American Struggle Page 8

  “I’ll be on Benjamin’s team,” Rob said, pointing to one of the boys who had sat beside him.

  “You don’t get to choose,” the other boy said. “The captains choose their teams.”

  “In my class, we get to play with who we want to,” Rob said.

  “Well, this isn’t your class,” the boy said. “And that’s not how we do it here.”

  “Hey, Shorty, you’re on my team,” a boy named Patrick said.

  “My name’s Rob.”

  “Right, Shorty,” Patrick said.

  Emma shot Rob a sympathetic look as she ran away with her own team.

  Children of all ages darted every which way, running from members of the other team to keep from being tagged. “Where’s our territory?” Emma asked. “Our base is the pine tree,” a girl named Luanne said.

  “But where’s—”

  “You’re caught,” Patrick yelled as he tagged Emma on the back. “I’m taking you prisoner.” He pushed her toward his team’s base, the well.

  “I don’t even know the territories yet,” Emma said. “You can’t come into our safe area.”

  “We don’t have safe areas,” Patrick said. “That’s not the way we play.”

  “In school in Cincinnati we play this different. We have—” “We’re not in Cincinnati,” Patrick said. “Stay here until someone rescues you.”

  Emma stayed put, but inside she was seething. Maybe it wasn’t going to be much fun going to school here in the country after all.

  Luanne darted to the well and slapped Emma’s shoulder. “You’re free. Run.”

  “Don’t we have to count to ten before we run?” “What? Run!” Luanne shouted.

  Emma stood still with her hands on her hips. “But at my school, we—”

  “This ain’t your school,” Luanne said over her shoulder. “Run!” Before Emma could move, Rob ran in and tagged Emma. He seems to be learning the new rules just fine, Emma thought sourly. “You’re still a prisoner,” Rob yelled.

  “You’re not playing fair!” Emma shouted. “At our school in Cincinnati—”

  “Time out!” Patrick yelled.

  Everyone stopped, and all eyes turned toward Patrick, who marched over to Emma. Sue Ellen and Timothy edged toward Emma, but everyone else seemed to be lined up against her, even Rob. She had never felt so alone. It’s not fair, she thought. This is my territory. I live just down the road a couple of miles. Their way doesn’t make sense, and they should listen to me. It’s not like I’m a city kid like Rob…. Her thoughts trailed away in a jumble of anger and frustration.

  “This ain’t Cincinnati,” Patrick said. “If you want to play, you play by our rules.”

  Emma glanced at Rob. He was looking at her with sympathy in his eyes—but he was standing next to Patrick.

  “We play it differently,” Emma said. “Don’t we, Rob?”

  Everyone’s eyes turned toward Rob, but he was silent for a long moment. Emma felt her face grow hot. Surely, at least Rob would take her side….

  “Their rules aren’t so bad, Emma,” Rob said at last. “They’re just different. You’ve just got to pay attention and listen. You’ll catch on.”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m Sue Ellen’s age,” Emma said between her teeth. Suddenly, she’d forgotten about Patrick and Luanne and all the others. This conflict was between her and Rob alone, and it had bred from countless other fights over the past few months. She realized the two of them had both been struggling for the upper hand—and neither one of them was ready to give in.

  Before their face-off could escalate, Mr. LaRose rang the bell, calling the students back to class. Emma glared at Rob and headed inside.

  “This afternoon we’ll have a spelling bee with the whole school,” the teacher announced.

  “How can that be fair?” Emma whispered to Luanne.

  “Emma Farley, do you want to say something to the school?” Mr. LaRose asked in a gruff voice.

  Emma flushed. She’d never been reprimanded for talking in class before.

  “Well?”

  “I—I was wondering if the younger students would be given the same words as the older students.”

  Mr. LaRose stared at her. “Of course not. The words will be according to the age of the speller.” The teacher divided the students into two teams, and they lined up on opposite sides of the room.

  “The first word is hat. He wore a hat into the barn.”

  “H-a-t.” The youngster spelled it correctly.

  Mr. LaRose turned to the other side of the room. He gave out words that fit the different abilities of the students. Then it was Rob’s turn.

