The Land (43 page)

As the days and weeks since Mitchell's death had passed one into another, more and more I had begun to look forward to the evenings after the brush was burned, for there were many nights when Caroline and I sat at the outdoor fire and talked late hours into the night. Sometimes Tom Bee was with us and sometimes Horace Avery on the nights they stayed over, but mostly it was just Caroline and me, and I liked things that way. Nathan would always sit with us as long as he could, but then sleep would drift over him and he would lie down, curled on the ground near the fire, and we didn't disturb him to go off to the shed until we too rose to go to our sleep. I'm not sure what Caroline's thinking was on not sending Nathan off, but it was a comfort to me knowing Nathan was right there in our presence, and maybe the same was true of Caroline.

More and more I thought on my promise to Mitchell, that part of my promise to marry Caroline. I hadn't broached the subject with Caroline again since the day after my return from the ridge; still, I thought of it and no longer just because of Mitchell. Although from the beginning I had been attracted to Caroline, once Mitchell had spoken for her, I had let thoughts of her pass. I refused to dwell on her. I admit there were times I thought of Caroline, but I fought those thoughts and let them go. She had become my friend's wife, and that's how I had seen her. I had always expected to fall in love and find the right woman to work the land with me, and I knew I couldn't do better for a wife than Caroline. But at first following Mitchell's death, I didn't feel anything except my own sorrow and rage, and I knew Caroline felt the same. I had asked her to marry out of obligation to Mitchell and she'd made it clear that Mitchell was not about to rule her from the grave. The passing months, though, had begun to heal our wounds, and I began to wonder if her feelings for me were growing beyond our friendship, as mine were for her.

Each day as my feelings grew more, I worried more. Caroline's baby was soon due, and I worried about not only its coming but Caroline's continuous work from before the dawn until the late-night hours. I tried to get her to slow down, but she only laughed.

“You think my mama had a choice 'bout slowing down before she had me?” she asked one evening, when only she and I were left awake at the fire. Nathan lay asleep beside it. “No, suh! She worked straight 'til she had me, and once she did, she got back t' the fields soon after, and I'll tell ya somethin', Paul-Edward Logan. I figure t' be strong as my mama.”

I smiled at Caroline across the fire. “I don't doubt it.”

She smiled back. “Better not.”

I was silent.

She studied me. “What's the matter?”

“Can't help but worry.”

“Told ya, you got no call to worry 'bout me.” For a moment she too was silent. “What else you got worryin' you?”

I met her eyes and had a sudden flood of needing to tell her what she wanted to know: I wanted to tell her how my promise to Mitchell was eating at me. I wanted to tell her how much the land I was trying to buy from J. T. Hollenbeck meant to me. I wanted to tell her how low I was on money and that I didn't have enough to meet the next monthly payment on the note. All I had was enough to pay Tom Bee and Horace Avery. I had made sure I had enough for that. I didn't intend on cheating any man.

The one thing I didn't have worrying me still was selling the forty. John Lawes, the man Luke Sawyer had told me was interested in the forty, had taken a look at it and had liked what he saw. He had agreed to nine dollars an acre, not the ten I had asked, but I had received no money when we made the deal, for I did not yet have title to the land. I would have to wait until my bargain with Filmore Granger was fulfilled for that. There was relief in knowing that I would have the money soon, but that wasn't easing my mind about the next months. I needed money now.

In the time since I had last seen Luke Sawyer, I had given much thought about working with him again full time. If I did work with him, at least I could get the money I needed for the monthly payments. But I had held back from that because I didn't want to leave the responsibility of the place to Caroline. If I left, she would have to make sure the timber was cut and the fields were tended. I knew that she would take it on, but I couldn't put that responsibility on her, not with her health and Mitchell's child at stake. In addition, if I were to leave, that would mean having to ask more work time of Tom Bee and Horace Avery. As things stood, I wasn't even sure how much longer I could keep them on. I certainly couldn't ask them to trust me for their money until I got the monthly payments out of the way, finished my obligations to Filmore Granger, and sold the forty. They had their folks to think of too. I wanted to tell Caroline all these things, but I couldn't.

