by Ann Towell
She handed it to me. I knew this book was just a packet of lies and not very adventurous because Uncle Amos said penny novels were trash.
“I could read you about the soldiers down south,” I volunteered hopefully, but she would have none of it.
“Do the soldiers down south have ghosts and mansions and a man and woman falling in love? Do they have dark nights with the moon shining down and sinister villains?”
“No, but they have adventure and real life hardship,” I retorted.
“I have real life hardship already. I want something different when I read.”
“Well I’ll be reading, not you,” I argued.
“Yes, because you read so well.” She was trying to butter me up with her soft talk. Though I’d been teaching her, she didn’t want to admit she still couldn’t read well enough to get through the whole book by herself. Most of the words were too big and there were no pictures to guide her along. I supposed Uncle Amos didn’t need to know what we were reading. He would be disappointed if he saw me with one of those penny novels.
So I gave in, and we spent the morning in the kitchen with me reading, and Mercy working. She had strong arms for a girl. She put the kettle on the stove to heat up after several trips to the backyard to pump the water. I offered to bring some of the buckets in, but she wouldn’t let me because I was sick.
“I am not going to be responsible for your death.” Her hands rested on her hips as she glared at me.
I rolled my eyes and sat down. I was surprised to find the story interesting. I helped to hang the clothing on the lines in the kitchen. The washing was done and we had gone through several chapters. Mercy made us some tea and a small lunch.
In the afternoon I helped her dust the parlor and sweep the floors. We were done quickly, so we could read again. At the end of another chapter I closed the book. She leaned back in her chair and sighed. “It’s ever so beautiful. He treats her like a queen.”
“I don’t know. He treats her like she’s made of china, and she doesn’t seem to have much spine to her.”
“What do you know?” She was back to being cross with me. “You don’t have much of a spine neither, if it comes to that,” she sniffed her nose in a haughty way.
I was hurt by what she said. But, I knew it to be true. I wasn’t much of a man, not like Lem and Uncle Amos. “No I don’t suppose I do, but if you’re gonna be mean I won’t read anymore.”
We both sat there in our chairs being angry at each other. I looked out the window and waited for her to say sorry. I suppose she was waiting for the same thing, but she could wait until all the oil wells ran dry before I’d apologize. Finally, I couldn’t take the silence no more.
“Why does she always swoon? ‘Oh, help me.’” I stood up and pretended to faint using a high voice, like I was the heroine.
Mercy threw a cushion at me, almost knocking me over. She caught me unawares. I picked it up off of the floor and threw it back at her. I then lunged out of my chair and started to punch her. She was hitting back as good as she got. We didn’t hear the door open and the men come home. Uncle Amos yelled from the hallway.
“Enough, you two!”
Mercy’s face was red and she turned away from me then. She left the room, edging her way by Lemuel who was laughing in the doorway. He moved a little for her. She went to the kitchen and must have put on her coat because the back door slammed, and she was gone. By then Uncle Amos was in the parlor talking to me.
“What was that all about?” he asked. “Not a very gentlemanly way to behave. You surprise me sometimes, Titus. I thought you were more sensible than that.” Uncle Amos saw the book lying on the couch and picked it up. “Whose is this?”
“Mercy’s,” I mumbled.
“Didn’t know she could read that well.”
“She can’t. That was my job, reading it to her so she could do her work.”
“Didn’t look like reading to me,” Lem guffawed. “She was getting the upper hand too. Good thing we rescued you.”
Uncle Amos’s eyes twinkled, though his face was stern. “It’s no laughing matter when a gentleman raises his hand against a woman.”
“She’s a girl and I’m a boy,” I argued hotly. “She’s a stupid, bossy girl.”
“Girls and boys grow up,” Uncle Amos was more thoughtful now. “Sit down, Titus. Your fists are not meant to be used against the weaker sex.”
“She’s not weaker. She has powerful arms.” My ears were still ringing from the few punches she had delivered to my head.
