by Leisha Kelly
“Merciful heavens!” Wilametta shrieked. “Lizbeth, run and see what’s happened!”
I stared at the woman for a minute as she took up a square of heavy paperboard from the side of her bed and started fanning herself. “Those kids,” she muttered. “You never know.”
I didn’t wait, not for Wilametta to raise her head or Lizbeth to come back with a report. I ran from the room without another word and found my way to the outside door.
“Sarah!”
“Mama!” I heard Sarah yell in reply.
A little goat with two-inch horns came trotting around the side of the house and almost ran into me. Behind the first one came two more, running just as fast. Then another, much bigger, followed by Willy and a smaller boy, both shouting.
“You ain’t gonna catch goats thataway, stupids!” Lizbeth yelled. “Shut up and coax ’em with some grain!”
I could hear my Sarah crying, so I followed the sound and eventually found her, lying on the ground in a tangle of wire and boards. Parts of a leaning fence stretched beyond her in both directions, and I could see what had happened. A little thing like Sarah had managed to collapse the fence.
“I didn’t mean to,” she sobbed. “It just broke.”
Rorey looked up at me anxiously. “I hope you ain’t mad,” she said. “It weren’t Sarah’s fault. All she done was climb over the fence. We always do that. Guess we knows the right places for it, maybe.”
I took Sarah into my arms. She wasn’t hurt badly, just banged up a bit on the elbows, one knee, and her chin. She was more scared than anything else. But she was already becoming calm.
Only Rorey had stayed with Sarah; the other children were still chasing goats. “Pa’ll fix the fence,” Rorey assured Sarah. “Don’t you worry. He won’t be too mad.”
I looked up at the girl, wondering just what sort of reaction George Hammond would have. Mad? I should hope not. He ought to be mortified, having a neighbor girl hurt on his property because of something he should have fixed.
“Mama, can we go home?” Sarah asked me as I wiped her chin with my scarf.
“We will,” I promised. “First we have to go in and tell Mrs. Hammond what happened.”
“Do we have to?” she asked, almost crying again. “I didn’t mean to let the goats out.”
“I know. And she’ll understand.” I lifted her up, and she bravely hobbled along beside me, clinging to my arm with both hands. “Are you all right, sweetie?” I asked, feeling bad for her, even though she had bucked up so well.
“My leg hurts.”
“Do you need me to carry you awhile?”
She smiled a little and wiped away a tiny tear with the back of her hand. “You don’t haves to, Mommy,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault.”
I stopped and swooped her into my arms. I knew Sarah could be a tough little trooper, but she didn’t have to be that tough. “C’mon, sugar,” I told her. “Let’s say bye to Rorey’s mom.”
Rorey tagged along behind us, almost on my heels. “You’re strong, Mrs. Wortham. Mama never picks me up. She can’t, ’cause I’m too big. You sure are strong. Could you pick me up?”
“Honey, mothers who are about due for a little one aren’t supposed to be lifting such big girls,” I told her. “I’m sure your mother’s plenty strong when she’s not expecting.”
“Don’t know,” she answered. “She ain’t even picked up Berty in hunderds of years, and he’s littler than me! She ain’t never picked me up. Honest!”
I turned and looked at her for a moment, wondering if there was any reason at all for such a whopper. She surely had no concept of what a hundred years was. Maybe she was just hoping to get me to carry her sometime too, just for the fun.
I stepped onto the wide porch, carefully avoiding a place where half of a board had fallen in. I didn’t knock. Lizbeth was still herding goats, and I knew Wilametta wouldn’t get up just to open the door. I walked in, shifted Sarah’s weight in my arms, and headed back to the bedroom.
“Oh, heavens,” Wilametta exclaimed, looking very red. “Is the little angel all right? What happened? Rorey, don’t stand there. Get Mrs. Wortham a wet cloth. Hurry on, now.”
I told her what had happened and said we were headed home, though Sarah wasn’t hurt bad.
“You ain’t gonna hate me now, are ya?” she questioned. “You ain’t gonna be tellin’ Emma bad on us?”
“She might ask what happened,” I answered calmly.
“But I won’t tell her anything but the truth.”
