outside, holding the rope and saying ‘Where is he? Find the baby! Where is he? Fetch the baby!’ The dog trotted around the corner of the house and lifted his leg to water down the stones edging Mrs. Nipple’s flower beds.
‘Get going,’ said Mernelle, but the dog sat down and stared at her with stupid eyes. ‘Find that baby or I’ll grind you up,’ she hissed. The dog wagged his tail tentatively and looked in her face. ‘You dumb puke,’ she said and tied him to the porch steps rail. The dog thrust his nose under the steps and snuffled as though at rare perfume. Mernelle went down to the barn.
Doris was up in the hayloft saying, ‘Rollo, Mummie wants you sweetheart,’ though Mernelle didn’t see how any baby could climb the slick, worn rungs of that steep ladder. She looked in all the dim cow stalls, seeing where Doris had scraped at the matted hay, under the table in the milk room, in the old harness room and the cobwebbed horse stalls with the names WAXY and PRINCE carved on the posts. Doris’s footsteps overhead knocked from corners to shallow cupboards to the chute where the hay came down. Her black frenzy filled the barn. Mernelle went outside and looked in the manure pile. Rollo might have fallen into the mire and drowned in cow shit. She’d heard of it. Jewell knew of somebody it had happened to. She braced to see the blue, lolling head, the smeared arms. But there were only hens. From the manure pile she could see her mother and Mrs. Nipple in the uncut orchard, wading through the grass calling, ‘Rollo, Rollo,’ their voices heavy and sad.
When Ronnie’s car, packed with men in work clothes, drove into the yard Doris ran out, crying, to tell them the baby was still lost. The men talked in low voices. After a while they spread out and began walking through the mown hayfield, heading up toward the spring in the woods, the spring just open water, ten feet across, white sand at the bottom bubbling with the icy water that pulsed up from underground. Doris, knowing suddenly about the water, ran after them.
Jewell and Mrs. Nipple came up from the trampled orchard, and Mernelle followed them into the summer kitchen with its screened windows and kerosene stove off the end of the porch. Their arms were streaked with welts from the saw-edged grass. Mrs. Nipple pumped them each a glass of water. A few drops fell in the iron sink, rubbed to a gloss with a few drops of kerosene on Mrs. Nipple’s cleaning rag.
‘I dunno,’ she said, looking out the window at Doris running behind the men, tripping and going down on her knee, scrabbling up on her feet again and floundering on. And Ronnie, turning to point angrily at her, shouting at her to keep away. As if knowledge was more dreadful. ‘How could he get that far away in just a few minutes?’ A thin keening sound came from the water pump.
‘Sometimes the little ones can surprise you,’ said Jewell. ‘I can recall Dub gettin’ down to the road while I was gathering eggs and he wasn’t old enough to even walk. Crawled all the way, a whole mile. He’s kept it up, too.’ The pump wailed with an eerie shriek.
‘What in the world is that,’ said Mrs. Nipple, letting water tip out of her glass.
‘Sounds like your pump, some kind of pump trouble.’
‘That pump’s never made such a sound in its life,’ said Mrs. Nipple. ‘That’s the baby, and he’s down under the summer kitchen. Rollo, ROLLO,’ she bellowed into the pump mouth. And was answered by a gobbling howl. Jewell sent Mernelle to run up and tell Doris and the men that they could hear the baby under the summer kitchen floor near the water pipe, but how should they get at him, tear up the floor? Mrs. Nipple was crouching under the sink calling encouragement and prying at the boards with a kitchen knife. She got up and stepped around to the pump end of the rink where the water pipe rose from below, where the boards under the curling linoleum were as soft as cheese. The pump handle’s
‘Get going,’ said Mernelle, but the dog sat down and stared at her with stupid eyes. ‘Find that baby or I’ll grind you up,’ she hissed. The dog wagged his tail tentatively and looked in her face. ‘You dumb puke,’ she said and tied him to the porch steps rail. The dog thrust his nose under the steps and snuffled as though at rare perfume. Mernelle went down to the barn.
Doris was up in the hayloft saying, ‘Rollo, Mummie wants you sweetheart,’ though Mernelle didn’t see how any baby could climb the slick, worn rungs of that steep ladder. She looked in all the dim cow stalls, seeing where Doris had scraped at the matted hay, under the table in the milk room, in the old harness room and the cobwebbed horse stalls with the names WAXY and PRINCE carved on the posts. Doris’s footsteps overhead knocked from corners to shallow cupboards to the chute where the hay came down. Her black frenzy filled the barn. Mernelle went outside and looked in the manure pile. Rollo might have fallen into the mire and drowned in cow shit. She’d heard of it. Jewell knew of somebody it had happened to. She braced to see the blue, lolling head, the smeared arms. But there were only hens. From the manure pile she could see her mother and Mrs. Nipple in the uncut orchard, wading through the grass calling, ‘Rollo, Rollo,’ their voices heavy and sad.
When Ronnie’s car, packed with men in work clothes, drove into the yard Doris ran out, crying, to tell them the baby was still lost. The men talked in low voices. After a while they spread out and began walking through the mown hayfield, heading up toward the spring in the woods, the spring just open water, ten feet across, white sand at the bottom bubbling with the icy water that pulsed up from underground. Doris, knowing suddenly about the water, ran after them.
Jewell and Mrs. Nipple came up from the trampled orchard, and Mernelle followed them into the summer kitchen with its screened windows and kerosene stove off the end of the porch. Their arms were streaked with welts from the saw-edged grass. Mrs. Nipple pumped them each a glass of water. A few drops fell in the iron sink, rubbed to a gloss with a few drops of kerosene on Mrs. Nipple’s cleaning rag.
‘I dunno,’ she said, looking out the window at Doris running behind the men, tripping and going down on her knee, scrabbling up on her feet again and floundering on. And Ronnie, turning to point angrily at her, shouting at her to keep away. As if knowledge was more dreadful. ‘How could he get that far away in just a few minutes?’ A thin keening sound came from the water pump.
‘Sometimes the little ones can surprise you,’ said Jewell. ‘I can recall Dub gettin’ down to the road while I was gathering eggs and he wasn’t old enough to even walk. Crawled all the way, a whole mile. He’s kept it up, too.’ The pump wailed with an eerie shriek.
‘What in the world is that,’ said Mrs. Nipple, letting water tip out of her glass.
‘Sounds like your pump, some kind of pump trouble.’
‘That pump’s never made such a sound in its life,’ said Mrs. Nipple. ‘That’s the baby, and he’s down under the summer kitchen. Rollo, ROLLO,’ she bellowed into the pump mouth. And was answered by a gobbling howl. Jewell sent Mernelle to run up and tell Doris and the men that they could hear the baby under the summer kitchen floor near the water pipe, but how should they get at him, tear up the floor? Mrs. Nipple was crouching under the sink calling encouragement and prying at the boards with a kitchen knife. She got up and stepped around to the pump end of the rink where the water pipe rose from below, where the boards under the curling linoleum were as soft as cheese. The pump handle’s
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