Free The Last Letter by Kathleen Shoop Page A

Mama? You look spooked. You should sit.”
    Jeanie straightened and smiled at James’ concern and cradled his cheek in her hand for a moment before adjusting his hat. She’d never been an overly affectionate mother. She hadn’t realized that until the past few days, when she couldn’t keep from touching her children, their faces, arms, hugging them, smelling them, causing them to draw back before submitting to the extra affection. It was as though losing so much of their lives illuminated the only things that were still there—the living, breathing human beings she should have been more drawn to in the first place.
    “James. Get the second wagon sheet from the floorboards. And the hoe. That should do it,” Jeanie said.
    James’ eyes widened then squinted. “What’s going on, Mama?”
    “Snakes. They have some of the rattler variety in the house or whatever that thing we’re standing on is and as much as I attempt to support your father and all his endeavors, I will not share space with snakes. So, after I kill the two in the dugout, we’re going to line the ceiling with the wagon sheet so they can’t enter by way of dropping in like packages of explosives, scaring the life out of your mother.”
    “Mama, it’s okay. It’s—”
    “Where’s your father?”
    “He’s on his way. Said he’d help the Misses Lutie and Ruthie Moore with their chores so they can come to dinner. They don’t have men folk with them. Except for Mr. Templeton. Apparently he’s taken an interest in one of them, visiting sometimes, but neither show interest in him. Much as I could tell. They didn’t even look at him. Or as Father said, they don’t show interest in a man on account of them wanting to prove up their homesteads before getting married. So the land’s in their names, not some man’s.”
    Jeanie stopped looking for snakes. Surprised not only by James’s unusual blathering, but by the content of his news. “Is that what your father reported to you? They want their own land?”
    “I heard the report right from the sisters Moore themselves. And Miss Lutie is a divorcee.”
    “A divorcee? That can’t be right.”
    “A divorcee, right.”
    “Stop saying that word. It’s awful.”
    “Miss Lutie Moore didn’t seem to think the word was awful. She near sang it out to the clouds, you know being a women’s rights advocate and all.”
    Jeanie grabbed at her throat that was tensing as her eyes watered.
    James stepped toward her and took her hand away from her throat. “Are you crying, Mama? What’s the matter? You don’t have to worry about Father helping the Moore women too often. They don’t want help from us men for the most part. They’re earnest about women’s rights. Suffrage and all it entails.”
    Jeanie wiped her face with her sleeve. “I’m not crying. It’s from the ceiling—the dirt—it fell into my eyes like salt from a shaker. I must look a terrible mess. You go on and get that wagon sheet and hoe.” She shooed him with her hand. James nodded and was down the hill and at the wagon, hauling out supplies so fast that until that moment she hadn’t realized exactly how close he was to being a man.
    “Women’s rights advocates,” she said. “Right here in Darlington Township. Imagine that.”
    “Ma? The snakes?”
    “Oh, yes of course.”
    Tommy barreled over the top of the house, slamming into James.
    “Cut it out, Tommy.” James swatted at his brother’s hat, knocking it off his head.
    “Can I help with the snakes?” Tommy grinned, his expression full of interest.
    “You’re too young,” James said heading down the side of the dugout.
    “Am not.” Tommy threw his arms around himself, mouth twisting in irritation. “Am I, Mama?”
    Jeanie took off Tommy’s hat, smoothed his hair back and studied his face. She lifted his chin. “Don’t go anywhere near that dugout door. Those snakes will kill you. Like the Shofeld boy last year. Remember that? The swelling, the death? Don’t go