They are at the barn now, entering. Inside the barn, kitchen chairs and hay bales have been arranged into makeshift pews. Some of the seats are hers, but most have been brought by the wedding guests. And still, at the back, many people stand, some townspeople, but mostly miners dressed in their finest. Lily inhales sharply at the sight of so many people filling the space. Then she nearly laughs. There is certainly not enough cake in her kitchen for everyone here—and it will not matter if it has fallen into gooey crumbs. A makeshift table is laden with a wedding feast—cakes and pies and hams and potato salads. The old smells of the barn that Lily had worried about have for now been replaced with the good, warm scents of the small offerings of individual families, brought together to create a bounty.
Someone has thought to bring in a portable coal-fired oven to heat the space—though truth be told, there is also the warmth of body heat. Many of the people here had worked with Lily to clean out the barn for this wedding and to help her and her family move in. Though there was plenty left to unpack, they’d moved furniture and household goods from the old sheriff’s house out to the Gottschalks’ old farm. To Lily Ross’s new farm.
All except for Daniel’s old chair. By her request, she’d asked that it stay out here, for seating for the wedding. She’d move it in herself. Later. When she is ready.
She’d expected that one of the older people would be settled comfortably in the chair, but it sits empty at the front of the makeshift pews. Did no one wish to sit in his chair?
Then she feels a soft grasp on her arm and turns. It’s Tom. He smiles gently, and she realizes then, as people stand aside and let them through, that everyone has saved the chair for her. Then he pauses, gives her a small nudge, nods his head to indicate—look over there.
Benjamin Russo. She is surprised—yet not—that he had come. She’d heard he’d already moved to the area. Of course he’d get to know Tom and other miners and know of this wedding. Benjamin. He looks handsome, in his neatly pressed suit, his carefully parted dark hair. His amber eyes, focusing on her.
For a moment, Lily hesitates. Then she nods at Benjamin, offers him a tremulous smile, which, though expressing only the most proprietary emotion, shows that the door to her life, if not fully thrown open, is at least not latched shut forever. He smiles back.
Lily and Tom continue on. She searches for Mama and finds her, settling into a kitchen chair that a man has vacated for her. From somewhere, Caleb Jr. has broken free from the watchful eye of another mother in the community and has scrambled up into his mother’s lap. Even as Mama shushes her young boy, she’s giving her grown daughter a stern stare and nodding at her. Go on, Lily!
At the back of the barn, by the open doors, Jolene waits.
Finally, Lily sits, sinking into the warm, broad embrace of the leather chair. Welcome, Sheriff Ross. It’s fine, Lily. You’re fine.
Tom heads to the back of the crowd, and Lily slowly inhales and exhales, telling herself to focus on the wedding at hand. It’s not the one she’d expected to be planning and holding in her barn. Someone takes her hand, squeezes. She looks to her right—it’s Hildy, who is holding little Micah and smiling at her, and Lily sees all that her friend needs to say in that smile: It’s fine, Lily. I’m fine. This isn’t my day. It will be soon enough.
Lily looks back, past all the people gathered behind her. Some directly invited. Some coming by word of mouth. This is truly a community wedding. Finally, flower girl Jolene starts down the makeshift aisle—right step, pause; left step, pause. With each pause, she strews a bit of the rose potpourri in the aisle, marking the path for the new bride.
The crowd rises to its feet. As Lily stands, Micah takes her hand.
Then a voice, as clear and simple as the strum of a single fiddle string, rises. Fiddles and banjos and foot stomping will fill the barn later, after the ceremony, after the feast. There will probably be moonshine that Lily will have to ignore, and she smiles at that.
But for now, it is Frankie at the front, facing the gathering, singing a hymn solo, and as Lily lowers Micah, then stands and takes his hand, she lets the words wash over her, carried by Frankie’s simple, rustic voice: “O perfect Love, all human thought transcending…”
A feeling overtakes Lily of the endless beauty that can at times fill a single moment. Jurgis nervously comes to the front of the gathering, handsome in an old but still-well-fitting suit. The preacher stands on a hay bale and opens a Bible.
“O perfect Life, be Thou their full assurance, Of tender charity and steadfast faith…”
Marvena, escorted by Tom, comes down the makeshift aisle behind Jolene. Lily’s grin widens at how beautiful Marvena is in the dress she’s sewn from soft white satin—the cloth a gift sent from Olive and Clarence now settled together in Boston—at how she would growl at being called anything so soft as beautiful. Yet she is. Radiantly beautiful.
“Grant them the joy which brightens earthly sorrow…”
A few people at the back of the gathering gasp, as a whoosh of wind blows in.
There, at the back of the crowd, stands Perry Dyer.
His expression is ravaged with sadness yet holds a boyish expression of hope that he might yet be part of this community.
He rushes to the sliding barn door, eager to help, and starts to close it. Perry catches Lily’s eye. Stops. Somehow knows that she is looking for something. Someone.
Lily takes a moment to look. All she sees is swirling snow, the cold white bright day. She will not see him again, the silvery smiling boy, chasing his ball. Or his dog. She never had quite decided which. She will not see him again, nor try to.
