The Curing Season

by Leslie Wells

  Trudging down the road, Aaron led me from farm to farm, from community to community. Everywhere there was the same story: they’d already hired their pickers for the tobacco crop. Maybe if someone quit . . . but no one ever did. There simply was no work to be had anywhere, according to Aaron. I was able to get an occasional day’s worth of work helping a farmer’s wife, but more often than not they’d take one look at me limping in my dirty clothes and say they didn’t need any help.

  At night we would sleep in barns or even an open field if we couldn’t find shelter. There was of course little opportunity to bathe; I had to make do with splashing off in a creek whenever we came to one. At first I tried to convince myself that this was romantic; two lovers out on the road, us against the world. But after a while the novelty began to wear thin.

  When Aaron was around, he was fairly convivial; once in a while he would talk about Unionville and clerking opportunities and what we would do when we got to the city.

  —Heard about a good situation in Cheatham, should be opening up around November, he said one night after we ate potatoes that we’d roasted in an open fire in a field. We were lying together on two old feedbags that he’d found in a barn and that we carried with us for bedding. I was propped up on my elbows, staring into the embers of the fire, and Aaron lay back looking up at the stars.

  —That sounds good, I said cautiously, having heard this kind of talk before. I was getting a little weary of the romantic life on the road by now, and was ready for Aaron to find some steady work so we could sleep with a roof over our heads.

  —Yep, fellow tells me in good faith that he saw it in the papers, Aaron said in a satisfied way.

  Of course, I knew that seeing something in the paper and actually getting a job were miles apart, but I so badly wanted to believe what he said that I let myself feel happy about it.

  —Wouldn’t that be nice? The two of us cozy in a little house somewhere, you working in an office? I murmured, watching a blazing twig of hay burn bright red, then gradually molt into gray ash.

  —I guess it would. You my girl? he asked, teasingly.

  —You know I am, Aaron, I said shyly, savoring the shape of his name in my mouth, my right to say it any time I wanted. I started to tell him how much I loved him, but when I looked over at him again, his mouth was open in a snore.

  In moments like these I would experience a surge of optimism; a feeling that things would work out for me yet. Many times, once darkness fell, Aaron would throw himself upon me with such frenzied vigor that I felt he must love me. He was not tender, and most of the time I was left aching and sore, but I told myself that I was simply not used to lovemaking and that the physical aspect would get better with time.

  After these heavings and mutterings in the dark, he would collapse and roll away from me, and then I would try to talk to him about his past life, or what had happened that day, or our future together. Most of the time he fell asleep quickly, but if he stayed awake, we would have a short conversation that I would run over and over in my mind the next day, turning it into lovers’ talk.

  —Did you have any luck with the farmer you met in town? I’d ask.

  —Not much.

  —How about the man that told you to come back next week? The man from the feed store?

  —I aint heard back from him yet. Something’ll turn up, we won’t starve.

  We, I’d repeat to myself the next morning. He thinks of us as we. I’d nearly faint in gratitude, feeling that he cared for me.

  Or I’d ask him about his family. Generally he’d just laugh and say they were best left alone, the whole bunch of ’em. I gathered that unlike what he’d told me, he was not sending his mother money and that there was no affectionate memory on that front. When I prodded him more—for, after being alone all day, I was dying for some companionship, for some conversation—he’d grunt and say they never had a pot to piss in (his words) growing up. When I asked about his father, he replied that he never knew the bastard. His brothers and sisters appeared to be scattered to the winds. Aaron had no idea where they lived or what had become of them.

  About this time I discovered Aaron’s true age. I’d assumed he was about five or six years older than me—twenty-two or -three—but it turned out he was twenty-nine. A notice slipped out of his pocket when I was folding his extra pair of overalls; he’d applied for a job with the post office in one of the towns we’d just passed through, and on it he’d filled out his name, age, and other information. I wish he’d got the job, I thought in passing, but then the fact of his age hit me. I’d had no idea he was twelve years older than I was. All kinds of thoughts ran through my mind. What had he been doing all this time? He’d been old enough to work for over thirteen years and still had no roof over his head. I puzzled over this and tried to pry more out of him in our evening conversations, but he would not elaborate much on his past.

