The younger brother jumps down ahead of me and walks off without offering me a hand. Ellis starts rattling off a list to a brother still on the truck, not jumping down so I can fall into his arms the way Juna is all the time doing. I tuck under my skirt, lower myself onto the gate, and slide on down to the road. I forgot to bring a pail or a bag for carrying the berries, and Juna never told me where to look. Sometimes she says they like the cool, damp dirt; sometimes they’ll favor a spot that is sandy and dry.
Ellis is still hollering about those pegs when the truck pulls away. I press one hand over my head to stop my cap from pulling loose and give a wave with the other. No one waves back. I walk on toward home and hope Abraham Pace finds Juna down in the field so she won’t be angry with me. I do believe it sometimes. I believe she makes the fire spark and that she can see things we don’t. I believe I might have made a mistake sending her to those fields.
5
AROUND LUNCHTIME, ABIGAIL WATSON comes knocking on my door. She is another reason Daddy will have sent Dale to the fields instead of leaving him to stay with me. Dale having a best and only friend who is a twelve-year-old girl doesn’t settle so well with Daddy.
Abigail moved here a few years ago with her grandparents after her daddy died. He had worked for Abraham Pace’s father’s farm over near Lexington. When Abigail’s daddy died, since her mama was already dead, Abraham’s father sent her and her grandparents to live here, where Abraham could watch over them. While Abraham’s father was a hard worker and had the land to show for it, Abraham was not, and so his father figured Abraham had time to watch over a family in need.
“Dale ain’t here,” I tell Abigail when I open the door. “Probably be home soon for lunch if you’d like to keep me company.”
Even on a warm day like today, Abigail’s grandma has dressed her in a long-sleeved dress. Mrs. Brashear believes in modesty no matter the temperature. Abigail tugs at one sleeve and glances around as if she might see Dale coming up the road.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” she says, tucking a thin strand of hair up under her white cap. There’s a certain look about a child who has lost both parents, a way of studying the world and worrying what next will go wrong. Abigail has it. Probably always will. “I’ll go see if I can find him.”
“Try the lower field,” I holler after her and then leave the door ajar because there is an especially fine cross breeze today.
A few hours pass when next I take a break from thinking about Ellis Baine and from touching my cheek where it had pressed up against his shirt. Nobody knew when I marked the day midway between my fifteenth and sixteenth year. Usually, the mama sees to it her daughter is readied for the day. The mama will brush her girl’s hair, maybe have her spend the day in a set of rag curlers and only brush them out as midnight nears. Even if the daddy will have no part, the mama will take her girl. Together, they’ll stand over the well, the cool air drafting up from the dark hole and giving them a shiver. They’ll whisper because they’re alone and a bit frightened by the night. And the girl will see her intended. Juna and I have no mama, and as such, no one but me thought to count out on the calendar. I went alone, preferred it that way. As I choose to remember it, and as I tell it to Juna and no one else, I saw Ellis Baine. If ever I could make a thing true, that would be it.
Dale would usually be moaning about an empty stomach by this hour and begging to go fishing or climb some Godforsaken tree, but he’s off with Juna, never did come home for lunch, so the house is quiet. Before they left, I packed cornbread and boiled eggs in a tin pail. In case they didn’t make it home for lunch, the bread and eggs would tide them over.
I think of Dale again and Juna too when Daddy sits down to supper. I spoon floury gravy over two leftover biscuits, dish up the fried corn, and leave Daddy to his eating. I open the front door and look toward the end of the drive.
If Dale does well today, he and Juna soon will spend every day in the fields. They’ll keep watch for the green worms and the horsemint. And then they’ll top the tobacco and later snap off the suckers, and both will come home with hands turned black from the gummy leaves. We’ll peel the grime from their fingers and scrub with a brush and lye soap until they’re clean, or near to it. Soon enough, I might have reason to be out on that road again, where maybe I’ll get another ride from Ellis Baine.
But today they were weeding and will have long since finished. It’s not such a long walk to the field, so I go there first. It’s a small field. Daddy doesn’t own much land, and straightaway I see Juna and Dale are no longer here. I cup my hands around my mouth and call out to them, but no one answers.