by S A Ison
“I’ll head back to the house to let the girls know to expect some venison.” Katie grinned, nodding at the men. She turned and left, leaving the four men to admire the kill.
“Should we dress it here?” Earl asked.
“Don’t see why not. Let me run back to the house and get some cords and hooks from the barn and a tarp, so we can haul it back once we’re finished,” Clay suggested, and turned to catch up with Katie.
Earl sat on the downed tree by the carcass and pulled out his pipe. He struck a match and coaxed it to life, puffing out the fragrant smoke. Harry pulled out his pipe, scraped the bowl, and packed in fresh tobacco from a pouch he carried. He lit his and puffed a bit. His eyes crinkled against the smoke as the blue vapors wrapped around his head. He blew out and chased the cloud away.
“Well, Boggy, that is some damn fine shooting, I’ll have to say,” Harry said, rocking back on his heels, one hand on the pipe, the other in his pocket.
Boggy grinned and squatted by the animal, patting its large neck. His dark hand smoothed down the body to the rump. The animal had fed well, and rut would soon be upon them. The animals lost weight when that happened, as all their interest went into mating and fighting.
“I’s surprised by this ol’ boy. I was comin’ down from yonder lot and wasn’t even thankin’. I seen him, and my rifle just came up, and bam, I took the shot.” He grinned a toothy grin, his dark brows waggling.
Earl laughed and shook his head, blowing out a plume of aromatic blue smoke. His face was lit up and the dentures helped to support his jawline, firming up his countenance. “You is the luckiest hunter I know. You kilt that tom turkey, now this. Dang, another one or two bucks, an’ we’ll be set fir winter,” Earl sniggered.
“I’s ’spect so.” Boggy grinned shyly, his hand still on the grayish brown hide of the deer.
“I was thinking about going to see Wilber and Boney tomorrow. I don’t want to wait until Alan comes by, not being sure when he’ll show up. I’ve been thinking that it’s coming up on harvest time and those folks from the coal mine might not get another chance to get out of there once the harvest is done,” Harry announced.
“That makes sense. Yon mayor will wanna keep ’em down in that hole. It’s gonna have ta be a coordinated effort,” Earl said, scratching his stubble chin, the rasping sound filling the forest.
“When come time, I’s wanna help. I wanna kick some oh them boy’s asses,” Boggy said, his jaw slanted in stubborn determination.
Harry grinned and smacked Boggy on the back, then laughed. “Boggy, with your shooting skills, we’d be fools to leave you behind.”
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Bella May Hogg smiled at the young man. He turned to look at her in question. She grinned up at him and then nodded to the floor. She’d hit him hard on the back of the head with a rolled-up magazine.
The boy looked down and jumped back, nearly stumbling into the hutch. It was a large brown recluse spider. Bella May stepped on the arachnid, ending its life and the threat with a soft crunch. She patted the tall boy on the shoulder, smiling.
“Dang, thanks for hittin’ that thang off my noggin’.” Alan said, his voice just a little shaky.
“That little rascal was crawling pretty fast. I was afraid if I told you, you might try to knock it off and get bit. Those are nasty spiders.”
“Yes mam, they is.” His head nodding vigorously.
“Go sit down son, looks like you’re about to faint.” She grinned, squeezing his thin arm. “I’ll bring you some cookies.”
“Yes mam, thank’ya kindly.”
Alan sat down on the couch and Bella May went into the kitchen. She was sure that the men below wouldn’t hear anything from above, and she was certain the boy wouldn’t hear them. She got a box of cookies out and then made up two glasses of lemonade from powder. It wasn’t as good as homemade, but it would have to do. The days of fresh lemons were over. She sighed heavily at the thought. A lot of things were over these days. Most she wouldn’t miss, but some she most certainly would.
Bringing a tray into the living room, she placed it on her coffee table. She shoved the small blue plate with cookies over to Alan, who picked one up in his large bony hand. “Sorry they aren’t homemade; those days are over. My oven is electric, though the top of it is gas.”
