by Leisha Kelly
“What you gonna do with that cow by the barn?” Mr. Post asked.
Sam took a glance in that direction. Lula Bell was still content, chewing her cud and watching us. “Emma said she’s fine there, so long as she’s got grass in her reach. I’ll be moving her after awhile to the other side of the barn. It’ll take some time to get the pasture fence in order. There’s a good barn stall, though, to keep her in at night.”
Mr. Post looked back toward the pasture. “Gonna be a fair ’mount of work,” he agreed, “repairin’ Willard’s old fence.”
“We were talking about that over lunch,” Sam told him. “I’ll be starting as soon as I get this done. Won’t get very far today, though.”
“Want some help?”
Sam stopped his digging and looked up in surprise.
“I got a guernsey heifer for Emma, if you let me and my boy come and work ’longside of you Mond’y mornin’.”
Sammy sunk the posthole digger back into the dirt and then stood there, shaking his head. “Why?” he asked. “Why would you want to do that?”
“’Cause it needs to be done. Got to pasture your cows. You ever work fence before?”
“No.”
“Sure will take you a long time alone, then. I’m wantin’ to help Emma, and she’s wantin’ to see her place in order ’fore she passes on.”
I shivered, to hear him speak of Emma passing. Lord, no, I prayed. Not for many, many years. We need her alive and well and right here, telling us what for.
“It’s fine you helping Emma,” Sam said. “But I’d be owing you for helping me at the same time. I ought to return the favor, but I’m not so sure I can. Especially when it comes to the cow.”
Mr. Post seemed to understand that sort of thinking. “The cow’s for Emma. As for you, I’ll be needin’ help on m’ roof ’fore long. We can settle up then.”
Sam smiled. “You’d trust me on your roof?”
“You done shingles before?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, then that’s a plus. I ain’t gotta learn you.” He stuck out his hand, and Sam took it. “You all come for Sunday dinner tomorrow, will you?” he asked us. “Want me to come for you?”
“Charlie Hunter’s taking us to church.”
He frowned. “Shoulda known Emma’d find herself a way to get up there.” Mr. Post shook his head and looked us all over. “Have him drop you by after. Will you do that? My Louise’d be tickled to have you.” He leaned down to pat Sarah on the head. “Don’t you have a bigger fella ’round here someplace?”
Sam nodded. “Gone fishing.”
“Good. He oughta go while he gots the chance. I was tellin’ Elvira ’bout him. She’ll be wantin’ to look him over, for sure. He gonna start school next week?”
“We’re planning on it,” Sam said. “You may have to help us find the place. I’d send him with the Hammonds, but I’m not sure they’ll be going.”
“Can’t say, that’s true. They got their farmwork to do.” Mr. Post gave Sarah another pat and went back to the house to talk with Emma a little more before going home.
Robert came back with two fish. We roasted them and the chicken, and the kids felt like royalty that night, eating so well. But Sam was quiet, even more quiet than usual. Overwhelmed, maybe, by a sudden friendship and an incredibly generous offer. Another cow for Emma. And fence work.
Emma beamed all through supper and hummed afterward as she tightened a button on her best sweater. It felt good to make her happy, to please her friends, and find the blessing of the Lord in it. Once Sam got used to the idea, I could see us prospering here. But I couldn’t forget what Barrett Post had said about Emma passing on. The thought nagged at me, even while she was humming. She wants to see the place in order. Before she goes. Before she leaves this world, and us, behind her. Lord have mercy.
TWENTY
Samuel
Alone in the yard late that night, I thought of cows and chickens and fences and friends, and I very nearly cried. “It’s too much, Lord,” I said. “I don’t know the first thing about cows. Or anything else around here.”
Julia had tried her hand at milking Lula Bell and had gotten barely a quart. But that was better than nothing and more than enough to satisfy the kids. We were blessed, true enough.
