Moon Water

by Pam Webber

  As the train sloped onto the valley floor, the Tye River dominated the view, its water sparkling and lazy after its four-thousand-foot journey out of the mountains.

  “River’s up,” said Win.

  “It rained here. Look at the puddles.”

  One long whistle blast followed by a short burst announced the train’s approach to the Oak’s Landing station. On the left, rolling, asymmetrical foothills flanked the small town. On the right, dozens of majestic oaks separated the town from a wide bend in the Tye.

  When the train stopped, Nettie and Win skirted the bustling railyard and headed to Main Street along the crushed-stone river walk the community had built decades earlier. Shaded by the oaks’ interlaced canopies, they walked under the arched wrought-iron entrance to the town’s park. Passing benches, Adirondack chairs, picnic tables, a playground, and ropes long enough to drop swimmers into the river, they stopped in front of the park’s grand gazebo where ladies were scurrying up and down ladders, trying to measure, cut, and hang uncooperative streamers.

  Win stood up on her toes and twirled. “Friday-night dances must be starting. We should come to a couple this summer.”

  Nettie reached for the missing necklace that used to hold Andy’s class ring. He’d given it to her at a dance the previous fall. She’d given it back to him at River’s Rest.

  “Still haven’t heard from him?”

  “Not a word.”

  “Maybe you should call or, better yet, go see him.”

  “He broke up with me, remember?”

  “He loves you, remember? You two started as friends. Maybe you could be again.”

  Nettie shook her head. “That walk doesn’t go backward.”

  Bells jingled as Nettie and Win entered the Candy Store, one of the few businesses in town that had air-conditioning. Mrs. Loving eased around the counter; her size equaled her generosity. A childhood friend of Nibi’s, she lived farther upriver, on the valley side.

  “Hey, girls. It’s good to see you. There’s some fresh rock candy in the sample box. Cinnamon and apple today. Help yourself while I get Nibi’s peppermints.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. L.”

  Nettie popped a piece of the red crystal candy into her mouth, rolled it around, and quickly spat it out. “Damn! That’s hot.” When repeated swallowing didn’t stop the burn, she wiped her tongue on a napkin, then on the hem of her shirt, but the pain still escalated. Eyes watering, she gobbled a piece of fudge, which did little to relieve the scorching.

  “Here you go, girls. Give my best to Nibi and tell her the echinacea worked great. My cold is all gone. Goodness, Nettie, what’s wrong? Why’s your face all red? Do you need a tissue?”

  Without answering, Nettie flew out the door and across the street to Huffman’s General Store. Stuffing a quarter into the Coca-Cola machine, she smacked the give-it-to-me button. “C’mon. C’mon.” When the machine finally surrendered a bottle, she popped the cap and gulped. Blessing its coldness, she kept the last swallow in her puffed-out cheeks, hoping the carbonation would wash away the remaining embers. Sinking onto a nearby bench, she belched painful bubbles. “Holy hell! That stuff should be illegal.”

  A boy’s laughter pierced the pulsing in her head. Perched on the same bicycle in front of the store were the two lookalike sons of Jim Warren, owner of the Farm Supply Store. They made deliveries for him all over the valley. Wade, the older of the two, had had a crush on Nettie for a while and stayed close whenever he saw her in town.

  Skip, the younger, pointed and continued to laugh while Wade stared at Nettie, mouth wide open.

  “If you two think this is funny, you should go see Mrs. Loving. She has some rock candy you should try.”

  Skip stuck out a bright red tongue. “We already did. Gotcha!”

  Nettie looked at his brother. “Wade Warren, what did you do?”

  Wade’s face glowed as red as his brother’s tongue. “Uh, we, uh—”

  Skip piped in. “We got our candy before we put cayenne pepper on the rest.”

  “You did what?”

  Wade rolled the bike closer. “Nettie, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know you’d be here. We thought Albert Kenny and his buddies would get the candy.”

  Win came up behind him. “You two stay right here. I’m going to get Mrs. Loving.”

  With that, Wade took off down the street as Skip struggled to stay on the back, the bike chain rattling loudly.

