It took the better part of the day to make our way to Hartsboro. I could count the times I’d been there on one hand. There was some pretty fancy folks in the Cove, especially since the railroad come through these parts.
I slipped off Sally and tied her reins to a rail. I never remembered this town bein busy, but somehow it had growed. I could see where Calvin found that fancy-pants banker.
“Pastor, where’s the jail? I need to find Justice.”
The pastor scrubbed his hand along his trousers, dustin off little splashes of mud. He pointed his finger in my face. “Worie, you can start by callin me by the name my momma give me. I’m right proud of it. And it fits me better than Pastor.”
“I ain’t sure it’s right for me to call you by your given name. You’re older than me. Momma always told me to be respectful.”
The pastor went to laughin. “Lawsy mercy, sakes alive. I’ve heard it all. You’re seventeen and you’re callin me older. I ain’t much past twenty. So it ain’t like I got a lifetime on you.”
Despite what he said, it didn’t feel right callin him by his given name. Leastways he didn’t call me a child this time.
“Alright, Pastor, you want me to call you Pastor Jess?”
He tightened the slide on his necktie and straightened his shoulders. A body would have thought his name was some big secret. “Pastor Jess is fine.”
I felt a giggle inch up. It wouldn’t be right to laugh. I could hear Momma’s voice in my head. “If you ain’t got nothing nice to say, don’t say nothing at all.” A half cough, half laugh shot out of my mouth.
“What? What’s funny?”
“I’m guessin ‘Pastor Jess’ ain’t nothin special.”
The pastor stood starin me down. He went to drawin lines with the toe of his boot.
“You always dig your foot into the mud?” I asked.
“I reckon they ain’t a whole lot more I can say or do that you won’t rip apart and throw on the ground.” His lip pooched like T. J.’s did right before he let out a sob.
I busted out laughin. “You gonna pout over me teasin you about your name?”
A grin stretched across his face. “There, now that’s what I wanted to see. A smile. Laughter. If you’re gonna visit Justice, he’ll need you to look strong.”
I shook my head. This pastor was a smart one. He could see my frets, and he was right kind about letting me know I needed a new attitude.
“I know. You’re right.” I stared at the muddy ground. “I don’t know if Justice even knows Momma is dead.”
“All the more reason to let him see you are fine despite this mess. You understand? Justice is a good man, but he’s mighty weak. When a body’s soul gets weak, they have a hard time takin in rough news.”
I was quiet for a spell before I spoke. “I knew what it was that made the change in Justice. Him and Daddy went huntin one day, and the next week Daddy was dead. It shook Justice to the bone.” It was hard to think on the past.
I was tired . . . and muddy. A body can’t ride a horse through the kinda mud after a gully washer without gettin filthy. I looked around for a small stand of grass to wipe my boots.
“You wanna clean up before you see Justice?”
I wondered how Pastor Jess could read my mind, but then my tryin to clean my boots off mighta been a good hint. “Cleanin up would be nice, but I ain’t got no money for room at the boardin house, so I reckon Justice will have to take me as I am.”
“The church is just down the road. There’s a water pump.” He pointed ahead.
“That’d be right nice, Mr. Pastor Jess.” I hiked my skirt up to my knees and tiptoed through the mud to the wooden walk.
The pastor went to laughin.
“What are you findin so funny?”
“I guess that you’d tiptoe through the mud when you done got it all over your shoes.”
“Oh shaw! I reckon I was tryin to be somewhat ladylike.” I reached out and gently punched the pastor’s arm.
We walked to the end of the boarded walkway and stepped into a grassy patch that wound around toward the church. They wasn’t many folks out and about. I guess the heavy rain kept them inside. The sheriff’s office was across the muddy road, along with the general store. A fancy-dressed man stepped outta the store and sucked on his pipe. The sweet smoke twirled on the breeze, catchin my nose. He stared me up one side and down the other till I felt like his eyes was burning holes in me.
Pastor Jess raised his hand and waved, and the man nodded.
“Good thing you waved at him. I was ready to tell him when he got his eyes full, open his mouth.”
“Mercy, no. Don’t be sayin smart remarks like that. You never know who you’d be smackin with an insult.”
