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NOVEMBER 1958
BETHEL, WEST VIRGINIA

Fleeta hunkered low, careful not to rattle the crisp fallen leaves all around her. She didn’t want to be seen or heard.

Albert was meant to be coming around the crest of the hill, pushing deer toward the spot where she waited. Fleeta wished her oldest cousin would still hunt with her, but he was too interested in girls these days. Had his eye on that prissy little Rebecca Howard. Fleeta sighed and flexed her right hand, keeping alert and ready. The family needed the meat. Especially if she was going to take Bud Lyons up on his offer to buy out his business. She needed to make sure her family was taken care of, so she could focus on making her dream come true.

She heard leaves crunching off to her right. If it was a deer, it was coming slow and easy. That was good. Best if Albert didn’t scare the deer and send it running. She examined the terrain and the scattering of hardwood trees. The forest was more mature here, offering plenty of room between trunks, another blessing.

Movement caught her eye and she saw a stout buck step out of the shadows. Her breath caught. He was pale, almost white with a spray of brown across his rump, and his rack was immense. Could this be the ghost deer the men spoke about in reverent tones every fall? The one that seemed to escape even the best hunters? He was coming easy, browsing the nearly leafless branches of sassafras and maple trees, one ear cocked in the direction Albert was surely coming.

Fleeta exhaled and lifted her rifle, careful not to attract his attention. She took aim, breathed a prayer of thanksgiving, and applied pressure to the trigger.

“Fleeta, Albert—come quick.” The shrill voice pierced the perfection of the moment.

Both the deer and Fleeta froze, and then the buck bounded away, his white tail flashing. Fleeta eased off the trigger and hung her head. She saw Albert coming, his posture clearly showing his disgust even at a distance.

Fleeta stood slowly, her knees stiff from crouching for so long. She glanced back toward the dirt road and saw Elnora standing there, one hand shading her eyes against the morning sun, the other waving for them to hurry. Something about the way she stood put Fleeta on alert. Although only three years older than Fleeta’s twenty-two, her cousin had behaved like an adult since she was old enough to speak. She’d done more to raise Fleeta than Aunt Maisie ever had, and that was little enough.

“What is it?” Fleeta watched Elnora try to pick her shape out from among the trees.

“Fleeta, for heaven’s sake come to the house and bring Albert with you. I need you to drive Momma to the hospital—I’m afraid the baby’s coming early.”

Elnora refused to learn to drive, while Fleeta had begged her aunt and uncle until they relented and let her learn. Uncle Oscar drove the farm truck to work in the mines most days, leaving a rusty sedan at the house “for emergencies.”

Fleeta slung her rifle over her shoulder and broke into a jog, knowing Albert would catch up fast. He was nearly thirteen and taller than she was with longer legs. She glanced back to make sure he was coming and saw a bright blue jay hopping from branch to branch after him. Fleeta supposed it was Jack, the bird Albert had half tamed. It often followed him at a distance, hoping for treats and looking for anything interesting to steal. You sure enough didn’t want to lose a button or anything shiny while that bird was around. He’d once stolen the key to the front door, and they hadn’t locked it since.

“What’s Elnora yammering about?” Albert asked as he caught up. “You had that deer, easy. Now we’re stuck with squirrel for supper. Again.”

“She says Aunt Maisie needs to go to the hospital.” Fleeta glanced at Albert without breaking her stride. “Did you get a good look at that deer?”

“Not really, just saw he had a nice rack, but I couldn’t count the points for branches in the way.” Albert made a face. “Why’s Ma need to go to the hospital? Is it the baby?” His eyes slid away from hers. “Seems like Papa ought to leave her alone so she’ll stop having babies.” He flushed and stumbled over a rocky patch.

“What do you know about having babies?” Fleeta hoped it wasn’t much.

“Enough to know Papa needs to leave her alone.” His eyes flicked to Fleeta and away again. “Won’t she be too old soon?”

Fleeta wasn’t sure if he meant too old for babies or too old for . . . something else, but she decided not to ask. “She’s not fifty yet, but I guess she might be too old before long.”

Fleeta tried to tuck her hair deeper under her hunting cap as she hurried along. Elnora was already halfway back to the house, nearly running. Her cousin’s urgency frightened Fleeta. Though Aunt Maisie had made light of her unexpected pregnancy, Fleeta had seen how it wore on her. Now, six months along, she’d been “resting” more and more. Fleeta whispered a prayer that Elnora was fretting over nothing and that the ghost deer hadn’t been a sign of anything bad. There were rumors about him.