Chapter 81
The Return
Leon drove the Packard to the train station to pick up Maizie and Mary. So much had happened in the few days that they had been gone. Leon was not sure how to tell Mary the big news. He was having trouble shaking his nervousness. He looked across the waiting area, where Maizie and Mary, seated on a bench, seemed to be enjoying a pleasant conversation.
“Madame. Looks as though I am late,” said Leon.
“We arrived early, an odd thing for a train.” Mary laughed. Leon picked up the bags, one under his arm and one in each hand. He walked quickly to the Packard as Mary and Maizie followed. When the luggage was placed in the trunk and Leon slid into the driver’s seat, Mary said, “Leon, we had such a lovely time at Churchill Downs. How are things at the ranch?”
“C’est bon, c’est bon.” Leon turned the ignition key and the Packard began to hum. Looking over his shoulder to the backseat he said, “Everything is good. There is one thing.”
Mary’s eyebrows rose. “What?”
Leon quickly explained Josie’s surprise arrival—how she was ill and had no place to go and how the staff made a quick decision because it was the right thing to do. Mary, at first, was a bit shocked that the staff did not consult her. Had she known she may have not supported the idea of caring for the young woman she had fired. On the other hand, it was the right and Christian thing to do.
Leon opened the door to the cabin and Mary saw Sugar seated by the bed. She was cooling the patient down with a damp cloth and singing softly. Josie’s eyes were closed, her head cloth wrapped neatly around her hairless head. Sugar turned to face the visitors. She put her finger to her lips, laid down the wet rag and stood to walk the few steps to where Mary was standing. Sugar gestured for all to go outside.
“How in the world… ?” asked Mary.
“Leon and me believe God brought her back.”
“I see. But is she contagious? I can’t be allowing exposure to our staff. The last thing we want is an outbreak here at the ranch.”
“The doctor said the lice is gone. The rest is not contagious. She won’t hurt us none.”
“That’s good news,” said Mary, her arms crossed.
Sugar continued: “She has a little fever this afternoon. The doctor said she is doing better. Less pain. Less cough. She’s eating a little. I get as much liquid down her as I can. I keep her clean. Oh, she was so dirty. What the child has suffered! She’s so grateful to me and the girls. We all take turns.”
“I see. But this is certainly a shock.” Despite knowing taking Josie in was the humane thing to do, Mary felt oddly betrayed by her staff. Josie had no business coming back here.
“I knows I didn’t have permission but everyone wanted to help. Ol’ Jon makes an atomizer for her with sage, echinacea, and whiskey. It helps with the pain. He also brings her lemon water and honey for the cough. Corky and Billy cook her soft food and chicken soup. The girls keep her nightgowns and bedding clean and separate from everyone else’s. The doctor comes and gives her treatments. They ain’t pleasant and we hold her hand.”
“Why does everyone want to help her?” asked Mary.
“Josie could have been any of us. Things is hard out there.”
“But no one else broke our rules. No one else was called on their poor behavior, asked to change their ways. No one else…”
Sugar nodded. “I knows. I heard. But some worry they might do something wrong. Be asked to leave. Where would they go?”
Mary was quiet for a minute, then asked if she could have a minute or two with Josie. Leon looked nervously at Sugar. Sugar straightened her back and said, “Leon did right to bring her here.”
“I understand that is how you both feel. I feel a little that way myself, but…” Mary looked at Maizie. “Come in the room with me.” They quietly walked into the cabin and took chairs on either side of Josie’s bed. The young woman’s eyes remained closed, her breathing steady. There was no evidence of pain on Josie’s face. In fact, there was a softness, a beauty, and a peacefulness that Mary had never seen before.
“Our staff here at Glidewell is so caring and loving,” Mary said as she looked at Maizie. “I doubt I would have let Josie come, if they’d asked.”
“I think you would have,” Maizie said. “Everyone deserves a chance. You gave me one.”
Mary entered the cabin for the third time since returning to Glidewell. The Glidewell men and horses would be returning within a day. She found Josie alone and awake for the first time. Josie watched Mary closely as she approached the bed. The young woman’s coloring had improved but her sunken eyes and dark circles reflected the effects of her illness. Josie neither smiled nor said a word. Mary stopped a few feet from the bed, appearing to be searching for something to say.
“Feeling better?” Mary said.
Josie looked down and pulled on her head rag and tried to sit up straighter in bed. Her weakness, however, would not allow it. Mary grabbed a pillow off one of the bedside chairs. “Put your arms around my neck and I’ll help you up.” Mary placed the pillow behind Josie’s back. The patient did as Mary asked and laid her head on the pillow. The effort seemed to exhaust her.
“I know you are tired. But I hear you are recovering. Sugar is quite sure of it.”
Josie nodded. Clearing her throat, she pointed to water in a glass by her bed. Mary lifted the glass off the tray and held it to Josie’s lips while she took a sip. “Thank you,” Josie whispered.
