“I got me a check for twenty thousand dollars written on the church account. I also got the churchmen to agree to build me a house on the land you’un promised, labor free and clear.” She laughed and said, “Close your’un mouth afore flies fly in.”
“How did you do that?”
“I done thought about what you’un said and I used them words. I got a contract and everything. They’re starting the septic, the plumbing, and the well tomorrow, and the church is gonna store my furniture and woodstove until the house is built. I’m divorced. A free woman. And Jed has to pay me child support of two hunnert dollars a month.”
That was nothing in terms of the money she would need to support a child, but so far as I knew, the church had never demanded child support from a man. This was a first.
Mud, who was pulling off a lightweight jacket, said, “Sam said she was badass. That was his word. Badass. He said so when he picked me up at school and then brung us for shooting lessons.”
“Took us for shooting lessons,” I corrected, checking the time. Nearly five p.m. Late for a school night. “And that is not a good word to use for your sister.”
“Whatever. I’m a crack shot. Esther’s pretty good too.” Mud opened the fridge and got out some homemade jelly we had bought from Old Lady Stevens’ vegetable stand. All my life I had canned my own fruit and vegetables, but since joining PsyLED either there hadn’t been time or I’d been a tree and trees don’t can. Mud pulled a jar of Nicholson homemade peanut butter from a tote and unwrapped a loaf of Mama’s fresh bread. Clearly Mama had loaded them down.
I returned to the subject of the check in Esther’s hand. She had dropped into a rocking chair and was waving the check around, laughing softly in victory. “Money, money, money, money. And no husband to take it away from me.” She looked at me, the glee sliding away from her eyes. “I got a favor to ask.” When I nodded far too cautiously, she said, “I want to talk about my life and my plans.” She stopped abruptly and breathed slowly, steadily.
I knew those signs. I might have been only twelve when I left Mama’s house, but I knew the signs of a woman in labor. And this was way too soon. “How far apart are they?”
“I’ve only had a few and Mama says they’re most likely Braxton Hicks, seeing as I’m not due yet.”
“Human gestation is forty weeks,” I said slowly. “You’re the first plant-woman to give birth so it might be shorter.” When my sister didn’t reply, I continued, still cautious. “Sister mine, it’ll take at least six weeks to build a house. You might have a baby by then.” And it might be a plant, but I didn’t say that. Churchwomen didn’t get ultrasounds or a doctor’s care unless there were problems. “You’ll need help with a baby. That’s what you want to talk about, isn’t it?”
“I asked Daddy to build my house fast. I want to give birth in my own home. Until then . . .” She took a breath and her tone changed, taking on a stronger timbre, a bargaining pitch, firm and persuasive, one I was familiar with from growing up in the church. I held in a smile. “Until then I want to buy that plot of land you mentioned and build a house on it. I plan to be back and forth from the Nicholsons’ and here if you’un’ll have me. I can look after Mindy and I’ll do my share of housecleaning and cooking and suchlike. Sam said he’d put my chicken coop here temporary like. I’ll take care of the hens and your’un—your—chicks ’cause I got me a way with ’em. I’ll contribute my own eggs to our living if you’ll have me.” She glanced at me to see if I was in agreement. I didn’t change my expression, waiting her out. “I promise not to be such a whiny-pants,” she said. “I promise to help and not complain. And I’ll find a way to pay rent.”
A smile of delight pulled at my mouth, but I held it. Our bargain wasn’t done yet. “You’ll not pay me a penny for rent or for the land. It’s a gift. We’re family. But you can do laundry and cook. Your cooking is wonderful.”