GodPretty in the Tobacco Field (22 page)

“I felt that with Carter.” Henny grew a little sad.

“You'll have it again. Wait and see.”

“I 'spect so,” she said, suddenly brightening. “Perry Brown got out of jail a few weeks ago. Served his time for assault and growing the marijuana. Pa let him scout for ginseng on our mountain the other day and we talked. He showed back up the next morning, still looking for patches to dig this fall. I showed him some and then we took a walk down by the creek . . . Took a kiss for himself, Roo. Took myself one back.”

“He's always been a handsome devil.”

“Uh-huh. Gonna meet him tonight. Can I borrow your ma's jacket?”

“No, the last time you wore it you ripped the pocket.” She loved the quilt jacket and had borrowed it in the past. But each time, I held my breath until its safe return. When she'd tore it a few months ago, I'd fussed and told her never again.

“I'll be real careful this time,” she promised.

“I can go get my navy sweater for you.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“No, I can't bear the thought of losing another stitch—”

“Okay, okay,” she hushed. “Just wanted to look pretty is all.”

“Never knew you to be without a beau for too long, Henny Stump, and you don't need my jacket for this one.”

“Just wants me a good man, Roo . . . One that can stay out of the pokey long enough to marry and don't take the switch to me much. A man that I can love hard—love from here to Tennessee and in every one of them fancy Holiday Inn motels along the way . . .” She rubbed her bruised shoulder. “Ain't gonna be like Lena.”

“I saw her at the Shake King,” I said quietly.

“Whole town's seen. Sister's run off for good this time. Now I have to do all her work.”

From across the fields, Gunnar hollered and waved his hat, motioning me back.

“Best get back over there,” I said, standing. “Want to meet by the creek before we start tomorrow? I can tell you everything.”

Henny nodded a yes, jumped up, and gave me a hug. “We's sisters?”

“Always.” I patted her back.

I hurried into the tobaccos, cutting through Rainey's row. He pressed a light hold to my hand.

The rest of the day passed in a happy blur of stolen glimpses and secret smiles between us. It was nearly impossible to keep our eyes on the plants and off each other.

At 5:30, Gunnar called it a day. Nearly almost half the tobacco had been cut. I pulled myself up, amazed and relieved like I always was on cutting day.

Rainey shot me a smile and rubbed the small of his back. He took off his bandana and wiped the sweat off his forehead and neck.

We looked out at all the cut tobacco, feeling tired and grand that we had accomplished so much in one day.

“Imagine if we got this much done, what we'll do in the next few days.” I marveled.

Satisfied, Gunnar worked his hands, rubbing the swollen flesh and stiff bones. I could tell he was proud, pleased. Not many of his moments could claim as much, but this time of year, it was hanging like a lit sign. Gunnar's jaw was relaxed and his stance loose. He even offered a bale of hay to Mr. Thomas for their horse back home.

Like me, Rainey lingered behind, waiting for everyone to leave, then snuck one more kiss.

Happy, I flitted inside to the kitchen and pulled out the skillet to cook. “Hey, Gunnar.” I watched him fall heavily into the wooden chair. “I thought I'd fix us a quick breakfast for supper tonight.”

There was plenty of ham, chicken, and beans leftover from the dinner, but we needed to save it for the men's meal tomorrow.

I turned to the stove and lit it. “Some of those biscuits spiked with bits of bacon you like so much. And white sausage gravy to slather them in.” I turned back to him and saw his lids half-closed. “Gunnar?”

“Too beat to wait for a hot meal,” he said, drowsy.

“Too tired to wait for me to
serve
you?” I asked, also tired and not caring if the sass stuck.

He must've been too worn out to hear because he snatched an apple and glass salt shaker off the counter and tucked himself back into the kitchen chair. Content, he salted the apple between bites, munching.

I turned off the stove, poured us a glass of sweet tea, then sliced up another apple for him and one for myself. We enjoyed the silence with the whir of the box fan whispering its own conversation. My thoughts drifted to faraway places with my husband-to-be.

