Rachel's Prayer (26 page)

I thought they were brave words from Mr. Wortham with what we knew of Robert. I appreciated it a lot. And I prayed too, through morning chores, knowing Sarah was heatin’ Bert the rest of the chicken soup and quizzing Emmie on her lessons at the same time. I wished Pa had taken what we’d seen from the Worthams a little more to heart over the years. I figured all us kids had, and we was all better off because of their example. And Pa had seemed all right sometimes too. Most of the time, I guess. Till the war. Then maybe worryin’ for his boys had turned his mind somehow. I didn’t know how else to explain it.

Bert had tried to convince me he was feelin’ better—so much better after Sarah’s tonic that he wouldn’t never need another one, not ever again. But he still felt feverish to me, so I didn’t think he ought to go back to school just yet. Harry’d brought his lessons for him, and he could do them at home, and then maybe go back tomorrow. I told him I thought he oughta drink another tonic, for the benefit. I’d drink some with him. I didn’t think it was that bad to the taste. But then, I’d been drinkin’ coffee strong and black for a while now too, which Berty thought smelled too bad to even bother to taste.

Harry and Emmie left for school. Bert cozied into a sittin’ room chair with a blanket over him and his schoolbooks on his lap. I knew the books’d occupy him practically all day, and he’d prob’ly end up ahead of where he was needin’ to be with his assignments. Bert was like that.

Sarah was true to her word and started in right away cleanin’ up. I told her she didn’t have to. She said of course not, but that’s what neighbors were for.

“Maybe you oughta be helpin’ your mama,” I said. “She’s over at home all alone right now.”

“I’ll go pretty soon,” she promised. “Dad told me she’d think it fine for me to help here a little while first.”

So she swept again, even though she just did it yesterday. I finished up the raisiny oatmeal that Emmie had made, then I fixed the handle on a pair of pliers and set to work sharpening the ax and both hatchets. Sarah started in washin’ the dishes and cleanin’ off the table and the whole stove, not just the top.

“Sarah Jean, that don’t have to be done,” I tried again to tell her. “Least not by you right now.”

“I know. But I don’t work in town like Rorey, or go to school right now like Emmie. I might as well be useful.” I watched her for a minute, not fathoming real clear how she could think herself
not
useful, even if she wasn’t doing for us. She was always occupied at somethin’. Just like her mother. I’d always admired Mrs. Wortham for that. The only time she wasn’t workin’ with her hands was when she was reachin’ with her heart, and most times they worked together. Sarah took after her plenty.

“When I’m done with this, I’m gonna start wiping shelves, and then I’ll dust and clean up in the sitting room a little before I go,” she told me. “I hope that’s all right.”

I almost asked her why. But I guessed she’d already told me, and I needed to just let it go and let her do what she wanted. But I knew I couldn’t stay in the house no longer. She was drawin’ my eyes from my work too much, and I wasn’t gettin’ enough done. “It’s real kind of you,” I told her, feeling a little awkward. “Thanks.”

I took the tools and headed out the door. What in the world was wrong with me? She was just bein’ neighborly, like she’d said. She was just following the example given her by her ma and her pa, who’d been more’n willing to help us all the time we’d known them. It oughta be second nature by now, seein’ Sarah around. But I was noticin’ things like her pretty brown hair pulled back a little different today and Rorey’s old apron matching the color of her eyes. That was crazy. She’d think I’d flipped my lid for sure.

And we had Willy to think about. And Robert. All of the horrible war goin’ on and the uncertainty about Joe. It was awful foolish of me to let flighty things enter my head about Sarah Jean. She’d be well bothered at me if she knew.

I quick carried in wood to fill the wood box, being careful not to pay her no more mind when I was in the house. I didn’t need her mad at me over somethin’ like this. I needed her to be my friend.
Lord, help me get my thoughts put together. I don’t understand stuff like this.

The last armload of wood I brought in was the biggest because I was wantin’ to have the job done and then stay outside. But I guess I was packing too much, ’cause I lost a top log, and it went rolling across the floor, almost knockin’ Sarah in the toe.

“I’m sorry,” I said real quick, plunking the rest of the load in the wood box as fast as I could so’s I could retrieve that piece and get back outside. But she had a hold of it before I did. She picked it up and give it one little fling, and it landed all neat an’ tidy in the wood box like she’d been practicing chuckin’ wood across the room all year.

