She opened the chifforobe and brushed her hand over her few dresses. Her fewer pairs of shoes were lined neatly on the bottom. Just as she’d left them. Everything was exactly as she’d left it a month earlier. There wasn’t even any dust.
She was home, and she was glad. Being with her parents again, seeing with her own eyes that they were well, that their lives were as stable as when she’d left, experiencing that profound relief, Ada felt the full impact of the worry and homesickness she’d been afraid to focus on while she was in Jonah’s care.
In Jonah’s care. That was what she’d been—cared for. Tenderly. Lovingly.
Everything here was the same, except for Ada herself. She felt different. Inside.
She felt lonely. She’d missed her parents desperately while she was in Cable’s Holler, but she was homesick here at home, now, too. For Cable’s Holler. For Elijah and Bluebird. For Jonah.
She went to the window and pushed wide the faded calico curtains. A full moon shone over her parents’ bit of land. It looked like a wholly different world from the one Jonah and his children lived in. That world was steep and full of shadows, and life had to be wrested from its trees and carved from its stony ground. Here, the hills sloped gently, and the soil was richer, without rocks and roots in the way. Even in this time of universal need, this world seemed a kinder place.
A breeze kicked up, pulling the curtains through the open window and making the old windmill weathervane spin and squeak. Whippoorwills and crickets sang in the rustling trees and grasses. Ada leaned out the window. As the wind riffled her hair and pulled strands loose from the braid, she took a deep breath. She knew these sounds, these scents, these sensations. She’d grown up in this world, in this place.
She was glad to be home.
But her home was now bigger than this. It wasn’t only her and her parents anymore. Now it was Jonah and Elijah and Bluebird as well.
There was no way to bring the top of the mountain together with the bottom. Though she could ascend and descend between them in a day, they were worlds that could not be joined.
And this was the one that needed her most. It didn’t matter what she needed.
So she would live as she’d been living. The Walkers had always been special to her, and they would continue to be. She could honestly say that she loved them. Dearly. But they were not her family, and could not be. She would visit, she would carry the world to them as she did for all the people on her route. And she would return here every night and take care of her own family.
Ada backed out of the window and closed the curtains. She worked the heavy denim trousers—which had once been George’s—off, folded them neatly, and set them on the seat of the straight-back chair. She slipped her socks off and set them on the trousers. Standing before the foxed glass of her mirror, she studied her reflection. The poplin shirt she wore had been George’s, too. She’d altered his work clothes as much as she could to fit her considerably smaller frame. George hadn’t been fat, but he’d carried a bit of weight in his belly.
Ada had always run skinny. When she’d been a young girl burgeoning into womanhood, and her body hadn’t grown like other girls’ had, she’d been deeply disappointed.
She’d never developed the beautiful round hips and backside her best girlfriend Kitty had gotten, or a bosom like the one that made the boys chase Kitty around on Saturday night as if they’d die if she wouldn’t grant them a smile, but she’d finally grown a little bit of a chest. Not much to crow about, but at least she wasn’t flat.
George had found her lovely. He’d always said so. He’d been a romantic sort, good with pretty words she could believe.
Hair like fire, eyes like water.
Watching herself in the mirror, Ada unbuttoned each button, slowly. There was a mended slash in the fabric, near her waist; she lifted the shirt and studied it in the golden lamplight. Jonah had sewn the tear shut, with small, even stitches in a white thread. She opened the shirt. Her camisole hadn’t come back to her, and she owned only one brassiere she kept for dressing up, so she had nothing on beneath the shirt. The long scar of her wound was red and raised. She traced its length with a fingertip and felt nothing but the tingly absence of feeling. Jonah had sewn this tear shut as well.
Standing alone in her tiny bedroom, she pushed George’s shirt from her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Wearing only her plain cotton panties, she considered her body in the mirror. That scar on her side was the only visible sign of the change she’d undergone. Otherwise, she was the same skinny redheaded girl with too many freckles—over her face, her shoulders, her chest, her arms, her lower legs, the backs of her hands, the tops of her feet.
