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diff --git a/78102-0.txt b/78102-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e39f572 --- /dev/null +++ b/78102-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14512 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78102 *** + + + + + THE WHEEL OF EARTH + + + + + the wheel of earth + + + HELGA + SANDBURG + + + McDOWELL OBOLENSKY + + + + + Copyright © 1958 by Helga Sandburg + + All Rights Reserved under Pan-American and International + Copyright Conventions. Published in New York by McDowell, + Obolensky Inc., and in the Dominion of Canada by George J. McLeod + Limited, Toronto. + + Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 58-6506 + + Second Printing + + + + + Manufactured in the United States of America by American + Book-Stratford Press, Inc., New York + + Designed by Alfred Manso + + + + + ACKNOWLEDGMENTS + + +Thanks are given to Archibald MacLeish for permission to reprint his +poem, “What Must,” and to the Folklore Section of the Music Division, +Library of Congress, for the use of their reference collection and their +Archive of American Folklore. + +Acknowledgments are made to the following for permission to reprint +lyrics: + +K-K-K-KATY by Geoffrey O’Hara. Copyright 1918/Copyright Renewal 1945 LEO +FEIST INC. Used by Special Permission Copyright Proprietor. + +FIVE FOOT TWO, EYES OF BLUE (Has Anybody Seen My Girl?). Lyric by Sam +Lewis and Joe Young, Music by Ray Henderson. Copyright 1925/Copyright +Renewal 1953 LEO FEIST INC. Used by Special Permission Copyright +Proprietor. + +THE MUSIC GOES ’ROUND AND ROUND. Reprinted by permission of the +Copyright Owners, JOY MUSIC INC. 1619 Broadway, New York, N. Y. +Copyright 1935. All Rights Reserved. + +THE TURTLE DOVE. Copyright 1953 Burl Ives and published by Ballantine +Books, N. Y. + +Nine Songs from THE GOLDEN BOOK OF FAVORITE SONGS. Published by Schmitt, +Hall & McCreary Co., Minneapolis, Minn. + + + + + To + A. D. G. + + + + + contents + + + part one 1 + part two 117 + part three 197 + part four 287 + part five 363 + + + + + THE WHEEL OF EARTH + + + + + part one + + + We lay beneath the alder tree + Her breast she leaned upon my hand + The alder leaf moved over me + The sun moved over on the land + Her mouth she pressed upon my mouth + I felt the leaf beat in her breast + I felt the sun move in her hair + But nearer than the leaf the sun + I felt the love go deep in me + That has no season in the earth + That has no time of spring or birth + That cannot flower like a tree + Or like one die + but only be + + + 1 + +Ellen Gaddy was gathering tart stunted June apples into a peck basket. +Drifts of cloud were passive in the blue dome above, where hawks were +wheeling. The late afternoon sun was warm on her tanned neck. The dog +came up barking, stood close to her, tongue slavering, eager. She patted +him and he went to curl under a tree. “There, Jack.” He was half +shepherd, sensible in the ways of the farm. Ellen was his choice among +the humans so he was restless apart. His limpid eyes were fixed on her +as she hunted in the tall grass. Her hands were small and coarse, and in +wiping sweat from her face she had left careless dark streaks. She was +sixteen, the cups of her breasts hung firm, her belly was small. She +wore her yellow hair in braids. Her mouth was facile, somewhat +obstinate, and her forehead was high, its creamy texture darkened by the +season’s sun. A tiger swallowtail like a falling yellow leaf was +drifting by. She sighed to it, “Bear me good news.” + +The old brook that fed the farm’s pond was near the orchard. Pebbles +lying in the uneasy clear water were glossed, tangled twigs and leaves +were forced downstream in complaining whirlpools, marsh grasses along +the bank strove for footing in the cruel plashing current. Ellen was +shaking tree branches, the fruit rattling about her. Today Penny was due +to drop her kid. She had looked it up in the almanac. Gestation Table, +She-Goat, 151 days. The kid will follow me, making small noises, wanting +to play. + +A question of smoke was rising from the yellow farmhouse over the hill, +set among black gums, hackberries and locusts. The red barn and outlying +sheds held the crest of the rise, settling more firmly with each passing +year. Occasionally Anton Gaddy, Ellen’s father, must shore up a door +frame or strengthen a sagging rafter, but the buildings would stand long +after the people. The barn had been hammered together with hand-cut +nails and wood pegs by Ellen’s grandfather in 1870. Some of the +outbuildings had been raised in 1846 by his father, a Frenchman who had +homesteaded this tract in the year of the Irish potato famine. Back of +the yellow house, crowded about by dayflower weeds, were two beehives +that would mount tall in summer as the hive supers, one at a time, were +stacked upon those laden with combs of honey. There too lay rows of +vegetables that Ellen and her younger sister, Frankie, kept clean. Maria +Gaddy, their mother, never undertook outdoor chores unless the day were +pale or clouded, for she had been sun-struck ten years ago, in 1915, “I +dassn’t go out but for Sunday mass,” Maria would claim; “it makes me +queer to feel the sun.” + +In the valley below the hill was the orchard where Ellen was gleaning +apples. Back of it stretched the small woods, where gray squirrels were +hunting wild berries and mushrooms. They did this daily in the span of +hours from sunrise until mid-morning, and from mid-afternoon until +sunset. And overhead red-shouldered hawks would circle, sharp eyes +searching branches and boles. A large male squirrel was aware now of a +vixen fox crouched in hunger below his tree limb. His black eyes +glittered and he lifted his paws, prating at her. He forgot his foes in +the sky for a moment. The long wings of a wheeling hawk folded, like a +stone it dropped. Ellen raised her gray eyes, watching it rise from the +woods, prey dangled in its talons. The other hawks were screaming, +“Kee-yoo. Kee-yoo!” + +Ellen’s mind was on her young goat. She had warned her, “Now don’t walk +under the horses’ heads or for a fact you’ll go eleven months.” Sam +Offut had told her that. “So they warn a ooman with child hereabouts, +Ellie. See, it takes a mare that long to have a foal and she’s got a +power in her when she’s carrying.” Ellen didn’t believe him—Sam told +many tales. Penny’s time was up and she was seeking a place to drop it. +This morning Ellen had seen that her tail was sunken so there were +sockets on either side, and the young sagged low. “There. Maybe she’s +freshening now.” Ellen snatched the two baskets of June apples, running +in her long skirt through high grass into a new-turned field, up the +hill toward the barn. Her bare feet sank into the red soil leaving huge +tracks. The dog was yapping, caught in the game. + +In a corner of the woodshed she had made a stall, nailing bars and +hanging a gate with a latch that the goat could not open. It blatted as +she set down her baskets and opened the gate. She knelt beside it in the +wheat straw to feed it an apple. Her father’s hired girl, Penny +Dougherty, had given her the brown animal, then but a yearling, before +going away last summer. Ellen had named it after the girl. It slobbered, +chewing on the crisp fragrant fruit. Then it snuffed her forehead and +ear, began to lick her face, making soft stuttering sounds. Ellen ran +her hand along the curves of the slender horns. It shook its fine-boned +head. She stroked the beard. “Say, I’d love a little doe, Penny.” + +Ever since Penny Dougherty went away Ellen would sit talking to the +namesake goat. Her father had hired Penny last summer to help his wife +during a sick spell. Then Penny had left them, married Luke Dougherty, +gone to the town of Weems Crossroads way off in Illinois. Because she +sang so much, Anton Gaddy had dubbed Penny “that roaring ooman.” But +Ellen had grieved over the end to the short friendship. She would sing +the songs she had picked up from Penny, gay tunes, meaningless, and +lengthy ballads that told of sudden death and unfulfilled love. + + I dreamed of my true love last night + All in my arms I had her + Her yellow hair like strands of gold + Came rolling down my pillow + +Ellen was lonely. Her mother gave her small heed. Her father, as well. +He had turned from her at birth, waiting for a son. Then when Ellen’s +sister had been born and Anton learned from his wife that she would be +barren thereafter, he named the baby Frankie, and fastened himself upon +it forthwith. His voice was heard now, overriding the gentle tune, +“Girl, where you at? You got the apples? It’s time to feed.” + +“Coming, Pa.” At the corncrib she took an armful of ears and shelling +them, fed a flock of ducks and geese, the first of her chores each late +afternoon. They were free to roam the barnyard, making nests and raising +young at will. One wing was clipped every so often to keep them in the +safety of the yard. Heads bobbing, the fowl were shoveling the grain +with flat bills. The white ducks made a nasal chatter, a gray gander +lowered its head and wove its long neck like a snake, hissed and raised +its wings at Ellen. “Don’t you squall at me.” + +She kept back one ear of corn, went to the plowed field she had raced +through earlier. There she gave a call and from the pond came an +answering beat of wings. A Muscovy duck was flying up the hill. It +circled Ellen, flapping to a halt at her feet, gathering its wings. Its +red-wattled head was cocked to one side. She scattered the corn. “Why +don’t you come to the barnyard and be tamed, you wild one?” It was +watching her with a wary eye, eating the yellow grain greedily. + +She looked off at the Kentucky farmland stretched before her. Orange +clouds were assembling behind the brush line of tiny trees. The square +fields were hemstitched with stone walls and rail fences. Near the +barnyard a black gum was rearing gaunt limbs. When a crested redbird’s +dark silhouette dipped through the fragrant orange air into its ragged +branches, she was shaken by the sudden beauty. She turned quickly, +saying to the feeding duck, “I don’t know. Seems I hate every enduring +thing.” + +She fed chickens that congregated in the stony yard. She filled their +water bucket from the pump, watched the speckled hens dip their beaks +and up their heads to let the water run down. She collected brown eggs +in a fold of her dress, from boxes nailed along the cobwebbed wall. A +hen pecked her wrist as she reached under it for heated eggs. The bird’s +breast was hot, bare where it had plucked feathers to line its nest. +“You’re broody. Sam’ll put you under the pump to break you up.” + +She went up the stairs to the farm kitchen and counted the eggs into a +basket. “The hens are laying good, Ma. I’m just one short of four dozen. +I’ll trade them tomorrow at Love’s store.” + +Maria Gaddy was turning from the stove. “I allow you can get me a length +of lace too, Ellie. I need a new collar for mass. My old one’s sleazy.” + +Ellen’s mother wore her gray-streaked hair in a tight knot. Her body was +warped and thin and stiff. It had turned from what it might have been. +Her breasts were flattened and she had swathed herself in a +long-sleeved, high-necked print dress that came to her ankles. Her +stockings were wrinkled above run-down button shoes. Maria lived in +continual retreat. She had been given to her husband with the awesome +dowry of fifteen hundred dollars. With it Anton had bought his rights to +this farm from his only living brother, Garland. Maria spoke now, “Go +get some new water, girl.” + + * * * * * + +Ellen emptied the blue-enameled pail into the sink. The kitchen was +roomy. There was a kerosene stove for summer use and a huge range for +winter heat and cooking. A black-painted iron sink stood at the side +away from the windows. There was no running water but a drainpipe took +away the waste. Fresh water was supplied by a well a hundred feet from +the house, to which Ellen went. She drank from the dipper before +returning. The family was proud that the water from this well was always +sweet and cold. At the windowed end of the kitchen was a long table of +red oak that had been dressed with ax and adz long ago by Anton’s +father, Jules. The surface was whitened from lye-scrubbing, uneven from +the years’ wear. On it was a blue dish of poplar honey, a bowl of salt, +a milkglass jar of knives, forks and spoons stacked handles down. A +pantry was adjacent to the kitchen, where staples were kept—sacks of +flour and meal, curd cheeses that hung in cloths from the rafters, milk +that stood in pans and jars to be skimmed, and cream that ripened in a +churn. More supplies were stored in the cellar. There dusty shelves were +holding jars of jelly, jam, ketchup, honey, red and yellow tomatoes, +chard and collard greens, peaches, fried chicken and beef. On the lower +shelves were tins of lard. From the ceiling dangled strings of dried +apples and quinces. On the dirt floor of a bin, potatoes left from fall +softened and rotted in the musty darkness. Root crops of salsify and +parsnips lay neglected. + + * * * * * + +From the parlor came the familiar sound of Frankie practicing the piano, +scales and exercises rippling. Ellen carried a can of kerosene from the +porch where Sam had placed it to the parlor to replenish the lamps. Over +the fireplace a velvet cloth was framed, on it depicted the Golgotha +crucifixion in brilliant primary colors. An overstuffed sofa, Maria’s +knitting basket at the end, was along one wall. The chairs included a +doweled high-backed rocker. A round table bore on its lace-covered +surface statuettes of the Virgin Mary and Joseph, a worn Bible, a lamp +with painted forget-me-nots trimming the bowl, besides dog-eared farm +journals, the 1925 _Farmer’s Comprehensive Almanac_, and a silver-banded +reading glass. Braided rugs were scattered over the oak floor, once +smoothed with broadax. On a wall was a tinted daguerreotype of a stunted +wiry man with heavy chin and thick lips, Jules Gaddy. Beside him posed +his red-haired wife Nell, whose long face, high forehead and determined +mouth resembled her granddaughter Ellen’s. While Jules had been rearing +this house, the couple had lived in an outbuilding that now served for a +pigstall. Back of the piano hung a representation of the bleeding Sacret +Heart. Nell Gaddy had placed it in that spot long years ago, saying to +Jules, “Now there, little feist, it’ll stay.” + +Frankie was lifting her hands from the keys, watching Ellen pour the +coal oil. She swung her pointed boots as she sat at the bench, pursing +her lips. “I’m making believe folks are swooning, Ellie. Because that +piece I played was so good.” Frankie was fifteen. Her red hair fell +silken on her shoulders, her blue eyes were mild. + +“I declare, Frankie, you’re biggity. Go get washed. Pa’ll be in.” + +The family were sitting to supper then, making the sign of the cross. +Anton pronounced grace. When his daughters had been little, Anton had +instructed them on the mealtime prayer. Once he said to Frankie, +“Tonight you make the grace, Poppet.” But Frankie had lisped a rhyme she +picked up in the parochial school. + + Beans, beans, the musical fruit + The more you eat the more you toot + +Anton roared and the family had to get to their knees on the kitchen +floor to ask the Lord God’s pardon for the blasphemy. Frankie had thrown +up her supper later while Anton was talking to her. “You be a sinner, +child. And the evil way and the froward mouth do I hate. So it’s said in +the Bible.” + +“Oh yes, Pa,” she had mewed like a kitten. + +On their plates now they were piling garden greens cooked with fatback +and then mixed with scrambled eggs. And chunks of beef from a platter, +and green onions and radishes. They spread pot cheese on beaten +biscuits, drank buttermilk kept cold in the old dry well beside the +porch and pulled up at the last minute to set on the table. All the milk +from their herd of cows went to the dairy for a monthly check, except a +three-gallon can put aside daily for Maria’s needs. She set it out in +pans for cream and made cheeses from the skimmed milk. The hogs got the +whey mixed with scraps and middlings and dishwater. Anton would hold his +fork in his left hand, pushing the food with a knife. But the two +sisters copied their mother, forks held in the right. So Maria’s mam had +told her the woman should eat. + +“You make the butter up tonight, Ellie,” Maria was saying, “and take it +along with the eggs tomorrow. I’ll give you some cheeses to trade, too. +My last batch turned out proud.” + +“I will, Ma.” + +After supper, Ellen carried the churn of soured cream onto the steps. +She turned the crank until butter came together in a lump. She poured +the buttermilk into a stone jar and walked out to the well, the churn on +one arm, the wood bowl and paddle on the other. The sun was beginning to +set in a wash of red sky. She paused while it slipped distorted behind +the trees. The sky was fading. A subdued light prevailed of twilight. +Ellen sighed, torn by a vague melancholy. She was saying to the dog, +“Seems I ne’er been so contented. And did you see that sign in the west? +Good crop weather.” She pumped water into the churn, turned the dasher +until the water that drained off appeared fresh drawn. Then she worked +the butter with the paddle, folding and pressing. She spoke as if +disputing with someone, “I love butter that’s made up proper.” One at a +time bats that were peering restless from the loft of the barn across +the way launched out and downward after night insects, then swerved into +the treetops. Soon the air was busy with their bodies darting and +zig-zagging and their squeaking high-pitched like mice. A cow lowed in +the barnyard as it was kneeling, the alarm cry of a cock sounded as it +was crowded off its roost, a gander hissed at a female barn rat that +slunk along the wall. + +Ellen returned to the kitchen, to press chunks of butter into a daisy +mold and wrap the half-pound forms in sheets of brown paper. She carried +them to the dry well and pulling up the bucket, packed them in and +lowered it down to the cold region. Whenever she came out of doors, Jack +would rise and follow her. When she returned to the house, he curled in +the cool under the bushes. + +She went into the parlor. A lamp was lit, the family sat in their +accustomed places. Maria was knitting rapidly; the wood needles made +dull clicks. She moved her lips occasionally, her eyes glancing +sidewise. Anton’s squat figure dominated the room. He was smoking his +nightly pipe, a farm journal unopened on his lap. Frankie brought him a +terrarium she had made. In a glass bowl, a collection of bits of mosses +and stones and a broken piece of mirror formed a minute scene. “Mandy +York made one for her pa,” Frankie was telling him. “I noticed how it +was done.” + +The man’s heart beat strongly. “I’ll think a heap of it, Poppet. I’ll +set it in the window of the bedroom where it’s shady.” + +Ellen was leafing through the Bible. “Proverbs says here there are three +things stately in their march, the lion and the greyhound and the +he-goat. Hear that, Pa? It says the he-goat also.” No one looked her +way. There were only the whispers of Anton drawing his pipe and Frankie +polishing the glass bowl and Maria’s busy needles. Ellen dropped the +book on the table abruptly. “Reckon I’ll go take a bath.” + +In the half-dark kitchen she filled a kettle. She lit the kerosene +burner and went to stand on the porch while it was heating. The meadows +were flecked with fireflies, and along the stone foundations of the old +house soft shadows sulked. Ellen was leaning against the porch rail. The +summer dusk seeped through her nostrils, warming her blood unreasonably, +almost to sadness. She took the tin wood-bottomed tub from its nail, +went to the pump for more water. She threw her clothes aside, washed +quickly, using the jellied homemade lye soap from the crock. She dried +with a white towel from the porch clothesline. Dumping the water into +the bushes and returning the tub to its hook, she ran naked up the dark +stairs. + +She shared the room at the head with her sister. The beds would stand in +the center of the floor in winter, away from drafty corners. In summer +they were moved to opposite ends, each under a small gable window. A +trunk held schoolbooks, Catholic missals, rosaries and childhood +miscellany. They folded their clothes into a low chest and hung their +dresses from a pole under the slanted ceiling. She closed the door +swiftly, breathing as though pursued. She knelt on the bed, arms on the +open window sill. The moon was emerging as though pushed from the womb +of a laboring earth. When Ellen put a hand up she felt tears on her +cheeks, wondered at them. “Reckon I can’t bear for there to be such a +fine sight.” + +She was turning and groping in the chest for a nightgown. “Seems Pa +always favors Frankie o’er me. Some way.” Soon she was sleeping. The +moon without became canescent and utterly fair. Its colorless light +coming through the window made sharp corners soft. It was like a pale +rug on the girl. + +She awoke from a dreamless sleep. “I nearly slept through.” She was +putting on a dress, in haste. Jack, snuffling and leaping, met her at +the door. She lit a lantern that hung from a bent nail, and ran barefoot +toward the barnyard. A blank disk of moon was squatting above twisted +trees. She stumbled over dry roots in the path and the lantern handle +clanged, the sound harping on the night. In the woodshed she held the +light high. The goat was in the corner by the wall, down in travail. She +bleated to Ellen, who hooked the lantern on a rafter peg and opened the +gate. The animal was straining again. The dog whined. Ellen turned on +him. “Be still and lie down, Jack.” + +The water bag appeared and burst. The doe staggered to her feet, +trembling, head down, beard drooping. Uttering quick noises she was +licking Ellen’s hand. Then she pawed the ground, urgent, folded her +forelegs and went down again as the contractions came on. The nose of +the kid appeared, a row of lower teeth visible through a filmy sack. It +retreated, then appeared again. A foot came in sight beside the head. +The doe bawled. “Holy Virgin,” Ellen was whispering, “help my dear.” + +Penny arched her back, threw herself on her side with a guttural sound. +Ellen grasped the forefoot, pulling until the leg and bulge of head +emerged. Then of a sudden, the kid was slipping out in a pool, mouth +gasping. With straw Ellen wiped the clinging mucus from its nostrils, +gathered up the struggling limp body and placed it by Penny’s head. The +dam began to clean it. Ellen looked under a caul-wet leg. “There. It’s +what I wanted, a doe.” A thin wail stabbed the air as the kid protested +Penny’s thorough cleansing. “I’ll run get your mash now.” + +Ellen took the lantern and sped down the pathway spraying the darkness +with yellow light. The dog ran after her. “Now I have three of my own, +counting you, Jack.” She mixed wheat bran with hot water and molasses. +When she returned with it, she was brought to a halt at the pen door. +Another kid had been born, a white buckling. The brown first-born doe +was already staggering on its legs. Tiny cries were crisscrossing and +cutting the night. Penny was standing over the kids, chewing on a mass +of discarded placenta, her pattern fulfilled for the moment. When the +pan of mash was held out, she scooped it with her jaws, burying her nose +in the sweetened food. And Ellen, rubbing the newborn twins with dry +straw, was eased in a measure of her longings. + + + 2 + +Mist was steaming up from the land before the hot ball of sun would drag +through. Ellen was carrying the fluffy brown kid to the kitchen to show +the family. “This is the least one. Penny doesn’t know I robbed her of +it. She’s busy eating.” Ellen stood the kid on the floor. It looked +about, gave a sidewise spring into the air, cocking its head, waggish. +It leaped again, pattering on stiff hoofs to Maria who pulled at her +apron and drew back with a low noise. “Oh look, Ma. She’s so pretty. If +I hadn’t been there last night she might have died.” + +“Haw. That’s what you claim,” Anton said. “They get born all the same.” + +Frankie had relaxed, seeing her father was in favorable mood. She let +the yeanling suck on her finger, stooping over it. “Say.” + +“Don’t you want to hold her, Ma?” Ellen insisted. She knew it worried +Maria if an animal was in the house; on cold nights she would slip +downstairs to take Jack up to bed, creeping down again to let him out +early. But this wasn’t the same as a dog for its breath was gently +perfumed and it cried like a bird. “Come on, Ma.” + +“Fetch the little thing away, Ellie. I don’t want hit to touch me. I +can’t abide the fur against me.” + +Anton supported her. “Your ma’s right. Hit belongs at the barn with the +nanny. Your chores redded up, girl?” + +“I did them real early.” Ellen was cradling the kid in her arms; she +carried it to its dam at the woodshed. As she was going back to the +house, she saw her father ahead on the path, striding from the barn. He +shouted over his shoulder to Sam and continued his way to where Frankie +was waiting on the steps. He was cutting the end from a twist of dark +red tobacco leaves with his knife. He was clad in everyday garb, faded +blue overalls and black sateen shirt. + +Anton Gaddy was still winter-fat; by fall he would be lean. He was a +short thick-set man. His flewed lips hung loose, his chin was long and +heavy-jawed. When young his head had been heavily red-thatched, now at +forty-eight was balding. His face was freckled and the sun already had +burned his skin, despite the protection of a straw hat, toward the high +bronze he would wear all summer. He was one of three brothers born and +raised on this farm. He possessed it fiercely as he did all he made his +own. In a similar fashion his mother had once ruled, driving her husband +and denying her two youngest sons that the eldest might prosper. She had +sent this favorite, Marc, to college to fulfill her plans for him. But +he had run away, disappeared. Then she was notified he had died, and she +had brought back the body. This son’s failure had broken Nell Gaddy. +When Anton would think about his mother he sometimes confused her with +the Virgin Mary. After her lingering death his passivity had evolved +into violence, his brooding silence into action. He had taken over the +farm and bought out his living brother’s share. His father, stringy, +worn from a life of toil, had dropped dead behind the team one fall, his +passing scarce noted. + +“Want to ride the mare out to the rye field, Frankie?” Anton was folding +his knife. “You can let the foal run alongside. You can play with it in +the daisies and feverfews while I’m mowing.” + +Sam was bringing up the horses, the bay mare Moll, and Blueberry, the +buckskin gelding. A six-week colt trotted alongside, shy at the noise of +harness on its dam. + +“All right, Pa.” Frankie nodded and went toward the team. Her slight +form in the shapeless green dress was moving listless. + +“Pa,” Ellen said. “I’m going to Love’s now. I’d be glad to get you +somewhat.” + +“You can pick up two-three plugs for me. Get Brown Mule.” + +“I will, Pa.” At the well she rinsed her face and hands in the rushing +stream, ran dripping to the house. She dried with the porch towel and +sped upstairs to change her dress. + + The crow is black, my love you know + It will surely turn to white + If e’er I do forsake you + Bright day will turn to night + +She was taking from its hanger a dress patterned with huge white dots. +“It was a sad day for us Gaddys when peddler came to the door with this +polka-dot goods that took Ma’s eye. And it purely wears like iron.” She +pulled on stockings, laced her shoes, slipped into the long-waisted +dress. She unbraided her hair and combed it. She tied it with a string, +careless, as she was stepping down to the kitchen. + +Maria had packed butter and cheese with the eggs in a big basket. She +was calling in her reedy voice from the cellar, “There’s a list on top +of the eggs, girl. Trade careful, mind. Watch Grady doesn’t cheat me, +for he’ll try.” + +Ellen put the list in her pocket. + + thred, white and black, elastik, small sack salt and coffee. if + enough money, sack sugar small, also tatted lace for sunday collar. + cinnamon and clove sticks, pepper and spice for pikles. save back + for Mr. Gaddy wants apple baccy. dont you forget. and ask Stacey + Love if she has some east. Mine is worn out. + +She petted Jack, told him to stay. He sat back on his haunches to watch +her swing down the dusty road. Grady Love’s store, on the outskirts of +Millville, was two miles away. + + Have you seen the green grass + Trampled under foot + Arise and grow again + Oh love it is a killing thing + Did you e’er feel the pain + +The sky was blue banners and white. Young breezes were soughing in the +trees’ leaves. Her trading basket was light. A mocker-bird was quavering +in a cottonwood and ahead a baby rabbit was loping down the side of the +clay road. A buggy passed, whirling red dust into eddies. She crossed +the plank bridge that spanned the Sweetincreek. Some of the heavy boards +were loose and shifted as she walked across, her footsteps hollow. She +inspected a group of lanky red flowers on the bank across the ditch. “I +don’t even know your name. You got one, you know.” As she started on her +way again, she half paused, as though she were losing something +precious, quitting a thing but partly experienced. She wandered along, +her face dreamy, the basket swinging idle. As if she were seeking +something. “Everything, be it bird or flower or star, has a name of its +own. No matter how small it be.” + +She was nearing a faded frame store, set before a stubbled field of +goldenrod and chicory. Out in front were benches where customers whiled +away time or waited to hitch a ride on the milk truck going to New Hope +or Bethel or away down to Seven Mile Run. Ellen pulled open the screen +door and squinted at the dim interior. She entered and rested her basket +on the counter. A few flies were snoring lazily in the air. There were +open barrels and grimy shelves, and meal, rice, bran, seed, had sifted +into the knotholes and poorly joined planks of the puncheon floor. Grady +Love, spare-framed, Jay-voiced, bartered with her. “How’s this lace for +your ma, Ellen? Seven and a half cents.” Grady had known Ellen all her +life. He pitied the poor Gaddy brat and would favor the trade on her +side. + +“It’s kind of ratty, Mester Love. Haven’t you got a stouter grade?” + +She was stowing the spices, lace, tobacco and kitchen goods in her +basket. She consulted her list. “Does your wife have some starter yeast +to spare? Ma’s bread isn’t rising so good.” + +When Grady returned from his quarters in the rear with a cloth-wrapped +jar, Ellen was gazing at dusty bolts of yard goods stacked on a shelf. +He offered to lift some down. Her wistful fingers lingered over a filmy +white cotton with tiny woven points of blue. “I’d love a length of this. +What do you name it?” + +“That’s dotted Swiss, Ellen.” + +“If Pa’ll let me trade some strawberries, would you hold a piece back +for me? We’ll be picking soon.” + +“Sure, Ellen. You just send word.” + +“Bye now, Mester Love.” She took her basket from the counter and pushed +open the door. A fluff of cotton was pinned to the wire mesh to keep off +flies, but they swarmed in the blaze of sunlight as she went out. Half +blinded, she bumped into the hurrying figure of a young man. She was +thrown back with such force that she dropped her basket, the contents +spilling. + +“I’m sorry. Are you hurt, ma’am?” He was grasping her bare arms. + +Ellen pushed him from her, confused. “You plaguing bastard.” + +She was kneeling, but he was swifter, retrieving the thread spools +before her hands could reach them, setting straight the sack of coffee +beans, the yeast jar, laughing. + +“I never saw you, ma’am, in the sunlight.” + +He was fair-complected with ash-blond hair. His eyes were the color of +the miniature blue flowers the country folk call innocence. “You’re +foreign,” she stammered. “I don’t know your face.” + +“I’m the new hand at Brinker’s farm on Sweetincreek Road. I’m Christian +Ay. You know of Carl Brinker?” + +Dutchman Brinker was a Lutheran and a heathen. When Frankie was in the +first grade of the public school, Pa had got in a brush with Brinker +over the prayer the youngens recited before class. Pa withdrew Frankie +and put her in a parochial school, though it meant the family had to +scrimp more. + +Ellen was brushing dust from her dress. “Pleased to meet your +acquaintance, Mester. Reckon I’ll get on my way.” Her shoes were gritty +with dirt; she was pushing the unkempt hair from her hot cheeks. + +“Wait a second. Where do you live? I’m going back down the road.” He was +persuasive. “Be glad to give you a lift in the pickup, ma’am.” + +“Well.” She accepted and stepped lightly into the high seat of the +battered truck. Leaning against the sun-hot leather, she waited while he +did his errands. Idly she noted manure clods on the floor and baby shoes +dangling by a pair of soiled laces from the dashboard. Musty farm smells +permeated the cab. + +Then he was back, sliding into the seat and pressing the starter. The +motor refused to turn over. “Be just a minute. She likes to be coaxed.” +He took a crank from under his feet and jumped down. + +“Now, Pa sure would have raised sand,” she whispered to herself. + +The motor had caught. He was climbing back while the engine puttered and +gasped and the cab shook. He spit on his hand where a fresh cut bled. +“Every time that crank slips I slice myself. Can’t get the hang of it +somehow. My old man never had a car.” His cheekbones were broad and +high, his mouth wide. His laughter was showing even white teeth. These +with his tow hair made his face appear darker by contrast than it was. +His legs were rather shorter than average, his torso powerful. + +“Daddy owns a store in Louisville. It’s like Love’s place only lots +bigger.” He made a grimace. “And it’s in the stinking city.” + +“I ne’er been to a city yet.” + +“Well, they stink. I hate the store. My sister does too.” + +“Oh?” + +“That Rose. She’s wild to leave, only Daddy won’t let her. They need me +too, but I send money every week so they can pay a boy. What a gyp.” The +truck was rattling over the bridge. Christian blew his horn at a hound +trotting in the center of the road, “Oooo-ga!” It slunk into the weeds +of the ditch, nose low. “Once the revenuers came in our place looking +for Jake. If you drink too much it’ll kill you. We never sold hooch like +some did in back.” + +“Pa says Mester Bilberry hired two men who drained the rotted ferment +from the bottom of his silo. Till he found out. To get drunk of a +Saturday night.” Her voice trailed away. + +“Well me, I always wanted to work on a farm. It’s the life.” + +“Yes.” + +“I’m strong as a bull. Just by luck I got this job. Mr. Brinker’s last +man quit and he happened to come by our store. So I wrote him, not +thinking I’d get hired.” + +“Oh?” Ellen was awkward in her loss of words. + +“My sister carried on when I went. She thought she’d get to leave home +first. My old man told her he’d tie her up before he’d turn her loose in +that sin-ridden city. That’s the way he talks. So I’ve been with Mr. +Brinker a month now. Some day I’ll have a farm like his of my own.” + +A bump in the road made her clutch the basket on her lap. The little +shoes bounced. + +“Aren’t they silly? Brinker’s crazy for his kids. Always got the +littlest one riding on his shoulders.” + +“I’ve got a goat,” Ellen was blurting, “named Penny. She dropped me a +pair of kids last night.” + +“A nanny? Gosh, Brinkers don’t have a goat. Maybe he’d buy one of yours. +His boys could drive it to a wagon. Want me to ask?” + +“No, I’d ne’er sell one. See, they’re mine.” She wondered whether this +stranger could understand the value in which she held the sloe-eyed +beasts. + +At the yellow farmhouse Christian halted the truck. Dust was floating +disturbed in the air above the beaten roadway. The pattern of the midday +sun was weaving and shimmering in the shade of the cottonwoods. “See +you, ma’am.” He laughed like he couldn’t help it, like a great joke had +come to his mind. “Ellie, that is.” + +She made no reply, watched the truck grow small, rumbling toward +Brinker’s farm, three miles down the road. She moved to the house. Jack +was thrusting his head into her fingers and she stroked it. She smiled +as though she understood. “See you, Mester.” She took the cuts of +tobacco from among the goods in the basket, slipping them into the +pocket of her dress. Maria stood vigilant just within the doorway. +“Here’s your basket, Ma.” + +“Your dish be setting in the pantry, girl. Soon as you eat, there’s +ironing. Hit’s dampened down in yonder basket.” The woman had hung the +wash at dawn-dusk, gathered it quickly at mid-morning, wearing an +outsize sunbonnet. “This trading sure looks poor, Ellie. Hit pleasures +Grady to short me, knowing I can’t go trade myself.” + +Ellen went upstairs, came down barefoot. She took her plate from the +pantry, ate the fried piece of duck, the boiled potato, curd cheese, +biscuits and honey. She was dipping from the blue pail. “I declare this +water’s sweet, Ma.” + +Maria was sorting the contents of the basket in the pantry. “You ne’er +got the pickling spices.” + +“There wasn’t enough to trade.” + +“Well.” + +“I want to stir up a cake this evening, Ma. Can I have white sugar for +it?” When their taste for sweets became strong, Ellen and Frankie would +ask for store-bought sugar to cook with, although they could get along +with sorghum or honey. Flour and meal ground from the farm grain was +ready for their use, plentiful as a rule, and drippings and lard, eggs +and milk. “I’ll bake that white cake Pa likes.” + +“Say,” Maria was frowning. “You remember Mester Gaddy’s tobacco?” + +“Yes. I’ll run down to look at my new goats. If Pa’s in the barnyard +I’ll give it to him.” + +“There’s ironing, girl,” warned Maria. She was holding the new lace in +her thin hands. + +“I’ll hurry.” Ellen brought an armful of last year’s brown hay and an +ear of corn to her goat. “This is all he’ll let me have, Penny. But I’ll +gather purple vetch this evening, and before long your yeanlings will be +grown enough so you-all can run with the cows.” The doe dug into the +corn, using her lower row of teeth against the pad of upper jaw to tear +the kernels loose. Her amber pupils stared distant. She seemed oblivious +to her young repeatedly butting the new-swelled udder and sucking the +moist teats. + +“His name’s Christian Ay. Reckon he calls some girl his may? Reckon a +man’ll e’er be partial to me, Penny?” She dropped the cob and went to +the barnyard. “I don’t see Pa, Jack. And I’ve got to iron.” + +In the kitchen she was placing the sadirons on the stove to heat. She +brought out the ironing board, patched with bleached feed sacking, and +laid it crosswise on the end of the table. She spit on the irons to test +them, went about her work with familiar hands. The floor was cool to her +dusty feet. Her mind roved to one of the songs she had learned from +Penny Dougherty. + + All on one summer evening + When the fevers were dawning + I heard a fair maid make a mourn + She was weeping for her father + And grieving for her mother + And thinking all on her true love John + +Without the square-paned windows, the musky earth lay under the hand of +summer’s sun. Garden rows were in view, rabbits and woodchucks fenced +out by a wall of stones that mounted each year as more were turned from +the ground. Blooming flowers were crowding outside the barrier, +begonias, love-lies-bleeding, marigolds and sunflowers, cranesbills and +honesty. Later sweet peas and corn poppies would flower, and nasturtiums +and youth-and-old-age. Beyond were nestled the beehives, pale +apple-blossom and maple honey already stored in the bottom super. In +fall the hives would tower high and the men would rob them, carrying a +pan of smoke. The topmost honey would be red-black, taken by the bees +from buckwheat blooms. Anton would relish the high flavor, but Ellen +would find it turning her stomach, like milk when the cows had eaten +wild garlic. + +Maria entered the kitchen, set about mixing bread, kneading and thumping +the mass of dough on the long table, flour drifting to the floor. “That +was good yeast Stacey gave me. It’s raring.” + +“Grady said it was new.” Ellen carried starched dresses and folded +clothes up to the attic room. She put them away, then combed her hair in +front of the oblong mirror that hung on the door. She made her mouth +soft. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance.” + +She looked down. Her feet were bare, her brown ankles grimy, the dress +with the big polka dots was crumpled and her hands were rough. “There. +You are an ugly brat.” She flung the door ajar to hide the glass, +braided her hair swiftly, binding the ends. Slowly she went down the +stairs. + +“Come here, girl. Slop those sows. The two that’s due to farrow. Mester +Gaddy said to feed them up.” + +Ellen took the pail, crossing the lane to the hog lot. “Soooooeee,” she +shouted, “pig-pig-pig-pig!” Grunting and sniffing, the two laden red +beasts approached, eying her under horny lids. Shoulders pushing, they +vied for the whey, potato peelings, crumbs of dough and flour. Ellen +watched them root around for scraps and, still squealing and shoving, +move off. She rinsed the bucket, filling it afresh to carry with her. +The drowsy odor of green grape blossoms drifted languid from the vines. +In the garden she stooped and moved, her toes grasping the earth, her +nimble fingers pulling among sprouts, making small piles of weedlings. +She transplanted sorrel and mustard, poured water on them, made beds of +onion sets, black radishes, corn and squash to stagger the summer yield +for the table. + +Later on in the afternoon Frankie came to the stone wall. “Pa thinks I’m +practicing. I vow it’s hot.” Her sunbonnet was shading her face, her +forehead was moist. “Sam’s at the barn drenching Maisie with coal oil. +She took sick. Sam says it’s the clover. Hit’s too rich for the cows.” + +Ellen stretched her arms and left her work. She washed at the pump, +splashing her feet, face and arms, wetting her dress. + +“Hurry,” Frankie urged, “you’ll ne’er get a cake baked before evening +chores, Ellie.” + +“If you’ll keep your eye on the stove, we’ll make hit. How’s Pa?” + +“He’s plagued about Maisie getting the bloat. But the rye’s cut and +drying good.” She was plaintive. “Wish Pa’d let me go with you sometime +to trade at Love’s. Why won’t he, Ellie?” + +Ellen was touching the packets of tobacco in her pocket; she would use +them to bribe an approving glance from her father. “Hit’s his way.” She +sensed the familiar stab of rejection. + +They stood idle a moment before Frankie started. “Ellie, we’ll ne’er +make it.” + +They sped to the house light-footed in the dust and heat. “Oh yes, we +will. I’ll use Tinie Bilberry’s rule for a white one. You beg Ma for +more sugar to frost it.” + +They laughed breathless. The younger girl swung her sunbonnet in her +hand. “Show me how that one’s stirred up, Ellie.” + +The kitchen was cool, the shades half drawn. Ellen lit the burners under +the oven. Frankie went to wheedle sugar from Maria, who was in the +bedroom making a new shirt for her husband from a bolt of stiff black +sateen. The woman was hunched over, concentrating on perfect stitches in +the light from the small windows. In this room two babies had been born +and one miscarried. Over the gray-painted iron bedstead hung a heavy +crucifix. At the farther wall loomed a commodious wardrobe closet, +smelling of camphor and holding Maria’s Sunday dresses and Anton’s black +suit. “I’ll spare a teacup, Frankie. I’d rather you’d use sorghum. You +girls are wasteful.” + +Frankie measured the sugar and was sweeping the kitchen. Ellen was +leaning back in her father’s chair, the long apron draped over her +stretched-out legs as she turned the batter. “Did you heed what went in, +Frankie?” The enthusiasm of her young years lifted her so the breath +nearly knotted in her throat. + + My true love + Is a blue eyed daisy + She won’t work + And I’m too lazy + +The batter had been poured into the pans and they were set in the hot +oven when into the kitchen their father’s voice rapped, “Feeding time. +Where’s that girl?” + +“Keep your eye on the oven, Frankie. Don’t forget.” Ellen was running +out the door and down the steps after Anton who strode toward the barn. +“Here’s your tobacco, Pa.” + +He stopped to take it from her. “Now can’t you e’er get to your chores, +girl, without me hunting you out?” + +Inside the house, Frankie was turning quietly to the parlor. Soon scale +notes rang precise against the ancient paper-covered walls. Maria put +her sewing aside, went to the kitchen, pinning a sack apron about her. +She kneaded down the bowl of warm raised dough, forming loaves and +biscuits, greasing them with soft butter. She put them near the heat of +the oven to rise. + +In the hills about the farmland the sun-drenched late afternoon air +filled with Sam Offut’s voice pleading full and deep, “Sooo-cow. Sooook, +sooook, sooo-cow.” Winding up the lane came the line of milkers, chewing +cuds, dispassionate, hip-bones swaying, udders distended. Jack tailed +them, head down. When one halted to crop a clump of grass, his sharp +bark sang and he nipped the bony fetlocks. The old duck flapped its +wings, splashed the pond water so crawfish and turtles dove to the +muddied bottom. It was lifting its heavy body from the pond, and then +circling Ellen on the hillside. + + + 3 + +A few days passed. Lily Garrett, who lived on the other side of +Millville, stopped by to make lavender sticks with Ellen and Frankie. +Lily brought a pale fresh honeycomb, for the Garrett family robbed their +hives all summer long, not waiting for a fall harvest like the Gaddys. +“Mama says she’ll send a plate of basswood honey in July, Mrs. Gaddy, +when the bee trees are busy.” + +Lily was fat, and soft as custard; she would rearrange her blond curls +constantly, her thick white arms uplifted. She was nimble-minded, +giggling often, her chins trembling under her small red mouth. She was +as abandoned as a puppy untied from a cord and it may have been because +of this that Lily’s father bade her lie across her bed each Saturday +night while with a locust limb he whipped her well, saying, “The one who +loves his daughter chastens her.” + +Lily arrived in a clear forenoon before the high heat of the day. The +lavender was in full blow as the girls walked beside the bed, plucking +them long-stemmed. “Say, Frankie.” Lily was stripping the leaves away +and drawing the blooms into a tight bunch. “I remember Ellie and me were +in the second grade when I first braided lavendery wands with you-all. +Your papa had just put you to the nuns.” + +“I know.” Frankie was tying the flowers into a ball with soft cotton +yarn, winding and braiding it among the wilted stems. When the flowers +were cured they would fasten on ribbons, keep back a few for scenting +their clothes chests, and trade the rest at Love’s store. “What’ll +become of us all,” Frankie cried, “in the time to come?” + +“You’ll be a famous pianist, Frankie,” said Lily, “you’ll see. And Ellie +and me’ll visit you up north.” + +“Ellie will marry a rich farmer,” Frankie said, “and have a flock of +youngens.” + +“Not me,” said Ellen. “I won’t be called Mama. And I’d ne’er do a man’s +bidding.” But she was thinking of Christian, dwelling on him like a +lovely secret. + +“Well,” Lily giggled, bold, “if a man liked me, I’d have him. I wouldn’t +be biggity.” + +“Lily.” + +“Say, I sent off for a thing,” Lily whispered, “to catch a man.” + +“What?” Frankie pressed. + +“A bust developer. That’s how the farm journal named it.” + +“Why do you want that? You’re big, Lily.” + +“It said men like you that way. I’m going to try it.” + +“Your pa’ll find out.” + +“I don’t give a care. It comes in a plain brown wrapper, they claim. He +might not see.” + +“You’re brazen,” Ellen said. + +“If I do catch a man I’ll ne’er have a log cabin chinked with clay like +ours. Nor cheesecloth curtains neither. And I’ll have no squalling +babies to whip.” Lily sweated in the sun, raising her pillars of arms to +her hair. The shy scent of lavender enveloped the three of them. + +“Reckon we’ll e’er disremember making these lavendery wands?” asked +Ellen. + + * * * * * + +On Saturday she went to appraise the strawberry bed bordering the fence +line of Sweetincreek Road. Through the mulch of old straw the creeping +plants were flourishing. “The berries are swelling good. Give them a +week,” Ellen said to the dog beside her. “I’m going to brave Pa to let +me trade a basket when they’re ripe.” + +“Hey, Ellie Gaddy, how’s your nanny goat?” Christian Ay, in blue shirt +and overalls, was leaning on the other side of the rail fence amid +scraggling hollyhocks and high ditch grass and mullein on the road bank. +“I brought you something.” He was leaping the rails, his teeth flashing +in his broad tanned face. There was a bundle under his arm. Jack +growled, running toward him. He patted the dog and it trotted after. + +“Hey.” She waited, the red gathering in her cheeks. + +“Brinker gave me the evening off. So I walked down the road. Is this +your dog? Here, it’s for you.” He was setting the feed sack he carried +on the ground and opening it. A rabbit wriggled its nose and slowly +blinked dark eyes upward, grain dustings sifted in its blue-gray fur. + +“My.” + +“I guessed you’d like it.” + +She took it from the sack, holding it in the crook of her arm. She +brushed the dust from it and stroked the wiry ears. “It’s trembling.” + +“It’s tame. It’s not afraid. Rabbits always do that.” + +She sat in the grass, bearing it carefully. “I ne’er had one.” + +“Don’t pick it up by the tail. Its eyes’ll drop out.” He grinned, +looking down on her and putting his hands in his pockets. “You always +lived here, Ellie?” + +She nodded, bending over the pet beast, disturbed by the looming +stranger, charmed. + +“I figured you weren’t tenants.” + +“Pa owns this farm outright,” she whispered. + +He kicked at the grass turf, idly flexed his arm muscles, feeling them +with his broad hands, one and then the other. “You know what Mr. Brinker +does, Ellie? He pens his pigs under the horse barn where it’s raised off +the ground. And he puts chickens in batteries up in the loft by the hay. +Beats me. I never saw the like.” Christian was plucking a grass stalk to +chew. “Made his boys a windmill. A little one. Grinds real corn for +their banties and rabbits.” The young man was excited by the girl. There +had been her coarse words thrust at him in spite when he jostled her as +they first met. And now her ease, snuggled in the grass by the +strawberry bed, her face slightly flushed. “It beats me, that way Mr. +Brinker does.” + +In the silence that drew down, the hum of bees working the young weed +blooms vibrated. The dog scented an animal trace and darted away in +pursuit. The careless voice of a male thrush was dropping like liquid +pebbles in the sweetened air, then it ceased. Ellen was holding clover +leaves for the rabbit to chew; she was content. + +“I thought you’d like a rabbit, Ellie. It wasn’t much bother getting it +for you,” he bragged. Christian had inquired of Brinkers about her +family, heard they were unfriendly, cut themselves off from most of +their neighbors. Mr. Gaddy kept a close hand on his two daughters. That +was what Mr. Brinker had claimed. I’ll bet she’s never been kissed. + +Ellen was lifting her eyes, gray, gold-flecked. “I’m beholden for it.” + +He spoke as though he had practiced what he said, deliberate. “I’m kind +of sweet on you, honey.” He tossed aside the grass blade quickly, +leaning down, his tan face darkened. He was laying a hand on her soft +cheek, putting his mouth taut and firm against hers. + +Surprised, wide of eye, she looked at his closed lids. The strangeness +was repellent but for a moment curiosity snared her. Then she remembered +Maria’s veiled hints and Anton’s heavy predictions. She spilled the +rabbit from her and shoved the young man so he stumbled back. “Now get +away.” + +“Come on, Ellie,” he was crying, “bet you’ve never been kissed.” + +“Yes, I have,” she lied. + +“You got a boy friend?” + +“No.” She was getting up. “And rabbit’s lost. Jack’ll get him.” + +“Let him go. I heard your daddy won’t let you out. Is that so?” + +“I’m going to find rabbit.” She hunted in the brush, coming on the tame +creature nibbling timothy by the grapevine posts. She lifted and +caressed it, stony-featured. + +“Goodbye now,” he was calling. + +She breathed, motionless, “My pa would so let me out.” She turned to see +him walking to the fence, watched while he laid his hand on it. She +called suddenly. “Here he is. I found him.” + +Christian leaped the fence and laughed, shouting, “Should I come next +Saturday?” + +“I don’t care.” He waved as he was disappearing, and she shrugged. “Who +cares?” + + * * * * * + +The week moved forward. She asked Anton, “Could I trade some of the +strawberries to Grady Love for a dress-goods piece? I’d like a new one. +Of dotted Swiss.” + +He frowned. “What foolishness, girl.” + +“I’d make Frankie one, too. With ruffles. For mass.” + +Anton was caught and reconsidered. “I suppose you could. Crops are doing +well without hit don’t get dry. When you pick, hold back five-six +baskets.” + +The next Saturday a thunderstorm held sway. Ellen was pacing restive +about the house, at last ran through the storm to curl up drenched by +her three goats. “I don’t care if he doesn’t come. What’s he to me? And +we need this gully-washer for the fields.” Rain thrashed afresh on the +woodshed roof. “Reckon he might walk down next week, Penny? If he’s not +forgot by then.” + +The storm cleared in the early evening. As she was hurrying through the +delayed feeding a rainbow emerged, spanning the hills. She stopped in +her chores, forgetting all but the opalescent arch in the setting of +summer green. “There. That’s a sight. I set my bow in the cloud for a +token between Me and the earth. Everlasting, He said.” + +In the moist heat that followed the downpour, the strawberries began to +ripen quickly. Ellen bartered with Grady Love and showed Frankie the +ribbons the storekeeper had thrown in to match the two lengths of cloth. +“That’s a dollar forty cents worth if you had the cash.” Ellen cut and +stitched, Frankie set up the ironing board to press. + +That night Anton nodded as the younger girl was standing before him in a +yellow-dotted dress, a deep ruffle flaring around the boot tops, a +yellow ribbon plaited into the round neckline. Anton pulled her to his +lap. “This redheaded poppet’s so fair. Makes me wish I was her beau come +courting.” + +And Ellen, holding the image of Christian, felt a lesser pain as she +watched them frolic. The next day though, she was wearing her drab +gingham. “He won’t come. It’s been two weeks. He’ll ne’er think to +come.” She walked out to the berry patch. “I’ll just see if they’re +still plentiful.” + +Christian was astride the rail fence. He waved, “Got rained out last +week.” + +“I came but to look at the berries.” She was approaching the fence. + +He had a red-painted can that held a plant, the heart-shaped leaves +mottled white along the veins, the flowers purple. “Here.” He was +offering it. “Old lady Brinker grows them. She called it a primrose. Her +kitchen’s full of flowers and vines. Too many for me. She even had her +old man and me to nail up boxes outside the windows and fill them with +rotted manure. And us with hay to cut. And corn to work.” + +Ellen was undone by the gift. “It can live in my loft window.” + +“I never saw such folks for decorations.” + +“It calls to mind the shooting-stars that grow in swamp spots. You know +them?” The flush lay upon her. + +He jumped down from the fence, began to tell stories he’d gleaned over +the past days. While he was speaking he looked away and took her hand in +his. She kept her hold on the red can. They leaned back against the wood +rails. He was telling about the studhorse Brinker had just purchased. +“It’s a red roan Belgian. Stands near eighteen hands. I never saw a +stallion to beat him for class. And light on his feet like a little +filly.” + +“There. I’d love to see him,” Ellen whispered. She let her hand lie soft +in his. + +As if it were a usual thing he put his arm on her tanned neck, under the +yellow hair. She stirred restless, the plant in one arm. “Tell me about +your folks, Ellie. Where they come from?” + +“My great grandsir was from o’er the waters. My Uncle Garland tells how +he traveled across the east Kentucky mountains. He killed elk that lived +in the forests there in olden days. He saw giant eagles too, and poison +scorpions.” + +“What’s your old man like?” He withdrew his arm, threw himself on the +grass, his head against the lowest rail. He was frowning. + +“Oh I don’t know. Say, I near forgot. I made my sister and me each a new +dress this past week.” She looked down at him. “They turned out proud.” + +“Why didn’t you wear yours?” + +“I didn’t want to. Pa might see. I’ll wear it to mass though, tomorrow.” + +“What’s your old man like, Ellie? Does he still spank you?” He slid down +in the grass, staring skyward. “I’d just like to meet him. Sometimes +those crabby old fellows make me sick.” + +She saw his eyes that were gazing at the clouds angrily, his fair hair +and new-shaved face. She sighed. + +“I could have killed my father,” he was saying, “trying to chain me to +his store. Before I’d run that place for him, I tell you I’d go to +jail.” + +There was his stubborn wide mouth. + +“There’s a circus coming to New Hope next week, Ellie. I heard it’s got +an elephant. Want to go? Mr. Brinker’ll give me the pickup to use.” He +stood up from the grass. “Let’s go ask your daddy now. I’m set on +going,” he warned. + +“We’ll ask Ma,” she said quickly. “Pa’ll likely be in the field at this +hour.” + +“Wait a minute.” He was reaching for her hand again. “Look, what’s the +matter with one kiss?” + +“Well.” + +“You’re afraid. It’s true. You never have been kissed.” + +“Yes, I have too.” So she let his rigid wide lips bear upon hers. His +nose was in the way, and her arm that hugged the primrose. He pressed +against her. She was staring at his eyelids, cold. I don’t see as that’s +such a great thing. To write songs about and to whisper on. + +“Now you like me, Ellie. Don’t you?” He was triumphant. + +“Oh my, yes.” But she felt cheated. He thinks it’s a great thing. + +They were crossing the field to the farm lane, walking up to the house. +Maria was inside the screen door, peering at them. “I thought it was +peddler. He’s past due,” she muttered and turned to go. + +“Wait, Ma. This is Christian Ay. He asked me to go along with him and +the Brinkers to a circus at New Hope next Saturday. Can I go, Ma?” + +“As far as I care you can.” Maria was disappearing into the house +recesses. + +Christian looked at Ellen, demanding in a low tone, “Why’d you say +Brinkers were going, Ellie? I’m taking you.” + +“I’ve got to own I was afraid she’d say no.” Her eyes glowed. + + * * * * * + +When Frankie learned Ellen was going on an outing, she waited until they +were undressing for bed. She spoke in the fluttering candlelight, her +voice a child’s, “You got a beau?” + +“No.” + +“Yes you have, Ellie.” + +“I’m just going along with the Brinkers.” + +“Pa ne’er liked Brinker.” + +“I know.” It was a spear of pain. + +“What’s that boy like?” + +“What do you mean?” + +“What does he do?” + +“He talks to me.” + +“I hate there being boys and girls and e’er a thing jumbled. Why can’t +it be smooth and all the same?” + +“I don’t know. It’s the way of it. Like the priest says, God made it +so.” They sat on their beds rebellious, disturbed. “I don’t like it +either.” But Ellen was looking over at the new plant in her window. + +In her heart a small edge of terror would reign throughout the week. But +Anton paid her no heed; he ignored her proposed trip in his concern with +the successful cutting and hauling in of the first hay, with the sows +that each farrowed a basket of tiny piglets. When Christian drove the +pickup into the yard, her father was at the barn. Ellen sped down the +porch steps, Jack barking wildly. Christian wore a red shirt, +store-creased, and black pants held up with worn green suspenders. His +hair was slicked damp, the strong artificial odor of violet pomade +pervading the cab. His face was haughty and alien. He seemed somehow +shorter and broader. She sat back with a satisfied sigh, smoothing the +fullness of the new blue-speckled dress. Her shoes were buffed and had +new laces. She had on her best white stockings. Her hair hung down loose +and in her handkerchief, scented with sweet fern and balsam needles, was +a small comb. They spoke little. Christian kept his arm on the window +ledge. He said, “That your new dress?” + +“Yes.” + +“You sew good there.” He wheeled the truck into a great dusty lot. They +drove under a pasteboard sign, CURCIS PARKING HERE. Christian paid an +old man a nickel. They hurried toward the huge colorful entrance arch. +“Let’s go, Ellie.” He strode to the ticket booth, she followed, and they +went in. + +Through the noisy carnival air, hand in hand, they were wandering. +Christian was devouring peanuts, sack after sack. Ellen licked a mound +of pink spun sugar in a paper cone. “It’s like eating a cloud. It melts +to nothing.” + +He was laughing at her, glad he was with Ellen after all. They went to +see the tent show, sitting on hard benches in the close-packed crowd, +the dust soft under their feet. He held her hand in his lap. In the ring +horses thundered by, rifles cracked, the King of the Cowboys on a +graceful white horse, waved his flapping hat. A baby elephant followed +by a tall one with a torn ear and an odorous camel, ambled around the +ring and out again, their progress accompanied by spasmodic +hand-clapping. A cage with a sleeping lion was trundled by a pair of +brown oxen. The ringmaster bawled through a megaphone. In smoldering +heat aerialists soared and swung as band music softened and swayed the +crowd’s amazement. Ellen leaned forward. + +They roamed the grounds later, eating grilled hot dogs, drinking mugs of +high-foamed root beer drawn from an orange barrel. They stood before the +limp-maned lion’s cage. “Sure looks mangy, doesn’t he, Ellie? He’s +twenty years if a day.” + +A group of boys came up to throw stones and poke through the metal bars +with striped circus canes, after a while meandering noisily away. “Poor +soul,” said Ellen, “those youngens shouldn’t ill at him that way.” + +“Now there’s the midway, Ellie. Come on.” He was pulling her with him to +the wide grassy passage bordered with peep shows and circus sights. A +sinuous middle-aged woman was wriggling on a platform beneath a glaring +sign, EVENING IN PARIS. A barker coaxed, “Ten cents. One dime! See the +girlies. Imported from Pah-ree. Ten cents to see them revealed in their +natural beauty. Hurry. Hurry! One dime. They take it off. The Parisian +beauties.” + +“Let’s see the strip tease. I dare you.” + +But Ellen was shaking her head. “Double dare you to see the two-headed +baby instead.” + +“Double dares go first. All right.” + +They viewed an albino raccoon, a six-legged sheep, the tallest dwarf, a +mass of twining poisonous snakes. They stopped before the India-rubber +man and the fat lady. “Oh Christian, my teacher, Talithie Gentry, was +bigger than her. Easy.” + +Christian paid the armless man a penny to write their names on a card in +elaborate script, holding the pen in supple toes. Christian was +pocketing the card. “This’ll remind me, Ellie, after you’ve gone.” He +hitched his suspenders cockily. + +Then they were in the high-seated cab of the truck again, the narrow +tires jouncing in the hot dust. Christian was whistling above the racket +of the motor. He was warbling, partly off pitch: + + When the m-m-m-moon shines + On the c-c-c-cow shed + I’ll be waiting for you by the k-k-k-kitchen door + +His spirits were high. + + I’ve got a cute little husband + Who’s just twenty-three + He’s just three years older than me + He goes out every night + And gets on a tight + And leaves the dear baby with me + +He was pulling her to his side, driving with his arm about her. He was +caressing her hair and moving a hard palm from her throat to her +breasts, yielding and white under the stiff cloth. She was leaning into +the comfort of his body in the heat as they droned over neglected clay +roads. Clumps of black-eyed susans lined the ditches, and butterfly +weeds bearing ragged clusters of orange flowers. No birds sang in the +hot afternoon sun. Her thoughts began to drift. Without fear she +considered, Pa’ll beat me, it’s away past time for chores. “Is it late, +Christian? Penny must be watching for me.” + +“Is that your sister?” He spoke, absent, his hand pressing upon her +breast. + +Ellen shook her head. “It’s hot.” She drew away from his hold, moving to +lean out the window. + +After a pause he said, “You tired, Ellie? Want me to stop in the shade +along the roadside?” It came thickly. He reached for her hand, slowing +the truck. In back of them a horn sounded and a red automobile with an +open top swerved around them to disappear in swirls of dust. + +“You better take me home. My chores are waiting.” Her face was a soft +oval, her hand lay snared in his, feeling the rough calluses. + +“All right, then. I only asked on account of Brinker milks late. Said he +wouldn’t look for me back till after six.” There was silence. Then he +said, “Naturally you do what you please.” He laughed, dropping her hand. +“Sure do like Mr. Brinker. Not a whit like my daddy. The other day I +hollered down from the top of the silo, how much feed do I give them and +he says, fork her down till you get tired twice.” He spoke animated, +striking the window ledge. + +“Why don’t you like your pa?” Ellen asked. + +“He’s a skinflint. You bet we had a fight when I said I was going to +work for Brinker. Had to promise him half my pay.” He snorted. “Me, a +man grown. Over twenty and turning a part of my pay to him. That +sonofabitch.” He lapsed into thought. “Say, I didn’t mean to swear +before a girl.” + +“That’s all right.” + +The truck was stopping before the yellow farmhouse. Ellen opened the +door. “I’m obliged, Christian. I won’t forget the strange beasts and the +people on the high swings. And everything.” She sensed the finality of +the afternoon. + +He had her hand all at once. “Look, I’ll walk down to see you Saturday, +Ellie.” He was tender again suddenly, as if the magic of the day moving +already toward nostalgia smote him. + +She went to the house, that final gesture lingering. The spotted thrush +winged to the grapevines where it hid its nest. Jack came bounding up, +tail wagging, neck arched in pride over the wild rabbit in his mouth. “I +see you caught your supper,” she whispered. + +The town teacher’s buggy was in the lane, his mare hitched to the post +by the well. Every Saturday he came to give Frankie a piano lesson. +Anton had gone to his rooming house two years ago, waited in the hall, a +round black hat atop his balding head. “I be Anton Gaddy,” he had +mumbled. “I’ve heard there are ladies that make a name for themselves +playing before crowds that come to her. I’ve heard tell those kind are +honored and not deemed lightly in the eyes of rich folk. My daughter is +to play a piano I bought her in such a wise. Can you give lessons? I got +the money.” The town teacher had found his task difficult. The girl was +contrary in a sly way and had but small talent. She simply obeyed her +father’s will. + +Ellen was listening to the piano as she mounted the steps. From the +kitchen wafted the acrid odor of pot greens Maria was canning. Ellen +stepped within the screen. Anton’s figure towered from out of the +fawning shadows. “To your room, girl. Hum.” + +“Am I late, Pa?” + +She was ascending the stairs, flagging, slow. The man’s footsteps coming +after were soft as the sweep of an owl’s wing, gentle in pursuit. +“You’re late.” + +She stalled halfway. “Pa?” The pain was there, starting, in her throat. + +“Thou shalt beat them with a rod. I’ve said it. Mind, girl.” + +“You knew I was going.” + +She went up. He was closing the door. He gripped a belt, the wide +leather strip dangling by a brass home-fashioned buckle. He would wear +this belt on Sundays with his black suit. “There. Town teacher met the +Brinkers trading in Bethel.” + +She waited then, mute, and the hurt was high in her throat. She had +trained herself to silence since she was a small child, pitting herself +against his spirit, persuading herself he did it for love. He wants me +to be good. + +“So they weren’t at that gauded circus. It’s e’er so. You be a liar.” He +was striking her, whispering harsh, gray eyes narrow, “Be you whoring so +soon, girl? Here’s a generation not washed of their filthiness. I’ll set +the priest at you. Hear?” + +The door shut sharply. He had gone. Ellen was standing anchored as her +throat ached. His violence directed against her, aside from the cut of +the strap, would make her sicken and she was ruling it down until she +would be at peace with herself. She waited, finally moving to hang her +crumpled dress on the ridgepole and put aside her dust-grimed shoes. Her +stockings like white moss, were in a heap on the floor and she caught +sight of the pale pillar of her body moving in the mirror that was +fastened to the door. + +She was hurrying to the barn then to linger over the pair of suckling +kids and tend the round of her chores. Clouds were lowering in the moist +ether that rumbled before an advancing evening storm. She remembered +lines from a song Christian Ay had said people sang in Louisville. + + When I go toot-toot-tooting + Down the street + In my little Ford automobile + +All that night rain fell on the receiving earth. The morning was humid +and portentous. In the earth’s vitals, seeds were bursting in slow +presage and primeval animal movement was rife. Above ground, bees were +snoring, working their hoards, minute midges piped thinly, bottle-flies +glutted at dung heaps or in company with spotted orange butterflies +savored rotten things. In the pond the duck had struck and killed a +fragile peeper frog, while from the woods edge a red dog fox looked on +at her, his button eyes bright with greed. + +In the kitchen while dawn faded, Ellen was slicing bacon with a long +knife whetted to a narrow blade. She had brought the molded slab in from +the smokehouse. Peeled potatoes were boiling in a pot, a pan of biscuits +rose and browned in the oven. She started bacon frying in a spider and +measured coffee out of a jar unscrewed from the grinder on the wall. She +spooned it into water bubbling in a chipped tall pot. Frankie laid out +plates, plum preserves, buttermilk, ketchup, a stone jar of butter. Both +girls wore sleeveless petticoats, white stockings and church shoes. +Later they would get into the new dresses. “Ellie, did you notice if +that camel swallowed like a horse or chewed a cud?” + +“There, I forgot to look.” Ellen went to the well for water. She met +Anton coming from the barn with Maria’s pail of milk. She held her hand +over the dark welt on her upper arm though his eyes weren’t on her. She +followed him to the kitchen, lifting out the bacon, breaking eggs into +the iron spider. She crumpled an eggshell in the coffee to settle the +grounds and dumped the hot potatoes into a brown bowl. The Gaddys and +Sam Offut grouped themselves at the stout table. They poured ketchup on +the potatoes and eggs, drank steaming cups of coffee, ate heavily, for +the workdays were arduous. They would arise by candlelight, seldom were +done by nightfall with the wheel of chores. + +Then Sam brought the buckwagon around, Blueberry and Moll hitched to it. +“Hurry up, ooman,” Anton was saying to Maria, “we’ll be late to mass.” + +His wife climbed up to the narrow seat edged with an iron rail, and sat +beside him. The girls were hiking themselves on the end of the wagon +bed, sitting on a rug, backs to their parents, feet dangling. As they +swung out onto Sweetincreek Road Anton spoke over his shoulder, “Your +nannies can go to the meadow and graze with the cows, girl. Those +yeanlings are old enough now.” + +“I’ll take them down tomorrow, Pa.” Joy surged within her at his words, +and the hotness of the season swung in to ripen grain in the favored +fields and bring flowers to bud and bloom as the fragrant undulating +grace of the farm lands moved toward harvest. + + + 4 + +The sun beat down like a scourge. Men moved listlessly, driving +themselves and their draft beasts. Fowl with panting beaks crouched in +dusty bowls they fashioned in yard corners with their fanning wings. By +flickering lantern light before the sun rose, the milking was completed. +Ellen and Frankie were called upon to help at stripping the udders of +the overabundant animals. The first streams on the pail bottom would +whine high, the tone lowering as the pail filled, becoming deep and +sonorous until foam ran down the pail sides. Then it was time to pour +the milk through squares of flannel into ten-gallon cans that would be +placed in the hewn-log water trough to cool, awaiting pickup by the +dairy truck. In the half-dark the cows shuffled to pasture, Jack nipping +their heels. Ellen would follow and close the gate. The sides of the +bovines were oily, their breath fragrant, eyes moist. By early morning +their stomachs would be distended with lush summer grass. Then +throughout the sweltering day they would lie in the shade of the woods, +chewing their cuds. + +Anton and Sam would down a heavy breakfast, eat plates of eggs, Ellen +cracking a dozen in the skillet for them. They reached for more coffee +cake and bread and slabs of cold meat. After they ate they walked stolid +to the fields, working corn rows with cultivator and team, mowing and +raking and hauling in towering wagonloads of timothy and soybean and +clover hay. They mended fence lines, repeatedly repaired harness and +machine, sharpened saw, adz and ax, scythe, knife and cutting blades. +They would throw from the fields the larger stones that cropped up under +the bite of the share. Some fields had a rock outgrowth too large to be +removed and it must stand bared and alone, machines and men circling it. +At mid-morning and afternoon Frankie would search until she found the +men in a field. She brought them a stone pitcher of water spiced with +vinegar or a ginger stick. They mopped their rough-bristled faces with +red kerchiefs, and drank. Sam was shirtless, his overall straps cutting +his scrawny sunburned shoulders. Anton, powerful upper body covered to +protect his freckled skin, had soaked his black sateen shirt with +perspiration. His large arms shone red and glistening. The odor of sweat +and earth rose strong about the men. + +“Before God, Sam. Can’t figure how a little fart like you can put in a +day’s work alongside me. Haw.” + +“E’er watch a banty cock, Mester Gaddy? It’ll outlast your Barred Rock +rooster any day of the week. Not so much of me to get wore out.” + +The Gaddy women were laboring too, bringing in grapes and berries, beans +and tomatoes by the pail and bushel. They canned and dried and sugared +down the procession of largess that moved through the kitchen. There was +more milk than the dairy would buy and Maria would skim the surplus for +cream, send Ellen to trade the butter she churned. It was dirt cheap in +this season. The remaining thin milk was thrown to squealing young pigs +in wood troughs, foul-smelling in the reek of heat. Milk would sour +swiftly, spots of yellow-green milkstone forming on the sides of pails. +Ellen was directed to scrape it clean with a knife. Cheeses were made, +some to cure amber and hard, hanging in the smokehouse, others to be +stirred daily in stone crocks until the white curd turned yellow, the +strong odor left, and it became bland. There was an abundance of cottage +cheese with clabber cream and chopped green onions stirred in, or a +seasoning of herbs that grew by the houseside. Maria had a lavish hand +when it came to seasoning. + +“I reckon I got such a heavy hand because my mam always was put to it to +get enough for us to eat. She’d dig chicory roots for coffee and gather +wild thyme and herbs. Pap cut lumber to sell to the railroad and worked +tobacco. He saved e’er a penny he was paid and gave her none.” Maria +sighed, “Mam found out I ate stones once. Seemed there was a +satisfaction when the food was gone, to a white pebble, smooth like a +bit of lard. I just recollect.” + +Christian would come on Saturdays at dusk. Ellen met him covertly at the +usual place and they ate a few lingering strawberries from the +burned-out plants, then went to lie in the shade. He was boasting about +the gigantic machine that Brinker had rented to harvest his wheat. “That +combine’s some invention. Finished the whole field in a day. The bags +are stacked in the crib. By heck, Brinker grows good wheat. We counted +twenty grains on some ears. That’s forty bushel to the acre.” He was +browned, his white teeth were flashing and he swaggered. “In the +afternoon old lady Brinker drove the pickup out to the field with a +freezer can of ice cream and three new-made cakes. Tell you, that +woman’s my ideal of a wife. Spread a white cloth and brought silver and +plates and a tin can of lemonade. We sure polished it off.” He +reflected. “In the lemonade she had a chunk of ice floating.” + +“Wish I had a piece of ice big as my head. Purely I do.” Ellen looked +away, sighing in the stifled air scarce cooled by the setting of the +sun. “It seems like all that’s to be garnered is trying to ruin before +we can get hold of it to store it against the winter.” + +Christian would stay with her only a short while because he was roused +now while it was yet dark to begin the long day. Ellen spoke softly with +him but when he laid his hand in the hollow below her throat or upon the +dress over her thighs as he had done in the truck, she was afraid and +made him laugh with her foolishness and coaxed him from his wont. + +Sam Offut had failed to appear for milking one morning. Sam lived with +his wife a short way down the road in a shack he owned; he would take +his first two meals with the Gaddys and supper at his own table. Anton +was hard put this morning, even with the help of the girls, to finish +the chores on time, and sat down late to breakfast. As he was arising, +the hired man appeared in the doorway, bleary-eyed, with an air of not +having washed or slept. Sam was saying evenly as he took the chair +across from Anton, “Ran my old ooman off last night. Those two were +laying there still when I came home. On my bed. That whorish Eadie. I +ne’er saw that particular peddler before. I could have killed them but I +only ran them off.” He speared a slice of ham with the sharp knife. +“I’ve doubted many a year now, since my youngens are grown and gone, if +I be the daddy to more of the