  “Can you believe that?” Win bought another Coke and handed it to Nettie. “We should tell their father.”

  Holding the icy bottle against her tortured tongue and flaming face, Nettie shook her head. “No, don’t. They won’t do it again.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Didn’t you see the look on Wade’s face?”

  Win opened Nibi’s bag of peppermints and tasted one. “Well, at least they didn’t pepper these. Mrs. L. will need to change out those samples of rock candy. I’ll be right back.”

  Win returned from the candy store with an apology and a bag of chocolates. “Mrs. Loving said for us to stop by on the way home. She’ll have some good rock candy for us by then. Those boys are going to get an earful the next time they’re in her store.”

  Next, Nettie and Win headed to Carter’s Drugstore, their last stop.

  Two large ceiling fans kept the tepid air moving as they made their way down the center aisle toward the pharmacy counter. On one side were shelves lined with everyday products Nettie had seen advertised on television. On the other side were soaps, lotions, balms, and assorted remedies created and packaged by Mr. Dexter Carter and other folks living in the valley, including Nibi.

  Nettie and Win waved to Alma Carter as she restocked the Beauty Corner with lipsticks, mascaras, eye shadows, and perfumes. “Hi, girls. Nice to see you.” A naturally pretty woman, Mrs. Carter seemingly never wore makeup or used store-bought perfume. She always smelled fresh, like Nibi’s lilac soap.

  On the long pharmacy counter at the back of the store sat a turn-of-the-century cash register, a tap bell, and an open, three-ring notebook where folks could name their ailment and order custom remedies. Beyond the counter sat a marble-topped island with neatly placed measuring instruments, an old-fashioned balance scale, and different colored mortars and pestles. On the back wall were containers of different sizes, shapes, and colors. Some held liquids, others powders, and each had its own nameplate.

  Win tapped the bell. Seconds later, Mr. Carter appeared, dressed in a light blue, raised-collared tunic, his round glasses perched precariously on the end of his nose. “Good morning, girls.”

  “Hey, Mr. Carter, do you have a list for Nibi?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” He rummaged behind the counter, found another notebook, and tore off the first page. “Tell her I’m out of foxglove and ginger, but she can take her time gathering the rest.” Tucking the notebook back under the counter, he pulled $5 out of the cash register and handed it to Win. He did a double take at Nettie. “You’re all flushed. What’s wrong?”

  After hearing the details of the red-pepper attack, Mr. Carter grabbed a tongue blade and peeked inside Nettie’s mouth.

  “I think we can put that fire out in short order.”

  Going to the island, he concocted a thick mouthwash that he had Nettie sip, swish, and swallow twice.

  “Wow. The pain’s gone. That stuff’s magic.”

  “No,” said Mr. Carter. “It’s Nature. I made it from the same plant cayenne pepper comes from. One form of it causes pain; another relieves it.”

  Nettie grimaced. Figures. Just like love.

  Chapter 3

  Despite the early hour, shallow waves of heat radiated from the bright concrete as Nettie and Win crossed the new Route 56 bridge. Halfway across, they leaned over the railing to catch the coolness of the Tye’s burbling water.

  “Between the cayenne pepper and this heat, I may end up in the river before the day’s over. And it’s barely June.”

  “Nibi said th
is summer would be hot. The crickets have been chirping really fast.”

  “One of these days, you two will have to tell me how they know.”

  Win laughed. “I don’t know how they know. They just do.”

  Nettie tossed a stick into the gliding current of the upriver side of the bridge, then ran to the downriver side to watch it tumble out in the foamy white water careening away from the support columns. “It’s amazing how some things float no matter what.”

  “If it’s lighter than water, it’s going to float. Science, remember?”

  “It’s still amazing.”

  Farther downriver, tethered in the shade amid the reeds, lily pads, and flitting bugs, jostled a three-seat fishing boat. The old man in it waved and held up an almost full stringer.

  “Save a few for the rest of us, Mr. Stevens.”

  Giving them a thumbs up, the mayor went back to tending his line. A decade earlier, in that same fishing hole, he’d hooked the largest catfish ever caught in the Tye. He’d been trying to beat his record ever since.

