“Just a wildcat,” Hank said.
“Or maybe a painter?” I said.
“Just a little pussycat,” Hank said. “You want me to call it up?”
“Don’t you dare,” I said and shivered. I remembered hearing the wildcat on the night Masenier died. The climb was warming me up a little, but I didn’t feel right. Maybe I had eat my grits and biscuits too fast. Or maybe we had been walking too fast. I slowed down a little.
“Are you tired already?” Hank said.
“I just need to catch my breath,” I said.
“We have a long way to go,” Hank said.
As the road zigzagged up the mountain, we worked our way from one switchback to another. Every step was lifting us out of the valley. Every step was taking me away from the cove of Gap Creek where little Delia was buried. Every step I took in the dark was raising me back toward the mountain and the rest of my life. The road ahead appeared to go up and up forever into the sky.
“How much further is it?” I said.
“We’re only getting started,” Hank said.
There was a pain in my belly, like the pain I used to feel in my side when I walked to the store as a girl with Mama. It was an uneasy place that got shook as we walked on the rough road. I slowed down more to keep from jarring my belly. I switched the pillowcase from my right shoulder to my left shoulder. My face was stiff with cold and my hands was stiff with cold. My left hand was just about numb from gripping the pillowcase.
“Do you need to rest?” Hank said.
“I’m all right,” I said. I felt for the coin in my pocket. Its weight give me more strength and more hope. But the pain in my belly got worse. I swallowed hard and walked on. I imagined I was drawing energy from the tips of my fingers to walk on the ruts, and that I was drawing strength from my ears and from my knees. I was going to burn up every ounce of fat in my body to climb the mountain. I still had strength I’d never used, and I was going to use it. I was going to leave Gap Creek without looking back.
It was still dark as I followed Hank past a waterfall, and past a place the branch gurgled along the road. Further on the woods was open and you could see down the valley where we had come from. There was a light in a house miles below. My belly felt like it was twisting sideways. But I swallowed deep and kept going.
We must have walked for another hour in the dark. I was getting warmer and the pain in my belly was hot. Suddenly sour water belched up into my throat and the back of my mouth. I turned my head and the sour taste flooded over my tongue. I didn’t want to be sick when we had so far to go in the cold. I stood still and swallowed hard. It was what I had learned to do to keep from being sick. If I stood still enough my stomach would settle. I had to slow time down by slowing myself.
“Are you going to throw up?” Hank said.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “It’ll pass.” As I waited in the road and got hold of myself the sourness in my throat went away.
When the pain was gone and my belly was calm again I took a step and Hank was beside me. It was getting to be first light so I could see him. “You hadn’t told me,” he said.
“I meant to,” I said. I was going to tell Hank the day before, when the preacher and the lawyer had suddenly come to the house. But in the excitement of having to leave I had forgot.
“You’ll have to have a cold drink when we come to a spring,” Hank said.
I stood very still as another cramp hit me in the belly. But this time it passed quicker. Hank took my hand. He was strong and steady as we started walking again.
“We’ll take our time,” Hank said.
“It’s mostly down from here.” I looked around and seen the sun was just coming up over the mountains. We had reached the gap at the state line and was already in North Carolina. The valley was dark below us, but the sky was lit up and the east looked like it was on fire.
“Can you walk?” Hank said.
“Of course I can walk,” I said. I felt as weak as a newborn colt but my strength was coming back as my stomach settled. I steadied myself for a moment before picking up the pillowcase. The red sun slipping over the ridge made me squint a little. My belly felt firm and calm.
We started walking again.
Gap Creek Page 32
