Dollybird (20 page)

CHAPTER 31

i
i
i

DILLAN

I'd been about
to wake Casey from his nap and head out to the field when Carla showed up to see Moira and the baby, but they were gone with Silas to look after another patient. Didn't really have time for visiting, what with how busy I was cutting the crop, but I was glad to see Carla. It was awkward being alone with her. Felt like I had twelve tongues and none of them working, and finally I told her to wait and I'd make some tea. When I was done, bits of leaves floated in the pot and I gave it a quick stir. The tin cups rattled when I set them on the wobbly table in front of her, and I felt bad I had nothing better to serve it in. It was the only time I understood Moira's attachment to her fancy china.

“She finally named her,” I said at last. “Shannon Louise.”

“It's a strong name, don't you think?”

“She had the name already picked when I first met her. Don't know why it took her so long to say it.”

“A name's an important thing,” Carla said, staring into her cup.

She glanced up real shy, and my neck grew hot. I looked over at Casey snoring in his bed, his face still flushed with tears from our struggle over nap time. I guess the world was far too interesting to give up his exploring time. Carla poured tea for both of us, pretending not to notice the floating bits, then added a little cream. I liked how her small hands wrapped themselves around the cup, her fingers wound round it to hold it close to her chest, a small appreciation in that.

“Being a doctor makes things harder for Moira,” she said. “She thinks she has more to prove than most. Most women anyway. People won't say it, but they think she's all right. You too.”

“I don't know.”

She cocked her head.

“It seems I haven't handled things very well. Farming. People,” I said, and wished I hadn't, embarrassed at the whine creeping into my voice.

“Your crops look pretty good, considering the storm.” She shrugged, her lips pinched tight like she was measuring me up. “And your animals are doing well.”

“Mule died.”

“I heard. But there was nothing you could do about that.” She stirred her tea. “Just bad luck, I'd say.”

Her grin was like a warm blanket, her words so sure. She'd set it all straight with two words – bad luck. I laughed at myself.

“And you helped Moira with the baby. The whole countryside's talking about that.” Her small face grew big and alive. “Most of the men around here would have run the other way. They're saying you saved her life. The baby's too.”

I was embarrassed she was looking at me like I was something special. “My wife, Taffy, you would have liked her,” I said to change the subject.

“Yes? I heard she died giving birth. Sorry.” She glanced at Casey. “I think she'd be glad you were able to help Moira.”

I didn't set her straight, wanted her to believe my good deed was enough, a kind of redemption. Maybe it was. We both started at the sound of a wagon driving up. She leaned in close, and I could smell something sweet in her hair.

“I think you're a good person even if others want to talk.” Her lips were warm and light on my cheek.

The wagon had stopped. A loud voice rang out. “Carla, what are you doing here?”

“Oh Lord, it's my father.”

Her fear got into me. I told myself this was my home, and we'd done nothing wrong. I opened the door and stepped outside, Carla behind me. Her father stood by the wagon, hands on hips, feet planted like trunks an axe couldn't budge. She went over to him.

“Tell Moira I was here then,” Carla said loudly. “It's too bad I missed her. I wanted to see the baby again, especially now she has a name. Shannon Louise. Isn't it beautiful, Daddy?”

He didn't say a thing, just stood there with his hooded eyes fixed on me.

“Oh, and tell Moira I'll come by to help her with the preserves, and we can get that pork salted. She'll need help, what with the baby and all,” Carla said, her words coming fast and forced.

Mr. Schmidt tied Carla's horse to the back of the wagon and heaved his large frame up. I chanced a wink at Carla and she grinned.

“The crew,” Mr. Schmidt called out. “They're on their way here.” He clucked to the horses. “You got everything cut and stooked yet?”

“What? Today?” I wasn't ready.

