Authors: Leisha Kelly
“Get me to the porch,” she told him. “Wish I still had me that swing.”
“You had a porch swing?” Sarah asked, turning her attention from the barn to the house. In no time she spotted the hooks still in the porch ceiling. “We can get one,” she announced. “And put it right there. Can’t we, Daddy?”
Sam looked at me and then at Robert, who was suddenly smiling again. “It’ll take awhile,” he told the kids. “But I think I can make one. When we got time. All right?”
“Yeah!” Sarah squealed.
“You’re turnin’ out right handy, Samuel,” Emma said. “If you can do that, I’ll be braggin’ all over Ham’ton County ’bout you.”
We brought out a chair to the porch for Emma, then collected clover for the cow. Sam went past the cow and the barn toward the old fence, and I started walking over the yard, picking yellow dock and dandelion, then wood sorrel, flowers and all.
“Greens
again,
Mom?” Robert asked in dismay.
“We have to make do, Robert.”
He scowled and plunked down on the porch step. “You know what I’d like? Chicken!”
“Robert John! We can’t butcher till there’s more of them! We’d be throwing away tomorrow to suit today!”
Emma nodded. “Your mama’s got good sense. She does real good fixin’, and we got no right to complain. Come here, boy.”
Robert turned and looked at her with a frown. “I hate bein’ poor,” he said. “I wanta be able to buy store bread and jelly and a bunch of roast beef and stuff.”
“Well, them days is comin’,” she said. “Down the road a piece. Right now we can dream on it. Just think—we let one of them chickens set for a batch a’ chicks, then another batch, and ’fore long, we got us a good flock. Plenty a’ eggs ever’ day. And come cold weather, we can be eatin’ roast chicken to beat the band. This is the time for the green stuff now, though. You ain’t gonna get much a’ that in the winter.”
“I’ll be glad.”
“Might get to missin’ it when the snow’s high, and wish your mama could get out and find you some wild lettuce.”
I looked up at her. “You have wild lettuce around here?”
“Used to. Ain’t seen none today.” She smiled down at me. “You love it, don’t ya, Juli, goin’ out foragin’?”
“I would if it was just for fun.”
“It is fun. Ain’t no reason why we can’t have fun ’round here. The good Lord sure ain’t again’ it. Robert, get you and your sister both a bowl. First one to fill it up with eatin’ greens gets ’em a nickel.”
“A real nickel?” Robert’s eyes shone, and he jumped up and ran to the kitchen for the bowls.
“You needn’t do such a thing,” I told Emma. “They shouldn’t be paid for helping.”
“It’s a game, that’s all,” she explained. “And I got me a nickel for both of ’em. We can send ’em to the store with Sam, and they can spend the nickels how they please, if you let ’em. It’s good for kids not to worry, now. They ought not be thinkin’ poor, even if they is.”
I shook my head. “You can’t be dishing out nickels every time they complain. I don’t even want you taking your money—”
“Julia, honey. Do you see any other young’uns scattered over m’ yard? Or anybody but your Samuel way over yonder?”
“No.”
“I lost my only boy, but it ain’t hard to dream that you’re fam’ly. That I finally got me some grandkids. And a son and a daughter.”
I could see her eyes fill with tears, and mine started too, just as Robert came bursting out the back door with the bowls in his hand.
“I ain’t short a’ nickels just yet,” Emma went on. “I wish you’d just let me dream.”
There was nothing I could think of to say to that. So I just gave her a nod and turned back to my picking. And soon Robert and Sarah were running over the yard, doing picking of their own. We had a big plate of greens that noon, and the kids ate them even better than they usually did.
I chose our Sunday clothes after lunch, one outfit apiece that was better than what we usually wore. Sarah’s best dress needed some mending and mine was a sight for wrinkles. Both of Robert’s pairs of pants were worn at the knee, but one not quite so bad; it would take a patch easily enough. And Samuel had one nice shirt, also in need of an iron.
I searched through some boxes till I found the iron Emma assured me was in there somewhere. Then I put the iron on the hot stove to heat while I finished up the dishes. Emma sat with her needle and thread and fixed Sarah’s little dress while I spread out the other clothes on the cleared table to iron.
I had finished all of ours and started on a pale green dress of Emma’s when we heard honking down the road.
I shook my head. “Somebody’s leaning on the horn going past.”
“They’ll be turning in,” Emma declared and laid aside her sewing to peer out the window.
