by Lisa Gregory
"The fact of the matter is, ma'am. Will owed me two hundred and forty-three dollars."
"Two hundred and forty-three dollars!" Julia's stomach plummeted. "But I—we don't—"
"Now, don't fret. I know you don't have the money. I've been thinking about it. You won't be needing Will's tools or the mule team and wagon. Why don't I just take those things in full payment of the debt?"
❧
The next day Mr. Harrington came to see her. The children were out in back playing and Julia was at the stove, stirring a mess of poke salad greens flavored with pork middlings, when she heard the sound of a vehicle pulling up in front of the house. She looked out the front window and saw Harrington, and her heart sank. He was the owner of the property they lived on, and she knew what he had come to say. She had hoped for more time to make up her mind about what she was going to do.
Julia lowered the Are under the greens and the pot of pinto beans and went out onto the front porch , nervously wiping her hands on her apron. "Morning, Mr Harrington."
"Morning, Mrs Dobson." He got out of the buggy and looped the reins around the porch post. "Mind if I come in?"
"Of course not. You're welcome."
She stepped back, clasping her hands together to hide her nervousness, and watched Harrington climb the steps and go into the house. He went to Will's chair, but remained politely standing. Julia caught her error and hurried to sit down. "Please, have a seat."
"Thank you. I was real sorry to hear about Will," Harrington began heavily. He was a portly man with thinning hair and a large, Teddy Roosevelt mustache of which he was inordinately proud. He owned half the land around Gideon, and Will had farmed for him for the past four years.
"Thank you."
Julia frantically tried to calculate how much the animals and tools were worth. But what choice did she have? She owed Harrington two hundred forty-three dollars, and she couldn't get the money except by selling those very things. It would be easier to swap them. It was just that she had been hoping she could sell the team and tools for a little money to pay for room and board in town until she could get some sort of work. But now she would have nothing. Nothing!
She looked away to hide the tears in her eyes. "All right,"
"Good. Then that settles it" Harrington looked relieved at having it done with so easily. "You're a reasonable woman, Mrs Dobson."
He rose and started toward the door. "I'm real sorry about Will." He opened the door and paused. "I'll send one of the boys over this afternoon to pick up those things."
Julia nodded.
"Good day, ma'am."
"Good day."
Julia stared sightlessly at the closed door. She was more scared than she had been at any time since she'd been pregnant with Pamela, knowing Jimmy would never marry her and not knowing where to turn. Then she had had a baby inside her that she had to take care of* Now she had two children. That was what made it so frightening—being responsible for someone else's life. If it had just been her, it wouldn't have been so hard to face. Somehow she would make her way, and if she starved, well, dying wasn't the worst thing that could happen to a person. But when there were children involved, she had to make the right decision. She couldn't let them starve or be cold or sick.
Mechanically, Julia went to the stove and stirred the contents of each pot, working out of habit, with little idea of what she was doing. Where was she to go?
She didn't have much choice. She had hoped that with a little money she would be able to manage on her own. But without it, she couldn't rent a room or even feed Bonnie and Vance until she found a way to make a living. There weren't many opportunities for a woman to make money. She could sew, take in laundry, or cook and clean house for someone else. It would take time to find a position in someone's house or to bring in enough sewing or laundry to live on. What she had planned to do now seemed impossible.
That left only one thing: She would have to throw herself on someone's mercy until she could find employment. Mrs. Braswell would be kind enough to take her in, but Julia couldn't ask it of her. Mr. Braswell sharecropped Harrington's land, just like Will had done, and they were barely able to keep their own family fed. Julia couldn't add three more mouths to their dinner table. Julia's grandmother had died two years ago, and after that her father had left the area. No one knew where he had gone. She had no other relatives to turn to, except Luke.
She thought Luke would take her in. They had been close when they were young. But it had been so long since they'd seen each other. His feelings might have changed. Will hadn't let her visit him, even when Luke had been on trial or when he had gotten married. Luke might think she'd snubbed him; he might be angry with her. Even if he was willing to take her in, she hated to ask it of him. He had a new life now. He was married to Sarah McGowan, who came from a "good" family. Sarah wouldn't want to have her around. Julia was afraid she would be an embarrassment to her brother, even a burden.
