Eternally Yours

The Farm

  There she is,"Henry said when the farm came into view at last. A large wooden house and a larger barn perched on the horizon like birds on a rooftop. A windmill rose up over them both, turning steadily.

  "Who else lives there?" I asked Henry.

  "Just me and Elizabeth," he said. "My wife. She's not well." Then he added, more to himself than to me, it seemed, "That's why I thought, maybe a girl...". His voice trailed off, and he looked sad and distant.

   I wondered what she was sick with, and if it was catching. At the orphanage, when children were sick, they were quarantined so that the rest of us didn't catch whatever it was-TB oftentimes, or scarlet fever. It was frightening, too, because so many of the children came to the home after their parents died from such diseases. In the tenements, once a sickness started spreading, it swept through like fire. We knew that if children were put in quarantine, we would likely never see them again.

  I felt the knot that had been gathering in my stomach all day grow a size bigger.

  I looked at Henry. He was still staring straight ahead, seemingly lost in sadness. I felt awkward, and thought I ought to say something. "You must be rich," I said finally, "to have such a big house all to yourself."

  Henry laughed, and I felt embarrassed.

  "No," he said. "Rich we're not." And he laughed some more.

  My cheeks burned. Why was he laughing? In the city, there would have been five families in a building that size. Not to mention the poor folks and orphans hiding out in the barn.

  As we neared the house, two dogs came running, yapping wildly. "That'd  be Jed and Old Moses," Henry said. They were big reddish-brown dogs, with long floppy ears and droopy faces. Hounds, I found out later. For hunting.

  The house was gray and weathered. A fleck of paint here and there was the only sign left that it had once been white. There was a broad front porch with two weatherworn rocking chairs that tipped gently back and forth in the wing, as though occupied by ghosts. A large gray cat that Henry called Cloud lay curled on one. She looked up at me and blinked without interest.

  The yard , like most of what I'd seen of Nebraska, was brown and barren, Chickens scratched, looking for food. A few orange pumpkins lay in the remains of a vegetable garden. They were the only real color I had seen since I got off the train. And even they were coated with dust scattered by the ceaseless wind.

  "Drought," said Henry. "It's a wonder anything grew."

  I noticed that the two smaller buildings, one with a quarter moon carved into the door, stood out behind the barn. I hadn't seen them from the road.

  Henry carried my bag into the house. I followed behind, slowly. I felt light-headed, and my stomach was rumbling.

  The kitchen was large and cold. Dirty dishes were piled up on the counter, and the air smelled of smoke and old bacon fat.

  "Fire's near out," Henry said. He took two pieces of coal out of a box in the corner and put them into the big, black, cast-iron cook stove. Sparks flew up, and bits of ash rose toward the ceiling with the gust of hot air.

  "Wife ain't up to much housework." Henry stated, as if to apologize for the mess. "We lost our boy in July, Measles. Girl stillborn right after . Lizzie ain't been right ever since.

  So that was the sickness he had talked about. Nothing to fear, then. That kind of sickness I knew about. "What with the farm and all," he continued, " I don't have much time for women's work."

  Another reason for needing a girl, I thought. Others at the home had said that was what would happen. We weren't going to be taken in as apart of a family but as free labor. I had hoped otherwise. I had so much wanted to belong to somebody again. My stomach flip-flopped. If it hadn't been so empty, I might have been sick. I sat down quickly in one of the kitchen chairs.

  "Water's in the basin there," he said. "It's cold, but it'll get you clean. Then I'll take you in to meet Elizabeth."

  Henry went down the dark hallway, and I could hear him talking to Elizabeth. He spoke gently, as though to a sick child.

  I walked over to the washbasin. It took me a moment to realize that the ragged child I saw in the mirror was me. My chin-length black hair was windblown and tangled. My face was smudged with soot from the train. Grit had settled into my scalp and pores. My dress was wrinkled and dirty. In fact, all of me was covered with the dust that lay across Nebraska like a funeral pall.

I splashed cold water on my face and dried it with a dirt-smudged towel hanging next to the basin. There was a comb on the shelf under the mirror, and I pulled it through my hair as best as I could. For once I was glad I had the short cut that had made it easier for the first home to keep our hair free of bugs.
Once I was finished, I stood up and started walking to the other room. All I can hear is total and utter silence, except for the walking creaking from my steps.
As I stepped into the room I managed to see a women about late 50s look instantly away when I made eye contact  with her. As I looked for Henry I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder, which caused my to shutter in fear.

      "This is Hattie....", his voice trailed off.  I looked at the people who were my supposed new parents and I managed to burn a fake smile on my face. " H-ello...", I spattered out. Both of the strangers just looked at me in utter disbelief that I actually spoke and I immediately looked at the floor. I wondered what I have got myself into.      A/N end of chappy-ter see you soon :)