Jolene

by Mercedes Lackey

  “No ma’am.” Anna shook her head. “Leastwise, not iffen she weren’t bein’ rid or drove.”

  Aunt Jinny searched her memory again. “What ’bout a big cat?” she offered. “Big ole tomcat what runs th’ neighborhood, an’ ever’thang gits outer his way, even dawgs. An’ iffen he gits inter yore house and goes marchin’ ’long a shelf, ever’thang on that there shelf goes right t’the floor on account of he shoulders it right outa his way? Jolene’s like thet. She jest shoulders ever’thang outa her way, an’ ever’thang with any sense high-tails it afore she kin git there.”

  Anna just nodded, because it was obvious Aunt Jinny was going to hammer on about this until Anna agreed with her. And probably past that, until she was certain-sure Anna agreed with her and would do as she said.

  Aunt Jinny sighed, and seemed convinced. “All right. Time’s a-wastin’. Let’s git some dinner, an’ do th’ laundry, an’ we’ll do ’nother receipt.”

  “Aunt Jinny, when y’all a-gonna teach me how t’ put th’ Glory in them receipts?” she ventured.

  Her aunt barked a laugh. “Y’all’re gitten th’ cart afore the horse, girl,” she said. “Fust, y’all gotter be able t’ see th’ Glory. An’ we’re gonna see ’bout thet ternight.”

  She found it hard to concentrate on anything other than that—up until the moment when they finished the laundry and she went to copy down another receipt in her receipt book. Then, there was no choice but to concentrate. The scorn her aunt would—rightly!—heap on her for making a mistake did not bear thinking about.

  So she copied it down, letter by careful letter, and then made it up, pinch by palmful by handful, and got her aunt’s curt nod of approval. And then it was time to herd the chickens into their house, close them in for the night, wash up at the well, change into her clean nightdress, and have supper. Aunt Jinny seemed to have recovered her aplomb, because she was back to her usual laconic self.

  It was only when the dishes were clean and dry and put away, water was set in jugs to warm in the stove niches for tomorrow, the coals were banked, and the sun setting that Jinny turned to the subject that had been burning in Anna’s mind since Jinny had proclaimed she was going to learn to “see” the Glory.

  Jinny led the way out to the porch and ordered her to “set.” Jinny moved the other chair to a position closer to Anna than Anna remembered her ever being before.

  “This’s a tricksy thang,” Jinny warned her. “It ain’t gradual. It takes a kinder peculiar twist in yore haid t’make it work, an’ y’all might not do it th’ fust, or second, or even twentieth time.”

  “Yes’m,” Anna said, since a reply seemed to be required of her.

  “Look out there over yonder, at th’ fence,” Aunt Jinny directed. “I gotta lotta Glory down thar, concentrated inter somethin’ high-falutin’ folks call a shield, what keeps critters I don’ want comin’ past th’ fence. Thet includes th’ bad Elementals.”

  There’re bad Elementals?

  Jinny glanced down for a moment. So did Anna. And she discovered in that moment that they had an audience, a little circle of watching twig-critters, and rock-critters, and mushroom critters. And peeking over the edge of the porch were shyer things that looked human—at least, the tops of their heads did—although it was hard to tell in the growing gloom.

  “What’s bad that can get in?” she wanted to know. She wasn’t going to ask about Jolene directly, obviously . . .

  “Anythin’ what’s got enough Glory of its own,” her aunt told her, and reminded her with a look that she’d said Jolene was almighty powerful.

  “So how’m I s’posed to see this shield thing?” she asked. “Or the Glory?”

  For once, her aunt seemed uncertain. “I dunno,” she said, finally, after a long and uncomfortable pause. “My Granny said it was diff’rent fer ev’body. I allus saw it, from th’ time I was a liddle thang. Like I allus saw th’ Elemental critters. But bein’ in Soddy, y’all’d niver hev seed the critters, and there weren’t nothing givin’ off ’nuff Glory fer y’all t’see thet, either.”

  Anna looked down at the ring of critters around her chair—or rather, she looked down into the darkness where they were, because by this point the sun had completely set, and down here in the holler, things got dark quick.

  She kind of squinched her eyes up to try to make them out, and that was when she realized she could still see them. There was a faint glow around them. Was that the Glory?

