Mother Lode (32 page)

“Oh, heavens, Jorie. Play something gay.
Cheer me up.”

He was taken aback, but he
countered with
When the Saints Come
Marching In.
For the first time since he’d
been home he saw her smile.

Finally, she bid him good-night and went to
bed. Jorie stayed downstairs reading for awhile, hoping she’d be
asleep when he went up. But he’d no sooner gotten into bed when he
heard the door open.

His mother whispered, “I know you can’t be
sleeping yet.”

She crossed the floor and sat on the edge of
his bed.

“I can’t sleep, Jorie. I don’t want to be
alone.”

“You’re shivering.”

She nodded. “Let me slide in with you, to
keep warm. Just for a little while.”

His heart leapt. He wasn’t sure if it was in
fear or exhilaration. Had he ever known the difference?

In one swift motion she was under the
covers, lying next to him.

He willed his physical response to fade.

She started shaking. “Oh, Jorie, hold me.
I’m so cold.”

He put his arm around her, and she turned to
him. “I’m so alone now. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“You’re strong. You’ll carry on.” How lame
that sounded.

“Thank the Lord, you’ve never known how
painful it is to be alone. And you never will, not as long as you
have me.”

Gradually her shaking stopped. He was about
to suggest she go to her own bed, when the manner of her breathing
indicated she was asleep.

He held her for some time, but found it
impossible to sleep himself. He noticed he had unconsciously
adjusted his breathing to match hers as in years before. Quite
deliberately he broke his rhythm to counter hers, exhaling as she
inhaled.

Memories from years before
flooded in, how she’d held and comforted him. The
Golden Bubble
. What a
magical paradise it had seemed at the time. Thank God he’d been
able to break it, finally, and get away.

Again, he realized he’d fallen into matching
his breath to hers.

He couldn’t wait to get back to the
University.

In the dark week that followed, only the
happiness of little Eliza at having her brother home brought joy to
Jorie’s heart. The rest of the time he felt another kind of
sadness, for the father he’d never tried to reach and for what
never could be now. He watched his mother and felt for her, too.
Even though his parents hadn’t always seen eye to eye, he knew she
would miss his father. Jorie did everything he could to comfort her
and ease her burden. But after a week he was getting restless,
eager to get back to his studies. Thank God for Helena. He was glad
his little sister had this cheery Irish woman to watch over her. As
he was finishing his breakfast he told her so.

“So you’re planning to go back then, are
you? Have you spoke to your mother ‘bout this?”

Jorie shook his head. “No.”

“Best you do, lad.”

“You think she’ll object?”

“Oh, I couldn’t say.” Helena left the
room.

He approached his mother.

“Leave me! What are you talking about?”

“I don’t mean tomorrow, Ma. In a few
days.”

“Oh, no. Oh, no!” She looked frightened.

“What are you saying?” he stammered.

“You can’t be thinking that you’d leave your
mama now and go back to that school like nothing happened here!”
Tears filled her eyes.

“Ma, I’m sorry Pa died. I’ve tried to be of
help this past week, and I’ll stay another if you like, but then I
have to go.”

“No!” she screamed. “You will not!”

Why hadn’t he anticipated this? How could he
have been so blind?

“But Pa wanted me to be at the
University!”

“Your father up and died leaving me all
alone with a baby to take care of!”

A feeling of strangulation
came over him.
I can’t!

“Your obligations
are
here
! Do I
have to tell you that? And believe you me, your pa would have
wanted you to show some human kindness and stay to look after your
mother now!”

“I’ve got to go back!”

The look in her eyes changed from fear to
steely resolution. “You are only seventeen and I forbid it!”

Jorie felt something like a lump of hot coal
in his throat.

He grabbed his jacket and muffler and dashed
out of the house. Running, sliding down the icy hill, he reached
Front Street, ran along the road toward the bridge, abruptly cut
down the embankment and jumped onto the ice instead. He heard it
crack, went further, heedless of the loud booms of fracturing ice
and their resounding echoes.

