by Leisha Kelly
“The same as,” Sam admitted. “Except for Emma Graham’s generosity. I’d like to repay her, like I said, but you can see what I haven’t figured out yet. We can’t have the old woman home with nothing to feed her.”
“You say you want advice?” George asked, suddenly spitting into the grass.
“Yes, sir.”
“Start tellin’ folks. Let us know when Emma’ll be here, and the problem’ll start takin’ care of itself. I’d wager on that.”
“Mrs. McPiery’s expecting us next week,” Sam said. “I’d like to bring her home then, if I had a way to drive her.”
George grinned. “You can take my wagon, if you know how to drive the team.”
“I don’t.”
“You’re a city boy for sure, ain’t you?” He shook his head. “That’s a sorry thing. I’ll send one of my boys with you. I’d promise to go m’self, but Wilametta wants me close to home now, on account of the baby. She thinks it’ll be early, the way Harry was.”
George turned and looked at me again. “Hard way for a woman with a man that don’t know what he’s doin’.”
I stopped and stared at him. “Sam knows exactly what he’s doing.”
George Hammond just glanced over at the limb in the yard where the axe was still leaning. The limb barely had a notch in it. “I can see that he does.” He grinned again. “I’ll send William over here to cut that for you and maybe teach your boy to fish. Could use all the help you can get.” He tipped his hat, and I felt like pitching a rock at him. He had no right insulting Samuel like that.
But Sam just stood there without saying a word until Hammond drove off.
“He’s right, you know,” he said. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a horse if I had one. Or a pig, either.”
“Never mind him,” I said. “You’ll learn.”
But Sam left the axe where it lay and fixed the broken porch step instead. He was good enough with his hands. He always had been. I’d seen him do just about anything he was given half the chance at. He could fix a motor car or put together a radio. He could put electricity into a house, which I was sure George Hammond could not do.
Sam could do so many things that I’d been frustrated to no end when he couldn’t find another job in Harrisburg. Everywhere he’d went there were lines, always with twenty or more men ahead of him. And it was the same way everywhere else we’d been. Maybe I was wrong, wanting him on this farm, where things were as foreign to him as hay to an alley cat. But he’d find his niche, surely. He’d even make George Hammond respect him.
After an hour or so, a boy about Robert’s age came walking in from the timber. He didn’t say much, just introduced himself and said he was here to chop a tree limb. Sam let him start the job while he watched, but then finished it himself and sent the boy to the pond for some fishing with Robert.
“I need to keep the blade sharp,” Sam told me later. “And to watch my swing.” He walked to the woods and pulled home several more fallen branches. We’d be needing more wood to cook with, even when it got hot. Not to mention a store ahead for the winter.
Robert and Sarah tore into my pot of beans, without complaining for the lack of ham to go with it. I rather lamented having no eggs or milk to bake with, but I made baking powder biscuits anyway. They weren’t light nor pretty, but they were far better than having none. Both kids ate them crumbled up in the beans.
I felt rich watching them eat, just knowing that today they could get as filled up as they wanted to. This was the start of a new life for us, and they were as excited as I was.
“Can we open more boxes when we’re done?” Robert asked. He was sitting on a chair we’d carried from upstairs, enjoying the last of Rita McPiery’s cookies.
“First we clean up,” I told him. “You can help your father outside while Sarah and I work in the house. Then we’ll unpack more boxes.”
“This is going to be real fine,” he said, not seeming to mind the work. “Not only do we got a home, but there’s neighbor kids! Willy Hammond said he’s coming back tomorrow for some more fishing. I’m gonna make me a pole like his. If I catch a fish, you’ll cook it, won’t you, Mom?”
“Absolutely. But you can’t be fishing all the time,” I cautioned. “We’ve got plenty of other work to do. And we need to go talk to those neighbors and find out where the schooling’s done around here. Doesn’t seem like you should have to go all the way to Dearing.”
Robert looked up at me in surprise. “Where else would we go?”
