by Jan Watson
The fox padded behind, never going ahead, trailing her right side. Remy stopped for a moment, her hand hung loosely. The vixen nuzzled her palm.
“I ain’t got nothing for ye. I was eyeing some potato salad, but they was too many folks about.”
Remy sat on a rock and waited, giving time and space. She didn’t turn around. Foxes didn’t like to meet her eyes, she knew. They liked to keep their secrets to theirselves. Soon she could feel Foxy’s presence just a couple of feet behind her. Remy could feel her hunger.
“What say we visit old lady Krill’s henhouse?” She scooted off her rock seat and started down the hill.
The party was over; everyone said their good-byes as women gathered children and men fetched wagons and horses.
“It ain’t too late, John,” one man called.
“Yeah,” another shot back. “Run for the hills while you still can.”
John stood laughing, his arm around Copper. “Bring me a broom and a preacher, and I’ll jump it right now. How about you, Dimmert?”
Dimmert didn’t say a word, just grabbed the broom from a corner and handed it to John.
Everyone fell out laughing, even Alice. Copper couldn’t believe it. Dimmert bested John. How funny.
Finally everyone was gone, and her family was sleeping. Copper waited on the porch, knowing her father would come to sit awhile with her.
“Daddy,” she said when he wrapped her in a bear hug. Trying to hold back tears, she gave in instead and cried against his chest.
“Whoa, Daughter,” he said, his voice like music to her ears. “This is not a time for tears.”
“I know.” She sobbed, taking his handkerchief and wiping her tears. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I guess seeing you and Mam and the boys has got me missing you even though you’re here.”
“You’ve got the high lonesomes. You’ve given too many pieces of your heart away.”
The rockers on their chairs squeaked in rhythm. “Is there a cure for the high lonesomes?” she asked.
“No. You don’t want to be cured of missing the folks you love, but loving more folks makes it tolerable.”
She took his calloused hand and held it tightly. “I am happy, Daddy. I love John so much.”
“Well, that’s good, because John acts like he fell in a barrel of long sweetening when he’s around you.”
“Are you glad for me?”
“A father wouldn’t want any more for his daughter than what John will give you, Copper.” He folded his handkerchief and stuck it in his pocket. “Now go get my grandbaby. I aim to set here with her all night.”
Across the creek and up Krill holler, Remy congratulated her lucky self. There were eggs aplenty in the chicken coop she pilfered. She was extra careful, for the old woman had been up late tonight. She eased out the door with a pocket full of hen fruit and secured the latch. She held her breath and started up the path. Over her shoulder, she kept an eye on Hezzy’s house, where a lamp still shone in the window.
The necklace of rings and a tiny walnut basket swung against her chest, then gave way and fell to the ground. As she stooped to search for it in the tall grass, Hezzy’s door swung open and she hitched outside. Then her shotgun blasted the warm night. “I’ve got you now, you nasty varmint.”
Where was that necklace? Remy wasn’t about to leave without it. There—her fingers closed over her treasures. She stayed crouched and scuttled away, hardly feeling the bullet that shattered her long leg bone. She heard more than felt the assault, like the fearsome shriek of a shovel striking rock. Someone was digging her grave. Whomp, she hit the ground. A roar, not unpleasant, filled her ears.
Torrent Falls—they’s angels there, Remy thought as darkness closed her eyes.
The rooster didn’t have to wake Copper the next morning. She couldn’t wait to see the dawn. Sometime during the night, Daddy had wakened her when he brought the sleeping Lilly Gray back to bed, and now Lilly lay curled on her side with her thumb in her mouth.
Copper pulled on a dress and carried her shoes to the porch. Stretching and yawning, she made her way to a chair. Morning damp seeped into the back of her dress, but she didn’t mind. All she could think was, Tomorrow I’ll marry my sweetheart. Her heart gave a little leap, and a smile curled her lips. The unease of the night before was gone. The days of her life spread out before her as sweet as clover honey.
