The Curing Season

by Leslie Wells

  Her grandfather had been in the War between the States, and once Sibby and I were talking to her about it after Silas Crowell’s son got himself killed in France after lying about his age and running off to join up at sixteen. A lot of the local farmboys had volunteered for World War II, and it seemed like every other month someone got the dreaded telegram. Edwina and a group of us girls and women would go over to the house of the family whose son had been killed and do anything that needed doing. We saw a lot of Edwina in those years; it seemed she was always the first to hear and the first to arrive. This time, when Sibby and I went to the Crowells’ to see how we could help, Edwina was already there, as usual.

  She was pressing clothes with an old hand iron, and Sibby and I started in folding. We talked about the war for a while in hushed tones, and what had happened to Cal Crowell. Then, having read up on Civil War history, I asked Edwina what her grandfather had said about that war. Edwina looked at me from around the edges of the bonnet she always wore and spoke in her trembly, old voice.

  —It was a turrible time, she said. —Turrible.

  —What did he tell you about it? I asked, eager for more details.

  Edwina shook her head and went back to her ironing. Every few minutes she’d look up at me and intone,

  —Turrible,

  without adding another word. Finally Sibby had to leave the room, she was laughing so hard. From then on, every time Sibby or I asked the other how something went, the answer to the question was, —Turrible.

  —Someone’s head is off in the clouds, Alicia commented, leaning over to ruffle my apron. I smiled, embarrassed. Alicia was a notable gossip, and I wouldn’t want her inferring anything personal from my dreaminess.

  —I was just wishing days like this could last all year long, I said. —Eating like this, and the company.

  I smiled and the women smiled back, nodding in agreement. It was such a nice change from the usual routine farm work.

  —Your sister couldn’t come, Mrs. Mellers said, not a question.

  —No, she had to help Mother today. She hasn’t been very well since the baby.

  —And I feel bad I haven’t been over to check on her in a long time, Mrs. Mellers replied. —I promise I’ll get by as soon as I get my squash in.

  Evelyn and Mabel nodded.

  —Child, I haven’t seen the light of day since my twins came along, Mabel said.

  Mabel, mother of six, had had twins the last go-round, making eight children all under the age of twelve. The other women nodded sympathetically, and I nodded too.

  —How long was your labor with the boys? asked Alicia, although all of us already knew. We’d heard the story before, but we all wanted to hear it again.

  Mabel sighed, and her big stomach under the apron repeated the movement as an undulating echo. She settled herself back into her chair.

  —Forty-six hours, she breathed with a grimace. The doctor was away tendin to the people that got burnt up in Sayerstown, that boardinghouse fire. He didn’t get there til after the boys came.

  —How’d it start? Evelyn prompted. —First two times I went into labor, I was out picking corn. Got to be where Tom’d tell me, Woman, go get us some corn, you’re long overdue for that baby.

  I laughed along with the others. I knew Mabel’s story almost by heart, but every time I heard it my stomach seized up in anticipation and fear. It was like those times at the movies where you knew the villain was going to kill an innocent victim and you were afraid to watch, yet you couldn’t wait to see it happen.

  —Mine came all different times, different ways. I told you all about my water breakin at the mill, Mabel said. —Mr. Sawyer’s poor little Wesley, just eleven, saw all the water gushin out of me and turned and ran. He told his dad, Mrs. Blackstone’s done carried in a big cistern under her skirt and it’s done spilt!

  Mrs. Mellers held her side as she laughed, and Alicia hid her mouth behind her hand. I smiled, wanting her to get on to the interesting part.

  —But with the twins, I just had me some faint little tweaks and pains at first, like the devil pokin me with his pitchfork, but from inside, Mabel continued. —That went on for about four hours, then I had the sharpest, awfullest pain I’d ever felt with any of ’em. Liked to’ve knocked me into Sunday.

  —Uhmm-umph. Evelyn drew out her grunt sagely.

  —I told James to run and fetch Sam from the field. I figured I’d go quick, like the last time. By the time Sam got to the house, I was pacin the kitchen, prayin. In between prayers, a few choice words would slip in. Lord forgive me, but I was gettin it in my back.

