by Leisha Kelly
Glancing up at her peaceful face, I thought about Sarah calling the three girls triplets when they were younger. They’d always done an awful lot together. But in recent years, the threesome had been a twosome. Either Sarah and Rorey, or Sarah and Katie. Rorey and Katie hardly ever did anything together anymore.
I went to get Berty a blanket, thinking about Katie’s mother still off someplace trying to have a singing career. We only heard tiny fragments about her from Katie’s grandma, who only wrote us at Christmastime. Neither of them knew what they were missing, not being around to see Katie grow up.
But I was glad her father wasn’t around. Sometimes Samuel still dreamed about him. At those times I wondered if I ought to tell the children more—they didn’t know for sure that Katie was Samuel’s half sister and not his niece or his cousin. We’d never talked much about it. Katie knew, or at least she had when we told her she was staying, but she’d never mentioned it again in the years since then. And she’d taken to calling Samuel “Dad” the very first week, maybe in an effort to fit in with Robert and Sarah.
Samuel’s mother knew too. And I’m sure she wasn’t exactly thrilled to learn about us taking in a child of her first husband’s indiscretion. But she never answered us a word about it. Life had brought a lot of changes. Katie and us and Hammonds, all intertwined.
I walked into the bedroom and sat in silence at the foot of our bed. Samuel opened his eyes for just a moment, but he didn’t say anything.
“Are you all right?” I asked him.
“Yes, Juli. And I want you to believe that. I can’t stand seeing you stew.”
I sighed.
“Come here. Please.”
His eyes looked so in earnest, so serious. I moved closer, wondering what he might say.
“They’ll be fine. It’ll all come out fine. Okay? Come up here and lie down beside me. There’s nothing we can do right now, so you may as well get rested up. We want to look strong and courageous for church tomorrow, right? Not frazzled and worn.”
“How can you think of going to church tomorrow?”
“We have a lot to be thankful for. And a lot we need the church to pray for. Don’t you think?”
“You know what I mean. It was too much for you, just going to the barn! You and these kids’ll give me a head of gray hair before the weekend’s out.”
“Well,” he said with a tiny smile, “you’ll still be pretty when you’re gray.”
“I’m glad you can smile,” I said, fighting back a sudden invasion of tears. “I’m glad you’re finding something light, because I’m not! I feel like things are falling down around us. I thought the kids were growing up sensible. Katie said she was only worried about Rorey, but I’m not so sure any of them are doing as well as we thought, except maybe Katie herself.”
“It’s not so bad as that, is it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe not. It’s just that tonight looks pretty bad. And it doesn’t help matters for you to talk about riding into town tomorrow over those bumpy roads, and climbing the church steps, and sitting in those hard pews! Oh, Samuel, you know I like church, but I’d be sitting there knowing you were hurting. I just don’t think—”
He reached for my hand and pulled me a little nearer. “We don’t have to go. Not if it’s going to bother you. But I thought sitting still in the front of the truck, with a cushion or two I could make it. Tell you the truth, I don’t think George’ll go, and I wanted to be there to talk to some of the men. He needs help. More than I can give. He needs a barn up by winter, and I thought we could start planning a day—”
“A barn raising?”
“Yes. If you’d consent to feed a crowd. I’m sure some of the church ladies would help you. And for the men to gather on George’s behalf, well, I can’t think of anything that’d do him better good right now.”
He was right. I knew he was right. “But you don’t have to go,” I told him. “You don’t have to be the one to ask them. We can send some of the boys.”
He nodded, just a little. “All right. If you’d feel better about it. All right.”
“Church would do them good tomorrow anyway.”
He smiled again. I climbed up beside him the way I had this afternoon and laid my head on his shoulder. He held me close. And I prayed for him again and for Robert and Willy and the rest. And Rorey, facing her father right about now. And Franky. Maybe George would see it clear to apologize to him. I sure did hope so.
