The Curing Season

by Leslie Wells

  —What were you talking to that nigger about? he shouts into my face. —Who was she? Did that little brat say something to you about our plans?

  —Hmmhmmahm, I mumble, shaking my head.

  Aaron shakes my shoulders til my head rattles. —You tell me, you bitch! What were you tellin her? Why you havin a long conversation with that niggerwoman!

  I clear my throat to speak. —wanted a job, I say, my words jolting out as he continues to shake me. My neck snaps back from his blow.

  —You’re lyin! You lyin little bitch! I’m gonna find out, you know! You and your little tenderbait aint goin to ruin our plans!

  He pushes me back and heads over to where Joshua has been watching, transfixed. I motion for Joshua to get up and run, but he is too afraid to move. Aaron picks him up by the arms and holds him high, screaming into his face.

  —You little bastard! What did you tell her! What did you tell her, I said!

  By now I have reached him and hang on his arm so he has to drop Joshua. He swings around to club me again but misses, losing his footing.

  —Goddammit! See what you made me do! You’re gonna be sorry for this! he screams as he gets up from the ground.

  I stand right over him and scream back. —She was looking for work! She has five children and not a speck of food in the house! That’s all! I let her know we didn’t have anything — give her! That was it! I never saw her before in my life!

  Aaron stands unevenly, his mouth gaping open, and I smell the liquor on his breath. He looks astonished, I suppose having forgotten that I could talk at all. I hope that Joshua has taken the opportunity to run far into the woods by now, but I can’t risk looking around or it might draw attention to his absence.

  —I never saw her before, I say again. —She was looking for work.

  —You shut up now, he says, eyes narrowing. —You’ve done said enough.

  He pushes past me, knocking hard against my body as he goes by, and heads down the road. I watch him until he is out of sight, then hightail it out of the yard and go into the woods to look for Joshua.

  Finally I find him sitting on the path, sobbing. I rush over to him and put my arms around his quaking body.

  —Honey, we’re going to get away from here. Tonight. Nita told me we can go with them. We’re going to be safe where he can never find us.

  Joshua looks up at me, tears streaking his face.

  —Really, Mama? he says in disbelief. —He can’t find us?

  —No, I say with a firmness I don’t feel. —He won’t. We’ll have a whole new life, once we get out of here.

  —You keep talking to me? he asks, and my heart breaks. —You said you would, but then you didn’t.

  —Yes, I’ll keep talking to you. I’ll never stop talking again. He made me, but he won’t be able to anymore, I say, unable to keep back my own tears.

  Joshua climbs into my lap and holds on to me. We sit like that for some time, and I see that he has fallen asleep. I let him rest while I stare into the trees, watching the birds fly, listening to their calls. It is still a surprise to be able to hear, and every birdnote is a particular joy. When I notice that the sun is much lower in the sky, I rouse him. We stand up, and I feel for the packet of money in my apron pocket. It isn’t there. I stoop down and scrabble through the leaves we’d been sitting on, but it isn’t there, either.

  —What you lookin for? Joshua asks.

  —Nita gave me some money in a brown piece of paper. I need it to help us go far away. I put it in my pocket but it isn’t here, I say frantically, my eyes searching the ground.

  —I saw it, Joshua says. —It fall onna groun when he push you. I watchin from the tall grass.

  —Are you sure? I ask, kneeling down to look into his face. —You’re sure you saw it fall?

  —I sure, he says proudly. —It fall right onna groun.

  Inwardly I groan. —We’re going to have to go back to get it. We can’t go far enough away without that money.

  —What if he there? Joshua asks.

  —He was walking down the road when I left to find you. I doubt he’s back yet.

  —But what if he there? Joshua insists.

  —Then we’ll just stay in the woods until he leaves, I say.

  As quickly as we can, we go back along the path. When we get to the clearing, I tell Joshua to stay in the underbrush until I am sure Aaron isn’t in the house. I creep out of the woods and crouch. No sign of Aaron, but there is the packet of money, laying in the dirt near the kitchen steps. I motion for Joshua to stay low, and I walk into the yard.

