The Land(125)

“Well, Nathan knows he’s not supposed to use tools in that box for anything but woodworking.”

“Maybe so, but he still ain’t seen yo’ toolbox.”

I shrugged. “Maybe he overlooked it.”

“S’pose he did, seein’ it ain’t there.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She didn’t answer my question as she went on with her own. “Where’s yo’ watch?”

“My watch?”

“Ain’t seen ya lookin’ at it here lately.”

“Don’t have time to check it.”

Caroline grunted. “Then where’s it at?”

“In safe keeping.”

“You sold it, ain’t ya?”

I gazed at her, stupefied.

“You sold it, ain’t ya, Paul-Edward? Your tools too.”

“Caroline—”

“What else ya sell?”

I tried to gather myself. “Whatever I sold, it’s my business,” I said finally. “Nobody else’s.”

“’Ceptin’ mine,” she retorted.

“Not yours either. You’re not my wife,” I reminded her.

“Yeah, but half of this here forty, it’s mine,” she returned. “And if you sellin’ things, then that means you got a mighty need for money, and the only reason I can figure you t’ need money is for that Hollenbeck note and to pay these men choppin’ these trees. You don’t finish choppin’ these here trees in time, we lose this place. We lose this place, then you can’t get that Hollenbeck land, so you sellin’ even what’s most precious t’ ya to keep that from happenin’. That’s all I can figure.”

I stood there in front of her, holding the reins to the mules and not knowing what else to say to her. I wouldn’t lie, I couldn’t lie to Caroline, and there were no other words but the truth, which I couldn’t speak.

Caroline saved me from that. She dug into her apron pocket, then pulled out her hand, clutched into a ball. With her other hand she took my hand and placed her balled fist into it. “Here,” she said. “You take this.” She opened her hand and placed two bills in my palm.

I stared at the money, then at Caroline.

“You ain’t the only one got things t’ sell,” she said.

“Caroline . . . I can’t take this.”

“You keep forgettin’, Paul-Edward Logan, this here’s my land too, and whatever worry you got ’bout it, they my worries too.”

“What did you sell?”

“The hogs. They was mine, and I done chose t’ sell ’em. Got a good price too. Don’t forget I learned bargainin’ from my daddy. And don’t ya go tellin’ me t’ go get my hogs back, ’cause I done already made my bargain. Anyway, they probably sides of bacon and ham hangin’ from a smokehouse by now. Rest of that money is what I brung with me from my daddy’s house. It’s all the money I got, but if I need to, I’ll sell that cow too. But you can’t go sellin’ the mules, Paul-Edward. We need ’em too much.”

I didn’t have further words to say. I took Caroline’s money and paid J. T. Hollenbeck. I vowed to pay her back.

“Nathan!” exclaimed Caroline on an evening a few days later. “Why don’t you break out that harmonica of yours? Know you been itchin’ t’ play it.” It was after supper, and Caroline was washing the dishes outside the cabin door. We hadn’t yet burned the brush.

Nathan looked a bit apprehensive. “Ya sure, Caroline?”

“Yes, suh, I’m sure. Right sure. Been hearin’ ya playin’ it afar off, down by the creek. And don’t be playin’ no sad music. I wants something happy round here!”

Nathan grinned, sat down upon the stoop, and pulled out his harmonica from a shirt pocket. He lit into a lively tune. Caroline laughed and soon began to sing along. I watched, feeling the love and family they shared, then picked up the buckets and headed for the creek. Tom Bee and Horace Avery had gone to their own homes, and we still had the brush to burn. We needed water to dampen the ground around the brush, and even though hauling water was mostly Nathan’s chore, I let him play. I was enjoying the music too.

When I came back, Caroline had finished the dishes and was seated upon the stump, where she always sat at the outdoor fire. She had a tin cup in one hand and a bowl in the other. “Put them buckets down, Paul-Edward,” she ordered, “and come on have some of my tea and blueberry cobbler ’fore we get started with the brush.”

I nodded and took the buckets over to the pile of brush. It was Caroline’s custom to serve her dessert about an hour after her supper, once all the household chores were done. On the nights we burned the brush, she always had something for us to drink afterward. It seemed her way of bringing in peace for the night.