six than the first-born.” + +Anton said shortly, “If you’ve got a mind after this, Sam, you can take +supper here. Come on to the barn when you’re done.” + +“I’m beholden.” Sam was eating like one famished. + +During that day Ellen marveled at little Sam Offut, middle-aged, +leathery-skinned, smoldering as he went through the days at his wife +Eadie, bedding with other men. She wondered at how it took the white +heat of August to kindle him into action. + +When Jack was driving the cows in from the pasture one night, the white +kid was missing. Penny and her young would always be in the lead in +their anxiety to reach Ellen, who would have an evening tidbit set out +for them in the woodshed—apple peels or bread crusts or carrots. Penny +and the brown kid were standing in wait at the woodshed door. As pangs +smote her, Ellen bolted down the lane to the field. The dog barked, +running ahead. She searched the fence lines, from afar spied the bit of +white, the buckling strangled in the fence where he had tried to slip +through. He had hung himself. Ellen, extricating the stiffened body, met +death for the first time intimately. She fought over her loss in the +solitary field. “Oh you were my dear droll poppet that followed me.” + +Ever in coming weeks when she thought of the clownish yeanling, tears +came and her throat caught in anguish so complex it was nearly joy. She +never forgot the death of the white kid. Its impact made a mark on her +like scars she could point to on her body. “Here the sickle cut into my +leg when I cleaned the path one day. And here that spotty hound bit my +wrist when he had that fight with Jack.” + +In her new-found anxiety for her two remaining goats, she kept them from +the field, penning them in the barnyard and bringing them kitchen scraps +and meadow grass. In their cleverness, though, they slipped through the +fence to nibble in the garden and wander at will. Anton discovered them +girdling bark from a stripling peach tree with their sharp teeth. He +threatened, “To pasture with those tormented creatures where they +belong. And if they be the cause of further botherment, girl, I’ll knock +their heads in gladly and butcher them. Mind now.” + +So Ellen went down the lane, Penny solemn at her heels, the doeling +trotting last. Laughing at their comical air, the girl began to run. +They snorted and sprang after her abandoned, striking their little hoofs +sharply on the dry ground, unconscious of dignity or the heat of August. +She left them blatting disconsolate at the meadow gate. In days to +follow she would go to the barnyard fence, straining her eyes for a +glimpse of the two small does amid the drove of cows. + + * * * * * + +There came the hour when Christian and Anton met. Though Ellen would +slip out to see Christian when he walked down the road on his afternoon +off, she had not mustered the boldness to bring him to the house. Anton +never spoke of the young man though he knew Ellen met with him. One time +he had watched them for a while from behind the oak by the berry patch. +He saw his daughter talking while she switched flies with a branch of +leaves, and the young man, brooding, leaned upon the fence. Anton could +see nothing amiss and pulling on his pipe, went to listen to his +favorite practicing at the piano. + +Ellen had joined Christian in the orchard near the brook. Her goats +finished browsing and lay back to back in the grass chewing their cuds +in their rapid dainty way. Ellen was sitting on a fallen log. She wore +an old dress that fitted her budding form too tightly. She laid in her +hair white meadow rue and yellow oxeye daisies. She bowed her head to +one side over the field flowers in her hands and knew, dreaming, how +fair she was. + +Christian lay on his stomach in the grass by her, catching her mood, +knowing he’d never seen the girl so fetching. The lines of her long face +were soft in a frame of flaxen hair. He spoke suddenly, “I got another +letter from Mama.” + +“Oh?” + +“She mad again. My sister had a chance to get married and she turned it +down. Mama says Rose wants bigger fish.” + +“Fish?” + +“Mr. Johnson’s only got a house and money. That’s not enough for my +sister. He’d have to be a millionaire.” + +“Well.” + +“And she says Daddy gets pains nowadays. Has to lie down. He won’t see a +doctor.” + +“He’ll be all right, don’t you reckon?” + +“He hates to pay a doctor bill.” He reached over to cover her bare foot +with his palm. “You’re so sweet, Ellie.” + +“Sweet as Miss Sabatha Withers, boy?” Anton was standing before them in +the long grass. His overalls were ragged, the sleeves to his black shirt +had been cut below the shoulders so his heavy biceps showed. His chin +was thrust out, his body pulled erect in the habit of short men. A straw +hat was settled upon his sparse hair. He was chewing a quid of tobacco. + +Christian jumped to his feet. The two of them were the same height. +“Hello, Mr. Gaddy. How do you do? I’m Christian Ay.” + +“So hit seems.” The man spat, looked about as though searching for +someone. “Hum. You didn’t bring your lady friend with you?” + +“What’s that?” + +Anton tilted his head. “And how be Dutchman Brinker these days? Haw. He +still got the notion to stall his beasts on all the storeys of his +barns? I heard he penned some shoats to fatten in his loft and they grew +so grand and big they broke clean through the planking. Is that a fact?” + +“I never heard of it, sir,” Christian was cold. “Mr. Brinker’s a fine +farmer, I can tell you. But you got a nice place here, sir.” He was +nodding, appeasing, as he flung his hand in a rude movement. + +“This place was here, boy, being worked by my sir when Dutchman’s pa was +setting on his ass in the old country.” + +Ellen dropped her head, repeating over and again the Nicene Creed for +her lover snared in Anton’s rough hand. Like an enchantress she evoked +the only charm she knew. From whence He shall come to judge the living +and the dead. + +Anton squirted the brown juice again and was moving away. “Feeding is in +an hour, girl,” he threw over his shoulder. + +“All right, Pa.” She closed her eyes. Holy Virgin it had worked. + +Christian eyed her, rebellious, scorn in his young face. “What a dirty +crabby guy even if he is your old man. I’d just like to push that +bristly smart-aleck face of his in. I can’t stand a bossy fellow like +that.” + +“Hush.” Ellen got up with sudden despair. “Now what’s he talking of +Sabatha Withers for? Who’s she?” + +“A girl I happen to know in Bethel. I’ll go see her or anyone I want.” +He shouted it, striking at her father. And at himself for his +intimidation. “And any time I want.” + +A quarrel had uncoiled before they were aware. Ellen leaned back on the +log, whispering, gray eyes slitted, “I don’t give a neinse. Run to that +poor-trash thing.” + +His short legs spread, his high cheekbones pale, he was storming, “And +if I never see you or your stupid old man again, it’ll be too soon. I’m +going to see someone who appreciates me.” He threw back his head and +stalked away, cutting across to the road. + +Ellen stayed awhile in the tall grass. As she wept the fury shed itself. +Bereft, she went up the hill through the field where the boar was now +penned. Her goats and Jack were trailing after. The old red boar +regarded her from a little distance, his distrust palpable. “There’s a +mean hog, Jack,” she whispered. + +She neared the barnyard and heard Anton, “Hitch Blue and get him out +here, Sam.” A spotted heifer was stretched neat a group of slender +walnuts, bawling intermittently. Anton was bent over her. She had been +due to bear her calf any day, was a daughter of his best milker, a pride +to him. While Ellen watched, her hand resting on the yard gate, Sam was +running from the barn, leading Blueberry. The harness jingled as the +buckskin came at a trot. “Whaw,” Sam cried roughly. + +The two conferred. The horse waited on them, head down, hipshot, a hind +leg at rest on the tip of the hoof. They hitched the tugs to a rope +looped about the head of the unborn calf just within the dam. Anton +drove the horse forward slowly, dragging the cow. Then he halted, took +off his straw hat, scratching his head. “Hell, hit’s drying out. I vow, +Sam, the first one’s always too tight. It’s like the wine corks in the +kegs. Once get them started and they come out easy. Let’s try those +trees o’er there, now. Gee-whup.” Again the traces tightened and the +tired young cow was hauled through stones and red dust in the broil of +heat. They untied the lines, rehitched them through a gap between two +walnut trunks. “Haw-there,” ordered Anton and while the beast bellowed, +wedged upon the tree boles, her calf was torn from her womb, limp and +wet. + +Slipping through the gate, Ellen skirted the barnyard and hurried to the +house. She changed her dress and spoke quietly to Maria, “Spotty had her +calf. Pa had to take it from her. It’s a pretty one.” She returned, saw +the heifer was on her feet, placenta hanging. Delicate head down, +tossing her well-formed tiny horns, she guarded the calf she licked +nervously. + +That night the heat lifted slightly. Ellen was wakeful within her +loft-room. She slipped downstairs into the sultry dark. Barefoot, she +walked with Jack to the woodshed, freeing Penny and Rhodie. They +wandered across the fields, through gates to the orchard. She sat on the +log again. In the night sky the blue whiskers of cloud were backing off. +And the moon in absolute radiance was speeding forth. There was not a +sound anywhere. + + * * * * * + +As the year moved on, the heat abated and winds started out of nowhere, +rushing. Christian stayed away from Ellen over two long Saturdays. Then +one evening she was standing beyond the low garden wall watching the +bees work the hives. He appeared, jaunty in a blue shirt freshly pressed +by Brinker’s wife, his blond hair damp, comb-marked. “Hey, Ellie. A +penny for your thoughts.” + +“Not wasting them on you, I’ll say.” Her temper shifted in her and she +colored. “I’m thinking Sam will be robbing the poor bees soon.” + +“Come on, take a walk with me, Ellie. Down to the woods. Say, you’re +blushing.” He grinned. + +“Go to your true love in Bethel.” + +“No.” His blue eyes were bold. “I broke off with that one.” They were +starting down the hill. When out of sight of the house, he took her +hand. + +She pulled away, unwilling. “I don’t care for you.” But in time he won +her from her anger and it was with Ellen as though the quarrel had never +been. + +They were hand in hand in the dry reeds by the pond where the lone duck +was paddling in circles. He was vowing strongly, “I’ve left Sabatha +Withers for good, Ellie.” + +“Well.” + +“She’s cheap.” He laughed angry, for the young fires lay hot in him +still. “You never have seen Brinker’s place, Ellie.” + +“No. I’ve heard tell he’s got fancy barns.” + +“You’d get a kick out of them. Want to go there next week? I could show +you Baker, that Belgian stud. He’s a sight. Like I said, he beats +anything I ever saw.” + +“I’ll come, then.” + +“Kiss me, Ellie.” + +“Listen at that sound, Christian.” The faint cry of geese was audible, +“Kwonk, honk, honk, kwonk.” Far above the earth the long-necked wild +birds were heading for northern nest grounds, their massive bodies two +wavering lines of dots making the letter V. The call of the leaders +sounded shrill, and as they moved overhead there came the deep responses +of the rear guards. It seemed to Ellen that she had no desire for the +way of the roused child-man beside her. Ahead stretched the long +filament of her life; she was pierced by the pain of the earthbound that +is made up of longings. She was voiced vicarious from the throats of the +wild birds. She turned to Christian, dissatisfied. Their eyes were +almost on a level; she was crying, intense, “Don’t you wish you were +that leader?” + +“Say, I’d rather be me than some bird.” He laughed at her, pressed her +hand. “Come. Kiss me.” + + * * * * * + +In the last week of September Ellen slipped down Sweetincreek Road to +where Christian had brought the truck around. The Brinker family were in +Bethel doing their weekly buying, and Christian acutely felt his +proprietorship. He drove up his employer’s graveled drive and into the +huge garage. He led her to the farm buildings, proud. “Take a look.” + +The great white barn was trimmed in red, a gigantic portrait of a +black-and-white Holstein bull had been painted across the expanse of one +side. There was an iron bull weather vane centered on the roof; it +wheeled with the breeze. “I ne’er saw such furbelowing, Christian.” + +“This isn’t the half of it.” + +In the shed just off the chicken house he was showing her round-bellied +puppies. She fondled them while the gentle bitch watched alert-eyed from +a straw bed. “Nothing smells as soft as a little whelp, Christian.” + +He was pointing to a miniature windmill, and to bantam chickens and +white and gray rabbits in screened hutches. Out in the pasture were +shining Belgian mares. Ellen was stroking their sleek faces. Christian +caught a cobby black filly by the halter and led her to the girl. “This +one’s Doll. She’s pedigreed. She’s to be bred to Baker as soon as she +comes in heat. Mr. Brinker’s ordered it. We’ve been watching out for +her.” + +“Look at those dark eyes, Christian. Here, Doll.” Ellen was offering a +handful of oats. But the mare threw up her head, nickering toward the +farm buildings. There was a responding whinny from the distance. The +mare swished her tail, holding it high. + +Christian’s eyes kindled. “You know, Ellie, I think she’s in season. +Let’s try her. See if she’ll take him.” + +“You’d best wait for Mester Brinker.” + +“You’re scared.” + +“I’m not. Only I’d wait. If she’s a thoroughbred, he’d lay the blame to +you should it go amiss.” + +The mare was shaking her head so the halter rings jangled; she cried +again, shrilly. Christian was opening the gate. “Come on, Ellie. Look, +you want to ride her down the lane? I’ll lift you to her back.” + +“You dassn’t ride her. Sam told me,” she said, dallying, “that a mare in +the heat mustn’t be ridden till she’s been bred.” + +“All right. But come on,” he urged. He led the prancing Doll through the +gate and down the lane toward the stallion’s paddock. Ellen was +following, reluctant. “You hold her while I lock up Baker,” he called. + +She came to take the mare’s headstall from him. “Well.” + +At the yard the huge seed-horse was observing them, restive, aware of +their business. He squealed, striking at the fence bars with his huge +hoofs. Christian laughed, catching Ellen’s eye. “What you scared of, +honey? I can handle him easy.” + +“So what?” she whispered to the mare, who was tossing her mane, jerking. + +Christian had skillfully snared the halter of the red roan beast and +secured him in his stall. “Turn her in the lot now, Ellie,” he was +shouting. + +But she tarried and cried, “I’ll wait for you in the truck.” + +“Come on, turn her in. It’s only Baker.” He was flushed and he laughed +at her from the half door of the stable. + +Ellen loosed the black mare in the paddock where she curved her neck and +cantered like a gust of wind. The stallion could be heard clamoring +angrily, rearing and knocking the walls. Christian turned the handle of +the stall door to release him, and then vaulted the fence. He came to +stand with Ellen. “Why did you want to go to the truck?” + +The magnificent horse was trotting out, neighing. He minced past the +filly who was dwarfed by his size. He lifted his shaggy fetlocks high +without effort and his tawny mane streaked. He wheeled, snuffed noisily +at her neck, bit it softly and pawed it in a dynamic graceful gesture. +Then he leaped the mare, falling on his side with powerful elegance. He +recovered, mounted her again. His beauty was like a thunderous battle, +his piercing voice rose and fell on the stilled air, waking the valleys +of the farm, rushing through tree boughs. + +Christian was turning, urgent, “Ellie?” + +“Let’s go to the truck, Christian. I’m going to wait there.” She turned. + +He grasped her arm. “Come on, Ellie.” + +“No, Christian.” + +He was shoving her under the lean-to by the stable where summer wheat +straw was stacked for the stallion’s bedding. He was struggling with his +clothing, bruising her. The coolness dwelled in the shadows there, it +was quiet and made itself separate from the noise in the dust of the lot +outside. His youth was adamant and awkward, his knee entreated silent +between her virgin thighs. + +Surprised, she was fighting. “Liar,” she gritted. + +He held her in the straw. “You’ve led me on, Ellie. I won’t wait.” His +arms were muscled from a hard summer, his blood thrusting purposed. + +She had read of Absalom, how none was so much praised as he for his +perfection. From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head there was +no blemish in him. So the Bible said, and so she had dreamed of +Christian moving in a lawful pattern she laid. She was unprepared for +the painful shattering of it, betrayed. “No,” she was weeping. “Liar.” +It whistled in the coolness against the pant of him. + +“I have to, honey. Take it easy. I’ll be careful. I can’t wait.” His +voice was blurred and hot, stabbing, overridden by the tramping hoofs +and shrill neighs like a storm without. + +Ellen closed her eyes. They ran tears because of the hurt there was, the +receding terror. + +He spoke softly then, “Don’t cry.” + +“Go away.” + +He stood up and went into the sun. He led Doll back to the pasture, +threw a forkful of hay to Baker who was docile now, obedient. After a +while he came back and looked at Ellen. “Don’t be mad.” + +She wouldn’t hear him. + +“Come on, Ellie. We’ve got to get back.” + +She was rising, brushing back her hair. He leaned toward her, tender, +and pulled a straw caught in the yellow strands. She struck, savage, at +his fingers. In the truck seat she remained unspeaking until he reached +for her hand. Then she unleashed at him, injured, “You think I’m that +Sabatha Withers. I ne’er want to see you again. Hear?” + +Christian was resting his elbow on the window; he looked down the road. +He gunned the truck so dust eddies rose like a whirlwind in the wake. He +slammed the brakes on the road just above the Gaddy entrance. “Come on, +Ellie. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad. Please.” + +But she hurled the cab door shut. Her head was high. For her world that +had had a sort of ingenuous beauty had disappeared. And it was never the +same again. + + + 5 + +October came to pass in fog and tones of droning rain. Muffled trees +stood in wet leaves along farm paths. Ellen, a gray shape in the mist, +was moving from clinking house lights to the obscurity of the woodshed +and barns. Christian had not come for three weeks. At first she had +waited in profound anger, eager to renounce him. But in the autumn sun +of following days, while the two ringing notes of the partridge called +back and forth, loneliness tempered her wrath and she loved him +indulgently as the source of her pain and its witness. + +Today she was going again to the rail fence along the road where +joe-pye-weeds drooped coarse-toothed leaves. She was wearing a red +stocking cap, her long coat had pendulous lapels and a wide belt that +fastened on her hips with two heavy buttons. As she passed the +grapevines where leaves hung chilled, a flock of crows arose, making +nasal resentful barks. She waited an hour. Unending rain was falling and +small gusts wove about. Finally she went to the work Anton had set, +sorting and shucking corn. Later she absently stroked the alert ears and +silken hair of the kid Rhodie, nearly as large as its dam now. “Reckon +he’s with Sabatha Withers. Pleasuring as he did with me.” She clothed +her wrath, embellished it. “Happen she’ll drag him to a priest. All his +days he’ll dwell on me and what he forfeited.” + +Her mind turned to when she was nine or ten and, living in fantasy and +wishes, would try new ways to walk through the sun-washed fields where +grass stood high. It would seem that crowds of people lined both sides +of the way she took. They came to see how grand she held her head and to +talk among themselves of the noble way of Lady Ellen. “I aim to hold me +high and wed a rich man.” She spoke aloud in the stable. But she didn’t +believe it and the anger burned. She went to the house where lamps +flickered in the gloom, and Anton stacked a fire in the parlor, filled +the woodbin and split lighter-wood with a deft hand. + +Ten days passed. On a splendid windy morning in November, Ellen was +clearing garden debris and gathering cabbages and root crops in heaps +for winter storage. She faced her dilemma, rebellious. “If it be so, +I’ll drown myself or it in the pond when it’s born. And if he’s run off, +I’ll seek him out. I’ll knife him, I will.” She piled cabbage heads in a +bushel basket and dumped them in the cellar storage bin. Her secret +dwelled within her like a hidden wound. “I say, Jack, what will I do?” + +That afternoon Amanda York came up the porch steps and knocked. “Hickory +mast is laying thick in Bailey’s Woods, Mrs. Gaddy. Can Ellie and +Frankie come nutting?” + +The three girls walked a mile down the road to the woods, carrying empty +baskets. Amanda had black eyes and black shining hair. She was rosy and +lively. “Ask your pa if you can go once to the husking bee. This +Saturday.” + +“He ne’er would brook it, Mandy.” Frankie was shaking her head. + +“There’ll be a sight of folks. From Bethel way and down from Seven Mile +Run.” + +“Because Pa don’t favor us socializing,” Frankie added. + +Amanda tossed her braid. “And a fiddler and a spread of eats.” + +“You know Sabatha Withers?” Ellen flushed in the asking. + +“I’ll say I do. She’s wild. Boys flock after her like dogs on a rabbit.” + +“What?” cried Frankie. + +“She sleeps around. Things like that.” + +“My.” + +“What’s she look like?” asked Ellen. + +“Oh, light-set, and got yellow hair like yours, Ellie.” + +“Why doesn’t she have a baby,” Frankie asked, “if she sleeps around?” + +“Don’t ask me.” + +“It’s a mystery,” Frankie sighed. + +“Did that Lily Garrett tell you what she did?” Amanda asked. + +“You mean sending for that stuff to make her breasts grow?” + +“Yes. And what happened.” + +“What?” + +“Well, she wanted it,” Amanda whispered, “for she’s boy-crazy, Lily is. +She’s terrible.” + +“I know. She told us.” Frankie giggled. “Men like you big, she said.” + +“Well, she waited all summer to hear. We couldn’t figure why it ne’er +came. I studied that her pa had got hold of the package some way.” + +“Say. Did he?” + +“No, last week it came. Just an old envelope. And there was a picture on +a card of a man’s hand. It said underneath, Try This. Lily got scared.” + +“She should ne’er have sent off, Mandy,” Frankie cried. + +“Say, has that Withers girl got a boy friend?” Ellen was asking. + +“She’s got plenty, Ellie. There’s always one to take her to doings.” + +“Now what if Lily’s papa’d seen it,” Frankie said. “That picture and +those words.” + +“Wish I could go to that husking bee,” said Ellen. “I’ve got a deal of a +desire to go. I might cross my pa and slip out this once.” + +“Oh Ellie.” Frankie’s voice was the cheep of a frightened bird. “Don’t +say that.” + +“Obey thy father and mother.” Amanda spoke cheerfully as they were +entering the woods. “Now maybe he’ll say yes this time, Ellie.” They +began to gather hickory mast that carpeted the ground. When the baskets +were full they walked to Amanda’s home, a saddlebag log house set in an +apple orchard. They left two baskets in the passageway between the +cabins and climbed to an upstairs room. They shucked Amanda’s nuts, +spreading them with brown-stained hands on a carpet of straw. From the +rafters hung strings of small ear corn with white pointed kernels that +would pop over a fire. And there was a drop cord overhead with a carbon +bulb, for the Yorks had electricity. + + * * * * * + +The sisters took their leave and walked home with the laden baskets. The +evening whippoorwills were starting their spasmodic carping. Ellen said, +“I’ll make a way to go to that husking bee.” + +But at the end of the week Anton brought news so she forgot all about +it. He had hauled grain and surplus root crops, Hubbard squashes and +pumpkins to Bethel, returning in late afternoon with ground flour, meal, +and kitchen and farm supplies. “Saw the new smithy, Troy Hatfield, and +got the welding done. That share will hold now. And he gave me outright +a great piece of hide for leather stripping, just for that heap of +pumpkins Frankie planted. Shaw.” The man was growing genial, his journey +a success. He pushed back his chair and strode to the door, spit his +quid into the bushes. He wiped his face with a powerful arm, came back +to sup coffee noisily and consume chunks of Ellen’s brown dripping-cake. +He was turning to her. “Troy gave me news for your ears, girl. You mind +that froward young fellow hired to Dutchman Brinker? The one that sassed +me? Well, he took off in a sudden. Dutchman had a time finding a new +hand. This one’s brought a wife with him, so he’ll not be traipsing +about with young maids. Hum.” + +“Did smithy have an idea where he went, Pa?” + +“You pining after that poor trash Brinker hires?” + +“I’ve got a right to ask.” + +“You trifling with me?” + +“No, Pa.” + +“You have to put in your two cents. The fellow’s pa died. Troy says +Dutchman was right plagued at having to pay wages out on a Sabbath. +That’ll put a good Lutheran in hell, I allow. Haw.” + +“He ne’er liked his pa nor that kind of city work.” Ellen was by the +door, lingering. + +“You got any more on your mind? Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.” + + * * * * * + +Ellen went to take from its pen the gray rabbit Christian had brought +her. She carried it to the edge of the field and put it down. “Go fend +for yourself like I’ve got to. Look out for the hungry foxes and +weasels.” She watched it hop away, then went to her upstairs room. She +hunted in the wood trunk for paper and an envelope. + + Dear Christian, + + Smithy told Pa you left these parts. The sky is heavy and gray. + Maybe it will come on a snow. I call to mind the hours we spent by + the strawberry bed. Now I think winter is come. I would that you + wrote me how you are getting on. + + Ellen Gaddy + +She sealed the envelope, addressing it to Mr. Christian Ay, Carl Brinker +Homestead, Route 4, Bethel, Ky., send to new address. + +Down in the woods the air was still and weighted. Pinched clouds were +banking above the swollen land. The red dog fox crept to his post +overlooking the shadowed water. His eyes tensed as he spied the old +Muscovy duck napping, head under wing, amid brown rush stalks. He struck +noiseless. Thrashing wings lashed in a frenzied struggle but the needle +teeth found the jugular and blood was spattered on the rushes. Later +Ellen called again and again and there was no answering rush of wings. +“You’d ne’er come to the safe yard. Reckon some varmint caught you.” She +tossed the ear of corn to the tame fowl in the chicken yard. + +Her letter was returned by the mail carrier. She hid it under her apron. +On its face was scrawled: return to sender, no address known. C. +Brinker. She took it up to the attic and laid it unopened in the small +trunk. She stood looking out the gable window as drifting snow made the +world grow small and old familiar shapes became strange and new. + + * * * * * + +Down Sweetincreek Road in mid-December Anton was driving the wagon to +mass in Millville. The lightweight buckboard was unsuited for these +winter days and the women rode in the wagon bed shrouded with rugs. A +crowd of frightened birds moved and swooped across the sky like a giant +amoeba. The pale sun was melting the snowfall into slush. The horses +snorted, exhaling a vapor, tramped in the ruts of the road, hurling red +mud in clods from their iron shoes. Anton was complaining, “Wish hit +could have waited till Monday to thaw. This is a rough piece of road.” +He clucked to the team. “Reckon we’ll be late again to mass, Frankie? +Here it is Advent time once more.” + +“Christmas is but two weeks off, Pa.” + +Ellen was praying silently, “Holy Queen, keep him from remembering to +send us to confession this week. I’ll not tell it to a priest. I’ll go +to hell and burn first. I’m in a sorry strait, now.” + +Anton was fastening the team and preceding his family into the square +clapboard building half filled with people and heated by a huge black +stove at one side. He took one of the rear pews. The heavy clothing +rustled, the plank floor creaked. Anton tugged his bulky fur cap off, +thrust it behind him on the seat. The women were kneeling at the low +bench in their long coats, their caps and boots. They crossed +themselves. The priest was murmuring at the altar, his server on his +knees. Intimidated by habit and example, Ellen inclined her head. She +heard the sonorous chant, “O Thou that leadest Joseph like a sheep, +alleluia. Stir up, O Lord, Thy might and come to save us. Who art Thou? +I am the voice of one crying in the desert.” She made the sign with her +hand, desolate. The priest began to tell off the canon of the mass. He +washed his fingers, incense drifted, the signal bell tinkled. Folk +shifted and whispered; singly and in groups they left their winter +covering on the benches, came with bowed heads to the altar, hands in +ancient attitude of prayer, to receive from paten and cup the Body and +Blood. Say to the faint-hearted, fear not. It chafed within Ellen, +uncomforted. She arose with the rest when it was over. And in the +beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. +And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness grasped it not. +The holy man was striding away, the people began to depart in a +disturbance of noise and bodies. Ellen touched the water in the granite +basin as she walked after her mother and sister. + +Anton dipped his head, curt, to those he knew, stopped without the door +to speak with N. J. Bilberry. The women waited, Maria whispering to Mrs. +Bilberry, fleshy-faced and cheerful. At Anton’s nod they climbed back +into the wagon and he took the reins. They jolted down the road. The +earth lay dank-sweated, old furrows exposed. Black cottonwood trees were +guarding the ditches. “N. J.’s wheat froze out,” the man commented +briefly. + +“Tinie says there’s chills and fever going about,” Maria told him. “And +Ioway Ashby has married a man from the south. He’s thirty-one years old. +Ioway was but twelve last June.” + +“I heard,” Frankie cried, “he sent off for a poppet doll for her, +dressed in a bride veil.” + +“Ioway Ashby’s not inclined to give up her dolls yet,” Maria said. + +“Now dogwood roots are near as good as quinine for chills and fever,” +Anton was saying. + +“Ioway’s ma told Tinie they’d begged at her since summer to let them +marry. So she figured they just as well. I say, that’s a sight young for +robbing the cradle.” + +Under cover of the wagon’s rumbling, Ellen whispered, reciting, “Mother +of Mercy, our life our sweetness and our hope. To thee do we cry, poor +banished children of Eve.” + +Frankie pulled the rug about her boots. “It’s powerful cold. What you +doing, Ellie?” + +“I’m thinking. Sam says if you have a blade of five-finger grass to +carry about no one can deny you what you ask. I don’t believe him. +Wonder if there’s some in the fields now?” Ellen turned her eyes +uncertainly to the future, where somehow she must form a plan. + + * * * * * + +Anton received a letter the next day. “Hit’s from your Uncle Garland. +Says he’s coming in a week’s time for Christmas this year. Hum. We’ll +see what he thinks of your piano-playing now, Frankie. And how you’ve +grown so fair.” + +“Oh Pa.” + +The man straightened his back, looked out the window. “Bear in mind, one +more Christmas and you’ll be going up to that city with him. That’s +Anton Gaddy’s youngen, folks’ll say.” + +“Chicago sounds so far off, Pa. Will Uncle be glad for me to come?” +Frankie smoothed the brightened hair that hung about her narrow +shoulders. + +“We’ll butcher tomorrow. Hear, ooman?” Anton said to Maria. + +“Yes,” she assented, “and it’s just come on the dark of the moon. It’s +right to butcher.” + +“You know I don’t hold by that. But my brother dotes on your blood +pudding and peppered headcheese. Sam and I’ll fix to prepare right +away.” He marched out. + +“If you butcher in the light of the moon,” Maria told her daughters, +“it’ll all drindle away while it’s frying. Just cracklings’ll be left. +The grease’ll go rancid till you’ve got to make it up in soap.” + +“I know,” tittered Frankie, “and that soap will turn the clothes +yellow.” + +“That’s a fact,” said Maria. “Don’t you laugh. My pap and mam e’er went +by the moon. It’s natural.” + +“Will Uncle Garland say I’m fair, Ellie?” Frankie appealed to her. + +“I reckon.” + +“Are you cross, Ellie?” + +“No.” + +“Well you sure act sick then. Doesn’t she, Ma?” + +Ellen, who found tears started easily now, who was wary of her sudden +sieges of self-pity, was running from the room. Again she dipped the +pen. + + Mr. Christian Ay, + + There is a need for me to speak with you. I wish you were still + hired to Brinker. I fear you have forgot me and this is but a + striving after wind. Could you make a way to write or send word? + + Ellen Gaddy + Millville, Ktcky. + +This she addressed, Mr. Christian Ay, Care of Ay’s Store, Louisville, +Ktcky. + +She mused, near suffocating in the loneliness. Had she led him on as +Christian had declared? Had she sinned? Her brows contracted and she +searched again the halls of memory for meanings. Surely she had known to +fear that which befell. Here in the countryside tales were constantly +bruited and old songs sung of fallen virgins and light young men. The +Bible related dire warnings and horrid punishments meted out to defiled +maids. She had led him to their sin then. But that wasn’t so. I didn’t +knowing lead him on. I wasn’t a wanton. There came to her mind the +woodchucks Anton trapped. A shotgun often didn’t penetrate the small +thick skulls so steel traps were set in their underground paths. If a +creature blundered and felt the sudden grip, it would strive with its +greatest strength. And if it could not tear free, it backed into its +den, pulling the trap after. There it gnawed its own leg above the metal +jaws. It destroyed a part of its flesh, knowing it was a way. + +When the next morning was just made, two scalded hog carcasses were +hanging from the sourwood scaffold. The blood had been caught in a bowl +and taken to the kitchen for boiling and seasoning. The great white +wrinkled heads were on the porch in a red-daubed washtub. “If there was +a ooman with child about,” Sam grunted as they were hoisting the scraped +bodies by gambrel sticks thrust through the hamstrings, “we’d have to +take care to cover this mess. Butchering blood on the earth marks a +child.” + +“I don’t have those worries any more.” Anton tossed the liver and +kidneys and sweetbreads in the pan Ellen brought out to them. + +The fire was dying under the iron cauldron. Soon hams were piled in a +heap along with the sagging shoulders and sides on a lye-scrubbed plank. +The sausage-making began. Sam was scraping the inverted intestines +preliminary to stuffing them. He stopped to hone his knife on a +whetstone he carried in his pocket, spat on it for lubrication. “My old +ooman came back last night. First thing Eadie did was boil up hot +mustard water and set her feet in it. She chewed up a sourwood twig to +make her a snuff brush. Give me a dipping, Samuel, she says, I’m +tuckered.” He sat back thoughtful. “For Gawd, my house was a lonely +place against that old hen’s return.” + +Anton sliced chunks of meat savagely, the razor-sharp knife whipping +close to his finger tips. He held his silence, fed the pork into the +grinder. + +In the kitchen the women were preparing in their fashion for the +celebration ahead. Anton had given Ellen coins with which to buy sugar +when she did her trading, and for spices and raisins to put in the +holiday cakes. In this season when his brother came for the annual +visit, Anton would have no stinting. “Girl,” he said to her, “my ma used +to make a pale holytide cake. There were whites of eggs beat in bowls +and it was thick with nuts and sugared fruits. Not black like those +strong sorghum ones you-all make. Hum.” He nodded, complacent. + +Ellen was assenting, eager. “I’ll ask Mrs. Love. Could be she’s learned +the rule of such a cake, Pa.” + +“And when you’re trading, go down of an evening when priest is holding +hours for confession. Your uncle be due on Saturday, and I’ll have you +all at the communion rail when he’s here, proper pious.” + +Before walking the muddy road to Millville in the cloudy darkened late +afternoon, Ellen went to her room. She was binding her waist tight with +a length of cloth. “I can’t see nothing yet, but Stacey Love might.” + +In the confessional box, she whispered to the young priest. “Bless me, +Father Tompert. I confess to God and you that I’ve sinned. My last +confession was Easter.” She despaired. It’s all made up of falseness. +I’ve no right to be here. + +“Confess your sins since then, child.” + +“I took God’s name in vain. One time I did truly hate my pa.” + +“Have you had any impure thoughts, my child?” + +“No.” + +“If you have any of these kind of thoughts you must do your best to +banish them. Are you truly sorry for your sins?” + +“I am, Father.” + +She went to kneel in a pew, forbearing to recite the penance prayers the +priest had assigned to her. Instead she asked the Virgin to have pity, +to understand why she was mute to Father Tompert for the sake of Anton’s +pride. She was thus driven, with a measure of courage, to rejecting the +rituals bestowed on her since a cross was hung about her throat as a +baby, since she first held the beads and lisped the Credo. And praying +to Mary, Ellen emerged with her as a personal god. She grasped the +blue-gowned symbol in her need as if it were flesh and blood and could +wield an influence on her fate. She denied the immense father figure of +God without debating it. + + * * * * * + +In coming days she would meet the mail carrier in his Model T, take back +her second letter and place it with the other in the trunk. She at last +put aside the hope of finding Christian Ay. + +By Friday, cakes and tarts, breads, cheeses and dried fruit pies were +overflowing from the pantry shelves. Hams and sidemeat were curing in +the smokehouse, sausages strung lavish from the shed eaves. There were +crocks of fried meat packed in white fat, as well as headcheese, +liverwurst, and tins of fresh lard. In the hot kitchen, Maria was baking +breads and biscuits in the newly-blacked range, vaguely wakened in the +prospect of a visitor. She spoke to Ellen, “Get wax candles when you go +by Love’s next time, girl. The tallow ones ain’t suited for Mester +Garland Gaddy.” + +Frankie was at the long table, a basket of butternuts and walnuts on the +floor by her. She was cracking them on a sadiron with a blow of an old +hammer head. She looked up, “You’re right peaked, Ellie. Are you +ailing?” + +“I’ll hunt out some of that bloodroot tonic,” Maria said, “if you got +the complaint. It’ll make new blood.” + +“I’d as lief you’d sing again,” Frankie was saying. “And you used to cut +up so. Seems you’ve given it up.” + +Ellen, startled, burned her hand on the iron pan she was taking from the +oven. She shook her wrist to ease the seep of pain. + +“Go smear yellow soap on it,” her mother said, “it’ll draw out the +heat.” + +Ellen rubbed on the soap, blinking her eyes. She sang to hide the tears +and to hold her tongue from blurting her trouble. + + If I had known before I courted + That love had been so hard to win + I’d have locked my heart with the keys of golden + And pinned it down with a silver pin + +“That’s too lamenting, Ellie. Sing that one Penny used to. About that +Minnie.” + + Hush little Minnie and don’t say a word + Papa’s going to buy me a mocking bird + It can whistle and it can sing + It can do most anything + +They were making ready for the guest coming. Calico was hung across one +end of the downstairs bedroom to form a separate chamber in which +Garland would sleep. A chair was placed by the bed and a stone-topped +table. In its base was a chamber pot, and on top a crockery pitcher with +pink roses glazed on its surface set in a matching basin. A cake of +store soap lay in a dish, a towel folded beside it. They ripped the bed +tick open, removed the old stuffing, and filled it with soft wheat +straw. The one feather pallet was aired and placed on the mattress, and +over all they spread muslin sheets and their best quilts. + +That night Ellen was in a chair in the warm parlor, her back aching from +the long hours, a piece of mending in her hand. Dark had come on, the +lamp was throwing feeble quivering shadows. Anton was holding the Bible +and his lips moved. He raised his eyes, studied the image of Joseph +alone on the table. He spoke, abrupt, “Where’s the Virgin Mary that +stood there with Joseph? She be broke, I vow.” + +Ellen looked up in alarm. “I took her to the loft-room, Pa. What with +holytide, I thought it would please you if I prayed to her, pious-like.” + +“Well, I allow you can keep her for a spell. But she’ll not be broke, +girl.” + +“No, Pa. I’ll take care.” She arose. “Reckon I’ll go to bed. Coming, +Frankie?” + +He stopped them. “I’ll say the prayer to Michael once for this family. +Get down, you-all.” + +On their knees the women were waiting, their shadows cast like gentle +giants on the wall. The man knelt by the lamp and his specter engulfed +theirs. “Holy Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our +safeguard against the snares of the devil. Thou, Prince of the heavenly +host, by the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all evil spirits +that wander through the world seeking the ruination of souls.” + +The temperature dropped in the night. As they were beginning the morning +chores, whitefrost covered the land. The remote stars were cold and +challenging. Ellen shivered, feeling her frailty. “What does it matter? +One soul like me. I’m but a grain in a field of wheat. Who’s to heed if +I be lone or have a sin to burn me?” + +She was closing the woodshed door. Her two goats got up in the +half-light by the stone wall. Their beards twitched as they chewed in +unison, their hair stood out woolly. “Why did I e’er take up with the +careless love of Christian Ay?” + +She was putting bread crusts and salt and soybeans from her pocket in +the wood trough. She laid her hands on the animals’ soft necks. “Here’s +some linseed meal for richness. You feel the storm coming?” + +She went to get a bucket of tepid water that had stood by the kitchen +range all night, carried it to the barnyard fowl. They were huddling +together, feathers ruffled, on the pole roosts. She threw cracked corn +on the dirt floor of their shed, and the birds hopped down one by one to +eat, singing and crooning over the food. “Tonight I’ll mix a sprinkle of +red pepper in your wet mash to warm your craws while you sleep.” Tending +the creatures of the farm, Ellen took comfort and so forgot herself. + + + 6 + +Garland Gaddy, in a new green Ford, was returning to the home of his +youth. As he drove up the lane, Anton was in the barn on his knees while +the old cow Bramble, delivered him twin heifers. But Garland’s nieces +bade him welcome. They showed him the feather bed and he was well +pleased. He took Ellen in his arms. “You’re a handsome wench, hon. Last +Christmas you were a child and here you’re nearly a woman. What does +Anton say when the young men come sparking?” He pinched her thigh, +smiling warm. + +“You’re plaguing me, Uncle. But he’s a sight for sore eyes, isn’t he, +Frankie?” + +“Oh he is.” + +At night when the festive meal was over they sat in the parlor. The wind +growled, and above the alders at the pond the moon bobbed like a ball on +a chain while water-shadows trembled. Anton kept a fire roaring, +carrying armfuls of oak logs from the kitchen and piling them on the +hearth. Garland brought out a fifth of contraband whisky, setting the +bottle on the round table. The two men tasted from the heavy kitchen +glasses. “This be good moon, Gar.” + +“Well, it beats needle beer. Place I get it has all their hooch analyzed +and tested by a registered chemist. Ought to be good. Cost fifteen +dollars a bottle.” + +“Christ.” Anton was impressed. “Smithy sold me some Jackass Peach Brandy +from Virginia. Fifty cents a pint jar.” + +“Better watch out for that junk. Break you down inside. Internal +bleeding. I wouldn’t drink a thing made down here in the Bible belt.” + +Ellen was sent to the cellar for a bottle of pale sweet wine that Anton +made yearly from his scuppernong grapes, the vine of which had been +planted five decades ago by Jules Gaddy, the father of the brothers. +Ellen had put a scarf at her neck and it became her. She poured the +wine, and came behind her uncle in his chair. When she put her head +against his while he was talking, her hair fell on his shoulders. And +she loved him. + +Garland Gaddy was the middle one of three brothers, a bachelor. He was a +head taller than Anton, overweight, not yet fat. His small eyes were +light blue, his once-blond hair had turned gray, he trimmed a neat +mustache. His jaw was square, his lips full. He wore hand-cut dark +suits, vivid ties. As a child he had shared with Anton their mother’s +neglect, had run away from home at nineteen to prowl the states from +coast to coast, brawling and scattering his seed. Then when he was +twenty-nine, Anton offered him the sum of fifteen hundred dollars in +cash, Maria’s dowry, for his half the farm. Garland had accepted, +hitchhiking to Chicago with the bills sewn into his belt. He soon was +co-owner of a thriving burlesque house. Now, over twenty years later, +from his office on State Street he handled a set of neighborhood +theatres where vaudeville and the silver screen vied for public +approval. + +Anton was affected by the abundance of festive food, the polished house, +and the women’s raiment. Maria even, had laid aside the sack apron she +usually pinned on and was wearing her churchgoing black dress and an +ecru crocheted collar. Anton nearly begrudged the honor they paid +Garland, although his pride assured him that the tribute was to himself. +“Say, Gar, I call to mind when we were youngens, and Ma was honing for +that black driving rig. You recollect? Our sir had but two gold dollars. +So he went to Trader Bocock. Said, Bocock, you can have this gold and +all the rocks you can haul out of that rye field if you’ll trade that +rig to me.” + +“She get the buggy, Pa?” asked Frankie. + +“Bet she did, hon,” Garland said. + +“What did the trader want of rocks?” + +“I don’t know. But Bocock had the field cleaned before spring plowing,” +said Anton. + +“Ma managed to get what she wanted pretty near every time,” Garland +said. + +“Hum.” Anton packed his pipe, pushing with his thick thumb. “Had her +hands full. Say, Frankie, play for us, and sing the prayer you learned.” + +Frankie obeyed. + + Angel of God, my Guardian dear + To whom his love commits me here + E’er this day be at my side + To light and guard, to rule and guide + +“That’s a special prayer, you know, Garland. Priest says it’s worth a +hundred days’ indulgence. Sing it once more, Poppet.” + +“I better learn that one.” Garland kept time with his hand. He got up to +stand by the upright piano, tapping his foot. “You know the old +one—Captain Jinks?” + +“I don’t think so, Uncle.” + +“Goes like this.” Garland made several false tries before he sang in +off-key: + + I’m Captain Jinks of the horse marines + I feed my horse on corn and beans + And court the ladies in their teens + For that’s the style in the army + +“That’s a new one, Uncle,” Ellen said. + +Garland was pulling her hand, drawing her beside him. “You sing with +me.” + +When they had finished, Ellen offered, “Want to hear one of Penny’s +tales?” + +“That roaring ooman,” growled Anton. “Tell you, Gar, she couldn’t cut an +onion or hold a scrub brush without she was screeching some foldilay.” + +“Let’s hear it, puss.” Garland sat back in his chair. Ellen stood behind +him to sing while Frankie played. Anton bit his pipe in his yellowed +teeth and the smoke wreathed. Maria knitted, her lips moving +occasionally with an inner thought. + + I courted pretty Pol the livelong night + Then left her next morn before it was light + +The song told of how Pol went riding off with the man and then, + + They went a bit further and what did they spy + But a new-dug grave and a spade lying by, + Willie, O Willie, I’m afraid of your way + I’m afraid you will lead my poor body astray + Pretty Pol, pretty Pol, you’re thinking just right + I dug on your grave the best part of last night + +And Willie stabbed the girl and put her in the grave. + + He threw a bit of dirt o’er her and started for home + Leaving no one behind but the wild doves to mourn + +“Now, if that ain’t a dumb fool story,” Anton snorted. + +Ellen looked down at Garland and he patted her hands, placing them on +his shoulders. “I liked it.” + +“You e’er hear,” she asked quickly because of the tears that were +trapped by her father’s scorn, “it will strengthen a man’s eyes to have +a mustache?” + +“Well,” he laughed, “I’ll keep it then.” + +Uncle’s so kind. It came on her as he was stroking her wrists. + +Anton lifted his head. “My sir said his grandsir in France owned a +sporting hog one time. You mind that story, Gar?” + +“He called her Slut,” Garland said. “He was a gamekeeper in one of the +king’s forests. Bred his own dogs, taught them to stand and back game. +They say he was watching the men and saw the pups weren’t responding. +Little black shoat went by, not a wild hog, she was the kind that ran +loose in the forest those days. Made a wager with the men, he could +train and break the shoat faster than they could the dogs. He penned +her, taught her to come to her name. She pointed small game and +partridge. After awhile she’d retrieve rabbit and pheasant, careful, +too, she didn’t harm them—all sorts of game. Did better than his dogs. +And backed them when she saw them point. That hog’s nose was so true +she’d point a bird fifty yards away. In a straight line. That’s the +story anyway.” + +“He win the bet?” Frankie asked. + +“Oh sure, hon.” + +“Came when he hollered,” said Ellen. “Wish I could have seen that.” + +“Did she run good or was she too fat?” asked Frankie. + +“She was trim. She’d come at full gallop. Excited like the dogs when she +saw a gun.” + +Maria said, “They must have set store by that beast.” + +“You bet,” Garland turned to her, “and you know, Maria, when Slut was +ten years old she weighed half a ton and they still hunted with her.” + +“Ain’t that a tale, Frankie?” Anton demanded. “Those were the olden +days. Then there came the time of Napoleon the Bonyparty. Pa’s grandsir +had to soldier under him. He’d watch o’er the old country and if some +land like Germany was trying to conquer a scroungy sort of a country, +why Napoleon the Bonyparty, he’d say no. He’d get in front of his army +and go lick Germany or whate’er land it happened to be. He stayed in +France between wars and our great grandsir belonged to his company.” +Anton shrugged with pride. “That fellow wasn’t the king, he worked for +himself. He made his living that way, watching o’er the old country.” + +“Say, my great great grandsir,” claimed Frankie, “knew Napoleon the +Bonyparty.” + +“Well,” Garland was laughing, “tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. Let’s hit the +hay.” + +Ellen stayed awake far into the night. The wind was tugging at her +window and the lonely dark pressed down. Her lips were dry and her mouth +became as cotton. I’ll tell Uncle tomorrow for sure. At length she +lapsed into a fitful sleep while in the parlor below the fire died to +coals and field mice came from the walls to nibble crumbs and nut meats +fallen on the rugs. + + * * * * * + +At breakfast Maria was stirring a pancake batter while the girls fried +sausages and potatoes, set out slices of blood pudding, crocks of jam +and sorghum. “I favor lacing griddle-cakes with hot sausage fat,” Anton +said. “Sweetening takes the taste out.” + +Garland, clad in a red shirt, new hunting pants and shining engineers +boots, beamed. “Good old country sorghum for me. Well, pusses, what’s +new? Anyone dream about a pointing pig? Or poor Pol? Or Napoleon?” + +“I ne’er,” giggled Frankie, “but tell another story.” + +“Well, you know that same great-great-grandfather of yours that trained +Slut, went to Russia with Napoleon’s army. There was a bad winter and +Napoleon beat it back to France. He let most of the troops die in the +snow without food.” + +“I don’t take much stock in that,” said Anton. “I doubt Bonyparty did +that.” + +“Now, Anton, you know Pa used to talk about it. How they conscripted all +the men of the village, twenty-three of them. And only his grandfather +came back.” + +“He must have been strong. They say he was a good-looker, too,” said +Anton. “Finest in the village, a proud one.” + +“Doesn’t look like you or me inherited much from him,” laughed Garland. + +“Reckon Marc took after him,” Anton said, “for he was the dandy of us +three boys.” + +“Well,” Garland asked, “what you pusses got to report this morning?” + +“One of the barn cats brought in a little mole yesterday,” said Frankie. + +“You didn’t know I lost my white kid last summer, Uncle,” Ellen said. +“He was but two months old.” Lines still edged her eyes when she spoke +of it. “You ne’er got to see him.” + +“I was telling about the mole, Ellie.” + +Garland listened to them, then said suddenly, “Now An, here’s something +I’ve been meaning to bring up. Been thinking a lot about Frankie here. +About her coming up to the city next year. You see, I want everything to +go right. She needs to make a good impression from the start. Now you +folks don’t realize it, but you practically talk like first settlers +with that old-fashioned country dialect. Think Frankie could take +lessons in grammar or speech this coming year to correct some of that?” + +Anton had been spearing sausages and pancakes with a fork. He paused. +The blood was leaping to his cheekbones, his freckles stood out in vivid +specks. He made a guttural sound and scraped his chair back. He spat the +food from his pendulous lips on to the table before him, hurled the +sausage and fork to the floor. “Hit do be my sir’s tongue and my ma’s +and before God, hit’ll be that girl’s. She’ll go forth with hit and no +more farting teaching mesters will I suck upon.” He flung himself from +the house. + +Ellen began to weep. Maria was taking up a cloth to clean the table and +the floor. Frankie looked at her uncle and her eyes were wary, her voice +small, “You’re not afraid?” + +“Jesus Wept, no, puss. Have another flapjack and I’ll talk to him when +he cools off. That squirt always had a hot temper.” + + * * * * * + +Ellen snared the largest of the geese by a stout pink leg. She bore it +to the stump, placed its head between the spikes and cleaved the neck +just below the jaw. She threw the beheaded bird from her to flail its +wings and flop about. She handed the head to Jack, eager and knowing. “I +see you licking your chops.” She tore the down from the breast, stuffing +it into a sack. She brought a pail of boiling water, scalded the carcass +and finished the plucking. She gave the entrails to the chickens to +pick, washed the heavy bird under the pump, hung it near the sausages +dangling from the eaves in the shed. + +In the kitchen, Anton was tipping his chair back. He took from his +pocket a twist of tobacco leaves and sliced the end with his jackknife. +He thrust his short legs in front of him, balancing. “Hell, Gar, might +be it’s as you say and Frankie’s speech is queer to city folk. But what +matters her way of speech if she’s to make music? If you say so, why +I’ll get her a grammar mester. But hark at me, Gar,” and his eyes were +glinting, “don’t ne’er speak again such as you did there before them +oomen-folk. Like what I say ain’t gospel.” + +“Chrissake, get off your high horse. They know you’re boss.” Garland +ground his cigarette butt in a plate and laughed. He ran his little +finger across his mustache, touching his sensuous lips. “I was always +big enough to lick you if it came to that, now wasn’t I?” + +“You’ve tried hit.” + +“I always give you good advice. Now here’s another bone I want to pick. +Indoor plumbing.” He hit his fist on the table. “You think you’ve +progressed because you dug a new privy ten years ago. Maria and those +young girls haul water from the well like pioneers. This is December +nineteen twenty-five. The century of progress.” Again the fist. + +“They got a sink and a clear drain that our ma ne’er had,” Anton +drawled, tobacco juice staining the corners of his mouth, “and she ne’er +had a deep hole like our shithouse but just a board and a shed. Nor that +sweet-water well that Witch Lufty found. I see you’ve gone soft in the +city.” The farmer was pleased, for now the ground was familiar. He +backed down only when there was jeopardy to his younger daughter’s +future. + +“Yes, guess I was going soft, Anton, when I got you that loan back in +the war when times were bad. So you could buy good milkers and get shed +of that worthless herd you were supporting. Guess it’s soft to buy a +good breed of chickens or thoroughbred hogs.” + +“Hell, those are beasts where we make our living. Hit’s not the same.” +Anton stumped to the stove and lifting the round iron lid with the +poker, spat on the coals. They sizzled. “And I paid that loan back, Gar. +Hard cash from crops and milk.” He replaced the lid with a violent +noise. + +“I give up. Chrissake, you’re stubborn.” Garland arose. “I suppose you’d +declare you’ll never run in a line and wire the farm for electricity?” + +“I was born by lamplight and I’ll see that I die by it.” + +“Well, I’ve got two or three Christmas packages in the Ford.” Garland +was going to the door. “Good a time as any to bring them in. Frankie,” +he shouted, “call off that practicing and come with me. Jesus Wept, this +is a holiday.” + +Anton was sawing his fist in the air, exhorting, “Remove not the ancient +landmark which thy fathers have set, says the Word. Mind, Gar.” + +That evening an austere meal of bread and cabbage soup was consumed. By +custom the family semi-fasted before communion. They would wait to eat +of the festive food when they returned from midnight mass. After supper +the girls popped corn and cracked nuts to put on the table. Ellen boiled +up a pan of taffy at Garland’s suggestion. She buttered her hands and +pulled it with him until it cooled into long pale sticks. But all his +jokes and laughter did not rouse her from her lassitude. + +At mass she moistened her tongue to swallow the dry communion disk. It +seemed to her that now truly the door was closed on her childhood. As +she returned to the pew she grieved, weighing what she had read in her +Bible. If thou hast done foolishly in lifting thyself, or if thou hast +thought evil, lay thine hand upon thy mouth. For as the churning of milk +bringeth forth butter and the wringing of the nose bringeth forth blood, +so the forcing of wrath bringeth forth strife. I’ll have to find a way +to leave my home, a place to go and drop this wayside colt. + +Garland drove the green car back down the road to the farm. He was +talkative and his mood had passed to his brother. “Tell you,” Anton was +yawning, “I’ll ne’er forget that Christmas I passed shivering and +repenting while sleeping up against the cows, and thinking of you and +Marc warm in the quilts. I’d been whipped on my knees for leaving the +cow gate open. You remember it? That was one.” + +The car lights beamed down the corduroy road. The night was parted like +great doors swinging open on hinges. I haven’t told Uncle yet. A light +fall of snow was starting and the wind hushed. + +The store-wrapped gifts that Garland had laid on the table in the parlor +were opened Christmas morning. Anton was puffing at a hand-rolled cigar. +“If you be setting and your hands be idle, hit’s a good enough +pleasure,” he said, stinting. “I even heard they’re rolling cigars now +with a machine.” + +Ellen opened her package, took out a hat of crushed blue satin, a silk +rose on its soft brim. “My, that’s fair.” Her voice was tremulous +because of his care for her. + +“Put it on, hon,” he was saying. “Ordered it special from the milliner. +You know, satin’s the thing this year. Say, when she wears that to mass, +Anton, you’ll have to keep the beaus back with a shotgun.” + +Maria smoothed her fingers over a black crepe de Chine dress. Frankie +ran to try on one of pink wool, to fling herself upon Garland while her +father smoked in his chair, tracing her movements with a jealous eye. +“E’er see the glass bowl-garden Frankie made me last summer, Gar?” he +asked. “Hit’s setting in the bedroom window.” + + * * * * * + +Ellen was drying the breakfast dishes when Garland came into the room. +He had on a bright striped jacket and brown corded jodhpurs. His gray +hair was neat, his square jaw shaven. “Don’t you ever get tired of all +this work, puss? You never get a change, hidden out on the farm here by +yourself.” + +“It’s my home, Uncle. And I love the earth and its doings. Sometimes in +the summer it comes on such an hour like when the Lord God walked in the +garden of Eden. Sometimes a wind passes o’er the earth that’s fair and +all its bounty is spread before.” The wetness stood in her eyes as she +was blurting it. + +“I know, but you’ve got your future to think about. You should meet +people. Get around. Your father dotes on Frankie too much, never gives a +thought to you. It’s not right, you know.” + +“It’s his way.” + +“You got a boy friend?” + +“No.” Water filled her eyes again. + +Garland tapped the table. “It’s your father. Keeps you kids cloistered +like a pair of nuns.” + +Ellen was stacking the dried silver in the milkglass jar. She turned to +him, desperation fringing her tones. “I would as lief go from the farm +awhile, to see the world outside.” + +“Course you would, sweet.” He was hearty. “That’s only normal. Now what +chore comes next?” + +“Tending my goats.” She was taking her coat from its hook. “Want to +come?” + +With the dog trailing after, they took the path over which Ellen had +sped light in the summer past. She fed her does and was standing at the +gate while they ate, her eyes absorbed. Garland smoked his cigarette, +observing her a while. “How would you like to visit me in Chicago, +sweet? Work’ll be light here till spring. They can get along without +you.” + +She breathed soft, “Pa’d not have it.” + +“He doesn’t need you. Got your sister to keep him company.” + +“He does so need me.” + +“Well then, he can let you have a vacation.” He smiled. “Does he ever +strap you now you’re a grown girl?” + +“No, but I call to mind when I was a child and once Ma said I picked at +a rhubarb pie from the pantry shelf. I ne’er knew of it being there. Pa +cut a hickory, length of his arm, and beat me. Made me kneel. Said I +lied. I won’t squall and that gets his back up.” She rubbed with her +finger the area between the black stub horns of Rhodie, veiling her +eyes. “Reckon I’d love to visit at your house.” + +“Well, it’s high time. I’ll throw a party when you come. I’ll talk to +Anton this afternoon. Tell him it’s only logical for you to be first +since you’re the oldest. He’ll let you. You’ll see.” He was putting his +arm around Ellen. She leaned against him with a sigh. “You’re a sweet +girl, hon.” He kissed her, lingering on the young mouth. + +Ellen decided not to say more to him now. I’ll wait till I’m at his +house to tell him he must help me. + +Anton wasn’t averse to Ellen’s journey. Garland had emphasized how he +was making ready for Frankie’s arrival the next year, and he spoke of +the money he planned to spend on her. + +Maria said suddenly, “Who’ll do the trading if Ellie goes off?” + +“Enough jawing on this,” cried Anton. “I’ll send Sam, ooman. Ellie’ll +not be gone two-three weeks.” + +Garland laughed, “Her turn comes first. You don’t mind, do you, +Frankie?” + +“Oh no, I want her to go. Maybe I could do the trading, Pa? Just while +Ellie’s gone?” + +“No, Poppet. Say, is she riding back with you in the auto?” Anton +inquired. + +“I guess not. No, I’ll be going by way of St. Louis. I’ve got some +business to look after. Then I’ll drive on up and get the house in +order. I’ve never gotten ready for one of these young ladies before.” + +“She’s taking a train then?” Anton was persistent. + +“This is my treat. I’m giving Ellen the ticket money. It’s an extra +Christmas present.” + +“Well. If you want,” Anton said, relieved. + +Ellen stood by them pale, her eyes fastened to her uncle. He nodded, +“Come the middle of January, puss. Leave here on the fifteenth. I know +the train. There’s only one out of New Hope that goes to Chicago.” + +“Yes, Uncle.” + +“It’s foolishness.” Anton walked out. + +Before Garland left, he came on Ellen alone, slipping her an envelope of +money. “No need to mention this to your father. What he doesn’t know +won’t hurt him. Just tell him I gave you enough for your ticket.” + +“All right, Uncle.” She held the extra money tightly in her apron +pocket. + +On the morning after New Year’s Day, Garland was jaunty in his yellow +driving cap and raccoon coat. The girls were helping him carry his bags +out to the Ford. Then he unfolded the hood, examined the interior. +“That’ll do.” He fastened the hood down, removed the figured radiator +cap and dipped a finger. “Water.” + +Frankie brought a pail from the pump. “Can I do it?” + +“No, this is fine.” He poured until it flowed over, replaced the cap, +and opened the car door. “Here goes one more year.” + +“Wish you’d stay on a while,” said Frankie. + +“There,” Maria said, “I love that dress. I ne’er had a silk one before.” + +“That’s crepe de Chine, Maria,” Garland laughed, “it’s the style.” + +“It’s not silk, ooman,” Anton said, “that stuff’s too dear.” + +“Yes, is it,” Garland said. “It’s one kind of silk. Well, here I go.” +His gloved hand was waving from the window. The exhaust rose in a fog, +dogging the car in the chill air. + +The days sped. It was time for Ellen to leave. She had bought a length +of dark heavy cloth with some of the money Garland had given her. She +made it into a dress, cutting so it hung in loose folds on her hips. “I +can feel where it lays hard in me. Soon the cleverest stitching won’t +hide it.” + +She had given Frankie the primrose bulb from Brinkers’ kitchen. “Hope it +fares well. Keep in mind to feed it cold tea. And do tend my goats, +Frankie.” + +“You’re only going for a week or so, Ellie.” + +“Uncle said I might stay a little longer.” + +Ellen was bringing salt to her two does. They licked her hands, leaning +affectionate against her. She knew the places they liked best to be +rubbed, along the withers and between the horns, on the silken spots +behind their small pricked ears, on their throats below the beards. +“Frankie’s promised to care for you.” + +Maria said, “Bye now. When you reckon Mester Gaddy’ll be back from +taking you to Millville? I’m out of coffee.” + +Frankie was kissing Ellen fondly. “It’ll be right lonely with you off +there. I’ll miss your singing, too.” Frankie’s qualms for her own +leavetaking a year hence were exposed when she viewed Ellen’s breakaway. +“There. I’m that eager to go to Uncle’s myself.” But she whispered, +plaintive, “Wish I was little again. What if it’s not fun like you think +it’ll be, Ellie?” + +“I ain’t afraid,” Ellen spoke stoutly as she stepped down to where the +team waited; her tan coat was covering her new dress, she wore the blue +satin hat. Jack was flattening his ears and going to sit amid the weeds +on the bank to await her return. + +Anton drove the buckwagon, Ellen on the railed seat beside him. At +Love’s she would wait to catch a ride on the milk truck to New Hope. +“You be a credit to me, girl. I don’t favor your idling about in that +Zion. And you’ll not lust after young men, mind.” He was nodding. “So I +told my brother.” He reined in the team outside the store. Ellen went in +for Maria’s coffee. She handed it up to him. “I’ll see you in two weeks’ +time. You can write and I’ll make a way to get you home.” + +“Yes, Pa. Goodbye.” Ellen watched the buckboard until she could barely +make out her father’s round hat. + +In Love’s store, she was peering through the wide window. Stacey Love +rocked, vigorous, by the stove. “Hit’s a far piece where you’re going.” +Grady was chopping wood and the report of his ax was heard. “I always +thought a heap of Mester Gaddy’s brother.” She placed a pinch of snuff +between her lower lip and teeth. “Though I ne’er had no truck with +another Yankee.” + +Ellen kept silence, sickened with excitement and fear. + +“You’re sure looking seedy, Ellen. I was telling Grady you seemed kind +of pinched this winter.” Stacey swayed back and forth. + +There was a noise at the door and Lily Garrett was pushing in, her curls +springing about her soft face. “Well, hey you-all.” + +“Wish I had a rich uncle,” Stacey went on quietly. + +“Why, Ellie Gaddy,” the fat girl cried, “where you going all smartened +up? And you got a new hat. Look at that rose.” + +Ellen kept her back to them. She continued looking up the road, the +pulse in her throat throbbing. + +“Ellen’s leaving us poor folks, Lily. Going to the big city.” + +“Oh, Mrs. Love,” whispered Ellen. + +“My goodness,” cried Lily, “you ne’er told me.” + +“Wish I could go visiting,” Stacey said, “lie around in bed of a +morning.” + +“You-all heard,” Lily called to Ellen, “Buck Lemmon and Sophie Goode +wedded? Kept it a secret. It was at the husking bee they met up. How +come you didn’t go to the bee, Ellie? Mandy declared you were going.” + +Ellen looked around. “My pa wouldn’t suffer neither me or Frankie to go, +Lily. That’s all.” + +“I calculate Buck Lemmon seen Sophie a sight before that husking bee,” +Stacey said flatly. + +“Whate’er you mean?” Lily was giggling. + +“I ain’t saying,” Stacey smiled. “But you e’er see such a funny-looking +girl as Sophie? I marvel at her catching a fine fellow like Buck. I can +see she’s wearing stays and binding herself so it won’t show. Guess she +allows she’ll fool somebody that way. Buck told me himself she’s been to +see Doc Trumbo. Lazy old sow.” + +“There’s the milk truck.” Ellen turned to flee. Lily was kissing her +extravagantly at the door while Stacey waved a hand and renewed her wad +of snuff. Ellen hailed the truck. “Can I hitch a ride to New Hope, +Mester Durley?” + +“Sure thing, Miss Gaddy.” Those were his last words until they reached +the New Hope station. + +“I’m beholden, Mester Durley,” she said as she was taking her bag. + +“Sure thing.” + +In her valise was the plaster of Paris image of the Virgin Mary, and +Ellen was somewhat fortified by its presence. + + + 7 + +The whistle was shrieking as the train coursed into the suburbs late in +the night. The cars slunk past small sharp-angled houses, massive +factories belching fire, streets of lighted stores and cafes, +slow-moving people and streetcars, trucks, wagons and horses or mules, +buggies, automobiles. The coach cars were strung with yellow window +links that curved on the track ahead into a tunnel. Ellen saw muffled +groups of people under bright station lamps. Her journey was done. She +reached the cold cement of a pillared runway, stood impotent, +bewildered, jostled by passengers on their separate ways. She was +clutching her bag in one hand, the other in her coat pocket held her +handkerchief in which the money was knotted. A familiar voice spoke in +her ear, “Well, here’s the little country wench.” + +It was Garland, suave in a tight-fitting suit and spotted tie, a derby +on his head. He carried a fur coat, his face seemed old and yellowed in +the glare of the platform. He kissed her mouth and she felt the +mustache, clung to him. “I thought I got lost, Uncle.” + +“Porter.” Yellow taxicabs were waiting in a line. They got in one and +drove a long time. She was asleep, her head limp against the hard +leather. Garland was waking her. “This is it, sweet.” + +She stumbled after him up granite stairs. He stooped over to unlock a +door, pushed it open and they went into an unlighted hall where a +staircase reared. “How about something to eat? Some hot milk?” He +flashed on a light overhead. + +“I reckon I’d better just sleep, Uncle. I’m beat.” + +“Your room’s up here.” He was climbing ahead on the broad uncarpeted +steps, carrying her valise. A musty odor lingered about them. + +“My, you’ve got a big house, Uncle.” Her voice was loud in the echoing +vestibule. + +“It’s big all right.” He preceded her down the hall and opened a door, +stepped in and snapped the button of a wall lamp. An orange bulb glowed +faintly. “If you want more light, there’s one by the bed.” It was a +high-ceilinged room with a dark red rug. The wide ornate bed was covered +with a heavy magenta spread and on the wall was a round mirror in a +gold-scrolled frame. Through the mesh curtains hanging in front of the +windows Ellen saw lamps in the street underneath and tree branches +twining still and soundless. The doorbell grated below. “Goodnight, hon. +Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” He was gone. + +Ellen attempted to draw the heavy drapes that hung at the sides of the +windows, but discovered they were fastened there. She was fumbling at +window shades, drawing them down. She heard voices raised below, +stiffened to listen. Through the floor boards came a woman’s faint thin +laughter. Then all was still. She pulled the chain of the bulb over the +bed; in the sudden whiteness dust balls in the corners were exposed, and +stained paper on the walls. She put the light out. Below all remained +quiet. She folded her dress on an armchair. Cautious, she left the room, +found the bathroom around an angle in the hallway. When she turned the +spigot, water spurted and roared. Shy of disturbing the household, she +washed meagerly, then hurried back and turned off the orange wall light. +She crept into the cold foreign sheets. And when she slept it was as if +her fears backed off. In dreaming Christian Ay was taking her hand in +his. In his way he was laughing as if there was an old joke between the +two of them. + +When she came downstairs in the morning, her footsteps resounded in the +vestibule, at the end of which was a door. It opened into a large +green-carpeted room. Somber-colored chairs and sofas were flanked by +trivial tables bearing bric-a-brac and crystal and cloisonné ash trays. +On a corner table, in a ponderous silver frame, was a daguerreotype of +Nell Gaddy, garbed in a ruffled shirtwaist and a wide straw hat tipped +with an egret’s wing. Beyond she could see the dining room and her uncle +at an oval table, his breakfast and a newspaper spread before him. He +waved his hand, called out. He was shaking a little silver bell. She +crossed the expanse of the green carpet to sit at the table by him. She +sensed the odd odor of his house. It was the strangeness of another +lair. + +“Mrs. Quimby.” Garland was speaking to an aproned bulky woman at the +swinging door. “This is my niece, Ellen. She’ll be visiting here.” + +“Pleased, be sure,” said Ellen. + +The woman turned away, grim, reappeared with a plate of bacon and eggs +and a cup. Gray-black hair wisped about her face, a formless dress was +belted on her full hips and buttoned down the front under the apron. Her +eyes were colorless. She set the food before Ellen and withdrew. + +“Don’t let her ways bother you, puss. You’ll get used to her. She’s a +gem. Been with me years.” He was pouring her coffee. While Ellen ate he +spoke rapidly, “Sleep well? You do what pleases you. The house is yours. +I’ll tell Mrs. Quimby you’re mistress. Like that?” He was tapping the +chair arm with his finger. “Want to go for a walk? That’s Redding Street +out front. Pretty district here. Old. Want me to invite some friends for +a party?” He drank the last of his coffee in haste, jingled the bell +again. The housekeeper instantly opened the door, her mouth a penciled +line. “Make my niece at home, Mrs. Quimby. Fix her a good lunch. Don’t +know what time I’ll be back.” He hurried to the vestibule, returning in +a raccoon coat and black spats. He was holding a cane and a black felt +derby together in one hand. He looked down at her. “Not much to say, +puss. You like my house?” + +“I do, Uncle.” Ellen couched her words with care, “Be my speech queer +like you told Pa my sister’s was?” + +“Well, of course you talk the same as her, hon. But I don’t want you to +change. Frankie’ll be living here in Chicago. So that’s different, see?” + +“I’d fain live in Millville all my days.” + +He kissed her and she smelled the perfumed lotion. He eyed her +quizzically. “Such a little innocent. Don’t ever change, sweet.” The +outer door was slamming after him. + +The hours passed, the first ever spent away from home, away from the +ritual of farm work. Ellen saw how mealtimes were varied to suit the +whim of Mrs. Quimby, how Garland was blind to the management of his +house. He was gone for many hours in a day, often returning after she +was in bed. He had little time for her. She would wander through the +house to sit in the sun-bright bay window in the dining room, to tune in +the cumbersome radio set on the marble table in the other large shaded +room. Her plight and its urgent solution lay untamed, twisting in the +back of her mind. She went upstairs, past the closed doors of the +hallway to the blue-and-white statuette she had placed on the highboy +beside the bed. “Deliver me,” she prayed. + +On her third day in the house she came to the kitchen, seeking +companionship, and pushed the door. Sarah Quimby stared from where she +sat reading a paper booklet. In her hands was a steaming mug that she +set on the galvanized table top with a sharp click. Behind the +dour-faced woman was a double-doored wood icebox trimmed in bronze, and +above it swung three or four canary cages. The pale yellow birds were +silent, heads cocked, alert. On the sink was a disarray of food and +newspapers and opened cans. The hard-wood floor was littered with crumbs +and dust. “There’s many a fine secret Sarah Quimby knows, miss.” The +housekeeper’s voice was high-pitched and her finger wagged. Ellen let +the door swing shut. “I know goings-on,” the woman was shrilling behind +it. + +Confused, Ellen went to sit in the bay window. “Old witch,” she +murmured, laying her hand on her cheek. Frown lines were drawing across +her forehead. + + Don’t place your affections + On the green sycamore tree + For the leaves they will welter + And the balls they will fall + If you can’t love arightly + Don’t love none at all + +In the round mirror in her room, Ellen was deliberately examining her +figure clad in a flannel chemise. It was evening, the wall lamp burned. +She placed the strip of cloth about her waist, making it firm. Then she +put on the dark dress she had made for this visit. To the figure in the +glass she breathed, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mester Ay.” The +hurt eyes looked back from the white