by Leisha Kelly
That was Julia. No worries, kids. We’re fine, broke as we are. I shook my head again. “Everything takes money. There’s a lot of things you can’t get no other way.”
“Like a milk cow?”
I smiled. “Yeah. Does your mother want a milk cow?”
“Yeah. And Sarah thinks it’d be keen too. Will it taste just the same as the delivery milk back home?”
“Not as cold without an icebox.”
“Maybe we could get one.”
“That takes money for sure.”
Before we even got the wood box into the house, Willy Hammond came walking up through the yard, looking for Robert to go fishing again. I sent Robert on with my blessing. It would be good for him to have a friend, and good if we could manage some fish for dinner.
My box fit right behind the stove, and I piled it full with all the wood I’d cut. Sarah followed me back out to the garden, enjoying the feel of the turned-over dirt on her bare feet and asking a million questions.
“Daddy, will we stay here forever?”
“I don’t know how long it’ll be. I don’t suppose anything lasts forever.”
“’Cept God?”
“Yeah, except God.”
“Can we grow tomatas?”
“If we get plants.”
“And more flowers?”
“We’ll have to. That’s what Emma wants.”
“Is Emma an angel, Daddy? Mama said she’s an angel.”
“Kind of. If your mama says so.”
“I want to be an angel when I grow up. I want to fly around and give people stuff. Can Emma fly?”
“Not yet. Not in this world.”
Julia came outside to dump the water she’d used scrubbing the woodwork and the stairs. She’d have the house looking fine before long. But it was hard to imagine it filled with furnishings, and harder still to think of the rooms upstairs with decent beds or the pantry loaded down with jars of food.
“We should plant the corn today,” she told me. “The sooner we get the garden up, the better. I wish we had Mrs. McPiery’s other seeds now too.”
“I guess we have to earn them.”
She gave me a look, got herself a hoe, and began whacking over the same piece of ground I’d already worked. “Kind of rough,” she said. “But I’ve seen worse. Let’s make some rows.”
Dutifully, I raked my hoe through the dirt to create a shallow furrow, and Julia followed in my tracks, breaking up clods. “Corn does better in several short rows than one or two long ones,” she said. “Pollinates better.”
“No problem.”
“What’s pollynate?” Sarah asked us, and I left the question to Julia, not knowing the answer for sure myself.
“It’s what bees do for flowers, honey,” she said. “Taking pollen from one to another. I guess maybe the wind does it for corn stalks. They like to be close together so the pollen can blow back and forth. You get good ears that way. And more of them.”
“Maybe with ears,” Sarah suggested, “the corn can hear the wind coming.” She giggled and then picked up a handful of dirt. “I’m gonna have a big garden when I grow up,” she told us. “Big as the whole world. And I’m gonna have a truck too, like that one we rode in, and I’m gonna drive corn all over the place and give it to everybody for supper.”
“That’s a good idea,” Julia told her. “You remember that. It would be a wonderful thing to do.”
“You want to help, Mama?”
I could see Julia’s smile, and it was almost infectious. “I’d love to. Maybe we can grow enough right here to share with the neighbors.”
Dreamers, I thought. Foolish dreamers. How I love you both! But don’t you see where we are? Not one seed in the ground yet. We haven’t enough for tomorrow, and all you can think of is giving it away.
FIFTEEN
Julia
I was laying things out from boxes again when I heard the motor car coming up the drive. It surely wasn’t Mr. Hammond, since he always seemed to go about with his team and wagon. Sarah ran to look out an open window just as I heard Sam shout hello.
The answer he received surprised me so much that I went to the window myself. “Where’s the missus?” a female voice demanded. “You got her inside someplace?”
I knew the woman, but it took me a moment to recall her name. Miss Hazel Sharpe. The spinster from town. What in the world had she come out here for and why did she sound so angry? I nearly tripped over a kitchen chair on my way out the door to meet her. What would she think of the state the house was in or of the fact I had no tea and cookies to offer her? Had she come to inspect our progress? Surely Emma Graham had sent her.
