High Lonesome Sound

by Jaye Wells

  Ruby’s head came up so fast her head swam. “What? Even Mama didn’t know about it.”

  “Your mama was a good woman, Ruby. She had her own gifts, but she threw them away.”

  She moved to the sink and pulled a flour-sack cloth from the counter to mop up the milk. Ruby knew she should offer to do it for her, but her hands were shaking and her limbs felt like sand bags.

  “One time, when you was four, your mama left you with me for the afternoon. She had a doctor’s appointment that she didn’t tell your daddy about. Anyway, you and I were out in the woods, hunting roots when we came across a dead mouse. I told you to leave it be, but you didn’t listen and went to kneel next to it. Before I could snatch you away, you started to sing to it. A few moments later, the mouse hopped up and ran into the woods like you’d just woken it up from a nap. But I saw it before, Ruby. The damned thing had been dead as a doornail.”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  Granny crossed her arms under her breasts. “Don’t matter whether you do or not ’cause I’m bettin’ it wasn’t the last time you did it.”

  Ruby thought of the other tiny rodents and birds she’d raised over the years. It had been her secret super power—one she’d never even told her mama about. Lot of good it had done her. Shame made her skin clammy every time she thought about how she could raise a dumb bird that barely mattered but not her own mama, who meant everything.

  “Well?” Granny wasn’t going to let her squirm out of answering.

  “I used to be able to do it, but not anymore.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since Mama died,” she whispered.

  “I knew I should have started training you back then. But your mama said you weren’t ready. She promised when you got older that we could begin, but then—”

  “But then Mama stopped bringing me around?”

  “Anyway,” Granny said, “you said something changed since your mama’s passing?”

  She wanted to ask her more questions about why they stopped coming up the mountain to see her, but Granny clearly wasn’t keen on talking about that. “The mountain won’t sing to me anymore.”

  Granny leaned her elbows on the table and put her face real close. “Are you still singing?”

  She shook her head and looked at the floor. “What’s the point?”

  Granny leaned back in the chair and pursed her lips, like she was puzzling over a riddle. “You don’t hear the mountain song at all or just during your bleeding?”

  Ruby pulled away. She hadn’t seen her grandmother in close to a decade. She had fond memories of their afternoons together, but that had been a long time ago. They were basically strangers now. Strangers didn’t talk about such things.

  Granny Maypearl swatted her arm. “Now don’t go gettin’ squeamish on me. I wiped your rear end when you was a baby and your mama’s before that.” She stared hard at Ruby, daring her to argue. When she didn’t, Granny nodded. “So which is it?”

  Ruby swallowed the lump in her throat. “I can’t hear the songs anymore, so I don’t sing anymore.”

  Granny nodded, as if this confirmed a suspicion she’d had. “It ain’t no surprise, is it? Losing your mama like that. Wouldn’t have happened if you’d had the proper training. When a girl becomes a woman, there’s rituals need done.” She sucked on her teeth for a moment. “There’s no help for it now. We just gotta start from where we at.”

  “What do you mean? Start with what?”

  “Your training, of course! We have a lot of time to make up for if you’re gonna learn the ways of our women.”

  She held up a hand. “I’m not here for training.”

  “Whether you came here for it or no, you’re getting it. It’s past time.”

  Ruby rose from her seat. “There’s no point in training me because I won’t be here.”

  Granny leaned back in her chair and regarded her granddaughter for a good long time. “Where you gonna be, then, girl?”

  Ruby shrugged and looked down, suddenly embarrassed. “Away.”

  “Away.” Granny snorted. “You got more of your mama in you than I suspected.”

  “That’s right.” She raised her chin. “But Mama never left. I will.”

  A snort escaped the old woman’s mouth. She leaned forward with a hand on her knee. “Oh, she left all right.”

  “When?”

