Good Ground

by Tracy Winegar

  “Don’t hep none that them birds don’t fly,” Ellis observed with an edge of humor.

  “No, I suppose it didn’t.” Doctor Fielding sniggered.

  “What news from town?” Clairey asked.

  “There’s not much to report. Now I’m up on all the church gossip, thanks to Mrs. Fielding, but I don’t count that as news.”

  “I…I know it ain’t none of my business,” Clairey began.

  “What is it?”

  “Now, we got a visit prob’ly four or five weeks ago or so from Fergus and Elvira, and ever since, I worried over ’em. I tole Fergus he ortta visit with you over it, ’cause I thought you might could hep ’em out, you know.”

  “It’s been a month, you say?”

  “Weren’t it, Ellis?” she asked.

  “Nigh on that long,” Ellis affirmed. “Ferg, he didn’t say much, but he didn’t gotta for me to see somethin’ was up.”

  “You hadn’t heard then?” Doctor Fielding said. He looked from Ellis to Clairey questioningly. “I’m afraid she left…Fergus and the baby. Left them both and went on back home.”

  Clairey pursed her lips and shook her head, doing her best not to become emotional. “I knowed she weren’t right. I done tole Fergus she needed hep.”

  “When was it? When she take off?” Ellis asked.

  “Just close to that. It was four or more weeks ago.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” Ellis said.

  “Ain’t there nothin’ nobody can do for her?” Clairey pressed. “Somebody ortta go and reason with her.”

  “Fergus went over to her daddy’s place, trying his best to get her to come back with him, but she wouldn’t even consider it. Elvira said there wasn’t a place for her there. She said it didn’t look as though Fergus was willing to leave his mother and get them their own place. She told him his mother wanted the both of them. So she could have them.”

  “She don’t even want her baby? Her own flesh and blood? She don’t even want him?” Clairey could not imagine it. She thought of how her arms had ached when Elvira had taken him from her that night. How empty she felt when she allowed herself to think on how Ellis had reacted to her suggesting they have a child of their own. How could a woman do such a thing? How could a woman walk away from her own child like that?

  Ellis didn’t have to be told what she was thinking. He knew. It was no coincidence that Clairey had turned to talk of babies after Fergus and Elvira’s visit. He had sensed an immediate transformation in her after they had left that day. It didn’t seem at all fair. Clairey was a woman who would make a good mother. She should have the one thing she wanted, the only thing she had ever asked for.

  “Unfortunately, motherhood doesn’t always come naturally to every woman,” the doctor commented.

  “But her own child,” Clairey muttered.

  “Yes, well, it’s a shame; I won’t argue that. Some people stick, and some people run.”

  “How’s Fergus?” Ellis inquired.

  “He’s taken it hard, I suppose. Don’t know anyone that wouldn’t.”

  “I ortta go visit with him.”

  “That would be a nice gesture.” The doctor slipped his gloves back on his hands. “I shouldn’t linger,” he said. “Tempting to sit next to this fire and not move, but I need to be getting back. You never know when someone else will call needing help.”

  “I got somethin’ for you to take back to Mrs. Fielding,” Clairey informed him. “It ain’t much, but I done made her somethin’.”

  “How thoughtful.”

  “I got some fresh eggs for you too.” She plucked a crock bowl from one of the shelves in the cupboard. “I’ll hurry on out and collect ’em afore you leave.”

  “I can get ’em for you,” Ellis offered.

  “Would you go on into the other room there and get that apron I been workin’ on?” she asked. “It’s in my sewin’ basket.” She slipped through the door to get some fresh eggs.

  Ellis went into the bedroom, rummaging through the chifferobe in search of Clairey’s sewing basket. He found it right away—the apron she had made neatly folded with the quilt squares she had been working on. He took it out and was ready to close the door when he noticed something. Nestled next to her sewing things was a cigar box that he had never seen before. Out of curiosity, he lifted the lid and peeked in.

