Chained

Willy sat on the sagging front porch steps of the weathered gray clapboard farmhouse his penknife sending spiraled shavings onto the ragged grass.  His gray eyes gazed over the familiar cornfields, where brown-tipped leaves signaled the waning days of summer, and searched the red-clay road that wound its way over the rolling hills.

Will she come?  Will this be the year that Eileen, dear sweet Eileen, comes back to me?  His longing eyes searched the road for any sign of traffic, pedestrian or motor.  She'd come by car, he decided.  It wouldn't be like the first time.

"Damn fool," he muttered, forcing his attention away from the road and vigorously whittling the thick oak board into delicate, intertwining links of wooden chain.  "She ain't comin'.  Can't you get that through that thick skull of yours?  She ain't comin'!"

But she came once, he thought, as the flashing steel slowed to soft caressing strokes.


It had been a day just like this one, he remembered.  He was sitting there in just this same spot.  He and Pa just finished putting in the hay from the west field.  He was hot and tired.  He could feel again the light breeze that soothed his face when he had first seen her.

His gaze had passed casually over the fields, attracted by a movement on the road.  His senses heightened as his full attention was held by the approaching vision.  The sunlight glinted off her auburn hair and danced around the swirls of dust raised by her feet.  As she came closer, he gazed in awe at her slim figure, clothed in tailored navy blue and topped by a matching wisp of a hat.  Opened-mouthed, he watched the strange young woman pick her way over the uneven stones of the walkway.  She dropped her cardboard valise at the bottom of the steps and looked imploringly up at him.

"Excuse me, sir, but I'm looking for the residence of Mrs. Nathaniel Pruitt.  Can you tell me if it's close by?"

"Well . . . eh. . . Miss . . . " he stammered, as his mother stepped out onto the porch, wiping her hands on her apron.

"You say you're lookin' for Nate Pruitt, Miss . . . eh . . . What did you say your name was?"  The older woman looked sternly down upon the newcomer from the height of the porch.

"Uh . . . Miss Nelson.  Eileen Nelson.  I'm to teach at the Huntersville School this term and the County School Board arranged for me to stay with the Pruitt family."

"Well, now, Miss . . . Nelson, ain't that a real shame."  She shook her head with its gray, tightly-wound bun and clicked her tongue.

Willy saw the fear flash across the younger woman's face.  "What's wrong?"  she asked anxiously.  "Has something happened to the Pruitts?"

"Nuthin' that I know of."

"They just up and left," Willy explained.  He saw the tears spring into her eyes.

"But what am I to do?  I can't afford to live in a hotel."  She sank onto the bottom step.  "I have to have this job," she said, more to herself than to anyone else.  "I don't even have train fare home."

Willy stared at her sad face and felt something stirring deep inside of him. She looked so small and helpless and so . . . so friendless in a town full of strangers.  Suddenly the solution came to him.

"You could stay with us," he said, with enthusiam.  "Couldn't she, Ma?"  He grinned at the forlorn young woman.  "You could use the spare room and I could drive you to school in the pickup."

The girl's face brightened until his mother frowned and said, "Now, Willy, let's not be so hasty."

Her face fell.  "Your mother's right.  I couldn't just move into the home of complete strangers.  It's . . . It's just . . . "

"But you don't know the Pruitts either, do you?" he persisted.

"No, but the School Board . . . "

"So ask the Board about us," he said with a gleam of triumph.  "They'll tell you the Morelands are good people, won't they, Ma?"

"They'd better," the older woman said firmly.  "Else I'll give Jeb Ebsom and Reverend Burns a piece of my mind.  Not to mention Ezra Marshall."

"Then it's settled."  His smile widened.  "You stay with us."

"Now, Willy," his mother repeated.  "Let's not be hasty."

"But, Ma," he objected.  "We can't leave this poor lady stranded amongst strange people in a strange town.  We have to take her in.  It's the only Christian thing to do."

"Well," her lips pursed in thought,  "I 'spose you're right, but I'll have to ask your pa first."

"He'll agree, Ma, you know he will -- once you explain it all."  He jumped up and picked up the suitcase.  "Come on, Miss Nelson, I'll show you to your room."

A couple days later, when the school term began, young Willy proudly drove the new boarder to the schoolhouse in the morning and picked her up in the afternoon.  He continued the practice day after day.

After school, one day in late autumn, Willy suddenly wheeled the old truck to the side of the road and stopped.  Eileen whirled to stare at him, concern clouding her crystal blue eyes.  "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nuthin'."  He flashed her a wide grin, slid from behind the wheel and hurried around to open her door.

"I don't . . . "

"Come on," he said, extending a big rough hand to gently help her down.

When her feet were on the ground, she adjusted her skirt and straightened her hat. "Tell me, Willy," she gazed imploringly at him.  "What is the matter?"

"I told you.  Nuthin's the matter."  He reached into the bed of the pickup and pulled out a couple of burlap bags.  "We're goin' anuttin', okay?  I know where all the good trees are."

"Nutting?  All right."  She'd lifted off her hat and tossed it onto the seat of the truck.  "Lead on," she said with a light laugh.

