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Authors: Jan Watson

[Troublesome Creek 01] - Troublesome Creek (24 page)

BOOK: [Troublesome Creek 01] - Troublesome Creek

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Daddy said it was Copper’s decision. But Mam wouldn’t give up. The air in the house was as tight as a cotton dress washed in hot water when Mam started in on her. Copper had kept the vow she’d made that night in the sinkhole: she was never rude to Mam. But the effort made her cranky, and she sorely needed this day away.

When she reached the cemetery, she set the basket down by the gate. It was full of things for the runaway girl, and Copper’s arm was sore from the weight of it. The gate didn’t creak when she pushed it open, and the poison ivy John had warned her about had been burned off. The stones that had toppled with age had been righted, and weeds no longer choked the day-eye blossoms that flourished among the graves. It was sad to think frost would soon kill the pretty wildflowers. Daddy and Daniel Pelfrey and some others had seen to the graveyard after Copper found the skeleton in the casket. Nobody knew whom the old bones belonged to, but at least the body’s resting place was restored.

Copper was glad they’d spruced the cemetery up. She felt most at peace these days when she visited the grave of her mother, Julie Brown. She never told anyone about her treks to the cemetery; this place was hers alone. She didn’t want to share the time spent with her natural mother.

She couldn’t tarry, for it was a long way to the cave, but she took a moment to kneel and lay a few perfectly shaped pine-cones on her mother’s grave. The mound was covered with leaves, but she didn’t brush them off. It cheered her to think of Julie sleeping under a quilt of red and gold and orange.

When she stood, a crow called from a tree above her head, “Caw! Caw! Caw!” She shaded her eyes and looked his way. His wings flashed like black gold as he flew away.

“I’ll come back soon,” Copper said as if her mother could hear. “I’ll bring you something pretty.”

She wondered about her mother. Did she know Copper visited her? Would she want her to go away to school? Did it hurt when she died? It must have happened when Copper herself was born. She guessed it was her fault—that was probably why Mam wanted to get rid of her. The older Copper got, the more she must remind Mam of the sister she lost.

Copper retrieved her basket and walked on up the hill. A little wind sent puffy gray clouds scurrying across the sun. She’d have to pick up her pace if it was going to rain.

The mouth of the cave was familiar now, and she found it easily enough. “Hello?” she called as she lit a torch inside and secured it in a crevice by the tunnel. “Is anyone in there?”

Nothing answered save the sharp wind that whistled out. She pushed the basket ahead of her as she wrestled through the rough-walled passage. There was no trace of anyone in the cave, and without the sunshine streaming from the vaulted ceiling, no trace of glory. The rock shaped like a table was just that—a rock. No bandanna covered it, no feathers, no biscuit cutter or jam jar. The cave was eerily silent, cold, and damp.

Tears trickled down Copper’s cheeks. She had counted on finding the girl. She wanted to give her the clothes and food she’d brought, and the girl would need Copper’s old boots to cover her bare feet against the coming winter. Rain now sluiced through the high opening at the top of the cave and ran in little rivulets down the walls to puddle on the floor.

Copper knew she’d better head for home. She put the basket on the rock table—she couldn’t bear to take it back—and crawled back through the tunnel.

Molly was patiently waiting by the stable door, ready to be milked, when Copper got down the mountain, and Paw-paw jumped about joyfully and licked her hand after she let him out of the stall. He sat by her side while she milked and then followed her through the driving rain to the springhouse and then to the porch.

A fire roared in the fireplace, and Mam had supper on the table. The smell of hot corn bread made Copper’s stomach growl. Paw-paw settled on the hearth, and Copper sat beside him to dry her hair. As soon as Daddy came in from the field, the boys tore in around him, their cheeks red from the hint of winter that swept toward them as sure as summer followed spring.

“Come and eat,” Mam said, “before it gets cold.”

