Belle City

by Penny Mickelbury

  "She's burning up," Little Si said.

  Ruthie touched Nellie's forehead, then snatched her hand back. "Go get Miss Maisy. Tell her to please come quick."

  Beau and Mack ran out together. "You hitch the mule," Beau called out as he headed for the road. "I'm gon' run on to her house and tell her we need her so she'll be ready to go when you get there."

  Mack hitched the mule to the wagon as fast as he could. He thought it awfully smart of Beau to think to run ahead and give the old woman time to get ready. He also thought how much he had come to like Nellie Thatcher and how he hoped that the fainting spell didn't portend anything serious, for to lose her would devastate this family, especially Ruthie. He pushed from his mind the image of Ruth on the floor, cradling her mother, fear and anguish flooding her face. "Come on, mule," he said to the beast. "I got no time for your contrary ways today."

  When he pulled into Maisy Cooper's yard twenty minutes later, she and Beau were waiting for him, the old woman hugging a large leather satchel to her chest. Without speaking a word, she let the two young men help her into the wagon. She settled herself and closed her eyes as Mack clicked the reins to get the mule moving as fast as it was willing to be prodded on the hard, rutted road. Mack willed himself not to look in the opposite direction, toward the white part of the Carrie's Crossing community where the road now was paved, but he still could see its smooth surface reflecting the sunlight, and he knew how much easier the trip would be—for the mule as well as for the people—on such a surface. But he also knew there was no point in thinking on things he couldn't change and concentrated instead on keeping the cart as steady as possible on the bumpy surface while Maisy concentrated on breathing—deeply in and slowly out, deeply in and slowly out—because she knew there was no point in speculating on the nature of Nellie Thatcher's illness: Whatever it was, she'd either be able to help or she wouldn't and she wouldn't know until she got there. Until then, all she could do was breathe and call to memory all that she'd ever known about healing with nature's medicinals.

  And as soon as she walked in the door, even before she saw Nellie, she heard her, and knew that the first requirement was a sedative, for far from being passed out like Beau said she was, Nellie was awake and agitated. Ruthie was in bed with her, holding her from behind, while the two Silases, positioned on either side of the bed, each held an arm, and all the while Nellie was desperately trying to free herself. "Y'all turn me loose, I said. I got to go find my boy and bring him home," Nellie wailed. Tobias had an arm around Uncle Will's shoulders, whispering to him as tears streamed down his weathered face. Maisy touched the young man's arm.

  "Son, bring me a pot of hot water, please, two cups, a spoon, and some clean towels."

  "Yes, ma'am," he said, but he didn't move. He looked from her to Uncle Will.

  Maisy took Will's arm and led him to a chair. "I'm here, now, Willie, and we gon' make ev'rything all right. You hear me, Willie? We gon' take care of Nellie."

  Uncle Will looked at her, saw her, and heard her. "I thank you, Maisy. I truly do."

  Maisy went to the bed then and sat down close to Nellie. She touched the woman's face and her neck, her chest, both breasts and her stomach. She felt her arms and her legs and her feet and her hands, almost as if giving a massage. "Nellie," she finally said. "Nellie."

  Nellie quieted and forced her eyes to focus in on the person shaking her and calling her name. "Miss Maisy," Nellie said, surprised to see her there.

  "You got to get yourself calmed down."

  "I got to go get my boy, Miss Maisy."

  Tobias returned then and Maisy stood up. She looked at the Silases and at Ruthie, telling them in a glance to continue holding on to Nellie. Then she took up the tattered leather satchel she'd brought with her, unwound the straps that held it together, reached inside and brought out a small leather pouch and a large glass jar. She closed the bag and secured the straps and pushed the bag under the bed. From the leather pouch she took three pinches of a brownish-green powdery substance and put it into one of the cups and poured hot water over it, half filling the cup. She stirred the mixture, inhaled it, stirred it again, and took it the bed.

  "I want you to drink this, Nellie. It's hot but that's how you need to take it." She sat on the bed beside Nellie. "Y'all lift her up straight." Ruthie pushed from behind and the Silases pulled, and Nellie was seated upright. Her hair was loose and wild and Maisy smoothed it down. Then she put the cup in front of her. "Nellie?"

