by Donis Casey
Charlie moved up to walk beside Alafair. “Do you suppose they’ll die, Ma?” He spoke quietly, so as not to alarm his sisters.
It took Alafair a fraction of a second to come back into the present. “I don’t know, son. Some of them might, but I expect we got their mother to them in time. Animals are mighty good survivors.”
“Why do you suppose she moved them from the barn in the first place?”
“Something in the barn probably spooked her. Who knows what? The cow lowed out of the wrong side of her mouth or a feed sack fell over. Or maybe she just got a notion that she’d like some new scenery. I’m guessing that she’ll move them again, as soon as she’s able.”
“Back to the barn?”
“Maybe.”
“You know, Ma, they was all there but that little gray one I saw the other day, the one that Mary likes. What happened to that one, you suppose?”
“The door probably got shut before the cat got the last kitten moved. The gray one is probably still in the barn somewhere, a lot fatter and happier than her brothers and sisters.”
“I never did see her, though.”
“Nevertheless…”
They had almost reached the house when Charlie-dog broke out of the pack of kids and trotted purposefully toward the bushes at the corner of the front porch. He disappeared behind the ragged forsythia for an instant, then reappeared and loped back to Charlie.
“What are you up to, boy?”
The dog looked up at him, then headed straight back to the bush and began nosing the ground behind it.
“What’s that dog doing?” Charlie wondered, drawing his mother’s attention away from the flitting Grace and to the dog for the first time.
Alafair didn’t bother to answer. She was tired and supper was waiting. She had no interest in any more animal adventures.
Charlie-dog, however, had different ideas. As soon as the family had cleared the front gate, the dog trotted up to Alafair and circled her feet so closely that she nearly tripped over him. She stopped, exasperated.
“He’s found something!” Blanche leaped out of the queue and ran to the forsythia bush, Sophonia and Grace hot on her heels.
Alafair looked down at the dog, feeling resentful, but he calmly moved off to join the children, content that she would follow. He may have been the children’s dog, but he was perfectly aware of who was in charge of the family.
Oddly, a verse of her mother’s old lullaby jumped into her head.
I saw a boy trundle away with a bundle
and carry it down to the brook.
Could that be my kitty, so cunning and pretty?
I guess I’ll go down there and look…
It suddenly occurred to her what Charlie-dog had found. “You kids hold up,” she called, and they stopped instantly, frozen in position, a tableau of running little girls.
Alafair strode past them and hunkered down, pushing forsythia branches aside to get a clear look at whatever the dog wanted her to see. She straightened and backed out of the foliage right into the four kids, who had crowded in behind her.
“What is it, Ma?”
“I’m afraid it’s the little gray kitten, Charlie. Looks like she’s been dead for a day or two. I guess Charlie-dog heard us talking about her and reckoned on letting us know where she’d got to.” The fact that the dog had apparently understood what they were talking about didn’t strike her as unusual. She had known dogs all her life. Some were more human than others, and Charlie-dog was more human than most.
Charlie shook his head, and Blanche and Sophronia snuffled. Alafair looked down at Grace. She expected she was going to have to explain the word “dead” to the two-year-old, but Grace surprised her by opening her mouth and wailing like her heart would break.
“Poor kitty!” she sobbed. “Poor dead kitty!”
Taken aback by the baby’s grief, Alafair nearly burst into tears herself. She scooped Grace up and pressed her to her heart. “It’s all right, honey,” she crooned. “It’s all right.”
Now Sophronia started to cry. Alafair gestured to Charlie to take the girls inside.
He nodded, but he wasn’t letting her off that easily. “What do you suppose happened, Ma?”
“I don’t know, darlin’. It’s hard to tell after all this time. But her little side is stove in, like she was kicked. She probably got stepped on by one of the horses, or some such.”
“Oh, Mama!” Sophronia blubbered. “Can we have a funeral for her, like Uncle Bill?”
