by Jan Watson
She wasn’t certain she could stand, but she needed to see if it was Ace. Lord, give me strength, she prayed.
Upright, she planted her feet firmly against the sudden tilting of the ground and saw a curious thing. With a dip of her knees, she plucked a long, thin strip of leather from among the sodden leaves. Wonder what Ace was doing with this? A sudden spurt of tears overtook her as she wound the leather thong neatly around her finger before secreting it in her pocket. And there—was that his hat rolled up against the trunk of a hickory tree?
Slowly, she turned to face the spring. The terrain she crossed might as well have been a raging river. Each step was hard as plowing in clay uphill without a mule. “Lord, help me,” she whimpered over and over. “Help me. Help me.”
He lay like a man in his bath in the aperture of the spring. Water burbled through the crook of his knees, seeking a path of escape. His clothes were soaked, and his face looked oddly swollen and scuffed. “Ace?” With a trembling hand she touched the familiar face, now still as death.
She knelt beside him in the pool of springwater and laid her tear-streaked cheek against his, which was cold and unresponsive. She noticed bits of grass and tiny twigs caught in his hair. With her fingers she began to comb them out. Ace was always proud of his hair. Her fingers found a terrible misshapen lump on the back of Ace’s head. Screaming, she jerked her hand away.
Cara jumped up, nearly falling on the slick rock, and went to fetch his hat. “It will be all right, Ace,” she said. “I’ll just go get your hat.”
As she went back to the spring, she brushed dirt from the crown of dark felt. She wanted so much to fix his hat back where it belonged, but her hands wouldn’t obey. They didn’t seem to be hers anymore. What did people do in times such as this?
Desperate to provide some dignity to her dear friend, she took off her apron, wafted it gently in the air, and let it fall to hide his face. That didn’t seem covering enough, so she set his hat loosely on top of the apron. It was then she noticed the gash in the back of the hat’s wide brim. He’d dashed his head on the rock when he fell, she figured. The wind from yesterday’s storm blew the hat against the tree. It all made a perfect, dreadful sense.
As soon as she stopped her motions, the flies swarmed again—hateful, nasty things. Leaving her post for a moment, she broke a leafy branch from an ash tree and wielded it like a fan. “‘Shall we gather at the river,’” she sang as she fanned his precious body. “‘Where bright angel feet have trod . . .’” and “‘Jesus, Lover of my soul, let me to Thy bosom fly . . .’” The fanning kept the flies away, and the songs kept her sane. It was like God’s strong arms reached down from heaven and held her up, for her own strength could not sustain her.
It was hours before she heard the commotion of men climbing the mountain.
Brother Jasper was first to her side. He took the ash tree branch from her cramped hands. “Sister Cara, come away.”
“I can’t leave him here,” she said. All afternoon she’d stood with her feet in the icy springwater keeping Ace as safe as he would ever be again.
Men gathered round. She could see them staring, pulling on their beards, blinking, trying to figure what had happened.
“Come, sister,” Brother Jasper said again. “Jean Foster waits over yonder to take you down to the Sheltons’. You are needed.”
All the horror of the day came crashing back at the mention of poor Dance and the children. Oh, what would they do? “Pray first, Brother Jasper. Ace would want us to pray for Dance and the young’uns.”
The swish of hats preceded the bowing of heads before Brother Jasper’s clear, firm voice was lifted to heaven. “Father God, we ask not why, for we lean not unto our own understanding but lean instead on Your everlasting arms. Lord, we know that Brother Ace is dancing on streets of gold. We just ask for mercy on his widow and his children. Be with Sister Cara as she goes to minister unto them. Fortify her for the long road ahead.”
As soon as the prayer was finished, another man made his way into the circle. Cara recognized the sheriff. He held his hat in his hands. “Miz Whitt, I need a word.”
“Can’t this wait?” Brother Jasper interjected. “She’s weak as water and near collapse.”
“This won’t take long,” the sheriff replied. “You can stay with her, Reverend.”
“Well, let’s get her away from here at least,” Brother Jasper said. “Here now, Sister Cara, lean on me.”