  Just past the bridge, Nettie and Win turned right onto a worn footpath and wove among boulders and trees, before turning to climb the trail up Buffalo Ridge Mountain. Nibi’s homestead sat in a clearing halfway up. Built by her father and husband as a wedding present, Nibi had lived, loved, lost, and learned to live again in the dovetailed log cabin.

  The sweet scent of apple wood reached Nettie before she saw hints of white smoke whiffing from both of Nibi’s fieldstone chimneys. “She’s got her fireplace and woodstove going, as warm as it is. She did the same thing last summer.”

  “Old people are always cold. At least, that’s what she says.”

  As they approached the clearing, the arrhythmic drumming of the wind chimes Nibi had hung in the woods around her house grew louder. Made of hollowed river cane, they were intended to deter evil spirits from coming too close. More fanciful chimes, made of shiny river glass, hung by the front and back doors, their knell meant to lull even the most determined menacing spirits into complacency.

  Nettie and Win dodged thorny blackberry bushes to enter the clearing and carefully stepped over long strands of running cedar that crisscrossed in front of them. Commonly referred to as bear’s paw, the rare plants provided the only green in the grassless yard.

  “When can we start collecting this stuff for Nibi again?”

  “As soon as folks stop using it for Christmas decorations and it comes off the endangered-plant list. Until then, Nibi says, we need to protect it.”

  “What’s she using for ceremonial fires instead?”

  “Juniper, sage, tobacco. She uses them all, but they don’t sparkle as much as the cedar.”

  The four-room cabin, with its rusted roof and sagging porches, had never known a drop of paint inside or out, but its view of the valley provided a myriad of colors, including the meandering blue-gray of the Tye; the variegated whites, reds, and browns of Oak’s Landing; and the pink and white blossoms of the orchards. Above the town’s roofline glistened the silvery cross of the Baptist church Nibi’s father had built at the turn of the century.

  Nettie followed Win up the creaky steps to the porch. Stopping at the top, they watched Nibi’s worn dreamcatcher lilt in front of her bedroom window, mesmerized by the parts moving together but not. Wrapped in grapevine, the two-foot-wide outer ring anchored a hand-tied, spider-like web. A pebble-size purple stone sat on one of the taut strands near the middle, its rough facets towing light when it moved. In the center of the web, small white feathers loosely covered a round opening. Suspended from the bottom of the ring, spaced equally, were thirteen strings of varying lengths. Each had a gold feather tied in the middle and a finely serrated arrowhead attached to the end.

  “That is so beautiful,” Nettie said.

  “You say that every time.”

  “Well, it is.”

  Throaty humming drifted though the screen door as Win knocked. “Nibi, it’s us.”

  “I’m in the sitting room.”

  Dressed in a long-sleeved, buttoned-up gray shirt and worn black pants, the Monacan elder rocked by the remnants of a fire, smoking a handmade clay pipe filled with tobacco she’d grown on her hillside. The room smelled sharp from the bearberry leaves she’d cured with tobacco to sweeten the taste. Around Nibi’s neck hung a blue moonstone cross, and encircling her wrist was an intricately braided copper bracelet, both childhood gifts from her mother. Nettie had never seen her without them.

  “Morning, girls.”

  Win kissed the old woman’s weathered cheek. “Mom and Dad said to tell you hi and that they’ll be up next Saturday. They’re bringing a picnic lunch.”

  “Good. I like your momma’s cooking better than my own.” Even though Win’s parents lived in Amherst, they nurtured her relationship with Nibi, especially after Win had begun demonstrating interest and skill in the ancient ways of the Monacans.

  “Mr. Carter sent you a list. He’s out of foxglove and ginger.” Win set the list and the money on the table.

  “I’ll send some back with you all. I have ginger, and with luck we’ll find some new growth of foxglove today.”

  Nettie poured the peppermints into a Mason jar, then hugged Nibi. “Mrs. Loving said to tell you the echinacea worked and sends her best.”

  “I’m glad she’s better. She hates closing her shop.” Nibi paused. “Nettie, are you feeling all right? You look a little flushed.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m okay now.” She and Win took turns relaying what had happened with the Warren boys and the cayenne pepper.