I pulled the heel of my boot across the grass, scrapin loose a chunk of mud. “He was starin a hole right through my soul,” I snapped.
“Worie, that’s the mayor. We might need his help to find them children. You need to find a way to keep your snide remarks quiet.”
“Well, I . . . uh . . .” I stopped in my tracks. There in front of me was the forge. John Wallen’s forge. Abeleen’s daddy’s forge. I lost my words for a minute. The strength that girl held inside her was put there by the man that run that forge. John Wallen did good.
Momma always said guilt was a rotten bedfeller. She was right. Them two little children was ripped outta their sister’s arms because of me. Abeleen was tore away from the beginnins of a home, again. It was my fault, and they seemed to be nothin I could do to fix this mess.
I stared at the forge whilst tears filled my eyes, then I could have swore I heard Momma’s voice. “Shovel them feelins over your shoulder. Buck up. It’s the mountain way of doin things.”
“That’s John Wallen’s forge. Abeleen’s daddy.” I pointed toward the barn. “You know, the child buried him a stone at a time.” My heart hurt for her. Still, Momma was right. Buck up! I pulled my shoulders back and dug my heels in. “I’m gonna figure this out, Pastor. I will.”
Pastor Jess reset his hat. “I know.” He took hold of my shoulder and squeezed. “I know you will.”
“John died from the fever. Beats me why Abeleen didn’t get sick,” I said.
“The fever don’t seem to care who it does or don’t take. Poor child. She’s lucky to be with you.”
I couldn’t imagine how Abeleen was lucky to be with me. Seemed like my luck had done washed out. “I ain’t got her, Pastor. Remember, I got no home. These girls are with Ely and Bess.”
The pastor did his best to comfort me. He took my hand in his and gently squeezed. “Them children will be back with you soon, and you’ll have your homestead back.”
“I hope so. But right now it ain’t lookin so good.” I hadn’t much more than got the words outta my mouth when the barn door on the forge opened. A puff of smoke bellowed out. The awfulest coughin rang from inside.
“What in heaven’s name?” The pastor headed across the road to the forge. It was only minutes till he come from inside the barn with a tall, lanky man coughin up his guts.
I waved the smoke away to see who Pastor Jess had pulled from the forge. I squinted hard. “Well, slap my knee. Trigger? Trigger Townsend?” My heart sunk. He hadn’t changed a bit since I’d turned him down two years before.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the fog. I wanted to rush across the road and wrap my arms around him. But I couldn’t. Momma had needed me back then. She couldn’t manage the homeplace alone, and it wasn’t fair to ask Trigger to give up his life to work our farm, not with Calvin and Justice. So, the day he asked me to marry him, my heart broke. I was torn between bein his wife and helpin Momma.
I watched as Pastor Jess patted Trigger’s back, tryin to get him to suck in some good air, and when he stood, I saw them long strands of hair that hid his eyes. A smile come to me as I remembered walkin the river with him. I could still feel the tenderness of his touch.
Trigger and the pastor made their way across the road. The look on the
pastor’s face was like a fat possum scarfin down the last bit of corn in the bin.
“Worie Dressar, I’d like you to meet—”
“Trigger,” I whispered.
“Worie?” Trigger slapped his leg. “I’ll be. Talk about a surprise.”
I’d be lyin if I said it was nothing short of awkward, so I did what I was good at. I got snide. “What on earth are you doin in John Wallen’s forge?”
Trigger straightened his shoulders and snapped back, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I been learnin smithin. John ain’t been around for the better part of a month. Somebody had to step up and shoe the horses.”
“You idiot. Did you never think to check on John if he ain’t been around?”
Trigger wrung his hands. “Well . . . I . . .”
“That figures. So, you don’t know. John Wallen is dead.”
“Dead!”
“Yes, dead. And if you’d even used your head, you’d have checked on him. His little girl buried him by herself.”
Trigger stuttered around, trippin over his tongue before he got out the words. “I’m sorry to hear that. What about the forge?”
I felt my hackles lift. John was dead. His girl was an orphan, and all the words Trigger could spit out was, “What about the forge?”
