Page 12 - To Dragma January 1934

20 To D RA O -MA
ALL in the Day's Work
cCeaf i$ai §(iffeb 0 u < of f e
BLAND MORROW
•+- O N C E we got over that mountain I knew
the trail to Brown Baker's was advance
notice of the conditions to be found in the
cove on the other side. A narrow ledge worn
there by use passed muster f o r a path, making the clean, new oak in stacks of golden tan.
first a steep ascent, hanging f o r a stretch
dangerously near the edge of space and then
wriggling tortuously up the final steep climb
to the top. Traveling ahead of me, 1 saw the
nurse's horse slip on a huge rock that jutted
up in the path. For a split second I was sure
they would both go tumbling down that hill-
side which was so steep as to be nothing less
than a precipice. A t last, having divided the
task between riding and walking (the former
out of concern for one's own breathing, the
latter out of concern for the horse when his
pounding heart began to make itself felt
through the saddle), the "up" part of the trail or pillow cases; a few threadbare quilts; an
was accomplished. A f t e r a rest on the top,
we started walking down the washed, winding
path on the other side, with our horses skid-
ding after and sending loose stones rattling
around our heels. A few months ago a very
sick woman was carried over this trail on a
stretcher! A n d occasionally the two mothers
who live in the valley tussle with this moun-
tain to get their babies to clinic!
Up the creek a bit (and again the path
hangs precariously to the top of a high bank),
we found the Brown Baker's cabin, set down
among large boulders. I n the tiny yard,
Brown was bus\r driving boards, around him
(Inside the cabin, the light streaming through
a roof that was in shreds, one remembered
with comfort those new shingles.)
One room (an ancient log structure) and
a lean-to kitchen, the latter made of poles
with wide spaces between; one window, which
is nothing more than a square hole in the
wall, supplementing numerous other holes of
varying sizes and shapes; a rough stone fire-
place and chimney (which eighteen-year-old
Lula boasts as having been built by her father
and herself) ; two beds, innocent of sheets
old sewing machine; some shelves with a few
jars of canned food; a mantel clock that
doesn't r u n ; an old suitcase, carefully hung
high upon the w a l l ; a cheap, gaily colored cup thing Mrs. Baker agrees with a pathetic trust-
on the mantel; a small tin trunk, which sup-
plements the two chairs as well as serving w
the capacity f o r which it was designed—thus
the interior of the house. A wood fire scarcely
affects the chill in the damp, raw wind that
[ANUARY, 1934
j s its way in from every direction. I n the
rner is a n o x o t " -s m a wizened apples, to
C°\ rich, with a shy but eager hospitality, Mrs.
r-ker' invites ns to help ourselves.
Lite a s ' l ' ° ° k s o u t from Mrs. Baker's
I adowy eyes seems very ephemeral, indeed.
Thin, stooped, shivering, hugging her bare,
nonv' arms across her bosom, one recalls her
flness of a few months ago and wonders that
f'L|eRaa.rr-ioinslgdhedbroeouyba.ttlecaslislnlg. sthTafhteea
j]*„rS
e "means bis mother may
veiled language, and wit
her gentle, patient face, Mrs. Baker tells the
nurse that she suspects she is pregnant. With-
|gl Uj,jarmp-ofarecedadoadothleescyeonut,ngreorunddasughupter,thea
yttle boys da i , takes them outside to sit in the
jjjfo fitful sunshine where their father is
working. As the girls l i f t s the least one in
her arms, his scrawny little body is bared f o r
a moment, until she hastily pulls down the one
brief petticoat-like garment be is wearing.
With tactful questioning, the nurse pieces
,,ut Mrs. Baker's descriptions of her feelings,
yielding to her delicacy of feeling by using
her own quaint indirections of speech. I t is
not necessary to grasp the exact significance of
Symptoms for the onlooker to realize that Mrs.
Baker's condition and another confinement
hold grave possibilities. The nurse makes her
examination and confirms Mrs. Baker's sus-
picion-. The doctor must see her again as
soon as possible. Discussing her general con-
dition and the illness back in the summer, Mrs.
