Julia's Hope

by Leisha Kelly

  Just then we heard the rustling of brush and the obvious crunch of footsteps on the twig-strewn path.

  “Willy Hammond, are you listenin’ in?” Robert called. But there was no answer. Only the sound of feet, and not very big ones, running away.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Julia

  For Tuesday breakfast, Emma and I cut the sprouts off some potatoes we’d kept back from the planting box. Louise Post had sent us home with some of her leftover pork, and I used the fat we’d saved from it to fry up our hash browns. Oh, they were good, with just enough salt left in the box to make them right.

  “Got to go to the store today,” Emma reminded me. She’d made sure yesterday to ask Barrett Post to take us. And he’d said Louise would be just delighted to visit with Emma so that we could all go together. Sam wasn’t a bit anxious to go, but I told him Post was expecting him and it wouldn’t be seemly to stay at home with Emma and Louise. He mumbled something about working in the barn, but changed his mind when Barrett came to pick us up and asked him to sit up front so they could talk about what they’d need to fix his roof.

  Elvira Post had called off school so she could see a dentist, and Robert was excited to be able to go with us and spend his nickel. Sarah had hers too, held tight in her clenched fist until I suggested she stuff it in the pocket of her skirt for safekeeping.

  I didn’t make a list, but Emma did, and she insisted we take it along with the money she pulled out of her box-shaped purse. Her generosity was awfully hard on Samuel, and he kept apologizing to her about having to use her money.

  “Nonsense,” was all she’d say. “I’m a’wantin’ all this, so I oughta pay for it.”

  “I’ll pay her back,” Sam told me. “When I first get paid cash. I’ll pay for everything after that.”

  I kissed him and we were soon rambling down the road in Barrett’s old pickup again, the breeze flopping Sarah’s scarf in every direction. She was having trouble keeping it on and it almost blew away once. I must have tied it for her a dozen times, but she kept fiddling with the ends. Still, we laughed about it, and Robert exclaimed what a time she’d have keeping her things in order on the way to school next fall.

  “I don’t want to go,” she declared. “I like it home with Emma. Can she be my grandma, Mama? Please?”

  Sam heard that, even up front. So did Mr. Post, and he answered in a voice loud enough for all of us to hear. “Why not? Might as well be. Warren would have liked you all. I’m fairly sure of that.”

  Driving down the road with his arm hanging out one window, he went on, telling us that Emma’s son, Warren, had been one of his best friends.

  “We used to call him Wig, after his initials,” he said. “Warren Immanuel Graham. A real shame to lose him. He was a lot like his mama. Nothing to complain about. I think he’d be glad you’re with her. She wanted more kids around. She always did. Always welcomed anybody, just to have ’em around.”

  He chuckled a moment as he turned a corner. “I remember one year her bein’ so good to an old tramp that my mother got plum riled at her. Said we’d be invaded by tramps ’fore long, once the others caught wind of it. Don’t seem like we get too many more, though, seein’s we ain’t next to the tracks. Them that is, they’re the ones that have gotta watch.”

  We were in Dearing almost before we knew it. Mr. Post said he’d be next door looking for a lamp while we got our groceries. But he hadn’t even gotten out of the truck before I saw Miss Hazel hurrying in our direction from her house down the street.

  She had a cherry-colored hat on her head that bobbed while she walked. She clutched her purse in both hands and rushed at Mr. Post just as he was slamming his door shut.

  She didn’t even wait for him to turn around. “You oughta be ashamed of yourself, Barrett Post! Haulin’ these people into town to spend Emma’s money! Ain’t you got a lick a’ conscience about you no more?”

  I could see Samuel looking like he’d been hit in the face. I sent the kids into the store ahead of us so they wouldn’t hear any more.

  “What makes you think they’s here to spend money?” Barrett asked her.

  “I got eyes, ain’t I? They’re goin’ in the store.”

  “They’s here for groceries, true enough. But you don’t know what kinda arrangements they got, Hazel. You sure don’t got no way a’ knowin’ if it’s Emma’s money or not.”

  “I’d bet the roof off my house it is.”