  —That back labor’s the worst, Alicia chimed in. —I had that with my second.

  —Mary and Otis ran and told Sam before he could even get in the door. Mama’s cussin! Mama’s cussin! Sam figured he’d find me on the floor, but there I was, just walkin round and around that kitchen. He’d sent James on to Zola’s to fetch her. Zola Hardaway’s my second cousin, Mabel added. —Zola delivered two of her sister’s babies, and I always had her with mine. Seems like we never got a doctor in the house til after I’d spit the baby out.

  Evelyn hooted. —Nina Herrick says it’s bad luck if the doctor gets there in time. The one time he did come before she had the baby, it had colic for six months.

  —I never once’t had a doctor present, added Mrs. Mellers. —Not with Paul, nor Corinne nor Bobby. I wouldn’t know what it was like to have one.

  —We had Dr. Withers for all of ours, Alicia said, somewhat prissily. —I can’t say as I thought he did much good though.

  Mabel snorted. —There’s no doctor in this world that could’ve helped me none. By the time I passed twenty-eight hours, I just knew. I’d spent all night long thinkin the baby had to be almost here. I’d thrash around on the bed, then get up and pace. Thrash and pace, thrash and pace, all the livelong night. Every once in a while I had to let out another choice word. That made Sam laugh, since I never cuss, but I told him if he thought it was so funny he wouldn’t be gettin near me for a year after this. He got right solemn-looking then, and said he’d go fetch me some iced tea.

  The women laughed knowingly. I blushed, wondering at their familiarity with all these bodily functions, with what men did in the dark. Sibby and I had discussed this many times at night in the room we shared. She knew, she said, where it went, and you were supposed to get used to it and even like it after a while. It made both of us feel a little queasy to think about such things, but yet it was fascinating. How on earth could you get to like that?

  I couldn’t imagine what men and women said to each other while this was going on. Sibby said they probably kissed, but I couldn’t imagine something so romantic accompanying such an ignoble act.

  Of course, Sibby, who had actually been kissed several times, said kissing wasn’t all that romantic. She’d supplied me with the details every time it had happened to her: Travis Williams’s buck teeth had cut her upper lip; Wade Biggers had tried to jam his tongue down her throat, and almost strangled her; Jimmy Peates had dry lips and pursed them just like old Miss Simms, our Sunday school teacher, when she used to kiss us on the cheek every summer after we finished Bible school. In fact, Sibby had said she’d rather have a kiss from Miss Simms than from Jimmy Peates because at least Miss Simms smelled nice, like old lady powder, while Jimmy stank like he hadn’t bathed in a month of Sundays.

  —The next day, Mabel continued, —I was bleedin like a stuck pig, but still no baby. Just the pains, stronger and stronger. They’d slack off for a time, then come back even harder. But I never got the urge to push. I had started to be afraid I was never going to get the baby out, that I was going to die. Dear God, just don’t let me die still pregnant, I prayed. I just want to get this out of me and then go on. I admit, that wasn’t a very Christian thing to think, she apologized, —but that was all that come to me. I was way past thinkin about the baby and namin it or any other pleasure on earth.

  —That’s all right, Mabel, Evelyn added. —God is a man, He n
ever had to go through labor. If He had, He never would’ve made women the way He did.

  —Oh, Evelyn, Alicia said, wide-eyed, but the rest of the women giggled.

  —Go on, Mabel, said Mrs. Mellers. —The men’ll be here in a few minutes; I can see them lowering that last beam.

  —Well, the sun set and still I was painin with no end in sight. Zola and her three and one of her sisters had been camped out in my house all day long. With my six and her three children runnin through the house, it was startin to get on my nerves. I’d stay upstairs as long as I could because I didn’t want mine to see me in that condition, but I had to come down some just to get some air. This was in August, she added, and we groaned collectively, imagining the heat upstairs under the tin eaves of her roof.

  —Sam had gone on back to the south forty; he had to get the last of the tobacco picked or we wouldn’t have anything to feed the ones we already had. I thought, If this sun sets on me still in labor, I’m just gonna keel over right here and die.

