Carry the World

by Susan Fanetti

  At the mention of a panther skin, Hez’s eyes took on a greedy gleam. Panthers were tough game to bag, no matter how seasoned the hunter. “You got a panther?”

  “Yessir, I did. Come across him on a hunt. We had our sights on the same buck. I got ‘em both.” He was a bow hunter, so he’d had the chance to take both the panther and the deer—a rifle shot at the panther would have sent the deer running.

  Hez laughed and slapped him on the back. “Well damn, son! Lessee it.”

  Jonah folded back the pile of deerskins and exposed a beautiful tawny panther hide. Another benefit of bow hunting: no singe on the coat. With the right shot, and a good skinning, the hide showed no sign of violence at all.

  “I gotta tell you, Jonah. I’s all set to make this trade hard on you. I ain’t lyin’ when I say things is bad. But this—I can take this down below and fetch a fine price. I know just who to take it to. So let’s get this load inside, and then you can get what you need. All what you said, and some warm clothes for you and the young’uns, too.”

  Jonah took a breath deeper than he had since he’d stepped onto the Red Fern Holler road. That panther skin had saved him from the need to beg, and the fear of need. “Thank you, Hez.”

  The storekeeper clapped him on the back again, and they undertook to offload Jonah’s little sled.

  An hour later, Jonah’s sled was packed again, with all the supplies on his list, and coats, a few pieces of warm clothes and underclothes for the children, and new boots for them all. As he fastened the tarp down over his supplies, Esther Cummings bustled from the store and trundled her girth down the stairs.

  “Wait, Jonah.”

  He stood straight and turned, waiting.

  Esther held out a little tin bucket, with a piece of checkered cloth tucked over the top. “Some sweets for your babies. I missed ‘em today.”

  Jonah took it and lifted the cloth. Inside were two sweet-smelling muffins in colorful paper, and a few bright red hard candies, wrapped in cellophane. He lifted his eyes and shaped his mouth into a smile for her. “Thank you, Esther. They’ll be real pleased.”

  She patted his arm. “You take care, Jonah Walker. You hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I will.” He tucked the pail under the tarp, set a finger to his hat to bid Esther Cummings farewell, and put his shoulder to the hard work of pulling the sled up the mountain.

  It was late afternoon when he reached home—still light, but the halfhearted sun pushed sidelong through the trees and made long shadows. The cabin was quiet, and he was glad to see a cozy swirl of smoke waft from the chimney. The children were indoors, and Elijah had kept the fire going all day. He was a capable boy.

  Jonah pulled the sled behind the house, and stopped short when he saw the barn. The book woman’s mare was tied in the sheltered, open-sided half. Her head drooped in a contented doze.

  The book woman was regular in her visits, and Jonah kept count of the days. She wasn’t due for two more days. He’d made sure not to leave on a day she’d show up.

  Leaving the sled behind the house, he went in the side door, moving quietly. Always, he felt the need to be stealthy when she was around; he didn’t like strangers, and she made him particularly wary.

  “Find ... me ... Daddy,” he heard Bluebird say, her little voice slow and stuttering. Was she calling him? Did she know he was home? Jonah stopped in the dark hallway and listened, trying to understand. All he could see was the glow of firelight in the doorway to the front room.

  “That’s perfect, Bluebird,” the book woman said, earnestly.

  “Find me, Daddy,” Bluebird repeated happily. “Daddy! Find me. S—huh ... huh ...”

  “Do you remember what the sound is when ‘s’ and ‘h’ are together?”

  Bluebird didn’t answer, not so Jonah could hear, at least.

  Elijah answered, though. “It’s ‘sh,’ like ‘shoe’ or ‘sheep.’”

  “That’s right, Elijah.”

  “Sh-sh-uh,” Bluebird tried. “Sh-uh-tuh. Shu-tuh. Shut?”

  “Very good! Shut.”

  “Shut yuh ... yuh ... It’s too hard, Mizz Ada.”

  “Would you like Elijah to help?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Elijah’s voice picked up. “Shut your eyes. Shut your eyes, Daddy,” he read.

