Pamela Morsi (15 page)

They would sneak up to the farm where there was some gal they decided was pretty and hide in the
bushes half the night waiting for her to feel the call of nature and head to the bushes. Most often these forays were disappointments, although they did once see old Grandma Browning squat and pee not a hundred yards away from them. Unfortunately, the sight had set off a spate of giggling. The old woman heard them and threw a rock in their direction that sent them scurrying away.

The next day she showed up accusing them to their father. He and Nils had immediately confessed to the crime. Pa used his razor strop on their backsides with such good effect that they’d both taken their dinner standing up.

They hadn’t learned their lesson, of course. They cheerfully, if more quietly, continued their nightly excursions. The outings had taken on a more formal nature eventually. Nils would be calling on some gal or the other and would make a secret plan to meet her at moonrise at some accessible location for a few minutes of hurried but blissful solitude beyond the watchful eyes of parents or chaperone.

Jeptha had not needed any plan. For Jeptha, there had always been Sary. For him to see Sary, no plan was required. He’d skitter a pebble along the back wall of her daddy’s cabin and in two shakes of a lamb’s tail she’d come hurrying out. He never knew what excuse she gave her mother, but she always came to him. They would clasp hands and run off in the woods together, not stopping until they were panting, breathless and all alone. Her hair was always so shiny and soft and she smelled as sweet as lilac water.

They would walk together in the moonlight. He would hold her hand and gaze into her eyes. They
would talk softly and smile together about the most ordinary of things. He would caress her fingers. And thrill to the hastening beat of pulse at her wrist. There was never anything indecent in their meetings. Even chaste kisses were rare. But none were required They were so much in love every moment shared between them was intimate.

Until that last night together.

“If I never see you again, then I want to be wholly and completely yours this once,” she told him. “I could not bear to live without that memory.”

Jeptha closed his eyes as he recalled her words. It was almost as if he could not bear to live
with
the memory.

The line jerked sharply, and the cane pole flexed in his hand.

“You got a big one!” the boy called out delighted.

Abruptly Jeptha brought his attention back to the moment at hand. It was a big huge fish at the end of his line. And it was a fighter.

“Get the net,” he called out to the boy.

In the early years after he came home from the war, he could only catch small fish. He’d have to let the big ones get away. He couldn’t figure a way to drag them onto to the bank to him. He was in no position to get in the water after them. So he’d brought darters and baby bass to the table, half-ashamed not to have thrown them back. But he’d taught himself that when it came to keepers, different men required different standards. He could not bring home what he once had, what a whole man could, but he could put bites of food on his family’s table.

Now, after years of experience and a wagon load of
mistakes, he could do a lot better. He could worry a fair-sized fish to the shallows next to the bank, grab the line in his hands, and, if he didn’t catch on a rock or root, drag him up to his side. But for a fish as big as this one felt to be, a fellow with a net would be of considerable advantage.

Jeptha worked the pole, easing, pulling, urging the big fish toward the bank. Gently, he had to induce it gently. If he pulled too quick one way and the fish pulled the other, the line would snap.

The boy was wading out into the river, net in hand, eyes trained on the flurry of battle occurring where the water met Jeptha’s fishing line.

“Do you see him?” Jeptha asked.

“I do!” Rans cried out. “I do see him. He’s a big ‘un for sure!”

The excitement in the boy’s voice spurred Jeptha’s enthusiasm. Ever so carefully he raised and lowered the pole, gradually bringing the struggling, splashing creature in their direction.

Rans was in water up to his hips when he managed to scoop up the fish with the net.

The boy was hollering with delight as he hurried up the bank. The effect of trying to run through the water had his trousers dripping wet all the way up to his waist. He didn’t seem to mind, however; he was grinning like a fool. Jeptha couldn’t fault him for it; he was grinning pretty broad himself.

The fish was still flapping, flopping, and fighting to get away as Jeptha pulled him out of the net.

“I bet it’s a big old crappie,” Rans said as they got their first good look at their catch.

Jeptha gave the fish a quick assessment and shook
his head. “No, it’s a perch,” he told the boy. “But it’s a good-sized one for sure.”

Rans retrieved the very impressive stringer of fish from its cooling place at the edge of the water. Jeptha, carefully grasping the perch by its open mouth, removed the hook from where it dug tightly into his jaw.

