Sadie's Mountain

by Shelby Rebecca

His black eyes lock with mine as he lays his arm across the back of the chair and crosses his ankle over his knee authoritatively. The black slide on his head is combed perfectly. His nose is still bruised, but un-bandaged. He’s suited up. His chest is tight, his jaw squared and tensed.

  In the two flowered chairs in the front row are my brothers looking handsome in black shirts and pants. I lean down and hug them both before Dillon and I sit down at the end of the flowered couch in the front row next to Aunt Lotty. Missy sits down on the other side of Dillon next to Dale and the kids. Elise and little Joe jump onto their parent’s laps.

  Pastor Cole begins to talk, “Let’s open in prayer,” he says, bowing his head and all of us follow suit. “Lord, we’re here today to honor the life of Leda Jean O’Dell Sparks. Leda Jean was wife to Eugene Sparks for 32 years, Lord. She was mother to Missy Harper, Sadie Sparks, Seth Sparks, and Jake Sparks. She was also grandma to Elise and Joseph Harper. Lord, bless this service, ease the achin’ hearts of this family here Lord Jesus, in Your name. Amen.”

  The crowd responds with, “Amen.”

  I hear sniffles behind me. But right now I have no tears. I’m too full of fright and nerves to feel sorrow for Momma’s service.

  “From the Psalm, 121,” Pastor Cole says, “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth. He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber...” I feel dizzy. The air feels too thick. Dillon puts his arm over my shoulder.

  “Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord is thy keeper: the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand...”

  Just over Dillon’s protective arm, I can see Donnie in a fuzzy unfocused haze. I look to his left and Renae is hunched over. The weight of his arm is too heavy for her wounded frame. On her collarbone, I see a new purple and red bruise. That’s what that has to be. He’s hurt her. Gone back on his word.

  “The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul.”

  Renae locks eyes with me. I look at the bruise and she pulls her too large dress back up to cover it. When she looks back to me, I know it.

  Donnie hurt her because of me.

  I mouth the words, “Does he know?” and my eyes dart around. No one’s looking at us. She puts her small hand up to her forehead, and nods almost imperceptibly.

  “The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.”

  No, I think. What does he know? Does he know he’s a suspect? How did he find out? Did he threaten her? Did she break under the pressure?

  “...and we have a song in honor of Leda by Dr. Dillon McGraw,”

  “Dillon,” I whisper.

  “It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll be right up here,” he says, standing up and walking over to the blue chair next to Momma’s casket. I grab Aunt Lotty’s hand as he picks up his dulcimer and puts a neck harness on so he can play his harmonica, too.

  I need to talk to Officer Howard. I look around to see if he’s here. I don’t even know his number. I’m stuck in a room with a psychopath, and he knows I’ve told on him.

  What’s he going to do?

  I think as my eyes dart back and forth between both brothers. One who would do anything to protect me, and the other who gains the utmost pleasure from my pain. Everyone I love is in this room.

  What am I going to do?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine—Full Of Lessons

  I can feel the unyielding piece of metal that lies in wait under this soft vintage Coach fabric. I push the bag up to my thigh and try to will my knowledge into everyone else in this room. I want them to run or attack. If we all pounce at once, he would be overpowered and I would be free.

  “This is an old gospel hymn written by Reverend Charles Albert Tindley,” Dillon says, his voice reliable and steady as he strums the dulcimer on his lap. “It’s called, ‘What Are They Doing in Heaven Today’.”

  With long deft fingers, he starts strumming an unhurried melody on steel strings that feels like warm wind crossing over bare skin. Soon, he hums into the harmonica from the neck strap. He halts, but keeps strumming, looks right at my momma’s body, at me, and back to her. His eyes shut, I’m sure to close out his brother’s presence for a moment.

  “I’m thinking of friends whom I used to know...” he begins to sing, but I can’t keep up with the words although he’s singing them painstakingly clear and full of sentiment. Immediately, the crowd begins to sniffle and cry. Aunt Lotty squeezes my hand.

