Cherokee America by Margaret Verble

Author:Margaret Verble
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HMH Books

The Dying, and All Around It

Before he stripped in the winter kitchen, Connell told Clifford to bring him clean clothes. He was soaking in the tub when people began to arrive. He got out, toweled off, and put on the trousers Cliff had brought. He discovered the shirt was missing a button, stuck his head out the door bare-chested, and called to Cliff, who was in the hall with Alabama, her hand on his shoulder. Cliff said, “Excuse me. Connell’s naked.”

As soon as he could reach him, Connell grabbed Cliff by the collar. Jerked him in the door. “I’ve got clothes on. Mind your mouth.”

“How was I supposed to know?”

“Go upstairs and get me a shirt with all its buttons. Make sure it’s a white one. And I need my Sunday boots.”

“Are you crippled, too?”

“No! I just don’t want anybody to see me not dressed. It’s not polite.”

Clifford sighed. He was tired of waiting on brothers.

“Who just came in, anyway?”

“Aunt Alabama and Uncle Dennis.”

“Anybody else?”

“Some other folks. I can’t remember.”

“The Taylors?”

“You mean Flor-ence?”

Connell raised his hand.

“Wouldn’t ya like to know.”

Connell grabbed Cliff’s arm. “Tell me, you little turd.”

Tears welled in Cliff’s eyes.

Connell suddenly felt awful. An hour’s sleep in the barn hadn’t been nearly enough. He let Cliff go. “I didn’t mean that. Just get me my clothes, will ya?”

Check, Alabama, and several others were in the sickroom. Alabama was pale in the face and clutching a bedpost with bloodless fingers. Check rose and said, “Come with me.” People moved aside to let them through. Check stepped into the dining room and pointed Alabama into the only remaining chair.

Alabama said, “I’m sorry, Check. I’m not feeling well.”

Check cupped her chin. “You aren’t looking well either.”

Alabama took Check’s hand in hers. She kissed it. “I’m fine. We need to worry about you.”

Check’s face relaxed a little. Tears came in her eyes. Alabama stood and embraced her. She said, “He’s going to a better place.”

Check put her hands on Alabama’s waist and pulled back to see her face. “Any place without this pain would be better. I’m sorry about the smell. I can tell . . .”

“That’s only part of it. Don’t feel bad for me. I’ve seen much worse.” She added, “It wouldn’t affect me if I weren’t with child.”

Check’s eyes widened. Both women smiled. They embraced again, drew back, and patted each other’s cheeks. Just for a moment, Check felt relief. Then, from the hallway, a female voice called, “Oh, Connell! How handsome you look! In spite of your tribulations.” The voice was too high, too loud. Check’s and Alabama’s smiles fell. Check’s eyes narrowed. Alabama’s rolled.

Suzanne Taylor was often affected and attention-seeking. And always too enamored of her social position. She was a Ross on one side, a Vann on the other. And Check and Alabama disagreed about her. Check thought Suzanne couldn’t get over being a Ross. Alabama thought she couldn’t get over being a Vann.

By evening, the house and its porches were crowded. Dennis, Bell, and the Benge men and boys had taken up posts in the hall.

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