�I won’t say a word,” May says. “It’ll be our secret!”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can! You are!”

  Am I? I look down. No, I’m not. But I’m close.

  “May,” I say, firmly. “Stop.”

  “Huh?”

  “Stop.”

  She backs away, starts to cry.

  Shit.

  “I’m too fat,” she says.

  “You ain’t fat at all!” I say.

  “I’m too skinny? Really?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s my stretch marks. You hate them. Oh, God, I’m so embarrassed.”

  “It ain’t you,” I repeat.

  “I’m too hairy. You’ve been with those young harlots so long, I’ve frightened you.”

  Now that she mentioned it, I see she is uncommonly hairy. But it didn’t frighten me till just now. She sees me starin at the hair coverin’ her nipples, and the thick patch of hair between her breasts. But she ain’t moved away yet. I think she’s wonderin’ if I’m changin’ my mind. The proper thing would be to turn away, but I can’t. Lookin’ at her titties is like watchin’ twin calves bein’ born. It ain’t a pretty sight, but you can’t stop starin’.

  May’s no longer cryin’. She’s grinnin’. But I don’t know why.

  “You like them!” she says.

  “Huh?”

  “This is what a real woman looks like, Emmett. And you like it, I can tell.”

  I have no idea what she’s talkin’ about till she points at the part of me she grabbed earlier, and I realize the little amount of attention I received is still havin’ an effect.

  “Let’s finish what we started,” she says. “It’s a natural thing.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Looks to me like you can,” she says, gigglin’.

  “Well, like I say, it ain’t you, and I guess this is the proof.”

  “That’s well put,” she says, “under the circumstances.”

  She gives out a big sigh, leaves the room to put her clothes back on. I try to reach down to pull up my pants, but my back has locked up and I can’t bend that far. I lean one hand on the table and try to lift my opposite leg, hopin’ to get enough material in my hand to pull my pants up the rest of the way, but the weight of the leg irons makes the pain unbearable. There’s nothin’ to do but stand here like an idiot and wait for May to come back in and pull my pants up.