by Jan Watson
“I’ll have plenty of help, Alice. All I need to do is ask.”
Copper’s chair moved in cadence with her aggravation, while Alice sat primly, her back never touching the chair. “Consider what I have offered at least,” Alice said. “You must admit Lilly Gray has been getting short shrift.”
Copper took a deep breath. What she needed to consider was how good Alice had been to her. She patted Alice’s hand. “Thank you for caring so much. Now, if you’ll go pour the tea, I’ll greet our guests.”
Hezzy mumbled and grumbled all the time Elder Foster worked to extricate her from the buggy.
“Do you need some help?” Copper asked.
“What I need is two good legs,” Hezzy replied before Elder Foster could get a word out.
Jean Foster rolled her eyes and pointed out a dilapidated carpetbag sitting on the ground by her husband’s feet. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed to Copper.
Sweat broke out on Elder Foster’s forehead. He handed his hat to Jean, then went around to the other side of the buggy. “Dimmert,” he said as the young couple approached, “lend a hand.”
Soon Elder Foster was behind Hezzy on the buggy seat while Dimmert stood in front of her. “Now, Dimmert,” Elder Foster said, “you pull and I’ll push.”
Hezzy popped from the buggy like a piece of corn from a hot pan. If Cara hadn’t been steadying Dimmert from behind, he would have fallen under the weight of Hezzy.
“She’s doing poorly,” Jean whispered in Copper’s ear. “We like to have never got her in the buggy.”
Dimmert and Cara assisted Hezzy as she limped across the yard. “Thank ye for your help,” Hezzy said.
Copper linked arms with Jean and followed them. “Please don’t tell me that carpetbag means she’s staying.”
“I am so sorry. She had her bag packed and sitting on the porch when we drove up.” Jean squeezed Copper’s arm. “Truly, I tried to dissuade her.”
“But why?” Copper asked.
“She feels so guilty over the accident she wants to help you; I guess she wants to salve her conscience.” Jean shook her head. “We’ve been sending our eldest over to check on her every morning; she needs the help and Dylan needs the discipline. He says Hezzy sends him up to the hollow log to put out eggs to feed that fox. Sure is strange.”
Copper stopped their walk and leaned her head against Jean’s. “I wouldn’t admit this to anyone but you, but I don’t know if I can take care of one more burdened soul.”
“My husband told Hezzy he would be back to pick her up next week, Copper. Can you hold up that long?”
“I reckon so,” Copper said, “but I’ll need lots of prayer.”
“Every day,” Jean replied. “I pray for you every day.”
Yesterday’s sunshine was gone. Dreary, drizzling rain tapped its dance on the tin roof, making Copper shiver despite the cup of tea she held. As she stood at the kitchen window, she watched a hapless chicken skirt a puddle while dashing toward the barn. It looked like Penny, though from this distance she couldn’t be sure. Darcy had dubbed her Smoked Penny after they saved her from the gapes. She should go out and shoo her back to the chicken coop, but she didn’t have the heart.
Behind her, Lilly Gray whined over her oatmeal. She heard Darcy scrape the last of the brown sugar from the bowl and knew it was going on Lilly’s breakfast cereal. She should go to the pantry and refill the bowl from the brown paper sack tied up with string. But the sugar was sure to be as hard as a rock. She’d have to chip it with a hammer and soften it in the oven.
Last evening, her kitchen had been full of light and laughter. Even Alice joined in the fun, surprising Copper as much as seeing John’s head bent toward Alice’s on the porch after supper. Copper had peeked through the same window that was now streaked with rain, wishing she could hear why Alice looked so determined and why John looked so hopeful. Alice and Dodie had left for Lexington before daybreak. John had picked them up. How could Copper miss someone who irritated her as much as Alice did? But she did.
John had come into the kitchen this morning. She hadn’t expected him to. She thought he would wait in the carriage. But in he came as if he were home, catching her in her nightdress, her hair in a long braid down the middle of her back. “Hey, Pocahontas,” he’d teased as though it was any other day.
