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  Zeke sat down on the fireplace hearth, and I brought the kerosene lamp from the kitchen and set it on Momma’s work table.

  Momma rocked steadily, not even slowing down when Uncle Colt came in. He sat down in Poppa’s chair without being asked. I sucked air between my teeth, wondering how Momma would react. She simply ignored him, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Uncle Colt rocked for a few minutes before speaking.

  “Molly, what’re your plans?” He brought his chair to a halt and looked at her intently.

  She turned her head slowly and pinned him with her piercing blue eyes, made even bluer by the light from the kerosene lamp. “What do you mean?”

  He cleared his throat. “Do you plan on keeping the farm?”

  She snorted. “I reckon so. What do you expect me to do?”

  “Who’s going to farm it?” His cool, gray eyes watched as she fidgeted.

  “We’re going to farm it. Me and my young’ns.” She sat up straighter and shot him a defiant look. “Ain’t no one taking this farm from me.”

  “What about school?” He spoke softly as if speaking to a young child.

  “Sarah Jane’s going to quit.”

  I gasped, and her eyes traveled to me. “Book learning ain’t no good to a woman. You just need to find you a man, someone who will help out around here.”

  “Molly, she’s only fourteen.” He shook his head vehemently.

  “She’ll be fifteen next month. Plenty of women marry at thirteen. Pshaw.” She shook her head. “Why, Lucy Bowers married just last month. She was only thirteen. Sarah Jane’s plenty old enough.”

  “Momma,” I said. “I ain’t . . . I’m not getting married.” I squirmed. “Who would I marry anyway?”

  “Dan Drake.” She went back to rocking, a slight smile playing around her lips.

  I jumped up, anger surging through me. “I’m not marrying Dan Drake or anyone else.”

  Uncle Colt stood beside me. “Molly, it’s going to be years before she gets married. What do you plan to do in the meantime?” He draped his arm over my shoulders and gave me a squeeze.

  “If Sarah Jane doesn’t want to get married, she’ll just have to help farm.”

  “Molly, she’s too young to quit school. She needs an education.”

  “Momma.” My voice broke, and I glanced to Uncle Colt for support.

  He smiled reassuringly.

  “I’m going to college. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it.” Why had I waited? I should have told Poppa. It was too late now.

  I took a deep breath. “I want to be a veterinarian.” I paused for a second and straightened my shoulders. “I’m going to be a veterinarian.”

  Momma snorted again. “A veterinarian? College? You ain’t got a lick of sense. We don’t have the money for you to go to college. And can’t no one afford a veterinarian around here. A waste of time and money, money we ain’t got.” The rockers slapped against the wood floor. “As long as you live under my roof, you’ll do as I say.”

  Uncle Colt didn’t raise his voice, but it cut like steel. “Maybe she doesn’t need to live under your roof.”

  Momma jumped up, leaving the chair rocking. “She’s not leaving here.” She poked her finger in his chest. “You ain’t taking my children away from me.”

  Uncle Colt threw up his hands. “Molly, even if she quits school, y’all cannot farm this land by yourself.”

  “Just watch me.” She reached and jerked Zeke to his feet. “Time for bed.”

  She dragged him to his room, Zeke whimpering.

  Uncle Colt pulled his handkerchief out of his bib pocket and wiped his forehead. “Come walk me to the wagon, Jay.”

  I nodded and fell in step beside him. A light breeze blew the fragrant smell of flowers to us as Uncle Colt untied the mules and loosely held the reins.

  “William and Laurie told me you weren’t at school today.”

  I nodded but didn’t speak, just scuffed my toe in the ground.

  “I heard someone from the bank came by here yesterday,” Uncle Colt said.

  I jerked my head up. So that’s who it was that came the other day! “What did he want?”

  “Well, I think we can both guess.” Uncle Colt patted the neck of one of his mules. “Jay, if you want to go with me, you can.” The full moon showed the concern on his face.

  “But what would Momma do? What would happen?” I chewed my bottom lip.

  “I don’t know. She’s probably going to lose the farm no matter what.”

