The Fallen Fruit, page 19
“No, I’m in no hurry to have more,” Carrie said dryly.
Reba chuckled. “Last I heard, God’s will keeps showing up year after year around here.”
The right corner of Carrie’s mouth tilted upward. She reached up to where she kept her dried herbs. Carefully, she ran her fingertips along the bunches until she discovered what she wanted.
“Open your hand,” she commanded. Carrie never suggested; she instructed.
Reba presented her palm and Carrie sprinkled tiny seeds into the middle.
“Why did you give me Queen Anne’s lace?” she whispered.
Carrie separated out at least five seeds into a smaller pile. “Crush these and drink them with water after you lay with your husband.”
“Do these really—”
Carrie motioned to pocket the seeds, so Reba accepted them. “Grammie told me it don’t always work. Her daughters, namely my ma, didn’t listen well. Ma had two sets of twins.”
“Two sets of twins,” Reba breathed. She couldn’t imagine birthing two babies at once.
“Her mama told her it’s about knowing your body.” Carrie stirred the chitlins. “The best time to lay with your husband is right after your womanly time is over.”
Reba brushed her fingertips over the bristly seeds. How could such tiny things hold the power to keep her from having another child? It felt like witchcraft—these seeds added an unnatural weight to her palm. And yet a question came to mind she hadn’t thought before: Were these why Carrie had gone five years without another child?
She took in the depths of Carrie’s rich brown eyes down to her knowing smile. A smile laden with secrets. Reba slipped the seeds into her pocket.
“Charlie goes down to Monticello to work every fall, and when he comes back . . .” Carrie smacked her lips with disapproval. “I ain’t some hen waiting to lay eggs. Look at this house.” She tilted her chin to the single-room cabin with its rotted roof and furniture in need of repair. “Can you imagine ten children up in here? Charlie has even less money than his daddy, Dabney.”
“We do what we must,” Reba said softly, and she meant it. “Even if that means accepting the Lord’s gifts.”
Carrie gave her a sharp glance. “Not all His gifts are blessings.” She sipped the bubbling broth, made a face, then sprinkled some salt across the top.
“You don’t mean that.”
“Oh, I do. Most women these days don’t get blessings. Old Fanny Bridge kept birthin’ babies until she was split in two. I heard she couldn’t stop pissing everywhere. Until Ruth had Peter, she struggled for years to have another child, bless her soul. My twin sister died during childbirth from bleeding too much. If you want to determine when you’ll receive that blessing, you should see to your own well-being.”
After Charlie, Reba didn’t visit as often. The two women didn’t share recipes anymore, only shared messages about the children. Georgie asked every now and again about seeing the twins, but Reba declined—which she now knew had been a mistake. She shouldn’t have hidden away from Carrie’s grief. Like Mama Raley, her friend deserved better. A listening ear. A caring hand. The more she believed she’d learned better, the more she realized she hadn’t.
* * *
A couple of hours after Ruth and Patience left, the family was trapped inside the house again with three children who wanted to play. Reba let them run through the front yard for a while, but the rain returned and forced everyone indoors. From then, the fighting began between Annie and Georgie after the boy took her doll and hit her when she tried to take it back.
“Georgie, my goodness!” Mariah separated them and swatted his bottom. “You know better.” She harrumphed. “Is he hard of hearing?”
“He can hear just fine,” Reba said. “He’s stubborn and spiteful like my papa.”
Mariah chuffed. “That man follows us from the grave, I tell you. I still wonder what my life would’ve been like if he hadn’t owned my mama.”
Years ago, they’d spoken at length on how Papa Raley had bought Mariah’s mother’s freedom—only to enslave her again. Now Papa’s past dealings were a dirty secret, like soiled clothes rarely left out in the open.
“My mother went from one hell to another,” Mariah whispered.
Reba sighed. “Hell is everywhere, and it isn’t hot like Virginia. It’s a cold place where people willingly hurt others. I never wanted my children to feel that way.”
“They won’t,” Mariah said. “Herb’s a fine man.”
