Face the Winter Naked (15 page)

"William
ain't been right for weeks. He caught sick last winter and it done something to
his head."

Daniel
nodded. "A little more food and a pleasant attitude will help."

"Well,
he's got neither, so he's out of luck, same as the rest of us."

Ezra
gave Daniel a hand and helped him up, and together they limped back to the
house.

Daniel
squinted at the old man with one eye when he stopped to drink from his water
jug.

"What
are you doing for food?"

"Oh,
we get a few commodities from the county when they have any. Flour, sugar,
lard, grits, and beans, sometimes canned milk, which goes to the kids. Lord
knows they can use more. The ol' lady can cook up a meal if she's only got
flour and lard, but we run out long 'fore it's commodity time again. Our
neighbor over yonder brings us wild game if they shoot enough to spare. Big
family—seven grown boys, all good hunters. Lazy as sin otherwise."

"God
bless those folks." Daniel's mouth watered for a good home-cooked meal.

"But
there's no meat tonight," Ezra said, "just watered-down milk and hard
bread."

"Good
enough," Daniel said. "I won't eat much, so the kids and their mama
can have it."

Daniel
stayed for three days, digging the well and eating bread soaked in a glass of
thin milk with a little sugar in it. Evenings, he played the banjo and made up
songs for the kids, hoping to get a smile or chuckle out of them. But their
faces remained frozen into hungry, miserable stones. Then, if things weren't
bad enough, another banjo string snapped; he dropped it in his gunnysack to fix
later and continued playing with the remaining three strings. The music didn't
sound as good, but nobody cared.

Each
day seemed hotter than the last. Clouds came. Winds came, too. But not a drop
of moisture fell.

When
will it come, when all the cows turn to shoe leather? When mankind wrings out
the last cool drop of water from a well gone dry? Or the little mother in there
tries to pray but her words are all dried up?

Daniel
thought of LaDaisy and his own children when he looked at each of these little
ones who had no hope for a better life. When he thought of his family, his
heart damn near broke, just like the banjo string.

On
the fourth day, his pick went through a layer of rock at the bottom of the well—now
about nine feet deep—and a stream of water spurted up from the earth, flooded
the bottom of the hole and kept rising. He yelled to William to lower the
bucket one more time, and when it came down empty, Daniel sent it back up half
full of brown gold. The rust didn't matter. It would clear up as soon as it
filtered through the rocks and the mud settled.

William
let out a whoop.

"Water,
Ez! We's got water. Ol' Daniel he found water."

"Lord
a mercy," Bess said, and called the children over. "He found water.
See down there? Now don't get too close."

Daniel,
standing in water over his shoes, looked up the shaft and saw the faces
grinning down at him. "I ain't done down here yet, ma'am. How's about some
more boards to box in the walls? She's about to cave in and bury me alive."

More
lumber slid down the hole and Daniel wedged the boards in place. Tomorrow would
tell how much water the good Lord had planted in the new well.

When
he was done, William helped him out of the well for the last time and they
placed an old wooden door over the hole so the kids wouldn't fall in.

Daniel
slept on the porch another night, and the haunted face of the young mother
inside the house filled his mind with worrying thoughts of LaDaisy and the
kids. Out of the blue they came, and never in all his born days did he have
such foreboding. Deciding it was only the stress of the last few days, he
rolled over on the hard porch and fell asleep with his head on his gunnysack to
the music of locusts in the woods.

He
awoke to find William standing over him, eyeing the banjo and gunnysack. He
raised himself on an elbow.

"Git
lost, William."

William
gave him a dirty look and went back inside, slamming the screen door behind
him. Daniel immediately reached inside his bib, felt the money purse and sighed
with relief. His entire savings to date were still safe.

He
rose and went down a path to relieve himself in the outhouse, and when he came
back he saw Ezra and William at the new well, moving the cover to peer down
inside.

"G'morning,
Ez." Then he nodded at William, trying not to think how near he'd come to
being robbed while he slept. But William, sullen as ever, pretended not to
notice him.

Daniel
looked inside the well and saw the water rising. He turned to Ezra and grinned.

"Did
you think it dried up in the night?"

"Nope."

"They
do sometimes. But this one ain't going to. This here's a good well. The water's
coming from an underground spring." He turned to William. "You might
even have enough to take a bath come Saturday night."

William
tied a clean pail to a rope and lowered it down the hole without comment, and
soon he pulled it up full of brown water.

The
day was already hot and muggy, and Daniel hadn't seen a cloud overhead for days.
He re-buckled his suspenders and collected his tools as Ezra removed his
battered straw hat and spoke.

"You
gave us a miracle, Daniel, and we're thankful."

"No,
the miracle of water came from the Lord." Daniel gazed off to the south.
"Well, I'd best be hitting the road again."

Ezra
followed his gaze. "Where y'all going next?"

