by Leslie Wells
She shakes her head, tsk-ing. I see motion above me and look up at a mockingbird that lands on a branch above our heads. She sees my neck, which I’d forgotten to cover, and her mouth opens wide. She motions toward my throat, her pecan-colored forehead wrinkled in consternation. She moves closer to me.
—Your man do that?
I nod.
—You gonna stay with him? she asks, frowning.
I nod again, and shrug.
Slowly she reaches over, as if I might be a wild animal about to bolt, and pats my arm gingerly.
—You know where I live, right? Down there about a mile through the woods, bottom of the hill. Big hickory tree in front of my cabin. You ever need someplace to go, you can come stay by me.
Tears spring to my eyes, and I turn my head as if to see what Joshua is doing. I wait until my eyes are dry before I look at her. She nods at me, and we both lie back on the sand. After about an hour, the children are soaked through and tired of playing. I motion for Joshua to follow me, and wave goodbye to Yellow Scarf and her children. She grasps my hand gently before she goes. All the way back to the house, I think about her words.
When we get home, Aaron is sitting in the kitchen nursing his head with chicory coffee. I send Joshua out into the yard and, seeing that Aaron’s cup is empty, pour him a refill from the boiling water on the oven. Aaron takes the cup silently and drains it in four gulps. He stands up and comes close to me. I try to edge away, but he holds my arm firmly and pulls my dressfront away from my neck. His eyes widen. I can see from his expression that he has no recollection of what he did to me last night, but he knows that he is viewing his own handiwork.
—Cora, I—Better put something on that, he says. —Want me to go to the store for some ice?
I turn away and shake my head, no. At moments like this I feel I am living with two men; one the Aaron I knew before I ran off with him, the other a demon who has overtaken the former’s body. I know that drink can transform a person’s nature; I also sense that Aaron’s deprivations as a child have contributed much to the individual he has become. But still it is puzzling to me that someone can be so depraved in drink and then at times seem so sincerely sorry for it afterward.
I feel the vibration of his feet on the floor, and look up to see him go outside and disappear down the path that cuts through the woods.
• • •
In the afternoon, I go out to feed the chicken. We usually let her forage for whatever she can get, unless there are slops, and after last night’s meeting there are. The chicken pecks up the cold leavings eagerly and circles, hoping for more. Joshua tries to pet her head, and I grab his hand to keep him from getting pecked. I try to discourage him from getting too attached to any of the few animals we’ve had, since most of them wind up on our table. There had been a little cat he’d liked at the place where we used to live, but one day she stopped showing up and I had a time making him understand that she wasn’t coming back. Finally he’d repeat, —She goed to heaven, pointing to the sky, and I’d tell him, yes. We moved shortly thereafter.
I’d always felt close to animals growing up, maybe because I didn’t have many humans to feel fond of. It was always hard when one of the animals I’d made a pet of had to be killed for food. I remember being at the barn one morning as the sun came up, the mule and the brown-and-white cow standing nearby with her calf. The cow turned to face the sun as it crept up over the trees, and the mule turned too. Together we watched the brilliant golden orb spill over the tops of the trees like a broken egg. In that moment I felt at one with them, like I was an animal myself.
Then that next week Father killed the calf, and we had to listen to the cow lowing for her baby, day in and day out. Even Mother agreed it was a pitiful thing. She knew how upset we were, and chose particularly soothing passages that week from the Bible for our nightly readings. Sibby and I made a secret vow not to eat beef after that. I think she kept her promise for about a month, and I for a few months after that.
Often, Mother recited Bible verses to us during our daily chores, as well. Her favorites were from Psalms and the Book of Matthew, the story of Jesus’ birth. We’d sit shelling butterbeans on the sagging back porch, and she’d prop the Bible up in the seat of a broken chair. There’d be no sound but her voice and the pinging of the beans in the tin pail. We’d sit there for hours, until WillieEd brought the cows in from the pasture for me and Sibby to milk. Mother would get up slowly and sigh, sensing that Father was close behind, wanting his dinner. Even if he’d spent the afternoon sleeping off a spell of drink, he’d eat like he’d been ploughing in the fields since sunrise. And if dinner wasn’t exactly to his liking, Mother would be the one to pay.
