Sarah's Quilt

by Nancy E. Turner

  Conciliada came ambling over, hands on her hips. “No, Señor Josh. The same. You didn’t like them?”

  Josh leaned forward, rubbing at sweat gathering in a rush on his face. “Oh glory. I’m sick.” Josh wrenched his hands at his middle. Then he faced us, wide-eyed, and suddenly headed for the backyard.

  Conciliada was worried. “I’m sure it’s not the food, señoras y señors. I cooked fresh today los tamales.”

  Several minutes later, he came back, weakly holding the porch rail. “You all please excuse me. I’m just going to sit on the back porch and sip some water. I’m feeling scoury, too; need to be nearer the privy.”

  “No one else feeling poorly?” Savannah asked. “Well, thank goodness for that. Must be Josh got hold of something.”

  Charlie said, “Or something just got hold of him.”

  I turned to Savannah and said, “Now, there’s a hundred other things to give a boy the scours. Let’s just hope he got some sour milk or something. He’ll be all right.”

  Clove shook his head. “Aunt Sarah,” he said, “if Josh is up to drinking curdled milk, he deserves what he’s getting.” Clover went and put his head in the front door. He called over his shoulder, “He’s not in here. I can hear him back by the outhouse. Doing the coyote love call.”

  Savannah sighed and rolled her eyes. “Son, please!”

  We left Josh his privacy on the back porch, and the rest of us settled in chairs on the front. I handed Willie one of my boys’ favorite books, Treasure Island. Told him to sit still and read, as we were observing the Lord’s Day, too. He cut his eyes this way. Nevertheless, he started reading it, and before long, there was no sound from him but the turning of pages and a nervous throat clearing, a sound I’d heard him make before. We lolled away the day reading and napping, the girls and Savannah doing needlework.

  Gilbert offered to stay with Josh, saying he’d watch the “old tyke” so Savannah and Albert could rest, and that he’d call if Josh seemed seriously ill. Charlie, Willie, Granny, Chess, and I ambled home. Our day of rest would still end with our feeding and watering, and that had to be done before dark.

  That night, I wound the clock, turned out the lamps in the parlor, and checked in Granny’s room just in case she’d left a candle lit. The breeze that came in the windows was cool. It felt good, but it was more proof of how dry the sky was. Night settled into the house, and the only light came from the back porch, where Charlie was sharpening a knife, and from the kitchen, where Chess pushed a threadbare rag over the worktable. He said, “How’s our boy Josh?”

  “Same, I reckon,” I said.

  Chess was quiet for a while; then he said, “I know why you did that, asking that boy to come here.”

  “You mean Willie?” I was really proud of the way Willie had stuck his nose deep into that book all afternoon.

  “Surely. He’s a tinhorn, but I don’t think he’d mean your mama any harm. He still wearing them Mexican boots like a fandango dancer?”

  “Wouldn’t Ernest have told me if he had a son? I’ve got two dozen letters in there, and not word one about a boy. Specially a smart-alecky one like this.”

  “Thought you should know this. Yesterday, he says to me he wants to quick-draw a pistol. Found that old revolver you keep behind the sugar jar in the kitchen, then went outside while you were gone to Albert’s place. He killed two fence posts and Old Bitsy.”

  “My best settin’ hen?”

  He nodded. “Through the gut, so she wasn’t fit to eat, either.”

  “Well. Why’d it take you so long to tell me?”

  “I told him to be a man, and tell you himself. Told him every way there was. I was hoping he’d do it; then I decided this morning during Miss Savannah’s prayers that if he wouldn’t tell you, then I’d have to. I scolded him. Only good it did was now he steers clear of me.”

  “He didn’t tell me. I thought we were getting along pretty well.” I stared at the table Chess was working on. His rag went around in circles, a scattering of bread crumbs next to it. In the dim light, Chess couldn’t make out the top of the table.

  Chess nodded. “Where’re our boys?”

  “Gilbert’s sitting with Josh. Charlie’s putting an edge on a couple of blades. He’ll be along directly. Reckon we’ll take Willie gathering with us. Maybe he can fill Josh’s boots, but I doubt it. I declare, if it’s not one thing, it’s two.”

