by Jan Watson
She dared to uncover her ears, testing the air for danger like the buck did. The baby was quiet, finally sleeping. Dance crossed her arms on her knees and rested her head there. What must it be like to be a deer, so beautiful and so free? Dance wished she was pretty like that woman who’d come like an angel in the night to deliver the baby. She had red hair and green eyes, Dance recollected, and her hands were kind.
“If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride,” Mammaw always said.
Dance felt like a lump of leftover clay. She’d never felt desirable, never thought she’d catch a husband until Ace came courting, and for a while she was as pretty as any other girl.
Dance’s nerves jangled like a bird on a wire. She wondered how she was going to stand another day. She wondered if Ace was ever going to come for her.
Jay woke. His mewling cry was pitiful enough to break a heart, but it did not move his mother. She did not wonder why she didn’t love her baby.
Winter was coming; Copper could feel the change of season, the mornings no longer warm, night falling earlier and earlier. She had begun lighting the fireplace each evening to ward off the chill. Last night, after Dimmert brought a scuttle of coal to the door, she’d lugged it inside and laid a fire. How much easier her life had been in the city, where a furnace in the basement worked like a slave tending to her needs. Coal was delivered through a chute directly to the basement under their house. Her housekeeper’s husband kept the furnace stoked.
Searcy and Reuben had been her servants, though she never thought of them that way. When she left Lexington, all she would have had to do was ask and Searcy and Reuben would have come to the mountains with her. But she could never have been that selfish, uprooting the elderly couple from the only home they’d ever known. Instead she’d put money in the bank for them, ensuring they’d never have to be servants again. My, she missed them.
Drawing her apron up over her arms, Copper looked to the hills. Early morning mist clung to ghostly bare trees, and the air she breathed was damp. A familiar Scripture, learned at her father’s knee, tripped off her tongue: “‘Even them will I bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer.’” She’d gladly trade all the niceties of Lexington, even the furnace in the cellar, for the privilege of standing in the shadow of the mountains.
A little banty rooster crowed from the open door of the hayloft in the barn. The big red barnyard rooster had announced sunrise from his perch on the fence many minutes before, but the banty thought his duty was to remind. He puffed his tiny chest out and tipped back his head. Copper thought he might throw himself off his feet, his call was so joyful. “Praise the Lord,” she fancied he sang. “Praise the Lord!”
The screen door squeaked, interrupting her reverie. Barefoot, her blanket trailing behind her, Lilly Gray held her arms out to Copper. “Benny wake me.”
“That’s Benny’s job. See him there in the hayloft?”
Lilly crowed.
Darcy came up beside them. “Mammaw says a whistling woman and a crowing hen always come to a very bad end. Are you a crowing hen, Lilly Gray?”
She crowed again.
Copper nuzzled her daughter’s sweet-smelling neck. “Let’s get you dressed, little banty rooster, so we can go milk Mazy.”
Lilly leaned against her mother’s knee as Copper milked Mazy. The milk pinged against the sides of the bucket. “Me milk,” Lilly said.
Copper drew Lilly’s small hand beneath her own and let the child feel the rhythmic pull and tug of her fingers. “You can milk enough for Tom and the kitties; then you need to let Mama finish.”
When they were done, the barn cats were fed and Mazy was turned out to begin her morning trek up the mountain. Copper carried the full bucket of milk to the springhouse. Lilly Gray followed, the handle of a small tin berry bucket clutched importantly in her hand. Old Tom trailed Lilly, winding around her legs, watching for a spill.
“Stay right here, Lilly,” Copper said as she stepped into the cool springhouse. “Stay with Tom.”
Lilly squatted by the battered pie pan they kept there for the cat’s dish. Tom waited.
Copper carried the heavy bucket to the cream separator and slowly poured the milk in. For only a moment her back was to Lilly Gray. The picture of her daughter bent over the pie pan, pouring creamy milk from her little bucket was etched in her mind. But when she turned, her baby was gone.
She’s just out of sight, Copper thought. “Lilly! Come where Mama can see you.”
