by Anne Mateer
The same excited terror that tremored his voice accelerated my heart. I drank in fresh air and pasted a smile on my face. I had no idea what Mama would look like after her debilitating bout with the Spanish flu, but I prepared myself for the worst.
Mr. Culpepper had hardly stopped the automobile when Daddy jumped out. He reached for Mama’s hand. She set a tentative foot on the brown grass at the edge of the road.
Mama. Paler. Thinner. Softer, somehow. What had done that to her—the influenza or losing her firstborn?
She opened her arms, and I ran into them, our tears mingling on pressed-together cheeks. Then she held me away from her. “Let me look at my baby.”
I wore a real smile now, pulling back my shoulders so I wouldn’t be scolded to stand up straight.
“You look fine.” She cocked her head to the right. “More grown up, I think.” She sighed and looked away.
Daddy stood on the porch, an old valise hanging from his hand. “The air’s cooling off fast. Let’s get her inside.”
James tugged on Mama’s sleeve. Her eyebrows raised in a look I knew meant disapproval. James crooked his arm like a gentleman, ready to escort her up the walk. I held my breath. Mama’s expression didn’t change right away, but then her censure melted. With a prim smile, she wrapped her hand around James’s small elbow. I closed my eyes and breathed a quick prayer of relief.
One down, three to go.
Daddy kissed my cheek as I walked past.
Mama stepped through the door behind me. “What a charming little house.”
Little house? I wanted to laugh. This house wasn’t any smaller than ours in Downington. But I let the comment pass.
“And now, Rebekah, why don’t you introduce me to the welcoming party?”
I placed my hand on James’s head. “You’ve met James.”
Mama tilted her head in acknowledgement.
“This is Dan.” I nudged him forward.
“I’m four.” He held up five fingers, then folded down his thumb with his opposite hand.
Ollie fidgeted, her hands on Janie’s shoulders in front of her. I laid my hand on Ollie’s head. “This is Ollie Elizabeth. And little Janie.”
“Beautiful girls.” Mama’s words sounded strangled and stilted, and the look on her face, now the color of ash, made my stomach tumble. She put her hand on Daddy’s arm.
“You’ve had a long day, Mama. Do you want to rest before supper?”
Mama waved her hand. “Of course we’ll eat your good supper. We’re about starved. You can’t eat a bite while the train’s moving all around like that.”
Daddy grimaced. He looked older than I remembered. And thinner.
“James, take the suitcases to your mama’s bedroom. Ollie, help me put dinner on the table. Dan, take care of Janie.”
I looked to see if Mama approved of how I handled the children, but she didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she fussed with her handbag and frowned.
Oh well. She was tired. Besides, I didn’t need her to tell me I’d done well. I knew I had. In the kitchen, I opened the oven door, intensifying the sweet smell of the sugar-crusted ham. Potatoes sat soft in the water, ready to be beaten and buttered and salt ’n’ peppered. The biscuits went into the oven as soon as I removed the ham.
“Rebekah?” Mama’s voice nearby.
Then the click of the kitchen door.
I whipped around. Mama and Frank stared at each other, red rising in both of their faces.
“Who’s this?” Mama’s voice, barely more than a whisper.
Frank’s features turned hard, as if carved from stone. “Frank Gresham.” He glanced at me, then back to Mama. “I assume you are Mrs. Hendricks?”
Mama turned fiery eyes in my direction. “I see you know who I am, but I haven’t been given the same consideration.”
I backed away, not wanting to be caught in the middle of the twister I’d created.
“Ahhhhh!” Hot metal seared my skin. I grabbed my hand, doubled over. Mama and Frank beside me, one voice in each ear, pain blinding my sight.
“Margaret? Rebekah?” Daddy.
I felt Mama and Frank move back. Daddy led me to the table as my scream drifted away.
“We’ll need eggs and some clean cotton.” Mama taking charge, as usual.
“I have butter and flour right here.” Frank.
“We aren’t making a cake; we’re dressing a burn.”
