The Pilgrim Song (15 page)

She screamed, “Get away—get away!” and almost fell down as she leaped backward. She wheeled around and threw herself into the bed, pulling the covers over her head again, trembling from cold and fright.

Almost at once she heard the door open, then Kat’s voice.

“What’s the matter, Jenny?”

Throwing the covers back again, Jenny stared at her younger sister, then pointed with a trembling finger. “There’s a rat over by the bureau!”

Kat glanced over and then giggled. “It’s nothing but a mouse.”

“Get him out of here! I can’t stand him!”

Kat shooed the mouse into a tiny hole at the base of the wall and said, “It’s all right. He’s gone now.”

With a shudder of relief, Jenny sat up but still hugged the blanket around her. She saw that Kat was already dressed in a pair of overalls and a brown wool sweater buttoned up tightly. “It’s so cold,” Jenny moaned.

“Not as cold as it would be back home! It’s warmer downstairs. Clint’s got a fire going. You’d better get cleaned up.”

“I can’t clean up in cold water.” Jenny looked over at the walnut washstand. She had brought up a porcelain pitcher and a cracked enamel basin, but now she could not face the thought of the cold water.

“I bet you need to go to the bathroom too.” Kat grinned.

Suddenly Jenny was aware of the pressure and said, “Yes.”

“Why don’t you go on and take care of that, and I’ll heat you some water. You can wash up downstairs where it’s warm.”

Jenny stared at Kat, mumbling, “All right. I’ll be right down.”

Kat turned and left, and Jenny stepped over to the pegs on the wall that served for a closet. She picked the heaviest,
warmest outfit she had—a long green dress of fine wool. Quickly she skimmed out of her nightgown and into her clothes, including two pairs of stockings. She slipped into her lightweight shoes—more appropriate for dancing than for life on the farm—and she knew they would not last long here. Quickly she jerked a coat off another peg, put it on, and stepped out into the hallway. She went downstairs, unable to ignore the filth that surrounded her, and for the first time in her life, Jenny thought of how valuable servants were. As she slipped down the stairs, she thought,
I wish we had just one servant here to clean up this filthy house!

She realized with a sharp pang that she might never have servants again, and the thought depressed her. She cut through the kitchen and tried to hurry past Clint, who was putting a piece of firewood in the stove. She was embarrassed when he turned and said good morning.

She mumbled good morning before dashing outside. She was mortified that he knew her mission. Such things had always been private, but how could one go to an outside bathroom in private?

There were two privies, as she had discovered yesterday—one for men and one for women. Jenny turned toward the one toward the east side of the house and quickly ducked inside. It was dark, and the thought of snakes sent chills up her spine. She shivered and reminded herself,
There are no snakes in November. Now, don’t be foolish!

When she emerged, the sun had risen enough to send pale gleams soaking into the earth. She hurried toward the porch, noticing that the outside of the house was as filthy as the inside. Tin cans, papers, and other refuse of all kinds were strewn everywhere. As she stepped into the kitchen Kat said cheerfully, “I heated some water, Jenny. You can wash your face and hands.”

Kat poured the water into a basin from the teakettle, then set the kettle back on the stove. Jenny saw a bar of soap, rather mushy from previous use, and almost rebelled against
using it. Still, she was so dirty she could not turn it down. “There’s a washcloth hanging up right over there,” Kat said.

Jenny quickly washed her face and hands and dried off on a towel made from a flour sack.

Turning from the washbasin, Jenny saw that Clint was bringing a pan from the wood stove. He was wearing the same clothes he had worn on the journey, his plaid wool shirt open at the throat, and seemed impervious to the cold. He said cheerfully, “Did you ladies sleep well last night?”

Jenny responded with a noncommittal, “Mmm . . .”

“Sit down, Jenny,” Kat said. “Clint and I have fixed breakfast—eggs and biscuits.”

Before Jenny could speak, Hannah entered, her face drawn and her whole countenance downcast. “Good morning,” she said wanly, then moved over to the fire. “Ooh, this feels good!”

“Come sit down and eat,” Kat said. “I cooked the eggs, and Clint did the biscuits.” She seemed happy, her eyes sparkling. She nodded toward the plates. “They don’t match very well, but they’ll do. I found the eggs myself, Hannah. The hens have just laid them everywhere. It’s like Easter—only we eat these eggs.”