Just that quickly, dread took her breath away. The bucket missed the shelf and clanged loudly to the stone floor as she ran, calling, “Lilly? Lilly Gray!”
Darting this way and that, she scanned the yard; Lilly was not there. Maybe she had taken her little bucket back to the barn. Maybe she wanted to give more milk to the mother cat and her kittens.
Dimmert appeared in the barn door, a pitchfork full of straw in his hands. “Baby?” he managed to say.
“Oh, help me. Lilly was at the springhouse and now she’s gone.”
His arm swept the air behind him. “Not here.” He flung the pitchfork aside as he ran toward the springhouse.
Copper saw Darcy walk out onto the porch. She was holding a pan of biscuits for their breakfast. Lilly loved biscuits. Maybe she’s in the house. She probably wants to show Darcy her pail. Copper ran, sure of it.
Darcy met her halfway. Biscuits rolled like wheels across the ground. “She ain’t in the house, Miz Copper.”
The world shifted. Every object in the barnyard took on a silvery sheen; even an errant biscuit shot off sparks as it came to a stop at her feet. Copper fell to her knees. Lord, she prayed, please . . .
Darcy knelt in front of her, her forehead touching Copper’s. “She’ll be all right. God won’t let nothing happen to our baby.”
Copper clung to those simple words, and they became a mantra while they searched every nook and cranny of the barn, the house, the yard.
Hours passed and still no Lilly Gray. Copper’s heart felt as heavy as lead. “We need to walk the creek, Dimmert. Get some tobacco sticks.”
They waded into the clear waters of Troublesome. Thankfully, it was a gentle stream today and not flooded. She went downstream and Dimmert went up. Darcy stayed at the house keeping watch.
Within a short time, Copper came to the swimming hole where she’d played so often as a child. A crow called a mournful song, and the branches of an ancient sycamore clacked in a sudden gust of wind. Leaves as big as dinner plates swirled on the surface of the dark water.
This was a place she’d bring Lilly to when she was older. Here she would learn to swim and hear the Bible story of Zacchaeus, the tax collector. It was the mighty sycamore tree Zacchaeus climbed to better see the Savior when he traveled through Jericho. Jesus noticed what the little man had done and went home with him and gave salvation to his house.
Would Copper ever tell that story to Lilly? Would she bring her to this tree and act out Zacchaeus climbing the tree as her father had done for her? Fighting her fear, she used the slender tobacco stick to probe the water, poking under riffles and gnarled roots. She gigged a frog and he jumped on the bank, his mighty legs like springs. Please, Lord. Please, Lord.
Suddenly a dark knowledge caught her breath—a memory she’d buried in the depths of her mind. This was the creek in which her natural mother had drowned when Copper was just an infant. She stood still as the cold water crept up under her arms. Then she had a fleeting but terrible thought: if Lilly had joined her mother, then Copper might as well also. The beating wings of dark angels surrounded her. Lucifer and his crew, beckoning for her soul.
But Copper’s faith was as old as the hills. Tried and true, passed down through generations, solid as her great-grandmother’s blanket chest. She’d taken leave of her senses for a moment, but now she climbed out of the creek bed. This was not the way to go. “God won’t let nothing happen to our baby.” She needed to get back to the house and find Lilly Gray.
Standing by the footbridge, she hollered for Dimmert. She shouldn’t have sent him on this foolish errand. He would stay in the creek until the cows came home; he’d die an old man before he’d return without Lilly. She’d have to ring the dinner bell to bring him in.
The dinner bell! Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Lilly Gray loved to ring that bell. They didn’t use it often, for everyone in her household knew when it was time to eat. Wet and bedraggled, Copper hurried to the side yard where the black iron bell sat atop a tall pole. With a hard yank to the knotted rope, she set the bell to ringing.
A faint rustle from the edge of the garden where the dry cornstalks stood signaled something traveling low to the ground. Copper trembled with relief when she saw her baby. Lilly still carried the tin berry bucket.
