* * *
“I swan!” Aunt Jinny said, when she had finished telling her story for the second time. “Iffen it hadn’t been y’all tellin’ me this, I’d’a niver believed it. ’Specially not ’bout Jolene!”
Anna took a weary bite of the hoecakes Aunt Jinny had whipped up for her the moment she spotted Anna coming over the stile at the bottom of the garden. “Fer a liddle bit I was mighty tempted, when she said I c’d undo all thet bad what’s been done t’ th’ valley,” Anna admitted. “An’ in a way, I kinder feel like I done let th’ valley down.”
“You an’ me, we’ll jest keep doin’ what we c’n, an’ ain’t no one c’n arst more of us,” Jinny told her. And in a rare display of affection, she got up and hugged her niece’s shoulders. “Y’all sure y’all don’t wanter go to Kansas?”
“Jolene reckoned we could figger somethin’ out. Or more like, reckoned y’all c’n figger somethin’ out, on account’a y’all’s so smart,” Anna replied, and yawned hugely.
“Git up on thet thar stove, an’ take a nap, an’ I’ll git t’thankin’,” Jinny ordered, with a glance at the malachite box that Anna had brought with her and left with Pavel’s journal, her receipt book, and her Bible. “We’ll see iffen Jolene’s right.”
* * *
Anna never knew exactly what it was that Josh told his parents when he got home, but whatever it was, the very next day he came walking up to the cabin right after dinner, before Anna had left to go down there herself. But instead of addressing Anna, he went straight to where Aunt Jinny was hanging clothing up on the line.
“Miz Jinny, I ’spect Anna done tol’ y’all what happened ter us,” he said, his face set in an expression of determination. “Now, I don’ know much ’bout Miz Jolene. She been purdy good ter me, but that could’a been jest me bein’ fatted up like one’a the pigs fer eatin’ later.”
“Wall, thet’s sense,” Jinny agreed. “She do seem ter have had what they call a ‘change of heart,’ though.”
“But c’n we count on it holdin’?” Josh demanded.
“Reckon I don’t rightly know,” Jinny admitted. A gust of autumn breeze swirled leaves between them, and sent a chill down Anna’s back. But it was a perfectly natural chill, and not a premonition, so she joined them.
“Yore Granpappy said her word was good,” Anna pointed out, even though she had not been invited into this particular conversation. “Reckon he’d know.”
Josh cast her a glance that said, And that there is a tale I need to know, how you come to know this. But he said nothing other than, “Wall, I aim t’make sure we don’t have ter depend on thet. I don’t reckon ter wait t’git married. My Ma and Pa are all right with thet. Pa’s gonna go on down ter Ducktown termorrow, an’ I’m a-goin’ with him. We’re a-gonna git the license an’ talk t’ all the preachers an’ th’ Justice a’ th’ Peace, an’ the fust one thet c’n come on up here’ll marry us. I tol’ Pa ’bout yore Ma’s debt,” he continued, looking at Anna, “and he reckoned we better git married now, an’ worry ’bout what happens iffen th’ bailiffs git here.”
Anna gaped at him. She never, ever would have expected Matt Holcroft to urge such a thing—she would have thought for certain that once he learned of the looming debt, he’d have urged Josh to break the engagement off.
“There’s somethin’ t’ be said fer thet,” Aunt Jinny agreed. She glanced at Anna. “It ain’t a-gonna be no church weddin’. But thet purdy pink with th’ white roses is purt near done, an’ we c’n finish it iffen we both work on it ternight, an’ thet’ll do fer gettin’ married in. They’s still some roses out in Maddie’s garden, an’ I reckon we c’n fit ev’body inter her parlor.”
She turned to Josh with a smirk. “I ’spect yore figgerin’ on movin’ in up here with me?”
Josh looked at his hands, awkwardly. “Wall . . . yes’m . . .”
“Good,” Aunt Jinny said. “’Bout time I had a pair o’ strong hands t’chop my wood!”
Josh blushed and mumbled his thanks.
“Now, jest one more thang. When y’all go inter Ducktown termorrow, I want y’all t’ go by Billie McDaran’s house, an’ leave a note fer me.” Aunt Jinny went into the cabin, leaving both Anna and Josh standing on the porch exchanging puzzled looks, and came back out again with a piece of torn-off brown wrapping paper that she handed to Josh. He looked at it.
“C’n I read it?” he asked.
“Go on ahead. An’ don’t show it to no one but McDaran’s wimmin, not even yore Pa,” Jinny ordered.
Josh read the note aloud. “Yor no-account master com to a bad end. If I was u I would pak wut I cud carry an run.”
“Oh!” Anna felt her eyes widen when she realized what Jinny intended. “Yore warnin’ them t’ take what they c’n an’ run afore the Company figgers out Billie ain’t a-comin’ back!”