“I realize that. Butter, then flour. My mother swore by it.”
“It really hurts.” I leaned my head into Daddy’s shoulder.
“I know, baby. Let me see.” He eased open my hand and studied the raised red splotch on my palm.
Frank arrived at the table first. He cradled my hand in his. I whimpered.
“Hush now.” A gentle whisper.
“Let me do that.” Mama pressed her fingers into the pristine “G” atop the newly pressed butter and lathered it on my skin.
“Go on now. Let me do my work.” Mama scooted beside me. Daddy led Frank from the room as Mama wrapped a clean rag around my greasy hand and tied the ends together.
“Thank you, Mama.” I reached up and kissed her cheek.
Moments later, Daddy was there, leading her away. “Let’s rest awhile, Margaret.” He looked back at me. “Supper will wait.”
I nodded. Then Frank stood over me, his eyes more gray than blue.
“I’m sorry.” I fiddled with the end of the bandage.
His face crumpled in confusion. “Why? You didn’t mean to burn yourself.”
“No.” I smoothed the folds of the rag around my hand. “Not that. I’m sorry I didn’t tell Mama you were home.”
“You what?” His voice rose but then fell, as if he remembered the need for quiet.
“Mama didn’t know you’d come home.” My teeth held my bottom lip as I watched him jump up and cross the room, his hands combing through his hair before resting atop his head.
He blew out a long breath, his gaze pinning me still. “And just when were you going to inform her of my presence—in my own house, I might add?”
“I hadn’t quite figured that out yet. But she knows now.” On my feet, I swayed a bit. He reached my side in an instant, that little-boy look softening his face.
I pressed my lips together, holding in the sudden urge to laugh. “I imagine we need to get supper finished.”
He shook his head and led me to the stove. As hard as he tried to hide it, I spied the corners of his mouth fighting to hold a frown.
While Daddy blessed the food, I prayed in my head, asking God to help me be patient with Mama—and she with me. Then voices quieted while dishes clinked and clanked. I filled and refilled glasses with water and milk and coffee.
A while later, Daddy sat back and patted his stomach. “That was what I call larrupin’ good, baby girl.” Daddy’s Texas roots always came out that way after a meal he enjoyed.
I glanced at Frank. Had he thought I’d done well, too? I couldn’t read his expression.
Mama dabbed her napkin at the corners of her mouth. I noticed she’d only picked at the food on her plate, and yet she’d claimed she hadn’t eaten much on the journey. I tried to catch Daddy’s eye, to ask him my silent question, but he didn’t—or wouldn’t—look my way.
“Shouldn’t these children be running off to bed?” Mama said.
Frank’s fingers tightened around his fork, and his chest puffed out.
“I think they can stay up awhile longer, Mama.” I kept my tone light. “The sun’s hardly gone to bed itself. And anyway, this is a special occasion.”
Mama’s eyebrows rose, first at Frank, then at me. I pretended not to notice and hoped Frank would do the same.
“James and Ollie, scrape the plates into the slop barrel.” I said it low, hoping to avoid Mama’s ears.
But very little escaped Mama, even in her somewhat altered state. “You mean to let these children handle this fine china by themselves?”
Their mama’s china, I wanted to ans
wer back. Something they held near sacred. But I swallowed down my temper. “They’ll be careful.” I turned to them. “Won’t you?”
They nodded back, all eyes.
“Mama, why don’t you let Daddy take you to the parlor? We’ll get some of this put away and join you in a few minutes. Won’t we, Frank?”
Never before had I suggested a course of action to Mama. She always did the “suggesting.” I held my breath, waiting to see what she would do. And if Frank would respond.
Daddy didn’t give Mama a chance to react. He took her arm and led her from the room.
Frank picked up two plates. “You managed that nicely.”
“Thank you.” I picked up a half-full pitcher of milk with my uninjured hand.
He cleared his throat. “Your mother is a bit . . .”
“Overbearing?” I carried the milk into the kitchen, set it in the cooler.
