by Anne Mateer
A screech jarred me awaked. A thud followed. No morning dawn seeped through my window. I pressed my hand against my palpitating heart. Another screech, then sobs. I bounded from my bed.
James met me just outside the children’s bedroom door, rubbing sleep from watery eyes. I picked him up, pressed his head against my shoulder before peeking through the dark at the others. Shadows stirred. Ollie even sat up and blinked. I shushed them and slid to the floor, cradling the six-year-old like a baby. Another nightmare. His third since we’d buried his Miss Ada.
Of all the children, James seemed to be having the hardest time, but with Miss Ada’s passing or his own mama’s death, I couldn’t quite determine. Oh, he’d romp and play with his brother—and forget. But then he’d remember. And his grief would come so hard and fast that he couldn’t hold it inside. Like now.
“I’m here, James. Bekah’s here.” Rocking back and forth, I imagined myself a child without mother or father to comfort and console. And it wasn’t such a foreign feeling, with Mama so ill and Daddy far away. I stroked James’s hair. I could manage for myself, but what could I do for this little one who dreamed of falling into a dark hole like Miss Ada?
“ ‘Rock of Ages, cleft for me . . .’ ” It started as a hum, the words finally coming clear in my mind and whiling their way out my mouth. “ ‘Let me hide myself in Thee.’ ”
James’s chin drooped toward his chest. I sensed he’d never been fully awake. His weight sank into me. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the wall, as if it were indeed the Rock of Ages holding me upright.
Night air seeped through my flannel gown and prickled my flesh. “Let’s go, little man,” I whispered. “We both need some sleep.”
I made it to my feet and stumbled into the next room, where I laid my little-boy bundle on the bed. Then I crawled in beside him, wrapped my arms around his small body, and prayed neither of us would dream of dark, muddy holes in the earth.
A few hours later, I again scrubbed my hands over the washbasin in the kitchen. My skin burned, but ever since I’d walked into the Crenshaws’ house, the newspaper articles assaulted my mind with searing clarity. Stay away from crowds. Stay away from those who have the disease. Cover your mouth. Wash your hands.
I’d been careless to take us into town. But there’d be no more taking chances. I’d protect these children from the enemy influenza as surely as their father protected them from the evil Huns. I would care for them and this house and this farm in Aunt Adabelle’s stead. Frank would come home, and I’d have the satisfaction of a duty done well when I headed off into my new life.
We finished breakfast and chores. Then I sat down to think through our days. We needed a plan. Ollie and James gathered close around me. Dan wandered to the corner to stack wooden blocks while Janie sat at my feet, mesmerized by a rag doll. I drew a line down an empty page, forming two columns: OUTSIDE and INSIDE.
“Let’s see. There’s Ol’ Bob.” Cow—milk morning and night, I wrote under OUTSIDE. “And the chickens.” Feed hens and gather eggs.
I tapped the pencil against my lips. “There’s a slop barrel, but no pig.”
“Pig’s loose in the woods until butcherin’ time,” Ollie said.
“Daddy said she eats acorns out there.” James put his elbows on the table next to my paper and rested his chin in his hands.
“How’ll we get him back?” I asked.
Two blank looks and raised shoulders answered me. I sighed and moved on. “The horse and mules must be fed and their stalls mucked out. And the garden needs to be readied for winter.”
“Sounds right.” The look of concentration on Ollie’s face reminded me of Mama. I shot up a prayer for her healing before returning to my list.
“Inside, we have laundry and housecleaning. The fires must be kept banked. Fill the lamps, trim their wicks. Air and make the beds. And we must keep the linen around the evaporative cooler wet or our milk will get hot and spoil.”
“And bring in wood and water,” James added. “That’s my job.” He pulled himself up straight.
“And me,” Dan chimed in from his place on the floor.
“And take care of the baby and bake and cook dinner and—” Ollie tilted her head in my direction. “Bekah, you ever done all this before?”
“Of course I have.” But never all at once, without any help. And never with children underfoot, either. “Don’t you worry, I know just what to do.”
