Katie's Dream (16 page)

She cut off the bottom plate first, then cut the rest of the turtle loose from shell, gutted it, and started cutting the meat in pieces to plop right away into the water. She
saved all she could, even off the legs, but set the bones aside.

“I won't boil 'em like you'd do a chicken's bones,” she said. “Mama didn't think turtle made good broth. That's why you gotta soak it, then cook it in milk. The bones is the dog's food for today, if that's all right with you.”

I couldn't remember whether Grandma Pearl had said anything at all about boiling turtle bones, so I didn't say a word. Whiskers would appreciate the carcass. He'd been rather sparsely fed recently.

“So who's the girl you got with you?” Lizbeth suddenly asked me.

I guess I'd thought we might just be here a while, with Lizbeth never even noticing the extra child. She hadn't looked Katie's way or seemed to pay the slightest bit of attention. For some reason it had never occurred to me that she might ask. And now that she had, I was unsure what to say. “Um, she's Katie. Kin of Samuel's. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

My cheeks burned, realizing I should never have said such a thing. How foolish of me! Now I was stuck giving some kind of explanation. “His brother brought her,” I said quickly. “He says she's kin, but we don't know for sure her family.”

Lizbeth was looking at me sideways. “That's plenty peculiar, Mrs. Wortham.”

“I know.”

“So where was she the other night when we saw him there?”

“In the car.”

She shook her head. “Well, how come he knows her well enough to bring her to visit, but he still don't know her people?”

“Oh, Lizbeth, I don't know. He's difficult. And he just left her without answering all the questions, and to tell the truth, we're not sure what to do.”

My words came out in a rush, and for a moment she was quiet. I knew I shouldn't be talking so much, confiding in her like she was an adult friend. What was the matter with me? The poor child had enough to think about.

“You want to sit a spell?” she asked me. “This whole thing's got you all wore out, I can tell.”

“No. We should just go back and do a little more picking on the way home. You can have the turtle. I'm glad to bring it.”

“We thank you for it. But are you sure you're not wantin' to sit? The berries an' whatever else can wait, you know.”

“No. We should go.”

I glanced over to the porch, where Rorey had joined Katie and Sarah. The three of them were happily occupying Emma Grace with one of the cloth balls I'd made for the little boys last Christmas.

Knowing Harry couldn't sit still for long, I would have expected him to be up off that stump and clamoring for the turtle shell to play with. But he didn't come. I took a look around the farmyard, and he was off the stump, all right, but I didn't see him anywhere. Or Berty either.

“Lizbeth, where are the little boys?”

“Oh, prob'ly in the barn,” she said without a trace of worry. “They're always playin' 'round there. They don't get into too much, most times.”

“I'm going to check,” I told her. “Sarah!” I hollered toward the porch. “Did you see where Harry and Berty went?”

“No!” she called back.

“They's 'round here somewhere,” Rorey yelled. “They was just here a minute ago.”

I had a funny feeling in my stomach then, kind of like the first time I was over here and noticed what precious little attention Wilametta was paying to those little boys. And now Lizbeth got so busy she just took for granted
that her brothers would stay in their boundaries while she was working. I should have checked sooner. Because with Harry, you never knew for sure.

I checked the barn and hayloft. No little boys. I checked the goat pen, the outhouse, even the chicken coop, and found nothing. They weren't up a tree or in the garden. So even though Harry and Berty weren't ones to play in the house when they could be outside, I headed there, not knowing what else to do.

“Harry! Bert!” Lizbeth called, sounding more aggravated than worried. But I was glad she was looking now. Those boys were only four and almost six years old. Somebody should know where they were.

Surely if they'd gone in the front door, the girls would have seen them. So I went toward the back door, thinking,
I don't need this, none of us need this. Lord, help us find those boys.

I was almost to the back steps when the little hooligans scurried out from under the porch at me like wildcats, screeching and carrying on just to see me jump.

Sarah darted around from the front porch to see what the commotion was about and only smiled when she saw them. “Oh, good. You found them.” And she went back the way she came.

“Harry! Berty!” I scolded when I had my breath. “Don't you ever do such a thing again! If you want to play hiding, you tell somebody first. Do you understand?”

Little Berty nodded right away. But Harry had started snickering and turned his head to yell at Lizbeth. “I scared Mrs. Wortham! Made her jump clean outta her skin!”

Lizbeth wasn't impressed. “Oughta whup you good for pullin' somethin' like that! Didn't you hear us callin'?”

“Yes, but—”

“I don't wanna hear no but. Next time we're callin', you answer, or Pa's gonna hear about it! You unnerstand?”

He nodded, still snickering to himself. I knew that the threat of George hearing about it was not much of a deterrent.

“Go get the goats some water. An' don't you let one outta the pen again!”

The boys ran off, hopefully in obedience, and Lizbeth shook her head. “I swear, those two make me wonder if I'm thinkin' straight wantin' to be a teacher one day.”

“You'll do fine as a teacher,” I assured her. “And they're normal boys, for the most part. It just worries me a little that something could happen if they were to wander off alone.”

Lizbeth nodded. “Franky caught 'em one mornin' on the way to the pond, figurin' to go swimmin' all by themselves. Harry might a' been all right. But Berty can't handle water a'tall without somebody there. We had to tell 'em if they ever tried that again we'd switch 'em good. An' I think they learned their lesson.”

“I hope so.”

I started walking around to the front of the house, thinking to tell Sarah and Katie it was time to go.