Jinny nodded. “I reckon at th’ rate Billie was liven high, what with beefsteak an’ drink an’ all, he left a debt at the Company store hisself. Iffen they was held t’him by debt, Burra Burra will take ’em as part pay. An iffen them gels was jest held by his magic, it’ll be broke now. So in either case, I reckon they oughter he’p thesselves to whatever he left lyin’ around and git as fur away as they c’n go.”
But Josh handed the note back to Aunt Jinny. “I’ll jest tell ’em my own self. Might c’d be they cain’t read. Might c’d be someone’d find th’ note arter they bolt, an’ start lookin’ fer whoever wrote it.” He smiled at her aunt. “Reckon I c’n use a liddle o’ thet magic ter persuade ’em.”
“Reckon I c’n show y’all how, in ’bout a hour,” Jinny agreed.
“Reckon I c’n watch,” said Anna.
* * *
It was about two weeks later that the bailiffs came.
Josh was around the back of the cabin cutting firewood, Anna and Aunt Jinny in kitchen putting up pickles with the last of the green tomatoes, when they were interrupted by a knock on the door, which was now closed most of the time against the autumn chill unless the day was unusually warm.
“Trouble,” rumbled the Domovoy from under the stove.
Anna exchanged a look of resignation with her aunt. This could only be one thing.
“Wall, keepin’ ’em on the stoop ain’t a-gonna put this off,” Jinny said with a sigh, and went to answer the door.
“Miz Jinny Alscot?” asked one of the three men standing there—the one with the shiny star on the front of his coat.
“So I be,” Jinny replied, not inviting them in.
The sheriff was polite, the other two, not so much. They shoved their way inside, and one of them pointed at Anna. “Reckon thet’d be the girl, Sheriff,” he said. “Reckon—”
“Whoa, now, slow up. We do this polite an’ proper, or I’m a-gonna haul y’all both back t’Ducktown an’ we do it in court,” the sheriff said, clearly irritated at both of them. Anna didn’t much like the look of those two, and it was clear that the sheriff didn’t either. They were dirty, unshaven, and stank of strong tobacco and stronger drink. The sheriff turned to Anna. “Are y’all Miz Anna May Jones?”
“Anna May Holcroft,” she said, hoping against hope that this would throw them off.
But the sheriff wasn’t going to be fooled by such a simple ploy. “Till a week agone, y’all was Anna May Jones, am I right?” he asked sternly.
She bit her lip, and tried not to show her fear. “Yessir,” she said faintly.
“Wall, these two fellers here is from Soddy Coal Mine Company, ’bout a debt yore Ma an’ Pa owed the Company,” the sheriff said sternly, but with a hint, at least, of some compassion. “Seems they died, which means y’all is responsible.”
“How much is thet debt?” Aunt Jinny demanded.
“Forty dollars!” one of the two bailiffs said, loudly, as if by shouting he could frighten her into dropping dollar bills.
Anna felt herself g
rowing faint. Forty dollars! That was more money than anything other than a bank could have! Josh had gotten five dollars for his little angel statue, and they’d hoped that would be enough—but forty? That was impossible.
The two bailiffs began shouting that she had to pay up or go to jail, and one of them actually took out a pair of hand-shackles and began rattling them at her. Then Aunt Jinny smacked the shackles out of his hand with the handle of her broom, shocking them into silence.
“Sheriff,” she said into the stunned silence. “I’d admire if y’all would take these no-accounts out of my house. Y’all c’n stand on the porch, but my niece an’ I need some time t’thank.”
One of the bailiffs opened his mouth to bellow again, but the sheriff grabbed them both by the collars and shoved them out the door. “Take all th’ time y’all need, Miz Jinny,” he said, and shut the door behind them.
“I ain’t got thet kinder money, chile—” Aunt Jinny began, her own face pale. “Mebbe if me an’ Matt an’ Josh—Mister Clay might could give us a loan, or Mister Cavenel on Josh’s work—”
But Anna’s eyes had lit on the malachite box that Jolene had given to her. “The box!” she gasped, and stumbled a little in her haste to get to the shelf where it lay.
It seemed a little heavier than it had been when she’d put it there. And when she opened it—
There were two worn-looking, slightly dirty, twenty-dollar gold pieces.
“Tell ’em t’ come back in, Aunt Jinny,” she said, holding out her hand to show her aunt what had been in there.
Aunt Jinny’s eyes widened. “Gimme a minute to thank,” she said. Jinny closed her eyes and stood there for about a minute, maybe a little longer. Then she went to the cupboard and brought out the oak-gall ink, a new quill pen, some of the pretty paper the lace collar from her wedding dress had been wrapped in, and a candle. “All right. Let ’em in.”
The bailiffs came in pushing and hollering about how Anna was reckoning to cheat the Company, but this time it was the sheriff that had had enough.