  “Your word is quarantine. The boy was placed in quarantine.”

  Rob pronounced the word, then spelled it correctly. Emma thought it didn’t hurt that he’d seen that word over and over in Dr. Drake’s medical journals.

  Mr. LaRose went through the students again. A few misspelled their words and had to take their seats. Emma’s word was embargo. She spelled it successfully.

  Within a few minutes, only three students were left. Patrick and Emma were on one side of the room facing Rob on the other side.

  Patrick missed desert by putting in an extra s, which made it dessert, and he had to sit down.

  “Your word is monthly,” Mr. LaRose said to Rob. “He pays a monthly payment to the bank.”

  Rob spelled it correctly.

  “Emma, your word is renowned. He was a renowned writer.”

  “Renowned,” Emma repeated and then hesitated. “R-e-n-o-u-n-e-d,” she spelled.

  “That’s incorrect. Rob, spell renowned. He was a renowned writer.”

  “Renowned. R-e-n-o-w-n-e-d.”

  “Correct,” Mr. LaRose said. “You both may be seated.”

  The teacher didn’t say one word to Rob about being the winning speller. Instead, he started a geography lesson for all the students.

  “I think we’ll change Shorty’s name to Smartypants,” Patrick whispered in a voice loud enough for the whole room to hear. Emma hid her smile.

  By the end of the day, Emma had had enough of the country school, and Rob looked like he had, too. But Mr. LaRose wasn’t through with either of them.

  “Rob, you can take your turn today sweeping out the schoolroom.” He pointed a gnarled finger at Emma. “And you, Miss Farley, can clean the blackboards.”

  Emma looked at Rob, but he only shrugged and went to get the broom.

  “You’re both very smart children,” Mr. LaRose said when they had finished their chores. “But you need to learn to adapt to your situation.”

  “What do you mean, sir?” Rob asked.

  “You’re smart enough. I’m sure you’ll figure it out before tomorrow. Talk it over between the two of you.”

  Emma and Rob put on their coats and went outside. “I wish I was home,” Rob muttered as they went down the steps. “What do you think is going on there today? How many people do you suppose have died?”

  Emma didn’t have an answer. She was just glad the day was over. An unspoken truce stretched between the two cousins, and she sighed. As angry as Rob made her, he was still the person she knew best in all the world. Being with him felt so comfortable, like wearing familiar old shoes instead of her Sunday shoes that pinched her toes. With Rob, she always knew that even if she made him mad, even if he made her mad, they still understood each other.

  When they got home, they walked to the creek and measured the depth. There was no change. As a matter of habit, Rob also recorded the cloud formations and looked at the weather vane on the barn for the wind direction. But he had one more thing to say about the day’s experiences before he could let it go.

  “I don’t like Patrick. When Mr. LaRose was busy at the other side of the room, he called me Smartypants,” he told Emma as they walked back from the creek.

  “Smartypants!” she said.

  “Smartypants! Smartypants!” the crow on her shoulder echoed.

  “Well, you are pretty smart.�
� She looked at his trousers. “I don’t know that your pants are smart, though,” she said and laughed.

  “That’s not funny,” Rob said. “I hate that school. Don’t you?”

  Emma shrugged. “It’s just so different from what we’re used to. I expect we’ll get used to it.”

  Rob scowled and kicked a rock on the path. “I hope we don’t have to. I want to go home.”

  The next day, Rob collected the eggs, except for the one under Old Red. Emma got that one for him—and she didn’t say a word to tease him. Then both children trudged to school with the others.

  The day went more smoothly. Even Mr. LaRose seemed more relaxed, and the cousins were getting used to their new school.

  Later that afternoon when Papa returned from the market, he wasn’t alone. Miss Clara Davis sat on the high bench of the wagon beside him.

  Emma and Rob were outside when they drove up.

  “Miss Clara?” Rob asked. “Where’s your sister?”

  “Ruthann died of the cholera,” she said and broke into tears.

