Beauty for Ashes Page 0,64
and it would have been lost, and the fire might have spread to the house.” She got to her feet, wincing as pain shot through her.
“Where are you going?” Mary pushed her unruly hair off her face.
“To get Caleb, of course, and make him answer for this dangerous and irresponsible behavior.”
“He’s my son. He’ll answer to me.”
“Then discipline him.”
“I will, if he’s to blame.” Mary leaned against the door frame. “You’ve never liked him, and now you’re jumping to conclusions.”
“What other explanation could there be?”
Mary shrugged. “Maybe it was some stranger off the train.”
“A complete stranger who, for no reason, decided to come all the way out here to start a fire?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was Jimmy Washburn. He and Caleb are always getting into scrapes. Maybe they had a fight and Jimmy wanted to get even.”
Carrie clenched her teeth to stop a torrent of furious words. How could Mary be so naïve? Couldn’t she see that Caleb was headed for big trouble? It was almost as if she loved Caleb more because of his willful nature. But maybe that was what mothers did—defended their young in the face of irrefutable evidence. Even in the midst of her outrage and exhaustion, Carrie envied Mary the unconditional love she felt for her child. A kind of love she herself might never know.
She went to the kitchen for some lard to sooth her blistered feet. Up in her room, she soaked her feet in cool water from the ewer, dried them gingerly, and applied the lard. She turned up the wick in her lamp and examined the soles of her feet. Her skin was red, but at least it wasn’t broken. Defeated and bone weary, she was unable to stop a rush of bitter tears. How on earth could anyone get along with Mary and Caleb?
They were part of her family now. Christ commanded her to love them. But she felt so overwhelmed and confused that she didn’t even know how to pray about it. How could God help her if she didn’t even know what exactly it was that she needed or how to ask him about it?
“The Holy Spirit talks to God for us, when we can’t find the right words.” So said Granny Bell as she lay dying in her little cabin in Muddy Hollow, when grief had stopped the words in Carrie’s mouth. “The Good Book says the Spirit makes intercession for us with groanings that cannot be uttered.”
For the second time this long night, Carrie found herself in prayer before falling into sleep—a prayer without words.
In the morning, moving gingerly on her sore feet, she made flapjacks with the last of the flour. The boys devoured them, even though there was no butter or molasses. Caleb took his plate to the sink and headed outside.
“Where are you going?” Arms akimbo, Carrie blocked his path.
“Mama told me to draw you some water for doing the washing. I already brought the big kettle into the yard. And I brought some wood for the fire.”
“Speaking of fires.” She pinned him with a hard stare until he blinked and looked away.
“It was an accident. I already told Mama I’m sorry.”
“You should be. You could have burned the house down last night, Caleb. And then what would we do?”
“You wouldn’t care.” He crossed his arms over his thin chest. “You don’t like us.”
“What I don’t like is the way you are behaving. I’m doing my best to help your mother and look after this place. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t make my job any harder than it is.”
Joe let out a loud burp. “Carrie Daly, is there any more flapjacks?”
“I’m afraid not, Joe.” She looked around the bare kitchen. “Not until I can make a trip to the mercantile.”
“Can I go?”
“We’ll see. For now, I need you to go upstairs and bring down everything that needs washing. And that includes your—”
“Carrie?” Mary’s voice was sharp enough to shatter glass. “I need you. Now.”
Caleb went outside, letting the door slap shut behind him. Carrie shooed Joe up the stairs and hurried to Mary’s room. “What is it?”
“These . . . buttons. I can’t reach . . .” A soiled nightdress, stinking of sweat and vomit, lay in a heap on the floor. Mary struggled to get into another one.
“Here.” Carrie fastened the buttons and helped Mary to the chair by the window. “Sit here while I strip the bed.”
She removed the dirty linens and fluffed the feather mattress. “Where do