“He’s perfect—bowed legs and all.”
Mariah chuckled. “Thank the good Lord none of your children got his crooked smile.”
“I rather like his smile. After living in a house where folks didn’t smile much, a smile is like the sweetest berry off the bush. You only get to sample it once in a while, but you can savor it, remember it.”
Her husband and children gave her everything she needed. It had taken five years for them to save up the money to buy back the land Charles Bridge had sold away to Papa. Now that Raley land belonged to the Bridges again, they wanted to build a vineyard. All the families would benefit from a profitable business. Maybe someday they could build a schoolhouse for the children. That would be a beautiful day in the far-off future.
If George behaved long enough to see the future, she thought.
The sky darkened as the day came to an end and Ruth had yet to return. But unease continued to circle Reba’s home and dripped off the roof like the remains of the storm.
Reba kept glancing outside, expecting to see someone other than Herb. After being stuck in the house for so long, the children often stared out the door too. Even after Herb returned, he did the same. Perhaps they had apprehension curling in their stomachs like she did. She waited for someone to appear with news. Not long into their supper, a heavy knock shook their door.
Everyone stared at the door until another thud startled Jimmy. The boy stole a glance at his mother before he shifted to answer it. Reba grabbed his shoulder. Mariah reached for Herb’s rifle.
“Who’s there?” Herb yelled.
“It’s Ludie!” A man’s strained voice bled through the door. “Another Bridge child has gone missing. David’s granddaughter.”
Herbert got up. Jimmy’s lower lip trembled as her husband opened the door and a breeze swept through the room. “What’s that mean? Mama?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
Ludwell Bridge, her husband’s second cousin, stood in the doorway with rain dripping off his hat. Shadows partially hid his face, but fear glinted in his eyes. A fourth child, gone.
Georgie scurried from his spot on the floor to scramble into Reba’s lap. She kissed the top of his warm head. The cooler air was a welcome reprieve to the heat, if not for the news that the wind carried.
“A bunch of us are meeting up at Uncle Luke’s place,” Ludwell said softly. “We’ll need every able-bodied man.”
Herb blew out a deep breath. “I’ll go.”
Reba would have none of that. She strode across the room, trying to convey with her eyes that she didn’t want him to go. If they stayed together, maybe their children would be spared. She clutched his sleeve.
“Are you sure you have to go?” she begged.
Her husband avoided her eyes. “Someone has to.” He stroked her cheek.
“But what if . . . whatever this is comes looking for our children?” Reba kept her voice low so as not to frighten anyone, but even she caught the subtle whine in her plea. “Maybe the minute you walk out the door again, they’ll face the same fate as the others.”
“We can’t hide forever,” he said fiercely. “Don’t matter where we go, where we stand, where we sit. We need to come to terms with that fact.”
She clutched his shirt tighter, refusing to let go. “I’m not ready yet.”
He gave her a soft smile. A whimper snuck out, and she swallowed it by covering her mouth. Her family had to be careful, but that didn’t matter when she had no idea what they faced or even if she had a chance to fight against it.
With his hat on, Herb hurried out the door. Reba kept watch until the shadows engulfed him. Before she slipped back into the house, she glimpsed someone else standing on the other side of the pasture in front of Carrie’s house. Lightning flashed, revealing a woman standing in the rain, the door to her home wide open behind her. Carrie wavered with the trees fighting against the wind. At her feet, one of her toddlers reached up, but the woman paid no mind. Reba could hear the child’s cries and it broke her heart in two.
Jimmy and Annie grabbed Reba’s hands. Georgie reached up for her too, but she pulled him close to her stomach—close to her other vulnerable child. She willed her feet to move. She willed herself to act, but she couldn’t take a single step to separate herself from her children. Mariah joined her and squinted into the darkness.
“Is that Carrie over there?” her friend breathed.
“I think it is.”
“Heaven above . . . that poor baby.” Mariah stepped around her and pushed her aside with the urgency Reba wished she felt.
