Katie's Dream

by Leisha Kelly

  I could imagine her having us kill a chicken to fix Edward the finest meal she possibly could, whether he was a bit of a skunk or not. He was Samuel’s brother, so she would have been as gracious and generous as ever. And she would probably have gone somewhere with Samuel, him pushing her in that wheelchair he’d made, just so they could talk away from the kids and the problems. If she were here, Emma would tell him God knows the truth. God loves him and everybody else despite the mistakes we all make. God forgives us when we sin and rewards us when we patiently endure false accusation. And whichever one this is, God is still in control.

  I didn’t realize my eyes were filling up until Sarah asked me what kind of tree was ahead and I couldn’t tell.

  “What’s the matter, Mommy?”

  “Oh, honey, I’m all right. Just thinking too much.”

  “I never heard a’ that,” she said, tipping her head sideways. “In school, Teacher used to tell us most every day it was time to think. Right before ’rithmetic first thing in the morning.”

  “She was right.”

  “But you’re prob’ly not thinking ’bout ’rithmetic. Right, Mommy? What was you thinking about?”

  I couldn’t possibly tell her. Nothing about this whole situation was bothering Sarah in the slightest, and I wanted to keep it that way. “Never mind,” I said. “I just need to be thinking about berries and greens and such.”

  She nodded. “Too bad there’s no more mushrooms.”

  “The eating kind that grows out here is a spring food. But there’s plenty of summer food too.”

  Katie had been walking along so quietly that I was surprised when she spoke. “Aren’t there any grocers where you live?”

  Her question made me smile. “Yes, honey. There are grocers, but they’re miles away, and we grow and gather all we can.”

  I would not say we were poor. I would not tell her we had no money, even for the smallest things. I didn’t want these girls burdened the way Robert was. I would’ve preferred all the children to see us the way Emma always had—rich in grace, rich in potential.

  “I guess there aren’t so many things to grow and pick in cities,” Katie went on.

  “I expect not,” I agreed. “Though folks could do pretty well if they have a yard.”

  “We never had one,” she said sadly. “Especially one so big it has a whole forest in it.”

  Our little timber must’ve seemed like a forest to her, if she’d never lived in the country. “I think I see a sassafras tree,” I told the girls.

  “Goody!” Rorey declared.

  “What’s sassyfass?” Katie asked.

  “A tea tree. We can cut a chunk of root and some leaves to make a nice big pitcher of sassafras tea. The big boys would love that on a hot day.” Especially if we had ice, I thought to myself. But we could cool it a little in the well or the pit in the basement. It would still taste good.

  I pulled a branch down and had the girls help me pull some leaves and twigs. The root was better, but I didn’t cut very much. I knew George would be harvesting some one of these days, and I didn’t want us being too hard on the trees.

  When we came to the creek, Rorey ran right in, followed a little more gingerly by Sarah. But Katie stood there in her scuffed-up buckle shoes and looked at me with a frown. “Do the rocks hurt your feet?”

  “There’s not that many rocks in this creek,” I told her. “Have you ever been wading?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’ll hold your shoes. You can try it out. All the children I know love it.”

  “Are you going to wade?”

  “Yes. Because it’s the quickest way to the old smokehouse, where the raspberries are. And I like it.”

  She took off her shoes and handed them to me, then followed me into the water slowly, easing her feet in like she was afraid the little creek might bite. I watched her face, waiting for the smile I knew would come. And it did, pretty quickly.

  “Nice and cool,” she said.

  She stayed close to me as Sarah and Rorey ventured ahead. I turned my attention to the brambles on the east bank of the creek. Blackberries, scads of them, spreading east and north in tangled and thorny bushes. They’d been a pretty sight earlier in the season when little white blooms decorated the branches. And even prettier now that a few here and there were beginning to turn. Last time I was here, they’d all been green as grass and hard as little stones. If every one of them ripened, we’d have plenty. I would make sure Lizbeth got her share. I thought maybe I should even walk over there and tell her how they were coming along. She would have her hands so full with Harry, Berty, and little Emmie Grace that I doubted she’d checked.

