Valley So Low

by Patrice Wayne

  “Aw, I thought I’d go grab a cup of coffee at the café,” Harry said. “The wind turned sharp and my knee got to hurting. So I found a place at the counter and in comes Delbert Jones. I could see right off he wasn’t in any Christmas kind of mood. He had a scowl on his face like a bear dragged out of hibernation. I didn’t say a thing to the man, just drank my coffee. I meant to go soon as I finished it and I did. But he followed me out to the sidewalk.”

  He paused and rubbed his lip with one finger, avoiding the split. “I didn’t want no trouble, I swear I didn’t, but he tailed me. I went to a coupla other stores and every time I came out, Jones stood somewhere close.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Not then,” Harry replied. “I hoped he’d get tired and go away without a fight. I don’t know what he’s got a beef for anyhow—I’m the one who still limps from the beating he and his brothers gave me. I never turned them into the police or nothing. But he hates me, I reckon, and he’ll hate me more now.”

  In the kitchen, heat radiated outward from the fire inside the cookstove until the room was almost over-warm. But in response to his calm words, delivered without a trace of malice or tinge of bitterness, something inside Maude froze. Ice coated her heart and although she wasn’t usually prone to such things, a premonition swept over her, colder and bleaker than the worst winter day. This isn’t over, and it’s going to go from bad to worse. Then she chided herself and tried to shake the dire feeling. Harry’s home, he’s not hurt much, he’s safe. Nothing bad’s gonna happen. It’s not. It can’t. Under her own insistence, however, she thought it would. “Why?” she asked as she turned the hamburgers over in the skillet.

  Harry blew air through his nostrils with force. “I came out ahead this time around,” he said with a strange mix of triumph and humbleness in his voice. “I gave it to him worse than he gave me. Truth told, I beat the snot right out of him. I’m hoping it’s enough to make him stay clear of me in the future. I don’t want no fights, Maudie, you know that.”

  She did. Some men did and she’d seen plenty, but Harry, although tough as any man in shoe leather, didn’t need to prove his prowess with his fists. “I do,” she said and turned to face him. “But you fought him. What’d he do to provoke you? And where was the other one?”

  “Dick died of the influenza a few weeks back,” Harry told her. “That’s what I heard anyhow. Some said, though, it wasn’t the flu but the drink did him in. I don’t know and can’t say. It don’t matter to me anyhow. So it’s just Delbert now, mean and alone. I went down to the feed store to see if I might find a couple of salt blocks to put out for the stock. He followed me down there.”

  “And?” she prompted him. The food would be ready soon and she wanted to hear the tale so they could eat in peace.

  “And he started up talk about me and you keeping house,” Harry said. “I don’t know who told him—lots of people were here for the buryings but he’d heard. Made a lot of noise about me taking up with my brother’s widow, blow-hoed about how we used to court. I tried to ignore him but Maude, he called you a name no nice woman ought to be called and I asked him to go outside.”

  A rush of admiration and appreciation for his defense leached away most of her inner chill. “What was it?”

  He shook his head. “I ain’t repeating it, honey. It’s not fit for your ears to hear. But I’ll be damned, sorry, darned, if I’ll stand there with a crowd of men and let anyone go on about you that way. So we went outside and most of the fellas followed us. Since the feed store is there by the sheriff’s house and jail, we headed down toward Hickory Creek and we fought there.”

  Harry paused and then continued. “We punched and gouged and kicked. He wouldn’t quit at just drawing first blood so it didn’t end till I knocked him down and out. After, I limped back up to Fred’s place. Granny fussed at me being hurt but I wouldn’t let her tend to me. I wanted to get home to you and the little man. So I loaded the wagon and started back but by then the snow was flying. Took me twice as long as normal, and I figured you’d be worried but I couldn’t get here any quicker.”

  His earnest words touched her heart and eased some of her concern. “I’m glad you’re not hurt bad,” Maude told him. “But are you sure it’s over with Jones? He’s carried on this long. Will he quit now?”

  Harry shrugged his shoulders and then winced. “I don’t know but I hope so, Maudie. Once we’re married, I think he’ll lay off. Won’t be any reason to call names or say things then.”

