Chapter XI: Part 11

“For me? You fool.” He was roaring above the wind. “Dammit. Look there.” He pointed at an inky cloud where a tongue licked downward and retreated. “That’s a twister.” Like a long thick snake it shot down to the earth and a whining roar commenced.

Dan’s hand was gripping hers. They were dashing to the stalls in the middle of the barn. She was suddenly afraid. “Now they’d talk of cyclones, but I ne’er saw one before, Dan.”

Swiftly, in the dull light, in the musty smell of the unused stable, he had his arms about her. His yellow-green eyes glittered, laughing, “Lady Nancy Belle.”

It came upon Ellen the way Craig Hedrick was grabbing with a band of steel while she struggled. That had haunted her dreams so she would awake in a sweat sometimes. And there was Uncle Garland’s hand seeking incestuous under her coat that lonely winter, so she had to drive the memory from her, suppress it, divorce it from her uncle whom she loved for his goodness. These things flooded up when she saw Dan’s weathered face, his shut eyes and hawknose, the red scar bending. She fought, violent, her hands hard against his blue shirt. “Bullying bastard.” The words were framed out of fright, without volition.

He shoved her against the stall’s side planking, furious because her struggle disconcerted him. “You little bitch, what do you mean? You’ve been licking after me ever since you came.”

“That’s not so.”

“Dammit, Ellen. You aren’t going to get raped again. You’re not that lucky.” His yell was coming under the hurricane wind. He was gripping her arms, forcing his hard mouth against hers.

By the stiffness of her lips and body, she resisted. But suddenly it all was falling away and a gentle hotness came up within her. She was parting her mouth and his tongue was seeking its softness. She moved her arms, laid them about his neck, holding him, feeling the coarse hair at her fingers. Wish I was Star. And there was the distant storm racket.

He let her go, laughed regretful, “What were those names I called you? Dammit, Ellen, you are pretty. I never noticed that.” She felt it too, though her dark-blue dress was long and her low-cut shoes soiled because she wore them at her work about the Leghorns. “I never saw you before. Look at your hair. The wind’s blown it out.”

Hail clattered on the galvanized tin roof. Thunder rolled. She leaned upon the worn wood of the manger, where bites of cribbing horses had made notches during long winters. She was putting her hand to her yellow hair, tucking it up while he watched. The thing that had happened, she felt it. How she would never be rigid and tied again, how she was free. Courage had replaced her hidden fears. Then it was that she came up to kiss Dan. And she put her head against his opened shirt, his tall strength, she felt the even thrusts of his heart. His hard arms were holding her and he stroked her hair. “The rain’s come,” she said, “it’s all o’er.”

“Did you see that twister come out of that cloud?” He was releasing her.

“First one I e’er saw, Dan.”

“We’re safe for another year, now. They never come twice.”

“Why’s that?”

“The law of averages.” He was going down the aisle then to the doorway. “The rain’s letting off.”

She was following, seeing the cuff was untucked from one of his heavy boots, the smoke of his cigarette drifting blue. “What are you looking at, Dan?”

“Nothing. Smells good. I like a storm, even a mean one.” He looked down at her, absent.

“I always did too.” The wind rode on bright clouds. She felt he was many miles away. Wonder if he’s thinking on Star. Well, I don’t care.

They went into the light drizzle, met the family streaming from the house. “You scared me, Ellen,” Mom shouted. “You two all right?”

“Was there a storm?” Dan cried. Ellen laughed. Dennie and Simon skipped, whooping.

“I heard it,” Sudduth frowned. “Bet it went through Hidden Creek. Adele could be killed.”

“Oh, Sudduth,” Mom said.

“And the girls.” Sudduth added.

“Now,” said Pop.

“And she’s with child.”

“What’s that?” Pop said.

“No, she’s not,” Mom was soothing.

“She’d have told us, Sudduth. She was just taking Hannah for that stye.”

“She didn’t want it. She tried to kill it with vinegar.” Sudduth leaned his skinny body forward eager, his thinning hair damp, his black eyes full of tears. “She was going to try arsenic.”

“But a baby.” Mom twisted her hands. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Well, we have our own affairs, you know.”

“I’m going to have a look around.” Dan was striding off.

The two boys came running. “The lines are down. And one of the chicken sheds is a sight.”

“Let’s go see,” Sudduth led the way. His parents came behind, whispering.

The people moved about Ellen, words were spoken, but it was as if it flowed separate from her, reached her through a blurred wall. Everything was new, everything changed. She went to the field where the Leghorns were kept. She righted an overturned coop, discovering a dead hen under it. The rest were huddled safely beneath a shed. She got a dipper of cracked grain. The white flock was coming up one by one, clucking, bobbing brilliant red combs and wattles, discarding their fright as they pecked the seed in the clean afternoon sunlight.

I came down the mountainside
Give my horn a blow
Everywhere them pretty girls
Says yonder goes my beau

I went down in the valley green
To win to me my love
When I was done with that pretty little girl
She turned to a turtledove

The tongue that Ellen and Dan saw had spun over a path fifty yards wide, catching a neighbor’s cow shed from an angle, sucking rafters aloft, strangling a cow while her bull calf brayed feebly below. It had prowled across the level land, come upon turkeys in a corn field, the gobbler shrieking insanely, flapping, trailed by his harem of hens. They were sucked into the wind like dust. Green oat shoots were rooted out so that when the field ripened later there was a clean swath across its bottom third. Varied incidents had occurred; a nest of newborn rabbits was flipped up, numbers of birds that clung to fence corners were torn loose and pounded into obstructions, the mortality among the insect life was untold. It had circled Hidden Creek. Adele was at the doctor’s office, calling to say she would be home as soon as her shopping was finished.