I drew back my foot and let it fly, catchin him in the shin. “What about his child?”
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Momma used to say what Trigger missed in brain, he made up for with good intentions. Trigger was kind, gentle. A hard worker. Lookin at him brought back a flood of memories. Some good. Some bad. But they was memories I didn’t have time for.
“Worie, what in tarnation are you doin here?” Trigger asked. He took me by the shoulders and pulled me into a hug.
I wiggled free. Despite a sweet memory of Trigger’s arms around me, now wasn’t the time. “Let go.” I pushed him away. A body could have blowed him over with a feather. I reckon he thought we’d just pick up where we left off when I told him I wouldn’t marry him.
Pastor Jess stepped between us. His arm stretched in front of me like a fence rail. “Whoa there, friend. Let’s leave the little lady to herself.”
Trigger cocked his head. You could see what smarts he had, workin to figure the pastor’s protection. He pulled his hat from his head and nodded. I admit, I wondered myself. I never ask the pastor for protection.
“I never meant nothing. Me and Worie go back a ways.”
Pastor Jess dropped his arm but kept his stance hard in front of me. I pressed against him, shoving him to one side. “It’s fine, Pastor. Trigger is a . . .” I stuttered, unsure what to call him. Ely’s words come back to me. Honesty is always the best row to hoe. So honesty it was. “Pastor Jess, I reckon I owe you a proper introduction. This here is Trigger Townsend. We was set to get hitched when we run upon a disagreement.”
“Disagreement?” Trigger slung his head like a horse fightin a bit. “You couldn’t let go of your momma. No matter what she said.”
I felt my nose flare. “They was a reason, Trigger.”
“Reason? Twernt no real reason other than you was scared. Daddy called you cold.”
“Well, ain’t that just nice? I wasn’t scared.”
“You was.”
I balled my fist and punched Trigger in the arm.
“Hey, hold up here.” Pastor Jess took hold of my wrist. “There’s obviously some bad blood here, and mudslingin, hittin, and name-callin don’t settle nothin. We’re all grown-ups here and this ain’t grown-up behavior.”
I hated to admit it, but the preacher was right. I was actin like a child. I snorted and dug my toe into the grassy patch.
“Let’s start this conversation over.” The pastor set his hand out to Trigger. “Pastor Jess Martin. I’m the pastor on this side of the mountain.”
Trigger stared at the pastor’s hand, then took hold. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Pastor Jess took a solid hold on Trigger’s hand and shook. “So you’re tryin to fire up John’s forge?”
“Yes sir. People need shoes for their horses. Knives. That sort of thing. And John was teachin me when he just quit comin into town.”
“Like I said,” I snapped, “it never entered that thick skull of yours to check in on the man. Especially with so many folks bein sick on the mountain.”
Pastor Jess’s hand raised in front of me to shush me. “Worie, this ain’t getting us nowhere.” His hand dropped to his side. “How long have you been workin with John?”
Trigger scratched his chin. “I reckon a couple of months. I met him for the first time when Daddy sent me to Hartsboro. I didn’t get to this side of the mountain often till then.”
“I reckon this is startin to take some shape, now ain’t it, Worie?” Pastor Jess patted my arm. “I’m guessin you ain’t known John long enough to know his homestead.”
“No sir. He was lettin me stay in the back room of the barn here as long as I’d get the fire stoked and hot before he got here to start work. If that was all it took for him to let me stay, to teach me his trade, then I’d stoke or build a fire anywhere he wanted me to.”
Pastor Jess turned to me and smiled. “There, Miss Worie. The man didn’t know where John lived.” He looked right proud that he’d killed my suspicions of Trigger.
It didn’t help the uneasiness of seein Trigger again. It made me madder than a wet hornet to think he might just be right. I hadn’t wanted to leave Momma. It wasn’t that I was hooked at her hip, but truth was . . . it was fear for Momma. Once Daddy was dead, Momma couldn’t count on the boys to step up. Calvin’s only goal in life was to get what he wanted, when he wanted it. Poor old Justice was a hard worker when he was sober. Course, when he’d be sober wasn’t nothin a body could count on. Momma needed help. Daddy wasn’t a rich man, but he did have the land. Acres of it. Somebody had to tend it. Somebody had to lay the garden and set the tobacco. Momma couldn’t do it by herself, and her being the kind of woman she was—lovin my daddy like she did—things would have to be done just the way Daddy did it. Momma needed me, and Trigger didn’t take light to it.