“Thank you again for the turtle,” Lizbeth told me. “God uses you, Mrs. Wortham. Pa said we were gonna have to kill a kid of the goats before long to make it through the summer if things don't get better. That or chickens, an' I don't want to do neither for thinkin' on the winter's need. Joe an' Sam've been tryin' to hunt, but they haven't had no better luck than Willy at fishin'. And here you bring in somethin' with no more than a stick.”

“Tell them to keep hunting. Keep trying. And we'll do what we have to do.”

“Sorry to hear 'bout your cow.”

“So am I.”

“You got what you need for supper over there?”

Her eyes were filled with gentle concern. It was so like her to think down the road a little. Asking about supper when we hadn't had lunch. Considering winter in the heat of July. “Yes, Lizbeth, we'll have the leftover cornbread with fresh milk over it. And I'll be gathering what I can in the timber on the way back.”

Suddenly I thought of those berries in my pail. Not many. But they would be such a treat for this teenage girl who'd been too busy with responsibilities to go and pick. “Lizbeth, I'd like you to have those raspberries.”

“Oh, Mrs. Wortham, I couldn't do that. You already gave us the turtle, and that was . . . that was a godsend.”

“I want you to have them. Mix a little batter for a cobbler, maybe. That way they'll go further.”

She hugged me. And it wasn't till she let go that I saw her tears.

“I think I'd go crazy if it wasn't for you,” she said. “I know I shouldn't be worryin', but I can't seem to help it. We're eatin' ever'thin' the garden can bear, an' I'm afraid there won't be nothin' left to can. The fields aren't lookin' so good, it's been so hot an' full a' grasshoppers, an' I know that bothers Pa. What are we gonna do when the flour runs out? If we have to start killin' the stock, we won't have no livin' left for next year.”

“There'll be a way,” I told her, hoping my words didn't sound hollow. “We've gotten this far. We'll make it. The good Lord will take care of it.”

“I wish I had your faith.”

I didn't know what to tell her. Seemed like it was Emma's faith speaking out of me, or God's own, seeking to give her comfort. I didn't feel very big in faith myself.

“You s'pose you'll be keepin' that girl for long?” she asked me rather timidly.

“I don't know. As long as she needs us, I guess.”

“Emma picked the right folks,” Lizbeth said. “You're
a saint, same as her, Mrs. Wortham. I b'lieve you'd help everybody in the country if you could.”

I turned away from her, suddenly tight inside. She just didn't see. She didn't see all the doubt and turmoil swirling around in me. It was a wicked heart, not a saintly one, that had me doubting my husband and speaking words of faith I didn't feel.

“Sarah! We should start back now!”

Rorey came running around the house almost smack into me. “I wanna go with you! Can I go back to your house?”

“Rorey Jeanine, you've already been there,” Lizbeth scolded.

“But . . . but if I don't go back,” the girl protested, “I won't be able to make clay stuff with Sarah an' Katie! That's what they're gonna do, an' I wanna do it too!”

“I should take the little boys along,” I told Lizbeth. “Or Emma Grace, and let you have a break.” I said the words, sounding saintly again, I suppose. But I only felt tired of it all and didn't really want even one more child to see to today.

Maybe she knew. Or maybe she was just being kind. “No. You got enough to think on without the littlest ones. If you don't mind Rorey, she can go an' make a clay pot or somethin', but I want her to come back by supper.”

“Ahh—” Rorey began to protest.

“Don't you want to brag on the turtle you helped catch?” Lizbeth asked her. “An' eat some?”

“All right,” the girl relented.

“You can all come if you want,” Lizbeth told me. “I can stretch a soup pot. Ask Mr. Wortham an' see what he says.”

Sarah was walking Emmie down the stairs in Lizbeth's direction. “We gotta go?” She let go of the baby's hands when they got to the shaggy grass and turned to get the waiting bucket of clay. But Katie just stood at the base of
the porch steps looking at me. I hadn't called her, I realized. Only Sarah.

“Come on, Katie,” I said quickly. “Time to go home.” A poor choice of words, maybe. It wasn't Katie's home. At least not for long, surely.

I grabbed my picking bag and the two empty pails, leaving the berries behind for Lizbeth's cobbler. Maybe we
would
come tonight. It was as much my meal as the Hammonds'.

TEN

Samuel

George was about keeled over from exhaustion, with sweat rolling down his cheeks by the time we got Lula Bell in the ground. Despite the little bit of rain, the ground was hard as rock and already almost dry.

I sent George to sit in the shade with Robert and Franky. Joe was still shoveling valiantly beside me.

“You oughta rest a while too, Samuel,” George called to me. “It's awful hot. Even fer July.”

“This dirt won't jump in the hole by itself.”

“We'll get it,” he persisted. “No use killin' yerself.”

I stopped long enough to pull the kerchief from my pocket and wipe my brow. Odd as it may sound, I thought of Juli always taking the time to press and fold my handkerchiefs so neatly. She even stuffed them in the pockets for me. Every clean pair of pants I put on already had one in it, just in case I'd need it. Summer and winter. Springtime
and harvest. That's the way she'd always been. A kerchief in the pocket. And a smile for me in her eyes.

“Somethin's differ'nt 'bout you today,” George said. “What's botherin' ya?”

“I just lost my cow. What do you think is bothering me?”

“Dunno. Somethin' more'n ol' Lula Bell, I'd wager. Has to do with that little girl your brother left you, don't it? Wonderin' how you'll feed her?”

“I might be wondering how to feed everybody, the same as you, George.”

He pulled his hat off his head and slapped it against his knee, sending tiny sweat droplets scattering across Franky's back. “Well, we got that to think about, you're right.” He looked at each of the boys for a minute. “Say, Joe, you're looking tired too. Why don't you go on t' the well and fetch yerself a drink?”