by Amy Lukavics
I’m starting to believe that Hell is everywhere.
After he is finished purging the cabin of the soiled furniture, Pa moves the pieces to rest in a huge pile beside the cabin, declaring that he’ll dig a trench to burn it all in during one of his next workdays. Then he cuts down enough grass for him, Emily, myself and Joanna to sleep on top of in the front yard. Charles, Ma, and Hannah will sleep in the wagon, where they are to be safe from whatever terrible creatures lurk around here at night.
I’ve never seen a rattlesnake, but I heard Pa talk about them on the way here, how you especially have to keep your eyes out when wading through the tall grasses, how they could strike a child’s face or a horse’s knee faster than the blink of an eye.
I don’t like the idea of always being afraid of the snakes—the grasses are just so tall, everywhere, it’s like we’ll never be able to fully relax without worrying about somebody getting bitten and withering away from the deadly venom. I can hear a few rattles in the distance, none of them close, but they are unnerving all the same. I pray to God that they stay away from us.
Pa goes hunting for stew meat in the late afternoon, and returns only ten minutes later with one of the largest jackrabbits I have ever laid eyes upon. Its ears are so long that the body drags across the ground as Pa holds it at his side, the massive things bunched together inside Pa’s huge fist. It’s far less fat than a mountain rabbit, but will still provide at least twice the meat.
Ma attempts to start a cooking fire, but ends up nearly starting a blaze that could have claimed the entire prairie in under an hour.
“For God’s sake, Susan!” Pa scolds, frantic, as he stomps out the quickly spreading flames that pour like fluid over the dried grass surrounding Ma’s fire pit. He drops the jackrabbit in the excitement, and it lays in a grotesque pile, facedown, over the burnt grass. “You have got to be more careful out here! Dig a deeper pit and wet the edges with water from the barrel!”
Ma nearly bursts into tears. Coincidentally, Hannah begins howling from the back of the cabin just a moment later.
“You do it.” Ma sniffs and turns away from Pa, dropping her spade into the dirt with a metallic thunk. “Hannah needs me.” I expect Pa to scold her for dropping his tool, but he doesn’t. After a frustrated sigh, he picks up the spade and starts working on the fire pit.
Ma walks to the wagon where Hannah is, her mouth and eyes surrounded by ever-deepening wrinkles. I want to hug her so badly, but if I did that she would feel my belly sticking out from beneath my dress, and then Hannah would be the least of her worries. So when she passes by, I stay still.
If only she could have just one day away from that baby...I think. Damn that baby. Damn that winter.
I retrieve the twisted rabbit from its place on the ground and begin cutting away flesh from lean, tough muscle, and it feels wonderful, puts me at some ease, the sound of the flesh ripping, the crunch of broken cartilage. I almost wish I could do it forever.
Dinner is mostly silent, and then it’s to bed for everybody. I can’t decide what would be worse: sleeping inside that stinking cabin of spiders and flies or out here with the wild animals to devour us in the night.
Every time I close my eyes I imagine a snake burrowing in the foot of my blankets, or slithering across my throat while I sleep, and when I finally do manage to fall asleep it’s all I can dream about, and I wake up feeling more tired than I was when I lay down.
After rigging up his old wooden cart from the wagon to Rocky, Pa leaves for the settlement early, promising to be back by sometime late in the night or early tomorrow morning. The moon is full, he says, and will light up the prairie just fine. He tells Ma again that everything will be fine. I can tell that Ma is nervous, and if I’m being honest, so am I. How terrible would it be if Pa got lost and never came back?
After Pa has gone, the children play tag in the front clearing, whirling around the weeded fence posts and wheelbarrow and pile of wood. Ma rolls up all the blankets and makes a safe area for Hannah inside the wagon, then gives the baby a small rag to chew on and tug around.
“All right, girls,” she says and straightens her back, looking to the forest that lines the south edge of the prairie. “It’s time for us to find some water. There’s still a bit left in the rain barrel, but not much, especially after Pa filled his canteens for the trip to town.”
