Mother Lode

  But the footsteps passed, and Jorie breathed again. His father would be going back to his own room. Jorie couldn’t remember the last time his father had been in his mother’s bed. His thoughts were all a jumble. Had his mother actually been enjoying it? How dreadful, if that were true, that he’d charged in like a jealous lover, and interrupted something she found pleasure in. But how could she?

  In the morning the throbbing soreness on his face forced him into consciousness, immediately reviving the memory of last night, invading every sinew in his body with guilt and remorse.

  He wondered if he had ever really believed she was being hurt. Maybe he just didn’t want his father there with her, doing that. He felt betrayed. She’d made him feel he was the special one, and just sometimes she had to say things to keep the waters calm between her and Pa.

  A sullen truce fell between father and son and mother and son. On Christmas morn Thomas presented his wife with a new woolen robe, and Catherine gave him a vest she’d knitted. Jorie offered his mother the laundry fork he’d made at school, but did not feel inclined to present her with the new diary.

  It was a solemn time, with less cheer than Jorie could remember on any previous holiday. Soon Pa left to spend the rest of the day with his other family members.

  The holidays offered no relief from chores, especially with Helena given a few days off.

  When he came downstairs the day after Christmas, half the morning was gone, and his mother was doing the laundry. Even before he got to the kitchen, the smell of steaming wool underwear permeated the house. Piles of dirty clothes lay about the floor, sorted by color. The clothesline had been strung on its hooks across the kitchen, back and forth, and his mother was stirring the clothes on the stove with the new laundry fork.

  She heard him but did not turn to look. She spoke sharply. “As you can see I’m very busy. I haven’t time to fix your breakfast now.”

  “Can I have this bread?”

  “Yes. And there’s some bacon.” She nodded to the warming shelf on the stove.

  He ate the bacon and bread, grateful for the laundry that hung between them, obscuring her view of him. She was clearly stewing over something. He had no way of knowing whether it was what he’d done earlier that week, a spat with his father, or something to do with the laundry.

  “When’s Helena coming back?”

  “Not until Thursday, and the clothes won’t wait. You’d better get out of that filthy underwear,” she spoke sharply. “I need to wash it. Put on something clean.”

  “Are you angry with me?”

  She was silent.

  “What did I do now?”

  The bubbling of the boiling water on the stove pretty much summed up his mother’s mood, he thought.

  “Well, don’t tell me, then.”

  Her angry face, haloed by wreath of steam, appeared suddenly between the shirts she jerked apart. “Don’t you talk to me that way, lad.”

  “Well, if you’re going to be cross with me, I ought to at least know why!”

  “You ruined things between your Father and me. Is that reason enough?”

  So it was that again. “I was trying to protect you from him!” he shouted.

  “I didn’t need protection!” she shouted back.

  “Then what was all that moaning and groaning about?”

  “I’ll hear no more of your impudence!” she yelled, waving the new laundry fork in his face. For a moment he thought she was going to strike him with it.

  Suddenly she saw what she had in her hand, dropped it and disappeared behind the laundry, crying.

  Jorie had never been able to stand his mother weeping. Pushing through the wet laundry, he went up behind her, put his arms around her, dropped them, put them back on her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Ma.”

  She stooped down and picked up the laundry fork. “It’s beautiful, Jorie. I’m upset. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

  Jorie thought now would be a good time to give his mother the diary. It might cheer her up.

  “I have another present for you, Mum. It wasn’t finished on Christmas. I’ll just run up and get it.”

  She wiped her reddened hands on her apron and looked at the wrapping. “When did you draw this? It’s lovely.” She was studying the picture he’d wrapped it in—a drawing of the house last fall, with the veranda laden with grapes.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  Slowly she took the paper off, carefully setting it aside.

  Jorie watched her reaction. First he heard a little gasp, and then staring at the diary, he saw her start to shake. “Mum, what’s the matter?”

  She pulled him to her lap like a little boy, hugging him tightly.

  “Oh, my Darling. This is the most precious gift I’ve ever received, because you thought of it and made it yourself.”

  She freed one hand to caress the book. “It’s beautiful, and how long you must have worked on it.”

  “Why are you crying?”

  She buried her head in his shoulder. “I have not been fair to you. The other night . . . you couldn’t have known. I’m just a wicked woman to yell at you so. And now you’ve given me this.”

  “It’s all right.” He tried to stand up, but she was pulling him back.

  “I love you, Jorie. You know that, don’t you?” She tugged at him.