  Maude recalled what terrible condition Harry’d been in after his beating and remembered his slow recovery. “How bad is he hurt? He won’t die or anything, will he?”

  “Naw,” Harry said with a slow grin. “I didn’t hurt him anywhere near as bad as they did me that time. He was comin’ round when I left and some of his pals were tending to him. He’s likely not feelin’ so good right now but he’ll come around fine. Is supper done? It smells good.”

  “Soon as I drain the ‘taters,” Maude said. Her lips twitched into a faint smile. Maybe everything would turn out good after all. She brought him a plate with the hamburger steak and several boiled potatoes. Then she put the butter dish on the table along with the salt and pepper. Before she took her seat, she fetched George. To her relief, he hadn’t dirtied his diaper yet and with her son on her lap, Maude settled down to eat. The hamburger, a rare treat out on the farm, melted on her tongue. She hadn’t eaten beef in so long she’d almost forgotten the taste of it. Judging by the look on Harry’s face, he liked it as much as she did.

  She noticed he favored the uninjured side of his mouth, and after they finished the meal, she handed George to Harry. Maude cleaned up and then, since the boy filled his pants with the acrid diarrhea, she changed him and carried him upstairs to bed. He fussed a little, used to being rocked or cosseted to sleep but she needed to tend Harry’s hurts. When she came back to the kitchen, Harry’d undone the top of his overalls and unbuttoned his shirt. Dark bruises on his left side and on his belly made her wince in sympathy. “He kicked me a few times,” Harry said when he realized what she saw. “My ribs are sore but I don’t think they’re broke ‘cause they don’t hurt bad enough.”

  Maude touched his ribs lightly and although he grimaced, she agreed. She gathered the tinctures, herbs, and supplies she’d need. Maude applied witch hazel to the bruises to draw out some of the soreness. Then she mixed up some dried comfrey leaves with some warm water to make a paste. She spread it over the bruises and let it dry. “Don’t move,” she cautioned Harry. “Let it set up.” It would dry and make a hard cover but it would heal the bruises faster.

  His black eye appeared slightly better after he’d applied the snow pack, but still ugly. Maude left it for last and began cleaning the dried blood away from his cuts. The one on his cheek was minor, and she managed to wash away the blood without hurting much. She inspected the gash on his scalp and found it deeper than she’d first thought. Two inches long, the narrow slice had leaked a copious amount of blood. It had dried hard in the hours since the injury and Maude tried hard not to hurt Harry as she scrubbed it away. From the occasional noises he made and the sharp way he drew breath, she thought she failed, but after ten minutes she managed to remove the crust. Her efforts started a slow trickle of blood but she staunched it. “It needs to be cleaned,” she told him. “It’s gonna hurt, I’m afraid.”

  Harry gritted his teeth. “Go ahead,” he said. “Wash it and put some whiskey on it.”

  She’d used the powerful alcohol to clean scrapes and scratches before so Maude knew how much it would burn, but she nodded. She used water and a little lye soap, which would sting too, then dripped some whiskey into the cut. Harry gripped the edge of the scarred old kitchen table with his hand, so hard his knuckles turned white, but he made no sound. His lips pressed together, tight and narrow. “Jesus,” he said when he could speak.

  “Hurt?” she asked and then smiled at the unnecessary question.

  “Like a fiend,” Harry r
eplied. “Does it need a stitch or two?”

  Maude shuddered at the idea. “Maybe,” she told him. “But I don’t think I can do it. It’ll be a mess but I think I’ll just put comfrey paste over it too. It’ll wash out, and by then it should be healing.”

  His eyes met hers and glimmered like steel. “Do it,” he said.

  There wasn’t much she could do for his split lip but after his cuts were treated, Maude didn’t object when he reached for another swig out of the jug. She smoothed back some unruly strands of hair and asked, “How do you feel?”

  Harry cocked his head, then answered, “I’m wore out and hurting, not just the cuts and bruises, but I’ve got an awful headache.”

  “You’ll have a worse one come morning if you drink much more whiskey,” Maude said. As soon as the words flew from her mouth, she regretted them. She didn’t want to sound like a shrew or old nag. To make up for it, she came around behind Harry and rested her hands on his shoulders. They were rock hard with tension, and she began to knead his taut muscles the way she did bread dough.

