by Leisha Kelly
He nodded to me and was on his way, leaving me with a sour feeling. The widow Kurcher and most of the kids down with measles? Harvest slowed down? Oh, Lord! Marigold would want to do everything she could for her old friend, which was a huge problem because she couldn’t, and surely shouldn’t, try to do much of anything at all.
I fed the flames beneath the locomotive’s steam boiler the rest of that day with my mind on the Kurchers’ troubles. Surely Marigold wouldn’t think to go. I could help her find somebody else.
What a pickle, exactly what we didn’t need right now!
At least I’d have tomorrow to try to help find a solution. Mr. Behrens had put his nephew on the train as fire man on Saturdays. It was an odd arrangement, which made me wonder a bit, but it gave me an extra day to take care of other things.
When I got back to Andersonville, I went right to Marigold’s with the news.
“Oh, that Hilda!” she exclaimed. “I wish to goodness she was in church over there regular. With church folks hardly knowing them, they don’t know to look in on her like a church family should.”
“Could we ask someone from our church?” I wanted to know.
“None of them know her, and I’ve got to think about who could go without having little ones of their own to keep them from it. I’d say Minnie Fromm, but she’s away visiting this week. Has the doctor been out?”
“Bobby didn’t say, but from what I know of that family, I doubt it.”
She nodded. “Surely right.”
“What about the Richlers?”
“Oh, Josiah, they’re older than I am.”
“Reverend Pierce?”
“They need somebody to go tomorrow and stay a few days. He’d not be here to fulfill his own responsibilities to the church. We can’t ask him unless there’s no one else.”
“Mrs. Bower?”
“She’s got company this weekend. Clear from Peoria.”
It amazed me how Aunt Marigold always knew so much about so many people, especially since she saw most of them only on Sundays.
“Mrs. Batey?”
“She may act like she’s got sass, but she’s not got the constitution for that rip-roaring house of youngsters, especially when they’re sick. Three years ago she went to nurse her sister and took a lung infection so bad she nearly died.”
“Well, you can’t go!”
“Why not? I’m not bad as a nursemaid.”
I couldn’t believe I had to point out the obvious. “You can’t climb stairs anymore, Mari. You have trouble enough just going from one room to the next.”
“I’m doing better the last few weeks, haven’t you noticed? Maybe it’s the hot oil rub. Or maybe it’s having Leah here to lighten my load a little.”
“I have noticed. And I’m glad. But it’s not better enough. Not for this.”
“Well, then you think on it and I’ll think on it and between us maybe we’ll come up with a solution. They’re going to understand, Josiah, if nobody comes right away. It’s awfully short notice to ask somebody after dark tonight and expect them to be there tomorrow. If we have to wait and get a volunteer at church Sunday and put them on the train the next day, it’d still be a help. Believe me.”
We left it at that. But I didn’t like it. I thought about Mel and Dotty, but knew they wouldn’t go for strangers they’d never met. They just weren’t that way.
I should have been able to let it go. After all, measles weren’t like the typhoid fever, or even the killing influenza that had taken Leah’s baby. The Kurchers would weather this soon enough and be none the worse for it.
If they got their harvest in before it went to waste. Pumpkins, I think they grew, for a local cannery. Corn for market too. Maybe other things.
I used Mr. Abraham’s telephone to speak to a few people about the problem but didn’t get a definite answer. So he and I prayed together about it over a late pot of Marigold’s stew. I watched him in the midst of the prayer as he sat almost tearful, clearly touched by the plight of Marigold’s friends.
It was a foolish moment to bring up another subject, but once again my mouth got ahead of all reason. “You’re a good man. And Marigold’s a good woman. You care about each other. So are you ever going to ask her to marry you?”
He paled in front of me. “Do not ask me that again.”
“But you haven’t answered.”
He put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. “There is more to that than you can see from where you stand.”
“Like what?” I knew I was pushing boundaries this time, absolutely stepping across a line of what was proper to pry into. And to my surprise, he laughed.
“God works in mysterious ways, Josiah. When we talked about you staying here, I didn’t know he’d be stirring me so.”
“What do you mean?”
“You ask and I have to face this, put all my reasons together on one side or the other and come to a decision.”
“Is it that hard?” I asked, with considerable surprise.
“Yes. More than you know.”
“Why?”
He looked up at me in silence for a moment and I could tell his mind was far away.
“My father asked me to promise I’d not attach myself to a Christian woman so long as he lived. He wanted me to be faithful and not shame him before his people because he knew they wouldn’t approve. A Christian would want to pull me away into the apostasy.”
I almost objected to his use of that term, but thought I’d better not if I wanted to hear more.
“I obeyed him because it was my duty as a son to respect my father. And I kept that promise because it is a sin in the eyes of God to break a solemn vow.”
“I understand.”
He nodded. “So you’re thinking I am free. I could marry her tomorrow if she agreed, because now my father sleeps with his fathers and I am released. But it’s not as simple as that.”
“Maybe not, but I still don’t understand.”