Finished, Gunnar read his newspaper and had a bourbon while I got down on my knees and scrubbed the kitchen floor around him.

The kitchen was a mess from all the cooking today. I had to ask him twice to move his big feet. He grunted and lifted one heavy foot, then another, complaining how spent he was as I swiped the rag under him.

I asked him a third time and then I saw him rub his swollen, knobby hands.

“You're supposed to use Goldie's ointment every day,” I scolded, “and take the Bufferin like Doc said.” I got up and fetched the aspirins and balm and set them in front of him. He fumbled with the lids, grimacing, unable to get his fingers working. Pain set tracks across his weathered face.

“Let me get it for you, Gunnar.”

He tried once more before slamming it down on the table, complaining. “My willow bark has the same stuff in it, and I don't have to go through this fuss.”

“Doc says this is better than tea.”

“
Robbery
. Mine's free.”

“Here.” I pried open the tin and dabbed balm across his wrists, working it in a second. Then I twisted open the aspirin cap and set two pills in front of him. It hurt seeing him like that. As much as I hated him sometimes, I didn't want to see him suffer. It was like seeing an old mountain lose its rock face and crumble.

Gunnar softened and grunted a weak thank-you growl as he worked his fingers across his red knuckles and rubbed the oily cream into his hands.

I went back to the floor.

“Why don't you use the mop I bought you?” he asked, pushing himself up from the table.

I shrugged. “Goldie says a mop is a lazy excuse for cleaning and only cleans half as good.” That was true with the rag mop; it didn't take off all the stickiness when I'd tried it, spreading it to other rooms when I walked, doubling my work. I didn't tell Gunnar the other reason, lest he preach about pride: I needed to soak the tobacco off my hands. I'd been rubbing them in a brew of tansy leaves to whiten them, but the bleach was stronger than the plant—and stripped off the nasty tobacco tar, though my hands still looked at least a hundred times more wrinkly than an Oretta newborn. Now with a wedding ring coming, I wanted them cleaner than ever.

“Hurry up and get some rest. Another full day tomorrow.” He yawned and stretched.

“Don't forget to take your Bufferins,” I answered back.

For a second, I thought I saw a soft hand reach for my head and a tiny smile slip across his lips. Just as quick it passed and I blinked away my tiredness.

It was nearly eight by the time I finished chores and got my bath. Gunnar's light was off when I walked into my room.

I plucked Rainey's clover blossom ring off the windowsill. “
Mrs. Rainey Ford
.” I pulled the loop over my knuckle and then picked up Mama's purse and pressed it to my cheek, inhaling the soft leathers.

I wondered if she ever went to Louisville with Daddy. Him, crafting her this fine thing to carry. Them, gussied up and shining like new silver dollars. I could see Mama there, Daddy tucked to one arm, the snakeskin purse clutched to her other, dazzling puddles of city lights shining on them as they stepped out on their evening stroll.

I ran my fingers over the worn diamond patterns, trailing the purse's tiny slant stitches. I'd take my parents with me and have them forever, wherever I'd go with Rainey. I would show them all the avenues, the fancy folks, and the Ferris wheel. I'd never leave them . . . I would never be lonely. . . .

I looked over at their photograph.
Little Miss Preach,
I mouthed, remembering her soft laugh when I'd playfully hissed and wriggled the toy telephone long ago.

When I got to Louisville I'd carry her beautiful pocketbook in grand style, arm in arm with Rainey, letting my new heels preach their tune against the city sidewalks. I held up my hand, splayed my fingers, and admired Rainey's ring.

Soft scents of tobacco, pine, and mountain magnolia drifted in with the cool breeze, swelling the curtains. I leaned out the window watching the fog crown our fields, listening to frogs call the dark. Stump Mountain slowly rose in and out of racing clouds. A burst of heat lightning laid a crooked corridor across the skies. Soon, the sun dropped behind the mountain, leaving a willowy stain of pumpkin orange.

