Between the Flowers: A Novel

by Harriette Simpson Arnow

  Delph fingered the letter, and looked at it while she asked, "Tell me, Juberwhen my father brought my mother home how was it? Was shewellso sober like an' stillan' did she seem afraid to be in lovean' ashamedth' way Fronie says a good woman ought to be?"

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  Juber shook his head. "Your mother was cut of a different stripe from Fronie. No puttin' on or hidin' under about her." He picked up the basket of eggs. "Why don't you go after th' cows? Somebody's got to do a little plannin' on how to get your clothes out a th' house. Th' cows ud come by theirselves this time a year, but th' walk 'ud mebbe half settle your mind, an' keep you out a th' house a little longer. You can't go bustin' in to Fronie all bubblin' over like a jug a new made wine."

  "I'll never let on," she answered, and went running away to hunt the cows.

  Dark came and Fronie was out and calling. She questioned Juber when he went to the kitchen for milk buckets. "She's gone to hunt th' cows," he said.

  "But I heared th' cow bells in th' lane more'n half an hour ago," Fronie answered, and stood in the kitchen door and looked up the pasture hill.

  "Aye, I guess it is that Bessie. She is th' artfulest cow to wander off an' hide. An' she'll stand so still in th' brush a chewin' her cud with never a jangle from her bell. A body 'ud think she muffled it."

  Fronie continued to search the pasture hill. "Looks to me like her a standin' by that black oak tree. She'll catch her death a cold a standin' so still.Wool gatherin' as always, people'ull take her for a daft womanDelph-i-i-ine."

  Juber smiled at the indistinct figure. "She won't hear ye. She's a listenin' hard fer Beesie's bell, an' a buildin' castles in them clouds."

  "She'd better build her castles by a good warm fire an' not be catchin' her death a cold. Delph-i-i-ine."

  "Speakin' a colds that reminds mePermelie's not feelin' so well. I was wonderin' if I could take her down a basket a turnip greens. Them seven tops in th' garden, I'd like to take her a big basket fall. Some green truck 'ud do her good."

  "What's happened that Permelie's got no greens a her own? Most a th' time she has greens when nobody else's got any. She bad sick? I've been layin' off to get down to see her one a these days. I might take 'em myself."

  "NonoI'll do it. Law, it 'ud be too unhandy fer you, carryin' a basket an' a ridin'. I'll take 'em down in a few days, an' mebbe a sack a apples."

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  "Don't tell me she's out a apples 'fore Christmas."

  Juber nodded and sighed for the post mistress. "It's th' strangest thing. Her apples all rotted. I reckin Permelie's gittin' careless like or somethin'folks 'ull be sayin' next she can't haf sort th' mail."

  "Her eyes are plenty sharp for some things. Mrs. Hedrick told me that Mamie Hardgrove told her she'd heard it said that Permelie Crouch said that Delph was head over heels in love with that fool oil manan' him a stranger she's not see half a dozen times."

  "Lord, a body cain't be too careful a young girls like Delph.Permelie was sayin' th' other day he'd better not be tryin' to write to Delph. She'd give th' letter to John quick as a flash, she said."

  Fronie smoothed her apron and looked satisfied. "Permelie is a good soul. It's a pity she won't get saved. Take her down th' greens an' a sack a apples, too, whenever you have time. An' tell her soon as I make some hominy I'll either bring or send her a mess.Lord won't that girl ever get on inDelph-i-i-ine."

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  7

  Tuesday, the day that Marsh had set for the runaway, dawned gray and cold under low skies. A biting wind shrieked across the pasture, made a moaning by the house corners, and now and then flung scattering showers of fine ice-like snow. Mid morning found Delph watching Juber in the garden, as he gathered a bushel basket of frozen seven top turnip greens. Downstairs, Fronie rocked the baby and declared that Juber was either addled or head over heels in love with the postmistress, to go picking and carrying greens in all this weather.

  Delph waited, and when Juber had gone to the barn, she slipped down the front hall stairs and ran after him. He was by the pig sty cautiously feeding handfuls of turnip greens to Linnie, the sow. "You'd ought to a stayed at th' house," he warned in a whisper. "If they're not onto somethin' from th' noise we made sneakin' out your things last night, they're dumber than I think they are."

  "You're liable to forget somethin'," she argued, and would have climbed with him into the hay mow after her hidden clothing, had he not commanded her to stay below and watch.

  "Put my shoes in th' sack that's to be apples," she called once in a loud whisper, but Juber had troubles other than the shoes. "I can't get in this little work basket your mother left ye," he called after a time.

  She pondered with arms hugged tight to her shivering body. "Take out all a my winter underwear an' heavy stockin's. I won't be needin' 'em."

  "It'll mebbe be cold in South Amerikee fer all you know."

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  "But there'll be nobody to fuss about my heavy underwear."

