The wind brushed my hair around my face, and I took in a gulp and filled my lungs with air favorin honeysuckle and lavender. The fragrance made me hunger for a taste of both. I closed my eyes and pictured them times on the porch with Momma and Daddy. Despite the memories, one thing was for sure. They really wasn’t a sweeter smell than a spring rain.
Turning to go inside, I stopped short. A crack of wood. Then another. I reached inside the door and grabbed the shotgun. “Who’s there? Now ain’t the time to be hush-hush lest you want a backside full of buckshot. That you, Calvin? Done told you to find you someplace else to light. You ain’t here half the time anyhow.” I pulled the gun to my shoulder and pulled back the hammers. “Calvin, come on out. Show yourself.”
“Put that thing down.” Ely stepped to the porch, totin a child by the wrist.
“Ely?” I rested the gun against the house. “Whatta you out wanderin around this late for?” Taking the oil lamp from the hanger, I held it up. A warm yellow glow lit the porch.
“Well, set me a trap to snag that ole coon that’s been raidin my henhouse. Come to find out, it wasn’t no coon. It was this here youngin.” He lifted her arm above her head. She twisted to free herself.
“That ain’t tellin me why you’re here.”
Ely stepped onto the porch. The wrist he held belonged to a young girl. Her face was dirty. Stringy locks of long dark curls wrapped around her shoulders.
“I took the wife over the mountain this mornin to visit her sister. Didn’t think it would look right for me to take this girl in . . . me bein a man and all. Especially with the wife not around.”
I knew what he was achin to say, and after all he’d done for me, I’d not be able to tell him no.
“I’s wonderin if you could keep her here tonight. I’ll take her home tomorrow.”
I took in a deep breath and blew it out. “Just like you to be a gentleman. Refusin to keep a young girl in your house without your wife bein home. Momma always said things like that showed a man had integrity.”
He smiled.
I bent over the edge of the porch to get a better look at the girl. “You got a name?”
“Abeleen. Abeleen Wallen.”
Wallen. That name rung a bell. “You John Wallen’s girl?”
She nodded.
“Your daddy forges. That’s right. He forges. I got two knives he made for huntin. Why you stealin’ Ely’s chickens? Your daddy’s a good provider.”
Her eyes begin to water. “Daddy died. Been gone close to a month now. He got the fever. Momma went last year.”
Ely sat down on the porch and pulled the girl close. “Youngin, why didn’t you just tell me John died?”
This was the hardship on the mountain. Folks was spread so far apart, unless they met up when the pastor come over, you didn’t always get news. Unless it was gossip, and that seemed to travel on the wind.
“I was sceered and hungry. Miss Louise’s been droppin me dumplins by. She’s good like that. Then all of a sudden they wasn’t no more dumplins. I thought I made her mad.”
I stepped off the porch and took the girl by the shoulders, twistin her toward me. “Abeleen, Momma died three days ago. When was the last time she brought you dumplins?”
“A few days ago.” The girl stared at the ground. “Miss Louise is de-aa-ddd?” She went to sobbin.
Momma’s mood had changed about that time. But why wouldn’t she tell me about these youngins? Here stood another one she’d been takin care of for a month.
I pressed my face into my hands. “Lawsy mercy me.”
“Miss Worie, can you manage a youngin for the night? I can pick her up and take her to the pastor in town tomorrow. Youngin don’t need to be alone.”
That just run all over me. What did he think I was? Burnt bread? I was a girl alone. What made me any different than this youngin? Jealousy took hold of my heart, squeezing like a snake with a mouse. For a minute, my own selfishness of being without Momma come out.
“Miss Worie, I realize you’s by yourself too. But the way I see it, you’re a young woman. This here is a child.”
I took Abeleen by the shoulders again. “How old are you?”
Her eyes called out to my heart. “I . . . I’m eleven.”
Eleven. She was a youngin. I pushed hard to shove back the tears and get my wits about me. Words wouldn’t come out, so I cleared my throat. I was ashamed and my face growed warm. How could I be so selfish?
“You’ll have to share the floor. I got three more youngins inside.”
