The Last Days of Dogtown - Page 91

Judy knew that Martha would be fine without her for a few hours. Her misery eased in the evening and the Judge would be home and quite content to spend the evening reading in her room. The truth was that Judy had been staying away from the Youngers because Cornelius was there.

“Judy, dear?” Martha’s voice returned her to the task at hand.

“I’m coming,” she called, hurrying with the tray.

“Was that Oliver I heard?” said Martha as Judy entered the sickroom. “How is the baby?”

“I didn’t even think to ask, can you imagine?”

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“Dear, you must tell me the truth. Has there been a falling-out between you and the Youngers? You haven’t been there in so long, and I don’t recall the last time I heard you talk about Natty. Why is that?”

“There is no falling-out. It’s just that I do not like to leave you.” Judy noticed that the vases needed attention. No matter how often she freshened the flowers, trimmed the lamp wicks, and changed the linens, Martha’s room looked forlorn.

“I’m not alone. That girl is here, day after day,” Martha whined, in a good imitation of their new servant. “What a sullen chit she is, and her mother promised us a cheerful girl. But never mind that. The Judge is home tonight. Will Oliver return for you this afternoon?”

“Yes. They’ve taken in Cornelius Finson, who hurt his leg on the road.” Judy fussed with the fading roses so that Martha could not see her face. “It seems he’s low with a fever now.”

“Well, if he has you as his nurse, he’ll be healthy in no time. And I shall survive this one evening without you.”

Judy read to Martha until she dozed off, and then tiptoed to the bureau and picked up the ivory hand mirror that lay facedown on the lace antimacassar. There were no surprises in the reflection: her hair had a white streak in it now, just beside her left cheek. Her whole face was thicker, the skin a bit mottled at the temples, and the jaw was no longer firm. She had become the complete spinster, she thought, bland and unremarkable. Martha could not bear to witness the way her once-pretty features decayed from month to month, but Judy was fascinated by the alterations in her appearance.

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She examined herself dispassionately, without any thought to improving what she saw, glad to have avoided the perpetual frown that was nearly universal on unmarried ladies of her years. She widened her eyes and smiled brightly: at least her teeth were still sound. Martha stirred and Judy replaced the mirror precisely as it was before returning to her seat by the bed.

When Oliver arrived, she was ready with a satchel filled with fruit and a cake, as well as a small pouch of herbs: yarrow to bring on sweating and to draw out the heat of a fever, sorrel and licorice root for tea, slippery elm, in case there was a sore throat. And a packet of chamomile for Polly, who loved the smell.

As they set out, Judy asked Oliver for news about Natty and the baby, and he obliged in exquisite detail: David had a tooth already, and Natty was smart as a whip. “He can count to one hundred. Polly says Cornelius is teaching him the numbers.”

“I’m bringing him some peaches,”

she said.

“He’ll like that,” Oliver said. “I cannot figure what on earth Cornelius might like, except for our boys. He smiles at them when he thinks no one is looking. But the man says so little . . .” Judy turned the conversation to Polly’s health and welfare, which got them to the house before Oliver could say anything else about their patient.

Natty was hopping from one foot to the other by the side of the road waiting for them. When Judy came into sight, he squealed and ran for her, grabbing her tightly about the knees until she lifted him up for a hug. “If you get any bigger, I won’t be able to do this anymore!”

Judy kissed Polly and declared her radiant. She

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exclaimed over David, who had become a different child since she’d seen him last, bigger and darker and reaching for everything, including her nose. She praised the tidiness of the yard and the house and exclaimed over the fine workmanship in the basket of mending on the bed. Only then did she glance at Cornelius, who was sleeping hard.

He was much thinner than the last time she’d seen him.

Tags: Anita Diamant Fiction
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