“Titus, enough arguing. I will not see this kind of behavior in my home again. Do you understand?”
The twinkle was gone from his eyes and I turned my head to look out the window. It’s very embarrassing fighting a girl and having the girl do the winning. It’s even more embarrassing when there are witnesses.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“You might find better reading material too.” He tossed the book back on the couch and headed toward the kitchen to prepare supper.
“It wasn’t me chose that there book,” I called after him.
I always had to get the last word in. I stayed in the parlor, watching the glow of the embers in the grate. Lem came in a little later and got the fire going again. The flames kept me company until it was time to eat.
CHAPTER
18
It was on a Saturday morning when the knock came on the front door. Uncle Amos must have been up already because he answered it straight away. I heard the murmur of voices and pressed my ear to the grate in the floor hoping to hear better. I couldn’t make any sense of it. I only heard the name of Adam McCabe, and that was all.
I stopped to put on socks because the floor was freezing and I struggled into my pants. The water in the ewer was cold but I splashed it on my face anyways. I pulled on a sweater over my shirt and lifted my suspenders over my shoulders. I reached the bottom of the stairs just as Uncle Amos closed the door. He turned to me with a very sad expression on his face. I knew something very important and awful had happened.
It seems Mr. McCabe went down into his well to clear something out of it when he was overcome by the fumes. He died right next to his well after his workmen pulled him out. Uncle Amos and Mr. McCabe were good friends. My uncle would miss him.
Uncle Amos put on his coat. “I’ll be gone for awhile.”
The cold of the morning entered the house when he opened the door. I looked up at my big brother. I could see he wanted to go too, but thought he needed to stay with me here.
“Let’s go,” I suggested hopefully. “Let’s go see what happened.”
For once Lem agreed with me. We each grabbed a piece of bread from the pantry and ate it quickly. Our coats were on before you could say “Jack Robinson” and off we went in the direction of McCabe’s well. When we got there they had already loaded the body on a wagon and covered it with a tarp. I was very disappointed. My one chance to see a dead man, and I couldn’t. I thought about going to the wagon when no one was looking, lifting the tarp, and taking a peek. I wondered if people looked different when they were dead.
I sidled over to the wagon. Uncle Amos was standing there, and I pretended I just wanted to be near him. He laid his hand on my head and looked down at me for a second. His eyes were different somehow, as if he was thinking about being somewhere else. They were red around the edges like he’d been crying, but I knew that a big grown man like him didn’t cry.
I was busy thinking about crying myself, when the creak of the wagon wheels made me realize it was too late for that peek. Uncle Amos was talking with the other men about funeral plans as the wagon passed with its burden.
“The preacher won’t be here until next week, I believe,” he said.
“Naw, he’s here tomorra,” a man said.
“You sure?” Uncle Amos raised his eyes.
“Sure as the sun’s gonna rise.”
“Titus can you run on down to Isabelle’s and bring her back up to the house?”
> “You mean Mrs. Ryan?” I asked all innocent-like.
“Yes, I do,” was all the reply I got.
Uncle Amos followed the men, who followed the wagon back to town. I watched that sad line of folks. Most of them had taken their hats off in memory of Mr. McCabe. The wagon wheels creaked like they was crying.
I turned and ran as fast as I could to Mrs. Ryan’s house. I looked in the window before knocking on the pane of glass. She was busy at the table writing figures in a big ledger. Her head came up and she spotted me at the window. I gave her my biggest smile then remembered what I had come for. She curved her finger at me to come in, so I did. She got up from the table and poured two cups of coffee.
“I don’t suppose you should be drinking coffee, but we’ll make allowances this time.”
I was happy to get something hot to drink because it was cold out there in that blustery wind. The slush had seeped through my boots and my feet were wet. I left a trail of sock prints behind me on the kitchen floor.
“What brings you out on this miserable morning?” she asked. She knew I wouldn’t be here so early except for something important.
