The Personal History of Rachel DuPree_ A Novel - Ann Weisgarber [29]
“You’re bleeding,” Mary whispered. “Your hands.”
Over Liz’s shoulder, I held them up. One fingernail was partly torn off. There were splinters in other fingertips. There were tears and scratches in my palms. It took me a moment to understand it was from pulling at the outhouse seat. Blood ran down my hands; it was on my sleeves. It was on Liz’s dress, and all I could think about was the long soaking it would take to get the stains out and how there wasn’t any water. The blood was going to set, and me and Liz would have to wear these marked dresses.
Rounder circled the three of us, panting, his tongue too swollen for his mouth. Mine felt the same. I pulled myself together and told myself I didn’t hate the Badlands, I couldn’t. It was the place where me and Isaac made a home, it was the place where I birthed our children. The scare of losing Liz had played fast with my nerves; I couldn’t hate my home.
“Mama?” Mary said, holding out the handkerchief that I kept tucked in my sleeve. She wiped Liz’s eyes, and then she wiped mine.
So easy to lose a child. It could happen anywhere. It could happen to any child, to any mother. But God was watching even if I wasn’t. God and Rounder.
“Why’d you do this, Liz?” I said. “Why’d you hide like that, scaring us this way?”
Liz hid her face in my neck. She didn’t have to say it. She had run away from the well. And from me. I said, “Don’t you ever do this again. You hear me? Don’t you ever.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I thought of Alise and Emma in their room and a flutter of panic rose in my chest. I couldn’t take any more lost children. “Let go of me, honey,” I said to Liz. “Can’t get up if you don’t let go.” Mary unwrapped Liz’s arms from my neck and pulled her up. Somehow, then, Mary got me to my feet.
I stood there a moment looking down into the wash. In good times it had water in it.
I turned my back on it. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s see to your sisters.”
6
MRS. FILLS THE PIPE
Alise and Emma were crying when we got up to the house—me hurrying them into their room had scared them bad. They weren’t the only ones. My dress was soaked clear through—that was what losing Liz had done to me. After me and Mary got the little girls settled, I wrapped up my torn fingernail, and Mary used a needle to pick the splinters from my hands. I put on my other dress and hung the damp one with its bloody spots on the clothesline to dry. I wanted a bath in the worst way. I imagined sitting in a tub of clear water, the grit floating off of me. I wanted a cool drink of water to take the swelling out of my tongue. The girls were every bit as thirsty; Emma got to crying from it. We settled for a few sips each of lukewarm water, Rounder too.
My ironing was waiting for me. The outhouse seat needed fixing, but like the ironing, it was just going to have to wait. What we needed was a little rest on the porch. Mary gathered up the girls’ rag dolls, and I spread out our red Indian blanket for the girls to play on. Mary and Liz sat on the top porch step, the wind tugging at their bandannas. For something to do, Mary tried to play school. “What’s two plus two?” she asked Liz. “Two plus three? Three plus two?” Liz acted like she didn’t hear Mary; she just looked down at her fingers spread out on her knees. When Mary gave up, I told her and Liz to move Jerseybell to a fresh patch of shade, and after that they needed to pick up more cow chips.
Alise and Emma rested on the blanket, their dolls hugged to their chests. Likely they were too thirsty to play much. Off to my left, Rounder laid on his side, his eyes half closed so that the whites showed. It wasn’t my way to sit idle in the afternoons, but for once I didn’t care about my chores. I wanted to rest. I wanted to step away from the hard feeling I had about the Badlands. I wanted to not think.
The southern wind blew hot. There was so much grit in the air that from a distance Grindstone Butte’s sharp points had faded into a hazy white. In a month or so, when the weather shifted, we’d wish for that southern wind. Usually I didn’t mind winter