She heard Fin laugh, and suddenly Sheila stretched out, bolting down into the creek and leaping up the bank. Angie’s pony did her best to keep up, as if she sensed their fun. When they came to the opening in the woods that led to the Coopers’ cornfield, the pony took off, surprising even Angie, startling a flock of black crows in the field. Angry, the crows rose to follow them, screeching insults. Fin was laughing so hard he had trouble hanging on and Sheila slowed. For a short stretch, the two horses were neck and neck, their eyes alight, coats glistening, frothing a bit. But then the pony lost her steam and Sheila bolted past. Fin slowed Sheila to a walk, then turned her in a circle to come alongside Angie.
“You lose agen,” he said on a note of triumph.
Angie bent over to pat the pony’s neck. “I weren’t really so sure she still had such fire in her.” She was blowing hard, poor girl, after giving all she had.
“Jest out of curiosity, what’d ya bet?”
Angie sat up straight. “That you’d take me to the top of Limestone Knob.” It was where all young lovers went to be alone.
“Serves ya right,” he said, bending over to check his net full of squirmy eels, tied to the back of his saddle, “for makin’ a bet on the Lord’s Day.” Satisfied the eels were safe and secure, he looked straight at her. “Besides, I plan to take Miss Lucy to Limestone Knob to watch the sunset. Any day now.” He straightened his hat. Smugly, Angie thought. “I’d say you could come along with, but it jest ain’t the kind of place you want an extra body taggin’ along.” And with the lightest touch from Fin’s heels, the big mare lunged forward and the two of them disappeared into the woods.
Thinking of Finley James and Miss Lucy on top of Limestone Knob together made Angie’s gut wamble. She had to do something.
Seventeen
BROTHER WYATT stayed at Miss Maude’s boarding house on Sunday night and left a note pinned on Lucy’s door that he planned to head into the hills tomorrow and she was welcome to join him if she wanted help with her census taking. The note said to be ready to leave right after an early breakfast.
Apart from promising to have lunch with Andy, Lucy had planned to spend Monday in Cora’s office to keep up with day-to-day responsibilities, which were piling up on top of the Moonlight Schools campaign. But she knew Cora would prioritize the census, and Lucy did indeed need Wyatt’s help to complete it. And she could have lunch with Andy on another day. She’d leave a note for him with Miss Maude. As she reread Wyatt’s note, she felt a growing excitement about the day ahead.
The more Lucy knew Wyatt, the less she knew.
He seemed to be always busy, but what did he do? He traveled frequently by train, but he didn’t volunteer where he’d been, or why. If she asked him, he just mumbled something about meetings. Cora, when asked about Wyatt, would only shrug and say, “There’s a lot on his plate.”
Yes, yes, but what?
As Lucy pinned up her hair early Monday morning, she decided that today would be the day to find out more about Brother Wyatt.
THE MORNING STARTED out gray and foggy, with a mist that wet Lucy’s face and hair and clothes. As they rode along the creek, Lucy didn’t let Wyatt turn questions onto her, like he usually did. Instead, she was blunt. “I’d like to know more about you.”
The horses were side by side, and Wyatt turned to her with a quizzical look. “What exactly would you like to know?”
“To start with, your last name. I’ve never heard it. I’ve only heard you referred to as Brother Wyatt.” It seemed like an easy answer, but Wyatt didn’t respond. They approached the creek and Wyatt led Lyric through it first, almost dancing like she was stepping on hot coals. Jenny followed, plodding. As Lucy reached Wyatt, she watched him run a hand down Lyric’s withers. She had started to notice such small things about him: the calming way he stroked his horse, the confident grace in his movement.
By now, Wyatt seemed to have decided to answer her. Or maybe he just decided what he wanted to tell her. “Lucy, have you heard much about the Rowan County War?”
Many times, she thought, and none favorably. Over the years, her father had referred to the feud as evidence of an uncivilized society. “Fin has mentioned it. Cora won’t speak of it at all. She says she wants to wipe it from the county’s history like it was a stain or a blot.”