They sat down, and Clint looked over at Hannah. “Reckon you’d like to say a blessing.”

“Yes, I would.” Hannah bowed her head, and the others followed suit. “Lord, we thank you for this food and for your provision. We thank you for bringing us home safely. Be with us and watch over us. In Jesus’ name.”

“Clint’s going to teach me how to make biscuits,” Kat announced, “and then I can make the whole breakfast.”

“Better wait and taste these biscuits before you decide to use my recipe. I’m not much of a cook.”

Hannah tasted the eggs and managed a smile. “You did so well, Kat. The eggs are good.” She picked up a hot biscuit and juggled it.

“No butter, I’m afraid,” Clint said.

Hannah bit into the biscuit cautiously, and as it cooled,
she smiled and said, “This is
very
good, Clint! You’ll have to teach me how to make them too. I’d better go get Dad and Josh up. They’ll want to have a hot breakfast.” She ran from the warmth of the kitchen, rubbing her arms in the cold hallway and dashing up the stairs to keep herself warm. She knocked on Josh’s door, and when no answer came, she whispered softly, “Josh, are you awake?”

Still no answer, and she opened the door cautiously. The sunlight fell on the floor and on the half-covered sleeping man. Josh was fully dressed, his mouth open, snoring. Hannah moved closer and called more loudly, but he still did not move.

She glanced down and saw an empty whiskey bottle on the floor. She felt a wave of anxiety and pity for this brother of hers whom she loved so dearly. Knowing it was useless to try to wake him, she turned and closed the door silently. She made her way downstairs to her father’s room, turning left at the foot of the stairs and crossing through the living room to the back of the house. She knocked on the door and called his name. After a moment of silence, she heard footsteps and waited until the door opened.

Lewis Winslow looked frightful. He was unshaven, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He passed his hand across his face and shook his head in confusion. “What is it, Hannah?”

“Breakfast is ready, Dad. Why don’t you come and eat, then you can shave in the kitchen.”

Lewis had passed a sleepless night. He had lain awake going over his life again and again, and more than once had moaned and whispered,
Why was I such a fool?
Now his weakness was evident in his appearance as he shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

“You’ve got to eat, Dad.”

“Hannah, what in the world are we going to do?” The words rose from the very depths of his heart, for it was the question he had asked himself incessantly, but with no answers. His eyes seemed sunken far into his head, and as he
raised his hand to run it over his hair, Hannah noted it was unsteady.

“You’ll feel better after you get a good breakfast and get cleaned up. It’ll be all right, Dad,” Hannah said. Her heart went out to her father, and she realized that he was taking this harder than she was. This was strange, because she had always been the weak one, the recluse, the one who could not face the world. Now she saw fear and doubt in her father’s wan features. She reached up to touch his cheek and said, “Bring your razor. After you eat, you can shave, and we’ll discuss it.”

****

Breakfast was grim. The family ate in silence while Kat babbled on about finding the eggs and what fun it was and about her experimentation with cooking. Her eyes were bright, and her tawny hair tumbled about her head. She addressed much of her talk to Clint, asking him what it was like to grow up on a farm and what the land around here was like, about the river nearby and about the animals. The others were glad enough to let her dominate the conversation.

Lewis forced himself to eat, trying to ignore the rank odor of the kitchen, a legacy of the former occupants, who had obviously lived with no thought of cleanliness. The floor was black with grime, as were the mostly empty shelves. He broke off a bit of biscuit and ate the dry morsel.

“We’ll have to get some butter and jelly or syrup of some kind,” Hannah said.

“I saw some sorghum molasses in the store,” Clint said. “That would be good.”

“I’ve never had that. What does it taste like?” Hannah asked.

Clint grinned at her. “It takes sweet like syrup should. It’s a little bit strong for some folks, but I’ve always liked it. As a matter of fact,” he observed, “there’s a sorghum mill out in
the field. We could grow our own sorghum cane and make our own sweetening.”

“Could we really do that?” Hannah wondered aloud. To her such a thing was as mysterious as magic. Food was something you bought at the store, not something you grew yourself. She had never even been aware of the small vegetable garden Jamie had planted at their home in New York. She realized at that moment that she was in a new world now.