  It housed an odd assortment of things: a variety of pressed wild flowers; a robin’s egg, pale blue and speckled; an arrowhead; and a scrap of paper torn from a catalog with a picture of a woman wearing a cloche hat. But the thing that caught his eye was the handkerchief folded carefully and tucked thoughtfully among the simple treasures. It was nothing special—a dingy white square with no frills to it—but he recognized it right away. On a snowy day, he had offered it to a girl who had been caught in a terrible storm.

  He heard Clairey in the other room, returning from her errand. “Did you find it, Ellis?” she called.

  He brought the apron back and handed it to her. “This it?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Be sure and tell Mrs. Fielding we said thank you for the puddin’,” Clairey told Doctor Fielding. “And give her this for me.”

  “Will do,” he promised. “I’m sure she’ll like it very much.”

  Ellis followed the doctor out onto the porch to say goodbye.

  The older man paused before he headed down the steps. “How are you holding up, Ellis?” he asked reluctantly.

  Ellis shrugged. “Leg’s tolerable.”

  The doctor couldn’t help but smile. “You’re more like him than you will ever know,” he said off-handedly.

  “Who?” Ellis asked.

  “Your father,” he replied.

  Ellis shook his head slowly as his gaze dropped to the ground.

  “You think anyone would have done what you did for that girl in there? You learned it from him. You saved her, just like he saved you. Think on it and see if I’m not right,” he challenged, and then he walked down the steps to his car and went on his way.

  The next morning, Ellis left. Equipped with a pail of milk and a bowl of brown and white eggs, he went after his morning chores were completed.

  “I’ll stop and see Fergus, and then I’ll check in on Aunt Sissy on the way home. Won’t be home till late,” he advised Clairey. “No need to wait up.”

  As promised, Ellis was still gone when it grew dark. She hadn’t expected him to be back until late, but she had hoped that he would surprise her. The day wore from early evening into night. Clairey felt a loneliness that she had never experienced before. Her mind wandered from her current state to her soon-to-be future state, and she felt a deep sadness that Ellis had not asked her to stay. She remembered the day that she had told him she was leaving, and she regretted those hasty words. Where would she go? What would she do with herself?

  The doubts washed over her, and she had to compel herself to be calm. The only thing she felt certain of was that she would not go back to her father’s house. Not that he would have her. And in a moment of deep sorrow, she wondered how the world could go on with her life in shambles such as it was. She had let down her guard long enough to fall in love with a man. She had dared to believe that she might have a future with him, and she had lost at the venture. What had made her think she would be any different than the scores of others who had been hurt by the same game? She was no different. She was perfectly common, just as they were. Maybe if she had been special, if she had been exceptional, maybe he would have loved her then. Clairey supposed there was no point in wondering over it; the fact remained that life would never be the same for her. Mulling over how it could have been would not get her to where she wanted to be.

  Clairey was startled out of her contemplative mood by the faint sounds of the chickens cackling and squawking from their hen’s house. She knew immediately it must be the fox. Spurred by their urgent calls, Clairey grabbed Ellis’s rifle and flew through the door, barefoot and heart pounding. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark
ness, but she instinctively ran across the porch and down the stairs. The light from the cabin window was spilling over the yard with an eerie glow, barely enough light to illuminate her path. Just before she made it to the hen house, she saw it, stealthily squeezing out of the hole it had dug under the fence. She could see, too, that it had gotten a prize—a chicken whose free wing flapped frantically as it struggled to escape the jaws of its predator.

  Clairey stopped where she was, pulled the butt of the rifle to her shoulder with a quick, decisive motion, and took precise aim. There was no hesitation as she squeezed the trigger. The sound of the shot spread and echoed as the bullet went true to its mark. The fox dropped the chicken and scrambled to escape, injured but still capable of running. Clairey aimed again, this time killing the fox dead. She waited, making sure that the fox did not get up. When it lay still, she walked over to it, peering at its corpse with a morbid curiosity. She watched the fox to see if it would move, if it was just playing dead and would try to get up and run again. It remained still, its mouth slightly agape, its teeth pink with the chicken’s blood.

