Wings of a Dream

by Anne Mateer

  She hesitated, seeming to need something more from me, but I had nothing left to give. I needed time to think. Time and quiet. And I imagined I wouldn’t get much of either come daybreak.

  I snuffed the lamp and followed her up the stairs. My teeth chattered as I slithered into my flannel gown and huddled beneath the quilts. But even as my body grew warm, I wondered if the children had enough to cover them. Sometimes Dan kicked off the blankets as he slept. My bare feet hit the chilly floor. I sucked in a sharp breath before hurrying into the next bedroom.

  Sure enough, Dan’s leg hung off the bed, out of the reach of any scrap of fabric, as if his feet needed a head start to hit the floor when he woke. I pushed him closer to his brother. He turned on his side, his leg disappearing under the covers. I tucked the quilt beneath the mattress.

  Pushing back the mass of blond hair on his head, I could see the place where I’d clipped it short around his wound. I needed to check that in the morning, make sure his scalp was healing as it should. And perhaps I should cut the rest of his hair to match. I’d been here almost a month; both boys needed a trim.

  My feet tingled on their way to numb. I tiptoed back to my bed and climbed in. None of my earlier warmth remained. I stretched the quilts over my head and crunched my knees to my chest. Just as well. Cold fit my feelings. It reminded me that I had no hope of someone to warm my heart or my bed.

  Opening my eyes the next morning was like prying open the cellar door in a stiff wind. I pulled the covers over my head and turned to the wall. I couldn’t continue as if my heart weren’t battered and bruised.

  Yet I did. I grit my teeth and managed the morning chores, even if it did feel like moving through a dense fog. Sick and dying, Aunt Adabelle had cared for these children until she couldn’t lift her head from the pillow. I had only a broken heart and dead dreams. Could I do any less, even if my future seemed as lifeless as the bare branches of the old oak tree in the front yard?

  On Saturday morning, a wagon rumbled up the road. Before I could rouse myself to see who’d come, Irene stood beside me at the stove.

  “We thought you’d enjoy a trip to town,” she said, unwinding a scarf from her apple-cheeked face.

  The older children hurrahed while Janie clapped her chubby hands and wrinkled her nose. Irene took the dish towel from me. “Hurry now. I’ll help the children get ready.”

  I flew to my room, thankful for clean clothes and the fact that I’d done all the chores at daybreak. It wasn’t until I grabbed my handbag and made for the door that I remembered the letters I’d penned that week. One to Daddy. One to Frank.

  My insides jittered as I thought of the words I’d written to this man whose wife rested peacefully in the churchyard while a girl he didn’t know cared for his children. I couldn’t tell him of my broken heart, of course, but I assured him we were all well, that his children longed for his homecoming, that I would remain until he arrived.

  Shoving the letters in my handbag, I climbed into the back of the already crowded wagon.

  “Up here.” Irene scooted closer to her husband and patted the space beside her on the buckboard. Beulah, her youngest, sat content on her lap.

  I picked my way through the crowded wagon bed as if I were barefoot in a briar patch. It wouldn’t do to stomp on little fingers or toes.

  “Did you have fun in Dallas, Rebekah?” Nola Jean’s wistful question quieted the commotion.

  “Tell us about it.” Another of the Latham children.

  I lumbered over the seat, trilling what I hoped sounded like laughter. “There were more people there than I’ve ever seen in one place in my whole life.”

  “I wanna hear ’bout the airplanes.” A younger Latham boy.

  Irene touched her husband’s arm. He clicked his tongue, and the horses lurched forward, jerking me off balance. I grabbed the side of the seat. The children tittered from the back. Irene hooked her arm around mine.

  “I’ll hold you in. I’ve got too much substance for these horses to throw my weight around.” Irene laughed as her older children snickered from the back. Even Brother Latham’s mouth rose with mirth. Irene kissed the neck of the little girl in her lap, whose giggle sounded like a miniature version of her mother’s full-grown one.

  I looked off into the bare fields and thanked the Lord that He’d given Irene such a gift for putting everyone at ease.