  “Aw, Maudie,” he groaned. “That feels good. Don’t quit.”

  “I won’t,” she promised. Working her hands over his body leached away some of her anxiety too. Any other time their close proximity and touch would fire her body into desire, but for now, on her monthly, she enjoyed taking care of him. There’s more than one way to show lovin’.

  Although they slept in the same bed, as they did now, they didn’t make love. Maude kept one hand on him, a way to remind herself of his presence. Twice she had to get up to tend to George and change his soiled diapers. He remained fussy but the tooth seemed to poke farther out of his gums. His skin radiated heat and she thought he might have a touch of fever, common enough for teething. Maude didn’t think he was sick, though, and come Sunday, neither did Harry.

  Although poor Harry hobbled out to do the chores, she could tell how much his assorted wounds hurt. He moved the way a person does when their body is sore and every motion brings pain. His black eye had swollen during the night, and the bruises on his torso had turned almost black. He didn’t complain but Maude knew he didn’t feel very well. Neither did George so they passed a quiet Sabbath doing as little as possible.

  Late in the afternoon but before dark, Uncle Tommy came down the hill and brought a shank ham. He knocked at the back door but Maude, half-dozing, almost didn’t hear him. When she did, she hurried to the kitchen, half-afraid it might be someone from town, that there’d been trouble from Harry’s fight. “Hello, Uncle Tommy,” she cried when she let him inside. “I’m glad to see you.”

  “Howdy, young lady,” he replied. “I brung you down a ham for Christmas. I know you ‘uns butchered a hog not long ago but I know, too, it ain’t smoked right yet.”

  His generosity moved her. “Thank you,” she said and planted a kiss on his weathered cheek. “Sit down and I’ll make a pot of coffee.”

  Her uncle shook his head. “I can’t stay. The old woman’ll be lookin’ out for me to get home before dark. How’s your man after his fight?”

  Maude marked two things before she answered. His reference to Harry as “her man” meant her uncle offered his approval and blessing even if they hadn’t formally wed. Her heart warmed with pleasure. His question, however, meant gossip must be spreading faster than the Spanish flu. “He’s all right,” she said. “He got banged up a little but I suppose you know that.”

  The older man grinned. “I do, Maude, but thought I’d ask after him. Harry done a good thing. That Jones boy’s nothing but a mean bully and trouble. Maybe he’ll think twice who he picks on now.

  Maude smiled back. “I hope so. Thanks again, Uncle Tommy, and Merry Christmas.”

  “Same to you, niece,” he said. “Kiss the little feller for me and tell Harry I’m proud of him.”

  “I will,” she said. She watched through the back door as her uncle trudged back the way he’d come, then turned to put the ham on the table.

  Harry, who’d been asleep, came into the room, hair sticking up and eyes wild. “Who was here?” he asked. “I heard someone talkin’.”

  “Uncle Tommy brought over a ham for Christmas,” Maude told him. “It’s awful nice of him. He asked after you too.”

  Harry’s mouth curved into a small grin, split lip and all. “Yeah, I heard,” he said.

  Harry looked a fright, his left eye black and swollen, cheek cut, the gash on his head obvious with the dried comfrey paste and his busted lip, but a swell of love rushed out from Maude. She touched his right cheek with tender fingers. “I suppose you still hurt?”

  “Some,” he told her. “Then I’ll be gentle,” Maude said as she rose up on tiptoe to kiss him, her mouth light against his. Although she kept it simple, heat surged between them and despite how sore he must be today, Harry took her into his arms. “I’m never too hurt for a kiss, honey.”

  Maude savored his embrace and sighed, content. Despite death, fights, and teething, they might just find a happy Christmas this year. Beyond it, she vowed they’d make it no matter what or how hard the troubles on the way.

