Precious Bones

by Mika Ashley-Hollinger

  “Me and the dogs went out to find the whooping cranes, to watch ’em dance. But I ran into Soap Sally.”

  “Soap Sally? Bones, you know very well there is no such thing as Soap Sally.”

  “Yes, there is, Mama, I seen her.”

  “You saw her.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I saw her. She was out there waitin’ on me.”

  “No, Bones, I was correcting your English. You did not seen her, you saw her. But you did not see her. There is no such thing.”

  “There is too. I’ve been out to her house before, with you and Nolay.”

  “What are you talking about, Bones? Whose house?”

  “Miss Eunice’s. There’s something she keeps in that ol’ shed by the side of her house. And it has a strange smell. The same one I’ve smelled out in the swamps when I’ve met up with Soap Sally.”

  Mama finished cleaning my cuts, stood up, and leaned against the kitchen counter. She crossed her arms. “That is absolute nonsense. You are ten years old and letting your imagination run away with you. You can’t possibly be talking about Miss Eunice.”

  “Mama, I’m telling you there’s something out there! And it’s got the same smell as I’ve smelled out at that house.”

  “Bones, that is nonsense. It can’t be Miss Eunice, she’s an old woman. How on earth could she walk from her house all the way out to where you think you saw her?”

  “ ’Cause she’s a witch, that’s why. You’ve heard the stories Nolay tells about Soap Sally.”

  “Yes, I have. And that is exactly what they are, stories. Bones, for goodness’ sake, do you believe every story your father tells you?”

  “Mama, why would Nolay lie to me about such a thing?”

  “He’s not lying. It’s just the way he is. He’s just having fun with you. Or at least he thinks he is. I think it’s time for him to set some things straight. Bones, I don’t want you going back out in those woods alone.”

  “Do you think she’s after me?”

  “No, I do not think Miss Eunice or Soap Sally is after you! There have been two murders in this area. I don’t know who is out there. I don’t want you going out by yourself again. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Monday morning on our bus ride to school I told Little Man about my encounter with Soap Sally. “Me and the dogs were just about ten feet away from her. I swear.”

  “I don’t know, Bones. I mean, I’ve heard that story about Sally all my life, too, but I ain’t never seen her.”

  “Well, let me ask you this—you’ve been out to Miss Eunice’s house, haven’t you?”

  “Course I have. She loves when my mama drops off some of her famous guava jam.”

  “You know that ol’ shed next to the house? Have you ever seen anything strange moving around by it, or smelled something funny-like around there?”

  Little Man quietly pondered that for a while; then he said, “I might of heard something, and come to think of it, I have smelled something peculiar around that area.”

  “See, that’s what I’m sayin’. I think there’s something livin’ inside there. Something that can move around a lot faster than an old woman.”

  “Still, I ain’t never seen Soap Sally or an ol’ witch running around.”

  “Well, like Nolay says, everyone believes in the devil and nobody has seen him, so why not a witch?”

  Little Man rolled his eyes. “Good Lord, Bones. Where do you come up with some of this stuff?”

  “Nolay told me. Why would he lie to me?”

  When I looked over at Little Man, that question mark was sitting between his eyes.

  Early Saturday morning Mama gently nudged me awake. When I walked in the kitchen, Nolay was sitting at the table. Mama had a small flour sack filled with canned fruits and vegetables. Without a look in my direction, she said, “Bones, eat some breakfast, feed the animals, and let Ikibob out of the coop. You and your daddy are going on a visit.”

  I looked at Nolay. “Where are we going?”

  “Out to drop some stuff off to a nice old lady.”

  “Are we goin’ to Soap Sally’s house?”

  “We are going out to visit with Miss Eunice.”

  I finished my chores, went in my room, and got my .22 rifle. I filled the cartridge case with ten bullets and dumped a couple extra in the pocket of my flannel shirt. Nolay was waiting for me in the truck. Nonchalantly, I placed the gun in the front seat between the two of us.

  “Bones, why are you bringing a gun?”

  “I ain’t goin’ out to that house without a gun. And you never know what we might run into along the way. You know, snakes and things.”

