Valley So Low (9 page)

“Were you going to put candles on it?” Harry asked after he stepped back from the kiss.

“No,” Maude said with genuine horror.  Some folks lit their trees with candles but she knew of two house fires begun that way. “It’ll be pretty enough without them.”

“Good,” he said. “It’s dangerous, I think.  Does George get to help trim the tree?”

“He can,” she replied. “But I don’t want him around the berries, and would you help me put the angel on first? He could mangle it.”

An hour later, the decorated cedar brightened up the front room.  Festooned with all the pretties, it offered the festive cheer Maude needed.  More than once, George almost toppled the tree by pushing against it, enchanted with the novelty of having the forest inside the house.  He ate most of one popcorn string, pulling each kernel from the garland, and Maude hoped it wouldn’t make him sick.  When she told Harry, he laughed. “If he gets the bellyache, it’ll be from the four molasses cookies he sneaked when you were hanging stuff on the tree, Maudie, not the bit of popcorn.”

“He didn’t!” Maude cried. Harry put his arm around her. “Oh, yeah, he did.” But despite his indulgence in the sweets, Harry sat and stared at the decorated tree with a combination of awe and confusion.  After a simple evening meal of pancakes, the three of them admired the Christmas tree and sang a few carols.  Maude danced with her son in her arms, whirling and twirling the waltz steps she’d learned as a child in town.  She wished she could dance with Harry but he coaxed Strauss’ “Blue Danube Waltz” from the piano so she waltzed with George who giggled.

Eyes closed, Maude remembered the first time she heard the music at Silver Moon School.  Miss Randleman could and did play classical music to bring culture to her students.  With his ear for music, Harry’d been an apt pupil.  She’d danced with him and shocked their classmates, surprising herself with her own natural grace.  Maude counted her steps—one, two, three, one two three—as she made the turns.  When the music came to an abrupt halt, she stopped.  Harry lifted George from her arms.  “He’s asleep,” he explained.  “Now it’s our turn to dance.”

He put the sleeping child on the sofa and covered him with a quilt.  Harry took Maude into his arms and they waltzed without any music as the tune echoed through her head.  Despite an occasional hitch in his bum leg, they sailed around the room in graceful rhythm and for Maude, the large, bare room in the old farmhouse vanished.  She twirled in Harry’s arms through a ballroom of her imagination, someplace she’d never seen but in pictures and those rare.  Maude dreamed up a wide room with beautiful black and white tiles on the floor and golden tapestries hung from the walls.  Princes and their consorts, dukes and their duchesses danced beside them, and the scent of soft pine mingled with roses in the hall. 

She became someone else, a titled lady or a fairy-tale princess for those moments and basked in the glow of dreams.  Her plain, ordinary housedress became a gown made from the finest silk or satin, edged in lace.  Every flounce and furbelow trimmed the imaginary garment and she could all but feel the swish of the rich cloth against her legs.  Although Harry offered more than the average man’s share of romantic moments, this one ranked high and Maude knew she’d keep this memory forever.  She’d talk about it to her daughters and granddaughters if she had any, the story preserved and pressed into her heart like flowers in a memory book.  Only toward the end of their dance did she realize Harry had hummed the tune throughout, so the music wasn’t just in her head.

Jamie would’ve never done this.  He’d said it was hug-dancing and wrong, sinful.  If I danced alone, he would’ve mocked me, laughed, and told me to stop being so silly.  He didn’t have a dream in his head, I don’t think. 
For a moment, Maude felt a pang at her thoughts and wondered if she was disloyal.  She considered it and decided no, she recognized reality.  And the truth wasn’t wrong, it just was.  Then she put Jamie, poor dead Jamie, out of her mind and waltzed with Harry, living a dream and feeling a rush of love powerful enough to shoot them to the stars.  Maude had never danced with such joy. 
No wonder they call it tripping the light fantastic!

When they stopped, Harry released her and then bowed to her, courtly as any fine gentleman might. His words confirmed he’d shared a similar fantasy as they waltzed. “Thank you for the dance, my dear lady,” he said.  His grin fired her happiness like a match to a candlewick and she laughed, her finger tracing the outline of his mouth.  With the fanciest pose she could strike, Maude replied, “You’re most welcome, sir.  Dare I hope for the pleasure of your company at dinner this evening?”

