Wonder at the Edge of the World

by Nicole Helget

  “Well, I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I do,” says Eustace. “‘Yes’ is the answer to that. Just because Captain Greeney is an abolitionist doesn’t mean he’s a good person. He’s a bad person, Lu. And just because he’s an abolitionist doesn’t mean abolitionists are bad.”

  “People are complicated, Lu,” Ruby says. “Truth is, they all got good and bad mixed up in them. Some got more of one. Some got more of the other.”

  She groans a little, and she looks a bit teary. “I don’t wish no harm to the Millers,” she says. “That’s for sure. But it sure is a complicated feeling I have in my heart. I’m worried about my boy, mostly.”

  I wonder what the deaths of the Millers might mean for Ruby and Eustace. They might get to be free. But more than likely, some relative of the Millers would come and claim them. Ruby and Eustace are property, according to some laws.

  My brain and my whole body want rest. I’m weary. On one arm, I’ve got Ruby and all the troubles of Tolerone. On the other arm, I’ve got the Medicine Head and all the troubles of keeping it away from Captain Greeney.

  I’m bothered by how close I allowed Captain Greeney to get to the Medicine Head. I know I have Eustace to thank for his quick thinking. I am very disappointed in myself. I’m even a little bit ashamed. And embarrassed that Eustace witnessed my cowardice. I’ve got to be braver. I’ve got to be more prepared. I’ve got to be the girl with “the good knot in her skull,” as Father always said I was.

  As we walk, I remember the lengths to which Father went to keep the head from Greeney. And now it’s my job to keep it from Greeney. Suddenly, the Medicine Head feels like a thousand pounds of pressure. I worry that I’m not smart enough, that I’m not brave enough, that I’m not a good enough person.

  “Thank you, Eustace,” I say. “You did some quick thinking back there.”

  He keeps walking, holding his mother’s arm with one hand and carrying Fob tucked under his other arm. He’s got a queer, far-away expression on his face. I can’t tell whether it’s happy or sad. Or worried or intent.

  “Why do you have that look on your face?” I ask.

  Eustace’s eyes meet mine; then he glances at the Medicine Head’s crate and turns his face forward again. “I’m thinking,” he says.

  He’s thinking about my problem. That’s what he’s doing. That’s what kind of a friend Eustace Miller is. His house just burned up. His animals are scattered all around the town. He’s a slave whose masters might be dead, which might mean he’ll have to have new masters, maybe mean ones. And he’s thinking about how to solve my problem. I start thinking of what to do, too. I also try to think of a good solution for Eustace so he doesn’t have to be a slave anymore.

  What am I going to do with the Medicine Head? I know for certain I can’t let Captain Greeney have it. I also can’t keep it hidden or give it to anyone else. I can’t destroy it. Who knows what might happen if I did? Would it unleash some kind of evil force out into the world? Would I be personally cursed? I don’t know. But I trust that if destruction were the right choice, Father would have done it himself.

  Then the Medicine Head seems to thrum or moan like it’s being hurt.

  “Do you hear that?” I ask Ruby and Eustace.

  “Hear what, Miss Wonder?” says Ruby.

  Eustace glances at the crate. But he shakes his head.

  CHAPTER 13

  We’re nearly to my place. It’s that time between night and morning when the sky is the color of the circles under Mother’s eyes. I’ve never been out so late, gone so long, and I’ll bet Priss is worried and upset. The fire has stirred up the air, and even this far out, the branches of the trees sway in the swift, ropy wind. When we get near enough, I see Priss waiting at the cottonwood tree. We can see her skirt and the straps of her bonnet flapping in the wind from a long ways back. She looks like Mother must have in her younger days. She must have been watching for me. One thing about Priss is that she has a way about her that makes a body happy and scared to see her at the same time.

  She begins to walk toward us, and when we finally meet, she doesn’t hug me or make a show of being upset or worried. She uses a dish towel to wipe the ash from my eyes. She takes my place at Ruby’s arm and says, “You must be awfully tired, Ruby.” Then Priss looks at the crate and bunches her eyebrows together like crochet needles, but she doesn’t make mention of the Medicine Head, though I know she knows what it is and is wondering why I’ve brought it back to the house.

