I was up most of the night checking on the old woman, peeking out her curtains into the darkness, watching for the wide sweep of the nurse’s lantern.
At sunrise, Retta called my name, rousing me from my deep slumber. “Child?” She stood over my bed, one hand on the headrail. “Child, get ya some breakfast ’fore you head out to Junia.”
I raised up on my elbows and saw she had a plate waiting on the table.
Yawning, I rubbed my eyes. “Retta? Retta, you feeling better?” I quickly kicked off my covers and stood.
“I’m feeling much better this morn’, Honey. Go on, child, take yourself out for fresh air an’ a ride after you eat.”
Relief flooded over me and I hugged her carefully. I couldn’t imagine what would happen if she got worse. “I’d rather stay here today.” I went behind the hanging curtain in the corner and slipped out of my long gown and into britches and a flannel shirt.
After breakfast, I let Junia out to graze, cleaned her stall, then inspected the mule’s coat and shoes. Inside the cozy home, the quiet morning slipped into a quieter afternoon, and later, the day chased the last hours of light into shadowed, tired, soot-baked walls and cobwebbed corners. I sighed.
The nurse wasn’t coming. But Retta seemed to be feeling much better today, so I put on the kettle and made us tea.
I sat at the table mending aprons with Retta, glancing up from my stitches to make sure she was doing well. In a moment I saw she’d fallen asleep, and I reached over and gently took off her glasses, placing them in front of her.
“Let’s get you to bed,” I said, standing, waking her up. “Me, too, Retta. I’m tired.”
Retta gave a sleepy, toothless grin as she pushed herself away from the teacup and pressed her palms down on the table to stand. “Ya don’t get to be tired till you is ninety-two young, child, and not a day sooner.” She wagged a finger.
“Ninety-two, Retta?”
“Sunday.” Her eyes were tired but playful.
Her birthday was March 15, and here it was already March 17 and I’d forgotten and spent the day with Pearl. I began to lay down an enthusiastic apology and well wishes across the room when she shushed me with a dismissive hand.
I hugged the ol’ woman and said “Happy birthday,” sad and feeling badly that her nephew, and now me, had missed it.
“Ninety-two and not going anywhere!” Retta exclaimed. “I got me a girl to finish raising.”
***
Wednesday morning, Retta fussed and insisted she was better, then shooed me out of the cabin. She watched from the porch as I climbed atop Junia.
“Retta, you sure you’ll be okay?” I snatched glances at her as I rode over to the cabin. “I can stay.”
“Go on, ride safe, child, Alonzo’s takin’ me to town. A girl only gets one chance to grow up, an’ I want mine to have the very best.” Retta waved, then pointed a gnarled finger to Junia. “Keep my girl safe, ya obstinate beast.”
“I can ride into town with you.”
“No, child, you need to get out and exercise Junia some. Have yourself a bite of youth. I’ll be back this afternoon.”
“Yes, ma’am. I think I’ll ride over to the fire tower and visit the new lookout.” I hoped the visit would be welcomed because it would be nice to talk with my new friend again.
We rode slow, taking our time. I was trying to think of something nice I could do for Retta for a belated birthday surprise when I spotted it ahead. “Whoa, girl.” I climbed down and tied Junia to a tree. I pulled out a knife from my satchel, then walked through some maidenhair fern over to a clump of grasses.
Ramps. Me and Retta liked to collect them, and here the oniony treat was, popping up early. I cut off the broad leaves, wrapped them in twine, and then hooked it to my saddle. Retta always fried them in a li’l bacon grease, then seasoned the tasty greens with salt and vinegar. Tonight, I’d cook up some apple dumplings and butterbeans to go with them.
I moved to another patch, running my fingers over the leaves. Retta said you had to be careful and make sure you were foraging the safe ones, not the deadly lily of the valleys. I inspected to see if the plant had a bulb. Satisfied that it did, I tore the leaf and sniffed, inhaling the onion and garlic scent.
It was rumored Marigold Hall over in the next holler killed her husband with the poisonous lilies after receiving one too many visits from a frontier nurse to fix her broken, bruised body. The nurse noticed fresh lily cuttings on the table the day the couple’s cabin burned down and would remember the odd resemblance later. She’d arrived to stitch Marigold’s forehead. In a hurry to nurse the woman’s battered face, she paid no mind to the poisonous plant.
And when Mr. Hall came in lit from the shine later that evening, demanding his supper, Marigold had prepared a feast for him—a fine spread of his favorites: pork shoulder and cabbage, cooked-down greens and corn bread dipped in pot likker just the way he liked it. Solemn and shy, Marigold had told the sheriff how grateful she was for their last meal together.