“You may,” he said.  Then Harry stopped playacting and pulled Maude against him.  He kissed her, a deep slow caress with his mouth.  His lips teased and tickled and cherished as heat flamed between them, potent as moonshine.  Maude wasn’t a drinker.  She’d had no more than a little hard cider, twice, and once a half glass of homemade Muscat wine but she recalled the sense of warmth, the slight giddy feeling that came after drinking.  Harry’s kiss infused her with something similar and intoxicated her senses.  He poured all his love into the kiss and she drank it deep, then gave it back.  He didn’t hurry the kiss and his arms lingered around her but there was no hurry, nothing pressing.  After a long, comfortable span, he sighed with contentment.  “You’re the eighth wonder of the world, Maudie,” Harry said. “I’m not much good with words and I don’t say it pretty or often, but I love you, woman.”

Emotion brought tears to her eyes as she threw her arms around him and hugged him again. “I love you too, Harry, always did,” she said, her voice half caught on a sob.  Harry stroked her back.  “I probably oughtn’t to tell you this,” he said. “I thought I’d lost you for good, never figured I’d be able to tell you I love you or be fixin’ to marry you.  When I came back from Kansas City, I came as much for you as for Granny and Granpa, but I figured I’d leave when the war ended and Jamie got back.  I don’t know what he’d think but if he hadn’t died in France, I wouldn’t be holding you, honey.  I hope he doesn’t mind.”

Maude thought he probably would, if he could, but she wasn’t about to share the theory with Harry.  Nor did she want to open up a vein and bleed grief over their happiness. “Jamie’s dead,” she said, brusque. “I believe things happen the way they do for a reason.  Since we’re ‘fessing up, I’ll say this and then I won’t ever say it again. I knew I’d made a mistake to wed Jamie soon as it was done, but I’d been raised to believe if you made your bed you have to lie in it, so I made the best of it.  I loved Jamie but not like this, not with what we share.  You make me happy, Harry.”

“Do I?” he whispered. “That’s grand, Maudie. I’m happier than I think I’ve ever been, even with everything that’s happened.”

Before she could speak, George woke with a howl.  Fearing he’d ended up with the tummy trouble, Maude hurried to pick him up but as soon as she did, he giggled and grinned. “How’s my boy?” she crooned. He put his face in the curve of her neck and rubbed, something he’d done since birth. 

“He okay?” Harry asked.  She nodded. “He’s fine, just woke up startled.  Do you want to take him out to do chores with you?”

“Naw, it’s gettin’ pretty cold,” Harry replied. “I’ll get started, though, so I’ll be in for the night.”

“I’ll stir up some cornbread to go with the beans,” she said.   He sent her a look powerful enough to warm her from toes to the crown of her head.  “I’ll be ready for it,” he said as he headed toward the back door.

After supper, Harry lingered at the table and they talked while she cleaned up the dishes.  Most of their conversation revolved around George, how fast he grew, and how smart he seemed, but they veered off into mundane household topics.  Harry told her about the wobbly-legged calf and how he’d checked the curing meat in the smokehouse.  “Saw a red fox up on the hill,” he said. “Probably eyeing your chickens so I made sure they were shut in tight.”

“I hope so,” Maude said. “We need the eggs.”

“They’ll be safe,” he promised.  “Have you made your list of things you need when I head to town?”

“I will, soon as I finish here,” she said.  Maude dried her hands after the last pot and settled down at the table with a stub of pencil and a bit of paper. 
Sugar,
she wrote,
black pepper, a length of blue ribbon, stick candy for the baby, ten pounds of flour, aspirin, oranges, cinnamon, and lard.
  She paused to think and Harry read her list upside down.  “I thought I’d see if I might find something for the boy for Christmas,” he told her. “And maybe something for you, honey.”

She felt the heat of her blush. “You’re all I need, Harry,” she told him but his desire to buy a gift pleased her. “When do you reckon to go?”

“Saturday,” he said. “I’ll leave early and you’ll have to promise not to worry if I’m late.  Stores are likely to be busy so close to Christmas.”

“I’ll try,” Maude said.  She reached out and touched his hand across the table. “I think it’s going to be a fine Christmas, Harry.”

