Memories Of Another Day Part 6

They fell silent, separately thinking their own thoughts. After a moment, he began gathering up the coins and putting them in a soft leather pouch drawn together by thongs. "Mebbe we ought to do it," he said tentatively.

"Mebbe,"^ she said, not meeting his eyes.

He got to his feet, and he placed the money on a top shelf high over the fireplace. He turned and looked down at her. ''You kin use two dollars o' that there money fer what you need," he said.

"Thank you, Jeb,'' she said. It wasn't near enough, but it was better than nothing. "I think I'll have a look in on the children before I go to bed."

She went to the door. "Will you be comin' to bed soon?"

He didn't meet her eyes. "I think I'll jes' set a spell an' smoke my pipe."

"Don' be too late," she said. " 'Specially since you 'n' Dan'l are plannin' to clear the west field tomorrow."

He sat down heavily and began to fill his pipe with tobacco from the jar on the table. They both knew why he was coming to bed late. This way she could pretend to be asleep and he didn't have to ask and she didn't have to refuse, Daniel lay quietly in the bed he shared with his brother Richard. Richard slept on the inside against the wall, curled in a tight ball on top of the rough cotton sheet. From across the room, he could hear the soft sounds of his sisters' sleep. Molly Ann shared her bed with the youngest girl, Alice, and Rachel shared her bed with Jane. The baby, Mase, still slept in a crib in their parents' room.

He closed his eyes, but sleep still would not come. There was a vague discontent within him. Unformed, unshaped, the source unknown to him, but it was still there and still disturbing.

It wasn't that they were poor. He had always known that, and they were no worse off than any of the other families he knew. But somehow, today made it seem bad. Mr. Fitch was so sure and confident. And his father's hidden fear had suddenly been so plain to him. Itjust wasn't right.

The white mountain moon stared in the window.

and Daniel turned to look at it. It had to be about nine o'clock, he reckoned, from where it hung in the sky. He heard the sound of footsteps through the thin walls separating his parents' room from their own. Those were his father's footsteps. He heard the clump of the boots dropping to the floor, then the creak of the bed as his father lay down. Again there was silence. A strange silence.

It hadn^t used to be like that. Only since Mase was bom. Before that there were always rustling night sounds. Warm and loving sounds, sometimes cries of pleasure and laughter. Now there was always the silence. It was almost as if no one lived in the room next to his.

Molly Ann had once explained it to him. His father and mother didn't want no more babies. But that didn't make much sense to him either. Did that mean they weren't going to have any more pleasure with each other? Why couldn't they? s.e.x was no mystery to him. It was always around him. Farmyard animals were always at it. He just a.s.sumed his parents were too. There was something not natural about them stopping just like that.

He turned on the bed so that he was head to toe with his brother, and lying on his stomach so he could look out at the moon. On the night wind he could hear the faint sound of distant, running dogs. Vaguely he wondered who would be out hunting c.o.o.ns when everyone knew that the c.o.o.ns had gone farther north to be near the water.

Quietly he crept out of bed and went to the window. The sound of the baying hounds seemed to be coming from the hill west of the house. He thought he recognized one of the dogs. The big yaller dog that belonged to Mr. Callendar, down in the valley.

He heard the soft rustle of clothing behind him. He turned.

''Cain't you sleep neither?" Molly Ann asked.

*'No/' he whispered.

She stood next to him at the window and looked out.

"I been thinkin'/' she said. "You heered what Mr. Fitch said to Paw?"

He nodded.

*'I alius wondered whut it would be like to live in town/' she whispered. ''I heered said-''

There was a creaking sound from one of the beds. "Shh," he hissed. "You'll wake the kids."

"Want to go outside?"

He nodded, and silently they went out into the yard, closing the door softly behind them. The bright moon made it seem almost Uke day.

"The night smells so sweet," she said.

"It do smell good," he agreed.

"An' quiet, too," she added. "The night is very different than the day. Ever'thing seems so calm an' restfiil."

He led the way to the well and filled the dipper with water and sipped at it. He held it toward her. She shook her head, and he put it down. The baying of the hounds faded into a thin yapping.

"Think they treed somethin'?" she asked.

"Fool hounds," he said scornfully. "Mebbe a hoot owl, nothin' more."

"You heered Maw talkin'," she said. "If'n we go down to town, they kin git some chickens and mebbe even a cow. Paw says he kin git Callendar's ol' mule ferfive dollars."

Daniel didn't answer.

"What you thinkin'?" she asked.

His words came slowly, almost reluctantly. "I don' like that Mr. Fitch. They somethin' about him I don' cotton to."

"That mean you won't go if'n Paw sends you?"

"I didn' say that," he replied. "I jes' don' lak that man."

"He seems nice enough to me," she said.

"Don' let his fancy ways and highfalutin manners fool you," he said. "He's a very hard man."

"Do you think Paw will send us?"

He turned to look at her. After a moment he nodded. "I think so," he said. "Paw ain't got no choice. We need the money, and they ain't no other way to git it."

A note of excitement crept into her voice. "I hear tell theyjiave dances ever' Satiddy night in town after they git th'u work."

He looked at her for a moment. "That's the Devil's thoughts you're thinkin'."

She laughed and pointed a finger down at him. "You're a fine one to be talkin', standin' there with a hard pokin' out the front o' your union suit."

The hot flush crept into his face. He had hoped she wouldn't notice in the night. "It gits lak that when I got to take a pee in the night," he said defensively.

"Go take a pee, then," she said, flouncing her head and starting back to the house. "On'y don' be too long about it, or I'll know what you're doin'."

"Molly Ann."

She turned and looked back at him.

