by Leisha Kelly
The storm raged outside as I prayed with Robert and Sarah and settled them down for the night. They liked my singing, so I sang a couple of hymns. Sam was just watching me again. Then we both sat quietly until we knew the children were asleep.
“What are we gonna do, Julia?” Sam finally asked.
I got up and reached for a candle. “I’m going to take another look at that kitchen.”
I didn’t want him to follow me. But he did. I knew he would. I also knew it would plague him to know what I was thinking—that maybe it would still be storming tomorrow. And that I’d be glad of it, except for how it would complicate trying to find food outside. We’d have to use whatever we could now. We’d have to do whatever we could to make sure our children didn’t suffer.
“What are you doing?” he asked me, sounding far away and bone weary.
“Praying for something we can use.”
I was going straight for the kitchen cupboards when I nearly stepped on something small and dark that none of us had noticed before. A dead bird. Good thing Sarah hadn’t seen it. She’d have mourned the poor thing sore. Sam picked it up off the floor and pitched it out the door for me. I stepped over the spot where it had been, pulled open a cupboard door, and held my candle inside. The cupboard held a bunch of old jars, most of them empty, but a few seemed to have something inside.
Sam had just come up behind me. “Honey, we can’t—”
“I don’t like this any more than you do,” I blurted. “You know I don’t like stealing. But we’ve got to do something. When Sarah and Robby wake up, they’ll be hungry. God forgive me, but if there’s anything usable here, I’m gonna use it.”
With a prayer, I started pulling out jars, shining my candle on each one to get a look at the label. Parsley. Dill. Basil. Homegrown, but no telling how old. Something like that doesn’t rot, of course, but it doesn’t make much of a meal either. I pulled out more jars and suddenly felt like God had put these things here, just for me. A bit of sugar. Half a box of salt. Just a little baking powder, a box of soda, and three more matches.
The last jar was about a third full and rattled in my hand. It had no label, but it took me only a moment to realize what it was. Popcorn kernels. It was all I could do to keep from crying.
“Just what Sarah wanted,” I whispered. “Sam, look. God’s got a heart for the desires of a child.”
“Will it even pop?”
“No telling. But as long as it’s dry, it’ll be okay. I hope it pops, but even if it doesn’t, it can be parched—like the Indians used to do sometimes.”
Sam looked away from me. “I’m sorry, Julia. That we have to do this.”
I suddenly felt like dropping everything, just to hug him. I don’t know why I couldn’t. I guess a barrier had grown in me that was just too strong. But I took his hand, and he looked back at me. “The Lord will provide,” I told him.
“I’ll go foraging. You know me. And the season’s good for some wild food.”
I put the popcorn jar on the counter with the rest of the jars and started checking the other cupboards. I found a few dishes, an old skillet, and a dented saucepan with no lid.
“We’ll be okay,” I said as much for myself as for Sam. “We can’t be too far from town. Maybe there’s a grocery store. If the storm is over in the morning, maybe we can find the place.”
“We couldn’t buy much,” Sam said. “Not to last us long. We’ve got maybe sixty cents, Julia.”
I heard the gloom in his voice, and I didn’t want any part of it from him right then. Things were bad. But they weren’t going to be hopeless. I wouldn’t have it so.
“Maybe there’ll be a job for one of us,” I suggested.
“How can you still say that?” he said fiercely. “We’ve been in plenty of towns. Nobody’s hiring! Especially not a stranger. If I’d known the wheel plant was having trouble, we’d have never left Harrisburg!”
I shook my head. “What would we have there, Sammy? A line to stand in for bread? And another line to ask for a place to spend the night? It was no good there.”
He looked at me, stunned. “You’re not sorry we left?”
I’d been sorry, all right. And angry too. But I wasn’t supposed to stay that way. Things happen for a reason. We were here for a reason. And I knew I’d have to make the most of it. “We had to do something, Sam,” I answered him slowly. “Just like we’ve got to do something now.”