  Nellie looked at her. "Ma'am?"

  "I need you to drink what's in this cup, drink it all."

  Nellie looked at the cup and frowned. Then she looked at Maisy. "I know you a root woman, Miss Maisy, but I never had need of your doctorin' or nursin.' I ain't sick."

  Maisy smoothed her hair again. "I know you ain't, Nellie, you just wore out tired."

  Tears filled Nellie's eyes. "Yes'm, I surely am that. Wore out tired." She took the cup that Maisy offered and drank. She shuddered at the taste and blew on the brew to cool it, but she drank it all and seemed to calm almost immediately.

  "Did you eat some breakfast today, or did you just cook?" Maisy asked, but Nellie didn't respond. "What about dinner last night?" Maisy asked, and again got no reply. She looked around the room. "When was the last time she took some food?"

  Everybody looked at Ruthie. She was about to respond that of course her mother had eaten breakfast, had eaten dinner, had eaten whenever a meal was served, but when she thought about it, when she pictured the last few meal times, she realized that her mother, in fact, had not eaten. She had served food and passed bowls and platters, she was up and down from the table, back and forth from the table to the cook stove, but Nellie had not eaten in—"Maybe two or three days," Ruthie said to a room of shocked expressions.

  Maisy looked at Big Si. "How she sleepin'?"

  He shook his head.

  Maisy reached for the other cup and took up the jar. "Chicken fat," she said. "I stewed him last night and was getting' ready to make some dumplings for supper when Beaudry come runnin'." She poured some of the chicken fat into the cup and added hot water. Without being asked, Ruthie, her father and her brother raised Nellie to an upright position, a task now made easier by the fact that she had ceased her thrashing about. In fact, she was practically asleep. "Drink this, Nell," Maisy said, and Nellie drank. Her eyes were closed now, and she was breathing deeply, and she sighed when she finished drinking the broth.

  "You men, y'all go on out now, and close the door."

  "Is she—" four male voices inquired at the same time.

  "Sleepin' and she gon' sleep for some little while," Maisy said, and closed the door behind the men. Then she turned to Ruthie. "Let's wash her up a little bit, and put her in a clean gown, comb and brush her hair, make her comfortable." The two women worked efficiently but silently and in just a few minutes, Nellie Thatcher was tucked in and softly snoring.

  "What did you give Ma to drink, Miss Maisy?"

  "That's one of my special mixes. Don't have a name, but it does its work."

  Ruthie looked down at her mother, stroked her face, and began silently weeping. "How did you know she wasn't eating and sleeping and we didn't know?"

  "I 'spect you got a few other things on your mind these days, Miss Ruth."

  Ruthie's tears ran heavily down her face. "I'm sorry."

  Maisy wrapped her arms around the girl. "Nothin' for you to be sorry 'bout. You a young girl feelin' her heart for the first time. It's natural that your mind—"

  "This is my Ma, Miss Maisy. I shoulda been watching out for her."

  Maisy patted the girl's back and calmed her. "Just tell me what your Ma's been doin' and maybe not doin.'"

  "She just...ever since we got that letter from Eubie saying he wasn't coming home, she just...she cooks and she watches over the crops, does what she always does...except, I guess, for eating and sleeping." The tears started again. "I knew. Pa knew. Why didn't we help her, Miss Maisy? Why'd we let her get so sick?" />
  "You can't stop this kinda sickness."

  Ruthie looked at her sleeping mother. "You stopped it."

  "I just helped her go to sleep. Maybe if she sleeps deep enough, long enough, and maybe if we can get her to swallow some more of that nourishment, maybe she'll come back to herself a little bit. But it'll only be for a little while."

  "So she'll have this...sickness...why, Miss Maisy? What kinda sickness is it?"

  "Your ma is heartsick. Just like your heart is full of joy, hers is full of sadness. She's missing a child, and that's just about the worse thing that can happen to a woman."

  "But Pa said he tried to make Ma feel better...he said it's not like Eubie was dead, and Ma got real mad and wouldn't talk to him. But Pa's right: Eubie's alive, and he just might come home some day."

