The Women of Jacob’s Mountain Boxed Set

by Hining, Deborah;

  “I don’t know how to say this, but I… I mean, marijuana makes me a little crazy—well, a lot crazy. I avoid it, actually. I mean, I didn’t know that I’d had some, when I drank the tea, you know?” She stopped. It was the best she could do under the circumstances.

  Howard continued to button his shirt, slowly, deliberately. Geneva gnawed at her knuckles, waiting. At last he lifted his head, and while Geneva could see that his cheeks were flaming, there was laughter flitting in his mouth and eyes. At last he spoke.

  “Miss Geneva—”

  “Just Geneva, please.”

  “Geneva,” he began to chuckle, turning his head and covering his mouth. She smiled, grateful.

  “What on earth did you think? Honest, I’m not like that, really.” She grew more anxious. She really hoped he would not think her as loose as she had behaved, especially now that it appeared that she would be alone with him for a while, here in this cabin, far, far from civilization. She barely had the strength to sit up, let alone fight him off should he attack her.

  “Ma’am—Geneva. I thought,” he chuckled. “I thought fer a minute there, old Santy Claus had done come and give me everthing I’d ever dreamed of.”

  Geneva sat quietly.

  He shook his head. “But then I thought that maybe I’d oughta told yew my name was Chap. That, or else I’d better learn to say Haa-ward.”

  After that, they fell into an easy companionship, where she entrusted herself to his care, and he was gentle and solicitous. He did not touch her again, but kept the fire hot and gave her mild teas to keep her warm. Although she was not hungry, he prepared a lunch of home-canned beans, corn, and baked potatoes from the garden. After she ate, she felt better, so they played cards while the rain drummed down on the little cabin roof until Geneva began to feel an unpleasant pressure in her bladder that she could not ignore.

  “Howard, I’ve been drinking your teas all day, and I absolutely must go to the bathroom,” she admitted reluctantly.

  He considered this briefly as he looked out at the downpour. “Well,” he replied laconically. “Let me git ye a pot, and I’ll just step outside and ye can go.”

  Geneva was aghast. “No, I’ll go outside. I just need to borrow your raincoat.”

  He shook his head. “No, ma’am. Yew got fever. Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ ye go out in this here rain. Ye kin pee in a pot, and I’ll take it right outside and empty it.”

  “No! You have been an awfully good nurse, but I am perfectly capable of walking outside!” Geneva’s face was growing hot.

  He was just as adamant. “Ye git chilled again, we may never git ye warm. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with goin’ in a pot. People do it all the time.”

  “I’d rather go outside,” she said, squirming. “Please, Howard. I do not want to go in a pot! I mean it!”

  He sighed, giving in. “Awright. Yew take the pot and go out on the porch, but don’t git wet. Yew can jist dump it out over the porch rail and leave the pot there for later. That do you?”

  She nodded. This would work for now, but as soon as it cleared, she was headed for the deep woods. This was humiliating.

  It was colder outside than she had imagined. He had made her put on his slicker, even though she promised not to venture past the porch roof, but nonetheless, she found herself shivering again by the time she had stepped back into the warm cabin

  He did not scold, but wordlessly threw blankets around her, prepared more willow bark tea and tucked more mason jars filled with hot water around her feet and in her lap. She drank the tea, but this time it did not drive the aches from her muscles, and her throat became more raw as the afternoon wore on. Finally, she gave up trying to be good company and hunched by the fire, feeling sick and miserable.

  Howard grew concerned. “Hit’s quit hailin’,” he said, squinting through the window. “But it looks like the rain may not slack off fer a while.” His face was grave. “I don’t think yer in any shape to ride back down this here mountain. I could leave ye here and run down and call yer folks, so they won’t worry about ye.”

  Geneva shook her head. The throbbing had begun again, and her neck felt stiff and sore. Her whole body felt awful. It hurt to swallow. “It’s okay, Howard. Rachel and Wayne are gone all week. They won’t know if I don’t go back tonight.” She thought about Howard’s father. “But you can go on and leave me here. I know your dad will worry about you. Maybe you can come back for me in the morning.”

