Still House Pond (31 page)

Copper took off her gloves and unpinned her hat. “How are we going to stand this? How could we just lose her?”

Remy filled the kettle with water and set it on a hot burner.

“Have you not slept at all tonight?” Copper asked.

“I cain't get me no rest with Lilly out there somewheres all alone.”

Copper rubbed her eyes. “Is Cara still here helping with the children?”

“Yup, I give her and Dimmert yore bed. He's kept everything up, and she's real good with the young'uns. Everybody's been good. We ain't cooked nothing save breakfast since you left.”

“Looks like the storm followed us home,” John said when he came in. Striking lightning cracked beyond the open door.

Remy put a bowl of brown beans and a triangle of corn bread on the table for him. For Copper she offered a smaller piece of the bread and a cup of sassafras with honey stirred in.

“I'll eat if you will,” Copper said.

Remy fixed another plate and sat at the table with them.

John ate like he was starved, then served himself another bowl. “Are you hearing anything?” he asked Remy.

“There ain't hardly been time,” Remy said. “Dimmert went scouting down by the creek once Brother Jasper left. We was thinking she might . . .”

Copper forced a sip of tea. She put a dab of honey on her corn bread and one on Remy's. “Remember when Lilly was little and got lost? We hunted the place over for her. Dimm and I walked up and down the creek and . . .”

“I'd almost forgot,” Remy said. “I found her and set her back on the bank. She was splashing around having a good old time.”

“She'd been chasing that cat Old Tom. God gave her back then, and He will again,” Copper said.

Thunder boomed and shook the house. Rain pounded on the roof.

“It's been doing this off and on since yesterday noon,” Remy said, licking honey off her fingers.

John pushed his plate away. “I'm going out.”

“I wish you wouldn't.” Copper followed him to the door. Rain whooshed in. “You won't find anything in this.”

He took his old, brown oilcloth slicker from a peg and put it on. “I've got to do something,” he said, brushing her cheek with his fingertips. “You keep the faith. Something good will come from this. You'll see.”

She watched the rain swallow him up as soon as he stepped off the porch.
Please, Lord, let him be right.

31

Lilly had never been so bored. There was nothing to do. Nothing. Now that she knew she wouldn't be locked up much longer, she didn't even have her fear to entertain herself with. If it would just stop raining so the Stills could get in their buckboard and head out, her problems would be solved.

Besides, she had eaten all the cake and the pies. The dog had finished the biscuits. There was nothing left in the wicker hamper but a twist of salt and a cucumber. She didn't know why her mama had packed a cucumber. Lilly would have to be starving to eat one. And she was determined to not touch the food Mr. Still brought. Yuck. The packets made Steady happy, though.

She'd spent most of the stormy morning perched under the window, watching the sodden yard for signs of activity. Occasionally one of the boys—she guessed they were Tern's little brothers—would run out the door and splash around in a mud puddle until the grandmother called him back in. She always hollered the same thing, “You'll catch your death out there.” The boys seemed to mind her pretty well.

Sometime during the night, Mr. Still had closed and barred the door again. She understood that he didn't want her to escape until he and his family made their getaway. He wasn't as completely evil as she'd first thought, but he was plenty mean. Anybody who would drown a puppy was mean in her book. And, she thought, by the way his mother treated him, he wasn't very smart. Dumb and mean was not a good combination. She sure didn't want to set him off again. The best thing for her to do was stay patient and quiet—very quiet.

Lying on her back on the pallet with Steady and the puppy beside her, she held her Bible at arm's length and read all the Bible stories she could think of: David and Goliath, Moses in the bulrushes, Esther and the reversal of fortune, and her favorite, the story of Daniel and of Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego, and the fiery furnace.

“Listen to what Daniel has to say to Melzar,” she said to Steady. “‘Prove thy servants, I beseech thee, ten days; and let them give us pulse to eat, and water to drink.' What do you suppose
pulse
means? I never noticed that before. They didn't like meat. I can tell that—but
pulse
? I thought that was like a heartbeat. But this has something to do with food. I suppose Daniel and the rest would more than likely eat cucumbers. I wish I had my dictionary so I could look it up.”

