Pamela Morsi (16 page)

Eulie tried to hush the child. Minnie was demanding and ill-mannered, but she was completely ignorant of the nature of her question and innocent of any motive in asking it.

“It’s all right, Eulie,” Miz Patch said. The woman turned her attention to Minnie. “My children are buried up on the hill behind my house,” she answered “They’ve all died and gone to heaven.”

“Oh.” Minnie spoke the word in a long breathy whisper.

“Pass me some more of those greens, Miz Patch,”
Moss said, hoping to turn the direction of the conversation.

“Were your children boys or girls?” Little Minnie persisted.

Eulie tutted a scold.

Clara whispered, “Enough,” in the child’s ear.

Miz Patch sat back in her chair for a long minute and then answered.

“I had both,” she said. “A son and twin girls.”

“Twins!” Cora Fay exclaimed.

“Like us?” Nora May asked.

Miz Patch nodded. “Betty died just hours after she was born,” she explained. “Birdie lived almost a month, then we buried her next to her sister. They were both so tiny and frail, they never had a chance of living.”

The excitement around the table quieted.

“I thought I wouldn’t be able to have another child,” she continued. “It was five long years before I was blessed again.”

There was no shadow of sadness in Miz Patch’s smile.

“We named him Ezra for his father,” she said. “But I called him Hickory, ‘cause he was as tall and strong as a hickory tree. He was the happiest baby, just laughing all the time. That child never crawled or walked. He took straight to running and jumping and was darting around like a hummingbird, always in motion.”

“What happened to him?” Minnie asked.

“He was three when he tripped and fell into the fire,” she answered. “We got him out and he lived six days. There was nothing we could do.”

No longer hungry, Moss set his spoon beside his
plate. The sound was loud in the silence of the kitchen.

“That’s how I got interested in herbs,” Miz Patch continued. “I was trying to find something to ease his pain. All the screaming and crying he ever did were in that last week of his life.”

The children were wide-eyed and somber, ignoring their dinner. Moss had known Miz Patch all his life and never thought much about her or what her life had been like. He only knew that she’d been a kindly, plainspoken widow ever since he could remember. Her boy would have been nearer Eulie’s age than his own, but he couldn’t recall the lad. How strange that he should have known Miz Patch and never known something so important about her.

“Is that why you like us so much?” Nora May asked quietly. “'Cause you miss your own twins and your little boy?”

“Do we kind of take the place of them?” Cora Fay added.

Miz Patch looked up at the two girls, startled, and then she laughed. She actually laughed. The warmth of the sound was a sharp contrast to the sadness in the eyes of those around her.

She reached across the table to touch the hand of the twin nearest her. Her eyes were warm and tender, but there was no nonsense in her tone.

“I love you Toby children because you need loving,” she stated plainly. “No other reason. You cain’t never be my lost children and I wouldn’t want you to be.”

“You wouldn’t even want us to be?” Cora Fay repeated her words as a question.

Miz Patch shook her head. “Not at all. I know where my little ones are. They are up in heaven. And when I
die, I’m going to walk through those pearly gates and two angels are going to fly up to me and put a sweet baby girl in each arm. I’m going to hold those tiny bodies against my breast once more and look down into those little faces again. Then I’ll hear someone call out ‘Mama!’ and when I look up, it’ll be my little Hickory come running toward me on his fat baby legs.”

The woman’s obvious certainty and absence of anguish somehow made the story a sweet one instead of sorrowful.

“You can never take the place of my children,” she told the twins. “They are in their place and someday I’m going to go there to be with them.”

“You don’t even seem sad,” Nora May said.

The woman shrugged and chuckled. “How could I be sad?” she asked. “I miss them, but I know they are in safekeeping in heaven. And I’m here with you-all, alive and eating a fine fresh-caught perch.”