Like you stood naked in a frecklestorm, George had said, laughing, on their wedding night, the first time he ever saw her body.
Not a girl. A woman. A widow. She knew what she’d had. What she’d lost. What was missing. What she wanted.
Ada closed her eyes and cupped her hands over her breasts. Only George had ever touched her in this way. Since his death, she’d touched herself a few times, imagining that her hands were his, but it wasn’t the same, and it saddened her to pretend to have what she never could have again.
Now, as she drew her fingers closed over her nipples and felt them tighten, a shadow of that melancholy hovered over her. But her body thrilled to the touch nonetheless. Because it wasn’t George she was imagining.
Jonah had never touched her like this. He’d seen all of her body, and he’d touched her intimately, because she’d needed his help, though she’d taken over the most intimate care at her earliest chance. He’d never touched her but to tend to her.
Except that day he’d leaned in and touched her hair, when she thought he’d kiss her. When she’d wanted him to and then shied away.
She didn’t know his touch of desire. But she imagined it now. It was his hand she conjured, his body looming over her, his voice at her ear, calling her darlin’ in his deep, slow voice, its natural cadence almost reluctant, as if words gripped his tongue, fighting to stay back.
Kneading her breasts, imaging them in his hands, his rough palms skimming her skin, Ada moaned softly and dropped a hand down, over her belly, into her panties. She slid her fingers over her mound, drew one through the wet between her folds.
His hand between her legs. His breath on her shoulder. His chest under her cheek. She moaned again.
“Ada Lee?” A sharp knock accompanied her father’s voice. “Y’alright?”
Ada jumped and pulled her hand from her underwear. “I’m alright, Daddy!” She scooped up the discarded shirt and slid her arms back into the sleeves. “Just getting ready for bed.”
“You sure? Thought I heard somethin’ in there.”
Embarrassment made her cheeks hot, and she trembled with the need she’d stoked to a blaze. Wrapping the shirt closed around her, she opened her door a crack. “I’m fine. Truly. I’m a little chilly, though. I’m gonna close the window.”
He nodded. “Good idea. Radio said there’s rain comin’. Don’t look like you’ll get to town tomorrow.”
She held back a sigh and made a smile instead. “Maybe the rain’ll pass quickly. If not, I’ll spend the day with you and go to town the next day.”
“That’s good. It’ll be good to have you here with us.” He pushed on the door a little, and Ada let it open another inch or two so he could lean in and give her another kiss good night. “You get some good rest, Ada Lee. Your momma and me’re sure glad to have you back.”
“I’m glad, too. ’Night, Daddy. Sleep well.”
Ada closed her door and rested back on it, her blood burning with shame and need.
Chapter Fourteen
Chancey opened the passenger-side door of his truck and offered his hand to help Ada onto the sidewalk.
He was slow to let go of her hand, so she slid her fingers free with a firm but gentle determination. “Thank you, Chancey.”
“My pleasure, Mizz Ada. How long you gonna be, you thin
k?”
“Not too long, I don’t expect. I just want to make sure Mrs. Pitts knows I’m ready to pick up my route again. Not longer than it’ll take you to get to Holden and back, I’m sure.”
Like last year, this spring had been too wet and stormy, and the crops were suffering for it—getting in late and getting torn up once they started sprouting. It looked to be another year of poor yields. Ada’s family would get by because of her job. Chancey had taken on work as a hauler to help support him and his mother. He had a job today to haul a load from Callwood to Holden.
“I’m real sorry ‘bout that. Hope I don’t make you wait.”
“Don’t you worry, Chancey Maclaren. I’ll occupy my time just fine. We’ll meet outside the store?”
“Yes’m, just like always.”