I know that the Bible was Mother’s source of strength. She used it to bolster herself, to get through yet another day. I wish I could find the same solace in reading it, but somehow I cannot. Still, it is the only book Aaron allows in the house, so I retreat into it whenever I can.
Sibby and I used to wonder why Mother put up with Father’s meanness, but at least we had food most of the time. Others who didn’t have fathers didn’t even have that. It was a necessity of survival, and she was probably afraid of what would happen if she ever did try to leave. How do you walk out of your house with four children and nothing to feed them, no place to go? I feel ashamed, now, of all the times Sibby and I criticized Mother for putting up with him. Now I understand only too well why she did.
Chapter Thirteen
Once in a while when Aaron has work that I know will take him away from the house for a while, I screw up my nerve and walk the mile and a half into town with Joshua. Although I am leery of it, Joshua loves seeing the farmers strolling around with their mangy dogs, the farmers’ wives followed by hordes of their barefoot children, imploring their mothers for this or that. He loves to stand outside the feed store watching the workers haul the bags of corn and oats and seed, and to look into the windows of the general store, smeary with the wishful breath and sweaty palms of others who’ve peered into the panes. So on rare occasions I take him into town, whenever Aaron is sure to be out of the house and I’m able to retrieve a nickel from his overalls without his knowing it.
Today Aaron announces that he has a job to tend to. He hitches up Nettie and self-importantly leads her down the road. I know what this means; he will work for the farmer who’s hired him maybe until noon or one, then start drinking with one of the other hands and never make it back to the field. He’ll turn up here around three, stinking drunk and ornery as an old goat. But that’s enough time for my purposes. I motion to Joshua that we are going down the road too, but in the other direction, and he skips along beside me excitedly. It absolutely delights him to go into town, and I feel I should take him, although if Aaron ever found out he’d make me suffer for my waywardness.
The sun shines in such a fine way that I feel like skipping too. As Joshua grows bigger, at times it is hard for me to keep up with him, and I am happy about that. I envision one day when he is taller than me and Aaron, and when he will take his father down a notch or two. But that is a long time off, and until then it will be up to me to do the protecting.
—We gonna buy something in town? Joshua asks, squinting up at me.
I smile and nod, catch his hand and swing it. I can feel his happiness flowing into me.
—What we gonna get? Can I have a whistle? he asks.
I make an elaborate I-don’t-know gesture. The nickel in my pocket probably isn’t enough for a toy, but I’ll get him some kind of treat. Joshua interprets this in a positive way and hops about, swooping in to give me hugs around the knees that hobble me. I kneel and squeeze him back, then motion that we need to get on down the road. I want to be home well before Aaron returns.
—He not gonna be to town? Joshua wants to know.
I shake my head. Joshua grins in relief and lunges forward.
• • •
After an hour or so we enter the town square, me lagging behind Joshua, who is now p
ulling at my arm to get me to hurry over to the general store. But first I gesture that I want to sit with him in the shade to rest and to eat the lunch I have packed for us in a clean rag. He follows me unhappily to the bench under some big oaks in the center of town, a little plot of green amid the dusty streets.
Several farmers are talking over by the post office, and three horses tied to the rail switch their tails at flies. A colored woman leads her two girls into the post office, to exit five minutes later with a package wrapped in brown paper. One of the farmer’s dogs begins to bark at the children, and they cower against their mother’s skirt until the farmer cuffs it sharply and pulls it back down beside him.
I unwrap our lunch, dried peas and two apples, and hand Joshua his. I unscrew the cap of an old flask and give him a deep drink of water before I take a swig. The water from the flask is cool and sweet on the back of my throat. I always give Joshua lunch when we first arrive in town to keep him from hounding me for bought food from the diner. He still keeps after me for a sweet, but not as much after we’ve eaten.
