He reached into his pocket and retrieved a letter. Black edged the envelope, and she knew. Mama, she thought with a combination of grief and rage, it must be Mama. The handwriting wasn’t familiar but the postmark was—the town where her mother and Willie moved after their marriage. She could see the envelope had been slit across the top. Maude glanced up at him in a silent query. “Yeah, I opened it,” he said. “Honey, I thought I should know what we’re facing.”
“It’s Mama,” she said and he nodded. “I’m sorry, Maudie. Both your mother and her husband died last week of the influenza. The letter’s from their neighbor, a Mrs. Berryman. She sounds like she was a friend too.”
Maude remembered the name from her mother’s letters. “She was.” She plucked the letter out of the envelope but didn’t read it, not yet. “It’s more than this, though, isn’t it?”
Harry grasped her hand as he nodded. “Both Granny and Gert were sick. They’re on the mend, now, though. But Rose Mae, Aunt Gert’s oldest, has it and she’s bad. So are her four kids. They don’t expect any of them to make it. Lots of folks in town have died, so many they’re not holding real funerals, just graveside services.”
Numb to the core of her being, Maude didn’t think he’d finished yet. Something more than sadness in Harry’s eyes warned her. “What else?”
He sighed. “Its small shit compared to everything else but Delbert Jones dogged me the whole time I was to town. He kept after me everyplace I went and kept catcalling to me. He tripped me in front of the livery.”
“Did you get hurt?”
“Nothing but my pride,” Harry said with a futile attempt to smile. “Honey, I’m so sorry about your mama and step-daddy. I feel awful ‘bout my cousin Rose Mae and her bunch but worst of all for you, Maudie.”
His kindness, infused with love and compassion, brought the tears she hadn’t shed. Maude put her head down on her arms and wept for the mother she hadn’t seen in almost ten years, the mama who’d raised her. She tasted the salt of her tears as she sobbed, aware of Harry’s firm hand stroking her back, his voice offering calm words meant to comfort.
Chapter Four
Reality blurred as Maude wept. For the first time since his birth she didn’t think first of her son, and although aware of his presence, she wasn’t focused on Harry either. Although she’d long felt she lost her mother when she moved away, Maude mourned the woman who raised her. The years between then and now faded as she recalled scenes from her childhood. For so long, it’d been just Maude and Mama against the world. Memories of her mother brushing her hair, braiding it, then tying ribbons to each returned. Sundays, Maude remembered now, they’d gone to the little park in town to spend the afternoon. Those sunlit hours passed among blooming flowers, and the quiet rush of the springs down the rock face ranked among some of Maude’s happiest.
She’d been a girl when her mother remarried and although Maude liked Willy, the drummer who sold gent’s furnishings on a route from Kansas City to Dallas, she hadn’t wanted to leave her hometown. If she’d gone, though, she wouldn’t have met Harry. Grief-stricken and guilt-racked, she wondered if fate blessed her or cheated her. As soon as she moved in with Uncle Tommy and Aunt Mary, she met Harry and he became important to Maude. They weren’t courting then but Maude liked his attentions and dreamed they would one day. As a stew of emotions bubbled within, Maude wondered if she should’ve gone to Texas to live. If I knew she’d pass away in ten years, would I have gone too? Or would I still have chosen Harry over my own mother? She’d never know, not for sure, because hindsight never worked. No one could return to the past, and speculating about what could’ve gone down a different path failed to help anyone. It wouldn’t ease the pain at her loss or temper the grief at all.
Mama never saw her grandson, not even a picture. Maybe she should’ve written more letters, made it a point to have George’s portrait taken by the photographer in town. She’d failed both Jamie and Mama by not having such a simple thing done. Now they’d both spend eternity without any notion of what George, son and grandson, looked like. The weekly letters exchanged no longer seemed enough. I should’ve written every single day. I could’ve saved up the egg money and went down to Texas to visit on the train. I just never thought about Mama dying or I would’ve done it.
