Still House Pond (20 page)

Manda poured a cup of cold, strong coffee and drank it black. Memories scratched at her conscience. She tried to ignore them, but they continued picking at her, as irritating as chigger bites. She saw herself flirting with the man, preening for him, begging for his attention. How could she have been so stupid? She'd set her own self up—and she didn't even know his name!

Hot tears sprang from her eyes. She slapped both hands over her mouth to hold back the sobs that threatened. She began to pace around the room, beating her fists against her legs. Where was she to find solace? To whom could she turn?

She'd just have to rely on herself like she'd always done—act normal and carry on. That was the only thing that would get her through.

That decided, Manda thought she would go to the garden and gather some vegetables for supper. On the way out the door, she grabbed a bonnet from a peg and glanced at the mirror over the washstand. She caught her breath. Her hair stood out like a dandelion gone to seed. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut, and her upper lip was split. Dried blood flaked in the corners of her mouth. One sleeve was hanging by a thread.

Miss Remy and Jack could be back any second. She needed to buy some time. There was a piece of scrap paper in the middle of the kitchen table and a yellow lead pencil. It looked like Lilly had been copying a Bible verse. Manda tore the page in two, shoving the used part into her pocket. Her fingers brushed the muslin fabric. She leaned over the table and began to write.

I have gone to visit Darcy. Will catch a ride. Miz Copper is at the Mortons'. Mr. Morton came for her. Saw Lilly off. Be back before too long, good Lord willing.

Yours,

Manda

She propped the note against the sugar bowl, then went to the sickroom. Under the cot where she slept weekdays was the tattered carpetbag she used to haul her clothes back and forth. She reached under and pulled it out, checking to make sure her treasures—the stash of wages and egg money and the album of pressed flowers—were still inside. The baking powder tin where she kept the money felt comforting in her hand. She shook it. The small roll of paper bills stifled the clinking change. Counting last week's wages, she'd finally saved enough to get to Eddyville with some left over.

Taking a moment, she opened the album, her eyes hungry for something serene and beautiful. Ever since she was a girl, she had collected and pressed flowers. When she lived with her parents, she dried the petals between the pages of the heavy family Bible. Once she began to work for Miz Copper, she slipped the roses, marigolds, daisies, zinnias, strawflowers, and black-eyed Susans behind the proper letters of the dictionary that rested on a wooden stand in the living room. Miz Copper had gifted the album to her. It had velvet covers the color of moss and solid vellum pages. The gift had made Manda feel special. Now she felt like a husk of a girl as dried out as the once lusciously blooming flowers.

Grief for her young and innocent self washed through her. Just this morning at the pigpen she had belabored her boring life. Now she'd give anything to have that sense of safety back, that sense of things in place—boring or not.

What if she walked into the kitchen and took a seat at the table and let whoever came home first find her there? What if she just told her story straight up as it happened? She could see the hue and cry that would cause. Mr. John would go get Dimmert and Cara and Dance and Ace. Someone would go to town and bring back the sheriff. She would have to tell the story again and again. The sheriff would round up a posse. The men, probably even Gurney, would ride off seeking vengeance, tracking the middling man like a rabid animal. Every tongue up and down Troublesome Creek would soon tell the sad tale of Dory Manda Whitt—Manda the fallen woman.

No, she should stick to her story, telling no one but her sister. Darcy would understand better than anyone else. When her husband was arrested, tongues wagged, relishing the story for weeks, until someone else's tragedy became the latest gossip fodder. But Darcy had overcome her hardship, and so would she. It was like digging a tunnel with a bent teaspoon, doable if the spoon held out and you lived long enough.

Of course, Miz Copper would help her given the chance. Just the very thought of seeing the kindness and concern on her benefactor's face made the tears stream once again. Manda didn't think she could stand any sympathy right now. And what if Miz Copper started looking at her differently? She really couldn't stand the thought of that.

The screen door slammed. Jack laughed. They were home.

Hurriedly, she emptied the two dresser drawers designated for her use into the bag, atop the baking powder tin and the mossy green album. She shoved the dresser drawers closed with her hip, slipped out the sickroom door, and headed for the little house.

