by Jan Watson
When the man finished nailing the lid on the coffin, he and Daddy carried it to the wagon and slid it across the wagon bed. The screeching sound made the hairs on Lilly’s arms stand up. Manda came up with a woven laundry basket. A white tablecloth was tucked down around the top of the basket. Her arms bowed from the weight. Daddy took it from her and set it beside the coffin. The stranger lifted up the tailgate and fastened it shut. He didn’t offer his hand to Daddy and he didn’t speak to Mama, just hopped up on the seat beside the lady and drove away. He never looked back, but the lady did. Lilly thought she could see a smile on the lady’s face. She hoped so. She hoped the lady was happy about the baby.
Lilly’s stomach felt funny as she went back to check on her brother and sisters. Even before she opened the door, she knew there was trouble. Mazy had two paper dolls glued to her forehead. The doll’s flimsy legs hung down over her eyes.
“Watch, Lilly,” Jack said. “Blow, Mazy; blow.”
Mazy stuck out her lower lip and puffed. The legs of the black-and-white dolls danced in her eyes. The twins dissolved in laughter.
“It took me forever to teach her that,” Jack said, innocent as a kitten.
Lilly hastened to peel the paper from Mazy’s forehead. “Jack! There’s mucilage gummed in her hair.”
“It wouldn’t stay stuck to the skin. Hair’s better.”
Lilly sank to the floor and pulled Mazy into her lap. A glop of paper and glue remained in Mazy’s golden curls. Lilly tugged. Mazy cried. Molly cried. Jack slipped out the door. Mama brought him back.
“What’s going on in here?” Mama said with a level gaze at Lilly.
“Things got a little out of hand,” Lilly said. She couldn’t meet Mama’s eyes.
“So I see.” She took Mazy’s hand and led her toward the kitchen. Lilly followed with Molly. Mama sat Mazy on the kitchen table. She took the lid off the butter keeper, pinched off a tablespoon-size piece, and worked it through Mazy’s bangs. “Now you try,” she said to Lilly.
Kneeling on a chair, Lilly followed suit. The glop of glue gave way and slid right into her fingers.
Mama swung Mazy up and kissed her cheeks. “Oh, you smell good enough to eat.” She sat Mazy on one hip and drew Molly up onto the other. “I think we’ll go rest awhile. Jack, you help Lilly clean up the mess you made. Lilly, you watch out for your brother.”
Lilly didn’t say a word. She didn’t even fuss at Jack as she washed watercolor paint from the bedroom floor and picked up bits of paper.
“Sorry, Lilly,” Jack said.
“That’s okay. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“Wanna go to the creek?”
“No, not today.” Lilly crammed the mess into the shoe box. “Come along. I’ll push you in the swing.”
Jack drooped in the swing seat. Lilly pushed him halfheartedly. She wished she could go to the little house and help Aunt Remy. She needed to feel like she was in somebody’s good graces. She tried to think about her upcoming trip to Lexington, but the image of Adie’s body being lowered into the coffin blocked out the happy thoughts.
“Want to look for worms?” Jack said. “We could go fishing if we just had some worms.”
“Sure, why not. Go get the coffee can from the shed.”
They followed the path the wagon had taken. The wheels had left runnels in the tall grass and weeds. To the side of the path they found a good-size flat rock. Lilly helped Jack turn it over.
“Yippee. There’s thousands of them,” Jack said.
Lilly watched the night crawlers writhe against the newly exposed ground. “More like a dozen.” She picked one up and dropped it with a plunk into the can. “We forgot to put dirt in. They’ll shrivel up if we don’t have dirt.”
Jack found a stick and started poking it in the ground. “You catch the worms and I’ll dig the dirt.”
Soon the wiggle worms had a new home. Jack wanted to look for more, so Lilly went along. It was something to do, but after three rocks she tired. “Let’s go back.”
“Can we go fishing now?”
“Maybe tomorrow would be better. It’s getting late.”
“What’s that?” Jack raised his arm and pointed.
Lilly looked but didn’t see anything unusual.