  Priss is a proper lady. She would never start an argument or engage in a disagreeable conversation in front of company. She knows exactly what to do and how to behave in almost every situation. Some girls might cry uncontrollably and make a tense situation even worse. Not Priss. She’s like Mother used to be. I tend to get upset and shout. Like Father.

  The closer we get to our house, the less timid Fob gets. He hops and skips around and noses on the ground for gophers and mice. He snaps his jaws at them, but he never catches anything. In the light, I can see now that Fob has patches of singed fur and burns. Across his back, he’s got one long scorch mark, where a burning plank must’ve fallen on him. I reach down and pat his head. No wonder he was so scared.

  “Ah, thank the Lord,” says Ruby once we pass the pigpen and the barn and see the house. “I’ve got to have a nice long sit and a drink of water.”

  “Mother’s going to be so happy to see you,” says Priss.

  I help her get Ruby set up in the sitting room next to Mother, and those two share a nice smile and a nod. They don’t talk. They don’t have to. You can be that way with some people when you’re comfortable enough with them. That’s how it is between Ruby and Mother.

  I run upstairs and put the Medicine Head beneath my bed. When I come back down, Ruby and Mother both have their eyes closed. Priss is at the stove. I don’t quite know what to tell her or how to tell her about all I’ve seen and heard. Instead, I do something normal.

  “You need help?” I ask her.

  She’s putting water on for tea, and she’s got a mound of bread dough on a table. I look around to see if there’s anything to eat. I’m starving, I realize.

  Priss pulls a dish towel off a pie tin and pulls a spoon from a jar. She passes both of them to me. “Mince-meat,” she says. “You need to eat.”

  I dig in. “Where are Eustace and Fob?” I ask.

  “Taking a rest in the barn,” she says. “Everyone’s worn out. You’ve been gone all night, in town, I guess. You could have been killed.”

  “I wasn’t,” I say.

  “I was worried,” she says. Her voice sounds shaky.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”

  She puts her hand on my arm. “I was so worried, but I trusted in you, too.”

  Her eyes are red all the way around, so I know she’s been worried and crying probably all night. She does something strange. She comes to me and pulls me into a skinny-armed hug. And then I do something strange, too. I hug her right back with my own big bones. I’m hugging her, and it feels so good, I lift her off the floor a little and squeeze her until she says, “Lu! I can’t breathe.” Then I put her down. That’s two hugs in two days for me. That must be a record. I like it, and I tell myself I’m going to hug people more often.

  “I was worried, but I wasn’t too worried because I remembered what Father always said about you,” she says.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Lu, you’ve got a good knot in your skull.”

  I remember, too. I wonder if my eyes are starting to get red around the outside like Priss’s, because I’m feeling like crying just a little bit. I’m not sure why. I’m halfway relieved and halfway scared.

  “How bad is it?” she asks. She nods in the direction of Tolerone. “In town?”

  I exhale real long. I shake my head, as though I’m shaking away the bad sights and smells and sounds. “Real bad,” I say. “The whole Negro lane is gone. The north end, to
o, looked like.”

  Priss nods. Her eyes get misty. “The Millers?” she asks, her voice soft and trembling.

  I shrug. “I didn’t see them,” I say. “But that end of town was engulfed.”

  She puts her hand to her mouth. “Oh no,” she says.

  And then we stand there staring at the floor, quiet for a minute or two. We’re both thinking about losing people. We’re both thinking about death. We’re both thinking about grief.

  “Once in a while,” she whispers, “I wake up and am happy.”

  I nod. I know what she’s going to say next.

  She puts her hand to her throat. “But then I remember all that’s happened.” She rubs her neck. “I remember Father dying. I remember his face. I remember that I have to get up and take care of Mother.” She looks up at me. Her eyes are full of tears. “I remember that hole in the ground out there, doomed to bring us trouble over and over again. Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll never be happy again.”

  I nod. “I understand,” I say.

  “I know you do,” she says. “I tell myself every day that it’s all right to be happy. I tell myself that I should try to be happy.”

