Dolly’s boarders resumed their morning conversation as Si brought the coffeepot from the stove and began filling his wife’s cup.
“That’s enough, honey . . . That’s plenty . . . Si, honey, you’re gonna spill it . . . Si?”
Everybody stopped talking and watched in shock as Si kept on pouring even as the coffee overflowed from Dolly’s cup and spilled onto the table. The coffeepot fell from his hand as he frowned, clutched his chest, and collapsed onto the kitchen floor.
August 14, 1944
Dear Violet,
My precious sister. Please forgive me. I got your letter at the first of the month, and I’ve been too overwhelmed to answer. How is Wiley doing after his accident? I was so happy to hear that he’s out of the hospital and back home in your loving care. Can’t any doctor look after you the way family can. Please give him our love.
Si’s doing about as well as could be expected. The doctor says his heart’s probably always been weak. Can you imagine that—Si, who’s never been scared to take on anything, no matter how hard it was? If you’d asked me about his heart all these years, I would’ve told you it’s the strongest one in the county. But it’s not, Violet. It’s sure not.
I look at Daisy and how she’s managed to pull herself up after losing her husband. Reed and her will end up getting married, I just know it. And I’m going to do my best to talk them into marrying at Little Mama’s so we can have just one more happy time here before we have to let the house go.
I’m sorry I couldn’t hold on to it, sweet Vi. It took everything Si and me had. I can’t make it by myself, and I won’t take a single ounce of Si’s strength away to save it. Never again. Because I’m not like Daisy, Vi. She’s young and strong and got a future ahead of her. I’m not young anymore. And I can’t even think about any future that don’t include Si. So we’ll have to let the house go. You be thinking what all you want out of it, and I’ll save it back for you.
Tell Wiley I’m praying for him and give all the young’uns a kiss for me.
Your loving sister,
Dolly
CHAPTER
forty-one
Reed, Anna, and Jesse stood on Dolly’s front porch with Joe Dolphus and the Hastings.
“I just can’t believe y’all are leaving,” Anna said.
“We think it’s for the best,” Evelyn said. “Dolly seems committed to selling the house. And if our rent money can’t change that, we feel we would be contributing to her stress by staying. Since the university called, we should probably go—so many soldiers are beginning to come home and enroll that there’s work again for stodgy academics like us.”
“My daughter’s been after me to come back now that the grandkids are gettin’ big enough to take fishin’,” Joe said. “And I think the less Dolly has to worry about right now, the better. But I want y’all to promise me that if things change, and there’s anything at all I can do to help save this house, you’ll get on that phone and call me collect. Day or night. It don’t matter. I’ll do anything in the world for her and Si.”
“The same goes for us,” Harry said.
Anna looked as if she were barely holding herself together as she hugged them all. Reed and Jesse helped carry their luggage and load it. Everybody waved goodbye one last time before Joe and the Hastings drove away. As Reed and Jesse came back on the porch, Anna burst into tears and ran inside the house.
“You better go see to that,” Reed said. “I’ll check on Dolly.” He went inside to Si and Dolly’s bedroom and quietly tapped on the door.
Dolly opened it and smiled. “Come on in, honey.”
He kissed her on the cheek before they sat down in two rockers next to the bed. “How is he this mornin’?”
“Pretty good. He’s restin’ mostly. Stirs around a little bit but not too much. I’m just so thankful you’re here, Reed. I don’t think I could give him those shots.”
“Glad I can help. When’s Dr. Sesser comin’ back?”
“Tomorrow. I don’t know how he finds the time with ever’body else he’s tendin’ to, but I’m mighty glad to see him when he walks through that door.”
They sat quietly together before she said, “Reed, don’t you never put nothin’ material ahead o’ the people you love.”
“Is that what you think you did, Miss Dolly?”
“I know it’s what I did—lettin’ Si work hisself to death ’cause I thought I couldn’t live without this ol’ house. And now look at him a-layin’ there with his heart so weak. What good is this house without him in it?”
