Carry the World

by Susan Fanetti

  By most standards, the Cummings’ store didn’t amount to much. They’d given over the front room of their moderately spacious cabin to the enterprise, and the room showed signs of a family life being lived around the wares for sale—the chairs beside the fireplace, the basket of knitting on the floor beside one; the kitchen at the back, framed off with a wood counter where Esther displayed her pies and other sweets; the stiff family photos on the mantelpiece. On laundry days too cold or rainy for wash to hang out, the Cummings’ family laundry was swagged across the store.

  The stock was neatly kept and arranged, but it was sparse, compared to a business like Callwood Dry Goods. More than anything else, this little store was a trading post, where mountain people brought what they could make or hunt or grow and traded it for something else they needed. There wasn’t much in the way of real ‘store-bought’ merchandise the store could offer up here. Hez relied on barter nearly as much as anyone else in these parts; his store was just the nexus point for the transactions. But he did have a few things for sale: mainly sturdy clothes, tools, ammunition, milled grains, some household supplies, and a few special items like spices and sweets.

  Red Fern Holler was a good two miles or so from any path wide enough to accommodate a full-size wagon, and at least twice that far from anything a car or truck could navigate. When Hez Cummings needed stock from the world below, he and his sons brought it up on their mules. Like others who lived in such remote locations, for bigger hauls he had a small, narrow cart that could be fitted with runners in the winter or thick wheels in warmer seasons, to be pulled by animal or man over the steep, rocky terrain, but that was hard duty, and used sparingly. For the most part, Hez met a hauler at the farthest reach a truck could make it and carried his stock up the rest of the way on his mule.

  She went into the store. Hezekiah Cummings must have heard her talking with Orville; he was already making his way to the door.

  “How do, Mizz Ada!” He held out his hand, and Ada handed over her pack for him to carry. He didn’t like women to exert themselves if they didn’t have to.

  “Hello, Hez. Something smells delicious. Is Esther around?”

  “Esther!” he yelled, and then gave Ada a sheepish smirk. “She back in the house, tidyin’ up. She got huckleberry pies bakin’—that’s what you smell. How you feelin’?”

  “I’m well, thank you. And thank you so much for helping get books shared while I was ill.”

  “’Twas all Esther’s doin’. When she gets it in her head somethin’ needs doin’, ain’t no soul on this earth can stop her.”

  The woman in question hurried up from the back of the house, wiping her hands on her apron. “My laws, Mizz Ada! We heard tell you’d be with us again soon! How you doin’?” She put out her arms, and Ada took her embrace happily.

  “I’m well, Esther. And so grateful.”

  “Pssh.” She waved the thanks away. “’Tweren’t nothin’ ‘tall. Jus’ a ‘scuse for folk to get together and have a good time.” Esther set her hands on her ample hips and squinted up at Ada. “Fact, how’d you feel if we made a reg’lar thing of it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know, we got the meetin’ house, but these days, we’s only got a sometime preacher come up ever’ now and again, and we ain’t had a teacher goin’ on ten years now. We do what we can for God on our own, and for the young’uns, too. Mostwise, the meetin’ house stands empty, though. But while you was ailin’, we all met up there with the books we borrowed, and it was a right nice time. How’d you feel if we kep’ that on, even now you’re back? We can all meet you there, and do it up like we been?”

  “That would be lovely, yes. I’ll still visit the families that can’t get to the meeting house, but I think a book party would be wonderful.”

  As Mrs. Pitts so often said, the Pack Horse Librarian program was about much more than simply delivering books. They were not merely a different kind of postal service. Pack Horse Librarians made connections—between themselves and their patrons; between their patrons and the writers of the books, and the characters and stories in them; between the mountain and the world below; and even among the people here in this quiet world above, where life was hard and people hunkered down sometimes and forgot they had neighbors.

  They carried the world.

  “I’ll send Eddie out, have ‘im round people up,” Hez said.

  “Orville was outside. He said he’d spread the word I was here.”

  Hez nodded and went out the front door, still carrying Ada’s saddlebags.

