“Just a few more.” June moved in around a large clump.
“Come on, we’re going!” Marie and Sandy turned toward home. They walked a way and then glanced back. June was nowhere to be seen.
Sandy called again in exasperation, “Right now, June, or you’ll have to walk all alone.”
Sandy and Marie continued, the bucket of plums between them. June appeared, walking slowly, eating from a handful of berries cupped up against her T-shirt.
The drone of summer filled them with complacency. They walked slowly, in silence, scuffing along on the dry summer grass. On the other side of the pasture Marie and Sandy set the bucket down beneath an old maple that stood on the edge of the path. It was a huge old tree with low-hanging branches just made for climbing. The trunk was so large that the two girls could not encircle it by holding hands and stretching as far as they could. Shep saw them settle down at the base of the tree; then he turned and headed toward the creek. Sandy and Marie watched June as she started across the pasture. She moved slowly, enjoying her berries. After the last berry was devoured, she concentrated on licking at the blue stain on each finger.
“Why doesn’t she hurry up?” complained Marie, fingering the plums in the bucket. She plucked out the largest one and rubbed it on her jeans until it was shiny and reflected her round brown eyes back at her like a mirror.
“You’d better not eat too many of those. You know what will happen,” cautioned Sandy.
She closed her eyes and rested her head against the maple. Every once in a while she glanced across the pasture to note June’s progress. Then movement to the left caught her eye, and she straightened with a start. A shaggy animal had come into the field and was standing quietly watching June as she meandered along pulling at the grass. Sandy knew at once that it was one of the bulls Joe had warned them about. He shook his head, flapping his long, scraggly ears and tossing his sharp, ugly horns into the air. Sandy caught her breath. Marie heard her and looked up and then out to where her gaze was riveted. Marie jumped to her feet.
June was a little over halfway across the pasture when the bull started to move toward her. At first it was a slow, curious pace. Then he stopped, pawed the earth, and lowered his head. By this time June was about thirty feet from the tree.
“Look out, June!” came Marie’s frightened cry.
June looked up, saw the bull, and froze. He was not more than a hundred feet away from her. He had raised his head and was watching her, his snorts punctuating the afternoon.
Every detail of his shaggy coat was visible. His left horn curled slightly and then went straight up instead of flaring like the other. His hide was mostly black, with a slight hue of brown beneath the throat and down the inside of the front legs. His tail was thin and worn where it brushed the ground. His black nose showed tiny flecks of white froth around each large, slightly flared nostril. Fascinated, the animal and girl stared at each other across the distance.
Sandy rose to her feet, shaking. She tried to keep the fear from her voice as she spoke to June. “Move very slowly, June. Edge your way toward us.”
“I can’t!” cried June. “I can’t move.”
The bull watched June intently. He twitched his tail, arching it a bit, and then Sandy saw the muscles along his flanks begin to ripple.
“Get up in the tree, Marie.”
“What about June?”
“Just do as I say!” muttered Sandy through clenched teeth.
Marie didn’t argue, but grabbed one of the lower branches and swung herself up. The movement caught the bull’s eye, and at that same moment Sandy dashed out into the pasture, caught June by the arm, and started dragging her back.
The bull was caught off balance. By the time he had regained it, the girls were halfway to the tree. The animal let out a roar, lowered his head, and charged, tail flying.
Suddenly, a blur of brown and white shot past the girls toward the charging bull. Sandy and June had hugged the safety of the tree for only a moment when the bull thundered past them, charging Shep. The dog snarled and snapped, keeping the bull busy while Sandy boosted June up onto the limb with Marie. She swung herself up just as the bull turned from the dog and charged the tree. The shaggy animal roared, pawed the earth, and charged the tree again and again. The girls clung desperately to the limb as the tree shuddered. Shep snapped savagely at the bull’s heels, whirling sharply to avoid his slashing hooves.
Then it happened. The bull turned on his antagonizer. There was a loud yelp, and Shep was thrown high into the air. He landed with a hollow thud in some bushes near the tree.