  • • •

  Perhaps the most telling thing that happened was one day when we stopped to wash off in a small river. I was sitting on the bank soaking my feet, and Aaron pulled his shirt off and was splashing himself. I noticed a long line of small dark points on his back, and asked him if a spider had bitten him the night before. Aaron laughed and said

  —No, that aint from any spider. One of my mother’s manfriends didn’t like having a little kid around. So he took a fork and heated it up and held me down and poked it into my back. That’s what those are.

  Horrified, I tried to ask him more, but he laughed in a way that quelled me.

  —My mama had lots of manfriends, he said brusquely. —I don’t know what was worst, the ones that liked me or the ones that didn’t.

  After that, I didn’t try to ask him much about his family.

  Along about September, it became obvious that he wasn’t going to get any tobacco work. It was then that Aaron started to drink openly, during the day. The first time I realized he was drinking, I was waiting for him in an old stable that was half a mile down a dirt path than ran alongside a cornfield. I’d been there the whole hot afternoon, and was hoping we could get out and walk and feel some cool air on our faces that evening before the sun set. Yet it got later and later, and still no Aaron. Finally a shadow at the door made me jump; it was he. He stood there in the doorway, and I knew something was wrong from his rumpled appearance. I stood up and went over to him.

  —Are you all right? I asked. But when I got closer, I could see him sneering at me.

  —Are you all right? he mocked me in a high-pitched, prissy voice.

  I turned and went back to where I’d been sitting. I realized he’d been drinking, and I derided myself for not understanding it earlier. Suddenly the blinders were removed from my eyes. This was why he couldn’t find work; he’d been getting drunk most afternoons.

  I turned away from him, but he came pawing at me. I pushed him back—which I was able to do only because he could barely stand, he was so intoxicated—and went over to sit by the window. Aaron lay down on the floor and mumbled to himself for half the night, cursing and moaning. He’d struggle up and strike out as if he were wrestling with someone, then fall back down onto the dirt floor.

  —Leave me alone, you bitch! he’d scream, then he’d mutter something incomprehensible. —Don’t you touch me! Don’t come near me!

  At last he lay still, and I went over to stroke his head as he slept. I was beginning to have some sense of what Aaron had endured as a child, and it was terrifying. We hadn’t had it easy in my home, but Father’s whippings almost seemed inconsequential compared to what Aaron seemed to have suffered at the hands of his mother, and his mother’s boyfriends, of which there had been many. Now that he was unconscious, a surge of protective sympathy went through me. I looked down at his handsome (to me, then) sleeping face and imagined the boy he once must have been. It was easy to love him when he was still and quiet like this. If only he’d been as easy to love when he was awake.

  On that night, and many times in those first few months, I longed t
o go home to the comfort of my own bed, but the thought of Father’s wrath stopped me. And I’ll admit, I did have my pride. The thought of Mary Jane Markley and all those girls I’d gone to school with hearing I’d run off with a man and, worse, come hobbling back home unmarried, was more than I could bear. I knew they’d figure I’d been so desperate for male company, I’d taken up with the first no-count who’d given me half a look. The poor gimpy girl couldn’t get anyone but a field hand, and even then he deserted her. I could just imagine their whispers and knowing smiles.

  But I guess the main reason I stayed was because I was still in love with him. I’d had the idea of Aaron Melville—and of someone to love, at last—in my mind for so long, I just couldn’t give him up.