  “But Poppa . . .” What would he want me to do? He wouldn’t want us to lose the farm would he?

  “I know it’s hard. Sometimes you have to let go of the old to grasp the gift God is giving you.” Uncle Colt scratched the stubble on his chin.

  “I better get back in, Uncle Colt. Momma might come looking for me.”

  “Jay, if you ever need Aunt Jenny or me, just holler.”

  “Thanks for your help today.” I hung my head and walked away.

  “Goodnight, Blue Jay,” he called after me.

  The second time I had been called Blue Jay since Poppa died. Tears stung my eyes as I went into the house.

  Chapter 29—Existing

  The next morning, Momma again woke us before daylight. I climbed out of bed, every muscle aching, feeling as if I waded through mud as I walked to the outhouse.

  Again breakfast had not been made and the cows not milked. I made sure this time to take enough food for a quick breakfast and lunch. I also took a jug of milk. Zeke and I shared it to wash down our breakfast of canned sausages and left-over biscuits. Lunch was the same. The day was simply a repeat of yesterday. Again I fell in bed exhausted as soon as I had completed the chores.

  And for weeks nothing varied, not even the weather. Nothing, except the days grew hotter.

  Uncle Colt helped when he could, but he had his own farm that needed tending. Sometimes he brought Aunt Jenny with him. On Saturdays, Laurie and William often joined them. Momma ignored the whole family, and no one attempted to speak to her.

  Momma, Zeke, and I grew thinner, although I learned to squeeze in a little cooking. Aunt Jenny would have brought us baskets of food, but Momma wouldn’t allow it. She said she wasn’t accepting charity, least of all from them. Momma ate little of what I cooked, and she steadily lost weight.

  Momma also refused to go to church. Brother Patterson came by, but she wouldn’t let him in. Zeke and I still attended services, but we walked because I found it too much trouble to harness the mules to take us to church. Aunt Jenny and Uncle Colt would have taken us, but by the time I did the chores and got Zeke ready, church had already begun.

  It didn’t do us much good to go. We were always late, and Zeke slept while we were there. I even nodded off at times, but I knew I couldn’t let Poppa down.

  I tried not to think of Poppa, and it wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. Momma’s behavior had me so worried, and I was so exhausted from the work on the farm and from caring for Zeke and Momma, that my brain refused to dwell on much of anything.

  Zeke turned five and, a few weeks later, I turned fifteen without much fanfare. Uncle Colt and Aunt Jenny gave us presents—me a dress and Zeke a figure of a dog Uncle Colt had whittled.

  Momma didn’t give us anything.

  Aunt Jenny also gave me Poppa’s old Bible and pipe. I gave the pipe to Zeke and hid the Bible under my mattress.

  Days blurred together. The blisters on my hands became calloused. We laid the crops by, and Momma and I put up some vegetables for the winter. We had spent so much time in the cotton fields that our home garden hadn’t been cared for. The pantry looked sparse but hadn’t Poppa said God would always provide?

  The corn silks turned brown, and we filled the crib with corn for the livestock. Then cotton bolls opened. Picking cotton was backbreaking work. After it was picked, Zeke and I had to hitch up the mules, load the cotton on the wagon, and take it five miles down the road to be weighed and sold.

  We were still p
icking cotton when school started back. Even with the help of Uncle Colt and Aunt Jenny, we just couldn’t seem to get all the cotton picked. Day after day we went into the fields, dragging our cotton sacks. Sundays were our only days of rest.

  One Sunday, after church, I lay down on my bed. Momma called me when she heard Chance barking. When I peered out the window, a man was getting out of a car. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, wore a hat, and carried papers with him.

  I told Momma, and she sent me to talk to him. I opened the door, stepped on the front porch, and closed the door behind me.

  The man took off his hat, smoothed his hair, hair that smelled of Brylcreem, and smiled. He extended a thin hand to me, simply letting it lie for a brief second in mine, feeling like a dead fish.

  “Good afternoon, miss. I’m Mr. Stewart from the bank. Is your Momma at home?”