  He considered this briefly. “No, my dad ain’t home neither. He’ll be stayin’ with Mammaw and Pappy fer a few days, to help Mammaw with her cannin’. I told him I’d be up here.”

  “Oh,” said Geneva, relieved. As awkward as it might be to stay here with Howard overnight, she found it preferable to staying by herself in this lonely place. She glanced around, wondering where each of them would sleep.

  He stood up. “Well, if we’re gonna stay here, I reckon I’d better get us some supper.” Picking up a rifle from the shelf, he loaded it, and after he had stirred the fire and added more logs, he put on a rain slicker and left through the back door, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

  He returned in less than that. It seemed that he had no more than stepped off the porch than Geneva heard the report of a shot and he returned with a fat squirrel and some vegetables from the garden out back. He prepared a hearty stew, but Geneva’s head had turned to lead by the time it was done, and she was too tired to take more than a few bites. As the day wore down, her fever rose, compounding the pain in her muscles and throat. Touching her face, Howard spoke to her in a soft, comforting voice, as if he were speaking to an invalid. “Yew got fever, awright. Yer face is hot as fire. Here, drink this down. We need to keep after this ‘un.”

  Exhausted, she drank the portion of willow bark tea he had pressed on her and crawled gratefully under the covers of the fragrant bed. But she did not find sleep right away. Tired and weak as she was, she felt fully conscious and a little guilty at the knowledge that she had taken his bed.

  “Howard, I’m so sorry to inconvenience you like this. I know I’ve taken over your bed, and you’ll have no place to sleep,” she murmured.

  He eased himself onto the floor, leaning his back against the wall. “Hey, I’ve slept in worse places than on this here floor. Nothin’ makes me feel cozier’n a warm fire and a dry roof in weather like this. I’ll sleep like a prince.”

  The long evening light the color of pewter fought its way through the rain, no longer violent, but now a steady monotonous downpour. Geneva looked out of the window and sighed. How long would she be like this? Feeling helpless, she put her hand to her burning eyes and gave a little, whimpering sigh.

  A moment later, he was seated on the floor beside the bed, patting her arm and murmuring to her, “Ye’ll be alright, Miss Geneva. We got us all we need here, and ye’ll git well in no time. Yer young and strong. I bet ye’ll be gallopin’ right down this here mountain by tomorrow.”

  She sighed gratefully, this time not letting it betray her despair. She would fight for her strength, and she would inconvenience him no longer than absolutely necessary.

  He returned her smile, then settled down with his back against the bed and began speaking in a slow, low voice, full of the rhythms of the ancient mountains. She closed her eyes, listening to the cadence of the Appalachian tongue, mellowed by the ancient Celtic dialect, flavored more with the rich, proud strains of the Cherokee. He was well into his tale before she began to actually hear the meanings of the words.

  “Fer every sickness,” he was saying, “God has provided a cure, right here in old Mother Nature’s lap. There’s an old story my Granny tole me ‘bout the gift of healin’ the spirits of the growin’ things have give to folks.

  “Back a long time ago, when there was no evil in the world, back when old Lucifer wuz still the angel of light, before his pride ruint him and this world, there was no sickness. No germs, no way to fall and hurt yerself, no plagues or miserie
s. Then, Lucifer, he got all puffed up with pride, and he decided to be God, and he told all the creatures, all the livin’ things of the earth, the plants and the animals, he was better fer ‘em than God, that he cared more for ‘em than God did. God didn’t bother to come down and speak to His creatures like Lucifer did.

  “Now, all livin’ things have spirits, jist like we do, and at that time, all could talk, and all lived in peace together. Up til the time old Lucifer started makin’ trouble, all the spirits of all the creatures and livin’ things used their voices to sing praises to God. Oh, it was a good place, this world, because sin had never come here.

