The Fallen Fruit, page 17
It was still early in the morning, and even with the rain, the family had plenty to do. As to how they’d do it while keeping the children close would be another matter. The chickens and pigs had to be fed, the clothes washed, and in the garden the weeds popped up faster than Reba plucked them. Those were the daily chores. Herb had yet to mend the fence around their garden, and the pile of wood in the shed was far too low. They needed a lot more cords for the winter months. Also the orchard harvest weighed heavy on their minds. Every hand was necessary. And yet they now sat idle and afraid.
Reba’s thoughts were interrupted when her daughter touched her shoulder. “Mama Bear, can I get the eggs from the coop?”
“We’ll go together with Georgie,” Reba said.
“I’ll take Jimmy and we’ll see to Carrie’s cow,” her husband said.
She rose from her seat before they could leave. “Can’t he stay with me?”
“He’ll be fine, Reba. I promise.” Herb kissed her cheek, but the warmth from his lips didn’t soothe her. What if something happened to Jimmy while they were out? The very thought that her child could be stripped away cut into her deeper than any blade.
“I don’t know . . .” she began to say.
“They’ll need extra hands up in the orchard,” Mariah said. “You two stay close to home and I can help out today.”
Before Reba could grab Jimmy’s hand for him to follow her out, her husband took him and left for Carrie’s home. With Mariah off to the orchard, Reba had no choice but to take Annie’s and George’s hands to venture off to the coop. She kept glancing over her shoulder until Jimmy disappeared into Carrie’s barn.
* * *
Reba spied her son across the pasture leaving their neighbor’s barn. The boy strained to carry two buckets of milk while his father chopped firewood in front of the nearby woodshed. Why had Herb left him alone in the barn? Her husband should know better. Worry dug into her skin like sharp fingernails. That disquiet trailed after her from the coop to the lye-leaching barrel. The rain had been unreliable lately so there wouldn’t be any fresh lye in the trough under the barrel any time soon.
Annie trailed after her and clutched an apron full of eggs. To her surprise, even Georgie held an egg in each hand. She didn’t expect the fragile eggs to survive the trip home.
On the way back to the house, she found Jimmy hauling a bucket of cream inside.
“Your papa sent you home?” Reba kissed his forehead and wiped his brow.
“Miss Carrie had too much cream.” He left the bucket in the coolest corner of the room. “He told me it’d go bad if we didn’t churn it soon.”
More chores at Carrie’s house and now more chores at hers, but that was the way it was. The farm never stopped producing. “I can combine her cream with ours—although her butter isn’t as salty as mine.”
Jimmy smiled. “Your butter tastes fine, Mama Bear.”
As much as his praise touched her, she knew she added too much salt.
An hour into churning the first batch of cream, a shadow crossed Reba’s doorstep. Mariah had returned early from the orchard.
“Everything fine?” Reba asked.
“They said they didn’t need me but wouldn’t say why.”
Reba knew why. Once the children disappeared from her home, evil had marked this place and everyone in it.
Jimmy finished shucking peas and got up from his spot in the corner. “Mama, you need a clean bucket for that butter?”
“Go get it for your mama.” Mariah patted the top of his head as he went by. “He’s gonna be tall like his daddy.”
“Jimmy, stay here,” Reba yelled after him. “When your papa returns, you can go get it.”
Mariah’s thick eyebrows rose in question. Reba recognized that look. A woman bold enough to walk alone from Richmond to here didn’t hold back.
“They can’t go outside?” Mariah stared at her a bit.
“Yes, they can, but I’m being careful after what happened yesterday.” Her fingertips tumbled across the churn handle. “I can’t stop thinking about those three babies.”
“Have you heard any news this morning?” Mariah reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
“None. I wish somebody had taken them. That would be easier to explain than seeing them disappear before my very eyes.”
“Folks walk away. Lord knows, they run away too, but they don’t disappear.”
