The Last Days of Dogtown (26 page)

The next morning, Cornelius reached out for the baby before Polly could ask. He was grateful for the distraction, and also fascinated by the feel and smell of the infant, and the way he responded to touch. When Polly disappeared into the house or down to the stream, he ran a light finger over David’s hands and feet. He traced the bare outline of his eyebrows, the warm crooks of his elbows. He took the whole of David’s hand on his thumb, in awe. But when he cupped a hand over the top of the baby’s skull, Cornelius nearly jumped out of his skin.

The moment Polly returned from the stream he said, “Missus?”

“Yes, Cornelius,” said Polly, eager for any word from him.

“I fear that David’s head is not right.”

Polly froze.

“There, on the top.” He pointed. “Like a melon, Missus, with a soft place. It’s not right. I’m so sorry. I didn’t do anything…”

“Oh, no,” said Polly, who felt her heart begin to beat again. “That’s just how babies are made. The soft part there closes over soon enough. Natty’s head was like that, but it’s hard as a nut now. See?” She made him put his hand on the older boy’s curls. “But I suppose it’s not something you know till you have a baby of your own.”

Cornelius nodded and Polly went silent, afraid she’d said something hurtful. Not that she had any hope of knowing the heart of this quiet shadow of a man. But she did know, and with complete certainty, that he treated her sons with the same affection and patience as Oliver or Judy. And she knew that he was grateful for every small kindness he was shown.

Cornelius’s pain eased slowly, but his knee still throbbed and swelled whenever he put weight on it. “It’s the dog days, that’s what it is,” Easter said, when she stopped to pack his bandage with a foul-smelling concoction of pickled burdock leaves. “This is the worst time of year for healing, and that’s all there is to it. A few more weeks of rest will be the cure of you, and not even this heat can stop that. If you do as I say and keep off that peg of yours, you’ll be on your way soon enough.” Cornelius had little choice but to keep still and hope the old woman was right.

One day was much like the next, which made little events stand out: the late raspberries ripened and they all ate their fill. A few squashes added a tasteless but filling accompaniment to whatever leftover bits of cod or haddock Oliver brought home.

The weather cooled for a few days but then grew unspeakably hot again, and even sweet-tempered Natty turned sullen. One afternoon, when his mother was occupied with the baby and Cornelius was dozing, the usually tractable little boy started to wail. “Judy. Where is my Judy? I want my Judy!”

“Hush,” said Polly. “Your Judy is tending Mrs. Cook, who must be very ill, indeed, else she’d be here. She’s never been away from you so long, has she?”

Polly turned to Cornelius and explained, “Judy Rhines has been like a sister to me since Natty was born. He dotes on her but we haven’t seen her in so long, have we, Natty? I’ll go call at the Cooks’ and have a good long chat with her, just as soon as I can get away from the house at last and from…” She stopped herself, and Cornelius realized that he was not the only one who dearly wished him fit enough to be on his way.

That night, Cornelius was unable to sleep. He was no longer disturbed by the dog’s snoring, or the baby’s night cries, or the murmured conversations and rustlings from Oliver and Polly’s bed. He had to get out of the Youngers’ house. Polly didn’t need another man to take care of, and Oliver had to be paying extra for what they were feeding him.

He’d leave in the morning. He’d make do with a cane and move back to Dogtown. He’d take over Judy Rhines’s place and be grateful for the peace and quiet of the woods. He would get by scavenging and doing odd jobs, just as he had in the past.

While Cornelius lay on his back and planned, a bird burst into song in the damp night air. At first he thought there might be more than one bird, cawing, warbling, whistling, trilling, grunting, and cooing. After a while he realized that a single mockingbird was responsible for the medley of faultless imitations: robin, gull, and dove, wild turkey and crow, and then (was it possible?) a frog’s cheep, a cricket’s chirp, and what sounded like the short, husky bark of the Youngers’ ridiculous little dog.

Cornelius strained to find a pattern in the song until his head ached. I’m going mad, he thought. If I don’t leave this place soon, I will be useless.

His leg did feel better the next day, a Sunday, which meant that Oliver was home. “I’m thinking about a cane,” Cornelius said. “And leaving you in peace.”