She needed to think about John, needed to come to terms with him acting like they were just friends again. Maybe that worked for him, but seeing him still made her catch her breath. And her foolish heart still did a double beat; it didn’t realize he was no longer hers. Later. She’d think about that later.
Taking Lilly from her high chair, Copper took off her daughter’s bib and cleaned the oatmeal from her face.
“Me tired,” Lilly said.
“Why, Miss Lilly Gray, what makes you so tired?”
Lilly tucked her head in the nook of Copper’s shoulder. “Want Dodie. Want Granny.”
Copper could feel her baby’s soft breath tickling her neck. “Oh, that’s not tired. That’s lonesome.”
“Fix it, Mama.”
Copper wrenched the door open—damp weather always made it stick—and carried Lilly out. “See the rain?”
“Yup.”
“Do you know what comes after the rain, Lilly Gray?”
“Mud puddles.”
“Yes, mud puddles and sunshine. Lonesome feels like rain,” Copper said, “but then God sends sunshine to cheer us up.”
“Yup. Rock me.”
Copper dragged a rocking chair as far under the porch’s tin roof as she could. “Sit here, baby. Mama will be right back.” She hurried to the bedroom to fetch a quilt. Hezzy snored softly in the chair by Remy’s bed. Remy looked peaceful. Back on the porch, Copper wrapped herself and Lilly in a warm cocoon and commenced rocking.
Soon Lilly slept, but Copper rocked on. The rainy day felt different from when she’d watched it through the window. She laughed when the fat hen chanced the barnyard again only to flee back to the barn. “Silly thing,” she said as it shook the damp from its feathers, as if it was surprised that rain made feathers wet. “You should never have left the chicken coop; that’s where your friends are.”
I’m like that, she thought, running around like a chicken with its head cut off, when all along my friends are waiting to help me, to keep me dry during the rain. She rested her head on the back of the chair and closed her eyes. The faces of Fairy Mae, Dance Shelton, and Miranda Wilson flitted across her eyelids. While Hezzy is here to care for Remy, I’ll go check on them. Maybe that will get me over the doldrums.
Who would have thought Hezzy Krill would be a blessing in her life? A little rain, a little sunshine, Copper thought before she nodded off.
Copper was making a fresh mustard plaster for Remy when Dimmert brought John’s mule the next morning. He tapped on the door to announce his presence.
“Come on in, Dimmert,” she called out. “I can’t leave this poultice.”
Dimmert merely opened the screen door and stuck his head in. “Ride’s here.”
Copper stirred equal parts of linseed meal and dry mustard into a bowl of boiling water. “Just hitch him to the rail, please. Will Cara be over later?”
“Later,” Dimmert replied, already backing off the porch.
Copper was happy to see his clean overalls and ironed work shirt. It looked like Cara was taking good care of him.
After spreading the poultice on brown paper, Copper hurried to Remy’s side. Hezzy had her ready for the treatment. “This seems to be helping,” Copper said. “Her lungs were clearer this morning.”
“I’ve seen bread poultice work.” Hezzy helped Copper cover the paper vest with muslin. “Although it don’t hold heat as good as mustard.”
“Hmm. I’ve never heard of that.”
“Years ago you couldn’t hardly get linseed meal. My mammy always stirred stale bread crumbs in water, then set it to heat in the fireplace. You have to pour the water off a couple of times before it’s ready to spread
,” Hezzy said around a chaw of cured tobacco. “Works good on children and ain’t as likely to blister.”
Copper peeled back a corner of the paper vest. The skin of Remy’s chest was nicely pink. “Don’t you think she’s better?”
“Her eyes were bright this morning,” Hezzy said. “I think she knew somebody different was feeding her. Scared her right back to sleep. Probably thought I was going to shoot her again.”
“Now, Hezzy,” Copper said, “nobody blames you. It was an accident.”
Hezzy spit a stream of pungent tobacco juice into an old tin can. “Don’t matter,” she said, wiping her chin on a well-used man’s handkerchief. “I blame myself.”
Sitting on the edge of Remy’s freshly made bed, Copper put her hand on Hezzy’s knee. “Have you prayed about this? God will give you the forgiveness you need.”
