Place Called Estherville (24 page)

“Good morning,” Dr. Plowden said pleasantly after a moment, looking from one face in the room to another as he rubbed his hands behind his back in the heat of the log fire. “We’re having a cold winter again this year. There’s been one cold spell right after the other all fall. There’ll probably be ice in the bucket by daylight. Maybe our climate’s changing. Some folks think it is.”

“Yes, sir,” Henry spoke up nervously.

Then one by one, Henry and the women huddled at the other end of the hearth nodded dutifully in response to his comments on the weather, but each of them continued to watch him with cautious, inquiring wonderment. He took off his heavy gray overcoat and dropped it on the nearest chair.

“Well, you seem to be the patient, Kathyanne,” he said briskly peering at her over the rims of his glasses as she lay still and quiet in the huge wooden poster bed.

“I’ll be all right, Dr. Plowden,” she said, trying to disguise her noticeably weak voice.

The older woman standing at the corner of the hearth, Nettie Dunn, still had not spoken since he came into the cabin and he turned to her questioningly. As he did so, it was then that he observed for the first time that the large wicker clothes basket on the edge of the hearth contained a newly born infant. The midwife and her daughter watched him tensely as he leaned over the basket for a closer look.

“What’ve we got here?” he said, taken completely by surprise. He reached for a chair and sat down beside the basket. Then he carefully pulled the cotton blankets back from the baby’s face. “Well, I’ll be doggone!” he exclaimed, his attitude completely changed. He smiled for the first time as he proceeded to uncover the baby.

The two women got down on their knees beside the basket and took the covering as he removed it.

“And a girl-baby, too, at that!” he said with a pleased expression. He was soon nodding to Nettie with professional approval. “I can see that she’s been in very capable hands, Nettie. You midwives seem to do these things as well as I could. Maybe better, after all.” He chuckled as he examined the infant more thoroughly. “Well, another girl’s born to make this old world of ours stay in balance,” he remarked after a while as though he were talking to himself. “And a pretty one, too. We’d be in an awful fix, if things didn’t happen just like they do. She’s a lot lighter in color than a lot of people who pass for white, and it’s my guess she’s a quadroon, Nettie. Nature still knows what she’s doing, all right. The baby’s going to outdo her mother for looks, and that’s going a far piece, I can tell you. You can count on that till kingdom come. I’ve brought enough babies into this world and seen them grow up to know that’s a certainty. It’s just what nature always strives for—to produce a beautiful woman—and there’s no arguing with nature in this life. Nature’s been striving for perfection for a long time now, and this’s just about as close to perfection as I’ll live to see.”

He carefully covered the infant and picked up his satchel and crossed the room to the poster bed.

The first thing Kathyanne said was, “Is she all right, Dr. Plowden? Please tell me!”

“As perfect as a picture, and as pretty, too, Kathyanne. Don’t you worry about anything. You’ve got a wonderful girl-baby. You’ve been in good hands, and the baby, too. I’ve never known Nettie Dunn to take a false step yet. How are you feeling now?”

“I feel all right.”

He pulled up a chair and sat down. After examining her, he patted her hand comfortingly.

“You’re a healthy girl, Kathyanne, and now you’ve got a fine baby, too. There’s nothing to worry about. But you should have sent for me for the delivery, though.” He shook his head at her in a reproving manner. “I could’ve given Nettie and her daughter a helping hand. Why didn’t you send for me sooner?”

“But we didn’t send for you at all, Dr. Plowden,” she told him, shaking her head and looking at him wonderingly. “How did you know about it?”

He leaned back and thought about what she had said before answering her. He was able now to understand why Henry had been so reluctant to open the door and let him in when he first knocked.

“Well, I guess news travels fast these days, Kathyanne,” he said at last. “Anyway, I came down as soon as I knew about it.” He stopped and studied her face meditatively as his thoughts continued to pass through his mind in confusion. “I didn’t know you were having a baby, though. Why didn’t you come to my office to see me before this? How long have you been married?”

She glanced across the room at the others before answering him. Henry was standing on the hearth facing them.

“I’m not married, Dr. Plowden,” she told him, lowering her voice.

He was unprepared to hear her say that. Leaning closer, and in a lower voice, he asked, “Who’s the father, Kathyanne?”

She looked straight at him, but made no reply.

“What about that boy over there?” he asked, indicating Henry with a motion of his head.