  My heart pounding, I swoop down on the money, stuff it into my dressfront and then peek into the kitchen door. No one. Straining to listen, wishing my hearing were clear instead of congested with this gurgling and swooshing, I step inside and look up the stairs. Somehow I feel that he is not there, and I dearly wish to get the money I took from Aaron and a change of clothes. I start up the steps quietly. When I get to the top, I see the two empty bedrooms and sigh in relief. Quickly I hurry to the pallet and get the bundles I’d hidden, find the money, and pry it out of my shoe. I put that into my dressfront and start down the stairs.

  My heart stops. Aaron is standing at the bottom of the steps, smiling wickedly up at me.

  —Thought you’d go off gallivanting? he says, starting up the stairs.

  The only thing I can think to do is to go back up.

  —Stupid bitch! he calls to me. —Where were you? Did you go off to meet your niggerwoman friend? he cries out as he climbs.

  Suddenly Joshua is hurtling toward him, attacking him from behind.

  —Get away! I shout, but it is too late. Aaron kicks out and Joshua is thrown back, hitting his head on the steps as he falls.

  —Joshua! I scream, and run downstairs. Aaron catches a hank of my hair as I try to get by and yanks me to my knees, then grabs my arm and drags me back up. I claw at him, screaming, frantic to see to Joshua, but am unable to gain my footing.

  —Joshua! Joshua! Are you all right? I cry out as I fight Aaron, but Joshua lies still at the bottom of the steps and does not answer.

  Aaron gets me to the top of the stairs, throws me down, and kicks me about the head until I feel blood pouring from my ears. I scream Joshua’s name over and over, until after a particularly brutal kick, I see black.

  • • •

  When I come to, I feel limp as a dishrag thrown onto the floor. The kerosene lamp casts a dim light around our bedroom. Aaron is not there, and for a moment I hope that he has gone. Then I hear Joshua whimpering in the next room, and Aaron’s grunted commands. I hurry in and find Aaron wrestling with him. He is trying to hold Joshua’s head down so that he can push something into his ear.

  —Hold still or I’ll knock you still! Aaron shouts, yanking him across the pallet.

  —Nonono! cries Joshua. —Mama!

  A powerful rage overtakes me. Quietly, so Aaron does not know I am revived, I leave them. Shaking inside, I rush back to our bedroom. I grab the poker from the fireplace and hurry across the doorway. Aaron is about to hit Joshua with his fist when I say,

  —Stop it! Don’t you touch him!

  Aaron turns, an evil leer on his face, and I bring the poker crashing down on his head. He looks at me dazedly for a moment, then falls heavily to the floor. Joshua gets up from the pallet and runs to me, crying. I hold him for a minute, wary that Aaron may awaken.

  —Shh, I whisper. We’re going right now. Going away. Wait for me outside.

  Joshua doesn’t want to leave me, but his fear of Aaron spurs him on, and he runs downstairs.

  I glance wildly around the room. If I leave Aaron like this, he might arouse and come after us. I have to get out of here with Joshua. I go into our room and grab the lantern and carry it to where Aaron lays sprawled across the pallet. With trembling hands I drip kerosene onto the bedclothes, then light it with the flame. Then I turn, and without a backward glance, I clump down the stairs.

  Joshua is shivering outside on the ste
ps.

  —Mama, he hurted me, he cries, pushing his head into my legs.

  —Oh baby, I know. Let me see your face.

  I examine the bruises and cuts, and feel a big lump on the back of his head.

  —How bad does that hurt? I ask when he winces.

  —It hurted a lot.

  —Can you walk with me? We need to go find Nita. They are going to help us get to the train, I say, hoping they haven’t gone yet. I wonder if we will be able to make it all the way to the Bottoms in our sorry state.

  —He not find us?

  —No, not where we’re going. Come on, honey.

  I take his hand, and we walk into the woods. I keep touching my chest to feel the comforting crackle of the money in my dressfront. Luckily the moon is bright, so we can see our way on the path. We are both so sore and weak that it takes an interminable time to reach the creekbed. Whenever I start to think of what I have done to Aaron, I push it out of my mind. I have to concentrate on getting away with all my being.