“They do, Riah. I’ve never had any problems with my eyes, but yesterday, there had to be something wrong with them. Patience was reading and her brother was right there.” She could see them clearly in her mind. It was far too vivid, far too fresh. Patience had her head down while she was doing math, her face flushed and sweaty as Pete tried to fan her. The girl’s younger brother was intent on his task, his expression like Jimmy’s, eager to please. Then he was gone—almost as if he hadn’t been there in the first place. It had been that way with Nelson too.
“There must be some bad blood in the air,” Mariah mused. “Anybody die recently?”
“Not recently.”
“You never know in places like these,” Mariah said. “Back in Richmond, Negroes are dying every day.”
Reba didn’t believe the dead lurked behind corners or tormented the damned. There had to be something else at play.
Not long after Mariah had returned from the orchard, another storm swept in from the west, darkening the skies again. If the answers were out in the forest, Reba wouldn’t find them any time soon in this weather.
She opened the door to let in some cool air and found her husband had returned home too. He took up his spot again on the porch stool. She sighed. How long would they have to live like this?
Lightning briefly illuminated the pasture. The shadows across Herb’s face retreated.
“How is Carrie?” she asked him.
“Not good. The babies hadn’t eaten either.” He shook his head. “Jimmy fed ’em, but they need better care.”
She bit her lower lip. “After the storm settles down, I should take some supper over. Maybe I can bring the twins back with me. I have to do something. She’s hurting.”
“Then we should do right by them,” Herb said gently. “Things are going to get harder.”
“What are you saying?” Mariah asked.
“Luke says all this is far from over—it’s only the beginning. Prepare yourself.” Herbert’s eyes appeared distant as he lit a cigarette, took two deep drags, then walked off into the rain, leaving only wisps of slow-rising tobacco smoke.
Chapter 18
Rebecca Raley-Bridge
September 1817
Reba stood alone in the doorframe after Herb left. The breeze from the rain cooled her spirits.
Prepare yourself—but how? This was no thief-in-the-night Bible tale. She stole a glance at her babies. Did he mean they were next? What if they lost more than one?
She peeked out the door again. Herb had slipped into the barn. She wouldn’t get any answers right now. Reba would have to wait in this house while George stomped around the table again.
“When that bedbug comes down to my house, I wants my walking cane,” her youngest sang proudly. “Go get a pot an’ scald ’em hot! Goodbye, Miss Lizzie Jane!”
That bedbug song would be the death of her. If only they could get rid of this madness with scalding hot water. Georgie never had a care, and she envied him.
While the rain beat against their roof, Reba considered what they could do inside. She could finish churning Carrie’s cream or read the Bible to the children. She reached for the book, but Mariah drew her to sit.
“All right now, everyone.” Mariah threw her a mischievous grin. “How about a game of find the thimble?”
Jimmy groaned, Annie’s face brightened, and George sang even louder.
“Whoever wins five rounds gets a prize!” Mariah said.
“Whatcha got?” Annie asked.
“Anything good?” Jimmy added.
George’s grand march ended.
Reba chuckled. Mariah was always hiding something good in her traveling pack’s pockets.
“I’m not telling you—but I never lie when I say I got something.” Mariah’s feline smile deepened. “George will go first. After that, whoever finds it can go next.”
Georgie bounded up to her with his tiny hand outstretched for the shiny thimble. Mariah leaned down and whispered into the boy’s ear while she gave it to him.
Here we go, Reba thought. That boy would take forever to hide it.
“Let’s go out to the porch so Georgie can have his turn.” Jimmy and Annie rushed after Mariah.
Reba flinched, but Mariah peeked around the corner and said, “They’re right here.”
She nodded while her youngest proudly held the thimble for a while. He seemed to forget the game until Mariah asked, “What did we talk about, Georgie?”
The little boy giggled, a sweet and pure sound that resonated better than any church bell. Reba wondered if he planned to pocket the thimble and abandon the game.
George glanced over his shoulder to see her staring at him. He threw a pout.