Jack ran ahead on the trodden path. Half the worms bounced over the side of his coffee tin. He stopped beside a tree.
She hurried to catch up. “My goodness. We’d better go tell Daddy.”
14
It was no use. Copper couldn’t sleep. The turmoil of the long day looped through her mind like the notes of a song she couldn’t get out of her head. She kept wondering what she could have done—what one little thing might have made a difference. John would say she shouldn’t have gotten involved with the Stills in the first place. He asked—no, he told her not to go over to the Still house. That had really got her back up. No man, not even John, was going to tell her what to do.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Maybe John had been right this time. Knowingly, she had exposed herself and Remy to a dread disease, sure that she and she alone knew what was right for Adie. Now doubt undermined her surety. Was she becoming haughty—too confident of her medical prowess? Well, she’d gotten a double dose of humble pie last night. Adie wouldn’t be any deader if she had stayed at home. There was the rub. Copper pushed the tumble of red curls out of her face and groped in the dark for her robe.
Down the hall she looked in on her children. Just as she suspected, Jack was sprawled across the foot of Lilly’s half bed. Though he had a room to himself, they were yet to break him of wandering to the girls’ room in the middle of the night. Molly and Mazy were tangled like vines in their bed under the window. Lilly slept curled on her side. She had forgotten to take off her necklace before bed. The gold, heart-shaped locket held two pictures: one of Lilly’s father Simon and one of her daddy John. Lilly took special delight in springing the tiny latch and showing off her two daddies.
Padding across the floor in her bare feet, Copper went to the kitchen and eased out the door into the cool of the night. She stopped at the wash bench and dipped a cup of well water, which she carried across the yard. A big silver moon illuminated her path to the little house. The windows and door stood open, blank and staring like sightless eyes. Remy had been in there all day scrubbing like a fiend. The lingering odor of vinegar stung her eyes when she stepped inside.
The moonlight gave a silvery sheen to the room as if it were lit from within. The bedstead stood sans corn-shuck mattress in the corner of the room. Its very presence seemed a dark reproach. She ran her hand over the smooth tabletop. In the center she felt the knitting needles she had brought to Adie. These needles had knit the blue blanket and bonnet baby Lorne went home in. Grief overtook her. Trembling, Copper pulled out a chair and sat down. She wished she had brought her Bible. She could have lit the coal-oil lamp and read some comfort.
Adie, pitiful Adie. Her life seemed so short, so full of suffering.
A tap-tap-tap on the wooden porch alerted her to a visitor. Remy swung through the door on her crutches.
“Both crutches? You should have left the heavy cleaning to me.”
Remy hooked one crutch over the knob on a ladder-back chair. She fell into the chair, her legs sticking straight out. She pointed with the other crutch. “I seen a whistle pig digging under yon side of the porch. John’ll need to smoke him out afore he sets up housekeeping.”
Copper slid her cup across the table to Remy. “Why are you up so late?”
“I come to share your burden.”
Copper had a strong desire to lay her head on Remy’s shoulder, let Remy stroke her hair and pat her on the back. Her soul yearned for the soothing touch of a mother or a sister. But Remy’s way was different. She elbow-greased her grief right into the ground, never giving it time to fester.
Copper stood and paced the room. “Less than twenty-four hours since Adie died—it seems like twenty-four years.”
&nb
sp; Remy took a sip of water and scooted the cup toward Copper’s place. “What’d John say about the basket?”
Copper sat back down. “Oh, he was hopping mad. I wish the children had never found it. All that food wasted after Manda cooked all day.” Leaning forward, she rested her left elbow on the table and her chin in her cupped hand. “Actually, it wasn’t wasted. John took it over to the Heatons’. You know that new family that just moved to the ridge? He thinks Mrs. Heaton is in the family way. I’ve never met her, but I’ll make a call soon.”
“Did he leave the milk?”
Copper’s mind was fogged. What was Remy talking about? Suddenly she brightened—the formula. The baby’s boiled, diluted, and sweetened cow’s milk. “Why, no, the jug was not in the basket; nor was my written instruction for making more.”
