Texas Born (21 page)

Zaccheus slowly approached the bed and stared
down at his mother, his heart tightening painfully. With a shock he
saw how much weight she'd lost. She'd always been on the gaunt
side, but sturdy, and fit as a fiddle. Now the skin of her face
hung with a slack translucence, one of her arms, poking out from
under the covers, seemed ghostly pale and skeletal, and her
emaciated body was drenched with sweat. Even the covers were soaked
through.

She seemed to sense his presence: her eyes
flickered open. 'Zack,' she whispered listlessly, her lips barely
moving. 'My son.' She lifted one arm slowly, holding a trembling
hand toward him.

'Ma!' The word was a sob caught in his
throat. Then he was kneeling beside her bed, holding her clammy
hand tightly. He brought it up to his lips.

She turned her face sideways on the pillow to
face him, her eyes deep and dull, yet moist with a peculiar shine.
'Let your ma look at you!' Her lips curved into a faint smile.
'You've grown taller, son. My, but you're a fine-lookin' man, if I
say so myself. Life at that college shore seems to be agreein' with
you.'

'Ma? Soon's I heard how sick you were, I came
hurry in'.' For some strange reason, for the first time in many
years he found himself slipping into the country dialect of his
childhood. It was as if he wanted her to know he was hers, that he
was no different from her, that they were equals.

'I know you hurried, son.' She sighed heavily
and sat suddenly forward, her body racked with coughs. They came
from deep within her and seemed to last forever. She turned away,
felt for a rag, and spat noisily into it. Then she balled the rag
up, sank back on the pillow, and smiled apologetically. 'It's the
sickness,' she said weakly.

'How long you been sick, Ma?'

'Since right after you left,' she said
quietly.

'And you didn't tell me? Why didn't you have
Reverend Flatts write to me?'

'He wanted to, but I wouldn't let him. You're
busy, son. You got your whole life ahead o' you. I didn't want to
mess that up for you.'

Tears blurred his vision. 'I love you, Ma!'
he said with quiet forcefulness.

'I know that, son,' she said gently. 'And I'm
so glad that you're doin' well. I'm so proud of you. That's what
kept me goin' all this time. Even ole Doc Fergueson sez so.' She
paused. 'By all rights I shoulda been six feet under a long time
ago.'

'Don't talk like that, Ma!' he whispered
huskily. 'You're gonna live. I'm not gonna let you die!'

She smiled painfully. 'Sooner or later, we
all gotta die, son.'

'Then I'll make sure it's later,' he
vowed.

'Will you do somethin' for me, son?

'Sure, Ma. Anything you ask.'

'Jest hold me? Jest for a minute?'

He nodded and drew close to kiss her.

She turned abruptly away. 'Don't kiss me!'
she whispered.

He stared at her uncomprehendingly. 'Why
not?'

'Doc Fergueson said so. No kissin'. An' don't
touch my spit rag, neither.'

'Why? What have you got?'

'It's my lungs. I fergit the word for it. Doc
Fergueson sez it's from the cold winters and the bad heat here in
this house.'

'Tuberculosis?' he asked softly.

'Yeah. That's it!' She smiled again at him,
this time radiantly. 'You shore are gittin' an education. My! Jest
listen to you rattlin' off them big words!'

In his rocker, Nathaniel awoke with a start.
He stared at Zaccheus, then pushed himself painfully to his feet.
The illness was taking its toll on him too. He looked thinner,
older. Worn out.

Zaccheus forced himself to smile. He held up
a hand in awkward greeting. 'Hi, Pa!'

'Hi, son.'

Then Nathaniel did something he had never
done before in his life. He swiftly crossed to the bed, put his
arms around his son, and held him tightly.

It was raining. One of those warm, steady
country rains. Inside the cabin it sounded like a ceaseless
scratching on the roof. When Zaccheus looked out the window, all he
could see were steady silver rivulets of water running down from
the eaves. He could hear the steady musical plops as water dripped
heavily down into the buckets from leaks in the roof.

Nathaniel continued his listless vigil in the
armchair. He seemed to lack interest in anything. The crops were
suffering. The fences needed mending. Even the tools were rusting.
The only thing he did do was feed and water the animals so they
wouldn't die. Nothing else mattered much anymore.

Zaccheus boiled a large of pot of water and
kept busy for a while scrubbing the crusty dishes and pots and pans
which had accumulated over the weeks. It was a thankless chore, but
he was glad to be able to do something—anything—as long as he could
keep occupied.

