by Pamela Morsi
She could hardly have refused to allow him to walk her down the mountain. But his company had taken a lot of the joy out of the trip. He was there to get her farm for the Piggotts. The strain of keeping it from him, and everybody else on the mountain, was wearing her thin.
Though they were not late arrivals, the open area between the church and the school had filled up fast. The men were gathered in small groups already well into discussions on the weather and the crops. The women were spreading pots and baskets of the dinner offering on the rough wide planks that served as the banquet tables. The children, as always full of excitement and energy, ran every which way, laughing and playing as if suddenly this important community occasion were only a simple frolic held for their benefit.
"Mama, there's Gobby Weston!" Baby-Paisley announced excitedly. The little fellow had been mostly sullen and silent during the walk. He had not been included in the adult talk and he didn't much like sharing his attention with the man from the store. "I got to go play wif him, Mama. Please!"
He held his little hands up in prayerful pleading. It was all Althea could do not to laugh out loud at the supplicating gesture.
"Don't you leave this clearing," Althea told her son with as much maternal sternness as she could manage. "If I start looking for you, I want to be able to find you."
"I woan wander off, I promise," he said solemnly.
Althea nodded her approval and the little fellow hurried off to join his friends. Truly she envied him. He was here for a fun evening and time with his friends. It looked very likely that Althea was to have neither.
As they approached the food tables, Beulah Winsloe, who appeared to be in charge, looked up. When she spotted Oather Phillips at Althea's side she eyed her daughter-in-law with disapproval.
The older Mrs. Winsloe looked ripe and ready to give the younger a significant piece of her mind. Althea was saved, however, when Myrtle Pease called out to her from the far end of the table.
"Did you bring a meat dish, Althea? We're grouping the meats on this end of the table."
"Yes I did," she answered, cheerfully putting distance between herself and her mother-in-law's black expression. "Fresh venison with possum-grape dumplings."
There were sighs of approval all around as Oather set the big cast iron cauldron upon the table. Althea Winsloe had a reputation for being a fine cook.
"Where did you get fresh venison?" Beulah Winsloe was quick to ask. She was still looking daggers at both Althea and her escort. Her tone was accusatory.
"Jesse Best brought down a deer for me," she answered. "He's working at my place, helping me get ready for the winter."
"I heard that he was working for you," Myrtle Pease admitted.
“Trading some hard labor for those dogs of Paisley's is the way it was told to me," Sarah Weston piped in.
"Yes, he's helping me out and earning the price of the dogs."
Mrs. Weston shook her head and gave a conspiratory glance toward Beulah Winsloe; the two were first cousins. "It sure seems a shame to me to put a fine pack of hounds in the care of an iddjet."
Althea felt an immediate flare of anger spark through her. "Jesse is no idiot, he's merely feebleminded."
All three of the women, McNees clan every one, nodded in agreement as Beulah spoke. "Simple Jess is feebleminded and Pastor Jay's senile. That's the kind a minds ye can get with the Piggott clan."
The woman's verbal shot was aimed directly at Oather Phillips, who as expected blushed with shame. Jesse Best's unfortunate birth injury and Pastor Jay's loss of faculties in later life were true embarrassments for the Piggott family. The belief that such weaknesses were carried "in the blood" was not a superstition easily overcome.
Oather's silence upon his family's shortcomings only served to make Althea more quick to rise to Jesse's defense.
"Well, he's certainly a great provider," she told the women. "He got this deer on his first day out and it's big enough to keep Baby-Paisley and me in venison all winter. Have your boys done much hunting lately, Mrs. Weston?"
The woman paled and then her cheeks reddened in embarrassment. The Weston boys were well known for drinking and sleeping. Farming and hunting were not their forte.
"Let's go over and say hello to Granny Piggott," Althea suggested quickly to Oather, wanting to make her escape before Beulah and her minions could recover from their well-done set down. "That old woman must be ninety if she's a day, but her mind is quicker than most folks half her age."
Oather took her arm and led her away from the table, clearly pleased.