  Chapter Eight

  By dinnertime on Christmas, George, recovered from his teething bout after his molar pushed through, ran around banging on the drum Harry bought for him in town. Sometimes he put it down long enough to carry the cuddly teddy bear Santy Claus brought, another item Harry carried home, and tried to sing Christmas carols to the stuffed toy. Maude didn’t mind the noise. For the moment, all was well in her little world. Harry’s bruises remained but most faded a little. The swelling around his eye went down and he could see. His recovery or the holiday or maybe both infused him with cheerful joy and Maude enjoyed it as much, if not more, than her own. As the delicious aroma of ham wafted through the house, Maude peeked out the window at the bright day. After a week of dreary skies and snow showers, Christmas dawned fair and clear. Sunlight turned the snow on the ground sparkling white, like something out of a fairy tale. She lifted her hand to catch the reflected brilliance of the light on her ring, a Christmas gift from Harry. The dainty gold band, a wedding ring, fit her left hand as if tailored for her finger. Until he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, she didn’t realize Harry came up from behind. “It’s almost as pretty as you,” he said. “Do you like it?”

  “I do,” Maude replied, aware her word echoed the traditional wedding vows. “I’m glad you bought it now.”

  “It means the same as one of those engagement rings rich folks are so fond of getting,” he told her. “It’s a promise, although I feel like we’re married now. But it shows folks I’m serious, Maudie.”

  “I never doubted you were,” she said. “I don’t see where a preacher saying some words makes it any more so than it is now.”

  Harry chuckled as his lips touched the back of her neck with butterfly kisses. “I don’t either, honey, but most folks don’t see it the same. I’m glad you like it. I studied over what to get you, and a ring seemed the thing I most wanted to give you.”

  “I don’t know anything else I would’ve wanted.” Maude turned to face him, her fingers stroking the fabric of the shirt she’d made him. He didn’t wince so he must be healing well. “George likes his toys—the drum and the bear.”

  “Aw, I think he likes the peppermint sticks most of all,” Harry joked. “I’m glad to see he’s feeling more himself.”

  “I feel the same way about you,” Maude told him. “You were awful quiet and down Sunday, even Monday. I knew you were hurting but I couldn’t do any more than I did to help.”

  His eyes lit with warmth and fire. “You did plenty, Maudie,” Harry said. “I do feel a deal better, good enough for some spoonin’ now, lovin’ later.” He kissed her mouth and a rush of tenderness heated with desire poured over Maude. Careful not to squeeze any of his sore spots too tight, Maude wrapped her arms around him and settled in to enjoy the kiss. His mouth seemed all the sweeter with the weight of the ring on her finger. His talk about loving fired he
r too. Since he came home hurt from town, they’d kissed a little and touched but they hadn’t done the deed. Knowing they would touched off an inner flame. She lingered to enjoy his caresses, and if George hadn’t distracted them both with the drum, they might not have waited till evening.

  He pounded the drum with a regular beat and marched until they both laughed. Once in a while, Maude headed for the kitchen to baste the ham and check on the sweet potatoes she had roasting. But the apple cake rested on the counter, baked the day before, and she’d taken the loaves of light bread out of the oven early. With just the three of them, Maude decided to cook a fine meal but a small one. Despite her happiness, the house loomed empty. She’d never spent Christmas without company and bustle, not even as a little girl growing up with a widowed mother in town. After she lived with Uncle Tommy and Aunt Mary, there was always a houseful for the holiday. When she married Jamie, the old farmhouse rang with laughter and filled up with people. Even after Jamie went to war, they still kept Christmas. Last year, she’d been great with child and miserable but they’d celebrated the day. Now so many were gone, she reflected, either passed on to their eternal reward or in town. Maude shared her thoughts with Harry and he nodded. “Does seem a bit lonesome, though there’s no one I’d rather spend Christmas with than you and little George.”

  Neither said anymore about it and her dinner turned out delicious. Afterward, though, with George down for a nap, Harry insisted on helping her clean up. He dried the dishes while she washed up and they talked. He stole a few kisses and managed a few caresses until Maude thought maybe they’d sneak upstairs while the boy slept. Her courses were done for the month and she’d like nothing better.

  Harry stepped out back to toss a few crusts to the birds and when he came in, his grin indicated he had a plan. “Why don’t you put on one of your good dresses and bundle up George?” he said.

  Her lips curved into a smile. “Why?” she asked.