“Huh,” laughed Blatch. “I don’t know about decent. She was out thar takin’ the rain; she had nobody to roof her; an’ I bid her in, ’caze I’m in somewhat the same fix myse’f.”
“No one to roof her,” repeated Judith. “What’s henderin’ her from comin’ over this side the Gulch?”
“Well, seein’ the way she’s done Wade I reckon she ’lows she’d better keep away from his pap’s house. She’s at the outs with Iley—Jim Cal’s lady sont her word she needn’t never show her face thar agin. She gives it out to everybody that’ll listen at her talk that she’s skeered o’ you ’count o’ Bonbright.”
Judith studied his face with half-incredulous eyes.
“How long has she been there?” she interrogated keenly.
Turrentine seemed to take time for reflection.
“Lemme see,” he ruminated, “she come a Wednesday night. Hit was rainin’, ef you remember, an’ I hearn something outside, and it scairt me up some, fer fear it was revenuers. When I found hit was Huldy, I let her in, an she’s been thar ever sence.”
Wednesday night! It was Thursday morning that Creed had first announced the visit of his wife. Oh, it must be true! Judith trembled all through her vigorous young body with a fury of despair. As always, Blatchley had found the few and simple words to bid her worser angel forth. She even felt a kind of hateful relish for the quarrel. They had tricked her. They had made a fool of her. She had suffered so much. She longed to be avenged.
“Judy,” murmured Blatch softly, bending toward her but not laying a hand upon her, “you white as a piece o’ paper, an’ shakin’ from head to foot. That’s from stayin’ shet up in the house yonder nussin’ that feller Bonbright night an’ day like a hirelin’. W’y, he never did care nothin’ for ye only becaze ye was useful to him. Ye stood betwixt him an’ danger; ye he’ped him out when he needed it wust. An’ he had it in mind to fool ye from the first. Now him and Huldy Spiller has done it. Don’t you let ’em. You show ’em what you air. I’ve got a hoss out thar, and Selim’s down in the stable. I’ll put yo’ saddle on him. Git yo’ skirt, honey. Let’s you and me ride over to Squire Gaylord’s and be wedded. Then we’ll have the laugh on these here smart folks that tries to fool people.”
He leaned toward her, all the power of the man concentrated in his gaze. Perhaps he had never wanted anything in his twenty-seven years as he now wanted Judith Barrier and her farm and the rehabilitation that a union with her would give him. Once this girl’s husband, he could curtly refuse to rent to Jephthah Turrentine, who had, he knew, no lease. He could call into question the old man’s stewardship, and even up the short, bitter score between them. He could reverse that scene when he was sent packing and told to keep his foot off the place.