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.