  Maisy shook her head. "It would be better for your ma if the boy was dead. That way she could bury him and forget about ever holding him close to her heart again. This way, that's all she can think about, is holding him close, but she can't do that 'cause he's too far away." Now Maisy sounded mad. Looked mad, too. "They ain't had no biz'ness takin' our boys and sendin' 'em way over yonder. It was wrong." She smoothed the covers over Nellie, then leaned over to her. "They shouldn'ta took your boy if he couldn'ta come home a man." She collected her things and Ruthie gathered the dirty towels and clothes, and after a final check to be certain that Nellie was sleeping deeply and peacefully, they left her alone.

  The men surrounded them when they opened the door, all wanting to peek in at Nellie, to see for themselves that she was, in fact, all right, that she was, in fact, just sleeping. Then they all wanted to hug Maisy, and to thank her, and to find out what they could do—what they should do—to help Nellie.

  "Right now, let her sleep. In 'bout three, four hours, get her to drink some more of that chicken fat, but don't make it too hot. She's liable to burn herself."

  "Will she wake up to drink it?" Ruthie asked, sounding as doubtful as she felt. Her mother didn't look as if she'd wake up for hours, and Maisy confirmed that.

  "She won't wake up til way later on tonight, but now that she's had some nourishment, she'll be wantin' some more. Y'all sit her up like before, then put the cup under her nose, let her smell it. Then put some on her mouth, let her taste it. Then put the cup up—not too hot, now—and she'll nat'rally drink some."

  Big Si took her hands. "Thank you, Miss Maisy."

  "I got to go right now so I can finish fixin' dinner for Sue and Joe, but I'll be back later on tonight so I can give her some more sleeping powders."

  "I'll come get you," Beau said.

  "Me, too," Little Si, Tobias and Mack said in unison.

  Maisy chuckled and waved them away. "Joe'll bring me over here."

  "I can give her the powders, Miss Maisy," Ruthie said.

  "No, you cain't. I got to do it myself."

  "It's dangerous, right?" Mack asked.

  "Yes, it is," she said, clutching her leather satchel even more tightly to her bosom. She accepted more hugs and thanks, and all of the men followed her outside, helped her into the wagon, and the three older men watched as the four younger ones rode away.

  "I'll go finish dinner," Ruthie said.

  "You need some help?"

  "No, Pa, thank you, but all that's left to do is make the corn bread."

  First Freeman ducked his head and looked at her over the top of the glasses he'd taken to wearing. "Can you make corn bread good as your ma?"

  Ruthie gave him a sly grin. "You're so hungry you won't know if I can or if I can't."

  He threw back his head and laughed a deep, full belly laugh, and she headed for the kitchen. "She's a stitch, she is."

  Big Si grinned. "You right about that, and make no mistake."

  "Young Mr. McGinnis gon' have his hands full, and that's a fact." And suddenly First was laughing by himself. "What?" he asked. "Y'all don't like him?"

  "We like him just fine, Mr. First," Big Si said.

  "What then?" he asked, and when neither man responded he looked at them closely, all but forcing their downcast eyes to lift to meet his. "Y'all ain't ready to let her go."

  Uncle Will inhaled deeply. "I know she ain't no chile, but that's how I see her."

  "Me, too," said her father. Then, with great effort, he managed a warm smile. "I couldn'ta found a better one myself, Mr. First, and I thank you. Me and her ma, we been talkin' 'bout it. We see what's what, and we see that he's a good man and we see that Ruth, that she..." Big Si had to stop. He couldn't say the words to his wife and he couldn't say them to these two men who were like fathers to him: Couldn't say that he had been watching his youngest child and his only daughter fall in love with Mack McGinnis. He had four sons and he'd had a lifetime with his Uncle Will and, just recently, time spent getting to know First Freeman, and he knew what made a good man and he knew that Mack McGinnis possessed all those things. He also knew that Tobias most likely was being scrutinized by Isabelle Johnson's father the same way he was scrutinizing Mack, and he hoped that Ed Johnson had reached a similar, positive conclusion about Toby.

  As soon as the corn bread was in the stove Ruthie went to look in on her mother. Nellie was just as they'd left her: Motionless under the covers, arms at her sides, hair spread across the pillow, gently snoring. She wanted to speak, to say something, but she didn't know what to say. She picked up the hand closest to her, the right hand, the one that always stroked her face or her hair, and studied it. It was, Ruthie thought, a beautiful hand—long-fingered and strong. Beautiful like her mother was beautiful. "I'm sorry, Ma," she said and hurried from the room.

