If it was a terrible idea, she could slice his heart in two.
Deciding she could think more about it while she worked, Ada put her hand in the bin of blue embroidery threads and picked a lovely, rich shade, and another just like it. Then she considered the shades of red.
Chancey was much later than Ada had anticipated, and the sun was low by the time he pulled up before the store. By then, she’d exhausted every browsing opportunity the store offered, had spent as much as she could afford to spend, had strolled the blocks in sight of the store on both sides of the street, and treated herself to an ice cream soda.
She didn’t want to stand on the sidewalk waiting, and look like a woman on the prowl, so she sat at the soda shop and nursed her treat, watching out the window, beginning to worry.
Finally, she saw his truck. He pulled up outside the store, running a front tire onto the curb. He nearly fell out the door and stumbled onto the sidewalk.
He was drunk. Good heavens.
Ada gathered up her purchases and left the soda shop. She hurried across the street. Chancey had gone to peer into store windows, his face to the glass and his hands shielding his eyes, so she had time to get to him before he went into the store.
“Chancey Maclaren! You are late, and you are drunk!”
He whirled around and made a jigging step to keep his tenuous balance. “How do, Mizz Ada. Y’ready t’go home?”
She held out her hand. “The key, please.”
“Wuh? No’m, I wouldn’ let a lady drive.”
“I am going nowhere with you behind the wheel in this condition, and you won’t get home safely on your own, either. I’m driving, or we’re both staying in Callwood this evening.”
“Can’t do that. Got my momma.”
“Exactly. So I will drive.” She shook her upturned palm at him. “The key.”
He dug into his overalls and produced a key for the starter. Ada took it and went to the truck. She opened the passenger door and waited for Chancey to crawl in. Then she put her purchases in the back and climbed in behind the wheel.
She didn’t drive often, and hadn’t at all for nearly a year, but even her rusty skills were preferable to the drunken carnival ride Chancey would no doubt have taken them on.
“Yer so pretty, Mizz Ada,” Chancey mumbled. He’d been slumped against the window the whole ride, in and out of a stupor. “Prettiest thing I ever knowed.”
Ada ignored him and watched the road. It had taken her a mile or two to refresh her skills with a clutch, but she was smooth and confident now.
“Y’think you’d ever see me like a man? I’d be good to you. Treat you good. Take care so you’d not hafta do all that ridin’. Keep you safe.”
Oh no. She’d sensed a change in his feelings for her; she’d been right. But he was drunk, and it would do no good to try to speak plainly with him now.
He reeled up and made himself sit straight in the seat. “I’s a good man, Mizz Ada.”
“You’re drunk, Chancey. Just rest. We’ll be home soon.”
Suddenly, his hand came across the cab and landed on her thigh. His fingers began drawing the skirt of her dress up. “I’d treat you so good. Like you deserve. Not lonely no more.”
She slammed her hand over his and filled her voice with teacherly censure. “Chancey, stop! At once!”
But he clamped down harder and leaned toward her, trying to get his hand under her dress and kiss her at the same time. She tried to fight him off and drive, but he was bigger and stronger, and soon enough the truck went off the road, into the ditch. The front end crashed into the side of the ditch, and the impact hurled them both forward. The steering wheel stopped Ada with a painful blow across her chest and chin, but Chancey went forward and slammed his head into the windshield.
Her lungs screamed for breath inside a chest made of broken glass. Her chin hurt, and her neck. The world spun and swirled in a way she’d grown hatefully familiar with.
But she was alright. Feeling all that, being able to breathe despite the pain, she was conscious and not horribly hurt. But Chancey had sagged back to the seat, unconscious. Blood pulsed down his face from a gash across his forehead.
“Chancey?” She shook his shoulder, and he moaned. “Chancey, wake up! Wake up!” She gave him a harder shake, and his eyes fluttered open.