  “Those little scoundrels. They’ll be bringing supplies up here the end of the week. I’ll be sure to offer them some peppermints.”

  “Nibi, you wouldn’t,” Nettie said.

  “Of course not.” She chuckled. “But they’ll know I know, and they won’t be sure that I wouldn’t. Even good boys need to know someone is watching. I’ll send Dexter some extra foxglove to thank him for making the magic mouthwash. You’d still be on fire if he hadn’t.” Nibi emptied her pipe in the fireplace, then sat in a straight-back chair. “Win, would you braid my hair, please? Rheumatism is slow leaving my hands this morning. Rain’s coming.”

  “Rain? So, we can’t start the project today?” Nettie chafed at her own whining. She wanted to stay busy to keep her mind off Andy.

  Nibi winked. “I said it’s coming, not that it’s here. First drops won’t fall until dusk.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  Using her fingers as a comb, Win separated Nibi’s long white hair into three thick strands and wove them into a soft rope that reached the old woman’s waist. Picking a sprig from a bouquet of purple cone-flowers on the table, Win wove the stem into the last knot of the braid.

  “Nettie, I’m simmering some tea to help get my fingers moving. Would you pour for me, please?”

  Nibi’s kitchen also served as an apothecary. Shelves filled with colorful baskets, jars, and palm-size otter-skin bags full of this and that lined the walls. Drying herbs and other plants hung from dozens of hooks in the ceiling, and pieces of oak bark and earth-colored roots lined the windowsills. Sweet-smelling flowers and leaves lay in mounds on the mixing table near a worn stone mortar and pestle. Nestled among them sat Nibi’s journal of medicinal recipes and a miniature cobalt-blue bottle with the words “Angel Water” on the side. Nettie popped the cork, closed her eyes, and sniffed. A delicious scent filled her head, crested, and flowed away like an ocean swell, leaving her unsteady. Leaning against the table, she replaced the cork. If heaven had a flower garden, she hoped it smelled like this.

  Getting on with the business of pouring tea, she placed a piece of clean but stained bark cloth over Nibi’s tin cup and strained the amber liquid from the pot of prickly leaves simmering on the woodstove. How could stinging nettles be so mean to the skin yet so soothing to the stomach? Using a tin saucer, she carried the warm cup to Nibi.

  “What did you think of the Angel Water?”

  “How’d you
kn—. Never mind. Of course you know.”

  “A gift from my mother and hundreds of years of grandmothers.”

  Win’s brow furrowed. “You made a love potion?”

  “Think again,” Nibi said. “What you know is only useful if it’s correct.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Angel Water isn’t a love potion. It eases pain, like heartache.”

  “That’s better.”

  Smelling the Angel Water hadn’t eased Nettie’s struggling thoughts about Andy. Maybe she needed another dose. “May I take some home?”

  “One sniff should do. Give time and fate a chance to work. Is Andy struggling too?”

  “I guess. I hope.”

  “Butterflies struggle to escape their cocoons, you know. It gives them the strength to fly.”

  “Or kills them.”

  Nibi’s thin shoulders rose and fell with her soft laugh. “Patience, child. Patience.”

  Nibi had struggled with love. At eighteen, she’d fallen in love with Dell, a young man who’d settled in Oak’s Landing. They’d married, moved to the mountain, and had a daughter. Dell died shortly after her birth, leaving Nibi to raise Win’s mother by herself. Nibi never remarried. When asked why, she always gave the same response: “Love doesn’t come and go just because people do.”

  “What’s the project you want us to work on?” Win asked.

  Nibi finished her tea. “Come with me.” Leading them to the front porch, she nudged her dreamcatcher. The slight movement spun the purple stone and sent cascading waves of violet across the porch. “I want you two to make dreamcatchers just like this one.”

  Nettie and Win raised eyebrows at each other. They had asked to make dreamcatchers many times before, but Nibi had always been reluctant, citing their youth and the degree of difficulty.

  “Is there a reason you want us to make them now?”

  “There are things I want you to learn while I’m here to teach you.”