“But you didn’t want the house for any material reason—not for a possession. You wanted it because it’s part o’ your family. It’s how you remember ’em. You ain’t got a selfish bone in your body, Miss Dolly.”
She patted his hand and dabbed at her eyes with her embroidered handkerchief. “I sure hope you’re right, honey.”
“He’s absolutely right.”
They were startled to see Si awake and smiling at them.
“Oh, Si, how do you feel?” Dolly jumped up to lay her hand on his forehead.
His breathing was slow and labored. “Fine . . . And you?”
She shook her head. “Si Chandler, don’t you dare die on me.”
He reached for her hand and held it. “Doin’ my best, Dolly, m’dear.” He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
Dolly sat back down next to Reed. “It’s strange how we get attached to places like they were people,” she said. “I guess they take on part o’ us, and we take on part o’ them, and before you know it, ain’t neither one of us quite whole without the other. That’s how come Little Mama’s house has always been so dear to me. I just breathe a little different in these big ol’ rooms. You got a place like that, Reed—a place where you breathe a little different?”
He smiled and nodded. “The Tanyard. And Hick’ry Mountain. I guess my special places are all outside. But if there’s ever been a house that meant anything to me, it was this one. I understand why you love it so much, Miss Dolly.”
“You were a little bitty thing—prob’ly not more’n five years old—when we lost our Samuel. Nothin’s more heartbreakin’ than rockin’ a sick child no medicine can help. This house is my last connection to my boy, Reed. It’s the last place he ever was, before the cemetery, and to tell you the truth, sometimes I can’t find the strength to follow that path to his little grave. But every now and again, I can feel him in these ol’ walls—maybe in the flutterin’ of a curtain or the echo o’ footsteps on old wood. Don’t get me wrong—I don’t believe my sweet boy’s hauntin’ this house. I believe he’s with the Lord. But maybe he got to leave behind just enough o’ his little self to comfort his mama. You reckon that’s possible?” Dolly dabbed at her eyes again.
“When it comes to you, Miss Dolly, I believe the Lord makes all kinda special allowances.”
“Oh, honey, I’m just plain ol’ me.”
“Miss Dolly . . . I know how upset you are right now, and I know you’re blamin’ yourself and the house for what happened to Si . . . but it’s not your fault. And it’s not the house’s fault. It just happened. I sure wish you’d think it over before you give up on payin’ those property taxes. Me and Jesse—we’ll help however we can. So will Joe and the Hastings.”
“I ’preciate that, honey, but no. You and Jesse are young men. I know you’ve been through a lot, and it’s made you both older’n your years, but you’re still just gettin’ started in life. You got to be thinkin’ about your future. It’s a mighty special house, Reed. But it’s not my life. That’s my life layin’ there in that bed.”
They rocked silently together for a moment before she said, “I’ll tell you somethin’ you can do for me.”
“Anything.”
Dolly winked at him. “Go on and give Daisy a ring so Little Mama’s house can see one more weddin’ before we have to let her go.”
CHAPTER
forty-two
Reed needed to occupy his mind. He grabbed a
pick, sledgehammer, shovel, and work gloves from Si’s toolshed and headed for the ruins of the skating rink.
Most of the big timbers that once held up the roof had been consumed by the fire, but there were charred chunks of them scattered all over the place. He picked a corner and set to work, first pulling out any good tin left from the roof and stacking it in a clearing behind the rink. Then he cleared the remains of the timbers and studs, putting them in a big pile near the front of the rink so they could be hauled away or burned.
With the roof out of the way, he could see that Si had built the rink by gutting the horse barn of its stalls and corncribs, building a frame with floor joists to completely fill the space, and laying a wood floor for the skating rink on top. The fire had destroyed the floor but not all the joists, which created an obstacle course as they stuck up and out every which way. Reed took the sledgehammer and started slamming at one after another, finally breaking the floor frame apart. That would have to be enough for one day. He was hot, sweaty, and exhausted.
