by Jaye Wells
Ruby tripped over a large root and cursed. What would Daddy say if he found out? Would the thunder and lightning come back?
She shook her head. Daddy spent his days so drunk he’d never be able to follow her up the road. The only way he could find out is if she told him. Or Granny did.
But she’d never tell him, and Granny definitely wouldn’t. Whenever Granny’d spoken of Daddy, she called him “that man.” She’d never questioned it as a child, but since then she realized Granny could have called him much worse.
She hesitated. A sudden feeling of foreboding draped over her shoulders. What if her memories of Granny weren’t real? In her head, the woman who’d given birth to her mother was a perfect being. All warm, papery skin and an easy, gap-toothed smile. She of the delicious cookies and the great stories. But Ruby had grown up to realize that the people we love in memory can be monsters in reality. Hadn’t she idolized her daddy as a child?
Ruby began walking again. Regardless of who the real Granny Maypearl was, she was her only hope. She approached the last bend of the logging road, and saw the little house squatting on a rise. Time had shrunk the house. The harsh mountain winters had stripped shingles from the asymmetrical eaves but the shape still reminded Ruby of an old witch’s hat. The dooryard was swept clean and a large willow tree drooped dramatically near the picket fence. Ruby remembered hiding under its branches as a girl and pretending she was queen of the faeries and the shady spot was her kingdom.
The old porch was bowed and chipped, but still had the same haint blue ceiling and window frames it had a decade earlier. She remembered Granny explaining that the blue color confused ghosts because they couldn’t cross water. She never did learn the significance of the red paint on the door or why the chimney pot was purple, but knowing Granny Maypearl the choices weren’t random. The large bundle of dried rosemary and basil on the front door was fresh and a hand-tied broom leaned against the doorframe, ready to sweep away evil at a moment’s notice.
Standing on that porch with the sharp green scent of rosemary filling her nose, Ruby felt like she was eight all over again. Her heart quickened and her hand knocked before her mind was ready to announce her arrival.
Ruby thought back to the last time she’d seen Granny Maypearl—or thought she had anyway. Deacon Fry had stood at the head of Mama’s grave speaking about the kingdom of heaven. Ruby’s swollen eyes had been staring into the dark hole. Mama never was afraid of the dark, but she couldn’t stand the idea of her sweet mother sleeping in that pit for the rest of eternity.
She’d looked up to the gray sky, hoping the change in scenery might chase away the tears. A flash of red in the tree line beyond the cemetery distracted her.
The figure behind the tree hadn’t been much more than a shadow. But sometimes the heart knows things the eyes can’t see, the ears can’t hear, and the lips can’t speak. She knew who the stranger in the trees was, and once she acknowledged the truth of it, her curiosity was replaced by a gut-chilling fear.
Then, as if the woman in the woods could hear Ruby’s emotions, she emerged just enough to show her face and lifted a gnarled hand to her lips. Luckily, Daddy had been too busy white-knuckling Mama’s handkerchief to his heart to notice the unwanted guest. By the time Ruby looked back toward the trees, her grandmother was gone, as if she’d dematerialized.
After her first knock didn’t receive a response, Ruby knocked again. However, this time, her ear picked up muted sounds coming from around the back of the house. Curious, she climbed off the porch and skirted the rue and purslane bushes at the base of the steps.
A chicken coop dominated the rear yard. The hens wandered around pecking at corn and each other for entertainment. Inside a small paddock, a sullen goat methodically chewed hay and watched her with condescension. The smell of dust and feathers and feed tickled her nose. She continued on past the animals toward the stand of trees on the edge of the chicken yard.
A small stone shed was nearly camouflaged by the thick vines of kudzu smothering the stone walls and weathered tin roof. Ruby remembered the workshop from her previous visits but she’d never been allowed entrance. Mama always said it was Granny’s potting shed. But even at that age, Ruby had known that there was something special about it.
A small chimney puffed a lazy ribbon of smoke, which meant Granny was probably inside. Still, Ruby listened from the edge of the wood for sounds that might tell her whether Granny would welcome or reject her presence. After a few moments of silence punctuated by chicken clucks and the rattle of wind through the leaves, a faint feminine curse reached her ears. Mama had always fussed at Granny for using colorful language around Ruby, but it was one of the things she loved most about her grandmother. It made her seem more honest than other adults who pretended to be saints around kids even though they were devout sinners when young eyes and ears weren’t around to witness.
By the time she reached the door, she was feeling braver. This had to work. It just had to. And when you have no other choice, you don’t have the luxury of fear.
She didn’t bother knocking. The wooden door—painted red to match the one on the main house—opened soundlessly and allowed a cloud of herb- and wood-smoke-scented air to escape. It was darker inside the shed, and so she stood on the threshold for a moment until her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Before they did, a hand snatched her and jerked her inside the shed.
“Git in here! You’re gonna spoil it.”
She blinked at a small wrinkled face that resembled the apple head dolls the older ladies in Moon Hollow use to make for the girls. The face seemed smaller than it was due to the wild tangle of white hair curling around Granny’s head like cotton batting. “I—what?”