  The horses slowed as they passed the row of businesses that had become familiar to me now. I spied Mrs. Crenshaw in a rocker on her porch, her hand raised in greeting. That simple gesture revived my spirits a bit. But when the white steeple rose into view and I glimpsed the graveyard that rested beneath its shadow, an ache started in my chest and moved into my throat. My heartache amounted to little in the face of what others had lost.

  Brother Latham’s horses danced to a stop. Children emptied from the wagon bed as he wrapped the reins around a hitching post and extended his steadying hand to me. When he turned to his wife, he first took Beulah from her and then wrapped his free arm about her waist and lifted her down. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a long moment, the love so intense I had to look away.

  My chest felt as if it would cave in on itself. What were my chances of finding a love like that? They seemed very slim to me now.

  I lifted my face to the sun’s weak heat. I’d thought Arthur the answer to my prayers. I’d thought God had made a way for us to be together. Now what? Surely God had more in mind for me than caring for four motherless children in a backwater Texas town. I hugged my arms around myself and took a deep breath. The smell of dying grass filled my nose.

  “I expect you have errands to do,” Irene prodded.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I patted my handbag. “The store. The post office. And I’d like to check in at the bank, I think.”

  “Good idea.” She set Beulah’s feet on the ground. The child toddled to Nola Jean’s outstretched hands. Irene watched her baby with a wistful expression as she directed her words to me. “I’ll leave you to your own things, then, unless you need my help.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She turned that loving look on me now. “Of course you will.” Her words seemed meant for far more than a day of shopping.

  “Meet back here around noon. I brought a picnic lunch for all of us,” she said, waving me away.

  Children’s voices drifted along the chilling wind. I craned my neck to see Ollie, James, Dan, and Janie, but I couldn’t find them. Irene nodded toward the square building beyond the church. “They’re on the playground in the schoolyard. Nola Jean will watch them.”

  I breathed deep and long, drinking in the freedom of the moment. The board sidewalk creaked as I stepped up, my shoes clapping the same hollow tone as at home. The sound reminded me of shopping with Mama or walking with Arthur, and moisture blurred my vision a bit. I missed Arthur, and perhaps even more, I missed the anticipation of all my dreams coming true.

  I entered the dry goods store first, walking straight to the glass jar filled with peppermint sticks. I’d buy some for all the children for the ride home. A small way to repay the Latham family for their kindness.

  Mr. Crenshaw met me there, his face less haggard than the last time I’d seen him.

  We stood in silence, my gaze roaming the store until I cleared my throat and plunked my meager coins on the counter. “I need a dozen peppermint sticks, please.” As he filled a brown paper bag, I realized we probably needed other things, too, but I hadn’t made a list and had little cash left to spend.

  I gathered my small purchase and walked next door to the post office, its walls lined with slots for mail to be sorted and carried out to the rural routes, as well as the houses in town.

  “I need to mail these,” I said to the man behind the counter. He looked over my letters before nodding. Then he pulled a bundle from a slot and handed it to me. “You’re lucky Mr. Culpepper hasn’t been by yet today. You’ve quite a batch of things to take with you, even if your newspaper hasn’t arrived yet.”
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  I stared at the magazine he put in my hand. “Better Homes and Gardens,” I read aloud.

  “Yep. Miz Williams took great pride in that subscription.”

  I ran my hand over the cover. Mama took this magazine, too. She loved the “homes” part. I had a funny feeling Aunt Adabelle loved the “gardens.” They were like that, I’d begun to realize. Two ends of a seesaw. One went up, the other down. Riding the same board, but on the same plane for only an instant of time.

  “And here’re your letters.”

  I tore my gaze from the magazine and took the envelopes. My heart seemed to stop midbeat. One addressed in Mama’s copperplate script. A bit shaky but still recognizable. The other in Arthur’s unmistakable hand.

  My stomach clenched. I stumbled out the door and plopped on a bench at the end of the sidewalk. Laying the magazine in my lap, I slipped Arthur’s dispatch inside the pages. I couldn’t read that letter in the midst of town. I needed someplace familiar and private. Only my aunt’s house fit that description.