“Oh, honey, I’m hoping there’s a country school lots closer. It would be small, but that can be real nice.”
“Maybe they don’t go to school. It’s too early to break for summer. Ain’t it Wednesday? Willy didn’t say nothin’ about school.”
“Maybe they let out the day for some other reason,” I suggested.
“Doesn’t matter what the neighbors do,” Sam said. “If we’re settled here for awhile, it’s time Robert was back in school. If there’s none close enough, he can work on book education at home.”
“Maybe we can find out tomorrow,” I told them. “And we’ll stop at the library next time we’re in town. But for now, let’s get some work done.”
Earlier in the day I’d taken down all the old curtains, thinking to wash them and the windows. But we had only gotten the windows done so far, using nothing but well water. Oh, how nice the place would smell if I just had soap! I’d thought.
Sarah and I took rags and wiped down all the cobwebs from the walls and window corners. Then we washed the closet in Mrs. Graham’s room and dusted the dresser inside and out. All the while, Sam and Robert worked over in the garden patch with the two old hoes we’d found in the shed. They came back in when they lost their daylight, and we all went upstairs, carrying candles.
“We should ask the Hammonds to save us feathers for a mattress,” I told Sam after glancing at the old bed frame in one room.
“And what would we give in exchange?” he asked.
“Maybe I could offer to take her kids for a few hours once in awhile. She must be awfully tired with a new one almost here. She’ll need help once it’s born.”
Sam shook his head. “We know that at least some of those kids are big enough to help. And they’ve probably got family around here anyway.” He squeezed around the side of some boxes to get to the back corner of the storage room, where two more old chairs leaned against a washtub filled with clothing. He picked up the tub and carried it out to me.
We would put Mrs. Graham’s clothes in her closet, because I would need the tub for my washing. We decided to unpack everything and put in place all that we could to get the house in order before Mrs. Graham saw it again. So we started opening boxes and sorting them according to the room we figured the stuff belonged in. It didn’t take us long to accumulate quite a pile for the kitchen.
“I’ve got to wash out the cupboards and drawers, Sammy, so we can put these things away.” I lifted up a serving spoon from a silverware set. “She has some nice things. A wonder she didn’t take more of them with her.”
The prize of the night was a box containing four delicate kerosene lamps and their glass chimneys, all packed in newspaper. Two of the lamps still had a bit of kerosene in the bottom. I carried them downstairs gingerly, the odor tickling my nose. Sam followed with the washtub, Robert with a box, and Sarah with her rag doll and a bundle of towels.
Late as it was, we ate more beans. Then I washed our dishes while Sam and the kids stretched out our blanket beds. By the time I finished, I could hear Sam in the sitting room, talking about someone named Goompus in a land far away.
It was the first story he’d told in such a long time. Thank you, thank you, God.
FOURTEEN
Samuel
In my dream we were still in Harrisburg, standing in some endless line. Bill Harvey was standing next to me, dripping wet from the river he’d thrown himself into. “Who do you think you’re kidding?” he asked me. “Sam Wortham, in the sticks somew
here? You’re more than a few bricks shy of a load, thinkin’ you’re gonna make that one fly!”
Sarah was yanking on my coat, struggling for my attention. “Daddy, Daddy! Will you please listen?”
I rolled over and opened my eyes. Sarah was cuddled beside me between two blankets, still sound asleep. The first light of dawn was just breaking through the windows. What an irony that Bill Harvey, who’d given up on life, would ridicule my efforts. “I’m listening,” I whispered to Sarah. “Thanks for getting me up. I’d rather listen to you than old Harvey any day.”
I pulled myself up, careful not to wake Julia. The dawn was so quiet. Nothing but a little bird made even the slightest sound. I went out and stood on the porch for quite awhile, looking over Emma’s domain.
I couldn’t feel for it what Julia did. I wasn’t nearly as excited about the whole thing as the children were. Something about being here left me feeling empty and small. I’d worked so hard, tried so hard in Pennsylvania. But my efforts were worth nothing at all.