Somehow he made it to the other side,
slipped and slid his way up the steep embankment to Houghton, ran
through town past the saloons, and onto the county road that led
west to Redridge, and Lake Superior.

Somewhere, about five miles out of town, the
pain in his chest caused him to slow down. Maybe he was having a
heart attack. Well, he didn’t care. He turned off the road,
collapsed in a field, and rolled onto his stomach. He pounded the
frozen earth until his fists were as tired as his legs, then
flopped over on his back.

He didn’t know how much later it was when he
was awakened by snowflakes falling on his face. It was dark and he
could see no light anywhere. Still, he lay there.

He tried to calm himself. Why was it so
terrible to postpone college a year?

If I stay she will swallow me.

Finally, he got up and started back.
Oblivious to the total whiteness of his world, he walked about a
mile when a man in a wagon approached him going the other way.

“Where ye ‘eaded, boy?”

“Hancock.”

“You’re hafter going the wrong way, son. You
won’t reach ‘ancock that way hin a month of Sundays. I reckon I’d
better carry ye. Snow’s comin’ down good now and yer six or seven
miles from town. Get in.”

Jorie scarcely cared whether he made it to
home or not, but he got in and thanked the Cornishman.

“Wasn’t but two year ago a man and ‘is wife
was found froze to death. Up in Red Jacket hit was. Blizzard come
on ‘em and they got lost between the barn and the ‘ouse. Couldn’t
see a thing. ‘E didn’t come back, so she went to look for ‘im.
That’s what the deputy figured. They was found ten feet apart, not
more’n twenty feet from the ‘ouse.”

Jorie was silent.

“What be yer name?”

“Radcliff.”

“Ah, from up on Portage ‘ill.”

“Aye.”

“Used to work for your Pa. Miner I was. Got
too old for that. Now I’m a wagoner. You work for your pa?”

Jorie shook his head.

“It’s a load of furniture I’m ‘aulin’ at the
moment. Whoa, ‘erbert! Better put the tarp over hit.”

He stopped the wagon, and for some time
wrestled with a large piece of canvas, trying to cover everything
and get it tied down.

Jorie finally jerked to attention, jumped
down and helped the man.

When they’d finished, the man tossed him a
blanket and they climbed back into the wagon.

“Should ‘a ‘ad this load delivered afore
sunset, but my axle froze up hon me. Lost a couple of hours tendin’
to hit.”

They rode on, the stranger carrying on a
one-sided conversation. Most likely he didn’t even notice, Jorie
thought.

As they neared the bridge in Houghton, Jorie
said, “I’ve probably taken you out of your way. I can walk the rest
of the way.”

“For certain?”

“Yes. Here’s for your troubles.” He gave the
man a coin.

“I thank ye, sir, I do. An’ I ‘ope someday
ye’ll think yer life was worth the savin of hit.” He smiled and
tipped his hat. ”Good-evening to ye.”

When he reached home, he found a cold supper
on the table, but his mother nowhere in sight. Jorie went up the
stairs as quietly as he could but the squeak in the third step from
the top was always a giveaway. He crept down the hall, not wanting
another confrontation.

A numbness came over him, toward his own
woes and his mother’s. What did anyone’s dreams matter? Perhaps it
was better to have none. Then there could be no room for
disappointment.

He fell asleep determined to lead a life
indifferent to events.

It was late morning when he awoke. He
scrunched his pillow under his head and went over everything that
had happened. Now that he’d had some sleep, maybe his head would
clear and he could find a solution.

Obviously, she meant to cut off his funds.
Another payment of tuition was due as well as rent for his room.
Well, some chaps worked their way through college. He could do that
if he had to.

Then he remembered what she’d said about his
age. If you were under eighteen you had to have parental consent to
go to the University, and Ma would make sure they knew he no longer
had that permission.

He could always run away, just leave home.
She couldn’t really stop him from doing that. Maybe he’d hitch a
ride back to Ann Arbor and get a job until he was eighteen. That
thought brought a moment of peace as the feeling of strangulation
faded. In any case, he’d have his ‘sizeable sum’, next fall, when
he turned eighteen. Unless she’d manage to queer that, too.