“Oh,” she frowned, suddenly shaking her head. “It was just one of them things. You know. We got good fencin’ all over. Them boys must a’ loosened somethin’. It’d be better not to tell her nothin’. Don’t you think? She don’t need be troubled over such a little thing. Don’t you agree it’s a little thing?”
I didn’t know what to say. If the Hammonds were so worried about what Emma thought, then why hadn’t they been more careful all this time? Did Wilametta really think a broken fence would matter more to Emma than being lied to and left unpaid?
Suddenly she scrunched up her face and looked at the ceiling. “Oh, dear,” she said. “Oh, dear.” She looked pale, and for a minute there, scared.
I set Sarah down in the old woven chair and stepped a little closer, my stomach turning a flip-flop. “What is it?”
Rorey came in with a dripping rag, and Wilametta told her to go out and get Lizbeth, whether the goats were in or not. The girl shoved the wet cloth at my hand and disappeared. Wilametta watched me dab at Sarah’s scraped knee, but I watched her.
“Are you all right?” I asked. “Do you need help?”
“I will ’fore long. There’ll be news for the church folks on Sunday, I can just tell. I sure do hope for a girl. Wanta name her Grace. Don’t you think that’s a pretty name?”
“Yes. Beautiful. But can I do anything? Are you all right?”
“Oh, it was quite a kick, that’s all. I just feel so tight I could bust. Gonna have Lizbeth fix me a footbath and get George from the field.” There was a strange sort of look in her eyes. I couldn’t tell for sure what it was. Pain, maybe, but she wasn’t wanting to let on.
“Do you want me to wait?”
“Oh no. Get your little one on home. I’m fine. Just so sorry, so sorry she come up hurt. You okay now, sweetie?” She turned her eyes to Sarah, but I could see she was sweating even more than before.
“I’m okay,” Sarah answered bravely, reaching for my hand.
“Mrs. Hammond, maybe I should stay till your husband gets here.”
“No. I wouldn’t keep you. We got it figgered out. He’ll be fetchin’ me Mrs. Mueller when the time comes, but that ain’t just yet, don’t you worry.”
I wasn’t convinced. Something had changed about her whole demeanor. “Mrs. Hammond, I could—”
“Means a lot,” she said softly, looking away. “Means a lot that you said you was willin’ to be friends. I sure hope that ain’t changed. I sure hope Emma ain’t gonna be mad. You tell her we do just as best as we can.”
There were tears in her eyes. She was a true mystery to me. Boisterous and brash, then solemn and emotional. Of course, being pregnant could account for all that.
“Mrs. Hammond, Emma seems happy to have you here—”
“Won’t you call me Wilametta? Oh, dear soul, I never did ask your first name.”
“Julia.”
“Julia. That’s pretty. Fits you. Sorry ’bout your little one. Do run on and fix some vittles for that man a’ yours.” She took a deep breath. “Tell Emma it’d be the dearest blessing to see her again! And it ain’t that I wouldn’t have her. I’m just callin’ for Mrs. Mueller this time ’cause I don’t want to be no trouble. You know she ain’t been well.” She breathed out heavily and scrunched her face again.
“I felt so bad last time,” she went on, the strain apparent in her voice. “My boys fetched her, and she was a godsend to me and Berty when he come. But she was so sick, Julia. Just so s
ick I thought she’d die. I been scared ever since that she was gonna die. And then where would we be? You just don’t understand. And George, he ain’t one to say. Ain’t nobody would understand but maybe Emma herself! We ain’t got nothin’ but here!”
“It’s not helping you to worry over such things right now,” I said gently. “Can I get you something?”
“Oh, Lizbeth, where are you?”
As if on cue, Lizbeth came running into the house, all hot and sweaty, and stopped in the doorway, almost breathless. “Big Bill’s the only one out now, Ma, an’ you know how stubborn he can be.”
“Oh, child, forget the goat! Get me some salts for m’ sore feet, will you?”
“Mama?”
“Don’t fret,” Wilametta commanded. “Just do as I say.”
Lizbeth turned and walked out of the room, suddenly looking two shades paler herself.
“Well, Julia. It’s been fine.”
