Out Of The Deep I Cry

Chapter 39

Thursday, March 13, 1924

She saw them arrive in the pale silver light before dawn. She was up early, after the first good night’s sleep she had had in three days, to check on Peter and Lucy. They were both sleeping, exhausted to the bone by the relentless coughing that had finally gotten all of the clinging phlegm out of their throats yesterday. They were cool to the touch when she laid hands on them, and as she walked soundlessly out of the back bedroom, where she had quarantined them, she thought about sending Jon over to the Norridges’. Mrs. Norridge bottled up lemon juice, and honey and lemon tea would help soothe the children’s raw throats.

She paused at the kitchen window and there they were, three trucks this time-three!-barely visible against the ground fog rising from the water field. They turned up the barn lane and disappeared into the huge hay barn.

The scrape of boots on the floor turned her away from the window. Jon entered the kitchen, dropping a kiss on her cheek before opening the bread box and pulling out a half loaf. “How are they?”

For a moment, she thought he meant the men in the trucks. Then she recollected herself. “Better. They both slept through the night, and I expect sleep will be what they need for the next few days. I was hoping you could run to the Norridges’ and pick up some of her lemon juice.” She went to the icebox and grabbed a crock of butter. She dropped it onto the table next to him and watched while he sliced off a thick piece and buttered it. He liked something in his stomach before morning milking.

“Sure. I can take Jack along. Get one of them out of your hair.”

She hugged him. “Would you? Thanks.” She stepped back, her eyes falling on the window again. “They’re here again. Three trucks this time.”

“Huh. They must be hauling enough booze to float the fleet down in New York City.” He patted her fanny, which always made her jump to make sure no one could see. “Don’t worry about it, honey. They’ll stay out of our way and we’ll stay out of theirs.”

“Have you gotten the money for this month yet?”

He tipped back his head and laughed. “You’re the practical one, aren’t you?” He grinned at her and she couldn’t help smiling. “It’s already swelling our bank account to unheard-of proportions. Demon Rum is going to make you a rich woman, Janie girl.”

She slapped at his arm. “Rich or poor, those cows aren’t going to wait. Get on with you.”

She had breakfast ready and Jack and Mary up by the time he returned from milking the herd and turning them out to water. Jack was a handful, cranky one moment and tearful the next. She clapped her hand to his forehead but didn’t feel any fever coming on, thank God. She poured an extra lick of maple syrup into his oatmeal to keep him quiet while she buckled Mary into the high chair. She heard the splash of water at the pump outside where Jon cleaned up, and handed the baby her spoon.

He came through the back door, his normally cheerful face somber.

“What is it?” She laid his oatmeal bowl at his place and crossed to the stove to turn the eggs. “Something wrong with one of the cows?”

He glanced at Jack, busy scooping oatmeal into a pile and stirring syrup around it. “Seems the police have had extra patrols out. There was a close call. Some gunfire.”

She turned toward him. “Good Lord. Anyone…” She didn’t want to finish the sentence.

He shook his head. “No. But it’s best if there isn’t any activity tonight.”

She spread her hands. What?

“No traveling tonight,” he said, checking Jack again to see if he showed any signs of interest in the adult conversation. “Maybe tomorrow night.”

“Oh, no.” She flipped the eggs off the skillet onto a plate and slapped the cover on. “That wasn’t the agreement. One night per visit, that’s what they pay for.”

Jon stood up from the table and crossed to the stove. He took her into his arms. “Janie, girl,” he whispered in her ear, “these are desperate men with guns. If they want to extend their stay, they’re going to do it.” He released her and sat back down to his breakfast. “After all, what are we going to do?” He took a bite of oatmeal. “Call the cops?”

She cleaned off the breakfast dishes and helped Peter and Lucy to the privy, since they were both so weak they could scarcely stand. Peter made her wait outside, but she sat with Lucy, singing and smoothing her hair while she did her business, and then propped them up on pillows and gave each of them a tray. Sweet tea and milk bread. She had just cracked open The Blue Book of Fairy Tales for a read when she heard Mary wailing from the nursery. Jane had gated the two littles in with enough blocks to make an entire city and the toy farm and Lucy’s doll things-which were normally off-limits to Mary and therefore very enticing-and she had counted on at least a half hour before any crises. She was wound up to light into Jack, since she figured he had whacked Mary a good one to make her cry, so she was shocked beyond speech when she stepped over the gate to see her four-year-old sprawled unmoving among the tiny farm animals.

