Rachel's Prayer

by Leisha Kelly

Sarah was true to her word and started in right away cleanin’ up. I told her she didn’t have to. She said of course not, but that’s what neighbors were for.

  “Maybe you oughta be helpin’ your mama,” I said. “She’s over at home all alone right now.”

  “I’ll go pretty soon,” she promised. “Dad told me she’d think it fine for me to help here a little while first.”

  So she swept again, even though she just did it yesterday. I finished up the raisiny oatmeal that Emmie had made, then I fixed the handle on a pair of pliers and set to work sharpening the ax and both hatchets. Sarah started in washin’ the dishes and cleanin’ off the table and the whole stove, not just the top.

  “Sarah Jean, that don’t have to be done,” I tried again to tell her. “Least not by you right now.”

  “I know. But I don’t work in town like Rorey, or go to school right now like Emmie. I might as well be useful.” I watched her for a minute, not fathoming real clear how she could think herself not useful, even if she wasn’t doing for us. She was always occupied at somethin’. Just like her mother. I’d always admired Mrs. Wortham for that. The only time she wasn’t workin’ with her hands was when she was reachin’ with her heart, and most times they worked together. Sarah took after her plenty.

  “When I’m done with this, I’m gonna start wiping shelves, and then I’ll dust and clean up in the sitting room a little before I go,” she told me. “I hope that’s all right.”

  I almost asked her why. But I guessed she’d already told me, and I needed to just let it go and let her do what she wanted. But I knew I couldn’t stay in the house no longer. She was drawin’ my eyes from my work too much, and I wasn’t gettin’ enough done. “It’s real kind of you,” I told her, feeling a little awkward. “Thanks.”

  I took the tools and headed out the door. What in the world was wrong with me? She was just bein’ neighborly, like she’d said. She was just following the example given her by her ma and her pa, who’d been more’n willing to help us all the time we’d known them. It oughta be second nature by now, seein’ Sarah around. But I was noticin’ things like her pretty brown hair pulled back a little different today and Rorey’s old apron matching the color of her eyes. That was crazy. She’d think I’d flipped my lid for sure.

  And we had Willy to think about. And Robert. All of the horrible war goin’ on and the uncertainty about Joe. It was awful foolish of me to let flighty things enter my head about Sarah Jean. She’d be well bothered at me if she knew.

  I quick carried in wood to fill the wood box, being careful not to pay her no more mind when I was in the house. I didn’t need her mad at me over somethin’ like this. I needed her to be my friend. Lord, help me get my thoughts put together. I don’t understand stuff like this.

  The last armload of wood I brought in was the biggest because I was wantin’ to have the job done and then stay outside. But I guess I was packing too much, ’cause I lost a top log, and it went rolling across the floor, almost knockin’ Sarah in the toe.

  “I’m sorry,” I said real quick, plunking the rest of the load in the wood box as fast as I could so’s I could retrieve that piece and get back outside. But she had a hold of it before I did. She picked it up and give it one little fling, and it landed all neat an’ tidy in the wood box like she’d been practicing chuckin’ wood across the room all year.

  “No problem,” she said. “I drop stuff all the time.”

  “I don’t think I ever noticed that,” I told her, and got myself straight back outside.

  I thought I’d better split some wood. I always got to praying when I whacked wood. I always did a lot of thinkin’. And that’d be just what I needed this morning. Some of the firewood in the shed had been left in pretty big chunks. Bert did some splitting sometimes, especially the smaller stuff, but with him being sick the last few days and my mind on everythin’ else, there hadn’t none of that got done. It was the perfect time for it now, though. It’d be just the thing to get my head back on straight.

  25

  Sarah

  I wasn’t really sure why I kept staying. With Emmie gone to school and Bert feeling some better, I knew they’d think I didn’t need to. Frank was thinking it already, I could tell. I was sure I was bothering him, and I didn’t want to be, but I couldn’t feel right about leaving yet, even if I wasn’t sure why not. I couldn’t do a thing about their father holing himself up in his room again. I sure didn’t know how to cheer him. He hadn’t even let me give him a cup a coffee.

  “Had too much a’ that at Lizbeth’s,” was all he’d say when I asked him.

