Torrent Falls

by Jan Watson

  The upstairs room Tommy showed John to was neat as a pin. A large window overlooked the backyard, where John could see an old stone washhouse and a small apple orchard. A single tombstone sat inside a black iron fence. John wondered what import it had, what sad story lay there.

  He pulled off his boots and set them side by side under the bed. Exhaustion overtook him. He wasn’t the sort to laze about in the daylight, but that bed looked mighty comfortable. Opening his Bible, he checked to see that the marriage license was secure. Perhaps he’d close his eyes for just a minute.

  Hours later Tommy and Robert woke him for supper.

  A blind man could see that Mrs. Archesson doted on Andy Tolliver. The best piece of chicken and an extra large helping of peas and new potatoes went on his plate. John reckoned he deserved it. The twelve-year-old lad was as respectful as could be and by all accounts helped run Mrs. Archesson’s boardinghouse business. Tommy told John that Andy did all the repairs in his spare time, and every Monday he did the whole wash with only the help of Tommy.

  As soon as they were settled around the supper table, John was peppered with questions about Copper and Lilly Gray. He answered as best he could without letting his supper grow cold. Mrs. Archesson sure knew how to put a good meal on the table. Her fried chicken was nearly as good as Ma Hawkins’s.

  “My goodness,” Mrs. Archesson said, “I’m so glad to hear news of Copper and the baby. Copper is the reason I have my own little boy, you know. She rescued me when I was very ill and not myself. No, not myself at all.” Her words fluttered and stopped as she looked away.

  Tommy jumped in and told a story much like Mrs. Archesson’s. It was Copper’s husband who had rescued him from unwarranted life in an insane asylum, but it was Copper who had made him feel welcome in her home and never seemed to notice his twisted body. He’d gotten his job helping out at Mrs. Archesson’s boardinghouse because of Copper.

  “Miz Copper’s my best friend,” Andy said quietly. Elbows on the table, he leaned forward. “She saved my whole family, and we didn’t even know we needed saving. I expect me and my little sister Dodie would be in the orphanage if not for her. She was real good to my ma even though you could say Ma took advantage.” He moved bits of food around on his plate. “Everything worked out for the best, though, I reckon.” He cleared his throat. “Tommy here goes with me to visit Ma and my other sister, Marydell.”

  The room grew quiet. It seemed that no one knew what to say after hearing Andy’s painful story.

  “Tell us about your day, Andy,” one of the powdered ladies said and patted Andy’s cheek. “Did you work for the undertaker or at Massey’s Mercantile?”

  “Well,” Andy said, forking a potato, “it’s like this: I was on my way to Mr. Massey’s to straighten up the display cases when Miz Battinger stepped out on her porch. You know Miz Battinger, right? She’s the one’s got all them cats.”

  The ladies nodded in unison while Tommy just smiled. Evidently, Andy told good stories.

  Andy finished his mouthful and took a swig of tea. “Seems a kitty was missing—Pete, the number nine and newest cat, to be exact. Miz Battinger wondered could I help her find him. ‘Well, sure,’ says I. ‘There ain’t another thing I’d druther do than look for your number nine cat.’”

  Mrs. Archesson slipped another piece of chicken on Andy’s empty plate and one each on John’s and Tommy’s too. “Go on, Andy,” she encouraged as she refilled his glass.

  “Thing is,” Andy continued, “I’ve been in Miz Battinger’s house delivering groceries and such, and I know all her cats look the same, all got four legs and two ears. . . .”

  One of the ladies tittered behind her frilly hankie as if she’d never heard anything so funny.

  “Plus, they’re all the same gray color. How could Miz B. know which one was Pete and which one was Harry or Tom? Anyways, I scooted under the porch and I beat the bushes and checked the carriage house, but Pete never showed as much as a whisker. By this time Miz B.’s crying and wringing her hands. ‘Pete’s never missed a meal before,’ she says. ‘I know something terrible has happened.’”

  Andy started in on dessert, gingerbread with whipped cream. “I figure I got to do some fast thinking before something terrible really does happen . . . what with Miz B.’s bad heart and all.”

  “I didn’t know she had a bad heart,” one of the old ladies said.