“That’s fine,” Sudduth said in a low voice to Mom and Pop in the doorway. “That God-damn stair. I wrenched my back good.” Through coming years he would try out different chiropractors. For weeks at a time the pain would recede, then each movement would drive a dull fire as he dragged his way about the farm. The family would laugh at his self-concern, taking it as Sudduth’s way. He talked about “that first twister of thirty-six,” like men talk of a battle. When he spoke to his children’s children, putting a hand on the small of his back, it would seem to them that Sudduth had by himself stemmed a tornado in its path.

Mom stood apart now from her younger son, whispered irritably to Pop, “That boy’s still a baby. You know, I’ll be glad when they all clear out to the new house. I plumb admire Adele for the way she puts up with him.”

The next evening a chill wind was blowing. Ellen went to her room for a sweater. The furnace was not stoked in these spring days and there were no fireplaces. As she was coming out, putting it on, she saw Dan leaping softly up the stairs, two at a time. He laughed, catching her arm, pushing her back into her room. There he was kissing her. She breathed to him, “You know what I read in the Bible? Dan’s a lion’s whelp.”

“Ellen. Your lips are soft.” He put his finger on them. A hot flood was taking her breath. He was loosing her, chucking her chin. “And I’ve got a date. Dammit, Star gets her dander up if I’m late. I’m out of gas, too. I’ll have to stop on the way.”

Ellen went down the steps to the kitchen where the dishes waited. Jealousy was rankling, but her gray eyes were mellow. I’d not get my dander up, was he late. Through days to follow, Dan would come on her, take her aside to kiss her. If she went out in the night, sometimes he followed. And if she knew he was in the tool shed, she went to see if the chicken house door beyond was locked. If he met her in the hallway, alone, he led her back to her room. They heard footsteps passing in the hall as his mouth lay on hers. He bided his time, careful, waiting on her shyness. “Come here, honey.”

So the days of March went by, and April started. Spring, and Dan’s in the same world with me. Ellen and Adele were laying out the kitchen garden. Ellen’s hands in the earth were like a mother’s. She had never seen such black rich soil. She held a clod, kneeling in her soiled damp skirt. She was crumbling it. “Look here, Adele. Ne’er a stone or pebble. Where I used to live they’ve got stone fences every way you turn. Sometimes a rock grows so big in a field they plow in a ring about it. Sam Offut claimed those rocks were nailed to the center of the world where the fire is. To hold the earth together.”

“Land.”

“Sam was full of tales. This is a fine garden.”

“I call it a dirty job, though. I’d rather work at the house, Ellen. I like my hands clean. Dirt makes them dry and the nails break easy.”

“I don’t mind.” Ellen was putting her hands down in the soft loam she had spaded.

Adele brooded. “I’m going to have another baby.”

“I’m glad for you.”

“That Sudduth. He won’t let me alone.”

“I always liked the Scarlet Globe radish. It’s the first one up.”

“When I just got home from the hospital with Grace, there he was, hanging his pants on the bedpost. First thing.”

“Wonder if it’s too early for sweet corn? We could put in a few rows.”

“Hannah came when Grace was only ten months old.”

“You’re supposed to put it in by sundown on the tenth of May.”

“That man.”

The breeze sprang up like a promise, stirring the hair of the women. Ellen knelt in the earth, her friend stood tall and hurt, the seed unfolding within her. The circle of sky was porcelain blue. A lone hawk held his wings still and floated away.

* * * * *

On Sunday Ellen spoke up at the breakfast table, “Would there be room in the car for me and Simon to go along? I’d like to see how the Presbyterians do.”

“You can have my place,” Pop said, “I’m mulching roses today.”

“Oh, Ma,” Simon complained.

“You’ll save Ellen yet from us heathen,” Dan said.

“I saw the sermon in the paper.” Pop was pounding his knife. “He’s taking the text, what is man?”

“I know that one,” Ellen said. “Thou madest him a little lower than the angels.”

“Ma sure knows her Bible,” said Simon to Dennie. “She’s e’er preaching it at me.”

“Simon, that’s not so.”

“I’ll learn you the song, Ellen,” Dennie was crying, “I want to live in a royal way, as a child of a king should live.”

“Tell you, Dennie, she can convert me,” Dan grinned, his eyes yellow in the early sun flooding across the table.

“And I will too.” Ellen got up to fill the milk pitcher. Her hand brushed over the top of his black head. She saw Mom start. She filled the pitcher. Now why did I do that?

Adele loaned Ellen a hat and Simon put on a fresh shirt. They were piling into the old car. Mom’s ample form filled the seat by Adele and the others sat in back. The sermon was dull. The minister was a wan tired man. “Yes, what is man?” he queried, “that Thou art mindful of him? Yes.” He said it as if he believed the question presumptuous. Ellen thought the service uneventful compared to a Catholic mass. She rose at each hymn time, stretching her shoulders.

Abide with me, fast falls the eventide
The darkness deepens, Lord with me abide
When other helpers fail and comforts flee
Help of the helpless, Lord, abide with me

Simon shuffled his feet. Mom and Adele separated the little girls, who giggled, black eyes squinting up. Ellen looked around. I reckon it’s that people like to gather together. It’s their nature, the way sheep go in a band. Lambs of God. And I’m a solitary. They were driving home. Her curiosity was sated and she stayed at the farm thereafter.

It was the middle of April when Dan remembered his promise. He had come in for dinner, his hands smudged with cup-grease, his pants streaked. “Damn tractor again,” he was growling happily. “Ought to sue Ford for misrepresenting that pile of tin.”

“Pass down the biscuits,” Sudduth cried. “Dan, let’s raise the studs this afternoon.”

“Don’t you make a mistake now, boys,” Mom said gravely, “and get the back door to the front. Land.”

“Say, Ellen,” Dan was calling, “I’m going up near Weems Crossroads tomorrow. Want to go see Luke Dougherty’s wife?”

Ellen flushed. “There. I do.”

