Beloved Mother

by Laura Hunter

  Anna picked the yellowed pages from her lap and glanced at them. They were, indeed, a deed dated 1815 and signed by Uriah Parsons. A long, long time ago. Anna recalled a time when she was six and Ruth had begged for hard candy at the drugstore. Their ma had refused, but after Ruth fell asleep, she crept into their bedroom and slipped a piece of peppermint under Anna’s pillow. Neither she nor her mother mentioned it then or ever. That was one of the few times Anna remembered such tenderness.

  Yur youngun might need them of a day as Turtleback and Boone Station rightly goes to her and not to you who I say kilt her own sister. If you are a fittin mother youll lay them aside so she wont be having to live in no coal mining town the likes of which you run away to.

  Anna bit her inner lip to stave off crying. The peppermint had not only been a gesture of tenderness. It was a favoring of Anna over Ruth. After Anna ran away, their mother had reversed their places in her heart. Anna had brought it on herself. She wondered if God had so many other worries that there was no time to look to the welfare of one human being. A loneliness swept over her and bowed her shoulders.

  This letter is my say. Your pa and me aint got no younguns no more what with you being a lover thief and Mona off lost somewheres and Ruth in the cold cold ground. Dont be knocking on our door fer you aint welcome here no more.

  Yur maw

  Mrs Viola Parsons

  My friend Clara Beauchamp holped me in this writing. She said I ort.

  Chapter 15

  Anna left Breakline Camp on Thursday at dawn of the next week. She and the child started out while dew was still safe from the sun. Anna loaded clothes in a pillowcase and canned food in a paper sack and packed them in Lily’s wagon. She put Lily between the two bundles. Lily slept, her head resting on the stuffed bag of clothing.

  The uphill climb was steeper than Anna recalled. At a point where the road widened, Anna stopped to rest under a massive oak. For the first time in the climb, she looked back over the valley and Breakline Camp, its identical box-shaped houses to the south, the commissary in the center and Unity Church close to the northern end of the cove on the road leading to #3’s offices and opening. Then the steel-colored tipple, standing tall and humming to its perpetual motion. The place strung out like a strand of black pearls, each connected to the other by coal-dusted roads. She was too far away to see much of the rock ledge where she and Winston used to meet, but the stone scar was visible. It would be easier to see when trees lost their leaves. Towering over the valley, Winston’s house stood, its Queen Anne ornamentation more like a decorated wedding cake than a home.

  Though sound could not carry as easily up the mountain as it did coming down, she knew the hums and clangs of those awakening and moving about and what they would be, were she to listen closely.

  Beneath Turtleback’s western side, Breakline Camp acted out the morning in pantomime. Juanita came trotting out her front door. There was her fawn-colored milk cow shuffling down the dirt road. In memory, Anna heard the metal gate creak behind Juanita and clang when it closed. Juanita hurried as fast as her girth allowed after the Jersey, its udder swinging close to the ground. Another day of the cow escaping before Juanita got a chance to milk her.

  Anna imagined the cow’s occasional clink of her collar bell as she waddled along, swaying side to side. Juanita’s mouth moved, calling the cow back, but the cow bawled and did not answer the call.

  On the rise behind the commissary, a screen door slammed. The noise echoed from Winston’s house like a shot. Rows of elaborate purple dowels drew her eye to the turret that connected the camp to the sky. A weather vane wavered in the breeze, its rooster pointing west, then northwest. The wind’s draft did not make its way up Turtleback.

  Winston walked out on the broad Queen Anne porch. He paused at the first step to strike a match against the white column and light his Lucky Strike. As he breathed out the first draw, Anna relived the sigh he made with each new cigarette. Winston faced the mountain road that led out of the valley, but she had gone too far for him to see her. She wondered if he questioned when she would leave or where she would go.

  Standing by a sofa-sized boulder on the mountainside, Anna had not yet met her twenty-sixth birthday, yet she felt old. She recalled herself as a younger woman, holding a man she believed to be gentle, compassionate. She recalled his grin when he awoke in her lap and his laughter when the grin broke into a recollection of their time on the ledge. She refused to think of the different Winston who lashed out in fear at the mere mention of his daughter.

