“Now listen here, girl,” she began.
I advanced toward her, the tines of the pitchfork still pointed her direction. The sharp tips brushed her soft flesh, leaving no doubt I meant business. “That’s another thing, old woman,” I said through clenched teeth. “Don’t you ever call me ‘girl’ again. You bullied me when I was barely more than a child, and I let Will fight my battles. I’ve grown since then, and Will’s gone. Don’t underestimate me. If ya call me ‘girl’ again—or if ya call my children ‘bastards’ again—you will regret it. Now leave.”
Imogene stepped back, never taking her eyes off the pitchfork in my hands. “I’ll leave, but you’ve not seen the last of me. Mark my words: you’ll regret this. Nobody threatens me.”
Imogene’s words hung in the air as she stomped back toward her vehicle, slamming the door once she was seated. Starting the engine, she pulled away, kicking up clouds of red dust in her wake.
Yet again, fury consumed me. I was so angry, I almost didn’t recognize myself. How dare that woman summon my children after not acknowledging them all these years? My body vibrated with anger, and my ears buzzed. Walking into the house, I was thankful to find Catherine preparing dinner. She was one of the few people who could calm my anger.
“Where are the little ones?” I asked.
“Gracie and Jack took Ethan and Sara down to the creek to fish,” she said.
“They’re not gonna catch anything this late in the day. And they better be watchin’ those babies close. Last thing I need is to bury one of my babies.”
“They’ll be fine. The little ones were gettin’ antsy, and just needed to get out and do somethin’ different.” Catherine gave me a sad smile. She didn’t say the words, but her look said everything. Like her siblings, she was concerned. My anger reached everyone.
“Whatcha got there on the stove?” I asked.
“Rabbit stew. Joseph stopped by earlier and dropped off two jackrabbits. Said they was thick out in the pastures earlier, so he brought down about a half dozen and dropped a couple off here.”
“Thanks for startin’ dinner.”
Catherine nodded.
“Granny Imogene was just here,” I told her.
Catherine’s eyes went wide with shock. “She was?”
“Yeah. Grampy’s sick. She wants me to bring the little ones out to the house to see him.”
“What did ya say? That can’t be a good idea, havin’ you and Granny Imogene in the same room.”
“I told her no. They’ve not cared about the little ones all these years. I see no reason why they should show an interest now.”
“I bet she was mad!” Catherine said. “What’d she say?”
“Exactly what you’d expect her to say. She threatened me. Told me I’d not seen the last of her.”
“What’d you say?”
“Not much. She called me ‘girl,’ and that pretty much ended the conversation. I told her she’d regret it if she ever called me that again, no to mention my children bastards.”
“Victoria! You didn’t! Please tell me ya didn’t threaten her! Things are bad enough between y’all two without ya threatenin’ her!”
I nodded. “I did, and I meant it. She’s pushed me around for the last time. I’ve had enough of that woman to last me a lifetime. I won’t have another minute of it.”
“Ya know you’ve just declared war on Granny Imogene.” Catherine frowned. “She won’t back down.”
“Neither will I.”
Catherine was quiet for long minutes, then said, “Caroline and Olivia are worried about ya. Actually, we all are. You’ve changed so much since Daddy died. You’re hard. Don’t take that wrong: I love you. We all love you! But you’re so angry now.”
“I’m well aware of that,” I replied.
“But it’s not you.”
“I’m not so sure, Catherine.” I shook my head. “I think I’m more me than I’ve ever been. This world is harsh; you’re either on top, or you’re on bottom. I won’t be on bottom. I can’t.”
“But I don’t understand. You’ve always been opinionated. I remember Daddy sayin’ it’s what he loved best about ya. But you’ve never been mean before. Lately you’re like a horse with a burr under your saddle. You seem angry all the time.”
“It’s because I am. I’m angry all the time. I wake up angry in the morning, and I go to bed furious at night. Some days I resent the anger, but most days it’s the only thing keepin’ me goin’, so I hold onto it with everythin’ I have.”
