Gap Creek

by Robert Morgan

  I got a pan and salt shaker from the kitchen, and a lid for the pan. After I poured corn in the pan, Hank held it over the fire. For a long time the pan was quiet. As he shook the pan you could hear the seeds rattle around inside.

  “Maybe the popcorn is too old,” Carolyn said.

  “Takes a while to heat up,” Hank said. Suddenly there was a plunk in the pan.

  “We’ll get at least one kernel to eat,” Hank said. There was a ping on the lid, and then another. Then two more little explosions, and a pause. And suddenly it sounded like a string of firecrackers going off in the pan, chattering on and on.

  “Glory be,” I said.

  “I’m too full to eat popcorn,” Carolyn said.

  AFTER LOU AND Garland left the next morning in the wagon for Greenville, I asked Carolyn what she wanted to do while she stayed with us. I was determined to treat her not only as my little sister but as a guest. She was growing up, and it was time to treat her like she was growing up. Because I had usually worked outside at home, and because I had always thought she was spoiled, I’d never made friends with Carolyn the way I was friends with Lou and Rosie. It was time to become friends with her, if I was ever going to, while she was visiting us, and while she was still young.

  “What would you like to do for the next week?” I said.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “What is there to do on Gap Creek?”

  “We could start a quilt,” I said. “There’s an old frame upstairs.”

  “I don’t like to sew,” Carolyn said. “Every time I use a needle I prick my finger.”

  “You could wear a thimble,” I said.

  “Too boring,” Carolyn said. She was at the age to belittle everything somebody else suggested or praised. I could remember being that way myself, though not as bad as Carolyn. It’s a way of showing people that you have your own mind, that you will not be pushed around, or too easy to please. I was going to act like a mother and not be put off by Carolyn’s contrariness. It would be good practice.

  “We can go down to the store,” I said.

  “Would we have to walk?” Carolyn said.

  “It’s not even two miles,” I said.

  “I need to rest up from the awful trip down here,” Carolyn said. “I’m sore all over from being banged around in that old wagon.”

  “The Pooles have a mighty handsome grandson,” I said.

  “Who are the Pooles?” Carolyn said.

  “They run the store at the crossroads,” I said. “Their grandson is named Charles, I think. And there is other boys in the community too.”

  “I bet they all have pimples on their faces,” Carolyn said.

  “I’ve only seen them once or twice,” I said.

  “I’ll bet they’re just mountain hoojers,” Carolyn said.

  “All boys act like mountain hoojers when they’re young,” I said and laughed. Carolyn laughed a little. It was good to see her laugh. It was the talk about boys that had cheered her up.

  “We can walk down to the store one day and buy a candy bar or some soda pop,” I said, remembering the twenty-seven cents I still had from selling the ginseng.

  “Do they sell magazines at the store?” Carolyn said.

  “They sell a few,” I said, “but they cost ten or fifteen cents.”

  “Mama give me fifty cents,” Carolyn said. “I want some magazines that has pictures of new dresses in them.”

  “I have a Sears and Roebuck catalog,” I said. “That has lots of pictures of new dresses.”

  “The catalog just has old, ugly stuff,” Carolyn said. “I want to see some really new things.”

  “Fifty cents won’t buy you a dress,” I said. But I wished I hadn’t said it, just when Carolyn was showing interest in something.

  “I know what we can do today,” I said, with all the cheer I could muster.

  “What?” Carolyn said, like she knowed already it would be something boring.

  “We can go up on the mountain and look for chestnuts.”

  “It’s too late for chestnuts,” Carolyn said.

  “These are chestnuts that got lost in the leaves,” I said. “We can bring them back and roast them by the fire.”

  “I don’t like chestnuts,” Carolyn said.

  Just then Hank come in from the barn. I guess he had been out to feed the horse and turn it loose in the pasture. He stepped to the fire to warm his hands. I think Hank felt a little awkward with two women in the house. I was afraid his moods would return. “It’s a pretty day,” he said.

  “Too bad it’s cold,” I said.