But I had the future to face. And church tomorrow. Barrett Post didn’t seem to care that I didn’t know what I was doing, but there would be others who would more than care. They’d be outraged, like that busybody, Hazel Sharpe, and would do their best to drive some sense into all of us.
The thought of church in that little town made me so uncomfortable that I began to think of ways of getting myself out of it. I could stay home to work on the pasture fence. Or check the roof on this house. It might need work too.
But I knew that neither Emma nor Julia would think much of my excuses. Emma probably wouldn’t like me working on Sunday at all, except to feed or water the animals.
Earlier I had carried in bucket after bucket of water for Julia to wash the kids. Then she’d helped Emma and cleaned herself up too. All in the big washtub, set right on the kitchen floor. Julia had expected me to wash in the water left in the tub and then haul it out to dump, but I couldn’t bring myself to go in yet. The water was surely cold by now, but I didn’t care. I didn’t even care if I went to church dirty. It wouldn’t make much difference to anybody.
Hazel Sharpe would be there, letting everybody know what a scoundrel I was. Taking Emma’s milk and eggs for my own kids. Using Emma just to get help from her friends.
I was leaning against the apple tree, listening to the owl that was out again, when I heard the back door slowly open and close. In a moment, Julia was holding my hand, not saying a word but softly breathing beside me, her head resting on my shoulder.
“You think I’m a fool, Juli?”
She was quiet so long that I turned to look at her. Under the moonlight I could see the gleam of tears on her face. Finally she spoke. “No more than I am, Sammy, thinking this would be so perfect for us. What are we gonna do if something happens to Emma? Oh, Sammy, what if she dies?”
I took Julia in my arms, wondering what on earth could have upset her so. “Honey, she seems pretty lively. Up before us this morning and wanting to get right out to the garden.”
“Oh, Sammy.” I could barely hear her as she struggled to tell me what was on her mind. “Sammy, she looked so pale after her bath. I went and checked on her again after I washed up, and she didn’t want to tell me . . . but she was hurting. She was having pain in her chest. I helped her to bed, and she went to sleep. But it scares me.”
She snuggled against me, and I held her, taking a deep breath of my own.
“What are we gonna do if one of these days she don’t wake up, Sammy? She told me not to be thinking about running after a doctor. But it don’t seem right, to do nothing. What do you think, Sammy? What should we do?”
“You think she’s up to church tomorrow, or should we get Charlie Hunter to take her to Belle Rive to the doctor she knows? Would she go?”
“Wild horses couldn’t keep her from going to church, that’s what she says.”
I couldn’t help but shake my head. “That’d be beautiful, wouldn’t it?” I exclaimed. “Us bringing her to church as sick as anything. They’ll be hating us enough already.”
“Oh, Sammy.”
“I’m sorry. But we’re making a mistake out here. We can’t be responsible for a sick old lady with no car or anything. I should have known better. This is stupid.”
Juli looked scared. “What are you going to do?”
“If she’s got to go to church, fine. But then we’ll take her back to Belle Rive, where she can get help. And we’ll pack up and head for Mt. Vernon.”
Julia shook her head.
“This was a nice break,” I told her. “But it’s not going to work with Emma sick out here. You know that.”
“No,” Julia protested. “She won’t want to leave home again. She t
old us that when we brought her out here! She’d rather die.”
“And she just might! And what would folks say then? Julia, this is not a sensible place to put ourselves in!”
“I don’t care what’s sensible! You promised Barrett Post you’d do right by Emma, and you’re bound to that, Sam! We’ve got to help her, not bring her back to Belle Rive again!”
“It looked like a pretty good place to me, Juli. Nothing wrong with it at all.”
“But it’s not what she wants. And not what we agreed to.”
I turned away from her. Was I bound by my word to stay here, like she said, no matter how sick the woman got? Sure, she wanted to be home, but what kind of sense did that make?
