of a loose board trod upon downstairs, and he stopped to listen. It might be somebody getting up for a drink from the ceramic jug that Irma kept in the kitchen. He had heard someone on the stairs two nights in a row earlier in the week and knew that his fellow boarders were not above creeping around in the night.
He listened for a few minutes before realizing that he’d lost the thread of the circuit he’d been drawing. Fitzsimmons would be asking after the plans in the morning, and Nathan had at least another hour’s work on them to go. He rubbed his eyes and unbuttoned his shirt’s collar, began tracing the circuit anew, but try as he might, his thoughts would not stay fixed there.
He stood and went to his dresser, opening the top drawer. His flask lay amidst his socks and underwear. He picked it up and shook it, though he knew it was long empty. He returned it to the drawer and rummaged further, until he found the torn envelope with the clipping. He unfolded the clipping and stood studying it under the lamplight, as if it might reveal some new truth that would release him, but his thoughts would not settle. He put it away.
Again, a cough from downstairs. He went to the open window and leaned out, feeling the coolness of the night air on his face. A car passed noisily on the street below his window, chasing the light it cast before it. Perhaps a walk would settle his mind. He gathered up his cast-off shoes, listened at his door, and then slipped out of his room and down the stairs.
ON MARKET DAY, WHEN HE WAS IN TOWN, THE RED-HAIRED boy would sometimes drift down to the big elm where the other young people gathered while waiting for their families to finish the day’s errands.
Kids that were older than him, teenagers mostly, would sit against the tree to smoke and talk. Most often their discussions were about Memphis, where things happened, where there was nightlife and excitement. In their talk it was a given that they were missing out on something, that their lives in Dawsonville were a cheaper version of what they could be in the city. Memphis was out there through the trees, across the river. They would spit towards the road, studying it, as if it held some secrets by merit of it winding its way west to where the buildings grew up tall and the night shone with electric light. He was too young to fully understand the draw, but he felt it in a vicarious sort of way when the older boys talked of it. He wanted to understand.
“After the harvest is in,” one of them said, “I’m taking my pay and going. My parents can’t stop me. I’m old enough now.”
“You think there’s work to be had?” another asked.
“Shoot, I’ll do anything, as long as it’ll keep a roof over my head. No city job can be as tough as farming.”
The red-haired boy glanced around at the others. The younger boys made no attempt to hide the awe on their faces. Could it be done?
“’Sides,” the plotter continued, “I’ll find me one of the career women that lives by herself. I’ll slip in there and have her cooking for me and paying half the rent, too.”
“Hell,” another one said, grinning. “Those city girls will chew you down to a nub. They’re different than these we have here.” The others laughed at this.
A third spoke up. He was small for his age, with brown hair that hung in his eyes. “Electricity ain’t going to make this place no Memphis.” He scowled. “But at least y’all will have electricity. My pa says he’ll take his gun to the man that tries to wire up our place. He says he don’t trust ’em.”
And they all nodded at the truth of it.
BY WEEK’S END, CLAIRE FELT WELL ENOUGH THAT SHE began getting up and helping Irma in the kitchen, keeping her company in the quiet afternoons while they prepared the men’s meals. The medicine that Doc Peters had gotten for her had defanged the pain that still occasionally bit her womb, but those stirrings were becoming rarer with each passing day, giving way to a renewal of her strength. It was a blessing to have good health once more, and she swore she wouldn’t take it for granted ever again. With this thought in mind, on Friday afternoon she set out for her mother’s to visit with her children.
It was a long walk from town, but the day was pleasant, with a breezy, indecisive wind that blew this way and that, keeping the heat from feeling too overbearing. Within the first mile, though, she began to doubt her decision. She wore a straw sun hat that her aunt had lent her, but even with its shade, she found herself fading in the hot afternoon sun. Soon her frock was damp with a sweat that smelled unhealthy and foreign to her, the tang of her sickness in it, rising up from some deep well within her.
There was nothing but to keep going. She walked more slowly and found she felt somewhat better, but the afternoon was fading, the sun slanting from the western sky. Once she reached her mother’s, she decided, she’d send Tom to borrow the Clemmons’ wagon for a ride back to town.
When she approached her mother’s house, Claire saw Tom in the front yard, idly pulling at weeds. He stood when he saw her, but wavered a moment. Claire imagined some internal struggle between child and man. After a moment’s hesitation he dropped the handful of grass and ran to embrace her, calling “Ma!”
It felt even better than she had imagined to squeeze him in her arms. She kissed the top of his head and they went together towards the house. Her mother came out on the porch now, Nan on one hip.
“Well, well, it’s lady Lazarus come for a visit,” she said with a grin. “You’re mended?”
“A lot better.” Claire took Nan from her mother. Tears welled in her eyes when she felt Nan’s small arms grip her. My babies, she thought.
“Come on in and sit down,” her mother said. “You still don’t look full well to me. Can you stomach coffee?” Claire nodded and followed her mother into the house.
“Tom,” her mother called.
“Ma’am?”
“Fetch me some more kindling for the fire. It’s dying out on me.”
They watched the boy go out.
“He’s a good, strong chopper,” her mother said. “You sit now. Go on.”
Tom and Nan’s bedding had been folded and set on the floor at one end of the couch. Claire settled herself in beside it, tired from the walk and marveling at being served like a guest. Nan climbed onto her lap and Claire hugged the girl to her.
After she had stoked the fire, Claire’s mother came back to the living room and, knees cracking, sat in her chair in the corner.
“Doc says I’m to take the pills for another ten days,” Claire said. “It’s give or take, but getting better.” After a pause, she added, “I’ve been helping Irma with the cooking and cleaning.”
“Well, you should. We’re beholden.” Her mother stirred her coffee. “Now that you’re getting up and about again, you given any thought to what you aim to do?”
“Irma has said that I’d be welcome to bring the children and live there until I can find a permanent place.”
“Oh,
