Sarah's Quilt

by Nancy E. Turner

  Chapter Eight

  June 22, 1906

  Last night, I kept a pistol under my pillow and the shotgun straight out next to me in bed, and put Shiner at one end of the porch and Nip at the other end, but at least I had some solid sleep. During the night, I saw Jack riding down the slope toward home. He was waving and calling, holding his hat in his hand. The boys were little again, and April just a girl. Suzanne not even born, nor the boy baby who never took a breath nor had a name. It all seemed so real. Even in my dream I asked myself if it was a dream, but no, there came Jack, and all was restored to right.

  “Jack! Supper is ready!” I called. I ran toward him, and he leapt from the saddle and ran toward me, too, his arms open to sweep me into them. “Look,” he said, “I’ve brought you sweet water to drink!” I reached for him. My fingertips touched his shirt. At that touch, I awoke, panting from running so hard. I stared at the ceiling boards for a minute until I knew where I was. Trying not to move, I tipped my head enough to see the dogs sound asleep by the edges of the porch. Chess snored. The screens kept the mosquitoes off, though I could hear a couple of them whining. The moon was bright near to daylight. A nighthawk burbled. Another one called back.

  I had a cotton sheet pulled over me, but nothing hanging on the cord. I folded my hands over the top of it and rubbed the frayed and ragged edge with my thumb. It was one of the embroidered ones Savannah had made for Jack and me years ago, a wedding present. An old sheet, nearly threadbare. Perfect for summer sleeping. Almost.

  That time, I’d almost touched him. I felt a tear slide down the side of my face, and I turned on one side so it soaked into the pillowcase. I dismissed thoughts of Lazrus startling me, then thought for a moment about Rudolfo’s marriage proposal. I dismissed him just as easily, though with a bit of guilt. There’ll never be another Jack Elliot. That, I knew for sure. “Jack,” I whispered, “supper’s ready. Water’s plenty. Come home.” Likely, I will go through my days like my mama, alone by fate and choice. I remember Mason Sherrill used to court Granny, every Tuesday evening. He’d play her songs on his guitar, and she’d make him cookies. They did that for five or six years, and then up and quit one day. Reckon it was just over. I lay still, listening to the night sounds. When I’d touched Jack in my dream, I was almost in his arms again. Tears wet the hair at my temples. When the sky faded from black to green, I breathed a sigh and got up to see the dawn. Getting out of bed is a good way to leave your troubles behind.

  It is the best time of all, that blessed few minutes before sunrise. A woman can have some time utterly to herself, without someone needing her. The night animals go to their holes, and the dove and quail are still asleep. Men with fields to plow and miles to ride are still deep in sleep. It is a time to take out a woman’s cares and tend them, to uncover the aches and dust them off gently, with affection and tenderness, not brusquely, the way Lazrus had in the cemetery.

  I looked over my life and fingered the pains of it, the many scars upon my heart. Then I sorted through the other times, the almost times, when something terrible might have happened but was kept away. Like Gilbert on the windmill, or old times past, when Albert was hit in the side of the head by an arrow, but only hurt skin-deep, and lived to tell about it. I stared into the distance until my eyes hurt, keeping away the dreams by reliving the real.

  By the dim light of dawn, I collected eggs in my apron, then got back to the house to feed the work crew. By the time I got the dishes done, they’d started the machine boring through the rock. My hired hands, my boys, my brother and his boys, all rushed to the work of putting a tank together with rock and concrete and sand. Albert told them to build the walls a full three feet thick, and we managed to settle it pretty close to the hole, so it should practically fill itself, unless we want to use the hand pump on the side. It was a torment getting it built while staying clear of the drillers, but they were used to it, and they told us to keep on.

  Clover and Charlie hauled rock and mixed mortar with Flores and Shorty. While Chess helped them set stones, Joshua and Gilbert set to puzzling out the construction of the huge windmill. Its span was bigger than the one in the south pasture, and fully twice the size of the older one I have out front of the house. Mason put up that windmill years ago, after Jack had it sent from Oklahoma.