“But why?”
“Catherine,” I sighed. “I don’t know how to explain this to ya so you’ll understand, but I’ll try. And then I don’t wanna discuss it ever again. Understood?”
She nodded.
I took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “I loved your daddy. He made it impossible not to fall in love with him. When he died, everything good in me died with him. Sometimes I can forget for a few minutes he’s gone; but then reality crashes back down on me, and I feel empty and vacant. It feels like I’m standin’ at the edge of nowhere, lookin’ out onto the land of nothing. The world is barren. It’s empty without him. There’s no kindness or beauty for me anymore. There’s no future. All I can see are miles and miles of nothin’—just a vast world of desolation and ugliness.”
Pausing only a moment, I continued. “I never meant to love your daddy. I told him I wouldn’t when we first met. I’d sworn to never marry; never to fall in love. I didn’t even want children. Your daddy changed all that. He knew me like nobody else ever did, and he loved me in spite of my faults. I was shocked when I fell in love with him, but I loved him more than I ever thought possible. By lovin’ him, though, I allowed him to change me, to make me soft. He brought out the best in me and made me trust in love; but that love made me weak. With him gone, I gotta be strong. Failing to be strong is to fail all of you.”
Tears collected in Catherine’s eyes, but I forged on. She’d asked, and this was the first time I’d allowed myself to speak the words out loud. I needed to say them as much as she needed to hear them, so I continued.
“When I was a child, I watched my mama die. She’d lost a baby and, with it, her will to live. When she died, my daddy changed. He’d once been loving and kind, but her death turned him into a drunkard. He became a sorry excuse for a father, then abused himself with alcohol until he died as well. Love had done that to ’em both; love destroyed them. When they died, I promised myself I’d never love. I refused to allow love to make me weak as it had them. Then I met your daddy. He charged in like the white knight of childhood fairy tales, and he made me forget my promise. I surrendered my fear, and allowed him to fight my battles. He loved me. He made me forget I needed strength to survive. When he died, I lost the one thing standin’ between me and the rest of the world. And now, I’m damn-near helpless and weak because of it. The only thing I know is that I gotta be strong at all costs. So if I’ve changed, well, I guess that’s the price I’m willin’ to pay. I won’t lie down and let others walk over me.”
Catherine nodded, her eyes near overflowing with unshed tears. We sat there in silence, both of us pondering my words. After several long moments, I was startled when she approached me. Placing both arms around my neck, Catherine hugged me tightly and placed a light kiss upon my cheek.
“I love you, Victoria,” she said.
“I know,” I responded.
Hearing that from Catherine was nearly my undoing. Refusing to cry, I bit the inside of my cheek and watched her leave the room. I was left alone in the quiet of my kitchen with my thoughts and fears; but, most importantly, with my anger. It would be the anger that would see me through the years ahead, and I embraced it with everything I had.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THAT NIGHT, I TOSSED AND TURNED, STEWING in my anger at Imogene. Eventually I drifted off to sleep, but my dreams were uneasy. I had horrible nightmares of large, vacant eyes—my children’s eyes. They were hungry, their bodies nothing but skin and
bone. I dreamed of Imogene and Walter stealing them away from me. I dreamed of pitchforks. I saw myself lying in a pool of my own blood. Holes covered my body, allowing my blood to seep onto the ground until I was lying in a pool of crimson. I cried out, hoping to get someone’s attention. Nobody responded. There was no one. I lay on the ground with my knees pulled up to my chest as the pain radiated throughout my body. My blood disappeared into the red dusty dirt of the Oklahoma prairie.
“Victoria! Victoria, wake up!”
I was jolted out of my dream by Catherine. I opened my eyes just enough to see her. She was standing over me with tears streaming down her face, her eyes wide with terror.
“Victoria, wake up!” she pleaded.
The pain of my dream consumed me. It radiated down both legs, taking my breath away. I was dying. I looked up at Catherine and whispered, “Help me. I’m hurt.”
