Dunaway's Crossing by Brandon Nancy

Author:Brandon, Nancy [Brandon, Nancy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2015-01-05T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Netta paced around the kitchen table, one hand at her lower back, the other arm scooped around her round middle, the baby’s weight pulling at her torso like a ten-pound sack of flour under her skin. Rest came only in spurts these days. Walking settled the baby but fatigued Netta, who could hardly stay on her feet more than a few minutes at a time. If only she could go back to town, she’d welcome the baby. But with no word from Ralph and each day drawing nearer her due date, her fear escalated that she’d give birth at the crossing.

She stopped at the end of the table, leaned on it with her left hand, and rubbed her back with her right. Then she turned to face the table and placed both hands on its top, gaining some relief. Sighing, she bent all the way over, resting her forehead on the smooth pine. The baby was still. The throb in her back ceased. She breathed in the scent of pepper and grain.

I might just fall asleep right here, she thought.

At the sound of wood scraping against wood, she called lethargically, “I’m so glad you closed the store today, Bea Dot. No worries about people seeing the circus fat lady.”

Netta frowned at the following silence. Then her heart sped at the fading thump, then subsequent crescendo of heavy footsteps, clomps too heavy for Bea Dot’s shoes. How did someone get in the locked door?

Netta crept on stockinged feet to the doorway leading into the store and peered around the telephone stand, but saw no one. Frowning, she called again. “Bea Dot?”

From behind the dry-goods shelf appeared a tall man in a dirty wool coat, a blue bandana around his face. His red-rimmed eyes frightened her more than his size, and Netta screamed, her heart pounding like a cleaver on a chopping block.

“Get out!” she screamed, backing away. “I have an axe in the kitchen! My husband is just out back!”

The man held his palms up and walked toward her.

Muscles tensed, Netta backed into the kitchen until her backside bumped against the table. She patted its top behind her with searching fingers. Where was the kitchen knife?

“Netta, it’s all right,” a familiar voice said. The man reached behind his head and untied the bandana, revealing a filthy, scruffy Will Dunaway with a moss of whiskers on his cheeks and chin and two hammocks of dark circles under his eyes. When he removed his hat, brown locks jutted from his head in all directions, as if they’d never met a comb. And was that hay poking out of it?

Netta slumped into a kitchen chair, one hand on her still-pounding heart, the other on her belly. “Have mercy, I almost dropped this baby right here!”

“I’m sorry to scare you,” he said, coming into the kitchen. “I forgot I was wearing this bandana.” He kneeled in front of her. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, taking a deep breath, trying to slow her heartbeat. “I will be.

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