Backwoods Girl

by Peggy Gaddis

“If he lost the patient through negligence, carelessness or an inability to diagnose the case properly, it might be a very good thing.”

  She leaned forward to select a cigarette from the carved wooden box on the table, more to shield her expression from his eyes than because she really wanted to smoke, and sloe accepted the light he offered politely, with a slight shrug of thanks.

  For a moment, the taut silence lasted between them, and then, with the tone and manner of one making polite small talk, she asked carelessly, “How did you make out with the Indian maiden?”

  He looked at her sharply, frowning. “Cindy? I haven’t seen her. Why should I?” he asked.

  “I thought you were going to win her confidence, make friends with her—.”

  “So we could wheedle out of her the secret of this legendary gold hoard you’re so hepped up about?” Jim’s mouth was thin-lipped, his eyes bleak.

  “So we could help her get away from that horrible little old place.”

  “She doesn’t want to get away.”

  “She doesn’t know what’s good for her!”

  “And you do?”

  Lorna sprang to her feet, her eyes flashing, the brief control of her temper smashed. “Damn you, if you’re going to be so nasty, you might as well get out and go home!” she flashed at him.

  “A damned good idea!” Jim agreed. He caught up his coat and cap and was gone before she could master her fury to manage a conciliatory word to stop him.

  She paced up and down the room, her face white and twisted with anger. She had wanted to spend the night in Jim’s arms, to know again the heady exaltation of his expert lovemaking. She had not meant to quarrel with him, but her nerves were raw from an unusually tough week, when she had, she knew, come within an ace of being fired by Cortney Jameson, her chief.

  Jameson was the man whose job she wanted, and he knew it as well as she did. While they were outwardly on good terms, each knew the other would take advantage of the smallest chance to stick a knife where it would do the most good. Lorna had had to bottle up her rage, her bitterness all week long. She had yearned towards this weekend, seeing surcease from her taut nerves in Jim’s lovemaking, and now she had managed to quarrel with Jim before they had more than kissed.

  She went to the kitchen cabinet, brought out the bottle she always kept hidden there and poured herself a stiff drink which she tossed down thirstily. She refilled the glass and went back to her contour chair by the fireplace. She sat there, nursing the drink, her eyes on the fire.

  It was then that the thought of going herself to see Cindy came to her. The idea loosened her taut nerves slightly and brought a glow to her eyes. What a fool she was not to have thought of it before! She and Cindy, just the two women together. What a fool she was not to have realized that Cindy would be wary, on guard with a man, that the girl would be putty in the hands of a clever, sophisticated woman of the world such as Lorna knew herself to be!

  Lorna’s eyes sparkled with the golden visions she conjured up, and she swallowed her second drink. She decided against another, since she would want to be up early in order to get to the Grady cabin unseen, if possible, by the other denizens of Ghost Creek.

  ####

  It was barely eight o’clock when Lorna came up the last steep grade and onto the small plateau where the Grady cabin was tucked far back against an outcropping of rock, a huge ledge partly sheltering it from above, where the mountain rose against the sky.

  She was thoroughly winded, and she paused to get her breath, turning to look below her to the valley from which she had come. The thick white mist hung above the creek, and the valley looked dank and cold because it would be hours before the sun would manage to climb above the top of Old Hungry Mountain and shed its faint warmth on the valley below. There was never more than three or four scant hours of sunlight in the valley through a whole day, but up here there was already a faint yellow light.

  Lorna shifted the bundle of magazines she carried, and turned once more towards the cabin. She heard a dog’s sharp, loud bark and stood still, startled and frightened. She remembered the country custom of announcing one’s arrival by a loud shout, so that one’s friendly aims could be established and the family dogs restrained.

  She stood where she was, shouting lustily, until the door of the cabin opened, and Cindy stood there, her gun in one hand, her other hand on the dog’s stout leather collar, restraining him, despite his uneasiness and his growling.

  “Who are ye, and whut do ye want?” Cindy called warily.

  “I’m Lorna Blake, and I’ve come visiting,” Lorna called out.

  “Then come on. Seth, you behave,” Cindy ordered the dog sternly,as Lorna came across the yard towards the cabin.

