“Nah,” Aiden smiled, but his heart was full. He loved hearing Viola say “Da, Da.”
“All babies first words are Da, Da.”
“Maybe so, but I think this child is calling for you,” Alice said. “Why don’t you pick her up?”
Aiden lifted the baby into his arms and held her to his chest.
“Da, Da, Da, Da,” she rambled.
“You just might be right, woman. I do believe she is calling for me,” Aiden said smiling.
Aiden and Alice tried to conceive a child together. They wanted a brother or sister for Viola. But it was not to be. Alice would miss her period for a week, and they would both be excited. Then she would start to bleed and they tried again. Finally, they accepted that they were not going to have another child. And because they could not have any more children, Viola became even more precious to the two of them. Aiden loved their daughter and his kind heart made him forget that she was not his child by blood. Aiden and Alice pampered their little girl. Together they shared all of the precious moments that parents cherish. They watched her smile for the first time, take her first steps, and learn to speak. The love they had for their daughter helped build their marriage. And still, Cyrus’s name was never mentioned, not by Alice or Aiden or any of their family members. As the years passed and Viola grew into a lovely high-spirited child, the memories of Cyrus grew as dim as a candle out of wax until they were all but forgotten.
Viola was visiting her grandmother one Fall day when she was five years old. Grace was playing with Viola out on the lawn while her mother was butchering a hog. Grace and Viola were so engrossed in a game of Ring-Around-the-Rosie that they never noticed that Grandma had hurt herself and gone inside the house. She had sliced her hand while cutting through the thick meat of the hog but she never told anyone about her injury. Instead, she just cleaned and wrapped the wound. However, within a few days, the area grew red and swollen and she began to run a high fever. Grace raced over to Aiden’s house for help. He went down to the village and brought back a doctor but it was too late. Mrs. Hunt lost consciousness and died. Again, as when his father passed, Aiden was the rock on which everyone in the family leaned.
“Grace can’t live in your folks’ house all by herself,” Alice said. “She ought to move in here with us.”
“You don’t mind?” Aiden asked on the day of his mother’s funeral.
“Course I don’t mind. She’s kin. She’s your sister, ain’t she? Sides, she’s been like a sister to me too. And Viola just loves her.”
Grace agreed to move in. She was heartbroken at losing her mother. So she packed the few items she owned that were of value and moved in with her brother and his wife.
As Viola grew up, Grace took Viola everywhere she went. And one afternoon when Grace was in the general store in town, she met a fellow. He was a handsome man wearing a nice brown tailored suit.
“Lovely child you have there. And it looks like you’re a very good mother too,” the man in the suit said.
Grace giggled. “I ain’t her Maw. She’s my brother’s child.”
“Well, she sure is pretty. Almost as pretty as her aunty.”
Grace giggled again, her blond curls falling about her head like a halo.
“My name is Benjamin Heath. I’m here in town visiting my aunt but I live in Maryland. I own a building company with my brother. My brother’s watching the company while I visit with my aunt. I am planning to stay in West Virginia for the summer and if it’s not too bold for me to ask … I would like to take you out for dinner some night.”
“Me?”
“Yes,” he smiled.
“I ain’t never been to no restaurant. And sides that, I ain’t never been out with a fella. You’d have to ask fer my brother’s permission,” Grace stammered.
“Of course. I’d be happy to.”
And so the following day, Benjamin Heath climbed the hill to the little home where Aiden lived. Aiden eyed him suspiciously. After all, he was a city boy and it was very rare that anyone from the city came to Mudwater Creek.
“My name’s Benjamin Heath. I’d like to take your sister out to a restaurant for dinner one night. Would that be all right with you? I’d have her home at a decent hour.”
Aiden stared at the man. “Why don’t you just sit down for a minute?” he asked. “What kinda intentions you got fer my sister?”
“I don’t know. I want to get to know her. I mean, we just met.”
“I see. Well, you ought to know that she’s the daughter of a preacher. She’s a good girl and I sure hope you ain’t thinkin about ruinin’ her. Cause if you is, I’ll shoot you dead.”
