Kent Haruf - Plainsong

She got sweaty coming on the highway and again on the road.

I see that. We’ll wipe her down after a while. You come on in here now.

So they entered and immediately the kitchen seemed very warm and brightly lighted after being out in the dark. They stood beside the table, not knowing what to do now that they had arrived.

Now for the first time the girl said something. Would you like to sit down? she said. Her voice sounded kindly. They looked at her, and in the light they could see that she was a high school girl, not so much older than themselves, but she was so big in front. They knew enough to know that she was carrying a baby, though it made them uncomfortable to look at her. Wordlessly they pulled out two chairs and sat down.

You must be tired, she said. Have you eaten anything? I bet you’re hungry, aren’t you.

We had something to eat a while ago, Ike said.

When was that?

A while earlier, he said. We had something at lunch.

Then you must be starving, she said. I’ll get you something to eat.

She seemed very efficient at what she was doing. They sat at the table and watched her moving about in the kitchen, this black-haired girl with the tremendously swollen stomach, and avoided her eyes so much that whenever she turned toward them they seemed to be looking elsewhere. She moved back and forth familiarly, from the refrigerator to the stove, warming their food. When it was ready she set it out before them on the wood table: meat and potatoes, warmed-up canned corn, with glasses of milk and a plate of bread with butter. Go ahead, she said. Help yourselves.

Aren’t you going to eat? Ike said.

We ate hours ago. I’ll sit down with you, if you like. Maybe I’ll have a glass of milk, she said.

While the boys ate, Harold went out to see to their horse. He walked the mare over to the corral and let her drink at the stock tank, then he led her into the barn, hauled off her saddle and wiped her down with a gunnysack and afterward grained her and left the half-door open so she could move back to the water if she wanted to.

Meanwhile Raymond went into the other room to the phone and carried it on its long cord into the parlor and made a call. He spoke in a quiet low voice. Tom? he said.

Yes.

We got em out here with us.

Ike and Bobby?

By God, Tom, they come out here ahorseback. All this way.

I knew they had the horse. I had the police out looking for them, Guthrie said. I didn’t know where they were. I’ve been worried sick.

Well. But they’re here now.

Are they all right?

It appears like it. I reckon they are. They seem kind of upset, though. Pretty quiet.

I’ll be right out.

Tom, the old man said. He looked out into the kitchen where the two boys were seated at the table with the girl. She was talking to them, and both were watching her intently. I just wonder if you don’t want to leave em to stay out here tonight.

Out there?

That’s right.

What for?

I think it’d be better.

What do you mean, better?

Well. Like I say, they seem kind of upset.

There was quiet on the other end of the line.

You could come out in the morning and get em, Raymond said. You’ll want to bring along a horse trailer when you come.

I got to think about this, Guthrie said. Would you hold a minute?

He could hear Guthrie talking to somebody in the background. After a time he came back.

I guess it’s all right, Guthrie said. I have Maggie Jones here with me and she thinks you’re right. I’ll come out in the morning.

Right. We’ll see you then.

But you tell them you talked to me, Guthrie said, and that I’ll be there the first thing in the morning.

I’ll tell em. Raymond hung up and went back to the kitchen.

When the boys were finished eating, the girl made them a bed with blankets in the parlor. The McPheron brothers shoved the old recliner chairs out of the way and she spread the thick blankets down on the wood floor in the middle of the room and found them a pair of old pillows and said, I’ll be right in here.

You boys going to be all right? Harold said.

Yes sir.

Just holler if you need anything.

Holler loud, Raymond said. We don’t hear too good.

You need anything else right now? Harold said.

No, sir.

That’s it then. I guess we better go to bed. It’s getting pretty late. I’m going to say we had enough excitement for one night.

The girl went back to her room off the dining room and the McPheron brothers went upstairs. When they were gone the two boys removed their shoes and set them in place on the floor in front of the old television console and removed their pants, and then they lay down in their shirts and underwear in the thick blankets on the floor in the old room at the far end of the house, and lying on the floor they looked up into the room where the yardlight shone in on the wallpaper and the ceiling.

She looks like she’s going to have two babies, Bobby said.

Maybe she is.

Is she married to them?

Who?

Them. Those old men.

No, Ike said.

What’s she doing out here then?

I don’t know. What are we doing out here?

They both looked at the pale light showing in onto the ceiling and studied the faded pattern in the old wallpaper. It went all the way around the room and there were stains on it in places and water spots. After a while they closed their eyes. And then they breathed deeply and were asleep.

The next day Guthrie was at the McPherons’ place very early in the morning and he had already loaded the horse into the trailer by the time the two boys had finished the big breakfast of ham and eggs the girl had made for them.

On the way back into town Guthrie said, I missed you. I was worried when I couldn’t find you.

They didn’t say anything.

Are you all right this morning?

They nodded.

Are you?

Yes.

All right. But I don’t want you to do that again. He looked at them seated beside him in the pickup. Their faces were pale and quiet. He changed his tone. I ask you not to do that again, he said. I ask you not to leave like that again.

Dad, Ike said. Mrs. Stearns died.

Who?

The lady over on Main Street. In her apartment.

How do you know that?

We saw her yesterday. She was dead then.

Did you tell anybody?

No. We’re telling you.

But somebody better do something about her, Bobby said. Somebody better take care of her.

I’ll call somebody when we get back to town, Guthrie said.

They drove on down the road. After a while Ike said, But Dad?

Yes.

Isn’t Mother ever going to come back home again?

No, Guthrie said. He thought for a moment. I don’t think she is.

But she left her clothes and jewelry here.

That’s right, Guthrie said. We’ll have to take them to her.

She’ll want them, Bobby said.

They started about noon. That was on a Tuesday. Then she delivered about noon on Wednesday, so it was still a good twelve hours longer than the old doctor had told her it would likely take. But on that Tuesday noon when they started they were not very heavy at first and she wasn’t even sure what they were in the beginning, only that she had had the predictable cramps in her back which moved around to the front, and then in the next few hours they had come on more purposefully and she began to feel more certain then, and then she was both scared and proud, and she was pleased too.

But she didn’t want to make any fuss. She wanted to do this right. She didn’t want to be cheated by alarm or false emotion. So she didn’t tell them right away, the old McPheron brothers, who were outside all afternoon with the cattle in the work corrals, checking the new cow-calf pairs in the bright warm latespring afternoon. In the last two weeks the brothers had taken to staying in close to the house, ever since they’d driven her to the doctor, locating work for themselves to do in the barn or the corrals, and on those occasions when they both couldn’t be nearby they had begun to take precautions so at least one of them was always close to the house, near enough to hear any call that the girl might make.