The day had been a long one for Eulie. The laundry had been a heavy, tiresome chore, made easier by the help of her sister. And although company for the noon meal had been welcome, the afternoon spent inventorying the herb box and planning the summer stores with Miz Patch had been busy. The brightest spot in the day had been the laughter and companionship she’d shared with the husband-man.

He and his uncle had spent most of the afternoon splitting cedar shakes for the shed roof. Uncle Jeptha held the ax at the edge of the bolt while Moss swung the big hardwood mallet. Consistently he hit the ax squarely upon the head, slicing off a perfectly grain-cut shingle.

Rans tried to help, even offering to spell Uncle Jeptha who was forced to hold his arms straight out in front of him for long periods of time. But the husband-man didn’t let her brother do much. Fetching and stacking were his tasks, but beyond that he clearly thought the job too arduous for a child.

Predictably, Rans had bristled at not being treated equal to a man and ran off to sulk for an hour or so, leaving the twins to help with the shingle-making. Her brother was back by supper, however and complained bitterly about eating cattails, which according to him was a “beggarman’s supper” and far inferior to sweet corn.

When Eulie finally got the dishes cleaned up and the fire banked, she gratefully removed her apron and headed up to the cabin porch, where everyone seemed to have gathered She looked forward to a nice, peaceful evening with her family. All of them together at long last, to catch up with each other and laugh together once more. She didn’t mind having the husband-man or Uncle Jeptha with them. Somehow, amazingly, they fit well with the Tobys. It was all working out perfectly. Eulie secretly congratulated herself. Forcing Moss Collier to marry her was the smartest thing she’d ever done.

Eulie’s euphoria was to be short-lived, however. What she had not anticipated in her plan for a happy family evening was the arrival of a gentleman caller. It would have been impossible to forget that the husband-man had given permission to Mr. Leight to pay court to Clara. Eulie had assumed that he meant only sitting Sunday, not calling on her in the middle of the week.

But there he was, big-eyed and bug-ugly, sitting on the porch at Clara’s side just like he belonged there.

Rans was talking to him a mile a minute. And the other children as well seemed to think of him as their company as much as Clara’s.

Politely he rose to his feet when he saw Eulie. He was awkward and obviously ill at ease as he bowed to her like some stilted lowlander and bid her greeting.

“Mrs. Collier, it is surely a pleasure to see you,” he said.

Eulie could hardly return that greeting. It was all she could do just to be civil. It wasn’t as if she had ever truly disliked the man. He had been a perfectly acceptable neighbor, even a kind and charitable one to take in both her brother and sister and give them work. But when he cast his eyes on Clara, clearly with matrimony in mind, he’d gained Eulie as an enemy forever. She had done all, risked all, to keep her family together. This was the fellow intent on scattering them to the winds. He wanted to take her sister away forever. Eulie was not about to make that happen.

“What are you doing here?” she asked unkindly.

It was such an amazingly rude thing to say that Eulie could barely get her mouth around the words. She was generally tenderhearted and careful of the feelings of other folks. Especially folks who were shunned or despised by others. Bug was that. His ugliness made him forever the butt of jokes and the target of malicious horseplay. Those facts alone should have endeared him to Eulie. But Leight was trying to break up her hard-won home, and she wasn’t about to let him do it.

“I hope you aren’t neglecting your own place to come visiting over this way,” she suggested.

Bug looked downright startled at the suggestion, his bulging eyes seeming even more enormous. “Oh no, ma’am,” he assured her. “I got everything done early so I could get away and come see Miss Clara.”

He darted a glance in the direction of the young lady mentioned. Clara sat demurely, eyes lowered, a tiny enigmatic smile upon her lips.

“Well, you should have saved yourself the trouble,” Eulie told him.

“We’ll all of us be taking to our beds soon, so you cain’t stay long. You’ve made a long ride for little purpose.”

Bug swallowed nervously. He didn’t look at Clara as he spoke, but his words were obviously intended for her.