“I see.” Ben cocked his head. Then he waited for a few minutes before he spoke. “So, I’ll ask again…can I take her to dinner?”
“I guess so,” Aiden said.
Benjamin Heath courted Grace that whole season. And before he left to return to Maryland, he asked her to marry him. She accepted his proposal. Aiden married them quietly because most folks in Mudwater Creek didn’t trust or like city folk such as Ben.
When Ben Heath got ready to return home to Maryland, his wife Grace was at his side.
“You be sure and come back here and visit us, Gracie,” Alice said with tears in her eyes.
“I sure will,” Grace said and she hugged Alice.
“Be a good girl, little sister,” Aiden said.
Grace nodded.
Then Aiden shook Benjamin’s hand. “Take care of her?”
“Of course I will. And you folks are always welcome to come and visit us in Maryland too.”
“Right nice of you,” Alice said.
“You’re family now,” Benjamin said.
Then Ben and Grace left.
Chapter Ten
Viola was born to be a part of the church. Even at a very young age, she seemed to know instinctually that helping others was her life’s purpose. And as soon as she was able, she offered her time and effort to those who were sick in both body and in heart. When the people of Mudwater Creek spoke of Viola Hunt, they said that she had her mother Alice’s good looks and her father Aiden’s good heart. If anyone ever suspected that Aiden might not have been Viola’s biological father, that suspicion was never brought to light.
As she grew into a teen, Viola became known as the chief organizer of bake sales and potluck suppers with the proceeds going to help the poor, especially the families of those who could no longer work in the mines due to the black lung.
The folks of Mudwater Creek had watched Viola grow up. As she grew into a pretty young woman, most of the boys developed crushes on her. Viola knew Virgil Cooper all of her life. He had attended her father’s Sunday services for as long as she could remember. However, now that she was fourteen, she began to see Virgil in a new light. He too had grown up in Mudwater and was now a handsome strong boy with an easy smile. He had a muscular build from working alongside his father in the mines every day. The Coopers lived only a short walk from Viola’s home and sometimes Viola would see Virgil walking home from church.
The attraction between Viola and Virgil began in church one Sunday morning. Virgil was standing next to Viola as the congregation was singing and clapping to spiritual music. Viola could hear Virgil’s warm baritone voice over the other singers. She looked up at him and smiled. He returned her smile and it made her suddenly self-conscious. Blushing, she turned away. The next time Viola had any contact with Virgil was at a church bake sale that she and her mother organized. Virgil’s mother was not feeling well and she asked Virgil to bring the cake she baked. Viola greeted him warmly when he arrived, although she could feel herself blushing. She took the cake and he offered to stay and help her sell the baked goods. She was shy, but he was offering to help the church and she couldn’t refuse him. She gingerly accepted his offer.
However, Viola soon lost her shyness as the two worked together. They were so busy that by the end of the day they had become friends. Several days later, in the early evening right before sunse
t, Aiden was sitting outside his cabin whittling a piece of wood when Virgil walked up, carrying a bunch of wildflowers.
“Evenin,’ Pastor Hunt.”
“Evenin,’ Virgil,” Aiden said, nodding and looking at the bunch of flowers. “Nice bunch of posey’s you got there.”
“Yes, sir,” Virgil said. “May I have a moment to speak my mind with you, sir?”
“Well, of course, Virgil,” Aiden said. “Why don’t you set down right here beside me on the porch?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Virgil said taking a seat.
“Now, what can I help you with son?” Aiden asked. He knew the young man since he was a baby and always liked him.
“I was hoping, sir, that I might get your permission to take Viola for a walk some evening.”
“I see.” Aiden smiled. Then he leaned back in his chair.
Where have all the years gone? Little Viola is a woman ‘bout ready for marrying age. I ain’t been payin the time no heed. Heck, here is this boy come a courting. I suppose it’s to be expected. And of all the fellas in town, I’d have to say he’s a good one. One I’da chosen myself if’n I had that power.
