If the Creek Don’t Rise

by Leah Weiss

  All I know is I got a letter today that belongs to Miss Shaw, and she don’t know it. What I’m gonna do is steam it open, and she won’t hardly know I been inside. If I feel nice, I can get the letter back to her when I’m done. Drop it on the floor at the Rusty Nickel for somebody to find.

  If I feel nice.

  • • •

  Brother’s home when I come in. I say casual-like, “Saw Miss Shaw today at the Rusty Nickel.” I inch into enemy territory and make it sound like something I say every day.

  “You talked to Kate?”

  My back is to him so I squeeze my eyes shut, mad at him for playing the fool. I’m the only one who can save him from himself.

  “Yep. Saw her at school, too.”

  “You went to school?”

  “Yep.” Why is Brother surprised? I go places. I talk to people.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “It won’t special. We talked. She thanked me cause I was nice when she come.”

  “Well, that’s good news. You saw her at school. Were students there? Were they happy?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, that makes me happy, too. Kate makes wonderful progress with our children. I think we’ve got a teacher who’s gonna stay.”

  That’s not the plan, Brother. Miss Shaw’s gotta go.

  • • •

  We eat supper, Brother and me, and he talks to himself cause I’m done for the day. When he lights a lantern and heads out to his workshop, grabbing his oilskin against the rain starting, I take Miss Shaw’s letter outta my pocket and study it. The front’s got spidery writing on it. In care of general delivery. When I turn it over, there’s a tiny heart drawn at the V of the flap, and my stomach turns queasy. Who’d put a heart on a letter to a big, old woman?

  I hold the letter with wooden tongs over the steaming kettle on the woodstove till the flap loosens, keeping an ear out for Brother’s footsteps on the porch. I take the opened envelope back to my room and close the door.

  What would Miss Kathleen Shaw think if she could look through my window right now and see what I’m doing? Would she be scared? Would she be mad and tap-tap-tap on the glass for me to stop? I look out the darkened window and half expect to see Kathleen Shaw’s wide face pressed to the windowpane, mist clouding her glasses, the rain flattening her chopped hair.

  It serves Miss Shaw right that I do this. If I don’t protect what’s mine, who will? When Mama left, I got Brother to look after.

  It’s one piece of paper, so I open it slow to make the thrill last. It’s only got a few lines and it starts with:

  My dearest K.

  Dearest? That word unsettles me. Who in the world calls that cow of a woman dearest? Nobody never said that word to me, and I wouldn’t know what to do if they did.

  My dearest K,

  I miss your company, your wit, your warmth. You’ve gone off the map to the end of the world to follow your calling, and yet I’m the one who’s lost and left without a rudder. When you come off your high mountain, come stay, rest, and BE with me. You are my better half. Now I limp through my days like a worn-out shoe.

  Love forever,

  R

  Is this what I think it is? My belly starts to rumble, and I feel sick something awful. What a bunch of mush for that old hag! David’s letter was a sad note, a good note. This one’s trash.

  I don’t know why I do this, but I count the words. I think of em as nails in Miss Shaw’s coffin. There’s seventy words in her letter, just like the letter to my mama! But this one’s got a funny feel to it, and my bowels turn loose. I dash through the rain to the outhouse, quick, sick. When I get back, I don’t even wanna touch that letter no more. I don’t wanna say out loud what it means. I don’t want something like that to even get in my ears and brain and stick cause I know the R don’t stand for a Robert or a Russell. A man wouldn’t have been prissy with his words. Miss Shaw’s more than a thought. She’s a immoral, wicked sodomite.

  And to think she touched my arm and helped me stand up!

  I run to the outhouse again.

  • • •

  I’m burdened about what to do with this bothersome news. If Brother won’t smitten, he’d do what’s right for the good folks of Baines Creek and drive out the heathen sinner. When it comes to Miss Shaw, he’s useless and under her devil spell. I was right to take Kathleen Shaw’s damning letter and uncover her real evil. I gotta bide my time to think and do the right thing.

  My dearest K…

  Sweet Jesus, help me!

