The House on Malcolm Street (32 page)

Maybe I should ask her why it seemed important to her. And then ask him why he had such a problem with me. Or maybe with John. Or the very idea of someone with a claim of kinship coming to occupy space in Marigold’s home and heart.

But it didn’t seem right to accuse Marigold without knowing the matter fully. Or to dismiss Josiah’s behavior as simple jealousy. I didn’t know how to analyze either of them in this situation and I wished I could just stop trying.

Had Josiah really not ridden in a car since his accident? Was it so much fear in him? A way of punishing himself? Or both?

Only thoughts of Eliza could tear my mind away, and so I came full circle to worry for her again as I lay hoping for a few hours of sleep. Was she lying awake like I was? Thinking of me right now? Scared for me not to be there? I could only try to picture her sleeping peacefully on the cot I’d helped prepare for her beside the window in Marigold’s room. Maybe Marigold had even played some Victrola music for her.

I could be sure she’d prayed. I could even picture Marigold up and praying still, for all of us here. The image gave me peace, and finally my eyelids grew heavy. With another tiny prayer for my daughter, I drifted off to sleep.

27
Josiah

Leah Breckenridge had begun to haunt me. I’d tried to distance myself. But Marigold finagled ways to make that impossible. And Leah kept finding ways to show herself a better woman than I’d ever expected.

She could cook. For a crowd. Passable meals with a little of nothing.

She was definitely a willing worker, helping where there was a need, both here and at Marigold’s house.

She’d refused my stupid pledge, insisting that she couldn’t make a promise to preclude friendship. Even though I knew she wasn’t interested in being friends.

And now she’d gone a step further. I’d known this trip would force me out of my self-imposed shunning of automobiles, because I’d have to accept a ride back to Andersonville with Mel and Dotty just to keep my job. But Leah’d made me lay those fetters aside more completely. And that was good. But also terrifying.

Leah had gotten under my skin, no doubt. What was Marigold trying to accomplish? If I were back at Mr. Abraham’s house, I’d ask him.

The hay beneath my head was a little scratchy, but all in all, I found the barn loft a comfortable place to keep me away from the crowd in the house. But sleep came hard.

“You were born to minister,” Marigold had told me once. “Maybe not preach, but who knows? I can see the heart for people about you. I know you want to help when folks are needy. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

A missionary’s story had touched me in church one Sunday, his tales a little too vivid for my injured emotions so soon after coming to Marigold’s. She’d seen the tears I’d tried to hide, and she’d been sure ever since that I was moldable material for the Lord’s work.

Hauling biscuits and doing field work I supposed I could handle. Plunking money into a missions basket wasn’t hard either. The problem came when she expected something more. Words that made a difference. Closeness with another soul. One-on-one fellowship and touching of hearts.

Maybe I’d shunned that too. Wisely so. Far worse than driving, the risk of wreckage was very real.

How did Leah do it? How could she come all the way over here, selflessly serve and give her heart to this family, and seem so downright comfortable at it?

I found myself wanting to ask her things. Like whether she dreamed of John, and if the grieving ever made her feel like staying in bed and wishing the world away. Was there consolation in having Eliza still with her, or more heartache for the child growing up without a father? I wished I knew how she could seem so poised and sure of herself.

Barn cats and creatures unnamed lent the night a collection of unfamiliar sounds. I lay listening, wishing the morning would come and tomorrow could speed by quickly. I didn’t think I’d ever get any rest.

But finally, in the wee hours, I lifted my heart in prayer, and solace began to come.

Lord, there’s so much I don’t understand. But maybe I just need to rest in your arms like I’m trying to rest in this hay. Not worrying so much about my own understanding, or my own feelings, just leaving things up to you. I promise to try, Lord. Thank you . . .

28
Leah

Morning arrived with the call of a rooster I hadn’t realized they owned. So much awaited my attention already with so many in this household. I was still deeply needed here, but before I’d even made breakfast, I was anxious to leave and get back to my daughter.

Some of the Kurchers were feeling a little better and some were about the same, but I had difficulty concentrating on any of that. Mrs. Batey wouldn’t be starting out before the afternoon. As I worked at the things that I needed to put my hands to, a nagging worry rode over everything. What if something happened to delay her? What if she couldn’t come at all?