  “Sin and sorrow have all gone away. Peace is found like a river they say. But what are they doin’ there now?” he sings, in his perfect pitch, his deep and light baritone. His words hit me like a moment of deja vu. It’s like a life lesson that I keep failing to apply.

  This is a day to celebrate my Momma’s life. To be here, to be present for my brothers, my sister, my renewed family. She’s at peace now just like I felt for those brief moments by the river while Dillon stood by the stump and watched the falls.

  Donnie is ruining it, and I’m letting him.

  I force myself to unplug emotionally from Donnie. If he’s going to go berserk, I’ll pull out my gun. But I refuse to sit here like a victim over and over, allowing him to ruin my momma’s funeral just like he’s tainted so many other things in my life. His diseased molecules imbedded so deep within me stained so many chances for happiness, for being fully present in my own life.

  The string I feel now comes from my heart and not my fear. It is attached to Dillon, plugged into the man who knows everything there is to know, and yet he stands by me. He’s singing this song—for me, so that I’ll feel peace like a river. I finally need a tissue. Aunt Lotty hands it to me.

  Dillon’s song breaks and he begins to hum into his harmonica again, methodically, so that it reaches deep within me and pulls on my memories of Momma.

  As I look at her I remember her little baby kisses. Her hugs, the way she was just the right amount of soft. Her hair when it was the color of a crow’s feather. Her scent—the one before the medicine—was like almonds and applesauce.

  She was always my rock. Which brings to mind the scripture she loved, Luke 6:48. She taught me to recite it. It’s a metaphor for what I’m trying to do now—build my life on solid ground. It went, ‘He is like a man which built a house, and digged deep, and laid the foundation on a rock: and when the flood arose, the stream beat vehemently upon that house, and could not shake it: for it was founded upon a rock.’

  And so, I am built on a rock. I’m on that rock while my two brothers, Dillon, and Dale carry my momma’s casket out onto the lawn and under the tent. I am on that rock as tissues are soaked, and Renae cowers under Donnie’s grasp.

  I am solid, but present, tearful for all the right reasons as I tighten my grasp on Dillon’s hand and lean onto his steady arm while Pastor Cole delivers a message from first Corinthians, “Death is swallowed up in victory. Where, O death is your victory? Where, O death is your sting?” The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

  I am built on solid rock as she is lowered into the ground, as the dirt is thrown on her casket, and Missy can’t stand on her wobbly legs and has to be held up by Dale. I am built on that rock right up until the people start hugging me and I look up and Donnie is leaning down, grabbing my hand tightly and in a portentous whisper says, “You look beautiful today.”

  Inadvertently, I try to step back to escape, but I trip as my heel digs into the earth and I fall forward. He catches me by my arms—I feel trapped, restrained. I push away against his dense chest. It all happens so fast. Dillon is there in a blink of an eye, and the two of them are standing chest to chest with me behind Dillon’s back, his arm touching me protectively.

  The energy between them could light a small town. They say nothing
. It’s all in the body language. Dillon looks taller, more angular, authoritative, protective. Donnie looks like he’s on that ice again, the one that’s not thick enough to hold him up any longer. But then his eyes change as I watch them over Dillon’s shoulder. It’s as if that ice cracks and he knows he’s been caught. His brother is not going to let him near me, and he’s livid.

  Maybe he doesn’t know anything yet. Maybe he just suspects like Dillon did. Thinking something and knowing it are two different things. I look at Renae, but her head is bowed like a prayer. Dot is watching, but doesn’t step in.

  Donnie takes a step back, runs his hand through the black slide on his head, sucks his teeth in that way he does when he’s making a point, and turns around walking away into the death stones like a bad dream. He turns and whistles for his wife like a dog. She follows behind him with Dot and the boys.

  I take a breath. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my chest so tight.

  “What was that?” I ask Dillon. “He has to know you think he did it.”

  “What did he say to you? I was talking to your brothers,” he says, pacing. “Then I look and he’s leaning over you.”

