1929 (72 page)

June16th 1930

Ava was jarred from her sleep in the early
hours of morning as howling winds shook the frame of the house.
Poking her head out of the covers, she saw a light coming from the
hall and that she was alone in bed. She pulled herself up groggily
and slipped into her robe.

From the doorway, she could see a dim light
coming from Jean’s room. The door creaked briefly as she pushed it
open and peeked inside. Jean lay on his stomach on the edge of the
mattress with his arm hanging over the side, his hand connected to
Jonathan’s, who sat with folded arms on his knees, his back against
the wall. He looked up and shrugged.

“Nightmares,” he whispered.

“He’s asleep now,” she whispered back,
walking toward him with a watchful eye on Jean.

“Every time I leave, he wakes up. After the
third time, I just decided to stay.” He leaned his head back on the
wall and closed his eyes.

“What a terrible day,” she whispered, sitting
down next to him. Jonathan nodded in saddened agreement.

“Do you think Caleb will be okay?” She laid
her head on his shoulder and held onto his arm.

“Eventually,” Jonathan whispered back.
“There’s something he hasn’t thought of yet, and I’m not sure
whether to bring it up or let him come to it on his own.”

“What?” Ava looked up at him.

“With his father gone, someone is going to
need to run the farm. Caleb has been wanting off the boats. This
may be his chance. Problem for us is that we need a third man. I’m
not sure what we’d do if he decided to leave the operation.” He
stared ahead in the dim light, searching for solutions.

“Maybe he won’t,” Ava said and shrugged
lightly.

“No. I think he will–” Ava put a finger to
her lips as Jonathan’s voice grew above a whisper.

“Think about it,” he continued in a lower
voice. “There’s a lot that little farm produces that they can’t do
without. Milk, eggs, butter, and meat, not to mention the acres of
wheat they use every year. Caleb has two children now. If anything,
he needs to increase productivity.” Ava laid her head back on his
shoulder, too tired to think. Just as she dozed off, her head slid
off Jonathan’s shoulder and an image of Shannon holding one of her
babies in the homemade sling flashed into her mind. Her head
whipped around to face Jonathan.

“Patrick!” she cried. Jean stirred and
shifted under his quilts. “Sorry,” she whispered. “Patrick,
Jonathan! He can take Caleb’s place. He lost his job and they are
on the verge of total ruin. They could make a new life here!” She
could barely keep her excitement contained to a whisper. Jonathan
grinned at her.

“That’s a damned good idea,” he said,
nodding. “Good thinking, beautiful.” She grinned back, albeit
selfishly, at the thought of Shannon living close again.

“I’ll talk to Aryl. Caleb, too, for that
matter, so he knows there’s no pressure. I can telegram Patrick and
maybe you could follow up with a letter, explaining the details? We
might could even help a little with getting them out here,
depending on how much it costs to rebuild part of the hou–” He
interrupted himself with a hearty yawn.

“Go back to bed,” Ava whispered, but Jonathan
shook his head and looked at Jean helplessly.

“I’ll just be back here in ten minutes.”

“Go. I’ll stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. Go. You need your rest. You’ve got a
house to help rebuild.” She slipped her hand in between Jonathan
and Jean’s and took his place against the wall. He bent down and
looked at their hands briefly before giving her a long but modest
kiss.

“Thank you,” he whispered. Ava gave him a
little smile and leaned her head on the mattress, Jean’s hand
curled inside hers.

∞∞∞

Everyone met outside the farmhouse just
before noon as neighbors came from miles away to help in what small
way they might. Caleb set to work taking care of the animals that
had been neglected the previous afternoon. Deep-set brow lines and
bloated eyes hid the joyous milestone of the babies sleeping
through the night for the first time. They had woken twice, fussed
briefly and, just as Caleb pulled his eyes open, settled
quickly.

Aryl walked through the house with a notebook
along with one of the older neighbors, skilled in carpentry. He
pulled away large chunks of blackened plaster in the kitchen to
reveal little damage to the framework. “That’s going to make our
job a lot easier,” the old man said and smiled. “I’d say a week,
give or take a day. Should have this place livable again.” He
looked around as he spoke, grimacing at the grunge covered icebox
and stove. “I’ll ask around, see about getting some
appliances.”

