by Leisha Kelly
Katie turned toward the house. “I know.”
“I promise not to follow Rorey’s notions anymore, Katie.”
“I’m not saying you have to do that. She might have a good one now and then.”
“You know what I mean. I promise to be a better friend to you, and not leave you out or listen to Rorey when I know she’s going in the wrong direction. You’re right. She’s got no business with Lester, and I’ve got no business keeping secrets about it.”
Katie didn’t say anything else. We went back in the house together just as Emmie was coming down the stairs. I went and shushed her so she wouldn’t wake up the baby or Georgie and Bert.
“Can we color again?” she asked.
I got out the Crayolas, and Katie sat down with her. Mrs. Pratt was carrying in water to heat. “There ain’t many yet, but it’s best to wash up what we got a’ Rosemary’s diapers ’fore your mama has to think about it. Them towels that’s soaking too, I reckon.”
I went and got the iron and put it on the stove. I didn’t want Mom to have to think about our clothes for tomorrow. I didn’t care if she didn’t do anything at all except stay right there with Daddy. He’d like that. But he’d get up pretty soon too. And things would get back to the way they ought to be.
17
Julia
I woke with a start, thinking about Dr. Howell’s passing. I felt like I should do something; I should make a cake or something to take to the family. I hopped up off that bed before I even half remembered how much my movement could jar Samuel. But he must have been already awake.
“Hey, now, where you going in such a hurry?” I turned and saw his smile. “I’m not such bad company as that, am I?” he asked, giving me a wink.
“Samuel, how long have you been awake?”
“I don’t know. A little while. I was being careful not to wake you.”
“You should have! I’ve got no business sleeping the day away. Especially when other people are here doing my work for me.”
“Maybe they know I just wanted you with me.”
“Oh, Sammy. Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Those were beautiful words to hear. I leaned and kissed him, and he tried to pull me toward him. It hurt. I saw his grimace, though he tried not to show it.
“Your ribs?”
“They’re letting me know they’re still there,” he said. “No problem.”
“The doctor said not to be moving around too much.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Seems like the only thing staying in this bed will accomplish is me getting stiffer.”
“You’re not getting up! Not until the doctor comes back. He was very clear on that.”
“Yeah. I know.” He took a deep breath.
“Do you really feel ready?” I asked him, glad at the thought of it, despite my fervent caution.
“I want to,” he said. “I’m just not sure—”
He stopped with the sudden knock on our door. The door opened just a crack, and Sarah peeked in. “Mom? Dad? I heard voices, and I thought it might be okay to come in and get your church clothes out of the closet. I want to check ’em over, just to see if they need any ironing. Robert’s shirt sure did.”
At first I couldn’t respond, seeing her hopeful face. Church clothes? She was expecting all of us to get ourselves to church as usual tomorrow. “Oh, Sarah,” I said, shaking my head. “We won’t be able to go this week.”
She looked at her father, and I could see the hope still in her eyes. She wanted him to be fine now. And I supposed he’d just been telling me he wanted the same thing.
“The doctor said I’m not to get up till he sees me again, pumpkin,” Samuel told her gently.
“But you’re feeling better, aren’t you, Daddy?”
“Yeah. Better.”
She beamed. “Then maybe it’d be all right. Maybe we could go. At least we can say maybe, right?”
“Honey—” I started to protest.
But she didn’t wait to hear what I might say. “We better have the clothes ready just in case. Maybe the doctor will come back tonight and say it’s okay.”
She walked past us to the closet and took down my flowered dress and Samuel’s best shirt and trousers.
Samuel stopped her. “Sarah . . .”
“Yes, Daddy?”
“If the doctor comes, that would be fine. But I don’t think he’ll say it’s okay.”
She looked stricken. “Why, Daddy? You said you’re feeling better. Is it your ribs? Is it because of broken ribs?”
“Partly,” he told her, and I held my breath, sudden worries rushing at me again. But I shoved them away.