“Are you going to Webster’s?” Mom asked him. “And visit Star?”

“No. A fellow up there’s got sheep. I thought we might start a few lambs.”

“Better stop in to see Star,” Mom said. “Since you’re going to be up that way.”

“Sheep.” Pop was sipping his coffee through his beard. “Thought this was a dairy farm.”

“I might, Mom,” Dan said.

“It’th dripping, Pop.” Grace pointed to the coffee in his white beard. Hannah snickered.

“Girls,” cried Adele. “Manners at table. I’ll get a switch.”

“Dan, you stop in at Webster’s.” Mom’s voice was persistent. “A pretty girl needs attention.”

“We’ll leave as soon as the morning work’s done, Ellen,” Dan said. “Let’s go now, Sudduth. Get those studs up.”

“Dan,” Mom warned, as the door snapped shut.

“Sheep will ruin pasture faster than anything,” Pop said. “Pull the grass out by the roots.” He was wiping his beard where it was wet and yellowed. “Why don’t you two girls quiet down?”

“I wish he was little again so I could spank him, Pop. He’s so stubborn.”

Before Ellen and Dan drove off in the morning, he threw ropes into the bed of the truck on the litter of dry manure and straw. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled, it was unbuttoned at the neck. His face was constrained, the cheek lines tight. As they made a turn onto the main highway, the wheels shrilled. Ellen caught at the door handle. He grunted, “My mother. Women. What a nagger.”

“Oh Dan.”

“Go see Star. What’ll Mr. Webster think? Forever butting in.” He was tapping the wheel with his thumbs, the line of his lips wrathful.

“Mom doesn’t mean anything.” All the day with him.

“Let her run my kid brother. Not me. She won’t stop. I’ll be an old man and she’ll be doing it.”

“Don’t be that way,” Ellen coaxed, hopeful.

“Shut up.”

Ellen’s anger lifted and she pushed it down. The drowsy odor of flowers was flooding through the open window, and of verdant wheat spears and growing fields. The breeze stirred dust on the floor. She was leaning back against the cool leather, watching trees flash by. With her shoe she felt the tin cake pan holding a three-layer cake for Penny’s children. A bird warbled and dipped before the truck, a darting of gray. “That’s a catbird. Dennie told me. We don’t have them in Kentucky. It mocks the other birds and it mews like a cat.” She sighed.

He made no reply. The brooding silence grew as they covered the roadways swiftly. He raised his hand once and she glanced over. He was running his strong fingers over his hair that rose coarse. His lean legs were taut, his hips high on the seat, poised. His thin nostrils were spread. He’s honing for a fight, like a feisty bull. And he’s driving too fast.

“It’s along this road a ways,” she was saying, then she pointed. “There it is. That’s the Doughertys.” The house was set back near the crab apple tree at the head of the winding lane; a wing newly built at the back had changed its contour. “You want to meet Penny, Dan?”

“I’m out to buy sheep, remember?” He was lifting his eyebrows, the beak of his nose haughty. “I’ll be back to pick you up about three. I’ve got to get home for chores.”

“I’ll be waiting here. In the roadway. So you won’t have to bother to drive to the house.” She slammed the door, went down the lane swiftly, her cake pan on one arm. The truck ground its gears and whirled down the road. Ellen’s cheeks were red, she breathed deeply. She saw Penny coming into the open doorway of the house, a baby on her arm, shielding her eyes from the sun glare. The woman appeared frail, her face that had been soft was sharper-featured, the skin dry. She came to meet Ellen.

“Luke and me were talking about you last night. How’s that Simon?”

“He’s big, Penny.” She was looking at the child in the blanket. “What do you call this least one?”

“Jess. He’s a bit peaked.”

Ellen took the bundle. The child was like a tiny aged man. It slept, scarcely breathing. “Say.”

“I was right ill while carrying him. Have you come to spend the day, Ellie? You know how I always was one for company. Ernie,” she was calling, “stay out of the kitchen, now. Blossom, you watch him.”

“I brought a cake for the youngens.”

“There, Ellie.”

“How’s your goats? How’s old Tiny?”

“Tiny died. Must have been three years ago. But there’s a daughter out of her, Little Tiny. We got fifteen head now.”

“Where’s the donkey?”

“We let him go when times got bad. The boys’ll show you around after a spell.”

“Where are Clate and Anse?”

“In the orchard. Blossom’s minding Ernie for me. He’s ailing today. She’s good with him.” Blossom was in the doorway, brushing her unkempt hair from her face, her eyes soft like a rabbit’s. She was eight, sober with responsibility.

“Blossom,” Ellen was calling, “I brought you a daisy cake.” The child smiled politely and retreated.

“She’s not used to folks,” Penny said.

“Where’s Melinda, Penny?”

“She’s been gone four years. She came down with the scarlet fever.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Four years to the month. We put a marker on her grave. Says, Under the Shadow of His Wings. Luke got it from the mail-order house.”

“I heard Luke’s in charge of one of Webster’s barns now.”

“Yes, he is. And Anse was right sick with that fever too.”

“I’m working for some folks now, Penny.”

“I was going to ask you how you got to come.” Penny was putting her arms out suddenly, “You want to give me Jess? I’ll see if he’s hungry.” She gave her breast to the baby and Ellen saw that despite her many children, Penny was still rounded with milk. Her neck was thin, the bones prominent.

A pale boy of two came out the door, clad in a short checked pinafore, his bare feet dirty. He pulled at Penny’s dress, whining. “Don’t now, Ernie,” Penny said, mild.

“You ought to let your ma be,” said Ellen. The child waved his hand, petulant, at her.

“Leave him alone,” Penny spoke sharply. She laid her hand on the boy’s cheek. “I lost a baby that came before Ernie.” The child had put his head in her lap. Ellen watched them. She’s like an old cow that has one calf after the last. And if you try to mind it for her, she’ll drive you off with her horns.