A favorite Scripture came to mind: “Even them will I bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer.” Behind closed eyes, the faces of family and friends shimmered, one replacing another—Daddy, Mam, Willy and Daniel, Lilly, Darcy, Dimmert, Alice, and a host of others. Then John, with his unruly hair and his teasing green eyes, smiled and beckoned her to come away with him. She opened her eyes and shook her head. Sometimes a body had more joy than she knew what to do with.
The sun had just started its familiar route when Copper strode across the barnyard. The rooster atop the fence post shook out his feathers and threw back his head. Little Benny waited his turn in the hayloft. It seemed the sunrise mimicked her like Benny copied the big rooster—she was sure the color of her joy was reflected there.
It was cold where Remy lay—cold and dark. Her mind was playing tricks. Was that her ma calling, “Remy, come in. Supper’s ready”? And there was her brother Riser with a dipper gourd full of water. She tried to hold on to them, her ma and Riser, but the roar of Torrent Falls caught her unawares. . . .
It was snowing the day she took the mule to ride to the falls. John Pelfrey’s cabin and his understanding ways were closing in on her; she had to clear her mind. It was a tedious journey, what with the slick of mud underneath the slushy snow.
Once she made her way to Torrent Falls, she slid down from the mule’s bony back, kicked snow from a clump of grass, and left him eating near a copse of trees. Full of snowmelt as it was, Remy could hear the awesome plunge of the water before she saw it. Her ankle was still swollen, but she ignored the lingering pain as she hurried to the water’s edge. She was desperate to see the angels; maybe that would make her feel better.
Mulling over her plight, she could come to no conclusion other than that she had used Purty’s friend John in a devious way. Now devious ways had never bothered any of the Riddle clan, and Remy was surely one of them. Devious was how they managed to survive in a world full of folks who kept their good fortune locked up tight in cellars and smokehouses as if only they had a right to the land’s bounty. So, Remy wondered, why did it feel so wrong now? Who was John Pelfrey that she should care?
Had she meant it when she told John she was going to throw herself over the falls? Not really, but she was so tired that day—tired of running from Pap and that awful Quick Hopper, tired of being hungry, tired of hurting. And then John had come up with the answer to her problem. What did it matter really if a piece of paper fooled her pap and set her free? She didn’t mean it when she put a squiggle on the license after all.
Standing so close to the falls she could feel its icy, needle-sharp spray, and pulling her sky blue mantle tight around her arms, Remy looked for the angels in the shimmering water, but they did not appear.
Maybe she should say some Scripture to make them feel at home. Purty taught her a verse one time, but she couldn’t rightly recollect it—something about friends sticking closer than brothers. If she hurt John, then had she in some way hurt Purty?
Her stomach was all strange again, and her heart felt sore and tired. She could pray although she only knew the one prayer that Purty had taught her years ago. Kneeling and folding her hands, she said, “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
Remy wondered if God would let her come to heaven someday. Probably. Purty said He loved everybody the same.
Her knees were cold, near frozen, so she stood and, undeterred by danger, crept close to the plunging edge. The rock was as slick as wet moss. Next thing she knew she was falling—ki
cking and flailing and screaming. Then in midair she stopped. Just like that: one minute falling, the next hanging, her mantle snagged on a jutting tree limb. A purty predicament, halfway between heaven and hell. The rush of angels’ wings surrounded her then. They were louder than hard rain on a tin roof, louder even than the falls.
Suddenly, she was on the bank. But she found nary a bruise nor a broken bone. Her shawl hung halfway up the falls, whipping about in the wind. She’d lost one boot and John’s great-grandmother’s ring. She was sorry about that.
Remy dragged herself away from the water and found a hunter’s winter lean-to well hidden in the forest. Wet and shivering, her teeth clattering, she cracked the door and crept inside. There was a stack of firewood and a stash of jerky. It didn’t seem possible she was alive, but here she was and she was ever so thankful.
Remy was scouting around a couple of days later when she heard John and the preacher talking about her demise. She was above the falls looking down on them as John shoveled a deep hole and planted her mantle and her lost boot. The preacher said a few words, then patted John on the shoulder. “Her body’s been washed away,” the preacher said, “or some animal got the remains.”