“Huh? Ow. Huh?” He blinked and tried to sit up straight. “Ow, ow.” His hand went to his forehead, then came back down, and he stared at the blood. “What hap—” He turned to Ada. “Oh, Mizz Ada. Oh, I’m sor—”
“Don’t worry about that. We’ll talk about that later, when you’re sober and patched up. We need to get help. Can you walk?”
“I—I think so. How ‘bout you? You hurt? Yer bleedin’ too!” He reached out for her chin, but Ada jerked away. She hadn’t known she was bleeding, but she knew for a fact Chancey Maclaren would not be touching her again.
“I’m so sorry, Mizz Ada. I dunno—”
“Not now, Chancey. Now, we need help.”
She pushed open the truck door and got out, landing in the muddy water at the bottom of the ditch. Oh, her good shoes.
Fueled by outrage more than anything else, Ada climbed from the muddy ditch in her best clothes, went around the truck, back down into the ditch, and opened the passenger door. “If you can walk, Chancey, then walk. We need to get to help.”
It was well past dark when Ada got home. There was a strange man with her parents, a wanderer who’d come by looking to trade work for a meal. It was a fairly common occurrence, especially during the warmer months, but the last thing Ada wanted to face at the moment was a strange man. She was ashamed of herself for it, but she couldn’t even try to be cordial. She glared at him, and he receded to the barn, which she supposed he’d been offered for a bed on this clear, warm night.
Her parents had only begun to worry for her lateness, but when her father saw the wound on her chin and her generally disheveled condition, he exploded into a dervish of anxiety and carried her mother along with him. Ada was weary and sore, but she let them fuss over her for awhile, assured them she was scraped up a bit but otherwise fine, and then escaped to take a bath.
Her chin was swollen and ugly, and she was bruised from her shoulders to her waist, but they’d crashed only a mile or so from Doc Dollens’ place, so in addition to helping get Chancey’s truck back on the road, he’d patched them up. And taken Ada home, because she wanted no part of being alone with Chancey, not even after he’d sobered up.
She didn’t tell her parents why they’d crashed. They assumed Chancey was driving, and that was good enough. They didn’t need to know that the neighbor they relied most often on for help had tried to force himself on her.
As she lay in the tub in a bathroom she’d left dark, Ada closed her eyes. The fresh memory of Chancey’s clumsy, drunken paws filled her mind, and she pushed it away with memories of Jonah. Holding her, comforting her, being gentle always, always a gentleman.
Right now, she wished she’d stayed on the mountain.
First thing Monday morning, before the sun had done more than promise to show up, Ada and Henrietta were back at work. Their packs were full of books, and they had a nice lunch to look forward to. Her chin still hurt a little, and her chest hurt a bit more, but nothing that would slow her down.
Turned out it was just as dangerous in the foothills as it was up high.
Her families were thrilled to see her, and by the time she and Henrietta took a break for lunch at one of their favorite spots, Ada knew she wouldn’t be home before dusk. Everybody wanted to linger a bit longer than usual, hear her story, tell her how they missed her. By the end of the morning, Ada had turned the story of her trouble into an adventure tale, buffing up the scary parts to make them thrilling instead, and turning Henrietta into the hero she truly was.
In the afternoon, she reached Bull Holler. She passed the Devlins’ place with a pang. It still abraded her conscience that she didn’t stop there any longer, there were children
there, and Mrs. Devlin, who might need her help, but Mr. Devlin had dragged her off Henrietta and punched her in the face once, and he wouldn’t get a chance to hurt her again. She wanted to help, but not at the expense of being hurt like that. Falling down the mountain in a mudslide was one thing, even getting in the way of a bear, but she wouldn’t put herself in the way of actual malice, of somebody who wanted to hurt her just to hurt her.
Especially not while she had stitches in her face already.
So she passed by the Devlins’ place and rode deeper into Bull Holler. The rest of her families here met her at the schoolhouse, where she’d once taught, and as they saw her riding down the middle of the holler, people came out of their homes, or stopped in their work, and called out to her, waving and cheering.
