Authors: Anne J. Steinberg
This one
– she who stood in his kitchen – was not her. He was as responsible as those who had defiled her, for his lack of faith. As sure as blue and red make purple, that day was the last time he felt any emotion.
Sorrow
– regret – had passed him by. He felt old and tired; he knew that other birthdays would not bother him now. Life was just a series – another day, another problem.
Here was another day, another problem.
After hearing about Bruce’s accident he had made a commitment, telling the sheriff at the autopsy that he would sign papers to be legal guardian for Bruce now that his mother was gone. Maybe he’d put it off till tomorrow. He knew how Elizabeth hated afflictions. He knew how she would abhor a blind man stumbling about the house. He had planned on Bruce being housed in the cabin.
It was Allison who had noticed them.
She was sitting in the window in her peignoir, painting her nails, listless now that it was September; business was bad. She cursed fate and wondered if St. Louis would be any livelier. Now that the stories had circulated about the Judge’s woman being public property, Allison had tried over the summer to interest him. She had seen him playing cards at the Eagle’s nest…she lounged on the jukebox, winked at him when he looked up from the cards, the smoke making a halo over his head, but he had stared right through her. Times were tough; with winter coming, they wouldn’t be getting any better. She watched now as the old woman led Bruce down the road to the river. It was a pathetic sight. She held one of his hands in her gnarled paw that was bent and twisted with arthritis – some said people got it from living by the water. Hell, she wouldn’t be here long enough to get that old. Bruce’s other hand clawed at the air in constant motion. She looked at them with distaste yet knew, as winter came, even a blind man with two bucks would be welcome…even a dummy. Hell, she laughed, he was both!
Watching their slow progress up t
he hill, she wondered where they could be going. After what seemed an eternity, they reached the bridge. They couldn’t be fishing; they had no poles. And it was far too cold for bathing. Watching them made her feel superior. She was only thirty – no afflictions, still had good trade, all her own teeth.
“
Jeez, ain’t they a pair?” she said with contempt.
“
Who?” asked Marcella, coming over to the window.
They both laughed.
“Ain’t they something?” Allison said, distaste again curling her lips.
They watched, str
uck dumb, when they realized what the woman intended. Lifting one leg over the rail, they saw the motion of her head talking rapidly to Bruce. Now the other leg was painfully lifted over the rail, both hands pulling him through, coaxing.
“
For Christ sakes,” they said together. “Look what she’s making him do!”
Both women ran screaming from the house; their screams were heard.
People started looking out of windows, and both ladies ran to the bridge, their high-heeled house slippers making clunking sounds in the road. She had succeeded.
They were both in the water, the greenish water covering her gray head.
She didn’t struggle against it; she was pulling him down, down with her. The dummy now knew, and he fought, trying to tear the claw from his arm that held on like fingers of steel.
Bruce
’s head bobbed up and under, blind eyes open wide. His mouth yawned, hoping to scream, yet when he had his wind, that hand kept pulling him under. His long stringy hair was plastered wetly across his face, the unseeing eyes peering through.
Without thinking, Allison tore off her robe, leaned far out over the railing and dangled it before him.
He touched the rayon – and his hand clutched and tore trying to climb the mysterious ladder that had been offered to him. It was a struggle. With one hand he held onto the lifeline, and with the other his mother held him fast. An eddy caught them, and in slow motion they began to rotate, the cloth twisting, growing shorter with each rotation.
A voice beside her said:
“Allison, you’re brilliant. You’re a real smart girl; the dummy can’t swim.” And he was thrown the lasso by the sheriff. It stuck under one armpit, and it took several men to haul him up. Down in the water they could see the strands of gray hair floating, now whirling, faster and faster, until the whirlpool sucked her under. Allison was elated. They bought drinks, and she felt full of good will. The Judge came, and the drinks were free. Allison felt important, like maybe somebody would suggest giving her a medal or something. It was after a time when heads spun, the men got awfully drunk, and she smacked Marcella right in front of everybody. It was Marcella who said it: “Jeez…that was stupid. Why’d you have to save him, a blind dummy? He’d have been better off down there with his mama; those two never been apart.”
