My ankle was broke in two spots, and it took more than a hundred stitches to sew up the cut on my leg. Even so, Doc Taylor at Carolwood County Hospital where Murphy took me said I could go home in a couple of days. Verna came and got Grace Annie. She wasn’t hurt, just hungry and wet, with a bad case of diaper rash that she’d never had before. Just the same, this woman came in and started asking questions like she was being neglected on a regular basis.
“My name is Evelyn Mackey,” she said. “I’m with Hicks County Family and Children Services. I need to ask you some questions.”
She had a brown wooden clipboard with a stack of papers attached and a face like a pickled beet.
“What for?” I asked.
“There appears to be some concern over the care and treatment of your child.”
“There must be some mistake about that, ma’am.” I said. “She gets the best of care. Of that I can assure you.”
“That’s what I’m here to determine. According to my records—”
“What record is that?” I asked. She turned over the top page on her clipboard and pursed her lips tight, cleared her throat, and give me a look like I was irritating her.
“This report we received—”
“Report? What report?”
“Miss Jenkins, I’m afraid—”
“It’s Mrs. Jenkins—”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s Mrs. Jenkins. I’m married, proper-like and everything.”
“Mrs. Jenkins, as I was saying,” she said and flipped the top page on her clipboard back into place. “I’m not at liberty to divulge our sources.”
“Well, just tell me what this report is about, then,” I said. “Can you at least do that?” I said and pursed my lips together. My ankle was throbbing under the cast, and the stitches running up my leg were burning something awful. I was miserable and in need of another shot for the pain, and this woman was starting to get on my nerves.
“I am here, young lady, to determine the best placement for the care and treatment of one Grace Annie Jenkins, age…” she flipped through the top pages on her clipboard again, “seven months.”
“Placement? What are you talking about? Her place is with me!”
“There has been a report of neglect…indications child has been left unattended for a matter of hours…said child left to lie in her own excrement—” Ms. Mackey was reading from her chart.
“Excrement? What are you talking about?”
“The child has a severe diaper rash infection, her vocal cords are inflamed and—”
“Miss Mackey,” I said. “I had an accident. I was stuck on the chicken coop. I didn’t deliberately leave my baby—”
“So, you are not disputing the facts presented that you left the child unattended?” Miss Mackey was scribbling notes on her chart without letting me explain.
“I went out to fix the hole in the roof of the chicken coop, and I was coming back in after I finished and then I—”
“Thank you, Mrs. Jenkins. That will be all for now,” she said.
“Miss Mackey,” I called out as she was leaving the room. “What’d you write down on that clipboard? Don’t I get a copy of that thing?”
I heard her heels clicking all the way down the hall. By the time I got out of the bed, got to the crutches the nurse left for me in case I had to use the bathroom, and made my way to the door, she was gone. Later when Doc Taylor came to check on me, I told him about what she said.
“Just a formality, Adie,” he said. “Family Service always pokes around when we have a child that needs attention.”
“She said she was here to do a placement or something on Grace Annie,” I said.
“Now don’t you be worrying yourself on that,” he said. “She’s just doing her job. She’ll fill out the paperwork, pick up a copy of my examination, and that will be the end of it, okay?”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure as I can be,” he said.
“But she said they had some kind of report about neglect!” I said. “What about that?”
“Don’t know anything about that,” he said. “You must have misunderstood her. You just rest, now. I’m going to let you go home in the morning.”
He was good on his word, too. I had to sign papers in the morning saying I’d make payments on the hospital bill, and then I was released. Murphy came to get us since Mr. Fletcher had Buck working double shifts during inventory.
“I sure want to thank you for what you did for Grace and me,” I told Murphy.
“You’ll have to thank Worry for that,” he said. “He was jumpier than a flea on a hot skillet that night. Kept whining and pawing at the door. I finally went outside to take a look around. Noticed there weren’t any lights on at your place. Seemed kind of strange, so I come over to check on you.”
“It was our good fortune you did, Murphy,” I said. “And I won’t ever forget it.”
“Told you I was a right nice fella,” he said.
“Guess Margaret Mary’s figured that out, too,” I said. “Willa Mae said you been seeing her right regular,” I teased him.
“She did now, huh?” he said.
“Yup. You two a couple now or what?”
Murphy shrugged his shoulders. “She’s a real fine person, Adie. But I think she’s counting on too much from me, if you know what I mean.”
“You mean, you still don’t fancy yourself settling down, having a family,” I said.
“Reckon not,” he said.
“Why not? Seems like the natural order of things.”
“Can’t,” he said.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t,” he said. “One I want’s taken.” And he winked. I thought I saw that funny little spark in his eyes again, and then it was gone.