“Mostly it’s just too soon,” he went on. “Doctors always want you to have plenty of rest before getting back to normal activities. I expect he’ll insist I stay right here for several days.”
I looked at Samuel in surprise. It seemed exactly the opposite of what he was telling me he wanted.
“But don’t worry, pumpkin,” he continued. “I’ll be all right. Doctors just like to leave time to be sure.”
She nodded, her smile gone. “I think I’ll iron your things anyway,” she said. “Maybe after he talks to you, he’ll change his mind.” She turned her eyes to me. “Is it okay, Mom? Do you have anything else you want me to iron?”
“Honey, you don’t have to iron at all.”
“I want to.”
She’d never wanted to before. It was definitely not her favorite job, not even Samuel’s handkerchiefs, which were so simple to do. But she looked so earnest right now. “It’s all right if you want to iron,” I told her, “but I don’t have more, unless there was something in the laundry that you folded and carried in last night. But we got that all put away, didn’t we? Goodness, with the baby I’m not even sure. But we must have, because Rosemary was sleeping in the basket.”
“Yeah. Me and Katie put everything away last night. And most of it was okay, I think.”
She walked on out, taking my dress and Samuel’s clothes with her.
“Those girls,” I said to Samuel. “They’re going nonstop. And Robert too. He went over to help George look through the remains of the barn and maybe get started on the house roof.”
Samuel laid his head back real slow, and something about the way he did it made me stop talking. He closed his eyes. “We’re blessed, Juli. They’re good kids.”
“Samuel,” I said, suddenly feeling tense, “you were just talking about wanting to get up. Are you feeling worse again? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
He opened his eyes to look at me. “Just dizzy all of a sudden. Maybe it’s just too soon, like I told Sarah.”
“You’d tell me, wouldn’t you, if it was more than that?”
He was quiet for a moment. He turned his eyes toward the ceiling. “Julia, I still hurt. I guess that’ll go on for a while. I’m feeling nauseous, but not too bad. But the dizziness—just in the last couple minutes—I don’t think I could get up if I tried.”
“Well, you’re not going to try. There’s absolutely no reason to. Not yet.” I took his hand, knowing he hadn’t really wanted to tell me about it.
“It’ll pass,” he said softly.
“I know.”
“I dreamed my mother was here.”
His words shocked me. I guess because I could remember dreaming the same thing.
“She was different. She said she wished she could go back to being young and I could be the little boy on her lap again, and this time she’d do things right.”
I knew only God could convince Joanna to say something like that in reality. She’d never apologized for her drunkenness. Or for letting Samuel’s father or her second husband mistreat her boys. I might have said something about that, but Samuel spoke again before I had the chance.
“She almost looked younger. And she was wearing big flowers in her hat.” He smiled. “Hard to imagine, isn’t it? She never did care much for flowers.”
“Well, people can change,” I said, thinking about the box of letters in my own dream. “We should continue to pray for her.”
He nodded. “Sometimes I get tired, honey, thinking it won’t ever do any good.”
I only hugged him just a little, not sure what else to do.
“You know what she’d probably say right now?” he asked me. “She’d probably say I had no business dealing with the fire at all. I should leave that to the firemen.”
“But getting firemen here would’ve taken far too long! Coming all the way from Dearing—”
“I know. But she’d still think I brought this on myself, trying to act like I know what I’m doing.”
“Oh, Samuel—”
“I’ll telephone her when I get to town. When I’m feeling better. But I don’t think I want her to know until then.”
I glanced over at the dresser, suddenly remembering the letter I’d written. I’d come close to throwing it away. Now I should for sure, after hearing what Samuel had to say. But it was gone. One of the girls must have moved it. I’d have to ask them about it later.
“Samuel, I think I ought to make Mabel Howell a cake or something. I’m sure her sons will be coming, and maybe other family too.”