He smiled. “You’re a young man, Josiah. One day you’ll love again, even if you can’t see that now. And a young man doesn’t always see the consequences of his young love. But I see what could be because of mine, and it may be too high a price to pay.”
“What price? You and Mari’d have to decide which house you’d live in and what to do with the other one. Not much more to it than that. Especially since you’re already sharing things back and forth.”
“It has nothing to do with our material goods. It’s the people we respect and love. And how far I am bound by duty to respect my father’s feelings even after he’s gone.”
“I don’t think it’s right for a man to bind another, kin or not. He ought to let you follow your own heart.”
“He said as much. That I would be free to make my choice. We talked frankly because he’d known of my feelings for Marigold. But he wanted me to remember my son and his position. And especially my grandchildren, whether I’d be the kind of example that they need me to be.”
I got riled over that and almost knocked over the stew. “Good example, huh? What’s a better example than being your own man? Not letting anything hold you back from loving somebody just because of what somebody else might think! What kind of an example would you be if you denied your own heart? Do you want that kind of bondage for them? Or would you rather they see you really free?”
He gathered a few of the dishes out of my way and didn’t answer immediately. I had no idea how he’d react.
“I understand what you’re saying,” he finally said. “It’s the cry of at least one of the voices within me. But there’s more. I wouldn’t want my grandchildren to believe that feelings are the most important thing, to be catered to and acted upon at the expense of family and all else. We’re not put here to oblige our own desires, after all. Solomon tells us that the ultimate duty of man is unto God.”
“Okay. But I don’t see how it would hurt him for you and Mari to be together. He’s practically put you together already. You’re the clo
sest neighbors I’ve ever met, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes. Of course it couldn’t hurt him. But does it serve his purpose?”
“You’re serious. Wanting to know that?”
“Of course I’m serious.”
He didn’t seem to understand what I was getting at. “I’ve never in my life heard of anybody taking that into consideration. Not even believers. I mean, a man falls in love with a girl, he decides on being with her, and they go from there. ”
“That’s the way of the world. But we’re not called to be ordinary but a holy people.”
“Are you telling me Jews only marry when it’s God’s will?”
“I’m not saying Jews. I’m not saying that’s the way it always is, but that it’s the way it should be for any follower of Almighty God.”
“Well, how do you find out?”
“Seek him,” he said with a hint of a smile. “That’s what I’m trying to do. I don’t know how long it will take.”
“If you ask me, I’d say the Lord’s already stamped his approval. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Marigold agreed.”
“But I must consider what it could cost her, among her friends and church, to marry a Jew.”
“You don’t think they already know you’re close? If they’re real friends, it won’t matter.”
“It will if they think I will pull her from faith, just as it would matter to my family if they feel I will lose my identity as a Jew.”
I crumpled up my napkin. “I’d say they all have a problem then. You’re in God’s hands, and they can leave him to work it out to his own satisfaction.”
He smiled again. “Yes. Josiah. Named for the king who purged idolatry from Israel. Purging now the idol of religious prejudices.”
I scoffed immediately. “I was named for some singer my mother met in a tavern while she was carrying me. Years later when my father found out, he beat her. And he never called me by my first name again.”
“I’m saying you have wisdom about you, Josiah. An uncommon wisdom, unfortunately.”
I didn’t know how to answer that, so I just got up to clear the rest of the table and help with the dishes. “Would you mind if I read the Bible aloud some mornings?” I asked him eventually. “I used to do that for Mari and I kind of miss it.”
“What part of the Bible?”
“We finished Psalms together and got started in Proverbs. But on my own I’ve started in Romans.”
Only after I said it did I realize he was almost surely not familiar with a New Testament book. But he surprised me.
“One of the Epistles?”
“Yes. Written by Paul.”
“The Paul who was Saul?”
“I think you’re right.”
He gave me a wry sort of smile. “I might be interested in hearing a bit of that.”
22
Leah
I could not believe what Marigold was asking of me.
“It would only be a couple of days. You could take the train over in the morning and then ride the same one Monday that Josiah takes to get home. Or if we could get a driver that would be so much better! We could get you over there as soon as possible and back as soon as we find someone else to take over for a while. Oh, I wish Mr. Abraham’s automobile was working again! You’ve had the measles, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but what about Eliza? I can’t take her among all of those sick children. She hasn’t.”
“She’ll be fine right here with me. I’m even sure that if you weren’t back on Monday morning, Mrs. Humphrey wouldn’t mind walking her to school. She gets along so well with the Humphreys.”
Tension boiled in me and I wished I could let it explode. How could she do this? “Marigold, I don’t even know these people.”
“I know them. And believe me, I want to go. But I daresay Josiah may be right that it would be too much for me. There’s a passel of stairs just getting into the house, and the bedrooms are upstairs too, as I recall. I might be all right if you were there with me, but it would surely be better for me to stay here for Eliza while you’re gone.”