Ely come to his feet. “Three more. Who?”
“The Whitefield children. Doanie, Farrell, and T. J. Now, John Wallen’s child. Next thing I know, them Olsen youngins will be here.”
“Lordy, lordy. This mountain is ravaged by the fever. People is droppin like flies.” Ely brushed the girl’s hair behind her ear.
“I’ll take her tonight, then you best get your wife. It’s gonna take all three of us to figure out what to do. Go on now. Go home. Then get back here tomorrow.”
Ely tipped his hat and headed into the darkness.
“And bring me a couple of them chickens for stew when you come.”
The thunder cracked. This time loud and close. Abeleen jumped like a scared squirrel. “It’s fine, honey. Just a storm brewin. You’re safe here.” I give her a little hug. “Let’s feed you and go dig you up a blanket.” I nudged her through the door. Lightnin hit, this time lightin up a tree at the edge of the woods.
I’d heard folks talk about lightnin striking twice in one place. I reckon it had done struck me twice and then some.
CHAPTER
SIX
The sun crept through the shutters, warming my cheeks, bringin me out of my sleep. I pushed back in the rocker and stretched. It seemed ever bone in my spine cracked. Sleepin in a rocker ain’t easy on the bones, despite my youth. Resting my hands on the arms of the chair, I lifted myself up. “Oh, Lordy mercy.” I was stiff as a board.
I coulda slept in my bed, but I feared one of them youngins would raise up in the night and lose their bearins. They looked a mess layin there. Their bodies twisted and contorted over one another. I rubbed my eyes and smiled. I had no intentions of gettin attached to this bunch of youngins, but I had to admit, they was sweet piled up like a litter of pups huggin their momma’s teats.
The fire still harbored a small flame, so I stoked it tight and pulled the hook close to hang the coffeepot. I grabbed my knife and headed to the smokehouse to shave off some bacon.
The rain through the night left the path muddy. My shoes sunk into the thick mire and popped with each step. I knew pullin that smokehouse door open would be a test with deep mud. It scraped the dirt as it was. Mud would just dam it up, so I shoved the knife into my boot. Takin the rope handle, I wrapped it tight around my wrist and planted one foot on the side of the building.
“Uhhhhh!” I grunted and heaved. The door drug hard over the mud, and when I stepped inside my heart hit rock bottom.
“You had me blocked outta the house.”
I stepped back against the door. “Calvin, what in the name of all that is good are you doin here? I done told you to stay away. Go sleep where you spend the most of your time. Which, by the way, ain’t here!”
“I could stay down at the boardin house.”
“If that’s where you been stayin anyway. Now, get out.” I put my finger in his chest. “I mean it.”
Calvin busted out laughin. “Ain’t you tough?” He shoved my shoulder and bounced me against the side of bacon hangin from a hook. I slid to the dirt floor. A ham hock swung overhead, smackin me in the face.
“I’ll thank you to keep your hands to yourself.” I slipped my hand to my boot and fingered the knife. They was no reason to think Calvin would really hurt me. Outside of some bully-pushin, he never offered to do me any real harm. Leastways, not till Momma died. The things in that jar of Momma’s had his hackles up. Nowadays, I couldn’t be sure what Calvin would do. He’d gone from all hot
air to varmint. Greed does dire things to a person.
“Whatta you want, Calvin? I ain’t got nothing.”
“I done told you I’d be back to get Momma’s jar. Ain’t nothing gonna stop me.”
“Your head is harder than a wood block. I told you they ain’t no jar.” I grabbed his shirt as he started out the door. “Where you goin?”
“Now that you got the door unbarred . . . to the house.”
Fear shot through me like a bullet. Them youngins was in the house. I couldn’t let him in. He’d scare the devil outta them.
“Let go!” He wrapped his hand around my wrist and twisted it behind my back. My arm stung like I’d stuck it in a hive of bees.
“They ain’t no jar, Calvin. Take the side of pork from the smokehouse, take Daddy’s tools—I don’t care. But they ain’t no jar.”