Grinning so widely her chin stung, Ada waved back and called out greetings. By the time she pulled up at the schoolhouse, she was trailing a whole parade behind her. Children spilled from the schoolhouse doors into the yard calling out, “Mizz Ada! Mizz Ada!”
She was born to do this work.
“Bobbi Lynn Devlin,” Ada said as she wrote the name in her ledger. “The Wind in the Willows. Oh, this is one of my very favorite books, Bobbi Lynn. I hope you like it.”
Bobbi Lynn, the oldest of the Devlin children in school, dropped something like a curtsey. “Thank you, Mizz Ada.”
Ada had taught her when she was just a little slip of a girl. Now, she was nearly at the limit of her schooling. Ada knew her father would pull her from school as soon as he was able. Bull Holler was too close to the world for her father to defy the law, but he wouldn’t let her stay any longer than he had to.
Hugging the book to her chest, the girl walked off. That was the last of the line of people, young and old, who’d checked out books. She closed her ledger and began to pack up.
The schoolteacher, Miss June Avery, came up with a smile and began to help. “We’re all so glad you’re back, Mrs. Donovan. We’ve missed you so. The children were worried for you. We all were.”
Mrs. Donovan. That was her name, and she loved it as much as she loved the man who’d given it to her. But a strange twitch ran through her at the sound of it. Somehow, it didn’t sound right. She shook that off and gave the young woman a matching smile. “Thank you. It’s so good to be back, and to be well. And thank you, Miss Avery, for helping out while I was indisposed. Without you, I don’t know what would have happened to my route.”
“It was all of us. Near everyone wanted to help, and that was what we could do. And please, call me June.”
“And you should call me Ada.” Ada finished packing her packs and folded the leather flaps over them.
“May I ask a question, Ada?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think there’s more work like you do? Other routes?”
Surprised by the question, Ada left her packs for later. She turned and leaned back on the teacher’s desk. “Why do you ask? Are things not going well for you here?”
“No, no. They’re wonderful. Perfect. I love this post. But ...” She glanced around the schoolroom. The children were buried in their new books, and the adults had left the schoolhouse and gone back to their work. “But I’ve got a beau. He’s proposed.”
“Oh, that’s lovely. Best wishes.”
“Thank you. I’m very happy, but ...”
But the school board didn’t allow married women to be teachers. She would lose her post before she’d gotten all the wedding rice out of her hair. Just as Ada had.
“But you won’t be able to keep your post.”
“Right.” She huffed with irritation. “It’s such a shame. It’s Jimmy Crowder, right here in Bull Holler. I’m going to live within sight of this very schoolhouse. But they won’t let me keep teaching these children I care so much for.” She looked to Ada. “You’re married, though, and working. What you do, it’s close enough to teaching. I know this is your route, and I wouldn’t want to take it from you, but I’d be happy to take another. Jimmy’s even said he might ride with me sometimes, if I got a job like yours.”
“I’m a widow, June.”
“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright. And you’re not wrong. Most of the librarians I work with are married. I don’t know of an open route right now, though. When are you getting married?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t said yes yet, because I don’t know if I can give up my work. Jimmy wants to save up a nest egg first, too. Maybe a year or so.”
“Well, things might change by then. Here.” She opened her pack again and pulled her ledger and pen out. Tearing a blank page free, she wrote down Mrs. Pitts’ name and the address of the library. “This is the head librarian. She’s a good woman. When you need a job, go on down to Callwood and see her.”
June took the page, folded it carefully, and put it to her chest. “Thank you, Ada!”
“Does this mean you’re going to tell Jimmy Crowder yes?”
“Yes, I think it does!”
Ada had taught Jimmy Crowder in his last year of schooling. He was about twenty-two years old now, she thought. June Avery was probably about the same age. Only five years younger than she, but she felt suddenly old.
