Caleb's Story (4 page)

8

T
here was school, day after day after day. I rode Bess the two miles there and back. I carried my notebook with me in my pack, writing in it at recess and lunch, sometimes writing in it when I was supposed to be doing other work. There were twelve of us in our one-room schoolhouse, ages six to fifteen. We all helped each other. Sometimes the older ones helped the younger ones. I taught Lily how to read. But sometimes the younger ones helped the older ones. Joseph was good at addition and long division. He was only nine, but he was the best at figures.

I depended on Cassie for news at home during the day.

“What happened today?” I whispered.

“Nothing. It's too quiet here, Caleb. Only Min plays with me. Stay home from school. Please.”

“I can't do that, Cassie.”

“Papa doesn't play games with me. He works in the barn all the time.”

“What about Grandfather?”

“Grandfather takes walks. Sometimes he talks to Sarah. He stays in his room.”

“What does he do there?”

“I don't know. Maybe he reads,” said Cassie.

“I don't think so, Cassie,” I said.

It was hard to escape Cassie. She wanted to play. She wanted me to read books to her. She wanted to skate in the slough with me when the snow had been cleared. But every evening I went up to Grandfather's room and shut the door. The next two weeks, in secret, we read nearly all of Anna's journals, so Grandfather knew about our lives without him. Grandfather learned quickly, as if he had been ready for this.

“‘Dear Mr. Jacob Witting,'” read Grandfather haltingly, slowly. “‘I am Sarah Wheaton from Maine . . .'”

He looked at me.

“That was her first letter to Jacob?” he asked.

I nodded.

“The answer to Papa's advertisement for a wife and mother,” I said. “And then she wrote to us. See, there.”

I pointed, and Grandfather began to read.

“‘My favorite colors are the colors of the sea, blue and gray and green, depending on the weather.'”

Grandfather sat back.

“She came a long way.”

“We were excited,” I said. “Sarah wrote that she was coming. And then she added something for Anna and me that made us even more excited.”

“What?” asked Grandfather. “What did she write?”

I turned the pages of the journal.

“There,” I said. I couldn't help smiling.

“‘Tell them I sing,'” read Grandfather.

He couldn't help smiling either.

“We were afraid she wouldn't stay,” I said. “She loved Maine.”

Grandfather nodded. He closed the book that Anna had written so long ago. I could tell our lesson was over for today. Grandfather walked to the window and looked out over the farm.

“You always love what you know first,” he said. “Always,” he repeated softly.

 

On Saturday there were clouds in the sky. The air felt damp and raw. I knew it would storm again.

It was stormy in the house, too. Papa came in for meals, but spent most of his time working: fixing fences, shoveling out stalls and putting down new hay, making sure the barn was strong enough for winter winds. Grandfather took long walks and once helped Sarah cook a stew. Sarah loved Papa and she liked Grandfather, but I could tell she was upset with them both for not talking. Cassie talked for everyone. And it was Cassie who caused the trouble.

We ate an early supper, the wind outside whining around the corners of the house, the candles on the table flickering.

“When I was born,” said Cassie suddenly, “Mama and Papa named me Cassie. That was my grandmother's name.”

Everyone was still.

“Grandfather knows that, Cassie,” I said softly, warningly. “Grandmother was his wife,” I whispered.

Papa didn't look up. He kept eating his stew.

Grandfather looked at Cassie and surprised us by smiling.

“Your grandmother would have liked you, Cassie,” he said. “That is one thing I know.”

Papa stood up, his chair crashing to the floor behind him. Cassie's fork clattered to her plate.

Papa's face was dark, and I don't ever remember seeing him so angry.

“You!” he said to Grandfather. “You know nothing.
Nothing!
You, of all people, cannot speak for my mother.”

“Jacob,” said Sarah. “Not here. Not now.”

“Yes, now!” Papa shouted. “Why shouldn't Cassie and Caleb know what he is really like? That he left us. That he walked away!”

Cassie burst into tears. Sarah stood, her face as angry as Papa's.

“Not in front of the children, Jacob. Don't do this.”

Grandfather got up and walked to the door.

“Sarah's right, Jacob. Not here.”

“Don't you tell me what is right. Not you. Ever!” said Papa angrily.

Grandfather put on his coat and went out into the wind.

After a moment, Papa followed, slamming the door behind him.

There was silence, except for Cassie's crying. Sarah took Cassie on her lap. I got up quietly. I went to the door and put on my coat. Sarah watched me, over Cassie's head, her face sad and scared, but she didn't stop me. I went out the door. I walked across the snowy yard, the wind tearing at my clothes, snow crunching under my feet. There was no moon.