  “Yes, sir, but she’s not seeing any visitors. She’s . . . sick.” Maybe not physically, but mentally, so I hoped it wouldn’t be considered a lie.

  He straightened his tie while he glanced around. “It’s imperative that I speak to her. I’ve been by several times but haven’t found anyone at home for the past four weeks.” He paused.

  I didn’t bother to explain we worked in the fields from dawn till dusk. I waited for him to continue.

  He cleared his throat. “It’s about an important financial matter.”

  “I’ll see if she’s able to talk to you.” I went back in and found Momma still in her seat by the fireplace, rocking. Zeke played on the floor by the hearth.

  “Momma, it’s Mr. Stewart from the bank. He says it’s important.”

  “I ain’t seeing anyone.”

  “But, Momma . . .”

  “Go on and tell him.” She closed her eyes.

  I went back out to find Mr. Stewart seated in one of the chairs. He rose and looked at me expectantly.

  “I’m sorry. She’s not seeing anyone.”

  “But I must speak to her.” His eyes narrowed into mere slits.

  I wasn’t sure what to do, so I did nothing. Mr. Stewart walked the length of the porch, back and forth, hitting his leg with the papers in his hand.

  Finally, he thrust them at me, smoothed his hair back, and replaced his hat. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Your mother needs to talk to me. Do you understand?”

  I nodded my head, and he left. I took the papers to Momma. She held them in her hands but didn’t read them. I’m sure she knew what they were.

  “Sarah Jane, we’re going to have to work harder.” She set her chair to rocking.

  “Momma, we’re working as hard as we can now.” I plopped down in a chair and stared at my calloused hands. How did she expect us to work any harder?

  “I had to pay for the hospital and for your father’s funeral. We’re out of money, and the only way to get more is to get the cotton picked and sold.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “Two weeks.” She rocked a little faster.

  “Two weeks? Momma, we can’t possibly be through in two weeks.” I gritted my teeth.

  Momma continued rocking, staring at nothing.

  I steadied my breath before I spoke. “Momma, there’s nothing we can do but sell the farm before we lose it.”

  She slammed her feet on the floor to stop her chair from rocking. “I ain’t selling the farm. Do you hear me, Sarah Jane? This is our home, and I’m a keeping it.”

  “Momma, this isn’t our home. This is just a place we exist in. We can’t keep going.”

  “If you ain’t going to help me, Ezekiel will.”

  “Momma, Zeke can’t . . .”

  “Can’t never could.” She pressed her lips together.

  No sense in arguing with her. I ran from the house, Chance following me.

  I sought out Cedar Spring. The September sun still beat down with the heat of summer. I was wet with sweat by the time I reached the spring.

  The cedar’s branches didn’t offer much shade. I decided to sit down under its branches anyway. I buried my head in my hands.

  Two weeks before the farm was repossessed. Actually, it might be a relief. Isn’t that what Uncle Colt had said? To let go of the old? But what would Momma do? Maybe Zeke and I could run away. But, would Poppa want me to abandon Momma?

  A branch cracked, and I looked up. Michael entered the clearing, and my heart leaped to my throat. Wagging his tail, Chance met him.

  I jumped to my feet and brushed off my dress. At least it was Sunday, and I wore the dress Aunt Jenny had given me for my birthday. I raked my fingers through my hair before stepping forth to meet him.

  “Hi,” I said.

  His eyes lit up when he saw me, and I felt myself blush.

  “Hi, Jay.” He glanced at me. “I’ve been coming here every day, hoping you would come back.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Sorry. I haven’t had a chance.”

  He sat down on one of the boulders and studied me. “Is everything okay?”

  I smiled wryly. “Fine as frog hair split three ways.”

  He smiled back, his eyes twinkling in the filtered sunlight. “You know the problem with frog hair?”

  “Sure.” I caught his eyes. “It doesn’t exist.” I took a seat on another rock, wanting to escape his scrutiny, but glad he was here. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “I haven’t seen your Momma at church. Is she doing okay?”