“That’s okay, missus, these is good. I’s cain’t stay long cause I gotta get that food out to others that needs it. But this is good. I was a mite hungry.” He grinned, cookie crumbs in his teeth.
“I understand. Thank you again for thinking about me and others,” she said, patting his arm. She’d not had children and had never wanted them until she was too old to have them. She’d helped mothers from time to time, especially those with newborns. That was as close as she got to having a baby in her arms. She liked this polite young man. He vaguely reminded her of someone.
“It ain’t no problem. I seen the homes round here. They’s all abandoned. Some smell bad too. I’m afraid ta go into them.”
“I suspect that many people have starved to death or may have been killed for what they had; or they might have killed themselves. This is a hard time for those who were caught unprepared. I thankfully have a small garden that is doing well.”
“Yes’m, that is true enough. I have a garden me and my grandpa tend.”
“Who is your grandfather?”
“Wilber Tate.”
“Well I’ll be. I know him. Went to school with him. He even took me to a school dance, way back when.” She grinned, patting her frizzled gray hair back.
“Oh, for goodness sakes alive. I’ll have ta tell him.” Alan grinned at her, his homely face breaking open like a flower.
“He was a handsome devil back then. My name was Bella May Patterson back then.”
“Is you related to Boney? And Clay, mam?”
“Sure, Boney is my second cousin and Clay is my third cousin. You know them?”
“Yes mam, I do. Some bad men tried to kill Clay. He’s safe, stayin’ with some friends. Boney and my grandpa is good friends. Grandpa said Boney was madder ’n a wet hen when he found out about those bad men trying to kill Clay.”
Bella May’s eyes narrowed. and a smile came over her lips. “So, do you know who tried to kill my cousin?”
“Grandpa said that Boney took care of him. Was one of them KKK men,” Alan said, taking another cookie in his hand and dipping it into the glass of lemonade. He popped it whole into his mouth and crunched contently.
“Good for Boney. He’s a good man. I knew Clay when he was a young’un. He became a policeman. We were proud of him. Hadn’t seen him in a bunch of years.”
“Yes mam. I guess I’d better be goin’, got more homes to deliver ta. Thank ya again, mam,” Alan said, standing up, towering over Bella May.
“Son, do me a tremendous favor. You see any them KKK boys, say just one by himself, give him my address. I’ll take care of him. Tell him that I’d pay him in food to protect me and my home.” She smiled.
“Mam, he might hurt you,” Alan said, a knot of worry on his forehead.
“Oh honey, don’t you worry none. Old Bella May has a few tricks up her sleeve. Don’t you worry none. But make sure the fella is by himself.”
“Yes mam, I sure will.”
Bella May stood and walked the boy to the door. She looked up at him and drew him in for a hug. “Tell your grandpa Bella May says hi.” She grinned up at him and then patted him on the shoulder.
Alan nodded, his face suffused with a pink blush of pleasure, his eyes crinkling into triangles. Bella May watching the young man get into his truck. The poor boy needed some meat on him. But Wilber had been just as skinny as the kid, way back when. She smiled at the thought of one of those bastards coming to visit her. She laughed and figured it was time to make room in the basement for company.
She grabbed a solar lantern and made her way down the dark steps into the basement. She could hear the breathing of the two men. The basement was permeated with the stink of
an outhouse. She’d have to do something about that. As she came to the bottom, she lifted the lantern high. Both men turned their heads away from the bright light, their eyes squinting.
Hobo would need to be dealt with; he was down to just the two thighs. Both arms and lower legs were gone now. It would be too messy to try to harvest a thigh, so she might as well harvest the whole of him. She could can the meat for the winter. And with the man Alan sent her way, and she hoped it was a big man, she’d have enough meat to last her a while.
She went to Hobo, who still had his head turned away from her. She held the light up to his face.
“Hobo, did you want to say goodbye to Vern?” she asked.
Hobo’s head turned slowly, his eyes unfocused. His beard now lay upon his chest.
“What? Where am I going?” he asked, his voice filled with confusion.
He never was that bright, Bella May thought. She shook her head, as though speaking to a child.
“I’ve got to make room, Hobo, and I’m afraid to say, you’re out of time.”
