by Leisha Kelly
“No. Honey, you just heard some foolish tale, that’s all.”
He looked up at me. “But they died!”
“Because they were very sick. You had nothing to do with that. Do you understand?”
“Kirky and Joey and all them is gonna hate me.”
“No, they won’t. Not if they have the slightest bit of sense about them. That’s enough of all this. It’s too cold to stay out here. Come in and help me with your little brothers.”
He sat up and wiped at his face with his sleeves. “Why do they need help?”
“I need your help, honey. Just to play with them and keep them occupied and happy for a while. Please?”
When he nodded, I sighed with relief. We came crawling out from under there and went straight for the kitchen. Franky took Berty’s little hand importantly and pulled him toward the sitting room door.
“C’mon, Harry,” he said. “You too. Let’s play Injuns in here.”
I stood by the warm stove for a minute and looked down into my soup pot. All these kids. All these needs. I’d managed to get one of them to dry his eyes and come out from under the house. But what about the next problem? And the one after that? Could I really handle half of what would come upon us now, what with funerals to deal with and the long winter after that? And Christmas. Lord have mercy. I wasn’t strong enough to carry all this, not even with Samuel at my side.
EIGHT
Samuel
Louise Post saw me coming and hollered for Barrett with something frantic in her voice. I guess she figured I wouldn’t be walking two and a quarter miles across fields and snowdrifts to their place if something weren’t wrong.
“It’s Emma, ain’t it?” Barrett asked as soon as I was close enough. Louise stood behind him, scrunching up a dishtowel in her hands.
I told them everything—about Mrs. Hammond’s passing, and Emma, and the children all over at our house, and the way young Joe and I had found George. “I’m going to need your help,” I said then. “Got to get word to Albert and the Hammonds’ relatives and the preacher.”
“I’ll take you,” Barrett said.
“Mercy me!” Louise exclaimed. “How’s Lizbeth managing? And Julia?”
“Best as can be expected, I guess.”
“You better hurry on,” Louise commanded her husband. “Don’t be waitin’ a minute to get that preacher out to ’em. He’d be comfort at a time like this.”
I was almost surprised to hear her say it. The Posts were not churchgoers and had always resisted Emma’s attempts to influence them in that direction.
“Emma told me she didn’t want the undertaker,” Barrett added solemnly.
“She told me too. Way back in June, I guess.”
“What about Wilametta? George say anything to you about that?”
“I don’t think he’s framed it in his mind to consider.”
“He can’t afford them things done, anyhow,” he told me with clear sympathy. “We can do for him. That’s what neighbors is for.”
I was glad for Barrett. Though his wife was already fretting for all those children and exclaiming for Emma, a dear friend, he hitched his team to his forty-year-old sleigh and continued talking to me about arrangements.
“Too much a’ today gone to ’complish much, after lettin’ folks know. Better plan on payin’ respects tomorrow. Don’t be worryin’ about the graves, Sam. Me an’ Clement’ll take care of it. We done it in the wintertime b’fore.”
Barrett was ready to go right away, and I sat beside him, glad the snow had stopped again but wishing his team could manage to move faster. He wouldn’t push them, though, because it was hard work pulling us through the drifts. But at least it was faster than walking.
“You makin’ the coffins?” Barrett suddenly asked as we passed Grover’s Corner, hardly recognizable in the snowy white.
I hadn’t thought on that, though Lord knows I should have. “I’ll have to do Emma’s. She asked me to, though at the time I was hoping it would never come up.”
“Yeah, she said you was good with wood. Ever since making her that chair.” He nodded. “Might as well plan on Wilametta’s too. George and his boys hadn’t oughta be worried on somethin’ like that. Got wood enough?”
“I don’t know.”
I wondered that he could be so matter-of-fact about it all. But he and his brother, Clement, had buried their parents, their sisters, a brother, and two children.
“I’ll bring you some good pine out tonight,” he promised. “Louise’ll have a batch of food cooked up by then, I’d wager, so’s none a’ you have to think about cookin’.”
Right then, I couldn’t even imagine being hungry. “We thank you for your help.”
