Fervent Charity (14 page)

Alvinia braced herself.

Mary sat very still. Alvinia thought she must be in shock. “Has something happened to Walter?” she asked.

“Not yet,” said Lena. And since she could not stand the silence waiting for Mary to speak for herself, she blurted it out. “She’s pregnant.”

This should have been happy news. Was Mary sick?

Lena explained. “Walter’s not the father.”

Alvinia took a noisy breath and leaned back in her chair. Then a hard look came over her and she bent forward again. Taking Mary firmly by the hand and peering into her face, she asked, “Were you raped?”

Mary’s reply was quick and definite, if softly spoken. “Oh, no.”

“She wouldn’t tell me who the father is. She’s set on protecting him, I guess.”

Alvinia let go of Mary’s hand and settled back. Her judgmental nature was tempered by her mother’s words:
When you find somebody lying wounded in the road, stop the bleeding. Ask questions and lay blame later.
It was clear from Mary’s demeanor that she was, indeed, bleeding to death.

“Well, it’s her business and beside the point. Does Walter know?”

Lena shook her head.

“Can’t you just tell him you’re expecting? Won’t he assume it’s his?”

Mary hung her head and Lena threw up her hand letting it fall back into her lap. “He will know it’s not his. They haven’t slept in the same bedroom in years.”

“Well, there’s only one thing you can do, Mary. Sleep with your husband and the sooner the better. Yours won’t be the first premature baby in Stone County. Somebody have one of these donuts.” Alvinia took one herself, dunked it in her coffee and ate it.

Lena brightened. She should have thought of that. That’s why people came to Alvinia. She was practical.

Mary whispered something unintelligible.

“What?” Lena was beginning to get angry. She didn’t know why.

Alvinia brushed donut crumbs off her bosom and moved her chair around the table so she could put her arm on the back of Mary’s chair in a kind of embrace but without touching her. “However you feel about your husband, you have to think of...”

Mary shook her head.

“What’s the matter?” Alvinia coaxed, the same way she would have spoken to one of her younger daughters. “Tell us, Mary.”

Mary uttered, just above a whisper, “Walter can’t...function...like that.”

Alvinia stared at Lena. “Oh, this gets worse and worse.”

Ha!
Lena thought.
And he struts around like a little rooster! He puts on a good show, that’s all. Some cock of the walk he is. Wait’ll I tell Will.
Then she realized with disappointment, she couldn’t tell anybody.

Alvinia’s face took on the expression of someone looking for the next stepping-stone across a treacherous river. She found it. “Mary, now listen to me. Is it possible...” she paused, testing the stability of the stone against the strength of the water, “a man without children—who can’t ever have one, apparently—isn’t it possible that Walter would accept this child as his own? No one but the two of you would know otherwise. You wouldn’t tell him Lena and I know. To save his pride, you know.”

Mary’s answer was a heartbreaking smile. “Oh, you know the Kaisers,” she glanced at Lena, “Except for Will and Lena—they don’t love children.”

Lena chilled. She knew things about the Kaisers that Alvinia did not. She knew what Mary said was horribly true.

The waters seemed to rise around Mary. She shrank before their eyes. “She’s been out walking in this cold all morning,” Lena said. “She’s all in.”

For the moment the river seemed impassible. Alvinia tried to be cheerful and patted Mary’s hand. “Now, we’ll think of something. Sure we will.”

She and Lena led Mary upstairs and made her lie down. The upstairs was heated only by warm air rising through the vents from the living room below. Lena and Alvinia helped Mary remove her shoes and undo the top three buttons of her dress. They covered her with quilts, and Mary fell asleep immediately. When the three women had passed through the living room, Alice had watched them with bright curiosity. On their way back, without Mary, she asked, “Mama?”

“Mrs. Kaiser is not feeling well. She’s taking a nap in your room.”

“What’s the matter with her?”

“Just never you mind. Keep the little ones back here. I’ll bring you some cocoa. If Gracia needs changing, Kirstin’s old diapers are in the chest in the closet.”

“I know where they are, Mama,” Alice said, somewhat crossly. She hated being treated like one of the younger children.

Alvinia stirred up some cocoa and sugar and a quarter cup of water in a big pot on the stove while Lena thought out loud. “Will and I can’t take her. What would be the use? She needs to be away from this town.” She brought a loose fist down on her knee. “Gee whiz, I wish I knew somebody in California! Do you know anybody in California?”

A small laugh escaped Alvinia. “No, I don’t know anybody in California.”

