“Aw, alright. We can start again. But you don’t make no more assumptions. You hear me?”
He smiled. “How can I help you settle these children in?”
I squinted. Then a thought come to me. “You can help me build some beds. You any good at building?”
“Might be.”
Daddy’s hammer hung on the barn wall by the claw. I took it down and tossed it at the pastor’s feet. “Take off that fancy coat and get to work. I need four for the back room in the barn. That would just about do it.”
CHAPTER
NINE
After the children was bedded down, I filled the coffeepot with water and hung it over the fire. We didn’t have much, but Momma bartered her canned foods for coffee down in Wears Cove. I pulled the can from the cupboard and popped the lid open. The scent of a woody grind filled the room. One thing she taught me was how to make a good strong brew. “It ain’t good coffee unless it makes the hair on your arms stand straight,” she’d say.
Between the katydids and the frogs, the noise comin through the windows was enough to wake the dead. Despite the confusion of chirps and trills, these critters still managed to somehow come together in perfect harmony. I closed my eyes and listened as the song made the mountains come alive, then stepped outside and gazed toward the heavens. The sky filled with stars blinked in rhythm. It was like the night sky had a heartbeat. I smiled, thinkin of them times Daddy talked about the heart of the mountains. “The good Lord give these hills life. From the stars to the clouds to the breeze and the sun. If you lay your head on the ground and be right still, you can feel it beat—the soul that lives here. Ain’t nothin like it, Worie. Nothin.”
That was the sweet thing about Daddy. He had a hardy love for the world around him. To him, every inch of the mountain lived. “We owe ever stitch of this beauty to the good Lord.”
I never really understood how Daddy could give such attention to somebody he couldn’t see. But him and Momma both give a lot of credit to the good Lord. Me . . . what I did believe went to the wayside when the good Lord let an angel shoot herself.
The lid on the coffeepot commenced to jiggle so I headed inside, but not until I kissed my fingers and blew it toward the heavens. “That’s for you, Momma. Daddy.” A body could only hope they caught the kiss on the breeze.
I strained the dark liquid into a cup and made my way to the rocker, snugglin in. Steam twirled in soft designs as it rose off the cup. I leaned back in the rocker and sipped. My eyes scanned the room to the stone that kept Momma’s secret. Momma sure didn’t hoard money. It was hard enough to come by. What she got, she used to buy necessities.
My knees bent and the rocker swayed forward. I sipped again. What if I pulled that stone outta the hearth? Reckon what I’d find? It had to be something special for Calvin to be so fired up.
My fingers gently rubbed the tin cup. “Hummm. Wonder if . . .”
There is somethin to the sayin “curiosity killed the cat,” but even that warning didn’t stop me from wonderin. I set the cup down and walked to Momma’s secret spot. She had her way of countin them stones and openin up that hole. A body had to press on just the right spot to get that stone to slide. She was good at hiding things . . . them youngins she was feedin, the jar. Her secret was more than the jar. It was in what it meant.
My fingers climbed the stones. One, two, three, four up. One, two, three, four over. I pushed the stone and slid it out. There in the hole laid a blue Mason jar.
I slid my fingers around the jar and twisted it around. Slips of paper spun inside. A small cloth bag no bigger around than a watch flopped in the bottom. Three nickels. Certainly not the treasure Calvin thought. What was so important about this stupid jar?
I could have just pulled the jar out, and the next time Calvin come around threatenin me, just give it to him. Wouldn’t he be surprised? It ain’t always about who wins the prize, sometimes it’s all about principle. And though I ain’t right proud of it, I was stubborn.
Calvin always had a gift of twistin the truth, lyin, swindlin folks to get what he wanted. Didn’t matter how many times Daddy would blister his rear as a youngin, Calvin just took the punishment and then went right back to the same ole thing. What burns my britches is how he found out about this jar. What could he have possibly seen that made him want a jar full of notes? Three nickels might buy two bags of flour. It sure as whiz wasn’t no treasure.
“One of these days I’m gonna be rich. Ain’t nothing gonna keep me tied to this place,” Calvin would say after he had a tannin. He’d stomp off and look for a new way to get what he wanted.
