These Healing Hills

by Ann H. Gabhart

  He yelled once, but the fog swallowed up the sound. What he needed was a foghorn. Or a conch shell like men used to call in their hounds after a hunt. Instead he put his fingers in his mouth and gave a sharp whistle.

  He stopped Captain and listened. A dog’s barks threaded through the damp air back to him. Maybe Sarge. He whistled again, and then he heard a voice. Francine’s voice.

  Captain made his way between boulders big as cars. Ben knew this place. Francine stepped into view on the other side of one of the boulders. He jumped off Captain and ran toward her, but stopped short of grabbing her in his arms the way he wanted to.

  “Are you all right?”

  She smiled a little. “Lost. And cold. But all right. What about you?”

  He smiled back at her. “Lost. Cold. But all right.”

  “We’re going to have to quit meeting like this.” She laughed. “On the side of a mountain.”

  He started to say something, but she jumped in front of his words. “Wait. What did you say? You can’t be lost too. I’m the one who gets lost.”

  “Anybody can get lost in the fog. Except Sarge there. He’s quite a tracker.”

  “One of a kind.” She reached down and rubbed Sarge’s head.

  Ben tried not to be jealous. “But actually I do know where I am now that I see these boulders.”

  “Then can you get us down off this hill back to civilization?” She looked up at him.

  Her words made him remember the man who had come to convince her to go with him. Back to civilization. “Is that where you want to go? Back to the city?”

  She frowned a little. “You mean Hyden?”

  “Don’t know that anybody would call that a city. No, Cincinnati.”

  “I’m soaked and about to freeze, Ben. Why are you talking about Cincinnati?”

  Her lips were trembling and she was shivering. He unbuttoned his coat. It was wet on the outside, but the wool lining was still dry. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently pulled her toward him. “Come here and warm up.”

  She hesitated.

  “Two bodies are warmer than one. In the army on cold nights we’d always buddy up with somebody to keep from freezing.” He kept his arms open to her, but let her make the decision about stepping into his embrace.

  “Sensible.” She moved into his embrace and added in a whisper he barely heard. “Or not.”

  He wrapped the sides of his coat around her and held her close. After a minute, her shivers slowed. He rested his cheek on her head. Nothing sensible about that, but it felt good. “I don’t want you to go back to Cincinnati.”

  “What do you want, Ben Locke?” She looked up at him. Her face was damp from the fog.

  “I want you, Francine Howard. Only you.”

  When she looked at him without saying anything, he rushed on. “I know I don’t have much to offer you. No reason to not go back to Cincinnati with that other fellow. No house of my own. No job. Planning to head off to school. And you hardly know me.”

  She slid her hand up out of his jacket and put her fingers over his lips. “Shh. Don’t talk about the reasons I shouldn’t stay. Tell me why I should.”

  “I love you.” Three words he’d never said to any woman other than his ma when he was a little boy. But they were easy to say to Francine.

  A smile lit up her eyes. “Then why don’t you kiss me?” She slipped her hand away from his mouth and around behind his neck.

  Her lips were cool at first but warmed under his. When at last he lifted his lips away from hers, he kissed her eyebrows and then the hair that peeked out from under her wool hat.

  At first Fran wasn’t sure if the sparkle of sunlight was really there or she was simply imagining it because of the kiss. But no, the sun was pushing a sliver of light through the fog to hit on the boulder beside them. But she didn’t move away from Ben. It felt too good to be in his arms.

  She wasn’t being sensible at all. Ben was right. She barely knew him, but she knew how he made her feel. And there would be time, plenty of time to get to know him better. More words between them. More kisses. She completely forgot about being so chilled. Here in Ben’s arms, she felt warm and safe.

  “You’re still shivering.” Ben rubbed his hands up and down her back. “We need to get you in front of a fire to warm up.”

  He was right. Warm and safe in her heart wasn’t drying out her wet clothes and boots. Time to be sensible before her toes turned blue.

  “Are we close to any houses?” she asked. “Coy told me Granny Em’s house wasn’t too far from theirs as the crow flies.”

  “So you were at the Caudills’.” Ben’s face turned hard.