“Time for what?”
“She’s gonna kill you, Hobo,” Vern said in a patient voice, low and sad.
“Oh,” was all Hobo said.
Sighing, Bella May looked over at Vern, smiling. “This world won’t miss our poor Hobo, I’m afraid.”
She thought she heard Vern say, “I will,” but wasn’t sure.
She bent over and pulled out the slop bucket from beneath Hobo’s chair. It only had a small bit of urine in it. She’d dumped the buckets earlier that morning in one of the neighbor’s back yards, some distance from her home. She’d have to use some bleach to get the smell under control. She didn’t want it seeping upstairs. She knew there was a chance she could become nose deaf, and if someone were to smell it, she’d have some explaining to do. Besides, she liked a clean house.
She felt inside her chicken apron’s pocket and pulled out her scalpel.
“Hobo, dear, I want you to look at that far wall. Can you do that for me?” she asked.
“I sure can,” he said amiability.
Holding the bucket up, she flicked the sharp blade and nicked the carotid artery along Hobo’s neck, under his chin. The room filled with the tang of copper and the blood began to jet into the five-gallon bucket to mix with the urine. Hobo hadn’t flinched, nor had he said a word. As the jet began to slow, he turned his head, looking over at Vern.
“Bye Vern,” was all he said, and his head fell forward onto his chest. After a few minutes, Bella May was satisfied that most of the blood had vacated the body. Going over to a low cabinet, she took out gauze and went back to Hobo’s body. She wrapped his neck several times, giving him a white collar.
“Why ya doin that? He’s already dead.” Vern asked, his voice devoid of emotion.
“I don’t want to get blood all over my house, now do I? When I take him up to process him, there will be a lot of leaking. This just saves me from cleaning up the mess,” Bella May explained.
She took the bucket and the solar lantern. She’d dump the blood and urine, then clean the bucket. Then she’d rig and haul the body out to the back yard and process him there. It was late afternoon, but she thought she’d have enough light to work.
Her mind was now centered on the process of butchering, and she climbed the steps of the basement. She could hear Vern’s soft weeping, but thought nothing of it. There was a lot to do and she began to whistle, happy both for what Alan had delivered and for what she was about to harvest. She was looking forward to some liver and onions; it had been a while.
What luck. If that boy could get one of those KKK bastards here, I’ll be set for quite a long time, she thought happily. Perhaps, once Vern was gone, she’d go out looking for another, maybe lure him in. Things were certainly looking up.
She had no neighbors; they’d all left or had died. She’d gone looking into her neighbor’s homes several months back. There hadn’t been much there, but she’d taken what she could find. Seeds, books, magazines and so on. The process of decay had never bothered her. It was a natural part of life.
She went back down into the basement and pulled on the ropes. She unchained the body and it fell over with a loud, hollow thump as Hobo’s head bounced off the basement floor. Vern made a noise, but when Bella looked over, he was looking the other way. She stood for a moment, thinking. She’d have to wrap the rope around his neck; there was no other way to get the body up those stairs. She just hoped his head wouldn’t come off in the process; that would be a pain in the ass.
CHAPTER TWO
David stood up from the table, cold fear washing down inside his body. Mary’s ashen face held fear, sorrow and shock. He ran to her, scooping her up in his large arms.
Jutta ran up to them, her face pale and stricken. “Mary, are you having contractions?”
“No. I just started bleeding!”
“Is the baby moving?” Jutta asked, her voice calm, but David noticed Jutta’s hands shaking.
“Yes, he’s moving,” Mary said, wiping at the tears with one trembling hand. She held onto David’s shirt with the other.
“Take her back upstairs, David. I’ll make up some red raspberry leaf tea. That will help stop the contractions if any try to start. I will also make a tea of St. John’s wort; that should help keep her calm. Lay her on her left side and prop her feet up just a little,” Jutta instructed, and disappeared into the kitchen.
“What am I going to do, David? It’s too soon; the baby is only seven and a half months.”
