The Waking Bell

by Jackie Weger

  Dickie frowned and kicked the dirt. A protest was on his lips, but one look at Goldie, he thought better about it. Goldie wasn’t in the mood to argue. He gave me a hard stare when he stomped up the stairs.

  A part of me felt sorry for my brother. I was certain he must be confused and hurt that his friend had disappeared, but I was mortified. My face must have been scarlet.

  Brother Clayton lowered his gaze as he smiled to himself. He must have been as uncomfortable as I was, but no one would have guessed.

  “I’ll start supper,” I said in almost a whisper, and then escaped up the stairs to the kitchen.

  I welcomed cooking supper. Goldie had already picked enough okra, peas, and squash for a good meal. I took out the leftover ham and warmed up the biscuits from breakfast and steeped more tea. Bustling around, I found myself humming Peace Through the Blood.

  While the peas were boiling, I took out the good plates from the china cabinet in the dining room and set the table. I thought it would put Goldie in a better mood. The plates had been an anniversary gift from her late husband, Ernie. Their last anniversary. Ernie had died from a heart attack long before I became a member of the family.

  When she drank, Goldie would mourn Ernie. Some would think Ernie had been declared a saint the way she went on at times. Otis said that she was creating memories because the Daddy he knew was nothing like what Goldie talked about.

  Otis said his daddy had a bad temper when things didn’t go his way and only got worse when he drank, which was most of the time. A stubborn mountain man. Men had to be hard to survive around here.

  I imagined that Otis was much like his father. A large man, he stood over six-two with a belly that hung over his pants and a face that needed a good shave. He had a large scar down the right side of his cheek from a fight when he was younger.

  He never paid me much mind. For myself, I managed to stay out of his way. Like his daddy, he was a hard mountain man, except when it came to his momma and boy.

  Going back into the kitchen, I heard them making their way inside. Over my shoulder, I saw Otis being wheeled back into the house by Brother Clayton. The cast was all the way up his leg. The doctor said it had been a clean break and should heal nicely but instructed Otis to stay in bed.

  Otis hadn’t listened.

  “Don’t like it none.” Otis’s bellow resounded throughout the whole house. “No lawman is gonna tell us what to do, and he’s not gonna get diddly-squat from us neither.”

  “Sheriff Brawner’s gonna get Daryl riled up to the point that I won’t be able to reason with him,” Goldie declared. “Don’t like it none. No not at all.”

  I came back in and placed the fried okra and peas on the table.

  “Cady Blue, tell me what the dickens was Matt Pritchard doing driving you out here?” Otis asked. “Was he checking up on me?”

  Shaking my head, I answered, “He didn’t say a word about work. He wanted another look at the brooch I found.”

  “Brooch?” Brother Clayton asked.

  “Cady Blue discovered a brooch along the creek bed at Two Oaks,” Goldie said. “The sheriff dismissed it as nothing.”

  “What is the arrogant son of a bitch sticking his nose into now?”

  I didn’t bother to answer. It was no secret that Otis didn’t like his boss. I felt his animosity toward Matt came with the fact that Otis wasn’t the sort that liked to be told what to do from anyone. He had never wanted to work at the plant.

  His frustration came from the fact that Goldie wouldn’t allow him to freeload off her. She let him live under her roof but made her forty-year-old son work and hold his own. And repeatedly said, “Gotta work for what you get and care for your boy.”

  Goldie never referenced me as Otis’s. Although she had never said, I believed she claimed me for her own.

  “Pritchard’s an entitled prick. He comes back from the war and thinks he’s some kind of da…hero.” Otis swallowed his curse word with the preacher sitting across from him. “Then, he has the nerve to pull the POWs out of camp to work…and pays them…to save his plant.”

  “To be honest, Otis,” Brother Clayton said. “He has done the community a great service by putting those men to work. This area needs Pritchard’s Pride to stay open. It employs most of Blount County. It employs you.”

  I expected Otis to come back with a harsh retort. Surprisingly, none came. Instead, I heard Otis say, “Pritchard’s had already hired women to keep the plant open during the war.”

