Authors: Noelle Carle
Tom and Ruth settled
in the sitting room where Ruth had kindled a fire as the April evening grew
chilly. Tom drew her next to him with his arm around her shoulder as she told
him what had happened while he’d been in town. She grew quiet then and picked
up her knitting. Tom drew in a deep breath and brought out the newspaper. He
opened it so she could see the black headline and he knew she’d read it when
her hands stilled and she breathed in a quick gasp. “Why didn’t you say
something before?” she questioned.
He gazed sadly at the
paper and replied, “I don’t know. Just trying to feel like the world is normal
for a few more hours. With our country involved in this war now things will be
very different.”
“I know!”
“For us too,
Ruthie.” He laid aside the paper and picked up her hands. She felt so small to
him, even though she was sturdy and strong for a woman. He was half a foot
taller than her, with a solid, compact frame and strong shoulders and arms. He
felt like he could crush her hands in his so he held them loosely and tried to
keep his voice light. “I’ve been thinking and praying about what I’d do if
this happened. Praying hard, dear. And…” he sighed then, tipped his head back
and couldn’t meet her eyes.
“No, Tommy. No! You
don’t have to. I thought we had settled this. Remember?”
He shook his head.
“No, we hadn’t. You decided, but I did not agree.”
But she let go of his
hands and drew him into her arms. “This is not right. You can’t leave us
here. You can’t leave me!” And she burst into tears, an occurrence that was
so rare he was astonished. He let her cling to him until she quieted. He held
her and rubbed her back and felt the words tangled in his throat that he’d
meant to say, to explain to her the absolute sureness of his decision.
When she was quiet he
whispered, “Ruthie, you know these feelings I get; these urges that I need to
do something?”
She nodded.
“Well, that’s how I
feel about this. I’ve got to enlist. I’ve got to go. I can’t explain it but
I feel like somebody needs me there.”
She lifted her head
then. Her eyes were red and swollen, her nose running and her lips trembling.
“We need you here, all of us, a lot more!” She twisted away from him then and
ran up the stairs to their room. One of the children cried out briefly and he
heard her soothing voice quieting him. He heard her footsteps as she prepared
for bed, then all was still.
Tom closed his eyes.
He slipped to his knees; his powerful body slumped to the floor. “Speak to
her, please, Lord,” he pleaded. “I can’t go if she feels this way. Show her,
Father, that you are sufficient for all her needs, not me.” He continued
praying until he was almost asleep there on the floor.
When Tom finally went
to bed, Ruth was quietly and steadily breathing, asleep despite her distress.
In the morning she must have arisen long before he did for the bed was cold
when he awoke. He dressed quickly and went down stairs. It was still dark
out, but the kitchen was warm and coffee was brewed. Naomi sat at the long
table he’d crafted, reading the paper. Ruthie was elsewhere.
“Morning,” he said
briefly as he poured a cup and peered through the window to see if he could see
a light in the barn.
“She’s mad at you,”
Naomi answered in a matter-of-fact voice.
Tom just grunted.
There was no light coming from the barn and he sat down at the table, opposite
Naomi.
She gestured with her
chin to the newspaper. “You’re going, aren’t you?” Her eyes were cold and she
seemed on the verge of tears also. He was used to seeing Naomi cry and laugh
in the same sentence, so he just sighed. She pursed her lips, and then shook
her head. “Naturally you’re going!” Her voice rose and he worried that she’d
wake the children. “The big hero is going to save the world. But you know
what? I think this one might be too big, even for you, Tom!”
Tom sat back in his
chair. “What?”
“Oh, you’re always
getting people out of trouble, aren’t you? Always jumping in to rescue the
lost souls. This isn’t a little baby with no parents, Tommy, this is a war!
You can’t stop it and you can’t help it. You think…”
Ruth burst in from
the porch. “Stop it, Nay!”
“Why? It’s true. He
thinks he’s going to go, leave us to carry on without him and he’ll go over
there and single-handedly end this whole big mess. Right?” She glared at Tom;
her eyes glittered in the lamplight. “What if something happens to you? What
if you don’t ever come back?”
Ruth sat quickly
beside her sister, grabbed her forearm and squeezed it. “I said stop. Tom
knows what he’s doing.” Her eyes met his briefly, and then flicked away. “I
know that he hasn’t made this decision lightly, and he wouldn’t do it if he
didn’t have to. Besides,” she added pointedly, “you didn’t seem to mind when
he rescued you.”
Naomi stared at her
cup of coffee, tears dripping down her nose at this uncharacteristic reminder
of her past. “How will we manage, Ru, just us?”
Ruth shrugged and
moved her arm across Naomi’s thin shoulders. “We’re strong. We’re
resourceful, and the older boys will help. I was thinking maybe we can get
Riley Moore to help out too. He could move right out here with us.”
At the thought of the
slow church janitor trying to keep up with the crowd of boys, Naomi groaned and
shook her head. Then she rubbed her streaming eyes and sighed, wiping at the
unattractive drips under her nose.
“I hear the boys
waking up. Why don’t you go on up while Tommy and I have a quick chat before
the bedlam begins, hmmm?”
Naomi sniffed and
stood up. Ruth rose also and went to the cupboard for a mug. Naomi barely met
Tom’s eyes as she passed by him and he heard her quick light footsteps running
up the stairs. Ruth turned and looked at him. Her face was composed and she
looked a little contrite as she spoke. “I guess I got the cart before the
horse last night. I did a lot of praying in the night and this morning. I’m
sorry for how I reacted.”
