Keep Mama Dead

by S. James Nelson

  “What?” Thomas said. A pit had opened up in his stomach, and all his hope fell into it. “No, no, no!”

  Eli and Clara May separated enough to look at each other in the face, both of them beaming.

  “I found out,” Eli said. “And I could not hide the joy of my heart at knowing you was carrying my blessed child. I was so overjoyed that I had to share the news with someone.”

  Eli looked at Bradley, who bore an incomprehensible expression. It was like he knew Eli’s actions should have scandalized him as much as it had his parents, but was actually as pleased as he could ever possibly be with how things were turning out.

  “And,” Eli continued, “he fain told my parents.”

  Bradley nodded. “I told them that you fornicated.”

  “But how did you know?” Clara May said. She rested her hands at his hips, and he rested his on hers.

  “Why, it was Miss Sadie. She brought the heaven-sent news yesterday.”

  Thomas looked back at the wagon a hundred and fifty yards down the lane. Miss Sadie sat on her horse a little to the side, away from the wagon and Charles on his horse. She’d known that Clara May was pregnant, and told Eli? And not told Thomas?

  “Then Eli told us about everything else,” Mr. Miller said in the most reproving tone Thomas had ever heard. “How when you bring the eggs you stayed a little longer without us knowing it, and take him back behind the barn to fornicate.”

  “Fornicators!” Bradley said.

  Thomas couldn’t even speak. He looked at Clara May as if seeing her for the first time. His little sister had done that?

  “Not to mention,” Mrs. Miller said, “that you’ve mingled your second-life days.”

  “What?” Thomas said.

  Mingling your second-life days meant that you shared them with the person you mingled them with, so that the well you drew second-life days from combined. So, now, he could use her second-life days, and she could use his. When the well had emptied, neither of them would have any second-life days.

  When people married, they usually mingled their second-life days—but Thomas had never heard of anyone doing it before marriage. And not everyone did it. Mama and Papa certainly hadn’t.

  “And the good Lord knows,” Mrs. Miller said, “that no son of mine will mingle his second-life days and fornicate with a girl and not marry her. That’s what the good book says he should do. Make it right.”

  “And you ain’t living here,” Mr. Miller said. “Not with that sin staining your soul. You can go live at the Baker’s. You no-good, filthy fornicators.”

  Mrs. Miller finally stepped forward out of the doorway, her face absolutely livid. She raised a finger toward Clara May, and continued forward.

  “You little, no-good, dirty-rotten whore, coming here and corrupting my son!”

  She reached Clara May, shoved Eli to the side, and brought her face right up close to Clara May’s.

  “You’ll burn in hell. That’s what you’ll do! Fornication is a vile sin! You’ve gone and damned my boy!”

  Thomas couldn’t believe the tirade. Indignation assailed him.

  And his Mama’s voice prodded him on. This ain’t right, Thomas. She’s your sister. You take care of her.

  “Now listen here,” he said, stepping forward, toward Mrs. Miller and Clara May. “Don’t talk to her like that. What’s done is done. And you can’t do anything about it.”

  The woman’s rage turned to Thomas. Her eyes burned with such anger and indignation that Thomas thought he saw the fires of hell in them. He pitied Eli in that instant. What ranting and scolding had the boy endured during the last day?

  “They’re sinners!” she said. “Of the vilest kind!”

  “They done fornicated,” Bradley said. He seemed quite taken with the word. Or maybe the idea of the word.

  “That they may be,” Thomas said, “but there’s no cause for you to talk to them like that. It won’t help anything.”

  Mr. Miller pushed between Eli and Clara May, and stood by his wife’s side. His eyes bulged.

  “What? You don’t have a problem with their sinning? I see you don’t have any more brains than your Papa. You Bakers are all the same. Worthless. A blight on the land.”

  Thomas just stood there. Though he’d thought of his family as worthless a thousand times, it stung to hear it from others. Perhaps because they grouped him with them. Whatever the case, how they had decided to treat Clara May and Eli accomplished nothing. Yelling at sinners and damning them to hell never did any good. It only alienated them, sent them running deeper into trouble.

