by Jan Watson
Lilly pulled the head off. Sticking her nose deep in the blossom, she sneezed. “Boo-full.”
“Come on up,” Fairy Mae called from her chair on the porch, “and let me hug your neck.”
Soon Copper was seated beside Fairy Mae. A bowl of soup beans with chopped onion and crumbled corn bread and a mug of sweet sassafras tea rested on the wide arm of her chair. The children, little and big, were in the kitchen, where Darcy and her sister Dawn supervised the noon meal. Dimmert took his bowl and hunkered down under a shade tree to eat with his brother Ezra. Star grazed nearby, pulling up little patches of grass with his long, yellow teeth.
“Fairy Mae,” Copper said, “you have a beautiful home. I could sit here all day.”
“That’s mostly all I do now: sit.”
“Do you hurt?”
“Not so much, just stiff as a dead cat. Rheumatiz, I reckon. I mix a little sulphur with cream of tartar when I ache. Sure tastes bad, though.”
“Try adding a little licorice. You won’t have that aftertaste.”
“Hadn’t thought of that. I’ll sure enough try it.” Fairy Mae looked her over. “You’ve fattened up some.”
“Thanks to you.” Copper patted Fairy Mae’s soft arm. “I feel like you saved me.”
“Honey, it’s the same with women everywhere, especially mothers. We’re always running our wagons off in the ditch.”
Peals of childish laughter rang from the kitchen.
“This is a happy house. It’s how I hope to raise Lilly.”
“Love them and feed them in equal measure. That’s the secret.”
“May I ask about Dimmert? I worry that he talks so little.” Copper said around a spoonful of beans.
“Dimmert keeps his own counsel, sure enough. He’s good as gold, that boy is. Takes after his ma, I reckon. That woman hardly spoke all the time I knew her. Then she up and died taking all them unsaid words to the grave. I always figured it was because she married a preacher. Poor thing couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”
“What happened to her?”
“Early this year she come down with a fever on Tuesday and died on Thursday. God rest her soul. My preacher son delivered this pack of young’uns that next Monday. I ain’t seen him since.”
One of the young girls took the empty bowls and spoons, and then another girl brought out slices of rhubarb pie.
“Mammaw, you know I don’t like rhubarb,” Darcy said from the open door.
“There’s a piece of peach waiting for you in the warming oven, sugar.”
“How do you manage all this by yourself?” Copper asked.
“Their pa sends money, and Dimmert brings the wages you give him and Darcy. I didn’t expect money. Feeding them is pay enough.”
“Believe me, they earn it. I don’t know what I’d do without their help.”
They passed a pleasant afternoon talking and laughing, but soon it was time to head home. Darcy cut slips from all the flowers, then wrapped them in wet newsprint.
“Plant them as soon as you get home, and feed them dry chicken manure,” Fairy Mae shouted as the wagon jolted away.
“Come back soon,” the children yelled from the porch. Ezra ran alongside the wagon until they picked up speed.
Copper felt tears brewing. It was she who cried instead of Lilly Gray.
It was Fairy Mae’s leftover soup beans and corn bread for supper that night, along with the squirrel meat John provided. While Copper fried the meat to crispy brown perfection, John milked Mazy. Copper’s nose was out of joint. She preferred doing her own milking. It was one of the best parts of her day. She wiped her brow with the hem of her apron and wondered, not for the first time, how it was that women got stuck inside cooking and cleaning—those never-ending tasks—while men had the freedom to come and go as they pleased.
John brought in a jar of cream he’d skimmed from the milk bucket. Copper knew he wanted cream gravy made with the pan drippings. She browned a little flour and salt in the skillet, then reached for the cream.
“Hold still.” John caught her apron strings and pulled her toward him.
“John! What are you doing?” She tried to pull away, but he was strong. “This will burn!”
“Won’t take a second.” He wiped her forehead with his thumb. “You’ve got flour all over.”
It was true. Copper was not a neat cook. Darcy was just like Copper’s stepmother had been. You could hardly tell she’d cooked a meal; the kitchen would be so orderly when she finished. But Copper was a different story. Bowls and pans, cups and spoons littered every surface, and her apron was a necessity, not a fashion. She needed a fresh one every day.