“He’s the biggest one we’ve caught all morning,” Rans said.

Jeptha agreed “And he sure rounds out our stringer. We’ve got a fine mess of fish for our dinner. I guess we’ll have to leave the rest of them for another day.”

“Guess so,” the boy agreed, laughing.

Jeptha was grateful for the sound of that. There had not been much laughing around this place for a long time, he decided. And this boy was not like his sister, who would find something to smile about in hell itself. Young Rans was a child not given to much merriment. Making him laugh was an accomplishment, indeed.

As they began to gather their things, Jeptha heard a tromping sound in the area behind them that could only be human. He glanced up grinning, expecting to see his nephew come out of the woods, this time perhaps wearing more than his union suit.

The smile froze upon Jeptha’s face. It was not Moss Collier.

“Miz Patch!” Rans called out “You came back with the twins.”

The small, delicate woman had weathered the years well; the only lines marring her face, the ones around her eyes, evidenced a life spent smiling. She was neat as
a pin, every hair in place, and had an adoring little girl on each hand.

“Thought I’d better check out this mysterious injury of Mosco’s,” she said. “When we heard all the yelling over this way, we figured you might be needing us, too.”

“We caught a big fish,” Rans said. “I mean, Uncle Jeptha caught a big fish. It’s a perch, but it’s nearly as long as an ax handle.”

“Did you try to swim out for him?” the woman asked with good humor, noting the soaked condition of the boy’s trousers.

Rans chuckled.

“I near would have,” he admitted, “if Uncle Jeptha hadn’t eased him to the bank as well as he did.”

Her smile was bright as a new penny as she turned to look at him. He looked away, unwilling to meet her gaze.

“Good morning, Jeptha,” she said.

He acknowledged her with a curt nod.

“Look at all we’ve caught,” Rans said, proudly holding up the weighty stringer.

“That’s a fine mess of fish,” the woman agreed.

“What you got in your basket?” he asked.

“Some herbs and roots for your sister’s medicine box,” she answered. “Also, we’ve been pulling greens as we walked.”

“I’m sick of greens,” Rans complained. “That’s all we’ve been eating lately. We had them cold for breakfast this morning.”

Miz Patch chuckled. “This time a year there ain’t much else. All the growing seasons are that way. You think you can’t wait for the first ears of sweet corn or a
sweet juicy apple and before they are all picked and put away for the winter, they taste like sawdust.”

Rans was unconvinced. “A bowl full of sawdust would suit me about as good as cold greens. Right, Uncle Jeptha?”

Jeptha almost missed the question. He was trying to hold himself still. He was trying to hold himself very still. He had the unsettling sensation that the world was tilting and that he would any moment be humiliatingly thrown out of his cart and on to the ground, his leglessness even more obvious than it was now.

He didn’t see people. He never saw people. If someone came to the place, he would stay in the shadows of the cabin. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. Anyone. How could he have allowed himself to get caught out in the open like this?

He couldn’t look her in the eyes. He couldn’t bear to see the revulsion he knew would be there.

“Those fish won’t be good for nothing but the hogs if you don’t get them cleaned!” he snapped at the boy.

Rans looked up surprised. The fish were in no danger of spoiling, and Jeptha had indicated earlier that he would do his share of the cleaning. But he couldn’t explain, he couldn’t explain anything now. He just needed for them to go away. He needed for them to leave him alone.

“Get on up to the house and get busy,” he said, not quite as unkindly as his previous tone.

Rans was looking at him warily now. The lightness of heart that he’d seen in the boy’s face earlier was gone, the mask of cold distrust firmly back in place.

Inwardly Jeptha cursed his own weakness. He liked
the boy, he didn’t want to hurt him. But he had to be alone.

No one spoke to him as they left. Silence settled within the shady sanctuary of the point.

Jeptha stared out at the river. He tried not to think. He tried not to remember.

“I love you, Jeptha Barnes,” Sary had whispered on that long ago night, their passion spent. “I love your strength and your honor and your humor. I love everything about you. If I never see you again, I will love you to the day I die.”

“I love you, too, Sary,” he’d answered. “I love you and I’ll come back to you. I swear it.”

Jeptha felt the sting of bitter tears in his eyes. How young they were. How young and ignorant of the evils of war and the harsh realities of fate.

