Wonderland Creek

by Lynn Austin

  “Do you know June Ann Larkin?” I asked.

  “Her clan is kin to me,” Gladys said.

  “Well, she’s having her baby today. Her husband, Wayne, just arrived with the midwife.” Gladys seemed as disinterested as Mrs. Sawyer had been. She clamped her lips shut and didn’t say another word. I had half a mind to give her Lillie’s speech about holding grudges. Didn’t anyone care that June Ann was lonely living way up in the woods? How could their families possibly allow a feud over money to separate them from their children?

  By the time I turned toward home, my hips ached, my tailbone felt bruised, and my legs were weary from hanging on to the big horse’s sides. But Belle never once gave me a rough time, even when we reached the lower ford and I urged her across the creek to return to June Ann’s house.

  Wayne was out in the field busting clods again. Rex tore out of the house to snarl at me in greeting, but the midwife called him back. “June Ann had a baby girl,” she called out to me. “It went pretty quick for her first one. Healthy baby, too. I’d say about seven pounds. Want to see her?”

  I climbed down and went inside the cabin. “Oh my!” I breathed when I saw the newborn lying at June Ann’s side. She was so tiny yet so perfect, with a halo of reddish fuzz encircling her head, the same color as June Ann’s hair. And I had played a tiny part in her birth.

  June Ann looked flushed and exhausted. “How are you?” I asked.

  “Tired. I feel like somebody turned me inside out.”

  “She’s beautiful, June Ann. What are you going to name her?”

  “Wayne ain’t made up his mind yet. He ain’t too happy about her.”

  “Why not? She’s perfect.”

  “He wanted a boy to help out with the farm. I told him I’ll try and do better next time.” She wiped a tear from her eyes. I wanted to walk out to the field and punch Wayne Larkin in the nose.

  “Don’t cry, June Ann. She’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  The midwife offered me a cup of chamomile tea from the water I had thoughtfully pumped and boiled, but I shook my head. “It’s getting late. I need to go. And June Ann needs to rest.”

  “You’re gonna come back and finish reading the story to me, ain’t you?” she asked.

  I nodded, aware that I was lying. I was returning home to Blue Island. I would never see June Ann and her baby again. My heart ached for her. She wasn’t much more than a child herself and too young to be a mother. But if she followed the example of the other women in these hills, she would be pregnant again by next week.

  “Thanks for staying with me, Allie.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help.” And very glad the baby hadn’t come while I’d been alone with her.

  I told her good-bye and tiptoed out.

  The sun had dipped below the hills, lengthening the shadows, when I left the Larkin farm. I’d noticed that twilight—that beautiful, purple time of day when the glaring sun is gone but the stars have yet to come out—lasted longer here than it did back home. In the flat Midwest, the sun could sink below the prairie horizon within moments. But here in the mountains, twilight—my favorite time of day—lingered like a good story, well told.

  Belle headed through the woods to the creek, then turned all by herself and climbed the steep hill to Mack’s cabin. I was much later than I should have been, and I wondered if Mack and Lillie were worried about me. It would serve them right if they were, especially after all of the “favors” they had forced me to do. I decided not to get off the horse. I would hand Mack the bag of food, remind him that my aunt and uncle were coming any day, and ride back to the library.

  Belle took me right up to the porch. She might have gone up the steps and through the open door if I hadn’t stopped her.

  “Mack?” I called. “Mack, it’s me, Allie.”

  No answer, no sign of life. The spooky cabin was dark inside. Had Mack starved to death or died of his gunshot wound since I’d dropped him off? The last thing I wanted to see was his real dead body, but I knew that Lillie would send me right back up the creek if I didn’t investigate. I slid off the horse, tied her to the porch railing, and called out again. “Mack? . . . Mack, are you here?”

  I heard rustling noises, then a voice coming from somewhere in the woods. “Shh! Don’t call my name. Are you crazy?” A shadowy figure emerged from the bushes alongside of the cabin. I was relieved to see him alive, but did he have to be so rude?