  Just as she noticed that, the glow seemed to get stronger and stronger, until it was no problem at all to make out the little critters, each of them surrounded by a sort of halo of dark golden light, like the kind of light that lies gently over the land just before sunset on an autumn afternoon.

  She carefully raised her eyes, still keeping that glow in her mind, until she had the fence in her field of vision.

  And there it was. That same golden glow at the edges of the garden.

  “It ain’t a wall!” she exclaimed with surprise. “It’s—kinda a bowl, clapped down over th’ garden, iffen th’ bowl were sorta squared off!”

  “Wall, knock me over with a feather!” her aunt exclaimed in an astonished voice. “I sure didn’ thank y’all’d see it thet quick!”

  “Why ain’t it a round bowl, Aunt Jinny?” she asked, because she could see how the Glory swirled and ebbed and flowed, and how it knotted up at those corners. And she understood, somehow, that if the shield-thing had been based on a circle rather than the rectangle of the fence, none of that would be happening.

  “On account’a I cast it on th’fence, t’give it somethin’ t’ anchor on, like Granny taught me,” her aunt replied. “I know, I know. Thangs don’t flow smooth ’round corners. But Granny said ’twas stronger iffen it got a anchor.”

  Now Anna turned her attention to the garden, and to her astonishment, she saw that every plant had a very, very faint glow in that same golden color. “The plants!” she gasped. “Th’ corn’s a-glowin’!”

  “Great hop-toads!” her aunt exclaimed. “Old Raven was right! You got it strong, girl! I cain’t see thet! Thet there’s what ev’thing what’s alive has of th’ Glory, just on account’a it’s alive. Not one of our kind in a hunnert’d see thet!” Then she paused and added, “Don’t get all hoity-toity over thet. Jest ’cause y’all kin see somethin’ it don’ mean y’all know what t’do with it!”

  “Yes’m,” Anna said, still looking around her in utter entrancement at how pretty everything was with that glow about it. “Iss like a receipt. I kin write her down, but thet don’ mean I know how t’ make her up, I don’ know what the plants in the receipt look like a-growin’, an’ I sure as shootin’ don’ know how t’put the Glory in ’em t’ make ’em better.”

  “My land,” Jinny replied, sounding relieved. “My flibbertigibbet sister done give birth t’ a gel with sense in her haid. Lawd hev mercy, it’s a miracle.”

  She sounded sincere. Anna smiled a little.

  Then she started to notice pain. It started out as a sort of dull throb, and the feeling that her eyes were dry and tired. Then it grew until the pain was definite, sharp, and located right behind her eyes. “Aunt Jinny!” she exclaimed. “Is this s’posed t’ hurt?!”

  “Let it go!” her aunt ordered sharply, and somehow, she did; the world plunged back into ordinary darkness, lit only by fireflies and the rising moon, and the pain dulled immediately to nothing more than sore-ish eyes and a light, dull headache.

  “Usin’ the Sight is like usin’ a muscle y’all ain’t niver used afore,” her aunt explained, as Anna rubbed her watering eyes. “It hurts at fust. Th’ more y’all use it, th’ less it’ll hurt, an’ the longer y’all will be able t’use it.”

  “Like runnin’?” she asked. “When yore legs git all sore, but they gets better, an’ the more y’all run, th’ better y’all run?”

  “’Zactly like runnin’,” Jinny rep
lied, and tapped her on the shoulder. “Come inter th’ house. We’ll hev some tea. Thet’ll he’p.”

  Anna was not at all loath to do that, because the headache reminded her sharply of the headaches she had back in Soddy that never seemed to end. When both of them were sitting at the table, a lit candle between them and cups of warm, honey-sweetened tea in their hands, Jinny beamed at her with approval. “Y’all done good, Anna,” she said. “Y’all done real good. I dunno where y’all got the Glory from, but y’all got it strong. But more’n thet, y’all got good sense. Thet’s a good combination.”

  Anna sipped her tea, noticing a slightly more astringent aftertaste than usual. “Y’all put more willerbark innit,” she said aloud.

