Under the Haystack

by P. A. Engebrecht

  Her nose twitched. Boy, things must be getting pretty bad. She could almost smell fried chicken. Did starving people have such hallucinations? The odor was so strong that her stomach jumped in anticipation.

  Sandy raised her head, and then she saw it—a basket, neatly covered with a white cloth, sitting up against the house. The smell of fried chicken wafted gently through the heavy air. She moved toward the basket in wonder, lifted the cloth, and peered in. There was a heaping platter of the most delicate, crispy-brown chicken she had ever seen, and a loaf of fresh bread and some fruit. Sandy stared in disbelief. Who? Then she recognized the basket that Joe usually took on the school picnic.

  “Marie! June!” she called. She picked up the basket and carried it into the house.

  chapter 13

  Picking beans was easier than strawberries, but Sandy couldn’t make as much money at it. Mr. Ferguson paid only two and a half cents a pound, and try as she might, Sandy could never pick much more than five hundred pounds. They started very early in the morning, when everything hung heavy with dew, and the wet vines made Sandy’s arms break out in an irritating rash. She wore long-sleeved shirts, but still her forearms grew painfully sore.

  Each time she emptied her bucket into the large gunny sack, Sandy prodded Marie and June to work a little faster. She stopped now and then on the way back and helped them catch up their row. “You’re leaving too many!” she scolded. “Just look at all I found. Bend over and look under the leaves.”

  Sandy ignored the face Marie made at her. She worked hard to do a good job. She picked her row clean and was conscientious about the beans that went into her sack. She felt only disgust for those who cheated by putting in clods and rocks to make their sacks weigh more. One of the worst was Tom Gregory, but then he was always up to no good. He swore a lot, like his lumberjack father, smoked incessantly, and told the most awful dirty jokes. Sandy avoided him like the plague.

  She finished her row and helped Marie and June finish theirs. Then the three of them moved across the field to new rows.

  “Hi!” Sandy looked up to see Joe smiling down at her.

  “Hi, yourself.” She blushed, remembering their last encounter. “Been busy?”

  “Been helping my father with the haying. Getting anxious for school to start?”

  “Not really.”

  “How’re things going?” Joe skirted the issue.

  “All right,” Sandy answered vaguely. She ducked under the vines to pick a large cluster of beans, and for a while they both picked in silence. “You saved enough for your car?” she asked at last.

  “Almost. My bean money ought to get me close to it.” He stood with his bucket full, waiting for Sandy. Together they started down their rows toward the end where they kept their sacks. Joe bent over his.

  “Hey, my sack is gone!” Sandy looked around, peering up and down the rows.

  “Where’d you leave it?”

  “Right here by row ninety.”

  “Sure?”

  “Positive. Marie and June weighed theirs in, but I wanted to finish filling mine. It was only half full.” Sandy went down row eight-nine, where June and Marie sat loafing.

  Marie saw her coming. “Hop to it, June,” she whispered, and she jumped off her bucket and started picking.

  “Have you seen my sack, Marie?”

  “It’s down at the end of your row where you left it.”

  “How long ago did you see it?”

  “I don’t know . . . .” Marie paused trying to recall. “Couldn’t be more’n ten minutes ago that June and I went to the john. It was there then.”

  “Well, it’s gone now. Did you see anybody fooling around?”

  “No.”

  “Yes! That Tom Gregory and his pal Buzzy followed us back. Remember?” June corrected her.

  “That’s right, and . . .”

  But Sandy had turned and was running along the row to where Joe stood waiting.

  “It was here a little while ago,” she told him. “Marie said they saw it. June said Buzzy and Tom followed them back. Would they . . .? Anyway, I’m going to find them.”

  Sandy soon discovered Tom going up the road with a sack of beans thrown over his shoulder. He was a big boy for fifteen, almost six feet, with large purple lumps distorting his cheeks. His small dark eyes squinted at her from beneath his heavy, oily hair. “Lose something?” he asked.

  “Those are my beans, Tom Gregory; you give them back!”

  “Says who?” said Tom, rolling the sack from his shoulder to the ground.