“Shut yore fool haids!” he roared. When silence resumed, he turned politely to the two women and said, “Now. Did thet there time t’thank he’p y’all?”
Aunt Jinny nodded stiffly. “Reckon it did, Sheriff. Anna May, give th’ sheriff th’ Company’s money.”
Anna handed over the two coins, each a bit bigger than a quarter and much heavier. The sheriff looked them over carefully, bit them both, and nodded. “Reckon this’s the correct amount, Miz Holcroft.” He started to hand the coins to one of the bailiffs, when Aunt Jinny stopped him.
“Jest a minnut, Sheriff. I don’ trust neither of them varmints not ter run off with th’ money an’ say we didn’ pay it,” she said sternly.
The bailiffs started shouting. This time the sheriff smacked one across the back of his head. “Reckon I don’t neither, Miz Jinny. What d’y’all want ter do about thet?”
“Fust of all, I’m a-gonna write up a paper here thet says we paid it,” she said. “An’ Anna’s gonna sign it, an’ y’all as a witness, an’ them. An’ iffen all they c’n do is make their mark, I’m a-gonna write down their names. I’ll make up two. One t’stay with us, an’ one t’stay with y’all.”
The sheriff nodded. “Seems like a good ideer,” he said approvingly. “Anything else?”
“Then I’m a-gonna wrap up thet there money in a packet, an’ Anna is a-gonna sign a paper thet’ll go in thet packet what says this’s t’pay her Ma and Pa’s debt, an’ I’m a-gonna seal thet there packet up with wax. An’ once it’s sealed, y’all’s gonna sign th’ packet, Sheriff,” Jinny said, her jaw jutting out with determination. “Then y’all c’n give it to ’em.”
The two bailiffs looked extremely disgruntled by this point, which cheered Anna’s heart no end, because she, too, had been afraid they were likely to run off with all or part of the money, leaving her with no way to prove that she had ever paid it.
“I do like how y’all thank, Miz Jinny,” the sheriff said with admiration. “I reckon I’ll do one thang more t’add t’thet. When I git back ter town, I’ll send a letter m’self t’ the Company, an’ let ’em know their bailiffs took the full payment an’ left th’ same day as I sent th’ letter. No need ter pay me fer a stamp,” he continued, as Jinny made an abortive motion toward the cupboard. “I reckon this’s official bizness. Since they come an’ got me an’ all, ter he’p ’em collect.”
“Thenkee kindly, Sheriff,” her aunt said, and in a remarkably short period of time, it had all been completed.
“Now,” the sheriff said to the bailiffs, his face full of thunder. “It might c’d be y’all are thankin’ hard ’bout two wimmin alone, an’ iffen they got thet much money, they might hev more. I’m a-tellin’ y’all now thet iffen so much as a punkin gits stole from here, I’m a-comin’ ter look fer y’all. Am I clear?”
Just then Josh came through the front door. “I wouldn’ say they’s alone, Sheriff Tailor,” he said with a nod to the sheriff, casually hefting the axe on his shoulder. “An’ they’s my whole fambly down the lane, an’ the lane bein’ th’ on’y way t’git here.”
“An’ they’s bears in them woods,” Anna added. And right on cue out of the woods to the right came a bellowing roar.
The two bailiffs jumped, their eyes starting out of their heads in fear. Even the sheriff looked a bit intimidated.
“Reckon it might be time ter leave, afore night closes in on thet lane,” Anna suggested.
The sheriff tipped his hat to them (the bailiffs did not), and all three trotted hastily down the path, collected their horses from where they had been tied up to the stile, and rode away at a canter.
Young Raven emerged from the woods to the right and hopped over the fence, a grin on his face. When he reached them, he broke into a laugh. “Josh an’ me was a-talking when them fools arrived,” he said. “I slipped inter th’ woods ter wait an’ see iffen I was goin’ ter be needed, or iffen I’d need ter bring y’all he’p. I heered y’all purty good where I was, an’ when y’all talked ’bout bears, wall—” He chuckled. “Couldn’ resist.”
“Y’all couldn’t hev done better if I’d’a arst y’all to,” Anna said warmly. “Thenkee kindly, Raven. It’s good t’hev friends.”
And with a little gesture on a wisp of power, she added, Thenkee, Jolene.
For a moment, she thought she wouldn’t get an answer. But then she looked down at her feet.
A little, jewel-green lizard looked up at her from the ground, bobbed at her once, and vanished.
But not before Anna had heard Jolene’s reply in her mind.
“Yes, my dear Anna. It’s good to have friends.”
About the Author
Mercedes Lackey is a full-time writer and has published numerous novels and works of short fiction, including the best-selling Heralds of Valdemar series. She is also a professional lyricist and a licensed wild bird rehabilitator.
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