Polly heard the apology in his voice. “We’ll be sorry to see you go,” she said. Even though she had complained to Oliver about his lack of conversation, and even though having him there had meant an extra shirt to wash and an extra mouth to feed, he had been a great help with David and Natty. His attentions meant she’d had more time for sewing, which brought in the money they needed for shoes. She didn’t remember how she’d managed both boys before Cornelius came; she fell asleep frowning.

Come morning, Polly had a new cause for concern: Cornelius was tossing on his bed, sweating, and moaning in his sleep. He woke up too dizzy to sit, much less stand.

“I don’t like the look of him,” Polly said to Oliver. “Easter isn’t as handy with a fever as our Judy.”

“I’ll stop off there right now and see if I can’t get her to walk back with me,” he said, kissing her good-bye. “Don’t fret. I’ll bring her back and we’ll all have a nice visit.”

Judy Rhines was pouring water for Mrs. Cook’s morning tea when Oliver’s face appeared at the kitchen door. “Mistress Rhines,” he said, in a mock-formal voice. “How good to see you. And how fares your patient?”

“She’s not much worse today, but her spirits are very low.”

“Even with you here as her nurse every day?”

“I wish I could do more than offer her compresses and company,” Judy sighed, as Oliver entered the kitchen and threw his leg over a chair. “The doctor finally let off bleeding her, thank goodness. Between you and me, that man causes her more harm than good.”

“I imagine Easter has told you all about our patient by now,” Oliver said.

Judy busied herself with the tray. “You and Polly are saints for taking him in.”

“Polly is doing all the real work. It’s in her nature to look after strays. She took me in, didn’t she?”

“Oh, it’s in your nature, too,” said Judy, fondly. “How many more puppies have you got up there now?”

He laughed. “Well, we would have a whole litter but Poppa is too jealous. But the reason I stopped by is on account of Cornelius. He woke with a terrible fever today; he’s so bad, he can’t even get out of the bed. I came to ask if you’d do him a good turn.”

“Easter is as good a nurse as me any day,” Judy said.

“Well, Polly thinks you’re a better hand at fever. And the truth is, Natty was carrying on and crying for his aunt Judy. He misses you so much. Polly, too.”

The mention of Nathaniel melted her reserve. “I miss them too,” she said. “I suppose that if Martha is comfortable and since the Judge is here…”

“I’ll stop by for you on my way home,” Oliver said, and rushed out before Judy could make any excuses.

Judy knew that Martha would be fine without her for a few hours. Her misery eased in the evening and the Judge would be home and quite content to spend the evening reading in her room. The truth was that Judy had been staying away from the Youngers because Cornelius was there.

“Judy, dear?” Martha’s voice returned her to the task at hand.

“I’m coming,” she called, hurrying with the tray.

“Was that Oliver I heard?” said Martha as Judy entered the sickroom. “How is the baby?”

“I didn’t even think to ask, can you imagine?”

“Dear, you must tell me the truth. Has there been a falling-out between you and the Youngers? You haven’t been there in so long, and I don’t recall the last time I heard you talk about Natty. Why is that?”

“There is no falling-out. It’s just that I do not like to leave you.” Judy noticed that the vases needed attention. No matter how often she freshened the flowers, trimmed the lamp wicks, and changed the linens, Martha’s room looked forlorn.

“I’m not alone. That girl is here, day after day,” Martha whined, in a good imitation of their new servant. “What a sullen chit she is, and her mother promised us a cheerful girl. But never mind that. The Judge is home tonight. Will Oliver return for you this afternoon?”

“Yes. They’ve taken in Cornelius Finson, who hurt his leg on the road.” Judy fussed with the fading roses so that Martha could not see her face. “It seems he’s low with a fever now.”

“Well, if he has you as his nurse, he’ll be healthy in no time. And I shall survive this one evening without you.”

Judy read to Martha until she dozed off, and then tiptoed to the bureau and picked up the ivory hand mirror that lay facedown on the lace antimacassar. There were no surprises in the reflection: her hair had a white streak in it now, just beside her left cheek. Her whole face was thicker, the skin a bit mottled at the temples, and the jaw was no longer firm. She had become the complete spinster, she thought, bland and unremarkable. Martha could not bear to witness the way her once-pretty features decayed from month to month, but Judy was fascinated by the alterations in her appearance.

