What Momma Left Behind

by Cindy K. Sproles

  A yellow glow from a low-lit lantern broke up the darkness, and the smell of oil filled the room. I’d never seen anything as beautiful as the wash bowl and mirror. It seemed a shame to pour water in it and chance messin up the tiny blue and yellow flowers, so I doused the rag in the bucket and wrung it dry. They was no need to dirty such a pretty bowl with muddy water. I could tell it was precious to Trigger.

  I stripped off my muddy skirt and rinsed the clay from the tail, then hung it on a nail to dry. My bag was small, but I had stuffed a clean change of clothes and what little money I had inside. I dipped the rag in the bucket of warm water again and twisted it damp dry. What little warmth was still in the rag felt wonderful against my face. It took me a spell to scrape the mud off my boots, but once I got the thick paste loose I was able to clean them too.

  I unfolded the clean skirt and pulled it over my hips, tying a small rope around my waist to keep it snug. I folded a small handkerchief and snugged it in my pocket. I guess, like Trigger and his flowery bowl and mirror, this was all I had left of Momma. This and that blessed old Mason jar.

  A small window, cracked open in the corner of the room, let in a sweet, fresh rainy smell. I raised it a little further and dumped the dirty water and clots of mud from my boots out. I took hold of the door to slide it open when I caught sight of a reflection in that mirror. It took me back for a minute.

  “Momma?”

  Silence. The hairs on my arms stood straight as I took in a gulp of air. Mirrors was rare on the mountain. Momma had a little one that fit in her palm, and when Calvin took it and sold it for a few nickels, she was both hurt and mad.

  I walked to the mirror and touched my fingers to the cheek reflectin back at me. It wasn’t Momma. I never knew she left me such a gift. Brows that framed deep-set dark eyes, a heart-shaped face. Long, silky strands of chestnut hair that fell over the shoulders and onto the arms like a shawl. I looked like Momma.

  I felt the water gather in the corners of my eyes, and I remembered Momma sayin her Scriptures when Calvin would lash out at her and make her cry. “‘My tears have been my meat day and night, while they continually say unto me, Where is thy God?’” She’d swallow back her tears and say, “That’s what it says in the Psalms, and the Psalms is hope.”

  Calvin would mock her. “I thought the good book was supposed to give a body hope. That just sounds plumb, downright hopeless.”

  I pressed my hand against the mirror, prayin for one last time to touch Momma’s face. A tear spilled from my eye. “Momma, I miss you. Why did you have to go and do such a horrible thing?”

  I took my hand from the mirror and placed it on my neck. My fingers tightened and the air snuffed out of my lungs. I winced. With each thump of my heart, I could feel my blood shoot through my veins. I wondered what it took for Momma to pull that trigger.

  “Worie, you ’bout ready? I saw the sheriff go into his office.”

  Pastor Jess’s voice brought me back. I coughed, then gagged. Was this how Momma felt as her lifeblood drained? Did she feel it gushin from her chest . . . count the beats as her heart run down and stopped? I gagged again and let loose of my neck.

  “Uh . . . yeah. I’m comin.” I pushed open the door and stepped toward the pastor.

  “There she is.” He eyed me for a minute, cockin his head to one side. He lifted his forefinger and pointed. “Why’s your neck so red?”

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  “What business you got here in town?” Trigger shoved open the barn door, and we stepped through and onto the plank walkway. He pressed his hand against my back.

  Feelins stirred in me and I leaned into him. I didn’t answer.

  “I’ve missed you, Worie.”

  Pastor Jess slipped his hand around my elbow and gently guided me away from Trigger. “We ain’t got much time, Worie. The sheriff don’t hold up long in his office.”

  “Sheriff? What’s wrong?” Trigger nudged me back to his side.

  “It’s been a long few weeks. With Momma dyin and all, Calvin put me out.”

  “What? Put you out? You mean, took you outta the cabin?”

  I nodded.

  “You ain’t pullin my rope?” Trigger took my hand, and his grip tightened. I could feel his eyes starin into my soul.

  “Ain’t right sure Worie’s need to see the sheriff is any of your beeswax.” Pastor Jess reached his arm around me.