  “I didn’t know either,” said the second.

  “Did you know, Emma?” the first lady hollered at the last one.

  “Yes,” she said with conviction, raising her ear trumpet. “I saw her stirring the batter.” She held up her saucer. “I’ll have another piece, please.”

  Mrs. Archesson sliced another piece of cake. “Please, Andy. Did you ever find Pete?”

  Andy nodded. “Thankfully, I remembered seeing a gray cat behind the bank last evening when I was hauling the trash to the alley. ‘Don’t you worry,’ I say to Miz B. ‘I think I know where Pete has got to.’ Then I hightailed it down to Mr. Upchurch’s bank. Well, I pretty much knew that cat wasn’t Pete because I’d seen him there lots of times, but a gray cat’s a gray cat, ain’t it?” He started scraping dishes, handing them off to Mrs. Archesson, who took them to the sink.

  “Did Miz B. know the difference?” Tommy asked.

  “I didn’t think so. I carried the alley cat to her house, and she clutched it to her chest like it was a long-lost sweetheart. She tried to pay me a nickel, but I refused. ‘This is not a sack of groceries,’ I told her.

  “Anyways,” he continued, “to make a long story longer, I stopped by on my way home this evening—just to make sure everything was okay. Miz Battinger seen me coming up the walk and threw open the door before I even knocked. She said she was very happy with her number ten cat. Seems Pete number nine was watching the whole transaction from his perch up the sugar maple in the front yard. Miz B. said he come scattering down after I left the alley cat. Probably afraid number ten was his replacement.”

  After the laughter died down, Andy looked at John. “Your turn. We’re all wondering why you’re here.”

  John told them what he felt comfortable telling. Of course they wondered why he was here in Lexington, what had befallen him. He wondered himself. If things had worked out as he had planned all those years ago he surely wouldn’t be sitting at the table eating gingerbread with folks he didn’t even know.

  Slowly the conversation changed. Miz Emma asked a question. Andy started another story. Thankfully the onus was off John. He picked at cake crumbs with his fork as his mind swirled away. . . .

  Wasn’t it just yesterday that he had fallen in love with Copper Brown? They were both children when he knew she was his one true love—his one and only. He claimed her like gardens claim rain, like trees claim mountains, like stars claim the night sky—elementally. He thought his right to her love was a given, like seasons or sunlight.

  He was fifteen when he staked a claim on a piece of property up near Knobby Ridge. His pa lent him a hundred dollars. He’d paid back every cent. His boy’s mind could see a little cabin there; his boy’s heart was already promised. Copper would have come to love him too if it hadn’t been for the copperheads.

  It wasn’t long after the brush arbor meeting, just a few days after Copper’s family and John’s attended to hear the enthralling fire-and-brimstone sermon and witness a fearless snake-handling preacher. Copper’s little brother Daniel was enraptured by the whole event, though at the time no one thought a thing of it.

  But as John’s mother often said, “Boys will be boys,” and in due time Daniel found himself a den of copperheads. Having much desire to be like the viper-loving parson but lacking the reverend’s skill, Daniel suffered the serpent’s revenge.

  Then came the stranger, a doctor who saved Daniel’s life and captured the heart of John’s true love, Copper.

  Now here John sat, a stranger in a strange land still in love with the girl of his youth.

  “Mr. Pelfrey.” Andy’s
voice pulled John from his reverie. “How about we go see the town? Me and Tommy will show you where Copper lived, and you’ll want to meet Searcy and Reuben.”

  “Sure. I’d like that.”

  “I’ll go get the buggy,” Andy said. “Tommy here can’t walk too far.”

  The lethargy of long, hot August days took over Copper’s household. Since Hezzy took Remy to her house, the urgency that had held Copper in its sway for weeks dissipated. She could hardly believe that Remy had chosen to live with Hezzy. But the bond that had developed between the two was as unexpected as it was beautiful, and Copper knew it was a good and true thing.

  Since Copper no longer had to make every minute count for something, mornings she spent in the garden, afternoons she canned whatever was ripe, and after supper there was time for porch sitting and tea drinking.