She examined herself dispassionately, without any thought to improving what she saw, glad to have avoided the perpetual frown that was nearly universal on unmarried ladies of her years. She widened her eyes and smiled brightly: at least her teeth were still sound. Martha stirred and Judy replaced the mirror precisely as it was before returning to her seat by the bed.

When Oliver arrived, she was ready with a satchel filled with fruit and a cake, as well as a small pouch of herbs: yarrow to bring on sweating and to draw out the heat of a fever, sorrel and licorice root for tea, slippery elm, in case there was a sore throat. And a packet of chamomile for Polly, who loved the smell.

As they set out, Judy asked Oliver for news about Natty and the baby, and he obliged in exquisite detail: David had a tooth already, and Natty was smart as a whip. “He can count to one hundred. Polly says Cornelius is teaching him the numbers.”

“I’m bringing him some peaches,” she said.

“He’ll like that,” Oliver said. “I cannot figure what on earth Cornelius might like, except for our boys. He smiles at them when he thinks no one is looking. But the man says so little…” Judy turned the conversation to Polly’s health and welfare, which got them to the house before Oliver could say anything else about their patient.

Natty was hopping from one foot to the other by the side of the road waiting for them. When Judy came into sight, he squealed and ran for her, grabbing her tightly about the knees until she lifted him up for a hug. “If you get any bigger, I won’t be able to do this anymore!”

Judy kissed Polly and declared her radiant. She exclaimed over David, who had become a different child since she’d seen him last, bigger and darker and reaching for everything, including her nose. She praised the tidiness of the yard and the house and exclaimed over the fine workmanship in the basket of mending on the bed. Only then did she glance at Cornelius, who was sleeping hard.

He was much thinner than the last time she’d seen him. His hair had grayed and his damp forehead seemed much longer than she remembered. The sight of him — lying still as a corpse — did not move her or upset her in any way, which was just what she’d hoped.

“He’s resting easier at last,” whispered Polly. “He was thrashing all day. Even David took fright.”

“Let him sleep then,” said Judy. “I’ll tend to him after supper.”

While Polly breaded the fish, Judy cradled the baby until Natty could not bear it for another moment and demanded that she put David down and give him the attention he expected from his auntie.

They dined amid familiar happy chatter. Natty babbled about the flowers he’d picked for his mamma, the slate she was going to get him, and the baby’s bad smells. Neither Polly nor Oliver hushed him, and while Judy wondered if Natty would ever learn his manners, the fondness in the house worked upon her like wine, relaxing and warming her straight through. After dinner, Polly thought Judy looked a good ten years younger than when she had walked through the door.

A loud groan interrupted their party, and all heads turned — even the baby’s. It took Cornelius a few moments to open his gummy eyelids. Judy turned away, resting her cheek against Natty’s velvety forehead.

“Judy?” he croaked.

The sound of her name sent her to her feet and Natty tumbling to the floor. After a long, stunned, breathless moment the boy opened his mouth and howled.

“I’m sorry, my pet, my sweetkins, my lamb,” Judy apologized breathlessly, and picked him up. “Your old auntie just took a start, is all.” She carried him outside, kissing him all the while.

“Judy?” Cornelius said, naked longing in his voice. “Have you come to me? Judy? Is it my Judy, for true?”

Oliver and Polly stared.

“How does he know her?” she whispered.

He shrugged. “They both lived in Dogtown.”

But Judy’s distress and Cornelius’s tone of voice signified something more than polite exchanges between neighbors. Polly wondered exactly what they had shared, how it might have started, why it had stopped, and how such a secret could have kept in such a small, gossipy place. “Poor things,” she said.

Oliver frowned. He had tried to forget his boyish dreams of winning Judy for himself, and thought of her only as his auntie — his and Polly’s, as well as Natty’s and David’s. It was unsettling to think of her in any man’s arms, and for it to have been Cornelius seemed even more out of the natural order of things.

Judy walked Natty around the house a second time. He’d stopped crying after the first turn. “Put me down,” he said.

“Put me down, please,” she reminded, and let him go.

She circled the house once more to compose herself. The sound of her name in Cornelius’s mouth had turned her upside down. If only she could walk away, back to Gloucester and her books. Even Martha’s pain and suffering were preferable to this. But she had to show the Youngers that there was nothing between her and Cornelius. She had to prove it to herself. And to him, too, she supposed.