November arrived. To nobody’s surprise, President Roosevelt was reelected. “Now let’s see if he can do something about the Depression this time round,” said Pa Franklin.
November brought colder weather, too. Hog-killing weather, Pa Franklin said several times, apparently hoping to rouse his wife to make more effort at recovery.
As he had promised, on the Monday following Garnetta’s visit, Pa Franklin had fetched a Doctor Graham, an ill-tempered man in a soiled suit and filthy shoes. He was known to be the cheapest of local doctors. The medicine he’d left—a powder to be measured on the tip of a pocket knife and taken three times daily—had done no noticeable good. The two elder Franklin daughters came, along with various neighbor women, and brought remedies with no better results.
Finally, one bitter, cold morning when Halley was straining the fresh milk into a scalded jug, Ma Franklin called her.
Halley sighed, expecting another chamber pot errand. But it wasn’t. Ma Franklin motioned her close. “I ain’t going to git well if something ain’t done.” She paused for breath and then continued, “Atter breakfast, when the Old Man heads out to see Mr. Calvin and Mr. Walker about swapping out work on hog killing . . .” She paused for breath again. “I want you to fetch that Gowder girl, if’n she ain’t already took off to go to that school up north.”
“Opal?” asked Halley.
Ma Franklin nodded. “Don’t tell Old Man. He fusses ever’ time I take her remedies.”
Halley returned to work. While Kate set out plates and forks, Halley took the strained milk into her grandparent’s room. The one good thing about cold weather was that she didn’t have to make the long trip to the spring twice a day. Until it was even colder, the unheated bedroom was good enough for keeping milk and butter. Later, when the temperature dropped well below freezing, they would have to use the cellar. She brushed the sand off the hearth and set the milk on the bricks.
On the way back to the kitchen Halley stopped to look at an old family photograph hanging on the wall next to the kitchen door. Obviously made when the Franklin children were still at home, it showed Kate younger than Halley. The baby Ma Franklin held on her lap had to be one of the babies that died. Maybe that baby was the lucky one, Halley thought.
Suddenly the door opened and Pa Franklin demanded, “And what you doing in here so long, girl?”
“I brought the milk in to stay cold, and now I’m looking at this picture,” Halley answered.
“Use another room for the milk from now on,” he said, “And you ain’t got no call to look at nothing in my room.”
Halley stalked by him back into the kitchen.
Soon they were gathered at the breakfast table. They were all bundled up in sweaters against the drafts of cold air. The flame of the kerosene lamp flickered with each breeze. The gravy and biscuits were already getting cold.
Kate quickly ate what little she had on her plate and gulped down her coffee, looking at the clock on the end of the table every minute or so. If she didn’t get to the mill before the final whistle, the gate would be closed and she would lose a day’s wage—maybe even her job. The biscuits and sweet potatoes she was taking for lunch were already in her lunch pail, waiting at the door along with the pail Robbie was taking to school.
Robbie was the only cheerful one at the table. “I bet the ice is froze solid on the pond,” he said.
“You stay away from that pond,” Halley said with a shiver.
“Ain’t no danger if it’s froze a foot thick,” Robbie argued. She knew that most of his interest in the pond was pretend, intended to tease her, but then Halley never knew what foolish thing Robbie might do.
There was no help from Kate. It was as if she was somewhere else. As cold as it was, she had been up again last night praying until after Halley was asleep. When she finally got into bed, the coughing began and kept Halley awake. Kate’s lungs had probably collected at least as much lint as her hair. She was coughing every night. This morning her eyes had dark circles under them. Then Kate was up from the table, pulling on her coat, mittens, and scarf. “See you tonight,” she said to nobody in particular, and left.
Halley fed her grandmother and then pulled back the covers and helped her onto the chamber pot. It seemed that more came out of the old lady than went in. She ate less and less as the days passed. “We won’t bathe today,” said Halley. “It’s too cold. I’ll read to you after while and if you feel like it, you can tell me another story about when you were young.”
Ma Franklin nodded. “First get Opal.”
Robbie left for school, and soon after Pa Franklin took off in the wagon. Halley knew he’d not be back until after dinner.
Halley watched out the front window until her grandfather’s wagon disappeared and then turned to her grandmother.
“I’ve let the fire burn low in the stove,” she said, “and I’ve left you a glass of water here on the bedside table where you can reach it easy.”
Her grandmother nodded.
“I won’t be gone long.”
Halley put on a second sweater and then her coat. She wrapped her wool scarf around her head and neck and then pulled on her mittens. Even so, once outside, she felt the wind to her bones. Puddles from the last sleety rain had a crust of thin ice over them. She could see where Robbie had stomped through several of these on his way to school.
As she left the yard behind, she looked toward the pond. The bare trees and bushes around it were like skeletons with raised arms. As Robbie had said, the pond was covered with ice.
