“Y’all havin’ a nice time?” she said, having to raise her voice to be heard over the music.
He shrugged. “Nice enough, I s’pose,” he shouted back.
She didn’t make any more attempts at small talk; he had let her know he was clearly not interested in that. They held hands loosely as they moved their feet in a dance that was known locally as flatfooting. Nice thing about flatfooting was that anyone could do a basic step and add a little personality of their own to it. It could still be done with a partner and look good. It could be done alone as well, like the fellow who was dancing mad near the fiddle player. He was too drunk to realize they weren’t playing the music solely for him. There were no restrictions with flatfooting.
Just like the songs and ballads that had been circulating through the mountains, no one really knew where flatfooting had come from, but it had been passed around for generations. Ellis was better than most at it, although his daddy had taught him not to brag. He enjoyed music in general, and the songs seemed to be a part of his soul. He also had a good voice and used it often when he was in the fields following his mule, setting the tobacco to an old mountain melody. He thought it amusing that his daddy couldn’t carry a tune to save his life. Ellis figured he must have gotten the gift from his mother.
It was often the music that had consoled him or lifted him during his trying times. It was the music that had made up his life. The gospel words and mountain tunes managed to fit together like the pieces of a crazy quilt. It all combined to make a beautiful piece. For any given circumstance he had experienced, there was a song to match it.
At the end of the dance, Ellis smiled and nodded his thanks to his partner. When the next song began, he headed for the door to get a breath. There was a bucket and a dipper set out, and he went and took a good long drink of water. As he took in the cool evening air, Fergus Bayard sidled up next to him with his fists deep in his overall pockets.
“How do, there, Ferg?”
“How do?” Fergus said, a little petulant in his tone.
“Enjoyin’ yourself?”
“Them boys is always up to no good.”
“Who?”
“You know who,” Fergus accused, but decided to humor Ellis anyhow. “Clifton and Forster. Why they gotta be that a-way for?”
“What’d they go and do now?” Ellis asked, not able to hide his amusement.
That only made Fergus more out of sorts. “They don’t take nothin’ serious. I went and was goin’ to ask one of them gals to dance, and they done tripped me up and made me fall, right there in front a-her. Boy, they saw I’s plenty mad ’bout it, and they done took off. They got outta there afore I whooped ’em, them mules.”
“You ortta knowed they’d be up to no good, Fergus. They’s nothin’ but a bunch of fools, the whole lot.” Ellis laughed.
“Now it ain’t funny, insultin’ a man that a-way, and in front of a girl. They just better steer clear of me, is all. ’Cause I’ll show ’em. I’ll knock their blocks off.”
Ellis took another sip from the ladle before he let it drop back into the bucket of water. He knew that Fergus was all talk. That boy couldn’t do harm to anyone. He was small, whiny, and awkward for a man. He was his mama’s only boy in a passel of girls. Ellis never did like him much. But it wasn’t in Ellis’s disposition to treat anyone unkindly, no matter how distasteful they were, and so he tolerated the man. As his daddy had always said, “There’s never no cause for bad behavior.”
Ellis felt sorry that Fergus had just never had a father to teach him any better. “You just pay ’em no mind, Ferg.”
Fergus shrugged and kicked the dirt with the toe of his boot. The two of them stood, watching the shadows and forms of others littering the yard. Some were lovers who shied from the light, attempting to steal kisses. Some were drunk and ornery, looking for a fight. Some, like Ellis, wanted a breath of fresh air.
“Even afore they gone and done that, I’s done good and heated,” he complained.
Ellis could see that Fergus was waiting for him to ask why, but he didn’t feel up to humoring him. He honestly didn’t care.
So Fergus went on without being prodded. “My girl says she’s a-comin’ to meet me here, and I ain’t seen hide nor hair of her.”
“Your girl?” Ellis said, raising an eyebrow in surprise.
“Ain’t you heard? Elvira Little and me is a-goin’ together,” Fergus bragged with a smile of satisfaction.
“Purvis’s daughter?”
“What other Elvira Little be there?”
“Well, now, she’s a right purty little gal.”
“Sure she is.” Fergus gave an enthusiastic nod of his head. “I done kissed her too,” he confided in a low laugh.