  Esther hooked her arm around Ada’s. “Would you like a cup? I got tea and coffee brewin’.”

  “Coffee would be wonderful, thank you.”

  Esther led her back to sit at the narrow wood counter where her sweets were displayed. As she made up cups of coffee for them both, she asked, “You been up Cable’s Holler yet?”

  There was a tone in her question Ada recognized—the friendly, and mainly sincere, interest of a neighbor, but a tinge of hunger for gossip, too. “Not yet. That’ll be my next stop today.” And her last.

  “Jonah Walker was real worried ‘bout you in that storm. He come flyin’ down the mountain ‘fore we even opened up for the day, yellin’ for help. Hez hadta drag Eddie from a full sleep to send him down for your doc.”

  She handed Ada a cup of hot coffee and sat down beside her.

  Ada sipped her coffee and let Esther’s observation go without comment. Of course there would have been some talk in this holler, where Jonah was known, that Ada had spent a month alone with a widower and his two children. The talk was probably not so far off the truth that had flowered during that month, which only made this moment now all the more awkward.

  “Jonah, he’s a good man. Rough ‘round the edges, but a good man. I watched him grow up, y’know? Saw what he was like as a boy. Wasn’t like he is now. I guess you know his wife died right after havin’ Bluebird.”

  “Yes, I know.” Though gossip made Ada uncomfortable, she found herself riveted now. To hear news of Jonah from the view of someone who’d known him always? That was a gift she’d not expected.

  “He never was a giddy sort, but he was happy enough before. But that—’twas a sad, sad, thing, and him up there with two little babes, all on his own. Now and again, when he had need, he’d come down with ‘em both strapped to him, front and back, and it was like two sweet, fat cherubs ridin’ a ghost. ‘Twas years ‘fore he was like a livin’ man again, though he still hunkered ‘long the edge, not wantin’ nobody’s notice.” Esther studied Ada for a moment before she went on. “Most life I ever saw in ‘im in years was that day he come down for help for you.”

  Ada cleared her throat and took another sip of coffee. This time, Esther waited, letting the silence grow. Finally, Ada said, “He took good care of me.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say that wasn’t dangerous or private or both.

  After another few moments of silent study, Esther nodded. “The Lord works in mysterious ways.” She took a big swig of her coffee. “Well, I reckon the Walkers’ll be pleased to see you.”

  Elijah and Bluebird were thrilled to see her. They both raced from the house as she dismounted, and Bluebird flung her little arms around Ada’s legs with a squeal. Ada crouched low and pulled her into a snug, happy hug and accepted her flurry of wet kisses all over her face.

  “You have a boo!” Bluebird fussed when she saw Ada’s chin. She’d taken the two stitches out last night, but the cut was still red and a little sore.

  “Just a tiny one. For just a tiny little accident. Like when you tripped on the steps and scraped your knees.”

  “That hurt real bad.” She patted Ada’s chin lightly.

  “Yes, but it healed up fast, and you can’t even see now, can you?”

  The sweet girl stepped back and lifted her little dress—faded and worn at the hem, but clean, as always—and examined her unblemished knees. “Nope, can’t see nothin’!”

  Ada stood and we
nt to untie her pack. “And how are you, Elijah?”

  “I’m good, Mizz Ada. I read the whole book all the way through twice. I got some questions for the author man, though.” He’d become fascinated with motors and engines, and the last book he’d borrowed had been a history of the railroad in America.

  She drew the pack from Henrietta’s back. “Do you? Well, would you like to write a letter and ask him your questions?”

  His blue eyes went wide. “That’s somethin’ I could do?”

  “Of course! I can’t guarantee you’ll get an answer, but there’s no harm in trying.”

  “I’d like that, yes ma’am.” He took Henrietta’s reins and began to lead her to the barn.

  Jonah always did that. Always. “Where’s your father, children?”

  “Pa’s huntin’,” Bluebird said and then sighed. “He goes huntin’ ever’day now.”