The barn door was half open. I could hear Papa's and Grandfather's voices. I crept inside.

“I want to know why you're here,” said Papa loudly. “Why did you come back?”

I peered around a stall and saw Papa come close to Grandfather.

“Sometimes . . .” Grandfather began. “Sometimes you want to see how things are. How things turned out.”

“Well, there are things you never saw! Things you couldn't know!” said Papa. “I waited for you! Every day I looked down that road . . . waiting to see you.”

I was afraid to move.

“Things were different than you think, Jacob,” said Grandfather.

“Different how?” shouted Papa. “Different than your leaving? Than Mama's crying?”

“Yes, different,” said Grandfather.

“Why didn't you write me a letter?” asked Papa. “You never even wrote to me.”

I wanted to cry out “He couldn't! Grandfather couldn't!” But I said nothing.

Papa turned to look at Grandfather.

“I loved you!” he cried. “And I waited for your letters.”

And then it happened. Papa pushed Grandfather and Grandfather pushed back. Hard. Papa fell back over the plow and lay still.

“Jacob?” said Grandfather.

Papa didn't speak.

Grandfather knelt down next to Papa.

Papa moaned.

“My leg. It's my leg . . .”

“I'll get help, Jacob. Stay still,” said Grandfather.

“Sarah! Caleb!” Grandfather shouted. “Help me!”

I ran through the dark yard, where snow and sleet pounded at me. Wind caught the door as I opened it, bringing in snow and wind. Sarah turned from the sink, her smile slowly fading as she saw my face. When we both ran back to the barn and helped Papa to the house, the worst had happened.

Papa was hurt.

And a storm had come.

9

P
apa lay on the bed, his face so pale. Cassie cried, and Papa held out his hand to her.

“It's all right, Cassie. I'm fine,” he said.

“How did this happen?” asked Sarah. “How?”

Papa looked at Grandfather and sighed.

“I fell,” he said. “I fell in the barn.”

Grandfather leaned over and ran his hands over Papa's leg. Papa caught his breath in pain.

“It's broken,” said Grandfather.

Papa moaned again, and Sarah put a cool washcloth on his head.

“I'll go get Sam,” I said.

Sarah looked out the window.

“It's too fierce outside,” said Sarah. “You can't go.”

Sarah looked at Grandfather.

“And you won't go, either,” she said. “What should we do?”

Grandfather pushed up his sleeves.

“I'll set it,” he said.

“You?” said Sarah.

“I've done it before. But I'll need help,” said Grandfather.

No one spoke. Sarah took Papa's hand. He closed his eyes.

“Do it,” Papa said softly. “Do it.”

“I'll need two poles the length of Jacob's leg,” said Grandfather quickly. “And strips of cloth to tie them.”

“In the shed, Caleb,” said Papa, his voice sounding weak.

“Get them, Caleb,” said Sarah. “Hurry. I'll get the cloth.”

I ran out into the storm. The wind almost blew me over, and I felt sudden ice under my eyes. I knew I was crying.

Lottie and Nick sat up and watched me when I came back into the warm kitchen. I carried two poles.

In the bedroom, Cassie climbed up on the bed. Papa cried out with pain.

“Cassie,” said Grandfather very softly and carefully. “I need you to do something for me. For your papa. I want you to go hide. I will come and find you later.”

Cassie stared at Grandfather.

“Do you promise?” she asked.

“I promise.”

“Now?”

“Right now,” said Grandfather. “One, two, three . . .”

Cassie ran out of the room.

“Four, five . . .”

“Slower,” said Papa softly.

“Six . . . seven . . .” said Grandfather more slowly.

“Sarah, I want you to hold Jacob from behind,” said Grandfather. “And hold him no matter what. Even if he tells you to stop.”

Sarah nodded.

Grandfather took my arm.

“I want you to go with Cassie. She'll need you.”

“Now?” I asked, echoing Cassie's question.

Grandfather smiled at me.

“Now,” he said.

I went to the door and looked back once. Papa's eyes were closed. Sarah got up on the bed behind him. Grandfather looked at me. A sudden burst of wind tossed sleet and snow against the window. I left the room.

I fed Lottie and Nick. Seal and Min slept together in the basket. Then I put wood in the stove and sat down at the kitchen table. The kitchen was dark and dreary, and I shivered. I saw something move, and Cassie peeked out from under the daybed.

“I'm waiting for Grandfather,” she whispered.

“You may have a long wait, Cassie.”