  Lily, awakened by lack of movement, rested in the wagon. She twisted her doll’s braids.

  Back on the hill topping Breakline mining camp, Gladys must have called out to Winston. He glanced back toward the door, then ambled down the steps. He ground his fresh-lit cigarette under his shoe, as if Gladys’ call frustrated him. At the bottom of the hill, he disappeared behind the commissary. Gladys stepped out on the porch in a rose-colored satin robe, repeating her call, but he did not return.

  Anna imagined the sound of the office door back of the commissary closing behind Winston and the squeak of his chair as he lowered his long body onto the leather. In a bit, Gabe would walk up the front steps, insert his key and open for the day’s business.

  An awareness of what had put her on this road brought Anna back to the wagon and Lily. Winston’s reaction to Lily, Gladys’ new daughter, and Clint’s death had soured her. Though she grieved the loss of Clint, her grief at leaving Breakline Camp and its memories weakened her. She needed to gather her thoughts for strength to make the rest of the climb. She parked the full wagon at an angle next to a large boulder and bent to brush away grayish-green lichen.

  Something solid hit her back. Something larger than an acorn. Another plunked into Lily’s wagon. Lily grabbed it and stuffed it in her mouth. “No,” said Anna as she took it from Lily. Her mouth fell open when she saw what she held.

  An intricately carved stag with paper-thin antlers large enough to confirm his dominion over the mountain stood in her palm. It was stunning. Its legs precise, ready to lope across a meadow. A small hole in its back held a broken bit of twine.

  She searched the ground by the boulder for what had struck her. Below where she had intended to sit lay a fat bear the size of the buck. The wooden bear stood upright, tiny teeth bared, with a hole bored into its head.

  Anna stepped back from the oak and gazed upward. Overhead was a weakened limb with more carvings, each attached with twine. She picked up a stone and threw it toward the limb. The rock missed. Another try failed. Anna sat on the boulder, astonished that she would find such wonders hanging in a magnificent oak. She slipped the two sculptures, each as large as her palm, into her sweater pockets.

  “Mine,” Lily whined.

  “No,” Anna said. “These are treasures. I’ll keep them safe here in my pocket. When somebody asks for them we’ll know where they are.” Anna rose and started climbing up Turtleback. She turned back to speak to Lily. “Let’s not tell anybody about the animals. Somebody might lie about owning them.”

  Anna heard the motor and grinding gears before she saw the vehicle. A white panel truck chugged up the road and slowed to an idle beside Anna and Lily.

  “Get in, Mrs. Goodman,” said Gabe.

  Anna refused to look at Gabe. Her blush would say more than she wanted him to know.

  “Come on, now. It’s my job here we’re talking about. Mr. Rafe saw you climbing Turtleback and sent me to see you got wherever you was going.” He reached over and opened the passenger door of the rusty delivery truck. “You don’t want me starving now. Do you?”

  “See? I told you he’s sweet on Anna Goodman. That Gabe Shipley seems equal to one of those old Grecian gods. Sometimes being human looks mighty tempting.” Sister Sun giggles.

  “You disgust me, Sister Sun.” Brother Moon replies. “Why would you ever want to be mortal?”

  “Who says I can’t be both?”

  “With all the trouble you give Grea
t Spirit, I doubt that he would tolerate your antics on earth.”

  Sister Sun ducks behind cumulus clouds, but she spreads her light far enough that she creates glorious white edges around each.

  Anna shook her head and lifted Lily into the truck. She stood behind Gabe’s seat. Gabe rolled Lily’s wagon into the back. Anna sat in the passenger side as close to the door as she could squeeze.

  “Morning, little Lily,” Gabe said. Lily grinned.

  They rode for a time with none of them speaking. Gabe opened the subject. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but I seen you suffering with this strong sorrow since your mister was run over. Now I can’t see you, a strong woman in your own house, walking off like this.” He waited for her to answer. “Where you going?”