Allison began crying in her beer.
The shock of seeing William forced Katherine’s head down to stare at the floor. Already his wife had lost interest in her and had followed him out of the kitchen, indicating that the whole affair of what to do with the stranger was up to Hannah. William had okayed it, telling Tom to run down and clean the cabin. Hannah plopped a big bowl of stew in front of her, looked her in the eye, and with an unbelievable fierceness said, “Don’t you cause any trouble, you hear?”
“
No, ma’am,” Katherine agreed, gulping the stew, burning her tongue in the process.
The housekeeper bustled about the ste
amy pots and the gleaming gas stove. “Supper’s late on account of you. Judge’s home and supper’s late.” She tended the pots and oven intermittently, packing a box, putting in several cups with broken handles, the oldest fry pan, two towels that were worn through, a couple of sheets. She left the room, coming back with several garments over her arm. “These are the Missus’. You can have ‘em – she was giving them to the church rummage sale anyway.”
Katherine looked around the sleek kitchen.
It was very different from the one at the hotel. Every modern convenience that existed was here – the large gas stove, a gleaming electric refrigerator, counters abounding with appliances, blenders, toasters, mixers. There was no frugality practiced here.
Tom returned, and Hannah asked him to carry the boxes up to the cabin for her.
She dismissed Katherine with a second warning. “Now you go on. Cabin ain’t much, but it’s out of the cold. Don’t you make the Missus sorry that she let you stay.”
Nodding, Kathe
rine mumbled her thank yous and started after Tom, through the woods that had grown dark.
The back door reopened, and a shaft of light cut through the path.
“Wait, wait up!” Katherine went back, and Hannah pushed a bag into her hands. “I almost forgot – cabin’s got no electricity. There’s matches and candles… What did you say your name was again?”
“
Katherine – Katherine Sheahan.”
Thorns cut through her thin-soled shoes as she followed Tom to the cabin.
She was too tired to even think. It felt odd to know he lived here, a different life than the one he had in Room 8 at the hotel. This slim blonde woman was the same he had told her of. “She has nothing,” he had said. She looked back at the magnificent house – she knew he probably sat beside the fireplace with her…and this was the woman he had described as having nothing. She didn’t understand them – men, women. She understood the toad skittering at her foot much, much better.
She followed Tom into the cabin, where he lit a candle, and putting it in the holder,
placed it on the sturdy table for her. He mumbled a goodnight under his breath…he didn’t like it, not one bit, taking in strangers. His wife and the Missus were fools for anyone with a good story. Maybe barren women were like this – always lookin’ for strays. Well, he wasn’t taken in. There was more to this than met the eyes. He would watch her carefully.
Alone now, Katherine looked around the cabin.
It had a cold, unused feeling, a faint smell of must. Still, it was secure and well-built, and it kept out the wind rattling around the windows. She noticed a small black wood-stove. It would do fine. A faint warmth emitted from it; she was grateful that he had laid a fire. The double bed had a thick feather quilt covering it, both blanket and spread. Feeling weariness overcome her, she lifted the covers and crawled into bed. The down reflected the warmth. She curled into a fetal position, turning away from the silver moonlight coming through the curtainless window…remembering what Me Maw always said: it was dangerous to sleep with the moon on your face, for its rays crept beneath the lids and filled the sleeper with madness.
Keeping her face to the wall, she found that secret place,
‘away’…no longer lying in the bed with the fetus turning and tossing within her, she was ‘away,’ sitting by the fireplace with William at her knee.
He stoked the fire; for some inexplicable reason he sat on the floor, his hands grasping his knees staring into the leaping flames, barely aware that
Elizabeth had left the room. He felt that presence next to him, her gentle hand smoothing his hair. He knew he had been mistaken: she was as he first thought, and more. He dozed, and they were together.
Morning arrived.