The bull turned toward the tree. Flecks of foam dripped from his nose, and his large bulging eyes, traced by red veins, were watering. Anger rumbled from him like a locomotive. He attacked the tree again and again. He caught his crooked horn through the pail of plums and threw them high into the air. The plums scattered over the ground, but the bucket hooked around the crump in his horn and hung fast. He tried to shake it loose, but it held. Again and again he lowered his head and flung it high. The bucket remained hooked. The last the girls saw of him he was still bucking and rearing, flinging his head, and trying to free himself of his unwanted ornament. Long after he was out of sight his bellows echoed.
The girls clung to the branch a long while. Then June began to cry. “He killed Shep! What are we going to do. He killed Shep!”
Trembling, Sandy slipped down from the tree and went over to where the dog lay. Marie and June followed. They bent over Shep. Sandy ran her hands over him, searching for wounds. There was no blood. “Maybe he’s just knocked out. He’s still breathing.” She pointed to his ribs. They were moving slightly. “Come on’ we’ll carry him to the creek and see if some water will bring him around.”
The dog was heavy and awkward to carry. Sandy staggered under his weight. June and Marie hovered anxiously. When they reached the creek, Sandy lowered Shep gently into the cold rushing water and began to sponge his head. There was no response.
She held him there and continued to splash the water over him. Then she felt a shudder, and the dog began thrashing around, trying to get to his feet. As he groped for his footing, Sandy tried to steady him. He stood at last, head down, eyes glazed. He tried to shake himself, but fell.
The girls watched anxiously as Shep slowly recovered. He stumbled around, shaking himself but moving more steadily with the passing of time. June sat in the water, oblivious of the cold. She hugged Shep and stroked his wet, matted fur. Her tears ran freely. “It’s all right, Shep,” she whispered, softly running her thin hand along his tangled ruff. “You’re going to be all right.”
The return home was quiet, the girls reflecting on their narrow brush with tragedy. “Darn’ old bull,” Marie muttered, kicking at some gravel as they turned up the drive. “He ruined all our plums.”
chapter 10
Sandy stood in the barn at the opening of their tunnel. It was all that was left. Outlines of the bales that were gone still showed where the stack had been.
She bent and crawled into the darkness. There was still a reassurance in the scratchy closeness, a safeness that Sandy needed. She lay on her back, eyes closed, trying not to think—trying only to feel and understand. But she could not control her wayward thoughts. Like June and Marie, they kept popping up and needing attention.
The thought of the bull’s red eyes and terrible horns made her wince and start to perspire. The thought of Mrs. Baxter’s soft hazel eyes and gentle voice made her cry. Why couldn’t her mother be like that? Why wasn’t she concerned about them? How could she just leave like that—and with him?
He wasn’t even nice to her. He yelled at her all the time, and one time Sandy had seen him hit her. When Sandy screamed at him to leave her mother alone, he had pushed her down. Her mother had turned on him then and told him never to lay a hand on Sandy again. He had backed off, and her mother had helped Sandy up gently. She had felt good then, for she felt loved and wanted. The loved feeling had made the hurt from his sl
ap seem small and unimportant.
She didn’t feel loved now. She felt lost and alone and, yes, she had to admit it, she was scared. She had tried to hide her fear, even from herself, but the episode with the bull had shaken it loose, so that she had to face it. What if something had happened to June! She shuddered at the thought. She didn’t want to be responsible anymore. She no longer felt capable of taking her mother’s place.
Sandy cried out against the fate that had pushed her into an unwanted role. Why? Why? And then the resentment. She had watched June grow peaked over the past weeks. She always tried to make sure that June ate, but still she did not look well. Sandy felt all tight and funny, too, when she saw June watching patiently for the mailman, expecting a letter that would never arrive. She wanted to shake her, to tell her that her mother wasn’t important, that she should realize they would have to get along by themselves, and to stop wasting time moping over someone who did not care, who had never cared. Sandy’s hatred grew.