oval face. The breasts even now +were swelling so in five months’ time they would grow hard and full, the +pink nipples brown. She touched her girdled waist, bitter. “I’ll bind it +tighter and maybe it’ll strangle.” + +There was a knock and Garland appeared in the doorway, remote in a +severe black suit and bow tie. “You put me in mind of my mother there.” +He looked at her heavily and turned, drawing the door shut with a dull +sound. She stood a moment, then moved to the windows, pulling up a shade +exposing the windy lean night. Yellow street lamps bloomed stark and +shorn tree boughs swayed. She was weeping after a while, darkly. + +Later she glided down the long staircase where the echoes lived, and +into the big room. A score of people were milling in the blue mist of +tobacco smoke and the vague sensuous odors of perfume. In their hands +were stemmed glasses and morsels of food. The air stayed hot and unreal, +the voices an undulating drone above the clicking and chinking of +dishes. Garland came across the room, ruddy-faced, waving a glass at +her, his breath strong. “This is my niece. The one I told you about. The +little goat-girl from the Kentucky hills of home.” He took her arm. He +was like somebody else; fine wrinkles were etched about his soft-skinned +jaw and across his brow. He spoke loudly to a white-haired tall man. +“This is Ellen.” + +“Mester,” she whispered, and she said, “Lady,” when it was a woman as he +took her around the room. Her head throbbed, she wished the night done. +Garland left her and she stood apart, waiting. Then he found her again, +urging her to sing. “This niece of mine can do the old-time songs up so +prettily. Go ahead, puss. Any tune.” + +Her voice was high and steady while the women’s gems glistened and the +men turned murmuring to each other, puffing long black cigars. + + E’er a night when the sun goes in + I hang down my head and mournful cry + True love, don’t weep nor mourn for me + I’m going away to Marble Town + +“Say, that’s good. You know any faster ones like ‘Bam, Bam, Bamy Shore,’ +Miss Gaddy?” cried a modish blond young woman. “We could dance to that.” + +“No.” Ellen’s voice was small. “Reckon not, lady.” + +“Well, how about ‘Alabamy Bound’?” called another female voice. “That’s +from the South.” + +“I don’t know it,” Ellen said. + +“It’s got rhythm.” The blond girl tapped her feet. “Come on, Nadine, +let’s dance.” + +“Vo-do-dee-o! Whoopee!” They raised their hands as though to pat-a-cake, +swayed and juggled their feet, short skirts exposing slim legs. + + Five feet two, eyes of blue + Can she hug + And can she woo + +Garland was setting his glass down. He began to wail too. He shuffled, +linked arm in arm with one of the bejeweled women. + + She says that + She’s my little baby + My little jazztime baby + +There was dancing, noise, laughter, squeals. Ellen, afraid of the +strange faces, the clever women, conscious of her unfashionable attire, +had retreated to a chair in a dim-lit corner. Mrs. Quimby opened the +dining room door. The woman was austere in a white starched apron, a +ruffled cap askew on her hair. “The dinner is served, sir.” + +When the last guest had gone, Ellen turned to the broad staircase and +put her hand on the balustrade. Her skin was transparent, a blue vein +beat in the temple. She was holding herself tense. Garland looked at her +a moment, his little eyes flickering. “I should have made you rest, +hon.” + +“No.” She shook her head. + +“You sang so pretty.” + +“No, Uncle. It’s no song for city folk.” She flushed, near tears. “It +sounded queer, for a fact.” + +He glanced, curious, at her. “Where did you pick up those songs?” + +“Well, Talithie Gentry of the grammar school used to sing to us. But I +learned the most from Penny Dougherty. Pa hired her two summers back +when Ma took sick.” She sighed, aware of her plainness. + +Garland was laughing, “Did you like the party?” + +“Pa still calls Penny that roaring woman. He couldn’t abide her. Thought +I’d die when she first went. It was so lonely.” And she added, “I +remember ary tale Penny sung.” + +“Not homesick are you?” + +She went up a stair, avoiding his sharp look. “No. It’s the late hour +makes me gossipy. Home we’re ne’er up this late.” + +“Oh yes, want to ask you about church tomorrow. Guess you’d say I’m a +pretty bad Catholic. Manage to make Christmas mass and send a big check +to the cathedral and that’s about it.” He wagged his head, looking up at +her. “But I know Anton brought you girls up strict. Bet he used a switch +like our folks taught us.” + +“He did.” + +“Want to go to mass?” + +“I’d liefer not.” She rubbed her forehead, reflecting. “If you think +it’s not wrong to cross his will?” + +“You mean Anton’s will? Chrissake, I’m all for it. I wouldn’t tell him. +Now, sleep in the morning. Get a good rest. I’ve got some business so +I’ll likely be gone.” + +“I ne’er knew you to be such a rich man, Uncle. When you came to the +farm.” + +“Good night.” + +As she entered her room, she heard the rasp of the doorbell and a +woman’s voice that cut off when the door shut between the vestibule and +the living room. + +The next day large flakes were floating soundless beyond the cold bay +window. Ellen heard a crash in the kitchen, knew another dish had +slipped. Over the trill of the canaries came a loud grumbling. The +swinging door was opening. “I can tell you a secret, miss.” + +“I’ve ne’er a wish to hear it.” Ellen stood up from her chair. + +“Don’t put on airs, miss. Your family’s not much account.” + +“I reckon I don’t know what you mean.” + +“Mr. Gaddy’s the one amounted to something in your family. You’re a poor +relation.” Mrs. Quimby smiled slyly. “You know Mr. Gaddy keeps a woman? +A bad woman. On the east side. You know what they are, miss? He keeps +her for his pleasure.” + +“You’re a liar.” + +“Ain’t you the fool. Where you think he goes nights, looking like +Douglas Fairbanks? Think that’s on business?” + +“Hit’s proper to have a lady friend.” + +“And not make her his missus? Keep rooms for her. Pay her to wait for +him. Give her gold. All these years he’s kept one. Different ones. I +tell you he’s lucky to find a respectable woman like me to run his +house.” + +“I won’t listen. I won’t listen,” Ellen was repeating to herself, +running through the house, over the green carpet, away from the voice. +She turned the key in her door, threw herself on the magenta coverlet, +her hands over her ears. “He doesn’t want me or need me any more than +Pa. I’m like some contrary varmint that no one’ll have any truck with.” +Her self-pity was like wind to a fire. She got up, sat in one of the +stiff-backed chairs, trembling in wrath. + +“I put a curse on Christian Ay who did this to me. Forever, take away +his joy, Mary Virgin. For what’s been wreaked on me. Make him suffer.” + +Suddenly she was rising. She had seen it in an instant. “It just came +o’er me. I’ll go there.” She was lifting down the traveling bag, opening +it on the bed. She packed her few possessions. “I lay a curse on him. +Virgin my witness.” She counted her money, folded it in the +handkerchief. The feverish tenor of the past days was sliding away and +she was cooled again. She rested, and in the night as she was going out, +she stood a letter on the highboy. + + Uncle, I’m beholden for all your kindness. I am going to St. Louis + to see someone. If Pa asks after me will you tell him I will try to + be home in summer. Please don’t try to find me. + + niece Ellen + +At the station she purchased a ticket, sat for a few tired hours on a +bench, her shoes and satin hat wet from the falling snow. Hail Mary full +of grace, the Lord is with thee. Her hand rested on the valise. She +boarded the train and found a seat. Through the window she watched the +red coal of sun lift itself. The landscape was evolving into farm lands, +far-stretched, and sleeping villages. The snow began to melt as they +rumbled southward into Illinois. + +She was dozing. Out of memory sprang an incident involving Anton. It +stirred no warring of anger in her, only the same wonderment she had +experienced at the time. The way of women had come on Frankie, catching +her unaware one night when she was eleven, frightening her, so she +whimpered to Ellen, “I’m dying. Ellie, don’t let me die.” Maria had kept +a pristine silence on all matters pertaining to the body, as her own mam +had done with her. It was a secret, never articulated. Ellen had +whispered to Frankie and they planned. All the while in their whispers +lay a thrill of dread, for it was a field of unknowns. The morning was +Sunday and the girls were dressing for mass. Anton opened the loft door +upon them. “What’s going on here? We’ll be late again. Now move, you +two.” Frankie was nude and gazed, naive, at him. Ellen plucked a garment +from the bed and laid it before her sister. The man ripped it from +Frankie’s hands, threw it at her feet. He turned on Ellen, “Not so +froward, girl,” and stalked out while the two stared. They had dressed +swiftly, mute. But nightly, for many years, Frankie would have an urgent +compulsion to look under her bed before she went to sleep. And Ellen +developed a fear of something skulking and concealed when she was sent +to the cellar on an errand. + +She was unburying this, mulling it, half asleep. By noon she became +wakeful and light-headed, bought a sandwich from a vendor who came +shouting through the stuffy car. The train was halting before a gray +clapboard station house bearing the flecked inscription WEEMS +CROSSROADS. Bag in hand she walked the deserted streets. The air was +less chill, the sky a high blue. She was questioning a storekeeper, then +turning down a muddy road leading into the country. She passed farms and +came to woods where black trees dripped. Brash crows were cawing +somewhere out of sight and neglected clouds floated in fresh winds. By a +fenced-in burial ground, melting snow outlined gravestones. A Mason jar +full of sticks tipped on its side and a withered wreath lay on a plot +enclosed with a black iron paling. Gray granite markers were graven with +dead names and dates. A cow leaned over the cemetery fence in the +distance to crop grass inside; it was bearing heavily with its soft neck +on the sagging wire. + +Ellen came to a dilapidated mailbox set on a stake under a bare-branched +catalpa. She read, Luke Dougherty. She went up the mire of the lane. A +flock of speckled guineas were trotting in the wet meadow. She knocked +at the door to a narrow weather-washed house set beside a shed where +bearded goats were lolling. A hen began to cry in the way they have when +they have just laid an egg, and somewhere back of Ellen the guineas +screamed. A small pretty-featured woman with clear eyes was there in the +doorway. + +“I came to you, Penny. Will you have me in?” + + + 8 + +In a few minutes Ellen was seated in a wood armchair, a blanket about +her, a heated soapstone under her feet. A pot of beans on the range was +giving off a warm strong odor. There were two rooms in the tiny house. +Into this one were crowded the cookstove, a table, a woodbox, two +scratched chairs, a stool, a cupboard, a low cabinet. Washing of dishes, +clothes, and baby was done in a dark-blue enameled basin, the water +thrown out the door. From under the table a child was peering; in his +teeth he gripped a piece of bacon rind, in his hand was a metal +mixing-spoon which he beat on the floor. + +“This is Clate,” said Penny. “He’s a real noisy one.” As Penny bent to +take the rind from him and lift him, Ellen saw she was great with +another child. The little boy squealed, laughing as he was swung high, +and his mother held him for Ellen to see how well formed he was and how +red his cheeks were. + +“He’s fair, Penny,” Ellen said quietly, “but I’m afraid I’m too young +for bearing one. I had to help my goat with hers.” + +“Ellie, you hush. It’s a long ways off. I’ll be here. Birthing’s +nothing. It’s too short to remember. And look what you’ve got.” + +“I hate it. I hate what’s in me. I ne’er want to see it.” + +“I’ll make coffee. Luke’ll be home. He’ll be glad you came, Ellie. He +knows how I’m one for company. There, I’ll have a new baby in March.” + +“You know, Penny, I studied all this time. On a sudden I said, why +there’s one.” Ellen was made helpless by her gratitude. “You’re so +good.” + +“We got ten acres here,” Penny laughed. “Luke’s pa signed this place +o’er to us last fall. The soil’s right clayey but it’s rich enough. +We’re getting by. I look for spring to come. I’m going to eat boiled +greens every day.” She planned, “There’s an attic where you can sleep. I +aim to put Clate up there when he grows a bit. It’s hot in summer.” + +“I missed you at home, Penny. When you went.” + +“We had times, didn’t we? How about when we gathered those sponge +mushrooms in the woods and spread them to dry on your pa’s hog barn +roof?” + +“You were singing ‘Charlie’s Sweet’ and we ne’er saw Pa there.” + +“We had the times though, Ellie.” + +“All on a sudden it came to me there in the city.” Ellen was earnest. + +Penny was holding Clate while he drank milk from a mug. She wiped what +he spilled and sat him in the training chair, handing him a piece of +corn pone. “He’s waiting till I lift him out. Then he’ll go pee on the +rug. Such a small man.” + +They drank coffee adulterated with chicory. Penny got up to mix +cornbread, stirring in a handful of crumbly cracklings. Ellen felt how +the woman listened and waited while she talked, gathering herself. At +last dusk assembled and a bird began to call. A step was heard outside +and he came. “Look here, Luke. Ellie Gaddy. She’s come to bide a while +with us.” + +And love lay in the corners of the house. Penny, her apron high over her +unborn child, moved more gracefully than before. Her face softened and +all the while she hummed and sang. “Now Luke, you visit with Ellie and +I’ll catch the milking.” She threw on a shawl, ran out light-footed, a +lard pail in her hand. + +“Be glad to see this thaw come,” the man said. “I’m that eager to lay +out our garden.” Luke was mindful of Penny’s signal with her finger on +her lips and so he made as though Ellen had been somewhat expected. He +put logs in the stove, and lit candles, telling of the farm where he was +employed. “They name it Webster’s Stock Farm. He’s got a dozen of us +hands to help all winter. He’s a rich man, got a big white house. He +owns these shorthorn cattle. And he’s got little old Jersey cows that he +shows at all the state fairs. He brings home ribbons and silver cups and +sets them in a fancied-up room. Sometime I aim to go along to one of +those fairs.” Tall, black-haired, round-faced, his virility charged the +room. He sat in his mild way on the stool, holding his son, who played +with the shiny suspender clasps on the overalls and then made water on +his father’s leg. + +Then they were eating cornbread and beans and thick chunks of fatback +and soft onion. Penny would feed Clate from her plate. The smell of +tallow candles burning was sweetly pungent and they made a ruddy glow +over the faces. Afterwards Penny held a light while Luke went up to the +attic by the ladder in the bedroom. He was carrying gunny-sacks of hay, +stooped over for the roof was low. Penny handed quilts up to him. Then +Ellen took her clothes from the valise and hung them on pegs in the +beams. She put her statue of the Virgin beside the pallet and slept +well. + +Below in the bedroom, Penny lay in Luke’s arms. “I’m proud she came to +us, Luke.” + +“So good you are, and then my bright-eyed little wife,” he murmured, +drowsing. + +But Penny was wide awake. “All the world and she thought of us.” + +By mid-February they were making a garden. They cut potato eyes, +planting them in deep rows, mulching them with litter and leaves against +frost. Luke strode up whistling, bearing onion sets and seeds in brown +paper bags marked in pencil with the name of the plant that would come +up. They spaded, put in lettuce and onion beds, rows of radishes, +turnips, parsnips, peas and Swiss chard. Penny came to Luke where he +knelt. “This one’s new. Tendergreen Mustard. How come you got it?” + +“I saw it was a new kind, only forty-five days to mature. I knew how +fixed you were on an early garden.” They gazed at the grains of seed. + +“I sure am honing for greens,” the woman sighed. + +The next week thunder was rolling, thumping, across the gray sky. They +waited for the downpour. “In a month it’ll come on twister weather,” +said Penny. “There was one here last fall. Lady down the road had just +boiled up water for her tea. The wind pulled off the roof and sucked the +kettle up. Her and the least youngen got scalded.” + +“Friend of mine,” Luke said, “was in the barn. Tore the door off and him +holding on, flying through the air.” + +“Was he hurt?” asked Ellen. + +“Not as I know. He lived.” + +A thunderbolt pealed directly over the house. Ellen said, “Thunder in +February prophesies frost in May. That’s what I’ve heard Ma say.” + +“I’m afraid,” said Luke, “we’ll lose our garden. This one’s a +gully-drencher.” + +Rain was falling day on day. The sprouting seeds washed up, water +collected undrained on the clay of the garden bed. Pairs of rubber boots +were always standing muddy at the door, for the privy was set far back +from the house. The dirt-floored cellar, reached by a trap door in the +kitchen, was flooded. The jars of preserves that stood on slat shelves +were immersed. Their lids rusted and the labels soaked off. “If I hold +it up to the light I can see some what it is,” Penny said cheerfully, +“but you’re liable to get blueberry jelly, Luke, when you ask for +blackcap.” + +In time the clouds spent themselves. The water seeped away, the sun was +brilliant and refreshed, the earth warmed. The people went out to make a +new garden. + +Luke was walking up the lane one night leading a gray donkey by a rope. +“Mester Webster gave it to me. It was for his daughter, Star. She tired +of it and so she’s got a pony instead.” + +“How come he let you have it?” Penny was pleased. + +“You mind that cow I told you of a while back that had milk fever? Well, +I nursed her. He claims it was my hands that pulled her udder around. +This morning he says, you can have this beast if you’ve a mind. Thought +I might rig a plowshare and maybe work him.” + +“That would be a sight,” said Ellen. + +Luke tied the beast in the shed to a ring in the wall. Ellen was petting +one of Penny’s seven goats. “Hey there, Tiny.” She wondered how her does +Rhodie and Penny were making out, if Frankie was good to them, or +whether they blatted in the woodshed pen. Frankie was ever apt to be +careless. + +In the stable, fastened apart from the does, was a shaggy buck goat with +a long beard. His rank odor dominated the air. He baaed affectionately +at Luke who was scratching his back with a stick. “Good old Brownie.” +The animal turned to lick the urine he excreted in the habit of the +rutting male goat. + +“I’ll be glad when it gets nice so Brownie can live outside again,” +Penny said. “I’m always afraid that smell will make the milk taste.” + +“That smell’s healthy,” cried Luke. + +“Penny, how come your goats are muley?” Ellen was asking. “My two have +got horns.” + +“Well, most of them were born that way. But Luke knows how to stop the +buds if they start to push through.” + +“You rub a stick of this strong acid stuff on, Ellie. I learned it at +Webster’s. It hurts them a bit.” + +“You have to do it careful,” Penny said. + +“Seems like the horns are so pretty though,” Ellen sighed, remembering. + +Days were going by. Ellen felt her waistbands tighten. She found it hard +to grasp that a living child would come from her, believed it would die. +One day she was in the shed where a dozen hens ran loose, their nests +known, a few porcelain doorknobs kept in them to lure them back. “Poor +things. Giving them a mock egg.” Ellen pitied the innocent fowl and she +would turn rocks over for them in the yard so they gathered to peck the +crawling life beneath. When she was bending to collect the eggs from a +nest under a hay manger she felt the child kick. She arose, leaning +against the side of the stall, frightened. She knelt again to take the +eggs, walked to the house slowly. In the evening she said, “I felt it +move.” + +“That’s nothing.” Penny was turning to Luke. “Why don’t you see if you +can get a good rooster from Mester Webster for me? I could raise a flock +this summer off those old hens.” + +“He’s got White Rocks,” Luke said. + +“That what I’d like, a blooded rooster of a heavy breed. Then I could +trade eggs, too.” + +“I was in the shed,” Ellen said, “when it happened.” + +“Just wait, Ellie,” Penny was jogging Clate on her lap, serene, “till it +starts getting knobby and takes to rolling o’er all the while. Wait till +it gets a little bigger.” + +“I’ll wait.” Ellen was bitter. + +At breakfast Penny asked Luke to buy chicory and soda at the store. “And +get me a piece from that bolt of blue-check flannel, Luke, for Clate’s +outgrown his nightdress.” + +“I don’t get paid till the fifteenth.” Luke put on his straw hat. “Now I +doubt the store will credit us any more.” + +Ellen got up hastily. “Wait, Luke.” She climbed the ladder to the attic, +came back to put nearly twenty dollars on the table. “My uncle gave me +this.” She was eager. “You’ll know how to use it. It’s yours.” + +Penny picked up the bills and turned them over, her eyes downcast, her +lower lip in her teeth. She laughed, “Get shed of that store bill first, +Luke. Then buy that length of cloth for Farmer Clate. And if you see +some, get pink muslin too. The new one could be a girl.” + +“I’ll look if there’s a little share at the store to make a +turning-plow,” said Luke, “like I wanted to get for that little ass to +pull.” + +So they thanked her. For the first time Ellen sang when she milked +Penny’s goats. + +Mist was rolling heavy in the hollows between hills one morning. March +gusts had blown in the night, seeking cracks, but Luke had banked the +foundation well with straw and manure so the family was snug within. +Ellen came carefully down the ladder. She smelled hidden odors, saw +Penny asleep in the bed, and from the crook of her arm came a mewling +sound. There was a black-haired child wrapped in flannel, born while +Ellen slept. She turned quickly to the kitchen where she heard Luke +talking to Clate who babbled in reply. Luke looked over at Ellen as she +came in. “That bugger’s going to feel awful silly in pink muslin, +Ellie.” + +“It’s a boy then?” She was fearful. + +“Sure is. Clate’s pleased with his little brother.” Luke gave the boy a +drink of water from a tin cup and then handed him a piece of corn pone. +Clate crumbled the food in a moist hand and threw it on the floor, +shouting. Luke was sheepish. “Can you take him, Ellie? I’ve got to get +to work.” He hurried from the house, his whistling ebbing. + +Ellen wiped Clate’s hands. “Wish things would hold still while I study +to understand.” + +Little by little, she was taking upon herself the care of Clate. She +would bring him to the shed and sit him in a pile of hay while she +milked. “Swap ends, Tiny,” she turned the goat about, “let’s give some +supper down for Farmer Clate.” The child crowed in glee, kissed her with +his wet soft mouth, pulling at her braids. In the house he crawled from +under the table to trail her. She had to tread carefully, watching out +for him. + +But Anse, the newborn one, she avoided. Penny would lay the naked red +body on the bed to change and dress it while it clamored thinly in an +indifferent way, fists clutching in protest. “Why doesn’t he hush, that +ugly brat?” she whispered to herself. + +Clate she took to see the garden coming up, sang to, confided in. “When +I tell the song, I see the picture of what happens. Like ‘Red River +Valley,’ that’s where the river’s muddy with red clay and always there’s +summertide.” Clate was gripping Ellen’s apron; he staggered beside her. +“Hold on to me, now. You should have seen me once in Chicago, when all +the fine gentlemen and ladies listened to me sing.” + +She came to feel her safety here, gradually putting aside the old +terror. She packed the figure of the Virgin into her valise when she +made order once in the attic. Waiting the months out, she left it there. + +She witnessed the ways of birth around her. When Anse was born, Luke +brought home a White Rock rooster as a present from Mr. Webster. It +strutted like a lord before the flock of hens, scratched after fake food +to bring them scurrying. Its sickle-shaped tail feathers were silken and +the crimson comb trembled and folded over with its weight. Ellen picked +him up to stroke the long wattles that dangled below his handsome head; +he breathed coarsely through open beak. When she put him down he made +staccato noises and scuttled after a hen, fanning his wing until it +squatted and submitted to the embrace. + +In the crab apple tree a pair of robins had fashioned a nest. Each day +she held Clate up while he peered in at the four miniature blue-green +eggs. The time came when he shouted to see bare nestlings just hatched, +all gaping beaks. “Don’t touch them, or the mother’ll smell you and not +come back to feed them.” + +In the barn the does dropped their kids. Ellen ministered, impersonal, +put them to the teats to nurse the first thick yellow milk. It would +alter in a few days to become the familiar white fluid. Then she would +milk a share out for the family. + +The white cat ran from her one day and she saw a strange tom in a tree +branch nearby. That night she heard them shrieking in the yard. The next +morning the white cat lay sly in the haymow, licked a scratch on her +paw, cleaned herself and purred. + +She witnessed the ways of procreation and birth, the willing and +unwilling, the casual and violent. “It’s ugly. All those ways are ugly.” + +At night she lay unwieldly, turning restless to find an easy way to lie +now that her body was so increased. The child rolled within and she +sighed, “I’d as lief you came before your course and perished. I’m too +weary to fret about it any more.” + +Penny was asking her to watch Anse while he slept. “I want to put in a +row of those flat white bean seeds, Ellie. They say Good Friday’s the +day to put in beans and it’s way past.” When Penny returned, the baby +was wailing in his basket hoarsely, small face wet with sweat and +crying. Ellen was at the kitchen table, her head on her arms, Clate +playing at her feet. Penny comforted the infant, cleaned him and laid +him against her shoulder where he moistly hiccuped. She came in the +kitchen to sit in a chair and put him to her breast. She asked mildly, +“What’s wrong, Ellie?” + +“I can’t seem to touch him, Penny. I looked and it seemed I wanted him +to cry.” + +The woman said sharply, “You’re not the first girl with a trouble, +Ellie. Nor the last. You’ve got to take hold and plan. You’re not a +child any more and you’ve got to act past your years, and study on the +ways of your turning.” + +From her quilt that night, Ellen was listening to Luke and Penny. “Shh, +is Ellie asleep?” The sharp notes of love fell in the room below. When +Anse whimpered they brought him to their bed. Their gentle voices came +and went. “Poor thing. And it all ahead, Luke. That father, strict and +always preaching the Old Testament. I got no use for him. He’ll like to +kill her if she goes home.” Luke’s voice rasped faintly and Penny said, +“No. Her mother that should be standing by is like a child herself. No +marvel Ellie got taken in by some straying man.” Their voices made Ellen +weep. + + * * * * * + +In June they were whitewashing the narrow house. Penny was climbing the +ladder, Clate upset a bucket on himself, and Ellen, moving heavily, +misshapen, was painting low spots. Anse was asleep in a blanket under +the crab apple tree. When he cried, Penny would put him to a hard-filled +breast while from the other, milk wet her dress as it flowed. “Let it +go. There’s plenty more I reckon.” + +Luke came home for supper and shouted out, “Say, look at that there rich +man’s house. Who’s the master of this house?” + +A pink June rose was crawling heavy-blossomed over the door where it had +been trained. Bright flowers were flocking by the path, and the yard +grass was green. The scene was framed and they stood about to admire it. + +Then a shower was washing the whiteness into gray streaks and soon the +house boards were drab as before. But Penny was satisfied. “It was a +sight if only for a week. I’ll remember it clear till next spring, +Luke.” + +In the first of July, Luke was saying, “Webster’s in a hustle to get the +buckwheat in. Says Fourth of July, wet or dry.” + +“Why doesn’t he wait till the light of the moon when it starts waning?” +Penny was dressed in her best, the babies were clean, their pinafores +starched. One of Luke’s fellow employees was driving by in his car to +take the little family to the stock farm near Hidden Creek. Penny looked +forward to the outing. “Hey, Farmer Clate, come set on your potty before +we go.” She turned to Ellen, anxious, “You going to be all right? How do +you feel?” + +“I don’t feel a thing. I might pick some berries for supper if I can +haul myself down the lane.” + +“Well, don’t tire yourself, hear?” Penny paused. “Maybe I oughtn’t to +go, Luke. Ellie might get taken.” + +The two turned in protest. “Now, you know yourself it doesn’t happen +that quick. Ellie wants you to go. And Clate and me too. Even Anse is +saying, Mama show me those little Jerseys that give all cream.” So the +woman was persuaded and the party left, waving from the car window, +disappearing down the dusty road. + +Ellen sighed in the fresh morning that moved on toward the hot noon sun. +Partridge repetitively whistled in the woods down the road, “Bob-white. +Ah. Bob-white!” A small warm wind stirred and settled, puffs of cloud +drifted very slowly, and the sky was vivid blue. Like a fall aster. Wish +it was over. She was going down the warm dirt of the lane in the late +morning for blackberries. She dropped the first heated ones into the tin +pail; they made whining thumps until they covered the bottom. Juice was +staining her fingers. When the pail was filled she toiled back up the +path. At the pump she washed the dust from the berries and hung them in +the well to cool. She threw water on her flushed face and arms, pumping +more over her bare feet. Refreshed, she was seated in the open doorway, +leaning her head against the frame. The child under the blue apron +turned itself. She drew shallow labored breaths, closed her eyes. “I’m +nigh to smother. Will I e’er take a full breath again?” + +At noon she was restless about the kitchen. She brought fresh water in +from the well, ate a square of corn pone, listless, while a bluebottle +fly churned at the glass of the window. She walked to the field, +carrying a bucket of water to the goats and donkey staked there. The +goats drank slowly, raised mournful yellow eyes while their beards +dripped. The little ass sucked noisily, slobbering, jerking his +overlarge head. He took a button of her dress gently in his teeth. The +girl laid her hand on his woolly shoulder and looked away to the +languishing farmlands where hot air shimmered. + +The flock of guineas had not come in to feed the night before. Ellen +knew some of the pairs had been hiding out, setting their clutches of +small strong-shelled eggs. “Some of the chicks could have hatched,” she +told the donkey, “and are keeping the hens and cocks from feeding. A +skunk or snake might get them.” So she took grain in her apron pocket +and went past the orchard, seeking in the farthest places, calling, +“Wee-wee-wee-wee. Come, wee-wee-weeeee.” + +It was by a lone scraggled locust tree in an open field that a great +pain smote her. She leaned upon the tree while it was subsiding. She +attempted to reach the orchard and stumbling, fell. The onrush of spasms +was far past her imaginings. In the intervals of withdrawal she crawled, +pulled her racked body through the field. “I will not lie out here.” + +A pair of guineas, followed by a stream of peeping spotted keets, +flushed from a covert as she neared the orchard. She but dimly gave them +heed. She was grunting, face fired red, wet from the sharp throes that +came in the scorched air, in the sweet crushed grass and the +round-shaped white clover blooms. She cried out hoarsely, biting her +lips, detached from her sore body where the child sought its way out of +darkness. Her mind was apart in a red torment where she strove +unbelieving to endure. When a seizure would lapse she lay a moment +supine, freed, while above in the sultry blue, a cluster of twittering +goldfinches were bobbing in the Seckel pear branches. + +The hand was laid remorseless again upon her. Muffled at first, it was +graduating into cruel wrenching. Then she evoked the holy Virgin, swore +in agony many bonds, until distracted she knew not of her body as it was +arching itself. In time, from her laden womb the child had its way and +was brought out upon the meadow grass. Thin wails fell on the stifled +afternoon air. And overhead the finches chirruped brightly. + +After long, Ellen heard the faint piping and lifted herself to see the +limp warm child. She wrapped it in her blue apron and laid it at the +base of the old tree. Resting weary on the grass, she waited. When the +evening star showed itself hovering above the horizon as the sun began +to set, her joy caught in her throat. “I came through. I’m unfettered +once more.” + +The Doughertys found her as the evening birds were beginning their +songs. Ellen’s pallet was brought from the attic to a corner of the room +below. She ate milk and berries and bread. In the early part of the +night Penny put the child by her. “You got to nurse him, Ellie. He’s +hungry.” + +Ellen suffered the feeble seeking mouth. “Say, another setting hatched +off, Penny. I saw them in the field back of the orchard. You want to go +get them in?” + +“Now I think you care more for those chicks than your own newborn son.” + +In a short while Ellen was about the house again. Penny had Luke bring +home a few yards of pink-and-white striped material and Ellen was +holding her needle light. “Oh, but I’m a slim one. Look at me,” she +demanded. + +She told them she must go, trying to say the other thing that was in her +mind. “I’ve been studying. I can’t come home dragging it. Pa’d turn me +off. Could you-all find it in you to take it for your own? I’d send +money for its needs.” + +“It’s true what Ellie says, for I know Mester Gaddy.” Penny looked up at +her husband. + +“It’d be a twin to Anse,” he said. + +“We’ll love your baby, Ellie. But you mark me, he’s not our blood. The +day’ll come you’ll rue you didn’t make a way to keep your first-born. +You can have him then.” + +But Ellen was turning away. “Not me. Though I’m beholden.” + +She would walk in the morning down to the Weems Crossroads station. +While they had breakfast, Clate sat on her lap, kissing her endearingly +with his small mouth. “Luke, I reckon it’s the hardest for Ellie to +leave our Clate.” + +“Oh I love him that much,” Ellen sighed to the brown-haired child. + +“We named your boy last night, Ellie,” Luke said. “Simon.” + +“And we’ll call him Simon Gaddy,” said Penny. “We’ll tell him you’re his +ma. So we decided in the night.” + +“I love him that much,” Ellen was saying to the child she held. + + Jaybird up an acorn tree + Shaking acorns down + Little Clate in a sugar tree + Shaking sugar down + + + + + part two + + + Take it up in your arms I said + Let it lie where it must + At your side on your breast + Let it rest + Love has life not of love + But of us I said + Let it lie where it must + + + 9 + +A flicker was piping a thread of shrill notes as it flashed in flight +before her. She looked back to where Penny waved from the lane end, a +child on her arm. Then Ellen turned and strode down the road, carrying +the valise. The heat of the July day was still far off, the morning was +new-made. The stiff skirt of the striped dress brushed her legs. She had +combed her hair from her high forehead in the old way, tying it loosely +with a ribbon. A hot morning wind rippled along the dust of the road, +interrupting for a stitch the stilled cool air. Wild morning-glories +were twining on ditch banks, and in a distant field a boy drove a +diminutive span of black horses through verdant corn rows. It came over +Ellen how comely she was and she made her feet light. “I’m thankful for +this day and for all that lie ahead.” Her life ran out before her +harmonious, like a shining thread. All about there was a singing and a +beating of wings and the sun glowed whitely. She was young and there was +no ending ever. “Clear through the whole enduring ages, I’ll be.” + + My true love up on the mountain + Bowing up and down + If I had my broadax here + I’d hew that mountain down + O get around, Jenny, get around + All on the summer’s day + +On the train, she saw the countryside flowing past the window. The milk +from her breasts was dampening her dress and in her discomfort she +thought of the child once more. She turned her mind from him easily. She +got off at New Hope and hitched a ride with a farmer from Seven Mile +Run. + +“Those are fine mules, Mester,” she offered. + +“Um. They’re Norman mules. They’ll ne’er balk without cause. I got a +brother can start a balky mule. One time him and me came on two niggers +with a load of straw and a cold-shouldered mule. Well, they were plumb +desperate. Built a fire under it, but it only moved up the road a piece. +Far enough so’s the wagon began to burn. They had to unhitch the mule +and back the wagon off to put the fire out. They were setting there when +we came on them. Brother went up to the mule, took hold of its ear and +whispered in it. Well, that mule walked right off. The niggers hitched +up and went down the road. Told everyone Brother talked witchcraft. Um.” + +“Wonder how he did start it?” + +“Um. Said he twisted its ear and blew in it. Said that dazzles a beast. +Brother can do it just so.” He lapsed into silence, his head drooped in +the heat of the afternoon. The mules switched their tails and shimmied +their skin to fight flies. Unguided, they were following the road. + +When they reached Love’s store, Ellen thanked the farmer, climbed down +from the wagon seat to the pike where the clay baked in the molten sun. +Stacey was in the screened doorway. “Ellen? I thought you’d left these +parts. Grady,” she called. “Looky here. How be you, now? Sam Offut’s +taken o’er the trading for your ma. They had a time when first you ne’er +came home. Where you been?” + +Ellen was smiling and nodding. Grady came around the corner of the frame +house; she sought his kindly tight-skinned face. “Hey, Mester Love.” + +“Hey there, Ellen. I swear. Come have a glass of my ginger beer. The +yeast’s working good now. Two bottles exploded all o’er the place +yesterday.” + +She followed him, and Stacey came after. Ellen was eager. “I visited my +uncle for a spell. Said howdy to you both.” + +“That so?” Stacey asked. “He kept you long.” + +“Then I went to stay with Mrs. Dougherty while she had a baby.” + +“Thought she had hers last year.” + +“You remember Penny Dougherty?” Ellen urged. “This is her second. It’s a +boy too. A likely one.” Ellen felt Stacey’s eyes searching her for the +truth. “I came home to help Pa with the summer work.” + +“He’ll be glad to see you,” Grady said. + +“Penny wanted to be remembered to you both, Mrs. Love.” + +“That’s kindly of her,” Grady said. + +“Well,” said Stacey. “You’re looking right pert again, Ellen.” She was +fanning herself with Grady’s hat. + +Ellen sipped the ginger beer while the woman talked. “Mester Gaddy and +that Sam ne’er would say where you were.” Ellen was afraid of Stacey’s +tongue, conscious of the milk dried on her dress, and she wondered if +Stacey could tell it was there. “I reckoned,” said Stacey, “you met up +with a rich Yankee man who made you his wife.” + +“Oh, Mrs. Love.” + +“Now Stacey,” Grady cried, “stop greening Ellen.” + +“I’m beholden for the drink.” Ellen went to the door. “I was parched.” + +“Your daddy know you’re home?” asked Stacey. + +“Oh yes.” She was hurrying out and down Sweetincreek Road, unconscious +of the weight of her bag. Then her gait slowed. A small verging of +anxiety had begun and she pushed it back with her will. She changed +hands with the valise, passed over the wood bridge where the +Sweetincreek flowed, and on the other side, in the swampy earth, was +plucking a green-white flower. “I know this one. It’s the lily of the +valleys.” She breathed the perfume, studying the stony well-worn road. +“Reckon he’ll beat me?” + +She turned into the familiar lane, which seemed shrunken now. She heard +farm noises. A cow mooing softly in a far place, pigs grunting just off +the path, a duck squawking somewhere in sudden protest. The house seemed +smaller and the yellow paint was peeled; it was ugly. Hesitant, she went +up the sagged steps. The towels on the porch line were muddied, the tin +tub was turned carelessly over, the egg basket was torn. She was opening +the screen door. There was no one, no sound there in the kitchen. Beyond +in the bedroom she saw her mother in a chair under one of the little +windows, bent over some work. Ellen looked at her a moment as though she +were a stranger. From the parlor came Frankie’s stripling voice in +singsong, “I do, I did, I have done. I draw, I drew, I have drawn. I +eat, I ate.” The small voice sighed audibly as Ellen entered. + +“Sounds right brave, Frankie.” + +“Ellie! You just came. I missed you. Was it fun in Chicago?” As they +were embracing Ellen saw Frankie’s eyes were dark-shadowed, but her skin +was smooth and her hair glistened. She was asking about Garland. “Is he +kind, Ellie, in his own house?” + +“Of course.” + +“I heard Pa say you ran off and left Uncle. Did you, Ellie? I wanted to +brave Pa to ask. But he gets riled when we name you. Reckon he doubted +you were coming home.” + +“I was visiting someone.” + +“Where? Where’d you stay?” + +“Is he on the outs with me?” + +“Pa? I reckon. You went to St. Louis, didn’t you, Ellie? I heard him say +it to Ma.” + +“You learning grammar again, Frankie?” + +“Tell you true, I hate it. Whate’er I speak, teacher stops me and +changes it.” She shrugged, resentful. “He’s daft.” + +“You let Pa know it?” + +“No, I’m in thick enough with Pa now. He’s e’er raising sand. I got to +practice all morning now and I’m only to help with housework. Not to +milk or hoe the garden.” She looked away. “Wish I was little again.” + +Ellen frowned. “You’ve got to study ahead. And watch the ways of +turning. That’s a thing I learned.” + +The two were silent. Looking back to the freedom of childhood, they +chafed at the fretful boundaries, the responsibility that seemed to mark +maturity. They went forward because there was no other way. Frankie was +looking up, doleful, “Missed your songs, Ellie.” + +“Say, how’re the goats?” + +“The old one dropped two kids. Reckon it was in April. Sam found them in +the morning; one died, the other was a buck, a black one. Pa had Sam cut +it. Said they’d butcher it in fall.” + +“What about the little doe, Rhodie? She drop one too?” + +“I don’t know. I can’t keep it in my head. I think Sam said he took her +to a billy. You ask him. Tell you true, Sam’s been doing for them.” + +“Oh, Frankie. And me pining for them all this tormented time.” + +“I’m sorry, Ellie. I’m a poor thing,” Frankie laughed, pleading. + +“It’s hot. I’ll go unpack.” + + * * * * * + +In the attic room, Ellen made her bed up for the night, put away her +clothes. All the while a thing was waxing heavy in her, leaden, as she +thought on her father. “One thing, I’ll ne’er cry. Wish I could make out +not to fear him.” She took the statuette of the Virgin to its old place +on the round table in the parlor. She could hear Maria and Frankie in +the kitchen preparing supper. Loneliness swept Ellen like an empty cloud +as she stood, uneasy. Anton came upon her there. Looking at his face she +recalled when Blueberry had balked starting a wagon and Anton lashed him +coldly about the head with leather lines. Ellen had watched secretly +from a barn window, heart pumping, waiting until the rearing horse +lunged and moved the load. She was going up the stairs without a word. +He climbed gently after, his breathing becoming strident on the way. + +He held the belt. His voice shuddered hoarse. His lips were trembling +with their weight. “You e’er were froward, girl.” He was hitting her +again, holding the strap with a relentless hand, feeling the easing of +his own sharp flesh. “I’ll teach you yet. Get on your knees. You were +walking and mincing in that seat of whoredom, weren’t you? Did you know +my brother Marc died rutting there in St. Louis? And that’s what killed +my ma?” + +She was enduring the hot bite of the striking leather. She fought within +herself as since a child, to hold silence, pinning her will on it. + +“How do you reckon Sam favored doing your trading? How do you reckon +your chores were done up these months, you plagued dummy?” His voice was +a heavy cold whisper and his gray eyes were half closed. “And you stole +the Virgin image.” + +Ellen was breathless in the sting of tears. It’s his way. It’s for love +he does it. He’s trying to teach me what’s right. He must. + +“Now, you’ll not go off this farm again,” he was warning in the doorway, +“lest I marry you to someone proper.” He paused. “I allow I’ll kill you +before you’ll stand against my will.” He was rolling the belt up around +the home-forged brass buckle as he went out. + +Ellen followed down to the evening meal. She went to Maria eagerly, +kissing her, forgetting, in her need, her mother’s preoccupied ways. +“How’ve you been, Ma?” + +“Tormented, Ellie. He knows.” Maria looked upward with vague eyes. + +“I’ll be here to do for you now, Ma. You glad I’m back?” she pleaded +swiftly. + +“I took count,” Maria said. “Hit’s been six months July fifteen. Mester +Gaddy’s been fretted.” + +“Quit jawing, ooman,” Anton said. “Set and eat.” + + * * * * * + +After the meal, though the air was close, Anton directed the family to +go to the parlor, bade Ellen, “Fetch my Bible.” He took the book from +her, leafed the pages. He looked at Frankie, sitting by Maria on the +sofa. “Even as these oomen fared, so will hit be with you, Poppet, if +you don’t pay me heed.” They watched him take the silver-banded reading +glass, peering through it at the page. + +“Down on your knees,” he told Ellen, and she obeyed. “Because the +daughters of Zion are haughty and walk with stretched forth necks and +wanton eyes, walking and mincing as they go, and making a tinkling with +their feet, therefore the Lord will smite them. And the Lord will +discover their secret parts.” + +Ellen was tired. She was kneeling by the doweled rocker, her head on the +arm of the chair. She closed her eyes and thought about the man who +could start balky mules by blowing in their long ears, twisting them so +they forgot their orneriness. + +“In that day the Lord will take away the bravery of their tinkling +ornaments about their feet, and their cauls and their round tires like +the moon, the chains, and the bracelets,” Anton cherished the syllables, +“and the hoods and the veils. And it shall come to pass that instead of +a sweet smell there shall be a stink and instead of a girdle a rent, and +instead of well-set hair, baldness, and instead of a stomacher, a +girding of sackcloth.” + + * * * * * + +Under the attic window she was lying sleepless, the uncertain moonlight +washing over her bed. The cockerels in the chicken shed were crowing +intermittently, confused by the unseemly moon’s glare. Her body ached +from the beat of the strap. Her breasts were swollen because she had +tolerated the child to nurse her over the past days and the milk had not +as yet subsided. She would wait and in a week the discomfort would be +gone, then she would be done with him. Her mind circled on Penny and +Clate, on the Dougherty beasts, the donkey and Brownie and the doe Tiny. +She was overcome by devotion to them all. She went further back to the +autumn of despair, and to the summer preceding that was fading now as +the separate incidents blurred and blended. The night stretched +brilliant as she rose and leaned at the window sill. The quavering of +the young cocks’ chorus was heard again. + +She slipped into her dress and went down. Jack met her at the door, +hurling himself upon her. She sat on the steps to pluck burrs that were +tangled in his hair. She was listening to the sounds the wind made that +sometimes has a business in the high branches, spurning the ground. In +the warty-barked hackberry there was a rustle as the leaves resisted the +wind, and in the spruce by the road fence an indistinct whisper came and +went as many tiny needles rasped gently one on another. The wind sounds +were all different in the varied trees. In the black willows by the +Sweetincreek there would be a swishing and a swaying, and in the stiff +leaves of the catalpa nearly no noise at all. The mockernut was so tall +and straight that the soughing was disguised and far away. I might know +the particular tree just from the voice of the wind through it. The +cockerels were piping again in the moonlight, foretelling the dawn just +coming. + + * * * * * + +In the early morning she hurried out to find none of her goats at the +woodshed, nor any trace they had been stabled recently there. A setting +goose was peering from under the cobwebbed manger; it hissed a warning, +hovering over warmed eggs in musty straw. For a moment Ellen stood in +the doorway, then she went to the barnyard. Sam was pouring foaming milk +into tall cans. “Your nannies are at the field.” Sam looked her over +quietly. “Your pa says leave them there.” + +“I’m taking them up to the woodshed right now. There’s a silly old goose +setting in there.” + +“Better ask your pa if you can, Ellie.” + +“Well, I’ll help you-all milk first.” + +In the barn she drew the first streams onto the ground to clean the +udder. Then she was milking steadily, her hands efficient. She pressed +her head into the joint of the young cow’s back leg. + +“That Sal’s a real kicker,” offered Sam. + +“Watch you don’t lose her milk,” Anton said, coming in. + +“Ho, suckey.” Ellen would know if the nervous heifer were about to +strike out. She stripped the front teats and began to milk the tight +back ones. “Ho, Sal.” + +Anton gave her leave to take her goats in from the field when she +brought the cows. “And you help with the milking hereafter, girl.” + +Ellen discovered Penny was thin and her udder flabby, for she ran loose +with a black yeanling. Rhodie was slick-haired, rounded with a kid Sam +said she would drop next month. They were skittish and Ellen coaxed them +to her. She sat in the grass with corn in her apron until they could not +hold their greed and curiosity. Penny licked her ear, bleated softly on +her neck, remembering her all at once. The black wether was timid and +handsome but he came under her hand too. She resented his castration +though she knew it was necessary. They were munching the corn grains, +pushing against her. + + Go through my window + My sugar lump + And buy molasses candy + Blue bird, blue bird, go through my window + And buy molasses candy + + + 10 + +The fiery sun of August labored in the sky across the languid procession +of days. In the evenings, by the light of kerosene lamps, the women +still were finishing canning of peaches, tomatoes, berries. They clamped +glass lids on by wire bails and stood filled jars on a rack of laths in +the wash boiler. Pits and peelings were heaped in pails in the yard +where flies gathered, and gnats and yellowjackets. They put up +salt-and-sugar beans, selecting green-tinted jars to protect the color. +They dried peppers and sweet corn. They made brine for gherkins and +green tomatoes, packed a ten-gallon crock in the pantry with cucumbers +and branches of dill. Ellen added horseradish roots to the salty brew, +and mustard seeds. On top she placed grape and cherry leaves. “To get a +good brine you got to add salt just right,” she said, “till it gets the +power in it to hoist a fresh egg from the bottom of the crock and float +hit.” + +Ellen was making jelly. She strained the cooked fruit through flannel +bags and then added sugar or sorghum and boiled the juice. She tested +the hot purple syrup. “It doesn’t want to sheet off and tear proper,” +she told Amanda York who came to keep her company. “I’ll just wait on +it.” She wiped her forehead with a perspiring hand. + +Sometimes Lily Garrett, in a shapeless flowered dress, walked up the +road to sit in the kitchen heat and visit awhile. “You make such pretty +jam,” Lily said. “Why don’t you take some to the county fair at Seven +Mile Run? Mama does. She got a prize last year and hers was clouded.” + +Ellen held the jar to the sunlight; the jelly glowed. “I do favor redcap +jelly.” + +“Well, you should go, Ellie.” + +“What color’s the first prize?” + +“Blue.” + +“You going to, Ellie?” asked Frankie. + +“There’s no harm talking.” + +“Get it out of your head, girl,” Maria was speaking. “I begged Mester +Gaddy ten years ago. He said it was foolishness.” + +“I know.” + +Lily was showing Frankie how to make a special kind of cherry preserve. +“The receipt named this Barrier Cherries, Frankie. Takes apple vinegar +and strained honey.” + +Maria’s face was sweated and reddened in the heat of the stove fire. She +reached back into the dimness of her memory, to when she had run in +crying to a grayed old woman, “Mam, there’s a booger scratching my eye.” +The woman had licked the eye with her soft tongue to remove the foreign +substance, then set Maria on a three-legged stool outside the door to +work the dasher of the churn up and down. “Stone churn ain’t good enough +for you, girl,” she said to Ellen, suddenly. + +“What did you say, Ma?” Ellen was startled. + +“Old-timey days we had a stone churn. And when Pap was home sometimes +he’d bring us a runty possum, or maybe a coon. Summers now, we ate +good.” + +“Did you store up like we do against winter?” asked Frankie. + +“I like to lay up when there’s plenty,” Maria admitted. “But the most +Mam did was to dry corn and herbs. Folks didn’t figure to eat then like +now. Once or twice a day was all we sat to table.” She reflected a +moment. “I allow I didn’t miss hit. And my folks thought a heap of me +till Mester Gaddy came along.” + +“Tell, Ma. Did you pine for love of him when you saw Pa?” Frankie cried. + +“Mester Gaddy gave me a fine snuffbox. It was mother-pearl. And a deal +fair to hold in the sun.” + +“I ne’er saw that box, Ma,” said Ellen. + +“Show us.” Frankie was eager. + +“No. Mester Gaddy was forced to sell hit once when he was short cash. I +always regretted that.” + +“When did you start honing after Pa?” persisted Frankie, slim and frail +beside Lily, stirring the kettle at the stove. “For love.” + +“He rode a big gray mare and there was nothing so tall as he. See, I was +a tedious plain girl and my folks were old already when I was born. They +hadn’t looked for me. So they fretted on what was to come. Mester Gaddy +rode o’er to Seven Mile Run and talked to Pap.” + +“And then Mester Gaddy courted you?” Lily inquired. + +“Go on,” Frankie pressed. + +“Pap had scrimped for a dowry that was to come with me. Pap was bound to +care for me proper. You’d ne’er have thought it the way we lived so +poor-like while he was putting by.” + +“I ne’er thought about Pa being young once,” said Ellen. “Was he +different from now?” + +“No. Except his hair was red and thick. I came with him to this farm. +Here I been since. He hitched that gray mare to a two-wheel cart and I +set up beside him and figured I was a lady.” Her dull eyes sparked. +“E’er do as Mester Gaddy says, girls.” + +“There was Pa on a horse,” Frankie said. “I’d just as lief have seen +that.” + +“Oh, all the folks rode horses those days,” said Ellen. + +“That’s right,” Lily assented. + +“Don’t go talking to Mester Gaddy about those days,” Maria was warning. +“He’s disremembered them. Watch your cherries don’t burn there, girls.” + +“They’re doing right, Mrs. Gaddy,” Lily said. “You were gone a powerful +time in spring, weren’t you, Ellie?” Curious, Lily was sniffing after +gossip to brighten her wishful youth. + +Ellen took up the basket, leaving the table where she had been stoning +cherries. “I’m getting in some corn for supper,” she called as she was +going down the porch steps. + +“Ellie’s so contrary.” Lily watched Ellen stride down the field. “She +won’t talk with me proper-like.” + +“That’s her for you,” Frankie said. + +“I reckon she doesn’t like me.” + +“Oh she does, Lily.” + +“No.” + +“Ellie’s just bossy that way.” The two girls embraced abruptly. The pot +boiled. The sugary odor was filling the kitchen, seeking darkened +rafters where smoke from years long past dwelled. + +“Would you be best friends with me, Frankie?” The big girl was effusive. + +“I will. Ellie doesn’t tell things to me ever.” They clung, whispering, +comforted, sharing their trepidations. They returned to their stirring +of the Barrier Cherries. + + * * * * * + +Ellen had made the land to her since she returned, and the creatures and +birds spawned upon it. In hot night she would hear hoot owls ululating +in the oaks, and sometimes a mocker-bird would hang on the stones of the +garden fence, quavering through marbled moonlight. I came through. The +fear is past and I’m home. She stood by while Rhodie was yeaning a kid. +The doe stamped her little hoofs nervously, pawed the straw and +crouched, straining. With a worried blat, she expelled a spotted kid. +Ellen was tearing the caul lining to free it in a flood of water. She +cleaned the mucus from its gasping mouth, gazed on the odd-looking +animal with ears like a hound. “Where’d you find the buck?” she asked +Sam. + +“Well, I says to myself in March when she commenced to wag her tail, +Ellie’d want her caught. So I took her over to a pied billy the other +side of Millville.” + +“I ne’er saw a skewbald goat, Sam. And those drooping ears.” Penny’s +maternal instincts were aroused at the sight and smell of a newborn one; +she vied with Rhodie in cleaning it. Rhodie was stretching her head and +yawning as animals will do in discomfort. The kid staggered up to nurse +the tiny nipples. “I’ll call it Pie,” Ellie decided. “There, Pie.” + +In the mornings when she left her goats at the pasture, she took the +path around the farm pond. Tiny green frogs were camouflaged in the +reeds and grasses, and blacksnakes lived among haw and alder roots along +the marshy bank. One would slip into the shadowed water, head crooked +like a twig held upright as it moved across the unbroken glass. When the +speckled thrush was buzzing and flapping by the path, she ran to find a +snake twined around a sapling cottonwood. Its head was in the nest and +the mother bird was darting at it, crying shrill. A single fledgling +remained, beak gaped for food. Ellen seized a stick, striking the +reptile until it twisted dying from the tree. She crushed its head, slit +the body with her pocketknife to see if there was life in the swallowed +birds. They were limp and she dropped them in an open field while the +bird continued the alarm clatter. “You’d as well feed the one you got +left if you can find your way to go back to that serpent-smelling nest.” + +Afterwards buzzards wheeled. Ellen knew they were scenting the dried +rotted nestlings. One huge bird descended and sat hunchbacked on a rail, +glassy eyes fixed on her. “Stinking brat.” Jack stalked it until it made +grunting low sounds and flapped away. + +Only once since that day in late July when she had come home did a sharp +edge touch the smooth progression of Ellen’s hours. She awoke in the +night to hear Anton speaking to Maria in the hall below. “What’s amiss +with your daughter? There’s no young men coming to the door.” Maria +whispered to him and they were gone. Ellen lay awake a long time. But in +the morning when it came to her mind, she thrust it from her. “It’s not +my fault if they don’t come.” + +Anton stepped aside on Sunday to speak with Craig Hedrick and his +widowed mother about a boar he wanted to buy. On the way home he looked +over his shoulder at Ellen. “That Hedrick boy’s got a motorcar.” He was +shouting above the cart’s rumble, “And he’s done proud with that farm +since his old man was killed. He says, Ellie’s a comely thing.” + +She felt all her being grow still, watching the dusty road glide from +under the wagon. Craig had been one of the bigger boys in the grammar +school, a few years older than she. His father, Moses Hedrick, had had a +cleft palate and though the boy had no actual reason for a speech +impediment, he would talk in nearly the same tongue-tied manner that had +characterized his father. Craig had been good-natured, his dog followed +him to school, he was big enough to force the smaller boys from their +torturing of turtles and frogs and insects that fell into their hands. +But while Ellen’s pity made her kind, her nature had been revolted by +the boy’s way of speech, his dirt-ingrained fingernails and pocked face, +the sour odor that arose from his unwashed winter clothing. She did not +reply to Anton now. The blood rose hot in her face and her pulse beat +heavily when he said, “You’re seventeen, Ellie. Where’s all those young +men?” + +“You’d best take hold.” Maria wagged her head while the wagon jolted. +“Lest you be caught an old maid. Get your man while you’re still +blooming, for you’ll be a rag soon enough.” + +“Young Hedrick’s a Catholic, as well,” said Anton. + +Their words rang with finality. She closed her ears to them. Her hands +were folded in her lap on last summer’s dress of blue-dotted Swiss. She +clenched them tightly. The steel-rimmed wheels turned in rhythm, hate +and hate. Wish I was dead like old man Moses Hedrick with a pitchfork +tucked between my shoulder blades. + + * * * * * + +There came, early on a sultry afternoon, the yellow-billed cuckoo’s +moan, “Kow, kow, kow.” Ellen lifted her head from her churning, spoke to +Frankie going by with a pail of hog slop. “Raincrows. Hear them cry? +Reckon it’ll come on a storm?” + +“I ain’t scared.” Frankie laughed high. “Teacher Peyton’s coming and I +got my lesson ready.” + +An hour later the sky began to darkle. Ellen walked down the lane to +look toward the pasture. She could see her goats, hoofs upon the gate +bars. The cows lay in their usual spot, chewed their cuds, complacent. +Almost imperceptibly the air was taking on a greenish cast. A +fresh-smelling wind yawed and swept the field of rye grass. Green beyond +green under the sky mass, the grass was weaving, bending to it. Over all +heaved the blooming sunglow, golden and omnipresent. A rumble was +sounding faint, a flash of light flicked in the west. The wind was +subsiding, the heat smoldered oppressive and in the gloom of the sky the +sun withdrew. Darkness ruled. Sam appeared at the lane head, waving like +a tiny distracted spider, his face grimaced. “Afore Gawd, get the cows, +Ellie. Could rile up a twister.” + +She was running to the field. The dog rounded up the cattle, drove them +in at a lope, milk-sacks swinging about their skinny legs so the white +fluid spurted. Ellen took Pie in her arms. The others bounded after as +she ran to the woodshed. Rhodie snorted and jumped sidewise +stiff-legged, her bearded chin tucked in. The girl laughed, “You daft +one.” She shut them in the pen. Lightning streaked, a thunderclap +crashed upon the ground. “If you were out in a storm, you’d be safe +beneath a cedar or a white birch. So Sam says. Beware the ash and the +oak for it’s their nature to tempt lightning.” She was wending up the +path to the house, searching cloud drifts for a down-sucked tail that +could betoken the birth of a tornado. Thunder drummed, light cracked the +horizon. The sweeping wind had ridden off the burdening heat. + +The topmost branches of the hackberry lurched and swayed and she felt +her heart catch. “It’s so fair. So enduring fair a storm be.” Tears drew +into her eyes from the gladness. The wind reeled upon her so the flimsy +gingham clung flattened along her young hips and the hard nipples of her +breasts. She sensed her strength quicken, fathoming for an instant how +she, eternal, would through the ages walk the long green soul of man. + +Standing there, she heard Frankie’s scream. She turned to the porch +steps. “It can’t storm. I got my grammar lesson.” The voice was +protesting, “I’m afraid, Pa.” + +Anton mocked her, soothing. “Haw, Frankie. Now you ne’er seen a +twister.” + +“I’m afraid. Afraid.” + +The wind shrieked, the loft door slammed. In the kitchen a pot of +scented geraniums on the window sill was spun across the floor. The +noise crackled. Anton, from the parlor door, was roaring at Ellen and +Maria. “Get the windows shut, you oomen. And draw those shades. Open +windows are what sucks the bolts.” He was lighting a lamp in the parlor, +pulling the shades. He looked at Frankie in the subdued light, drawn up +rigid and white in her chair. “Hit’s just an old-timey commotion out +there now.” + +There came the splintering noise of a falling tree. In the instant +Frankie sprang up, shook her fists helplessly, shut her eyes and +clenched her teeth. “Everyone’s against me. Hit’s coming to get me.” +Under the storm’s tension, her inhibitions mounted to the surface. She +was sobbing in her reedy voice, “I’m going to die. Really I hate you, +Pa. I hate you. I don’t want to go off to Chicago.” Maria and Ellen had +come in. Frankie turned her tear-drenched face to them. “Everything’s +Pa’s fault. What’ll I do, Ellie?” + +“All I can say,” Ellen told her, “is I’d as lief it would rain and get +it o’er. This thunder’s souring all the milk.” + +Lightning sizzled, then cracked, a flare skirting the window shades. +Behind came the bolt, reverberating through the hollows of the house. +The young girl lamented in desperation, her breath spasmodic, “I don’t +want to get those lessons. You’re hateful, Pa. You’re fore’er pushing +me.” The voice was a pale shriek. “I’m afraid!” + +“Here, girl. Hold your sass. Those are baneful words.” Anton’s eyes were +slits. “Want I should set you on your knees and whip you? I’ll do it.” + +“No.” + +He turned to a chair, taking up a journal. “I mind,” he drawled and +settled into the low seat, “when there was a storm like this two-three +years ago. Twister came flailing through Bethel killing four.” + +Ellen stayed by the door. Not for long had she seen him so wrought up. +Maria had taken up her sewing, pursed her mouth over it in the lamplit +room. Anton was directing his words to his younger child who cried now +in abject penitence. The convulsive sound came sadly into the still of +the room as the noisy gale tottered and staggered upon the vegetation of +the earth. + +“Three old Chester brothers were batching with their ninety-year-old ma. +Folks say it was because they were terrified of the storm but all three +went off their heads and murdered one another. The old lady too.” Anton +smoothed his palm over his balding hair. Dry tobacco juice marked the +edges of his mouth, his long jaw thrust upward. “The plumber man came to +fix the pump next day. Found them lying about in a mess of blood. Old +ooman’s throat ripped with a razor. One batch was gored, the other two +were filled with shotgun holes.” + +Heavy drops slammed on the windowpane and Ellen spoke in timid relief, +“There’s the rain, Pa.” + +“Still fixing to die, Frankie?” prodded the man. + +“Hit was the dread, Pa,” she pleaded and in time was drawn to sit +shrived on his knee. + +“Now tell, would her pa let harm come to her that’s my pretty poppet?” + +The rain was beating strongly, steadily, washing down banks along the +road, mingling with dust and traveling through stones and suckling earth +until it gained the water pan far below. Over the pond a silver sheet +was draping until the water rose over the sides to flood the meadows. +The swaggering wind was in full strength. Moisture softened the earth +about the roots of a giant basswood that had matured before the father +of Jules Gaddy built his lean-to and set up a rail fence for his mules +and hogs. A sudden blast slammed into the aged trunk; it fell sluggish, +reluctant, upon its side with a wounded noise, gashed roots exposed. +Tree branches grappled and fought the gale and were broken, some borne +by the wind and slung against the house roof, making staccato sounds. + +“When you were just a mite, Frankie, I told you thunder was a potato +wagon going across a bridge. Wasn’t any fear in you then.” + +“Will Mester Peyton come at all, Pa?” + +“Roads are so bad he’ll likely be hindered. Do what I tell you, Frankie, +for that’s what’s right.” + +The orgasm of the tempest was done. In the clearing sky, white fluffs +were drifting in remote wind tides. The man went to survey the +destruction left in the wake. His daughters were sent with hatchets and +string to gather fallen branches for kindling and to fagot the twigs. + +“My sir used to recount,” Anton said, before he walked out, “how in the +forests of the old country they were given leave to break off all the +boughs to the height a standing man could reach. For firewood. There +wasn’t any rotted trash like in this new country. And it was soft as +carpeting underfoot.” He took his ax and wedges and went to join Sam, +who was bringing the team up the lane, hitched to a whiffletree. Sam was +balancing on his shoulder a bucksaw and a two-man crosscut. They headed +toward a yellow locust spraddled across the road past the farm entrance. + +“Locust does right smart for fence posts, Mester Gaddy.” + +“I’m glad that tree came down. I was minded to cut it anyway, Sam.” + +By the pond frogs were shrilling, in the field near the orchard a +buzzard sat hunched on a stump, the black dampened wings held +motionless, outspread to dry, the naked head tucked into the wrinkles of +its bare neck. “I ne’er meant what I said,” Frankie was telling Ellen. +“For I love my pa and he’s good.” + +“You carried on like you were taken with a fit,” admitted Ellen. “Makes +me puke to see you that way.” + +“Thinking of me always, he is.” Frankie tied a bundle of twigs and threw +it to a pile they were making at the field’s edge. “Poor Pa.” + +Ellen heaved a rock at the buzzard and watched it soar effortless. “The +wind’s flattened that cornfield. There’s a mort of damage been done.” + + * * * * * + +The leaves had been touched by the first frost and nearly overnight +strident colors were emerging on the countryside. Ellen and Frankie were +cleaning the musty litter from nest boxes, stuffing in fresh oat straw. +“Wonder how come we ne’er tried a doorknob in the nests, Frankie? A +porcelain one might coax them to lay. I’ve heard of it.” She harked back +to little Clate hanging to her dress hem. + +The cows were restless, feeling the new season, the sluggish summer +shaken off. On dark mornings Ellen would wear her rough brown sweater, +torn in the sleeve, against the chill. The cows heaved themselves to +their knees, then to all fours. She put her bare feet in the warmed +straw where they had lain. A heifer plopped her hoof in the fresh foam +and held it there, stubborn head low, flanks whitened with the splash. +The lantern light blinked and Sam was shuffling in. He gazed at the +white-spattered wall, belched gently. Ellen caught the whisky scent. +“Don’t ill at her, Ellie,” he advised, “or she’ll fore’er mistrust you.” + +“Who’s illing?” She carried the pail to the pump to clean it. + +He was following, garrulous. “My old-old-old man always said, don’t ill +at a creature which does your work,” he nodded, sanctimonious, “and +fills your belly.” + +“There’s the milking to do, Sam. You’re late. Pa’s waiting on you.” + +“Old-old-old’s sort of a byword with us Offuts. When Pa was getting on +in years, I sassed him once. He’d started in to say I shouldn’t talk +back at my old man. He commenced to say old and he couldn’t stop.” Sam +cleared his throat, spit phlegm into the cold bushes. “I told it on him +after that. Old-old-old, we Offuts always say.” + +Ellen sighed. Sam’s milking would wait on his tongue. + + + 11 + +The car was puttering up the lane, a trailer hitched behind. It was a +day in early October. Ellen drew back from sight, hearing Craig +Hedrick’s high-pitched halloa. Anton was coming from the barnyard where, +with Sam, he had been forking manure onto the wagon for broadcasting +over the fields. Ellen fled along the fence line, down to the pond and +the tranquil woods beyond. “I aim to get a mess of shaggy-manes to stew +for supper,” she was promising herself. Most of the afternoon she stayed +in the woods, finding few of the big mushrooms she hunted although there +were some overripe ones. These she kicked to see the sootlike powder +billow as they split. Jack ran a rabbit and barked at squirrels and +woodchucks. Ellen was leaning idly on a fence rail, looking over the +tawny sedge grass of a neighboring field. A red-shouldered hawk circled +in flight, uttered its squeal like escaping steam. She mocked him, +“Kee-yoo! Get you a passle of crawdads, you old hen-thief.” + +She put her chin in her hands. A mass of midges vibrated in the +sunshine, minute wings whirring swifter than eye could follow. You take +a flower now. When it goes to raise out of its leaves, it stirs +everlasting slow, unfolding. It’s a case of time, it would seem, and +man’s caught between. How quick we must appear to the trees, and how +draggy to the midges. + +Back she walked in the late day up the fallow hill field, new-plowed for +autumn wheat. “Wish I was an earthclod, nary a care.” She stubbed her +shoes against turned furrows. + +In the wagon bed that was rumbling in from the field her father swayed, +standing spraddle-legged. His face was shadowed with a beard, his sateen +shirt was open, baring his chest. The dun horse shook its mane and the +mare nickered to its yearling colt trotting in the pasture beside the +lane. “Whaw,” Anton was shouting. The chomping of bits and movement of +harness on the sweating animals made tinny bright noises. “You’re a +great one for roaming, girl. Where you been?” + +“I took a notion to gather shaggy-manes for supper, Pa. I hunted but +there weren’t any.” + +“Hit’s a sight too dry for mushrooms. I could have told you.” He looked +down from his vantage on the wagon. The muscles swelled on his freckled +forearms and he was holding the reins careless. “You just missed young +Hedrick. He came to visit and trade off our old boar for a thoroughbred +one I wanted. It’s more than twice the size of the old one.” + +“I’ll take a look at it, Pa,” she told him. + +“He asked after you. That young man.” He shrugged with satisfaction. +“Whup.” The wagon was rolling by her. + +She replaced the pole barriers. “There. That hammer-tongue Craig.” + +The next afternoon she was gathering herbs and seed pods for drying. It +was warm while she worked, for the garish sun heated the withering +earth. Craig Hedrick’s Model T was turning into the yard. He came up, +throwing himself forward as though there were many miles to go before +the end of the day. His sandy hair curled woolly and his small nose +turned up, his upper lip protruded slightly, which gave him a hounded +expression. “Hey, Ellen.” He stood ungainly as she nodded. He was +hitching the belt to his blue serge slacks, adjusting the knot of his +purple rayon tie. + +“Good-looking hog you traded to Pa, Craig. What do you call those spotty +ones?” + +“He’s a Poland China,” he said in his tongue-twisted way. “They’re bred +for lard. Not what you call a bacon pig.” + +She laid aside her seed harvest and came to sit on the porch steps with +him. Anton walked out. “Hey, Hedrick.” + +His presence eased the younger man. “Bought me a manure spreader, Mester +Gaddy. You own one? Chops straw and dung up and sifts it like my old +lady straining wheat flour on her bread board.” + +“Hum.” + +There was a long pause. All three watched the progress of a flicker +hammering up one side of the hackberry trunk. Craig was lifting his arms +slowly as though he held a gun. He sighted the woodpecker on the red +band across the back of its head. “Pow.” + +Anton grunted, appreciative. He lit his pipe with a match he struck on +his overall pants, drew the smoke into his lungs and exhaled. “There. I +allow you got that high-hole.” + +Craig was adjusting his position on the step, uncomfortable. “Well.” + +Anton asked, “Heard the comical one about the hen that laid the +oversized egg?” + +“How’s it go?” + +“It wasn’t comical to the hen.” + +The young people were still, uncommunicative. “Come on, see my Ford, +Ellen.” Craig was going in his springy stride to the black two-passenger +automobile. He held his gait down to match Ellen’s. She was conscious of +the smell of the man, could scarce speak for her contempt. Yet there +were the pleading eyes and the wounded way of a beast about him. “You +know where I live, Ellen? Just a piece from Tomkin’s Ditch.” He fought +with his flaw of speech. There was a rich section, he was confiding, +adjoining his, that he hoped to buy and add to his own. He had many +plans. + +Ellen knew it was because of the way he looked upon her that he was +pushing out his chest and leaning awkward against his polished +automobile. He was tall in his shining shoes and Sunday wear. Her dress +was torn. All the while though, she felt he was the pitiful one. She +stood apart from her own body and watched this Ellen Gaddy, her +forbearance, her dignity. She was gentle. “I got chores to do now.” + +“Well then.” He started the motor, drove hastily off. + +In days to follow Craig would stop to talk with her. Ellen, aloof, would +listen as he rambled. Her mind would stray on whether Pa would remember +to get the sorghum syrup or whether Sam had mended the split butter +paddle as he promised. + +The fields were being prepared for winter wheat, the horses and plow +working over the land. The disking and harrowing were now in progress +and the blended figures of man and team moved over the horizon to +disappear and return again. Ellen could see them from the potato patch. +She was digging in the rows with a fork, and she stuffed the tubers into +towsacks. The dust rose; her nostrils were clogged with it. A bluebird, +lingering before it flew south, was beading its sad autumn cry, +“Far-away, far-away!” + +It was then that the days of a summer came upon her and she thought of +the man on whom she had laid a curse. She wondered if she could remember +his looks and ways, if meeting him she would know him. It’s past and +done. He can’t ever hurt me more. Down the row slowly she worked. It’s +past. She was testing it. But then it was as if Christian Ay emerged +from the shadows and stood by her in the row. She ceased digging, there +in the ragged dress, her hair bound by a bit of twine, her feet dirty, +black outlining the toenails. The north wind of late October was blowing +and the shadow fell across her. It seemed he was broad and strong, he +laughed greatly and she loved him in a way that her being ached. She was +trembling, water flowing down her face. She stood a while in her +surprise, frightened by the issuance from what she had thought a safe +memory. Its pain stirred her. + +In