"Thank you taking up for my family," he said quietly.
"Oh, they don't really need much taking up for," Althea assured him. "It's just that my mother-in-law is probably not too happy to see you at my side."
"I'm sure she's not," Oather agreed. "But she's right about the Piggotts. We have a strange turn of people in the family. Pastor Jay, talking to himself all day long, and poor Jesse, as dumb as a stump. Meggie marrying up with that music fellow from back east. And me."
"You?"
"I'm . . . I'm . . . well, I'm a little different," he said quietly. "You know that."
Althea didn't really know that at all. She shrugged off his words. "You're just yourself, Oather," she assured him. "Nothing too curious about that."
Granny Piggott was like a queen holding court under the broad limbed elm. She sat in her rocking chair, smoked her pipe, and sooner or later each and every person made it over to her to pay their respects. Some she praised, some she scolded. Some were singled out for special consideration on this clear December evening. Althea and Oather were among the latter.
"Well, don't you two look right standing together," she stated, with bald approval. "Come closer, come closer. I don't see as well as I used to."
This wasn't at all the truth, but they dutifully moved forward. Granny looked up at them, rocking and smiling in approval.
"Don't you two just look fine," she said. She spoke the words between a clenched grin, unwilling as she was to relinquish the clay pipe she held between her teeth. "Both of you healthy and good looking and just about the same height. Piggott, my late husband, was just about a hair's breadth taller than me. I always think that's important," she said.
She removed the pipe from her mouth and leaned forward as if relating a confidence. The two leaned forward to better hear her soft spoken words.
"Some women thinks that tall men is best, but my take on it," she said, looking at them meaningfully. "And I can speak plain here 'cause dear Althea has done been married. When it comes down to the man and woman thang, it's best to have a mate that sorta fits ye."
Althea felt the blush steal into her cheeks and she stifled the naughty urge to giggle at Granny's risquéd words. She managed a quick, guilty glance in Oather's direction. His complexion was more than pale, it appeared almost green as if he had suddenly taken ill.
"You'd best excuse us, Granny," Althea said quickly in a protective gesture. She hastily moved away on Oather's arm. His embarrassed reaction had been extreme. Althea felt a wave of unexpected sympathy for her unwelcome suitor. She began to chatter with feigned liveliness to distract him. It was not a mannerism natural to her character and she searched the crowd desperately for the hope of aid. She spotted it in the person of Jesse Best.
"Jesse! Jesse! Hello!"
With Oather at her side, she hurried up to the Best family, just arriving on the edge of the crowd. Onery Best was a bright eyed and jovial man whose aging body was bent and twisted with lameness. His daughter and her husband, Meggie and Roe Farley, were a handsome young couple, obviously deeply in love with each other. Their daughter Edith was about four and as pretty a little Piggot as any ever grown on the mountain.
"Miss Althea," Jesse said, apparently a little surprised by her unexpected eagerness. "Why hello."
For the last two days he'd worked quietly around her place and she'd barely spoken to him. Too late Althea remembered the improper kiss they had shared and her vow
to keep her distance.
"Mr. Best, Meggie, Roe," she addressed the family politely.
Oather had leaned forward to solemnly offer his hand to Jesse's father and brother-in-law. He nodded with only the slightest hint of condescension to Jesse.
"Look! I got a doll," little Edith Farley interrupted. "Her name if Matilda. She ain't never been to a Literary before."
Dutifully, Althea squatted down to look at the pretty little girl and her doll.
"Why, she looks just like you," Althea told the child with extravagant surprise. "You both have beautiful long hair the same color as corn silk."
"Hers is corn silk," Edith explained more seriously. "But mine just looks that way."
"Have you come here to play with the other children?" Althea asked her.
Little Edith nodded eagerly. "I brought my doll to show ‘em.
"My little boy is out there playing. Maybe you could find him and show him."
Edith looked unsure. "Boys don't always like dolls. Why don't you have a little girl for me to play with?"
Althea ignored that question. "Some boys like dolls," she assured the child.