“Of course you can, shug. Y’all can have you a little funeral while supper is finishing up. Charlie, you go get a spade. You can bury her back there in the woods where we put old Timmy and that rabbit…”
“Cotton,” Sophronia interjected helpfully.
“Cotton. Girls, go get a box from the tool shed. Here, take Grace with you.”
As the children sped off, Alafair thoughtfully eyed the dog sitting at her feet. “Well, you found her for us. Why don’t you just go on ahead and tell me what happened to her, and when?”
The dog gazed at her, his brown eyes willing, but kept his peace.
It was sad that the kitten had met with an accident, Alafair thought, but perhaps the timing of her demise wasn’t all for the bad, after all. The young girls had not gone to Uncle Bill’s funeral. Having the kitten to bury and mourn might be a good outlet for their unexpressed grief.
She heaved a great sigh. She was always looking for reasons why things happened, and maybe there weren’t any. Maybe everything that happened was just an accident. As the thought arose, Alafair shook herself. No use to think like that. She went into the house to retrieve an old towel to use as a kitten shroud.
***
After the kitten funeral and a long supper in which Sophronia and Blanche relived the ceremony in excruciating detail for their father, Alafair left the family to their popcorn and stories in the parlor and took Grace outside. Her original intention was to make up the beds on the front porch, but when she went out the front door and passed the porch swing, her body simply sat down of its own will, and she let it. When she put Grace down, the girl became engrossed in her rag doll and her wooden animals, and just as dusk was gathering, Alafair found herself as alone as she could be given the size of her family. She watched the baby play and let her mind wander. Why did that cat move the kittens out of the barn, anyway? Did the death of the gray kitten have something to do with her decision to relocate? Alafair must have become mesmerized watching Grace and her dolls, because when someone called her name, she started, and looked up to see a tall figure standing at the gate.
“Good evening, Miz Tucker,” the figure repeated.
“Kurt,” she acknowledged. She eyed him, unsure how she felt about his appearing at her front gate. She decided to withhold judgment, for the moment. “What brings you about? Why aren’t you with Micah, having some supper?”
“I was,” Kurt told her. “We just finished up, and I was on my way back to the barn to see everything is locked up when I saw you out here, ma’am. I want to ask after Miz Day and the baby.”
“They are fine,” Alafair said.
“Is a name decided?”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
“And how is Miz Mary feeling?”
Why do you want to know, Alafair thought? Are you just a nice fellow, or are you concerned that she might have remembered something you’d rather she didn’t? Her inclination was to give a short answer, end this conversation as quickly as possible, and get him away from the house. But after a moment’s reflection, she reconsidered. She got up and walked out into the yard, stopping just short of the gate, keeping the fence between them. Grace calmly tucked her doll under her arm and followed her mother down the steps.
“Mary is tired, and her head aches most of the time, but I’m pretty confident she’ll mend,” Alafair told him. She studied his face carefully as she spoke, looking for either guilt or innocence in his expression, and finding only attention to her words. He was a good-
looking man, tall and thin, with sharp planes to his face, clear blue eyes and a steady gaze. The pale scar served to keep his regular features from being too perfect. He didn’t seem like the cold-blooded murderer type; but then again, who did?
“Tell me about yourself, Kurt,” Alafair asked him, on impulse.
His eyes widened at the question, but if he was taken aback, he didn’t otherwise show it. “Not so much I can tell, Miz Tucker. Micah said about all there is the other night.”
“Why did you leave Germany? Why did you leave your family to come to a faraway country where you didn’t know a soul?”
“I have no family,” he answered her simply.
“No one at all? No mother or father?”
“No, ma’am. Once I had a mother, but she died when I was thirteen.”
“Who took care of you?”
He blinked at her. “Nobody. I was thirteen.”
Alafair looked down at Grace, who was sitting in the dirt at her feet, and pondered Kurt’s reply. She looked back up at him. “Where did you live, then? How did you live, just being thirteen?”