Lilly put the Bible back on the box and picked up one of the musty newspapers. She had worked her way through the stack and had learned some fascinating things. She turned to her stomach and spread the paper on the pallet. Resting on her elbows, she began reading an article on the smallpox vaccination. On her upper arm was an ugly round mark from the vaccine she been given when they visited her grandmam in Philadelphia. Mama called it her badge of courage.

The date printed on the paper was October 1882. That was a long time ago. No wonder the paper nearly came apart when she separated the pages. The article explained how a simple milkmaid had given a doctor the idea for the smallpox vaccine. “Oh, listen to this,” she said. “It's a funny poem.”

“Where are you going, my pretty milkmaid?”

“To see Doctor Jenner,” the milkmaid said,

“I have such a cough, and it bothers me so

I promised Jack Robin for sure that I'd go

For a draught from the doctor today.”

And she nodded her head with so saucy a smile,

That no one would think, who was looking the while,

That she needed the doctor, his pills or his plaster,

I doubt she could swear that she did, if you asked her;

That sunny bright morning in May.

Lilly got so caught up in the poem that her voice trailed off. Steady whined and licked her arm. “Oh, sorry,” she said. “You're wondering what happened. Well, Jack Robin—he's her boyfriend—sent the milkmaid to the doctor because he's afraid she will get the awful smallpox like some other folks in their village.” Crooking her arm, she patted Steady's head. “You don't have to worry. Dogs don't get people disease. Here, I'll read the rest.”

Dr. Jenner looked grave, when she mentioned the matter;

He thought it too bad for so careless a chatter;

But saucy young Nancy had nothing to dread,

“But few of the milkmaids would get it,” she said.

“For their hands had been sore from the cows,

And although it was horrid to milk when the beast

Had her bag all broken out, it was certain, at least,

To keep the smallpox from the house.”

I hope Doctor Jenner that morning in May,

When he finished her pills and then sent her away,

Remembered enough of the lass and the stuff

Not to give her a dose for a cow;

For his mind went far off

From the girl and the cough;

But what does it matter, just now?

For her few simple words, while she waited,

Oh! Think with how much they were freighted,

When Jenner's quick mind they awakened, to find

How science could conquer the foe.

And gave every nation that blessed VACCINATION

That takes out the sting from the blow.

“That is so funny. I can't wait to share it with Kate.” If she could breathe better, she would have laughed, but while she was reading the poem, Steady had settled down in the small of her back. “You're squashing me.” She rolled to her side and let the dog slide onto the floor.

The beagle stood and stretched a mile before circling back down.

“You're not much for conversation, are you?” Lilly scratched the spot between Steady's eyes. “I guess you're as bored as me.”

The thatched roof muffled the sound of the rain. It might be July, but the room was chill. Lilly pulled one of the jackets up over her shoulders and spread it out to cover the puppy. All the little thing did was sleep and eat. She hoped it was healthy, but she'd sure be glad when she could take it for Mama to see.

She yawned and blinked and turned introspective while the storm raged on. The poem had been funny, but it also made her think about what she wanted to be. One time in school she had done a report on a famous woman. The woman's name was Elizabeth Blackwell. Her family came to America from England. Elizabeth decided to be a doctor when a friend of hers, who was gravely ill, said she would get better treatment if she had been a man. Well, that got Elizabeth's dander up and Lilly's too.

During her research, Lilly had learned that Elizabeth decided to do something to make life better for women and so she went to medical school. Before she did her report, Lilly hadn't known that women could be doctors.

Rain dripped from a hole in the ceiling with a beat as even as seconds ticking from a clock. Lilly watched it fall and plop, fall and plop until she was nearly hypnotized. She blinked her eyes to break the spell.

She'd always thought she would be something like a teacher when she grew up or maybe work in a bank like the one Aunt Alice took her to when they went to the city. It was fun to see how quickly the teller's fingers slicked through stacks of paper money. She could do that, for she was very good with numbers.

