He covered the last hundred yards in an extraordinary burst of speed, coming to a stop in the dark shadows of the small trees, his heart pounding with the fear of his exposure. But the hunger had been too great. And the smell of the fresh wild fennel growing near the roots of the acacias had finally overwhelmed his caution.
But now his sense of caution had returned. He kept very low to the ground, his fur blending into the shadows. The bouquet of the fennel was stronger now, but since it was within reach, he was able to contain his hunger until he was sure of safety. He waited until the wild pounding of his heart returned to normal, then moved very slowly into the acacias.
He found the cluster of fennel a few yards from the slowly trickling brook. Quickly he began to scratch at the earth to loosen the juicier, more tender shoots. A moment later he had a long stalk in his front paws and sat up on his haunches, holding it in front of his nose. Tentatively, almost delicately, he nibbled at the shoot. It was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. It was also the last. For just at that moment, he saw the boy standing almost fifteen yards away. Their eyes met for a brief second; then, before he could react to the explosion of fear within him, the .22 bullet ripped into the cortex at the base of his neck, shattering his spine. He flipped backward into the air, dead before he touched the ground.
Daniel Boone Huggins let the echo of the gunshot and the faint wisp of smoke from the rifle fade before moving forward to pick up the dead rabbit. He lifted it by the ears. Already the eyes were glazed and empty. Carefully he tied it to a leather loop around his waist; then he knelt carefully and studied the creature’s tracks.
Quickly he grabbed a handful of the fennel shoots and began to retrace the rabbit’s trail. A few minutes later he was in the field on the side of the hill opposite the clump of bushes from which the rabbit had come. He found the small hole in the ground. Carefully, soundlessly, he loosened the thong and placed the rabbit in front of the hole with the fennel shoots around him.
A moment later he was on his haunches about twenty yards away, waiting. It would be only a question of time before the smell of the fennel and the rabbit would bring his mate up from the ground to investigate.
***
Jeb Stuart Huggins sat on the rickety wooden front steps of his house, his jug of evening squeezin’s beside him, watching his eldest son come toward him. “Any luck?” His voice was rusty from lack of use.
“Two rabbits,” Daniel answered.
“Let’s see ’em,” his father commanded.
Daniel loosened the thong around his waist and held them out to his father. The older man hefted them for a moment, then returned them.
“A mite scrawny,” he said. “Fittin’ only for stew.”
“The drought ain’t been much good for the game either,” Daniel said defensively.
“I’m not complainin’,” his father said. “We take what the Good Lord sees fittin’ to give us.”
Daniel nodded. It would be the first meat they would have had in more than a week.
“Take it roun’ to your maw an’ tell her to make it ready fer the pot.”
Daniel nodded and started to walk away.
“How many bullets did you use?” his father asked.
Daniel stopped. “Two.”
Jeb nodded approvingly. “Don’t fergit to clean the gun real good, now.”
“I won’t, Paw.”
Jeb watched his son walk around the corner of the house. Daniel was getting to be a big boy now. Almost fourteen and as tall as he was, and beginning to swell out his britches. It was time to move him out of the room he shared with his brother and sisters. It wouldn’t do at all to have the young ones seeing things like that. It put wrong thoughts in their heads, and he had enough trouble with Molly Ann as it was.
Molly Ann was his oldest child, a little more than a year older than Daniel and a full woman already, bleeding for more than two years now. Time to be thinking of getting her married. But there were no young men around. All the young ones had gone down from the hills to work in the glass and textile mills in town.
He sighed and picked up the jug and took a sip. The white-hot liquor burned its way into his stomach and warmed him. Problems; there were always problems with seven children. And there would have been ten if three hadn’t been stillborn. The Good Lord had known what he was doing. He’d figured out that Jeb Stuart Huggins would have a hard enough job providing for those he had. But still, it wasn’t fair. Especially since Maw had crossed her legs and closed him out. No more children. It wasn’t easy on a man. Especially a man like himself who was used to getting it. And now with Molly Ann walking around with those ripe young titties and chunky fat ass, he was getting all kinds of sinful thoughts. He took another sip of the squeezin’s and wondered when the circuit preacher would come by. A good old-fashioned revival meeting would do a lot to dispel the sinful sacrilegious notions the Devil was planting in his mind. He sighed again. It wasn’t easy being a family man in these hard times.