Miss Hazel was on the porch, waiting for me to open the door. I marveled again at how fast she could move, as stooped over as she was.
“Well, there you are,” she said. “What you done to Emma’s house?”
Such words stopped me cold for a moment, and I could barely manage a hello. I noticed the young man leaning on the shiny black car. Maybe Miss Hazel has money, I thought, or knows someone who does. I hadn’t seen such a car in a long while nor someone to come along just for driving it.
Taking a deep breath, I asked Miss Hazel inside as graciously as I could, hoping she wouldn’t be distressed by my efforts at housekeeping so far. Sarah ran up to her, staring, and I shooed the girl outside to Sam, hoping to keep her away from the spice of Miss Hazel’s tongue.
“Been cleanin’?” Miss Hazel asked immediately, eyeing me over the brim of her glasses.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “There were so many cobwebs and—”
“For the life of me, I can’t see how you can live with yourself!” the old lady suddenly proclaimed. “Movin’ in here and actin’ like it’s yours, without payin’ a dime! If I’d have known you wasn’t talkin’ of buyin’, I’d have never sent you Emma’s way! The old girl just doesn’t have the sense to turn you out.”
“Mrs. Graham wanted us to stay,” I defended. “She talked my husband into it.”
“You’re a bold one, you are! As if it weren’t your own idea to go beggin’! I know all about it! George Hammond thinks you’re sufferin’ in silence after your husband’s notions, but Emma told me it was you come in with your sweet sob story and convinced her to give you the place!”
I stood for a moment, stunned. Was Mrs. Graham having second thoughts? Was she angry at us? “Miss Hazel,” I dared ask, “is Mrs. Graham wanting us to leave her farm?”
“She ain’t got the sense for that, girl! You’ve got her plum convinced you’re decent folks needin’ her handout! It’s about the same as thievin’, to my mind!”
I looked down at the floor. “She has blessed us,” I said softly. “And we’re grateful. Would you like a glass of water? Or a cup of spearmint tea?”
“You’ve got nothin’ to give me that ain’t Emma’s,” she snapped. “You’re even using her dishes.” She walked to the kitchen counter where I’d left plates and cups to air dry on a towel. “I remember when Willard bought her this set. Nothin’ means much to you, does it?”
“You’re wrong. You think you know us, but you don’t.”
“Well, I asked if you were Christian. Remains to be seen, I suppose, if you’ll show your face in church.”
“I would love to attend, Miss Hazel. But is there one closer to us than town? We haven’t a car or a team.”
“You tell George I said to bring you. Then you’ll have no excuse.”
She turned her back on me and headed for the living room. I hustled to follow her, but not wanting to rankle her further, I held my tongue. She was a difficult sort, one who was pleased to be displeased, as far as I could tell. She eyed the boxes we’d carried down the stairs and lifted a throw pillow from the top of one.
“I helped Emma pack these boxes,” she said. “Of course, she didn’t want to; just wanted to leave everything sittin’ out, you know. But things is a lot safer from tramps out of sight this way.” She set the pillow down and turned to me. “The
worst thing ’bout what you’re doin’ is to get her hopes up like this. Rita McPiery’s been her friend for as long as I have. She’s better off there than bein’ took care of by strangers! She ain’t been good. What will you do when she comes down sick again?”
“I suppose we’d get the doctor.”
“With no car and no horse? You’re not even thinkin’! Or else you don’t care. You just want the place, that’s all, and come up with a way to get it.”
Little needles jabbed about inside me, up and down. What will we do if Mrs. Graham gets sick? Run for George Hammond and his wagon?
“You know it don’t make sense, her comin’ out here,” Miss Hazel continued. “It’s cruel to lead her on about it. It’s a good thing George come and told me or you might have got the thing done.”
She started to walk away from me again, toward the bedroom, and my hands started shaking. She may have had a legitimate concern for Emma’s well-being, but she was overstepping her bounds now.
What right did she have to decide we couldn’t do this? What right did George Hammond have even bringing her in on it?