I stood and wrapped the ramps and wiped my hands on my britches.
“Let’s go, Junia. Oh—” Several feet away, I spotted eyebright, and went over and dug up the herb, then carefully packed it in my pannier. These were perfect for making Retta an eyewash to soothe her ailing eyes.
***
From atop the lookout’s circling catwalk, Pearl waved and hollered down to me. “Oh, Honey, it’s good to see you. Come on up.” She slipped back into her cab.
I trekked up the winding stairs. The trapdoor was open, and I climbed up inside.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said.
“Retta went into town and I thought I’d drop by,” I said, a little out of breath from the stairs.
“Well, since you’re here, have a seat. I’ll fix us something to drink.” I slipped off my coat.
She pulled out a pitcher of tea from her icebox and poured two glasses. She glanced down at my gloved hands. “It’s okay, Honey. You don’t have to hide who you were meant to be.”
A blush warmed my face, and I pulled off the gloves, grateful.
Pearl set the drink in front of me, then peeked at the Osborne and took a seat. “I could use a friend. Can you stay for dinner?” She fidgeted with one of the buttons on her blouse and kept glancing out the windows. Finally she got up, peered out the glass, and cranked open one of the small glass window frames. The bottom half pivoted out, while the top half swung into the cab, letting in the sweet mountain air.
“I have to be back early,” I said, concerned about Retta. “What’s wrong?” Pearl seemed a bit agitated. She’d put the ax beside the trapdoor.
Pearl frowned and plopped back onto her seat. “My telephone lines were cut the other day, and my woodpile was set on fire. Poor Pie got so scared, he broke out of his stall and fled to the hills. Took me most of the day to round him back up, and part of the evening to soothe him.”
“Oh, how awful! Who would do that?” I looked at the telephone.
She picked up the receiver and pressed it to her ear, then slammed the handset back down. “Still dead. I’m sure it was Robbie Hardin. I heard Pie making a fuss out there and looked down just in time to see Robbie’s red cap as he slipped off into the woods.” Pearl crossed her legs and kicked one up and down, annoyed. “Had to use that old rusty radio to call R.C. Barely works.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder to where the radio sat.
“Real sorry, Pearl. What did R.C. say?”
“He thinks Robbie is angry because his cousin didn’t get the job. He said he’d have a word with him. Other than that, unless he caught him, there was little he could do. Same as the sheriff said when R.C. brought him up here.”
“Hardins are rabid mean,” I whispered.
“Why I brought the ax up until I get my .410.” She sighed and stood. “I made a lemon cake. Would you like a slice?”
“Looks delicious, but not today. Retta’s been ailing a bit, and I want to get back home.”
Junia brayed outside. “Ol’ Junia’s tired. Me too. Thanks for the tea.” I pulled the satchel into my lap.
Pearl handed me the newspapers and book she’d borrowed from me, and I stuffed them inside and stood.
“Hold on, Honey, I’ll grab my coat and walk you down. I want to feed Pie his oats and brush him.”
I watched as Pearl lead Pie out of the stall. She rubbed his muzzle and patted his spotted neck, running a loving hand across the silky mane. “Handsome boy, Pie. Such a strong beauty,” she talked sweetly to the horse. I watched Pearl’s worries disappear with each stroke, softening her taut face.
She tied him to the landing and inspected his legs. Pie turned and quickly untied the rope with his mouth and tossed it back at her. Pearl put her hands on her hips and laughed.
Surprised, I clasped a hand across my mouth, giggling. “Oh, Pie, I sure hope you don’t teach Junia this trick.”
Pearl petted him. “Okay, one short ride, boy, to check for campfires, and then I have to get back to my lookout,” she warned, wagging a finger. Pie flapped his lips over Pearl’s cheek.
“Ah.” She moved back and rubbed her red cheek. “Chaffed again. I should know better by now, but I do love your kisses,” she said, chuckling.
I knew Pearl had to be lonely up here without family or friends. I missed my mama and papa something fierce. But I had Retta, and Pearl had no one but me in these parts. I smiled, thankful to Retta for saving me from the clutches of the prison.
“Ride over to Retta’s for dinner Sunday. Retta turned ninety-two. I’m going to make her a celebration meal and you’re invited.”
“Ninety-two, that’s remarkable. Love to meet and toast your dear Retta,” she said with a grateful smile.
Ninety-two. Pearl said it sweetly, but her words drew a worry. “Best hurry home. See you Sunday, Pearl.”