I went in the house, grabbed the washtub, and wrestled it out the back door. It wouldn’t matter now how dirty I got. Everybody’d be looking at Emma anyway. I sloshed the old water into the strawberry patch and then filled a bucket to take to the cow. Julia was still by the apple tree, wondering about me, surely, like I was wondering about her. How could she still be so impractical, thinking we should give Emma her way? She was the one who had come out of the house all upset over Emma’s health. What did she want me to tell her?
When Juli finally went in, I couldn’t manage to go with her. She’d be checking on Emma again first thing, and I didn’t want to do that, not yet, to be sure I didn’t end up saying something I shouldn’t. I stayed in the barn quite awhile, but didn’t even go and look at the wagon wheels or the pile of boards I could pick through and cut to make Emma’s chair. What was the use?
Dreams can make you silly sometimes. They can make you stupid if you let them, blind to the truth of the simple way things are. You don’t get something for nothing. Sometimes you don’t get much of anything, even for all the hope in this world. And wishing can’t change what’s so.
TWENTY-ONE
Julia
Sam hardly got any sleep that night, and neither did I, hearing him go up and down so. Well before the rooster’s crow, when I heard frogs off in the distance and a quail’s call near our door, I rose up off the floor and slipped in to check on Emma.
To my surprise, she was sitting up with her frayed pink housecoat around her shoulders, looking out the window. She looked so gnarled and tiny and old. But happy. She turned her head and glanced my way.
“Some people near goes deaf when they get old,” she said. “I’m so glad I still got m’ good ears. It’s a mercy the Lord give me, that’s what it is.”
“Emma, how are you feeling?”
“Near as e’cited as a child to be goin’ to m’ own church today! No place I’d rather be on a Sund’y mornin’.” She eyed me critically for a moment and then shook her head. “It’s a beautiful mornin’. Gonna be one fine day, child! You wasn’t thinkin’ I’d waste it all lyin’ in bed now, was you?”
I took a deep breath. “I was hoping not. But it worried me last night, you hurting so. I wasn’t sure what to expect today.”
She looked out the window again, toward the Douglas fir that stood at the timber’s edge. “Them pains come and go,” she said quietly and gave the bed beside her a pat. “Come and sit with me, will you? Is Samuel up?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure where he went. He was worried about you too.” I sat beside her with some hesitation, knowing what Sam had told me last night. I knew it ought to be him in here talking to her. It would be easy for her to convince me we ought to stick things out. But Sam had the load of the world on his shoulders, and he didn’t think things through in quite the same way as I did.
“Didn’t mean to be scarin’ you last night,” Emma said quietly. “It don’t scare me no more, I guess. I’m feelin’ some better anyhow.”
“Samuel doesn’t like it, Emma, being so far from a doctor. He figures you’d be better off in Belle Rive again and us moving on.”
Emma seemed to pale in front of me. “On account of the pains I had?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I almost was sorry I’d said anything.
“Go get him. Find him, Julia. If I’ve come to be a burden already, I’ll go back, but he’s gonna know m’ feelings on it first.”
“Oh, Emma.”
“Go on,” she insisted. “Get him. Right this minute. Go on.”
I knew of nothing I could say and nothing I could do but stand up with my heavy heart and go out and find him like she said. Lord, move in this.
Samuel wasn’t in the house or on the porch. I could see the outhouse door standing open and there wasn’t a sign of him in the yard, so I headed for the barn. It had almost become a refuge of sorts for him, strange as it seemed, since he never had much good to say about the old structure.
The frogs were singing a real chorus to us that morning, and somewhere from a tree I could hear a red-winged blackbird’s sharp call.
“Sammy?” The barn doors were slid all the way open, and the dawn light had painted a patch of flaming gold on the old straw. God, even a piece of nothing can look beautiful when you’re in it! I heard Lula Bell’s soft moo, like she was calling to me from her stall. But I went past her, calling again for Sammy.
“Up here,” he finally answered. “Don’t make a lot of noise.”
