She frowned to herself and cast those thoughts away. She hadn't been strong enough or brave enough: it was water under the bridge.
Her lips quivered into a smile. 'Come on, Jenny. Let's go open the presents and forget this, all right?' She placed a finger under Jenny's chin and lifted it.
Jenny nodded and smiled slowly. 'Yes, Auntie,' she said softly.
Elender put her arm around Jenny's shoulder, and together they left the room.
That wasn't so hard, Jenny thought. All I had to do was appeal to her emotions. I can always play on Auntie 's soft spot.
Elender lowered two large brightly wrapped packages each into Jenny's and Elizabeth-Anne's outstretched arms. She smiled as the girls struggled under the weight of them. 'You may open them in the kitchen,' she said, turning as she heard footsteps behind her. The Grubbs were coming down the hall. 'Merry Christmas,' Elender greeted them warmly.
' 'Mornin',' Bazzel said crisply.
Amanda smiled bleakly and pushed a limp lock of stray hair out of her eyes. 'Good mornin', Miz Clowney.' She looked shyly down at her feet. 'Merry Christmas.'
'And a very Merry Christmas to you, Mrs. Grubb.'
Amanda Grubb looked even more unhappy than she had the night before. Elender noticed that she kept pulling nervously at the frayed white cuffs of her blouse with her fingers, and she wondered whether this nervous reaction had something to do with Bazzel Grubb. Had they had words between them? Or could Elspeth be frightened of him? After all, there was something remote and formidable . . . almost forbidding . . . about him. Not only that, but somehow the Grubbs just didn't give the impression of being a warm, loving couple. There was an odd coldness there, a chilly distance between them that she couldn't figure out. And . . . although she couldn't quite put her finger on the precise reason why such a strange idea should suddenly pop into her head, Elender was unable to prevent the perceptive thought from forming: call it intuition or suspicion, for some reason, she just knew in her heart of hearts that Elizabeth-Anne would be far better off with her than with the Grubbs. But what could she do? Elspeth and Bazzel Grubb were the child's flesh and blood, while she herself was merely a stranger who had befriended her.
What rights did strangers, however loving and well- meaning, have to an orphaned child?
Bazzel cleared his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. 'We was wonderin' if we might talk to you in private fer a few minutes, Miz Clowney.'
Elender glanced into the dining room. The roomers were already gathering for Christmas breakfast. 'We can talk in the kitchen as soon as I serve the food,' she said. 'Girls!'
Jenny and Elizabeth-Anne turned around slowly, their faces barely visible above the tops of the packages.
'Why don't you go into the parlor?' Elender glanced at Mr. Grubb and lowered her voice. 'Did you build a fire in there?'
'Seein' how cold it was, and since there was wood stacked right next to the fireplace—'
'Did you move the piano?'
He looked at her queerly but slowly shook his head.
'Good. The only reason I asked that is Elizabeth-Anne is terrified of fires. After that terrible circus fire she witnessed . . .'
Elender moved aside and smiled automatically as she let the girls pass. Then she steered the Grubbs into the kitchen. 'Have a seat, won't you? I'll serve you your breakfasts in here instead of the dining room. That way we can talk in privacy while you eat. I'll be right back.'
Elender smoothed the front of her apron and busied herself. The Grubbs sat watching quietly as her footsteps beat a brisk circular cadence from the kitchen to the dining room and back again. Between her trips she set steaming mugs, filled half with sweetened coffee, half with hot milk, down in front of the Grubbs. She added plates of eggs, sausages, and homemade cranberry muffins, finally closed the dining-room door, and poured herself a mug of coffee. Then she brought it over to the table, sat down, scooted her chair forward, and folded her hands on the tabletop. 'There. Now, what was it you wished to talk to me about, Mr. Grubb?'
But Bazzel held up his hand to silence her, closed his eyes, and bowed his head over his plate. Amanda clasped her hands in her lap and did likewise, murmuring in unison with him: 'O Lord, bless this bounty which we are about to receive, amen.'
The moment Bazzel's eyes clicked open, he reached for the gravy boat, which was filled with syrup. He poured some liberally over his fried eggs and pork sausages. Then he punctured the egg yolks with his fork, speared a whole sausage, and dipped it into the liquid yolk. He bit off a piece and talked while chewing, his long, uneven teeth moving steadily up and down. 'Miz Grubb and I had a long talk.' He gestured toward Amanda with his fork and swallowed. ' 'Bout 'Lizabeth-Anne . . .'