I pulled on Mama's jacket and took her purse over to the bed, climbed in, and snugged it under my cheek. Kissed Rainey's clover ring. Once. Twice.

“Good night, sweet Rainey.”

For the first time in a long while, I fell asleep quickly, with eyes tightly closed, lending a fiery prayer for my dreams and marriage bed.

L
ong after sunset had laid fire to the fields and bedded its colors, I awoke smelling smoke.

An odd, woodsy, peppery smoke.

I flicked on the lamp, crawled out from under the covers, coughing, shrugging off my jacket.

Dazed, I looked around, then ran to my door and flung it open. Outside, the long darkened hall swayed the familiar shadows. I lifted my head and sniffed. Turning around in the threshold, I inhaled deeply, coughed again.

Then I caught it. Caught what I had first missed.

Through the tatted curtain, out my open window and in the distance, a flickering of yellowing orange rolled across the tobacco, licked at the night sky. Wisps of grayish smoke ghosted up, rode the night breeze.

“Gunnar,” I mewed, then wheezed, “Gun-nar.” Then again, “GUNNAR! The tobacco . . . Our fields are afire!”

I ran into the hall and pounded on his bedroom door. He opened it, groggy in his white night stockings.

I grabbed his hands. “The 'bacco.” I tried to pull him. “Come quick . . . fire.”

“Dear Lord,” he breathed.

“
Hurry!
” I released my grip and flew down the stairs.

I fled out to the fields. Across the way, I could see Rainey running, too. “Oh no, oh God no.” I emptied my prayers into the darkness.

I found my hoe near the front row and jumped into the tobacco with it, fanning, beating, pounding at the fires, dancing all around the tobacco. I dashed to the end of the rows, looking at the creek, searching for a bucket.

From somewhere behind Gunnar yelled, “RubyLyn, get back . . . get back here.”

I had to do something. Rushing back into the rows, I beat at the flames' gain with the hoe.

The fire nipped at my ankles and legs.

I yelped. Whipping the hoe into the air, I swung, slashed at the flames around me.

Out in the fields I heard Gunnar's and Rainey's distant shouts to me.

Then I felt it, not sure of what it was. I looked down and then all around.

Rainey called out again. Then Gunnar's hoarse cries.

I dropped the hoe.

Rainey's eyes were rounded, his mouth drawn, twisted in a cry. He had his hands in the air, waving as he whipped toward me in his bare feet. Gunnar was behind him.

Fearful, I took a step back, my eyes darting around.

Pain ripped through one leg. Then the other.

Rainey's shouts wrapped around mine.

Stuck to the hem of my gown, traveling up a leg, the fire tore at my flesh. The wind lifted and twirled the ashes of my aunt's old flower-print gown. I raised my arms and spun around.

My screams were silenced with a thud.

Rainey's body landed sideways on mine. He rolled me over and over, slapping at my gown, me. When the fire was out he knelt over me. Gunnar stood over his shoulder, horror fanning, accordioning his long face.

Behind us the fire licked the grasses and scattered stalks of tobacco, spreading. Across the rows, popping melons, squash, and tomatoes died in the vegetable patch.

“Get her over to the water, Rainey, hurry,” Gunnar ordered.

I tried to stand, but my legs weren't with me.

“Need to cool the burns,” Gunnar said.

Rainey swept me up and carried me over to the creek, then set me down gently in the cold waters. I winced and my whole body shook.

“I-I'm okay . . . o-okay,” my teeth chattered. “Th-the f-fire.”

Rainey shook his head. “Nothing—nothin' we can do now, but hope the fire department comes out. It's damn near destroyed.”

“How?” I cried, knowing the tobacco had too much moisture in it to burn. “Lightning?”

“Saw trails of straw scattered everywhere. Smelled the kerosene, too,” Rainey grimaced. “Won't be nothing but dead plants now.”