that night the wind was changing. She heard it, felt its veering. And +the whippoorwills came up, calling in the cool caves of morning. + + * * * * * + +The next day Craig hunted until he found her in the orchard where her +goats were grazing on crisp fallen leaves. She was leaning against an +apple tree, listless. “Hey, Ellen. Hit’s Indian summer.” + +She made no reply. He stood restive before her. A yellow insect hovered +whining about his tight-curled hair. “There’s a news-bee, Ellen.” He +reached out to catch it and it flew off. “Wonder what it came to tell, +Ellen?” The fragrance of the girl’s blown hair as she leaned on the +armor of the old tree, brought him yet again to speech, his face on +fire. “I’d get two-three nanny goats if you’d a mind for them. You could +have honeybees too, and by the doorside I’d set out petunia flowers.” + +She turned to him, absent, her face wan, her gray eyes sorrowful. “Think +I’d have a poor rake such as you?” After a time she looked up from where +she bent her head to see he still was standing there. He wore a bruised +look and his underlip sucked in. “I ne’er meant to say that. It’s +because I’ve no notion for marrying, Craig. It’s nothing against you.” + +“E’er seen my farm, Ellen? Out by Tomkin’s Ditch? You’d only to see hit +to change your mind. I was fixing to paint the house, too.” + +His dreams left her unmoved. She was watching two winging birds come to +settle in a tree. “There’s a pair of doves.” + +“I might even build on a porch and put up screening.” + +“If one dies, it’s mate’ll mourn till it dies too. E’er find a dove +lying dead, no mark on it?” + +“I’d set out young shade trees, Ellen, to put a chair under.” + +“I came on a dove in the path one time. It ne’er had a sign nor wound on +its body and was still warm.” + +They returned to the house. Anton was under the hackberry, pulling on +his pipe. “Set to dinner along with us, Hedrick.” He was poking the +young man with his elbow. “Ellie made a wild-plum pie this morning. +She’s one for kitchen chores.” + +After their first hunger was spent, Anton was talkative. “A sight of my +corn ruined in that summer storm. Might have to buy a load come spring. +You lose any crops?” + +“I reckon I’ll make out. I’ve got a herd of steers. I’m going to take +them to the auctions in Louisville.” + +“You fattening steers? Well.” Anton pushed his food with a knife onto +the fork he held in his left hand. “I call to mind my sir gave me two +matched bull calves when I was a youngen. I set store by them, made them +a little yoke and learned them to drag a stone-boat and mind hawp and +gee. My sir waited till they were two-year-olds to cut their balls. That +was to allow them to get a good crest.” + +“What did you name them, Pa?” asked Frankie. + +“I mind the off one was Brown. I disremember the near one’s name. I was +proud of them for a shirt-tail brat.” + +“What happened, Pa?” + +“My ma sold them under me. She needed cash for my brother Marc, who was +getting his learning. I hunted the barns and meadows, came in squalling +someone stole them. What do you mean, your ox-team, Ma says, cash is +cash.” Anton pursed his thick lips. “Now, they were so slick you could +hunt for a loose hair. I used to file the horns and grease them.” + +“Your maw give you a cut on what they sold for, Mester Gaddy?” + +“I ne’er seen hit.” He asked Craig, “Have you worked oxen?” + +“You couldn’t law them on me. I’m one for mules. Steady, and easy +keepers. But to tell you true what I mostly hanker for is a tractor. I +aim to get one some day.” + +“And where’ll your manure come from then?” Anton gloated. + +They were pushing back their chairs. The two men went out on the steps +while the women cleared. Frankie was drying plates and laying them +upside down, ready for the evening meal. Ellen took the butter and milk +jars out to the dry well near the porch. “Go to mass in my auto +tomorrow, Ellen?” Craig asked when she passed on the step. + +Anton answered, “She’ll go. Be pleasured to.” + +Ellen would give them no glance though Craig murmured, “Ellen?” as she +was going by up the stairs and into the kitchen. She heard them. “I aim +to take a drive later, Mester Gaddy, if it makes no nevermind to you. +Ellen’s not seen my farm and my maw’d be proud to meet her.” + +“That suits.” + +“How’s that seed-boar I traded you?” + +“He’s a crapping mean sonofabitch, Hedrick. Set on rutting up his fence +all the time.” + +“I noticed he liked to do that. Always breaking through. But I wouldn’t +say he was mean. That’s hog nature.” + +“Maybe so. I call him Luther.” + +“That’s a foreign name. Spot would fit him more.” + +“After Martin Luther. A crapping bastard Dutchman Brinker worships. +Heathen.” + +“Say. Bet that’s the first hog e’er to go by that name in this county.” + + * * * * * + +“Ellie, how come Craig’s pa got killed?” Frankie was asking as they lay +in their beds in the muddled dark of their room. + +“Oh, it was in hay time. Craig and him were working with a watch-eye +hand. Craig and that man were in the loft stacking hay back. His pa was +down on the wagon. Well, that watch-eye man was fixing to jump down and +pitched his fork ahead of him. It stabbed Moses Hedrick in the back +between his shoulders. There he was, holding to the hay frame and the +handle sticking out of his back. They said the prongs came out in front. +Said he died standing there before he fell down.” + +“Oh my, I’d think a one-eye man would guard against such a +happenstance.” + +“I reckon he couldn’t gauge distances so good.” They lay awhile in +silence. Then Ellen was speaking in the dark, “Craig took on the farm +then. You can say that for him. And he was still going to the grammar +school.” + +Ellen wore the blue crushed-satin hat that Garland had brought her last +Christmas. In Craig’s Model T, she was heading for the Catholic church. +She kept her eyes straight ahead on the little ivory crucifix fastened +on the dashboard. Under her feet the carpeting was torn; the car smelled +of dust. The young man was voiceless, his tension exhibited in his +handling of the machine. His collar was starched; the ill-fitted suit +constricted him. “Here it is.” + +They were walking in stiffly. When his arm touched her, she moved away. +At mass when the bell rang, Ellen knelt by him. But while heads around +her bowed in the incensed air, she was staring about. Anton was with +Maria and Frankie in a back pew. Pa’s trying to trap me with Craig. She +held her head rebellious among the bent ones. What’s all the begging and +praying about? I don’t care for this way of loving Him. I’ll get my +peace out on the fatness of the earth that is His footstool. And the dew +and the smell of the fields. + +“Stand up, Ellen,” whispered Craig. + +Father Tompert was reading out to the people in the clapboard church the +beginning of the gospel of John. Ellen listened, brooding. They can’t +make me marry him. “Thanks be to God,” said the priest and the people +moved to go. + +Craig was driving a mile or two along a cart-rutted road on the other +side of Millville, unfamiliar to Ellen. “There’s Tomkin’s Ditch,” he +nodded to a joint post office and general store by the deserted +roadside. “And here’s that section of land I’m fixing to buy. I aim to +rent it the first two years to make the payments.” He halted the car, +gazed upon an overgrown field. “Hit’s all virgin. A virgin piece. Ne’er +a plowshare been put to it. Corn’ll grow ten feet tall with not a +handful of fertilizer.” He moved the hand throttle and the car was +lurching forward. He steered down a winding approach to a weather-beaten +red house set barren of trees before a barn of the same color. “Let me +point out the sights. Then you can meet Maw.” + +Ellen left her blue hat on the car seat. She came to where Craig leaned +on the lot fence. Steers, deep in muddy manure, idled around troughs of +corn. A yellow hound wagged up to her, sniffed her dress. She patted its +smooth head; it wriggled, threw itself with a grunt on its side in the +rutted road, waving its feet, ingratiating. + +“That’s Sooner.” + +“Hey, Sooner.” She was stroking it. + +“Sooner stay as come.” An elm grew by the fence. Craig cut a twig from +it and offered it to Ellen. She shook her head. “Hit’s a slippery elm.” +He was picking his teeth with the little stick. “Keeps off throat +trouble.” + +He hung his coat on the fence, rolling his sleeves, uncovering blond +hair that grew long on his arms. He walked with caution around the mire +of the lot and climbed into the shed loft. The steers licked at the dry +stalks he was forking down; they gazed at Ellen with deep-lidded eyes. +Craig shouted, “Nothing to do but eat, hey, Ellen?” He was strutting +over to her. “Rather watch them eat than feed my own face. You know?” + +“Well.” + +He spat out the twig. “I took on a man’s ways when I was yet a +stripling. I dragged this farm up from a poor bit, starting the day Paw +was killed. It’ll make some folks set up.” + +“Your ma take to it out here?” + +“Don’t you study on her, Ellen. Maw says the day I bring home a wife to +do my cooking she’ll go to live with my sister up Indiana way.” + +“Craig,” Ellen warned, “I’m not marrying. I told you. If you will talk +so, you can take me home.” + +“But I figured on it, Ellen.” + +“I’m not beholden to your figuring.” A thrill of fright ran through her, +seeing he had raised up tall and pulled in his lip. He was looking upon +her as though she were changed. He leaned over, gripping her upper arm, +swathed in the winter coat. “I told you no, Craig.” + +“I heard a girl was taught to say no to lead her sweetie on hotter. You +playing games?” His hand was tightening. + +“Craig, Pa’d kill you if he saw how you’re acting.” + +“Mester Gaddy’s thirsting to foist you off on me.” + +“But I got ne’er a liking for you, Craig. You have to give me time.” If +she could but stave him off until she was safe at home. Home was distant +and dear. + +“Don’t you e’er get hot, Ellen?” He was thrusting his hand within her +coat, roughly hunting her breast. + +She pulled from him. “Maybe I would if you were good and waited.” She +tried to soothe him. “Let’s go meet your ma now.” + +He was dragging her to his pock-marred face with an arm that was a band +of steel. “You virgin, Ellen?” The scent was there, an odd mingling of +moth balls and urine and hair oil. His lips were striving upon hers +while she struggled. His hand was pressing her back, holding her against +his body that was a rock. She felt the hard prod of him and a streak of +flame ran through her, overlaid with disgust. I mustn’t go wild, it’s +like with a mean boar, like Luther. You have to deal easy with him. She +forced her body to slacken and felt him relax. She drew her mouth +stiffly aside. “Give me a chance to breathe.” She smiled, forcing it. + +“There, Ellen. You do like me. See?” + +She twisted like a snake, darting free. Upon her heels she heard him, +his breath an angry roar. The five-tined pitchfork was leaning against +the fence bars where he had placed it after throwing hay to the cattle. +She grasped it, flailing with the prongs turned backward. It smote him +across the face, leaving white streaks. He stumbled, gasping amazed. She +swung again. + +“Bitch,” he hissed, “I’ll prick you yet.” He grappled for the tool. + +She tore it loose, driving at him strongly. He was staggering backward, +tripping in a road rut, falling. He threw up a protecting arm, blood +oozing from a tine-mark on his forehead. Mud covered his Sunday vest and +pants and striped shirt. She turned, speeding across the stubble field +toward woods beyond. The hound, Sooner, was pattering alongside. She +clawed her way through underbrush, aware after a time of a hurt in her +throat where the breath was sobbing. She looked about. The hound had +disappeared. She took the direction that seemed true, cutting across +country, skirting the few houses. She climbed a rail fence and her dress +caught, ripping. She shook her head, “I’ll have to mend that.” + +The afternoon was wearing on. A chill breeze was born. A faintness +enveloped her. She startled when a twig cracked. She stopped to +consider, speaking into the stillness. “It’s the fright makes me +light-headed. I must have got my bearings turned. I should have come on +the pike by now.” She was going at a slower gait; she remembered, “Now +my hat’s in his car.” + +She was following a stony path bordered by thimbleberry bushes. It led +onto the Millville Road which she recognized at once. A mud hen ran +stammering before her, “Butbutbutbutbut!” It vanished in a field. The +rail-birds were seldom seen; Sam Offut claimed that in winter they +changed into frogs and hid in the marshes until spring. Ellen walked +swiftly, head down, as automobiles and later a buggy came from behind +and passed. Then she was at the house steps and slowing her pace. + +Anton was in the kitchen with Frankie who sprang from a chair. “Hey, +Ellie. Is your beau with you?” + +“I’ve got no beau,” Ellen said stonily. She stood a moment plucking +beggar’s-lice from her coat while her fingers shook. She turned to her +father. “That was a whoreman you set on me, Pa.” She began to weep +freely as anger overcame her. + +“You greening me? Speak up.” + +“You were bound and determined to sic that Hedrick on me, weren’t you?” +Ellen whimpered. + +“Speak up,” shouted Anton. + +“He wanted to show me his farm. Then he came after me. I said let’s go +meet your ma, but he wouldn’t.” + +“Tell what he did,” Anton threatened, fear glowing in the gray pupils of +his eyes. + +“I grabbed a dung-fork and hit him. Then I ran.” + +“You seem to be safe enough, girl. The Lord God takes care of you.” + +Anger caught her up again. “It’s not that. With you it’s always root hog +or die for me, and you know it.” The words fell biting as her tears +washed. “It’s not because of God’s help I be home again.” She was +running to her room. + +Later she appeared, pale and sullen, to do her chores and help with +supper. When Anton came to the kitchen, she whispered, cold, “I ne’er +meant those words, Pa. I was unsettled, I reckon, by all that walking.” + +“Were you out walking then, Ellie?” asked Maria. “I thought you were +with that young man.” + +“I don’t take trifling from a youngen,” said Anton, contemptuous. “Got +worries enough hanging from my neck without you laying more on.” + +“I ask you to overlook it.” She strove against the alienation. + +“Root hog or die, such talk after all that’s done for you. And taking +God’s name. Whoso curses his father, it’s said, his lamp shall be put +out.” + +“I ne’er cursed,” she breathed. + +“I saw you holding your head haughty in church this morning at the canon +of the mass when all good souls were waiting on God. Now bend your head +proper, girl. And don’t disgrace me. Mind.” + +Before they blew the candles in the bedroom that evening, the sisters +were sitting in their shifts on the beds. Ellen looked out the window +where the curved horn of the waning moon bobbed in scuds, and the wind +coursed high upon it. “It’s wild out there tonight. The Indian summer’s +on the decline.” + +“Ellie, what did Craig do to you?” + +“Nothing.” + +“I’d ne’er let a man touch me. I’d hide like Ma in the wardrobe closet +first.” + +“I’ll see that come the time.” + +“Well tell, did he kiss you?” + +“No.” + +“Tell about girls, Ellie. Why are there girls and then men?” + +“Go to sleep. Why can’t you let it be? You’re always going on.” + +“I want to know if a man’s secrets are more like a ram or a stallion. +Wish I knew.” + +“You say more and I’m going to tell Pa you’re asking such stuff. He’ll +whip those notions from you all at once.” + +Frankie lay restless, drawing the quilts up to her chin. She sighed. The +candles by the bedside flickered, and upon the slanted roof beams +shadows were wavering like wings of pinned moths. + +Ellen slept. She was dreaming of Christian Ay. And in the dream he had +knowledge of her. It seemed this time she was willing. She came awake +wondering at the vividness, sheltering its guilt. Maybe it all befell in +another world as Miss Gentry the school teacher had claimed. Once Ellen +had related a childish nightmare to her and she had replied, “Some say +the soul is freed while you’re asleep, Ellen. And that’s when evil’s got +its chance. And there’s some can prophesy from a dream. Now others go +against those old ways, holding modern notions such as dreams showing up +your real wishes, and you having a hidden mind with its own thoughts. I +don’t hold by any of that. I maintain those fancy notions are much the +same as prophesying.” + +It was another strangeness to dwell on. Then she recalled the child she +had borne in the Dougherty orchard. She put the memory away with +distaste, separating its being from the love she had held for Christian +Ay as if there were no connection. She closed her eyes again, weary from +the long day. + + * * * * * + +The spotted boar that Anton had obtained from Craig Hedrick rooted up +his fence in the night, wandering into the lot where the cows were +penned for the winter months. He weighed over half a ton, had an +untrusty temper, an insatiable appetite. Anton and Sam would view him in +his pen when he fed. “Haw. Luther. Old bastard stinks, doesn’t he, Sam? +Luther.” + +“He’s ugly, Mester Gaddy. I want to see the pigs he sires to fatten for +market. Say.” + +The brute’s jowls below his dish face were touching the ground. His ears +flapped over tiny vacant eyes. His back was arched high and powerful, +his larded sides shook when he trod on his small cleft hoofs. His screw +tail was twitching with excitement. He roamed, investigating the new +territory, growling. He nibbled at the corn he rooted from cow +droppings, at hay fallen under the racks. But he was seeking a tastier +morsel. The heavy milker, Maisie, had been due to drop a calf, the men +examining her judiciously every evening for signs because Anton wanted +to raise it. Now she was down in straw at the corner of the shed, +groaning, pushing forth a heifer calf. As Luther rounded the shed side +he smelled it, half born. He fed his hunger, ripping at the moist +caul-swathed fetus, his eyes glittering. + +In the morning Anton had to shoot his mutilated cow. The men strung it +up to skin it and dress out what meat could be salvaged. Anton was +scooping the foul-smelling entrails into a washtub. “When we finish +trimming this carcass, before God, Sam, we’re going to drive locust +posts four feet deep. Build that murdering bastard a barricade that’ll +hold him.” + + + 12 + +Near the last of November there was a circle around the moon foretelling +the wet weather. The downpour held for ten days, the pregnant sky +slate-colored, the deluge continuous. Muck and soggy manure were deep +now in stables and yards and paths. When Ellen went out to her chores +she would wear Anton’s discarded rubber boots. Maria and Frankie had +sickened when the rain first began. They were lying together in the big +bed in the downstairs room, Anton sleeping nights in the guest bed. +Though the fever of the invalids was abating, their harsh coughs were +hanging on. Anton soaked inner bark of black cherry and elm, boiling it +down to a thick brown brew for them to sip when the seizures came on. +Ellen’s eyes were on him as he was moving about the kitchen, preparing +the medicine. His loose lips drooped in concentration. “Feed a cold and +starve a fever. Hear, girl?” + +“Maybe we ought to get a doctor, Pa?” She whispered it, confiding. + +“Nary a satchel doctor has set foot in this house, even when your ma +bore you youngens.” His voice surged, “I don’t work with charms and tie +papers on the sick. The way heathen folk do. I use herbs and healing +trees. Like my folks before me and theirs before that.” + +“A doctor might know of something new.” She was persistent. + +“Now what do you reckon a doctor be? He uses the same herbs as me. He +puts them in fancy bottles and gives them new names. The Word tells, +remove not the ancient landmark which thy fathers have set. That goes +for all old-timey ways.” + +“I know, Pa.” The sharp-scented steam was filling the kitchen. Ellen +took a bowl of spongy warm dough, overturning it into a bed of soft +flour on the bread board. + +Anton set the jar of warm liquid on the table by her. “Hum. Now, that’s +ready for those two.” He pulled on his heavy jacket and fur cap, +departing into the drizzle. + +Ellen worked the dough down and covered it with a towel. She would +prepare flannel bags of heated earth when the chills came on Maria and +Frankie, heaping blankets high. Then their fever would be reborn and +take possession again. “Mam,” Maria whispered hoarsely to Ellen once, +“tell Pap he better make up another sweater tea if the back of this +fever don’t break soon.” Red-faced, Maria threw back the covers. Pity +moved in Ellen. When she came from the barn, she would leave her muddy +boots on the porch and wash herself. She wore a fresh apron into the +bedroom. She would bring the invalids a bowl of pudding and a plate of +toasted fresh bread, walking softly. + +“There’s a bit for you to try and eat, Frankie. You got to have food, Pa +says, now the fever’s waning.” + +“Wish I had ice,” complained the girl. “Go get the chamber pot for me, +Ellie.” + +No action, no word or roughness disturbed the tranquil edge of Ellen’s +spirit. She was gentle-spoken. “It’ll be clearing off soon. The red cock +crowed on the fence this morning. First time he’s flown off the ground.” + +Frankie was sighing. “Christmas is less than a month away. And I’m +missing all my lessons. I might ne’er get to go with Uncle Garland to +the city.” + +“Sure you will, now.” Ellen took them warm water to bathe their faces. +She scrubbed bed linen in a tub on the kitchen floor, wrung the clothes +out, pinned them on the lines she strung through parlor and kitchen. All +the while she bore herself proudly and carefully, feeling her necessity +and how they were all leaning on her. Surely her father saw she was +keeping his house alone now, cooking for Sam and the sick ones, besides +her work out of doors. + +At length a fragment of moon reappeared in the daytime sky, and the sun +was there too, embryonic, feeble. Maria came out of the bedroom to grind +beans for breakfast coffee, a long maroon sweater draped over her +flannel nightdress. Anton wrapped Frankie in a quilt and sat her in a +chair at the table. He was filling her plate. “Now you got to eat.” + +The slender girl laughed, her skin pallid, her red hair seeming to +prosper unnaturally under the illness, lying abundant. “Do tell at her,” +said Maria, “and my hair’s falling out. When I was a youngen I lost hit +all in the epidemic. Pure bald. Had to wear a string-knit cap for nigh +on a year. He knows.” Her lips continued to move. + +“I was thinking, Pa,” said Ellen, striving to keep her newly won role, +“I’ll start cleaning the candlesticks outside after this to get away +from that mess in the sink.” + +“This little old thing.” Anton touched Frankie’s hair, beaming. “Just +look at her, you-all.” + +The tears stood in Ellen’s eyes. And days that she had made full became +empty once more. She felt her pride and her beauty fall away. + + * * * * * + +She was cutting down a few of the hard cheeses from the rafters in the +smokehouse. Grady Love would take them in trade for the staples they +needed. There was little to carry in the basket these days. In the +unseasonable weather the hens had nearly stopped laying. She used +water-glass eggs to cook with, put down in a crock during the summer. +There was no cream or butter, the dairy taking all the milk that was +produced. It was late in the day before she got started. She put on her +heavy coat and boots. “I’ll be back in time to fix supper, Ma. So don’t +fret if it gets dark. Days are so short now.” + +“Can’t you wait till tomorrow?” Frankie was asking. “Don’t go.” + +“Tomorrow’s Sunday, Frankie. I’m strapped for salt and soda. Pa’s out of +tobacco. You try to nap.” + +When she finished her trading and was on the way home, Ellen took the +short cut by Bailey’s Woods to visit Amanda York and to warm herself. +She knocked at the door of the double cabin. Amanda was wearing a bright +red dress, her hair made into a gleaming braid down her back. She drew +Ellen to the fire that hissed and sparked. “You know I got a beau, +Ellie?” + +“No. Who is he?” + +“Jerome Hatfield. Smithy Hatfield’s son. He’ll be coming by soon. Stay +to meet him, Ellie. He’s real nice.” + +“You going to marry him?” + +“He’s asked me.” + +A car was heard approaching. Then doors were slamming outside, and male +voices shouting. “Mandy?” + +“Ask your maw can we come in?” + +“We got a present for you-all.” + +“That’ll be Jerome,” laughed Amanda. “They’ve been drinking, this being +Saturday night.” + +“This one’s a heavy basket,” called a twisted voice that Ellen knew. +“Rome Beauties are right solid apples.” + +Three young men came in. Craig Hedrick was carrying one handle of a +basket. He hesitated, seeing Ellen, his face frozen. They set the basket +down. She saw a dark scar across his forehead lit by the dancing fire. + +“Oh, you boys been tasting bootleg,” cried Mrs. York. “Come have some +soft cider to cool you off.” + +Amanda was running to fetch glasses. Ellen followed, whispering, “I’ve +got to go, Mandy. Ma and Frankie are sick in bed and it’s dark by now.” + +“Oh, Ellie, I wish you could stay. Craig,” she was crying, “take Ellie +Gaddy home in your auto.” + +“No,” Ellen breathed. + +Amanda whispered, “I’ll make a match for you, Ellie. He’s a nice fellow. +Got an eighty-acre farm all his own. But he’s afraid of girls.” + +“Hurry up with the glasses, Mandy,” called Jerome. Ellen saw him pushing +Craig’s ribs with an elbow. “Take her home, Craig.” + +Amanda brought the tray and Ellen hung behind her. “Ellie, you know +Craig here? And Jacob Haas and Jerome Hatfield.” She was pointing them +out with a nod. “The last is the meanest.” + +“Pleased to meet you.” The silence was awkward. The three men leaned on +their legs abashed, their faces heated by the fire and the liquor they +had drunk. + +“Ah, here we are.” Mrs. York was pouring the cider. Ellen shook her +head, turning away. + +“Well, Craig,” persisted Amanda. “Cat got your tongue? Thought you told +me you knew Ellie and went to school with her?” + +“Craig took her for a drive once. I heard about that,” crowed young +Haas. + +“Did you, Craig?” cried Amanda. “When?” + +“Come on, let’s hear. When?” + +“I’ll walk,” whispered Ellen. “I’d rather.” The young men were shuffling +near the fire; someone spilled cider on the stone hearth and Amanda was +bringing a mop. Ellen found her basket and boots by the doorway. Outside +in the dog-trot the adjoining cabin was dark, unused in winter. She was +buttoning her coat. The night was chill. + +As she reached Sweetincreek Road the wind gathered itself and whirled +strongly about her, up the sleeves of her coat. There was just light +enough to follow the road. She drew her coat to her, fought the wind. +The way was endless, the few dried leaves still cringing in the trees +rattled and the wind had its way with them. In a darkened corn field an +animal was slipping along rows of shocks. She heard a distant car +engine. It became louder, lights were shining faintly behind her. She +was turning into the ditch at the roadside, stumbling down the incline +to crouch there. Headlights beamed close at hand. The car stopped by the +ditch, a voice was calling thickly, “Ellen? I’ll drive you home.” + +“I want no help from you, Craig. I’ll walk.” She climbed out and started +up the road. + +The car was following. “Get in, Ellen. I’m not going to hurt you.” He +swung the door open. She stepped up and into the seat. There was the +tart whisky trace. With a jerk the car started. He drove fast down the +road, the thin tires bumping over hardened ruts. “Thought you were a new +field of daisies, you whore,” Craig was saying. “You’re nothing but a +brush field where a plowshare drove through. I found that out.” + +She held a frightened silence. + +“E’er a man in the county has slept in that field. So I hear.” + +He’s blind drunk. She stared ahead where the road crouched dark before +the car lights. + +“Why won’t you sleep with me too, Ellen? Why did you hit me with that +dung-fork?” He began to sniffle. + +“You’re stark crazy.” She put her fingers on the door latch. + +“You ran off with a rich fellow, I heard. And got knocked up. Had a brat +off some’eres.” He was making gruff crying noises. + +“You’re just simple crazy.” + +He was swerving the Ford into the lane of her home. He braked so that +she threw her hands against the dashboard, bruised her fingers on the +tiny crucifix screwed there. Her basket slid across the floor carpet +making a rough sound. “I’m just drunk. Worthless drunk. I’m sorry for +what I said, Ellen.” He was leaning to her and she remembered his hairy +arms. + +“Get away from me.” The handle turned. She ran to the house, the basket +swinging wildly. His car remained where it was; she glanced back from +the porch. She was pushing the door open, the kitchen was warm and +smelled of security. She went to the bedroom door, taking off her coat. + +“You were gone so long, Ellie,” Frankie whined. + +“I had to put the potatoes on,” Maria said. + +Ellen tugged at her boots. “I tarried a while at Mandy’s.” She was +busying herself with supper, making a clatter with the dishes. She +hummed and when she sliced the ham she closed her eyes, blinking tears. +He called me a whore. + +“I thought I heard a car drive up,” Maria said. + +“Someone out on the road, I reckon.” She heard the motor start then. +Craig would drive back to the York cabin. He and the others would sit +around the fire, eating apples and popping corn in an iron basket. They +would laugh about that queer Ellen Gaddy. + +Anton came in, his long-jawed face ruddy from the harsh wind. “I brought +your twists of tobacco, Pa. I set them on the shelf o’er there.” I hate +them all. Men are a pack of tormented hogs. + + * * * * * + +Christmas 1926 was approaching. Preparations were under way for +Garland’s annual visit. Frankie told Ellen with enthusiasm, “I’m just +going to sit and study grammar. So don’t look for help in the kitchen +from me.” + +“Oh Frankie, stop worrying about it.” + +In the evening the younger girl was arranging dried everlasting in the +parlor vase, the thistle-like blooms shaking palely in her hands. She +turned to Ellen, blithe. “I’m that eager to see Chicago, you know. Pa +says I can get dresses from the catalog. You help me.” + +Ellen brought it out and they selected. “You’re like a wild one, +Frankie. Setting such store on the times you’ll have. Just do as Uncle +says and it’ll come out well.” + +Frankie had suppressed her misgivings. By her lively chatter and +protestations she covered the small voice of panic beneath. + +Anton came in to where they sat. “Order stout, hear? Not cheap. I +declare this is the day. Get her new boots too, girl.” + +“She’ll more need pretty slippers, Pa.” + +“And get chills-and-fever? She can be warm and comely too, I say. Just +spend it. I got it,” he said recklessly, and went to paint the black +sink in the kitchen in honor of Garland’s coming. + +Ellen enjoyed the readying for the holidays. “Where are the straws I +pulled from the new broom you got, Ma? I’m bent I’ll find them to judge +if my cakes are done right. Frankie,” she cried, “stop studying. Come +beat this icing for me.” + +“I don’t know, Ellie.” Frankie entered the room, reluctant. “How do I +sound when I talk?” + +“Why, you sound like a lady. Whip this up, will you?” + +“All right.” Frankie poised the spoon, reciting, “The deluge drowned, +the earth around.” + +“That’s real clear, Frankie.” Ellen took pride in her cakes, liked to +start the batter with her hands, feeling the fresh lard blend to the +sugar. “I despise to waste making a cake with fat-drippings. They should +be delicate and light.” She was washing her hands, beating the eggs to a +froth with her mother’s wire whisk. Her health and good will surged +strong from some inner store. + +After mass on Sunday, Anton left his women-folk to speak with Joe +Burwell who pressed him, “Borrow my new fence stretcher, Gaddy. Hit +beats a crowbar and pliers to a fare-thee-well.” + +“I’ll try it one time. All my fences are rotting on me. Hell, I’d rather +set up rails any day than stretch wire.” + +Joe Burwell’s son Dyke was approaching the sisters and Maria on the +church porch. “Hey.” + +“Hey, Dyke,” Frankie cried. + +The boy was nineteen or twenty, fleshy and large. He was smiling weakly +at the girls, in anguish. Frankie blushed, Ellen looked down, scowling. +Anton was calling them to the waiting wagon. + +“He’s cute,” Frankie whispered and looked back. + +“You can have him. I heard he does dishes and washes and scrubs for his +ma.” + +“I wouldn’t mind. He’s tall. But how come he does her housework?” + +“She’s a one-leg. She hitched a horse up without the blinders and it +scared off and ran the spring-wagon o’er her. They had to cut her leg +clean off above the knee.” + +“Say.” + +“She wore out three wood legs till she took to pushing a chair before +her. Had a baby too,” Ellen concluded luridly, “couple of years after.” + +“Well, all the same he’s tall. I’m not so particular.” + +In the cold clear weather the cows would seek sunny spots in the +barnyard, at night crowding into steaming groups. The goats found a +plank leaning against the chicken house. Ellen came on the younger ones +bounding madly on the corrugated tin roof, their hoofs rattling. The +daring skewbald Pie snorted and leaped skittishly from the high slanted +roof to the ground. She was galloping back to the plank, short tail +erect, up on the roof again, sure-footed. They seemed like wild animals +Ellen had come on in the woods, unable to contain their spirits. Penny, +who was heavier and not inclined to frolic, stood on the ground, ears +flattened in worry. Ellen patted her and she tossed her beard, fretful. + +The girls were gathering walnuts and butternuts. They shucked them and +threw the hulls in the kitchen stove. Dyke Burwell drove up in a buggy +with his father. Ellen saw them through the window. Dyke sat helpless, +holding the reins, while the men met and walked to the barns. Joe +Burwell turned his head, bellowing, “Hitch Blacky to the post, you dang +fool, and get in where it’s warm. You got a corncob for a head?” + +At the kitchen door Dyke was rapping, timid. Ellen opened it, her hands +stained with walnut juice. She was blocking the entrance. “Well?” He +cast his eyes to his hobnail shoes. She saw the two men disappear in the +distance. “We’re busy baking.” Cruelly, she closed the door on him. + +“Ellie Gaddy!” Frankie was running quick-footed after the stout ungainly +boy. She led him to the parlor where she gave him black and white beans +to string clumsily for decoration. Ellen heard her vivacious voice and +later the piano tinkling and Frankie’s falsetto. + + When I was a lady, a lady, a lady + When I was a lady, a lady was I + And this way and that way and this way + And that way + And when I was a lady, a lady was I + +“That makes two geese in there,” Ellen told Maria briefly. + + * * * * * + +On the evening Garland was to arrive, the Gaddys were waiting in vain. +Anton took out the letter that had come from Chicago, studied it again, +squinting through his reading glass. “Hit’s today for sure. That’s what +it says here. Lay down that red carpet on the twenty-second. That’s his +way of saying it.” + +“You know, Mester Gaddy,” Maria said, “today the sun entered +Capricornus. First day of winter.” + +Anton reflected and went for the almanac. “Hit says unsettled here. I’ve +noticed these folks will often hit it right. Could be he’s run up +against a storm.” + +The roast was kept on the back of the stove, reheated until the juices +dried. The chores were finished. The family had dressed for company. +Late dusk set in and Anton grumbled, “Put it out and we’ll eat. I’ll say +grace.” They picked at the food by lamplight. The man spoke suddenly, +“This meat’s not fit for hogs.” He pushed his plate and got up, began to +pack his pipe. + +Frankie made sniffing sounds. “He’s not coming, that’s what. I can’t +bear waiting and not knowing.” She ran up the stairs, her footsteps +fading; the loft door slammed mildly from afar. + +The next forenoon Garland was wheeling a yellow Reo into the lane; he +pressed the horn, “Ah-roooooo-ga!” Frankie flew out to greet him. Ellen +was hesitating at the door, her hand shielding her eyes from the winter +sun. She saw the familiar derby and Garland’s arm about Frankie as Anton +came from the barnyard. “Broke down at Minetta, An. Had to stay +overnight. Why the hell don’t you have a telephone installed like +everyone else?” Garland was waving at his car. “How do you like it? +Brand-new touring style. The latest.” He clapped his brother on the +shoulder. “Had her up to forty miles on route sixty-six.” + +Anton preceded them into the kitchen. Garland was looking at Ellen as he +came to the steps. “Well, puss?” He pinched her thigh, his small blue +eyes gay. “How’s the wandering little wench?” He wagged his finger. + +“Reckon I was a poor niece to you last winter after your kindness.” She +gazed at him, candid. “I ne’er meant it so.” + +“Put on weight, haven’t you, hon? You look good. Pretty.” The color rose +in her face, relieved that he would let the past rest. “Got a boy friend +yet?” + +“No,” she was smiling. He met her eyes. At the sight of the clipped +mustache in the squared smooth face, a part of her loneliness had drawn +away. They walked into the house, his arm on her shoulder. + +Maria was in the bedroom doorway, twisting a towsack towel in her hands. +“Who be you?” + +“Ooman,” roared Anton, “it’s my brother then.” + +“Not peddler.” + +“Ooman. You’re plaguing me.” + +“Shut up, An. She hasn’t seen me for a year. Hello, Maria, I brought you +a present, too. It’s in my car. A pressure cooker to save you work.” + +“Now I forgot it was you coming today.” Maria was suddenly complacent. +“Tinie Bilberry’s got a bread-mixing outfit. Hit’s made to save work +too. The handle turns like a churn and the dough comes out ready for the +pans.” + +“Does hit shape the loaves too?” asked Anton grimly. “I allow men are +turning from the Lord God’s ways with these contraptions.” + +“Next year I’m going to bring you a sewing machine, Maria. I saw a +treadle one you could use, seeing as your husband won’t put in +electricity till doomsday. You got to look to the future, Anton. Rural +electrification. Let machines do it.” + +“Next you’ll say get a newfangled automobile,” Anton predicted. + +Ellen and Maria laid out the noon dinner. Ellen was warmed in her +uncle’s love. In the evening she sat by him on the sofa. Or if he was +standing, she linked her arm in his. When he laughed and said Frankie’s +way of speech wasn’t a whit altered from last year and that Anton had +got a reaming on the grammar teacher, her jealousy was assuaged. + +But Anton angered, “That fellow’s been coming for a year. And there was +one we had before him that quit on me.” + +“Hold on,” Garland was crying easily. “Chrissake, Frankie’ll be all +right. You did what you could.” He nodded kindly to the girl’s stricken +face. “Let’s hear you play something, sweet.” + +The next morning Ellen was in late from her barn work. She stopped in +the hall at the parlor door, hearing Garland’s emphatic voice within, +“She’s not well, I tell you, An. You’re so used to her you don’t notice. +But she acts downright queer.” + +“Shaw.” + +“She needs psychiatric care. Mental aid. Look, I’m worried about her. +Your attitude doesn’t help, God knows. You’re as enlightened as a +bushman.” + +Anton laughed, “You modern city folk. Such know-alls.” + +“I’m not sure if I should have brought that pressure cooker, either.” + +“Well, that’s a fact. I wouldn’t have any truck with it. What’s it got +o’er a good fire for cooking? You tell me.” + +Ellen wandered into the kitchen to look at Maria with new eyes. She saw +the two men going to the barn, her uncle clad in one of the country +costumes he affected, jodhpurs and boots, a dark red turtle-neck +sweater. And Anton wearing stiff new overalls and a fresh-made black +shirt. + +When the time had arrived for midnight mass, Ellen was taking her place +at the communion rail with the others. She waited while the priest +stopped at Garland and then Anton and Maria. Then Father Tompert spoke +in Latin above her and in the cold church all became quiet. The fleeting +fear washed over Ellen. Am I lost? Pa thinks I’m a pure maid. But his +God knows I’m not. When she was going back to the bench, she fortified +herself. They that stumbled are girded with strength. She had read it +when she searched in her father’s worn Bible. I’ve done no wrong. I have +my God. And she rebuilt her peace. + +They were driving back to the farm in the Reo. The girls tucked their +feet in the narrow floor space, sniffed the new interior. They savored +the luxury of the shallow seat. Frankie was giggling, “We’re like soft +city ladies.” Ellen laughed into the dark. + +Anton was pulling at his pipe, the fragrant smoke mingling with the +fresh biting wind that whipped from the open windows into the back seat. +Garland inquired, “Where’s your fancy blue hat, hon? With the rose on +it, that I brought you last year? I see you’re still wearing that old +cap.” + +“It’s cold tonight,” Ellen was evasive, “so I wore this warm wool one.” + +At home, they ate from the laden table. Then the women came into the +parlor, leaving the kitchen in disarray. They sat by the fire that was +cracking as the dry wood caught. “I’m going to help you girls do those +dishes in the morning,” Garland cried. “You’ve got to keep me company. I +used to be in demand as a dishwasher in the old days at some of the best +hotels. Now I insist.” + +“Such foolishness,” Anton mocked, lighting one of the fresh cigars and +settling in a chair. + +Ellen brought a bowl of wrinkled sweet winter apples. “Have a russet, +Uncle?” + +“Ellie, I’ll play if you’ll sing.” Frankie was at the upright piano. + +“Go ahead, pusses.” Garland had produced a bottle of bootleg rum; he +poured two glasses. He waved his hand until they finished the tune. + + I don’t want no more of your weevily wheat + I don’t want none of your barley + But I want some more of your pretty white flour + To bake a cake for Charlie + +“I vote for Christmas!” Garland’s face heated. Ellen was remembering the +party in Chicago where he had seemed a stranger. Here he was his old +self once again. When he came yearly to the farm, the tenor of the home +would be transformed, and Ellen esteemed by him above her sister. She +wondered if Anton ever noticed. I’m strong like their mother, that Nell +they talk of. And Frankie’s not. + +Anton finished his glass, set it down. “If you-all want to hear about +it, we saw a crowd of doves once so thick they blacked the sky.” + +“Turtledoves?” Frankie asked. + +“Passenger pigeons,” said Garland. “I remember them, too. Extinct now. +That was when we were boys.” + +“They sounded like a twister when a flock came o’er,” said Anton. “Our +sir took us three youngens to see them. That was in eighteen-eighty.” + +“Not that far back.” Garland was yawning. + +“Yes it was. For Ma named it time and again. Eighteen-eighty.” Anton was +animated by the memory. + +“Well, if you say.” + +“You and me were still wearing shirt-tails, Gar. Marc was in pants. He’d +have been about ten. It was down where Maria’s folks lived.” He nodded. +“At Seven Mile Run. They shot them down and left the squabs to die. They +shipped them in barrels till the market was so glutted they had to feed +them out to the hogs.” + +“How many you reckon were in that skyful of doves, Pa?” Ellen was +asking. + +“Well, when they settled, the flock stretched forty miles long and ten +deep. Then one day they all flew off at once. We went to look at the +giant trees stripped and ruined.” + +“I’d fain have seen them,” Ellen said, “darkening the sky.” + +“I notice they caught some rumrunners,” Garland said, “sneaking it in +from Canada in a carload of hog carcasses.” He mourned, “No more booze.” + +“Prohibition’s nothing to me,” said Anton, “I make what wine I need. +I’ll give you some to take back if you want. Dandelion’s the best, I’d +say.” + +“I’ll take you up on that. So they don’t catch me, I’ll label it perfume +for the ladies.” + +Frankie was tittering, Garland stretching, and the family found their +beds. + +Ellen remained awake. Life, it seemed, was a long quest for love. The +wind was whistling low around a corner of the house. Her mind went on +what Garland had said about Maria being ill. The wind sound was bringing +to memory a fall evening when Ellen was a child and a whippoorwill began +to call near the porch steps, first in low-pitched chucks, then +shredding the night with its cry. Maria had shrieked, “Get him off the +porch, girl.” Ellen ran to open the door, the song ceased as the bird +winged away. But Maria had wept, “When the whippoorwill sings on your +doorstep, it brings bad luck. Hit sung on the night I lost my betimes +baby. It was a little boy.” Ellen had vowed then, it’ll not be so with +me. Life won’t break me whatever comes. The wind was growling, hunting. +She remembered that in Illinois there was a small child of hers. She had +a vague wish to see what he was like. And then, nostalgia like a memory +of the dead drove through her, constricting her throat, for what dwelled +between Luke Dougherty and his wife. + + * * * * * + +On Christmas, Anton was baffled to find his brother had given him a +battery radio. “Hit’s a contraption, all right.” He was tuning the +stations. Static clattered in, a rasping voice and a sudden blare of +music. Anton was hunching himself over the instrument on the table. +“Don’t help me, Gar. Leave me run hit myself.” + +The girls opened black velvet boxes. Ellen was turning a gold chain over +in her hand; she laid it cold about her throat. There were matched +pearls for Frankie who wore her new yellow dress and flitted between +Anton and Garland. “Now, gather ye rosebuds,” Garland was quoting, +“while ye may. Old Time’s still a-flying. The same flower that blooms +today tomorrow’ll be dying.” He thumped the round table with his palm. + +“Tell more about Chicago, Uncle. What’ll it be like for me?” + +“Oh, Anton thinks you’ve got such a talent,” he was chucking Frankie’s +chin, “he can’t cheat the world of it. You’ll like it, sweet. I’ll let +you take it slow. Afraid I gave your sister too big a dose.” He looked +at Ellen, who gravely returned his gaze. “Remember how busy I was, hon? +Now that’s what I like about Christmas down here. Takes my mind off my +problems.” + +“Give me that old-timey religion,” the radio pealed. + +“Listen at that,” Anton shouted. “No telling where those barbarians are +singing from.” + +The holiday week wore on. Frankie in high excitement, was easily given +to laughter, as easily wept. On the second of January, it was planned, +she would drive in the Reo to Chicago. The sisters were washing milk +buckets in the kitchen when Ellen said, “Be good for you to part from Pa +for a spell.” + +“Oh, you just want him for yourself,” Frankie wailed. “He’ll ne’er romp +with you like me.” + +Ellen tightened her lips, threw back her head, marched to her goats in +the woodshed. “Scroungy brat,” she sniffed. “That’s not so.” + +They were all seated before the fire in the parlor at night. A knock +came at the kitchen door and Ellen went to answer it. “Why, Lily +Garrett. I don’t know when we saw you last. Want to come in?” + +The fat girl was encased in a bulky coat, the figure of a youth rearing +behind her. “We want you to come with us, Ellie. Frankie too. We got a +wagon of hay and there’s a moon to see by. Come on, Ellie, ask if you +can.” + +“No. Pa wouldn’t let us. Who-all is there?” She leaned forward from the +security of the house. + +“A whole wagonload of us. Papa let me go. Said I’d be whipped anyway so +I’d as well. It’s a deal of fun.” Lily was bouncing with energy. “This +is Jacob Haas.” + +“Hello,” he said. + +“Reckon we can’t go, but I sure thank you for asking. And Mester Haas, +too.” She nodded to the dark figure. + +She came back into the parlor and Garland said, “That was your fellow, +wasn’t it, sweet?” His blue eyes were admiring her. + +She stepped lightly across the oak floor, containing her gestures. “Oh, +it was only Lily, Uncle.” + +“She’s my best friend,” Frankie said. “She told me when Sophie had those +twins.” + +“Yes, and those brats came five months after the girl married Buck +Lemmon,” Anton said. “A loose crowd.” + +“They’re young, Anton,” cried Garland. + +“Rakes and loose girls. Defiling the unwedded has no excuse. I’ll keep +these two chaste.” + +On New Year’s Eve, Ellen was putting peas to soak in the iron kettle. +Garland came looking for her. “What are you doing, puss?” + +“Don’t you know it’s good luck to eat black-eye peas and sowbelly the +first day of the year?” + +“What really happened last spring in St. Louis, hon? It was a man, +wasn’t it? I knew something was going on with you.” + +She looked to her work, her fingers trembling. She felt mature, +controlled. “Nothing. I ne’er reached St. Louis.” + +“What I can’t figure out is how you managed to get away so quietly. I +searched the stations in the morning for you. Kept it from Anton as long +as I could.” + +“Wish I was like you, Uncle. You got all you want.” She said it +unexpectedly. “Purely I’d admire to be you.” + +“Seems you could have told me your problems. You’re growing up so fast. +Maybe I could have helped. Why did you run away like that?” + +“I wouldn’t be Pa. But I’d be you, if I were a man.” She said it +passionately, won to him by his approval of her, by his broad opinions, +awed with his worldliness. + +“There’s no one like you, Ellen,” he was smiling, shaking his head. + +Anton called from the parlor door, “Go out and take a look at that +Gladys heifer, girl.” + +“I’ll go with her,” Garland shouted back. He took Ellen’s coat from the +hook and held it for her. He was lighting the lantern awkwardly. He wore +a fur-trimmed jacket and was pulling on kid gloves. His esteem seeped +over Ellen, making her movements supple, her youth a fine thing. + +The path to the barn was a river of canescent moonlight drowning the +lantern glow. They walked silent until Garland said, “You know how much +like my mother you are?” He reflected. “There was a way she had though, +that came out sometimes. Like she really hated me.” He was speaking +softer. “I’d try to make her notice the way I could work quicker and do +things better than Marc. He was older. She always doted so on him.” +Ellen’s quiescence encouraged him in the cover of the night. “I remember +her sitting with her head up stiff in the seat of her little rig, +driving her pony. Beg her to let me harness it for her, or curry it.” He +murmured, “You know, you’re just the spit of her sometimes, puss. Except +for your hair. Hers was more the color of Frankie’s.” He took her arm. + +Ellen felt him shivering. It’s me, causing him to do that. “Venus and +Mars and Jupiter are the evening stars now,” she told him. “Jupiter’s +still up, he doesn’t set till about eight these days.” + +In the barn, by fragile lantern light, the pregnant young cow seemed +quiet. They were turning to go. Ellen noticed Sam had stuffed a burlap +sack in the broken window to keep the wind out. Garland spoke again, +“You know I’ve always had a thought about Marc that I never told +anyone.” Ellen was listening in the near dark, amid the pungent animal +odors. “He had brown straight hair and his face was different somehow. +Handsome. He wasn’t like any of us.” He lit a cigarette, leisurely. “You +in any hurry, sweet?” He put his arm about her and she waited to hear +the secret about her dead uncle, Marc. “I don’t think he was Pa’s son at +all. I think my mother married Jules Gaddy because she got caught and +needed a father for her child.” + +“Reckon your sir knew of it?” whispered Ellen. + +“No telling. He thought the world of my mother, that I’m sure of. She +got her way on everything.” He was blowing the smoke, stamping the +cigarette into the musty bedding. He breathed broken, “Oh darling.” And +his dry mouth was on hers, his old mouth, in desire. He was pulling at +her skirt, fumbling on her thigh with his soft fingers. She tore her +mouth swiftly away, turning her head. + +“And Lot went up out of Zoar,” he whispered, holding her to him. “He +dwelt in the mountains and his daughters with him. Didn’t know I could +quote from the Bible, did you, hon? The first-born went in and lay with +her father. Book of Genesis.” Hotly he held her but gently withal. + +She was pushing him from her with violent hands. “Come to the house, +Uncle. Now.” + +Wordless he followed her up the path where moonlight bloomed cold. In +the kitchen she hung her coat on its hook. She went upstairs to lie in +the chill air, while the dying candle made a puddle of tallow on the +table top. Ellen’s loneliness was an ache, for his kindness had garbed +her. He was aged and knowledgeable. Despair had laid her bare. It’s not +for love of me. He’s got no enduring need of me. His imperfection, his +weakness, had come to stand between them. + + * * * * * + +In the morning Garland was jovial in a bright yellow shirt piped in red +and a belt with a European clasp fashioned like a horse and rider. Ellen +dawdled over her barn chores, came tardily to the breakfast table. She +didn’t wear a fresh apron, she ate stolid, uncommunicative. Anton was +rapt in the radio, the nasal twang. + + She’s pure as the rose, like the lamb she is meek + And she’s never been known to use paint on her cheek + +Ellen went from the room unnoticed. She decided to clean in the parlor +first. She lifted a heavy chair, viciously dropped it thudding into its +accustomed place. “Can’t those old fools leave things in order? It’s +clean and redd up, mop and scrub. And then they mess it all up. Hogs.” +She was piling rag rugs in her arms and striding to the porch. The door +slammed after her. She stood on the steps and shook the rugs, snapping +them with loud whacks. The dirt whirled in the cold air. “Dust and +more,” she was muttering. + +Garland opened the door. He was holding a cigarette, and traced his +mustache with the small finger of his hand. Behind him she could hear +Frankie’s high inquiring whines and the radio. + +“Well, puss?” She continued her work, her soft mouth set in a line. He +came over to her. “You know what you mean to me? _Joie de la vie._ Now +that’s right. I’m past fifty, hon. If I’d have met someone like you +earlier things might have been different in my life.” + +She let a rug drop and in a deliberate movement took up another with a +sigh. “I got a tormented lot of work to get through today, Uncle.” + +“Just wanted you to know that.” He was tossing his cigarette away; he +lit another and went inside. She heard him in a few minutes. + + It’s beefsteak when I’m hungry + Rye whisky when I’m dry + Greenbacks when I’m hard up + And heaven when I die + +The Reo was packed, and it waited to carry Garland and Frankie away the +next day. Ellen was instructed to wake the travelers early in the +morning before going to the barn. The household sought their beds not +long after supper. Frankie was protesting in their room, “The particular +thing I’m afraid of is meeting folks, Ellie. Wish you were going to be +there.” + +“I’m out of patience with you. You’ve not done a lick all day, flitting +about like a twitting chick.” + +“All the same, talk to me.” + +“Hush and leave me be. I’m asleep.” + +Before dawn Ellen went into Garland’s partitioned chamber to rouse him. +The light of the candle wavered across his face. For the instant she was +confused, thinking it wasn’t her uncle with mouth pulled in withered +upon the gums. She drew her breath sharply, and he was opening his eyes. +“Ell’n?” he quavered, reaching for his false teeth in a watercup on the +stone-topped bed table. + +“Are you awake? I have to run.” + +When she returned from the barn, Frankie had dressed, her new pearls +were at her neck, her lips pale, her eyes blue-shadowed. “Must I really +go, Pa?” + +“It’s what we planned. And it’s for you to do. You know it be my nearest +wish.” He warned her, “Don’t start up.” + +“I won’t, Pa.” + +He took the girl on his lap. “Look here, Poppet.” The battery set was +clanging to the beat of a banjo, “Off with your coat and wet your throat +with that real old mountain dew.” + +“Shut it off for Chrissake,” Garland demanded, and the women started. +“We’re going in a few minutes and then you can listen to your heart’s +content. By God, An.” + +The man switched off the radio and they sat to breakfast. + +“Gladys isn’t letting her milk down so good, Pa.” Ellen leaned toward +him. + +“Tell Sam to let her calf bump it some. It can stay with the old one +awhile. I aim to veal hit anyway.” + +“Did you e’er tell Uncle about old Full-pail, Pa?” Frankie was preparing +to prolong the mealtime. “That Dyke told of?” + +“Listen at this, Garland. Joe Burwell went to look at a milk cow. The +farmer hadn’t but led it out when his old ooman came squalling, don’t +sell old Full-pail. Pray, don’t sell Full-pail, Mester. Joe’s ears +pricked up. The old lady kept hollering so first thing Joe knows, he’s +shelling out thirty dollars cold cash and hauling the cow home. That +evening he couldn’t milk a teacup. Joe was fit to be tied. Went back and +the farmer said to him, ne’er said how big the pail was.” + +“That’s good,” Garland approved. + +Before the sun rose much higher the bags had been put in the car. +Garland returned to the porch for the pasteboard suitcases of Frankie’s +things. “Away we go,” he cried. + +Frankie was clinging to Ellen. “Reckon I won’t see you-all till next +Christmas.” + +“You’ll be too grand for us then, Frankie,” Ellen said. + +Garland was getting behind the wheel. “These Reos are demons. Did I tell +you I had her right at fifty on route sixty-six?” + +“You take care of that girl, Gar. Don’t drive so reckless.” + +“Statistics prove a car’s lots safer than a buggy. You know that?” He +was looking at Ellen, “Goodbye, hon.” + +“Goodbye, Uncle.” She waited for them to be gone, for routines to be +reestablished and the ways of peace to come over the farm. She yearned +toward spring, sick of winter’s hanging on. + +“So long, Maria,” Garland was calling. Maria waved, walking back to the +house. + +“Bye now, Ma.” And the small figure promised, “I’ll write once a week, +Pa.” + +The yellow car was going down the lane and turning onto the road. +Stillness descended until it rang like wounded thunder. Anton went +toward the porch where Maria, in her dark red sweater and a discarded +broad-brimmed hat of his, waited to follow Anton into the house. Ellen +walked over to the well, putting her coat collar up. She sat on the damp +covering board and shivered. From her pocket she was taking the +gold-linked necklace Garland had given her. She dangled it where the sun +collected to glint and catch the luster. She held it over the well +before letting it drop. + + + 13 + +Song sparrows were murmuring. Deep in burrows, woodchucks blinked and +closed their eyes again. Brave white-carved flowers unfolded wearily and +narrow spires of pokeweed started from the debris of winter. A +green-striped butterfly emerged misshapen from a chrysalis and pumped +wet wings. Cows bawled, feeling the season, and rutting male hogs +screamed. Jack carried traces of skunk musk. On Ash Wednesday Father +Tompert marked the foreheads of Ellen and her parents with a cross of +ashes, saying, “Remember man, thou art dust and to dust thou shalt +return.” + +From cover of the woods Ellen was watching a dog fox in a fallow field. +It was hunting white-footed mice, repeatedly leaped stiff-legged above +the weeds, brush high. She rested her hands on the thick winter coats of +the three goats at her side. She put her mind on Frankie, who wrote +abrupt letters from Chicago. They brought lines to her father’s face +until Ellen would feel the compassion heating her. She climbed a stile +in the rail fence and her does were clambering after, the spotted kid +leaping, shaking its long ears. Her thoughts had turned to Garland, and +the secret about Marc. Wish I was wise. There were him and Pa both, +grieving as youngens after the love of that mother of theirs, that Nell +Gaddy. And her honing all the while for Marc’s true daddy that had left +her. None of them satisfied. And Pa’d never study out that secret the +way Uncle did. Pa would never think Nell could get caught with a brat +the same as me. Her mind touched on the money she had sent last week +again to the Doughertys. I put the child to a good mother. I never +wanted him. Poor thing. The goats followed as she went up through the +budding, winter-bare woods. + + * * * * * + +And three years would pass, years of time merged and woven in a pattern +on an endless loom of chores. The color in Ellen’s life would break in +snatches on the cloth of the drab days. By summer the radio Garland had +brought was growing dim. Anton laid his ear to it in the evenings to +catch the feeble sound. “It’s that far off,” he whispered, intent. Then +the batteries were exhausted and the instrument was stored away in the +wagon shed to gather cobwebs and mold. Maria’s pressure cooker would +blow up, rending a gash on the rafter beams. Maria hid in the clothes +press, staying there until Ellen had picked up the torn metal parts and +thrown them out. She wore the same clothes day on day, her light-colored +dresses hanging unused on the ridgepole in her room. Mud daubers +constructed a nest over them, soaring in summer with damp balls dangling +from their legs, in and out the two small windows. + +At first Ellen missed her sister, her shrill voice and dependent ways. +She told Lily Garrett, “Frankie would always be after me to stir up a +cake or mend for her. She’d lean on me in her way.” + +“Hey, my fudge party was the most fun,” Lily was giggling. “Looks like +you being nineteen now, Ellie, your papa’d let you come. And we shelled +corn too. Craig Hedrick found a red car. There. He kissed me.” + +“Is that all he did?” Ellen was picking through a pile of cornhusks, +looking for flat strips to splice and braid into mats. “He talk about +petunia flowers?” + +Lily’s carefully arranged curls shook. “I ne’er been kissed so. Reckon I +could catch him, Ellie? Think of me with a baby and a man calling me +wife.” + + * * * * * + +Changes would take place within Ellen over these three years. Going to +church, following her parents in, she came to feel that those whom she +had seen as pure in the time of her transgression were not so. They hid +their sins, she dared to think, and dressed themselves a poppet God. +When Anton stepped into the confession cubicle and she heard him +mumbling ever too loud as he pled the venial sins, she allowed herself +to think he made his shrift complacently. When he dipped the holy water +she pitied his narrow habits and more than before devoted herself to his +will that he might see she knew her duty. + +The God that was hers was not enclosed where the crowd gathered. She set +her mind on it. Hers stood above when she was on the land and alone. His +feet were the hills, his hand the wind that quivered, his eyes those of +the meekest birds. “This one’s my Lord,” she said, solaced. + +She was stirred to confide in Anton once. They were standing on the +porch on a summer’s night while a storm was breeding in the south. +Lightning flicked and the hot earth panted for the coming water. “You +can feel the hands of God now. All the unknowing. You feel it, Pa? How +we’re just naught?” She was leaning toward him. + +“If you’d take the time, girl,” he said heavily, “to read His word, +you’d know that He formed man of the dust of the ground and you’d know +of the Day of Judgment and the opening of the graves. The sun shall be +turned to darkness and the moon to blood.” He left her sitting on the +stair. Large drops began to fall and the wind swept in a deep sweetness. + +Sometimes a young man would look on Ellen as she was standing with Maria +in the churchyard, or when bartering at Love’s. Or one would offer her a +lift in his wagon and would look at the gold-flecked pupils and the ripe +figure. Then she cast her eyes down, surly, or stared at him, bold, +until he turned aside. She was guarding herself against a hurt. Dyke +Burwell came to call, waited on the divan in the parlor while she +slipped away to watch the winging bees, honey-dripped and golden, +working the hives. Anton ferreted after her and bade her keep the young +man company. + +“But I’ve no mind for him, Pa,” she protested. + +He roared, “What’s awry with you and you won’t be courted? I’ll not put +up with your foldilay ways.” He was thrusting his chin, “You do as bid, +girl.” + +So she sat sullen with Dyke. But she baited him slyly and he went away +and came no more. + +At Love’s grocery one time, while she was debating on thread and needles +and picking out salt and coffee, a thing happened. Carl Brinker’s hired +man was bartering with Grady. Ellen had seen the new green pickup +outside. He was a dark fellow with a heavy face and fists. “You see, Ay +was my boss’s hired hand before me, Mester Love,” the man droned. “Now, +haven’t you got a bigger clevis pin?” + +“What size you want? So his baby died?” + +Stacey’s birdlike eyes were on Ellen. “You feeling ill?” + +Ellen sensed a danger as she felt the flush rise. She laughed sharply, +“No. I allow I’ve got all Ma needed. Excepting yeast. You got some fresh +sponge?” + +“I’ll see if mine’s still working good.” Stacey disappeared. + +Ellen’s heart thudded, hearing the laborious speech of Brinker’s man. +“That Ay’s had a tedious run of bad luck. First his daddy passed on, +then his sister ran off. Rose Ay.” + +“So?” said Grady. “Tell your boss I got new bridle rosettes in. White +and blue.” + +“That Ay’s sister was comely. Biggity but comely.” + +“Ay wasn’t much.” + +“No. I ne’er knew him well. We used his store some. I’ll tell Mester +Brinker about those gaudies. He’ll buy some for that stallion. You e’er +seen that horse?” The man was slowly scratching his head. “Now what +about the Lord taking that little child?” + +“He gives and He takes away,” sighed Grady. + +“That’s so.” + +Ellen put the warm jar of yeast in her basket, hurried past the two men. +Grady was nodding, “Here’s someone seen an old beau of yours in +Louisville.” + +“I ne’er had a beau.” + +“Took you to the circus in New Hope, a bird told me.” Grady’s eyes +flickered while he grinned. + +“Morning, miss.” Brinker’s man touched his cap, doleful. “You know +Mester Ay?” + +“I’ll be getting along now.” + +That had happened in the first of the three years. Ellen would ponder on +it. Christian was gone out of her days for ever and all of eternity. She +faced it. He had taken some woman to wife, his sweetheart, his may, for +the rest of their enduring lives. She twisted it and the sharp hurt was +dead. + + * * * * * + +In that first year too, Garland and Frankie had driven down for the +Christmas holiday in a factory-fresh five-passenger Oakland. Ellen saw +at once that the year in Chicago had altered Frankie. Her old gaiety was +shed. She wore a modish yellow cloche pulled over her brow, her jacket +was long, belted at the hips. Her bright hair was bobbed. Anton was +beside himself, fascinated at Frankie’s apparel and her new manner. “I +declare she’s a little swell, gar.” He scratched his head. “How do you +like city life, Poppet?” + +“Very well, Pa.” + +“How’s your learning coming on? Are folks setting up? I vow. Hum.” + +“Very well. I’ll unpack now, if you don’t mind.” She was going coolly up +the stairs and he watched, silent. + +“What happened to that radio I gave you?” Garland asked. “Hell, I’ve got +six in my house now.” + +Ellen had dressed the house with holly and bought red candles for the +table. She was making her sister’s favorite desserts. “I threw together +a blackberry cake, Frankie. We haven’t had one since you’ve been gone.” + +“I never noticed Ma was so simple, Ellie.” + +“Should I top it with boiled white icing or jam?” + +“Was Mrs. Quimby at Uncle’s when you were there?” + +“How come you ask?” + +“I hate that know-all.” + +“Does Uncle treat you good, Frankie?” + +“He’s different there.” + +“I mean, does he make o’er you a lot?” + +“No, he’s not much for romping like Pa was, Ellie. He thinks me a little +child.” + +And Ellen was satisfied about Garland. “Reckon I’ll use icing and jam +both, Frankie.” Ellen was constrained if Garland came upon her alone, +but in the family group he would seem her familiar uncle. When she +thought of his incestuous overture of the last winter, she would shove +the episode into a cupboard of her mind. + +Around the fire in the evening, Anton had poured his tales, overweening, +on the younger girl. “Used to be the only tools a man needed were made +of wood, Poppet. A plow and a harrow and a wagon. Your grandsir used a +peg-tooth harrow with a hickory-wood frame. When a tooth broke off, he +fitted a new one from the woods. Haw. No running to the Bethel Hardware +for a broken piece of this or that. Just like the old country.” + +“Speaking of the old country,” said Garland, “you girls know about +truffle hunters?” + +“What’s a truffle, Uncle?” + +“Grows on roots of oaks. There was an old woman hunted them in this +village in France where your ancestors lived. She’d take a basket and +spade and a pig on a leash.” + +“Slut?” + +“No, puss, this wasn’t a trained pig. Truffles have a strong odor that +any pig can scent. He roots under a tree and then she drives him off and +digs them up.” + +“Such uses for hogs,” Maria was saying, “as you’ve heard of.” + +“Sometimes they use dogs, but this woman used a pig. She chained him at +night or he’d slip out and get the truffles.” + +“Christmas makes you remember, doesn’t it, Uncle?” said Frankie +suddenly. “Why don’t you tell stories at home?” + +“This here’s your home,” grumbled Anton. + +Garland was filling glasses with the “imported” Scotch he had brought. +“Now, Frankie,” he cautioned. + +“Want to hear more about hogs?” asked Anton. + +“All right.” + +“When our grandsir came homesteading all he had was a few razorbacks. He +fattened them on oak and buckmast, said it beat corn any day.” + +“I don’t see how a pig could be fatter than that spotted boar you’ve +got,” said Garland. + +“Luther. He’s ornery, spoiled my best milker and her heifer calf.” + +“Say, Frankie’s practiced a Christmas song for you, An,” Garland said. + +“Play it, Poppet.” + +“I don’t feel like singing now.” + +“I ask you to,” Anton glowered. + +“She’s got a new singing teacher,” Garland was saying as the girl went +reluctant to the piano. “Makes the third one now.” + +“She had two grammar mesters before she went with you,” said Anton. “One +walked out on me and Peyton tried to quit when I fired him. How come +they do that?” + +The girl played accurately, accompanying herself in a reedy tone. + + I heard the bells on Christmas day + Their old familiar carols play + And wild and sweet the words repeat + Of peace on earth good will to men + +Ellen was bringing in a split-oak basket of persimmons. “I ran onto them +yesterday, Pa. I don’t know why the possums let them be.” + +Anton took one of the soft orange fruit. “Used to be they made ’simmon +beer in this county. It wasn’t sharp like city beer, Gar. We used to +roast ’simmon seeds too, when coffee was scarce.” + +Garland bit into the mellow sweet fruit. “They’re good. The pucker’s +gone out.” + +“The frost seasons them,” Ellen said. + +“I know. Used to hunt them when I was a kid.” + +“A ’simmon tree’s got a black heartwood in its center,” Anton said, +“with layers of yellow sapwood outside it. It’s the only tree I know +like that.” + +“Those rings, now,” said Ellen. “You can count the rings to tell the age +of a tree.” + +“Is that black heartwood in the young tree?” asked Frankie. + +“And if there’s a drought,” Ellen went on, “the ring’s scarce to be +read, it’s so narrow.” + +“I want to know about that heartwood, Pa.” + +“Well, you don’t find hit in a sapling, Poppet. It comes of itself as +the tree takes on age.” + +“I think it’s there in the young tree,” Frankie said. + +“How come you to worry on that, Poppet? It’s no consequence.” + +“But I want to know.” + +“Now there,” said Garland. “It’s getting on bedtime. I can tell +Frankie’s sleepy.” + +“Ellie never sang a song yet,” said Frankie. + +“I’ll sing in the morning. We’re wasting coal oil. Come on.” + +The girls climbed from the fire-warmed parlor to the loft where winter +rain reeled on the roof. Under dank blankets they were waiting for the +warmth of their bodies to overtake them. Anton’s disputing voice came up +the stairs, “Why’s she act so? Like a highborn one? What are you doing +to her there in that city?” Garland’s voice was heard in murmur. And +again Anton’s rude shout, “Be she e’er seeing men?” And in a moment, +“Well, that don’t mean a thing. N. J. says all his sister e’er did was +set on a fellow’s lap one winter. Said his pa watched them courting by +the range and thought no harm. They hardly spoke but only set there +hugging. Now before God, she came by a child and his pa had to get them +married.” + +In the melancholy dark from her bed, over the sound of the sleet +whipping the shingles, Ellen whispered, “You like a fellow?” + +“No, I’m a poor country girl there. I hear them laugh. I came on my +singing teacher snickering with Uncle. It was about me.” + +“When do you think you’ll start playing in public like Pa wants?” + +“I’m the most alone person. It’s because I’m queer, I think. Maybe Pa +made me so. Or else I get it from Ma. The way I talk and act.” + +Anton’s voice was audible through the doorway as they came into the hall +downstairs, “And then I heard Ma saying, I’d fain have been a lady but I +married you, little feist. We dragged her down, Gar. We gommed her +desires.” + +“Hell, An, you’re drunk. Forget Ma. Like I did long ago. Let’s get back +to the subject. As I see it, Frankie’s doing the best she can. She’s not +got much gumption and she’s plenty like you when she gets stubborn, but +I think she’s beginning to adjust. This is the first vacation she’s had, +what with lessons. I hope I can keep her present teacher. Says he’s got +his hands full. Costs a mint, you know.” + +“Hum. If there’s anything I can do for you.” + +“You’re my brother.” Garland’s familiar slap on Anton’s back was carried +up the staircase. “Covers a multitude of sins. We’ve got to stick +together.” + +Ellen thought Frankie was asleep until she heard the voice threading the +dark. “Seems I got a black heartwood core same as that ’simmon tree.” +The girl’s voice was sated with self-pity. “People can tell it’s there.” + + * * * * * + +The next day Garland came to the barn where Ellen was cleaning the +goats’ stable, heaping the soiled litter outside the shed with a heavy +fork. An acrid stench hung in the air and the flock of five moved about +her. “Keep you company awhile, hon?” + +“If you like.” + +“You have quite a bunch of your own here.” + +“I set store by them.” She was forking fresh bedding in the pen and the +animals crowded in to lie down, nosing and chewing the straw. She +fastened the gate and leaned to watch them. + +“Long time ago,” Garland was saying, “old man Alden used to keep a pair +of nannies in his shack with him. Wonder if he’s still alive.” + +“Ne’er heard of him.” + +“Lived a few miles up the road. Us boys would sneak over to peek in his +windows. Watch him suck the milk from the udders.” + +“Is that a fact?” + +Garland watched her intently. “You’re wonderful, puss.” + +“That’s a silly thing to say.” + +“Well, you make me feel like a boy again. I always said it.” + +Ellen laughed at him. “Reckon I best get to the kitchen. I’ll race you +to see if you’re still a boy.” + +“Now there’s a cruel wench.” He trailed after her. + +At the steps she waited. As they started up they became aware suddenly +of a commotion within the house, of cries and Anton’s growls. Ellen was +running up the stairs. “I’m afraid it’s Ma.” + +But the shrill cry of Frankie pierced, “I won’t go back. I won’t. I hate +you. You can’t make me.” + +And a sound was heard so that Ellen turned to Garland. “He’s beating +her. He’ll not be gainsaid. What’ll we do?” + +“I’ll show you what. He’s always got to lord it over someone.” Garland +sharpened his wrath, ran into the hall, flinging open the parlor door. + +Anton was red-faced, and Frankie, in a despair of tears, was shaking in +a corner of the sofa, her knitted skirt pulled above her knees, her +bobbed hair tangled. She hid her face. “I don’t care about nothing. I +don’t care.” + +Garland caught Anton’s arm and while they shouted, Ellen bade her sister +come into the kitchen. Frankie laid her head on the table and wept. +Ellen walked about the room at her work, finally coaxing, “Now these +fruits have to be cut up for the cake. You always were good at it, +Frankie. Here’s the knife and bowl.” + +Frankie pushed them from her. “Ellie, I do hate Pa.” She fled up the +stairs. + +The angered voices in the parlor rose and fell until the milking hour +came. Then Anton, black-faced, strode to the barn. Garland watched him +from the porch stoop and then followed. “There,” said Ellen to Maria who +came in from the bedroom, “things are in a state. Pa ought to let +Frankie stay here where she belongs.” + +“Don’t beard Mester Gaddy,” Maria advised. “Let him be.” + +That night by the fireside it was as if a ghostly thing stood amid them. +Ellen sighed. Maria, feeling the trouble, gestured to herself. Garland +smoked one cigarette after another. And Frankie was white, holding her +head erect. “Reckon I’ll go to bed,” she said at length. “Good night +all.” + +Anton bent his scorn-washed face over a farm journal. “Well, I see here +it tells about them foreigners in the old country using artificial +insemination. Now I reckon that’s a sin against a beast. It’s sodomy.” +He pulled furiously on his dead pipe. + +“Chrissake, An.” + +But in the morning Ellen caught sight at the stairhead of Frankie and +Anton. The thin words came, “Forgive my willfulness, Pa.” Frankie’s face +was hard. She had purchased her peace, before leaving her father again, +kneeling in the short skirt she now wore. + + * * * * * + +On the second Christmas of these three years, Frankie brought her +contradictory ways again into focus, so that Anton stalked about in +dudgeon, lying in wait for her open rebellion. She would turn him +though, in a new cunning way she had learned, “Beg your pardon, Pa.” + +The holiday evenings were drawn short and quiet by the hickory and +oak-fed fires. After midnight mass, all but Garland ate sparely at the +table, disheartened. The sliced meats and cheese, the sweet cakes and +peppered blood pudding, were spread forth. “Have some Barrier Cherries, +Uncle,” Ellen pressed him. “Frankie and Lily Garrett made them once.” +Ellen, who knew her father and sister so well, felt the sadness of it. +She knew the man was like a willful child and here was his only beloved +set against him. + +Frankie went back to Chicago then. Before they drove away in Garland’s +Oakland sedan with the high-squared top and the yellow leather seats, +Garland announced, “Frankie’s been engaged for her first recital. March +the sixteenth, nineteen