Patterns of moonlight were replaced by weak sunlight; shadows of leaves danced across the pine floor. Katherine awoke slowly, forgetting where she was. It was difficult coming back. She looked about the smallish room: in the dark she did not know it. The room began with the smooth plank floors, a colorful rag rug, its oval shape covering a portion of the floor, dominating the room. The cabin contained only the bare necessities – a sturdy table with two chairs, well-made but plain. The wood-stove had a logbox next to it; it was full. Under the solitary window stood a pine dresser with drawers for storage. There were two copper buckets for fetching water. An enamel basin of white with blue edging, chipped in several places allowing rust to show through, hung by a nail. On a shelf next to it were several bars of strong naphtha soap. Against one wall was a pine rocker and a blanket-chest of cedar. The only disorder in the room came from the boxes waiting to be unpacked. She was grateful to see on top of her assortment of mismatched dishes a loaf of bread and a brick of cheese. She went out with the buckets to get water; Kiefer Creek ran close by the side of the cabin. The morning air was crisp and cold. The cabin was huddled into the hillside. On the ridge above it was a stand of trees, like erect sentries guarding all they overlooked. She noticed that some of the trees were mature walnut. The water in the creek ran icy and transparent, and on the bottom you could see large black rocks, where huge fish played hide and seek. The creek seemed to sing, as it rushed over the rocks on its way down to meet the river. Filling the buckets, she carried them slowly back up to the cabin; their weight made her side ache. She set them on the solitary step and made her way to the abandoned outhouse some yards behind the cabin.
Returning, she gathered small twigs, putting them into the stove.
They crackled and caught and the banked fire flared up, warming the cabin. After a breakfast of coffee, bread, and cheese, she heated water in the buckets, stripped off her filthy clothes, threw them in the stove, filled the pan with hot water, and with a rough cloth and the naphtha soap, began washing herself. The soap was strong and pungent, with a medicinal tang. At the hotel they had used it for laundry. It stung her skin, yet seemed to wash away the months of misery, as well as the dirt. Shivering naked in front of the stove, she was now aware of how swollen and taut her stomach had become. During the time spent in loose-fitting garments, she had pretended – but now, looking down at her engorged breasts and stomach, she realized she could not see the floor. Her time was near, and as if to make this truth, her stomach rippled as the child turned.
Fro
m the box she selected the largest dress…a plain affair in gray. It was too small. She slit the seams, and putting a loose sweater over it, found it covered her. It would do. She had not burned the cape – she needed it to hide her secret. She took it outside in the sun and hung it over a bush to air. She dried her hair by the stove, fluffing and rubbing it with a towel. Looking into the cloudy mirror that was near the dresser, she felt no fear of it. Now she braided her hair, winding it around her head and securing it with a bit of string. She would never wear it down around her face again. Satisfied, she stared into the strange face. It was older now. Thinness made her cheekbones stand out and her eyes seemed enormous. Her heritage blended and added a different dimension; from the eyes you could see her Spanish grandfather, the dusty rose of her skin revealed her Navajo grandmother, and her father’s Irish blood formed her nose and generous mouth; they all blended curiously in her face. At first glance, unless you looked hard, you missed the exotic beauty that she was. The casual, the hurried, would only think her plain.
The flutter in her stomach was an intermittent reminder, but she would not think about the child.
She knew it was his; superstition made her shiver when she thought of those pigs… They had tarnished, contaminated, what grew inside her. They had touched his seed.
Concerned that the manroot did not grow damp, she undid the sack; only those at the very bottom had a mold and were no longer good, bu
t the majority of the root was fine. Making a clothes-line of sorts, careful not to string any too near the stove, she tied the root inches apart. It mustn’t dry too fast. She knew that she must take it to town once it was ready; it would be difficult, but she needed to pay for the cabin, having no money, only the manroot. She would think about that when the time came.
Satisfied that the roots were placed properly for drying, she heard something scratching at the door.