  Nolay shook his head. “I don’t think we’ll be running into anything that you will be needing your gun for, but you can bring it anyways.”

  My gun would come in handy, but not for shooting snakes.

  There were only two ways out to that isolated house, by airboat across the swamp or driving up a long winding dirt road that ran by the edge of the swamp. As Nolay slowly navigated us over the bumpy one-lane road, I asked, “Why are we going out here?”

  “Because you and me need to get some things straightened out.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. If anything did happen, at least I had my gun with me.

  The dirt road came to an abrupt end as we pulled into a yard so tiny our truck nearly filled the entire space. Nolay parked a few feet away from the front porch of a very small wooden house.

  The house and yard sat under the branches of a massive banyan tree. Like a monstrous green umbrella, the tree stretched out and flooded the area in a gray gloom. A thick blanket of dry brown leaves covered the roof of the house and spilled into the yard.

  On the left side of the house sat the old shed. I kept my eyes on it, but so far nothing was moving around by it.

  One side of the little house rested like a child’s toy against the enormous tree trunk. On the other side, and for as far as I could see behind it, an assortment of mounds bulged up through the blanket of leaves. A little wooden cross was stuck on top of each mound. At the corner of the house, a huge black pot sat perched on a ring of stones.

  I pointed. “That’s a graveyard! It’s bigger than the house! And there’s the big black pot! Turn around, we gotta get out of here!”

  Nolay held my gaze for a moment, then without a word calmly tooted the horn, opened the door, and got out. He carried Mama’s flour sack and walked through the gloom toward the house. His steps crackled across the blanket of dry leaves.

  The screen door opened and a short, stooped figure shuffled out. A black shawl concealed its face and hung down over its lower body. From the truck I squinted into the dimness to see if I recognized it. It looked like the same figure, the same form I had seen lurking in the swamp’s shadows, waiting to snatch me up and boil my body into soap.

  From the front porch Nolay called out to me. “Bones, come over here. Now.”

  I stepped out of the truck and held my rifle in the crook of my arm as I slowly walked to the house. Cautiously, I stepped up onto the small porch. My heart pounded so hard I thought it would pop out of my chest. I stood in the presence of an ancient, twisted being.

  It turned, and I looked into the wizened face of an old woman. Her cloudy round eyes sat deep between a furrowed brow and a hooked nose. My body stiffened as I watched her thin lips open and expose a toothless mouth.

  Then she spoke. “Why, hello, chile.” Her voice rang in my ears, soft and tinkling, like little Christmas bells.

  I stepped back and almost fell off the porch. I heard Nolay say, “Bones, say hello to Miss Eunice.”

  I mumbled, “Hello, Miss Eunice.”

  The soft, childish voice continued. “Why, chile, I cannot believe you have growed up so much. These ol’ eyes cain’t remember the last time they saw you.”

  Looking down, she noticed my gun. “Chile, is that a gun you’re totin’?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What
on earth for?”

  “We might run into a snake or something.”

  “A snake. My lands, a snake ain’t gonna hurt you unless you hurt it first. Have you ever seen a snake strap on a gun and go huntin’ down people?” The old woman wagged her head and giggled. “Don’t you believe the good Lord has punished snakes enough by making ’em crawl on their bellies and eat dust? Guns is made for hurtin’, and we got enough of that goin’ on in this world with out any more hep.” She looked at Nolay and said, “Just listen to me carryin’ on, I done forgot my manners. Y’all come on inside and set a spell.”

  She turned and shuffled inside the house. I looked down at my rifle, quietly leaned it on the porch, and followed Nolay inside.

  The aroma of smoke and musty roses filled the small, sparsely furnished room. On one side was a kitchen table with two straight-back chairs. A vase filled with roses sat on top of a crocheted doily turned yellow with age. At one end of the table was a place setting with a dinner plate, knife, fork, and a glass.

  On the other side of the room, a patchwork quilt was draped over a stuffed chair. A tiny oval table stood next to it. On top of the table sat a kerosene lamp and a large Bible, its cover worn thin from use.

  The old woman tottered in from another room, carrying another straight-back chair. She placed it by the table and said, “Y’all sit down. Make yourselves comfortable.”