  Frank had an awful load on him, and I was glad Ben and Lizbeth understood that as well as they did. They’d help all they could. But they weren’t here now.

  I knew it would be hard to be in Mr. Hammond’s shoes. With one son missing so long and another son now wounded, it had to wear at him awful. I knew it would wear at me. But I couldn’t understand why he didn’t seem to see that it wore on everybody, especially his kids. Especially Frank, who had to shoulder everything all the more because his pa wouldn’t.

  But Frank kept on, just working, just doing all the things that needed to be done. I marveled at him this morning, because I thought if it was me, I’d have had to take the time by now to sit down for a good cry. But he was in the yard by the house, splitting more firewood. I could hear him. There was a rhythm to the way he worked. Plunk. Whack. Plunk. Whack. Steady, without missing a beat. I thought his whole brain must work that way.

  I glanced out the window and saw he had his coat off already, his too-loose shirt swinging in the breeze while he worked. He needed a haircut again. I ought to offer to do that for him. But no. I stopped myself real quick. My mom could do it. Or Rorey. He might not like me offering. He wanted me to be his friend, but doing something like cutting his hair might be too familiar. It wouldn’t be a good idea. Thinking about it wasn’t even a good idea. He had nice thick hair with a wave that was cute for a boy. It wasn’t right for me to even have noticed.

  I moved from the window and checked to see if Bert had finished his herb tonic. Almost half. That was all. I reheated it for him because Mom said it did more good hot, and brought it back to the little table next to his chair. He made a face at me, but he took another sip. Frank was still splitting wood. Plunk. Whack. Plunk. Whack.

  But I thought I heard another sound off a ways. I went back to the window just to be sure. A vehicle, way down the lane. Except for my father, there wasn’t much traffic by here, especially in the winter, so I watched just to see if they’d stop.

  I didn’t think they would. It was an unfamiliar black car, going slow. But they slowed even more and got as close as they could on the lane, and then stopped out front. Frank hadn’t noticed. He must be thinking deep again. I imagined he had a lot to think on.

  Two tall strangers in uniforms stepped from the car, and for a minute I almost couldn’t breathe. Oh, God, no.

  I didn’t say anything to Bert. I didn’t call for their father. All I could think about was Frank outside and what he was going to think, how he was going to feel, when he looked up and saw what I’d just seen.

  Oh, please, God, I cried in my mind as I went for the door. Oh, please. Not this. Not more bad news.

  I almost tripped coming down off the porch. Those two men had stood for a minute like they weren’t sure they had the right place, or maybe were hesitant to face whatever family might be home. But they moved to the house slow now, and I knew I hadn’t been mistaken. They wore crisp, neat military uniforms, right down to the hats and gloves. And my heart pounded in my throat, knowing what they must be here to say. Not William. Oh, God, please. Are they here, after all this time, to tell about Joe? Or even Kirk? That would be just as bad! Help. Oh, please! Help Frank. And his pa. Oh, Lord, what is their pa gonna do?

  I stepped forward, still hearing Frank with his chopping. Plunk. Whack. Tears came to my eyes. I wished there was some way to make all the bad go away, to turn the clock back to
before the war even started. It was like a bad dream that shouldn’t be real. Please, not this.

  Frank’s rhythm stopped. I swallowed hard and moved closer, right beside him, because I thought that if this was my house they were coming to, I’d need somebody beside me. I saw his face change, like a shadow was falling over him on the inside. It scared me. I couldn’t hardly stand it, and I didn’t think I could bear to hear whatever these men had to say.

  “Is this the Hammond residence?” one of them asked as soon as they were close enough. The other man bowed his head, took off his hat, and held it in his hand.

  “Yes,” Frank answered stiffly. He didn’t ask anything else. He just stood there, the splitting maul still in his hand.

  “Is your father at home?” The man’s eyes were large and sorrowful. He looked as old as my father, and I knew he didn’t like the kind of news he’d come to share.

  “Yes, sir,” Frank said, letting the splitting maul fall to the cold ground. I could see the pain working in his eyes, but he didn’t betray it in his voice. He walked tall, leading those men to the steps and then up onto the porch.