  Right now I put that nasty letter back in the envelope. I’ve never been this close to something unnatural. That’s Daddy and Brother’s job. I bow my head to pray like they always do, squeeze my hands together till my fingers blanche, think and think, but not a single word comes to mind. I want this abomination gone from my mountain. I want her to suffer for her sins.

  People gotta know. Miss Shaw needs to go.

  I try to sleep on it but get such a fitful night my body feels punched. When the sun comes up, I know what to do. More eyes need to see Miss Shaw’s sin. I wrap the letter in a rag and put it in my pocket. I’ll wash this dress when the deed gets done and the letter’s gone. I head to Fleeta Wright’s house today for pie and talk. Alice Dickens and Laura June will be there, too. Help from those three women will move this along, as this burden already grows heavy.

  When I get there, the pie’s been cut. A second pie sits on the side table. Fleeta cooks a lot and most of it goes in her mouth and straight to her hips. Today, it’s apple pie. Never eat one without thinking bout Thomas. He ruined my life for a spell. He don’t ruin apple pie.

  “Prue, glad you could make it. Sit down. I’ll cut you a big piece.”

  “Make mine a small one,” I say cause I know she’ll give me a big one, which she does.

  “You too skinny, girl.”

  Next to Fleeta, everybody’s skinny in Baines Creek cept Mooney.

  I let Alice, Fleeta, and Laura June rattle on about recipes and babies and canning while I wait for the right time to bring up the letter.

  When I’m about to open my mouth, Laura June says in a tight whisper, “Won’t it terrible bout that girl what disappeared? Her folks must be worried sick, not finding a trace of her. We need to have Preacher pray for her. I already keep her in my bedtime prayers.”

  I know who she talks about. “Pray for her?” I blurt out. “She won’t nothing but white trash who don’t know the Book of Job from the Book of John. You ask me, praying’s a waste of the Lord’s time. He’s got better things to do than save her sorry soul.”

  Laura June looks hurt and confused. “Isn’t that what praying is for, Prue? To help a sinner return to the fold and know the Lord’s forgiveness?”

  I guide talk back in my direction when I say, “Y’all can pray all you want, but we got more to worry about than a tacky lost girl none of us know.”

  Fleeta puts her fork down. “What worry?” The big woman slides to the front of her chair so she can listen better. The chair creaks unhappy.

  I put a bite of pie in my mouth and chew slow and take my time swallowing.

  “I come up on something that’s powerful bad,” I start. “Found it and picked it up as innocent as you please. I never guessed what was inside.” I take the letter from my pocket real slow, unwrap the rag around it, and let the letter sit on the table next to the pie.

  “What did you find?” each asks in turn, shifting from one worry to mine.

  “I don’t know… The last thing I wanna do is sully somebody’s good name…”

  Fleeta reaches over, breaks off a chunk of pastry, and pops it in her mouth. The three lean forward, pulled with the magnet of Miss Kate Shaw’s name written on the envelope.

  “That’s it? That’s the bad news? In that little bitty envelope?” Fleeta asks as she chews the crust and smack
s her lips.

  I nod.

  “It was open like that?” she asks.

  I nod again and figure if I don’t say the lie out loud—if it comes out of Fleeta’s mouth and not mine—then it’s not a real sin.

  “Prudence, would it help you if we read it? See if we think it’s bad news, too?” Fleeta asks like I hoped.

  I nod.

  She wipes her fingers on her apron and slides out the piece of paper, and the three put their heads close. They read, moving their lips, sounding out the words. I watch their faces.

  Their eyes float back to the top of the paper, and they read it a second time. Fleeta’s eyebrows shoot up and she puffs out her cheeks.

  “Oh, merciful Lord in heaven!” she whispers, stunned, and fans her flushed face with a dishrag. Alice and Laura June don’t understand yet cause they look puzzled instead of knowing. I think they live more protected days than Fleeta and me. Then Fleeta says, “You explain it, Prue.”

  Shoot! I don’t wanna be the one to poison their minds. However, now’s not the time to pull back from the deed.

  “I tell you what I think we’re looking at. This is a love letter to Miss Shaw.” I whisper, “From a woman.”