I couldn’t imagine what could have drawn Samuel up to the one section of loft that looked strong enough to support his weight. But I eased myself up that old ladder, glad it was nailed right to the barn wall so it wouldn’t shake.
“Samuel, what are you doing up here?”
“Ssh,” he answered. “Look.”
Nestled into the straw not three feet from him was a gray-striped cat giving suck to three tiny kittens. The mother lay with her head in the straw, looking a little uncomfortable with our nearness. She didn’t seem big enough to be full grown. All three of the kittens were just as gray as she was.
“Wouldn’t Sarah love this?” Samuel asked me, and I wondered what had come over him.
“Sammy, Emma wants to talk to you. She’s sitting in her room, and she seems to be feeling better.”
“I figured.”
He didn’t move.
“Sammy—”
“Pray with me, Julia,” he said so softly that I could barely hear him. “I gotta make the right decision.”
He took both my hands and kissed one of them so gently that I almost cried. I felt like telling him I didn’t want to leave this place any more than Emma did. I’d just as soon live and die here, happy with the kind of life she’d had, the kids enjoying these kitties and everything else God sent our way.
But I said nothing, knowing it had to be his decision this time, like he’d said. We prayed together, and he rose out of the hay, brushed himself off, and started down the ladder.
“You coming back in, Julia?”
I hadn’t thought to do otherwise, but now I shook my head. Maybe I shouldn’t be there. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to keep my two cents worth out of it. Sam knew how I felt. He didn’t need to be hit in the face with it again.
“I better go ahead and get the milking done,” I told him. “And check for eggs. Emma’s just asking for you.”
“Are you sure?”
I stepped off the ladder without turning to face him. “Of course I’m sure. Go on. She’s waiting.”
He went on without another word, and all I could hear was that quail again and the tender mew of a newborn in the straw above. Then Lula Bell started her lowing, and I wanted to sit down and cry. Just when everything looked so good. Just when things were coming around to fine, were we going to leave it all behind us? Lord, does it have to be this way?
TWENTY-TWO
Samuel
She was sitting on the bed, looking shrunken and gray. I stood in the doorway for a minute, trying to collect my thoughts and hoping she wasn’t still in pain. I was about to ask, though I wasn’t sure she’d want me to, when she spoke before I had the chance.
“Was you out to the barn again?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I stepped forward but not too far.
“What you be
en doin’ out there?”
I couldn’t mention the wagon wheels or the plans for her chair. It didn’t even seem right to say anything about a porch swing anymore. Frivolous. But what I did say seemed no less childish. “I found the animal we saw yesterday. It was a cat, all right. She’s got kittens up in the loft.”
“Well, ain’t that a dandy!” Emma brightened. “Just the way it used to be! Had me a new batch of kittens near ever’ spring. You’ll make sure your youngsters get to see ’em ’fore she moves ’em, won’t you?”
There was no way I could address that question yet. I didn’t want them seeing. Didn’t want them attached. “Emma—”
“Just come and sit down ’fore you say another word.”
I looked at the chair over in the corner and took a step in that direction.
“Here on the bed. Right a’side me, now. I ain’t gonna bite.”
I sat beside her, wondering if she was feeling as heavy as I was. I stared down at my worn old shoes for a minute, waiting for her to say something. And finally she spoke.
“What you ’fraid of, Sam Wortham?”
“What?” I pulled my head up and looked at her. She was staring me over with something deep and serious in her eyes.
“What you ’fraid of? You’re a good man. Purty strong. But ever’body’s got something, now. What you ’fraid of?”
I hadn’t expected that question, and I sat for a moment, fully knowing the answer but puzzling as to how to say it. “I guess I’m afraid for my family, ma’am. With no money coming in and the future to face, I wonder about tomorrow, let alone six months from now when winter comes.”
“Julia said you was thinking to move on.” Her voice was steady as a rock but there was pain in it as well.
“We’d see you to your friend safe and sound, Mrs. Graham. This is a good place you’ve got here, but you’re just too far from a doctor—”