She heard the soft whine of Shep and then felt his warmth as he came into the tunnel and snuggled against her. She rubbed her hand over him, and he cried out when she pressed on the lump along his left flank. She buried her face in his ruff, and the thoughts continued their wayward journey.
Joe—his soft lips and brown eyes, the way he had held her against his chest. Her heart beat fast again, remembering, and she touched her lips.
She was so full of feelings she thought she would burst for wanting to share them; but she bottled that memory, and another thought slipped into focus—money. Would they have enough to last them through until bean season? She could swing enough for groceries and one sack of bran. But what were they going to do about shoes and clothes. They had managed to go barefooted most of the summer; but summer was passing, and they would have to have shoes. Their clothes had reached the point where they couldn’t simply be washed or patched much longer. Well, if they worked hard at the beans, they could get enough money to buy a few things.
Sandy’s thoughts were interrupted by a low, cramping pain. She tensed against it. Thin lines appeared around her eyes; her lips tightened. Then the pain passed, and Sandy went on with her planning. The helplessness she had felt when she crawled into the remains of their retreat began to vanish as she thought out solutions to their most pressing needs. She stroked the soft fur of the dog, and her mind raced ahead.
“Sandy! Sandy!” came Marie’s complaintive voice.
Oh, darn! thought Sandy. Can’t they leave me alone!
She didn’t want to hear Marie’s complaint. She had too many problems of her own. She needed time to think, time to herself. She wanted to understand her feelings, to solve her own problems. She was tired of being burdened with their problems. If she could only run away and hide, if she just had some time to think about all the things that had happened to her—about Joe and the changes within her that she didn’t understand. She lay very quiet, her hand across Shep’s head.
“Sandy?” Marie said again. “Are you there?”
As Marie bent and looked into the tunnel, Shep whined and wriggled free of Sandy’s hand and moved toward her. “How come you didn’t answer me?” she demanded. Not waiting for a reply, she continued with a strange note of concern in her voice. “It’s June, Sandy. You’d better come right away. She found all those letters that you never mailed.”
Sandy jerked herself upright. “Darn it, anyway! What was she doing nosing around in my drawers? Can’t I have any privacy from you two?” Her frustration and anger pushed her from the tunnel and exploded from her as she shook loose the clinging straws. She blinked in the bright light of the afternoon and looked back longingly at the dark security of the haystack. But her anger melted when she saw the worried lines on Marie’s face. Her eyes were even larger than usual with an unaccustomed concern.
“You ought to see her, Sandy,” she said in a whisper, ignoring the older girl’s outburst. “She just sits there and stares at nothing. It’s scary. She knows you’ve lied from the very beginning.”
Sandy ran into the house and found June sitting on the cracked linoleum floor, the envelopes addressed in her own neat printing stacked in front of her. In a smaller stack were those first few letters Sandy had tried to fake. Why hadn’t she thrown them all away? She could kick herself for her stupidity.
June looked up, her face drawn and ashen, and Sandy gasped involuntarily. She had not realized just how thin June was. Her gray eyes were sunk deep into her small face. Her complexion had lost that rosy glow and had become sallow under her summer tan.
“I needed a pair of underpants,” she said flatly, explaining her search through Sandy’s drawers. Then she added, “She’s not at Aunt Doree’s. She’s never been at Aunt Doree’s. She’s run off with him.”
“She’ll be back. I just didn’t want you to worry.”
“Why would she go away with him? He didn’t love her. Why would she rather be with him than us?” June’s voice quavered; her eyes searched Sandy’s. She waited, watching every little detail of her sister’s face. Sandy chose her words carefully.
“She needed a vacation, that’s all. She’ll be back.” Sandy spoke without hesitation and sank to her knees, grabbing June’s shoulders and shaking her slightly. “You don’t think she could leave you? Me, maybe, or even Marie, but you know how she loves you. She’ll be back, June—you’ve got to believe that—and when she comes, she shouldn’t find you all skin and bones like this. You’ve got to stop moping around and eat.”
“You lied to us,” June said in that same flat, accusing voice. “If you thought she’d be back, why did you lie?”
