Alafair Tucker 01 - The Old Buzzard Had It Coming

and at home. Oldest girl run off last year. Got married, I believe. I ain’t seen her since, but I hear she’s still around here somewhere. Three other kids died when they was pretty little, back when the whooping cough was going around.”
    Alafair nodded while squeezing her already blackened rag into the bucket. “None of mine are married. Their daddy says they’re way too particular, but really, we’re both glad.”
    “I married up with Harley when I was thirteen,” Mrs. Day commented dispassionately. “He weren’t so bad when I first met him. Always was full of vinegar back then, and big ideas, looking for ways to make himself rich. Seems like all he could ever find was ways to get himself in trouble. John Lee come along directly.”
    Alafair looked up sharply. Eleven kids in nineteen years, and the woman couldn’t be much over thirty. Alafair was filled with compassion and a nameless anger, quite unaware of any irony that might be inherent in the fact that she had borne eleven children herself, and was two years shy of forty. She, at least, could afford to feed and clothe her happy brood, and had been fully compliant in the conception of every one of them.
    “I got nine living,” Alafair told her. “I lost a couple of little fellows when they were babies. It’s hard.”
    Mrs. Day shrugged without looking at her. “Sometimes it’s God’s mercy.”
    For an instant, Alafair was shocked at the comment. She hadn’t felt the hand of mercy when her boy had choked to death in her arms, blue and staring, as she ran for the doctor. But the shock abated when she admitted to herself that she did not think life so horrible that she would have been grateful to see her children spared the experience.
    “What do you plan on doing now?” Alafair wondered.
    Mrs. Day didn’t answer right away, just dipped her cloth and washed, dipped and washed, until Alafair wondered if the woman had heard her. But she had heard. She straightened suddenly. “I ain’t thought,” she managed. “I expect I have to plan, don’t I?”
    A sob escaped her, and tears spilled down her cheeks in a flood. “He’s really gone, ain’t he?” she choked out, her voice full of wonder.
    Not for an instant did Alafair imagine that Mrs. Day was overcome with grief at the realization of her loss. It was not grief that had overcome the woman, but profound, unspeakable relief.
    Alafair dropped her cloth and went to Mrs. Day’s side. “You just cry, now,” she soothed, gripping Mrs. Day by the shoulders. “He’s truly gone. He can’t bother you no more.”
    Mrs. Day’s eyes widened at Alafair’s perception, and she succumbed to more sobbing that took a few minutes to subside. Finally she wiped her face with the corner of her apron. “I expect you think I’m evil,” she said shyly.
    “I do not,” Alafair assured her. “Folks have to earn the love of others. I expect you done your duty by him and more than your duty. It wasn’t your fault that God decided to take him and free you and your kids.”
    “I could have gone looking for him.”
    “Phoo!” Alafair puffed her disdain. “He could have stood away from the corn liquor. Don’t you go berating yourself for anything, any more.”
    Mrs. Day gazed at her warily for a long minute before a small, unaccustomed smile formed on her lips. For a moment, she looked as young as she was. She began bathing her husband’s cold limbs again. “Maybe my Maggie Ellen, my gal that run off and got married, will come visit me now that Harley has gone. Me and the other kids miss her awful. Maybe I’ll pack up and head back to Idabel. My folks can’t take us in for long, but my ma’s a Chickasaw, so I’m half. I expect the Nation will watch over us ’til I can get on my feet.”
    “You won’t be trying to stay on here?”
    She shrugged. “I miss my folks.”
    “So you’ll be selling.”
    Mrs. Day looked surprised. It hadn’t occurred to her that she now owned something. “Why, I reckon I could,” she managed. “I’ll have some money then, won’t I?”
    If you can find a buyer before the bank forecloses, Alafair thought. “My husband can help you,” she offered, struck by sudden inspiration. Why not? The Day place adjoined theirs. It had buildings and woodland, one good plowed field, and Bird Creek ran right through it. If she knew Shaw, he had probably already considered buying, and would pay the widow a good price for it, too.
    “Thank you,” Mrs. Day was saying. “I