“Ain’t nothin’ but neighborly. Ain’t a soul round here that wouldn’t do what they could for Emma. And Wilametta—criminy! Thinkin’ on George is enough to sorry anybody! Sure hope her family can take in them kids.”
That was a strange thought to me. Why wouldn’t he expect the children to stay with their father? Because of what I’d told him? Sure, George was a mess. But I’d be in an awful shape too, if something happened to Julia. There was no reason to expect that he wouldn’t come around. Was there?
“Wilametta was the glue, Sam,” Barrett told me, as if he’d heard my thoughts. “George ain’t none too bright upstairs. Might seem like he gets along all right, but he ain’t never been good on decisions. Wilametta used to work side by side with him when she could. She’d be the one always tellin’ what to do.”
I’d seen her doing that very thing. But I’d thought it more bossiness than necessity. Why wouldn’t George know what to do on the farm he was so familiar with? They’d been living there almost twenty years, and he more than that, as a kid years before.
“Need to keep an eye on him,” Barrett continued. “He gets ahold a’ any drink, he’ll really fall apart. Can’t handle it. Some say his father was the same way afore him, an’ his grandfather too. Hate to say it, but Wila makin’ him go to church was a good thing on account of it stopped the drink in him. They’d a’ never made it this far, otherwise.”
He sighed. “Prohibition ain’t stopped them that wants to brew an’ sell it themselves, you know. There’s plenty a’ liquor out there, if you know where to find it. Pity the folks that drinks the stuff they makes nowadays, though. ’Nough to strip the linin’ right out your gizzard, you know what I mean?”
I just nodded, and he rode in silence a while, until Covey Mueller’s house came in sight. Another large family, but their house was far bigger than Hammonds’.
“Might as well stop and give them word,” Barrett said grimly. “If we could get the telephone line out this far, we wouldn’t have to go to town. Ain’t likely to ever happen, though. Nobody wants to do all that work for a few a’ us farmers out here.”
Covey and Alberta reacted about the same way Louise had. Barrett stayed to talk a minute, but I was anxious to move on. The quicker we got into town, the quicker we could get back, and I was plenty worried for Julia and the kids.
“Some folks wait till thaw,” Covey said, not meaning a bit of disrespect. “When my aunt Mabel passed on, they closed her up careful in a shed till they could get at the ground. ’Course, that was northern Minnesota.”
“Better not to wait with all them kids around,” Barrett maintained. “Hard as it sounds, the quicker we can manage, the better. So’s George an’ the little ones can go on from here.”
Covey nodded. “We’ll help ya.”
“We’ll be settin’ fires tomorrow, to warm the top layer,” Barrett explained. “Won’t be hard once we get below the freeze line.”
I didn’t want to hear any more details. I didn’t want to hear the same things repeated over and over every place we stopped. Just thinking on all the hurt I’d seen buried under Julia’s determination made me want to rush back and hold her. I hadn’t had the chance. And all those kids! How I’d like to sit down with my two and explain things the best I could, hug them a m
inute, and make sure they were going to be all right. I hadn’t had a chance to do that either. When would I? And who would do it for all the little Hammonds?
“You need a cup a’ coffee?” Mrs. Mueller suddenly asked me. “You’re not looking so good.”
“No,” I told her, but I couldn’t manage to say more.
“Why don’t you take him home?” Covey suggested. “Needs to be with his family, I expect. Me an’ Orville, we’ll go to town an’ get the word out.”
Bless you! I thought. Bless you to heaven, Covey Mueller! Barrett hadn’t wanted to go into town without me. Whether he just didn’t want to talk to the preacher alone or what, I didn’t know, but he nodded to the Muellers and quickly agreed.
“You gotta call Albert up to Chicago,” he instructed them. “And Fedora Bates and Chloe Adamson over to Farmington. Wilametta’s sisters. Cryin’ shame they ain’t likely to make it over here in all this weather. And be looking out for young Sam too, will ya? He was headed in for the doctor yesterday, and there ain’t nobody seen neither of ’em so far.”
