Mrs. Wheater had been right. It was already twilight by the time Geneva and Rachel crossed the creek that bounded Hickory Holler on the west, and the moon sat low in the east, full and round, bigger and more silvery than Geneva had seen it since childhood. Rachel leaned out of the window, looking at the moon behind them as they drove over the rickety bridge.
Watching swirling waters lapping at the high creek bank, she commented, “I guess this is Horse Creek. Golly, the water is up since we came in here. I’m glad we were able to get out before—Oh!” The exclamation broke Rachel’s sentence off sharply. Geneva pulled her own eyes from the rabid creek to glance at her.
“What is it, honey?”
“I just felt a contraction. A hard one,” replied Rachel, sounding surprised.
“Rachel, don’t you dare tell me you’re going into labor,” warned Geneva.
“It’s probably nothing. I’ve been having Braxton-Hicks contractions for a few days now. That just may have been a strong one. It surprised me, that’s all.”
Fifteen minutes later, Rachel drew in her breath sharply and put her hand low on her belly. Geneva pulled over to the shoulder of the road and stopped the car.
“I think we’d better not take the scenic route back. Surely there’s another, quicker way off this mountain. Hand me the map in the glove compartment.”
Rachel searched through the compartment, producing a ragged map that came apart in her hands as she opened it.
“How old is this map, Geneva? Is this the only one you have? It covers Virginia, too. Don’t you have one that covers just West Virginia?”
“This will do,” said Geneva, wishing she had one of Howard’s slick, detailed road atlases that mapped out every byroad and trail. “Oh, here we are. This road we’re on is somewhere up above highway one forty. When we hit it we can go back the way we came, but see, if we head east on one forty instead of west that will take us up the mountain instead of down for a way, but here we can cut over on this little road—is that one sixty-eight? One eighty-eight? Oh, well, we can find it, and that will take us over here to twelve-twenty, and straight into Tucker, sort of. We can find our way once we get off the mountain. This will put us out above Cleland anyway, doesn’t it? And if you’re in real bad shape, we can stop at the hospital there. It’s a whole lot closer than Tucker.”
“I don’t know, Geneva. This one sixty-eight or whatever it is looks pretty iffy to me. See, it looks like it doesn’t connect all the way over to twelve-twenty.”
“That’s just because the map’s torn. Surely the road goes somewhere, and it travels straight toward twelve-twenty. And look, Rachel, it really is shorter, even with all the curves. I bet once we get to twelve-twenty, it’ll be straight downhill.”
“Okay,” sighed Rachel, “but it’s your neck if we get lost. What am I saying? I’m the one with my neck in the noose. Let’s get out of here. I feel another contraction coming on.”
Geneva turned uphill into the bright, lazy moon resting on the top of the mountain above them. Half an hour later, she pulled the car over and picked up the map beside her. She switched on the light, intently examining the faded streaks of colors and lines inked into the ragged paper.
“What are you after?” asked Rachel, her voice tight and worried.
“I’m not sure. It seems like we should have reached the turnoff by now, but it’s so dark, I can’t see anything.” This was a lie, for the moon still shone huge and bright in the cloudless sky. “Did you catch the number of that road back there?”
“Geneva, are you lost?” demanded Rachel, then she added, “Oh, no here comes another one. It’s been only fifteen minutes. Geneva, I really am in labor now.”
Geneva felt the panic sear through her, but she forced herself to breathe slowly and sound calm. It wouldn’t do to let Rachel go into hysterics now.
“No, I’m not lost. I just think I missed a turn. I’m going to turn around and look at that road we just passed.” She turned the car around and roared back down the mountain to the intersection. A rutted road lay off to their right. There was no roadsign.
“That’s not anything,” said Geneva, still fighting to sound calm. “We’ll just keep going in the direction we were. We’ll have to find the turnoff pretty soon. It shows it right here on the map.”
After another half hour, Geneva knew she was lost, but she kept silent, hoping to hide that fact for a while longer from Rachel, who was obviously seriously in labor.
Rachel sensed her desperation. “I don’t know if you know this, little sister, but I happen to have quick labors. I hope you are prepared to deal with another double rainbow tonight.” She began gasping.
Suddenly Geneva caught sight of something wonderful. A ramshackle settlement appeared dimly ahead of them. It was completely dark, but at least she thought she might find somebody who could tell them where they were. But just as she began to let the tension ebb from her shoulder, the Mazda’s engine backfired twice, then clanged, sputtered, and died. Geneva pulled over to the shoulder.
“Oh, God, please help,” moaned Rachel.
“Look,” pointed Geneva. “There’s something that might be a filling station ahead. We’re headed sort of downhill, so I bet I can coast into it.” She put the car in neutral, then opened her door and stepped into the road, pushing the Mazda back onto the pavement, where it began to roll briskly. In a moment they had pulled into a closed service station. Two men stood darkly beside a pickup truck, holding flashlights and peering into the depths of its engine. They did not hear the Mazda’s silent approach.
“Oh, great,” wailed Geneva. “Looks like two professional rednecks here to come to our rescue.”
“Geneva, this is not the time to be a snob.” Rachel paused, breathing carefully for a long contraction. “You’d better get out there and get those guys to help, and I mean it!”
Geneva jumped out of the car and moved toward the men, who by this time had looked up and were studying her intently. One was tall, slim, and dark, with acute good looks marred by an obviously hard life. He could not have been thirty, but he looked gaunt and worn, although he stood straight as a post in his faded shirt and greasy jeans. He did not move when he caught sight of her, but stood quietly, his hands hanging loosely at his thighs. There was something menacing about him, thought Geneva.
The other man looked a little younger. He was blonde and thin, typical of the Anglo-Saxon folk who peopled these hills, with a long, narrow nose and slender face. He had turned more slowly with an awkward, forward head slouch, hands seeking his hipbones. As Geneva approached, he removed the cigarette that dangled between his lips, dropping it to the ground and stepping on it casually. She was not exactly afraid of them, as she would have been afraid of similar looking characters on a dark night in DC, but something about the situation and the fact that she had just spent the last two years in a violent city made her wary.
Geneva mentally shook herself. There were merely the harmless, common hillbillies who lived here, daily eking out a living from the rocky slopes. If they weren’t drunk, they probably were safe enough. She knew their kind well enough to know that there was still a fairly rigid code of honor among them: they would not hurt women in need of help. But it would not be a pleasant night with them, she thought. From the looks of them, they probably had a few old refrigerators and rusty cars resting in their front yards, and there would be absolutely nothing to talk about all the way to town if they drove them to Tucker. It was difficult to take Rachel’s advice and not appear snobbish.
“Hello,” she began politely.
The dark one gazed at her soberly, but when she stepped into the light, a sudden grin split his hard, dark face. “Hi, Red,” he said.
“Look out,” guffawed the other one. “He likes redheads. Hell, he’s been marrit to two of ‘em.”
Geneva was a little taken aback. She had not expected anything but humble politeness from them, and she did not like the intensity of the dark one’s countenance. She continued, “My car’s broken, and I need to get my sister down off the mountain…” She trailed off, looking hopelessly away from the stare of the dark man who glanced briefly at her car, then returned his slow, steady gaze to her.