When she approached the gate to her family’s home early that evening, Chancey Maclaren was sitting on the big, sunk-in boulder that marked their drive. That boulder was etched with symbols: two crossed beams, like a letter T, meaning the family gave food in exchange for work; a squiggly line, meaning they’d offer help if a man were hurt or ill; and a symbol like a smile with two round eyes, meaning a man might be allowed to sleep in the barn. That one had a little teardrop as well—the barn’s roof leaked. One of the wandering men had explained these symbols and others to Ada last summer. There were checkmarks around the symbols, which meant others had come and agreed with them.
Chancey stood and pulled his hat from his head as she and Henrietta walked up. His forehead was black and blue and tracked with stitches.
Ada reined Hen to a stop. “Chancey, what are you doing here?” She hadn’t seen him since Doc Dollens had sent him off home that night last week.
“I wanted ... I needed ...” He ducked his head and stopped. After a few big breaths, as if he were about to lift that boulder out of the ground, he looked up said, “I’m real sorry, Mizz Ada. I did you wrong. I did you wrong, and got you hurt.”
“You did, yes.”
“I don’t know what got inta me.”
“Whiskey, by the smell of it.”
Dejection rounded his shoulders as he nodded. “It was them fellas in Holden. After I dropped off the load, they wanted me to go with ‘em for a beer. I didn’t think there’s no harm in it, but then they kep’ goin’ and goin’.”
Ada didn’t drink. But she’d seen enough drunks to know once it started, it wasn’t easy to stop. “You’re forgiven, Chancey. Go on home.”
“I can’t, Mizz Ada. I ‘member ever’thin’ about that night. What I did was wrong, but what I said ... I meant that. If you’d have me—”
“Chancey, stop. Please stop.”
He stopped, and turned up such a pathetic face Ada nearly laughed—not with humor, but with pity. She mastered the impulse, however, and took on a teacherly attitude.
“I don’t feel like that for you, Chancey, and I won’t. You’ve been a very good neighbor and great help to my parents. I appreciate everything you do for them. But you’re not more than a neighbor to me.” Last week, she would have said he was her friend, but she was still too angry for the way he’d behaved to give him even that.
“I ruined my chance, didn’t I?” he asked.
He’d never had a chance. “Find yourself a girl better suited to you, Chancey. Someone young, who’ll look up to you.”
“You’re young. You’re beautiful and young and smart and sweet.”
Ada didn’t answer. She looked down from Henrietta’s back and waited for him to get it through his thick head.
“Alright. Good night to
you, Mizz Ada.” He put his hat on and slumped off down the road.
Chapter Fifteen
At the end of her first week back on her route, Ada pulled Henrietta up before the Cummings General Store in Red Fern Holler. Though she’d visited this holler often enough as a young girl, when Granny Dee lived here, there hadn’t been much she remembered about it before she’d begun her work as a librarian. In the nearly year that she’d been riding the mountain, she’d rekindled old acquaintances and even gotten to know more about her own people on her mother’s side.
The highest real community on the mountain, Red Fern Holler was small—only about eight homes in the holler itself and another six that could get to it within an hour’s walk—but most of those homes held eight or ten or even more people, in several generations, and more than a hundred people called Red Fern Holler home. The Dickerson family held five generations; Big Pap Dickerson was nearly a hundred years old. Their cabin was a funhouse of half-thought-out additions, and not even in a schoolyard had Ada known as much commotion as went on throughout every day in that house, but she enjoyed sitting beside Big Pap and reading the Bible to him, and listening to his stories so old they were history.
The Cummings’ store was at the head of the holler, and no one had seen her arrive yet. Ada had dismounted, untied her packs and slung them over her shoulder—she’d developed a callus near her neck from their heavy weight—and was climbing the steps up to the door when she first heard her name called out.
“Mizz Ada!”
She turned and grinned at the young man who stood on the path below her, pulling off his cap. One of Big Pap’s great-grandsons. “Hello, Orville!”
“How do, ma’am! It’s real good to see you!”
“Thank you! I’ve missed seeing everyone here. I’m going in to see the Cummings for a moment, and then I’ll be by.”
“I’ll get out the word!” Orville Dickerson set his cap on his head and trotted into the holler.
Carry the World Page 18
