Eight

“We’ll have to give our horses more rest now,” said Aden, sagging against an oak tree at the top of a steep rise. “These north Georgia hills take the sap out of man and beast. But aren’t they beautiful!” He waved his hand toward the scene before them.

The hill they’d just topped dropped sharply again on the other side. The red clay road ambled like a bright irregular scar down and up again, disappearing into dark green piney hills. Piney hills lapped into dark shadowed hills, and beyond them layers upon layers of misty, blue mountains drew one’s gaze till they dissolved into a sky of brightest blue, active with puffy white cloud-ships.

Rebekah was in such awe of this, to her, new beauty that she said little. She was out of breath anyway from the steep climbs and equally as challenging descents. Their wagon twisted and turned along rutted clay roads and rocky ones. She was glad Aden often agreed to let her walk for a distance. But walking here was very different from the plains around Perry, and she was thankful when he stopped the wagon and waited on her.

Around three that afternoon, they approached a bountiful apple orchard. From one hill they looked down on lower slopes lush with row upon row of laden apple trees. There was a stream below, Aden said, judging by thick hardwoods following a valley floor. Awhile later, the road led them right through an orchard. Trees met in a canopy over their heads. Aden stopped the wagon and turned in his seat as she walked up. “These trees are almost as pretty as ours in New York!” he said, standing in the wagon to pluck one red-streaked apple, which brought a shower of raindrops onto his shoulders. He sprang down from the wagon and climbed a mossy bank to lean against a thick nubby trunk, pulling out his knife and peeling the apple. He held up a piece for her. “Sour, but crisp and good,” he called. “Come on up.” His mischievous grin challenged her.

Using one hand to hold her skirt from under her feet and the other to cling to a protruding root and then a small sumac bush, she reached him and accepted a slice of apple. It was good, juicy and so sour it made her whole face pucker, which brought a rare burst of laughter from Aden. He had laughed so little since she’d sold Banner.

“Well,” he said, wiping his knife blade across his pants leg and folding it up, “we’d best be moving on. Cornelia’s not far, I think. We can make it by night.”

“What’s in Cornelia?”

“Nothing much. But there’ll be a place to set up, I think. There are a lot of people tucked around in these hills who need some teeth pulled.”

She smiled at his cheerful optimism. “You’re not wishing toothaches on anyone, are you?”

“No. Just know they have them, and I’m ready to help. Come—let me help you down,” he said.

“Oh, no. I can do it fine. I think I’ll just stand up here while you get started. That way the wheels won’t splatter mud on me.”

He looked at her oddly, then shrugged his shoulders. “I thought sure you’d be ready to ride by now.”

“Not quite. I’m going to walk a little more, down this lane of trees. I’ll ride again soon,” she answered.

He started to say something but apparently thought better of it, leaped down the bank, climbed up on the seat, and clucked his tongue to the horses.

After Aden had driven on, Rebekah clambered down. In spite of sticky clay clinging to her shoes and making her already tired feet heavy, she relished this time to walk alone and dream a little. Looking ahead, she imagined all these trees at Thornapple instead of here. Why couldn’t they grow apple trees there? Thinking of Thornapple, she immediately wondered if things were any better for Mother. She hadn’t heard an answer to her last letter. She hoped Aunt Constance would have forgiven Mother by now for letting her parrot fly away! And what about Josh? She’d been pretty awful not to worry any more than she had about her only brother, even if he had done them so badly. She’d thought about him when she and Aden skirted Athens, but she had no idea where Watkinsville was, the place where Josh had last been seen. And she didn’t think it wise to ask for any favors from Isaac Aden Robards. She’d have to see about Josh later. When she got home to Thornapple. Yes, when she’d revived Thornapple, at least found a bed and a chair for Mother, maybe even planted an apple orchard like this—well, then she’d send for her parents and even Josh. Might as well dream big, Rebekah.

“I reckin you probably don’t mind too much, but if you keep a-walkin’ the way you’re a-goin’, you’ll step on a big black snake.”

Rebekah stopped so quickly she almost sat down in the mud. A giggle erupted from the top of the bank. She first looked down to see that a large black snake was actually crossing the road in a leisurely manner. Then she surveyed the road bank to see who’d warned her.

There stood a young girl grinning down at her. She wore floppy overalls that hung around her small bones like rags on a scarecrow. Long, untamed brown hair fell over her shoulders, making her face appear small and vulnerable, but her eyes were bright and full of intelligence. She scrambled down the bank and stood barefoot near Rebekah, watching the snake continue its zigzagging, sometimes undulating, trek across wet red clay ruts and up the mossy bank.