  The chicken continued to flail with its good wing, clucking in desperation on the ground nearby as its life began to slip away, its white feathers blemished red with its own blood. It was immediately clear to her that the chicken was in a bad way.

  “My best egg layer,” she said in despair, bending to pick it up. “Shh,” Clairey soothed, holding it gently in her hands. The chicken would not be consoled. It continued to struggle in her arms.

  There was no help for it, she knew. Her chicken was dying. In an act of mercy, Clairey gathered her resolve, took the chicken in a firm grip, and wrenched its neck. The bird grew still, hanging limp from her hands. Her best egg layer would be dinner tomorrow, their full bellies a reminder of the cruelties of life. Would she serve it with potatoes or bottled beans? Perhaps cook it slow as it dangled from twine spinning on a hook over the open fire, or in a roasting pan in the oven?

  Ellis returned to find Clairey furiously plucking the feathers from a dead chicken. “Killed that fox,” she said, not looking up from her task.

  He watched her at a careful distance, propped against the porch railing with his arms crossed tight against his chest. The tension between them for the past few weeks had kept them from saying much to each other, but for some reason, tonight was different. It was as it had been before; they were familiar and at ease with one another. Looking at her now, he realized how much he wanted her. He hadn’t had her in some time, so many long, long days. What he wouldn’t do to embrace her now.

  “You got him, and he got the chicken?” He chuckled, trying to push the thought from his mind.

  “My best egg layer.”

  “Sorry ’bout that,” he consoled.

  “Sure hope your day was a sight better,” she said, resting her elbow on her leg and wiping her brow with her other arm. The chicken dangled fleshy peach and naked between her spread legs.

  “Not much. I’m feelin’ a lot like that there chicken,” he said with a grin.

  “You talk to Fergus?”

  “Nope.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “His mama tole me he don’t want nobody comin’ round. She sent me off with my tail ’tween my legs.”

  “Well, now, you tried, Ellis,” she told him, cocking her head and looking up at him.

  “S’pose so.” He was disappointed, even troubled by his failure.

  “How’s Aunt Sissy?”

  “Spent most of the day with her. Did some work round her place. Ate supper with her. She wanted to know where you was.”

  “Don’t know that I believe that,” she said wryly.

  “I wouldn’t lie to you,” he assured her when she gave him an all-knowing look.

  “Gonna just have to trust you then.” She held the chicken up. “So, how you want your chicken for supper tomarra? Roasted, baked, or fried?”

  “Don’t matter none to me. I always did like what’er you cooked up.”

  There was a lull in the conversation. He had something that he wanted to say but did not know how. Finally, he just spoke up. “I got you somethin’ on my way through town.”

  She stopped what she was doing to look at him, her eyes cautious. “You did?”

  Ellis went back to the truck to get a brown paper bag that was rolled shut. He held it out to her. “It ain’t much,” he apologized.

  She wiped her free hand on her apron. “I need to go wash up afore I touch it.”

  “Well, go on then,” he said.

  She took the chicken into the house, and he followed after her with the mysterious paper bag. She went to the washstand and scrubbed her hands and then took the bag and peeked in. She looked from him to the contents of the bag and back again. He wasn’t sure if she was pleased or unhappy. She was too hard to read.

  “Time you had a dress of your own,” he said.

  Clairey put her hand in the bag and drew out an ivory dress with small blue polka dots and short sleeves with wide cuffs. It buttoned down the front of the bodice with a simple cut. She held it out in front of her and let the skirt fall down so that she might inspect it. A little gasp escaped her lips.

  “It ain’t much, nothin’ more than a house dress. But it belongs to you.”

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, clutching it to her.

  “A lady deserves to have a dress all her own.” Ellis became confused when she frowned and grew troubled.

  “You shouldn’t a-done it.”

  “Why not?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Look, it’s yours to do with as you will. No strings attached.”

  “I ain’t got no way of payin’ you back for it.”

  “You don’t owe me nothin’.” Why did it make him so angry that she even considered paying him back? Couldn’t he do something nice for her?