“I … I would walk to the ends of the earth if need be, just for a glimpse of Miss Clara,” he said.

Beside him Rans snorted, thinking the sentiment surely some kind of joke.

Eulie didn’t laugh, but she was unmoved.

“I don’t think the ends of the earth will be necessary,” she said. “But if you’d just come as far as yonder hill, you can wave at her and be done with it.”

“Eulie!” Clara complained, not at all pleased with her sister’s attitude. She glanced at Bug shyly before she continued. “I’m not at all tired,” she told him. “And I’m in no hurry to retire. I believe I’ll sit a spell.”

“Well, even so,” Eulie told her. “These children need their sleep.”

There was an immediate chorus of dissent, which was ignored.

“I’m worn out myself,” Eulie admitted. “Someone must stay up with you if he’s here.”

Bug appeared ready to apologize for intruding and take an embarrassed leave of the company. Unfortunately, he didn’t speak fast enough.

“I don’t mind staying here on the porch,” Rans said. “Mr. Leight and me were having a fine discussion about farming before you come in. So go on to bed if you’re a mind to. You won’t bother us a bit.”

Eulie could have joyfully boxed her brother’s ears at that moment, but she did not. A hand touched her shoulder. She looked up to see the husband-man eyeing her curiously.

“I’m sorry that you are too tired for company, ‘cause it looks as if we’re getting more.”

Eulie glanced in the direction that he indicated, and sure enough, a mule with what looked to be a couple of people upon it was headed in their direction.

“Who in the devil could that be?” Eulie exclaimed.

“Don’t curse,” Little Minnie chided her.

Eulie looked at the child, thinking to explain to her that “devil” was not cursing, but decided against it. If her lecturing was finally beginning to bear fruit, she didn’t want to discourage it.

“Poor Uncle Jeptha,” Cora Fay said. “He ain’t never going to get to come out of the barn.”

“The barn?” Eulie asked.

Nora May nodded. “He’s hiding out in there again,” she said. “We thought he’d got over his fear of strangers when he come to eat with Miz Patch among us.”

“We told him that he shouldn’t think of Mr. Leight as a stranger,” Cora Fay added. “He is practically family already.”

The twin’s declaration of near-kinship had Clara looking quite pleased and Bug blushing. Eulie was not
in agreement, but managed not to say so. She turned her attention to the arriving visitors.

Eulie looked at her husband accusingly. “Do you have folks coming by here every night?” she asked grumpily.

“Me!” he defended himself. “Why, I go for weeks at a time without seeing another soul. It’s you and your youngers that attracts the company.”

Eulie could hardly argue that. They stood waiting and watching as the mule came around the crossing and up through the woods toward them.

“Hullo the house!” a man called out to them when they got within shouting distance.

“Who is it?” Eulie asked Moss.

He shook his head unable to answer, but someone else did. Little Minnie jumped to her feet.

“It’s Mr. Pierce,” she shouted excitedly. “It’s Mr. and Mrs. Pierce.”

Without another word the little girl went charging down the slope in their direction.

“Hullo and welcome!” Moss called back.

“What are they doing here?” Eulie asked.

“They probably want to discuss their offer,” he said.

“Offer? What offer?” she asked.

He turned to her, surprised. “I didn’t tell you? I didn’t tell you last night?”

“Tell me what?”

“The Pierces want to adopt Little Minnie,” he said.

T
HE
people on the porch had divided into two sets. Clara and Bug remained within the dim shadows of the roof overhang with Rans and the twins beside them, the latter doing most of the talking.

Moss and Eulie were seated on a bench beneath the bright glow of a waning moon. The Pierces sat in chairs nearby. The appropriate greetings had been exchanged. There had been some small talk about crops and a couple of curious questions about the bandage upon Moss’s cheek. That was the extent of the polite discussion. Enoch and Judith Pierce seemed very content to simply sit and listen with avid interest to Little Minnie, who hadn’t ceased her chattering nonsense since the moment they had arrived.

