“Aunt Sarah, can we come out now?” a boy’s voice called from behind me.
Lying on the ground, the man turned the pistol and, without looking or aiming, fired off a final shot. This time, his aim was truer than it had been with any of the other bullets fired. I’d felt the brush of death more than once before. I full-out expected that bullet to land right in my chest. When the sound of it whistled by and I kept on kneeling, I was purely amazed. I looked down at myself, then stared at Lazrus lying motionless now, twisted the way a snake will writhe around, already dead but snarled on itself. I wanted to feel some meanness in me toward him, but all I felt was that same empty feeling of loss. A man who’d been just plum crazy, loco as a bat, was finally done with his torment.
I stood up. My leg hurt plenty. I touched Lazrus’s foot with the rifle barrel. The man was dead. Ezra came running. “Come get Zack. Get Mama and Papa!” said Ezra. His hat was gone. Sweat made his hair cling to his head. He gasped and coughed, arms swinging wildly as he propelled himself toward me. “Aunt Sarah! Come get Zack.”
I said, “Tell him to come along with you.”
“He says he’s been shot. But he cain’t say where, and there ain’t any blood, but he ain’t moving, he says. He won’t let me near him. Bit me when I tussled him. You’ll have to come get him.”
I ran, following Ezra through the brush to where Zack stood. I said, “Where’s it hurt? Tell me. Open your mouth.” Zack screwed his lips together, staring off at clouds or something in the sky. “If you’re fooling me for some reason, I’m going to whale the tar out of you, boy. This is not the time for it. Now, have you been shot?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Show me.”
“Right here, and here.” He pulled the front of his overalls out and poked a finger from each hand through two new holes. The skirtlike size of the heavy pants formed a tent away from his body. Zack said, “Went through m’ pants, and out the other door like a whistle. If I’da been standing closer to the front of ’em, I’da got my skeezix shot clean off.”
“You mean,” I said, leaning over, examining the overalls, “you mean it went through and didn’t hit anything? Oh Zack.” I swept him up and crushed him to me.
“Don’t, Aunt Sarah,” hollered Zack.
I said, “Come on back to the house now.”
Zack mumbled something, then said, “Wet my pants. Piddled right down my own leg like a baby.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Of course it doesn’t matter. It’s no shame at all. I’ve seen men in soldiers’ uniforms do the same thing, and they didn’t get half that close to a bullet. Come on. Your folks will be back soon enough.”
“Well, I don’t want Mama to see me like this. The big girls will scold me.”
“Oh honey,” I said. “They’ll be so glad to see you, it won’t matter one little bit. Come on to the house.”
Zack made a face of fear and worry. “Can’t. I want to, but I can’t.” He scratched his head. “Just can’t seem to move my feet. They’re kind of stuck.” He fidgeted a bit, leaned one way and then the other. “I told Ezra.”
I knelt before him, too, and said, “The bullet didn’t hit you? You’re sure?”
Zack said, “I don’t feel bad or nothing. Just sorta can’t walk anymore. Like I forgot how. Like that time Clover nailed Josh’s shoes to the floor. I stood in ’em while they were all laughing. Feels just like that.”
Then I said, “We’ll let Baldy do the walking for you until your feet remember how.” I went back to the barn and got my horse. Then I lifted Zack, soggy britches and all, onto his back. The boy’s legs hung limp. “Now, hold on to the mane with your hands, real tight. Chances are, your legs also forgot how to hold on.”
“Am I going to be put in bed for the rest of my life?” Zack asked. “I want to remember how. I do.”
“No, not for the rest of your life,” I said. “You know sometimes when you run, you get to where you can’t go any farther? This is the kind of thing where you just got tired out, and you can’t go any farther. Once your legs get some rest, they’ll be fine.” It was getting mighty easy to peel off the whoppers I’d been telling this summer. What mattered, I suppose, was that Zachary believed it. We walked the horse back to the house, Ezra on the other side, holding his brother in place when he’d slip now and then.
