Willow Springs

by Jan Watson

  The lights came on in the house across the street. A mosquito buzzed near Copper’s ear. She pulled a light shawl around her shoulders. “We’d better go in, Daddy. The mosquitoes will eat us up.”

  He reached to take her hand. “How about you, Copper Brown. Are you happy?”

  “Oh, Daddy, I love Simon so much, and now this.” She laid his hand upon her belly. “But I miss the mountains. If I could do it over, I’d make Simon come there and set up his practice. I miss how life used to be. We could have been happy on Troublesome Creek.”

  Her father stuck the stem of his empty pipe back in his mouth. She knew he was thinking on the best answer. Daddy never spoke until he was sure of his words. “Don’t let yesterday take up too much of today, Daughter.”

  Copper strained to see his wise face in the waning light. “What do you mean?”

  “When life takes you by surprise, when it takes you places you never thought to be, remember Paul. I reckon one of my favorite Scriptures is in Philippians where he says, ‘For I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.’”

  Copper stood on tiptoe to buss her father’s cheek. “I’ll try, Daddy. I’ll try to be more like Paul.”

  He opened the screen door and held it as she stepped into the welcoming light of the entry hall. “I reckon if Paul could stand shipwrecks and prison, you and I can handle this soft city life, girl.”

  Much too soon it was the last night of Copper’s family’s visit. They’d enjoyed a big supper with Benton, Alice, and Dodie. Andy had come as well, and Birdie brought little Robert. Tommy Turner couldn’t make dinner, but he came by for dessert. Nobody would willingly miss out on Searcy’s banana pudding.

  After supper everyone gathered in the parlor so Daddy could present his surprise. Willy stood behind Copper’s chair and covered her eyes while Daniel and Andy helped carry it in.

  “Look!” Willy said, moving his hands.

  Tears shimmered in Copper’s eyes as she knelt before the cradle her daddy had made. “I think I could fit two babies in here,” she said, setting it to rocking with the lightest touch.

  “Perish the thought,” Simon said, causing everyone to laugh.

  “I have a little surprise myself,” Mam said, fishing for a beautifully wrapped box hidden behind the sofa.

  Copper sat right where she was on the floor and took Mam’s gift, running her hands over the lavender-colored paper and sliding the orchid silk ribbon through her fingers. “It’s too pretty to open.”

  Willy plopped down beside her. Retrieving a small knife from his pocket, he opened one of its shiny blades and neatly slit the orchid ribbon. “Look, Doc Simon.” He held the knife up for all to see. “Daddy finally let me have the pocketknife you gave me for Christmas that time.”

  Everyone laughed again as Copper peeled off the paper and opened the box. “Oh!” she exclaimed, pulling out a crocheted cradle canopy and a matching coverlet. “Mam, this is beautiful.” Awkwardly, she struggled to stand. Simon rushed to her side, helping her up. “I can get down, but I can’t get up,” she said, blushing, going to her stepmother and then to Daddy with hugs and thanks.

  The men and boys gathered round the cradle to assemble the thin pieces of wood that would hold the ecru lace canopy in place, while the women oohed and aahed over Mam’s fine stitches. Copper’s baby would have a bed fit for a king or a queen.

  It felt like Christmas morning later that night when Copper stole down the stairs while everyone else lay sleeping. She just had to see the cradle again. Funny—the front door was ajar. Surely Simon hadn’t forgotten to latch it.

  “Daddy,” she said, not really surprised to find him on the porch, “can’t you sleep either?”

  “Just counting the stars, Daughter. I get the same number no matter where I’m counting from.” He circled her shoulders with his arm and pulled her close. “What’s got you out of bed?”

  “I want to see the cradle again. I want to picture my baby in it.”

  Quietly, they went in together. The cradle sat under a window in a wash of golden moonlight.

  “Thank you, Daddy.”

  “I made it of burled walnut,” he said. “I like to see the knots in a piece of furniture. Shows the tree has lived awhile and weathered some storms.”

  “It’s perfect. I love it.”

  “Just like life, it’s as pretty as you make it. Sand the hard times smooth and slap some varnish on and nobody will know the difference.”