  “You’re right, Mom,” Sarah spoke up. “They’re not ripe yet.”

  “Maybe tomorrow,” Rorey said, suddenly splashing Sarah.

  “Quit that!”

  “Why? Don’t it feel good?”

  “Rorey, don’t splash people unless they want you to. Some people don’t like it.”

  “Don’t see why not. It don’t do nothin’ but cool you off.”

  “If I want cooled off, I’ll cool my own self off,” Sarah said rather indignantly, reaching her hand to the water and spreading the wetness across one arm.

  “Let’s not argue, girls. We’ve come to pick what we can.”

  It wasn’t long before we got to the spot where Willard’s grandfather’s smokehouse had stood. I’d never asked Emma why they’d built it so far into the timber and not closer to the house. Maybe they’d had a house or cabin over here back then. I only knew what she’d told me about it, that high winds had collapsed the structure when she was a little girl, without doing a bit of damage to the raspberries growing behind it.

  “There they are,” I said, stepping out of the creek and pointing toward the little spots of purple dotting the green.

  “Ohhh!” Katie exclaimed. “Real berries. Can I pick?”

  “Sure. Just watch out for the thorns.”

  She followed me onto the bank, not saying a word about her shoes. Sarah lingered a little while longer and then came behind us, but Rorey stayed in the water. Katie was proceeding very cautiously, checking every weed and branch for thorns. Finally she was in reach of the few scattered raspberries, just to my left. She smiled up at me.

  “They come right off, like they’re wanting to be picked,” she declared.

  “I suppose they are. Once they’re ripe, they could want nothing better than to be carried off someplace and leave seeds. When they’re not ripe, though, they hold on to the branch real tight, knowing it’s not time to leave it.”

  She tugged at a green berry and chuckled. “You’re right. It won’t let go.”

  Sarah had started picking on the opposite side of her. “Can we eat some, Mom?”

  “I suppose so. The Bible says not to muzzle an ox that’s treading out corn. So whoever’s doing the work gets to eat their share. But you’ll have to leave some if you want any later.”

  Sarah smiled and popped three berries in her mouth immediately. Katie tasted one too, but more cautiously. I waited for her comment, but she didn’t say a word.

  “We sugar them a bit at home sometimes,” I told her. “If they need it.”

  She nodded and went back to picking without complaint. But there were not many in reach of little hands; it wasn’t long before neither girl could get to the berries very easily, and Rorey was yelling for them to join her.

  “Is it okay if we wade again?” Sarah asked me.

  I nodded my consent. I could get the rest by stretching through the brambles. And there would be more picking to do when the blackberries came on. For now I didn’t mind them playing.

  “Can we get some creek clay?” Sarah asked. “I could show Katie how to make a dish.”

  Sarah’s clay dishes were rather lopsided, and I wasn’t a potter to teach her much better. Still, I appreciated her love for the blue-gray stuff, so cool and smooth. The clay was a natural treasure I’m sure the Indians probably use
d to advantage long years ago. It lay hidden beneath the sandy pebbles and slate rock along the west bank of the creek around a bend and a little farther down. We’d discovered it one day by accident. And now Sarah brought some home every time she got the chance.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I told the girls. “It’s not far. Why don’t you take one of the pails and get some clay while I stay here and pick the rest.”

  “Yea!” Sarah shouted as she dumped her few berries into Katie’s pail. “Come on, Katie! Let’s get lots. We can make people and dogs and stuff, if you want to.”

  “Clay?” Katie asked, looking at me oddly.

  Maybe she’d never seen clay. That wouldn’t be so strange. But it made me wonder about her background. Had she been to school? Did her mother cook, sew, and do all the other normal things that most little girls her age were beginning to learn? She hadn’t known much about washing. Or which green beans were big enough to pick. She would need help, I was beginning to think, just learning the normal things of life.

  “Go along with Sarah,” I told her. “Leave your pail here. She’ll show you where to find the clay. You can help her scoop it out of the bank. Then wash your hands in the creek and come back.”