We got some clean clothes for Zack, and although he could stand up just fine, he still seemed unable to take a step. I put him in my bed, and in minutes he was deep in asleep, snoring like a grizzly bear.
While he slept in my room, I pulled up a chair in the room set aside for Granny, and had a look at my own bullet hole. Clear through, just like Zack’s. Well, there’d be no doctor gouging around with a poker in there. That was something to be thankful for. I hollered to Ezra to bring me a basin of water and soap, and I bandaged it right up.
Ezra fixed us both a little food. Brought me a drink of water. Then we just sat and waited for his folks to return. I left Lazrus in the yard. Figured I couldn’t move him myself anyway, and likely shouldn’t be digging a grave with this hole in my leg. Then, too, I didn’t want him in the graveyard next to folks I loved, tormenting me the rest of my days, and afterward, too.
Well, the folks returned before dusk, and Ezra had no problem telling and retelling what he’d seen from the bushes. I just let him say it. The men hauled away what was left of the lunatic and buried him above a wash in that land Granny’d sold to the railroad.
I put together a supper for them, and no matter what, Savannah couldn’t make me sit down, or convince Zachary to stand up. Zack sat, stonelike and sullen, where he’d been placed. He couldn’t be cajoled by anything we knew to put his feet under him and walk. He acted as if he didn’t have any control of his legs at all, though he could feel the touch of our hands or the brush of a feather. His sisters carried him out to the privy and waited outside the door for him. His father carried him to the dining table for supper, then to a chair in the parlor.
Savannah said, “Come to me, Zachary, and sit in my lap,” but he only fell from the chair and lay on the floor, sniffing back tears, refusing to move. Ezra accused him of being ornery. I picked him up, all fifty-five pounds of him, and lugged him to Savannah. On her lap, he listened without a sound to her talking and singing nursery rhymes and hymns and Bre’r Rabbit stories.
Finally, Savannah said, “Would you like to sleep here with Aunt Sarah tonight ?”
“Yes’m,” he said.
She said, “Well, I believe my legs are going to sleep. Do you think you can go to bed now? Give me a little kiss.”
Zack said, “When legs go to sleep, do they ever wake up?”
Savannah said, “Yes, they do. We’ll call the doctor to make sure. It might take some castor oil.”
He shuddered, wiggling his entire frame. “What if they still don’t wake up?”
Savannah hugged him, and he leaned against her neck. She said, “Legs that have run and played as much as these have probably need a rest now and then. No matter how long they have to rest, they’ll wake up eventually. If they don’t, that’ll mean you’ve been chosen by Providence for a special life. You’re a mighty young fellow to have the hand of God placed so squarely on your shoulders. No matter what, I’ll always care for you.”
In less time than it took her to slide off his battered shoes, Zack fell asleep, nuzzled against his mother’s neck. Gilbert fixed him a pallet next to his bed on the porch. Albert carried him to his pallet, and the little boy lay there as if he were unconscious.
Then Savannah ordered me to the kitchen where she doctored my leg with carbolic acid and a clean bandage. Afterward, we sat in the shade of the porch, but didn’t talk. We had no words left. Now and then, she’d sigh heavily. I patted her arm. “You don’t mind if he sleeps here?” she asked.
“Of course not. Ezra can stay, too, if you want. You and your girls have a little peace and quiet.” Albert came up then. My brother took off his hat. His hair had gone white at the sid
es, more than I’d ever noticed before. He just held out a hand and Savannah took it, and then he nodded to me and took her and the girls home.
I went to my room and got into bed.
I planned to think on all this, but sleep came quickly.
“Look, Aunt Sarah. You was right. My legs was just tired out from being shot at.” I opened my eyes. Zack stood over my bed, balancing himself on first one leg, then the other. I wrapped my arms about myself and held my breath for a long moment, collecting my thoughts. Zack’s legs had remembered how to walk. Hallelujah for one small miracle. Had I prayed for that? I couldn’t remember. The sky was hazy and green; sunup was minutes away. “Are you still sleeping? Aunt Sarah, I’m awful hungry.”