  Copper had to cover her mouth to stifle a giggle. “Oh, Daddy, I miss you already.”

  The summer had been long and sweet, lasting through October. Copper had hoped it would never end. What was it about the change in seasons that made her so despondent? Perhaps it was the rustling of the dying leaves or the grass turning brown beneath her feet as she trod upon shed flower heads and the discarded seeds of once-fertile plants.

  Casting a look around, Copper retrieved the rake that leaned against the garden fence and began to comb her flower bed. She’d keep the marigold, zinnia, and hollyhock seeds in used envelopes she’d saved all summer. A smile played on her lips as she thought of the one she’d added to the stack just yesterday—Mam’s first letter since their visit. Oh, to bring back that time just past when Mam and Daddy and the boys came all the way from Philadelphia.

  Lost in reverie, Copper scratched about with the rake. She picked up a sunflower stalk and hung it over the fence. The heavy seedpod drooped sadly, like the lid of the trunk that Mam had packed for her family’s homeward journey. Copper had fretted after them until she made herself sick, until Simon came up with a solution to her misery. “The train runs two ways,” he’d declared. Next year, after the baby was born, after she was strong again, they’d hop aboard and return the visit. The very thought made her shiver with anticipation and lifted some of her melancholy.

  A sudden shower of jeweled leaves descended on her just-raked ground. Stubbornly she swept them up, determined to make some progress before someone caught her at the task and took the rake away.

  The screen door screeched, announcing Searcy’s presence. “Miz Corbett,” she called, as Copper had known she would, “what you be doing with that rake? You be careful you don’t strangle that baby.”

  “Forevermore, Searcy. I can’t just sit in the house all the time. Why, my great-grandmother killed a bear and helped build a log cabin while she carried my daddy’s daddy, and she never strangled him. Anyway, I don’t believe all those old wives’ tales.”

  “Well, you ain’t be building no cabins nor killing no bears on Searcy’s watch. Besides, who you think be telling all them tales? Old wives, that’s who. Old wives that had their share of babies.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Copper promised. “See, I’m just doing a little scratching around.”

  “What be going on down at the barn?”

  “The farrier is here. Both horses are being shod today.”

  They could see men watching and hear the tap-tap-clang, tap-tap-clang, as the smith’s hammer shaped iron against the anvil.

  A messenger approached from the side yard. Tipping his hat, he asked for Dr. Corbett.

  “He’s there—” Copper pointed toward the barn—“with the horses.”

  She saw Simon take a note, saw him confer with Reuben, watched as he handed over Pard’s reins and then strode across the yard toward her.

  “Mrs. Wilson’s family sent for me,” he said. “She’s in a bad way.”

  “Send someone else,” Copper said. “You don’t have a horse.”

  He led her to the arbor and kissed her there under the faded morning-glory vine. For once she didn’t care who could see as she threw her arms around him. “I don’t want you to go, Simon.”

  “Keep this up and I shan’t,” he murmured. He tipped her chin and kissed her again. “What’s wrong, dearest?”

  “Nothing,” she replied, feeling silly. “Of course you must go. Poor Mrs. Wilson.”

  “It’s her time. She’s had a long and frui
tful life, but I want to be there when she crosses over.”

  She hugged him as hard as she ever had, as hard as the swelling of her belly would allow.

  “You hold me longest this time,” he whispered, teasing, for it was she who always broke their embrace.

  After he left for the livery station, Copper stayed for a while under the arbor, holding on to their sweet moment until Searcy came worrying about her.

  The day was warm, and a pleasant breeze blew from the west. There’d not be many more days like this. Restless after lunch, Copper found her wide-brimmed straw hat and went back out to the garden. It was fruitless to try to keep ahead of the fallen leaves. The trees were nearly spent; they’d produced a bumper crop this year.

  She laughed at her ungainly self, belly as big as a summer pumpkin. She was thirty-four weeks, according to Dr. Thornsberry. The baby would soon be here. Her hands cupped her gift, her son or daughter. Simon was convinced she carried a girl, although he had yet to come up with a name. But she knew it was a boy, and they’d name him William Alexander. William for her daddy and Alexander, which was Simon’s middle name. They’d call him Alec. The name rolled off her tongue, and already she could see him, all dark hair and round dark eyes. How did women stand the wait? Her arms yearned for the weight of her baby. She was so blessed.

