Wonderland Creek (18 page)

“How about if Miss Alice reads to you? She’s gonna be bringing books to you from now on, so I’m showing her how to get up here to your place.”

Cora had to help me get down, and I heard the children chuckling and snickering at the ungainly way I slid to the ground, then tripped over my own feet and landed on my aching backside.

But the giggles and good-natured shoving settled into stillness as Cora opened her bag and unpacked the books. The children stared in such wide-eyed fascination that we might have been bringing toys and candy like Santa Claus. Cora handed me one of the books. “Here, why don’t you read this one to them?”

The children clung to me like burs on a dog as I made my way to the porch steps and sat down. I could hear each child breathing as the group gathered in a tight circle around me, waiting for me to begin. Their mother came to the doorway in her apron to listen, too. The children took turns turning the pages for me, and they couldn’t seem to resist running their hands across the pictures as if they could feel the colors and shapes. That explained why the pages of all of the children’s books in Acorn’s library had looked so grubby. But the loving caresses weren’t meant to deface the books.

“You talk funny, Miss Alice,” one of them said after I’d read a few pages.

“That’s because Miss Alice comes from up in Illinois.” Cora pronounced it like
Ill-a-noise
.

“Where’s that?”

“Maybe I’ll bring a book with maps to show you the next time I come.”

I couldn’t believe what I’d just said! Why was I talking as if I’d be coming back? I had told June Ann I would be back, too. Again I felt torn. Part of me wanted to have the privilege of bringing books to people who cherished them as much as I did, yet I knew I could never be a real packhorse librarian, especially on my own. I hated riding, hated Belle—yet these dear people had quickly found a place in my heart. I felt a kinship with them. Maybe if I could travel here by car or walk—but not riding that stupid horse! Yet the children’s hunger for books brought tears to my eyes. Life up here on this farm must be so difficult, and a simple story brought such joy.

I was almost to the end of the book when one of the smaller boys interrupted me, tugging on my sleeve. “Miss Alice? Miss Alice?”

“Yes?”

“Where’s your horse going off to?”

I looked up in time to see Belle’s hindquarters disappearing down the path into the woods. I had forgotten to tie her up. “Oh no! Stop her! Stop her!”

I scrambled to my feet and took off after her, with all nine children—I had managed to count them once they sat still—chasing after Belle along with me. They were laughing and shouting as if we were playing the greatest game in the world. I remembered how far Cora and I had ridden already and I wanted to weep at the thought of walking all the way home.

The two oldest boys outraced everyone else and managed to catch Belle, who wasn’t moving very fast, lucky for me. If she had decided to trot home, we never would have caught her.

“That was fun!”

“Can we chase her again the next time you come?”

“You’re coming back again, ain’t you?”

I didn’t know what to say.

Later that afternoon, Cora and I stopped beside the creek to eat our lunch. Sunlight dappled through the tree branches like silver coins as a gentle wind rustled through them. It was peaceful here with the creek gurgling and the birds chirping in the treetops. Crows called to each other and the sound of their cawing echoed through the hills. Every now and then the birds would grow quiet, and I had never experienced such stillness. Without realizing it, I let out a soft sigh.

“It’s even nicer when the weather warms up and the leaves finish coming out,” Cora said. “But I think fall’s my favorite time. All the colors in the leaves, and the way they rustle under the horse’s feet . . . it’s real nice.”

I would be long gone before fall. Before summer, even. Five more days, after today. I opened the lunch Lillie had packed for me and found a sandwich made from dinner rolls and leftover chicken from the funeral, a dill pickle wrapped in brown paper, and an apple. “Are you married?” I asked Cora after taking my first bite of the sandwich.

“Yeah, but my husband ain’t around no more. When the mine shut down he went on the bum, trying to find work. Ain’t been home since. Lots of people around here have lost kin one way or another.”

“I walked up to the Acorn Mine outside of town the other day. How long has it been closed?”

“About three years or so. They say the folks up north don’t need our coal anymore with all the factories shutting down. You know if that’s true? We can’t believe a word the coal company says.”

