Closer Than Brothers

Wesley Newton pitched a forkful of hay to the waiting horses; then he paused and looked at his older brother. "Reckon why Pa married Cousin Dorcas?" he asked John Henry.

"Danged if I know! That woman ain’t worth shucks. She’s too lazy to even bile beans." John Henry stared off in the distance. "Thought I knew Pa’s ways, but I ain’t figured out why he married that she-devil. Ma never did cotton to her. Said she’d always been a moocher ‘sides being dirty and lazy."

John Henry knew something had happened to their father’s mind during the war. When Henry Newton came home from Appomattox, only a shell of the handsome, lively man he used to be was left. John Henry hardly recognized the man, who acted as if he didn’t even remember their mother.

After his father had been home about six months, he arose early one morning, went out to the barn and began hitching the mules to the wagon. He stopped and looked at John Henry as if considering something important before he spoke. "It’s likely I’ll be away a few days. See to things."

A few days later, John Henry told Wesley. "The garden needs weeding. Best get it done afore it heats up today."

They had been hoeing steadily and were almost finished when they heard the unmistakable sound of wagon wheels lumbering along the rutted road. John Henry paused, lifted his hat, and wiped the sweat from his eyes with his shirt sleeve. As the wagon rounded the bend in the lane leading to the cabin, he could see two people riding on the seat. Frowning, he watched his pa stop the wagon in front of the cabin and help a heavy-set woman climb down from the seat.

"Ain’t that Cousin Dorcas?" Wesley asked, watching the woman. "Why is she with Pa?"

John Henry felt uneasy. He paused before answering. "Don’t know, but I got a skeery notion it ain’t gonna be to our liking."

When he brought the team to the barn, John Henry gave his father a puzzled look. "How come Cousin Dorcas is with you?"

"I got me a wife," he answered with a sheepish grin on his face.

Pa’s marriage to Dorcas brought no less work for John Henry. She never helped around the house, and he still had the cooking to do after working all day in the field. He knew Pa hated having his decisions or actions questioned, but John Henry’s resentment had simmered below the surface for weeks. Finally, he mustered enough courage to ask, "Why in tarnation did you bring Cousin Dorcas here, Pa?"

He acted startled by John Henry’s question. "Don’t reckon it’s none of your business, but figured you boys needed a ma."

"We sure as heck didn’t need that one," John Henry answered, fury making him strike back. "Has you forgot what Ma said about Dorcas’s other men all dying strange?"

John Henry’s question rattled his father and seemed to penetrate his foggy mind. A sickly expression crossed his face, and his skin paled except for a circle around his mouth, which took on a greenish hue. "Guess I forgot."

Nothing more was said, but that night his father gathered some quilts and began sleeping in the barn. When the weather turned cold, he climbed the ladder and slept in the loft.

He became sullen and stayed away from the house, even refusing to talk to John Henry. He would get up early to do the chores in the morning then work in the fields or the barn until late each evening, ignoring Dorcas as if she didn’t exist.

* * *

The shadows on the wall slipped away as the flames from the fireplace flickered before turning the logs to ashes. Wind whistled through the cracks, kicking up dust and scattering bits of fluff through the air. Wesley huddled in the drafty loft, holding his throbbing ear and clenching his teeth to keep from sobbing. He knew Dorcas would soon holler for him to bring in more wood. He tried to avoid making any noise, knowing she would beat him again if she heard him crying. Breathing the damp loft’s musty odor made his throat tickle, but he swallowed hard, managing to choke back his cough and keep quiet.

Wesley hated her. She knew he did. He never said a word to her, but grown-ups could tell when they weren’t liked. If he was strong like John Henry, he’d leave and never come back. But he’d had these awful earaches and sore throats ever since he could remember, making him weak and thin.

John Henry hated Dorcas too, but he wasn’t afraid of her, so she left him alone.

If only Ma hadn’t died two years ago. Back then the house was clean, and delicious smells filled the room from food cooking over the fireplace. Pa used to laugh and joke with Ma, and they were a happy family. Now Pa was silent as stone.

Wesley’s mind raced back to the happy yesterdays of his young life. There stood Ma, slim and beautiful, with her long black hair braided and wrapped around her head. He heard her laughing and calling her hair "My garland," since Garland was her last name before it became Newton, when she married Pa. She smelled fresh and clean, like clothes drying in the sunshine. A big white apron covered her homespun dress as she worked. He closed his eyes. Ma was sitting in her favorite rocking chair, teaching him to read from the Bible; her sweet voice making the stories so real that he could almost hear David’s harp and see the silver lake of Galilee.

Ma never made him feel small or unimportant. There were chores to do, but she taught the importance of doing them. Learning to plant, hoe, and harvest the garden resulted in good things to eat. Extra eggs meant Ma would make gingerbread. The cow had to be milked in order to have milk, curds, clabber, and butter for hot corn bread. Jerking beef and salting pork provided meat through the winter. Ma’s hearth provided comfort, food, warmth, and companionship, making Wesley feel safe and loved.

Pain gripped Wesley. Tears burned his eyes and dripped down his cheeks. He wiped at his runny nose with his sleeve, not wanting to sniff. It seemed so unfair. Ma was the center of his world for eight years, and then suddenly, she was gone. He wanted her back. "Ma, I miss you so," he whispered.

Now Dorcas sat in Ma’s chair, stinking up the whole house, sickening him. He couldn’t remember when she had changed her dress or bathed. Her oily hair hung about her face in dirty, greasy strings. She looked like a witch, except he thought witches were thin, and she was fat. Real fat.

She just sat there hogging the fire, cracking and eating nuts, letting the hulls clutter the floor, and scratching. She constantly clawed at her armpits or between her legs, too lazy to rid herself of lice.

"You think Pa’s skeered of her?" Wesley asked John Henry, uneasy about the strange relationship between Pa and Dorcas.

He shrugged, then added some water to the stew he was cooking. "Don’t know, but Ma claimed Dorcas’s other two men seemed healthy, when she wed them."

"I’d a cooked you some vittles, but I stay hid, much as I can."