The chocolate mixture bubbled. Alvinia stirred it smooth, then poured in two quarts of milk and stirred some more while Lena continued. “My sisters won’t have her. When the Lord said ‘Ye who is without sin cast the first stone’—hmph—if my sisters had been in that crowd he’d have had to duck all right! They’re so high and mighty. Anyway, Ragna would plead too poor even though they’ve got money socked away. Don’t think I don’t know it!” Lena waggled her finger at Alvinia for emphasis. “They let their children go without decent clothes on their backs so they can hoard it for their old age. They’re going to have something to answer for, believe you me! And Ella won’t because she can’t do a blame thing on her own. If Ragna sniffs a cat, Ella sneezes.” Lena sighed loudly from deep in her chest and brought the flat of her hand down on the table with finality. “No, Gustie’s the one.”

Alvinia looked skeptical and continued to stir.

“I know you don’t think much of Gustie, but...” Lena made thoughtful little circles on the table top with her finger.

“I don’t dislike Gustie...” Alvinia wasn’t sure how she felt about Gustie. To her, Lena’s friend was still mostly an unknown entity. Gustie had always been helpful and friendly, but Alvinia liked to have things and people clear in her mind, and she just couldn’t get Gustie sharply in focus. “But...do you think she would help Mary?”

“You don’t know Gustie, Alvinia.”

“Not like you do, no. But she doesn’t have much room in that little house of hers. And it’s right here. Just outside of town, really. Not that far away.”

“It’s still better than being smack dab in town where she is under the noses of the Kaisers and everybody else who’ve never cared about Mary except to boast that they’ve eaten cake off her nice china plate in one breath and in the next one, criticized her for having it. Why shouldn’t she have nice things? Well, I don’t know.” Lena rearranged her cup and saucer, then moved the donut plate slightly to the left as if she were straightening a picture. “I don’t think they’d stay in the Charity house anyway. Jordis has some kind of place out at the Red Sand where she lived with her grandmother. I saw it once but was never inside it. It doesn’t look like much, that’s for sure. But Gustie is comfortable enough there, so it can’t be too bad. Maybe they can make room for Mary out there. No, all we have is Gustie.”

“Where is she now? Here or out there?”

“Here, I think.”

“Well, let’s find out.” Alvinia left the stove to stick her head out of the door and yell, “Kermit!”

He came to the door and Alvinia let him into the porch. His boots and pants were mucky from the barn. He wore a short barn coat, a knit cap, mittens and muffler around his neck. “Yeah, Ma?”

“Saddle up Brownie and go out to Gustie’s. Tell her we need her to ride back with you now.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Never you mind, Sir. And if she’s not there—wait a minute—” Alvinia rustled around in a cabinet drawer and found a piece of envelope. She scribbled on it, folded it once and handed it out to the boy. “That’s private, Son. If she’s not there, leave it stuck in her door where she’ll see it first thing.”

“Sure, Ma.” He stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket.

“Now, if she’s not there, you leave the note and you go to the depot and have Willie telegraph Joe Gruba and tell him to get Gustie and send her home. Now. She can hitch a ride on the train and be here this afternoon. And if he wants to know why, just tell him you don’t know. Because you don’t. And keep your face covered so you don’t get frost-bite.”

Kermit grinned at his mother and went back to the barn to saddle the horse.

Lena and Alvinia had just finished all but the last donut when Kermit came in with Gustie. Handing him a cup of cocoa, his mother said, “Put Brownie and Gustie’s horse in the barn and then go help your father.”

“Aw, Ma! I was gonna—”

“Don’t argue with me, Son. Just go.”

Gustie quietly unwrapped her woolen scarf and took off her coat. Alvinia took them from her and hung them on the coat tree in the corner of the kitchen.

“Hot cocoa, Gustie?”

“That would be very nice.” Gustie didn’t ask why they had summoned her. She wiped the condensation off her glasses and sat next to Lena. She took the cup she was handed, sipped, and waited.

Alvinia took the chair on the other side of Lena who began by saying, “We’re sure glad you were in town, Gustie. Mary’s upstairs.”

Alvinia chimed in, “Sleeping, poor thing. She’s limp as a dishrag. Eat that last donut.”

Gustie left Lena and Alvinia in the kitchen. Having finished the cocoa they were now starting a fresh pot of coffee. She greeted Alice who was ready to burst from curiosity but who said only, “Hello, Miss Gustie.” She stood at the bottom of the narrow stairway for a moment, her mind full of the news she had just been given, and of the scenes from Mary’s time at the mission, including Jordis’s kick under the table. Well, as Alvinia had said, all that was nobody’s business and beside the point, because what mattered now was how she could help. Gustie already had an idea. She climbed the stairs and opened the door to the bedroom where Mary lay, a fragile thing among the folds of the quilts. The room was cold and Gustie pulled her wool sweater closer around her as she sat gingerly on the edge of the bed.

