Valley So Low

by Patrice Wayne

  “Let’s go calling,” Harry said. “It’s not as cold with the sun shining and it’s not so far. I’ll carry George, but you’d better wear your boots.”

  A delicious anticipation crawled down her spine. “Where are we going?”

  “I thought you’d like to visit some family,” he told her. “So I thought we’d call on your aunt and uncle.”

  His thoughtfulness pleased her and the prospect of visiting family made her happy. Maude threw her arms around him, forgetful for the moment of his bruises until he groaned a little. “Harry, I’d love it. You’re such a sweetheart.”

  He grinned, a faint blush tingeing his cheeks pink around the yellowed bruises. “Long as I’m your sweetheart, woman,” he said. “If you don’t want to walk, we can take the wagon but it’ll ride rough.”

  In her mind Maude traveled the hills and woods to her uncle’s home. She considered the snow on the ground and how far it would seem returning on foot through the winter forest. Even with a lantern, the footing would be treacherous at best, and when dark fell it would grow colder. “It’ll be easier if we do,” she said.

  “Faster, too.” Harry snorted. “Not by much, but if you want, I’ll go hitch the team. Bundle up the boy and get gussied up. We’ll go soon as you’re ready.”

  He jerked his worn coat off the peg and headed outside, pulling gloves on as he went. Maude dashed upstairs and considered her wardrobe options. Besides her few old, faded housedresses, good enough for everyday but nothing else, she had three choices. One was the black broadcloth she’d worn to the funerals. She rejected it as too somber and considered the other two. The royal blue dress she wore at her wedding would do but she didn’t want to think about Jamie today. Her other dress, a red wool garment, offered bright festive color. It’d be warm too, so she changed into and redid her hair. She put on her boots, though, because of the snow, and buttoned the heavy sweater Granny handed down to her. Maude paused in George’s room and got out the outfit he’d worn on the day of the funerals. She woke up, changed his diaper, and dressed him. Then she wrapped him tight in a blanket and carried him outside over one shoulder. On the way out, Maude snatched up a loaf of the pumpkin bread she’d baked and another white loaf. She didn’t want to show up empty-handed so she tucked them into a split oak basket.

  Harry met her halfway to the wagon. He took George and the basket, placing it in the bed and swinging George up to the seat. Then he offered Maude a hand and she climbed into place. With the little fellow supported between them, they headed out, taking the long way up the valley behind the house instead of the creek road. She hadn’t realized how much she longed for some fun and time with family until they were on the way. In her excitement, Maude burst into song and Harry joined her. They sang all the way over to Uncle Tommy’s place, religious carols including “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” and the popular “Jingle Bells.” George delighted in the song and clapped his hands, trying to sing along.

  Her uncle still lived in one of the settler-era log cabins, although it’d been added onto over the years. Other wagons, several buggies, and a collection of both horses and mules stood in the dooryard. Harry helped her down and handed her the basket of baked goods. “I’ll carry George,” he said as he lifted the squirming boy from the seat. “Go ahead, Maudie, I’m right behind.”

  The noise of merriment could be heard as they approached and since she knew they’d never hear over the din, Maude opened the door and stepped inside. Aunt Mary’s front parlor, already crowded with furniture and pretties, teemed with people. Folks sat and stood but as Maude entered, most fell silent. She blushed and both cheeks burned at the unexpected attention. She didn’t know if it was because they’d heard she was widowed or due to the fact Harry stood framed in the doorway behind her. Maybe it was no more than the interruption or likely some heard about Harry’s fight in town with Delbert Jones.

  “Merry Christmas,” she sang out, and a chorus of holiday wishes greeted her. Aunt Mary pushed through the throng to hug her. “I’m glad you came, child,” she said. “It’s good to see your face. Come on in, Harry, too. Oh, look at George— he’s growing so much. Let me take him.”

  Mary stretched out her arms and George, often bashful, went to her with a grin. Maude followed her aunt’s lead back to the kitchen where a number of women gathered. Harry joined them but when it became obvious he was the sole male, he headed out to the barn where Mary told him he’d find Uncle Tommy and a lot of the menfolk. Maude shook her head a little as he left. If she knew her uncle, there’d be a jug and a bit of drinking with a lot of talk. Harry likely needs it. She wouldn’t fuss, then, not unless he got stumble drunk.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your Jamie,” Missus Thornton said. The petite shy woman taught for a few years at Silver Moon School before she married, but before Maude moved to the country. Maude bowed her head. “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

  Missus Thornton cocked her head to one side like a bird. “I hear you’ve took up with Harry now, though. Some might say it’s fast work but I recollect you two courted too.”

