American Struggle

by Veda Boyd Jones

  “He was dead. There was no heartbeat. I made sure before I cut him open.”

  Rob’s mouth flew open, and he left the rabbit crate and faced Emma.

  “You cut him open?”

  “Like Dr. Drake said about the skeleton in his office. That’s how you learn about the parts. You were going to do the same thing with the deer,” she reminded him.

  Rob looked around. “Where’s the skeleton?”

  “Over here.” She lifted a solid crate that was high on the bank, not near the water. “I had to boil him to get the meat off, like you would a pig’s head to make head cheese. I was careful not to disturb any of the bones, but they came apart because there weren’t any muscles left. It was like boiling a chicken. I should have known that.”

  Rob looked at the skeleton with great interest. Emma had tied the bones together with twine, and in places she’d used nails. It didn’t look exactly like a possum, but she’d done a pretty good job.

  “Do you think animal doctors ever operate on animals? I mean, they’re not like people.”

  “Oh, I know, but I thought it would help to see the bones.”

  “Probably animal doctors give animal medicine to the sick ones.”

  “Or the same medicine. I heard Papa say that the cholera doctors in Cincinnati are giving calomel to children in amounts that are fit for a horse.”

  Rob caught his breath as though he’d run into something nasty. Emma knew what he was thinking. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to remind you of the cholera. I know you’re worried about your father and all your friends in town.”

  “I’m fine,” Rob muttered and lifted his head. “So, you have the foxes and a rabbit. That’s all?”

  “That’s all right now,” she said. “I could have more tomorrow. It depends on what I find that’s hurt.”

  The next day on the road to school, they found a hawk that was riddled with buckshot.

  “Somebody missed a clean shot, I suspect,” Emma said. “It could only fly this far before falling.”

  They didn’t have to knock the bird out, because it was already lying down, barely breathing. It didn’t put up a fight when Emma picked it up.

  “What can you do for it?” Rob asked.

  “I don’t know, but I’ll take it home after school and give it some water.”

  She placed it under a tree near the schoolyard, and when noon arrived, she and Rob went out to look at the bird. It was already dead.

  “Will you cut it up?” Rob asked.

  Emma shook her head and didn’t answer for a moment. “It’s too much like a chicken, and I know what they look like inside.”

  It didn’t seem right to leave it there under the tree. Rob found a stout stick and dug a hole in the ground where it was fairly soft. Emma placed the bird in the shallow grave, and together they covered it with dirt. There weren’t any flowers around to decorate the grave, but the sumac leaves had already turned brilliant red, so they picked a few stems and planted them in the dirt.

  “Should we say some words over him?” Rob asked.

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” Emma used the same words her father had said in their memorial service for Miss Ruthann. “Do you think animals go to heaven?”

  “I don’t know,” Rob said. “I don’t know about that.”

  That night, they had birthday cake with supper, and the others called out “Happy birthday!” to Rob.

  “Your father is sorry he couldn’t be here, but he sends his love and this,” Patricia said. She handed him a book. “It’s one that Dr. Drake recommended. Happy birthday.”

  Rob leafed through the medical dictionary. “It’s perfect,” he said. “Thank you, Mother.”

  Later that evening before they went to bed, he read the inscription in the front out loud to Emma. “To my son, who will someday be a great doctor because he cares about people. With love, Father.”

  “You’re lucky,” Emma said softly. “Your father understands about your dreams.”

  The next morning, Papa headed to town for market day, but he returned early that afternoon just as Emma and the others got home from school. He wore a solemn expression, and he pulled the rig up in front of the house instead of driving it to the barn.

  “Emma,” he called, and she and Rob ran up to him. “Put the team up for me.”

  “Papa, what’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I need to talk to your mother,” he said and climbed down from the wagon, handing her the reins.

  Rob climbed on board with Emma, and she drove the team to the barn and parked the wagon. He helped her unhitch the horses, and while the animals drank greedily from the water trough, he and Emma brushed them down.