“Well, in this case I’m afraid it is true. People are having a hard time all across the country. I lost my job, too, because they had to cut back on costs.”

“Where’d you work?”

“In a library. I’m a librarian like Mr. MacDougal.”

“Mack? He weren’t really a librarian. But I suppose folks called him one because he got the library going here in town and got jobs for us.”

“Is Mack from around here?”

She didn’t answer right away. I didn’t know if it was due to grief or a reluctance to answer my nosy question. “Folks around here don’t usually like to talk about each other,” she finally said. “We don’t care much for gossip. Even a tiny pinch of it has been known to get folks feuding. But seeing as Mack’s gone, I don’t suppose it matters much.” She bit off a piece of corn bread and took a moment to chew.

“Mack grew up here. His daddy worked the mines like all the rest of ours did. But Mack never was like everybody else. Always was different, and not just because his folks died and left him an orphan when he was real little. Miss Lillie once told me that she knew Mack would turn out different because he was born backwards, feet first. When most boys his age would be out catching fish or swimming in the creek, he’d be off by himself with his nose in a book. All them books in the library? They all belong to him and Lillie. The house belongs to them, too, but they let the town use it for a library.”

This intriguing information raised even more questions in my mind. But now that Cora had begun talking I was afraid to interrupt and ask them, fearing she would think I was being nosy and would stop. Of course I was being nosy. I wanted to know more about Mack. He looked like everyone else in Acorn, but something about him had seemed different from all of the others, including the way he talked. I tried to think of a very general question to get her going again.

“So how long has Mack been running the library in Acorn?”

Cora glanced up at me and frowned. I felt a moment of panic when I realized I had spoken of Mack in the present tense, not in the past. But then she looked away again, shaking her head.

“Guess it’s been a couple a years now. He left home and went away to Berea College, where they take poor people who can’t pay for it. He could have been free and clear of this place—and he did work up north in Ohio for a while. But then he came back. I won’t go into all the reasons why, because they’re none of my business or yours. But he and Lillie always wanted to make things better for folks around here. And now they’ll never get the chance.” She paused and looked up at me. “Tell you the truth, I don’t think Miss Lillie is long for this world.”

“She told me that she’s one hundred years old.”

“Well, she’s real lucky that you came along when you did to help her out. Especially now that Mack is gone.”

I couldn’t reply. Surely someone else would take care of her after I went home, wouldn’t they?

Cora rose to her feet, stretching her shoulders and neck muscles. “If you stop to eat here by the creek again, make sure you look around for snakes before you sit yourself down.” I leaped up as if I’d been bitten by one. Cora nodded and said, “They like to sun themselves on the warm stones.”

“Thanks. I’ll try to remember that.”

“And don’t forget to tie your horse up real good or she’ll head home and leave you every time.” The barest hint of a smile flickered on Cora’s lips, the first I had seen. Then she turned away again. She helped me mount Belle and we rode farther up the creek—after I did a lot of nudging and kicking to get the horse going in the right direction, that is.

“Folks in this next cabin are kin to me,” Cora said as we arrived in another clearing. “Sometimes I stay and visit awhile.”

This time no one came out to meet us. We dismounted and Cora led the way inside. “Gladys . . . Clint?” she shouted from the front porch. “You got visitors.” The cabin had only one room. A fieldstone fireplace took up one wall, and in the dim light I saw a woman about Cora’s age tending the fire. I couldn’t believe that people still cooked on an open hearth instead of a stove. I smelled bread baking but didn’t know how that was possible without an oven.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw a toothless granny smiling at me as she rocked in front of the fire. She held a smoking corncob pipe clenched between her gums. Across the room a man who looked very much like a bearded version of Cora lay beneath the blankets in an iron-framed bed. Yellowing newspapers covered all of the cabin’s walls, but whether they were for decoration, insulation or reading material, I couldn’t tell. Perhaps all three.