“I just want to earn my keep, Lord! I just want to provide for my family! Is that so terrible?”
I stepped off the porch, feeling ashamed and glad my mother didn’t know anything about where we were. What would she say if she learned I was an old woman’s charity case? I’d been a long time trying to prove I was worth something. What would she think now?
The bird started singing again, tittering away in the apple tree Robert loved so well. I sighed, remembering how grateful I’d felt and should still feel. God bless Emma Graham. We’d be in Mt. Vernon already—with nothing—if it weren’t for her.
We’d be okay here for awhile, as long as we could get food. And maybe that was all that mattered. Even if we had to leave, life would go on. Somewhere. And maybe that’s all life was: survival. Do what you have to until the Lord puts you someplace else.
With the sunshine bursting over the horizon toward me, I crossed the shaggy yard to the barn. I was supposed to fix the creaky old thing; it was one of the conditions of our being here. Get the barn, not just the house, in shape. As I looked up at the old rafters from inside, the task seemed impossible. No wonder Julia had been afraid to spend our first night in here. The roof was coming off. The walls were in sorry shape. I didn’t know where to begin. I even wondered if it might be easier to tear the whole thing down and start over, but I didn’t know how to do that either. I’d bitten off a lot more than I could chew.
In back of the barn, a fence stretched eastward. Some of it stood in fairly good condition, but the rest of it had fallen down and lay lost in the weeds. Maybe Emma Graham had cows once.
I turned around in time to see a mouse scurry across the old hay, and I almost laughed. We do have animals here, Mr. Hammond. Mice and snakes and who knows what else. No wonder Julia thought there should be a dog.
Looking out at the new sun, I could picture my mother laughing at me for standing here wondering what to do with myself. “Sam,” she’d say, “why can’t you just admit when you’re being an idiot?”
Above me, a board was creaking in the gentle breeze. And behind me, I heard the sound of something moving, some little animal, but I didn’t turn to look. More mice probably, figuring they owned the place.
“Lord, am I making a mistake?” I looked up into the dusty loft, and a piece of old hay fluttered down toward me. I wasn’t sure what I wanted anymore. I wasn’t sure what to do. Yesterday it had seemed like a good idea to bring the old lady home, but now I wasn’t sure if I could handle any of it.
Just to have something to occupy my mind, I looked at the old wagon that sat in the west end of the barn. The wagon was small and probably well used once but wasn’t much account now. The bottom had fallen out and two of the four wheels were beyond repair. It was a relic, not fit for anything anymore. But the thought that Emma Graham might feel the same way suddenly saddened me. God bless her. At least she’s giving me a chance, far better than I deserve.
It gave me a certain resolve. Even if she couldn’t live here, she should be able to visit, see the place, and go out by the pond where her husband’s grave lay under the trees. But it was such a long way to walk, with her not able to take a normal step. How would we get her to the grave site? There was just too much to think about. Too many problems I couldn’t solve. Better to stop thinking and find some work to do.
I went to the shed for the axe and chopped at the branches I’d dragged up from the woods yesterday. At least we’d have a little wood, since the basement supply was gone now. I kept at the chopping until my shoulders hurt, and then I went inside again, carrying an armload of wood in case Julia needed more already. She was making some kind of muffins, and she turned to me with her prettiest smile.
“Oh, thanks, Sam. Just set it right by the stove.”
She had her brown hair pulled back into a bun again, and wore one of Mrs. Graham’s aprons. I had to smile; she looked so good to me. So at home. “You got the oven lit already?” I asked her, envying her ability to fit right in. She’d been raised for such a life by her grandma. But I’d been raised thinking that if I couldn’t prove my worth by making a buck, then I wasn’t worth anything.
“I set the fire in the oven right after you went out,” she said. “It’s about right now for the muffins.”
I stood there for a moment, looking over at the box in the corner. Stuff we’d brought down from upstairs. And there was a lot more to carry down. I bowed my head. “This whole place, Juli. I’m not sure I can do this.”