  “Alright!” I snapped. “Enough is enough. I ain’t a cheap ewe meant to be tugged from field to field.” I pushed away from both men. “Both of you! Let me alone. Hear me? I got business to tend.” I straightened my skirt and pulled my shoulders back. Takin in a deep breath, I remembered what Momma would say. “Suck in some air, count to ten, then walk away.”

  She was right too, though I might need to count to more than ten.

  It befuddled me why the pastor had got so protective over me, and it bothered me even more that Trigger still stirred my heart. I had work to do. I had them youngins and a fight to finish with Calvin.

  I wheeled around and started toward the sheriff’s office. “I ain’t got time to bicker with you two. Justice needs me. Them children need me. And Calvin’s gonna wish he hadn’t ruffled the feathers on this hen.”

  “No need to get snippy, Miss Worie. I’m just tryin . . .” The pastor stumbled over his words. “I mean, I . . .”

  “Don’t matter the why, Pastor. I ain’t a wishbone that needs to be split.” I stomped toward the sheriff’s office. “Let’s hope Justice is sober.” I left both men standin with their mouths hung open. My heels clicked against the wooden walk as I made my way to the sheriff’s office. My shoulder pressed against the heavy door. “Well, you comin?” I shouted.

  Pastor Jess snapped to his senses, and him and Trigger both hightailed it to the sheriff’s.

  “Let me get that door.” Trigger reached behind me and shoved it open.

  A lanky, bearded man sat leaned on two legs of his chair, his feet propped by the heels on the desk. His hat covered his eyes and his arms were crossed.

  I shoved his dirty boots off the desk, startlin him awake. The sheriff’s hat flew to the floor and he come to his feet.

  “So, this is what the sheriff does? Rears back and sleeps when bad men are stealin the home right from under their families. Is that your job? Maybe your job is puttin a poor drunk that ain’t hurtin a soul in jail.” I knew my bad side wasn’t polite. It rarely made its way to the surface, but I was fed up. There was Momma dyin, Calvin stealin my home, Justice drunk, them children, seein Trigger, the pastor bein so protective . . . and that blamed old jar that had took on the shape of a ghost haunting me. Something had to come out.

  The sheriff scooped his hat from the floor. “Ain’t you something?” he said. “Bein judge and jury and all.” He extended his hand. “Sheriff Bud Starnes. What can I do for you?”

  “It ain’t what can you do for me. It’s what you’ve already done.”

  He cocked his head and leaned across the desk. “Do I know you?” He squinted, tryin to place me.

  “Let me think on that, Sheriff. Does runnin a girl and a handful of children off their property mean something? Does rippin two of them little ones away from the only family they have stick in your craw?”

  Sheriff Starnes walked to the front of his desk and parked his rear on the top. “I might remember something about that.”

  The anger boiled in me like Trigger’s fire in the forge. “Reckon you might remember them screaming children cryin after their sister?”

  “Now listen, missy, a man has to do the job he’s been assigned. It ain’t always pleasant.”

  “I guess it ain’t laced with integrity either. Is it, Sheriff?” Pastor Jess stepped in front of me. “As you can see, Miss Worie is a bit distraught. She was tryin to make a home for them children that lost their mommas and daddies.”

  I pushed Pastor Jess to the side. “I can talk for myself.”

  “Worie, kindness is a better friend.”
/>   “Outta my way, Pastor.” I went toe to toe with the sheriff. “I want two things. My brother and them little ones. And I got no intentions of leavin until I have them both.” I snorted. Anger wasn’t my habit, but I’d had all I could swallow. “Let’s start with my brother.”

  The sheriff stared down at me, then commenced to pick at his teeth. “Your brother that drunk?” He wagged his finger toward the cell.

  “He’s a troubled soul, Sheriff.” Pastor Jess tried to cover a multitude of sins.

  I didn’t budge, but my eyes locked with the sheriff’s. “Let him out, Sheriff. I’m sure he’s dry by now.”

  The sheriff walked to a hook by his desk and took off a large ring with four keys attached. “Justice, get your sorry rear up!”