  “I imagine there’s not enough of them,” Brother Clayton continued. “Besides, God wants you to treat others with kindness. Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.”

  “Ain’t no Nazi my neighbor, Brother,” Goldie chimed into the conversation. “Them the devil itself, I’ll tell you.”

  “We are all his children, Mrs. Claudill.”

  I heard a distinct huff and indistinguishable mumblings as I brought the rest of dinner to the table. Setting down the pitcher of tea, I watched Goldie take a bite out of a biscuit and start wagging her finger at me. “You, Miss, need to stop being so naïve. I find myself agreeing with Otis this time.”

  Taken aback, I managed, “About what?”

  “Matt Pritchard,” she said sharply and shook her head. “Why ever would he want a second look at that brooch? No, he has something else on his mind. Mark my word.”

  In my present mood, I wanted only to sleep. The happenings of the last few days had taken their toll. One look at the dishes, I realized I would not be finding my bed for a while.

  Picking up the plates, I scraped the food into a bowl for the dogs. I unconsciously slipped into the song Peace Through the Blood.

  Behind me, Goldie set her glass down beside the sink. “Don’t let your fellow hear you sing if you want to keep him.”

  I had not been blessed with the voice of an angel and would never dare sing loud for a guest to hear. Brother Clayton had left a half hour ago.

  “I don’t have a fellow, Goldie. Frazier has only extended a kindness to someone he sees needs a friend.”

  “He had you call him Frazier and stayed all afternoon to see you.”

  “Do you think he likes me?” I stopped what I was doing and looked straight at her. “He asked me to stay for Sunday dinner over at the Hunters after Sunday service.”

  “I’ll say he seems the right sort for you. Much better than Pritchard.”

  I felt myself grow pink with indignation. “Goldie, how could you say that?”

  “’Cause I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Goldie said bluntly. “Watch your step with that one. Don’t think his intentions are honorable.”

  My nerves were on edge. The plate in my hand fell and broke on the floor. Bending down, I picked up a piece and cut myself. Blood started dripping.

  Goldie leaned over, took my hand, and ran cold water over it. Afterward, she wrapped a clean dish towel over it, squeezing it tight.

  “Just don’t want cha to turn out like your momma. Them folk think they can come in and use us and then cast us aside.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Most of the men around here have thought you slow. Any that thought they could take advantage of you being simple-minded knows that they have to deal with Otis after him near killin’ that Mosley boy. Looks to me like Pritchard’s figured out that you ain’t stupid, so don’t go acting like you are now.” She took the press off my finger. “Them rich city folk have different rules to live by than we do. They look down at us like we’re no better than a dog and when they get certain urges, they come searching for a bitch.”

  I jerked back my hand. With her words, I felt like I had been slapped. “Matt Pritchard has only treated me with respect. He would never…”

  “Yes, he would. He’s a man. You’re a pretty girl who is blossoming into a beautiful woman. There’s rumors that him and his misses ain’t getting along.” She grabbed my hand back. “Don’t forget your momma. Look what your daddy’s family did to you both, and he
had married her. Can’t trust them. None of them. Life ain’t no fairy tale. Better to keep to our own.”

  Tired and exhausted, I nodded. No matter how wrong I felt she was, I knew her well enough to know it would be useless to argue with her.

  Goldie rubbed the edges of her mouth as she glanced around the kitchen. “Any leftovers?”

  “Enough for lunch tomorrow if you like,” I said, turning back to the sink.

  “Not for me. I need ya to make a plate.”

  “For Helen,” I said not as a question, but an assumption. The woman had sworn not to leave until her son returned.

  Goldie shook her head. “Nah, it’s for Rudy. I bet he hasn’t eaten all day. I want you to come out with me to give it to him.”

  “What?” I swallowed hard. “To his place?”

  I wasn’t a fearful person. I rode alone in the forest, fed the animals in pitch darkness, and stayed at home by myself. Yet, the thought of going to Rudy’s by myself petrified me.

  Goldie had taken me up there once. I still had nightmares about it even though it was in broad daylight.

