Luci
That afternoon, the creek ran thick with trout. Insects hovered just above the surface, tempting them to rise up from the cold depths with their pointy mouths to snatch their breakfast. Occasionally they jumped, creating a splash and ripple of water, their silver scales sparkling in the sun.
I stood in the water about knee-deep with my skirt pulled up and tucked into the waist of my bloomers. When a fish came near, I attempted to stab it with a stick I’d sharpened into a spear. Some days I’d managed to get one. Today, I’d had no luck. The only reward for my efforts were a sweaty brow and an empty stomach.
“Sadie, I can’t get one.” I wiped my face with the sleeve of my blouse as I trudged out of the water.
Sadie was squatting on a grassy knoll a few feet way. She made a satisfied grunt as she plucked a mushroom from the soft dirt. Because of her fair skin, I always insisted she wear a straw hat to protect her from the dappled sunlight that filtered through the trees. A white-blonde braid hung down her back. “Sister, should I try?” She brushed the mushroom clean, then dropped it into a bowl. This time of year, we found a lot of mushrooms. I worried we’d stumble upon a poisonous one, but Sadie claimed she could smell the difference. So far, she’d been right.
“No, we’ll come back later. Maybe when it’s cooler, more will swim into the shallow parts.” I sat next to her, careful not to sit on any mushrooms, and spread my legs out to dry. Blue sky poked through the lush maples and firs. Blackberries ripened on the bushes a short distance up the creek. When they were ready, Sadie and I would pick as many as we could before the birds took them. Life here was a battle between us and nature. I was a soldier already. Sadie was quickly becoming one.
We both had our strengths. I was calculating and innovative, often able to make the most use of whatever the elements offered. I’d built traps made from tree branches to catch rabbits. When Dax had gifted me with seeds that first spring, he had erected a log fence around the garden to keep out the deer and rabbits, who were quite happy to eat the fruits and vegetables of my labor.
We’d chosen a spot as close to the creek as possible, where the dirt was moister. Also, the closer it was to the creek, the less distance and time it took to haul buckets of water up the slope. However, I’d wanted a sunny spot, so I’d had no choice but to plant the garden in the clearing.
Sadie had a keen sense of smell and taste. She could tell if something was off by the scent. I felt certain she’d saved us from poisoning more than once.
“I need a fishing pole,” I said to Sadie.
What I needed was a fly connected to a hook. I’d heard men talking about fishing the last time I’d gone into town. They’d said the year was particularly good for trout and a man was a fool if he couldn’t catch one.
What about a young woman? Was I a fool? Because I sure couldn’t catch one without a hook.
Last month when Dax had come with tomato starters for my garden, I’d told him about my idea.
“I need a fake fly,” I said. “Attached to a hook and a long string. When they come up to bite, the hook would catch them and I could pull them in.”
We’d been talking at the edge of the chicken coop, watching the chicks peck the ground. No longer the size of my palm, they were about six weeks old and growing fast. My older hens were inside in their nests.
Dax took off his straw hat and slicked his damp hair off his forehead. “Yes indeed. You’re speaking of fly-fishing.”
“It has a name?”
“Been around for centuries. But you need a special kind of line made from silk or horsehair and a bamboo rod. I shouldn’t think we could find them around here. Not that we could afford, anyway.”
But I couldn’t let the idea go. Every time I saw those fish swimming through the stream, I ached with ambition. A few of them needed to be in my frying pan. What if I found a branch or twig similar to a bamboo pole? I could use part of a feather that looked like a bug and tie to the end, then dangle it over the water. But without a hook, how would I catch them? I’d have to think that through later.
“Do you have enough mushrooms?” My legs were dry, so I rose to my feet and let my skirt fall back around my ankles. I didn’t wear boots much in the warm months, saving them for winter. Calluses on the bottoms of my feet were shields against rocks and roots.
“Yes, enough for today.” She scrambled to her feet. “I’ll wash them.”
While she did so, I scooped water into my bucket upstream of where she knelt. “I’ll fry them and a few green tomatoes up with some lard. That’ll have to do for today.” I said this more to myself than Sadie. When she’d been a baby, I’d gotten into the habit of telling her everything I was doing or asking her questions as if she understood. This had two outcomes. One was that she didn’t feel the need to answer me. Two, she spoke with the ease of one much older. The way she described the world around her often amazed me. This was why I was hell-bent on getting her in school. If I hadn’t been able to go before she was born, where would we be? I could read and add up numbers. Although, too often the number was zero.
Enough time had passed that people in town had stopped looking at me with disdain and distrust. Sadie could start school without anyone calling her the daughter of a whore. Folks might not care about us and most pretended we didn’t exist, but at least they left me alone. I’d survived without doing what my mama had done. I’d kept us fed and clothed, even though my father was a drunk and a gambler.
But still, I couldn’t grow complacent. Always, around every corner or shadow, darkness waited to destroy us. This constant diligence had made me weary and old before my time. What was I to do differently? Survival was the only choice. This was my life, and I would make the most of it however I could.