“Ain’t that somethin’?” Ellis replied, feeling his stomach turn over at Fergus’s kissing the sweet fifteen-year-old girl with ebony hair and a woman’s body. Why, if he was Purvis, he’d keep a tight rein on that one. But Purvis was too darn ignorant to trouble himself over it.
“How ’bout you, Ellis? You got yourself a woman yet?”
Ellis shook his head, his lip slightly curled. “Don’t reckon I do.”
As if they had conjured her with their talk, Elvira came loping across the yard, her eyes alight and eager as she approached Fergus. “That’s where you been keepin’ yourself!” she squealed as she jumped at Fergus, looping her arm through his.
“Where you been? I done looked everywheres for you,” Fergus said, as standoffish as he could muster.
“Why, I’s just a-lookin’ for you,” she told him, losing a bit of her bubble. “Now, you ort not to be cross with me, Fergus. I ain’t had a bit of fun when I was a-tryin’ to get to you.”
“I’ll be, you look awful good,” he admired, letting his eyes roam over her.
She giggled. “He do say purty things.”
Ellis vaguely recalled her as a little girl. She’d been a young kid, nothing special then. Seeing her now, he was surprised that she hadn’t gone after bigger game than Fergus Bayard. To Ellis, she seemed like a huntress—too cunningly sultry, slightly manipulative in her manner.
“He talks so sweet and fine. His sweet talkin’ likes to make me tickled all the way to my toes,” Elvira cooed, batting her eyelashes.
“Go on, gal. Get back in there, and I’ll be in direc’ly,” Fergus instructed, giving her a swat on the bottom. “You and me is goin’ to have a dance.”
She gave him a quick smile and headed back to the barn.
“I done tole you, didn’t I?” Fergus asked.
“For sure you did.”
As they stood talking, Ellis’s eyes fell upon a woman who was alone, making no attempt to conceal the intense gaze she focused upon him. He didn’t know how long she had been observing them. It was impossible to tell how old she was. She looked to be middle-aged, pale, and perplexed as she eyed him. Ellis figured that she wore that forlorn look often, gauging by the deep wrinkles in her furrowed brow and the frown lines that marked either side of her mouth. Hers was as sad and bewildered an expression as he had ever seen.
He stared back for a moment, and then the spell was broken as she strode toward him, now seemingly angry. The woman took his chin roughly between her thumb and forefinger, turning his face this way and that, scrutinizing his features as she might an object she was looking to buy. He dumbly allowed it, unsure of what he should do.
“I done seen a ghost,” she whispered. “Who do you belong to?” she asked, sounding angry and distressed all at the same time.
Ellis knew she was asking who his father was, but he didn’t understand why. “My daddy’s Jim Hooper, ma’am.”
“Jim Hooper!” The woman seemed to stew over this for a brief moment, and then she looked him over again. “And your mama?”
“What’s this about?” Ellis asked. He thought she had maybe helped herself to more moonshine than she could handle.
“Your mama?” she snapped.
“Edith Hooper. My mama’s Edith Hooper.”
“Edith Hooper? Like hell it is! Well, I ortta knowed it,” she spat through clenched teeth. “I’ll kill him!” She dropped her hand and stalked off with her fists in balls, like she was on her way to punch somebody’s lights out.
Ellis watched her go in bewilderment. Fergus also seemed confused, and the two of them looked at each other in amazement, not knowing what to make of the woman’s strange behavior.
“What was that for?”
“Beats me,” Ellis replied. “I never laid eyes on that there woman afore this night.”
Fergus chuckled nervously. “Law, you done made her good and mad! I never seen such a thing. I never did. She’s a hellcat, for sure. What’d you do to cause her to go at you that a-way?”
Ellis shook his head in annoyance, unwilling to make any sort of reply, and then just walked away abruptly without another word, leaving Fergus to stand there alone.
That very night, a storm, the likes of which Ellis had never seen, blew in. The dark clouds gathered and then burst in sheets of heavy, pounding rain. The neighboring county was pummeled with hail and windstorms, laying waste to many a home and field.