Cara couldn’t get her legs to work. She was rigid as a fence post. Brother Jasper on one side and the sheriff on the other seized her by the elbows and carried her to the fallen log where once she’d sat with Ace. Jean came up over the hillside. She sat beside Cara and put both arms around her. The sheriff didn’t object.
He squatted down until he was eye-to-eye with Cara. “Tell me what you saw.”
Cara choked on the words, but she managed to answer the sheriff’s question. She told of seeing the booted foot and how she sent Jay for help. She relayed how first she’d turned her back on Ace, disbelieving it was him, and then she’d spied his hat.
“Where exactly did you find the hat?” The sheriff’s sharp question penetrated the fog surrounding Cara’s brain.
“Um, let’s see. I was sitting on the ground there.” She pointed to the spot of flattened grass where she had rested. “The hat was kindly propped up against that hickory tree, but I didn’t touch it at first. First I went to see if it was really Ace. I was hoping it was someone else, but then . . .” She shook her head. “Soon as I saw that hair, I knew. Lord help us, it was Ace.”
“What happened next?” the sheriff asked.
Cara held out her hands stiffened into claws. “I combed my fingers through his hair and went to get his hat.” She began to shake. Her feet danced a jig upon the ground. Jean’s arms held tight.
Cara looked at the sheriff. “I wanted to comfort him someway, maybe set his hat back on, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch him again.” She doubled over; her head dropped to her lap. Her voice was muffled when she added, “I covered him with my apron and his hat.”
The sheriff stood. “You can take her now,” he said to Jean.
“Sheriff,” she heard a man’s voice call out, “you’d better get over here. I think he’s moving.”
The sheriff’s head whipped toward the voice before he rushed away. “Get that hat and that rag off his face,” he barked. “He’s going to suffocate.”
Jean held Cara’s hand tightly as she hobbled toward the spring, holding her breath, afraid to hope. Some men stepped aside to give them access.
“Watch his fingers,” the sheriff said.
Cara forced herself to look. At first she saw nothing, then just the slightest twitch from his right index finger, like he was trying to tap a message. With help she knelt there again. “Ace,” she said while her tears fell on his face like fat raindrops. She reached out and stroked his cheeks, which were still cold as marble. “Ace, are you in there?”
His eyelids fluttered ever so slightly, and a muted groan escaped his lips. Cara was so light-headed with relief she thought she might pitch forward across his battered body. The sheriff caught her under the arms and lifted her, swinging her away from Ace as if she weighed no more than a child.
Leaning against Jean, she watched as the sheriff and a couple of men gingerly turned Ace on his side. The angry wound was now exposed for all to see.
The sheriff squatted and looked without touching. “Looks like the cold springwater saved his life. See here?” He pointed to a glistening bloodred clot. “This is the only thing standing between Ace and sure death. I reckon the chilled water has kept it from busting.” The sheriff stood staring down. “Now the trick will be getting him down the mountain without causing more damage.”
Brother Jasper removed the flannel shirt he wore. “What if we soak this in the water and wrap Brother Shelton’s head in it?”
Cara heard the men murmuring among themselves. “It’s worth a try,” one said.
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br /> The sheriff pulled on his chin. “All right. We’ll form a stretcher of arms and carry him.” He turned to Cara and Jean. “You go on down and prepare his wife. It’s likely he’ll be dead before we get him there.” He rested his hand for a fleeting moment on Cara’s shoulder. His face looked stern, but she caught a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. “You did good, Miz Whitt. If Ace had laid out another night, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
CHAPTER 25
CARA REMEMBERED NOTHING of her walk down the mountain to the Sheltons’ cabin. One moment it seemed she was standing in the spring beside Ace and the next she traipsed across his yard. She expected to find chaos but instead found an improbable calm, like the appeasing moment before a storm sets in, when even the birds go silent and the leaves hang unmoving on the trees.
A woman she recognized from church sat in a chair on the porch with the babies, Cleve and Pauline. Wilton and Merky sat on the top step. As she got closer, Cara could hear the muted sounds of pots and pans.
