“Granny!” Rachel pretends like she is shocked.
“Tell this fellow what I told you, first day you come here.”
Granny is still laughing. She tugs on Rachel’s sleeve.
“You tell it,” Rachel says. “You tell it better.”
“This here little girl,” Granny says, and pats at Rachel, “comes and asks me if I ever been sick. And I say oncet or twicet. And she says, ‘Granny, have you ever been bedridden?’ And I say, ‘Law yes, child, and oncet in a buggy!’ ”
Granny cackles and I laugh until I choke on cornbread and Rachel is giggling, although it is an old joke, it is not even Granny’s, she stole it from Minnie Pearl. Or maybe Minnie Pearl stole it from Granny. Rachel is laughing into the back of her hand while a kerosene lantern flickers behind her.
We sit quiet for a spell and then I say, “Granny, I had a great-uncle come up on this mountain to live, years ago. Sixty year, maybe. Lived a hermit’s life. You heard tell of such a fellow?”
“Name of?” Granny says.
“Name of Dillon Lloyd.”
“Yes, now. Dillon Lloyd. That man was crazy as a bedbug.”
Rachel snickers, but this time I ignore her.
“He was my daddy’s uncle,” I say. “I’m named for him. I heard family stories about him. You know where he lived?”
“I do for a fact. Aint far from here.”
She says how to get there and I listen careful. “Used to be but a footpath up in,” she says. “Not that I ever took it because he didn’t welcome company, Dillon Lloyd. But my daddy pointed it out to me many a time. Now they’s a two-tire track. Must be the coal company or maybe the power company been in there.”
“Must be,” I say.
“I don’t care for no electric myself,” she says.
We wash Granny’s dishes and then we leave. It is full dark outside. The jeep starts just fine so I drive away in my truck and Rachel follows behind. We go a mile or so, then I stop. Rachel pulls in behind me. I walk back, open the passenger side of the jeep and get in. Rachel shuts off the motor.
“You really ready to go back down this mountain?” I ask.
I can’t see her face.
“Tony will worry,” she says.
“Is that so?”
“What do you want to do?” she asks.
“Let’s leave the jeep here. Let’s take my truck and see if we can find Dillon’s cabin.”
“It’s dark,” she says.
“Moon’s out, and I got a flashlight.”
She looks down at her lap, then opens the door and gets out.
“Let’s go,” she says.
I stop twice and grope around with my flashlight before we find the track Granny described. There is a white metal sign—POSTED NO TRESPASSING PROPERTY OF THE AMERICAN COAL COMPANY. I rip down the sign with a crowbar and toss it into the weeds.
It is a sharp, uphill climb and tree limbs lash the truck. Then we top out onto a bald. On the other side, clear in my headlights, is the outline of a cabin. I shut off the engine.
“What do you know,” I say.
“We can’t get to it,” Rachel says. “It’s too growed up.”
“I aint sure I want to get to it. Just want to look at it. I’m scairt if we touched it, it would disappear.”
It is dark beyond us but I can feel the mountains falling away. I turn on the radio. The dial lights orange.
“You’ll run down the battery,” Rachel says.
“Wouldn’t be a bad place to be stranded,” I say. “We could spend the night here.”
“It’s getting chilly,” she says.
“I got a sleeping bag stowed under the seat.”
“One sleeping bag?”
Voices come to us clear as the angels spoke to people in the Bible, only it is Mother Maybelle singing “Wildwood Flower” from Bristol, and just as sweet as anything Abraham heard
O I’ll twine with my mangles and waving black hair
With the roses so red and the lilies so fair
And the myrtle so bright in the emerald dew
The pale and the leader and eyes look like blue.
“What does it mean?” Rachel says. “That first verse of ‘Wildwood Flower?’ It doesn’t make sense the way the Carters sing it.”
“The Carters always change words around till they don’t make sense,” I say. “What’s important is how it makes you feel.”
“How does it make you feel?”
I don’t say anything, just cover her hand with mine. She doesn’t pull away. Her head is laid back against the seat.
