A Corner in Glory Land

by Janie DeVos

  “That is good news, now ain’t it?” She was genuinely pleased for me. We had always liked each other.

  “It is. Thanks. Are you going into town to sell today?” I noticed she had a crate filled with small bottles, as well various bundles of herbs in the back of the wagon. “I’m surprised Ivy didn’t want to sell some of her medicines, too. Was she headed home?”

  “Don’t know.” Mayoma’s brows knitted together. “She didn’t say.”

  “Well, if she’s not home, then I bet she’s playin’ with her bees.” I smiled.

  “I bet that’s right! She sure loves ’em good, don’t she?” She laughed, shaking her head. “Well, better make hay while the sun’s still shinin’. I’ll see ya, honey.” She slapped the reins against her horse. “Oh, and Eve, slow down some gettin’ home,” she said, almost as an afterthought. “I want you writin’ them stories about the foolishness of us folks here in the scrub for a long time to come.” She smiled.

  “I will, Mayoma; thanks.” I clucked at Maggie to get her moving again.

  The sun’s rays barely penetrated the trees’ thick canopy overhead, but what light did get through was distorted, marking the trail with an abstract, speckled pattern. A soft breeze blew in across the river, and I turned my face toward its cooling touch. Near the far bank, standing half in and out of the water, were several cypress trees, whose long roots always reminded me of old men’s skinny legs with knobby knees.

  I inhaled deeply; the air was heavy with the smell of fish, heat, and sweetly pungent vegetation. Florida. It smelled like Florida. As wild and dangerous and threatening as the land could be, it had claimed me as one of its own many years before. The river was the land’s heartbeat, and she often called me to her, especially when I was troubled, and, even with my good news from the magazine, I felt uneasy, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why. Perhaps it was because of my confrontation with Max Harjo, though I didn’t feel like that was really the cause. Whatever the reason was, though, I needed these last few minutes alone with the river to settle myself.

  By the time I got home, Mama was about ready to head over to the chicken coop to chase down our supper. She’d pretty much given up on the deer meat and was getting ready to kill the old hen that constantly attacked some of our younger hens. I couldn’t help but laugh over the fact that their society didn’t seem so very different than ours, and if Mama had a hand in it, the feathered femme fatale was going to be given the harshest sentence of all.

  “It’s good and fresh,” Mama said after taking the meat out of the newspaper and smelling it. “Half redskin or not, that man always has good meat.”

  “I’m surprised no one has run him out of town or killed him just for being half Indian,” I remarked.

  “Well, Max has enough white in him to keep him alive. And bein’ that he’s one of the best trackers ’round here, folks is happy enough he’s got some red in him, too.”

  “Where’d he come from,” I asked as I chewed on a fresh string bean while carrying the bowl of them over to the table to snap.

  “Alabama, some say, though I’ve heard it said Lu’siana.” She spooned a scoop of bacon grease from a small crock into a cast-iron Dutch oven on the stove. Once it started to sizzle, she added the deer meat, then moved to the kitchen sink, and started rinsing several carrots and onions in a bucket of water she’d brought in from the pump outside. “No one’s sure where he hails from, though,” she said, picking up the conversation again while she began cutting the vegetables into chunks. “He keeps pretty much to himself. Don’t say too much to anyone.”

  I muttered something under my breath about him sure being talkative today, but when Mama asked me what I said, I responded with a question of my own.

  “Has he got any family?”

  “Not that anyone knows. Heard tell that he had a wife and babe that up and died a long while ago, before he got here. Some say it nearly killed him, while some say he killed them! Bottom line: no one knows, so they fill in the blanks to suit themselves. Why?”

  “Oh, no reason, just askin’. I’d never talked to him before today, even though I’d seen him around. He’s a little…well…”

  “Savage-like?”

  “No. I wouldn’t say that. Not really. He was…just different, I guess. Not like the rest of the folks around here.”

  “And that’s why you gotta stay away from him.” She turned and pointed her knife at me to emphasize her point. “We stay with our own kind.” She returned to the stove and added the vegetables.

  “Then maybe we should have stayed in Georgia, Mama—with our own kind.”