After he finished the dishes, scrubbing the
pots with steel wool until they shone with a luster they hadn't
seen since they were new, he began to tidy up the cabin. But
despite all his puttering, his mind was consumed with his mother's
illness.

When the cabin was tidy, he stepped out onto
the porch for a well-deserved break. He sat down on the porch
bench, his back to the cabin wall, savoring the freshness and
cleansing effects of the rain. He stifled a yawn. Strange, how
until now he hadn't realized how bone-weary he was. The last three
days must be taking their toll. First there had been the long train
trip during which he'd hardly managed to catch a wink. And last
night he'd barely been able to shut his eyes. All night long, his
mother had had coughing fits. It had been difficult to sleep
through them.

Now he found his eyelids drooping. His head
slowly lolled forward onto his chest, and he nodded off.

He awoke abruptly, suddenly aware that
someone was standing over him. He lifted his head. 'Doc!' he said
with surprise.

Doc Fergueson was a short, stout man with
tufts of unruly white hair and a pleasant reddish face. 'Zaccheus,'
he greeted gravely.

Zaccheus got to his feet and they shook
hands. The doctor's grip was surprisingly firm and warm.

'Mind if I sit down and join you?' Doc
Fergueson asked.

'No, not at all, Doc. Make yourself
comfortable.'

They shared the bench, Doc Fergueson putting
his black leather satchel carefully down beside him. 'You're
worried, son,' he said.

Zaccheus nodded. 'Did you examine my mother
yet?'

Doc Fergueson nodded. 'I arrived about half
an hour ago.'

'And?'

'It doesn't look well, I'm afraid. Not well
at all.'

Zaccheus felt the weight on his shoulders
increasing. 'Is there anything we can do?'

'I'm afraid not,' Doc Fergueson sighed,
staring out into the rain. 'All we can do is try to make it easier
for her. If you had the money, I'd suggest a clinic back east in
Asheville, North Carolina. Otherwise . . .' He shrugged helplessly.
'I'm afraid she'll die, and soon. In her condition, this cabin
isn't a very healthy place. Not with all the drafts and leaks.'

'It's the only home we've got,' Zaccheus said
miserably.

'I know that,' Doc Fergueson said softly.

'Can I go in and see her?'

Doc Fergueson nodded and Zaccheus went
inside.

Sue Ellen appeared to be asleep, her stringy
hair fanning out over the thin pillow beneath her. Her face was
pale and drawn, and there were dark shadows under her eyes.

'Ma,' Zaccheus said softly.

Her eyes slowly opened. She reached out to
touch Zaccheus' hand. 'Mornin', son,' she said weakly.

He cupped both his hands around hers and felt
a stab of pain: even her fingers felt brittle and fragile. He sat
down on the edge of the bed. 'You had a bad night, Ma. How do you
feel now?'

'A li'l better. I'm worse nights than days.
Hope I didn't keep you from sleepin'?'

'No,' he lied, 'I could sleep through a
thunderstorm.'

She sighed and knit her brows. 'I'm jest so
bored lyin' in bed all the time! That's the worst of it. I ain't
used to doin' nothin'.'

'Soon as you're well, you'll be up and
about.'

'No.' She shook her head. 'I ain't never
gonna be up'n about agin. I hope I die soon, that's all. That way
your pappy'll be able to git on with things.' She sighed weakly. 'I
ain't nothin' but a chain round 'is neck.'

'No, you ain't.'

She pulled her hand out of his and turned her
face sideways; when she spoke, her voice was muffled by the pillow.
'I tried to be a good wife to yer pappy. I tried to work hard and
raise his children the best I could. But now it's all over.' She
turned around, her eyes wide and glistening with hot tears. 'Once
I'm dead, do me a favor, Zack? Take care o' yer pappy fer a li'l
while? He's a lot more sensitive than he lets on, and he's been
takin' all this mighty hard.'

Tears blurred Zaccheus' vision. 'I promise,'
he said quietly. 'But I don't want to hear talk like that no more,
Ma. You're gonna get well. I'll see to it.'

But he didn't know if she heard him. Her eyes
were already closed and her breathing came softly, regularly. She
had fallen asleep at last.

Doc Fergueson was still waiting for him out
on the porch.

Trembling, Zaccheus sat down slowly and
stared at the doctor. He hesitated a moment. 'This clinic you
mentioned, Doc. What can you tell me about it?'

