A Northern Light(69)

"Tommy, who hit you..." I started to say, reaching for him. But he ducked me and took off after the calf in the drive. Baldwin's bleats were soft little moans now. He was bleeding under his eye. "Come on, Baldwin. Come on, now," I said to him, gently lifting him back onto his feet. I gave him my fingers to suck, which soothed him, then managed to lead him to the pasture one step at a time. Once he was in, I went after the two calves in the corn. They were standing together, their heads above the young stalks. "Come on, Bertie. Come on, Allie," I called. They were twins and I knew if I could get one to come to me, the other would follow. But as soon as they heard me, they split apart and trotted off, cutting more channels through the precious corn.

"Bertie, Bertie, come on, Bertie," I sang, my voice breaking. "Please, Bertie..." He stopped, looked at me, then took off again. Beth had named them Albert Edward and Alexandra for the king and queen of England after seeing a picture of them in Harpers Magazine. Noisy, boisterous Beth, whose voice was only a whimper now. Whose small, busy hands had fluttered like doves against me as I'd washed her. Tears filled my eyes. I quickly wiped them away.

When I wanted to coax one of the cows, I would pick a fat handful of grass and wave it before her, but the twins weren't eating grass yet. Pa was still feeding them milk mixed with linseed and oatmeal. I suddenly knew what to do. I ran into the milk house, grabbed the metal pails that Pa mixed their feed in, and clattered them together. Bertie pricked his ears. He trotted toward me. Allie followed and I was able to lead them to the pasture.

They bawled when they realized I didn't really have any food for them. They were bound to be hungry. God only knew the last time they'd been fed. Or would be fed. If garget had set into the cows' udders, their milk would be streaked with pus and blood. Where would I get fresh milk for the calves? How would I treat the infection? I didn't know how to doctor a cow; only Pa did.

One thing at a time, Mattie, one thing at a time, I told myself, fighting down the panic frothing up inside me.

I ran back into the kitchen. The kettle was boiling furiously. I grabbed a handful of yarrow from the tin where Mamma kept it, put it in a teapot, and poured hot water over it. The tea would be ready when the color came out of the petals. Mamma had learned about yarrow from Mrs. Traversy, an Abenaki woman, when she'd had child-bed fever after Beth was born and Mrs. Traversy cured her. She stayed with us while Mamma got her strength back, and told us many things about doctoring. I wished to God I'd listened.

When the tea was dark, I put the pot, several cups, and a jug of cold water on a tray. Just get it down them, I told myself, walking up the stairs. Then they'd sleep and I could see to feeding the pigs and chickens and starting a fire under the wash kettle and finding out from Royal and Mr. Denio how bad the cows were. Having a plan gave me some confidence.

Every scrap of it disappeared, however, as soon as I got upstairs. Pa was shivering so hard, his bed rattled. Cords stood out in his neck, and he was babbling worse than before about killing someone. It was the fever. It was roasting him alive.

I put the tray down on his dresser and poured a cup of tea. "Pa?" I whispered, touching his cheek. "Pa, you need to drink this." He didn't hear me, didn't even know I was there. "Pa?" I said, louder now. "Pa!"

He opened his eyes. His hands shot up at me; his fingers closed on my blouse. I screamed as he jerked me to him. I felt hot tea burn my legs, heard the cup smash on the floor.

"Robertson, you bastard!" he yelled. "Qu'est-ce que tu <&That I'm no good? You tell her this? You son of a bitch ... écoute-moi, vieux, écoute-moi..."

I shook free of him, stumbled to the dresser, and poured another cup of tea. "You drink this, Pa!" I shouted at him. "Right now! You stop your nonsense and drink this tea!"

He blinked at me, his eyes suddenly mild. "Where's Lawton, Mattie?" he asked me. "Is he back yet? I hear the cows..."

"He's back, Pa. He's ... he's in the barn, milking," I lied.

"That's good. I'm glad he's back," he said. And then I saw that tears were rolling down his cheeks, and I was terrified. My father never cried. "He ran away, Mattie. Ran away because I killed her."

"Hush, Pa, don't talk so. You didn't kill anyone." He was only babbling, but the more he talked, the more upset he became. I was afraid he'd get wild again.

"I didn't kill her, Mattie," he said, his voice rising. "I didn't!"

I thought it best to humor him. "Of course you didn't, Pa. No one says you did."

"Lawton does. Said it was my fault. That I killed her with hard work. Said I should have moved us all to Inlet and worked in the sawmill. Said I killed your mother and I wasn't going to kill him." And then his face crumpled and he sobbed like a child. "I didn't kill her; I loved her..."

I had to steady myself against the dresser. I felt like someone had taken my legs out from under me. That's why they'd fought, I thought. That's why Pa had swung the peavey at Lawton and why Lawton had run away. That's why Pa never smiled anymore. Why he was so angry. Why he looked at us but never saw us. Oh, Lawton, I thought, some things should never, ever be said. Words are just words, Royal would say. But words are more powerful than anything.

"Lawton didn't mean it, Pa. The cancer killed Mamma, not you."