Calvin stomped through the mud to the house. No amount of me tuggin or yankin stopped him, so I made my way around him and planted myself in front of the door.
He roared laughin. “You protectin a busted screen door?” Calvin took my arm and slung me away. He took hold of the screen door frame and jerked it off, sending it sailin into the mud by the porch.
“Look what you done! Calvin, why don’t you just go? Momma is gone. It’s just me. They ain’t nothin here for you.”
“They’s a jar here, and I don’t plan on leavin till I turn it up. Even if that means rippin ever door, shelf, or cabinet outta this house.”
Calvin turned to kick open the plank door where the screen once stood. Just then, the door come open and there stood little T. J.
Calvin’s eyes darted down to the child standing in the door. He squatted to look the boy eye to eye. Fear crawled up my back like a stinger bug. I knew Calvin. Knew what he was thinkin.
“Don’t you touch that child.” I pushed past him, knocking him to his rear and scooping T. J. into my arms.
Calvin climbed to his feet. “Where’d this wee one come from? You been holdin out on your family, Worie? Hidin a youngin? When’d you become a momma?” The words slid out of his mouth like melted butter.
I hoisted T. J. onto my hip. He laid his head against my neck. A yawn stretched across his lips. “This ain’t my youngin, you smart mouth.”
“Looks pretty incriminatin to me. You standin there with a youngin on your hip and all. Where’s the daddy? Maybe I need to seek him out and make a righteous man outta him.”
I rolled my eyes. “Smart skipped you, didn’t it, Calvin? Ain’t a lick of sense in your body.” T. J. was small but solid. I boosted him up higher on my hip. “Let’s get you inside, little one.” I leaned against the wooden door, shoved it open, and slipped inside. Try as I might to shut the door fast, Calvin managed a foot inside.
I squelched raisin my voice. “Get out.” The words squeaked through gritted teeth. I set T. J. down and patted his rear, sending him into another room.
“Who’s the daddy?” Calvin snapped.
“You idiot. I told you, he ain’t my youngin. His momma and daddy is Rennie and Elbert Whitefield.”
“So, why you got him?”
“I got him because him and his two sisters was starvin. Elbert and Rennie died from the fever. Them youngsters come here lookin for Momma.”
“Our momma?” You could see curiosity wrote on his face.
“Yeah, our momma. Seems she’d been carryin food down to these youngins after their momma and daddy died. Momma was a good woman. Kind. Somethin you don’t know nothing about.”
Calvin went to prowlin through the cupboard, slingin plates and bowls everwhere.
“Stop it, Calvin. Just stop it. I done told you—”
“Miss Worie, is somethin wrong?” Doanie stood swipin the sleep from her eyes.
I run to give her a hug. “Mornin, sweetie. Things is fine. Why don’t you take your brother and sister out to the outhouse. A night’s sleep is a long time to hold your water.” I pulled some cheesecloth from the shelf and handed it to her. “They’s a bucket of water by the outhouse. Wash up before you come back. Clean up that boy. He’s soakin wet.” I smiled, tryin to hide my frustration.
Doanie picked up T. J. and took Farrell by the hand. “Yes ma’am.” The child was obedient. Her folks had taught her well, and it drew tears to my eyes to think she was takin on raisin her siblins when she was just a youngin herself.
“Set that boy on the hole. It’s time he starts learnin to do his business in the outhouse instead of in his drawers.”
A grin tipped the edges of Doanie’s lips. “Yes ma’am.”
I knew once them little ones was out of the house, Calvin would start in on me. And he did.
“Three! Lands a Goshen! Is they anything else I need to know?” Calvin squawked.
I walked into the back room and nudged Abeleen. “Abeleen, honey. Get up. Go on out to the outhouse. Doanie’s out there with the others.”
The girl stretched and stood.
“Four! There’s four youngins.”
“Good to know you can count, Calvin. Now get out. Trust me, if they was any money in this house, don’t you think I’d be usin it right now to do something with them children?”
Calvin drew back and spit on the floor. I thought my stomach would turn. “What do you plan on doin with these youngins?”