  • • •

  Finally, in late October, after nine weeks of roaming the countryside, Aaron got taken on to milk cows and slop pigs at a big dairy farm in Shoah. We were allowed to sleep in a small barn in the back of the property. I tried to keep his clothes mended, and went up to the house every day to offer my services. Eventually the farmer’s wife got used to me coming and let me do a little cleaning and sewing for her. For pay I was given food, which was good because we had nothing to cook with in the barn, not even a pit to make a fire in. I’d bring something home in a pail from the farmhands’ lunch for Aaron’s dinner. He would wolf it down, but I would eat nothing, having eaten earlier at the house. Then he’d go out drinking with some of the hands.

  I was very lonely, but happy that we weren’t walking the roads anymore. Aaron still had his moments of high optimism where he’d talk about going to Unionville and clerking, but I had realized by then that they coincided with his drinking. It was around this time that I learned the queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach every morning wasn’t hunger. My monthlies were never regular, but I’d gone twelve weeks without having one at all.

  Aaron came home that night, and I gave him his supper. I was awfully nervous about telling him my news. I knew better than to hope he’d be happy about the baby, but I also hoped that knowing we had a child coming might help him settle down and stop drinking. And maybe he’d finally agree to marry me, too.

  —Mighty good succotash, he grunted after swiping his plate with a piece of bread. —Too bad they’re so stingy with the meat.

  —I think it’s nice of her to feed us at all, I commented. —She knows we don’t have anything to cook with.

  Aaron eyed me in mock surprise. —You lookin down your nose at the circumstances here?

  —I’m just grateful for the handouts. We need them. And we’re going to need them a lot more in a few months, I said. When he didn’t pursue this, I added,

  —Aaron, I’m expecting.

  His mouth set in a grim straight line.

  —Well, is that the truth. Guess I didn’t think someone as stick-thin as you’ud get knocked up. Guess that was my mistake.

  —I didn’t think it would happen either. I guess I thought you were taking care of things so this wouldn’t happen, I said sharply, to cover my disappointment at his response.

  —You thought I was taking care of things. So it’s my fault, huh?

  —No, I’m not saying that. It’s both our faults. It’s no one’s fault, it just happened, I stammered. —Maybe it will be nice, I mean, to have a child.

  —You plannin on keepin it? Aaron asked in a disbelieving tone.

  I felt a chill go through me. I couldn’t believe he’d suggest otherwise.

  —I couldn’t give a baby away, I said. —I couldn’t do that to my own child.

  —You sure it’s mine? he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  —How could you say that! You know you’re the only man I’ve ever—I gasped, so angry I couldn’t finish.

  He shook his head and stood up. —You women. Never know what’s the truth, comin or goin.

  —That’s not so and you know it, I said. —We’re going to need to save up some money now, for the doctor, I added. —And for a place to stay. We won’t be able to sleep in barns like this once we have a little one.

  —Reckon not, Aaron said, looking around the barn as if seeing it for the first time. —It would get pretty drafty in here in the winter.

  He turned to head out the door. A pang of loneliness hit me hard. I’d hoped that for once he’d stay home, with the news I’d just given him.

  —Can’t you stay here tonight? I couldn’t help myself from crying out.

  —I’m just goin out with the boys awhile. I’ll be back later, he said.

  But it was almost sunrise before he dragged himself back home, and almost noon before I could get him into any shape to go to work.

  As the next months wore on, Aaron stayed away more and more, often not coming back to the barn even to eat dinner. I’d sit alone on the dusty hay bales and eat the meal I’d brought back for him, wondering what was going to happen once the baby came. At times I was thrilled at the thought of having a child; a tiny person of my very own to love, and who’d love me back. But more often I worried about how we’d provide for someone so helpless and dependent. Every time I attempted to talk to Aaron about saving some money, he’d just reply that he didn’t have anything to give me. I knew he was drinking it all up, but whenever I looked through his overalls pockets, I couldn’t find any. The only thing I could figure was that he took his weekly pay right to the man with the still the minute he got it.

  That winter was bitter cold, and at night I’d put on every piece of his and my clothing that I could find, along with old burlap feedbags discarded in the barn. I’d burrow down into the haystack enveloped in all the old clothes and bags, wishing I had a book to help me while away the hours. In the morning my limbs were so stiff it would take fifteen minutes of gingerly walking about before my toes would stop being numb.