  She was caught off guard by my response and turned to look at me. “What’s gotten into you today, Eve? You havin’ your monthly?” She wiped her hands on her apron, walked over to me, and placed a hand on my forehead.

  “Mama, I don’t run a fever when I’m having it.” I laughed, turning my attention back to the beans. I was a little uncomfortable with the whole conversation. It was time to change it. “When’s Ivy gonna be home?” I knew she’d have no more of an idea than I did, but at least we got onto a different topic.

  “Lord only knows.” She added salt from the salt bowl to the stew and then a couple of peppercorns, which she wacked open with a good smack of her meat mallet. After tasting it, she added a little more salt then put the lid on it and moved it to the back burner. “Couple of hours and we’ll be eatin’ good.”

  “Mama, I almost forgot! I got a letter from the Saturday Evening Post!” I pulled it out of my pocket, and she sat down at the table to read the letter. Just then, there was a knock at the door. It was Emmitt Hailey.

  “Emmitt, come on in. Lord, you don’t need to knock. Sit down. Can I get ya a cup o’ coffee?” Mama was already heading for the pot on the stove while waving Emmitt toward the chair she vacated.

  “No, no, Miss Ceily. Don’t go botherin’ yourself none. I’m fine.” He stepped just inside the screen door and remained standing there with his cap in his hands. He smiled and nodded over at me. “Miss Eve.”

  The slender, middle-aged man never seemed to change from year to year. And he always seemed to be on an even keel. It was a rare occasion when I’d seen him mad, and it was usually on the boat with one of his sons when they weren’t performing their duties to his level of perfection.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt y’all, but I just got a note from Cap’n Franks, who heard from Cap’n Dial, on the May Breeze. Seems some of Dial’s crew drank all through Thanksgivin’ night and ain’t in no shape for running the river today. Sent word to Cap’n Franks, wantin’ to know if we can make the trip for ’em instead on the Jocelyn. They’s some folks gotta get on up to Palatka tonight so’s they can catch their connectin’ ship on the St. Johns in the morning. Cap’n Franks told him he’d do it if’n he could get his crew together. So, that’s why I come.”

  “Lord, even when y’all have the day off, you don’t have the day off.” She shook her head while wiping her hands on her apron. “Let me go rouse him. I wish you’d both say no, but I know you won’t do it. Moses and Louis goin’, too?”

  “Just Louis. Moses ain’t around, so we might find us another hand at the dock. Lord, I’d give my eye teeth to have a third of that boy’s energy.”

  “And I’d give my eye teeth for the other two-thirds.” Mama laughed as she opened the bedroom door and went in to wake Papa.

  As dangerous as trips on the Ocklawaha could be at night, I still wished I could go with them. It was truly magical seeing the river and springs by firelight, which is what they used to navigate the narrow river. Metal washtub-style pots were set on the roof of the pilot house, and resinous pine knots were burned within them. Deckhands stood on the sides of the boats holding torches high and illuminating cypress, oaks, and palms, turning them into ghostly sentinels that stood in quiet communion as the boats passed by. Only the best pilots were able to run the river a
t night, and Emmitt Hailey was one of them.

  Just before the sun went down, Mama and I sat down to supper by ourselves. Papa had left with Emmitt, Ivy wasn’t home yet, Joseph had gone up to spend the remainder of the Thanksgiving weekend with Regina and her folks, and James was staying at the timber camp. Much of the time, the timber crews were working a good ways out, and it just made sense for James to stay in camp instead of making the long trek home in the evening and then back again before daybreak. About halfway through supper, Ivy came through the door.

  “Lord, girl, what kept ya?” Mama got up to get Ivy a bowl of stew. “You been workin’ with Mayoma all this time?”

  “Yeah,” she said, sitting down at the table. “We just finished up a batch of poison ivy soap. I’m worn out.” Mama put a bowl of stew in front of her. She grabbed a wedge of cornbread from a plate on the table and crumbled it to pieces into her stew. “That woman works me hard,” she said before shoving a large spoonful into her mouth.