Baker says she has tried to do just what the
doctor told her, saying "when I doctor with a
body I doctor with him and don't try to work
on my ownself."
Guessing, as one may, all too certainly as to
the food limitations in this house, there is
something cruel in having to discuss diet.
Pleasure—'tis more than pleasure, 'tis relief—
and apology complete with each other in Mrs.
Baker's voice as she tells that they killed a
shoat yesterday. ( I t is not necessary f o r her
Jo explain that the shoat was too young and
too thin to be killed now with the most profit.)
She goes on to explain that Ltda (the elder
daughter, who is also pregnant) has been
yearning for meat all summer and then saying,
with a sad gentleness, "Seems like I hate not
|fa> give a body what they want to eat i f I
can. Milk? No, the cow fell on a slick rock
and broke her neck; yes, that was a long
while ago, but they haven't been able to buy
another."
Will Mrs. Baker do this and that, includ-
ing leaving meat out of her diet? the nurse
asks. Will she, i f necessary, go to the hos-
Jifal or the nursing center again? To every-
fnlness and a readiness that one suspects of
wing fed by desperation.
Lula's examination comes next. Her baby
js due very soon. Her remark that the baby's
lather will marry her before the baby is born
P an old story, but her own quiet confidence
prries conviction. With no place to live ex-
21
cept with his parents who have already a f u l l
house, no job, no land to farm, no means f o r
setting up housekeeping, it won't be an au-
spicious beginning; but the two are undoubted-
ly fond of each other and it seems quite clear
that circumstances rather than disinclination
have kept them f r o m marrying before now.
There is a certain dignity in the calm way in
which Lula accepts her situation—no furtive-
ness, no whining, no fear apparently. With
"least one," a three- smooth black hair in braids wound 'round her
rfully to her skirts— head, large serious eyes, clear pale skin, and
the presence of the her clothing clean though faded and nonde-
go away again. script—there is something more in her appear-
hf ear ha unting ance than mere robust handsomeness. One
feels, somehow, that the person looking out
from that face has found poise and courage by
lanky a uniting and integration of the self within.
three
Lula is troubled that she hasn't been able
to sew some f o r the new baby, but there has
been no money to buy material. The nurse
suggests that we try to get some material from
the Red Cross. Lida affirms eagerly that she
can do the sewing, though she isn't sure that
she can cut the garments properly without a
pattern. The nurse offers to do that f o r her.
Diet again comes up f o r discussion, and again
there is the dictum of no meat. Lula ac-
quiesces, adding whimsically that she'll save
her share of the shoat until after her baby is
born.
The nurse returns to a discussion of Mrs.
Baker's condition and I wander outside to have
some talk with Mr. Baker. An earnest, patient
face he has and as he talks he smiles often, a
cheerless twisted kind of smile that does noth-
ing to the dead seriousness in his eyes. He
continues with his board-splitting between
scraps of conversation, explaining that neigh-
bors are coming tomorrow to help put the roof
on and the boards must be readyr. He is very
deaf, but I find that by standing on a log
that brings me on a level with his ear, my
shouting goes over very well.
Yes, he owns this place—twenty acres—
though it is mortgaged f o r all it is worth.
He's heard that the Government is going to
help farmers with their mortgages. He aims
to go tonight, when he has finished his boards,
up to M r . Sizemore's—six miles up the river
—to find out about it. No, he hasn't lived
here much f o r a long time—seventeen years
come last spring. He worked at the mines f o r
years, until his hearing got so bad they would-
n't employ him any longer. His wife wasn't
healthy at the mines either. It's seven years
now that she's been sickly. For three years
they rented a farm down the creek where the
land was better. Last spring they had to move
back here because the man who owned the
other place wanted it f o r a nephew who was
just moving back f r o m the "public works."
Yes, he has made enough corn to do him,
pointing out his fields strung along near the
tops of the mountains on each side of the
valley, above old fields so exhausted that even
the weeds and bushes almost spurn them. Still
smiling, Mr. Baker recounts his difficulty with
moonshiners up the hollow who use his fence
rails f o r firewood, adding that he doesn't f o l -