I went home and hobbled around best I could. Murphy came over each morning at the crack of dawn and took care of my chickens, which irritated Buck to no end.
“You’re more than welcome to do it,” I told him. He rolled over and put the covers back over his head.
I had time to curl up with Tempe’s journal. Now that Grace was all right and I was gonna be fine, it was kinda nice being an invalid. I got to stay in bed and read.
• • •
• • •
Someone was knocking at my door. I tucked the journal aside and hobbled over to see who it was. Couldn’t be Willa Mae; she was still at Tybee Island.
“Be right there!” I called, and hobbled over on my crutches. I spotted Margaret Mary through the screen door. She had on a yellow cotton sundress. It looked like the one I’d seen in the display down at Mary Ellen’s Fashions, the one I told Buck I’d sure like to have, and he said, “And I’d like to have a rich uncle.”
“Come on in.” I motioned to Margaret Mary and pushed the door open with one hand and leaned on one crutch with the other. “The chicken smell will stick to that pretty new dress you stand there too long.”
She grinned and smoothed the front of her dress.
“You look wonderful, Margaret Mary,” I said, realizing I wasn’t dressed proper for entertaining guests. I had on a pair of baggy pants and one of Buck’s shirts.
Margaret Mary stood proud, tall as me plus a foot. She’d gained some weight—filled out in what Mama would say were all the right places.
“Here,” she said, handing me a basket of fruit. “This is for you.”
“That’s right nice of you, Margaret Mary,” I said. “Me and Buck love fruit. Least I do.”
“I’m real sorry about your accident. Murphy told me all about it,” she said. “You doing okay out here by yourself?”
“Making do, best I can,” I said. “We ain’t got nothing fancy though, just getting started,” I said, embarrassed nothing good was baked even to help mask the air drifting in from the chicken range. “Smell is from the chicken coops,” I explained. “Finds its way in here sometimes.”
“Gotta have chickens,” she said. “Lord made them, too.” I motioned to a spot for us in the kitchen around the table. “Don’t sit too close to the window. If the wind shifts, the hen house odor’s like to knock you over,” I said. She took the chair on the far side of the table.
“You want to see Grace Annie?” I asked. “She’s growing like a little cornstalk.”
“Yes, please,” she said, and we went and peeked in on her in the only other room there was to our place, not counting the toilet spot, which now thankfully worked in case she had to use it. Margaret Mary patted the blanket I’d tucked around Grace real gentle like. The baby didn’t stir from her sleep. Her breathing was soft and even. I noticed a bit of milk resting at the edge of her mouth. Margaret Mary picked up the clean didie tucked at the bottom of her bassinet and dabbed at it. She’d make a fine mama to some lucky baby, no doubt. All of a sudden the thought of who she might be making them with cut hard into my belly and took me by surprise. My face got red.
“You alright?” she said.
“I’m fine,” I stammered, knowing full well I wasn’t. I’d surely fry in hell for the thoughts going through my mind. Murphy’s eyes, his ears, his lips, his hair that stuck up in the middle, even his smell, grabbed me with a force so strong I thought surely he was in the room, ready to carry me off—send me to heights I’d never been to before—and here his maybe bride-to-be was sitting down for coffee, not knowing I was consumed with hunger for her man. I never realized parts of me had been thinking on Murphy like that till then.
Buck had once tried to explain to me about a fire in the blood that built up and made him take leave of his senses. Now, it made sense. It was a fire in the blood. And if it was the kind one couldn’t stop, like Buck said he run into, we were all in big trouble. Everywhere my thoughts glanced, Murphy swirled around them.
“Adie?” Murphy touched my shoulder, and I nearly swooned into the door frame.
“Here, you best come sit down,” he said before I realized it wasn’t Murphy at all. It was Margaret Mary. The spell had passed. I took a deep breath, hoping I was safe. Instead, a powerful fear of what I just discovered welled up in my belly and churned my stomach. I made my way to the toilet and tossed up the perfectly good grits and toast I’d had for breakfast.
“You okay in there?” Margaret Mary called out. “Adie?”
“Be right there,” I said weakly. I wiped my face in the mirror and checked to see if it’d changed. I couldn’t see any difference to speak of, which was amazing, seeing as what had changed inside. I dabbed at my mouth with a cold rag and rinsed the sour taste out of it with a bit of peroxide.
Wherever those feelings came from, put ’em back! You hear? I stared at the reflection in the mirror, hardly knowing her. You already got a husband. You got a baby! What’s wrong with you anyhow? You got no right! You want to rot in hell?
I opened the door and made my way to the kitchen table that wasn’t but a handful of feet away. Still, it was a bit slow going with my crutches.