  I got up to start on the dishes. It was hard enough hearing her lie, but it was harder to look at her while she was doing it.

  After dinner, I sat down on the porch to write. The night wasn’t too chilly, and the oil lamp offered some warmth, but even had it been downright cold, I would have still preferred the chill outside to my sister’s company inside. Finally, fatigue won out, and I gathered up my writing materials and went inside just as the clock on the mantle struck ten. Mama was sitting alone in the living room, working on a cross-stitch sampler.

  “Ivy go on to bed?”

  “Uh-huh,” Mama said, removing her spectacles and rubbing her tired eyes. “I’m not long for this world either.” She stood up and groaned as she placed her hands in the small of her back. She had some arthritis, which was only getting worse each year. “Your daddy won’t be home tonight, so there’s no use sittin’ up. I’ll see ya in the mornin’, honey.”

  “Night, Mama.”

  She went into her bedroom but left the door ajar so she could hear any of us if we called out to her in the night, just as she’d done when we were little. Old habits die hard. I smiled. She was a good mother.

  Taking one of the lamps, I headed upstairs to my bedroom. Ivy was in bed, facing the wall with her back to me. I wasn’t sure if she was sleeping or not, so I quietly set the lamp down on my dresser. I washed up at my bowl and pitcher, slipped into my light flannel nightgown, and undid the braid in my hair. It was down to the middle of my back, so I’d have Mama trim it soon. Grabbing my brush, I walked over to the window to look outside while I worked the tangles out. The magnolia tree’s waxy leaves looked black-green in the moonlight, as did the citrus trees beyond. Off in the distance, lightning lit the clouds, which had a yellow haze to them, indicating a strong storm approaching. It was unusual this time of year, though not unheard of. Thunder rolled, following the slash of lightning, and before the sound even stopped, another bolt lit the sky. After closing the window most of the way, I slipped into bed, silently said my prayers, and stared up at the ceiling. I heard Ivy roll over. Glancing at her, I could see in the fading moonlight that she was looking at me, as well.

  “Ivy?” I said softly and turned back to stare at the ceiling again.

  “Yeah?”

  “Where were you this afternoon? Really.”

  I heard her let out a sigh. She waited several seconds before answering. “Sometimes it’s better not to know too much, Eve. Let’s leave it at that, okay?”

  I rolled onto my side to face her. “Ivy, you can talk to me about anything. You know that. I onl—” Before I could finish, there was a loud pounding and shouting at the front door. Startled, Ivy and I froze for a second before jumping out of our beds. Grabbing my robe, and relighting the lamp, I hurried downstairs with Ivy close behind.

  Mama was coming out of her room, trying to stuff her right arm through the sleeve of her robe, while holding a shotgun in her left. “You girls move off to the side!” She ordered. “Lord knows who’s out there and what they want.”

  The pounding was actually causing the heavy door to shake. Walking up to it, she stated loudly, “Who’s—”

  “Miz Ceily, it’s Emmitt Hailey! I got Mister Hap here, and he’s bad hurt!” Mama threw the deadbolt and pulled the door open. Emmitt was standing in the pouring rain, and behind him was his wagon. A tarp was haphazardly thrown across the bed of it and a pair of feet was sticking out beneath it. “He’s bleedin’ bad! Moses has gone for Mayoma.” He turned back to the wagon, stepped up into the bed, and pulled the tarp back, exposing my father. He was as pale as death.

  “I’ll get his feet,” Mama said, handing me the gun, and ran down the porch steps to the back of the wagon. Emmitt slipped his arms beneath Papa’s torso and, as gently as he could, pushed him toward Mama so that she could get a hold of his legs. “Girls, get some more lamps lit!”

  I ran back into the house, grabbed the lamp on top of the couch’s end table, and attempted to light the wick with a wooden match. My hands were shaking so badly that the match went out, but I finally got the lamp lit with a second one.

  As I went for more lamps, I saw Ivy in the kitchen throwing wood in the stove to get the fire built up. We’d need it for warmth, as well as hot water to cleanse any wounds or sterilize any utensils we might use. I brought two more lamps into the living room and found Emmitt gently laying Papa down on top of the tarp that Mama finished spreading beneath him. My father’s white steward shirt was completely drenched in blood, but because of the rain, it was washed out to a medium shade of pink. His navy-blue pants had been stained a dark purple color. Papa’s skin was so white it almost had a blue hue to it.

