Manroot (13 page)

She found her notebook and carefully ripped out a page.
She couldn’t make the remedy for Hannah as she did not have the ingredients, yet she knew its properties. In a careful hand she wrote:
Grate 3 tablespoons of sharp horseradish, stir into this a half cup of boiled milk, soak a cheesecloth in the mixture for five minutes, then lay the cheesecloth, properly wrung out, over the painful part for relief from the rheumatism.

She would leave it
for her in the morning, in the mailbox.

Chapter 15

Early Monday she packed the manroot; it was lighter now that it was dry.
She carried it over one shoulder as it still weighed a lot. She waited at the back door of the house for several minutes before Tome came out. Hannah was there, looking over his shoulder and smiling. She shared the information, “It worked! The potion worked. My knee is much better – I can bend a lot easier.”

Katherine smiled a genuine smile
; it made her feel good to repay a kindness. Tom studied a list in one hand; he had slung her sack over his shoulder. “I’ll carry it,” he offered.

He threw the sack into the back of the pickup, helping her as she stepped up on the running board.
She reached the leather seat and sat back, trying to relax. Tom was like a wife, open and friendly. It was the first time he had gotten a good look at her.

His question was direct.
“You Indian?”

“
My mother was. She died when I was a little girl,” Katherine answered. She had never said that before – was it the truth? She didn’t know. It was a vague, dreamlike memory, the screaming woman. That’s when she would go and hide under her bed, among the dust in the corners with the sunshine a shaft of light across the floor pretending to catch those flying bits as she lay under the bed, hardly breathing…silent with fear. She didn’t know if her mother was dead. Papa and she never talked about her. She started from her reverie. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“
I said, you’re not from around here?”

“
No, I’m from New Mexico – Gallup. After my mother died, my father and I traveled some, looking for work.” Her answer was true enough.

He nodded, slowed down as the road ahead had deeper ruts, but not losing his
train of thought, he continued: “My wife said you’d worked at the hotel.”

“
For a short time.” Her answer was barely audible.

A doe darted in front of the truck.
“Damn.” He swerved to keep from hitting her. The truck slid sideways, gently bumping into a tree. He got out to see if there was any damage.

He got back in.
“She’s okay. No damage,” and he began whistling, paying closer attention to the road. Katherine looked out the window at the passing woods. The dread was like a rash over her entire body. When he came to The Crossroads he said, “Looks like we’re here.”

She nodded in agreement.
He stopped in front of Bailey’s general store. She took the bag from him, and they entered together, but no one assumed that they were together. Tugging awkwardly at the heavy sack, she headed for the back of the shop where the scales were kept. The men, seated around the stove smoking, ceased all conversation. Interested, they began watching her awkward path to the back. No one offered to help. A contagious smile of recognition broke out among them. They strained forward to hear her words to the clerk. “I’d like to sell my ginseng,” she stated.

The clerk caught the smiles and snickers of the men.
He recognized her; he wasn’t there that night, but he had heard about it in detail. Deciding to prolong the fun, he opened the sack, rustled his hand through the full bag of roots. “Where’d you get it?”

Panic was a live thing within her, but she fought it down.
“I picked it,” she answered softly.

The clerk smirked, enjoying himself.
“Speak up, I can’t hear you! Where’d you say you got it?”

“
I picked it,” she repeated louder.

He looked in the sack, picked out a root or two.
He knew it was prime.

“
You picked it?” he said loudly. “Damn, I can see that. Maybe you did and maybe you didn’t…but on whose land?”

“
It’s honest,” she protested. “I found it in different places in the woods. No place had signs saying No Trespassing. It’s honest.”

“
I didn’t say you weren’t honest, ma’am.” He stressed the word
ma’am
with an edge of sarcasm.

The owner
came out from the back; he had noticed the hush and his clerk’s loud voice. He came up to them, looking from one to the other. “What’s going on? Something wrong?”