twenty-nine. Frankie Gaddy enters the lists of +the immortals.” + +“Shut up, Uncle,” Frankie sighed. + +“You greening me, Garland?” Anton was suspicious. “You going to play +before those folks?” + +“Yes, I am, Pa.” + +“Hell, An, she’s booked,” Garland shouted. “In one of my theatres.” + +“I vow.” + +“My,” Ellen said, “I ne’er thought Frankie’d be so bold.” + + * * * * * + +And time moved, weaving a tapestry. On radiant summer nights moonlight +laved the meadows and frogs dripped shrill tones. Ellen would slip down +the stairs to wander where flowering honeysuckle presaged the passing of +time. Longings waxed in her. She lay in the honeyed grass and wept +easily. The moon shone and she bared her white body, wondered at the +restlessness clutching her. She dwelled on the summer she had met +Christian Ay, for at that one time the even cord of her life had risen +to such a gleaming line that she doubted on it ever after. I’m bound and +thralled. The pleasure and the sadness are too close together. She went +back to her attic room to wait for dawn. + +Now and then she thought of the child, Simon, developed a curiosity, now +that she counted the passion buried, to see if this relic bore any +resemblances. “I have a notion to visit Penny Dougherty,” she was saying +to Anton. “She’s invited me. Says she’s got guineas and we can have a +clutch of eggs if we want. I could raise us a flock. Set the yellow hen +on them.” + +“Guineas. And that worthless ooman,” he scoffed. + +“Guineas are no work. You turn them loose and they pair off and care for +the eggs by themselves. When you want a meal you catch them where +they’re roosting.” + +“It’s a far piece to Weems Crossroads but for guinea eggs. And I +declared you’d not set foot off this place save to be married. So I +said.” + +“I’m twenty. And I’ll be gone o’ernight. I promise, Pa.” + +“I don’t like it. You’re a froward one. It costs a mort of money going +on the train. All to see some poor trash.” + +“I’ll make it up to you, Pa.” + +“You be back in a day, girl. You got beans to plant, and the cabbages to +set out now the killing frosts are gone.” + +“I’ll do it, Pa. Day after tomorrow. Soon as I get back, I’ll set them +out.” + +So she found herself walking up the lane to the familiar small house. +Penny greeted her, and her fine features seemed a little thinner. She +was laughing, “You came for Simon.” + +“Oh Penny, let me see that baby girl you wrote about, Blossom.” + +“She’s in here, Ellie.” + +While they looked at the sleeping child, Ellen whispered, “I can’t take +Simon. Pa doesn’t know.” + +“That’s all right. We love him, Ellie.” + +“I brought more money.” + +Three little boys were trooping through the doorway, shouting. The baby +awoke, began to wail. Ellen saw Simon, nearly three now. He was dressed +in a blue-checked pinafore, and his small bottoms were bare. He was +smallish and fair with round blue eyes. He looked at her soberly and +never smiled. Clate had forgot Ellen, and Anse, thin and dark, clung to +Penny. Simon was leaning on the wall, his fat thumb in his mouth. Luke +arrived amid the bedlam and the children shouted to see him, “Da’s +home.” Ellen saw Simon squealed and leaped with the rest. + +They took her out to the field to see the goats and the old donkey. +Clate was prompted to recite, lisping. + + When the elm leaf + Be big ath a mouthe’s ear + Then to thow barley + Ne’er you fear + +All the while nearby was Ellen’s son, gazing dumb. His foster mother +called him to her. “This is your own ma, Simon. Like I told you.” + +In the morning Ellen was returning on the train. She had a setting of +spotted guinea eggs in a box. Her mind was on the beans to be planted; +she wondered whether Love’s would have flats of young cabbage plants in +yet. + + * * * * * + +The country seemed prosperous. But among the farmers were muffled noises +of protest. Anton Gaddy growled when he got ninety-eight cents for wheat +that had brought two dollars and thirty-four a bushel after the Great +War. Corn dropped to seventy-nine cents, though it used to be good for a +dollar to a dollar-fifty. He spoke to Sam, “Reckon you could get by with +a little less a week? I’m pure strapped for cash. You could take a hen +maybe.” He shrugged nervously. + +“All right.” Sam scratched his back. + +“Pick one of the old ones with a yellow beak and ears.” + +“Now Mester Gaddy. I wouldn’t take a good layer.” Sam was squinting up, +his eyes sharp in his leathery face. + +“I hate it, being strapped, Sam.” + +While they were talking, restless, the stock market was plunging. The +depression was on. When Anton heard next week from N. J. Bilberry of the +crisis, he said, “Now there’s somewhat for those rich folk to fret +about. It’s no worry to us.” + +Anton felt vindicated in his way of life, wondered idly if Garland had +been affected. And he wished Frankie would write again. Her piano +recital of last March had been a failure, the few letters she had +written since ignored the subject. The flame in Anton’s life that burned +through this daughter dimmed, bewildering him, causing his dream to lag. +“Hum. Frankie’s going to make that music yet before the crowd. I’ve got +to send her some money again, come the evening mail.” + +Then a letter arrived from Chicago. + + Dear Father, + + It is not necessary to direct any more checks to me. You need money + worse. I moved from Uncle’s house a while ago to an apartment. I’m + going to get a job. Uncle is sick so we won’t drive down. I will + spend Yule in Chicago. Uncle lost his Oakland. The government men + took it away. He had a considerable loss in the market. He has real + worries. One of his friends jumped out of a window. + + I will come to visit next summer for sure, and maybe bring a friend + with me to see the dear farm and meet the old folks at home. Then + like the song goes, I’ll tuck me to sleep in my old ’Tucky home! + + daughter Frankie + + + + + part three + + + Let it be what it is she said + Let it wait as it must + It will choose soon or late + Let it wait + Love has life not of us + But of love she said + Let it lie where it must + + + 14 + +Ellen was cutting across the field to the York cabin in the late May +morning. Amanda York had married the smithy’s son, Jerome Hatfield. The +couple lived in one side of the cabin. Jerome and Mr. York cared for the +apple orchard surrounding it and worked in the Bethel Stone Foundry. +During the winter and spring Ellen had watched Amanda grow heavy with +child, taking vicarious pleasure in the young wife’s joy. “If it’s a +boy,” Amanda had claimed, “we’re going to call it Junior. Wonder if it +could be baptized Junior, Ellie? I doubt it’s a Christian name.” + +At the cabin door Ellen called, “Hey, Mandy. Anybody home?” She heard +the hoarse pained cry from within. + +Mrs. York was shuffling out of the bedroom. “Ah, hit’s you, Ellen.” Her +face was yellowed with fear, eyes staring with wakefulness. + +“Mandy’s been taken?” Ellen asked. + +“Doc Trumbo’s here. It’s not coming right. Ellen, you think somewhat +could happen to her?” + +“Bearing’s not so bad,” said Ellen, uncertain. + +“I put the ax under the bed. She ought to have had it by now. She’s been +at it since noon yesterday. She’s giving out. She’s quit trying.” + +Then there was a scream from the room beyond, animal-like in travail. +Ellen was recalling a spotted heifer that couldn’t bear its calf; Anton +had hitched the team, and taken it from the womb. The scream circled the +room and after it, like a splintering of glass, a thin cry echoed. “Ah, +Doc’s got hit now.” The woman was scurrying away. Ellen followed slowly +into the blood-odored room. Amanda lay oddly flat on rumpled stained +sheets, her eyes shut in a white face. On the pillow her dark hair +flowed. Ellen took her hand. + +“Don’t touch me. Don’t touch the bed,” the face whispered strangely. + +“It’s o’er now,” Ellen said. + +Amanda’s eyes came open with an effort of the heavy lids. “Have we got +our baby?” + +“Yes, Mandy.” Ellen was frightened. “You rest.” + +“I want to see it.” The words were barely discernible. + +“All right.” Ellen went to the table where the doctor was binding a +cloth about the infant’s navel. It feebly squirmed its thin-skinned damp +red body and wrinkled its face. “She wants it, Doc.” + +He glanced up at Ellen. “Let’s see, you must be one of those Gaddys. +Your father hasn’t much use for satchel doctors, either, has he? You +know these women never called me till an hour ago?” + +“Mandy wants to see her baby.” + +“They call me in at the last minute. Think they can do it all +themselves. Like Indian squaws.” He wrapped the child in the warmed +flannel that he took from Mrs. York and laid it by its mother’s face. +“Lie still there, girl. I’m going to look at you now.” He spoke softly, +disappeared into the kitchen to wash his hands. + +“She’s fair, Mandy,” Ellen whispered, “your baby.” + +“Ah, she is,” said Mrs. York, “with it all.” + +Amanda’s breath rattled. She was drawing strangled gasps as if she had +run a long stretch. Her eyes became fixed on the hewn-log walls, the +cracked calking. She shuddered, the labored breath struggle faded and +ceased. + +Mrs. York sucked in her words, “My girl.” She put a hand out to touch +the tired face, screamed, “Ah, Doc.” + +Dr. Trumbo stumbled on the threshold in his haste. He was lifting +Amanda’s wrist, laying it down, speaking sharply to Ellen, “Good Christ, +where’s this girl’s husband?” He picked the sleeping infant up. + +“I’ve got to cover the mirror,” Mrs. York mumbled, hurrying indecisively +about the room. “So the baby doesn’t die as well. And stop the clock +hands. Now what else must I do?” + +“Jerome works at the stone foundry, Doc. Same as Mr. York. I can call +them from Love’s store.” + +“First take the child here. This old one’ll be no more use.” He turned +to Amanda’s body again. Ellen laid the baby in the cradle. It was +sleeping, its face like an inflamed pansy, lost amid ribbons and +ruffles. + +“Ah. You did it, Doc,” Mrs. York keened. “You were busy with yourself +and your washing and you let it happen. I didn’t want you here. It was +only because Mandy made me. She’d have come through but for you.” + +“Now, Mrs. York,” he began. + +The woman appealed to Ellen, “Don’t ne’er have a child, Ellen Gaddy. +Don’t ne’er get caught with a child.” She grasped her arm, the tears +squeezing from her old eyes, watering the wrinkles of her face. + +“I’ve got to go, Mrs. York.” + +Dr. Trumbo continued, “She’d been hemorrhaging. These things will +happen. I packed her, did everything humanly possible. I came too late.” + +The woman was taboring on the discolored sheet. “Ah, now what have I +got?” + +“You’ve got the child.” + +“I don’t want hit.” + +Ellen stood a moment in the cabin passageway before starting up the road +toward Millville. “There’s a thing I keep trying to remember.” She spoke +aloud, dazed. At the store she cranked the iron handle to the wood box +that hung on the wall. “Central?” + +“You’ll have to speak up, Madam.” + +“Give me the Bethel Foundry.” When she had told Jerome, and heard the +click at the other end, she walked out slowly. + +Stacey called after, “Tell Maria Gaddy that eggs are down three cents +again. They’re hardly worth trading.” + +Ellen didn’t hear. A light mist of rain had begun and a sweet smell like +the breath of cows was coming from the red plowed fields. The thing that +had slipped her mind was back. It was the struggle to bear her own +child, the way the throes had struck her in an open field and how she’d +dragged herself to the shelter of the pear tree. The sweet heavy scent +of crushed grass and blood and the fluttering of goldfinches were +mingled into the memory. + +After a week Jerome Hatfield came to speak to Anton. “Our baby’s ailing. +Doc says she might hold down goat milk.” His face was haggard, his form +stooped in exhaustion. + +“My daughter’s got the goats.” + +“I want to buy one from her.” + +Ellen went to the woodshed and tied a rope to Rhodie’s collar. The doe +had a little female kid at its side. “You keep Rhodie for as long as +your baby needs the milk, Jerome. And raise the kid for the baby’s own.” + +“I’m beholden.” He was lifting the goats into the wagon, fastening them +there. He drove away, Rhodie baaing plaintively. Ellen watched them go. +Here’s the land flowing over with milk and honey. The spring grass is +pushing through the red land until it’s all pink and green. And Mandy’s +dead. All about was death. The early dark of morning sometimes would be +interrupted, awakening her, by Jack’s bark, followed by shotgun blasts +and her father’s gruff tones. Ellen would know he had gone down in his +mackinaw to kill some varmint in the barnyard. There was no escape from +death, no way you could forget it was waiting. Ellen was resentful, +disbelieving that some day her own strength would wither. I’m glad it +wasn’t me when I bore that child back there. I recall I saw the evening +star. And when Luke and Penny came, I got up from the orchard floor and +walked to the house myself while Penny carried him. But then I pushed +him from me, turned my back on my first-born. + + * * * * * + +She spoke up that night after the Gaddy supper had been eaten. The May +rain was falling weighted, somnambulant, the air was close. “I hid it +from you, Pa. Before I came home that summer when I’d run off from Uncle +Garland.” + +“You played the harlot.” + +“I went to the Doughertys and had him there.” + +“You were in St. Louis.” + +“No. I went to Weems Crossroads in Illinois. I was afraid of you. The +boy’s there now. I saw him when I went to get that clutch of guinea eggs +that turned bad. Now I want to bring him here, Pa.” + +Anton was stumping into the hall; he returned with the wide belt that he +held by its buckle. “Before God your lying tongue is an abomination. +Name the times I’ve said it.” + +Ellen looked at him stony-faced. “Reckon I’m too old to whip, Pa. I’m +twenty-one and the mother of your grandchild.” + +He paused. “The father of a fool has no joy.” His heavy mouth was +shaking. He drew the strap repeatedly through the palm of his hand, the +harsh sliding noise rippling into the corners of the room like stones +tossed in a pond. “My brother Marc, lusted. You be bound to do the same. +He ran off from the college where my ma sent him. To a whorehouse. At +St. Louis. And there’s where she went to get him. Dead. Now I’ve always +claimed you had his blood, girl.” + +Ellen’s eyes narrowed and shone. “You know what Marc was to your ma?” +Her nerves shivered to their ends as her temper swung on her. “I know +what that Nell did.” + +Anton halted at bay. “Don’t say her name. She was a saint, girl. She +sits at Mary’s right hand even now.” + +Ellen was helpless, found she couldn’t strike. She kept silence. + +Anton slapped the belt limply against his overall pants. He turned to a +thin-legged doweled chair that was by the wall. “A harlot,” he said +softly. “Upon e’er a high hill and under e’er a green tree, thou +wanderest, playing the harlot. So says Jeremiah.” He let the strap drop, +lifted the chair by its rungs, crashed it violently, splintering, to the +floor. “Defiled.” He went from the room. + +Ellen was looking at Maria. “You heard, Ma?” + +“You got a child, Ellie?” + +“A little boy, Ma. Named Simon.” + +“I had a boy baby once. But he was a betimes child and had no life. I +named him after Mester Gaddy for he wanted it. But they took him. He’s +moldering out some’eres. I ne’er liked rain some way. Seems a boy would +be unhappy and turn about in a wet place.” + +Anton fumed as days passed. “Who’s its pa?” + +“I don’t want to say. He’s as good as dead.” + +“What’ll they speak of me when it’s told up and down the county?” + +“Tell that I married a Yankee, Pa. And he left me.” + +“No, the damn fool foreigner was killed. His folks have raised the child +till now. And you’re fixing to bring it here.” He paused to eye Ellen +with scorn. “Does it favor the Gaddys?” + +“Reckon so, Pa.” + +“What’s hit called?” + +“Simon Gaddy.” + +Then he said, “You’ll tell it to the priest, girl.” + +“I’d rather not.” + +“You’ll tell it Sunday. Before you can go for the brat.” + +“I’ll tell it in the priest’s house, but not in the confessional.” She +said bravely, “I’ve got a mind to leave the church.” + +Impotent in frustration and wrath, Anton turned away. He was heard +bawling commands to the team as he plowed up and down, making ready for +the corn-planting. + +They were standing before Father Tompert in the parlor of the rectory. +Ellen, emboldened by her first successful stand against her father, +spoke candidly to the Jesuit priest. “It’s like the church wants to +boundary God, Father. And He is thus and so. And if you say at such a +time such a prayer you’ll get off so much sooner to paradise. This is +false to me, Father.” + +“Hold, girl, you blaspheme,” roared Anton. + +Father Tompert said, “I’ll speak with your daughter alone, sir. Wait +outside this room. If you please.” + +Then Ellen told the priest what was in her. And she added, “In the +gospel of Matthew the Lord himself says, don’t pray where you’re seen of +men. But enter into thy closet. And when you’ve shut thy door, pray to +thy Father which is in secret. And use not vain repetitions.” + +The priest saw she loved God. He saw her mind was bright and she had +thought this thing out. The wise Jesuit was not uncommon among those +consecrated to the cross of his faith. He spoke to Ellen. “It’s not your +kind that need the mother church, Ellen. We’ll wait till you’re ready to +come again to us. Till then, the Lord be with thy spirit.” + +He was walking to the door. She laid her hand on the sleeve of his +cassock. “Father, is it wrong to lie to the neighbors and say I had a +husband?” + +He looked at her while a bell tolled somewhere outside over a stitch of +time. She saw his eyes were an indigo blue and the pupil in the center +was a dormant coal. “For the sake of the child, perhaps not. In the eyes +of God it may have been a marriage. I don’t know.” He folded his arms, +went to the door. His face was smooth, his body moved ageless below the +black frock. “Don’t worry about your daughter, sir. She’s in no danger +of damnation. God is with her.” + +Ellen put on the faded dotted Swiss dress in the morning. She combed her +hair, plaiting it tightly in a new way she had. Anton counted money into +her hand. Maria was concerned about the census taker whom Tinie Bilberry +had reported was coming and no telling at what hour. “Now, whate’er will +I say to him? He be the government. I’m that fretted. Do you have to go +now, girl?” + +The train coughed and clanged into the Weems Crossroads station. The +road to the Doughertys seemed longer than Ellen remembered. She was +passing the burial ground. A group of black-clad people were ringed at a +fresh grave, cars and buggies were parked by the roadside. She hurried +by. Amanda had been laid in the ground like that, for rain to rot and +worms to suck until she would be as earth herself, her rosy face and +gleaming braid living on in Jerome Hatfield. And a day might come when +his daughter would ask, “Now tell, Pa, what was Mammy like?” And Jerome +would say, “Seems I can’t remember. Appears to have fallen from me some +way.” + +Ellen reached the mailbox, went up the lane and heard a guinea cry. It +came to her on a sudden that she was terrified, as if she had been sent +to the dark cellar for supplies again. Something lurked there in the +shadows. She lifted her skirts and fled toward light and Penny and the +gray-streaked house with door open and unscreened. + +Ellen studied her son that evening. They took the meal out under the +crab apple tree. Its leaves, not yet green, were coated with soft white +hairs. Its pink flowers were like the wild rose, their spicy odor +hovered where the five children gathered to be fed. Penny’s smallest +child, Melinda, climbed on a stool, reaching her hands to the food. +Blossom stood by Anse, who was four now and tall for his age, his dark +head looking down on Simon’s blond one. And Clate was the leader and +spoke what they all should do. “If it wasn’t for Clate,” Penny said, +“I’d ne’er get this troop together. And we’ll have another Dougherty +come Christmas. Seems I be e’er in this strait.” + +Standing about the table, the children were eating corn pone and bacon +and beans. There was milk and a honeycomb. Melinda sucked her sticky +tiny fingers and crumbled the pone. Penny was cleaning the child’s hands +with a damp rag, laughing, “I got plenty of pullets now, Ellie. Luke +built a hen house. I trade eggs just like you Gaddys now. But say, the +store’s paying low this spring.” + +Ellen saw that Simon’s cheekbones and hair were like those of Christian +Ay. He had Anton’s long chin. But there was the look of Christian about +his eyes and high cheeks and broad mouth. “I wonder at him, Penny.” + +“You’re thinking of his pa, aren’t you?” + +“I allowed I’d forgot what he looked like. Time goes so fast. But Simon +calls him back to mind.” + +“Soon you won’t see it. It’ll just be little Simon.” + +“I reckon.” + +“I see Luke coming. We’ve been lucky. Webster laid off most of the hands +when times got bad, but he kept Luke on. He’d let them all go before +Luke.” Penny’s look wound itself about the man moving up the path, her +love like a warm wind. + +“He’ll be short and stout. Strong like a bull.” Ellen was watching +Simon, who leaned against the table, his cheek on one fat hand while the +other spooned beans unsteadily into his mouth. + +Luke slept in the mow of the shed that night so there would be a place +for Ellen. The women lay in the narrow bed. The baby girls were in +cribs, the three boys in the attic room. “If you should have a trouble +sometime, Penny,” Ellen said, before dozing off, “or there’s a sickness +or a way I can help.” + +“We’ll miss Simon. He’s quiet. He can milk Tiny even. He coaxes me to +let him. He does real good for four years.” + +“Those little hands.” + +“And he’s one with the donkey. Why, I missed him once and hunted till I +found him sleeping under it and it standing like a rock.” + +Ellen awoke after midnight; she lay still until it came to her where she +was. An owl called, deep-toned, “Whoo-whoo-tooo-oo-oo.” She went into +the yard, walking down the lane in the warm dark. The owl shrieked +suddenly from the catalpa by the road, in a voice like a woman. On +noiseless widespread wings it was flapping toward her and passing. +“There he’ll be, following me about the farm.” She stayed in the night +until she reached the end of her fears. “Whate’er comes, it’s right to +bring him home and tell he’s mine.” + +In the morning Simon had on bleached canvas pants, well patched. The +sleeves to his nubby sweater were too short. They were waiting for Luke +to come in a truck to take them to the station. Simon’s eyes were wide. +He shrank from Ellen. Penny was washing his face again. “Take your ma’s +hand, now.” But Simon shook his head, threw himself upon his foster +mother. “You can have this. It’s Anse’s.” Penny was handing him a yarn +ball she had made by winding bright colors around a piece of cloth. “If +you’ll go now with your ma.” So then Simon took Ellen’s hand. She led +him while he dragged his feet, gazing back to Penny and her brood. + +“Where’s Simon going,” asked Clate, “with Anse’s ball?” + +“It’s his ball now.” + +On the train the boy clutched his toy and looked away. At last Ellen +took a piece of string and showed him how to play cat’s cradle. He was +lifting the twine from her hands and biting his lip. He cast his blue +eyes on her. “I like that.” + +“I do too, Simon.” The sun fought through the streaked sooted windows. +The train rushed through the greening land, coming into the valleys and +hills of Kentucky. + +Anton was there with the buckboard. He ordered them into the high seat. +He had laid his faded kerchief under his black round hat to catch the +sweat from his balding head. The corners of the red cloth were draping +about his florid face. “Whole county can get a look at Gaddy’s youngen +toting her bastard home.” + +The horses trotted down the macadam main street, past store-fronts, out +onto country roads. Ellen spoke timidly, “This is your granddaddy.” + +“Quit jawing.” + +As they neared Millville, Ellen spoke again. “Penny said to tell you +howdy. Her husband told me about a dog that grinds axes and things.” She +spoke too rapidly, lines drawing on her forehead. “This man’s got a +treadwheel. He runs a belt from it to his grindstone. The dog runs there +in the big wheel, grinding sickles and knives too. Luke said the dog +waits for the man to whistle.” She appealed to Anton. + +“Haw.” They had passed Love’s store, turned down Sweetincreek Road for a +mile. + +She broke the silence once more. “Luke heard of a cat too.” And holding +Simon in her arm, she felt him press close. He laid a chubby arm across +her lap. “It turned a churn, treading a wheel for the lady of the house. +Now think, Simon.” + +Jack met them barking. The dog’s eyes were nearly on a level with +Simon’s; the child laid his face in the fur. When Anton drove the team +to the barn, the boy watched him covertly. Maria was coming on the porch +in her shapeless Mother Hubbard dress. “Now here’s your granny,” called +Ellen. + +Maria glanced at the boy, felt her bun. “The census taker came, Ellie. I +had a day. I told him all he asked. I wish he’d come again.” + +“I’m glad it’s o’er, Ma. You know if Sam did my chores?” + +“I gave him a cup of tea and some of that butter-cake you made. I told +him all he asked.” + + + 15 + +June dawdled by. Lilacs faded and roses unfolded. Simon went behind +Ellen, dropping pumpkin seeds in the young corn rows. He wore new +overalls that she ordered from the catalog, and shirts she made for him. +He ran barefoot at her heels. In his pocket he kept the colored ball +that had been Anse’s. He spoke seldom, but Ellen would hear his piping +voice when he was with the geese or with Jack and he had no fear of the +heavy work horses. + +Frankie had written, “We’ll be down Independence Day. My friend is +coming with me for two weeks’ vacation. Oh, the dear farm and dear +Ellie. Why didn’t you tell me I had a nephew, Ellie? I can’t wait to see +him. You cunning sister.” + +When Joe Burwell told his son that Frankie was coming, Dyke drove up the +Gaddy lane in his Oldsmobile to offer the use of his car to meet the +train. “It’ll be a pleasure to see Frankie again, Mester Gaddy.” + +“Stay for supper with us, Dyke,” Ellen invited him, cordial. + +The two men went to the station. Ellen had hung the calico curtain +across her parents’ bedroom to make the guest chamber. Simon had taken +over Frankie’s old bed upstairs. She was placing a vase of catalpa +blooms by the bedside on the marble-topped table. A heady fragrance +seeped from the spikes of creamy scalloped blossoms specked with purple +and yellow. + +The car was returning. Ellen and Simon were going into the yard. Frankie +threw her arms about Ellen. There was perfume in her hair, her face was +accented with eye-shadow and penciled brows, her lips vivid. She was +kneeling by Simon. “I’m Auntie! See what we brought you.” She took his +hand and they went to Dyke’s car. + +Frankie’s companion was talking with the two men. Her black hair was +shingled. She was heavy-hipped, her face appearing almost delicate above +her squat body. She wore no make-up and held her head back to eye the +men squarely. Anton waved his hand while talking, and she nodded again +at him. They came toward Ellen. “This here’s Genevieve Wheeler,” Anton +said. “Did I get that name right? Haw. And from the way Frankie wrote at +first I thought it was a fellow.” + +“Pleased,” Ellen said shortly. The woman’s hand was warm and dry. + +“Certainly do admire your father, Ellen. The farmer’s the backbone of +America.” + +“Haw.” Anton was shrugging. “Go on in and get settled, you-all. We’ll be +back when we finish the chores. Coming, Dyke?” + +Frankie opened the screen door for Simon. She called, “Ellie, he’s +cute.” + +Ellen followed the men to the barns. Dyke, in his black suit, was +feeding the cows. Later Simon came out. He stroked the big shoulder of +the brown cow that Ellen was milking. “I like Auntie, Mama,” he lisped. +“She brung me this.” He wore a stiff yellow visor cap. He straightened +it. + +“Let’s go tend the goats, Simon.” + +The boy strutted beside her, looking up. “I’ll milk Leona for you, +Mama.” + +“See if you can get it all this time.” + +Leona had a high round udder and gave her milk down easily. “How come +Leona’s white, Mama?” + +“Because her daddy was a white one.” + +Simon sat on a stool, leaning into the goat’s side and squeezing the +teats so the milk came in little squirts. The animal turned to sniff the +new cap and lick Simon’s neck where the tow hair curled. Then it wheezed +as it brought up its cud. + +Ellen meanwhile milked Penny and Pie, set out their hay and grain. She +stood over Simon. “Want me to finish her?” + +He sighed, turning the three-legged stool over to her. “I most got her +clean, didn’t I, Mama?” + +“Just about.” + +“That Auntie’s comely, Mama.” He was leaning against her while the white +liquid purred in her bucket, foaming, hot. + +“Ne’er know her for my sister, would you, Simon? Like a peacock sister +to a hen.” Her gray eyes were level with his blue ones. She was stirred. +He’s a fair boy. + +“You’s a little hen, Mama.” + +“You’re my chick, then.” + +“Peep. Peep.” He took her hand as she picked up the pail. Nearing the +house, they heard the piano and voices raised. Genevieve was carrying +the alto. + + O Robin, Robin Redbreast + O Robin, Robin dear + O Robin sings so sweetly + In the falling of the year + +“Mercy.” Ellen set the pail in the kitchen, began to help Maria with the +meal. Simon stationed himself beside the parlor door to listen to the +singing. He was discovered and with cries and kisses they drew him to +them. + +After supper Frankie remained in the kitchen with Ellen. Simon went up +to bed. From the parlor came Anton’s deep voice and an occasional +question from Genevieve. Maria was knitting and Dyke listened while he +smoked a cigar. Frankie polished the plate she was holding. “Don’t you +like Gen, Ellie? Don’t you like her? We’ve got a flat, you know.” + +“You wrote you left Uncle.” + +“I left last February. The market crash changed him, Ellie. He wouldn’t +eat and stayed up nights going over papers. He got real crabby. Stingy, +too. You’d never have recognized him. I stopped all my lessons. I was +glad.” + +“I see.” + +“He turned Mrs. Quimby out on the street.” Frankie was smiling, prim. + +“Oh?” + +“When I left, he closed the house up. He went to a flat he has in East +Chicago. You know he’s bad, Ellie?” + +“How?” + +“He keeps a woman,” she whispered. “He’s had that flat for years.” + +“For lack of wood the fire goes out, Frankie.” Ellen was stiff. + +“That’s a cute saying, Ellie. Where’d you hear it?” + +“You’re so scatterbrained, Frankie. And I ne’er had any use for +whisperers.” + +“You like my hair, Ellie? Gen says I look like Janet Gaynor.” + +“Who’s that?” + +“Ellie. A movie star.” + +“When did you first meet this Gen?” + +“She’s my best friend.” + +Dyke stepped into the kitchen. “Hey.” + +“Hello, Dyke. Wouldn’t Gen let you talk?” + +“No.” + +“She’s like that. She has no use for men. Except for one like Pa there. +A good farmer.” + +“You sure are different, Frankie. You’re plumb pretty.” Dyke stood his +ground, blushing. + +“I always liked you, Dyke,” Frankie was bold. “Remember how we used to +argue about him, Ellie? I said he was tall and he’d do because I wasn’t +particular?” + +“Frankie,” Ellen cried. + +“Come out and look at the stars, Frankie. Please.” + +“Go on, you two. I’ll finish up.” Ellen went into the parlor after a few +minutes. She sat down by Maria. + +Genevieve looked up alert. “I thought Frankie was with you, Ellen.” + +“She went out with Dyke a spell ago.” + +“Oh, dear,” the woman laughed. “Excuse me a moment, Mr. Gaddy. I’ll be +right back. I want to hear more about what you were saying.” The heavy +sound of her shoes was heard on the porch. + +“Why doesn’t she leave Frankie and Dyke be?” Ellen asked. + +Anton was filling his pipe. “She sees the case I’ve got here farming.” + +The two came in noisily, hand in hand; Dyke followed. “Here’s your +little girl, Mr. Gaddy. I’m afraid this young man was hiding her from +us.” + +“What do you think, Genevieve,” Anton was asking, “of my daughter +becoming a fine musician?” + +“Well, in time she could be. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. She’s got +talent. And she’s a beauty. When I get more money saved, I’m going to +get her the best teacher I can find.” + +“I just love you, Pa,” cried Frankie. “And this dear house. And Ma and +Ellie and everyone.” + +“Tsk, tsk, such a little girl,” said Genevieve. She stood by the piano. + + Woodman, spare that tree + Touch not a single bough + In youth it sheltered me + And I’ll protect it now + +Ellen was pressed to make fudge and coffee. Dyke was left in the parlor +with Anton and the visitors came into the kitchen to help. While the two +cracked nuts, they chattered in steady rapport. Ellen stepped into the +hall, put her hands on her ears. “That ox.” Obscurely, she resented the +older woman, missed the old way in which Frankie would turn to her for +approbation and counsel. She could overhear Anton in the next room. + +“Yes sir, boy, this fellow had a dog to run his treadmill. He sat in the +shade and ground axes and knives for folks on the grindstone that dog +turned for him.” + +“I ne’er heard of that being done before, Mester Gaddy.” + +“Hell, I even knew a man that fixed a treadmill for his old ooman’s cat +to run her churn.” + + * * * * * + +They gathered at breakfast. Ellen had set potatoes to boil, fried bacon, +and sent Simon to refill the blue water pail. Frankie and Genevieve were +coming in sleepy-eyed, clad in gray twill skirts. The girl appeared +frail and willowy beside her companion whose broad buttocks and ample +breasts were constrained by her clothing. As they were sitting at the +laden table, Anton and Sam hurried in. They were late. “The colt’s +gone,” Anton worried. “Must have jumped the rails where it’s rotting. +Jesus Wept, they’re all falling apart. We’ve got to string fence wire +all o’er now.” + +“Red horse tired of the meadow,” Simon piped. “He set out for to see the +other side.” The child looked through the square-paned window, past the +low wall of the garden, to the day that had cast off the shawl of night. + +“I tell you, let’s organize a search party,” Genevieve said. “We’ll go +get our hats. Don’t you agree, Frankie?” + +“All right, Gen.” + +“It’s up to you-all to find him. Sam and me can’t help. We got the rails +to mend and the hay field to cut. Come on, Sam.” + +They left Maria cleaning the kitchen, for she refused to stir without +the door. They searched woods and adjacent fields. There was no sign of +the missing colt. At noontime the three women met outside the house. +Genevieve was bramble-scratched, the smell of perspiration thick on her +as she sat with Frankie on the porch steps. “I think I got poison ivy,” +said Frankie, “and I tore my stockings.” + +“I brought some bug stuff with us. It’s in the bags somewhere. These +mosquito bites itch.” + +Ellen was bringing water from the well in a dishpan and they got up to +wash. The woman grunted as she dried herself. Frankie was laughing at +her, wrinkling her nose. Suddenly Ellen said, “Where’s Simon? He was +with you, Frankie.” + +But Frankie denied it. “He got tired. He said he was going home to get a +drink.” + +A hand twisted within Ellen. She was running. She heard the calls behind +her. “Wait, Ellie!” + +And Genevieve, “Let’s be calm.” + +But Ellen ran and ran, Jack barking beside her, to fields stretching +past woods, and past that, to places she had wandered before her son had +gained this hold on her. All the while she cried, “Simon. Simon.” And +the dog’s staccato answered. + +It was late in the day when she returned. They had all assembled in the +yard. “We’ve been looking, too, Ellie,” Sam told her. + +“Maybe a snake’s bitten him.” An empty place trembled in Ellen. “And +he’s lying some’ere.” + +“Nonsense,” said Genevieve. + +“He’s too little.” Ellen’s mind tried doors that were barred. “He +doesn’t know the country well.” She looked at the ground. + +Sam said, “Don’t fret, Ellie. He’s a steady youngen.” + +The group was wavering, uncertain. “Appears you could look after your +own youngen.” Anton bent for his pitchfork. “That hay’s got to be +turned.” + +Genevieve took a deep breath as the men went toward the field. “I’m not +concerned. He’ll come home. Why, he’s a big boy.” + +“Quit jawing,” Ellen said savagely. + +Then they heard the men’s shouts, their distant figures were pointing. +“There! Look there.” + +The blood-bay colt was ambling up the lane, the boy on its back, his +short legs spread, a lock of the mane in his stubby hand. His cap was +set visor backwards. “I got lost, Mama.” + +“Where did you find him?” Ellen ran to take the colt’s headstall. + +“Down the road a ways. I got turned about.” + +Ellen was leading the horse to the barn. “Well.” + +Simon slid to the ground. “I lost Anse’s ball.” + +“Should I make you another?” + +“No.” He was petting the tall colt’s shoulder. “Mama?” + +“What do you want?” + +“I’d like a horse to name my own.” + +“Maybe someday.” + +“Mama?” He stroked the horse, looked up at her, mute. His eyes were +wide. He smiled slowly, waiting. + +“Fancy you finding the red colt, Simon. When none of us could.” They +turned to walk to the house. He swaggered behind her, pleased with +himself. + + Little Tom Tinker + Got burned with a clinker + And he began to cry + What a poor fellow am I + +Anton nearly shot a dog fox a day or so after. The fences, lined with +stones and weeds, had furnished ambush for the daring fox. In broad +daylight even, it would slip to the hen house, kill three or four, and +escape, slinging its latest victim across its shoulders. Anton would +smoulder, viewing his dead hens. He told Genevieve, “Years back I had a +flock of pullets just starting to lay. One morning I found a heap of +thirty dead under that oak. Next week there was eighteen. I’d hear the +varmint barking at night. Times he’d screech like a wildcat. I didn’t +sleep till I got him. Ne’er did find the earth where the whelps were +hid.” + +In the hour he was free before milking, Anton had taken his gun. He set +out, Jack at heel. He plodded through likely spots, and as he came up +out of the woods he heard a crow call, signaling. He glimpsed in the +distance the fox they hunted. Its summer fur was scraggly and +yellow-red; it was digging at a woodchuck hole on the edge of the field. +Jack had seen it too; he fell behind the man, who was slipping noiseless +through the high orchard grass. + +Then Anton had stopped short. He had come upon Frankie and her friend, +sitting with hands about their knees in the grass. The older woman was +leaning over to kiss Frankie on the lips. Frankie laughed, tossing her +shining bobbed hair. Anton forgot his quarry. Jack whined and growled as +the fox clawed at the earth. The man moved in dourly upon the women in +the afternoon sun. He stood before them with legs set like trees in the +grass. “What’s going on here?” + +Frankie lifted her head. “We’re singing, Pa.” + +Her companion was getting up. “We were just enjoying ourselves out here, +Mr. Gaddy. My, your Frankie’s a pretty thing.” + +Anton strode from them. They saw him spit amber juice into the weeds. +Jack galloped, yapping, for the fox had slunk off. Frankie giggled, “Oh, +Gen. You shouldn’t have.” + +That evening the man was stalking restive between kitchen and parlor. +Genevieve sought to draw him into a discussion. “I was reading about a +new commercial fertilizer, Mr. Gaddy.” + +“Shit,” he growled and went to stand on the porch. Car lights glared as +Dyke Burwell’s Oldsmobile arrived in the yard. + +Dyke called from the darkened window, “Hey!” + +“Come in, boy.” + +The lights cut and Dyke walked toward the porch. “Frankie home?” + +Anton saw suddenly that Dyke was a man now, bulky and tall, stooped +somewhat from the weight of his awkward upper body. “Hum. She’s here.” + +They stood together, embarrassed by the companionship they felt. They +were looking off into the half-dusk of the yard. “Getting hot.” + +“Hum.” + +“Could rain, Mester Gaddy. Ma says if she can feel toes on her missing +leg, it’s rain for sure.” They were leaning against the porch posts. The +older man stirred, unhappy. Dyke was talking in a soft monotone, +relating a joke. + +Anton interrupted him, “I’d like to shoot that varmint.” + +“Well, like I was saying, Mester Gaddy, a bird came o’er then and muted +on him. Hell, he says looking up, now you know, Lord, this is just going +a trifle too far.” Dyke snickered, hopeful, but Anton remained glum. The +young man scratched his neck. “You say Frankie’s home?” + +They went into the house. Anton’s voice was cold, “Dyke, I want you to +take Frankie here to the movie house in Bethel. That way Miss Wheeler +and I can talk about the farm.” + +“You are sweet, Pa. But I don’t care to.” Frankie yawned, getting up +from her chair. “Here we are on this old Kentucky home and why go to the +flickers? We see them all the time in the city. But you’re thoughtful, +Pa.” + +So instead Frankie coaxed Dyke to sing with them. Ellen saw how +Genevieve’s black eyes glinted when Dyke spoke to Frankie. She saw +Dyke’s confidence wither as he appeared a poor thing. Genevieve was +saying, “Frankie told me you keep house for your mother?” + +“I help her, Miss Wheeler.” + +“I think it’s wonderful you mop and dust like a daughter. That’s an +accomplishment.” + +Ellen walked out of the room and onto the porch. A shadow was drifting +by the hen house fence. “There’s that fox, Pa.” + +Anton grasped the gun that stood by the loft stairs. His body mingled +with the shadows. His face was vacant-eyed, as he slipped past Ellen, +like a cat that spies a bird flutter to its nesting bush. After the +family was in bed and Dyke had driven away, Anton returned. He flung the +yellow-furred carcass at the base of the porch steps. The dog worried it +until Sam arrived at dawn and dragged it into a field for buzzards to +pick. + +Simon came in dirt-stained to where the family and Sam Offut sat at the +noon table. His hair was over his eyes and he brushed it back. He held a +box-turtle he had found. He was clutching it to his shirt and standing +within the door. Ellen said, “Go clean up. And put that turtle away, +Simon. You’re late. Now run.” + +But Simon went to stand at Anton’s side. The man continued eating, +pushing his food with his knife, his head bent in hunger. Simon spoke so +that Ellen knew he had thought how he would say this all the way to the +house, ever since he caught the turtle. “Da says they’s seven kinds of +meat in a turtle. E’er heard that, Granddaddy?” + +“Who’s Da?” Anton threw his knife with a clatter. + +Simon was staring, open-mouthed. + +“Who’s Da, boy?” + +“Da,” Simon blurted, cradling the turtle, the spiny legs scratching his +soft flesh. + +“Pa, that’s Mester Dougherty,” cried Ellen. “The youngens called him +that.” + +“Don’t speak his name again. Mind, boy?” Anton picked up his knife. +Genevieve and Frankie exchanged small knowing smiles. + +Ellen pleaded, “This is a land turtle, Simon. The kind you eat’s a water +turtle. Go wash now.” + + * * * * * + +Later on, the women were clearing the dishes. Anton was puffing his +pipe. From the direction of the hog pens came a squealing. Through the +screen, Ellen saw a score of young pigs spreading out toward house and +barn. After them stumbled Simon, trying with aimless movements to round +them up. His face was worried, his body blundering. She pushed the door +to go and help him. Anton spoke behind her. “Stay there, girl.” + +Ellen knew what had happened. Simon had been sent out as soon as he had +eaten, to move the twenty yeanling pigs to new quarters. Anton had +directed him to move them one at a time. But the child had tried to shoo +them in a drove, the way he did the geese or cows. The baby pigs were +fractious and ran out like wheel spokes. Sam was hustling from the barn. +Ellen watched the two men break sticks, then shouting, gather the pigs +into their new pen. The little boy’s shoulders were rounded, hands +dangling helplessly. Sam returned to the barn. Anton called the boy to +him. He cut a switch from a locust tree. Simon was moving slowly across +the yard. Ellen came out on the porch. “Get in the house, girl. Lest I +switch you for your brat to see.” + +Ellen went up the stairway to her room. “He’s bound and determined to +have it out. But it’s because he’s plagued at Frankie.” She sat dry-eyed +on the bed. Her head was throbbing. + + * * * * * + +Afterwards she found Simon in the field with the goats. He held his hand +on the neck of one doe and scratched under its beard. His face was +streaked and dirty. “I was bad, Mama.” + +“You sure could use a bath. Come on, let’s get the tub down.” + + * * * * * + +On Sunday the two Gaddy sisters were sitting on the porch. Lily Garrett +walked up to them in her shapeless Mother Hubbard dress. “I’ve come to +make lavendery sticks for the last time with you-all.” Lily was sweating +through her padding of fat. + +“What do you mean, last time?” Ellen got up to greet her. + +Frankie and Lily kissed. “You haven’t met Gen yet, Lily.” + +“I’ve got news for you.” Lily’s face was shaking as she laughed. “Craig +Hedrick’s making me his wife.” + +“Ellie went with Craig once, didn’t you?” Frankie asked. “I remember.” + +“Just to mass,” said Ellen. + +“I can’t ask you to a wedding.” Lily was raising her large arms to her +hair. “We’re only going to the priest. The bans have been read and we’ve +got no time for fancy doings. Craig’s bought the farm next to him. He’ll +be working o’er a hundred acres this summer.” + +“My,” said Ellen. + +“We’ll drive straight home from the priest and go to work, he says. He’s +going to get a tractor with lights so he can work nights. Law, he’s a +goer.” + +“Calling him a goer makes me remember Mandy York,” Frankie was saying. +“When she was out hoeing with us that time and she said, I’m smart, I’m +a good duster and a good sweeper and a good hoer. We laughed at how it +came out.” + +“Her baby is doing good on your goat’s milk,” Lily said. + +“I still can’t believe Mandy’s dead,” cried Frankie. “But now here’s +Gen.” + +The older woman came down the stairs. “Who’s this?” She was linking arms +with Frankie. + +“This is my friend, Lily Garrett, Gen.” + +“You certainly look hot,” Genevieve said. The two walked away to the +lavender bed. + +As they were plucking the flowers, Lily talked softly to Ellen. “Where’s +Simon?” + +“He’s in the field. Sam lets him ride Blueberry. He thinks he’s a man +sitting up there holding on the hame knobs.” + +“He’s a pretty child. Does he take after your husband?” + +“A mite.” + +“Can’t say he takes after your side.” + +In the silence, Ellen was binding the stalks with yarn; the sweet oil +scented her fingers. + +“Craig’s got no use for you, Ellie. Reckon he’ll not let me come down +this way when I’m Mrs. Hedrick.” + +“You think a lot of him, Lily?” + +“It’s like this. I’m built so big most fellows laugh at me. Papa’s glad +to get me settled. He’s going to help us where he can. I allow I’m a +sight lucky to catch Craig.” + +Ellen had never heard the flighty Lily speak so seriously. She seemed +nearly sad as she came to this turning in her life. + +“You’ll make him a good wife.” + +“I aim to. I’d like to have a child like yours.” They worked awhile, the +murmurs of the other two coming from the end of the bed. “I don’t know +if it’s right to tell such a thing on my promised husband, but I knew +you long before him.” Lily’s face fired red. “He says you be free with +men, Ellie. Says he could name the ones you’ve slept with.” + +“There’s lots of tales told, Lily.” + +“Says you weren’t even married.” + +“The grapes are grapes of gall,” Ellen spoke bravely. “I don’t care.” + +“You’re twisting my words, Ellie. But I’ll say more.” The hot sun +drenched them, drew the last moisture from the flower bed. Lily’s curls +lay straggled on her sun-browned neck and Ellen waited. “I’ll be glad +when Craig won’t let me come here to visit you-all. I know he wanted you +for a wife. He tells those tales for the hate he bears you. Being as you +slighted him.” + +“Lily. There was nothing between Craig and me.” + +“I’ve seen a little silk rose he keeps. It came off that blue hat you +wore when you went to Chicago that time. How’d he come by it?” + +“Oh Lily.” + +“You won’t tell. And knowing I took what you wouldn’t have, I’d as lief +bide away from you.” Lily’s eyes brimmed as she bent over the handful of +pale-purple blooms. + +Ellen trembled. “If you feel that way.” She was working down the +perfumed rows, away from her childhood friend. “I don’t care.” + + * * * * * + +The visitors were planning to leave the following weekend. Genevieve +Wheeler was due at her desk in the Featherbone Works on Monday morning. +On Wednesday night Anton awoke to the stutter of thunder. He shuffled +barefoot, to close windows in the kitchen and parlor. As he was +returning, he stopped a while at the calico curtains of the partitioned +room where his daughter and Genevieve slept. He overheard their +whispers. Grinding his teeth, he took the cloth in his violent fist. But +he released it and went to the bed where Maria was snoring, mouth half +open. “Hail, Holy Mary,” he whimpered. He prayed, envisioning his mother +Nell, clad in a blue gown like the Virgin, her bright red hair flowing +about her shoulders. He wept secretly, fashioning words he would say as +he banished Frankie forever. + +The night’s rain drew upward to the hot sky. The sticky air was clinging +as the family slowly collected for breakfast. Frankie and Genevieve were +seated, Maria was placing a dish of fried potatoes on the table before +joining them. Ellen had brought a hot skillet of eggs from the stove. +She lifted them onto plates with her iron spatula. “I’ll take two, +Ellie,” Genevieve cried. “This country air’s given me an appetite.” + +“Oh, Gen, you always take two.” + +A bumblebee, caught at the glass, was buzzing. Simon ran in. He had +washed at the pump and water was dripping from his hands. “Morning, +Simon,” said Frankie. “Why does an old maid go to church so early on +Sunday? Don’t tell him, Gen.” + +“Let’s see, Auntie.” The child studied his egg. + +Anton came in. The screen door cracked behind him like a breaking stick. +The people turned. He spoke softly to his younger daughter. “The Bible +says, were they ashamed when they committed abomination? Nay, they were +not. Neither could they blush.” He wiped his face with an arm dusted +with chaff of hay and hair of cows. Ellen heard the bee mumble at the +glass and her hand, holding the skillet, was tiring. “You be not welcome +under my roof now, girl. The Lord God’ll have a reckoning day for you.” + +“What’s this all about, Mr. Gaddy?” began Genevieve. + +“Shut your jaw. Unnatural ooman.” + +Frankie was still, a paleness blanketing her features. She was wearing a +high-throated shirtwaist, the color of her hair brilliant against its +whiteness. Her linen skirt fitted her small hips. Her hands rested in +her lap. Frankie had turned, after months of terror and insecurity in +Garland’s house, to the gentle dominion of the older female. The grip of +her father’s hand had gradually fallen away and she had begun to think +of the home farm as a place in one of the tunes they would sing, +nostalgic and typical. + + First the farmer sows his seed + Then he stands + And takes his ease + +They were gay in the small Chicago flat. Now the old fear of Anton was +absent. She was waiting until he would speak again into the sultry +kitchen. + +“You be gone.” His voice was a blade cutting a cord. “When Sam and me +get back from the wheat this noon. Christ, you be not my daughter any +more.” He stalked to the door and out. + +“What did Granddaddy say, Mama?” The high whisper spilled into the +silence. + +“I don’t know,” sighed Ellen. + +“Now he ne’er ate his breakfast,” Maria was complaining, “with his +fretting. But here comes Sam. He’ll eat good.” + +“There’s simply no talking to Pa when he’s set like that, Gen,” Frankie +laughed. “He gets so sore.” + +“Tell, why does the old maid go so early to church, Auntie?” Simon +asked. + +“Well, by golly,” said Genevieve, pushing back her chair. “Let’s get to +packing.” + +Frankie laughed again. “So she can be there when the hymns are given +out, silly.” She got up, brushing her skirt. “Oh, Ellie, don’t worry. +You know Pa. And we did have our visit. You’ll see, we’ll be back next +summer.” Frankie was going to the bedroom. + +“Don’t call that much of a riddle,” said Simon. “Don’t get it.” + +“You want to go berrying by the lake?” Ellen set the skillet down on the +stove. Her voice was unsteady. “They’re real thick, Simon. All you have +to do is shake them in the pail. You take Jack for company. Watch out +for snakes, mind.” + +Sam was coming up the porch as the boy took the lard pail and marched +off, his hand on the dog’s back. Simon’s hair was white in the summer +sun. His cap, grimy and wrinkled now, perched on his head. Ellen turned +to free the imprisoned bee still tumbling at the pane. Maria spoke, +“Want these cold eggs, Sam?” + + + 16 + +Summer had hurled itself on the quailing countryside. The moisture was +drawn from the bowels of the land, first from the stony top clay, until +finally from the reservoir far below. The few humid clouds were carried +away on winds that lived in the upper troposphere and there was no rain. +A drought prevailed. As daylight made colors known, an opossum was +waddling through the oat field, where stunted stems withered before the +white grains could form. It pounced on a fleeing lizard just before Sam +Offut shot it cleanly through the skull. He plucked its young, no bigger +than a thumbnail, from its nipples and left them in the field. At +breakfast he told the Gaddys, “My old ooman’ll bake it. That’s one thing +Eadie can do.” + +Anton was restless. He walked outdoors, drawing on his cold pipe. +“Turning the earth’ll just dry it worse, Sam.” + +“No weeds are going to come up anyhow. What’ll we do if it doesn’t rain, +Mester Gaddy?” + +Simon was watching them from the screen, his nose against the wire. He +called, “Granddaddy, which way’s the wind blowing?” + +But the men looked at the burning sky. They stood in the yard awhile, +then went to the tool shed or scattered old hay to the cows in the +dried-up pasture, puttering time away until it should rain. Simon was on +the steps talking to the dog. Ellen could hear his singsong. She told +Maria, “Simon’s at the aping age. He thinks he’s Sam. Or again he thinks +he’s Pa.” + +That sweltering noon Anton beat his wife. It had little to do with the +drought, although irritation had made his temper short. Anton seldom +lifted his arm against Maria ever since a few summers past when she had +taken to bed after he struck her. Anton had felt justified at the time, +for Maria had been nagging him about the kind of wood for her pap’s +coffin. He had given her money enough for a pine box, but she demanded +oak. “Oak’s dear, ooman. No more now.” And when he had beat her she was +somehow hurt. He had been forced to hire the girl, Penny, to help while +his wife was recovering. + +Maria was alone in the house in the hot morning. A salesman came to the +door, a thin man, wearing a flat-top hat. His striped suit was frayed +around the lapels and seams. “Madam, I presume you’re the lady of the +house. It’s clear you’re a pious one. I myself am a man of God. I carry +the Word.” He was taking a Bible from his worn satchel. It was handsome, +gold-embossed, gold-edged. He was showing her how in some sections the +first letter was immense, with doves or flowers set into scrolled lines. + +Maria coveted it. “But I’ve got no money, Mester.” + +“This is such a bargain.” + +“If I had the money.” + +“Sometimes a farmer will hide money in a mattress. It’s his way. Or +again in the rear part of a drawer that he alone uses.” + +She began to shake her head, eying him. + +“There’s few would think ill of a wife who knew a fine trade. Look at +this Good Book.” + +She turned the leaves, lingering over the gold letters. “What’s its +price?” + +“Fifty dollars, Madam. To you, ten.” + +“Well.” He sat in the parlor while she found the bills laid in the +ticking. She moved her mouth in an inner argument. She took some of +them, replaced the roll in the straw. She walked back into the parlor. +“Hit seems there be but seven. What do you say, Mester?” + +“I’ll make you a special.” He was reaching for the money. “I’ll take +it.” + +At noontime, when they finished eating, Maria spoke. “There’s a thing I +did.” She went to get the Bible, her eyes moist and bright. + +The smoke from Anton’s pipe dwelled over the used dishes and his brow +drew in puzzled lines. “How’s this?” He was taking the book from her. +“Where’d you get the money?” + +“Amid the straw then, under the bed.” + +“How’d you think to look, ooman?” + +“Peddler said it would be there. So he knows is the way of a farmer. I +took but seven.” + +Then Anton was hitting her on the shoulder from where he sat, because he +had been shown for a fool. He rose, seizing his black shirt and ripping +it so buttons fell tinkling. His chest was exposed, matted. He struck +her again. “Prices are falling so I can’t sell. Rising so I can’t buy. +There’s a drought on us, and you have to thieve behind my back.” He +lifted up his fist. + +She ran to the bedroom where the wardrobe closet stood, and crouched in +the camphor-ridden woolens. She whimpered, “Mam.” + +Ellen waited until Anton had gone to join Sam in the yard. She picked up +the Bible and put it on the table before Simon. Most of the Book of John +was missing, and Kings and Isaiah. Later Anton would hunt in vain for +Jeremiah, his favorite prophet. But now Ellen was turning to the First +Book of Samuel. She had accepted Anton’s violence as she did the +drought, linking them in her mind as manifestations of indisputable +power. And she would give Maria time to recover, in the same +unquestioning way in which the farm folk would woo the land back with +seed and share when the rain came. Ellen was reading to Simon, “The Lord +seeth not as man seeth. Man looketh on the outward appearance. But the +Lord looketh on the heart.” + +Simon examined the pictures while she made order in the kitchen. “Here’s +varmints I ne’er knew of, Mama.” + +The windows were open. Anton had taken a screen down the day before to +mend it and Ellen had hung strips of cloth to keep out flies that bred +constantly in the barnyard. Simon snatched at those buzzing about him. +When he caught one, he would slide from his chair and let it out the +door. He returned to his perch and book. “You’re a soft one,” she +scoffed. “That fly’s coming right back through the window.” + +He smiled in his slow way. “I don’t care.” His eyes were as if he had +drawn aside curtains where he was apt to hide himself. + +Ellen was making a pot of coffee. She went to coax her mother from the +closet. “Come on, Ma.” + +Maria stared coldly. “Leave me be.” + +“Have some coffee. You were clever, Ma. To get a book like that at such +a price.” + +At length the woman arose, rubbing her bruised shoulder. “Well.” + +Simon gave her the book. “Take it, Granny.” + +“We have to cut hoofs, Ma. You drink the coffee.” Ellen set the cup by +Maria. + +“Go along, then.” Maria was opening the book. “You can take a look if +there’s any apples. This is a dreary year for storing up.” + +In the pasture, Ellen trimmed the goats’ hoofs with a pocketknife while +Simon held their leather collars. The little herd had prospered. There +were six, besides Rhodie who still boarded at the Yorks. Ellen walked +among her goats and she was the center of the wheel. She knew each and +the way it differed from the next, how it placed its foot, how it moved +or crowded to be close to her, butting another with a click of horns. +Penny was aging and moved slow. Pie, the big skewbald one, had no beard +and was slick and fat. There were two shaggy brown yeanlings, saucy and +bold. And Leona, the white doe, had yellow eyes in a long homely face. + +Simon and she took the does, when they had finished, over to the +orchard. “Wonder why goats like to follow after, Mama? And you got to +drive a cow?” + +Ellen was drawing tree boughs down. The animals craved the young shoots +more than field clover; they were rearing on their hind legs, dancing +with tongues extended. + +“There’s no apples here, Mama.” + +“There’ll be a few later. I see some fruiting.” + +The goats had their fill and were taken to the pasture again. Then Ellen +went up the lane, Simon trailing behind. The does stood their slender +forefeet on the gate bars, calling after them. The heat quivered, the +land lay gasping, the corn died as clay cracked like a split plate +around yellowed stalks. The sun dominated the clear dome as well as the +prostrate land. Even Simon felt the menace and reached for Ellen’s hand. + +After supper Anton, his anger exhausted, was reading to the boy from +Maria’s Bible. He had brought it to the porch. The women in the hot +kitchen could hear through the open door. “Now this Elisha was going +about the countryside doing miracles. There came forth children out of a +city and mocked him. Said, go up thou baldhead. Go up thou baldhead. +Elisha he looked on them and cursed them in the name of the Lord. There +came two she-bears then out of the woods. They tore forty and two +children of them. And then Elisha he went from thence to Mount Carmel.” + +Simon’s eyes were large and wary. “They shouldn’t have sassed that man.” + +“Take a lesson from it. Heed your manners. Hear, youngen?” + +“I will, Granddaddy.” + +The women came out with cornhusk fans that Maria once had fashioned. +Anton turned pages, seeking the words of Jeremiah. “You got a reaming to +top all here, ooman. Go fetch my own Bible, boy. This one’s not put +together proper.” Then he read, “Thus saith the Lord. Stand ye in the +ways and see and ask for the old paths where is the good way. And walk +therein and ye shall find rest for your souls.” + +Ever since Ellen and Anton had visited Father Tompert and she had voiced +herself to the priest, Ellen had discovered a new freedom. She had found +herself supported by the church in her dispute with it, in her desire to +find her own path. It gave her a wholeness and a bravery toward Anton. +So she would keep Simon at her side on Sundays while her parents rode to +church. Maria was disturbed. “Hope you don’t burn for this, Ellie. +Wonder what Jesus would say if he came through Millville today?” Anton +had grunted, angry, to the team, “Haw-whup.” Unknown to Ellen, he had +spoken to another priest in Bethel regarding his daughter’s departure +from the church. This man was old, his face creased in deep lines, and +he advised Anton to obey his parish priest and to care for his own soul. + + * * * * * + +After her sister had gone away with Genevieve Wheeler, Ellen would watch +Anton going about his work abstractedly. He would stop now and again to +raise a hand or mumble to himself, then startle as though coming out of +a dream, and resume his work. He declared no one was to speak Frankie’s +name. One day Ellen, rummaging for a lost tool in the shed behind the +hog pens, came on the remains of a glass bowl-garden, the one Frankie +had made when she was fifteen to please her father. It was smashed and +Ellen knew Anton had hurled it there in a smoldering rage. + +He began to use certain phrases with Simon such as he had used with +Frankie. “A storm is nothing, Poppet,” he said once when thunder moved +over the sky, failing to see that Simon had no fear. He baited the boy +too, told him to watch the butchering of an old milk cow. “This is man’s +work and you just as well learn it early.” He smote the beast with a +maul behind the ear. When it staggered to its knees, he used the maul +again. Sam cut the jugular with a sticking knife and while the lifeblood +flowed, they fastened chains to its hocks and hoisted the limp body up. + +Simon brought a pail of water for washing, took the liver and kidneys in +a pan to the kitchen. He helped carry meat that the women were frying +down in fat for the lean winter coming. He stumbled up the steps to the +kitchen with his load. “Granddaddy killed old Jess. While she was +looking at him.” + +“He needs the money, Simon. She wasn’t good for a milker any more. He’s +going to take the hide and one side to Bethel.” + +“He could have laid his kerchief o’er her eyes.” He took up the +blood-stained pail. With lagging step he returned to his tasks. + +Anton found Simon was apt to be slow and chided him. He was scattering +handfuls of slaked lime on the hog house floor, sending Simon to refill +the pails from the sack in the yard. In the ovenlike heat, the white +dust clung to their sweated clothing and skin. “Think menfolk are always +going to wait on your lazy ass? Now when I was a youngen I learned on a +stick. Haw.” + +And sometimes Anton turned on him unexpectedly. When the child heard his +steps and ran to open the porch door, the man would say, “Now get out of +here.” + +“It’s but his way, Simon,” Ellen pleaded when she saw the boy’s eyes +following the stocky erect figure. + +“I know it, Mama.” + +The drought broke toward the end of September. Maria was claiming the +Man of Signs had foretold it. “It be the Autumnal Equinox. The sun’s +entering Libra now.” + +“That’s a fact,” said Sam. “The Scales been balanced toward drought. And +now they be tilting the way to the rain.” + +Thunder belted the heavens, rattling the timbers of the old house. The +moist air was lightened and smelled of a sweetness unknown since early +summer rains. Water was pouring from a full sky. In the oat field it hit +the cracked clay and bounced off. Washes were beginning where stones +formed little dams. Rivulets were taking the paths contrived and +becoming foaming streams that roared like rivers and cut gashes that +deepened into crevices. Much of the topsoil washed into the valleys. But +the land was filled, the water stores replenished. All vegetation sucked +and had its fill. And still there was more. “I vow we’ll get wet +tonight, Sam. Appears to be just commencing.” + +“Reckon I might make a little mess of garden truck yet,” Ellen said, +“before the first frost.” + +“Mester Gaddy,” said Sam, “I’d as soon set right out in this while I +milk. I got a honing to get drenched.” + +That night crickets that dwelled in the stone foundations and katydids +with leaflike wings and long silken feelers and green eyes, were +scraping their wings in the teeming dark. They had been listless through +the dry weather, now were voicing themselves in lusty chorus. The red +cardinal was singing so softly in the hackberry that it sounded as if it +were away down Sweetincreek Road. + +The drought had wreaked a stiff toll. A few loads of hay would be +brought in but most of the crop was lost. There would be no corn to +garner, no small grains. One crib remained from the previous year and +from it Anton would eke out the winter feeding. He decided to ride with +Dyke Burwell to the auctions in Louisville up on the northern border of +Kentucky. He selected four sows to hold over the winter with the +breeding boar; he would sell the others and all the yeanling pigs. They +were flat-sided, poorly finished. The men hoped that in the city they +would get a better price than was paid locally. Dyke had loaded his +father’s excess hogs in the Burwell Chevrolet truck. The two were +driving off for the seventy-mile trip and would return in a few days. + +The Gaddy women and the child watched the load of squealing hogs, bedded +in straw, lurch down the lane. Ellen laughed, “Let’s have an outing, +Simon.” The air was brightened as the head of the house was carried +further and further away. They took biscuits and cheese down to the +orchard. Jack accompanied them. When they had eaten, they gathered +fallen apples into a bushel; Simon climbed trees, shook down the few +that clung to the branches. They went beyond the orchard to a patch of +sorghum cane. Being near the farm brook, it had survived the dry spell. +They were breaking stalks, sucking the juice. + +“Crows don’t always squall, Mama. They can talk soft too. I heard one +twittering like a wren, feeding its youngens.” The child wanted to know +the ways of the beasts and fowl. “Granddaddy says buzzards will kill a +baby pig and steal off with it. Reckon that’s so?” + +“A buzzard’s not biggity enough. They’re good but to clean up what’s +dead and rotting.” + +Returning to the house, they had come on an opossum in the path. The +heart of the swooned animal beat faintly, its dull-white jaws, withered +ears and skinny tail bore a semblance to death. Simon was plucking it +from the dust, cradling it in the bend of his arm. He stroked the coarse +fur. “I’ll make it a pet.” + +Ellen laughed then. But somehow she was lonely, walking up the hill in +the breeze of the afternoon, bearing the basket of fall apples. + +“I always wondered if a mole could swim, Mama. Yesterday I saw one cross +the branch. Now I know that thing.” She made no reply and he went on, +“You reckon those goat-sucker birds truly suckle the cows at night? Sam +says it’s so. He says milk snakes’ll do it too. I’m going to spy one +time on them.” + +Anton and Dyke came back from Louisville. Prices had fallen more than +anticipated; the buyers’ eyes had been hard. Anton bought a load of +poor-quality hay that was stacked high on the truck. They had had a flat +tire on the way home and arrived late at night. Anton was pounding on +the door. “Open up, ooman.” + +They brushed by Maria who stood in a knee-length sweater, her grayish +hair in braids. “Hey, ma’am,” Dyke muttered. They went in the parlor, +the stench of manure and sweat about them. + +“Paid fifty cents for this lightning.” Anton cradled a Mason jar of +clear liquid. “Didn’t tell you, boy, in case we got asked if we had any +moon hid in that hay.” He unscrewed the lid and filled glasses. + +Ellen went up to bed; she found Simon on the stairway and sent him +before her. She heard her father’s shout and Dyke’s growl of agreement +as she was drifting off to sleep. She awoke, feeling a hard hand on her +shoulder. “What’s amiss?” she whispered, thinking it was Anton. + +“Hey. It’s me, Ellie.” She heard the pleading whisper, smelled the sour +breath. + +“You’re sodden drunk, Dyke. Go downstairs and get to sleep. If you can +find your way to the sofa in the parlor.” She spoke severely, heard his +clumsy steps descending the stairs, his curse as he stumbled and bumped +the wall. In the morning she was serving them breakfast. As soon as the +hay was unloaded Dyke would drive home. Ellen could see he had no sure +memory of his visit to her room. She caught his covert glance. He thinks +it was a fancy he had. + + + 17 + +In that fall Ellen had a dream of Christian Ay. It was her first thought +of him in many months’ time. His figure was unclear, touched with +gentleness and warmth; it was apart from her. She fancied he was hurt. +He was calling, his voice as if through water. When she awoke she could +hear the echo of her own cry. She was musing at the power of the +nightmare’s image. “There could be a meaning. Like the Prophet Ezekiel +seeing the dreadful wheels. A wheel whirling in the middle of a wheel. +And there was a meaning there that certain men read.” + +She went downstairs to sit wakeful while the dream was still fresh, in +the balmy fall moonlight. Fog steamed in the air, blurring the rims of +trees and the porch roof. There was a rustle in the drying grass and +though no wind stirred a fallen leaf seemed to move on itself, and +presently another, and then the shadow of an embryonic mouse was +darting, vanishing before the eye could catch the shape. The shrews were +harvesting for the winter ahead; their tiny gray piglike bodies sped +soundless; through the movement in their wake one was aware of them. +“Sam says folks will dream of a body when they’re in danger. Or when +they’ve died. Wonder if a trouble’s come to Christian Ay?” Dwelling on +the dream Ellen forgot the curse she had laid once on the man. She +buried her injury, turning the old love over gently, painfully, alone on +the step. + +Winter was casting her days off, one by one. Spring had arrived. Anton’s +worrying of Simon had become less pronounced. Ellen heard the child’s +high voice repeating the tuneless song his grandfather was teaching him. + + It was our William Jennings Bryan + Who told them + Adam was there first + When he fought the battle + With those sons of darkness + At the trial of John T. Scopes + +Anton was lifting the big boy onto his knee. “Shaw. Now, here’s this +poppet. You know I had a son once. If he’d have lived, I’d been minded +to give him my name.” Simon sat stiff at the favor granted. Ellen +watched through the door from where she worked, pleased at this new way +of Anton’s. “How come you called him Simon, girl?” + +“The Doughertys named him, Pa.” + +“Anton’s a good name. I don’t favor Simon. There was a Simon in the +Bible tried to buy Peter.” + +“Oh, Pa. There are lots of Simons in the Bible.” + +“Well.” He was turning to the boy again. She had never heard her father +sing, and was glad. + + They said our ancestors + Were monkeys + Now can’t you see, folks + That’s quite absurd? + +And then the days were passing, made of long hours. The months were +lengthening into years. The winter following the drought was the first +Ellen knew when the table wasn’t amply laid. She had to learn how to +stint in the cooking and to curb her generous hand. When weevils got in +the meal she would strain them out and mix the meal with water to make a +corn pone. In the old days she would have tossed it easily to the hens. +The market for the milk and produce worsened. Every fall Anton and Dyke +made two or three trips up to Louisville to the sales. They took pigs +and steers, chickens, geese and ducks, small grains and root crops. +Through the years the Gaddys would manage, for they depended on varied +harvests. The one-crop farmer suffered the most. Many of them were +driving away from their plots of land, their families and goods piled on +wagons and trucks, hoping to find jobs in factories and foundries of the +cities. When Anton saw a loaded vehicle go down Sweetincreek Road, he +articulated his scorn, “I’d set and eat clay before I’d leave my farm. +Those fellows are oomen-farmers, farting with a patch of tobacco. +Putting on fertilizer and then burning it off. Laying cheesecloth strips +like a ooman.” + +“What for, Granddaddy?” + +“I vow I don’t know. Then they go to the auction and hit don’t sell for +nothing. They buy moon from the patent medicine man and come back with +their pockets empty. So go on,” he shouted at the retreating wagon, “and +don’t come back.” + +“And don’t come back,” cried Simon shrilly. + +Anton turned to the boy, his eyes hot. “You stay on this farm, Poppet, +and some day maybe it’ll all belong to you.” + +Anton slowly was transferring the fervor he used to spend on his younger +daughter, Frankie, to this boy, Simon. He was taking him over. As time +passed he judged Ellen’s guidance of the child. “You be a fool, girl. +You’ll spoil him rotten.” + +When the boy remembered and did as bid, Anton was pleased; when he +disobeyed, he whipped him, stolid. “Thou shalt beat him with a rod, so +it’s said. I’ll take no sass. You do as I say, Simon.” + +In his way Simon tried not to make errors that would aggravate his +grandfather. He had developed a spasmodic pain in his chest that would +come at odd moments. He told no one of it but sometimes when he thought +about it, believed he would die. Then he lay vacantly staring upward as +he had done in the Dougherty shed in the vague days before he came to +live here. At times he dreamed of Anse Dougherty pinching his arm, +whispering, “Gaddy brat. Gaddy brat.” He awoke struggling and muttering. +When Ellen questioned him, he couldn’t remember the details of the +dream. She would sing, soothing, until he slept. + + Dear mother, I said, come and bind up my head + You ne’er shall bind it any more + Sweet William he died of the wound that he bore + And Fair Ellen, she died also + +In 1934 another drought smote the farm. This time the condition was +prevalent over the Midwest, involving dust storms and soil erosion. Over +these depression years there were no visits from Garland Gaddy. At +Christmas he would send a package through the mail. It would be placed +on the parlor table. Ellen’s parents went straight to bed when they +returned silent from midnight mass. On Christmas morning the family +would find cigars for Anton, and for Maria and Ellen mittens or a wool +scarf. Garland was unsure of Simon’s age. When he was six, Garland sent +him the book _Ben Hur_, and when eight, a set of ABC building blocks. +Ellen wrote to thank him, urged him to come at the next holiday. “Some +time,” she told Simon, “I’ll show you Chicago. And your great-uncle who +lives there.” + +“Don’t I have an aunt there, too?” + +“Yes. Some day maybe you’ll meet her. Don’t ne’er say her name to +Granddaddy.” + +“I know. That’s Auntie. She brought me a yellow hat one time.” + +Ellen never heard from Frankie, but once Garland put a card in her +package of fur gloves: “Love from Uncle and Frankie.” So she knew that +they saw each other and it was a comfort. + +The years were sweeping by. In 1935 the Federal dole was stopped and the +national relief program got under way. Anton was told that for +twenty-five dollars he could have a WPA privy constructed. Since the old +one was in ramshackle state, he decided to go ahead. “Christ, Sam, hit +must be fifteen feet down.” They stepped within the new-painted door, +looked into the openings. “It’ll take a hundred years to fill that +hole.” + +“More, Mester Gaddy.” Sam paused. “I recollect Pa. He hung the door on +the last shithouse we Offuts had. Swung it in by mistake. Said it e’er +plagued him after that, for when he sat out there he liked to have a +door swing out, so he could watch the neighbors go by along the road. +He’d call out to them if he had a mind, friendly-like.” + +“Well, I’ll take the cow barn any day. For a fact. It’s a sight more +natural.” + +Simon was growing. He was nine, stocky and strong, heavy for his age. +The bones of his shoulders were knobby so he would appear undernourished +when shirtless. Ellen laughed at him for his diffident ways. “You’re shy +as a field-raised calf, Simon.” If the boar broke loose though, or if a +new heifer kicked because her udder was hot and tender, Simon was +fearless. He laid his hands on her when she kicked out, vicious, or +walked up to the great angry seed-hog. + +Once Anton thrashed the red horse with the lines. It was harnessed with +another and when the load began to move, it reared, balking in the +traces. Anton whipped it. The boy loved the red horse—he hurled himself +before it so the lines were lashing him. Anton saw the white stripes. +“What foolishness now?” + +“It’s the blinders, Granddaddy.” + +And it was true. This horse had always worn the bridle with blinders. +The wrong bridle had