The Road to Bittersweet

by Donna Everhart

I stayed awake, unable to sleep, watching as the white flakes fell. It might have been around midnight when it finally stopped. I went out again, added wood to the fire once more, knocked more snow off, then I scurried inside, my feet so numb with cold, I had to put them towards the blaze until some of the feeling come back. If Papa showed up with the truck right then, I wouldn’t have hesitated climbing in and telling him, “Let’s get out of here.” This was only a dusting, barely two inches, and winter won’t really here yet. It would be impossible living this way for too much longer. I could see that now.

  I finally fell asleep. Morning come and when I opened my eyes, I had to squint against the dazzling bright white of sun on snow. I smelled coffee. It couldn’t be Momma, she would have had to crawl right over me and Laci to get out. I poked my head out. Papa squatted by the fire cooking something in the skillet what smelled like side meat. From the look of him, he’d been through some bad times, his clothes like ours, filthy dirty, yet when he seen me, he smiled. I crawled out, went to him so he could hug me tight.

  He pointed to the shelter. “I knowed I could count on you.”

  It won’t only the glow of the fire what warmed me.

  I nodded my head towards the barn. “It fell in. I used some of the wood, and put the rest aside.”

  “I see that.”

  “It got right airish, blowing hard and down it went.”

  “It won’t too far from coming down when I left. It was bound to happen.”

  He poked at the side meat, turned and pulled eggs from a burlap sack he’d set nearby. I almost fainted when I thought of how good a runny egg would taste. I hadn’t had one in so long, they almost didn’t look real. I stared at them, my mouth watering. At the edge of the woods a half-licked salt block was keeping Pete busy. His long tongue petted the sides of it, and then swirled over the top. He’d even thought about good ole Pete.

  He cracked an egg on the edge of the skillet.

  I asked him, “Did you get the truck running?”

  “I did. It’s on down the path, not too far from here.”

  “Papa, how’d you get this food, and the salt block?”

  “Well, that’s what took some time. After I worked on the truck, I helped a guy haul some wood and supplies to his place up on Cherry Gap. He give me the food as payment. I got the salt from another guy who lost his milk cow in the flood. And see? This is what I’m talking about. There’s always ways to make do.”

  He cooked the eggs and I stared at the food like that wolf eyeing them squirrels. My stomach rumbled and wouldn’t stop.

  “What’s other folks doing? Are there lots of other ones who lost their homes?”

  “Right many. Some’s left. Others are trying to rebuild. It’s not easy getting materials in.”

  “Are we going to leave here?”

  “I reckon so.”

  “What about Pete? How can we leave Pete?”

  “He’ll be fine. Wild mustangs out west survive the winter. Don’t you worry none about Pete, he can take care a his self.”

  Momma heard us, and come out from under the shelter. She and Papa hugged in silence, any disapproval she might have held gone now he was here again.

  He let her go and said, “Soon as we eat, we’re gathering up anything worth taking, and we’re leaving.”

  I half expected Momma to insist she won’t going nowhere, but she didn’t. She appeared worn down, as if her convictions had collapsed right along with the barn. Like she’d said, maybe none of what we’d tried to do mattered at this point. I crawled into the shelter and pushed on Laci. She was facing the other way, and I couldn’t see her face. When she didn’t move, I leaned over and put my hand on her side. I could feel her breathing, slow, like she was still asleep.

  I pushed on her again, “Laci, get up.”

  She flopped over onto her back and wiped at her face. When she looked over at me, Lord, her bloodless, white skin under the wild tangle of hair gripped me in the middle, made me want to hurry quick before we lost her too. Laci was hurting and couldn’t tell nobody, and it pained me to see her looking so poorly. Any smidgen of resentment I might have had towards her yesterday left me quick.

  I rubbed her arm softly and said, “Papa’s here. He’s got something to eat what will make you feel better. Come on.”