“Paul-Edward, I want you to know somethin',” Caroline said when I had given her no answer. “I know you been worried 'bout a lotta things, and that's includin' me and this baby. But I want you to know I ain't worried. Mitchell, he put his faith in you and I do too.” Her eyes studied me. “So what is it? You worried 'bout gettin' these trees cut in time to meet Filmore Granger's deadline? If you worried 'bout that, then don't be. What with Mister Tom Bee and Horace Avery, Nathan, you, and me, we'll get 'em down in time.”

I smiled at her reassurance. “You really think so?”

“Course. Don't worry 'bout it.”

Caroline's words, as so often, were spoken as fact, and I took consolation from them. Still, though, I did worry, and I gave further thought of going to Luke Sawyer. I knew that if I did go, I would have to tell Caroline why. I put that off and as the days toward meeting the next note to J. T. Hollenbeck dwindled to within a few, I decided upon selling two of the mules and the wagon instead. Somehow we'd make do without the wagon and just the one team.

“Where you goin' with them mules?” Caroline asked the dawn I hitched the mules to the wagon.

“I've got to go to Strawberry,” I said.

“You takin' them mules there, you gonna bring them back again?”

I looked at her. “What do you mean by that?”

Caroline glanced out at the rising sun, then back at me. “Where your tools?”

“What?”

“Your tools. You ain't used 'em in a spell.”

“Haven't had time.”

“Sent Nathan out to get your hammer other day. He done said he ain't seen yo' toolbox.”

“Well, Nathan knows he's not supposed to use tools in that box for anything but woodworking.”

“Maybe so, but he still ain't seen yo' toolbox.”

I shrugged. “Maybe he overlooked it.”

“S'pose he did, seein' it ain't there.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She didn't answer my question as she went on with her own. “Where's yo' watch?”

“My watch?”

“Ain't seen ya lookin' at it here lately.”

“Don't have time to check it.”

Caroline grunted. “Then where's it at?”

“In safe keeping.”

“You sold it, ain't ya?”

I gazed at her, stupefied.

“You sold it, ain't ya, Paul-Edward? Your tools too.”

“Caroline—”

“What else ya sell?”

I tried to gather myself. “Whatever I sold, it's my business,” I said finally. “Nobody else's.”

“'Ceptin' mine,” she retorted.

“Not yours either. You're not my wife,” I reminded her.

“Yeah, but half of this here forty, it's mine,” she returned. “And if you sellin' things, then that means you got a mighty need for money, and the only reason I can figure you t' need money is for that Hollenbeck note and to pay these men choppin' these trees. You don't finish choppin' these here trees in time, we lose this place. We lose this place, then you can't get that Hollenbeck land, so you sellin' even what's most precious t' ya to keep that from happenin'. That's all I can figure.”

I stood there in front of her, holding the reins to the mules and not knowing what else to say to her. I wouldn't lie, I couldn't lie to Caroline, and there were no other words but the truth, which I couldn't speak.

Caroline saved me from that. She dug into her apron pocket, then pulled out her hand, clutched into a ball. With her other hand she took my hand and placed her balled fist into it. “Here,” she said. “You take this.” She opened her hand and placed two bills in my palm.

I stared at the money, then at Caroline.

“You ain't the only one got things t' sell,” she said.

“Caroline . . . I can't take this.”

“You keep forgettin', Paul-Edward Logan, this here's my land too, and whatever worry you got 'bout it, they my worries too.”

“What did you sell?”

“The hogs. They was mine, and I done chose t' sell 'em. Got a good price too. Don't forget I learned bargainin' from my daddy. And don't ya go tellin' me t' go get my hogs back, 'cause I done already made my bargain. Anyway, they probably sides of bacon and ham hangin' from a smokehouse by now. Rest of that money is what I brung with me from my daddy's house. It's all the money I got, but if I need to, I'll sell that cow too. But you can't go sellin' the mules, Paul-Edward. We need 'em too much.”