She snatched him up. Mary sobbed and sobbed, reaching for her mother for comfort. Jane sat on the floor Indian-style and rested her son in her lap while wrapping one arm around her frightened toddler. Jack was hot to the touch, but pale, his lips and the edges of his ears and nostrils tinged almost dusky blue. His little chest shuddered beneath his shirt, heaving with the effort to breathe. Jane pried his mouth open and recoiled when she saw the gray and white blotches coating his tongue and throat as far as she could see.

Dear Lord, she thought. The black diphtheria.

There was no choice for it. She abandoned Mary, howling, in the nursery, where at least the gate would keep her out of harm’s way. She wrapped Jack in a baby quilt and clutched him against her shoulder, hoping the upright position would help his breathing. Then she set out across the barnyard to find Jon.

The wind was raw in her face, the bite of it bringing tears to her eyes, and she half walked, half ran along the fence until she saw him. He was manuring the cornfield, and he pulled Gig and Haley up when he saw her. He was off the seat and halfway across the field when she reached him. “Jack’s sick,” she said, before he had a chance to ask what she was doing wading through the mucky soil in her house shoes.

He wrapped his arms around them and kissed Jack. “Hey, little man,” he said. “You’re not feeling good?” His voice was easy, but when he turned to her, his face was drawn.

“I think it’s the black diphtheria,” she whispered.

“How could it be?” He lowered his voice as well, although the only creatures within earshot were the horses, standing stolid and disinterested in their harness. “The other kids-”

“Maybe they had something else. Or maybe they had it easy. Or maybe I’m wrong.” Her voice broke. She took a deep breath to calm herself. She had to stay calm. “We need the doctor to see him. Hitch Gig and Haley up and go fetch him.” Jon looked over to the silage barn. “Now,” she said.

She returned to the house while Jon took the horses to the barn. She propped Jack into the padded chair in the parlor, covered him with a quilt, and wheeled the butler’s table, one side extended like a tray, next to him. Upstairs, Mary had collapsed onto a quilt and fallen asleep, her fat cheeks red and streaked with the salt trail of tears. Jane eased her and her quilt off the rug and laid her in her crib, giving her a guilty kiss for leaving her alone to cry herself to sleep.

She set the kettle on to steam Jack and looked in on the olders. Peter was reading to himself from the fairy tales, and Lucy had fallen asleep. Peter looked up when she came in. “Mama, where were you?” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “I heard you run out of the house, and Mary was crying and crying. It was really annoying.” At that moment, Jane could have kissed him for his seven-year-old’s inability to see past his own nose.

“Jack’s sick, and I had to get your daddy to go fetch Dr. Stillman. I’m back now. Let me know if you need me, but do it quiet. Lucy needs her sleep.”

In the parlor, Jack roused enough to protest when she draped him with a pillowcase and slipped a pan of steaming hot water beneath him. Beneath the clock chiming noon, she could hear Jon entering the kitchen. She hurried in. He was standing there, not reaching for his good coat, not taking a cup of milk before the road, not doing anything. Just standing there.

“For heaven’s sake,” she said. “Get a move on. And when you’re at the doctor’s, ask to use their telephone and call your parents. I’m going to need your mother to help me with nursing and taking care of the baby.” Still he didn’t move. “Jon?” He looked at her. “Jon, what is it?”

“I can’t go.”

She stared at him. She knew what the words meant, but they made no sense, any more than if he had said, “I can’t fly” or “I can’t leap over the barn.” He reached for her hands. “The bootleggers. They won’t let me go. They said they’re afraid the police will question me about have I seen ’em.” He looked out the window. “I guess maybe they’re afraid I’m chickening out.”

She pulled her hands from his. “That’s ridiculous. You’re not going to the police. You’re going for the doctor. Why on earth would we turn them in? We’ve made more money from sheltering them over the past twelvemonth than this farm’s earned in the last five years.” She looked up at him. “Oh, for heaven’s sakes. Are the horses hitched to the buggy?”

He nodded.