He followed behind. “You’ll have to let me in on your secret if we’re all to survive her visit.”
“Survive whose visit?” James piped up.
Frank looked like he’d been caught eating dessert before dinner. “You and Ollie bring the rest of the dishes.”
The two of them scampered from the room.
I burst out laughing and covered my mouth with my unbound hand.
Frank looked stricken. Then he grinned and handed me a dish towel. “I’ll wash. You dry. We’ll get this cleaned up in no time.”
We fell to work, side by side. And it felt so right.
Never in my life had I imagined one person could cause so much disruption to a household. Whatever the influenza had done to weaken Mama’s body, it hadn’t affected her tongue.
“You should let down Ollie’s dress. It’s too short.”
Janie whined at my skirt. I lifted her into my arms.
“You’re spoiling that child. Let her cry. She’s big enough to know better.”
She’s not even a year old, Mama. And her mama’s dead. I think I can hold her when she cries. I shouted the words in my head. And even though Mama couldn’t hear, it felt good to answer back.
I put on the sweetest smile I could muster. Janie watched my face and did the same. “Why don’t you stay out here on the porch and enjoy this nice morning, Mama?”
Mama pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders. “It’s too cold out here. We’d best get inside.”
I wanted to walk around to the back door, to enjoy just a few minutes away from her. But one look at the front steps and I knew she’d have trouble with them on her own. I reached her side in a few strides, steadying her as she lifted her foot to the first riser.
“I can do it,” she snapped.
I pulled my hand away but didn’t leave. She teetered just a bit. Then she clutched at my arm before taking the next step up. Without a word, she shuffled across the porch, into the hall, and past the parlor. Letting go of my arm, she entered the bedroom and closed the door behind her.
No thanks. No apology.
At least the boys and men got to leave the house.
I bounced Janie on my hip. “Let’s find Daddy. I’ll bet he’s down with Ol’ Bob.” Janie didn’t care if I meant her daddy or mine.
The barn smelled of horse and mules and manure. Dust twirled in the weak streams of winter sunshine slithering through the cracks between the wall planks. My heart jumped and twirled as well, but settled fast when Frank didn’t appear. Had he needed to go farther than the barn for some peace?
Daddy stood up from beneath Ol’ Bob. His arms stretched toward the roof of the barn as his back curved into a long arch.
“Thank you, Daddy.” I kissed him on the cheek. He grunted in reply and patted Ol’ Bob’s rump before he shut the stall and handed me the bucket of warm milk. But I wasn’t ready to return to the house yet. I leaned against the barn door, watching Daddy work. He drew the boys into each task. Janie, too. His big finger tickled her beneath her chin and brushed one of her golden curls from her chubby face.
“Daddy?” I put the milk pail on a nearby stool.
He faced me, more pain in his eyes than I’d ever seen there before.
“Tell me what’s really wrong, Daddy.”
His jaw clenched, visible even in the half-light. Over the course of my life, I’d never had an intimate conversation with my father. But I’d always felt closer to him than to Mama. Maybe I didn’t feel the need to try so hard to please him. I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that I needed him to talk to me now.
He slipped his hands into his pockets. “It’s been difficult for your mother, you know. It hurt her for your brother to go off like that. She wanted to be with him at the end, as hard as it would have been. You know she hasn’t been strong since . . . October.” He glanced in the direction of the children, but they paid us no mind, running and shrieking from corner to corner.
“Losing her sister was grievous for her, too.”
I hadn’t expected him to say that. I slipped my thumbnail between my teeth and clamped down until it snapped. I brushed it away and picked up one of the barn cats, a striped one, and stroked until it purred. Mama wouldn’t even come help her sister, so how could her death have brought grief? “But Mama never even talked to her. Or at least, not for a long time.”
Daddy rubbed the back of his neck. “When Adabelle left Downington, your mama hurt real bad. She didn’t know much about the man her little sister married, and she’d felt responsible for her after their father left.”