“I can wash my own face,” she fussed at John.
“This is more fun, you have to admit.”
“Call the others,” she said, slowly pouring more cream into the skillet. “Supper’s ready for the table.”
Later, after everyone else was in bed for the night, after John had made his way across the creek, Copper sat on the porch and pondered her circumstances. She dared to think she might be happy again. Lilly, her home, her work, the friends she was making, all stitched together as cozy as a patchwork quilt. And John . . . How did he fit in? She couldn’t deny that the warmth of his touch lingered on her forehead.
Unbuttoning the top three buttons of her blouse, she slipped the straight pin from her camisole and withdrew the ring that rested over her heart. “I’m sorry, Simon,” she whispered. It was time to put the ring away in her keepsake box, buried under quilts in the blanket chest, time to get on with the business of life.
“Are we ever going to church?” Darcy asked one hot Sunday morning.
Busy brushing the tangles from Lilly’s hair, Copper didn’t pause. “You don’t need my permission to go to service.”
“No, ma’am, I know, but it don’t seem right to go off and leave you and Lilly here by your lonesome. Besides, ain’t it a law?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t the Bible say to remember the Lord’s Day? That’s what Mammaw told me anyway.”
Copper bent over her daughter’s head. Darcy brought her to shame. The last time she had been to the little white church in the valley of the mountains was the day she married Simon. It would be too painful to go there again. Memories of that bright June day streamed like silky ribbons in her mind: her dress, pretty as a layer cake, and the bouquet of summer roses and serviceberries. Just beyond stood her daddy with tears in his eyes. The door to the church opened wide, revealing her beloved standing at the end of the aisle ready to receive her.
The memory ribbons twirled and fluttered away like feathers in a breeze as recollections of darker days crept in to take their place: Simon’s handsome face losing color, his lips as cold as death when she kissed him one last time, the weeping willow she’d had planted to keep watch over his grave, the tombstone that said nothing of their love.
Stop it, she chided herself. I’m not the only person on earth to suffer a loss.
“Ouch, Mama!” Lilly’s complaint jerked Copper back to reality. She clutched the comb so hard it left tiny pricks across her palm.
“Sorry, baby.” She swooped Lilly’s black hair with its unusual streak of silver back with a green ribbon. “Would you like to go to church, Miss Priss?”
Lilly clapped. “Go bye-bye. Mama too? Darcy too? Dimm too?”
“Yes, Mama and Darcy and Dimmert if he wants. If we hurry we can still make Sunday school.”
Copper couldn’t say she was warmly greeted by the people she remembered so fondly as she walked across the churchyard with Lilly on her hip. Maybe it was her lavender watered-silk dress with a formfitting bodice set off by coffee-colored embroidered lace or the lavender hat with rosettes that matched her dress. It was the simplest Sunday dress she owned but still much too fancy. Watered-silk might be de rigueur in the big city of Lexington, but unadorned black dresses or simple cotton shifts were the style on Troublesome. She’d have to drag out Mam’s old Singer before nex
t Sunday.
The ladies couldn’t resist Lilly Gray though, and once the ice thawed a little and the folks remembered who Copper had been instead of who they figured she was now, they began to sidle up, touching Lilly’s foot or stroking her hand.
“Who’s she favor?” one woman asked. “She don’t look like a Brown.”
“Don’t you remember her pa?” Jean Foster interjected. “She looks just like Doc Corbett.” Squeezing Copper’s shoulders, she continued, “So sorry, honey, to hear of your loss. We’re all so glad you’re back. It ain’t right for Will Brown’s farm to fall fallow.”
“Thank you,” Copper said. Jean Foster, she recollected, was a straight-shooting woman, the truth her calling card. “I’m glad to be home.”
“What marked that baby?” old Hezzy Krill mumbled around her snuff stick, one bony finger tracing the silver streak that shot through Lilly’s black hair.
“Hezzy,” Jean said sharply, “let Copper catch her breath before you start your devilment.”