“I kin fix yer car fer ye, if ye gimmie a date,” said the pale man. He was looking at her with obvious appreciation, his narrow shoulders hunched forward, a grin which sat somewhere between a leer and a mark of idiocy alighting his face.
Geneva swallowed hard. “I really don’t think—”
Rachel’s voice interrupted her. “For heaven’s sakes, I know you. Your daddy sold us the farm up on Raven Creek. I went to school with you. I’m Rachel, Rachel Lenoir. My husband is Wayne Hillard.”
Geneva forgot to wince at Rachel’s mispronunciation of the family name. She was too busy trying to decide if she could trust these rubes to take them to the hospital. Maybe it would be better to find a phone.
“Is there a phone around here?” she asked, but no one heard her. The dark man was walking swiftly toward her, his face intent.
“Rachel Lenoir?” His pronunciation was even worse than Rachel’s. Suddenly he dropped the stony façade to smile sincerely at Rachel. “Lordy, girl, I ain’t seen you since the ninth grade. Was that you bought that Raven Creek place?”
“Yes, and that’s Geneva—” began Rachel.
“Little Geneva?!” he exclaimed in his rapid Appalachian speech, turning to her, “Well, if you ain’t growed up!” He turned to his companion excitedly, “You won’t believe it, but this here was the scrawniest little old thing you ever did see. And just look at her now!” He laughed. “I’m Hard. Hard Knight,” Geneva heard him say as he bobbed his head at her.
Geneva fought for meaning through the dialect. A faint, familiar bell tinkled deep in her mind at the sound of the first name. She didn’t remember this man, but the name struck her. “Haa-waard Kni-eght?” she articulated primly, making the first name two syllables and placing the diphthong in the second, willing him to be schooled in the proper pronunciation of his own name.
“Yeah, Hard,” came the eager, smiling reply. “This here’s my cousin, Jimmy Lee.”
Jimmy Lee grinned at her. “Jimmy Lee Land. Hidy,” he said, giving her a little, cringing bow. Before she could respond, Jimmy Lee jerked his head sideways at the sound of a low growl coming from the darkness. Geneva turned her head toward it, too, in time to see a rangy dog, part hound, part who- knows-what, slinking low and menacing around the corner of the service station building. The growl deepened in intensity.
“Lamentations!” cried Jimmy Lee sharply. The growl grew louder.
“Lamentations!” cried Jimmy Lee again, louder. “Calm down! Don’t git yersef all worked up, now. Jist shut up! Don’t mind him, ma’am,” he apologized to Geneva, looking very embarrassed. His eyes darted back to the dog. Lamintaaashuuuuuuns! Don’t yew start!” His voice held a desperate warning.
But the dog was still inching forward, his growls growing louder and meaner. He began to bark in a strange, snarling way that nearly terrified Geneva. She took a step back. Lamentations looked back over his shoulder with wide, rolling eyes, growling louder, then snarling and barking. Suddenly, he gave a mighty leap backward and started chasing his tail in a frenzied display of hysterical anger, snapping and thrashing, yelping and barking. Jimmy Lee cringed with embarrassment, while Howard Knight dropped his eyes and raised a hand to his mouth. Geneva thought he looked like he was hiding a grin.
At last, Jimmy Lee sprang into action. “Lamentations!” he shrieked, picking up a newly downed leafy branch that lay near the truck and striding resolutely over to the frenzied dog. “Igod, yew stop that! Now!” He proceeded to flail at the dog with the branch, which was so large and full of leaves that it did not serve as a proper beating stick. It merely looked like he was waving it gently through the air around Lamentation’s head, brushing the animal with the leaves. Geneva stared, astonished. Howard Knight was wiping his mouth with his hand and his shoulders moved convulsively. Jimmy Lee shouted louder, redoubling his efforts to control the waving tree limb.
The dog finally slowed down, then gradually stopped his circling. He made one last snap at his tail, which, Geneva noticed, was bent in several places and lacked big patches of hair along its length. Jimmy Lee dropped the branch, then turned to Geneva apologetically. “Don’t mind him, ma’am. An eagle tried to carry him off when he wuz a pup and dropped him on his head. He ain’t been right since. Good dog, though,” he added lamely.
“Howard, I’m sorry, but we’ve got a real problem here,” broke in Rachel. “I’m having a baby—two of them actually, and we’ve got to get to town right now. We’re lost, and don’t even know how far we are from a hospital. Are we anywhere near Tucker?”
“About three hours, I reckon, but you’re on the wrong road, and you’re goin’ the wrong way. Ye kin cut over on Tab Cat Road about a mile up ahead to git over to the highway, then turn south. Yew stay on this road, ye end up in Kentucky.”
Geneva was quiet, thinking desperate thoughts. She remembered the times Howard, the boyfriend back in DC had scolded her for getting them lost in the city. She had thought she could do better out in the open, on her own turf.
“Can you take us?” Rachel looked at him despairingly, then closed her eyes while she breathed very deliberately for a full minute.
Howard Knight’s expression changed abruptly. He whirled, slamming down the hood of the pickup truck. “Jimmy Lee,” he directed the young man beside him, “yew jump in the back. We cain’t waste no time.” Striding to Geneva’s car on his long legs, he gently helped Rachel out, then nudged her toward his truck. “You git in first,” he instructed Geneva. “I got a stick shift, and she ain’t gonna fit.”
Geneva obliged. Jimmy Lee was already perched in the bed of the pickup truck, looking pale and worried. He held Lamentations closely in his arms. Howard virtually lifted Rachel into the truck, then sprang around to the driver’s side.
The truck jerked forward, spinning gravel into the two ancient gas pumps, then laid rubber on the blacktop as Howard Knight attacked the mountain road. Geneva closed her eyes and fought the urge to wrestle the wheel away from this crazy man who drove as if the road were white hot. She felt like she might be on a wild amusement park ride, but a moment later, when he turned off the highway onto a dirt road marked with a one-way sign, the amusement park image gave way to something far more sinister.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God! Geneva peered into the darkness beside the window and wondered, nearly aloud, where he was taking them. Her ideas about the hillbilly code of honor dissipated before images planted by horror movies which told of backwoodsmen kidnapping helpless women and holding them in filthy cabins, maybe even in caves deep in some mountain ravine, foiling all attempts of their loved ones to find them. It would not be difficult to dispose of her car. She and her sister and those approaching babies might never see civilization again. Oh God. Even dogs would not be able to track them. They would disappear off the face of the earth…
It was an incredibly bad road, so bad that Geneva wondered if it were a road at all, or simply an old riverbed, so filled it was with rocks and ruts. Howard was forced to slow down, but not enough, as far as Geneva was concerned. She already felt she might be suffering from a whiplash injury. Rachel moaned once, then cried out aloud. Howard glanced over Geneva’s head at Rachel and slowed to a crawl.
