Julia's Hope

by Leisha Kelly

  “I don’t expect her to be particular,” I said, trying to assure her. “She knows our situation.”

  “Yes. And she’s bringing laying hens. Did you see Rita stick in that old rooster too?”

  “I saw that.”

  “She’s bringing peaches too, Mom,” added Robert, who didn’t miss a lick. “And she’s got money, ’cause she’s planning to buy kerosene.”

  Juli turned and gave him a stern look. “We’ll never ask Mrs. Graham for money. Not for anything. Not ever. Do you understand?”

  Robert frowned. “How come? She said we’d help each other.”

  “She’s already helped us,” Juli insisted. “She’s given us enough.”

  “We’ll have to work together out there,” I told the kids. “There are a lot of things Emma can’t do for herself, but she’ll know what should be done. So you mind her good whenever she tells you anything, all right?”

  Robert nodded briefly and turned his attention back to the swing. “You could make one of these, couldn’t you, Dad?”

  At first I was struck by his confidence in me, something I thought he’d long since lost. But then I took a good look at the swing and saw that he was right. I could make one, if I were to take the time. Or I could make a couple of chairs of similar design, which the sitting room really needed and which Juli could plump with cushions. Doing things for the house wouldn’t be a real problem for any of us. It was the barn, the land, and the possibility of livestock that had me worried.

  In a few minutes, Rita’s brother carried Mrs. Graham out to his truck and set her in the front seat. She didn’t look too heavy, but I wondered what it was going to be like tending after someone who couldn’t get around on her own. I could see myself carrying her outside to sit in the sun. But then my thoughts turned to her husband’s grave, which lay about a half mile from the house and across some rough ground. Sure, the place was a pretty spot, but I expected it would be an uncomfortable experience to be carried so far.

  We all piled in the back of Mr. Norse’s truck with Mrs. Graham’s rocker and bags and the five protesting chickens in three separate crates. Then Rita came running out of the house with a box. The box looked awfully heavy, so I jumped down to take it from her arms and saw that it was filled with jars of home-canned peaches, beans, and such. I looked into the woman’s face, feeling a mixture of gratitude and shame.

  She must have known. “Before you say anything, now, Mr. Wortham, I gotta tell you that Emma helped me put all this stuff up. She’s entitled to it, and you’re entitled to it too, on account of you’re gonna be keeping her place up and doin’ for her now. Don’t you be thinkin’ poorly for it, you hear? We all need each other, and that’s how the good Lord intended things to be.”

  How could I argue with the good Lord? At least out loud. But I still felt about eight inches tall, accepting her help. It had been awhile since I’d been the one feeding my kids, and it might be awhile longer.

  I found myself thinking that maybe Mrs. Graham could spare me from her farm. Maybe there was some kind of job around there, even if I had to leave my family and go clear down to Marion to the mine. I’d do something. I had to. I couldn’t live on Mrs. Graham’s kindness and Juli’s ingenuity forever.

  “I’ll tell my church of you, if you don’t mind,” Rita announced. “Sometimes they gives new folks a basket or some such, to help ’em get started.” That was just what I needed. Another handout. I set the box of jars securely behind a chicken crate and thanked the woman, knowing I shouldn’t be so bitter. She was only trying to help, and Lord knows we needed it.

  I sat down in the open back end with Juli beside me. Sarah crawled into my lap. With a last series of waves, we left Mrs. McPiery and her boardinghouse behind. Julia started singing as we bounced across the countryside. And before long, we were passing through Dearing, where Mrs. Graham merrily waved at everyone she saw.

  We were almost home. With an eighty-four-year-old woman and an impossible hope. My mother wouldn’t be the only one to laugh me to scorn for this. The neighbors had already started. They would be looking out for Mrs. Graham, though. Looking real close.

  SEVENTEEN

  Julia

  I loved watching Mrs. Graham enjoy herself so much. She seemed to know everybody we saw on the way and would pester Mr. Norse to honk his horn at near all of them. She even made him go past her church, just to show us where it was, and she beamed with pride when Sarah said it was pretty.

  “M’ husband, Willard,” she said, “he helped put the steeple up.”