Mary’s eyes opened, but she made no further movement.

“Hello, Mary.”

“Gustie.” Her voice sounded from far away. “What are you doing here?” Mary looked to Gustie like a wounded dove.

“Alvinia and Lena sent for me.”

Mary’s eyes fluttered closed and she sighed, so softly, had Gustie not been sitting close to her, she wouldn’t have heard it.

“How would you like to live with me for awhile?”

Mary did not answer. Only her eyelids moved sluggishly, as if she were about to drift back to sleep. Gustie waited.

Finally, Mary said softly, “I’ll bring shame on you, Gustie.”

Gustie almost laughed, but smiled instead. “Oh, Mary, bringing shame on me would be like carrying water to Shoonkatoh.”

Mary looked at her blankly.

Gustie continued. “I have an idea.” She reached into her pocket and brought out her letter from Alfred Fitszimmons. She gave it to Mary who pulled herself up to a sitting position to read it. She looked at Gustie questioningly.

“I’ve been trying to decide whether or not I should go back home for a visit. I’m thinking now that maybe I should and that maybe you could come with me.”

Mary seemed bewildered.

“Do you want to, Mary?” Gustie waited to see if Mary would say anything. She did not. “Where is Walter right now?”

“With Will in Argus. They’re buying some equipment...or something.”

“You’ve got to tell him.”

Mary shook her head.

“Are you afraid of him?”

“I just can’t face him, Gustie.” She began to weep.

Gustie sat back a little and took a moment to consider. “Then, Will and Lena will have to do it.”

Mary shook her head again.

“Someone has to. You can’t just disappear. Walter needs to know—not where you’ve gone, but why. He’d look for you, wouldn’t he? If you just disappeared?”

“I don’t know.” Mary wiped her eyes with the edge of the sheet.

“You really don’t know?”

“No.”

“I’m not asking you to confide in me, Mary, but does the father of the baby know?”

Mary shook her head.

“If he did, is there a chance that the two of you could go away together?”

“In the eyes of God I’m married to Walter. I can’t erase one sin by committing another.”

Oh nonsense. Go with the man you love and be happy
, Gustie thought. That’s what she would have done. That is what she had done once. Left everything to be with the person she loved. But Mary wasn’t Gustie.

“We need to decide what to do. Do you feel like getting up now and coming downstairs?”

Mary nodded.

Chapter 11: February 1901

A
 commotion ensued on the back
porch as Alvinia’s family stamped snow off their feet, hung up coats, pulled off boots, and came tearing into the kitchen from their pre-breakfast rough-housing in the snow. Her husband came in last and sat down at the head of the table.

Alvinia served up hot oatmeal and cold milk and listened as her children chattered in anticipation of seeing their big sister off at the depot and their afternoon visit to the Peterson farm, where they would have a pony to play with, sheep, a haystack, and an endless number of things to fill a town-raised child with delight. Alvinia and Carl had planned this excursion on this particular afternoon ostensibly to deliver some supplies to the elderly Petersons, but, in fact, it was a diversion on the day Betty left them for her trip with Mary and Gustie to Philadelphia.

The warm kitchen bounced with late-winter sun and children. Mismatched china plates and home-woven rag rugs added splashes of color to the old wood hues that predominated in this big house. Alvinia looked down the table at her young ones in varying sizes, all blond headed and blue eyed—her children matched even if her china did not. Their voices receded into ambient sound as Alvinia let her gaze rest upon her husband. The glint of sun on his hair could still stir her up inside. A soft smile settled on her face. Carl Torgerson was the reason Alvinia believed in God.

They had discussed sending her so far away before they brought it up with Betty herself. Carl was not as set against Pauly Wirkus as a husband for Betty as was Alvinia, nor would he be the one to stand in the way of broadening his daughter’s horizons. “Only if she’s willing to go, Mother. I won’t push the girl.” Alvinia promised not to push.

Carl took his watch out of his pocket. “Well, it’s time.”

“Yes,” said Alvinia.

They met each other’s eyes across the table. Neither of them moved. Betty stood up and said softly, “I’ll go get my bag.”