  “Hello, Cindy,” said Lorna not taking her eyes from the dog. “I’ve heard a lot about you, and I thought I’d like to meet you. May I come in?”

  “Well, yessum, I’d be right proud to have you,” said Cindy, ‘making her manners’ as Granny had taught her. “You don’t have to be skeered o’ Seth. He ain’t onfriendly lessen I tell him to be. Seth, you go back and lie down, you hear me?”

  Seth subsided on the floor, still well within easy reach of Lorna if the need should arise, and put his head on his paws, and watched her, his amber eyes alert.

  Lorna looked swiftly about the cabin, while Cindy watched her. This, Cindy was telling herself, was the woman Jim McCurdy was sleeping with. Enoch had said so, and the folks down to the settlement would know about such things.

  Lorna, unaware of the girl’s close scrutiny, was absorbed in studying the cabin and its contents. “Cindy, what a fascinating place!” she cried, speaking honestly. “That clock—what a beauty! It must be ages old.”

  Cindy glanced at the old clock ticking solemnly away in its corner, and her eyes were filled with pride. “Yessum, I reckin’ it is right old,” she admitted. “Great-grand sir heisted it over Ole Hungry on his back when the carters wouldn’t load it on their ox-carts. He said it was too big an’ heavy, an’ it ‘ud just about kill the oxen to drag it.”

  “It must weigh a ton,” said Lorna and added eagerly, “and it must be worth a lot of money. Would you like me to sell it for you?’

  Cindy gasped. “Sell Great-grandsir’s clock? Lawseeme, no ma’am! Why, Granny’d purely ha’nt me effen I did that! The Indians used to come an’ set an’ look at it like it was magic. ‘Count o’ them allus tellin’ time by the sun, they thought the white people had some dealin’s with the devil, to have a thing like that that could tell ‘em the time ‘thout even lookin’ outa doors.”

  “But it’s not doing you any good here in the house, Cindy, and I could probably get you a hundred dollars for it. Maybe more. You’d like to have a lot of money, wouldn’t you, Cindy?” Lorna persisted.

  Cindy’s young face was set and quiet.

  “I got all the money I need, Miss Blake, ma’am,” she said stonily.

  Lorna’s eyes flashed, and then she lowered them and went on examining the cabin. She delighted in its sturdy and indisputably authentic antiques, carrying on a light conversation as she moved about the room. She paused at the spinning wheel to say, “Why, Cindy, do you use this thing?”

  “Yessum,” said Cindy briefly, wondering why city folks had such bad manners.

  “I’ve been hearing about the mountain-craft weaving you do, Cindy,” Lorna said. “Is this your frame?”

  There was a half-finished rug on the frame, and its colors were clear and vivid, the work smoothly and expertly done, as Lorna’s sharp eyes noted immediately.

  “Cindy, this is lovely!” she said. “What pattern is it?”

  “Reckin it ain’t got no name,” Cindy admitted. “I made it up outa my own head. It is right sightly, ain’t it?”

  “It’s beautiful! I want it, Cindy, just as soon as you’ve finished it,” Lorna
said quickly. “Do you have any that are finished?”

  “I got a stack o’ stuff to take down to Storekeeper soon as spring breaks,” Cindy offered eagerly. She mounted the ladder to the loft and came back, her arms laden with rugs, candlewick spreads and various smaller articles she had thriftily made from remnants too small for rugs or spreads.

  Lorna examined them with expert eyes and put aside two rugs, a small oval with a black border on a silver-grey background and huge glowingly-red roses set among green leaves for the center, and a matching oblong whose colors glowed with what seemed to be a living fire.

  “I want these two, Cindy, and I’ll give you an order for the one on the frame as soon as you finish it,” she said briskly. “How much for these two?”

  “Well, Storekeeper gives me a dollar a piece fer that size,” said Cindy.

  “’Why, the damned old skin-flint!” Lorna gasped, knowing that hand-hooked rugs of this quality would bring at least twenty-five dollars a piece in any good shop in Atlanta. “He’s robbing you, Cindy! I’ll give you ten dollars a piece for them, here and now.”

  Cindy, who had been kneeling on the floor to spread out the rugs, sat back on her heels, staring up at Lorna in complete stupefaction. “Ten dollars a piece?” she gasped. “Why, that’s more’n Storekeeper ‘ud give me fer the whole lot!”