Hildy squeezes her arm. Lily scoops up Micah, hugs him tight, feels his warmth, his fine hair tickling the bottom of her chin, his soft breath on her forearm. She presses the back of her legs hard against the chair. It’s fine, Lily. You’re fine.
Lily gives a slight nod to Perry, who slides the barn door closed. He disappears into the crowd, and Lily at last turns her full attention to the wedding, to Marvena, who smiles at Lily as she walks past, before turning her gaze back on Jurgis; to Tom, who winks as he passes at Hildy, who in turn giggles; to Jolene, who takes her place beside Frankie and looks nervously at Lily.
Lily nods at her daughter. Smiles. You’re fine.
Then, as Marvena and Tom reach the front, Lily sits, along with the rest of the gathered community. Jurgis’s smile is atremble as his gaze settles like a sigh on Marvena. Tom releases her elbow and Marvena steps beside Jurgis. Her grown-up duties over, Jolene clambers into Lily’s lap. Lily wraps her arms around both of her children, pulls them close, as Frankie sings:
“Grant them the peace which calms all earthly strife.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
When I completed my first novel in the Kinship Historical Mystery Series, I had a firm idea about where I wanted to go next, emotionally and in character development, with Lily, Marvena, Hildy, and the other regular inhabitants of Bronwyn County.
However, I wasn’t sure right away about how to ground my next novel in actual history.
So I started poking around in my stacks of research and notes about Appalachian Ohio, and came across Moonville and Moonville Tunnel. Because I take fictional liberties with events set in the town and on the train line, I renamed these locations Moonvale Hollow Village and Moonvale Hollow Tunnel. But it is true that by legend Moonville is considered a haunted area, based on the number of accidents on the twisty-turning train track that once ran through the holler and the tunnel. It’s also true that Moonville was only accessible by train or mule path, even though it was occupied through the 1940s. The track remained in use until 1988. What remains of the track, deep in the Zaleski State Forest, has been turned into, or is in the process of becoming, a rail-trail. My husband and I found the Moonville Tunnel by following increasingly remote roads in southeastern Ohio, until we were on a road so infrequently used that butterflies and birds alight in the middle of the road, fluttering away as automobiles approach. When we
could drive no farther, we parked and hiked to the tunnel. I even walked the old trails barefoot, just for a bit, to test out the opening scene. Though my feet were sore for a few hours, no husbands, birds, or butterflies were hurt in the researching of this novel.
After that experience, I knew I had the right setting for The Hollows. You can learn more about the lore of Moonville and its tunnel at www.moonvilletunnel.net.
Another fascinating setting is the old Athens Lunatic Asylum, as it was called. The “mental hospital” went by a variety of names in its existence from 1874 until 1993, and was also nicknamed “The Ridges.” Now, The Ridges is part of Ohio University. Though much of the structure is closed off, it houses the university’s beautiful Kennedy Museum of Art as well as offices, classrooms, and storage. I’m indebted to the book, Asylum on the Hill: History of a Healing Landscape, by Katherine Ziff, as well as to a terrific walking tour I took of the exterior of the facility, sponsored by the Southeast Ohio History Center (www.athenshistory.org) and led by George Eberts, a long-time Asylum employee and local expert in the asylum’s history. I so appreciate the respectful, detailed, and non-sensational approach Mr. Eberts took in sharing the institution’s history. He brought the asylum’s history to life—in a good way.
I chose to rename The Ridges as The Hollows, again because of fictional prerogatives I took with the location and events. Characters employed at The Hollows are strictly from my imagination. I also liked the play on the word “hollows,” both as the “formal” word hollers, a synonym for valleys; additionally, many roads in the area are named after hollows, as are several in my novel.
I will confess to rearranging the topography a bit for my purposes. In real life, a river runs in front of The Ridges, not behind it. But I liked the images of Lily and Marvena coming upon the asylum, and Lily having to cross a swinging bridge—mostly because I’m terrified of swinging bridges, and have only crossed a few, and then under duress. Sometimes, writers are compelled to apply our own fears to our characters. (My apologies, Lily.)
As I developed The Hollows, I poked around in my history books for anything unusual or interesting about 1926. I’m not sure, honestly, how I ran across it, but I do remember my complete shock when I stumbled upon the WKKK. As I read and researched, I learned that the WKKK has a complex history, growing out of numerous women’s groups that advocated for the supremacy of white, Protestant, non-immigrant women. These groups, which grew out of a subset of the suffrage and temperance movements, ended up coalescing into the WKKK, which started in 1923 and collapsed at the end of the decade. In the 1926 timeframe, the WKKK had chapters in all U.S. states in existence at that time. I found no direct evidence of chapters in southeastern Ohio, but the WKKK’s strongest chapters were in Ohio, Pennsylvania, Indiana, and Arkansas, so it is certainly possible. The history of the role of women in this group and in white supremacy in general is complex, and I only touched the surface of one way it could potentially have manifested in a community. Though members of the WKKK tended to favor psychological warfare over physical assault, both types of events occurred, as portrayed in The Hollows. For my research, I first read “Women in the 1920s Ku Klux Clan Movement,” by Kathleen M. Blee, published in Feminist Studies, Vol. 17, No. 1, Spring of 1991. I also read her excellent, well-researched—and chilling—book Women of the Klan.
