Chapter 10
Our deprivation has turned into a grinding hunger hard to ignore. My belly felt like a tight wad of hurt and more than once I had become so light-headed, I had to stop and stand a minute before I carried on doing whatever it was I had been doing. My thoughts had become fuzzy, and I’d gone to scratching lines in one of the trees nearby. As of today, we’d been four full days with no real food to speak of.
I got to humming once, so as to keep my mind from thinking on it, till Momma told me to be quiet. “There’s nothing to sing about.”
Our desire to sing and dance shrunk like my hollow gut, long gone like everything else. I’ve tried to think of ways to distract myself, except when your belly’s controlling your head, it ain’t easy to do. At night when lying on the scratchy pile a leaves, my hip bones press sharp into the dirt, and my ribs push out. I ain’t never been delicate as Laci, that’s a fact, but I feel like I’m wasting away. My frame, once composed of muscled legs, firm arms and strong back as sturdy as a man’s, had gone weak, and I feared if somebody barely nudged me, I’d topple right on over.
Seph’s nose was constantly running, and his cheeks weren’t pink no more, while things was bad for Laci in particular. She stopped playing the make-believe fiddle altogether, and she also stopped going off on them wanderings a hers. No more unexpected disappearances down to the wishing rock, or elsewhere. She hadn’t moved from the fire except to go and relieve herself in the woods, then she hurried back to it. She got so close the other day, her hair got singed. Had I not smelled it when I went by on yet another endless trip to the creek for water to boil, she could a burned herself bad. I pulled the burnt ends off, and she went to rocking herself and she ain’t really stopped since. We smell perpetually of smoke, and our eyes stay red-rimmed. Last night I fell into this deep sleep, and the last sight I had was of Laci rocking and rocking. All of us was collapsing slowly, like the barn.
We started foraging for food. We found some blackberries, wild grapes, scallions, and dandelion greens a few times. We ate the blackberries and grapes immediately because we needed the sustenance. We moved forward together, Papa, Momma, Laci and I, lined up like World War I soldiers I seen pictures of in class, descending on the German ranks. We picked what we could, even the ones still sort a green, and we shared. The squirt of sweet juice in my mouth even from only three or four was so good, my mouth watered and watered for more. The deer, squirrels, raccoons and birds was getting to them though, and it was almost too much work for what we got out of it.
Papa and I continued to work on gathering trees for the cabin and I also searched for wild sumac berries to give to Momma. The few I found she soaked in boiled water and made us some sort of drink. It didn’t taste none too terrible. It had a fruity, lemony flavor, though I think I wanted to taste something so bad, it could have been my imagination. Once, when I come upon some dandelion greens and scallions, I gathered them and Momma cooked it all together in the skillet, only it was so very little, it almost made me more hungry.
She said, “It’s something to keep our stomachs from hurting so bad.”
I didn’t want to tell her she was wrong.
* * *
Come the morning after I found them greens, I went to get water for boiling, that endless chore I was beginning to despise. I took Seph with me, thinking to give him something to keep his mind off being hungry. I felt poorly, and he was looking right pitiful, otherwise I might have engaged him in playing. I took his hand and he come along with no fuss. I walked a little slower than usual, my legs trembling as I stepped over logs and the leftover rotting branches and limbs flattened from the flood.
I let go a him as we got close and said, “Don’t you get near the creek and fall in now, you hear me?”
Seph looked at me, his nose running down his lip and he shook his head no. I took my forefinger and swiped the wetness from his upper lip.
“Okay then. You stay right here. Don’t get into trouble.”
“I firsty, Wally. I real firsty.”
He worked his chapped, dry mouth, making little smacking noises as if to show me.
“I know. I’m getting us some water. You wait here, okay?”