  “Not ever’day, Blue.” Elijah looked at Ada. Though he was only nine and innocent of nearly all the world but what she brought him in books, she detected a shade of understanding in his eyes. “Jus’ the past few days.”

  The past few days. When he might have expected her to arrive for her usual visit. He wouldn’t have known exactly when she’d be back, because she hadn’t known exactly when she’d start her route again. Ada knew without asking that Jonah had first gone out a few days after she’d said goodbye, and if she hadn’t arrived back at Cable’s Holler today, he would have gone out every day until she had.

  He was avoiding her.

  She stared out at the quiet forest for a moment, hoping against hope to see him coming through the trees. Then she filled up her lungs with fresh air, squared her shoulders, put on a smile, and took Bluebird’s hand.

  She’d missed these children desperately. She wouldn’t let her disappointment ruin her reunion with them, even if that disappointment was sharp enough to break her heart.

  She didn’t see Jonah for another month.

  Not until her third visit since she’d started her route again. Nearly six weeks since she’d said goodbye and he’d told her they’d all be counting the days until they saw her again.

  Well, the children had counted the days. But if Jonah had, it was only to make sure he was gone when she’d be there. It was even worse than it had been at first. Then, he’d always been there, though he’d kept his distance. Now, he was away from the house completely.

  ‘Hunting.’ They must have had a packed smokehouse, then.

  Every time she rode into Cable’s Holler, the children were there, celebrating her return, but they were alone. She’d tried to wait him out on her last visit, but she’d lingered far too long and had felt her way down the last few miles in deep dark. If the moon hadn’t been nearly full, she would have had to stop and make camp in the woods, and she thought her parents might not survive the strain if ever again she didn’t come home when they expected her. Especially not on a fair summer night of good weather.

  By her third visit, umbrage had swamped her disappointment and sense of loss. She’d spent the month between her first visit and this one reliving every moment she’d shared with him, from their first words to their last, second-guessing her interpretations of his words, gestures, and acts. She tried to deconstruct her feelings as well, to tell herself that she’d been no more than ill and weak and grateful, that she hadn’t fallen in love with him, but she’d failed. She knew her mind and her heart.

  Sadly, she hadn’t known his.

  So she focused on Elijah and Bluebird, reading to them, listening as they read to her, talking to them about her life down below. She gave Elijah the simple form letter from the author he’d written, and shared his innocent joy at those few impersonal lines. She went out with them to see the growing kids and chicks. She sat at the table with them and helped them learn more than only reading. She gave them lessons on penmanship and writing, and on history and arithmetic, and she had plans to teach them art and music as well. She saw them only every other week, only a few hours at a time, but she was set on feeding their bright, hungry little minds as much as they could hold.

  They were sitting at the table together and she was showing them a children’s book about the American Revolution when the floor creaked heavily and they all turned toward the sound.

  Jonah stood in the doorway. The day had been hot, as hot as it got this high on the mountain, and he wore only a cotton knit shirt, like one of his union-suit tops, under a set of faded overalls. He stared right at her.

  “Pa!” Bluebird cried and got up to run to him. “You came for Mizz Ada!” She clutched his legs, and he set a hand on her head and tousled her hair lightly. His eyes didn’t leave Ada’s.

  “Elijah, take your sister out back and start your chores.”

  Elijah rarely questioned his father, and he didn’t do so now. He got up from the table and went to his sister. “C’mon, Blue.” He led her out the front door.

  Ada stood and smoothed the front of her clothes, self-conscious to be standing before him in dungarees and one of George’s refitted cotton shirts. Which was patently absurd—except for the time she’d worn his dead wife’s clothes, he’d seen her in nothing but men’s clothes. In fact, he never had seen her in clothes she’d bought or made only for herself.

  She had a green cotton scarf tied around her neck, and her braid wrapped around her head, because the midday had been muggy and hot, and she didn’t like the feel of sweat running down her back.

  “Ada,” he said, almost too low to carry across the room.

  “Jonah.” Ada’s tone was crisp, the way she’d spoken to sassy schoolchildren. She was hurt and angry, and she didn’t bother to hide it.