She didn't dare go around to the front. Someone might see. Manda crept to the back of the cabin. She pried a window open and crawled over the sill.

There was a fresh corn-shuck mattress on the bed. Manda had stuffed it herself from the supply Miss Remy had dried last fall. They kept the shucks in a wire bin in the washhouse. One of Manda's chores was to keep the shucks turned and aired so they wouldn't mold. Once she'd found a nest of mice in there. Miss Remy had blamed her—said she wasn't turning the shucks often enough—and made her sort through each husk looking for any sign a mouse had been nibbling. Manda must have thrown out half of them.

The corn shucks rustled dryly when she lay down. She would rest here until full dark, then walk to town and journey on from there. Maybe she would come back—maybe she wouldn't. It remained to be seen.

She sank deeply into the mattress. It rose around her like a feather bed but without the softness. That was good; a bed of nails would have suited her just fine.

“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,” she chanted under her breath.

Why had she fallen for the romantic notions in those magazine stories? Had she ever known a Rose Feathergay? or anyone who remotely resembled her? Hardly. Poor Rose would probably find out her woodsman was an ax murderer.

Life was just one long tedious road to nowhere. Manda touched her sore lip and winced. The middling man's words came back to her:
“You've been asking for it.”
She decided Miss Remy had it figured out. Lead your own life and don't get tangled up with men. From now on that was what she intended to do.

It was hard to give up on your dreams, though. Tears leaked from her eyes and ran down the sides of her face like rain slides down a windowpane. How could she have been so stupid?

21

Copper cooked supper for the Morton family. Ruby would have none of lying in bed, so she sat at the table with her newborn bundled in her arms. Everyone, excluding Ruby, grinned from ear to ear partly from happiness over the baby and partly from relief that Ruby was alive. Ruby looked stunned, like she'd been poleaxed. Copper kept turning from the stove just to look at the beautiful baby. In the rush to get out of the house, she had forgotten her scales, but she guessed him to be ten pounds.

“No wonder you had shortness of breath, Ruby,” Copper said. “I can't believe I missed that you had a baby that big in your belly.”

“You can't believe it? Mercy me, I feel such a fool.”

“But aren't you happy?” Emerald said, taking the baby from her mother and bouncing him in her arms. “He's so beautiful.”

“Should Ernie go fetch Mr. Tierney?” Copper asked.

“I reckon not,” Ruby said. “I live here. He visits Sundays.”

Copper looked at the chubby newborn lying in his sister's arms. Obviously Mr. Tierney did more than visit. She couldn't wait to share this story with John. But it would go no farther. She was scrupulous in guarding her patients' privacy. John was the guardian of her secrets.

“You done real good, Miz Tierney,” Ernie said. “Why, this fine boy will be our baby's uncle.”

“Ernie,” Ruby said, “I hate to be a bother, but I crave a glass of cold buttermilk. Would you mind to go to the springhouse and get some?”

Ernie backed out the door, never taking his eyes off Emerald and the infant. “If that ain't a pretty picture.”

Ruby craned her neck to make sure her son-in-law was out of earshot. “Miz Pelfrey . . .”

“Please call me Copper.”

“Copper, really how did this come about? I ain't had my visitor for a year now. If I'd have had the barest inkling such a thing could happen, I would have told Mr. Tierney to keep his this-'n'-that at home.”

Copper checked the new potatoes. She dumped in a bowlful of just-shelled peas. She'd let them cook a few more minutes. She tapped the fork against the lip of the pot and put the lid back on. “Turn-of-life babies are not that uncommon. It can be a very fertile time. It's like the body's not quite ready to give up on reproducing. I once helped deliver a set of triplets to a fifty-five-year-old woman. Like you, she thought the disorder in her health was from her turning a certain age.”

Ruby slapped her own cheek. “Surely not.”

“Yes, triplets and all over four pounds. It was the talk of the town.”

“Was ary of them normal?”

“Fit as fiddles—the whole lot of them.”