  Dinner was on the table when Beau, Tobias, Little Si, and Mack returned, and they all sat down to eat, Nellie's empty place at the table a magnet for their eyes and their thoughts. Not one of them was able to keep from looking toward the vacancy with every movement of fork from plate to mouth, with every swallow of tea. Only Mack looked at another of the diners—when his eyes weren't shifting from his plate to the vacant place, they were watching Ruthie, who had gone frighteningly still. Not in a physical sense—she was eating and passing bowls of food when asked—but she had retreated to a deep place inside herself, a place that he had not, in his relatively brief association with her, had occasion to witness or experience. It was the part of her that he had come to love best, the part where her sense of mischief and fun resided, where her amazing intelligence and creativity dwelled; it was that part that had gone still and silent. The spark that lit her eyes from within and produced her laugh quickly and easily had dimmed.

  "You got to let her go, Pa," Beaudry said, the only one of them willing to voice what all the others were thinking.

  "We'll keep watch over her," Tobias said. "We won't let nothin' happen to her."

  "What could happen anyway?" Beau asked. "She'll go see the professor at the college and she'll come back home."

  "She ain't goin' no place," Big Si said, and Mack thought he looked very much like the mule when it was refusing orders to work, with his head hanging low between his hunched shoulders. "Y'all heard what Miss Maisy said: She gon' give Nellie some more sleeping medicine tonight and she'll be sleep tomorrow. She cain't go to Belle City if she's sleep."

  Ruthie roused herself. "No, Pa, she can't go tomorrow, but as soon as she's stronger, she should go. Maybe knowing that she's going will help her get her strength back."

  Beau looked at his baby sister, who no longer was a baby. "I think you're right about that, Ruthie—in part," he said, and when she looked at him, he said, "If she has to wait for a whole month for us to come back to get her, though, she'll just get sick all over again."

  "She can ride that trolley car," Tobias said.

  "No she cain't," Big Si thundered. He was losing this battle and he knew it.

  "Can I say something?" Mack asked.

  He got surprised looks from everyone at the table, including Ruthie, but the reason for the looks surprised him when Uncle Will said, "You part of this family, son, you
can say anything you want to say."

  "Thank you, Uncle Will, and what I want to say is that I'd be happy to drive Ma Nellie over to Belle City whenever she's feeling strong enough to go, and I'll wait for her to do whatever she's got to do, and I'll bring her back. And I'll take real good care of her."

  Everybody was nodding at his good idea except for Uncle Will. "You got to stay here at the school, son. All those chil'ren be waitin' for you ev'ry day, you can't just up and leave."

  "You're right," Mack said, dejected.

  "How 'bout that fella that come over here with Joe and Sue, helps Maisy out sometimes. What's his name? Somethin' Jenks? Y'all know who I mean?" First Freeman said, and they did. Tom Jenks was his name and he was from Belle City, but he was out of work and had no place to live and because he was kin to Sue's Joe, he lived with them and helped Maisy in exchange for a place to live.

  It was agreed and a plan was hatched: Tom Jenks would be asked to drive Nellie to Belle City to the college, to take her to First Freeman's house after her business was finished, where she'd spend the night, and to return her to Carrie's Crossing the following morning.

  "I'll pay him something for his time," Beau said.

  "And I'll go too," Ruthie said

  "I'll write a letter to the professor and tell her that Nellie's coming," Mack said.

  "But we don't know when that's gon' be," Tobias said.

  As it turned out, it was the following Thursday morning, and Nellie refused to have Ruth accompany her. "I need you to stay here and look after your Pa and Uncle Will," she said, but only her husband knew better: Silas knew that his wife wanted to go alone to Belle City not just to see the college professor but also to look at the Colored sections of the city with different eyes since the mother had decided that the daughter, when she married, would live not in the country but in the city where she could be educated and where she could educate her children. For his part, Tom Jenks was more than willing to run the errand; he missed Belle City, he didn't much care for country life, and what Beau would pay him would stake him in a poker game which, if good luck were on his side, would allow him to remain in Belle City, at least long enough to look for—and hopefully find—a decent job.