“Any loose ones in the bottom?”
Mercy tilted the box and looked closely. “No. They’re all stuck in this . . . knot.”
“There is feathers in the bottom of the box sometimes. Other times they’re all put back where they ort ta be ’n’ not a loose one a-tall. Pick it up. Ya can hold it.”
Mercy’s fingers closed around it. She lifted it out of the box and placed it on the palm of her hand. It was a solid ball of feathers. Each of the gray-and-white goose feathers was firmly in place. She stroked the smooth top of the knot with her fingertip. Never had she seen anything or heard of anything like it.
“There’s times when I hold it, I can feel Will’s heart a beatin’, beatin’, beatin’.” The eyes that looked into Mercy’s were clear, or she would have thought her mother’s mind was wandering. “Will fought the black hand a-pullin’ him. He warn’t wantin’ to leave me behind. He knowed how I’d take on.”
“What do you think it means?” Mercy asked.
“Why . . . it means dyin’ ain’t the end. What was put in graveyard warn’t nothin’ but Will’s shell. He’s here.” She lifted her hand and moved her fingers as if she were caressing something. “Times is . . . I can see him sittin’ in . . . his chair, or feel him on the bed a-huggin’ me. He’s in the . . . boys. In you, Hester. Ya was his seed, ’n’ I growed ya for him. Ah . . . Will, Will . . .” Her voice trailed away, but her mouth made movements as if she were still speaking.
When her mother’s mouth stilled, Mercy placed the ball of feathers back in the box and tied the lid in place. She returned it to the drawer and sat back down in the chair. Her mother’s eyes were closed. She was sleeping.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Daniel wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, placed his foot up on the stump, and leaned on the ax handle. He had split wood for the past hour. He welcomed the labor. It was not in him to sit idle. Hod had been polite but had not invited him to go along when he left the homestead and disappeared in the timber along the creek. Daniel suspected that was where the still was located.
The homestead was well laid out. Daniel slowly and methodically surveyed the area. North of the house, a good piece of flat land was planted in corn. Hod had told him that there was another patch of corn beyond the screen of cedars to the west, and that his cabin was there. Wyatt had a cabin in the hills across the creek. A well-tended garden spot, over which hung strings of cloth fluttering in the breeze to scare away the birds, was between the house and the fast-moving creek that flowed from north to south between the homestead and the hills. Old Man Baxter had placed his home so that it was shielded from the north wind by the hills, had plenty of water, and judging from the looks of the thickly timbered hills, game.
Daniel watched the two Baxter women working at the outdoor cook fire. Martha had set a flat iron pan in the oven. The oven was like the ones he had seen used in the Arkansas Territory.
A stump had been hewn perfectly flat on the top with a slab hewn out and laid upon it. On this was spread a thick layer of clay. A wooden frame of hickory was made in the shape of an oven and filled with wood. It was placed on the clay slab. The frame, except for a small opening at one end, was covered with a thick layer of clay and set out to dry. After it had stood several days, the wood inside was set on fire and burned out. The clay oven was then used over a slow fire or placed among hot coals.
Daniel carried several armloads of split wood to the well-used, three-sided stone-and-mortar fireplace and stacked it nearby.
“Thanky.” Martha looked up and then away.
“There’s sweet potatoes, raisins, sorghum syrup, and a few other things in the box on the porch,” Daniel said. “They should be used, or they’ll spoil if left in that hot box.”
Martha nodded but didn’t say anything. Daniel went back to work on the woodpile. An hour passed, and she hadn’t gone near the box on the porch.
“Poor and proud,” Daniel murmured to himself. He chose a piece of pine and swung the ax down. He let the feel of the pine splitting run up his arm. It was a good feeling: something done, something completed. He selected another chunk of wood and set it upright on the wood block. Work was what he needed right now, work to keep his thoughts at bay.