Aiden looked at Virgil, who seemed to be holding his breath waiting for an answer.
“I suppose them flowers are fer Viola?”
“Yes, sir. If’n it’s all right with you.”
“I recon that it’s all right with me, that is, if’n it’s all right with Viola,” Aiden said smiling. “Go on in the house and ask Mrs. Hunt to call Viola for you.”
“Thank you, sir. Thank you.”
And that was the beginning of a ritual. Each night after dinner, Virgil would come to the house to see Viola. He would visit with Aiden for a few minutes and then take Viola for a walk down to the creek before the sun set. They’d been seeing each other every night for four weeks before he kissed her for the first time. And although he felt a stirring in his loins and he wanted to go further, Virgil respected Viola’s father too much to try.
“I like you a whole lot, Viola,” he said after he planted his clumsy kiss on her lips.
“I like you too, Virgil,” she smiled.
“No, I mean a real lot. Like I think I might be falling for you.”
She nodded her head. “I knowd it,” she said, then added, “Me too.”
“Me too, what?” he kidded her.
“Me too, silly. I mean, I think I might could be fallin for you too.”
Then he kissed her again. This time it was less clumsy and more tender.
Folks in Mudwater started to gossip when they saw the two young folks together all the time. They said that Virgil and Viola seemed to be a perfect match. They were both involved in church activities. She was a pretty young girl, he a strapping handsome young man. Everyone in their little town knew them by name and many envied them. But Viola and Virgil were both so kind and generous that it was hard for most people to wish them anything but the best. Although, there were still a few folks whose hearts were dark and because they were jealous, they could not wish the young couple well. Jealousy was the ugliest and perhaps the most dangerous of all emotions.
And so it was that a girl named Clover Graystone bore a black mark of jealousy on her soul. She was a pretty girl with a fine slender nose and big dark eyes. But her demeanor was quiet and withdrawn and she had a way of making people feel uncomfortable around her. Clover had known both Viola and Virgil since she was very young but she was never a part of their peer group. Clover was not a part of the church, either. She met Virgil and Viola each separately.
She met Viola first, when she and her mother brought a Thanksgiving basket to Clover’s house. At the time, Clover was five years old. To this day, she could still recall how pretty she thought the preacher’s wife was as she handed the basket of food to Clover’s mother. Little Viola, who was probably the same age as Clover, smiled at her but Clover was too shy to smile back. Instead, not knowing what to say or do, Clover ran to her room and hid. She wasn’t used to refined, well-dressed church folk coming to their little shack.
A year or two later, Virgil’s mother brought him along while she acted as a Christmas angel for everyone in the poor area of Mudwater Creek where the Graystones lived. Now it wasn’t as if anyone in Mudwater Creek could be considered financially comfortable. It was a poor mining town. But even though the people were poor, their little village was filled with good Christians that shared what they could with those even less fortunate than themselves. And, sadly for Clover, she and her mother were among the poorest in the town.
Virgil was two years older than Clover when she first saw him. He was tall and had wavy brown hair. His eyes were bright blue. Although she was just seven years old, she thought he was the most handsome boy she’d ever seen. He was like one of the princes in the fairy stories her mother told her on the rare night when her mother was at home and not dead drunk. Those story times meant the world to Clover. Because they happened so infrequently, she burned the memory of each time into her mind so she would never forget it.
Since the first time Clover laid eyes on Virgil, she had sweet secret dreams that someday she would be his wife. Sometimes Clover would hide outside the church on Sunday afternoon and watch from the shadows as Preacher Hunt said goodbye to each of his parishioners. How she wished she were among them! Yet she always felt like an outcast and would never have tried to enter the church. She hid outside until she saw Virgil and then, still in the shadows where she could not be seen, she followed him home. She would hide outside Virgil’s house and listen to his family chattering and teasing each other with good-natured ease as the women prepared their Sunday dinner. And as she listened, Clover yearned to be a part of his life. Sometimes the longing was so overpowering that she left and went home in tears.