  “We did,” Maude replied. A lock of hair brushed her cheek and she lifted a hand to push it back. When she did, Aunt Mary gasped and murmurs spread through the women. “Maude, are you married?” her aunt asked. Maude glanced at her left hand and realized Harry’s ring shone in the lamplight. “We’re not yet,” she said. “But we will be, soon as we can do the deed. Harry gave me the ring for Christmas, as a promise.”

  Someone squealed and whispers crackled louder than a good fire. Somewhere among the babble of voices, Maude caught a distinct voice saying, “She’s a fast worker” and another who sounded both elderly and shocked who said, “I’ll swan.” For a moment, her head swam in the overheated kitchen and she feared she’d faint, but her aunt came to her defense. “Well, let me be the first to say congratulations, honey,” Mary said with a genuine smile. “I’m happy for you, Maude. Harry’s a good man and you need a daddy to raise your boy.”

  “I do.” Her aunt’s understanding meant a great deal to Maude.

  But another woman spoke up with strident disapproval. “You’ve just been a widow for a few months, haven’t you? You should do the decent thing and wait a year.”

  Maude turned toward the speaker and recognized Daisy Ann Brown. They’d gone to Silver Moon together and Daisy trailed after Jamie the way a hound dog does a bone. Everyone knew she was sweet on Jamie and after Maude married him, Daisy married one of the Wainwright boys up toward Diamond Grove. Maude hadn’t seen her since, until now.

  “Pshaw,” Mariah Turner said. “Jamie went off to war a long time back. Springtime, it’ll be two years. Maude’s not done a thing out of turn.”

  Pretty little Sallie Gentry, porcelain pale and so tiny that strangers never could believe she’d raised three strapping boys to manhood, spoke up, “Maude’s followed her heart, that’s all. There’s not a thing in the world wrong with it. It puts me in mind of a storybook.”

  Maude’s cousin, Sara, pushed out of the crowd. “I’d like to wish my cousin happiness,” she said. Aunt Mary’s oldest daughter, Sara, always treated her like a baby sister. After that, two more cousins spoke up and several friends added their well-wishes.

  Although most of the ladies present rallied to Maude’s support and offered congratulations, Daisy Ann’s words rankled. Maude came to celebrate the holiday and have some fun, not have blame pointed her way. If Harry hadn’t been out in the barn, she’d have picked up her baby and headed for home but she couldn’t. Scraps of comments floated through the room until her aunt put a stop to the talk. With George balanced on her hip, Mary raised her voice over the babble. “Here,” she said. “Here, now. It’s Christmas Day and my niece came to mark the day and make merry with us. It’s been hard times for most of us, and all the Whitneys been through a lot. The war brought trouble and the flu more. Lots of folks aren’t even getting together for the holiday, but I’ve got a houseful and I’d like everyone to get along. If you
can’t, then maybe it’s time you went on home.”

  A hush filled up the crowded room, heavy and still. Then voices began to babble, most offering words of welcome, a few speaking apologies. George began to fuss and Maude took her son from Aunt Mary’s arms. “If he’s hungry, there’s plenty to eat,” Mary said. Behind her, plates of food, everything from roast goose to stack cake covered the counters and table.

  “Grab a plate if you want something, Maude.”

  “Thank you,” Maude said. “But I’m fine. I cooked up a ham and dinner at home.”

  For a few minutes the conversation seemed forced, but after some of the guests headed home, things quieted down. The men returned from the barn, Harry among them, and everyone left gathered in Mary’s parlor. They played a few rounds of charades and laughed often. Sara’s daughter, grown tall for ten, toted George around and tended to him. When he got fussy, she rocked him and put him to sleep in the back bedroom with several other little ones.

