Authors: Leisha Kelly
Lizbeth was back in no time with Sarah’s daisies in a quart jar dripping with water. She set it on her mother’s end table without wiping the bottom or setting anything beneath it. I thought of the ring the water would make on the old oak, but I didn’t say a word.
“I do ’preciate your thoughtfulness,” Wilametta told me.
“Bringin’ a cake and all. I s’pose you’re tryin’ to be all right in the ways you know, and that’s kind of you.”
“I was thinking I might offer to keep some of the children sometimes,” I said quickly. “So you can rest once the baby’s born. We’re needing feathers for another mattress, if you expect you’ll have any to spare, and I’ve no other way to pay you for them.”
“It’ll be some time ’fore we have enough again to stuff a mattress,” she said. “We do fine too, with the children. They can see to themselves, for the most part. Every one of ’em knows what they ain’t s’posed to be about. And they mind too.”
“That’s wonderful, Mrs. Hammond,” I told her sincerely. “A lot of children don’t mind.”
“Mine do. They fetch the belt if they don’t. But you got you a pretty nice little girl too.”
“Thank you. How old is your Rorey?”
“All of six. And ready to help me with the newborn, she is. I do hope it’s another girl. I got me seven boys a’ready. That’s enough for one woman.”
I couldn’t help but smile and acknowledge that it was. I found it hard to imagine what life would be like if I had nine or ten children running around instead of two.
What
a lot of food they must need in this house!
“Rorey’s so small, though,” I said. “And Lizbeth surely has her hands full too. Isn’t there something you could use some extra help with?”
“I’m just hopin’ you let us at the berries, that’s all. Emma always let us have all the berries we want. Blackberries too. Dewberries. And hickory nuts in the fall.”
“We can surely share.”
“Good hearin’ you say that. You can be jus’ completely sure I won’t forget.”
“I won’t forget either.”
“George says you’ll run us out our home, just as soon as Emma dies. We meant to pay all along, you know, but the crops ain’t been so good, year after year.”
There was a twinge of fear in her eyes, and I realized that the Hammonds owed Emma for more than the cows and the use of one field. She must have carried them patiently, or maybe forgiven them entirely, over and over for years now.
What would they do, really, if Emma died tomorrow and a bank or a lawyer or an unsympathetic relative stepped in and took a look? The Hammonds had reason to fear.
“We should be friends,” I suddenly said.
“We might could be that, I suppose,” Wilametta said cautiously. “Don’t know ’bout our men, though. They can be more hardheaded.”
“Sam’s really nice,” I told her. “He’d never cause you any trouble.”
She frowned. “But you need more’n feathers, don’t ya? He ain’t got you fixed up very well, George says. What’re you eatin’ over there?”
“We’re managing all right. And Sam’s been working hard.”
“I know one thing. Even if we ain’t got cash, George always makes sure we got plenty enough to fill our bellies. We ain’t never short of good meat and butter, that’s for sure. You want to stay for lunch?”
“Thank you, but I can’t. I need to go back and cook for Sam and Emma before Sam leaves.”
She sat up in surprise. “Leaves? Where’s he goin’?”
“To help Mr. Post on his roof. In exchange for the fence work he did for us.”
I didn’t say anything more about Sam working for the Posts, figuring it might create hard feelings somehow. It
was
unusual that Mr. Post hadn’t gotten himself another local man that he’d known a lot longer.
Wilametta was looking ready to say something else when we heard a crash and a scream and a whole garbled series of yells outside. I jumped from my chair, thinking I’d heard Sarah’s voice among the jumble.
“Merciful heavens!” Wilametta shrieked. “Lizbeth, run and see what’s happened!”
I stared at the woman for a minute as she took up a square of heavy paperboard from the side of her bed and started fanning herself. “Those kids,” she muttered. “You never know.”
I didn’t wait, not for Wilametta to raise her head or Lizbeth to come back with a report. I ran from the room without another word and found my way to the outside door.
“Sarah!”
“Mama!” I heard Sarah yell in reply.
A little goat with two-inch horns came trotting around the side of the house and almost ran into me. Behind the first one came two more, running just as fast. Then another, much bigger, followed by Willy and a smaller boy, both shouting.
“You ain’t gonna catch goats thataway, stupids!” Lizbeth yelled. “Shut up and coax ’em with some grain!”
I could hear my Sarah crying, so I followed the sound and eventually found her, lying on the ground in a tangle of wire and boards. Parts of a leaning fence stretched beyond her in both directions, and I could see what had happened. A little thing like Sarah had managed to collapse the fence.