They all took their accustomed seats and clasped hands for evening prayer. Daddy prayed aloud, but Copper didn’t listen. She prayed silently for the lost girl, for warm clothes on her back and shoes on her feet. Copper’s heart felt burdened, but her own problems felt light. As the twins chattered away about their day, Copper thought of the girl with each bite, with each swallow of cold buttermilk.

“Cat got your tongue?” Daddy asked, looking her way.

“I’m just thinking,” she replied.

“Yeah,” Willy teased, “thinking about John Pelfrey.” He got up and danced around the table. “Copper and John up in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

“Who knew you could spell, Willy?” Copper shot back.

“That spells
kissing
, Sissy,” Daniel said seriously. “Is it fun to kiss?”

“How would I know?” Copper jumped from her chair and grabbed Willy. “This is what kissing feels like!” She held him down and planted kisses all over his squirming face.

“Yuck,” he wailed. “Daniel, help!”

“For heaven’s sake,” Mam said. “Will?”

“You two won’t get any sweets if you don’t get up off the floor,” he rebuked.

“Okay then,” Willy said as he took his chair and scrubbed his face on his shirtsleeve. “That’s enough of that.”

Copper sat back down and watched Mam spoon up a serving of blackberry cobbler and set it aside before she dished up dessert for them. Funny, now that John Pelfrey had taken to coming around in the evenings, Mam treated him special.

Copper poured warm milk laced with nutmeg over her cobbler. Mmm, it was delicious. She licked her spoon and looked at Mam from the corner of her eye. Mam’s hand rested on Daddy’s shoulder, and he reached up and patted it.

Mam was sure acting strange these days. She didn’t want Copper courting—“sparking,” Daddy called it—but she allowed it and always saved John a treat. Of course, nobody could be mean to John. He was always kind and treated Mam with courtesy. Sometimes Copper thought he was courting Mam instead of her. Mam was probably putting up with him because she was afraid of who else might come calling at their door. She sure hadn’t liked it when Henry Thomas walked Copper home from church recently.

She thought of Henry later as she poured hot water over the supper dishes. He wasn’t so bad. No, he didn’t go to church, just hung around outside during service. Copper figured he could hear Brother Isaac’s loud preaching just as well out under the trees, especially when the windows were open. Sometimes she longed to be out there herself. There was something about Henry she liked. Henry was short and wiry, and his hair was as black as wet coal. His brown eyes, when he looked at her, sparked with a hint of danger. Folks said he was “work brittle,” but he worked enough to keep a jingle of coins in his pocket.

John didn’t like him any better than Mam did. He said, “You’d better lock the smokehouse when Henry comes around.” But she thought John was only jealous.

A knock at the door interrupted her reverie. She’d just dried the last pan and hung up her apron when John walked in. He brought the cold of the night in with him and went to warm his hands by the fire.

“Evening, John,” Daddy said.

“Evening, Will. How do, Miss Grace?”

“There’s some cobbler on the sideboard, John,” Mam replied.

Daddy got out the checkerboard, and John settled down with his dish of cobbler in front of the fireplace to play their regular game. Copper sat with Mam, working on embroidery, although she hated any sort of sewing. She’d rather be playing checkers herself. Willy snuck out of bed and peeked around Daddy’s chair as he crowned a checker. Daddy sent Willy packing before John jumped his game piece across the board.

“By doggies,” Daddy said. “Whipped again!” He stood and stretched mightily. “Grace, let’s give the young folks a little sparking time.”

Mam laid down her embroidery hoop, her brightly colored skeins of floss, and her tiny scissors and followed Daddy. He left their door half open.

Copper was embarrassed to hear them settling into bed with John right there beside her. “Want to go to the well house with me?” she asked. “The bucket’s nearly empty.”

The rain had stopped. The night was cold and so clear it seemed you could reach right up and pluck a star. “Here, let me do that,” John said when they reached the well. He lowered the heavy oak bucket they kept tied to a rope until he heard it splash below.

“I hope you don’t start acting like I can’t do anything.” Copper frowned. “You know I draw water every day.”