  I opened Mama’s correspondence instead. But before I could get beyond her familiar greeting, a voice shouted in the street.

  “Pa! Hurry, Pa! James fell down the old well.”

  James? My James? I lifted my skirts, even though they already stopped well above the ground, and ran after the others headed toward the schoolyard. With every thump of my feet on the hard ground, I prayed it wasn’t my James. I needed to see my little man, to know he was okay. My heart feared the worst.

  I ran past the churchyard, trying not to feel Clara’s or Aunt Adabelle’s scorn for not keeping better watch on the child. Out of breath, I arrived at the gathering crowd. I pushed through to the center. Brother Latham lay stretched on the ground, peering down into a hole.

  “He’s in there all right. Wedged in. Not too far down. Get a rope.” When he looked back, his eyes met mine.

  I fell to my knees at the edge of the broken boards that covered the opening of the old well shaft. “James! It’s me, Rebekah!”

  “I’m sorry,” came the whimpered reply.

  I leaned farther over the edge. “I’m here, baby. Don’t worry. Brother Latham will get you out.”

  I heard other crying now, from behind me. I turned, knees still grinding into the hard ground. Ollie held Dan close to her, as if she feared he’d leap into the hole to save his brother. But something was missing. I couldn’t think what.

  Then I knew.

  “Where’s the baby?” I shrieked. My whole body quaked as I clawed my way up from my knees. I grabbed Ollie’s shoulders and shook her. “Where’s Janie?”

  Her mouth quivered. Tears streaked down her dirty face.

  “Where’s—”

  A hand rested on my shoulder. “She’s here, Rebekah. Nola Jean has her.” Irene’s face remained serene, as if she didn’t understand we were trying to rescue a small boy from a dark hole.

  A dark hole. I crawled back to the lip of the well, Ollie’s whimpers stirring my guilt into a dizzying whirlpool. I’d talk with her later. I had to focus on James now.

  My head dipped into the darkness. “I won’t leave you, little man. I promise.”

  Only his keening wail replied.

  Sheriff Jeffries took charge of the rescue, his face nearly bloodless, his eyes only occasionally glancing my way. When the men finally raised James from the earth’s depths, dinnertime had passed, but supper remained distant. It seemed like he’d been in that hole for hours. In reality he’d been too big to fall far. A cheer rose from the gathered crowd when his head emerged into the sunlight. I let go of Ollie and Dan and took James into my arms.

  “Oh, baby.” I laid my cheek against his. “Are you all right? Where do you hurt?” I burst into tears, though I’d thought I’d cried my eyes dry as that old well.

  Someone extracted the boy from my grasp. The sheriff. He held James in his arms while frail Doc Risinger examined the scraped and bruised arms and legs, checked his head and his eyes. Then the sheriff returned James to my embrace with a sympathetic smile.

  James’s head drifted to my shoulder, his breath hot on my neck. “It was dark down there.”

  “Yes, baby.” I rubbed my hand on his back. “I’m sure it was. You were a brave boy.”

  “And kinda cold.”

  I tightened my arms around him, trying to warm his clammy skin.

  His head rose, and he looked me in the eye. His grimy fingers stroked the edge of my face. “It was real interesting, but I’m glad you got me out.” He snuggled into my shoulder again.

  A rush of tears threatened to burst from me again—until I caught Irene’s nod. She put an arm around one of her children and walked toward the wagon. I figured we should do the same. I turned to Ollie and Dan, Janie confined between them.

  “Let’s go home.” I clutched James in one arm while Janie curled into the other. I’d have gathered up Ollie and Dan, too, if I’d had as many arms as a spider has legs. But Sheriff Jeffries did that in my stead, walking silently beside me, helping us into the Lathams’ wagon.

  I stayed in the back this time. Janie snuggled into my lap; James curled at my side. Dan stood behind me, his four-year-old arms draped around my neck, while Ollie sat with her skirt overlapping mine. I mouthed a thank-you to the sheriff as we pulled away.