Together, they tramped through the woods.

"That tree there's an oak," Willy informed her as he pointed out a stately old giant.  "Great for building."

"Building?  You mean houses?"

"Yeah.  Houses, furniture, anything.  Strong.  It'll last forever."

"And that one?" she asked, pointing to another specimen.

"Maple.  Beautiful wood.  Couldn't ask for anything purttier for tables and the like."  They walked on.  "And that's an ash. Nothing stronger than ash once it's cured proper."

"But where are the nut trees, Willy?  We've come a long way."

"Ah, they're just over yonder.  We'll start at the furthest and work our way back." 

He grinned at her.  "Don't have to carry so far that way."

"I see," she smiled back.  "Good idea."

Sometime later they emerged, laughing together, from the woods, with Willy carrying bulging sacks of butternuts, black walnuts, shellbark hickory nuts and chestnuts.  At some point during the filling of their sacks and 'leaving some for the squirrels', a bond had developed between them.  It was a bond that was to grow and strengthen as the weeks passed and autumn chilled into winter.

As the snows began to accumulate, they frolicked like children.  Always laughing together, they pelted each other with snowballs, sculpted statues and even stretched out on the newly fallen powder to make snow angels.

During the long, dark evenings, they sat in front of the hearth, popping corn and roasting nuts, while Eileen held Willy spellbound with tales of faraway Boston's rocky coastline and plenteous seafood; New York's mammoth buildings; and Washington, DC's manicured parks and gleaming marble. Willy was fascinated by the beautiful young teacher and, as time passed, began to realize that he was falling in love.

He overheard his father complaining to his mother of his lack of attention to his instructions, but it really didn't matter.  Nor was he concerned with the complaints that he was neglecting his chores. The only thing that really mattered was being close to the vivacious Eileen.

Willy began to notice that time seemed to be shifting on him and he didn't understand why.

First, he noticed that the days, while Eileen was at school, passed with intolerable slowness.  It hadn't seemed to matter how busy he kept himself, the hands on the old mantle clock still barely crept from one hour to the next.


Willy watched a long wooden ringlet curl around his knife blade before dropping loose. He smiled sadly and thought of how fast the time had passed when they were together.  Even now, he couldn't quite be sure just when he decided, but, sometime during that winter, he concluded that he wanted to marry Miss Eileen Nelson.

"Musta been the night ol' Suz had her first calf," he muttered.  The knife blade slowed as his misted eyes stared unseeing across the browning fields. 


Within his mind, he heard again the howling winds of the budding blizzard, and felt the chill of the plummeting temperature as, late at night, he trudged toward the barn.  Suzie, the young Guernsey heifer he'd raised himself after her mother died having her, was about to calve herself and Willy was worried.  Not only was she a bit small, but it was too early in the season.  The weather was still too cold.

He stepped into the relative warmth of the hay-scented building and strode directly to Suzie's stall.  Holding his lantern high, he saw the young cow standing with her head hung low.

"Suz, ol' girl, you okay?"

He waited for the friendly nuzzling that usually followed his greeting but it was not forthcoming. The animal never moved a muscle, but continued to stand with her drooping eyes fixed on the floor in front of her.

"Suz," Willy said louder.  "Suzie!"  He received no response.  "Damn that Bud," he muttered, scrambling over the manger and into the stall.  "If he'd stayed in his own field where he belonged, this would never have happened."  His foot touched something soft, yet firm.  "What the . . . ?" He bent over, staring hard at the gloomy floor of the stall.

The newly-born calf lay without moving. The only sign of life was the occasional shiver that shook its tiny body.  Hanging the lantern on a nail, Willy reached both hands beneath the baby and gently lifted its wet, slimy body.  Its legs splayed outward and the limp torso drooped in his grasp.

Willy laid it back onto the straw-covered floor, vaulted over the manger and ran toward the house.  He slammed through the back door.

"Ma, I need some warm milk.  Quick!"  He rushed to the foot of the stairs.  "Ma!" he yelled.

Eileen appeared in the upstairs hallway, crossed the hall and leaned over the banister.  "Shhh, Willy.  Your mother's asleep.  Has been for hours.  What is the matter?"

"It's Suzie.  We gotta do something!"  Willy barely noticed that she was wearing only her long flannel nightgown.  "She had her calf and it's about to die!"

"I'll go with you.  Just a minute."  She disappeared from the stair rail and reappeared a moment later, pulling on a plaid, woolen robe as she descended the stairs.  "What do you need?"

"Warm milk's the first thing.  It's too weak to even stand and nurse.  We gotta get some milk down its gullet."  He turned and rushed through the kitchen and into the pantry.  He rummaged through the dark shelves deep under the steps.  At last he found an old baby bottle.  "Aha!" he said, holding it up to the light.  He emerged from the pantry to find Eileen just removing a small pan from the kitchen range.

"How are we going to feed it?' she asked.

"With this," he answered, triumphantly showing her the bottle.  He flipped the spongy rubber nipple with his thumb.  "The nipple's about shot, but I don't think that calf's strong enough to bite it anyway.  We just have to be careful."  He took his prize to the sink and carefully washed and rinsed it.