Overwhelmed, Copper didn’t know what to do with the rush of emotion flooding her. She wanted to cry and shout. She wanted to kiss her baby all over, and she wanted to shake Lilly Gray for not minding, for walking away when she was supposed to stay.
Instead she sat on the ground and drew Lilly onto her lap. With her thumb in her mouth, Lilly curled up like a puppy in the crook of Copper’s arm. Copper held her daughter close, stroking the silver streak in Lilly’s dark hair and trailing her fingers down Lilly’s cheek. “Where have you been?”
Lilly popped her thumb out of her mouth. “Me walking.”
Darcy came with a cup of milk. “Praise the Lord.”
Copper held Lilly as the toddler drained the cup. “How did you get lost? Tell Mama and Darcy.”
“Tom bite mousey.”
“He did?” Darcy said. “That bad cat.”
Lilly opened her arms wide. “Mousey runned away.”
“And Lilly chased the mouse,” Copper finished.
“Yup.”
A louder noise came from the cornfield this time as Dimmert crashed out. His face was a mask of fear.
“Dimm!” Lilly invited him to the party.
Copper’s eyes filled when she saw the wet streaks on Dimmert’s dirty face. “Kneel with us, Dimmert. We need to thank God for this bountiful blessing.”
It was an odd little family that held hands and praised the Father at the edge of the dying cornfield, but a family just the same.
“Food’s on the table,” Darcy announced.
Copper’s walk was as wobbly as a table with one short leg. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
The day was nearing an end, and Copper was glad to see it go. She thought she’d had hard times before. She’d grieved when she learned that her precious daddy had consumption. And she’d spent months in the valley of the shadow when her husband died. But nothing touched the fear of losing her daughter, a fear that left her weak and trembling for hours. She was sure she’d aged ten years this morning.
Now she just felt grateful as she sat with John at the kitchen table eating blackberry cobbler with nutmeg cream. Darcy had lain down with Lilly—like Copper, she couldn’t get her fill of the baby—and they both slept.
Copper shared the day’s happening with John, but like a hiccup the episode repeated jerkily in her mind. “Her dress was soaked,” she said, licking her spoon. “I think she fell in the creek.”
John took his coffee to the hearth and stirred the fire with a poker. He bent to pick up Lilly’s wet shoes stuffed with newsprint, then sat down. “I think you’re right. But the creek banks are awful steep there by the cornfield. How’d she get out?”
“It’s the strangest thing. While I was bathing her, I asked, ‘Lilly, were you in the creek?’ And she said, ‘Yup. Lady help.’”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t have the foggiest notion.” Copper poured water in the granite dishpan from the kettle on the stove. “But sometimes I feel like someone is watching from the trees.” She stuck the bar of lye soap to her nose before she dropped it in the pan. It was the cleanest smell, but it tickled her nose and she sneezed.
“God bless,” John said. “Someone watching?”
Copper shook her head. “This is crazy, but it puts me in mind of Remy.”
John choked on his coffee, sucking in air and coughing. Copper slapped his back, leaving wet handprints on his blue work shirt.
“Goodness,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t think it’s good for you to conjure up visions of Remy that way,” he said when he stopped choking.
He reached out his hand, and she let him pull her onto his lap. She was sure it wasn’t right to be this close when they weren’t truly promised, but she had a sense it wouldn’t be long until he asked for her hand. She was willing to wait until the time was right.
“I know,” she said. “But I can’t help but think about her.”
John shifted in the chair, and she tucked her head in the curve of his neck. “Kindly leave me out of hearing about that kind of daydreaming,” he replied sharply.
Stung by his words, Copper moved away from him and stared out the window into the night. “I don’t want to just forget about her.”
“Fine for you,” he said, “but I do.”
“John . . . ,” she started but stopped when he reached for his hat and headed for the door. “Why are you mad at me?”
“I’m not,” he said, his hand on the doorknob. “But can’t you see that woman nearly ruined my life? Can’t you see Remy Riddle was a manipulator and a common thief?”
“Remy was only trying to save herself the best she could, John. Forevermore! I thought you understood that.”