I turned the lid and the metal scraped the glass jar, sendin chills up my arms. Reachin the tips of my fingers inside, I grabbed the roll of paper scraps and pulled it out. Gingerly I unrolled the papers. Notes. That’s all they was. Notes wrote in a neat hand.
Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. From the good book’s Proverbs, chapter three. Verse five.
My heart is broken. I buried Evan today. I gave up everthing to be with him. What do I do but trust, even when I haven’t got the understanding? But how is it, when a person gives up all they have, does things only get worse? Folks are dying everwhere.
Good Father, help me understand.
It took me a spell to read the note. They ain’t been a schoolteacher in the gap for several years, so most of what I learned, Momma taught me betwixt her cannin and gardenin. It was enough to make me hungry to learn more.
Each note listed words from the good book, then Momma’s trouble. I suppose of the few I read, I was taken back by her pleas, her prayers. They was somethin about threadin them letters together like threadin a needle that made me want to stitch together more and more sentences.
Momma was right about one thing. Folks was dyin all over the mountain. It was like the fever was pickin and choosin who it wanted to snuff out, and it looked to be the adults. I glanced through the door at the youngins on the floor. They didn’t get the fever, but it didn’t stop them from bein victims.
I glanced again at the papers. I gave up everthing. What did Momma give up? Why?
More questions. More things I didn’t understand. Lean not unto thine own understanding. My head felt like it was gonna split open like a dry log.
I rolled the papers and tied a piece of twine around them, then slid them back into the jar. It was like that jar got hot in my hands. So hot I couldn’t hold it. I twisted the lid, stuck the jar back in the hole, and covered it with the stone. I looked at my hands. They was just regular. The burnin was in my mind, just like seein Momma was.
I reckon worry and grief does queer things to a body. But here I found myself hung between being a child and being a woman. Part of that was Momma’s fault—keepin me home instead of sending me on my own after I said no to marryin Trigger. It tore me between wanting to stay a youngin and becoming a woman. It was time to be a woman. I had these youngins now. I needed to be grown. Mountain women shovel their feelins over the shoulder and go on. It’s what they do. It was what I would do. I kept tellin myself this just so it would sink in.
I picked up my coffee and sat back in the rocker, my toes pushin the chair enough to make it sway. My mind started to rest when a gasp raised from my chest. “Pastor Jess!” I’d left him in the barn workin.
Grabbin up a quilt and tossin it over my shoulders, I lit the extra lamp and headed to the barn.
“Pastor, I done got so busy with them youngins, I plumb forgot you.”
The pastor was nowhere to be found. His horse stood, head in the food trough, still saddled. I walked the inside of the barn, holdin the lamp over darkened crevices to see where he mighta ended up.
“Hard to sleep with a lamp burnin.”
I nearly jumped outta my skin. “Where you hidin?”
Strands of hay fell from the loft, and when I looked up a set of feet hung from the loft floor.
“You ain’t even unsaddled your horse.”
The feet disappeared and
footsteps clomped down the loft ladder. “Yep, that’d be right. I’m guessin he’s as tired as me.”
“Why didn’t you come up to the house?” I asked.
The pastor wiped his face on his sleeve. “I wasn’t invited, for one. And I was busy building beds.” He pointed to the far side of the barn. “Four beds. I set them together by twos. Saw something like this in Knoxville one time. Stacked beds wasn’t your idea, but I thought it right clever.”
And it was right clever. Pastor Jess managed to build a bed for each child, and he’d even added some sides to T. J.’s so he didn’t fall out.
“I gotta say, Pastor. You’re right handy. These is real nice.” I walked around the wooden beds, eyein the handiwork. “Real nice. I ain’t never seen anything better.” A smile come across my lips. “I suppose a thank-you is in order.”
He moseyed next to me and crossed his arms, admirin his work. “They are real nice, ain’t they?”
I rolled my eyes. “I done said they was. Don’t you believe me, or are you just fishin for kind words?”
Pastor Jess went to laughin. “I was lookin for both, but seems I ain’t gettin that. So can I at least get a bowl of that vegetable soup I smelled earlier?”