“Reba!” Mariah yelled. “Come help me!”
Any decent Christian woman would’ve run after them. A woman who cared for another would’ve gathered blankets, food, and anything else Mariah would’ve needed to march across that pasture and see to their neighbor. From afar, with shame raining down from the sky to drench her, Reba watched Mariah help them into their house.
Chapter 20
Rebecca Raley-Bridge
September 1817
Herbert still wasn’t home. Jimmy tried to keep George entertained with another game of hide the thimble, but all that came to an end when the door opened. Reba rose, expecting to see Herbert shaking off the rain, but Mariah came back instead.
“Is everything well?” Reba asked. Guilt still pressed on her shoulders. “There’s hot water for sassafras tea.”
She offered her friend a fold of cloth and searched her face for an answer as to Carrie’s condition. Mariah’s face appeared strained as she unraveled her damp headscarf and rested the fabric on her lap. Without it, she had a childlike quality.
“Tea sounds perfect.” After Mariah sat, her face fell further. “I’ve never seen such a sight.”
“How is Carrie?” Reba asked as she fetched the sassafras bark.
“She’s lost up in here.” Mariah pointed to her head. “One of the neighbors told me she’d always been outspoken, but she’s withdrawn now.” She shuddered. ““Those babies need better care. Both of their diapers were full, and there was filth everywhere. It’s as if she’s given up.”
All of this sounded familiar. After Charles had died, Carrie fell deep into a sadness only time and her son Nelson’s prodding could pull her from.
“She’s in a bad place and all,” Nelson had said, “but she’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Ain’t nothing going to keep us from moving on.”
But Nelson was gone now. And as Carrie’s neighbor, it was Reba’s responsibility to help—even if she had to drag her children across the pasture. “From now on, one of us should look after them, rain or shine. We should also reach out to the other Bridges.”
Summer’s end was upon them; the farm families had a couple of months to fill their root cellars and prepare for the winter months. Such precious time would vanish far too fast.
Reba added the bark to the kettle and shivered, thinking of how quiet the winters felt. How the snow packed against the outside walls and amplified sounds in the house. The wintertime had a cruel way of reminding them how alone they were on the farm.
“I’ll talk to Ruth tomorrow. We can take certain days,” Mariah said.
No matter how much those two women despised her, everyone had to come together to help those in need—even if that meant she had to face Carrie again.
After Reba drank tea with Mariah for a spell, she waited four hours for her husband. Eventually Georgie fell asleep against Annie and it was time to send the children off to bed. She curled up next to them in the loft. Jimmy grumbled about sleeping close to her and added space between them.
“Yes, you’re older, but right now is different.” She pulled him back and kissed his forehead. “Go to sleep.”
An ache spread across her chest. Here she was, lying in this stuffy loft while her husband was out there searching.
Reba tried to remind herself he’d come home safe, and that they’d be happy again someday. That the joy she’d felt when she married him would be enough to help weather this storm.
Soon enough, Georgie fell back asleep, his head cradled against her bosom. Annie’s forehead touched her shoulder, while on the other side, Jimmy presented his back to her, but at least he was close. His presence lessened the fear pooling inside her. Reba’s fourth child fluttered in her belly, a reminder that everyone was present. But for how long?
The rain pitter-pattered against the roof, the only sound besides the children’s breathing. The night crept on, and soon the house went quiet. Georgie twisted and turned, crawling his way out of her embrace. Soon enough, the boy hung his leg over her waist and his mouth rested against her arm, his skin sweaty and hot. She should’ve reached out to make sure he wasn’t too warm, or even wipe his forehead, but she didn’t. Jimmy now slept on his back. An arm’s length separated them. She moved closer. Breathed in time with him. A sheen of sweat coated his cheek, and she ran her fingers along the cheekbone that was no longer smooth, the curves representing his childhood shifting to adulthood. He’d become a man soon. A good man who’d care for her in the years to come. She didn’t have to close her eyes to see his bright smile or hear him ask her if she was well. Again and again, he’d been the only one to bring her water when she wavered in the heat or rush to get her a stool if she needed to sit. Annie sometimes followed his lead, but dreamy Annie often preferred the company of the clouds.