“I didn’t mean to,” she sobbed. “It just broke.”
Rorey looked up at me anxiously. “I hope you ain’t mad,” she said. “It weren’t Sarah’s fault. All she done was climb over the fence. We always do that. Guess we knows the right places for it, maybe.”
I took Sarah into my arms. She wasn’t hurt badly, just banged up a bit on the elbows, one knee, and her chin. She was more scared than anything else. But she was already becoming calm.
Only Rorey had stayed with Sarah; the other children were still chasing goats. “Pa’ll fix the fence,” Rorey assured Sarah. “Don’t you worry. He won’t be too mad.”
I looked up at the girl, wondering just what sort of reaction George Hammond would have.
Mad? I should hope not.
He ought to be mortified, having a neighbor girl hurt on his property
because of something he should have fixed.
“Mama, can we go home?” Sarah asked me as I wiped her chin with my scarf.
“We will,” I promised. “First we have to go in and tell Mrs. Hammond what happened.”
“Do we have to?” she asked, almost crying again. “I didn’t mean to let the goats out.”
“I know. And she’ll understand.” I lifted her up, and she bravely hobbled along beside me, clinging to my arm with both hands. “Are you all right, sweetie?” I asked, feeling bad for her, even though she had bucked up so well.
“My leg hurts.”
“Do you need me to carry you awhile?”
She smiled a little and wiped away a tiny tear with the back of her hand. “You don’t haves to, Mommy,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault.”
I stopped and swooped her into my arms. I knew Sarah could be a tough little trooper, but she didn’t have to be
that
tough. “C’mon, sugar,” I told her. “Let’s say bye to Rorey’s mom.”
Rorey tagged along behind us, almost on my heels. “You’re strong, Mrs. Wortham. Mama never picks me up. She can’t, ’cause I’m too big. You sure are strong. Could you pick
me
up?”
“Honey, mothers who are about due for a little one aren’t supposed to be lifting such big girls,” I told her. “I’m sure your mother’s plenty strong when she’s not expecting.”
“Don’t know,” she answered. “She ain’t even picked up Berty in hunderds of years, and he’s littler than me! She ain’t never picked me up. Honest!”
I turned and looked at her for a moment, wondering if there was any reason at all for such a whopper. She surely had no concept of what a hundred years was. Maybe she was just hoping to get me to carry her sometime too, just for the fun.
I stepped onto the wide porch, carefully avoiding a place where half of a board had fallen in. I didn’t knock. Lizbeth was still herding goats, and I knew Wilametta wouldn’t get up just to open the door. I walked in, shifted Sarah’s weight in my arms, and headed back to the bedroom.
“Oh, heavens,” Wilametta exclaimed, looking very red. “Is the little angel all right? What happened? Rorey, don’t stand there. Get Mrs. Wortham a wet cloth. Hurry on, now.”
I told her what had happened and said we were headed home, though Sarah wasn’t hurt bad.
“You ain’t gonna hate me now, are ya?” she questioned. “You ain’t gonna be tellin’ Emma bad on us?”
“She might ask what happened,” I answered calmly.
“But I won’t tell her anything but the truth.”
“Oh,” she frowned, suddenly shaking her head. “It was just one of them things. You know. We got good fencin’ all over. Them boys must a’ loosened somethin’. It’d be better not to tell her nothin’. Don’t you think? She don’t need be troubled over such a little thing. Don’t you agree it’s a little thing?”
I didn’t know what to say. If the Hammonds were so worried about what Emma thought, then why hadn’t they been more careful all this time? Did Wilametta really think a broken fence would matter more to Emma than being lied to and left unpaid?
Suddenly she scrunched up her face and looked at the ceiling. “Oh, dear,” she said. “Oh, dear.” She looked pale, and for a minute there, scared.
I set Sarah down in the old woven chair and stepped a little closer, my stomach turning a flip-flop. “What is it?”
Rorey came in with a dripping rag, and Wilametta told her to go out and get Lizbeth, whether the goats were in or not. The girl shoved the wet cloth at my hand and disappeared. Wilametta watched me dab at Sarah’s scraped knee, but I watched her.
“Are you all right?” I asked. “Do you need help?”
“I will ’fore long. There’ll be news for the church folks on Sunday, I can just tell. I sure do hope for a girl. Wanta name her Grace. Don’t you think that’s a pretty name?”