“I didn’t say – ”
“I know, dear.” She answered my protest before I could voice it. “You’re still considering. Remember that the good Lord blesses those who bless others, and the Kurchers sorely need you. I’ve been racking my brain through our little church family to decide who I might ask, and even if I do come up with someone able who doesn’t have family needing them, I can’t say for sure when they could go. Wouldn’t want to wait till Monday. They need help now. And this is the quickest thing I can think of. You’d be a godsend, Leah. Hilda wouldn’t send her boy to ask for help if it weren’t serious. I know her that well. She’s pretty independent about anybody coming in her house to lend a hand.”
“Maybe she wouldn’t want a stranger then. And I’ve got Eliza to think about.”
“Eliza’s used to me by now. We’d be just fine.”
“But Marigold . . .”
We both let her name hang in the air. What else could I say? How dare she put me in such a spot? Go and help a sick family? I didn’t even know that I could find the right house, or that I could be any real help if I got there. What was she thinking? Was this the sort of thing that Josiah had meant about her pushing him to help people? Maybe I’d been here long enough that she was beginning to push me.
I just can’t . . . I wanted to say it aloud, just refuse her request and be done with it. But her voice rang in my head. Why not?
I didn’t have a ready answer. Was I really unable, or just unwilling and reaching for a reasonable excuse? Would Eliza really be all right without me for two or three days? Or would she be scared, especially at night?
I’d not been able to seriously consider going to see my father because of the horrible thought of leaving my daughter behind. And now a completely different situation with the same uncomfortable request.
I left Marigold in the kitchen and walked to my daughter, who was drawing a picture beside the lamp in the sitting room. “Eliza?”
She looked up at me with a bright smile.
“We’ve always been together, haven’t we?”
She nodded.
“Does it bother you to be at school away from your mommy?”
She frowned a little. “It did on the first day because I didn’t know anybody yet. But not anymore ’cause I have fun with my friends. And the teacher’s nice too. I thought she might be scary, but she’s not a problem at all.”
“That’s wonderful.” I put my arm around her. “I’m glad you like it.”
Her bright smile was back. “I knew Ill’nois would be lovely.”
“Yes, you did. And I should have known too, that you’d have no trouble at all making friends. It’s your nature to love being around people.”
She looked down at her drawing and added a line. “This is me in the apple tree and Aunt Marigold in the chair outside. I wanna make a ladder with you on the very top.”
“The second rung would be good enough. I’m not brave enough for the top.”
“I think you’re brave.”
I suppose she did. Simply because I was her mother. But I knew the truth. I’d been more afraid sending her to school than she was. And far more afraid about the trip coming here. I was terrified of leaving her for even a few hours, let alone two or three days to go to the Kurchers’, or maybe even more if I should visit my father. What if something should happen? She was all I had left. Tears filled my eyes, and I almost wished I hadn’t come in to talk to her.
“Mommy, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t feel very brave, honey. So often it seems you’re braver than I am.”
“That’s ’cause I’m not growed up so I don’t have to think so much.”
I smiled a little. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Do you miss me when I’m in the school?”
“Yes. I do. Enough to make me wish I could go right in your classroom with you sometimes.”
“That
would look silly, Mommy.”
“I know.”
She hugged me. “I still gots time at home every day and for the whole weekend. I’m not at school all the time.”
“I know. It’s really not so bad.”
“I bet you’ll get used to it. Just like me.”
“I’m sure I will.” I looked her picture over more closely. She’d drawn herself reaching down out of the tree and holding Marigold’s hand. She had a ready explanation when I pointed it out to her.
“That’s in case she needs help gettin’ up, or I need help gettin’ down. I haven’t decided which yet.”
“You really like Marigold, don’t you?”
“Lots and lots.”
I took a deep breath. “Do you think it would be scary if I had to leave you with her overnight?”
She looked a little worried suddenly. “Are you going away?”
I almost panicked. “Oh, honey, don’t worry. I might never. But if I do, it would only be for a little while to help somebody or to go see Grandpa.”
“If you go away on a trip, I would like bestest to come too. But if I hafta stay an’ go to school, would I hafta still sleep in our bed? I don’t wanna be the only one upstairs.”
“I don’t know, honey. Maybe Marigold would make a bed for you somewhere down here.”
“I bet she would!” Eliza jumped to her feet with sudden excitement. “It would be like a sleepover, me an’ her. We could eat popcorn an’ listen to the Victrola and sing and everything!”
Her enthusiasm made my insides knot. “That would really be all right with you?”
“Yeah! If you come back pretty soon.”
I remembered the first time I’d slept over with a friend. I’d thought the whole thing would be the most fun I’d ever had. And it was, until night came and I was nowhere near my mother.
How would my absence affect her nightly ritual or her already wounded heart? My mother had been reluctant to let me go, rightly considering the nightmares that still bothered me sometimes. But she’d consented because, as she’d put it, “a child’s got to learn to walk without holding Mama’s hand.” And I’d weathered the difficult night, fortunately without nightmares, and been ready to do it all again.