  Chess said, “He’d never fill ’em. Josh’s boots are working boots. Not enough fancy folderol for that fellow.”

  Chess sounded purely crotchety. I patted his shoulder and said, “Get some rest.”

  Well, next morning, I walked back to Savannah and Albert’s house just after sunup. I went to see how the boys had managed, if anyone else took sick, and to get Gilbert to work with Hunter for a few minutes. He is a real good hand with horses. Gilbert told me his poor cousin had run to the outhouse every ten minutes or so until midnight, when the lower part of his innards started working double time, too. Josh had slept on the porch, leaning at the edge, boots on, so he could run.

  Gilbert said during the night he awoke several times to check on Josh, and felt his cousin’s head for a fever, but he never noticed one. Gil said Josh and he were talking and Josh said he’d ’ve sworn there were bugs in his cup. “Then,” Gilbert said, “Josh asked for well water instead of from the olla, and he fell hard to sleep this morning. I had some pancakes and eggs and a beefsteak. I went out to the porch again, and old Josh was in the rocking chair, covered with a blanket, snoring like a beehive.” Gilbert picked at his teeth with a twig. “I said to him he’d missed some good eating, but if it wasn’t going to stay put, it was a waste of good food to feed him.”

  “Well,” I said, “you boys are so kindhearted, it makes a mother proud.”

  “Can’t figure it, though. If it was something in the food, the rest of us would be sick by now.” He rolled his eyes at me, and said, “Old Josh said he was going to help load the wagon, and I told him to stay here, or I’d lay into him.”

  Along came Clove and Charlie with extra cups of coffee for their brothers. Josh took his, looking suspiciously at it. “Maybe it’ll taste like something more than yesterday’s bathwater,” he said, and sipped slowly. “Lands sakes, Charlie. Glad you put a little coffee in this cup of sugar.”

  Charlie laughed and said, “Clove said you liked it sweet. Just trying to be obliging.”

  Clover said, “Make it sticky enough, maybe you’ll stay in the saddle.”

  Josh moaned, and it turned into sort of a growl. “Thanks.”

  “You boys enjoy your coffee. It’s going to be a long day,” I said. “And Joshua, don’t you even think about coming to work today. You just get well.”

  “Yes ’m, Aunt Sarah. I’m going to bed. Yonder comes my replacement, fellows.” Willie was walking toward the house. He had a lariat in his hands and was swinging a loop beside his leg as he came, making figures in it. He had his hat pushed down so low, he could hardly see out from under it.

  Savannah and I started packing up food she was sending to the gathering. All the girls were busy helping in the kitchen. They are always generous with the pecan cookies and doughnuts and fried peach pies. Savannah stood near me at their kitchen worktable. She said, “Girls, you all go carry those baskets to Aunt Sarah’s house.” She laid her hand on my arm gently for just a moment. “Go along now. We’ll be right behind. It’ll be a nice walk. No need to rig up a buggy for some cookies.”

  It was taking her a long time to put on shoes. Leaning back on the bench, I put my head against the wall and closed my eyes. Although I do not approve of, and generally do not engage in, eavesdropping, I could hear the boys talking on the porch clear as if they were in the room. They weren’t trying to be particularly quiet, and I wasn’t trying to listen. I just heard it. Gilbert said, “Lord a mercy. It’s taking me, too.”

  “What’s that?” Charlie asked.

  “The scours that Josh’s been suffering. My gut feels like the entrai
ls are about to become outtrails.”

  “Isn’t there some epidemic that does that?” Charlie asked.

  Gilbert moaned. Then he said, “Yep. But there’s never been cholera in Arizona Territory. Too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter.”

  I leaned through the open window and said, “I heard that, Gilbert. You sick?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m afraid so. Oh, oh—” And he dashed toward the outhouse.

  When he came back, he walked slowly, and planted himself on the side of the porch, his feet hanging off. Charlie said, “Think you can ride anyway? Everything’s packed, and the horses are saddled.”

  I told him, “I don’t want you out riding in this heat if you’re going to suffer like Josh. Him, either. You’ll both have a heart spell if you take the scours in the sun. Charlie, you and Clove hitch the buggy for Savannah. She’s tired.”

  Charlie called back, “Gil can ride home with you and Aunt Savannah.”