He nodded and for the moment, Maude enjoyed a deep delight and the kind of anticipation for a holiday she hadn’t known since childhood.  Her earlier fears and woes receded until she almost forgot them.

Chapter Seven

An iron gray sky hid the sun Saturday morning, and the sharp wind made Maude shiver when she stepped outside.  Harry harnessed up the team of horses to the aged wagon.  According to Harry, her list contained too many items to tote home on horseback.  She’d made a few noises about going but Harry refused. “Far as we know, there’s still plenty of flu goin’ ‘round,” he’d said. “I know you’d like to get off the farm, Maudie¸ but let’s be smart about it.”

Although she’d been disappointed, he made sense, and now with the chill day, Maude thought she’d rather keep home anyway.  If it wasn’t for Christmas coming, she’d tell Harry to wait.

She straightened his hat and turned the collar of his faded, patched coat up against the stiff breeze.  “Try to stay warm,” she told him. “And don’t try to hurry on my account.”

“I won’t if you promise not to fret.” 

Maude smiled. “I’ll try,” she told him. “That’s the best I can do.  And when you get home, the boy and me will be watching out the window for you.” 

He’d hugged George before he left and kissed the boy square on the forehead.  Now Harry took her into his arms for a slow, sweet kiss. “I’ll be back soon as I can,” he told her.

“I’ll be here,” she said.

Maude watched him as he headed out along the crude road running parallel to the creek.  Somewhere between here and town he’d have to cross, but she didn’t worry much.  Harry knew how to ford a stream, he’d done it most of his life.  When Harry passed out of sight around the curve of the hill, she headed inside.  She got out her sewing basket to finish the shirts she’d been making as gifts and spent the morning doing needlework.  There wasn’t much left, a little hemming and sewing on the buttons so Maude finished by noon.  She hadn’t cooked a dinner for her and George so they ate cold cornbread and drank milk.  Nor did she know what she’d fix for supper when Harry returned.  He’d hinted maybe he’d bring something so Maude waited. 

Time weighed on her and she made an apple cake to stay busy.  By midafternoon her earlier buoyant mood faded and a ball of tension took up residence somewhere around her stomach.  Although she hadn’t expected Harry back early, worry reared up, unbridled and untamed. 
Something’s wrong.  Something happened in town. 
A strong sense of evil afoot seized her and although Maude struggled to shake it, she couldn’t.  Feeling as superstitious as the old granny women, she sang the old ballads to George but he balked at his nap, acting as restless as she felt.  The low dark clouds opened and released snow, so heavy at times she couldn’t see to the barn or down to the creek.  Even the cheerful Christmas tree failed to banish her anxiety and she settled down in the rocker with George in her arms.  She sang for a while but her voice faltered and she sat, the chair keeping an age-old rhythm as her thoughts flew in all directions like birds before a storm.

George fussed, wiggling and whining in a way he hadn’t much since Harry came back home.  He worked his way out of her lap and ran from one end of the downstairs to the other.  Although he’d been walking for a couple of months and wouldn’t turn one until early January, George could move faster than a greased pig at the fair.  Maude chased him, afraid he might careen into the Christmas tree or get into mischief, but she couldn’t move fast enough.  In the kitchen, he climbed up on the counter and gnawed half of an apple before she arrived.  His diaper hung down, dirty.  With a sigh, she captured him, changed him, and carried him back to the front room.

“Let’s look at the tree while we wait for Pop,” Maude said, her patience more ragged than her worn apron.  “C’mon, son, sit still.”

“Pop!” he cried.  She wasn’t sure if he repeated what she’d said or if he wanted Harry.  Maude thought he probably wanted him as much as she did.  “He’ll be along in a bit,” she told George and hoped he would. 
Maybe I’m just feeling all worried ‘cause it’s near my time of the month. 
She wanted to believe it but as hard as she tried, she didn’t.  But the dull ache in her lower abdomen sharpened as the hours passed.  She’d start her monthly soon, she figured, but if Harry didn’t come on home, she’d be sick with cramps before he did.  Nervous tension increased the pain and made her so antsy she couldn’t sit still.  George clung to her, and with him clutching at her dress Maude took the last of the aspirin.  She washed the tablets down with water. If she dared and got down Granpa’s jug, she’d probably down a swig of it too, although she’d never drank whiskey.