  "There's no room for this big geography, Delph."

  "Take it out then. I won't be needin' th' maps so muchnow."

  He came down not long after with a basket heaped with turnip greens in one hand, and the knobby sack supposedly filled with apples, on his shoulder. He smiled sadly at the sack as he stood it against the wall. "I think it'a a mess a punkins I'm takin' Permelie, 'stid a apples. They're awful big peculiar sized apples."

  She patted the sack affectionately, and pushed a shoe heel into a less noticeable position. "It's crooked necked cushaws, I guess.I hope you an' Permelie don't get in trouble over this."

  "Never you mind. Nobody'ull be th' wiser. You'd better worry after Delph. To my mind this weather's so bad they won't let you go visit th' Hedricks like they promised."

  "I'll slip off at dark then," she said, and ran toward the house, and wondered as she ran how she would spend the day. Her hands were cold but her ears felt hot and she feared that they were fiery red. Fronie and Nance, busy making souse meat from the second hog killing, might question why her ears were red or why she didn't sit still and sew, and so to avoid them she took the ten month old baby and three year old Jim up to her own room and played with them; Fronie would not come bothering her as long as she kept the children from underfoot. She would miss the baby, she thought, and once whispered to it that she was going away, but the baby only crowed and bounced on her knees.

  She was glad when Fronie, after having waited dinner a time, called her to come and eat as she guessed John had ridden clear to the head of the creek and would not be back before sundown. Yet even with him gone, dinner was a long struggle to bite and chew and swallow food that choked and sickened her.

  She was glad when the meal was finished, and she could return to her room. But once there, she only stood a moment by the hearth, and rushed downstairs. Nance was surprised when she jerked up a dishcloth and began drying the dishes, humming "Nine of the Bent to Over the Bow." as she worked. Nance thanked her, for helping with the kitchen work was a thing Delph seldom did; but when Nance's words of gratitude were said, Delph had the sudden terror that she might be going to cry, and after that it seemed an eternity passed as she dried the dishes.

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  She finished at last, hung the cups in their proper place in the cupboard, and turned to Fronie and said, "I think I'll get ready to go now."

  Fronie had the baby cradled in one arm, and a cookbook cross her knees. "Wherever are you aimin' to go in all this weather?" she absent-mindedly asked, without lifting her head from the cookbook.

  "You know. You mentioned it first a while back. This is th' day I'm goin' down to visit Hedricks."

  Fronie glanced out the window where a few snow flakes whirled in the wind. "Law, I wouldn't think a walkin' out in all this weather.Where is that fruit cake recipe, anyhow? Soon's we finish this batch a souse meat, I think I'll start on th' fruit cakes."

  Delph untied her apron, and laid it over the back of a chair. "If you don't mind I think I'd better go. They're expec
tin' me."

  Fronie considered with a forefinger on a page of the cookbook, "John mightn't like it now.Nance, looks to me like you're puttin' an awful lot a pepper in that souse meatbut if you're dead set on it why go ahead. Maybe it won't kill youyou look better anyhow than a few days back."

  "I'll be all right," she said, and ran up the kitchen stairs.

  She dressed quickly, picked up her purse, took her mother's rings, the ladies' watch made to be worn on a breast pin, a locket, and other trinkets from her mother; too precious to be trusted to the sack of apples and basket of greens. She hesitated a time over her savings kept in an old hunting horn; more than a hundred dollars that John had made her keep from time to time; to teach her thrift he had always said. She thought of Marshwhat was hers should be hisand shoved the money hastily into her purse.

  She stood a moment then and looked about the room, her eyes moving slowly from this to thatthe hills out the window, the sticks of seasoned maple wood by the hearth, the books in the shelves Juber had built for her, the stacks of magazines, the boxes of paper dollsher mother had cut some of thoseand the bottom dresser drawer that held the scrap book. She opened the dresser swiftly, took out the scrap book, smiled a moment at the first picture she saw, the one of Dorie's Sam, then closed it and put it away. The scrap book and Sam's picture were like her books of poetry and the maps she had once traced out with her fingergoing about the world with

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  Marsh, she would have no need of such things now. She opened the box of paper dolls, and tried to put a dress on a lady in a pink silk petticoat, but her hands were stiff and awkward, cold as if she had been playing in the snow, so that she never dressed the doll but laid it away with the others.

  She walked slowly down the kitchen stairs, and stood a moment by the stove and pretended to warm her feet, careful to look at neither Nance nor Fronie. Nance was just finishing the mixing of a pan of souse meat, and stood now with her head tilted to one side and studied her work, while Fronie held a spoonful and made soft smacking noises with her lips and tasted critically. ''Delph, I wish you'd see how this souse meat is anyhow. Nance thinks it's got too much sage,'' Fronie asked, and scarcely glanced at her.

  She took a spoonful of the well peppered meat, looked at it a moment, then said, "It's just right."