  “Don’t know as much as you think.” Granny shook her head and crossed her arms. “Your mama left this town when she was seventeen. Thought she was going to use that voice of hers to become a big time star. She crawled back here six months later after calling me collect for bus money. She was married to your daddy a month later.”

  Ruby frowned so hard an ache appeared between her eyes. “She would have told me—”

  “No, she wouldn’t have. Every woman’s got secrets she keeps from her daughter.”

  “Why did she come back?”

  “Because the world ain’t nice to young girls with stars in their eyes.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment, neither willing to back down. The kettle on the stove whistled, as if calling a time-out. Granny got up, but Ruby knew she was losing the battle. She’d gone to the little house up the hill to ask a favor and now she was messin’ it up by being ornery. If she didn’t watch it, she’d leave without getting what she came there for, and probably earn herself a heap of extra trouble on top of it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, finally. “I just—I miss her so much my chest burns.”

  Granny kept her back turned, but her head dipped as if to acknowledge the words. She busied herself pouring hot water into two chipped mugs. She removed a couple of jars of herbs from a shelf next to the stove and sprinkled them in. Ruby wanted to ask what sort of herbs she was using, but thought better of it. She didn’t want to make Granny think she was curious about root work nor offend the woman by making her think Ruby didn’t trust her not to put something suspicious in her drink.

  Finally, Granny spoke. “So why’d you come?” She brought the mugs to the table.

  No more putting it off, Ruby realized. “I, um, mentioned I’m planning on leaving?”

  Granny nodded and blew the steam from the top of her mug.

  “Well, I was hoping you’d look in on the girls while I’m gone.”

  She stopped blowing the steam. “Wait, when you said you was going I thought you meant in a few years. Long after the kids would need watchin’.”

  “I’m going as soon as I can. Maybe end of next week.” Lettie had told her that was when Peter’s rental was up.

  “You’re making a terrible mistake.” Granny carefully set down the mug. She shook her head. “No, this is not good at all.” Something in the old woman’s voice made the hair on Ruby’s arms prickle.

  “I’ll be fine. I have a little money saved up and I’ll find some sort of work when I get to Raleigh.” She took a sip of her tea to cover her nervous smile. The flavors of sassafras and sourwood honey hit her tongue.

  “Raleigh? Why on earth would you go there?”

  Ruby realized that Granny hadn’t been to town to hear the latest gossip. “There’s a visitor in Moon Hollow. An author. He’s here writing some new book. When he leaves, I’m going to catch a ride with him.”

  Granny got real quiet, but the atmosphere in the kitchen shifted as if a low-pressure system was developing between them. “You’re a damned fool, then.”

  She didn’t respond. Granny would tell her all the reasons she was foolish whether she asked for them or not.

  “Any grown man who’d take a young girl away from her home ain’t got helping on his mind. He’ll use you and he’ll abandon you. Then you’ll drag yourself home, hoping things will return to how they used to be. But you will never be able to come back, not really. Part of you will always remain out there.” She pointed toward the door to indicate the world outside of Moon Hollow. “And the parts that’s left? The pieces of you that you don’t lose to that man, they’ll be sh
attered like a mirror—a fractured image of who you used to be and who you could have become if you stayed.”

  Ruby looked her grandmother in the eye. “I am not my mama.”

  Granny shook her head. “This ain’t about your mama. It’s about men and girls. You think he’s some knight in armor’s gonna take you on an adventure?” Her laughter had a mean edge to it. “He’ll show you the world and make you someone else, someone you can be proud of being? But it don’t work like that, Rubybug. It never works like that.”

  She crossed her arms and stared down at her muddy shoes. Granny went silent for a few moments, thank the Lord. What did she know about men, anyway? Long as Ruby could remember, Granny had lived alone up on this mountain. After her man died, she’d given up on love. Surely, now she was too old to remember the type of yearning Ruby carried in her belly. The urge to wander and to know a different sort of life. The need to spread her wings and fly. And, yeah, the desire to have a worldly man find something beautiful inside her, a small spark that he’d nurture into a flame.

