by Jan Watson
“It’s time to go,” she said, bundling the baby and helping Dance to her feet. “Dimmert, bring the horse around.”
Fifteen minutes later and they’d have been gone. Dance was on the horse with the baby in her arms when her husband made his appearance, shouting curses and threats their way. Taking offense, Dimmert wound up like a baseball player and clocked Ace Shelton on the forehead with a carefully aimed missile. Ace went down like a felled tree.
“Goodness, Dimmert, you might have killed him!” Copper cried.
Truthfully, Copper wavered there on the path between safety and a man who could be dying. “Go on, Dimmert. I’ll catch up.” He hesitated. “Go!” she demanded, scared witless.
She found a steady pulse under Ace’s scraggly beard. There was a trickle of blood from where the rock had found its target but not enough to worry about. He would be fine.
She’d just straightened up from her examination of his wound when his fingers circled her ankle.
“Mister,” she said, “you’d best let go.”
“You’ve got no right to take my wife,” he sniveled.
“Doesn’t look like Dimmert agrees,” Copper said. “I’d stay away from those Whitts if I were you.”
He sat up. “I ain’t afraid of them.”
“Then be afraid of this. I’d bet you’ve got a moonshine still hidden somewhere up this holler. Dance told me about your treks in and out by way of the creek bed. I can’t think of any other reason you’d want so badly to hide your trail. Am I right?”
He didn’t answer, but his eyes told his story.
“You leave Dance alone and I won’t tell a soul. You have my word.”
“What about that brother of hers? You can’t make a promise for him.”
“Dimmert just wants to take care of his sister. He won’t tell on you.”
It was nearing suppertime when Copper and Dimmert got home. They’d left Dance and her baby at Fairy Mae’s, safe at last. It did Copper’s heart good to see their joyful reunion, but she’d never felt so weary. All she wanted was a hot bath and a soft bed.
Dimmert had just helped her down and turned to give Star a well-deserved drink from the watering trough when out of nowhere John appeared. In a flash he had Dimmert up against the barn door, his forearm under Dimm’s neck. Dimmert’s eyes bulged as his dangling feet thrashed the air. “I ought to whip you good.”
“John!” Copper grabbed his arm to no avail. He was too strong for her. “John,” she repeated, afraid he would choke the boy to death, “let him go.”
He backed off, and Dimmert slid silently to the ground. He made no move to stand.
“What are you doing?” Copper cried, aghast.
John stood over the trembling younger man. “Don’t you ever take Copper off like that again without telling me your whereabouts!”
Dimmert scrambled to Star’s side, where he hoisted himself up. Horse and rider disappeared around the side of the barn.
“Sweet girl,” John said, all softness now, “when I came by and Darcy told me you and Dimmert left in the middle of the night, I was scared to death.” He reached out for her. “Let me get you in the house.”
She smacked his hand aside. “Don’t you touch me, John Pelfrey. You’ve got no claim on me.”
He threw up his arms and turned his back. She watched him take off his hat and run his fingers through his hair, calming himself before he faced her. “Where have you been all this time? And what gives you cause to be mad at me? I’ve been out of my mind with worry.”
“I’ve been delivering Dance Shelton’s baby boy.” Copper moved away from him. “Are you proud of yourself? Treating Dimmert that way?”
“I’ll make it up to him.” John slapped his hat back on. “But somebody should have told me where you were going.”
“You should have told somebody something too.” She tapped her chest, right over her heart. “You should have told this somebody you were married.”
If she’d have hit him in the gut with a hammer, it wouldn’t have made more of an impression. Her words hit their mark, and she had to steel herself against giving in to pity.
“Will you let me explain?” John asked.
“I’ll have no truck with a liar,” she said.
“Copper, just listen . . . please?”
“I don’t want to hear anything you’ve got to say.” Seeing him all sorry-like made her so angry she felt as if she might burst into flame. “Nothing you say will make this right.” Righteously indignant, she gathered her pride and walked away, leaving him standing alone in the deepening dusk.