  —I remember that feeling, and this was after twelve hours of labor, not two days’orth, commented Evelyn.

  —Well, to make a long story short, I finally fell asleep Sunday mornin at around two o’clock. I hadn’t slept since Thursday night, because the pains started that next day. I had Sam bring all the children up to say goodbye to me. I really thought, This is it. I’m goin to meet my Maker. And I have to tell you, I wasn’t sorry. I would’ve shaken the hand of Old Spite if he would’ve made that pain go away. Sam was cryin, the older kids were cryin because they knew why they were comin upstairs to see me. The babies started cryin because the older uns were. It was awful. Poor Zola was cryin, and then hers started in. I thought, At least I’ll be missed. At least I’m not goin out of here with nobody that loves me, like some do.

  Who would cry if I died? I asked myself. Sibby, WillieEd, and Mother. That was about it. Maybe a few people at church. It was a sobering thought.

  —Then I fell asleep. When I woke, I was already pushin. The pushin woke me up! I hollered for Zola, and she and Sam came runnin upstairs. She grabbed one leg and shouted for Sam to grab the other. First out come Zeke, then out come Zachariah. I figured if I named ’em both with Zs, the last letter of the alphabet, then I wouldn’t have any more. That sounds like crazy logic, but I was desperate. Zola got ’em cleaned up nice and put one on each breast. And did those boys suck! They were hungry after fightin one another all that time to see who got to come out first. I just rested. I was glad to be alive. And don’t you know, ’long about noon, Doc Pickens showed up, lookin pleased as punch with hisself. Didn’t so much as blink when Sam told him I’d had forty-six hours of labor and twin boys. He patted my head like you would a cow, and said, You done good, Mabel. I wanted to take the iron pot that Zola had used to boil water and bean him in the head.

  Mabel laughed, the other women laughed, and then we all sighed. The second group of men were coming up the hill to be fed.

  —Men just don’t know their knees from their elbows, Evelyn snorted.

  —Well, Mabel, how long was it before Sam got near you again? Did you make him wait a year? Mrs. Mellers asked, winking at Evelyn.

  Mabel chortled. —Don’t you know that man wanted to resume relations after a month? I fought with him about it for eight weeks, then I gave in. But I don’t know what I’d do if I got in the family way again, she said with a worried look. —I pray every night that it won’t happen. With eight mouths to feed plus the two of us, we’ve got our hands full. I never want to go through what I did with the twins.

  —You know what they say, always an easy labor after a hard one, Alicia pitched in.

  As the men came over to the table, exclaiming over the bountiful food, who should approach but Aaron. I was surprised he’d show up at the barnraising, since it was made up of people in our farming community who’d known each other for years. Aaron was all grinning and filthy, with wood chips and sawdust clinging to his hair and clothes, but he looked fine to me. Instinctively I moved to the far end of the table, away from the other women. I didn’t want Alicia or any of them to notice me talking to Aaron. I figured that was my business.

  —Well if you aint a sight for sore eyes, he said right out loud. I looked to see if someone was standing behind me, and he laughed.

  —I’m talking to you, Cora Slaughter, he said. His teeth seemed enormous in his wide mouth. They almost scared me, they were so big and white.

  —Hello, Aaron. It was the first time I’d said his name out loud, though I’d practiced in silence night after night.

  —Where’s Father? he asked, and I didn’t like his disrespect, although I had to smile a little.

  —He couldn’t come. Would you like some of these beans?

  —Heap me up a plate, and two–three biscuits, too. Work like this gives me a real appetite.

  He said it slowly, smiling at me like he wanted to eat me alive. I glanced around nervously, but no one seemed to notice our conversation.

  —It’s going to be a nice big barn. John’s needed a new one for some time, I commented.

  —I don’t care about the barn. Haying’s going to be done soon, and I need some new work. Figured someone might notice a good worker like me in this crowd and hire me on. I’m saving up to start my own clerical situation in Unionville next spring. I was clerking at a store there til February, when they had to close because business was bad. I’m not cut out for this farmhand stuff, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. I’m much more satisfied behind a desk.