  Her aunt smiled even wider. “An’ here, when I fust tol’ yore Ma t’send y’all t’me, I figgered y’all was gonna be a burden an’ I was gonna hev t’lead y’all around like a liddle chile,” she said. “Y’all ain’t been here but a fortnight, an’ y’all kin see the Glory an’ th’ Elementals, y’all kin foller a receipt an’ knows what th’ makin’s look like a-growin’, an’ y’all kin tell when I added somethin’ t’ y’all’s tea. I swan, I am ’bout to bust with how proud y’all are a-makin’ me!”

  Well . . . this was unexpected, but very welcome. Anna smiled, and felt far better than just the tea could have made her. “I got th’ best teacher!” she burst out. “An’ not nobody could’a arst fer a better aunt!”

  And at that moment, every bit of her homesickness faded away.

  Her aunt flushed, apparent even in the candlelight, but looked pleased. “Pshaw,” she said. “Teacher gotter hev a good pupil too.”

  Anna knew by this point that this was as demonstrative as her aunt was going to get, so she just smiled and nodded, and sipped her tea until it was gone. “I’ll wash up,” she said, standing up and taking her aunt’s cup from her. “Y’all got potions t’ put th’ Glory inter ternight?”

  Her aunt yawned and covered it with the back of her hand. “Not ternight. I do a passel of ’em t’gether an’ I ain’t got ’nuff t’trouble with yet. I’m a-thinkin’ bed would be good fer both of us. Don’ ferget t’ take yore hair down an’ put them pins somewhere’s safe till mornin’.” She paused as if to say something, but didn’t. Instead she made a shooing motion with her hands.

  Anna pulled the pins out of her hair, counting them carefully to make sure she got them all out—though the beads made that a lot easier. There was an empty pottery jam pot that she had washed out earlier sitting on the counter next to the sink. “Aunt Jinny, kin I hev this jam pot fer my pins?” she called, as her aunt sat down on the edge of her bed.

  “Take’t,” her aunt said. “Iffen I need more, I kin trade fer ’em or make ’em. I’ll show y’all later. They’s good clay at the stream, an’ th’ Domovoy’ll he’p.”

  Assured by this, she fetched the pot, put the pins in it, and put both safely with her great-granpappy’s book and her Bible. Could she claim Pavel as her great-granpappy even though he wasn’t strictly her blood? But they shared the same power. It felt right that she should.

  Then she blew out the candle, felt her way up the ladder to her bed, and although the bed was extremely tempting, took the time to say her prayers.

  But tonight, they ended a little differently.

  Thenkee, Lord Jesus, fer givin’ me thet sign. This feels right an’ good.

  Then she paused a moment, and added—

  An’ please let me not get acrost of Jolene.

  Then, prompted by an impulse she couldn’t resist, she added one more thing. Iffen she’ll let me—I’d like t’be her friend. Amen.

  9

  THE cabin shook with a mighty thunderclap that sent Anna catapulting out of her dream with a shriek. It was still dark out, but a flash of lightning followed by an immediate crash of thunder lit up the loft. Rain made its own muted roar on the roof.

  “Aunt Jinny?” she called in alarm, not knowing whether or not the next lightning bolt was going to hit the cabin and set it afire.

  “Jest a thunderstorm.” The sound of the door being opened, followed by a cold gust of wind, sent her scrambling on her hands and knees across the loft to close the window. It was wet, but not too wet, and fortunately she hadn’t left anything under it. “I gotta lightnin’ rod an’ I put th’ Glory on th’ house so it ain’t gonna get hit, there ain’t hail, an’ the rain ain’t so bad it’s gonna flatten the crops none. Ac’chully, it’ll do ’em some good, it’s been a mite dry.”

  The door closed again. Anna peeked over the edge of the loft and saw her aunt poking up the fire. “This’s jest a good, soakin’ rain—” She was interrupted by another peel of thunder that shook the house. “’Cept fer th’ noise. Reckon it’ll rain most’ve th’ day. Good day fer bakin’. When it gits light, y’all run t’ the chicken house an’ feed ’em there, an’ give ’em a pan o’ water. They ain’t a-gonna come out in weather like this.”

  “We ain’t a-gonna need t’muck out th’ pigs, at least,” Anna observed from above.

  “They’s a-gonna stay in their house too, I reckon. Mebbe come out fer a bath. Pigs like a bath. Go back ter bed; ain’t no use gettin’ up till they’s light ’nuff t’see by.”