Inside her house Copper leaned against the closed door. Briefly Jean Foster’s words came to her mind, but she didn’t have the energy to care. Another chapter closed, she thought; all hope of a life with John was over.
Then Darcy came out of the bedroom with Lilly in her arms, and she knew it didn’t matter. They’d be fine. She’d send Darcy to find Dimmert at first light, and her family would be complete. They really didn’t need anyone else.
Feeling like a whipped dog, John walked back across the creek to his place. Man, he’d been such a fool. He should have come clean about his past the minute he laid eyes on Copper again. But the innocent way she looked at him, the washed-clean way she made him feel, always stopped him in his tracks. More than anything, he wanted to be that man he saw in her eyes, not the one he had become.
His hand rasped over his stubbly beard, and he took his hat off. He was wrong, but she could have listened at least. Didn’t she owe him anything?
In the barn he stopped to study the situation. Maybe he’d go visit his folks, bide his time, and let Copper cool down. She’d come around eventually, given some time. He began to saddle his horse. He’d stop by Elder Foster’s on his way over the mountain. He’d take his hound Faithful along. She was the only girl he wanted to see for a while.
September came in with torrents of rain. Mold formed in the strangest places, and mushrooms sprouted by the dozens under trees. They hadn’t been able to do a decent wash for two weeks, making do with a scrub board and lye soap. Clothes hung drying over makeshift lines in the kitchen.
“Mercy,” Copper said after nearly hanging herself on a line of baby clothes, “I hope the sun pops out soon.” She folded several little undershirts and set them aside for ironing. Sad to say, no matter what the weather, a person could always iron. “I’ve got to go check on the chickens, Darcy. Will you get Lilly down for her nap?”
Throwing an old slicker over her head, Copper made a dash across the barnyard. The hens had gone stir-crazy, cooped up as they were, and had started eating their own eggs. Carefully, Copper placed a doctored egg in the middle of the floor, pointed end up to keep from spilling the contents. Last night she had poked a hole in the shell with a darning needle, let out the contents, beat the yolk with a dash of strong mustard and a sprinkle of black pepper, and refilled the shell. The fabric patch she fashioned probably wouldn’t last long once the guilty hen started in with her strong beak. Thankfully, chickens weren’t very smart. Once they tasted mustard, they’d think all the eggs were the same. Copper had seen her daddy use this never-fail remedy on chickens and egg-sucking dogs alike.
“Oh, dear, what’s wrong, Penny?” It looked like her favorite of all the laying hens, big-bottomed Penny, had the gapes. Backing Penny into a corner, Copper caught her and tucked the hapless hen under her arm. With luck, only one chicken was infected. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late to save her. Gapes could kill every chicken in the house if Penny had spread it.
In the barn, way back under a bench, Copper found a divided wooden box and a twist of cured tobacco. She stripped off some burley and put it in the box along with the hen and carried them to the house. Darcy held the chicken while Copper stacked a few hot coals in a small iron skillet. The skillet she put in one side of the box, the hen she put in the other, and the tobacco she tore into fine pieces, sprinkling it over the coals in the skillet. The old slicker she wore was fine to cover the b
ox with.
“Now,” she explained to Darcy, “we’ll smoke this hen until she’s drunk.”
Darcy’s eyes widened. “Are we going to eat Penny?”
Copper had been squatting by the box, fooling with the chicken, but now she fell back on the floor, holding her belly, laughing until tears streamed down her face. “Darcy,” she sputtered, “haven’t you ever seen a chicken with the gapes before?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t reckon I have, but it looks mighty like you got the gapes your own self.”
Copper squealed with laughter. Foolishly, she lifted the edge of the slicker and took a long draw of tobacco smoke. “I’m cured.” Light-headed, she lay there enjoying the moment.
Darcy shook her head. “I think you’ve gone round the bend.”
“It’s this weather. I need some sunshine.”
“It’ll be Indian summer soon.” Darcy peeked in on Penny. “That makes the prettiest days of the season.”
