2 ~ A Stranger in the Barn
Walking home with her boys, Rita tells them, “I’d take Betty, but we don’t always know from where our next meal will come. I can’t take in another mouth to feed.”
Ben and George look at her with frowns, and Ben says. “Mama, she’s wild. You couldn’t take care of her every day. She outweighs you by almost fifty pounds. If she wanted to, she could kill you with her bare hands.”
Rita smiles at them. “Boys, she’s a baby in a big girl’s body.”
“Mama, don’t think about taking her. I’ll leave if you do.”
Looking at Ben, her youngest, Rita scowls. “Oh, son, don’t be teasing me. You know I can’t take care of her and work. I love you two boys more than anything in this world, but I feel sorry for that child. She has no one to love her.”
George kicks a pebble from the road. “There’s a reason no one loves her. She’s mean. She bit Ben, and pulled my hair when I tried to make her turn loose.”
Sunday afternoon, while Rita scrubs stains from the boy’s overalls, her thoughts drift back to when she was near Betty’s age—innocent and naïve.
I had no idea what was happening when Luke grabbed me. He held me so tight I couldn’t get free—with his hand clamped over my mouth, I couldn’t even breathe. Taking a deep breath, she pauses to look toward the creek before continuing to remember. Her recollection is not happy.
I didn’t have a mama to tell me about things a teenage girl should know. Weeks later, Daddy realized my condition. He talked to the preacher, caught Luke, and made him marry me. Now I’m twenty-six with two boys, no husband, and living on Pa’s farm with no way to work it. A rare tear slides down her face. Wiping her cheek on a sleeve, she says, “Thank you Lord for my blessings, and forgive my ungrateful complaints. I have a bounty of reasons to be thankful.”
She sloshes a pair of overalls in the rinse tub, flops them over a clothesline wire, straightens the rub-board, and reaches for another pair. Most Christian women would not consider doing a wash on Sunday, but Rita’s boys need to be clean while spending time around the doctor’s office, and she has to work tomorrow.
After all the clothes are hanging to dry, Rita cooks the pot of beans left soaking before church and mixes a pan of cornbread. Now is a good time to water—shade from a big oak tree is almost covering the garden. The ground will absorb the moisture without steaming the plants. She dips a bucket into the wash water and transfers it to a garden row—that and several buckets from the well leaves the ground around all the plant roots soggy. Maybe this will keep them alive until it rains, or I get a chance to water again.
The boys caught four fish, and they cleaned them while Rita gathered in her laundry. Fried crisp, the fish are delicious with juicy beans and cornbread.
After supper, they sit on the narrow front porch enjoying the evening. With millions of stars lighting the sky, they listen to night sounds—a coyote howling far up on the mountain, an owl hooting in the woods, and thousands of chirping crickets in nearby trees. George shuffles his feet and turns his face toward Rita. “Here on the porch, I like hearing the night noises, but to be in the woods alone, they would be mighty scary.”
Rita fans her apron and grins. “If you start thinking about them, the things you can’t hear are more frightening.”
“Do you mean snakes and spiders?”
“Yes, and panthers on the prowl, or evil men.”
“Yeah.” He pulls his bare feet off the doorstep and onto the porch. “Mama, have you ever shot a gun?”
“Yes, many times. Pa took me hunting when I was a girl. Then, he had a rifle. I used to kill squirrels, rabbits, and I shot two turkeys. Pa cleaned them; I cooked them, and we ate every bite. I didn’t shoot something unless I planned to eat it—except a snake. Once I shot a rattler, and I shot a black snake that was eating a baby chicken.”
“Really!”
“Yes. It had already eaten two when I heard the hen cackling and ran out with Pa’s shotgun.”
What happened to Grandpa’s rifle?”
“Ah, George. I guess Luke sold it. Anyway, it disappeared.”
“I never thought of you as a hunter. Could you shoot a man if one came here to hurt us?”