Opening it, she was greeted by a large, reddish dog; in his mouth he carried one end of her tattered cape. He panted and wagged his tail in friendship. He had smelled the scent of his master on her cape. “Here.” She stooped, retrieving the cloth from his mouth. The dog stood with his front paws on the step, peering inside, but would come no farther. “Come on,” she coaxed. “Come on.” But the creature wagged his tail furiously, and would not budge.
“
All right,” she said, and swung the cape around her shoulders, took the burlap bag and started out toward the dense trees. Frieda had taught her well… She searched the sky for birds and heard the chattering of song sparrows and headed in that direction. Sometimes the dog led, sometimes he followed, as they picked their way through the woods going away from the cabin. Vegetation grew profusely here; bushes and trees fell over each other seeking the rays of the run. Katherine sat to rest on a stump; close by she heard the singing of the song sparrows. The activity of the birds shook the foliage. She knew she had found a clump of bushes heavy with mulberries. The branches hung with an abundance of fruit. Some was over-ripe, some had already dried out, but many were still good, and her bag grew fatter as she picked and ate the berries. Now and then, the dog chased a squirrel or other small creature, and she heard the sound of twigs cracking and leaves scattering as he enjoyed his chase, a soft yipping in his throat from the excitement. Birds called warnings to each other about the intruders in their woods. The sack grew full; it began to ooze. She started back to the cabin. Now the dog ran between her and the creek, stopping every so often to lap up the cool water. He followed her into the cabin and lay in front of the stove, his head on his paws, dozing as she prepared the berries. Carefully washing them, picking off the stems and leaves, she placed the best ones in a large wooden bowl. Having finished, she gathered her cloak, and the animal reluctantly gave up his space of warmth and followed her to the house. Intending to leave the bowl on the back step, the dog gave her away with his whine. Opening the door, Hannah caught her bending over, midway in her intention to place the abundant bowl on the step.
Hannah
’s face broke into a pleased smile. At Hilltop, hers was lonely work; no neighbors were nearby, and one couldn’t talk on equal terms with the Missus. This was a chance to chat with someone. She took the bowl from Katherine. “You can’t leave them there – the squirrels will have them picked clean.” Standing aside, she said, “Come in.” She put the bowl on the sideboard and gushed over the berries. “Oh, these are lovely. I thought they were all gone by now. You must have picked them in the west woods – no one ever goes there.”
“
I guess so. It was past the cabin, by the stand of willows where the bushes get very thick.”
“
That’s it, the west woods. It’s pert near wild up there. The berries look so good, it’s an excuse to make cobbler. Well, sit. I’ll make us some coffee.” Katherine sat awkwardly on the edge of the chair, holding the cape fast around her.
Hannah served the coffee in an elegant china coffee service, the delicate cups edged in gold, the design beautiful with tiny rosebuds.
She noticed how timidly the girl handled the cups. “These aren’t the good ones.” She nodded. “The Judge’s wife has the best of everything. Why, in the hallway she had the marble floors sent all the way from It-lee. Come here.” She motioned Katherine to look through the swinging door. “See there, that floor? It’s real Venetian marble.” They both admired the rose-colored floor that shone brilliantly in the hall.
Wiping her hands on her apron, the gesture reminded Katherine of Frieda.
Sitting at the table sipping their coffee, it was obvious the housekeeper wanted to talk.
Hannah studied the quiet girl.
Today she looked older than she had originally thought. With her hair long and tangled about her face, it had given her the appearance of an unkempt child. Now, with it pulled severely back and braided – the turquoise earrings the only bit of color on her person – she appeared older, much older.
“
You said true when you said you weren’t gypsy?” she inquired.
Katherine nodded.
“My mother was Indian and my father wasn’t.”
They sipped their coffee in silence, Hannah already on her second cup.
Rabelais’ tail made a steady sound, pat…pat…in a slow rhythm as he wagged it up and down on the waxed linoleum, drawing their attention to him.
“
I see you met Rabelais.”
“
Oh yes, ma’am, he’s a nice dog. I love animals.”
