by Pamela Morsi
“Why? Is it for syphilis or something?”
“What? No! It’s for getting your heart broken.”
The girl gave a startled little gasp of breath, followed by a long moment of inexplicable silence.
“Why would you think I’d get my heart broken?” she finally asked, her words quiet and subdued. “You don’t think he loves me?”
The hurt in the teenager’s tone tore at Jesse heart. “I didn’t mean that,” she said, hurriedly. “I was kidding. It’s not about you. The poultice is to cure my lovesickness from my guy that dumped me.”
She didn’t answer immediately.
“Why did he dump you?”
“He fell in love with somebody else.” Jesse found that saying the words aloud was not nearly as painful as she thought it would be.
“So he stopped loving you?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Jesse answered. “Or maybe he never loved me at all. I don’t know.”
“You don’t know if he loved you?” Camryn propped herself up on one elbow, eyeing Jesse curiously.
“Well, I thought he did. And he said he did,” Jesse told her. “But could he really have loved me and then fallen for someone else? I don’t think that happens. If it’s real, then all the forces of hell can’t prevail against it. If it’s not real, then I think it can all blow away in a slight breeze.”
“Tree really loves me. I’m sure of that.”
Camryn’s words were adamant, but her tone was more defensive than certain.
“Well, good,” Jesse replied. “I wouldn’t want two teenagers who aren’t in love using my car for a make-out machine.”
“Make-out machine? That’s funny,” she said. “I’m sorry about your car. Well, maybe not sorry. I’m sorry that your car was the only one I could get. We needed to be alone. You don’t know what it’s like not to have any chance to be alone with the guy that you love.”
Surprisingly, Camryn began to tell Jesse all about it. Her complaints about the lack of privacy, morphed into a near full-fledged rant about her mother, working at the store, the Marrying Stone community at large and the state of Arkansas overall.
“So your mom is not really keen on you dating Tree?”
Jesse couldn’t see the teenager in the darkness of the loft, but she clearly heard her incredulous sigh.
“Have you been listening?” Camryn asked facetiously. “My mom is crazy about him. She’s probably the only person in the world who wants us to be together more than I do.”
“Well, that’s good then,” Jesse said.
“No, it’s total crap,” Camryn answered. “I don’t want to fall in line with what my mom wants. It’s my life and my decision. It’s just unnatural for her to want the same thing for me that I want for me.”
Jesse smiled against her pillow, grateful that the girl couldn’t see her face. Her own feelings of teenage rebellion had never quite been realized. But she’d seen enough of it growing in her students to understand how wacky and nonlinear it could be.
“At least we don’t agree on my road to happily-ever-after,” Camryn said.
“Oh?”
“Mom is such a loser,” Camryn said. “She thinks that if I work hard, remain true and wait patiently, Tree will rush back home after college and marry me.”
That sounded like a reasonable plan of action to Jesse.
“Screw that!” Camryn said adamantly. “There are ways that are better and quicker.”
Jesse was interested in hearing what those might be, but Camryn became suddenly reticent. Apparently not everything could be shared at their impromptu slumber party.
15
Jesse wasn’t sure when she nodded off. But when her eyes snapped open many hours later, she was immediately alert and on guard. Something was odd. Something was very odd. Listening intently, she tried to determine what woke her. She heard nothing. She strained her ears more intently into the night that was still total darkness. Nothing. It took her a moment to realize that was the answer. The normal sounds of the world around Onery Cabin had dissipated into an almost eerie quiet.
She slipped out of her blankets. The air was cold. It was even more so as she climbed down the ladder. From the windows by the table, she could view the unexpected glimmer beyond the glass. It had snowed! Jesse was shocked. It was hard to imagine working yesterday afternoon in a light jacket and shirtsleeves and this morning having a winter wonderland show up outside the door.