  “Well?” Mrs. Miller said. “You have nothing to say?”

  Thomas thought hard—so hard that it almost seemed his head would pop right off. He wanted to have something good to say. Something that made sense and that cut them to the core like they’d just hacked him and Clara May and Eli. But nothing solid came. Just petty insults. Things they could brush aside with a wave of their hands. No doubt he would think of the right thing to say later.

  “I reckon you’re right,” he said. “Simple folk like us ain’t fit to be near those who ain’t got no sins.”

  “Don’t you accuse me of having pride,” Mr. Miller said.

  Thomas stepped past Mr. and Mrs. Miller, ignoring them. They both began to chatter into his ear, but he blocked them out as best he could.

  “Come on Clara May and Eli.” He couldn’t believe he said it as it came out of his mouth. “You’ll come live on our farm. Eli, you can help work the land. Go get your belongings.”

  Mr. Miller laughed right in Thomas’s ear. “Ha! You think he can work a farm? He’s too worthless and stupid. Bradley is three years his younger, and already ten times as strong and a dozen times smarter. Eli has no ability in the field. All you’re doing is adding another worthless mouth to feed to your household.”

  “And a fornicator!” Bradley said.

  Thomas glared at them. Eli hesitated, apparently not knowing what to do or say.

  “Well,” Thomas said. “I don’t care what they’ve done. They sure don’t deserve to live here, among perfect folk like you. Go get your stuff, Eli. You’re moving into the Baker home.”

  Of course he was. A man left his mother and father to cleave with his wife. And if they had no where else to go, they would stay with the mother’s parents. Thomas had seen it many times—once with his own friends.

  Eli sprang toward the door. Clara May just watched him go, smiling all the while. Pregnant and all. Simply unbelievable. Well that explained why she’d seemed so weak the last few days. Must have been the morning sickness. It also explained the conversation between Miss Sadie and Clara May in the barn.

  But it hardly explained how Thomas had roped himself with more responsibility. Only raw stupidity could account for that.

  Indeed, raw stupidity, and the meddling of Miss Sadie.

  As he looked at where she sat on the horse, he considered what he might say to her when he went back down the lane and rejoined the group.

  Plenty of excellent options came to mind, and he meant to say them.

  Finally, the Lord gave me Franklin. A dumber boy there never was, but a sweeter one I’ve never met.

  Chapter 15: Making a stand against zombies

  Eli gathered his things in a gunnysack and joined Clara May and Thomas on the trek back up the lane. When they’d gone halfway, Bradley shouted the nature of their sins after them, but Eli’s parents didn’t say anything. Eli and Clara May held hands and stared into each other’s eyes. Thomas wanted to puke on them.

  Everyone else welcomed Eli to the family without even a blink. They seemed more concerned about the broken eggs than the pregnancy or another mouth to feed. The mules just hee-hawed at more weight to carry. Stanley rather loved having another person along. Miss Sadie just sat aside on her horse, watching the entire thing with a certain amount of satisfaction.

  Thomas stepped up to her, half a dozen things on his mouth. She looked at him with eyebrows raised. She held h
er reigns and gripped the pommel of her saddle with one hand, and used the other to hold her parasol off of her shoulder. The hem of her dress had slipped up near her knees, showing stockings that ended in lace near the top of her calves.

  “Yes, Thomas?” she said. “What is it?”

  Clara May laughed as Eli helped her up to the wagon seat. The sound, so full of delight he thought he’d never heard any thing like it from his sister, blasted his determination to say something to Miss Sadie. Without a word, he turned and took his place on the back of the wagon, next to Stanley. Eli sat on the dog’s other side.

  They rode on without much conversation. Thomas felt numb. He now had another person to care for. Although maybe Eli’s parents had spoken about him unfairly, and he actually could work on a farm. With a little luck. Either way, Thomas could hardly concentrate at all on how he would prevent his family from completing the resurrection spell. And he needed to, or he would never get away from his unwanted responsibilities. Mama would see to that.

  After a little while, Thomas looked over at Eli.

  “You working for any blessings?” Thomas said.