“Aw, Ruthie.” Tom
shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. I know you thought this was all settled. I
wanted to think so also. And you‘ve always been so patient, so good about
these things. But I haven‘t made this decision lightly. I‘m not going on a
whim.” He stopped and ran his hand through his thick beard. The kitchen was
silent but for the ticking of the clock.
Ruth watched him and
saw his resoluteness and knew his good heart. She bit her lip and stared into
her coffee cup. “I am scared…not about the work. I don’t mind that. But,
what’ll I do if you don’t come back? What’ll I do, Tommy?”
Tom rose. He took
her mug from her, set it on the counter and drew her into his arms. He didn’t
have an answer for that question.
Chapter Three
To Spend Her Blood
The wind had long
since passed the point of playfulness this early morning in May. With high
winds and high tides, the fishermen were unable to go out, so they would work
on shore, mending traps and stocking up on bait, perpetually near the water
where they could see and hear it. The sun was still nothing more than a
promise when Sam finished dressing and peered out the window. His view of the
harbor was not yet visible, but closer at hand he could distinguish the tops of
the trees tossing wildly in the rambunctious gusts. The wind rushed at the
window causing it to rattle in its casement. Sam was glad, in a way, not to be
on the water, but was also trying to spend as much time as he could with his
father.
His mother was
unusually broody. Since the news of the war two weeks ago, she acted sometimes
as if she were angry with him. After his own news of the previous night he
didn’t relish facing her, but the smell of breakfast cooking was drawing him
downstairs.
The kitchen was warm
and smoky, for the cook stove always backed up when the wind blew from the
northeast. His father was bent over in the rocking chair that sat by the
stove, pulling some worn socks onto his feet. Esther and Cleo were up, along
with Henry and William, sleepily yawning at the table. The younger children
still slept, or were wise enough to keep out from underfoot until their father
had his breakfast at hand.
Aubrey Newell, who
boarded with them, nursed a cup of coffee, which he raised in a salute to Sam
as he stepped off the stairs. Olivia stood at the stove, stirring a pot of
porridge and turning bacon as it sizzled and popped. Esther finished placing
dishes around the long table, yawning as she passed by Sam.
“You sleep poorly,
Esther?” he questioned.
She shrugged. His
sister never said much, especially in the morning. Her skin looked pale, with
dusky shadows under her eyes. Her perpetual worry for Remick Granger weighed
on her heavily although she scarcely spoke of him.
Inwardly Sam
writhed. He figured he had added to her worries with his announcement last
night. It was for the greater good, he knew, but right here, in this moment,
he didn’t know how he could leave the warmth and comfort of this home and
family. He poured coffee for himself, and for his father as Reg pulled his
chair up to the table.
Olivia turned from
the stove, grunting and hefting the pot of oatmeal, saying as she did, “Here we
are, ready or not,” the same words she said every morning. She set it in front
of Reg, who began filling bowls. As she turned back she laid one hand on Sam’s
head, briefly, then slid it down his neck. She smiled faintly and her hand was
warm and dry. He felt her blessing in that touch, a reassurance of her heart
for him.
She turned back to
the stove to tend the bacon, and she hummed quietly to herself, a habit that
her children teased her about consistently. But she stopped after a moment,
and then she gasped out, “Oh my dear!’ The fork clattered out of her hand onto
the floor and Sam thought she must have been splattered with grease. But
across from him, Esther’s face lost more color and Cleo squeaked, “Momma!”
Turning, Sam saw
Olivia bent over, a grimace of pain tightening her features. Reg stood so quickly
that his chair clattered backwards. “Liv, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know,” she said in a strangled voice. “It…I…help me, Reggie,” she
cried, tears forming now and squeezing onto her cheeks. “It’s the baby,” she
moaned. She began to topple forward when Reg caught her and pulled her into
his arms.
When he lifted her
up, Sam saw with panic that blood was already soaking through her skirt. “I’ll
go get Doctor Granger,” he told his father, jumping from his chair.
From the stairway
came the hushed but definite sound of a whimper, over which Sam heard his
father insisting, “Hurry, son. Hurry!”
“Can I go with you?”
William implored.
“Course not!” Sam
snapped. “You get ready and go to school.” He turned back as he drew on his jacket.
Esther had her hand across her mouth and tears were filling her eyes, but as he
watched she straightened, wiped them quickly and turned to William.
“Sam’s right. You
need to go to school, all of you. Momma will be fine.”
Cleo scowled and pushed
away from the table. With a mutinous look she deliberately walked upstairs.
Sam didn’t linger but ran outside. He wished, not for the first time, for a
telephone. They had a horse, Freddie, who moved slower than Sam could run.
He set off down the hill, urgency gripping him. Even after tripping in the
pale light, he sprang back up, pushing on without feeling the bleeding cut on
his palm or the burning in his legs.
He passed the quiet
houses and the still school yard. As he ran by the church, he prayed for his
mother. At the three-way fork he veered left, and then cut through the woods
and fields until he reached the doctor’s home.
Lamps were lit. When
he clattered up the steps and pounded on the door, it opened almost
immediately. Doctor Granger was half-dressed, with his dangling suspenders
looping down along his pant legs. His undershirt couldn’t cover up his pale
arms or the slight paunch of his belly. Sam thought fleetingly of his father,
tightly muscled as an athlete and skin leathery brown. But the doctor had
lively interested eyes and an embracing compassion that made him so fiercely
loved in their community.
“Why, Sam! Son, what
is it?”
Sam stood trembling,
his breath still straining to catch up with his body.
“You’re hurt. Has there
been an accident?” asked Dan, catching up Sam’s bleeding hand and pulling him
inside, out of the wind.
Owen wandered in from
the kitchen then, eyeing the scene curiously.