Wings of a Dream (10 page)

“I’m here, James. Bekah’s here.” Rocking back and forth, I imagined myself a child without mother or father to comfort and console. And it wasn’t such a foreign feeling, with Mama so ill and Daddy far away. I stroked James’s hair. I could manage for myself, but what could I do for this little one who dreamed of falling into a dark hole like Miss Ada?

“ ‘Rock of Ages, cleft for me . . .’ ” It started as a hum, the words finally coming clear in my mind and whiling their way out my mouth. “ ‘Let me hide myself in Thee.’ ”

James’s chin drooped toward his chest. I sensed he’d never been fully awake. His weight sank into me. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the wall, as if it were indeed the Rock of Ages holding me upright.

Night air seeped through my flannel gown and prickled my flesh. “Let’s go, little man,” I whispered. “We both need some sleep.”

I made it to my feet and stumbled into the next room, where I laid my little-boy bundle on the bed. Then I crawled in beside him, wrapped my arms around his small body, and prayed neither of us would dream of dark, muddy holes in the earth.

A few hours later, I again scrubbed my hands over the washbasin in the kitchen. My skin burned, but ever since I’d walked into the Crenshaws’ house, the newspaper articles assaulted my mind with searing clarity. Stay away from crowds. Stay away from those who have the disease. Cover your mouth. Wash your hands.

I’d been careless to take us into town. But there’d be no more taking chances. I’d protect these children from the enemy influenza as surely as their father protected them from the evil Huns. I would care for them and this house and this farm in Aunt Adabelle’s stead. Frank would come home, and I’d have the satisfaction of a duty done well when I headed off into my new life.

We finished breakfast and chores. Then I sat down to think through our days. We needed a plan. Ollie and James gathered close around me. Dan wandered to the corner to stack wooden blocks while Janie sat at my feet, mesmerized by a rag doll. I drew a line down an empty page, forming two columns: OUTSIDE and INSIDE.

“Let’s see. There’s Ol’ Bob.”
Cow—milk morning and night,
I wrote under OUTSIDE. “And the chickens.”
Feed hens and gather eggs.

I tapped the pencil against my lips. “There’s a slop barrel, but no pig.”

“Pig’s loose in the woods until butcherin’ time,” Ollie said.

“Daddy said she eats acorns out there.” James put his elbows on the table next to my paper and rested his chin in his hands.

“How’ll we get him back?” I asked.

Two blank looks and raised shoulders answered me. I sighed and moved on. “The horse and mules must be fed and their stalls mucked out. And the garden needs to be readied for winter.”

“Sounds right.” The look of concentration on Ollie’s face reminded me of Mama. I shot up a prayer for her healing before returning to my list.

“Inside, we have laundry and housecleaning. The fires must be kept banked. Fill the lamps, trim their wicks. Air and make the beds. And we must keep the linen around the evaporative cooler wet or our milk will get hot and spoil.”

“And bring in wood and water,” James added. “That’s my job.” He pulled himself up straight.

“And me,” Dan chimed in from his place on the floor.

“And take care of the baby and bake and cook dinner and—” Ollie tilted her head in my direction. “Bekah, you ever done all this before?”

“Of course I have.” But never all at once, without any help. And never with children underfoot, either. “Don’t you worry, I know just what to do.”

“Miss Ada never had to make herself a list like that.” Ollie pointed to my dark words on the white paper. “Mama, either.”

I chewed the inside of my bottom lip. I needed Ollie’s help. I needed her to believe in me, to be on my side. I forced aside my uncertainty. “I made this list for y’all,” I said. “I wanted to make sure you knew what we needed to do every day.”

Ollie scrunched her nose at me, as if she saw straight through my bluff.

My gaze wavered, wandering to the window, wishing for more confidence. Perhaps a large dose of fresh air would restore my confidence. “If we’re going to take care of this farm, I need to see something more than the barnyard. Who wants to show me?”

A chorus of shouts answered.

I laughed, really laughed, for the first time since I’d arrived. And it felt good. More like me. I picked up Janie and headed for the door, the children gamboling about my feet like lambs in springtime.

We romped through sparse woods and along a slow-moving creek.

“Daddy lets me pick cotton sometimes.” James puffed out his small chest.

“Me, too,” Dan added. James scowled in his direction while Ollie sniffed like a disapproving old woman.

I looked over bare fields and remembered the thick mud that had clung to our shoes during that last bout of rain. And although I recognized the empty cotton bolls and knew the crop had been harvested before I arrived, I had no idea what came next in the process. “Does your daddy plant mostly cotton?”

Ollie answered this time. “Of course. Cotton’s the cash crop. Over there”—she pointed to a field more familiar to my eye—“he grows some corn. But that’s to feed us and the animals.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “At least that’s what Mama always said.”

I caught her small hand in mine and squeezed, hoping that one small act conveyed the words of sympathy I couldn’t trust myself to speak. My gaze roved over the fields. I didn’t know much about cotton farming. A few around Downington planted cotton, but my daddy and the others I knew grew mostly corn. Row upon row upon row of green stalks producing fat, yellow ears.