Remy saw John shudder at that remark, but then the men walked away, leading the mule, leaving the little grave to molder on the bank of Torrent Falls. And just like that, Remy had the solution to her problem and John’s. Guilt fluttered from her heart like moths from a wool sweater, leaving her feeling light and free.
A jolt of pain brought Remy back from memory to the present. The falls were gone, her ma and her brother just imagination. Nothing was real but the hurt in her leg and the thirst in her throat. She whimpered, and there was Foxy’s head in a ring of light. With great effort, Remy patted the sides of the trap she seemed to be in—a hollow log. Now she remembered crawling up the hill to safety. Surely if she crawled in the log she could crawl out, but her leg wouldn’t mind and her hands lay weakly at her sides.
She raised her head. “Is there any angels out there?”
Foxy stuck her long nose in the log, giving what comfort she could. For the moment it was all Remy needed.
If Copper could have lived any way she wanted, it would have always been like the Saturday morning before her wedding. There were so many people at her noontime table that they’d had to pull the benches in from the porch for seating. It had been a harried morning: Alice and the little girls picking flowers for bouquets tied up with ribbon; Mam baking a cake; Daddy searching his Bible to find the perfect blessing for the ceremony; Willy and Daniel sweeping the porches and the front yard; Darcy frying chicken; Dimmert, nearly comatose with nerves, stumbling over his vows, saying “I do” over and over again until Copper sent him to the barn to pitch hay or clean stalls—whatever would take his mind off the next day.
Now her family gathered at the round oak table. Two leaves stretched its seating capacity, but still Dodie had to sit on her lap. The child had barely left her side since she’d alighted from the carriage. It did Copper’s heart good to see how the little girl abandoned by her mother had prospered under Alice’s watchful eye. Really, if Copper didn’t know the story of her rescue, she would think Alice had birthed her.
Lilly didn’t seem to mind a bit that her mother held another child. She sat in her high chair next to John’s empty place and waved her fried chicken leg while she jabbered a long story. Where was John? The potatoes were getting cold while everyone waited.
“Let’s eat,” Copper said. “I’m sure John’ll be here directly. Daddy, will you say grace?”
The screen door squeaked on “amen,” and there John was, kissing the top of Lilly’s head and winking at Copper. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, spreading butter on his corn bread. “One of the preacher’s kids came by with a need just as I was leaving.”
“What did he want?” Copper asked.
“Hezzy sent him to get me. You know she always wants something.” He forked two green beans and put them on Lilly’s tray. “Trouble is, she thinks nobody can do for her but me.”
“That’s because she’s sweet on you,” Copper teased. “You sure it’s me you’re getting hitched to tomorrow?”
Everyone was laughing, enjoying the moment, but when John looked at her, it was as if no one else were there. “Honey girl, I’m not dancing down that aisle for anyone but you.”
She could feel the blush that rose from her chest and crept up to her cheeks. What would happen if she just leaned across the table and kissed him? Instead she asked, “What does Hezzy need this time?”
“Seems there’s a fox hanging around on the hillside in front of her house. It was stealing eggs last night. She thought she’d shot it, but it never left.”
“That’s not normal acting for sure,” Will said. “It’s a little early in the season for rabies.”
Willy bounced on his seat. “Can me and Daniel go with you, John?”
“Certainly not,” Mam said. “You’ll both wind up with lockjaw.”
“Please, Mam,” Willy pleaded. “Please? Pretty please with sugar on top.”
“Finish eating, boys,” Daddy said, “and we’ll all go.”
Copper saw the look that passed between Mam and Daddy—confidence in Daddy’s and relief in Mam’s. She couldn’t wait to share those looks, those moments, with John.
Soon all the fellows were on their way, leaving the ladies to a moment’s peace. Copper shooed Mam and Alice to the porch while she and Darcy cleaned up the kitchen. Then she filled the kettle again. “Let’s wash our hair while we’ve got a little privacy.”
She stood in her camisole and slip, bent over the wash pan while Darcy poured warm water over her head. Then she did the same for Darcy, followed by a rinse of rainwater from the barrel under the eave.
“Did you remember the vinegar?” Mam called from her rocker.