She says, “You been following what’s happening to Ingrid Bergman?”
“I heard it on the radio. It’s a shame the way they’re doing her. Narrow-minded prudes.”
“You would think that. You’re the only person I know who would, you and Aunt Carrie.”
“Most people are scared of life,” I say. “You are too. Except when you’re with me.”
She turns over her hand so our palms touch.
“There is something I want to feel at least once before I die,” she says.
I take her hand and hold it to my mouth. I can still smell the wild onions on her skin. I tickle her soft palm with the tip of my tongue.
“I should be careful,” she says. “I’ve made a mess of things with Tony.”
I pull her close and kiss her. Her mouth opens.
I want to see you naked and pale and the lilies spread over you, and the myrtle draped
I undress her slowly and then I take off my own clothes. We leave the cab and wade through the moonlight to the back of the truck. I let down the gate and spread the sleeping bag. The air is turning cold. Rachel’s arms are wrapt tight across her chest and when I touch her arms I feel the goosebumps. But then I lay her down and zip the sleeping bag around us and cover her with my body, praise her with my hands until she warms and melts and I do what I want.
RACHEL
You see the world differently on top of a mountain. Up there you might think that you are safe.
We sat in the back of Dillon’s truck, our legs and arms twined, and watched the white banks of morning fog run at us, so thick we could have stepped out and been carried off to the next peak. The smell of him was all over me, I could taste him inside my mouth.
“Is this the end of it?” he asked.
I shut my eyes and pressed my face against his neck. “I don’t want it to end. But I’m scared.”
“Scared of what people will think?”
“Yes. And scared of you.”
“Me?”
“You’re too strong for me and you want too much.”
“I only wanted one thing,” he said, “and now I’ve got it.”
“No,” I said. “You’ll want more.”
He brought my hand to his mouth, ran his lips along my crooked finger, the one I broke when I was a girl.
“Do you love me?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And I love you. Can you turn your back on that again?”
“No. I can’t turn my back on it.”
“Then you’ll leave Tony and move in with me?”
“Don’t ask me any more hard questions, Dillon. I can’t think straight right now.”
I followed him in the jeep, back down the mountain. I barely watched the road, kept my eyes on the shape of his head in the truck’s rear window. It was strange to see him so close yet out of reach. We passed the slate dump that loomed over Jenkinjones. I didn’t want to see the ugly slate or the coal camp. I wanted to carry a piece of the mountain back with me, under glass, store it away for safekeeping, and bring it out now and then to live on.
At my house I stopped the jeep and walked back to the truck. Dillon’s window was rolled down and his elbow rested on the door. I touched his arm and he took my hand.
“Leave Tony,” he said. “Climb in the truck right now and come with me.”
“I can’t,” I said. “It would be fine for you, but I’m the woman, Dillon.
I’m the one who would suffer.”
He squeezed my hand hard. “For God’s sake, Rachel, don’t turn away from me again.”
“No,” I said. “I’m not strong enough for that. I could see you Friday night when Tony’s at the Moose Club.”
He relaxed and smiled. “Friday night,” he said. “Come to my place.”
“Yes,” I said. I walked toward the house.
“Rachel!” he called. “Can we at least tell my mother?”
I smiled. “We won’t have to. She’ll figure it out.”
By Friday night I’d had time to sort things out. I had dreamed of Dillon all week and each time I dreamed, I accused myself, called myself an adulteress. I had always considered it the worst sin, next to murder. If I went to him again, I would have no excuse, could not claim to have been swept off my feet on a moonlit night. When Tony left for the Moose Club I sat alone and listened to the ticking of the kitchen clock. Then I bathed and put on a fresh dress and drove to Winco.
I parked behind Dillon’s house, well out of sight of the highway. There were no other houses close by, no one to mark my coming and going, and if we were seen, no one would think ill of a relative paying a visit. He took me by the hand and led me straight to the bedroom with hardly a word. At first I was nervous and awkward but he soothed me and I forgot everything except to hold him and love him as fiercely as I could.