Elender looked at him. 'She's such a sweet child,' she said. 'And so pretty with that gold hair and those pale blue eyes. I can guarantee you'll have no problems with her.'
'We never expected any, ma'am,' Bazzel said. 'She's right pretty, jest like her mama.' He glanced at Amanda. 'Ain't that right, Elspeth?'
Amanda bowed her head and murmured, 'Yes, jest like her mama, God rest her soul.'
'Amen,' Bazzel added. ' 'Course, we love little 'Lizbeth-Anne, seein' how she's a relative and all,' Bazzel said. 'I'm sure she'll grow up to be a fine lady, jest like her mama.' He reached for a muffin, tore it in half, mopped the syrup up off the plate with it, and chewed on it reflectively. 'I'm 'fraid livin' with me and Elspeth, though—that could be mighty rough on her.'
Elender cocked her head to one side and looked at him questioningly. 'I beg your pardon?'
Amanda looked up. 'You see, Miz Clowney, we don't have no home,' she explained quietly. 'And children, they need a home. Like we told you yesterday, we been on the move. That's why it took us so long to git here.' She spoke with deceptive conviction and chose her words carefully, praying that what she was about to say would appease Bazzel's anger with her for destroying the silver-mine shares. She took a deep breath and continued in a trembling voice: 'Mr. Grubb and me, we're God-fearin' people. That's why we travel the country spreadin' the word of Jesus wherever folks'll listen. And that takes money, Miz Clowney, and lots of it.' She exchanged glances with Bazzel, whose flinty eyes urged her on. 'When we got yer letter, me and Bazzel, we took it as a sign from the Lord. We decided that if you was willin', Miz Clowney, we . . . we might be willin' to sell you little 'Lizbeth-Anne, seein' as how you git on so well and all. You know, jest for enough money so's we could keep spreadin' the Lord's word.'
Elender sat in stunned silence, unable to believe her ears. Sell Elizabeth-Anne? Was that what she had heard? Had these . . . these . . . cretins offered to sell her their beautiful niece? Elender had never been so outraged in her entire life.
Before she could recover from her shock and muster the words she wanted to say to these monsters, Bazzel Grubb broke the silence: ' 'Course, if you ain't willin' to give us a good price fer 'Lizbeth-Anne, Miz Clowney, ma'am, then we can sell her in Dallas or somewheres. I figger she'd bring in a nice tidy little sum, seein' as how she's so pretty'n all—'
But his sales pitch was interrupted by a shrill, unearthly scream that tore through the house.
10
At first Jenny and Elizabeth-Anne had been too preoccupied with their own presents to take notice of each other's. They ignored the conversations and the clinking of cutlery and china drifting in through the open door from the dining room.
Jenny had set her two packages down on the parlor table and then picked them up one by one and shaken them. She quickly proceeded to tear the wrapping off the smaller, heavier one.
Elizabeth-Anne put her presents on the settee, and knelt there, fumbling clumsily with the pretty ribbon on the larger of her packages. The ribbon was difficult to remove because of her gloves. They wouldn't let her get a firm grip.
'Ooooooh!' As she tore apart the paper, a black- velvet-covered box came into view and Jenny let out such a loud squeal of delight that Elizabeth-Anne stopped what she was doing and craned her neck to
look over at Jenny.
Jenny undid the brass catch, lifted the lid, and proudly held up the box, tilting it to show Elizabeth-Anne what lay inside. Cool, polished gold-tone metal and silvery mirror flashed luxuriantly against plush red velvet.
'It's the boudoir set I wanted!' Jenny breathed with smug satisfaction. She lifted out the hand mirror with its beveled oval glass and held it up, preening visibly at her reflection. Then she snatched up the matching brush with its pristine white bristles and started brushing her hair with the exaggerated movements of a lady in her boudoir. After a moment she glanced over at Elizabeth-Anne, who finally had her ribbon and paper undone. She was about to lift the lid off her carton.
Jenny frowned, wondering what in the world could be so huge as to require a carton of such copious size. Probably a winter coat, she thought. Well, that was all right with her. From past experience, she knew that Auntie always gave a plaything or something unnecessary as one gift, and something sensible, but dull and unwelcome—like underwear—as another.