“I don’t know much about pregnancy, but Jutta seems to. She’s had five children and I think you’re in good hands. The baby is still moving around and no contractions.” David was nearly babbling, no knowing what else to say; he didn’t want her to feel the fear that was trying to suffocate him.
Mary nodded her head and laid it trustingly on his broad shoulder. His long stride ate up the distance to the second level and she pointed to the room she’d been in. He laid her in the bed and ran out to the hall. Opening a door, he saw that there were linens, towels, and blankets. Down on the bottom shelf were what looked like old sheets and beat-up rag towels. He picked several of those and took them back to Mary.
She was laying on her left side, her eyes large in her small face, fear swimming just below the surface. Gently, he slid the folded towel beneath her hips. Going to the corner of the room, where there was an old-fashioned bowl and ewer, he picked up a clean washcloth from beside it and poured water onto the washcloth. Once he’d squeezed most of it out, he walked back to the bed and sat down beside Mary. He took her small hands and held them in his large warm ones. He gently wiped the blood from her hands. Her hands were cold, and he could feel them trembling.
He squeezed them gently. “Try not to fret, Mary, I know it’s hard, but try. We’ll all pray hard that the baby stays safe.”
“I’ll try. I’m just so afraid, though.” Her voice trembled.
David gently moved her hair away from her face. “If you need me to stay with you, I will,” he said.
“You better not David. I’d hate for you to get in trouble. You’re kindof hard to miss, and if they do miss you, they’ll come here looking,” Mary said, her lip trembling into a smile.
He squeezed her hand gently, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. “I’ll stay until Jutta comes up with the tea. We will all be praying hard for you Mary,” he said gently.
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Jutta sat in a chair beside Mary’s bed. It was late, she guessed near midnight. Mary was asleep. Thankfully the bleeding had stopped. The baby continued to move around, and that was good as well. She felt the small teapot; it was cool. She looked over to the other bed, where her two daughters, their lumpy forms beneath the handmade quilts, lay sound asleep, their soft snores fill the room. One slept at the foot of the bed, the other at the head. She smiled softly. They were such a big help in this difficult time. She knew it wasn’t easy, and she knew they were afraid of what the future held, but they worked hard.
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The world had gone topsy-turvy, and Jutta had a hard time making sense of it all. Having all the extra children meant a lot more work, but she enjoyed it; especially the children’s laughter and their sweet faces. It had broken her heart when she’d first seen them, their thin faces covered in coal dust. Then Mary’s frail, emaciated body. Thinking of it now brought tears to her eyes and rage in her heart. Her large hands closed into fists and her mouth thinned.
If she could but get her hands around the mayor’s and the sheriff’s necks, she’d squeeze the life out of them. She knew it was a futile thought, and hoped the men found a solution. There had to be some way to end this. She knew people were afraid. It was a double whammy.
First losing power with everything else, no doctors, no grocery stores, nothing. Then, when Mayor Audrey declared himself dictator and Sherriff Yates backed his play, people were undone. Those crazy men had killed innocent people, children. How could people not be afraid? Fear, cold naked fear. But the people needed courage, they needed to work together to take down these men.
Jutta sighed heavily, looking down once more at Mary’s sleeping form. Her face was relaxed in sleep, and Jutta was glad. She got up heavily from the chair, her joints popping softly. She didn’t think Mary would need her for a while, and one of the girls would come get her if she did.
The sight of the blood had frightened her; she knew how important this baby was to Mary. It was her last link to her dead husband, Howard. Her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother had passed down the knowledge of herbs and such, mountain medicine. She had a thick journal with her family’s hand-written notes of mountain and hill recipes for different ailments. She’d always used quite a few of these for her own family. Sometimes the old ways were the best ways.
Her schoolmates had laughed at her when she was a girl, calling her country and hillbilly ignorant. She imagined she had the last laugh with doctors in short supply. She had the knowledge and training from her elders and was passing it down to her girls. Some of the remedies were from her Native American connections, distant cousins, and some from her distant black cousins who’d brought their knowledge from far away Africa. Regardless of where the cures and concoctions came from, most worked very effectively. Now, more than ever, they would be very useful.