  She rolled over on to her side and crawled out of the shelter, and I followed. We gathered round the fire, and as we ate, the only sound was the scraping of our spoons through the tin pans, and the sound of the fire crackling. I give Laci part of my egg, side meat, and half of my piece of corn pone. I thought about winter coming and if I’d had any doubt about leaving, or whether or not we might could make it, my answer was Laci, because staying here would be a death sentence for her. Her hands shook as she held her pan, the spoon trembling all the way to her mouth. It was fine to leave for a little while. I wanted to ask Papa when we’d come back, only I was too nervous, and too aware how hard it was.

  After we finished, I said, “Momma, I’ll clean this up.”

  She nodded and I gathered up the dirty pans. I dreaded sticking my hands in the freezing water, only I wanted one last look at Stampers Creek. I wanted to see the weeping willows, the wishing rock, the bend of the creek, and all I was familiar with because who could say when I’d see it again? I hurried to get there, and when I finished cleaning everything, I found I couldn’t linger. Actually, I couldn’t hardly bear looking at what I’d come to see. Instead of taking the time as I’d wanted, I hurried away from the place I loved most.

  Chapter 14

  The inside of the truck smelled dank, the same way our root cellar had smelled. After putting our few household belongings in the back, Momma climbed in the middle, and Laci slid in beside her. I didn’t think Laci’s thin legs could’ve stood my weight, so I squeezed into the narrow space left on the seat and shut the door. I rested against it, shivering more from nervousness than cold. Papa got in and looked over at us sitting all scrunched up. Everyone was church service quiet, our breath suspended in front of our faces. He cranked the truck, and the engine sputtered, then cut off. Momma shifted on the seat, her fingers started worrying her knuckles. If the truck didn’t start on the next try, I was prepared for her to tell me to open the door, to tell me to get out. In my mind, I seen her marching straight back to the campsite.

  He tried again and with a belching backfire, the engine caught. Momma relaxed and closed her eyes as if to send up a little prayer. Papa let the engine have another minute to smooth out before he put it in gear, and turned us around. Being so close together, I noted this almost immediately; we smelled right bad, and because we was no longer out in the open, it was strikingly noticeable. I breathed through my mouth, and thought how this leaving certainly felt reminiscent of that night weeks ago. Like we was repeating the past. I didn’t bother to look back this time either. I refused to think in detail about what it meant.

  Momma finally asked Papa what had likely been setting heavy on her mind. “Where are we going, William? Do you have a plan, or are we leaving with no idea what we’re doing?”

  Papa said, “We’ll head down to Hardy’s, see how it goes.”

  Momma made some sound, blowing air out of her nose. That was the extent of the planning discussion. We come to the two big poplars and made the turn onto the dirt road, and soon come to the split between the trees where Cullowhee and Cherry Gap mountains showed off a smattering of leftover oranges and reds from fall. Seeing the trees on the cusp of entering into their dormant state for winter, their beauty was still something, and I wished Papa would stop the truck for a minute. Instead he drove fast down the road, like he was in a hurry to get to where we was going before Momma could change her mind.

  Momma sighed, giving me and Laci a quick once-over. “Look at us. What a sorry-looking smelly bunch we are. Even your brother’s going to have a hard time putting up with us.”

  Papa said, “You don’t remember much about Hardy.”

  Momma said nothing.

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p; Papa insisted everything would be all right. “He’ll be glad to see us. It’s been years. Maybe he’s changed. You remember Uncle Hardy, don’t you Wally Girl?”

  I said, “Yes, sir.”

  Momma grunted, then she said, “If that stingy brother of yours has changed his no-good ways, I’ll be shocked. And you know the two of you being together for too long’s like mixing gas and a match.”

  Papa said, “Hardy won’t turn away kin. He’s always been contrary, but he ain’t going to deny his own a place at his table.”

  We got to Highway 107, and Papa turned south. We passed by abandoned cars, a few of them covered with parts of busted-up trees and stumps. We seen buildings partially washed away, and people still working to organize the cleanup process. At one point in Cashiers he pulled over. He got out, and so did I to look at one of the bridges heading north that was washed out, along with several buildings, because it really was something to see what the water done. When we got back into the truck, Momma was sitting up stiff and straight.

  She said, “We’ve already been driving over an hour and there’s not one area untouched by them storms and you’re out there sightseeing.”