  “Going to warm up by this evening,” Hank said.

  “Maybe it’s a good day to look for buried chestnuts,” I said.

  “I found some on the ridge above the pasture yesterday,” Hank said.

  “We could find all that the squirrels have missed,” I said.

  “Let’s go up there and gather some chestnuts,” Hank said and clapped his hands. He patted Carolyn on the shoulders with both hands. “We’ll have a good old time,” he said.

  “Let’s go,” Carolyn said with a big smile, like it was what she had been waiting to be asked to do.

  “I’ll have to get my boots on,” I said.

  “I’ll have to get my scarf,” Carolyn said.

  It was a bright sunny day, but the wind coming across the ridge had a razor in it, like it had crossed ice and snow not too long before. There is something exciting about winter wind. Clouds flew by overhead with their bottoms flattened, a sign of strong winds. And cloud shadows raced over the valley. The bare trees on the mountain sparkled.

  As we crossed the pasture Hank took my left hand in his right, and Carolyn’s right hand in his left, and we walked along swinging our arms like we was playing the game Red Rover. I had not seen Hank feeling so carefree in a long time. It was seeing people from home that had cheered him up. I reckon talking to Lou and Garland had took his mind off his own worries.

  As we got to the upper edge of the pasture we almost run, past the salt block on its post, past the sweet gum trees, to the fence. When we stopped to crawl over the fence I was almost out of breath.

  “You shouldn’t be running,” Hank said to me.

  “I can run as well as I ever could,” I said.

  “I’m afraid you’re not in any condition to climb either,” Hank said.

  “Who says?” I said and laughed.

  “You’ve got to be careful,” Hank said and patted my stomach.

  “I’m just fine,” I said.

  But as we started climbing on the dry crackly leaves I found myself out of breath more than I expected. My chest felt tight and sore. It was like I couldn’t take in as much air as I needed. I stopped and put my hands on my knees. I should not have run across the pasture.

  “You don’t have to climb up here,” Hank said.

  “You don’t have to hurry so,” I said.

  Hank and Carolyn stood about ten feet ahead of me up the mountain. I didn’t feel like I wanted to climb another step. I felt like setting down in the leaves.

  “Maybe you should go back to the house,” Hank said. “We can bring you some chestnuts.”

  “I want to help you find them,” I said.

  “Where is the chestnuts?” Carolyn said.

  “Up where the chestnut tress are, and all down the ridge below,” Hank said.

  “We’ll bring you some,” Carolyn said.

  “We’ll bring you a poke full to roast by the fireplace,” Hank said.

  “If you want to go on without me, fine,” I said.

  “I just don’t want you to overdo yourself,” Hank said.

  “We’ll bring you a bag full,” Carolyn said.

  Without another word I turned and started down the mountain. I kicked the dry leaves and didn’t look back. But by the time I reached the pasture fence I told myself it was silly to get mad. Hank was just worried about me because I was out of breath. And Carolyn was just a silly girl trying to get the attention of any man a
round. She was my little sister, and my guest. I was supposed to look after her, not get mad at her.

  WHEN HANK AND Carolyn come back from the mountain it was late afternoon. They was laughing and their faces was flushed from being out in the wind. They had a bag full of chestnuts, which Hank put down on the kitchen table. “Carolyn didn’t find a one of these,” he said and laughed.

  “How could I find them?” Carolyn said. “You always run ahead and grabbed them first.” She shoved his shoulder.

  “I think Carolyn needs glasses,” Hank said.

  “I didn’t know what to look for,” Carolyn said.

  “I think you need some granny glasses,” Hank said. He was teasing Carolyn, like he was fourteen hisself. I’d never seen him so lighthearted.

  “I’m glad you all had such a good time,” I said.

  “It was terrible,” Carolyn said. “Hank walked too fast and found all the chestnuts before I could get to them.”

  “They’re mighty sweet chestnuts,” Hank said. “Ain’t you going to try one?”

  “My stomach don’t feel too good,” I said.

  “I was afraid you overdone yourself climbing the ridge,” Hank said.