  I wondered if she’d be wanting all of us to ride to services with George Hammond. Lord, how we needed a car!

  “I hear they got a new preacher,” Mrs. Graham added. “Sure hope he’s fiery. Ol’ Hazel will give him the devil if he don’t stand up and tell her what for now and again.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Ol’ Hazel” hadn’t dampened Mrs. Graham’s spirit, that was clear.

  We stopped at Dearing’s only service station, which we hadn’t seen before because it was at the end of the street going west and past some houses. The station had kerosene around the back, and Mrs. Graham introduced us to the attendant, who affectionately called her “Grandma.”

  “Had him in Sunday school,” she explained. “I was always Grandma to ’em if they needed one.”

  “Nice to meet you,” the young man told us with just a smidgeon of distrust in his eyes. “Hope everything works out all right.” He took Mrs. Graham’s hand. “Good seein’ you again. Will you be makin’ it to church? Sure would be a blessing.”

  “We’ll find us a way.” Mrs. Graham smiled. “It ain’t easy gettin’ nowhere no more, but I gotta get back there, at least once, to meet the preacher.”

  Mrs. Graham’s young friend looked at us for a minute and then looked at the hand-painted lettering on Daniel Norse’s truck that announced him as a chimney sweep from Belle Rive.

  “You need a ride on Sunday, Grandma?” he asked.

  “My goodness, Charlie, you know George Hammond’s an awful lot closer than you are!” She opened her purse and handed him a dollar.

  “George Hammond has his wagon full already, and they may be away awhile, what with Wilametta fixin’ to see the stork ’fore long.” He looked down at the money in his hand and calmly passed it back to her. “I’ll pay your bill ’cause it’s so good to see you again. And I’ll pick you up Sunday too. All of you, if it’s all right. I got me a car, and it’s got a backseat.”

  “Well, bless you, Charlie Hunter!” Mrs. Graham exclaimed. She turned to look at me. “Ain’t he the nicest boy? Sure is gratifyin’ to see ’em come up fine.”

  “That’s very kind,” I said to Charlie. “We would certainly appreciate the ride, if you’re sure you have room.”

  Sam threw me a look of dismay, and I knew he wasn’t anxious to set himself before people’s faces, even in a church. What would Hazel Sharpe have to say? How would the other locals react to us? Certainly, it would be easier to keep to ourselves.

  “We need to meet folks,” I told Sam with a bit of uncertainty. It might be scary the first time, especially if it was the kind of church where people did more looking at you than talking to you.

  But he nodded and hugged Sarah. “It’s the thing to do. You like Sunday school, don’t you, pumpkin?”

  “’Specially when they talk about Daniel,” Sarah declared. “And him being stuck in with lions!”

  Mrs. Graham nodded her approval, and we thanked Charlie again for his generosity. Then we were on our way. We went past the library we’d never yet managed to visit, stopped and waited for a young man trying to pull his mule out of the road, and then were out of town.

  Mrs. Graham turned to look a moment at Robert. “You like Sunday school too?”

  “Only sometimes.”

  “Now, Robert—” I started.

  “Don’t be scoldin’ a boy bein’ honest,” Mrs. Graham said. “There’s been times I ain’t liked it too well myself. Admittin’ so ain
’t wrong, in the right company, at least.”

  “What’s the right company?” Sarah asked innocently.

  “Your folks mostly,” Mrs. Graham answered. “And a few others you’re especially close with. But don’t be tellin’ the preacher he’s dull as old paint, and don’t be tellin’ the teacher you’d rather be fishin’. That don’t wash. You understand?”

  Both kids nodded and giggled at the same time. “Do you still teach Sunday school?” Robert asked.

  “Lands, no. I’ve not been there in such a time. Guess it’s Bonnie Gray for the youngsters now. It’d be a sight more than I could handle anymore, I expect.”

  “You haven’t been to church?” Sarah asked in surprise.

  “Oh, I’ve been. But not m’ home church. And it just ain’t the same. Rita goes to the Methydist in Belle Rive, and they’s good enough folks. I just always look forward to m’ own, you know. I come forward and asked to be baptized when I was about eight, and they took me out to Ollander’s pond the very same day and dunked me. I reckon I’ve been happy ever since.”

