Millie tried to keep up, but Clay was running faster than she could. She’d told him the doctor’s office was across the park so rather than sticking to the street, he cut through. Abe was still crying, his head tucked under Clay’s chin.
Clay didn’t pause when he reached the office. He glanced back making eye contact with Millie before he wrenched the door open and entered. By the time she got there they were already in an exam room. She didn’t wait. She ran right in.
“Looks like you banged yourself up real good there, young man,” Dr. Robert Childs was saying as he examined the cut on Abe’s scalp. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked at Clay. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“Mrs. Cutler and I were downstairs in the mercantile when it happened. We heard a crash, screams, and his cries. We ran upstairs. Abe was on the floor of the kitchen. Fern said he must have climbed up on the counter and fallen. I think his head hit the corner of the table. Abe was lying under it.”
“I see. Do you make a habit of leaving a toddler alone?” Censure was evident in the doctor’s tone.”
“There were several older children up there. He wasn’t alone.” Clay looked at Millie. She went to stand next to him.
Abe had quit crying and was sucking his thumb. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. He was covered in blood. It made Millie slightly sick to her stomach.
“Well, I’ll have to stitch the wound together. It will hurt. I’m sure we’ll have to wrap him in a sheet to keep him from struggling.” Doc Childs turned, nearly bumping into his wife, Hattie.
Hattie was quite tall for a woman. Not totally accepted in town because she was part Indian. She was an expert in herbals used for healing which also caused some problems with some of the townsfolk. Millie respected Hattie who had helped provide relief from croup for Opal several years ago.
“Hattie, get a sheet while I get what I need to stitch this up.” Doc Childs pushed his glasses up again.
Millie picked Abe up, hugging him close. She hated what was going to be done. Last time it was Reuben who needed stitches. His sobs nearly broke her heart. It would be worse with Abe. At least with Reuben she and Sherman had been able to explain why he had to be hurt in order to heal. Abe would never understand.
Hattie brought a large sheet and Millie helped swaddle Abe so only his head was out. Hattie cleaned the wound then smeared a green mush into it. Abe cried and fought the entire time. Millie cried too as she held him against her.
“Can I get a chair for her to sit on? There’s no way she’ll be able to hold him while Doc puts the stitches in. I’m not sure she’ll be able to hold him then.” Clay stroked the back of Abe’s head. Millie thought his eyes were full of moisture.
Doc nodded as he arranged needles and thread on a cloth covered tray. Clay brought a straight chair from the waiting room.
After shaving around the cut, Doc wiped the green mush from the cut and cleaned it again. Abe struggled against his mother crying. Tears were streaming down her face. Clay held her shoulders while Doc Childs put seven stitches in the scalp of the small child.
“See, it’s real easy.” Reuben picked a cigar out of the box and stuck it into the cigar cutter. Thwack, the end fell off into a small bowl. He pushed the cigar in again. Thwack, another chunk fell in the bowl. “We can cut these up and package them. Then there’ll be chewing tobacco to sell.”
Ben’s eyes lit up. “That’s a great idea. Let me do the next one.” He picked a cigar out of the box while Reuben continued cutting his cigar up. “What are we going to package them in?”
“We can use the bags they put candy in. They’re small, just about the same size as the pouches. What do you think?”
“Great idea. How about we write on the bag what’s in them? Makes it easy for customers to know what they’re getting.” Ben stuck his cigar into the cutter. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
“I’ll get some bags. Shall we write in ink or pencil?” Reuben jumped down from the counter he was sitting on.
“Ink would be better, but I’ve never written with a pen before.” Thwack.
“Me neither, but I think it would look better in ink.”
“Yeah.” Ben got another cigar from the box. Thwack.
Reuben reached under the counter bringing out a stack of small brown paper bags. “How many do you suppose we’ll need?”
“Depends on how many pieces we put in each one. Get the pouch of chew. We could weigh it and make our bags weigh the same.”
