Rorey's Secret

by Leisha Kelly

  “I know.”

  “I want you to tell me, promptly, if you hear anything more about him coming around or her trying to see him. All right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll have to tell Mr. Hammond, even if Franky won’t. He needs to know who attacked his son and why. Don’t you think so?”

  “Yes. But what will Mr. Hammond do?”

  “I don’t know. But that’s not up to us, is it?”

  I stood quiet for a minute. Mr. Hammond had walked off, not wanting to listen. Maybe he would keep on not wanting to hear a word about it. He hadn’t bothered to find out who fought at Franky, that was for sure. I didn’t think he’d even asked.

  “Mom, what if he doesn’t care? He didn’t act like he cared about Franky getting hurt. And Rorey said her mom was only thirteen when him and her got together. What if he doesn’t even care?”

  “Rorey thinks he will, or she wouldn’t want it kept a secret.”

  “I guess not. But . . . but maybe she won’t meet with Lester no more. I promise I’ll tell her all over again that she shouldn’t.”

  “I’m sure you will. And I hope she has the sense to agree with you. But we still need to tell her father.”

  “We?”

  She smiled, just a tiny bit. “I can do it, Sarah. I know he’s difficult to talk to sometimes. Just make sure you come to one of us next time if this keeps up.”

  “I will, Mom.”

  “One more thing: did you call Franky a sourpuss?”

  “No, ma’am,” I said, knowing Emma Grace must have mentioned that. “I was just asking Rorey how come she did. I guess she’s wanting to feel all grown up and not have no big brothers watching over her.”

  “She’s blessed to have big brothers, especially ones who care.”

  “I know it. I think Frank’s all right. Just different, that’s all.”

  “You’re a good girl, Sarah,” she told me, turning back to the house. “Thank you.”

  I stood there, just watching my mother walk away. I knew she was going to check on Daddy again, thinking I’d told her everything. My stomach felt all scrunched sideways. What was the matter with me, anyway?

  15

  Julia

  I’d thought it would be a relief to have so many gone, at least for a while, but now I only wondered what they would find over there and how George would manage after losing so much of his livestock and equipment.

  When I came in, Delores was rocking the baby and Emmie was kneeling beside them singing a sweet little song. Probably one she made up. Kate was chasing down Georgie, trying to get him to quit jumping on the stairs. And Thelma was at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and a slice of the rhubarb cake Louise had brought.

  “Are you hungry, Mrs. Wortham?” she asked.

  “No, not at all.”

  “I’m not either, but Mama keeps pushin’ me to eat somethin’. I can’t hardly, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “All this is botherin’ me too much. My Sammy said it’s gonna be a hard winter for you if your husband ain’t full strength, plus the loss of the field crops and Pa Hammond’s livestock makin’ it pretty hard on them. He’d like to help his pa and you both, but I don’t see how we can.”

  “Thelma, winter is two months from now—”

  “Maybe less. Lot a’ times, it turns cold in November, an’ that ain’t but a couple a’ weeks away.”

  Why did she have to talk like this? As if my own head weren’t giving me enough reminders. I hadn’t let it concern me before. But today, the worries just kept creeping at me, over and over. It’d been an awful year for the gardens, and now most of what was left in the fields was gone. Such thoughts were plaguing me, surely as much as they were her. But I wouldn’t speak my doubt.

  “We’ll get by. The Lord’ll provide, Thelma. We’ve had hard times before. And I’m sure Samuel will be just fine soon enough. He’s talking fine already and anxious to get out of that bed.”

  “Mama said he was sleepin’ again. I reckon that’s good, ’cause they say rest’s a fine medicine, but I’m awful sorry all this had to happen. I can hardly b’lieve you’ve stayed so calm. I think I’d be half frazzled.”

  I didn’t say a word more to her. I walked to Samuel’s room, hoping Thelma and her mother were wrong. Rest was a fine medicine, I knew it to be so. But I was still hoping to find Samuel awake, if for no other reason than to rest my heart with his sensible words. After all, if he was talking to me, if he was just being himself, I could feel sure that he was already all right. I walked in anxious, hoping to be greeted by his smile.