I dropped a rag over the wad of spit and dried it. “I don’t know, Calvin. But I do know I got no plans of letting them starve.” I couldn’t believe what I heard myself sayin. The words just fell outta my mouth before I could stop ’em. “I reckon I’ll bed them down in the barn and give them a place to stay.”
Calvin went to laughin. “You! You’re gonna take to raisin somebody else’s youngins?”
I could feel my anger risin. It wasn’t enough Calvin was selfish and sneaky, but he still seemed to have no sadness for the loss of Momma or what she’d been doin on the mountain. That was hard to take in. A woman who give all she had to raise him, make him a home. Love him despite his meanness—and he didn’t have an ounce of sadness. Just greed.
“Yep, Calvin. There is four youngins. They got no folks. Neither do I. I reckon all us orphans might as well put our heads together and make a way to survive. Now, unless you got plans of plowin up the field this mornin . . .” I picked up Daddy’s gun and once again pulled back the hammers. “I suppose you might orta find you someplace else to go.” My heart raced. I knew Calvin could yank that gun from me at any second.
“Stand your ground.” That’s what Momma used to tell me when Calvin picked at me. “Stand your ground.” A skunk don’t have to spray his stench. He just has to raise his tail and folks take heed. I dug my heels in and pulled the gun to my eye.
“Now might be a good time to make yourself a decision, Calvin.” My insides quivered.
He stared hard at me, then stomped outta the house. I could feel the sweat beadin on my brow. Calvin was gone for now. But he’d be back. He was always like a cat—findin his prey and then playin with it before he bit down on its neck. For now, he was gone.
Abeleen headed outside with the other children, and I watched as she walked, twistin her hair into a bun behind her head. There was a twinge of determination in how she walked that moved me.
Here was this child. All alone. Still carryin herself with determination. Right that second, I learned a lesson from a youngin—one that would change my life forever. I’d be like Abeleen. Determined to make a way for me. Determined to make a way for these youngins. Determined to keep that blessed jar hid away.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
I took T. J. from Doanie’s arms and rested him on my hip. “There’s a wagon at the side of the barn. Either of you two ever hitched a horse?” I pointed at the girls.
“I have.” Abeleen raised her hand. “Daddy showed me how.”
“Good, take Doanie and show her. She needs to know how. Hitch up ole Sally. Bring the wagon around.”
“Yes ma’am.”
The hair on the back of my neck raised ever time that child ca
lled me ma’am, but I couldn’t rightly fuss about manners.
“We’ll load up and head to your cabin, Doanie. Get what you need. Bring it back here.”
“But what about Momma?”
“You don’t worry yourself about that. Mr. Ely and me will give her a proper burial. You focus on helpin take care of your brother and sister.” I tinkered with her braid. “Now, go on. Get Sally.”
Doanie stood, mouth gapin. “Miss Worie, does that mean we’re gonna stay with you?”
I rested my hands on my hips. “Well, unless you think you can manage on your own.”
“We’re grateful. All of us.” Water filled her eyes. “They’s something you need to know.”
“What could that be?” I asked. “They surely ain’t no more surprises, are they?”
“Momma is still in her bed. I didn’t have no way of buryin her.”
I felt my stomach turn. How could my momma have been takin food to these youngins and not know Mrs. Whitefield was dead in her bed?
Since she brought up the subject, I commenced to feel out what we was in for once we got to the Whitefield cabin. “How long has your momma been passed?” It was an answer I dreaded to hear. I was sure the house reeked of rotten flesh.
Doanie dropped her chin to her chest. “About two weeks.”
It took me a minute to gather my thoughts before I spoke. There was nothin I wanted to say to make this child feel like her momma’s dyin was her fault. I knew the sting of that guilt, and I wasn’t about to lay that burden on Doanie. All I wanted was to get Ely and maybe the sheriff and see how to manage buryin the child’s momma.
I pulled her close. “Go help Abeleen hitch up Sal.”
I loaded the youngins into the wagon. Sal was all hitched up and we headed out. A half mile down the bumpy road Ely met up with us.
What Momma Left Behind Page 4