Sure enough, a familiar-looking pickup truck drove up into the yard, and I saw a tall man step out of it. Barrett Post. With a covered pan in his hands.
Sarah was the first to greet him, and he sent her to the truck to retrieve something wrapped up in a dishcloth. I ran to the porch to ask him in.
“Louise figured you oughta have a housewarmin’,” he said, looking past me. “Stars, you got Emma here a’ready.”
“Barrett,” Emma said with obvious pleasure, “come and sit, will you?”
I took the pot from his hands, and he pulled up a chair beside her. “Emma, it’s good seein’ ya.You’re lookin’ so good. You sure you’re all right, bein’ out here now?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? Folks can only pine for home so long ’fore they gotta do something ’bout it or die.”
I snuck a peek in the pot. A dressed chicken, ready to roast. Robert would be ecstatic.
Sarah ran up to me with her bundle. “Mama, I think it’s corn bread!”
Mr. Post laughed. “Those is from Louise, now. You all enjoy ’em tonight. And no need returning the favor, seein’s you’re just gettin’ settled and all.” He turned back to Emma without the slightest hesitation. “They treatin’ you good, are they?”
“The finest in the world,” she declared. “You should just see how good they done puttin’ in m’ garden this mornin’.”
I didn’t want to intrude on old friends, so I ushered Sarah outside in time to meet Sam coming up from the barn.
“Who is it?”
“Mr. Post, remember, who took us into Belle Rive. But don’t go in yet. I really think he’d appreciate having Emma’s conversation alone for awhile.”
“Not upset with us, is he?”
“He doesn’t seem to be. Brought us a chicken and a pan of corn bread.”
“It’s a wonder,” he said sarcastically.
“It’s a blessing of God, Sammy,” I insisted. “How’s the fence look?”
“Pretty beat down. I’d better start this afternoon and do what I can with it, so that cow’ll have some pasture. It’ll take awhile, though. It’s a good thing we’ve got a pile of lumber out there to work with.”
He looked across the yard toward the henhouse and started walking to the shed. “Emma said to fix her chicken pen first. Do you know the way she wants it?”
“Pretty much.”
He pulled the old roll of chicken wire out from the shed, and I was glad to see him so motivated to get things done. With Sarah trying valiantly to help, he carried the wire to the henhouse, where part of a fence still stood, going straight out from the back.
“We’ll need at least one post over there to join to,” I told him, “and then come back to the other henhouse corner.” I heard a couple of squawks and the rooster’s determined crowing. They were anxious to be out in the sunshine, I figured. Mr. Norse had set a rock against the wooden flap near the ground at the back of the coop. The flap would open into the fence soon enough, but if the chickens got out now, we might have a time rounding them up again.
Samuel had already tacked the wire on one side and was digging the posthole when Mr. Post came out of the house, looking for us. “Say, there! Most folks stop their work when they’s got a visitor.”
Sam looked up at him and nodded. “We figured you were Emma’s visitor.”
“She’s fond of you. Ain’t got no complaints. Speaks well in my book.”
“Can I get you a drink, Mr. Post?” I said quickly, remembering I hadn’t asked before.
“No. No, thank you, ma’am.” He was still looking at Sam, and Sam was still digging. Sarah moved a little closer to me and then sat in the dirt, watching and listening.
“What you gonna do with that cow by the barn?” Mr. Post asked.
Sam took a glance in that direction. Lula Bell was still content, chewing her cud and watching us. “Emma said she’s fine there, so long as she’s got grass in her reach. I’ll be moving her after awhile to the other side of the barn. It’ll take some time to get the pasture fence in order. There’s a good barn stall, though, to keep her in at night.”
Mr. Post looked back toward the pasture. “Gonna be a fair ’mount of work,” he agreed, “repairin’ Willard’s old fence.”
“We were talking about that over lunch,” Sam told him. “I’ll be starting as soon as I get this done. Won’t get very far today, though.”
“Want some help?”
Sam stopped his digging and looked up in surprise.
“I got a guernsey heifer for Emma, if you let me and my boy come and work ’longside of you Mond’y mornin’.”
Sammy sunk the posthole digger back into the dirt and then stood there, shaking his head. “Why?” he asked. “Why would you want to do that?”
“’Cause it needs to be done. Got to pasture your cows. You ever work fence before?”
“No.”