“I don’t see why not,” Clint said. “We’ve got plenty of land. Sorghum is easy to grow. There’s a little work involved in making the syrup but nothing we can’t handle.”

Lewis took all of this in but said nothing. When the meal was finished, he could no longer contain himself. With desperation etched on his features, he blurted out, “How are we going to live? We’ll all starve to death!”

His outburst triggered Jenny’s emotions, who with pale face and trembling lips uttered, “This place is awful! It’s filthy, and it has rats and probably snakes in the summer. My clothes are filthy, and I am too. It’s the worst place in the world!”

No one spoke for a moment, and then Clint took a sip of coffee from his chipped cup. When he lowered it, he shrugged and said, “It’s a lot better than bein’ in jail in El Paso, Texas.”

Kat’s eyes opened wide. “Were you in jail in Texas?”

“Sure was.”

“What for?” she demanded. “Did you rob somebody?”

Clint laughed softly. “No, I was arrested for vagrancy.”

“What’s that? Is it like burglary?”

“No, it’s not having a job.”

“They can put you in jail for not having a job?”

“They can in El Paso.”

Hannah was fascinated by the different life Clint had lived. It was almost as if he were an alien from another planet. She filed this bit of information away to ask him about later. But now she was more concerned about the despair in her father’s face and voice, and she said to him, “We won’t starve, Dad. We’ve got chickens, and we can plant a garden.”

“I don’t see how we’re going to make it, daughter,” Lewis whispered.

Hannah responded in a surprisingly strong voice, “We’re Winslows, Father. Our people didn’t always have it easy. You’ve read the journal of Gilbert Winslow. You know the terrible things he and some of our other ancestors have gone through. We’ve got the same blood in us. We’ll make it.”

“That’s right,” Kat piped up. “We’ll ask Jesus for food, and Clint will show us how to farm, won’t you, Clint?”

“Do my best.”

Hannah was attempting to keep herself as outwardly cheerful as possible. Actually she was filled with fears, perhaps even more so than her father, but this was no time to give way to them. As she thought of Joshua dead drunk and of no use, and seeing the helpless expression on the faces of Jenny and her father, she knew she could never allow her fear to show. She glanced at Clint, who was sitting idly in his chair. He seemed so strong to her—and she realized that his strength had been forged in the crucible of trials and hard times. She noted again the broken nose and the scar on the side of his chin, the missing tip of his finger as his hands rested on the table.

“Tell us what to do, Clint,” Hannah said quietly. “We don’t know where to start.”

Clint was startled. He had come to this family when they had everything and he had nothing, but now these people, so soft and gentle and so unused to manual labor, needed him. As his eyes met Hannah’s, he saw a pleading and a cry for help there, and he knew he would do everything he could for this family. It was a strange turn of events. He had floated through the world, struggling and fighting his way, being hammered into shape, his mind and character toughened by adversity. But now someone else needed him. That touched a wellspring deep inside, and he felt a connection with them he had never felt with other people.

“Well,” he said quietly, “you’ve got two problems. You’ve
got to eat. That’s number one, and then you’ve got to stay clean.” He lifted his finger and rubbed his nose. “I guess you don’t
have
to stay clean, but you do have to eat. And like Hannah says, nobody’s going to starve. I took a little look around. I’ve seen signs of deer, and I’ll bet those woods over to the north of the place have plenty of coons and squirrels and possums. The river over there’s got fish and turtles. We’re not going to starve.”

Jenny lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m not eating a possum!”

“What do they taste like, Clint?” Kat inquired curiously.

“Well, they’re not very good, but if you get hungry enough, you can make do.”

“I’d like to get started in cleaning this place up,” Hannah exclaimed. “It’s filthy!”

Clint nodded. “I noticed a big washpot out back. I’ll go get a fire started under it. Everybody go bring your dirty clothes, and we’ll have a washday.”

After everyone had gathered up the dirty laundry, Jenny chose to work with her father cleaning up the kitchen while Hannah and Kat went outside with Clint. Neither of them had the foggiest idea of how to wash clothes.

“What do you do first, Clint?” Kat asked.