Here and Again (18 page)

“Farming to live,” he replied.

Bea nodded, letting go of his hand. She wiped her palms on her pants, staring long at Henry’s Child. Her eyes moistened again as she turned to her mother but, without looking up at Ginger, Bea squared her shoulders again, breathed in deeply, and left the barn slowly. They all watched her go, and when she reached the walnut tree she broke into a run, racing for the sunroom door. It banged closed behind her.

“That’s a courageous little girl you’ve got there,” Mr. Rogers said.

“Amen,” replied Samuel.

The Good, the Bad, and the Goat

I
t was Monday when Ginger opened her eyes. Her alarm had not gone off at eleven thirty p.m., as she had the day to herself and she had slept deeply the entire night. It was the first true rest she had had in a long while and she rolled over to see exactly what time it was.

The clock read five thirty a.m. and the smell of coffee wandered into her room to confirm that it was time to ready the kids for school. With a lightness she hadn’t felt for nearly two years, Ginger lifted herself from the bed. She looked out of her window and there, staring at the ruts in the streambed, was Samuel. As soon as she saw him, he raised his eyes to the window. He waved. Ginger smiled and waved back.

Beau’s tags jingled as she grabbed her bathrobe.

“Morning, Beau. You don’t have to get up unless you want to.”

The dog thought about it a minute and fell back onto his side, letting out a great rush of air—a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, I thought as much.”

She left her room and walked to Bea’s. Opening the door quietly, she looked in. There she found Henry and Oliver sleeping on the floor in a bivouac they had made of their blankets. Bea was snoring with a little whistle from the bed. It was time to wake up—time to go to school. But she had no desire to wake them. In fact, she wanted to stay right there and watch them until their eyes opened of their own accord.

As she watched, she felt Samuel climb the stairs.

“Good morning,” she whispered to him.

“Time to get the children up,” he said. “Time to milk the cow and feed the chickens and collect the eggs and ready the horses for the day.”

She turned her head and found him leaning next to her on the door’s post, gazing into Bea’s room. “There is no cow and the horses have nothing to do just yet.”

“There are still things that need to be made ready. Work starts at sunrise.”

“It’s a school day.”

“School is at home,” he said.

“No, it’s not.”

“Why not?” he asked.

Ginger thought for a moment. Why not? “I think I have to sign up for that. I don’t know.”

“Well, maybe you will work on that today and we will all stay home for once and make a life here.”

“I guess I can call them out sick, but just for today.”

“Just for a day? That makes no sense to me whatsoever. A farm is not just for a day and school is at home. Where else would it be?”

“Nowadays school is at a schoolhouse. But if you insist, you
can wake them up and get them ready for work that needs to be done, though I have no idea what that would be because we’ve got nothing to farm yet. And just to let you in on the ways of this family, you will find Oliver whining when he opens his eyes. It’s best to tell him you can’t hear him when he whines. That way, you will not cause the rest of us to have to listen to him get his way when he whines at you.”

Samuel leaned forward and stared into her eyes. She saw the shadow of his brown irises and shivered a little, but refused to look away.

“There was no whining in my family,” he said.

She shook her head. “Good luck with that.” She bit her lip, holding back a laugh as she headed to the stairs. Little did he know Oliver.

“Virginia Moon?”

She turned on the first stair and gazed back at him.

“What are the children’s names, please?”

She curled her lip in confusion and said, “You don’t remember?”

“We’ve not been introduced. Their full names, please.”

“Ah. Yes. Well, they are named after writers. So they are Henry Adams Martin, Beatrix Potter Martin, and Oliver Wendell Holmes Martin.”

“Thank you.”

“No, really. Thank you.”

He made a little bow then and they looked at each other, the small smile on her face matching the one on his.

Ginger returned her attention to the stairs she was descending and heard Samuel above announcing, “Time to get up! There is work to do! Up!”

“Morning.” It was Henry’s voice first.

“Get your brother up, Henry Adams Martin.”

“Coward,” Ginger breathed.

“We have got work, Beatrix Potter Martin. Time for breakfast.”

“It’s Monday,” she heard Bea say. “We have to go to school.”

“Today home is school. Oliver Wendell Holmes Martin!”