“Miss Ada never had to make herself a list like that.” Ollie pointed to my dark words on the white paper. “Mama, either.”
I chewed the inside of my bottom lip. I needed Ollie’s help. I needed her to believe in me, to be on my side. I forced aside my uncertainty. “I made this list for y’all,” I said. “I wanted to make sure you knew what we needed to do every day.”
Ollie scrunched her nose at me, as if she saw straight through my bluff.
My gaze wavered, wandering to the window, wishing for more confidence. Perhaps a large dose of fresh air would restore my confidence. “If we’re going to take care of this farm, I need to see something more than the barnyard. Who wants to show me?”
A chorus of shouts answered.
I laughed, really laughed, for the first time since I’d arrived. And it felt good. More like me. I picked up Janie and headed for the door, the children gamboling about my feet like lambs in springtime.
We romped through sparse woods and along a slow-moving creek.
“Daddy lets me pick cotton sometimes.” James puffed out his small chest.
“Me, too,” Dan added. James scowled in his direction while Ollie sniffed like a disapproving old woman.
I looked over bare fields and remembered the thick mud that had clung to our shoes during that last bout of rain. And although I recognized the empty cotton bolls and knew the crop had been harvested before I arrived, I had no idea what came next in the process. “Does your daddy plant mostly cotton?”
Ollie answered this time. “Of course. Cotton’s the cash crop. Over there”—she pointed to a field more familiar to my eye—“he grows some corn. But that’s to feed us and the animals.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “At least that’s what Mama always said.”
I caught her small hand in mine and squeezed, hoping that one small act conveyed the words of sympathy I couldn’t trust myself to speak. My gaze roved over the fields. I didn’t know much about cotton farming. A few around Downington planted cotton, but my daddy and the others I knew grew mostly corn. Row upon row upon row of green stalks producing fat, yellow ears.
Then it occurred to me to wonder how in the world Aunt Adabelle had gotten both the corn and cotton crops out of the fields and to the mill and the gin on her own, four little ones in tow. Did she hire help? Did she take to the fields herself? I quaked at the thought. Mama would have a fit if she thought she’d sent me to a place where a lady would stand in the blistering sun and pull cotton from the bur by hand.
From our place in the far corner of the fallow field, I spied a small house in the distance, smoke puffing through a pipe in the roof. “Who lives there?” I asked.
“That’s the Lathams’ house. Brother Latham is the preacher.”
The hound-dog-looking man. At least we had neighbors. That gave some comfort—until a familiar horse and buggy pulled into view and stopped at the small house. The scruffy-faced doctor almost ran inside. I turned away, fear and compassion warring within me. Did they have the influenza there, too? I shuddered.
“Let’s get back to the house.” I herded the children in the direction we’d come. They complied, their mouths rambling on and on as we walked. But I didn’t hear their words. I kept looking over my shoulder and remembering that the Spanish flu hovered nearby.
I dawdled over breakfast on Saturday morning, my nerves stretched as thin as cotton thread on a spinning wheel. I’d still had no word from Arthur. Was he ill?
“Listen, Bekah.” Dan’s head jutted from his neck as he strained to hear a sound.
; “I don’t hear—”
“Someone’s comin’!” James raced into the kitchen and out again. The rest of us stumbled after him like shipwreck survivors catching sight of a passing ship.
Sheriff Jeffries’s Model T stopped close to the fence, its engine sputtering into quiet. The sheriff climbed out of the car, shook the dust from his coat. “Thought you might like some help around here.”
The children raced down the porch steps. Sheriff Jeffries swung Dan up in the air, but his eyes never left my face. I bit my lip and concentrated on Janie as she painted the shoulder of my clean blouse with her half-gnawed teacake. I sighed. Maybe I could make myself a bigger apron.
I switched Janie from one hip to the other. In spite of my worry over Arthur and Mama, the sight of the sheriff set me in a more playful mood. “Do we need help?” I hollered. “Well, let me see. I don’t know as we have any lawbreakers to be hauled off to jail. You boys seen any outlaws?”
