What Momma Left Behind

by Cindy K. Sproles

  I took in a big gulp of air and commenced to talk. “Ellie, honey, we need to get some things straight.”

  “Alright. I promise I won’t be no trouble, Miss Worie.”

  “No, darlin, you ain’t no trouble. This is about your decisions.”

  She fingered Sally’s mane.

  “First of all, you did right loadin up your siblins and sending them away. That was exactly the right thing to do. I know it was harder than an elm root, but it was right.”

  Tears dripped off her nose.

  “Second, Calvin is a liar. A swindler. Always has been. He’s bad to the core. They ain’t nothing he’d stop at to get what he wants, includin tellin you that that medicine wouldn’t work unless you give yourself.” I reached up and swiped a tear away. “This ain’t your fault.” I laid my hand on her belly. “But it is what it is and so we’ll manage together. You understand what I’m tellin you, Ellie? They is no reason for you to feel guilty about any of this. The lot in life we is given ain’t always one we choose.”

  A smile edged her lips. “A child is a wonderful gift from the good Lord, and we don’t spend our time frettin over how it got here, just how we’re goin to love this special gift,” she said as she wrapped her arms around her belly.

  “You’re gonna be a good momma. Good like Miss Martha. And you know how wonderful she was, don’t you?”

  “Uh-huh. She was good like your momma. We’d have starved if’n it wasn’t for Miss Louise.”

  Momma did good by a lot of folks, but then there was them secrets. I was still tryin to take them in.

  “And one other thing,” I said. “That bottle wasn’t no medicine. More than likely it was a little hooch. Calvin ain’t truthful about nothin. And if they was a medicine that would stop folks from dyin on the mountain from this fever, don’t you think somebody would have figured out how to get it to everone?”

  “I reckon.”

  I pulled myself into the saddle. The echo of hooves clopped behind us. I wasn’t sure how I was gonna explain this to the pastor. Tellin him about them stones wasn’t something I’d planned on. But, one more time, it appeared the truth would hurt.

  “There comes the pastor and Trigger. I reckon we got us some explainin to do, don’t we?”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  “You had some time to yourself? Enough to ponder on things?” Pastor Jess rested his arms on his saddle horn. “Who’s this young woman?”

  Trigger kicked his horse and bumped him into a trot, gettin to me before the pastor. “Everthing alright, Worie? Pastor here said you had something weighin heavy on your mind. I didn’t realize when I—”

  I shushed Trigger. “I done told you. Now ain’t the time. They ain’t nary a thing for you to jut your chest out and prance around like a rooster when it comes to the pastor. Leave things alone.”

  Trigger twisted his mouth. I could tell he was bitin his tongue to keep from sayin anything. But he was kind not to spar with me.

  Pastor Jess jumped from his horse and walked to my side. “I feel like I know this young lady, Miss Worie.” He cocked his head, then squinted. I could see he was tryin to place Ellie.

  “This here is . . .” I hardly got a word out before the pastor slapped his leg and butted in.

  “Olsen. Emmie. No. El . . . Ellie. Ellie Olsen. I knew it’d come to me.” He seemed right proud he’d recalled her name. “What’s Miss Ellie doin on your horse?” Pastor Jess reached his hand up to shake.

  “I . . . I . . . uh . . .” Ellie stuttered like a youngin with her mouth full of mush.

  “Pastor Jess,” I said. “We got some talkin to do. And I’d trust you to give Ellie here a little room to take in everthing.”

  He lowered his hand. The smile left his face. “This here sounds serious.”

  “It’s right serious. But you need to trust me.” Them words come back at me like a shovel full of rocks. Justice’s request all of a sudden made good sense. I needed the pastor to trust me the same way Justice needed me to trust him. Still, they was a lot of things I needed to sort through before tellin him.

  I sighed. I done figured trust is a funny thing. It’s one of them words a body throws around like seedin a field, but when it comes to puttin it into practice . . . well, then they’s a real skill to that.

  “How long till we reach Hartsboro?” I asked.

  The pastor peered up at the sun and then stared hard at where we was. “Oh, best guess is a couple of hours if we don’t make no stops. Train hits Hartsboro just before dusk.”

