by Leisha Kelly
He took two steps, picked his hat up off the floor, shook it off, and pressed it on to his head. Then he looked up at me for just a moment before turning to the doorway and stepping out into the blowing snow.
“Got chores waitin’, Wortham. You gonna help me or what?”
TWENTY-FIVE
Julia
Samuel and George both being gone made me nervous. But not so much that as them not saying anything about it first. Joe and Sam and Robert brought water and took care of the rest of the chores, but I told them the men probably had chores well in hand at the other farm. Maybe seeing the snow they thought it best to take care of things themselves.
The children all seemed to accept that all right. For now. But I didn’t believe it. Samuel would go outside in the middle of the night sometimes and think nothing of it. But it wasn’t like him to leave the farm without saying something to me. Not unless he was in an awful hurry.
I did my best feeding everybody, oatmeal again because it was easy to make enough.
“It’s Rorey’s birthday,” Sarah reminded me for the third time.
“I know, dear.”
“Shouldn’t we start on the cake? Mommy, shouldn’t we?”
“Let me clean up from breakfast first,” I said with a sigh. Some of the Hammond children had definitely gotten their appetites back. They’d eaten a lot. And I found myself worrying.
Thank God for all the food we’d been given the last few days. But except for leftover turkey, it was nearly gone, and our winter supply was not as plentiful as I would’ve liked it to be. I’d done some figuring on that in November, and Emma had scolded me for it.
“Sure,” she admitted, “it don’t look like ’nough for a long winter, there bein’ four a’ you. But the Lord’ll provide.”
Four of us. With her, it would’ve been five. But even then she’d known she wouldn’t be here long. And this morning we were thirteen for breakfast. Lord have mercy. He’d have to provide if this kept up, or we’d be out of food by the end of January.
Such thoughts soon had me scolding myself. Why couldn’t I be more faith-filled, the way Emma had been? I had been like that once, coming out here for the first time, picking the wild things that grew hither and yon just to put things on the table. I’d been the one assuring Samuel and the children that everything was just fine. What had happened to me? I couldn’t seem to muster the same confidence now.
“To every thing there is a season.” There came that same Scripture occupying my head again. And there was not one mention of a time to doubt.
I started in earnest mixing batter for Rorey’s cake. It was to have a special frosting that was more like sweet cream and cherry sauce poured rich over the top. Lizbeth was carefully telling me how.
“Did your mother make cake for everybody’s birthday?” I dared ask her.
“Nope. Pie sometimes,” she said, not looking up from the potatoes she was peeling. “Let’s make a turkey pie of the leftovers, Mrs. Wortham. Mama done that when she got the chance. Got carrots?”
“A few.”
“They’s good in it. You want me jus’ to make it? I knows how all right.”
“I’d appreciate that, Lizbeth. Very much.”
I didn’t expect her to say anything else. She wasn’t much for talking most of the time, but this morning she seemed to need to. When Sarah ran off to play with Rorey again, we were alone in the kitchen, at least for a while.
“You seen what Pa give me. Now things ain’t ever gonna be like they was. I don’t know, honest, if we’ll see him again.”
“Oh, Lizbeth! Surely they just went to do the chores—”
“Your husband, maybe, Mrs. Wortham. That’s prob’ly so. But Pa weren’t minded to come back. I knows it.”
I didn’t know what to say. I marveled that she could stand there so steady, so strong, and tell me that.
“I can’t show Sammy the watch he give me, Mrs. Wortham, ’cause he’d go off lookin’ right now, an’ I don’t want him out in the snow again so long. Is that wrong a’ me?”
“The weather doesn’t look fit for anyone to be out,” I said. I agreed with that much. “But they had to get over there to see to your stock. It’ll just take them longer getting back.”
She smiled. “You’re awful much tryin’ to be nice about this. An’ I hope Mr. Wortham don’t get lost or nothin’, if he’s out lookin’ for—”
“Lizbeth—”
“I come used to the idea that things is gonna be different, Mrs. Wortham. I wish you’d think some more on all a’ us stayin’ here. Anythin’ else is gonna be hard on the youngest ones after all this.”