“Sorry about the road,” he said, “but we won’t be on it long, and it takes a big piece out of the trip. He looked again at Rachel’s face, white and frightened in the moonlight pouring over her, lighting up her golden hair and giving her an ethereal glow. “We’re gonna make it, girlie,” he continued reassuringly. “This here road’s as sweet as a lady once yew git past this part that got warshed out last spring. She’ll take us right on over to the main highway, and then we kin git you offa this mountain.”
Sure enough, the road evened out shortly, becoming less of a washboard and more of a real road laid over with gravel. Geneva’s more spectacular fears of the strangers diminished with the dark man’s gentle tone. Still, she watched him with suspicion as he drove. His jaw was hard, the muscles clenched in the clean chin, and his dark eyes held a quick, desperate look as he maneuvered the truck around the rocks and switchbacks. He kept glancing at Rachel. Geneva noticed that he seemed to relax as five, then seven, then eight minutes passed without a contraction.
Geneva felt desperately helpless, bouncing between the hillbilly and her huge, laboring sister, and she wished fervently that somebody would say something to ease the clawing tension. She cleared her throat and said inanely, “So, Howard, I don’t remember you. Did you go to Tucker High?”
Howard steered the truck halfway up an embankment to avoid a boulder in the road, then bounced back into the smoother ruts. “Haw, no. I quit after the ninth grade. Didn’t see no sense in it.”
“Oh,” Geneva said quietly. Her fear subsided enough to allow her to be aware of the ugly head of elitism rearing up in her brain. She felt her head go back, her nostrils flare; the city twin sat in a huff, but the country twin tried to be cordial.
“So, do you farm up here?” It was all she could think of to say.
Howard glanced at her briefly, the first time he had looked at her since he had seen Rachel’s predicament. She saw his face harden, his eyes narrow, then he turned his eyes back to the road. After a moment, he spoke.
“I got me a little cash crop back up in one of the hollers.” He grinned slyly, keeping his eyes straight ahead. Geneva sensed that he was taunting her.
“Tobacco?’ she asked brightly.
“Naw,” he guffawed. “Hemp. But don’t tell nobody. Them revenuers has been snoopin’ around, actin’ suspicious. Can’t nobody find my patch, though.”
“Hemp?” asked Geneva. “You mean what they make rope out of?”
“Marijuana, Geneva,” said Rachel gently. “A lot of the farmers up here need a good cash crop just to hang on to their land, and it’s one of the most lucrative.”
“Oh,” said Geneva again, then fell silent for several more minutes. She listened to Rachel breathe.
She thought about Howard’s cash crop. At one time in her life, she had smoked quite a lot of grass, and she remembered that it had drastically altered her life for a short while. In fact, she credited several interesting decisions to it: her choice of a major, her way of looking at the world; it had even played a large role in the loss of her virginity. Looking back, she remembered how much she might have regretted that last event if she hadn’t enjoyed it so much. Now the only thing she regretted was the young man with whom she had been involved.
He had been an actor, an MFA student from New Jersey, and he had been one of the most beautiful, most talented people she had ever met. She had been a freshman straight from the hills, straight from the Puritan values of her home nest and of the First Congregational Church of Tucker. Because of Jerry, she had changed her major from education to theatre, finding in him a mentor and an inspiration. She adored him and took every opportunity to be near him, hoping he would notice her and ask her out.
One night he invited her to his apartment, offered her a toke, and then seduced her. She had loved it. She had loved him, too, she thought, and, forgetting everything her mother had ever told her about Yankee men, and an agnostic to boot, she had moved in with him, feeling beautiful and important and reckless. She and Jerry had smoked a lot of dope, and they had always made love while they were high. For three weeks, she believed she had discovered the meaning of life.
Then one night, Jerry had laughed while he was rolling a joint, saying, “I love it when you get high. You’re such a slut. The worst I’ve ever seen. A hillbilly slut.” He threw back his head and laughed for a long time, then reached over and pinched her bare nipple, hard, through her T-shirt. Still laughing, he told her how he always enjoyed making it with sluts. Then he threw himself at her, pinning her under him, kissing her and fondling her. Geneva had lain stock still under his weight, too stunned to move, hearing her mother’s voice, her father’s voice, her grandmother’s voice, even the voice of Miss Lacy, her Sunday School teacher, all warning her, all telling her to run, run, run, to get away, or she would be lost, drugged, damned, dragged off into a gutter, surrounded by leering men who would laugh at her and hurt her. Responding reflexively, she had brought her knee up sharply into Jerry’s groin, then she shoved him off and walked out. She had never spoken another word to Jerry again except once, when they were in a play together, and then it was only the lines she had to deliver. Nor had she ever touched illegal drugs again.
Suddenly Rachel gasped, “Oh, Howard,” she said breathlessly, “I’ve messed up your truck bad.
“How, darlin’?”
“My water just broke all over the place. Oh, gosh, what a mess.”
“Hey, don’t you worry about a little mess in my truck. Just last week Jimmy Lee got drunk on somma his no good moonshine and puked all over the place. A year or two back, my cousin Billy Ray got in a knife fight and bled to death all over the front seat here. Don’t you worry about no mess.”
“He died right here in this truck?” gasped Geneva.
“Yep. We tried to make it to the hospital, but we only got as far as Bearhead Creek.”
“I’m sorry,” began Geneva, then her words died. The night was beginning to seem too unreal.
“Oh, that’s awright,” said Howard with a grim laugh. “He was a mean sonnava bitch anyway. He deserved everthang he got.”
Without warning, Howard slammed on the brakes, turning the steering wheel sharply to the right. The truck skidded, then spun around and crashed down an embankment. Geneva felt a clean, sharp hurt in her left temple, and for the next few moments, she felt dreamy, watching everyone moving silently through milky clouds. She shook her head. Her ears filled with sound—raging, thundering, oceans of sound, somehow connected with pain. She looked at Howard in confusion, expecting him to explain the roar.
He seemed much too close. She tried to move away from him, but movement required an enormous effort. There was a terrible weight upon her. After a moment of struggling, she gave up and looked at Howard again. He was holding his hand to his head, and as Geneva watched, still wondering about the roaring, he began to delicately prod his forehead that had bloomed red with blood. As he turned his head, he caught Geneva’s eye, then stared straight at her for what seemed like a long time. Slowly, as if he were moving under the sea, he moved his hand from his own face, reaching out to Geneva’s. She watched him without curiosity, expecting the touch, wondering if she would feel it. But just as his fingers closed the distance between them, he startled and drew back his hand. Somewhere a woman had begun screaming. A vague pain settled in Geneva’s right ear.
Howard swung his head to his left, peered into the darkness, then looked quickly toward Geneva, then past her. There was a click, as if something mechanically shifted into focus, and Geneva became more aware of what was happening. Looking out Howard’s window, she saw black water at eye level less than three feet away, swirling angrily past newly overturned trees. The truck they were in was upright on its wheels, but resting on so steep an embankment that at first Geneva perceived that it was lying on its side. The roaring sound came from a waterfall ten feet away from their heads; the screaming came from Rachel, who was lying against Geneva’s right side, her open, screaming mouth pressed against Geneva’s ear. Geneva, in turn, was lying against Howard.