Dan and James giggled, and the sheriff grinned as he swiped his hat from his head and twirled it round and round his fingers. “Figured you might like a break from farm chores. I don’t imagine it’s easy for a slip of a girl like you to take care of it all.”
I pulled my shoulders back and lifted my chin, my good humor retreating a bit. “I do just fine, thank you.”
He held up his hands. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. Just bein’ neighborly.”
I studied his eager eyes, trying to decide if I should be offended or flattered. But unlike Mama, I never could stay offended long. I threw him a grin. “You do the rest of my barnyard work, and I promise a filling dinner in return.”
“My pleasure.” He bowed at the waist and slapped his hat on his head.
Now it was my turn to blush. Help sounded wonderful, as did company, but did I sense something more in his manner? I ought to turn the conversation to Arthur during dinner. That would make it clear that my future was spoken for.
Janie screeched for my attention.
“I’ll clean her up.” Ollie took the baby while I brushed mush from my sleeve. Until my fingers froze in horror. What had I been thinking? I’d invited a single man to dine with me without a chaperone. Not just a conversation, but sharing a meal. Yes, the children would be with us, but what if Arthur chanced to hear of it? Or Mama?
My cheeks blazed now. I covered the heat with my hands. I couldn’t rescind the invitation. My gaze roamed wildly over the barren yard. Then an idea surfaced. A picnic. I could spread a quilt here, in the front yard. In full view of the road. Yes, that would be more proper. And quite an adventure. I’d never attempted a picnic in October.
“Ollie?”
She answered from the kitchen.
I met her there, plunged my hands into the wash water, and scrubbed them hard. “Ollie, we’re going to have a picnic for dinner. Under the big oak in the front yard.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Picnics are for summertime, out by the creek.”
“Well, we’re having an autumn picnic, here at home. I’ll need your help.”
Ollie dried Janie’s face with a dish towel, her muttered words indistinct.
A storm gathered in my chest, readying to spew its fearful fury. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” Ollie cast a sullen glance in my direction, picked up her sister, and left the room.
Saturday’s Hooverizing sacrifice was pork, so I couldn’t cook up the bit of salt pork we had left. Yet the thought of killing and plucking and cooking a chicken made me tired. On meatless days, Mama often baked vegetables into a pie, so I did the same. And with the last of the figs I’d found in the cellar, a pudding for dessert.
By midafternoon, I sat back against the tree, my own plate empty while the sheriff forked seconds, then thirds, into his mouth. Although vegetable pie wasn’t typical picnic fare, he didn’t seem to mind.
The children chased each other in a game of tag, their laughter ringing in the air. Only Janie sat on the blanket with us, trying to crawl past my reach.
“So tell me, Sheriff. What does a lawman do with his time in a sleepy town like this?”
He wiped his mouth with his napkin and set aside his empty plate. “Lots more than you think, Miss Hendricks.”
“Please call me Rebekah.” I smiled at him.
“Rebekah.” He nodded and took a long drink of sweet tea. “The young people around here have kept me busy of late.”
“Young people?”
“Those old enough to know better but still young enough to act out anyway. Just mischief, mostly.”
I pulled Janie onto my lap, letting her clap my hands together. “Like what?”
He chuckled. Janie copied him. He laughed harder, shook his head as he found his voice. “Can’t laugh about it with most, but they went on a spree moving outhouses to barn roofs, for one.”
My eyebrows shot up and my mouth dropped open. “Can that really be done?”
“They found a way.”
I giggled as I pictured it. “What else?”
He sobered a bit. “Painted Mr. Duggan’s cow with black and white stripes. Sounds harmless, but the cow got real sick. The boys’ parents made them work for the money to pay Doc Risinger for the medicine to make her well again.”
“Oh, my! I never imagined.”
Silence fell between us, though the shrieks and laughter of the children echoed all around.
“So, do you plan to live out your days with a star on your chest, keeping Prater’s Junction safe from vandals?”
He shifted around, rustling the dead leaves beneath our blanket. He didn’t look at me. Instead, he stared off down the road that ran in front of the house.