22
Franky
Rorey hesitated awful bad when we come in sight of the house. I can’t say that I blamed her for that, but talking to Pa was something to get over with, no way around it. I took her hand just to help her keep her feet going, but she didn’t like that.
“I’m comin’!” she protested. “Just leave me alone!”
I was the first one on the porch, and though we’d stopped talking by then, someone must have heard us, because the door swung open before we got to it. At first I thought maybe Robert had come here and told ’em we were comin’. But there weren’t no truck. Just Ben and Lizbeth’s car.
It was Lizbeth standin’ there lookin’ out. She didn’t even look at us at first. She was just starin’ out over the field. I thought I heard her whisper somethin’, and then she seen me and jumped.
“Franky! What are you doing—”
She stopped real quick seein’ Rorey behind me. Of course, it might have been a surprise us walkin’ over here together at night like this. But Rorey had her head down all weepy, and I guess that’s what got Lizbeth’s attention.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Lizbeth was scared. I could hear it in her voice. She wasn’t wantin’ more bad news.
“Everybody’s all right,” I assured her. “It ain’t nothin’ like that.”
Rorey sniffed. I hoped her tears was real.
“Who’s come?” Pa suddenly shouted, and I could tell just by that much he weren’t in no pleasant mood tonight. But after the kind of day and night we had, I couldn’t be surprised.
“It’s Franky and Rorey, Pa,” Lizbeth explained. Ben came out and stood beside her.
“I told ’em to stay the night over there!” Pa yelled back. But then he came to the door too, and I could tell his first thoughts were like Lizbeth’s. “What is it? Is Mr. Wortham takin’ a turn for the worse?”
“No, Pa,” I said. “He says he’s makin’ it all right.” I didn’t tell him about him almost fallin’ outside and all the pain he was in. That wouldn’t help matters just now, I knew.
“Well, then what is it?” Pa asked, sounding kind of rough again. I didn’t answer this time. It was Rorey’s to do if she was going to. It wasn’t my job to tell.
“Mr.—Mr. Wortham sent us,” Rorey finally said. “He said I had to come.”
“Why?” It was Lizbeth asking. Pa just stared.
“I . . . I was so upset, I just didn’t know to think on things right. And—I . . . I shoulda said somethin’ sooner . . .”
Lord help. I could tell right now that Rorey was trying to find herself an out, and I felt sorry for her awful bad. If we confess our sins, he’s faithful and just to forgive our sins. But that don’t apply if we’re tryin’ to sneak out of it. So she was in trouble. I knew that. And trouble with the Almighty and your own deceivin’ heart’s even worse than trouble with Pa.
“What are you talkin’ ’bout, girl?” Pa demanded.
“The fire,” she said through a whole new bunch of tears. “The fire, Pa—it wasn’t Franky. It wasn’t. I shoulda told you . . . but I was scared.”
“You come in and tell us now,” Lizbeth said, and she sounded stern. I knew that if Rorey really did tell the truth, even through a bunch of tears, Lizbeth’d see it clear. She was wise. I hoped Pa would be wise too, for Rorey’s sake. Sometimes he was.
We went in, and everybody sat down on some of the chairs scattered around. I noticed that most of ’em was out of place, and so was the afghan that was usually ’cross the back of the rocker. And the teapot
was settin’ on the floor. I hoped they’d moved everythin’ for some reason and Pa hadn’t gone off the handle shovin’ things.
Rorey just sat there wringin’ her hands in her lap and lookin’ miserable.
“Can you tell us what’s going on?” Lizbeth asked me.
“Nope. Mr. Wortham said she had to.”
Rorey gave me a sideways glance.
“Lord touch you,” I said. And she frowned.
“Well, go on then,” Pa prompted, and Rorey busted up with the tears again.
“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, Pa! I didn’t tell you the truth! Lester, he told me I should blame Franky, and I was just so scared—”
“Lester?” Lizbeth asked. Pa folded his arms and didn’t say a word.