“Miss Sharpe, Mrs. Graham’s of sound mind. We’ll talk about this, and her health. It’ll be her own decision if she—”
“You mean you think you can talk her into it, no matter what I say?”
“No. I mean she’s no child. And we just want to help her be happy.”
“You want this farm. That’s what you’ve wanted from the start! It’s thievin’, no matter how pretty you paint it up to look! You make yourself an old lady’s friend just long enough to get her name signed to papers. That’s what you want, ain’t it? If you had the deed, you wouldn’t be talkin’ to bring her here, now would you?”
“Yes. And we’re not asking for a deed. It’s enough that she’s let us stay.”
Miss Hazel stomped into the bedroom, muttering something under her breath. She looked in the closet, ran her finger along the top of the little dresser, and then turned her attention to the window. “This was Emma’s room.”
“It still is.”
She wheeled around and gave me the most intimidating glare I’d ever encountered. That poor pastor’s wife, I thought. It must be terrifying to have this woman for a piano teacher.
“You bet it still is,” she hissed. “Not yours or no one else’s until it gets sold, fair and square. I’ll see to that, mind you. No matter what you say ’bout Emma and her decisions. She ain’t seein’ clear already, havin’ you stay without so much as a red cent!”
“I was hoping you’d be of help,” I said softly.
“Oh, I will be. But not to you.”
“I meant to Emma,” I pressed on, hoping to find a way to make friends. “Tell me about her illness. Or, if you would—”
“You’ve got frightful spunk about you! You should go back where you come from, if they’ll have you!” She pushed her spectacles up on her nose and brushed past me in a huff. I followed her again, and we got to the kitchen just as Sam was opening the back door.
Oh no, Sammy, I thought. Terrible timing. She’s a wildcat liable to bite and scratch on her way out that door.
He looked at me but didn’t have time for words before Miss Hazel lashed out again.
“Mr. Wortham! What kind of a person are you? You should be supportin’ your wife and young’uns, not letting her connive against an old woman like this! There ain’t a thing wrong with decent work. A man ain’t worth a plug nickel without it! You should be ’shamed of yourself, trying to steal a place instead of earning it!”
“I never stole a thing in my life,” Samuel said solemnly. “And Juli doesn’t connive. She does pray for folks, though.” He surprised Miss Hazel and I both with a fine smile. “May I escort you to your car?”
Miss Hazel bristled. “Are you throwin’ me off Emma’s place when I’ve knowed her more years than you’ve been alive?”
“No, ma’am,” Sam answered courteously. “It just looked as though you were leaving. But you’re welcome to stay. Juli’d be glad to fix you some of her leaf tea, and you can have dinner with us if you would, though I can’t promise what we’ll have on the table.”
The old woman just stared at him and then slowly turned her eyes back to me. “You’re up to something,” she said hesitantly. “I won’t be a part of it.” She took another step toward the door.
“You’re welcome to visit anytime,” Sam said, careful to step out of her way. “Forgive me for not greeting you in town the other day.”
“Ashamed to face me, you were,” she told him bitterly.
“Yes, ma’am. I suppose you’re right. It’s not easy being broke with a family. And you’re right about work. If you hear of any jobs available, I’d thank you to give me word so I can apply.”
“Pray for us,” I added, feeling a warmth inside as I saw fresh color spread over Miss Hazel’s face. “Pray for Mrs. Graham too. We’re so grateful to her.”
Without another word, Miss Hazel hustled outside, gave a quick glance to Sarah sitting on the porch, and then rushed across the yard. The young man by the car had to move quickly to open the door before she got to it. And they were gone as quick as they’d come, leaving a lingering cloud of dust in their wake.
Sam put his arm around me. “Herman said I should help you.”
“Herman?”
“The driver. Her nephew. He said she talked all the way here about how she was going to set you straight. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. And she can’t do anything, Sam.”
“We’ll take what comes, whether she does or not. A lot of people may feel the way she does, that we’re taking advantage.”