“No one wants to remember it, much less be associated with it,” he said. “It began in the summer of 1884, between two families. The Martins and the Tollivers. A dispute over the election of a county sheriff that escalated into a feud. During the election, things got out of hand—hard drinking and hot opinions—and Floyd Tolliver wounded John Martin at the Morehead Tavern. Several months later, John Martin killed Floyd Tolliver and the Tollivers swore revenge. And they meant it. The Tollivers killed John Martin. That set off a feud that lasted three years. When it finally came to an end, more than twenty lives were lost. Rowan County’s reputation was in ruins. Settlers left in search of a safer land. In the eyes of the country, Kentucky was filled with violent and vengeful hillbillies. And it all started with two men, moonshine, and politics.”
“Tolliver and Martin.” Lucy still wasn’t sure what any of this had to do with asking Wyatt about his name.
Lyric shifted her weight from one back hoof to the other, swishing her tail, eager to keep moving. Wyatt loosened the reins and let the horse have her way. As they moved up the trail, Wyatt turned his head to the side so Lucy could hear him. “Floyd Tolliver had a number of siblings. Brothers, mostly, who swore to avenge his death. Wesley Boyden Tolliver was a younger brother to Floyd and became one of the casualties of the feud. He was murdered in a gunfight to avenge the death of Floyd. He died in 1885, the year I was born.” He leveled his gaze at Lucy. “That’s why you haven’t heard my surname. Wesley was my father. I’m a Tolliver. And my mother . . . she was a Martin. They never married. You can imagine how a boy like me was viewed with suspicion. Both Martins and Tollivers considered me an enemy.”
Brother Wyatt? Of all the mountain people she had met in Rowan County, he would be the last one she assumed would have been born and raised amidst violence and vengeance.
When she didn’t say anything, he turned in his saddle and smiled when he saw Lucy’s face. “Shocked?”
“Me? Oh, my. I—” she stammered.
“Those big blue eyes of yours, Lucy, they give you away.”
Oh, they did. She could never hide her feelings well. “So, you grew up not even knowing your father?”
“No. My mother’s father took me in. Raised me as his own son. It was a remarkable act, and it stopped the feuding. Most of it, anyhow. A boy in these mountains could have no better man to guide him. My granddaddy taught me everything I know about music, and about the Lord, and about not letting the past determine the future. He had a great, unwavering faith, as tall as the mountains, as deep and wide as the valleys. He believed that prayers and work were wedded, like a man and a woman. ‘Boy,’ he would say.” His voice deepened dramatically. He turned slightly around in the saddle to say, “And if you think my voice is deep, you should have heard his.” He faced forward and began again, “Boy, farm with your hand on the plow, your eyes on the furrow, and your mind on the Lord.”
Wyatt slowed Lyric to a stop, stilled for a long moment, then exhaled a deep breath and turned in his saddle to face Lucy. “I was only fifteen when he died, suddenly and unexpectedly. It was a fork in the road for me. A hinge. Either I would trust in the promise of Romans 8:28, or I would go my own way.”
He surmised from her blank look that she was unfamiliar with the verse, so he said it aloud, quoting it from memory: “‘All things work together for good for those who love God.’”
He gave Lyric a slight kick and away they went up the trail, Lucy following behind. She was enjoying this immensely and had so many more questions to ask him. She felt as if the pump had been primed and water was pouring out. “So is that when Cora took hold of your life? She told me that she heard you sing a beautiful ballad and discove
red you had written it.”
He didn’t answer, and she worried she had asked one question too many. But as they came to a level spot, he stopped Lyric and waited for Lucy and Jenny to catch up. “I’ll get to Cora. First I must explain how the Lord took hold of my life.” He gave Lyric a word, and she lunged forward, Jenny trotting to keep up. The trail had widened so they could ride side by side, and Lucy realized Wyatt had waited for this stretch to tell her more.
“You haven’t been to a funeral in the mountains yet, have you?”
She shook her head.
“Folks come from all over to show their respect, and stay on for days. It’s one of the things I love the best about our people. They come alongside and mourn with you.” He pressed his fist against his heart. “On the night of my granddaddy’s burial, I needed some time to myself. I took a very long walk and ended up at a certain vista point, a place that’s become my favorite. I remember it was a clear, cold night. One brilliant star above the ridge sparkled down on me like a diamond set in velvet. Just one, but that was all I needed. I knew, at that moment, that I must rest on the sovereignty of the All Mighty in this deep sadness. That I would claim the promise of Romans 8:28 and trust that ‘all things,’ even those that appeared to be a stark tragedy, would ‘work together for good.’ All things.”