She looks back to the direction where he rode off and bites her lip. I can still see his silhouette on the horizon, but barely. I realize with a heavy stomach that he has the map, and if he were to perish, we would have no idea where to go for help.
“Anyway,” Ma continues, “it’s going to be very hard work.”
“But where could we find any water around here?” Emily asks, her nose crinkled underneath her sunbonnet. “This place is dry as a bone.”
“They wouldn’t have built a home here if there wasn’t water nearby,” Ma says, not sounding entirely sure. “I don’t see a well anywhere, so my next best guess is that you two will have to look for a creek in that forest back there. If you each took two buckets—”
Emily groans loudly in complaint, and my jaw almost drops in shock. Emily never sasses Ma or Pa, ever, that’s always been my misgiving. And with the day Ma’s been having, what is my sister thinking?
“If there’s still water in the rain barrel, couldn’t you allow us to rest for just one day before sending us out again, Ma?” Emily rubs her arms and pulls her mouth into a pained grimace. “My body is so very sore.”
Something is amiss. I saw Emily lifting Charles into the air to spin him around not five minutes ago, and her arms didn’t seem to hurt then. Her eyes meet mine again for just a second—unintentional, but I catch it, and now I know what she’s doing.
She’s trying to get us out of the work for me, not her. She must have observed how hard the trip has been on my body, despite my best efforts to hide it. It would be a lie to say that my stomach didn’t turn with dread when Ma mentioned the forest.
I feel as though I’m about to fall apart.
I expect Ma to scold Emily and punish her—that’s certainly what she would have done to me if I had been so bold—but instead she just turns her back to grab Hannah and mumbles something about doing what we please until it’s time to prepare lunch. Upset at being picked up so suddenly, Hannah thrashes and screams against Ma’s body. Ma hums a low, gentle tune, over and over and over, until the baby calms enough to press her face into Ma’s throat to feel the vibrations.
“Thank you, sister,” I whisper to Emily after I know Ma can’t hear us. “I really appreciate—”
“Why are you thanking me?” my sister says, then starts walking toward Joanna and Charles. Emily calls out to them, wants to play with them, wants to get away from me. “I said that my body was hurting and I meant it.”
If Ma notices that Emily’s running and tagging with the children seems inconsistent with her woeful claim, she doesn’t mention it. I think that she’s reached her limit for the day already, all before it’s even gotten a chance to begin. I mourn my ma’s former happy self and wander away, so that there’s less opportunity for her to pay attention to me and notice my belly.
I thought I would be braver by now, I thought that with time I’d grow more ready for my ma and pa to know about the baby, but I find myself just as afraid now as I was the day I realized I was with child.
I can’t let them find out about this baby, I just can’t. Oh, how I wish it could all go away.
I make my way around the side of the peeling cabin, inspecting it with disgust, terrified at the idea of giving birth here. I wonder again if I’ll even survive the labor. Does dwelling on such morbid things make them more likely to happen in the future? Is praying for death blasphemous?
I’m removed from my thought when I round the back end of the cabin and see something sticking up through the grass—a cast-iron w
ell pump. The new cabin has water access! It wouldn’t be working now after being abandoned for so long, but maybe Pa can repair it once he gets back from that settlement. I step forward to inspect the well pump for any irreversible damage, and the smile from my discovery fades.
The grass and weeds directly around the pump have been torn away, and by the looks of it, somewhat recently. I take the pump handle in my hand and pull it up before pushing down. Cold water pours from the open spout and splashes into the dirt.
Someone has been to this cabin lately.
“Ma,” I call around the corner, waving my hand. She makes her way over, careful to stay far enough from the cabin that Hannah won’t scream in reaction to the smell. “Come, look at this.”
“Praise the Lord,” Ma gushes when she sees the well pump. She wipes the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve, and Hannah lets out a short yell. “Pa can get that in working order in no time—”
“That’s just the thing, Ma,” I say, and lean forward to grab the iron handle again. I pump it and more water rushes out. “It’s already working.”