Julia looked down at her red, rough fingers and her faded, much-mended dress. She was as common as dirt; Sarah McGowan would be appalled. She might give her shelter out of pity or from love of Luke, but Julia knew that inside Sarah would be mortified at having her for a sister-in-law. Julia knew she didn't talk as nice as Sarah; she would do and say the wrong things. Sarah would think Julia was plain and cheap. There had been talk, she was sure, when she had married Will; folks would have said she had had to get married. Sarah would remember that. No. Sarah wouldn't want to have her around, and that would cause Luke trouble. She couldn't hurt Luke.
But what else could she do? She had to go to Luke's for the sake of the children. She would start looking for a job as soon as she got there; she'd take her family off Luke's hands quickly.
Julia called the children inside and dished up the cornbread, and beans. She poured buttermilk into glasses. The children dug into their food with gusto, but Julia couldn't work up an appetite. She sat and stared at her plate, crumbling her piece of cornbread into it.
"Bonnie, Vance, I have something to tell you."
The two children looked up at her as they continued to fork the food into their mouths.
"We have to leave this house. We've got to pack everything up."
"We're gonna go?" Bonnie asked, her face falling. "Forever?"
Julia nodded,
"Where are we going?" Vance asked.
Julia tried to smile. "Someplace you'll like, I bet. We're going to visit your Uncle Luke."
❧
Julia couldn't move her furniture without the wagon and mules. They would have to walk all the way to Willow Springs and could take only what little they could carry. The Braswells agreed to keep Julia's chickens and the milch cow and let her store most of her possessions in the shed behind their house until Julia could get a place of her own. Julia packed a small suitcase with a set of clothes for herself and each of the children. They hadn't many, so it wasn't difficult to limit the number. She looked at her children's worn, mended clothes and scuffed shoes, and shame swept her for what Sarah would think of them. But, she reminded herself, she had no choice.
By the end of the following day, the house was cleaned and empty. Julia killed one of their hens, fried it, and packed it in a small sack along with some cornbread, sweet potatoes, and half a loaf of white bread. They spent the night with the Braswells, and the next morning Mrs. Braswell fed them a solid brcakfast of biscuits, bacon, and eggs. Julia and the children set off, with Julia carrying the suitcase and Vance, the sack of food. Bonnie held the simple rag doll that Julia had made her for Christmas last year, Luke's farm was in a different county, at least thirty miles away; Julia wasn't sure exactly how to get there; and she carried only two silver dollars in her pocket. She was scared to death, but she knew she had to do it.
They had walked less than a mile when a farmer they knew came by in a wagon and offered them a ride. He took them into Gideon and gave them directions to Willow Springs. The road out of Gideon was larger and better traveled than the first one they'd been on, and two w
agons, a surrey, and three men on horseback passed them as they trudged along. One of the wagons stopped and gave them a ride for a few miles. The day grew warm, and the children were soon thirsty. Julia was thinking she would have to go up to the next farmhouse and ask for a drink from their cistern, when they came to a stream.
They knelt beside the stream and, cupping their hands, drank from it. Julia wet her handkerchief in the water and wiped the dust from their faces. Then they removed their shoes and dabbled their tired feet in the water. Julia brought out the cornbread and fried chicken, and they ate in the shade of a cottonwood tree. Afterward, Julia leaned back against the tree trunk, and Bonnie curled up with her head in Julia's lap, and all three of them napped. But Julia didn't let them sleep long. They needed to reach Luke's farm before their food ran out. Besides, Julia didn't relish the idea of spending many nights on the road.