  Nolay said, “Now, Miss Eunice, I could have got that chair for you. You just tell me if I can be of help.”

  Miss Eunice looked at Nolay. “Now, I might be old and feeble, but I ain’t hepless yet. I can still do my own washin’.”

  Nolay shook his head and laughed. “Yes, ma’am, I sure will remember that.”

  The old woman sat down and pulled the shawl from around her head. Her thin silver-white hair was pulled back in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She reached over and picked up the dinner plate sitting in front of me. “Now, chile, don’t pay no attention to this. It’s just the foolishness of a old woman. I keep it there in memory of my Herman. He’s done been gone to be with the Lord, nigh on twenty years.” She held the plate delicately in her wrinkled hands. “It does hep with the loneliness. Sometimes I feel like he’s right here, sittin’ down eatin’ supper with me.”

  I took a deep breath. “Miss Eunice, what is that big black pot in your yard used for?”

  “Why, that was my Herman’s cook pot. He used to boil up some of the best sorghum syrup in the whole county. We had a right good patch of sugarcane, but since he’s gone, I cain’t tend it, and the bush has took it over.”

  “And is that a graveyard in back of your house?”

  “It sure is. That’s my animals. Over the years, me and my Herman, along with the hep of the good Lord, was able to heal up a lot of hurt and wounded animals. The ones that didn’t make it, well, at least we provided ’em with a decent burial.”

  “Those are animals? That’s an animal graveyard? You heal animals?”

  “Oh yes, chile. But not much anymore. Just gettin’ too aged to do much of anything anymore. ’Bout all I can do is tend my rose garden out back.” She reached forward with her knobby, crooked fingers and gently caressed the vase full of roses. “I do admire roses. The good Lord has put some lovely things on the earth for us to enjoy.”

  I looked around the room and noticed crocheted pictures hanging along the worn wooden walls. Strings of yarn had been painstakingly woven into birds and praying hands and flowers and suns. “Miss Eunice, do you make those?”

  “I useta could, chile, but not anymore. Cain’t hardly see with my cateracts. And these ol’ hands is too stiff with the room-a-tism.”

  “Miss Eunice, you live here all alone? Don’t you have any children?”

  Nolay broke in. “Bones, mind your manners. Don’t be so rude, you’ve done nothing but ask Miss Eunice one question after another.”

  Miss Eunice giggled. “Now, Nolay, she ain’t rude a-tall. She can ask all the questions she wants. To hear the voice of a chile is like a sweet song to these ol’ ears.”

  She turned back to me. “The good Lord gave me and my Herman three babies, but he took ’em right back again. When I get up to the Kingdom and I’m reunited with my family, I’m gonna sit down and have a little talk with the Lord. I’m gonna ask ’im, ‘Lord, won’t you make a new commandment? Won’t you make it a rule that no one can die before the age of thirty? Everybody should have a chance to enjoy this glorious world for at least thirty years. We shouldn’t be buryin’ childrun’.’ ”

  Miss Eunice closed her eyes and clasped her hands together on top of the table, as if in prayer. The room filled with her silence and memories.

  Quietly, I said, “Miss Eunice, have you lived in this house all your life?”

  Miss Eunice opened her eyes, tilted her head toward me, and said, “Nearly ’bout, chile. I come here with my Herman as a sixteen-year-old bride. That’s over sixty years ago. You see that big ol’ tree out yonder? Me and my Herman planted it the first week we started our life together in this house. It was our weddin’ present to each other. Why, chile, when we put it in the ground, that tree wadn’t much bigger than you. And look at it now. Just like my life with Herman, the good Lord done turned it into a pure thing of beauty and joy. Pretty soon it’ll swaller up this little ol’ house. But I’ll be in the Kingdom before then.”

  Miss Eunice laid a knobby hand across her chest. “Land sakes, listen to me, chattering on like a squirrel. So good to have comp-nee I done forgot my manners again. Let me get y’all a glass of cold tea to drink. I ain’t got no ice, ’cause I ain’t got no ’lectric. But the water from the well is mighty refreshin’.”

  I watched the frail, stooped body of Miss Eunice hobble off and disappear into the tiny kitchen.