  The book woman had been teaching his children to read. When she visited, she spent an hour at least, often more, with them. At first, she’d simply read to them. Then, Elijah had wanted to read for himself, and she’d given him books to help him learn. Bluebird hated to be left out of anything, so now she was learning as well.

  Jonah had never spent a day in a school and had never learned to read. He knew the alphabet, and he could write his own name. He could cipher numbers enough to make trade or build something. He knew the word ‘flour’ from ‘sugar’ and ‘salt.’ But little more than that.

  He recognized his wife’s name to see it, and his son’s, but not his daughter’s. Grace had lived long enough to give Bluebird her name but not to show him the shape of it.

  There was a sampler above the fireplace that Grace had made; he could read that, because she’d told him what it said. There were two more samplers hanging on the walls of their bedroom, one commemorating their marriage and another Elijah’s birth. He could look at those and know what they said. But that was the limit of his understanding of written words.

  Grace had meant to teach their children, but she’d died before she could. Jonah stood alone in the dark hallway and listened to this woman he didn’t know take that sacred task over for his wife, heard how she was succeeding, and his stomach soured.

  He was glad his children were learning; there was no schoolhouse near enough for them to attend, and they had no other way to learn but from the books this woman brought, and the lessons she could teach. But it wasn’t the book woman’s job to teach them. Their mother should have had the chance.

  And where was Grace? Normally, when he returned to the cabin, she waited for him at the door, at the limit of her reach. But he’d come into the hallway and been alone.

  The irrational notion that the book woman had somehow chased the memory of his wife from the house caught Jonah by the throat, and he surged forward, coming into the front room as if he meant to fight her. He drew up short as soon as he crossed the threshold.

  Seated at the fire was the book woman, with Bluebird settled snugly on her lap. Elijah had pulled a stool up and sat beside them. He held a little balsa airplane Jonah hadn’t seen before. The woman held the book so all three could read.

  The firelight framed the whole picture in rosy glow. The woman’s red hair seemed blaze. She was pretty, and young. He’d heard her tell the children that she was a widow, but she seemed too young for that. Then again, he knew as well as anyone that no one was too young to die. Or to be left behind.

  Now, they all looked up at him, surprised. They’d been so wrapped up with her they hadn’t heard him return.

  “Pa!” Bluebird squealed and squirmed free of the woman to run to him. “Pa!” Jonah dropped to the floor and caught her in his arms as if he hadn’t seen her only hours earlier. “Look what Mizz Ada brung me!” Bluebird leaned back and showed what was in her hand—a little knitted toy. A bluebird, on a bit of rubber string. She let it drop, and it bobbed on the string, its blue wings flapping as if in flight. “Look! It’s a bluebird, like me. Bluebird of Happiness!”

  I want to name her Bluebird, so you’ll never be without happiness. Bluebird Hope.

  Though the memory of words her dying mother had once spoken pained him, he made himself grin. For his children, especially for his little girl, Jonah kept all his smiles. “Just like you.”

  “I hope it’s alright,” the book woman said. She’d stood and had come a few steps toward him. “I hope I didn’t ...”

  Blushing so hard her freckles seemed to fade, she let her words die out, and Jonah wasn’t sure what she was trying to apologize for.

  “We didn’t expect you
today. I wouldn’t’ve been away if—”

  “Oh, no. I’m sorry.” She jumped her words over his, and he stopped. “There’s a big librarians’ meeting in a few days, with people from the national office, so I had to change my route around a little. I’m sorry to come unexpectedly.”

  At the reminder that she was a government employee, Jonah’s face cramped in distaste before he could stop it. The woman blushed harder and dropped her gaze to the floor. She wore mannish clothes, heavy trousers and boots, and a thick flannel shirt, but her hair was braided prettily, and her features were so delicate she still looked like a lady.

  It made him uncomfortable to look at her. “It’s gettin’ late, and the cold is makin’ the way slick again. If you mean to get down the mountain today, you should go.” It crossed his mind that he should offer to let her stay the night, but he didn’t want her here so long.