At noon, the boys came dashing in. Clate was sunburned, a brawny boy of eleven. Anse, shy and tall, shook Ellen’s hand, blushing. “The table’s too small or we’d set it proper.” He went to lean on the wall where he watched the other children eat, so that Ellen would see the way he scorned the lot of them. When they finished, Ellen cut the cake. The layers were yellow, and butter-coloring had been stirred into the frosting to make it yellow, too. They sat about in the grass and felt the breeze move.

“Wish you’d come more often, Ellie. I haven’t done a lick today,” Penny said.

Clate was clapping his hands. He tapped his foot, throwing back his curly brown hair. The children were joining in as if it was a thing they did often, gathering close to their mother.

Old Dan Tucker was a fine old man
Whipped his wife with a frying pan
Combed his head with the wagon wheels
Died with a toothache in his heel

Penny asked about Ellen’s goats. “How are they faring with you out working?”

“Pa butchered them.” She let Penny think it was done with her consent. “I miss them.”

“Now we got a kid at the barn, Ellie, for Simon. It’s Little Tiny’s. You tell Simon it belongs to him because he used to milk Old Tiny for me.”

“Simon’ll be proud, Penny.”

It was shortly after two when Ellen heard the truck’s noisy motor. Her breath caught. There he was. He drove up the lane and parked. He called, genial, as he came up, “Hello, Mrs. Dougherty. I know your husband. I’ve talked to him over at Webster’s.”

Penny held her hand out in welcome. “Howdy.”

“Come see my sheep.” High bleats were audible from the truck bed. Blossom brought Ernie out, lifting him to see the beasts with sawdust caught in the gray wool. “I bought a ram and three ewes. They’ll be breeding this fall.”

“Dog. Dog,” babbled the child.

“Now you two come again,” Penny was saying as Ellen and Dan got into the truck.

“There’ll be no holding Simon when he hears about that kid. Goodbye, Blossom.” She waved to the little boy, “Bye now, Ernie.”

“Dog.”

Penny laughed, “He’s a case.”

The cake tin was rattling on the floor. Ellen smoothed her rumpled skirt. “That Penny. I ne’er knew a body like her.”

“Got her hands full with that gang.”

“She lost two. One was a little girl I saw a few years back. A pretty one.”

“That’s no way to live. But you ask that kind of a woman. They’ll pick it again if you give them a choice.”

“That’s how some women are.”

“I suppose. You ought to know.” He was laughing at her. “Me, I like things under control.”

“You sure are acting braggy today.”

He flushed, reaching for her shoulder and pulling her beside him. “Hello.”

“Did you see Star?”

“No, I didn’t.” His hard fingers were within her dress on the tender underarm.

“Dan?” The April air was suggesting lilacs unsealing, tight dark purple buds becoming a feathery lavender, the vague pressing fragrance was turning Ellen back into the past. She was riding home in the Ford pickup from the circus, she was sixteen. She stirred now.

“What is it?”

There had been a pair of baby shoes dangling from the dashboard. It was hot in a late afternoon. The birds were still. Christian Ay was saying, “Want me to stop along the way?” It was long past, it was a dream. But the world had been new and fresh. Like today.

Then it was Dan again. He was turning off the highway onto a lane bordered by a grove of horse chestnuts. “Now then.” He was braking the truck on the grass sward beside the trees. He opened the door on his side. “Come on,” he was shouting.

They ran into the shade, under the low branches, where the grass was sun-speckled. Ellen was crying, “Smell the air.”

He was drawing her down beside him. She saw blue innocence flowers in the moist grass amid wood sorrel. He was touching his hand on her face, her hair. His eyes were greenish in the shaded light. His flat thin mouth was demanding. His fingers were large and rough and at once tender. She felt them quiver. “Ellen?”

“I’m afraid.”

“Don’t be.” And he was unskillful for Ellen had lived lonely all of her days.

Her head was on his arm, tears flowing from somewhere.

“I really didn’t know, Ellen.” They stayed there a long time. She had fallen asleep. The shadows in the chestnut branches spreading made a network. The blue was far beyond. The small flowers were bowing to the breeze, a catbird started to warble, harsh, very clear, twitching its tail. After a while another bird called back from afar. Dan was waking her. “It’s nearly four. My arm’s asleep. I was afraid I’d disturb you.”

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

The lambs bleated from the bed of the truck. “Yes, you were.”

“All right.”

“Are you pleased?”

“We had better go.”

“We will in a minute.”

“You were ugly this morning.”

“I’m trying to show you how sorry I am. What do you think that was all about?” He was grinning.

She ran from him to the truck. He came after and swung open the door for her. He made up a cigarette while she waited; he tapped the Bull Durham pouch, pulled the drawstring with his teeth. Then they were driving homeward. She leaned into his arm until they nearly reached the Wasilewski house. She had picked a horse chestnut leaf, and showed him the print of a hoof where the leaf was torn from the twig that held it; even the horseshoe nails were there, five of them. She twirled the leaf in her fingers. She sighed, smiling at him, already regretting the incident in the grove. And him plighted to Star Webster.

24

In the morning Adele was urging her daughters through breakfast so they would be ready for church on time. Simon cried, “Wish I had my kid here, Ma. I’m naming it April for it was born this month.”

“I’ll stay at home today, Adele,” Mom said. “I want to ready up the fruit cellar. We’ll be canning before we know it. Applesauce and berries.”

The little girls clamored, “Pleathe. Let us stay too, and play with Thimon.”

“Well, I’m going,” Dennie said. “We’re hearing about that Goliath.”

“Girls,” said Adele, “I’m surprised you don’t want to hear that story too.”

“Wish April was here,” Simon was saying, “trailing after me.”

“Star’s coming for supper tonight,” said Mom.