Her anxiety reached a fever pitch by the time dusk brought deep shadows to the valley. He’d said not to worry but she’d gone beyond fretting and reached stark fear.  George ran out of steam and fell asleep on the couch, one grubby hand clutching the wooden horse Harry’d carved him.  Maude covered him and sank onto the couch.   She rested her face in both hands, tired, scared, and hurting.  When she lifted her head, she couldn’t see much in the full darkness.  Maude stirred up the fire and added a log, then lit two lamps.  She wrapped tight into her shawl and stepped out onto the front porch, listening.  At first her ears caught nothing but the sound of the wind blowing up the valley.  The silence echoed around her, so still she could hear the faint whisper as fresh snow fell onto the several inches covering the ground. 
Harry’ll be cold when he comes home
.  She should make a pot of coffee. She turned to go back inside but she heard the jingle of a bridle and the whinny of a horse.

Maude peered through the gloom and swirling snow.  The familiar wagon emerged but it didn’t look the way it should.  Fear clutched her hard and she stumbled forward.  Harry sat on the seat, reins in hand, but he slumped forward.  His posture alerted her something was wrong.

“Harry,” she called. She rushed forward and almost lost her footing in the snow. 

“Maudie, you oughtn’t to be out in this weather,” Harry said.  “Go back inside and I’ll be there in a minute.”

He sounded odd, as if talking required effort and his voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.  She ignored his request and grabbed the side of the wagon bed. “Harry, what’s the matter?” she asked. “Are you sick?”

“Naw, I’m not,” Harry replied. “I’ll do, Maude, and I’ll tell you the tale when I come in.  Let me get the horses to the barn and I’ll be there.  Would you make coffee?”

His stern tone stilled her many questions.  “It’s made,” she said. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

She turned to go and heard his muffled groan.  Maude turned around but she could see no more than his silhouette. “Thanks, honey,” he said and clicked his tongue.  The team obeyed and moved the wagon forward toward the barn.  Maude shivered as a stronger blast of wind hit her, then she scurried inside.  Her son still slept on the couch but he wiggled and pulled at his diaper.  She bent to check it and grimaced.  The rank, unmistakable odor of teething diarrhea assaulted her nose. 
No wonder he’s been so restless and fussy.  It wasn’t just Harry being gone—he’s teething again.
  Maude picked up the boy, peered into his mouth against his will, and saw he had a molar coming in. Then she tended to his mess.  The watery yellow stool reeked and her stomach rolled in response.  By the time she dusted his bottom with some cornstarch and pinned a new diaper in place, George was wide awake.  After scrubbing her hands and his with lye soap, Maude parked him at the kitchen table.  She heard the back door open as Harry entered and turned to greet him.

When she got a good look, she gasped. Harry squinted out of a puffy left eye, the skin below bruised purple and swelling.  Beneath the black eye, a cut on his cheek leaked a slow trail of blood.  His lower lip appeared to be split.  A thin line of blood crusted the right side of Harry’s face and Maude’s eyes followed it to a gash above his hairline.  His coat had new crimson stains down the front and when she glanced at his hands, she noticed his knuckles were battered.  As he removed his jacket, Harry’s motions slowed and became stiff.  The way he moved told Maude he hurt but his lips managed a half-grin. “It’s not as bad as it must look,” he told her as he put down the wooden box packed with bundles on the table. “You’ve seen me hurt worse.”

True enough, but it didn’t ease her mind. His assorted injuries concerned her but his mood upset her. 
He’s been fighting.  How dare he come home grinning after I worried myself almost sick?
“Come sit down and I’ll pour your coffee,” Maude said as she clung to her last shreds of calm. “I’ll clean you up while you tell me what happened.” Her hands trembled as she warmed water and found some clean rags. “I don’t have anything cooked, but if you’re hungry I can fix a little something after a while.”

Tears burned and blinded both her eyes so she kept her back to Harry while waiting for the water to get hot.  After long hours of worry, her relief he was still breathing threatened to swamp her.  If Maude yielded to her emotions, she’d bawl worse than George with the colic.

“That reminds me,” Harry said, his tone conversational. “I brought home some hamburger.  I thought you could fry us a couple of those hamburg steaks like the café in town made.”   She didn’t trust her voice so she nodded and hoped he’d notice.  Harry did. “Maude?” he asked. “You mad at me? You’ve not said much since I walked in the door.  I know being banged up some comes as a surprise but I didn’t mean to get into a fight.”