  “Mr. Caudill tripped on a root and shot himself in the leg.”

  “The old man?”

  “No, Coy said they buried him last week.” Fran studied Ben. “Coy said he didn’t shoot Woody and that his father didn’t either. He thinks his grandfather might have, but that we can never know now that he’s dead.”

  “You believed him?”

  “I did.”

  “And you patched up Homer Caudill?”

  “I’m not a sheriff or a judge. I’m a nurse. Patching up people is what I do.” She touched his cheek. “Does that bother you? That I treated him?”

  Ben blew out a breath and took her hand in his. “I guess you can’t turn away anybody needing help. Even somebody like Homer Caudill.”

  “I was glad you didn’t shoot him.”

  “Did you think I might?” He answered his own question before she could say anything. “I guess that’s a fair thought for you to have. I did consider confronting the man more than once, but something—Ma would say the good Lord’s providence—kept turning me away from that path.”

  “And now we’re on another path.” Fran wanted to stop talking about Homer Caudill. “And I’m completely lost, as usual.”

  He laughed then, the uneasiness in his face disappearing the way the fog did in the sunshine. “I told you I know where we are. Now that the fog is lifting, we can head over that way and be at Granny Em’s in half an hour. Or on down to our house in a little longer.”

  “Granny Em first. Then your house to see about Becca and little Carlene.”

  “Just a nurse on her rounds.” He was still smiling. “Maybe I should always ride with you to keep you from getting lost.”

  “I wouldn’t mind.” She tiptoed up and brushed her lips across his cheek. “Thank you for finding me.”

  “I didn’t. Sarge did.”

  “But you gave me Sarge.” Sarge pushed his nose against her leg and wagged his tail at the sound of his name.

  “So I did.”

  More sparkles of sunrays were pushing through the fog, bringing back the daylight. They mounted their horses and Fran followed after Ben. The horses’ hooves plopped along the path. Water still showered down on them whenever they brushed against a branch. A squirrel chattered at them and a bird started singing. The rhythm of the mountains. It was part of her, and now she had a new song in her heart. A song of love.

  She started singing.

  “Froggie went a-courting,

  He did ride, uh-huh, uh-huh.”

  Ben looked back over his shoulder at her and laughed. And then he started singing with her. They were going to make good music together.

  1

  Something woke Kate Merritt. Her eyes flew open and her heart began to thump in her ears. She couldn’t see a thing. Not even a hint of moonlight was filtering through the lace curtains at the bedroom window. The dark night wrapped around her like a thick blanket as she stared up toward her bedroom ceiling and fervently hoped it was nothing but a bad dream shaking her awake.

  Next to Kate, Evie’s breath was whisper quiet. Her sister obviously hadn’t heard whatever it was that had jerked Kate from sleep. Slowly Kate’s eyes began adjusting to the darkness, but she didn’t need to see to know how Evie’s red hair would be spread around her head like a halo. Or that even in sleep she’d have a death grip on the top
sheet so Kate couldn’t pull it off her. Kate always woke up every day with her pillow on the floor and her hair sticking out in all directions. The total opposite of Evie, who got up with barely a rumple in her nightgown.

  Just a couple of mornings ago, their mother had laughed as she smoothed down Kate’s tangled dark brown hair. “Don’t you worry about not being as ladylike as Evangeline. Your sister’s going on seventeen. When you get older, you’ll be more like her.”

  Kate jerked away from her mother. “Like Evie? I don’t have to be, do I? That would be awful. Really awful,” she said before she thought. Kate was always doing that. Saying things before she thought.

  But she didn’t want to be like Evie. Ever. Evie wouldn’t climb trees or catch frogs down at the creek. She even claimed to prefer reading inside by the oil lamp instead of playing hide-and-seek after dark. The truth was she was scared of her shadow.

  Evie wasn’t only worried about things in the dark. Day or night she shrieked if anybody so much as mentioned Fern Lindell. True, Fern—who lived down the road—was off her rocker, but Kate wasn’t a bit afraid of her. At least not unless she was carrying around her little axe. Then anybody with any sense knew to stay away from her.