  “I owe you everythin’, Ellis. I know it. I know what you done for me.”

  “I changed my mind,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I changed my mind. You have somethin’ I want. I wanna trade. You give me what I want, and you can have that dress free and clear. Never have to think about owin’ nothin’ to me again.”

  She eyed him warily. “I done tole you, I ain’t got nothin’ to give,” she said firmly.

  Ellis stalked into the bedroom and returned shortly with the faded cotton dress she had been wearing when he’d met her. It was now no more than a rag. He held it up and said, “I’ll switch this ’un for that ’un.”

  Clairey looked at him as if he were crazy. “That ain’t a fair trade.”

  “Don’t care. You say I can have it, and I’ll give you the other free and clear.” He waited for her to answer.

  Finally, she shrugged and nodded her head.

  Ellis went over to the fireplace and cast the old dress into the fire, watching the flames consume it before he stormed out of the house without looking back.

  In the aftermath of that night, they were reduced to polite conversation and coexisting once again. The many months of intimacy erased, they tolerated their circumstances.

  Chapter 26

  IT WOULD BE MORNING in just a few short hours; it wasn’t easily discernible. The sun was far from showing itself in the dead of winter, when dawn came dark, cold, and uninviting. Ellis was awakened during the night by an urgent pounding upon the door. He jerked violently as his hand reached out instinctively for his rifle. Clairey sat up, disoriented and groggy, scrambling for the quilts that had fallen away.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Don’t know.” He slipped out of bed, rummaging in the dark for his trousers, and pulled them on, jumping up and down to wiggle into them. Clairey was just behind him as he went to the door, their bare feet padding on frigid floorboards. Ellis pushed her behind him protectively as he clutched his rifle in front of him. When he opened the door, he was surprised to see Clifton Davies at the threshold. It had been some time since he had seen him. Not for nearly two years, afte
r that night at the barn dance.

  The confusion must have registered on his face because he saw Clifton smile faintly in amusement. “Ain’t you up yet?” he joked.

  Clairey peeked around Ellis’s shoulder to see who their midnight visitor was. Ellis realized that she had never met Clifton before. Clifton was apparently not worried over formalities. He was studying her in a candidly frank inspection, eyeing her in open curiosity. Ellis sensed Clairey’s embarrassment as she fell back behind him again.

  “You ain’t gone done and did it.” Clifton chuckled. “You gone off and got murried.”

  Ellis was thrown. He couldn’t figure what this was all about. “What the devil you comin’ round in the night for?” he growled, his normal good humor gone.

  “It’s awful cold out here. You gonna have me in?”

  Ellis thought it over and then he stepped aside and let Clifton in, more for curiosity’s sake than because he felt sorry for him.

  He stoked the fire, putting some fresh logs on, and the three of them huddled next to it, eager for warmth. Clifton took his time, in no hurry to tell them what he was up to, which was just like him. Ellis was watching him expectantly, eager to discover what his purpose was.

  “Can’t tell me you come up here for to see my new bride, what’s been murried to me for well over a year now,” Ellis finally said.

  “Nope,” Clifton agreed. “But looks like you done real fine for yourself.” He let his eyes roam over Clairey again.

  His unabashed bad manners and obvious lack of respect made Ellis angry. He didn’t care for the way Clifton was looking at his wife one bit. In fact, it triggered a jealousy Ellis wasn’t aware he even possessed. “Claire, you ortta go on back to bed. Ain’t no use in you losin’ sleep on account of Clifton here.”

  “Let me just get dressed, and I’ll put some Pero on for you,” she offered. “It ortta warm you some.” She drifted off to the bedroom, pulling the curtain shut that separated the two rooms.

  When she came out again, she went to work filling the kettle. She had to break the icy crust over the top of the water in the bucket before she could access the unfrozen portion. She put the kettle directly over the fire to heat and moved around the room, collecting mugs, pulling out the Pero, sitting them on the table. Clairey went and stood faithfully behind Ellis, resting her hand on his shoulder with all the natural ease of two people who knew each other well and were comfortable with one another.