Once in a while a car drives by, spewing brown smoke and dust and making us cough. Although most of the farmers in our area have an automobile, poor people like us don’t, and a car is still enough of a sensation to Joshua to make him sit up excitedly whenever one passes.
I chew my peas slowly, savoring each one. The apple is a little peffy, gone past its prime, but it nourishes the growling in my gut and I am grateful for it. Joshua has gobbled his peas practically whole, and is jumping about while he chews his apple into a cud. He loves to keep the mauled bits in his cheeks until they puff up like a squirrel’s, sucking on the juices until the last bit of sweetness is pulled out of them. Only then will he swallow the pulp and take more voracious bites. He comes over and tugs at my hand.
—Come on, let’s go, he says excitedly.
I sigh and rouse myself, brushing pea husks off my apron. We walk across the road, holding our hands over our noses to keep from inhaling the dust from a car that has just passed. A few farmers are sitting on a bench outside the entrance to the store, talking and poking big plugs of tobacco into their cheeks. One of them speaks to Joshua as we pass, but I do not catch what he says, and Joshua knows better than to reply. I carefully step around the brown puddles of spit, avoiding their eyes, and we enter the cool dry expanse of the store’s interior.
My sight adjusts to the darkness after the brilliant sunshine. The smells of the assorted dry goods are tantalizing—a straw smell from the stack of hats, a clean-washed scent from the oilcloths for table coverings, with a faint, sweet odor underlying everything. It has been months since we were last here. The clerk is new to me, a balding young man with big patches of sweat under his shirtsleeves. He is talking to two women, bowing over a bolt of colored cloth. I am glad that his attention is taken. I hold Joshua’s hand tightly so he doesn’t dart away from me and do the unthinkable and break something I can’t pay for. He squirms but lets me grip him as we head toward the candy counter.
Joshua stops just short of the glass shelves and stares up in awe. I smile at his slack-jawed look of wonder, remembering the times Sibby and I would go into Job’s store and practically slobber until he served us a penny’s worth of licorice or peppermint. Joshua’s favorite is lemon twist, and I see that they have it in a big jar behind the pinwheels. I lift him up so he can see what is there. His eyes grow big and he points.
—Can I have some? Please? he asks, pointing to the twists.
I put him down, smiling, and nod. I tug on his arm to indicate that we must wait for the clerk. I look back and see that he is still gesturing over the bolt of cloth. Slowly I lead Joshua around the stacks of sewing baskets and carefully folded aprons and reduced-price chipped china until we come to where the women are, finally deciding to purchase their piece of material.
The clerk nods to indicate he’s seen me, and begins tying up their parcel with a piece of white twine. Joshua watches, fascinated, as he winds and winds the twine around the printed blue fabric. He looks up at me, eyes wide, wanting an explanation. I cannot attempt one here with my spurious gestures and hums, so I simply shrug. Joshua accepts this for now and hops from foot to foot, impatiently awaiting his treat.
The women step aside so the clerk can help me, and I see that one of them is from our church, although I do not know her name. She smiles at me in recognition and pats Joshua on the head. Wanly I smile back and draw Joshua to me; I don’t want her attentions. The clerk looks at me in a friendly way and says
—Ma’am. What can I help you with?
This is the moment I hate, another reason I don’t come to town but every so often. I feel my face darken as I motion mutely toward the candy. I look sideways at the clerk to see if he has understood. Joshua is pointing too.
—Candy! Want some lemon candy, please.
The clerk looks at him and me, then glances at the ladies uncertainly. The one who knows me from church angles her head slightly and says
—She’s a deaf-mute.
His eyes widen, he nods and motions to me to follow him. Ducking my head in shame, I lead Joshua back to the candy counter, point to the lemon twists, gesture as he scoops out too many, dig out my nickel and hold it up in my sweaty palm. He slides more back into the jar until he has a nickel’s worth, five pieces, then he plucks two more out of the jar and adds them to the lot. He opens a paper bag smartly, tucks the mouth of the scoop into the bag and slides the candy in, hands it to Joshua, and takes the damp nickel that I am still offering.