'It's expensive, son. Too expensive for most
people. Only the rich can afford to go there.'

'But it
could
help Ma?' Zaccheus
persisted.

'Well, yes and no,' the doctor said
carefully. 'It'll never get rid of the tuberculosis, I'm afraid,
but with a lot of rest and the right care, it could arrest the
disease for a while. She could even improve a little.'

'Then we've got no choice,' Zaccheus said
firmly. 'We'll have to send her there. How much would it cost?'

Doc Fergueson looked at him. 'A hundred
dollars a month, something like that.'

'A hundred dollars!' Zaccheus sat very still,
not daring to breathe. There wasn't that much money in the world!
'And how long would she need to stay there?' he asked finally.

'Three months at the minimum, maybe four.
Maybe even six or eight.'

Zaccheus' mind was reeling. Three months at
the clinic would come to three hundred dollars, eight months to
eight hundred. 'We just don't have that kind of money.'

Doc Fergueson's voice was soft. 'I know,
son.'

'But if we could raise it,' Zaccheus said,
'then could you get her in?'

'Yes,' Doc Fergueson said positively. 'It's a
private clinic. They'll take anybody as long as they can pay.'

Letitia, Theoderick, and their four
children—Jesse, aged five, Stockley, aged four, Pearl, two and a
half, and Sallie Sue, barely six months—drove over to visit Sue
Ellen that afternoon. Letitia hadn't known that Zaccheus was home
and she gave him a warm hug. Theoderick shook his hand stiffly. The
two older children let out whoops and went running off into the
rain. 'Don't get too wet!' Letitia called after them, but they
threw caution to the wind and didn't listen.

After the grown-ups, Pearl, and Sallie Sue
visited with Sue Ellen for a while, it was clear that she was
growing tired, so they all went outside. Nathaniel and Theoderick
sat on the porch drinking moonshine, Pearl playing at their feet,
while Letitia picked up Sallie Sue. The rain had let up, and
together she and Zaccheus walked to the banks of the creek, where
he had once talked so candidly about the future with her.

The years of hard farmwork had already made
their mark on Letitia. Though still sturdy and strong, she was
thinner, with compressed lips and angular cheekbones. Her skin was
tanned dark, and crow's-feet were beginning to appear at the
corners of her eyes. She held herself rigidly erect and her steely
eyes were clear and impassive, almost cool in their appraisals. She
rarely smiled. It was as if she had lost her sense of humor.

Zaccheus was filled with a sense of
misgiving. At first he had been relatively certain that his sister
would agree to at least think about what he was about to propose,
but now he wasn't so sure.

He waited for the right opening to come up in
their conversation.

Letitia said, 'I hear you're gittin' along
well in school.'

Zaccheus nodded.

'Ever'one's real proud o' you. Don't, honey!'
She leaned her head sideways as Sallie Sue tried to tug on her
hair.

'I hear you and Theoderick aren't hurting
either. Ma tells me you expanded the farm.'

She nodded. 'Yeah. We bought thirty more
acres last year, after the Widder Dodelson died.'

This was the opening he had been waiting
for.

He took a deep breath. 'Letitia?'

'Yeah?'

'We gotta do something for Ma.'

'Do somethin'?' His sister frowned. 'Like
what?'

'Doc Fergueson says if we can send her to a
clinic in Asheville she might get better.' He shrugged. 'Who knows?
She can't get any worse, that's for sure.'

'An'?' She eyed him warily. 'What's the
catch?'

He sighed painfully. 'It's expensive.'

'Uh-uh.' She shook her head vehemently. 'We
ain't got no money, Zack. Not after puttin' a down payment on the
new land, keepin' up the payments, gittin' new machinery, and
feedin' the kids. All that eats up money. We can't afford to lose
what we got.'

He stared at her. 'But Ma's life is at
stake!'

'I know that, but what she got won't go
away,' she said with her own brand of logic.

He clenched his teeth. 'The clinic can help
her!' he said fervently. 'I know it will! What she needs is good
medical care!'

'It ain't gonna help none.'

'Why do you say that?'

She shifted Sallie Sue to her other arm.
'Theoderick, he don't believe in doctors. And what he sez is always
true. When the Widder Dodelson took sick and didn't do nothin'
'bout it, she wuz fine. Soon's Doc Fergueson started meddlin' with
her, it wuz curtains. Same way with Willie Brashear.' She looked at
him significantly.