The clerk, flushed with his own importance, hitched up his trousers and trying to impress his
boss said, “Everything’s okay, Mr. Bailey. This here half-breed is trying to sell ginseng.” He took a handful out of the sack and winked. “It looks okay. I was about to offer her a couple bucks.”

Mr. Bailey
’s eyes took in the bulging sack. “I guess we could do that, Stanley.”

“
A couple bucks?” Katherine gasped.

With that, Tom, who had finished his purchases at the other end of the store, came over, aware of the tension.
He looked from Katherine to Bailey and back to Stanley. “Is something wrong?”

Recognizing Tom as the Judge
’s handyman, he said, “Naw, Tom, don’t concern yourself. Seems like this half-breed is selling ginseng!”

Tom looked at Katherine.
“Did you come to an agreement?”

She knew that Tom was the only friendly being here; soo
n he, too, would have that taunting look about his eyes, once he knew.

“
He offered me a couple bucks. It’s gotta be worth more than that! I was told ---” She stopped and stared around helplessly.

Tom looked back and forth at the men:
he knew their game. In a threatening voice, he said loudly enough so that the men eavesdropping by the stove could hear without straining, “It’s the Judge’s ginseng – it’s prime wild and mature. I believe the going rate’s about four dollars a pound. The Judge sent her; he was sure you’d want to buy it!”

“
Of course, of course,” the clerk muttered. “Why didn’t she say so?” He heaved the sack on the scales. “Looks like forty pounds we got here.”

“
Yep,” Mr. Bailey agreed. “I gotta go in the back. I don’t keep that much cash in front…I’ll get her money.”

He returned, and seeing that Tom kept his hands in his pockets, reluctantly counted out 160 dollars into Katherine
’s hand.

“
Didn’t know the Judge sharecropped,” Bailey said to no one in particular. Looking directly at Tom he said, “Give the Judge my best.”

“
I’ll do that,” Tom assured him.

They left together and the men rushed to the window to watch her climb awkwardly in the truck.

“I’ll be damned,” they mumbled among themselves. “He brought her out to his place. Never thought he’d do that to the Missus – especially after he found out about her…seen it with his own eyes. Well, I’ll be damned.” They knew they’d talk, but only among themselves. After all, Judge William Reardon was the richest man in the country, and no one, absolutely no one, would take a chance on offending him. They smirked and wondered about Justin; he was the only one who’d ever gone against the Judge – and the story was never clear. Some believed one side, some believed the other…but it still took a heap of nerve either way. Whether it was her choice or whether it was rape, she was still the Judge’s whore, and Justin was the only one ever dared to get a piece of that Judge’s pie. Most men respected Justin for it…yes, it took a whole heap of nerve. As far his accomplices, no one could really be sure who else had joined in that night. To hear tell, most everyone male at the hotel that night did!

Outside in the sharp air, Katherine
’s head cleared a bit.

“
I’m going to the grocer’s – you need supplies, too?” Tom said.

She co
unted out forty dollars and put it in her pocket, then she shoved the rest of the crumpled bills toward him. “You give it to the Missus or the Judge or whoever should get it.”

He nodded and put the bills into his pocket and buttoned it, knowing he might be
120 dollars richer. He knew the missus would never ask, and he felt sure the Judge didn’t even know there was to be a payment arrangement. ‘Hell,’ he justified it in his mind. ‘I’ve worked for them for ten years. They don’t need it.’

In the grocer
’s, they went their separate ways. Katherine picked basic things that would last, like coffee, flour, sugar, salt. Her supplies mounted; she mentally went over what she needed to fix food. She was frugal, for she knew the land abounded in plenty. She could still hear Frieda’s words: ‘Plenty of food around her…free for the picking.’

They put their bundles in the truck and tom said gruffly, “
You best wait here. I’m going to the hotel to wet my whistle. I won’t be but an hour or so.”