been put on and he saw things in a new way, +frightening him. Simon was sent for the other bridle and then the horse +pulled squarely with its mate. “Beasts are plagued fools sometimes,” the +man said. But the boy’s eyes were gazing straight ahead, as red welts +rose on his cheek and arm. He grit his teeth against the familiar pain +searing his breast. + +Anton went into Millville to the priest one afternoon and had Simon +baptized. When they returned, he told Ellen. She protested, “Pa, it +doesn’t matter. But you could have said you were going.” + +“And he’s riding to mass Sundays too, along with us, proper pious. I +can’t hinder you from being a heathen, but I’ll save my grandson.” + +Ellen glanced down at Simon. The man was pressing him, “You want to go +along with me, don’t you, boy?” + +“Yes, Granddaddy.” + +“Well, all right, Simon. You know your mind, I reckon.” She watched them +go, saw Simon running to bring the cows and start the feeding. + +Ellen was twenty-six. She was quite handsome but there was a coldness in +her bearing. Her oval face was sober, gray eyes austere, she wore her +hair plaited tightly and pinned in a circle around her head. She never +knelt in the honeyed grass at night as she once had, weeping over the +lost love and her restive longings. It was as if a scar had formed, +protective, and a part of herself was sealed off underneath. She moved +quietly through the days as if waiting. And she seemed satisfied. + +Simon spent his hours with the beasts of the farm or trailing his +grandfather. When he felt the need for Ellen, he sought her out, +standing near her. They were alike in many ways, shy, spare of words. +She taught him songs, and read to him from the Bible and the almanac. He +brought home an average report card and she signed it, “Mrs. Ellen +Gaddy.” He queried her, “How come I got no daddy?” + +“He’s dead, Simon.” + +“Tell, what was he like?” + +“I can’t rightly remember. Like you, I reckon.” + +“If more comes to you about him, will you tell me, Ma?” + +“I will.” + +“Granddaddy says he be the same as a father to me.” + +“Well.” + + * * * * * + +Ellen saw her old friend Lily again one day. She had not visited with +her since Lily had become Mrs. Craig Hedrick five years earlier. If they +met, Lily would walk away, turning her head aside. It was late August. +Ellen and Maria were making apple butter, the spicy fragrance filled the +kitchen. There was a gentle knock and Ellen put down her wood ladle, +wiping her hands on the brown-stained apron. “Yes?” + +“Don’t you know me, Ellie?” + +“Lily.” Ellen opened the door wide. “Come on in.” + +“I was just hankering to see you. It’s fierce lonesome at home. I ran +off.” + +“What do you mean?” Ellen was taking the old tone with her at once. +“Hush your crying.” + +“Craig sent me to hoe the truck beans. Hit seemed I couldn’t bear it any +more. I up and walked away.” Lily’s blond curls that she had always +taken such care with, were pulled into an untidy knot at the nape of her +neck. She was stouter. “I’m afraid to go back. Craig was running the +tractor in the corn and his man was working the mules. He told me I must +clean the bean patch.” Her small mouth was puckered, unhappy. + +“Why are you afraid? He’s your husband.” + +The woman heaved a breath. “He’s taken to whipping me like Papa did. So +I told him I was carrying a child to make him stop.” + +“Well, then?” + +“I’ve got no child. I can’t seem to get caught. Craig wants one as bad +as me.” + +“Let’s have some coffee.” Ellen was going to the kitchen. “Ma, you know +Lily. She’s Mrs. Hedrick, remember?” + +“Hey, Mrs. Gaddy.” Lily was eager. + +“Hey there, Lily. How’s Mester Garrett’s bees?” + +“Oh, my husband says Papa’s making a sight of honey this year. He’s got +o’er twenty hives now. I’ve not been to see him myself these many +months.” Ellen laid cups on the table while the water came to a boil. +She put out a dish of hot apple butter, slices of fresh bread. “It’s +like coming home here, Ellie. We used to have fun, you and me and +Frankie. I always loved fun.” + +“You know,” Maria spoke up from her thoughts, “I had another girl, named +Frankie. I dassn’t say her name. Mester Gaddy won’t brook it. She’s +dead.” Maria was wagging her head, knowing. + +“Here’s your coffee, Ma,” Ellen said. + +“Is Frankie dead?” Lily whispered. + +“No, and Ma knows it. It’s a way she has, like a child, sometimes. She +can’t seem to keep it straight.” + +“She can’t?” + +“You e’er think of seeing Doc Trumbo, Lily? Maybe he could help you and +Craig to have a child.” + +Lily’s eyes were trailing Maria, breaking bread and spooning the brown +preserves. “Reckon we could try that, Ellie.” + +“I always thought a heap of Craig,” Ellen said, “for taking o’er like he +did when old Mester Hedrick was killed so sudden.” + +“He doesn’t have to beat me.” + +“You e’er think about how it was for him, Lily, back then?” + +“No.” + +Maria broke in, “But there’s a little boy lives here now. Named Simon. +I’m his granny.” + +Lily spoke slowly, “I can’t even go to see my papa and mama any more. +I’m not allowed to go home.” Grave, she was watching Maria. + +“Craig’s a good man.” + +“I know, Ellie.” + +“You have to stop being a girl some day. And think on the ways of a +woman.” + +The three drank their coffee. Presently Lily was pushing back her chair; +she spoke deliberately, “Reckon I’ll get back to my house. I have work +to do. It’s a long walk. Bye, Mrs. Gaddy. Ellie.” Her retreating steps +were heard on the stones in the yard. + +Suddenly Ellen was caught in a burst of tears. She put her hands to her +face, sobbing hoarsely. She ran up the steep stairway, her bare feet +noiseless. “I vow at that girl.” Maria took the ladle to stir the +mixture, thick and hot in the iron kettle. + +Upstairs, Ellen was standing in the middle of the room, shaken, +uncontrolled. She turned abruptly to the trunk along the wall and +dragged open the heavy lid. She rummaged through the contents until she +came on the two undelivered letters she had written Christian Ay. She +ripped them into shreds in a heap on the floor. “I hate Lily and Craig +and all the ugly ways of folks.” + +When she came down, her face appeared smoothed and untouched. But she +was holding her head in such a way that when Anton saw her going to the +woodshed, he crossed himself and muttered, “There, I thought it was you, +Ma.” + + * * * * * + +Simon was in the fourth grade. Every morning found him trudging three +miles to the school on the Millville Pike. Until the weather turned cold +he would go barefoot, for catalog shoes cost a dollar thirty-nine. He +went down the lane in the flat morning sunlight, talking to the dog. He +carried his lunch in a lard bucket. Holes were punched in its tin lid +and it contained a bunch of concord grapes and biscuits spread with +jelly. “Stay, Jack.” The dog’s movements were stiff. He settled on the +bank amid blue-flowered chicory, head on forepaws, brown eyes fixed on +the retreating figure. A tufted titmouse whistled in a cottonwood along +the road. “Peet-O. Peet-O!” It joined the chickadees and nuthatches that +trooped in the upper branches. + +In the afternoon Simon returned late, scarcely recognizable, upper lip +swollen, dry blood caked on his face. The skin was puffing out around +one eye, the sleeve of his shirt was torn. Anton caught sight of him +coming up the lane and ran shouting, “What is it, Poppet?” + +Simon halted, scuffling his feet; he began to whine. + +“Speak up, son.” + +“That fellow mocked me.” Simon was sniffling and as he was led to the +house, his voice rose to a wail. + +Ellen called from the window, “What ails him, Pa?” She came out the +door, shading her face, hurrying down the steps in the sweet-scented +fall air. + +“He’s not going back to that school.” Anton’s face was hot, his breath +thick as he passed her, leading the child. “Crapping bastards are about +to kill him.” + +Ellen followed into the kitchen. Anton was lifting Simon to the table. +“Get a pan of water,” he told Maria. He removed the boy’s shirt, +examined his lip. + +“Pa. You can see he’s been fighting. Let’s find what happened.” + +“We’ll send you to the parochial school. Like decent Catholics. Your +ma’s let you run amuck.” + +“Please, Pa.” + +“The heathen can kill him before you give a care.” + +“Simon.” But the boy had fastened his frightened eyes on his +grandfather, clinging to the harried look on the man’s face. Ellen +turned away, inarticulate. Later, she was in the shed, milking her +goats. Simon shuffled in, stood at the pen gate. The goats nibbled his +shirt buttons and rubbed against him as he was stroking them. + +“I slopped the pigs and watered the team, Ma.” She waited. He was +speaking again, “Reckon Leona’s least kid will have horns or not?” + +“Simon, what happened today at school?” + +“Looks to me like she’s a muley one.” He bent over the kid, moving the +skin on the top of its head with his finger. “If horns were sprouting, +it wouldn’t move free like that.” + +Ellen got up from the stool to strain the milk into a can. She began to +draw the white streams from another doe. + +The boy said suddenly, “Granddaddy takes care of me.” + +She looked at him to see his eyes cold upon her. He was fingering his +enlarged lip. She was startled. He’s turning from me. Pa’s getting hold +of him. She put her head against the soft warm side of the spotted doe. + +“Granddaddy frets about me.” + +“Tell how you got in the fight, or I’ll whip you for a fact.” + +His eyes were down. “There’s a game at recess. We use a ball belonging +to that Penn Hamm. He stores it in the drawer of his desk. Time and +again I asked him could I take it home for one night. But he wouldn’t +say yes.” Simon looked up. One eye was nearly shut, the bruised skin +blue. + +“So?” + +“I studied on it and hankered after it. Yesterday I slipped it from his +desk and put it in my pocket. After school was out.” + +“You could have had a ball if you’d told me.” + +“I wanted that ball.” + +“What then?” + +“Penn said I snitched it, and I said I didn’t. He sat under the tree and +called me bastard Gaddy brat.” + +“You stole his ball, Simon. He was angered. And folks used to call me a +Gaddy brat. Some still do, and I don’t care.” + +“He called me that. He laid for me coming home. I wrestled him for it +but he got his ball back.” + +“Why, Simon?” + +“I wanted it.” His eyes were like small empty caves. “And I lost my lard +pail too.” + +The night meal was pregnant with unspoken words. Then as Anton was +leaving the kitchen he told Ellen, “I’ll take him to the sisters +tomorrow.” She looked at him from where she was sitting. His short body +leaned against the door casing. “Why I even got to jump on him to say +the Lord’s Prayer right.” He cut a slice of apple tobacco with his +slender knife. “Trespasses, he says, like heathen. The school taught him +that. The Lord said debtors. Forgive us our debtors.” He walked softly +into the other room. + +Simon was sent to bed. Ellen came into the parlor. “Pa, this isn’t +right. Simon stole that Hamm youngen’s ball. He’s got to learn. He +should go back and own up. He’s nine and he knows right from wrong. +You’re always preaching the Bible and this is the time to stand by what +it says.” + +“Haw. I’ll say a thing here, girl.” He was speaking fast, harsh. “He has +no daddy, since you begot him in whoredom. Now I let him come here like +a son. I look on him so. Don’t stand against me.” + +“It was the same with Frankie. You pulled her out of school too. You +know it.” + +“You’re mourning because I didn’t take you out.” Anton rolled the quid +in his mouth, continuing gently, “You know, this boy’s a good bit like +my brother, Marc. Minds me of him.” He settled into a chair. “Some way +Ma favored Marc o’er Garland and me.” + +“I know why.” + +“What do you know?” he drawled. + +“He was handsome. Not ugly like you.” + +“How come you say that?” + +“I know somewhat else.” + +“Speak hit.” + +“He wasn’t your full brother. Nell Gaddy ne’er wanted you or Uncle. +That’s a fact.” + +“What?” he roared. + +“She married your sir because she got caught. Like me with Simon.” Ellen +moved to stand over him, by his chair. “She ne’er wanted you, I say. She +loved Marc for his daddy’s sake.” + +The man rose like an unleashed bull. He struck her so she reeled against +the sofa. “I’ll kill you for that lying tongue.” + +She slipped from his hands, ran outside, down the path through the hill +field to the orchard. She stopped running there. Night fog was drifting +in low spots, the sky was clouded. She leaned against a twisted apple +tree until she seemed composed. Her face became like the glass of the +pond where there was no wind and mist was caught above. Later she wended +up to the house to sit on the damp garden wall, waiting until the +kitchen and the bedroom candles flicked out. + +In the morning, as she was pumping water into the blue pail, Anton went +by to the house. He looked past her as if she were not there. She had +told Simon earlier that he must go back to the Millville school, knowing +Anton would refute her word. But she went through the motions, she +hunted for a lard pail in the pantry, made up the lunch. She saw her +fingers were shaking. The boy pushed his chair back and took the lunch +pail. Anton said, “You and me are going to the Catholic school, boy. Did +you forget? Let’s go harness Moll and Red.” + +Simon looked at him. Ellen knew the child was pleased and yet would hide +this from her. He said like a question, “Bye now, Ma? I’m going now, +Ma?” + +Sam was already in the field when Anton came back late in the morning. +He was cutting cornstalks, making tall shocks that would cure until the +long white ears were garnered. Anton joined him, swinging the heavy +blade. “Put my boy in a proper school, Sam.” + +And Ellen was planning. She scrawled a letter quickly. + + Dear Uncle Garland, + + This is a thing I should have done long ago. I have to leave home. + Could you find a farmer who would hire me? My boy is 9 now. Wages as + deemed fair. Please answer by return post. And obliged. + + Ellen + +The next few days she moved pallid-faced, watching for the mail car. She +gathered honey, lulling the bees with smoke. She cut the combs into a +galvanized washtub. The soft stuff oozed and mingled, yellow, black, and +amber, in a heavy pool. Some of the comb she let drip free, and laid it +in a tree fork for the bees to use again. She fastened the lids back on +the hives. While she was doing these things, it was as if her bones +might break were her movements too sudden. Then the RFD car was leaving +a letter. + + Dear Puss, + + This is delightful. You know I have opened my Redding Street house + again on the north side. I’m a married man now, you see. Are you + surprised? Violet and I would be glad to have you and Simon visit + with us until you can get a job. You might learn my wife a few + things about housework! I am sending ten dollars herewith. Come + soon. + + Uncle Garland + +She put the paper in her pocket. O my strength, deliver my soul from the +sword, my darling from the power of the dog. Save me from the lion’s +mouth. + +Courageous, she went to Anton. “Simon and me are taking the train to +Chicago to visit Uncle Garland for a spell. He’s got married and he +wants us to come.” + +“You will not.” He ravened. “No.” + +“By the law, Simon’s mine.” + +The child was coughing; he clutched his chest. But the two who fought +over him didn’t see. Their eyes narrowed, and the pale gray irises of +father and daughter were glinting in the same way. Ellen said they would +leave in the morning. She ordered Simon to his room after the night +meal. He went, meek. + +Anton strode out to the corn field, tearing off his shirt. He dragged +aside the standing shocks just built. Furious sweat drops were forming +on the hairs of his chest. He snapped off the soft unseasoned ears, +hurling them in great piles until dark engulfed the field. Reaching for +the next stalk, he stumbled, falling. He lay panting a moment before +getting to his feet, and came to the house to lie emptied and exhausted +beside his sleeping wife. + +Sam and Ellen milked without him in the morning. They breakfasted and +then Ellen went to the door of the bedroom. She was looking across at +the unkempt bent figure on the bed under the crucifix, elbows on knees. +At length she turned away, taking Simon’s hand. He held his other over +the buttons of his shirt. “You’re not afraid?” he queried, timid. + +But Ellen was speaking to Maria. “I’ve got to go, Ma. You see that?” + +“Where you off to? Is Mester Gaddy going?” + +“No. Just us two.” Ellen kissed her. “It’s all I know to do, Ma.” + +Maria went to gaze at her husband. “Why’s he setting there?” + +Ellen fled with Simon. They were overtaken down the road by Dr. Trumbo, +who gave them a lift in his rattletrap Nash to the station at New Hope. +A north wind blew up, keening in the corners of the unheated station. It +struck down dry autumn leaves and herded them into desolate piles. They +boarded the train at noon. Simon mounted the iron stair before her. He +turned and peered from the windows at the retreating town. + +“Don’t put your feet on the clean seats, Simon.” Ellen did not look +back. + + * * * * * + +Anton had shaken his head at the noon meal his wife proffered him. He +stared at the floor. In late evening he arose at last from his position +on the bed. Maria was in the parlor poring over her gilded Bible. Anton +took a long thin butcher knife from a kitchen drawer. He went onto the +half-dark porch, taking down the lantern that hung on a bent nail and +lighting it. He was making his way then with measured gait to the +woodshed. Wind coming out of the north chattered in the branches of the +hackberry. The yellow light was shedding over the pen of goats lying in +oat straw. They blinked up at him. Rhodie, who was skittish, arose and +snorted. As the man was fumbling with the gate latch the other beasts +got to their feet, one at a time, sensing an outsider, Leona’s pair of +three-week kids turned to her warm side when she stood, seeking her +udder. Feverish, Anton was seeking a peg, feeling with his fingers. He +hung the lantern, his breathing quickening. + +The first doe he grasped was Penny. When he bent her old neck back by +the beard and the red ran down into the fur, she died almost gently. The +clever ones saw his game. Rhodie was rearing upon the furthest stone +wall; her hoofs made a subdued pattering. Leona’s white throat came +next, for she was foolish and made no play at running away. Her two kids +were dispatched too, uttering feeble birdlike sounds. And then Jenny and +Babs, baaing low, were snared by their shaggy beards. Their taut silken +throats were bending to the knife. The hot blood spouted on the straw +and the man’s boots. He was lunging for the spotted Pie, powerful and +large, catching her by a hind leg. She pulled loose, and bleating, +kicked out, striking him on the neck, making a dark bruise. “Haw. Come +here now.” He threw his body at her, encouraged the struggle. He took a +pleasure in the battle, prolonged its ending, letting her heave, crying +in alarm beneath his weight. Then he was dragging her along the straw to +the knife he had dropped. Rhodie was the last. In a silent crazed way +she was still leaping against the far wall. This doe had always been apt +to startle since she had been left untended over a winter and spring as +a yearling when his daughter Ellen had been away in Illinois. Rhodie’s +small hoofs were beating again and again upon the wall. Anton trapped +her by the collar. She made no sound, dropping slowly to the bedding. + +He breathed loud, threw his hand as if he had spoken and were justifying +himself to someone. He walked out of the shed leaving the gate ajar, the +lantern flaming. He strode to the bedroom and knew his wife. In the +frost of the following morning Sam would come upon the stiffened bodies +of the animals and bury them in a near field. + + + 18 + +While the wind of late September hurled in dreary gusts about them, the +two stood in the chill of the next morning before the brownstone front +of the house on Redding Street. They were walking up wet granite stairs +strewn with blown leaves. Ellen rang the bell. The woman who opened the +door was tall and narrow-shouldered. Her eyes were dark, and like a +dog’s seemed to beg. Her hair was a brown mane, piled sleek. She put her +hands on her hips. “Hi. You must be Chicken’s niece. I’m Violet. Come +out of the wet.” She was preceding them into the living room. The old +green carpet was shoddy. The trivia of ornaments that had burdened the +mantle and end tables had been taken away. The oval dining room table +had been moved into this room and the drapes replaced with white ruffled +curtains that drooped as the starch wore out. + +“This room’s bright now,” Ellen said. + +“I like ruffles and trimmings. Is this Simon? Chicken told me about you. +I’m Aunt Vi. Sit down. I’ll get some lunch.” She bustled out. + +“I’m tired, Ma.” + +“So am I, Simon.” + +“Are we e’er going back to Granddaddy’s?” + +“Maybe some day.” She was pushing aside the curtains, looking down into +the street where traffic moved. + +“Will we live in this rich house?” + +“For a spell, I reckon.” + +“How do I call that lady?” + +“Aunt Violet, you say. And be mannerly.” + +“I’m not hungry, Ma.” + +“Take off your shoes. I’ll give you dry socks from the bag.” They waited +until Garland’s wife returned with a tray of hot milk and coffee, slices +of poundcake and a plate of bananas. + +“You like bananas?” she asked. “I do. I feel like one of the quality +when I have bananas around.” + +“Where’s Uncle Garland?” + +“He’s at one of the restaurants. He’s got two, you know. He gets home +about four-thirty and goes back till late at night. Have a banana, +Simon. They’ll rot before you can snap your fingers.” + +“I don’t want any. Go away.” + +“Simon.” + +The boy began to weep softly, laying his head on the arm of the chair. +“I’m hot.” + +“He doesn’t look good, Ellen. Let’s put him to bed.” + +“Pay no mind to his talk, Aunt Violet.” + +“I don’t,” she said cheerfully. “Nerts, I forgot to make up your beds. +Wonder where I stored the sheets this time?” + +Upstairs in a little room, Simon was undressed and put to sleep. He +drowsed uneasily. The bedstead was of black-enameled iron. There was a +battered wood bureau and a cane-bottom chair. Simon awoke, whimpering, +“Ma? Did Anse take back his ball?” + +“How do you mean?” + +“I don’t know, Ma. What did I say?” + +She felt the dry heat of his forehead. Violet came in the doorway. “Hi, +Simon. Brought you some ice cream.” She offered him the little dish. + +He sat up, his blue eyes darkening. “I ne’er meant what I said, lady.” + +“I don’t mind, Simon. Eat before it melts.” + +“Do you have any tonic in the house?” Ellen whispered. + +“I think Chicken would say call the doctor.” + +“My pa ne’er had one. Only satchel doctor I knew let a friend of mine +die.” + +“Didn’t you have one when he came?” Violet was nodding at Simon. + +“No.” + +The boy finished the ice cream, laid the dish on the faded bedspread. He +stroked the sheet, closing his eyes. “Sing about that William, Ma.” + +She waited until Violet had gone. + + It was in the merry merry month of May + When the meadows were fresh and gay + Sweet William hung his bugles round about his neck + And he went riding away + +He slept. Ellen went downstairs to help with the housework. Violet knew +little about it, made simple chores tedious, and in her careless way +laughed it off. “Chicken says, I’ve got a niece at least that’s a model +housekeeper.” + +“I like things to be in the place they live.” + +“You take last night. The soup was ready but I forgot and put the +potatoes in late. They weren’t done. Nerts. Good thing Chicken brings +things home from the restaurant.” + +While she was talking, Ellen busied herself. She boiled starch for the +wilted curtains. “How long have you and Uncle been married?” + +“I’m what they call a common-law wife. I guess I can tell you, being +Chicken’s family so to speak. We’ve lived on the east side ever since +thirty-two. Or was it thirty-three? Last year Chicken gave me a box of +stationery with Mrs. Garland Gaddy on it. He says, we’ve got a checking +account, you and me, the National Trust.” + +“That sounds like Uncle.” Ellen stopped scouring the bronze-trimmed +icebox, wiped her hands. + +“All the time he’d had it in his head. I’ve never written a check, I +don’t know how. Let him do that. But there’s my name with that bank.” + +“My.” + +“He told me your husband died, Ellen.” + +“I’ve got to look at Simon.” She was going upstairs. The covers were +thrown back, the boy’s face reddened. When he opened his eyes, they +stared at her bloodshot. + +“Penn didn’t want that ball,” he breathed. + +She was rushing down the long echoing staircase. “Call Uncle’s doctor, +Vi. Simon’s really sick.” + +She went back. The voice met her, wheedling, “I didn’t wet the quilt, +Da.” + +“Don’t talk, Simon.” + +“I saw that burying-beetle. He made a grave for the speckled thrush. He +dug all about the body till it settled in the earth.” + +She laid a wet cloth on his forehead. Her hand was pushed away strongly. +Now God, shall I give up my first-born for my transgression? The doctor +arrived. The watch began. For nearly three days the fever would possess +Simon’s body. Garland came and went but Ellen didn’t notice him, that he +was changed, his hair whitened, his figure grown portly, his mustache +shaved so his face had lost its sharpness. His blue eyes looked out +shrived. Ellen saw only Simon. She sat in the cane-bottom chair and +watched. Simon was laying his hand on his breast, “Now there’s that +pain. I won’t tell Mama.” His voice rose, “Granddaddy clobbered old +Jess.” + +Ellen asked the doctor, “How come he grabs at his chest? I’ve seen him +do that before but he said it didn’t hurt.” + +“He might be afraid of something, Mrs. Gaddy, that he’s not aware of. +Some anxiety. It’s possible.” + +Late in the night, Ellen was sitting alone in the glare of the small +overhanging bulb. The doctor had said that only time would reveal the +extent of the child’s malady and his strength to combat it. Gusts were +rattling the house eaves, rain drummed insistent on the glass behind the +stained brown shade. Her eyes sought patterns in the striped wallpaper. +“Gaddy brat. Bastard Gaddy.” Simon was crying in the way of the young, +without effort, his tears wetting the pillow. + +Violet came in, her brown hair hanging to the waist of her dressing-gown +and bound with a clasp. “I had a brother,” she said, “was sick like that +as a child. He came through. The doctor thinks Simon’s getting better. +He told me when he went out.” + +“Don’t cry. Why does he cry, Aunt Violet?” + +“I don’t know. Maybe he’s thinking thoughts we can’t know of.” + +“Reckon you’re right,” Ellen sighed. + +“I know one way to stop it, but you might think it improper.” + +“What, Aunt Violet?” + +“I doubt the quality ever heard of it. It’s a way people did where I was +brought up. Even with babies. We lived in the slums, all in one room. +Mom would stroke my brother’s privates. She was forced to hush him so +Dad could get his sleep. And it quieted him right off.” + +“Well, I don’t know. I’ll just use the wet cloth.” + +“How is he?” Garland’s rasp sounded from the door. “Just closed up the +restaurant. Busy tonight. It’s after midnight.” + +Ellen didn’t turn. “He’s better, it seems.” + +“He is, Chicken. The first time he’s resting good. I’ll go make your +tea. You want some too, Ellen?” + +“Sure she does, Vi.” + +She pattered away down the hall. “Won’t be long.” + +Garland was coming in by the bed. “Poor fellow. He’s a fine kid, puss.” + +“I know it.” Tears began to flow down her tired face. “You-all been so +good. Taking us in, Uncle.” + +“Chrissake, hon. It’s Anton, isn’t it?” + +“Yes.” + +“Was he mistreating the kid?” + +“No.” + +“Hell, then he was lording it over you?” + +“Not that, I don’t mind that.” She was whispering, weeping. “Seemed he +didn’t care for Simon’s good.” + +“Hell, that’s An. Wish there was some way to make him see the light.” + +“Only to have him do his bidding.” + +“What makes that bastard that way? I’m fed up with him. I’m done.” + +“To make Simon a part of him like his own son would be.” Ellen was +looking up. She saw that Garland was old. He had always seemed young, +vigorous. “When I got your letter, Uncle. Saying we could come here. It +was like a way opened up.” + +“Your letter to me was pretty plain. I thought I knew what the trouble +was. I suspected Anton then.” His small angry eyes cooled. “You know how +tickled Vi is with you both?” + +“I like her.” + +“We’ve been married a long time. Since about thirty-two, I think.” + +“Like I wrote,” she looked at Simon who breathed evenly in sleep, “I +want to get a job right away, though.” + +“How old is he anyway?” + +“Nine, now.” + +“Frankie told me she thought your husband had died.” + +“Yes.” The wind rushed, pushing rain sharply against the pane. + +“Frankie said what a nice kid Simon was. She’ll be glad to see him, too. +We’ll have her over.” + +“I’m so tired, Uncle.” She looked at him, vacant. “I can’t think so +good. Does Frankie live near here?” + +“Just you take it easy.” He put his hand at Simon’s forehead. “Feels +cool to me.” The humming of Violet who was mounting the stairs came, and +then dishes were rattling in an adjoining room. “Let’s go have some hot +tea and ginger-bread. Do you good, sweet.” + +“I’d better stay here.” + +“You can come back. In a little while.” He jerked the chain dangling +from the overhead light. He drew her from the darkened room. + +Ellen slept late into the morning like one drugged. Simon dozed. The +fever had disappeared, with it went the constriction in his chest. When +he roused, Violet tiptoed up to amuse him, making shadow-pictures on the +wall with her thin hands. “I used to do this for my brother.” + +Garland came home, stood in the doorway. “There’s nobody like my Vi, +Simon.” + +“Do the little goat now,” the boy whispered. + +Ellen went down to the kitchen in the evening. Violet was in a rocker by +the tin-topped table. The radio was blaring. + + The music goes round and round + O-o-o-o-o-o + And it comes out here + +The woman snapped it off. “Hi. How is he, Ellen?” + +“Fine. I promised him a kitten. Reckon we could find one?” + +“I’ll tell Chicken. He’ll get you one somewhere. Have a cup?” They sat +in the kitchen room that was littered as in the days of Mrs. Quimby’s +reign. Years of neglect and Violet’s efforts had done little to improve +it. The chipped sink was touched up, the cupboards were painted cream +color, and a square of red-and-white linoleum was on the wood floor. The +fireplace was still unused, the opening blocked. “If times get better, +we’ll fix the house up, Ellen. Get an electric icebox and a new stove +and sink.” + +Ellen drank the tea. “Violet, did Uncle look for a job for me yet?” + +“He’s watching the want ads. We’d like you to stay here as long as you +can. Have you ever worked out?” + +“No.” + +“I have. Since I was eleven. One place they had a special French toilet +in their bathroom. When they finished their business on the regular one, +they switched to it. It washed them off with a spray. Now it was +outlandish.” + +“Those French are tormented clean folks. My great grandsir was one.” + +“You don’t say.” + +The front door slammed. “Where are you, Vi?” + +She bayed, “Here, Chicken.” + +Garland was pushing the swinging door. “Home is the sailor, home from +the sea. And the hunter from the hill.” He kissed Violet’s cheek. “I’ll +have some of that tea.” + +“Ellen wants you to find Simon a kitten. He likes pets.” + +“I’ll ask Charlie. He’s got cats. Charlie’s my dishwasher. Say, we’re +going to have company in a couple of hours. Frankie’s coming.” + +“I just remembered supper,” Violet cried. “Nerts, I’ll never get it +together.” + +“Yes, we will,” Ellen gathered the teacups. “How’s Frankie’s +piano-playing now, Uncle?” + +“Oh, hon,” Garland was laughing, “when did you see her last?” + +At six-thirty, Frankie arrived, Genevieve Wheeler, stout and amiable, +just behind her. “How’s the farm, Ellen?” + +“It’s fine, Miss Wheeler.” + +“Take my coat, Gen, will you?” Frankie’s red hair was long and she wore +a pearl comb in it. Her fine features had filled out and she had lost +her frailness, was somewhat plump. + +“All righty. I’ll go put these chocolate eclairs in the frig.” Genevieve +was striding vigorously into the hall. + +“Oh sure, Ellie. We’ve been visiting Uncle and Vi ever since Pa tossed +me out. We live on the east side.” Frankie’s eyes appraised Ellen. +“You’re different. Older, I guess.” She had her hand on Ellen’s arm, was +kissing her cheek. + +Ellen drew away. “And I am older, so what’s that if I look it?” She +spoke sharply from the wound. + +“Did Pa make you go? We didn’t believe Uncle when he said you were in +the city. And Simon, too.” + +“I told Pa I was leaving.” + +“Are you raising Simon Catholic?” + +“Well, Pa took him to church, but I don’t go. I got weary of the prayers +and such.” + +“Pa know that?” + +“I talked to Father Tompert once and he said I was right. So Pa gave +in.” + +“I always got a kick out of the way you defied him, Ellie. I never +dared. How is he?” + +“The same.” It tasted bitter. “It’s us that have got to change.” + +“I’m glad you left. But how are you going to get along? Are you staying +here?” + +“No, I want to find a place on a farm, Frankie. So I can work and Simon +can help with the stock.” + +Genevieve was in the doorway, hearty-voiced, “I know a farmer might be +able to take you, Ellen.” + +“Where, Gen?” Frankie was asking. + +“Down in the state somewhere. Wasilewski’s the name. One of their +cousins works in my office. He was reading a letter yesterday about his +aunt getting old and wanting to hire a girl. Sounded nice.” + +“Let’s write them,” Frankie cried. + +“Wonder if they have cows.” The desire caught in Ellen’s throat to lay +her hands on the silken hair and smell the pungent kine breath. + +“Sure,” Genevieve said. “I guess. Cows and pigs and chickens. The works. +We’ll write them, Ellen.” + +“And we’ll call you,” Frankie promised, “as soon as we find out.” + +“I don’t get it,” Genevieve said. “Wouldn’t you rather find something +here in Chicago? My kind of work’s so much more interesting than the +drudgery of a farm. It’s stimulating.” + +“No, Miss Wheeler.” + +“You could live with us,” Frankie offered. “You could do steno work like +me.” + +“I’ll bet Garland would be tickled silly if you’d stay with them,” +Genevieve said. + +“Vi’s such a slob,” Frankie giggled. + +“She’s not,” said Ellen. “She’s good.” + +“I didn’t say she wasn’t good,” Frankie was shrugging. “But she’s a +slob. She’s perfect for her Chicken.” + +“Garland thinks he’s taking care of the downtrodden,” said Genevieve. + +“She’s good,” Ellen repeated. + +“Why don’t you stay, then?” Genevieve asked. + +“They need a housekeeper,” said Frankie. + +“I’d rather be on a farm, if I could. Besides, Simon can’t bear to be +cooped up.” But Ellen knew she wanted to be away from Garland and his +wife, and Frankie and Genevieve Wheeler. She wanted to leave all ties, +to start on new ground. + +The next day, Frankie called to say they had mailed the letter and when +the reply came would let Ellen know without delay. Ellen walked through +the park, Simon beside her. Leaves were dropping, scudding into damp +niches, mingling with soot particles and bits of paper and debris that +gathered in gutters. Sleet sheeted from a dull sky. They returned to the +house. Violet was bringing a bowl of popcorn into the living room. +Garland urged Ellen, “_Top Hat_’s at the Acme tonight. With Fred Astaire +and Ginger Rogers. Why don’t you come with us, puss?” + +“I don’t care to.” + +“Make me some fudge, Ma.” + +“All right.” When Garland and Violet had left, they went into the +kitchen. Simon sat in the rocker while Ellen was hunting through +cupboards for ingredients. + +“When you reckon Uncle will get my kitten, Ma?” + +“Soon, he said.” + +“Wonder if Leona’s kid sprouted horns?” + +“Uncle says the man that washes dishes at the restaurant has a cat that +littered. But they aren’t weaned yet.” She was stirring the hot mixture +in the iron pan, the strong odor of chocolate filled the air. + +Simon stared at the red-and-white checked linoleum, held the arms of the +chair to keep it from movement. “Reckon Sam milks the goats out good?” + +She poured the thick fudge on a buttered cold plate. Her body was tense +and unyielding. Her braids lay like marble coils about her head. “Uncle +says those kits are spotted. Black and white and orange.” + +Simon got up and followed her into the living room. He was nibbling at a +sweet brown square, his eyes looking past the ruffed curtains to the +steady noise of the street. “I say, Ma, I get to honing for them.” + + * * * * * + +It was two weeks before Frankie came for an evening again. “Why in the +world did you and Uncle move from the old flat, Vi?” She was laughing. +“It takes us an hour to get over to this side.” + +“Did you e’er hear from those people, Frankie?” Ellen asked. + +“Who?” + +“About that farm.” + +“Oh yes. We meant to call you. Gen’s got a letter from them.” + +“It’s here somewhere in my bag.” Genevieve searched. + +Ellen took it quickly to slit it open. + + Mrs. Gaddy. + + I hear you want to hire out. Winter work is light here. Can you come + say latter part of Jan.? If satisfactory would pay 4 & half dollars + per week and board. Child to work according to size. My wife raises + chickens. Needs help with them and house. Also garden-stuff. That is + all I have to say. + + Matthew Paul Wasilewski + Hidden Creek, Ill. + Rt. 1 + +“Well?” asked Gen. “Good or bad?” + +“They’ll take us. But not till after winter.” She colored. “I know where +Hidden Creek is. Penny Dougherty lives near there.” + +“Well,” said Violet when she heard the news, “I’m glad it’s not till +January at least.” + +“It’s that I hate putting you and Uncle out.” + +“Nerts, you don’t. We wish you’d stay.” + +“Can I have my own horse there, Ma?” + +“We’ll see if you can leastwise have a chicken.” + +“Let me have it as soon as it hatches. I’ll give it all its feed and +raise it for a pet.” + +“Never heard of a pet chicken,” Violet said. + +“When’s Uncle going to bring me the kitten, Aunt Vi?” + +“I’ll get after him again, Simon. He’s always busy.” + +“I’d love a spotty kitten.” + +Ellen cleaned the house as the weeks flowed. With strong yellow soap she +scrubbed into corners, taking a pleasure in the dark lather that would +form in the ancient dust. She pulled down drapes, hauled dingy frayed +rugs out on the line strung in the yard and set Simon to beating them in +the cold autumn sunlight. “You got to polish brass with wood ashes mixed +in oil. Hit’s the only way,” she told Violet. “It mars our hands but the +brass comes shiny like new.” + +Violet, thin arms akimbo, followed, protesting. “Look at you, Ellen. Let +it be. We don’t mind. Come on and sit.” + +“I’d rather finish this off first, Aunt Vi.” She felt a compulsion to +drive her body as if that would make the days shorter. + + + 19 + +There was a heavy fall of snow in the early afternoon. All city noises +were dulled. Violet had spread newspapers before her and she was sipping +hot tea. “Says here they found a frozen man on the el steps, people +walking around him. You think they figured he was sleeping?” The +telephone rang and Violet picked it up. “Hello. Yes, we’ll accept it. +Hold the line, ma’am, she’s right here. It’s Millville, Ellen.” + +Ellen grasped the phone. She could scarcely hear the voice of Sam Offut. +“Ellie? Your Ma’s acting queer. Mester Gaddy’s got to pull her out of +the wardrobe to get the meals. You best come and do somewhat with her.” + +“Oh, Sam.” + +“She’s not been the same since you left. I allow I don’t know how we’ll +make out at butchering.” + +“Is Pa all right?” + +“For Gawd, Ellie. He thinks she’s being ornery. But I don’t know. Seems +like she’s off her head to me.” + +“Where are you, Sam?” + +“At Love’s. I traded a basket of eggs. The hens are doing good for this +weather. I says to the central, there’s a Garland Gaddy lives at +Chicago. He’s got my boss’s niece there. Ellie Gaddy. Can you get her to +this phone? She says, collect? I says, look, I got no money. Can you fix +it so I don’t have to pay? Lo and behold, I was about to walk out when +Stacey hollers, it’s for you, Sam. How about this age of miracles?” + +“I’m hanging up, Sam. I’ll come some way.” She cut off his voice. “What +do you reckon that call cost, Aunt Vi?” + +“What’s the matter, Ellie?” + +“I want to know. I’ll pay it back.” + +When Ellen told Frankie, the young woman laughed as if embarrassed, the +light catching in her blue eyes. “I’m done with all that, Ellie. You can +go.” + +“Haven’t you got any pity for Ma? Uncle says she has to be taken to a +place the state runs.” + +“When she’s there, we’ll go visit her. And Gen and me will give what +money we can spare.” Frankie’s full face was set, her mouth pouting. + + * * * * * + +Ellen and Garland were going by train to New Hope, leaving Simon in +Violet’s care. Garland hired a man to drive them to the Gaddy farm. The +corduroy country roads were uneven because of the freezing and thawing +of winter, and they were jostled in the back seat of the worn-out Model +T. Garland was relaxed as he stared out at the countryside. His jaw had +dropped, the flesh was folding on his face about the age lines. Shaving +his mustache had given him a guileless expression, and with Violet not +present, he had laid aside his forced lusty manner. They were passing +Bailey’s Woods. Ellen recalled the glowbugs that had lit the path sides +with fitful orange lights when she played there as a child on summer +evenings. Now dead twigs of tree branches tangled and meshed like +spiders’ webs. A winter wren on a lean bough was whistling, “Teakettle, +teakettle, teakettle!” and with a whirr fading down the road toward the +sky where gray clouds lived uncared for. + +“It’s not your father’s fault about Maria, puss.” Garland was speaking +suddenly. “Don’t go blaming it on him.” + +“Who’s laying it to him?” flashed Ellen. + +“You know, Maria had a hard childhood. Her people were queer, you might +say. Her mother was over forty when Maria was born and her father going +on sixty. Christ. Must have near starved some winters back in the hills. +He’d go off and leave the two of them to fend for themselves. Probably +half crazy.” + +“I don’t think so.” Ellen’s mouth was stubborn. + +“Anton said he was a hunchback. Had Maria’s dowry stuffed in a gunnysack +fastened with binder twine. Fifteen hundred dollars in coin and bills.” + +“That’s the way he was. I don’t call it so queer.” + +The house appeared uninhabited as they approached. Jack came out from +the hole he had made for warmth in the earth behind the leaf-bare +bushes. He watched them dull-eyed, uncertain. Garland called at the +bottom of the porch; there was no answer. He set out for the barns while +Ellen went up into the house. The porch was littered with mud and +manure, in the kitchen the floor was tracked and the usual order on +Maria’s shelves and table was broken. Ellen guessed that Sam had been +making an effort to clean up and wash the dishes. Her pulse was pounding +as she glanced at the bedroom. She draped her coat on a hook and drew +off her winter boots. She went slowly into the room and over to the dark +standing closet. The heavy crucifix was looming on the wall over the bed +by the light from the little windows. It was a dream. From another time. +She was in the cellar of her childhood, her feet fixed and immovable. +There was someone behind her with a stick, waiting to perform a vague +frightful act. Her heart was beating like a living stone as she dragged +open the double doors to the closet. + +Maria’s birdlike eyes looked up from where she sat, clad in a long +maroon sweater and a worn housedress. “I got my little boy here, Mam. +He’s a bit cold. But he’s not dead by a long sight. That whippoorwill +was wrong.” She had cradled a pillow in the crook of her arm. Her hair +was loosely braided, gray wisps straggled over her face. + +“Ma,” Ellen whispered. + +Maria was frowning. “Shut the doors. I allowed he was out there in the +ground moldering and turning. But he’s right here. Shut them now.” + +“It’s Ellie, Ma.” But the woman bowed her head into her shielding hands, +waiting until the doors would close. + +Ellen went into the kitchen. “She’s stark mad.” She stirred up the fire, +adding lighter-wood and a log from the bin. + +The three men scraped noisily coming up the porch and into the room. +They stood in their muddied boots, their breath steaming up. Anton +stamped his boots and coughed, rubbing his fingers together above the +stove. + +“Evening, Ellie,” Sam said. + +She nodded, holding herself from them, over at the side by the windows +where a chill seeped in. + +Anton had on his black bear-fur cap, the collar of his tattered mackinaw +was turned up. He shrugged and said directly to Garland, “So hell, I’d +get her out mealtimes. She wouldn’t go to mass and the last few days she +wouldn’t get in bed. Hum.” He inquired softly, “Has she gone loony?” + +“Would she cook for you?” Garland asked. + +“Fair to middling,” said Sam. + +“But always she’d set out for the bedroom,” Anton was saying, “and I’d +pull her back. Like she aimed to anger me.” + +“She needs a doctor, An. And care.” + +“What are you fixing to do?” + +“I’ll have to make some calls first. Where’s the nearest phone? I think +the state will take her. We have to see a doctor and you’ll have to sign +papers. You come with me, An.” + +“Go hitch Red,” Anton said. The hired man went as bid. + +“Where is she now, hon?” Garland asked Ellen. + +“In the closet,” Ellen whispered. “She ne’er knew me.” + +“And why should she?” Anton was glaring at her, hurt and reproachful. +Like old Jess led to the sourwood scaffold in the yard. “Isn’t that +right, Gar? There’s a great daughter. That one.” The door slammed after +him in a gust of cold air, and Ellen shrank. + +“Your ma’s probably best off right where she is, puss. She isn’t violent +or anything?” + +“No. Just sitting there harmless. She used to do that sometimes when Pa +had his back up. I thought it was a place for her to get away. Far as I +can remember she’d do that. But now she’s talking daft and she didn’t +know me.” + +They stood, hands hanging useless. Nothing moved. The silence was +complete. Then the buckwagon clattered outside. Garland roused, picked +up his homburg hat. “Be back late. Not much of a Christmas this year, +hon.” From the window she watched them climb onto the seat. The chestnut +horse was restive, its winter coat woolly and ungroomed, dry manure +casing its flanks and legs. It carried its broomlike tail high and pawed +the ground. It moved off, the two figures hunched against the cold, +heads drawn down into scarves and collars. + +Ellen left the house, going toward the woodshed. She called to the dog +but he had disappeared. She went seeking her goats. She met Sam, and +learned of their destruction from him, “You know your pa e’er was a +strong-willed man, Ellie. And you be cut off the same last. I saw that +when you were yet a set-along child. You’d ne’er squall when he took a +stick to you. It wasn’t natural.” Sam was wagging a gnarled hand. + +Ellen’s mind had only partly encompassed what he told her. She was +conscious of the faint liquor scent. “What’ll I do, Sam?” + +“You hadn’t ought to torment him so.” Sam was stooped over, holding one +hand on a hip as if an ache lay underneath. “Being as you’re a ooman +grown now, you ought to stand behind him. Mrs. Gaddy’s no use any more.” + +Ellen wasn’t listening. “Where’d you put them, Sam?” + +He went before her to the orchard edge. “I threw them in the wagon and +toted them down here. For Gawd, took a big hole. Wore me plumb out.” + +When he had gone, Ellen looked about at the familiar landscape. Penny +and Leona and spotted Pie. Rhodie and the shaggy yearlings. Pa gave me +an eye for an eye, it appears. Burning for burning, stripe for stripe. +Because I took Simon. It’s my goats for Simon. Life for life. That’s an +enduring fine trade. At last she was wending back up the hill field. +Darkness dropped almost instantly as it does in the short days of the +year. The bark of a dog fox was rising shakily from the woods, the eerie +sound lingered. Ellen’s hands in her pockets were stiff and cold. She +blew on them and rubbed them. “I’ll ne’er have truck with my pa again.” + +From the house, squares of lamplight were wavering. Ellen entered, heard +Dr. Trumbo’s murmur. The Gaddy brothers were sitting with him, and +papers were spread before them. They all wore their overcoats, and their +headgear was cast near their hands as though, in the half-warmth of the +kitchen, they were passers-by with a bit of business to perform here. +Ellen removed her coat. She shook the grate in the stove and laid a +fresh fire. That’s all we be. Passers-by. Strangers sitting in His home, +dragging the past on our shoes. If we could but lose that burden, start +afresh. The fathers have eaten sour grapes and the children’s teeth are +set on edge. There’s Pa whom I ever loved, thinking of ways to make him +see me since I was a least youngen, following him with my eyes, running +to do for him. But I never saw Pa for himself, only for the way I wished +him, like the songs that seem to happen in another land. From this +valley they say you are going, we will miss your bright eyes and sweet +smile. I loved Pa in the land of myself, in a valley of my mind. While +Ellen was mixing the corn meal, her hand was turning the egg and +buttermilk into it quickly. Tears started and fell unheeded. + +She laid plates before the men and they ate silent by the mellow light. +Forks and knives chinked. The smell of burning oil pervaded the room. +Ellen went to where the woman hid herself. “Come get your supper, Ma.” +Maria laid her head on her knees. Ellen brought her a dish and she +accepted it. The doctor and Garland were lighting cigarettes, Anton +puffed his pipe. Ellen finished the dishes and swept the floor. Dr. +Trumbo arose then, it was time to go. He drew Maria struggling and +whimpering from her place, and Ellen persuaded her to change from her +ragged clothes. “Here, Ma. Take off that sweater and those rags. Put +this on.” She was offering the old crepe de Chine dress. “It’s silk.” + +“Well,” Maria felt of the black material. She was putting her pillow +down. When she had dressed they came into the kitchen where the others +waited. + +“All set?” asked Dr. Trumbo. + +Anton was watching his wife from where he still sat at the table. He was +pushing tobacco angrily with his thumb into the pipe bowl. “There goes +the last of my oomen-folk. Now who’s to do the cooking, Gar? Sam, you +think?” + +“I’ll get her bag.” Garland went into the shadowed bedroom. + +“I’ve been a righteous man. And pious,” Anton carped harshly. + +“Here we go, Mrs. Gaddy.” The doctor was taking Maria’s arm; he led the +way with Ellen to the car, into the black night. + +Garland was bringing Maria’s valise. He paused at the open door to the +porch. Light from the kitchen made a hesitant path reaching to the top +step. “Goodbye, An.” Car lights had beamed suddenly in the yard, +revealing the shrouded figures of the women climbing into the back seat. +Garland cleared his throat. “I’ll remember when I first met Maria.” + +Anton did not move. Pipe smoke wreathed and dimmed his lined face, his +strong shoulders, his powerful arms stretched on the table before him. +“Man born of ooman is of few days, Gar.” + +Garland was running his soft hand nervously through his white hair, +fingering the place where his mustache had used to be. He hurried down +the steps. “Let’s go, Doc.” + +Ellen sat in back with Maria, dust from the car floor mingled with a +vague clinical smell. She drew an old alpaca robe about their knees; it +was damp to her hands, musty. + +“I remember winters, Doc,” Garland was saying. “We cut shoes from hides +my father tanned. They had only one last so both shoes were cut the +same. Pa’d say, your feet will wear them into shape to fit. Times I +thought it was the shoes shaping my feet.” + +“You think everyone nowadays buys shoes, Mester Gaddy? They come down +out of the back country or I hunt them out. Ridden with hookworm, +wearing shoes made like yours were, no right or left.” + +“Chrissake, bet you see some things, Doc?” + +“Sure. Blacksnake root for the stomach. Butterfly root for female +trouble.” Dr. Trumbo grunted. “Lady came in yesterday. Said she was near +starvation. She was down to her last chicken and couldn’t wring its +neck. Said it was her pet.” + +“That’s the lot of a farmer.” + +“That’s right, Mester Gaddy. Always dealing with death. The youngens +play with the calves and lambs and maybe teach them tricks. Then they +have to watch them slaughtered. Always losing whate’er they get attached +to.” The feeble lights of the car parted the night. Ellen watched the +slack shoulders of the men before her. Maria breathed deeply, the pillow +slipping from her angular fingers. + +“Fellow was a grave digger, see?” Garland was telling an old joke. “He +dug one too deep, this time. So he was shouting up from it, help. Get me +out of here. I’m freezing. A drunk came staggering along and he looked +in. Says, Hell, fellow, no wonder. They forgot to cover you up. And he +began to throw in what was shoveled out.” + +“Now, that’s a good one,” Dr. Trumbo was whispering. “I’ll remember it. +Sure wish I had you to go the rounds with me.” + + * * * * * + +A day later Ellen and Garland were back in Chicago. Simon met them at +the front door. “Look here, what Aunt Vi gave me for my Christmas.” A +sleeping calico kitten was within his shirt, a soft lump. + +Ellen laughed at him, “My.” + +When Simon touched it with a finger, the kitten stretched a paw and +yawned. Simon was delighted. “See that?” + +“You made him right at home, boy,” Garland cried. + +Violet was stepping down the wide staircase, trailing her housecoat, her +hair undone, her eyes wistful. Garland put his arm about her tall form. +“Miss me, wife?” + +“Sure did, Chicken. I didn’t hear the doorbell, I was sleeping so hard. +You know Simon was in the school play? He was the shepherd and he +brought a gift.” + +“No, I ne’er,” said the boy. “I just knelt by the sheep, singing ‘Round +John Virgin.’” + +Garland was carving the holiday ham that night. “Next year we’re going +to have a turkey, Vi. I hear they might vote FDR in for another term. +We’ll see prosperity again.” + +Ellen watched Simon eating, struck by it. He held the fork in his left +hand, pushing the food with the knife as his grandfather did. She said +abruptly, “How come you hold your fork so? I ne’er noticed that. It’s +not proper. Your fork goes in the right hand.” + +“Let him eat Christmas dinner like he wants, puss.” + +Reckon I’ll always see those ways Pa stamped on him. Simon was reaching +for the ketchup and pouring it heavily on the potatoes, his head bent +over his plate. She remembered how he said, “Mind now,” to the kit. She +was wondering if that too came from Anton. + +“Now these quality,” Violet was saying, “had an exercise machine. You +could hear it clear down in the kitchen. It was bolted to the floor and +there was a wide belt they put around them. It juggled their stomach or +wherever there was a fat spot and it just rubbed it away.” + +“Say now, that’s what I need.” Garland was patting his stomach. + + + 20 + +Anton and Dyke were loading the Burwell truck for the trip to +Louisville. It was late January. They had become familiar with the town +since their first excursion six years ago at the beginning of the +depression. They had come to know the wholesale section and the +waterfront district where the Ohio flowed and where auctions were +conducted in the shadow of tobacco warehouses and mills and the +newly-operated distilleries, reeking and guarded. Now too, they would +manage more than one yearly trip. They found it necessary, in fact, to +go many times. + +Sam Offut had moved in with Anton the week after Maria went, bringing +along his wife Eadie. She was plagued with lumbago and vestiges of +various diseases contracted when much younger, and she seemed satisfied +to settle with Sam in Mr. Gaddy’s house for as long as she was required. +She learned to carry out her duties to his partial satisfaction. She +cooked three meals and cleaned occasionally. She was cowed, however, by +the Catholic icons, refusing to dust the crucifix or the statuettes or +the framed Sacred Heart. “Be careful what you say near the things, +Samuel,” she warned, “they be Romish. You know Mr. Gaddy’s not a true +Christian like us.” The Offuts would go to the new Holiness Church that +had set up a tent on the outskirts of Millville. There folks spoke in +strange tongues and preachers would handle rattlesnakes and fire and +encourage public confession. Besides being entertained, the Offuts had +found an ideal place to express themselves without censure. + +This morning Eadie was bringing sandwiches of bread and bacon to the +truck. Dyke was gunning the motor and a white smoke streamed from the +exhaust. Six fattened shoats, stowed behind the load of corn, grunted +and squealed until the machine was set in motion. Then they were lulled, +grew sleepy-eyed swaying warm-bodied against each other. “I’m going to +get me a piece of cock tonight, Mester Gaddy,” Dyke sang out. + +“Do that, boy,” Anton glowered. + +“Hey. I like a ooman built like a brick shithouse.” Dyke’s ruddy face +shone. Beside the taciturn older man he was feeling debonair and +knowing. “Big and soft all o’er. And I know where they’ve got them.” He +blew the horn, “Beep. Beep!” A flock of chickens fled squawking into +ditches from the carcass of a dog that lay in the frosted road. “Want me +to show you where, Mester Gaddy?” + +“No. Christ.” + +“Setting about the room in wrappers. Nothing underneath. For a fact, +now.” + +“You’ll get the claps and come home dragging your tail. Hum. Won’t be so +horny then, I vow. Best stay away from harlots, boy.” + +“Now, there’s one old girl does a trick with a cigarette. You’d ne’er +think she could do it.” + +“Get your pecker down, boy.” Anton looked out on the frozen fields that +waited fallow for spring. “Give not thy strength unto oomen. Mind.” + +“Reckon the corn’ll sell high, Mester Gaddy?” + +“Prices always come up in late winter. Seems most folks are so strapped +for cash in fall, they’ll sell when hit’s cheap.” + +The stoutish younger man and the other near sixty were drawn together in +the close cab, knitted by the future, unforeseen. The return trip would +be different, then the tie would fall away as tomorrow became a routine +of familiar chores. Dyke was laughing. “Hey, Mester Gaddy. Saw Butcher +Faust last night. He’d just got in a cow carcass. Still had the udder on +it. So he sliced off a front teat and let it hang out his fly. Old lady +Brenner came in. He took her order, started in to cut her meat for her. +Well, she jerked up of a sudden. Says, timid-like, look there, Butcher +Faust. And he looked down, says, Oh that damn thing. And lays it on the +block, whacks it off with his knife.” + +“Haw,” snorted Anton. + +“Old lady Brenner near passed out. That Butcher Faust slays me.” + +Hog prices had nearly doubled over the fall rate. The men found a buyer +for the corn and stopped in at a dingy corner bar for a glass of draught +beer before parting company. Then Anton was making his way down Market +Street, a bleak wind thrusting at his back, up the sleeves to his +mackinaw and ill-fitting black suit. He took a left turn for two blocks, +then a right. He swung in at the second house, his stride unaltered. The +building was of red brick, one of a series of identical houses. The long +hall was unheated and dark, a radio lilted faintly from under a doorway. + + I don’t want your sugar sprinkled in my tea + Because the gal I’ve got is sweet enough for me + +Anton was climbing a staircase, knocking at the door at the head. A +shapely woman opened it, her jet-black hair heavy about her +sallow-skinned broad face. Anton spoke thickly, “You alone, Rose?” + +“I’ve been looking for you, Daddy.” She was turning in a studied +careless way. He put a heavy-muscled hand toward the slim curve of her +back, withdrew it hastily as if caught between guilt and greed. He +closed the door and followed her to the window where she was looking out +as if waiting. His hand came upon her insistent, he was pulling her to +the bed. + +She asked him after a while, “Why don’t you ever kiss me? And you with +those big lips.” She was slipping into her wrapper. He followed her with +his eyes, made no answer. She took his coat from the chair, explored the +inner pocket and brought out a flat box. “Why not, Daddy?” She was +deriding, but gentle, for the kind elderly farmer suited her. She had +met him a few months ago, knew he was Catholic with a wife committed +recently to an institution. She opened the gift box holding a red and +blue silk handkerchief. Louisville, Kentucky. The Biggest Wholesale +Distributor Of The South. She knotted it softly at her neck, wise that +the vivid colors set off her hair. She planned that she would marry +Anton. She was preparing supper on a two-burner hot plate, boiling +spaghetti, searing ground meat in a frying pan. “Vo-do-do-dee-o-do-o-o! +Guess I’ll teach you to dance, Daddy. Okay?” + +From the bed he was taking in the figure in the bright kimono that +contrasted so completely with the shadow of Maria. He would leave +Louisville tomorrow, returning to the farm. But he would be restless and +irritable, lonely, his sin again unconfessed. “Come o’er here, Poppet.” + +She was going to the bed. He took her to his lap. His sateen shirt was +open and she stroked the red hair of his chest. “You’re a comfortable +man. You’re strong.” + +“Rose, you wait here for me.” He was heated. “Don’t see e’er a man. You +hear?” + +“I don’t know.” But Rose said it as if she would obey. + +“This little grandson of mine had hair would turn pale in summer, like +oat straw. Hum.” Rose went back to where the savory odors were steaming. +She laid dishes and brought glasses of beer to a low table. Anton drew +on his pants, fastening his belt; he pulled his heavy frame erect, began +to pace back and forth. His yellowed winter underwear was exposed above +the waist. He stopped in his stride as if angry, “Will you do like I +say, Rose?” + +“Okay, Daddy.” But this time she was amused and said it as though she +would not. + +The next morning Rose was frying ham and eggs for breakfast. The stale +air in the flat was surfeited with the high fat odor. She made her ways +soft so the pain of parting would lie in Anton like a hot ball. She was +teasing him so he would never be quite sure away from her and would +remember her standing by him in the bright-flowered kimono, her hips +soft and her city face white. She was forking the food onto his plate. +Anton observed the lift of her arm along her breast; he laid his gnarled +hand against the pointed shape of it, his mind turning to a morning long +years ago. + +The girl Penny, who married that fool Dougherty, had worn a flowered +dress patterned like Rose’s kimono. She had come to the hay field to +bring Anton a drink of water in a stone jar. He was turning the damp +clover alone. The girl watched him drink, smiling. “It’s a power hot out +here, Mester.” She was lifting her hands to brush back her hair, seeking +the breeze. She looked cool from her head to her brown toes that were +small as a youngen’s. Something stirred in Anton when her breasts stood +out as she raised her arms. He put his hand forward hardly knowing what +he did, and cupped one in his palm. “Are you coming in the heat?” he was +whispering, hoarse. Penny’s eyes had widened. She was bending for the +jug and slipping away. In days to follow he named her “that roaring +ooman,” angered with his own calflike ways, despising his moment of +weakness. And when his older daughter had picked up the foldilay songs, +ever after they would stir his ire. + +He spoke dourly to Rose, removing his hand, “The lips of a strange ooman +drop honey, says the Book. And her mouth be smoother than oil.” + +“Banana oil, Daddy,” said Rose. + + * * * * * + +Anton met Dyke at the truck parked on Market Street. Hoarfrost had +glazed the windows, Dyke was scraping at it with his knife while the +engine warmed. The truck backfired and trundled with an effort through +early traffic, past the slow gray river, and into the country where +smoke was seeping from dunghills and fowl scratched the frozen earth. +Anton was restless in his seat, crabbed. Dyke was driving stolidly. The +radiator was beginning to boil as they chugged up the Gaddy farm lane. +Dyke peered through the cloud above the hood. “Just made the well in +time, Mester Gaddy.” He was shouting over the noise of the engine, and +cut it. “Hey there, Sam.” He still shouted although the motor had +stopped. He lowered his voice in the quiet wintry air, “Did your wife +help you milk, Sam?” + +“No, I shift for myself at the barn when Mester Gaddy’s off.” There was +the hint of home-brew about Sam’s breath. He sighed, “But this here +lumbago’s getting me down.” + +Anton had descended his side of the truck. Shading his eyes, he was +looking at buzzards that wheeled over one of the fields. “What be dead +out there, Sam?” + +“I don’t know. Could be the dog’s killed him a woodchuck.” + +Anton walked to the top of the land, the other two following. “Reckon +it’s old Jack himself?” + +“Now I recollect, Mester Gaddy, Eadie said she ne’er seen him about +yesterday to get his dinner scraps.” + +Anton picked up a shovel, walked down the lane alone. A few sluggish +bluebottles buzzed up in the sunless air from the dog’s decaying +worn-out body, matted with burrs and beggar’s-lice, damp from melted +frost. While the man was digging, clay caught in the cuffs of his shiny +black pants. From the woods nearby the two notes of the carping bluejays +echoed like pieces of crockery being knocked together. The birds were +heralding the spring winds. Anton tipped the carcass into the grave with +his shovel. A warm stench floated from where maggots quivered. Anton +neither smelled nor saw. His disciplined arms were performing +efficiently. His mind dwelled apart, jealous, on the woman in +Louisville. + + + + + part four + + + Lovers who must say farewell + When the road has reached the trees + Lovers who have all to tell + Where the road runs out of sight + In the green beyond the leaves + The green cove below the light + Lovers who must say farewell + When the road has reached the trees + Touching hand to hand to speak + All their love has ever known + Find no words to speak and say + Love... O love... + + + 21 + +Ellen had spotted the wagon before Simon, drawn by a strapping team of +grays. The little farmer had a white beard and mustache. He was touching +his hat and yelling across the tarred road to where they sat on the +station house steps, “Hi. You Mrs. Gaddy?” + +They took up their bags and ran. Simon was scrambling into the wagon +bed. “Hey, Mester.” + +“I’m Matthew Wasilewski,” the old man said. Ellen climbed to the seat +beside him. He was clicking to the team and the shod hoofs resounded on +the patched streets of Hidden Creek. They came upon dirt country roads +and Ellen observed how there were no stones and they stretched flat and +straight, not curving and hilly like those about Millville. The horses +set a fast pace. + +Simon shouted, “That’s a spanky team. Can I hold the reins sometime?” + +“Hush, Simon. He’s fond of horses.” + +“Let him talk. I say, let boys speak out.” The man’s complexion was +translucent, as happens with the aged. His beard was yellow about the +mouth from tobacco stains and food. His frail body was engulfed by baggy +overalls and a fresh-starched blue shirt. He bobbed his head, “Now, Mom +raises Leghorn hens. She’ll want you to help with them.” + +“What’s a Leghorn? How’s it differ?” + +“They’ll beat any breed at laying, Mrs. Gaddy. Mom follows the +Department of Agriculture. She reads the bulletins. And she sees the +county agent too. He told her to put those runners on her chicken sheds +and tow them out to pasture.” + +“Say, feeding them on grass like a cow.” + +“Keeps down disease, the agent claims, and saves feed. You think this +land’s rich? You should go to the old country some day. Poland. Where I +came from. Plums as big as my fist. Apples the size of my head. Never a +drought.” + +“We had one where I lived two years ago.” + +“Where you from?” + +“Kentucky.” + +“I heard that drought was widespread. We had it bad; most all the crops +died right in the field. Our boys took a loan on the mortgage. They +shouldn’t have done it. Debts are bad. In the end it was the Triple A +that pulled us through. Roosevelt paid for what we didn’t have to plant. +Did he pay you folks too?” + +“No, but I knew a man got a government check for letting hogs root up +his tobacco. I ne’er did understand how that worked.” + +“Now in Poland, Mrs. Gaddy, they never heard of a drought or a Triple A +either.” + +“Say, Mester,” Simon spoke up, “what are those horses’ names?” + +“Off one’s Pearl. The other’s Major, son.” + +“That Pearl’s a sight the prettiest.” + +“Yes, and that Major’s the smartest. Who do you think’s pulling this +load?” + +Simon fell back abandoned in the straw of the wagon, shouting in glee. +He lay gazing up at the sky and the bare treetops that came into view. + +“That’s it.” The old man pointed. “Ninety acres.” + +Two women and a man were coming from the white house into the yard to +welcome Ellen. Mom was fleshy and large-framed, her eyes shy. She was +shaking Ellen’s hand. “Guess Pop told you all about the fruit in the old +country.” + +“Why, he did.” + +Sudduth was their younger son, thirty-two, scrawny, anxious-eyed. “We +sure can use your help. We’ve been after Mom a long time to get someone. +Here’s my wife, Adele.” + +“Pleased,” said Ellen. + +“Howdy.” The woman held her head on one side like a bird, waiting. + +“You-all could call me Ellen.” + +“I’ll show you to your room, Ellen.” Adele was going ahead up the +stairs. Her face was harrowed from the years, but retained the child’s +shape, round and eager-eyed, looking for encouragement. Two little girls +with eyes like hers looked from behind a door. “This is Mrs. Gaddy, +Hannah. Grace. My boy Dennie is in school.” The girls squealed and ran +to hide. Adele was stopping at the room that would be Ellen’s. Simon was +to have another for himself. + +They came together later for the evening meal, Pop at the head of the +table, Mom at the foot. They were all shouting noisily. “Let’s see those +brown-eye peas down here.” + +“Save a corner for the blueberry dowdy.” + +“Let a child talk up, I say.” Pop maneuvered the food through his +mustache, his head on a level with the children. + +“I got a hundred in Penmanship,” cried Adele’s son, Dennie. + +“My, at that child,” said Adele. + +“The girls printed for me. I sure could follow it good.” Mom felt the +sisters were being slighted at times. At her left stood an empty chair. + +“That’th Uncle Dan’s plathe,” Hannah was saying shyly to Ellen. + +“Dan’s my older brother,” Sudduth explained. “He’s off at the cattle +sale in Weems Crossroads, trying to buy a Crestmore bull. We already +have a purebred bull, but he’s the sire to so many of our heifers we +don’t get the good of him any more.” + +“Say, I’ve been to Weems Crossroads,” Ellen said. “I visited some folks +there.” + +“Dan’s going to see if he can bid a bull low,” Sudduth said. + +“Nothing but the best for Dan,” said Pop. + +“By the name of Dougherty?” Ellen was hopeful. + +“Nothing but the best.” Sudduth was sopping the juice from his plate +with dark home-baked bread. + +“Never heard of a Dougherty,” Pop said. “You know, Sudduth, if a +purebred cow jumps the fence and gets to a grade bull, you can just as +well sell her? She’ll be no good from then on.” + +“That’s ridiculous, Pop.” + +“I’ve heard of it,” Ellen said. + +“There was a mare bred to a zebra stallion,” Pop told him. “Every foal +she threw thereafter was striped. Now that’s proof, Sudduth.” He pounded +his knife. + +“There,” Ellen whispered, for she had heard this same thing. + +“Pop, that old tale’s been shown up long ago. I’ll get out the article +for you to read, in the _Breeder’s Journal_. Old superstitions.” + +While they were talking the cats were underfoot, three or four of them, +tiger-striped and black. They wound under the table legs and sometimes +one of the children slipped them a bite of food. A little later Ellen +and Simon went up to bed. The talking and shouts from below were seeping +through the flooring as Ellen dozed off to sleep. + + * * * * * + +She heard the cock crowing in her dream, insistent, shrill. She threw +her arm in a fending gesture, engrossed in the nightmare. She was +running up the stairway from the cellar, her father racing after. “I’ll +kill you because you took the boy.” She shouted to stay his hand, “You +dassn’t kill on the cock’s crow, Pa.” She awoke, her voice straining in +her throat. She lay listening, oppressed by the dream, letting it +recede. I won’t hold to any of it. I’ll button it into a far part of me. +I want to weave a new way here in this land where all the folks are +foreign. I’ll make a place for Simon and me. I’ll put the past away. I +vow I will. + +It was not yet dawn. Darkness kept the room corners. She threw back the +covers. The air was chill but there was an earth odor, fresh, redolent +of spring. She was throwing open the window, looking out at the muddled +unfamiliar landscape. The eastern sky was gray and hushed. She sat on +the low sill in the sleeveless garment she wore at night, hugging her +cold bare arms. Her hair hung clinging and disheveled. It was late +January but it was warm, the first false spring. There would be cold +days yet, and the last frost might come as late as mid-April. But +already in protected southern exposures a few flowers were opening, a +jonquil or narcissus, releasing suppressed and forgotten perfumes. The +earth seemed to turn itself like an animal stirring in its lair. + +A bull bellowed in the half-light, pawing the floor of its paddock, +shaking its brawny shoulders. It began to butt the bars with its heavy +smooth head like a toy set in motion. Tiny pigs wandered to and fro in a +yard beyond the bull. The gray of clouds that lay in the east +transformed gradually into mauve. Shifting and changing, lights and +colors were fanning upward. A man’s figure strode around a corner of the +house. There was a black-and-white feist at his heels. The man was tall, +seemed young, his hair thick and black, unruly. The cuffs of his pants +were tucked into leather boots. He stopped to shake tobacco into his +left hand, and rolled a cigarette swiftly. The dog jumped repeatedly at +his arm, yapping sharply in the pink-tinged air. As he was walking off, +his bass voice came clear. + + The minstrel boy to the war is gone + In the ranks of death you’ll find him + His father’s sword he hath girded on + And his wild harp slung behind him + +A warm breeze stirred from the east. Ellen shivered. On the brim of the +color-draped sky, the first round edge of the red sun was emerging as if +pulled by a string. The fields were stretching forth under the rosy +light, spreading wide and tended, damp with dew. The pungent sweetness +of the earth was arising from its bowels. Time moved quickly. The sun +came whole over the line of horizon, lay alive in the brilliant stained +sky. The man’s song had faded. + +Voices began to call back and forth in the reaches of the house. Ellen +turned from the window. The room was furnished with a white wood +bedstead, a dresser with a tiny mirror, a table and an upright chair. +There was a striped rag rug on the floor, made by Mom; the curtains and +bedspread were yellow and threadbare, streaked unevenly by sun rays over +the years. + +She dressed and hurried down the dusky stairs. Simon and Dennie sat +whispering on the bottom step. “You seen my room, Ma?” They followed +her. Adele was turning the handle of the coffee grinder, the friendly +crusty noise filling the kitchen. “Dennie’s got a room too.” + +“I always had a room.” Dennie hiked his suspenders. + +When breakfast was nearly ready, Sudduth came in with the man Ellen had +seen earlier. They washed at the sink, then leaned against the wall to +wait for food to be set out. Ellen had difficulty finding things. “Where +does the sugar live, Mom?” + +“This is my brother Dan,” Sudduth said as she was passing with the bowl +of sugar. “Mrs. Gaddy. Ellen.” + +“How do you do. Mom keeping you busy? You’ve got to watch her.” He was a +head taller than Sudduth, older than he had looked from the windows, +with an air of authority. His straight hair hung over his forehead, his +eyes were greenish-yellow, his ears pointed at the top. His lips were +thin and flat, his nose angular. His skin was olive and creased. There +was a birthmark on his left cheek, and when he flushed it darkened. +“That damn bull’s a beaut, Sudduth. Supposed to be delivered this +morning. We’ll charge a service fee on him that’ll pay his price a few +times over.” + +“Let’s eat.” Mom was carrying a bowl of fried potatoes in one hand, a +platter of smoking ham in the other. + +When they had finished, Simon got his coat from upstairs, for he would +set out with Dennie to school. There was over a mile to walk. He stood +in the doorway and his blue eyes settled on Ellen. “Bye now, Ma.” He +picked up the yellow cat mewling at his feet. + +“You tell the teacher who you are proper, Simon.” + +“I will, Ma.” + +“Say you’re living at the Wasilewski farm.” + +“I know.” + +Dan rolled a cigarette, leaning back. “You like horses, boy?” + +“Oh yes, Mester.” Simon spilled the cat to the floor. “What can I do?” + +“You groom them every night. Will you do that?” + +“Mornings too, Mester? You won’t find a loose hair.” + +“Call me Dan,” the man was laughing. “We’ll see what else we can find +for you.” + +The boys ran off and Ellen said, “He’s proud to just lay his hands on a +horse.” + +The day had begun. When the beds were made and the kitchen floor +scrubbed, Ellen scoured the white refrigerator and the electric stove. +She washed the white-painted wood cabinets that lined the walls. “Pop +made those,” Adele said, “three years ago. They got the notion one night +when Mom was reading the _Farm Woman’s Magazine_. Dan and Sudduth put +the old pantry cupboards in the shed for machine parts.” + +The brothers drifted in at noon, hobnail boots clacking on the floors, +preoccupied in talk of the new bull that had arrived by truck. They ate +hastily, hurrying out. Mom said the hens were to be deloused. The county +agent advised it. The women caught each bird by the leg, shook the can +of powder over it and turned it loose so it escaped to the yard, shaking +its feathers, clucking indignant. Dust from the litter mingled with the +powder and hung in the air. The women sneezed. Mom’s face was hot. “The +roosts have to be scrubbed down next.” + +At supper Ellen was tired. When she finished her plate, a cat jumped on +her lap. She let it remain for she saw it was the custom. It was +purring, kneading its paws. Simon joined