Edith nodded thoughtfully. "Yep, maybe," she said. "Uncle Jesse likes my doll and he's a boy, sort of."
"Yes, he is," Althea agreed with a smile.
She glanced up at Jesse standing over them. He was so tall, so huge. He was looking down at the two of them so intently, his blue eyes filled with something . . . something Althea didn't understand, but could so very clearly feel. At that moment he didn't seem like a boy at all.
Chapter Eleven
Jesse always loved the Literary. He loved the good food, all the laughing and talking, the music, the dancing, and the scent of the women. He loved being around all the women on the mountain at one time and just reveling in the distinct, feminine fragrance of each. This night, this Literary was different. It was as if, like a hound, his nose picked up the scent of a trail and all other smells around him were mere distracting odors to be ignored.
Althea Winsloe. Her aroma had always been familiar to him, pleasing to him. But now, it was part of him. Now he knew both her taste and her touch, and her fragrance had been inhaled into his very bones and mingled with the scent that was his own.
"You look real pretty, Miss Althea," he said, reminding himself to doff his hat.
She did look pretty. So clean and pressed and neat as she knelt beside Little Edith and looked up at him. He wanted to drop to his knees beside her, to pull her into his arms. To taste again the hot sweetness of her mouth and feel the warm softness of her round parts against his chest. He could see in her eyes the minute that she remembered. The kiss was once again as real as the day that it had happened. And once again her brow furrowed in worry and she distanced herself from him.
She turned a big smile on his family. That smile looked to Jesse not to be quite real.
"Simple Jess has been such a help to me," she said. "I am so grateful, Mr. Best, that you've been able to spare him from your farm."
"Oh, it's pretty much Roe and Jesse's farm these days," Best answered her. "And you jest call me Onery, now. Saying that Mr. Best makes me sound like an old grandpa." He winked broadly at Althea. "And I may be that to this little gal, but I ain't such to a pretty woman like yersef."
Althea laughed a little tentatively. "I can see where Jesse gets his flirty ways."
"Flirty way?" Meggie sounded dumbfounded and then delighted. "Jesse, have you been flirting with Althea?" she teased.
Jesse stared at his sister stupidly, wondering how to answer. Althea spoke up quickly, she was almost fluttering as she made her explanation.
"It was just a manner of speaking," she said hastily. "Of course Jesse doesn't flirt. He's very polite and very hardworking, too. He's . . . he's good with the dogs."
"Jesse ought to be good with dogs," Roe said. "He's been dreaming of having his own for years."
Meggie was easily diverted and chuckled in agreement with her husband. "I think Jesse may have more in common with dogs than he does with anything walking around on two legs."
"Well, Paisley's dogs are a rare pack, I understand," Oather Phillips chimed in. "I do hope, Simple Jess, that you are appropriately grateful to Mrs. Winsloe for letting you have them."
She hadn't given him the dogs, Jesse wanted to point out. He was earning them. He wanted to explain that to Oather. Oather was very smart and could think very well. He would understand the difference. Jesse wanted Oather to know that Jesse was working to get the dogs, they weren't a gift. He wanted to explain that. But it was too hard.
"I kilt a deer," Jesse said.
His words brought good humored laughter and his brother-in-law patted him proudly on the back.
"I heard about that," Oather told him. "In fact, Mrs. Winsloe here made fresh venison and possum-grape dumplings. I carried the pot from the house for her."
"Lord Almighty!" Onery exclaimed. "Possum-grape dumplin's are my favorite. A taste for a man to savor. We'll have to get us some of those, won't we, Jesse."
Jesse nodded mutely, but he wasn't thinking about the taste of possum-grape dumplings. He was wondering why Oather Phillips had carried the pot for Miss Althea. If she had needed someone to carry it, Jesse would have been glad to do so.
"All these men ever think about is their stomachs," Meggie complained. "Here we are with all these folks to talk to and they want to spend their time eating."
Her husband laughed at her. "We can't help ourselves," he explained. "It's the only time this family ever gets anything half decent to eat."