“No problem,” she said. “I drop stuff all the time.”

“I don’t think I ever noticed that,” I told her, and got myself straight back outside.

I thought I’d better split some wood. I always got to praying when I whacked wood. I always did a lot of thinkin’. And that’d be just what I needed this morning. Some of the firewood in the shed had been left in pretty big chunks. Bert did some splitting sometimes, especially the smaller stuff, but with him being sick the last few days and my mind on everythin’ else, there hadn’t none of that got done. It was the perfect time for it now, though. It’d be just the thing to get my head back on straight.

25

Sarah

I wasn’t really sure why I kept staying. With Emmie gone to school and Bert feeling some better, I knew they’d think I didn’t need to. Frank was thinking it already, I could tell. I was sure I was bothering him, and I didn’t want to be, but I couldn’t feel right about leaving yet, even if I wasn’t sure why not. I couldn’t do a thing about their father holing himself up in his room again. I sure didn’t know how to cheer him. He hadn’t even let me give him a cup a coffee.

“Had too much a’ that at Lizbeth’s,” was all he’d say when I asked him.

Frank had an awful load on him, and I was glad Ben and Lizbeth understood that as well as they did. They’d help all they could. But they weren’t here now.

I knew it would be hard to be in Mr. Hammond’s shoes. With one son missing so long and another son now wounded, it had to wear at him awful. I knew it would wear at me. But I couldn’t understand why he didn’t seem to see that it wore on everybody, especially his kids. Especially Frank, who had to shoulder everything all the more because his pa wouldn’t.

But Frank kept on, just working, just doing all the things that needed to be done. I marveled at him this morning, because I thought if it was me, I’d have had to take the time by now to sit down for a good cry. But he was in the yard by the house, splitting more firewood. I could hear him. There was a rhythm to the way he worked.
Plunk. Whack. Plunk. Whack.
Steady, without missing a beat. I thought his whole brain must work that way.

I glanced out the window and saw he had his coat off already, his too-loose shirt swinging in the breeze while he worked. He needed a haircut again. I ought to offer to do that for him. But no. I stopped myself real quick. My mom could do it. Or Rorey. He might not like
me
offering. He wanted me to be his friend, but doing something like cutting his hair might be too familiar. It wouldn’t be a good idea. Thinking about it wasn’t even a good idea. He had nice thick hair with a wave that was cute for a boy. It wasn’t right for me to even have noticed.

I moved from the window and checked to see if Bert had finished his herb tonic. Almost half. That was all. I reheated it for him because Mom said it did more good hot, and brought it back to the little table next to his chair. He made a face at me, but he took another sip. Frank was still splitting wood.
Plunk. Whack. Plunk. Whack.

But I thought I heard another sound off a ways. I went back to the window just to be sure. A vehicle, way down the lane. Except for my father, there wasn’t much traffic by here, especially in the winter, so I watched just to see if they’d stop.

I didn’t think they would. It was an unfamiliar black car, going slow. But they slowed even more and got as close as they could on the lane, and then stopped out front. Frank hadn’t noticed. He must be thinking deep again. I imagined he had a lot to think on.

Two tall strangers in uniforms stepped from the car, and for a minute I almost couldn’t breathe.
Oh, God, no.

I didn’t say anything to Bert. I didn’t call for their father. All I could think about was Frank outside and what he was going to think, how he was going to feel, when he looked up and saw what I’d just seen.

Oh, please, God,
I cried in my mind as I went for the door.
Oh, please. Not this. Not more bad news.

I almost tripped coming down off the porch. Those two men had stood for a minute like they weren’t sure they had the right place, or maybe were hesitant to face whatever family might be home. But they moved to the house slow now, and I knew I hadn’t been mistaken. They wore crisp, neat military uniforms, right down to the hats and gloves. And my heart pounded in my throat, knowing what they must be here to say.
Not William. Oh, God, please. Are they here, after all this time, to tell about Joe? Or even Kirk? That would be just as bad! Help. Oh, please! Help Frank. And his pa. Oh, Lord, what is their pa gonna do?

I stepped forward, still hearing Frank with his chopping.
Plunk. Whack.
Tears came to my eyes. I wished there was some way to make all the bad go away, to turn the clock back to before the war even started. It was like a bad dream that shouldn’t be real.
Please, not this.

