“Jake, it’s just a simple shooting contest at a little fair in a little town. And these are good people around here. They don’t think anything about it. Their biggest thrill is that fair and you just made it more exciting for them. Hetta Grant says Joe’s been practicing ever since last year to try to beat you.”
Jake finally smiled a little. “I know. He ribs me about it constantly, tells me I’d better be ready this year.” The smile faded a little. “Only thing I don’t like is he talked about advertising the fair this year in the San Diego paper to get outsiders to come. It would bring in more money. He wanted to put in some kind of challenge to come to the shooting contest and try to beat the best shot in Southern California—wanted to use my name. I told him I didn’t care if he advertised the fair, but I made him promise not to mention my name. That’s the last thing I need. I don’t even like the thought of a lot of outsiders coming.”
“No one in these parts knows you, and they certainly won’t recognize the name.”
“You never know. I don’t like it, but maybe it will be all right.”
“I enjoy the fair. Everyone looks forward to it after a long, hard summer of farming and all.”
“You baking your famous pumpkin pies again?”
She smiled. “Yes, and I’m taking that quilt I’ve been working on.”
Both of them enjoyed this, being at the table together in their own home, being a family. Jake thought how this was the kind of life he only used to dream about, and he was at last beginning to relax and believe it could always be this way.
They finished eating, Lloyd eating his potatoes and ham with his fingers. Miranda rose and poured the boy a small glass of cow’s milk and helped him hold the glass while he drank it. She cleaned his face and hands and took him from the chair, and he immediately ran on quick little legs to reach for the handle of the fry pan in which she had cooked the ham. Miranda rushed after him, grabbing his hand back and slapping it. “No, Lloyd! It’s hot and it’s heavy. It will hurt you!”
The boy’s lips puckered and he started to cry, and Jake scooted back his chair. Miranda gave him a warning look. “Don’t you dare pick him up and cuddle him. He’s got to learn to stay away from the stove!”
Jake frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t smack him. I’d rather he learned the hard way and burned his hand. Then it’s the stove he’ll remember hurting him and not one of us.”
She rolled her eyes, putting her hands on her hips. “And would you rather he pulled that skillet off the stove and have it fall on his head and break his skull, maybe kill him, let alone the fact that the hot grease could burn his face and scar him?”
Their eyes held in a challenge, and Jake turned away. Already Lloyd’s tears were subsiding, and he toddled over to a tin pie-plate he liked to play with, the incident quickly forgotten, but not by Jake.
“You know I can’t stand to see him cry because he’s been spanked. We’ve been through this before, Randy.”
She stepped closer. “Jake, you have to learn there is a difference between senseless beatings and minor spankings to discipline a child for his own good. There are some things he has to learn early so that nothing happens to him. The right kind of discipline is nothing more than a form of love. You have got to let me teach him right from wrong. You’ve got to help me teach him, or he’ll end up getting badly hurt, or being so spoiled that no one will be able to stand having him around. What if he wanders to the creek out back? Should I let him just toddle in and risk drowning?”
He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “I know what you’re saying. It’s just that when I hear that smack and see those tears…”
She touched his arm. “Jake, that child is loved more than most. Believe me, a little spanking now and then is not going to destroy his trust. I got a few spankings of my own when I was little, but I knew it was because my parents loved me and didn’t want anything to happen to me. I never doubted that love for one minute, and I was never afraid to turn to them and let them hold me when I needed holding. You have to learn the difference between proper discipline and senseless hitting. That little boy knows his daddy loves him, and it isn’t fair of you to make me be the only one who shows him discipline. I need your help on this, especially if we have more children.”
He pulled her close. “It isn’t just that. I’m afraid that if I hit him for something, I won’t be able to stop. What if something takes over, something inside of me that I can’t control? Besides, he’s so little, and I’m so strong. I could hurt him without even wanting to.”