  Her eyes—large and round, the soft green of a mountain stream—flared wide. “Of course. Yes. My parents’ll be looking for me.” She went to the door, where she’d hung her coat, scarf, and hat on a hook. Her big saddlebags rested on the floor beneath.

  “Well, children.” She turned back to Elijah and Bluebird as she slipped her coat on. “Keep reading, and I’ll see you again in two weeks.”

  Bluebird pushed away from Jonah and ran to her. “Bye, Mizz Ada!” she cried as she wrapped her little arms around the woman’s legs. “Thank you for my bluebird!”

  The woman bent low and hugged his daughter back. “You’re welcome. And thank you for reading to me today.”

  When Bluebird let her go, she turned to Elijah and held out a cordial hand. “And thank you, young man, for your fine hospitality today. You are a wonderful host.”

  His serious son blushed all the way to the roots of his blond hair, and smiled softly as he shook hands with her. “’Twas a pleasure, Mizz Ada. Thank you for my airplane.”

  “You’re ever so welcome.”

  “I’ll walk you to your horse,” Jonah said. He was unsettled by all he’d just witnessed, disheartened and somehow ashamed, and strangely restless, too, and he wanted the woman gone. He picked up her saddlebags—they were heavy, full of books—and opened the door.

  That night, Jonah put his children to bed. Though they were fortunate to live in this big old cabin his great-granddad had built, the winter nights were too cold to sleep at a distance from the fire. The children slept on pallets before the hearth, where they could keep warm. Soon, Jonah would join them, but for a few nights yet he would sleep in his own room.

  Bluebird slept with her new little knitted toy cradled close to her heart. Elijah set his balsa airplane on top of the book the woman had left him, both on the floor beside his pillow.

  They had toys, he’d carved boats and horses for Elijah and little dolls for Bluebird, but he’d never seen them treasure tokens like they treasured these the woman had brought them from the world below.

  Jonah sat at the table and watched them settle into their night’s rest. When he was sure they were asleep, he took the candle and went across the hall to his own bed.

  For the whole afternoon and evening, since he’d returned from Red Fern Holler, Grace had kept away. He couldn’t remember a day in six years he hadn’t seen her, standing in a doorway, sitting with one of the children, standing at his side as he tried to make the food she’d made. Every time he thought of her in this house, he saw her, quiet and smiling and with him.

  But tonight, he was alone as he shed his suspenders and used the last of the washing-up water to clean his face and neck. He rinsed the cloth and pushed it under his undershirt, washing under his arms the way she’d always insisted he do. The room was cold enough to show his breath, but he didn’t mind the chill. There were quilts piled on the bed to keep him as warm as he could be.

  After he toweled off, he turned the covers down, first on her side, and then on his. He sat on the chair by the bureau and pulled off his boots, then stood and unfastened his trousers, noting that the top button was loose and soon to pop, and slipped them off, draping them over the back of the chair so he could put them on again in the morning. He arranged his boots under the chair. Grace didn’t like an untidy house, and she’d trained him to be tidy as well.

  Still alone as he slid into bed, he brushed his hand over her pillow. He’d never washed that pillow since her passing, only fluffed it every now and then in the sun. For a long time, the feathers and cotton batting had held the smell of her. Though he was sure the scent had faded years ago, the memory of it remained keen whenever he put his face to that pillow. It held her scent the way the house held the sight of her. They kept his memory sharp. That was all it was, he knew. Only his memory, his mind conjuring visions to keep him company.

  So why wasn’t she here with him tonight?

  “Grace. Darlin’, where are you? I need you.” He spoke the words in a reverent whisper, hardly more than a breath, the way Elijah and Bluebird said the prayer Jonah made them say every night because their mother would want them to.

  Getting no answer, Jonah blew out the candle on a sorrowful sigh and settled his head on his pillow.

  I’m here, my love. He heard her sweet voice in his mind, and he opened his eyes. In the blue light of the winter moon, he saw her. She lay on the bed, her head on her pillow, facing him.

  “Don’t go ‘way like that.”

  I’m here. As long as you need me, I’ll be here.

