Трейси Шевалье - At the Edge of the Orchard

Then I had the idea to make me that winter tater patch. If you planted em in the fall in a trench full of manure and dead leaves, they grew even during winter and were ready earlier in the spring, when we usually ran out of food. My Pa did it back in Connecticut. I told James-one of the few things I said direct to him-and all he said was, Good luck. Caleb and Nathan and Robert looked on while I was choppin down the trees but their father must of said something cause none of them come over to help-though when Robert passed by he did whisper to me to sharpen the axe and it would go easier.

When I wanted to do something nothing stopped me doin it. That was how Id always been. Determined. My Ma called it ornery but she was jest jealous. Those stumps, though-they were one of the few things that ever defeated me. Id no idea trees got such strong roots clingin to the earth like that. Clearly they had no interest in ever movin. I spent a whole day trying to pry out a stump and couldnt get but half of it out. And this was jest one of twenty stumps. Sweated half myself away on that stump, got the worst headache I ever had, worse than a jack headache even. Had to sit down every few minutes cause I was so faint I had black spots in front of my eyes. Next morning I woke and knew I couldnt go back to those stumps or theyd kill me surer than any fever or rattler bite. There had to be a way to get em out but nobody was gonna tell me and I was too proud to ask. Maybe if John Chapman came along then he could of told me, but he didnt usually visit in the middle of the summer. So I left the stumps settin there like a whole line of rotten teeth I had to look at every day I was out in the garden.

Now in bed with James, both of us with the shakes, I got back at him. There werent many ways to wage a war when you got the fever, but I thought of one. I pretended the fever was worse and I started to call out names-any old names mostly but then I fastened on to Charlie Goodenough and kept repeatin it. I bunched up the quilt and stuck it tween my legs and started to hump it and called out Charlie, Charlie, give it to me good. And the thing was, it felt good, fever and all. I could of thrust for a long time. James muttered and shoved the pillow round his ears and I jest laughed. Thats for the stumps, I thought. Thats for carin more about your apples than about your wife.

James was thankful Sadie had finished with her rutting and was asleep when Hattie Day came by to help the children put up the vegetables. The first thing their neighbor did when she arrived was to string a rope across the room and hang the quilts Sadie had tossed off the bed over it so that he and Sadie were curtained off from the kitchen. “Tush,” she answered when James feebly protested. “You don’t need to see us and we don’t need to see you while we’re working.” She was so firm that he didn’t try to argue. He knew Sadie would have if she’d been awake, and he was tempted to nudge her. Instead he lay in bed listening to Mrs. Day’s efficiency on the other side of the quilt.

They got to work stewing tomatoes and pickling eggs. Normally the Goodenoughs didn’t need to pickle their eggs, as they ate and baked with what the chickens produced each day. But now with all but two of the family ill for over a week and consuming nothing but water, the eggs were rotting. Hattie Day declared they mustn’t go to waste and they’d pickle them before they did the cucumbers. She set the eggs to boil on the range as well as a pot of salted water and vinegar, and soon the house was filled with its tang. Then she had the children peel the hard-boiled eggs while she chopped the tomatoes and put them on to stew, and boiled and dried the jars.

For the most part Robert and Martha were quiet, with just the sound of eggshells cracking and sliding off to indicate they were there, and Mrs. Day clanking the jars and knocking the spoon against the side of the pot. James had a sudden desire to see his children bent over their work at the table, but he didn’t dare pull back the quilt for fear of the look Hattie Day would give him. Instead he traced a finger around the patchwork squares in blue and yellow and brown. Closest to his head was a square of green silk from an old dress of his mother’s that caught the eye more than any of the other patchwork squares.

“Brine’s ready,” he heard Hattie Day say. “You finished peeling the eggs?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Robert answered.

“You dipped ’em in water like I showed you to get all the shell off before we put ’em in the jars?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“All right, then. What flavorings you like to add? Mr. Day and me just like salt and pepper, but maybe your family does different.”

“Salt and pepper’s good.”

“Bring me the peppercorns, Martha. Put a little handful in each jar. That’s right. Now, sometimes I put in a little beet to color the water pink, just for show-it don’t make the eggs taste different. Want me to do that with these?”

“Hell, no!”

James started. He’d thought Sadie was asleep. Her voice was cracked and croaky, so she wasn’t as loud as she intended. Hattie Day must not have heard her, but she did hear Martha’s soft words. “We usually just leave the water plain.”

“Bitch is takin’ over my kitchen,” Sadie muttered.

“Leave her be-she’s just trying to help. God knows we need it.” But James shared Sadie’s sentiment. There was something too cozy about Hattie Day in their house, telling their children what to do. Worst of all, she said something he didn’t catch, and he heard a sound he hadn’t for a long time: Martha and Robert’s laughter. They never laugh around me, he thought.

That was it. The colored water was bad enough, but I couldnt stand it any more when that woman made my children laugh.

It took every bit of gumption I had left but I sprang from the bed and pushed right through the hanging quilt. Get the hell out of my kitchen! I shouted. That was all I could say before the quilt got tangled in my legs and brought me down and I knocked myself out.

When I come to I was back in bed with James next to me. The quilt was hung up again but it had a big rip down the middle where Id pulled it and the wool for the batting was comin out worse than before. Id have to get Martha to mend it, her stitches was more even than mine or Sals.

Stupid woman, he muttered when he saw my eyes open. Why did you do that? But he was smilin as he said it. You should of seen Hattie Days face, he added all quiet so the others couldnt hear. Look like a cat had crawled up under her skirt.

I chuckled. Whens she gonna go? I said, not loud but not quiet either. I didnt care if she heard me or not.

Hush now. Shes just being neighborly. Once were up and about we wont need the help.

Jest then Martha come in with a mug of cool water, helped me to drink it. I looked up into her face so pinched and felt a pain in my chest. But I couldnt think of a thing to say except, Them tomaters aint catchin are they? I think I smell em burnin. That made her run off to check. I could feel James lookin at me and I didnt want him to anymore so I turned on my side and pretended to sleep. It was murder havin to listen to that bitch bossin my children and busyin herself in my kitchen but I shut myself up and let her.

James was the first of the Goodenoughs to improve enough to get up. To start with he could only stagger around the kitchen to get Sadie water or sit at the table for a little while. Soon he was fetching wood, a log at a time, from the stack outside the door. Eventually he was able to stop using the chamber pot and go out to the outhouse, though the barn and the orchard seemed impossibly far away when each step tired him. He was glad to take in the fresh air and feel the sun on his skin, but it was jarring too, for all of his senses were heightened on first stepping outside. The sun was brighter, the breeze stronger, the rattle of the leaves and branches louder, the surrounding buildings and trees in crisper outlines.