  “Then come up beside me, Pastor. Trigger, you take the other side. And I’d oblige you both to just be quiet whilst I tell you about this mess we are about to face.”

  Sally took a step and stumbled.

  “Whoa there, girl. You okay?” I patted her neck.

  “She’s old, Worie. Puttin two on her is a little much for the distance we are travelin.” Pastor Jess walked his horse to my side, then reached out to Ellie. “Miss Ellie, might I lift you onto my horse?”

  Ellie put her hands on the pastor’s shoulders, and he lifted her from Sally to his horse, then climbed up. “That oughta give ole Sally some rest. Let’s get goin. You got some talkin to do and we got some listenin to do.”

  The pastor was a young man but wise for his youth. I reckon when the good Lord picked a soul to be His workman, He’d gift them with the right ways to handle things. They was times I thought Pastor Jess was clumsy and right slow, and then they was times like now that I could see the goodness of his heart.

  “Miss Ellie, you feel free to rest against me if you get tired.” He took Sal by the harness and give her a tug. “Start talkin. I’m listenin.”

  Despite hisself, Trigger never uttered a word the rest of the trip to Hartsboro. I took my time givin the pastor and him what I knew to be true, from Momma’s death to the jar, the letters, and the stones. And when all was said and done they wasn’t no need to even mention Ellie’s predicament. I ain’t sure how he managed, but the pastor done figured it out. Ever time Ellie would sniffle, Pastor Jess would gently reach his hand back and pat her.

  It took the better part of the time to weave this story into a web that would hold a bug, and as we turned the last bend before Hartsboro, the pastor finally spoke. “This is a quandary, ain’t it?” He took his hat off and rested it on his knee. “I knew your momma, Worie. I knew her heart. She was the most givin woman I’ve ever met. That’s why it was no surprise to me them youngins started showin up on your porch. But them stones. That don’t make no sense.”

  “Four of them, Pastor. Four. And all them who owned them is dead.”

  “That’s something to ponder on. But leastways we know what Calvin is after. He wants them stones. So I’d not be surprised what he tries next.”

  The horses lumbered into Hartsboro, and when the sheriff’s office come into view I knew they was something I needed to do. But first things first. We had to see if Sikes had an office.

  We rested the horses in the forge. Trigger unsaddled and fed them, then latched them into a stall. They’d be safe there until we got back from Chattanooga. Ellie was tired, and Trigger offered to let her rest in his room whilst we hunted down this Sikes.

  “Ellie,” I said as I covered her with a blanket, “just rest. Trigger will fix you a bite to eat. Try to eat if you can keep something down. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  She didn’t have to say a word. Her eyes said it all. She was both scared and grateful. Just knowin someone cared to help her.

  “I’m guessin if we see Calvin, we keep Ellie’s state to ourselves,” Pastor Jess said.

  I couldn’t argue. Calvin wouldn’t care what chaos he caused.

  Me and the pastor made our way down the town’s bumpy road. Across from the forge was a general store and a boardin house. I figured that was where Calvin spent his nights when he wasn’t wreakin havoc. Just across from the boardin house and down from the forge was the sheriff’s office and the bank.

  I pointed at t
he bank. “Reckon that’s where we’ll find Sikes?”

  “Good a place as any.”

  We made our way over. A short and stocky man, wearin a black coat and white shirt, met us at the bank’s door.

  Pastor Jess stuck out his hand. “Sir, I’m Pastor Jess. This here is my friend Worie Dressar. We’re hopin you might help us.”

  The man eyed us up one side and down the other before he stepped aside and motioned to a desk and a couple of chairs. “How can I help you?”

  Pastor Jess kept on. “We’re lookin for some information on a gentleman named Jordan Sikes. Wondered if you might tell us where we could find him.”

  The man went to squirmin in his seat, clearin his throat, coughin. It was plain to see he knew something but didn’t want to talk. I waited patiently while the pastor hemhawed around, tryin to ease the tension, until I finally come to my feet.

