Torrent Falls

by Jan Watson

  “I wondered how you and Remy are doing.”

  Hezzy shook her head. The furrows in her forehead deepened. “They’s something wrong there. I cain’t figure it, but something’s worrying that child’s head.”

  “Is she giving you trouble?”

  “No.” Hezzy paused. “I cain’t say that and I’m glad for her company; that’s why I brung her here, you know . . . for company and to make amends for shooting her in the first place.”

  “Now, Hezzy, we talked about that.”

  “I know, and I put a thumb card in my Bible to mark the verse you give me.” Hezzy moved Charley aside and heaved herself upright. “Where’d I put it anyways?”

  “Can I help you?”

  “No, won’t take but a minute. I just looked at it this morning.” Hezzy rummaged around, dislodging a stack of papers and a book or two from a marble-topped table. “Here it is. Now where’s my magnifier?”

  “Just there.” Copper pointed. “By that cast-iron skillet.”

  “Forevermore. I wondered where that skillet had got to.” Hezzy carried her Bible and her tortoiseshell-handled magnifying glass back to the chair. She squeezed in beside Charley, then let the Good Book fall open. “‘And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.’ Them’s powerful words, ain’t they?”

  “Can you imagine a world without God’s loving-kindness and forgiveness?” Copper asked.

  “Be pretty bleak, I expect. I read some Scripture to Remy last evening. She’s got some things to learn, else she’s bound to get hurt again. I figure maybe that’s why God sent her my way.”

  “Will you share with me?”

  The magnifier crept up the page. “It’s in this selfsame chapter,” Hezzy said. “I come upon it by accident. ‘Let him that stole steal no more: but rather let him labour, working with his hands the thing which is good, that he may have to give to him that needeth.’”

  A thrill stirred Copper’s soul. “That is amazing. I’ve read Ephesians many times, but I’ve never noticed that verse. May I?” She took the Bible from Hezzy and read the verse again. “It’s as if it was written for Remy alone. I never was brave enough to address her thieving. I always figured God would forgive her in her innocence.”

  Hezzy stroked Charley’s back with one knobby, blue-veined hand. The look she gave Copper was calculating, discerning. “Remy ain’t so innocent anymore. She’s going to have to account for herself just like the rest of us.”

  “I think I’ll try and find her. Do you know which way she went?”

  “Up the hill behind the henhouse. She’s looking for that fox, I warrant.”

  “She can’t be far,” Copper said, “walking with a crutch.”

  Hezzy settled back in her chair with Charley and her Bible. “Easy to track anyways. Ain’t too many three-legged creatures about.”

  As Hezzy said, it was easy enough finding Remy. Her new gait was a step slide sort of pattern dragged through the tall grass of the hillside. She was crouching over something when Copper approached. “Hey, Purty,” she said without turning her head.

  “Remy Riddle, how’d you know it was me?”

  Remy’s laugh sounded like a cackling hen. “I smelled ye. Ye always put me in mind of honeysuckle vine. Plus, Foxy took off, so I knowed somebody was near about.”

  Copper knelt beside her. “What have you got there?”

  “I found me a patch of sang. It will fetch a purty price when it gets some age.”

  “I remember Granny Pelfrey could always find ginseng,” Copper said.

  “It’s hunted to death these days,” Remy said, casting a sideways look at Copper. “Kinda like me and Foxy.”

  Gathering her skirts around her, Copper sat on the ground beside Remy, careful of the ginseng. “I hope you don’t mind me coming to find you.”

  “Don’t mind so much as just aggravated. Time was when I coulda been right beside ye and never been spotted.” The crutch Dimmert made for her rested against a tree; she knocked it away. “Guess them days are over.”

  Copper brushed a strand of hair from Remy’s eyes. Remy no longer flinched at the slightest touch, she noted. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I cain’t stand me no sympathy.” Remy settled down beside Copper, stretching out her legs, one obviously shorter than the other. “I’m lucky to be alive, even in plain sight. Though I didn’t know I wanted to be in the midst of my pain—alive, that is.”

  “Do you know that now?”

  Remy plucked a blade of sweetgrass and chewed it. “Somebody’s got to appreciate all this.” She opened her arms wide. “I reckon that’s the job God give me.”