  “Then don’t let him have any more,” Lorna said. “I’ll handle the sale for you in Atlanta, and I’ll get you some real money. This is beautiful work, Cindy, and there’s quite a demand for mountain-craft nowadays. Here’s ten dollars. I’ll bring you the rest next week when I come. I don’t take much money with me when I come here.”

  Cindy took the ten-dollar bill, and her fingers were gentle, almost fearful. “It seems a awful lot o’ money fer just two little rugs,” she hesitated.

  “That’s for only one of them, you foolish child,” protested Lorna.

  “Seems like you’re cheatin’ yourself, Miss Blake.” Cindy was reluctant to accept such a windfall until she had been convinced that she had really earned it.

  Lorna looked at her sharply, wondering if Cindy could possibly suspect she was getting less than half the real value of the rugs and realized instantly that Cindy was too innocent for that.

  “Don’t you worry about me cheating myself, Cindy, my love,” she drawled. “Nor about anybody else cheating me, either. I’m perfectly able to take care of myself under any circumstances.”

  “Yessum,” said Cindy and added involuntarily, “You sure are purty, Miss Blake. Awful purty!”

  Lorna’s eyes widened, and the color in her cheeks deepened slightly. “You sweet child! You’re the one who’s pretty. You’re more than pretty, Cindy. You’re beautiful.”

  Cindy stared at her, thunderstruck, and put up a hand to smooth the shining black of her hair. “Me, Miss Blake? I ain’t purty a’tall!” she protested.

  “Don’t you ever look in a mirror, you naive creature?”

  Cindy’s lovely mouth thinned. “No’m, ‘count I ain’t got no mirror. I don’t need no lookin’ glass to tell me how I look.”

  “That’s absurd. The woman doesn’t live who doesn’t need a mirror, Cindy. It boosts her morale. If you had one, you could see how beautiful you are,” said Lorna, and put her head on one side and studied Cindy intently. “Properly dressed, and your hair done smartly, you’d be a knockout, Cindy. Look, how’d you like to come and visit me in Atlanta and let me show you the town?”

  Cindy drew back as from a physical blow, and such naked terrof was in her eyes that Lorna was puzzled and acutely curious.

  “No’m, I thank ye kin’ly, but I ain’t got no wish to see no flatland cities,” Cindy blurted.

  “Atlanta’s hardly a flatland city, Cindy,” Lorna laughed. “It’s built on seven hills, they tell me. Once you’ve spent an afternoon shopping there you’ll agree with me, I’m sure, that anywhere you want to go is bound to be uphill.”

  “I ain’t cravin’ to see no cities nowhere,” said Cindy.

  Lorna smiled at her warmly. “But a girl as pretty as you are, Cindy, is wasted away off up here,” she coaxed. “I would think you’d enjoy seeing movies, and having pretty clothes to wear, and I’ll guarantee you plenty of dates. Also a baseball bat to fight off the dates that get too interested!”

  Cindy shook her head stubbornly, and there was the featheredge of panic in her eyes.

  “No’m, I thank you, but I don’t want to,” she said flatly.

  “Cindy, are you afraid?” asked Lorna quietly.

  She saw the color seep out of Cindy’s face until only the pale tan left over from her accustomed summer bronze was there, but her head was high.

  “How come I would be afraid? What would I be afraid of?” she asked harshly.

  Lorna shrugged. “That’s something I wouldn’t know,” she admitted. “But there has to be some reason why a girl, as young and as pretty as you are, is willing to live way off up here in the back of beyond, instead of going where there’s fun, and pretty clothes and good times.”

  “I reckin my reasons is my own business,” Cindy reminded her curtly, her eyes cold and hostile.

  Lorna stood up, and her own eyes went cool beneath the snub. “Sorry,” she said. only meant to be kind. You interest me, Cindy.”

  Cindy’s mouth was thin and twisted. “Reckin I interest a heap o’ folks ‘round here,” she said dryly. “The way they come snoopin’, an’ pryin’ and’ sniffin’, like a bird-dog scentin’ a quail.”

