The fine tobacco stretched out with drooping leaves, beautiful green foliage that raised itself to the sun, patient and obedient in its growth, and now it was ripe, ready for reaping. While Clairey put up bottles and bottles of canned tomatoes, green beans, corn, okra, pickles, and beets from the garden, apples from the trees, and jams from the wild berries, Ellis harvested the tobacco crop. Everywhere was the bounty of the fall. The crop had done well, and the garden had flourished, all thanks to hard work and favorable weather. And the two of them were contentedly busy gathering.
Clairey sometimes paused in her chore of bottling to take water to Ellis. She worried about him out in the sun, single-mindedly committed to bringing the tobacco in. She watched him from the edge of the field, limping along the rows as he cut the stalks of his tobacco plants, threading them on a tobacco spear, and then piling them on the flatbed wagon. Her heart ached for him. She knew that he was still in a good deal of pain, but he kept going. She knew he would always bear the scars. He would forever walk with that limp.
They worked together to thresh the hay field, leaving their bundles in rows as they went. Clairey hated the work; it was backbreaking, hard labor. But worse were the chiggers.
“Them chiggers done near ate me up,” she complained as she scratched desperately at her legs.
“Let me see,” Ellis said, kneeling down on his good leg next to the bed and lifting the hem of her nightgown up. Her legs were pocked with tiny red bumps. He whistled low. “They got you good, now, didn’t they?”
“It itches somethin’ awful.”
“You ort not to wear a dress when you’re workin’ in the hay,” he advised. “You wear some long stockin’s and a pair of britches and they can’t get at you this a-way.”
“Well, it don’t do me no good now,” she lamented.
“Hold on now, and we’ll get you fixed up good.” Ellis got up and went into the other room. He came back directly with a rusted can of kerosene and an old rag. He shook the can over the rag and then brushed it onto her legs, his hands gentle as he worked. “This ortta take care of them things,” he told her. “Just don’t go standin’ too close to the fire.”
“Now that’d get rid of ’em for sure,” she said with a laugh.
The next day, she came out to the field wearing a pair of his old overalls that were tied around the ankles with string.
A buyer came around to collect the tobacco and paid them a good price for it. With everything gathered in, they were ready for winter. Clairey felt a pride in the products of their labor that was beyond any feelings of satisfaction that she had ever experienced before. Her bottled goods gleamed like jewels lined up neatly in the cupboard. Ellis had made a box shelf to hang up on the wall, her jars stacked two deep, twelve across. She felt that he, too, took pleasure in her hard work. He told her that he had never had the comfort of canned goods, always relying upon his hand-fashioned root cellar to provide him food in the coldest weather. He had dug the customary root cellar too, though, to ensure they would have plenty to get them through.
Just when the weather was growing cold in mid-November, and the skies were gray and overcast even at midday, they received a visit. Clairey couldn’t help but notice how different the two of them were when they pulled up the drive and climbed out of the car. Fergus seemed anxious, troubled as he sat down at the table. Elvira was strained as well, her mouth drawn down at the corners, her beauty still evident but dulled. She held her baby in her arms in an almost careless manner and was quiet. When she did speak, she was cold and emotionless. The last year had changed her from a vibrant girl into a faded, disappointed woman.
They talked for a short while, and then Fergus found some excuse to lure Ellis out of the house, leaving Elvira and Clairey alone.
“You don’t look well,” Clairey observed.
“Neither’d you if you’s up all night with this bawlin’ thing,” she complained.
“All babies is like that,” Clairey consoled. “But look at how fine he is.”
Elvira shrugged absently. Apparently she was not in the mood for pleasantries. “Don’t hep none that he come early,” she grumbled. “Doctor says his stomach is weak on account of it.”
“Can I hold him?”
Elvira passed the little bundle gladly over, and he began to fuss. Clairey tried to soothe him by bouncing and walking.
“Thought Fergus’s mama was bad, but this ’un here carries on more than she do, the little runt.”