He looked at me and nodded. “I don’t blame you for being angry,” he said in such a quiet voice that I could barely hear him. Then he put his arms around me.
I knew he loved me. He always had. And I still loved him. I’d just felt so let down, so unprotected. Maybe it was selfish of me. Sam tried, after all, to be a good husband. He always tried. I laid my head against his chest. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I shouldn’t have blamed you. Nobody saw the troubles coming. And we’ve made it this far. God will take care of us.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered back.
“Shh. Let’s get some rest.”
The old quilt made me sneeze when first we snuggled under it. Our children were asleep beside us, one on each side, with smiles on their faces. Never mind the dust, I thought. This is better than hitchhiking, better than Dewey’s house, better than all the world to us tonight.
Sam soon slept, tossing and turning as was usual for him now. But staring up at the high ceiling in that quiet old house, I couldn’t even be tired.
Before long, I was up and pacing around the room, praying for my family. “We need a home, Lord,” I said. “Please. Sometimes Sam scares me and sometimes he makes me mad. Like he’s at the end of his rope, and I can’t even help. I’ve been too angry to help him, and I just don’t think he trusts in anything anymore, hard as he tries.”
I stopped in front of the fireplace. It still had ashes and bits of wood sprinkled across the grate. Once the fireplace must have given this room such a cozy glow. And the warmth! There was nothing better on a chilly evening than to snuggle in front of the fire with your children. And put a pan of popcorn over the coals.
With a sigh, I relit the mantle candle and looked around again. It was dark, of course, but I could see that this had been a lovely place once, with the large bay windows on one side of the house and the striped wallpaper, just like pictures I’d seen in the Saturday Post. I picked up the candle and began to walk around.
The staircase looked solid and beautiful, at least in the dim light. The pantry was empty except for an abundance of shelves and a few more empty jars. The bedroom contained a dresser and a big metal-frame bed. What might the upstairs be like?
I stopped for a minute, well aware of how foolish I was being.
“Oh, Jesus, look at me. I’m hungry for a home too. This is the first one I’ve come upon for awhile, and now I kind of like it. Forgive me.”
I turned to go back to the blankets, but somehow I couldn’t. Nobody else was using the house. Maybe if we could find the owner . . .
The thought almost swept me away with it. Such a dream. A farm home. Lord, forgive me. This place surely belongs to somebody, and I have no business having such thoughts about it.
But I stood there for a moment and shook my head, unable to let the idea go. Maybe there was a chance. Someone around here would know who the owner was. And maybe the owner was a sympathetic soul who didn’t want to leave the place to the elements. I walked back to the entryway and sat on the lowest step. “Lord God,” I whispered, “only you could work out a thing like this.”
In the morning I woke up humming, surprised by how good I felt. Sarah rolled over beside me and opened her eyes.
“Love you,” I whispered in her ear, and she cuddled against my chest. The rain had stopped, and I could hear the birds singing. It was going to be a nice day, much to my disappointment. I couldn’t bear the thought of taking this child out on the road again to hitchhike. Or Robert either. There must be another way.
We were quiet as mice getting up, and I helped Sarah
put on her favorite pinafore and cotton stockings. She insisted on rolling the tops of the stockings down over her garters by herself, as usual, even though she never quite got the elastic straight. I had already pulled my hair back into a bun at the nape of my neck and was brushing Sarah’s hair and humming when Sam woke up.
Just then, I noticed the returning pitter-patter of raindrops, and I couldn’t help but smile. Praise God! Sam wouldn’t rush his kids out in the rain. We could stay put a little while longer.
“I’ll pull on my scarf and take a walk,” I told him, knowing he’d understand it was time I went looking for breakfast, rain or not.
Robert rolled over and asked to go with me, but I didn’t want him fretting over our food. “It’s enough if one of us gets wet, honey,” I told him. “Stay in and read to your sister.”