He was looking at me a little strangely, and I realized he didn’t know what I was talking about. How could I be so forgetful?
“Oh, Samuel, I’m sorry. I hadn’t told you. Dr. Howell passed away last night.”
He was quiet, like he wasn’t sure how to respond.
“I was thinking I could get Robert to take the cake over for me tonight sometime,” I said.
Samuel nodded. “Make sure he expresses our condolences.”
He was looking out the window. I followed his eyes and saw Franky coming out of the woodshop.
“It was a hard night,” Samuel said. “I hope that’s the end of it.”
I wasn’t sure how he meant that.
“Is Franky all right?” he asked.
For a moment I hesitated. “I’m sure his hands will heal up fine.”
“Is there another problem?”
“No, I’m sure he’ll be just fine.”
I wasn’t quite sure why I wasn’t telling him about some of the others blaming Franky for the fire. Maybe I didn’t want him getting his dander up when he looked so tired. Or maybe I was just hoping George would put a stop to the accusations now that Pastor had talked to him. At any rate, I didn’t want to trouble Samuel with it now.
I watched him a minute, wondering about that dizziness and noticing that he seemed a little pale. “I should bring you some more water,” I told him.
“No. Nothing right now. I don’t think I could hold it.”
“Do you think I should send someone to ask the doctor to come tonight like Sarah said?”
He looked at me, and though I could tell in his eyes the struggle with pain, there was a sparkle of mischief there too. “Why? You don’t think the church choir can manage without us tomorrow?”
“You know as well as I do that Dr. Hall won’t give you clearance to go! I’m worried for you, Samuel. I just thought it might be a good idea to have him look at you again.”
I shouldn’t have said that. Now he was worried too. For me.
“Juli, we know there’s problems, just like he said before—the concussion and the ribs. But everything’s going to be fine. So stop your worrying. Please.”
“Can I do anything to help you?”
“Go make Mrs. Howell that cake. A nice big one.”
I had to smile. But still I hesitated to leave his side. I didn’t like hearing that he was dizzy. And nauseous. “Samuel—”
“Go on. The sooner you get it done, the sooner it can be cooling to take over there.”
I went and started cutting apples for the raw apple cake recipe that Emma Graham had once shared with me. But I couldn’t stop my mind from thinking about Samuel. He was so brave. So strong. Not wanting me to know how much he was hurting. Not wanting me to worry. Almost it made me worry more.
He hadn’t tried to sit up on his own. Of course he knew he wasn’t supposed to yet, but still, it was hardly like him not to try.
“Mom?”
I looked across the room to where Sarah was ironing and Katie was helping Emmie Grace put away the Crayolas. For some reason I wasn’t sure which of them had spoken.
“Is Dad really okay?” It was Katie, her eyes looking so serious.
“Yes, honey,” I said. “He says he’ll be just fine.”
“Think he’s ready for some lunch?”
“No. Not yet.”
All three girls looked up at me then, even Emma Grace. “I drew a picture of him,” she said, turning the paper to show me. “See? He’s helping my pa make a whole new barn. That’ll be fun, won’t it? Makin’ a new barn?”
“It sure could be.”
Little Georgie came toddling in from the sitting room. He stopped when he saw me and cocked his head with an unmistakable gleam in his eye. “Boomie,” he whispered, just barely loud enough for me to hear him.
“Not this time,” I told him.
He rushed over to the cupboard door and started tugging on the old apron I’d used to tie it shut. He glared up at me in indignant surprise and tried tugging at it some more.
“Uh! Uh! Boomie!” he protested.
“Fixed you, didn’t I?”
For a minute he just stood there. Then he gave one last mighty yank, but it still wouldn’t come loose. In frustration he turned and crawled under the table, plopping smack down with his little arms folded.
“I’m sorry, Georgie,” I said, peeking under the table. “But all the ‘boomie’ was getting tiresome.”
