[Troublesome Creek 01] - Troublesome Creek

by Jan Watson

  Will had kin in town, his mother’s second cousin Sarah, and he’d come to Lexington that fall to stay with her family during court days, a time for bartering and selling goods. The streets, lined with booths and wagons from which people displayed their wares, had a festive air. Will was an excellent hunter and trapper and brought hides to trade as well as tins of molasses and the occasional hound puppy.

  One evening he accompanied Sarah to a hymn sing at the Baptist church down the street from her house. The big brick building had floor-to-ceiling windows made of brightly colored pieces of glass held together with what looked like lines of lead. Each of the eight windows told a different story. Will wondered who had made such beautiful things. He thought he’d like to put one of those windows in his church at home, maybe like the one where Jesus knelt in the garden. That would be something to see. He’d have to study on it some more.

  He hung back as Sarah made her way to a front pew in the crowded sanctuary. He had never been to a church like this before. It seemed everyone was dressed like a king. At home you didn’t have to wear finery to praise the Lord. He felt uncharacteristically shy, his homespun shirt not quite right, his overalls too short, his rough leather boots unpolished. He took a seat against the wall in the last row, folding his long arms across his chest and tucking his feet under the bench, trying to make his tall frame as inconspicuous as possible. He was sorry he’d let Sarah talk him into coming.

  He took a hymnal from the wooden rack in front of his knees and stood when the song leader addressed the congregation. He wasn’t used to singing from books. At home everybody knew the words. Sometimes they’d be singing up a storm on one song when someone would start midverse on another. Then they’d all sing that one ’til they got tired or the preacher started to preach. His favorite hymn had eleven verses. He wondered if they’d sing it: “Before the sun, the font of light, a single round had run; God’s church was present in His sight, as chosen in His Son.”

  “Bringing in the Sheaves,” he heard instead. He fumbled through the pages to find the proper place.

  Two young men on one side of him looked his way and laughed, poking each other in the ribs. “Hillbilly,” one said under his breath. “Won’t do you any good to hold a songbook when you don’t know how to read.”

  The pianist pounded away. “‘Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves,’” rang through the sanctuary, nearly but not quite, drowning out the other feller’s stage-whispered taunt.

  “Hey, Slick, why don’t you crawl back up the hollow you came from? We don’t need your kind here.”

  Will’s temper flared. Nobody talked to him that-a-way. Back home he wouldn’t put up with bullies. About two years before, Calvin Huff had pushed him just one time too many and come up with a mouthful of mud. Will didn’t like to fight, but he could. His big hands shook as he set the hymnal back in the rack. He thought about the knife in his pocket. He could gut a buck with that knife quick as any man. Maybe he’d take it out just to scare the loudmouths. He could tell by their doughy hands they’d never used a knife.

  “‘We shall come rejoicing,’” the song continued, “‘bringing in the sheaves.’”

  And he remembered where he was. No call for his temper. No call to bring disrespect to the Lord in His own house. He kept his eyes straight ahead. He couldn’t bring himself to take the songbook back out of the rack, but he’d stay there and wait out the service.

  “You deaf as well as dumb?” the first one started in again.

  “You hush up, Oscar Thornton,” a quiet voice said. At the end of the pew a yellow-haired girl near his age pushed her way past the fellows to his other side. “Here,” she said, handing Will her songbook. “You can turn the pages for me.”

  Will was struck dumb. He couldn’t get his tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth. The girl was the prettiest thing he had ever seen. Prettier even than the top of Pine Mountain when the sun first came up—prettier than a rainbow trout flashing on the end of a line. She even smelled pretty.

  It was bad enough before she started to sing, but when she did, his knees got weak. Surely, the angels’ chorus wouldn’t sound this good.

  He was sorry when the service ended. He couldn’t get his long legs untangled fast enough, and so she was out the door, his tormentors in hot pursuit, well before he was. Once outside he eyed the crowd, not sure what he’d do if he did see her. She was too fine for the likes of him—like a rare mountain canary in a raucous blue jay’s nest.