She wondered what time it was. There was a clock in the kitchen, but Jesse didn’t want to turn on the light and disturb Aunt Will. She remembered the matches on the mantel over the fireplace. Without much fumbling she made it there and decided, since the fire was laid anyhow, she might as well light it as Aunt Will had asked her to. It only took a couple of attempts to get the kindling ablaze. Once that was going, she fed it more until little by little, the bark on the main logs eventually ignited.
Jesse smiled at her achievement, remembering the scene in Castaway when Tom Hanks celebrated like a primitive over his fire creation. Hers wasn’t quite that achievement, but it was her first, so she gave herself a mental “you go, girl!”
Sitting in the stillness, she gazed into the yellow and orange flames. Jesse had always thought of fireplaces as romantic. Vaguely, she tried to recall if she and Greg had ever snuggled up together gazing at a crackling blaze. She didn’t think they had. They were always so busy. And Greg was not a particularly romantic type. Their relationship had two speeds: “just friends” or “in bed.” And they had always done better with the former than the latter.
Absently she picked at the edges of the dried poultice. If Aunt Will didn’t wake up soon, she was going to risk disturbing her to go to the bathroom and get the awful thing off.
Instead, in the dim light Jesse went to the kitchen and found the coffeepot. She filled it with water and measured out an amount that she thought reasonable and then put it on the stove to brew.
She walked over to the table to gaze out at the snow. Although the vague beginnings of light now shown in the sky, the sloping ground in front of the cabin was still bathed in shadow. When one of those shadows began to move, Jesse’s heart momentarily caught in her throat. She realized it must be some kind of animal. Jesse squinted, trying to make it out. Too big to be a raccoon or possum. Not big enough to be a deer. Then another shadow moved and kind of fluttered. Her eyes widened in surprise. It was some kind of big, dark bird. Wild turkeys?
Jesse found herself smiling. She would never see this in Tulsa. She stood by the window as the day dawned, watching the huge, graceful birds pick at the snow, looking for food. She remembered the story about Benjamin Franklin wanting the turkey, rather than the eagle, to be the national symbol. Her class had hooted with laughter over the suggestion. But seeing them now, she could imagine what dear old Ben must have felt.
She was able to make the birds out individually now, as the sunlight filtered through the trees. There were six females of varying size and one large, sturdy male who seemed to strut a bit with every movement.
Just then, Lilly June, the old hound, apparently rising for her morning constitutional, came around the corner of the cabin. It was questionable as to who was more surprised, the dog or the birds. But Lilly June set up a startled angry howl. And to Jesse’s near disbelief, the turkeys took flight. Her jaw dropped in shock. And then she shook her head in wonder.
“What’s all the caterwauling about?” Aunt Will came shuffling out of her bedroom.
“Lilly June scared off a flock of wild turkeys,” Jesse answered. “I don’t think I knew they could fly.”
The old woman nodded. “They’d have to, if they’re going to survive out here,” she said. “We fatten the ones we farm raise until they’re too big to get off the ground. Why don’t you pour me a cup of that you’re boiling.”
Jesse went to the stove and poured coffee for both of them. Aunt Will seated herself in her rocker in front of the fire. Jesse carried her cup to her. And then she dragged one of the chairs
from the table to sit next to her.
“This is a nice fire you made, DuJess.”
“Thanks, but you’re the one who laid it. I just struck the match.”
Aunt Will smiled almost wistfully. “Sometimes that’s all that’s required. But if you’re not there to do it, then it may never happen or it happens too late.”
The old lady reached out and patted Jesse on the hand.
“That’s how it was with your daddy,” she said. “I was only part of the story.”
Jesse liked the idea that Aunt Will had loved her father as much as she did. And that she remembered him as much, or even more. After sixteen years, it often felt as if everyone had moved on. None of her friends had ever even known him. Her mother rarely mentioned him, even in passing. Sometimes it seemed to Jesse as if he had never been.
“I carry him in my heart, too,” she said.
Aunt Will clasped her hand and squeezed it. “You two were the opposite of us two,” she said. “But I know he’d be proud of all you’ve done with your life.”