  Jonah set his hand on her pillow, as if his palm cradled her cheek, and fell into sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  Jonah stood back and watched Elijah milk Petal, their aging cow. Bluebird leaned on his leg, her arm hooked tight around his knee, watching her big brother just as carefully.

  “You’re doin’ good, boy.” It had taken him a bit to get the rhythm right, long enough to try the sweet old girl’s patience, but now he had a steady tempo, and milk hit the pail in a smooth stream with each careful squeeze of a teat.

  The cold was brittle this morning, and Petal didn’t give as much milk when the freeze was hard, but it was enough for them to get by for a little while.

  “I wanna try, Pa.”

  “Not yet, baby girl. When you get big as Elijah, then you can try, too. You can feed the goats with me, soon’s the milkin’s done.” Three of the four does were carrying kids for the spring, and that was great good fortune. Their young ram had done his work.

  When Jonah and Grace had started their life together, this little homestead had done pretty well for itself. That was before the sickness which took most of their family and neighbors, and before the fever that took Grace and left him alone with two children. In those days before, in addition to a happy, vibrant life, they’d had another, younger dairy cow, and a good strong horse to pull wagon and plow, and a heartier plot for planting, one that yielded enough to sell.

  But the sickness had come, and then Grace had died, and there just seemed to be a pall hovering over the holler after that. Junior, the horse, had fallen on a trip to Red Fern Holler and broken his leg, and Rosie, the other cow, had simply fallen over dead one night, for causes mysterious to Jonah. He’d butchered them both and fed his family from their meat, but when it was gone, he had no way to replace them. Such animals were valuable, too valuable for simple trade, and Jonah no longer had the means or the will to earn money, certainly not enough to buy livestock.

  He had an arrangement with the Dickersons down in Red Fern Holler to breed Petal to one of their bulls often enough to keep her milking—they kept the calf, and he kept Petal’s milk. But she was getting old, and the way to and from Red Fern Holler was getting too hard for her. One day soon enough, he wouldn’t be able to get her there, or she wouldn’t catch a calf if he did, and she’d go dry. Jonah wasn’t sure what he would do then. Hope their ram kept his girls pregnant so they’d produce milk, he reckoned. His children were young; they needed milk to grow strong. He knew that.

  The milk pail was a little more than half full when Petal stamped a hoof and lo
wed sharply. Elijah flinched back, releasing her teat, and glanced over his shoulder.

  “Did I hurt her?”

  Jonah shook his head. “S’alright. She’s just tellin’ you she’s done. Take a look at her udder—see how soft it is?” Elijah looked, and touched, and nodded. “She give you all she got. Tell her she’s a good girl an’ go on an’ take the pail inside. I’ll lead her out. You did good, Elijah.”

  His son stood and nodded, and showed little sign of pride or pleasure in his accomplishment. He set the stool aside and hoisted up the pail, careful not to jostle it. Before he left the barn, he went to Petal’s head and patted her softly.

  “Good ol’ girl,” he crooned. “Thank you kindly for the milk today.”

  Jonah watched him walk slowly to the house, keeping the pail level, bearing too much weight on his immature shoulders. As long as Jonah could remember, his son had felt the need to be a help to him, a partner in running their family. He couldn’t remember when he’d placed that burden on him, or ever meaning to, but of course he had. He did lean on the boy, in precisely the ways Elijah felt the pressure.

  “Pa, I wanna feed the goats.”

  Bluebird, on the other hand, felt free to be a little girl, to be cared for and carefree, and Jonah and Elijah both bent backward to make sure she always was.

  “Alright, girl. I’m gonna put Petal out in the sun first. Then we can open up the goats. Do you want to help with the chickens, too?”

  “Can I put eggs in the basket?”

  “If you’re real careful not to drop ‘em, you can.”

  She made a little cross over her heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  Never before had she made that old sign or said those words, and he didn’t know where she could have picked them up. Jonah remembered them from when he was a boy, and around people more. In those days, they’d been nearly meaningless, just a thing children said and did to seal a promise. But now, they struck him painfully, and he dropped into a crouch and grasped her arms.