  Copper rested her chin on her knees. The hillside was abuzz with life: trees spreading restful shade, crickets chirping, an anthill being studiously constructed one grain of sand at a time, a box turtle bumbling across the path, a jaybird calling his raucous tune. “Seems like an important job to me.”

  Remy’s voice fell to a hoarse whisper. “I ain’t a good person. I figure God give me a second chance so’s I can work my way into heaven. I dearly want to see my ma again someday.” Her voice rose in timbre, and she laughed before she spoke. “Plus I want to live somewheres my pap ain’t at.”

  “The things you say, Remy Riddle.” Copper laughed in spite of herself.

  “What can I do, Purty?” Remy said, now serious. “How can somebody as lost as me ever hope to get to live with the angels?”

  “Do you know what mercy means?”

  Remy pulled up her skirt tail, revealing her scarred leg, and rubbed her misshapen knee. “I reckon it’s being found in a holler log and pulled out by somebody I done wrong. I reckon it’s John Pelfrey carrying my sorry body to ye.”

  “That’s right. God showed His mercy to you through John. Now He offers you grace.”

  Copper could see her face reflected in Remy’s eyes as Remy studied her. “What’s that mean?”

  “You know how you said you need to work your way to heaven?”

  “Yeah. I figure with this patch of sang I can pay back what I owe folks. God will like that, don’t ye reckon? Maybe that will get me in the gate.”

  “We’re all saved through grace, not works,” Copper said. “Grace is Jesus dying on the cross to pay for our sinful ways. None of us would go to heaven if not for that.”

  “Hezzy read me the story of the cross. I cain’t hardly stand to think on His suffering.”

  “You’re a good and kind person, my dear friend.”

  “Nobody’s ever told me that before.” One fat tear trickled down Remy’s cheek.

  Copper took her small, rough hand. “Are you ready to accept Jesus into your heart? You know He is God’s only Son, and you know He came to save us from our sins.”

  “That’s a heavy burden,” Remy said as one tear followed the other.

  A cooling breeze whipped around them and stirred up a dust devil. They watched the whirlwind full of grit and dead leaves dance over the box turtle; he never stopped.

  “There’s a verse that explains that burden, Remy. It’s one you’ll want to commit to memory—John 3:16. ‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’”

  “That’d be mercy and grace, I warrant,” Remy said.

  “Do you believe?”

  Remy caught hold of her crutch and maneuvered around until she was standing. She raised one hand to heaven. “I believe.”

  Unable to help herself, Copper jumped up and pulled Remy in a mighty embrace. “Oh, Remy, my heart is near to bursting.”

  “Now I get dunked?” Remy asked.

  “Are you ready?”

  Remy raised her thin shoulders, then let them fall. “I reckon I am.”

  “I’ll send for Brother Jasper and Elder Foster as soon as I get home. They’ll want to talk with you, and then we’ll have the baptizing after church on Sunday.”

  “You�
��ll have to come along, Purty, else I’ll be afeered.”

  “Honey,” Copper soothed, “we’ll all be with you. Hezzy, Darcy, Cara, Lilly, and me. Don’t you fret. A beating with a stick wouldn’t keep us away.”

  The city was bearing down on John, chipping away at his ease with each passing day. Lexington was noisy and nosey—everybody loudly stirring each other’s pots, busy minding each other’s business. He’d probably explained his predicament to a dozen folks, starting with Mrs. Upchurch and ending yesterday with a black-robed judge.

  As he sat on the edge of the bed rubbing sleep from his eyes, he turned that meeting over in his mind. Judge Ledbetter was an imposing figure sitting up over the court like a king on his throne. John suffered through several cases before his turn came: men caught thieving and women caught doing worse. The judge liked to pound his gavel, John perceived, liked to watch the wretched souls before his judgment twitch like lizards on a hot rock.