"Here, I'll fill it."

Willy passed her the bottle and hurried to the closet to find the old blanket he knew they kept for just such an emergency.  He returned to the kitchen and reached out his hand for the full milk bottle.

Eileen shook her head and clutched it to her breast.  "I'm going with you."

Willy's gaze passed over her attire.  "But it's getting cold out.  You'll freeze."

"I'll be okay.  Come on."

As they passed through the main barn, Willy grabbed a couple of empty feed bags.  He paused long enough to open the gate, and then led the way into Suzie's stall.  "Hang in there, girl," he said to the new mother as he gave her a quick squeeze around the neck and patted her chest.  "We gotta take care of your li'l one first."

Dropping down on one knee, he lifted the calf and draped it across his knee.  He began to briskly rub its body with a burlap bag.

"What are you doing?" Eileen asked.

"Drying if off," he answered a bit breathlessly.  "And getting its blood moving."

"What about the milk?"

"In a minute.  Gotta get it dry first."  He methodically massaged the small body from head to tail, then rubbed down its legs.  At last he dropped the sack.  "Hand me that blanket, will you?"

Wrapping the calf up tight, he cuddled it against his chest and raised its chin with his hand.  "Now, let's try the milk," he said, sticking his thumb into the side of its mouth.  "I'll hold its mouth open and you squeeze a few drops down its throat."
Eileen dropped to her knees and followed his instructions.  "Oops, it's running out the side."

Willy adjusted the angle of the small head.  "Try to get it back closer to the throat."  As Eileen squeezed the nipple, Willy used his other hand to massage the baby's under jaw and throat.  "There!" he cried.  "She swallowed that time."
Little by little the warm milk trickled into the animal's body.  By the time the bottle was half-empty, the calf had begun to twist its head and fight Willy's hold.  He grinned.  "Getting a little feisty now, ain't ya?"  He glanced up at Eileen.  "Let's let her rest a bit.  I'll get Suz some grain, then we'll try again."

He left the stall and returned to find Eileen tenderly stroking the calf's face.  Its eyes drooped sleepily and Willy felt a warm glow spread from his solar plexus throughout his body.  Eileen looked up at him and smiled.  "You called it "she', is it a girl?"

Willy blushed and dumped the grain into Suzie's box.  "Darn if I know, but I guess we should check."  He lifted the lantern from its nail and lifted one corner of the blanket.  "Yep," he said, replacing the light.  "We got us a new little heifer here."

"Can we give her the rest of the milk now?"

Willy shrugged.  "We can try."  He lifted the calf's head and Eileen squirted a bit of the white liquid into its mouth.  It promptly trickled out the other side.  "Guess she's had all she wants for now.  Let's let her rest a bit then we'll try again.  Besides," he said, gazing at Eileen with concern, "you must be frozen."

"I am a little chilly," she admitted.  "Next time I'll grab a coat."

Willy unbuttoned his jacket and started to remove it.  "Here," he said.

She stopped his hands.  "No, you need that."

"If you won't take it, will you share?"

"Share?"

He held open one side and put his arm around her shoulders.  "Okay?" he asked hesitantly.

She snuggled against his side.  "Much better," she laughed.

Willy smiled and, holding her close, they left the barn and crossed the yard to the house.


He could still feel the warm softness of her body pressed against his ribs and his arms ached to hold her in a real embrace.  God, how he loved her.  He had known since that night so long ago, but he was afraid to tell her.  Would she laugh at him, the poor country bumpkin declaring his undying love for a sophisticated lady?  Or would she just scorn him as too far beneath her to warrant even her laughter?  Would she, perchance, have accepted him and his proposal?


Vacillating between hope and dread, Willy had silently watched winter turn into spring and the school year end.  Silently, he drove Eileen to the station, heard her, 'See you in the fall,' and waved until the train was out of sight.

Summer finally passed and Willy, determined to take his chances, anxiously awaited her return.  Everyday, he sat whittling boards into chains as he patiently watched the road.  As the days grew shorter, his anxiety turned to fear and then to dread.  Had something happened to her?  Was someone in her family ill and needed her?  Wouldn't she write and tell them if that were the case?  Was she, herself, sick?  Had she had an accident?

Weeks stretched into months and Willy considered searching for her.  He would go to Boston, or New York, or Washington DC and see if he could find her.  But even if he found her, would she come back with him?

Months stretched into years.  Willy's pa died and then he couldn't leave his ma alone long enough to go and search for Eileen.  When his ma had died, there had always been so much to do.  Besides, he repeatedly told himself, Eileen said she would come back.

As the sun settled behind the hills, Willy rose slowly, folded his knife and dropped it into his pocket.  Picking up the half-carved piece of wood, he entered the house and laid it across the table beside the door.  His aging eyes gazed over the varying lengths of wooden chain that adorned the house.  They were swagged across the walls and draped over chairs and lampshades.

Slowly he turned and, flipping off the light, climbed the stairs to his solitary bedroom.


Word Count:  3013