by Jan Watson
On the other side of the barn, Star stuck his head out over his stall door and nickered. They used to keep a pair of work horses on the farm, but now Copper borrowed John’s mule whenever she needed to plow or haul something. So far, Star was mainly just for show.
“That’s all right, Star,” Copper said as she rubbed his long nose, then fed him the piece of apple she’d brought. “You earn your keep by being pleasing to the eye.”
Beside the stable at the pigpen, Copper poured the warm milk into a long wooden trough. Two porkers came running and squealing like they’d won a prize. She hated to lose the milk, but she was afraid to serve it to her family with Mazy being sick and all. They’d have no more fresh milk for a couple of days, and that was if potatoes cured the runs.
Another night in a straight-backed chair, but it couldn’t be helped. Every couple of hours Copper roused herself from fitful slumber and trudged across the barnyard to check on Mazy. It wasn’t so bad being the only one awake—such a peaceful time.
At the barn, she reached around the door and lifted the lantern off the hook. Stepping back outside, she sheltered the flame of a match and lit the wick. She’d learned from her father to never strike a match in the barn. She’d made an exception for the small stove in the room where Dimm lived.
Dimmert met her before she had a chance to knock at the tack room door. Copper bet he hadn’t slept at all. “Time for more warm potato soup and tea,” she said.
It was a two-man chore. Dimm held Mazy in position, her head back and jaw open, while Copper poured the curative down the cow’s throat, stroking her neck to get her to swallow.
“What do you think?” she asked.
Not trusting what the eye could see in the glow from the lantern, Dimmert grabbed the pitchfork and turned some bedding over. “Better.”
A bit of soup sloshed in the bottom of the bucket. “There’s some left. You want it?”
When Dimm took a step backward, she was sorry for her teasing. “I was just funning you,” she said. He let his shoulders drop and smiled. Why hadn’t she noticed the change in him? At what point had he trusted her enough to smile? He was still bony—she supposed he would always be thin—but he ate well at her table. His shoulders had broadened, and his face had filled out. Why, he was handsome in the light from the coal-oil lamp.
“All right then,” she said. “Good work.”
Back in her chair in the kitchen, Copper nursed a cup of tea and thought of Dimmert. Was John right about him and Cara Wilson? And if so, would Cara break Dimm’s heart? She shook her head. They were both so young—seventeen, the same age as when she left the mountains as a newlywed. How would two young people without a pot or a pan to call their own possibly make a life together? Ah, well, she figured, love would find a way.
Late in March, after several days of springlike weather, Copper heard the first serenade from the tiny knee-deeps. One evening she led Lilly Gray through a wooded area and down to the creek, where she bade her listen. Not an easy task, for Lilly was rarely quiet. It was cold there by the water; Copper wrapped her shawl around Lilly and drew her close.
Yeep, they heard as the lavender twilight turned just this side of purple, then yeep, yeep, yeep.
Lilly’s mouth made a perfect circle. “Doodles.”
“You’re so smart,” Copper said. “They do sound like the baby chicks in the brooder house.” The postman had delivered four cartons of the bits of fluff last week, and Lilly was enthralled with them. “But these aren’t chickens. Just listen.”
It seemed the woodland around them exploded in sound.
Lilly smiled and covered her ears. “What’s that?”
“They’re tiny frogs singing to each other. They’re called peepers.”
“What they doing here, Mama?”
Copper knew they were coming in from the woods to find a mate. The males, who made all the bragging noise, of course, would congregate in a boggy place and wait for the egg-laying females. They would sing their happy song, and soon there would be tadpoles in abundance. “They want to make friends,” she told Lilly.
Lilly shivered. “Peepers get cold.”
“If it gets too cold, they snuggle down in the mud by the creek. The mud is just like a warm blanket.”
“Get one peeper.”
“It’s too dark to see them, but we’ll come back another night with a lantern.” She held Lilly’s hand as they walked back to the house. “Your papaw says when he was a boy the peepers were knee-deep in the springtime.”