“I know.” Hand over hand, he pulled the heavy bucket up from the depths below and emptied it into the granite pail she steadied on the rock lip of the shaft. “But I like to do it for you.”

She took the tin cup they kept on a ledge in the well house and dipped it into the pail. She offered it to him before taking a long drink herself. “Is there anything better than cold well water? Doesn’t it seem like you can taste the mountains when you drink this?”

“I don’t know about that,” he answered.

“Close your eyes and try again, just a sip. See? Don’t you recollect clay and rock and coal smoke all mixed up together?”

He closed his eyes like she asked and held the water in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. “Tastes like water to me.”

“Oh, John, don’t you have any imagination?”

He took her hand. “Here’s what I imagine. You and me and our own house way on up the mountain. There’s a stand of oak up past the cemetery that would make a fine cabin with more’n enough for a barn and the biggest well house you ever saw.” There was a funny look in his eyes when he said that. As if they were already promised to each other, as if they were ready for a cabin of their own.

“Let’s don’t talk about that,” she responded, busying herself with the bucket, unwilling to meet his eyes.

He took the full bucket from her, and they walked back to the house, his steps so steady he didn’t slosh a drop. Their feet splashed through trifling puddles left by the rain. “Think on it, Pest. Just think on it.”

The warmth of the house surrounded her when they opened the door. The fireplace was banked for the night, but she knew the water in the teakettle would still be hot. John set the bucket on the washstand. Daddy had shut his bedroom door, his sign that the courting was over.

“Good night,” she said as John went out.

“Good night, Pest.” Turning, he took her hand once again and gave it a squeeze. “Just think on it.”

She fixed a cup of chamomile and stirred in the tip of a teaspoon of honey. Paw-paw snoozed on the hearth. She sat with her legs drawn under her and thought on it. It was time to make a decision. She had to tell Mam that she was not going to Philadelphia. It was not right to keep Millicent guessing. There was no way she was leaving Troublesome Creek. No way. Mam would be mad for a spell, but she’d get over it.

Her spoon went round and round clinking against the side of her mug. She’d yet to take a drink. She turned to face the fire. The smoke smelled of apple, her favorite tree. As to John’s proposal, she just didn’t know yet. He would be easy to live with, John would. But he had no imagination, no dreams. He could read—Mam had taught him when she taught Copper, like she taught all the Pelfrey boys—but he didn’t like to. And he didn’t much like to talk.

She took a sip of the tea she’d let grow cold. “What do you think, Paw-paw? Should I marry John?”

The old dog raised one rheumy eye, then scooted across the hearth to lay his head in Copper’s lap. His heavy lids flapped closed again.

“Thanks for the advice,” Copper murmured as she scratched his silky ears.

An image of Henry with his wicked smile and his dangerous ways glimmered in her mind. Life would never be dull with him. She squirmed on her seat. Thoughts of Henry made her feel guilty, but it wasn’t her fault what happened when Daddy let him walk her home from church that Sunday. . . .

They’d strayed off the path they were supposed to walk. He’d asked her to go up the holler with him a little piece. He wanted to show her something, he’d said. She felt odd, like she was hiding. She could hear her folks’ voices, filtered through the trees, as they walked along the lane below. “What could happen, Grace?” she heard Daddy say. “We’re right behind them.”

She couldn’t stay with Henry but just a minute. Mam would be watching for her. He sat against the bank and asked her if she wanted to see something pretty.

“I don’t have time for games,” she replied curtly. “What do you have, Henry?”

There was a dead tree up the bank from where he sat, and he scurried up to it and stuck his hand into its hollow center. A minute later, he slid back down by the seat of his pants on a pile of fallen leaves, holding a quart canning jar full of water in his outstretched hand.

She turned to start for home. “I’ve seen water before,” she said.

“This here’s magic water. You’d better stay and have some.” His voice was as slick as axle grease.

She walked back to him. “There’s no such thing as magic.”

BOOK: [Troublesome Creek 01] - Troublesome Creek

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