Later, when Mercy came out onto the porch, he stopped and leaned on the ax handle again. He could not describe how he felt when they were apart and he could stand back and look at her. He had not wanted this to happen to him. The gut-wrenching feeling that came over him now was pure misery. Her brothers had forced him upon her. At the moment when they were united in marriage, he had lost the thing he wanted most, her love. He remembered his heart-stopping fear when Bernie pulled the snake out of the bag, and the look of terror in Mercy’s eyes. Just thinking about it made him cold with fear. His fear now summoned up his anger, and he vowed to beat Bernie and Lenny to within an inch of their lives before he left this place.
Daniel watched Mercy move across the yard to where Martha stood at the cook fire. He felt that he knew Mercy as well as he knew himself, yet he had never felt the weight of her breasts in his hands, or stroked the satiny skin of her thighs. Hunger for her had gnawed at him for weeks. The desire to touch her had been overwhelming the night they’d camped out under the stars. His hand, as if acting independently of his brain, had burrowed beneath the blanket to hold her warm, slim ankle. His touch had not awakened her, and he had lain awake thinking of what it would be like to have her move down into his arms: naked; sweet-smelling; her soft arms around him; his aching flesh buried in the sweet, dark cavern of her body.
Mercy looked his way and waved.
It had not occurred to him that she would suggest that they be divorced. His mind skittered away from the thought as if it would bite him. They were wed, and it was now up to him to see that she wanted to stay wed to him. At times he thought he glimpsed something in her eyes that made him think she returned his love. At other times he was sure that what she felt for him was the fondness a Sister had for an older brother because she was not nearly as shy with him as he was with her.
The kiss they had shared after the wedding had jarred him to the center of his being. Every inch of his skin had come alive, and wild tremors of passion surged through him, sending a primitive need to feel himself enclosed within her warmth. His muscles had knotted with strain as reasoning took control. He had forced himself away from her before she felt the insistence of that part of him that had leapt to life and begged for release. Thinking about it, Daniel felt his body tighten, his breath quicken, and his male member come alive. He was hopelessly, desperately in love with her, and wondered if he had the strength to endure the time it would take for her to become used to the fact that they were husband and wife before he declared his love.
* * *
Two hours after the sun had reached its zenith, the Baxter brothers came back to the homestead. They lined up at the wash trough. The trough, hollowed out of a poplar log, sat on a shelf attached to the back of the house. They washed, smoothed down their wiry straw-colored hair, and tiptoed into the room where their mother lay.
The women had carried the kitchen table to the yard. It was set and ready for the meal. Martha brought to the table the iron pot of cooked chicken with fat bread dumplings floating in the broth. Dora followed with a platter heaped with slabs of fried ham. There was red-eye gravy, hominy, boiled beans, greens, and corn bread with plenty of butter, and honey in the comb. Martha had made a juicy cobbler from dried apples and a sauce flavored with whiskey to go over it. She explained to Mercy that the reason for the late meal was that the men were taking the rest of the day off from their work to celebrate her homecoming.
Mercy was surprised to see Hob carry his mother, snugly wrapped in the quilt, out of the house and into the yard. He walked slowly along the table so she could view the repast. She looked like a small child, except for her thick gray hair. Martha and Dora stood by, as if awaiting her approval. She was quick to give praise.
“Ya done r
eal good, Martha, for havin’ no more time than ya had. Land, but yore good at fixin’ up greens. Ya make that old hominy look good too.”
“Yore the one what made that old hominy, Maw.”
“I see yore hand in . . . the fixin’s, Dory. Ain’t that some a the honey ya . . . made Wyatt get the time he got . . . stung.”
“Yes, ma’am. That little old sting didn’t hurt him none. Ya want I bring ya some on some corn bread?”
Mercy and Daniel stood apart from the family and watched them gather around her mother. Wyatt and Gideon, the two brothers she hadn’t met, had given them only a curious glance. All their attention was on the woman Hod held in his arms. Even the children who had raced and played in the yard stood quietly and watched.
Hod carried his mother back inside, and the brothers followed. Soon Mercy understood why. The men had picked up their mother’s bed and moved it so she could look out the door. Martha hurried in to put more covers over her.
When the men came out again, Wyatt came directly to Mercy. He had smooth, suntanned skin; a wide, generous mouth; and good teeth. His hair was thick and bushy but not as wiry as that of his brothers. He had a blond mustache, merry blue eyes, and an infectious grin.