  Another lightning strike, but this time it was far enough away that Anna was able to count to “seven-Mississippi” before the thunder came. Then it was just the rain on the roof, which was always soporific, and she drifted right off, only to be awakened again by her aunt tapping on the ladder with a broomstick.

  She opened her eyes on thin, gray light; it was enough to see by but just barely.

  On the other hand, the enticing aromas of fresh cornbread and bacon came from below, which was more than enough for her to climb out of bed and down the ladder.

  “Breakfus’ fust,” Aunt Jinny told her. “Then git yerself dressed, give them chickens feed and water, come back ter the porch, an’ I’ll hev a pail of slops fer the pigs.” She set to her breakfast, but her aunt didn’t seem in any great hurry for her to go, so she took her time over it.

  When she went to get dressed, however, her aunt frowned for a moment, then got some twine. She passed the twine under Anna’s skirt and up through the waistband on the right side, hiked the skirt up with the twine, and tied it off, then did the same on the left side. “Now y’all got yer hands free,” she pointed out, as Anna blushed at her exposed legs. “An’ yore skirt ain’t gonna draggle in th’ mud. Consarned stupid thangs, skirts,” she added, crossly. “It’s why I got m’self rid of ’em as soon as I could. Won’t even wear one t’town.”

  “But don’t people talk?” Anna asked, taking the square of oilcloth with a hole in the middle that her aunt unfolded and handed to her, and pulling it over her head.

  “An’ gi’ me one good reason why I should care?” Aunt Jinny countered. “What’re they gonna do? Ruint my marriage prospects?” She laughed sardonically. “I be old ’nuff thet I c’n do what I wants, an’ nobody burns ol’ wimmin as witches no more. Asides, they need me more’n I’ll ever need them. They knows it. Now skedaddle.”

  Anna skedaddled, scuttling off to the chicken coop where some very hungry chickens assessed the weather and grumpily settled down to eat and then go back to their nests. The pigs, however, were perfectly happy in the rain. She was perfectly happy to get back inside, and then, at Jinny’s suggestion, change out of her damp clothing back into her dry nightdress.

  “I’m a-gonna bake, an’ I don’ want y’all underfoot,” Jinny told her. “Y’all been pretty good ’bout chores, an’ I reckon y’all deserve a rest-day. So jest broom up th’ floor, then climb up on th’ stove with yore Great-Granpappy’s book an’ have a read till dinner.”

  The rain had brought a definite chill with it, Anna’s feet were still cold from paddling through the puddles, and that sounded like a prescription for a perfect morning to her. She swept the floor—possibly with more haste than accura
cy, though her aunt didn’t complain—got her book, and climbed up onto the warm stove. The featherbed was heaven, even if she did have to prop herself into a somewhat awkward position to read in the thin light coming from the windows. Her great-grandfather’s handwriting was so neat and precise she didn’t have to squint; it was as good as book-printing.

  She had left him at the border with Hungary. This was all new to him. Now he was about to enter a land where the language was entirely different from his own, and he was exceedingly cautious about approaching this place.

  I crossed in the wilderness, away from roads, villages, and potential border guards. I made my camp for the night, and took such a thin meal as I could manage from nuts, mushrooms, and plants that I knew were nourishing. But my provisions were scanty, and winter fast approached. I knew I would need to attempt to contact another Elemental Master and beg help of him, soon. So that night, before sleep, I invoked the curious Elementals of this place and begged them to teach me the local languages as I slept.

  She had to read that twice before she was sure she had read it correctly. What? Them critters can give y’all a different language?

  She looked up from the book to ask her aunt; Jinny was hard at work on a pie crust, from the smell of things there was cornbread in the oven already, and she was surrounded by the little critters seemingly made of sticks and stones, leaves and flowers, no two of them alike, all of them watching her as if she was providing them with the best entertainment they had ever seen.

  And movement to her side caught her attention.

  One of them was sitting on the edge of the featherbed, watching her intently.

  This was a little thing that looked like a crude doll fashioned of mud, with two shiny, dark brown pebbles for eyes. It stared up at her fearlessly. She looked back down at it, not entirely sure what to make of this.