Jeptha watched the water flowing steadily downstream and momentarily toyed with the idea of rolling himself down into it. Allowing the current to carry him away. To drift slowly and inevitably to a drowning death and an infinite eternity. Giving over and having it all ended once and for all.

His rumination was only an idle pastime. His shook his head wryly.

“With my luck,” he said aloud, “I’d get my arms torn off going over the falls, float to the bank, and be rescued to live twenty more years as a burden to my family.”

T
HE
very aromatic scent of frying fish in cornmeal was wafting through the doorway as Moss, the Toby children, and Miz Patch waited together in the small square of shade beside the kitchen. The seams and waistband of his trousers were still damp and a bit uncomfortable, but at least he was clothed. The older woman had made a poultice and was carefully applying it to the side of his face.

“How did you say you got this bruise?” the woman questioned him, not for the first time.

“I fell,” Moss answered with a firm intent to discourage further questions.

The woman looked skeptical.

“A mark this perfectly round is typically a bite,” she said.

Moss made no comment and could not look her in the eye. He was not about to discuss his marriage with anyone, even a well-meaning woman like Miz Patch.

She got the bandage secured just as Eulie called them in to eat. Moss felt better with his injury hidden, and he was also very hungry. He didn’t wait to be called twice.

“Go get Uncle Jeptha,” he ordered the boy.

Rans, who had been talking and laughing with his younger sisters, behaving himself for a change, immediately stiffened his back and hardened his jaw, ready to take offense at being ordered away. And primed to give argument against doing it.

“I suspect you
are
the best one to go get him,” Miz Patch interjected. “None of these gals can run as fast as you can. Nobody wants either of you’uns to miss these vittles while they’re hot.”

Her words seemed to placate the boy somewhat. At least enough that he moved to do as he was bid.

“My wife’s brother thinks a little too well of himself,” Moss told Miz Patch, by way of explanation and apology.

The woman tutted. “More likely he don’t think well enough,” the woman said. “Rans ain’t like his sister even so much as a bit.”

“That’s for sure,” Moss agreed. “The boy is prickly and disagreeable. Eulie is sweet and tries to please.”

They had risen to their feet; the girls had already filed inside eagerly ahead of them. Miz Patch gave him a questioning look.

“Was she just trying to please when she took that hunk out of your face?”

Moss flushed. He’d thought she might suspect, but he hated having anyone actually know.

“I can’t tell if she done it in passion or anger,” Miz Patch said. “Either way, I’m glad to hear that you don’t seem to hold no grudge about it.”

“It was my fault,” Moss told her quietly.

That raised the woman’s eyebrows. She half grinned. “Take your clue from her, Mosco,” she said. “You say she’s sweet and eager to please. You be that to
your new bride and she’ll get real willing to give you what you want.”

Moss looked at her questioningly. “I thought you’d be saying it’s a wife’s duty to do what her husband says.”

Miz Patch shrugged. “Maybe so,” she said. “But I don’t think a man gets much joy from a marriage where his wife’s just doing her duty.”

He chuckled. “To tell you the truth, Miz Patch,” he said, “I ain’t never heard any man describe marriage as joy.”

“You’re right, they sure don’t say it,” she agreed. “But you’d be surprised how many of them feel it.”

“They are the lucky ones, I guess,” Moss said.

“Luck don’t have nothing to do with it,” Miz Patch told him. “Like anything in life worth having, hard work is what makes it. Think of marriage like farming, a long-term proposition. You start out with little to work with and a tough challenge every day. You work at it and as time goes by it just naturally gets better. But the harder you work, the faster it comes round to suit you.”

Moss chuckled. “I never cared much for farming, I suspect that even if I wanted to make a marriage work, I wouldn’t have the resolve to see it through.”

The incredulous expression on Miz Patch’s face apprised Moss that he’d said too much. He was leaving, and that would be known soon enough. But the less people understood about his reasoning, the better. This was private knowledge. Things between himself and Eulie. Nobody should ever know any of it. It was wrong that anyone should ever even have a hint of what went on between them.

“Miz Patch,” he said, firmly. “I don’t know for sure what’s going to happen with my marriage. But I don’t want any gossip being spread around about Eulie.”