Frank’s rhythm stopped. I swallowed hard and moved closer, right beside him, because I thought that if this was my house they were coming to, I’d need somebody beside me. I saw his face change, like a shadow was falling over him on the inside. It scared me. I couldn’t hardly stand it, and I didn’t think I could bear to hear whatever these men had to say.

“Is this the Hammond residence?” one of them asked as soon as they were close enough. The other man bowed his head, took off his hat, and held it in his hand.

“Yes,” Frank answered stiffly. He didn’t ask anything else. He just stood there, the splitting maul still in his hand.

“Is your father at home?” The man’s eyes were large and sorrowful. He looked as old as my father, and I knew he didn’t like the kind of news he’d come to share.

“Yes, sir,” Frank said, letting the splitting maul fall to the cold ground. I could see the pain working in his eyes, but he didn’t betray it in his voice. He walked tall, leading those men to the steps and then up onto the porch.

My legs didn’t want to move. I felt stiff and at the same time somehow spineless as jelly. But I made myself follow them, glad now that I was here even though I was terrified for what would happen next. When Frank got to the door he turned and looked at me for just a second, and I could read his eyes plain as if he were talking out loud.
Hold steady for Berty, Sarah Jean,
he seemed to be telling me.
We’re gonna need your help.

“Pa?” Frank called as we came inside. “We’ve got comp’ny, Pa.”

I heard Mr. Hammond’s dull answer coming from the bedroom but wasn’t sure exactly what it was he’d said. Bert let his books fall to one side, and he stood to his feet. I went over quick beside him because I felt like Frank would want me to because he was younger. And there wasn’t anything else I could do anyway.

“What comp’ny?” Mr. Hammond grouched a little louder. “Who is it?”

I had to work to keep myself from crying in front of Bert. Maybe I was wrong about everything, and everybody was fine. Maybe these men had some other kind of news. We didn’t know anything for sure. And even if I wasn’t wrong, it wouldn’t do to start blubbering. It wouldn’t help them any. And I felt sure now that I’d been right to stay, that I was meant to be here. God must have wanted me here to help somehow, because he knew this was coming.

Give us strength. And peace. Help me, Lord, to have words to say and the sense about me to know how to help when times are hard. Help me to keep my heart close to you so I’ll have peace and strength to share.

Suddenly, strangely, I thought of Rachel. Maybe I’d hit on the gist of her prayer. But that made me think of Robert, and it was all the harder to hold back tears.

Frank went and opened his father’s bedroom door because he still hadn’t come out. “Please, Pa,” he said real soft. “There’s men to speak with you.”

“What men?” Mr. Hammond asked him bitterly. But then there was dead silence. He was standing in the doorway where he could see them.

“Mr. George Hammond?” one of the soldiers asked. They both had their hats off now, holding them in their hands. The younger man seemed to be squeezing pretty hard at his.

“Yep, I’m him,” Mr. Hammond answered, and his voice was angry. I could see the painful understanding in his face. He looked pale as a ghost, and he shook his head, turning his eyes to Frank. “Tell ’em to go away. I ain’t wantin’ to hear what they got to say.”

“I know,” Frank said then. “I know it, Pa. But we gotta hear it. We gotta make ourselves, do you understand?” Bert made a little choked noise, and I took hold of his arm. I thought maybe he’d push me away, but he didn’t. He just stood. I thought I felt a shiver run through him.

One of the uniformed men stepped a little closer to Mr. Hammond. “Please, sir. You might want to have a seat.”

Frank moved a chair right to where his father stood, but he wouldn’t sit.

“Just tell me,” he said. “Just get it over with an’ tell me. My boy’s gone. That’s what you finally come ’round to say . . .” He stopped. He looked like he could fall.

“Sir,” the older uniformed man began with a sigh. “We’re very sorry. It is with our nation’s deepest sympathy that we must inform you of the loss of your son, Lieutenant Joseph Willard Hammond . . .”

I closed my eyes for just a second. Beside me, Bert started to sob. “Oh, God,” he whispered. “Oh, God.”

Mr. Hammond didn’t move. He just stood there staring. Frank took his arm and tried to prompt him to sit down, but he wouldn’t budge.