“Triplets.” Emerald's face got dreamy. “Oh, I'd love me a set of triplets.”

“Don't wish for such,” Ruby said. “You'll bring trouble to this house.”

Ruby was like many women up here in the mountains. She was stalwart and strong—always expecting the unexpected. Stories circulated of women dropping a baby at the end of a row of corn they'd just weeded and then going right on to the next, or having a baby in the middle of the night and then getting up to cook breakfast or do a wash. Many were poor as Job's turkey and couldn't afford the time to lie abed. And most, like Ruby, were too proud to be waited on.

Copper knew her own situation was unusual. Because of her first marriage, she had money of her own. John was a hard worker and often worked for wages, but having money in the bank afforded her family luxuries not available to most folks in the area. Having a nice house with room for her small clinic and a hired girl like Manda allowed her the ministry of midwifery God had led her to. It also helped that John was not arrogant. He didn't base his manhood on what she did or what she had. His only complaint was that he missed her when she was gone.

Copper dusted pieces of trout with cornmeal. They popped and sizzled when she laid them in the skillet. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn't eaten but a few bites of leftover corn cakes today. Supper would sure taste good.

Ernie returned and started filling glasses with buttermilk. Copper cut the corn bread. Emerald dished the food onto plates.

Ruby said, “I wish I'd known you were coming, Copper. I'd have baked a pork cake.”

Everyone laughed as they took their seats.

“Another time.” Copper sat with her hands folded in her lap. She would give Ernie an opportunity to offer grace. If he didn't, she would ask if she could. He didn't, but Ruby did.

“Lord,” she prayed, “how can we thank You enough for the blessings of this day? For food on the table, this boy in my arms, for You bringing Copper to me in my time of need, for all these and more, we give You thanks. Amen.”

The fish flaked when Copper cut it with her fork. It was moist and tender. “Ernie, this fish is delicious.”

“Oh, I can't take credit,” he said. “Miz Tierney's the fisherman in this house.”

“I caught them last evening,” Ruby said. “I went fishing before the pains laid me out.”

Copper didn't know when she had enjoyed an evening more. This family was so full of kindness toward each other.

Ernie even insisted on doing the dishes. “You cooked,” he said when Copper began scraping the plates. “I'll see to this.”

Copper got Ruby settled with the baby. It took a lot of coaxing to get him to nurse. Fat thing just wanted to lie about being adored. Copper could have just carried him home with her—he was that delectable. As if Ruby would give him up.

Besides, if Copper's suspicions proved correct, she would be busy enough with her own in about eight months. She hadn't told John yet. She'd give it a couple more weeks to be certain. Hopefully, he would be as happy as she was. He had his reservations, she knew, but he would come around.

Emerald poked her head around the doorframe. “Your husband's out front.”

She went out to meet John, surprised and pleased to see he had brought Jack along.

“Everything all right?” he asked, handing Jack down from the saddle.

She nodded.

“I got to steer, Mama,” Jack said. “I'm good at it too.”

John dismounted and sneaked a kiss to her cheek. “We brought Chessie with us so you'll have a way back tomorrow.”

She nestled in his arms for the briefest time. Public displays of affection were not appropriate, and besides Ernie was right there.

“Thank you,” she said. “You've met Ernie, right?”

John pumped Ernie's hand. “Yeah, that day in the churchyard. How's it going?”

“I'll just take Jack inside to meet the new baby,” Copper said, “and leave you fellows to talk.”

She held Jack's hand and cautioned him not to be loud and not to touch the baby. “Ruby, this is my son, Jack. He's come to pay his respects.”

Jack looked the infant over. “Ma'am, you got yourself a whopper.”

Rose smiled. “I sure do.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Not yet. I haven't had time to think about that.”

Jack leaned against the bed and looked the baby over. “We had a baby Mama called Jumbo, but he wasn't big like this. I don't know why Mama called him that. Can I see his feet?”

“It was the Sizemores' baby,” Copper explained as Ruby unwrapped blankets. “Do you know Tillie and Abe?”

“Can't say as I do,” Ruby said.

“I need to have a get-together once all the babies are big enough.”