“Uncle Amos.” I paused to sip some tea. “Uncle Amos asked me to come and get you so I can take you home with me.”
“Mercy is sick and can’t cook?” Her eyes crinkled when she smiled.
“No, ma’am. There’s been a death.”
“Someone else has succumbed to the plague that’s besetting this town?”
“No, ma’am. It seems Mr. McCabe succumbed to the vapors of his well.”
She didn’t say anything for a minute or two. I think I surprised her with that.
“Adam McCabe?”
I nodded.
“Well…. Well … that’s a real tragedy, Titus. He was a respected member of this community, a beacon of light.”
“Yes ma’am,” I said though I didn’t rightly know what she was talking about.
We each sat there sipping our coffee while waiting for the other to say something, so the loss of another life wouldn’t weigh us down so. I drained the last little bit out of my cup.
“I suppose we should go.” Mrs. Ryan got up, untied her apron, and put on her winter cape and muffler. “Come on then, Titus.”
I put on my coat too, and the wet shoes. I looked forward to getting home and changing my socks. I opened the door for her, remembering to be a gentleman for once.
Mrs. Ryan walks very quickly. I had to run a little to keep up with her. It was like she didn’t remember I was even with her. We got home soon enough but Uncle Amos or Lemuel weren’t there.
“He told me to bring you here,” I shrugged my shoulders. “Do you suppose he went to Mr. Whelan’s?”
“Probably. I suppose they’ll be hungry when they return. Come let’s prepare something.”
I followed her into the kitchen and helped her to make the midday meal. I don’t know where Mercy was. I guess it was her day off.
It was awhile before Uncle Amos and Lemuel came back. We sat down to eat and Mrs. Ryan stayed with us. After lunch I was told to wash the dishes while she and Uncle Amos went into the parlor. Lemuel left to do something. I could hear voices and was tempted to put my ear against the door but thought I had better use my time finishing up the dishes and cleaning the kitchen.
They were still in the parlor when I was done, but I couldn’t hear any more talking. I tiptoed to the door and leaned my ear against the wood but I still couldn’t hear nothing. I was about to find something else to do when the door opened, and I almost fell into the room.
I could see my uncle lying on the couch, his head turned away from me. Mrs. Ryan pushed me out of the room and closed the door behind her.
“Now, Titus, did anyone ever tell you it is terribly impertinent to be listening at doors?”
“Yes ma’am,” I replied.
“Then why did you do it?”
“Well, I was sorely tempted when you all were talking, but I finished the dishes anyway. Then I couldn’t stop myself from trying to figure out what was going on.”
“Your uncle is distraught. He has lost a very good friend. If you must know, he is weeping.”
I could feel my eyes opening wider, “Uncle Amos is crying?”
“Yes,” she said sharply. “Now, I want you to run down to the store for black ribbon. We’ll need to make arm and hat bands. The family will be in mourning.”
“Me too?” I asked.
“Yes, you too. Now run along.”
“I would ma’am, but I don’t have any money.”
She went back into the parlor closing the door firmly behind her once again.
I stood patiently waiting in the hall for Mrs. Ryan. She came out in a few minutes and pressed some money into my hand. We didn’t say anything to each other. She seemed disappointed in me and I felt ashamed. I dressed myself warmly and left.
CHAPTER
19
A group of men were huddled around the wood-stove at the back of the store talking about Adam McCabe. I walked to the dry goods counter where Mrs. Miller was waiting on a few people ahead of me. Seems they were buying black ribbon too. I hoped there would be enough for me when my turn came around.
There was. I ordered what Isabelle had told me to and left the store. Moses was up ahead at the blacksmith’s, sitting on his father’s wagon, just waiting.
“Hey!” His eyes lit up when he saw me. “You want to come with us?”
“I’m not sure,” I replied. “Uncle Amos is up at the house and I got to get back with this black ribbon.” I held the paper-wrapped package for him to see. “I suppose you heard about Mr. McCabe?”
“Yes, it was plum awful. We was working there when it happened.”