  “Listen, this Sikes took my youngins. I want to know where they are and I want to know now. Spit it out.” The man stood and I shoved him back into his seat. “Don’t you act like you ain’t got no idea either. The papers to take my homeplace was from this here bank. The sheriff, my brother, and this Sikes come flashin them in my face. Before I knew it, Sikes had one of my least ones under his arm. Him and the sheriff loaded them up and took them. So, unless you have somebody you answer to, I reckon you orta start talkin.”

  “Those children are orphans!” the banker said as he jumped to his feet. He pressed his hand over his mouth. He’d let the cat outta the bag. “I don’t know a thing. I just stamped the papers. They was all legal and all.”

  “Who said they was legal? Who?” I snapped. “And they ain’t no takin back what come outta your mouth. You know where them youngins is and I want them back.” I leaned further across the desk and pushed my finger into his chest.

  The pastor stepped between me and the desk and pressed me into a chair. “Worie, this here man looks to be tellin the truth.”

  “Truth?” I shouted.

  Pastor Jess turned and stepped around the desk. “I know he must be tellin the truth because the good Lord knows a man’s heart. Even the parts we can’t see. He can see the sin that we can’t speak. Ain’t that right, Mr. . . . ?”

  “Barker. Mr. Barker.” The man whispered his name.

  “Mr. Barker here wouldn’t lie to a man of the cloth, especially knowin the good Lord is on his side. Now would you, Mr. Barker.”

  Barker pulled his collar, trying to loosen it so he could swallow his lie, then pulled open a desk drawer and took out a ledger. He thumbed through the pages and scribbled something on a sheet of paper. “Here. I’d thank you kindly to leave my bank now.”

  Pastor Jess took the paper and smiled. He thanked Barker, then offered me his arm. I stood and slipped my hand through the crook. “We’ll be leavin now,” he said.

  All I could do was spit and sputter, tryin to figure out what had just happened. But once we was outside and across the road, Pastor Jess held up the paper. “This is the address.”

  “Address for what? Sikes?”

  “Nope. Them children.” He grinned like a bear scrapin honey from a beehive.

  I snagged the paper and read it. “‘Charles and Mable Holtsclaw, 1 Riding Road, Chattanooga. Home for Lost Children.’ But you didn’t even ask where them youngins was?”

  Pastor Jess folded the paper and tucked it in his coat pocket. “Didn’t need to. Guilt can be your worst enemy. And this man was guilty. You learn after a spell when folks is caught in a lie they’ll do two things. Keep lyin or try to amend the wrong.” Pastor Jess was right proud of hisself. “This man aimed to amend a wrong.”

  “How long till the train?”

  He eyed the sun again. “Anytime now.”

  We reached the forge and I eyed poor Ellie. It was right easy to see the girl was spent. She was in no mind to make a long trip. She was tore all to pieces. As hard as it was to admit it, I didn’t need to be responsible for her right now. The longer I stared at Ellie, the better a plan formed in my head.

  We walked toward the train, and the thud of our steps on the walkway seemed to ring through the town. People wandered in and out of the general store, and horses clopped through the dryin mud.

  “Pastor Jess, I might want your opinion here.”

  “What’s eaten at your mind?” He patted my hand graspin his arm.

  “It’s Ellie. She ain’t up to this trip. Reckon you could do some fast talkin and get Trigger to take her back to Ely and Bess? The girl needs rest and she needs someone to guide her with this baby.” I sighed. “Bess can give her that. This whole mess is about more than the girl can manage.”

  The preacher scrubbed his chin with his finger. “Less is better. That’s a right good idea.”

  I knew Trigger would never listen to me, but the preacher could plead a good case for Ellie’s best interest. And that he did. He headed the few steps back to the forge and motioned Trigger over. Them heads was bobbing whilst they conversed, and before I knew it Trigger was leading Ellie away. He looked over his shoulder and winked. What a sweet soul he was. I coulda battled it out with him, but I had a hunch Pastor Jess could convince Trigger without a struggle.

  I pressed my fingers against my lips and gently blew Trigger a kiss. You’d have thought somebody opened a fresh jar of apple butter, his grin was so big. This was best. They wasn’t no need for too many hands in the pot.

  This trip would be enough with just me and Pastor Jess. Totin around a pregnant woman and a well-meanin friend was too much. Me and Pastor Jess had some hard work to do and not much time.