  The sound of the drilling machine hammering through rock filled the air like something solid. All day, the drillers shoveled wood and coal into the steam engine, and four times we had to send to Albert’s with a water barrel to get more water to put in the big drum of the motorized bit. Albert’s little boys never got tired of looking at it and darting around it. I tried to stay in the house, and I got nearly half my quilt top done, but every hour or so I went out and watched, too.

  Toward six o’clock, I took some stewed meat with vegetables, fruit, jam, and bread to the men doing the work. They let up for just a little bit to eat, but then went on with drilling after just fifteen minutes or so. By that time, the big tank Albert had built was drying and solid-looking, and Mary Pearl had the job of going round and round it, trickling water over the top and sides so the lime cement didn’t crack.

  There was no sign of Lazrus, and he’d never missed a supper yet. Maybe he was so sure they’d find water, he’d gone off, just decided he’d get his money in the morning and then disappear into the desert he’d come from. I washed all the dishes in water brought from Albert’s well. By eight o’clock, Rachel, Rebeccah, and Esther had come from Albert’s. Even more surprising, Savannah had come with them. They brought sugar cookies for everyone, great hand-size ones, which the men and boys wolfed down. After Savannah handed out the last cookie, she sat on my porch with me.

  I was too tired to talk, so we just sat and fanned for a spell. Out of the blue, Savannah said, “Well, even if that water man is as heathen and sinful as they come, I believe the Lord can draw a straight line with a crooked stick. You need water, and if he—Lazrus—can point it out, that is our straight line.”

  “Good,” I said. “I’m glad you didn’t say it would be cursed and alkali. I’m still worried it’s going to be just a dry hole.”

  She leaned toward me and said, “You know, honey, there was a while I was hoping it would be dry, just to show that man out to be a liar and a lunatic. Then I realized how unfair that would be to you. I’m truly sorry I wished it. Please forgive me.”

  “No harm,” I said. “I don’t suppose you hid any of those cookies, did you?”

  She smiled. “I know men and cookies. Look here.” She pulled up the basket sitting at her feet and took off the bottom layer of a checkered towel. There were six more cookies under there, and she and I ate them, three apiece. She had a little jar of apple cider in there, too, and we also had that, taking turns sharing it. I believe Savannah Prine makes the best apple cider in the county. She and I sat and pieced my quilt for a spell.

  With Savannah pinning up and me stitching on the machine, we got two more rows up in jig time. Then we went to the porch again to get some night air. I had just leaned my head against the back of the porch rocker and shut my eyes, when there was a loud cracking sound, and the drilling machine made a terrible whine that had us holding our ears. Savannah and I sprang from our seats and hurried toward the drill. The men holding chains under the scaffold moaned and threw down their tools as they walked away from the rig. I ran toward them, calling “What happened?” again and again to anyone who’d listen. Savannah was behind me until I passed her girls.

  The foreman mopped his brow with his sleeve and threw his hat angrily into the dirt. “Suffering angels above. Pull that son of a—oh, sorry, ma’am—pull it up, boys. Sweet Mary and Joseph—sorry, ma’am. A goddamn hundred-dollar drill bit. Sorry, ma’am. Solid rock—and blasted—that Lazrus better be right—suffering. Damn. Can’t cuss with all these women around. Pardon me, ladies, but would you please go in the house and let us finish this work?”

  Savannah took off toward the house as fast as she could go, pushing her daughters in front of h
er. Instead of following her, I stepped right toward him. I get purely tired of some men thinking work gets greased with cussing, and the more cussing, the better the work. The foreman was a stumpy barrel of a man. I knew he was flying mad, although no more disgusted than I was. “Listen,” I said, “don’t you have another drill bit?”

  “Yes, lady, but it’s the eight-incher. We’ve put a six-inch shaft all the way down. Using the great one means drilling the whole suffering length of it again.”

  “Mr. Lazrus said to start with the eight-inch hammer. I heard him tell you.”

  “I know my business, lady. I know what needs doing, and how it gets done.”

  “Well, I’m not paying you to drill twice just because you had to do it your way first,” I said, picking up my skirts and going to the house. Savannah and her girls were waiting inside. Candle bugs and dusty black flickers gathered at the window, along with the usual flank of mosquitoes. A couple of them had gotten in from somewhere and were dancing around the lamp globe. After a minute of listening to the commotion outside, I caught Savannah’s eye and said, “It feels like we’re all waiting the birth of a baby.”