  Eli shrugged. “Papa said I should work for the proper blessing of a man’s strength, that maybe then I could be useful working on the farm. But I ain’t really interested in that lowly blessing.”

  “What blessings are you interested in?”

  He gave a half laugh and kept his eyes downcast. “Nothing special.”

  From the front of the wagon, Clara May piped up. “The lyrical tongue.” She said it with pride. “That’s the blessing he wants.”

  Next to the wagon, from atop his horse, Charles made an amused noise. “He wants to be a poet?”

  “He is a poet,” Clara May said.

  Thomas let out a long, slow breath, closed his eyes, and shook his head.

  A poet. He’d gained a poet to help on the farm. He couldn't imagine anything more perfect. If Eli was willing to work out in the field, he would probably never shut up, but constantly spout a fountain of drivel.

  Perfect. Just perfect.

  In another few minutes, Eli spoke up again.

  “Hey Thomas, who do you suppose those people are, behind us?”

  Thomas looked up. Nearly a mile back, a dust cloud rose from a pair of horses running along the road. What seemed odd—although Thomas couldn’t be sure at the distance—was that half a dozen men ran ahead of the horses. On the ground, without horses.

  “Are those men sprinting ahead of the horses?” Eli asked

  Miss Sadie turned in her saddle and looked back down the road. After getting a glance, she turned her horse completely around and stopped in the middle of the road. The wagon continued on, but everyone looked back.

  Miss Sadie looked at Thomas, raised her eyebrows, and shook her head.

  “That’s Mr. Brady and Farrell. And this time they brought zombies.”

  * * *

  Papa urged the mules to go faster. He snapped the reins and yelled at the mules. And they did speed up, but probably because they were heading downhill toward the Virgin River and the bridge that crossed it. They whined and bucked their heads, annoyed by the inconvenience of walking faster than an infant could crawl. Up ahead, to their right and left, steep hills rose on both sides of the road. They would descend the road between the slopes, and reach the river with its wooden bridge.

  Miss Sadie rode alongside the wagon, talking with Papa. Charles rode on the opposite side.

  “We can’t outrun them,” she said.

  “Why not?” Papa said.

  “Not with this wagon and these mules. We’d all need horses that never tired. Zombies never tire. They can run and run forever.”

  Thomas understood that was a benefit of raising a zombie: their bodies never tired. They could work and work and work, and would never complain. Plus you didn’t have to feed them. He could see the appeal.

  Papa frowned and rubbed his chin with one hand. Thomas hated to ultimately leave the decision up to his Papa, the de facto leader of the group as the head of the house.

  “I reckon,” Papa said, “that maybe it’s time we put the rifles and swords to use, then.”

  “We can’t fight them, either,” Miss Sadie said. “You’ve already learned that it’s difficult to kill a zombie.”

  “What other choice do we have?” Papa asked.

  “I know of one,” Charles said. He jabbed a finger at Miss Sadie. “We can just go ahead and give her to them.”

  Papa nodded and gave Miss Sadie a thoughtful look. She began to speak, but from his position on the back of the wagon, Thomas talked over her.

  “That’s not really an option, I don’t think.”

  “Why not?” Charles asked. “Because you fancy her?”

  Thomas felt himself blush as Miss Sadie frowned at him.

  “No,” she said. “No, I don’t think he fancies me.”

  “That’s right,” Thomas said. It was half true, at least. He as much distrusted her as fancied her. However that was possible. “We can’t give them back to her because they’re zombie raisers. There’s no telling what they would do to her.”

  “Sure there is,” she said. “They’d take me home.”

  Thomas grunted in annoyance. He’d meant to suggest that they could ravish or otherwise abuse her. Make her eat spinach, or something. But instead she had to go and say that they’d do the terrible act of taking her home.

  Of course, he could relate to not wanting to be at home.

  He looked back at the approaching cloud of dust. It had moved to within a three quarters of a mile, and gained speed as it started down the slope.

  Papa urged the mules on. They’d passed into the midst of the hills, had come within a hundred yards of the bridge.