Granny put her gnarled hands on her hips and stared up at Ruby as if the girl was forgetting a conversation they’d never had. “The potion.”
Ruby scanned the room. She’d been imagining a witch’s workshop right out of Grimm’s fairy tales, but there wasn’t much magical about the workroom. On the walls, several shelves were lined with old mason jars filled with an assortment of items ranging from mismatched buttons to rusted nails to colorful sections of ribbon. Instead of a cauldron sitting over a fire, there was an old woodstove with a dented saucepan set on top. The only other items were a worktable and a stool covered in chipped turquoise paint.
“I always thought you made moonshine out here,” she said, almost to herself.
Granny made a disgusted sound and waved a hand. “Shit, girl, this ain’t Prohibition anymore. It’s cheaper to buy hooch from the package store in Big Stone Gap than to brew your own spirits.”
“Daddy makes his in a still.”
“Your daddy is a dumb ass.” She stirred the concoction three times widdershins and tapped the wooden spoon three more times on the lip of the pot. “Nah, this is just a simple salve for Reverend Peale’s eczema.”
“Oh.” She had no idea how else to respond. She’d expected there to be more awkwardness when she arrived, but Granny was talking like they’d just seen each other yesterday. “Aren’t you surprised to see me?”
The old woman tilted her head. “Not a bit.”
“Why not?”
Granny snorted. “The wee people told me you was coming to visit.”
At Ruby’s confused look, the old woman cackled, exposing the impressive gap between her front teeth.
Ruby took a few more experimental steps into the workroom. The floor creaked underfoot, and she had to duck down a bit to accommodate the low ceiling. The air was thick with the scents of vinegar and eucalyptus. Seeing Granny bent over the pot reminded Ruby of the days when she and Granny would make pies together. Sometimes she’d let Ruby roll out the dough and would patiently explain her secret recipe. “When you get married, Rubybug, make sure to give your husband pie as often as possible to keep his disposition sweet.” Then she’d would smile a secret smile and start whistling.
Ruby had never met her grandfather, but Granny always wore a locket that held a black and
white picture of him. Whenever she’d spoken of him, she’d take the locket between her thumb and forefinger and give it three rubs before laying it back against her breast.
“Well?” Granny Maypearl’s voice cut through the memory. “What you want?”
Something about her knowing tone put Ruby’s back up. “Didn’t the wee folk tell you?”
The corner of her grandmother’s mouth twitched. “You sassin’ me, Ruby Barrett?”
She raised her chin. “Yes, ma’am.”
Granny cackled again. “Good girl. I was afraid growin’ up in your daddy’s house would make you timid.”
Ruby frowned. “Why?”
“Because living with that man broke your mama.”
The words hit Ruby in the gut. “No—”
Granny waved an impatient hand. “That girl of mine used to be wild. She used to dance and sing in the woods. She used to throw open her arms and shout her truth to the world. She was alive—a ball of pure energy.”
“Mama still sang and danced,” Ruby challenged. “You just weren’t around to see it.”
“What you mean by that, girl?”
Ruby crossed her arms. “You didn’t let us come back here.”
“That what she told you?”
Ruby shrugged.
Granny took a step forward, and when she spoke her voice was pitched low and hard. “Or did your daddy tell you that?”
“No,” she said. “I just knew.”
Granny pulled back. “Well, you don’t know nuthin’, child.”
“I know you never came to see us or let us come back.”
Granny stared at her for a long time. It might have been the heat in the room that made her cheeks red, but Ruby thought it was more than that. Unfortunately, the lost decade between them prevented her from knowing if the flush was caused by shame or anger.
“Truth is, your daddy found out about your visits with your mama and refused to let you come back. It was right after she found out she was pregnant with Sissy, and he beat her real bad. She almost lost the baby, but instead of leaving him, she decided it was safer just to cut ties with me.”
Ruby’s stomach twisted. Her sweet, brave mama wouldn’t have been that cowardly. “But—no, Mama would have told me.”
Granny shook her head. “Your mama didn’t want you to hate that man.”
Ruby was silent for a few moments. She didn’t want to admit out loud that Mama hadn’t gotten what she wanted. Even though her grandmother’s dislike of her father was never in question, it felt disloyal somehow to admit her own negative feelings where he was concerned. “Why didn’t he want us coming to see you?” she asked finally.
Granny Maypearl turned to stir the pot again. She tapped the spoon three more times before setting it down and wiped her hands on her apron. “You hungry?”
She didn’t understand why she felt relieved her question had been ignored. “Maybe a little.” Her walk to the little house up the mountain had burned off the cereal she’d had for breakfast.
“Well, come on then.” Granny shooed her toward the door. “I made a pie for ya.”
Once again, Ruby wondered if Granny had been telling the truth about expecting her arrival. Mama told her once that Granny had what she’d called “the ken”—a talent for knowing things. She’d said that all the women in their family had it. But if that was the case, why hadn’t Ruby known her mama was going to die?
With that thought chasing her, she escaped the dark workshop for the safety of sunshine. She walked ahead, not waiting for Granny to catch up. When she reached the back door, she let herself inside. Funny how quickly she felt like she had the right to make herself at home.