  The cabin had been made of rough logs that had long lost the chinking and leaned to the side. The roof had a large hole at the ridge. Cobwebs clung in the doorway, and the yard was overgrown. A tall dark figure dressed in a black hooded robe stood at the water bucket drinking out of a gourd—Rudy Tipton.

  “Lordy, girl,” Goldie declared. “Rudy is out at the pig shed. Lenny drove up this evening after Brawner left. The sheriff is stirring up trouble. He wants someone to blame for Alfie missing. Instead of doing his job, he’s reaching for the easiest answer. Then you have Daryl who doesn’t have a lick of sense and will go off with just an accusation.”

  My heart settled that I didn’t have to travel up to his cabin. I made the plate of food while Goldie gripped the counter and reached up on the top shelf of the far cabinet. Pushing back a tin of lard, she pulled down a jug. She knew just where I had hidden it from her.

  “Don’t say a word.” Goldie frowned. “I’m old, mad, and thirsty.”

  I didn’t bother cautioning her tonight. Instead, I followed her out the back screen door. We walked past the barn to the pig shed.

  A full moon shone in the cloudless sky, giving us light enough to make our way. Outside the fenced-in pen, a litter of piglets slept around their momma sow. Staring at the sight, Goldie called out, “Rudy, you still out here?”

  “Yes’um.”

  “Well, don’t just stand there. Come on out here. We need to talk.”

  Goldie worried a hair on her desiccated chin with swollen, gnarled fingers as she waited for Rudy to emerge from the shadows. “Cady Blue brought you some supper, and I brought some drink. You thirsty?”

  Rudy took off his hat, leaving an imprint sweated into his long oily hair. His shirt was dirty and drenched in sweat. “Some.”

  He took the jug and downed a long gulp. He offered it back to Goldie.

  She gestured for him to keep it. “It’s yours,” she said, looking over at me. “I got more even though Cady Blue thinks she’s got it.” She took the plate from me. “Eat.”

  Rudy didn’t need to be told twice. He ate fast and with his hands. He must have been starving.

  “Why don’t you come back up with us,” I said. “There’s more…”

  With food still in his mouth, he shook his head. “Most know I can’t do that, Miss Cady. If I step across a threshold without them being dead folks within, the house will be cursed forever and more.”

  He never raised his voice, but there was a definite obvious threat. A shiver ran up my spine.

  “Hell spells. A stupid rule if you ask me.”

  “You knows I don’t make the rules, Miss Goldie.”

  “Lordy, my rheumatism is acting up fierce.” She lifted one hand with the other and examined the throbbing knuckles. “Growing old is hell.”

  “Ain’t gonna disagree with you, Miss Goldie.” Rudy swallowed and took another sip out of the jug. “I’m might sorry about putting you and yours in this position.”

  “Wasn’t you that done nothin’, but you know you’re in a heap of trouble.” Goldie’s long obstinate upper lip fluttered with a sigh. “Sheriff Brawner’s blaming you for nothing more than you live close to Two Oaks. Worse, he’s got Daryl thinking you did something. I’ve got Lenny out now to see the best way to get you out of here and to your kin in Kentucky.”

  Rudy stared hard out into the darkness. He paused for a long moment. “There is a desperate evil thrumming in the air, Miss Goldie, like nothing I ever felt before. The feeling wrenches at my gut deep down.” He gripped his stomach as if it hurt. “I have never felt such an overpowering force of impending doom.” He looked up and stared directly at me. “You…Miss Cady Blue…It is you that needs to take care. A dark shadow lurches behind you…waiting.”

  I felt my heart leap into my throat. His voice had altered to a deep flat tone. His eyes glared at me and put me into a trance that I couldn’t break.

  A sudden flash of light brought me back. I saw Goldie’s truck moving up the driveway and pulling up to the barn. Lenny got out.

  “Ya think we can slip Rudy out quietly?” Goldie asked after Lenny slammed the door.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Lenny took a deep breath. “Won’t be a problem at all. There isn’t anyone in town. We can drive right through without a second glance from the sheriff. His attention is up at the Pritchard’s.”

  “What happened up there?”