  One thing sure, Kate had sense. That was because she was the middle sister, and the middle sister had to learn early on to take care of herself. And not only herself. Half the time she had to take care of Evie too, and all the time Tori who turned ten last month.

  In the cot across the room, Tori was breathing soft and peaceful. So Tori hadn’t been what woke Kate, but something had. Kate raised her head up off her pillow and listened. The middle sister had to make sure everything was all right.

  Kate didn’t mind. She might be only fourteen, but she knew things. She kept her eyes and ears open and did what had to be done. Of course sometimes it might be better to be like Evie, who had a way of simply ignoring anything that didn’t fit into her idea of how things should be, or Tori, who didn’t worry about much except whether she could find enough worms to go fishing. Neither of them was holding her breath waiting to see if the bump in the night might be their father sneaking in after being out drinking.

  Victor Merritt learned to drink in France. At least that’s what Kate overheard Aunt Hattie telling Mama a few months back. They didn’t know she heard them. She was supposed to be at school, but she’d run back home to get the history report she left on the table by the front door. Kate tiptoed across the porch and inched the door open to keep it from creaking. She aimed to grab the paper and be in and out without her mother hearing her. That way she’d only be in hot water at school and not at home too.

  They didn’t know she was there. Not even Aunt Hattie, who just about always knew everything. After all, she’d delivered nearly every baby who’d been born in Rosey Corner since the turn of the century thirty-six years ago. A lot of folks avoided Aunt Hattie unless a baby was on the way or they needed somebody to do their wash, but not Mama. She said you might not be able to depend on a lot in this world, but you could depend on Aunt Hattie telling you the truth. Like it or not.

  That morning last spring when Kate had crept back in the house and heard her mother and Aunt Hattie, it sounded as if Kate’s mother wasn’t liking a lot of things. She was crying. The sound pierced Kate and pinned her to the floor right inside the door. She hardly dared breathe.

  She should have grabbed the paper and gone right back out the door. That was what she should have done, but instead she stood still as a stone and listened. Of course she knew her father drank. Everybody in Rosey Corner knew that. Nothing stayed secret long in their little community. Two churches, one school, two general stores—the one run by Grandfather Merritt had a gasoline pump—and her father’s blacksmith shop.

  “But why?” Kate’s mother said between sobs.

  Aunt Hattie didn’t sound cross the way she sometimes did when people started crying around her. Instead she sounded like she might be about to cry herself. Kate couldn’t remember ever seeing Aunt Hattie cry. Not even when she talked about her son dying in the war over in France.

  “Some answers we can’t be seein’, Nadine. We wasn’t over there. But our Victor was. Men right beside him died. He got some whiffs of that poison gas those German devils used. He laid down on the cold hard ground and stared up at the same moon you was starin’ up at but without the first idea of whether or not he’d ever be looking at it with you again. He couldn’t even be sure he’d see the sun come up.”

  “No, no, that’s not what I meant.” Kate’s mother swallowed back her tears, and her voice got stronger, more like Kate was used to hearing. “I mean, why now? I grant you he started drinking over there, but when he got home, he didn’t drink all that much. Just a nip now and again, but lately he dives into the bottle like he wants to drown in it.”

  “It ain’t got the first thing to do with you, child. He still loves his girls.” Now Aunt Hattie’s voice was soft and kind, the voice she used when she was talking to some woman about to have a baby.

  “The girls perhaps. Me, I’m not so sure anymore.” Kate couldn’t see her mother, but she knew the look that would be on her face. Her lips would be mashed together like she had just swallowed something that tasted bad.

  “You can be sure. I knows our Victor. I’s the first person to ever lay eyes on him when he come into the world. And a pitiful sight he was. Barely bigger than my hand. His mama, Miss Juanita, had trouble carryin’ her babies. We lost the two before Victor. You remember Miss Juanita. How she was prone to the vapors. She was sure we would lose Victor even after he made the journey out to daylight and pulled in that first breath, but no how was I gonna let that happen. Raised him right alongside my own boy. Bo was four when our Victor was born.”