  And I was so lonely. Time and time again, I thought about returning home. I’d debate the matter in my head, late into the night. The thought of facing Father’s wrath and Mother’s shame was something I didn’t know if I could bear. But Sibby would stand by me, wouldn’t she? However, if she was about to marry Charlie, as it looked like she was when I left, I didn’t want to ruin her chances by showing up pregnant, with no husband in sight. Perhaps I could say Aaron had died or run off, but he was capable of showing up in Gower County again looking for work. It was such a small community; word tended to get around fast about anyone who got themselves into trouble. Any self-respecting man like Charlie would shy away from a family like that, I knew. I had ruined my own life; I didn’t want to go and ruin Sibby’s, too. And so I stayed.

  As I got bigger, it became more difficult for me to get around. Both my feet throbbed now, swollen as they were. At night, pains shot up through my legs like fiery knives. I wondered if this was the normal condition of pregnancy, or a special curse sent down upon me for my sins.

  The farmer’s wife was kind and let me rest when my legs ached, but I knew once the baby came we wouldn’t be allowed to stay. From what I gathered, Aaron had fallen behind in his work. I believe she had convinced her husband to keep him on only for my sake, until the baby was born and I got my strength back.

  • • •

  There was an early heat wave in April that scorched the earth. Lying there in the dusty barn, staring up at the night sky through the chinks in the logs, I could hardly breathe from the weight of the baby on my chest. At that point I began to wish for it to be over. I still hadn’t been to see a doctor, but from what the farmer’s wife had said, I assumed I’d have the baby in May. She told me of a midwife who would assist me when my time came and who’d accept payment later. I knew that was my only hope.

  I was terrified of dying while having the baby, as so many women did in my community when I was growing up. Mabel’s forty-six-hour labor, and other women’s birthing stories that I’d listened to first- or secondhand, gave me the shudders. My own mother had had a doctor when she’d had me, and even so had almost died in the process.

  When Luke came along there wasn’t enough money for
even a midwife, so Mother had suffered through it with only Sibby and me. We’d kept a bucket of water boiling on the fire and put hot rags on her forehead and belly. When she finally gave birth to Luke eighteen hours later, I thought she had indeed died, there was so much blood. But Sibby, who’d been through it before with one of our cousins, said she knew Mother would be all right. I wished I could just go home and let Sibby tend to me, but I felt that I couldn’t. I had all this on my mind as my time with the baby approached.

  The night I began having my pains, Aaron was nowhere to be found. I was leaving the farmer’s house when a grinding ache began in my lower back. The wife guessed what it was and sent for the midwife. She told me to go on to the barn and lie down. I remember staring up at the huge dark rafters, dotted with dried-up wasps’ nests, clenching my teeth against the pain, wishing one of the beams would fall on me and put me out of my misery.

  The midwife came, and the farmer’s wife showed up later with hot water and rags. The farmer’s wife held my hand, gave me a stick to bite down on, and wiped my forehead with wet rags. The midwife massaged my stomach and told me not to push the baby out yet. Even when I screamed at her that I had to push it out now, she wouldn’t let me.

  I thought I would die from the pain, it was so horrible. It scissored across my huge belly as if some great hand was breaking me in two. In all the times I’d felt Father’s belt cut into my back, I had never imagined an agony this fierce. I imagined how sorry Aaron would be that I’d died in my birthing bed. How sorry that he hadn’t been there to make sure I was all right. But then the thought of dying without seeing his face again made me want to struggle to live.

  Finally the midwife said I was ready, and my body started pushing for all it was worth. At first it was an immense relief, and I thought the baby was about to come out. But after a while, I was exhausted, and there was still no baby. Now the midwife was screaming at me to push, and I was screaming back that I was too tired. The farmer’s wife took one of my legs, the midwife took the other, and they held them up in the air and made me increase my exertions once more.