I didn't have further words to say. I took Caroline's money and paid J. T. Hollenbeck. I vowed to pay her back.

“Nathan!” exclaimed Caroline on an evening a few days later. “Why don't you break out that harmonica of yours? Know you been itchin' t' play it.” It was after supper, and Caroline was washing the dishes outside the cabin door. We hadn't yet burned the brush.

Nathan looked a bit apprehensive. “Ya sure, Caroline?”

“Yes, suh, I'm sure. Right sure. Been hearin' ya playin' it afar off, down by the creek. And don't be playin' no sad music. I wants something happy round here!”

Nathan grinned, sat down upon the stoop, and pulled out his harmonica from a shirt pocket. He lit into a lively tune. Caroline laughed and soon began to sing along. I watched, feeling the love and family they shared, then picked up the buckets and headed for the creek. Tom Bee and Horace Avery had gone to their own homes, and we still had the brush to burn. We needed water to dampen the ground around the brush, and even though hauling water was mostly Nathan's chore, I let him play. I was enjoying the music too.

When I came back, Caroline had finished the dishes and was seated upon the stump, where she always sat at the outdoor fire. She had a tin cup in one hand and a bowl in the other. “Put them buckets down, Paul-Edward,” she ordered, “and come on have some of my tea and blueberry cobbler 'fore we get started with the brush.”

I nodded and took the buckets over to the pile of brush. It was Caroline's custom to serve her dessert about an hour after her supper, once all the household chores were done. On the nights we burned the brush, she always had something for us to drink afterward. It seemed her way of bringing in peace for the night.

“Nathan, you put that harmonica down now and come on too. Got yo' favorite.”

“In a minute,” said Nathan, and went on playing by the stoop.

I took my seat opposite Caroline. She handed me the cup and bowl, and I took a sip of the tea, then set the cup on the ground. I spooned up the cobbler. As always, it was perfect to my taste, and I told her so.

“I'm glad,” she said. “It was Mitchell's favorite.”

“I know.”

“Course now, sweet-potato cobbler wasn't too far behind.”

I laughed. “Know that too.”

She breathed deep of the night air. “This feels good,” she said. “Sitting here talkin' easy on an evening, like we do.”

I nodded, knowing exactly what she meant.

“Always figured this here'd be how Mitchell and me would spend our evenings.” Suddenly she laughed. “Course, Mitchell wasn't never one for talkin' low and readin' and such, like you do. Still, he had hisself a way . . . yeah, he had hisself a way.”

“I know you're missing him.”

“Know you is too.”

She was silent, her eyes lowered; then she looked at me and I saw her eyes against the fire glow. “Ya know, Paul-Edward, I'm so sorry I ain't married Mitchell right away when he asked me. My papa, my mama too, they wanted me t' wait t' marry, but I regret I ain't followed my own mind and gone on and married Mitchell when he wanted. We wasted so much time.”

I had never seen one tear well up in Caroline's eyes, not even when Mitchell died. Whatever crying she'd done, she had done to herself or with her family. But now I saw the sparkle of tears, and I took my time before I said anything further to her. I finished off my cobbler, then set the bowl down. I looked at Caroline and spoke quietly. “You want to know what I think?”

“What's that?”

“Your folks were right. Mitchell, he needed that year. He always got every woman he wanted. He needed to wait on you.”

Caroline frowned. “You think he was glad he done that?”

“I know he was. Things come easy in this life aren't very much appreciated, and Mitchell certainly appreciated you. He cherished you. You're worth waiting for.”

The tears fell without sobs or sound of any kind, and Caroline did not wipe them away. Nathan joined us, and Caroline handed him his bowl of cobbler. Then she said to me, “You know, Mitchell done thought the world of you, Paul-Edward. He said he done figured you his family.”

“Figured him the same,” I said.

“Y'all was good friends.”

“No,” I said. “Not just friends. Brothers.”