  Sandy marched over to him and looked at the sack carefully. She was more sure than ever that it was hers, and she tried to take it from him. “Not so fast, you!” said Tom and pushed her away. Joe moved toward Sandy.

  “Those are my beans! Look at the sack, Joe. See where it’s torn. I did that when I was dragging it to my new row. Ask Marie.”

  Marie came out from between the rows where she and June had been standing. She nodded in agreement. “I helped her drag it. It got caught on a rock and tore.”

  “Give them back,” Joe said, stepping toward Tom.

  “You gonna make me?” Tom doubled his fist and walked up to Joe, a malicious smirk twisting his lips.

  “Yeah!” said Sandy, edging in beside Joe. She was small, but those who knew her thought twice before tangling with her.

  “Yeah,” said Marie, moving in next to Sandy, her eyes round with excitement.

  “Yeah!” said June, small and bony, jumping in next to Marie.

  Tom looked at the four of them standing there, fists clenched. He was no fool. “I was just kidding,” he said, backing off. “I wanted to see what you’d do.”

  “Well, now you know.” Joe bent over and picked up the sack of beans.

  “What are you, her keeper or something? Now that her old lady’s gone, that must be kinda nice!” Tom eyed Sandy maliciously, his eyes lingering on her small round hips.

  “You dirty . . . !”

  “Just what do you mean by that?” snapped Sandy, turning on him, her eyes blazing.

  “Everybody knows your old lady up and run off. Maybe you’d feel better with some protection—say at night, huh?” He sneered, curling his lips slightly. “I don’t charge . . . .”

  “Get out of here, you son of a—”

  “Ah, ah! Nasty, nasty! I was just leaving.” Tom turned and swaggered off.

  Joe reached for the sack. “Come on,” he grunted. He moved back to the end of the row, while Marie and June stood hypnotized, watching the receding figure of Tom Gregory.

  The girls walked home quietly, tired from the day’s work. “What are we going to have for dinner?” asked Marie.

  “I don’t know. We’ll have to see what we have.”

  “That’s a laugh! I’m sick and tired of the same old stuff. Why can’t we have something different, like steak or chicken or something delicious like Momma used to make?”

  “You know darn well Momma never cooked very much!” Sandy snapped. “We ate out of cans even when she was home.”

  “Once in a while she fixed something special,” Marie continued.

  “Well, we’ll have something different. I brought home some beans.” Sandy opened her jacket, showing them her prize.

  “Ugh!” said Marie. “I ate so many raw ones I think my tongue is green. Is it?” She stuck it out and crossed her eyes trying to look at it.

  “Oh, stop that, Marie!” cried June, hitting her lightly. “You look awful.”

  Shep was sitting at the end of the drive, waiting for them. He lifted his ears when he saw them and came to greet them, wriggling and whining happily. June leaned down and hugged him, then threw her leg over him and tried to ride him the way she always did. Shep promptly sat down, sliding her off onto the ground.

  Hot and dusty, the girls entered the house. “Let’s go swimming.” Marie kicked off her dirty jeans.

  “Yeah, let’s!” The girls scrambled out to the line to get their swimsuits.

&nbs
p; “Last one in’s an old green bean!” cried June, wriggling into her suit on the run. The three of them ran, dragging their towels. The log jumped with their running feet, and they rushed into the water.

  “Yi-i-i! It’s cold!” squealed Marie happily, washing away the dust and grime. “Come on, Sandy, you old slowpoke.” She reached out and flipped water on her sister.

  “I’ll get you for that.” Sandy jumped in behind the fast-retreating Marie.

  They all swam better than they had at the beginning of the summer. It was something they had enjoyed almost every hot day, and now even June’s feeble stroking had become smooth and even. She no longer dog-paddled. Shep was left with that disgrace.

  After a while they grew tired of their games and cold from the water. Dripping and happy, they crossed the road, rubbing their hair vigorously with their towels.

  “What’s that?” asked Marie. The three of them stopped and stared. There by the door was a large box. It was brimming with fresh lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and plums, and sitting on top was a pan full of chocolate-chip cookies, still warm from the oven. Sandy glanced around. She thought she saw a figure duck in behind the barn, a tall, lanky figure.