  My legs didn’t want to move. I felt stiff and at the same time somehow spineless as jelly. But I made myself follow them, glad now that I was here even though I was terrified for what would happen next. When Frank got to the door he turned and looked at me for just a second, and I could read his eyes plain as if he were talking out loud. Hold steady for Berty, Sarah Jean, he seemed to be telling me. We’re gonna need your help.

  “Pa?” Frank called as we came inside. “We’ve got comp’ny, Pa.”

  I heard Mr. Hammond’s dull answer coming from the bedroom but wasn’t sure exactly what it was he’d said. Bert let his books fall to one side, and he stood to his feet. I went over quick beside him because I felt like Frank would want me to because he was younger. And there wasn’t anything else I could do anyway.

  “What comp’ny?” Mr. Hammond grouched a little louder. “Who is it?”

  I had to work to keep myself from crying in front of Bert. Maybe I was wrong about everything, and everybody was fine. Maybe these men had some other kind of news. We didn’t know anything for sure. And even if I wasn’t wrong, it wouldn’t do to start blubbering. It wouldn’t help them any. And I felt sure now that I’d been right to stay, that I was meant to be here. God must have wanted me here to help somehow, because he knew this was coming.

  Give us strength. And peace. Help me, Lord, to have words to say and the sense about me to know how to help when times are hard. Help me to keep my heart close to you so I’ll have peace and strength to share.

  Suddenly, strangely, I thought of Rachel. Maybe I’d hit on the gist of her prayer. But that made me think of Robert, and it was all the harder to hold back tears.

  Frank went and opened his father’s bedroom door because he still hadn’t come out. “Please, Pa,” he said real soft. “There’s men to speak with you.”

  “What men?” Mr. Hammond asked him bitterly. But then there was dead silence. He was standing in the doorway where he could see them.

  “Mr. George Hammond?” one of the soldiers asked. They both had their hats off now, holding them in their hands. The younger man seemed to be squeezing pretty hard at his.

  “Yep, I’m him,” Mr. Hammond answered, and his voice was angry. I could see the painful understanding in his face. He looked pale as a ghost, and he shook his head, turning his eyes to Frank. “Tell ’em to go away. I ain’t wantin’ to hear what they got to say.”

  “I know,” Frank said then. “I know it, Pa. But we gotta hear it. We gotta make ourselves, do you understand?” Bert made a little choked noise, and I took hold of his arm. I thought maybe he’d push me away, but he didn’t. He just stood. I thought I felt a shiver run through him.

  One of the uniformed men stepped a little closer to Mr. Hammond. “Please, sir. You might want to have a seat.”

  Frank moved a chair right to where his father stood, but he wouldn’t sit.

  “Just tell me,” he said. “Just get it over with an’ tell me. My boy’s gone. That’s what you finally come ’round to say . . .” He stopped. He looked like he could fall.

  “Sir,” the older uniformed man began with a sigh. “We’re very sorry. It is with our nation’s deepest sympathy that we must inform you of the loss of your son, Lieutenant Joseph Willard Hammond . . .”

  I closed my eyes for just a second. Beside me, Bert started to sob. “Oh, God,” he whispered. “Oh, God.”

  Mr. Hammond didn’t move. He just stood there staring. Frank took his arm and tried to prompt him to sit down, but he wouldn’t budge.

  “You men know I got another boy wounded?” Mr. Hammond asked them, his voice low and strange.

  “No, sir,” the younger man said. “We’re so sorry.”

  “I didn’t know which one you were gonna tell me,” he mumbled just enough to be heard. “I didn’t know which way it was gonna be.”

  “Sir,” one of the men repeated. “We’re very sorry.”

  “You said that.”

  But the soldier’s sad voice went on to confirm the things none of us had wanted to hear. “On March seventeen of nineteen hundred and forty-two, Lieutenant Joseph W. Hammond was killed in the line of duty as a result of direct engagement with the enemy in the Philippine Islands. Lieutenant Hammond fought bravely and hazarded himself for the lives of his men. His fellow soldiers and countrymen shall be eternally grateful for his courageous and selfless service. Our deepest sympathy, sir, to you and your—”

  “You’d best leave now,” Mr. Hammond interrupted. “You’ve done said your piece.”