  Savannah appeared at the door at that moment. Suddenly, Ezra stomped down the stairs and ran into the room, waving wildly with one hand, the other hand over his mouth. He made a straight line for the kitchen door. After several minutes, he came back and flopped into his mama’s reading chair. He said, “Mama, my whole breakfast just went down the side of the house.” He closed his eyes. “I’m gonna die.”

  Loud voices came from the front porch: a man yelling, a second, higher voice shouting in return. Then there was scuffling and a loud bang, and the door swung open. In came Clover, snarled around and dragging Willie. Willie was dark red in the face, clenching with all his strength to Clover’s large elbow, which was crooked around his neck. Willie kicked wildly, and Clover gave him a quick boot to the backside and, flexing his arm, jerked his head. He said, “Settle your oats, boy. This isn’t over yet. We’re going to let them decide what to do with you.”

  “What is going on?” Albert asked. “Clove?” Ezra opened his eyes and watched, unmoved. Gilbert hadn’t moved from the porch, either. He just frowned and rubbed his temple with one hand.

  “Joshua!” Clover called. “Joshua Prine, get yourself out of bed and come handle this. You get the first lick at him.” Clover hauled Willie by his head back out the door. Savannah, Albert, and I followed, watching. The girls lined up behind us.

  I’d learned long ago not to get between the boys when they got to scuffling. It hardly took more than a blink of an eye to set them brawling, but if I got myself worked into it, why, I’d just be stoking up a good mad when they’d already have bruised each other’s eyes, then gone fishing together to celebrate what fun it all was. It was probably time Willie found his place in this family, if he was planning to stay. This was the shortest path to it. Besides that, the only way to find out what had lit a fire under Clove—usually so somber and quiet, the boys called him “old man”—was to watch. So we watched.

  Willie squirmed and roared, saying, “Let me go, you big dumb shifter.”

  Clover squeezed harder, clenching him like a bear. Grunting and dark in the face, Willie struggled in his arms, throwing his legs out, trying to kick again. His bright-colored boots had been dragged through the dirt, so the pointed toes had lost all their color. Clover’s old work boots were heavy, and with every move Willie made, Clover landed a boot print on Willie’s backside. Clove said, “I told you to hold still. Take your medicine, runt.”

  Willie hacked, then squawked out, “I told you, sod buster, get your paws off me.”

  “Shut up, boy, before I give you the licking you deserve. Brother Joshua, are you coming?” Willie squirmed and grunted, pulling and puffing, trying to push a hand between Clover’s arm and his own neck.

  Josh called out from the back room, “I ain’t dressed.”

  The three boys yelled, “No one cares!” In a moment, Joshua appeared in the doorway in his short union suit. Savannah’s girls all gasped and rolled their eyes. They murmured little noises about how boys just had no modesty whatsoever. Even poor sick Ezra pushed himself between the girls’ skirts and came outside to watch.

  Clove dragged Willie toward the edge of the porch and said, “You fellas come here and take a look. Just come on. It isn’t cold, Josh. Hurry up. It’s going to make you get well right now. You’ll take a swing at him when you find out what I just saw this fella doing.” He tumbled to the front steps with Willie, and once there, he loosened his hold, so that Willie fell to his knees and spun head over heels down the steps.

  “Now, Zachary,” Clove said, “reach up to the olla and draw yourself a big dip of water. Don’t drink it. Just draw it.” Zack did as he was told. With a confused look on his face, he climbed onto a chair, then the rail, and pulled the scoop from the clay pot hanging from a rope. While he did, Clove continued. “Since we got up yesterday, none of us has seen that water pot in broad daylight. It’s too high to look into without a particular reason. Till I just did, after what I saw. Got a dipper, Zack? Dump it on the boards.”

  Zack looked around and said, “Waste water? Papa’ll holler at us.” Then he turned to Albert. His papa raised his eyebrows in a question, then nodded. Zack threw down the water. Bits of paper and scattered brown leaves, some rolled up, dark and dingy—old cigarette leavings—that had been floating in the cup swirled on the porch in gray water; it sank through the boards, leaving the shreds posed like so many dead bugs.

  Charlie dropped his jaw and said, “Oh for—Blast his hide. Look at this!”