***
Marylou Huggins stared into the fire-blackened iron pot sitting on the ancient wood-burning stove. The water was simmering and bubbling, and there were great yellow fat blobs swelling and breaking on its surface. With a long-handled fork she rescued the square of fatback from its watery grave. She studied it, dripping from the edge of the fork. With satisfaction she placed it on a plate. It should be good for at least two more cookings before it was used up. Quickly she dumped a heap of scrubbed potatoes, turnips and greens into the boiling stock and began stirring. She sensed rather than heard Daniel come through the kitchen door. She did not turn around.
“Maw.” As always, she felt a shock at the boy’s deepening voice. It seemed only yesterday that he had been a baby.
“Yes, Dan’l.”
“I got me two rabbits, Maw. Paw says fer you to fix ’em fer the pot.”
She turned to face him. She was only thirty-four, but she was thin and gaunt, and the lines on her face made her seem much older. She took the rabbits from his outstretched hand. “Make a nice change from squir’ls,” she said.
“But we ain’t had no squir’ls for more’n a month,” he protested.
Her lined face relaxed into a smile. Daniel was altogether too serious for a boy his age. “I was jes’ funnin’, son.”
His eyes lightened. “Yes, Maw.”
“Go tell Molly Ann to come an’ he’p me clean the rabbits. You’ll find her out back mindin’ the kids.”
“Yes, Maw.” He hesitated a moment, sniffing the air. “That suah smells good.”
“’Tain’t nothin’ but fatback and greens,” she said. “You hungry?”
He nodded.
She took a piece of hard bread from the board next to the stove and wiped it with the salt pork so that all its grease was absorbed, then handed it to him.
He took a massive bite, chewed and swallowed. “That is good. Thank you, Maw.”
She smiled. “Now go git your sister.”
She watched him leave, then turned and took out the cleaning knife and began to hone it gently against the sharpening stone.
Daniel walked slowly toward the back of the house. He waited a moment before turning the corner so that he could finish his piece of bread. He didn’t want the other kids to see him or they would all start hollering for some of it. When he had swallowed the last bite, he went around the corner.
The blast of noise hit him as two of the kids charged past him toward the open field. Mase, the baby, sixteen months, began squalling from his sling, which hung suspended from the bare old pine tree near the woodpile. Molly Ann straightened up, the kindling hatchet gleaming in her hand. “Richard, Jane, you come back heah this minute. If Paw hears you, you’ll get a tannin’ fer sure.”
The children ignored her warning. Molly Ann turned to Rachel, her ten-year-old sister, who was sitting on a block of wood, looking at a picture book. “Rachel, you go git ’em and bring ’em back here.”
Rachel, the studious one of the family, go
t to her feet, after marking the place in her book, and ran after the two younger children, who were now lost in the tall grass in the field.
Molly Ann pushed her long brown hair back from her flushed face, then picked up a twig from the cut kindling and pushed it into the baby’s mouth. Immediately Mase was quiet, gumming the small piece of wood.
“These kids’ll drive me crazy,” Molly Ann said. She stared at her brother. “Where at you been all day?”
“Huntin’.”
“Git anythin’?”
“Two rabbits. Maw says fer you to come an’ he’p her clean ’em.”
She suddenly became aware that he was staring at the top of her dress. She had opened the top buttons across her breasts so that she could swing the kindling hatchet, and she was almost completely exposed. “What you starin’ at?” she said, although she made no move to cover herself up.
“Nothin’.” He looked away guiltily, feeling the flush creep up into his face.
“You were starin’ at my titties,” she said accusingly. She began to fasten the buttons. “I could tell from the look on your face.”
“I was not,” he muttered, still looking at the ground.
“You was too.” She finished with her buttons and came toward him. “You’ll have to finish the kindlin’ if’n I go to he’p Maw.”
“All right.” He still did not meet her gaze.
“Your pants is all swole,” she said.
Daniel felt his face grow even hotter. He couldn’t answer.
She laughed. “You’re jes’ like Paw.”