“Huh,” he snorted. “If not for Remy, we’d be planning a wedding instead of arguing about her.”
Copper’s anger flared. “Who says we’d be planning a wedding, John Pelfrey?” She flounced to the table and began to gather up dessert bowls and spoons. Oh, he made her so mad sometimes.
It seemed his anger matched hers as a frown knit his brow. Faithful stood between them looking first one way then the other.
“I say it.” John strode to face her. Carefully he took the bowl from her hands and set it on the table before he pulled her into his arms. “I say let’s plan a wedding.”
“Funny,” Copper teased, looking up at him, “I don’t remember a proposal.”
“Will you?” His voice was husky when he asked, his arms tightening their hold, lifting her up. “Copper Brown Corbett, will you marry me and make me the happiest man in the world?”
In the circle of his strong arms, she was home. He was her rock and her comfort. “I will, John Pelfrey,” she replied with strong conviction. “I will.”
Like Lilly would do to her, Copper trailed John out the door and across the porch and watched as the dark swallowed first him and then Faithful, leaving only the trace of his whistled tune.
Old Tom wound himself around her ankles. She picked the cat up and rocked him in her arms until he protested. He was old, and rheumatism stiffened his joints. Holding the door, she let him into the warm house. He could sleep at the foot of the bed tonight.
She dumped Old Tom on the bed where Darcy still slept with her arms around Lilly. Copper fetched an extra quilt from the blanket chest under the window and covered them against the night’s chill. Tom circled their feet before he too curled up for the night. His rich purr warmed Copper’s heart.
A few dishes waited. The water was cold, and the bar of soap had turned to mush. Fishing out what she could, she saved it on a saucer. Her heart beat fast when she thought of John’s proposal. Maybe next spring they’d marry—they really should wait a little while. By rote, she washed the cups and the bowls and the spoons until they squeaked cleanly under her hands.
If she could just come to terms with Remy’s terrible demise. She couldn’t help but feel guilty. There must have been something she could have said all those years ago when they were friends—something to teach Remy there was always hope. Her mind took its own ride on a merry-go-round of memory carrying her backward into another space and time. . . .
Mam had threatened Copper that summer of her
fifteenth year. Leastways it felt like a threat to Copper—talk of boarding school and making her into a lady. With John’s help, Copper planned to run away. She would live in a cave on the mountain. Mam would never find her.
The fall weather was so beautiful, and the air was crisp and smelled of apples. She had gone to the cave to find herself, to find a way out of her stepmother’s restraint and had found a friend instead—Remy Riddle, the girl John had married.
Remy of the pale skin, wild white hair, and deep voice. Remy had been running too, and her plight made Copper’s seem childish, because she was fleeing a father who cared so little he could discard Remy like a broken wheel or a give-down mule.
Then winter had come, and it was Remy who lived in the cave. Copper helped out as much as Remy would allow, for the girl was overly proud. Each time Copper mentioned seeking advice from Mam or Daddy, Remy would threaten to run even farther. So the two girls had compromised. Copper didn’t ask questions, and Remy started to eat the food and wear the clothing Copper left for her to stumble upon, for Remy had made it clear that Riddles didn’t take handouts.
Over that long and bitter winter they shared more than cast-off clothing. A bond was formed, one that Copper thought would never be broken.
The teakettle on the stove whistled urgently. Copper started, confused for a moment to find herself standing in what used to be her stepmother’s kitchen, her hands as wrinkled as prunes in the cold dishwater.
She rinsed the dishes, then poured water for tea. The clock on the mantel struck one time. My goodness, it was after midnight, but she was not the least bit sleepy. Her tongue caught a salty tear. Her friend was dead. How could that be? Dear little Remy was gone. Surely if Copper went back to the cave, she would find Remy there, fey as ever with a red foxtail fixed to the back of her dress.
There was too much to think on. Copper slipped a shawl around her shoulders, then took her tea and stepped out the door. The shadow of a man startled her. Dimmert sat slumped on a porch step, fast asleep. Star stood just beyond, ever patient.