  Three thuds of my heart, and hands fly to cheeks, eyes flash wide, and lips look like they sucked a lemon. The ladies sit back and stare at the paper like it’s a cow patty.

  “What you gonna do, Prue? You can’t do nothing,” Alice says.

  “What would you do?” I ask, needing partners in crime.

  “She teaches our children!” Alice wails, ignoring the fact that none of us has children.

  “Tell your preacher brother. He helped get her here. He can get rid of her.” Laura June always looks for the easy way out. I don’t tell em he’s a fool for the woman.

  “I don’t know…”

  Like I hoped, Fleeta says, “We don’t need men to fix this. Leave that nasty letter with me and I’ll pass it round. We get more women knowing her vile nature, Miss Shaw will break under the weight of the righteous and be gone.”

  “What you mean?” I ask, acting innocent.

  “Give me a day to cast more eyes on these damning words. Then we’ll go do the deed. We’ll be a Christian army of warrior women is what we’ll be.”

  “Tomorrow? Saturday?” I want this done bad.

  “Prudence Perkins, you carried this here burden all by yourself. Now we can help you, sister. Right, girls?” She turns to Alice and Laura June, who don’t say a word. Thank goodness Fleeta’s got a strong way about her. “Let’s meet at church at nine in the morning. I’ll gather up some other Christian women who live on the right side of the Bible. We don’t need the menfolks this time.” She puts another slice of pie on her plate and licks her thumb.

  • • •

  Fleeta keeps the letter. I’m glad I don’t have to touch it again or put it back in Nana’s Bible drawer. Fleeta will put together an army of the righteous, and I’ll be one of many.

  I’m up early Saturday, get my chores done, and head to church. I don’t know how many women Fleeta talked to, but she’s not shy, so I think we’ll have a virtuous army storming the mountain to Miss Shaw’s cabin.

  I get to church at nine o’clock and don’t see anybody outside, so my heart drops. Then I hear chatter inside and find half a dozen women in the pews along with Alice and Laura June. I nod to em, glad to see Fleeta stands at the front in charge.

  “Come right on in, Prue, and join the Crusaders for Moral Fortitude,” she says in the loud voice the revival preacher uses. “We good Christian women aim to put a stop today to the evil witch Miss Kate Shaw and get her gone.”

  I nod in strong agreement and stand in the back outta the way. Two more souls come, and Fleeta says we’re ready to face the she-devil. I hoped for more than nine of us, but at least I’m not alone.

  I walk at the back of the group and hurry to keep up. I didn’t know a stout woman like Fleeta could move up a mountain without stopping, spouting Bible verses against adultery and lust and detestable acts to our stream of amens.

  We march past the trashy place of Birdie Rocas, who stands at the door, smoking on a pipe.

  “Y’all head to Kate’s place?” she calls out, snooping. “She know you coming?”

  None of us answers. Don’t hardly look at her. The biddy’s never darkened the church door that I know of. If she did, I won’t sit beside her. She’s gotta stink something foul under a pile of dresses dragging the ground. Today, she walks right outta her trailer and tags along beside me. She grins and shows rotten nubs. Her pipe smoke smells funny. The wind must blow right cause I don’t smell her too much. I keep up with the group; Birdie does too.

  The lot of us is sweating and breathing heavy by the time Miss Shaw’s cabin comes into view. Fleeta holds up her hand for us to wait so she can lean over and put her hands on her knees to catch her breath. She’s wheezing pretty bad. Birdie just puffs on that pipe.

  Fleeta straightens up, and when she gets to the door, she pounds on it with the flat of her hand. I don’t know why she bothers, cause when we stand on tiptoes, we see in the window nobody’s home. Piles of books are on the table, her man clothes hang on pegs, trash sits on her windowsill, and a funny bush stands in the corner. My shoulders sag from disappointment. I’ve been wound up tight with nerves that want to spring cause I want this done and over.

  We look at each other, stumped, and don’t know what to do now the steam’s out of the day. I think we’re gonna leave when Fleeta turns the door handle and finds the door unlocked. I thought Brother fixed the lock but maybe not. Fleeta says, “This place don’t belong to her. It belongs to the school and to Baines Creek.”