“We had tea,” the child told them. “We practiced our table manners and pretended that we had real spoons and forks, which we don’t have here at all, just old whittled wooden things.”

Judith Pierce was smiling at the girl as if she were the most charming conversationalist that she had ever encountered.

“I didn’t get my dress dirty, not even a little bit,” Minnie went on. “Those twins tried to get me to walk
with them through the woods to see Miz Patch. They all gathered field greens, but I didn’t and I won’t. You can sure get dirty doing that kind of work.”

Both the Pierces readily agreed with her. They were dandified people, to Eulie’s mind. If the Tobys were the dregs of Sweetwood society, the Pierces were the heights that could be reached. They dressed as fine on Thursday as they did on Sunday. They always appeared clean and slicked-up and ready to head for town. That was Judith’s doing. She was a peddler’s daughter who’d always had a bit of coin and seen more of the world than most in the Sweetwood. She had high ideas about how to live. And her choice of husband was well-suited to her. Ostensibly, her husband, Enoch, was a farmer. But he was like none other in the Sweetwood He accumulated land. When someone left or someone died, or a farm completely foundered, he was always there with the cash in hand to buy what they didn’t want or couldn’t use. What Pierce owned was sharecropped. Poor farmers, failed farmers, young farmers—there were always people who owned no land and knew only farming as a way to work.

Eulie’s father had sharecropped several places for Enoch Pierce. Of course, even Eulie had to admit, her daddy’s work was no great bargain. When every farmer in the Sweetwood brought in a fine crop, Virgil Toby’s would be only middling. And when times were tough, he’d come with no crop at all. Her father had been sick so much. And he’d drunk a good deal, though it was for medicinal purposes, Eulie was certain. In any case, if it hadn’t been for the efforts of her mother and the hard scrambling she and the youngers had done, they would have never been able to keep food on the table.

That had been bad for the Tobys, of course. But it was also trouble for Enoch Pierce. He depended upon his sharecroppers to make crop. When they didn’t, he lost money. That was not a thing he tolerated easily. Eulie well knew that Enoch Pierce had put up with her father’s lackadaisical ways for the sake of the children. The man’s kindness ought to put him in Eulie’s good favor. But tonight it did not.

“So Heloise, that’s what I’m calling my dolly now, Heloise,” Minnie continued, “Heloise said that she wasn’t going to play with any of those nasty Toby children, just with me. And that I should get some other dollies so that the two of us would have someone to talk to. Neither of us has any interest in those Toby children, especially those silly twins who don’t care about anyone but themselves.”

“Princess!” Judith scolded, her voice firm but loving. “What is this about ‘the nasty Toby children'?”

“She’s been saying that,” Eulie told her. “Giving herself airs. Telling us that she can’t do this or she can’t do that.”

Eulie heard her own complaints and didn’t like the sound of them. Minnie was her sister; problems in the family should be kept in the family. They were never voiced to outsiders.

Judith’s brow furrowed with disapproval and she gave Minnie a stern look.

“You mustn’t speak of your brother and sisters that way,” she told the girl. “You should always be proud that you
are
one of the Toby children.”

Eulie couldn’t help but feel a hint of joyous justification.

“I won’t be one of the Toby children for long,” Little
Minnie replied with certainty, glancing over at Eulie with a look that was almost victorious.

Judith Pierce gasped, surprised and clearly embarrassed.

Enoch Pierce looked at his wife reproachfully. “I told you that you shouldn’t say anything to her,” he said.

“I just gave her a tiny hint and she guessed,” Judith defended. “It was just such a happy thought I couldn’t keep it to myself.”

Eulie glanced over accusingly at Moss. She didn’t think it a happy thought at all. And she was very angry about being the last to hear of this foolish plan.

Moss was tight-lipped and stern-jawed. Apparently Enoch had spoken to him at the pounding about Minnie returning to their house. He’d promised to discuss it with Eulie, but with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, he just hadn’t.