“So . . . has it?” Jenny was lagging, so she gave her a little kick with her heels to speed up. “Have things worked together for good for you?”
Wyatt looked over at Lucy, almost as if surprised by the question. “Far beyond my wildest dreams could have ever imagined.”
Yet Wyatt was still as poor as a man could be. Nearly a vagrant, as far as Lucy could tell, a man who seemed to be heavily dependent upon the generosity of others. No career, no real future. And yet he was the most content, settled person she had ever known. Just being around him made her restless, unhappy spirit feel still and quiet. Different from Andrew. Better than Andrew.
Oh my stars and garters. She had completely forgotten to leave a note for Andy to let him know she had left early. No doubt, he would’ve arrived at the boarding house expecting to walk her to work and she wouldn’t have been there. She’d forgotten all about him.
ANGIE GLANCED AT THE CABIN and didn’t see no sign of Paw or the twins, so she ran up the hill to visit Miss Mollie. She needed to seek a remedy for her heartache before it ate up her innards. Miss Mollie was sound asleep when Angie arrived, resting in her rocker by the cold fire. When Angie told her what she’d come for, Miss Mollie squinted at her as if she couldn’t hear her right, or mebbe she was still startled by Angie’s sudden appearance in her cabin.
“Ya want another love potion? Oh honey.” Miss Mollie rocked back and forth for a long while. “When you be jest a littl’un, ya used to stand o’er by that windowpane and try to put the streaks of light into yor pinafore pocket to take on home. I played along with ya. But now that yor older, you know you cain’t hold on to light. Same with love, idn’t? It’s there or it’s not. You cain’t hold it.”
“It ain’t for me. I want ya to make someone fall out of love. Shorely ya got something for it. During the Rowan County War, you was making all kinds of potions to keep gals from loving fellas from the wrong families.”
The old woman sniffed. “I misremember doing such a thing.”
“Miss Mollie! You tol’ me stories about fixing love potions for as long as I been alive! Shorely you can figure out a way to make someone fall out of love jest as easy as it would be to make them fall into love.” Angie let out an exasperated sigh. “Mebbe you can send lightning to strike ’em.” When Miss Mollie’s sparse little eyebrows shot up, she added the reassurance, “Not enough lightning to kill ’em. Jest to shock ’em a little.”
“I cain but I won’t. Twouldn’t be right to make meddlin’ mischief. The Lord sees all.” Miss Mollie scratched her thinning scalp. “Asides, it always takes two sticks to make a fire, idn’t?”
Angie wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but it left her feeling even more nettled than when she arrived.
Bother!
WYATT TOOK LUCY to four different cabins, to families who knew much about their individual hollows and were willing to share their knowledge. Lucy knew they were forthcoming only because Wyatt accompanied her. These people didn’t just have a great regard for Wyatt, they adored him. Children shouted happy greetings as they caught sight of Lyric coming through the trees. Lyric and Jenny were spoiled with carrots and apples. Gifts of bread or hoecakes were tucked into Wyatt saddlebags as he prepared to leave; not a farmer nor a housewife allowed him to refuse them. So, Lucy realized, this was how a singing school master made a living. Her father would be horrified.
And yet, after today, she was horrified by her father. By Valley View’s actions, and other lumber companies’. All through the hills, they rode through harvested loblolly stands, now scalded land. She could see for herself how the recent rainstorms had created new rivulets of water that had already begun to erode the hillsides. More than a few times, they found holding ponds for lumber, now abandoned, that hadn’t been un-dammed. The pen near Barbara Jean Boling’s property, the one that had diverted water from her creek, had indeed been reverted. Andy had been sure to let her know, and Lucy had assumed he meant all the pens were returned to their original state. She squeezed her eyes shut. So naïve!
She wondered if Wyatt intentionally led her past these pens, or if they were just that plentiful. He said nothing as they passed each pond or traveled up or down harvested hills. Maybe there was nothing to say.