“You know me. I’m always lying my way out of tight spots. Like Mom says, I lie faster than a horse trots. I wrote that letter because it was easier.” Sandy stopped, doubled up, and clutched at her stomach.
“What’s wrong?” June cried in alarm. “What’s the matter with you?”
Sandy clenched her teeth and held her breath. The pain passed. She exhaled and straightened cautiously. “It’s all right. I’ve been having these funny cramps.”
“Maybe you’re starting,” said Marie. “Momma always has those cramps.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s probably all those plums I ate the other day at the Johnson’s. I’ll be okay.”
“They’re going to come and take us away,” June wailed. “They’ll put us in an orphanage, and we won’t see each other ever again.”
“Now you stop that! You hear, June? Mother’s coming back any day now. We haven’t managed this long to be split up now. You’ve got to stop thinking like that. Besides, we don’t have time to mope around feeling sorry for ourselves. We have work to do. We’ve got to go to the store for food and bran. We’ll take the eggs with us. How many dozen do we have, Marie?”
“Not quite ten.”
“Did you gather the eggs today?”
“I’m not supposed to. June is.”
“The two of you go out and get the eggs while I make out the list. Get the wagon, Marie,” Sandy called to the retreating girls.
“Ten dozen, you say? Well, you’re in luck,” said Mr. Sam. “I haven’t been able to fill all my orders. Forty cents a dozen all right with you?”
Sandy gulped in surprise. They had only gotten twenty-five cents a dozen for the last ones they had brought in. “That much?” she said.
“They’re scarce this time of year. Hens molting,” he said roughly, as he took the eggs. “Your folks back yet?”
“We expect them any day now,” Sandy replied, turning back to her list.
Mr. Sam loaded the bran in the wagon and handed the groceries he had bagged to Marie. Sandy had returned to the store. She went to a corner shelf and picked up a box of sanitary napkins. Then she started searching the shelves.
“Can I help you, Sandy?” asked Mrs. Samuel.
Sandy started at her voice and then looked down, her face turning a bright red. “I was looking for a . . .” She continued to search the shelves.
Mrs. Samu
el glanced at the box Sandy was clutching, then walked over to a shelf. “Here they are.” She handed Sandy a small package.
“Thank you, Mrs. Sam,” Sandy said, not looking at the woman.
“Let me put them in a sack for you,” said Mrs. Samuel. She took the box and the package from Sandy, dropped them into a brown bag, and closed the top securely. Sandy paid her and, taking the sack, ran outside to her waiting sisters.
“Cupcakes!” June cried later as she unloaded the groceries. “Oh, thank you, Sandy, my very favorite.” She held up a package containing two chocolate cupcakes.
“Let me see them.” Sandy took the package from June.
“There’s more. Look, three packages, two apiece!” cried Marie.
Sandy glanced at the cupcakes and then at June’s happy face, and she blessed Mr. Sam. Nevertheless, that night she lay in bed in the darkened room unable to sleep. Things were catching up with them. She had been grateful for Mr. Sam’s kindness, but the very act made her wary. He knew. Mrs. Baxter knew. How many others knew? she wondered.
Then her thoughts stopped with the pain. She drew her knees up tight against her chest and held her breath, until the cramp lessened and went away.
Of course Marie was right. If Sandy hadn’t been so involved with everything else, she would have realized right away why she was having cramps. It had really caught her unprepared. Not that she didn’t know all about menstruation. Most of the girls in her class had already started, and she had read about it. But still, there were so many questions. Would she always have cramps? How long would they last? How many days would she flow? She had hidden the box and belt that she had purchased at the Samuels’, because she didn’t want Marie to know. Marie had such a big mouth. She’d be blabbing it to everyone she saw. And it was such a personal thing. Sandy wanted to hug it close, for she wasn’t used to it yet. But Marie would snort and say, “So what! It happens to everybody!”
However, Sandy wasn’t everybody; she wasn’t even the same as she was yesterday. Why, she was a whole new person—a woman.
Under the Haystack Page 7