I finished the braid in Sarah’s hair and pulled the children’s books out of my bag for Robert. Sam didn’t say a word as I pulled on my scarf and boots and went outside.
FOUR
Samuel
I watched Julia for awhile through the window. Her blue skirt swished about in the breeze as she circled through the yard and knelt for a minute beside the ramshackle shed. I couldn’t picture what she’d find, but she’d find something. Just like her grandma, who used to say that a rich man was a fool if he didn’t know how to be poor. God rest her. She’d given Julia peace and a way to provide.
It was more than I could do. Right now, I gave my family nothing. If I’d jumped off a bridge like Bill Harvey, my coworker, they’d be none the worse.
Behind me, Robert was reading. Sarah didn’t make a sound. There was not a question out of either of them. They knew there’d be breakfast. Of course there’d be breakfast. Mother would take care of that.
I watched a minute longer, thinking of the flowered scarf she’d chosen out of her bag.
She had been wearing that same scarf when I met her years ago. Julia was thrifty, but it was a shame she hadn’t bought a hundred more when we were able. Instead, she’d gotten things for the kids, never really caring if she ever got more for herself.
Her father had given her plenty when she was a little girl. Money had meant something to him, though she liked simple, reasonable things that didn’t cost much. She’d never been in this kind of a spot before, that I knew. And it made me wonder why she never talked of leaving me.
I tried to push that thought away, and instead listen to Robert reading to Sarah. Robert was old enough to know the shape we were in. He knew his mother was out in the rain, looking for breakfast. I saw his sideways glance, as if he questioned what, if anything, I was able to do. I had the feeling he would have rather gone out and gotten wet than stay inside with me.
With a sigh I turned from the window and walked back into the kitchen, hating to be here, hating the need that had Julia rummaging for stale food in the cupboards last night. How could I expect my children to respect me? Especially Robert.
I walked to the pantry, which was just off the kitchen. I hadn’t noticed it last night, but a handle stuck up from the board floor. A basement. If Julia was willing to pull jars out of a cupboard, maybe I should be willing to take a look in the basement.
The creak of the old door brought both children running to watch me. “You stay up here,” I told them. “The stairs might not be sound.”
Sarah stood obediently at the top, never one to volunteer herself into a dark place. But Robert ran for candles, handed me one with the matches, and promptly followed me down. I couldn’t say anything to him. I suppose he felt that it was his responsibility to see that his father didn’t miss something important.
There were at least two rooms in the basement. But I stopped in the first one, feeling sure I knew what Julia would say when she saw the stack of dry wood beneath one window. The Lord led us. The Lord was providing a fire over which to pop our ancient borrowed corn. She would smile. And Sarah would smile for sure. But I felt sick in the pit of my stomach, and I knew I wouldn’t be eating any of it.
“Dad!”
Robert’s yell was so sudden that I ran to him in the second room, fearing a snake or who knew what else.
“Dad! Look!” Robert was pulling on a piece of metal. It took me a minute to see that it was a bicycle. “Can we take it upstairs?” he asked. “Can I try it?”
“No! Robby, we can’t just claim any old thing we find. Somebody owns this stuff.”
I knew the inconsistency of my words was not lost on him as I pulled him into the first basement room to help me take the wood upstairs. “We need this,” I told him. “To cook with.”
“I hate living this way,” he said. “When are we going to get a home again?”
I hurried up those sturdy old stairs with all the wood I could carry, thinking about Bill Harvey. He didn’t have to listen to his boy’s questions anymore and stand there with no answer. He didn’t have to see his world falling apart.
Sarah was at the top of the stairs, waiting.
“Honey, we’re going to have a fire,” I told her.
She smiled like I knew she would. “I like this place, Daddy,” she told me in a quiet singsong voice. “Can we stay?”
FIVE
Julia
What a place this was! What a place it could be! Someone had planted winter onions long ago, and they were still here, the trusty vegetable my dear grandma had loved. They would probably always be here, regardless of the season; that’s what these onions were for. And strawberry plants! There were hundreds of them, competing with weeds in a big patch east of the house, just past the shed. There were no ripe berries yet, but I picked leaves, knowing that they would make a passable tea with a bit of the sugar we’d found.