“Henry Beck?” She glanced at Henry on the hearth. “No, it wasn’t Henry, Dr. Plowden.”

“No, I guess it couldn’t be,” he was quick to say in confirmation. “Who was the white man, Kathyanne?”

Again she would not answer him.

“It seems to me that you were doing housework at the Swaynes at one time,” he said as if to himself. “That was back in the early spring, if I remember correctly. You went to work there about a year or more ago, when you and your brother first moved to town.”

When he stopped, he could see tears glistening in her eyes. “That’s all right, Kathyanne,” he said in haste, reaching over and patting her hand tenderly. “I understand.”

Nothing was said for a long time. Presently he turned around in his chair and looked at Henry standing in front of the fire.

“What’s Henry Beck doing here, Kathyanne?”

“He just came to help out.”

“Is that all?”

“He says he wants to marry me.”

“Now—after this?”

She nodded.

“Do you want to marry him?”

“I’ve thought about it.”

“Does he have a job?”

“Yes, sir. He still works at Mr. Tyson Porcher’s place.”

He watched the expression on her face until both of them were smiling.

“Good,” he approved, nodding to her. “You’ll need somebody to look after you now, Kathyanne.”

“I’ve thought of that, too,” she said.

His eyes were fixed upon the bright colorful patches on the quilt. “You don’t have your brother alive any more—an outrage if I ever heard of one. They’ll never bring Burgess Tarver to trial—and even if they did, he’s got a witness who’ll take the stand and swear it was self-defense. And now that your Aunt Hazel’s gone to the hospital to stay, you’re all alone. That is, except for your parents, I suppose.”

“My mother’s dead, Dr. Plowden.” There was a pause. “And I never had a father—I mean, I never knew him.” She lifted her head and looked at the wicker basket on the hearth. “But she’s mine. I have her now.”

“What are you going to name her?”

“Celeste.”

“That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl,” he approved. “What’ll her last name be?”

Without looking at him, she slowly shook her head. “I don’t know, Dr. Plowden. Unless—”

“I know. I think it’d be a fine thing for you to marry Henry Beck, if both of you want that. Does he really want to marry you—now?”

She turned her head on the pillow and looked at Henry. Henry still had not been able to overhear anything that had been said, and he was scowling unhappily at both of them.

“Henry,” Dr. Plowden called across the room, “what’s on your mind, son?”

The tall muscular boy twisted his body awkwardly. “I ain’t had much on my mind, except worrying about her, Dr. Plowden. Is she going to be all right now?”

“She’s going to be all right, Henry.”

“I sure am glad to hear that. I sure am.” He smiled at Kathyanne. “That’s mighty good news to hear.”

Dr. Plowden leaned back in the chair. “Let’s see. It’s now about five days until Christmas.” He nodded to himself. “By New Year’s Day she’ll be doing anything she wants to, Henry.”

Henry was looking at the wicker basket beside Nettie Dunn. “I didn’t know about—about that—till just a little while ago, Dr. Plowden,” he spoke out complainingly. “She never told me. And every time I came around to see her and asked her how come she was so different, she wouldn’t tell me a single word. She went and acted all the time like she had a whopping big secret up her sleeve and it wasn’t none of my business. I was positive something was going on around here that I didn’t know the first thing about, but I didn’t know for sure till just tonight. I never did like for nobody to gull me that way. She oughtn’t do it, neither. No, sir!”

“Well, Henry,” he said, trying to dispel the boy’s resentment, “everybody knows that girls have little secrets of their own. A man can’t expect to know everything about them. That’s the way all girls are. It’s natural for them to be like that. It’s part of their stock in trade, you might say. They wouldn’t be the same without it. They’d be in a bad fix if they couldn’t have their little secrets, son.”

“Leastways, looks like she’d of told me that, anyhow,” he replied, unconvinced. “But I reckon I still like her just like I always did, just the same.”

“That’s the spirit, Henry,” he told the boy approvingly. “A lot of things sometimes happen to a girl like Kathyanne that can’t be helped. You don’t want to blame her too much for that. She’s a good girl. Always remember that. Now, you and Kathyanne will have a fine start with a family. And it’s up to you to support them. You’ll have to stop throwing your money away from now on. It’s a great responsibility for a man.” He smiled at Henry. “Are you willing, son?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, taking a deep, resigned breath. “I’m willing.” He was frowning a moment later. “But she’s got to listen to me from now on, and quit acting like she’s hiding secrets from me like she’s been doing. I don’t want to be tied down to no bossy woman, neither. But I won’t stand back none at all if she’ll speak right out and promise that and get married to me. That’s what I want to do.”