All the young Torgersons were once again excitedly donning their winter coats and boots and knit mufflers, mittens, and hats. Betty came downstairs looking so sophisticated in her new traveling suit that Alvinia felt a lump rise in her throat. She corrected herself sharply.
We’ll have none of that. This was, after all, my idea. The girl doesn’t even really want to go
.

Lena and Will and Mary and Walter were already at the depot. They looked relieved to see the Torgersons. Pauly Wirkus was conspicuous by his absence. He and Betty had already said their goodbyes. None of them had arrived too early. Nobody wanted this to be a long parting. For Walter’s sake, the women had concocted a fiction that Betty was going east as a pre-wedding gift from her parents to buy her trousseau, and Mary was accompanying her as chaperon. Gustie was boarding the train at Wheat Lake to make the journey with them to visit her family in Philadelphia. The story was plausible enough, if one did not think about it too hard.

The train pulled into the station in a roar of smoke and steam. Will and Lena hugged Mary while Walter took her suitcase to the baggage car. Willie Mohs took Betty’s bag from Carl so he could stay with his family. Sheriff Sully trotted by on his saddle horse and called out, “You need help there, Willie?”

“No, thanks, Sheriff.”

Dennis gave a quick nod of his head and paused a moment to watch them saying their farewells. Will noticed him and hollered over the heads of the others, “Mornin’ Denny!” The sheriff gave a salute against his hat and turned on up the street.

In a tremulous voice, Mary said to Will, “You’ll look at my roses once in awhile?” Walter was not good with growing things. Will was.

“You bet. By the time you get back, they’ll be bloomin’ like a house afire. Don’t you worry.”

“You know where to sit, honey, so Gustie can find you?” Alvinia made a business of adjusting the collar, which was perfect, on Betty’s coat.

“Yes, Mama, the second car from the front.”

Betty extricated herself from her younger siblings to hug Alice who stood mutely biting her lower lip. Then she embraced her father and mother. Carl said huskily, “Now you telegraph if you need anything.”

Alvinia said, “A letter every day, now, if you have time.”

Betty nodded and turned toward Mary. She put her arm around her, mothering the older woman onto the train as Alvinia watched, her back stiff and straight, every inch of her proud of this daughter they had raised.

The train roared out of the station and was gone, leaving prairie silence like a vacuum pulling at their eardrums. Everyone remained still, suspended in a moment of loss. Then Carl said, “What say we all go to the shop for coffee and ice cream? On the house!” The Torgerson children, who would normally have been ecstatic at sweets so soon after breakfast, held on to each other’s mittened hands and slogged quietly through the snow behind their parents.

Lena, Will, and Walter followed, Will attempting to cheer up his brother. “Yup, they’re going to have a nice visit with Gustie. Don’t you worry about that.”

Walter, who had come to the station without the ever-present cigar in his mouth, took one out of his coat pocket, chewed on it, lit it and listened to his brother’s small talk. “Yup, they got good traveling weather, that’s for sure. You wouldn’t get me on a train in the heat. No sir.”

Alvinia said to her husband, “You go on ahead. I left something back at the house. I’ll be right along.”

Carl nodded and watched his wife walk away, knowing that she never forgot anything in her life.

Alvinia entered her house and without removing her boots or her coat proceeded upstairs to her daughters’ bedroom. Now, Alice would have a room all to herself.

Alvinia sat down on Betty’s bed, grabbed the pillow that her daughter’s head had rested upon only the night before, clutched it to her bosom, lay her cheek against it, and inhaled raggedly.

She had sent her girl off on a course of discovery, to “see something of the world before settling down on that little rock patch.” And now, she was not afraid that her first-born would not discover anything of value in Philadelphia, but that she would. Alvinia sobbed hard into the pillow.

The brittle cold amplified every small squeak and rattle of the wagon as it rolled along the narrow trail of impacted snow. The snow was not deep for this time of year, and Red Standing Horse kept the roads, such as they were on the Red Sand, open by dragging a log behind his mules after light snowfalls. This worked only until the first big snow, then everyone took to shovels and snowshoes. This winter had been relatively mild so far. The bitter wind that cut their faces was the only indication that this was, indeed, February. Gustie pulled her cloak tighter around her face and ears and squinted against the sun. Jordis held the reins as Biddie pulled them ever closer to yet another leave-taking. They had been separated often, and often for weeks, even months at a time, but never, since they met, at such a distance. This time, the separation felt different.

“You’ll be all right while I’m gone?” Gustie asked.

“Of course,” Jordis answered.

A green shawl covered Jordis’s head. Gustie reached out to tuck the end of it snugly under the neck of her army-blanket poncho. “Will you miss me?”