There she was, asking me again. “You can stay as long as you need to, like I already said, but that surely won’t be too—”
“We’ll just have to see, that’s all.”
What if Lizbeth was right? What if George just took off, and Samuel went after him? Should I send the boys to see? We’d know something was wrong if those chores weren’t done.
They’d had plenty of time to get over there and back by now, considering how early they’d left. The snow was just slowing them down. Surely they’d come in any minute, more than ready for some hearty breakfast. But I’d gone and put everything away, as if I weren’t expecting them.
Harry walked into the kitchen, eating a string of stale popcorn he must’ve pulled from the tree. “Can we make cookies again?”
“Goodness! I’m making cake! And we still have some left.”
“I’m hungry. Can I haves one?”
I got him down a cookie, though he’d plainly helped himself to a snack already. And he’d just eaten. Suddenly there were three more boys underfoot, as though the cookies had brought them out of the woodwork. I put some on a plate and told them to pass it around.
“But only one apiece,” I cautioned. “That’s enough till after dinner.”
“You’re good, Mom,” Harry suddenly announced.
His words twisted around in my insides, choking me silent. He hadn’t called me Mama, but Mom, the way Robert always did. He almost seemed to be accepting me the way Lizbeth was, and I very nearly panicked. I hadn’t bargained for this. I kept thinking how Willy had said he didn’t want to go home. What were we to do? George had already been too distant for too long, and here he was gone again.
Rorey came in and watched me put her cake in the oven, but she didn’t say a word. Twisting one wayward strand of hair around her pointer finger, she turned to where Lizbeth was stripping the turkey off the bone and swiped a chunk of the meat.
Emma Grace was suddenly wailing from the other room.
“Joey’ll get her,” Lizbeth told me. “He knows we got our hands full in here.”
Joey got the baby all right, and young Sam helped Harry on with his coat and boots and took him outside a while. I was just starting the cherry frosting when I heard a dreadful thump followed by Berty’s tearful bellow. Without thinking I ran into the next room.
Berty was lying on the landing of the stairs, crying his little eyes out. Kirk was beside him already, but the little boy didn’t want anything to do with him. “Lizbeth!” he called pathetically.
But when he saw me, he reached out his little hand. “Mommy! Mommy!”
No! I wanted to run back to the kitchen and tell Lizbeth to go and tend to her brother. But the little tike was up and limping in my direction, and it was too late.
“I falled!” he wailed. “I falled on them steps ober dere!”
I knelt to his level, feeling suddenly very heavy. “Well, you look like you’re doing all right, considering, Bert. Can you show me where it hurts?”
He pointed quickly to both knees and one elbow. Then he held both of his hands to his little head and begged, “Hold me!”
Oh, George! Why aren’t you here for this?
That little boy’s big tears compelled me, and I picked him up despite the turmoil in my heart. Sarah had said I would have to cover the ground that Wilametta couldn’t. And I hadn’t wanted to.
I hadn’t wanted to let these kids into my heart quite that deeply, even though Emma had and I’d admired her for it. I wanted to love mine, sure. But all these? Oh, Lord! I just wanted them to be able to go home.
But Berty gently took hold of a fistful of my hair to rub up against his little cheek, and then he leaned his head against my shoulder, soft as anything. He sniffed a couple of times, but then he was quiet, just clinging to me. I sat in the nearest chair.
“He okay?” Sarah asked, suddenly beside me.
“Sure. He will be. He needs a little comfort for a minute is all.”
“He’s just a little kid,” she said. “He needs to be helded more than us big kids.”
“Maybe so.”
Berty closed his eyes, and I could feel him relaxing against me. Three years old. He was little all right, far too little to understand everything going on around him. But if it was confusing to be here with me, he didn’t show it. He just held my hair close to his cheek and looked for all the world to be sleeping. My eyes filled with tears. He was so cute, in a way I hadn’t noticed before. And so dependent. And trusting.