  “Does it hurt?” Sarah asked.

  “Does what hurt?”

  “Gettin’ dunked.”

  “Oh, Lordy, no! You just go down and then you comes back up, and everybody hugs on you like it was the greatest thing they ever saw happen! And I reckon it is too, when you think on it.”

  “I like swimming,” Robert volunteered. “But it don’t sound much like swimming.”

  “Oh, when they have ’em a baptism in summer, sometimes they make up a picnic, and the young’uns all go swimmin’ after. There ain’t nothin’ to beat that for good fun, that’s for sure. They used to dunk ’em out to our pond now and again, after Ollander’s got sold. And I’d be busy then, makin’ pies for all the folks.”

  We were quiet for a moment, letting Mrs. Graham reflect on the happy memories as we turned onto the country road where we’d nearly been stranded by the storm.

  Mrs. Graham suddenly sat up straight. “I ain’t even seen the place in such awhile! It’s not gone down too bad, now has it?”

  What would she think was too bad? “We’ve been working at it,” I said. “But it takes awhile.”

  “Oh, I know it. Growed up in weeds, I bet, ain’t it?”

  We reached the end of her lane and none of us said a word. Mrs. Graham just looked and kept on looking after the truck had stopped as near to the house as it could go.

  “You want I carry you inside?” Mr. Norse asked her.

  “I’m in no hurry for that,” she declared. “Just look, will you? Ain’t it the best thing there is, now, a farm so good and peaceful? The house, it don’t look too much different. Barn’s a sight. But that’s an old barn for you. They don’t live forever. Maybe we can take down the east side and save this here end. You think so, Mr. Wortham?”

  “It sounds reasonable, Mrs. Graham,” he said. “But I haven’t the slightest idea how to manage it.”

  She turned and looked at him. “Well, now. You’re honest as your boy is. I like you both for it.”

  Mr. Norse had gotten out of the truck. “Where do you want your chickens?”

  “Put ’em in the coop,” Mrs. Graham declared and eyed Sam again. “Have you looked about the coop? Is it sound?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I think so.”

  “Good,” she declared. “Best shut ’em in it till they pick ’em a roost and get used to it. So they don’t wander too far.”

  Mr. Norse took hold of a chicken crate and started for the henhouse. Sam jumped up and followed him with another crate, and then Robert jumped up too.

  “Can I take the rooster?” he asked me.

  “Sure,” I told him. “But keep back at first if they let him out. He may peck.”

  I wondered about Samuel and the chickens. Would Mr. Norse expect him to turn them out of the crates? Samuel had never had chickens and had never touched one that wasn’t dead. What would he and the kids do when the time came to butcher one?

  That was one of many things they’d learn, I decided, but it was not for worrying on now. It would be awhile before we could butcher. We’d need more than four laying hens, that was certain. And thank God for Rita McPiery’s rooster! We could have a brood before long.

  When Mrs. Graham was finally ready to get out of the truck, the strawberry patch interested her most. With her two canes she hopped in that direction, with me beside her, wondering how in the world to help. Mr. Norse came out of the chicken house and ran toward her, giving me a frightful look.

  “Mrs. Graham, now let me get you where you’re going,” he said quickly. “You don’t have to do that!”

  “Let me be!” she said, stopping him short. “I was man-agin’ ’fore I ever met you, Daniel, and I ain’t gonna be pinin’ for them strong shoulders to haul me around once you’re gone home! This is my farm, and I’m gonna get myself around all I can out here, even if it kills me!”

  Samuel had followed Mr. Norse from the chicken coop and was looking at me gravely. I knew what he was thinking. What if she overdoes herself or falls and gets hurt? What have we gotten ourselves into? And I couldn’t help thinking about what Hazel Sharpe had said about Mrs. Graham not having real sense. What if she was right, at least in some small way?

  Mrs. Graham got as far as the shed, stopped to catch her breath, and dropped one of the canes. I tried to pick it up for her, and she waved me back, then dropped the other cane. Quick as anything, she slid down to her knees and looked up at me with a smile. “Now don’t you worry. Ol’ Emma’s been exactly in this spot afore.”