“I forgot that.” Dan rubbed the blemish that colored the taut flesh of his cheek.

“Be nice to see Star again,” said Adele. “When was she here last?”

“Let’s see,” said Pop. “It was snowing, wasn’t it?”

“Did you meet her, Ellen?” asked Adele.

“No.” Ellen felt the hot flush creep over her face.

“Then it must have been before the thaw, Pop,” Sudduth said. “Because right after that Ellen came.”

“You’re wearing your hair a new way, Ellen,” Mom said. “It’s very nice. Soft like that around your face. You used to pin it so tight.”

Ellen hastily brushed the loose strands back. “Reckon I did.” She could sense Mom’s piercing eyes.

The men went out; Adele and the children drove to church. Ellen was working in the kitchen. She was preparing peach cobblers for dinner that night. Mason jars of peach halves glistened bright orange in the sun-shot window. While she was mixing the dough with her fingers, Mom came in, carrying a heavy book. “Have you ever seen a Polish Bible, Ellen?” Mom laid it on the table and turned to the record of family dates on the first page.

Ellen knew the woman had brought it in for a purpose. “I’ve heard that some keep their Bibles like that, Mom. Though our family ne’er did with ours.” She put her hand swiftly to her hair leaving a drift of flour.

Mom pointed to the list. “Pop’s mother brought it over from Poland. We can’t any of us read Polish, but it’s been in his family so we write everything in it.”

There were different hands, some with foreign characters, hard to decipher. The latest entry read, “Hannah Wasilewski. July 6, 1932.” Higher on the list Ellen could see in faded green ink, “Daniel Matthew Wasilewski. May 10, 1895.”

“See, there’s Sudduth’s wedding to Adele.” Mom was putting a broad finger on it. “That was clean before the depression. Now Star and Dan’ll be setting their date. It’ll say, Daniel Wasilewski took Star Webster in marriage. October first, maybe. This year.”

“That’s a fine book there.” Ellen said it coolly. I was born in 1909. That makes him fourteen years older. He’s forty-one. She felt languid because of her love. She was smiling at Mom, gray eyes narrow, hiding the secret anger.

“We know Dan’s making a good marriage, Ellen.” Mom’s cheeks were red.

“That Mr. Webster’s a rich man.”

“Look, Star suits Dan.” Mom spoke crisp. “My son loves her.”

“Reckon two cobblers’ll be enough for tonight, Mom? With company coming?”

“Better make three.” The older woman was going to put the Bible back on its shelf; her heavy body moved stolid, with decision. Ellen watched her go.

When she and Dan had come back last night from Penny’s, Dan had changed his clothes and gone directly to the barn. After supper he hurried out again with Sudduth to set up a pen for the new sheep. The two men returned at dusk, stood in the kitchen awhile talking before they went to bed. Dan paid no heed to Ellen. The yellow cat purred and mewled now about her feet while she rolled the dough deftly, fitted it into the pie tins. She thought how she disliked Mom. The woman’s hostility was palpable. She was calling out as her steps were heard descending, “I’ll be in the fruit cellar, Ellen. When you finish, come and help. We’ve got to get this straightening done if it is Sunday.”

“I will.” In a swift flood Ellen was homesick for the old kitchen in the yellow house. For Frankie and Maria nearby, the boiler steaming on the range, Jack waiting in the bushes by the porch. The goats in fresh straw in the woodshed. And her in the garden rows, singing “Down in the Valley.” Here the customs were foreign, even their manners and speech differed from what she had known. The old people had been born in a land across the water, brought their alien habits with them. They bathed in a separate room where a white tub stood on ornate legs. Everyone had his own towel, and when he bathed he would hang it on the line in the sun, even Hannah. Ellen would see Dan pinning his in the evenings, casually, pausing to light a cigarette before returning to the house. It would seem to her as if he performed a woman’s task, as if it were too clean. When she first came to this household and rolled pie crusts, Mom had showed her how the edges of the dough must be crimped by twisting the thumbs in a particular way. And when they went to kill a chicken, they laid a broomstick across its neck and yanked the legs sharply so the head was pulled off. She poured the fragrant peach halves into the pans. At first I couldn’t get over their merry ways. But there’s Adele who tried to keep from having her baby. Sudduth’s jealous of his brother. And Mom’s bent on managing them all. Dan will bring Star Webster here just like she says. They’ll write it in that Bible. Wish I could be away tonight. I don’t want to see that girl. Ellen was crimping the edges of the pies skillfully and sliding them into the oven. The yellow cat bounded after, and she caught it in her arms as she went down the cellar steps.

* * * * *

The lilacs on the north side of the house, outside the dining room windows, were opening their buds in the afternoon. The perfume was drifting through the house. Ellen fried the chickens while Mom helped Adele dress the girls and straighten the rooms. Ellen was setting the table, spreading first the linen cloth, cream-colored with age. She took out crystal that stood in the sideboard and heavy-plated silver, placed it as Mom had directed, the knife and spoon on the right side with blade turned to the plate, the fork on the left. Simon came in. “Who’s Star Webster?”

“She’s a friend of theirs, Simon.”

“Dennie says she’s Dan’s sweetheart.”

Ellen was laying small butter knives in front of the plates. “Well.”

“That’s fancy there, Ma. The way you’re doing.” Simon was grown so his head came above Ellen’s shoulder. He was over ten now.

She put goblets at the knife tips and turned to him. “You eat proper. No swooshing your food with a biscuit. Mind, now. And the fork goes in the right hand.”

“I’ll most likely fall o’er backwards in my chair.”

“Watch Dennie and do like he does. You’re twice his size and half as mannerly. And be quiet too.”

“I don’t care for all this.”

“Put on that new shirt I made.” She went to the kitchen. “Now go on. The queen’ll be here before we know it.”