  “Well, I could use one right now, Miss Hazel, but I still don’t see how it’s any a’ your business. Go on home and leave these folks alone.”

  “I come for some lard, and you ain’t sendin’ me home till I get it!” she huffed at Mr. Post as she started for the door of the grocer. Sam was already beside it and pulled it open for her, but she didn’t even look at him.

  I hurried inside after her, wanting to be sure she didn’t snip at my children, but Sam stayed outside. I caught a glimpse of him over by the pickup again with Mr. Post, leaning into the rusty side. Post was talking, and Samuel, looking beaten, just stood and nodded his head.

  Mr. Hastings, the owner, greeted me immediately. I said hello but hurried to the cabinet where Miss Hazel was standing right next to my Sarah.

  “Move enough that I can reach in for my lard,” Hazel commanded her. “There ain’t nothin’ in that case pertains to you anyhow, little girl.”

  Sarah moved over but said, “Yes, there is. I want some cheese. And I got me a whole nickel.”

  “Well!” Hazel huffed. “Let’s hope you got it honest!”

  I couldn’t help myself. She had no business speaking like that to any child. “Miss Sharpe, I beg your pardon. But you hadn’t ought to be so hateful to a little girl—”

  “Hateful?” She looked stunned, as though it were perfectly normal to question openly someone’s honesty. “She was the one rude enough to talk back to an elder,” she snapped at me. “The poor thing needs manners, just like her parents. Excuse me, now, so I can pay Hiram for the lard.”

  She pushed past me and walked to the cash box. Then Sarah looked up with a big sigh and declared, “Boy, is she cranky.”

  I knew we were in for it then, and I tried to apologize to Miss Hazel before she even got started, but there was no stopping her. She turned around, slow and steady like she was working her words around in her mind. “Mrs. Wortham,” she said coolly, “if you or your child ever decide to insult me again, I shall call for William Turrey, the deputy, to instruct you in the sort of conduct we approve of in this town.”

  Instead of scaring me, as she probably intended, her threat only rankled me further. “What do you think he’d say to you, Miss Hazel, if he heard you talking to a child the way you did?”

  For a minute I thought I heard a chuckle, but Mr. Hastings ducked into the back room so quickly that I couldn’t be sure.

  “Hiram!” Hazel called. “I’m waitin’ up here!” She was looking at me differently, as if she thought I might hurt her somehow. “You all should leave town,” she said. “Before you get yourselves in such trouble that folks won’t let you leave.”

  “We have nothing to hide. And no reason to fear anyone. We wouldn’t hurt you or Emma or anybody else.”

  Mr. Hastings had come up behind the counter. “That’ll be ten cents, Hazel.”

  But she didn’t seem to hear him. “You don’t consider it hurtin’ to be tryin’ to take an old woman’s land? And actin’ like you’re her friends just to get what you want? You don’t think that hurts her none?”

  “We’re not trying to take anything. Ask Emma.”

  “She’s all twisted ’round by your sweet talk! I seen that. Have you got the deed a’ready? Prob’ly not, or you’d have her clean off a’ there.”

  Robert walked up behind Hazel and set a jar of jelly on the counter. He paid his nickel without a word and walked outside. Sarah came and stood beside me, cradling a chunk of cheese in one arm. I was boiling inside, but at the same time felt sorry for this hardheaded woman. I didn’t wa
nt an enemy, but I sure didn’t want harassment every time we came to Dearing either.

  “My husband refused the deed,” I told her, my voice as even as I could make it. “Emma offered, but Samuel wouldn’t take it. We’re going to stay for awhile, that’s all. So long as Emma needs us.” I thought maybe she’d listen and understand just the way it was. But she wouldn’t hear me at all.

  “I know what you’re up to! Don’t you think I don’t! You’re lyin’ through your teeth! And you’re in for a time of it once Emma’s kin gets here! That’s a sure thing! I’ll make sure they know just what you’re doin’! And before you can shake a stick, they’ll be down here to throw you clear off a’ there! I’d go if I was you. I’d go now, so’s you don’t have to face ’em. Ain’t gonna be no good in it for you, I can tell you that! Everybody loves Emma, and you’re gonna be in a piece a’ trouble!”