  When we arrive, Nita, the older woman, and the older man are waiting there. They are a sight for sore eyes.

  —I’m glad you made it, says Nita. —We figgered we’d meet you halfway, seein as you had so far to come. Gerald’s got a buggy up the hill to drop you two off at the train. One’s coming through at eleven. If you hurry, you’ll catch it. Then we’re all gonna go to Dry Fork. John’s already there with Tyree and Yvonne. Guess I’ll finally get that house I told you about.

  The man carries Joshua, and I follow along as quickly as I can to the buggy. I feel I am walking in a fog, so much has happened. They put Joshua in back of the buggy, wrapped in blankets, and I sit up front with the younger man, who is driving.

  —Good luck, says the woman.

  —God bless you, says Nita.

  —Oh, thank you, I say, tears coming to my eyes. —Good luck, Nita. Thank you so much.

  She gives me a tight hug, and we are off.

  As we head down the dirt road, I look back and shudder. Beyond the roof of the trees I can see tongues of flame licking higher, higher into the sky.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Every morning I wake up, bathe, put on my severe gray dress and white blouse, and eat with the other women at the long tables. There are no mirrors here, which is fine with me. When the time comes, I will look at myself and see the reflection of what I have done in my eyes. For now, I am glad not to have to face myself in such a direct manner.

  I wonder what the other women think about me. I know little of their circumstances, the reasons they ended up here. I do not want to know. Whatever they have done, it cannot be worse than what I have done with my own two hands. Since I set Aaron on fire, the guilt at times has been crippling. At times I cannot breathe for contemplating what I have done. The thought of Joshua, alive and unharmed, is the only thing that keeps me going in such moments.

  The food they serve us for breakfast is bland, either whey-like oatmeal or wheat crackers with milk. The other women do not say much, nor do I, as we are not encouraged to talk during meals here. There is a long prayer at the beginning of breakfast, then another at the end of the meal. Every meal is monotonous and repetitive, as are all my daily ablutions and movements. I have found sanctuary in the regularity and order of this place. Where many of the women complain, I find it gives me peace.

  The children eat at several smaller tables on the other side of the room. When the meal is finished, we all joyfully find our own. Joshua runs to me, heaving himself at me. He has been growing like chickweed, with the better diet and milk he gets twice a day.

  For a while, he constantly asked me where his father was, and if he was coming back. I couldn’t tell if Joshua wanted to see Aaron again, or if he was asking out of fear, as opposed to concern. But I simply replied, as Adelaide, the director of the Home told me to, that his father had gone away and would not be returning. Eventually that seemed to satisfy him, and the questions have ceased.

  Director Adelaide has been very nice to me, ever since the night we showed up at her door. She listened to my story with nary a sign of horror or blame. I imagine she’s heard even worse since she started the Society of Friends Home for Women and Children here in San Francisco. At times I have visited her in the middle of the night, racked by conscience. But she always reminds me of the trials I went through, and of the fact that we have a very forgiving God.

  In addition, she has helped me search for jobs, comforted me when I came back from interview after interview with no luck, and expressed great satisfaction when I finally got hired as a secretary for an import-export firm on Market Street, just last week.

  I am coming along well in my stenography and typing lessons. The teacher, another Quaker, tells me I am quite skilled at it. It is nice to hear encouraging words after being told I was stupid for so long. I had begun to believe I was dumb—not only not able to hear or speak, but intellectually lacking as well. Now I see that it was Aaron who was insane.

  Joshua attends the Society of Friends school five days a week. This week, he is learning his colors. Yesterday he learned blue. He likes the girls and boys in his class, and his teacher. I hope that I can keep him in this school for a while longer after we move out of the Home.

  I have rented an apartment that we will move into next month. It is tiny but clean, and has a nice view of the hills with their quaintly colored rows of houses, one after another. I have never lived in a city, and thought I might not like it, but I see that for a person with a deformity such as mine, it is just the right place to be. People are too busy rushing about to pay much notice to someone with a bad foot, and there are many people so much worse off than me.

