by Jan Watson
“My belly pains me,” he whimpered.
Mr. Wilson caught Copper’s eye. “What can we do to help ye?”
Copper shook out the long white apron she carried in her bag and retrieved the white scarf she would tie her hair up in. “Pray. You’ll see some visitors soon. I’ve sent for John Pelfrey and the preacher.”
As she slipped the scarf on, Copper directed Cara to tear a clean sheet into the wide strips they would use to bind Kenny’s wound.
Ever so thankful for the apothecary supplies in her doctor’s kit, Copper removed a dark brown bottle of precious morphine. Her hand shook. Forcing herself to slow down, she took a deep breath before she applied a few drops to a lump of sugar. She could hear Simon’s cautioning voice as if he stood beside her. Kenny was ten years old but small, so she must be very careful to give just enough medicine to quiet his pain without stilling his breath. With a prayer she put the lump of sugared medicine into Kenny’s mouth.
When Kenny’s moaning stopped and he appeared to be sleeping, she and Cara set about the task of bathing him and wrapping his belly with the cotton strips. After they freshened the bed, Cara scrubbed the floor while Copper monitored Kenny’s heartbeat and his breathing pattern. He was slipping into a coma, and his blood loss was too great to sustain life much longer. She hoped the preacher made it in time.
As the fire died out in the fireplace, Copper raised the windows to catch a cooling breeze. Cara hung extra pieces of the old sheet over the windows to keep out flies and to darken the room.
While they worked, Cara recounted the accident that had caused such suffering. Kenny was a mischievous boy, as most boys tended to be. He was determined to go swimming that hot Sunday morning, but his mother was just as determined that he wouldn’t. Rounding up a couple of his brothers, Kenny convinced them that their mother would never know they were gone if they left while she was frying the chicken for their noon meal.
At their favorite swimming hole, a thick twist of grapevine hung from the branch of a sycamore that leaned out over the water. Kenny grabbed hold of the vine and ran backward as far as he could, then forward in a dead run. In seconds he was airborne, flying out over the water before he dropped. Of course, he didn’t see the broken wooden plank, probably washed downstream during the recent flooding, nor could he know it was lodged upright beneath the water. He didn’t know until he sliced his stomach open and severed his spine. His brothers saved him and carried him home, and Copper knew the rest of the story.
“It wouldn’t have happened,” Cara related her mother saying, “if they had gone to church as they should. If they had gone to church, Kenny would have been in his Sunday school class instead of swinging on a grapevine rope.
“Now Mama will wear her grief across her shoulders for the rest of her days,” Cara said.
“Well . . . ,” Copper started but couldn’t think what to say. Cara was right. A mother would never get over this grief, but accidents happened and boys got hurt. You couldn’t wrap them in cotton batting and keep them in the closet. “I think we can let the children visit now,” she finally said. Everything was in order.
The brothers and sisters filed in youngest to oldest. Mrs. Wilson knelt by the bed, her forehead resting on Kenny’s chest. A little sister laid a bright cardinal’s feather at her brother’s feet. “Here, Kenny,” she said, “I brung you a present.” One by one they each had something to say or something to put on his bed. Soon Kenny had an assortment of gifts.
The preacher and John stepped quietly into the room. Copper had a few whispered words with them before Mr. Wilson’s welcome. Mrs. Wilson took to crying silently, rivers of salty tears dripping off her chin.
Reverend Jasper opened his big black Bible and began to read the familiar words of Jesus from the book of John: “‘Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also. And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know.’
“Let us pray,” the preacher said, his arm stretched out over the dying boy. “Lord, we ask for grace and ease for Kenny Wilson’s crossing. I remember well the day I baptized this boy in Your holy name. Now he’s ready to meet You face-to-face. Give peace to his family and strength for the journey.”
Even the smallest child joined in a chorus of amens.
Soon neighbors and friends of the family began assembling in the yard. Someone set up sawhorses and made a makeshift table to hold all the food that would be the family’s supper. Only the closest came inside. The rest stood vigil outside.