Triumphant with her acquisition of the boudoir set, as well as Auntie's ready forgiveness for her stealing Elizabeth-Anne's breakfast, Jenny was capable of being particularly expansive. 'I'm sure it's something real nice,' she said over her shoulder without bothering to see what lay beneath Elizabeth-Anne's mountainous nest of white tissue paper. She busied herself tearing open her second package instead. She grimaced and pushed it aside. Just as she'd expected. Underwear.
Carefully Elizabeth-Anne parted the white tissue. She let out a deep breath. Inside her cushioned box sat a flaxen-haired doll . . . the most beautiful doll imaginable.
Her eyes shone as she took hold of the doll and, ever so gently, lifted her out. The matte-finished porcelain face looked so real it could have belonged to a living lady, and the wide-set sky-blue eyes were framed by thick, fine lashes. Never in her life had she seen such a beautiful doll, or such a beautiful, frilly, lace- trimmed gown. Not even the most extravagant circus costume would have compared with it.
Jenny turned around and let out a cry of indignant envy. 'That's mine!' she hissed with blazing eyes. 'That's the doll I saw in Brownsville!'
But Elizabeth-Anne was too busy to hear her. She set the doll on her lap and began stroking its soft blond hair in wonderment. She didn't see Jenny lunging for it until it was too late.
Jenny snatched the doll off her lap. Elizabeth-Anne tried to grab it back, but Jenny was too quick. 'It's mine!' she hissed from between her teeth.
Elizabeth-Anne shook her head and jumped off the settee. She pounced at Jenny, but Jenny hopped back behind a table.
A soft, strangled noise came from the depths of Elizabeth-Anne's throat. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she held out her gloved hands beseechingly.
Jenny made a face, turned her back on her, and held the doll against her chest. 'You're mine!' she hissed over and over to the doll. 'You're mine. Auntie made a mistake. You're the doll I saw in Brownsville!' She felt Elizabeth-Anne's angry hands clutching at her dress and quickly tore herself out of her grasp. She tossed her head. 'Go away, you freak!' she hissed over her shoulder. 'Nobody wants you here! Leave me alone!'
In desperation Elizabeth-Anne tried once again to grab the doll away, but Jenny held it high, and, smiling with hideous triumph, skipped around to the back of the piano. She was certain that Elizabeth-Anne would stay away, for hidden behind the piano was the fireplace with its crackling, leaping yellow flames.
Elizabeth-Anne never went near a fire.
But Jenny hadn't counted on three things: Elizabeth-Anne's outrage, her tenacity, and what the doll symbolized to her. It was more than a mere toy; for Elizabeth-Anne it was a gift from Auntie, whom she loved more and more with every passing day. Auntie had given it to her, not to Jenny—and now Jenny was using it to torture her once again.
Suddenly all the months of suffering at Jenny's hands came to a head.
Enough was enough. Elizabeth-Anne was not about to sit back and take any more of the cruelties Jenny dished out without putting up a fight.
Despite the hot fire leaping in the fireplace, Elizabeth-Anne darted behind the piano and flew at Jenny, managing to wrest the doll from her clutches. Jenny was surprised at the younger girl's fierce determination. For a moment they fought a bitter tug-of- war; then Jenny tightened her hands around the doll, and Elizabeth-Anne could feel it slipping from her grasp. Her grip was hindered by the gloves—they wouldn't let her gain purchase.
Jenny drew back, and as she did, Elizabeth-Anne tried to give the doll one last fierce tug.
What happened next astonished—and shocked— them both. The doll flew out of their hands and tumbled into the fireplace. Greedy flames hissed and crackled as they engulfed it.
Jenny stared in horrified fascination as the frilly lace dress caught fire.
For Elizabeth-Anne, the world seemed to stop. As the flames leapt up around the doll, her hands flew up to cover her face. Unlike Jenny, she was not seeing the doll burn. She was seeing the flaming bodies of Szabo and Marikka, her father and mother.
A high-pitched, hideously bloodcurdling scream burst forth from her lips, echoed out into the hallway, and from there into the dining room, where it abruptly stilled the clinking of cutlery on china; it rolled into the kitchen, down into the cellar, and up the stairs; it escaped, muffled, through the closed windows and froze a hopping rabbit outside, its ears drawn back in fear at the unearthly noise. Then a crash reverberated from the kitchen, and Elender came tearing into the parlor, the Grubbs at her heels. She looked around wildly and spied the two girls behind the piano. She moved behind it and glanced into the fireplace. Her hands flew to her breast and her heart skipped a beat at the terrible vision.