  She slapped a dime on the counter, turned around, and walked out.

  Sarah squeezed my hand. “If I buy the cheese, Mommy, can I eat some of it now?”

  I leaned down and kissed her.

  Hiram Hastings sliced off Sarah’s nickel’s worth of cheese and gave her an extra taste. We started in gathering the items from Emma’s list then, and Sarah stayed as close as she could to my side. I felt like crying. I didn’t want to fight with Hazel Sharpe. And I worried how all those words had affected the children. I’d tried to keep them out of it and ended up with them right in the middle.

  “We’re gonna have a lot of food, huh, Mommy?” Sarah asked me. “I love corn bread. I sure am glad Emma wanted you to make some corn bread.”

  I reached for a box of salt and a little can of baking powder, sensing that Mr. Hastings was watching us, though not unkindly.

  “Mommy, what’s a piece of trouble? Is that as much as a heap?”

  I scrunched down to Sarah’s level and took her in my arms. “Honey, don’t worry over what that lady said. She doesn’t understand us, that’s all. She doesn’t understand what Emma wants. It’ll all be fine. There won’t be any trouble. Not a piece or a heap. ’Cause we haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “She said somebody was gonna throw us off.”

  “We’ll tell Emma. If she’s got relatives coming, she’ll be happy to know about it.”

  I kissed her forehead and rose to take our goods to be tallied up. We had a lot, that was sure. Bacon and sugar, sweet potatoes and butter and cream. More flour, plus cornmeal, oatmeal, and lard. Rinso soap and lots more besides. I would have felt warm about it all if not for Hazel Sharpe’s speech.

  We bought a chunk of ice, wrapped it in a clean blanket, and set it down in a box with the food that had to stay cold. The kids found it exciting to have ice of our own again, and Sam let Robert chip off a piece for each of them.

  I would have figured we’d have gone on home, then, to save as much of our ice as possible. But Mr. Post wanted to go to Reed’s Hardware for his roofing supplies. He took Sam with him and dropped us off at Dearing’s little library.

  “Won’t have time for readin’ your books here,” he said. “Ask Betty to let you take ’em home. We won’t be gone long.”

  The library was tiny, just one small room with three bookshelves against one wall. But it was enchanting just the same. I went looking for Emily Dickinson, while Sarah pulled Peter Rabbit and The Tale of Tommy Tiptoes off the shelf. I didn’t see what Robert had until we went to the lady at the desk. He tried to cover the title. Illustrated Bible Stories.

  “You’ll have to have a card,” the lady said. “You live around here?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  That was good enough for her. The only other thing she wanted was my name. Then she filled out a card and presented it to me, and we were ready to go home with our books, feeling like we’d had a trip to town indeed.

  Emma was asleep when we got home, which worried me since it was only lunchtime. But Louise said they’d eaten early and Emma had just wanted a nap. They’d been working together on Emma’s quilt, I could see that. It was almost finished and prettier than ever, spread out over the table the way it was.

  I wondered what Louise could have come up with for their lunch but was too ashamed to ask. And she was too polite to mention how little food we’d left in the house. She seemed delighted to help me stock the cupboards, but she didn’t know of the cool pit Emma had told me about.

  Willard had dug her a pit in a corner of the basement one year, lined it with bricks, and covered it with a slab of cement. None of us had even noticed it when we were down there the first time. Willard’s pit kept things just as cool as putting them down a well. Even cooler, Emma had said, if you threw in a block of ice, which we were about to do.

  I was glad I wouldn’t have to move a basket out of the way every time I went to the well for water. The cool pit was a fine arrangement. Not as nice as one of those electric refrigerators, but fine just the same. The only time we’d need to put anything down the well was if the cool pit got full. And that wasn’t likely to happen any time soon, or maybe ever. By butchering time it would be cold enough to leave things hanging on the porch.

  We set what was left of the ice in first, on a tray with ropes tied to the handles so we could pull it up when we needed to. Then we covered the ice with blankets to keep it longer. All the cold food went into a basket, which was lowered in on top. I wasn’t sure how long the ice would last—a whole week if we were lucky, but we’d use the cool pit just the same when the ice was gone. Good thing it wasn’t a floody basement. The bricked floor had only been a little damp when we first were down here, even after that big storm.