Finally I thought of an excuse to communicate with the people in Andersonville, just to seek the confirmation I needed. We’d sent apples to the Kurchers weeks ago, and as far as I could tell there was not a one left. Yet there were still plenty in Marigold’s basement. So I persuaded Bobby to run to the neighbor and borrow the use of the telephone to call Mr. Abraham’s house.

“Tell him I’d like him to please load a basket of apples into Mrs. Batey’s car before she comes,” I instructed. “Surely he’ll be able to tell us if she’s leaving on schedule.”

“Will he be home on a Sunday morning, ma’am, and not at church?” Bobby questioned.

“Yes,” I assured him. “He keeps a Saturday Sabbath.”

I knew the boy did not understand that, but he was trusting and obedient anyway. Maybe for the sake of the apples. But he came back with shocking news.

“He says Mrs. Batey’s not coming.”

“What?” My mind raced into a panic.

“When they found out you was both here, she decided there weren’t no need of her driving when there was already a ride arranged. So they’s figuring you to ride back with Mr. Josiah’s friends. Don’t worry, though. I tol’ him to load the apples in their car if they’ll let him.”

I’d hoped Marigold and Eliza would ride along with Mrs. Batey again. That way I’d see Eliza so much more quickly. But now I’d be riding back with people I’d probably never met. With Josiah. At least it was better than not having a ride at all.

I should have had Bobby ask who might be coming to help today so there would be someone after I’d gone. But Mr. Abraham might not have known that yet. And what if Marigold found no one? It was a strange request, to expect someone to drive and tend a sick family they probably didn’t know. I could imagine people asking Marigold if there weren’t anyone closer who could help.

And maybe there was. I asked Mrs. Kurcher about it, but she couldn’t come up with anyone she thought would be willing, at least that she would be willing to ask. Some from the church down the road had helped them before, but she just couldn’t bear to lean on the same people again.

“The Lord’ll provide,” she told me. “When he sets you on a path, he’ll make a way. I can’t complain. Look what he’s done for us so far.”

Amazing words from a woman in her position. Widowed, with such a vast burden of responsibility. I felt small in comparison, complaining the way I’d done, and yet God had provided for Eliza and me too.

I did a lot of thinking about Hilda Kurcher and her enterprise here. Running a farm and raising eighteen children still at home without the help of a husband. Of course, they’d gotten in a bind with all this illness, but she and I talked about how they did things here on a normal basis, and I was impressed. Everybody had their assigned chores. The house and farm work was all carefully scheduled.

“We’ll be back to that soon enough,” she assured me. “It’s been such a blessing for you to come and help us weather this little storm. Ida’s feeling better already. When she’s back at things again, she’s the house manager as much as I am. And Rafe’s the farm foreman. When those two are outta bed, and then the next, Dodie and Lowell, everything’ll turn a little easier again.”

I reminded her of what the doctor had said, that she was to maintain her rest even after they all started feeling better, and she promised she would.

By midafternoon I was so anxious to get back to Eliza that I could hardly function, but I was feeling a very mixed array of emotion. A piece of me was reluctant to leave, especially if I weren’t assured of some additional help here for at least a couple more days. But I could barely wait for my ride to get here. I’d only been here one night and much of two days, but it seemed far longer since I’d held my girl in my arms. Yet despite that, I was apprehensive about the drive home. What would it be like riding with Josiah and his friends?

To my great relief, Charles and Lydia Casewalter from Marigold’s church drove in and told us they could stay until Monday evening. Shortly after that, an incredibly dusty little Ford came chugging up the lane behind the Casewalters’ truck. Josiah’s friends were here already.

I collected my things and said good-byes all over the house. Most of the children asked me to come back.

“I’d like to,” I told them. “When you’re all better and I can bring my daughter to meet you.”

One of the girls gave me a little cornhusk doll to give to Eliza. “Did you make this?” I asked her.

She nodded. “Mama showed me how.”

“It’s wonderful. You’re an amazing family.”

Josiah’s friends introduced themselves as Mel and Dotty Reiner. They had a basket of Marigold’s apples with them. Hilda insisted that I take a pumpkin back with me, and I obliged, thinking of the fun Eliza would have making pumpkin pies with me and Marigold.

She offered a pumpkin to Josiah too, but he turned her down.