“What is it?’ Geneva asked. Her voice sounded oddly calm.
“Bridge out,” returned Howard grimly. “Musta been a flash flood from the storm.”
Rachel, screaming and gasping, grabbed Geneva’s hand and stared at her, her eyes wild and unfocused. Howard reached across Geneva to hold Rachel by the shoulder. “Don’t go off on me now, honey,” he said, looking fiercely at her and squeezing her arm. Waiting until the contraction ended, he asked, “Did ye git hurt?”
Rachel focused on him, panting. She shook her head, no. Geneva suddenly felt irrationally annoyed. Here she was, wedged between this forward man and an incredibly fat woman, as smashed as a banana sandwich, and nobody was paying one bit of attention to her plight. Howard and Rachel were talking around and through her as if she did not exist.
“Yer doin’ jist fine and we’re goin’ to git ye out of here so ye kin have them little babies in a nice, clean, hospital,” he said gently, patting and stroking Rachel’s head.
“I don’t think so,” whimpered Rachel. “I think I’m close to transition.” Geneva’s hurt brain registered a new level of understanding. Something was happening to Rachel! Something bad! As if to confirm her thoughts, Rachel vomited into her sister’s lap. Piqued, Geneva merely sat there, which she would have done even if she could have moved. There was nothing else to do. The world was conspiring against her.
“Jist hang on,” commanded Howard. “I know what to do.” He squirmed out of the open truck window and began making his way up the bank toward the passenger side. As soon as he had vacated his seat, Geneva slid helplessly against the door, pushed by Rachel’s considerable weight. After another moment of muddling through her confusion, Geneva squeezed herself out of the window and followed Howard. She did not know what else to do. Clambering up the embankment, Howard suddenly stopped and wheeled, fairly tumbling into the stream.
“What are you doing?” screamed Geneva above the roar.
Howard turned briefly, then pointed downstream at a dark lump huddled on a sandbar. It was Lamentations, worrying with another, smaller lump protruding out of the water.
“That’s Jimmy Lee,” he said, stepping into the waist-deep, swirling blackness, fighting his way, falling down and fighting his way back up again. The water was pulling at the motionless form. Lamentations had caught Jimmy Lee’s shirt collar in his teeth, and bracing feet into the soft sand, strained to hold the man’s head out of the rushing water. The current caught Jimmy Lee’s body in an eddy and began moving it downstream. Slowly, an inch at a time, the water gained against Lamentations, until the dog, too, was submerged in the angry water.
The fog in Geneva’s brain lifted, and everything fell into sharp focus. She did not wait for Howard’s cry for help, but flew into the swollen creek. The moment her feet hit the mossy rocks she slipped, plunging into the icy, unbelievably strong current. Caught in its frenzied embrace, Geneva struggled to keep her head above water as it washed her downstream, buffeting her, bruising her whole freezing body against rocks and logs. Despite her desperation, her mind cleared enough to react. She crouched down into the wild torrent to keep her center of gravity low, and she fought the current, grabbing the rocks, shoving with her feet, half swimming, half scrambling her way toward the drowning, perhaps already drowned man.
Howard was already there; Lamentations had disappeared, but Howard had turned Jimmy Lee’s face up out of the water and was pulling at him with all the strength in his powerful arms and legs. Slipping on the glassy rocks, he fell down repeatedly before Geneva reached them. Keeping low in the water, sometimes on her knees, Geneva helped him inch Jimmy Lee, a limp, dead weight, toward the bank.
“Oh Lord God,” moaned Geneva as they shoved their burden toward safety, now several yards downstream from where they had begun. “I can’t take any more of this.”
“Yes yew kin. Git up there and pull. We hafta haul him up on high ground and see if he’s still alive.”
Geneva forced herself out of the water and up the bank, holding Jimmy Lee’s arm so the current could not pull him away from Howard. Together, she and the dark man dragged the unconscious form up the river bank to a safe place, then Howard dropped to his knees and put his head to his cousin’s chest. Rolling him over, he began working furiously to pump water from the drowning man’s lungs. Rachel screamed from the truck. Geneva felt like wailing herself, but suddenly, Jimmy Lee began coughing and struggling, and Howard stood up abruptly. “He’s awright. Stay here. I’ll be back direckly. I got kin lives just up this holler.”
He ran, disappearing into the dark, swallowed by the huge, roaring, black forest around her.
Geneva had never felt so alone in her life. She looked in the direction he had run for several seconds, lost in helpless despair and panic. But just when she thought she might run after Howard, now her only hope, her only link to safety, Rachel’s screams snapped her back into focus. She scurried down the bank to peer into the window at her sister.
“What’s happening? Where’s Wayne?” cried Rachel, bathed in sweat. “Oh, I can’t stand this!”
Geneva gritted her teeth and said resolutely, “Listen, honey. You gotta get in control. We’ve had a wreck, and Jimmy Lee’s been hurt, and Howard’s gone for help. Now breathe. No, don’t thrash around. Breathe. Concentrate. Look at my face. That’s it, breathe. That’s good.” She reached into the truck and pulled Rachel toward her, stretching her out on the seat so that she reclined at a fifty degree angle, practically standing upon the door of the truck. Rachel grew quieter.
“That’s good. You’re doing great. Try to take the next one on your own. I gotta go see if Jimmy Lee’s all right.”
Geneva ran back to the injured man. He was still lying beside the surging creek, but his eyes were open and he looked at Geneva dazedly.
“Am I daid?” he asked simply.
“No. I think you’re fine. Can you sit up?”
“No.” He said it without emotion. Then he closed his eyes again. Geneva ran her fingers over his head. Behind his left ear was a gash, and her fingers came away from his head feeling sticky and warm. She wished she could faint, or better, wake up and find herself in the downy four poster back at Rachel’s house. Where was this Howard?
She ran a short distance up the slope in the direction he had taken, but something told her she was behaving irrationally, so she turned back to the truck, hoping with all her considerable will that Rachel’s labor would slow down. Back in the truck, Rachel was deep in concentration, allowing her brain and body to work together through the intense contraction which had taken hold of her. She was breathing deeply and deliberately, her eyes focused on the rabbit’s foot hanging from the rear view mirror.
“Oh, good girl!” Geneva said, almost sobbing. She had never seen anyone in labor before, but she knew Rachel had regained some control over her pain. She stroked her sister’s head until Rachel growled though gritted teeth,
“Don’t touch me. I’m going to do this all by myself, and then I’m going to kill Wayne, and you, too.”
Bewildered, Geneva made her way back to Jimmy Lee, who was breathing steadily, his eyes still closed. “Jimmy Lee. I don’t know you, but I sure hope you don’t die on me. Oh, God, please don’t let him die!” she sobbed. “Howard! Howard, where are you?” She suddenly remembered that she had been calling the name of her former lover without even recalling his face, and she laughed hysterically at how she had repeated that very name in grief and heartache only the day before. Oh, God, she began again. Please let me grow up before I make any more wedding plans. Then she put her head to Jimmy Lee’s chest and listened to the faint, but regular, heartbeat.