  “How are you?”

  “Perfectly well, thank you.”

  He took a few steps into the room. Caught between competing needs to go to him and to keep her distance, Ada stayed right where she was. Her hand came up and caught the knot of her scarf.

  “You know why I been stayin’ away?”

  Ada didn’t respond. She desperately wanted to know the answer to that question, but she’d lost the ability to speak.

  “I can’t say goodbye to you again.”

  She hadn’t expected an answer like that.

  She cleared her throat and made words come. “Then why are you here now?”

  “’Cuz I couldn’t stay away no more.”

  “Jonah ...”

  “I know, I know. Nothin’s changed. I’ll get my head straight ‘bout it. I reckon that’s what I’m tryin’ to do now. See you, then say goodbye, and try to go on ‘bout livin’ till you come again.”

  A month ago, she’d thought she might ask him if they could try to be closer, even though they couldn’t be together all the time, if they might love each other when they could and, as he’d just said, go on about living until they could be together again. But that month had passed, and she’d been hurt. Now she understood that he was hurting, too. They’d only hurt more if they got closer.

  So she didn’t ask. Instead, she smiled and said, “I’m glad, Jonah. I’ve missed you, these past few visits.”

  He nodded but didn’t speak.

  Ada went to her pack. “I ... I have something for you.”

  She’d piqued his curiosity, at least, and he finally came all the way to her. “What is it?”

  Reaching into her pack, Ada closed her eyes and sent up a prayer that he’d take the gift as it was intended. She pulled out a carefully folded bundle of white linen and held it out to him.

  He examined his hands before he took the bundle from her. Ada was touched by that care. He didn’t want to dirty up her gift.

  As he opened the linen, he bobbled the other piece inside it, and moved quickly to the table and set it down to finish unfolding. He spread out the piece and frowned down at it, and Ada fretted. She’d known from the start that to do this might be an overstep she wouldn’t be able to retract.

  An embroidered sampler commemorating Bluebird’s birth. He had one for his wedding to Grace,
and one for Elijah’s birth, but Grace hadn’t lived to stitch one for her daughter.

  Ada had wanted to give him that token for Bluebird, but she’d known from the moment the idea had occurred to her that Jonah might think she was doing something only Bluebird’s mother had a right to do.

  Of course, he couldn’t read it. Ada stepped to his side and reached out a trembling hand. But before she could explain, Jonah traced a finger over the bluebird in the center.

  Ada had little talent for drawing or painting, but she could turn a nice stitch. She’d designed it herself, to be as close to natural as she could make it—the bird blue and white, with a soft red throat, perched on a branch full of dogwood blooms. Just like Elijah’s sampler, it had Bluebird’s first and middle name, and her birth date—Elijah had explained why the day was marked on the calendar hanging by the door, and she’d worked backward to the year—and then at the bottom, in the traditional way of samplers, the alphabet in three rows of the same colors. A scrolled border finished the piece.

  His finger moved from the bluebird to the name above it. “Is ... is ... is this her name?”

  At his question, Ada’s doubts broke apart and blew away. His voice was full of wonder. “Yes. Bluebird Hope.”

  Jonah ran his finger over the stitches in each letter and spoke them aloud. “B-L-U-E—”

  “Blue,” Ada interjected.

  “Blue,” he echoed. “B-I-R-D—Bird?”

  “Yes.” She set her hand on his back. He was trembling, too.

  “Bluebird.” He swept his finger under all the letters of her first name, then began to trace the next. “H-O-P-E. Hope. Bluebird Hope.” He stood straight and turned to her. “I never seen my baby girl’s name before.”

  There was so much emotion in his face, in his eyes. His features had drawn in and pulled tight, and Ada thought it was pain she saw. Pain she’d caused.

  “I’m sorry if—”

  She couldn’t get the apology out because Jonah’s mouth was on hers. He’d clamped her head between his big, hard-worked hands, and covered her mouth completely with his own. She couldn’t even take in the gasp the act had provoked.