“
He’s the Judge’s dog. He’s quite fond of him. Mostly he don’t take to strangers. He’s at loose ends all week when the Judge is in town – can’t wait till the weekend, when he comes home. Makes a bit of a pest of himself till then.”
“
I don’t mind really.”
Katherine looked down to reassure herself that the cape covered well enough, twisting her fingers nervously, wanting to say something about payment of the cabin.
She was not sure that it was proper to talk of payments to this woman. She finished her coffee, then decided to go ahead anyway. “I’m drying the ginseng,” she began. “It will be dry enough in a day or so for me to take it to town and sell it, to pay for the cabin. Should I talk to the missus about it?”
“
No, it’s not a good time. She’s laying down now; she’s not a well woman. She’s fragile. I wouldn’t want to wake her…but I’ll tell her. She’s not worrying about payment – she’s not that kind. They’re wealthy enough, God knows!”
Now that
the subject had been brought up it was easier for Katherine to continue. “I’m not sure just how much they’ll pay for the manroot, but I know I was told the price at the hotel. The cook always sold hers to Bailey’s and at a good price.” Her voice trailed off, knowing she had said too much.
Leaning forward intently, Hannah, who never missed much, noticed the girl
’s slip. “Did you work at the hotel?”
“
Yes, ma’am, for a short while.”
“
Seems like a pretty good job, working down at the hotel,” Hannah said, carefully watching the girl.
“
Oh, it was, but they don’t need anyone now. It’s the off-season.”
Hannah
’s curiosity and suspicions were now raised. “Going back in the summer?”
“
I don’t know. I guess so,” Katherine lied, feeling her face flush.
The housekeeper lo
oked at Katherine closely. She had heard about the loose women that hung around Castlewood, but this one didn’t seem the type. She was too plain, with her face scrubbed clean, no make-up. No, she didn’t smile enough – she wasn’t gay enough to be a paid woman!
Uncomfortable under the woman
’s scrutiny, Katherine redirected the conversation back to payment. “I’ll be going to sell the ginseng for certain in the next couple of days.”
“
How you gonna get there? It’s twenty miles to Castlewood. You can’t walk twenty miles dragging that sack.”
“
Yes, ma’am, I can walk,” Katherine assured her.
“
Nonsense! Tom goes every Monday for supplies – he can take you.”
“
I couldn’t ask him.”
“
You don’t have to – I will. He’s my husband… He goes anyway every Monday, so you’re not putting him out.”
“
Well, thank you. I best be going,” and Katherine rose from her chair.
“
Oh, the cabin doesn’t have a calendar. Here’s one from the bank.” She saw Katherine’s hesitation. “Today’s October the seventh, in case you weren’t sure. Tom’s going Monday the eleventh.” Walking her to the door, Hannah moaned, “Oooh, darn knee of mine!”
“
What’s wrong?” Katherine asked.
“
Nothing, child. It’s just the rheumatism.”
Shutting the door after them, she was glad that the dog was following the girl; she didn
’t need him lying around underfoot in her clean kitchen.
Katherine walked slowly back along the path someone had used years ago.
It was full of brambles, overgrown from neglect. The dog burst in front of her, his rapid ascent flattening the bush. She knew that soon, with the various trips back and forth, the path would become well-trodden again.
She lit the lantern, put the calendar on the wall and looked at the date
– 7 October 1941. In the town, progress and new things the world embraced. She didn’t belong here; it was as if she were misplaced from another time. She cleaned the cabin in an effort not to think. Now that she had found a place to stop and shelter, she could not rest too long. To pay she must sell the ginseng, and Castlewood was the only place to sell it. There she would encounter the men who gathered in the feed-store to sit around and exchange talk about the war in Europe, or local gossip. Her own shame must have filled many hours of idle conversation. A core of dread grew larger; the child tossed and tumbled violently, and she felt needle-like pain as if something feasted on her entrails. She opened the door and relieved her stomach of the coffee and blueberries. Trembling with weakness, she sat in the rocker; the dog came over and licked her hand in sympathy, and whined softly as she rocked.