I was glad to be leaving there, glad to be headed back. And Barrett was too. He told me that much, and then he was quiet.
We went by the Hammonds first, because Barrett thought another neighbor talking to George might help. The house was still quiet when we got there. I climbed out of the sleigh and went to knock on the door, but Joe opened it before I got to the top porch step.
“Makin’ coffee,” he said. “Want some?”
“Sure,” Barrett answered from behind me. We followed Joe inside, both looking to see what kind of shape George was in.
He was still by the fire, looking almost as if he hadn’t moved. But one of them had. Two chairs were overturned in the middle of the room, one with its back legs busted up like somebody’d slammed it against something. Everything from the mantle now lay shattered and strewn across the floor, along with two dented pots, quite a few dishes, and Wilametta’s Bible.
I looked at them both, wondering which one of them was capable of such a rampage. George, almost surely. But neither of them said a word. Joe brought the coffee and handed one cup to me and one to Barrett. When he tried to give one to his father, George pushed it away.
“Go home, Wortham,” he suddenly said. “You too, Post. Ain’t needin’ ya in my face right now.”
“Soon enough, I’ll go,” I told him. “But I’d like to take you with me. Your children need to see something of you right now.”
“You drug me back in this dead house!” he hollered. “That’s where you wanted me! An’ I ain’t goin’ no place!”
“Now, George—” Barrett began.
“Shut up and leave me alone!”
“That ain’t gonna solve nothin’,” Barrett said. “An’ Samuel here’s right. Your children is gonna need somethin’ of ya. All you can manage. You want we bring ’em here?”
Joe spoke up right away. “You hadn’t oughta bring the younger ones just yet.” He looked at me anxiously. “Kirk and Lizbeth might could come, though. If you all don’t mind keepin’ the rest a while.”
“Don’t want nobody comin’!” George yelled at his boy. “You hear me? You oughta go join ’em. Get outta here. There ain’t nothing here to stay for, anyhow.”
“But, Pa…” Joe turned to Barrett and me with what seemed to be fear in his eyes. Much quieter, he said, “I can’t leave.”
I had to nod at that. Someone should be here if the doctor and Sam Hammond made it through, or the preacher, or whoever else. And we couldn’t count on George even staying if we weren’t here to watch him.
“Don’t you worry, boy,” Barrett told him. “You’re thinkin’ right not to leave him alone.”
George stood up and glared at us. “I didn’t ask for no comp’ny! Why don’t you go and tend to your own business?”
“We got a bit more to do considering yours, George,” Barrett told him gently. “I know you ain’t wantin’ to talk about it, but I’m needin’ to know where you mean for Wilametta to be buried. We have to discuss them things, bad as we hate to.”
“Ain’t nobody movin’ Wila from her bed,” George said softly.
Barrett shook his head, and Joe sat down, looking weak at the knees.
“We can’t pay no undertaker,” the boy told us. “I’ll dig on the grave when the time comes. That’s what Mama would want. Over by that birch grove where the bluebells come up.”
Barrett sipped at his coffee. “Don’t you worry on it. We’ll take care of it. Just show us the place in the morning, if you would. Your mama’d be proud. You’re bein’ right strong.”
Joe must not have felt it, because just hearing such words made him look about ready to fall apart.
I took a big drink of my coffee, hot as it was. I’d hoped George would be able to come with me to give his children the fatherly strength they needed right now. But he had none to share. And I didn’t like just standing there feeling useless. “Stock need water?” I asked Joe. “Anything else I can do while I’m here?”
“Be all right.” The boy gave me an appreciative nod. “If you don’t mind it. You oughta take this morning’s milk over to Lizbeth too. I shoulda sent it with ya before.”
“She needs diapers for the baby,” I suddenly remembered.
“Shoot. I don’t know where they’re at.” He looked over at his father and sighed. “Pa, where’s Emma Gracie’s diapers?”
George was staring into the dwindling flames in the fireplace. He didn’t answer.
Joe stood up and took a step in his direction but then stopped. Something in his expression changed. Hope. Or relief. Something new glimmering in his eyes as he rushed to the window faster than I’d ever seen him move.