  As I sat at this lonely old woman’s table, the reality of my fear and confusion mingled and washed over me like dirty dishwater. I sat in her straight-back chair, drenched in shame. Tears welled up in my eyes and I turned toward Nolay. He looked at me with a clear steady gaze, then leaned forward and whispered, “I bet Miss Eunice would appreciate some help with the tea. Why don’t you go help her, Bones?”

  Together Miss Eunice and I brought in three glasses of tea and a small plate filled with sliced-up corn pone. As we sat down I asked her about some of the animals she’d raised.

  “My lands, chile, there’s been so many, this ol’ brain can’t remember ’em all.”

  “Tell me about the ones you can remember.”

  “Well, there have been squirrels, foxes, opossums, rabbits, and just about every kind of bird you can think of. My Herman, he was real good with birds, knew just what to do for ’em.”

  “I raise animals, too. Right now I have a wild pig named Pearl and a raccoon named Nippy.”

  “A wild pig! Well, I never did have one of those. But I had a whole family of raccoons. Someone shot the mama and just left her layin’ there. Herman found her with five little kits hangin’ on to her dead body. Said it was about the saddest thing he ever did see. He brought all five of ’em home and we raised ’em up till they was big enough to go out on their own.”

  “That’s sort of like what happened to Nippy. Her mama got run over by a car. My best friend’s daddy, Mr. Cotton, found her alongside the highway. He brought her out to me ’cause he knows I love animals. She was so little I had to feed her with a baby bottle for the first couple weeks.”

  “Land sakes, chile, me and you got a lot in common.”

  For the next couple of hours we sat at Miss Eunice’s table sipping tea, munching on cold corn pone, and talking about animals. Her cloudy white eyes glistened with memories.

  All too soon, Nolay cut in. “Bones, it’s getting late. We best be heading home. We can always come back and visit another time.”

  As the three of us stood on the small porch, Miss Eunice told me, “I sure hope I get to meet Pearl one day. I never did have me a pet wild pig. She sure sounds like a fine critter.”

  “I hope so, too, Miss Eun
ice. I’ll try to bring her out one day; she loves to ride in the back of the truck.”

  “Well, I sure ’preciate y’all stopping by.”

  “Thank you, Miss Eunice, it’s been a pure pleasure to meet you.”

  I picked up my rifle. As my hand wrapped around the cold steel barrel, my memory was jolted back to the reason I had brought it. Me and Nolay walked out into the yard. The magnificent old tree had erased the gloominess and replaced it with cool, peaceful shade. We walked across the spongy golden blanket of leaves and got in the truck. Miss Eunice stood on her porch and waved a frail hand high in the air as we drove away.

  On our ride home I asked, “Nolay, why did you tell me stories about Miss Eunice? You know, about her being a witch or Soap Sally.”

  “Bones, I never told you no such stories about Miss Eunice. Soap Sally is an old swamp legend that’s been passed around for generations.”

  “What about last time? We went out to her house on the airboat, and you came back and told me she was cooking up something in that big ol’ pot in her front yard.”

  “She was cooking up something—she was boiling her clothes in it.” Nolay looked over at me. “Good Lord, Bones, you sure got some things mixed up.”

  “But when you were tellin’ me those Soap Sally stories, I thought you were talking about Miss Eunice.”

  “I had no idea you were thinkin’ I was talkin’ about ol’ Miss Eunice. That would have been a harmful thing for me to do.”

  “Well, it was harmful. I thought she was a mean ol’ witch and she’s just a nice old lady, a lonely old lady. I brought my rifle out here thinking I might have to shoot her. That was a terrible thing for me to be thinking.”

  “Bones, you know I would never do anything to hurt you. I was just funnin’ with you, that’s all.”

  Funnin’ with me? Nolay’s words circled around me. Why would Nolay think it was fun to make me think there was a scary old witch living out in the swamps? I had always believed everything he told me. “Nolay, do you remember when I was little and you told me I was a boy but lightning struck me and turned me into a girl? You said if I could kiss the back of my elbow I would turn back into a boy. I nearly broke my arm trying to do that. Why do you tell me such stories?”