Eulie could hardly fault him for that. He had been reveling in his own plans, his own dream come true. He had likely not given a thought to what the Pierces wanted. And having never had any brothers or sisters, he could probably never know how unreasonable a request it was.

But she was about to make it plain to him, to all of them, that she was not giving up her baby sister, not now, not ever, no matter what.

“Minnie, get on into the cabin and get ready for bed,” she told the child sternly.

Her tone, clipped and sharp, clearly indicated that the discussion about to ensue was not going to be fit for a young child’s hearing.

Her sister, however, pulled an obstinate pout and clung more tightly to Mrs. Pierce’s arm.

“I want to stay with you,” she told the woman.

Eulie was mad enough to cut a switch. Fortunately, that was not necessary.

Judith Pierce smiled down at Minnie and then planted a kiss on the top of the child’s head. Her words were tender, but brooked no argument. “Go ready yourself for bed, so your fa—so Mr. Pierce and I can speak privately with the Colliers.”

“Do I have to?” she whined.

Judith Pierce nodded. “Well-behaved young ladies always do as they are told,” she said quietly.

“Should I go ahead and pack my things?” Minnie asked in a whisper that implied some conspiracy.

Mrs. Pierce shook her head slightly to indicate the negative.

Eulie looked mad enough to chew sawdust.

Minnie gave her sister only a passing glance as she laggardly made her way out of earshot. Her distinct preference for the Pierces over her own flesh and blood was perhaps understandable. Their doting attention would be welcomed by any child. And it seemed that the love a sister had to give was different than that of … of, well, a parent. A sister loved completely, but could see faults perfectly clear. The vision of a parent was always somewhat clouded.

But Judith and Enoch were not Minnie’s parents. They had always been close to her, always been eager to help. But they were not her mother and father. Minnie had not really had any. Ma had died so soon, and Daddy—well, Daddy had just never been himself thereafter. Eulie, Clara and Rans remembered better times, and the twins had always had each other, but Minnie had been left out.

Her young life had been a series of sad crises, punctuated by hard work and responsibility. What the Pierces were offering her was more than food, clothing, and shelter. They were prepared to provide that infinitely sweet and intangible gift, a childhood.

Eulie could understand it. But she couldn’t allow it. She turned immediately to Judith. Her words couldn’t have been plainer.

“I don’t know what song in a million Sundays led you to think that I would give you my little sister, but let me tell you right now, it is not ever going to happen.

The Pierces looked at each other and then at Moss.

“I haven’t even had time to talk to her,” he complained. “I told you we’d discuss it after Preaching Sunday.”

“We just simply couldn’t wait,” Judith answered. “We love Minnie and we want her with us. I’ve waited all my life. I could just wait no longer.”

Enoch Pierce touched his wife’s knee as if to quiet her.

“I’m sorry about this, Collier,” he said to Moss. “You told us to give you some time and we should have.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Eulie told them. “He couldn’t have changed my mind and you won’t either.”

Enoch still intended to try.

“I suppose we’ve gone about this all wrong,” he told her. “But please hear us out. We have a proposition that we think will be absolutely the best for everyone concerned.”

Eulie didn’t even want to hear it. She wanted to simply stand up and walk away. To her surprise, Moss
reached over and took her hand. She turned to glance at him. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes seemed to will her to take a deep breath, open her heart, and consider what they had to say.

“I’m listening,” Eulie told them.

A long moment passed when Enoch seemed to be collecting his thoughts. His wife apparently could not bear the silence.

“I am barren,” Judith Pierce stated flatly.

The admission startled all of them, even Mrs. Pierce herself, who then fumbled for her hanky as if fearing her tears would fall. Her husband’s complexion was as white as a sheet. Eulie suspected that the word had never before been spoken aloud between them.

