Julia's Hope (14 page)

“Had him in Sunday school,” she explained. “I was always Grandma to ’em if they needed one.”

“Nice to meet you,” the young man told us with just a smidgeon of distrust in his eyes. “Hope everything works out all right.” He took Mrs. Graham’s hand. “Good seein’ you again. Will you be makin’ it to church? Sure would be a blessing.”

“We’ll find us a way.” Mrs. Graham smiled. “It ain’t easy gettin’ nowhere no more, but I gotta get back there, at least once, to meet the preacher.”

Mrs. Graham’s young friend looked at us for a minute and then looked at the hand-painted lettering on Daniel Norse’s truck that announced him as a chimney sweep from Belle Rive.

“You need a ride on Sunday, Grandma?” he asked.

“My goodness, Charlie, you know George Hammond’s an awful lot closer than you are!” She opened her purse and handed him a dollar.

“George Hammond has his wagon full already, and they may be away awhile, what with Wilametta fixin’ to see the stork ’fore long.” He looked down at the money in his hand and calmly passed it back to her. “I’ll pay your bill ’cause it’s so good to see you again. And I’ll pick you up Sunday too. All of you, if it’s all right. I got me a car, and it’s got a backseat.”

“Well, bless you, Charlie Hunter!” Mrs. Graham exclaimed. She turned to look at me. “Ain’t he the nicest boy? Sure is gratifyin’ to see ’em come up fine.”

“That’s very kind,” I said to Charlie. “We would certainly appreciate the ride, if you’re sure you have room.”

Sam threw me a look of dismay, and I knew he wasn’t anxious to set himself before people’s faces, even in a church. What would Hazel Sharpe have to say? How would the other locals react to us? Certainly, it would be easier to keep to ourselves.

“We need to meet folks,” I told Sam with a bit of uncertainty. It might be scary the first time, especially if it was the kind of church where people did more looking at you than talking to you.

But he nodded and hugged Sarah. “It’s the thing to do. You like Sunday school, don’t you, pumpkin?”

“’Specially when they talk about Daniel,” Sarah declared. “And him being stuck in with lions!”

Mrs. Graham nodded her approval, and we thanked Charlie again for his generosity. Then we were on our way. We went past the library we’d never yet managed to visit, stopped and waited for a young man trying to pull his mule out of the road, and then were out of town.

Mrs. Graham turned to look a moment at Robert. “You like Sunday school too?”

“Only sometimes.”

“Now, Robert—” I started.

“Don’t be scoldin’ a boy bein’ honest,” Mrs. Graham said. “There’s been times I ain’t liked it too well myself. Admittin’ so ain’t wrong, in the right company, at least.”

“What’s the right company?” Sarah asked innocently.

“Your folks mostly,” Mrs. Graham answered. “And a few others you’re especially close with. But don’t be tellin’ the preacher he’s dull as old paint, and don’t be tellin’ the teacher you’d rather be fishin’. That don’t wash. You understand?”

Both kids nodded and giggled at the same time. “Do you still teach Sunday school?” Robert asked.

“Lands, no. I’ve not been there in such a time. Guess it’s Bonnie Gray for the youngsters now. It’d be a sight more than I could handle anymore, I expect.”

“You haven’t been to church?” Sarah asked in surprise.

“Oh, I’ve been. But not m’ home church. And it just ain’t the same. Rita goes to the Methydist in Belle Rive, and they’s good enough folks. I just always look forward to m’ own, you know. I come forward and asked to be baptized when I was about eight, and they took me out to Ollander’s pond the very same day and dunked me. I reckon I’ve been happy ever since.”

“Does it hurt?” Sarah asked.

“Does what hurt?”

“Gettin’ dunked.”

“Oh, Lordy, no! You just go down and then you comes back up, and everybody hugs on you like it was the greatest thing they ever saw happen! And I reckon it is too, when you think on it.”

“I like swimming,” Robert volunteered. “But it don’t sound much like swimming.”

“Oh, when they have ’em a baptism in summer, sometimes they make up a picnic, and the young’uns all go swimmin’ after. There ain’t nothin’ to beat that for good fun, that’s for sure. They used to dunk ’em out to our pond now and again, after Ollander’s got sold. And I’d be busy then, makin’ pies for all the folks.”

We were quiet for a moment, letting Mrs. Graham reflect on the happy memories as we turned onto the country road where we’d nearly been stranded by the storm.

Mrs. Graham suddenly sat up straight. “I ain’t even seen the place in such awhile! It’s not gone down too bad, now has it?”