“Kerosene—”

Gunnar leaned over the bank and peered at me. “RubyLyn, are you okay?”

“Uh-huh,” I managed.

“Can you stand, Roo?” Rainey asked, gently pulling me up. Gunnar rushed down the bank and splashed through the water, nudged him aside. He reached for my arm and together we walked up the bank.

I took a ragged breath, then saw the scorched, smoldering fields of mine and Gunnar's. Flames haywired and hopped across rows. I dropped to my knees. “The tobacco,” I wailed. “The food.”

Gunnar booted the earth. “Nothing we can do but let it die down now.”

My right leg started paining something fierce, the blisters forming on skin that couldn't be hid, and maybe would never be prettied by a silk slip. My ring finger was bare, the clover promise lost somewhere during it all.

Gunnar's sleeve was scorched. Reddening flesh popped on his arm.

“Your arm,” I gasped.

A cry came across the field and latched on to mine. Rainey whirled around, glimpsing them before me.

It took every bit of muster to stand. Rainey reached for me, but I flicked at the air, urging him to go without me.

Gunnar and Rainey lingered a second, gaping toward the noise.

From the lifting lights of the field fire, I saw the shadows.

One, two, maybe even three.

I squinted my eyes, blinked.

There
.

And there
.

Ada Stump was flying down the tree line, alongside the creek, two Crocketts on her tail.

“She caught them lighting the fields,” Rainey yelled.

“Cowardly Crocketts must've been watching their fire take hold,” Gunnar said. “Let's go.”

Rainey tore out toward them with Gunnar not far behind.

I limped after them, nursing the pain shooting over my flesh.

Rainey caught up with Ada in a patch of grass and grabbed her arm. She hissed at him, twisting, pulling back, pummeling him.

Behind Rainey, Gunnar snatched Beau Crockett by his collar right before Crockett latched on to Ada.

Gunnar swung and his fist landed upside Crockett's head.

Crockett staggered back, sputtered, “S-stay outta my way, Gunnar,” he warned with labored breaths. “I'm . . . having a'talking with that girl. She's been skulking round on my property and I—”

“
You,
” Gunnar jabbed, “are trespassing on
my
property. I told you I'd kill you if I ever caught you on it again.”

Beau Crockett shook his head. “Step aside.”

“You lit my field with straw. You're going to pay,” Gunnar said.

Crockett shot out his arm, pointed to Ada. “Ain't got no hard business with ya today, Gunnar Royal. Just want the Stump girl . . . Stole my—”

Gunnar burst. “You gonna kill her . . . kill her like you killed that boy's pa when I refused to sell you this land and deeded it to the Fords instead . . . ? Damn you, killin's the only thing your predacious kind understands.”

“The hell with them night-crawling darkies,” Crockett roared. “And them Stumps—”

Gunnar pumped back, “The hell with
you
. You couldn't have my land back then when you plotted to have your boy marry my niece, and you can't have it now!” Gunnar flexed and raised his fist.

“You're a crazy old coot, Gunnar Royal. Giving land for nigger rot—and now to the Stumps,” Crockett spat. “Hell, Stump's done got half his mountain land tied up in property bonds. Look, how many times have I asked ya to meet with me, friendly-like? Gots me three hundred dollars saved and—”

“And I told you I wasn't taking my church key out and having a chummy meeting with the rotted likes of you. You and your fox ways—thinking you and your likes could
ever
join my land,” Gunnar stormed.

Beau raised a blaming hand to me. “Couldn't help it 'cause she got hot for my boy Cash—”

The fields smoldered. Far away, I heard faint sirens. I turned to the road, praying for the little volunteer fire department to hurry, though I knew there was little else that could help the ruined plants or any mountain farms once the devil's fiery lick took hold in these hills. And with tobacco so full of moisture, they'd likely spit fire here and there and smolder out on their own.

Still, I couldn't help but hope someone would come and douse the bigger fire happening with the men. “Gunnar, help's coming.” I shook his shoulder, but he bumped me off.