Toward the end of the day, Wyatt led them to Sally Ann Duncan’s cabin. Facing the snug home, Lucy had the same feeling as the first day she’d arrived in Morehead: something about Sally Ann, about the cabin, the setting . . . it touched her heart, deep, deep down.
Sally Ann not only knew quite a bit about the families in her holler, but also had her newborn baby girl in her arms and was eager for company. Hungry for it. While Wyatt watered the horses, Lucy sat at Sally Ann’s kitchen table and took notes, just like she had at Miss Mollie’s. After they finished, Sally asked if she’d like to hold the baby, and Lucy was so pleased.
She gazed at the newborn in her arms with a sense of awe. “Sally Ann, would Roy be interested in working for my father’s lumber company in Lexington?”
Sally Ann spun around. “But . . . are there any trees left in Lexington?”
Lucy swallowed a smile. “A few. But your husband could also get some training for work in different areas.”
Sally Ann set a dishrag on the counter and walked toward Lucy. “Think it might pay . . . a fair wage?”
“Oh my, yes. He’d make much more working in the headquarters than he could make working in the timber.”
Sally Ann’s eyes filled with tears. “I’d be ever so obliged t’ you, Miss Lucy.” One tear after another started streaming down her face, so much so that she wiped her face with the corners of her apron.
Lucy smiled. “Roy will earn his wages. And perhaps you could join him soon. You and your little one.” It didn’t seem right that a man wasn’t at home with his wife and daughter. Sally Ann hadn’t even named her baby yet. She said she needed to wait for Roy.
The baby stirred in Lucy’s arms, lifting her arm and splaying her tiny fingers like a little starfish. Lucy stroked the small hand. So perfect, so miniature. “If you have embroidery scissors, I could trim her nails for you.”
When Sally Ann didn’t respond, Lucy looked up, startled when she saw the look of fear in the young mother’s eyes. And in the next moment, Sally Ann whisked the baby out of Lucy’s arms and asked her to leave.
IT WAS OBVIOUS Lucy had said something to offend Sally Ann, but she didn’t know what and Wyatt didn’t either. He told her not to worry herself. “Perhaps she needed to rest.”
Perhaps. Still, one moment the friendship with Sally Ann seemed to be growing, and then suddenly it was snuffed out, like someone blew out a candle. It was one of those experiences that sharply reminded L
ucy she was an outsider.
Wyatt led them off the trail and through an opening in the trees. “Let’s pause for a moment here. There’s something I’d like to show you.”
He tied Lyric’s reins to a bush, did the same with Jenny’s, and beckoned Lucy to follow. “Come see. A sight to behold.” He led her to an open, flat, rocky area. Beyond him, the sun was sinking behind a ridge.
“Goodness, it’s so beautiful,” Lucy said. She stared at the thick trees that laddered the hillside, the jagged edge of the ridge, the cloud mist that drifted along top, backlit by the setting sun with rims of fire.
They watched the sky change colors, deepening in hues until it looked like someone had painted vibrant reds and oranges with a thick paintbrush. It was magnificent. Anyone would be hard pressed to find a place more beautiful. Or peaceful. For a moment it was just the two of them. Everything else receded and all she could feel was the steady thumping of her heart.
“Nature is God’s voice,” Wyatt said. “Every sunrise and sunset is a word from the All Mighty, a reminder that he is with us. Every flower and tree, river and lake, mountain and sunset, ’tis God speaking.”
In a deep baritone voice, he began to sing, “‘This is my Father’s world, and to my listening ears, all nature sings and round me rings the music of the spheres.’”
When he paused, she hurried to say, “Please don’t stop.” So he continued, and her thoughts drifted to her dormitory room at the Townsend School for Girls. Her desk was under a window that faced west, and she had observed countless sunsets. Never once did she think of how a sunset, as lovely as it often was, could be connected to God. Not once. Yet it was like a new canvas getting painted, each evening. How much she had missed in her life.
“‘In the rustling grass I hear him pass, He speaks to me everywhere.’”
As he sang the last verse again, Lucy felt acutely aware of her surroundings. Every sense came alive: the musty scent of the forest, the cold hard rock that she sat on, the silent glide of the red-tailed hawks circling overhead, the swish of the horse’s tail, a distant sound of a dog barking. The feeling reminded her of worshiping at the brush arbor. Every part of her was paying attention.
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