  “I say we stand and fight,” Papa said. “Obviously Mr. Milne thought we could fight them, else he wouldn’t have made sure we had the weapons to do so.”

  “That’s right true,” Franky said.

  “Who’s going to fight?” Charles said. “Clara May? Eli?”

  “I can’t fight!” Clara May said. “I’m pregnant.”

  “I shall fight the good fight,” Eli offered. “I am able to shoot a rifle.”

  Miss Sadie, now quiet and thoughtful, made Thomas suspicious.

  Papa pointed down to the wooden bridge below. It stretched from bank to bank in a smooth arc, a total span of about two hundred feet. Dozens of thick wooden poles rose out of the rushing brown water to support the bridge, while others crossed them horizontally. Planed boards spanned the width of twelve feet. No railings assured the safety of anyone crossing the bridge, although the community had talked for years about adding them. It seemed like every year some drunk drove his wagon off of the bridge and got killed.

  “I think we’ll do that,” Papa said. “We’ll stop in the middle of the bridge, turn the wagon to the side, and fight them. Franky and Eli, you use the guns. Charles and Thomas, you take the swords, so that if they get close you can decapitate them.”

  “Sure,” Thomas said. “Decapitate them. Easy.”

  “I think the plan will work,” Miss Sadie said.

  Thomas frowned. “Only a minute ago you said we couldn’t fight them.”

  “I think we’ll be fine. Just trust me. I think I can help. I know a spell or two.”

  Thomas looked around at his family, expecting resistance, but they all nodded as if completely satisfied at Miss Sadie’s declaration.

  “Like what spells?” he said.

  She ignored him. “Mr. Baker, I believe this will work.”

  “Very well,” Papa said. “Let’s drive down to the bridge. We’ll turn the wagon sideways as well as we can, and hide behind it. If they attack, we shoot them.”

  “Shoot Brady and Farrell first,” Miss Sadie said, as if she went about shooting people all the time. For all Thomas knew, she did. Determination had settled over her face. “They control the zombies. With them dead, the zombies will lose their drive.”

  “S
ounds like a reasonable plan,” Papa said. “Let’s get down there.”

  He said it as if he hadn’t already pushed the mules as hard as he could. Even so, Thomas could have run faster. The horses and zombies approached at an alarming rate. The Bakers wouldn’t have much time to get the wagon situated just right.

  As if that was even going to help.

  * * *

  The river, full of spring runoff from up North, flowed fast and deep. It had a brownish green cast to it, and cooled the air around it. Thomas had swam this river a million times.

  As the wagon climbed the bridge, the green water rushed by, below. At the apex of the bridge, Papa reined in the mules. Miss Sadie and Charles both continued on, though neither had indicated they planned on doing so.

  “I’m not leaving Lightning unhitched on this bridge,” Charles shouted over his shoulder.

  “I need to be on dry ground to cast my spell,” Miss Sadie said.

  Thomas hopped down from the back of the wagon. So did Eli. Stanley ran back toward the west side of the bridge, yapping at the approaching group. There were seven zombies, but Thomas couldn’t yet see any details. From the distance of about three hundred yards, they looked like regular humans. Fast ones, but regular. Maybe, once they came close enough, he would see eyeballs rotting out of sockets. Or arms and fingers falling off. They continued on the road between the hills, and began to slow.

  In just a minute, Papa got the wagon in the right spot, so the wagon and mules stretched across the width of the bridge, without much room to spare. The mules whined in objection. Franky, Clara May, and Papa jumped down and stood behind the wagon, watching the Moabites approach. Stanley took up position underneath the wagon, barking.

  The sword felt strange in Thomas’s hand. The weight foreign. He’d have been much better off with a hoe or a scythe. You could chop off a zombie’s head with a hoe, couldn’t you? A well-aimed blow to the neck? Why not?

  Charles ran back from the opposite bank. He’d taken his horse into the trees and bushes on the opposite side of the river, apparently along with Miss Sadie’s. Eli handed Charles a sword. Charles stepped up to the wagon and looked down at Mama just lying there, as peaceful as can be. He shook his head and spoke loud enough to be heard over the river.