Wading into the lake to cool off, he splashed water on his face, chest, and back and then sat down in one of the Adirondacks on the porch to dry off. He thought about his conversation with Dolly and how long it had been since he’d had any contact with his own family. He would take a walk in the woods and pay his respects to a marble lamb. And then he would go back to Dolly’s and call his mother.
After supper, Reed, Daisy, Anna, and Jesse walked across the loop road to the porch of the skating rink and circled four chairs together. They enjoyed looking out over the water in the moonlight, and distance from the house gave them a place to talk without disturbing Dolly.
“There’s got to be a way to save the house,” Anna said.
“None of us has that kind of money or we’d give it to her,” Jesse said. “And it’s way too late to get a crop in the ground to make any more.”
“I tried to give her what’s left o’ my Army pay, but she wouldn’t take it,” Reed said. “I even tried to go down to the courthouse and give it to them, but it wouldn’a come close to payin’ those taxes.”
“Well, what about the journal?” Jesse asked. “Catherine said they were about to make an escape out of here—maybe there’s something useful in figuring out how they got away.”
Reed and Daisy stared at him.
“He’s been reading it at night to catch up with the rest of us,” Anna explained.
“I mean, I know it’s far-fetched, but what have we got to lose?”
“A whole lotta people have tried to find Andre’s stash—if there ever was one,” Reed said.
“Yeah, but they didn’t have the journal,” Jesse countered.
“Got a point,” Daisy agreed.
“I’ll be right back.” Jesse left the group for a few minutes and came back with Catherine’s second journal and a lantern. “Anna, think you’re up to it now?”
She took the journal while Jesse used a couple of old crates to rig up a table for the light. They all settled in as Anna began to read.
July 20, 1844
Dear Self,
Where do I begin? So much has happened. I suppose I should start with this: I know my husband’s real name. And now that we are beyond harm, I can say it. My beloved is Andre Chauvin.
“Oh my gosh!” Anna said. “Dolly will be thrilled! Well—at least, she would’ve been.” She continued reading.
I should also tell you that he might well read every word of this, as I no longer hide my journal from him. I no longer hide anything from him. Still, I have become accustomed to writing in my little book and find it helps me sort out my thoughts. Andre says I should do whatever I like whenever I like, so when he is out working on his boat, which he loves, I sometimes sit on a high rock overlooking the water and scribble on my pages, with Andre glancing up to wave and smile at me now and again. But I should back up to our wedding night.
It was a far cry from what Sister had led me to anticipate. I expected to spend it in fear and dread in a marriage bed with a stranger. Instead, I spent it swiftly sailing downriver under an Easter moon, with a man who completely fascinates me.
Jesse elbowed Reed. “Do we completely fascinate you ladies?” he said with a grin.
“We’re so dang fascinated we can’t stand ourselves,” Daisy said as the four of them had a laugh. “Go on, Anna. I’ll send Jesse to his room if he acts up again.”
Even though we are far away from Blackberry Springs, I do not think it wise to put in writing all the details of what drove us away. I’ll say only that an evil phantom was relentlessly chasing Andre, but it chases us no more. Ending its pursuit endangered someone dear. And so we had to leave.
Our escape was like a scene from the Coleridge poem that Andre and I love, “where Alph, the sacred river, ran through caverns measureless to man down to a sacred sea.” An underground tributary of the Coosa River runs beneath the rolling green pastures that Andre purchased on the Tanyard. Can you believe it? A river flowing beneath the ground?
Long ago, during his “vagabond life,” he met a fisherman who traveled the Coosa and had spotted a strangely large opening in a high bluff. The fisherman couldn’t resist rowing in to investigate and found what turned out to be a cavern, which held an underground waterway. Andre was excited by its possibilities—for somewhat nefarious purposes at the time, he confessed—and he never forgot about it. Then, when he set about trying to find me, it turned out that his river cave and I were in the same place—little unassuming Blackberry Springs.