It came to her that she was cold, very cold, so cold that she had been shivering ever since she had fallen into the water to rescue Jimmy Lee. And if she was cold, Jimmy Lee could be in real danger. She remembered something about keeping shock victims warm. Again, she ran back to the truck to look for blankets or something with which to cover him. Rachel was quiet, but she gave Geneva a murderous look as she passed by. Geneva knew there was nothing in the cab, but she thought there might be something in the back, so she hauled herself upon the tire to peer in. Nothing. Just some tools and a few greasy rags. Not enough to do any good at all. In despair, she looked around, racking her brain for some solution. How do you save a man from hypothermia? Then she noticed the shovel, a big, heavy garden shovel a few yards from the truck. It could do some serious digging in the right circumstances. She grabbed it, and returning to Jimmy Lee, began to dig a shallow trench the size of a man, working quickly in the soft humus. When she finished the trench, she rolled Jimmy Lee into it and covered all but his head with the dirt, still warm from the earlier sun.
This is all my fault, Geneva mumbled as she worked. Here I am, dragging my pregnant sister up to the top of a mountain where there are no phones, no ambulances, not even any bridges. And why? Because I’m stupid, self-centered, and full of crazy notions. I could have gone up by myself to see Mrs. Wheater. But no, I had to drag Rachel along just so I could yell at her for telling the truth about me. Her voice grew louder. Oh, God. I promise I won’t go hiding in any more bushes. Let Jimmy Lee live. Let Rachel and the babies be all right. Oh, God, I’m so sorry!
Jimmy Lee moaned, pulling her attention back to him and his wounds. The moon had set, and the dawn was still hours from offering its promise of light, but Geneva tried to peer at Jimmy Lee’s head as she probed gently with her fingers over his bloody scalp. She hoped the skull was intact. Perhaps the gash behind his ear was superficial and he was only unconscious, not in a coma or dying. Because she did not know what else to do, she gnawed at the hem of her skirt until she had started a tear, then ripped off the circumference and carefully wrapped it around Jimmy Lee’s head. Somewhat calmed by the sense that she had been productive, she slowly made her way back to Rachel to hold her hand and stroke her forehead until the laboring woman began another contraction and demanded to be left alone.
After what seemed like long hours of running back and forth between Rachel and Jimmy Lee, Geneva heard loud noises in the thicket. Enormous shapes loomed up from the shadows, causing Geneva a moment of terror before she realized that the shapes were only a team of Percherons. Howard Knight was holding the lead, and behind the horses trailed a buckboard wagon.
“Oh, Lord God, he’s dead awready,” moaned Howard the moment he saw the mound of dirt over Jimmy Lee’s body. “She’s done gone to burying him. Oh, Pappy, Mam-maw, I’m sorry!” Confused, Geneva peered into the darkness. After a moment, she saw an old man sitting in the buckboard, his head in his hands, his body shaking with grief. An equally old woman peered out from underneath a shapeless hat and wrung her hands.
It took another moment for Howard’s words to register, but the instant they did, Geneva jumped up, shrieking, “No!” Running to the buckboard in her sudden fear that Howard might complete the burial before she could stop him, and desperate to end the grieving of the old people who had come to her rescue, she hurriedly explained, “I just covered him up to keep him warm. He’s fine, really. Just cold.” She was having trouble keeping her own teeth from chattering.
The old man’s tears stopped abruptly, and he lifted his eyes to hers. “Ye say he ain’t daid, honey?”
“No sir,” returned Geneva. “I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t know how else to keep him warm.”
“Praise Jesus!” shouted the old man. He leaped out of the buckboard and flung himself across the would-be grave, wailing a long, loud prayer of gratitude.
The old woman, tiny as a child, climbed down from the wagon and addressed Howard. “Chap, Look Jimmy Lee over and if ye think it’s awright to move ‘im, git Pappy to hep ye lift him in the buckboard. Where’s that woman?” She straightened her back and looked around her.
“Mam-maw, Miss Rachel’s still in the truck, I reckon. This here’s Miss Geneva. Geneva, these here is my folks, my Grammaw and Pappaw. They’ve come to hep ye.”
The old woman glanced at Geneva and nodded, then hurried to the river bank, slipping toward the truck, surprising Geneva with her quickness. After a second’s hesitation in which she worried about the buried Jimmy Lee, Geneva hurried after her.
“How often are yer pains acomin’, child?” Howard’s grandmother asked Rachel.
“Often,” was all Rachel could say, between pants. I gotta puuush!” She ended the sentence with a deep groan. Geneva did not know anything about these matters, but it appeared to her that Rachel was already pushing.
“Not yit, honey. We’re gonna git yew outta this here truck and up on flat ground, then ye kin push away.” The old woman never took her eyes off Rachel, but called over her shoulder, “I need me somebody over here to hep me lift her. She ain’t walkin’ nowheres.” She addressed Rachel again, and her voice gentled, “Now don’t ye push yit, honey. Jist another minit. Kin ye hold back a minit?”
Rachel, her eyes bright and wide, nodded silently, and closed her eyes, breathing slowly, deliberately. Howard left Jimmy Lee and his grandfather, who was still shouting his praise to heaven, and ran crablike across the steep slope toward his grandmother. Geneva helped them ease Rachel downhill, out of the truck. Even as they worked, another contraction took hold of Rachel. She began a series of short, puffing breaths. He face paled; she willed her body to relax, despite the enormous desire to push that thundered over her, engulfing her.
“Tell that old fool to shut up and git somethin’ to lay her on,” ordered the grandmother. Howard glanced toward his grandfather, then back at the old woman, but he did not move. With a snort, Mam-maw marched up the bank toward the old man, took off her hat, and began thrashing him with it, shouting, “Yew idiot!” Cain’t yew see this ain’t no time to be aprayin’? Git up offa there and act like a growed man!” The old man merely prayed louder, burying his face in the soft dirt over Jimmy Lee’s chest, wailing in a strange, unintelligible voice. Mam-maw thrashed harder, but the old man would not stop his devotions. He lifted his hands up, shouting, “Thank ye, Lord, for deliverin’ my boy from the jaws of death. Thank ye Jesus! Save this boy! Take care of these little babies acomin’ into this world. Lay yer healin’ hand on this laborin’ woman and ease her pains! Touch Jimmy Lee, too, Lord. Open his eyes. Anoint his head with your healin’ touch, Oh, Lord God, oh, Jesus!” and again he broke into another language which Geneva could not decipher.
For a little while longer, the woman continued to thrash and utter her own commandments for the man to cease, but shortly, she seemed to lose interest, for the blows turned into little pats, then to a futile fanning over the old, white head. The action reminded Geneva so much of Jimmy Lee’s impotent attempts to stop Lamentations’ tail-chasing with a leafy switch that she wondered if it was a family trait to discipline people and pets by beating them with soft objects. As the blows lessened, Geneva turned, searching the darkness for the poor dog that had helped to save Jimmy Lee’s life.
Lamentations was nowhere to be seen, but Howard came into view, dragging a sheet of plywood from the wagon.