“The foreman says they'll start your wheat in a couple days.” He was watching me, probably hoping I'd show some sign of panic. I went to work like an idiot then, finished cutting the crop, stooked it into sheaves so they'd be ready for the crew, my heart pounding with the thought of my first harvest.

i i i

The huge thresher rolled into the Red Fife two days later as promised. I jumped off Nelly, who was suddenly nervous. Or maybe it was me making her twitchy, excited about the massive machine, the wagons, the fifteen men busy hitching horses, preparing for the day. The crew boss was hollering instructions, and the others were shouting back and forth. The work was familiar, but new too, and the excitement of it churned in my gut. I was a little crazy, worrying that the men on the wagons were pitching the stooks carelessly and leaving the odd one twisted on the ground as though that grain didn't matter. It mattered to me. And when I ran about picking them up and throwing them into the thresher, the men gave each other a look, like I was a lunatic. Screw them.

Steam poured from the machine into the clear blue day and mingled with the dust and chaff so there was a sun-drenched haze over the field. My eyes itched and I was sneezing all the time, but I ignored it. My harvest was on.

The crew was paid by the bushel. A weighing device on the thresher tripped to make every half-bushel bag. I watched for a while, jumping up to check the scale myself, though the men didn't look too happy at my being there. But I'd heard of tampering, the scale set too low, farmers being cheated. Underweight bags caused trouble at the elevators too, buyers believing it was the farmer'd done the cheating.

The hours wore on, the bags stacking up on the wagon. When it was loaded, I drove it to the yard and neatly stacked the firm canvas sacks in the small shed I'd built off the corral. I counted them out loud, and Casey recorded each with a nail mark on the wall. I couldn't get the smile off my face. It was my crop, started as nothing but dirt. I'd seen it through to the end, the results of all the sweat and fear now safely stored. I'd be able to provide. I almost laughed out loud.

“There it is Casey.” I threw him onto the top bag and spread my arms. “It's ours. All of it.”

“Yeah well.” Gabe stood in the door of the shed. “You got lucky.”

“What are you doing here?” I wanted to take a hammer to the quiver in my voice.

“Had to get a job.” He held one side of his nose and snorted a stream of snot from the other to the ground. I stepped between him and Casey sitting on the bags. “Seein's I lost everything in the storm. Need something to live on.”

I'd heard about Gabe's crops being ruined and had been quietly glad, recalling the suffering in the girl's face and the beating he'd given me. I was thankful for God's good judgment in choosing whom to smite. “Bad luck I guess.”

“Looks like you'll do all right,” he said, and laughed a mean little snort. “But good luck runs out too.” He swaggered away.

Mrs. Miller hollering “lunch” was met with a general roar from the crew at the prospect of roasted chicken, fresh bread, preserves and pies. Moira tried to be pleasant, laughing at jokes I knew she didn't think were funny, gracious when the men complimented the food. They were respectful. I wondered how they'd treat her if they knew our real situation. Afterward everyone stretched out for a short rest, some talking quiet, some sound asleep on the ground. Gabe was eyeing Moira up and down like an animal sizing up prey. He gave her tits a good long stare – full with milk they were – and smirked. I tried to catch his eye, to warn him off, but the crew boss showed up at my elbow.

“Thought you should know. We'll work late as we can tonight and start about ten tomorrow.” Joe rubbed dust out of tired, red eyes.

I hadn't trusted him at first, his accent being heavy and gutteral like Gabe's. But I'd watched him run all day, feeling bad I couldn't keep up. He was a good boss. A good man.

“The dew should burn off by then if the sun's out strong,” he said. “We'll get breakfast in town seein' as the missus has the new baby and all.” He nodded at Moira collecting plates and coffee cups.

I didn't set him straight. There were at least some things I'd learned. “She'll be thankful for that small mercy, then.”

Joe laughed and stomped over to the crew resting in the field. “Let's get back at it boys,” he hollered. “Soon as we finish here, we gotta move south.”