  I pick the skin around my fingernail. “But we have to take care of some things first.”

  Priss fidgets her feet on the wood floor. “I know you’re up to something,” she says. “I guess that’s why you’ve brought that awful head into our home.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I trust that you know what you’re doing.”

  I nod again. “Captain Greeney’s back in Tolerone. I saw him.” I take a quick look behind me to make sure nobody’s around and lower my voice. “He saw me. I’m not certain he knows who I am, but he’ll figure it out sooner or later.”

  “Oh no,” she says. “What will we do?” She stares out the window. “Why don’t we just destroy it? Why haven’t we already destroyed it?” Priss swallows so hard that I can hear it.

  “We can’t do that,” I say. “If that were the answer, Father would have done it.”

  In the distance, I hear the train whistle.

  Priss lifts her eyes to me. She perks her ears to the train, too. Then she runs her finger over her lips, a thing she does when she’s got cooking grease on her fingertips. “I’ll tend to Fob’s wounds and put Ruby to bed.” She throws back her shoulders and looks out the window toward the black fog hanging above Tolerone. “And I’ve got to see about the Millers.” Her voice sounds shaky. “I’ve got to know.”

  I want to tell her not to go. I want to tell her she won’t like what she’ll see. But I don’t. One thing about me, and probably about Priss, too, is that we’ve got to see things with our own eyes to believe them all the way. Even though I hate those last images of my dead father, I know that without them, I would probably have a difficult time believing he’s gone. “All right,” I say. “But be careful.”

  “You, too,” she says, “with whatever you’re up to.” Then she looks out the window. “You need some rest.”

  “I’m too riled up,” I say.

  The same window she washed until it was squeaky clean is caked with ash again. She points at the pigpen. “I wish you’d help Eustace fix that sow fence before you do anything else.”

  “Sure,” I say. “I can do that. But first I need to take a walk. I need to think.”

  “Stay away from town,” she says. “And wear your bonnet.”

  I shake my head. That Priss. She never gives up wanting to be the boss of me.

  I avoid Mother and Ruby and Fob and Eustace. I step out. The brown grasses crinkle and crack.

  The sky blooms with purples and pinks and creams, a bit like the geode Eustace likes so well. My legs lead me toward the cave. As I walk, I hear men in the distance. I get down on my belly and slither closer to see who it is and what they are up to. I hold my breath and peer through the long, crunchy grasses. They set up a telescope, and one man is studying what must be a compass. A surveying crew is what they are. Already. The fires aren’t even out in Tolerone, and these men are making plans for the town’s steady growth. I scoot back again until I’m sure they won’t see me.

  Eustace was right. Tolerone is growing, and pretty soon my cave is going to be in the center of it.

  I stand, but then I crouch over and run to my cave. I move the stone, and I slip down inside. I breathe heavy. I stand in the cave’s center. It’s cool again down here. Smoke and ash are now deep inside me. I cough. The noise echoes off the granite.

  Do you ever wonder what you’d save from your house if it was on fire and you only had one minute to grab your most important possessions? I do. Tolerone feels like my house right now. I’ve got to save the Medicine Head. And I’ve got to help Eustace. Everyone and everything else will have to either save itself or burn. It’s hard to make decisions like that. There’s only one other thing down here that I’ve got to have. I shuffle the crates around until I find it. In my palm it feels like a ball of fresh, clean snow.

  I climb back out, look around, and dash back to the farm road. I don’t stop running until I’m sure the survey crew can’t see me.

  I pick up a stick and walk along, scratching with it in the dirt, leaving long trails behind me. I notice what looks like a pale-colored bone in the rocks on the side of the road just a foot or two from where I’m standing. It’s a timber rattlesnake, but it’s not moving. Its long body is coiled around itself like a rope on a ship deck. But the front part of it is face-up, revealing a white, vulnerable skin to the sky. I almost stepped on it without even seeing it. I see flies creeping in and out of its mouth. The scales of its skin lie still. Thank God it’s dead.

  “Looks like you croaked,” I say to it. I pick up a stick.