“That’s wonderful!” Ma cries, smiling for the first time in weeks. “What an improvement over hauling the rain barrel back and forth from the creek on the mountain, right?”
She doesn’t seem the least bit suspicious, or even curious, as to how or why the well pump is working so well.
“Someone’s been using this pump,” I say slowly. “Isn’t that a bad sign? Doesn’t that mean that maybe this property is spoken for?”
Ma looks at me as though I am not speaking a language she understands. “You’re asking if it’s a bad thing that we found fresh water in the middle of this inferno of a flatland? Amanda, there isn’t a soul to be seen around here for miles. It’s just a blessing, is all. Nobody lives here, how could they? The inside of the—”
That’s when someone steps out from behind the corner of the cabin. Since the figure is far too tall to be one of the children, my instinct wants to assume that it’s Emily. I open my mouth to tell her about the well pump when I realize that it isn’t Emily at all.
There is a boy with tanned leather trousers and a wide-brimmed hat standing in the grass, staring at us, unblinking.
He is holding a shotgun, and his hands are shaking.
One of the few things that Pa taught me about guns is that you don’t hunt with a shotgun. You hunt with a rifle, which is used for accurate, long range control, the only type of gun that Pa owns. Shotguns have a more distinct and gruesome purpose: short-range annihilation. You use a shotgun when you want to take something’s head off.
The boy’s hands are still trembling. Ma gasps.
“P-please,” she says, while Hannah presses her face into Ma’s chest. The baby’s features relax in fascination as she absorbs the thud of Ma’s heartbeat. “My children...”
Inside of me, there is a terrible sort of mix. There is the panicking pulse of fear for our lives, but then there is also this hope, a strange hope, a morbid hope, that perhaps I won’t have to see Ma’s face when she finds out about Henry after all, won’t have to endure the slaps to my face that Pa would carry out with a heavy hand. Hope that perhaps I won’t burn like this for eternity after my head is misted into oblivion.
“I won’t shoot you,” the boy says suddenly, as if he’s only just now making that decision, as if he had to struggle with it. He takes a deep breath and glances to the window of the cabin. “I was— I didn’t mean— I’m so sorry to have scared you. I was just shocked to see anybody here, that’s all. My name is Ezekiel Jacobson, but my pa calls me Zeke.”
“Where did you come from?” I ask. “Do you live here?”
Zeke looks in disgust at the peeling bark of the cabin’s logs, the cracking and crumbling of the clay in between, the weeds around the bottom edges. “Of course not,” he replies. “Haven’t you looked inside?”
“Of course,” Ma says, her hand over her stomach. “We’ve only just arrived to settle here. We didn’t know anyone had claimed the land. My husband, Edmund, should be back any minute now...”
Ma is still afraid of the boy with the shotgun. She’s probably wondering, as I am, why he’s not holding a rifle instead, if he were hunting. By his reaction to the sight of us, it almost feels as though he was expecting somebody. Somebody else.
“This land isn’t claimed, ma’am,” Zeke says, his eyes shifting to the ground. “My pa and I live in those woods to the south—our cabin is only about a mile or so into the trees, so we’re about two miles total from here. We’ve just been running the well pump, is all. My pa, uh...he wouldn’t be too happy at the idea of losing access to it. He’s a doctor, and—”
The children scream from where they play in the front clearing, and Zeke looks quickly over his shoulder toward the sound. His grip around the gun tightens. “How many of you are there?”
“Seven total, including Edmund,” Ma says quietly, still eyeing the shotgun. She shifts her weight. “Listen, I’m sure we could come to an agreement regarding the water...”
Zeke realizes now that my ma is still terrified of him. He sees her looking at his gun, he sees how hard she is trying to hold it together, and his eyes widen in surprise.