Thankfully, the church bell rang just then, calling the flock to worship. As was their custom on days of fair weather, people fell into place along the stone path that led to the open church door, two elders first, followed by several deacons, which took care of most of the men, with women and children last. In a custom Copper loved, Elder Foster’s commanding voice led them in singing “Onward, Christian Soldiers” as they marched in to find their seats.
Copper hung back with Lilly and Darcy, not sure where she should sit. It wouldn’t be good form to take someone else’s pew. Tears filled her eyes when she saw the empty seats left for them—the very spot where her family had sat every Sunday for years. Indeed, watered-silk or not, she was home.
It seemed Copper hadn’t been home from church twenty minutes, just enough time to take off her fancy dress and hang it in the chiffonier, before trouble came to call.
“Hello!” someone shouted from the barnyard. Then, “Hello!” again before she had a chance to slip on a day dress.
“I’ll go, Miz Copper,” Darcy called from the kitchen.
Peeking through the bedroom window as she tidied her hair, Copper saw a stranger astride a saddleless horse. Darcy tarried at the edge of the yard, listening to the man without going too close, holding tight to Lilly’s hand. Dimmert stood back in the shadowy barn. Was that a rock clutched in his hand?
“Oh, forevermore,” Copper said, turning back to her reflection in the wavy mirror of the wardrobe. “I’d better get out there before Dimm accidentally kills somebody.” She tucked one more comb into the mass of her red hair, grabbed her shoes, and headed for the door.
The stranger was tall, and he didn’t dismount. He seemed in a hurry to get somewhere else.
“Mister,” Copper said, “light a spell and tell me what the matter is.”
“Folks say you’re a doctor. My brother’s hurt real bad. Will you come?”
Why, the stranger wasn’t a man at all but a big-boned, husky-voiced young woman clad in a pair of overalls and a man’s long-sleeved shirt. A felt hat sat askew on her head.
“Of course,” Copper replied without a second’s thought. “I’m not a doctor, but I’ll do what I can. Let me get my bag.
“You keep Lilly in the house until I get back, Darcy,” Copper instructed as she readied her medical kit and grabbed her doctor’s bag. “And don’t light the stove. There’s plenty to eat.”
“Yes, ma’am. You know I’ll mind the baby proper.”
A kiss for Lilly Gray and one for Darcy before Copper fairly flew out the door. By the stranger’s demeanor she could tell time was of the essence. “You ride and I’ll lead,” the young woman said as Copper approached.
But Dimmert was having none of it. He stood beside Star, his eye catching Copper’s. “I’ll take you,” he said.
The ride was rough, and she held fast to Dimmert’s shoulder as sure-footed Star maneuvered around rocks and trees, climbing ever higher behind the stranger. Envious, Copper noted the ease with which the young woman rode, while she struggled just to stay put, sitting sideways on Star. Dresses and petticoats sure got in the way sometimes.
Within the hour they came upon a clearing and a cabin that had seen better days. At least a dozen stair-step children and half as many dogs stood watching as they approached. Two boys ran over to take their mounts, but Dimmert didn’t give Star up. After helping Copper down, he withdrew to a copse of trees, sitting on his haunches. Copper knew he would be watching. A little thrill of fear snaked up her backbone, but it wasn’t because of these people. It was because she didn’t know what waited on the other side of the cabin door.
The children closed in, silently ushering Copper to a set of rickety wooden steps leading to the porch. One small hand closed over her own as she clutched her doctor’s bag, and others clung to her skirts. Just as she reached for the knob, the door swung open and an older version of the big-boned girl who’d come to fetch her stood trembling in its frame. Her skirts hung awry from angular hips, and her thin, graying hair was skinned back in a tight bun.
The woman’s eyes met Copper’s for a fleeting moment. Without a word she stepped back, her motion drawing Copper in. The woman turned to the bed that was pulled up in front of a roaring fire. Copper thought she might pass out—whether from fear or the heat in the room she didn’t know.
Beside the bed a man stood and uttered the first words spoken: “Thank you for coming, Doc. Would you see if there’s the least thing you can do for our boy Kenny?”