  Just the other day, someone sent me a clipping from the Tarville newspaper. It was mildewed and tattered, and there was no note inside or return address, but I know it came from Nita. The first clipping described a raid on the Negro community in the Bottoms. Fire was set to two cabins, but the sheriff had been tipped off, and his men came to put out the blaze before it could spread. The article said that luckily all the inhabitants were attending a revival in a neighboring town, and no one was hurt in the flames.

  So the sheriff helped them after all, I thought. I was glad of that, although I knew none of Nita’s friends would ever feel safe in the Bottoms again.

  The second clipping concerned the burning of a cabin on the other side of the creek. The article said that Aaron Melville had burned to death in his bed, his remains so charred they were barely recognizable. His wife, a deaf-mute, and child were presumed burnt up in the fire, but their remains could not be found.

  I have written a long letter to Nita, thanking her for everything she did to help me and asking her to come to visit me whenever she can. I hope she will be able to live in the house with five acres that her cousin told her about. I have no idea if my letter got to her, since I simply addressed it to Nita Raines—Dry Fork.

  Soon after I arrived here, I wrote to Mother and to Sibby. I did not go into detailed explanations about Aaron in my letter to Mother, but simply said he had died in an accident and that I was starting a new life here in San Francisco. In my letter to Sibby, I told everything. I had to let her know what had happened to me, why I had been so out of reach. I told both Mother and Sibby about Joshua, and invited them to come visit us.

  I have not heard back yet from Mother, but Sibby actually showed up at the Home a few weeks ago. I was sitting in my little room with Joshua in my lap, reading a book to him, when there came a knock at the door and whispered admonishments.

  —Cora, you have a visitor, came the voice of Joan, one of the women who helps run the place.

  I slid Joshua off my lap and went to the door, trying to tidy my wrinkled skirt. Imagine my surprise to see Sibby and her two children standing there!

  —Cora, I had to come, Sibby said, and stepped into my room holding out her arms. I fell into them and stood there sobbing with her for several minutes.

  —I’ll leave you alone, I heard Joan say as
she shut the door.

  When I could see through my tear-blurred eyes, I told the children to sit on my bed and for Sibby to take the only chair in the room. I stood, Joshua clinging shyly to my skirts. Sibby was still very pretty, only slightly older and with a pleasant roundness to her figure that made her look womanly.

  —This is Daniel, my two-year-old, and Carol here is three, Sibby said.

  The little boy was the spitting image of Sibby, with her dark eyes and hair, and the girl was lighter-complected like Charlie. They sat close together on the bed, eyeing me cautiously.

  —Land sakes, Cora, you’re living like a nun here! Sibby continued, looking around the room. —Is this a Catholic convent? You’re not thinking of joining a monastery, are you? She rolled her eyes, indicating the severe decor.

  Our little room has only a sink and a bed and chair—no ornamentation whatsoever—but I love it. I sighed and smiled.

  —It’s so good to see you, I can’t believe it, I said. —No, I’m not going to be a nun. These people are Quakers. I’m hoping to find an apartment to move into in a month or so. As soon as I get a job, we’ll be out of here. But they’ve been so good to me, Sibby, you have no idea—

  The tears came again. Sibby jumped up and hugged me tight, her children’s eyes following us from the bed.

  —Your children are going to think their aunt isn’t glad to see them, I said, sniffling. —Joshua, can you say hello to your cousins?

  Joshua managed to say hello, then ducked his head back into my skirt.

  —How did you get here? When did you come? I asked Sibby.

  —Late last night. We took the train, same as you did. I told Charlie I wasn’t going to wait no three more years for you to decide to come visit. He said, Go on and see her, you won’t be satisfied til you do. So here I am. Great God, that train ride was long! And Daniel here just about worried me to death wanting to run up and down the cars. I thought he’d gotten off somewhere in Kansas and I’d never find him again.

  —It is a long ride, I said, remembering my terrifying exodus with Joshua four months back. At every stop, I’d thought each man in a suit who got on our car was a detective looking to catch me for killing Aaron. I shuddered at the memory.