A SHORT STORY
1902 Ebatha Snoke moved slowly and with conviction as she walked toward the door to her small barn; it was swollen, creaking with weight. Each step Ebatha took was firm, producing a thudding beat against the wooden slats beneath her.
Her hands, knobby and dark, found the pockets of her skirt and clung inside them for warmth.It was March. The rain had ceased, having saturated just about everything. The clouds had not lifted; and, it was a picture outside—blue-gray and muddled.
She avoided the calf that lay in the darkened corner as she entered; later, there would be time to collect it. Its eyes stared—vacant, lost. Its mother made no sound as she stood a few feet away. Ebatha knew that there was some discomfort. The milk had curdled inside of the lonely creature. Bowing her head, she left her only heifer.
Her baby stirred in his bassinet, not far from the door and the kitchen. "I know you're hungry," she soothed. His body was soft, plumpish. He squirmed, just a little as she sat him upon her knee. A splintering draft trailed in; and, Ebatha felt it drape the underside of her clothes, on the exposed back of her leg. Together, she and her baby made delicate sounds. "You can drink a little," she told him, "But, there's only a little." She led his mouth to her breast; however, he turned his head away, dimpling his cheeks as he howled into the room. "I know. It ain't no use to you."
"What's wrong with him?" Her eldest boy Abraham asked, worry on his chestnut face. "You want me to go get Mr. Gabe?"
Ebatha only nodded, not looking up at the hurried pounding of her son's feet as he took off. Her baby was unusually large and knowing. He stared right up into her eyes, engulfing her within their darkness.
Farmer Gabe lifted himself into the buggy. He moved silently firmly, rocking it with his weight. "I'm coming too," Geary, his wife, yelled as she trailed after him. Her smooth, firm legs told her youth as she treaded over the mud on the ground. After leaping into the buggy beside Gabe, she stomped her boots loudly to knock off some of the muck. Geary smiled at her husband, at the gray hair that framed his temples, and then, at the moving clouds in the drenched picture-scape before them. In a flash, a bolt of lightning streaked the sky, causing her to jump against old Gabe, forcefully grabbing his arm. She remained there, ever smiling, holding onto and folding herself into his protective warmth.
Inside her kitchen, Ebatha Snoke watched wide-eyed as she caught that flash of lightning, an unhappy portent, from the window. Washing her hands, and then carefully wiping them on a towel, she did not allow her gaze to draw away from the pregnant, moody sky.
Geary chatted and giggled on the way to Ebatha's solemn home. The wheels of the buggy ambled over mounds of soft earth, hurdled over them, cutting through the dirt, creating streams. A few blackbirds flew down to hop across the sopping land, a sign that the storm had ended. Gabe faithfully stared ahead, chewing tobacco, and occasionally, spitting over the side.
When they stopped, Geary jumped out eager to carry the milk jug to the door. Her rubber boots smeared and splayed the ground. "Ugh," she moaned. At the base of the porch, she slipped, tossing the milk above her head. Falling forward, she could not catch the jug. Its bottom cracked against Ebatha's porch and fresh milk engulfed and mingled within the puddles of earth and water on the ground.
Seeing Geary's face, Ebatha only said, "I'll clean that up. It's alright."
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