Valley So Low (2 page)

“What about you?” she asked. “You go to town. You were there today. I’d hate to think about you coming down with the flu or anything else.”

A smile played across his lips like fleeting music. “I never get sick,” he replied. “You know that, nothing much ‘cept the headaches and this limp, both from getting the shit kicked out of me.”

The headaches had plagued him ever since he’d been beaten almost to death by the Jones brothers but his leg bothered him too. The break didn’t heal the way it ought and he’d ended up with a slight limp, more noticeable when he got tired. “I still worry,” she told him. “I thought the flu had about gone.”

“Folks said it’s back again, makes the third time,” Harry said. “It’s been a bad deal all around. I best get the chores done, but thank you for supper.”

She didn’t want to see him go this soon. “You’re welcome for the meal but stop back in before you leave. I know George’ll want to see you before he goes to bed. He thinks a lot of you.”

His smile returned, wider and brighter. “Aw, I know he does,” Harry said. “He’s tops to me too. I’ll look in on him then.”

With Granpa gone, Harry’s the closest thing George will ever have to a father.
As she cleared the table and heated water to wash the dishes, Maude’s thoughts drifted back to her pregnancy. Jamie’d been gone two months or so when she realized why she’d missed her monthlies, and it’d been Harry who treated Maude as if she’d become fragile. He did all her outside chores and brought little favors from town—a stick of candy, a package of hairpins, or a posy. Harry sat beside her on the cold, late December night when George was born, and she clung to his hand when the pains got bad. He held the baby before Maude did and nights when the newborn howled with colic, Harry often walked the floor with the baby so she could sleep.
I’ve spent more time with him than Jamie since I married.

She and Jamie celebrated their first anniversary the day after President Woodrow Wilson declared war on Germany, April 3, 1917. Jamie courted her for almost a year before they got married, but Harry’d been her sweetheart forever until he left to learn a machinist’s trade in Kansas City. It’d been after he took the beating and for the first time Maude wondered if the incident might have something to do with his leaving. She’d think on it later when she reflected on the way Jamie vanished out of her life. Less than two months after they marked one year of marriage, Jamie enlisted. First he ended up at Camp Hood in Texas, then shipped out for France. He wrote, but the letters took a long time to cross the water and reach her.

When Harry heard his brother’d gone to war, he came home to the farm. Granpa’s age kept him from being able to do all the chores and farm work but Granpa still insisted the farm would be Jamie’s. In the few days between the letter from Jamie’s commanding officer and Granpa’s death, Harry said he’d be happy to have the farm but Granpa shook his head. “There’s no need, son,” he’d told Harry. “The farm was to go to Jamie but since he’s gone, it’ll be this little tyke’s one day. The home place needs to stay in the family. Maude can live on it and her son’ll always make a home for her here.”

“What about me?” Harry asked. “I love this land too. I’ve been working to keep it going.”

“You’re my grandson, too, there’s always a place for you here, but the land goes to George.”

After Granpa died, Harry became silent and moved up to the cabin. Granny went to Gert’s and loneliness set in like winter. Until death swooped into their lives and changed everything, Harry’d been Maude’s rock. They talked and sometimes in the evenings he played the beat-up old piano or played his guitar while she sang. He listened when she needed to gripe and offered comfort when she needed some strength to keep going. But when first Jamie, then Granpa died, grief mixed with guilt created a volatile atmosphere.

With the Whitneys, Maude savored the sense of family. Her papa died when she was too tiny to remember him. Her mama raised her in town alone but when Maude turned fourteen, Mama remarried a drummer from Texas. Willie Main wanted to take Maude into his home as a daughter but she didn’t want to leave so she stayed with her aunt and uncle. Aunt Mary and Uncle Tommy lived out in the county. She finished up her education at the Silver Moon School, where she first met Harry Whitney. One of the reasons she let Jamie court her had been her desire to still see the folks and feel like part of the family.

As she washed the dishes by kerosene lamplight, Maude sang one of the old ballads Jamie didn’t like. George played under the table with a set of wooden blocks. By the time everything sparkled and the kitchen was neat, Harry strolled through the back door. George scrambled to meet him and Maude grinned when he scooped the boy up into his arms.

Darning socks didn’t seem so tedious with company. The large rooms of the old farmhouse weren’t as empty either. After tumbling around on the floor together, Harry rocked the little boy to sleep. He sang as he rocked the armless chair back and forth, his low voice matching the rhythm. Maude finished darning and patched her other apron pocket. When she put away her sewing basket, Harry stood up with George in his arms.

She rose. “I can take him upstairs.”

“Naw, I will,” Harry said. “I suppose he’s in the same place, the little room at the top of the stairs?”

“Yes.”