She attended a funeral long ago for a distant relative Maude hadn’t really known, and she remembered a preacher there. He’d walked up to her after the brief service and intoned, “Life is like a basket of eggs. Break one and it’s gone.” His words frightened her and she hadn’t understood what the man meant. With two major losses, husband and parent, in the span of a few months, Maude got it. Life could be so fleeting and fragile. Fate or God or whatever you could call it took away without remorse—and sometimes gave. Maude had a son and she had Harry, but anything could happen to either of them. The flu could creep in with bony fingers of death to snatch them away and she couldn’t stop it.
Maude wept until she became too tired to sob anymore. It took too much effort. Her eyes were matted almost shut and her head ached. One minute she burned, too hot, and the next she shivered cold. Her stomach hurt and she wanted to lie down to sleep for a day or two. At the same time she longed to run, just bolt out into the clear night and dash like a deer along the ridges. An excess of emotion overflowed until she thought she’d burst with it. As she quieted, Maude became aware of Harry’s voice. His quiet tone filtered through her sadness and she listened. After a while she raised her head, scrubbing at her cheeks with furious hands to wipe away the tears. Harry stopped rubbing her back and came into view, his eyes deep indigo with worry. “Aw, Maudie,” he said. “You scared me. I didn’t know what to do for you.”
A rush of love for him filled her heart and overflowed. “You stayed with me,” Maude said. “And you did it out of love. It’s all anyone could do.”
“I’m sure sorry about your mama and everything else,” Harry told her. “I’d change it if I could.”
Maude touched his face with her hand and let her fingers trace the edge of his cheek. “I know. I’ve got to clean my mess and put George down for the night. It must be late.”
“I’ll take care of George,” he said. “Don’t fuss about any of this. You okay?”
Everywhere she could name ached with a dull malaise. “I don’t feel good,” Maude whined, uncharacteristic for her. Any other time, she wouldn’t complain if she were on her deathbed. Concern narrowed Harry’s eyes and he touched her forehead with the back of his hand like a worried parent checking for fever. “Are you sick, honey?”
“I don’t think so,” Maude said. “I’m just sad and tired, that’s all.”
He watched her for a long moment, almost frowning, then said, “Go wash your face and go on to bed, Maudie. I’ll take care of the boy and clean up the kitchen for you.”
She saw he meant it and heartsick, too weary to fuss, Maude nodded. Normally, she’d refused to shirk her chores. “Thank you, Harry. I love you so much.”
When she pushed back the chair and stood, Harry put George down so he could hold Maude. She savored the snug shelter he provided and though he reeked of a day’s sweat, the smell of horse, and wood smoke, Maude found comfort in his scent. He picked up George and began to sing before the boy could get upset. He looked as if he’d burst into tears at any moment, most likely frightened by her outburst, but Harry got him giggling before they left the room. She pumped water into the sink and splashed her face, the cool welcome against her skin. Then she headed outside long enough to use the outhouse and returned, cold to the bone.
Maude managed to summon up a faint smile as she passed Harry rocking George to sleep to a tune she knew, “By The Light of The Silvery Moon.” If she hadn’t been so emotionally drained and weary, she would’ve joined them. Instead, she exchanged looks with Harry and headed upstairs. She changed into her warmest nightgown and climbed between the cold sheets. As her body relaxed and the covers warmed from her own heat, Maude thought about her mother with less volat
ile emotion. Tomorrow she’d read the letter with what details it might provide and she’d mourn, but the event possessed a surreal quality. Mama died and was buried before Maude ever became aware she was ill. Nothing she did, no tears and no amount of grief would change the reality. She’d miss the letters but Maude clung to the truth—she’d lost her mother for all practical purposes long ago.
Although she planned to stay awake until Harry joined her, Maude fell asleep and when she woke, it’d grown chill. She ran her hand across the bed but failed to find Harry. Despite the cold, Maude kicked back the covers and reached for an old shawl she kept in the bedroom. She padded across the hardwood floors barefoot without sound and peeked into George’s room. Her son slept tangled in a nest of covers, feet sticking out. Maude tucked him in and covered his feet before she headed to Harry’s room at the rear of the hallway. His bed stood empty and as she turned back toward the stairs, Maude heard the low rumble of voices downstairs. It’s got to be late, midnight or past, so whoever here isn’t visiting for fun.