  The girls had a dinner that fulfilled Marie’s desire for something special. Contentedly, they cleaned up the dishes and straightened the house. The milk was strained and the strainer cleaned and put away without Marie’s usual grumbling. They got ready for bed, tired from the day’s activities, and then Sandy picked up the flashlight and the three of them headed for the outhouse, a nightly ritual. It wasn’t quite nine yet, but the sky was black, with no trace of grayness left.

  “Look, there’s the big dipper, and it’s holding all our wishes so they won’t spill out.” June stretched her neck. “Where’s the North Star, Sandy?”

  “I don’t know. I can never figure out for sure. I think it’s somewhere around the little dipper.”

  They waited for one another, and as they started back, Shep stopped, stiff-legged, in front of them. The hair on his neck was ruffled, and a low growl rumbled deep in his throat. His lips curled back, revealing his sharp white teeth.

  “Oh hush up, silly.” Marie rubbed her hand over his neck, but he continued to growl at something beyond the front of the house.

  Sandy flashed her light. She saw nothing, but her heart fluttered in fear. The three of them quickened their pace toward the house. The welcoming stream of light reached out to greet them as they opened the door. Sandy shut the door after them and latched it securely. Shep continued to growl, a low, throaty, menacing sound.

  “Hush, now,” Sandy soothed him, and he lay down on the floor behind the stove, his head on his forepaws, his ears cocked forward, listening. “Let’s get our teeth brushed and go to bed. We have to be at Fergusons’ by six thirty, and you know what that means.”

  “Up at five,” groaned Marie.

  “That’s right.” Sandy reached up on the shelf for the toothpaste and bent over the sink, scrubbing her teeth vigorously. June dried her face and turned to lay the towel on the drainboard. Her eyes grew large.

  “S-S-Sandy,” she whispered, her hand reaching out for the older girl. The terror in her voice jerked at Sandy, who stopped brushing her teeth to look at her. June’s eyes were luminous with fear. She pointed a shaky hand toward the window. “I saw a face, a terrible face, looking in at me.” Her voice trembled, and her lips shook as she stared at the small black pane, which now reflected only their own images.

  “Oh, you’re seeing things!” snorted Marie. But she never once took her eyes from the window.

  Sandy, feeling June’s terror, knew that she had seen something. Shep growled again and came out from behind the stove, stiff-legged, his hair bristling.

  “Someone’s out there,” June whispered, her voice cracking.

  The three girls backed slowly away from the curtainless window, staring at its blankness. Shep stood by the door, growling louder and now baring his teeth. In unison the girls turned their eyes from the window to the door. Silently, the knob turned. There was a slight bump, and the door shuddered as someone pushed against it.

  A cry of fright came from June, and she covered her mouth and began to sob.

  June’s sobbing broke the grip of fear that had been squeezing Sandy’s heart, making it hard for her to breathe. She saw the terror of her younger sisters, and anger boiled forth, pushing her own fear from her. “All right!” she cried, and the sound of her voice cut short June’s sobbing. “Whoever’s out there is going to get it!”

  Shep had gone wild. He was leaping at the door, barking and snarling. Saliva ran from his mouth. Sandy marched over to the shelf beneath the sink and took out an oversized claw hammer. Marie stared at her for a moment and then ran over to the woodpile and picked up a medium-sized stick. June stared wide-eyed, bit back a sob, and clutched at the broom that was leaning against the wall. The three of them stood ready, watching the door, their weapons poised. Perspiration made Sandy’s hands slippery, and she wiped them on her nightgown. The door shuddered once again, and Sandy raised her hammer, her heart pounding.

  All of a sudden a strange sound came from the yard—a scuffling and grunting as if people were fighting. The air echoed with the sound of bodies hitting the ground, punctuated with curses, grunts, and groans. Shep was in a frenzy to get out, but Sandy was afraid to unlatch the door. Curious, the girls moved close to the door, listening. The thudding and grunting continued; then the girls heard running feet, and silence.

  They held their breath as Shep stopped his growling and cocked his ears forward. Then their breath exploded from them all at once, and they clung together in relief, half laughing, half crying.