Joshua plugs his mouth with the pieces like a little savage. I try to get him to wait until we have left the store, but he is patently unable. As we are leaving, the colored woman from the post office enters with her two girls, shyly avoiding my eyes, seeming to want to appear invisible. I know how you feel, I wish I could tell her. I hurry by the farmers, conscious of my limp, and indicate to Joshua that we must go home now. He wants to stay and sit on the bench in the shade and eat his candy, but we don’t have time for that; Aaron may well be back early, for all I know.
Joshua stubbornly refuses to walk in the direction I need him to go, so finally I pick him up and limp with him on my hip until we are out of town. He is almost too big for me to do this anymore; his weight sits heavily on my body like a sack of meal. Close up, his teeth and lips are yellow with foam from the twists, and he smiles the happiest smile I’ve seen in weeks. I wish I could buy him sacks and sacks of the twists, a mountainous pile of candy that would fill the entire yard, enough to see that dazed happy look on his face every morning of the world.
Chapter Fourteen
I am bringing the wash up from the spring. I have wrung every bit of water that I can out of it, but even so it weighs down the pail so heavily that I cannot carry it. I have to drag it along on the ground, stopping every few yards or so. I used to be able to carry a pail full of wet clothes all the way up the hill, but this past year it seems much of my strength has vanished.
Joshua has run ahead of me. When he is four or five he will be able to help me with such onerous chores, but at three he lacks the stamina or concentration to do so. And that is fine for now. Most children in these parts start working as soon as they can walk without falling, bringing in kindling wood and such, but I’d like him to have at least another year or two before I ask him to do much.
Sibby and I used to swear, when we were hauling in buckets of water and chopping wood for cookfires, that we wouldn’t let our children work like dogs. Sibby was going to marry a city fellow and never see a farm again, she used to say. And I was going to be a single career woman and be independent. I wonder if she wound up marrying Charlie. They had just met when I left with Aaron, but she seemed gone over him already. I realize that I might never find out what became of her, and it leaves me with a hollow aching sadness.
As I am musing over this, I come out into the clearing of our yard. I look up and see that Joshua is talking to a man on our back step. Something in the burly shape of his shoulder
s is familiar, but I can’t name him until I come closer and see that it is Sam Jones. A cold tingle of fear streams down my spine, but I tell myself that Aaron must be home, he must be here to see Aaron about something. When I come closer he turns and smiles, showing his blocky teeth. His bristly blond hair is thin in patches over his sunburned scalp.
—Just catchin up here with your son, he says, opening his mouth exaggeratedly. I can tell from Joshua’s expression that he is shouting. It is odd that people who know I can’t hear often still try to shout at me, as if the loudness will somehow help. Joshua looks at me expectantly.
—I explained to your boy that I’m an old friend of his daddy’s, Sam Jones continues.
I try to indicate that Aaron is not here. Joshua knows what I am trying to do.
—He not here, he tells the man. But Jones doesn’t seem interested in this piece of news.
—Waal, I’ll just wait a bit. I ’magine he’ll be comin home shortly, he says, and my spirits sink. How long does he think he can hang about?
—Here, let me he’p you get this washbucket in, he says, going for the pail.
I try to hang on to it, but he lifts it out of my hands and carries it over to the line I’ve strung up between two trees. I look down and realize that my whole dressfront is wet through. I cannot go upstairs and change with Jones here, so I cross my arms in front of me until he sets the bucket down. Then I begin hanging the clothes at the far end of the line, holding them up before my chest as I work. Joshua is playing right in sight like a good boy. I keep thinking that Jones will leave, seeing that Aaron isn’t here, but he leans back against a tree, casually watching me hang the laundry. He seems to have no harmful intentions. Maybe his grabbing me in the kitchen was just a drunken act that he’s long forgotten, I tell myself.