  “It has nothing to do with climbing the ridge,” I said. “I’ve been working ever since getting back to the house.”

  “You ought to set down,” Carolyn said.

  “I’ll set down when I feel like it,” I said.

  “We picked the chestnuts for you,” Carolyn said, “to bake by the fireplace.”

  “Maybe I’ll feel like eating them later,” I said.

  I knowed I shouldn’t let Carolyn irritate me so much. She was only fourteen, and Hank and me was supposed to make her feel at home. She was at the age to be crazy about every man she seen, specially one as handsome as Hank. But she was spoiled, and already a flirt in her ribbons and pink dresses. That’s what got to me, I told myself. She never had done no work. She thought her purpose in life was to have a good time. She was so young she thought other people was there to serve her.

  I was used to being alone with Hank. I wasn’t used to other women paying attention to him. Maybe I was a little spoiled myself. A man will pay attention to any woman that flirts with him. A man won’t understand how a woman knows how to play up to him. Any girl can get a man’s attention just by looking him in the eye.

  I told myself that Hank had had a hard time that fall and deserved to be cheered up. Carolyn’s visit seemed to make him feel good again. He seemed to have got over his terrible blues. I should be grateful to Carolyn instead of resentful, I told myself. And I should give her a good example of how to behave.

  “Go down to the cellar and see if you can find any taters that are still good,” I said to Carolyn.

  “It’s dark down there,” Carolyn said.

  “You can take a lamp,” I said.

  “I’m afraid of the dark,” Carolyn said and giggled. “What if there is a booger down there?”

  “You’ll scare it away,” I said.

  “In the dark I can feel wet fingers touching me,” Carolyn said.

  “Don’t be silly,” I said.

  “I’ll go look for some taters,” Hank said. He took the pan from the counter and headed toward the door.

  “I’ll go with you,” Carolyn called.

  “Takes a lot of hands to get a few taters,” I said.

  “LET’S BURN OFF the creek bank,” Hank said two days later.

  “Oh goody,” Carolyn said.

  “Why do you want to burn off the bank now?” I said.

  “To get rid of the stubble and brush,” Hank said. “Everybody down here burns off their creek banks.”

  “Why can’t you wait till spring?” I said.

  “If we do it now the ashes will soak into the ground,” Hank said. “Ashes make the best fertilizer if they mix with the dirt.”

  “Can I set fire to the brush?” Carolyn said. “I love to set fires.”

  “You don’t want to get dirty in the smoke and dust,” I said. Carolyn had on another one of her pink dresses with lace around the neck and sleeves.

  “I won’t get dirty,” Carolyn said. “All I want to do is watch.”

  Hank took the box of matches from the shelf beside the stove, and got his hat from the nail by the door. “What we need is a hoe and a rake,” he said.

  I followed him out to the back porch. There was a light breeze coming down the valley, but it was a perfectly clear winter day. The sun was bright on my face.

  “I hope the wind don’t get any stronger,” I said.

  “Wait for me,” Carolyn called, and run out wearing her pink shawl.

  “There’s just enough wind to take the smoke away,” Hank said.

  “Can I light the fire?” Carolyn said again.

  “Don’t get that dress dirty,” I said.

  “You sound like Mama,” Carolyn said.

  “Here, carry this hoe,” I said to her.

  I seen I was going to have to go along to see she didn’t ruin the dress. I was responsible for Carolyn for two more days, and Mama and my other sisters would never forgive me if I let anything go wrong. I got my jacket and grabbed another hoe off the back porch.

  “You better be careful,” Hank said to me.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I said.

  “What if you was to fall?” he said.

  “Then I’d pick myself up again,” I said.

  “You don’t need to come,” Carolyn said. “I can help Hank.”

  “Somebody has to look after you both,” I said.

  MR. PENDERGAST’S FIELD run right along the bank of the creek. The field was full of stubble of cornstalks and bean vines and big briars and weeds. And the bank of the creek was even worse. There was stalks big as saplings of ragweeds and hogweeds, goldenrods and Joe Pye weeds, ironweed and pokeweed. It must have been a jungle the summer before, full of snakes and spiders, hornet nests and sting worms. Mr. Pendergast had not touched it with a mowing blade. The stalks was higher than my head. They must have been higher still when they was green.