November 1, 1906
I heard a racket and hurried up to the garden, where I could see the road from the south. It was a buggy, coming up from Maldonado’s place. Five men on horses followed it. Another flatbed wagon was piled up with luggage and chairs. I waved.
The buggy in front stopped. It stood a minute, then turned slowly and came in the direction of my house. Rudolfo was driving. Leta sat next to him. They stopped again, now just twenty yards away. Leta was dressed in coffee-colored silk, her hair curled and piled on her head, under a stylish bonnet covered in lace. The diamond necklace was lost in more lace at her throat. She was barely twenty-two. She was a plain woman, with a large sloping nose and a down-turned mouth that looked to be forever scowling. At least she no longer needed to be fearful of being left an old maid. She cast her eyes from me to her husband, and I wondered what she was thinking, whether she worried for his loyalty. I reckoned she should fear for it, for I knew what its value was. However, she had no reason to think I’d want to take that seat she was sitting on. “¡Buenos dias!” Rudolfo called. He smiled, but his eyes were cold.
“Heading to town for the elections?” I asked.
“Sí,” he said. “We will be staying for a while.” He smiled again—too broadly.
It was in my nature to want to thank someone who’d done me a good turn. Putting up money for my house was certainly that, though I couldn’t reconcile it with what I felt he’d taken from me. The words thank you stuck in my craw. Right next to curse you. So I said, “We should come to an understanding, you and I.”
Rudolfo’s eyes darted furtively toward his child bride. “What more may I do for you, Señora Elliot?”
“Drive your people across my land—on the old road, the one you used before. No sense taking two extra hours to get to town.”
Rudolfo was silent for a while. He began to nod just a little. “That, I can do.”
Next to him, Leta fidgeted, and slipped her hand over his arm. I smiled at her. Silly girl. Probably already carrying a baby. I said, “I’m using El Capitan for a little while. Trying to build my herd again. December, you come lead him to your place for a bit, if you’re still in the cattle business, and not in the governor’s office.”
“Ah. “¿El toro? I expected he was dead. Bought another toro grande from Mexico City. El Capitan is yours.” Leta glanced sidelong at him.
I nodded, and then I said, “I’m thinking about putting up some fence.”
Rudolfo said, “If you wish. Two vecinos should share the cost.”
I knew right then I probably wouldn’t put up a fence. He was being far yonder too accommodating. I said, “Vaya con Dios, El Maldonado y Señora Leta.”
Rudolfo smiled then. He said, “Y tu,” and snapped the reins. The little parade turned and went across my land toward Mama’s house, where they would catch the main road. I stayed put until they were out of sight.
Well, Savannah and Albert’s family brought food that evening. We passed around Savannah’s daughters’ good cooking. We talked about Clove, Josh, and Granny coming home. About April and Morris coming to visit. While we talked, I reckoned I could accept this house for my own. It meant a place to have those people gathered together. All our living family, here at one time, in the care of Mrs. Sarah Elliot. What a wonder and a blessing.
November 6, 1906
Chess and I spent the morning moving some things around in the barn. In the corner where that headstone lay, I stacked sacks of feed and grain nearly as high as my shoulders. My folly could wait under the needs of the present and be forgotten.
In the afternoon, two conveyances stopped at my gate. One was a beautiful black trap pulled by a double team of horses. The other was a painted surrey, its four corners adorned with tassels, which danced in the breeze. It was pulled by a matched team of four. They disturbed a covey of quail, which scattered toward the yard with a flutter and murmur of surprise. The sight of them filled me with childish glee. April and Morris had come to the house. There were my grandchildren. Behind them, Harland stepped down and helped Granny alight. His children stood sheepishly in the shadow of the trap.
My mama stood there in the yard, puzzling, I’m sure, over the strange house that sat where my faded white wooden house had been. Everything around was lush and growing, shortened by the fire, but green. Fall was always a pretty time of year hereabouts. Must have been a real sight to her. Granny pushed her bonnet back on her head and turned this way and that, until I could stand waiting no longer.