Then, before Cassie could answer, there was a terrible cry from the bedroom.
Papa.
And then another cry. Cassie scrambled up and climbed into my lap. I held her, and she buried her face in my neck. We sat there as the room grew darker, and the wind blew snow against the house, and the dogs came to lean against my legs.

 

“Caleb?”

Sarah woke me late. I was sleeping at the kitchen table, my head on my arms.

“Papa . . . ?”

“Papa's fine. He's sleeping. John did a good job.”

Grandfather came into the kitchen.

“I hope I never have to do that again,” Sarah said.

Grandfather nodded and poured a cup of coffee.

“Me, too,” he said. “You were a good help, Sarah.”

Grandfather sat down, rubbing his eyes.

Sarah smiled.

“But you did it,” she said.

It was quiet in the kitchen, the wind suddenly dying outside.

“Jacob. I remember once . . . when Jacob was very little,” said Grandfather, “he got his hand caught in a bridle and broke his finger. He never complained.”

The wind came up again, a sudden burst rattling the windows.

“Where have you been all this time?” asked Sarah so softly that her words were almost lost in the room.

Grandfather looked at her.

“Everywhere but home,” he said, just as softly.

“I'm glad you're here now,” said Sarah.

“I'm glad, too,” I said.

“It was my fault, though,” said Grandfather. “What happened to Jacob.”

“It could have been you with a broken leg,” I said. “Papa pushed you, too.”

Sarah smiled.

“You two,” Sarah said to Grandfather. “You and Jacob. How alike you are.”

“Who am
I
like?” I asked.

“Who do you want to be like?” asked Sarah.

I thought about that. I had thought about it for a long time, but I didn't say anything.

“Where's Cassie, Caleb? Is she asleep?” asked Sarah.

Grandfather smiled. He leaned over and took Cassie's foot, sticking out from under the daybed.

“I found you, Cassie,” he whispered. “I found you.”

10

I
thought things would be better between Papa and Grandfather, but they weren't. Papa was silent in his room. Grandfather and I mended fences and fed the animals and shoveled out stalls.

“What's your horse's name?” I asked Grandfather.

“Jack,” said Grandfather.

“Papa had a horse named Jack, too,” I told him.

Grandfather didn't answer.

“Sarah's right. You and Papa are alike,” I said.

I knew Grandfather wouldn't answer. And he didn't.

 

“And Jacob didn't go to Maine when the drought was here?” Grandfather asked me. We were in his room, the door closed.

“He stayed here. Alone,” I said. “Until the rains finally came. And then he came to Maine, surprising us all. But he was the one who was surprised, because Sarah and Papa had Cassie after that. And she was the biggest surprise of all.”

I pointed to what Anna had written.

“‘When we came home by train, we passed trees and hills and lakes filled with water,'” read Grandfather.

Grandfather could read better now, his voice strong.

“‘They are beautiful, the trees and hills and lakes filled with water. But the prairie is home, the sky so big it takes your breath away, the land like a giant quilt tossed out.'”

Grandfather closed the book. It was very quiet in the room.

A knock at the door made us both jump.

“Hello? Are you in there, Caleb?” asked Sarah.

“Yes. I'll be down soon,” I called to her.

“What are you doing? Is John there?”

“Yes, Sarah,” said Grandfather. “We're almost done.”

“It's private,” I said.

There was silence behind the door. Soon we heard Sarah's footsteps going down the hall and down the stairs.

I handed Grandfather a blank book.

“What is this?” he asked.

“This is yours,” I said. “Yours to write in. You can do it now.”

Grandfather opened it. I had written his name—
JOHN WITTING
—there. He turned the pages and saw them all empty and white. Grandfather put a hand on his chest.

“Grandfather?”

I was scared. I thought he was sick.

Grandfather waved me away.

“It isn't pain,” he said to me.

He closed his empty book and looked at me.

“It's love,” he said.

 

When the weather cleared, Sam came out to the farm. He taught Papa how to use crutches so he could get around. Then he gave Grandfather a lecture I wasn't meant to hear. I was in the hallway, out of sight. Sam and Grandfather sat at the kitchen table.

“You can't do all the work, John,” said Sam. “Your heart can't take it.”

“Nonsense,” said Grandfather.

“Oh, I see,” said Sam. “You feel guilty for leaving Jacob when he was little. So you'll make up for it by working hard and dying. That will make things right again?”

“More nonsense,” said Grandfather. “Want some more coffee? I made it.”

Sam shook his head.

“Stubborn,” he said. “Old fool.”