“Get off my land!” Gunnar lunged forward and socked Crockett again, sending Beau's legs buckling, head wagging.

Crockett touched his lip, spit out blood. His son, Digit, bolted to Gunnar, wrapped his arms around my uncle's chest, locking the hold.

His daddy stood up and punched Gunnar in the stomach. Once, then again.

Gunnar slumped to his knees. Beau Crockett and his boy landed several booted kicks to Gunnar's belly and backside, leaving him facedown, groaning.

I ran up to the Crocketts, fists aiming for them.

Beau Crockett took his arm and swung it into my throat, knocking the wind out of me for a second, sending me tumbling to the ground.

Rainey was somewhere behind us, fending off Ada's flailing blows. “Stop it, kid, stop . . . not going to hurt you,” he yelled.

I crawled over to Gunnar's side, my burnt gown barely covering me. I kneeled beside him. “Gunnar! Gunnar, get up, get—”

The Crocketts stepped back. “Hill whore,” Beau Crockett shouted, pinning his fingers to me.

The sirens grew louder. The men turned to the wail and quieted a second, taking hard breaths.

“Y'all deserved what ya got,” Crockett fired back up. “Locking lips with that 'bacco nigger down at the Feed . . .”

Slowly, I shook my head. “No.”

“You know'd that, Gunnar? Huh?” He bent over him and popped his eyes. “Did ya? Hell, Digit spied 'em in the storage block hooked up like two dogs in heat! You think she ain't good enough for my boys now . . . huh?”

Gunnar made a strange sound like a trapped bobcat.

“What, you actin' like you don't know?” Beau growled. “Teased Cash, then made a whore's bed an' promise with my Carter—sent my boys away, one off to his death, other to the dirty city, she did—and sent this”—he struck out his arm toward Ada—“this gawdamn little mountain witch down to tote more of her whoring letters to my boy and steal.”

“Noo,” I cried.

“
Liar!
Look at my boy's grave,” Beau seethed. “Ya left him letters, then left flowers there like you're his
gawdamn
widow!”

From behind, Rainey cursed loudly, fought with Ada.

Beau breathed hard, shook a fist at Rainey and another to Gunnar. “Both of 'em should be whipped.”

Gunnar narrowed his green eyes and moaned.

I felt the color flee my face, suddenly realizing the Crocketts knew about Henny's note to Carter and had me mixed up with her. They must've found it tacked to the fence post. Damn if I'd ever tell them different.

Then Ada lifted her head and screamed, commanding the night, everyone.

I twisted around.

Ada bit down on Rainey's hand and let out another high-pitched yell. “I lit him up, I did!” she burst. “Lit Carter's secret hiding tent down at the creek up real good . . . real good, so he'd never spawn again.”

Silence wrapped the night, squeezed the heavy air.

Ada jabbed her finger at the Crocketts, me, and at Rainey, then back and forth, around and around, her hand quivering like a peach twig witching for water.

She flattened her tiny lips and brayed at me. “You . . . you gave away our baby so's you could go off and plant with that coon and have your own. Laid with that black dog in the tobaccos same as Sisters did with Crockett!”

I pressed my hand over my mouth as if it was over hers, gasping, “
No.
”

“Uh-huh,” she said. “Caught Carter Crockett with Sisters—him a'planting seeds in Lena and Henny.”

Low curses rammed the winds.

“Lena,” I breathed.
Eve was Carter and Lena's baby
....

Ada snarled. “Told Henny not to lay with Carter, but she went off a'whorin' with him, same as Lena.” She lifted her arm, struck her blackened finger to the smoke-dinged skies. “No more 'bacco to whore in. No more a'planting for Sisters—Carter—
You!
” She stomped her bare foot.

A fear took hold, choking, racking my body. “
No .
. .
no
.”

Ada raised a blistered hand and opened her clenched fist. An empty
Please Come Again
matchbook fell out.