  I imagined a kindhearted man, as Emma’s husband must have been, down here with a lamp and maybe a friend or two, working to lay all these bricks down. He’d done a fine job; the bricks were smooth and even, the seams barely noticeable under my feet.

  “Oh, goodness,” Louise suddenly proclaimed. “Emma’s bicycle is down here! I would have thought she’d a’ thrown it away!”

  “Emma rode the bicycle? I thought it must have been Warren’s.”

  “Oh, it was Emma’s. And she was something, she was. You should have seen it. She come out to our house one time with a pie in the basket! Don’t know how she done it! You couldn’t get me on one of them things.”

  The thought of Emma on a bicycle was a marvel to think about, all right. But I had to turn my thoughts to lunch. I fed everybody corn bread and bacon and beans. Sam and Barrett went back to fix the rest of the fence, with Robert helping them this time. Louise stayed and pulled weeds awhile with me; then we moved some of the wild lilies into the yard where Emma wanted them. I was anxious for Emma to wake up, so it wasn’t long before I was ready to go in and make everybody some store-bought tea.

  It was kind of fun lifting the ice back out, even though we’d just put it in. Sarah wanted to lick it, so I whacked her off a chunk big enough to fill a teacup. She didn’t want any tea. She just sat with her cup, licking away.

  Emma woke when she heard us talking. I thought she was looking pale, but she wouldn’t admit to feeling poorly with Louise there. I wanted to tell her what Hazel had said about relatives, but thought I’d better wait before bringing up Miss Sharpe.

  The rest of the time the Posts were there, Emma and Louise worked together on the quilt, getting it nearly finished before nightfall. I didn’t want to leave the house, so Sarah and I worked upstairs, washing the walls and floors. We set some boxes on their sides, one on top of another, to make shelves for our things, and then straightened all our bedding out on the floor.

  Then, as though the Lord had sent him, Daniel Norse came over with Emma’s bed and the rest of her things from Rita McPiery’s. He carried everything in for us and then brought in a little basket of goodies from Rita’s church. There was canned milk, a jar of honey, a little sack of red beans. And surely for Emma’s benefit, a package of flower seeds.

  “Oh, tell them thank you, Mr. Norse,” I exclaimed. “You’ve all been so kind.”

  He just
nodded and said he had to be going. So Louise and I took apart the old bed and set it at the foot of the stairs for the men to haul up to our room. We set up the new bed downstairs for Emma and smoothed the covers on for her. I’d be glad not to sleep in the sitting room anymore. But I was a little nervous that all of us would be so far from Emma at night. We’d have to see that she always had one of her little bells by her bedside.

  So now we had one bed upstairs. I decided we’d slide the mattress onto the floor for the kids, since it wouldn’t set in the other old frame by itself until we had cut some slats. Sam and I would sleep on the box springs with a quilt or something underneath us. It made for passable bedrooms— there were far worse conditions to be in. And I was confident that our days would be full enough so that we’d sleep well, regardless of what we were lying on.

  Emma seemed rather excited to open up one box and pull out her beautiful Seth Thomas clock. She had me put it up on the mantle, with a candle on each side.

  “There now,” she said. “That’s just how Willard liked it.” She had me pull her basket-weave chair to the middle of the room and spread out a braided rug that had been on her floor at Rita’s. “Ain’t it lookin’ like home?” she asked.

  Louise was glad to help us unpack the rest of the things, but kept saying that before long she and Barrett would have to be going. Sarah and I hurried to make oatmeal cookies to send home with them, since they’d refused my offer of supper. They were expecting Sam the following afternoon, they said, but we were all welcome to come. I decided that if Emma wanted to go to the Posts’ again, then I’d go too. But she didn’t want to go.

  She was real quiet that night, and I finally asked her if she was feeling all right. “Oh, well enough,” she told me. “You know how it is.”

  “Your chest hurting again?”

  She barely nodded, not wanting to admit it. “I think I do too much,” she reasoned. “Like the day we put in garden. That’s what it is.”