“That takes care of everything then, Henry. All you have to do now is ask her.”

“Yes, sir,” he said with a hopeful look at Kathyanne.

Dr. Plowden could see from the corners of his eyes that Kathyanne was watching Henry admiringly. Her countenance was glowing with pleased expectancy. He stood up, and at the same time took the envelope from his pocket. When he placed the envelope in her hand, she looked at it closely in the dim light and then hurriedly opened it. The crisp new bill fell on the quilt.

“What’s all this money for, Dr. Plowden?” she asked him, amazed by what she saw. “Where’d it come from—who does it belong to?”

Henry came closer, gaping at the sight of so much money.

“It’s all yours, Kathyanne. It’s a present for you and the baby. It’ll buy a lot of nice things, too. Now, be sure and spend some of it on yourself.”

“I don’t know why you should give it to me, Dr. Plowden. I’ve never seen this much money before in all my life. It’s a hundred dollars!”

He nodded toward Henry. “Don’t hand that over to Henry, now. It all belongs to you. Before you spend any of it, you’d better take it up to the bank and ask George Swayne to change it into smaller bills for you. I think he’ll be glad to know that you’ve got that much money.”

He turned his back and walked away, leaving her watching him speechlessly. He was confident now that sooner or later, if she had not already done so, she would realize where the money came from. After warming himself thoroughly at the fireplace, he put on his heavy gray overcoat with Henry’s help.

“You’d better get busy now, Henry,” he said with friendly admonition, “if you’re going to support a wife and family. It takes all a man’s time and ability to raise a family these days.” He smiled at the boy. Then he reached for Henry’s hand and shook it warmly. “But if it’s for Kathyanne, it’s worth it, isn’t it, Henry?”

“Yes, sir, Dr. Plowden,” Henry said solemnly. “I’ll take good care of them. I sure will.”

He walked to the door and waited while Henry was opening it for him. Over his shoulder he called to Nettie Dunn. “I’ll be back again late this afternoon to see how mother and child are doing, Nettie. Take good care of them in the meantime. Don’t forget to use scalding water when you rinse the dishes and things like that. You can never be too careful.”

“Yes, sir,” Dr. Plowden,” she promised. “I won’t forget that at all.”

As he turned to walk through the doorway, he saw Kathyanne lift her head from the pillow. Her eyes were sparkling with reflected firelight. “Dr. Plowden—”

“Yes, Kathyanne?”

“Dr. Plowden—God bless you!”

He did not know what was coming over him, but he could feel warm tears of gratitude filling his eyes. As his vision blurred, he reached out in time to find the side of the doorway for support. Clinging to the doorjamb, he felt as though he were being privileged to live his whole life over again in the space of a few short seconds. He had helped thousands of men, women, and children in his lifetime, saving the lives of some, prolonging the lives of others, and comforting those who were discouraged and heartbroken, and now it seemed as if each and every one he had helped in some way during the past forty years was thanking him with heartfelt appreciation. He could still hear, over and over again, the words that Kathyanne had spoken. This mulatto girl, on this cold December night in the squalor of Gwinnett Alley, unknowingly had rewarded him for a lifetime of labor. He was satisfied with his life now. Blindly groping in the direction of his car, he stumbled down the creaking loose-boarded steps into the yard.

“Dr. Plowden—are you all right?” Henry called anxiously, running after him.

“Yes—yes!” he said tersely, waving Henry away. “I’m all right, son. Leave me alone.”

Instead of going back to the cabin door, Henry stood in the yard listening to the resounding crunch of his heels in the cold winter night. The gate swung open on squeaking hinges. And then, suddenly, and without a murmur of protest, the gray overcoated body fell to the freezing ground of Gwinnett Alley.

Erskine Caldwell (1903–1987) was the author of twenty-five novels, numerous short stories, and a dozen nonfiction titles, most depicting the harsh realities of life in the American South during the Great Depression. His books have sold tens of millions of copies, with
God’s Little Acre
having sold more than fourteen million copies alone. Caldwell’s sometimes graphic realism and unabashedly political themes earned him the scorn of critics and censors early in his career, though by the end of his life he was acknowledged as a giant of American literature.