Janie toddled toward the barn door, squealing with delight. I captured her, swung her up into the air. She giggled in my arms. I smacked a kiss on her lips and directed her tottering steps toward the back wall instead.
“What do you mean? I never heard anything about her daddy leaving.”
“No, you wouldn’t have.” He picked up a rake and started to spread fresh hay in Dandy’s empty stall. Frank must have taken the horse out. “His leaving shamed her. Adabelle running away with a stranger did the same thing. Then we got news her husband had died. And Adabelle went to work caring for other people’s houses, other people’s families, instead of coming home to her own.”
His hands rested one on top of the other as he leaned into the rake handle. “Your mama’s a good woman, Rebekah, but a proud one. She doesn’t like to show when she’s hurt.” His eyes found mine. “It might look like anger, but it’s really hurt.”
He resumed his work. “Now her boy’s gone, too.”
I put my hand on his arm. “But he was your boy, too. Are you saying it doesn’t feel the same to you?”
The agony that colored his smile pierced my heart like a needle through silk.
“You raise your kids how you see fit and hope for the best. But you can’t know what’s going to happen. And you can’t change it when it does. It’s painful, but life goes on.”
It was the most I’d heard my daddy say at one time. I chewed on his words, understanding them far better now than I would have before. Poor Mama. She didn’t like having those she loved grow up and make their own decisions, live their own lives.
Even Will, who’d done almost everything she wanted him to, disappointed her in the end. Maybe I could be more patient with her, now that I understood.
“Want milk in your tea, Mama?”
She’d told me long ago it was how the English took their tea. I don’t know how she knew, but she let me drink it that way when I was just a girl, when Santa Claus brought me a tea set for Christmas—a real china pot with matching cups and saucers, but tiny. Mama sat with me that afternoon, her hands trading work for play. I hoped my words would spark some remembrance of that time.
“Are you making cornbread again?”
Yesterday’s resolve to be patient wilted like a morning glory in afternoon heat. I set the cup of tea in front of her and glanced at the almost flat sack of flour in the corner, next to the fat sack filled with cornmeal. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“The batch this morning was too dry. Add more milk this time.”
I sl
ammed a pot onto the range top and waited for her to scold. But she didn’t.
“Is that an automobile I hear?” She hurried to the window, as if the car held her dearest friend.
Over her head I could see a cloud of dust surrounding a familiar Model T. I waited for my heart to leap into my throat. Instead, my stomach dropped to the floor. Would Mama latch on to him or freeze him with her silent stare? Either prospect rattled me.
I blew out a long breath. “It’s Sheriff Jeffries.”
“The sheriff!” Horror colored her words. “What’s he doing here?”
I dusted off my hands, removed my apron. “He’s a friend, that’s all.”
She whirled around, eyes narrowed. “That man’s friend, or yours?”
Before I could answer, the sheriff stood in the doorway, hat twirling in his hands.
“Rebekah.”
Mama’s lips twisted into the kind of encouragement I’d come to dread.
“Sheriff Jeffries.” I cringed at the disappointment on his face. After all, just last week I’d called him Henry. “Please meet my mama, Margaret Hendricks.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Hendricks?” His hat whirled faster. I grabbed it and set it on the table.
His hands fumbled for some other occupation. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Hendricks. Y’all have been in our prayers.”
Mama’s lips flattened. I noticed tight lines at their edges. I’d been waiting for her to mention Will, but she hadn’t. I guessed she didn’t want to discuss her grief. Either that or Frank’s presence had distracted her from it.
“What brings you by today, Sheriff?” I prayed he’d say business of some kind.
A flush crept up his neck. “I came to see if you wanted to go for a drive, Rebekah.” His gaze skittered to Mama now, as if seeking her approval.
Her face brightened. “Dinner’s almost ready, Sheriff. Why don’t you stay and eat? After dinner, we’d love to take a drive.”
I wanted to sink through the floor. “Yes, please stay.”
Dinner and the drive took ages. Or at least it seemed ages. The sun was on its way down when the sheriff left Mama and me back at the front gate.