Hezzy’s old rheumy eyes met Copper’s. “I reckon I’ve got to do some works afore I petition the good Lord for anything. I got to show I’m purely sorry for what I done.”
“Well, you’re a big help to me, Hezzy Krill. I’m sure glad you were willing to extend your visit.” Copper peeked under the vest again. “This is cool now. Let’s take it off.”
“Mama!” Lilly’s excited voice could be heard from the kitchen. “Cow in the house!”
“You go on,” Hezzy said. “I’ll take care of this.”
“How in the world!” Copper exclaimed before she burst into laughter. It wasn’t really funny—Dimm would have to repair the screen—but John’s old mule had poked his whole long head through the screen door.
Lilly jumped around, squealing with delight, while Darcy ineffectively flapped her apron in the direction of the door, saying, “Shoo. Shoo.”
“Maybe he wants a cup of coffee,” Copper said between gasps. She laughed so hard her sides ached. “Come on, Mule Head.” She pushed on its forehead to extricate the animal from the screen and led him down the steps. After tightening the reins around the porch railing, she patted the mule’s rump. “Stay out of trouble.”
It was pleasant to be riding the mule up the mountain to Ace Shelton’s place. Mule Head went at his own slow pace. Copper didn’t mind; she didn’t want to rush. For the first time in weeks she had time to gather her thoughts. She’d toyed with the idea of bringing Lilly along but thought better of it. Dance’s mood was unpredictable like a toss of dice, not a good thing for Lilly to witness.
Ace and Dance had taken baby Jay home with them after the party at her house. She’d pondered whether to invite them, but how could she ask everyone else and leave them out? Besides, she wanted to win Dance over—she wanted Dance to know she had an ally. Sometimes women resisted going to their family when they were troubled. False pride, Copper reckoned.
Ace’s cabin was tricky to find, but Copper thought she remembered the way. Mule Head picked his way along until he grew stubborn and stopped. Copper rocked on the mule’s bony back and kicked his sides, but he wouldn’t budge. She dismounted and sweet-talked him for a while. Finally, with a great bray, he gave in and allowed her to pull him along.
She’d made a misstep somewhere. Instead of the weed-choked path she remembered, she was in a shadowy cathedral of soaring spruce and fir trees. Here and there soft beams of sunlight spotlighted the mossy forest floor. Resurrection and maidenhair fern leaflets waved delicately as she brushed past. Birdcalls and squirrels’ chatter seemed far off, muffled. The hush was intense, reverential. Goose bumps raised on Copper’s arms. Lord, she prayed, I feel Your presence. I praise Your name for the beauty of this place.
Her innate sense of direction guided them along. Daddy always said she was born with a compass in her brain. She was never really lost.
She led the mule out of the forest right behind Ace’s barn. Dance was in the garden hoeing weeds. “Hello,” Copper called.
Startled, Dance dropped her hoe and raised her hand to shade her eyes.
“Mind if I visit for a spell?” Copper asked.
Dance tucked a strand of wispy brown hair behind her ear and smoothed her skirts with her palms. “Reckon not.”
Copper stepped forward to meet her. “Your garden’s looking good.”
“Taters,” Dance said, pointing, “maters, beans, squash.”
“I brought you something from my garden.” Copper fetched two packets made of newsprint from her linen sack. The unfolded envelopes revealed marigold and zinnia seed. “Flower seed. Want me to help you plant them?”
Dance stepped on the business end of her discarded hoe. The handle slapped against her waiting palm. “Here,” she said, marking a shallow row with the pointed edge of the tool.
Copper knelt. “Zinnias or marigolds?”
Dance looked around as if she was waiting for someone to make the decision for her. Copper waited. Dance scraped the row a little deeper. “Here,” she repeated.
“All right. Let’s plant the zinnia seeds first. Then maybe you’d like a row of marigolds in front.”
Dance settled on her knees. Copper sprinkled the tiny seeds while Dance covered them with a fine layer of soil. At the end of the row, Copper upended the packet and let the last of the zinnias fall willy-nilly.
Dance reached for the folded paper square. Carefully she picked each tiny seed from the soil and put them back in the envelope, then stuck it in her skirt pocket. “Keep some for the porch,” she said.