The woman chuckled. “If you’re warning me off,” she said, “well, it ain’t strictly necessary. I’m fond of children always, and the Tobys especially, ‘cause they are in need of it more than most. I ain’t about to say a stinging word about any of them.”

Moss let out his breath slowly, relieved.

“But if you want to insure no gossip is spread,” she continued “Then you’d best settle into the domestic, get a house full of babies out of that little gal, and keep your eyes focused on the back end of your old mule. The only way to keep gossip away from your family is to not do or say anything for anybody to gossip about.”

Moss knew Miz Patch was right. He also knew that leaving to head west was going to set off a whirlwind of gossip that would likely never settle down. People were going to talk, and what could be more gossip-worthy than a man deserting his family.

His family.

The term jolted him somewhat. They were not his family. They were just a bunch of children that were living at his house. Uncle Jeptha was his family. Of course, he was leaving the old man with them. And you only left someone with family. But they weren’t his family. Not in any sense of the word Well, maybe Eulie was. He thought of the softness of her skin and the taste of her lips, the pleasure of laughing with her, and his passionate reaction to her nearness. Yes, he supposed that as family went, his wife was not half-bad.

Miz Patch had stepped through the doorway and at Eulie’s order was immediately seated at the table.
Eulie directed the children this way and that, getting things in order. The plates had to be set out, hands had to be washed, food had to be dished out. Moss stood on the threshold and watched his wife bring order to chaos. She did it with a smile upon her face. Eulie could be happy with so little. A little food from a little farm on a little corner of a mountain that was only a tiny speck of the big world. Moss was going to be able to have so much more. He was going to have the whole earth in which to wander. He could hardly wait to get started upon his journey.

“It sure mustn’t be easy sitting your whole family at this table,” Miz Patch said to him.

Moss stepped inside and took his place.

“No, it’s sure not,” he agreed.

“All those chairs in the making and no place to scoot them up to,” the woman pointed out.

Moss glanced up at Eulie as she set a mess of fried fish in front of him. “I’ll be finding us some good long planks and making a new table where everyone can sit around it at the same time.”

She smiled at him, clearly pleased. The children shouted with delight. One of the twins threw her arms around his neck.

“Thank you, Uncle Moss,” she said.

“He’s not our uncle,” her sister pointed out.

“Well Uncle Jeptha ain’t
our
Uncle Jeptha,” she said. “We can’t just keep calling him Eulie’s husband.”

Moss was taken completely off guard. The children were nothing to him. Why were they wondering what he was to them?

“You’ll call him Mr. Collier,” Eulie told the girls, only a slight hint of scold in her voice. “And you’ll do
so with respect. Cora Fay, don’t be hanging onto his neck like that. Mr. Collier ain’t used to youngers about, you’re making him uneasy.”

“He needs to get accustomed to having us around,” Nora May said.

“He don’t need to do nothing,” Eulie corrected. “It’s his home and while he’s here we need to oblige ourselves to him.”

“While he’s here?”

The question came from Cora Fay. Fortunately at that moment Rans came into the kitchen and right behind him Uncle Jeptha propelled his cart through the doorway.

The older man made his way to the empty chair. Rans leaned against the wall behind him, as if making himself available for assistance.

Moss was somewhat surprised to see his uncle at the table. Jeptha was extremely reticent with company of any kind. He had fully expected the man to hide out until Miz Patch had made her departure.

But he was here, not looking to the left or right, pushing his cart up next to the chair and hoisting himself up in the seat opposite Moss. He didn’t say one word of welcome or even glance in the woman’s direction.

Clara, with Minnie upon her lap, took the other seat, the twins on either side of her. Eulie stood behind him. It felt good to have her there, Moss thought. It was right somehow. He glanced over at Miz Patch.

The woman’s brow was furrowed as she sniffed the air unpleasantly and then glanced beside her. Uncle Jeptha was seated with Rans right behind him.

“Rans,” she said with a hint of rebuke in her tone.
“You’d better take to washing up more regular. I can smell you from here.”

The boy bristled at the criticism.

“It ain’t me, Miz Patch,” he assured her hastily. “I wash down every day and bathe in the river on Saturday night.” He pointed to the man in front of him. “It’s Uncle Jeptha that don’t have no use for soap and water.”

Miz Patch dropped her gaze to Jeptha’s face. Their eyes met. If his uncle was embarrassed, he didn’t show it.