  I pulled the envelope I’d took from my bag. Wastin no time, I run across the road and peeked into the sheriff’s window. The room was dark and I was glad. I called that an act of God in and of itself. Real easy like, I slipped the envelope under the door and give it a shove, hoping I could land it next to the desk so it looked like it just fell off. Then I took toward the pastor. He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the train platform.

  The train’s whistle echoed through the valley as it rounded the curve. Its brakes squawked as metal rubbed hard against metal, bringing the iron horse to a rough halt. In minutes the pastor talked his way onto the train with an extra person in tow.

  We planted ourselves on a seat in the back of the car. The train jolted and cried as its wheels spun, tryin to grab hold of the rails. It lunged forward and pulled away from the platform. There on the platform stood the sheriff, arms crossed, and I wondered . . . did he know?

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  I slid deep into my seat, hopin the sheriff didn’t get a glance of me. I’d give back the envelope I took, but standin eye to eye with him was not what I wanted. I wasn’t right sure the sheriff was as forgivin as Ely or the pastor. Still, he had his envelope back and I’d pushed it hard under the door. I could only hope for the best. Either way, I was glad to be pullin away from that platform.

  My fingers grasped the metal edge around the window. At least a live horse had reins to hold to.

  “You look to be on the nervous side?” the pastor asked.

  “Reckon what give you that idea, Preacher?”

  “Might be, just sayin now . . . that your knuckles is white.” He went to chucklin. “Ain’t you never rode a train before?”

  “Well, ain’t you just smart and all?”

  “Don’t get your hackles up. I’m teasin. It seems you need a bit of laughter about now.” Pastor Jess sat in the seat that faced me. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I understand you’re bein worried.” He took my hand. “Seems like one broke pot leads to another.”

  I pulled my hand away and slipped it into my skirt pocket. I could tell the pastor was tryin to comfort me, but they didn’t seem to be no comfort found. Momma always told me not to be a whiner, and even though I’d cried a passel of tears over all that happened, my heart just wasn’t healin. Would it ever?

  My mind slipped back to a time when things seemed easier. A little
girl playin under fresh hung sheets on the clothesline. A puppy nippin at my feet. Momma smilin as I played. I couldn’t imagine my life without Momma then, and to tell the truth, I still can’t. But it is what it is, and I’d keep tryin to understand why Momma would break my heart like she did.

  Ever time I think about findin Momma dead, my chest goes so tight I can’t breathe and my heart aches so bad I can’t move from the pain. I shook my head, tryin to put the thoughts outta my mind.

  I wiggled my finger toward the preacher, then leaned to whisper, “Pastor Jess, I had enough to worry with over them little ones. I feel real bad about sendin Ellie away.”

  “You did right by that girl. She’s old enough to learn the ways of a momma. This trip woulda been too much for her in her state.” He crossed his legs and bounced his foot to the rhythm of the train. “No offense here, but you don’t need Trigger dotin over you either.”

  I tilted my head to one side. “Dotin?” I tried to not get riled. “Look, Preacher. What Trigger is or ain’t to me ain’t got nothin to do with you.”

  “I wasn’t tryin to say nothin bad. Just that you have your work cut out for you. Trigger ain’t workin in your favor. He’s tryin to protect you. That ain’t helpin.”

  I pushed my head into the seat. My mind wasn’t made up about the pastor’s intentions. One minute he was funny and kind, the next a bit snide. I couldn’t make no sense of him all the time. Albeit good, I think, he did tend to rile me. I pushed his remark to the back of my head.

  “Ellie is a sweet girl,” I said. “Love her heart, she did everthing she could to fill her own momma’s shoes after she died.”

  “I’m sure she did, Worie.” Pastor Jess took his hat and placed it over his eyes, partially to keep out the light, but mostly to keep out the soot and cinders from the engine. He crossed his arms and settled into his seat. “Try to rest. We got a long road to work our way through.”

  Ever time I thought about Calvin usin Ellie, it burned my britches. I ain’t the brightest thing they is, but I had enough life under me to see when I was bein hornswoggled. That girl was a young woman with nothin. She stepped right into that manure without seein it hidin in the weeds.