  My hands trembled, and I clasped them in my lap. Squirrels chattered in the trees, and I focused my eyes on them. “Not really.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  I shook my head. He helped his father farm. How could he help?

  And I would be too embarrassed to ask him to, anyway. If he did help, he would have to be around Momma. No way would I want him to see her. Or her to see him. No telling what she might say.

  I sighed, and Michael rose from his rock and sat down next to me.

  “All things work for good if we trust God,” he said, quietly.

  I nodded and stared down at my hands. It was hard to believe everything would be all right when an avalanche of trouble threatened to crush me.

  “You’re always in a hurry after church,” he said. “I never get a chance to talk to you.”

  I sighed. “I’ve got to get home now. I’ve got chores to do.” I didn’t move but looked into his eyes.

  “Jay, I meant what I said. If you need anything, let me know.”

  He moved closer, and my heart thumped louder. Ever so gently and slowly, he brushed his lips against mine. I shivered before pulling away.

  Into the clearing walked twin fawns on wobbly, long legs, only a few feet away from us. They spied us and veered away, but with an awkward grace, not in fear. Eyes wide, large ears erect, fur still dotted with white spots, they stared at us as we stared at them. I held my breath and knew Michael did the same.

  They lowered their heads to the stream and drank before moving back into the woods. We both exhaled in a whoosh.

  “Wow,” Michael said. “That was something.”

  “Yes, it was.” I clamped my hand over my mouth, but sudden laughter leaked out. The first time I had laughed since . . . since . . .

  I pushed from the rock and whistled for Chance. I headed down the path and felt Michael watching me, until I, like the fawns, disappeared into the trees.

  Chapter 30—Resting

  The memory of that day sustained me in the week that followed. I often marveled at seeing fawns so late in the year.

  Although that’s not the part my mind usually dwelled on as I milked the cows or picked cotton. We were in the fields seemingly earlier each day, picking the cotton more by feel than sight. We picked cotton all day, stopping only for a quick bite to eat beneath the oak tree. By the time Momma called it quits, the reds and oranges of the sunsets bled into dark purples and grays.

  We would make our way back home in the gathering dusk, muscles aching. Once at home, I would cook supper, cooking extra for breakf
ast the next morning. While I cooked supper, Momma would sit in her chair by the fireplace, sometimes rocking, but never speaking. By the time supper was over and chores were done, it was time to fall into bed.

  The Sunday after the banker’s visit, I dragged myself into the kitchen to feed Zeke. The flour had long been used up, and so our meals consisted mainly of cornbread crumbled into a glass of milk.

  Other food supplies were beginning to run low. At least we had milk from the cows and eggs Zeke or I found, if we had the time or strength to gather them.

  And for that much I was thankful.

  After we had eaten, Zeke and I stayed rooted to our chairs. Zeke’s head drooped until he slept sitting up.

  I was so bone weary that I didn’t think I could make it to church. Leaving the dishes on the table, I carried Zeke to his bed before sprawling across my own and falling asleep. When I awoke, I didn’t want to move, so I lay counting the knots in the pine planks that formed the ceiling.

  It was probably getting close to lunch, and I knew I should get up. I needed to check the garden to see if I could salvage some fresh vegetables for us. I had already decided to save as many canned vegetables as possible for the winter.

  But the task to even stand seemed to be beyond my strength.

  Tears seeped from the corners of my eyes. If we did get all the cotton picked and sold, what then? Someone would need to gather the dried corn and take it to be ground. Someone would need to kill and butcher a hog. Someone would need to plant cover crops. Someone would need to repair and ready the farming implements for the spring. Someone would need to plow the fields next. Someone would need to plant the seeds. Someone would need to hoe the weeds.

  The future pressed into me, weighing me down, making it difficult to even breathe.

  I pushed myself to a sitting position, dangling my legs off the side of the bed. Zeke woke, and the deep, dark circles under his eyes galvanized me to my feet. He needed nourishing food, something more than cornbread and milk.

  “Want to go with me to the garden?” I asked.

  He shook his head, and I left him in his bed. Momma was nowhere to be seen.