Now he looked at her. “What do you mean?”
She laughed again. “I was down at the brook this afternoon washin’ myself when I saw Paw outta the corner of my eye watchin’ me from behin’ a tree.”
He couldn’t keep the wonder out of his voice. “Did he know you saw him?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I made believe I didn’t know he was there, but I kep’ watchin’ outta the corner o’ my eye. He was jackin’ hisself off jes’ like you do. On’y he’s bigger. His pole looked like it was a yard long.”
He stared at her, open-mouthed. “Sweet Jesus!”
“Don’ you go blasphemin’!” she said sharply.
He didn’t answer.
“Maw was right,” she said. “All you men are alike. You’re on’y thinkin’ o’ one thing. It’s the Devil in you, Maw says.”
Rachel came back, followed by the two smaller children. “You git them two kids cleaned up,” Molly Ann commanded. “Then go find Alice out in the vegetable garden an’ tell ’em to come in an’ finish their lessons.”
Obediently, the children went off to the house. Molly Ann reached up and took Mase from his sling. He gurgled happily, pieces of bark sticking to his lips. Molly Ann brushed them off with her hand, then wiped her hand on her skirt.
“Better git that wood cut,” she warned. “Mr. Fitch is comin’ this evenin’ and Maw wants a nice fire goin’. Paw is fixin’ to sell him some ’shine.”
Daniel watched his sister go to the house, holding the baby easily in one arm, her body full and strong under the cotton dress, then turned to the woodpile and picked up the axe.
After a moment there was nothing but the sound of the striking blade and crack of the splitting wooden logs.
Chapter 2
They were just about to sit down at the table when they heard the sound of creaking wagon wheels in the front yard. Jeb held up a hand. “Set another place at the table, Maw,” he said, getting to his feet and going to the door.
He was already down the front steps and in the yard when the mule came to a halt. “Evenin’, Mr. Fitch,” he called. “You’re jest in time to jine us fer supper.”
“Evenin’, Jeb,” Mr. Fitch replied. “Don’t want to bother you folks none.”
“No bother ’tall. Miz Huggins made a fine rabbit stew. ’Twould be a shame fer you to miss it.”
“Rabbit stew,” Fitch said thoughtfully. He had expected fatback and greens. “I do favor a good rabbit stew.” He climbed down from the wagon, breathing heavily. Mr. Fitch was extremely large around the middle. “Be with you jes’ as soon as I water an’ feed my mule.”
“Dan’l’ll take care o’ that fer you,” Jeb said. He called to his son, who came out of the house. “You know Mr. Fitch here.”
Daniel nodded. “Evenin’, Mr. Fitch.”
The big man smiled. “Evenin’, Dan’l.”
“Take care o’ Mr. Fitch’s mule, son.”
“You’ll find the feed bag in the back of the wagon,” Mr. Fitch said. “Don’t let him drink too much water, though. It makes him fart somethin’ awful, an’ I still got to ride twenty miles behind ’im tonight.”
Jeb picked up the jug of evening squeezin’s. “You jes’ have a taste o’ this, Mr. Fitch. It’ll wash away some of the travel dust from yer mouth.”
“Why, that’s right kind of you, Jeb,” Fitch said. He wiped the rim of the jug with his hand and took a long pull. He smacked his lips and smiled as he lowered the jug. “Looks lak you don’t put much water in this mule either, Jeb.”
Ten minutes later they were seated around the table, and Marylou placed the big iron pot of stew in front of her husband. Right behind her came Molly Ann with a platter heaped with freshly baked hot corn bread.
Jeb clasped his hands before him and looked down. They all followed suit. “We ask Thy blessin’s, Lord, on this table, on this house, on those who dwell in it and on our guest, Mr. Fitch. And for Thy bounty and the food we are about to receive, we thank Thee, Lord. Amen.”
The chorus of “Amens” rose from the table, and the children looked up hungrily. Quickly Jeb spooned Mr. Fitch’s plate full, then his own. He nodded to Marylou. She took the spoon and began to fill the children’s plates. By the time she got to her own there wasn’t much meat left, but she didn’t care. She never ate much anyway.