“Lester Turrey come over last night. He wanted to see me. He wanted to go out to the barn, an’ I did because he wanted to so bad. I didn’t think it’d hurt nothin’ just to talk or somethin’. I didn’t think it’d hurt—”
She stopped and wiped at her eyes with her sleeve, and I just shook my head. Let nothing that’s covered not be revealed, and nothing that’s hid not be known.
“What happened?” Lizbeth asked. She was lookin’ kind of pale, and Ben took hold of her hand. They were good for each other. That was somethin’ to be glad about.
“He . . . he wanted to dance,” Rorey started up again. “I shouldn’t a’ listened. But I didn’t think it’d hurt nothin’! I wasn’t really thinkin’ good. So I let him. But . . . but . . . when he was dancin’ me around, we hit the lantern, and it . . . it . . .”
“It burnt down the barn an’ near all my livin’.” Pa finished for her.
“I’m sorry! Oh, Pa, I’m so sorry! I wanted to tell you! But he—he told me not to, an’ I was scared . . .”
Pa stood up, and even though he wasn’t lookin’ at me, I felt that same awful tight feelin’ I always get. Rorey practically busted all apart, leanin’ her head clear to her lap and cryin’ her eyes out. I never seen such stuff outta nobody.
“So this boy come right over and talked you into dancin’.”
She nodded, wipin’ away at all the tears. “I’m sorry, Pa!”
“Why didn’t you just tell him to go home or come an’ ask me in the daylight?”
“Because . . . because he said . . . he said he really liked me and he didn’t want to walk all that way home, an’ I was scared to ask you ’cause you might think it was my idea. I was going to tell you, Pa. I was going to tell you, but then the fire happened and I was scared and Lester told me not to and I didn’t know what he’d do and I thought you was gonna hate me—”
She busted apart all over again. It was kind of disgustin’ to see. Lizbeth turned her eyes to look at me, and I figured that was all right. I figured she might be seein’ what I was seein’. But then Pa started lookin’ at me too.
“I s’pose you come so’s you could say you told me so.”
The tight in my gut started stretchin’ clear to my toes. I had a awful time just answerin’ him. “No, Pa. Mr. Wortham told me to come.”
“And that was fine with you, I’m sure. Did you tell him you would?”
“Yes, sir, because—”
“Because you wanted to watch, didn’t you? You wanted to see if I’d give Rorey a lickin’ even though she’s scared of some big cuss of a boy and heartbroke over all this.”
There wasn’t much of a way to answer. I felt like somebody was buryin’ me under the ashes of our barn. I couldn’t even hardly breathe. “No, sir. Mr. Wortham told me to come.”
“Well, you can go on back! You don’t need to be sittin’ here starin’ at your sister no more!”
“Pa!” Lizbeth protested. “What’s got into you tonight? He’s just mindin’ Mr. Wortham. There’s no call you bein’ so hateful.”
“I’m just tired of it,” Pa said. “I’m just tired a’ him actin’ so perfect for the Worthams, an’ then comin’ over here like—”
I didn’t think I could stand to hear whatever he’d say I was like. So I just stood up and turned around to the door.
“Where do you think you’re goin’?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t figure he ought to need me to. He already told me to go back.
“I ain’t through with you yet.”
“Oh, Pa, he can’t help it!” Rorey suddenly cried. “Don’t you know he always runs when things is hard? You know that! It ain’t his fault I done what Lester tol’ me to! He’s got every right in the world to be mad at me. He’ll prob’ly never ever forgive me!”
I couldn’t hardly believe it. I wondered if she knew what she was doin’ or if it was the evil one snarin’ her soul. But Pa was lookin’ at me like I was some foul thing.
“Ain’t you the good ol’ Christian that goes around spoutin’ Scripture all the time?” Pa asked me. “You better well forgive. ’Less you’re wantin’ to be a hypocrite.”
“Pa, there’s no cause you givin’ Franky this kind of talk.”
Lizbeth was stickin’ up for me. I felt so good about that, I almost couldn’t keep from cryin’ all of a sudden. But I didn’t want Pa to see it. And there weren’t nothin’ at all I could say to him just then. So I went on for the door.