Maude crept slowly down the stairs and listened. She picked out Harry’s voice but counted at least two others, both masculine. From the way the sound drifted to her, she guessed they must be in the kitchen. The unmistakable aroma of coffee on the stove wafted through the drafts. Something happened or Harry wouldn’t make coffee in the middle of the night. With company in the house, Maude wouldn’t go down in her nighty so she slipped back to the bedroom to dress in the dark. She left her hair in the long braid worn for sleep but buttoned her housedress up in the dark. Maude didn’t bother with stockings but she put on shoes and headed downstairs. She probably looked a fright but her desire to know what had happened surged stronger than vanity.
Her foot must have trod on one of the creakiest boards because Harry met her at the kitchen door. “You ought to be sleepin’,” he said. “What’re you doin’ up, Maudie?”
Mindful of guests, she didn’t want to say she’d missed him in bed. “I heard voices,” she told him. “And I smelled the coffee. What’s happened?”
“More sad news,” Harry replied. “You might as well come join us, I reckon.”
He stepped out of the doorway so she could enter. At the table, Fred Holloway, Gertie’s husband, sipped coffee beside Rose Mae’s oldest son, Joshua. Both men’s faces were covered with stubble and they wore haggard expressions. Fred nodded to Maude as she entered but Josh, just sixteen last June if she recollected right, stared at his untouched cup with red-rimmed eyes. Someone’s died, she thought, but who?
“Howdy, ma’am,” Fred said. “Or reckon it might as well be good morning. I’m sorry to disturb your rest but we had to come. Gonna need to bury a few folks in the family burying ground up the hill.”
“My cousin Rose Mae passed away late yesterday,” Harry told Maude. “So did two of her girls, Janie and Sallie. And Aunt Gertie took a turn for the worse when she got the word and she died too.”
So much death to strike one family, Maude reflected, and following on the heels of Jamie and Granpa’s passing, it lashed them hard. “I’m sorry for your trouble,” she said. “I’ll be glad to help however I can.”
“I’m obliged to you, missus,” Fred answered. “Granny’s to home, sewing shrouds for all of the gals, but if you could have dinner here after the burying, I’d thank you for it.”
After rapid calculations about available food and the state of her pantry, Maude nodded. “I’d be happy to do it for family. When’s it to be?”
“Tomorrow,” Harry said. “It’s tomorrow at noon. Maude got word her mama down in Texas died of the Spanish flu too.”
“I reckon you’ll be a pallbearer then,” Fred said. He ignored the mention of her loss, which annoyed Maude all the more since she offered to fix a meal. “We’ve a need for many.”
Harry nodded. “Yeah, I will.”
Fred rose and Joshua with him. “Then we’ll be off. Got lotta things to do before tomorrow comes, but I want to thank you both for your kindness.”
The two men departed and Maude slumped into a chair. She held her head with both hands and groaned. “You shoulda stayed in bed,” Harry told her with a heavy sigh. He sat down across from her and rubbed his face. “You need the rest, all the more now.”
“I’ll manage,” Maude told him although she didn’t know how. She had no idea what she’d feed a mob, though. Right now thinking proved difficult. She hadn’t even begun to realize nor accept her mother’s passing, and now four extended members of the family had died. Although she’d never been close to any of them, hadn’t even liked Gertie in the least, Maude empathized with Granny who’d lost a daughter, granddaughter, as well as two great-grandchildren. Harry, too, would grieve. He’d liked Rose Mae although she’d been much older and like Maude, he’d feel for Granny.
As she pondered what she’d cook and wondered how many would expect to eat, Maude noticed Harry had cleaned the kitchen as promised. Everything was tidy and as clean or cleaner than she’d leave it. She admired the difference between Harry and Jamie—Jamie would’ve died before he’d wash a dish or perform women’s chores. “Thank you,” she said now. “I appreciate you doing my work for me.”
A grin appeared and lightened the heaviness in his face. “You needed the help,” Harry said. “And I’m glad to do it.”