  “But pride was the first and worst sin. It made the angel of light turn into the father of all evil, and Lucifer tried to put pride in all the creatures so they’d rebel with him. Ye see, he knew that worship brings humility, and ye gotta have humility fer true worship. Once somebody starts thinkin’ they’re better’n anybody else, there’s hell to pay. They start lookin’ at themselves and what they want instead of lookin’ out to what God wants, or to what others need.

  “Anyways, Lucifer, he went to all the trees and the rocks and the creatures and he said, ‘Why do yew worship God? He is no better’n yew. Yew got a mind and a will. Yew’ve got to be ‘bout as great as God, because ye can think for yerselves. Yew breed and create others like yerselves, in yer own image. Yew got great strength and power, like God, and God’s not interested in yew anymore ‘cause yew don’t need Him anymore. But I am interested in ye, and I want to make yew even more like God. I kin give ye knowledge and I kin teach yew how to take care of yerselves. Yew don’t even have to go by the old laws any more. They don’t mean nuthin’ to yew. Ye can make up yer own laws and govern yerselves.’

  “Now, some of the plants and the animals listened to Lucifer. It had been a long time since God had come to visit with them, and some of ‘em thought the old liar wuz pretty smart. He was the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen, and some of ‘em thought they understood what he wuz atalkin’ about when he told ‘em they could do the same things God could—that they could think and know things. And they could throw away all the old rules they really didn’t understand anyhow. And so pride entered the world, and things started goin’ wrong.

  “Th’ Bible says that one third of all the angels fell with Lucifer, but it don’t say nothin’ about the livin’ things on earth. The story I heard says that one half of the livin’ bein’s here fell with him. Lucifer wanted to own heaven and earth, and he told those who follered him that he’d reward them with perfect knowledge.

  “There wuz a big battle, and the rebel angels, bein’ more’n outnumbered, were kicked outta heaven, but they were not kicked outta earth. The fallen angels and the rebellin’ creatures together overcame those who stayed loyal to God, and they struck all their good brothers on earth mute ‘cause they couldn’t stand hearin’ ‘em sing their praisin’ songs.

  “Fer awhile, the earth wuz an awful place. Evil flew around all over the world, growing stronger and stronger, and persecutin’ all that give allegiance to God. Spirits turned into germs and viruses and evil thoughts that afflicted and tortured all the holy creatures.

  “But God didn’t let things stay that way long. While He wouldn’t make evil leave the world, He did give those who had stayed loyal to him special powers to push evil back. First of all, He created a new place on the earth free from all evil: the Garden of Eden, and he allowed all the good creatures and things to live there. Then he gave them man and woman to care for ‘em in place of Lucifer. And all of the people and creatures and growin’ things sang His praises agin’ fer awhile.

  “Yew know what happened next. Evil got into the garden, too, and Adam and Eve. Old Satan got to them and they fell into sin, and they had to leave, and the garden disappeared. And Adam and Eve and all their children, they suffered from the evil spirits that tormented ‘em all their days. Everthing that’s bad, it comes from the Prince of the Air and all his minions. Everthing—sickness, bad thoughts, hurts. But God, He give us all some last defenses. He give the trees and the plants who still love him the power to heal. To th’ willer, he give the gift to ease pain and bring down fever, to foxglove, a cure for the bad heart. Mint and chamomile bring ease of mind and sleep.” He laughed. “Hemp helps the eyes—and helps people git acquainted. Plain old bread mold cures serious infections. Nearly every growin’ thing has a good use, whether to sustain life or to use as medicines. And that’s the gift God give to ‘em.”

  He fell silent for a time, then reached under the covers with a tentative hand to feel Geneva’s foot, but she was feeling too drowsy to mind.

  He continued, “My other granny, the Cherokee, used to say that the creatures still have voices and that ye just have to know how to listen to hear ‘em. My great-grandpa, he knew how to drive away evil spirits. That’s why he was the medicine man of his tribe. Nowadays, folks say that’s a pack of foolishness, but I’ve seen him heal the sick with jist an incantation, a prayer that rebukes the bad spirits. He called on the power of the Creator Spirit, the God of all who made the world. And my great granny—I never knew her—but they say she used to listen to the spirits of the trees, and she used to dance with ‘em when they sang.”