Jesse rolled her eyes. “All I’ve done with my life? Laid off from my job and thrown over by my fiancé. So far I’m not doing all that well.”
Aunt Will didn’t agree. “There’s still a whole world yet to know,” she said. “Starting today. We’re making piccalilli.”
“Okay.”
“It’s very important to the women of our family,” she reminded Jesse. “But I’ll save that story until Cammy is up and rooting around. It’s a tale that you both need to hear.”
Camryn was up within a half hour or so. Long enough for Jesse to get the terrible dried poultice off her chest, get washed up and dressed.
The sight of snow on the ground immediately morphed the teenager from semi-sullen sleepyhead to excited outdoorswoman. She jumped into her clothes and was ready to head out the door before Jesse could get oatmeal on the table. She wolfed down her breakfast and then waited impatiently for Jesse to finish.
“Get your chores done,” Aunt Will admonished as they put on their coats. “Leave the old cow in the barn today. She won’t find nothing much to graze on nohow. Then you two are welcome to frolic a bit, but only a bit. We’ve got work to do this morning.”
Camryn made a sound that was whiny with complaint. Jesse didn’t complain, but felt equal lack of enthusiasm for piccalilli production.
Outside the air was sharp, but there was no breeze at all. The animals not normally housed in the barn had managed to squeeze under the door and were as snug as the cow—although Arthur, the noisy rooster, tried to make it perfectly clear this was now his territory, and the cow, the pigs and the two humans were present only as interlopers.
Camryn and Jesse managed to get everyone fed, the eggs gathered and the cow milked in record time. As they walked back toward the cabin, the teenager couldn’t resist tossing a big, wet snowball in Jesse’s direction. Unfortunately, the transportation of milk and eggs kept the skirmish brief. But both duly warned each other of retaliation later.
Back inside the cabin, Aunt Will was already busy in the kitchen. The younger women hurried to hang up their coats and finish with their chores. Jesse had the eggs, so she was ready to help first.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Scrub down the table ’til you’re thinking it might be fit to eat off of,” Aunt Will told her. “We’ll be chopping everything in there and we want it as clean as we can get it.”
Jesse took her at her word and with soapy water as hot as she could bear, she made the table as near to sterile as the ancient old wood could be. When Camryn finished straining the milk, she helped her dry everything off.
“You two had best to start chopping the tomatoes,” Aunt Will said. “We’ll know how much we need of everything else by how many tomatoes we have.”
She handed a two-gallon pail of them to Jesse. They were still wet and very warm and the outer skins were split from blanching.
“You girls, peel these and chop them up,” she said. “I’ll cut up the cabbage, it goes a lot faster.”
The three women sat around the table, filling a huge stew pot with small pieces of vegetables. At least this was something that Jesse could do with confidence. She didn’t consider herself a great cook, but she was a good one. And she’d watched enough TV cooking shows to have the dicing routine pretty well mastered.
“Do you really eat this much piccalilli?” she asked Aunt Will.
The old woman smiled and shook her head. “Most of it I give away,” she admitted. “But I feel very obliged to put it up. Piccalilli is very important for the women of our family. If it wasn’t for piccalilli, neither of you would even be here.”
Jesse and Camryn shared a glance.
“Okay, Aunt Will,” Camryn said. “I’ll bite. What’s the story on the piccalilli?”
Aunt Will smiled and her eyes got dreamy.
“Well, it’s said that my Granny Meg was the worst cook that ever lived in these mountains,” she began.
“That’s saying something,” the teenager piped in with a chuckle. “I would have voted for Earline Gluck.”
Aunt Will chuckled. “Earline surely doesn’t have the touch,” she admitted. “But poor Meggie, she was the worst of the worst. And added to that was a dreamy nature that caused her to forget what was on the stove. Old Simple Jess used to say that everything she cooked was either half burnt or half raw.”
Jesse’s head came up at the mention of her namesake.
“Meggie was always looking for a special man to come to the mountain and sure enough, one day he showed up. He was a music scholar from back east, just passing through.”