I went down to the creek, taking care to dodge the softer areas where it had receded. I rinsed my hand of Seph’s nose drippings, then stood a minute looking at how far it had dropped, a good two feet or so, though it was still high. Papa said it would take a long time because of the ever persistent drizzly days. We’d already been out here about two weeks, and because it kept raining every other day or so, the flow washing down from higher points didn’t help. I bent and dipped the bucket in, filling it almost to the top. I wished I had two. It would mean less trips. I thought about the crisp, cold water from our well. Papa said he’d eventually figure how to get us water, but it would have to come after he got the roof on the cabin. Since we had a way to boil it, it won’t urgent, though it would sure taste better and save some work.
I set the refilled bucket down. Seph squatted by a rock with a stick in his hand poking at the ground. Seeing he was preoccupied, I commenced to looking for chicory root from a plant Momma showed me long time ago called Blue Sailor. I spotted some near the embankment, and started gathering as much as I could hold. After a few minutes, I checked to see what Seph was doing, and couldn’t believe my eyes. He was laid flat out on his belly, slurping away like a dog at a small puddle of nasty-looking water. In that brief second of shock, I pictured dead animals, overrun privies, and no telling what all else the water had come in contact with while creating these little contaminated cesspools. I envisioned poison filling his gut.
I threw the chicory root down and hollered, “Seph, no!”
He raised his head, muddy mouth quivering with uncertainty and his already red-rimmed eyes filled. I run over to him and yanked him up and shook him hard.
“No!” I yelled again.
I took my hand and frantically wiped at his mouth, like I could remove the water he’d drank. I smacked him on the back several times, like I would knock it out of him. He went to crying and shaking, his hands flying up and down in distress, like a little bird trying to take flight, wanting to get away from me, away from my slapping hands. Shocked, I thought, How could I be so stupid? I should have kept him by my side! He didn’t know no better, and I immediately felt bad for yelling at him, and hitting him so hard. I picked him up and held him tight.
“I’m sorry, Seph. I’m sorry. It’s okay, you was just thirsty, won’t you? It’s bad water, Seph! Bad water! Remember? I told you it’s nasty and full of bugs and it could make you sick! Why didn’t you do as I said?”
He was crying so hard he’d expelled every ounce of air in his lungs, his mouth wide, and he’d yet to take in a fresh gulp. In my panic I slapped him on his back again, thinking he was choking. His face turned purple as an eggplant.
I grabbed him by his arms and shook him, and yelled, “Seph! Seph! Breathe!”
He recovered from the shock of being hit, and took a good lungful of air and let out a wail loud enough to be heard in the next county. I felt horrible, certain he wouldn’t understand why Wally had hit him. I never had. I rubbed his shoulders, smoothing my hand softly over the area. By now I was half crying too. I was surprised Momma or Papa hadn’t come running after all the commotion.
“Oh, Seph. You scared me! Are you all right? Seph?”
“I-I-I was firssssstttttyyyyy!”
“I know, it’s okay. Look. Come on. Let’s play a game. You want us to play a game?”
He wailed a bit more and I let him. I kept talking nonsense, telling him Wally won’t mad, Wally was scared, and Wally didn’t want him to be sick. Finally, he sniffed, relaxed in my arms and looked up at me. His eyes was so serious, so grown-up looking. I wanted to make it up to him. I needed to see Seph smiling at me again.
“Wally, you was scared?”
“I sure was. You give me a fright. Look a here. See these?”
I pointed at the chicory roots I’d dropped on the ground. “Can you find some more like this? We got to find where these little roots is hiding, see? You got to look for this,” and I showed him the green leaves. “Then you got to pull real hard. And when you do? Out pops these little hiding roots. You’re big and strong, you can do that, can’t you?”
He hiccupped and nodded at the same time. I put him down. He bent over and did what I asked. I was overcome with mixed feelings as I watched his small hands work, looking at me for approval, and when I’d smile he’d go on back to his task. I kept a close watch and he kept licking his lips. He was still thirsty, yet I imagined a horrible pestilence weaving its way deep down into his body.