  Oh, how she wanted to burn.

  Granny cleared her throat. “Listen, child, I know you think what’s waiting for you outside these mountains has to be better than what you got. But you haven’t learned all you need to here.”

  “I got my diploma.” Not that Granny had bothered showing up to the ceremony.

  “I ain’t talking about book learning. This mountain has things to teach you.”

  Ruby snorted. “It’s had eighteen years to teach me. Besides, I told you, it stopped talking to me.”

  “You just forgot how to listen.” She took Ruby’s hand. Her skin felt like wrinkled paper, thin and dry. “Not with your ears, child—with your soul. The song comes from inside. Until you learn that, you ain’t ready to leave.”

  She pulled her hand away and rose. “I ain’t asking for your permission. You’re not my mama.”

  “What’s brought this on now? Your mama passed a month ago.”

  Ruby pursed her lips. She’d managed to set aside her grief over Jack long enough to do what needed doing, but now, she faced having to acknowledge his loss. It felt like turning to look a ghost in the face.

  “Ah,” Granny said. Her chair creaked as she leaned back. “This is about that Thompson boy, ain’t it?”

  Ruby’s head snapped up. “What do you know about it?”

  She shook her head and smiled. The smugness in her expression made Ruby feel impossibly young and naïve. “I may live up on the mountain, but I know what goes on in that town.” She tipped her chin toward the wall next to the fridge, where a harvest yellow wall phone hung. “Edna called me last night. She was burning up the phone lines to all the ladies in the region, I suspect.” She paused and her smile faded. “Were you sweet on that boy?”

  Ruby jumped out of her chair. “No! It wasn’t like that. He was my friend.”

  Granny nodded but showed no judgment on her face. “He was too damned young to die. Too young for that mine too. It swallows men whole and spits ’em back out broken. Just like your daddy.”

  Ruby’s breath heaved in and out of her chest as if she’d run up the mountain. “Don’t you talk about my daddy or Jack. You don’t know them.” She sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly to calm her pounding heartbeat. “And you don’t know me. If you won’t pitch in with Sissy and Jinny I’ll find someone who will, but I am going to leave. You can’t stop me.”

  Granny rose with aching dignity. She gathered the mugs and put them in the sink. Without turning to look at her granddaughter, she finally spoke again. “I’m not saying I won’t let you leave.” She turned and placed a hand on the counter, as if suddenly needing extra support. “Truth is, the mountain won’t let you go.”

  20

  The Bitter Mourning

  Deacon Fry

  Sarah Jane had been screaming all night. It was as if the concussion of her breaking heart had shattered her bones, too.

  He tried to stay out of the way. Nothing he could do to take away her pain. No way to fix it. So he hid in his office and left the soothing to Sharon. But after several hours of hearing his daughter scream and wail he started to understand why some men escaped the world through alcohol. Take Cotton Barrett, for example. That man started drinking the instant his Rose’s funeral was done and hadn’t stopped since.

  Of course, in addition to being subjected to Sarah Jane’s pain, he was doing his own grieving. Even though he hadn’t loved the idea of Jack becoming his son-in-law, he thought Jack had many fine qualities. He was too damned young to be dead. But who was he to question the Lord’s plan? God had seen it fit to take Isaac and now He’d called Jack home, too.

  The deacon sighed and leaned back in his chair. Through the study’s window, he looked out on the mountains. In the distance, he could just see the outcropping of Crying Rock. Legends had it that once upon a time, a young Indian girl threw herself off that rock because she couldn’t stand the thought of having to leave the mountain when the white folk drove her tribe out.

  Lots of people talked about that story with romantic tones. But to him it was just more proof that young women were prone to histrionics. As if his thought conjured it, a fresh volley of wails rushed down the hall and into his office. He slapped his hands on the desktop and pushed himself out of his seat.