She stepped down into the family room just in time to catch the beginning of Oliver’s morning whine. Beau came racing down the stairs.

“Smart dog,” Ginger said with a yawn. “Morning, Osbee.”

“Samuel get the kids up?” the old woman asked.

Ginger’s jaw shut so fast, she couldn’t get her tongue out of the way. “Ahh!” Her hand reached for her mouth as if to stop what had already occurred.

“Coffee?”

“You thee him?”

“Yes, I see him. I met him yesterday.”

Ginger moved her jaw up and down as if practicing how to do so without biting her tongue. Osbee held out a steaming cup.

“Are—aren’t you thocked?”

“Shocked? Yesterday, yes. I had to leave the barn. Thought I was like to faint. Henry was standing there smiling like anything as I grabbed a broom. I had no idea who the stranger was but Oliver stood next to him like he’d known him forever. They just kept saying he was, well, you know. Then Samuel disappeared. Then he came back through Christian’s stall. Henry and Oliver had to steady me and at that moment Bea brought in the Rogerses. They took me out, saying we were gonna ride the horses. Had to sit down a long while with Samuel next to me, I’ll tell you. Watched the boys go round and round for hours.”

“Where is breakfast?” Samuel asked, entering the kitchen.

“Cereal’s on the table,” Osbee replied, pointing.

Samuel stepped to the open box of Cheerios and pursed his lips.

“We have real work today. We need a real breakfast. Eggs and meat and bread. Hot, hot, hot.”

Ginger and Osbee looked at him and then at each other.

“That kind of breakfasththt ithn’t tho good for you,” Ginger said.

“Why is your speech strange?” he asked.

“She bit her tongue.”

“Ah. That was not very smart of you.”

Ginger frowned at Samuel and he smiled broadly.

“Hot breakfast, please,” he said, pointing to the stove. “I have to leave. I am itchy. I will await the children in the barn.” He walked by Osbee. “The coffee smells wonderful,” he added. Then he disappeared through the sunroom door, whistling a tune as he did so.

They both just stood there, still as stones.

“Itchy?” Osbee asked.

“Electrithity maketh him itch. We got bacon?” Ginger asked, opening the refrigerator.

“I don’t think I can get used to that,” Osbee said, nodding to the door.

“That maketh two of uth,” Ginger replied.

They made breakfast as ordered and after bundling the three children in winter clothes Osbee led them out the back door to the barn. Ginger wandered around the house with only one direction: the avoidance of calling her children out for the day. She was entirely uncomfortable pulling her kids out when they were not sick and she worked feverishly to justify their absence in her own mind. Finally, she called the school and mumbled something
about a family matter. The school secretary’s voice was more than concerned, asking if there was anything anyone at the school could do. Somehow, being a war widow brought out a certain giving gentleness in some people and Ginger knew the secretary’s offer was rising out of that kind caring. Quickly, she thanked the woman and hung up the phone, a feeling of deep guilt lingering inside her as she showered.

Once washed and dressed, she sat down at her desk, gazing out her bedroom window to the covered bridge. The deep guilt of calling her children out for the day sank to an even deeper sense of internal betrayal. She was about to research homeschooling, but as she made ready to flip on her computer, she stopped. As a matter of choice, homeschooling was more than a betrayal to herself; it was a betrayal to Jesse.

Ginger had grown up in a place where the world, with all of its complexities, wandered in continuously. She attended public school, the education of which was far more than learning to read and write. It was how to get along with others of differing beliefs and ways. Her childhood was a kaleidoscope, giving her a certain adaptability of vision. She learned to accept others as they presented themselves, search for what was common, tolerate that which differed from her. She could approach anyone on the grounds of who they were, not who she needed them to be. She didn’t need to like them; she learned she just had to try to understand them. It made her sensitive and watchful and formed her into the excellent nurse she was.

On the other hand, Jesse had been raised in a private school where everyone held thoughts and beliefs similar to his own. The world was presented how it should be, not as it was. Differing ideas were filtered through teachers and his parents. But the older he grew, the more his nature could not fit the small world of his
childhood. He likened it to confining a great rainstorm into the flow of a spigot. Such a thing was impossible and, true to that statement, he didn’t fit into his parents’ world.

