Chapter 36
“YES, I’LL HELP YOU. Any way I can.”
“Uncle Jack ain’t here, is he?” the young woman asked.
“No, but he could return anytime.”
She turned for the door.
“No, please, wait!” Josephine hurried after her. “Come with me to the back room. Mr. Daniel rarely goes there. If he comes in, I’ll intercept him.”
The woman hesitated, fear warring with need. At last, she nodded.
Josephine closed the door behind them and motioned to a chair tucked between shelves and boxes. “Sit here. We can talk.”
Dappled sunlight filtered through the small window. Josephine drew the curtains and perched on a wooden crate, instinctively slipping into the calm, steady posture she’d learned at the American Woman Suffrage Association in Atlanta. “You said Mrs. Carver sent you?”
“Yes, ma’am. I went to the mercantile for food, but Mr. Carver says Henry ain’t paid the last bills.
No more credit.” Her voice dropped. “We got no food left. We do got cows, and I give my babies some milk ’fore I walked to town.
I done nursed all my younguns, but with Pearl .
. . my milk ain’t coming in like it did before. ”
“Are you eating regularly?”
The pause answered.
Josephine’s gaze moved to the bruises blooming along the young woman’s cheek and jaw, aware the woman was looking at her, too. “My name’s Josephine—”
“I know who you are, Mrs. Dunham. Everybody does.”
Josephine let that pass. “And your name is?”
“Clara.” She bowed her head. “Clara Hackett.”
Recognition clicked, and Josephine pictured the brothers she’d seen at payroll last week. “Your husband works here.”
“For Mr. Coburn. With the livestock.”
Wishing she had iodine and clean cloths, Josephine continued. “What ages are your children, Clara? And are they safe right now?”
“Yes, ma’am. They’s at home. Ruthie’s five and plumb smart as they come. Virgil and Eugene, twins, they’s four. Otis is two. Pearl’ll be one soon. And I’m grateful to have them all.”
Five children, and Clara looked scarcely more than a child herself. “How long have you been married?”
“Six years. Got hitched when I’s fifteen. Babies come easy to me.” Her smile held pride. “You got any, Mrs. Dunham?”
“No, I haven’t.”
Clara frowned. “How old you be, ma’am?”
“I’m twenty-four.”
“Twenty-four and no babies?” Clara shook her head. “Mrs. Gibbs got a potion for that kind of thing. Course, with you hiding from your man, baby potion likely ain’t what you hankering for . . .”
Ignoring the question, Josephine rose. “If you’ll wait here, I’ll go to the mercantile and purchase some iodine and clean cloths, as well as food for you and your children. Then I’ll be back shortly.”
Clara nodded, pressing back into the chair as if to make herself as small as possible.
Fifteen minutes later, Josephine piled her items on the counter in the mercantile, and Mrs. Carver tallied her bill. Josephine counted out the money, grateful for the pay her bookkeeping job provided.
“Thank you for sending Clara to see—”
Mrs. Carver gave her a sharp look, then glanced at her husband across the store and gave a shake of her head. “These things,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “we keep amongst the womenfolk. Best for husbands to be kept ignorant.”
Josephine nodded, struck at the dichotomy of the situation.
A man created the problem by drinking, then the problem was resolved by women—behind his back.
She stared at the money on the counter and saw the irony there, too.
Profits from selling whiskey were being used to feed and care for those whose sustenance had been thieved by the same. A cruel irony.
“I understand,” Josephine whispered back.
Her arms aching beneath the weight of the box, Josephine hurried back, trying not to act as conspicuous as she felt. Thankfully, the office was empty. She placed the second bottle of iodine and the cloths on the desk, then entered the back room.
“Clara?” she called softly.
No answer. Had the woman left? Then Clara stepped from the shadows.
“Wasn’t sure you’d come back. Thought maybe you done changed your mind.”
“No, it just took a few minutes.” Josephine set the box on the floor. “Sit back down, if you would, and I’ll tend your face. The iodine will help the cuts from getting infected. This will sting a little.”
Clara didn’t even wince as Josephine dabbed the brownish liquid on her wounds.
“Did this happen this morning?” Josephine asked softly.
Clara nodded. “My fault, though. I shouldn’t’ve asked him about food money. I know better. Just forgot the day, is all.”
“Forgot the day?”
Clara looked at her askance. “This being Tuesday, the money jar’s long spent. But Henry gets paid tomorrow, then next week is the last week of the month. That always helps.”
Josephine put the cap back on the iodine bottle. “Why does that help?”
Clara’s brown eyes widened. “’Cause last Friday of the month, Uncle Jack gives everybody a free bottle. You work here and you don’t know that?”
Josephine swallowed. “I bought bread, eggs, milk, and flour. There’s a bottle of oil and some yeast. And a few other things I thought your children might enjoy.”
Clara stared at the food. “Just like that, you giving me all this?” Her eyes narrowed. “You and me working a trade I ain’t privy to?”
“No, there’s no trade, Clara. You and your children are in need, and I’m grateful I can help.
” If she were at the women’s center back in Atlanta, she could have offered Clara and her children a place to stay for a few nights, could have provided clothing and medicine. But this was the best she could do.
“Why you doing all this for me, Mrs. Dunham? We ain’t kin. We don’t even know each other.”
“Because I know what it’s like to be in need.
To have nothing and to be hungry and tired, not knowing where to turn.
” How different her answer was now from the rehearsed response she’d given so many times before.
“And also because . . .” Did she dare broach the subject?
“Clara, I think it’s important you know that it’s not right for your husband to hit you.
Ever. And it’s certainly not your fault.
Your husband—or any man—raising a hand to you is not something you should have to expect or grow accustomed to.
You deserve to be treated with respect.”
Clara’s gaze took in Josephine’s face. “Was your husband respectin’ you when he did all that?”
Seeing herself through Clara’s eyes, Josephine felt foolish. “No . . . he was not.”
“I know you left him, ma’am, which took gumption I ain’t got. But you also ain’t got no babies, no mouths to feed. And even though Henry can get good and riled, ’specially after a night of drinking . . .” She gave a shrug, tears pooling in her eyes. “I love him, and he’s pa to my younguns.”
Josephine simply nodded and handed her the box.
“And don’t you worry none, Mrs. Dunham. I got a good hidey-hole for all this. Henry won’t know.”
Josephine opened the storage room door—just as someone entered the office.
Clara gasped, but Josephine held up a hand. “Whoever it is,” she whispered, “I’ll either send them on their way or take them out front to the porch, then you leave out the back. You know where that door is?”
Clara nodded. “God bless you, ma’am,” she mouthed.
Josephine walked back into the office to find Dodge writing a note at the desk. He looked up and when their eyes met, she would’ve sworn a current of electricity shot straight through her.