  “He said...” Dillon stops pacing and nods. He’s breathing heavy as if he’d forgotten to take a breath. “He said I looked beautiful today.”

  If anger had a face, it would be Dillon’s right now. Aunt Lotty walks up to us apprehensively. “What’s going on?” she asks.

  “Can I tell you later?”

  “Sure, honey. I need your help in the kitchen at home. I’ve got to get this casserole in the oven before everybody gets there.”

  “Sure. Sure. Dillon let’s go, please.” He’s watching the path Donnie took to leave as if the ghost of him still lingers there.

  “Can I have your phone?” I ask when I realize I’m almost late calling Jenny on our drive toward my momma’s house.

  He hands it to me, and I rack my brain for her number. She’s in my contacts so I’ve never had to dial her directly. It takes me four tries to reach her.

  “Sadie?” Jenny says.

  “Oh, thank goodness. I couldn’t remember your number, Jenny. There’s been a slight change. I don’t have my phone anymore. It was confiscated by the state police as evidence. I’m calling you from my boyfriend, Dillon’s phone.”

  “Boyfriend,” she says, with a giggle.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Did he get arrested?” she asks.

  “Not yet, they’re testing some evidence. It should just be a few days,” I say, and look up at Dillon who’s biting his lip. “So, listen, I need a new iPhone sent to my momma’s house. Just have it overnighted.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Thank you, Jenny, for all your help.”

  “No problem,” she says.

  “Talk to you tomorrow,” I say, before I go.

  I look up at Dillon through my lashes. I bite my thumbnail to calm my heartbeat. It feels like an animal beating on the cage of bones it’s housed in.

  “Dillon, did you see the bruise on Renae’s collarbone?”

  “No,” he says, squinting in confusion.

  “I mouthed the words, ‘does he know,’ and she nodded yes.”

  “Well, we’re just going to have to be extra careful the next few days ‘till they arrest him. I don’t think he’s coming to the wake, so we don’t have to worry right now. I know my momma will be there. Nobody could keep her away, but I don’t think he’ll let Renae come without him.”

  “Okay, we’ll be careful.”

  Everybody I’ve ever known and many I’ve never met but have known me from afar are at my momma’s house after the funeral. My momma’s two brothers. My daddy’s brother and two other sisters besides Aunt Lotty, who helps me make my favorite casserole.

  She used to fix this for me all the time when I lived with her—it’s comfort food made of potatoes with cream of mushroom soup, garlic, and onions. Almost everything else has meat in it, so I’m glad for this. There’s just so much food, so much chatter, so many stories about Momma. It’s a bit overwhelming—but I know all their hearts are in the right place.

  As I check in with my brothers, I catch Dillon talking to Miss Robbins, Claire, I mean. Even though she looks disappointed when he hugs her, as she walks away she comes up and gives me a hug.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” she says, but she doesn’t look me in the eye. As she’s walking out the door, I realize I’m hoping she finds someone—someone good who loves her back. Even though she hit me with a door, I’d hate for her to be lonely for long.

  Dot arrives carrying food, just as Dillon said she would. Renae isn’t with her.

  “Where’s Renae?” I ask her nonchalantly as we cut pieces of cake for the kids at the kitchen table.

  “Well, truth be told, honey, Donnie said she cain’t come ‘cause he wadn’t comin’.”

  “Is everything okay?” I ask. The concern is real, although she’s not going to guess my real reasons.

  “That boy’s just got too much’a his daddy in ‘im,” she says, looking far off in thought. “Always wants his life to be like a game’a checkers that he’s a’ winnin’. ‘Cept when the pieces don’t do as he wants, he thinks forcin’ things is the best way.”

  I stand here deciphering her message remembering that she was beaten by her husband, too. “Just too much like his daddy,” she says, and hands little Joe a piece of chocolate cake.

  I worry about Renae. What her night will be like makes my fingers cringe up. I’ve got to call Officer Howard and warn him about what Donnie might know. About the bruises. I’m looking for Dillon so I can use his phone when I hear something that catches my attention.

