The Personal History of Rachel DuPree_ A Novel - Ann Weisgarber [70]
“She’s in a bad way,” Isaac said, and he could have been talking about me. He ran a hand along Jerseybell’s back. “Poor girl. She’s served us well, hasn’t she?”
“Yes.” My eyes began to water.
He said, “I’ve got one last thing to try. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have to put her down.” He picked up a long, black rubber tube. “It’ll go hard on Mary. If it comes to that.”
Isaac had Jerseybell on a short rope tied to the railing. “Hold the lantern for me, will you?” he said. “Hold it high.” He pried open Jerseybell’s teeth and looked into her mouth. Her startled eyes rolled, but she didn’t make any effort to pull away. “Stinks,” Isaac said, shaking his head. He glanced at me. “This making you queasy?”
“No.”
Isaac looked again at me. “You look queasy. You all right?”
“I’m all right.”
He took me at my word. He cleaned the snot from her nose with a rag. I looked away; cow snot was the one thing I couldn’t take. Then, with one arm tight around Jerseybell’s neck to hold her still, Isaac snaked the tube through one nostril. When the tube was in her front stomach, Isaac said, “Get the castor oil going.” He kept one hand on the tube at Jerseybell’s nose.
I hung the lantern up, took off my shawl, and put it on a railing. I found the funnel and began pouring the oil into the tube.
Jerseybell didn’t bother to jerk her head away from Isaac’s tight hold. She watched me, her eyes rolling like she was pleading for me to stop this, like she wanted to be left alone so she could die in peace. “Don’t blame you,” I said to her.
“What?” Isaac said.
I cleared my throat. “I’m going to need milk in about a week’s time.”
Holding the tube in place, Isaac glanced at me, his eyes going to my bosom. I shook my head and said, “Something’s not right.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure. I’d just feel better if we had a milk cow.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Didn’t want to burden you.”
Jerseybell began to wheeze. Isaac used his fingers to clear the snot from her nose. My belly rolled; he wiped his hand on the rag that hung from his back pocket.
Isaac said, “Al’s got a milk cow he won’t be needing.”
“What’s he asking for her?”
“He’ll be fair.”
I didn’t have it in me to worry all that much about the money. I put my mind to pouring the oil down the tube. I measured it out slow; I didn’t want to drown Jerseybell. I did all this, but it was like I had stepped outside of myself and was watching from a distance. And yet everything was clear and sharp: the pain in Jerseybell’s eyes, the white in Isaac’s sideburns, the dirt under his fingernails.
When I started pouring the second bottle of oil, Isaac said, “I’ll get you a hired hand for the winter.”
“And have a man here with you gone?”
“It’d have to be a boy.” Isaac gave the tube a little twist. The oil gurgled. “Can’t pay for a man. A boy might be willing to work for food and board.”
Another mouth to feed. I said, “A white boy?”
“Most likely.”
“One what’s willing to mind a Negro woman?”
“He will if he’s hungry enough.”
“Mary,” I said. “There’s Mary to think about.”
Isaac shot me a quick look.
“A boy might—”
“She’s just twelve.”
The memory of Mary walking with Mrs. Fills the Pipe’s nephew came to mind. They had walked close with their shoulders nearly touching. Franklin had held Emma. He had put his hand on Mary’s arm when he passed Emma to her.
“She’ll be thirteen in a few weeks,” I said.
“Then you’re turning down a hand?”
“No,” I said. “I’ll need the help.”
“All right then.”
I put the empty bottle and the funnel down. I’d think about this white boy when he showed up on our doorstep. Maybe he’d be the shy, quiet kind that wouldn’t be any trouble. Maybe he’d be too young to care about girls.
Isaac began pulling the slippery tube out of Jerseybell. When there was just a few inches of it still in her nose, Isaac stepped to her side. He gave me a warning look. I left the stall and turned my back, my hand to my mouth. I heard Isaac pull the tube out and Jerseybell snorted, blowing snot everywhere.
When my stomach settled, I went back to the stall. Isaac