“I got, it Mam-maw. Ye kin quit ahittin’ on ‘im and come on back. I got it.”
Abruptly the old woman dropped her hat and scurried back down the embankment, muttering, while Howard laid the plywood beside the truck. Together, Geneva, the old woman, and Howard eased Rachel onto it. Geneva looked into her sister’s face, frightened and astonished by what she saw there. Rachel’s eyes were glazed, and she wore a fierce expression that did not fit her gentle face. Geneva turned in her fear.
The old woman suddenly lost her pique and turned her attention to Rachel. “Awright, now we’re gonna pull ye up this here bank. It’ll be rough, but jist hold on a little bitty minute. Git on that side, Chap. Little Miss, ye reckon ye kin push from the bottom?”
“Yes, of course,” said Geneva, slipping down the bank to within inches of the roiling water but glad to be able to offer something other than her panic.
They all pushed and strained, including Rachel, who by now had given up all pretense of slowing the birth of her babies and was laboring to push the life from her womb, rising to her calling as women have done since the beginning of human time. By the time they had reached the top of the bank, Rachel was oblivious to all that was around her—so concentrated she was on her laboring. Geneva stood aside.
“Lordamercy, she’s apushin’ fer real now. Yew there, git her drawers offen her,” the woman instructed Geneva. “Chap, git my bag and some quilts offen the buckboard. We gonna have us a coupla babies here in a minit.”
Geneva lifted Rachel’s dress and tried to slide her panties off, but Rachel’s legs were splayed wide, knees up. Seeing Geneva’s helplessness, the old woman shouldered her aside and cut them off with a pocket knife, then she circled around behind Rachel and gently but firmly pushed her forward until she was sitting nearly upright.
“Okay, honey. I’m gonna put this quilt under you sos yer little babies will have somethin’ soft to land on. Kin ye set up a little more? Put yer feet up under ye and kindly squat like, but not too much.” Rachel did not comply. Her eyes were closed, deep groans came from somewhere in her bowels, for she was pushing hard, hard. Geneva had never seen anything so intense.
Golly, no wonder they call it labor, she thought to herself.
Together she and the woman propped Rachel up and rolled the quilt underneath her. Rachel pushed again, the groans leaping from her lips like wild animals. Then the old man suddenly shouted, “Amen, Lord! Thanky Lord!” then he sprang up, busying himself with raking the dirt off Jimmy Lee.
“Chap!” he shouted, “Git over here and hep me git Jimmy Lee in the wagon. We ain’t got all night.”
Howard, no longer needed with the women, sprang to his side. Rachel pushed and groaned louder and louder so that Geneva felt inundated with the sound. She shook her head to try to focus on something other than Rachel’s apparent agony.
The old woman spoke calmly. “That’s real good, honey, yer doin’ jist fine. Here, hold this here light fer me, girlie.” She gave a short, delighted laugh. It sounded like a child’s laughter. “I see me a little head acomin’, and I need both hands to catch it.” Handing the flashlight to Geneva, she uncorked a jug of clear liquid which she poured over her hands. Recognizing the smell of corn liquor, Geneva hoped it really would serve as a proper antiseptic. But she did not worry about dirt for long. Her attention was pulled to the scene before her, her eyes soaking up the miracle. A tiny head was crowning. With the next push, Geneva could see the face of the child who would carry the genes, the life that had sustained her sister, herself, her parents, each of her ancestors who had worked the soil and worshiped and borne children and had looked at the startling sky and had been glad to be alive.
The child was suddenly out, wet, glistening, and screaming. Geneva stood rooted, speechlessly watching the babe and the old woman until she had wrapped her in a soft quilt and handed her to Geneva.
“Keep up with that light, girlie, we got us anothern’ acomin’ right now!” She bent again in time to catch another tiny head as it pushed its way into the cold, starry night.
Geneva held her baby niece and laughed and sobbed and looked into the little face, which suddenly calmed and peered back at her. Geneva sought the eyes, which seemed rooted in the depth of all life and wisdom, and she felt herself falling in love.
Half an hour later, Geneva sat wrapped in blankets in the back of the buckboard. She was still holding her niece, had, in fact, refused to give her up long enough for Rachel to hold her, but had simply held her next to Rachel’s head so the new mother could see her and touch her. Rachel lay next to Geneva, holding the second twin and occasionally reaching up to put a hand on her other daughter. The old woman sat at Rachel’s right side, stroking the proud mother’s forehead and frequently lifting the corners of the quilts to peer in and grin a semi-toothless grin at the two newcomers into the world.
Jimmy Lee, still unconscious, lay at their feet, a silent reminder that all was not well. Howard led the team of mighty horses back up the hill; the old man sat on the forward seat and held the reins. They were bouncing slowly uphill under a high canopy of trees into the cold darkness of night, but Geneva felt light and warm. She had just experienced a miracle. She felt that her sister, so recently brushing shoulders with death, now laughing and singing, should be canonized.
“Oh, law,” said the old woman, “I ain’t had me a night like this since December the sixth, nineteen forty-one, the night of Pearl Harbor. Lordy, that’s more’n thirty-five years ago. I had to deliver a youngin in a blizzard and the baby was laid wrong so’s I had to turn him around, and I didn’t have no hep cause the daddy had done passed out the minit I got there.”
“Did everything turn out all right?” asked Rachel, sympathetic for the woman laboring under conditions worse than her own.
“No, the baby was real purty, but they wuz somethin’ wrong with him, and he didn’t grow up with good sense. I don’t know iffn it was because of being laid wrong or if they was somethin’ else wrong with him. But he was a purty one—real blue black hair and skin as white and pink as a dogwood blossom. And he was real sweet, too. He had him a passel of brothers, and all of them was smart as whipsnakes, but none was no sweeter. Birds would come and light on his shoulder, and he could walk right up to a beehive and the bees would crawl all over him and not sting him. I never seed nothin’ like it.”
“What happened to him?” asked Geneva.
“He liked to go off by hisself sometimes, and when he did that, he’d tarry for days, roamin’ the woods til he either come on back by hisself or somebody found him. He disappeared one day in the fall, and they didn’t find him atall, searched all fall and winter. But in the spring, they found some of his gear warshed up on a creek bank down below a high lookout. Most folks think he fell off the mountain and got et up.
Rachel pulled her child closer to her. The three women fell silent for a while. Then the old woman sighed and said, “Whatcher gonna name ‘em, honey?”
“I had some names picked out,” said Rachel, “But somehow they don’t seem right now. What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Lenora’s the name my mama give me. I go by Sissy.”
“Lenora, that’s a pretty name. A lot like our family name, Lenoir,” smiled Rachel. She looked down at the small face so close to her own. “I think I’d like to name this one after you, Lenora.”
“They, howdy!” crowed Lenora. I ain’t never had no child named after me, as many as I’ve brung into the world. I thank ye, honey.”
Rachel looked up at Geneva, who was smiling at her new niece. “And I think that one should be named for you, Geneva. We can call her Genny so we won’t get you mixed up. What do you think?”