Clairey looked down on him with a quiet reverence. She momentarily forgot that Elvira was there, her attention trained completely upon the baby. “My mama tole me they’s used to bein’ bumped round in the womb, and you hold ’em just right, and shake ’em a little, and they think they be back in the womb again.”
“If you know so much ’bout it, why you ain’t got one of your own?” Elvira snapped.
Clairey figured Elvira had done what she intended; she had hurt her deeply. Elvira briefly wore a triumphant expression, but then in a flash seemed to crumble. She covered her face with her hands and cried.
“Why, Elvira, what’s it that troubles you so?” Clairey asked, moving in behind her and patting her shoulder.
“I didn’t want no boy,” she sobbed. “I wanted me a girl. And he looks just like him, don’t he? Just like him and named for him too, the ole dog.”
“Why, he’s a dandy, Elvira. Just look at him. He’s just a fine little thing.” Clairey meant what she said. She could see the resemblance between the baby and his daddy. Although his small potato spud nose was Elvira’s, it seemed oddly out of place on the face of a mini Fergus, but he was so little and so helpless. How could Elvira not feel something stir in her heart after holding him, after touching his soft skin and seeing his little mouth pucker up in a precious pout before he let out a yell?
“He promised and promised, and still we’s with her. And he lies to me, and she gets after me, and the other bawls after me. I can’t stand it no more,” she finished with a moan.
“Don’t know why he’d tell you such a thing if he don’t aim to,” Clairey consoled. “Ellis says he tole him he’s worried over his mama’s health. She can’t do without Fergus, is what he says. Maybe she won’t be much longer in this world, and she’ll leave you to peace soon enough.”
“Oh, she’ll never die. No, not that a-one. She aims to make me miserable for evermore,” Elvira said with a fresh burst of tears. “That baby cries and cries. I done tried everything to hush him up. I put him to the tit and I rock him, and he just cries and cries.” She wrung the skirt of her dress with her slender fingers, near hysterics, working herself into a fit. “And you know, she takes hold of him, and he quiets right on down. Don’t make a peep for her. And she likes it ’cause she likes to make me look like a fool.”
“It’s only ’cause she knows how to handle a baby. She done gone through what you’re goin’ through, Elvira. She prob’ly just wants to give you relief, is all.”
“No,” Elvira insisted. “No. That ain’t it at all. They got it out for me. They all tryin’ to make me crazy; that’s what they’s doin’.” Her tears stopped long enough for her to look Clairey in the eyes with a wild sort of stare. “I’m his mama!” she cried. “His mama! Why don’t he want me? Why’d he want her over his own mama? And why’s Fergus always pickin’ her over his own wife?”
“Now, you ain’t thinkin’ right. You just need a night’s sleep to see it all different,” Clairey said.
“Won’t change nothin’. Won’t make it no different. It’s all gonna be the same when I wake up.”
“Look at this here babe, Elvira. He’s a strong and healthy one. Think on that. Think on what you got ’stead of what you ain’t.” She was grasping at straws at that point because she was beginning to see that regardless of what she said, Elvira would not be comforted.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” she moaned. “You got your own place, and Ellis…well, Ellis is a real man what can take care of his own and give you what you nee
d.” She gritted her teeth and shut her eyes tight. “Why’d he go and sell that there farm to Coy Struthers? Why’d he go and do that for?” She turned on Clairey with a malicious scowl. “It woulda suited me right nice, that farm. Woulda been just the thing. And he done give it to Coy Struthers.”
Clairey was automatically defensive. “It weren’t Ellis’s fault.”
“Sure it were. Why didn’t he give it to Fergus?” Elvira wailed. “Coy Struthers don’t need it.”
“Ellis wanted Fergus to take it. He didn’t want it. For shame you talkin’ ’bout Ellis that a-way. What was he to a-done, made him take it offen his hands after Fergus done tole him no he don’t want it?”