  Will was about to give up and head out to Sarah’s house when there she was right in front of him. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  “You may walk me home,” she said.

  Then the one she called Oscar staked his claim. “Hold on just a minute,” he said. “You told me at Sunday school this morning that I could take you home tonight.”

  “That was before I learned that you have no manners, Oscar Thornton.”

  “Come on, Julie Anne.”

  “Apologize,” she replied.

  He stuck his hand out to Will. “Sorry. No hard feelings?”

  Will squeezed until he saw Oscar flinch. Apology or not, Will was the one to escort Julie Anne.

  They walked a piece before she spoke again. “Well, can you talk?”

  He opened his mouth and what came out sounded like a screen door rusted upon its hinges after a long wet spell. He was glad they were in the shadows between gaslights because her tinkling laugh brought the blood rushing to his face. He’d never felt so embarrassed. He wished he was anywhere but standing here with her.

  She clapped her little hands together. “Do it again,” she begged. “Do it again.”

  And so he did; then he did it once more just to please her.

  “I can do a rooster.” She tucked her hands under her arms, flapped her elbows, and crowed loud enough to raise Lazarus.

  Before he knew it, he was laughing with her, and much too soon she was taking her leave.

  “We have to stop here,” she said. “I don’t want my sister to know you walked me home. I’m only allowed to walk alone to church—not socialize.” She glanced up at him, and her face looked so sad he felt his heart reach out to her. “But,” she continued, “I get so lonely sometimes . . . if I don’t talk to someone I might burst.”

  They stood at the edge of a well-trimmed lawn. A winding brick path led to a two-story house fronted by white columns. The porch lights were on, but the windows were dark and uninviting.

  “We don’t talk much in my house, for Father is ill and my sister, Grace, does not want him disturbed.” She touched his arm. “Come to revival again tomorrow night, and save me a seat.”

  Then she was gone, and he realized he’d never said a word.

  And so, the romance of Julie and Will began with the innocent flirtation of youth. Will was smitten. He couldn’t seem to leave her so he lay over in Lexington for several weeks, the longest he’d ever been away from the mountains. He knew his friend Daniel would see to things for him.

  Julie told him about the death of her mother from pneumonia the year before. She said her father had taken to his bed, and her older sister didn’t allow talking above a whisper in the house. Grace was twenty-eight, ten years Julie’s senior. Julie said Grace taught music and deportment at the same finishing school Julie had just graduated from. When her sister was working, Julie sat in her father’s darkened room and read to him. But she didn’t think he heard.

  Will was in that house only once, on the night he was to return to the mountains. Will and Julie had met after dark in their trysting spot in the side yard by the apple tree. Julie still didn’t want her sister to find out. She sat in a rope swing, and he pushed her ever higher. She started to laugh, then caught herself and cried instead, but quietly with little choking sounds. He caught the swing, and she turned in his arms and he kissed her.

  “Please,” she begged just like the first time they’d met, “do it again.”

  Their nest under the tree smelled of sum
mer apples and fallen leaves. The warm autumn night lay soft as a blanket upon their young bodies. He tried to stop. He was a farm boy; he knew where their passion might take them, but she was so beautiful . . . and then it was too late.

  Afterward she pulled him along behind her into the kitchen. Funny, it was in the cellar, underneath the house. She said the cook and the other servants wouldn’t be about at that hour. She wanted him to sit with her at the table. She wanted to feed him. He guessed she wanted to play house.

  She got out bread and cheese and poured goblets of cider. “Please don’t leave me,” she said.

  He choked down a little piece of cheese and a crust of dry bread. “Now, Julie, we already talked about this. I’ll be back come spring.”

  “But you can’t just go! Not now. Not after—” She jumped up from the table and started sobbing.

  He went to her and gathered her in his arms. He kissed her tear-streaked face with tender longing kisses. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have let that happen.”

  “But what will I do without you?” She twisted his shirtfront in her hands and leaned against his chest. “Please, please don’t leave me.”