“When’s Papaw coming?” Lilly asked the same question a dozen times a day.
Copper gave the same answer each time. “In May, remember? When John and I get married.”
“Yup,” Lilly said, “John will be Lilly’s daddy. . . . Darcy’s daddy too?”
“No, just yours. Darcy already has a daddy.”
“Okay.” Lilly stopped on the porch steps. They could still hear the tree frogs yeeping. “Get the lantern, Mama.”
“Another time, my little peeper.” Copper gathered her daughter up and carried her into the warmth of the house. “You have to go to bed now. Tomorrow we’re going quilting at Mrs. Foster’s.”
The trip to Jean Foster’s was a delight to the eye and a balm to Copper’s winter-weary soul. There had been no quilting circles and few church services in cold, snowy January or in muddy, dismal February. Copper was hungry to see Jean and the other ladies. They had each been working on squares to combine into a friendship quilt. Copper embroidered a bluebird of happiness on hers, and now she spied that very bird clinging upside down from the branches of a serviceberry. While other trees stood wintry bare, the flowers of the serviceberry warmed the forest with spring charm, shouting, “Winter is over!”
Copper plucked a cluster of white blossoms with reddish bracts. From a distance the flowering trees looked like peaked meringue scattered up and down the mountains. In early summer the trees’ purple berries would provide a feast for blue jays, catbirds, and the like.
Lilly reached for the flower. Copper lifted her instead and let her pluck her own blossom, then helped her fasten the pretty flower into Dolly’s hair. Back on the ground, Lilly ran ahead on the familiar path.
“Don’t run out of my sight,” Copper called.
But she did and soon Copper was hurrying to catch up. She was just around the bend in the lane, Copper was sure, but when she turned the corner, there was no Lilly to be seen. Except for the tiny pair of black high-tops peeking out from under a bushy cedar. Copper took note but kept walking. Out of sight she stopped and waited.
“Mama!” Lilly shrieked, pounding up the lane until she found Copper. “You lost me.” Her dark gray eyes welled up, and her chin trembled.
Copper hugged herself to keep from hugging Lilly. “Hiding from your mama is not a good game.”
Lilly ducked her head. “Sorry, Mama.”
“All right then, shall we go to Mrs. Foster’s or should we go home?”
“No home,” Lilly replied. “Carry Dolly.”
“No, Lilly, remember when Mama said to leave Dolly behind? You said you’d carry her if she came.”
Lilly slumped her shoulders, and tiny sparkly tears appeared again. “I tired.”
Copper lifted Lilly and sat her astride one hip. “What if Mama carries her baby and you carry yours?”
“Okay,” Lilly said.
Copper used every opportunity for teaching Lilly, so she had tarried on the trail, pointing out various birds and trees. She was late. The other ladies were already seated, needles flying. She was glad Darcy had come earlier to help Jean set up the bulky quilting frame. Lilly found Bubby Foster in his usual place under the frame, and Copper could hear her showing off her doll to her playmate.
She stopped to admire little Jay Shelton, nestled in a basket beside Fairy Mae. “He soon won’t fit in there,” Copper said.
The only empty space on the benches was on the far end next to Hezzy Krill. That’s what I deserve for being late, Copper chided
herself. As she took a needle and a length of thread from her sewing box, a newcomer caught her eye. A young woman, her bibbed feed-sack apron starched and ironed to a fare-thee-well, sat across from Hezzy, head bent to her task. Why hadn’t anyone introduced her to Copper? Beautiful stitches flowed as she worked. She looked up and smiled.
“Why, good morning, Cara.” Copper almost hadn’t recognized the young woman what with her hair pulled into a bun and a dress on under her apron instead of overalls. “How good to see you here.”
Jean rested her hands on Cara’s shoulders. “I thought it was time Cara joined our circle.”
“I wanted to help with your quilt, Miz Copper.” Cara pointed to one of her squares: dark blue with a spray of serviceberries and her initials, C. W.