My face grew hot. “Uh, Pastor, I’m sorry. Wasn’t my intention to forget you. Of course you can have some soup. Unsaddle that poor horse and draw him a bucket of water to wash that hay down. I’ll go heat you a bowl.”
“I’d be much obliged.” He went to unsaddling his horse.
I run to the house and pulled the pot of soup closer to the fire, then ladled a bowl out. They was no excuse for me forgettin the pastor. He was a little pushy, but all in all he seemed kind. I never put much stock in a pastor, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be kind folks.
They was no real reason for him to offer his help, still he did. Took it upon hisself to help Ely decide what to do with Mrs. Whitefield. And he didn’t have to stay and build beds. But he did. I reckon that made him worth his salt.
I pushed open the barn door. “Pastor, here’s your supper. I brought—” I stopped mid-sentence. There he laid in the hay on the floor, sleepin like a bear in winter.
I cocked my head. He was a handsome sort and, I suppose, a bit more than just kind. I set the bowl of soup on Daddy’s workbench, then took the quilt from around my shoulders and gently laid it over him. Pickin up the lamp, I snuck outta the barn and closed the door.
The lamp was dyin down, just like the embers in the fireplace. My coffee had done cooled down. The same way my heart felt—a little cold. I’d lost my family, and without askin I found this passel of youngins.
A song come to mind. Was lost but now am found.
CHAPTER
TEN
I hadn’t done much but cook and tend youngins for the past few weeks. Ely and Bess helped get the children put into doin chores, and betwixt us all, we got the garden in the ground.
The sun fought to find its way through the gray noon clouds. Spring rains come and go with the breeze, and today the water hung heavy in the sky.
Them youngins was doin their chores. Abeleen and Farrell fed the chickens, and little T. J. handed clothespins to Doanie so she could hang his washed pants. I put my two little fingers under my tongue and let a whistle whoop out. “Come on. Hurry for the barn before the rains hit.” There wasn’t a long breath between my whistle and holler before the rain come, the wind blowin it in long sheets across the field.
Squeals and giggles rung through the barn as them youngins darted in, shakin like wet dogs to get the water off. It was somethin to see a little laughter fill them wee ones’ hearts.
T. J. flopped onto the barn floor and went to rollin in the hay. His drawers hung to his knees.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, T. J.” I lifted him gently by the hands. “Look at your pants. You already filled them.”
His smile drooped.
“I ain’t mad at you.” I squatted in front of him, takin him by the shoulders. “But you’re a little man, and little men quit messin in their pants when they hit your age. Think you can work on askin for help to the outhouse before you turn rank?” I touched his nose with my finger. “You think you can do that?”
He stuck his finger in his mouth and nodded.
“Good. Now go tell Doanie you need your drawers changed.”
I smiled as he lumbered across the barn to Doanie. It was becomin more apparent every hour that passed how much work it was gonna take to manage these little ones.
Abeleen took to pushin the huge barn door shut against the rush of the wind and rain. Just as she got the door nearly closed, a shout rang out.
“Worie, I told you I’d be back!” Calvin pressed his shoulder against the barn door and shoved, knocking Abeleen to the floor.
I rushed to her, liftin her to her feet. “Calvin, what is wrong with you? You nearly busted her head open.” I dusted the hay from her clothes. Anger bubbled in my stomach . . . anger and fear. There was somethin different about Calvin this time.
He shook the rain off of his hat and pushed the barn door on open. Two more horses walked inside. I recognized the sheriff but drew a blank on the other man.
“What are you doin? Who is these men?”
“I been down in Hartsboro doin some business.”
I busted out laughin. “You got business? What business brings you here? I done told you to find someplace else to live.”
Calvin come right to my face. His breath smelled like a mixture of bad meat and liquor.
I winced. “Get outta my face.” I put my palm against his chest and shoved.
He took my wrist and turned me toward the men. “I know you know the sheriff. But this here is Jordan Sikes. Mr. Sikes here runs the bank in Hartsboro. And this here . . .” Calvin pulled a folded paper from his pocket. “This is official and legal papers that says this place belongs to me.”