  “Only the men are in labor,” Mary Pearl piped in. With quick glances all around, the girls all laughed.

  Savannah said, “No wonder the Lord gave that chore to women. The language of those men!”

  After about a half hour, we heard the hammering start again. I had reckoned the men were going to quit and go to bed, but it appeared like they planned to drill after dark. That pounding was making me feel as if my skin skittered around on my bones, and I wanted to leave, if only I’d had somewhere to go. Savannah said it made noise all the way to their house. I felt anxious, believing that someone or something could creep up behind me and I’d never hear it. Thank goodness Chess and my boys were home. With the boys around, there’d be several more sets of eyes watching for that Lazrus. Mary Pearl asked Savannah if she could stay the night here, on our sleeping porch, and wait for the water. Savannah told her she could, and then Savannah and the other girls started for home with a lantern.

  Mary Pearl and I got two lanterns and walked out to the drill to watch awhile. At ten o’clock, the drill was still going. Seemed they planned to work the night through. I fired up the stove again and made a pot of coffee in the big gallon pot I use for roundup coffee. It took near an hour to make because of the size of the pot. By the light of the moon, we hauled the coffeepot and a string of tin cups looped by their handles out to the drillers.

  Rudolfo and his son Oscar had come, too, and my male kith and kin were enjoying the show. “How far down is it?” I asked the man who seemed to be the boss. I had to holler it again before he understood.

  “Ninety-six feet,” he said. “Damnedest thing I ever saw—scuse me, ma’am—the way the big one will cut through it like butter. Usually, you got a rock like this to start with, the little one’s the way to go.”

  I put my hands around my mouth and hollered, “Any sign of water?”

  “No, lady.”

  Mary Pearl and I stood with the men, watching. From the corner of my eye, I spotted Rudolfo. He disappeared; then he was right next to me. The noise was so loud, I could tell he was trying to talk, but I heard only every few words he said. “Sarah? … Qiero hablar … la verdad. … I must tell you the truth … .”3’ Rudolfo’s face was troubled. Mary Pearl glared at him.

  One of the drillers called out, “One hundred feet!” People didn’t say anything, but they did sit up and take notice.

  I shouted to Rudolfo, “Let’s talk later,” and handed him a cup of coffee. I was tired. Rattled, too, from listening to that engine chewing through rock. Rudolfo looked into the coffee cup as if something was really on his mind, but I didn’t want to leave again. And with my boys and Albert all around, I didn’t want to wander off in the night with Rudolfo, no matter how long we’d been friends. I hadn’t said a word to them about his proposal, and I didn’t plan to until I was good and ready.

  Another man called, “Hundred and thirty.” I turned, and Rudolfo had gone. I swatted a mosquito that had lighted on my arm. At least the night had cooled off, though we still were sweating. The men shoveling were plum ragged. “A hundred sixty feet!” came the call. Now all the folks stood and moved a little closer. “Hundred sixty-five. Sixty-six. Seventy-two … seventy-eight. Hundred seventy-nine—cut it off! Here it comes!”

  Water bubbled from the machine’s blowpipe. They stopped the steam engine and unhooked the chains. The drill hammer pulled up, and with it came a fountain of water. I rushed toward it. It ran off the rock and down the slope. The ground fairly hissed as the water touched it. It ran straight toward me. I knelt right there in the dirt and scooped it up, gravel, twigs, and cool, sweet mud, and held it under my nose. Sweet water. Oh Lord, sweet, good, cool water.

  People around me cheered and shouted, whooping and stomping. Everyone jumped and hollered. I stood in the center of them, howling with delight, like a child. Without any notion that he’d been nearby, I suddenly saw Rudolfo. He swept me up in his arms, and before I knew what was happening, he kissed me.

  I reckon I was so happy about the water, so exhausted and happy, that I kissed him back. The commotion went on around us, and though I don’t think it was more than a second or two, it was a sure-enough kiss. He let me down, and I held my fingers to my lips, shocked at myself. His eyes looked warm and sad, though, not happy. Then he vanished into the crowd, and I was swept into the celebration. We shook hands all around and slapped one another’s shoulders until we were raw. I never came upon Rudolfo again. He’d gone home, I reckon.