What would she think was too bad? “We’ve been working at it,” I said. “But it takes awhile.”

“Oh, I know it. Growed up in weeds, I bet, ain’t it?”

We reached the end of her lane and none of us said a word. Mrs. Graham just looked and kept on looking after the truck had stopped as near to the house as it could go.

“You want I carry you inside?” Mr. Norse asked her.

“I’m in no hurry for that,” she declared. “Just look, will you? Ain’t it the best thing there is, now, a farm so good and peaceful? The house, it don’t look too much different. Barn’s a sight. But that’s an old barn for you. They don’t live forever. Maybe we can take down the east side and save this here end. You think so, Mr. Wortham?”

“It sounds reasonable, Mrs. Graham,” he said. “But I haven’t the slightest idea how to manage it.”

She turned and looked at him. “Well, now. You’re honest as your boy is. I like you both for it.”

Mr. Norse had gotten out of the truck. “Where do you want your chickens?”

“Put ’em in the coop,” Mrs. Graham declared and eyed Sam again. “Have you looked about the coop? Is it sound?”

“Yes, ma’am. I think so.”

“Good,” she declared. “Best shut ’em in it till they pick ’em a roost and get used to it. So they don’t wander too far.”

Mr. Norse took hold of a chicken crate and started for the henhouse. Sam jumped up and followed him with another crate, and then Robert jumped up too.

“Can I take the rooster?” he asked me.

“Sure,” I told him. “But keep back at first if they let him out. He may peck.”

I wondered about Samuel and the chickens. Would Mr. Norse expect him to turn them out of the crates? Samuel had never had chickens and had never touched one that wasn’t dead. What would he and the kids do when the time came to butcher one?

That was one of many things they’d learn, I decided, but it was not for worrying on now. It would be awhile before we could butcher. We’d need more than four laying hens, that was certain. And thank God for Rita McPiery’s rooster! We could have a brood before long.

When Mrs. Graham was finally ready to get out of the truck, the strawberry patch interested her most. With her two canes she hopped in that direction, with me beside her, wondering how in the world to help. Mr. Norse came out of the chicken house and ran toward her, giving me a frightful look.

“Mrs. Graham, now let me get you where you’re going,” he said quickly. “You don’t have to do that!”

“Let me be!” she said, stopping him short. “I was man-agin’ ’fore I ever met you, Daniel, and I ain’t gonna be pinin’ for them strong shoulders to haul me around once you’re gone home! This is my farm, and I’m gonna get myself around all I can out here, even if it kills me!”

Samuel had followed Mr. Norse from the chicken coop and was looking at me gravely. I knew what he was thinking.
What if she overdoes herself or falls and gets hurt? What
have we gotten ourselves into?
And I couldn’t help thinking about what Hazel Sharpe had said about Mrs. Graham not having real sense. What if she was right, at least in some small way?

Mrs. Graham got as far as the shed, stopped to catch her breath, and dropped one of the canes. I tried to pick it up for her, and she waved me back, then dropped the other cane. Quick as anything, she slid down to her knees and looked up at me with a smile. “Now don’t you worry. Ol’ Emma’s been exactly in this spot afore.”

Moving slow and looking at the yard around her at the same time, Mrs. Graham began to crawl along steadily toward the strawberries. “They says you go back t’ your youth when you’re old,” she said with a chuckle. “Ain’t all bad either. I found me a viola already.” She stopped and pulled a handful of grass from around the tiny flower I hadn’t even noticed.

“We’ll get us a trowel later and put this at the garden’s edge,” she told me. “It’ll get cut here for sure.”

Why the little thing was so important to her, I failed to understand, and I wasn’t the only one. Behind me, Samuel and Mr. Norse were both watching her in silence.

“Whatcha still standin’ around for?” she demanded of them suddenly. “You might just as well be takin’ m’ things inside, now don’t you think?” She turned her eyes to me. “You be sure and draw Mr. Norse a drink before he goes. Nothing wrong with the well pump is there?”

“Oh no, ma’am,” I answered nervously.

“Sure wish you’d call me Emma regular,” she said. “Would sound nice comin’ from you, and the young’uns too. Sarey, come here and help me look ’round for m’ hop toad.”

Sarah ran to her from where she’d stood in silence, holding my hand.

“Hop toad? You got one of your own?”

“I find me one every year,” Emma said with a smile. “Put him smack in the middle of m’ garden and there he stays, keeping back all the bugs he can eat.”