“That’s great. Thank you for all your help.”
Aryl followed him around as he finished inspecting the damage,
taking notes and making lists.

∞∞∞

Jonathan joined Caleb in the barn and quietly
took a seat next to him as he milked their cow, Hannah.

“She’s hurting,” Caleb said as he worked.
“Missed two milkings.” Jonathan watched his hands’ rhythmic motions
as Hannah made low grunts of relief.

“I wanted to talk to you about something. I
was going to wait, but the sooner we get a plan together, the
better. I already spoke with Aryl.” Caleb remained focused on
Hannah’s udders with a scowl. “Look, I know you’ve wanted off the
boats for a while now. I think there’s a way we can make that
happen.” Caleb stopped milking and looked up at him.

“How?”

“We could send for Patrick. We can help him
and Shannon get here, and he could take your place. You’d be free
to work here full-time.” Caleb rubbed his forehead, deep in thought
and shook his head in disappointment.

“I just can’t see how . . . I need to do
both, Jon, and I don’t know how I’m going to do that.”

“What do you mean, do both?”

“I need to keep things going here, even just
producing for our own use, but I need to make money, too.” His
shoulders drooped and he looked up, discouraged. “I don’t know how
I’m going to do both.”

“Why don’t we do this?” Aryl walked in and
leaned on Hannah’s left haunch. “You take some time off, get things
in order around here. We’ll ask Patrick. He’s a quick study, so it
won’t take him any time at all to outwork the both of us combined.
We’ll save every cent and get that fourth boat up and running. You
can use that.” He nodded out toward the acre of blueberries visible
from the barn window. “And spend time here. You might need to hire
a hand to help–” Caleb opened his mouth to protest. Aryl raised his
eyebrows and continued. “There are a lot of folks that need work
right now and will take what pay they can get. Maybe next year
Arianna can expand the garden and for now, you can pay a hand
partially in produce come fall.” He shrugged his shoulders with his
suggestion and waited. Caleb sat pondering the suggestion.

“I don’t see how I can pay for the boat
repairs, we’ve parted the hell out of that thing.”

“Let us worry about that,” Jonathan said.
There was a long pause before he looked up with gratitude.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you guys,”
he said quietly. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Jonathan turned to leave,
immediately kicking the plan into action. “I’m going to run into
town to send Patrick a telegram, and Ava can get started on a
letter.”

“Think he’ll go for it?” Caleb called after
him.

“I do. It’s getting bad in the city. They’ve
got nothing to lose,” he said as he rounded the corner with long
strides.

Aryl looked around the barn. “What else needs
to be done in here?”

“Pigs. They need to be fed and their bedding
changed.” Aryl walked over and smiled at the massive sow surrounded
by noisy, wiggling, pink piglets. He filled their trough with feed
from a large drum outside the pen and cleared the hay while they
were distracted.

A small shadow caused Caleb to look up, and
he halfheartedly smiled at Jean. “Hey, fella. What are you
doing?”

“My Dadee left. Can I stay with you? Can I
help?” The large cow swung her head around to look at Jean and let
out a long “Moo” that made Jean giggle.

“Sure. We’ll find something for you to do,”
Caleb said with a smile.

“What about the chickens?” Aryl asked from
across the barn. “Want to feed the chickens?” Jean nodded
excitedly, and Aryl grabbed a bucket as Caleb directed him to the
chicken feed.

Outside, he showed Jean how to scatter the
feed, and Jean squealed as all the chickens surrounded him,
clucking wildly, and pecking the food from the ground. Ava stood by
the front of the house where the women had gathered to assign the
needed cleaning work and designate who was to provide food on which
days. Jean’s giggles grabbed Ava's attention as the chickens chased
him, then he turned to chase the chickens, feed spilling out of the
bucket as he ran. She smiled, remembering that it was her daily
chore with her aunt to feed their small flock of chickens. It was
her favorite responsibility as a child.

One of the older women handed her a note with
her jobs and days to provide lunch listed, and she walked over to
the chicken coop, tucking the list into her pocket.