The clock read seven when they drove up. Ellen paused to look out the window. Dan had changed into his brown suit, wore a bright striped tie. He was taking Star’s hand as she stepped down from the truck cab. Star Webster was just nineteen. Her small form was sheathed in a white dress, she wore white shoes and gloves and a wide-brimmed white hat. Her hair fluffed out, her arms were untanned. Adele said Star put stockings on her arms when she went to pick berries to keep the sun from them, and a sunbonnet to protect her face and neck. She was laughing up at Dan. He had said she was exciting. She was afraid of the dark. He liked that. Maybe she leans on him, helpless. A man doesn’t like a woman strong.

The potatoes steamed as they boiled over, and Ellen turned hastily to them. Mom and Adele came in, fastening on starched print aprons. Mom wore her new black rayon dress, a cameo gold brooch at the neckline. Adele’s dark green suit made her round face sallow. The little girls followed. “Thay, Ellen. Look at us.” They twirled pink and blue dresses before her.

“You sure sew pretty, Adele,” Ellen said.

“A little starch will do wonders with that cheap voile.” Adele was modest. “Now you girls go say hello to Star.” They ran, whispering and nudging.

The women beat potatoes with a wood masher, lifted browned chicken onto the huge white platter, and broke ice cubes into a water pitcher. The family was coming in from the living room, Star holding to Dan’s arm. Sudduth was complaining, “Sunday’s a workday like every other around here, Star. When my house is built, I’m going to church with Adele and the girls. That’ll give me a day off.”

Pop shuffled after them, pulling his beard. “Hee. That’s one way to do it.”

“This is our girl, Ellen,” Mom said to the guest, “and that’s Simon.”

“Hello there,” said Star. “Oh Mom, what a lovely table. You always set it so pretty.”

“You sit over here, Dan,” Mom said.

“I’ll sit where I usually do.” He was smiling stiffly.

“Well, Star, you take the chair by him.”

Dennie said grace. “God is great, God is good, bless us for our daily food.”

Grace shouted, “Zaccheus he. Did climb a tree. Our Lord to thee.”

“That’s enough,” threatened Sudduth.

They were pressing extra morsels on the girl in white. “Have some watermelon pickles,” Mom said. “Land o’ Goshen, it was two years ago we put them up.”

“I got thick on them,” Hannah lisped, “on my new thpring coat.”

“Hannah,” Pop shouted.

“You’re always saying speak up,” Dan reminded him, “so you ought to let her alone.”

“That’s right.” Pop clattered his knife. “Speak up.”

“And it won’t come out of the coat, neither,” Grace said shyly.

“Girls,” Mom cried.

“Jesus, my back hurts.” Sudduth fidgeted in his chair.

Dan and Star were sitting near Mom at one end of the table. Star would turn her face sidewise, appealing, “Don’t you agree, Dannie?”

Sudduth was saying, “I’m trying to buy a piece of our neighbor’s land, Star. Near where my house’ll be. If I get it, this farm’ll total a hundred and ten acres.”

“That’s a lot,” Star’s fork was poised, “don’t you think, Dannie?”

“It’s Sudduth’s twenty acres,” Dan said, without looking at her.

“Oh.” Her mouth was round and pink. She set the fork down, the food untouched, put her napkin to her lips. “Did you fry the chicken, miss?” she asked Ellen. “It’s delicious. Isn’t it, Dannie?” The lilac scent was floating through the open window behind her.

“Yes, I did.” Ellen was blushing, resentment like a knot in her chest.

“Her name’s Ellen, Star,” Dan said, “you just met her.”

“You think I’ll ever make chicken like this, Dannie?” The girl’s laughter was the bright tinkle of a bell. “Will you teach me, Ellen?”

Mom said, “Oh, you’ll catch on easy enough.”

“Why should she teach you?” Dan’s voice was deliberate, matter-of-fact.

“Oh, I never cooked a chicken.”

“Well, why her? Your mama can teach you.” He laughed, abrupt.

“Dannie. Don’t fuss.” The white dress was cut in a square neckline. Her eyes bloomed innocent.

“No, I want to know. Why?” His underlip was jutting out, his smile had set. The mark on his cheek was dark, and his palms were on the table where he leaned.

“Dan. Star’s our company. Land.” Mom reproved him, fingering the brooch at her breast.

“Now there,” Pop cried, and the children, sensing the tenseness of their elders, looked from one to another.

“Well? Can’t you answer?”

Star’s little mouth quivered. “I’ll ask Mama to.”

“Dan, will you behave? He doesn’t mean it, Star.” Mom shook her head. “Ellen, run get the dessert. You want to help them clear, Star?”

“Oh, I do.” The girl took up her plate and Dan’s.

Adele shoved her chair back so it squeaked, and Ellen noted that she pinched Sudduth’s shoulder as she passed him. This is one of those times Adele’s glad she’s got Sudduth. Ellen was moving rapidly, clearing dishes and brushing the crumbs. She cut the pies and brought them in silver holders to set before Mom. She went into the kitchen, and while cobbler wedges were passed down on small china dishes, Ellen was filling the flowered white cups with coffee and carrying them around.

“I love this pattern.” Mom appraised her cup. “It’s Wreaths of Roses. And the set’s complete like the day I got it. I’ve held on to it. Even through the bad years. And not a one’s been broken.”

Ellen set Dan’s coffee by him. He looked up, his eyes flinty, his thin mouth cruel. He doesn’t even see me. He muttered, “Now serve proper from the right, Ellen. And take care with Mom’s china.”

“We bought them in nineteen ten,” Mom went on, ignoring him, “I remember just as clear.”

“Can we have more pie?” Dennie asked.

“They’re awful pretty, you know?” Star admired her cup.

“More, more,” the children were shouting. “Pleathe.”

“You weren’t even born yet, Star,” Mom said.

“All you can hold,” Pop decided. “Fill those kids up.”