  Way out in the country, an old blacksnake uncurled on a sun-warmed boulder. He was hungry; last week’s field mouse was long gone. His eye slits widened and took in the flash of a chipmunk in the weeds across the road. Tasting the air with his forked tongue, he silently slithered toward his prey.

  It was late October, but the air was still soft and warm across Simon’s shoulders. His mind was not on the road he traveled. He usually enjoyed being out in the country, especially in such fine weather, but today he’d rather be home. He hated to leave Copper. Her time was growing close, and though he wouldn’t actually be attending her, he wanted to be there.

  His thoughts were of Copper and the baby she carried. Secretly he wanted a daughter, a little copy of his wife. She had charged him to come up with a name, and he was thinking on it. Maybe Grace for Copper’s stepmother . . . or Alice? No, better not name her Alice. Though things were decidedly better between his wife and his sister, he’d better not push it. Lilly came to his mind; that would be a pretty name. Yes, Lilly to honor his mother.

  The horse he’d rented from the livery was skittish. He should have kept his attention on the ride, but he let the reins go slack just before he saw a snake from the corner of his eye. Suddenly the horse reared, shrieking, hooves pawing the air, and flung Simon from the saddle.

  Simon fell hard against a rock ledge that jutted from the hillside, then slid as slowly as the serpent had crossed his path to crumple into a heap upon the ground. A thin trail of blood marked his fall, and a sticky red pool spread beneath him. His shattered spectacles lay just beyond his reach; the horse’s hooves crushed his new felt hat.

  With a final fearsome scream, the horse wheeled and sped back toward town, leaving the trampled snake and the battered man to their fate.

  Copper shaded her eyes to watch as a flock of blackbirds took flight from a nearby field of dry cornstalks. As if driven by a fierce wind, they blew east then west, forming a big swooping S in the nearly cloudless sky, the sound of their echoing caws as lonesome as a train whistle. Mesmerized, she watched the dance until they flew off en masse, probably to rob someone else’s cornfield, leaving the day strangely quiet.

  A chill shook her and she wrapped her arms around herself. “A goose has walked over my grave,” she told Old Tom.

  The cat purred and wound around her ankles.

  “Laura Grace?” Alice called from the back porch. “What are you doing out here all alone?”

  Inordinately glad to see her sister-in-law, Copper hurried to the house.

  Alice held the screen door. “Dodie and I have come for tea,” she said, then whispered, “We’re practicing our manners.”

  Copper nearly laughed before she saw that Alice was quite serious, for at the dining table, Searcy had laid three places, and Dodie was sipping milk from a china cup.

  “Mardee,” she cried, her little face lit up with pleasure. “Mardee!”

  “Oh, dear,” Alice said. “She thinks you have Marydell. I hoped she had forgotten.”

  “I suspect it would take a long time to forget a sister.” Copper stooped to cover Dodie with kisses before she took her seat. “How are things at home?”

  “A minor miracle has occurred. Benton took supper with us last night.” She broke a piece of sugar cookie and put it on the baby’s plate. “He can’t get enough of this child.” Her eyes met Copper’s across the table. “Laura Grace, I can never thank you enough.”

  “God is blessing you and blessing Dodie through you.”

  Alice placed a small parcel in front of Copper. “I’ve brought something for us to do. Open it.”

  Tiny drawstring gowns, half a dozen bibs, and embroidery floss of every color spilled out in Copper’s lap.

  “We need to get busy on a layette for Dodie’s little cousin,” Alice said. “I thought we could start this afternoon.”

  Dodie snared a loop of bright gold. “Me help,” she said, dunking the yarn in her milk and drawing a circle of white on the tablecloth. “Me help.”

  Copper was glad for the distraction as scissors and needle whiled away the afternoon. Soon a row of ducks paddled their way across a flannel sleeper, and a green frog hopped on a fancy bib.

  “Frog,” Dodie said and hopped across the floor. “Dodie be a frog.”