“I need to know why you were in Springfield? You told me your father would take you in.”
Josie took a deep breath and coughed, covering her mouth. Then she grabbed the sheet with both hands and pulled it up to her neck. Mary could see tears in her eyes.
“My daddy don’t love me. I never even went back to Tupelo.”
“But Leon put you on the train. He saw it pull away.”
“I got off at the first stop and exchanged my ticket for one to Kansas City.”
“Kansas City?”
“I’d heard about jobs in West Bottoms.”
“Doing what?”
“Working card rooms.”
“What happened?”
“I wasn’t good in the card rooms. Seems I wasn’t pretty enough. So I came back to Springfield.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I tried to find work. Hard times. I don’t have nobody. I lived in the camp.”
“Is that when you got sick?”
“I got the clap in Kansas City. Doc said sometimes women are sick and don’t know it. But the pneumonia came on at the camp, here in Springfield. I’ve been sick with this cough for a while.”
“Did you have a bed, food?”
“Folks helped me a little until the rash came on my hands and legs. Then they wouldn’t. They called me dirty.”
“Josie, I’m sorry. I would have never…”
“I’ve blamed you. Cursed you plenty. I had no hope.”
Mary looked at Josie with sympathy and quietly said, “We’ll talk again. Maizie has asked if she can visit you some time?”
Josie closed her eyes. “I wasn’t nice to her when I was here.”
“I know. I think she has forgotten about that.”
Mary patted Josie’s hand. Sensing the girl needed to sleep, she removed the extra pillow and gently laid her head back down. Then Mary left, feeling the full weight of Josie’s circumstances, the pain of it pushing her down.
Chapter 82
With Gratitude
Maizie walked down the lane to Josie’s cabin with a book clutched tightly to her chest. The book had been one of Mary’s favorites. The cover was battered, the pages dog eared, and Mary assured her that Josie would like it. “It’s about an orphan who learns to get along. It’s about kinship and education and family. The main character, Anne, is joyful and eager to please in her n
ew home, but she makes mistakes. Gets into trouble, off and on. It’s a good lesson for everyone,” lectured Mary.
Maizie climbed the steps to the sick cabin, as it was now called, and opened the door. Josie was awake, sporting a white turban. Turning her head, she nodded to Maizie to come in. Maizie took a chair next to Josie’s bed, and opened the book. “I think you’ll like this. It’s about a girl who is an orphan.”
“Like me?” asked Josie. Maizie thought about Josie’s situation for a minute.
“You an orphan?”
“You could sure say that about me. My daddy kicked me out. Said I had the devil in me. Said I wasn’t good.”
“Guess you are an orphan too, if you are all alone. Maybe this book will help?”
“Maybe. I sure am looking forward to listening to it. Ain’t done much of anything for a while now ’cept talk with Sugar.”
“Did your parents read to you?”
“You mean my daddy? No, he didn’t read to me.”
“Your mama?”
“Don’t remember her reading to me. Don’t remember much about my mama.”
“My mama died too. She didn’t know how to read much either.”
“That right? Well I guess we have one thing in common, a parent that couldn’t read.” Josie laughed, but her smile soon faded into a gloomy frown.
“Maizie, I’ve been thinking about all the mean feelings I had towards you. I hated you ’cause you had it so good and Capp took you horseback riding.”
“I knew you liked Capp. Thing is, I do too.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you deserved him. Or any of the nice things you had here at Glidewell.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause you’re colored. Never saw a colored in all my days in Tupelo that had it good like you. And Capp wanting to take you out on a ride was just too much.”
“You still hate me? ’Cause nothing’s changed. I’m still colored. And I still have a good life here.”
“No. I think different now. Why, Sugar has been like a mama to me. She’s takin’ so much care to see I get well. I love her for it. I never really knew a colored before. Now I know Sugar. I never loved anyone in my family like I love Sugar. Sugar says you’re really nice and we could be friends.” Josie hesitated for a moment. “Can we try to be friends?”
“Everyone should have a friend,” Maizie said as she reached out for Josie’s hand. “And everyone should feel loved.”
Josie looked at Maizie’s hand in hers and marveled at her darker skin next to hers as she struggled with tears of gratitude. “I really want to hear about this orphan, Anne.”
Maizie smiled and opened the cover and turned to the dedication page. “Josie, this is funny. The book is dedicated to the author’s mother and father.”
“Dedicated?”
“I think it’s like a thank-you.”
“But if she have a mother and a father, how she know what it’s like to be an orphan?”
Maizie laughed, “Guess we orphans are going to see if she got it right.” Josie sunk her back and head into her pillow. Maizie turned to chapter one and began.
In the servants’ quarters, Jeb lay in pain. He listened for the stirrings of life around him. He missed the music from Meadowlark and Maizie practicing in the grand hall. His only entertainment was Ruby and Claire’s Bible reading. In those quiet moments, with the help of his caregivers, he could give way to a time when his body would be freed from the shackles of his afflictions.
