To Keep the South Manitou Light

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67 “Mama!” In an instant Jessie was on the steps bending over her. Her mother raised her head. “Mama, what happened?” Jessie touched her mother’s shoulder and peered anxiously into her face. Her mother struggled to sit up. “The steps were wet. I was in too big of a hurry.” Jessie tried to help her to her feet, but her mother winced with every movement. “How can I help you without hurting you, Mama?” Jessie cried. Lightning zigzagged into the dark waters of the lake. The clap of thunder was instantaneous and deafening. Just as the wind shifted, from around the corner of the house came Omie. Wearing the cape Jessie had discarded, she swung the basket filled with Mrs. Hostetler’s jellies back and forth. Jessie’s mother held out her hands to the old woman. “Please, Omie, would you help us?” Omie stopped, put her basket on the ground, and lumbered up the steps. “Alle fallen down, alle fallen down,” she said. “Mama, I can’t stand her saying that all the time!” Jessie cried. Then felt her face turn hot. Here she was whining while her mother was hurt, maybe badly hurt. 19 Her mother didn’t even reply with a scolding, as she normally would have. She already had her right hand in the crook of Omie’s arm. With her left hand in Jessie’s, she managed to rise to her feet. But when she put her weight on her right foot, she cried out in pain. Omie reached her arm around her mother’s waist, and, with Omie bearing most of her mother’s weight, the two helped her into the house. Jessie was surprised at Omie’s strength, but she knew there was no way they could get her mother up the narrow steps to her bedroom. “Let’s go into the sitting room,” she said. After they maneuvered Jessie’s mother onto the divan, Jessie hurried to light the kerosene lamp. Her hands were shaking so badly, the flame smoked the chimney. No time to take it off and clean it. Not now. As Jessie worked to unfasten her mother’s shoe, she could see the knuckles of her mother’s hands whiten as she clenched her hands against the pain. When she gently rolled down her mother’s dark stocking, Jessie was shocked at how purple and swollen the ankle looked. “Just let me rest it for a while on a pillow,” her mother said, trying to manage a smile. “I’ll be fine, honey.” She reached up to touch Jessie’s face. “Go make some tea and give Omie something to eat.” Jessie didn’t trust herself to say anything. Instead, she covered her mother with an afghan and kissed her on the cheek. Jessie was more careful lighting the kitchen’s kerosene lamp. But when she lifted the lamp onto the shelf above the table, her trembling almost rattled the chimney loose. Omie wandered restlessly back and forth between the kitchen and the sitting room. Jessie thought she smelled like a dirty, wet rug. The water on the cookstove finally boiled. By the time the tea was ready, Omie had made herself at home, sitting in Jessie’s chair at the kitchen table. Jessie poured Omie some tea and 68 watched as the old woman spilled the hot brew into the saucer, blew on it, and began to slurp it. Above a boom of thunder that rattled the house, Jessie heard her mother’s voice calling her. Entering the sitting room, she found her mother trying to stand. “Oh, Mama,” Jessie said. Even though her mother’s eyes were squinted shut, tears trickled out of the corners, wetting her cheeks. “Help me, Jessie,” she said. “I don’t think any bones are broken. I can walk.” With her arm around Jessie’s shoulders, she took a step with her good foot. But taking one step on her swollen right foot, she fell to the floor. “Alle fallen down, alle fallen down,” Omie said, looking in from the doorway. It was all Jessie could do to keep from screaming at the old woman. She wanted to pound those words out of her with her fists. Instead, she helped her mother up and hugged her tight, her tears dampening her mother’s hair. 69 ...