  I followed on the sheriff’s heels. “I’m sure you didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  Sheriff Starnes smirked. “Come on, Dressar. Your sister is here to take you home. And I better not have to haul your sorry self back in this jail again. Next time . . .”

  “That’ll do, Sheriff.” Pastor Jess stepped in. “I feel sure Justice understands.”

  The lock on the steel door clicked three times as the sheriff twisted the key. A loud squeal sent chills climbin up my arms. Justice laid balled up in the corner of the cell.

  I pushed my way around the sheriff. “Justice? Come on. Let’s get you outta here.”

  “You remember what I told you.” The sheriff snagged Justice by the arm. “You hear?”

  Justice stared at the hand clasped around his arm. “Let go.”

  Trigger and Pastor Jess draped Justice’s arms over their shoulders and eased him out the door.

  “Much obliged,” I snapped. “Now about the children.”

  “Them children ain’t your concern.”

  His tone deserved a smack across the face, but if I was to be honest, my attitude wasn’t any better.

  “Sheriff Starnes, them youngins need their sister. They need me. Where are they?”

  He walked to a wooden cabinet and pulled open a drawer. His fingers crawled through papers like a bug workin its way through a bag of meal.

  When the pages quit flippin, Sheriff Starnes pulled out an envelope and laid it on the desk. “Where is them youngins? You wanna know? Sealed shut,” he said. “Their whereabouts is sealed shut.”

  CHAPTER

  FIFTEEN

  I felt my stomach turn. The thought of little T. J. being stuck in some gosh-awful place with people he didn’t know broke my heart. I stood starin at the sheriff for a spell before I could spit any kind of words out.

  “You mean to tell me, you know where they are but you won’t tell me?” I went to grittin my teeth. How was it I’d only known these youngins a short time and they’d already dug a hole in my heart like a droopy-eyed pup?

  “They ain’t your children, Miss Dressar. They ain’t yours to worry over.”

  “They don’t belong to nobody else either, and since they was brought to me that oughta mean something. Their sister come to me, Sheriff! Me!”

  “Don’t reckon that means a thing. All you need to know is them youngins is fine. They’ll be cared for.” He smirked. “At least they’ll have a roof over their heads.”

  That was a low blow and one that hit me like somebody punched me in the gut. “Just for a little, I’d slap that smirk off your face.” He knew good and well I had a home until he helped Calvin steal it away. “Tell me somethin, Sheriff. Since when did it become the job of a lawman to steal the home from underneath a young woman? One that was housin orphans.”

  The sheriff squinted, then spit at my feet.

  “Ain’t you the gentleman?” I said.

  “Miss Dressar, I suggest you take that drunk of a brother and get on outta my office before I . . .”

  I stepped up to him. “Before you what, Sheriff? Take my home away from me? Seein as you done did that.”

  The sheriff swallowed hard.

  Daddy and Momma used to always tell me, when Calvin would try to push me around, to stand my ground. “Don’t take no step backward. That just shows a bully you ain’t willin to fight. Boys like Calvin spend their time hopin folks will back away.” Daddy would straighten my shoulders and dust my skirt straight. “You see, Worie, the trick to handlin Calvin is spreadin your feathers like a peacock.”

  “Like a peacock?” I edged closer to Daddy.

  He bent his arms under his pits and commenced to strut around like a peacock, waggin his tail and liftin his head toward the sky. “When you stand up straight, jut out your chest, and flit your feathers, you’re tellin him you ain’t scared. You might not get your way, but I can promise you, he’ll back down cause he don’t know if you’ll really come back at him.” Daddy would laugh, twist me around, and pat my back. “Now go on. Take a step toward him. Flit them feathers. You’ll see.”

  I took another step forward, pushin myself against the sheriff and forcin him to take a step back. I stared long and hard until I could see the man flinch. He took a second step back, then reached for the door.

  I shoved his hand off the knob and opened the door myself. “I’ll find them youngins, Sheriff, and in the meantime, I hope you find your manhood somewhere other than in bullyin women and children.”