“Good idea. That way the price will be the same as the real pouches. We can put that on the bag.” Reuben put the bags on the floor, then got a bottle of ink and a fountain pen from beside the cash register. “My turn. You write on the bags.”
“Okay.” Thwack. Ben put the end of the cigar in the bowl with the other bits. “We need something else to put these in. The bowl’s full.”
“Just dump them on the floor. We can put them in the bags when we get all done cutting them up.” Thwack. Thwack.
Ben dumped the bowl and placed it in its holder on the cigar cutter. “Hey, look at the cigar box. It’s got a good picture on it. See, it’s a crown. We can draw that too so they know what kind of tobacco it is.”
Thwack. “Yeah,” Reuben said. Thwack.
Ben lay down on the floor and picked up a pen. “Do you suppose this has ink in it?”
“Try it and see.” Thwack.
Pulling a bag toward him, Ben wrote, ‘Cheuing Tobbaco.’ How’s this?” He held up the bag.
“Great, but I think you spelled it wrong.”
Ben looked at the pouch of tobacco lying beside him. “Yeah, I did.” He frowned and twisted his mouth to the side. “Should I throw it away?”
“Nah. Most of the men who buy that stuff can’t read anyway. Now, draw the crown below the writing.” Thwack.
Ben’s tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he drew. The crown was lopsided and off-center. He held up the bag for Reuben to see. “How’s this?”
“Looks good.” Thwack. “Your turn to cut up cigars. I’ll write on a bag.” Reuben jumped down and Ben climbed up. Thwack.
Half way through writing the pen ran out of ink. “Hey, we need to refill the pen. Do you know how?” Reuben asked.
Ben looked down. “Maybe.”
“Same here.”
Ben jumped off the counter. “I’ll help.”
They studied the pen. Reuben twisted the nib, unscrewing it. His fingers turned black. “I’ve got it open. You put the ink in.”
Ben picked up the ink bottle and squeezed the eye-dropper bulb. When he pulled it from the bottle ink dripped onto his trousers. He rubbed the spot with his hand. “Do you suppose it will wash out?” he asked, looking at Reuben.
“Yeah. It’s just ink.”
“Hold the pen still.”
Reuben held the nib in one hand, the base in the other. Ben lined up the eye-dropper over the hole and squeezed. Ink filled the reservoir and overflowed across Reuben’s fingers and onto his sock.
“At least the ink is black. Even if it doesn’t wash out no one will be able to tell,” Ben said. He looked at his dark brown trousers. “Maybe I should paint my trousers black. Do you think Mama would notice?”
“I don’t think she’ll notice the spot. She’ll be too worried about Abe. Did you see all that blood?”
“Yeah. Do you suppose all his blood will leak out?”
“Nah, I cut my arm last year real bad. See.” Reuben pushed his sleeve up showing off his scar. “Papa said I bled like a stuck pig. Doc Henderson had to stitch it up. It hurt like the very devil. Miss Richards put some herb stuff on it before he stitched it. Said it would help with the hurt. If it did I sure couldn’t tell.”
“Did you cry?”
“Nah. I was tough.” Reuben puffed out his chest.
“Really?”
“Well, I may have cried a little.”
“I probably would have. A little.”
Once the pen was ready, the boys continued cutting up cig
ars and writing on the bags. When all the cigars were in pieces Reuben brought the small scales to where they were working. They set the pouch of tobacco on one side and a bag on the other. Picking the pieces off the floor, they filled the bag until it balanced, somewhat.
“See, that works real well,” Ben said.
“Yeah.” Reuben grinned at Ben. “We’re a good team. I’m sure Mama and Pa will be real happy. They’ll have chewing tobacco to sell.”
Ben nodded. “Let’s get these bags filled. We can set them on the shelves.”
Once the boys were done, they put the pen and ink bottle away, leaving a splotch of black ink on the floor, and with black spotted hands and ink smeared faces, they carefully placed twenty-one bags of cut up cigars on the shelf with one pouch of chewing tobacco.