“The ladies are cooking supper,” Jean whispered in her ear, like a loud word would shatter Cara’s thin veneer of control. “There was more than plenty in the garden, and Dance had recently finished milking.”
“Where is she?” Cara asked.
“I was able to get her to lie down while we were waiting for the men to assemble and start up the mountain,” Jean said. “I hope she is resting.”
“Does she know?”
Jean patted her arm. “Honey, none of us knew what we’d find up there, but Dance said she feared he was dead.”
“Thank the good Lord I don’t have to tell her that,” Cara replied. “Not yet anyway.”
Merky held her arms up as Cara approached. She swung the child on her hip. Merky buried her face in Cara’s shoulder.
“Aunt Cara,” Wilton said, “Jay didn’t come back.”
Cara looked at Jean, who shrugged. “I guess he must still be at Fairy Mae’s.”
“He’ll be so worried,” Cara said.
Jean stepped ahead and held the screen door open. “Right now you need something to eat to keep your strength up.”
“Me too, Aunt Cara?” Wilton asked. “Do I need something to eat too?”
Cara ruffled the boy’s hair, biting her lip to hold back a sob. “Why, I believe you do. That belly under your shirt looks near empty.”
Willy pulled up his shirt and looked down. “It’s a-talking to me.”
A tear slid down Cara’s face and caught in her smile. “What’s that belly saying?”
“Taters and beans,” Wilton replied, rubbing his stomach.
That was so like something Ace would say, it caught Cara off guard. Ace had to get well for his children. She cupped the back of Wilton’s head. “Come along. Let’s get that belly of yours some supper.”
Someone had rigged a screen with a couple of blankets to hide Dance’s bed from the bustle of the kitchen. Cara pulled the corner back and stepped behind. Easy as she could, she sat on the side of the bed and touched Dance’s shoulder. “I’m here,” she said.
Dance hid her head under the bolster pillow. “He’s dead, ain’t he?”
Cara puzzled over how to answer. She didn’t want to get Dance’s hopes up too high. “Ace has met with a terrible accident, but he lives. Right now he’s drawing breath. The men are bringing him down. You need to get ready to help him.”
Dance bolted upright and commenced screaming. It took all of what little strength Cara had left to keep her from flinging herself off the bed. The screen was thrust away as several women rushed in.
Jean threw her arms around both of them. “Shh. Shh,” she murmured. “Get ahold of yourself, Dance. You’re no help to your husband this way.”
Cara broke. Racked with sobs, she stumbled out of the house and leaned against the porch rail. She had nothing left to give to Dance. She reached for her apron skirt to blot her face and then remembered where she’d left it.
Jean came up beside her. “It’s going to be rough here tonight. Mrs. Hackley and I will be staying over. Our men too, I’m sure. You don’t have to do this alone. We’ll do all we can for Ace and for Dance.”
“I don’t know what to do for Dance if Ace dies,” Cara managed to say through her tears. “If only Dimmert were here or if Fairy Mae weren’t so sick. She was always such a comfort to Dance.”
“Do you want Dylan to go to Fairy Mae’s and fetch Jay?”
Cara tapped two fingers against her lips, fighting for control. “I should go. Somebody has to tell him and Darcy what has happened.” Fresh tears spurted like fountains. “Poor Darcy, she must be worried out of her mind.”
“Why, Darcy isn’t home. She left last night with that lawyer Henry Thomas.”
“What?” Cara shook her head hard. Nothing was as it was supposed to be. “You mean she just left? ran away? How can that be?”
“When Jay got to Fairy Mae’s with the news that something was wrong over here, Remy left him with Fairy Mae and came to fetch us. Poor thing, she’d hobbled all the way on her crutch—so out of breath I feared for her. When I asked why Darcy didn’t come, she told me Darcy was gone.”
“I can’t take this in. I knew Darcy fancied she was in love—but to up and leave Fairy Mae? I can’t believe it.”
Jean Foster was the last person who would speak ill of anyone. “I’m sure Darcy plans a quick wedding trip. And she knew Remy would take perfect care of Fairy Mae.”