  Moving slow and looking at the yard around her at the same time, Mrs. Graham began to crawl along steadily toward the strawberries. “They says you go back t’ your youth when you’re old,” she said with a chuckle. “Ain’t all bad either. I found me a viola already.” She stopped and pulled a handful of grass from around the tiny flower I hadn’t even noticed.

  “We’ll get us a trowel later and put this at the garden’s edge,” she told me. “It’ll get cut here for sure.”

  Why the little thing was so important to her, I failed to understand, and I wasn’t the only one. Behind me, Samuel and Mr. Norse were both watching her in silence.

  “Whatcha still standin’ around for?” she demanded of them suddenly. “You might just as well be takin’ m’ things inside, now don’t you think?” She turned her eyes to me. “You be sure and draw Mr. Norse a drink before he goes. Nothing wrong with the well pump is there?”

  “Oh no, ma’am,” I answered nervously.

  “Sure wish you’d call me Emma regular,” she said. “Would sound nice comin’ from you, and the young’uns too. Sarey, come here and help me look ’round for m’ hop toad.”

  Sarah ran to her from where she’d stood in silence, holding my hand.

  “Hop toad? You got one of your own?”

  “I find me one every year,” Emma said with a smile. “Put him smack in the middle of m’ garden and there he stays, keeping back all the bugs he can eat.”

  “He’s in the basement!” Sarah announced with excitement. “I seen him there!”

  “Well, now. That’s a fine place for one too. I’d leave him alone and hope for another out here. The more the merrier.”

  She glanced over to see that the men were unloading but still watching her. She sighed. “I must be an awful sight to behold. Ain’t it so, Mrs. Wortham?”

  “You just surprised us, being so determined. And please call me Julia.”

  “I told Rita I’d be back the day I seen m’self burdenin’ you. I ain’t gonna be carried all over. I ain’t havin’ it.”

  “You’ve got to let us help you.”

  “I will. When I need it.”

  She crawled on into the patch of strawberries. “Well. This ain’t as bad as I expected. Could be a decent crop yet. Might have to beat off Wilametta Hammond with a stick.”

  She sat down among the plants and began pulling weeds like she could think of nothing better to do with her first few mom
ents home.

  Robert came up beside me with a long white feather in his hand. “What she needs is one of them chairs with wheels.”

  I put my arm around him and nodded slowly, not thinking she’d heard. But she had.

  “Nobody around here’s got one,” she said. “Not even the doctor. And I ain’t got the money to be orderin’ such a contraption.”

  “How much is it?” Robert blurted out before I had a chance to stop him.

  “I don’t remember. Too much, that’s all.”

  My son walked past us toward the porch. He said nothing more, but I could see how Emma’s admission had shaken him. Somehow he’d expected her to be our cushion, with money to see us through, even though I had told him not to ask for any. I wished I could tell him not to worry so much.

  “Don’t you fret, now,” Emma said, telling him for me. “The good Lord provides everythin’ we can’t do without, and a plenty more besides.”

  She turned to me when she got no response from Robert. “He’s ahead of his years some, ain’t he? Far as thinkin’ ahead, I mean.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “Nothing to worry about. He’ll be a fine fella one day. Maybe even a preacher. Leastways, somebody to want to help folks, I’ll bet.”

  I saw Robert’s sideways glance at me and the question in his eyes. Preacher? He wanted to make bicycles or maybe radios, if he could do it off by himself, without people looking on.

  When Sam and Mr. Norse came out of the house to get the last couple of bags, she looked up at me again. “Would you mind getting Daniel a bite or two when he’s finished, Julia? It’d be the kind thing to do, seein’ as he brung us out here. Open up some peaches if you ain’t got nothin’ else cooked. And make sure he has himself a drink.”

  “I’m not sure he’ll leave till he sees you into the house.”

  Emma shook her head. “I’ll go in if it makes him happy. I’ll be wantin’ to take a look at it anyway. But I’ll be comin’ right back out, where folks belong on such a day as this. Ain’t it the finest weather? Fetch me m’ hat, will you, Sarey?”