All at once, Elvira became quiet. She narrowed her eyes as she looked upon Clairey with incredulous rage. “Fergus, that skunk! I hate him! He ain’t got no intent to put me in a place of my own. And his mama, why she aims to do me in. That’s what she aims to do. She wants my baby just the same as she gots Fergus.” She wiped the tears from her eyes in harsh, angry strokes, sniffing her nose and straightening herself up. “For all I care, she can have ’em both. They’ll get no more of me!”
It hadn’t dawned on Clairey that Elvira knew nothing of Ellis offering his land to Fergus, but she saw the change in Elvira immediately. She went to touch her shoulder again, to soothe her, but Elvira drew away, her jaw line hard and unyielding.
“Gimme,” she said, wrenching the baby from Clairey’s arms. “I s’pose you want my baby too ’cause you don’t got one of your own.” There was no ignoring the malice in her words. “You might got your own place, and you might got a man, but you ain’t got no baby, now do you?”
Fergus Jr. began to whimper loudly, but Elvira didn’t seem to notice.
“No, I ain’t,” Clairey murmured. She told herself that she should not feel stung by Elvira’s hateful words. It was obvious Elvira wasn’t in her right mind, that she was hurting. She needed someone to blame for her woes, if not Ellis than Clairey. “I’s only tryin’ to hep, is all.”
Elvira ignored her, stalking to the door and going out into the night to sit in the car. Clairey could hear the baby crying even from inside.
When Fergus and Ellis came back to the house, Fergus looked over the room then asked, “Where’d Elvira get to?”
“She went on outside,” Clairey said.
“Did she now?” It was almost like he was trying to let on as if that was nothing out of the ordinary, perfectly normal, a regular occurrence.
“What’d she do that for?” Ellis wondered.
“She’s awful mad at me,” Clairey admitted. “I sure am sorry for makin’ her so mad.”
“S’pose it’s time we go on home anyhow.” Fergus shrugged. “Gettin’ late and Mama’ll worry.” It seemed somewhat pathetic that he was trying to play it off as if it were of no consequence that his wife had stomped out and was waiting in the automobile for him.
Fergus went to leave, but Clairey grabbed at his arm timidly. “Now, I don’t wanna poke round in your business, I surely don’t, but you ortta take her in to see Doctor Fielding. She ain’t right, Fergus.”
Fergus looked down at her hand then back to her face, a sheepish expression born in his eyes.
“Mama done tole me some women is like that after havin’ a baby. She says Elvira’ll come out of it direc’ly.”
“Doctor Fielding—”
“My mama done had herself nine children. I s’pose she knowed a thing or two ’bout bearin’ babies,” he replied. His tone was quiet, sad.
“Well, yes, I s’pose she do,” Clairey said, dropping her hand from his sleeve. She knew it was pointless to pursue it any further. He was not willing to listen.
“You-uns take care now,” Fergus said in parting.
Ellis and Clairey watched from the porch as they pulled away. Clairey couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. “There goes a miserable soul.”
“Which one of ’em, Fergus or Elvira?”
“He wouldn’t hear me. I was tryin’ to tell him she needs hep, and he wouldn’t listen.”
Ellis sighed. “Well, now, Claire, they’s some you can’t do nothin’ for. If they don’t take the hep you offerin’, there ain’t nothin’ you can do ’bout it. Fergus always was that a-way. Never could stand up to nobody. I seen him tonight, and he was that boy I used to know, the one that was always tortured and teased. Don’t reckon he ever grew into a man. Hate to say it, but he’s a coward. Lettin’ everybody act on him ’stead of actin’ for hisself. Lord, I hope he can teach that boy to be a man.”
Chapter 24
ELLIS SCRATCHED WITH HIS FOUNTAIN PEN, fervently working sums on a scrap of paper. Clairey watched him as she sat next to the fire, piecing a quilt square. It was the gentleman’s bow tie pattern, the scraps of fabric stitched together to resemble a bow tie at a diagonal through the center of each square. Now and again, Ellis would slash through a number and start anew with his calculations. It amused her, how diligently he worked at it, how determined he was to find his answer.
