Julia's Hope (31 page)

George shook his head. “Ain’t no wonder you only had two. Mean old cuss.” He motioned me toward the wagon. “Come on. Quicker we go, quicker we can get home.”

“Ain’t nothin’ quick about you an’ your old wagon,” Barrett jested. “I could watch my hair grow, waitin’ on ya.” He took his hat off and whacked it against his thigh, as if he had dust to knock off. “Give my best to that wife a’ yours,” he told George, and then turned to me, looking sober. “Do what you can to keep that Emma restin’, will you? I ain’t anxious to hear no kinda bad news.”

When I climbed in the wagon, I could see that George had already been by our barn for the metal pieces we needed to bend. But he waited till we were down the road a quarter mile before he told me to take a look in the old wooden box he seemed to always have riding in the back of his wagon. He looked so jolly all of a sudden that I asked him if he was hiding another pig’s head.

“Somethin’ better. Take a look.”

I turned in my seat and did what he told me. “Had a baby buggy when Lizbeth was little,” he said. “Them boys’ve tore the thing apart. Rorey thought we oughta use it for Emma Grace, but there weren’t no way for that. The basket’s pulled clean apart. ’Bout what you need, though, ain’t it?”

Two six-inch metal wheels with a swivel to them. Mounted from the top. I could have kissed Lizbeth, Rorey, and all the rest. It was just what I needed. Thank the good Lord and George Hammond.

THIRTY-THREE

Julia

I was glad to get home from the Hammonds’ for the second time. Though it was wonderful seeing Wila and the baby doing so well, Emma had me worried. She wouldn’t let on that she was feeling poorly, but she let George Hammond take her straight to her bed when we got back. I saw him head for the barn before he left, but I didn’t even care what he was doing. I was too busy thinking about what might help Emma feel better.

I got Emma some tea and the tin of crackers she’d asked us to get her from the store. She thanked me and asked if I had any paper. So I sent Sarah upstairs for the paper in my bag and pulled a chair up close beside her bed.

“I need to set down my intentions, Juli, dear,” she said in a quiet voice.

“What do you mean, Emma?”

“To ever’thin’ there’s a season. A time for ever’ purpose under heaven.”

She was staring up at the ceiling, and my chest started feeling so cold and tight that I could hardly breathe.

“Emma—”

“A time to be born, an’ a time to die. A time to plant, an’ a time to pluck up what was planted—”

“Emma.”

I had to stop her, had to get her thoughts turned away from the awful direction they must have taken. She couldn’t be deciding to die. It
wasn’t
time.

Sarah ran in with my paper and pencil. I took them from her, but she just stood there, looking from one to the other of us, and I knew she shouldn’t stay. “Sarah, please go outside a little while and play with Robert.”

Emma gave the girl a smile. “Go on up t’ the loft an’ see if them kittens is still there. If you can find ’em, pick out the prettiest little bundle and name ’er Gracie. Will you do that for me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sarah went out, clearly pleased to have such a special duty to set her attention to.

“Always did want to name a kitty that,” Emma told me. “Seems just the right time. That Hammond child, she’s a miracle, comin’ through thataway. God’s grace, that’s what it is on us.” She looked at the paper in my hand and reached out for it. “I’d have you do the writin’, but I want it real clear that I done it myself. It’ll be Albert to see to things. He’s the only one ever does come.”

“Emma,” I suggested, “maybe it would be better if you just sleep awhile. I’ll make supper, and—”

“Now, Juli, I need to do this. It’s been such a week! I never did hope to see such times no more! But a body can’t live forever, an’ I want to make it plain what I want with what’s mine when I’m gone. Albert’ll honor it, when he sees I done it myself.”

“He could be here any day,” I protested. “Miss Hazel said so. You can just tell him yourself.”

She looked at me a long time, and I was praying she wouldn’t tell me she wouldn’t be here that long. Finally she smiled. “I ain’t meanin’ to scare you, child. You jus’ never know, that’s all. I hope t’ put it in his hand. It’ll be real fine to see him again. An’ I ain’t plannin’ on bein’ took to m’ grave ’fore I’ve had a chance to get out to Willard’s one more time.”

“Oh, Emma. Hearing that, I won’t be so anxious to take you.”