Papa came into the kitchen on his crutches, Sarah and Cassie with him.

“Easy, Jacob,” said Sarah.

She helped Papa to a chair.

“I can do this,” said Papa. “It is good to be out of bed.”

“No work, Jacob,” said Sam. “I mean that.”

“Grandfather and Caleb are doing the work,” said Cassie, sitting on Grandfather's lap.

Sam frowned.

“So I hear,” he said. “Is that true, Sarah?”

“There's been a lot of repair work from the storms,” said Sarah. “I don't know what Caleb and I would do without John.”

Sam frowned at Grandfather. Grandfather ignored him.

“Any letters from Justin?” Sarah asked Sam.

“No letters for a while. Anna waits for the mail every day.”

“Are you worried?” asked Sarah.

Sam got up and put on his coat.

“Yes, a little. Letters take such a long time.”

“And the influenza?” asked Papa.

“Better, Jacob. Fewer cases. I think it has run its course,” said Sam.

“We think about Justin every day,” said Sarah.

“Thoughts are good,” said Sam with a smile. “Having him here would be better.”

Sam went to the door and turned.

“No work, Jacob. And”—he looked at Grandfather—“you know what I think.”

“What does that mean?” asked Sarah.

“It's—” Sam began.

“Private,” said Sarah and Sam at the same time.

 

It was evening. Sarah was in the bedroom with Papa. He was tired from learning to use his crutches. Grandfather was tired, too. We had replaced a barn beam. It had taken a long time.

 

 

In the kitchen, Cassie sat on Grandfather's lap.

“What now?” asked Grandfather.

He sounded gruff, but Cassie knew better. Cassie wasn't afraid of Grandfather.

“Would you sing me a song?” asked Cassie.

“I don't know any songs,” said Grandfather.

“Yes, you do,” said Cassie. “I heard you humming a song when you were in your bedroom. When the door was closed. I was outside, listening.”

“Were you?” said Grandfather with a small smile. “What song?”

Cassie hummed a little of a song.

“Did I hum that?” said Grandfather. “That was a long time ago. Too long ago for me to remember the words.”

Cassie didn't say anything. She stared at Grandfather for a long time. Finally, he gave in.

“Oh, all right,” he said.

“Don't you laugh,” Grandfather warned me. “Don't even smile.”

“Okay.”

And then, in the dark room, Cassie on his lap, Grandfather began to sing.

 

“Sleep, my love, and peace attend thee,

All through the night;

Guardian angels God will lend thee,

All through the night.

Soft the drowsy hours are creeping.

Hill and vale in slumber steeping,

I my loving vigil keeping,

All through the night.”

 

I looked up and saw Sarah standing in the doorway, Papa behind her on his crutches. Sarah smiled at Cassie, her head on Grandfather's shoulder. But Papa didn't smile. He looked odd. He looked sad. He looked like someone remembering something that he hadn't thought of for a long time.

 

“Angels watching ever round thee,

All through the night;

In my slumbers close surround thee,

All through the night.

They should of all fears disarm thee,

No forebodings should alarm thee,

They will let no peril harm thee,

All through the night.”

 

When I looked up again, Papa had gone. Sarah's eyes were wet from tears.

“Again,” whispered Cassie. “Sing it again.”

 

I stood outside Sarah and Papa's bedroom. I raised my hand to knock, then stopped. I could hear voices inside the room. Sarah and Papa's voices.

“John has done so much, Jacob,” said Sarah. “He—”

“Sarah, I know what you're trying to do. I told you once, and I'll say it again: I will not forgive him!”

There was a silence, then Sarah's voice, sounding soft and hard at the same time.

“Your unforgiving nature is something I do not love about you, Jacob,” she said softly.

Papa didn't answer her. And suddenly the door opened. Sarah looked at me for a moment, then she brushed by me without saying a word.

Papa just stood there inside. I had never ever heard Sarah say she didn't love
anything
about Papa.

 

 

“Papa?”

Papa turned from the window and sat on the bed.

“What is it, Caleb?”

“My birthday is coming,” I said.

“Yes, it is,” said Papa.

“And I don't want books or tools or even a horse of my own for my birthday.”

Papa looked up, surprised.

“You've always wanted a horse of your own, Caleb.”

“Not this year,“ I said. “What I want this year is something different.”

“Different?” repeated Papa.

I nodded.

“This year I want most of all for you to forgive Grandfather. I want you to forgive Grandfather so I can grow up and be just like you,” I said.

Papa stared at me. He said nothing. He lay back on the bed, and, after a moment, I went away. I closed the door behind me.