Other times, she would see him and his friends on their way down to the swimming hole, racing one another and laughing. Clover would wait until they were busy swimming and then hide behind the trees and watch Virgil. In her mind, he was everything any girl could ever want in a husband. As she gazed at him, her heart swelled with the innocence of first love. Even though Clover was poor and from the wrong side of town, she believed that somehow, some way, some miracle would happen and she and Virgil would find a way to be together.
That was until Virgil and Viola started keeping company. Now that Virgil and Viola were a couple, Clover was terrified that she had lost her chance to spend her life with the only man she thought she could ever love. She spied on Virgil and Viola when they went for walks, and it gave her great pain to see the tender way that Virgil took Viola’s hand. She couldn’t sleep at night. She would wake up sweating and fearful that she had lost her only chance at happiness. The fantasy of being married to Virgil and a part of his perfect family had kept her alive through all the days of her miserable existence.
As she saw her dream fading away, Clover grew angry and bitter. She knew she must do something, but the only thing she could think of was to speak to Virgil and tell him how she felt. She would promise him that she would be the best wife a man could ever have. She would declare her love and devotion to him. And then she would hope against all odds that he would see her as more than just the poor, tattered girl from the wrong side of town. It was a long shot, she knew, but she must try. She must.
It had always been difficult for her to communicate with other people because she felt so beneath them. Most of her time was spent off alone in the woods, and she had no real friends to speak of. Although her mother sometimes talked to some of their neighbors who were charity cases too, she would hardly have called them her friends. Clover’s mother firmly denied the existence of God and told Clover that God was nothing more than a way of scaring folks into doing what society wanted them to do. She knew that her mother was angry at God for taking Clover’s father when they were only married for a year.
Yet Clover often went out to the creek and got down on her knees and prayed. She begged God to give her a different life than the one she was living. And,
although Clover’s mother raged against the existence of any form of God, and she kept Clover from going to church, she still accepted the charity baskets from the church.
Clover’s mother was gone more often than she was around, and so most of Clover’s free time was spent daydreaming. One of her favorite fantasies was to think what it might be like to have been born as Viola Lynn Hunt instead of as Clover Graystone. She would wear all of Viola’s pretty dresses and talk to Viola’s sweet and gentle mother about how to cook and sew. If Clover had been born as Viola Hunt, she would have a father whom people admired and respected. And most of all, she would have Virgil’s wonderful love and devotion.
But one day, as Clover was picking cucumbers from her vegetable patch, she overheard her mother talking to one of the neighbors. Clover normally ignored her mother’s conversations. Most of the time they were filled with bitterness about how her mother had been given the short end of the stick in life, but not this time. This time, her mother and the neighbor weren’t talking about the miseries of being the poor downtrodden folks on the wrong side of town. This time, they were discussing the latest gossip about Viola Hunt and her parents. Clover sat back on her haunches and paused, listening intently. As she listened, a smile came over her face. Not a smile of joy, but a smile of triumph. She had just overhead information that she could use to turn Virgil away from Viola. And if she were right, this new bit of gossip would make Virgil see his little angel Viola as a much less perfect prospect for a future wife.
That night, Clover’s mother left the shack and went into town, which was a regular occurrence. Clover knew that her mother might return the next day or in several days or even up to two weeks later. There was just no way of determining when she would return.
By the following afternoon, Clover’s mother still had not come home. Clover went into her mother’s closet to borrow one of her dresses. She wanted to look nice when she went to see Virgil, and she didn’t own anything other than the old dirty dress she wore every day. She scanned the four possible garments hung neatly. They were very sexy and not quite what Clover had in mind. She wanted something pretty and modest; something that Viola might have worn. But those four were all Clover had to choose from, so she decided upon a faded white cotton dress that her mother kept for very special occasions. It was a little too low-cut, but it was the most conservative. Although Clover’s mother never told her this, Clover thought she overheard her mother tell one of the neighbors that she had worn that dress on the day she married Clover’s father.
The Angel's Song Page 4