Ellis felt his bad luck began after that night. He wondered in his mind if that woman had put a curse on him; if, in the instant she had touched his face, some ill-fortune had transferred to him from her. Though he could not figure why, he thought some deep-seated grudge had possessed him, marked him for a man destined to know nothing more than sorrow all his days.
Chapter 9
LYING IN HIS BED ALONE, Ellis listened to the rain pound the corrugated tin roof of his cabin. Claps of thunder shook the little shack, rattling anything that wasn’t fastened down. It made such a clamor he couldn’t sleep. Restless and troubled, he finally pulled himself up and sat in his chair.
He whittled at a stick, listening to the fire sizzle and spit as the rain occasionally found its way down the rock chimney. His old dog, Trapper, lay at his feet, resting his head on his paws. He normally didn’t allow the dog inside the house. Animals belonged outside.
Trapper had been one of Lobo’s pups, the spitting image of his father, and just as faithful. Ellis had mourned the loss of Lobo, who had been like family to him, but Trapper had managed to fill the void. Trapper was getting along in years now too, though. He was an old man in dog years. His coat no longer had a shine to it. He couldn’t run as fast. He slept more these days and did a little less chasing of vermin. But he was still a good dog, and Ellis felt pity for the poor animal as he watched him pace back and forth along the length of the front porch, his restlessness a product of the storm. And so they endured the long night together.
Dawn brought no relief. The sky was dark, blotting out any attempts the sun might have been making to shine. There was a heaviness to the clouds that was almost suffocating, as if they were pressing down, down to the ground. He could feel the weight on his skin. Lightning continued to flash, illuminating the darkness in jagged, bright forks, leaving an acrid smell to the falling rain. And when Ellis went to tend his mule and cow, he was soaked to the bone by the time he made it back to the porch. Trapper had followed him across the yard to the barn, back to the house, and now stood shaking, scattering a thousand drops of water in all directions.
The rains had subsided but somber mood continued through the afternoon, and about suppertime, Ellis noticed smoke in the distance. Great plumes rose above the far-off hills, and the odor drifted in through the open window, where the curtain fluttered on the wet breeze. He went outside and stood under the shelter of the porch. He eyed the smoke with unease, his hands in his pockets, thoughtfully pondering if he might investigate the cause of it. The dog paced to and fro, whining and seeming as anxious as his master.
Not in the mood to fix anything else, Ellis went back into the cabin and ate a stale biscuit and a cold chunk of beef left over from his dinner the night before. A short while later, over the din of the continuing rain, he heard a car coming up the graveled drive and stepped out on the porch. He watched as Purvis Little’s beat-up old Ford pulled up in front of the house and skidded to a sudden stop.
Purvis immediately climbed out, obviously excited over something. “Grab your coat and hat, boy, and come on with me!” he yelled over the rain.
For some reason, Ellis didn’t think to question him, didn’t bother to ask why. The uneasy feeling creeping through his innards was enough to spur him to action. He reached in through the door and took his coat and hat off the peg just inside and hurried to put them on.
The closer they drew to his daddy’s farm, the thicker and darker the sky grew with smoke, and a mix of ash and mist accumulated on the windshield. As they topped the ridge and exited the trees, Ellis immediately saw the smoldering ruins of the barn he had played in as a child. When they pulled up to the farmhouse, the stench was more than he could stand. It made him sick to his stomach, made him cover his nose and mouth with his arm to try to block the odor out.
That barn had been one of his favorite places. As a boy, he had lain on his back and watched the drying tobacco leaves flutter in the rafters above, collected eggs from the chickens’ hidden nests, fed and milked the old cow, climbed through the empty stalls, wrestled with Lobo, and followed his daddy around as he went about his chores. Now, there was nothing left of the barn but the back corner of the rear and a side wall where they joined to form an L-shape. The ground was littered with smoldering debris and the dead, smoking carcasses of animals. That was the smell that had accosted him—scorched hair and burned flesh, the charred remains of living things.
“Where’s my daddy, Purvis?” Ellis demanded with a quaking, panicked voice.
“We brung him to the house,” Purvis told him softly, keeping his eyes straight ahead.