  “Boone Station.” Anna glanced at Gabe. “We, Lily and me, got papers to Boone Station. Parsons family had them since Turtleback was first settled. My pa once told me we owned the whole mountain, but I don’t know.” Anna rubbed her eyes. They burned. She had not slept well the night before.

  Gabe leaned to hear what she said. “Boone Station? You got to pass Flatland before you get to Boone Station. Flatland ain’t no place for woman nor child. ’Specially a girl-child.” With one hand on the steering wheel, Gabe propped his elbow out the truck window. With the other, he shifted the gear into first to conquer the steep grade. “There’s a Cherokee granny and her boy up there. Reckon he’s about twenty-two or three now. Tried working him at the commissary. Didn’t always work out. Strange one, he is.” He shifted again to accommodate the dirt road. “They live in the old empty church out by the Parsons graveyard.” He kept his hand on the wheel to fight the ruts. “Got a alcohol order in back for the old woman this very day.”

  “I’d rather stay at Boone Station than go back to Covington.” Anna picked up a piece of her skirt and pleated it. Fold, pinch, fold, pinch. “I’ll be about half way between Covington and Breakline, so I can visit Juanita. Come see you, so you can tell me a corny joke.” She turned to Gabe and smiled. “I been thinking. Might you be willing to come once a month and bring me an order of groceries from the commissary? Mr. Rafe says he intends to continue Clint’s money since he was killed at the mine. In a way…” Anna hesitated, thinking she had said too much.

  Gabe seemed to ponder the offer. “Well…”

  Anna interrupted him. “You could bring my order and pay for it from Clint’s funds. Keep the difference on account or bring me the rest.”

  Gabe rolled his tongue around the inside of his jaw as if he held a wad of words that needed out.

  “I know you’d have to get approval from Mr. Rafe, but he’s told me he’d help however he can. Me having a young child and all.” Anna did not want to beg, but the forest looked more foreboding, thicker, than when she had come up Turtleback with Clint nine years before. She would need somebody outside Boone Station. The closest people at Flatland, just up the rise from the house her great-great-grandfather Uriah Parsons had built in the late 1700s, didn’t sound too promising.

  Gabe geared down as they neared the cut-off to Flatland. “Let me drive you to Covington. You got kin there, right?”

  “None that matter,” Anna said. “Besides, you can check on me and Lily when you bring supplies.”

  Gabe waited, giving Anna time to add anything.

  After a moment, she said, “Call me Anna.”

  “Alright. Anna it is. Anna. Little Lily’s mama.” He poked Lily under her arm, making her snicker. “My…my boss he done told me to bring your supplies as you need them. Just like you said. And I aim to do just that.”

  “Thank you, Gabe. We’ll make do.” Anna’s false confidence wavered beneath her words.

  Gabe patted Anna’s arm. “Sure you will. Ain’t you done so already?”

  As the truck neared Flatland, Gabe spoke again. “You know, Mrs. Goodman.” He cleared his throat. “Anna.” He hesitated. “He’ll…” Gabe stumbled. “Mr. Rafe’ll be crossing the country soon. Maybe next month. They come and told him yesterday after he went down to Covington to see them recruiters from the US of A Army. They told him to take care of his business and be ready to leave in a couple of weeks.”

  “Oh?” Anna swallowed deep. “You give him my best.” She turned toward the window.

  “Mrs. Gladys, she ain’t taking too kindly to none of this. She can throw a slobbering fit when she sets her head to it. Yesterday when she found out the government wanted him, she had a hard need for fitting. Heard her all the way down at the commissary.” Gabe shook his head as if he tried to rattle the memory loose and let it fly on its own. “Made their little girl cry.”

  Anna enjoyed hearing Gabe talk. Having grown up in South Georgia among coloreds, he sounded different from mountain folk. Slower with his words, softer. He was, in his own way, a stranger in his own land.

  “Where’s he going?” Anna smoothed the pleats out of her dress and ran her hands over her knees. “Mr. Rafe, that is.”

