Deep in the Heart of Me (21 page)

When Peg and the baby died, we had Shaun to comfort, and I guess it made us comfort ourselves. But after Shaun, I could see life on the other side, ahead of me, but it's like a chunk got blown out of the road, and I wasn't sure I could make the leap, and I didn't know where to look for a bridge.

The first change came on Sunday. After the burial, Sobe and I had been near one another, but I did not find myself the best company, I wanted to take the colt to Uncle John's more than anything, and I did that. I led it home, and the walk helped me some.

But a quietness settled inside of me, and I had no desire to talk, to hear the interruption of my own words.

I tried to let nature console me, but the red and gold leaves were a beautiful and sorrowful testament to endings and beginnings, and that normally inspired me, but now it just confirmed my difficulties—Shaun was dead, and I had to keep living.

I took to singing some, mostly hymns. I could stand that. And then I couldn't.

When I turned the colt into the paddock, and I watched it run toward its mother, I knew I was letting him go. That mattered in me, but still, the grief.

Once I got home, it was also unusually quiet. Shaun was like me, he liked to occupy the mow to do his thinking in those rare Sabbath times when the work stopped, and we were permitted to be idle. So Shaun and I met there without planning to I guess, and we took turns looking out and falling back in the hay and talking about nearly everything, even girls sometimes.

Shaun was too sad to talk about it much but sometimes he would, what it was like to be with a woman.

He told me to wait for love, and if I put my willy in then, a baby just might come out. Well, I knew that. I live on a farm, not under a rock. And we do have the herd and gaggle, and I've always known a dad gets with a mom, and here they come after by one's or even two's.

But Shaun says in Springfield they got a place where loose women sell it. And I should never go because you can get a disease on your thing and it could fall off even. He was laughing when he said that but I ain't been able to get it out of my mind—the women selling it or my willy rolling down the leg of my britches and ending up under my shoe.

He said don't do it with no local gal cause you can end up a daddy and have to marry her or the whole community will hate you, and you'll see that bastard child everywhere so don't do that. And if she has a daddy or a brother mean enough you're not going to live anyway.

My father wouldn't allow a bastard child. He would tell me to do my duty, and I'd do it.

But I want to marry. I look forward to it now that I know Sobe. It doesn't prickle me at all to think of being with her for the rest of my life.

So I don't go to the mow, I take my rifle and walk in the woods, but I don't shoot at anything.

I find myself going to the old homestead where I took Sobe for a drink, and my mind starts to turn then, turn to her.

An ache comes on me for her. She is my bridge. I know that.

But I don't go to school come Monday. I have never felt so tired.

I do not go on Tuesday either. I can't sit in the same room with Tillo or Utz. I want to blame them for everything, and I know it's wrong, I do, but given the chance, I figure there is no telling what I will do.

Well, that's the reason I give to myself.

Sobe comes on Wednesday, after school, walking home with the girls. I can't believe the excitement in my dead heart when I come out of the barn, and there she is holding Pee-Wee.

She doesn't play games the way I know girls can cause they had played them on me when I wasn't even trying to be a part of it, trying to get me to notice them, then getting mad when I didn't, and I am just trying to live, that's all.

But Sobe does not look away nor does she approach me. She's holding Pee-Wee and talking to Elsie while that one takes in the washing which is never left up this late in the day, but Maman has been resting each day after dinner. We are all at half-mast I would say.

Sobe knows I want her here. With me. She knows this. She has told me she won't leave her dad. More and more I think of what to do. If I can prove I'm ready to take care of her, then maybe I can go to her father and ask.

So I've no time to waste in school. That's what I'm thinking right now.

I finish my work, and when I go into supper she is helping set the table, and she smiles at me.

I am sober, but she softens something in me. Well, there is always the relief she brings to my heart.

Pretty? I could admire her for hours. She moves like a wisp, she is graceful even though she thinks she isn't. Her hair is thick and dark. I picture it covering my hands. Her figure is perfect. She is small but round. Her skin is pale and freckled some, and I love her face. Her beauty, her eyes. Her lips even. Her little ears. She makes me happy just to see her.

She is full of words I want to hear and thoughts I want to know and sort through and think about. She makes me nervous and peaceful. I can't say it right.