Enoch squeezed his wife’s hand comfortingly as he attempted to compose himself. He turned his attention to Eulie.

“Mrs. Collier,” he began. “I’ve known you a lot of years, since you were a wee little baby, I reckon. I knew your folks even before then.”

“You were our landlord as long as I can remember,” Eulie responded. “Ma and Daddy always thought well of you.”

He accepted the compliment graciously and hesitated a long moment as if in deference to the memory of her parents.

“Your folks certainly had their trials. Your mother was as hard a worker as any woman I’ve ever known. And your father … well, he sure missed her a lot after she was gone.”

It was a generous interpretation.

“People have probably said a lot about your folks.
Poor people got poor ways. But nobody ever said they didn’t love their children,” Enoch continued. “They set a fine store by young Rans and you girls. They loved you and provided for you as best they were able.”

“I am aware of that, Mr. Pierce,” Eulie answered.

The man hesitated to continue. “If it was in my power,” he began. “If there was something that I could do to bring them back …”

His voice drifted off into that wistful place where the hard realities of life must ultimately be faced.

Eulie was in that place as well. Minnie deserved to have a ma and daddy. Eulie deserved it as well. She wished her parents could see her now with a fine man and their own farm. But they were gone and would not know. If they had not been gone, it might have never happened.

“The truth is,” Enoch continued, “Judith and I felt very sad for you children, being left alone and all. We felt especially so for Little Minnie. You recall we were there the day she was born.”

Eulie nodded.

“When we agreed to take in Minnie, we said it was because we had the room and there seemed like nowhere else for her to go.” Pierce glanced at his wife. She was biting down upon her lip, her eyes filled with tears.

“We said we’d give a roof above her and keep her clean and fed. But the truth is, we already loved her.”

Enoch gazed briefly at Moss as if willing him to understand before returning his attention to Eulie.

“Your sister has become a … a daughter to us,” he said. “We’ve always wanted our own children.” He spoke haltingly as if the words were difficult. “We
don’t know … we’ve just … we’ve just never been blessed.”

“Little Minnie is not your daughter,” Eulie said firmly.

Enoch nodded. “We know that,” he said. “But we love her and we would care for her and we would try to be the kind of father and mother that your own folks were to her.”

The man’s plea was impassioned, heartfelt. Eulie did not for one moment doubt his sincerity. And as for being good parents, Eulie was certain in her own mind that they would be.

“Minnie doesn’t need any new mother and father,” Eulie said. “She’s got me and my brother and sisters. The Tobys all stick together and now we got a home here at Barnes Ridge farm and cain’t nobody never pull us apart again.”

The Pierces shared a desperate, stricken glance.

“We love Minnie and she loves us,” Enoch said. “She will always be your sister, but that is what she is to you, a sister. You and Mr. Collier will have your own children.”

Eulie blushed at his words. “You don’t know that we will any more than you know that you won’t.”

Pierce swallowed, he expression resigned as he pressed his hands together. His wife was biting her lip again, holding back tears once more.

“We’ve been to every doctor between here and Knoxville,” he said solemnly. “We’ve tried every herb and patent remedy known about, we’ve taken advice from soothsayers and tea-leaf readers. For the last few years we’ve just been praying and praying that God would send us a child.”

The man looked up. His eyes were full of tears.

“When Minnie came into our lives, we knew at last that our prayers had been answered.”

Eulie’s own lower lip began to quiver.

“God doesn’t answer prayers for one family by tearing apart another,” she said finally, with certainty.

“We’re not trying to tear your family apart,” he said. “We just want to give Minnie a better chance. She is so young and her life has been so full of upheaval.”

Eulie knew he spoke the truth, but she deliberately shrugged away his concern.

“Life is hard,” she said. “Everybody learns that.”

“But must she learn it so soon?” Pierce asked, then answered his own question. “Only if she is a Toby.”

It was a harsh, honest statement. One painful enough to make Eulie gasp.