Later he brewed a pot of coffee and we snuggled on the couch in bathrobes and sipped from steaming cups.
“I almost didn’t come,” I said.
“I worried about that,” he said. “I would have come for you.”
“It’s adultery, Dillon. It’s a sin.”
“It’s love,” he said. “Sin is a puny thing to speak of when two people love. Anyway, it wouldn’t be adultery if you’d divorce Tony.”
“It would still be sin because we can’t marry.”
“At least you’d be free of Tony. I can’t stand to think of you having sex with him.”
“It doesn’t happen often. But what if I stopped sleeping with him and then got pregnant? He’d know I was having an affair. Everyone would know and I’d lose my job and my parents would disown me. And the baby. What would I say to the baby?”
“There are other jobs and other places,” he said, but he didn’t say anything about family because he knew there was no answer to that. Some people are made to throw over the bonds of kinship but I am not one of them.
We were quiet for a while and then I said, “I do want a baby. I’ve tried with Tony but I think maybe he’s sterile.”
“I’ll give you a baby,” Dillon said.
“Do you think it would be all right? It wouldn’t be deformed?”
“It won’t be deformed.” He smoothed my hair back from my forehead. “It would be a perfect baby.”
I missed a period soon after and the morning sickness came on fast. I should have been pleased but I was terrified. I’d had sex with Tony only two days before Dillon and I spent the night on the mountain. When I told Dillon the baby might be Tony’s, I thought he would put his fist through his living room wall.
“Goddamn it, Rachel, I thought you said he’s sterile!”
“His sperm count may just be low. He won’t have it checked so I don’t know for sure.”
“Jesus Christ!” He paced the floor, raked his fingers through his hair. Then he stopped. “I’ll know,” he said. “I’ll look into that youngun’s face and I’ll know if it’s got his blood or mine.”
“You can’t be sure.” I started to cry. “Dillon, I want you to love this baby.”
“I can’t love Tony Angelelli’s baby,” he said, his voice so cold it like to froze my blood.
“It’s my baby too,” I said. “Whoever the father is.”
I went to the door. He grabbed my arm.
“Don’t leave,” he said, and pulled me to him.
When I told Tony I was pregnant, he laughed and went to tell his mother. He never touched me.
When Jackie was born, I counted her fingers and toes as soon as I saw her, studied her face, pleased at the even features, the alert eyes that promised intelligence. She had dark hair, like both Tony and Dillon. Tony didn’t come to the hospital until after the delivery, and I forbade Dillon for fear it would look suspicious. When Tony finally came to take me home and pushed my wheelchair to the car, I saw Dillon’s truck parked down the street. He held a cigarette out the window, but I couldn’t see his face. I lifted Jackie as though I was changing positions, but I was really holding her for Dillon to see. After we passed by his truck I heard him gun the engine and drive away.
THE CHILD 1959 – 1961
JACKIE, 1959
I am almost eight and I am an insomniac. That is the biggest word I know. The doctor calls me it and he says I am young to be one but girls are sensitive and it’s just a phase. Mommy says that means it won’t last forever.
I live in Jenkinjones and when I was real little I thought there were bad things living outside my house. It is a wood house like a box and there is a wire fence around it but I thought the bad things might get in anyway.
I had an orange cat named Tiger who went outside and one time I heard Tiger scream and I heard lots of growls and Mommy said don’t look outside. I was afraid to go in the yard for a long time.
I had a playhouse. It was made of heavy paper and you put it around a card table and you could go in and out the door and live in it.
It had windows with flower boxes and red flowers painted on. It looked like our house. Mommy and me went to town and left the little house in the yard and when we got back the sky was dark and growly and the little house was shreds of paper that didn’t look like a house anymore.
There are snakes outside too, fat gray snakes, and I have seen them. One time Mommy dug up a snake in the garden and it tried to bite her but she killed it with her hoe. The snakes can run and they grab their tails in their mouths and turn into big hoops that roll fast and catch you. I dream about the snakes and they almost are on my front porch and I can’t get in the house because my dad is inside holding the door and then I wake up.