  “Your son will not be forgotten, sir,” the closest man tried to continue. “Neither will your sacrifice. May God bless and help you.”

  “Go,” Mr. Hammond said impatiently.

  I stood tense, my heart pounding, knowing that he wasn’t nearly so steady as he was trying to sound. I could see the awful hurt in him, plain as day. But it was just as plain in Frank, who still held his father’s arm, his silver-gray eyes looking like storm clouds. Help them, Lord, I prayed again. Oh, God, help.

  Both of the uniformed men put on their hats, but one of them looked straight at Frank before he turned for the door.

  “Thank you,” Frank said barely loud enough for me to hear it. “Thank you, sirs, for comin’.” His eyes filled with tears.

  Solemnly, the soldiers turned away. Mr. Hammond stood stiff as a statue.

  “Oh, Pa,” Frank said as the men went out the door. I knew he wanted to hug his father. I saw him try. But Mr. Hammond only pushed him away.

  “I tol’ you!” he yelled. “I tol’ you they wasn’t comin’ home!”

  “Pa—”

  Whatever it was Frank might have said, his father didn’t give him a chance. He spun around and shoved Frank so hard that he fell into another chair. “Keep your mouth shut, boy! Jus’ keep your mouth shut!”

  My insides were in knots, my heart was thumping so hard in my throat that it hurt. I started to move forward, but Frank’s look held me back. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t imagine any man coming apart so bad that he’d light into one of his kids at a time like this.

  “The Lord’s punishin’ me,” Mr. Hammond said then. “He’s gonna take ever’ one—”

  “No, Pa,” Frank stopped him bravely. “The good Lord ain’t to blame.” He pulled himself to his feet, and I saw him move a little forward, putting himself between his father and the outside door.

  Mr. Hammond just stared at Frank. I never saw him look that bad, ever. “If it ain’t God, jus’ how do you think you can explain this, huh, boy? How?”

  “Evil,” Frank said in a quiet voice. “The enemy, jus’ like the man said.” He looked so broken. But he wouldn’t take his eyes off his father. “Sit down. Please, Pa. Sarah’s gonna make us some coffee. We gotta lot to think about—”

  “Shut up.” He stood motionless again, still staring at Frank.

  Not sure what else
to do, I went and grabbed a pot and put it on the warm stove, thinking I’d better help Frank by doing what he said and making his father some coffee. Maybe he’d sit. Maybe he’d calm enough to let everybody grieve instead of holding his boys captive like this just wondering what he was going to do. I prayed he’d sit. I was scared, really scared of what he might do if he didn’t, and I knew Frank and Bert were too.

  He moved toward the door, and Frank made sure to stay in front of him.

  “Don’t ride off, Pa. Please don’t ride off.”

  “What difference does it make? Answer me that!”

  “Harry an’ Emmie’ll be home after a while. You need to be here, Pa. Please. Drinkin’ ain’t gonna solve nothin’.”

  Bert stood with his cheeks wet with tears. They all oughta be hugging one another, I thought. Mr. Hammond ought to hold his boys and comfort them instead of being so hateful. But he answered Frank with a stream of curses.

  “Get out of my way.”

  “Pa . . .”

  I saw Mr. Hammond’s fist go up, and I knew he was gonna hit Frank again. I couldn’t let it be. I absolutely couldn’t. Faster than I knew I could move, I ran up and grabbed at that arm, surprising myself with a boldness I’d never known I had.

  “No! Frank and Bert’s already hurting just as bad as you are! Don’t you go making it worse! Don’t you go hitting anybody or taking off and making them fret for you when there’s so much else to sorrow about.”

  He stared at me, and his face was strange, like somebody I didn’t even know. “You’re your daddy’s girl, ain’t you?”

  Frank came up beside me. He took my hand and moved almost in front of me. “She’s just talkin’ sense,” he said, and I realized that he was so unsure of his father that he was ready to protect me if he had to.

  But George Hammond laughed. “Picture the two a’ you. I never thought I’d see the like.”

  He turned around from us, and I could only stare. I could not imagine anyone laughing at a time like this. Emmie had told me months ago that their father was not well. Bad news shook him. Clear off his foundations. I looked at Frank, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off his father. Bert stood near his chair, watching just as intently.