Every now and then he’d turn and say, “Like fis one, Wally? Like fis one?”
Worried sick, I reassured him. “Yes, like that, Seph. You’re such a big boy!”
We gathered for only a little while, my heart not in it anymore, so I helped him. I took him back after a few more minutes and had him give Momma all the roots we’d dug for.
She smiled and said, “Oh now aren’t you being such a helpful boy!”
She hugged him, and placed the roots out to dry, lining them up on the ground in a row, in an area out of the way. Seph seemed like he’d forgot all about my hollering and smacking the devil out of him. When he spotted Papa, he hurried over to where he was working with some small, flexible-looking vines. Papa was making homemade snares trying to catch a few wily squirrels who found it great fun to scamper up and down tree trunks right in front of us. Squirrel meat would be heaven. Even one tiny varmint would make a huge difference in my perception of our limited successes thus far.
I worried over having to tell Momma what I’d caught Seph doing, particularly when I noticed how strained she looked, so different from only days ago even. In the past her hair had always been perfectly combed. She always wore clean aprons and dresses, and smelled of the fresh mint she favored and chewed from out of her herb garden. Momma was sensible, no matter what had happened, she’d know what to do—if anything needed doing. It was for that very reason I finally got the nerve to approach her while she worked with the chicory roots.
I said, “Momma.”
She stopped arranging the tubers and straightened up.
Some emotion tinted my voice, because she come towards me quick asking, “What is it?”
My stomach tightened. “I caught Seph drinking out of a puddle down to the creek.”
She turned to look at him running in circles around Papa’s legs.
She asked the first thing what had come to my mind. “He take in much?”
I didn’t answer her question directly. I felt a need to explain myself. “I’d already got the water and decided I ought to look for the chicory. He was already drinking, so I don’t really know.”
The disappointed look she leveled at me was worse than if she’d yelled in anger.
I tried to reassure her, and myself, “I don’t think he drunk much.”
As it sank in, she become more bothered by it. “Why didn’t you keep him with you? Even a little bit might could make him feel poorly.”
“He won’t far. I could see him. He was playing with a stick, and I looked away for a second.”
Momma’s disposition was testy these days, all of us on edge and feeling less tolerant for stupid mistakes. She glanced at Seph again, her lips clamped together.
Eventually she let out a sigh and said, “Let’s hope he’s all right. You know you got to watch him ever so close, Wallis Ann.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I already felt bad enough, and Momma’s sharp tone, so unlike her, didn’t help. Later on, while working near Papa, I wished I could rewind a clock and do the earlier part of the day all over. Seph got to crying as he followed Momma about, his hands pulling at her dress. Was he hungry? We was all hungry. That was expected. Was it something else? Momma stopped to pick him up, patting him.
Her voice sounded concerned when she asked him, “Are you tired? We’re tired, aren’t we?”
Seph only whined, then laid his head on her shoulder. He faced me and Papa, and it about killed me to see them blue eyes looking dull, and so . . . old. Come time to eat, we each had a handful a pecans Papa had found when he set the snares out, a bite or so of dandelion greens, and the horrible chicory root “coffee.” Seph pushed against Momma’s hand when she offered him a few nuts. He continued to act tired and cranky. There won’t much conversation. There was a short prayer by Papa, and we each took our few bites, and swallows of the acrid chicory, and then we went to bed soon after the sun set. Laci and I huddled near as we could get to the blaze, our feet planted together as usual. I drifted off, wanting to return to dreamland where food was abundant and served inside a warm home filled with soft beds.
A distorted voice cut through my sleep.
“Seph?”
My eyes opened as Momma’s voice pricked the edges of a murky, but satisfying, fulfilling dream. I sat up, my back as creaky as an old, worn-out chair. A light, first frost had come overnight, and I can’t say how I was sleeping at all when it was so cold. My breath left milky little clouds suspended in the chilly air. Laci was balled up, hugging her knees to her chest, close to the dying fire. She shivered in her sleep. A wave of dizziness hit me, and it was like I viewed everything through a fogged window. My chest felt congested, and I coughed, then took a breath or two to quell my nausea.