“Now ain’t ya jist as purty as a June bug? I was thinkin’ I was the only Baxter what was good ta look at.”
“Don’t pay him no mind, Hester,” Dora said in passing. “He ain’t near as handsome as yore man.”
Wyatt turned his grin on his wife and playfully nipped her bottom with his fingers. “Yore lible to get a switchin’ fer that, Dorybelle.”
“Hello.” Mercy held out her hand. “Have you met Daniel?”
“No, I ain’t. But I heared plenty.” He extended his hand to Daniel. “I hear ya hunt bear with a willow switch.”
Daniel laughed. “Not quite.”
“I’m Gid.”
The boy who spoke was as tall as Wyatt but whiplash thin. He was the handsome one in the family. Mercy saw that at once. She realized that Gideon was well aware of that fact also, and was plenty proud of himself. His hair was very blond, as fine as silk and carefully brushed back from his forehead. His features were not as rugged as his brothers’, and when he smiled, his face lit up.
“Hello, Gideon.” Mercy held out her hand. The boy took it in both of his and smiled into her eyes.
“Hello, Hester.” He spoke as if she were the only person in the world. Mercy knew immediately that this was part of his charm, the charm that allowed him to do what Lenny and Bernie had bragged about. She felt a strong desire to let him know she thought him an irresponsible child.
“Practicin’, Gid?” Wyatt hit his brother so hard on the back, the boy took a step toward Mercy. “Charmin’ womenfolk is his way a-passin’ the time. He do love womenfolk. Ain’t that right, Gid, boy?”
“Y’all quit yore jawin’. It’s eatin’ time.” Dora came up beside her husband, and he threw an arm across her shoulders. “Stay way from Emmajean, Gid.” Dora said bluntly. “My Sister ain’t but twelve. I ain’t havin’ ya diddlin’ with her ’n’ ruinin’, like ya done the Morgan girl.”
Gideon laughed. “Then ya better tell her to stay way from me, Dorybelle.”
“Take yore places,” Hod roared.
After the men were seated, there was one place left. Martha and Dora stood ready to serve, and the children lined up behind Hod with a plate in their hands.
“I’ll wait and eat with Martha and Dora,” Mercy said when Hod waved her toward the vacant place beside Daniel. Bernie and Lenny had moved as far away from him as was possible.
“Sit down, Hester. This here’s yore homecomin’.”
While Mercy was taking her place the dogs slunk out from under the porch. Hod’s roar sent them scampering back. Then he stood and held his palms together in front of him.
“God, it was good a ya to send our Sister, Hester, home. We thank ya fer it. We ain’t never been askin’ ya fer much, but food fer our belly ’n’ wood fer our fire. Now we be askin’ ya fer somethin’ that means a heap to us. We be wantin’ ya to make our Maw’s passin’ easy. And when she gets over thar, we want ya to let ’er meet up first off with our Paw, ’cause it’s with him she’s wantin’ ta be. Thanky fer the food, ’n’ fer keepin’ us all fit. Amen.”
Mercy’s throat was so full of sobs, she thought she would choke. She raised her eyes and looked at her brothers. Their eyes were closed. Hod finished the prayer, sat down, and began to fill the children’s plates.
As the late afternoon turned into evening, Mercy was as tired as she had ever been in her entire life. She wondered how Martha stood up to the work. The only time she had sat down was when she nursed her baby. Dora worked alongside Martha, doing the lighter chores. Both women insisted that Mercy sit with her mother, whose bed had been moved back from the door.
Daniel visited with Hod and Wyatt. The older Baxters seemed interested in what he had to say about farming, and asked him questions about his mill. Bernie and Lenny sat at the other end of the porch, played with the children, and every once in a while sent one of them for the whiskey jug being passed between Hod and Wyatt. They had offered the jug to Daniel and laughed when the fiery drink took his breath away. The strong drink didn’t seem to affect the Baxters. But after the first few swigs Daniel’s speech began to slur, and he realized he’d had enough.
Mercy came out of the house at dusk. The hills seemed to close in when the sun went down. Both Wyatt and Hod held sleeping children in their arms.