  John sat on a hard wooden bench between Benton and Alice Upchurch, trying not to sweat, trying to look collected. It was a funny feeling to know another man held his future in his hands. John had spent some time with Benton and his law books preparing for this very day in Judge Ledbetter’s court. Hopefully it would be over soon; hopefully the judge would agree to hear their case. Today was only a preliminary hearing, but if Judge Ledbetter denied them, it was the same as over. Benton was confident that because the marriage was never consummated the judge would look on him with favor. It was a known legal reason for annulment.

  John swallowed hard when his name was called. Alice gave his hand a squeeze before he and Benton approached the bench.

  “Your Honor,” Benton began. And then John’s shameful story spilled out as dark as blood across the polished wood floors, staining the heavily plastered walls and splashing against the many-paned windows. John could hear the shift of bodies on the benches behind him, feel the watchers’ lurid interest turn his way. Mortified, he kept his back straight but his eyes downcast, afraid of what he’d see in the judge’s eyes.

  His head felt full of mush, but snippets of Benton’s fevered plea jumped out and clung to him like fleas off a dying dog: “Said party . . . fraud . . . ignorant . . . therefore . . . unconsummated.” He’d felt like a fool before; he was one now.

  “Mr. Pelfrey.”

  John heard the judge and raised his eyes, giving his full attention.

  “I presume you signed a license,” Judge Ledbetter intoned.

  “Uh, yeah,” John stammered. “It’s in my Bible. I could fetch it for you.”

  For long moments the judge stared down from on high. Once he opened his arms and his robe spread out like black wings.

  John met and held his gaze, but he saw no compassion there. His head was in the bear’s mouth for sure.

  “Do you aim to make a mockery of the court?” the judge asked as if incredulous. “Do you aim to challenge the sanctity of the marriage vow?”

  John gathered his courage to answer, but beside him Benton shook his head ever so slightly; evidently he was not to speak. Suddenly, the collar of his starched white shirt tightened like a garrote. With one finger he loosed its hold a bit.

  The judge’s voice filled the room with import, each word as menacing as a rattlesnake’s dry whir. Then, mercifully, John’s verbal flogging was over. The gavel rose with authority and hammered down. “What God has joined together, let no man put asunder!” With a swish of black robe, the judge was gone, the court dismissed, and John remained a married man in the eyes of the law.

  He thought he wouldn’t sleep at all after that humiliating day. After listening to Benton’s angry comments concerning Judge Ledbetter’s pronouncement and suffering Alice’s righteous indignation, he’d stumbled back to Mrs. Archesson’s boardinghouse intent on packing up to leave. Instead he’d stretched out on the bed, instantly lost down a tunnel of sleep.

  Now he poured water from the blue willow pitcher into a matching washbowl and picked up his razor. He smelled bacon frying and coffee perking; his belly growled. From somewhere a dog barked, a rooster crowed, a door squeaked open, and the contagious laughter of a child made him smile in spite of himself.

  His lathered face glared back at him from the mirror. “Where are you going?” it seemed to say. That was the question he pondered as he stuck out his chin and worked his razor over the stubborn stubble. Pulling a thick, clean towel from the washstand, he dried his face, then scrubbed his teeth with tooth powder from a tin Mrs. Archesson supplied. Perhaps he’d stay right here. He was learning his way around easy enough. He could do worse. Plus he could keep tabs on Copper and Lilly Gray through Mrs. Upchurch. There was an ad posted at the livery station he’d noticed: Need Help. Good Pay. Inquire Within.

  Head in hands, he sat on the unmade bed. He’d have to write to Copper before Alice did. He should be a man and go back to Troublesome Creek to tell her himself. Ah, but he was a man, and therein lay the problem. He simply couldn’t trust himself to be around her. Not yet. Time would dull the pain, he knew. It had done so before. Eventually, he’d have to go back to make arrangements with Dimmert and Cara; they’d be good farm managers for him. He’d want to pack up some things and of course fetch Faithful . . . just not right now. His heart was way too sore.

  He’d see to the letter tonight. There were a few pieces of tablet paper tucked away in his Bible, and he could buy an envelope today and a stamp. For now he’d content himself with hot coffee and Mrs. Archesson’s breakfast.

  Father, he prayed without kneeling, I am so weak; I ask for strength. I don’t understand why this is happening; I ask for wisdom. I am fearful, not for myself but for Copper and Lilly Gray. I ask for protection for them. I am lost; I ask for direction. I thank You for the courtesies of this day.