Row by row the thresher ate the stooks, the field left looking like a rough-shaven jaw. The end of the day brought a mix of exhaustion and happiness like I'd never known. By sunset the next day, the crop would be in.

The crew showed up a half-hour late the next morning, some holding their heads and sodding on about how much whiskey they'd drunk. Others were moaning and walking as though their private parts were all but worn off with the heroic effort it took to keep the local whores happy. Moira shook her head, disgusted, while I only hoped their carrying on wouldn't affect the day's work.

“Shut up, you idiots,” Joe hollered. “You're late and we've got plenty to do.”

The men grumbled, but quickly got to work, climbing on the equipment to grease bearings and set the machines, harnessing horses. Those with the least experience and the biggest hangovers lined up, leaning on their pitchforks, ready to feed the giant thresher. By midmorning I could see we'd be done before dusk. My heart was thumping with the thought of it, though I was about ready to drop.

Moira served lunch without Mrs. Miller, who'd gone home to prepare for their harvest. She'd laid out the meal on a large rock, and the men stood or sat in small circles eating. With the belching of the steam engine stopped, it was peaceful in the field. The whir and grind of it had egged us all on like someone standing behind you ready to kick your ass if you even thought about slacking off. I sat with my back against a wagon, picking my teeth with a sliver of wood, my belly full and eyes heavy.

Gabe headed up to the rock to help himself to seconds. Moira must have felt his breath on her neck, he was that close. My vision was blurred with the heat and dust and midday stupor, but I saw Gabe's arm brush across her chest. It took a second to clear my head, but I knew what I saw. Moira flinched and jumped back. Before she could get far enough away, he grabbed her ass. She shrieked, turned real quick and slapped his face. I couldn't believe she'd go after him and was proud of her, considering my own fear. He raised his arm to fend her off and laughed. The other men looked at me to do something.

“What are you doing?” an older man called out, and moved slowly toward Gabe.

“Don't worry, boys. She don't mind,” Gabe said, sneering.

“How dare you,” Moira said, then looked at me. Finally I found my feet and took a quick step.

“You.” Gabe pointed his stubby finger at me. “What does it matter to you? She's just a damn dollybird you found at Penny's whorehouse.”

Moira gasped and Gabe made a point of looking her up and down. “Although a mighty attractive dollybird, wouldn't you say?” He reached out and flicked at a strand of her hair. “I was with Annie last night. She says hello.”

Moira looked at me with wide eyes, asking me to help. The men seemed as shocked as I was to think she'd come from that place. She'd been living in my home, raising my child, but I didn't know her, hadn't even thought to ask, just trusting her like an idiot. Some of the men were watching Moira with growing interest, like she was on sale at Obi's hardware. Others stared at their boots. When I finally looked at Moira she was staring at me, waiting for me to stand up for her. When I didn't say a thing I saw how angry she was, the red flush creeping up her neck.

“I am a dollybird.” Her voice was loud and defiant. “And now I am a mother.”

Gabe snorted.

“And I have never sold myself to anyone,” she said to me, then turned back to Gabe. “Don't you ever touch me again.”

My ears felt hot with shame. There was hurt and disappointment in her eyes. And I knew what I'd done.

“No difference between a whore and a dollybird.” Gabe stared at me. A challenge. “Maybe you're screwing her, now the bastard baby's out of the way. Maybe you'll share her with the rest of us.”

“That's enough, Gabe,” someone muttered and walked away.

Joe came round from the back of the house. “What's going on here?” His voice was low with suspicion.

It broke the spell they'd been fixed under, and one by one the men shuffled past Moira with their heads down. House building, well digging, the tornado; she'd been through it all with me and Casey. She'd said I was a decent human being. My gut did a little leap thinking of how I'd helped bring Shannon into the world. Right then I hated myself more than I ever had. Even more, I hated Gabe for making me a coward. My tongue seemed to thaw then, rage building like a fire in my gut so it felt like flames were searing the back of my throat.