Kurt shrugged. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned one hip against the fence, settling in to tell her whatever she wanted to know. “I was born on a big…what do you say? Like a ranch, a farm, a big piece of land. We call it ein Rittergut. Mutti, my mother, she was a house maid in the big house. Very big house it was, like a castle. When I was big enough, I went to work in the stable, mucking out the stalls. When Mutti died, I stayed on, worked under der Stabilmeister. He was called Wilhelm Jaeger, a good man. He taught me about horse, about metalwork, even paid me a little wage. I am a good saver. When I was eighteen he died, Herr Jaeger, but I had saved enough money from the stables and some extra work at the forge that I could travel here. There was nothing for me in Bavaria, Miz Tucker. No future. Here a man can make something of himself.”
“What about your father?”
“I didn’t know my father,” Kurt said, matter-of-fact. He hesitated and thought about this for a moment before deciding to elaborate. “I saw him, sometimes. He was the second son of the Graf—the lord, the nobleman, I think is the word. At least this is what my mother told me. I had no reason not to believe her.”
Alafair was mildly shocked, but tried not to show it. “And he wasn’t inclined to provide something for you?”
For the first time that Alafair could remember, Kurt smiled. “He wasn’t inclined to care if I live or die, ma’am. I was not his only little…” He hesitated, his English failing him. He unconsciously touched the scar on his cheek.
“Did he give you that scar, son?”
Kurt quickly dropped his hand and gave her a shallow smile and a shrug. “The Graf was a cruel man.”
“Your own grandfather did that to you?”
“Things are different where I am from, Miz Tucker. For many years, much of my life, I think, I hate him and all like him, who own much land and the people who lived on it also. My little mother was gentle and helpless, but those rich people, to them she was another piece of property, like their horse or their dog. I didn’t like to be a rich man’s horse, so I came here.”
No one spoke for a long moment. Kurt seemed content to let Alafair digest his tale, and Alafair was in no hurry to comment. Grace stood up from the dirt and skipped to the fence, where she handed Kurt one of her little carved horses over the pickets. He accepted it gravely.
“That’s horse,” Grace informed him. Unable to pronounce the “th” sound, she had actually said “dat’s horse,” and Alafair noted with some amusement that Kurt and the baby suffered from the same speech impediment.
“Thank you, Miss,” Kurt said. He began to gallop the horse across the top of the fence for the child’s amusement, but he looked at Alafair. “So do you think less of me, now, ma’am?” he wondered mildly.
“Why?”
“For how I was born low.”
“That’s hardly your fault. I approve of your desire to better yourself.”
“I’m glad. I thought you should know.”
She had in fact wondered why he would tell her something so personal, since she didn’t consider his circumstances any of her business. She dismissed his comment as a cultural difference.
“It’s a hard feeling I have, maybe, but this war that is happening in Europe…I hope Germany loses,” Kurt was saying to her. “I know I am born German, but I want to be American, now, and forget all about Germany. Micah has helped me a lot. He has been a good friend. He taught me about America, taught me English. Rough English,” he amended. “Miss Mary has helped me to speak much better, more proper. I am grateful to her.”
When he mentioned Mary, Alafair tensed. “You like Mary, do you?”
Kurt’s face changed instantly from open to guarded. He handed Grace’s horsey back to her and backed off a step. “Miss Mary is good person, good to me. But of course, I know my place.”
“Your place?” Alafair repeated, taken aback.
“I am the hired man.”
Alafair’s first instinct was to reassure him, but in light of her concern for Mary, and Kurt’s sudden odd behavior, she said nothing.
Kurt took her silence for dismissal. He bid her good night and beat a retreat toward his little room across the barnyard. Alafair watched him go, torn. She had never paid much attention to Kurt. He had always been Micah’s tongue-tied shadow. She had asked him for his tale, after all, and at another time, she would have been touched by his openness and his willingness to trust her. But under the circumstances, she simply wished he would go away.