  “Tobacco cigarettes. How many are in there?” Josh asked, and started untying the rope that held the olla under the eaves while the other cousins watched in silence.

  Clover said, “I went to get my horse. I was just walking up from the barn, and he was puffing like a locomotive. Then he takes it and pitches it right into the jug.”

  When Josh got the water pot down so he could see inside, he said, “It’s a cesspool in there! That clodhopper must have been doing this for a week. Lord, it stinks.”

  By that time, the boys had plum forgotten the rest of us were there, and we sort of backed up against the wall. Charlie made eyes at Joshua and motioned toward Willie, who was standing there at the foot of the steps with a startled look on his face, his arms curved outward from his middle. Charlie said, “He looks thirsty.”

  Then the fight was on. Sick or not, dressed or not, Josh, Ezra, Gilbert, and Clover pinned Willie to the dirt and gravel. Even Zachary got into it. Willie fought for all he was worth, but there was no moving the weight of the bunch on top of him.

  Charlie stood over him with the three-gallon jug. He said, “You look like you could use a drink, boy.” He started pouring the water in Willie’s face. “Drink up. Had enough? Have some more. It’s been so nice of you to share what you had with us, and we’d like to help you to a taste of it, too.” He dumped the last of it with a big splash. The boys let Willie up. He was coughing and spluttering and cursing each of them. “Now,” Charlie said, “smell this jug, boys. What do you think? My guess, it’s ruined.”

  Gilbert put his nose over the jug’s mouth and gagged. He said, “That’s what I tasted. Oh no—” He ran toward the outhouse again.

  Josh snatched the jug and threw it against the ground, cracking it in a dozen pieces. Then he said, “There goes three whole dollars. We’ve lost a whole day, sick on account of someone’s stupid, careless—I say someone’s first three days’ pay is going to the cost of a new olla, ain’t that right, Willie Prine? Or do you want another drink?”

  Willie backed up, his face redder than I’d ever seen a person’s look. He shouted, “No one bothered to tell me the pot was for water. I figured it was to keep bears out of the trash. Sodbusters. Cow shucks. Lousy shifters. Can’t take a little tobacco without curling up and dying, that’s what. Must have livers like a girl, that’s what.”

  Albert had moved around him, and he suddenly took Willie by the back of his collar and hoisted him. For a man with grown boys, Albert was still in his prime and strong as an oak tree. Albert said, “Young man, stop right in your tracks,
and hold your tongue. All this time I’ve let you go on, being new and all. It’s time you and I had a talk. Out in the barn. There’ll be no more talk like that in front of my family. Now you come with me and take your licks like a man. Then you straighten up and stop acting like you’re being put-upon just because we expect you to act decent. They had cause to be sorely mad at you, boy. You just have to learn a lesson from it. Let’s go.” Albert started pulling on Willie’s collar, moving toward the barn.

  “You ain’t a gonna whip me!” Willie said. He jerked his arms loose and freed his neck from Albert’s grasp.

  “In the barn. Right now,” Albert said, pointing.

  Willie put up hands like a prizefighter, fists waving in front of his face. “Come on, farmer. You can’t whip me. You can’t make me stay here.”

  Albert glowered at him, his own face darkening. He said, “Willie? I don’t plan to make you stay here. Nevertheless, if you’re going to stay here, you’re going to abide by our rules. And you’re going to take the whipping that you earned.” Albert strode to the barn without another word. Willie breathed through his mouth, loud enough to hear, his eyes cutting back and forth, not at us, but like he was weighing things in his mind.

  Well, I could hardly believe it, but that six-foot-tall boy let himself be strapped three sound smacks by his uncle. There were any number of reasons I had figured he’d never put up with it. No sign in that boy that he’d ever followed a rule in his life. He just walked out there behind Albert and took it. Never saw the like. I believe I’ll have to speculate on that for quite a while.

  Willie came up to the porch, staring hard at the dirt, his hair and clothes bearing the looks of the scuffle earlier. “I’m sorry, folks. I didn’t never see anyone drinking outta that jug. Didn’t know what it was for.” I don’t think any of his cousins cared for his apology, but I wanted to believe him. I reckon any boy needs to know where the fence is, and he’d just found it.

  Chapter Eleven

  July 10, 1906