  It doesn’t move. I know it’s dead, but I imagine it leaping to life and striking me in the face with its fangs. I poke it hard, once, just to be sure. The whole body moves a little, but only from the force of my prod.

  I take a breath. I’m immediately sorry I did, because I can smell decay from where I moved the snake. I laugh to myself. Settle down, Lu. Then I walk over, reach for the end of its tail, and hold it up. Though it is beginning to puff up with the gases of decay, the snake is not yet stiff with death. Its head remains on the ground. Stretched out, the snake is taller than me by at least a foot.

  “Boy,” I say out loud. “You were a big snake. I think I’ll take you home to show Eustace.” I start walking, dragging the snake along the ground.

  Even though I know our farm is just over the next hill, when I look out across the plain, I feel a long way from anyone or anything. I start to feel a little lonely for some company, so I hum, which makes me feel not quite so alone somehow. I start to get a funny feeling, like something is about to happen again.

  The sun is getting stronger and hotter. Even though it’s far away, I think I can hear the Medicine Head calling to me, Hold me. I begin to worry that maybe I shouldn’t have left it at home.

  Maybe I should take it with me everywhere. Maybe I should just hold it and let it reveal all its secrets to me. Maybe I should be the one to harness its powers. Maybe I could use it to secure a good life for my family. Maybe I could use it to get rid of all the bad things in Tolerone. Maybe I could use it to destroy all the bad people. Maybe I could use it to kill Captain Greeney.

  My anger is rising up in me again, and I feel so mad I could scream or punch a tree, if there were one in sight.

  Then I worry that maybe someone has taken the Medicine Head. Maybe Priss has taken it. Maybe Eustace has taken it. I imagine them holding it, and I get even madder. It’s mine, I want to yell. Then I pick up the hem of my skirt and move my feet faster. Then faster. It seems like the crickets chirp faster and like the wind has picked up, too, as if we’re all suddenly in a big hurry. The snake whips behind me.

  As soon as I see the farm, I shout, “Priss! Priss?” I keep going, past the pigpen, where the sows poke their noses at me. I stop and use both hands to heave the snake into the pen. The sows descend upon it fast and rip i
t up and chew on pieces of its body.

  I run past the barn, where our only horse shakes its mane and swishes its tail. Everything looks normal. “Priss?” I call as I enter the house.

  No one answers. I run upstairs and open each bedroom door. Ruby is asleep in Priss’s room. Mother is asleep in hers. Where’s Priss? I charge to my bedroom door. Maybe she’s in there right now, holding the Medicine Head. I’m so angry, I feel like I might slap her.

  I throw open the door.

  There’s no one there.

  Then I remember that Priss went to town.

  I hear a faint whispering at once. It’s the Medicine Head whining at me. “Stop it,” I say. “Stop doing that.” But it continues to taunt me.

  It’s warm in my room, and sweat gathers again on my forehead. I go to the window and force it open. A breeze rushes in. I go to the other window and open it, too. Even though the air is smoky, I keep the windows wide.

  My room cools down. I stop sweating. The Medicine Head stops tempting.

  I collapse face-down on my bed and close my eyes. A hundred ideas race in my mind. I’ve got to keep the Medicine Head cool. That’s why Father must have kept it in the cave. But I can’t keep it in the cave forever. I can’t even take it back there now. What if Captain Greeney is already watching for me?

  I think about the destruction from the fire. He’ll be busy awhile longer. The dead will have to be collected, identified, and buried. The injured will require medical attention. Clean food and water and shelter will be needed. Captain Greeney will be consumed with his duties for a little longer, but not forever. I know I’ve got to take advantage of this time. I need a plan to keep the Medicine Head away from him.

  Then I hear the racket of rocks knocking against each other. I rise and from my window see Eustace working on our fence. Good old Eustace. His whole life is upside down, and he’s fixing our fence. I stretch and decide to go down to help him. I leave the windows open but close my bedroom door. I stand in the hallway and listen for a moment. The Medicine Head is quiet.

  I walk into the yard and head straight to the rock pile. I select a square of granite and haul it over to where Eustace is working and set it carefully in the dirt.