“I know. But we’ll be fine.”
I shook my head, feeling all jumbled up inside. “How do you fix a barn, Juli? The thing could fall on me, just like you said.”
“We’ll figure something out. Maybe it’s not that essential.”
I sat on a chair and put my elbow on the table. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” I told her. “Except chopping wood. And I don’t do that well.”
She smiled again. “Honey, I think you’re wonderful. You’ve been doing all you can. You haven’t said a sour word about what I’ve gotten us into. I know you wanted to see Dewey. And you’re being a jewel to me, really.”
There wasn’t anything I could say to her. I didn’t deserve her praise. She was the one feeding us. She was the one who knew what she was doing.
“Sammy, one of the wires is down on the clothesline pole outside. If you can find a way to put it up for me, I can hang things out to dry. I’ll be washing our clothes with the curtains right after breakfast.”
Without a word, I went outside, thinking it might be like this from now on. Me at a loss until Juli gave me bearings, telling me what I should do.
The clothesline wire hung down from one pole and stretched across the damp grass like a snake. I picked it up and pulled as hard as I could, but it wasn’t long enough to reach the far pole. Never mind that. If Juli wanted it up, it would go up. I walked back to the barn for a piece of the baling wire that littered one corner and then went to the shed to check the toolbox for some pliers. It didn’t take long to twist one piece of wire onto the other, stretch it the distance, and then tighten the thing as much as I could. We’d have wash hanging there soon enough. Just like regular folks.
Julia came outside, saying she’d seen spearmint along the front of the house yesterday. She went back in with a handful of leaves, and we had her strange tea with the muffins that morning. Then I kept fetching water, and she heated all she could, filled the tub, and washed out the kids’ clothes first. I wondered how clean they’d turn out with no soap and no washboard, but Juli used an old potato masher, a scrub brush, and her bare hands. She did my clothes too, and hers, and then Emma’s old curtains. I was outside, hammering a board back in place on the henhouse, when she came out to drape the laundry to dry.
“Chicken coop in pretty good shape?” she hollered.
“This I can fix, at least.”
“That’s good. We’ll need chickens.”
Yes, Julia, I thought. You’re believing for them too, aren’t you? An
y day now, someone’s liable to come and hand us a chicken just as easy as we’ve been handed this place. That’s what you think. That it will all just happen. Why can’t I be like you?
She hung up the clothes while I replaced the chicken wire that had pulled loose along one wall. When Juli went back in, I turned to the garden with a hoe, thinking that the better I whacked the dirt loose, the sooner Juli could plant Rita McPiery’s seeds and have something decent to report.
By the time I went in with my arms full of broken sticks for kindling, Juli had scrubbed every cupboard in the kitchen, top to bottom. I piled my sticks in the corner behind the stove and then got Robert’s help carrying down the rest of the kitchen boxes we’d separated last night.
Julia and Sarah spent quite awhile putting things away in cupboards and drawers, and the room started to look like a real kitchen. But it was messy the way my kindling just lay on the floor. I went back out to the barn with a handsaw, looking for decent boards and some nails I could pull loose from somewhere. With Robert at my side, I hammered together a passable wood box.
“You sure are good at stuff, Dad,” Robert said.
“This isn’t much.”
“Mom’s gonna like it.”
I shook my head. “There’s nothing for wood even by the fireplace in the living room. Surely the Grahams didn’t go to the basement every time they needed a log. They’d have been up and down those dark stairs all day in the winter.”
“You gonna make a box for in there too? Or a little rack thing like we had in Harrisburg?”
“The rack would look better.”
Robert was quiet for a moment. “This is different than the city, ain’t it, Dad? You don’t have to have a job to work around here.”
“I suppose there’s always work to do on a farm,” I told him. “But I’m going to be asking around town too. If I get a job, we’ve got some hope, with some money coming in.”
“Mom says we won’t need much money here. Once we get the garden in and some animals, we’ll make it okay.”