Maude listened to the familiar creak as he carried the boy up the staircase with slow tread. Harry returned with a lighter, quick step and crossed to stand near the front door. Aware he’d leave now, she tried to think of something to say to keep him a few more minutes. “Thanks,” she said. “Are you going to church tomorrow?”

He curled his lip and shook his head. “No, I’m not much for church these days. You going?”

“No, I haven’t lately.” Since living alone on the farm, Maude hadn’t made the effort. She’d have to walk carrying George who became heavy after a short distance, or hitch up the team to the old buggy. Both seemed too much trouble so she stayed home. Besides, she hadn’t wanted to hear the well-meant condolences and words of sympathy.

“If you want to go, I’d take you,” Harry said. “It might not be the best time, though, not with the flu. Some of the churches in town cancelled services for tomorrow.”

Warmth kindled behind her breasts, deep in her chest.
He acts like he might want to be around me again.
“Maybe later on, after the sickness is gone,” Maude told him. “If you’d like to come to Sunday dinner, though, I’ll catch up a chicken and make dumplings.”

His small smile rewarded her. “Sounds mighty fine,” he said. “I’ll come, then, Maudie, for chores early, then back for dinner. I’ve been livin’ on mostly squirrels and beans.”

She wanted to tell him how much she’d missed him, ached to share how she felt about him and always had, but Maude held back. Instead, she walked over within touching distance and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll look for you around noon, then. Take care walking back to the cabin, Harry.”

“I will. Good night, Maude.”

For a moment he leaned so close she thought he’d kiss her but he didn’t. Instead, Harry lifted a stray strand of hair and tucked it behind her ear. Then he smiled, sweet and brief, before he walked through the door. Maude watched him cut across the front yard, then veer up to where the family burying ground lay not far uphill. Clouds scudded across the face of the moon and a chill wind rose, bringing the smell of rain. She shut the door when Harry passed out of sight behind the cedars, and for the first time in a month, she shed no tears when she laid down her head for the night.

Chapter Two

Maude awoke to a gray morning and the sound of rain on the roof.  She rolled over, wishing she could sleep a little longer, then realized she hadn’t heard a peep out of George.  Since it’d been just mother and son, he woke every night crying with nightmares or some pain.  Concern propelled her out of bed and across the hall.  She peered into the smaller bedroom and exhaled the breath she’d been holding when she saw his body curled into the blankets.  Tufts of hair spilled onto the pillow, and when she advanced Maude saw the easy rise and fall as he breathed.  She kissed his cheek and he stirred but didn’t wake.

She dressed in her plaid housedress and buttoned the twelve buttons down the bodice.  Maude welcomed the full-length sleeves to offer a little protection against the cold and added wool socks beneath the skirt which was just long enough to brush her ankles. She tied a clean apron around her waist, re-braided her hair, then pinned it up. After sliding her feet into her plain, worn shoes, Maude let the baby sleep and headed downstairs.  She stirred the fire in the ancient wood-fired cookstove and added kindling.  Then she put the water bucket in the sink beneath the hand pump, one of the farm’s few modern conveniences, and filled it.  Maude put the granite coffeepot on the stove along with a pan of water to boil.

With one ear cocked to hear George if he stirred upstairs, Maude headed outside. She could tell by the way the stock behaved that Harry’d been for morning chores and gone already. She eyed her flock of Rhode Island Reds and picked a plump bird.  Moving with speed through the light rain, Maude swept it up into her grasp, broke the neck with a swift twist, and carried it to the chopping block.  She hefted the ax and severed the head, then carried the body inside.  With familiar ease, she soon had the hen plucked and dressed.  She paused to drink a cup of black coffee and then scrubbed up any mess.  As soon as the hen simmered in a stew pot with an onion, some salt, sage, thyme, and a couple of carrots, Maude put the pan of biscuits in the rear oven to bake and hurried upstairs for George.

She found him awake, clapping hands, and singing one of the songs Harry shared with him the night before.  “How’s Mama’s boy?” she asked.

“Hun-gee,” he told her and she laughed.   Maude dressed him in one of the long gowns he still wore at almost two years old.  Someday he’d grow enough to wear overalls like Harry did, but for now George remained her baby. 

“Mama’s got biscuits bakin’,” she told him.  Downstairs, she parked him in a chair at the kitchen table, seated on a wooden box to give him height.  She fetched the milk from the springhouse, tasted a sip, then decided it wasn’t sour and poured George a cup.  When the biscuits emerged, she broke one open for him and smeared it with yesterday’s churning.  She ate two biscuits and drank more coffee. 

The rain intensified as the morning passed and by the time the case clock chimed noon, a heavy downpour drummed on the roof.  Rain lashed the windows with force and wind buffeted against the outside walls.  Temperatures outside dropped and it became chilly in the house, everywhere but the kitchen.  Maude laid a fire in the big hearth in the front room and struggled to get it going.  When Harry came, he’d appreciate a good fire.