  “They got the permit. We’ve got to go up there first thing in the mornin’.”

  I recognize the voice. The first time I’d heard it, he was demanding respect for the lady who was trying to get people to realize how bad mountaintop coal mining would be for Ansted. It’s Reverend Morris. He’s dressed in black. His glasses rest on his nose and he looks up from them to find me standing next to Dot.

  “Reverend Morris,” I say, sticking my hand out to meet him half way.

  “Miss Sparks,” he says. “I’m so sorry ‘bout your momma.”

  “Oh, thank you. But, uh, what were you saying about going up there tomorrow morning?”

  “I didn’t wanna trouble you with it. Not here, now.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask. “Dillon!” I say, waving him over.

  Dillon excuses himself from the older woman he’s talking to. I recognize her from church.

  “Hello Reverend. Thank you for coming,” he says, shaking his hand.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you all this right now,” Reverend Morris says.

  “What’s going on?” Dillon asks.

  “The permit was granted today. The coal company is going to start the demolition ‘a the mountain tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I thought we had until next week,” Dillon says, shaking his head, and putting his hand through his stubborn hair.

  “What time do you need us there?” I ask.

  “The earlier the better,” the Reverend admits.

  “Sadie,” Dillon says, “this is not going to happen.”

  “But I promised my momma,” I say, throwing my hands down in defiance. “That’s all she wanted. That’s the only thing she asked me to do for her and I’m going to do it.”

  “Sadie,” Dillon says, grabbing my arm and taking me past the crowd and into my old room.

  “My brother is going to be there—and after what happened today, he knows.”

  “No! He’s not taking another thing from me,” I say. “He’s taken everything else. Not this. This is for my momma.”

  “No,” he says. “You’re staying home, Sadie. Any other day after he’s in jail. Not tomorrow.”

  “Dillon. I’m going up on that mountain tomorrow. I’m doing this for her. It’s your choice. You can either help me, or you can st
ay home.”

  “What a selfish, selfish thing to say,” he whispers because it burns coming out. If he’d yelled it, it would have been aflame.

  “But don’t you see?” I say, wiping the tears away, the kind that come out in anger. “If I stay home, he’s won. He raped me. He took everything from me that day. He’s caught me in my dreams all these years. He’s threatened me again and again. He wins every time I act out of fear over what he’s done to me already.”

  I walk over to the bed. The flowers Dillon gave me days ago are still on the bed where I’d left them in my rush to hide the panties. I’d forgotten the beauty in life due to the fear. Another life lesson. Another piece of evidence about how I’ve lived my life in constant alarm. I pick them up, touch one of the petals and it crumbles to dust.

  “If he is stupid enough to try and attack me up on that mountain in front of all those people, this thing is over for good and he’s finally going to be behind bars.”

  “It’s a risk I don’t want to take, Sadie. If he does something to you again... I’ve got to keep you safe,” he says, pushing my hair out of my face with the tip of his finger.

  “But if he really knows he’s caught, nothing will keep him away. It could be in our sleep tonight. It could be a surprise attack or a public one so he could go down in a gunfight. Who knows?” Dillon looks puzzled. He rubs his chin.

  “But if I stay home, the control he has over me, I swear, it’ll never go away. This is me taking my life back. Don’t you see?” I say, holding the dead flowers, wishing they were alive.

  “I understand,” he says. “I do. But we both have to have our guns. We stay with the group the whole time,” he says, holding my hand.

  “Yes. And we need to tell Officer Howard what’s going on so he can help us, too,” I say.

  “And the state police. We need to call them,” he responds.

  “There’s going to be media there, police. It might be the safest place to be,” I say, and he nods.

  “So, we’re going to do this?”

  “We’re going to do this together,” he says, and pulls me into his chest. I have so much to do. I have to write the press release. I need to have Jenny start contacting the media; but for this moment, I just let Dillon hold me.