  Her pleading broke his heart, but there were things he had to do at home. He had led her into sin. He had to make it right. “I’ll be back. I promise you I will. I want to meet your sister and ask your father for your hand. We’ll wed, and then I’ll take you home with me.”

  And so he left that very same night, saddling his horse in the dark, his heart in turmoil from a newfound love and a shame so stalwart it lodged in his soul like a living thing. How could he have taken something so pure and beautiful and tarnished it for his own selfish need? He would never forgive himself. The memory of Julie’s tears was fresh as he guided his mount eastward back to Troublesome Creek.

  Before Will knew it, the guilt of autumn had turned into the chilly remorse of winter. Deep snows alternated with ice storms and kept him quarantined for a long spell. Julie’s tear-streaked face haunted his dreams, and every time the rooster crowed he remembered the night they’d met, and his heart seized with longing. He kept a few leaves from the apple tree in her side yard in his pocket until one day he reached for them and felt nothing but the dust of his promise to her.

  He didn’t wait for the spring thaw but led his horse down the treacherous mountain, then rode out across the rolling hills toward Lexington.

  At last he stood on Julie’s front porch, his heart slamming in his chest. Will wore the new leather jacket he’d sewn from hides he’d cured himself. He’d shined his boots with stove blacking. He was fresh from the barber, and in his hand a bouquet of roses trembled, an offering for Julie’s sister, Grace. He knocked and knocked.

  Finally the door opened. An older, bespectacled version of Julie stood there, except for the hair. Julie’s was the color of the center of a daisy, but Grace’s was bright red and sprang out around her face in spite of her trying to slick it behind her ears.

  “I-I’m Will Brown,” he stammered. “I’ve come to marry Julie.” He thrust the flowers toward her. “These here are for you.”

  “I know who you are,” she said, her voice as hard as the ice on the mountain he’d slid down to get here. “Don’t you think every gossip in town told me about your little summer romance with my sister?” She flung the flowers across the porch. “Go away. I’ve got trouble enough without your sort coming around.”

  Grace started back through the door but paused and turned toward him. Her green eyes flashed like those of the wildcat he’d once cornered in the henhouse. “Mind my words,” she hissed. “Or I’ll have the law on you.”

  Grace Taylor stepped inside and leaned against the closed door. What was she to do? Everything had gone wrong since her mother’s death. Life had been so good, so full of God’s blessings. Grace taught music and deportment at the Finishing School for Young Ladies, a vocation she loved. She’d had a suitor and plans to marry, but she’d given up everything to care for her father and her sister, and this was the thanks she got? Julie sneaking around like a thief in the night with an ill-dressed young man who probably couldn’t even read.

  The only thing that kept her going during this time of despair were the letters she received from Philadelphia, letters from her closest friend Millicent Dunaway. Millicent had married well, moved to Pennsylvania and, along with her husband, David, established a boarding school for children of the wealthy. What joy it must be to have a life like Millicent’s.

  She shook her head to think of that man standing on her doorstep with his flowers. His presence threatened the careful plans she’d laid to save her sister. She wouldn’t let him ruin Julie’s life. If he came back, she’d send for the sheriff. A few days in jail would send him packing. Nobody would be the wiser about her sister’s predicament if he stayed away.

  She paused and stared at the hall mirror. A red-haired reflection looked back at her. She leaned closer. Were those crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes? Was that a strand of gray springing like a corkscrew from her head? What had happened to the Grace she wanted to be? Wasn’t she once as vibrant as Julie? Didn’t she have her share of suitors?

  Grace hadn’t slept a night through since her father had taken to his bed. A night nurse was out of the question, for it was her duty to care for him. Her sacrifice was taking its toll, but tired as she was, she’d have to be extra vigilant until she was sure Will Brown had slunk back to the mountains.

  She spotted a film of dust on the table in the front hall. She’d have to speak to the housekeeper. And she needed to talk with the cook. They had to come up with something her father would eat. She smoothed the front of her dress and adjusted her spectacles. She felt better. There was work to do.