"Springfield,
I hope. Maybe I'll find work there. Which direction is it from here?"

"Just
follow the sun and you'll bump into it. But it's a long ways to walk and you're
not likely to find work."

Daniel
smiled gently. "The Lord walked, and if He could, Daniel Tomelin ain't no
better. I believe the good Lord also provides for his own. If there's work,
I'll find it."

Ezra
turned toward the house. "Come and eat."

"Don't
mind if I do. I can say good-bye to the family while I'm at it."

"It's
the least we can do." They walked to the house together and Ezra opened
the screen door and stepped aside so Daniel could enter. "Daniel's leaving
now." He leaned his walking stick beside his chair and sat down heavily.
"Give him some food to tide him over."

Bess
came over and shook Daniel's hand. "Gonna miss you, Mr. Daniel."

"Find
the pig yet?"

"Not
yet," she said. "I'll send William and the kids out looking for her.
She can't be far."

"Sure
she could." Ezra said. "She could be in Arkansas by now. Or maybe
someone's having pork chops for breakfast. Never can tell what a sow might
do."

"Or
people, either," Daniel added.

"Sit,
Daniel," Bess said. "I'll get you something to eat."

"Just
a bite of bread and milk, thank you."

The
kids stared at him. He winked at them as Bess brought a cracked mug of diluted
canned milk and set it on the table in front of him. She sliced a crusty heel
from a loaf of homemade bread. "Cocoa's good on bread and milk," he
said. "If you got some, it'll be right tasty."

Bess
handed him the bread and opened a cabinet door that was falling off its hinges.
"We did have some. Here it is." She brought out a dusty cocoa tin and
pried off the lid. "Empty," she said. "Dang it all, who put this
empty can back in the cabinet?"

Daniel
broke his bread in small pieces, dropped them in the milk and mashed them down
with a spoon.

When
he'd eaten, he felt in his overalls' pocket for the coins he'd put there while
out in the privy. Then he rose and went over to the young mother, sitting
solemnly with her sleeping child on her shoulder. The suffering and
hopelessness in her eyes wrenched his heart as he drew out the coins and placed
them in her hand.

She
looked at the money—two dimes and one nickel—and started to shake her head
"no."

"Go
ahead," Daniel said. "It ain't much."

Her
eyes glazed over as she stared up at him. "You—you don't have to—"

Daniel
lay a hand on her shoulder as her fingers curled around the pathetic few coins.
"I do have to, miss. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't."

The
dam behind her eyes broke and flooded her face as he removed his cap.

"You
take care of them youngins' now, you hear?"

He
reached out and gently touched the little boy, thinking it might feel good to
hold a child again. But no, he couldn't trust himself to hold the tyke without
breaking down. His Adam's apple was already trying to strangle him as the
mother's eyes burned into his mind; for the rest of his life, those eyes would
haunt him.

Weary
of body and with a heavy heart, he put his cap back on and studied each person
in turn. Finally, he settled the three-string banjo over his shoulder, picked
up the pack, and let himself out the door. He went down the steps—gazed north
toward home for a minute—then struck out walking in the opposite direction
toward Springfield, miles and miles away over hills and valleys and dry,
thirsty pastures.

Chapter 10

The
rain didn't materialize that late July day, but a different kind of storm
smoldered in LaDaisy's heart as Clay dropped by and forced himself on her
again.

"How
many more times?" she sobbed, knowing she was about a year behind with the
rent.

"As
many times as I need," he said. "Now stop crying before I give you
something to cry about." Then he laughed. "A few more times to
collect the rent, LaDaisy. I should've thought of this a long time ago. But I
didn't have a reason before, with me and Ida Mae just getting hitched. Now
she's useless."

"Oh
God."

"When
the rent's paid, maybe I'll keep on doing it till Ida Mae has the kid. How many
months more now?"

LaDaisy
rolled her head from side to side, closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to
look at him. As Ida's husband, he knew damn well when their baby was due.

This
time Mary slept through her mother's ordeal.

"No
matter," Clay said. "No damn fucking matter. You going to help or do
I have to slap the piss out of you?"

I'll
help you over my dead body, Clay Huff.

He
panted hard, his body reeking from sweat and male hormones. Soon she'd find
blessed relief from the assault.

"You
know you enjoy this."

When
he rammed her again, she cried out. Clay grunted. His only response was to do
it again and again.

When
she was finally alone again, she wasted no time heating water for her bath.
This time, Clay's roughness had brought blood, and Susannah's quilt would have
to be soaked in cold water to prevent a stain.

Hurting
so badly she could hardly walk, she stripped the quilt off the bed and carried
it out to the kitchen. It could soak in her bathwater after she got out.

She
sensed that Saul knew something was going on between Clay and herself. But if
so, he never mentioned it. Nor did he interfere—could he believe his son's wife
actually welcomed another man's advances? She hoped not, but sometimes it was
hard to tell what Saul thought.