Opening her mouth to protest her lack of a medical degree, Copper sighed instead. As soon as she saw the boy, she knew it didn’t matter. A dozen doctors couldn’t save this one young life. The boy lay prostrate, white as bleached muslin, in the middle of the iron bedstead. Blood soaked his bedding and pooled on the floor beneath. A deep, dark wound slashed across his belly. His blue eyes were open and stared beseechingly at Copper as she bent over the bed and took his hand. He tried to sit, but Copper saw that he couldn’t move his legs.
“Kenny, I’m Copper. I’m here to help.”
His grip was surprisingly strong, as if he put whatever he had left into it. “Mommy told me not to go up there,” he said between panting breaths. “I should have listened to her.”
With a strangled sob the big-boned woman fled from the room. The man’s shoulders slumped, but he stayed put. His lumpy, knuckled hand brushed hair as fine as corn silk from Kenny’s forehead. Over and over he brushed as if that was all he knew to do.
“Can I have a drink of water, Daddy?” Kenny gasped.
The man looked at Copper for an answer.
“Sure,” she said, knowing it mattered not if he ate or drank. She thought he wouldn’t live to see the night.
“I’m going to draw ye some cold well water,” his father said. “I could put another log on the fire if ye want, Doc.”
“No, I believe we’ll let it die down if that’s okay.”
Kenny’s father shook his head. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do for my boy except keep him warm.”
After he left to get the water, the young woman who’d brought Copper took his place at the bedside. “I’m Cara Wilson. This here wart’s my brother Kenny.”
“Ain’t a wart,” Kenny denied as the ghost of a smile played on his face.
“Frog kisser.” A fat teardrop slid down Cara’s cheek.
“Cara, I need to talk to your mother and father. Would you stay here for a moment?”
“Guess I can give the little wart some time, though he’s just trying to get out of chores.”
“Am not,” Kenny managed.
“Are too,” Copper heard as she stepped out into fresh air. Mr. Wilson stood on the first step holding a bucket of water. Mrs. Wilson looked at Copper with such longing, such hope that Copper’s heart squeezed tight with regret. All Kenny’s brothers and sisters sat cross-legged on the porch, just waiting.
“I’m sorry,” was all she had to offer . . . such puny words. “I’m so very sorry.”
Mrs. Wilson gasped and fell to her knees, her hands clasped in prayer. “Oh, Lord, Kenny’s only ten years old. Take me, Jesus, and leave my boy.”
The dropped water bucket sloshed down the steps and rolled across the yard. Mr. Wilson grabbed his wife under the arms and hauled her up. “Hush, Miranda,” he crooned as he rocked her. “Hush now.”
One of the big boys dashed after the bucket and took off for the well. “I’ll get Kenny’s water.”
“You won’t leave us, will ye, Doc?” Mr. Wilson said over his wife’s head. “You’ll stay until it’s over?”
“Of course. Let me speak to Dimmert there—” Copper looked to the tree line where he waited—“then I’ll go back in.”
On a pad of paper from her doctor’s kit, Copper scribbled a note to John. Come to the Wilsons’ on Little Fork near the old Smith place and bring the preacher.
Dimmert didn’t want to leave her; that was obvious.
“You have to go stay with the girls,” she ordered. “I don’t know how long this will take, Dimm. We can’t leave them alone come dark. And you’ll need to milk Mazy.” He gave in, taking the square of paper she handed him. “Be sure this gets to Mr. Pelfrey, and thank you.”
Mrs. Wilson stood slumped against her husband when Copper returned. A low moaning sound came from the room beyond the door. The children had moved off to the yard; one little girl covered her ears, one sobbed, and one boy lobbed green walnuts at a tree. The family’s plight—Kenny’s plight—made Copper appreciate all that Simon had taught her. Maybe she couldn’t save the boy, but she could give him comfort and through that she could comfort the family.
“Stay here, Miranda.” Mr. Wilson half carried his wife to a hickory chair. “I’m going to take Kenny a drink.”
The boy struggled to raise his head as his father offered him a dipper gourd of well water. Plop, plop, plop, Copper heard.
“More,” Kenny said. “So thirsty.”
Copper looked under the bed. It may have been the saddest sight she’d ever seen, the water Kenny drank dripping out to mix with his blood in an ever-widening circle of loss.