  Will stood under the apple tree that night for hours, just waiting. A cold wind whipped around him. He wished he’d brought something warmer than the jacket that had failed to impress Julie’s sister.

  But finally, toward morning, his longing brought Julie to him. She carried a pillowcase stuffed with necessities. When he pulled her up behind him on the horse, the swell of her belly pressed against his back. He didn’t stop to question her then but reined in the horse after they’d gone far enough to escape her wild-eyed sister, tethered the animal in a grove of trees, made camp, and lit a fire.

  He sat beside her and held his hands out to the fire. “Do you have something to tell me?” he asked.

  She wouldn’t look at him, but he heard the anguish in her voice. “Will, I’m sorry.”

  “Julie, honey, tell me.”

  Loud, wailing sobs broke the stillness of the night. “Oh,” she cried. “Oh, please don’t take me back. I don’t care if you don’t want me anymore, but take me someplace safe, somewhere I can raise my baby.” She jumped up from her place by the fire and ran a short distance before he caught her and lifted her face to his own.

  “What have I done to you?” he said.

  She leaned against him, no longer crying. “I was so afraid, Will. Grace said you wouldn’t come back and that you wouldn’t want me if you did. She planned to send me to a home where they would keep my baby.” Her long, shuddering sigh spoke to his heart of her weeks of fear and suffering, but she looked at him directly as she asked, “Am I just damaged goods to you now? Do you hate me?”

  The fire popped and crackled its song of warmth as he circled her with his arms. He would have laughed had he not been afraid of hurting her feelings, making light of her fears. “Julie,” he said, “I’m so sorry for what I’ve caused, but it was all out of love. I can’t fault your sister for her anger, but nobody is taking our baby.”

  “She wouldn’t let me leave the house since . . . since she found out. She stopped going out to teach, and I had to stay upstairs . . . I couldn’t even see Father.”

  “Honey, how did you know I’d come? How did you know to meet me by the apple tree?”

  “I believed your promise.” She settled into his embrace. “I’ve been watching from an upstairs window for week
s. I prayed you’d come before Grace sent me away.”

  He made her a pallet from the blanket roll he carried on the back of his saddle, but she wouldn’t leave his side, just sat snuggled up beside him as if he were her savior instead of the man who’d caused such pain. She didn’t want to talk anymore, and as the minutes passed he could hear her even breathing as she slept. She seemed fragile as a skim of ice on the creek to him, like one wrong move might make her shatter.

  He couldn’t sleep, which was just as well, because he needed the whole night to pray for guidance and forgiveness.

  Toward morning he felt at peace, and he dared move his arm from around her. “Julie, honey, wake up. We need to get going.”

  She woke with a start, then stood and stretched. “You’re still here,” she said, sounding genuinely surprised.

  “I’ll never leave you again,” he said, his promise as good as any proposal on bended knee. “We’ll wed as soon as we get home. Troublesome Creek is as good a place to raise a young’un as you’ll ever find.”

  She stood in front of the dying fire as the sun began its climb. Tucking her hands underneath her arms, she flapped her elbows and belted out a loud crow of joy and triumph.

  He thought he’d never stop laughing as he fixed them a bite of breakfast and then broke camp. And as far as he could tell, Julie never looked back during the long journey.

  Before the sun set on the day they arrived in Troublesome Creek, the young sweethearts were married by Will’s uncle in the church in the shadow of the mountains. Will’s kin and friends accepted Julie and her condition with open arms.

  The couple set up housekeeping in the cabin Will’s father had left him, within walking distance across Troublesome from Will’s friend Daniel and his wife, Emilee. Emilee became Julie’s teacher and complimented Will on marrying such an avid pupil, so eager to learn homemaking skills. After choking down many skillets of burned corn bread, dozens of plates of half-raw fried potatoes, and too-many-to-count, flat-as-a-pancake biscuits, Will could have kissed Emilee when his bride finally set an edible meal on their wobbly kitchen table.