Several hours later, I’d finished my drop-offs at the three cabins and rode into Jackson Lovett’s yard, the smells of fresh rain, wild onion, and turned dirt rising into the breeze. Above, fat thunderclouds sailed off to the east, the sheets of rain curtaining layered grandfather ridges that rose beyond.
Jackson worked on a late-spring garden, taking a hoe to one of the many rows he’d cut.
Junia brayed and whinnied, a warning clinging to her last haw. Jackson pulled his shoulders up, laid down his hoe, and walked over to us.
“Easy, girl,” I said as Junia snapped a leg frontward, cautioning him not to come any closer.
Jackson pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his neck. “Whoa, old girl. I plumb forgot it was Monday. But I’m happy to see you too.”
I slid down the prancing mule, tapped her foreleg, pushed her back to try to right myself from a wriggling mess she was causing. Finally, I was able to stand and give a proper greeting, get Jackson’s loan out of the saddlebag, and pass it to him.
He wrinkled his brow. “What’s this?”
“It’s your new loan. Well, not an official library loan. It’s my mama’s, and I’m loaning it out.” It was a fairly decent copy of Brave New World.
Surprised, he inspected the dust jacket and thumbed through the pages.
It was a banned book here, but Pa’d saved up for six months and paid his foreman to fetch it from the city for him one Christmas years ago to surprise Mama with it. I searched Jackson’s eyes, a worry gathering in mine.
“It’s clean enough,” I said with a challenge in my voice, but still buckling under a rising peacock-blue blush. I tucked my hands behind my back. The book was clean and less soiled than the real-life stories taking place in these dirty hills. In Aldous Huxley’s fable of a future world where everyone was safe, no one suffered illness, starved, or did without, and there were no more wars. One of my favorite parts was when the law broke up an ugly riot. They didn’t use guns, arrows, sticks, or fists. Instead, they sprayed a strange misty drug over the crowd that made everyone happy.
I imagined the law brewing gallons of Skullcap and using the old nerve tonic and mad-dog herb to do the same when needed around here.
Brushing a lock from my face, I tucked it back under my bonnet, then unclasped my feral hands, now worried I’d been too bold in front of this patron. What if he went to the Center and told? I could lose my job for passing a banned book. They would banish me from the books forever. Maybe even think up a worse punishment. At that, my hands itched to snatch the book back and flee.
Jackson said, “Your mother has good taste.”
“Had, she done passed.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said with sincerity, and looked again at the book. “Hmm, clean you say? I’ve been sorely wanting to read this one but never could get my hands on it. Thank you, Cussy Mary.”
I was pleased. More than pleased. Thrilled.
“Let me get your library loan,” he said and strolled across the yard and into his cabin, returning a minute later with an apple and the Cobb book I’d left with him the last time, along with a different book atop it.
He handed me his loan and a copy of Sons by Pearl S. Buck. “Have you read it yet?”
“No, but I’ve heard good things about it, and I’ve read The Good Earth. It won the Pulitzer.” I tried to hand the book back.
He raised a palm. “It would be my pleasure if you’d read it. And, yes, Earth deserved the prize, but I lost that one out west. An excellent book.”
“I liked O-Lan best,” I said, thinking how O-Lan know’d she was too ugly to be loved.
Jackson stared at me a moment, then said, “She was the real hero, you know?”
“O-Lan was sure enough brave.” I admired him saying so. “And I liked how she didn’t have to say much neither.”
“What’s unsaid can be just as important,” Jackson commented.
I nodded, excited to be able to talk about books with him.
“I especially liked Farmer Lung’s love of the land,” Jackson said and looked admiringly out at his own. “The power of land held a connection I could reckon with… For me, the earth gives life, and without it, we have none, not the smallest breath.”
“Pa says if we hurt it, it won’t feed us. That’s what the Company’s doing.”
“He’s right. And the Company is careless. I haven’t see a lot of bees up here like when I was young. You hurt ol’ Mother Earth, and she’s going to paddle your hindside. The same as she did to Farmer Lung.”
I clutched the book to my chest. “I’ll start on it tonight.”
“If you like it, I have her other in the set, A House Divided. You’re welcome to read them both.”
“Much obliged. I didn’t think I’d ever get to read her others. Miss Eula and Miss Harriett scolded that her books weren’t proper for Kentuckians and could lead to tempting the good morals of our people, and offend deeply religious minds.”
“Miss Eula and—?”
“The librarian supervisors at the Center.”
“I imagine they might make a small mind bigger.” Jackson grinned playfully, tossing the apple from hand to hand.
“Reckon that wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” I said, taking in his easy smile and friendly chatter. “Much obliged, I best get back to my route.”
“And I need to get the soil worked before I can cut the timber and daylight’s gone an’ bedded.” He was strong like a tree, the cut of his face like the mountains surrounding us.
“You sure have yourself plenty of room to build up here,” I said, not wanting to leave but knowing I should.
“Eventually I will. It’ll take a lot of work. And I’m not a rich man, just a fool one with a strong back.” He straightened, loosening the creaks and cramps of overworked bones.
I clasped my hands. “I don’t mean to pry.”
“I don’t mind. I’m selling the lumber. I’ve got more orders for it than I can handle by myself. Enough woods and work to last two lifetimes.”
I hated to think of it all bare, hurting the earth like that, but there was big business in timber and bigger money if a man wanted to work hard. “Sure is pretty.”
“I’ll take only enough trees to have myself a proper barn, to thin these woods some and bring new growth.”
I nodded. And then because I had said too much, stayed too long already, “Let’s get to our books, Junia. Thank you for the loan. Good day.”
“It’s a fine read. I can’t wait to hear what you think of this one.” He followed me over to Junia.
I stopped. That he would care astonished me, and I could only bleat out another thank-you.
“How’s the ol’ girl doing today?” he asked the mule and held up the apple.
Junia pricked her ears forward, wiggled her back muscles as I mounted her.
Jackson took out his knife, cut a big slice, and held it up to the mule.
I shifted in the saddle, an uncomfortable rumble vibrating my belly. It had been ages since breakfast, and dinner was still two drops away.
Junia snatched it up quickly, her big choppers savoring, enjoying.
Jackson took a bite, swallowed, then said, “Would you like some?” He cut another slice and lifted up a fat piece to me.
It was a kind present. This and the one in my bags would save me till supper. Before I could think twice, I leaned over Junia’s side to take the slice at the same time Jackson stepped over to me. I grasped the fruit, our hands touching.
Junia screamed, swung her head sideways, braying loudly at him. The apple slipped from our hands and fell to the ground.
I jerked on the mule’s reins. Jackson nearly tumbled backward.
Junia stomped on the fruit, then barreled out of the yard with me holding on tight, her indignant cries cobbled across Jackson’s amused laughter.