  With that, I slammed the door. My hands was shakin and my heart was racin like a treein hound after a squirrel, but when I walked out of that door, I had the upper hand. Daddy was right.

  Pastor Jess and Trigger stood speechless.

  “Shut your mouth before you swallow a fly.” I breezed past.

  I had no idea what I was gonna do. Not a thought as to how I could find Farrell and T. J., but they was one thing I knew for sure. Momma was carin for them youngins for a reason, and that was passed down to me. I patted my fluffed-out shirt. It was time for this peacock to flit her feathers.

  Justice had already found his way onto Sally. He scooted forward on the saddle, then stuck his hand toward me. I pulled the back tail of my skirt up between my legs and stuffed it in the waist, then took hold of his wrist. He yanked me onto the back of the saddle. Pastor Jess and Trigger still stood stunned.

  I slid my arms around Justice’s waist. He was two years older than me. He was mannered like Daddy and the one who carried his heart on his sleeve. Maybe that’s why he’d drink like he did. Right now, it didn’t matter. He was all I had left in the world, and if I could keep him dried out, we’d figure a way to get back the farm.

  Pastor Jess and Trigger watched as Justice pulled the reins to one side. “Hup, girl. Come on.” He clicked his lips, and Sally flipped her head from side to side. Her way of letting us know she would abide by the command but not be right happy about it.

  I could tell Pastor Jess was took back at my attitude change. I’ve always been a bit mouthy but never pushy. Today I took to heart what Daddy taught me. They’d be no more bullyin this peacock around.

  Pastor Jess hopped on his horse and tipped his hat to Trigger. He pulled his horse around and trotted to catch up. Poor Trigger still stood speechless, his mouth hung open, still unsure what just took place.

  There was something freein about takin hold of that thought. Comin to the realization that I was a grown woman, and the only one who could help me . . . was me. Least that’s how I saw it. Momma was always a strong woman. I can’t recall a time I ever heard her and Daddy disagree, but I can remember her respectin him, then commencing to do what she felt was best on certain matters.

  Only the good Lord knew what was reelin around in Momma’s head when she took her life, but they had to be more to it. Momma was not a weak woman. She was the strongest woman I’d ever known. Somethin was afoot. Somethin serious, and I aimed to find out what it was.

  The weight of two on Sally’s back pushed her feet deep into the mud. Every step sucked and popped as she struggled to carry us. There was nothing friendly about the red clay found this side of the mountain. It was hard as a rock when it was dry and stickier than molasses when it was wet.

&n
bsp; “Come on, girl, just a little farther and I’ll let you rest.” Justice spoke real gentle to Sally. He reached one hand toward her ears and scratched. “You love that, don’tcha?”

  I had to giggle. Justice was a big man. Momma always said he reminded her of her daddy. Broad through the shoulders, arms stout and firm. And handsome. Justice had girls inchin up to him all the time, but since Daddy died, the only love he had was his hooch, and that was about to end.

  We was quiet for a spell, and when Sally made her way onto the path that wound through the woods, me and Justice climbed off to give her a rest. The sun was bright and warm, raisin steam from the ground as it dried the floor of the forest. Justice dropped the reins and let Sally roam into the weeds to nibble on new ferns. While she nibbled he took a stick, bendin her leg up enough to scrape some of the mud from her hooves.

  “I’m much obliged, Worie.” Justice brushed his face on his sleeve. “You’re a good one.” He wiped his hands on his trousers and tossed the stick into the woods.

  “You’re my brother. I love you . . .” I hesitated.

  “But?” Justice leaned onto a large downed tree. “A body don’t lack in their words unless there’s a big ‘but’ comin.”

  “Am I that easy to read?”

  “Yep. And that much like Momma. So what’s the but?”

  I sighed and thought a minute. My words had to be right. I wanted to shame him. Tell him if he’d been home instead of drunk, Calvin might not have been able to pull sucha stunt. I could blame him for Momma takin her life and for them youngins bein taken away, but the truth was, none of that was his fault. Despite everthing, I had to care for him first. He didn’t need no more burden to carry.

  “I ain’t sure where to start. Except to say I need you. And I can’t be sharin that need with your jug.”