“Humph.”
“Exactly,” Copper said. “That’s a good sign—don’t you think? It gives me reason to believe I could go calling at the Still house. You know, just to check on the baby’s feeding.”
“Are ye asking me my take on the matter or are ye asking me to approve your notion?”
“I’m asking for your honest opinion.”
Remy pointed a crutch at Copper like an extended index finger. “You’ll rue the day ye mess with the likes of Isa Still, and I’ll tell ye for why I think so. Ye can tell the manner of a man by the way he looks upon the world.” She paused as if gathering her thoughts. “Isa Still’s wild outen his eyes, puts me in mind of a distempered dog.”
Copper nodded. “I know you’re right. I just feel so bad that I lost Adie.”
Remy hauled herself up with the help of her crutch. “Weren’t in your power. Adie Still was wore-out and used up long afore you got tangled with them. At least her young’un was borned alive—thanks to you.”
When Remy nearly lost her balance, Copper unhooked the other crutch and helped Remy position it under her arm. “I never thought of it that way. That makes me feel some better.”
“Aye, we did all we could, I reckon.”
From underneath the porch, the rustling sound of dry leaves followed their steps. Remy pounded a plank with the tip of one crutch. A high-pitched squeal rewarded her effort. “Ha!” she barked.
“Remind me to tell John about the groundhog,” Copper said.
As dawn broke, Copper woke her oldest daughter. “Lilly,” she whispered, “get dressed. Come to the barn with me.”
Yawning hugely, Lilly crawled over Jack’s still form. “Why?”
“I’ve got something to show you. Something you’ll like.”
In the kitchen, while Lilly put on her tall barn boots, Copper added a tablespoon of strong black coffee to a mug of milk.
Lilly’s eyes widened as she was handed the cup. “Coffee for me?”
Copper held the door open with one hand and carried her own cup in the other. “If you’re old enough to be productive this early in the morning, you’re old enough for coffee.”
“Am I milking Bertha?”
“Would you like to?”
“If you hold her tail so she won’t slap me in the face.” Lilly started down the steps. A slosh of coffee-colored milk spattered her white apron. She stopped on the second step, brushing at the faint stain.
“If you’re going to work in the barn, you’re going to get dirty. It doesn’t matter. Clothes are washable.”
“I know, but my apron looked so nice.” She sipped her milk coffee. “Ah, this is good. Is Bertha my surprise?”
“Wait and see.” Copper leaned her shoulder into the barn door and shoved. “This door is so stubborn.”
The morning’s first light barely penetrated the dark interior of the barn. Bertha bawled from her stall.
Copper fetched her milk bucket. “Get two stools.”
Lilly got the T-shaped wooden seats and followed her mother into the stall. Copper folded her skirts tightly around her, then hunkered down on the short stool. Lilly mimicked her.
“Now watch,” Copper said, stripping the cow’s teat with a practiced squeeze and pull. Milk pinged against the side of the bucket. “It’s all in the fingers. It’s easy once you get the rhythm going.”
Lilly leaned in and wrapped her hand around the teat. She yanked but nothing came out.
Copper put her fingers over Lilly’s. “Let your fingers go loose and feel mine.” Milk trickled in a tiny stream. “Try again.”
Lilly finally got the hang of it. Taking turns, they milked the bucket full. “How do you know when you’re finished? When the bucket’s full?”
“When all four teats have been stripped and there’s no more milk to be had. It’s important to empty the udder; otherwise Bertha could get sick.”
“You know what? Bertha didn’t slap me once.”
“That means you did a good job. Bertha likes a gentle touch.” She patted Bertha’s hip, then led her to a side door and out to pasture. The cow’s bell clanked dully as she walked away, stopping every few feet to mouth a bunch of new green grass.
“Now for the surprise,” Copper said. “Take one of those little berry buckets down from the peg.”
Lilly brought a blue one to her mother.
Copper tipped the milk bucket and filled the berry bucket half-full.
“What’s this for?” Lilly asked.