  “Army’s sending him off to some university in Colorado where they do experiments with mining machines. Seems they heard of his machine ideas that make mining faster and safer for the men. Says it don’t have to use mule nor man to haul it out the tunnel. They want him to look at what they got out there. Says country’ll be needing more coal since WWII is over. Something about China wanting all of some place called Korea. All this arguing on the other side of the world.” Gabe shook his head. “Some says Korea is next. Looks like they could’ve learned from all that killing in the last big war.”

  “Oh.” Anna did not want to sound too interested. “Another war? In a place I never heard of. Men ain’t cold in the ground from the last one,” Anna said.

  “He’ll be gone nigh on to three year,” Gabe offered.

  “I see.” Anna tried to hide the disappointment in her voice. Not that she had expected to see him for the next three years. Not that she expected to see him ever again. Knowing he would be down the mountain, managing the mine, the camp, playing with his little girl, his CeCe, as he called her. That Gladys had named her Cecelia Louise and insisted on calling her by her full name irked Winston. Said it made Gladys sound “uppity.” Anna had decided that in Gladys’ mind “uppity” meant something akin to “sophisticated.”

  Knowing he was only a few miles down the mountain when she left Breakline had made her feel safe. Knowing he would be across the country scared her. And for three years. Not that she was scared of living alone at Boone Station. It was loneliness that scared her. The same loneliness that had kept her on edge for the past three years. Not feeling Winston next to her scared her. Not knowing what he was doing, if he was following his Breakline schedule, scared her. Sweat formed on her forehead.

  She took out a handkerchief to wipe her face.

  “We going to be fine, Anna. We going to be just fine. You look after little Lily and I’ll take care of the rest.” Gabe patted her arm.

  As the company truck bumped over ruts in the mountain road, Lily bounced up and down behind Gabe and laughed. Anna glanced up the road when Gabe drove past the turnoff to Flatland. Much in her life had changed since she climbed that road to see the granny almost three years ago. But not the road.

  When they reached Boone Station, Gabe walked to the back of the truck and unloaded several cardboard boxes of kitchen staples. He set them on the porch and handed Anna a thin white box with tape holding down the lid. “Here,” Gabe said. “Mr. Rafe said give this to you.”

  “What is it?” Anna said. She slipped her hands behind her back.

  “No idea. Have to open it and see.” Gabe strolled away. She heard the metal clink as Gabe closed the truck’s back doors.

  Anna moved the carved stag aside and slid the box deep into her sweater pocket.

  Gabe cranked the truck. He popped his head out the window and burst into song. “I’ll be seeing you, la, la, la. That’s all the words I know,” he sang. Laughing at what he thought to be a joke, Gabe waved out the window, singing the same refrain over and over until Anna cou
ld no longer hear his voice.

  Uriah Parsons, Anna’s great-great-grandfather had built this two-room house of chestnut and chink, and reinforced it with limestone he took from cliffs along the trail. A stout house, it stood at the edge of the road, perched atop a thick rock overlooking a year-round spring. Water from the spring argued its way down the mountainside and eventually broadened into what would become Broken Rock Creek in Covington. He dammed the stream, once higher up the rise and once behind the house, creating cisterns to hold fresh water. Over the years, the rock cisterns clothed themselves in moss the color of soft spring leaves, disguising their presence from all but the most persistent. He named his place Boone Station, for it was with Daniel Boone that he had traveled in 1775, and it was with Daniel Boone that he camped at this site.

  Parsons’ house, two rooms wide with a narrow porch facing a future access road to Breakline Camp, waited almost two hundred years for the widow Anna Parsons Goodman to move there with her child Lily Marie. Wayfarers crossing Turtleback opened and closed the door as they needed. They came, they slept, and moved on.

  But Anna was here to stay. From where she stood in the road, a blanched wooden sign, centered above the one door, hung from two rusty chains attached to the eave of the porch. Uriah Parsons himself had carved the letters then filled them with coal dust to create a sign, clear to any passer-by. Boone Station it read. The morning Anna and Lily arrived, the sign creaked back and forth in the morning breeze, its chain begging for oil.