"Why are you so anxious to leave here?" he asked.

She stared at him. "Don' you really know, Dan'l?"

He shook his head.

"There's nothin' here fer me," she said quietly. "On'y to grow up to be an ol' maid. Down there, in town, mebbe I got a chance. Mebbe I won' feel so empty an' useless."

He didn't speak.

"It's different fer boys," she said. "They kin do what they want. They don' have to git married if'n they don' want to." She came back toward him. "Dan'l, I'm not a bad girU really I'm not. But I'm not a girl anymore, I'm a grown woman, goin' on sixteen, an' they's things inside me, things I feel I should be doin', lak havin' a family o' my own afore I git too old."

She reached for his hand and took it. Her hand was cold to his touch. ''I love Maw and Paw an' you an' the kids, but I got my own life to live. Do you underStan' that, Dan'l?"

He looked at her for a long moment. *'I guess so," he said hesitantly.

She dropped his hand. *'You better come to bed soon," she said. ''You gotta be up early to he'p Paw clear the west field.''

"I will," he said. He watched her go into the house and then went over behind the woodpile to take his pee. By the time he was back in their room, there was only the soft sound of the sleeping night.

He could smell the fried grits as he went into the kitchen. "I was out in the west field," he said. ''But Paw didn' come."

Marylou turned to look at him. "Yer paw left early this momin' to see if n he could borrow the Callendars' mule to he'p out. Should be back any minute now." She handed him a plate. "Set yourse'f down an' have a mite o' breakfast."

He pulled a chair up to the table and began spooning the mushy food into his mouth.

"Yer paw an' I been thinkin' 'bout mebbe you 'n' Molly gom' down into town to work," his mother said. "Would you like that?"

He shrugged. "Never give it much thought."

"Mr. Fitch says you kin make four, mebbe five dollars a week."

He looked at her. "What does he git out of it?"

She was puzzled. "Who?"

"Mr. Fitch."

Marylou was shocked. "Nothin'. How kin you think a thing like that? Mr. Fitch's a fine man. He jes' sees how bad things is an' wants to he'p out."

" 'N'en why don't he give Paw a fair price fer his com?" Daniel asked.

'That's different,'' his mother answered. 'That's business."

"It's the same thing to me," he said. He finished his food and stood up. "Seems to me a man cain't be one way in one thing and another in another."

Marylou was angry. "You have no right to talk like that about a fine man like Mr. Fitch. He's always been good to us. Don' he give us credit at his store when we ain't got no cash?"

"He gits it back when he comes to git the squeezin's. He ain't takin' much risk."

"You hush your mouth, Dan'l," she said sharply. "Your paw won't like it iTn I tell him what you said. Mr. Fitch's he'ped many a family out here. He also fbun' good jobs fer many of the young 'uns. So you jes' min' your tongue an' your manners."

Still without speaking, Daniel went outside. He crossed to the front steps and sat down. He stared down the road along which his father would come. Maybe it would be a good thing if he went down to town.

Molly Ann could be right after all. There really wasn't very much here for him either.

Marylou looked at her daughter. She didn't speak.

Molly Ann flushed. She knew what her mother was thinking. 'TU be good, Maw," she said.

Jeb reached into his pocket and came up with some coins. *'rm givin' y'all a dollar between you. That's jes' so's you kin pay fer yer food an' board until you begin to work. You don' accep' nothin' from n.o.body. I don' want to hear that the Mugginses took charity from anyone."

Silently Daniel took the coins from his father and slipped them into his pocket.

*That there's a lot of money," Jeb said. ''Don' go fritterin' it away on foolishment."

"I won't, Paw," Daniel said.

Jeb looked up at the sky again. '*I think you better gitgoin'."

Daniel nodded. He looked at his parents, then at his brothers and sisters all gathered in the yard around them. ''I guess so."

The children stared silently back at them. This was a solemn moment, but there was nothing for them to say.

Daniel half-waved his hand, then picked up his small cotton sack with his other s.h.i.+rt, pants and union suit. He pushed the small stick through the knot and placed it over his shoulder. "C'mon, Molly Ann."

The girl looked at him for a moment, then ran to her mother. For a long minute Marylou held her eldest daughter, then let her go. Quickly Molly Ann pecked each of the children on the cheek, then rejoined Daniel. Slowly they started toward the road.

''Dan'l!" Jeb's voice was hoa.r.s.e.

They stopped. ''Yes, Paw?"

He came toward them. "If'n it don' work out," he said awkwardly, "fer whatever the reason, y'all come home. Don' fergit you have a family that loves you an' is proud of you."

Daniel felt a tightness in his throat. His father's face was stiff and controlled, but his pale eyes were water- ing. *'We know that, Paw," he answered, with an unaccustomed feeling of gentle understanding. ''But don' worry. We'll be all right."

Jeb looked at him silently for a moment, then nodded. ''I know you will," he said finally. He blinked his eyes. "Look after your sister, son."

''I will. Paw."

Jeb reached out a rough hand and took Daniel's in his grasp and pressed it. Then abruptly he let it drop and turned and walked away.

Daniel watched his father walk around the comer of the house until he was hidden from view, then turned back to his sister. "C'mon, Molly Ann," he said. ''We got a long walk in front of us."

It was thirty-four miles, to be exact.

The day had turned warm, much warmer than Jeb had predicted. The sun hung high over their heads, its white rays beating down unmercifully on the dirt road.

" 'Bout how fur d'you think we've come?" Molly Ann asked.

Daniel pushed his wide-brimmed hat back on his head and wiped at his face with his forearm. It came away wet and salty. "Mebbe eleven, twelve miles."