“Don’t worry. I won’t peek.” Reba grinned and partially closed her eyes, knowing very well Georgie stomped wherever he went. From the time he woke until he fell asleep, he walked like he had God’s might in his soles.
The boy hurried to where they kept the tinderbox and stowed away the thimble behind the small metal box. With an upward tilt of his chin, the boisterous child scampered to the door. “I hid it! Come find it!”
“I hope someone finds it.” Mariah ushered the others inside.
Annie rushed to the fireplace first, but Jimmy caught her arm. “There’s no way he’d hide it there.” He winked at her.
“But why not?” Annie’s whole face scrunched up. “We heard—”
Jimmy drew her toward the loft ladder. “I heard him go up here. I’m certain of it.”
When Annie always wanted to spoil the fun, Jimmy saved his brother each time. Little spunky Annie preferred to brave deeper water and explore. She was the one who came home with poison oak first—and nobody scraped their knees as often as she did. All the times she darted outside into the pitch-black darkness brought a smile to her mother’s face. Not that Jimmy was afraid, only that the girl ran toward the unknown, while her older brother was far more tentative. Reba saw so much of her own father in her child—the girl had the same honey-like hue to her skin, the reddish tinge to her wiry curls forming a halo around her head. But she wasn’t completely like her granddaddy—at times she had her father’s quiet intelligence and kindness.
The children rummaging through the loft for the thimble filtered down to the women. Mariah leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “You didn’t put the thimble in your pocket, did you?” she asked Georgie.
The boy shook his head. His wide grin revealed his straight baby teeth. A baby rattler’s teeth, if you asked her.
Eventually, his siblings came down the ladder and continued their search. Annie took her time and stumbled upon the thimble behind the tinderbox.
“Your turn, Annie girl,” Mariah said.
The game began again, but this time, her daughter carefully hid the thimble among the other sewing supplies in the far corner. Annie never wanted to make things easy for anyone.
The morning carried on like that for a while. Once her children got to playing, they enjoyed themselves until they had to do chores. In the end, Annie won a piece of rock candy—which she refused to share with a crying Georgie. After an audible crunch, she swallowed the treat in a single bite.
“She’s the winner, Georgie,” Mariah said firmly. “You’re not always going to win.”
The boy still sobbed and kicked at the wall in the corner. When he flew into a rage, reprimands and spankings never reached him, and all Reba could do was make sure he didn’t hurt himself. Her vengeful child tried to bite her and kick her stomach.
Mariah rose from where she sat with the children to intervene, but Reba shook her head.
“Ignore him,” she said firmly. “When he’s ready to behave, we’ll see him again.”
While the others opened an imaginary store, Reba churned the cream from Carrie’s house. The steady motion quieted her fast-beating heart. She couldn’t go too fast or the cream would stick to the churn’s walls and not form butter. If she went too slow, she’d be turning this damn thing all day. So she rotated the handle with a focused rhythm. Steady rhythm, steady heart. But no matter how she worked at calming herself, frustration marched up her back. Dark thoughts flitted through her mind and she didn’t like any of them. Why had she been given such a difficult child? Why couldn’t she feel grateful for what she had, a gift many women wanted but some couldn’t have? She didn’t dare admit she prayed God would grant this next baby a more congenial soul.
Reba stewed and turned the handle while Mariah played the role of a shrewd shop owner. With the razor-sharp cunning of her grandpa, Annie bartered for socks and mittens with rocks as coins. She kept urging her little brother to join them, but Georgie defiantly shook his head.
“Mama Bear, make him play with us,” Annie said.
“Leave him be.” Reba drew in a deep breath and kept turning the handle but felt no relief. Shouldn’t the third child be easier than the first? She wasn’t lacking experience this time around.
The day stretched out. Reba finished churning and cut the butter into portions for both families. Her little demon child sipped a cup of buttermilk, his feet swinging with delight. A pot of stew bubbled on the hearth and everything was seemingly right with her home.
And yet it wasn’t. With sweat coating their backs, everyone gathered at the kitchen table. Prayers were said, but Reba wasn’t sure if God heard. Hiram, Nelson, and Pete had yet to reappear. And they might never return, no matter how much the family prayed.