I rushed to them, hollering for joy. I squeezed all those children until they squawked like little chickens. I said, “Well, come along in the house, then, everyone. We’ll have some lemonade, and I’ll tell you what’s gone on. We had a tornado.”
“It drop this house on your old one?” Granny asked. Everyone laughed.
Arm in arm with my mama and my daughter, we toured my hacienda. We sent the children out to play. Granny went to the porch and found her familiar old rocking chair. She turned to me and said, “It’s chilly out here. Do you have an old blanket or other?”
To me, the day felt as warm as September, but I brought her Granny’s Garden quilt to her and covered her knees. She looked at the stitches and ran her hands this way and that. Then she said, “Well, I’ll be. That looks like one I made one time. I left it in town.”
“No, Mama. You left it in my parlor. I finished up the quilting. I had the time, after all.” She patted it, looking puzzled by it, and then nodded. And soon she was napping, snug as a cat.
Well, Clover and Joshua were glad to be home, too, so the horde of us had a big picnic supper both inside the house and outdoors. Clove had bought himself a photographic machine, and he lined us all up and counted noses. Twenty of us had come through this season. After supper, Savannah and Albert’s bunch headed home. Harland’s little girl, Blessing, fell asleep in my lap. Harland carried her off and then he and April and Morris went about tucking their children into beds and pallets and turned in.
I don’t know when my sons slipped out of the room. I just turned around and found that we were alone. Udell stoked up the big fireplace and pushed the kindling around a little before he struck a match. He used the iron rod to poke the wood up where it had begun to roll down. When the blaze was going fairly well, he set the grate in front of it and then pulled a chair next to mine. It was pleasant to have weather cool enough that the fire was a comfort.
Udell put a coffee cup in my hand. It smelled good. He makes it strong. I sipped that coffee and peered at the man. Udell had been right: I had to hold on to what was in front of me, not spend my life looking for what had been lost or what might never come. I believed I loved Udell Hanna. It was different from any love I’d ever felt before. His eyes were not keen and wary, as Jack’s had been, nor was he young and bounding with energy. Udell’s manner was slow, befitting a man who was used to animals and knew not to frighten them. His words were few, but they always held something good as a drink of cool water in them. I loved the quietness of him, the scars on his heart. There’d be no saying whether the future held marriage for us. For now, it was enough to have him beside me. To know I loved him without feeling tied to the past. To let Jack rest, as Jimmy did, with my people, biding his time until we met again.
I watched Udell,
wondering if he was feeling empty, with Aubrey gone, the way I sometimes did. A thread from my pocket caught my eye in the flicker of light from the stove. I twisted it to make a knot, wrapping the tip around my finger. Niddy-noddy, knitting needles, busybody, butter beetles. When will I meet my fair, true love? I smiled. Udell looked up then, surprise on his face, as if I’d caught him at something. He brushed his hands against his pants and held his right hand out to me. I put my hand in his, and Udell and I held hands and watched that fire burn down, listening to the wood crackling and sputtering.
Also by Nancy E. Turner
These Is My Words
The Water and the Blood
Reading Group Gold
A Reading Group Gold Selection
SARAH’S QUILT
by Nancy E. Turner
Get to Know the Author
• Seeing the World as a Witness: How I Became a Writer
• The Process: Writing Fiction from History
Get to Know the Story
• Behind Sarah’s Quilt
Keep on Reading
• Suggestions from the Author
• Reading Group Questions
For more reading group suggestions visit www.readinggroupgold.com
ST. MARTIN’S GRIFFIN
“I’d always loved hearing stories about my great-grandparents… and imagining… their day-to-day lives.”
Seeing the World as a Witness
I spent my formative years growing up almost literally in the shadow of Disneyland’s Matterhorn in Anaheim, California. My three sisters and I were rabid readers. Days, I went to an innovative school program for gifted children; evenings were spent at libraries, doing homework. Saturdays were for piano lessons. Our family was old fashioned and tightly knit, and to this day we girls all have a literary bent.