“It’s beautiful.” Copper looked about the frame. All the ladies were busy with the task of making a quilt for Copper’s wedding gift. Each woman’s personal selection was pieced into a background of blue-and-brown print and had her name or initials embroidered in a corner. It would cover her with their love every time she used it. Tears came to her eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you. It means so much. . . .”
The ladies tsk-tsked, as if their work was of no import.
Copper laughed, lightening the moment. “Why, this makes getting married worth it.”
That set the ladies loose. Each had a story to tell of her own wedding and married life. Hezzy told of getting married at fourteen to a man whose wife had died leaving him with four children. She still lived in the house she’d set up housekeeping in with all five of them. She’d been a widow nigh on twenty years now.
“Do you still miss him?” Jean asked.
“Not so much,” Hezzy replied. “The first ten years was the hardest. Now I miss him when I got to chop wood or some such manly thing.”
“You shouldn’t be chopping wood at your age. You’ll hurt yourself,” Jean responded, her face stern.
Hezzy spit tobacco juice in the jar she carried and wiped her chin. “I don’t do much with this bad leg, just whack a little kindling now and then. John Pelfrey comes by pert near weekly to see if I got any needs. He’s been doing for me since he was a just a sprite. Them Pelfreys is good folks.”
A bevy of bobbing heads agreed with Hezzy. Copper loved hearing stories about John.
Hezzy paused in her stitching and turned to face Copper. “Reminds me. Tell John the rope on my well bucket is near wore out. That is, if you see him before I do.” She cackled and winked.
Copper was embarrassed but not much. These were her friends after all. She joined in their laughter. “How is your mother, Cara? And the twins?”
“You wouldn’t believe how fat the babies are. Baby Kenny never cries, and Kenneta never stops. And now Mama smiles again.”
The ladies had heard the story of the night the twins were born, and they bested each other with tales of their own prolonged labors and pain so bad it would tear you in two.
Jean interrupted the chatter with a chocolate cake topped with whipped cream. “Let’s end this tattle before we scare Darcy and Cara to death.”
As Copper left Jean’s with Darcy and Lilly, Cara approached her. “Mind if I walk your way?” she asked.
“Goodness, no. I always love your company.”
“Is Dimmert at home today?”
“I believe he was thinking of plowing the garden, although I told him it is a little early.” Copper stopped in her tracks. “Cara Wilson, do you have something to tell me?”
Cara’s face turned as red as a cardinal’s feathers. “We’ve been sparking. Dimmert Whitt and me.”
Darcy whirled around on the path ahead. “You and Dimm? Sparking? How’d he sneak that by me?”
Cara’s face fell. “You’re not mad, are you?”
“’Course not.” Darcy grabbed Cara’s hands. “Are you getting hitched?”
“Darcy,” Copper chided, “for goodness’ sake. They’re just courting.”
“Well, actually, Miz Copper,” Cara said. “We’ve wanted to talk to you and Mr. John.”
Dimmert had the mule at the end of a row when they got back to the house. Several furrows made a pretty sight in the garden plot. Copper stooped to grab a handful of the rich, dark loam. When she squeezed, it packed but not too much. Last fall Dimm had hitched up the mule and hauled a load of sand to amend the clay soil. It looked as if he knew what he was doing.
Cara stepped across the rows as daintily as a girl not given to dainty steps could. When Dimm saw her coming, he took a red bandanna from his overalls pocket and mopped his brow. Leaning on the plow, he gave her a crooked smile. Cara touched his arm, and he took her hand.
Copper was enthralled. They make the perfect couple. To think these two young people found each other against many odds. God surely works wonders.
Dimmert unhitched the mule and turned him loose to nibble at the grass and weeds in the unplowed portion of the garden. Star was doing the same, never straying from Dimm’s sight.
Star is better behaved than my daughter, Copper couldn’t help but think as Lilly tugged on her skirt demanding a can for the earthworms that wriggled out of the broken ground. Lilly already had a fistful of the long brown worms.
“Lilly Gray, whatever will you do with those?” Copper asked.
“Feed the doodles.”