She picked up Grace and turned to go into the house, when the wind suddenly picked up, stirring the leaves in the elms. Grace dropped her wooden horse, and Alafair was bending to retrieve it when she heard the moaning on the wind. She froze where she was, squatting on the path with Grace on one arm and the other reaching for the toy, listening.
“That lady cry?” Grace wondered, concerned.
“Do you hear it, too, punkin’?”
“Who that, Mama?” Grace asked her.
“It’s somebody who is lost, honey, and can’t find her way home.”
Chapter Eleven
At first Grandpapa used to take Daddy and his brothers with him on those horse-buying trips, then Uncle Howard came along, and finally Uncle Bill. Eventually all the boys grew up and left home, all but Uncle Bill, and for the last few years, Grandpapa hasn’t even made the trip. He’s just left it to Bill. Well, Bill told us that the very first time he went down to Waco without Grandpapa, he arranged to go with some of his friends: Nix Webb, the Turner boys, and Farrell Dean Hammond. Nix Webb’s father has worked for Grandpapa for twenty years, and Nix and Bill knew each other all their lives. The Turner boys are both interested in horse breeding. I guess it’s in their blood, since they grew up around old man Turner’s livery business. And as for Farrell Dean, well, I expect he didn’t know one end of a horse from another. He was just always up for an adventure.
***
Mary had slept most of the day on Sunday but rose early Monday morning, and, skipping her breakfast duties, slipped out of the house into the murky pre-dawn. The early morning air and misty light felt good to her after the long, anxious hours at Phoebe’s. For a long time, she simply stood next to the back door, close to the house, and enjoyed the relative cool. She greeted her brothers when they left the house, heading for the barn to do the milking, but didn’t move from her spot. She was aware of her mother checking on her from the kitchen window every fifteen seconds, but thankfully Alafair didn’t try to make her come inside, so she tried to ignore the distraction.
When the sun finally arose enough to allow Mary to see what she was doing, she walked out to the vegetable garden to water and perhaps pull up a stray weed. The early morning in mid-August was the only tolerable time of day to move around, and it felt good to Mary to stretch her muscles, keep busy, and avoid thinking as long as possible.
She hadn’t been in the garden but a few minutes when s
he caught sight of Micah watching her from the yard at the corner of the house. He smiled at her and straightened when he caught her looking at him, and casually placed one hand in his pocket. The move drew Mary’s attention to the gun belt slung low around his hips. He tipped his hat.
“You must be on guard duty this morning,” she said. Taking her comment as an invitation to talk, he walked over to the low chicken wire fence that ringed the garden.
“Mr. Tucker asked us to watch the house while y’all were over at your sister’s, but I reckon I’m just on my way to work right now. I seen you over here and expected I’d better come over and see if everything is all right.”
“Everything is fine, thank you very much.” Her tone was more acerbic than she had intended, and Micah looked slightly taken aback. Mary felt a brief sting of regret that she had snapped at her would-be protector, and determined to moderate her exasperation. She gave Micah a conciliatory smile, and his stance relaxed.
“Are you planning on shooting something?” She nodded at his gun belt.
“I hope not, ma’am. Just seems like a good idea to go armed while there’s still a killer on the loose.”
Mary nodded and bent back to her task, but Micah didn’t seem to be in any hurry to move. “I was right pleased to hear about your new niece.”
Mary flicked him a glance. “Thank you.”
“I expect you must be tired out.”
“I have been, but it’s not so bad this morning. It’ll probably catch up with me later. Right now the excitement’s got me all stirred up, I guess.”
“You’re looking better,” Micah observed.
She stood up. “Than what?” she asked, and laughed, a not-very-happy laugh.
But it seemed to be good enough for Micah. The gray eyes crinkled. “It’s nice to hear you laugh again, Miss Mary. I always admired your laugh. It bubbles like water over stones in a Colorado mountain stream.”
Mary placed her hand on her hip and shifted her weight to one leg, not bothering to move closer to the fence for a more intimate conversation. She did appreciate the comment more than she might have expected, though. “You’ve been to Colorado?”