  “Like Narnia,” murmured Geneva.

  “Yes,” he replied. “Like Narnia. I reckon that’s the way the world used to be.”

  She was growing warm when he eased away to light a lantern and sit by the fire. She noticed him only as one notices a benign bedside presence during an illness. He was there if she needed him, and content with that, she snuggled down into the bed of healing herbs and slept.

  But the good sleep did not last long. First, she grew hot, and she dreamed she was standing right in the hot coals of hell, with Lucifer and hideous spirits dancing around her, but then she was transported to a frigid place, and she found herself swimming through dangerous, icy rivers. The fear and pain grew more intense until she finally woke, shivering, to see Howard seated by the fire, reading by lantern light. He was so still that he seemed to be two dimensional, as if he were merely a cardboard figure stuck against the wall. Presently he turned a page. Once he smiled.

  “I’m cold.”

  He looked up, startled, then with his smooth movements, he strode to her and touched her face. “Chills and fever, and stubborn,” he said, shaking his head, “and this willer bark tea ain’t doin’ ye much good. Let’s try somethin’ else.”

  He made her another bitter drink. “Boneset,” he told her after she had questioned the contents. “Boneset fer the fever, squawroot for the sore throat. A little ginseng ta warm ye in a hurry. And mint and honey,” he added. “Bitter as it is, it’d be awful without ‘em.”

  She drank it dutifully, then lay back, huddled in the bed, waiting for it to take effect. Howard returned to his place beside the fire.

  “What are you reading?”

  “Gray Bear.”

  “Is it good?”

  “I think so. Want to hear some?”

  “Sure.”

  He began reading. He had read for a full minute before she realized he was reading poetry—and reading it well. It made no sense to her, tangled as her brain was with fatigue and fever, but his voice was soothing as it spoke of sky and water and the mighty buffalo. She began to grow sleepy.

  “Howard?” she said, feeling the warmth seep into her bones again.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you live here or something?”

  “Why do ye ask?”

  “You have so much stuff here, as if you are doing more than just camping. This is almost like a home.”

  His answer was long in coming. “I suppose I do live here most of the time, good weather, anyway.” He laid aside his book and picked up a guitar.

  “Why? You can get here easily from your house. Is there something here that makes you want to stay all the time?”

  Again he was silent while he strummed chords and gazed long into the fire. At first she thought he had not heard her,
or had forgotten her, but at length his voice came to her as if from far away.

  “Geneva, I guess yew know about the Greek gods?”

  She was getting sleepier. “The gods?”

  “Way back, afore Jesus, the Greeks and the Romans had a buncha gods. Not like the Indian spirits, but gods sort of like spoiled people with a lotta power.”

  She opened her eyes, surprised. “Yes, I know about them.”

  “Well, there was this one fella, Prometheus, and he did something that made the gods real mad.”

  “Yes. Gave people fire,” she yawned.

  “That’s him. Anyways, you know what they did to him?”

  Her brain was beginning to function very slowly. She looked lazily into her memory, but it was too much effort. “Think so,” she droned.

  “They chained him to a mountain and made him stay there til they got tired of punishin’ him. The gods hoped to make him suffer, but he surprised ‘em. When people come by, he’d do what he could to help ‘em. And I bet that sometimes he didn’t mind being there, on top of the world, even though birds would come and peck at him.”

  “Oh yes. Prometheus.” She yawned.

  He gazed into the fire again. “In a way,” he said softly. “I’m like him. I’m chained to this here mountain, fer awhile, anyway.” He fell silent for a long time. “But I don’t mind,” he finally added. “Hit sets me free, too.” She could not make sense of it, nor did she try. His music made her drift along its gentle currents, and she was feeling warm and downy.

  Sometime later, she woke again suddenly, shivering and hurting. The night was deep and still around her. Howard slept by the dying embers, wrapped loosely in a single blanket on the bare floor. She lay still until her teeth began to chatter, then she rose and tiptoed as quietly as she could toward the wood pile. He awoke as she lifted the first log.