“I’ll go talk to them. You stay with Jack and make sure he doesn’t burn himself on the hot water. There’s more on the stove when his pan cools down.” She whipped off her apron, tossed it on the back of a chair, and strode out the door before Jon could answer.

Bright sunshine dazzled the whitewash on the barns and chicken coop but gave off no warmth. When she plunged through the door of the hay barn, the contrast between the light and the dark blinded her. She couldn’t hear anyone, although she could smell tobacco smoke and briefly wondered if any of the rumrunners was countryman enough to know that you don’t let sparks among the hay. “Who’s in charge here?” she said.

A man appeared at the edge of the loft above. She couldn’t make out his features, but he wore a fancy city hat that was as out of place as she would have been in a Broadway speakeasy. “You must be the missus,” he said.

“My husband’s harnessed up our team to go to town and fetch the doctor. He’s going to leave now. He’ll be back as soon as he reaches Dr. Stillman. He’s not going anywhere but Dr. Stillman’s and he’s certainly not about to go yapping to the police.”

“No one’s going anywhere.”

She looked up through the gloom. “I’m not going to get a crick in my neck arguing with you. Come down here and talk to me.”

The man laughed, but descended the ladder, taking care not to brush his suit against the rungs. She was surprised when he faced her. He was younger than she was, and looked as sober and respectable as Dr. Fillmore, the Presbyterian minister. His voice was the only thing that gave him away. “Here I am, lady. You can get me to move, but your husband ain’t going anywhere.”

“One of my children is very sick. He needs a doctor’s care. There’s no more or less to it than that.”

“The roads are swarming with cops on patrol. No one leaves this hay rack until I say so.”

“My son needs a doctor!”

“So does he.” He glanced toward the back of the barn. “Hey, Ted, bring Etienne out here.” Two more men walked from behind an ancient phaeton, dragging a third between them. The young man-scarcely more than a boy-was open-shirted, and his chest and shoulder were bound in a bloodstained bandage. The men holding him wore shoulder holsters stuffed with wicked-looking black-barreled handguns.

“Good Lord.” She covered her mouth.

“We’re not getting any help for Etienne, and you’re not getting help for your kid.” He grinned at her, the choirboy smile of someone whose worst sin was skipping school to catch frogs. “Don’t worry. Kids get sick all the time. And we’ll be gone tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow!” His words jerked her attention from the wounded boy. “We can’t wait that long.” She tugged on her dress, pulling herself together. They were, after all, in business together. After a fashion. And she could conduct business. “Even if my husband ran into the police on the road, there’s no reason for them to suspect him of anything more than what he is-a farmer going to town for the doctor. We’d be crazy to turn any of you in. We’re outside of the law ourselves, giving your people shelter all these months. Do you think we’d risk putting ourselves in jail?”

“Lady, maybe you’re not aware that Judge Jacob DeWeese is the fellow we’d come before if we was caught up here in Podunk County. DeWeese doesn’t like us gentlemen bandits, don’tcha know. Just last month he gave three guys from Avenue B ten years hard labor in Clinton.” He grinned at her again. This time, she saw the edge of his teeth. “My boys and me ain’t planning on sweating out the next ten years of our lives building roads and shoveling snow. We’re staying put. And you’re staying put.” He grasped her upper arm, a light and unthreatening touch that sent her skin crawling. “You been good hosts for our guys. I’d hate to have to hurt you or your husband.” He steered her toward the door. “Now, you run along. And as soon as we’re out of your hair, you can get the doc for your little fellow.”

He released her, and she stumbled out the door into the cold sunshine. She blinked. She swung around, but the door shut in her face. She didn’t know what to do. She took a few steps toward the cow barn. Gig and Haley waited in harness near the wide front doors. Could she snatch them and ride off? No, that was ridiculous. Those two couldn’t outrun a bullet. Maybe Jon could hike up the back forty to the woods? There were trails there that led through the mountains toward Millers Kill. Of course, Jon was no woodsman. She looked past the open fields and fences to the distant tree line. He’d be spotted long before he reached the shelter of the forest. She circled slowly where she stood. Everything was familiar to her, the house, the coop, the barns. The chickens pecking in their run, the horses waiting in their harness. It was as if she had never seen any of it before. She was a stranger here herself.