“Sell mine,” he told her with the hint of a smile. “I’ll make sure Leah gets a big pumpkin and maybe she’ll see fit to spare enough for a pie for Mr. Abraham and me.”

Mrs. Kurcher smiled back at him. I’m sure she thought there must be some sort of relationship between Josiah and me, and he certainly did nothing to dissuade such an idea. But for me to protest aloud would be quite awkward and might produce an opposite effect, so I kept quiet.

I’d hoped Mrs. Reiner would sit in the backseat with me and let the men ride in the front. It would have been more proper, especially for the eyes of any of the Kurcher children who might see us depart. But she merrily plunked herself in the front seat with her husband, leaving me no choice but to share the only seat left with Josiah. For a moment I was extra grateful for that pumpkin, thinking I’d set it conveniently between us, but to my dismay, there was no room for that. We were forced to ride nearly touching, me with my bag on my lap, and he with the pumpkin on his.

“Glad to be going home?” Mr. Reiner asked as we turned onto the main road.

Josiah’s answer was strange. “Not sure where home is right now.”

Did that mean he was planning to move back into Marigold’s? Or somewhere else? I wanted to know, but I was afraid to ask.

“How did you manage things over here?” Mel asked on.

“All right,” Josiah answered simply. He looked away across the fields to our left, and it seemed obvious that he wanted to retreat from us somehow, even in these close quarters, and not have to say anything. He seemed to barely tolerate making a response.

“Seems all wrong,” Mr. Reiner talked on, loudly, over his engine’s roar. “One woman having so many children to see to. And not all of ’em born to her. Don’t the state have an orphan home? Seems like they’d be better off if about half of ’em was trucked over there. Wouldn’t need to be calling on charity that way.”

I’d seen Josiah in various states of emotion. Several times. But not with the fire of anger that flashed in his eyes now. “That’s stupid, Mel. They’re family. Even the ones that’ve been taken in. Love’s stronger than blood, and they belong together.”

I was looking his way, strangely interested in the depth of feeling so plain on his face. But he turned his head toward the field again.

“Didn’t mean to spark nothing, Joe,” Reiner went on. “Just thinking practical.”

“Kids belong where somebody cares,” Josiah answered bitterly. “That’s better than practical.”

“You don’t think nobody cares at the state home?” his friend persisted, and then laughed a little. “They really got to you, didn’t they? You gotta be thinking about finding you a woman again, Joe. Maybe you need a son or two running around.”

“Shut up.”

“Leave him alone, Mel,” his wife agreed. “It’s bound to have been a trying couple of days.”

Everyone was quiet for a few miles after that and I was glad. I couldn’t quite picture why these people were Josiah’s friends at all. The man didn’t seem to be very considerate. And Josiah hadn’t volunteered a word to them on his own. But maybe he was just out of sorts and didn’t feel like talking to anybody. Maybe it was somehow because of me.

But then it dawned on me what was much more likely to be the problem. Here we were in an automobile when he hadn’t been a passenger in one since before the accident. He must be having a terrible struggle with this today. Maybe having to drive yesterday had only made it worse.

I tried to imagine the swirling emotion that facing a car again might be bringing him. Was he afraid? Or plagued with his burden of guilt? Either way seemed completely plausible to me. I was willing to give him plenty of space. But Mel and Dotty were soon trying to make conversation again, and it seemed to irritate him terribly. Why didn’t they know him well enough to understand?

29
Josiah

I was being rude to Mel and Dotty, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to talk in front of Leah. Not about anything, no matter how they pushed. She’d invaded my dreams, sounding like Marigold:
“We’ve got to help these children . . .”

I’d tried to tell her that we already were, but she didn’t seem to hear me. And now I wondered what business I had dreaming of her anyway.

But that really wasn’t all. Maybe Mel was right about the Kurcher kids getting to me. Maybe I was envious. Not that they’d been sick, of course. Or that they’d gone weeks without store-bought groceries. They wouldn’t be hurt in the long run by either of those things. But what I envied was the very thing that Mel didn’t seem to see. They accepted life the way it was. They accepted each other, and didn’t seem to want things any other way. Mrs. Kurcher loved all the kids enough that there’d been no way I could tell which ones were her birth kids and which ones weren’t. They all belonged.