“He’s in the basement!” Sarah announced with excitement. “I seen him there!”

“Well, now. That’s a fine place for one too. I’d leave him alone and hope for another out here. The more the merrier.”

She glanced over to see that the men were unloading but still watching her. She sighed. “I must be an awful sight to behold. Ain’t it so, Mrs. Wortham?”

“You just surprised us, being so determined. And please call me Julia.”

“I told Rita I’d be back the day I seen m’self burdenin’ you. I ain’t gonna be carried all over. I ain’t havin’ it.”

“You’ve got to let us help you.”

“I will. When I need it.”

She crawled on into the patch of strawberries. “Well. This ain’t as bad as I expected. Could be a decent crop yet. Might have to beat off Wilametta Hammond with a stick.”

She sat down among the plants and began pulling weeds like she could think of nothing better to do with her first few moments home.

Robert came up beside me with a long white feather in his hand. “What she needs is one of them chairs with wheels.”

I put my arm around him and nodded slowly, not thinking she’d heard. But she had.

“Nobody around here’s got one,” she said. “Not even the doctor. And I ain’t got the money to be orderin’ such a contraption.”

“How much is it?” Robert blurted out before I had a chance to stop him.

“I don’t remember. Too much, that’s all.”

My son walked past us toward the porch. He said nothing more, but I could see how Emma’s admission had shaken him. Somehow he’d expected her to be our cushion, with money to see us through, even though I had told him not to ask for any. I wished I could tell him not to worry so much.

“Don’t you fret, now,” Emma said, telling him for me. “The good Lord provides everythin’ we can’t do without, and a plenty more besides.”

She turned to me when she got no response from Robert. “He’s ahead of his years some, ain’t he? Far as thinkin’ ahead, I mean.”

“Maybe so.”

“Nothing to worry about. He’ll be a fine fella one day. Maybe even a preacher. Leastways, somebody to want to help folks, I’ll bet.”

I saw Robert’s sideways glance at me and the question in his eyes. Preacher? He wanted to make bicycles or maybe radios, if he could do it off by himself, without people looking on.

When Sam and Mr. Norse came out of the house to get the last couple of bags, she looked up at me again. “Would you mind getting Daniel a bite or two when he’s finished, Julia? It’d be the kind thing to do, seein’ as he brung us out here. Open up some peaches if you ain’t got nothin’ else cooked. And make sure he has himself a drink.”

“I’m not sure he’ll leave till he sees you into the house.”

Emma shook her head. “I’ll go in if it makes him happy. I’ll be wantin’ to take a look at it anyway. But I’ll be comin’ right back out, where folks belong on such a day as this. Ain’t it the finest weather? Fetch me m’ hat, will you, Sarey?”

Sarah’s head popped up in surprise. She looked at me, and I told her where Sam had put the gardening hat we’d found. I didn’t know of any other hat.

I felt a little funny, leaving her among the strawberries, but she assured me she was fine. And she’d given me a job to do. Feed Mr. Norse. And if I was going to do that, I ought to feed him more than Mrs. McPiery’s home-canned peaches, at least for appearance’s sake.

I ended up asking Mr. Norse to dinner, but he politely declined. All he ate were some peaches smothering a syrup-soaked biscuit, which he said was a fine treat.

Emma was sitting in her rocker in the sitting room when he left. She stared a long time at the big bare windows and then announced that she didn’t want me to put her curtains back up.

“It’d be a shame to cover all that sunshine,” she said, “and have anything at all in the way of m’ view. Just got ’em years ago ’cause folks thought you ought to have ’em.”

She was well satisfied with the way I had fixed her room, with the lace doilies and one of the kerosene lamps on the dresser. She propped Sarah’s picture up on one of the doilies, but she didn’t have a mind to unpack her bags or go through any of the things she’d left behind. True to her word, she wanted to get back outside.

Samuel helped her to the garden, where she inspected our work with a frown. “You done all right with what you had,” she said, “but the ground ought to be cultyvated better’n that if you want some fine eatin’ out of it.” She looked up at Samuel. “You’re gonna hafta go over to George Hammond and get me back m’ push plow.”

I knew Sam didn’t relish the idea of marching up to the neighbor and asking for anything, even if it was the return of Emma’s property. But he took her simple directions with no argument and started off with Robert at his side. I busied myself by helping Emma with her renewed attack on the weeds in her strawberry patch, while Sarah went looking for toads beneath the newly spreading rhubarb leaves.