A noise made her turn. Goliath had crept from beneath the house and was looking at her. The dog was keeping his distance from her since tearing up the spread. He was wise. Halley had not forgiven him. Every time she thought of the money she had to pay Mr. Bonner, she got angry all over again. Still, looking at Goliath now, on this cold day, and seeing him shiver, almost made her feel sorry for him. He was beginning to get that thin-hipped old-dog look about him. Probably he caught very few rabbits or other game now. If not for the handouts Robbie provided, he would probably starve. She pushed the thought away and ran toward the county road.
With its bare trees and windswept yard, the Gowder place looked as desolate as the Franklin place. Maybe more so, for the land was more sloping here, and washed-out gullies cut across the yard in several places. Columns of smoke rose from the chimneys of the two houses and one of the sheds. Beneath an oak was a large pile of broken pots.
Before Halley had time to wonder about this, the door of the shed with the smoking chimney opened and the girl named Opal came out and dashed two more pots against the pile. Shards flew everywhere. A dog barked in Halley’s direction and then two more joined in. The last two were wagging their tails harder than they were barking.
“Opal,” called a woman from inside the shed. “Two more pots.”
“Yes’m, Mama Carrie,” Opal said, her eyes on Halley.
“Why are you throwing your pots away?” Halley asked.
“Froze,” Opal replied. “Froze and cracked ’fore we could fire ’em. They’re no good.”
A tall woman with chocolate skin stepped out of the shed. “Hush!” she said to the dogs, and they obeyed. She turned to Halley. “What you wants, child?”
“I’m Halley Owenby. My grandmother’s sick. She wants to know if Opal can come.”
Opal folded her arms and shook her head.
The old woman ignored the girl. “Who you grandma is?” she asked Halley.
“Ada Franklin.”
The woman nodded and her face warmed. “Miz Franklin’s ailing?” She motioned Halley inside. “What be wrong?”
In the shed, Halley drew close to the stove where pans of good-smelling food were simmering and told how her grandmother took to her bed weeks before, when Gid left. She told all the aches and pains she’d heard Ma Franklin mention. “And now she won’t eat hardly anything. I’m afraid she’s going to die.”
“Mmmm-mmmm-mmmm,” the woman said. She shook down the ashes in the stove and added several sticks of wood. “She will die if she doan eat.”
“She need a doctor,” said Opal. “Not me.”
“She had one,” said Halley. “He didn’t help.”
“Get another then.”
Carrie silenced Opal with one look. “Miss Ada need more’n a doctor can do. You take her some of my tea, and here’s what you tell her . . .” She looked at Opal and Halley both. “You say it ain’t her time yet. You say she have to eat. Then you say laying down to die is the easy road. You say she’s got to take the hard road cause they’s people that need her—chilren, grandchilren, her man. Preacher Franklin struts big, but he be lost without her.”
Carrie handed a jar of herbs to Opal. “You go.”
Opal went. Halley had trouble keeping up with her. At the county road she stopped and turned. “Preacher Franklin home?”
“No,” Halley answered. “He’ll be gone ’til late.”
“Good,” said Opal, and she took off again.
Goliath began barking when they reached the Franklin yard, but when he saw Halley pick up a stick he slunk back under the porch.
Inside, the kitchen was the same as when Halley left, except colder. Halley began to feed the fire at once.
Opal nodded approvingly. “Miz Franklin gone need a warm house so’s she can set up in that rocker by the stove.”
“Ma Franklin hasn’t sat up in weeks,” Halley said.
“Today she gone set up,” said Opal. “She gone need something to eat. Something easy on her stomach. You gone need hot water for Mama Carrie’s tea.”
Opal headed back to the bed. While Halley emptied jars of homemade soup into a pot and set water on to boil, Opal talked in a low voice to Ma Franklin. To Halley’s amazement the girl soon had the old lady out of the bed and in the rocker, bundled into a quilt, and taking soup and tea.
Pay, thought Halley. They would need to pay Opal something, and she was sure her grandmother had no money. Reluctantly, Halley went to the far room and took two quarters from her hoard. She got her tufting too and took it back to the kitchen.
Opal was still talking, saying all the things Carrie had said and acting as if the words were hers. Ma Franklin promised to sit up at least twice a day. “And like you say, I have to take the hard road. I know you’re right. Thank you for coming.”
Halley held out the quarters. “This is for you.”
“I don’t charge,” said Opal.
Ma Franklin nodded. “Course you don’t, cause you’d lose your gift. But I have to give you something or I don’t get my cure.” Ma Franklin acted as if she were paying—as if it was her own money.
Opal accepted the payment and left.
In the quiet that followed, Halley got her tufting and pulled her chair up next to the old woman. “Tell me about when you were young,” said Halley.
“You don’t want to hear all that,” Ma Franklin answered.
“Yes, I do. And someday when I’ve got my education, I’m going to write books about how it was when my grandma was young a long time ago.”
Ma Franklin looked at her, studying her face. “And you think people would want to read sich as that?”
