Rorey's Secret

by Leisha Kelly

  “I think you got burns on this other hand,” she told him. “Not bad, but it hurts, don’t it?”

  I didn’t hear his answer; I was hurrying to lift the cellar door in the pantry off the kitchen. But I saw his face before I took off down the steps. A nail in his hand, Mrs. Pratt had said. And burns. I wondered if any of that happened while he was helping pull my daddy out of the rubble.

  But there was no time to think of it. I needed the butter from the cool pit. And there were three or four hard-boiled eggs left from what Mom had cooked up to send to school with us last morning. I’d make egg sandwiches. So I’d need some pickles off the shelf too. Katie came with me, even though I didn’t ask her to. But she knew what I was about.

  “Do you think we ought to open a jar of green beans?” she asked me. “Or some blackberry preserves?”

  “I’m not taking the time to cook any beans,” I told her. “We need something they can take right along with them on the way to the doctor so we don’t slow ’em down any. But I don’t know why they don’t just go. They could eat when they get back.”

  “Mom knows they must be hungry after fighting the fire all night,” she said as she caught up to me at the bottom of the cellar steps. “Wouldn’t you be?”

  “No. I’m not a bit hungry, and I don’t think staying over there would have made me hungry, either.”

  “Sarah—”

  “You get the preserves and some pickles. I’m going to get the butter and eggs and a little milk. It’s a good thing Lizbeth brought us some extra bread.”

  Katie didn’t say another word, and neither did I. I just hurried as fast as I could, pulling the basket of perishable food up from Emma Graham’s old cool pit in the corner of the cellar room. Mom was glad to have the cool pit. Even though times were not as hard for us as they’d been when we first came to Mrs. Graham’s house, we still couldn’t afford an icebox. Maybe we’d never get one.

  We hurried back up the stairs, and Katie started cutting bread while I peeled the eggs. Then she was chopping pickles while I mashed eggs in milk with some pepper and sugar. Soon we had some passable egg salad, and I started spreading it on bread.

  Richard was in the other room with his sister and the baby. Mom and Mr. Post came back in the kitchen pretty soon, and she got him a drink of water. I wished they would talk about Dad a little, but they didn’t. They didn’t say anything at all, and it bothered me terrible.

  Then Richard came back in the room, and Mr. Post moved for the door.

  “We best be goin’,” he said. “Richard, your mama’s gonna be here a while. You mind takin’ Robert in to see about Dr. Howell? I’m gonna go over t’ home and fetch Mrs. Wortham a chunk or two a’ ice outta what’s left in the icebox, an’ I hope it’ll do some good.”

  “All right,” Richard said. I knew him to be almost twenty-three, but right then he looked older, and paler, than I’d ever seen him. “You ready, Robert?”

  “Wait a minute,” Mrs. Pratt interrupted. “Where’s Thelma’s Sam? If the fire’s out, why ain’t he come back?”

  “He didn’t wanna leave Pa just yet,” Franky said quietly. “Even with Willy an’ Kirk there.”

  “I guess you can imagine George takin’ things hard,” Mr. Post added. “He don’t seem too strong right about now. I left ’em my truck, ’case they have need. I ’spect they’ll all be over once there ain’t nothin’ left smokin’. An’ I don’t reckon it’ll be too long, only the rain died back ’fore they could be all sure.”

  I handed Robert and Richard the first egg sandwiches. Katie was spreading blackberry preserves on four pieces of bread, one after another. I grabbed two of them, smacked them together, and handed them to Mr. Post. “We’ll hurry, Mom,” Robert said.

  “Just drive careful,” she told him. “Tell the doctor everybody seems to be doing all right. We just need him to take a look. Don’t be worrying, please.”

  They left. Quick. Without any more talk, and I was glad. Mr. Post took our truck, and I knew it wouldn’t take him long to get to his place and back.

  “Did Daddy wake up?” I dared to ask.

  “No, honey,” Mom said. “But it’s barely daylight. He needs to be resting. So do the rest of you.”

  Her words were sure, but her eyes weren’t. She was as scared for Daddy as I was. I dropped the fork I’d been using, and it hit my shoe and clanged on the floor.

