The Personal History of Rachel DuPree_ A Novel - Ann Weisgarber [83]
“They need a dab of sweetness,” I whispered. “For the hard times.”
I got up, went to the parlor, struck a light, and sat at the writing desk. I got out two sheets of paper and blew the grit off of them. Isaac was going to Al McKee’s tomorrow, and a few days later Mindy was going to Interior to take the train home. On one sheet of paper I wrote a letter to Mindy McKee. Good-bye. On the other, I wrote a letter to Mama. Can we come?
15
EMMA
The next morning just before breakfast, Isaac came up from the barn, bare chested but wearing a fresh pair of overalls. His face, hair, and arms shined from the scrubbing he had given himself at the pump. The children, seated at their places along the kitchen table, stared at him. They knew what he’d been doing. Isaac always opened up the belly of a cow when it died of a sickness.
“Where’s Mary?” he said.
“Out walking,” I said, spooning mush onto our plates. “She’s taking it hard. Said she can’t eat.”
“She’ll be all right once we get the new milk cow.”
Isaac was going to the McKees’ for the horses and the cow. I had stayed awake most of the night thinking about the letters I had written and worrying about the baby, wanting it to kick. It hadn’t, but the bleeding had quit, and I tried to take that as a good sign.
Isaac said, “Jerseybell had pneumonia like I thought. That and her front belly was full of dirt. Pebbles too. Must have licked up fifteen pounds’ worth. Thank God for the rain. Maybe she’ll be the last to go down.”
“The good Lord willing,” I said, but the words had a hollow sound. I put my hand to the letter in my left pocket. We were bound to lose more cattle this winter. “I’ll get your shirt,” I said to Isaac. “So we can eat.”
He nodded and then glanced at the children. Their mouths were puckered and their eyes were big with sadness. Jerseybell was dead. Isaac gave a little shake as if to gather himself. Then he pulled air deep into his lungs making a show of filling his chest up with kitchen smells. He blew the air back out, his chest collapsing to its regular size. “Fresh bread,” he said. “Nothing like it in the whole world.” He grinned at the children. “Know what?”
“What?” John said.
“Your mother won me over the very first time I ate some of her bread. That and her biscuits. I said to myself, This little gal’s more than pretty; she knows her way around a kitchen.”
“Gosh,” Liz said.
“That’s right, Liz. I was a confirmed bachelor till I had a bite of your mother’s bread. I fell to my knees right then and there and begged Miss Rachel Reeves to be my wife. Let that be a lesson. John, you marry a girl who cooks like your mama and you’ll be a happy man. And girls, you make good bread and the world’s yours for the asking.”
“Daddy,” Mary said from the doorway. “You’re making that up. It takes more than bread.”
“Mary,” I snapped.
She put her head down. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
Isaac let that hang for a moment and then gave a sharp nod. “Apology accepted.”
Mary had it right, I said to myself, but not how she thought. Isaac was making it up, doing it to get the children’s minds off of Jerseybell. But all the same, I didn’t like what he’d said. Isaac never got down on his knees for anybody, and he surely hadn’t for me. I had been nothing more than the kitchen help until he figured he could stake an extra claim in my name. But that wasn’t the kind of story anybody wanted to tell their children.
I said, “This bread’s turning cold. I’ll get your shirt.”
It took the rest of the morning for Isaac and John to get Jerseybell out of the barn. Waiting made my nerves bad. I wanted Isaac to get on the road to Al McKee’s and then back home with the new milk cow. But Jerseybell came first. Our barn cat had gone missing during the winter, and without him, rats would be drawn if Isaac didn