Her big kettle bubbled with thick, fluffy dumplings, and the aroma of the stewed hen wafted through the house.  Maude used most of the store-bought sugar she had to bake a fruitcake, thick with apples, raisins, and plums.  The cake waited inside the ovens, along with a fresh pan of biscuits kept warm by the fire under the front part of the stove.  Sitting on the floor, George banged on a pot with a wooden spoon, and she noticed he’d lost another sock.  Maude spied it and picked it up, then put it back onto his foot.

“You’re gonna catch cold if you don’t wear your socks, boy,” she told him. “So’s Harry if he’s out in this mess.”

“Pop come?” George exclaimed.  She laughed. “I hope so.  Why don’t you go watch for him?”

The boy scampered into the front room and curled up on the old maple settee in front of the window.  He pressed his face against the wavering glass and stared into the rain with serious concentration.  Maude took advantage of his task to set the table with the yellow dishes trimmed with a floral border.  She put another pot of coffee on the stove and stirred the dumplings.  Earlier, she’d boned the hen and put the meat back into the thick broth.  She took a small taste from the spoon and decided it needed a pinch of salt.  As she added it, George hollered and the door burst open as Harry rushed inside.

“Watch out, buster, I’m soaked to the skin,” he told the boy as he approached the fireplace, hands outstretched. “Maudie, I’m drippin’.”

“Let me get you a towel,” she told him.  She grabbed two and hurried to hand him one.  Without a bye-your-leave, she rubbed the other over his wet hair despite his muttered protests.

She wiped his face then shook her head. “You need to get out of those clothes or you’ll catch your death of cold.”

Shivering, he shook his head. “I’ll dry off in a bit.”

Maude studied his garments, wringing wet. “No, you won’t.  You’re the same size as Jamie, or close enough.  I’ll fetch down some of his things and you can change.”

“You don’t need to make a fuss.”

“I’m going to anyway.” She hurried upstairs and found overalls, a good flannel shirt, an undershirt, and a pair of socks in the bottom of her dresser.  Downstairs she handed them to Harry and their hands touched, brief and sweet.  A small thrill rushed through her. “Go change,” she told him. “I’ll dish up dinner.”

She turned her back as she returned to the kitchen with George caught by the hand. Maude hung the wet things over the spare chair and placed it near the stove. By the time she settled the little boy into his seat and ladled chicken and dumplings into the bowls, Harry joined them.  His dead brother’s clothes weren’t any different than what he normally wore so they didn’t look odd.  Truth told, though, Granpa’s old things would’ve worked just as well.

“Lordy, that looks good,” Harry said as he inhaled the aroma. “It’s my favorite.”

“I remember,” Maude replied with a smile. “I just hope mine’s as good as your granny’s always was.”

“I bet it is,” he told her and stretched out a hand to grasp hers.  He held George’s with the other. “I’ll ask the blessing.”

His hand wrapped around hers and held tight, a fit.  Maude enjoyed the familiar feel and bowed her head as Harry spoke a simple grace.  The fingers she touched remained chilled, and when he broke the connection, she experienced a brief pang of loss.  Maude smiled as she watched Harry take his first bite with obvious relish.  Maybe the food would warm him through and through.  The rich stew tasted good to her.  Her appetite had all but vanished in recent weeks but she ate with gusto.  So did George, who wielded his spoon with enthusiasm.  By the time they’d finished, chicken broth and pieces of dumplings covered most of the boy’s face.  A few sticky bits crowned his hair.  Another time Maude might’ve fussed, but George’s smile brightened her heart.  Any mess would wash up and she knew it.

“Want some more? There’s a bit left,” she asked Harry as she scraped the pot.

He held up one hand and shook his head. “I don’t have any room left for it and that’s the truth,” he said.  He’d eaten two bowls of dumplings plus a slice of the cake she’d baked. “I’d take another cup of coffee, though, if there’s any.”

Maude lifted the pot and swished it. “There’s some.”  She filled his cup and put the rest in hers.  George banged his tin cup against the table and cried, “More, Mama.” She poured him a little more milk and cleared the table, pausing long enough to wipe a rag over the worst of George’s smeared face. Harry caught her elbow as she started for the sink with an armload. “Come sit a spell, Maudie.”  Although she longed to, she shook her head. “Take George in the front room and soon as I clean up, I’ll join you.”

After a moment of hesitation, he nodded.  “Come on, buddy. Let’s go play.”

Their two voices, one high-pitched and young, the other a masculine rumble, soothed Maude as she finished her task.  The rain hammering against the windows shifted over to sleet soon after she joined the fellas.  She felt cooler than when she’d been busy in the kitchen and picked up her shawl from the back of a chair.  Harry handed George to her and she glanced up, surprised.  “You’re not leaving?”

Harry shook his head. “Nope, but I gotta bring the stock in so I’m going out to round them up.  It won’t take long, I hope.  Then I’ll be back in to warm up.”