“I think you do me too great an honor, big sister,” said Geneva, feeling the tears well up. “Especially considering that because of me you had these babies practically on top of a mountain in the middle of the night with no doctor.”
“I’m glad they were born here,” smiled Rachel, looking around. “This is where they belong, here in this wild, beautiful place. From the beginning, everything about their lives will be special.” She leaned her head back against the quilt and snuggled down, sighing deeply, then she opened her eyes and brightened.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“A little after midnight, maybe one o’clock.” replied Lenora. “I cain’t see the stars through the trees, but I reckon we got a few hours afore the sun comes up.”
Rachel grinned. “These babies’ birthday is July seventh. What about that! Seven, seven, seventy-seven! Is that a sign of good luck, or what? After that double rainbow, on this mountain.”
“Boy howdy! They’ll sure have a tale to tell!” agreed Lenora.
Rachel sighed again and settled back down into the quilts. Presently, it grew silent except for the soft breathing of the horses and the creaking of the wagon.
“Twins is special,” mused Lenora after a lull. “I was a twin, and I know that twins is closer than anybody, sometimes even closer than mamas and their younguns.” She grew quiet, looking up at the canopy of leaves and sighed a long, shaky breath before her gaze dropped and she peered into the darkness before her. “These two shared the afterbirth. They’ll be as alike a two sips of water,” she said at last.
“You were a twin?’ asked Geneva.
“Law, yes.” She looked a Geneva suddenly. “You say your name is Lenoir?”
Geneva nodded, silently accepting the old woman’s pronunciation.
Yer granddaddy Clayton?”
“Why, yes. My dad is Ray.”
Lenora nodded. I knowed your granddaddy. Good man, but he was the cause of my sister adyin’.”
“What?”
“Yessir. I had me a twin sister ‘til I was fifteen year old. Purty little thing, but didn’t have no more sense than a fuzzy little chick—looked about like one, too. Light hair, all curly on end, stood out from her head like a halo
“But what happened to her?”
“She loved yer granddaddy, that’s what happened to her.” Lenora looked at Geneva and dropped an ancient, spotted hand on Rachel’s head, bright in the shafts of starlight filtering through the trees.
“You don’t know me, child, but oncet our families was close, like neighbors, almost like kin. Yer granddaddy and my daddy and brothers use to hunt together. He’d thunder up this mountain on his big, fine bay horse, jist alaughin’, and he’d bring me and Laurel things, ye know, like a handful of huckleberries or a jar of sourwood honey. He’d come on up to the house and rear up his horse and make it thrash its front feet like he was gonna tear right on up the front steps and through the house, and he’d holler, ‘Laurel! Sissy! Come out here and see what I brung ye!’ And law, we’d drop whatever we wuz adoin’ and come arunnin’.
“One time he had us a bear cub. Its mother had been shot through the lung and had run off and died, and its brother had died a starvation. He found this little baby bear acryin’ and whimperin’ by its dead mother and brother, and he jist caught it up and brung it on up the mountain. And when he come up th’ mountain that mornin’, it wuz spring, and everthang was all green and wet. The sky wuz jist a blue as a robin’s egg, and the sun wuz astreamin’ down like it wuz rainin’ silver. He wuz singin’ a song about acomin’ to meet his love in this big, happy voice he had, and Laurel come out of the thicket and stopped dead in her tracks. From that day on, she loved him.
“She wuz twelve year old, and yer granddaddy wuz twenty, and thought of her as jist a little bit of a thing, but she loved him like a growed woman would love a man. He reached over and give us that little bear cub and said, ‘Ladies, here’s one hungry little baby. Yew feed it some fresh sweet milk and let it foller ye around, and when I come back, I bet I see it athinkin’ yew two is its mother.’ And then he galloped on up the mountain into that silver light, alookin’ for my brothers, and Laurel jist stood there, lookin’ after him, holdin’ that bear cub, and she said, ‘Sissy, that there’s the man I’m agonna marry.’”
“Did my grandfather know she loved him?”
“I reckon he had to of. Ever time he come up the mountain after that, she wuz amoonin’ over him. She raised that bear til it was old enough to take off on its own, and ever time Clay come by, she’d try to put it in his arms and say, ‘Clay, this here’s mine and your baby. I’m agonna take care of this baby fer ye, and someday, I’m agonna take care of the real babies we have together.’ And she kept badgerin’ him about a perty little farm she wanted him to buy her down by Raven Creek. She’d seen it once and had plumb decided that wuz where she and Clay would live together.
“Well, I kin tell yew, she jist about plagued Clay to death, agoin’ on like that, ‘til finely he quit comin’ up. He’d jist meet my brothers in the woods to go hunt. But Laurel didn’t quit for a minit. She got to where she’d hide in the woods and look fer him when she knew they wuz huntin’, and one time she follered ‘em and near got shot fer them thinkin’ she wuz a deer.”
“What happened then?” Geneva felt a tearing in her heart, knowing the yearning the child must have felt.
“Well, Daddy nearly whipped her over that, but Daddy never whipped none of us. Never. He jist threatened to, then he cried and tole her he’d die if innything happened to his baby girls, and she swore she’d quit follerin’ Clay around when he was huntin’, but then she took to goin’ over the mountain to his house. It wuz a six mile walk, but she’d run over there ever chance she got, and she’d hide out, awaitin’ for a glimpse of ‘im. I don’t think he ever saw her then, but I knew when she’d go. She’d come back with a funny smile all over her, and she’d jist shake, not like she wuz skeert, more like she was so fulla life she couldn’t hold it all in her, she was so little bitty. It seemed like the light wuz jist astreamin’ out of her, and she’d come skippin’ through the trees like a little fairy or somethin’.”
Rachel was quiet. Geneva thought she might be asleep, and she felt privileged to hear such a story in the still, starry night. She looked greedily at Lenora, waiting for her to continue.
“Yer granddaddy wuz a handsome feller, and he wuz real happy-like, and he had a gentle way with girls, so hits no wonder he had his pick. Afore long, he took to courtin’ Neecy McFarlan—that ‘ud be yer granny—and when she found out that they wuz agittin’ married, Laurel like to have died. She didn’t eat for nuthin’ the whole month afore the wedding, and then, afterwards, she took it in her head that she wuz agonna have a baby by Clay even if she couldn’t have him.
“She made up this big plan. Neecy went back to her mama’s house about once ever two or three months fer a week at a time, and so Laurel decided she’d go to Clay and bed with him the minit Neecy got out of the house. She tole me what she was aplannin’, and I pitched a fit. Most of the time I did everthing she tole me to, but this time I told her she was plumb crazy. To tell ye the truth, I wuz a little skeert of her—or not skeert—I jist looked up to her. She had a way of makin’ me think I wuzn’t a smart as she wuz, and she wuz so perty and so fulla this light all the time, ashakin’ and apourin’ out light. It wuz like she wuz more than a ordinary person.”
“But this time, I knowed what she wanted wuz plain wrong, and I told her so. And she backed right down and said awright, she wouldn’t do it, but the very next week, when Neecy went home to her mama, Laurel lit off down that mountain, hell bent on beddin’ with Clay.”