Meggie feigned fury and used her elbow to punch Roe in the ribs. Meggie Best Farley's lack of cooking skills were legend on Marrying Stone Mountain.
"I brought my fiddle," Jesse interjected, indicating the contents of the pillowcase that was slung over his shoulder. "I know how you like to dance, Miss Althea. So I brung my fiddle to make you some music."
"Why, thank you, Simple Jess," Oather replied. "I enjoy dancing myself. I'd be delighted to take a turn or two across the floor with you, Mrs. Winsloe."
"I'll look forward to it," Althea answered politely.
Jesse was confused about his feelings once more. He wanted to play for Miss Althea. He wanted for her to get to dance. But he hadn't thought about the obvious fact that dancing meant she would dance with a man. Somehow, he didn't like the idea as much as he had when he'd packed his fiddle.
"I hope they'll be time for dancing," Roe said. "Orv is going to debate Labin Trace on whether snakes had legs in the Garden of Eden."
"That sounds like something more akin to the preacher's domain," Onery pointed out.
Oather nodded in agreement. "That's a certainty to last half the night and I heard a rumor that someone's planning a kangaroo court."
"A kangaroo court!" Onery whistled with delight. "Who's in the soup these days?"
Oather shook his head. "I haven't got a clue, but I feel sorry for the poor victim, whoever he is."
There was sympathetic laughter all around.
Roe put his arm around his wife. "Well, we should probably make our greeting to Granny Piggott now," he said.
"She's in fine form tonight," Althea warned.
The couple acknowledged the caution gratefully and headed off in that direction.
"Let's go get something good to eat, Grandpa," Little Edith suggested.
Onery excused the two of them, and steadying himself on the little girl's shoulder, they made their way to the tables.
Without a word, Oather simply took Althea's arm and led her away. Jesse was left standing alone, staring after them. His nostrils flared and his eyes closed. He could still smell her presence. Truly, it was like she was inside him. He opened his eyes. She was still walking away with Oather Phillips. The feeling that twisted in Jesse's heart was an unfamiliar one. He didn't recognize it and was unable to put a name to it. He was bereft.
Jesse was still standing by himself a few moments later when Buell Phillips stepped up on the porch
of the schoolhouse. People began to gather close around and the crowd hushed to hear as Phillips announced the beginning of the debate.
"Resolved," Phillips called out loudly. "Prior to being condemned to crawl on its belly forevermore, the snake in the Garden of Eden walked upon legs."
The crowd politely applauded the topic under consideration.
"Advocate for the resolution is farmer and brother-in-law of our preacher Tom McNees, Mr. Orville Winsloe."
Orv stepped up on the porch and bowed slightly, accepting the praise of the crowd.
"In opposition to the resolution tonight," Buell continued, "is farmer, father of four, and grandfather of eight, Labin Trace."
Trace, who was a most frequent debater and a favorite of the crowd, took his place on the porch amid loud clapping and cries of encouragement.
Phillips repeated the resolution once more in case anyone had missed it and then left the schoolhouse porch to the verbal combatants.
Orv spoke first, quoting chapter and verse and in a tone that was stiff and superior.
It was all too hard for Jesse to understand. And he was not interested anyway. Snakes didn't have legs. He knew that. He'd seen plenty of snakes. If they had legs they were lizards. Thinking about things was hard and it didn't seem to him much of a question to ponder about. So he didn't. He wandered around the edges of the crowd for several minutes. On most Literary evenings, he'd used this kind of time to slip up to the women and just stand there and enjoy their presence. Somehow tonight that occupation didn't interest him.
He loitered on the edge of one group and then another before finally seating himself in the grass next to Granny Piggott's rocking chair. He was stroking the thin layer of grass that grew there and feeling the strength of the rock beneath it.
Granny leaned over toward him, pipe gripped securely in her teeth.
"You don't understand a word they are a-sayin', do ye?"
He looked up at the old woman, his bright blue eyes wide with honesty. "No, ma'am," he said.