“Oh, no, ma’am,” he says, and slowly slides the gun into a holster on his hip. His hands have stopped trembling. “I promise I am not here to do you any harm. I was just coming to gather some water, like I said—”
Just then Emily rounds the corner of the cabin, oblivious to the presence of the stranger. “Ma, the children are starting to ask for something to eat. Should I—”
That’s when she sees Zeke. She takes a step back, her mouth open in a tiny O. “Who is this?”
“Where’s your bucket?” I say to the boy, ignoring my sister’s question. “You said you were coming to gather water, but you don’t have anything to put it in.”
“I...” Zeke blushes at the sight of Emily. Now that he’s not carrying the shotgun, I’m able to see that he looks to be about her age. “Wasn’t there one next to the pump?”
“What water?” Emily says. “What pump?”
She spots the cast-iron well pump behind me. “Oh.”
“There wasn’t any bucket,” I say. I do not want to let it go. I want to know who he was looking for, or who he was expecting.
“You said your pa is a doctor?” Ma asks, suddenly interested now that the gun is put away. “How many people are there in your family?”
Zeke frowns at the question. He sticks his hands into his pockets. “It’s just my pa and me, ma’am. But he’s a doctor, yes. He travels to Elmwood twice a week to see if anyone needs fixin’.”
“Do you think he’d be willing to examine my baby?” Ma says. Her eyes are lit up, desperate at the opportunity, more alive than I’ve seen them in months. “I was ill when I had her. It caused her to be born blind and deaf, but there weren’t any real doctors on our mountain, and all I want is for someone official to tell me that she isn’t in pain, that she’s scared but adjusting, that she’ll be all right...”
She cuts off as if there is a lump in her throat. Her eyes are glassy.
“Of course,” Zeke says gently. “I’ll tell him about your baby as soon as I get home. You never mentioned your names, ma’am. Just that your husband’s name is Edmund.”
“Susan Verner,” Ma says, and motions to the baby on her hip. “This is Hannah. And my daughters, Amanda and Emily.”
Zeke smiles at Emily. “Lovely name, miss.”
Emily grins, causing a wave of mild irritation to rise within me. She ought to be careful, that sister of mine. She has no idea what she could be getting herself into.
“The younger ones out front are Joanna and Charles,” Emily says. Her voice is different than usual, smoother, more deliberate. Is she flirting? They’d better cut it out unless they want Ma to catch on to thei
r little connection. A breeze brings the stench of the cabin into my nostrils for just a moment, and my stomach turns.
“How are you planning on living here, if you don’t mind me asking?” Zeke’s attention is back to Ma. “This place, it isn’t fit for anyone. It hasn’t been for years. Nobody really comes out here to—”
“What happened inside?” Ma asks. “Do you or your pa know? We thought that maybe someone had slaughtered a horse or ox in the cabin.”
Zeke doesn’t say anything for a moment, he just looks to the window of the cabin again. I want to mention the bucket once more, just to show that I am aware of his lie. It takes a liar to know one, maybe, but all I know is that he did not come here to collect water.
“We’re not sure,” he finally replies. Ma sighs in disappointment. “It’s been like this for as long as I can remember.”
“My husband is going to repair the floor,” Ma says. “Among other things.”
Zeke smiles darkly. “Is he really going to be back any minute, or were you just saying that because you thought I was going to hurt you?”
Emily and Ma laugh at the remark, but I don’t. Zeke’s smile at their reactions fades when he sees my face. “There should have been a big bucket by the pump,” he says again. “I left it here last time I came.”
“Strange,” I say, and cross my arms. I hope he can tell that I don’t believe him. The barrel of the shotgun glitters in the sun as the boy in the wide-brimmed hat shifts his weight. “Strange indeed.”
“Tomorrow I’ll bring my pa back with me to take a look at Hannah,” he says to Ma, and she thanks him gratefully. From the front end of the cabin comes the sound of Charles yelling at Joanna, something about cheating and being rude, and Ma excuses herself to go see to them.
“I’ll bring my horse with me, too,” Zeke says once she’s gone. “So I can carry more water.”
“How often do you come to use the pump?” Emily asks. “Will we be seeing you around often, Zeke?”