  The other women follow her in as natural as you please.

  I wait outside cause I can see what they do through that big window, crowding in that little space, sorting through stuff, pulling books off the shelf, fingering her things.

  I hear a bark and look up the hill to see Miss Shaw and her stray mongrel coming down. She sees me and raises her hand in greeting, but the dog growls and flattens his ears. I step behind Birdie so it’s not just me Miss Shaw sees. Birdie smells ripe up this close, but I stay put.

  Right then I hear Fleeta shout, “Found em!” She comes out the door with a look of pride on her face. The other women are right on her heels. She holds up a small stack of cream-colored envelopes tied with a ribbon. I bet they got tiny hearts on the back flaps.

  “Ladies.” Miss Shaw arrives, cautious, and puts her hand on the dog’s head to make him stay. He could turn wild if she let go. She glances at her open front door.

  “What can I do for you?” Her voice is tight, and her face loses its smile cause the Crusaders for Moral Fortitude have been inside her place. She don’t know her skin’s bout to be ripped off and all her evil drain out.

  Fleeta holds out the stack of little cream envelopes like the one I give her two days ago, and she shakes em. “We know what these are, Miss Shaw.”

  “Do you, now?”

  “And we won’t put up with your moral ineptitude poisoning our children’s minds or squatting on our property.”

  “Moral ineptitude, you say. Big words.”

  “Don’t you sass me.” Fleeta’s eyes flash dark, and she puts a pudgy hand on her wide hip.

  “What do you think you have in your hand, Fleeta? That’s your name, isn’t it? Fleeta?”

  “You’d know if you come to church more.”

  Miss Shaw looks down her nose at us. “Ladies, you’ve come to my home, found me not here, entered without permission, gone through my possessions, and found a stack of letters from my sister. So what is this sin I’ve committed?”

  “From your sister!” Fleeta declares with a humph and then says even louder, “From your sister! You think we was born in a cabbage patch yesterday and still wet behind the ears?” She steps clo
ser and shakes the letters in Miss Shaw’s face. “This here don’t sound like sister letters.”

  We all nod in strong agreement. Some of them got sisters, and I bet nobody never got a letter like the one I found.

  Miss Shaw looks at us one at a time, then talks in a calm voice that spooks me.

  “My sister, Rachel, wrote those you have in your hand—although I don’t know what she has to do with your invasion of my privacy or my moral ineptitude.”

  I don’t expect her to come back at us calm-like. I thought she’d squirm at Fleeta’s declaration. Instead, it’s us who squirm at her bold-faced lie. What can we do to crack it open?

  “I’m not in the mood to offer you tea today, ladies. This visit is over, and you’d best be on your way, for my dog grows weary of his patience. And please…leave my sister’s letters with me.”

  My world tilts sideways. With one little word—sister—Miss Shaw might have righted a terrible wrong, but does she tell the truth? I study her face and don’t see her flinch. I don’t see guilt round her eyes. Don’t see her afeard of Judgment Day. She stands there.

  Then Fleeta spouts out, “What about them little heart thingies on the back?”

  A quiver of hope rises. Why would her sister draw little heart thingies? What’s she gonna say bout that? For a moment, I think Miss Shaw won’t answer, but then she does.

  “Though you have no right to information I would have given freely if asked, I’ll tell you this. Long ago, Rachel was in a car accident that left her simpleminded. She is all-loving. She puts hearts on everything. I love her little hearts.”

  Laura June whispers, “I love little hearts, too,” and we glare at her for the traitor she is.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to put my home back in order after your invasion. You may visit again, but only by invitation.”

  Miss Shaw looks down at us like we’re a bunch a children who’ve been caught doing something wrong. She steps toward us, and we step back, not wanting to be touched. Some of the ladies act humbled. I know that weak look.

  Miss Shaw turns and holds out her hand to Fleeta for the letters. Fleeta don’t have a choice. She gives em to her before we even have a chance to read em. On top is the letter I took.