Трейси Шевалье - At the Edge of the Orchard

“We going home?”

“Yes.”

James was grateful it was Robert who’d woken. Nathan or Sal would have peppered him with questions. “Does Ma know?” was all Robert said.

“She’ll make her own way back.”

They said nothing for a time, sitting in the dark, only the light of the lantern hanging on the wagon to guide them. “Pa,” Robert said after a while, “what about the plow blade and the supplies we left in Perrysburg? Don’t we have to pick them up?”

James let the oxen continue on for a minute before he pulled up the reins. “Goddammit.” In his haste to get away from Sadie he had not thought about anything other than getting home as fast as possible.

“It isn’t far, Pa,” Robert said. “Just a turning a little ways back.” He sounded like a parent soothing a child.

James held the reins in his hands and listened. A deep darkness settled around him that would not shift for many hours. There was no moon, and the stars were very bright-a poetic rather than a practical light. He sighed, thinking about having to wait outside the blacksmith’s until the man opened for business.

But there was nothing he could do except to turn the wagon around and start back, feeling foolish. Luckily it was only Robert he had to feel foolish in front of. When they reached Perrysburg, Robert joined his brother and sister back in the bed and soon slept as well. James remained awake, sitting and trying not to think about his wife.

His children did not stir until the dawn chorus, which James noted was as loud in town as it was in the swamp. Then Sal sat up, hair in her eyes, looking like a younger Sadie. “Where’s Ma?”

“At the camp.” James studied the blacksmith’s windows in the dim pink light the sun gave off to announce its arrival.

“Why ain’t she with us?”

James did not respond.

“Where are we?”

“Perrysburg.”

“Camp ain’t far. I could go back and get her.” But Sal did not move, despite knowing she was her mother’s best chance. She was not a girl who would do more than the minimum required of her. She looked at her brothers, asleep on either side of her, and chose Robert to nudge awake. “Go and get Ma,” she said. Robert did not sit up, but turned his brown eyes on her.

“Robert isn’t going anywhere,” James said. “No one is. We’re waiting here for the blacksmith and the store to open so we can pick up our supplies. Then we’ll head home. Your Ma can come when she’s ready.”

“But she don’t know the way!” Sal began to snivel.

It was true that Sadie had never been good with directions. There was only one road towards the Portage River, but she might find it hard to tell which turning to take off of it to get to their property-the old Indian trails all looked the same if you didn’t know them well, and if you were drunk. James had a vision of Sadie wandering in the woods and a grim smile crossed his face. “She’ll work it out.”

Sal lay back down but continued to sob; she seemed to enjoy the drama of it. Nathan still slept-he could sleep through the loudest thunderstorms-but Robert got up and rejoined his father. James reached into a burlap sack at his feet, pulled out two cold johnnycakes, and handed one to his son. As they ate, they watched the rim of the sun squeeze up over the trees to start another day.

“How long do you think the blacksmith will be, Pa?” Robert asked.

“An hour or so. He’s a big man-he’ll want a big breakfast.”

Robert nodded.

James glanced behind him to make sure Nathan and Sal were asleep. Then he cleared his throat to dislodge the words that were stuck there along with the johnnycake. “I saw the graft you made out in the woods,” he said quietly so that Sal would not hear.

“You think it will take?”

“It already has. That was good grafting.” James rarely praised his children. He had never felt he had to.

“What if Ma finds it?”

“She never goes out there.” Even as he was saying it, though, doubt wrenched at the part of him where he kept his love of apple trees. Robert’s graft was on one of the Indian trails near the main path to their cabin. If Sadie got lost coming back-which she was likely to do-she could easily take that path and stumble upon the graft. And if she were angry and scared, he knew just what she’d do to the tree.

“You want me to go and get her?”

Everythin was hurtin. My head from the jack. My throat from the screechin and callin to the preacher. My snatch from the wild ginger man. And I was lyin in some brambles that scratched me every time I moved.

After a bit I managed to turn my head, then propped myself up on my elbows so I could see what was goin on round me. Everywhere there were people busy makin themselves presentable after the night-women brushin and braidin their hair, men pissin in the woods, people makin fires and mixin cornmeal into patties to fry. I smelled bacon somewhere.

I seemed to be the only one still on the ground, the only one hurtin all over, though I was sure some of these people had done things last night to make parts of them hurt too. Why was it I was always the one to get caught out? Everybody else could sin and still have smooth hair and an innocent smile in the morning. But me, I had my skirt up round my knees and hair like I’d been dragged through a hedge, my breath stank and only God had any idea where my bonnet was.

I pulled my skirt down and twisted my hair into a bun and held it with a twig cause Id lost my hairpins. Then I stood though my head hurt even more and brushed my skirt off. It had some blood on it and dirt and other things I couldnt do much about. I didnt look at anyone though I could feel them givin me the side eye again. I jest started walkin through the camp, tryin to find a way to the wagon. There were so many people though and it was so big and my head hurt so that I didnt know where I was.

I thought I was goin to cry. Then I saw Hattie Day busyin herself foldin a quilt. And I went up and took the other end to help her and I said, Hattie, I know you dont like me but please can you jest show me the way to where all the wagons are. She looked at me with a drop of pity in her eyes and pointed. Normally I hate pity from anyone, but this time I thought maybe a drop would do me no harm. So I thanked her and handed her the ends of the quilt and headed in the direction shed showed me.

I got out to the road at last and walked along the long line of wagons but I couldnt find ours. I was tryin not to panic but my teeth were chatterin and my hands were shakin even though it wasnt cold.

My family was gone. I could feel it. I was all alone. That made me stop in the middle of the road and jest stand there. A wagon was comin towards me and a man was shoutin at me to get out of the way, but I couldnt move. Tears was runnin down me on the inside and the outside.

Ma.

I turned round and there was Robert. Of all of my family I was glad it was him that found me, cause I loved him best even when he made me feel the worst. Robert was the Goodenough with the most future in him, the one the swamp wouldnt get.

He held out his hand and said, I come to fetch you.

I was still cryin and I let him take my hand and lead me away like I was a child.

Smithson Fery

Kingsvill

Canada

Janery 1, 1840

Godenufs

Blak Swamp

Portig River

Neer Pearysburg