Properly chastised, Copper repented of her wastefulness. Just because she had plenty didn’t mean Dance did. “Good idea. We’ll put aside some of the marigold too.”
All the while they worked, Copper listened for a cry. Dance’s baby must be sleeping. When the rows were finished, she walked with Dance to the house. There was neither welcoming chair nor humble bench on the Sheltons’ front porch. A straw broom worn down to a nub and a wasp’s nest in the corner of the window were the only decorations.
Dance handed Copper a dipper of water. It was stale but served the purpose of slaking her thirst. After pouring water into the washbasin, Dance stood back indicating for her guest to go first. The cool water felt good as Copper scrubbed her hands before drying them on a rough feed-sack towel.
Dance knit her fingers together under the water, twisting them like a wet dishrag, over and over. A red wasp circled over their heads. Finished, Dance turned and with swift motion hurled the water from the basin toward the window. “Hate them things,” she said. The water-soaked wasp nest hung from a tiny stem, limp as crepe paper. The wasp buzzed off, his day’s work ruined.
Taking her time, Dance put the basin back on the wash shelf. She moved it a fraction of an inch in all directions before settling on the spot that pleased. The lye soap she put in the exact center of the granite dish that hung from a nail on a sturdy post. Seemingly satisfied, she left Copper standing and disappeared around the side of the cabin.
Dance doing what Dance does best, Copper mused, walking away—disappearing, giving little thought to others.
Copper leaned against the Sheltons’ porch rail and waited. If the baby cried, should she go get him? Seemed like Jay had been sleeping long enough. Besides, she was anxious to check him over. She remembered the wise counsel of her stepmother whenever Copper fretted like this: “It’s not your kitchen, Daughter,” she’d say. In other words, “Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
At last Dance came back, carrying several empty tins. Walking past Copper, she headed back to the garden, where she filled the tins with dirt. Back on the porch, she put the tins beside the washbasin.
Copper helped her plant the rest of the seed in the cans and water them from the dipper. “These will be pretty when the flowers bloom.”
As if the cans were the finest of cut glass, Dance arranged and rearranged them on the porch. First she set them on the windowsills. Unsatisfied, she moved them to the side of the door, then walked out in the yard, where she studied the placement. Finally, she put one on each wooden porch step.
“They’ll catch the morning sun here,” Copper said.
“Thank ye for the seed,” Dance said, giving Copper a smidgen of satisfaction.
Copper wiped the sweat from her brow with the tail of her apron. “The day’s sure heating up. I’ll bet it’s nice and cool inside.”
With a show of reluctance, Dance opened the door. Copper stepped in ahead of her. The cabin was clean and quiet. The table was set for two, and on the stove something savory simmered. Ace must be coming in for his noon meal.
Copper bit her tongue, trying not to meddle, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Is the baby sleeping?”
Dance pulled out a chair. It scraped against the floor, shattering the silence. She pulled out another.
Copper sat. “Dance?”
“Don’t judge me,” Dance said.
Her words took Copper aback. There was a big difference between honest observation and condemnation, and she often noted that the guiltiest are the first to decry judgment. It was as if they preferred to remain lost, unchallenged in their misdeeds, as if by doing so they could hide from God Himself. Dance had taken offense, and Copper needed to proceed carefully if she was to win Dance’s trust.
“I’d like to be your friend, if you’ll let me,” Copper said. “I don’t mean to seem judgmental.”
Dance got up to stir the pot on the stove, her back to Copper. “I like my life the way it is. Me and Ace have worked things out.”
Well, now, she can converse when she wants to, Copper thought. But I’m in a fix. I’ve been dismissed, and I haven’t seen the baby yet. What is Dance trying to hide? “That’s well and good, Dance, but I still want to know how the baby is.”
“Ace will be home soon. You don’t want to be here when he comes in.”
Copper squared her shoulders. She could get her back up too. If Dance thought she was leaving without seeing little Jay, then she had another think coming. “You might as well set another plate on the table, because I’m staying.”
Dance slapped a plate (good thing it was tin and not china) and a fork in front of Copper. “You’re sticky as a burr and just as aggravating.”