  Papa put the truck in gear and Momma quit talking again. Just past Cashiers we entered the state of South Carolina and then he turned off the 107 shortly thereafter. We only stayed on that road a little way, and before long, Papa turned onto a narrow dirt path not much different looking than ours. We went up and up the twisting trail, lined with huge pines, maple, and oak, until we come to a small cabin set back against a thicker stand of trees. The cabin had ivy creeping up half a one side, and a rusty tin roof. The front porch sagged in the center, and an old wooden rocking chair moved with the wind. Two-toned jugs, the lower half a dark russet and the upper a lighter color, sat around the yard. A hound dog come crawling out from underneath a back section of the cabin and shook off. Papa parked beside a truck sitting next to the cabin, its body as rusty as the tin roof. He stared at the cabin as he turned the engine off.

  Nobody come to the door. There won’t even a flicker of movement at any window.

  Papa hesitated, then he got out and said, “Wait here.”

  He went up the two steps, onto the porch and tapped on the door. He turned to look at us, and when he did, the door swung open. A man I took to be Uncle Hardy held a shotgun at the ready. When he seen Papa, he lowered it. I could see no resemblance at all between the two of them. Uncle Hardy had a big belly, whereas Papa was rail thin. Uncle Hardy wore a pair of long johns, stained down the front and on the knees and elbows, and from his cheeks and chin hung a long grayish beard. He had on boots over the long john bottoms like this was how he went out and did chores. He frowned at Papa and then at us in the truck, and when Papa held his hand out to shake, the gesture won’t returned. Papa dropped his hand and shoved both into his coverall pockets. I could see him talking. Uncle Hardy didn’t bother to look at him at all. He kept his eyes on us, head tilted like he was studying on what was being said. Papa gestured towards us once, and eventually he quit talking.

  Momma mumbled, “I said this was a bad idea. Hardy’s not married, never been married, and there’s reasons for it.”

  I didn’t want to stay here neither. It was looking better and better to face winter at Stampers Creek or take our chances anywhere else other than the likes of this place. Papa motioned towards the truck again and Uncle Hardy turned and went inside, leaving Papa standing on the porch. Papa followed, and a minute later he come out, his head down so I couldn’t see his expression.

  He come up the driver’s side of the truck and said, “We’re gonna stay here for a few days. Come on in.”

  Papa opened the door for Momma and then he got the few eggs and side meat what had been left over from this morning. I opened my door, and got out, then Laci. We waited in the yard and Papa started for the front door, yet none of us moved. He climbed the steps, and looked over his shoulder.

  He repeated his self. “We’re staying here a few days.”

  Slowly we followed him inside Uncle Hardy’s house. I noticed three things immediately. It was very messy and the room was filled with more of them jugs, while stacks of newspapers was everywhere. Another set of stained long johns hung just inside the door, and the kitchen held nothing but heaps of dirty dishes. There won’t hardly a place to sit or stand. It was very warm, and very small. And I think we might have smelled better than the inside of the cabin. There was an old wood table, a total of three chairs. Uncle Hardy was already sitting in one, an old cane back near the fireplace. Papa pointed Momma to one of the other ones and he sat in the last one. I took Laci over to stand by the fireplace.

  It was the first time in days I thought we might could quit shivering, until Uncle Hardy spoke gruffly, “Don’t block all the heat. Stand yourselves over there.”

  He pointed to a spot by a tiny window facing the front yard. I went to it and Laci followed. It seemed like it had to be the chilliest spot in the room. There was a draft coming through the cracks, and Laci stood sort a hunched up, while I tried to make myself shrink into the background.

  Uncle Hardy turned his attention to Papa, and said, “Ain’t got much. Can’t be eatin’ three times a day.”

  Momma’s face flushed and she shot a mortified look at Papa.

  Papa raised his hands up, and said, “We don’t want to put you out none. We got a bit of food here to help out. We only need a few days, then we’ll be on our way.”

  Uncle Hardy spoke in a raspy manner that produced a harsh cough. He hacked and hacked, and didn’t seem well. His mood won’t much better.