“You look so tired.” He shrugged. “I’m just worn out with all the dying,” he told Maude. “It takes the starch out of a person. And neither of us will get much more sleep this night—it’s closer to mornin’ now. Do you know what you’ll cook?”
She didn’t. “I’ll figure it out.”
“We shoulda killed a pig after all.” They’d considered it. Now, like Harry, Maude wished they had. “Maybe we still can,” she suggested. “Maybe,” Harry said. “Or I’ll go hunting. Maudie?”
His tone warned she might not like what came next. “Yes?”
“Fred and Josh, they know we’re together. They’d been to the cabin ‘fore they showed up here and saw I ain’t been livin’ there. And they found me here too late to make anything else fit so I told them you’re my woman.”
With such new grief, maybe their tongues wouldn’t wag much—yet. “I am,” Maude said with simple pride. He snared her hand with his and held it fast. “You are, that’s a fact. And, honey, I mean to marry you. I just figured on waitin’ till Jamie’d been gone a bit longer to keep the gossip down. But since the word’s gonna get out, I’d rather do it sooner than later. Will you be my wife?”
As proposals went, it lacked both finesse and romance but Maude liked it anyway. She appreciated the practical question, and besides, they both knew this was the way they were headed. “I’d be proud to marry you, Harry.” His grin lit his tired face as Harry held out both hands to pull her upright. He looked down into her face, his eyes bright. “Then we’ll get hitched soon as we can, honey. I’d take you to town tomorrow for a wedding if it wasn’t for this Spanish flu. I’ve never seen anything like it but I’ll admit it scares me, and not much does.”
His sobering words prompted her to ask, “When will it end, all the sickness and dying?”
“I dunno, Maudie. Soon, I hope. Maybe by Christmas if we’re lucky.” He yawned and stretched. “In my heart, you’re the same as my wife now, honey. Let’s go to bed while we can.”
Death weighed her down, heavy as a stone. Before she could yield to the intense sadness of tragedy, Maude’s body reacted in a way as old as time. Life, it seemed, conquered death and she needed a reminder or she’d drown in sorrow. Desire began in her loins and spread faster than a forest fire. If Harry didn’t love her now, she’d die and join the others out in the graveyard. Maude took a step forward and thrust toward him.
“Make love to me, Harry,” she said. “I need you.”
He never hesitated. His mouth came down to meet hers with the force of a sudden thunderstorm, wild and powerful. Their lips latched tight and held fast. Heat leaped between them with intensity and liquid honey replaced the blood in Maude’s veins
. Her nipples ached for release and the cleft between her legs turned wet. Although they’d shared the pleasures of the flesh many times, Maude’d never sought sex with such reckless abandon or intense need. He kissed her, his mouth hot and harsh, but she French-kissed him, tongue darting into his mouth with erotic speed. Her searching hands undid his galluses and unbuttoned his shirt. She tweaked his nipples with enough force Harry winced but he pulled away her dress with the same crazy need. He kissed his way down her throat, pausing to nibble and leave love bites. Each nip sent a wave of pleasure through her body and increased her desire.
Harry caressed her body, kneaded her breasts like bread dough, and suckled her nipples one at a time. Maude raked her short fingernails across his back and he groaned aloud. Everything happened in a rush of want and wet and incredible hurry as Harry backed her up against the table and hiked her body up enough to give him entry.
He rammed into her with a powerful thrust, strong enough to penetrate into her core. It rocked her but brought her to come so fast tears blinded her eyes and Maude struggled to breathe. Harry filled her, consumed her, and took her to the distant stars. His thorough fuck wiped away the grief, the loss, and banished death for the moment. He took the victory and gave it to her. By the time he climaxed too, Harry supported her half in the air as he pumped life into her. He grunted, and when he came he moaned aloud with such release, Maude found air enough to laugh. Harry joined her and they rode the physical sensation back to earth with a chorus of laughter.
Weak-kneed and trembling, Maude slipped from his grasp. He tried to catch her but she ended up on the floor shrieking with mirth and release. Harry lifted her up, his garments awry and held her, tender and tight this time. “I needed it,” he whispered. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
Valley So Low Page 5