Cora introduced me. “This here’s the new packhorse lady, Miss Alice. That’s my brother Clint”—she gestured to the man in bed—“his wife, Gladys, and that’s our granny. Have a seat.” She gestured to a table and chairs near the fireplace, and I sat down. Cora gave her grandmother a small pile of
Life
magazines to read, then pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down to read the newspaper to Clint. When Gladys finished tending the fire, she sat down on the edge of Clint’s bed to listen, too. The newspaper was at least a month old with news items I had heard about before I left home. But it must have been news to Clint and Gladys, who shook their heads and clicked their tongues in dismay as Cora read aloud to them. Granny sat in her rocking chair, puffing smoke and staring at the pages of the magazines as if she was required to memorize them.

“Does that paper say if they’re gonna get the mine started up again?” Clint asked when Cora paused to turn the page.

“Nobody’s saying anything about the mine. But Miss Alice says the coal company might be telling the truth when they say the whole country’s poor and out of work. It ain’t just us.”

“Well, that’s bad news,” Clint drawled. “Can’t you bring us any good news?”

“I wish I could, but there just ain’t any good news to bring.” She turned to me. “Miss Alice, you just come from the city a week ago, didn’t you? You know of any good news?”

“Me? . . . No, sorry . . . I never pay much attention to the news.” They stared at me as if to ask,
Why not?
I could almost hear Gordon saying,
“You always have your nose in a book and your head in the clouds.”

Gladys must have noticed my embarrassment because she changed the subject. “Your husband come home yet, Cora?” she asked.

“Ain’t heard a word from him.”

“You still doing okay?”

“I manage. This here’s a real good job, delivering books. I’m getting me a new route up Potter’s Creek next week, so Miss Alice will be coming up to see you from now on.” Cora paused and gestured to her grandmother. “Our granny can’t read a single word, Miss Alice, but she sure does love looking at the pictures. See how she’s smiling?” It was true. The older woman was grinning so widely that she’d had to take the pipe out of her mouth. I felt uneasy talking about Granny within earshot, but Cora said, “Don’t worry. She’s as deaf as a stone.”

We stayed for about an hour, then mounted our horses again. “Do your brother and his wife have children?” I asked when we were on our way.

“A whole peck of them—six or seven at last count. Some are grown, the rest are in school. We’ll head up to the schoolhouse on our next trip.”

I wondered where the children slept—and where Granny slept for that matter. I’d only seen one bed. “Has your brother been sick long?” I asked, making conversation.

“I’ll tell you what happened but don’t go spreading it all around. He has a still back in the woods. Makes moonshine. Everybody up in these hills drinks it, makes it, sells it, or runs it. But Clint got into a tangle with the revenuers a few weeks ago and ended up getting shot.”

“Shot? I didn’t know government agents would shoot at people. They repealed Prohibition more than two years ago, you know.”

“It was Clint’s own fault. He started shooting first. The revenuers busted up his still, but he’s gonna build another one when he’s feeling better. At least they didn’t throw him in jail again. Couldn’t catch him, I guess.”

Cora led us back to Wonderland Creek, and we headed downstream toward home. Belle cooperated for once, as eager to return as I was. About an hour later we halted in front of Mack’s cabin again. I tried not to glance over at it.

“Have you been memorizing all the landmarks that I showed you today?”

“Yes. I think so.” I planned to write everything down as soon as I got back to town—although I didn’t know why I should bother. I would never be riding this way alone.

“Today we delivered books to the folks on the west side of Wonderland Creek,” Cora said. “Tomorrow we go back up and deliver to the folks on the east side. The Howard clan lives way back up in the hills. Then there’s Maggie Coots and Miss Opal. And the school’s up in there, too.”

“Are all of these people as excited about getting books as the people were today?”

“Oh yes, ma’am. Even the ones who can’t read a word.”

At last we arrived at the library. Home again. I would have loved to soak my tired bones in a hot bath, but since I hadn’t seen anything resembling a tub in the house, I knew there was little chance of that happening. We unsaddled Belle and walked inside the library just as Faye and Marjorie returned. Everyone chatted as they emptied their bags, and I felt a sense of camaraderie and satisfaction that I hadn’t felt in a long, long time. How wonderful to be among people who loved books as much as I did, even if they were poor and illiterate—and a little trigger-happy.