  “You want a sandwich, Harry?” I managed to say.

  “Yes, if you don’t mind.”

  Katie picked up the fork for me and then squeezed my hand. “How about you, Franky?” she asked in a soft voice.

  “No,” he said barely loud enough to hear. “I couldn’t eat nothin’.”

  9

  Julia

  It was a relief to have Robert and Richard off for the doctor, though I hated to worry the kids that way. The morning was dawning cloudy with a rumble of thunder lingering in the distance, but the rain had stopped. I was glad for the sake of the roads, though I hoped it’d been enough rain so that the fire couldn’t spark up again.

  I went to check on Thelma in the sitting room. She was sleeping peacefully on the old davenport with baby Rosemary looking like a tiny angel all bundled up in the laundry basket beside her. Berty was sleeping too, coughing just a little, his foot propped up on a pillow Delores had brought him. His foot had swelled a bit, I could see that. He would benefit from some ice too, or he might have if it had gotten here sooner. I would be glad to get it just the same.

  Samuel worried me far more. I went and kissed him before going back to the kitchen. I knew he really did need to sleep, but still I hoped he would wake, just so I’d know that he could. But he didn’t, and I had to tell myself that rest was a powerful medicine, the best in the world according to Grandma Pearl.

  Franky wouldn’t say much. I came back to his side, though Delores surely wouldn’t need much help bandaging the puncture wound on his hand. I didn’t realize until I looked again that he had burns too, not bad but visible over part of the other hand.

  “What you got to draw the bad blood outta that?” Delores asked me.

  I brought her some of the comfrey and plantain water, but Franky didn’t want to soak his hand again. He just wanted to get up and be done. So I only washed the wound with it a bit. Delores said it would be all right to leave his hands open to the air a while. I was relieved to see that the burn didn’t bother him much and that he could move both his hands.

  But he didn’t seem like himself. He wouldn’t drink any of the mullein and nettle tea I’d made just before they got here. He was impatient with us, shaking his head and telling us not to fuss over him anymore. As soon as he got the chance, he got up and walked outside.

  “I think he’s feelin’ awful bad about the fire,” Katie said.

  “He oughta,” Harry replied immediately.

  Sarah looked pale as a ghost.

  “I don’t want to hear any words about blame,” I told them. “You know as well as I do that accidents can happen to anybody.”

  “Yeah,” Harry said with a scowl. “But Pa says Franky’s as clumsy as an ox an’ purty near as stupid in some things. He didn’t have no business bein’ up.”

  Sarah turned and went upstairs.

  “Anybody want something else to eat?” Katie asked, giving her attention to the things on the counter.

  I almost went outside to speak to Franky. Lord knew that he could use some words of peace. But baby Rosemary woke with a wail, and Berty woke up too and called for me. Delores and I went to see to them as Katie made Harry another sandwich.

  Poor Bert had dreamed he was trapped in the barn, he and Samuel, and they couldn’t get out. I calmed him the best I could and got him a drink of water. I wished he would go back to sleep, but I knew he wouldn’t with the light beginning to peek through the sitting room windows. Wouldn’t be long before Georgie was up too, and Emmie Grace. We had a houseful again, and it would get even more full and stay that way if George and the rest of his family had to
live with us for a while until their house was repaired. I wondered how badly it was damaged and what it would take to make it livable again, but I hadn’t wanted to ask in the middle of everything else. There would be time for that later.

  I began to consider what the doctor would think. Surely he’d be home by now from wherever he’d been. And hopefully he’d had a chance to rest. Three people injured. And a baby born. He’d probably shake his head at us and wonder how in the world such things could happen all in one night. I wondered myself.

  I gave Bert a reassuring hug and then went to wet the cloth that I’d left lying on Samuel’s head. I kissed Samuel’s cheek, hoping again that he’d wake and look at me. But he didn’t stir.

  Heavenly Father, still my heart. Give me confidence that he’s only resting as he needs to, and that he’ll wake and be all right.

  Little feet came bounding down the stairs; I knew it was Emmie. She peeked in the bedroom at me.