Copper walked with John under the trees. His face was as troubled as her heart. “Poor little mite,” he said.
“I feel like my heart’s going to burst. I don’t know if I can go back in there.”
“Sure you can. It would be even worse for this family without you.”
She wiped her tears on the skirt of her apron. “It might take a while. You should probably go on back.”
“I went by and checked on the girls before I came. Dimmert’s there to watch out for them, and I’m not leaving you.”
Copper allowed herself a moment’s weakness and leaned her head against his chest. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
It was dusky dark when Kenny Wilson’s young soul slipped beyond the binds of his earthly home.
How glorious, Copper thought, to be a part of this boy’s passing.
Pain free and awake at the end, Kenny looked straight into his mother’s eyes and said, “Don’t fret now, Mommy. It’s beautiful where I’m going.”
Copper’s job was over. A couple of ladies came in to help Cara and Mrs. Wilson prepare the body. Quietly, Copper cautioned them not to remove the belly wrap, not to let his mother see that gaping wound again. But it was as it should be when a child was lost; the woman who gave him life would minister to his body in death.
It seemed a long way home. John’s horse picked his way down the steep trail. Thankfully there was bright moonlight to show the way. Copper was silent, holding back sorrow, afraid if she let the dam burst, she’d never stop crying. She was comforted, though, by John’s presence. She felt safe with him.
“Listen,” he said, reining in the horse.
Suddenly the night was alive with the hooting calls of owls. Such a sad night, but still the owls made her smile. She loved their questioning song. What would you do, she wondered as they rode along, if you had no answers to the mystery of death?
The Scripture Brother Jasper read came back to comfort her: “In my Father’s house are many mansions.” Somehow those words of hope released pent-up sorrow. Her tears wet the back of John’s shirt, but she didn’t turn her head.
They reached the barnyard and John dismounted. She knew what would happen before he even reached up to help her down. After sliding into his strong arms, she let him hold her. Then he kissed her gently there between her tears.
“I’m sorry you had to go through all that,” he murmured.
She would have answered if she could. She would have told him that being with Kenny at the moment of his passing was worth every aching stitch in her heart. Instead, she sobbed as he led her across the yard to the light of the lamp Darcy had left burning in the window. At the door she leaned into his arms again, and when he kissed her, she welcomed him.
“Well, now.” John stepped back. “I’ve been waiting for that all my life.”
“I’ve got to go in. I’m longing to see my baby. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“I’ll be gone for a spell. I’ve got a job logging, and it’s a far piece from here. I’ll be staying there right on a week.”
“That’s good. It will give us time to think.”
John dried her tears with his calloused palm. “I don’t need time. This is what was supposed to happen.”
Shaking her head, she stepped into the comforting light
of the kitchen. It’s all right, she reassured herself. It was time to let the past sleep and get on with life. She listened until John’s whistle faded clean away before she lifted Lilly from her crib and snuggled beside her in the bed. More tears flowed then—cleansing tears of release.
Copper moped through washday, every thought turned toward the Wilsons. The heat and smoke from the fire under the washtub seemed to mix with her heavy sorrow, pushing it down around her shoulders. Copper patted her neck with a clean washrag. “It must be a hundred degrees today.”
“At least the clothes are drying fast,” Darcy said. “We’ll be done by noon. We’ll eat that washday cake Mammaw sent by Ezra.”
“Did he get some milk to take home?” Copper asked.
“Yeah, and some of that butter.” Darcy wrung rinse water from a pair of overalls. “Him and Dimmert was taking the rest over to the Wilsons’ like you said.”
“Good. Somehow I missed seeing Ezra.”
“You was sorting clothes in the side yard. You looked like you was a million miles away.”
Stooping, Copper fished a potato bug from Lilly’s tight fist. “Easy, baby. You’ll smush the little thing.”
“Out,” Lilly demanded, tired of the confines of her wagon.
“Looks like you’re doing fine right there.” Copper laughed as a black-and-yellow butterfly lit on Lilly’s shoulder. “Just another minute and you can stretch your legs.”