I watched as the pastor conversed with Trigger. It was like the two was best friends for havin just met. It sorta riled me. And ever time I went to step up and speak, Pastor Jess would step in front of me. I finally quit tryin to edge a word in and hushed.
“Miss Worie here wants to clean up before she goes about her business in town. I was gonna show her to the pump by the church.”
Trigger stuttered around and finally spit out a few words that made some sense. “I got a back room in the barn. There’s always hot water by the forge. Worie, you are more than welcome to partake of it.”
It was awkward, but I could see Trigger’s heart was in the right place. “Alright. I’m obliged.”
He motioned then pointed toward the barn. “This way.”
I smiled, and it only took a minute for Trigger’s cheeks to turn the color of cherries. That sweetness was what drew me to him. I watched as he took the lead, dodging the puddles of muddy water like a child at play.
He stopped and stuck out his hand. “Let me help you over these here puddles.”
The pastor took hold of my elbow to guide me. “Much obliged, but I think we can make it fine.”
Trigger stood there starin like a deer caught at the crack of dawn. “Alright.” He took a couple more steps and pushed open the barn door.
The smell of heat come at me like a fox after a squirrel. Daddy used to talk about heat and fire bein livin things. “Depends on the fire and its purpose,” he’d say. “A fire meant to keep a body warm smells like applewood or hickory. One meant to destroy carries the odor of fir or pine.”
The forge fire smelled like pine, hotter than blue blazes. Hot enough to melt iron. A barrel filled with water sat close to the firebox. Swirls of oil formed rainbow-colored streaks in ever-changin patterns on the surface of the liquid.
Trigger snatched a rag off th
e anvil and gently dropped its edge into the water, pulling it over the slick film. “This here will get the oil from the iron off the water.” He grinned right proud, like a child who’d just learned a new trick. “Pastor, if you can pass me that ladle hangin on that nail.” Trigger swiped his hands on the wet rag, then rung it out on the floor. “Worie, would you kindly reach me that bucket?”
I handed him a bucket that rested upside down on a bench. Trigger ladled some of the warm water into the bucket, then carried it to the back room. “This way,” he said. “You can wash up in my room.” He slid open a rickety door and motioned me in. “Ain’t much, but it’s all a body needs. A place to lay his head.” Trigger pointed to a beautiful glass bowl perched on a stand. A mirror raised high above the bowl.
My eyes scanned the piece. Painted flowers circled the top of the white glass, with green vines dripping down the sides. And them same vines lined the edge of the mirror, reflecting their own images.
“Trigger, this is beautiful. A little out of place in this barn, but mighty pretty.”
One side of his lip raised, and his eyes brightened. The dimple on that cheek deepened. “Thank ye much. It was Momma’s, and her momma’s, and her momma’s. All I got left of her after she died from the fever. When John said I could come to work here, I brung it with me.” He took in a breath and blowed dust from the mirror.
Odd as it was, I begun to see Trigger in a new light. Though it befuddled me why the fever was takin so many folks and causin their little ones to be left behind, I could see that it was takin its toll on folks just like me and Trigger. We was grown, but we was left without a momma and daddy too. Orphans—the both of us. I reckon we still had things in common.
He run his finger along the edge of the wooden stand. “You know Daddy died last fall, not long after . . .”
I knowed what he was gonna say, so I shushed him before he could go any further. “I know how you feel. Momma died a few weeks back.”
Pastor Jess leaned against the door. “It’s the circle of life. For ever life that leaves the world a new one comes in. All this reminiscin is nice, but Worie, you got business here in town. Best get to washin up.” He nudged me away from the door and waved Trigger out, slidin the heavy door closed. “You just holler when you’re ready and we’ll be waitin.” He tapped the door with his hand. I could hear the two of them conversin as they walked away.
What Momma Left Behind Page 8