Dear God, don’t take my children away, she prayed. I’ll be a better mother if Jimmy is spared. I’ll make sure George minds his manners and grows up well. Annie will become a proper lady like my mother.
Reba waited for Herb, but sleep kept nipping at her. No matter how hard she tried to stay up to hold on to her children, a current of fatigue kept pulling her under.
The next morning, she was startled awake. Painful cramps snaked over her stomach, but the discomfort receded as quickly as it came. The pain was all too familiar. First was the stretching and pulling, then as the babe grew, the child nestled under her ribs began to kick and headbutt. Reba’s limbs were heavy, her mouth sawdust dry. She reached out for her babies. Jimmy was there with a faint smile on his sleeping face, his chest rising and falling. On her other side was Annie. The girl’s head wrap had fallen off, and her hair had unraveled from the plaits Mariah had braided. One child had crawled away from Reba. Little George lay on the far side of the loft on the floor.
Get him. The thought came to mind but then vanished like Nelson and Pete. Reba should’ve scrambled to grab him, but she clutched Annie and Jimmy instead. Georgie was safe. He was even stronger than Annie. Even fast sleep, George’s bottom lip defiantly curled. He slept with his arms and legs stretched out as if he needed to be tethered to no one. Not even his mother.
* * *
Thankfully, the rain ended in the night—the late summer harvest waited for no one. While Mariah crossed the pasture to check on Carrie’s cow and calf, Reba fetched the rifle and took the children out to the garden. All this rain brought field mold to the corn, potentially leaving their harvest to the birds.
Annie and Georgie fussed a bit, but Jimmy didn’t complain. He’d seen many a harvest and knew what had to be done. Without instruction, he took up the scythe and whetstone. Reba and the other children trailed after him into the corn patch. Last summer, it had been Herb who’d swung the scythe, and she’d followed him, bundling the sheaves. He’d twisted at the waist, his back muscles flexing with each movement. Now her boy worked his father’s field, briefly pausing to draw the whetstone against the dulled blade.
The sun beat down on their backs and a cooler breeze whistled through the birch trees—if she hadn’t thought about it, today could’ve been like any other summer day.
As the day progressed, the heat rose and the haze returned, blurring the stalks they had yet to cut. A shadow rustled the yellowed crops. She squinted, waiting to see if someone had followed them, and yet the form moved away. Briefly, the blur cleared, revealing the top of a worn hat—one she’d never seen before. The dark-brown, weathered fabric was made of a dull material, while a narrow brim surrounded a rounded crown. Just as soon as she saw the strange sight, it disappeared. Papa Raley’s warnings came to mind: Do not trust your eyes. Listen. Question everything.
She listened for the sound of retreating footsteps but heard none.
“You see someone coming, Mama?” Annie asked.
She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
After they’d bundled the cornstalks, Reba and her children drank water and rested for a spell, but not for long. The overgrown garden waited. First, she got to weeding. Jimmy stooped close to her and tucked fully grown sage into his sack. Annie gathered green beans, her brow wrinkled in concentration. Two steps away, after Reba finished weeding, she kneeled before a row of lettuce and kale. Her hands worked of their own volition to pinch off the vibrant leaves around the outer edges, while her eyes followed the children.
Annie had finished fetching beans and moved on to the squash. She twisted the shiny plants off the vine with a quick flick of her wrists. Inch by inch, she wandered away—only to jump to the next row, where Reba couldn’t reach her.
“Don’t you go too far away, Annie!” Reba said, sharper than she’d meant to.
Not far from them, Georgie meandered up and down the rows with his basket. Eventually, he came upon the ripe tomatoes and shoved tiny red ones into his mouth. Even the sour green ones disappeared.
“Mama, why are tomatoes red?” Georgie asked.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe the tomatoes get a sunburn.”
“A sunburn? Then how come the corn doesn’t turn red too?”