Clay carried Abe as he and Millie walked back to the mercantile. Abe was asleep, having cried himself to sleep once the stitches were done and his head wrapped in a bandage. Clay was exhausted and he was sure Millie was too. The stress and worry, as well as all the tears, left him feeling like he’d run ten miles.
They climbed the outside stairs slowly. When Clay stepped into the parlor eight pairs of eyes pinned him.
Opal’s eyes filled. Her hands went to her mouth. “Is Abe dead?”
Millie knelt in front of her daughter pulling her into her arms. “No, he’s sleeping. He’s had a really tough morning.”
Opal burst into tears. “I was so afraid he’d die just like Papa did,” she sobbed.
Clay laid a hand on Millie’s shoulder. “You stay here. I’ll put him to bed.” She nodded as she comforted Opal. Fern and Reuben cuddled in close to their mother as Clay’s children looked on, understanding how they felt.
When Clay returned, the tears were all dry and Fern was telling how she, Opal, and Grace had fixed lunch. They’d boiled eggs, with Ryder carrying the pot of boiling water, and opened cans of pork and beans. Ryder moved that pot, too.
Fern was excited over their accomplishments. “We had those and leftover biscuits and bread and butter. Ida only spilled a little milk but we cleaned it up. We did the dishes. One bowl got broken and a glass, but nobody got cut. There’s some eggs left and beans for you but no biscuits because the boys ate them all up.” Fern shot a disgusted glance at Ryder and Nate.
Millie hugged all three little homemakers. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.”
“Well, the boys were complaining they were hungry. We didn’t want to listen to their stomachs growling,” Grace said, her hands on her hips. “But they did say thank you, so at least they minded their manners.”
Clay bit his lip to keep from laughing. Ida wrapped an arm around his leg. It was her nap time. A nap sounded wonderful to him. Picking her up, he said, “How about I put you to bed?” She nodded and laid her head on his shoulder. As he went down the hall Clay heard Grace and Opal begging not to have to take a nap. He wondered what Millie would do. The girls had been fighting the idea of naps since the wedding. Seems they thought they were too old for them. Maybe they were, but he’d let Millie decide.
When he returned only Millie was in the apartment. She was in the kitchen dishing up the beans. A bowl with several eggs was on the table as well as bread and butter.
“I sent them all to the park. The boys took a baseball and their mitts. The girls took dolls and a quilt to sit on. It gets them out of the house to work off some of their energy and we can take a nap. I’m exhausted.” Millie sat down and wiped her hands over her face.
Clay sat and took one of her hands in his. “Me too. I was so scared when I saw all that blood. At least he was crying and not knocked out. I would have been terrified then.”
“I know.” She looked at him, her eyes reflecting the fear he’d felt. “Clay, I don’t know what I would have done if he’d died. I can’t lose another one I love. Sherman’s death was so difficult to get through, but I had to go on. The children needed me. The town needed me to be able to supply things they needed to keep going. Everyone went through so much loss. So many people died. So many men just gone all at once.
“We were all just numb, the women who lost husbands and fathers. Suddenly we were all grieving and having to do jobs we knew little or nothing about. I don’t know how many times one of the ladies would come in and we’d just start crying when we saw each other. We’d hug and cry.
“It’s funny. I felt so alone and yet so very supported by the other ladies. Even ones I didn’t know well or have much in common with.”
“Grief can bring people together or tear them apart. God’s mercy was on Silverpines that he gave you comfort in each other.” Clay stroked her cheek.
“I never thought of it that way. As God’s mercy during such a tragic time.”
“I never did either until Lucy died. Not only did my children and I get closer, but my siblings gathered around and were there for us in so many ways. Sometimes it was just to sit with me, not saying anything. That helped so much. Just knowing they were there and I could cry or stare off into space and they’d be there with me.”
“Like Job’s friends.”
“Yes. I thought of that several times. At least my family didn’t go on to tell me it happened because of my sin.”
Millie smiled. “That’s good.” She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “We better get this eaten and take our nap. Abe won’t sleep all afternoon. He’ll get hungry and wake up.”