“He just missed getting run over by a wagon,” observed Rebekah.

“Oh, he’d a wriggled outa the way most likely. Where you goin’ to?”

“Cornelia. Is this your father’s apple orchard?”

“It’s Butterfly Meadows,” said the girl, smiling. “Belongs to my pa. You know my pa?”

“No. What’s his name?”

“David Mayfield. I’m Cerise. It’s a color Mama likes. I’m the youngest, and after seven others she’d run out of names, sort of anyway, and thought she’d use a color. Pa owns all this whole wonderful orchard. We live over the other side of that hill,” she said, pointing through the trees. “You travelin’ far?”

“Yes,” Rebekah said, unable to keep from laughing at this chatty child. “We’ve come from Homer today. My—husband is—”

“That’s him drivin’ off leavin’ you?” The child, seeing Rebekah’s nod, put up a double fist to her mouth, and a sound like a train whistle spouted out.

Rebekah almost choked on a giggle. “Well, yes, he’s letting me walk. I get so tired riding on that hard seat.”

“Oh.” Cerise let her hands drop to her sides and shifted her feet as if embarrassed. “Just tryin’ to help,” she explained. “Anyway, what’s your name?” She sidled into a circle of sunshine, and Rebekah realized her hair wasn’t really brown, but red, and that she had a thick sprinkle of freckles across the tops of her cheeks.

“I’m Rebekah. Rebekah Robards.”

“Pleased to meet you. My ma always invites travelers to our house to eat and sleep. We’d be pleased if you’d come.”

“How nice of you! But really we—oh, my, is that your father walking this way with Dr. Robards? I think I may be stuck in this mud. I haven’t moved since you told me about that snake.”

“Yes, that’s Pa. Here—I’ll break you loose.” Cerise took time to be sure Rebekah could get up the bank before she took off through the trees, stumbling in her clumsy overalls.

David Mayfield was wearing a large hat that shadowed his rugged face. He walked with a decided limp but didn’t let it stop him from catching up Cerise in a big hug. He smiled at Rebekah over the top of Cerise’s bright head. “My daughter been talking your ears off, I guess,” he said with a laugh.

“Mr. Mayfield, this is my wife, Rebekah,” said Aden.

“And, Dr. Robards, this is Cerise,” said Mr. Mayfield, letting the girl slide to the ground, then draping a hairy brown arm around her shoulders.

“What kind of doctor are you? You cut people open?” asked Cerise.

“I’m a dentist,” he said with his large smile.

“Oh, good, our town hasn’t had one in a year or two,” said Mr. Mayfield. “Come. Ma’s got a spread o’ supper, an’ she’ll be so happy for some company.”

“Are you sure?” asked Aden doubtfully.

The Mayfields, father and daughter, insisted heartily, would accept no argument, said surely the couple could at least stay until morning.

“You’re only three miles from Cornelia now,” said Mr. Mayfield, pulling out a dingy handkerchief to mop sweat out of his eyes. “If you decide to stay on here awhile, I can get you a spot in my brother-in-law’s store where you can fix teeth. Maybe you could even do something about ours.” He grinned and tapped darkened incisors. Cerise suddenly became shy and hid behind her father as if she might be a candidate for the dentist’s chair. “Oh, you needn’t hide, Babykins. We done pulled your teeth with a string tied to the doorknob!” He laughed as he clapped his big hat back on his head and hauled the little girl back into the open. “Ain’t she a beauty now? You two ain’t got young’uns yet?”

“Well. No. We’ve only been married since April,” explained Aden as easily as if everything were perfectly normal.

“Oh. Sorry for bein’ nosy. Wife says I’m always rushin’ things. Just love to see people happy, that’s all. Well, we’re wastin’ time here. You folks go on around to the house. We two’ll meet you there. Turn at the next crossing an’ look fer the two-story house behind a big oak tree. We’ll draw you up some good, cool well water minute you get there.”

It was as he described it, a two-story house behind a big oak tree. Only he’d failed to mention that not only did he have eight children but also a yapping tumble of dogs. Neither had he mentioned that the well was under the house, so he drew water for them right on the front porch by which time the dogs were settled down to only licking instead of barking.