Before she turned toward the building, Ada checked her look in the truck window. She’d made a special effort today, wearing her best outfit—a navy blue dress with white polka dots and a white spread collar, and a narrow, shiny red belt at the waist. She wore navy Mary Jane pumps and carried a matching handbag. And a small white straw hat with a navy and red grosgrain band. The outfit was a few years old, and probably a bit out of fashion, but Ada always felt strong and beautiful when she wore it. George had bought her the whole ensemble a few weeks after their wedding and spent nearly five dollars on it.
She’d lost a bit of weight while she was ill, and the dress hung a bit loosely on her. Examining herself in the window glass, she shifted and smoothed the collar. She’d pinned it so it wouldn’t gap at her chest and show her camisole and brassiere beneath it.
“You sure look pretty, Mizz Ada,” Chancey murmured at her side.
Chancey was twenty years old. Since she’d come home after losing George, he’d been sweet and quick to blush around her, and she thought he might be a bit sweet on her, but always he’d been a gentleman. In the days she’d been home after her illness, he’d been doubly attentive, and Ada was beginning to wonder if he might be getting ideas.
She’d be twenty-seven in a few weeks. Far too old for him. Besides, her heart was split in two and not available. One half was in the ground with George, and the other half was up the mountain with Jonah. Both halves were lost in the impossible.
“Thank you, Chancey. I’ll see you at the store this afternoon.” She gave him her teacher’s smile and turned toward the Pack Horse Library of Callwood, Kentucky.
Since she’d first gotten the job, back in autumn when last summer’s leaves were just beginning to think about their more colorful wardrobe, Ada had come monthly to Callwood for the librarians’ meeting. She hadn’t seen the place this quiet since that first day. But today, there was only Mrs. Pitts, sitting at her desk, her typical grey topknot, round spectacles, and austere dress all neatly in place.
She looked up as Ada closed the door, and smiled when she saw it who was. “Ada! Welcome back!”
“Hello, Mrs. Pitts.”
The woman came around the desk, and bustled her round body to her with her arms outstretched. Though the saddlebags she carried made it awkward, Ada took the hug, surprised and touched.
“It’s so good to see you, dear. How are you?”
“I’m well. It’s good to see you, too. I’m ever so grateful you kept my job for me.”
“Come, sit.” Mrs. Pitts took her hand and led her to a table near the stacks. Ada set the saddlebags on the table, and they sat down together.
“You were hurt on your route, Ada. Of course we kept your job for you. What’s more, the people on your route sent word to me asking after you and wanting to know how to help you. You’ve made quite an impression. I would even go so far as to say you’re beloved.”
Emotion washed over Ada, and she dabbed her eyes with gloved fingers. “I love them, as well. I’m very much looking forward to returning to my route. I can start again tomorrow.”
Mrs. Pitts patted her hand. “It’s Wednesday, Ada. Why don’t you take the rest of the week off and begin again on Monday? If you feel strong enough for the work. If you don’t, take a bit more time. Your health is the most important thing.”
Occasionally, if she turned too quickly, she felt a kick of vertigo, but it passed before it could do more than make the floor swing once or twice. Otherwise, she felt right again. She was eager to get back to work.
But she wouldn’t mind a few more days with her parents, that was true.
“I’m healthy, Mrs. Pitts, and ready to work. I’ll begin again on Monday.” She set her hand on the saddlebags. “What I’ve got here is the last books I had with me, and the latest update of my ledger. I’m a bit behind, but I heard that some of my patrons organized book exchanges among themselves, so when I see them, I’ll do what I can to reconcile my records.”
“Excellent.”
“Many of these books, I’m sorry to say, were waterlogged when Henrietta and I found our trouble. Some, I don’t think can be salvaged.”
“Well, let’s see what we’ve got. Do you have any time today? If so, perhaps we could go through these and see what we can save for scrapbooks.”
“I have a few hours, in fact. My neighbor drove me into town, and he’s working most of the day.”
“Excellent. In that case, how would you feel about helping me write some fund-raising letters as well?”
Mrs. Pitts worked tirelessly to find funds to buy more books or find people and organizations to donate books to the program.