  “Breakfast,” he heard Tommy call from the hallway.

  John pulled suspenders over his shoulders and buttoned the top button on his freshly ironed shirt. “I’m coming.”

  Copper let Star amble his way home from Hezzy’s. Her heart was full of gratitude and awe at God’s blessing. How could it be that after all this time Remy was ready to give her life to the Lord? How could Hezzy bring about the miracle of Remy’s salvation when Copper herself had tried so hard and failed?

  Copper thought it might be because she was too tender with Remy—so afraid of offending her that she let Remy continue in sin rather than confront her. And it was sin that had kept Remy from finding the Lord. Copper leaned forward in the saddle and stroked Star’s neck. It didn’t matter a whit who brought this miracle about, of course. She was just so grateful.

  She and Remy had talked the afternoon away, and now the edge of night darkened the sky. Tree frogs peeped in the near forest, and locusts burred in the long, swaying grasses bordering the path that led home. Really, she should hurry. Her family might be worried, but the things Remy had shared simmered like a watched pot in her mind. It all finally made sense. Poor John—what he had suffered, just because of his love for her and his misguided kindness to Remy. Poor Remy—she had acted out of desperation and set about a chain of events that nearly cost her life and more than likely ended any hope of Copper having a future with John.

  Copper sighed. What would she have done if she had been in Remy’s shoes—destitute, injured, and hunted like an animal by her self-serving father? Would she have chosen any better? If she had lived Remy’s life, probably not.

  Copper cried buckets of tears as Remy related these events, but Remy shed not one—all cried out, Copper figured. When Remy finished her long story of her marriage to John and her feigned death, she asked Copper for forgiveness. They had knelt and prayed together. It was with a grateful heart that Copper headed home. She had her fey friend back. Whatever else happened was in God’s hands. She could live with that.

  Star picked up his pace. Home was in sight. He nickered as they came around the corner of the barn. Copper strained to see in the near darkness what perked Star’s ears, and then there was Dimmert. For the longest tim
e he stood stock-still, staring at Star in the waning daylight. He rubbed his eyes with his fists; then he ran to them, flinging his arms around Star’s long and lovely neck.

  Oh, what a glorious reunion. It was Christmas morning all over again. Cara with a lantern and Darcy with Lilly on her hip spilled out of the cabin door.

  Dimmert helped Copper down and took the bit from Star’s mouth and the saddle from his back. “Stand back,” he warned.

  They all laughed as Star did a funny bucking dance, shaking foreign dust from his heels. Faithful joined in the fun with baying barks that more than likely scared every coon on Troublesome up a tree.

  “Apple,” Lilly said. “Star wants apple.”

  Darcy carried her to the side yard. Copper could barely make Lilly out as she twisted a piece of the ripening fruit from the tree. But she could feel Dimm’s joy as Star slurped the apple from Lilly’s palm. They were all together again. Her family was complete save one. Her heart yearned toward John. She wondered if he was thinking of her.

  John sat on the veranda of Mrs. Archesson’s boardinghouse and listened to the evening sounds of the city: the clip-clop of horses’ hooves, the low ka-thump of carriage wheels on cobblestone, the musical conversation of people out of view in buggies, the occasional sharp commands from coachmen, and the beat of his own lonely heart.

  Though the porch lights were off to discourage moths and mosquitoes, light from lamps inside each long window spilled brilliance out into the night. John had carried his Bible and a pen to the porch. He pulled a chair close to a lighted window and sat, one foot resting over the opposite knee. He’d intended to write his letter out here in peace, but he couldn’t sit still.

  Laying his Bible aside, he walked a little ways out into the yard and looked back. Each window held a happy vignette: Tommy and Andy played chess in one. John could see the concentrated effort on Tommy’s face—set to let the young lad win, which John knew the master chessman did on occasion. In another, the powdery old widows took turns with a double-eyeglass stereoscope, no doubt enjoying the slides one had received in the post from her son today. Through Mrs. Archesson’s bedroom window, John could see her head resting against the back of a rocking chair, her little boy lying in her arms.