“And there will be eight more bellies wanting to be filled this evening.”
“No, that will be eleven.”
Clay chuckled, squeezed her hand and said grace.
CHAPTER SEVEN
RYDER THREW THE ball to Reuben who dropped it just like every other time it was thrown to him. Ben wasn’t much better. He was getting tired of waiting for them to run and get the ball before they could try to throw it. He knew they were little but this was getting old.
He looked around and saw the girls sitting under the large tree near the corner. Fern and Opal had their dolls. Grace was studying something with her magnifying glass.
Reuben finally threw the ball to Nate who tossed it to Ben who didn’t catch it. Ryder sighed. He ran to where Nate was waiting.
“Hey, how about we go fishing? I’m tired of them not catching the ball.”
Nate smiled. “Good idea. I suppose we have to take them.” He jerked a thumb toward the other boys.
“Yeah, I suppose so. Hey, we can have them dig worms for us.” Ryder stuck his arm out and caught the ball Ben threw toward him. He waved them over. “Want to go fishing with us?”
Two faces lit up with delight. “Yeah.”
Ryder saw Jackson Hershell wandering aimlessly past the park with his hands in his pockets. He must not have any jobs to do today. Ryder had met the boy soon after they arrived in Silverpines. They were the same age. Jackson was taller than Ryder and stronger. Ryder couldn’t decide if he was jealous of that or not. He did like Jackson.
“Hey, Jackson.” Ryder waved him over. “You want to go fishing with us?”
“Sure. I’ve got a pole at home. I’ll go get it.”
“Great. We’ll meet you at the back of the mercantile.”
Nate ran over to tell the girls while the others headed for the store. Reuben ran up the outside steps so he could enter and go down the storeroom stairs and open the back door.
“Everything’s quiet upstairs,” he said as the other boys entered.
They put their ball and mitts on the bottom step then retrieved the fishing poles and creel from behind the staircase. Ryder grabbed the key hanging on a hook beside the door.
“No sense having to go upstairs to come in to put the poles away,” Ryder said. Jackson was waiting for them and they headed toward the river.
At the river bank Reuben led them downstream to an inlet lined with trees. The bank dropped off rather than gently sloping to the water.
“Papa and me, we’d come here and fish. He said when Abe got bigger he’d come too.” Tears gliste
ned in Reuben’s eyes. The other boys nodded but didn’t say anything.
A split log was near the river’s edge forming two benches. While Ryder and Nate unwound the line and hooks from the bamboo poles, Ben and Reuben got an old serving spoon and tin can out of the creel.
“You guys dig up some worms, will you?” Ryder said.
“Sure.” The prospect obviously delighted two eight-year-olds.
It wasn’t long before corks floated in the water strung to five poles.
“You suppose we’ll catch enough for supper?” Ben asked.
Nate laughed. “That’d take more time than we have unless they are biting well. Besides, do you want to clean all those fish? You know the rule. ‘Them what brings them home cleans them.’”
“Yuck,” said Reuben. “How about we throw them back instead of taking them home?”
“I hope I catch some. I’ll clean them myself and fry them up. Good eating.” Jackson rubbed his stomach.
They fell silent waiting for a nibble.
“Well, what have we here?”
The voice had all the boys turning around to see who spoke. Something made Ryder pass his pole to Ben sitting beside him as he stood up.
“We’re just fishing,” Ryder said.
“You’re one of the new kids whose pa married Mrs. Messer, aren’t you?” The man was not overly tall, thin with a narrow mustache. His eyes were sunk deep in his head. He ignored Jackson.
Ryder didn’t like the man. Something seemed off about him. It wasn’t anything he could explain. The man made him uneasy. He nodded.
“Well.” The man stretched one side of his mouth into an odd smile. “You boys be careful. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to any of you. It’d make your folks real sad if anything harmed you.”
Ryder swallowed. “We’re being careful, sir. I’ll watch out for my brothers.”
This time the man nodded.
Wanted: Shopkeeper (Silverpines Book 4) Page 5