  But he was sleeping again, just like she’d said. I knew better than to let it worry me. I knew I should just keep on thanking God that he was all right, but my heart felt heavy that he was lying so still. I didn’t like it one bit. How could he sleep again, so soon, and really be okay?

  “Samuel?”

  I was feeling foolish for trying to disturb him, but at the same time praying he’d open his eyes. He didn’t. Even when I called his name a second time. A tiny chunk of the ice was left in a bowl on the bedside table, and I picked it up with the dripping cloth it was wrapped in and laid it against his head.

  He didn’t move.

  What were those words, that wonderful psalm Franky had been quoting?

  He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.

  Psalm 91. I remembered it now. But for some reason, when I tried to recall more of the words, they all jumbled in my mind with another psalm that was so familiar.

  The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul . . .

  Samuel didn’t stir, not so much as an eyelash. And I wanted to have complete confidence that the Lord of the psalms would restore, give us still waters, and hide us under the shelter of his wings. But my own heart would not obey me. Despite all the confidence I wanted, all the faith I thought I should muster, I knew I was falling short.

  What if the bruised ribs had made something bleed inside? What if something had swelled in his brain, and that was why he wasn’t awake?

  I felt like screaming at myself for worrying this way. It was senseless. It was just not right. But I was doing it anyway. I could feel it even as I tried my best to return my mind to Franky’s psalm.

  I will say of the Lord, he is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.

  One day perhaps I would laugh at myself, or at least shake my head over having such a struggle. But at that moment it was hard. It was beyond me, like two giant hands tugging my mind in opposite directions.

  Surely he shall deliver thee . . .

  But what about all those things the doctor had said? Should we have taken him to the hospital after all?

  He shall cover thee with his feathers . . .

  But what if he can’t wake up this time?

  Thou shalt not be afraid . . .

  I had to do something else. I had to put my mind to something. But Delores and Katie were taking care of Thelma and the little children. We had some baking done and plenty of food fixed, thanks to Louise. Berty was all right sitting with a book by the sitting room windows. Nothing was really pressing for my attention.

  Besides, as much as my mind was warring about it, I still didn’t want to leave Samuel’s side, at least not for long. So I went and got paper from a box in the cupboard and a pen that the schoolteacher had given me once. I sat in the rocker at the corner of our bedroom and started drafting a letter to Samuel’s mother. I guess I just poured my thoughts down more than anything else.

  Dear Joanna,

  Samuel is in bed today. Last night he saved the neighbor boy out of their burning barn, but part of the structure collapsed and Samuel was injured. The doctor tells us he should recover, but he has a head injury, possibly broken ribs, and his right leg has a frightful gash. The rest of us have been worried, but we trust that the Lord wil
l work all to the good. By the grace of God things are not worse, as no one was killed, and the boy is getting along all right with a sprained ankle. Samuel has been awake off and on, and once he asked about you. I felt that you would want to know. Please tell cousin Dewey what has happened if you have any opportunity. You are in our thoughts often.

  Most sincerely,

  Julia

  I read the letter over and very nearly crumpled it up to throw in the kindling box. It would take quite a few days to get it to Albany, New York. Surely Samuel would be up and ready to go to town for his telephone call by then, and he could tell his mother what he wanted to say better than I could. But I set the letter aside on the dresser anyway.

  Suddenly Samuel said something about “goompus.” I spun around. He wasn’t awake. He was muttering something in his sleep about “goompus” jumping downstairs. Good thing I remembered that name from the bedtime stories Samuel used to tell the children. “Goompus” was a funny little bird Samuel had made up long ago. I hadn’t heard the name in years. It wasn’t exactly a comfort to hear it now.

  I could hear the back door opening. Sarah coming in the house.

  “It’s starting to rain,” I heard her say, but I didn’t hear if anyone answered her.