He heard the door open and turned his head
to the wall. Would she allow him no privacy at all?

Eliza ran to his bed and jumped up on
it.

“Get up, sleepy head! It’s twelve
o’clock!”

She started tickling him unmercifully.

“All right, all right, Izzy.”

He rose and carried her to the hall. “Now
you let me get dressed, and I’ll be right down.”

As he came downstairs, he realized that
almost against his will, he was hungry.

In the kitchen he found cold pancakes that
had replaced the cold supper. Without bothering to sit down and
butter them, he ate them with his fingers, standing.

His mother came into the kitchen.

“Where are the pancakes?”

“I ate them.”

She opened her mouth to say something,
thought better of it.

He poured himself a cup of lukewarm tea.

“I can heat it for you.”

He shook his head.

“Jorie, sit down, I want to talk to
you.”

He ignored her.

“Please sit down.”

“I can hear you.”

He could see she felt at a disadvantage, but
he remained standing.

“It’s unfortunate our words were unpleasant
and overly emotional yesterday. I want you to know that I am not
without respect for your sentiments regarding the University.”

Had she memorized this little speech? He
said nothing.

“But it isn’t the end of the world. You can
go to college across the lake.”

He shook his head.

“Oh, do sit down, Jorie.”

He complied, waited. He listened to the wind
tormenting the window, felt a resonance with the glass.

“Do you have anything else to say?” he
asked.

She started to whimper. “Please don’t make
this so hard for me, Jorie. Look at me.”

“What do you want, Ma? I’m not going to sit
here all day.”

“Oh, God, don’t talk to me that way! I can’t
stand it.”

She put her head down on the table, and wept
bitterly for what seemed a long time. He tried to feel nothing, but
already the recently acquired numbness was wearing off.

“You’re all I have.”

“No. You have Eliza.”

She was still sniffling.
“You know what I mean. I need a man, a grown-up. Oh, I’m saying it
all wrong. I need
you,
Jorie.”

He heard the mouse trap go off in the
pantry.

“And Eliza needs you.” She let out a deep
sigh. “She’s not very attached to me, Jorie.”

She would be if you’d give her the attention
she deserves.

Eliza came into the room and crawled up on
his lap. “Stay, Jawie. Please stay.”

“Maybe next year you could go back to Ann
Arbor. You’ll still only be eighteen. But this year — please try to
understand. I’ve just lost my husband.”

She seemed so pathetic, so vulnerable. An
intense feeling of remorse filled him at the thought of leaving her
alone so soon after her loss.

Eliza cupped his face in her small hands and
turned it toward her. “Promise you won’t go ‘way again?”

That evening at dinner she smiled as he
carved the meat. “Do you remember the meaning of ‘sacrifice',
Jorie?”

He groaned silently. “Yes.”

“Tell Eliza what it means.”

He could feel the heat crawl up his neck and
face. “It comes from the same word as sacred.”

“That’s right, Darling. So what you’re doing
for your sister and your mama is a very sacred thing. Knowing that
should make it easier for you.”

Somehow it didn’t.

The trunk he’d sent for arrived at the train
station, and Jorie went down to get it. All his books, papers,
clothes — in short, all his dreams were packed inside that box. He
hired a dray to haul it home. It had no sides, so he sat on the
floor holding the trunk as they jostled along the bumpy road. He
put his legs and arms around it to secure it, hugging it harder
than necessary, trying to believe it was the stinging winds off the
lake that were causing his eyes to water.

Chapter 25

It was Sunday morning; he hadn’t had to work
Saturday night.

When he came down stairs, his mother asked,
“Did you get a good lie-in?”

“I hate type-setting.”

“You’ve only been there two months. You
won’t be doing that forever,” Catherine said as she put her apron
over her head. She turned around and he tied it for her, as he’d
done a thousand times before. She turned and patted his cheek.

“You do well with that
job, and they’ll see how bright you are and move you up.
The Copper Country Evening News
is a good place for you
.”