  John had been gone for nearly a month. He’d gotten off to a slow start, Dimmert relayed, for after one day’s journey Faithful had caught up with him. Copper laughed every time she thought of John carrying the hound back to Troublesome. Dimmert brought the dog to Copper because Faithful wouldn’t touch her food with John gone. Now she moped on the porch, but at least she ate. Copper knew just how she felt.

  The post brought a letter from Alice, so she knew where John was and what he was about. Lawyers and judges and courts would decide their fate. What would be would be. Copper didn’t fret, but she wished this summer would go on forever, this blissful time of dreams and hope against hope, for the coming fall might bring pronouncements she didn’t want to hear.

  One early Wednesday morning she was sitting outside braiding Lilly’s thick black hair when a man she didn’t know rode up in a cloud of dust. He was a big fellow and very handsome. Spurs jingled as he crossed the yard.

  “Ma’am,” he said with a sweep of his hat, “I’m Spears Russell. I’ve heard tell you’re a baby catcher. I’m hoping you’ll see fit to attend my missus.”

  Copper wrapped a red ribbon around the tail of Lilly’s braid. “I’ll help in any way I can. Let me get my things.”

  Soon she was bouncing along behind Mr. Russell. His horse was powerful and easily held them both. She would have liked to have her own mount, but Dimmert wasn’t around to fetch one from John’s place for her. And from what Mr. Russell relayed, they didn’t have time to waste. It was his wife’s third lying-in, and she was always quick to deliver. Mrs. Russell’s sister had attended her other births, but she had recently married and moved away.

  “Her mother’s with her, but she’s got a touch of nerves,” Mr. Russell said. “Besides, I want the best for my Lolly, and I hear that’s you.”

  Before they reached his home place, Copper and Spears were on a first-name basis. She found him to be a friendly, talkative man. He and his wife, Lolly, had bought the old Miller property over near Quicksand several years ago, and he bred and traded horses to make a living. His dream was to move his family to a place better suited for horses, somewhere out West. Spears had his heart set on being a cowboy.

  The Russell place was blessed with many acres of flat-bottom land, which Spears had enclosed with whitewashed plank fencing. A horse-shaped weather vane graced the peaked roof of a large black stable. Copper was enthralled. It reminded her of Lexington. Horses whinnied greetings as they rode up. The grounds were as neat and clean as any she’d seen.

  Lolly Russell paced the porch, her hands pressed against her back, her belly stuck out round as a pumpkin. Two little girls followed her like ducklings, matching each step. A frail-looking woman Copper took to be Lolly’s mother rested on a bench.

  The birth of the Russells’ third girl was quick and easy. Within a couple of hours after Copper’s arrival, the infant was nuzzling her mother’s chest. Copper would stay through the night in case of emergency, then turn Lolly’s care over to her mother.

  After supper Spears showed Copper around the farm he proudly called a ranch. His oldest daughter sat on his shoulders and held tight to his ears as he walked and talked of the wide open spaces out West.

  About a dozen horses followed inside the fence as they walked. A little white dog with brown-tipped ears and a smiling mouth ran laps around the large beasts.

  “Mind the hooves, Maggie,” Spears called out to the dog. “Maggie’s smart as a whip and fearless, keeps the wolves and coyotes away.”

  “I’d be afraid a horse would kick her to kingdom come,” Copper replied.

  “Ah, they like her all right. She can be a right good companion.”

  “If she ever has puppies, I’d like to have one,” Copper said. “My old dog died a few years back. I’ve missed him ever since.”

  “Way I see it, a house ain’t a home without a dog,” Spears said.

  “I agree. I have an old tom, but cats don’t replace dogs.” Copper turned her back and leaned against the wooden fence. Dusky dark crept across the pasture. A gentle breeze cooled the air. There wasn’t a weed to be seen or a piece of grass out of place. “You’ve sure got a nice spread here.”

  “Got to keep a nice place to raise my cowgirls.” Spears lowered his daughter to the ground. “I can’t thank you enough for taking care of Lolly. I’ll pay for your service of course.”

  “I don’t charge. It’s my ministry.”

  She could see the protest form on his face. She started to deny him, but before she could say a word, a weight fell across her shoulder. A soft nicker blew against her neck. She laughed and reached up to stroke the horse’s long nose. “This one’s a friendly thing.”