Her hands are smaller than mine but they are strong and when she touches me she fast-starts my heart to flipping about and even now as she moves around I am so aware of her, and I feel tied to her and pulled this way, that way, like a cord, runs between us.

She is holding a cake. She tells me it's my birthday, and I didn't remember.

They all sing, and I don't really hear them, it's my own thoughts that are loudest.

We are trying to be happy.

I am fourteen.

I'm waiting in the barn for Sobe. I've invited her when dishes are done cause she always does them no matter that Maman tells her not to, but after that, I've asked her to come with me up to the mow. And don't tell the gaggle. And no Pee-Wee can't come.

I've already taken care of the herd. They've got homework to do, and Dad is playing the radio. Good thing.

Sobe has been staying for three nights at our house. I find comfort knowing she is here. She tells me it's like being at girls' camp. She went to one a couple of times growing up. Girls piled into small spaces, and she finds living with my sisters like that.

They share a big room, but there are so many of them they are cramped together. Elsie hangs a curtain in front of her bed in the nook with the window. So, of course, they all wanted curtains, and Maman said no, not until they are nearly twelve like my sister.

Well, they thought that was very unfair, but Maman doesn't worry about what they find fair.

They are ridiculous, those girls, but Sobe, not ridiculous at all, fits perfectly.

I look at my hand. The wound is bound, she saw to that. I squeeze my fingers and thumb and fan them wide as I can but it's her hand there I'm thinking of. I like the feel of it like she ties me…she ties me to everything new.

She is the only one I can speak to. No one else. I speak to her, and I can almost bear my voice.

But mostly I listen.

Finally, the door opens quickly and closes again, and it's her, her dress blowing about her legs as she runs across the yard.

I wait with my hands at my waist. I stand back, and she comes to me.

"Hello," she says and when she smiles…dimples.

She charms me. She makes me happy. I get near her, and I think it will be all right. All of it.

I take her hand.

She makes me climb the ladder first because of her dress. "I won't look," I say, but she doesn't believe me, and that's embarrassing.

So I go first, and I look back to check, and she's coming. I get up first and turn to help her, not that she needs it, but she gives me her hands and finishes the climb, and I am sitting on the floor, and she sits there between my spread legs, and she is looking at me.

"Your mother…."

I don't want to hear about Mom right this minute.

“She will wonder where I am."

"You're with me," I say.

"They think I've gone to the outhouse. I didn't say."

"Come on," I say, and she gets up, and I do.

The Wren pops up and is suddenly flapping, and Sobe yelps a little, and it flies out the door. I am quiet, and she says, "What's the matter?"

And I tell her what Shaun said about the Wren taking souls to heaven.

"Oh, you'll get me crying again," she says, and there's been too much of that around here.

"Softest place to take a nap," I say going to the hay and lying down. I admit I want her with me here. I've thought about it.

"Are there mice?" She is standing there going up and down on her toes.

I laugh. "Not with all the cats around here." Well, there aren't too many.

She sways side to side a little like she's thinking about it, then she walks to me. "Will it make my legs itch?"

"Come here," I hold the bandaged hand toward her, and she touches my fingers and lies down beside me keeping her dress around her knees.

We lay side by side, and she smiles at me, and I don't have a smile, but inside I do, and I'm looking at her, and she's beautiful. It grows dusky, and I could sleep here with her. I want to kiss her.

But I don't. I look overhead, and the Wren flies in then lands in its nest.

"It's nice here Tonio."

"Still miss the city?"

"Not as much."

"I used to come here with Shaun," I say.

She fumbles for my hand, and I take hers. I end up pulling it to my lips, and I kiss the back of it. She is watching me with such a smile.

She moves toward me then and kisses my cheek. Now I do smile at her.

"You have whiskers," she says.

Well, I have a few. I'm surprised she feels them, and I check with my good hand, and they are showing up a bit. I can't believe she kissed me.

"I'll shave tomorrow," I say. I'm a little proud of everything—her lying with me, the affection, and my beard. We're older now. I am.

So we're back and forth with nothing much, and I end up saying, "I can't believe he's gone."

"I know. Tonio…I understand, I do."

"Your mother?" I kiss her hand again.

"Tonio…I saw my mother killed."

I raise my head. If I saw Maman hurt in any way…but killed?

"You can't tell Tonio," she says so distressed. "You can't let anyone know."