When he went to VMI, it was less a spigot but still a confining flow. It wasn’t until he joined the army that he came face-to-face with the kaleidoscope of Ginger’s world. He stumbled often, trying to understand what it was he believed and what he did not, measuring his own sense of self against the whirling chaos of possibility. It took him a good ten years to come to himself.

From these differences, it was always understood that the Martin children would attend public school. The chaos of the world never unsettled Ginger, and Jesse wanted that for his children. So here Ginger was about to betray herself and Jesse, and the longer she sat there, the more her loss and the pain of it engulfed her. This was a decision regarding their children. This was something they needed to do together. Who was she to take Henry and Bea and Oliver away from their friends—away from the new kids they had yet to meet, away from this year’s teachers and next year’s teachers and those memories every child has of their school days?

“I can’t,” she whispered. “It’s not fair.”

She poked at the scratches on the desk and wiped the dust off the top of her laptop. She leaned forward, then back in her chair. She opened the right drawer, riffling around the bottom of it; she retrieved a pencil and the empty envelope of an old bill. The pencil was obviously Oliver’s because it had been chewed up and the eraser was gone. Turning the envelope over to doodle, she caught her breath. There, in Jesse’s own handwriting, was a quote:

“Americans like to think of themselves as uncompromising. In fact, our true genius is that we compromise. Our entire government is based on it.”—Shelby Foote

Ginger stared at the writing—the tight, precise curvature of the letters, the tiny spots of ink where the pen halted before it was moved in another direction. When did he write this? What was he thinking about before he wrote it? What did he do after? But she knew what Jesse did. Maybe not right after, but sometime after. He answered a call to duty. And she? She waited for him to return. Their common ground, soldier and nurse, was to care for others—to put the greater good before their own. They understood each other through the need to serve. Their service was different and, in that difference, they had to compromise.

“Our entire marriage is based on it.” She touched his letters, running her finger around their curves, retracing Jesse’s tracks.

“Okay,” she said to the air. “But before I take them out of school, I’m going to ask them about it. It’s only fair.”

She waited for an answer—another message. Maybe another envelope would show up. Maybe the lock to the little gold key. Maybe another—

Quickly, she stood. “Not another ghost,” she said, sternly pointing up to Elysium.

She hurt but laughed a little to herself, leaving the computer and homeschooling at the desk. As she stepped to the stairs, she gazed out the staircase window. There, heading directly for her gravel drive, was an old International pickup truck hauling a livestock trailer.

“I know who that is,” she said excitedly and raced down the stairs. She swung the front door open and the cold air floated in to greet Beau, who trotted from the kitchen though the dining room, into the family room, and wound up standing next to Ginger. The trailer drifted slightly to the right of her driveway and stopped. The passenger door opened and out stepped Jacob Esch. He was dressed in jeans and a flannel coat and held his stomach tenderly.

“What are you doing here?” Ginger called down the hill.

“I brought the cow with Mr. Wheldon.”

“No . . . you should be in bed,” she said.

“I was released.”

“Yes. To go home to bed.” She frowned. This boy had no idea what was good for him.

The driver’s-side door opened and Joshua Wheldon stuck his head out. “Mrs. Martin, can yah please move yur truck?”

Beau glanced up at her as if waiting for the answer. “Just a minute.” As she went to shut the door, she saw Henry heading down the hill. Beau launched out the door and down the porch. “Henry?”

Her oldest stopped dead in his tracks.

“Can you help Jacob there inside and have him sit down, please?”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Martin.”

“Henry, please. Thank you.” Ginger shut the door with finality.

Rushing through the house, she slid into her rubber boots and Jesse’s coat, grabbed her car keys from her purse, and headed out the screen door. She found Samuel leaning against the walnut tree.

“Where is everybody?” she asked him.

“Working in the barn and the summer kitchen.”

“I have to move the truck. The cow’s here. What’s in the summer kitchen?”

“A kitchen. It is used in the summertime to keep the heat out of the house. Hence its name.”

She stopped and looked at him. He breathed into his hands as if they were cold.

“Thanks. That clears everything up,” she said, heading to her
truck. She giggled when she heard Samuel laugh quietly as she passed. Coming around the corner of the house, she found Jacob leaning on Henry as he walked up the gravel drive.