Dorothy Garlock (17 page)

With all her heart, Ana wished she had insisted on going to Mrs. Larson’s. The tension of the last few days, the scene with Esther this morning, the long walk and the talk with Owen, all had combined to give her a splitting headache. She shut her eyes tightly. When she opened them, Owen had stopped the buggy near the barn and was looking at her.

“Are you sick?”

Their eyes met and held. The eyes looking so intently into hers were full of concern. For her? How could that be? She wondered what went on in that head of his. He was kind one minute and so remote the next. A strong, unidentifiable emotion held her eyes to his. For just an instant they were enclosed in a timeless world, seeming to come close to each other, spirit moving effortlessly toward spirit.

“I’m all right,” she murmured. “Just tired.”

“It’s no wonder. You walked more than four miles carrying that babe.” His eyes searched her face. Then he shook his head, as though denying his thoughts.

“I’ve walked much farther than that many times, and carrying just as heavy a load.” Ana shook herself out of what seemed to be a trance. Glory! What was the matter with her? She didn’t have to explain anything to him.

He seemed to sense her return to reality. His eyes moved past her to the house, then back to hers. A stern look covered a face that needed a shave and was streaked with dirt and sweat.

“Stay here.” A sigh shuddered through him.

Ana nodded, her eyes questioning, his giving no answer.

Esther was still there. He could hear her in the kitchen—singing. Good Lord! When was the last time he had heard his sister sing? If he was going to change the pattern of his life he had to do it now, and she was not going to make it easy for him.

“Thine eyes hath seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword; His truth is marching on.”

When he opened the screen door and came into the house, Esther turned from the stove.

“Your dinner’s ready,” she called out with a bright smile on her face. “I had to hold back on the custard or Uncle Gus and Soren would have eaten it all. Laws! I don’t know where that Soren puts all those vittles. He’ll eat us out of house and home before the summer is over. Wash up and sit down, Owen. I’ll pour your coffee.”

“Esther?”

“John Brown’s body lies a-mouldrin’ in the grave, John Brown’s body lies a-mouldrin’ in the grave. John Brown’s body—”

“Stop it, Esther. I want to talk to you.”

“Yes, Owen.”

“I told you to go home.”

“Oh, that!” She laughed—it came out a high cackling sound. “I knew you didn’t mean it. It’ll take us a while to get back to normal, but—”

“I meant it, Esther. You can’t go on like this, dividing your time between my house and yours.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake! Is that what’s bothering you? I’ve been doing it for . . . years. Hettie and Lily can do the work over there. Now sit down and eat. I made ham gravy to go on potatoes and cornbread. I fried hominy in bacon fat the way you like it. In a week or two I’ll pick you a nice mess of fresh greens.” She turned back to the stove and hummed while she prepared to dish up the food.

“Esther, please hush and listen! We’ve got to settle this once and for all. Go on home. I’ll come over tonight and we’ll talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about except the farm. You’re behind with the planting. Why don’t you hire the Watson boys to come over and help? They’ll work for twenty-five cents a day. If you don’t want to do that, Lily will help.” She let out a snort of disgust. “I’ve planted many a field.” With her back to him, she lifted a cloth from a huge round bowl. “This bread dough needs to be punched down a couple more times before I can bake it. I made it with potato water this time.”

Owen followed his sister to the counter. With his hands on her shoulders he turned her gently toward him.

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, sister. But I want you to go home and stay there. You should be doing all these things for Jens, Hettie and Lily.” He shook her shoulders gently. “Do you understand?”

Esther’s eyes filled with tears and Owen’s heart filled with pity as he looked at her homely face and large, floppy ears. He felt anger, but he also felt frustrated and guilty. He had selfishly allowed her to do for him since he’d come back to the farm to stay, and now she felt that he was being unforgivably cruel. She was suffering, too, or she would never have given way to the tears.

“I’ll go, if you’re so bound and determined. I’ll be back tomorrow to do the washing. But first I’ll clean up and lay out something for your supper.”

“No,” he said gently. “You don’t have to clean up or cook for me or do my washing.”

“Why are you keeping on like this?” she screeched suddenly. “You don’t want me here because . . . of
her
!”

“I’ll always want you. You’re my sister and you’re very dear to me. But the way things are now, it isn’t fair to you and it isn’t fair to me.” He spoke in a quiet tone with a tense note of urgency running through it. “If you won’t turn loose here, I’ll have to take the boy and go live somewhere else.”

“Go live somewhere else?” she echoed, her voice strangled. “I’m not good enough now! Is that it? I was good enough after Mama died—good enough for Papa . . . good enough to keep him from beating you senseless! I worked like a dog to keep you and Paul alive! Do you think
he
would have cared if you died? Ha!
He
cared only about how much work you could do and—”

“I know all that. I’m grateful, Esther. But that was then; this is now.”

She jerked her shoulders from his hands and stepped back, anger in every line of her thin body and bony face.

“You don’t want me near that prissy, sweet-smelling city whore. I’m not blind; I saw her parading around in her wrapper in front of you and Soren. I saw you looking at her with lust in your eyes and Soren panting after her like she was a bitch in heat—which she is!”

“Now stop it,” he said sternly. “You’ve no right to talk about Mrs. Fairfax that way.”

Esther was so worked up that his words fell on deaf ears.

“She’ll not plant and tend the garden with those lily-white hands of hers. Nor will the cellar be full for winter. Do you think she’ll help you slaughter a hog and scrape its hide? Who will cook for the thrashers and help you pick corn when there’s snow on the ground? I did all that. I worked in the field from sunup to sundown and if I didn’t do enough, I got a whipping.”

“So did I. That’s all in the past.”