“We’re kinda like one family now,” Sarah said.
“Almost seems that way today.” I sighed.
“If they go home, they’re gonna miss you and their mama.”
I looked up to see Willy watching us, and Franky too, over by the fire. Neither of them said a word, but Franky hugged his knees up to his chest and wiped his nose with one shirtsleeve.
She might, oh, she might be right. And what about me? I’d wonder every day how they were, if they were eating good and if George was being decent to them or shoving them away. Lord, help me! Surely you never meant for us to get so attached! Of course, we’re supposed to love, we’re supposed to care, but we just can’t stay involved forever. Can we?
We were two families, so different. And Sam and I shouldn’t have to do George’s job. I knew I should give Berty to Kirk or call Lizbeth from the kitchen or just set him down and tell him he was all right now. But Sarah had one hand on his back and one on my arm, content with things the way they were. And it felt so strangely good, with his warm little body snuggled against me and my little princess standing there giving us both her support.
I put my hand on Berty’s head and ignored the single tear drifting down my cheek. To everything there is a season, I thought. To love. To love more. To love all these, and even George, for their sakes.
I knew in my heart we couldn’t just send them home and have that be the end of it. It was never the end of it for Emma when she’d gone over and brought another Hammond baby into the world. She was there for them always. And she would want us to be too. She’d left us that, just as surely as she’d intended to leave us this farm. But without Wila’s passing, without that, I would never have let it be so.
TWENTY-SIX
Samuel
The snow was stopping, and I was grateful. Two of the goats had gotten out, and instead of just standing by the barn, like I might’ve expected, they took to frolicking in the drifts. It took a little while getting them in again.
“I’m tellin’ you,” George said, “nothin’ beats goats for wantin’ to play. It seem warmer to you?”
“Not really.”
“Well, they’re sure kickin’ up their heels.”
We rounded them back in again and finished the milking and feeding. Then with the milk and only three eggs, we started back across the timber.
George had grown quiet again. But when we got closer to the graves he said, “I wanna talk to Wilametta when we get there. If you don’t mind waitin’.”
I wasn’t sure that was a good idea. But I figured maybe he needed to do it. He’d hardly been able to manage much on the day of her funeral. And I could really do nothing but agree, anyway. “I don’t mind, George.”
We trudged through new-drifted snow that had almost completely covered our tracks. But the wind was down now, and suddenly the sky burst clear in the west with a stunning blue.
“Don’t see that too much in winter ’round here,” George said. “Sky stays white most a’ the time, seems like.”
“I’m glad to see it. Maybe the kids can get out more.”
“You fixin’ to send ’em home with me, ain’t you?”
“Going to have to, one of these times. You all need to be together.”
“Don’ know if they’ll wanna leave you now, after such a Christmas as that was. Land, but you went all out! I s’pose you got some birthday somethin’ up your sleeve too.”
“Just the cake. That’s all I know about.”
“I can’t do birthday presents. Not for so many. I jus’ can’t.”
“You’re not the only one. You can be sure of that.”
“You reckon that Herbert Hoover’ll ever lift a finger to help the strugglin’?” he asked me almost angrily, but then he shook his head. “’Course, they wouldn’t do nothin’ for me anyhow. I was strugglin’ ’fore I ever heard a’ Hoover or no market crash. None a’ that don’t mean much a’ anything to me.”
“We can’t really blame the president for what happened,” I told him, though I never cared much for a political discussion. “We likely won’t have him a second term, though. With an election before the new year’s out, there’s bound to be some change.”
“That’ll be a good thing. Be more help for farmers, good Lord willin’.”
It was strange to hear him talking that way, as if nothing at all had happened out of the ordinary that morning. “You all right, George?”
“Well, sure I’m all right!” he exclaimed. “Didn’t even get the rope ’round my fool neck afore you knocked me in the dirt. Some bruises maybe but can’t blame you for that. What about you? Clipped you pretty good the one time, didn’t I?”