They continued walking. The glories of spring were all around them—bright wildflowers, the green of new grass and budding trees, a gentle sun and cool breezes—but Julia didn't notice any of those things. She just concentrated on walking. The suitcase in her hand grew heavier by the minute, and she wished that she had left behind some of its contents. The children began to drag, especially little Bonnie. Finally Bonnie sat down in the road and cried. Julia picked her up and carried her, and Vance dragged the suitcase along. Julia knew she had to stop soon. They were all exhausted, and it was growing dark. But she pressed on, looking for some form of shelter.
They came upon a small, obviously abandoned shack. The floor was dirt, one wall had collapsed, and the roof had gaping holes, but at least it was dry and somewhat protected from the elements—and from the eyes of passersby. Julia built a small fire, and they roasted sweet potatoes over it.
They were so hungry they ate the potatoes as soon as they were done, even though they burned their mouths.
Julia pulled off Bonnie's shoes and stockings and found that her shoes had worn blisters on her little feet. Tearing off a strip of her own petticoat, Julia wrapped up Bonnie's feet. Tomorrow she would have to let the children go barefoot, despite the bad impression it might give Luke's wife.
Julia had the children put on their coats and she wrapped her shawl around herself. She spread out her cloak close to the coals of the fire, and they lay down together on it, huddled together for warmth with Bonnie in the middle. Though the April days were warm, the nights were still cool. Julia lay awake for a long time, cold and scared. She kept thinking about a snake sliding into the hut, seeking warmth, or a pack of wild dogs who smelled their food. Or maybe a passing stranger.
She turned onto her back and stared up at the stars through the hole in the roof. She hadn't lived a privileged life, but she had never had to sleep outdoors before. She had cooked on an open fire only a few times in her life, when she and Will had moved somewhere, and then Will had been there to lay the fire and to protect them. They had slept inside the wagon those times, with a tarpaulin over their heads, a mattress beneath them, and warm blankets all around. Julia shivered. She was in charge of two children, and she didn't feel adequate to the task.
Silently, almost unconsciously, she prayed: Please let us get to Luke's safety. And, please, please, don't let Luke turn us away.
When at last Julia fell asleep, she slept fitfully, chilled and unused to sleeping on the hard ground. She awoke the next morning as soon as the sun shone in through the collapsed east wall and sat up gingerly, her muscles screaming and her body bruised and sore. She thought with longing of her feather bed. She let the children continue to sleep while she built up the fire. She unfastened her hair and did her best to brush it out and coil it tightly atop her head without the benefit of a minor. She shook and brushed at her dress to remove some of the dust of the road and floor. Julia had always hated to be untidy, and she was chagrined to think how disheveled and dirty she must appear now. Poor white trash, she thought, and felt like crying.
When the children awoke, they ate a quick, cold breakfast of cornbread and set out on the road. At first Bonnie and Vance skipped along, glad to be out of their shoes and rather enjoying the adventure. They'd never been this far away from home before or gotten to camp out like pioneers. But by noon they were beginning to droop.
When they came to a town, Julia bought beef jerky with a little of her precious supply of money and even splurged for two sticks of peppermint candy for Bonnie and Vance. They ate the last of the chicken and drank water from a stream for lunch, then doggedly plodded on throughout the afternoon. Before long Julia had to carry Bonnie. Then Vance gave out, and she had to carry the suitcase as well. By the time they stopped for the evening, Julia was dead tired.
They roasted potatoes for supper again, and Julia divided the beef jerky between the children. Bonnie and Vance needed their strength far more than she did, and she had given them most of the meat at lunch as well. Julia was unable to find an abandoned shack this night, so they slept in the open, huddled against a board fence a short distance from the road. Julia slept little, and she awakened the next morning feeling as weary as when she had lain down.
Her stomach rumbled with hunger, but their food supply was almost gone. She gave Bonnie and Vance the last of it, two squares of cornbread. She hoped they would reach Luke's soon. They were almost to Willow Springs, she thought, and surely it wasn't too far from town to the McGowan farm.