  Emma kept glancing toward the house. “Something’s wrong,” she said. “Something’s really wrong.” Her heart felt as though it were stuck in her throat as she thought of Rob’s father in Cincinnati with the cholera insects. But if Uncle Anthony was sick, wouldn’t Papa have said he needed to talk to Aunt Patricia?

  As soon as they put the horses in their stalls, Rob and Emma ran for the house. They burst into the kitchen, but no one was there. They found everyone in the parlor, sitting in stunned silence. Papa hugged Mama, who looked pale and had tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Who died?” Rob asked in a tight voice.

  “One of the cousins,” Uncle Thomas answered. “Amos Riley. The funeral was this morning. His brother Sam came to the market to get me. Amos had sent the rest of his family away. They don’t know he’s dead yet.”

  Mama sobbed, and Papa held her head against his chest. Emma thought about Amos, a man who was a little younger than Mama. The last time they’d seen him had been at the Fourth of July picnic. They weren’t as close to the Rileys as they were to the Etingoffs, but it seemed impossible to think that Amos was dead. She had known him ever since she was born.

  She looked at Rob and saw that he was fighting back tears. She knew he was upset about Amos, but he was also scared about his father. Emma tried to think what she could do to make everything not seem so awful. An idea occurred to her.

  She walked into the bedroom and returned with her mother’s harmonica. Emma handed the harmonica to her mother. “I think Amos would want you to play a hymn for him. And it might make us feel better, too.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Rob’s Worst Fear

  Please don’t go back on market day,” Mama said to Papa at the supper table that night. “You might never return.” “Could we talk about this later?” he asked and gave a slight nod toward Rob and the others.

  “Yes, I’m sorry,” Mama said quickly. “More potatoes, Miss Clara?” she said in a falsely bright voice.

  Emma stole a look at Rob and his mother, who sat rigidly, not saying anything. Patricia had been very quiet after the service they’d held for Amos. She wasn’t crying. She just stared into space as if she weren’t seeing anything.

  Emma felt as if she could barely breathe. First Miss Ruthann had died, and now Amos. Papa had explained how Miss Ruthann was old and frail and easily succumbed to the cholera. But Amos? He had been a strong man. Strong like Uncle Anthony.

  The families were quiet that October night, and they all went to bed earlier than usual. But Emma lay awake long after.

  Morning started in the same way as always. Rob collected eggs, and Emma milked the cows with Papa. The children went to school.

  But Emma knew nothing would be the same for Rob until Sunday morning when his father rode into the yard. Her heart ached for her cousin.

  When Sunday finally came, the first light brought with it the sound of hooves coming up the lane. Emma and Rob were sitting on the front porch waiting, and she felt Rob release a pent-up breath he must have been holding for a long time. It was as if his whole body had been bound up like that deer’s leg in the splint. Now the twine that bound it had been cut, and he was free again. As Anthony’s horse rounded the curve in the lane, Emma smiled and breathed a prayer of thanksgiving.

&nb
sp; “Father’s home!” Rob shouted.

  His mother rushed outside as his father pulled up the horse by the porch. Before he had even completely dismounted, Patricia had wrapped her arms around him. They held each other tight and then pulled Rob and Sue Ellen into their embrace.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Patricia said. “Come tell us the news.”

  “Good morning,” Anthony said to the others who were gathered in the parlor. “Thomas, I knew Kristen had tied you up when you didn’t come to town yesterday.”

  “Just about,” Papa said with a slow grin. “She’s got a pretty good grip on me.”

  “It’s just as well. Half the people have left town.”

  “Then can you stay, too?” Rob’s mother asked.

  He looked at her and shook his head no. “We have an order for this steamboat we’re working on, and we need to finish it. I gave my word.”

  “But your life is more important….” Patricia stopped herself and gave that tight smile Emma was getting used to.

