Chapter 16 #2
“Well Mrs. Dunham, I been through about everything I know. ’Ceptin’. . .” She leaned in again. “Can you wet-nurse?”
Josephine’s eyes widened. “Wet-nurse?”
Mrs. Carver laid a gentle hand on her arm. “That’s when a woman who ain’t done the birthing—”
“I know what it is, Mrs. Carver,” Josephine said quickly. “And no, that is also something I cannot do.”
Mrs. Carver’s voice softened. “So there ain’t been no children yet?”
The simple question sparked emotion Josephine couldn’t name. “No, ma’am, no children.”
“It were the same for me and Harold. Four times I carried, but I couldn’t ever get them to the birthing.
” Her voice wavered, and she briefly squeezed Josephine’s hand.
“But you’re young yet. And strong looking.
You got plenty of years ahead for that.” Her gaze shifted to Josephine’s bruised face. “Your man . . . He the one done this?”
Josephine gave a small nod, as if a gesture didn’t constitute a lie the same as speaking the words aloud.
“I take it he don’t know you’re here?”
“No, ma’am.”
“And you ain’t wanting to go back if’n he does come lookin’?”
Josephine shook her head.
“You still got your folks? Family to help?”
Again, she shook her head.
Mrs. Carver seemed to weigh that. “If he comes aiming to tote you back and you need somebody, you head on here. Harold and me, we live in the back rooms. I’m usually here, ’ceptin’ on Sunday mornings for prayer meeting.
Don’t know what I can do, but I’ll do what I can.
” Her eyes sharpened. “Just don’t say nothing to Harold.
He don’t hold to gettin’ mussed up in such things. ”
Josephine swallowed against the knot forming in her throat. “Why would you offer to help me? You don’t even know me.”
In a gesture that looked as natural as breathing, Mrs. Carver brushed the hair back from Josephine’s temple. “’Cause we womenfolk got to stick together,” she said softly.
Josephine smiled.
“Only a blink ago, Mrs. Dunham, I was you. Young, full of hopes and fancy dreams.” Her delicate eyelids fluttered closed.
“My mama, she warned me, but . . . I still weren’t ready for it.
” She finally looked up. “Took me time to learn what set him off . . . but I did. And you will too, with your man. If you choose to go back.”
Josephine went still inside. She glanced at Mr. Carver as he stacked crates filled with canned goods.
Time and age had stooped his frame, but his broad chest and shoulders revealed the man he’d been in younger years.
She looked back at Mrs. Carver, anger and compassion filling her. “Does he still do it?” she whispered.
“Oh no, that was some time ago. Most men mellow in their back years, and he has.” Mrs. Carver’s voice stayed hushed. “I’m only saying that the worst of it, what you’re gettin’ now, ain’t something forever. It’s only for a season.”
“Only for a season?” Josephine repeated, forcing a hushed tone.“Mrs. Carver, there is never any justifiable reason for a man to strike a woman. Much less a husband to strike his—”
Mrs. Carver shushed her with a look, and Josephine saw Mr. Carver approaching. He set down a crate and began shelving bottles—Jack Daniel whiskey—right by the register.
“I know you’re new to town, ma’am,” he said, holding up a bottle. “But I’m assuming you’ve heard about our world-famous whiskey.”
“Not until I arrived, but . . . I’m familiar with it now.”
He beamed. “Mark my words. This here stuff is gonna put Lynchburg on the map!”
The bell over the front door jangled. A man in mud-streaked overalls and a slouch hat entered. His beard masked his precise age, but the strained buttons at the waist did not hide his girth. He nodded to them, but gave Josephine a hard look, then moved off.
She felt a light touch on her arm.
Mrs. Carver’s gaze dropped to the blouse and skirt. “That’s our dear Kathleen Coburn’s handiwork, God bless her sweet soul. I reckon that means you’re kin to Dodge and Bethie?”
“No, ma’am, I’m not.” Josephine smoothed a hand over the blue skirt. “Miss Mary loaned them to me for an appointment. I’m staying . . . temporarily, at the boarding house.”
“Oh, Miss Mary and Kitty Kat,” Mr. Carver chimed in, stacking bottles just so. “Those girls were thick as thieves. Good friends if ever there was such.”
“Kitty Kat is what Harold used to call Kathleen,” Mrs. Carver explained.
“As a little girl, she’d sweet-talk him out of candy, and Bethie’s even better at it.
” She fingered one of the pearl buttons on Josephine’s sleeves.
“I remember the day Kathleen ordered these. I want some right special buttons, Miss Celia, she told me. We pored over catalogs till we found these.” Tears tinged her eyes.
“She was a good girl, even if she took a wrong turn for a bit. Harold and I knowed her afore she was born. Augustus and Madge Coburn, they was fine people. Don’t seem right sometimes .
. . how the old stay behind while the young are taken.
But the Lord’s got his ways,” she said softly. “And we’re to trust them.”
Josephine gave an obliging nod.
The bell over the door jangled again, and they turned. A young woman—or girl, really, upon closer look—entered, basket in hand. Upon seeing Josephine, she stopped, recognition sharpening her features. Josephine, too, felt a stir of familiarity, yet was certain they’d never met.
“Good day to you, Miss Rowena,” Mrs. Carver offered.
The young woman’s attention shifted from Josephine, and she joined them at the counter. “Good day. Mama said she left an order yesterday.”
“She surely did, and we got it about ready. The Mitchamore’s hens ain’t been layin’ good of late, so let me see if they got their eggs delivered.” Mrs. Carver started toward the back, then paused. “Rowena, this here’s Mrs. Dunham from—” She arched a brow at Josephine. “Where you hail from, dear?”
“Chattanooga,” Josephine answered.