  Maude sat beside Harry on the sofa, their hands intertwined. She didn’t care who noticed or what anyone thought. Judging from his pink face and the slight aroma of bourbon wafting from him, he’d been drinking but he wasn’t drunk. He acted comfortable with the forty-odd kinfolk and neighbors and as relaxed as she’d seen him away from home in ages. None of the fine lines always evident when he hurt were visible and no one remarked on his bruises, at least not in Maude’s hearing. Or hadn’t until she realized it.

  Soon after, Joe, one of her cousin’s husbands, mentioned the fray in town. “Heard Jones got what he had coming,” he said in his gruff voice. Harry shifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “He’s deviled me for a long time,” he said. “I guess you could say so.”

  “I would,” Uncle Tommy added. His red face and slightly slurred words told Maude he’d had more of the whiskey than Harry. “Let’s sing some more songs.”

  They started with Christmas carols but before long, someone suggested a popular tune, then another woman started singing one of the old ballads. Aunt Mary tried to coax Harry into playing the piano but he refused to budge. “I’m good here,” he said. “I’d rather sit with Maudie.” Their eyes met like a caress. At first Maude sang with the rest but as the hour crept closer toward midnight, she grew weary. She’d been up early to cook, never dreaming they would go visiting, and the days just before Christmas were hectic ones. The crowded room overheated with the press of people, and the fire burning in the stone fireplace combined with fatigue contributed to a headache. As she grew drowsy, she realized she might’ve fallen asleep if her head didn’t hurt. When she stopped singing, Harry glanced down at her with a slight frown. After she failed to join in the third one in a row, he nudged her. “What’s the matter, honey?”

  “I’m frazzled,” she told him. “And I’ve got a headache.” His eyes narrowed and he touched her cheek with his free hand. She still held the other.

  “You’re not coming down sick, are you?” he asked with obvious concern.

  Maude shook her head. “I’m just tired.”

  “Then I’ll take you home,” Harry said. “Get your shawl and basket. I’ll fetch George.”

  When they stood, though, and Harry made noise about time to go home, Aunt Mary checked the case clock on the mantelpiece. “Laws, I had no idea it was so late,” she said. “I’ll be worn out tomorrow but it should be a quiet day.”

  “Where’s George?” Harry asked. “I told Maudie I’d get him.”

  “He’s sound asleep in the back bedroom with the other little ones,” Mary replied. “If you wake him now, he’ll be a terror. He won’t want to go back to sleep by the time you get home. Why don’t you leave him stay and come back for him tomorrow? Or Tommy can tote him down to you.”

  Maude hesitated. George would be wide awake once roused and he wouldn’t want to go back down. But she hated to leave the tyke, although he liked Aunt Mary fine. “I don’t know,” she said.

  Harry settled it. “That’d be just fine, Mary,” he said. “Much obliged.”

  Her aunt beamed. “Why, you needn’t be. It’ll be a delight to have a young ‘un round here. I play with all the babies and grandbabies but it’s rare they stay over. I’ve got diapers and a cow for milk. We’ll get along fine. You two probably could use the time together anyhow. I ain’t forgot what it’s like to be young and in love.”

  Most of the company laughed. And before Maude could say a thing, Harry kissed her square on the mouth in front of them all. A few whistles and cheers echoed in her ears but despite a moment of embarrassment, she liked it. He’d just marked her out as his in front of them all and she was glad.

  “All right, then, Aunt Mary, and thanks,” Maude said as she gathered her wrap and basket. She tucked the shawl around her shoulders and tied a wool scarf under her chin. “We’ll be seeing you.”

  “Don’t be a stranger, child,” Mary said. After making the rounds of farewells to her kin and a few friends, Maude went outside to find Harry. He waited at the wagon to boost her up to the seat and climbed up beside her, agile as a squirrel. He clicked his tongue at the team and the horses took off at a steady pace. Above the canopy of trees the night sky sparkled with a full-bellied moon and thousands of stars. The weather turned much colder after dark and Maude shivered. Alone and away from any curious eyes, she cuddled against Harry and he put an arm around her shoulders. “You all right, Maudie?” he asked.

  “Mmmhm,” she said. In the crisp, fresh air, away from the noise, the too-warm cabin, and people, her headache receded. “I’m good. My head almost doesn’t hurt anymore. I feel kinda bad about leaving George behind, though.”