“How’s Maw?” Hod asked.
“Sleeping again. She’s eaten very little today.”
“She ain’t et enough to keep a bird alive fer a week now.”
“It seems she’s having a harder time getting her breath than when we first arrived,” Mercy said worriedly.
“I noticed it,” Hod said.
Dora came hurrying around the end of the house and made straight for Wyatt. “I can’t find Emmajean, ’n’ I can’t find Gid. If he’s taken her off ’n’ crawled on her, I’m goin’ to fix him so’s he won’t be ruttin’ fer a while. What he needs is a horsewhippin’.”
“I thought Emmajean went off to put Hod’s younguns to bed.”
“She didn’t. Hod’s younguns is in there sleepin’ on a pallet. Where’s Bernie? Where’s Lenny?”
“Gone to bed, I reckon.”
“Damn that Gid! I told Emmajean what he was like. She ain’t used to havin’ a feller courtin’ her. He’s a horny little toad, is what he is! He’s going to get somebody killed sure as shootin’ if’n he don’t quit droppin’ his britches ever’ time he sees a woman.”
“Calm down, Dorybelle.” Wyatt shifted the sleeping child over onto Daniel’s lap and got to his feet.
“Calm down! If it was yore Sister Gid was fornicatin’ with, ya’d bash his head in. Then you ’n’ Hod’d wear yore tails off runnin’ fer the preacher!”
“Yore makin’ a lot outa nothin’,” Wyatt said patiently. “Gid ain’t never took no woman what wasn’t willin’. Me ’n’ Hod’d bash his head, ’n’ he knows it. But if’n yore so all-fired worried, c’mon, we’ll go find Emmajean.”
Mercy’s face burned with embarrassment. The Baxters were the plainest-talking people she’d ever been around. There was just nothing they didn’t talk about. She looked down at Daniel. He didn’t seem to be uncomfortable at all holding the sleeping child. She thanked God for his quiet presence. She moved up close behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder, as if he were the only steady thing in a tilting world. He looked up. Their eyes met. There was no need for words between them.
Hod’s sudden laughter drew Mercy’s attention.
“If thar’s a skirt in a mile, ya can bet that Gid’ll be under it if he gets half a chance. He’s the horniest little sucker I ever knowed!”
“And you think that’s funny?” Mercy asked coldly. She looked down her nose at her brother. Disapproval was evident in the way she held her head and in the clipped way she spoke. Daniel knew the signs. Mercy
was getting her back up.
“Well . . . it ain’t nothin’ to be ’shamed for.”
“And you think it’s an admirable trait?”
“What’re ya talkin’ about?”
“How would you like to have a ‘horny little sucker’ like Gid violate your daughters?” Mercy’s anger was making her speak her mind, regardless of the consequences.
“Violate?”
“Do wrong to . . . misuse.”
Hod was taken back by her frankness and didn’t answer for a minute. “I reckon it’d depend on if’n she wanted it. If’n she did, it’d be all right. But he’d make it right.”
“By making it right, you mean you’d force her to marry him, and she’d have to live with the ‘horny little sucker’ for the rest of her life while he continued to beget bastards?”
“We have our ways here,” Hod said, his voice rising with anger.
“I see that you do.” Mercy’s voice matched his in tone.
“What’re ya gettin’ so het up fer? It be a natural thin’ a man be doin’.” There was a puzzled look on Hod’s face.
He really doesn’t know! The thought crossed Mercy’s mind. It was beyond her understanding how a father could talk so about his daughter. It puzzled her that they could love their mother so much, yet put such a small value on the virtue of a young girl. Her lips formed the question, but it was not voiced.
Dora came around the end of the house with her hand firmly attached to the arm of a young girl who was crying. Wyatt followed, pushing his brother in front of him. Gideon showed none of the shamefacedness that would be expected under these circumstances. He walked like a proud little rooster, and he was grinning broadly.
Dora reached up and yanked straw out of the girl’s hair. “I warned ya, Emmajean. Yore goin’ home come sunup. I ain’t got no time to be ridin’ yore tail to keep Gid off’n it.”
Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] Page 21