in the clamor and Ellen was +bending her thoughts to how different these ways were from the house +where she had been raised. + +“Come play for us, Uncle Dan,” Dennie was coaxing. + +The girls joined, “Thing ‘Thay, Darling, Thay,’ Uncle Dan.” + +“Tomorrow, you pesky kids,” he shouted over the din. “We have to check +on the bull right now. Coming, Sudduth?” He was charging through the +door. + +The next morning the tractor roared out of the barnyard, Dan perched in +the driver’s seat. “Land,” Mom was laughing, “he does love that +machine.” + +“It’s a good day to start the spring plowing,” said Ellen. “The land’s +thawed good.” + +“They’re not plowing yet,” Mom said. “They’ll wait till February.” + +“I’ve heard folks say it ruins land for seven years to plow in January. +Pa ne’er held to that notion. He plowed when he had a mind to.” + +“Sakes, Ellen.” Mom was amused. “That’s not it. It’s the house. We’ve +got a busy year laid out here. Adele’s going to have her own home. Her +and Sudduth.” She was turning to Adele. “He went by already with the +team and the scoop. Did you see him?” + +“Sudduth’s just raring,” said Adele. + +“We’ve got to be ready to paint and all in late summer, Ellen. So Adele +and him and the kids can get moved in the fall.” + +“I want everything to be perfect when we leave, Mom.” Adele was earnest. + +They told Ellen that lumber was stored at the warehouse in Hidden Creek; +part had been bought in fall when cash crops had been sold and part was +still on credit against the early wheat crop. “There’s kegs of nails and +rolls of tar paper and shingles in the shed. They drew the plans out on +paper.” Mom was proud. “There’s going to be another big event here in +the fall.” Mom’s eyes gleamed secret. “Wait and see.” + +At mid-morning Ellen was busy. “I declare at this iron, it’s so light.” +She skimmed over the clothes swiftly, laid them folded and smooth on the +newspaper-covered table. + +“It sure is a help having you here, Ellen.” Mom was mending, a wicker +basket beside her. “Makes me feel old though, not doing my own work.” + +“Only I forget about the cord and keep walking off with the iron.” + +The kitchen door slammed. “It’s me,” Dan’s voice shouted. The sound of +running water came. + +“You’ll see, he’s had trouble with the tractor,” Mom said. + +“The tractor turned over on me.” His voice was muffled. “Cut myself.” + +“That suits you fine, Dan,” Mom called. “He can play now. Nothing suits +him like when some piece of equipment won’t work and he can get his head +under it. Rather do that than work.” + +“You don’t have to shout. I hear you.” Dan appeared in the doorway, +rubbing his face with a white turkish towel, a gash on his browned +forehead. He was shaking his head, cocky. “Ellen, you think my family’s +crazy?” + +When she was washing the supper dishes she heard the tinny sound of the +piano in the sitting room. Simon was behind her at the kitchen table +leafing through his new schoolbooks, waiting for her. “Wonder who that +is playing?” she asked him. + +“That’s Dan. I’ve ne’er heard that song, Ma.” Simon smiled, his blue +eyes curious. + +She put the plates away. “It’s right melancholy.” + + A spanish cavalier stood in his retreat + And on his guitar played a tune, dear + The music so sweet would ofttimes repeat + The blessings of my country and you, dear + + O say, darling say, when I’m far away + Sometimes you may think of me, dear + Bright sunny days will soon fade away + Remember what I say and be true, dear + +Ellen was hanging up the dishcloth. “Let’s go hear the music.” + +“Can we?” + +“This is our home,” she said with dignity, “while we’re here.” + +From his easy chair, Sudduth was bemoaning, “We’ve got to clean out the +barns again. Get it on the fields before plowing. Jesus, we’re going to +be strapped with work this year.” + +Dan looked up at Ellen as she came in, his eyes golden in his lined dark +face. “Wish it would rain liquid manure for a whole week. Save us some +trouble.” His lean fingers ran over the keys tenderly. + +She sat down in the rocker by the windows. On the table beside her was a +tall glass bell, exhibiting underneath a stuffed red bird with black +wings and tail, its eyes bright glass. Ellen was looking down at her +hands in her lap. She had an inflexible manner about her, seldom +laughing easily even with her son. It was as if she had been bruised +once and armed herself against a recurrence. And when she would make her +hair into braids in the morning, winding, and fastening with tortoise +shell pins, she would pull tightly. There was an unconscious +satisfaction to the act as though it were easing a guilt. Ellen held +herself at times almost like one righteous. She was glancing at the +scarlet tanager under the bell, wondering who had shot it. Vaguely she +was listening to the words the man sang. They differed from those Penny +had taught Ellen. + + When your heart was mine, true love + And your head lay on my breast + You could make me believe + By the falling of your arm + That the sun rose up in the west + + + 22 + +The weather turned brisk, the temperature fell, the dew had frozen in a +white sprinkle. Mouths of animals and men steamed. The excavation for +the cellar of the new house had been completed, a square gash in a rise +of land at the far end of the farm. “Now let it freeze,” Mom was saying. +“They can still lay cinder-block.” + +“It’s like a dream come true,” said Adele, “them building our house. +Land.” + +The little girls had spread old mail-order catalogs on the kitchen +floor. They cut and snipped, squabbling. “It’th mine. You shut up, +booby.” + +“You see, Mom?” Adele pleaded. “It’s not right you should have to put up +with this commotion.” + +Ellen was savoring the friendly companionship of the two women. The +girls she had known—her sister, Lily Garrett, even Amanda York—had been +younger than she. And they had leaned on her. She could never look up to +them or turn to them for advice. There was a freshness in her +relationship with these older women. + +“Just wait till Ellen sees my roses, Adele. They’re a sight, all pink +and white.” + +“You know, Ellen, Pop can tell to the exact how many flowers each bush +has every year,” Adele said. + +“Keeps it in his head.” + +They worked, their hands busy in the baking, they talked idly, “He’ll +say, this white rose had only fifty-one buds last year.” + +“Every rose, he’ll count.” + +The cold air rushed in as the door opened. “There. That cake fell,” said +Mom. “Land o’ Goshen, I’m peeved.” Dan came in, leading Simon, who was +tear-stained. “You will slam doors on baking day, Dan.” + +“Dammit. Sorry, Mom. He bumped his knee, Ellen. Fell down.” + +Simon was pulling his torn pants leg up to reveal a soiled bruise. He +held his tongue between his lips; phlegm was dripping from his nose. +“Hit don’t hurt now,” he mourned. Ellen washed the wound. Her mind was +apart from the accident. Wonder why Dan came in with Simon. He needn’t +have. Simon’s ten and not a baby. Maybe Dan’s thinking on me. I don’t +want him. Nor any man. She was wrapping the strip of cloth about the +knee. + +Dan was lighting one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. “Press my suit +today, Mom, will you? I’m taking Star to the grange dance.” + +“All right, Dan.” + +As the two went out Mom shouted, “And don’t slam it.” + +“Star’s his girl,” Adele was telling Ellen. “She’s lots younger than +him.” + +“Oh I don’t know,” Mom said. “She’s nearly nineteen.” + +“And Dan’s over forty.” + +“Wish they’d set the date,” said Mom. “Keeps me on edge.” + +“You think Star’ll settle down to being a farmer’s wife?” Adele asked. +“After all, she’s used to a maid doing the work. Why, I bet she can’t +cook even.” + +“She loves him. That’s what counts.” + +“She’s an only child. She gets whatever she wants.” + +“Star’s so pretty,” Mom told Ellen. + +“Her folks have spoiled her,” said Adele. “But Dan’s crazy about her.” + +“Marrying will settle her. She’s the nicest looking girl in the +countryside.” Mom was complacent. + +“Dan wants his bull to have the best blood lines. He’s got to have the +latest machinery, the newest hybrid seed.” Adele sawed the air with a +flour-streaked hand. “I wouldn’t be his wife.” + +“Well, you’ve got Sudduth.” + +“Praise the Lord,” Adele was laughing, an edge to her voice. + +“When are they getting married?” Ellen asked, quiet in her relief, +detached. + +“Didn’t I tell you there might be a big event this fall? The date’s not +fixed, but when the house is built, there’ll be nothing to stop them.” + +“Sudduth figures that’s why Dan’s in such a stew to get the cellar dug.” + +“Now there. I forgot the eggs,” Mom was saying. “They have to be +gathered at ten, two, and after supper. Maybe you’d better take over +that job too, Ellen.” + + * * * * * + +Every Saturday afternoon Ellen would find an envelope on her dresser, in +it four and a half dollars. When she laid them in her drawer she felt a +wealth and a peace. She was moving less uncertainly in the new +household. She was the hired girl and the value set on her talents gave +her a self-respect. On Sundays, Pop, Mom, Adele and the three children +would go to the Presbyterian church in Hidden Creek, Adele driving the +Dodge car. Sudduth and Dan would work on the new house. Ellen walked out +with Simon to see the farm, for during the week she was too busy. Simon +showed her the gray horses he groomed and she patted sleek +brown-and-white cows, fastened in metal stanchions, munching hay, their +tongues curling about the wisps. “Aren’t those stalls modern, Ma?” They +passed the hog lot where white-banded pigs were squealing and snuffling +at a trough of water in the cement lot. “They’re not dish-faced like +Granddaddy’s pigs.” + +“I see they’re not. They’re a different kind.” The shouts of the men +were faint on the air, mingled with the low lonesome bawl of the new +bull. Some day I’ll tell Simon what Pa did. And why we had to leave. + +“Wonder how little Rhodie is, Ma?” + +“Oh, Simon.” + +“And fat old Pie. And Leona. If their hoofs are cut regular.” + +“I don’t know. You still honing after them?” Reckon I’ll tell him +sometime what Pa did to my goats, cutting their throats. “You miss your +granddaddy?” She was looking off to the bowl of sky. The far calls +floated and echoed in it. + +“Reckon he was e’er good to me.” + +“It’s nice here, on this place.” + +“And there was old Jack. I set store by him.” + +“Dennie’s feist is pretty.” + +“He’s a scrappy thing.” + +“Well.” They walked back. + + * * * * * + +Dan wore a white shirt on Saturday nights, with a blue detachable +collar. He knotted on a brash necktie and brushed his shoes, stood at +the doorway to the sitting room where the family convened. He seemed +older to Ellen when dressed in the brown suit, his lean body pinched +into tight cloth, the tough skin of his face emphasized. He was leaning +against the frame, the birthmark a dull red. He tapped tobacco into thin +paper, licked the edge, twirled the ends, all in a quick motion. “How’s +this tie, Ellen? Too loud? Think my girl will take a second look?” + +“I reckon.” She was patting the cat, inwardly disturbed. + +“Well, if she was smart,” Sudduth mocked, “she’d run the other way fast, +wouldn’t she Pop?” + +The old man cackled. Ellen felt stiff and plain, smiled faintly as Dan +walked out. I’d never be that Star. + +On weekday nights Dan played the piano. His energy was contagious, it +was as if his day had just begun. In the lamp glow their faces turned to +where he sat. + + There are many flags in many lands + There are flags of every hue + But there is no flag however grand + Like our own red white and blue + +The family were joining in, swept away by his exuberance and health. +Sometimes Ellen sang with them. + + Then hurrah for the flag, our country’s flag + Its stripes and white stars too + There is no flag in any land + Like our own red white and blue + +She was saying, “I know a languishing one, Dan. ‘Lord Lovel.’ You know +it?” + +“I can play the tune if you’ll sing.” + +“All right.” He found the keys easily. + +They like me here. She dwelled on it. It’s not like home where Pa jeered +when I sang Penny’s songs and Ma never heard me. + + Lady Nancy she died as it might be today + Lord Lovel he died tomorrow + Lady Nancy she died out of pure pure grief + Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow + +It was the first week in March, on a warm windy day, when the bees +swarmed. Pop had on an old hat decked with a bee veil, he was wearing +long gloves and had tied strings around the bottoms of his overalls. He +carried a smoker to still the swarm that hung like a living sack on an +oak branch. Ellen saw him from the window. He stooped and moved until +finally the bees were in the new hive, their angry droning muffled, +subsiding. The old man came in, taking off the veil. “Hee. Only got one +sting.” + +“My sister Frankie and me used to beat pie pans and make a racket when +our bees wanted to swarm.” + +“How come?” + +“That’s so the workers can’t hear the queen calling.” + +“Did it keep them in the home hive?” + +“Two-three times it did. But the queen’s call is strong.” + +“Don’t tell the boys. They’d call it a superstition. They go by the book +too much for me.” His teeth flashed through his beard. + +Before going up to bed, Ellen went out into the night. There was a light +fog. She was curious about the bees, went to listen to the new hive. +From it came a faint contented purr. She laid her hand on the wood. It’s +like they’re one creature, like the whole drove’s got but one mind. Her +hand was feeling the movement within, the insects changing position +endlessly. While she was standing enclosed in the darkness, she heard +Dan humming as he came back from the barnyard. His boots rasped on the +pathway. She was waiting for him to pass but he sensed a presence, and +stopped. “Who is it?” + +“It’s me. Ellen.” She could see the coal of his cigarette. The air was +balmy, brought up during the day from the south. + +“The wind’s laid,” he said. Overhead a twisted sliver of moon was +freeing itself from dodging clouds. The starlight was dim, pulling at +the mist gently. “What are you doing?” + +“Feeling the bees move. The hive’s like an animal.” + +“That’s so. It is.” She heard his body settling against a tree trunk. + +“Like it’s bedded down for the night.” + +The silence dwelled while she waited on him. “What happened to your +husband, Ellen?” + +“He died.” + +“How?” + +She was seeking his face, but there was blackness. “He was killed.” + +“I see. How?” + +After a while she said, “It was in the haying time. He was down on the +wagon bed.” The words were dragged up from some other part of her. She +watched that part of her talk on, fumbling, “He had a watch-eye man +hired to him. That man pitched the fork down and it stuck him between +the shoulders.” The fog was rising, the moon slid away in clouds. Her +tongue stumbled along of itself. “When they reached him, they say he was +dead already.” + +“I’m sorry.” + +Something welled in her then, born of loneliness. It caught high in her +throat. “No. I ne’er had a husband.” She wept. But she was eased. She +was speaking of Christian Ay and how she couldn’t recall if he was tall +or if his hair was brown. It had happened to her when she went to see a +horse belonging to the farmer he worked for. Her letters had come back +unopened. Ellen’s tears stopped then, and her voice. She began to hate +the man hidden behind the black curtain. A shame was rising in her so +she felt her face heat. + +His voice was flat. “Windy days like this one’s been can bring on a +cyclone.” He hummed slowly. + + Some call her Lady Nancy Belle + Some call her the Lady Nancy, Nancy + Some call her the Lady Nancy + +A twig broke under his foot, he ceased in the middle of the tune. “A +cyclone’s a sight to see, Ellen. You should watch my kid brother run +when one comes. You ever have them in Kentucky?” He paused for an +answer, and resumed, “Star’s home was right in the path of one last +year. Her father lost a bull valued at five thousand. He’s a big Jersey +breeder.” + +“I didn’t know.” + +“Al Webster’s his name.” + +“Webster?” Ellen remembered. “Webster’s Stock Farm?” + +“That’s it. You’ve heard of it?” + +“You know a Luke Dougherty?” + +“Sure. Tall fellow, black-haired. Runs one of the barns.” + +“Luke’s wife’s a close friend of mine. They live near Weems Crossroads.” +All the time the echo of her voice rang in her ears: I ne’er had a +husband. I ne’er had a husband. + +“I’ll drive you over sometime to see her, if you want. It’s only twenty +miles or so. Come along when I go see my girl some Sunday. I’ll drop you +off.” + +“I hear your girl’s a beauty.” He’ll tell everyone. + +“Hell, Star’s got more than beauty. She’s exciting.” His voice was +heavy. + +Ellen thought how it was full of love. When he goes about the farm here, +Star bides in him. She softens his movements like the way Penny and Luke +love each other. And when he plants the wheat, his mind’s but a part on +his work. And when Sudduth and he laid the cement in the cellar, he was +thinking all the while, each day’s bringing me closer to when Star’s my +bride. Why did I tell him I wasn’t married? + +The yellow flash from a match spurted, making shadows streak over his +bent face. The smoke filtered through the warm fog. “It’s just the past +year Star’s mother hasn’t had to sit by her bed when she goes to sleep.” +He was tender, boastful. “She’s afraid of the dark.” + +There came to Ellen’s mind the little donkey Luke had led up the lane. +They had gathered around it as a wonderful thing and set baby Clate on +its back. Star Webster’s father had given it to Luke when his daughter +tired of it. + +The red ash glowed. Dan’s harsh voice was there. “Even that’s exciting +about her.” His voice drifted in the south air, “I’m glad you kept your +son with you, Ellen. Instead of giving him away like lots of women would +have done. Shows you’ve got strength.” + +“It’s a secret.” It sounded thin and anxious as she said it. + +“I won’t let it out.” Then his voice lowered, “Simon’s a good boy. You +taught him manners, too.” + +“Well. Good night.” + +“Good night, Ellen.” + +She went into the house and to her bedroom. I’m a jawing fool. In the +morning when Dan came into the kitchen she managed to avoid speaking to +him. But he shouted down the length of the table, “Can I have the +butter, Ellen? Let’s see that grape jelly, Ellen.” + +She averted her eyes, passing the plates. I don’t like him one bit. + + + 23 + +The storm was already forming. The radio reported a twister passing +briefly through a small town in Kansas. Throughout the troposphere of +the Midwest certain conditions prevailed as the ancient pattern of the +spawning of the tornadoes got under way. In corners of the Southwest, +winds were gathering and moving across the continent; they drove warm +wet air before them in a mass hovering close to the earth. In the +fluctuations of these winds, gigantic columns of air would rise rapidly, +a mile or so in diameter. At the spreading foot of these tall clouds, +rain would gather and often local storms occurred under them. To +complete the scheme, eight kilometers above ground the cold jet stream +was rushing constantly in from the West at tremendous speed. This was +the pattern. And when the summit of a rising cloud was hit by the jet +stream, it began to twist counterclockwise. The movement was transferred +in a spiral down the length of the column into the ugly widespread base. +A whirling funnel of great power would lick downward. This was a +tornado. + +It sucked dust and stones, any object not fastened down. Its duration +was from a few minutes to sixty or more. And no one could predict where +it would strike. People who lived in these areas had a way of watching +the sky during certain months. If there was a sudden drop in temperature +or the sky darkened, if the wind rose, they fastened barn doors and +herded their families into rooms where shades were pulled, or into +cellars. It happened so fast that sometimes there wasn’t enough time and +they were caught in the open. And if a noise was heard suddenly like a +monstrous machine at high speed, they might pray as they crouched, +waiting. + +A few miles from Hidden Creek, Illinois, a gray-white cloud pillar was +rising now, churning. Rain clouds at its base were low-spread and +frowning. Over the land it became so dark that twilight descended though +it was mid-afternoon. Ellen Gaddy was gathering eggs. “It’s making up a +storm, biddy,” she said to the hens, “I heard the raincrow just this +morning.” + +Adele was shopping in Hidden Creek. Sudduth was distracted because she +had taken the girls with her in the Dodge. Hannah had a stye and they +planned to stop at the doctor’s. “I said, Adele, it’s fixing to storm. +You ought to stay home,” Sudduth was explaining. “She should do what I +say. I’m supposed to be wearing the pants.” + +“Adele’s smart,” Pop soothed. “She’s all right.” + +Pop and Mom and the boys were going down the cellar stairs, Sudduth +pushing them before him. Ellen followed. Dennie was carrying the feist +dog and Simon three cats. “Get a move on, Simon,” Sudduth was muttering, +“Hurry.” Then on the last step he tripped, sprawling on the cement. “God +damn it.” His voice was shrill, near tears. + +“We’d pull the shades and stay in the house because of lightning.” Ellen +went over to Mom. “But we ne’er would go down to the cellar.” + +“Land, we always do.” + +Pop and Dennie sat with Simon on a crate in a corner. Sudduth was +rubbing his back. He leaned on the wall and whined, “Don’t you be sick +now, Dennie, or I’ll swat your bottoms.” He ran his hand nervously +across his face. + +The boy laid his small head in the fur of the dog. He was pale. Pop +turned to him, “Say, Dennie. Let’s you and me buy a sofa. Might as well +set the storms out comfortable.” + +Then Ellen remembered. “Where’s Dan?” + +“He was working,” Sudduth said, “on the dump rake last I saw. I hollered +to him to come.” He was rubbing his palm across his face again. “I don’t +know.” + +“I’ll go see.” Ellen ran up the stairs. + +“Ellen,” Mom called. + +“I’ll be all right.” The sky was massed with rolling cloud of blue and +green and purple. In the north, lightning erupted in a yellow flare and +the blacked clouds hanging before were outlined. A jagged orange bolt +cracked through them. She was exhilarated. It’s a sight. And those folks +are all hiding from it. She heard a rushing noise. The wind was coming. +It tore at her hair, loosing it from its bonds. Within her, joy leaped +again, like youth and first experience. And underneath she quailed. She +was rounding the corner of the barn, running toward the shed. + +She heard his shout and Dan was in the wide barn doorway, scowling, +booted feet spread. His black hair was wild, the wind had whipped his +shirt out, the birthmark burned like a new wound. He cried again, “You +damn fool.” She was stopping, poised. + +He strode out and pulled her arm, hurrying her to the barn. She +protested, “I was afraid for you.” + +“For me? You fool.” He was roaring above the wind. “Dammit. Look there.” +He pointed at an inky cloud where a tongue licked downward and +retreated. “That’s a twister.” Like a long thick snake it shot down to +the earth and a whining roar commenced. + +Dan’s hand was gripping hers. They were dashing to the stalls in the +middle of the barn. She was suddenly afraid. “Now they’d talk of +cyclones, but I ne’er saw one before, Dan.” + +Swiftly, in the dull light, in the musty smell of the unused stable, he +had his arms about her. His yellow-green eyes glittered, laughing, “Lady +Nancy Belle.” + +It came upon Ellen the way Craig Hedrick was grabbing with a band of +steel while she struggled. That had haunted her dreams so she would +awake in a sweat sometimes. And there was Uncle Garland’s hand seeking +incestuous under her coat that lonely winter, so she had to drive the +memory from her, suppress it, divorce it from her uncle whom she loved +for his goodness. These things flooded up when she saw Dan’s weathered +face, his shut eyes and hawknose, the red scar bending. She fought, +violent, her hands hard against his blue shirt. “Bullying bastard.” The +words were framed out of fright, without volition. + +He shoved her against the stall’s side planking, furious because her +struggle disconcerted him. “You little bitch, what do you mean? You’ve +been licking after me ever since you came.” + +“That’s not so.” + +“Dammit, Ellen. You aren’t going to get raped again. You’re not that +lucky.” His yell was coming under the hurricane wind. He was gripping +her arms, forcing his hard mouth against hers. + +By the stiffness of her lips and body, she resisted. But suddenly it all +was falling away and a gentle hotness came up within her. She was +parting her mouth and his tongue was seeking its softness. She moved her +arms, laid them about his neck, holding him, feeling the coarse hair at +her fingers. Wish I was Star. And there was the distant storm racket. + +He let her go, laughed regretful, “What were those names I called you? +Dammit, Ellen, you are pretty. I never noticed that.” She felt it too, +though her dark-blue dress was long and her low-cut shoes soiled because +she wore them at her work about the Leghorns. “I never saw you before. +Look at your hair. The wind’s blown it out.” + +Hail clattered on the galvanized tin roof. Thunder rolled. She leaned +upon the worn wood of the manger, where bites of cribbing horses had +made notches during long winters. She was putting her hand to her yellow +hair, tucking it up while he watched. The thing that had happened, she +felt it. How she would never be rigid and tied again, how she was free. +Courage had replaced her hidden fears. Then it was that she came up to +kiss Dan. And she put her head against his opened shirt, his tall +strength, she felt the even thrusts of his heart. His hard arms were +holding her and he stroked her hair. “The rain’s come,” she said, “it’s +all o’er.” + +“Did you see that twister come out of that cloud?” He was releasing her. + +“First one I e’er saw, Dan.” + +“We’re safe for another year, now. They never come twice.” + +“Why’s that?” + +“The law of averages.” He was going down the aisle then to the doorway. +“The rain’s letting off.” + +She was following, seeing the cuff was untucked from one of his heavy +boots, the smoke of his cigarette drifting blue. “What are you looking +at, Dan?” + +“Nothing. Smells good. I like a storm, even a mean one.” He looked down +at her, absent. + +“I always did too.” The wind rode on bright clouds. She felt he was many +miles away. Wonder if he’s thinking on Star. Well, I don’t care. + +They went into the light drizzle, met the family streaming from the +house. “You scared me, Ellen,” Mom shouted. “You two all right?” + +“Was there a storm?” Dan cried. Ellen laughed. Dennie and Simon skipped, +whooping. + +“I heard it,” Sudduth frowned. “Bet it went through Hidden Creek. Adele +could be killed.” + +“Oh, Sudduth,” Mom said. + +“And the girls.” Sudduth added. + +“Now,” said Pop. + +“And she’s with child.” + +“What’s that?” Pop said. + +“No, she’s not,” Mom was soothing. + +“She’d have told us, Sudduth. She was just taking Hannah for that stye.” + +“She didn’t want it. She tried to kill it with vinegar.” Sudduth leaned +his skinny body forward eager, his thinning hair damp, his black eyes +full of tears. “She was going to try arsenic.” + +“But a baby.” Mom twisted her hands. “Why didn’t you tell us?” + +“Well, we have our own affairs, you know.” + +“I’m going to have a look around.” Dan was striding off. + +The two boys came running. “The lines are down. And one of the chicken +sheds is a sight.” + +“Let’s go see,” Sudduth led the way. His parents came behind, +whispering. + +The people moved about Ellen, words were spoken, but it was as if it +flowed separate from her, reached her through a blurred wall. Everything +was new, everything changed. She went to the field where the Leghorns +were kept. She righted an overturned coop, discovering a dead hen under +it. The rest were huddled safely beneath a shed. She got a dipper of +cracked grain. The white flock was coming up one by one, clucking, +bobbing brilliant red combs and wattles, discarding their fright as they +pecked the seed in the clean afternoon sunlight. + + I came down the mountainside + Give my horn a blow + Everywhere them pretty girls + Says yonder goes my beau + + I went down in the valley green + To win to me my love + When I was done with that pretty little girl + She turned to a turtledove + +The tongue that Ellen and Dan saw had spun over a path fifty yards wide, +catching a neighbor’s cow shed from an angle, sucking rafters aloft, +strangling a cow while her bull calf brayed feebly below. It had prowled +across the level land, come upon turkeys in a corn field, the gobbler +shrieking insanely, flapping, trailed by his harem of hens. They were +sucked into the wind like dust. Green oat shoots were rooted out so that +when the field ripened later there was a clean swath across its bottom +third. Varied incidents had occurred; a nest of newborn rabbits was +flipped up, numbers of birds that clung to fence corners were torn loose +and pounded into obstructions, the mortality among the insect life was +untold. It had circled Hidden Creek. Adele was at the doctor’s office, +calling to say she would be home as soon as her shopping was finished. + +“That’s fine,” Sudduth said in a low voice to Mom and Pop in the +doorway. “That God-damn stair. I wrenched my back good.” Through coming +years he would try out different chiropractors. For weeks at a time the +pain would recede, then each movement would drive a dull fire as he +dragged his way about the farm. The family would laugh at his +self-concern, taking it as Sudduth’s way. He talked about “that first +twister of thirty-six,” like men talk of a battle. When he spoke to his +children’s children, putting a hand on the small of his back, it would +seem to them that Sudduth had by himself stemmed a tornado in its path. + +Mom stood apart now from her younger son, whispered irritably to Pop, +“That boy’s still a baby. You know, I’ll be glad when they all clear out +to the new house. I plumb admire Adele for the way she puts up with +him.” + +The next evening a chill wind was blowing. Ellen went to her room for a +sweater. The furnace was not stoked in these spring days and there were +no fireplaces. As she was coming out, putting it on, she saw Dan leaping +softly up the stairs, two at a time. He laughed, catching her arm, +pushing her back into her room. There he was kissing her. She breathed +to him, “You know what I read in the Bible? Dan’s a lion’s whelp.” + +“Ellen. Your lips are soft.” He put his finger on them. A hot flood was +taking her breath. He was loosing her, chucking her chin. “And I’ve got +a date. Dammit, Star gets her dander up if I’m late. I’m out of gas, +too. I’ll have to stop on the way.” + +Ellen went down the steps to the kitchen where the dishes waited. +Jealousy was rankling, but her gray eyes were mellow. I’d not get my +dander up, was he late. Through days to follow, Dan would come on her, +take her aside to kiss her. If she went out in the night, sometimes he +followed. And if she knew he was in the tool shed, she went to see if +the chicken house door beyond was locked. If he met her in the hallway, +alone, he led her back to her room. They heard footsteps passing in the +hall as his mouth lay on hers. He bided his time, careful, waiting on +her shyness. “Come here, honey.” + +So the days of March went by, and April started. Spring, and Dan’s in +the same world with me. Ellen and Adele were laying out the kitchen +garden. Ellen’s hands in the earth were like a mother’s. She had never +seen such black rich soil. She held a clod, kneeling in her soiled damp +skirt. She was crumbling it. “Look here, Adele. Ne’er a stone or pebble. +Where I used to live they’ve got stone fences every way you turn. +Sometimes a rock grows so big in a field they plow in a ring about it. +Sam Offut claimed those rocks were nailed to the center of the world +where the fire is. To hold the earth together.” + +“Land.” + +“Sam was full of tales. This is a fine garden.” + +“I call it a dirty job, though. I’d rather work at the house, Ellen. I +like my hands clean. Dirt makes them dry and the nails break easy.” + +“I don’t mind.” Ellen was putting her hands down in the soft loam she +had spaded. + +Adele brooded. “I’m going to have another baby.” + +“I’m glad for you.” + +“That Sudduth. He won’t let me alone.” + +“I always liked the Scarlet Globe radish. It’s the first one up.” + +“When I just got home from the hospital with Grace, there he was, +hanging his pants on the bedpost. First thing.” + +“Wonder if it’s too early for sweet corn? We could put in a few rows.” + +“Hannah came when Grace was only ten months old.” + +“You’re supposed to put it in by sundown on the tenth of May.” + +“That man.” + +The breeze sprang up like a promise, stirring the hair of the women. +Ellen knelt in the earth, her friend stood tall and hurt, the seed +unfolding within her. The circle of sky was porcelain blue. A lone hawk +held his wings still and floated away. + + * * * * * + +On Sunday Ellen spoke up at the breakfast table, “Would there be room in +the car for me and Simon to go along? I’d like to see how the +Presbyterians do.” + +“You can have my place,” Pop said, “I’m mulching roses today.” + +“Oh, Ma,” Simon complained. + +“You’ll save Ellen yet from us heathen,” Dan said. + +“I saw the sermon in the paper.” Pop was pounding his knife. “He’s +taking the text, what is man?” + +“I know that one,” Ellen said. “Thou madest him a little lower than the +angels.” + +“Ma sure knows her Bible,” said Simon to Dennie. “She’s e’er preaching +it at me.” + +“Simon, that’s not so.” + +“I’ll learn you the song, Ellen,” Dennie was crying, “I want to live in +a royal way, as a child of a king should live.” + +“Tell you, Dennie, she can convert me,” Dan grinned, his eyes yellow in +the early sun flooding across the table. + +“And I will too.” Ellen got up to fill the milk pitcher. Her hand +brushed over the top of his black head. She saw Mom start. She filled +the pitcher. Now why did I do that? + +Adele loaned Ellen a hat and Simon put on a fresh shirt. They were +piling into the old car. Mom’s ample form filled the seat by Adele and +the others sat in back. The sermon was dull. The minister was a wan +tired man. “Yes, what is man?” he queried, “that Thou art mindful of +him? Yes.” He said it as if he believed the question presumptuous. Ellen +thought the service uneventful compared to a Catholic mass. She rose at +each hymn time, stretching her shoulders. + + Abide with me, fast falls the eventide + The darkness deepens, Lord with me abide + When other helpers fail and comforts flee + Help of the helpless, Lord, abide with me + +Simon shuffled his feet. Mom and Adele separated the little girls, who +giggled, black eyes squinting up. Ellen looked around. I reckon it’s +that people like to gather together. It’s their nature, the way sheep go +in a band. Lambs of God. And I’m a solitary. They were driving home. Her +curiosity was sated and she stayed at the farm thereafter. + +It was the middle of April when Dan remembered his promise. He had come +in for dinner, his hands smudged with cup-grease, his pants streaked. +“Damn tractor again,” he was growling happily. “Ought to sue Ford for +misrepresenting that pile of tin.” + +“Pass down the biscuits,” Sudduth cried. “Dan, let’s raise the studs +this afternoon.” + +“Don’t you make a mistake now, boys,” Mom said gravely, “and get the +back door to the front. Land.” + +“Say, Ellen,” Dan was calling, “I’m going up near Weems Crossroads +tomorrow. Want to go see Luke Dougherty’s wife?” + +Ellen flushed. “There. I do.” + +“Are you going to Webster’s?” Mom asked him. “And visit Star?” + +“No. A fellow up there’s got sheep. I thought we might start a few +lambs.” + +“Better stop in to see Star,” Mom said. “Since you’re going to be up +that way.” + +“Sheep.” Pop was sipping his coffee through his beard. “Thought this was +a dairy farm.” + +“I might, Mom,” Dan said. + +“It’th dripping, Pop.” Grace pointed to the coffee in his white beard. +Hannah snickered. + +“Girls,” cried Adele. “Manners at table. I’ll get a switch.” + +“Dan, you stop in at Webster’s.” Mom’s voice was persistent. “A pretty +girl needs attention.” + +“We’ll leave as soon as the morning work’s done, Ellen,” Dan said. +“Let’s go now, Sudduth. Get those studs up.” + +“Dan,” Mom warned, as the door snapped shut. + +“Sheep will ruin pasture faster than anything,” Pop said. “Pull the +grass out by the roots.” He was wiping his beard where it was wet and +yellowed. “Why don’t you two girls quiet down?” + +“I wish he was little again so I could spank him, Pop. He’s so +stubborn.” + +Before Ellen and Dan drove off in the morning, he threw ropes into the +bed of the truck on the litter of dry manure and straw. The sleeves of +his white shirt were rolled, it was unbuttoned at the neck. His face was +constrained, the cheek lines tight. As they made a turn onto the main +highway, the wheels shrilled. Ellen caught at the door handle. He +grunted, “My mother. Women. What a nagger.” + +“Oh Dan.” + +“Go see Star. What’ll Mr. Webster think? Forever butting in.” He was +tapping the wheel with his thumbs, the line of his lips wrathful. + +“Mom doesn’t mean anything.” All the day with him. + +“Let her run my kid brother. Not me. She won’t stop. I’ll be an old man +and she’ll be doing it.” + +“Don’t be that way,” Ellen coaxed, hopeful. + +“Shut up.” + +Ellen’s anger lifted and she pushed it down. The drowsy odor of flowers +was flooding through the open window, and of verdant wheat spears and +growing fields. The breeze stirred dust on the floor. She was leaning +back against the cool leather, watching trees flash by. With her shoe +she felt the tin cake pan holding a three-layer cake for Penny’s +children. A bird warbled and dipped before the truck, a darting of gray. +“That’s a catbird. Dennie told me. We don’t have them in Kentucky. It +mocks the other birds and it mews like a cat.” She sighed. + +He made no reply. The brooding silence grew as they covered the roadways +swiftly. He raised his hand once and she glanced over. He was running +his strong fingers over his hair that rose coarse. His lean legs were +taut, his hips high on the seat, poised. His thin nostrils were spread. +He’s honing for a fight, like a feisty bull. And he’s driving too fast. + +“It’s along this road a ways,” she was saying, then she pointed. “There +it is. That’s the Doughertys.” The house was set back near the crab +apple tree at the head of the winding lane; a wing newly built at the +back had changed its contour. “You want to meet Penny, Dan?” + +“I’m out to buy sheep, remember?” He was lifting his eyebrows, the beak +of his nose haughty. “I’ll be back to pick you up about three. I’ve got +to get home for chores.” + +“I’ll be waiting here. In the roadway. So you won’t have to bother to +drive to the house.” She slammed the door, went down the lane swiftly, +her cake pan on one arm. The truck ground its gears and whirled down the +road. Ellen’s cheeks were red, she breathed deeply. She saw Penny coming +into the open doorway of the house, a baby on her arm, shielding her +eyes from the sun glare. The woman appeared frail, her face that had +been soft was sharper-featured, the skin dry. She came to meet Ellen. + +“Luke and me were talking about you last night. How’s that Simon?” + +“He’s big, Penny.” She was looking at the child in the blanket. “What do +you call this least one?” + +“Jess. He’s a bit peaked.” + +Ellen took the bundle. The child was like a tiny aged man. It slept, +scarcely breathing. “Say.” + +“I was right ill while carrying him. Have you come to spend the day, +Ellie? You know how I always was one for company. Ernie,” she was +calling, “stay out of the kitchen, now. Blossom, you watch him.” + +“I brought a cake for the youngens.” + +“There, Ellie.” + +“How’s your goats? How’s old Tiny?” + +“Tiny died. Must have been three years ago. But there’s a daughter out +of her, Little Tiny. We got fifteen head now.” + +“Where’s the donkey?” + +“We let him go when times got bad. The boys’ll show you around after a +spell.” + +“Where are Clate and Anse?” + +“In the orchard. Blossom’s minding Ernie for me. He’s ailing today. +She’s good with him.” Blossom was in the doorway, brushing her unkempt +hair from her face, her eyes soft like a rabbit’s. She was eight, sober +with responsibility. + +“Blossom,” Ellen was calling, “I brought you a daisy cake.” The child +smiled politely and retreated. + +“She’s not used to folks,” Penny said. + +“Where’s Melinda, Penny?” + +“She’s been gone four years. She came down with the scarlet fever.” + +“I’m sorry to hear that.” + +“Four years to the month. We put a marker on her grave. Says, Under the +Shadow of His Wings. Luke got it from the mail-order house.” + +“I heard Luke’s in charge of one of Webster’s barns now.” + +“Yes, he is. And Anse was right sick with that fever too.” + +“I’m working for some folks now, Penny.” + +“I was going to ask you how you got to come.” Penny was putting her arms +out suddenly, “You want to give me Jess? I’ll see if he’s hungry.” She +gave her breast to the baby and Ellen saw that despite her many +children, Penny was still rounded with milk. Her neck was thin, the +bones prominent. + +A pale boy of two came out the door, clad in a short checked pinafore, +his bare feet dirty. He pulled at Penny’s dress, whining. “Don’t now, +Ernie,” Penny said, mild. + +“You ought to let your ma be,” said Ellen. The child waved his hand, +petulant, at her. + +“Leave him alone,” Penny spoke sharply. She laid her hand on the boy’s +cheek. “I lost a baby that came before Ernie.” The child had put his +head in her lap. Ellen watched them. She’s like an old cow that has one +calf after the last. And if you try to mind it for her, she’ll drive you +off with her horns. + +At noon, the boys came dashing in. Clate was sunburned, a brawny boy of +eleven. Anse, shy and tall, shook Ellen’s hand, blushing. “The table’s +too small or we’d set it proper.” He went to lean on the wall where he +watched the other children eat, so that Ellen would see the way he +scorned the lot of them. When they finished, Ellen cut the cake. The +layers were yellow, and butter-coloring had been stirred into the +frosting to make it yellow, too. They sat about in the grass and felt +the breeze move. + +“Wish you’d come more often, Ellie. I haven’t done a lick today,” Penny +said. + +Clate was clapping his hands. He tapped his foot, throwing back his +curly brown hair. The children were joining in as if it was a thing they +did often, gathering close to their mother. + + Old Dan Tucker was a fine old man + Whipped his wife with a frying pan + Combed his head with the wagon wheels + Died with a toothache in his heel + +Penny asked about Ellen’s goats. “How are they faring with you out +working?” + +“Pa butchered them.” She let Penny think it was done with her consent. +“I miss them.” + +“Now we got a kid at the barn, Ellie, for Simon. It’s Little Tiny’s. You +tell Simon it belongs to him because he used to milk Old Tiny for me.” + +“Simon’ll be proud, Penny.” + +It was shortly after two when Ellen heard the truck’s noisy motor. Her +breath caught. There he was. He drove up the lane and parked. He called, +genial, as he came up, “Hello, Mrs. Dougherty. I know your husband. I’ve +talked to him over at Webster’s.” + +Penny held her hand out in welcome. “Howdy.” + +“Come see my sheep.” High bleats were audible from the truck bed. +Blossom brought Ernie out, lifting him to see the beasts with sawdust +caught in the gray wool. “I bought a ram and three ewes. They’ll be +breeding this fall.” + +“Dog. Dog,” babbled the child. + +“Now you two come again,” Penny was saying as Ellen and Dan got into the +truck. + +“There’ll be no holding Simon when he hears about that kid. Goodbye, +Blossom.” She waved to the little boy, “Bye now, Ernie.” + +“Dog.” + +Penny laughed, “He’s a case.” + +The cake tin was rattling on the floor. Ellen smoothed her rumpled +skirt. “That Penny. I ne’er knew a body like her.” + +“Got her hands full with that gang.” + +“She lost two. One was a little girl I saw a few years back. A pretty +one.” + +“That’s no way to live. But you ask that kind of a woman. They’ll pick +it again if you give them a choice.” + +“That’s how some women are.” + +“I suppose. You ought to know.” He was laughing at her. “Me, I like +things under control.” + +“You sure are acting braggy today.” + +He flushed, reaching for her shoulder and pulling her beside him. +“Hello.” + +“Did you see Star?” + +“No, I didn’t.” His hard fingers were within her dress on the tender +underarm. + +“Dan?” The April air was suggesting lilacs unsealing, tight dark purple +buds becoming a feathery lavender, the vague pressing fragrance was +turning Ellen back into the past. She was riding home in the Ford pickup +from the circus, she was sixteen. She stirred now. + +“What is it?” + +There had been a pair of baby shoes dangling from the dashboard. It was +hot in a late afternoon. The birds were still. Christian Ay was saying, +“Want me to stop along the way?” It was long past, it was a dream. But +the world had been new and fresh. Like today. + +Then it was Dan again. He was turning off the highway onto a lane +bordered by a grove of horse chestnuts. “Now then.” He was braking the +truck on the grass sward beside the trees. He opened the door on his +side. “Come on,” he was shouting. + +They ran into the shade, under the low branches, where the grass was +sun-speckled. Ellen was crying, “Smell the air.” + +He was drawing her down beside him. She saw blue innocence flowers in +the moist grass amid wood sorrel. He was touching his hand on her face, +her hair. His eyes were greenish in the shaded light. His flat thin +mouth was demanding. His fingers were large and rough and at once +tender. She felt them quiver. “Ellen?” + +“I’m afraid.” + +“Don’t be.” And he was unskillful for Ellen had lived lonely all of her +days. + +Her head was on his arm, tears flowing from somewhere. + +“I really didn’t know, Ellen.” They stayed there a long time. She had +fallen asleep. The shadows in the chestnut branches spreading made a +network. The blue was far beyond. The small flowers were bowing to the +breeze, a catbird started to warble, harsh, very clear, twitching its +tail. After a while another bird called back from afar. Dan was waking +her. “It’s nearly four. My arm’s asleep. I was afraid I’d disturb you.” + +“I wasn’t sleeping.” + +The lambs bleated from the bed of the truck. “Yes, you were.” + +“All right.” + +“Are you pleased?” + +“We had better go.” + +“We will in a minute.” + +“You were ugly this morning.” + +“I’m trying to show you how sorry I am. What do you think that was all +about?” He was grinning. + +She ran from him to the truck. He came after and swung open the door for +her. He made up a cigarette while she waited; he tapped the Bull Durham +pouch, pulled the drawstring with his teeth. Then they were driving +homeward. She leaned into his arm until they nearly reached the +Wasilewski house. She had picked a horse chestnut leaf, and showed him +the print of a hoof where the leaf was torn from the twig that held it; +even the horseshoe nails were there, five of them. She twirled the leaf +in her fingers. She sighed, smiling at him, already regretting the +incident in the grove. And him plighted to Star Webster. + + + 24 + +In the morning Adele was urging her daughters through breakfast so they +would be ready for church on time. Simon cried, “Wish I had my kid here, +Ma. I’m naming it April for it was born this month.” + +“I’ll stay at home today, Adele,” Mom said. “I want to ready up the +fruit cellar. We’ll be canning before we know it. Applesauce and +berries.” + +The little girls clamored, “Pleathe. Let us stay too, and play with +Thimon.” + +“Well, I’m going,” Dennie said. “We’re hearing about that Goliath.” + +“Girls,” said Adele, “I’m surprised you don’t want to hear that story +too.” + +“Wish April was here,” Simon was saying, “trailing after me.” + +“Star’s coming for supper tonight,” said Mom. + +“I forgot that.” Dan rubbed the blemish that colored the taut flesh of +his cheek. + +“Be nice to see Star again,” said Adele. “When was she here last?” + +“Let’s see,” said Pop. “It was snowing, wasn’t it?” + +“Did you meet her, Ellen?” asked Adele. + +“No.” Ellen felt the hot flush creep over her face. + +“Then it must have been before the thaw, Pop,” Sudduth said. “Because +right after that Ellen came.” + +“You’re wearing your hair a new way, Ellen,” Mom said. “It’s very nice. +Soft like that around your face. You used to pin it so tight.” + +Ellen hastily brushed the loose strands back. “Reckon I did.” She could +sense Mom’s piercing eyes. + +The men went out; Adele and the children drove to church. Ellen was +working in the kitchen. She was preparing peach cobblers for dinner that +night. Mason jars of peach halves glistened bright orange in the +sun-shot window. While she was mixing the dough with her fingers, Mom +came in, carrying a heavy book. “Have you ever seen a Polish Bible, +Ellen?” Mom laid it on the table and turned to the record of family +dates on the first page. + +Ellen knew the woman had brought it in for a purpose. “I’ve heard that +some keep their Bibles like that, Mom. Though our family ne’er did with +ours.” She put her hand swiftly to her hair leaving a drift of flour. + +Mom pointed to the list. “Pop’s mother brought it over from Poland. We +can’t any of us read Polish, but it’s been in his family so we write +everything in it.” + +There were different hands, some with foreign characters, hard to +decipher. The latest entry read, “Hannah Wasilewski. July 6, 1932.” +Higher on the list Ellen could see in faded green ink, “Daniel Matthew +Wasilewski. May 10, 1895.” + +“See, there’s Sudduth’s wedding to Adele.” Mom was putting a broad +finger on it. “That was clean before the depression. Now Star and Dan’ll +be setting their date. It’ll say, Daniel Wasilewski took Star Webster in +marriage. October first, maybe. This year.” + +“That’s a fine book there.” Ellen said it coolly. I was born in 1909. +That makes him fourteen years older. He’s forty-one. She felt languid +because of her love. She was smiling at Mom, gray eyes narrow, hiding +the secret anger. + +“We know Dan’s making a good marriage, Ellen.” Mom’s cheeks were red. + +“That Mr. Webster’s a rich man.” + +“Look, Star suits Dan.” Mom spoke crisp. “My son loves her.” + +“Reckon two cobblers’ll be enough for tonight, Mom? With company +coming?” + +“Better make three.” The older woman was going to put the Bible back on +its shelf; her heavy body moved stolid, with decision. Ellen watched her +go. + +When she and Dan had come back last night from Penny’s, Dan had changed +his clothes and gone directly to the barn. After supper he hurried out +again with Sudduth to set up a pen for the new sheep. The two men +returned at dusk, stood in the kitchen awhile talking before they went +to bed. Dan paid no heed to Ellen. The yellow cat purred and mewled now +about her feet while she rolled the dough deftly, fitted it into the pie +tins. She thought how she disliked Mom. The woman’s hostility was +palpable. She was calling out as her steps were heard descending, “I’ll +be in the fruit cellar, Ellen. When you finish, come and help. We’ve got +to get this straightening done if it is Sunday.” + +“I will.” In a swift flood Ellen was homesick for the old kitchen in the +yellow house. For Frankie and Maria nearby, the boiler steaming on the +range, Jack waiting in the bushes by the porch. The goats in fresh straw +in the woodshed. And her in the garden rows, singing “Down in the +Valley.” Here the customs were foreign, even their manners and speech +differed from what she had known. The old people had been born in a land +across the water, brought their alien habits with them. They bathed in a +separate room where a white tub stood on ornate legs. Everyone had his +own towel, and when he bathed he would hang it on the line in the sun, +even Hannah. Ellen would see Dan pinning his in the evenings, casually, +pausing to light a cigarette before returning to the house. It would +seem to her as if he performed a woman’s task, as if it were too clean. +When she first came to this household and rolled pie crusts, Mom had +showed her how the edges of the dough must be crimped by twisting the +thumbs in a particular way. And when they went to kill a chicken, they +laid a broomstick across its neck and yanked the legs sharply so the +head was pulled off. She poured the fragrant peach halves into the pans. +At first I couldn’t get over their merry ways. But there’s Adele who +tried to keep from having her baby. Sudduth’s jealous of his brother. +And Mom’s bent on managing them all. Dan will bring Star Webster here +just like she says. They’ll write it in that Bible. Wish I could be away +tonight. I don’t want to see that girl. Ellen was crimping the edges of +the pies skillfully and sliding them into the oven. The yellow cat +bounded after, and she caught it in her arms as she went down the cellar +steps. + + * * * * * + +The lilacs on the north side of the house, outside the dining room +windows, were opening their buds in the afternoon. The perfume was +drifting through the house. Ellen fried the chickens while Mom helped +Adele dress the girls and straighten the rooms. Ellen was setting the +table, spreading first the linen cloth, cream-colored with age. She took +out crystal that stood in the sideboard and heavy-plated silver, placed +it as Mom had directed, the knife and spoon on the right side with blade +turned to the plate, the fork on the left. Simon came in. “Who’s Star +Webster?” + +“She’s a friend of theirs, Simon.” + +“Dennie says she’s Dan’s sweetheart.” + +Ellen was laying small butter knives in front of the plates. “Well.” + +“That’s fancy there, Ma. The way you’re doing.” Simon was grown so his +head came above Ellen’s shoulder. He was over ten now. + +She put goblets at the knife tips and turned to him. “You eat proper. No +swooshing your food with a biscuit. Mind, now. And the fork goes in the +right hand.” + +“I’ll most likely fall o’er backwards in my chair.” + +“Watch Dennie and do like he does. You’re twice his size and half as +mannerly. And be quiet too.” + +“I don’t care for all this.” + +“Put on that new shirt I made.” She went to the kitchen. “Now go on. The +queen’ll be here before we know it.” + +The clock read seven when they drove up. Ellen paused to look out the +window. Dan had changed into his brown suit, wore a bright striped tie. +He was taking Star’s hand as she stepped down from the truck cab. Star +Webster was just nineteen. Her small form was sheathed in a white dress, +she wore white shoes and gloves and a wide-brimmed white hat. Her hair +fluffed out, her arms were untanned. Adele said Star put stockings on +her arms when she went to pick berries to keep the sun from them, and a +sunbonnet to protect her face and neck. She was laughing up at Dan. He +had said she was exciting. She was afraid of the dark. He liked that. +Maybe she leans on him, helpless. A man doesn’t like a woman strong. + +The potatoes steamed as they boiled over, and Ellen turned hastily to +them. Mom and Adele came in, fastening on starched print aprons. Mom +wore her new black rayon dress, a cameo gold brooch at the neckline. +Adele’s dark green suit made her round face sallow. The little girls +followed. “Thay, Ellen. Look at us.” They twirled pink and blue dresses +before her. + +“You sure sew pretty, Adele,” Ellen said. + +“A little starch will do wonders with that cheap voile.” Adele was +modest. “Now you girls go say hello to Star.” They ran, whispering and +nudging. + +The women beat potatoes with a wood masher, lifted browned chicken onto +the huge white platter, and broke ice cubes into a water pitcher. The +family was coming in from the living room, Star holding to Dan’s arm. +Sudduth was complaining, “Sunday’s a workday like every other around +here, Star. When my house is built, I’m going to church with Adele and +the girls. That’ll give me a day off.” + +Pop shuffled after them, pulling his beard. “Hee. That’s one way to do +it.” + +“This is our girl, Ellen,” Mom said to the guest, “and that’s Simon.” + +“Hello there,” said Star. “Oh Mom, what a lovely table. You always set +it so pretty.” + +“You sit over here, Dan,” Mom said. + +“I’ll sit where I usually do.” He was smiling stiffly. + +“Well, Star, you take the chair by him.” + +Dennie said grace. “God is great, God is good, bless us for our daily +food.” + +Grace shouted, “Zaccheus he. Did climb a tree. Our Lord to thee.” + +“That’s enough,” threatened Sudduth. + +They were pressing extra morsels on the girl in white. “Have some +watermelon pickles,” Mom said. “Land o’ Goshen, it was two years ago we +put them up.” + +“I got thick on them,” Hannah lisped, “on my new thpring coat.” + +“Hannah,” Pop shouted. + +“You’re always saying speak up,” Dan reminded him, “so you ought to let +her alone.” + +“That’s right.” Pop clattered his knife. “Speak up.” + +“And it won’t come out of the coat, neither,” Grace said shyly. + +“Girls,” Mom cried. + +“Jesus, my back hurts.” Sudduth fidgeted in his chair. + +Dan and Star were sitting near Mom at one end of the table. Star would +turn her face sidewise, appealing, “Don’t you agree, Dannie?” + +Sudduth was saying, “I’m trying to buy a piece of our neighbor’s land, +Star. Near where my house’ll be. If I get it, this farm’ll total a +hundred and ten acres.” + +“That’s a lot,” Star’s fork was poised, “don’t you think, Dannie?” + +“It’s Sudduth’s twenty acres,” Dan said, without looking at her. + +“Oh.” Her mouth was round and pink. She set the fork down, the food +untouched, put her napkin to her lips. “Did you fry the chicken, miss?” +she asked Ellen. “It’s delicious. Isn’t it, Dannie?” The lilac scent was +floating through the open window behind her. + +“Yes, I did.” Ellen was blushing, resentment like a knot in her chest. + +“Her name’s Ellen, Star,” Dan said, “you just met her.” + +“You think I’ll ever make chicken like this, Dannie?” The girl’s +laughter was the bright tinkle of a bell. “Will you teach me, Ellen?” + +Mom said, “Oh, you’ll catch on easy enough.” + +“Why should she teach you?” Dan’s voice was deliberate, matter-of-fact. + +“Oh, I never cooked a chicken.” + +“Well, why her? Your mama can teach you.” He laughed, abrupt. + +“Dannie. Don’t fuss.” The white dress was cut in a square neckline. Her +eyes bloomed innocent. + +“No, I want to know. Why?” His underlip was jutting out, his smile had +set. The mark on his cheek was dark, and his palms were on the table +where he leaned. + +“Dan. Star’s our company. Land.” Mom reproved him, fingering the brooch +at her breast. + +“Now there,” Pop cried, and the children, sensing the tenseness of their +elders, looked from one to another. + +“Well? Can’t you answer?” + +Star’s little mouth quivered. “I’ll ask Mama to.” + +“Dan, will you behave? He doesn’t mean it, Star.” Mom shook her head. +“Ellen, run get the dessert. You want to help them clear, Star?” + +“Oh, I do.” The girl took up her plate and Dan’s. + +Adele shoved her chair back so it squeaked, and Ellen noted that she +pinched Sudduth’s shoulder as she passed him. This is one of those times +Adele’s glad she’s got Sudduth. Ellen was moving rapidly, clearing +dishes and brushing the crumbs. She cut the pies and brought them in +silver holders to set before Mom. She went into the kitchen, and while +cobbler wedges were passed down on small china dishes, Ellen was filling +the flowered white cups with coffee and carrying them around. + +“I love this pattern.” Mom appraised her cup. “It’s Wreaths of Roses. +And the set’s complete like the day I got it. I’ve held on to it. Even +through the bad years. And not a one’s been broken.” + +Ellen set Dan’s coffee by him. He looked up, his eyes flinty, his thin +mouth cruel. He doesn’t even see me. He muttered, “Now serve proper from +the right, Ellen. And take care with Mom’s china.” + +“We bought them in nineteen ten,” Mom went on, ignoring him, “I remember +just as clear.” + +“Can we have more pie?” Dennie asked. + +“They’re awful pretty, you know?” Star admired her cup. + +“More, more,” the children were shouting. “Pleathe.” + +“You weren’t even born yet, Star,” Mom said. + +“All you can hold,” Pop decided. “Fill those kids up.” + +They were pushing back their chairs. Sudduth lit a cigar and Pop took +one, too. Simon groaned, holding his stomach, “Oh, this is heaven.” + +“Simon, you mind what I said,” Ellen warned. She was piling the cups and +saucers, carrying them out. + +“Why don’t you roll one, Uncle Dan?” Dennie inquired gravely. + +“No thanks,” Dan told him. + +“Go on into the living room, all of you,” Mom said. “We girls will be +done in a jiffy. Go on, Star.” + +“It was just lovely, Mom.” Star hugged her about the waist. “And that +peach pie was delicious.” + +“I don’t know what gets into him,” Mom whispered, “but don’t pay him any +mind. He was just hungry.” + +“Dannie’s a grouch.” Star ran out lightly. + +When they had nearly finished in the kitchen, as Ellen was saying, “Do +go along, Mom. Adele and me’ll redd up the rest,” they heard the truck +roar, saw it spinning down the driveway in the light of dusk. + +“There,” Mom said. “I’m mortified. I thought we were going to sit and +talk. Dan was going to play for us, and Star could sing.” + +“Well,” said Adele, “I was shocked. Treating a guest like that.” Mom +stepped into the other room to replace the shining goblets, and Adele +said softly, “That was a fine example to set for young children.” + +“He was really raising sand,” Ellen admitted. + +“Dan can’t bear it that she’s so useless, Ellen. You know Websters have +a maid. Lord knows when she gets up of a morning.” + +“I know. You already told me.” + +“I’ll be glad,” Adele said brightly to Mom as she entered, “to have our +house finished. And I’ll have this baby in October.” + +The family trooped out to stand looking at the blooming lilacs. The +children scuffled with each other without purpose. After a while as dark +drifted, they all went in. Mom pressed her hands on the piano keys, +discordant. She prodded Dennie, “Can’t you play a piece, Dennie? You +know some.” + +“I’m tired.” The boy’s eyes were heavy. + +“I could put a record on the victrola, Mom,” Adele suggested. + +“No.” Mom was walking to the windows, looking into the shadowed yard. + +“What’s everyone waiting for?” Simon inquired sleepily. + +Mom sighed. “Let’s go to bed.” + +Ellen followed the others upstairs, avoiding any intrusion on her +thoughts. She undressed, turned off the light. Sounds died in the house, +all was still. She was sitting on the wide window sill. The lilac odor +wafted up, her feet were cold. She felt the constriction in her throat, +wondered if she would cry soon. She imagined Star lying dead somewhere. +Mutilated. What a small baby she is. But Star’s white beauty came back, +the immaculate dress and gloves, the big hat she swung in her hand, +dainty, laughing, tipping her head up at Dan. She’ll make him forget me. +The night hours, weighted, were passing. The silence was marred +occasionally by a creaking rafter or a settling floor beam. In a distant +meadow the whistle of a whippoorwill was echoing. It was nearly three +when he returned. The boards of the rack on the truck rattled and +slammed. The gravel crunched. The kitchen door clattered. His tread +sounded on the stairs, it stopped outside her doorway. She held her +breath until the steps went on down the hall. + +She was awake before dawn, in the cellar sorting clothes into ragged +heaps. The wash boiler steamed on the range. She dropped clothes into +the chugging electric machine, and let them beat while she hung those +she had run through the automatic wringer. She took up the basket, piled +high with white sheets. A narrow stone stairway led outside through +sloping double doors. They were open and pallid sun rays crawled into +hidden dark corners. She was going up into the sunlight. The grass was +wet, an early bluebird darted to a fence wire and clung there, “Purity!” +It vanished into the high leaves of the oak. At breakfast her dress was +darkened in front from suds and water that had splashed; grass stems +were caught between her toes. Her hair was brushed and coiled high. She +moved lissome about the kitchen, looking at Dan’s black head bent surly +over his food. + +“Ellen’s going barefoot,” Grace was crying. “Can I?” + +“I only did it,” Ellen explained, “to save my shoes from the wet. You’d +catch cold.” + +“Ellen’s right,” Adele agreed. + +“When I’m growed, I’ll do it,” Hannah said. + +“I’ll warm the tractor up, Sudduth.” Dan spoke brusque, grease streaked +on his browned arms and neck. “We’ll grind cobs as soon as you’re +ready.” He was rushing out. Ellen saw him from the window. He had +stopped under the oak to light his cigarette, glancing at the clothes +strung on the line. She wondered if he saw the freshness of the grass or +heard the bird. + + * * * * * + +A week had gone. Ellen was grubbing on her knees in the flower beds +along the side of the house. During the days the strain between Dan and +Mom had been clear to the others. Dan refused to play the piano, Mom sat +mending, her mouth unhappy. Only Sudduth was more talkative in the +evenings; he would engage Pop and Adele in long good-natured arguments. +Ellen was digging into the dirt now, vigorous. Mom’s voice came shrill +from one of the windows above. Ellen held her trowel motionless. “But +she expects you to. Star loves you.” Dan’s voice muttered and Mom was +shouting again, “Who do you want then? That hill-woman? What’s the +matter with you, Dan?” + +“Shut up, Mom. Will you?” + +“You’ve got a chance here of a marriage that’s the best in the county. +Land. You ought to get on your knees and thank God a family like +Websters took up with poor Polacks like us.” + +“Dammit, you forget we’ve got some of the best black soil there is. +That’s better than money in a bank. A family like Websters. You sound +like some cockeyed book. Now look, I told Star we’re finished. She’s got +it through her head. That’s the last I’m going to hear about it in this +house. It’s none of your business.” + +“Oh, it’s not?” + +“No, dammit.” + +“It’s that hill-woman.” + +“Will you stop calling her that hill-woman like she’s a tramp and not +decent?” + +The sawed-off hoe was poised in Ellen’s hand. A door slammed. Later when +Mom came to see how her work was coming on, there was no sign of the +quarrel in her voice. “You think it’s too shady here for asters, Ellen?” +The skin was tight around Mom’s eyes and her lips curved downwards. + +“Marigolds might do better,” Ellen suggested. And when she met Dan, as +she was coming from the hen house with a basket of eggs, she sought his +eyes. He frowned, feeling her gaze. “Hell, I’ve got the milking.” He +strode away. She was walking back to the house, thoughtful. + +The lilacs that night, on the wane after their peak, were spilling forth +a dulcet fragrance. In a few days they would be gone, withered. Ellen +was seated in the long window of her room, studying the sky. There was a +quarter moon, it was near midnight. She was restless and sighed on the +shadows. All at once a red point came and went in the dark under one of +the oaks in the yard. She raised her head quickly, seeing it. Her mind +explored it. The figure had been there all the time, outlined vaguely +against the trunk. As she watched it, her blood began to beat dully into +the lilac scent. Then she was slipping into a dress swiftly and closing +her room door. She went down the stairs one at a time, and lingered. At +the kitchen door she turned around, hesitant, trembling. But then she +was going out, languorous, into the night. + +He still leaned unmoving, against the oak. His features were dissolved +into the dark moonlight. She smelled the burning tobacco, saw the +scarlet coal. “Hi, Ellen.” + +She whispered, “What is it, Dan?” Pausing, she had blended to the night, +a part of the grass, pliant. + +He shifted sharply and threw aside the stub, moved away from the tree +hole. She went unerring into his lean arms. In a little while he was +putting his hands in her hair that was nearly without color, bluish in +the light of the small piece of moon. “Always I’ve been waiting for you, +Ellen.” + +She looked at the crag of his nose, the etched bold face. “There. You’re +like a hawk. I love you.” + +“Half made, half a man. Waiting for you. Understand?” + +“Yes.” + +“No, you don’t. You’re a woman. You don’t understand at all.” + +“Well.” + +“You’re what I need. You make me complete. I want to do all things for +you.” He was poised above her. + +“I know.” + + + 25 + +The square dances at Silvers Farm were held every year before the main +hay crop was gathered. Dan and Ellen, Sudduth and Adele, were going +together in the old Dodge. Ellen was in the front seat close against +Dan. Adele was saying, “We used to go to Silvers when Sudduth was +courting me.” + +“Time sure flies,” Sudduth said. + +“Are you positive I don’t show too much, Sudduth? To go to a public +place? What do you think, Ellen? You know how girls can be. They’ll all +be saying, is it September, October or November.” + +“You look real nice, Adele.” + +When they had pulled out of the Wasilewski drive, the children had +shouted goodbye, Pop went to count the roses the damask bush had borne +this year, and Mom called, “You young folks enjoy yourself.” + +Mom was resigned to Dan’s rupture with Star but where she had once been +warm and friendly toward Ellen, a coldness was now in her air. Where she +had used to gossip freely, she was constrained. Ellen would try to +please her, to think ahead, doing the tasks before Mom could assign +them. “But I already picked the bush beans this morning, Mom. There’s +near a bushel. I reckoned you’d want it done.” And all the time there +was joy because of Dan. He would come to where she was scrubbing the +baby chick brooders or polishing windows, seeking her out when he was +free. “Oh, this is a woman I’ve found.” + +At the Silvers barn the first cutting of hay was stacked at one end of +the loft, its honey permeating the air. Wire cables had been stretched +from automobiles and tractors below, and from them colored lights were +strung along the rafters, and paper lanterns. On a platform near the +door a fiddler and a banjo-player were busy. “Sometimes,” Dan told +Ellen, “he’ll take steel knitting needles to those banjo strings.” + +“All he ever does,” said Sudduth, “is play that banjo.” + +“Pigeon wing,” Mr. Silvers called, his fleshy face in a sweat, his +barrel stomach shaking with covert laughter. + + I had an old hat with a flop down brim + It looked like a toad frog + Setting on a limb + +“Double shuffle,” he was roaring. + +“I told you I can’t dance, Dan,” Ellen protested. “Pa’d ne’er let us +go.” + +“I’ll show you.” + +Adele went to talk with her friends and Sudduth merged into a group of +men. “Any borers in your corn yet, Wasilewski?” + +“A few.” + +“My cow throwed twins.” + +“God damn. Better look if one’s a freemartin.” + +“Wrenched my back in the spring.” Sudduth put his hand on it. + +“Tarred my corn this time. Crows got pesky.” + +“Sounds gummy.” + +“No. Roll in it wood ashes.” + +“God damn. Where’d you hear that?” + +“County agent.” + +“God-damn bull-shitter.” + +“No crows.” + +“Um.” + +And the women were questioning Adele avidly, “Who’s that with Dan?” + +“Why that’s our girl, Ellen.” + +“Never saw her before. Is she from around here?” + +“She’s from Kentucky.” + +“Thought Dan was courting the Webster girl. I was looking forward to +seeing them. They made a cute couple.” + +“Star’s real sweet.” + +“What happened with Star, Adele? You can tell us.” + +“He simply broke off with her. I don’t know.” + +“Now, Adele, we know how these things can be.” + +“Why’d Dan bring your hired girl?” + +“She was there. Maybe he felt sorry for her.” + +“She’s good-looking, Adele.” + +“Right young, too.” + +“She’s not as young as she looks,” Adele pleaded. “Told me she was +thirty.” Ellen had said twenty-seven, but thirty slipped out against +Adele’s will. + +“Now that just shows you what the night will do for a woman.” + +“You might have a new sister-in-law one of these days, Adele.” + +“Where there’s smoke there’s fire. Now when are you expecting it, Adele? +Late September? Does Sudduth want a boy or a girl?” + +The floor of the hayloft was dusted with chaff. The people were spinning +in the pattern of the dance. + + Oh five times five are twenty five + And six times five are thirty + Seven times five are thirty five + And eight times five are forty + +Ellen was handed from one partner to the next. There were spindly +angular boys caught by the music, feet tapping and shoulders springing +in an extra beat. There were jovial men, worried ones, dumpy ones, old +and young. Dan was across the floor, his dark face above the red shirt +bending taut to a girl with curly hair. Jealousy touched in Ellen so she +flinched, laughing up to her partner. Then when Dan came by, following +the step, he whispered, “You’re having such a good time I’ll have to +kill all your partners, honey.” And the roiling had vanished. Dan +belonged to her. + +The music ceased and the fiddler was leaning back. The banjo-player +wiped his brow. “Hell, it’s hot.” Dan and Ellen came up to sit on the +platform edge. Dan was smoking. They watched the crowd at the bench +where a barrel of cold beer was rolled on its side next to tin pitchers +of Mrs. Silvers’ iced lemonade. + +“You sure can handle those strings,” Ellen was telling the fiddler. + +“Been doing this off and on since I was ten. Maybe this child will die +this away. Maybe I’ll be like that Callahan.” + +“Who’s he?” + +“It’s a song. Fiddler Callahan killed somebody so they were about to +hang him. Says if anyone would play his fiddle while he was being strung +up, they could keep it. He begged at the crowd for it was a notion he +had. Nobody’d do it, so when they were fixing to trip the gallows he +quit pleading, and busted it to pieces over the coffin they had ready +for him.” + +“Look,” Dan stood up, grinding his cigarette on the floor. “Could you +play ‘Lord Lovel’ for her to sing?” + +“Sure thing.” The fiddler was taking up his bow. + +Ellen looked past the swaying lanterns into the June night. + + Lord Lovel he stood at his castle gate + Combing his milk-white steed + When up came Lady Nancy Belle + To wish her lover godspeed + +Lord Lovel went away then, vowing to return. But when at last he did, +the Lady Nancy had died. + + He mounted on his milk-white steed + And he rode to London town + And there he heard the death bells ringing + And the people mourning all round + + He ordered the grave to be opened wide + And the shroud to be turned down + And there he kissed her clay-cold lips + And the tears came trinkling down + +“That was keen,” the banjo-player said. “You two want to try a +Hound-and-Dog?” + +“Come on, Ellen.” + +“All right,” she was whispering. “I want to be woven into a part of all +you undertake to do.” + +“That’s why you’re my girl.” His shaven hard cheek was on her hair, the +red-checked shirt was tight against the white dress. And the people were +all about but far away. + + * * * * * + +Summer put her hand on the earth and all things flourished. In early +hours earthworms coupled on damp paths. Grain fields turned yellow. +Mowers and reapers hummed busily across the countryside. Mulberries and +cherries ripened. The children spread an old sheet under the trees and +shook the branches. They gathered the corners and ran to the kitchen. +“Berry pieth and cherry pieth,” chanted Hannah and Grace. + +Now that school was out, Simon was given a string of cows. He put his +arm about their necks and the light of possession and love gleamed. One +of them had leaped the fence and got to the bull when too young. Her +teats were small and short. Simon’s hands were coaxing them patiently. + +“We’d have sold that one if it wasn’t for you, Simon,” Dan shouted from +his milking stool. + +“Can’t abide a short-teated cow,” Sudduth said. “Come on, Lady, let +those big bubbies down for me,” Sudduth was nudging the heavy udder with +his fist; the cow chewed, serene. + +Simon told Ellen, “Dan might let the colt be mine if Pearl got caught +with one.” + +“Colts are worth a lot.” + +“Well, so Dan said,” the boy insisted. + +They were driving over to the Doughertys. Penny gave Simon Little Tiny’s +kid. It was brown with white stripes on its face and legs. “The daddy’s +a Toggenburg,” Penny said. “It ought to milk proud.” + +The boy was entranced. “Hey, Clate. Hey, Anse. This be a fine yeanling.” + +Anse stood aside and said nothing, but Clate swaggered. He began to tell +Simon how to care for the kid. + +“Oh shut up, Clate. I know about burnt flour when she gets the scours.” + +“You named it yet, Simon?” Penny asked. + +“April.” + +“That’s a fair name.” Ellen could see Penny was pregnant again. She’s +liable to have another as puny as little Jess is. + +Then they were waving from the truck windows as they went down the +narrow winding lane. “Seems I’m always saying goodbye to Penny, Dan.” He +smiled at her across Simon who held the little doe on his knees. Used to +be I worried over the past, how it clutched at me. Now that’s fallen +away and I’m looking ahead, making this foreign place mine. + + * * * * * + +The days were dropping, one upon one. Ellen and Dan would seek each +other out. Their gladness was contagious, so that Sudduth was gallant +with Adele, and Mom more attentive to Pop. Sometimes in the evenings +they would sit on the board seat nailed between two oaks in the yard. +“Ellen, we ought to get married now. We don’t have to wait till fall.” + +“No.” + +“Whatever you say.” + +“I’d like to wait.” + +“Your family’s Catholic. You want a priest?” + +“I don’t care about that, but I’d like to see Adele and the children +moved. Then I want to wash the walls and wax the floor. I’d as soon have +a proper wedding.” + +“I see.” He was kissing her, and her earnestness faded as she made +herself to him. + +But the next day she said, “I thought I’d write Frankie and my uncle and +aunt. And even my pa. I’d like them to come here if they can and stand +as my family when I marry.” + +“All that nonsense.” + +“I’d like it that way.” + +“Suppose I’ll have to wear a flower in my buttonhole?” + +“Yes. And Simon has to have a suit.” + +“Does he get a flower too?” + +“Yes.” + +“What’s next?” + +“The minister. We can have Adele’s Presbyterian. That little sad one. +I’ll have flowers in vases standing about. And the minister should have +a flower too.” + +“He doesn’t have a buttonhole.” + +“I thought he did.” + +“Well, if you change your mind, we’ll get married now. It’s up to you, +honey.” + + * * * * * + +That was in August. In mid-September the roof struts of Sudduth’s house +were in place. The boards and shingles were nailed and fitted. Adele was +moving laborious, the child big in her, sighing, “All my plans to leave +this house so orderly for you, Mom.” + +“Don’t you worry, Adele. Things are good enough.” + +Ellen went out often to see how the