Copper thought about that later when she took Penny to the barn and closed her up in a pasteboard box. “Sorry, Penny, but you’re quarantined for a while. I can’t afford to lose the rest of the chickens.” Taking an ear of corn, Copper popped all the kernels in one line down the cob with her thumb. The rest came off easily when she rubbed the cob with the heel of her hand. “Here’s some supper.” She sprinkled a few kernels in the cage. “Don’t tell the other girls I’m treating you special or they’ll be so jealous they’ll go on strike.”
Penny didn’t look so good. It wasn’t often you could see a chicken’s tongue, and hers lolled out the side of her mouth. Copper stroked her feathers. “It might be a kindness if I put you down.” Funny, sometimes if she had a chicken who wasn’t producing, all she had to do was walk around the henhouse saying, “Looks like I’ll have chicken and dumplings for supper,” and it would shock the hen right into business. Sadly, Copper thought Penny might be beyond that. “Rest now. I’ll check on you later.”
Rain drummed on the roof as she scrubbed the watering trays. The hens fussed about, scratching the floor and clucking. It was hard getting anything done with them gathered around. Usually she swept and cleaned while they were out in their fenced yard. Oh, she wished the dreary weather would let up. She wondered what John was up to. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop her thoughts of him. He’d been gone for more than a month, but Dimmert had told her that he was back home. She hadn’t seen him since that awful night they’d argued.
She mixed a couple of teaspoons of camphor spirits to each quart of the fresh water she used to fill the clean trays. Daddy used to massage a pea-size bit of camphor gum down the chickens’ throats if the gapes got real bad. Copper hoped spiking the drinking water worked. That was a whole lot easier.
“I should have given John a chance to explain,” she told the hens who murmured in sympathy. “I always rush to judgment.” One chicken took advantage of their hen party and pecked hard at a button on Copper’s shoe. “Here,” she said, scattering the rest of the corn from her pocket. “Lay some eggs.”
John stared hard out the window at the rain. He’d been home a week and still had not dared to go across the creek. The only thing that drew him back to this hardscrabble farm was the thought of Copper. It was what had kept him here all along, even before she came back from Lexington. All the time she’d lived away, the memory of her had been enough. If he could only walk where they’d walked as children, when life was full of promise, then he had been content. He’d never faulted the stranger who’d come and stolen her away, and he never faulted her for breaking his heart. Why didn’t she love him the same way? He didn’t know which way to turn. He reckoned he had to make her hear him out. It was the only chance he had.
But, Lord, why did my doing a good deed turn out to be so bad? I purely thought I was in Your will. Please help me understand.
John was not a man for self-examination. If he figured out the sad turn his life had taken, it would have to be through God’s guidance. He took up his Bible. Closing his eyes, he let it fall open and traced a finger blindly down a page. He’d watched his ma search the Scripture the very same way when times were hard. Wherever your finger stopped was God’s answer.
Isaiah 54:10 was what his index finger pointed out. John sat at the kitchen table and read, “For the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed; but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee.”
Frowning, he studied on the verse. He wished he could ask his ma what it meant. She was a good one to figure the Bible sayings. The mercy part he understood, for it was mercy he needed. Mercy and forgiveness.
He sank to his knees and bowed his head. Oops, sorry, Lord. Chagrined, he removed his hat. He was turning into an old hermit, wearing his hat in the house. Ma would have cuffed his ears.
I reckon I need You to give me some of that mercy and a little of that peace that passes understanding, for to be real honest with You, Lord, my heart is plumb broke in two. I’m just about to grieve myself to death, and it’s all because of my own foolish pride. I ask Your forgiveness for not being up-front with Copper. Even though I was never married in my heart, still a piece of paper said I was. I guess this lie of mine is a hill that needs to be removed before she will give me another chance, and my pride is a mountain that has to depart. John closed the Good Book and laid it on the mantel.
He wished he’d never met that odd woman, that Remy Riddle—God rest her soul—much less married her. But she’d seemed so desperate when she’d showed up at his door all that time ago. And she missed Copper almost as much as he did. Missing Copper was the only thing they ever had in common.