Shockingly, Daisy Douglas Barr, a Quaker evangelist and KKK/WKKK leader, is also pulled directly from history. I quote her poem, which I discovered in an article on Timeline.com, “One woman’s effort to mix Klan-style hatred with wholesome Christian values,” by Laura Smith.
Yet, the Quakers were, of course, part of the Underground Railroad, and it was fascinating to me to have both views represented in the same group.
And though the WKKK existed in Ohio, so too did true-life hero Richard L. Davis, an African-American man who was a mine labor organizer in the Hocking Valley area of southeastern Ohio in the late 1800s, and who worked hard to help found the United Mine Workers of America. His fascinating life is well-documented in Richard L. Davis and the Color Line in Ohio Coal, by Frans H. Doppen.
I’m grateful for the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center in Cincinnati, Ohio. I’ve visited several times over the years, both for my own edification and more recently for researching The Hollows, and follow in my own work the museum’s policy in using terminology true to the time they’re documenting in historical displays. To quote the museum’s introductory panel to its detailed, moving exhibit on slavery and the Underground Railroad: “Over generations, people of African descent have changed how they refer to themselves … In this exhibition, we will use any and all of these terms when they are historically appropriate.” I have followed the accurate terms as documented in the museum to fit the various contexts and time frames of The Hollows.
In addition to its exhibit on slavery and the Underground Railroad, the museum also has exhibits on more recent history, and current issues. I highly recommend a visit; learn more at www.freedomcenter.org.
Finally, on a more light-hearted note, I must mention Guibo, the mule. Neither I nor my daughter Gwen have any idea where that name came from, but she worked for a time on a ranch in southern California, where there was a miniature donkey named Guibo. I’ve always thought that if I have a spirit animal it would be a mule or donkey. (I like to think that that’s because I’m stubborn and a hard worker … though I probably have other mule-like attributes.) When my husband and I visited Gwen at the ranch, I was instantly taken with Guibo and his hilarious and heartfelt whinnying, and knew he’d find a role in a future novel. In the midst of a novel with such serious and often dark themes and history, it’s good for both writer and reader to encounter a loveable, intrepid being like Guibo.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to:
First and always, the joyous lights of my life: my husband David, and our daughters Katherine and Gwen.
My writer friends who are also friend-friends: Heather, Katrina, Jessica, Kristina, Jeffrey, Marti, and Cyndi. This writing journey would be impossible without you, and you enrich my life beyond the realm of writing.
The Book Group and Minotaur Books—I am grateful in spades to work with such amazing professionals: Elisabeth, for your thoughtful guidance; Catherine, for your inspiring editorial wisdom; Sarah and Joe, for your passion in getting the word out to readers; Nettie and Hallie, for patiently and promptly answering questions (even when I sometimes ask the same ones twice).
Readers and book clubs, who’ve given me the greatest honor a writer can receive—welcoming the creations of my imagination into your own. You complete the magic of storytelling, and I’m ever grateful.
ALSO BY JESS MONTGOMERY
THE WIDOWS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JESS MONTGOMERY is the “Literary Life” columnist for the Dayton Daily News and Executive Director of the renowned Antioch Writers’ Workshop in Yellow Springs, Ohio. Based on early chapters of the first in the Kinship series, The Widows, Jess was awarded an Ohio Arts Council individual artist’s grant for literary arts and the John E. Nance Writer-in-Residence at Thurber House in Columbus. She lives in her native state of Ohio. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Map
Prologue
Chapter 1. Lily
Chapter 2. Hildy
Chapter 3. Lily
Chapter 4. Hildy
Chapter 5. Lily
Chapter 6. Hildy
Chapter 7. Lily
Chapter 8. Hildy
/> Chapter 9. Lily
Chapter 10. Hildy
Chapter 11. Lily
Chapter 12. Hildy
Chapter 13. Lily
Chapter 14. Hildy
Chapter 15. Lily
Chapter 16. Hildy
Chapter 17. Lily
Chapter 18. Hildy
Chapter 19. Lily
Chapter 20. Lily
Chapter 21. Hildy
Chapter 22. Lily
Chapter 23. Lily
Chapter 24. Hildy
Chapter 25. Lily
Chapter 26. Hildy
Chapter 27. Lily
Chapter 28. Hildy
Chapter 29. Lily
Chapter 30. Hildy
Chapter 31. Lily
Chapter 32. Hildy
Chapter 33. Lily
Chapter 34. Lily and Hildy
Epilogue. Lily
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Also by Jess Montgomery
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
First published in the United States by Minotaur Books, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group
THE HOLLOWS. Copyright © 2019 by Sharon Short. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover photographs: Woman © Richard Jenkins; landscape © David Jilek/Arcangel
The Hollows--A Novel Page 34