Blessed are they which are persecuted. The thought popped in my head sudden. I wasn’t sure if I was being persecuted or not, but I was glad at least I hadn’t answered back my pa. I guess God’d forgive me for walkin’ away from him like this.
Lizbeth kept sayin’ somethin’ to Pa, but I was feelin’ too fuzzy headed even to hear. I grabbed for the porch rail on my way out and kind of misjudged, I guess, because instead of gettin’ hold of it, I whacked my hand on the side. It hurt. And funny thing was, I was glad about that hurt because it seemed to take away some of the hurt in my gut just for a minute.
I didn’t really want to go and tell Mr. and Mrs. Wortham what just happened. I didn’t know if I could without endin’ up in more trouble over it when Pa found out. After all, Rorey’d confessed, all right. She’d said she lied about me, and that her and Lester started the fire after meetin’ together in the barn without gettin’ nobody’s permission. She’d said everythin’ she was supposed to say. And got Pa thinkin’ I was some kind of hypocrite for thinkin’ she oughta get in trouble.
Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake. Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.
All those words come rushing in my mind. I remembered they were part of what’s called the Beatitudes; we learned ’em in Sunday school a couple of years back. But they made me feel awful bad right now, and the crying I was trying to avoid kind of spilled out. Because I knew I wasn’t bein’ persecuted for the Lord’s sake. Pa wasn’t mad at me over lovin’ the Lord. He just plain didn’t like me, and that weren’t for nobody’s sake but my own.
I heard footsteps behind me, and at first I thought it was Rorey. I wasn’t going to turn around. I didn’t care what kind of thing she’d come up with to say. But then as I went across the yard and the footsteps just got closer, it didn’t sound so much like her. Nor Pa neither, ’cause these feet were lighter. I turned around, and it was Ben reachin’ out his arm.
“Frank, Lizbeth told me I ought to follow. She probably would herself, but she’s still trying to talk some sense at your pa. I hope it takes.”
I didn’t say anythin’. I just kept on walkin’.
“Are you all right?”
“Sure,” I told him. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me but a little burn and a nail scratch. I wouldn’t be wearin’ no bandage e’cept Mrs. Wortham insisted.”
Ben was quiet kind of long, and I kept walkin’. But he followed me. “The last I knew there was something more than that,” he said. “Something about somebody beating you up yesterday.”
“That’s like old hist’ry by now.”
“Frank,” he told me kind of low, “you
r big sister loves you.”
I almost choked on the stupid tears. “I know it.”
“It’s not right the way your pa does with you.”
“He’s just Pa.”
“Tonight he’s just wrong.”
I didn’t say nothin’. I figured Ben would go back in the house and be with Lizbeth. I figured he’d turn around real quick ’cause we were almost to the timber and he’d already said enough to make me feel at least a little better. But he didn’t turn around. He followed me right into the trees. I wondered about Lizbeth handlin’ Rorey and Pa both. But if anybody could, she could.
“Has he been like this all your life?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s worried Lizbeth some that he might’ve gotten worse after she left.”
“She . . . she just had a way a’ makin’ things all right,” I managed to say.
“I’m sorry.”
That was a mighty strange thing for him to say, and I told him so. “Seems like you hadn’t oughta be sorry over her leavin’, or it’d sound like you’s sorry to be married. I ain’t sorry ’bout that. I think it’s fine, Lizbeth bein’ so happy.”
“She’s not always happy.”
I turned around to look at him, even though I hadn’t wanted him to see that my cheeks were wet. “What do you mean? Why ain’t she happy?”
“Well, besides worrying about all of you, she’s been a little upset with me lately.”
I could feel my fists foldin’ up, even though I knew good and well that wouldn’t be no proper way to deal with nothin’. “What for?” My voice sounded kind of mean, even to me.
“I’ve been wanting children. Lots of children. I guess I asked her one too many times if she didn’t think it was time to get started on that.”