I stepped away from his arms, my hands clenched, the heat inside me uncomfortable. “It’s none of their business, Sam! We’ve done nothing wrong! It’s only Emma Graham’s business and ours! God has blessed us. He’s going to bless her too, and nobody has a right to put their nose in!”
“That doesn’t mean they won’t.”
I turned away. I almost snipped at him that Hazel Sharpe was only one person, and surely most people would have the decency to let Emma Graham make up her own mind about things.
But then I saw Robert making his way toward us through the trees, and I held my tongue. He was running, holding high three fish on a string like there was nothing that could make him more proud. I could see his smiling face, and I thought of all the good Miss Hazel was missing. Why do some people insist on looking for the bad? I thought. Oh, if she could have seen my son’s delight, my daughter’s contentment! If she could have seen Samuel’s face the night he told me he’d welcome Mrs. Graham! She didn’t know us. She didn’t even try. And I could scarcely believe she really knew Mrs. Graham either.
Maybe it was Miss Hazel’s snippetiness driving me, but I couldn’t wait a week to go back to Belle Rive. I didn’t want to ask George Hammond to take us to church, or to talk to anyone else until we’d had a chance to sit down with Mrs. Graham again. So the next day, with a bundle of field daisies and lavender lilacs from Mrs. Graham’s front yard, we set out, getting a ride from Barrett Post, a nearby farmer.
I was just as nervous as the first time we went to see Mrs. Graham. Sam and I had agreed that before we made any further plans about Mrs. Graham coming out to the farm with us, we’d better make sure that’s what she really wanted. Miss Hazel had a point about us being strangers.
I let Sarah hold the daisies, since she’d picked them for me. She was delighted to be seeing Mrs. Graham again. She’d drawn her a lovely picture of the apple tree with a smiling Robert sitting on one limb and waving.
But Robert wasn’t smiling now. He didn’t like going back before we were expected. He didn’t like what his sister had told him about Miss Hazel. He thought we might be asked to move on, just when he’d begun to feel at home. He sat in the old truck with his shoulders humped and his eyes on his scuffed shoes.
“Boy oughta be in school,” Mr. Post said in a deep baritone that revealed a hint of disapproval.
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br /> “We just came to the area,” I explained. “He’ll be starting as soon as we’re settled. Where is the school from here?”
“’Bout a quarter mile south of Curtis Creek, over on Persimmon Ridge. Nice little old schoolhouse been there three generations.”
Mr. Post was so stiff and unsmiling that I didn’t tell him I wasn’t sure of his directions. We’d be sending Robert to school with Will Hammond when the time came, I supposed, if the Hammond boy went to school. “We’d like to meet the teacher,” I told him. “We’ve been doing what we can in the middle of travel, but it’s high time Robert was in a classroom again.”
My son turned to look at me. “Hope we’ll be here long enough.”
“Well,” Post said, turning and looking at Robert with some understanding, “a boy needs to be planted, that’s a sure thing. Gotta have your roots in good soil to grow, that’s what I say.” He smiled for the first time and took a deep breath, like he was getting ready to unload something important. “You’ll like the teacher, I reckon, son. But not too awful much. Elvira married my brother when I was in the school m’self. She started her teachin’ way back then. She’s a fine’un, but she packs a lot of starch. I done m’ best to lighten her up, bringin’ snakes and craw-daddies in my lunch pail. Had me haulin’ the water for three months at a time, she did. Don’t take the tomfoolery off nobody else, neither. She’s a good’un for figures, though. And she counts it a true enough lesson if a boy’s gotta miss a day to put in seed or bag a turkey for his fam’ly.”
“Don’t the girls go?” Sarah spoke up. “I wouldn’t bring no snake.”
Mr. Post laughed. “Sure, there’s girls to go. But you’re a mighty little thing. Better wait till fall, at the least.”
We learned that Mrs. Elvira Post, wife of Clement Post, was a fine piano player and sang on occasion. She made the best blackberry jam and something called corn preserves, and she ended every school year with a program of songs and the reciting of poems. Church was once held on Sundays at the schoolhouse, but for twenty years now people had gone into Dearing, for lack of a second preacher.