  “Aw, don’t,” Harry said. “I’m kinda glad to be alone with you for a bit.”

  Although she missed her son, Maude understood. Being with Harry on the winter’s night reminded her of the days when they courted. She almost felt like the carefree girl she’d been then, not the mother, widow, and soon-to-be wife she was, a woman grown. Happiness bubbled up within her heart and overflowed. She wanted to open her arms wide to embrace Harry and hug the stars. Maude longed to dance or to run through the woods, magical in the silver moonlight. The team plodded along too slow for her taste. She would like to feel the wind in her face, cold air blowing through her hair. Instead, she tucked her hand into Harry’s coat pocket. “I am, too,” she told him. “Take me home and love me, Harry.”

  He slowed the horses and then called, “Whoa.” When they halted, he kissed her long and slow. “I’d like nothing better, honey,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  At the farmhouse, Maude went inside while Harry unhooked the team and tended to chores. Farm life required attention before romance. She stoked up the fireplace and got a good fire burning. Then she went upstairs, took down her hair, and brushed it a hundred strokes until it shone. Maude dug deep into the dresser drawers until she found a cotton nightgown trimmed in lace. She donned it even though it was far too lightweight in the cold and added a little bit of long-hoarded rose scent to her wrists, behind her ears, then at the base of her throat. Upstairs the rooms were so cold she could see her breath so she headed downstairs. As Maude made her way along the stairs, Harry came in. She paused and he gazed up at her, the expression on his face so priceless she vowed to commit it to memory forever.

  His eyes glistened and the smile dancing around his lips pleased her. Harry stared as if she was beautiful, something Maude doubted, and as if she was something fine, worth a fortune. She thought she saw hunger in his gaze, a craving bordering on greed but tempered with need. Desire curled within, warm and potent. Before she could take another step, Harry bounded up to her. He stopped two stairs below and drank her with his eyes. “Oh, Maudie,” he said, his voice as serious as a parson at Sunday meeting. “You look so pretty with your hair down.”

  With nothing beneath the thin gown, her nipples budded like ripe cherries and strained against the cloth in the cold. Maude shivered with anticipation and chill. Harry noticed and he reached for her. He picked her up and held her as
she locked her hands behind his neck. “We’ll freeze in the bedroom,” he said, practical as ever. “Let’s go down by the fire.”

  “Take me,” Maude told him, and the words had more than one meaning as he carried her downstairs.

  Chapter Nine

  Firelight flickered and cast shadows so tall they stretched to the high ceilings. Harry kissed her before he put her down, his mouth retaining a slight taste of the whiskey he’d drank earlier. Warmth from the fire reached her in waves but the real heat poured from his mouth into hers. Harry didn’t hurry the kiss, though, but took his sweet time about it, lips lingering over her mouth until every bit of her body cried out for more. Maude savored the solid bulk of his body against hers and when he did lower her feet to the floor, she leaned forward to cling to him, almost dizzy. She undid his overall straps at each shoulder and then fumbled to undo the buttons at his hips. The denim slid downward toward the floor until Harry stepped out of the garment. His long-tailed shirt, the one she’d made him for Christmas, hung over his long johns. She unbuttoned it and peeled it back. Harry removed his underwear and stood erect, proud and nude before the fire.

  He looked the way Maude imagined a statue might, although she’d never seen any but the Johnny Reb figure standing guard over the Confederate dead at the Odd Fellows cemetery in town. She’d seen pictures, though, of unclothed statues sculpted by great artists and thought Harry looked as fine. The way the firelight played over his face he looked very young one moment and then the next he looked the way she imagined he might as an old man. She admired him until his hands, cool to the touch, reached beneath the nightgown she wore to stroke her flesh. Maude forgot about art, about statues, and anything but making love with Harry.

  Harry moved his hands over her body with such deliberate slowness she felt his calluses, even the sharp momentary nip of a hangnail. He caressed her with something approaching reverence but always with want. Maude marveled at how smooth and soft the skin on his chest and back felt under her fingers, compared to the rougher, worn skin on his hands. She savored each touch, each stroke of his fingers as he caressed her breasts. Harry kissed her as he used his thumbs to coax her nipples to blossom. His mouth shifted from hers to her throat where his fever-hot lips burned against her skin as she savored every second of it.