“Well, there’s more than that to consider! Don’t fret now! Who’s gonna help you get this old place ready for winter? I don’t aim to go no place, leavin’ you unprepared! But we can’t tell it ahead, honey. I want m’ intentions put down, just in case. I brung in m’ last baby yesterd’y. That I know.” She took my hand, and I could feel the tears welling in me.

“You been planted out here,” she said. “An’ I’m gonna be plucked away to a better place. It was Emma Grace’s time t’ be born. An’ it’ll be my time to die one of these days. Ain’t nothin’ sad about it. Just pays to be ready.”

I reluctantly gave her the paper and pencil and a book to lean them on. It was a struggle for her to see something up close like that, and she worked real slow. She didn’t tell me what she wrote, except to ask me for the spelling of some words.

In a little while, I heard a motor on the road and thought it was surely Mr. Post bringing Sam home. But when I heard the honk of a horn in the driveway, I ran to the window, knowing very well it wasn’t them.

I’d seen plenty of cars like this one, a hand-crank model with no top. But Juanita Jones was sitting there on the passenger side, with her hair all tied up in a checkered scarf. Pastor Jones was just stepping out on his side, wearing a derby hat and a Sunday suit. I couldn’t imagine what brought them out, but it was a delight to see them.

“Emma, it’s the pastor and his wife.”

She sat up in the bed, her eyes shining. “Oh, get ’em some tea! Bless their souls! A shame I ain’t up!”

Pastor and Juanita told us that Elvira Post had sent her husband into town to tell them Mrs. Hammond had her baby. I thought that was pretty nice, and they did too, considering that the Posts didn’t even go to church.

They’d come out to see Wilametta and the baby and arrived there not ten minutes after we’d left, but they didn’t stay long, since both were looking ready for a nap.

“I was so glad we brought powder and soap and such things, along with the diapers,” Juanita told me. “Mrs. Hammond said they almost never have store-bought around.”

They carried in a pan of dumplings that I would have thought they would leave with the neighbors, but they assured me they’d given the Hammonds a pan full too. I’d loved the pastor and his wife on Sunday, but them coming out to see us made me love them all the more, just for taking the time. Pastor Jones went in and sat with Emma, and they got to talking about the history of the church.

Thinking Samuel would be home any minute, I asked Juanita if they wouldn’t stay for dinner. I sure was glad we had something decent in the pantry.

Our visit was wonderful, and Juanita pitched in while I fixed food and got the table ready. I just couldn’t understand what was keeping Sam so long and began to think that one of these days it might be nice for telephones to be available out here in the countryside.

When Sam finally did come, it was with Mr. Hammond instead of Barrett Post, and both of them went out to the barn, even though they must have seen the car sitting in the drive. Finally, I sent Robert to call them in.

I invited Mr. Hammond to stay, but he only came in long enough to greet the pastor and then say he had to get back home. I saw the look he gave Samuel when he left, and I wondered what in the world they’d been up to. How it happened that those two were conspiring together I just didn’t know. But I did know they had something up their sleeve.

Samuel didn’t make the slightest attempt to explain, and we had a pleasant meal with the Joneses. Emma came to the table but went right back to bed afterward. I told the pastor that I thought she was feeling more poorly than she let on, so he prayed for her. Then he said they had to be going, that they needed to be in Mt. Vernon the next day to see another minister and his family.

I thought the mention of that town might get Samuel thinking about Dewey and revive the wish of going to see him. But he said nothing about it, just grabbed the one leftover dumpling, downed it in a hurry, and then excused himself just as politely as he could and went back to the barn.

I told Pastor and Juanita that Sam was a little shy with people he hadn’t known long, and they didn’t mind. They said they could admire the work he was putting in. Of course, I didn’t tell them I didn’t know what he was working on out there.

Robert and Sarah and I walked them to their car, and I promised we’d do our best to get to church on Sunday. After they left, Robert snuck in the barn and then came right back out with a smile and took Sarah inside to read a story. I went in the house to check on Emma, but she was already asleep. I had Sarah and Robert to bed soon too.

“Dad didn’t want Sarah comin’ in the barn,” Robert whispered to me as I leaned to tuck him in. “Didn’t want her to spoil the surprise.” He had such a look of delight that I had to ask if it was something I could know about. “I ain’t tellin,” was all he’d say.

So when I knew they were all asleep, and when the kitchen was clean and Sam still wasn’t in, I went out to see what he was doing.