  “Bring me hot water, scissors, sharp knives, and lots of towels. Tear up a sheet, too,” Mama said over her shoulder to us. Her voice was firm but calm.

  “I’ll get the linens,” I told my sister as I started to run up the stairs to the closet where we kept them.

  “What happened?” I heard Mama ask Emmitt in a flat voice.

  “Damn boiler exploded,” he answered.

  I returned with the linens and saw Emmitt pulling off the one shoe Papa still had on. Only a sock remained on his other foot. Then Emmitt began to pull down his pants so that every inch of my father’s battered body could be examined. Mama worked at cutting away his jacket so that she wouldn’t have to move my father any more than necessary.

  “Cut those towels into long lengths, girls.”

  Taking one of the knives, I began to slice through the material as I watched Mama pull away the remains of Papa’s jacket. When she did, the room went completely quiet as the source of the massive bleeding was revealed: only a stump remained just below the shoulder where my father’s right arm had once been. Tied around the stump was a blood-soaked cloth acting as a tourniquet, which Mama began to carefully cut away.

  “Give me them strips of cloth, somebody! Quick! We got to stop this bleedin’, or we’ll lose him for sure. Emmitt, you say Moses went to fetch Mayoma?” She continued to work at removing the tourniquet but it seemed to be plastered to him because of the thick stickiness of the blood.

  “Yes, ’m. He showed up on the dock right as we were pullin’ out. We’d found us another hand, so he was bein’ left behind. Glad he was. Least he’s alive. Wish Louis had been late, too.” His voice cracked.

  Mama froze as she was reaching for cloth strips Ivy was handing to her. “You mean to tell me Louis was killed, Emmitt?”

  Emmitt nodded his head but didn’t look up from working Papa’s pants off from around his feet.

  “God in Heaven! What’re you doin’ here, then?”

  “Ain’t nothin’ more I can do for him, Miz Ceily…or for Cap’n Franks, neither. Least I can try to help save Mister Hap.”

  He finally looked up at Mama, and we could see tears streaming down the gentle man’s face. His anguish was obvious, but, somehow, he’d managed to keep it in check to try to
help save a man he loved and deeply respected. I couldn’t help but wonder if my father would have been as selfless if the situation were reversed.

  Just then, there were two sharp raps on the door, and Myoma and Moses stepped in. I could see the rain was still coming down in torrents before Moses closed the door. Mayoma didn’t say a word, but her eyes immediately fell to my father. Pushing the hood of her soaked dark gray cloak back off her head, she unbuttoned the one large button holding the garment closed, then pulled it from around her shoulders and handed it to Moses. Mayoma knelt by my father and began to gently probe him, assessing the situation. Ivy walked over, knelt behind Mayoma, and softly asked what she wanted her to do.

  “Pray,” Mayoma said over her shoulder. Then she looked around at all of us. “Pray harder ’n you ever prayed in your life, then start all over again.” She turned her attention back to my father, and the whole room went quiet as the medicine woman bent over him and began to work.

  Chapter 6

  The Waning Light

  I gently slapped the reins against Maggie’s rump to encourage her to pick up the pace. The first few raindrops had started falling and I was glad I’d taken the time to spread the oil cloth over my wagon-load of supplies. Ten pounds each of wet flour and cornmeal would do little to help feed our family, and though times weren’t dire, they were still leaner than they’d been before Papa had been so badly injured. The boiler explosion hadn’t just taken Papa’s arm from him, as well as the ability to make a decent living, it’d also taken his gusto for life, and the light that had once shone so brightly from his brilliant blue eyes had been dimmed by bitterness and pain.

  The physical pain had finally eased but not the mental agony. My father now saw himself as a lesser man and one that had little to offer his family. There were days after Papa’s physical strength had improved, when he’d quietly walk off by himself, and I wondered if he’d come back once darkness fell.