  The men had lowered 228 feet of pipe as the hammer sank into the ground—nineteen of the twelve-foot lengths piled on the wagon. The top four feet made a connection to the windmill scaffold. The water stopped running out of the hole, but the smell of it was as good as a clean sheet just off the line, better than a cake in the oven, sweeter than pulled candy at Christmas. Everyone lined up and tossed out their coffee, holding the cups under the spigot, filling them with that good water.

  When everyone got quiet, the Irishman held his cup in the air and said, “To the saints who watched over this drilling, and the dear Virgin for letting me keep me temper, and to Lazrus, that water-witching son of a gun. Finally, to the dear lady of this house, long may this well serve you and yours, and may every drop that comes from it bring health and wealth and happiness!” He upended the cup, letting it drizzle down his face and darken his shirt in streaks. “Sweet Mother, that is the most wonderful water I’ve tasted this side of the ocean. Drink up!”

  We drank and drank that water, like it had come from heaven. Indeed, I thought, watching all these people reveling in my good fortune, it nearly did. Without some kind of outside guidance, how could that crazy varmint Lazrus know the things he knows? It was long past midnight. It was the twenty-third of June. Twelve days after he’d arrived.

  The noise went on around me, and for a minute, I was alone. I felt embarrassed at what I’d done. At the liberties Rudolfo had taken, right here in front of my family. I was mortified at the thought of my sons having seen that kiss, and I knew right then that I didn’t love him. It meant no more than if I’d been holding a puppy or a chicken in my arms; when the water came, I’d have kissed them, too. Poor Rudolfo. I didn’t love him, and now I’d gone and kissed him. I was going to have to do some long talking to explain.

  In just a few more minutes, they put out the lights, and all those fellows from the drilling company bedded down on blankets in the yard. My boys went up to the sleeping porch; the rest of Albert’s bunch headed for home. I glanced at the clock as I put out the last lantern. It was three o’clock in the morning. The hour of teething babies and birthing foals. The hour when fevers broke and wells broke through. Three in the morning had never come my way without some blessing attached to it. I nodded at the mantel clock, wound it for the day ahead, and went to bed, so thankful that my gratitude included Lazrus, too.

  I awoke to the so
und of Nip growling low in his throat. He didn’t bark, the way he does when there is some kind of danger close by, but kept on growling, telling me he was worried and sensed something was out of order. I tried to stay awake and listen for strange sounds, but my arms and legs seemed to be stitched to the bed itself. The next thing I knew, the sun was full up, and people began rousing.

  The drilling men shared some breakfast with us, then packed up and were gone soon after, along with a very large stack of Granny’s gold coins. I felt like a thief, paying them money that my mama had put into my hands. I vowed to myself that I would repay her for it soon as I could get her to understand my reasons and take the money.

  I spent the morning doing washing that had gone waiting, hauling the tub and wringer out to the well. By afternoon, the boys finally got the windmill together and had it mounted and all. Chess pulled the pin and, with just the lightest little breeze, it started turning, filling the tank Albert had built, the water channeling through a pipe in the side. What a heavenly sound, that of water running.

  I felt as if I’d been given a whole new life, as if nothing could go wrong now or ever again. I stared for a long time at the water running into the tank, clean as it could be, and a pretty pale green color. I’d better get to hauling some of this water to my horses and other critters. I’ll get the chickens back to the coop, take up house again. As long as we have water, the world will right itself. I turned around, and nearly ran right slam into Lazrus. I gasped and put my hands to my face.

  “How many feet down?” Lazrus asked.

  “A hundred and seventy-nine. Just like you said. I’ll get your hundred dollars, and you can get along home.”

  “That’s all? You told me I’d have to be soaked in that water. Thought that was why you brought the washtub—for the baptism service.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “Mr. Lazrus, I’m tired. Drink your fill. As for the rest, I don’t care if you take a bath or not. I thank you for the work, and I’m glad to pay you a bounty on it. It’s a fine well, and good water, and that is enough for me.”