George squawked and she heard him squirt, knowing he’d just messed another diaper.  Before she turned around, she caught the rank odor of diarrhea.  Between George’s teething, her own menses, and Harry’s assorted injuries, Maude thought she’d drown in troubles.  All the anxiety she’d held within for hours exploded as she began to cry.  Harsh sobs ripped out of her mouth and the noise spooked George who began to wail.  Harry leapt to his feet with such speed he toppled the chair behind him and spilled the last bit of his coffee.  “Maudie?” he said with trepidation. “Honey, what’s the matter?”

“Everything is. You’re hurt,” she wept. “George is teething again and he’s got the runs.  I’m about to get the curse, and I don’t even know what happened in town.  I got so worried this afternoon I thought I’d die.  And it’s snowing so much.”  Her tears ran unchecked down her face and she sobbed, almost choking with the effort.  Harry took her into his arms and held her.  “Hush,” he crooned the way she did to George. “Maude, it’s all right or will be soon enough. I’ll heal, George’s teeth will come in, and the snow’ll melt.  You’re scaring the fire out of the little fella, though.”

Harry evoked the one thing powerful enough to check her tears—her son.  Maude willed herself to calm and hugged Harry tight in appreciation.  He groaned and she realized his hurts went beyond his battered face. “I’m sorry,” she told Harry. “And I’m not angry with you.  Here, sit down, and I’ll tend you in a minute.  Come here, George.”

Maude opened her arms but her son tossed his head back and forth. “Want Pop!” he said, the words clear and strong.  Harry scooped him up and held him as he sank onto the kitchen chair. Although he made no sound, he grimaced and she moved to take the boy but Harry shook his head. “He’s dandy right there,” he told her. “He don’t weigh much and he’s hurting too.  Fetch me Granpa’s jug and I’ll fix him up.”

She brought the whiskey and watched Harry wet his fingers, then reach into George’s mouth to rub the liquor over the emerging tooth.  He repeated the action twice and the boy settled down.  Harry lifted the jug to his mouth and drank a long swallow, shuddering as the potent brew traveled down his throat.  “That’ll help,” he said in a hoarse croak. She refilled his coffee and he picked up the cup, hand shaky.  “Reach one of those peppermint candy sticks out for him, would you?”

Maude fished one from the box he’d carried home and George licked it, hesitant until he tasted the sweetness.  Content, he let her pluck him out of Harry’s lap. “Come on,” she told him. “You can eat your candy and look at the Christmas tree awhile.”  Maude toted him to the front room and placed him in an armchair.  He gazed at the tree and smacked with happy sounds so she returned to Harry. “The water’s warm now,” she said. “Do you want me to clean up your wounds?”

“The blood’s dried on,” he said. “And I’m near starved.  Would you fry us a hamburger steak first, Maude?”

Her bones ached with fatigue, her muscles still taut with tension, but she nodded. “I can if you’ll tell me what happened while I cook.”  Harry exhaled a slow breath.  “All right, Maudie, I will but I need another snort first.”  He tipped the jug up for another swig and when he put it down, she removed it to the shelf.  He might be hurting but he didn’t need to get drunk.  Harry shot her a glance but with his swelling black eye, Maude couldn’t tell if he glared or merely looked.  She paused, went outside, and brought in some snow and wrapped it in a dry cloth. “Put this on your eye while I start cookin’, and start talkin’.”

Harry squinted at her. “For someone who’s not mad, you sound plumb testy,” he said. “Well, I made it to town.  I headed over to see Granny first thing like I always do and left the wagon over there. I walked the few blocks down to the biggest mercantile, the Eagle Store on the corner of the square.  Lot of folks was out and about this close to Christmas so it was busy.  I waited in line quite awhile and put in the order for all the stuff you wanted.  I toted it all back up to Uncle Fred’s place and stowed it.  Then I went back downtown to get a few more things I wanted.”

She listened as she pressed the ground meat into patties and placed them into her iron skillet.  Maude could see it all unfolding in her mind as if she’d been there.  “And then what happened?” she asked.  She hadn’t planned to but she reached for a few potatoes, peeled them, and put them on to boil.