Aunt Will shook her head and smiled as if telling the tale gave her tremendous pleasure.
“So what do you girls think she did to get him to stay?”
She looked at the two hopefully.
“She jumped his bones, I guess,” Camryn said. “Got herself knocked up.”
Aunt Will eyed the teenager, but didn’t voice a word of disapproval.
“No,” she answered. “I suspect some gals might do that sort of thing, but not your Granny Meg. She didn’t have the guile. Instead she unluckily poisoned him with piccalilli.”
“What?”
Both Jesse and Camryn stopped in midchop, mouth agape.
“I told you she was a very bad cook.”
They all laughed.
“It’s true,” Aunt Will insisted. “He nearly puked his insides out and had to stay here in this cabin until he was feeling well again. And it didn’t take long for him to fall head over heels for our Meggie.”
“That’s pretty funny,” Jesse said. “They sure don’t write love stories like that in books. ‘He looked deeply into her dark, sultry eyes and promptly threw up.’”
“‘Oh, my darling, I love you. But I gotta hurl,’” Camryn added with dramatic flair.
“Somehow nausea and vomiting doesn’t seem like the right road to a man’s heart.”
Aunt Will clucked in disagreement. “Folks say you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. But we sweeten it up something fierce in this piccalilli recipe. Man and woman alike seem to find it mighty enticing and crave it through a whole life long.”
It took most of the morning to get the tomatoes and cabbage chopped up. Aunt Will put them on to drain as Jesse and Camryn went to work on the onions and peppers. They’d barely finished when Aunt Will showed up with another tub of washed tomatoes.
“Slice these, don’t chop them,” the old woman said. “I’m frying them up for nooning.”
Jesse looked questioningly at the huge pile and then at Camryn.
“This is an awful lot of tomatoes,” the teenager told her.
The old woman shrugged. “When you fry up green tomatoes, somebody will always show.”
Considering the depth of the snow outside, Jesse didn’t consider that likely. Dutifully they sliced every tough green orb. Then Aunt Will gave them a cooking lesson, which culminated with each of them producing their o
wn skillet full of golden brown slices. Aunt Will was setting the table as Jesse had just pulled the last of the batch off the fire. Lilly June began barking excitedly.
Camryn and Jesse glanced at each other.
“Maybe the turkeys are back,” Jesse said.
“This time of day, it’s not likely,” Aunt Will replied.
Camryn hurried to the window and gave a very youthful and delighted little squeal. “It’s Tree!”
The teenager was out the cabin door an instant later.
Jesse glanced at the table. Aunt Will had set luncheon plates for five.
16
Camryn fled out of the cabin door and raced down the hill and flew into her boyfriend’s arms.
“You found me!” she declared with abject happiness.
Tree’s expression was complete surprise. “I didn’t even know you were lost.”
She wrapped her bootless feet, clad only in houseshoes around his hips and allowed him to carry her back up the slope. It felt like heaven. Except in her real heaven, the two of them would be alone.
“Hi, Mr. Baxley,” she said, more shyly.
She never knew quite how to behave around Tree’s dad. Her experience with dads in general, and specifically her own, was not exactly stellar. Grown-up men could be dangerous. Her mom made sure she understood that. And they were untrustworthy. They might say that they love you and that they’d stick by you. But they didn’t expect you to believe it.
Tree’s dad had always been nice to her. But she knew that he didn’t want his son to be serious about her. He wanted Tree to go to college before settling down to one girl. But she wasn’t going to be one of the girls at college, Camryn thought. She wrapped her arms more tightly around Tree’s neck and buried her face in his hair. She wasn’t going to let him leave her behind.
When they reached the porch, he set her on her feet and then followed her into the cabin. Camryn wished she could take a quick time-out to put on some makeup and fix her hair better, but she knew that would be too obvious. And besides, she reasoned, she’d missed Tree so much she wasn’t willing to waste any of the time they had together.