  A few moments later, he opened the door to Sarah Jane’s room. Tears ran down his wife’s cheeks as she rocked their daughter’s trembling body. Overnight, his beautiful girl had devolved into an apparition, her skin opaque and her eyes, bloodshot and haunted.

  “Enough.” He didn’t shout the word. He didn’t plead.

  Both women blinked up at him. They were pitiful.

  “Enough fussing and carrying on,” he continued. “There’s work to be done.”

  The bloody specter from the forest had vexed his dreams all night. His gut told him that the only way to ensure he never saw that thing again was to get the burial done quickly. That’s why he’d spent most of the previous day holding Nell Thompson’s hand as she planned her son’s funeral. She’d wanted to wait a few days, but he’d encouraged her to get it done as quickly as possible so as to begin the healing process.

  “Virgil,” Sharon said, “she needs time.”

  “We have a lot to do for the viewing tonight and the funeral tomorrow,” he said. “Best to keep busy than to sit around stewing in your tears. There’ll be plenty of time to mourn once Jack’s put to rest.”

  Mentioning the boy’s name had been a mistake. The instant she heard it, Sarah Jane dissolved into her mother’s arms. Over her head, his wife glared at him like he was the worst sort of monster.

  He pressed his lips together and prayed to the Good Lord for patience. How nice it must be to have the luxury of indulging every feeling and avoiding responsibility because emotions got in the way. All he knew was that while the womenfolk got to sit around hollering and brining themselves in tears, he had to drive to the funeral home to make sure all the arrangements were coming along. He also had to write his eulogy for the funeral and figure out how to inspire the people of Moon Hollow to believe that Jack’s death had been part of the Lord’s plan.

  But he couldn’t say any of that to them. He’d learned a long time ago that trying to reason with his wife and daughter would test even Job’s patience. So he just backed out of the room and got on with the business of putting Jack Thompson’s broken body to rest.

  21

  Enemies

  Peter

  The morning after his second night in Moon Hollow, Peter headed down to the town’s only diner for breakfast. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but part of him was hoping he’d find out some more gossip about the dead boy while he was there.

  The night before, after Lettie left, he’d spent an hour jotting down ideas for a novel. He hadn’t written any actual prose, but the germ of an idea had grown into something with a little bit of mass and shape. He was always careful not to impose too much structure on an idea early. Best to
let it germinate and grow organically. He was hoping some time at the diner might be the fertilizer his little idea needed to bloom into something real.

  Every stool along the counter was taken and two of the booths were packed with bodies, and when he walked in, every one of those people turned to look at him. He’d been expecting as much so he simply tipped his chin and said “Mornin’” before continuing in like he had a right to be there.

  He slid into the booth closest to the ones that were already filled because it offered the best opportunities for eavesdropping and gave him a good view of the rest of the diner. Once he was settled, everyone went back to their conversations but in hushed tones that seemed designed to keep the interloper from listening in.

  It took fifteen minutes for Edna—he knew her name because of the nametag—to wander over with her order pad. “Get ya something?” Her expression was blank but her eyes were swollen from recent tears.

  “I’m sorry but I didn’t get a menu.”

  “You gotta read the board.” She pointed toward a chalkboard hanging next to the counter. It listed a few typical breakfast items, but nothing he couldn’t have made for himself at the cabin.

  “I’ll have coffee, bacon, and toast.”

  She paused. “No eggs?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She shook her head in a way that implied this choice marked him as a suspicious character. “Suit yourself.” She tapped her pencil on top of her pad. “How long you in town for, Mr. West?”

  “Peter,” he corrected. “I’ve rented Lettie’s place for two weeks.”

  She nodded. “Where’s home?”

  “Raleigh.”

  Her eyes widened, as if he mentioned some exotic locale. “Lettie says you write them scary books. That true?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Hmmph. I don’t care much for reading. I’d rather sit and talk to real people.”