“Yeah, this front porch well’s the best thing I ever did, more’n likely. Saves my Betsy near ’bout two hundred steps a day, I reckin, havin’ it here ’stead of out in the yard. Saves me some good number, too, when she hollers out just as I’ve pulled off my boots, ‘Dave, I’m gonna burn your dinner if you don’t bring me water this instant!’ ”

“Oh, he does love to exaggerate.” A woman clad in a blue calico print dress joined them, her smile lighting her round face. She dried her hands on a large flour sack apron and tucked a wisp of moist hair behind her ear, the rest of her brown hair being caught up in a scrambled bun.

“Betsy, this is the Robardses. Aden and Rebekah. Hope I got that right?” For the first time the talkative uninhibited farmer seemed struck with shyness as if he weren’t sure he’d used his best manners.

The screen door squeaked open and banged to one at a time for the seven other Mayfield children from Lawrence, a tall boy, almost man, down to Freddie, the youngest boy barely older than Cerise, who obviously felt it his responsibility to be her tormentor, pull her hair, tickle her neck with a straw, and pretend to pull a spider out of her ear. Between Lawrence and Freddie were five giggling, blushing, constantly jabbering girls, some of them quite ready for womanhood, it appeared to Rebekah. Each child was introduced, some ducking heads in a quick, shy nod, others bursting into their own volley of welcoming phrases.

Betsy and her girls set out a huge supper of boiled potatoes, green beans seasoned with ham hocks, cornbread, and pickles so crisp and sweet Rebekah could have eaten them all day. They had fresh-churned butter to drizzle over everything and tall, cool glasses of buttermilk. And after all that, the oldest daughter, Rosemary, brought out a huge cobbler in an enamel pan. She announced proudly that this was the first green apple cobbler of the season.

“So—do you think you’ll stay around then?” asked David Mayfield after they’d all eaten sumptuously. He leaned back in his chair, ignoring a corrective frown from Betsy.

“You make it very attractive to stay.” Aden looked at Rebekah and back at his host. “Could we let you know tomorrow? We’d better go along now and get our camp set up.”

“Sure you can. Let us know anytime just so’s the answer is yes.” David eased his chair to a normal position and pushed himself up from the table. “I’ll show you the spot I was talking about for your camp.”

“Can we go, Pa? Can we?”

It sounded as if the whole family were going to escort them to camp, but Betsy put her foot down and insisted all three older girls stay and help clean up.

“You take some cornbread and buttermilk with you in case you get hungry before you come back to breakfast,” said Betsy, her brown eyes sparkling as she handed Rebekah a jar and a cloth-covered basket. “And maybe—while Dr. Robards is busy on teeth, you could come talk to me—us, sometimes, hmm?”

“Oh, I am his assistant, you know. So I’ll be working most of the time. But thanks! Thanks for everything. You are so kind.”

“Please stay. I mean, camp with us and come here all you will. I feel—” Betsy held out her now-empty hands toward Rebekah, though Rebekah’s were now occupied with milk and cornbread. “I’m sure we’re to be friends, special friends.”

The girls were giggling and chattering in the kitchen over the clink and bang of dishes and pans. The dogs were barking again as Aden jumped up to the wagon seat. Rebekah, amidst all the noisy activity, felt a steady quietness in Betsy that drew her like—like the solace of her dear old pine tree. Kind of a funny comparison. She smiled at Betsy.

“I’d like that,” she said simply and knew it was the absolute truth.

A portion of Mayfield property lay outside the pasture fence. A creek flowed merrily nearby, and a thicket of oak and gum hummed with an evening insect chorus. This was where David Mayfield directed them. Cerise fetched water for Rebekah and would have stayed on to help, but her pa declared she’d be a nuisance and she must go home with the rest. Rebekah was relieved. As much as she liked the child, something about her made her very uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was a feeling that Cerise was able to see right into the blackness of her heart.

Rebekah and Isaac Aden knew what each would do in setting up camp, and they began chores without speaking to each other after all the Mayfields had left. Rebekah had of late taken to unfastening the horses and grooming them, and she did that now. Aden shouldered his ax and went to chop down a dead oak David Mayfield had told him he could use for firewood. Betsy’s offer of breakfast was nice, but they needed to make it on their own. He laid a fire ready for lighting the next morning and then busied himself leveling the wagon. He paused several times to glance over at Rebekah, taking a deep breath each time as if he were steeling himself for something.

The horses having already been fed this time at the Mayfields’, Rebekah had nothing else to do before preparing for bed, but she wasn’t ready to climb in the wagon and sleep. It was still light, so she explored along the creek. Small frogs jumped in the water ahead of her footsteps making kerchunky splashes. She didn’t realize when Aden’s ax blows stopped as she was absorbed in thinking how odd that Mrs. Mayfield, Betsy as she’d asked to be called, seemed like someone she’d already known.