  Now that he said it, I could picture him sitting at a desk with paper and pencils, all ready to do his figures. Now I knew why he didn’t seem to fit in with the other farmboys. He seemed more refined than the others, although with the dust and dirt all over his overalls, you had to look hard to tell. But at that time I was looking hard, and I thought I could see it.

  —I imagine clerking is hard work too, all those numbers. Adding up those columns in school makes me dizzy, I said.

  Actually, this wasn’t true; I was quite good at math. I was just repeating a line I’d heard Betsy McGuire use when she flirted with the boys after choir practice. Mrs. Spender had even wanted to send me to college based on my math and reading test scores, but of course we didn’t have the money. Father laughed out loud when I told him.

  —What’s a cripple like you going to do at college? he had said.

  Sometimes I was surprised that Father was still able to figure out ways to hurt my feelings.

  Aaron laughed. —I don’t imagine you’ll have to stare at a lot of numbers, he said. —That’s a menfolks thing. I don’t know why they bother teaching suchlike to girls anyway. You womenfolk need to know how to mend a sock, put food on the table, and have babies. That’s what comes in handy for the women.

  I looked at him. He was smiling at me again, with a certain meaning in his smile. Every time he spoke to me, he seemed to be implying things I couldn’t believe he’d mean. Yet when I’d see him again, it would start up all over again. I shook my head and handed him a fork.

  —Eat your fill of beans, there’s plenty here, I said.

  —I will, and I’ll be back for more, he replied, and headed off to sit with the men under some shady oaks.

  After another hour I had to sit down to rest my leg. I ate a couple more ham biscuits, and suddenly Aaron squatted beside me. I could smell the tinge of his sweat, he was that close.

  —That was good eating. What dish did you bring? he asked.

  I hesitated to tell him I couldn’t cook worth a durn.

  —I was going to make biscuits, but I didn’t have time, I lied. —So I just brought some of Mother’s cornbread, and came to help serve the food and clean up.

  —I’d love to try some of your homemade biscuits. I can tell by those hands they’d be soft and sweet.

  I looked at my hands. They looked ordinary to me; in fact they were rough and scratched from chopping firewood for the cookstove. I never seemed to do it without getting at least on
e splinter that was hard to dig out. But his pretty words made my heart shake.

  —I do fine with any kind of bread, I said, wondering where these fictions were coming from.

  —Ever make spoonbread? My mama used to fix that every once in a while, when she got in the mood. We’d have creamed potatoes, chicken with brown gravy, and some kind of fancy green beans she dished up. I miss all that. Aaron sighed.

  —Where are you from?

  —Potters Creek, he said. —My daddy had a big farm there until he died, then we had it hard. My mama had to sell the farm lot by lot. Finally we lost all but the patch of land the house was on, and I had to go to work at the feed store. When they found out I was good with figures, well, they promoted me right away. I bought me a wool suit and moved to Unionville three months later, got me a job in the post office. Then I moved on to clerking and did that for a few years.

  All this sounded pretty good to my young ears. And the story about losing the land gained my immediate sympathy. It wasn’t until later that I learned none of it was true.

  —I’m sorry to hear about your mama’s farm, I said. —Where is she now?

  —Living with relatives, Aaron said.

  That seemed to be all he wanted to volunteer.

  —Were you in the war?

  —No, I managed to avoid that. The post office needed workers to help with the home effort. Some of that mail was highly classified, let me tell you. Even in Virginia, you’d be surprised at how many spies were around. You could nary trust your own brother or sister. Aaron frowned, his eyebrows drawn together.

  —Do you have any brothers or sisters? I asked, anxious to learn more personal information about him.

  Aaron laughed. —Five, but none of them’s any ’count. Left mama as soon as they could walk off the place. I’m the only one who still helps her out when I can, and lately it hasn’t been what I’d like to send her.

  What a nice man, I thought, to take care of his poor mama.

  —Guess I’d better get back to work, Aaron said. He stood up and brushed off his Red Camels. —Some of the fellers asked me to go to Jebson’s still after we’re done for the day, but I don’t have time for that kind of mess. When am I going to see you again?