“I’ll not let Hettie and Lily come help her. You could have Lily if you’re so anxious to have a woman in your bed.”

“Enough!” Owen was rapidly loosing his patience.

“Enough!” she mimicked. “It was never enough for Papa, and you know it!” Eyes hard and bright glared at him with hatred. “Take the bitch! You and Pa are just alike! He’d’ve had her on her back before she got her hat off. At least you waited till you buried that slut you married.”

“Hush that kind of talk!”

“You don’t like to hear the truth. You’re just like Paul. He couldn’t stand it either.” She took a deep breath and let it out through quivering lips. “Do you think I don’t know what you’re up to? You want to get between her legs, and your sister is in the way.”

Owen looked at his sister’s hate-twisted face in numbed silence. Her accusations hurt. He knew that she had a sharp tongue and was terribly protective of this house and what she considered “Mama’s things.” Owen also knew she resented Harriet, resented Ana and the baby. But during the past week, she had shown a vicious side of her nature he’d not seen before. Was she demented as Ana had thought she was? He had to get Esther out of here so that he could think.

“I’ll go hitch up your buggy. You go on home and think about the things you’ve said; and if you don’t realize how wrong you are, I’m sorry for you.”

Owen left the house, went directly to the pen beside the barn, and brought out the horse. While he harnessed the animal, a dull ache spread throughout his body. He had been ten years old and Esther fourteen when their mother died giving birth to Paul. Only three of her eight children had survived. The other five were buried in the church cemetery in White Oak. Esther had stepped into her mother’s place. Oh, God! He didn’t want to think of the cold-hearted, bestial instincts that were passed down to his father by his grandfather. He and Paul had escaped the curse, but was it just now coming out in Esther? And what of little Harry?

Owen finished hitching the animal to the buggy and led him toward the house. Esther came out of the house and walked across the yard, her back ramrod straight. She climbed into the buggy, refusing Owen’s offered hand.

“I’ll be over tonight after supper. I didn’t want to do this, Esther. But after a while you’ll come to realize it’s better for both of us.” Owen handed her the reins.

She snatched them from his hands without looking at him and jerked cruelly on the left rein, turning the animal around in the yard. Owen stood for a moment, watching the buggy proceed down the lane, then went to where Ana and the baby waited.

*   *   *

It had seemed to Ana that Owen was in the house for a long time. She had heard Esther singing, then only snatches of voices. The longer she waited the more convinced she became that she couldn’t stay here, even married to Owen. He hadn’t protected Harriet from his sister. Why would he protect her? A vision of Harriet’s hands tied to the bed and a gag in her mouth floated before Ana’s eyes.

“Oh, honey—” Ana groaned, her grief rising as if to smother her.

Ana had to believe that Owen wasn’t aware of Esther’s treatment of Harriet. He had been as shocked as she was when he saw the condition of Harriet’s bed. And Harriet had clung to Owen, had not said one word against him. He’d been good to her. But still he hadn’t loved her as she had loved him.

Esther didn’t come out of the house until Owen had finished hitching the horse. Ana tried to feel pity for the woman but couldn’t find even a spark of it in her heart. She was just grateful that she didn’t have to face her.

When Owen came to the buggy and held out his arms for the child, his face was lined with worry. He held the child in the crook of his arm and extended his hand to help her down. Ana put hers into it. His hand, large, strong and rough, held hers gently as if he feared he would crush it. Her eyes rose to meet his and in them she saw flickering shadows of anxiety and something else that caused her heart to flutter. Was it tender regard for her?

“She didn’t want to go,” Ana said almost breathlessly as she took the infant from him.

“No,” he said softly, regretfully. “She didn’t want to go.”

“I’m sorry. It will only be for a few days.”

He frowned slightly. “Go on in. I’ll bring your bag and the rest of the things after I unhitch.”

Ana went to the house feeling a little light-headed. For the life of her she couldn’t understand this man who had married Harriet. One minute she despised him, the next she pitied him, admired him, or she was terribly aware of him as a man.

Holding the child in one arm, she opened the screen door and stepped into the kitchen. Out of the bright sunlight, her eyes took a few seconds to focus, and when they did, she stood stock still, her mouth forming a silent O.

The kitchen looked as if it had been stuck by a tornado. Ana shook her head in silent denial of what she was seeing. Food from the pots on the stove, as well as the plates, had been dumped on the floor along with coffee beans, sugar, milk, and butter. The flour barrel was rolled on its side, spilling a white path from the counter to the table. A big glob of bread dough, apparently beaten with a stick of stove-wood, lay on the floor in front of the range. Gravy, hominy and boiled potatoes were splattered on the table, the stove, and the floor. A pan of custard sat in the middle of the table with the smoke-blackened coffee pot smashed down into the middle of it.

A dark smoke rose from molasses burning on the range top. The thick syrup had also been dribbled over the eating table and the chairs. Now the jug lay on the floor, the syrup oozing out and spreading into a path of cornmeal. Amid this frenzied destruction, dozens of broken eggs splattered the walls and the floor.

Silent with shock, Ana stood, her feet glued to the floor by the muck Esther had left behind her, and stared at the devastation.

I
t
seemed to Ana that she had stood there forever before she heard Owen’s step on the porch. Unwilling to walk through the mess to reach the bedroom, she waited just inside the door. As he stepped into the kitchen, her travel bag in one hand, packages in the other, his foot slipped in the slimy mess on the floor.

“What the hell!” he snarled as he regained his balance. Then he sucked in his breath and stared in disbelief at the havoc. “Godamighty! What in the world happened here?”

There was a long moment’s silence while he tried to cope with the reality that his sister, in the short time it had taken him to hitch her horse to the buggy, had created this mess.