  “My, how time has flown,” Alice said while securing her sewing supplies in a small woven basket. “We’d better get this table cleared before Simon comes in expecting supper.”

  “He’ll be late,” Copper replied. “He’s gone out in the country to Mrs. Wilson’s. It’s her time.”

  “Why don’t you come and eat with us? Joseph can bring you home afterward.”

  “Thank you, Alice, but not tonight.” Copper stood, her hands gathered at her lower back. “I’m suddenly tired. It will be an early bedtime for me.”

  Early to bed but not early to sleep. No matter what Copper tried, rest would not come. She would have gone down for warm milk, but she didn’t want to wake Searcy and Reuben. They’d taken to staying over on the nights that Simon was gone, sleeping in a small room off the kitchen. Simon would not hear of her staying alone. And, she must admit, knowing they were close by was a great comfort.

  The small of her back ached, and her shoulders seemed tied in knots. That’s what she got for wielding the rake today. Turning on her side, she buried her face in Simon’s pillow. His scent—just-ironed linen with a hint of lavender—comforted her. Searcy had taught her to make the lavender water she sprinkled his starched shirts with before ironing.

  As if it were yesterday, Copper remembered the first time she had noticed that scent . . . when she was back on Troublesome Creek. Her brother Daniel had managed to get himself bitten while playing at snake handling with a copperhead. He wanted to be like the dancing preacher he’d witnessed at a revival meeting.

  As an answer to her family’s fervent prayer, up rode a stranger to save her brother’s life. Copper had been lost from the first moment she saw Dr. Simon Corbett, although she’d struggled mightily against her fate. Now she couldn’t imagine that she’d ever thought she could live without him.

  She rolled out of bed and opened the curtains. The big, silver moon shone as bright as day. He’d find his way back easy enough with that light to guide him. Simon would be home soon.

  It seemed Copper had just fallen into a deep and dreamless slumber when a commotion downstairs awakened her. In truth she’d slept for several hours, for it was four o’clock in the morning. Sitting up in bed, she pushed her hair from her face and tried to make sense of the noise. Someone was crying.

  “I’ll go for Alice and Benton,” a man’s voice said.

  “Keep it down,” came another.
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  “Searcy, get hold of yourself and go wake Mrs. Corbett, but gently.” That sounded like Dr. Thornsberry.

  She must be dreaming. Why would he be in the foyer? Then the worst sound came—a long, low moan of pain.

  “I’m here,” Copper called, wrapping herself in a robe and flying to the stairs. “What has happened?” Searcy met her midway, and the look on her face made Copper’s stomach lurch. She sat down right there, her vision blocked by Searcy. Very, very slowly, she turned, as if to crawl back up the steps. If she didn’t see, then nothing bad had happened. She’d just go back to bed and make it go away.

  “Miz Corbett—” Searcy touched her shoulder, let her touch linger—“it be Mr. Doctor. He done got hisself hurt.”

  “Is it bad, Searcy?” Copper asked.

  “Dr. Thornsberry’s here. He goin’ look Mr. Doctor over soon as we get him settled.”

  Copper bent over her knees. Through the stair rails she could see her husband lying in a stretcher of arms. “Bring him up,” she said, standing, tightening her sash. “He’ll want to be in his own bed.”

  It was Simon’s stillness that bothered Copper. Truly, he looked the same. Every morning Reuben bathed him and dressed him in a starched white shirt and brown suit pants as if he would wake at any moment and go to his office. Every morning Copper would stand in the doorway and watch as Searcy and Reuben rolled him like a timbered log from one side to the other to make the bed with fresh linen. Every morning Mallie from next door appeared on the back porch for the bundle of laundry. She insisted, and Searcy gave in. Every day but Sunday, Simon’s wash dried on Mallie’s line. And every day he lingered, still as death, without speaking.

  Five long days had passed in this manner since he was found on the side of the road. Poor Mrs. Wilson had passed on without his witness. It was the swelling, Dr. Thornsberry assured Copper. Simon’s brain had sustained quite a blow. He’d wake up as soon as the swelling subsided, the doctor insisted, though Copper noticed each time he said so his voice held less conviction.