“You sick?” Margaret Mary said.
“I’m okay,” I lied.
“Not having yourself another little bundle are you?”
“Good heavens, no!” I said and sat down at the table.
Margaret Mary licked her lips and cleared her throat. She smiled and shook her head. Her ponytail danced behind her like a prized mare. She sat up straight, took a deep breath, and let it all out—like she was getting ready to make a speech but forgot what she was supposed to say. I watched as she took another big gulp of air, wondering what her problem was.
“Murphy and me are getting married Saturday—we’ll be neighbors—I thought I better tell you—what do you think of that?” she blurted with out stopping.
“Aaaahhhh…well…it’s…how’d this happen? I mean, y’all make a right nice couple. I just didn’t know—”
“Guess it’ll surprise a lot of folks, happening so soon.” I sat there too shocked to say anything and wobbled my head up and down like a Kewpie doll.
“It’s not really a bride time of the year for a wedding, but—”
“Good a time as any—” I said, not happy for them like I should be and mad at myself for not being.
“Truth be known, it should have been a lot sooner,” she said. “People will be counting on their fingers in a few months. Mama’s having herself a hissy fit,” Margaret Mary said. I turned around to get the coffee pot so she couldn’t see my face.
“You mean you and Murphy are…having…a ba—”
“That’s it in a handbag,” she quipped. “I’ve been too scared to tell anyone. I haven’t had my monthly in going on three months!”
“You want some of this coffee? It’s near fresh,” I said, pouring her a cup whether she wanted one or not, my hand shaking so bad it looked like it had the palsy. Margaret Mary touched my arm to steady it.
“I come here to let you know it’s no secret to me I’m not his first choice,” she said.
“Reckon?” I said, and I finished filling her cup, acting like I had no idea who she might be talking on. “Cream?”
“I’m no fool, Adie,” she said.
I turned and fished in the cabinet drawer for spoons. “They don’t match good, but they’re clean,” I said and passed one to her. I didn’t look her in the face, thinking hers might be glued to mine. “Sugar?” I turned around to fetch it off the counter.
“You hear what I’m saying, Adie Jenkins?” she said, her voice so loud it startled me.
“Doing my darndest not to,” I said and put the sugar on the table. I put two helpings into my coffee and stirred, took a big swallow, and tossed my best smile in her direction. She had the kindest brown eyes. Funny, Murphy said hers were almost like mine. Imagine that? “Her hair is, too,” he said. “Same color.”
“There’s never been anything between Murphy and me, Margaret Mary. And that’s a fact,” I said.
“Oh, I know that. And it’s not like he came right out and said something in particular even,” she said. “It’s just…well…it’s the look he gets when he speaks on you, you know?”
I looked at her, but barely breathed. “So Murphy asked you to marry him when you told him?” I asked.
“It wasn’t like he had much choice,” she said.
“Well, a man needs to own up—”
“Listen, Adie,” Margaret Mary said. “I need to tell you something. I…I want us to be good friends and—”
“Course we will be,” I answered, chewing on my bottom lip like it was an afternoon snack. “We can help each other out, both having little ones and—”
“It wasn’t Murphy, Adie. It was me. I’m the one…I’m the—” Margaret Mary twisted the hankie in her hands. “Fact is, I…I threw myself at him. Caught him in a weak moment. What do you think of me now? You still want to be my friend?”
“I…I—”
“I probably shouldn’t marry a man don’t love me back.”
“Murphy will always do right by you,” I said.
“Right,” she said.
“Who can say what love is anyway?” I said. “It ain’t what we read in books, I can tell you that.”
“I should marry him then, even though he doesn’t—?” she said.
“Be a fool not to.”
“Don’t want to be a fool,” she said.
“Surely not,” I said. “Look where it got me.”
The wind shifted and sent us a good whiff of the chickens. “See what I mean?” I said.
We laughed, and while we did, more chicken smell floated into the room. We laughed again. Two more whiffs and we couldn’t stop. We held our bellies and howled. The more we laughed, the funnier it got. Strips of girl giggles pealed out of our mouths and drifted out the same window the chicken odors floated in through. Tears welled in our eyes and poured down our cheeks. Still we laughed, laughed like we hadn’t had a good one in a very long time, like it might be even longer before we ever did again. The chicken smells kept coming—real or imagined, they poured into the room. My sides ached. Guess hers did, too. I rubbed at mine and she grabbed hold of hers, still we couldn’t stop howling. The screen door squeaked open and Buck walked in. What a fright we gave him. There we sat, two girl hyenas laughing and crying, rocking our bellies, holding our sides, bound forever by coffee and babies and men and chicken shit.