  “You want to set the fire upwind,” I said, “and dig a fire break downwind.”

  “There’s hardly any wind,” Hank said.

  “But one could spring up,” I said.

  I had helped Papa burn off the field by the branch and seen how the wind can change before you know it, once a brush fire is going.

  Hank give the box of matches to Carolyn and she struck one and held it to the leaves of a dry rabbit tobacco stalk. I didn’t see any flame at first, but smoke lifted from the gray curled leaves. That’s the way it is with a grass fire. You see smoke, but hardly any flames. The weed stalk smoked more and more and a little rag of flame jumped to the next stalk. There was a pop and crackle, and another stalk caught fire.

  “Just look at that,” Carolyn said, proud of herself. She stood holding her shawl in each arm, watching the tiny fire she had set fling from stalk to stalk, spreading itself from weed to dry weed. The fire spread out like a wave flung slowly through the stubble, tossing smoke on the breeze down valley. It was quite a sight, the sparkling water in the creek, the glitter of the silver weeds, and the fire chewing the brush and stalks into smoke that jumped away.

  As I watched the fire turn the stubble into ash and clear the ground to soot, I seen why people liked to burn off their fields so much. It was a purifying thing, a sweeping away of the old clutter so things could start again and sprout again, down where the old weeds had been a mess and tangle. The fire turned the banks to bare ground. The fire made the ground naked and fertile.

  “Whee!” Carolyn sung and clapped her hands as the flames leapt to the tops of the stalks and danced and spun in the breeze. Hank grabbed up stubble from the corn patch and tossed it on the flames. The weeds popped like there was firecrackers and cap pistols inside them. Sticks and stalks snapped in the fire and spit out sparks as the canes and damp roots got hot. White smoke billowed and turned around and leaned far out over the creek. Giants of smok
e loomed above the stream and marched down the valley in ranks and choo-choo puffs.

  “You better dig a firebreak at the lower end,” I hollered to Hank.

  “The branch is the firebreak,” he yelled back.

  The flames and the smoke give me a soaring feeling. The flames appeared to clap their hands and the river cane by the water barked and spit puffs of smoke.

  Now the thing about fire in dry grass and weeds is it spreads in any direction. It will seem to be headed left and then jump to the right. It will leap ahead and then back into the left corner of its track. I seen that Carolyn was standing too close to the fire as it edged into the thatch at the side of the cornfield.

  “You’ll get smoke in your hair and clothes,” I called to her. But she didn’t hear, or she didn’t pay no attention. She tried to fan the flames with the ends of her shawl, like she was shooing chickens or flies away. I was going to tell her again to be careful, but stopped myself. I was sounding more like a mama than an older sister.

  But the breeze must have made an eddy where she was standing, or there was a sudden change in direction of the wind. For I seen a flame jump right back on the hem of her dress, like it reached up to grab the cloth. I don’t think she even seen it in the smoke and crackly noise. It was a full pink skirt, flapping where she swung it around. It was like the flame leaped back to attach itself to the lacy, silky material.

  “Watch out, Carolyn!” I yelled.

  “What?” she said and looked toward me. I pointed at the skirt and she seen the smoke coming from the fabric. She screamed and run back from the flames.

  “Don’t run,” I hollered.

  She shook her skirt like she was trying to shake the flames out of the cloth, but that only made the fire take hold. Carolyn started screaming.

  “Hold still,” I said. But she kept backing away into the muddy cornfield. I picked up wet dirt in both hands and throwed it on her skirt, but it didn’t smother the flames enough. Carolyn kept backing away and shaking her skirt like it had bees in it. I wondered if I could tear the dress off at the waist.

  “Watch your shawl,” I said. But Carolyn was too scared to listen. She was screaming and backing into the muddy stubble. The flames was climbing up toward her waist.