He’d just knifed open a tin of beans, crumbled some stale corn bread into a glass of buttermilk, and sat down to his supper when a familiar sound caught his attention—snorts and grunts so loud they drowned out the pouring rain. “Old Hitch. Finally.” Pushing back his chair, John grabbed his loaded gun and settled his hat on his head. It sounded like the wild boar that had nearly ruined his corn crop and eaten half a dozen of Fairy Mae Whitt’s laying hens was back.
All summer long he had tracked the beast over many days and many miles, sometimes taking Ezra Whitt along, teaching the boy what he knew of tracking. The hog’s hoofprints reminded him of the fluting his ma used to make with a fork around the edges of her pies. Funny that a thing so ugly could leave such a pretty sign. Sometimes, they noted, the hog left only three marks as if he favored his left hind foot. “He’s got a hitch in his giddyup,” Ezra’d said.
John knew the feral hog’s favorite wallowing hole, and he’d seen places where the animal rooted, often leaving holes three or four feet deep in the choppy ground. Ezra had nearly snapped his ankle when he stumbled into one unawares. They actually set eyes on the ugly thing once. The hog stared at them from the edge of a forest as calm as you please, his ugly snout spread in a catch-me-if-you-can grin. But before John could raise his gun, the animal had melded with the trees. His snorting laugh teased them along as they thrashed through the woods in hot pursuit, but they never saw Old Hitch again.
“That’s all right, you old devil,” John said to the empty room. “I’ve got you now.”
He cracked the door open and eased out onto the porch. The squealing of the hog and the baying of Faithful mixed in a cacophony of sound. Man, that hog was loud. Then Old Hitch grew silent, and John smiled. “Caught him!”
His smile never had a chance to stretch from ear to ear, however, and his time of self-congratulation ended abruptly when Faithful was flung halfway across the yard. Landing on her side, she slid to a stop at his feet. Not easily deterred, Faithful shook herself and streaked back toward the pig trap.
“Faithful!” he yelled. “Heel!”
The dog did as he bade though he knew she didn’t want to. She would have fought to the end, but he wasn’t about to let that nasty pig kill his favorite coon dog. He cocked his gun. The rain pelted him, narrowing his vision. Cautious
ly, he approached the snare he’d set with field corn and rotted meat.
“I don’t believe it!” The wire pen was trampled to the ground, and Old Hitch was gone. All he’d managed to do with his trap was provide the rangy boar an easy meal. Angry, John whipped off his hat and threw it to the ground. Faithful cowered, whimpering behind him. “Sorry, girl. It ain’t your fault. That pig’s just smarter than me, I reckon. For instance—” he palmed rivulets of rain from his face—“Old Hitch would have had more sense than to throw his hat on the ground during a driving rain.”
Faithful’s long tail beat a drumroll against his leg. She was itching for a fight.
“We’ll track the thing come morning.” John held the cabin door open, and Faithful trotted in. With a soft woof she settled on the hearth. The fire popped and cracked a cozy sound that kept out the damp and the coming dark. Holding his can of beans, John settled down beside her. He’d finish his supper, then clean his rifle. They’d get Old Hitch tomorrow for sure.
Copper didn’t know quite what to do with her unexpected freedom. Darcy and Dimmert had gone to visit their mammaw, and Copper let Lilly Gray go along. It was against her better judgment, but Darcy pleaded, and while Copper put up arguments against it, Lilly ran to the bedroom and came out with her little bonnet on backward, the ties streaming down her back. “Bye-bye,” she said and stomped her foot.
Copper stood on the porch in the early morning sunshine and reveled in the quiet. She couldn’t remember when she’d last been alone. Probably before Simon came to claim her, that autumn when she’d roamed the mountains unsure of her future and doubting her past.
It was a pretty day. All up the mountain, trees revealed their colors, and there was that fall smell in the air. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the heady scent of dying leaves, fallen apples, and damp clay, all mixed with a whisper of coal smoke. She wished she could bottle that smell and bring it out come winter on one of those days when she began to doubt it would ever be warm again.