  “I’ve never seen him act like this.” Spears shook his head, obviously perplexed. “That horse don’t like nobody, and he’s as contrary as sin. I’d sell him in a heartbeat, but I don’t want to foist his cantankerous ways on someone else.”

  The horse raised his head from Copper’s neck and nuzzled her palm. Giggling, she turned to see his face, and her heart skipped a beat. “Star! Oh, my goodness, it’s Star.”

  “You know that ornery piece of horseflesh?”

  “This horse means the world to me.”

  Spears pounded his fist against the rail like an auctioneer pounding a gavel. “Sold!” he exclaimed with a ready smile. “One good turn deserves another.”

  A light heart and a borrowed saddle accompanied Copper home the next day. She’d insisted she could find her own way back, but Spears being Spears insisted more strongly that he wouldn’t hear of it, so she followed him on a docile Star.

  Copper wasn’t the least bit tired, though she’d spent the night through caring for Lolly and her infant. The Russells and their ranch had delighted her and lifted her spirits, not to mention the thrill finding Dimmert’s horse had given her.

  A few miles before Troublesome, she reined in her mount and called to Spears. He turned back and rode alongside. “Would you mind,” she asked, shading her eyes against the sun, “if I go on alone? This is the perfect opportunity for me to call on a friend who is recovering from a long illness.”

  “Don’t mind at all, little lady.” He adjusted his wide-brimmed white hat, sitting tall in the saddle, a natural on a horse. “You need anything, you holler.”

  “But what about your saddle?”

  “I’ll pick it up one day—give Lolly and me a chance to visit.”

  Star neighed; his great head seemed to nod good-bye.

  Spears’s laughter boomed. “Tell you the truth, I’m glad to be shut of the prince there.” Wheeling his horse, he lifted his hat in salute, then rode away.

  It didn’t take Copper long to find the path to Hezzy’s cabin. Hezzy’s old dog raised one rheumy eye when Copper slapped Star’s reins over the porch rail. As she scooted the dog’s rump away from the open door, she hollered, “Hezzy, it’s me, Copper.”

  “Come on in here, girl,” she heard Hezzy answer from somewhere in the house.

  Copper squeezed past the sleeping dog into a narrow pathway. Buckets and barrels, chairs and feather beds, faded paintings of men and women in long-ago costume, yellowing newspapers, and, inc
ongruously, a stuffed skunk threatened to topple over and smother her to death. A musty smell caused her to have a sneezing fit.

  “Bless you,” Hezzy called.

  “Gracious goodness, what is all this stuff?” Copper asked when finally she spied the old woman sitting in a cavelike clearing with her foot propped up.

  “Them’s all recollections,” Hezzy replied.

  “Recollections?”

  “Memories of my people and my late husband and his people. Seems the only family I got left is in them things.”

  Copper’s heart softened. “Oh, Hezzy.”

  Hezzy worked a bit of snuff with a frayed-end stick. “Don’t you go feeling sorry for me. Sometimes things is easier to deal with than family.”

  Copper nodded; as usual she’d overstepped her bounds. It was time to change the subject. “Where’s Remy?”

  “Off somewheres. Since she healed up, I cain’t keep that girl to home.”

  Copper perched on the edge of an overstuffed chair. “How are you two getting along?”

  Hezzy peered around her, making a shooing motion. “Charley! Mind yore manners.”

  A huge tiger-striped cat stretched against Copper’s back, then padded over the chair arm and jumped down. A piece of stuffing clung to one foot. He stalked across the floor stiff legged, tail in the air, pausing now and then to shake his foot frantically as if it were being attacked by a fluffy, deranged mouse.

  “Kitty, kitty,” Hezzy said, patting her lap. “Kitty, kitty.” Charley leaped up, and Hezzy freed the piece of cotton batting, tucking it up under the cuffed sleeve of her dress. “I might need this for something.” Relieved, the cat curled around, instantly asleep on Hezzy’s welcoming lap. “Now, what was it you asked? My mind ain’t no better than a flour sifter—cain’t keep nothing in it.”