  Lenny rubbed his forehead. “Reckon they found a body at the bottom of the ridge out on Lizard Fork trail.”

  “A body? Whose?” I heard myself ask.

  “Moria Pritchard. She’s dead.”

  Chapter 6

  April 1944

  Moria Pritchard was buried on the last Sunday of August. The preceding days leading up to her funeral had seen a gray gloom descend over Oak Flatt. The town appeared to have been touched by her death. She had died so suddenly that it was all anyone talked about for months.

  The story was told of how Moria had gone for a walk along the narrow, steep part of Lizard Fork trail not far from her home, tripped, and had fallen fifty feet down into a large, deep ravine. There were whispers, though, that she had jumped. She had been found in high heels and a tailored dress, not the normal attire for a hike.

  Wild rumors spread fast. The married couple had been fighting. Divorce had been heard mentioned more than once. An unhappy marriage drove Moria to end her life.

  “This is a shocking thing,” Ginny Rose had said. “Dodie says that Moria’s family is blaming Matt. They didn’t even wait until she was cold in the ground. A shame.”

  I saw very little of Matt during this time but heard his name mentioned many times over the following weeks. I could only imagine what he was going through because some speculation had turned to the belief that he had killed his wife, though there was no evidence of that fact. Matt had been seen at work that morning and all over town in the afternoon.

  I accompanied Goldie to the funeral and sat in the back of the packed church. Funeral wreaths with the smell of carnations overwhelmed the building. The choir sang The Old Rugged Cross and How Great Thou Art. I don’t believe there was a dry eye in the pews.

  The impressive ceremony was given in accordance with the rank the Pritchards held in the community. An overwhelming sadness overcame me, too, when I saw the lovely woman dressed in black, lying in the casket.

  She looked as if she were sleeping. Though, there was a visible bump on the left side of her head that they had tried covering with makeup and pulling her hair to the side. I glanced at the first pew as I passed. Matt sat stoically beside his mother.

  Death always came with a tragic finality.

  Yet, as horrid as a loss of life can be, the family had closure. The Walkers had none.

  Helen Walker had been left in limbo, wondering what had happened to her son. Eight months had passed. There had been no sign of the boy.

  True to her word, th
e woman had not left. Her camp still sat at the edge of Goldie’s field. The large revival tent had been replaced with a small worn military one. Helen had not forgotten her son like those who had forgotten not only about her boy, but her.

  The town was consumed with the Pritchards.

  Time had done little to wane the wagging tongues of Moria Pritchard’s mysterious death. News of the war had done little to cease the chatter.

  It had been one of the few times I appreciated Mr. Reeves. He cared little about the rumors. He noted the weather and the news of the frontline. I had worked late on Friday. He had retired to the living room and turned on the radio.

  The Flying Tigers had shot down nine Japanese Zeros over Hunan Province. The crew of a crashed U.S. bomber had been rescued after surviving forty-five days on Arctic ice. In the Caribbean Sea, U.S. torpedo planes had sunk a German U-Boat. The Germans were promising that an Allied invasion of Western Europe would result in destruction and shameful defeat. Here at home, eighty-seven dangerous aliens had been seized by the FBI.

  All the while, Ginny Rose gossiped on the front porch with her neighbors. She seemed in her glory, whispering with anyone who would listen. In her estimation, Moria had taken her own life.

  “I heard her myself saying she couldn’t live with herself,” Ginny Rose said more than once.

  Dodie begged her grandmother to be quiet. It was quite clear that she had taken Moria’s death hard. She became ill-tempered and quite irritable. I wasn’t surprised that she left town shortly after the funeral.

  She had gone to Savannah to be surrounded by Moria’s family and friends. She returned with the new year. Her mood had lifted considerably, like the world had become rosy once again. But she had already left on another trip, this time to New York.

  For me, life fell into a routine, but it was far different than the one I had known. The way it was before became a distant memory.

  I still worked for Ginny Rose during the week. Saturdays were spent helping Goldie, but then there were Sundays. On Sundays, I sat on the first pew of the Oak Flatt Baptist Church.