'Oooooh, Auntie, Auntie, Auntie! They're burning, Auntie! Ooooh, Auntie!'
Elender stared at the flames as if mesmerized. Then she glanced at Jenny.
'Oooooh, Auntie. The fire . . . the hot fire. The horrible hot, hot fire!'
Elender frowned at Jenny; Jenny's lips weren't moving at all. Then slowly she turned to Elizabeth-Anne. The girl had fallen to her knees, her hands clutching her belly as her body rocked from side to side, her lips moving in anguish.
'Oooooo, Auntie! Auntie! Help them, Auntie!'
Elender fell to her knees and held Elizabeth-Anne tightly. The girl was speaking! Actually speaking! She had found her voice! It didn't matter how or why. Nothing mattered anymore but that she could speak.
It was a miracle!
And as she held the girl, swaying back and forth with her, Elender began to shout with joy as the tears streamed from her own eyes.
From that moment on, Elizabeth-Anne was her own child, her own child more than Jenny or anyone else ever could be.
II
________
1890
Zaccheus
Dent County, Missouri
1
Three memorable events in United States history occurred in 1890: the Battle of Wounded Knee, in South Dakota, the publication of How the Other Half Lives by Jacob Riis, and the first-ever execution of a criminal by electrocution. Not so memorable was the birth of Zaccheus Howe on a struggling farm near Muddy Lake, ninety miles southwest of St. Louis, Missouri.
It was an early September morning when Sue Ellen Howe, who had never heard of Jacob Riis, Wounded Knee, or electrocution, leaned on her scythe and looked out across the field. It was a breezy day, and the alfalfa undulated like the waves of the ocean. In the distance she could see her husband, Nathaniel, and her daughter, Letitia, expertly scything the west field with economical fluid arcs, their blades reflecting the sunlight with flashes of silver. The air was redolent with the smell of fresh-mown hay.
Sue Ellen was heavy, swollen with child. For the past nine months this had not deterred her from her dawn-to-dusk chores. But suddenly she knew she had to stop. She wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of a hand and called out to her eleven-year-old daughter, 'Letitia!'
Letitia stopped scything and hurried over. She w
as a sturdy flaxen-haired girl with strong teeth, muscular arms, and a long freckled face. She looked at her mother questioningly. 'Mama?'
'My time's come,' Sue Ellen said concisely. 'Let's git to the house. I need yer help.'
Nathaniel did not turn around as the two women strode purposefully toward the small farmhouse. The alfalfa had to be cut; without it, the horse and the cows would starve during winter. And before it could be stored in the barn, it had to be completely dried. He was a farmer, as his father and grandfather before him, and there were certain things farmers knew that had been handed down through the generations.
Nathaniel squinted up at the sky. It was clear and powder blue; the birds danced weightlessly in the air and the sun was strong. Hopefully the weather would hold for a week or two. After the alfalfa was brought in, then the rain would be welcome. Meanwhile, he hawked and spat and continued scything while his wife, assisted by his young daughter, gave birth to a healthy boy. By sunset Sue Ellen had nursed the child and cooked a hot supper in the big black iron pot in the hearth. Nathaniel glanced impassively at the boy, named him Zaccheus, then ate his meal and went straight to bed. The next day Sue Ellen hopscotched between the house and the field, breast-feeding her baby while continuing to scythe.
Sue Ellen Howe was twenty-five years old that autumn. She had married Nathaniel when she was fourteen, a lovely, pale-complexioned girl who promised to grow into a real beauty. It never happened. She looked forty, her face browned and burned by the sun, her back stooped by the heavy farmwork, her hands callused and rough. If she was no longer lovely and her pale complexion was forever gone, a certain pioneer hardiness and inner strength replaced them. She could neither read nor write, but she knew how to plant and harvest crops, mend and sew, salt pork, raise chickens, and can vegetables. Her eyes were hard and unyielding, her lips dry and cracked and purposefully sealed. She accepted her life unquestioningly and was never heard to utter a complaint. She did not love Nathaniel, but it never occurred to her that she should. She was content with him. He worked hard, never hit her, took her to bed with a kind of animal purposefulness, drank little, and spoke even less.
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