“I’ll try to remember to miss you, Augusta.”

“That’s all one can ask.” Of course, for almost a month, they had discussed every aspect of Gustie’s going. Her last-minute qualms felt childish. The snow provided a quieter cushion than the naked dirt road. She closed her eyes and imagined they were on a sleigh—a sleigh that was sailing north and west over the snow in the opposite direction of the Wheat Lake depot.

“You’ll write to me,” Jordis said.

From her happy sleigh ride, Gustie murmured, “I’ll try to remember to write to you.”

“That’s all one can ask.”

Gustie opened her eyes and saw that the wisp of smile that had been on Jordis’s face was gone. She laid a gloved hand over Jordis’s mittened hands and tugged gently on the reins. Biddie stopped. Gustie put her other arm around Jordis and pulled her close. They rested cheek to cheek, not speaking for several moments—enough time for them to not say the things that each already knew filled the heart of the other. Then Jordis, without looking at Gustie, straightened and clucked Biddie back into motion.

At the depot, the train was just chuffing up its engine prior to being on its way. Gustie climbed down and took her bag from the back of the wagon. As she came around the front, she caressed the mare’s neck and said, “Take good care of her.”

Jordis answered, “You know I will.”

Gustie looked up. “I’m talking to Biddie.”

Jordis smiled.

In his bow-legged, one-leg-shorter-than-the-other gait, Joe Gruba trotted toward them, waving a hand over his head. “Hi there, Miss Jordis!”

“Hi, Joe.”

He took Gustie’s bag and his short legs did double time to her long stride to the second car. He held her bag up to her saying, “You have a nice trip now, Miss Augusta. A real nice trip.”

“Thank you, Joe, I will.” She hoped she would, as she took her bag and a deep breath. The locomotive shuddered under her feet and began its head-long plunge eastward.

When Will and Lena stepped out of Walter’s house that night, the stars blazed in a quiet sky. A thin layer of snow sparkled over Charity like sugar on a cookie.

Lena pointed up. “Look, Will. The dipper!”

“Yup.” He scanned the sky. “You warm enough, Duchy?”

“I’m fine.”

He stopped and she stopped with him. He kept his eyes upward, but she knew his mind was back with his brother. Lena felt bad for Will right now and even harbored a small pang for Walter, although she had never liked him. She also felt a tickle of exhilaration. Never having lied before, she had had no idea how good at it she would be. Her first lie was to Will. Mary had come to her, she said, excited about going to Philadelphia with Betty and Gustie. Alvinia wouldn’t let Betty go without Mary, as Gustie would be busy with her own family and shouldn’t be expected to devote her time looking after a young girl. Lena didn’t know till after they were gone, when she opened Mary’s letter to her, what the real story was. She handed that letter to Will, pulling a long face over the memory of Gustie and Alvinia and Lena composing it and dictating it for Mary to write down. They did the same for the letter that Lena gave to Walter, in which Mary told him why she had to leave, that she would never be back, was filled with shame and remorse, and hoped Walter would start a new life without her. He was free to think of her as dead. He could divorce her. She was sorry. Lena even showed Walter her own letter to prove that she didn’t know any more than he did.

Walter, when he got the news, stopped sucking on his cigar and stared dumbly around his house, which was all Mary. Flowered wallpaper. Lace at each window. China glowing in the mahogany hutch. Everything pretty and in perfect order. What would happen now to all of Mary’s nice things?

Lena had few such nice things for herself. Why Walter had so much more money than Will was no mystery. He was older and had gotten started sooner. He’d spent more working years single, living with his ma and pa, never having to spend a penny of his own, and Walter didn’t lose whole weeks of work to the bottle. Lena had her resentments. Mary always had new clothes and shoes. And a full pantry. But she had never lorded it over Lena. In fact, after the death of her brother, Mary, along with Gustie, had been at her bed-side, taking care of her, her house, Will, and arranging Tori’s funeral. And since she had come to Lena, Lena would do everything in her power to help her. Oh, she was aware of Mary’s sin, but if Walter had been a proper husband, this wouldn’t have happened.

Walter’s strutting days were over, that was for sure, and Mary would have no more use of these pretty things. Lena wondered if, when the fuss died down, she could have that rose bowl by the window. She’d always liked it.

So Walter just sat there on the sofa. Will pulled up a chair directly in front of him, sat, leaning in toward his brother, elbows on knees, and lamented, “Well, Walt. You just never know about these things. Boy. You just never know.” He ran his hand over his face, again and again, repeating, “You just never know.”