Mary came to him upon her return, and between spasmodic coughing and the pain of lying on an arthritic spine, he made his request. He asked to be buried in the wildflower fields near the “Castle” outcropping and artesian well, under a stately oak, the place he’d grown to love. The gift of an opportunity to work at the ranch was from God, he believed. “The place is like the Indians say, Mrs. Glidewell. It’s spiritual, and the waters, they’s healing,” said Jeb. “I found peace there. Why a guy like me found such a place is a mystery. Life has taken me on an incredible journey.” Jeb had a look of peace in his eyes.
“We are glad you are here,” said Mary.
The old man smiled. “Been here a long time. Think my job is done.” Mary reached for the old man’s hand and gently stroked the back of it.
Jeb died peacefully that night, with Ruby and Claire observing his last breath. There was a brief ceremony at the Castle once James had returned. James had been sad that Jeb passed before he had returned with the thoroughbreds. At the funeral, he said a few words in his honor, talking about life and those moments of fate when everything changes. Sometimes, as in Jeb’s case, life can become beautiful where before it was a struggle. James suggested that everyone take the time to think about the gifts of their life and be grateful. They laid Jeb to rest under the oak next to a patch of field stones. It was a beautiful place.
Josie was too weak to attend Jeb’s service. She lay alone on her small bed in the cabin. Her rash was nearly gone; her pain all but subsided. She was getting well. Unbeknownst to her, she did exactly what James had suggested others do at the funeral. She spent a great deal of time during her convalescence considering the gifts that had been bestowed upon her. For the first time in her life she felt at peace; the black clouds had lifted. She said a prayer of thanks; she felt grateful.
Chapter 83
Kinds of Love
Since Capp’s return he had been busy with the new horses, working effectively and gaining confidence. There was one thing bothering him, and that was Josie. He was embarrassed, mostly. He never believed for a moment she would return and here she was, right back at Glidewell. And to top it all off, Maizie had urged him to go see her. He didn’t want to, but he understood that he couldn’t ignore Josie’s presence forever.
He looked toward the paddock and got a glimpse of the sick cabin in the back. Knowing he had a little time before lunch, he ran over there to get the encounter over with. He knocked quietly on the door. Someone on the inside said, “Come in,” so softly he almost didn’t hear it. Opening the door, he stuck his head in and said, “Josie?”
Capp barely recognized her. Her thin face, her eyes, her nearly bald head all told of her misfortune. “Josie?” He caught her panicked look across the room where he noticed a turban like the one Sugar would wear thrown on the back of a chair.
Embarrassed, Josie reached to touch her stubbled head. She did not look at him but kept her gaze straight ahead as he crossed the room towards her bed. “Please, no closer,” she said.
Capp could see she was starting to cry and did what he was told. Remaining about five feet from the bed, he removed his hat and remained silent.
“I’ve something to tell you,” Josie said.
“Yeah?”
“I know now I ain’t never had nobody who loved me.”
Capp kept quiet.
“I thought you loved me when I was here before.”
Capp shifted on his feet and cleared his throat. “I never said I loved you, Josie.”
“I know. Wasn’t I the stupid one?”
“Can’t say you’re stupid.”
“Well, I fell in love with you. That makes me stupid.”
“Don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say nothin’,” said Josie. “I want you to know that if I get a second chance here at Glidewell, I’m going to take it.”
“Yeah, you should. Good place, Glidewell.”
“Doc says I ain’t never having children. That don’t matter either ’cause ain’t nobody goin’ to love me anyways. Look at me, Capp.” Josie turned toward Capp and rubbed her head, tears rolling down her hollow cheeks.
“Who shaved you?” asked Capp.
“The nurse. They wouldn’t help me in Springfield until I was clean. Said I’d infect their whole office.”
“Why didn’t you use a lice comb before it got so bad?”
“Well, I didn’t have no fancy comb at the camp. But you wouldn’t know about living in a lice-, flea-, and rat-invested camp.”
Capp put his Stetson back on his head. “Look Josie, I got a meeting. Anything else you want to tell me?”
“Yeah. One more thing.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t love you no more. I don’t feel for you,” Josie said through her tears.
Capp nodded his head, tipped his hat and walked out the door. Walking down the cabin’s steps, a feeling of relief began to settle in, then unexpectedly a twinge of guilt found its way into his consciousness.
A few weeks later Josie rested in her new bed in the servants’ wing of the ranch house. She was propped up on her pillows as Maizie read from The Velveteen Rabbit, a children’s book. Josie, sporting a new red-print head rag, listened with her heart. Maizie’s reading was like a soothing hug, a thoughtful prayer. Josie was feeling so much better now—healed, clean, and getting stronger.
“Maizie, please read the part about what happens when you are loved,” said Josie. Maizie turned to the lines that Josie found so comforting. She read the words again. Josie listened.
“‘When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become real.’”
Through Tender Thorns Page 28