“You really should be more careful, you know. Snakes are in abundance along a creek bank.” Aden had come up beside her without her noticing. She flinched almost as if he had hit her and, in moving away from him, caught her foot in a root, almost tumbling into the water. He caught her by the arm and steadied her. “Didn’t mean to startle you. But really you shouldn’t—”

“I know all about snakes. They don’t bother me in the least,” she said, lifting her skirts slightly to walk on.

“Rebekah, I—need to talk to you.”

Whatever he wanted to say could not be good; she could tell by the tone of his voice. It was not just a discussion about whether or not they should stay here to camp. Why had he deferred that decision anyway? He made it appear they would decide together, but that was ridiculous. It was his wagon, his business; he’d do what he wanted to do. But now he wanted to talk to her. Could he have discovered she’d been stealing his cash?

She stopped and turned toward him.

“Rebekah, I know—”

“No, you don’t really know!” she blurted out, hugging herself against a sudden cool breeze. “There’s no way in a hundred years you could possibly understand. I–I’m sorry, Aden.” She looked at the tops of those two oak trees and beyond that a tall pine tree. She’d watch the bats wheeling. She wouldn’t look at Aden.

“I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry, Rebekah. The horse—Banner—I thought you’d really started liking him—a lot—and that you—well, I was pretty disappointed when you sold him. But you were right. I had given him to you. I shouldn’t have been so angry with you. Could we—be friends again?”

She turned her head cautiously and looked at him. Even though shadowed, his blue eyes dark in the dusky light, she could tell he was serious. His hands were at his waist, each thumb hooked over his belt in a characteristic stance. She studied his face for so long that he finally dropped his own gaze to his boots, then leaned over to pick up a spindly stick.

“You don’t have to make it so hard,” he said softly. “All I want is a little forgiveness.”

“Well. Of course. Think no more of it.” She hated herself for being so cold. But she couldn’t afford to be anything else. She, after all, was the only one needing forgiveness. But she wasn’t going to bring it up if he didn’t recognize her crime. She had to remember it was for Thornapple and for Father and Mother. She had to do this!

He sighed heavily, lifted his hands in a helpless gesture, and turned back toward the wagon.

Hours later she turned very carefully, hoping the wagon wouldn’t creak and give away the fact that she couldn’t sleep. She had heard nothing from him since he rolled out his bedding under the wagon and called softly, “Good night!” She’d answered him with a cheerful enough “Good night” of her own. It was so difficult to be rude to someone who was so kind! She pictured him as he stood facing her out there by the creek. He looked so—so hopeful. There was something so very vulnerable about him, big man that he was. Could he actually, truly care for her? Tumbling right behind that thought was another disturbing one. What would it be like to love and be loved by a good man like Isaac Aden Robards? The happiness she saw in the Mayfield house, in the eyes of Betsy Mayfield—could that ever be hers? Would Thornapple being restored bring happiness like that?

She carefully turned her pillow and tried again to sleep.

Aden could always sleep. Well, almost always. There was the time of the big rain when she’d wakened to see him sitting hunched in the wagon. But that was because he was staying out of the rain and out of her way. And because he was praying. She wondered suddenly what all the man prayed about. From prayers he’d offered aloud, she knew he prayed for his mother, for her parents, and for clients everywhere they’d been. But what did he pray about when no one was listening? Did he pray for her?

A breeze riffled through nearby trees, and Rebekah wished she had a window she could peer from. If it weren’t for awakening Aden, she’d climb out and go for a walk. But that was out of the question. She smiled, remembering his cautions about snakes. Wouldn’t he be livid if he found her walking in the dark of the night! Aden? Livid? No, that word would never describe Aden. Except—for when she sold Banner—and now he was apologizing for his anger! She would never understand the man.

What made him such a peaceful person? Could it have anything to do with his devotion to God? He would say so, of course. But could it really? Could God really make such a difference in a person’s life? Or was he born that way? She thought she’d talk to Betsy Mayfield tomorrow and see what she believed about God. It wouldn’t hurt to find out a little more from a nonthreatening source.

But she couldn’t let anything change her priorities. It was all right to dream and wonder a bit, but in the end, no matter what, she was going back to Thornapple by Christmas. And if she began to feel the least bit guilty about Aden Robards being so good to her, she must keep reminding herself that, after all, he only married her because her name was Rebekah.