On
the other hand, he surely knew some people were driven to desperate and
depraved acts to survive the hardships and loss of pride caused from the
Depression. Saul, with his Tomelin pride and loyalty, was the sort of man who
would keep it to himself if LaDaisy had lowered herself to prostitution to feed
her kids.

She
began to wonder if she'd somehow brought this on herself.

Clay
always waited till the children were visiting their cousins. When the weather
was warm, the older ones took Bobby outdoors to play right after breakfast.
They didn't usually wander back to the house until they were hungry, or, as
Daniel would say, they were so covered with dirt they couldn't tell each other
apart. She was left with only Mary until Elizabeth brought Ralph for nursing..

Afternoons
while Mary napped were LaDaisy's private times to restore herself, both physically
and mentally. Then she would turn the radio on and spend fifteen minutes with
"Myrt and Marge." Even her father-in-law took it easy during the heat
of the day after hoeing his garden. The few raindrops evaporated before hitting
the ground. Saul's crops were parched, producing more dust and insects than
vegetables. The old man himself was dried out, tough and leathery.

She
would miss his company if he wasn't around. Since Daniel left, his father had
started dropping by on Friday evenings to listen to "One Man's
Family," and on Sundays he came for "The Jack Benny Program,"
laughing with her and the kids before they went to bed.

He
came in handy for things she couldn't do herself, such as wringing the neck of
her last laying hen so they could have meat for supper one Sunday. The old bird—the
last of eight she'd bought as chicks years ago—was tough as shoe leather, but
she'd turned it into a tasty stew with dumplings.

Other
times, he brought whatever small produce he'd managed to raise to maturity.
Often as not, his hands were empty, but he'd sit in the kitchen and visit or
play with Mary.

"She's
going to be pretty like her mama," he said one day, and LaDaisy was pleased.

"Really,
Saul? Do you think so?" She blushed. "Even Daniel don't say I'm
pretty very much."

"Then
Daniel's head ain't on right. The boys resemble their daddy mostly. Earl's the
spittin' image. I see some of him in Bobby and some in Catherine. The girl's
more like you, except she's got the Tomelins' big hazel eyes." He paused
for a long time, thinking.

"This
little girl looks like she came from the woodpile." He looked at LaDaisy
and grinned. "Now don't get me wrong, girl. I know she didn't crawl out
from under no woodpile. But she's yours through and through. Maybe she'll
change as she gets older. But right now I don't see her daddy except in her
eyes."

His
words tugged at her heartstrings, as they always did when he reminisced about
Daniel. Sometimes she wondered where he drew the line between his son's family
and his own, most of whom were already buried.

"Mary's
the spitting image of Grandma Blue," she said. "Her name was Frances.
It's too bad Daddy doesn't live closer so he can get to know his grandchildren."
She grew thoughtful. "I suspect he stays away so he won't bump into Mama.
She'd probably gouge his eyes out."

Saul
brought up memories of the dead baby, and she turned automatically toward her
bedroom and the baby shoes on her dresser, and Clay's rent receipt.

Again,
she had the distinct impression Saul knew what had happened with Clay the first
time. She almost wished she could pour out her troubles to him. Would he
understand, or consider her a willing participant?

"I
wish Daniel was here," he said.

"Oh
Saul, so do I." LaDaisy blinked back her tears. "Do you reckon he'll
ever come home? I don't think he will. I don't even know if I still want him
after what he did."

Saul
nodded. "Nobody blames you for feeling that way. It was a bad thing he did.
But maybe you could forgive him?"

"Daniel
doesn't deserve my forgiveness, Saul. He brought this on himself. And—and sometimes
I hate him with every nerve in my body. Other times I—"
I still love
him? Yes. There's no denying that.

Saul
picked up the empty basket.

"For
a while I thought maybe he'd come home, but now I don't know." He reached
out and touched one of Mary's curls, then leaned down and kissed the top of her
head. "Daniel would be proud of this little girl."

"If
he's still alive."

"Oh,
he's alive. I'd know if he was dead."

"How?"

"He'd
come in the night and say good-bye."

"You're
scaring me!"

He lay
a hand on her shoulder. "Don't mean to scare you, girl. I told you before
about dead folks coming to see me before they move on. About the third day
after they die."

"Oh
I know it, but—"

"Us
Tomelins got strong bonds."

"You'd
actually
see
Daniel? Like you see me standing here?"

"I
might. Most likely I'd sense his presence." He took his straw hat off the
back of a chair and put it on. "Used to scare me when it happened. But I
figured a man won't do anything dead that he won't do alive."

Saul's
Adam's apple slid up and down when he spoke, like when he used to chew tobacco.
He couldn't afford to chew now, but his Adam's apple went up and down anyway.

