Glory over Everything: Beyond The Kitchen House(103)

“That is what I am saying,” I said, digging deep into the moss while he stared at me. “And we can’t return to Philadelphia because of it,” I added.

Pan’s thin shoulders sagged. “It don’t matter, Mr. Burton. We all gonna die out here anyway.”

His hopelessness startled me. I forced a confidence that I did not feel. “Pan! We’re not going to die! We will come through this, and someday you will be the man your father always knew you would be. We’ll get through this. I promise!”

“We’ll see,” he said, unconvinced, then clutched at his stomach as it growled audibly.

“This morning I ate some huckleberries,” I said, pointing to the abundant blue fruit. “They went right through me, so we can’t eat many.”

“I ate them, too,” he admitted. “But they make my stomach hurt.”

“If we’re going to be here until Sukey recovers, we’re going to have to eat something more substantial,” I said. “But I don’t dare try to get a fire going.”

“When my daddy got nothing else to eat, he eat grubs. Say they give you some get-up-and-go.”

“Let’s go find some,” I said, and though the idea was less than appealing, I knew their nutritional value.

The earth on this island teemed with oversize black beetles, and where there were bugs, there were grubs. We didn’t have to look far for decaying logs, and when I turned the first one over, there squirmed the large white larvae. Pan watched as I picked one up.

“You gonna try it?” he said, grimacing as I held it up.

I did not allow myself to think before I tossed one in my mouth and began to chew. Biting down into the soft body, I began to retch but quickly ate some huckleberries and forced myself to swallow. “Ahh,” I said. “Not bad!”

“Then why you look like you about to bring it back up?” he asked.

“I’m just getting used to the fine flavor,” I teased, and was rewarded with a flicker of a smile. “Come on.” I handed him one, taking another for myself. “If your daddy ate these to survive, so can we.”

The next one went down more easily. Though the taste was bitter and the texture appalling, I forced down a few more of the large globs. Pan ate two. When we knelt to drink water, a sizable grasshopper landed between us, and Pan snatched it up. “He ate hoppers, too, but the legs got spikes and got to come off first.” He plucked off first the head and then the legs. “Here,” he said. I was unsure if the offer was a token or a challenge, but I knew it was edible and accepted it. It crunched as I chewed and I swallowed plenty of water to get it down.

“Not bad,” I said. “Now let’s find one for you.”

“Maybe later,” Pan said, and again gave me a ghost of a smile.

Our stomachs rumbled, but we retained the food, so we gathered some grubs and huckleberries for Sukey. She chewed and swallowed some berries but refused a second grub. As though the effort had taken all of her energy, she closed her eyes and let the babe slip down beside her, where it lay mewling. Finally, I took it from the cave.

Pan followed me to the water’s edge and watched over my shoulder as I lay the bundle down to unravel the soiled petticoat. A ray of sun broke through the green canopy to cast golden light on an infant so minuscule that I might have held her in my one hand. Her wrinkled body squirmed as she squinted against the sun, while the sparse downy hair on her head stood out like that of a newly hatched bird. Unexpectedly, my heart twisted with tenderness.

Her umbilical cord had been tied off with a strip of fabric. Again I marveled at Sukey’s determination to save her child’s life. The cloth around the baby’s bottom was crusted to her. “You got to get her washed off,” Pan said, testing the water with his hand, “but you got to do it quick.”

“Get ready,” I said, lifting her up and dipping her in to soak while Pan rubbed her clean. Her little breaths came in surprised puffs while her extremities reached out in an odd quivering stretch. “Best get her out now,” Pan said.

On impulse, I slipped her shivering body inside my torn shirt to warm her against my own skin. Pan fetched another piece of clean petticoat, then lined it with soft moss, fashioning a clout before we swaddled her into a bigger piece of cloth. Through it all, the tiny bit of life made soft mewling sounds.

Sukey slept on. We kept the babe with us and sat under the pine to study the now fresh-smelling bundle. As she looked out, I was astounded to see curiosity in her large dark eyes. When she mewled, Pan reached over to pat down her hair. “You sound like a kitty,” he said. “Let’s call her Kitty.”

“Don’t get too attached,” I warned. “I doubt she will live.” She gave a huge yawn, and when I gently tapped her tiny chin, her fingers quivered up and grasped mine. In spite of my own warning, I felt my heart give over.


THE AIR DURING the day was hot and often humid, but it did not rain, and the days passed swiftly as I sought to care for the four of us. I gave to Pan and the baby what was left of the bear grease and fought to keep from scratching at the oozing raised red rash that covered my legs and arms. While my unshorn facial hair served as a barrier against the biting flies and hoards of mosquitoes, my torn and tattered clothing did not. As Sukey weakened, the baby increasingly became my focus. Each day she survived felt like a victory.