Copper unfastened the door of the stall next to Bertha’s. “Come and see.”
A mother cat and four tiny kittens nested in a bed of sweet timothy.
“I found them this morning when I first came out,” Copper said.
Lilly knelt in the hay beside the cat. The cat eyed her warily. Lilly clicked her tongue. “It’s all right, kitty. I would never hurt you.” Taking the battered tin pie pan her mother handed her, she slowly poured a stream of rich yellow milk into the pan. She set the tin beside the nest and backed out of the stall, slipping a loop of heavy twine over a board to keep the door closed. The door did not meet the ground, so the mother cat could easily come and go.
Copper and Lilly peered through the cracks in the door. The mama didn’t move for the longest time, but she was hungry. You could tell by the way her nose twitched as she smelled the milk. After several minutes, she stood and stretched. One kitten hung from the cat’s teat for a second before it plopped back onto the hay.
Lilly clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. “Where did she come from?” she asked in a stage whisper.
“I don’t know, but she sure picked a good place to have her babies, didn’t she?”
Lilly shot her mother a sideways look. “So are we keeping her?”
“If nobody claims her and she wants to stay. It’s good to have a cat in the barn.” Copper brushed a strand of hair from Lilly’s eyes. They hadn’t taken time to tie it back before they left the house. “I was thinking you might pick one kitten for a house pet. We’d have to give the other kittens away, though. We can’t have five cats.”
“Really? I can have one for my own?” Lilly wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist. “We haven’t had a cat since Old Tom died.”
“I know. That’s probably why I found a mouse in the grain box yesterday. He’d gnawed a hole right through. Your dad will have to plug it.” Copper picked up the milk bucket, loving the heft of it—not bad pay for a half hour’s work. Lilly had slowed her down, but it was a valuable lesson for her daughter to learn. Every woman should own a cow and know how to take care of it. It bespoke a type of independence. With a cow, a few chickens, and a vegetable garden, a woman could raise a family alone if need be. She would need to teach Lilly that it was okay to get dirty. That might take a while.
“Why are you smiling?” Lilly asked as they walked to the springhouse.
“I was just wondering how many starched aprons you would need in a day’s time if you started milking and mucking out Bertha’s stall.”
Lilly stopped midstep and seated her fists on her hips. “Mama! I am not a baby. I could do a lot if you would let me.”
Copper was taken aback. There was
truth to what Lilly said. Copper slipped out of her work shoes, then stepped into the springhouse. Lilly followed, leaving her boots perfectly lined up outside the door.
Copper poured the milk through the cream separator, explaining every move to Lilly. “We have more milk than we can use or give away right now. Manda will take this cream to town for me. It will fetch a pretty penny.”
“And the eggs,” Lilly said.
“Yes, eggs too. And sometimes truck from the garden, but usually we can anything extra. Milk and eggs won’t keep.”
“I love being in here,” Lilly said, leaning back against a wall and spreading her arms wide against it. “It’s so cool and peaceful.”
Copper knew what she meant. The walls of the springhouse were constructed from thick slabs of rock chinked with clay. It straddled a free-flowing spring, a tributary of Troublesome Creek. John and Dimmert had chiseled holes in the solid stone floor through which containers of milk or butter or cheese could be lowered into the cold water for safekeeping. If the heavy wooden door was kept closed, the temperature inside was nearly constant, somewhat like a cave. When you were within its walls, the burble of water flowing over ancient rocks made the outside world fade away.
Crouching by one of the holes in the floor, Copper lowered the milk bucket into the spring and let water flow in. When she was satisfied with the amount, she hauled the bucket out and scrubbed it and the cream separator with lye soap. She washed and rinsed, then set the bucket and the separator upside down to drain. “This is all part of milking. You’re not finished just because the cow is.”
Lilly still leaned against the wall of the springhouse. She was staring at the floor. A curtain of hair hid her face.
Copper could tell her child was troubled. She chose her words carefully. “Do you have questions about what you saw yesterday afternoon? questions about Adie?”
