Read Online Alice's Tulips: A Novel by Sandra Dallas - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sandra Dallas
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the sun?”
“Ain’t her fault. It’s the Lord’s. She was that way when she was born a baby.”
“She’s blind?” I asks.
“As a stone. If you’re going to help me tote her, you best set to.” I picked up my end of the baby, and we carried her into the house and laid her on my bed. Mother Bullock poured water into a basin, then took out a clean rag, and she wiped the girl’s forehead.
“She going to be all right, ain’t she?” Annie asks.
“Her head’s tore up bad. She might’ve caught it on a nail. I’ll mix up wheat flour and salt, but that won’t stop up all the blood. The only way I know to do that is sew her up.”
“Sew her?” Annie asks. “I cain’t do it.”
“Alice will.”
“I never sewed a person.”
“I guess you will now,” Mother Bullock says. “You’re the one thinks she’s so good at it. Get you a needle and a thread and hurry, before the poor little thing wakes up.”
“White thread or black?” I asks Annie.
“White. She’s a white girl. Cain’t you see that?”
I got out my sewing basket and cut a length of thread, then pulled it across a piece of candle to make it slide better through the skin. “Single thread or double?”
Mother Bullock thought that over. “Double. So it don’t pull out.”
I threaded the needle, then drew up a chair to the edge of the bed so I could lean over and see Joybell good. “You keep her head pinned down. I’ll hold the rest of her,” Mother Bullock tells Annie as she sponged fresh blood off Joybell’s head. She got a tight grip on her shoulders.
I took a deep breath and put the needle through the skin at the end of the gash. “What stitch?”
“What stitch?” Mother Bullock asks back.
“Feather stitch? Cross stitch? Buttonhole? I got to know what stitch to use.”
“Just stitch it!”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with making it look pretty.”
Mother Bullock thought that over. “Regular stitch, I guess. It’ll have to come out when the skin grows together.”
“Then by rights, it ought to be a basting stitch, but that won’t hold.”
“Just get to it. You don’t want to wait till she wakes up. She’s liable to thrash about.”
“Yes’m.” I pulled the thread through the skin, leaving a long tail. Then I sewed that gash shut with a nice overlap stitch, and when I was done, I tied the two ends together in a knot and snipped the tails. The stitching wasn’t as nice as you’d do on aquilt, but it was good enough for basting a person. I’ll tell you this, Lizzie: I’m real good about using my basting thread over again, but not this time!
Mother Bullock covered Joybell with a quilt. “Sleep’s good for her. We’ll give her cold well water when she wakes up to keep down the fever. When’s the last time you ate cooked food, Mrs. Tatum?”
Annie looked from Mother Bullock to me and shrugged. “We had right smart of apples for awhile, but we hain’t had none for a long time. I picked out corn from horse plop on the way here. But I washed it ’fore we ate it. Yesterday, we had green corn. It made us puke. So when you was in the field, we come up to the garden. We was afraid to last night, on account of the dog. We got dogs sicced on us, and Joybell, she fears ’em. We went in the barn to look around. We wouldn’t have stole nothing.”
“You haven’t eaten any eggs—or chicken. There wasn’t none took after we cooped up the chickens,” Mother Bullock says. “Alice, fetch the buttermilk.”
I went outside to get the pitcher from off the well, where it was keeping cool, while Mother Bullock took out corn dodgers and half a molasses pie from the pie safe. Annie watched us, her arms wrapped around her, as if to keep herself from snatching the edibles out of Mother Bullock’s hands. Mother Bullock piled food on a plate, then handed it to the girl, who didn’t wait for a fork, but ate with her hands. Halfway through, she stopped and looked over at Joybell, then at Mother Bullock, who
“Ain’t her fault. It’s the Lord’s. She was that way when she was born a baby.”
“She’s blind?” I asks.
“As a stone. If you’re going to help me tote her, you best set to.” I picked up my end of the baby, and we carried her into the house and laid her on my bed. Mother Bullock poured water into a basin, then took out a clean rag, and she wiped the girl’s forehead.
“She going to be all right, ain’t she?” Annie asks.
“Her head’s tore up bad. She might’ve caught it on a nail. I’ll mix up wheat flour and salt, but that won’t stop up all the blood. The only way I know to do that is sew her up.”
“Sew her?” Annie asks. “I cain’t do it.”
“Alice will.”
“I never sewed a person.”
“I guess you will now,” Mother Bullock says. “You’re the one thinks she’s so good at it. Get you a needle and a thread and hurry, before the poor little thing wakes up.”
“White thread or black?” I asks Annie.
“White. She’s a white girl. Cain’t you see that?”
I got out my sewing basket and cut a length of thread, then pulled it across a piece of candle to make it slide better through the skin. “Single thread or double?”
Mother Bullock thought that over. “Double. So it don’t pull out.”
I threaded the needle, then drew up a chair to the edge of the bed so I could lean over and see Joybell good. “You keep her head pinned down. I’ll hold the rest of her,” Mother Bullock tells Annie as she sponged fresh blood off Joybell’s head. She got a tight grip on her shoulders.
I took a deep breath and put the needle through the skin at the end of the gash. “What stitch?”
“What stitch?” Mother Bullock asks back.
“Feather stitch? Cross stitch? Buttonhole? I got to know what stitch to use.”
“Just stitch it!”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with making it look pretty.”
Mother Bullock thought that over. “Regular stitch, I guess. It’ll have to come out when the skin grows together.”
“Then by rights, it ought to be a basting stitch, but that won’t hold.”
“Just get to it. You don’t want to wait till she wakes up. She’s liable to thrash about.”
“Yes’m.” I pulled the thread through the skin, leaving a long tail. Then I sewed that gash shut with a nice overlap stitch, and when I was done, I tied the two ends together in a knot and snipped the tails. The stitching wasn’t as nice as you’d do on aquilt, but it was good enough for basting a person. I’ll tell you this, Lizzie: I’m real good about using my basting thread over again, but not this time!
Mother Bullock covered Joybell with a quilt. “Sleep’s good for her. We’ll give her cold well water when she wakes up to keep down the fever. When’s the last time you ate cooked food, Mrs. Tatum?”
Annie looked from Mother Bullock to me and shrugged. “We had right smart of apples for awhile, but we hain’t had none for a long time. I picked out corn from horse plop on the way here. But I washed it ’fore we ate it. Yesterday, we had green corn. It made us puke. So when you was in the field, we come up to the garden. We was afraid to last night, on account of the dog. We got dogs sicced on us, and Joybell, she fears ’em. We went in the barn to look around. We wouldn’t have stole nothing.”
“You haven’t eaten any eggs—or chicken. There wasn’t none took after we cooped up the chickens,” Mother Bullock says. “Alice, fetch the buttermilk.”
I went outside to get the pitcher from off the well, where it was keeping cool, while Mother Bullock took out corn dodgers and half a molasses pie from the pie safe. Annie watched us, her arms wrapped around her, as if to keep herself from snatching the edibles out of Mother Bullock’s hands. Mother Bullock piled food on a plate, then handed it to the girl, who didn’t wait for a fork, but ate with her hands. Halfway through, she stopped and looked over at Joybell, then at Mother Bullock, who
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