“Good night!” Daisy said. “Reckon we’re sittin’ on top of a river right now? Sorry, Anna. Keep goin’.”
The night we fled, we left on foot. Andre had released all of his fine horses into their pasturelands, with a pond for drinking water. He said he would send someone for them as soon as we were a safe distance away. He carried the small grip Appolline had packed for me. Neither of them brought anything from the house, which puzzled me.
Through a trapdoor covered with hay, we made our way down a dark flight of stone steps, with Andre holding my hand and Appolline carrying a torch to light the way. I couldn’t imagine where we could be going, when suddenly, I caught the distinctive smell of river water—the dank muddiness of it, the humid air. And there it was, right before us. A river, or at least a canal—a flowing stream of water underground.
I stood in amazement, not just at the river itself but at the equipage I saw—a fine skiff moored at a small dock, jugs of water and other provisions, a large grip, and even an iron bench like the one by the Tanyard.
Andre loaded all of our supplies into a small boat tied to the skiff and covered them with a heavy canvas, which he tied down. Then he grabbed the iron bench and pushed it backward. When the bench tilted back, I could see that it covered yet another trapdoor, from which Andre drew as many bags as the large grip would hold before lowering the bench back down.
“If that ain’t money in them bags, I’m Scarlett O’Hara,” Daisy said. “Go on, Anna. Let’s see what they do with it.”
After placing the grip in the center of the skiff, he climbed in and held his arms out to me. “Come, Catherine,” he said. “We should hurry.”
I stepped off the dock and into his arms as Appolline climbed into the back of the skiff and untied it from the dock. Then we were off.
Andre seated me in the center of the boat, then lit a lantern, hung it on the bow, and took the oars in front. He and Appolline began rowing together, moving us steadily along in a channel that grew darker and darker as we moved away from the torchlight at the dock. The lantern cast just enough light for Andre to keep us centered between the banks.
On and on we went, through caverns that grew at times very close—I could reach up and touch the roof of them—only to open wide again. At last we rounded a bend, and I couldn’t stifle a gasp. Through an arched opening ahead, I saw the light of a full moon. How can I even describe it? A dark channel of water, hidden beneath the earth, flowing into a moonlit archway that opened onto the Coosa R
iver. Imagine—river below and night sky above, all bathed in silver-white moonlight.
As the skiff floated onto the Coosa and under the moon, Andre stopped rowing for just a moment and turned to look at me. “Moonlight suits you, Catherine,” he said with a smile.
He and Appolline resumed their rowing, the spring river current so strong that they needed to do little more than guide the boat with their oars. I asked Appolline if I might rest her, but she refused.
At last the two of them rowed us into a narrow canal off the river. It opened into a small harbor, where a much larger boat than our skiff was moored, anchored there alone, its white sails gleaming through the night shadows.
As Andre tied the skiff to the dock and helped me out, Appolline began uncovering the supplies towed behind us. I hadn’t noticed the handful of fishing shacks built on high pilings, scattered around the dock, but as Andre started unloading, four or five men came out of the shacks and began shouting hellos to him. The men all shook hands and clapped shoulders, clearly happy to see each other, though I couldn’t understand what they were saying. They all spoke the same strange way as Andre and Appolline when they were talking with one another.
“Come.” Appolline motioned for me to follow her to one of the fishing shacks as Andre and the men began transferring our supplies onto the boat with the tall white sails.
Inside the shack, a woman who looked about the same age as Appolline poured us cups of strong, hot tea and then left us alone.
“Bébé thinks I will come with you on your journey, but I will not,” Appolline said.
I told her I didn’t understand.
“Bébé got the woman now,” she said. “He need to make a home, make the babies, make a life. He wander too long for the sake of others. He be still now for his own sake.”
I couldn’t understand where she would go if she didn’t come with us. But she said the people in the fishing shacks were also from Louisiana—like family—and would take her to safety.
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