I heard the sound of the front door again. Lizbeth had gone back outside, and I heard voices but couldn’t make out what they were saying.
“Do you need me to do anything?” I asked again, not sure I was bold enough to ask if the labor had begun.
“No. No, you ask Lizbeth to get one of the boys to take you home in the wagon. Little one won’t have to walk so far that way.”
“If you need anything—”
“Now, don’t say that. I reckon you know how beholden I am already to Emma! Ain’t gonna be tangling myself up owin’ you too. Wouldn’t never get clear.”
I took her plump hand in mine, and she looked at me in surprise. “There’s no owing anybody involved,” I told her. “This is neighborly, and sisterly. If you need anything, you just tell us.”
“All right,” she said finally, almost in a whisper. “You’re kind to say so. I’m gonna nap a bit ’fore lunch, if you don’t mind. Just soak m’ feet and rest awhile.”
There was nothing more to be said. We’d been dismissed, and I had to trust that the Hammond family knew what they were doing. I carried Sarah out, and she hugged against my neck.
One of the boys had already hitched the wagon and was on his way to the road. But we didn’t call after him. It wasn’t so hard to walk. I carried Sarah about half way, and then she said she was feeling better and walked the rest. As soon as we got back to the yard, Sarah ran for Sam, but I went straight for the house.
Emma had her quilting out again, stretched over the kitchen table. It didn’t look like there could possibly be much left to finish. I stepped toward her, almost breathless.
“Emma, I think the Hammonds’ baby will be here soon. Wilametta didn’t want to say so, but it’s not hard to tell how uncomfortable she is.”
She looked up at me and smiled. “I daresay if she was hollerin’, you’d know for sure. There ain’t nobody hollers like Wilametta. If she’s talkin’ to you, she’s likely got some hours yet. They gonna come for us?”
“I don’t think so. They’re going to get Mrs. Mueller, she said. Right now she’s going to soak her feet and rest.”
“Oh, boy.”
“What?”
“She does that, child. When she’s hurtin’, she does that. You best do what you can to keep Samuel here ’case they have to come for us. Unless, a’ course, you want Sarah comin’ with us.”
“No, ma’am.”
“I oughta give her this quilt, big as it is,” she said. “I ain’t got another thing prepared for no baby. Don’t know where my mind’s been, not to think of that before.”
“Emma, I don’t know if she’d want you to do that. Seems to bother her how much they owe you already.”
“Baby comin’s a whole other matter. Wouldn’t be right not to give her somethin’. What do you think? We could cut up a sheet for some diapers. An’ it don’t take half an hour to make a couple a’ bibs. Shame I didn’t think to buy ’em no powder.”
I just stood there for a minute as Emma sat and thought. Maybe it was endless with her, this wanting to give.
“I got a purty yellow towel,” she told me. “Big enough ’least for two bibs. Yellow’s good for boy or girl. What’s she favorin’ this time?”
“Girl.”
Emma grabbed for her canes and pulled herself up. “Too bad I ain’t got booties. Nor yarn for ’em.”
It was all too much for me, thinking of Emma still itching to make up a baby present. Lula Bell was recovering from poor treatment, and a score of other cattle had never been paid for. But Emma held no hard feelings at all. The Hammonds ate her berries, left her plow in the rain, and went for years without paying her what was due. Still, here she was, fumbling toward her bedroom to look for a yellow towel.
“Emma—”
“I’m makin’ it just fine.”
Tears welled up inside me. “I know you are,” I managed to tell her. “I’m just not so sure about me.”
She stopped in her tracks and turned to look at me. “Juli Wortham,” she said slowly. “Whatever is troublin’ you?”
My words came rushing out without me taking time to think about them. “I thought I was good! Do you know what I mean, Emma? I managed to be the way I thought I should be for my kids no matter how hard things got, and I managed to forgive my husband, even though I blamed him for the longest time. I thought I was good, the way I could handle anything that came my way without letting it beat me down too bad. But Emma, you’re half angel or more, the way you give like it’s all you’re about! You’ve been so good to us, even trying to give us this place! And what you’ve done for the Hammonds— oh, Emma, she told me they haven’t paid you for the property—”
“I’m right surprised she’d mention that.”