“I guess.” His shoulders rose and fell with his resigned sigh.
Did the sheriff have dreams beyond this tiny town? Would he and I have that in common? I cleared my throat as Janie leaned over my legs and pulled fistfuls of brown grass from the yard. “What would you rather do?”
His eyes met mine for only a moment. “Be a Texas Ranger.”
I sensed he’d never said that to anyone else. Maybe he wished he hadn’t said it to me. He turned his attention to my charges with a wistful smile. “Clara loved watching them play like this. So did Adabelle. She and Clara were so different, but they both loved these kids.”
Now came my turn to squirm a bit. I’d said I’d care for them. But could I love them? “Tell me, Sheriff, how far away is Dallas?”
His cheeks puffed out as he blew out a long breath. “More than an hour by car. A bit less by train, even with all the stops. Why? You figuring on taking a trip?” His eyes narrowed.
James, Dan, and Ollie flopped breathless onto the blanket. James and Dan grabbed the last of the cornbread and shoved it into their mouths.
“I have a friend in Dallas, so I was wondering is all.”
“What friend, Bekah?” Cornbread spewed from James’s mouth as he spoke.
“Finish chewing before you talk, James.” My lips pursed, and I cringed. I sounded like Mama.
With an obvious swallow, James cleared his mouth. He wiped the crumbs from his lips with his sleeve. “Do I know her?”
When I laughed, Dan nestled beside me. I tickled him, letting his cackle give me time to think. I studied the top of his head while I spoke. “No. My friend’s an aviator. Or at least training to be one.”
From beneath my lowered lashes, I watched the sheriff’s eyebrows shoot upward but quickly resume their normal place. “Camp Dick?” he asked.
“That’s right.” I looked him full in the face now. “I’m expecting a letter any day. We’re—making plans.”
“I see.” He pushed to his feet, stretched his lanky legs, and set his hat atop his head once again. “Thank you for dinner. It was quite a treat.”
I nudged Dan aside, set Janie on the blanket, and stood, brushing a stray leaf from my skirt. “Thank you for all your help today, Sheriff.”
James jumped from the ground, his little legs churning toward the gate. Ollie and I shook our heads a
t each other. You never could tell what got into James’s head.
He raised himself on tiptoe, gazed over the low fence, and bounced up and down. “He’s here. He’s here.”
My heart lurched. “Who’s here?” Could Arthur have found me?
I picked up a startled, crying Janie and held her over my pounding heart, my mouth dry with anticipation. “Who, James? Who’s here?”
I reached the gate out of breath. A strand of hair fell from its pinned place into my line of vision as I handed the baby to James and tamed the unruly curl. I didn’t figure I needed to pinch any color into my cheeks. I felt sure they’d pinked enough in my excitement. Covering my middle with my hands, I breathed deep, determined to be the ladylike young woman Arthur had fallen in love with.
A cloud of dust moved our way, accompanied by the dull thud of hooves against the hard earth before a horse pulled up in front of the gate.
“Howdy-do, miss.” A barrel-chested man peered down, nodding to each of us in turn. When his attentions reached the sheriff, he belted out a roaring laugh that shook the bag slung across his shoulders. “So that’s why you didn’t mind delivering the mail out this way all week.”
Sheriff Jeffries turned red as a ripe tomato. My eyebrows rose this time.
The sheriff swooped his hat from his head. It twirled fast in his hands as he gulped air. “I happened to be out this way earlier in the week, checkin’ on the Lathams. I knew I’d pass by here and save you some time.”
The big man shifted on his saddleless horse, unable to hide the mirth on his round, flushed face. “Sam Culpepper, miss. Brought your mail.” He handed me a folded newspaper. I took it, my mind still trying to comprehend that though Arthur hadn’t come to me, Sheriff Jeffries had. Sometimes without my knowing it.
Mr. Culpepper tipped his hat. “Sure am glad for the sheriff’s help this week. Doesn’t do for the mail to get held up, but so many’re sick or nursing the sick. I’m mighty late today. I do beg your pardon.”