When Ellis saw his daddy laid out on the bed, he knew that his father’s days of burden and care were coming to a close. His minutes were numbered. He breathed in shallow, ragged breaths, coughing weakly every now and again. The skin on his bare arms and face and head was charred and blistered, and his eyes were red and watering profusely.
He feebly tried to shift his body on the bed as he struggled to make his lungs work, laboring for a breath, but when he saw Ellis he became still. A few of the neighbors milled about the room, unable to help but unwilling to leave. They all parted to let Ellis through when he came to the door of the tiny room.
“He tried to save them there animals,” Purvis said as he followed Ellis into the room, “but there wasn’t nothin’ could be done for it.”
“Lord, Daddy, what’ve you gone and done?” Ellis said, dropping to his knees next to the bed.
“Ellis…Ellis,” Jim whispered. “My boy, Ellis…” He stretched his charred fingers out, reaching for his son. “Death’s on me, ain’t it, Ellis?”
“It’s gonna be all right, Daddy. I’m here now. And it’s all gonna be all right,” Ellis said, emotion choking his voice.
“Lightnin’ hit that there barn and just lit it right up. Never seen nothin’ like it,” Purvis explained, turning his hat in his hands. “Me and some of the boys here, we done what we could. I come to get you, but Coy Struthers done gone to get the doctor.”
Jim struggled again to speak. “Ellis, you been a good boy. You always been a comfort to me. You made me…you made me real…proud.”
“Daddy, what’d you go and do?” Ellis asked again, shaking his head. He felt a sense of helplessness that was beyond anything he had ever experienced. There was nothing he could do and he knew it. “You gonna up and leave me now?”
Jim swallowed hard and said, “Ellis. I tried…to…to do…right by you. I tried…to make you a good man.”
“You did, Daddy. You was the best daddy there ever was to a boy.” He wanted to hold his father’s hand, to touch him, but he was afraid to, afraid of the boils upon the blackened flesh.
“I only wanted…”
“What, Daddy?” Ellis prodded.
“All I done, I done ’cause I loved you, boy, ’cause I wanted…wanted
you to be a better man than I was. Sorry…” He became troubled and emotional.
Ellis wasn’t ready for Jim’s time to be over so soon, but he listened lovingly as his father rambled on about the past. “I was holdin’ you in my arms that day…walkin’ that road home…” he said softly, almost inaudibly. “It was my choosin’. I thought I could make your life better. I thought…I thought I could do somethin’ for you. But it was you…it was you what saved me,” he murmured with tears in his eyes.
“Now, Daddy, you just take it easy. Don’t upset yourself none. Just take it easy,” Ellis insisted. “It’s gonna be fine.”
“Hear me, boy,” Jim insisted, although it was near impossible for him to become too adamant in his weakened state. His fingers grasped at Ellis’s shirt as he fiercely whispered, “All I done, I done ’cause I loved you. I don’t want you never…never to doubt it.” Then his charred fingers lost their grip on Ellis’s shirt, and his hand fell limply to the bed. “Your mama, well, now…” He couldn’t seem to finish his thought.
“I know, Daddy. I know,” Ellis croaked. It was obvious that talking was a great effort for his father. He was attempting to ease his suffering.
“What’s mine is yourn, Ellis. My boy…my boy…” The struggle to inhale and exhale was terrible to hear.
“Daddy, this farm don’t mean nothin’ without you. You can’t go and leave me now. I got nobody but you. I got nobody,” Ellis whispered, not knowing if he was talking to his daddy or to himself.
Jim continued to toil with his breathing until his lungs grew too tired from the effort and just stopped working. In that moment, a look of awe and rapture radiated from his face, and he soundlessly mouthed one final word, “Edith,” and then was gone.
The room was quiet, everyone still in the wake of Jim Hooper’s death. There was nothing but the rain, and that too had slowed to a reverent hush as the man silently slipped away.
The very night of his passing, Jim was laid in a pine box put out in his front room on the table. The neighbors kept a vigil through the night with Ellis, sleeping in the same room as the body, as was their custom. In the early morning hours as the sun began to stream through the window, it accented his daddy’s profile and lit him up like a fiery angel sent to do God’s justice.
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