“Yes. Beautiful. But can I do anything? Are you all right?”
“Oh, it was quite a kick, that’s all. I just feel so tight I could bust. Gonna have Lizbeth fix me a footbath and get George from the field.” There was a strange sort of look in her eyes. I couldn’t tell for sure what it was. Pain, maybe, but she wasn’t wanting to let on.
“Do you want me to wait?”
“Oh no. Get your little one on home. I’m fine. Just so sorry, so sorry she come up hurt. You okay now, sweetie?” She turned her eyes to Sarah, but I could see she was sweating even more than before.
“I’m okay,” Sarah answered bravely, reaching for my hand.
“Mrs. Hammond, maybe I should stay till your husband gets here.”
“No. I wouldn’t keep you. We got it figgered out. He’ll be fetchin’ me Mrs. Mueller when the time comes, but that ain’t just yet, don’t you worry.”
I wasn’t convinced. Something had changed about her whole demeanor. “Mrs. Hammond, I could—”
“Means a lot,” she said softly, looking away. “Means a lot that you said you was willin’ to be friends. I sure hope that ain’t changed. I sure hope Emma ain’t gonna be mad. You tell her we do just as best as we can.”
There were tears in her eyes. She was a true mystery to me. Boisterous and brash, then solemn and emotional. Of course, being pregnant could account for all that.
“Mrs. Hammond, Emma seems happy to have you here—”
“Won’t you call me Wilametta? Oh, dear soul, I never did ask your first name.”
“Julia.”
“Julia. That’s pretty. Fits you. Sorry ’bout your little one. Do run on and fix some vittles for that man a’ yours.” She took a deep breath. “Tell Emma it’d be the dearest blessing to see her again! And it ain’t that I wouldn’t have her. I’m just callin’ for Mrs. Mueller this time ’cause I don’t want to be no trouble. You know she ain’t been well.” She breathed out heavily and scrunched her face again.
“I felt so bad last time,” she went on, the strain apparent in her voice. “My boys fetched her, and she was a godsend to me and Berty when he come. But she was so sick, Julia. Just so sick I thought she’d die. I been scared ever since that she was gonna die. And then where would we be? You just don’t understand. And George, he ain’t one to say. Ain’t nobody would understand but maybe Emma herself! We ain’t got nothin’ but here!”
“It’s not helping you to worry over such things right now,” I said gently. “Can I get you something?”
“Oh, Lizbeth, where are you?”
As if on cue, Lizbeth came running into the house, all hot and sweaty, and stopped in the doorway, almost breathless. “Big Bill’s the only one out now, Ma, an’ you know how stubborn he can be.”
“Oh, child, forget the goat! Get me some salts for m’ sore feet, will you?”
“Mama?”
“Don’t fret,” Wilametta commanded. “Just do as I say.”
Lizbeth turned and walked out of the room, suddenly looking two shades paler herself.
“Well, Julia. It’s been fine.”
I heard the sound of the front door again. Lizbeth had gone back outside, and I heard voices but couldn’t make out what they were saying.
“Do you need me to do anything?” I asked again, not sure I was bold enough to ask if the labor had begun.
“No. No, you ask Lizbeth to get one of the boys to take you home in the wagon. Little one won’t have to walk so far that way.”
“If you need anything—”
“Now, don’t say that. I reckon you know how beholden I am already to Emma! Ain’t gonna be tangling myself up owin’ you too. Wouldn’t never get clear.”
I took her plump hand in mine, and she looked at me in surprise. “There’s no owing anybody involved,” I told her. “This is neighborly, and sisterly. If you need anything, you just tell us.”
“All right,” she said finally, almost in a whisper. “You’re kind to say so. I’m gonna nap a bit ’fore lunch, if you don’t mind. Just soak m’ feet and rest awhile.”
There was nothing more to be said. We’d been dismissed, and I had to trust that the Hammond family knew what they were doing. I carried Sarah out, and she hugged against my neck.
One of the boys had already hitched the wagon and was on his way to the road. But we didn’t call after him. It wasn’t so hard to walk. I carried Sarah about half way, and then she said she was feeling better and walked the rest. As soon as we got back to the yard, Sarah ran for Sam, but I went straight for the house.
Emma had her quilting out again, stretched over the kitchen table. It didn’t look like there could possibly be much left to finish. I stepped toward her, almost breathless.
“Emma, I think the Hammonds’ baby will be here soon. Wilametta didn’t want to say so, but it’s not hard to tell how uncomfortable she is.”