  "But you've not tasted it."

  " II mean it looks an' smells all right." She swallowed the meat, but it was tasteless in her mouth, like dry meal going down. "It's awful good."

  "An' you don't think it's got too much pepper.What are you all dykin' out in your good new coat for? People'ull be sayin' next you're puttin' on airs. What about th' salt? I've smelled an' tasted till I can't tell a thing."

  "Th' salt? Oh, it's all right. Fine. I thoughtI'd wear this coat just for a change," she answered, and drew on her gloves.

  "Your old one's nicer than most girls in this country have. Nance, you taste. I think it needs a touch more red pepper.Delph, don't forget your overshoes. You think it's all right, Nance?"

  Nance nodded over the souse meat, then went hurrying to the back porch for Delph's overshoes, which she insisted on warming a time before Delph put them on.

  Delph buckled on the overshoes at last, and smiled at little Jim. "Kiss me good-bye," she asked suddenly, and held out her hands, but the little boy hung back, abashed by the suggestion.

  She got up and stood a moment staring at the stove. "I'd better be goin'," she said.

  "Have a nice time, an' if it turns warm an' rains don't try walkin' home tomorrow. Juber can bring Tilly after you," Fronie said.

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  "Tell Mrs. Hedrick I'll be down one a these days to help her with her quiltin," Nance said, and little Jim said, "Bye, Delph."

  "All rightgood-bye," she said, and opened the door, closed it quickly, and walked away without looking back.

  Juber met her in the barn hall. His sparse hair lay in damp smooth strings across his head, and he wore the clothing he wore on his rare trips to church or Town; new overalls, a blue striped shirt, a red tie, and a black suit coat worn shiny at the cuffs and seams. "I'm goin' to walk a piece with you," he said, and took her hand and swung it as he had used to do when she was a little girl.

  "You'd better not. John, if he ever learns all this, he'll turn you out a house an' home," she warned.

  He shook his head and stared down at his neatly polished Sunday shoes, "I feel right now like I'm losin' th' most uv it anyhow."

  "Now, Juber, don't be silly. I'll write. I'll send you postcards. Wouldn't you like to get a postcard from South America?"

  "Lord, Delph, but it's so far away."

  Her eyes glinted with excitement. "But we'll maybe go other places, too. Oil men go all over th' world, an' I'll mebbe visit back. Maybe we'll have a car, an' come drivin' in some Memorial Day."

  "Mebbe so," he said, and walked with her through the barn and down the lane.

  She stopped at the end of the lane, and looked up toward the high pasture hill. "JuberI'm goin' th' back way, so could you walk around an' meet me on th' other side? I think I'd like to go up over th' hillthis once."

  He nodded and walked on, and she climbed the hill. The brown grass and dead sweet clover caught at her feet and brushed against her ankles. Now and then she stopped and turned to look back. Each time Costello's place was smaller, the hills farther flung and lower lying. Then she stood on the top with all the world about her falling away. The wind whistled through the black oak tree, and lifted the brown frozen leaves with a little rustling.

  She felt hot tears on her wind cold cheeks and knew it was the north wind in her eyes. She saw, looming above the other hills, the high mass of cold looking stone that was the Pilot Rock. She saw the road to school, and the one to church, and there was the Hedrick

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  place. Past the Little South Fork Country, the frozen hills lay dark and cold and lonesome, with now and then a thread of smoke spiraling up against the sky. She had an instant's pity for the women sitting by the fires that made the smoke. Young hill women wanting to go away, older ones with their children gone, opening albums and taking pictures from cupboards and dresser drawers, showing them proudly to visitors, or just sitting and studying them. She would have more of the world than the pictures of those that went away.

  She picked up a pebble and twirled it high and toward the Little South Fork Country, and then she turned and ran with no waiting to see where the pebble fell. She knew the long sweep of the pasture hill, and had no need to watch her feet. It was almost as if she played that game again, lived over the stolen fun she had had when she went to hunt the cows, when she ran with her eyes closed, down through the knee high grass, then fell in a heap at the bottom and opened her eyes and found them filled with sky, and lay and laughed and laughed, at the cows staring at her, at Fronie who would have scolded, at nothing, at everything, laughing that there was no one to see and ask her why she laughed. She reached the cup-like bottom of the pasture, and opened her eyes to see Juber waiting for her there. She caught his hand and tried to laugh, but could do no better than a stiff tight smile.

  They stopped by the rail fence. She looked at him and wished her throat would stop hurting the way it did, but he looked so solemn and oldlike some hungry troubled bird on the first day in winter. "You'd better not go any further," she said and dropped his hand.

  "I won't. It'll soon be barnwork time, anyhow." He took off his hat and held it awkwardly in his hand. "I wish ye well, Delph. Mebbethings'ull work out soyou'll hate me fer hepin' this on, but."