  Kate heard a chair creak as if maybe her mother had shifted to get more comfortable. Everybody knew it wasn’t any use trying to stop Aunt Hattie when she started talking about her boy. “My Bo was a sturdy little feller. Stronger and smarter than most. Soon’s Victor started walking, Bo took it upon hisself to watch out for him. Miss Juanita paid him some for it once he got older.” Aunt Hattie paused as if realizing she’d gone a little far afield. “Anyhows that’s how I knows Victor hasn’t stopped carin’ about you, girl, ’cause I know our Victor. He’s just strugglin’ some now what with the way things is goin’ at his shop. Folks is wantin’ to drive those motorcars and puttin’ their horses out to pasture. It ain’t right, but a pile of things that happen ain’t right.”

  Kate expected Aunt Hattie to start talking about Bo dying in France, but she didn’t. Instead she stopped talking altogether, and it was so quiet that Kate was sure they’d hear her breathing. She wanted to step backward, out the door, but she had to wait until somebody said something. The only noise was the slow tick of the clock on the mantel and the soft hiss of water heating on the cooking stove. Nothing that would cover up the sound of her sneaking out of the house.

  Kate was up to fifty-five ticks when her mother finally spoke again. “I don’t believe in drinking alcohol to hide from your problems.”

  “No way you could with how your own daddy has been preaching against that very thing since the beginnin’ of time. Preacher Reece, he don’t cut nobody no slack.”

  “There are better ways of handling troubles than making more troubles by drinking too much.” Mama’s voice didn’t have the first hint of doubt in it.

  “I ain’t arguing with you, Nadine. I’s agreein’ all the way.”

  “Then what am I supposed to do, Aunt Hattie?”

  “I ain’t got no answers. Alls I can do is listen and maybe talk to one who does have the answers.”

  “I’ve been praying.”

  “’Course you have, but maybe we can join our prayers together. It says in the Good Book that where two or more agree on something, the Lord pays attention. Me. You. We’s two.”

  “Pray with me right now, Aunt Hattie. For Victor. And the girls.” Her mother hesitated before she went on. “Especially Kate. Sh
e’s picked up some of the load I can’t seem to make myself shoulder.”

  In the front room, Kate pulled in her breath.

  “Don’t you be worryin’ none about that child. She’s got some broad shoulders. Here, grab hold of my hands.” Aunt Hattie’s voice changed, got a little louder as if she wanted to make sure the Lord could hear her plain. “Our holy Father who watches over us up in heaven. May we always honor ever’ living day you give us. We praise you for lettin’ us have this very day right now. And for sending us trials and tribulations so that we can learn to lean on you.”

  She fell silent a moment as if considering those tribulations. Then she started praying again. “Help our Victor. You knows what he needs better than me or even your sweet child, Nadine here. Turn him away from the devil’s temptations and bring him home to his family. Not just his feet but his heart too. And strengthen that family and watch over them, each and every one. Increase their joy and decrease their sorrow. Especially our Katherine Reece. Put your hand over top her and keep her from wrong.”

  Kate didn’t wait to hear any more. She felt like Aunt Hattie’s eyes were seeing right through the walls and poking into her. Seeing her doing wrong right that moment as she stood there eavesdropping on them. Kate snatched her history paper off the table and tiptoed out of the house. Once off the porch she didn’t stop running until she was going up the steps into the school.

  The prayer hadn’t worked yet. At least not the part about her father resisting the devil’s temptation to go out drinking. Kate worried that the Lord hadn’t answered Aunt Hattie’s prayer because Kate had been listening when she shouldn’t have been. As if somehow that had made the prayer go sideways instead of up toward heaven the way Aunt Hattie had intended.

  Now Kate stayed perfectly still to keep the bedsprings from squeaking as she listened intently for whatever had awakened her. The front screen door rattled against the doorframe. That could have been the wind if any wind had been blowing, but then there was a bump as somebody ran into the table beside the door. Kate let out her breath as she sat up on the side of the bed and felt for a match. After she lit the small kerosene lamp, she didn’t bother fishing under the bed for her shoes. The night was hot, and her father had made it through the front door.