“Did you see him dead?” I asked.
“Yes, and it weren’t a pleasant sight.”
“What’d he look like?”
“Dead.”
I rolled my eyes. “Really, what did he look like?”
“He was pale and his eyes were open, staring at nothing.”
“Did he die while you were looking at him then?”
“No. I couldn’t get anywhere near him when he was dying. There was a whole bunch of men around him, trying to help.”
“It must’ve been something awful.”
“Yes it surely was. My father says that another good man was lost to this infernal oil.”
“Uncle Amos said he was a man of integrity. They were good friends. Can I tell you something and you promise not to tell anyone?”
I got up on the wagon next to Moses.
“I saw my uncle cry,” I said and waited for Moses’s response.
He just sat there quiet then said, “Titus, men cry too.”
I didn’t want to seem ignorant so I said, “I know.” Then I didn’t want to lie so I said, “I didn’t really see him cry, but someone told me.”
Moses’s daddy came out of the blacksmith shop and got on the wagon.
“Morning, Titus,” he tipped his hat.
“Morning Mr. Croucher, sir,” I replied.
“Coming with us, then?” he asked, noticing I hadn’t got off of the wagon.
“No sir. I need to get home.” I jumped down, and we promised to meet the next day at the funeral. As it happened, the whole town turned up.
At home, I found my uncle slumped on the couch. A large bottle of whiskey sat on the side table next to him. I woke him up, then I sat next to him. I put my arms around him and laid my head on his shoulder.
“It will be all right, Uncle Amos, I promise,” I said, though I really didn’t know how it would be. “We’re here, Lemuel, me, and Mrs. Ryan.”
His tears dropped down the back of my neck, and I didn’t dare move, or he would know I’d seen him cry. I waited it out until his chest stopped heaving, and he was breathing normal again. He tried to talk, but his words were slurred and he didn’t make much sense.
“Come on, Uncle Amos, let me get you to bed,” I said.
I helped him up, an
d he put his arm around my shoulder. He weighed heavily down on me. We moved like that to the staircase. It was pretty hard getting to the top, but we managed, though we stumbled a few times before we made it all the way.
When we were standing next to his bed I pushed him gently, and he flopped down. I knelt on the floor to take off his shoes, and then I pulled the blankets up and made sure he was covered because it was very cold. The wind was rattling the new windows. I stood beside the bed and waited until Uncle Amos fell asleep.
Back in my room I slept like the dead, I was that tired. Lemuel was the one who got us up in the morning by frying side bacon. The smell had both of us awake and at the table.
The church was small and crowded because everyone had come to say good-bye to Mr. McCabe. We sat on the hard pews while the woodstove tried to warm up the space. The smell of damp wool and unwashed bodies was all around me. I kept on glancing over at Uncle Amos, to see if he was all right. He was pale. His face was still in the thin winter light that leaked through the windows.
The minister, who had just ridden into town the night before, read from the Gaelic Bible because it was the kind that McCabe quoted from regularly.
The sun suddenly came from behind a cloud and shone mightily on the minister’s hair. He read from the Book of Job, the 29th chapter. Afterwards, Uncle Amos told me it was bout Job wishing God was back with him, lighting his life up. He talked of the river of oil coming from the rocks.
Though the words were like music, I didn’t understand them. Uncle Amos explained them to me.
“The minister tried to make sense of it all,” he said. “He tried to tie Adam’s life and death in with the discovery of oil.”
“Was that good, Uncle Amos?” I asked.
“Yes, much better than dust to dust, ashes to ashes,” he replied.
You might wonder why I’m even telling you about the funeral. Well sir, it’s like this. I’m telling you about this here funeral because that was the first time I saw John and Max since they’d disappeared before Christmas. There was still mushy snow on the ground and the streets were partly thawed. Oil ran down the ruts made by the wagon wheels. The stink of oil, mixed with thawing manure was strong after the cold of winter had kept the smell in hibernation, just like the skunks.