"Dead
Tomelins know the rest of us got second sight, so they come to let us know
they're okay."

"Being
dead is okay." She wiped her tears away and smiled.

Saul
grinned, and she saw her husband in his face.

"Aw,
now, you know what I mean." He opened the door, then spoke over his
shoulder. "It ain't only dead ones come visit. I seen live folks, too.
Sometimes they pop out of their skin, then go back in when they're done
checking on ya."

LaDaisy
didn't believe such a thing was possible.

"Well,
Saul, if Daniel does come—dead or alive—will you let me know?" She crossed
her arms defiantly. "If he's got the guts to show his face after running
out on us, there's a few things I want to tell him."

Sometimes
LaDaisy had odd feelings of her own. Like the time she imagined Daniel sitting
on the edge of their bed, watching her undress. Another time, she saw him
fiddling around outside with his truck. She'd had to pinch herself to be sure
she wasn't dreaming.

I'd
almost expected him to crank up the rusty old flivver and drive off, and that
ain't normal.

Her
imagination ran wild. Suppose Daniel escaped his body and visited when Clay had
her pinned to the bed. What would he think? That she was helping? Or would he
hear her crying. Do ghosts see and hear, or do they lose those physical senses
when they die? The real Daniel might light into Clay with both fists and a
two-by-four with nails in it, then run over him with the truck if caught in the
act of raping his wife—but what would a ghost do? What
could
a ghost do?
Would Daniel's ghost hate Clay Huff as much as he did alive?

After
Saul left, LaDaisy opened Daniel's gun closet. She hated firearms with a
passion. Guns were made for only one purpose: to put a bullet through a living
creature's heart. It was all she could do to touch the 12-gauge as it stood in
one corner of the closet. She hesitated a moment, then picked it up carefully
and laid it on the bed.

How
do I load this thing? He said I didn't need to know, but did he consider I
might have to defend myself someday? Pioneer women knew how to shoot guns. Why
can't I shoot a rapist?

She
didn't know the least thing about loading a gun, and she even doubted she had
the nerve to fire one. Still, she'd seen Daniel load it a time or two, so maybe
she could figure it out.

When
Clay comes over and unbuttons his pants again, he'll run screaming out of here
with buckshot in his worthless ass.

She
removed the box of shells from the closet shelf and turned to find Bobby
standing by the bed reaching for the gun.

"Bang!"

"Don't
touch that!" She ran over and smacked his hand away. "No,
Bobby!"

"Daddy's
gun?"

"Yes,
it's Daddy's." She picked it up. "But you're never to touch it,
understand?"

"Why?"

"Because
I said so. It'll hurt you."

She
replaced the gun in the closet and locked the door, but clutched the skeleton
key in her fist, afraid to return it to the hiding place with her son watching.

Bobby
lost interest in the gun and went over to the cradle, stood on tiptoes and
peered over the side. He turned to his mother. "Shhh." Then gave the
cradle a push.

"Yes,
she's sleeping. Be quiet so you don't wake her." She wanted him out of the
room so she could hide the key. "Where's Earl and Cath? Go find
them."

He
didn't move immediately, but stood gazing up at her.

"Daddy
come home?"

Almost
every day, she could count on one of the kids to ask.

"I
don't know, honey. I hope so."

His
eyes grew wide and he pointed to the closet.

"Daddy
shoot gun."

"I
don't know what Daddy will do, Bobby."

A
few minutes ago, she had contemplated shooting another human being. How could
she face her children if she carried out her plan? She tightened her grip on
the key until it bit into her palm.

"Now,
go find your sister and brother so they can clean up to eat. I'll scramble some
eggs or cook some pap."

"Pap."

He
ran from the room and she quickly put the key away.

Taking
a deep breath, she headed for the kitchen, relieved in a twisted way for making
a half-hearted decision to shoot Ida's husband the next time he assaulted her
big sister.

Not
for two or three more days, at least. Clay wouldn't come around after she'd
told him it was time for her monthlies.

The
next morning, the Channing Ford turned in the driveway. Elizabeth was early,
but there was no sign of Ralph.

"Where
are you hiding him?" LaDaisy peered past Elizabeth as she came inside.

Elizabeth
stood in the middle of the room, obviously ill at ease as she glanced
everywhere but at LaDaisy.

"I—I
won't be bringing him anymore, Mrs. Tomelin."

LaDaisy
frowned. "Not bringing him? I thought we agreed he needs a couple more months—"

Elizabeth's
face turned scarlet and she refused to meet LaDaisy's eyes.

LaDaisy
motioned to the davenport. "Please sit down, Elizabeth, we'll talk about
it."

"If
you don't mind, I prefer to stand."

The
two women faced each other uncomfortably. LaDaisy felt her milk letting down,
but Ralph was not there to claim it. In a few more minutes it would seep
through her dress.