“Did you hear that?”
I hadn’t heard anything. And Barrett shook his head.
“Another sleigh comin’.”
George stood to his feet. Joe was out the door in an instant, and I followed him. Soon as the rig was close enough, I could see Sam Hammond in it with an old man who was almost surely Dr. Howell. No wonder Joe was relieved. Young Sam had been gone almost twenty-four hours without a trace. And now he was back in one piece. But God help him, the news he had to hear!
Sam jumped out of that sleigh in a hurry and moved toward the house, his face looking raw and red from the cold. “Mama any better?” he asked before Joe or I had a chance to say anything. George hadn’t come out, and Barrett had stayed in there with him. I could see the oldest Hammond boy glancing over at Post’s little sleigh. He knew it wasn’t mine and was surely wondering who else had come and why.
“Sure glad you’re back,” Joe told his older brother, barely able to contain the tears in his eyes.
“Better not to stand here jawin’ then,” Sam declared, looking a little shaken at his brother’s expression. The doctor was just getting out of the sleigh behind him, and they both turned toward the house.
“Wait.” Joe grabbed his brother’s arm but couldn’t seem to find the words. He looked at me in desperation.
“Good what you did, bringing the doctor,” I told the boy. “But we’re past the need of him now.”
Young Sam just stared at us for a moment. Our faces surely didn’t show that to be good news.
“I’m sorry,” I told him, wishing I had something comforting to say.
“What’s this?” Dr. Howell asked immediately.
“Mama’s—she’s—she’s gone,” Joe stammered, looking at the doctor. “We—we’re sorry you had to come out.”
Sam stared hard at me, as if daring me to confirm what Joe could barely manage to say. He was shaken, no question about that. He reached to the side of the sleigh frame to steady himself.
“I’m sorry,” I told him again. “There was nothing any of us could have done.”
Dr. Howell hung his head. “Is it all right if I step in?”
Joe looked at him in bewilderment, the tears now plain in his eyes. “But there’s no use. She’s passed on…”
Howell nodd
ed. “I’m sorry, son. Comes my unpleasant duty to confirm the cause of death.”
“Emma Graham,” I said quickly. “She was here to help Mrs. Hammond, but she—”
“She’s gone too,” Joe said. “Both last night.” He looked like he could barely stand. And young Sam, having such a shock after going all that way, was in even worse shape. I wished I could take them both in my arms, but they were as big as I was and didn’t even hug each other.
Dr. Howell was standing still for a minute, digesting the bitter news. “Both of the same ailment?”
“I don’t think so,” I answered. “Emma’d been weak several days with her heart, same as before. I wanted to send for you, but she kept telling me no.”
“I’d a’ put her to bed. She knew that. Wasn’t much else I could do for her most of the time. She come to the end of her days.” He started for the house with slow steps.
“George is inside with Barrett Post,” I said. “He’s not taking this well. And he may not be pleased to see you now.”
Sam Hammond sunk back against the side of the sleigh. “We’re too late,” he said, as if he were just realizing what we’d told him.
“There’s nothing you could have done,” I said again.
“You don’t know that! If we’d a’ been here last night—”
“There was no helping the snowstorm. You did the best anybody could do.”
“I stopped,” he said in a trembly voice, looking at his brother. “Couldn’t make it after Birdie stepped off in a hole. I couldn’t get her up. Had to leave her. Would a’ been worth it to help Mama, but now—”
Joe looked ashen. “You lost Birdie?”
I knew what he was thinking. It was another blow. If Bird was gone, they were the same as stranded even in good weather. George’s tired old horse Teddy couldn’t possibly pull their big wagon alone. How would they manage without it? What would George do?
Sam’s head sunk down to his hands. “I shoulda gone another way. I shoulda judged the road better and kep’ Birdie outta the hollow. Then I mighta got through! I kep’ fallin’, on foot. Couldn’t see nothin’ for the blowin’ snow. Had to stop at Tom Welty’s. But I shouldn’t a’ stopped—”