He quickly scooted around so his back was to me. I turned my attention to cutting apples and left him alone. And pretty soon he peeked his little head at me and ventured out from under the table as I was reaching the molasses down from the cupboard. Then he wanted to help when I got Katie and Emmie Grace started chopping walnuts. It didn’t take him long to lose interest in that. I thought he’d gone back in the other room, but just as I was dumping the second cup of flour into a mixing bowl, he was suddenly at my elbow.
Katie hollered, “Georgie, no!”
I turned to the side barely in time to see the molasses jar slide off the table and hit the floor with a crash. It didn’t shatter, but the glass bottom popped out, and soon there was molasses oozing out in all directions.
Georgie looked up at me, his wide eyes uncertain. “Boomie?”
“No. Not boomie. Not good at all. Do you understand?” “I don’t think he meant to,” Katie said quickly. “Maybe he just wanted to see what it was.”
I looked at Georgie, and he looked at me. “Dat oops,” he finally said.
It took me much longer to clean up that mess than it should have. Emmie Grace, always eager to please, jumped down from the chair she was on to grab a dishrag and help me, but she accidentally knocked a bowl of walnuts off the table in the process. And then she got too close and got molasses spread across her shoe. Top and bottom, I’m not sure how.
“Dat messy,” Georgie told me, shaking his head side to side.
“You’re absolutely right it’s messy,” I answered him. “And if you weren’t so little, I’d have you be the one to clean it up.”
“Boomie,” he told me, crossing his little arms.
“Mrs. Wortham!” Thelma called from the next room. “Is Georgie causing you trouble?”
I sighed. “Just a little spill.”
Katie looked at me from the floor, where she was picking up the walnuts.
“Where did Thelma’s mother go?” I asked her.
“She went outside just before you came in, to rinse Rosemary’s diapers and some towels and hang ’em on the line.”
“Well, bless her for that.”
I thought I could hear Mrs. Pratt in the yard, singing “When the Saints Come Marching In.” I doubted she’d heard anything of what was going on.
&n
bsp; Georgie leaned over and stuck two of his fingers in the molasses. I grabbed his hand and wiped it off with the damp dishcloth.
“Sarah,” I said with another sigh, “are you almost done ironing?”
“Yeah. Do you need help?”
“Just grab a couple of wooden spoons and take Georgie outside, will you please? Let him boomie on the porch steps to his heart’s content.”
She smiled. “Hey! Georgie! What do you think of that? You can play drummer boy.”
He grinned and pulled those spoons out of Sarah’s hands just as soon as she grabbed them. She was trying to usher him out the door, but he ran and hit the table with his spoons, and then the chair leg. And then he turned and looked at my leg.
“Outside,” I commanded. “Go.”
He went. And Sarah followed him, chuckling just a little.
“Don’t let him chase the chickens,” I called after her. “Or anything else.”
“That was real nice of you,” Katie commented.
I squatted down to wipe up the wasted molasses. “At least he’s out of our hair and we can get the floor clean and the cake done.”
“Don’t you like Georgie no more?” Emmie asked me with such a serious face.
“I love Georgie. He’s a wonderful little boy. But today, my mind is somewhere else, and there are things I just have to get done.”
“Yeah, me too,” she said without elaborating at all.
After we had all the walnuts and molasses off the floor and I turned my attention back to the cake recipe, Emmie scrunched up as close as she could beside me and waited till I looked her way.
“You know,” she said, “seems like Georgie’s kinda like me. Only louder.”
“He’s a unique individual,” I told her. “Like you.”
“Was Franky loud when he was little?”
I glanced at her face, not quite sure about the connections she seemed to be making. “I didn’t know him when he was that little. Franky was just a bit older than you are now when I first met your family. But he was much quieter than Harry or Bert at that age.”
“He thinks a lot,” she explained. “Sometimes I think a lot too.”
I didn’t ask her for anything more, but she kept right on talking.