“Wedding?” A tiny flicker of anger mingled with Cara’s grief. It was enough to make a body sick.
“Darcy wouldn’t go off with a man without the promise of marriage,” Jean said in her kind way. “Darcy is a God-fearing girl.”
“I know, but you can’t just go running off willy-nilly to please yourself.” Cara sagged against a post. “She didn’t even tell me. And I thought we were close as sisters.”
Jean nodded. “You’re right, of course. She shouldn’t have. It was the wrong thing to do on many counts, but I expect Mr. Thomas was pretty persuasive.”
“So what do I do now? Who’s to help with all of this?”
Through the trees they could hear the sound of the men coming down the mountain.
“The Lord sends what you need in times such as these. Right now you have many friends willing and able to help. I believe Ace has family in Maryland. We’ll get the news to them.” Jean rested a hand on Cara’s shoulder. “One step at a time as God leads. One step at a time.”
When Cara got to Fairy Mae’s, she found Jay feeding an apple to Pancake. Lord, be with me, she prayed. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
“Hey, Jaybird,” she said. “Looks like you’re taking good care of old Pancake.”
Pancake lifted the apple core from Jay’s fingers. The boy began to tremble. He kept his eyes on the ground. “Why didn’t my daddy come with you, Aunt Cara?”
“Will you come to the porch with me so we can talk?”
Jay hid his face against Pancake’s neck. “Oh. Oh,” he whimpered. “You’re gonna tell me something bad.”
Cara knelt on the ground and pulled Jay to her, taking in the sunshiny little boy scent of him. He stood still in the circle of her arms. “Jay, your daddy was up there at the spring.” She swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “I think he fell off the cliff onto some rocks. Honey, your daddy’s hurt, but we’re going to take good care of him.”
“I don’t believe you,” Jay said and gave Cara’s shoulder a shove like he was pushing the truth away. “You’re riddling me.”
Cara tightened her grip. “Jaybird—”
“Don’t call me that! I ain’t a baby!” Jay struggled to break free. “Let me go. I need to see my daddy!”
“Jay. Jay,” she soothed. “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right. Listen, I brought Wilton and Merky with me. See there in the wagon with Dylan Foster? They need to see their big brother.”
“I better not cry. It’ll scare them.” Jay tucked his shirt into his trousers and dashed at his e
yes with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry I pushed you.”
Dylan jumped down from the wagon when they approached. He held out his hand to Jay. “You did a good job today, finding your way and taking care of your granny Whitt. A grown man couldn’t have done better.”
Cara looked at Dylan gratefully. Jay needed a man’s words right then.
Jay pumped Dylan’s hand. “Could you hand my brother and sister down? I reckon they need me.”
As soon as Wilton’s feet hit the ground, he was heading for Pancake. “It’s my turn to ride.”
“I’ll help him,” Dylan said. “You want to come along, Jay?”
Thankfully Cara had only Merky to deal with as she headed for the house. She needed to talk to Remy.
Remy darted out the door quick as a house wren. “It’s bad, ain’t it?”
Cara nodded. “Let me get Merky settled; then we can talk.”
“Put her in with Fairy Mae,” Remy said. “It will do them both good.”
“Is Mammaw Whitt like this all the time now?” Cara asked as she and Remy left the bedroom where Merky lay snuggled up beside her great-grandmother. The little thing was tuckered out.
“Pretty much,” Remy said. “She ain’t eating, neither.”
Cara collapsed on a kitchen chair. “Ace is near death. I think he fell off a cliff.”
“I reckon Dance is tore all to pieces,” Remy replied as she poured a mug of coffee and sat it in front of Cara.
Cara tipped a small pitcher and watched thick cream swirl into the coffee. “Tell me about Darcy. I can’t believe she left you alone with Mammaw like this.”
“Well, ’course Darcy didn’t figure on nobody falling off a cliff when she set out with Henry Thomas,” Remy said in her matter-of-fact way. “She asked me to look after Fairy Mae and I said yes.”