  Lorna grinned, though her face was scarlet. “That should hold me for awhile,” she said. “Well, anyway, I brought you some magazines I thought you might like and I’m delighted to have these two lovely rugs. Will you trust me to take both of them now and bring you the other ten dollars when I come up next week? Or shall I just take the one I could pay for?”

  “Take ‘em both, o’course,” said Cindy. “An’ you can jest leave the other ten dollars with Storekeeper.”

  “I’ll do nothing of the kind. Who knows how much of it would stick to the old skin-flint’s fingers?” Lorna interrupted. “I’ll bring it to you myself next week—if you’ll promise not to sic’ that monster on me.”

  Cindy followed Lorna’s eyes to the dog that lay before the fire, watchful, alert, his gaze still fixed on Lorna.

  “Seth won’t bother you now that he knows you are a friend o’ mine,” said Cindy.

  Startled, touched in spite of herself, Lorna looked swiftly at the girl. “That’s sweet of you, Cindy, to consider me a friend of yours,” she said.

  “Well, you ast me to visit you, didn’t you? Don’t nobody that ain’t friends visit with folks,” Cindy answered.

  “I guess you’re right.” Lorna did not wish to argue the point. “Anyway, I am glad we’ve met, Cindy, and I hope you’ll change your mind about coming to Atlanta. The invitation is good any time.”

  “I thank ye,” said Cindy briefly, without promising.

  Lorna hesitated, and then asked quickly, “Cindy, I’ll bet your grandmother told you a lot of fascinating Indian stories, didn’t she?”

  Cindy smiled faintly. “Like where did the Indians hide their gold when they was drove off?” she suggested.

  Lorna was disconcerted and tried not to reveal it. “Oh, I imagine that’s just a silly legend,” she said uncomfortably. “I don’t imagine the Indians had much gold to leave behind—did they?”

  “Granny didn’t say,” Cindy answered pleasantly. “Folks in these parts claim they was a feller held up the mint when it was over to Dahlonega back in the days when they was gold minin’ goin’ on ‘round here. Folks claim he hid two-three million dollars in gold bars stamped with the U. S. Mint sign some yeres in these mountains. Ain’t nobody never found it though.”

  “Now that is just too fantastic for belief,” protested Lorna.

 
; “Sure, I reckin so, but they’s a heap o’ folks b’lieve it,” said Cindy, and there was a teasing smile in her eyes. “A frien’ o’ Granny’s swears she seen it. Nobody didn’t believe her though.”

  “I don’t blame them,” said Lorna firmly. “How could you hide that much money so it could stay hidden all these years?”

  “Oh, don’t reckin that’d be a sight o’ trouble. They’s caves all up and down these mountains ain’t nobody never explored, er even found. Reckin a heap o’ things could be hid where they wouldn’t never be found,” Cindy pointed out.

  “Cindy, you’re ribbing me,” protested Lorna, puzzled because the girl’s manner was so matter-of-fact, as though what she was telling was an ordinary bit of gossip.

  “No, ma’am, I ain’t. I don’t reckin so, but I don’t know fer sure jest what that means,” Cindy admitted. “I’m tellin’ you what folks say. I dunno if it’s true or not. Storekeeper an’ Marthy’ll tell you the same thing.”

  Lorna demanded sharply, “If you’re inclined to believe it, and I swear I think you are, why haven’t you tried to find it? Or have you?”

  Startled, Cindy’s eyes were wide. “Why’d I try to find it, Miss Blake? What good would it do me?” she asked quietly.

  “Oh, don’t talk like a fool, Cindy! What good does money do anybody? You could spend it, of course. Buy things—,” Lorna began, but the expression on Cindy’s face stopped the words.

  “I got everything a body needs to live the way I want to live,” said Cindy quietly. “What would I do with more? I got me a house, shelter, vittles—all anybody could want.”

  Lorna studied her curiously for a moment, and then she smiled and lifted her shoulders in an expressive shrug. “Oh, well, if that’s the way you feel, I don’t suppose Indian gold or the bandit’s hoard would tempt you,” she said. “Me, I’m different. I’d sift these mountains with a sieve if I thought I could pick up enough for a solid-gold Cadillac and a mink stole.”

  “I’m right obliged to you, Miss Blake, for the loan of the magazines,” said Cindy, eager to change the subject.