“I was too. But Emma, you just keep on. You don’t even seem to realize how unusual you are! Do you know anyone else that would’ve let George Hammond farm that field so long for nothing?”
“Now, Juli—”
“No, Emma. You could have thrown them off long ago! You could have laughed at me when I came and told you I didn’t have any money. You didn’t have to let us stay, any more than you’ve had to put up with the Hammonds all these years!”
“Well, I guess I didn’t wanta laugh at ya. Nor put ’em out, neither.”
“But I would have. I was already pretty fired up at George Hammond, and here I am on your property, the same as they are! I thought I was good, not so bitter and hateful as this! Next to you, that’s what I am. Sour and cold and hardheaded—”
“You ain’t never seemed to me to be so sour.”
“Emma, you know exactly what I’m talking about! You know what you’ve done for us! And Sam said you gave Barrett Post a bull once. I bet you—”
“Oh, Juli, I’ve had lots a’ years for them things.”
“But people don’t usually use their years like that. Emma, don’t you know how special you are? How can you keep on like this?”
One of her canes wobbled a bit. “Help me to m’ room, now. Ain’t no use to talk. We still got work to do. I wanta cut them bibs while you’re cookin’.”
“Oh, Emma.”
“Hush, now, and help me.”
We spread her basket of sewing scraps and rickrack all over the bed. I got her the towel, and she found just the right pieces to make a decorative edge and tie ribbon. The bibs would be lovely, and Wilametta would love them, whether she had a boy or a girl.
“Juli, don’t you know Paul kep’ makin’ tents, even while he was preachin’?”
Her words were so sudden that they took me by surprise. “He did? You mean Paul in the Bible?”
“Sure ’nough. He made tents. Bible says so. Kep’ workin’ so’s the people wouldn’t have to take care a’ him. You know what that means to me?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Well, folks should work. You know that. You do your best, that’s all you can do. But he wouldn’t a’ had to. He was makin’ roofs over their heads, that’s what he was doin’. Not for hisself. He was makin’ roofs for other folks and preachin’ at the same
time. And I figure he was ’bout the greatest man ever was, ’cept the Lord hisself. You understand, Juli?”
“No, I’m not sure I do.”
“He done things for people. So did the Lord. You know that. We ain’t bein’ what we should if we’re just thinkin’ on ourselves. It don’t matter what I give you, nor the Hammonds neither. I can’t use it, ’specially not now.” She set down her ribbon and gave out a sigh. “If they’d paid me ever’ cent all this time, child, I wouldn’t be no better off. I never did need but so much. Might as well let other folks use the rest. Plain to see that I’d a’ been selfish otherwise.”
“Emma, other people don’t see it that way.”
“You think when that boy come bringin’ the Lord bread and fish, that the Lord shoulda just sat an’ ate it all his own self?”
“Well, no, he couldn’t. He fed the five thousand.”
“That’s right,” she said with a smile. “Didn’t look like it, but God’s got plenty for ever’body. So it don’t hurt me none to share.”
We barely had lunch done when Barrett and Louise Post came to get Samuel. Louise may have had it in mind to stay and visit, but when Emma told her that Wilametta Hammond was about to have her baby, she offered to take Sarah home with her so I could help if we were called on.
“You know how I am, Emma,” she said. “I never was no help for birthin’. Might as well keep the little one for you. You want us to bring you by there now and save some time?”
“She said she wouldn’t need us,” I protested. “They’re getting Mrs. Mueller.”
Louise frowned. “They surely don’t know Alberta’s gone down to her sister’s in Marion. She ain’t gonna be back till tomorrow. I’d go over there myself, but I always end up on the floor. Even when it was my own boys comin’, I fainted dead away.”
“You better take us then,” Emma said matter-of-factly. “They’ll be hunting the countryside for the Muellers. Be better to get there ’fore the worst of it.”
Her own health and mobility didn’t seem to occur to Emma, or to Louise either. But my hands were shaking just thinking about it. My memories of childbirth were patchy, cut in splinters by the joy and pain. I couldn’t imagine being there for Wilametta’s baby.