  That night they pushed the kitchen table against the door, and they all slept together, Sandy in the middle. The hammer, stick, and broom stood ready by the bed.

  Sandy awakened in the gray light of the dawn to the even breathing of Marie and June. A nice sound. She stretched, and then, as her eyes fell on the shadowy forms of the hammer, stick, and broom, the terror of the night came back. She wriggled out from between the covers, lifted herself over the top of June, and dropped lightly to the floor. She dressed hurriedly, wondering about last night. Who had tried to get into the house? She was even more curious about the person who had chased him off.

  She dashed cold water on her face and brushed her hair. Shep lay asleep behind the stove. His ears twitched, and he opened his eyes for a moment. Then he went back to sleep. Sandy struggled with the table, moving it away from the door. With trembling fingers she unlatched the door and pushed it open. The sun’s rays had just touched the top of the locust tree, but the form of Joe, curled in sleep on the door step, was still wrapped in the shadows of night.

  chapter 14

  They had been picking beans for a week now, and there was money in the coffee can. The late summer showers had made the grass grow lush, and the cows grazed in contentment. Sandy stood at the door of the barn looking at the place where their hideaway had been. While the dry spell had lasted, they had had to feed the hay to the cows. It was all gone now, except for a few bales that lay tipped up against the back wall. She walked slowly to where the tunnel had been and traced its route along to the center. She dropped to the floor and sat cross-legged, closing her eyes in longing for the old security. It would not come back.

  The days were getting shorter. There was a feeling in the air, a warning that edged into Sandy’s consciousness. The sun was hot, but the nights had grown cool. In the mornings Sandy found herself scurrying to get dressed, and lately she had even lighted the big black stove.

  An ominous chill gripped Sandy. The thought of failure webbed her mind. She knew they could not last the winter. They had to have wood, hay. The locker was empty. They all needed coats, and besides that, all the neighbors knew. That she and her sisters had been left alone this long amazed Sandy. She knew they would not be left alone much longer. Sandy tried to push away the conclusion that came to her, tried to block the path her mi
nd was traveling. Then hate filled her and took over her reasoning. All their trials flashed through her mind, feeding her emotions.

  She jumped from the floor. Their mother! She almost spat the thought out into the empty barn. Their selfish, stupid mother. Why didn’t she come back? She must realize their need. The picture of June burning the letters, of the dullness of her once bright eyes made Sandy’s anger explode in a series of kicks at loose pieces of straw. Can’t you see? she cried inwardly. She needs you so bad. Please, please come home, she prayed. Not for me, for her. “What kind of mother are you?” Her anguish actually pushed the words from her, and her cry echoed hollowly in the empty barn.

  Sandy thrust her hands deep into her pockets and left the barn, heading for the creek. Shep followed, whimpering, as if her anguish were his own. The setting sun sent smoky rays of light through the trees as she stood at the head of the log, listening to the creek bubble and churn. The quiet sounds of the woods deepened Sandy’s melancholy.

  She moved down the log, stepping out onto the stones that lay exposed. Shep waded out into the water lapping contentedly. Sandy did not try to keep her feet dry, but the water had a cold bite to it now that the warmth of summer was fading. Her feet turned pink and tingled. She sought the warmth the smooth stones harbored from the setting sun and, breaking a small twig from a bush, she chewed on it, oblivious of the darkening shadows that crouched and threatened from every hollow.

  Sandy settled on a log that had fallen and died and then come to life again with moss, fungus, and tiny insects, which scuttled in and out of intricate tunnels. The moss made a soft cushion as she lay on the log dangling the stick into the water. Shep leaped upon the log, whimpered softly, and licked her ear. With that, Sandy’s melancholy broke with a rush, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She turned her face sideways, resting it on her arm, and sobbed deep wracking sobs that shook her entire body. Shep whined and lay down beside her, pushing his black, cold nose up under her arm.

  “Can I help, Sandy?” came a warm, low voice, so close that both girl and dog jumped. Shep growled and barked, while Sandy, swallowing her sobs, brushed her hand hurriedly across her face, as if by brushing away the tears she could hide her misery and swollen eyes.