Halley nodded. “You tell good stories.”
Encouraged, Ma Franklin began a long tale about when she and Pa Franklin were young, “He was a softer man back then. Losing our first farm made him harder somehow. We used to go dancing.”
Her eyes soon began to droop and then she fell asleep. Halley kept tufting. Except for eating a bowl of soup, feeding the fire, and one quick trip to the outdoor toilet, she tufted until her grandfather arrived home. She heard the wagon creak into the yard and on around the house toward the barn but did not get up. When he came in a short while later, he was surprised to find his wife out of bed.
“Didn’t I tell you Doc Graham was a good doctor?” he bragged. “She’ll be up and about in no time. Too bad it won’t be in time to help with hog killing tomorrow.”
His eyes fell on the tufting Halley was doing. So far he had ignored her work, and she had put off bringing up the subject. “You get paid for doing that?” he asked suddenly.
“Some. Not enough,” Halley replied without looking at him. Her heart was pounding.
Pa Franklin kept looking at the spread, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, but, to her relief, when he spoke, it was on another subject. “Reckon I better set up the sawhorse tables for tomorrow’s work,” he said at last. Pa Franklin left and Halley began tufting with a new burst of energy. Maybe he was going to leave her alone this one time.
Robbie came home from school.
“Me and the Calvin boys went by Crider’s Switch to see Buck’s train,” he said.
“Pa Franklin’s going to hear you and fuss,” said Halley. She could have pointed out that Crider’s Switch was not on the way home, but well out of the way. She chose not to.
“Pa Franklin won’t hear me. He went around the house toward the far room. I seen him when I walked up.”
“Saw him,” Halley corrected.
“Saw him. Anyway, the train was stopped on the sidetracks when we got there, and we got to talk to Buck and Tom Belcher too. Guess what? Mr. Belcher said he seen our cow next to Royster’s Pond.”
“Good heavens,” said Ma Franklin. “She’s out again!”
“No,” said Robbie, grinning. “It was two days ago when he seen her.”
Pa Franklin came in smiling a few minutes later, laying out his plans for the coming day. “’Course you’ll have to have plenty of dinner cooked to feed them all,” he said to Halley.
Halley groaned inwardly. She did well to cook for the family, without adding a group of working men.
Kate arrived home and wiped the smile off her father’s face. “You’re way early,” he said. “Did you lose your job?”
“They had a lint fire,” Kate said, holding her hands out to the stove. “They put it out before it did much harm, but they shut down so they could clean up.” She looked at her mother. “You must be better.”
“Lots better,” Pa Franklin answered for her, “thanks to Doc Graham.”
Halley didn’t feel like hearing the praises of Doc Graham sung once more, so she picked up her tufting and headed for the far room.
As soon as she opened the door, something seemed wrong. The bed was rumpled, though she herself had made it this morning. Then there were the boxes with their underwear and night clothes. Instead of being neatly folded as usual, the clothing looked as if it had been stirred and jumbled. Perhaps Robbie had done it. But, no, he had come straight to the kitchen this afternoon, and she had been in the room earlier, to get the money for Opal. Everything had looked normal then.
Money!
Dropping to her knees, Halley jerked out the book box. The books were no longer stacked. They were jumbled helter-skelter. The cover of one was ripped loose at the spine, and another hung over the side of the box. Heart racing, Halley threw out books until she found her diary. The clasp was torn loose and the cover was open. It was empty. Her money was gone. It had been there that morning, and now it was gone.
Grabbing up the diary, Halley raced back to the kitchen. “My money!” she cried. “All I saved is gone.”
“I needed it,” Pa Franklin said. “Things like doctors don’t come free. Barbed wire don’t come free. And bags of curing salt ain’t handed out for nothing.”
“You took my money?” Anger filled Halley’s chest. This was worse than anything he had done. Worse than reading her letters. Worse than making her miss school. “You stole my money.”
“Halley!” Kate said, but Halley ignored her. She barely heard her.
“I didn’t steal nothing, young lady,” Pa Franklin said. “But what I’d like to know is how you come by that much money to begin with.”
“Tufting and gathering ginseng with Garnetta Miller,” Halley said, “and it’s my money. Mine and Mama’s and Robbie’s. It wasn’t yours, and we don’t owe you anything. Mama pays you for our keep, and I work here every day.”
“And you still owe me,” he said.
Halley wanted to hit him. Instead, she lurched toward the front door, then stopped. “You’ll not take any more money from me because I won’t have any. I’ll not tuft anymore. I’ll not pick cotton. I’ll not do anything for pay as long as I live in your house.”
Throwing the door open, Halley ran outside into the freezing wind. Racing through the dogtrot, she almost fell over Goliath, who stood shivering next to the water shelf. The dog ran with her around the house, and when she opened the cellar door he darted down the stairs ahead of her. Only when she was huddled in a dark corner between the dog and a pile of sweet potatoes did Halley give way to tears.