Let me just say this,” Doctor MacNeill said as he wrapped a bandage around Bob’s arm. “You’re a very lucky man that Curtis and John and Margaret came to your aid.”
Bob gave a terse nod. The Allen family was gathered by his bedside—all except Granny, who was sitting in her rocker, watching the proceedings. The Washingtons—John, Curtis, Margaret, and Hannah—stood by the door. Louise had stayed home with the baby.
Christy patted John’s shoulder. “You saved his life, John, you and your family. I’m so proud of you.”
“We come ’cause Hannah begged us to,” John muttered. “That’s the only reason.”
“It must not have been easy, pulling his arm free,” Doctor MacNeill said.
“Pa stuck a log in the gears to make ’em stop,” Hannah explained. “Then everybody just yanked and yanked. For a thin man, Mr. Allen, you shore do weigh a heap.”
Her remark was met with tense laughter.
“You’re going to have to think about getting some help at the mill, Bob.” Doctor MacNeill cut another length of bandage. “You can’t be losing consciousness that way.”
“Boys’ll help me. Rob, Festus, Creed. They’s old enough.”
“But their schooling—” Christy protested.
“Schoolin’ ain’t nothin’, compared to the mill,” Bob said.
“Well,” Curtis said abruptly, “we’d best be goin’.”
“I . . .” Mary hesitated, glancing at Bob. “I want to thank you kindly for helpin’. You bound up his wound right proper, Margaret.”
“She certainly did,” the doctor said. “Bob would have bled to death without her.”
“Had some practice not long ago,” Margaret said sharply.
All eyes turned to the bandage on John’s arm. Nobody spoke.
“Bob,” Granny said sharply, “ain’t there somethin’ you want to be sayin’?”
Bob winced as Doctor MacNeill tied his bandage into place. “I said all I want to say.”
“Ain’t surprised,” Curtis said. “Wouldn’t ’spect no more from the likes of you.” He strode over to Bob’s bedside. “That horse o’ yours. It’s just like the one Hannah saw when John was shot. Now, I ain’t sayin’ for sure you shot my boy, ’cause I don’t know. But if I ever catch you near my place with a gun in your hand, you’ll be dead before you know what hit you.”
The Washingtons filed out the door. Della May ran to the doorway. Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder at her father. “Bye, Hannah,” she called softly. “Thank you.”
“What’s got into you, gal?” Bob shouted as soon as Della May shut the door. “What did I tell you about goin’ near them folks?”
“Bob,” Christy said, “those people just saved your life.”
“I’ve just about had my fill with your meddlin’, Miz Christy,” Bob said, falling back against his pillow.
“Bob!” Mary cried. “Miz Christy and the doc are just tryin’ to help you.”
The doctor closed his bag. “I think we’re just about done here, anyway, Mary,” he said with barely concealed disgust. “You remember to change that bandage like I showed you.”
“I will, Doctor.”
“Before we go,” Christy said, “we were wondering if we could have a word with you, Granny. It’s about the Washingtons.”
Granny narrowed her eyes. “I’m afeared I didn’t hear you.”
Christy smiled. She knew Granny had a way of not hearing when it was convenient.
Christy picked up the needlepoint she’d seen the other day. “This is some fine needlework, Granny. I was wondering why you didn’t sign your name to it.”
Granny shrugged. “No room, I reckon.”
“But you had room to stitch a pretty little bluebird.”
Granny yanked the needlepoint out of Christy’s hand. “That’s from another time, gal. Don’t you be a-pesterin’ me about such things.”
“It’s interesting,” Christy continued, “because when I was looking at the Washingtons’ family Bible, I saw an unusual signature. The woman’s name was ‘Birdy.’”
Granny studied the needlepoint, head lowered, ignoring Christy.
“Did you have a nickname as a child, Granny?” Christy asked.
“Can’t hear you, child.”
“‘Birdy,’ wasn’t it?” the doctor said loudly.
“Pshaw.” Granny waved him away. “Talkin’ nonsense, the both of you. Crazy as March hares.”
“I know it was Birdy,” the doctor continued, “because I can remember my own grandma saying it. When Christy mentioned it today, it all came back to me.”
“You’re not sayin’ that Granny is the woman . . .” Mary gasped. “The woman Mary Washington was speakin’ of at Bible study?”
“What in tarnation are you fools cacklin’ about?” Bob demanded from his bed.
“Tell him, Granny,” Christy urged gently. “Tell him what that young woman nicknamed Birdy did.”
Granny just stared at the needlepoint in her lap, running her gnarled fingers over the needlework.
“Would somebody please tell me what all this nonsense is about?” Bob cried.
“Miz Christy’s sayin’ that Granny helped save one of the Washingtons’ kin, Bob,” Mary said. She was staring at Granny with a bewildered look. “A . . . a slave. Before the war. A long time ago.”
“Long time,” Granny whispered.
“It’s true, isn’t it, Granny?” Christy said.
Granny looked up at Christy. Her eyes were damp. She shook her head slightly.
“You can’t squeeze milk out of a rock, Miz Christy,” Bob said defiantly. “And you can’t make what ain’t true a fact. Why, Granny’s the one who was all in a tizzy when she heard the Washingtons were movin’ in! You got your stories all backward. But then,” he added bitterly, “you got a lot o’ things backward lately.”
Doctor MacNeill knelt beside Granny. He took her hand and held it gently. “Granny,” he said softly, “my own granny often spoke of you with such respect. She used to say you were tough as a laurel burl and braver than any man. Now, at last, I think I understand what she meant. I know you were afraid to admit it before. But now’s the time. Tell them, Granny. Tell them what you did. Maybe it will help heal the wounds in this place. Maybe it’s not too late to change things.”
Della May put her arm around her great-grandmother’s frail back. “Is it true, Granny? Is it true what the doctor is sayin’?”
Granny gave a resigned, faraway smile. “I can’t hear you, child,” she whispered.