Then it occurred to me to wonder how in the world Aunt Adabelle had gotten both the corn and cotton crops out of the fields and to the mill and the gin on her own, four little ones in tow. Did she hire help? Did she take to the fields herself? I quaked at the thought. Mama would have a fit if she thought she’d sent me to a place where a lady would stand in the blistering sun and pull cotton from the bur by hand.

From our place in the far corner of the fallow field, I spied a small house in the distance, smoke puffing through a pipe in the roof. “Who lives there?” I asked.

“That’s the Lathams’ house. Brother Latham is the preacher.”

The hound-dog-looking man. At least we had neighbors. That gave some comfort—until a familiar horse and buggy pulled into view and stopped at the small house. The scruffy-faced doctor almost ran inside. I turned away, fear and compassion warring within me. Did they have the influenza there, too? I shuddered.

“Let’s get back to the house.” I herded the children in the direction we’d come. They complied, their mouths rambling on and on as we walked. But I didn’t hear their words. I kept looking over my shoulder and remembering that the Spanish flu hovered nearby.

I
dawdled over breakfast on Saturday morning, my nerves stretched as thin as cotton thread on a spinning wheel. I’d still had no word from Arthur. Was he ill?

“Listen, Bekah.” Dan’s head jutted from his neck as he strained to hear a sound.

“I don’t hear—”

“Someone’s comin’!” James raced into the kitchen and out again. The rest of us stumbled after him like shipwreck survivors catching sight of a passing ship.

Sheriff Jeffries’s Model T stopped close to the fence, its engine sputtering into quiet. The sheriff climbed out of the car, shook the dust from his coat. “Thought you might like some help around here.”

The children raced down the porch steps. Sheriff Jeffries swung Dan up in the air, but his eyes never left my face. I bit my lip and concentrated on Janie as she painted the shoulder of my clean blouse with her half-gnawed teacake. I sighed. Maybe I could make myself a bigger apron.

I switched Janie from one hip to the other. In spite of my worry over Arthur and Mama, the sight of the sheriff set me in a more playful mood. “Do we need help?” I hollered. “Well, let me see. I don’t know as we have any lawbreakers to be hauled off to jail. You boys seen any outlaws?”

Dan and James giggled, and the sheriff grinned as he swiped his hat from his head and twirled it round and round his fingers. “Figured you might like a break from farm chores. I don’t imagine it’s easy for a slip of a girl like you to take care of it all.”

I pulled my shoulders back and lifted my chin, my good humor retreating a bit. “I do just fine, thank you.”

He held up his hands. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. Just bein’ neighborly.”

I studied his eager eyes, trying to decide if I should be offended or flattered. But unlike Mama, I never could stay offended long. I threw him a grin. “You do the rest of my barnyard work, and I promise a filling dinner in return.”

“My pleasure.” He bowed at the waist and slapped his hat on his head.

Now it was my turn to blush. Help sounded wonderful, as did company, but did I sense something more in his manner? I ought to turn the conversation to Arthur during dinner. That would make it clear that my future was spoken for.

Janie screeched for my attention.

“I’ll clean her up.” Ollie took the baby while I brushed mush from my sleeve. Until my fingers froze in horror. What had I been thinking? I’d invited a single man to dine with me without a chaperone. Not just a conversation, but sharing a meal. Yes, the children would be with us, but what if Arthur chanced to hear of it? Or Mama?

My cheeks blazed now. I covered the heat with my hands. I couldn’t rescind the invitation. My gaze roamed wildly over the barren yard. Then an idea surfaced. A picnic. I could spread a quilt here, in the front yard. In full view of the road. Yes, that would be more proper. And quite an adventure. I’d never attempted a picnic in October.

“Ollie?”

She answered from the kitchen.

I met her there, plunged my hands into the wash water, and scrubbed them hard. “Ollie, we’re going to have a picnic for dinner. Under the big oak in the front yard.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Picnics are for summertime, out by the creek.”

“Well, we’re having an autumn picnic, here at home. I’ll need your help.”

Ollie dried Janie’s face with a dish towel, her muttered words indistinct.

A storm gathered in my chest, readying to spew its fearful fury. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.” Ollie cast a sullen glance in my direction, picked up her sister, and left the room.

Saturday’s Hooverizing sacrifice was pork, so I couldn’t cook up the bit of salt pork we had left. Yet the thought of killing and plucking and cooking a chicken made me tired. On meatless days, Mama often baked vegetables into a pie, so I did the same. And with the last of the figs I’d found in the cellar, a pudding for dessert.

By midafternoon, I sat back against the tree, my own plate empty while the sheriff forked seconds, then thirds, into his mouth. Although vegetable pie wasn’t typical picnic fare, he didn’t seem to mind.

The children chased each other in a game of tag, their laughter ringing in the air. Only Janie sat on the blanket with us, trying to crawl past my reach.

“So tell me, Sheriff. What does a lawman do with his time in a sleepy town like this?”

He wiped his mouth with his napkin and set aside his empty plate. “Lots more than you think, Miss Hendricks.”