Shivering violently, I poked at the fire, and when it sparked bright, I seen Momma with Seph in her arms. He won’t moving. There was a foul smell drifting on the early morning air, reminiscent of a too full outhouse. I rose to my knees and seen something running down Momma’s arm where his backside rested. His head rolled towards me, his mouth slack, eyes half closed. My own misery left, and alarm took its place.
I jumped up, asking stupid questions, as if I couldn’t see for myself. “What’s wrong? Is something the matter with Seph?”
Momma’s face was fearful, and she said, “He’s so hot. He’s been sick a few times. I was hoping he’d get it all out and be fine, but now I can’t rouse him.”
Papa was beside Momma, staring at Seph like he wanted to do something and didn’t know what.
He gestured at her and said, “Ann, he’s done dirtied his self.”
She laid him down on the ground by the fire and began taking his britches off.
“Momma, we don’t have nothing else to put on him.”
“I know, but he can’t stay like this. It’s the water, it’s done made him sick.”
I didn’t know what to say or do. Papa began stacking wood in a different spot.
He said, “I’ll build another fire over here. It’ll help keep him warmer.”
I went to Momma’s side, picked up the clothes and said, “What do you want me to do? Should I try to clean them?”
Seph woke and whimpered.
Momma patted his arm when he abruptly sat up and cried out, “I gotta go!”
Momma didn’t answer me, and barely had time to set him down when he took off running for the woods. As he went, a watery, brown discharge trailed down his legs. He stopped running, squatting right where he was. Momma made it to his side, and she bent down, her hands round his middle, talking to him. The foul sickness in him let go, and Momma’s face lost what little color it had, going white as if all her blood had drained out like what was emptying out of Seph. She glanced at us, overcome with distress and alarm, until Seph cried out again. He struggled out of her hands, then crawled away from the spot only to give up what little was in his stomach. My heart broke seeing him being sick. Again. And again. When he was done, Momma held him, ignoring his soiled condition.
She said to Papa, “We got to do something! He’s got to have medicine!”
I said, “I’ll go. It’s my fault. I’ll go find Doc Stuart.”
Laci appeared by my side, and I stepped away from her because I couldn’t handle her clinging at the moment. Not when Seph was retching and dry heaving once again in the background, like his very insides was coming up.
Papa said, “You can’t go off by yourself, Wallis Ann. I’ll go.”
“I was by myself for days when I couldn’t find you and Momma. I took care of myself. I can ride Pete easier than you. I know where Doc Stuart lives.”
Papa looked uncertain until Seph retched, then howled in pain.
He said, “Alright. See if you can find him. Tell him what’s happened. It will take you at least a day and a night to get there and back. Hurry fast as you can. Remember, don’t give Pete his head too much.”
He went to get the mule where he’d him tied for the night. He helped me climb on him and handed me the reins of his harness.
Papa said, “Wait a minute.”
He walked towards the fire. Momma was there with Seph in her lap, rocking and singing to him. She didn’t look at me. Papa returned and handed me a pocketful of pecans.
He give me the jar of water, and said, “Drink as much as you can. Wished I could give you a pistol.”
“I’ll be all right, Papa.”
I ate the handful of pecans and drank the water while looking at Papa’s face. It was as worn as a piece of old rawhide, his eyes saggy with the newly formed bags underneath.
He patted my knee and said, “Be careful, Wallis Ann. Come back to us quick as you can.”
“Yes, sir. I will.”
He stepped away and give Pete a slap on the rump. I glanced over my shoulder only once, my eyes finding Momma by the fire, Seph’s black hair against the white of her arms and Laci watching me leave. And when our eyes met, she started to come forward, and I turned abruptly. I couldn’t worry about her right now.