  By the time we reached the front gate, my body felt as stiff and sore as if I’d been washing quilts the whole day long. I climbed down, stretched my back, and readied to take Janie. James screamed for me to hold his hand. I shifted Janie to my hip and reached for the boy.

  Irene leaned around her husband. “All safe and sound.”

  I hoped my weak smile conveyed a smidgen of my gratitude, which rose as big as a harvest moon. They drove away as we trudged into the house. We needed baths, but I couldn’t make myself drag out the tub and heat the water and dirty up several towels on top everything else.

  I laid my handbag on the table, amazed that it remained in my possession. Then I remembered my letter from Mama—and the one from Arthur.

  “Where’re my letters?”

  Ollie’s eyes grew big. “I didn’t see any letters.”

  I tore through my purse, screeching out my fear. “Where are those letters? I have to have those letters!” They weren’t there. Neither one of them.

  Ollie stepped away from me. James inched closer to my side. I rubbed my forehead. Where had I put them? I’d sat down, then run to the schoolyard. Eyes squeezed shut, teeth clamped tight, I commanded myself to remember. But nothing came. Only images of James in the dark depths.

  I collapsed into the nearest chair, nearly bumping James’s head with mine. Then I saw the magazine on the bench. A deep breath moderated my voice. “Where did you get the magazine, Ollie?”

  Her face twisted. Concentration? Confusion? I didn’t have any strength left to figure it out.

  “I don’t know.” A frantic shaking of her head accompanied the words. “I don’t remember. Someone handed it to me as we were leaving. I don’t know.” She crumpled to the floor in tears. I wanted to do the same.

  Help me, help me, help me ran through my head as I tried to regain my composure. Those letters had to be somewhere. If someone thought to pick up the magazine, they’d have thought to get the letters, too. Unless, of course, they’d blown away when no one was watching.

  I felt a scream rising to my lips. Mama would’ve slapped my face to calm me, but Mama wasn’t here. Like it or not, I was in charge. My jaw tightened as I tried to hold back the tornado of feelings twisting inside me.

  James’s bottom lip jutted out, trembling just a bit. I pulled him onto my lap, crushing him to me until he squirmed to get free. Ollie still lay crying on the floor. Janie joined the chorus. Dan, I feared, wasn’t far behind.

  I shoved Aunt Adabelle’s treasured magazine. It slid across the bench, then fell, skimming across the bare floor, flopping to a stop when it rammed into the wall.

  Ollie gasped. “Rebekah! Look!”

  Two envelopes spilled from be
tween the pages of the magazine. Dropping to my knees, I gathered them up like precious jewels, suddenly remembering I’d stashed them there.

  “God found them,” James squeaked from behind me.

  “What?”

  “God found them. I prayed and God found them.”

  I stared at him. “You prayed?”

  Ollie stood beside her brother now, her arm around his shoulders. “Like our mama taught us. Nothing is too big or too little to pray about. Mama and Miss Ada prayed about everything.”

  My mouth opened, then shut again. If you have the faith of a child came to mind. But did I?

  I stood, clutching the letters to my breast. “We’d all better get to bed.”

  Ollie looked up at me with surprised eyes. Her wailing turned to a whine. “But we haven’t had any supper yet.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t howl, as I wanted to. I answered calmly, but my words held no sweetening forgiveness. “You’ll have to get your own, then. I’m going to bed.”

  I stormed upstairs with my letters, half guilty that I’d left a nine-year-old with such a task and half relieved that none of them followed.

  The next morning I burned Arthur’s letter. No part of his pathetic explanation soothed my pain. Mama’s letter, on the other hand, I read over again in the light of day.

  She told me she felt much better now. A lot of fuss over nothing, she wrote. She’d be up and around and back to her old self again very soon. And didn’t I think I should come on home and leave those children to someone else’s care? Barney Graves had mentioned he missed seeing me.

  It sounded like Mama, all right. But I’d told Adabelle and Frank and Sheriff Jeffries that I’d care for the children, and no matter how Mama prodded, I wouldn’t break my word.