They were pushing back their chairs. Sudduth lit a cigar and Pop took one, too. Simon groaned, holding his stomach, “Oh, this is heaven.”

“Simon, you mind what I said,” Ellen warned. She was piling the cups and saucers, carrying them out.

“Why don’t you roll one, Uncle Dan?” Dennie inquired gravely.

“No thanks,” Dan told him.

“Go on into the living room, all of you,” Mom said. “We girls will be done in a jiffy. Go on, Star.”

“It was just lovely, Mom.” Star hugged her about the waist. “And that peach pie was delicious.”

“I don’t know what gets into him,” Mom whispered, “but don’t pay him any mind. He was just hungry.”

“Dannie’s a grouch.” Star ran out lightly.

When they had nearly finished in the kitchen, as Ellen was saying, “Do go along, Mom. Adele and me’ll redd up the rest,” they heard the truck roar, saw it spinning down the driveway in the light of dusk.

“There,” Mom said. “I’m mortified. I thought we were going to sit and talk. Dan was going to play for us, and Star could sing.”

“Well,” said Adele, “I was shocked. Treating a guest like that.” Mom stepped into the other room to replace the shining goblets, and Adele said softly, “That was a fine example to set for young children.”

“He was really raising sand,” Ellen admitted.

“Dan can’t bear it that she’s so useless, Ellen. You know Websters have a maid. Lord knows when she gets up of a morning.”

“I know. You already told me.”

“I’ll be glad,” Adele said brightly to Mom as she entered, “to have our house finished. And I’ll have this baby in October.”

The family trooped out to stand looking at the blooming lilacs. The children scuffled with each other without purpose. After a while as dark drifted, they all went in. Mom pressed her hands on the piano keys, discordant. She prodded Dennie, “Can’t you play a piece, Dennie? You know some.”

“I’m tired.” The boy’s eyes were heavy.

“I could put a record on the victrola, Mom,” Adele suggested.

“No.” Mom was walking to the windows, looking into the shadowed yard.

“What’s everyone waiting for?” Simon inquired sleepily.

Mom sighed. “Let’s go to bed.”

Ellen followed the others upstairs, avoiding any intrusion on her thoughts. She undressed, turned off the light. Sounds died in the house, all was still. She was sitting on the wide window sill. The lilac odor wafted up, her feet were cold. She felt the constriction in her throat, wondered if she would cry soon. She imagined Star lying dead somewhere. Mutilated. What a small baby she is. But Star’s white beauty came back, the immaculate dress and gloves, the big hat she swung in her hand, dainty, laughing, tipping her head up at Dan. She’ll make him forget me. The night hours, weighted, were passing. The silence was marred occasionally by a creaking rafter or a settling floor beam. In a distant meadow the whistle of a whippoorwill was echoing. It was nearly three when he returned. The boards of the rack on the truck rattled and slammed. The gravel crunched. The kitchen door clattered. His tread sounded on the stairs, it stopped outside her doorway. She held her breath until the steps went on down the hall.

She was awake before dawn, in the cellar sorting clothes into ragged heaps. The wash boiler steamed on the range. She dropped clothes into the chugging electric machine, and let them beat while she hung those she had run through the automatic wringer. She took up the basket, piled high with white sheets. A narrow stone stairway led outside through sloping double doors. They were open and pallid sun rays crawled into hidden dark corners. She was going up into the sunlight. The grass was wet, an early bluebird darted to a fence wire and clung there, “Purity!” It vanished into the high leaves of the oak. At breakfast her dress was darkened in front from suds and water that had splashed; grass stems were caught between her toes. Her hair was brushed and coiled high. She moved lissome about the kitchen, looking at Dan’s black head bent surly over his food.

“Ellen’s going barefoot,” Grace was crying. “Can I?”

“I only did it,” Ellen explained, “to save my shoes from the wet. You’d catch cold.”

“Ellen’s right,” Adele agreed.

“When I’m growed, I’ll do it,” Hannah said.

“I’ll warm the tractor up, Sudduth.” Dan spoke brusque, grease streaked on his browned arms and neck. “We’ll grind cobs as soon as you’re ready.” He was rushing out. Ellen saw him from the window. He had stopped under the oak to light his cigarette, glancing at the clothes strung on the line. She wondered if he saw the freshness of the grass or heard the bird.

* * * * *

A week had gone. Ellen was grubbing on her knees in the flower beds along the side of the house. During the days the strain between Dan and Mom had been clear to the others. Dan refused to play the piano, Mom sat mending, her mouth unhappy. Only Sudduth was more talkative in the evenings; he would engage Pop and Adele in long good-natured arguments. Ellen was digging into the dirt now, vigorous. Mom’s voice came shrill from one of the windows above. Ellen held her trowel motionless. “But she expects you to. Star loves you.” Dan’s voice muttered and Mom was shouting again, “Who do you want then? That hill-woman? What’s the matter with you, Dan?”

“Shut up, Mom. Will you?”

“You’ve got a chance here of a marriage that’s the best in the county. Land. You ought to get on your knees and thank God a family like Websters took up with poor Polacks like us.”

“Dammit, you forget we’ve got some of the best black soil there is. That’s better than money in a bank. A family like Websters. You sound like some cockeyed book. Now look, I told Star we’re finished. She’s got it through her head. That’s the last I’m going to hear about it in this house. It’s none of your business.”

“Oh, it’s not?”

“No, dammit.”

“It’s that hill-woman.”

“Will you stop calling her that hill-woman like she’s a tramp and not decent?”

The sawed-off hoe was poised in Ellen’s hand. A door slammed. Later when Mom came to see how her work was coming on, there was no sign of the quarrel in her voice. “You think it’s too shady here for asters, Ellen?” The skin was tight around Mom’s eyes and her lips curved downwards.