  CHAPTER 11

  Dr. Rob

  After Miss Clara’s announcement, Emma ran behind the henhouse and cried. Miss Ruthann had always been so kind. She could hardly believe that from one day to the next, the old lady had died. When she returned to the house, the family was grouped around Miss Clara as she sat in the parlor. Tears streamed down her face, and Mama’s and Aunt Patricia’s eyes were red. Rob had his head down, but Emma could see that he was brushing away his own tears.

  “Can you talk now?” Patricia asked at last. She held Miss Clara’s hand tight. “When did this happen?”

  “Monday evening.” Miss Clara’s voice was thick. “That morning a peddler came around selling apples. Ruthann’s been wanting fruit, so she asked me to get her some, and I did. She wasn’t strong at all, and after she ate the apple, which was a little on the green side, the cholera attacked her. She died before sunset.” A fresh burst of tears ran down Miss Clara’s cheeks.

  “Does Anthony know?” Patricia asked.

  “Oh, yes. I sent for him straight away when she got sick. He brought Dr. Drake, but it was too late to move Ruthann to the pesthouse. We buried her yesterday. Anthony thought I should come out here, and Thomas brought me.” Miss Clara glanced at him with grateful eyes.

  “Well, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like,” Mama said. “I think we should have a service for Miss Ruthann before we have our meal. Thomas?”

  “It would only be fitting,” he said. While he got the family Bible from a parlor table, Mama fetched her harmonica from the bedroom.

  She played a hymn, and then Papa talked about the blessings of God and the glory of life in the hereafter, where Miss Ruthann now resided. Patricia spoke about Miss Ruthann’s goodness, and Mama remembered times when she was young and Miss Ruthann had helped her with sewing.

  “She always talked to me at church,” Sue Ellen said. “And she gave me the chicken leg when she’d have Sunday dinner with us.”

  Emma wanted to say something, too. She had so many memories of the wonderful old lady. “We found a snake in the cellar, but we couldn’t get it out because the water was high down there. Miss Ruthann said it was okay that I didn’t tell Miss Clara, but she was glad I told her, so she could keep an eye out for it.”

  “There was another snake!” Miss Clara exclaimed. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  Miss Clara sounded so much like her old self when she used to argue with Miss Ruthann that Emma couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

  Once she started, she couldn’t stop laughing. At first, she felt embarrassed, but then Mama joined in, and then the others. Miss Clara’s loud laugh sounded almost natural. After the laughter died down, Emma felt better, almost as if Miss Ruthann was still among them.

  “Miss Ruthann’s probably looking down here today and laughing with us,” Mama said.

  Papa read a verse from the Bible about ashes to ashes and dust to dust, the family prayed together, and then the service was over.

  “When we go back to Cincinnati, you must show me where she’s buried so I can put flowers on her grave,” Patricia said.

  “I will.” Miss Clara’s eyes were filled with tears again, but she blinked and walked with her head high to the kitchen. “Anything I can do to help?”

  Emma noticed that Rob didn’t seem to feel any better. His eyes were sober, and his lips were screwed up in a tight little bunch, as though he were still trying not to cry. He touched his mother on the arm to get her attention.

  “Do you think Father will be all right?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Don’t worry, son. He’ll be fine.” But Patricia’s tight smile told Emma she didn’t quite believe her own words. “We’ll keep praying for him.”

  Rob nodded, and then he slipped outside. From the window, Emma saw him heading toward the woods. She thought about joining him, but something about the set of his shoulders told her he wanted to be alone.

  The next morning, Emma and Rob gathered the eggs together. Emma clucked at Old Red and sneaked her hand to the side of the chicken. Then she reached under her and got the egg. “So that’s the way you do it,” Rob said.

  “You want to try your hand at milking?” Emma asked. “I only milk Short Ears.” “Short Ears?”

  “When she was a calf, the tips of her ears froze off one winter. We give all our cows names that fit them. There’s Muley—Papa milks her because she has a mind of her own. And there’s Old Lady, because her hide is sprinkled with white hairs.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter what their names are. I’ve never milked a cow. You’d have to show me.”

  Emma laughed. “Tonight I’ll teach you how to milk,” she said.