  After he’d recovered from the coughing fit, he said, “Them young’uns can go on and get some wood in. They’s grits up over the stove, some beans and they’s a few turnips and taters in the cellar. If ’n we gonna eat, it’s got to be cooked. I ain’t cooked nothing today, been too tired.”

  Momma rose from the chair, and went to the cook stove in the corner of the room and stoked up the fire.

  She said, “Wallis Ann, go on outside and get more wood and go on into the root cellar and get them taters and turnips.”

  Uncle Hardy said, “Get three of each. That’s all can be spared day to day. Got to make it last. Ain’t had a good crop in a while.”

  Momma’s mouth went flat and she shot Papa a hard look before she turned to the stove.

  I said, “Yes, sir.”

  Soon as I went out the door, the hound come up on the porch, and sniffed at the hem of my dress, then my legs, and finally my hands as I held them out to him. I patted his bony head, and for a man who seemed to not have much food, the dog sure won’t starving. He was nicely filled out, more meat on his bones than on mine. He ducked under the house, but his condition made me think a little better of Uncle Hardy. Wood was stacked in the front yard, and I picked up several pieces and set them by the door. By the side of the house a worn, crooked wood door sat at a slant near the bottom of the house. I lifted one side up and went down the tiny steps into the small, dank little room.

  I could see the taters sitting in a wood box and another with some turnips. I also seen he had a few jars of shucky beans, maters, and peaches. I couldn’t see Uncle Hardy canning and thought maybe a neighbor might have shared. I wanted to get a jar of peaches even though he’d not mentioned them. I wanted to open one up and eat the entire thing by myself only I bet he knowed the exact number he had, so I left them, went up the steps and closed the door. Back inside felt good compared to the outdoors, though I was almost claustrophobic inside the confined space.

  I took what I’d brought up to Momma and she shook her head as she worked. She somehow managed to find what she needed in all the clutter. She sent me out for water, and boiled a big pot of it, washed out the skillet and a few pots, then started cooking.When it was ready she give Uncle Hardy and Papa their plates first. I waited politely for Momma to dole out our share.

  She motioned at me. “Wallis Ann. Come on and get yours and Laci’s.”

  I
took the plates she offered and sat on the floor near the wall where I’d been standing. Laci seemed like she was too frightened to move, or to even eat. She’d stayed in the one spot since Uncle Hardy spoke to us. After Papa said a short blessing, including Uncle Hardy in it for his generosity, I looked down at my plate and almost cried. I was so hungry, and there was about as much food as what would fill up a bird. Two small sections of potato, a few small pieces of turnip, a spoonful a beans, and half a piece a corn pone. Laci’s was the same. I looked over at Momma, and it looked like she had even less. And there was Uncle Hardy, watching every morsel we put in our mouths.When Papa dragged a piece of corn pone through his beans, Uncle Hardy frowned at him, like maybe Papa was enjoying it a little too much. I was glad when we finished because it was only then Uncle Hardy quit watching everyone and finished eating, taking his time and smacking his lips loudly.

  Soon as the sun went down, Laci and I settled in to sleep beside the fireplace, next to Momma and Papa. There was no extra blankets, only what we’d brung with us, and still too wet to use. Uncle Hardy slept behind a curtain strung up in a corner of the room. His bed was built out from the wall, and loaded down with dirty quilts. I don’t think I would have wanted to use one if he’d offered it. Of course, he didn’t. The pillow had a dirty spot directly in the middle where his head lay. He snored something terrible. There won’t much sleep for none of us that night.

  * * *

  The next day, Uncle Hardy told me and Laci to go outside. “Y’all might could do some work round here, earn your keep if ’n you’re gonna eat my food.”

  I won’t about to question his authority in telling us what to do. I started for the door with Laci in tow.

  Papa stopped us. “Wallis Ann, stop. What do you want done, Hardy? These girls have had a hard time of it already.”

  Uncle Hardy spit into the fire. “Wood’s got to be chopped. Won’t hurt them none to do a little round here.”

  Papa said, “I’ll chop the wood if it needs chopping, but you already got a stack big enough to last weeks.”