Besides, it just made her feel good knowing that Mr. Fitch would be telling all the neighbors that the Hugginses had served him rabbit stew for supper and that they didn’t eat fatback and greens all the time the way some of the others did.
They ate silently, quickly, with no conversation, wiping their plates clean of even the last drop of gravy with the smoking-hot corn bread.
Mr. Fitch pushed his chair away from the table and patted his stomach contentedly. “That’s the best rabbit stew I ever tasted, Miz Huggins.”
Marylou blushed. “Thank you, Mr. Fitch.”
The big man picked at his teeth. Ceremoniously, he took out his pocket watch and looked at it. “It’s nigh on to six thirty, Jeb,” he said. “Shall we go outside an’ git down to business?”
Jeb nodded. He rose from the table. “Come, Dan’l.”
Daniel followed the older men down the steps into the yard. His father led the way around the back of the house and up the small hill to the still. They walked single file on the narrow path.
“How much you got fer me, Jeb?” Mr. Fitch asked.
“’Bout twenty gallons. Right prime ’shine.”
Mr. Fitch was silent until they came to the still. “That’s not very much.”
“The drought is burnin’ up all the corn, Mr. Fitch,” Jeb explained apologetically.
“Scarcely wu’th my haulin’ all the way up here.” This was no longer Mr. Fitch the nice man, who had sat down to the dinner table; this was Mr. Fitch the trader, who kept half the sharecroppers in the valley in his debt with the credit he ran for them at his general store and the prices he paid them for their moonshine and whatever else they had to sell.
The big copper kettles and tubing were camouflaged by leafy, interlocking branches. To one side lay a pile of cut wood.
“Git out a jug, Dan’l,” his father commanded.
Daniel began to lift wood from the pile. A moment later the brown clay jugs lay uncovered. Jeb picked one up and pulled the cork with his teeth.
“Jes’ you smell the ’shine, Mr. Fitch,” he said.
Fitch took the jug
and sniffed at it.
“Taste it,” Jeb urged.
The big man tilted the jug. He took a swallow.
“That’s quality, Mr. Fitch,” Jeb said. “Right smart bead. No carbides, no lye. Smooth an’ natural. You can give it to a baby.”
“Not bad,” Mr. Fitch admitted. He squinted. “How much you want fer it?”
Jeb didn’t look at him. “I figgered at least a dollar a gallon.”
Fitch didn’t answer.
Jeb lost his nerve. “Six bits?”
“Four bits,” Mr. Fitch said.
“Mr. Fitch, four bits for that ’shine jes’ ain’t right. That’s what they been gettin’ for quick ’shine, not the real slow, natural ’shine like this,” Jeb protested.
“Business is bad,” Mr. Fitch said. “People jest ain’t buyin’ things no more. They’s a war on in Europe an’ ever’thing’s upset.”
“Fifty cents a gallon ain’t much.” Jeb was almost pleading now. “At least meet me halfway, Mr. Fitch.”
Mr. Fitch looked at him steadily. “How much do you owe me, Jeb?”
Jeb’s eyes fell. “’Bout four dollars, I reckon.”
“Four dollars an’ fifty-five cents,” Mr. Fitch said.
“I guess that’s ’bout right,” Jeb admitted. He still did not look up.
Daniel didn’t dare look at his father. He was too ashamed. It wasn’t right for a man to be humbled so just because he was poor. He looked off into the fields.
“Tell you what, Jeb,” Mr. Fitch said. “I’m in a good mood. A generous mood, you might say. An’ you can thank Miz Huggins’ fine rabbit stew fer puttin’ me in it. I always say that a full stomach dulls a man’s sharpness in business. I’ll give you sixty cents a gallon.”
Jeb looked up. “You cain’t do better?”
“‘Generous,’ I said. Not ‘foolish.’” Mr. Fitch’s voice held a tone of finality.
Jeb felt the bitter taste of defeat. Three months’ work, day and night, rain and shine, tending the still, taking the ’shine off drip by drip as it slowly condensed along the tubes so that every drop was crystal clear and perfect. He forced himself to smile. “Thank you, Mr. Fitch,” he said. He turned to his son. “Fetch the jugs down to Mr. Fitch’s wagon.”
Memories of Another Day Page 4