She clears her throat, and all of a sudden, her voice is harsh. “I would do anything in my power to protect you and Ben.”
“But shoot a man?”
“Yes. I wouldn’t hesitate to shoot if I knew you were in danger.”
Ben stands and rests his hand on the screen door handle. “Mama, don’t you think it’s time to go inside for our Bible story?”
“Yes, son. It’s getting late.”
Once they are inside, Ben closes and locks the wood door.
She picks up her Bible and turns to look at the closed door. “Ben, why don’t you hook the screen until time for bed? It’s sweltering in here.”
He hesitates. “I heard something walking in the woods. I like the door closed.”
Her eyebrows go up, but she doesn’t comment, as he pulls the curtains together.
Placing the Bible on the table, she turns up the wick on the oil lamp, sits in her rocker beside the table, and opens the book. Each time the rocker squeaks, she notices Ben flinch, and George glance toward the open window. All right, boys, tell me what you heard or seen in the woods. Was it a man?”
They drop their heads for a second before George goes to close the window and wedge a stick over it so no one outside can slide it open. “A man stood in the woods watching us today. We tried to pretend we didn’t see him, but he didn’t go away. We couldn’t tell what he looked like, he had an old floppy hat pulled low over his face, and he stayed in the shadows. We already had four fish, so we gathered our things and came to the house.”
“Boys, these days, a lot of people have moved into the woods. People from the cities who can’t afford to pay rent have nowhere to go. Sometimes, families with women and children are forced to camp in the woods. Don’t worry about it. You two can make a pallet on the floor in my room tonight. I’ll keep Pa’s shotgun beside my bed. All next week we’ll be staying at the doctor’s to help with Betty.”
“Oh, boy. I dread being around her.” George grumbles. “Mama, do you mind if we ask Mr. Smith for a job helping him haul hay? I’d almost work for free to stay away from Betty. She bites and pulls hair.”
“You can ask, but don’t be too disappointed if he says no. A lot of full-grown men are looking for work.”
After she turns out the lamps and crawls into bed with the shotgun leaning against the headboard, her heart is still racing. The idea of someone watching her boys chilled her to the bone, and she can’t shake the sensation. Eleven and twelve-year-olds are not old enough to tote guns for hunting and protection unless they have had a good pa training them. She cannot teach them because she has to work. They would be very disappointed if she told them to stay away from the creek. Fishing is not only fun; it gives them a feeling of helping her provide food for the table.
Long after both boys are asleep, she lies awake, restless, and wondering what to do. The room is stifling hot with the windows closed. Dare she open one to allow a breeze inside?
Sliding off the bed, she pulls back a curtain and scans the yard. Walking barefoot through the house, she peeps out every window. From the kitchen, she stares toward the barn. Inside the cow lot, something moves in the moonlight. The dark form of a man disappears into the barn. Most likely, it’s someone passing through and needing a place to rest for the night, but she will leave the windows closed.
She closes the curtain, picks up an old newspaper, and fans herself before going to fan the boys on the pallet. For the rest of the night, she slides her hand toward the gun every time an owl hoots, or the wind causes a tree branch to scrape the side of the house.
Rita wakes with Ben calling, “Mama, are you going to work this morning?”
Rolling from the bed, she yells. “Oh no, I forgot to set the alarm. Run to another room to put your clothes on. I’ve got to get myself dressed for work. I’ll fix you some breakfast in the doctor’s kitchen.”
The date is August 1932. The bank closed without returning the money Rita saved to pay taxes. The following day Luke, her husband, left to look for work. Two years have passed, and she has not heard from him.
Is he dead, maybe rotting in a ditch somewhere far away? Is he too ashamed to admit he can’t take care of his family, or is he just being Luke—letting her worry about their boys? Over and over, she asks herself those questions but tells herself that he loved his boys, even though he never said those words to her.
Three dresses, one for work, one for Sunday, and...