I wouldn't. I don't have to say it.

"I saw her killed," she whispers, then she turns her body toward me. "I saw it."

I take Sobe in my arms. When we are close, when we are facing one another, it makes a place to hold what she's said.

"My mama," she whispers.

I pull her in tighter, and we smash those words between us.

"Tonio," she says so softly, "I won't let them take me. I won't ever go with someone again. They'll have to kill me where they find me. That's how hard I'll fight."

I stroke her hair and I feel her strength and her smallness. I kiss the top of her head. With me, she is bigger. I am bigger.

"Who are they?" I say. I've asked before.

She picks at the button on the strap to my overalls.

"Dad was warden. Of three prisons. Three of the worst. That's how I grew up…at the last one. I went to school, well everywhere with a detective.

"When they took us, they killed him—the detective. I saw that too. But…we can't trust anyone." She buries her face against me, and I hold her.

I'm still, barely breathing. I wait.

"Did…they hurt you?" I say. It is careful. I want to be mad, but I have to hear.

"They pushed and shoved and slapped and tied us up and didn't let us…do what we needed. We were thirsty and hungry, and they kept it dark. They…touched her in rude ways. They made fun of us. Of me. She…went away. In her mind. She went away, and I was…."

I feel like I'll break apart. We were twelve then. This would have been then.

"How long?"

"A month," she says. "They shot her, and she didn't even…."

"I will never let you be hurt," I repeat.

"They held the gun on me…after her. The one with the gun…he wanted to kill me. But the other one…he said no. Sometimes…he tried to be…nice."

He wasn't nice. Does she know that?

"Where are they?"

"They got away. I don't even know who they were."

"Your dad--does he know?"

"They were hired by someone inside. That's what Dad thinks. One of the suspects has died. He doesn't know for sure. There were so many threats on Dad's life. I don't know if I got used to it. I don't think that's it. But Mom…she never did. She stayed drunk. I tried not to be afraid."

I thunk my head in the hay, and I groan.

"I shouldn't have told you," she says, her hand coming onto my face, her fingers grating against my whiskers. We're not being careful now. She pushes me back and lays half on top of me, and I move my hands over her.

I am discovering her, not just her form but who she really is and both capture me. We are quiet as I touch her. She allows it, and her breathing picks up, and I know mine does, my heart….

I end up hugging her to me. I don't want to violate her in any way, but she has me, all I am.

"Tonio you make me think I could be normal. If we could stay here, in one place, maybe it is over. Maybe I can just be a girl like Elsie. And my dad could be near and…."

It's a few seconds before I realize she's crying.

"Your dad can move on," I say, trying to give some possibilities. "He can get away enough he can't bring harm to you," I say.

"My dad?" she says.

It is the wrong thing to say. After days of silence, I let my big mouth get away again.

He let her live in danger, and he didn't keep her safe. He could draw them still…bad men she said…if they are looking.

We get rid of him, there's no danger to Sobe this farm couldn't cover.

"Remember, if he thinks I've told we'll go, and you'll never find us Tonio."

"Well, I don't believe that. You could always find me. I'm not going anywhere. There would never be a reason for us to stay apart," I say. "He can go if he wants. You could come to me. We'd watch over you here."

She is shaking her head.

"Do you love me?" I say trying not to show how angry I am.

"Yes," she says with so much feeling something answers in me that makes me feel crazy. "But Dad needs me. He's all alone. I could never…you didn't see him after I came home. Remember what I said Tonio, you can't fix it."

I dig in my pocket, and I find it and bring it out. That blood-stained hankie washed and folded. Stained brown, but clean.

"Remember this?" I say.

"My handkerchief."

"I keep it under my pillow. That's how I feel…about you. If you married me your name would change, and he could go, and they wouldn't find you."

She scrambles away from me. She sits up and looks at me. There is straw in her hair. "My name has changed. Twice," she says.

"Well we'll do it for real then," I say sitting up. "No one would find you here. If you'd just say yes."

I've got that fifty dollars. Dad wouldn't let me contribute to the coffin for Shaun. He probably thought I had a nickel. But I can buy a ring and take her to St. Louis for a high-old-time of elopement if she'll have me.

I'm scared to death she won't, and I'm scared to death she will. But I say, "Marry me Sobe."