  “Yes. And I love you.”

  She searched his eyes. “Do you? Do you truly?”

  “You know I do.”

  He had to get away. He stood up before she could stop him, and tried to bring her attention back to the book.

  “Do you like what I wrote on the cover?”

  “‘This diary belongs to Catherine Radcliff, given to her by her son Jorie, December, 1895.’ Oh, my precious! I shall treasure it always.”

  Chapter 19

  In the spring Jorie thought his mother seemed happier, but more distant. He had to deal with a strangeness in her for which he had no road map. It often seemed, as it did today, that when he wanted to converse with her he had to bring her back from a faraway place. Then she would smile sweetly at him as if he’d been gone for a long while.

  As they were finishing lunch he asked, “Ma, can I take my bicycle down to the shop?”

  “Jorie, you’re growing so fast!”

  He repeated the question. “The rim is crooked. I want to see if they can fix it.”

  “’May I’,” she corrected him.

  “Well, may I?”

  “Yes, you may. And pick up two pounds of starch while you’re in town for your father’s shirts, and some lemons, if they have any.” She placed a quarter in his hand. “Save a penny or two to buy yourself an ice-cream.”

  He started to dash out the door.

  “Wait. I have something very important to tell you.” She motioned for him to sit beside her at the table.

  “What is it?” His foot was jerking impatiently.

  She didn’t answer, brushed some crumbs from the cloth, and seemed to be puzzling over how to begin.

  Finally, she said, “This will change our lives, Jorie.”

  She looked so serious he became frightened. “Are you going to die?”

  Her laughter startled him.

  “Heavens, no. At least I don’t think so. What made you say that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Finally she said, “Jorie, you know where babies come from, don’t you?”

  He turned away, so she couldn’t see him flush in the dim light. Why was she doing this? “I’m thirteen, for God’s sake, Ma.”

  “You needn’t speak to me that way.”

  He waited for her to continue.

  She patted her belly. “A little brother or sister is growing here for you.”

  His mind went blank. Then he tried to absorb this information. Was this some kind of new game of hers? He looked at her closely, trying to read her face.

  “Are you jesting?

  “Not at all. It’s quite true. What are you thinking, Jorie?
”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, are you happy about it?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’m just surprised.”

  “Yes, I was sure you would be. You’re the first I’ve told, except your Pa, of course.”

  He thought she looked disappointed that he expressed no joy in her news. He left her as soon as he could. He did not go into town, but up into the hills by the mine. Thoughts tumbled out of his head like the poor-rock he could see in the distance tumbling from the chute. He knew everything would change. Wasn’t she too old to have a baby? Wasn’t he enough for her? Was she telling him he’d failed her in some way?

  He refused to release the hot tears that burned within their rims.

  She was happy about this new child.

  A deep sense of betrayal engulfed him.

  As if to add insult to injury, shortly before school was out in the spring, Catherine told him he had a job for the summer.

  She’s trying to get rid of me. “What kind of job?”

  “Mr. Foster wants someone to work in his vegetable garden.”

  “The sheriff?”

  “Yes. He asked for you.”

  “Why?”

  “He likes you. You can start going over there after school to turn the soil, and then to plant. Mrs. Foster will show you what to do.”

  She hadn’t even asked if he wanted to. But he liked Mr. Foster. Besides, it would help to keep his mind off the change at home.

  He found the sheriff a likeable man, and easier to talk to than his father. Earl Foster showed him the green worms that plagued the tomatoes, and told him why he wanted the whole garden bordered with marigolds.

  “The smell keeps the rodents away.”

  “Is that true? I’ll have to tell my mother, for her garden.”

  “I doubt your mother would take to learning from me.”

  Jorie looked up puzzled.

  “We were school chums. Classmates, anyway. But she was smarter than me.”

  Jorie thought the sheriff had more to say, but then he turned back to the garden.

  On a warm August evening the baby came. Jorie had been sent to fetch the midwife, and this time she arrived in time. Unable to bear the sound of his mother’s moans, he went outside. He sat under the apple tree whittling a stick, wondering if she’d have any time for him with a baby to care for.

  And then it was a girl! He supposed if it had to be here, he’d rather it was a brother. What would he do with a sister?

  In the weeks that followed it seemed his mother used him just to fetch things.

  “Get the baby’s bath ready.” “Find the clean rags for her bottom.”

