The Personal History of Rachel DuPree_ A Novel - Ann Weisgarber [41]
Emma pulled on my skirt. I dropped my hand from his cheek. “Isaac,” I whispered, “I’ve got supper to get on.”
He stepped away, shifting the baby’s weight back to me. “That’s my girl.”
And with that, I understood. The coffee wasn’t just to buck up his pride. It was meant to make me forget about putting Liz in the well; it was meant to make me think we’d get through the coming winter just fine.
I could have shaken him. The root cellar was empty; the garden had quit on me a month ago. Jerseybell was puny. The scrawny cattle wouldn’t be worth a thing come time for market this fall. And what about the cattle we didn’t sell? The grass that Isaac had been cutting for feed was little better than straw. The cattle’d starve by Christmas. All those worries but Isaac figured a little bag of coffee would make me forget. Did he think I could be fooled that easy?
But Isaac didn’t see any of what I was thinking—he had other things on his mind. “Come on, John,” he was saying, “the day’s not over yet. Liz, you come help brush down the horses. The dust is this thick.” He measured out a couple of inches with his fingers. “You too, Alise. Your mama and Mary have supper to get on.”
“But Daddy, I’m hungry,” Liz said, looking at the food supplies on the kitchen table.
“You’ve got chores to do first.”
“But I’m hungry now.”
“Me too,” Alise said, whining.
Irritation crossed his face. He studied Liz and Alise. Their little arms and legs were nothing but knobby sticks. He looked at me, his eyebrows raised as if to say, Can’t you give them something? I shook my head, fighting back the urge to snap, Not if you expect me to make these groceries last.
“Tell you what, Liz,” Isaac said. “Put a pebble under your tongue.”
“But that’s for when you’re thirsty. I’m more hungry than thirsty.”
“That’s where you’ve been misled. A pebble’s good for both.”
“It is?”
He shooed the girls and John out of the kitchen. “Sure is,” he said, and then they were through the parlor, out the door, and on their way to the barn. I went to the table and took a tin can of peas from one of the boxes.
“Mama?” Mary said.
Just holding the can made my mouth water. I couldn’t remember when we’d last had peas. “What?” I said to Mary.
“Mrs. Svenson—” She stopped.
“She’s ignorant,” I said, my words snapping. That was what my mother always said about mean-spirited people. “Mrs. Svenson doesn’t know better, and we should feel sorry for her. Put your head up and straighten your back when you’re around people like her, people what are ignorant. Don’t give them cause to think little of you. Show them that you’re quality.”
Mary cocked her head.
“Your granddaddy was a doctor and your daddy is a rancher. That’s quality. Blood matters. Never forget what you come from.”
“We’re Negroes.”
“And we’re proud to be.”
“Franklin’s proud.”
Mrs. Fills the Pipe’s visit rushed back at me.
Mary said, “Franklin’s granddaddy is an elder. So’s his uncle.”
Liz and Alise were going to tell Isaac about the Indian boys. They were going to do it before I had the chance.
Mary said, “So that means Franklin’s quality too. Like us.”
“No,” I said. “They’re nothing like us. They’re Indians, agency Indians. It’s not the same. Quality people raise themselves up.” I remembered how Inez Fills the Pipe was going east to be a nurse. “You do it by yourself; you don’t take handouts. Now let’s get these groceries put up.” I put the canned peas on the shelf. Maybe, I thought, Liz and Alise won’t think to say anything to Isaac.
“Mama?”
“What is it?”
“Me and Franklin were just taking a walk. I was just being polite. So was he.”
“I know it.”
“Are you going to tell Daddy?”
“That’s between me and him.”
“I don’t want Daddy to be put out with me.”
“I know it.” Maybe Liz and Alise had forgotten all about yesterday’s visit. Children were like that. Children forgot things in a hurry, especially when there had been a story about a dragon and then chores and supper to think about.
I said, “Let’s get supper on. Let’s get a loaf of bread going.”
“What about Daddy?”
“It’ll be all