“Did you know they have names?” she called.
Jean turned, startled at her voice and smiled shyly.

“No. What are they?” he asked.

“Well, that one is called ‘fried’. And that
one is ‘roast’.” She pointed as she spoke with a grin. “That’s
‘casserole’ over there and ‘cordon bleu’ is in the corner.” He
giggled and walked over to her.

“Want to help me?” he asked, holding up the
bucket.

“Sure.” She went into the pen and took a
handful of grain. “Spread it like this.” She spread the grain in a
sweeping motion in front of her. “That way they can all get some,
and they won’t fight over a small pile.” He nodded and spread it
into hardly more than a scattered pile.

“Keep practicing,” she encouraged and showed
him again. Aryl stood at the entrance of the barn watching them
with a half-smile.

“Hey,” he called to Caleb. “Come look at
this.” Caleb stood with Aryl for several minutes as they watched
Ava and Jean’s first authentic interaction.

June 18th 1930

Work on the house stopped for the day of the
funeral. Jonathan Sr. and Margaret offered their house to receive
mourners afterward. The work of preparing food for the guests had
kept them busy late into the night. The hushed atmosphere of soft
music, sniffles and tears, and long, silent hugs lingered heavily
in the house. Ethel sat in the corner, dressed in black with
sagging eyelids, the corners of her mouth turned down, and although
it took concentration she would not remember rallying, she
acknowledged loved ones and friends as they took turns to sit near
her, and offer their condolences. She gave a weak smile and a
polite thank you to most, cried with some and laughed modestly with
Hubert’s men friends, who told stories of Hubert’s antics and sense
of humor; their way of consoling indirectly. Praise and gratitude
was extended to Jean whenever the story was shared of his heroic
act in saving Samuel. He beamed with pride and watched Samuel with
brotherly love. The sudden appearance of Jean and his questionable
origin was not spoken of by the majority, but the few who dared to
whisper impolitely had recoiled from the sting of Arianna’s harsh
tongue.

Caleb avoided the crowd and direct sympathy
by remaining outside. Jonathan and Aryl wandered in and out of the
house alternately, never leaving him alone for more than few
minutes. They brought him a plate of food and sat together on the
wooden bench at the back of the house.

“Remember when we sat back here as kids?”
Caleb gave a short laugh.

“We got caught doing something and were in
trouble. I don’t remember what we did, do you, guys?” Aryl asked,
grinning.

“God only knows. There were so many
times.”

“All I remember is us sitting here while we
waited for Jon’s dad to go get our folks,” he said.

“I remember,” Jonathan said, smiling.
“Sitting here, I mean. And I remember getting whooped, but I don’t
remember what for. Must not have been that bad.” He shrugged,
picking at his food. They sat quietly, each remembering numerous
times they awaited punishment together on the bench for childhood
antics that seemed like a really good idea at the time.

“I'm glad I made peace with him before . . .
.” Caleb said quietly.

∞∞∞

“Dadee!” Before Jonathan stirred, Ava woke,
slipped out of bed, and tiptoed into Jean’s room.

“Where’s Dadee?” he asked, his cheeks stained
from tears.

“He’s sleeping. He’s very tired. Is it all
right if I sit with you?” she asked.

He nodded, scooting over for her. She sat
with her back against the headboard and pulled the covers back up
over him.

“Nightmares again?” she asked. He nodded and
sniffled.

“I had many nightmares when I was a child
after my parents died. What do you dream about? Sometimes it helps
to talk about it,” she said.

“The fire.” His voice was shaky. “I dream I
can’t get Samuel out of the crib . . . and the fire burns us.”

“You wouldn’t have left him there, would
you?” She spoke the obvious with admiration. “If you couldn’t have
gotten him out of the crib, you would have stayed with him.” She
pushed his bangs from his forehead, so she could better see
Jonathan’s eyes in the dim light.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation.

“That’s very admirable, Jean,” she said with
a sigh. “There are many adults who couldn’t be that brave.”

“I don’t feel brave when I dream,” he said
shamefully.

“Do you know what you need?” she asked. “A
good luck charm. Something to keep the bad dreams away.”