building was progressing. Every nail +driven was bringing the day nearer. Mrs. Daniel Matthew Wasilewski. I’ll +write Ma, too. The nurses could read it to her. She might know what it +said. I’ll go see her this winter. You can’t tell, in a year or so we +might even be having a youngen. I could walk out to Dan where the corn +was ripe, “Here’s your son I just happened to have.” + +The morning was bright and moist. The wind was drifting steadily from +the southwest. Ellen had been picking tomatoes since breakfast and she +was walking down to meet the men before the noon hour. They had been +cutting hay in the field next to the new house. It was edged by a row of +heavy-trunked willows. Long ago when posts had been cut and set, they +had rooted in the easy way of a willow, and made heads, sprouting in +summer rains. “What do you call those fence trees, Dan?” she was +calling. Simon waved boldly as he clattered past her with the team and +mower, heading for the barnyard. The men dropped their forks and came up +to meet Ellen. + +“Those are golden osier willows,” Sudduth explained. “Pop planted them +before we were born.” + +“Dinner ready?” Dan took Ellen’s hand as they were walking through the +sweet-odored drying alfalfa. + +“I don’t know. Mom’s getting it. I’ve been in the garden.” The air was +lightly misted though the sun was bright. There were cumulus clouds in +the sky. The south wind continued to blow. + +“Hope we get this hay in all right,” Dan said. + +“This has been the best year yet,” Sudduth said. “Good and dry. Not a +load lost.” + +“I don’t think we’ll lose this one. Knock on wood. The storm’s way off. +The hay’ll be cured by early afternoon. We can get it in quick. Simon’s +a help. He’s fast and he’s got the hang of it.” + +“It’s not twister weather, is it?” Ellen asked. + +“You’re not afraid of a wind?” Dan’s yellow eyes laughed, so she knew he +was thinking of the day in the barn when he first kissed her, and she +him. + +“I’m not.” + +In the afternoon, Ellen was in the middle of the tomato canning. At the +kitchen door were four full bushel baskets; depleted ones were stacked +outside. She was scalding the fruit, packing it into hot Mason jars. +Rows of empty jars waited upside down on the table, the filled ones were +boiling in the canner. Mom came in. “I’ll help out for a spell.” She +fanned herself with her ample apron. “Sakes, the air’s close.” + +Ellen could feel how the wind had stopped. A piece of fear plucked at +her. “Isn’t the hay in yet?” + +“They’re going at it real hard. They even gave Dennie a fork. He’s out +working alongside Sudduth. Land, the rain’s not too far off.” Mom +frowned. “Sudduth says the last cutting of alfalfa is like grain, it’s +so high in protein.” + +“I know.” Ellen was pausing. “Mom, is this twister weather?” + +“It’s a little early for them. Doesn’t feel like it to me. We’ll know if +Sudduth comes tearing in.” She turned to the sink. “Now, let’s get this +mess put up.” + +They worked swiftly. But their minds were with the men who strove to +save the hay. + +In the far field, Simon was perched on the load that towered, dwarfing +the two dappled grays. Dan was throwing great forkfuls to him and Simon +laid it deftly back, stepping it down, his small arms muscled and brown. +Sudduth was unloading the truck at the barn, stacked with the previous +load. The farm buildings were like toys in the distance, sharp-edged in +the air which had a peculiar transparency. The movements of the man and +boy quickened. Dan pitched up the last of the hay. “Whip them if you +have to, Simon.” + +The youngster clambered into the driving seat, gathered the leather +reins. The team pawed, rattling the harness. “I will, Dan.” + +“Get it in the loft fast. Sudduth’ll pitch it up.” + +Simon, overworked, sweated heavily, drops running down his face. His +bleached hair curled damp, his shirt and pants clung to his skin. He +shrilled, “Get in there. Major. Pearl!” The wagon was lurching through +the stubble. + +Dan began to stack the hay that remained. By now the nimbus rain clouds +were hovering low in the bruised sky. The man worked at a rapid pace. +The temperature was falling, dusk descended, the air was dense. He was +bent into his tool, trying to beat the rain in the race. + +A greenish-gray cloud tumbled slowly on the skyline to the west. +Suddenly the wind came up, crying. Dan lifted his head, feeling the +heat. The cloud had begun to spin. “Holy God,” he muttered. The stout +willow fence teetered and creaked, the hay was swept wild, swirling. A +purplish tongue licked downward, hunting, moving toward the hay field. + +Dan shook his fists at it, rearing lean in his high leather boots. +“Dammit. Turn!” The long thick line veered crazily and then sucked back +into the wounded cloud. But it was slipping down again, howling. “Turn. +Turn!” His voice was nothing, his throat rended. The menace was swerving +below the neighboring farm where it had come through in the spring. He +was tearing his throat again, his loins on fire with fear. “Now, dear +God. Turn!” + +Objects were fluttering, grotesque, like bugs in the dark pulsing. They +were dying pigs and turkeys and a broken cart, small barns shattering +glass, boards, dust, manure. Pieces of houses and ripped posts. Ravaged +fruits from gardens. Drying hay, dust, chaff, dirt. Over Dan’s head a +drove of birds winged abruptly, disappearing to the north. The heinous +rhythmic humming was constant. + +The world was as if under water, green-blue, unreal, glowing. Simon was +in the far barnyard, tiny on the stacked child’s wagon, attempting to +pitch the hay to the loft alone. The three women, like dolls, were +fluttering into the yard. Dan plunged into the shallow ditch bordering +the field; he flattened himself, cowering. The ugly dancing shadow +advanced. “No.” + +Then the roof of Sudduth’s bare unpainted house was rising weirdly. In +deliberate motion it was wheeling above the field. The man stumbled up +from the trench in rage, disbelief, clawing the air dazed, with his +powerful hands, as if to replace the mighty shower of timber where he +had nailed it with sweat and struggle. The roof was engulfing the field +and the golden osier willows were breaking. The noise was tremendous. + + * * * * * + +When they rode out to the hay field, Ellen was beside Sudduth in the +truck. Warm silent rain blew gently against the windshield. Lumber and +rubble were scattered and Sudduth had to drive around the larger planks, +skidding in the mud. The prone figure was stretched face up amid the +litter. Sudduth braked and Ellen was tearing at the door. She ran, +believing him dead. She lifted the two-by-four from his body. She knelt, +uncertain. His eyelids were flickering and they opened. “Hi.” + +“Sudduth,” she called evenly. “Get a doctor. Hurry.” She was touching +the wet dark face, leaning over to keep off the constant rain. + +“You came.” + +“Dan?” + +“It didn’t turn,” he whispered. The rain was streaming from his carven +face, his soaked black hair. + +“Where do you hurt?” + +“Dying. You know that?” He was moving narrow wood lips. + +“No, Dan.” + +“Sonofabitch,” he was sighing. + +“Don’t die.” + +“I won’t.” + +“The doctor’s coming. Do you hurt somewhere?” + +“Damn wind.” + +“Don’t leave me.” + +“Never comes twice.” + +“Dan?” + +“Never. No.” His mouth was thickening, his body was broken and when he +heard her voice he came back through an effort of will. “Ellen?” + +“I won’t let you.” Her cheek against his, she cradled him in her arms. +“Holy Mary?” The rain was pouring sweet and hot, releasing the sun-baked +alfalfa odor. Her lips clung to his wet cool face. + +“Poor Ellen.” + +“Don’t talk.” + +His face was gray and seamed. It twitched, wounded. A red dot was +appearing at the side of his mouth. + +“Don’t,” she breathed. + +His dulled greenish eyes were seeking her. For a few minutes she wasn’t +sure he was gone. A thunderbolt tore exultant about the field, rolling +passionate. A new torrent of rain swept like an enfolding blanket. She +wasn’t aware. She lay upon the lifeless body reciting Hail Marys over +and again. Pray for us sinners now. Amen. + +The truck sped down the drenched slick mire of the lane. The doctor +jumped out, pried Ellen from the body. “Is he dead?” she asked. Sudduth +was leading her to the truck cab. They wrapped a rug about the limp +figure and laid it in back on soggy hay chaff. She looked at it through +the rear window. + +“I’ll ride out here,” the doctor called, climbing over the rear bumper. + +Sudduth was driving through the field, avoiding the litter of boards and +shingles. “Jesus.” He wagged his head, aimless. “I don’t know what we’re +going to do, Ellen.” + +She watched the two men carry the body upstairs. Then she went into the +kitchen, still in her wet hay-flecked dress, clinging. Vaguely she knew +Mom was crying and the doctor was using the telephone in the sitting +room. She lifted one of the heavy bushels by the door and set it down by +the sink. She dipped tomatoes, peeling, packing them hot in jars, +measuring teaspoons of salt out. No one paid her any mind. Sudduth +called the children, shrilling, insistent. He took them all, even the +little girls, to the barn with him while he did the chores. Upstairs, +Adele began to cry aloud, and soon moaned at regular intervals. Mom was +hurrying back and forth, hair wisped, mouth unsteady. She looked in at +the kitchen door. “Land. I’m glad you’re finishing them, Ellen. Like the +doctor says, the living come first.” + +Adele’s premature baby died in the night. Adele turned her head and wept +into the pillow. She believed an all-seeing God was punishing her +because she had tried once to rid herself of it. At breakfast Mom asked +Ellen if she could stay at home to care for Adele while they went to the +funeral. “I can’t, Mom. I would, but I have to go see him.” + +“Well, the boys can get Adele what she needs, I guess.” Mom moved her +body cautiously; she had not grasped the two deaths yet. She was turning +to Ellen. “Sakes. I really did want you and him to marry, Ellen. I know +you’d have been to him what Star Webster never could have.” + +“Well, Mom,” Ellen shrugged, “want me to make up the rest of the bacon +or fry ham?” She was dry-eyed. + +“Finish the bacon.” + +“Simon,” Ellen was asking at the table, “did you get that last hay in +before the rain?” + +“No, it’s bad soaked, Ma. We can spread it in the yard. Reckon it’ll dry +good enough.” + +“You-all do that. Even if it’s leached, it’ll still make horse feed.” + +“Jesus, I got a back this morning,” Sudduth said. “I don’t know.” + +Ellen appealed to Mom, “You got a black hat?” + +“You can wear Adele’s.” Mom patted Ellen’s shoulder. “It’s even got a +veil. At least I think it has.” + +When she had dressed, Ellen came into the sitting room. Sudduth was +pacing the floor, tears coming steadily down his thin face. Pop sat +shriveled and fragile in his overlarge Sunday suit, his bony hands +protruded from the sleeves like bird legs. The sun stretched itself over +the room, catching the luster of the stuffed red-and-black tanager under +the glass bell on the table. I hate the sun and I hate the prying light. +“It’s a beautiful day,” she was saying. She had watched dawn unfolding +out of dark, felt the dry thickening in her throat. + +“Let’s go on out and wait for Mom,” Sudduth said, stiff. + +Ellen walked with them, getting into the back seat with Pop. She folded +her handkerchief, unfolded it. Sudduth started the motor and let it +idle. After a while, Mom came to the house door, a fleshy large figure +in black, veiled. The children stared, circling her, restless. “You be +good and do what Adele says,” Mom told them. + +“Don’t punch me, Grace.” + +“I never touched you.” + +“Where’th everybody going?” + +“It’s the funeral of Uncle Dan,” said Grace. “He’s dead. And they’re +going to plant him in the ground.” They watched the car go down the +road, milling in a group, close to each other. + +Before the services, in the carpeted stuffy room, Ellen went up on the +dais to look at the body. The casket was heavy. There was satin and +white and purple cloth about him. He wore his brown suit. His hands were +folded on each other, they had lost their sun color. Those men had their +will with his body. Their prying hands. The almond tree shall blossom +and the caperberry shall fail because man goeth to his long home and the +mourners go about the streets. There was a slight reek of incense. His +eyes were shut, his face puffed out so the familiar creases hardly +showed. His hair was combed flat. They drained off his blood and pumped +somewhat in his body, didn’t they? To keep back the death smell? He had +a false look; it was the birthmark, they had hidden it with paste. +Reckon he heard death bells in the air when it roared to him? Or the +silver cord be loosed or the golden bowl be broken or the pitcher at the +fountain. And the dust return to the earth as it was. That’s the husk of +Dan. All I’ve got is a memory. I can’t recall him. I forget. She +struggled, throat tight, to bring to mind how he moved and laughed, how +he would be grease-stained from working under the machines, how he was +alert and strong and moved quicker than the others. How he was awkward +when he ran his fingers on her hair. But the statue slept, its hawklike +features impassive. + +The organ struck up like breaking soft boulders. She moved as if she was +of glass. For who knoweth what is good for man in his life, all the days +of his vain life which he spendeth as a shadow? She was going down the +steps to sit by Mom in one of the blue plush chairs. The carpet made +footfalls noiseless, the organ pushed her. She sat in the bruised music. +Dan would be proud of how quiet I am. She didn’t feel tears pouring +until she discovered her wet hands; she wiped them dully with the +handkerchief. She knew she had been robbed once more. Praise ye the +Lord. He telleth the number of the stars. He calleth them by their +names. + +The minister was walking up onto the dais, patting his head where hair +once flourished. He stared at the floor and straightened his coat. The +head undertaker nodded. The organ hushed. “Behold the Lord God will come +with strong hand. Yes. He shall gather the lambs with his arm and carry +them in his bosom. Yes. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to pay our +last respects.” + +What I can’t understand is why Dan didn’t see it coming and go to the +barn on the wagon with Simon. When we ran out to look, I waved and +called. But he just kept shocking the hay up. I can’t understand why he +never saw it making there in the south sky. He should have come in with +Simon. I don’t know why. + +“Dust to dust. Yes. Ashes,” the preacher intoned. That man was going to +marry us. Daniel Wasilewski took Ellen Gaddy in marriage. So it would +have been written. “Lord, make me to know mine end. Yes. And the measure +of my days that I may know how frail I am. Behold, Thou hast made my +days as a handbreadth. Oh yes.” + +The service was done, the organ was rolling muted hymns over plush +upholstery. The undertaker bent his head in a gentle unctuous way to +Mom. They walked out to where the sun dazzled the trees in a gilt sheen. +They were rumbling slowly down flat roads toward the cemetery. Ellen +asked Pop, “Why must they go so tormented slow?” + +“It’s the custom, Ellen.” + +“I’d rather put him straightaways in the earth. Fast. I got no use for +all this furbelowing.” She looked through the windows to the bright day. +Under her black veil, water ran down. “Why’d he die, Pop?” + +“He was in the way when it struck.” + +“I told him to come in,” Sudduth cried out. “I told him.” + +“Shut up,” Mom flared, and sighed. + +At the open grave, the metal-bound box was lowered. Now they’ll wait +until we go away. They’ll take down the purple canopy and fold the green +grass rug. They’ll drive off, leaving a man to cover the hole. He’ll +throw dirt on the box with Dan in it. And it’ll be all over. + +Simon came to her that evening where she sat by the windows in the cold +lavender air of dusk. The silence was delicate, like ringing. The family +had taken the noise away. They were with Adele or in their beds. The boy +touched her shoulder. “Ma?” + +She started, striking his hand from her. Then she spoke quickly, +penitent, “What is it, Simon?” + +“Don’t grieve. Here, I brought you one of the kittens.” + +And because he was so kind and tender in his youthful shy way, all the +walls she built broke suddenly. She bowed her head and wept. + +“Oh, Ma, I loved him too. He wasn’t afraid of ne’er a thing.” The boy’s +voice was laden. He began to cry. Holding the kitten in his arm, he was +putting his head in her apron. + +“Don’t weep, Simon,” she sobbed on his hair. + +Later she cradled in her hand the tiny black kitten. Through the window +she was watching the north wind blow as autumn cast itself on the +cringing landscape. I shall go softly all the years in the bitterness of +my soul. + + + 26 + +The winter was passing. It had been long. As its last days dragged, in +Louisville, a false spring came on as it often does in that season. +Outside the city the first glimmers of growing had appeared, tiny green +spears in barley fields, and hesitant statuesque spring flowers. +Wake-robins bloomed in woods, dark red and hidden, like grief. In the +city a soft evening wind moved. Anton Gaddy was parting from Dyke +Burwell at the truck. He settled his round hat firmly. Dyke was coaxing, +“Hey Mester Gaddy, whyn’t you come with me this once? There’s this here +old girl. Must weigh near a quarter ton. Now I mean that pussy’s +buried.” + +“I’ll see you here at the Chevy, boy.” Anton was impatient. “Tomorrow +morning.” + +“All right. But they got skinny ones too. If you’d rather. They got all +kinds.” + +Anton was rushing away down the street, his flewlike lips sagging, a +frown over his long face. He was preoccupied, afraid. He believed he was +losing the woman Rose. For more than a year now he had been visiting her +apartment. At one time he and Dyke had made excuses to each other that +there were auctions and sales that must be attended. But gradually they +had shed the pretense and now traveled the seventy miles often. Dyke +would come by the Gaddy farmhouse to see Anton. “Got an old cow that’s +no good. Reckon I’ll take her to the auctions.” And Anton would reply, +“Before God, leave the fool beast be. Haw. Let’s take off for Louisville +right now.” + +He was halting outside the brick building. The last few times here a man +had come down the darkened stair and once he saw him stride away on the +street. The man’s cheekbones were broad and high, he was stockily built +with a bold way about him. Anton had confronted Rose with it when she +let him in. “You’ve had company, I see.” + +“I might.” She had smiled, tantalizing, throwing back her heavy dark +hair. + +“I told you to e’er wait for me.” Rose denied it then and said she was +teasing. But it had festered in him. + +Anton looked up now as he came into the doorway. The figure was there, +at the bottom of the stairs. He stood aside while it brushed by. His +heart began to thud, an anger started in his bowels. On the stairs he +was breathing heavily. “Like to take the strap to her.” But he was held +from physical action. She might slip away. He was never sure of his grip +on Rose, winced from her laughter. He had thought of asking Father +Tompert about a dispensation to make her his wife. But he put off the +issue, fearing the priest’s flat refusal, his suspicious eyes. Anton’s +old peremptory ways had given over to some hesitancy. His younger +daughter and then his grandson had evaded him. His belief in his mother +Nell’s, fidelity and excellence had been ravaged. Even his faith was +wavering. He lived with feelings of frustration, of powerlessness, of +guilt in sin. He was bent on Rose with a measure of desperation. As he +was about to rap, the door swung open as if the woman were waiting. + +“Oh it’s you.” As if surprised she said it and laughed, her wide soft +face impudent. + +“What’s this you say? Hum. I told you I was coming.” + +“I didn’t say I wasn’t pleased to see you. Did I?” + +He was coming after her in his heavy coat, placing his hand on her +buttocks as he was used to do. “Rose?” + +“You don’t own me, Daddy,” she railed, eluding his grasp. She was +wearing a sheathed dress instead of her flowered housecoat. “You’ll muss +my make-up. I’m going out.” + +She had on high slippers so that she was taller than Anton. This somehow +angered him. “You’re going to meet that man. That whoreson that just was +here.” + +“No, Daddy.” Her voice was light. + +“I’ve caught him coming out three-four times now.” + +“He’s young,” she mocked. + +“I’ve got a power in me yet. You know that.” + +“Look.” She was picking up her purse and coat, and a green beret with a +matching feather. “Look, I need some things for supper. I’ll be back a +little late.” She put on the hat, her eyes moist and teasing. “But I’ll +be back, Daddy. You wait.” She was out the door, her high laugh +stringing behind. + +He sat on the edge of the bed, wearing his overcoat and hat. “I’ve got a +mind to whip her. Got a mind to kill her. Punish her for lying.” He was +whispering into the room. His coat dropped from his shoulders and was +sliding to the floor. He pulled his shirt open roughly at the neck, +tearing the tie. Noises came from throughout the building. A door +slapped shut. Steps were ascending and descending. He waited for each to +be Rose. His sickness for her churned in him. He could feel his potency +failing, shrinking. “She’s wanting a young stud.” + +He was rising, moving to the window, the black hat still on. He shoved +the window up, banging it, leaning out. There was a pale street lamp at +the corner. A semi-truck came rumbling heavily over the pavement. A man +stumbled across the half-dark spring-scented street. A couple were +sauntering, arms about each other’s waists, the girl tittering shrill. A +sailor, pants tight about his loins, stalked the sidewalk opposite: +“Where’d you get the broad, Jack?” + +Anton’s eyes had slitted. He was wrenching off his belt. It was the old +one of thick cowhide with a weighted brass buckle. His gray eyes were +dry though his defeated mouth was drawn as if to weep. He spoke hoarse, +threatening, “Before God, I’ll punish that Rose-whore good. I’ll put +myself into damnation. I’ll learn her to cuckold.” + + * * * * * + +Two hours passed before Rose returned. She was humming in time to the +click of her confident heels. + + In a little lovenest + Just for you and me, a dovenest + +She shifted her parcels and turned the knob. When she saw the dead man +hanging in the grip of the strap from the tall closet door, the body had +ceased any movement. She stepped close enough to touch it with her hand; +it was beginning to stiffen. Mechanically, she plucked up the overturned +chair beneath it, and set it straight. A breeze blew up, billowing the +curtains, and she went to the window to close it. She stumbled on his +overcoat by the bedside, dropped her bags on the coverlet and caught up +the phone. She spoke a number to the operator, whispering, and waited. + +“Christian?” She was sitting on the bed abruptly. “You have to come here +right away. I can’t explain. I’m afraid. You tell Mama I might go home +after all.” She began to cry, listening. “I’ll wait. You hurry.” She +returned the receiver. She was quiet, shivering. After a long time she +heard a step outside, ran to the door, pulling him in. All at once sobs +were convulsing her, “It’s there. Look.” + +He called the police. “By damn, where’d you meet him, Rose?” + +“He’s the one I wanted to marry.” + +When the two officers arrived they took the body down and laid it out on +the floor. They searched pockets and made notes. “Who are you?” they +asked Christian. + +“I’m her brother.” + +They directed Rose to appear at the inquest; they questioned her, “You +must have some idea why he did it, Miss Ay?” + +“I don’t understand. We were the best of friends, Mr. Gaddy and me. I +just went down the street for a few minutes. He was waiting for me. I +was going to get some food.” + +Christian was asking, “Will you notify the relatives?” + +“His wife’s in a state institution,” Rose offered. “He’s had family +troubles, one kind and another. Maybe that’s why it happened.” + +“Here’s a letter,” the officer said. “Garland Gaddy. We’ll get hold of +him.” A knock was heard. “That’s the ambulance.” The body was covered, +then removed, the interns clattering as they went down the staircase. +“All right, miss. We’ll notify you when we want you. Good night.” He put +his cap back on. + +“I’d be glad to help,” Christian said. + +“We won’t need you. Just your sister. Good night.” + +Christian didn’t say that long ago he had known the dead man. Once Anton +Gaddy had stood scornful in high weeds, spitting tobacco juice, calling +him boy. + + * * * * * + +Dyke Burwell was waiting at the truck in the morning, baffled, having +searched cafes and bars for Anton. By afternoon he made the decision to +drive back to Millville alone. A rainstorm was brewing and there was a +load of soybean sacks under the tarpaulin on the truck. Dyke had known +Anton was keeping a woman but that was as far as his information went. +He had considered notifying the police but dismissed it. Anton would +have to return by bus. When he reached the Gaddy farm three hours later, +thunder was growling in the murky afternoon sky. Sam Offut ran out, +followed by Eadie, her hair disheveled, her hands flapping. Eadie threw +her apron over her face and wailed. Sam was yelling, hunched and +beady-eyed, “Old man’s dead. Sheriff just left us. I says, call his +brother in Chicago, he’ll know where those daughters be. Poor trash, +walking out on their pa. For Gawd, Dyke.” + +“Hey,” Dyke shouted in fear. “Who was it killed him?” + +“Himself. He done it himself.” The wind smote the treetops. + +“Raised his hand,” cried Eadie. “Against his soul. He’ll burn for it. +Jehovah!” + +Dyke helped Sam unload half the soybeans while lightning flashed nearby. +Then Dyke went home and word was bruited throughout the countryside. +Folks found reasons to drive past the Gaddy farm. They would peer +fearfully at the two old Offuts and exchange words about them. They +named it a ghost farm. + + + + + part five + + + and each alone + Walk together toward the trees + Where the road runs out of sight + In the green beyond the leaves + The green cove below the light + + + 27 + +Pop Wasilewski’s bees were suddenly swarming at winter end. On a sunny +day from a secret impulse half the colony was awake, one by one whipping +out to cluster on a fence post. The bearded old man brushed the +yellow-brown insects into a new hive while the smoker puffed. Ellen was +laughing to Mom, “I ne’er seen such a body, he’s that clever with bees.” + +“Pop’s always been like that.” + +Ellen had lost weight and because the work over the winter had been +largely indoors, she was pale. But her body had fought for its health, +and she moved in the household with vigor again. Over a few weeks she +had thought she would have Dan’s baby, hoped wildly that it was so. But +her time came again then in its regular pattern and she accepted it. +Gradually she healed. There had been the moments when she forgot he was +dead, “I’ll have to tell Dan the do-hickey’s broken on the wash +machine.” The day would shatter about her where she stood trembling. + +Mom still leaned on Ellen, crippled by her loss. “You’re like a daughter +to me.” Mom would humor herself by constant thoughts of Dan. She talked +to Ellen about when her son was a baby of two staggering after her in +the rose garden, and when older he would fetch her a blue eggshell or a +butterfly wing he found. “I want you to stay here always, Ellen. This is +your home.” + +Adele, so wounded by the loss of her premature baby that Dan’s death had +scarcely grazed her, would talk about the infant yet. “He’d have been +four months old today.” Adele had written in the page of the Bible: +Jason Wasilewski. September 17, 1936. Died the night of his birth. +Mourned by all. + +“You’ve got to quit thinking of it,” Mom said. “Sakes, it’s your duty.” + +Adele was eager in self-reproach. “I just get my mind on it somehow.” + +The ruins beyond the line of smashed willows were left untouched. Only +the children would wander through the wrecked debris, playing. “Thith +ith the dining room. I am Mithith Hannah.” + +“Simon, you be the father.” The half-demolished walls loomed like +ghostly monuments. The roof was shattered, snow had drifted around +timbers, melting, rotting them. In half-empty kegs of nails wild mice +explored. + +The farm work had fallen heavily on Sudduth. Dennie and Simon were +roused at daybreak to help at chores before they hurried to school. +Evenings, they hustled out again to the barnyard. Sudduth’s back ached +him like a recurring plague. “In spring I’m going to have to hire a man, +Mom. I can’t do it all. He can sleep in the barn.” + +“No, we’ll give him Dan’s room.” Mom’s voice was strained. + +“Thanks, Mom.” Sudduth had become more dependable over past weeks. He +made his plans resolutely. “I’ll put rye in the old corn field. And if +you don’t care, Pop, we’ll sell the sheep. They’re ruining the pasture.” + +“That’s just fine with us, Sudduth. Whatever you say.” + +Ellen had gone out to help with the milking, a pail in her hand. Sudduth +protested gravely at first, “It’s not our way to let women do barn work, +Ellen.” + +“But I’m most happy here. I get tired of the house.” She sat on the +three-legged stool, the cow’s hot breath on the back of her neck, +snuffling, curious. It was licking her with a rasping tongue. + +“See here,” Simon shouted. “Old Belle’s begging Ma to milk her.” + +“All right, Ellen.” Sudduth was won over. “If you want. Thanks.” And he +soon forgot that it seemed strange to have a woman at the barn. + +Ellen would think about Penny, wondering if her last baby had come +wellborn. If work ever lightens, if Sudduth hires a hand like he says he +might, Adele and me can drive over to see the Doughertys in spring. + +She was in the sitting room one morning after breakfast, ironing by the +windows. Mom was holding a small black volume, with pictures of the +little boy, Dan, pasted into it. “Ellen, I’m afraid you’re forgetting +him.” + +“Dan wouldn’t want us mourning him fore’er.” + +The phone rang. “You get it, Ellen.” Mom pored over the photographs. + +“All right.” It was Western Union. Ellen listened quietly. She whispered +into the mouthpiece, “Read it again, please.” The distant strange voice +was almost inaudible. And the message was repeated. She hung the +receiver onto its hook. She leaned against the table, put her hand to +her mouth. + +Mom looked up, urged, “What is it, Ellen? What is it?” + +Her words fell of themselves, “Something’s happened to my pa.” Request +presence Ellen Gaddy at inquest, the voice had said, cause of death +suicide. Why would he do that? And him ever a good Catholic. He wouldn’t +dare. And in the suddenness memories came rushing through the unbarred +door. Anton was loving and he sought this daughter out. Guilt clutched +her. He was dead too, now. She was stunned, but yet unable to weep. “I +have to go to Louisville, Mom, and claim the body.” + +That afternoon she packed. Adele was ready to drive her to the station +and the family had gathered to say goodbye. Mom was kissing her, “Land. +You’ve got to come back, Ellen.” + +“I will if I can. I want to go to our farm in Millville when it’s o’er. +And I have to see my sister, too.” + +“I won’t go to Millville, Ma,” Simon cried out. His tow hair was mussed, +his young face worried. + +“Don’t take Thimon,” Hannah and Grace piped. “Let Thimon thtay.” + +“You see?” Pop shouted. “Sell your farm and be one of us, Ellen.” + +“Old Belle won’t give down her milk tonight,” Sudduth said. + +“How can you resist us?” Adele put her arm about Ellen. + +“Oh Ma,” said Simon, “I want to stay right here.” + +“Maybe you will.” But Ellen was remembering the old orchard and the +little hills, the stony soil where crops were hard-won, goats bounding +down the pasture lane, hoofs hammering the ground, snorting and tossing +their beards. She turned to the Wasilewskis, “I’ll write you-all if +Simon has to come. Just as soon as I know.” + + * * * * * + +The corpse in the refrigerated drawer looked fragile and unprotected. +The morgue smelled of mingled odd odors. “That’s him.” + +“Thank you, Miss Gaddy,” said the officer. + +“I don’t want him to stay there. Can I take the body?” + +“Certainly. When the inquest is over.” + +“How soon?” + +“Day after tomorrow.” + +“I’ll call you. I’ll find a funeral home.” + +“You notify them he’s here. And we’ll make the arrangements.” Then the +officer was telling Ellen how Anton had hung himself by a leather belt +in a woman’s flat. + +“A woman?” She was bewildered. + +“Says her name’s Rose Ay. Maybe you’d want to see her, miss. She doesn’t +live far from here.” + +“Rose Ay?” Ellen stood beside the tall desk. The vein was throbbing in +her forehead, the oval of her face stayed white in the bright glare of +the waiting room. She was probing dully, raking into the past. + +“Do you know this woman?” + +“No.” + +“Are you all right, Miss Gaddy? You look sort of shaky. You knew it was +suicide by hanging?” + +“Yes. You said you’d give me her address, Mester?” + +The officer tore a sheet from a pad, scribbled on it. “This is the +easiest way to get there.” He handed her the paper. “Turn left outside.” + +She was following corner signs then, and house numbers. In the streets +winds were moving undisputed, brutal, and the city quailed and shrank +upon itself. Finally Ellen was entering the brick building. She sensed +the subdued trace of urine and must that corrupted the hall air. A +woman’s deep voice was berating behind walls. And a radio came muted, + + Oh sister Phoebe, how merry were we + The night we sat under Tom Jones plum tree + +A man was on the upper stairs, pausing. He was coming down a few steps. +“Hello, Ellen.” + +She peered into the obscure light. “Who are you?” + +“Christian Ay.” The shadows crouched quiet about him along the steep +stairwell. “Guess you’re here to talk to my sister.” + +The cheekbones and broad mouth were Simon’s, the stocky body. But his +hair was different, no longer blond. And he was grave-faced. “I thought +it was you,” she said thinly. + +His voice rent the stillness, “I’m sorry about Mr. Gaddy.” + +“Did you know he’d been coming here?” + +“No, indeed.” He came down another step. + +She backed away. “I say, did you? That it was my pa?” She was plaintive, +cornered. + +“Not till my sister called me.” + +“What did he want of her?” + +“She says they’d have been married.” + +“Well. I don’t understand.” Jazz blared from the radio as a door opened +and shut. She put her hand up and dropped it, aimless. + +“You are coming to see Rose?” he was asking. + +“Yes.” + +“It’s that door at the head.” He gestured, disturbed with the awkward +moment, at her air of incredulity. “Right up there. You can’t miss it.” + +As she was passing, he stood aside by the wall. His face was harassed, +lined. She looked at it. “Your home’s in Louisville?” + +“On the outskirts. Twenty minutes from this place. Someone said you +weren’t living in your home town any more.” The music, overloud, was +persistent through the hollow walls. He was speaking then, abrupt, +“Come. I’ll go up with you.” + +“Yes.” She preceded him to the landing, where a white square of daylight +existed at one end of the dirty passageway. He was knocking. In a +moment, while she shifted constrained, quick steps approached. The door +was opening. + +“Well, Chris.” Rose spoke nervously, “I thought you’d gone. Who’s that?” + +“Ellen Gaddy. His daughter.” + +“No kidding. How do you do?” + +Ellen was staring at the woman in the tight skirt and spiked heels. +Coldly she observed the waved thick dark hair, the wide white face, the +pale irises of the eyes outlined in black. She was rudely brushing past +Rose, hasty, and then checking herself in the center of the room, by the +bed. “I’m pleased to meet you.” + +Rose shrugged careless. “Would you like tea, Miss Gaddy?” + +“If it’s no bother.” + +“Here’s a chair for you.” Christian was pulling one up. He took her +coat. “I’ll hang it on the clothes tree.” + +“Now, thanks.” He was speaking with his sister over by the small stove. +Sunlight was coming through the gray windows, drifting onto flimsy +curtains and two narrow long mirrors. The simmering kettle and the quick +disquieted whisper of the woman were playing on the air. I should never +have come. I’ve got no business to be here. I wondered if I’d hear of +him, or see him. + +Rose was bringing the tea on a black lacquer tray. “Get a table, Chris.” + +“Sure.” He placed the low table before Rose’s chair and sat down +opposite Ellen. + +Rose was pouring and passing the cups. “Well, here we are, Ellen. It is +all right to call you Ellen?” + +“Yes.” + +The woman was impetuous, “Give Mama the news, Chris. She’s been after me +for years to go home, Ellen. At last I’ve made up my mind.” + +Ellen was sipping the weak hot tea. Rose was brash and Christian seemed +embarrassed by it. Pa was going to marry her. I don’t believe that. +Besides the church would not have brooked it. + +“Honestly, Chris,” Rose was saying, “I can’t get over you quitting the +store.” + +“I’ve made plans to leave Louisville,” he said to Ellen with a slight +grin, aloof. “Getting out of the city.” + +“I think he’s nuts,” Rose laughed, brushing at her heavy hair. + +“And how about you? Come, do you think I am?” Christian raised his +brows. + +“No.” Ellen listened idly, half attending, refusing to make an effort. +In the hallway he had seemed vaguely like the young man she had once +loved. But he wasn’t at all. I shouldn’t have expected it. He was a +stranger, changed, his aspect stern. He glowered now at his sister. + +“Chris is going shares on a feed concern.” Rose was mocking. “Grinding +stuff for farmers. Banana oil. Did you ever?” + +“It’s a nice small town, now. Troy is a good way from the city.” + +Ellen was remembering the gossip she had heard in Grady Love’s store. +“How will your family like the move?” + +“I’m going alone.” + +“He lives with Mama,” Rose said. “They have The Standard Shop over at +the other end of Louisville. Mama’s getting old. That’s another reason +why I’m going back there.” She was speaking warmly to Ellen, “You know, +Daddy never mentioned much about you.” + +Ellen caught her breath. “Who?” + +“Mr. Gaddy. Your father.” Rose was motioning lightly, smiling. + +Ellen put her cup down. Her face was firm and molded, guarded. But she +spoke unsteadily. “Reckon I have to go now.” + +“I’ll come with you,” Christian said. + +“You don’t have to run yet,” Rose was protesting. “Daddy used to come +up, you know, for the waterfront auctions.” + +“Don’t call him that, woman.” Ellen’s voice rose high. She was crossing +the room, groping for her coat where Christian had hung it. + +“I didn’t mean anything,” Rose said, hurt. “I thought a lot of him.” + +“Thank you for the tea.” Ellen felt her hands shaking. + +“I’ll see you to your hotel.” Christian was taking her coat from her +hands, holding it while she put it on. + +“You don’t have to.” + +He was picking up his cap. The door closed behind them and they heard +the tap of heels receding. They went down the stairs. “Rose means well,” +Christian said. When he had hailed a cab, he looked at her. “You’re +wishing you’d stayed away.” + +“But no.” + +They were sitting in the leather-smelling interior. The meter clicked. +There were house fronts, wood and brick, cafes and corner saloons +blazoned with neon. Pigeons strutting in lonely gutters, pecking, +winging across streets. Christian was saying, “I’m sorry about your +father.” They looked out of opposite windows. A parked van was unloading +enormous handled baskets of gladioli and roses. There were people on +foot. And bicycles, and trucks blaring, cars, a dray hauled by mules, +red pompons on black bridles, and shouting teamsters. The taxi was +halting. Christian paid the driver. They were standing before an old +graystone structure. + +“You read the Bible, Christian?” + +“No.” + +“I do, sometimes.” Their minds were running inward on their separate +thoughts. He twisted his soft cap, frowning at the pavement. Her hands +were in her coat pockets. “There’s a part goes, from out of the populous +city men groan and the soul of the wounded cries out.” + +“Don’t worry yourself,” he whispered. The city lowered about them. + +“I’ve got no mind for it here.” + +“Nor I. I know just what you mean. I don’t like it either. That’s why +I’m moving to Troy.” + +“It’s unnatural.” + +“It takes all kind.” His face softened. “Are you all right? Is there +something I can do?” + +“No.” She turned to the stone steps. + +“I’ll try to come to the funeral.” + +She watched the last sunbeams striking against him as he merged into the +moving people. He doesn’t remember. He’s forgot it all. I don’t give a +care. + +But in the night Ellen dreamed of him. He was the way he had been long +ago, swaggering and strong, laughing. It was a peaceful dream. As she +came awake Christian was putting his hand on her hair. She cried into +the dark, “Dan? Dan, I loved you.” She was weeping in the unfamiliar +hard hotel bed. + + * * * * * + +Ellen was unable to get permission for a Catholic burial. The priest had +been firm. “Absolutely. There is no possibility of it. Madam. +Unquestionably he died in mortal sin.” He looked down at Ellen, fierce, +“When were you last at confession? Madam.” + +She went from him, telling herself, “I’ll get Father Tompert in +Millville to say a mass for him. There, he will.” + +The funeral was costing over two hundred dollars. Ellen had wired +Garland and he sent the money. She intended to reimburse him for her +share but it would take time. All her wages were rapidly disappearing in +train and hotel costs and meals. The coffin would be oak, chemically +treated to endure. The sermon would last twenty minutes. They would +engrave a stone. Anton Gaddy. 1877-1937. At Rest. Beloved Husband and +Father. There were things she had heard, customs attending a death. The +clothes should be removed and hung on a line outside. The body should be +anointed, silver coins laid on the eyes. And someone should sit with the +corpse so a cat or something strange didn’t get to it. The tearing of +the winding sheets, the telling of the bees so they didn’t leave the +hives. And there lay Pa in the new-fashioned way. I misdoubt Pa would +have cared for the way I handled things here. + +Then she was spotting, in the entrance way, Garland and Frankie and +Violet, who had arrived from Chicago just in time for the service. She +hurried down the aisle to greet them. She clung to Frankie, who was +plumpish in her fur coat, holding Ellen’s hands, crying, “It’s her hair, +Vi. Look how Ellie’s wearing it. She’s so sweet.” + +“I was afraid you-all would be late,” Ellen laughed. + +“Let’s make her go back on the train with us, Vi.” + +“Nerts. She won’t. Ellie’s a country girl.” + +“I’d say the country agrees with this wench.” Garland was fatter, his +square jaw lost in sagging folds. He kissed Ellen’s cheek. “I suppose +this puss has got her a beau now?” His small eyes were merry, sunk into +the flesh. + +“Oh Uncle.” + +The organ began to play and they were taking their seats. We never said +one word about Pa. We talked about ourselves all the time. She glimpsed +Christian on the opposite side of the room by the far wall. At first she +didn’t recognize him, a short man in a large gray overcoat, holding a +gray cap. He was nodding to her, sitting down, bunching his coat on his +knees. + +The last words were being spoken over Anton. Her father had been quick +to quote the Bible at them all, relishing the Old Testament. But the +funeral text was taken from Paul. Behold, I show you a mystery. The +trumpet shall sound and the dead be raised. She was remembering her +slaughtered goats. Her ire rose once more at that secret deed of his +against her. Now she stilled it. Reckon there’s more to it than I could +ever piece. He must have had a great sadness to take his life. + +They followed the hearse to the cemetery. The crank squeaked as the +coffin was lowered. Earth to earth. Dust to dust. Behold the tabernacle +of God is with men. And there shall be no more death. Neither shall +there be pain. For the former things are passed away. + +Garland was taking the party to a steak-house for dinner. He went back +into the kitchen to talk with the chef, to approve the cuts before they +were broiled. Then Ellen began to tell them about the second tornado +that had struck without warning near Weems Crossroads in Illinois, how +it killed the older Wasilewski brother and tore apart a new-built house +on the farm. “I might have married him, had he lived. We talked of it, +Dan and me.” Her mouth twisted and she looked down at her plate. “I’d +have had a life there.” + +“Oh Ellie. Why didn’t she tell us, Vi?” Frankie appealed. + +“Shouldn’t have stayed after it happened, puss.” Garland was tapping the +table with his finger. “Should have come to us.” + +“Say, how’s Simon?” Violet asked. “How’d he take it, Ellie?” + +“He’s grown and he likes farming.” + +“Do bring my nephew and visit us,” Frankie pressed, “come on, Ellie. Gen +would love it.” + +“No, I’ve got to take my own way. I can’t go to you folks. Tell me about +your job, Frankie. Do you still like it?” + +“I’ve been promoted, Ellie. And Gen has a new office and twice the pay.” + +Garland was seated close to Violet, his arm was about her. He was +ordering coffee for her and desserts to be brought for everyone. “What +are you planning to do about the farm, hon?” + +“I’m going there as soon as I can.” + +“Are you really?” Frankie cried, surprise on her round face. + +“Want to come with me?” + +“No, thanks,” Frankie said swiftly. “Not me. I don’t want any part of +that.” + +“But, Frankie.” + +“And that’s the truth. I don’t want my piece of that farm. I can’t stand +it.” + +“You two can do it legally,” Garland said, “if Frankie means it.” + +“You make out the papers, Uncle, for me to sign. It should be Ellie’s. +She likes it and needs it.” Frankie’s features were set, obstinate. + +“Funny,” said Garland, “An and me decided the same thing when we were +just the age of you two. He bought me out of my rights and I signed over +to him. When he married.” + +“You might change your mind sometime, Frankie,” Ellen said. + +“No. Ellie looks so doubtful,” Frankie smiled. “She thinks everyone +wants to be a farmer.” + +“It doesn’t seem right,” Ellen said. “At least I’m going to pay you for +your share.” + +“That’s silly. We have all we need. We’ve got good jobs. You have Simon +to look out for.” + +They began to remember Anton then because Garland had used his name. +“Uncle used to come at Christmas time, Vi. We’d butcher and bake,” +Frankie was saying, “and then go to midnight mass in that little +church.” + +“They watched out for my soul,” said Garland, “and Frankie was to be a +concert artist.” + +“No, Chicken!” + +“That was Pa’s idea,” Frankie told Violet grimly, then giggled, “not +mine.” + +It was time for their train, they were getting up in a rush. They +laughed, bustling out together. Garland, from the middle of the street, +waved a taxicab down. The women were waiting under the marquee. “Give my +little nephew my love, Ellie,” Frankie said, and whispered, “I’m sorry +about that man you were going to marry.” + +“You wouldn’t know your nephew, Frankie. He’s not a baby, he’s not +little.” + +“Come see us, Ellie. Gen would honestly love it.” + +Violet took Ellen’s hand impulsively. “We’re redecorating the house. Why +don’t you come back with us and have a real visit?” + +“I can’t.” + +“Goodbye, Ellie.” + +“Goodbye. Goodbye, Aunt Vi. Uncle.” She was walking back to the hotel. +The streets were damp, the narrowed sky strip above the buildings clear. +There was a purple circle of mist about the moon. Lone figures were +moving in lighted areas. They gave her a message. Call Mr. Ay at the +following number. She went into a phone booth, for there was a void now +that they were all gone. She told him she would go to the Ay home +tomorrow for supper. + + + 28 + +Christian Ay had called for her in his year-old V-Eight Ford. The +Standard Shop was an echoing large building, half dark. They were +passing aisles of goods spread out on counters and under glass, their +footfalls drumming. At the base of a dowel-railed staircase, barely +illuminated by a tiny skylight, he took her arm. She looked at his face +cast into the new lines. His brown hair was smooth, his broad mouth +disciplined. Only his eyes are the same, blue like that flower. He was +waving in back of them at the laden counters. “What do you think of it?” + +“It’s nice.” + +“You’re polite. It’s not. It’s a decent living.” He was smiling, formal. +“Now it’s quite a thing, Ellen, meeting you again.” + +She looked away, moved from under his hand up the stair. “Oh, yes.” + +“Are you angry about Rose and your father?” + +“Not at all.” + +“You’re sure you don’t hold it against me?” + +“No.” + +“Well, shall we go up?” They went through a cluttered office space at +the stairhead and into a linoleum-floored room. + +Mrs. Ay was hustling from the square table she had been setting, a +white-haired short woman with a quick smile. She spoke in a clipped way +to Ellen, “Had tea with my daughter, Miss Gaddy? Sorry about your +father. Too bad. It’s hard. I know. I lost my husband many years ago. +Suddenly. Heart attack.” + +“I had heard of it,” Ellen murmured. + +“Rosie said she knew your father too. Said she’d had dinner with him. +Heard Rosie’s coming home? She tell you? Nearly twelve years she’s lived +in that flat near Market Street. Determined to show she was independent. +It’s a bad section. Time she came back to the Shop, don’t you think?” +She was gathering her apron in her small hands. “Oh dear, that’s the pie +shell burning.” She ran out. + +“She gets that way when we have company.” Christian grinned. Then he was +meeting her eyes, intent. “She hasn’t kept track of Rose any more than +me. They go shopping together or Rose eats here with us two or three +times a year. I might as well tell you she doesn’t know Rose had it in +mind to marry anyone.” + +Ellen looked away. “She’s nice.” A speckled bird with a long iridescent +tail was mounted beside a clock on the sideboard. “That’s a fine cock +pheasant there.” + +“I shot it at Brinker’s farm that summer.” His voice for an instant was +surging with the old eager sound. + +Mrs. Ay was back. “Soup’s on.” She carved the roast swiftly with a long +blade, heaping the plates. “You like mashed potatoes? We aren’t fancy +here.” There was a bouquet of artificial daisies in the center of the +red-checked tablecloth. They ate hungrily. “Chris says he knew you, Miss +Gaddy, that time he worked near Bethel.” + +“Ellen lived only three miles from me.” + +“I’ve been away from Millville more than a year now,” Ellen said. + +“Why’d you leave, Ellen?” + +She gazed down at her napkin. “I wanted to work out.” Why did I say +that? I had to look after your youngen. I ought to tell him that. Her +mind worked it over. She sat absent while Mrs. Ay began to talk. + +“After Kate left us, Chris nearly convinced me we ought to sell this +here store and buy a small farm.” + +“Kate was my wife,” Christian said. “I got married the spring after I +came back from Brinker’s.” + +“He wanted to grow truck crops. Store’s much safer. Better investment. +Rain or shine you’re not dependent. It’s just getting nice too, we’ve +got three girls at the counters. I can sit down in the afternoon.” + +“I knew you’d been married,” Ellen said. + +“Divorced. Three years ago.” + +“Too young when they did it in the first place.” Mrs. Ay was shaking her +head, reproving. “Chris is headstrong. Like his father before him. I +told him it wouldn’t work.” + +“Come, Mama, let’s keep some secrets from Ellen.” He was coloring, +pushing his chair back. + +“Well, I’ll get that pie.” Mrs. Ay got up. “Shame the crust had to +burn.” She disappeared into the kitchen. + +“I meant to write you, Ellen. You know? Back there when we were kids?” +He laughed, still flushed, the skin wrinkling around his blue eyes. + +“Well.” + +“How come you aren’t married?” The silence came down, overlaid thinly +with the whisper of the clock on the sideboard. + +Mrs. Ay slammed the kitchen door as she returned. She was cutting the +cocoanut cream pie into large pieces. “You rather have something else, +Miss Gaddy? There’s jello in the icebox.” + +“No, this is fine. It’s very good.” + +“So after Kate ran away like that,” Mrs. Ay was saying, “why Chris kept +wanting to sell. Not me. He’s putting his share into something now that +suits him. Over in Troy.” + +“You only live once,” Christian said dryly, “isn’t that right, Mama?” + +“I’ll be running the shop here with Rosie. The luck of my daughter +coming home. And in my old age.” + +“Don’t let her fool you,” Christian said, “she’s not so old.” + +Ellen was helping them collect the plates then, Mrs. Ay insisting on +leaving them stacked beside her sink. The evening was moving on. The +older woman had brought out a pot of coffee and she stood in the bedroom +doorway, her figure slack and weary. “Good night, Miss Gaddy. You come +visit again.” + +“Good night.” + +Christian and Ellen were silent now on the chintz-covered davenport +where the winter twilight faltered. Cars were whirring in the street +outside, horns blew faint, lights shuddered and vanished on the ceiling. +“Reckon it’s time for me to go.” + +“No. Wait.” He put his arm along the sofa behind her. “I can’t get over +you, Ellen. You’re just the same. I had thought you’d be different.” + +The lingering noise of the clock was beating heavily upon time. She +waited. + +“I did intend to write when I had to quit that job with Brinkers.” + +“I wrote to you. That autumn.” + +“You did? My father’s attack had come out of the blue. He left the +accounts in bad shape. We almost lost the business. You know what that +meant those days.” + +“I wrote you. Twice.” + +“Funny. I didn’t get them.” + +“I know. They came back.” + +“I’d have answered.” + +“I didn’t have the right address.” + +“Did you try Mr. Brinker?” + +“He didn’t know either.” She sighed. + +“Say.” He dropped his arm onto her shoulder. “I feel badly about that.” +She had stiffened, but he was bending his head gently, hunting a thing +lost, a fragment of his youth when time had been ground easily beneath +the heel of his fired blood, his just-discovered manhood. + +But the anger was grating in Ellen. She cried to him compelled, as if +she had memorized it, “Once I laid a curse on you. Curse him, I said! I +swore it on the Virgin.” + +“Come, what kind of talk is that?” He reddened, withdrawing himself. He +was taking a pipe from a nearby ash tray, filling it from his pocket +pouch. He scratched a match, fragrant smoke sifted into the half-dusk. +“A curse?” + +“You don’t believe in such things?” + +“Why would you do that?” He was looking at her, discomfited, inquiring. + +She made a movement to rise, impatient. “I don’t know. It’s getting +late. I don’t want to talk.” + +“I’m curious, Ellen. Why did you?” he pressed. + +“It’s no use.” She twisted her fingers, at bay. Like I said that time. +I’ll go all my days in bitterness. + +“Come on,” he was grinning. “We were such babies. Were you in love with +that young squirt?” He drew on the pipe, then he was laying one hand +over hers, the palm cool and hard. + +“There is a child.” Now it was said. + +“You have a baby? You were married then?” + +“Simon. He’ll be eleven the first of July.” + +The stillness stayed. Then he removed his hand, swift. His pipe knocked +as he was putting it in the ash tray. He stood and was walking across +the room to the dead pheasant. He looked up at it on the sideboard. He +struck his fist into his palm, his back was to her. “By damn.” + +She cringed, waiting. + +“I never once thought of that. I didn’t.” + +She listened to the chatter of the clock at the side of the stuffed +bird. His voice was intruding suddenly. + +“Brinker’s farm. That horse. What was his name? That stallion. Next +morning I got the wire about my father.” His words were fast. He slapped +his fist again. + +And she shrank, wishing herself on the street, away from him. She +recoiled from his ferocity, his vitality. Hate, hate, the clock was +spelling it out. I hate him. I do. + +“A boy, you say?” + +“Yes.” + +“Does he know about me?” + +“I told him his father’d died.” + +“All these years.” He whispered it. “By damn.” + +“Well.” Her voice sounded frail. “It’s past and done. It’s o’er.” It was +as if the room were empty and the clock, as it unwound, harped on dead +walls. + +“No.” He moved quickly over the floor to stand above her, stocky and +angry. The pulse of traffic was heard, ghost lights were shifting +disturbed, on the walls about them. “I’d have married you. You know +that. Don’t you?” + +“I thought you would.” + +“You know I would. Why didn’t you find me?” + +She was shaking her head. “I tried.” + +“I was there. In Louisville,” he cried. + +“No.” + +“Why didn’t you go to Carl Brinker? For the child’s sake.” He shouted, +towering. + +“I wrote. I didn’t know what to do. Where to turn.” She felt tears +gathering. “I couldn’t even confess it. I’ve left the church since and I +don’t care. But I dreaded it then. The sin.” + +“El?” Christian was leaning down, he put a hand along her cheek. He was +pulling her beside him. They were about the same height and his eyes, +dark and gentle, were gazing into hers. His teeth flashed in the dusk. +“Remember that silly rabbit?” + +“I turned it loose,” she flared and tore away from him, to the table +across the room, where the paper daisies were in a white bowl. She felt +the tightness catch her and the quiver as she began to weep. + +“And the primrose from Mrs. Brinker’s kitchen? In the red pot?” + +“I wished you dead.” Her voice was quavering. “O’er the years. I hated +you.” + +He pursued her. “Look here, El.” His hands were touching her shoulders +and wheeling her to the vast warm bulwark of him. “I didn’t know.” He +was putting his fingers to the wetness on her thin face. “And I see how +it was.” He came out heavy and seeking, forged in deliberate tenderness. +“If I had known. All the time lost.” + +She let his mouth find hers. And it was there, what she had wished to +sense all along, the old love restored and made real. In their common +need, they were clinging together, deaf to the brisk hammer of the clock +and the keening wind that whined in sterile streets without; they were +engrossed in their sudden solace. + + * * * * * + +Within a week they had married. Christian had driven over to Troy and +severed his partnership with the feed store. Ellen was helping Mrs. Ay +pack his belongings. “Has he told you about Simon?” + +Mrs. Ay nodded, vigorous. “His father didn’t get along good with Chris. +Think that could have made him wild?” + +“We’d like you to come see us sometime.” + +“Will do that.” She opened a closet door. “Want to go through some of +this stuff? Might be a thing or two you could use. Here’s a lamp shade. +Good shape, too.” + +“We’ll take it,” Ellen laughed. + +Then they were driving to Millville in Christian’s car. On the way they +ate the fried chicken and cookies Mrs. Ay had prepared, and by noon they +were turning into the yard. They halloed but there was no sign of human +life at the barn. A group of doleful-eyed cows, a woolly spindly foal, a +pair of dull-coated horses gazed, questioning. Pigs were squealing in +their pen, speckled roosters and hens wandered free under the hackberry +or perched, roosting, on the porch rail. The wood bottom to the tin tub +was broken out and a gray towel was flapping on the clothesline under +the February wind. + +Ellen called to the dog, but there was no response from the bushes. +“Wonder who’s caring for Jack?” + +They went into the house. Dust lay heavy, the beds were unmade, the +windows closed. The air was musty, unlived in, as if the occupants had +suddenly been spirited away. “It’s high time we got here, El.” + +In the late afternoon, while Christian was feeding the cows and she was +scrubbing the porch, Sam Offut arrived. “Hey there, Ellie.” + +“Hey Sam. Where you been?” + +“I come o’er twice a day to milk and feed. I live at my place down the +road. My ooman and me moved out of here. Folks call this farm haunted. +What are you doing back?” + +“I’m here for good, Sam.” She came down into the yard, putting her wet +cold hands in the sleeves of her coat for warmth. “I’m married now. Will +you stay on with us?” + +“You mean work for you-all?” + +“We sure could use you.” + +“Reckon not.” Hunched over, he was rubbing his hip. “See, I spent my +best years working for your pa. I liked him real well. He was a just +man. And he was a right lone man, some ways. I don’t know. I study about +him and that happenstance. Hope Jesus isn’t weeping for you, Ellie. Have +you e’er taken hold of the horns of salvation?” + +“Well, Sam.” + +Christian was coming from the barn, heavy-set in his stiff new-purchased +blue jeans and a storm jacket. His face was pale, winter-bleached. He +called, “Hello, Mr. Offut.” + +“Heard you married up to Ellie.” + +“That’s so. You going to help us out?” + +“I’m too old. I got some garden and a roadside stand of sorts.” Sam +shrugged. “My ooman does a little. Reckon not.” + +“Wish you could see your way.” Christian put his arm about Ellen’s +shoulder; she was wearing an old ragged coat of Maria’s she had found in +the attic room. + +Sam rubbed his stubble beard. His breath had a taint of whiskey. He was +shifting his feet as if they ached. “You’ll make out. The cows aren’t +milking much. This place is right run-down. I got the lumbago the same +as my wife now. I’ve been doing the least I can get by with.” + +“What do we owe you anyway, Mr. Offut?” + +“You figure it out. You can get it to me sometime. I’ll say farewell to +you both.” The old man was shuffling away. “Go with Christ.” + +Ellen stood next to Christian, against his warm bulk. “I always favored +Sam.” The small bent figure was going out of sight onto Sweetincreek +Road. + + * * * * * + +The rooms were being scoured and the floors rubbed with wax. Ellen +rooted into dark places with a harsh brush and yellow soap. When +seasonal winds blew up she threw the windows open and put on her torn +brown sweater. She washed sheets and quilts, freshened curtains, and +changed bed ticking. She lifted the crucifix from its nail over the bed +to pack it in a trunk along with the painting of the Sacred Heart and +the dusty images of Mary and Joseph. Reckon they had a meaning for Pa. +And for me as well. I made that doll into a god when I had a trouble +once. + +She had fixed up the loft-room to be Simon’s, dusting out a chest and +setting it by the bed for his own. The big downstairs bedroom would be +for Christian and herself. She was surveying it. “Could you cut some big +windows in here, Chris?” + +He leaned in the doorway, his high boots caked. “I’ll do it. Let in some +light.” + +“And I’ll hang yellow print curtains.” + +They were looking out the window at the bare bushes. A sparrow lit on a +twig, lisping, “See, peabody, peabody, peabody!” + +“That’s the harbinger of spring,” Ellen said. + +“And today Simon will be here. That’s my son.” The boy was due on the +afternoon train. + +“The redwing blackbirds are back at the pond.” + +“That’s plowing weather for sure, El. Say, the horses are shedding bad. +Would Simon groom them?” + +“You might say he’s partial to horses.” She told him how the boy had +found the red colt when he was very small. + +“How about the foal in the stable? We’ll call it Simon’s.” + +“There. He’d have been here long since if he’d known that.” + +They were at the station at New Hope then, waiting for the overdue +train. Ellen was standing beside Christian. A black-haired man, his back +to her, was rolling a cigarette. It was Dan, hawknosed, demanding, hot +and vital. She had to still herself while she turned to Christian. She +had to remember, while the pain was beating, that Dan had dropped out +for always. She took Christian’s hand. He thought it was because of +their son. “Don’t worry, El. I’ll make him like me.” When she had been +cleaning the house she had found it was one of Dan’s songs she had been +singing. + + O say, darling, say, when I’m far away + Sometimes you may think of me, dear + Bright sunny days will soon fade away + Remember what I say and be true, dear + +Dan was a part of her, even a part of the way she would cherish her +husband. + +They were watching at the coach car for Simon to step down. But he +jumped onto the cement runway from a baggage car. He had brought his +brown kid with him. He was running down the platform and it skipped +after. “Ma. Look at me. Look at April and me.” + +“He’s a wild one,” Ellen said. + +“He’s big.” Christian straightened himself, nervous, turning his soft +cap with his fingers. + +“This is Christian Ay. Like we wrote you, Simon. Now, he’s your father.” + +“I know it.” The boy was leaning over his kid, adjusting its leather +collar. + +Christian took his hand. “Well now. Hello, Simon.” + +“Hi.” They walked to the V-Eight, Simon leading the docile animal. It +stepped in and the boy followed, sitting on the back seat, holding the +leash, watchful. + +Christian faced him. “I hear you’re keen after horses, Simon.” + +“What does he mean, Ma?” + +“There’s a colt in the barn,” Christian was saying, “belongs to you.” + +“How old, now?” + +“Ten weeks or so. Don’t you think, El?” + +“Yes,” she agreed. + +“Pearl had her colt, Ma,” Simon was hunting for her eyes. “And Sudduth’s +getting him a hired man next week.” He leaned toward Ellen. “Strong like +an ox, Sudduth says. Pop claims he’s got brains like one too.” The boy +smiled, strained. + +“You want our colt?” Christian asked. “For your own?” + +“Yes. Reckon I do, Mester.” + +Christian and Ellen got in the front seat, and they were driving out on +the road. Near Bailey’s Woods, a flock of bluejays darted before the +car, pursuing a blinded flapping owl. Their barking was strident and +shrill as they winged after it into the winter-stripped trees, now +spattered with white blooms of shadblow. At the farmyard the three were +getting out of the car, standing in the yard. Simon had his kid tightly +by the collar. + +“Well, Simon?” Ellen said. + +His face became red. He stood before Christian, steady. “If it doesn’t +matter to you, I’d as lief call you Pa, like Dennie does with Sudduth.” + +“That’s the general idea, son,” Christian sighed, glancing at Ellen. + + * * * * * + +They were lingering at the long oak table in the kitchen. Ellen moved +about, putting dishes and pots away. Christian was smoking his pipe. The +boy cried, “Simon Ay’s a good name, isn’t it?” + +“You look a little alike, too,” Ellen nodded. + +“Say it again, how it was, Pa,” Simon urged, “that you happened to leave +the county before you could marry Ma.” + +It was later when Simon told them about Luke bringing Penny and the new +baby over to the Wasilewskis to visit Ellen. “Penny felt bad when you +weren’t there, Ma.” + +“Was it a boy or girl, Simon?” + +“I don’t know. She said a boy, I think. Now I disremember.” + +“Simon. You knew I’d ask.” Ellen was disappointed. + +Christian was speaking to her. “Luke Dougherty works for a farmer, +doesn’t he?” + +“A stock farmer. Webster. He raises Jerseys and Short-horns. Blooded +beasts. Mester Webster thinks a mort of Luke too. There. I hate it, not +seeing Penny and the baby.” + +Christian put down his pipe. “I’ve got an idea. You know I have to have +help here if we want to make this farm pay. It’s in bad shape.” + +“I’m here. I’m a good worker,” Simon said. + +“How about asking Mr. Dougherty to come in with us? You think he would? +What do you say? We could buy more land if it’s too small for two +families. We could convert one of the old sheds for them till we found +time to build a house.” + +“Simon’s due in school on Monday.” + +“Now, Ma.” + +“I need a man. I’d have to find one. And the Doughertys did raise you, +Simon.” + +“Luke would be on his own.” Ellen considered it. “Reckon he’d like that. +He’s got a way with cattle.” + +“I’m rusty. I’ll make mistakes alone. I haven’t enough experience. And +I’d lose all my money.” + +“There’d be Penny. She’s like my family, Chris. I’d be done saying +goodbye to Penny.” + +“Clate and Anse,” crowed Simon. “They’d have to go to school with me. +We’d sleep in the barn.” + +“Hold on now. We don’t know if Mr. Dougherty’ll take us up on it yet. He +might figure he’d be a fool to leave Mr. Webster.” Christian wrote the +letter and Simon took it to the mailbox. He put the red metal flag up so +the RFD car would stop. + + * * * * * + +While they were waiting to hear from Weems Crossroads, Simon followed +his father about. They pitched and shoveled and scraped from the +stables, scattered manure on the hilly fields, rubbed the newborn calves +with straw to clean them and put them to their dams’ inflamed fresh +udders. Simon curried and brushed the horses and his long-legged +undernourished foal. Masses of dead hair would accumulate in the litter +under the animals in their stalls. “I’ll be glad to take orders from you +for a change,” the child was telling Christian gravely. “Ma means well, +but half the time she’s wrong.” + +“Don’t be so sure,” Christian grinned down at him, “might be you.” + +Ellen was sitting at the table in the kitchen, writing Mom Wasilewski. +She told Mom how she missed all of them, Pop and Adele and the little +girls. She asked advice on starting a flock of Leghorns. “And we’re +fixing to send off to the mail catalog for some Italian bees. Does Pop +calculate them to be a good honey variety? I’ve heard they’re mean.” A +sadness descended on Ellen. Now that’s become my past. It never turns +out the way I figure it will. I thought to spend my days in Illinois +with Dan. Now he’s gone and that’s all lost. There came to her mind the +white buckling that had perished so long ago, strangling in a fence. She +heard Christian and Simon approaching. And their footfalls on the porch +boards washed away her grieving. The sun threw itself in a blanket on +the floor in front of them as the door opened. + +“What are you doing, El?” + +“Writing a letter. Thinking.” + +Christian was placing his firm fingers on her shoulder. In the heat of +her love, born of gratitude, her blood mingled with his. She turned in +her chair to lean against him. “I was reading a while ago in that +gilt-edged fancy Bible in there, El. Where it says, for lo, the winter’s +past. The rain’s over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth. The +time of the singing of birds is come.” + + * * * * * + +Ellen was collecting Anton and Maria’s moth-eaten garments from the +clothespress. She had made a bonfire and was carrying them out, throwing +them upon it. She told Christian about her mother. “Frankie and Uncle +and Vi went to see her on the way down for Pa’s funeral. They said she +didn’t know them. She had a doll the nurses had given her and seemed +content, rocking it.” Ellen poked the fire with a stick so it blazed up +afresh. + +“We’ll go to visit her.” + +“I used to fear the past, Chris. I wanted to shake it off. And here we +are on Pa’s farm, where he ruled. I ne’er thought I’d see it again.” + +“It has to be our way, though, El. That we’re building. Our own.” + +“I know. I want to change all of it. So it’s new.” She stood marking the +ashes that trembled and faded. + + * * * * * + +In a few days the Doughertys were arriving, herded by the tall +round-faced Luke. Clate and Anse were bearing boxes and suitcases in +either hand. Ellen was taking the wailing new baby from Penny’s arms. +The young girl, Blossom, held the blanketed sickly Jess. And little +Ernie hung behind her. Penny’s face was relieved. “It’s a wonder we e’er +got here, Ellie. With this crowd.” + +Ellen looked down at the baby. “What’s his name?” + +“Melinda. Didn’t Simon tell you it’s a girl?” + +“Now all we got is one V-Eight,” Christian was grinning. “Women and +babies first trip. Boys and baggage the next. Come, Luke.” + +The Doughertys had crated and shipped their shedfull of goats when they +learned that Ellen wanted them. The animals came two days after the +family. There were fifteen all told, kids and goats. They arrived +blatting and white-eyed at the New Hope station. In a week they were +accustomed to the woodshed and the new pens there. Their mild oval +pupils would follow Ellen’s unhurried movements. She set up a block of +salt and shelled corn in their long trough while they crowded to eat. +They crunched and shoved, and the hurt of her own lost herd began to +heal. + +The men were enlarging one of the bigger outbuildings for the Doughertys +to live in temporarily. They papered the rooms, tarred the roof, slapped +on a coat of white paint. “I can’t smell pigs in here any more, Chris,” +Luke was saying, “can you?” + +By fall the houses and barns were wired and electric fixtures had been +put in. There was an overhead light in Ellen’s kitchen. “You sure are +reckless,” she told Christian, “with your money.” + +“I’m so glad to be shed of The Standard Shop,” his face was browned and +young, “I like spending it.” + +He sent for a separator for the dairy house. It spilled cream in a thin +yellow stream from one fountain while skim milk gushed from another into +tall cans. There was an electric churn, too. Christian promised Simon, +“Give us a few years and we’ll have milking machines in the barn. Wait +and see.” + + * * * * * + +In early spring, a young purebred Guernsey bull was strolling about in a +sturdy barred pen. It arched its crest and snorted toward the barnyard +where the cows were. It baaed in a high voice like a calf, for it was +yet immature. The men laughed at it. Luke said, “His seed’s got the +lines to build up our herd.” + +“But has he got the strength in him?” + +“He has. What we ought to do, though, is buy a few top brood cows from +good farms. Raise their calves by that bull. It’s the fastest way to get +a producing herd.” + +“Let’s go ahead. You ride over to the next sale that’s advertised. Can +you pick them?” + +“I’ll spot them easy.” + +Cold fresh winds moved. Christian was drawing on his pipe. “By damn, +how’d you like to paint a Guernsey bull clear across the barn, Luke? +I’ve been thinking. And trim the windows with white? The boys could help +on that part. I’d like to see some fancying up around here.” + +“Well, that’s an idea. Does no harm. It’ll bring people in to use the +bull, too. Give the farm a name hereabouts.” + +And the women came to watch the painting. Penny was holding her baby +girl on her arm, Ernie at her heels. “Look at that giant Guernsey there. +Well.” + +Beside Ellen tottered Jess, the undergrown brown-haired child, her +favorite among Penny’s brood. He was gripping her skirt, open-mouthed at +the men on the high ladders. Their blue jackets were paint-spattered, +their buckets dangled by baling wire from the rungs. Simon and the +Dougherty boys came running up from Sweetincreek Road, swinging their +schoolbooks and lunch pails. They dropped them by the yard fence and +went for paint brushes to join the men in the sun-dipped warm barnyard. + +“Say,” Ellen called, “you might set an iron bull on the roof for a +weather vane, too. If you had a mind.” + +“We’ll do it, El,” Christian was shouting down, laughing. + +“I’m going to make my pies up,” Ellen told Penny. “I’ll take Jess with +me. He fancies my kitchen.” + +She was walking slowly to the house. A tan puppy followed. She patted it +as she helped Jess up the porch steps. A turtledove was calling, +“Croo-ah, croo-croo.” + +“There’s the saddest voice,” she sighed, “of all the birds.” She let the +small dog in the doorway. It heaved itself on the floor with a contented +snort. She gave the little boy a cracker and sat him on a rug. He +munched damply, eyes wide, watching Ellen roll out the dough. She was +fluting the edges of the crusts, deft. Her cats were stretched in the +warm sun on the window sills. She stepped over the sleeping puppy to put +the pies in the new white porcelain stove. + +In the orchard below the house, blossoms were unfolding in a pink and +white mist upon the shapes of old twisted trees and new-set nurslings. +Shooting-stars and woodsorrels wasted their fragrance and birds began to +trill, as if afraid of disturbing the air, from where they swung on +branches. Gray squirrels carped at a cub-fox gliding down the path in +the woods. Ellen, at the opened kitchen window, watched hawks sweeping +in the blue and sensed the rustle of the new season. There was the green +odor of growing. She felt the ancient promise, the wheel of earth once +more. + +She led the pinafored Jess, his short legs stumbling, to the bedroom. He +held onto the white spread, thumb in mouth, sleepy eyes fixed on her as +she laid out a diaper. She changed him, then straightened her laden body +as a birth pain came. Within her the child quickened in the darkness and +she was aware of its joy. + + + + + ABOUT THE AUTHOR + + +Helga Sandburg was born in Maywood, Illinois, spent most of her early +years in Harbert, Michigan, around the lake bend, ninety miles from +Chicago. As a youngster, she was curious about the ways of the semi-wild +country surrounding her isolated home. She mounted butterfly and leaf +collections, kept a bird-watcher’s notebook, taught her five dogs to +pull a sled over the snow-covered sand dunes of Lake Michigan’s shore, +and trained her own horses. In her father’s house, she saw pass the +great literary figures of the midwest. She served as secretary to the +poet for many years and became steeped in the tradition of American +folkway and song. _The Wheel of Earth_ casts a glance back to the +vanishing lore of the prairie farmlands. + +In 1946 Miss Sandburg’s family moved to the Great Smokies of western +Carolina. There she renewed her childhood interest in animals, raising +calves, colts, dogs, goats, cats, varieties of rabbits, Peruvian cavies, +parakeets, and hooded rats. Her animal collection was reduced to two +Siamese cats and one Doberman Pinscher when she took up residence six +years ago in Falls Church, Virginia. For two years she was employed +nearby at the Library of Congress. Currently she is at work on her +second novel. She has a son of sixteen and a daughter of fourteen. She +is the wife of Arthur D. Golby, Assistant Professor of English at The +American University in Washington, D. C. + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes + + +The original spelling was mostly preserved. All other changes are shown +here (before/after): + + [p. 24]: + ... love-lies-bleeding, marigolds and sunflowers, cranebills ... + ... love-lies-bleeding, marigolds and sunflowers, cranesbills ... + + [p. 135]: + ... dead like old man Moses Hedrick with a pitchfolk tucked + between ... + ... dead like old man Moses Hedrick with a pitchfork tucked + between ... + + [p. 329]: + ... “I will.” In a swift flood Ellen was homestick for the + old ... + ... “I will.” In a swift flood Ellen was homesick for the old ... + + [p. 344]: + ... To wish her lover goodspeed ... + ... To wish her lover godspeed ... + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78102 *** |