  “Sorry. I keep forgetting that you’re dead.”

  “If you aren’t careful, I might be.”

  I was tempted to say, Good, but then remembered Lillie’s warning about holding a grudge. “Sorry,” I mumbled again.

  Mack came closer, and I barely recognized him at first. He had cut his long hair and shaved his beard and mustache. He looked ten years younger. In fact, he looked quite civilized.

  “You look so different! I never would have recognized you.”

  “That’s the whole idea. I’m glad it worked.” He grinned, and in the fading light I noticed an endearing dimple in his cheek that made him look like a schoolboy. Belle whinnied when she saw him and snuggled up to him like a long-lost lover. He stroked her neck as he stood looking at me. “I was starting to get worried about you. I saw you go upstream this morning all alone and figured you should have been heading back this way a long time ago. You get lost?”

  “Of course not. I’ve been working. June Ann Larkin had her baby today, and I stayed with her until the midwife came so she wouldn’t be alone. Then I delivered the rest of my books.” I was proud of myself for sounding poised and professional, not at all like the shivering, fearful girl whom Lillie had prayed for this morning.

  “That was nice of you. Is June Ann okay?”

  “I just stopped by the Larkin place a few minutes ago and saw the baby. She had a little girl and—” I stopped. Mack was looking at me the way children look at puppies. “What? Why are you looking at me that way?”

  “You’re smiling, Miss Ripley. I don’t think I’ve seen you smile once since the day you arrived.”

  “Well, is it any wonder? How could anyone smile after all of the ridiculous things you and Lillie have put me through?”

  Mack backed away, holding up his hands. “Sorry I mentioned it. It’s just that . . . you’re awfully pretty when you smile.”

  “Well, thanks. That’s just what I needed to complete my day—a backhanded compliment from a dead man. Here’s the food Lillie packed. And she sent you a letter.” I untied the bag, pulled out the sealed letter, and handed it to him.

  “Do you mind if I read this now?” he asked, holding it up.

  “Go ahead. Far be it from me to ask nosy questions.”

  He tore open the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of lined paper. I couldn’t read what it said in the dusky light, but I could see that the message was brief. When he finished, he tucked the letter and envelope into his shirt pocket and gave me a weak smile. “Leave it to Lillie to figure out a plan.”

  “Do I dare ask what she’s plotting this time?”

  He looked away as if unable to meet my gaze. “Don’t worry, Lillie’s plans always work out for the best.”

  “Good. Well . . . I want to get home before dark.” I set the food sack on the porch, then untied Belle and walked around to her left side. I had every intention of getting on my horse and riding into the sunset, just like the heroines did in all of the Western novels I’d read. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stretch my foot high enough to reach the stirrup. I glanced around for a tree stump or a chair, but of course there weren’t any. The porch step wasn’t high enough.

  “Alice, wait. Don’t go yet. Stay and talk to me for a while. It gets awfully lonely up here with no one to talk to all day.”

  “You should have thought of that before you decided to stage your own funeral. Haven’t you ever noticed how lonely most cemeteries are?”

  “Please stay.” Mack stood beside Belle, stroking her
neck and shoulder. The horse leaned into him adoringly, like a melting chocolate bar. My rear end needed a rest, and besides, I would have to find something to stand on before trying to make a dignified exit.

  “I guess I could stay a few minutes.”

  “Good. I was just getting ready to cook up a batch of morels when you arrived. You’re welcome to share them with me.”

  “A batch of what?” I remembered eating squirrel—and possibly possum—and suddenly had trouble swallowing.

  “Morels. They’re mushrooms. You ever try them?”

  “No. And I’m not about to.” I had no intention of eating anything that might drug me or turn out to be poisonous. I once read a crime novel in which the villain drugged someone senseless with mushrooms. I looked at the wreck of a cabin in front of me and asked, “How are you able to cook anything in that hovel?”