  Wonderful, I thought. We needed rain all summer, and it comes again now, when so much of the crop is lost and the rest is stuck in the field unharvested. And the Hammonds are over there needing to fix a roof! Why, Lord? Why now?

  I stopped myself quickly from such bitter thoughts. Thank the good Lord for his rain. It had stopped the fire last night. So much more might have been lost!

  Why couldn’t I see the good in all this? No one was killed. Everybody would be all right. And God had intervened by sending his wonderful rain when the fire might have spread beyond anyone’s control and swallowed up who knows how many acres or farmhouses. God was still faithful to us, just like always.

  Suddenly I thought of dear old Emma Graham singing one of her favorite songs. I could almost hear some of the words in her sweet, clear voice.

  “Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth. Thy own dear presence to cheer and to guide. Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow. Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!”

  How I needed strength for today! How I needed to rejoice in our bright hope for tomorrow! Always, always, God had taken care of us. When we had nothing at all but each other and three little bags of belongings, God had provided Emma Graham and this wonderful home for us. When dear Emma and Mrs. Hammond died on the same day and we thought our hearts would burst with the pain of it, God had given us his comfort and his light.

  When George took up drink and didn’t think he could bear to go on, when Samuel fell through the pond ice, when Katie came to us in the midst of accusation and hardship, in every incident, at every moment of our lives, God had been there to take care of us, to take care of it all. Surely he was here just the same now. Surely he would take care of Samuel and our present need. How could I doubt? How could I continue to question him?

  “Great is Thy faithfulness! Great is Thy faithfulness! Morning by morning new mercies I see; all I have needed Thy hand hath provided, great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!”

  No wonder Emma had loved that song. It spoke her heart, and could just as well be speaking mine.

  Samuel moved just a little, turning his head to one side. I leaned over close and kissed his cheek. He didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t wake like I wanted him to, but it was all right. He would, when he’d rested all he needed to. I climbed up beside him, ever so gently. I lay my head against his arm, careful not to jar him. “Thank you, Jesus,” I whispered, and my heart felt lighter. Soon I closed my eyes and I could feel the tension falling away.

  The voices in the kitchen sounded miles distant. Strangely it seemed that Joanna, Samuel’s mother, was walking toward us looking terribly old and more tired than I’d ever seen her. But I didn’t see the cold, hard eyes I remembered so well. Instead, this Joanna’s eyes were altogether different, like those of some other person. She came up to the bed with a big box and dumped its contents all over us. Piles and piles of letters.

  16

  Sarah

  No doubt Mom needed the rest. But I wasn’t sure what to think when I peeked in and found her and Dad both asleep together. I shushed Emmie quick and told her we’d better do something real quiet.

  “I’ll bet the little dumplin’s needin’ a nap,” Mrs. Pratt said behind me. At first I thought she was talking about Georgie, but after being up in the middle of the night like she was, Emmie would benefit from a nap too.

  “Maybe you should go upstairs an’ lie down with her a while,” Mrs. Pratt suggested.

  It wasn’t exactly an idea I favored much, but she was probably right. And surprisingly, Emmie didn’t protest. She was tired, I could tell.

  “You oughta get a nap in too, Berty,” Thelma’s mother continued. “Though you ain’t supposed to be up them stairs on that ankle. Let me plump you a pillow right where you sit. Maybe Katie’d like to lie down too, with Georgie beside her.”

  I saw what Mrs. Pratt was doing. She was hoping all of us would sleep. Even Katie and me, old as we were. I’d lie down, all right. I’d do that much to help Emmie get a nap, just like I was sure Katie would do with Georgie, but I wasn’t going to sleep. Franky was up working in the woodshop. Robert was with Willy and Rorey and all of the other Hammonds over to their place working hard. So I couldn’t sleep. No way.

  I’d heat the iron over the stove in a little while, that’s what I’d do. I’d take a good look at everybody’s church clothes and iron whatever needed it. After all, tomorrow was Sunday, and surely we’d be going to church, just like usual.