What would it be like being a grown-up and being in charge of yourself? She wouldn't want to be a milkmaid, even though she liked cows—and she didn't want a boyfriend, even a nice one like Jack Robin. She would like to be like Dr. Jenner or Dr. Blackwell. Her mama helped people, but she wanted to do more so people wouldn't get sick in the first place, people like Adie Still. Maybe she could be a doctor like her father had been. Aunt Alice would like that. It was something to think about. She yawned again. Rain sure made you sleepy.

When Lilly awoke, she climbed to the lookout window. The rain had tapered off into a fine mist. The buckboard had been moved in front of the flat-rock stoop. She saw Tern talking to his father. Mr. Still went to the door and hollered for Mrs. Still. She came out with a stack of pots and a teakettle. These she set on the lowered tailgate. Tern jumped up on it and moved them closer to the front of the bed.

Mr. Still acted agitated, flinging his arms around and barking orders. He seemed to be trying to hurry his mother along. She turned her back and went inside. He and Tern followed. Soon everyone came out carrying something: bundles of linen, chairs, dishes, crocks, a broom, a cradle with the baby in it—all were piled in the back of the buckboard. Two boys struggled with a blanket chest. Feather ticks, bolsters, and a disassembled bed followed. Last, the old lady went back into the house and came out carrying a bright yellow bird in a cage. She said something to one of the boys, and he rooted around in the pile of stuff until he found a pillowcase. The lady covered the cage with the case before putting it on the seat between herself and Mr. Still.

Mr. Still closed the tailgate, took his seat, and flicked the reins. The buckboard started rolling. The littler boys held on to the sides, and Tern sat holding the baby.

The noise of the Still family and the squeaky-wheeled buckboard faded away as the gloaming of the day settled across the yard and crept unbidden into her hidey-hole. Lightning bugs lifted from the sparse grass and plentiful weeds. Their teensy lanterns flashed messages of longing. From somewhere in the forest, a gentle mourning dove cooed its plaintive notes. Lilly thought she had never heard a more lonesome sound.

She felt as empty as the yard when the buckboard disappeared. Now she really was alone.

She climbed down and looked about the strange round room that had been her home since Wednesday. It had offered her many small comforts, but she couldn't wait to leave it. She packed her Bible and her brush and comb, her ruined watch and fob, the linen cloths she used for decoration, and the newspaper dated October 1882. Everything else she'd leave behind.

Steady barked and jumped against her. Running back to her baby, she lifted him by the neck, dragging him halfway across the floor before she let the little thing go and barked again.

“I'm not going to leave you,” Lilly said.

But the dog would not stop her disconcerted howling.

“Steady! Stop! I've got work to do.” Lilly positioned the boxes and the boards like she had done before.

The beagle jumped against one box and knocked the board down.

“What is wrong with you? Don't you see it's getting dark? We have to hurry and get out of here while we can still see.”

Whining, the dog went back to the pup.

Lilly shook her head in frustration. She got her valise, and wrapping the puppy in one of the old jackets, she put it inside and set the valise by the door. Steady seemed to understand. She stopped barking.

With the fulcrum in place, Lilly was able to slide the bar on the outside of the door up and over the fixtures securing it in place. It made a satisfying thump when it hit the ground. She moved the boxes and boards out of the way and went to open the door. She would carry the puppy down the ladder first and leave him in the valise while she came back for Steady. Or should she take Steady first? Would the dog try to jump out the door if she thought Lilly was leaving with her puppy?

She crouched beside her dog and looked her in the eyes. “You trust me, right? I'll be back for you.”

Steady licked her cheek in agreement.

Lilly lifted the carryall full of squirming puppy and with a huge feeling of relief opened the door. She couldn't believe her eyes. That stupid, mean, evil Mr. Still had left the ladder down. It lay as useless as a broken promise on the ground below. She judged the height. If she jumped safely, she could put the ladder in place and come back for the dogs. If she jumped and hit the ladder or a rock, she would probably break something important. She might lie there for days before she was found. That would leave Steady and the pup alone up here with no one to care for them. While she stood there, it got darker and darker until she couldn't see the ladder anymore.