“Victoria! You’re covered in blood, and I don’t know what to do!”
“Granny Imogene,” I whispered. “She stabbed me.”
“Victoria! Wake up! Granny Imogene isn’t here! I think you’re losin’ the baby!”
The last of her words penetrated through the fog of my sleep-muddled mind. I’d been dreaming, but the pain was real. Relentless. Kicking back the covers through my pain, I assessed my blood-soaked nightgown and knew Catherine was right. From the waist down, there was nothing but a thick pool of red.
“Catherine,” I said as calmly as I was able. “Take the truck down to Joseph’s, and tell him to go get Dr. Heusman. Hurry. Tell him I’m losin’ the baby. And be quiet—don’t wake the little ones!”
“I’m goin’. I’ll be back! Just stay here!” Already to the front door, she closed it with a loud thud. I winced, hoping she hadn’t awakened the little ones.
Alone now, the room was silent, and the pain was excruciating. I wanted to wash the blood off. I couldn’t just lie there; I needed to do something. Scooting to the edge of the bed, I paused to catch my breath. Six steps. Only six steps to the bedroom door, then another ten steps or so to the kitchen. I could do this.
Using the railing at the foot of the bed to steady myself, I pulled to a standing position. Blood gushed from my body in a steady stream of large clots onto the rug below. The room spun, and bright lights flashed behind my eyes. I needed to sit back down before I fell.
Easing back onto the bed, I sat there for a moment to gain control of myself. I wanted this blood washed away before Catherine returned. Once more using the bed railing to steady myself, I climbed to my feet. Six steps. I could make it to the door. I knew I could.
Using what furniture I could for support, I walked on shaky legs toward the bedroom door. Six steps felt like a hundred; but, if I could make it to the kitchen table, I could sit for a moment before cleaning up. Slowly, I crept to the doorway leading to the outer room. My head throbbed, and reams of sweat poured down the back of my neck. Yet I didn’t feel at all warm. Instead, I was chilled through, as though I’d never be warm again. My body trembled; either from the pain or the cold, I wasn’t sure.
Slowly releasing myself from the doorframe, I continued toward the kitchen. Ten more steps. The anger inside of me burst forth, giving me the energy to take another step. Nine more steps, I estimated.
My hair was thick with sweat, and blood poured from my body. I was almost there. I looked around for something to lean on, but there was nothing nearby. I’d have to do without. I took another step. Lights flashed behind my eyes, and the world spun around me. Everything went dark.
I’m not sure how long I was unconscious. I awoke a short time later in a clean nightgown, on clean sheets, and in my own bed. Sitting beside me were Catherine and Daniel, both with concern etched deeply into their young features.
Taking my hand in his, Daniel spoke first. “You’re awake. How’re ya feelin’?”
I considered the question. The pain was still present, but not as intense as it had been earlier. I could feel the blood hadn’t stopped, but at least I was clean and not covered in it.
“I don’t know. The pain’s better,” I whispered.
“You’ve been out for at least half an hour,” Catherine said. “Joseph left for Dr. Heusman, and then I went to get Daniel. He cleaned up your bed while I cleaned you up a bit. I didn’t get it all. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “Ya did fine.”
“What were ya doin’?” Daniel asked. “We found ya on the floor between here and the kitchen.”
“I wanted to clean up before Catherine got back,” I answered.
Neither responded. There was really nothing that could be said. We all knew what the bleeding and pains likely meant, and none of us wanted to say it out loud.
“How long has Joseph been gone?” I asked.
Catherine glanced at the clock on the wall to my left. “Maybe forty-five minutes? I’d imagine he should be back soon, so long as he finds Dr. Heusman right away. At this time of night, I can’t imagine where else he might be.”
“Then I guess we wait,” I said.
“Can I get ya somethin’?” Catherine asked. “Water, maybe?”
Closing my eyes, I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
Fifteen minutes passed, and then twenty with no sign of Joseph or Dr. Heusman. Another ten minutes passed before a truck pulled down the path toward our house. Racing out the door to greet them, Daniel left Catherine sitting with me in silence.