  “Shhh,” I told her. “Mr. Wortham is sleeping, and I think Thelma’s trying to as well.”

  “Oh,” she replied with a smile. “Can I see the baby?”

  “If you’re quiet,” I told her, but she disappeared before I got the words out.

  I marveled at Emmie this morning. She’d been so scared last night, and no wonder. Seeing the fire, and her brother and my husband hurt. But this morning she seemed to have no worries at all. I guess she was just confident that we’d helped them, God had healed them, and they would be fine now.

  I looked toward the sitting room before heading back to the kitchen and saw Emmie squatted down beside the rocking chair where Delores was rocking the baby.

  Berty was sitting up, staring out the window. I expect he was feeling bad about the fire too. And about Samuel.

  “I guess we’ll have to do chores before long,” Katie said quietly as I entered the kitchen.

  “Yes,” I acknowledged. “And I would appreciate your help. But Harry, you ought to get some sleep. Go up to Robert’s room. He won’t mind.”

  “Just don’t send Franky up,” he said coldly. “I bet Robert would mind that. He’s real upset with him on account of Mr. Wortham.”

  “Mr. Wortham is going to be just fine,” I answered a little too curtly. “And I’ll have to have another talk with Robert when he gets back.”

  “Maybe you oughta talk to Pa too,” Harry said in a softer voice. “He’s even madder than Robert.”

  Harry went upstairs then, and Katie went to feed the chickens and gather eggs. I knew she had a hard time milking, so I wouldn’t ask her to do that. Or Sarah either. I would just do it myself.

  As I headed out the door with a milk pail in my hands, I looked around for Franky. If his father was as upset as Harry said, he’d probably railed on the boy some before sending him over here. Poor Franky. He would’ve felt bad enough even without being scolded.

  I looked but didn’t see him anywhere. I’d expected him to be under the apple tree like last night, but he wasn’t. For the first time it occurred to me that that was the same spot Samuel chose when he just had to think. But where else might Franky be?

  The woodshop. That was Franky’s favorite place. Samuel’s too, sometimes. They’d made so many beautiful things there. Kitchen chairs. Cedar chests. So many nice things to remember.

  And sad things too. Seven winters past, they’d made two caskets. One for Emma Graham and one for Franky’s mother. Samuel had expected to do the work alone, but as young as he was, Franky had wanted to help. And ever since then, Franky and Samuel had been very close. Close enough to ignite Robert’s jealousy at times.

  I opened the door slowly, leaving the milk pail outside. Franky was sitting in the corner at one end of their homemade workbench. He didn’t look up.

  “Franky? Aren’t you tired? We’ll make you a bed where you can get some sleep.”

  “No. I wanna stay out here.”

  “He’ll be all right. It wasn’t your fault.”

  He looked at me then. “Are you sure?”

  I wasn’t certain what he was asking me. “Franky—”

  “If he was doin’ real good, there wouldn’t be no hurry goin’ for the doctor. Bert ain’t that bad. An’ the baby’s all right or you woulda sent Sam or somebody over to Mcleansboro earlier. I can tell you’re worryin’, Mrs. Wortham. I can tell somethin’ ain’t right.”

  “But it’s not your fault, no matter what happened.”

  “I know.” He sighed. “I just don’t know if anybody else’ll ever know. They won’t listen to me.”

  I stood for a moment. “Franky, what do you mean?”

  “I didn’t start no fire. Don’t know how it started. But they won’t listen to me.”

  I stared at him for a minute. Why on earth would his father blame him then? Why would Robert blame him?

  “I guess people’ll think what they want to,” he said. “Can’t change that. But it was botherin’ me, you thinkin’ it too. I wanted to ask you ’bout Mr. Wortham. I wanted to know if there’s anythin’ I can do, but I didn’t wanna . . . I didn’t wanna bother you if you thought . . .”

  “Oh, Franky.” I leaned forward to give him a hug. He started to draw back, but I wouldn’t let him. I just held him for a minute. He shook a little in my arms, and when he pulled away, he had to lower his head and wipe at his eyes.

  “Is he gonna die?”