  There was no preacher at church at the little schoolhouse that Sunday. He was preaching at another tiny congregation on the other side of Cincinnati where folks were also afraid to drive into town for a church service. Instead of hearing preaching, the folks sang hymns and then they held a prayer circle. Young and old held hands, and each person said a prayer as his or her turn came.

  “Thank You for this good day,” Patricia said, “and please keep my husband safe.”

  “Thank You for this day, and please let Father not catch the cholera,” Sue Ellen said next.

  “Thank You for this day and for Your Son, and please stop the cholera from killing any more people,” Mama said.

  And it was the same as the prayer made the circle. The cholera was at the front of everyone’s mind.

  Over Sunday dinner, the family asked Anthony for news of the various people they knew in town. Mostly, he had good news to tell. Many folks had left town to escape the disease that lurked within the city limits.

  “What about Dr. Drake?” Rob asked.

  “He’s all right. Just worn out from trying to take care of so many people.”

  Patricia clutched his hand. “I wish you didn’t have to go back there.”

  “I won’t get sick,” Anthony said. “I know you won’t,” she said, “but be careful.” “I promise. But don’t you worry.” He kissed her on the forehead and hugged her tight.

  “How many?” Patricia asked. “How many have died?” Anthony hesitated. “Dr. Drake says around four hundred.” “In just two weeks!” Mama exclaimed.

  “Father, do you have Emma’s list?” Rob asked, referring to the list of cholera symptoms.

  His father smiled at the children and patted his pocket. “I have it right here.” “At the first sign—”

  “I know,” his father interrupted him. Emma could tell he didn’t want to talk any more about the cholera. “I’ll see you next Sunday.” He kissed Patricia again and climbed on his horse.

  The days fell into a pattern. Up early to do chores, to school, to the creek to measure the water and check on the animals, to bed, up early to do chores. Midweek market day came and went, and Papa stayed on the farm, much to Mama’s relief.

  “It’s a good day to dig sprouts out of the pasture,” he told Rob and Emma. “Can’t have our best milkers tripping over sprouts.”

  As he turned away, Rob nudged Emma. “Whoever heard of cows tripping on tree sprouts?” he asked. “He’s just making an excuse for not going to market.”

  “He doesn’t want to go where the cholera is,” Emma agreed soberly. “That’s just common sense. He could die if he went into town.” She didn’t want Rob thinking that her father was a coward, but then she wanted to bite her tongue; she hadn’t meant to remind him that his own father was in danger.

  By Thursday, she could tell Rob was so worried about his father that he was having a hard time getting from one minute to the next. “Miss Ruthann, dead. Amos, dead.” He muttered the list in a low voice as they walked home from school one afternoon. “Who will be next, do you suppose?” His voice was filled with dread, and Emma longed to say something that would comfort him … but she couldn’t think of anything.

  On Friday morning, Emma and Rob gathered the eggs and walked with the others to school. “Two more days,” he said.

  “Until when?” Emma asked absently. She was thinking about the animals in her hospital, and she wasn’t really paying attention.

  “Until Sunday.” Rob sounded surprised Emma didn’t know what he was talking about. “Until Father comes. Until I know he’s safe. Sometimes I don’t see how I can live through another day not knowing.”

  Emma again searched for words that might make him feel better. “At least school is better now. Mr. LaRose doesn’t seem quite so strict. And everyone calls you Rob now instead of Smartypants.” She smiled, but no answering smile crossed Rob’s face.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said in a flat voice. “Nothing matters, so long as Father is safe.”

  After school, the two of them walked aimlessly down to the creek, more out of habit than out of any desire to measure the height of the water. Emma told him she had seen the deer yesterday and that it was running just as if it had never broken its leg. She had thought he would be interested, but instead he barely seemed to hear her. So she talked about the rabbit. She talked and she talked, but he just stared into space.

  “Come on, slowpoke,” she called as she ran ahead of him to the partly submerged notched tree. She recorded the depth of the water.

  “Slowpoke. Slowpoke,” her pesky crow said.