“I don’t know how you can smell anything except half-burnt fish,” he said.

Moss hadn’t noticed any burnt smell until that moment. He glanced down to the table and he saw that although the fish on his own plate were perfect, the ones upon his wife’s were very blackened on the edges.

“Cleanliness is next to godliness, Jeptha Barnes,” Miz Patch said with conviction.

Uncle Jeptha’s reply was harsh, censuring. “I gave up on God twenty years ago,” he said.

His words brought a gasp from the children, clearly recognizing blasphemy when they heard it.

Miz Patch didn’t so much as bat an eye.

“It’s a good thing then,” she answered. “That God hasn’t given up on you.”

Her words clearly provoked Jeptha, and he looked ready to spit venom.

“If my presence ain’t fit for ye,” he said, “then I’ll take my vittles and go.”

“Uncle Jeptha …” Eulie began, conciliatory.

Moss held up his hand and effectively silenced her. He had been stunned that Jeptha had even approached
the kitchen with company at hand. He never saw a soul or talked to anyone. The man would probably have never answered the meal call if he’d even realized Miz Patch was visiting. Certainly he would be more comfortable alone, hiding out as he usually did.

Uncle Jeptha flung himself angrily back into his cart. He looked neither to the left nor to the right. Eulie handed him his plate of food. He tucked it safely before him and propelled himself out the door.

After he was out of earshot, Moss spoke his apology.

“My uncle has suffered a good deal,” he said simply. “It has made him bitter and bad-tempered.”

Miz Patch nodded. “The children will be good for him,” she said. “It’s hard to make a life of your anguish when you are not alone.”

Moss had no reply to that. Fortunately, Eulie spoke up.

“Miz Patch, as our company we’d be honored if you’d share grace for our meal.”

The children lowered their heads and closed their eyes. Miz Patch prayed, asking for blessing on the house and those in it. She ended with a hearty
Amen.

“Amen,” Moss repeated.

Immediately, he began to eat and encouraged everyone else to do so.

His wife moved to take Jeptha’s vacant seat at the far side of the table.

“There is something I wanted to speak to you about, Eulie,” Miz Patch said. “I suspect this is as good a time as any.”

“What is it?” Eulie asked.

“Well, you know I’ve been teaching the twins to
weave,” she said. “They are good at it, both of them, just naturally real good.”

Eulie smiled and gave the two girls a proud glance.

“That’s wonderful to hear,” she said, looking in Moss’s direction as if to share the good news with him.

“Yes, it is,” he agreed.

Clara, with a twin on either side, gave the two girls a quick hug.

“Miz Patch is the finest weaver in the Sweetwood,” she said. “A compliment from her is very special indeed.”

“I know you’re going to need these two to help around here this summer,” Miz Patch said. “But after harvest is in, I’d like them to come work the loom with me.”

The twins shared whispered excitement and delighted giggles.

“I’m sure they could learn a lot from you,” Eulie said. “But that’s a very long walk. They couldn’t do it every day. And never in the snow.”

“Whenever you could spare them,” Miz Patch said. “And of course they are welcome to stay with me, snow or shine. They are delightful little gals to have around.”

“Sounds like you are as needful of children as Uncle Jeptha,” Little Minnie said with deliberate snide-ness. The attention centered upon the twins obviously did not set well with her.

Miz Patch gave the child a baleful glance. “I am needful of children,” she agreed. “We all are in our way, I suppose.”

“Too bad you never had none,” Minnie added, her tone nasty and somewhat superior.

“Minnie!” Eulie scolded, between clenched teeth.

Miz Patch ignored the reproof.

“Who told you that I had no children?” she asked.

“Mrs. Pierce,” Minnie answered. “She said all the Patchels around here are your stepchildren. That you didn’t have none of your own.”

Miz Patch calmly continued eating her dinner as she replied. “That’s not entirely true.”

“It’s not?”

Everyone at the table was surprised.

“When I married Mr. Patchel, he had a whole house full of children for me to tend to. But I birthed three children of my own.”

Eulie shared a stricken glance with Moss and then admonished the children.

“Eat your fish,” she said. “And let Miz Patch eat hers.”

Moss nodded agreement, considering the discussion complete.

Little Minnie, however, didn’t see it that way.

“Where are they?” Minnie asked. “Where are your children? Do I know them?”