“I’m really sorry, Victoria,” she whispered.
I didn’t know how to respond. I knew what she was saying. She knew as well as I did that I’d probably lost the baby. Will’s last baby.
“I know.”
Dr. Heusman arrived with Joseph dogging his heels. There was nothing he could do; no medicine could save my baby. Even if I’d delivered him alive, he was too early. He would never have survived outside my body. With Dr. Heusman’s help, I delivered the tiny body of what would’ve been a boy. Will’s last child, gone to join him in the Heavens. I won’t lie; I was relieved. One less mouth to feed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MOST PEOPLE ASK GOD TO FORGIVE THEIR sins. I prayed to Will instead. Though I was deeply relieved my burdens wouldn’t be increased, I was sorry to have failed Will. I remembered his excitement when I told him of this pregnancy. It stung to realize I’d let him down. No matter how poor I thought we were, or how much money we didn’t have, Will was always excited at the prospect of a new child. He always found a way to make the money stretch. My relief left me feeling wretched. I knew Will would’ve been saddened at our baby’s death. But how could I not feel relief that my burdens wouldn’t increase? So I prayed to Will. I asked his forgiveness, both for the loss of our child, and for the relief I felt at that loss.
Will’s son was buried on February 8, 1933 on one of the coldest winter days in my memory. I’d withheld naming this child. Naming him made his existence too real. Sadly, my actions caused another rift between myself and the two older girls. Caroline and Olivia, whom I’d once considered very dear friends, were incensed and stopped talking to me entirely. While their absence left another hole in my heart, it was just as well I experience that loss now. Always loyal, Joseph and Daniel stuck by me. For her part, Catherine was clearly confused, and didn’t know which side to take. I was the only mother she’d ever known, but her sisters were mothers to her as well.
Instead of a funeral, we had a simple graveside burial attended only by me, the children, and Will’s family. I could afford no more. I couldn’t even afford that. Now on top of my mounting debt, I had to find the money to pay Dr. Heusman. Like last time, I had nothing to show for his efforts.
Will’s father, Walter, rallied enough to attend the burial; but he, too, gave me the cold shoulder. Seated in a wheelchair pushed by Atticus, he glared at me each time my attention strayed toward him. He was furious I’d refused Imogene’s summons of my children to his bedside. I’d made yet another enemy.
With the burial concluded, I took Ethan’s and Sara’s hands and
guided them toward the waiting vehicle. I assumed Grace and Jack would follow, and I hoped Catherine would as well. Passing Imogene and Walter, I was waylaid much like I had been at Will’s funeral.
“Walter. Imogene.” I stopped in front of Will’s parents, waiting to hear what Imogene had to say.
Standing behind his father, Atticus greeted me. “It’s good to see ya, Victoria. Veronica and I are both sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Atticus.” I nodded. “Thank you both for comin’.”
“It’s just as well,” Imogene said, not unkindly.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Yes, it is.”
In all the years I’d known Imogene, it was the kindest thing she’d ever said to me. With nothing more to say, I continued on toward the truck idling at the curb.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THREE WEEKS HAD PASSED WHEN MOTHER Elizabeth and Father Caleb paid me a visit. They hadn’t attended the burial because I hadn’t told them. I hadn’t told anyone except Will’s family and, really, Catherine had been the one to tell them.
As Father Caleb’s car ambled toward the house, I smiled to myself. I’d missed them. I hadn’t seen them since Will’s funeral.
Father Caleb stopped the car some twenty feet away. Moments later, his bushy brown head emerged from the vehicle, followed closely on the opposite side by Mother Elizabeth. For a moment my heart squeezed … with love? Pain? Regret? I wasn’t sure. I massaged my chest to ease the ache.
I stepped out onto the porch and was brought up short by the tears in Father Caleb’s eyes. Reaching for me, he enveloped me in a hug. “You didn’t tell us. Why?” His voice cracked on the last word.
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