Indeed, the hens that had been let out of their fenced yard to forage zeroed in on the hapless worms, pecking with their sharp yellow beaks and tugging them out of the ground.
“I think the baby chicks are too little to eat worms. They have to eat their oats just like you do.”
Lilly’s face tightened in concentration. Copper could almost see the little wheels turning. “Feed the peepers!” Lilly said.
Copper couldn’t hold back her laughter. Neither could Darcy. The poor worms in Lilly’s hand squeezed through her fingers like bread dough. Copper loosened Lilly’s grip.
“Let me take her fishing,” Darcy said.
“Yup,” Lilly said as if that is what she had planned all along. “Feed the fishes.”
“Let me get a coffee can and a pole,” Copper replied. “You can go for a little while, but I doubt they’re biting yet.”
“Then we’ll just feed the fishes,” Darcy said.
Copper watched as Darcy and Lilly disappeared over the ridge toward the fishing hole. Darcy carried the pole Copper had fetched from the barn, and Lilly clutched the tin can full of worms.
The sun warmed Copper’s head, so she loosed her bonnet and let it hang down her back, reveling in the warm weather. But March was deceiving, she knew. Although butter yellow daffodils bloomed on the creek bank and chickens feasted on worms from tilled ground, there would be more cold weather to come. It gave her hope, however, of sunny days ahead. Copper always thought of the Resurrection in the springtime. Jesus’ triumph over the grave, the greatest hope ever given.
Now where had Dimmert and Cara gone? Then she saw Star standing patiently a little ways down the creek bank. There were their heads leaned together.
Copper could hear them talking, so she walked away from their voices to the porch and sat on the top step. Sweethearts needed privacy. Old Tom circled her ankles until she stroked his ears. He leaped to her lap and circled round until satisfied; then he plopped down, purring.
She wished John were here, not off working. Picking up a small, sharp stick, she began to clean the garden dirt from under her nails. He’d show up for supper, she expected. She couldn’t wait to tell him of Hezzy’s demands and to see his face when Dimmert and Cara shared their plans. Contentment settled in her heart like warm sunshine on her shoulders. Life was good indeed.
As if wishes made dreams come true, John’s voice startled her from her reverie. “So why’s the mule standing in the garden by his lonesome?”
Shading her eyes, she looked into his handsome face. “What are you doing here?”
“Just like a woman to answer a question with another question,” he teased.
“John Pelf
rey, just what do you know about women?”
He slapped his hat against his thigh. “Truthfully, not much. Scoot over.”
Faithful ambled closer, looking for the pat on the head Copper always gave her. Old Tom took offense and leaped down hissing and spitting. The hound backed up, eyeing the cat from a safe distance.
“Just a minute,” Copper said. “I’ll be right back.”
On the back of the stove, she found the pork-chop bone she’d saved. She took it and a tiny scrap of meat outside. After settling down beside John, she pitched the bone to Faithful and coaxed Tom back on her lap with the scrap meat. The cat nosed her offering as cats do before they eat, while Faithful, with a low growl, chewed on the bone.
“Where is everybody?” John asked.
“The girls are fishing, and Dimmert has a visitor.”
“Oh yeah?” John moved so close she nearly tumbled off the side of the step. Tom held on, sinking his claws into her skirts. John’s arm circled her shoulders, pulling her back. “Reckon I could steal a kiss seeing how we’re alone and all?”
“I’ll have to think on it.” Copper’s heart beat a tattoo against her rib cage.
He didn’t wait for an answer but tipped her chin with his thumb and kissed her slowly on the mouth. Chagrined, she pulled away.
“Why is it we have to wait until May?” he asked.
“You leave me wondering myself. You know I love you.”
“I know you do,” he said, the bulk of him blocking the sun from her eyes. She could see her own reflection in his. “But not near as much as I love you.”
“We could argue that,” she said, playing with the hair that tumbled over his shirt collar. “You need a haircut.”
“I need to finish plowing the garden if Dimmert’s given it up. Who’s he talking to, anyway?”