  I’d make sure Daddy’s best shirt was all crisp and neat and Mom’s flowered dress was looking its best. And we’d go into that church building tomorrow looking swell and feeling like the most blessed people in the whole world. Because we were. Because of Daddy still being here, when it’d been so awful close, so awful scary that it still hurt to think about it.

  Mom was still asleep when I came downstairs. I was going to peek in and see her, but Mrs. Pratt had just done that and motioned me away from the door.

  “Let ’em have every moment a’ rest they can possibly get,” she told me. “Your mama’ll be up soon enough.”

  Dad too, I thought, suddenly uncomfortable with the way her words had come out. Did she mean it to sound the way it had, like she was expecting Daddy not to get up? Surely he would, though the doctor had said to rest. Because I knew my dad. And he wasn’t one to sit or lie around for long. He just wasn’t. Hurt or not, he’d be out of that bed.

  “Joanna must be some kin a’ yours. That so?”

  It took me a moment to figure who Mrs. Pratt was talking about. “Do you mean my grandma? Daddy’s mom?” I couldn’t imagine how Mrs. Pratt would know her.

  “That must be it. I found a letter your mama wrote. Thought we could save her a bit a’ time if you was to know where the envelopes and yer grandma’s address is at.”

  “Well, yeah. I think so.” I went to the cupboard where Mom kept such things. There was even an extra stamp in the envelope box. I wrote Grandma’s address real careful, and our return address too. Then I read the letter.

  For Mom to admit that we were worried came as a surprise. I thought that for her to say so in a letter, she’d have to be very, very worried indeed.

  I guess I had been too. Right at first, when I thought Daddy was lost to us in the barn, and then when he didn’t talk, and then all that ride home just fretting over how bad it might be. But now—now, we could relax, couldn’t we? With him resting peaceful, eating good, and talking to us with a smile? He’d even teased Mom about her getting her hand in that plate of pancakes, however that had happened. He’d laughed about it. So surely he was okay.

  “I suppose your mama’d appreciate it if one of the boys was to run to town and mail that for her, since the post’s been by already
,” Mrs. Pratt said to me. “If she’d had it done, Richard could’ve taken it when he left.”

  “I don’t guess there’s any hurry,” I said quietly.

  “No hurry? You gotta send out word! This is your papa’s mama, didn’t you say? I didn’t realize, ’cause a’ your mama calling her Joanna and all. But—”

  “My grandma’s a little different,” I tried to explain. “She probably didn’t want my mom to call her Mama or anything like that. And—and even a letter like this I don’t s’pose she’ll answer.”

  “Not answer?” Mrs. Pratt plopped down beside me. She was suddenly looking at me like I was some little lost fawn or something. “I’d think a letter like this’d make her hop a train an’ come just as quick as she can! I’m surprised your mama didn’t hurry someone to town to call her, after the close call your papa had. His mama’s bound to want to be here to nurse him back to health. Don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know,” I told her. “I haven’t seen Grandma since I was about four. I used to make her cards and stuff all the time, but she never did answer anything, even from me or Robert. She won’t hardly even talk on the telephone to us when we get the chance. And she’s never come here.”

  “Well, this is different than any ol’ day!” Mrs. Pratt exclaimed with a huff. “This is her very own son’s close brush with death!”

  I looked at her, and after those words I just couldn’t help myself. My eyes filled with tears, and I couldn’t hold them in for all I tried. Close brush with death! Oh, God, that sounds so horrible! But I know it’s true! Mom knows it’s true, and she’s still worrying. That’s what the letter means. She’s still scared.

  “Oh, honey, honey,” Mrs. Pratt started carrying on. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ve known folks so poor they couldn’t afford not even a postage stamp! Don’t you reckon that might be the problem, why you don’t see nor hear from her?”

  “No, ma’am.” I sniffed.

  She just looked at me. I was trying to stop sniveling, and for a moment I guess she didn’t know what to say. But it didn’t take her long to come up with something.