“Sure will take you a long time alone, then. I’m wantin’ to help Emma, and she’s wantin’ to see her place in order ’fore she passes on.”
I shivered, to hear him speak of Emma passing.
Lord, no,
I prayed.
Not for many, many years. We need her alive and well
and right here, telling us what for.
“It’s fine you helping Emma,” Sam said. “But I’d be owing you for helping me at the same time. I ought to return the favor, but I’m not so sure I can. Especially when it comes to the cow.”
Mr. Post seemed to understand that sort of thinking. “The cow’s for Emma. As for you, I’ll be needin’ help on m’ roof ’fore long. We can settle up then.”
Sam smiled. “You’d trust me on your roof?”
“You done shingles before?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, then that’s a plus. I ain’t gotta learn you.” He stuck out his hand, and Sam took it. “You all come for Sunday dinner tomorrow, will you?” he asked us. “Want me to come for you?”
“Charlie Hunter’s taking us to church.”
He frowned. “Shoulda known Emma’d find herself a way to get up there.” Mr. Post shook his head and looked us all over. “Have him drop you by after. Will you do that? My Louise’d be tickled to have you.” He leaned down to pat Sarah on the head. “Don’t you have a bigger fella ’round here someplace?”
Sam nodded. “Gone fishing.”
“Good. He oughta go while he gots the chance. I was tellin’ Elvira ’bout him. She’ll be wantin’ to look him over, for sure. He gonna start school next week?”
“We’re planning on it,” Sam said. “You may have to help us find the place. I’d send him with the Hammonds, but I’m not sure they’ll be going.”
“Can’t say, that’s true. They got their farmwork to do.” Mr. Post gave Sarah another pat and went back to the house to talk with Emma a little more before going home.
Robert came back with two fish. We roasted them and the chicken, and the kids felt like royalty that night, eating so well. But Sam was quiet, even more quiet than usual. Overwhelmed, maybe, by a sudden friendship and an incredibly generous offer. Another cow for Emma. And fence work.
Emma beamed all through supper and hummed afterward as she tightened a button on her best sweater. It felt good to make her happy, to please her friends, and find the blessing of the Lord in it. Once Sam got used to the idea, I could see us prospering here. But I couldn’t forget what Barrett Post had said about Emma passing on. The thought nagged at me, even while she was humming.
She
wants to see the place in order. Before she goes. Before she leaves
this world, and us, behind her. Lord have mercy.
Samuel
Alone in the yard late that night, I thought of cows and chickens and fences and friends, and I very nearly cried. “It’s too much, Lord,” I said. “I don’t know the first thing about cows. Or anything else around here.”
Julia had tried her hand at milking Lula Bell and had gotten barely a quart. But that was better than nothing and more than enough to satisfy the kids. We were blessed, true enough.
But I had the future to face. And church tomorrow. Barrett Post didn’t seem to care that I didn’t know what I was doing, but there would be others who would more than care. They’d be outraged, like that busybody, Hazel Sharpe, and would do their best to drive some sense into all of us.
The thought of church in that little town made me so uncomfortable that I began to think of ways of getting myself out of it.
I could stay home to work on the pasture fence.
Or check the roof on this house. It might need work too.
But I knew that neither Emma nor Julia would think much of my excuses. Emma probably wouldn’t like me working on Sunday at all, except to feed or water the animals.
Earlier I had carried in bucket after bucket of water for Julia to wash the kids. Then she’d helped Emma and cleaned herself up too. All in the big washtub, set right on the kitchen floor. Julia had expected me to wash in the water left in the tub and then haul it out to dump, but I couldn’t bring myself to go in yet. The water was surely cold by now, but I didn’t care. I didn’t even care if I went to church dirty. It wouldn’t make much difference to anybody.
Hazel Sharpe would be there, letting everybody know what a scoundrel I was. Taking Emma’s milk and eggs for my own kids. Using Emma just to get help from her friends.
I was leaning against the apple tree, listening to the owl that was out again, when I heard the back door slowly open and close. In a moment, Julia was holding my hand, not saying a word but softly breathing beside me, her head resting on my shoulder.
“You think I’m a fool, Juli?”
She was quiet so long that I turned to look at her. Under the moonlight I could see the gleam of tears on her face. Finally she spoke. “No more than I am, Sammy, thinking this would be so perfect for us. What are we gonna do if something happens to Emma? Oh, Sammy, what if she dies?”