I could hear a tap-tap as I entered the barn with a lantern. But then it stopped. I went toward the west room, where a glow of lamplight was shining under the wood-slat door.

“Sammy,” I called out. “What in the world have you been doing in there all this time?”

Sam didn’t say a word. He just opened the door and gave me a smile, and I could see for myself. The only wheelchair I’d ever seen, looking big and beautiful and amazing. I knew he could make things, but I couldn’t picture how he’d accomplished something like this.

“George helped me bolt the chair over the frame,” he said right away. “Now I’ve just got to finish getting the back wheels on.”

I was speechless, looking at the wonder in front of me. I’d assumed he had been working on a porch swing or maybe on the barn itself, but here this sat, worlds better. “Oh, Sam, it looks finished already.”

“I’ve just barely got them set on, though, Juli,” he explained about the small wheels. “I had to figure out how to mount them to the frame first. Now I’ve got to find the right size bolts, or something that will work. They’ll fall right off left like this.”

“I didn’t know you were doing this! It’s amazing. To put this together so fast.”

“It would have taken a lot longer if I hadn’t gotten George’s help.”

“How did you manage that?”

“I didn’t. I guess it was providence.”

“Just think of what Emma will say,” I gushed, thinking ahead. “She’s going to love you, Sam, more than she does already for working so hard on this.”

He smiled. “I thought I’d ask in the morning if she’s ready to go out to Willard’s grave. Then I’ll show her the chair. I can take her over there with this, even through the grass and everything. I know I can. Sarah can help her pick some flowers. She’ll love that. She needs to go, Juli. It’s just something she needs to do.”

He was right, and I was thrilled with what he’d done. It was beautiful. It was perfect. And I was so proud that he had such a glorious heart about him. But all the things Emma had said to me earlier that day went churning around in my mind and stuck there. I couldn’t help it. I burst into tears.

“Julia, what’s wrong?”

“It’s good, Sam. It’s real good.” I couldn’t tell him more. I couldn’t manage to say that the very idea of Emma going off to the grave site frightened me now. I knew it was silly. She’d said herself that there was more to accomplish than that. Of course she should go. And she’d be happy. She’d ride along with a smile and a fistful of flowers. She’d probably have a good cry by the pond and come back feeling blessed.

I gave Sam a giant hug and told him we ought to get some sleep, because tomorrow would hold quite a bit for us. He didn’t want to come in, though, till he had those wheels fastened on. So I stayed, talking to him about Lula Bell and church and a thousand other things while we dug through a mound of screws and nails, trying to find what he needed.

When we finally went back to the house, I was startled to find Emma awake, sitting up in her room with a candle lit. Sam went on to bed, maybe thinking he’d let his secret out if he even stopped to talk to her for two minutes. But I had to stop.

“Are you all right, Emma?”

“Oh, sure. Birthin’ a baby’s good for the soul, child. I was just sittin’ up a bit, reflectin’ on it. You had a chance to do that?”

“Tell you the truth, I’m not sure I want to.”

“Well, it ain’t somethin’ you’d want to do ever’ day, that’s for sure.”

She motioned for me to come closer, and I did, tired as I was.

“You all sure must like night air,” she said. “Especially that Samuel. Don’t he ever turn in before midnight?”

“Oh yes. Sometimes.”

She gave me a funny look. Of course, she must know he was doing something special out there all this time. But she didn’t ask. “Sure was good of the pastor to come out,” she said casually.

“It sure was.”

“Be nice to know if Miss Chuckles has another egg under her in the morning.”

“Yes, I just believe she will.” I smiled at her mention of the chicken’s name. That one made a funny sort of clucking noise, different from the others.

“You know, we oughta have Posts to dinner. Maybe even Hammonds, but, Lordy, what a lot of food we’d need for that bunch!”

“Yes. Kind of makes me wonder how in the world they manage.”

“They get by. George don’t know no better than to do things the way he does ’em. It was Willard told me we oughta give ’em a chance with that old place, since he done some growin’ up down there. But I wasn’t sure if George had half the sense God give a goose, you know. I wanted to sell it to Arty Cumberland and see if they could find any coal.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Shamed to admit it, but I was in’erested in bein’ rich back then, child. Willard havin’ land was fine, but I figured it’d be that much finer if we could dandy up and go throw ’way five dollars or more ever’ night, just havin’ fun. ’Course, we never done that. Never could. But I thought I’d like it.”