Ada grinned. Since Doc Dollens had brought her down the mountain, she’d been trapped in a battle between pleasure to be home safely and misery to be away from Jonah and the children. Today, sitting with Mrs. Pitts, discussing their good work and how Ada contributed to it, she understood fully that she had, painful as it was, made the right choice. She couldn’t give this up. She wanted both, but since she couldn’t have both, she had chosen rightly.
“I’d be delighted.”
When Ada said goodbye to Mrs. Pitts early that afternoon, she’d written a dozen letters asking for donations of funds, reading materials, or other items to support the program, and she and Mrs. Pitts had sat together and salvaged what they could from damaged books and organized them for rebirth in scrapbooks. They’d worked together, the two of them undisturbed by anyone off the street or even a ringing phone, and done several hours of good work.
Ada had admired Mrs. Pitts and respected her from their first meeting. Over the months, she’d gained a distant sort of affection for her, as a student for a teacher. When she left the library on this day, she’d realized that Mrs. Pitts was a friend.
She also had her wages from the previous month. Mrs. Pitts had offered to advance her the wages for this month as well, and excuse her from the next meeting, which was coming up in just more than a week. But Ada wanted to see her colleagues. She enjoyed meeting day. The other librarians were her friends, too—and she’d recognized that long ago.
Chancey wasn’t yet waiting for her in front of Callwood Dry Goods, and she didn’t see his truck parked anywhere nearby, so she went into the store with her purse and her heart full, ready to do some shopping. She and her mother had worked out a list. As her mother had become more accustomed to Ada’s earning, she’d allowed herself a few small luxuries here and there, like a better quality of yarn for her knitting. Her blindness hadn’t stopped her fingers; she’d simply invented a way to keep the colors straight, and kept count of her stitches as she always had.
Today, Ada indulged in a tin of cocoa powder. Her mother’s birthday was coming up, shortly before her own, and she enjoyed Black Forest cake. They had plenty of cherries, from the little grove of cherry trees in the back yard, but chocolate was expensive. She smiled at the thought of her mother’s glee when she got her favorite cake for her birthday.
For her own part, Ada didn’t really enjoy cake. She preferred pie. For every birthday since she was tiny, her mother had made her favorite peach pie. She still did, though Ada had to help now.
As she carried her little basket of needs and
desires, and let pleasant thoughts of her parents and childhood flow through her, Ada browsed the whole store. She considered pretty hats and dresses, fondled shoes and handbags. The store didn’t have a great many things to choose from, but Ada enjoyed her browsing all the same. It was nice to indulge in fantasy from time to time.
When she came to the notions area, the yarns, threads, ribbons, and other supplies for sewing and crafting, Ada chose some soft skeins in pale blue and cream for her mother’s newest project. There was a display close by of novelty ribbons, with little designs woven into the grain—tiny flowers, American flags, little ivy vines. And tiny bluebirds.
Tears filled her eyes as she lifted the satiny white ribbon with those little bluebirds flitting down the center. She’d brought the Walker children gifts a few times before. She’d always favored them, and their isolation from others allowed her to do so with little guilt. But what she felt for them now was more than simple favor.
Starting Monday, she’d pick up her route again and visit all her families. Including the Walkers. She would see them every two weeks, as she had for three-quarters of a year. She’d grown to love Bluebird and Elijah in those visits; she hadn’t needed to see them more often than that to love them.
Maybe it would be enough?
Could it be enough for Jonah?
Ada plucked the card of ribbon from its post. She’d buy two feet, enough for two ribbons for Bluebird’s lovely golden hair.
Now. What for Elijah? And something for Jonah as—
Oh, she had an idea. Was it good? Or was it terrible?
Ada stood before the embroidery and cross-stitch supplies, staring up at the displays of samplers and patterns, and wondered at herself. If it was a good idea, she could give Jonah something important, something to show him how deeply she felt about that family at the top of the mountain.
Carry the World Page 17