My dad eats bacon and eggs for breakfast. When he finishes he gets up from the table and says, Now I have to go make some wampum. He says wampum like it is something you chew but Mommy says wampum is money.
Today when I come home from school my mommy isn’t here and I go in the house all by myself. I am watching Mr. Cartoon so I won’t have to worry about her. My dad comes home. He says, You know Mamaw Honaker? like I don’t know Mamaw Honaker, even though she is my grandmother.
He says, Mamaw Honaker is real sick. Your Mom took her to the hospital and she won’t come home until Mamaw dies. When you get off the school bus tomorrow, you go to my office instead of here.
I don’t want Mamaw to die but I want my Mommy to come home soon.
My dad’s job is keeping books. After school I have to sit in his office and I look for the books but I can’t find any. The office is made of dark wood, and the floor smells like behind a bus because they put oil on it and the coal dust is ground in and the cigarette smoke. The green pad on my dad’s desk is the only color in the room.
My dad says today is pay day when the miners get their money. He hangs out a sign that says NO WORK TOMORROW. One by one the miners look in at the bars of a window cut in the door. Their faces are black and shiny and the whites of their eyes look at me, then at my dad. They look like they are mad at him. Some of them read the sign and say bad words.
We eat round steak for supper but my dad doesn’t know how to make french fries and he makes me go to bed early. He stands in my bedroom door and he doesn’t have any clothes on. His private things are fat and brown like big rotten fruits. I lie on my back and make a tent out of my blanket so I don’t have to see.
I have to get up and go to the bathroom. He is in the living room watching Jack Paar and smoking cigarettes. I try to slip by without him seeing me but I have to go right behind his chair. I go so close by t
he chair I can smell the hair oil on his head. He says Aint you asleep yet? He sounds like he is mad at me. When I get back to bed I make the tent again.
The telephone rings and it is morning. My dad talks into the phone while I eat my cereal. When he hangs up he says, You know Mamaw Honaker? Mamaw Honaker’s still real sick.
He says it like he is trying to remember something else but can’t. I cry on the school bus because I miss my Mommy and I am afraid she will die too.
My dad takes me to the Moose Club. The Moose Club won’t let us in until an eyeball watches us through a hole in the door, then we go inside. I think this is the place where mooses live but I don’t see any, only one’s head on the wall. The men are drinking from dark bottles at a bar like on TV.
Hey, Tony! the men say. They act like they like my dad.
He leaves me alone in a room with three pool tables. I poke at the colored balls with a big stick until I knock over a lamp. So I put up the stick and just roll the balls as hard as I can across the green table. Sometimes I roll a lot of balls at once and they hit each other. It’s pretty fun.
Mommy is at home when we get back and I start crying and she starts crying. She yells at my dad, Where have you been? I called and called. It’s a school night my mother is dying and can’t you do anything to help? He says I don’t know how to take care of her. You know I like to go out.
My dad gets mad and goes to spend the night at his mother’s house. Mommy talks on the telephone and cries. Then she comes in my room and puts my clothes in a suitcase.
Dillon is coming from the hospital, she says. He’s going to take you to his house.
Dillon is tall and skinny and has dark hair that gets in his eyes. He wears big brown shoes with dirt on them. I only see Dillon at Mamaw and Papaw’s house. He watches me close and sometimes he lets me ride on his back like a horse. He doesn’t come to our house because he and my dad don’t like each other. Mommy goes to see him but she won’t ever take me and sometimes she says don’t tell daddy where she’s going because he’ll fuss. I don’t like him to fuss so I never tell.
One time I asked Dillon how he was kin to me, and Mommy said, Cousin, real fast. She said, Dillon is your second cousin. Dillon said, Hellfire, and looked real mad and went home in his truck so I thought he didn’t like me to be his kin.
The Unquiet Earth Page 9