Part 9 (1/2)
Young Emma, his second daughter, had always been subject to some mysterious ailment. The attacks came suddenly and without any warning at all. One moment the five-year-old would be playing with her brothers and sisters and the next she'd be gasping for breath while red fever spots flared in her cheeks and she was hot to the touch. Joe got home to find his daughter sick again.
It was a worrisome thing, and all the more so because there was nothing that could be done about it. The doctor whom Joe had once ridden all night to fetch had been no more helpful than the herbs which Granny Trevelyan gathered by the thin light of the moon's first quarter. The fever just had to run its course.
Emma was sitting in the cus.h.i.+oned chair, with young Emma clasped to her bosom, when Joe came in. He looked at them and knew. Emma had a love and devotion big enough to enfold everyone around her, except when one of her family was ill. Then whoever that might be got all she could offer.
Joe grieved. He was burdened by an overwhelming sense of clumsy inadequateness, and though he knew he could do nothing he asked anyway,
”Can I do anything for you?”
Emma did not speak, but her lips formed the word No. For a moment Joe lingered helplessly near, still wanting to help but unable to do so. He knew that the words he said were not the right ones, but he said them anyway.
”The man I have to see is in Hammerstown. Shall I go tomorrow morning or would you rather I stayed here?”
Emma whispered, ”Go ahead, Joe.”
Joe tiptoed away from them. He could help a sick cow or mule, but he did not know what to do for his daughter, and he left his wife alone because it seemed that, by so doing, in some way maybe he was helping at least a little bit. A woman with an ailing child needed all her energies just to take care of it, and if she could be relieved of taking care of anything else, that was good.
Barbara took over, as Joe had known she would, and prepared the evening meal. It was as though Emma were still somehow in charge, for the children looked to Barbara as they did to their mother, and they obeyed her as they did Emma. Even Tad made no noise, and Joe felt a great humility. He was worried for the baby and her mother, but beyond feeling sorrow he did not know what else to do. He was glad that he was not called upon to run the household, for he would not have known how to go about it. He understood, as he had known since his marriage, that there are some things which only a woman can do.
That night he was lost. It was hard to remember when he and Emma had not shared the same bed. It was very lonely without her and very dreary, and because she wasn't beside him, sleep could not be good. At the same time, he reproached himself. He was a man, not a child, and men took care of themselves. They shouldn't need anything except themselves, but Joe knew that they had great need. His bed had been an empty one, and even though he had slept, it was not sound slumber.
Now, while shattered shreds of night battled with approaching day, he paused to look tenderly at his wife and child. They were still in the cus.h.i.+oned chair, and both slept. But even though she was not awake, Emma's possessive arms still wrapped her daughter securely. It was as though she were a high wall over which the peril that stalked the baby would have to climb before it could work real harm.
His shoes still in his hand, Joe took a long while to open the door in order to open it silently. He was hungry. But a man didn't think of his own needs if forgetting them meant that a feverish child and her mother could have another few moments of blessed rest. Besides, the hunger that tormented him was as nothing compared to the fever that burned baby Emma.
Joe closed the door as softly as he had opened it, easing it back on its hinges and letting the latch fall slowly. His shoes still in his hand, he walked a little way onto the dew-wet gra.s.s before he sat down to pull the shoes on and lace them. For a moment he sat still, undecided, while the dew seeped through the bottom of his trousers and against his warm seat. He could always go to Hammerstown when baby Emma was well again, and if he stayed home today there might be some little things he could do to help Emma. He might bring cold water for her, or perhaps she'd need something from the store. Joe made up his mind.
Barbara and Tad could do whatever needed the doing, and every day that pa.s.sed was one day closer to the frosts of autumn. There was no time to lose. Besides, only Emma knew how to help the sick youngster.
He did not cease to worry as he took a bridle from its peg in the barn and went toward the mules' pasture, but he was not so desperately troubled as he had been.
Joe hid the bridle behind his back as he approached the pasture. The mules looked at him from the corners of their eyes, then turned their backs and drifted toward the other side of the corral. Joe muttered under his breath. When they thought they would have to work, the mules were always hard to catch. Joe dropped the bridle beside the fence and returned to the barn. He stuck a rope in his belt and took a couple of handfuls of corn out of the grain barrel. The corn in a wooden scoop, he went back to the mule pasture, entered the gate, and lolled near it.
He thought again of the night in Tenney's store, and of Bibbers Townley telling about the west. In spite of the fact that Bibbers had been lying, the spirit of something bright and wonderful had been present.
Joe thought of land, as much as a man wanted, free for the taking. He saw his sons planting grain for themselves, and not rows of dollar bills for some banker. He thought of his daughters happily married to strong men who needed, and had, s.p.a.ce in which to grow.
The mules came, switching their tails and bobbing their heads, and the rising excitement that mounted in Joe kept him from feeling any resentment toward them. All his life he had looked for something which he had never found, but he had never despaired of finding it and he was still looking. If he had not been worried about baby Emma, this would have been the best day he had known in a long while.
The advancing mules stopped three feet away, and tried to stretch their heads far enough to reach the grain scoop. Joe still lolled idly against the fence, and seemed obviously uninterested in the mules. They knew him almost as well as he did them, and he mustn't act as though he wanted to catch them. Joe turned away, rattling the corn as he did so.
They were upon him in a quick little rush, thrusting their enormous heads into the grain scoop. Sometimes when they were not to be harnessed they were given a handful of grain, and Joe knew how to allay their suspicions. They began to lick the corn with wet tongues. Neither raised its head, for there was only a little grain and each had to eat as quickly as possible lest the other get more than a just share.
Joe worked his hand down to the rope in his belt, and when his fingers closed around it, he brought the grain scoop closer. The mules blew through their nostrils and followed. Then, seeing too late that they had fallen into a trap, both tried to wheel and pound away. Joe slipped the rope over the mare mule's head, took a half hitch around a fence post, and stepped out of reach when the mule slashed at him with her yellowed teeth.
Joe laughed. The mare mule was not less cunning and scheming than her teammate, but the horse had a pounding, hard gait that was difficult for a rider going only a short way and spine-shattering for a long ride. The mare had a gentle, rocking pace, and she was the faster of the two.
The mare pulled to the end of her rope, but not far enough to tighten it around her neck and choke herself, and she was looking fixedly at Joe when he came with the bridle. She stepped suddenly forward, slackening the rope, and scuttled sidewise to pin him between the fence and herself.
Joe laughed again, and brought the blunt end of his shoe hard into her soft belly. Her ears sagged reproachfully as she retreated and stood still. The mules always fought with their master, but it never did them any good because Joe remained master. She was docile enough as he slipped the bit into her mouth, strapped the bridle on, and led her through the gate.
The horse mule watched the whole procedure suspiciously. Then, as soon as the gate was closed and latched, and he knew that Joe wanted only the mare, he shattered the morning stillness with a far-carrying bray before trotting over to lick up the few grains of corn that had spilled on the ground.
Joe vaulted astride the mare and set himself for the lunge that he knew was coming now. He tried to make her keep her head up, but she got it down and bucked. Joe gripped her sides with his knees, and for a moment she pitched and twisted. Then she reared, trying to make him slide back over her tail, and when she did Joe shortened the rein so she couldn't get her head down again. She panted angrily, then obeyed the tug of the rein and started down the path toward Tenney's. Joe knew another moment of tormenting uncertainty.