  “I don’t cook in there. I can’t risk anyone seeing smoke coming from the chimney. I built a fire back in the woods. Come on, I’ll show you. It’ll only take a minute.” He turned toward the bushes, motioning for me to follow him. I didn’t move. “What’s the matter?” he asked when he looked back and saw that I hadn’t budged.

  “The truth is . . . I don’t quite trust you.”

  “I’m devastated, Miss Ripley.” He tried not to smile but couldn’t help himself. “I assure you, I have nothing up my sleeve . . . either one. Come on, the morels are all washed and waiting to be cooked.”

  “Where do you get clean water way out here?”

  “There’s a whole creek full of it down there.” He walked toward me and reached for my hand. “Come on, I won’t bite.”

  My heart began to beat in a way that it never had before. Mack’s hand was much rougher than my boyfriend Gordon’s had been, but then Gordon worked in an office and didn’t have to forage around in the woods all day. I wasn’t afraid of Mack in the usual sense. He didn’t seem like a dishonorable man—if I could ignore the fact that he had faked his own death and that someone hated him enough to try to kill him. I wasn’t frightened of him, but I was wary of being tricked. What new surprises might be in store for me now that I was letting Mack tow me deeper into the forest?

  Sticks and brush crunched beneath my feet as we hiked. Belle followed us like a huge brown shadow. I smelled the campfire before I saw it, hidden in a gully, surrounded by rocks. Mack had collected a pile of wood, and the campfire glowed with hot coals. The little glade formed a natural room with stones to sit on and a large flat rock that served as table. On it were a cast-iron frying pan and a tin plate containing the ugliest mushrooms I had ever seen. They were like something from a fairy tale with wrinkly cone-shaped tops that looked like rumpled velvet.

  “Have a seat.” Mack motioned to a rock close to the stone table. I watched as he put a lump of lard in the pan and held it over the fire until it melted, then added the mushrooms. I could tell by the way he winced with every motion that his wounded shoulder still bothered him.

  “They taste better when you use butter,” he said, “but I’m all out.” The mushrooms sizzled and steamed as he propped the pan above the coals. A delicious aroma filled the glade. I was hungry, but I wouldn’t have eaten those mushrooms if I were starving.

  “Aren’t you afraid someone will see the smoke and figure out that you’re here?” I asked.

  “Folks are used to seeing smoke back in these woods. It usually means someone has a still going and is making moonshine. People can get pretty testy if you get too close to their operations. They might even take a potshot at you. Most people know enough to steer clear and mind their own business when they see campfires in the woods.”

  “What about government revenue agents?”

  “Now, they’re the ones who do follow the smoke signals. But they’ll be disappointed if they come here and see that it’s just an ordinary campfire.”

  A few minutes later, Mack pulled the pan from the fire and set it on the stone table. He speared a forkful of mushrooms, blew on them to cool them off and then sampled a bite. He closed his eyes in pleasure. “Mmm, delicious. Morels are the best mushrooms in the world.” He handed me the fork. “You sure you don’t want to try them?”

  “I’m quite sure.” The squirrel stew had been delicious, too, until I’d learned what it was.

  “How’s Lillie?” Mack asked after eating a few more bites. “Is she feeling all right?”

  “She seems to find enough strength to do the things she wants to do—like point a gun at me or shoot unsuspecting squirrels. She came outside this morning to have a talk with Belle. Lillie told her to be a good horse and to do whatever I said.”

  Mack laughed. “And has Belle been behaving for you?”

  “Yes, surprisingly enough, she has been.”

  “Good girl,” he said, patting Belle’s shoulder. The horse had parked herself very close to his side. She lowered her head and nudged his shoulder as he petted her. Any minute now, they were going to kiss each other.

  “Tell me the truth, Mack. Did you know about this plot of Lillie’s to get me out here on a horse, delivering books and bringing your food?”

  “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  “I’ve done a lot of favors for you and Lillie, and I think you owe me the courtesy of answering a few questions in return.”

  “No promises, but you can go ahead and ask.”

  I took a deep breath, trying to decide where to begin. “Lillie said there might be more than one person who wanted to kill you. Can you at least tell me why? What did you do to deserve getting shot at?”