I took a step backward, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Calvin was known for his swindlin and lyin, but I never thought he’d do somethin so mean. I whipped the paper from his hand and unfolded it.
This document certifies, that the land be left to the family.
I couldn’t read no further. My stomach turned as I looked toward them youngins. There was no words that could say what was on my mind.
“You ain’t serious? You can’t take this place away from me.”
“Yep. I can and I did.” Calvin leaned against my head and whispered, “I told you I’d get Momma’s jar.”
I yanked away from him and turned to the sheriff. “You can’t let him take my house away from me. What about these youngins?”
The sheriff looked past me. “I’m sorry, Miss Worie, this is all legal.”
“Since when did ‘all legal’ matter on the mountain?” The sheriff stared at his feet. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You can’t look me in the eye. What’s this snake holdin over you, Sheriff?”
I could see shame all over his face. He didn’t want to boot me off the land, but somethin or somebody was forcin his hand.
“This is on you, Sheriff Starnes. The lives of these little ones is on you.” I swung around to Calvin, balled my fingers into a fist, and popped him in the jaw. “You can’t do this to me.” I couldn’t imagine what would happen to me or these youngins. “I told you they wasn’t no jar. I told you to take what you wanted from the house. Do you think if they was any money anywhere, I’d be livin in such dire straits?”
Calvin wiped a drop of blood from his lip. The sheriff grabbed my raised hand. “Now, now. They ain’t no need for hittin.”
I twisted to free my wrist from his grip.
“You’re right, Calvin, she’s got fire in her.”
“I’ll make you think fire.” I yanked my arm hard, breakin the sheriff’s hold. “Calvin, why are you doin this?”
“I did take what I wanted. The whole place. Now, me and the sheriff are here to make sure you make your way out.”
“You can’t do this!” I shouted. “Momma and Daddy are buri
ed here. You can’t do this.” My voice quivered as I fought back the tears.
Sheriff Starnes put his hand on my shoulder. “Miss Worie, I’m afraid Calvin is right. I got papers that won’t allow me to do otherwise. You got a day to pack up and leave.”
“A day! That’s it? A day!” I scanned the barn to the new beds the pastor had built, then I looked at them youngins lined up in a row. It felt like my chest would crack open. My legs weakened and I dropped to my knees. “What about these youngins?”
“Oh, ain’t no need to worry about that. I done took care of that too.” Calvin squatted in front of me. “Mr. Sikes here will take the two least ones and find them homes. The two older girls can stay with you for now.”
“What?” I come to my feet and rushed in front of the children. “You ain’t takin a one of these children. You hear me?”
Doanie swung T. J. on her hip and pushed Farrell behind her. “You ain’t touchin my family!” she screamed.
Calvin reached for Farrell and I run at him, hittin him in the gut.
Sheriff Starnes took me by the arms. “Don’t make this no harder. Let Mr. Sikes take the two.”
I went to screamin as loud as I could, fightin to free myself. Doanie was hollerin and both the little ones were screamin bloody murder. Abeleen went to kickin at the sheriff to turn me loose, but all my fightin and screamin didn’t help one iota. Mr. Sikes scooped Farrell up under his arm and climbed on his horse, the child hollerin until she vomited down the side of the horse. Calvin tore T. J. loose from Doanie, leavin her on the floor sobbin.
Once the sheriff let me go, him and Sikes turned them horses and trotted outta the barn, both of the youngins bellerin and squallin.
“You got a day to get out. Understand me? A day.” Calvin mounted his horse and left. I could hear his nasty laugh echo off the mountain.
There I was on my hands and knees, my heart torn outta my chest, and when I looked at them two girls bleedin tears, my grief turned to anger. I crawled to my feet, the rain gushin through the barn door in sheets. “Get up, girls,” I snapped. “Come on. Get up. We can’t get Farrell and T. J. back layin here on the floor squallin.” I took Abeleen by the hand and helped her stand. I couldn’t begin to feel how Doanie felt. Losin her momma and daddy, seein her house burned to the ground, and now havin her brother and sister took from her.
What Momma Left Behind Page 6