  “Leave me alone,” Rob answered, his voice sharp. He glared at Echo. “I’m tired of that crow. And I’m tired of measuring the water. It didn’t make any difference. It didn’t make the cholera go away. It didn’t prove anything.”

  “But we don’t know yet,” Emma protested. “If we’re going to be scientists, we need to keep track of all sorts of information. You never know what will prove useful.”

  Rob just shrugged and kicked a stone.

  They walked in silence for a moment, and then Emma said, “I wonder if we should let the foxes go today. They’re getting bigger, and I want them to—”

  “Be quiet!” Rob yelled at her. “I don’t care about your animals. They’re just dumb animals. They don’t matter.”

  All Emma’s good resolutions about being nice to Rob suddenly disappeared. “What’s wrong with you? They are not dumb animals!” she shouted back at him.

  “Yes, they are. They are!” Rob was screaming now, right into her face. “They don’t matter. They’re not people. They’re not dying.” Tears flooded his eyes, and he brushed them away furiously. “They don’t matter!” he yelled again as the tears ran down his cheeks.

  “Crybaby!” Emma shouted.

  “Crybaby. Crybaby,” Echo said in his bird voice.

  Rob picked up a stone and jerked his hand back as though he was going to throw it at Echo. Before he could, Emma turned around and sped away from him. “I hate you, Rob Etingoff!” she shouted over her shoulder.

  She heard him sob behind her, but she was too furious with him to care. She kept running until she reached the house. Echo flew away with a squawk as Emma banged through the screen door.

  Inside the kitchen, Mama was paring potatoes. For once, she was alone, without Patricia or Miss Clara or even Mary, and Emma leaned her hot, angry face against her mother’s soft shoulder.

  Mama wiped her hands and then held Emma away from her while her eyes searched Emma’s face. “What is it?” she asked.

  “It’s Rob,” Emma choked. “He makes me so angry. He wanted to throw a rock at Echo just now.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Rob. He must have been pretty upset.”

  Emma nodded. “He said animals were just dumb, that they didn’t matter. He told me to be quiet when I was just trying to cheer him up.”

  Mama smoothed Emma’s hair away from her forehead. “And what did you sa
y to him?”

  Emma bit her lip. “I called him a crybaby,” she muttered finally, filled with guilt.

  “Sounds like you owe him an apology.”

  “He owes me one, too,” Emma said stubbornly.

  Mama picked up the knife and began paring the potatoes again. “He’s scared, Emma. He and Patricia are both so worried about Anthony that they can barely think. We need to do everything we can to help them. This is a terrible time for them.”

  “But I don’t know what to do to help him.”

  Mama smiled as she dropped a potato into a pot of water. “You could start by praying for him. And if you have a chance, maybe you could encourage him to give his fear to God. God is our only hope in times like these.”

  Emma picked up a potato and another knife and began to help her mother. “Do you think God will protect Anthony from the cholera?” she asked softly.

  “I don’t know,” Mama said. “But I do know that whatever happens, God can use it for good, so long as we commit our ways to Him.”

  “That’s what you always say.”

  Mama laughed. “That’s because it’s true.”

  Rob didn’t come back for supper. After the dishes were done, Mama gave Emma a little push toward the back door. “Go find him,” she whispered. “He’s been alone long enough now.”

  Emma made her way up the hill to the trees. “Rob,” she called.

  “Rob!”

  “I’m here,” came a small, flat voice from the shadows beneath a tree.

  Emma crouched down beside him on the dried leaves. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He turned his head and looked at her, as though he were surprised. “Why? I’m the one who was mean to you about your animals.”

  Emma nodded. “But I called you a crybaby. I’d be scared, too, if it were my father who was in town with the cholera. I’d be crying all the time.” She touched his arm. “I’m truly sorry, Rob. Mama says we should pray. She says that no matter what happens, God will work things out.”

  “But I don’t want anything to happen to my father. If anything happened to him, I don’t see how God could work that out.”