It was almost noon when the family reached the town of Willow Springs. There was a house beside the road that advertised that its owner took in boarders and served meals. Julia stopped at its back door, embarrassed to come inside because of their dusty, ragtag appearance. She bought plates of beans and bread for the children, which they ate sitting on the back porch. Julia took only a cup of strong black coffee for herself. They would reach Luke's today, and surely she could stand a little hunger until then. She didn't want to spend any more of her money than she had to. If Luke should have moved or not want her there, this bit of money was all she had between her family and starvation.
Julia asked directions to the McGowan farm from the cook, and the woman smiled. "The McGowan place? I haven't heard that in a couple of years. It's the Turner place now. Go on out the Greenville road. After three or four miles, you'll come to a yellow house—that's the Sweeney farm—and there's a road off to the right. You take it and just keep walking for, oh, another mile or so, and you'll see the Turners house. Nice white house with green shutters, real pretty,"
"Thank you." Julia was surprised to hear it called the Turner place. Despite her brother's presence there, she had assumed that the local people would still call it by Sarah's parents' name. A Turner wouldn't be important enough to call it by his name.
Bonnie and Vance liked the food and the shaded backyard and didn't want to leave the boardinghouse. They protested when Julia said it was time to go but obediently fell in behind her. They trudged through town and out the Greenville road. It seemed as though with every step they went more slowly. Vance sagged, and Bonnie began to whimper. Julia picked up the little girl and carried her. Her burden felt heavy as lead. Julia's head began to swim, and abruptly she set down both Bonnie and the suitcase. Julia sat down on the case, her head lowered, fighting her sudden dizziness.
Perhaps she should have eaten something, after all. She was so tired. She wondered how they'd ever make it. Julia squinted down the road. Was that the yellow house where they should turn? She couldn't make herself get up yet.
The children were glad for a rest and plopped down beside her on the edge of the road. A man on horseback trotted past, tipping his hat to them. Julia told herself she must get up. The momentary weak spell was gone. But she couldn't make herself rise.
A large man came around the curve, walking in the opposite direction from them. He wore denim coveralls and a plaid flannel shirt, and a large felt hat drooped down over his face. His skin was black, with a coppery tint. His nose was flat, his mouth straight, and his eyes were shadowed by the wide brim of the hat. A chill of unease ran through Juli
a. She was unused to black people, and this man was a little scary. He was big, and there was something bold about the way he carried himself.
"Ma'am," he said as he drew near, and tipped his hat to her.
Julia swallowed and gave him a brief nod. She stood and picked up her suitcase, the prick of fear giving her fresh impetus. She took Bonnie by the hand and started toward the distant house, moving briskly. Suddenly, the house wavered in her vision. Julia became sickeningly unsure of her footing. She dropped the suitcase, one hand going to her head. "Vance..."
"Mama?" Bonnie looked up at her questioningly.
Black spots danced before Julia's eyes. The horizon tilted and turned dark.
"Mama!" Vance turned and lunged toward Julia, grabbing her arm. But he wasn't strong enough to hold her up, and Julia crumpled into a heap on the road.
"Mama! Mama!" Bonnie set up a high-pitched shriek.
Vance fell onto his knees beside his mother. Her eyes were closed. She looked as if she were asleep. His father had looked the same way when he died. "Mama!" He shook her arm. "Mama!"
Vance glanced around him frantically. The large man who had passed them had stopped and was looking back at them. Vance jumped to his feet, waving frantically. "Mister! Mister!"
The man loped toward them, his sack bouncing on his back. He dropped the sack and knelt beside Julia, feeling for her pulse. "What happened?"
"I don't know!" Tears gathered in Vance's eyes. Bonnie was sobbing unrestrainedly. "Is she dead?"
The man shook his head. "No. She ain't dead. She jus' pass out. Where your home? Where you headed?"
For a moment Vance couldn't think. He stared at the man.
"Boy? You all right?"
"I—uh. Uncle Luke's house. We're going to Luke, uh. Turner's house."
"I don't know him. I ain't from around here."
"It's down there." Vance pointed. "The lady said, turn right at the yellow house, and it's a couple of miles down the road."