The door led into the kitchen at the rear of the little house. The appliances were dated but so clean they sparkled in the mid-morning sunshine from the window over the farmhouse sink. The kitchen table’s long wooden planks were shiny with age and showed decades’ worth of dents and scratches. Out of habit, she took her normal spot in the center of the bench facing the stove. She used to sit there every time she visited to watch Granny cook.
Almost as soon as she’d sat, Granny bustled through the back door. She nodded at Ruby, as if she approved of the seating choice and continued to the fridge. From it, she removed a jar of milk. “Just milked Petunia this morning.”
Ruby drank cow’s milk at home, but she had fond memories of the tangy milk from Granny’s goat. “Petunia’s still alive?”
Granny smirked at her. “Nah. The old girl passed away five years ago. This is Petunia Two.” She poured milk into a glass jar before turning to cut a large slice from the pie sitting next to the stove. “How the youngins doing?”
Ruby wasn’t ready to talk about them yet. She wanted to get a feel for Granny before she launched into the reason for her visit. “What kind of pie is that?”
Granny’s hesitation was brief but noticeable. Ruby tensed, waiting to be questioned. A woman who knew things surely had already anticipated the real reason for her visit. But instead of pressing the issue, Granny came to the table with the milk and the pie. “Strawberry rhubarb.”
“That’s my favorite.”
“That’s why I made it.”
Ruby looked up from the pie to check if Granny’s expression matched her knowing tone. But the woman just smiled at her, as if she was simply enjoying being able to spoil her granddaughter again.
“Thank you,” Ruby said. For some reason her eyes started to sting. This all felt so … familiar and comforting, but she was keenly aware of her mother’s absence. The void was palpable, tugging at her chest and making the blood push against her skin. To cover the unwelcome emotion, she lowered her head and focused on finding the perfect angle to capture the first bite of her pie.
“She visits me.”
The words were spoken quietly, but they hit Ruby like a fist between the eyes. She paused with her fork sunk halfway into the pie.
“Your mama,” Granny clarified.
Metal clanged against wood. Ruby ignored the dropped fork and the gooey smear on the table. She didn’t say a word because no word existed to capture the exact combination of horror and joy those words conjured.
“Started the night she died,” Granny continued. “I was sleepin’ when a sound woke me. I opened my eyes and there she was standing in a beam of moonlight. I scrambled out of bed thinking one of you children was sick and she needed my help.” She shook her head at herself. “But then I realized I could see straight through her, like she was made from cloudy glass.”
“Maybe you were dreaming,” Ruby said.
“No, ma’am, I was not,” she said. “My Rose was here just as sure as you’re sitting in front of me now. I tried talking to her, of course, but she just smiled at me.”
“What time was this?”
“’Round eleven. Why?”
Ruby swallowed to wet her dry throat. “Mama passed at ten forty.” A time that was now eternally cursed to Ruby. Even if she wasn’t near a clock when that minute passed each night, she felt a dip in her middle, as if gravity suddenly doubled. Then, at ten forty-one, the world righted itself once again.
Granny leaned back in her chair. “How’d it happen?”
The pie she’d been looking forward to earlier now smelled sickly sweet with an undertone of rot. She pushed back from the table.
“Ruby.” Granny’s voice wasn’t soft like she’d expected. Instead it was sharp, like the tip of a knife. “Did your daddy kill your mama?”
Ruby turned her back to the woman. “Coming here was a mistake.”
“Maybe so, but you’re here, so we’re going to see this through.”
“Daddy wasn’t even home.” Ruby took a deep breath to settle her nerves. “Doc said it was a heart attack.”
Granny didn’t respond immediately, but the sound of her rising from the table filled the otherwise silent kitchen.
A framed sampler hung on the wall. The fabric was yellowed with age, but Ruby had no problem reading the words stitched f
rom faded blue thread: Curses, like chickens, come home to roost. The words blurred through the film of tears.
Granny placed a warm hand on her shoulder. Ruby closed her eyes. The move made several tears run down her cheeks. “Was the doc right?” Granny asked in a whisper.
Ruby shrugged.
The hand disappeared and she missed its soft pressure. Gathering her courage, she opened her eyes. “I couldn’t save her.”
“From the heart attack?”
Her throat stung but she forced a single word through the tightness: “After.”
The old woman’s face paled. “What do you mean?”
Ruby turned away from her grandmother and swiped the tears from her face. “Nothing. I just—I was the only one home.”
The silence had mass and weight. The sensation of being watched by eyes that saw too much was almost unbearable.
“Ruby,” Granny spoke slowly, “did you try to resurrect your mama?”
She turned so fast she bumped into the table, knocking over the glass of milk. Granny’s gaze didn’t waver from her face. She wanted to run. She wanted to fly away from that little house, away from Moon Hollow. Away from the horrible memories of her mama’s sightless eyes. Away from the shame of knowing she couldn’t use her song to save the person who mattered most.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Her voice shook, betraying her lie.
“Young lady, this is your granny you’re talking to. I know all about your raisin’ gift.”