When we’d completed our tasks, I started up the hill. Sadie, with a gait as graceful and quiet as a deer, followed behind me.
I stopped at the garden. After I set down my bucket, I opened the gate to the log fence Dax had helped me build. Without it, I wouldn’t have a chance of a crop. Again, the game between the elements and me was a fierce one.
Sadie and I plucked a few of the largest green tomatoes from the vines and added them to her bowl.
My vegetable garden, thanks to Dax’s seeds and solid tutelage, would serve us well this summer. We’d enjoyed carrots and lettuce in the spring. Next month, my beans, tomatoes, and squash would start to produce. By fall, I could dig up the potatoes.
Sadie had turned five last winter. The fifth anniversary of our mama’s death. I could hardly remember the time before Mama died. The last days of my childhood had blurred into extinction. Sometimes at night before I fell into an exhausted sleep, I thought about the days after Mama died. I considered how Wesley had appeared out of nowhere, as if fated to help us, and wondered about the mysteries of the universe that I so desperately wanted to understand. Then, how Dax had stepped in to do what Wesley couldn’t.
Was there such a thing as fate? Or were we at the mercy of the innate kindness of others? Or did kindness make the difference in all aspects of our lives? Without it, would we be anything more than the animals that wanted to eat my vegetables? All I knew without doubt was that Sadie—and probably me too—would not have survived without that first act of kindness from Wesley. I wanted to be of service to others at some time in my life. But right now and for the foreseeable future, I could only do what needed to be done for my sister and me.
Once in a blue moon, I asked Dax about Wesley. I mentioned him casually, so as not to clue Dax in on the wild fantasies that plagued my mind during the night when I was awakened by Pa stumbling through the front door. Wesley had saved us from certain starvation, of course, and I was grateful. But there was this other feeling too—the one that had me convinced we were intertwined somehow. Two lost souls meant for each other.
The latest I knew of Wesley was that he was no longer at school. He’d graduated with honors and had moved to the seaside. My heart had hurt a little. He hadn’t come back for me. Dax, perhaps noticing my disappointment, had quickly added that as long as his father was here, Wesley would not be coming home. I understood. If I could’ve gotten away from Pa, I wouldn’t risk entrapment by returning.
I’d have liked to ask Dax if he had the post information so that I might write to Wesley, but I was too shy. What a fool he’d think me. A girl like me asking for a rich boy’s address?
When we reached the house, Pa was sitting on the porch wearing his dirty pants and a ragged flannel shirt. He held a bowl in one hand and scooped whatever was in it into his mouth with his fingers. What had I left in the house instead of hiding it in my secret spot behind the woodpile? As we drew nearer, I could see that it was the last of the rice I’d made the night before to go with my pan of beans. I’d traded Mrs. Adams some fresh lettuce and half a dozen eggs for a few cups of rice. Strangely enough, Mrs. Adams had become a friend to me. As a woman who lived alone, I doubted she needed as many eggs as I’d traded for flour, rice, and lard over the years.
“Sadie, what do you have in your bucket?” Pa leered at her. The way he looked at her worried me. If he touched her, I would kill him with my bare hands. I kept her close at all times, never letting her out of my sight. I’d found a sharp rock at the creek last summer and slept with it near our mat on the floor. If he came sniffing around her, I would bash in his face.
“Bring it to me,” Pa said.
Sadie’s gaze flickered to mine. She stepped closer to me.
“No, that’s for our supper,” I said. “Mushrooms that I’ll fry up with some eggs.”
“Do it now,” he said.
“Supper’s in a few hours.” If I served our main meal now, we’d all go to bed hungry. Not that Pa was usually here for supper anyway.
He got up from the porch, unsteady on his feet, and staggered toward me. Before I could escape, he grabbed me by the hair and pulled me close. His breath reeked of stale whiskey. “You’ll make me supper now.”
I struggled to get away, but his other hand wrapped around my neck. He pressed against my windpipe.
“When I ask for a meal, I want it now.” With one hand still around my neck, he slammed the heel of his other hand into my cheek. He removed his hand from my throat and pushed me to the ground.
Black dots danced before me. Tears leaked from my eyes. I covered my face with my arms and waited for the next blow. Despite the pounding between my ears, I heard Sadie’s small, frightened voice. “There’s fresh bread in the box. You can have all of it.”
Pa cursed. “Why didn’t you say so?”
I lifted my face to look at him. He swayed slightly and then lumbered back toward the steps and up to the porch. Seconds later, the door slammed shut.
Sadie sank to the ground next to me. “Sister, how bad does it hurt? Did he break a bone?” She caressed my upper arm and peered at me with her light eyes.
“I’m all right.” My cheek throbbed, but I didn’t want to alarm her further. “It’ll just be a bruise.”
“We’ll go down to the creek, and I’ll soak a rag to put on your face.”
Sadly, we’d been through this enough times that my five-year-old sister knew what to do for blows to the face. I nodded and rose up from the ground like an injured bird shoved from the nest.