“I’m fine.”
“You look kinda mussed up. Like you been fightin’. I look that bad?”
“Yeah. I guess you do.”
“They’s gonna wonder then. You gonna say anythin’ to ’em?”
“Not to the kids. I’ll need to explain myself to Juli. And maybe, eventually, to your oldest boy. He knows what you’ve been about anyway, doesn’t he?”
“Don’t think he cares no more. Don’t think he thinks I’ll be nothin’ to ’em.”
“Then you need to show him different. Let him see it’s not going to be all on his shoulders. He’s tryin’ to be a man and needs you to show him the way.”
George didn’t answer, just headed in front of me straight to the barren white birches. Before I knew it, he was standing there looking down on Wila’s grave.
And he looked so broken again, sinking to his knees. I wanted to lift him up and make him go on, but then I figured maybe this would be good for him somehow. At least this time he was doing what any man might do—just grieving at the side of his wife’s grave.
I walked away from him, just a little ways around the hill where I could see Emma’s wooden grave marker next to Willard’s stone one above me on the rise.
What must Juli be thinking, us gone all this time? And no telling how much longer exactly. I couldn’t go ahead without George. I sure wasn’t going to leave him alone. But he needed his time, and thank God he was through the worst. He was doing better.
Stepping into smooth, untouched snow, I realized I must be on the pond. There were no weeds sticking up here. The brush stopped in a neat circle around where I stood, leaving a clean, unbroken surface of white. If we had ice skates, what a time it could be skating under a clear sky like this! That is, if we could skate at all with snow drifted this deep over the surface. A person might not even know there was a pond here if they hadn’t been out to see it before.
I got to wondering if there was a way to make skates. I thought I’d ask George about it later. I went on toward the hill, thinking those thoughts. It never occurred to me how thick the ice was. It never entered my mind that cold enough to snow again might not be cold enough after the bit of melt we’d had. But I only took two more steps before h
earing an ominous, almost echoing, crack.
And then my foot was sinking. It happened so fast. Pitching to the side with the cold shock of water rising over me, my head struck something hard. And then all I knew was chilling blackness.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Julia
When the cake came out of the oven, I started to really worry. There was no way under God’s heaven it could take two grown men so long to get a mile through the woods, do a few chores, and come back. Especially since the snow had stopped. Something else was keeping them, I’d known it all along, and it pained me not to know for sure what it was.
The kids were wondering too, by now. I could tell. And it wasn’t long before young Sam was pulling his coat back on.
“It’s time I checked about my business,” he said.
Joe, Kirk, Willy, and Robert were all ready to go with him, but Lizbeth protested. “Only one a’ you,” she insisted. “It don’t take more’n two to go see ’bout nothin’. All right? Least ways till we know somethin’ about it. Jus’ go see if chores is done. See if they’s over there. An’ come right back.”
I had to agree with her, knowing nothing else to tell them. Sam appointed Kirk to go with him, to Joe’s disappointment and Willy’s disgust.
“Maybe they went to Post’s house for something,” Robert suggested. “Or maybe one of the stock come up lame, needin’ their help.”
I didn’t venture a word, and young Sam and Kirk were soon out the door. Lizbeth turned her face from me, and Rorey sat down on the floor and cried.
“I don’t want cake! I don’t want cherries! I don’t want nothin’!”
I tried to comfort the little girl, and so did Sarah, bringing her new doll. But Rorey only set it on the floor beside her and went right on crying.
“Rorey, honey, there’s no reason to cry. I’m sure they’re fine.”
“Then why ain’t they home?”
I couldn’t tell her anything she’d accept. I knew I couldn’t. She’d seen her big brother’s worry, and she was only thinking the worst. They thought their father was gone. They thought he’d left them somehow, and my Samuel was out there trying to find him. Lord help them, they’ve suffered so much already. Can’t they have good news, just this once? Can’t Robert be right, perhaps? Maybe ol’ Rosey was needing extra attention. Or one of the pigs. Anything but more trouble with George.