  “Rorey! Come on!” Sarah yelled. “We’re gonna get clay!”

  “Okay! Goody!” Rorey splashed her way back from wherever she was going in the other direction, apparently now as enthused as Sarah.

  “We’re gonna wade again?” Katie asked them.

  “’Course,” I heard Rorey answer. “That’s how you get there.”

  I watched them go. Three little girls almost the same size. Rorey ran ahead, but Sarah and Katie stayed side by side, hand in hand again. Oh, Samuel, I lamented. They’re becoming so close! But what’s next?

  I went back to picking alone, trying to keep my mind on the berries. There wouldn’t be many, barely enough for a mess, but they’d sure taste good. And soon enough, the blackberries. Thank God for them. We’d need every one.

  I could hear the girls, just out of sight around the curve in the creek. Sarah and Rorey knew where to find the clay, and I wouldn’t have sent them alone if it were far. I could hear their little voices as they filled the pail, though most of what they were saying I couldn’t make out. Then I heard them splashing back through the water. The creek didn’t get any deeper than my shins, so it didn’t worry me in the slightest. I guessed that Katie had gotten comfortable with wading already, because they were laughing together. Despite my concerns, I was glad they were having a good time.

  But then the voices stopped abruptly. I almost called to them, thinking that maybe they had sat down along the bank to fashion something or other out of their newly dug clay. But before I opened my mouth, a piercing shriek ripped through the woods. I dropped my berry pail.

  “Mom! Mom!”

  “Sarah?” I went running in their direction, hardly noticing if I was in the creek or out of it. But then Rorey was laughing. I figured it must have been Katie who screamed.

  “Mom! Look!” Sarah kept calling.

  I got to them in time to see Katie back up a few steps and fall with a splash. She got up with a cry and ran in my direction as soon as she saw me. Rorey was still laughing, at Katie obviously, though the poor girl was nearly white with fright. And Sarah was pointing at something on the creek bank, barely three feet from where Katie had been. At first I didn’t see it. But then when I did, I smiled. They’d given me quite a start, and I was very glad to let out a sigh of relief.

  “What is it? What is it?” Katie asked me in sobs.

  “Honey, it’s a snapping turtle. Don’t worry. He won’t hurt you.”

  “You should’ve seen that girl jump!” Rorey squealed. “I thought she was gonna land in a tree!”

  “Rorey, you’d have been startled too, to come upon something like that if you’d never seen one. And maybe she hasn’t.”

  “It’s big, Mom,” Sarah declared. “I didn’t know turtles got that big.”

  “Some kinds get even bigger,” I told them. “But he is big for a snapper. The biggest I’ve seen in a while.”

  I started to go closer, but Katie grabbed my arm. “Do they bite?”

  “He would, if someone stuck a finger or toe right in front of his face. Otherwise, there’s no way he could get you. You’re ten times faster than he is.”

  She clung to me, still uncertain. But I was thinking, a bit to my surprise, that here was the making of quite a meal. I’d never cooked turtle, but Grandma Pearl had. The Hammonds had too. I’d heard them talk about it.

  Thank you, Lord, I prayed. Coming to the woods on a sunshiny day ought to be a profitable experience. And you’ve made it so. You’ve given us meat.

  There would be plenty to make turtle soup. I thought turtles usually stayed closer to the pond. But maybe this one was here because we were meant to find him.

  “Get me a big sturdy stick,” I told the girls.

  “Why?” Rorey asked.

  “To carry him with. I’d rather not touch him, if I don’t have to.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Are we gonna catch him? Are we gonna be real hunters? Boy, Pa’s gonna be proud!”

  I had to smile at that. It didn’t take much hunting to catch a turtle out of the water.

  Sarah brought a stick, nice and thick and still a little green. I knelt down close to that big old turtle and stuck the middle of the stick in front of him. He didn’t do a thing, just looked at me with those beady, mud-colored eyes, so I gave him a gentle tap with the stick, right in the face. He latched on like I was hoping he would, like Grandma Pearl had told me about once. He bit down and wouldn’t let go.