  School that day went smoothly. She noticed that Rob didn’t react when the others called him Smartypants, so they quit doing it.

  When she finished doing her sums and was waiting for the teacher to give her something else to do, Emma made a list of cholera symptoms. She wrote it in the notebook she kept for her observations. If she and Rob wrote down everything they had learned from Dr. Drake’s reading material, maybe it would help Rob’s father. Uncle Anthony probably hadn’t had the time to read all the medical magazines the way they had.

  Cholera Symptoms

  1. diarrhea

  2. vomiting

  3. stomach cramps

  4. blue skin

  5. cold hands and feet

  Those were all the symptoms she could recall. She stuck the paper in the pocket of her skirt, and after school when they got back to the house, she asked Miss Clara if she could talk to her.

  “I want to know more about the cholera,” she said.

  “Why?”

  Emma could see the look in her eye that said she didn’t want to talk about it. “I want to give a list of symptoms to Uncle Anthony. That way he’ll know what to watch for.”

  Miss Clara heaved a deep sigh. “It’s a nasty disease, and I can’t think of where Ruthann got it except from that apple she ate.”

  “That’s probably it,” Emma said. “Dr. Drake told us the disease is carried by invisible poisonous insects, sort of like gnats, but we can’t see them. You know how gnats buzz around overripe apples? Maybe the cholera insects fly around not quite ripe apples.”

  “Maybe so.” Miss Clara stared into space for a long moment. At last, she sighed and said, “First Ruthann got diarrhea real bad. Then she got to vomiting. Her stomach hurt her so much. It was like she was poisoned.”

  “Did her skin turn blue?” Emma asked.

  “Near the end it did. How do you know so much about this?”

  “I’ve read Dr. Drake’s medical magazines. Were her hands cold?”

  “Near to freezing. She couldn’t get them warm—her feet neither. I put hot bricks in bed with her, but they didn’t help.” A tear rolled down Miss Clara’s lined face. “I couldn’t do anything to help her.”

  Emma couldn’t think what to say that would comfort Miss Cl
ara. “Thank you.” She gave Miss Clara’s shoulder an awkward pat, wishing there was something more she could do. Miss Clara leaned her head against Emma’s shoulder, and after a minute, Emma put her arms around the old lady. Miss Clara sobbed against her dress, and Emma found herself comforting her the way she would her little sister, Mary. Old ladies and little girls weren’t so different, she realized. They both just needed to know that someone still loved them, that they weren’t all alone in the world.

  “It’s a filthy disease,” Miss Clara said, raising her head at last. “Some say it’s punishment coming from God’s own hand, but why would He punish my Ruthann?”

  “I don’t think it’s God’s punishment,” Emma said. That was the first time she’d said it out loud, but she had been thinking about it ever since the preacher had brought up the idea that the drunks down in Shantytown were getting sick because of their sin.

  “If you get the disease, it’s because the invisible insects got to you,” Emma said, “not because God wants to strike you dead. He couldn’t have picked out Miss Ruthann. The insects got her.”

  “Dr. Drake said since she was already feeling poorly, she was weak and an easy target for the cholera. I don’t rightly understand it, Emma,” Miss Clara said.

  Emma nodded. She didn’t rightly understand it either, no matter how she tried.

  All afternoon, Emma looked for Rob, but he was nowhere to be found. “I think I saw him heading off into the woods,” Sue Ellen said.

  Maybe he wants to be alone again, Emma reasoned. By suppertime, he was back, and that evening, he tried his hand at milking. All he did was provide Emma with a good belly laugh that made her feel better after her serious discussion with Miss Clara. He tried different ways of pulling on the teats, but he couldn’t get so much as a drop of milk out.

  “You pull and squeeze at the same time,” Emma said. “There’s a rhythm to it.” She sat down on the three-legged stool and showed him one more time. The warm milk made a ping-ping sound as it hit the side of the bucket.

  Again, Rob took the place on the stool and tried it. He pulled. He squeezed. Short Ears bawled. Then she kicked her hind leg out, scaring Rob so much he tipped over the pail, spilling the milk that Emma already had gotten in the bucket.