  “No.” I wanted to tell him of course not and why. I wanted to assure him with plenty of confident words, but right then I couldn’t find any.

  “I was awful scared, Mrs. Wortham. I don’ know what we’d do without Mr. Wortham. Pa always needs him. Awful worse now, even. But that ain’t all. He’s just . . . he’s just the best that anybody ever been to me.” He looked up, and even in the dim light I could see the turmoil in his silvery eyes. “E’cept you, Mrs. Wortham,” he added, lowering his head again. “I wish sometimes I could help you half as much as you been helpin’ me.”

  “Maybe you don’t see what a help you are to us,” I told him. “You are always a willing worker, something you know I appreciate.”

  He didn’t look up.

  “They’ll find out the truth soon enough,” I tried to encourage him. “They won’t keep blaming you.”

  “I ain’t so sure.”

  I didn’t know how to address that at the moment. So I put my hand on his shoulder. “Do you want to see him?”

  He raised his head with a hopeful expression. “Can I? It wouldn’t cause no problem?”

  “No. No problem. Come on.”

  He limped beside me back toward the house. I was about to ask him how his injuries happened when we heard the truck coming back. Whiskers went to meet it in joyful anticipation of Samuel as usual, but I knew it was Barrett Post, hopefully with ice for Samuel’s head and Bert’s ankle. Barrett pulled up almost beside us and stopped, holding up a burlap bag.

  “Louise wanted to come,” he said. “But I told her you had Delores here already, an’ you had greater need a’ some other kind a’ help for now. She’s cookin’ you up a feast for the midday, Mrs. Wortham, seein’s you’ve got so many here to feed.”

  “Thank you. And thank her.” I took the burlap bag as he was getting out of the truck. But I was thinking of Robert and Richard. I hope they haven’t had trouble finding that doctor. I hope he’s not already been called somewhere else.

  Franky followed me toward the house, though his limp was worse. Mr. Post passed him by easily enough. In the kitchen, I banged the ice down hard against the table and broke off a chunk separate to wrap in a dish towel. Then I hurried the bag into the sitting room. I was glad to find Thelma nursing the baby. I gave the bag to Delores and asked her to hold it against Bert’s ankle as long as he could stand. Then I went straight to Samuel’s side with the towel.

  I knew the back of his head had swollen. Not badly but enough that my touch could tell. Hopefully the ice would help. I squeezed the towel as gently as I could between the pillow and his head, trying not to disturb him but at the same time
almost hoping he’d open his eyes at the movement or the cold.

  “Samuel?” Mr. Post called. “You got mornin’ waitin’ for you.”

  Samuel didn’t respond at all. My legs felt like butter, I was suddenly so weak.

  But then I heard a quiet voice in the room, speaking peaceful words of faith.

  “He that dwelleth in the secret place a’ the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge an’ my fortress: my God; in him will I trust . . .”

  At the first instant, I didn’t realize who was speaking. It could almost have been an angel, sent by God to give me strength. But it was Franky, head bowed and shoulders quivering, his hands dangling awkwardly in front of him.

  One tiny trickle of blood oozed from his wounded palm. Somewhere I’d read or I’d heard something from the Bible that now leaped into my mind: “They of my own house have turned up their heel against me . . .”

  I didn’t know what it meant or why I was thinking of it now. I only knew that for a split second the bowed figure before me hadn’t seemed like Franky.

  It made me shake. Turning back to Samuel, I still was shaking.

  But Franky didn’t look up, didn’t stop for a moment his prayerful recitation.

  “He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shal’ thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield an’ buckler. Thou shal’ not be afraid.”

  How foolish for George or anyone else to blame Franky for the fire, whether or not they had some cause to think it. I prayed for all the Hammonds then, and my own children. This situation was hard enough already, and I hoped it wouldn’t get harder, with bad feelings and accusation on top of the strain of Samuel’s injury and the financial burden such loss was bound to create for George. I thought Sarah’s words very wise. “It doesn’t have to be somebody’s fault.” But my own son, among others, had been quick to find someone to blame. God help us. God especially help George to see what his words, his actions, could do.