  I lifted the stick and had to use both hands, one on each side of that turtle. He was terribly heavy. “Well, girls. We about had all the berries anyway. Let’s see if we can get our prize over to Lizbeth. I think she’ll be able to tell me what to do with it. Can you girls manage the pails and my bag?”

  Sarah ran and got the berry pails and the bag of sassafras and sorrel. Katie stood looking at me like she wasn’t sure what to do. I must have been a sight. Maybe she wondered what sort of strange people she’d come to.

  “Can I carry him?” Rorey wanted to know.

  “I don’t think you could by yourself. But he’s so heavy, I could use your help, if you think you can hold one end on your shoulder.” She was delighted to try. And I knew she was strong and wiry. Of these three, she was probably the only one who could manage it.

  “Where’s the clay, Katie?” I asked. “Do you think you can carry that? It would be easier to bring it along than to have to come back and search.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She walked to the middle of the creek, where they’d left the pail on a rock. She lifted it carefully as Sarah came running back to us with her hands full.

  And then we were on our way, with Rorey and me straining with the weight of that turtle, Sarah beside me looking pleased as punch, and Katie trailing along, not wanting to get too close.

  We were as near to Hammonds’ now as home, so it just made sense to go and ask Lizbeth how she’d cut and cook one of these.

  “Are we going to eat that?” Katie asked as we made our way through the brush.

  “Not us,” Sarah had decided. “Rorey’s pa will. All their family.”

  “Whoever wants to, I suppose,” I told them. “We always share around here.”

  Katie looked a little green, but she didn’t say anything else. I wondered who had taught her to be so polite about something like this. Most children, my own included, would come right out and tell you what they thought when it came to food. Even Sarah, generally the most mannerly of the bunch, wasn’t about to eat any turtle.

  We walked rapidly, with the turtle stubbornly holding tight to the stick. I wondered what he thought he was accomplishing dangling in midair like this when he could easily drop to the ground. But maybe the fall would hurt him. Maybe that’s why he just kept on biting down hard. I didn’t know if all turtles were as stubborn as him,
but I was glad he hadn’t gotten somebody’s toe.

  My arms were pretty tired by the time we got to George Hammond’s farmyard, and I knew Rorey must be tired too, though I’d been trying to carry most of the weight. She was proud and wanted everybody to see what we’d brought, but her father and two brothers were at our house, and the rest of the big boys were in the field, I guessed.

  “Hey! Look!” she called anyway.

  Harry was up a tree, throwing twigs down at little Bert, who got hit in the head with one when he stopped wiggling to turn and stare at us.

  “Turta!” he said, without seeming to notice the attack from above.

  “Harry, don’t throw any more sticks!” I called. “You could hurt somebody.”

  “Ohh! What you got? Is we gonna keep him?” He started sliding down out of the tree.

  “I thought I’d ask your sister if she thinks turtle would make a decent meal.”

  “Can I have the shell?” he asked immediately. “We could make me a real soldier helmet.”

  “It might be your brother who needs the helmet.”

  “Why?” Harry asked innocently. “He don’t even like playin’ soldier.”

  Lizbeth was coming around the side of the house with a basket of clothes to hang on the line, and little Emmie toddled at her heels. With one still in diapers and nine others to think about, she always had a lot of wash to do. But she looked my way with a smile.

  “Mrs. Wortham! I didn’t know you to be out huntin’ up dinner. Pa’ll be real happy to see that.”

  Sarah had been right. George and his family would take to a turtle meal just fine. I was thinking maybe I should leave the whole thing here with them.

  Harry and Berty came running up close, and Rorey grabbed her chance to show off our catch. “Touch him!” she told them. “Feel how funny he is. He’s even hard on the bottom. An’ we caught him all by ourself! I could keep him, jus’ to play with, if he wasn’t good for food.”

  Strange to hear a girl carrying on about such a thing. Usually it was one of the boys proud to show me turtles, snakes, stinkbugs, a dead possum, or what have you. But Rorey was all tomboy, which sometimes put a gap between her and Sarah.