Copper held her nose and looked at Darcy. “Oh, Mam, we’ll smell like pickles.”
Mam laughed. “That brings back memories. You said that same thing every time I washed your hair.”
“And you always answered, ‘The smell will go away as soon as your hair dries.’” She wore her towel turban style outside. Handing a comb to Mam, Copper sat on the floor in front of her chair.
“Come here, Darcy, and I’ll do yours,” Alice said.
Copper couldn’t believe her ears. Alice was sure different than she used to be.
It was restful, Copper thought, sitting here while Mam combed her hair. The sun was warm, and the scent of roses from the wild bush in the side yard sweetened the air. Two house wrens chattered in the morning-glory vine that screened one end of the porch with abundant green leaves and purple trumpets. Dodie and Lilly played paper dolls on the porch steps.
Darcy’s straight brown hair hung halfway down her back. “Why you reckon men would druther shoot a mad dog than sit here peaceable like this?”
“It’s the thrill of the chase,” Alice replied. “When it’s your turn, young lady, be very careful who catches you.”
Alice’s words of wisdom made Copper reflect on what she knew of her sister-in-law’s marriage to a wealthy but abusive man. Lord forgive her, she hadn’t even asked how that was going. She’d been so busy with her own selfish needs since Alice arrived. But Alice seemed all right, and Dodie was obviously thriving. Things must be okay. Copper made a mental note to find some time to spend with Alice before she left for Lexington. Or maybe she’d just keep Alice here. She could be quite the grande dame. A chuckle slipped out at the thought of Alice holding court on Troublesome Creek.
“What’s so funny?” Darcy asked.
“Oh,” Copper said, “just thinking about the fellows dancing to Hezzy’s jig.”
“Poor fox, I say.” Darcy hung her towel over the porch rail to dry and reached for Copper’s. “Who wants a cup of tea?”
The men gathered behind the chicken coop at Hezzy’s place. Just as the old woman had said, a red fox sat by a felled log quite a distance up the hill.
; “Odd,” Will said. “Animals with rabies don’t sit still like that.”
“Reckon it has something trapped in that log?” John asked.
“Could be,” Will answered, stroking his white beard. “Maybe a rabbit hiding in there.”
“Humph,” Hezzy snorted. “It’s acting strange. A fox don’t sit around making itself a target. I drew a bead on him, but he’s too far away.”
“I’ll go take a look,” John said, holding his gun so the barrel pointed toward the ground. “I hate to shoot it if there’s no need.”
“No need?” Hezzy cast an exasperated look at John. “That varmint’s been stealing eggs. If you don’t kill him, he’ll be right back tonight.”
“You’re right,” John replied. “I’ll take care of it.”
“I’ll go with you.” Willy stepped up beside John. His eleven-year-old face set in concentration. “Daddy, can I borrow your gun?”
“Willy Brown, you know better,” Will said. “Take one step forward and I’ll send you to the porch.”
“Shucks,” Willy said. “I don’t ever get to do anything fun.”
“Just watch, boy,” Will said. “Watch and learn. That will be fun enough.”
Remy heard voices. She tried to raise her head and peer through a knothole, but it seemed too heavy to lift. She’d drifted all night on a sea of memory. Mostly she liked to think on the times she’d spent with Purty, her one true friend.
They’d first met in Remy’s hidey-hole, a cave set way back in a warren of caves up in the mountains. Purty’s old hound Paw-paw had managed to get himself trapped in there. Remy took care of him until Purty came back to claim her pet. Remy knew Purty was scared of her—her looks put folks off sometimes. But she’d gotten over it soon enough and they’d been friends, although on Remy’s terms.
At first Purty tried to change her—folks always did. It seemed she couldn’t accept that Remy was tickled to live as she did. Her pap always said he wouldn’t trade his freedom for a farm in Georgia, and Remy agreed. Purty thought Remy needed a soft pillow for her head and a warm bath once a week. Huh, there was always a trade-off for that kind of easy life. She’d heard tell that folks who lived down mountain had to pay tithes to the government or they’d take over your property. Riddles didn’t truck with that nonsense. Better not to ever have a deed or a title than to give it to the law.