It was dandelion and yellow dock that had me hopping about the yard, picking leaves. Robert wouldn’t be thrilled with greens for breakfast, but it would be something to put before them, anyway.
I spun around for a moment, not minding the rain; going out picking always cleared my head. I admired the way someone had put a line of trees along the driveway, which stretched just north of the house and all the way back to the barn. What a sensible windbreak! No wonder we hadn’t seen the house from across the field on that side.
I especially liked the walnut tree behind the house and the apple tree just across the drive from it, not far from the creaky old barn. What joy they would provide in the fall!
I could imagine some dear woman walking about with a basket, picking up drops, while one strapping boy climbed the apple tree to pick and another leaned over, gathering walnuts. What fine eating that must have been!
I should have laughed at myself for such dreaming. But the more I saw of the farm, the more I loved it. A well with a pump stood right behind the house, with more than a dozen jonquils clustered around it. I pumped at the handle and got enough water to rinse my bundle of greens. Fiddlehead ferns were just peeking their curly tops above the ground in a shady corner by the back porch steps. That might be lunch later. I glanced over at the stand of timber past the big backyard and prayed there might be mushrooms there. But my children were waiting. I knew I should go back in and give them my assurances.
“Mom, we’ve got wood!” Robert called as I came in. “Dad found it in the basement.”
Thank you, Lord! I’d expected to step back out in a moment to try to make use of something wet to cook with.
“Thanks, Sam.” I gave his shoulder a pat, but he didn’t even seem to notice. “If you light the fire, I’ll get the food ready.”
Sarah bounced up to me, her braid bobbing. “Let’s clean house, Mama. Are we gonna use the bed tonight?”
I couldn’t answer her at first. She hadn’t forgotten last night’s whimsy, and now my thoughts mirrored hers. It seemed so natural that we should be here. So right. How could I get her to understand that we had to move on? How could I reconcile it for myself, even? I wanted to do exactly what she said. I’d woken up thinking about it. Clean this house. Make it a home.
But I knew Sam would n
ever understand. And he would be right. You couldn’t just walk in and claim a place. There was an owner somewhere. But, Lord, how wonderful it would be if he would drive right up and offer us the house, free and clear!
Sam used the charred scraps of wood in the fireplace and a page from a newspaper we’d found to light our fire. I put the greens and some onion in water in the skillet and boiled more water for the strawberry-leaf tea. How to pop the popcorn without a lid was a puzzle to me until I poured the tea water off into a bowl and decided to dry the saucepan, put the corn in there, and set the skillet on top of it, greens and all.
“This is a strange breakfast, Mom,” Robert told me. “But kind of fun, I guess.”
When the corn started popping, Sarah jumped for joy. It was easy to make that girl happy. A touch of the salt sprinkled over the warm corn would make her feel like she was feasting.
Then the sun suddenly shone through the dusty bay windows and bathed us in light.
“It stopped raining!” Robert cried.
I looked up at Sam, dismay hidden in my heart. He met my eyes but didn’t say a word. I knew he would be ready to move on now that we had decent weather again. “We should stay on the road to Dearing,” he’d say. “And then try to get a ride for Mt. Vernon, even though Dewey has nothing to offer us. We can’t just stay here and trespass.”
How could I tell Sam that I didn’t want to go any farther? I didn’t want to move one foot from this spot, unless it was to find somebody who could tell me who used to live here. There had to be a way. God doesn’t make mistakes. Surely he’d led us all along. And surely it was him making me feel so at home.
God could make a way. He could lead us straight to someone who knew who had lived here and what happened. But it was a scary thing to think of facing a landowner and telling him I wanted this place, without money. Almost overwhelming. Sam would think me crazy. But we had nothing to lose by trying.