She knew when he returned he would despise her like the others.
She sat on the running board, but feeling cramped and restless, walked over to the bridge. She looked down at the swirling brown-green water. It was an ugly river – she remembered thinking that the first time she had seen it. She looked into its depths and wondered if her father was down there, caught on a branch. Instead of sadness at this end, if it were his, she could only know peace – for his search for the golden liquid that had made his life bearable would be over.

Staring at the water, she saw a leaf flutter down.
It began to whirl slowly in an eddy that reached up to take it – the river seemed a greedy thing. She watched hypnotically as the eddy picked up momentum; the leaf spun and spun at a dizzying pace, then fingers seemed to reach up and pluck the leaf under to a secret place. Flashes of light reflected up from the water. Like a procession, another leaf fell to join the dance, then another. It seemed so simple to be swirled away into nothingness. She thought fearfully of the Oh mu; still the swirling water called her. She put one leg over the rail, then the other. She was inside the railing straining toward the water, her hands behind her twisted at a funny angle, still clinging to the iron rails. She looked down into the yawning depths; above her, a hawk shrieked in the gray autumn sky. She was as two. Her body yearned to throw itself into the hypnotic whirlpool; swaying outward, still her hands, as if they were welded, clung. It was her hands, against her will, that held on tightly. Then she knew that to do this she must incorporate the two wills within her. In order to kill herself and the child, she must be murderer and victim. She had been a victim all her life; she was comfortable with this. It was the murderer within her that she could not arouse to act. The victim within her was already down there, swirling away in the water…but that portion of her which must commit murder could not, and still she clung to the rail.

“
Wait, wait! Stop!” he called, his voice carried by the wind, as he ran toward the bridge, breathless.

Tom reached for her.
“May God forgive you,” he hissed as he pulled her through the rail and marched her back to the truck. His face was flushed with anger. They rode in silence up the narrow road, where night was coming quickly.

Tom had heard the story from the men in the hotel.
It was a lurid tale. He knew now that she had been the Judge’s woman. He had felt uneasy at her coming; deep down, he knew she would change things. Even in the beginning he had had a bad feeling. God, how he wished the Judge would give Hannah and him their parcel of land. He had promised as much; the Judge was a man of his word, but the promise had been vague and long-standing. And he had believed it. But now he wished that he had the land; for he’d sell it and go to St. Louis,

He said no words to Katherine on the long ride home, and when they arrived, he left her to carry the heavy sacks up to the cabin herself.
He had not even acknowledged her thank you! Tom knew he wouldn’t tell Hannah…the story was too grisly. Hannah never knew women like her even existed. He’d watch her; he’d keep a close eye on her. What else could he do?

Katherine
’s side pained by the time she reached the cabin. Rabelais joined her and took his usual spot by the stove, which was almost cold. She put logs in the fire, then crept into bed and fell asleep and dreamed of New Mexico and of playing child’s games in the soft purple dusk at twilight at Me Maw’s house.

The days, that fall, slipped by in an easy rhythm. William never contacted her, but from time to time she found books left on the doorstep. He often stood watching her from the window of the green room as she gathered nuts in the now-barren woods. She visited Hannah in the kitchen, and once she had been summoned to cure the Missus’ headache. On that occasion, remedy after remedy failed, until a vinegar-soaked rag was tied to Elizabeth’s forehead, and she lay quietly listening to symphony records. Elizabeth swore by the healing; thereafter it was never mentioned when Katherine would be leaving – it was taken for granted that she would stay. William, after receiving a queer visitation, decided to move into the green room on the north side of the house. He wondered about his own sanity, for the vision – dream – whatever it was, brought him joy, then agony. She came to him in the night, touching a cool hand to his forehead, laughing softly. He felt her hair brush his face and the warmth of her body…so real the pleasure of their lovemaking, her limbs smooth and warm around him. And afterwards, her fresh breath blew gently against his neck as they slept intertwined. More than once, he lurched from the bed and turned on the light; only yesterday he found one strand of hair, dark brown with a hint of auburn, on his pillow.