After their dinner, Herb read from Psalms. He spoke of gratefulness, of the blessings they’d received, but she didn’t feel gratitude—only resentment.
The evening crept toward the night. No one wanted to sleep. Restlessness hopped from one set of shoulders in the house to another, leaving them roaming like untethered spirits. Jimmy haunted the hearth. His younger sister stared blankly at her parents while her fingers formed small bunches of parsley and thyme. Reba should’ve finished hanging the sage to dry, but she twisted and twirled the twine. Mariah read a book until her head bobbed with exhaustion. Even Georgie didn’t feel like singing.
Reba took in their forlorn faces and an idea came to mind: maybe all this was a dream and they’d wake up soon.
I doubt it, she thought.
“It’s time for bed,” Herb finally said. “We can’t stay up all night.”
“I want a story!” Georgie said.
“We’ve heard all of your stories, Papa,” Jimmy mumbled.
“Then I should tell you about the one time I was lost in the woods,” their father said.
Annie sat up straighter and Jimmy tilted his head with interest. Georgie wiggled his way into Mariah’s lap.
Reba smiled. She hadn’t heard this story before.
“Back when I was as old as Jimmy here,” Herb began, “I was out foraging for oyster mushrooms. That particular winter had been merciless, so merciless that the ground had remained frozen long into the springtime. I’d tried to set up snares, but my traps hadn’t caught a single cottontail. At the time, your uncle was too young to come out with me, so off I went east toward the mountains. Grandpa Stephen told me, ‘There’s always food, if you’re hungry enough.’ We didn’t have much left. And we were all hungry.” Herb paused long enough to draw a sip of cider. “A drought over the summer had killed most of our crops. That meant less feed for the animals. We didn’t fare well either, so after our root cellars emptied, I wandered up and down the mountains.” He sighed, but now he had their attention.
He pressed on. “When I’d left the house, the early morning fog hadn’t fallen yet, but as I hunted, the clouds slipped downhill. Deeper and deeper until I couldn’t see my hand if I reached out like this.” He presented his palm. “Up in them mountains, predators are looking for food too. A man who can’t find his way home could find himself in a bear’s belly.
“I used to always follow a footpath southward from Boone’s Peak down to Wolfpit, but I couldn’t find it.”
“Did you starve out there?” Annie asked.
Jimmy rolled his eyes. “How could he starve if he’s right here?”
“I was half starved, Annie angel,” her daddy said. “It was bitterly cold there, and I walked in circles until a man appeared. He was a strange fellow. He wore a short dark-blue wool coat with shiny brass buttons. His trousers were light blue, and he carried a rifle over his shoulder like this.” Herb demonstrated. “Over the years, I’ve wondered what he was doing up there in the mountains.”
“What did he say?” Annie asked. “Did he try to shoot you with his gun?”
Herbert chuckled. “He didn’t scare me. He looked as frightened as I did—but he knew something I didn’t and that was the way home. The man reached into his bag and pulled out this.” Her husband presented the brass compass enclosed in its wooden box. He placed it gently on the table. “After the man had helped me return to the farm, I expected him to stay, but he told me he couldn’t. Now that I think about it, he was downright strange. He should’ve stayed and eaten. He’d even given me one of the rabbits he’d caught that morning, told me to feed my family.”
“Did you ever learn his name?” Mariah asked him.
Herb thought for a moment, then shook his head. “He told me once, but I forgot . . . I was so happy to return home. Guess it never mattered.”
“What an amazing story,” Mariah marveled. “It’s not real, is it?”
“The story is as real as this compass,” Herb said softly.
Reba stared at her spouse and considered his tale. He’d never revealed how he’d gotten the old compass. She’d seen him occasionally flipping the thing or stroking it until he’d worn down the wood’s finish on one of the sides. Though she wondered if he’d told a story meant to entertain his children, the pensive look in his eyes made her think otherwise.