“Marigolds might do better,” Ellen suggested. And when she met Dan, as she was coming from the hen house with a basket of eggs, she sought his eyes. He frowned, feeling her gaze. “Hell, I’ve got the milking.” He strode away. She was walking back to the house, thoughtful.

The lilacs that night, on the wane after their peak, were spilling forth a dulcet fragrance. In a few days they would be gone, withered. Ellen was seated in the long window of her room, studying the sky. There was a quarter moon, it was near midnight. She was restless and sighed on the shadows. All at once a red point came and went in the dark under one of the oaks in the yard. She raised her head quickly, seeing it. Her mind explored it. The figure had been there all the time, outlined vaguely against the trunk. As she watched it, her blood began to beat dully into the lilac scent. Then she was slipping into a dress swiftly and closing her room door. She went down the stairs one at a time, and lingered. At the kitchen door she turned around, hesitant, trembling. But then she was going out, languorous, into the night.

He still leaned unmoving, against the oak. His features were dissolved into the dark moonlight. She smelled the burning tobacco, saw the scarlet coal. “Hi, Ellen.”

She whispered, “What is it, Dan?” Pausing, she had blended to the night, a part of the grass, pliant.

He shifted sharply and threw aside the stub, moved away from the tree hole. She went unerring into his lean arms. In a little while he was putting his hands in her hair that was nearly without color, bluish in the light of the small piece of moon. “Always I’ve been waiting for you, Ellen.”

She looked at the crag of his nose, the etched bold face. “There. You’re like a hawk. I love you.”

“Half made, half a man. Waiting for you. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“No, you don’t. You’re a woman. You don’t understand at all.”

“Well.”

“You’re what I need. You make me complete. I want to do all things for you.” He was poised above her.

“I know.”

25

The square dances at Silvers Farm were held every year before the main hay crop was gathered. Dan and Ellen, Sudduth and Adele, were going together in the old Dodge. Ellen was in the front seat close against Dan. Adele was saying, “We used to go to Silvers when Sudduth was courting me.”

“Time sure flies,” Sudduth said.

“Are you positive I don’t show too much, Sudduth? To go to a public place? What do you think, Ellen? You know how girls can be. They’ll all be saying, is it September, October or November.”

“You look real nice, Adele.”

When they had pulled out of the Wasilewski drive, the children had shouted goodbye, Pop went to count the roses the damask bush had borne this year, and Mom called, “You young folks enjoy yourself.”

Mom was resigned to Dan’s rupture with Star but where she had once been warm and friendly toward Ellen, a coldness was now in her air. Where she had used to gossip freely, she was constrained. Ellen would try to please her, to think ahead, doing the tasks before Mom could assign them. “But I already picked the bush beans this morning, Mom. There’s near a bushel. I reckoned you’d want it done.” And all the time there was joy because of Dan. He would come to where she was scrubbing the baby chick brooders or polishing windows, seeking her out when he was free. “Oh, this is a woman I’ve found.”

At the Silvers barn the first cutting of hay was stacked at one end of the loft, its honey permeating the air. Wire cables had been stretched from automobiles and tractors below, and from them colored lights were strung along the rafters, and paper lanterns. On a platform near the door a fiddler and a banjo-player were busy. “Sometimes,” Dan told Ellen, “he’ll take steel knitting needles to those banjo strings.”

“All he ever does,” said Sudduth, “is play that banjo.”

“Pigeon wing,” Mr. Silvers called, his fleshy face in a sweat, his barrel stomach shaking with covert laughter.

I had an old hat with a flop down brim
It looked like a toad frog
Setting on a limb

“Double shuffle,” he was roaring.

“I told you I can’t dance, Dan,” Ellen protested. “Pa’d ne’er let us go.”

“I’ll show you.”

Adele went to talk with her friends and Sudduth merged into a group of men. “Any borers in your corn yet, Wasilewski?”

“A few.”

“My cow throwed twins.”

“God damn. Better look if one’s a freemartin.”

“Wrenched my back in the spring.” Sudduth put his hand on it.

“Tarred my corn this time. Crows got pesky.”

“Sounds gummy.”

“No. Roll in it wood ashes.”

“God damn. Where’d you hear that?”

“County agent.”

“God-damn bull-shitter.”

“No crows.”

“Um.”

And the women were questioning Adele avidly, “Who’s that with Dan?”

“Why that’s our girl, Ellen.”

“Never saw her before. Is she from around here?”

“She’s from Kentucky.”

“Thought Dan was courting the Webster girl. I was looking forward to seeing them. They made a cute couple.”

“Star’s real sweet.”

“What happened with Star, Adele? You can tell us.”

“He simply broke off with her. I don’t know.”

“Now, Adele, we know how these things can be.”

“Why’d Dan bring your hired girl?”

“She was there. Maybe he felt sorry for her.”

“She’s good-looking, Adele.”

“Right young, too.”

“She’s not as young as she looks,” Adele pleaded. “Told me she was thirty.” Ellen had said twenty-seven, but thirty slipped out against Adele’s will.

“Now that just shows you what the night will do for a woman.”

“You might have a new sister-in-law one of these days, Adele.”

“Where there’s smoke there’s fire. Now when are you expecting it, Adele? Late September? Does Sudduth want a boy or a girl?”

The floor of the hayloft was dusted with chaff. The people were spinning in the pattern of the dance.

Oh five times five are twenty five
And six times five are thirty
Seven times five are thirty five
And eight times five are forty

Ellen was handed from one partner to the next. There were spindly angular boys caught by the music, feet tapping and shoulders springing in an extra beat. There were jovial men, worried ones, dumpy ones, old and young. Dan was across the floor, his dark face above the red shirt bending taut to a girl with curly hair. Jealousy touched in Ellen so she flinched, laughing up to her partner. Then when Dan came by, following the step, he whispered, “You’re having such a good time I’ll have to kill all your partners, honey.” And the roiling had vanished. Dan belonged to her.