Sadie took my hand and led me toward the creek. I wondered, not for the first time, who was saving whom. At the moment, this tiny girl appeared to be in the lead.
The bruise on my cheek had lessened to a dull ache by the time I fried up our tomatoes and mushrooms for supper. As I worked at the stove, it occurred to me that Dax hadn’t come by in at least a week. He often came by on a Sunday to check on us and bring milk and cheese. I hoped all was well. Lately, I’d noticed his gait had slowed. I knew he worked hard at the Fords’. Was it too much for him?
I put our supper onto tin plates and set them on the table. Sadie had been playing on the floor with her doll I’d made out of the material from the old pouch. I’d cut and sewn the back and front pieces, then stuffed it with the leftover fabric. Buttons made the eyes, red yarn a mouth. The poor thing had no nose, but Sadie didn’t care. She loved her baby and had named it Sugar. Where she came up with that I had no idea, since we hardly ever had any of it in our house.
We sat at the table and bowed our heads. I said a quick prayer of thanks, and then we tackled our food. Along with our vegetables, I’d thrown together some biscuits to take the place of the bread Pa had taken. We were eating well this summer, but even so, I worried about the winter. Would my potatoes be rotten when I dug them up? Or would they have failed to grow? Nothing was assured.
“Sister, why did you sigh?”
“Did I?” I looked across the table at her sweet face. What would I do without her? The summer days were long and required no candlelight. Outside the windows, evening faded into tranquility. In moments such as this it was hard to remember the cold, bitter winters. “I was thinking about my potatoes.” I pushed away my empty plate and folded my hands together on the table.
Sadie patted my hands. “Don’t worry. You always figure out how to make everything nice and keep my tummy full.”
I glanced around the tidy room. Dishes were washed and floors swept clean every night after supper. In the mornings, we folded our bedding into a neat pile and stored it on the rocking chair to keep the spiders from crawling inside and surprising us. The woven mats we slept on were rolled up and placed in one corner. Still, nothing could hide our poverty. Floorboards had rotted and loosened. Each of our curtainless windows had at least one crack that I feared would worsen with the next frost. The wood-burning cookstove needed blackening.
No one but a girl who’d grown up as Sadie had would think this was nice. She didn’t see the room as it truly was. This was her home. I was her family.
“Sister, if Pa isn’t my real pa, who is?”
I started. We’d never talked about any of the details of her lineage. She knew, of course, that Mama had died and that I was her sister. The rest of it, I’d left out of the story. If she wanted to know more when she was grown, I would tell her. Until then I would keep quiet. “How did you know about Pa?”
“He told me.”
“When?” When had he been alone with her?
“The other night when you were using the outhouse, he came home. I was sitting on my mat talking to Sugar. He sat next to me and whispered in my ear that I should come to him later. That I could sleep in his bed with him. That there was nothing wrong with it because I wasn’t his kid.” Her bottom lip trembled. “He said not to tell you. He scared me, Sister.”
My dinner threatened to come right back up. I set my fork on my plate, trying to conjure the right words. Rage blinded me. Perspiration dampened the palms of my hands. “I’m very glad you told me this. It’s wrong for a little girl to sleep in a man’s bed, no matter if he’s her father or not. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” She nodded, her big blue eyes never leaving my face.
“From now on, you stay with me. If I go to the outhouse, you come with me.”
“All right.”
“You tell me everything. Don’t worry. I’ll never be mad at you.”
“He said you would call me a liar.”
I clasped my hands together under the table and tried to steady my breath. The pulse at my neck quickened. “Did he touch you?”
She shook her head. “You came back, and he got up quick and went to the bedroom.”
“When was this?”
“Last night.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this morning?”
“I forgot.”
I studied her. She didn’t lie. There was never any reason to. She had forgotten. I’d done similar things when I was her age. I hadn’t remembered Mama’s comings and goings in the middle of the night. It wasn’t until I learned the truth that memories piled on top of one another into the full truth. “Do you mean you put it aside, like locked it in a box?”
“I think so.”
“Have there been any other times you forgot?”
“I don’t think so.” Tears traveled down her thin face.
I took in another breath to gather myself. Every nerve in my body burned. I wanted to run into town and haul him out of the bar and slit his throat. For Sadie’s sake, I needed to remain calm. Otherwise, I’d scare her. “Come here, baby.” I held out my arms.
She came around the table and crawled onto my lap. I was a tall woman, and she was petite and too thin, so she fit just as nicely as she always had. I could still remember the pleasant heaviness of the baby she’d been. “Listen to me, baby girl. I’m here. I’ll always figure out a way to keep you safe. I always have, and I always will. You hear me?”
“I hear you.” The flutter of her eyelashes tickled my neck as she nodded her head.
“If we have to leave here to do it, we will.” Even as I said it, I wondered how on earth I would manage that.
I did the only thing I knew to do. The only thing that had ever worked. I prayed.