  But the most fascinating part was seeing his mother nurse little Eliza. Those beautiful breasts he’d only imagined before were now being used like a hog’s teats. He wondered if he’d been allowed to suck them when he was a baby. He supposed he had, but he couldn’t remember. It struck him that that privilege should be reserved for a time when it could be better appreciated.

  Oh, what was he thinking!

  Then just when he was ready to leave the room, suddenly his mother dumped the infant in his lap. “Here, hold her, Jorie.”

  He looked down at this small creature, no heavier than a small cloud, trying to comprehend that she was his sister. He didn’t feel anything for her, anything good, that is.

  “Ma, she peed on me!”

  Catherine laughed, but Jorie didn’t think it was funny at all.

  “Well, change her.”

  “Ma!”

  “Here, I’ll show you.”

  “Can’t Helena do it?”

  “She’s busy.”

  He found this an unsavory task, but before long learned to do it as adeptly as the women.

  Except for nursing, he soon discovered that it was he and Helena in whose care the baby was most often given.

  Chapter 20

  In his sophomore year Jorie had a new teacher. Her name was Caroline O’Dell and it was her first year of teaching. Jorie liked her right off, but something happened in October that endeared her to him for life.

  Someone had taken money from Miss O’Dell’s purse the day before. She had not discovered it until she got home that evening. The next day she said that if the money was returned, no more would be said about it.

  She waited three days and there was no response. That evening she held the class after school.

  “No one may leave this room until my money is returned, or a confession is made.”

  With no other sound to catch the ear, the ticking of the clock seemed ominously loud. The hands marked off the passing of time as each student looked to his mates for signs of culpability.

  Finally, an older boy raised his hand.

  “I hate to tattle, Miss, but I seen Jorie Radcliff sneak back in the schoolhouse yesterday when you was outside with the rest of us.”

  A hush fell upon the room as all eyes turned to Jorie. He couldn’t believe his ears.

  “I have asked for a confession, not an accusation,” Miss O’Dell said.

  “I didn’t take it!” Jorie called out. “And I didn’t sneak back into the school. I was outside the whole time we were watching the snakes by the creek.”

  “Thank you, Jorie.” She turned to the others. “I am still waiting for a confession.”

  None was forthcoming, and finally Miss O’Dell dismissed the class.

  “Jorie, would you stay a moment, please?”

  Now in full humiliation, he reddened as he felt the accusing glances of the departing students. When they were alone, Miss O’Dell sat in a student desk next to his.

  “Do you know anything about this, Jorie?”

  “No, ma’am.” His feet scraped against the warped boards of the floor.

  “I want you to know that I don’t believe you took the money. I truly don’t. And you’re not to worry about it.”

  Jorie looked at her with great relief and gratitude.

  “Thank you. Thank you very much, ma’am.”

  She shifted her weight, and her serious countenance segued easily in to a smile. I’ve noticed you like to draw, Jorie. Have you been interested in art for a long time?”

  He took a deep breath now that the crisis had passed.

  “Yes, ma’am, I have.”

  “I have a beautiful book at home of animal pictures. Most of them are from other countries, such as zebras and anteaters. Would you like to see it? You could try copying these photographs if you like, to practice.”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am, please!”

  “Then I shall bring it to class tomorrow.”

  When they said good-bye Jorie was ecstatic. She believed him about the money, and she was bringing him a prized possession of hers to study.

  “You’ll never believe it!” he called to his mother when he entered the house. My teacher is wonderful! Shall I tell you what happened?”

  He regaled her with the tale.

  “She couldn’t help but see you’re an honest lad.”

  “She’s so nice, Mum. I’ve never known a teacher like her.”

  “Let’s hope she’s schooled enough to stay ahead of you, and advance you in Latin and Geometry.”

  “I think she’s very smart.”

  “Well, we shall see, shan’t we?”

  The next day, true to her word, Miss O’Dell brought the book for Jorie. Filled with tin-type pictures taken around the world, Jorie had never seen such detailed likenesses of the creatures of the jungle. He stayed in at recess to study the book, and pored over it at lunchtime.

  During the next few weeks his skill in drawing improved dramatically. Miss O’Dell asked if she could mount two of his drawings, and hang them on the wall. Jorie felt a happy blush cover his face.

  When he told his mother, she replied, “It’s about time someone noticed your artistic ability. What does she think of your writing?”

  “She said I was the only one in the class who knew how to use adverbs properly.”

  “That’s
all?”

  “Well, she said I write well.”

  “I should think so.”