“Do you want me to come help you?” Maude asked. She had—until she got with child.  Although raised in town, the Whitneys taught her to be a fair enough farmhand. “George is almost asleep anyhow.”

His blue eyes darkened with appreciation, she thought. “Naw, it’s cold.  Stay snug and I’ll be back ‘fore you got time to miss me.  Just keep the fire going and the coffee hot.”

  Low, heavy skies brought dusk early, and when Harry came back inside, a sharp, cold wind blasted through the house in his wake.  He dropped an armload of firewood near the back door and headed for the hearth.  Pellets of ice crusted the shapeless felt hat Harry wore, and he shivered as he stretched out his hands toward the warmth. “Got all dozen cattle up,” he told her. “I put the hogs in the pen at the barn and your chickens roosted on their own, didn’t have to do a thing.  It’s colder than a witch’s tit.  Sleet’s coming down hard and mixed with snow. It’s gonna be a nasty night.  I hate to think about heading to the cabin.  My fire’ll be likely out.”

“So stay,” Maude told him. “Do you want a cup of coffee? I made a new pot.”

“Aw, thanks, I’d love one,” Harry replied. “I shouldn’t but I might stay after all.  It’d make it easier to do chores come morning. ‘Sides, I enjoy the company.”

She opened her mouth to speak then closed it.  Maude fetched his coffee and gave it to him.  He’d dragged up one of the old armchairs before the fire and sat with his feet outstretched.  Harry accepted the cup and cradled it between his hands for a few moments before taking a sip.  “Thanks, Maudie.”

The question niggling at her lips burst out. “Harry, why’d you move to the cabin anyhow?”

Surprise lifted his eyebrows and he almost spilled coffee.  His sky-blue eyes met hers and held until he answered, “You know why, or I thought you did.  People’d talk if I stayed here with just you and George.  It wouldn’t look right and your reputation’d be ruint.  I figured you needed time to mourn Jamie too.”

He hadn’t said so much at once since they lived under one roof, and although she heard every word, Maude focused on the last. “You know better than that.”

His brow wrinkled. “Better than what?”

“Me mourn Jamie.” There. She’d said it, straight out.

Harry’s expression darkened. “Don’t you?”

It wasn’t a simple question. “I do and I don’t,” Maude said as she struggled for the right way to say what she felt. “He’d been gone for a year and half when we heard he died so I’m used to living without him. Besides, marrying him was a mistake.  George is the best thing I got out of it so I can’t regret it, but still, he wasn’t the man for me and that’s a fact.”

“But you loved him, didn’t you?” Harry’s voice carried a heavy sadness.

Honesty came out of her mouth in a rush. “I don’t know,” Maude told him. “I thought I did when we wed, but I think maybe I just couldn’t stand not to be part of the family.  And I got lonesome after you went away, Harry. I missed you.”

If you hadn’t gone, I wouldn’t have married anyone else.
Unspoken, the powerful thought slammed her hard.  She trod close to the edge of a deep, dangerous cliff and if she plunged off, she’d take Harry with her.  And maybe he didn’t want to go there. 
I shouldn’t have spoken, he’ll get up and leave now.

But he didn’t.  Harry swiveled his head to stare up at her, his expression so poignant she wanted to cry. “I shouldn’t have gone, I reckon,” he said. “But I did, and I’ve wished I could go back to change it.”

Somewhere behind her George banged a toy horse against the floor and sang some nonsense verses, but although she heard, Maude’s attention focused on Harry.  She’d never understood his abrupt decision to leave and it’d hurt when he did.  Even after his return, through all the good times when Granny ruled the household, Maude wondered.  “Why did you, Harry?” she asked.

The way he frowned indicated there wasn’t a simple answer.  Harry drank from the mug in his hands and stood up, putting the cup up on the mantelpiece. “Oh, Maudie,” he said. “It’s a long story and I’ll tell you if you want, but let’s wait until the little fella’s napping.  I don’t know that you’re gonna like it but it’s time I explained.”

Her insides twisted as she wondered what he meant.  “All right,” she said. “I’d like to hear it.”  Maude picked up her son and carried him to the rocking chair.  George didn’t fuss but slid his small hands around her neck.  She cuddled him against one shoulder and began to sing, soft and low.  The old ballad, “Glenlogie,” might not be an awkward choice for this moment with mention of love gained, but George adored it so she sang.  Two songs later, the boy slept and Harry rose to move him to a chair.  He tossed a quilt over him and turned to Maude. “Come sit with me.”

He led her over to the sofa and sat at the opposite end. She folded her hands into her lap and waited, more than a little anxious.  Harry surprised her when he reached over to hold her hand, the way he did when they were courting. “I have to go back to when I got the snot beat out of me by the Jones brothers,” he began.