  “Can’t answer that one yet. Sorry.”

  “Does it have to do with this ‘work’ you mentioned? What are you and Lillie up to?”

  He pondered for a moment while he chewed. “How much do you know about the coal strikes here in eastern Kentucky? Ever hear of ‘Bloody Harlan’?”

  “No, but it sounds dangerous.”

  “It is dangerous, especially if you’re a coal miner trying to fight for better working conditions and decent housing and fair pay for all the hard work you do.” He spoke with passion in his voice.

  “And you’re involved with all of that?”

  “In a roundabout way . . . but not over in Harlan County.”

  I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. Instead, he ate two more forkfuls of mushrooms. I rose to my feet. “I need to go.”

  “Alice, listen. I know I gave you a hard time when you first arrived, and I’m sorry. I was right in the middle of something, and I knew it might be dangerous, so I was annoyed with you for coming here when I told you to stay away.”

  “But I never received your letter.”

  “Most people wait for an invitation before they come knocking on a stranger’s door, suitcase in hand.”

  “Most people don’t arrive with five boxes of very nice books all the way from Illinois—at their own expense!”

  “Hey, come on. Don’t get all riled up. I’m trying to say I’m sorry for everything that I put you through. Including this.” He made a vague gesture, taking in the woods and the hills and the horse. “But as Lillie said, the Good Lord must have known we’d need your help. And I’m grateful. Now, do you think we could sign a truce? Become friends?”

  It irked me to do it, but I agreed. We shook hands. “It’s about time you asked for a simple thing like my friendship, seeing as I’ve been at your beck and call for nearly two weeks.”

  “Has it been that long?”

  “Yes. And that reminds me. My aunt and uncle will be returning for me any day. In fact, I think you’d better ride down into town with me tonight. I won’t be around to bring your food up here much longer. And I don’t think Lillie can do it after I’m gone.”

  “Your visit to Acorn, Kentucky, is really over, huh?”

  “Yes. In some ways, it’s been the longest two weeks of my life. But at the same time, I have to say that it has been . . . interesting. I’ve learned a lot.”

  He stopped eating and set the f
rying pan on the rock table. “Wow. Those two weeks sure went by fast.”

  “Can’t you confide in one of the other packhorse ladies? Cora or—”

  “No! And whatever you do, don’t tell any of them the truth.”

  “Why not? I thought you were close to them. That you trusted them.”

  “I can’t explain it right now, but we can’t let any of them know that I’m still alive. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Can’t you hide out in the library after I’m gone?”

  “Too risky . . . I’ll be fine up here.”

  “Good. Well, I want to get home before dark.”

  “No, wait. I feel bad that I haven’t answered all your questions. Try asking another one.”

  I thought for a moment. “I met Maggie Coots, and she seemed very nice.” He nodded vaguely and scooped up more mushrooms from the pan. They were nearly gone.

  “But Lillie told me to be careful around Maggie. Why would she say that? Does Maggie run around shooting people or something? What am I supposed to be careful about?”

  “Who knows? I can’t read Lillie’s mind. It’s hard to figure out why she says the things she does. But I do know that Lillie is usually right about people. She has a certain instinct about them. Almost as if she can read their minds. Or their hearts.”

  “She called the sheriff a snake. All he did was stop by the library and ask if he could help. Why is he a snake?”

  “The sheriff is controlled by the coal company. He does whatever they tell him to do, instead of what’s just and fair. As for Maggie, you have to understand that she’s a flatlander. People around here naturally distrust them.”

  “Your friend Hank seemed to trust her.”

  “Who told you about Hank?”

  “Cora did. She said he was your best friend, but that Hank died in a mining accident. June Ann mentioned Hank, too.”

  “We were friends. We grew up together, and he liked books almost as much as I did. We were supposed to go to Berea College together, but Hank never got to go. His father died, and Hank had to go to work in the mines to support his family. I sent him my textbooks so he could keep studying, but . . .” Mack ended the story with a shrug.