“Poor child,” murmured Geneva, stroking Genny’s tiny head.
“Well, when she got to Clay’s house, he wuz gone, so she got right in the bed and waited fer him. He got home late at night and when he found Laurel in the bed, he jist turned and walked right outta the house. Far as I know he didn’t say a word to her. Jist walked out like he never saw her.”
“How awful!” Geneva exclaimed. “Why did he do that? She was just a child!”
“Yes, she wuz a child, but by this time she looked like a growed woman, and she wuz about the pertiest thing yew ever looked at. After she died, I heered Clay atellin’ Daddy that when he saw her, she looked like a angel, sittin’ in that big bed with the white sheets around her spread out like wings, her hair like a crown, or a halo. And all of a sudden, he felt like she wuz stronger than he wuz, like if he come in that room and spoke to her, she’d reach out and she’d have him, and he wuz too skeert to talk. He said all this to Daddy, and they wuz both acryin’, but all of a sudden, Daddy quit cryin’, and said, and I’ll never fergit this, ‘cause when he said it, I knew he wuz aspeakin’ God’s pure truth. He said, ‘Clay, I know what yew mean. Sometimes she skeert me. I know what ye mean. They wuz somethin’ about her that could make a body feel puny as ghost piss, and there ain’t nobody who could stand up to her.’ And then, he got real quiet like, and I could swear I heered him say—at the time, I didn’t believe he could of, because she wuz always his best darlin’, but now, lookin’ back, I think he said, ‘It’s best she’s gone. They wuz jist too much wildness in her.’”
“But how did she die?” Geneva wondered.
“When Clay left, she up and took off fer home, and she slipped in the creek and broke her leg real bad. The bone come right out through the skin, and she laid there fer a day or more afore we found her. Doc come up and had to cut off her leg jist below the knee, but blood poisonin’ set in and she died three weeks later.”
“What a tragic story,” said Geneva, truly appreciating the pathos of it. “I’m sorry it had to end in such an awful way.”
“That ain’t the end of it,” mused Lenora. Yer granddaddy felt so bad about her alosin’ her leg, he come up and begged Laurel to fergive him. He thought it wuz his fault she’d fell. Hit wuz a Sunday, and nobody knew Laurel had blood poisonin’ and everbody but me had gone to church. They’d left me there to take care of her. I wuz the only one she could tolerate at that time. Right after they left, I noticed these red steaks arunnin’ up her leg, and she started thrashin’ around with fever. Clay come up right then, and he come right into the room where she laid, and he jist set there by her pallet, aweepin’ and apromisin’ her the moon if she’d jist fergive him and take this weight offen him. And then Laurel, she tole me to go pick her some watercress, but I didn’t go. I jist hid out by the house and peeked in the winder so’s I could hear ever word they said.
“And then Laurel said, she said, ‘I cain’t have no babies cause I’ll be daid this time next month, but afore I die, I’ll have a piece of you, Clayton Lenoir, yes, and I’ll make you grieve for not lovin’ me in time. And then, right there, missy, Laurel opened up the kivers and pulled poor old Clay into the bed with her, and the next thing I knowed they wuz kissin’ each other and weepin’, and they wuz holdin’ each other like they wuz afightin’ off Death hisself. It wuz all I could do ta keep from cryin’ out myself. But I jist stood there and watched them all tangled up together, both of ‘em in fever, both of them awishin’ they had it all to do over agin, but tryin’ to make up for what went wrong.
“I left then and went for the watercress, and when I got back, Clayton wuz gone. Laurel wuz white and grievin’. She fell off real quick after that. Clay never come back til after she died, but the next week he sent up a deed to the Raven Creek place—he had done bought it and put her name on the deed, like she always wanted. After Laurel died, Daddy tried to git him to take it back, but he said to give it to me.
“I married Ike the next summer—that was the year nineteen and fifteen. I cain’t believe that was sixty-two years ago, come next month! I wuz sixteen year old, and I remember it like it wuz no time atall. We farmed that place fer awhile, but even though it wuz, I guess, the pertiest piece of land in the county, I never felt right livin’ there, knowin’ it wuz really kind of like Laurel’s grave. Ike got called up in the Great War, and I moved back up here where he had been farmin’ afore, and we just stayed on. I give it to my boy Jesse, Chap’s daddy, when he got married. Chap, that’s what we’ve called Hard ever since the year he wuz borned. Uster call him Little Chap, then jist Chap. He don’t like it much, though, and so goes by Hard whenever he kin,” she smiled, and continued, “ain’t it funny how these things come around though. That wuz the very piece of land that Jesse sold to yer sister and her husband not three year ago.”
Geneva sat quietly, grieving over something more than just the child who had loved and conquered her ancestor. She grieved for herself and her soul, which she knew was diluted and tamed, like a candle that has glimpsed an inferno. She wondered if hearing this story would cause her to be changed as much tomorrow, next week, next year, as it made her feel changed now, and then she grieved more because she knew it would not. This night would stand alone as a beacon in a long life of ordinariness. She would never be as intensely involved with living, with the essence of being as she was now. How contemptuously she regarded her heartache over Howard Graves now! The glittering promises he had given her were nothing compared to the naked sorrow, the quintessential love that the child and the man had given to one another in her last few hours.
She thought about the farm where Rachel and Wayne had conceived these children, in a room very much, perhaps, like the one where Laurel lay and waited to claim Clay for a night. Now, the child Laurel had wanted would never be more than a dream, dead to all but herself and this old woman. She thought about the treachery of love, and the cleansing wind as it coupled with the trees. She wondered why Howard Knight or his brothers or sisters had not become heir to the lovely farm that had come back to her family.
“Why did he sell the farm, Lenora? Did he need the money? Did he hate to give it up?”
“No, dearie, he wuz glad to be shed of it. Chap lived there for a while, but he had some hard times there, and we began to feel like it wuz a curse to us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Chap lived there with his first wife til she died. She wuz a fine, big, healthy girl, with a headful of bright red hair. To look at her would scare ye to death. She looked like she could chew ye up and spit ye out without a thought, but she wuz real gentle, and didn’t have no temper atal. I knew fer sure she’d raise a passel of strappin’ younguns. She wuz built jist right fer childbearin’. But she died right after the first one got started. Somethin’ just broke inside and she bled to death afore anybody knew anything wuz wrong.”
“I’m sorry,” said Geneva. The words felt impotent, silly, in her mouth.
“I know. Chap took it real bad. Then he up and married a silly little piece of nuthin’ jist a few months later. Didn’t hardly know her, but he said she had to be a good-un because she had red hair, too. Dang fool boy. I could see right off there wuzn’t nuthin’ to her. She took up with one of them longhaired rock and roll boys who thought he’d make it big, and she run off to Nashville with him after she hadn’t been married to Chap no time.”
The wagon jolted to a stop. Jimmy Lee sat up suddenly, gingerly rubbing the back of his head. “What in the hell is agoin’ on here?” he demanded. “How did I git all wet?”