Copper poured a stream of water over the fire. It was too hot to let it burn itself out. “Which job do you want, Darcy?”
Darcy’s face knit in puzzlement. “I’ll do the outhouse today, and you can do the porch. Miss Lilly can go with me. It will be cool for her under the maple tree.”
Copper hefted a bucket of soapy wash water and carried it to the necessary as Darcy pulled the wagon. “Watch her close. She’s just itching to get out.”
Lilly lay on her back in the bed of the wagon, her arms and legs stuck straight up. “Me be bug.”
Copper tickled the small round belly. “Be good for Darcy while Mama scrubs the porch.”
My, that child can talk, Copper thought as she carried water from the washtub to mop the kitchen floor and scrub the porch. If she talks this much now, we’re in for trouble when she turns two. Truthfully, she loved Lilly’s quickness and often wrote things Lilly said in a journal before she went to bed. Her mood lightened as she cleaned the house and porch. When she finished, she filled a barrel with the rinse water. She saved every drop. It was good enough for cleaning and dish washing. And hot as it was, they might be in for a drought.
Her thoughts turned to John, and she wondered how he was doing working in such weather. He’d be clearing brush and dead trees, helping to make a trail for logging come late fall. Tracing her upper lip with her index finger brought his kiss back to mind. Oh my, how quickly life could change with just one kiss.
Her stomach growled, reminding her of Fairy Mae’s stack cake setting on the back of the stove. She’d slice a tomato and an onion, and she and the girls would have corn bread sandwiches before dessert.
By late afternoon the house was spick-and-span, and the laundry was folded and put away. Copper was sitting on the porch trying to catch a breeze. Tuesday’s ironing was starched, sprinkled, rolled, and waiting under a damp towel in the wicker basket. Mam wouldn’t like it if she knew how little ironing Copper did. Sheets and pillowcases went right from the line to the beds, and her tea towels never felt the touch of an iron. Still it was half a day’s work to do everything else. She would start in the morning at six, right after milking, and not be done until one or two. A trick she had learned from her housekeeper in Lexington made the job much quicker. She kept two sadirons on the stove and switched them when one got cool. Thankfully, she had Darcy to keep Lilly out from underfoot.
A familiar clip-clop, clip-clop signaled the postman on his weekly rounds. Her heart beat fast. She must have mail, else Mr. Bradley wouldn’t come this way. Maybe there would be a letter from Mam or one from Alice. Even better, maybe they had both written. How exciting the possibilities were. She poured a glass of water for Mr. Bradley, then went down the path to meet the mail.
Mr. Bradley handed her a fat package wrapped in familiar stenciled brown paper. “Looks like you got yourself something interesting.”
“This paper is from Massey’s Mercantile in Lexington,” Copper replied, giving him the glass of water. “I’d know it anywhere.”
“Need some help with that there twine?”
“No, thanks. I think I can get it.”
“Well then, I’ll just step down to the creek and water my horse before I finish my route,” the postman said.
Halfway to the porch Copper called over her shoulder, “Thanks, Mr. Bradley.” Why would she get a package from Massey’s? What could it be?
“Darcy,” she said quietly through the screen so as not to rouse Lilly from her nap, “come see what came in the mail.”
Dusting flour from her hands, Darcy settled at Copper’s feet. “My, that’s sure pretty paper.”
“Mr. Massey has rolls of it in his store in Lexington,” Copper answered. “It’s all stenciled with this print.”
“What’s it called?”
“Fleur-de-lis. I think it’s French.”
“What do you reckon is in there?”
Copper laughed. “I don’t know. It seems too pretty to open.”
“Want me to get the scissors?”
“If I can just get this one knot—” Copper tugged at the heavy white string that secured the package—“we can use this again. It would be a shame to cut it.”
“Does that feller need something?” Darcy asked. “He’s just standing there in the middle of the road.”
“Goodness,” Copper said, standing and laying the package aside. “Mr. Bradley, come on up and set a spell.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” He quickly stepped onto the path that intersected the yard. “I’ll have another glass of water if you don’t mind.”