“Whatcha workin’ on there?” he asked, looking over at her.
“Well, now, I done finished that apron I’s workin’ on for the doctor’s wife. And now I aim to start a quilt.” She held up her square. “What d’you think?”
“Right nice.”
“And what’re you a-workin’ on?”
“Sums,” he answered.
“How’s it comin’?”
“We done right well with what we got from the terbaccer and them cows, and ’course the farm monies.”
She knew he felt a great sense of pride in the fact that they had money. Just five months before, they’d thought they were ruined, that they would lose everything. Now they had a small surplus, and she was sure he was very relieved and could breathe for the first time in a long time.
“Sure we did,” she agreed.
“I’s thinkin’ on it,” he went on. “If we’s to double the head of them cattle come spring, we stand to make out better next year than we done this year, even.”
“You’d have to put up more fencin’ for more pasture.”
“Yeah, I’d have to do that.”
“I could hep you, and it’d take no time at all,” she offered.
“Now, I knowed it was all ’cause of you that we done so well. I’s thinkin’ we ortta do somethin’ for you, since you’s the one who did a piece of the work,” he said, not looking up as he continued to write out his figures. “This here money’s rightfully yours too. So what d’you want, Mrs. Clairey Hooper?” he asked with a smile. “One of them fine treadle sewin’ machines, or how’s about a well right outside the door there so’s you don’t gotta haul it from the spring?”
“I don’t need nothin’,” she said modestly. She thought those things sounded quite nice, but they were things that she could do without. What she wanted she was afraid to ask for. She had been thinking, and the thing she had been thinking primarily of was something she dreaded to put into words. Yet it lingered on her lips, just waiting to be said, gliding under the surface like a fish—sleek and swift beneath the quiet of the water. It was the thing that she hadn’t been able to dispel from her brain for the past few weeks as she’d lain with him in their bed.
“Well, now, I aim to do somethin’ for you,” he insisted, tossing his fountain pen onto the table and leaning back in his chair to stretch.
Clairey continued to sew, but her face grew troubled. “I don’t know. Whatever you see fit to do with it is fine by me.”
“None of them things strikes your fancy?” he probed.
“All sounds nice.”
“Come on, now, why won’t you tell me what you want?” he continued, turning to face her.
“Well, now, Ellis, I’d just as soon not say.”
“Maybe you want some cloth to make yourself a dress, or a proper chair to sit in by the fire there,” he went on. “One that has a cushion.”
“I don’t want none of them things.”
“I’ll keep at you ti
ll you tell,” he informed her, teasing in his manner. “One way or the other, I’ll get it from you.”
She could feel him staring at her, but she would not meet his gaze. She finally had enough of his game and proceeded in her most quiet voice to tell him what she was afraid to say. “What if we was to put a room offen the back there,” she said, motioning with her eyes to the far wall. Her manner was tentative, hesitant, as if it had taken a great deal for her to speak up.
Ellis’s eyes enlarged. He opened his mouth as though he might say something then stopped short. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You wanna add on a room?” he repeated, to make sure he understood her correctly.
She shrugged, unable to understand why Ellis seemed so surprised by her request. “We could build offen the back there and put the porch onto that,” she suggested.
“Whatcha need more room for?” he asked, his eyebrows drawn together. “Ain’t it big enough for you?”
“It ain’t that. I…” She hesitated.
“If it ain’t that, then what?”
She could see by the expression on his face that he was working it all out in his head. And then his features registered displeasure or disappointment. She couldn’t be sure which. She was immediately sorry she had said anything at all.
“You want your own space,” he said, like he suddenly understood.
“No,” Clairey insisted, shaking her head. “No. That ain’t it at all. I ain’t sayin’ I don’t wanna share your bed!” She gathered what little courage she had left before she continued on, her face in a deep blush. “I wanna make room for a baby,” she said.
He didn’t answer, so she chanced a glance up at him to measure his reaction. His jaw was slack, his eyebrows raised, seeming completely taken aback by what she had just disclosed to him.
Good Ground Page 23