Before You Were Mine: the breathtaking USA Today Bestseller. Em Muslin
your hand. Don’t need it looked at?’
‘Tommy, they’re comin’. It’s Pa’s birthday. Go get yourself cleaned up.’
Tommy shrugged and lumbered up the stairs and stopped halfway. ‘Seein’ you bandaged up like that makes me think of ol’ stumpy.’
Eli couldn’t help but smile. She shook her head as Tommy headed up to his bath.
Stumpy had been a raccoon Eli had found one afternoon soon after they married. It was rattling around in a trashcan, thrashing about, unable to get out. She’d been out in the yard, pinning up some laundry, when she heard something scratching against the metal. Thinking it was some big ol’ rat, she tipped the can over with a stick and ran to the other side of the yard.
But instead, this raccoon limped out and stared at her. No running away, nothing. Eli stood, wet washing in her hands, and stared right back. Neither of them moved an inch. Eli tiptoed towards it and crouched down. Still it didn’t move. Eli had heard tales about how vicious raccoons could bite and tried to shoo it away with her stick, but it just stared up at her, its black eyes shining against the sunlight.
Eli peered closer. Its back leg was all bent up and out of shape. No wonder it hadn’t run anywhere. It must have broken its leg when it fell into the trashcan. She couldn’t bear to see it injured and so she went into the house, dug out some potted meat from the pantry, and left a plate of it out in the yard right next to the raccoon. It ate it all up and still didn’t move.
Eli spent the afternoon perched on a chair, just watching this miserable thing staring up at her, limping around in circles. There was no point taking it to a vet; they’d just laugh at her and tell her to shoot it. So instead, Eli found some kindling out back, some linen bandages in the kitchen, and made the raccoon a splint.
Tommy’s face was a picture when he got on home. She nursed that raccoon back to health every day. Months later, when she went into the yard to feed it, it was gone. Never to be seen again. Sometimes in the night, when they heard clattering outside, one of them would say: ‘There goes ol’ Stumpy.’ And laugh ’til their bellies hurt.
Eli stood in the kitchen, her eyebrows knitted together in concentration, trying to recall everything that had happened today. Her heart thumped against her chest. She glanced towards her bandaged hand and shook her head. Of course she was confused. Why after all this time would she think it was her daughter? Silly ol’ goat.
I hadn’t returned to school after you’d come and gone. I don’t think anyone noticed, or if they did, they didn’t let on. No notes from the teachers to my parents informing them of my absence. No meetings in the headmaster’s room. No room at the inn.
It took approximately two and a quart’ hours to walk from the cotton field along the creek, down to the back of the mill. I’d timed it, so that by the time I got to the creek, I could cut across the water, into the clearing, and lie there looking up at the sky, timing myself how long I could stare at the sun. One Mississippi, two Mississippi. Daisy and I hadn’t got much further than two Mississippis last year, but I wanted to show her I could do it.
Bert had told us once that if we could get to six Mississippis that we’d be closer to the Lord and He would grant any wish we wanted. But no matter how fast I counted, I still turned my head at two Mississippis. If I could get a second closer to my wish, I knew it’d be OK. But the bright light that penetrated my pupils forced me to look away and however many times I tried, however fast I counted, however much I wished, I just knew that Jesus wasn’t looking.
I’d lie there until the sun had gone over the back of the woods and then I’d wander along the water, taking off my shoes and socks, strolling through the brook. I knew that if I walked at a steady pace, then I’d get to Jefferson Hill just before lunch, where I’d usually climb up.
If you stood on the very top, you’d be able to see the school across the town, where everyone would be playing. You couldn’t really make out faces, but I knew where she usually hung out and I could kind of see Daisy with a couple of the other girls. They’d play hopscotch until the bell had rung and then dart back inside for the afternoon lessons. As the lunch bell rang and the last dot disappeared from my view, I’d gaze across the houses, the fields, way beyond the town, and I’d search for you. I knew you were out there, bundled up tight in somebody’s arms, clutching someone’s finger. Not mine.
My breasts still leaked with milk, aching for your lips. I’d look out and think of you, carried across some state or other, where my Ma said you’d gone. I peered as far as the eye could see and I imagined your tiny fingers, reaching out for mine – our hearts engorged, my blood running through your veins.
I felt the sweltering heat beat on my back. I paddled through the creek to cool me down. When I crossed back over to the other bank, my stomach would always roll over, partly from hunger ’cause I never took anything to eat, and partly at the thought of returning to the town, where people could barely lift their heads to look at me.
I’d spend my days skulking around the house, keeping from under my Ma’s feet. Suppertimes became more silent and the sense of my family’s detachment became stronger as each day passed. My brothers would continue in their boisterous manner, teasing my Ma and arm-wrestling my Pa, whilst I sat silently waiting for them to tickle me, ruffle my hair, and do the things they used to do.
However, I knew deep down inside the disgrace they felt. I noticed how my Ma would wait until my Pa had left for work and then she would often catch the bus to the next town for her groceries, to avoid folk whispering the way they do.
Don’t get me wrong, Pa Bell was still a strong presence in Springfield, and I’d heard them congratulate and backslap him right there in front of me, about his good Christian values and how Jesus would be proud of them supporting me the way they did. It was my parents’ faith that kept my room open for the time being. Not faith in their daughter, but in the Son of God. Thank the Lord, for the roof over my head. Good Christian values are the bread and butter of society.
But I saw in my Ma’s eyes the shame and humiliation I had brought to their home, and no matter how many Mississippis I counted, I knew I’d be blind before my wishes would be granted.
I decided to set my alarm a good hour before the house awoke. The sun had already begun to rise and I could hear the faint sounds of the mill in the quiet of the morn. Tiptoeing downstairs, I shut the kitchen door behind me, opened the window for a little breeze, and set to. I had helped my Ma prepare breakfast over the years, but I had never cooked it all alone. I wanted today to be just perfect.
Perching on the chair, I reached to the back of the cupboard and pulled out the white linen cloth that my Ma used for Sunday best. I laid it out on the table. Setting out the plates and cutlery as quietly as I could, I then hurriedly prepared their coffee and juice, when I heard the first stirrings upstairs. I knew the creaking of the boards meant that my Ma had awoken, so anxiously I poured her coffee into the hand-painted china cup her aunt had left her, brushed my apron down, and waited to hear her gently pitter-patter down the oak stairs. Despite the sun that was streaming through the window, I sensed it must’ve been a little chilly that morning, as I’m sure my hand began to shake.
I knew I’d surprised her, because as soon as she opened the kitchen door she stopped dead in her tracks. Offering her the cup and saucer, I felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of my face. I hoped she’d take the cup from my hand, so that I could open the window further to get some more fresh air. But after what seemed like a minute, she snatched it from me and poured it down the sink. After gently washing the china cup, she dried it and placed it back in the top cupboard, where it had sat for almost ten years. Whipping the cloth from the table, she re-laid it with the usual grass mats I had left in the drawer, and without a word she prepared the boys’ breakfast.
After the boys had gone to work and the quiet of the house rested heavily on my Ma’s shoulders, we worked through that day’s chores. I offered to sweep the front of the house, so as not to get in her way. I spent the