Copper handed him a full glass. “You don’t mind if I tend to this package while you rest, do you?”
“No, ma’am. You go on about your business.”
The more she worked at the knot, the tighter it seemed to get.
Finally, Darcy could stand it no longer. “Let me try,” she said and went at the knot with her teeth, like a terrier with a bone. Mr. Bradley was taking out the blade of his jackknife when the knot gave way. Reverently, Darcy laid the package back in Copper’s lap.
With held breath, Copper unfolded the heavy brown wrapper. Like a jack-in-the-box, beautiful dress fabrics and shiny ribbons popped out of the package.
Darcy’s eyes popped along with the package. “I got to wash up,” she said, jumping up to go to the wash bench. After washing and drying her hands, she hung the linen towel on a nail. A length of red silk ribbon slicked through her fingers. “Ain’t this the prettiest thing you ever saw in your life?”
Copper studied a bolt of brightly printed cotton. “Do you think we could run up a couple of dresses before the quilting circle at Jean Foster’s on Thursday?”
“You mean for me too?”
“Of course. You choose what you’d like.”
“I’ll have to think on it,” Darcy responded. “It’s a big decision.”
“Who sent you them fotch-on pretties, Miz Corbett?” Mr. Bradley asked.
Copper nearly jumped out of her skin. She’d forgotten all about the mailman. She hadn’t heard the term fotch-on since she was a girl. Her daddy used to say that when Mam would order anything from the city.
“My sister-in-law, Alice Corbett,” she replied. “Such a kindness.”
The fabric lay like a treasure in her lap. Except for the ribbon, there wasn’t a fancy piece in the whole lot. She wouldn’t have expected Alice to be so understanding. A spool of colored thread fell from the package. Old Tom batted it, playing like a kitten. “Do you have a favorite color, Mr. Bradley?”
“I’ve always favored b
lue.”
“Might I borrow your knife?” Copper asked, unrolling a length of sky blue ribbon. Mr. Bradley handed it over, handle first, and Copper cut a long length of the ribbon. “Take this to your wife if you please,” she said.
“Well, thank ye. Ain’t that pretty?” He folded the knife against his leg. “I better shake a leg. I got a far piece to go yet.”
“I’ve made up my mind,” Darcy stated before Mr. Bradley was even off the porch. “I favor this.” She held a length of dark green cotton splashed with red and yellow flowers.
“Perfect,” Copper said. “Let’s go oil Mam’s old Singer. We’ll haul it right out on the porch. . . . Um, Darcy, do you know how to sew?”
“Surely. My ma taught me.”
“Good. I drove my mam to distraction when she tried to teach me.”
“You can cut then, Miz Copper, and I’ll do the stitchin’.”
Copper and Darcy measured and cut and sewed that evening and the next day until the porch was littered with small pieces of leftover fabric.
“Looks like fall out here,” Darcy observed as Copper hemmed a skirt. “Just like leaves off a tree.”
“You could practice piecing with them,” Copper said.
Darcy’s eyes lit up, and she began gathering the scraps. “I’ll take some pieces to Mrs. Foster when we go. She can help me get started.”
Smiling, Copper stepped into the kitchen. Darcy’s happiness was contagious. It was then the laundry basket caught her eye. Oh no! In her haste to make dresses, she had forgotten the ironing. She’d let Tuesday slip away. She lifted the basket to the kitchen table. She could smell mildew already. Most of the laundered pieces were fine, but two of her shirtwaists, a camisole, two pairs of drawers, and Lilly Gray’s best pinafore were sprayed with dots of black mold. What kind of homemaker was she that she’d let her laundry go to ruin? Maybe it wasn’t too late.
“Darcy,” she said, stepping onto the porch with the basket under her arm, “I forgot the ironing.”
Darcy guided Lilly down the steps to the side yard and shook out the laundry while Copper rubbed the stains with soft soap mixed with salt. “Now, we’ll just lay these over the bushes to catch the dew overnight,” Copper instructed. “The early sun will finish the job.”