These Healing Hills

by Ann H. Gabhart

  Then Seth was calling out for her to wait. When she glanced around, he was pushing past the people on the walkway and hurrying after her. For what reason, she couldn’t imagine. But she waited for him. Cecelia didn’t come with him.

  “Francine.” He was panting a little when he caught up with her. “What’s your rush? Can’t you spare a few minutes for an old friend?”

  “Of course.” Francine kept a smile on her face. “So what are you doing since you got home from the service, old friend?” Those last two words had a bitter feel and she wished them back. But words said couldn’t be retrieved.

  Seth flinched. “I guess I deserved that.”

  Fran breathed out and let her smile slide off her face. “Look, Seth, we are old friends who have no reason to play games. You made your choice. And she’s lovely. I wish you and Cecelia every happiness.”

  “You’ve changed.” Seth moved closer to her. A little too close.

  Fran stepped back. “It’s been almost four years. We’re not the kids fresh out of school that we were when you joined the army.”

  Funny how he wasn’t as tall as she remembered. Maybe it was the shorter hair. But he had added muscle in his arms and shoulders. His light brown eyes were different too. More serious now than when he was a boy and always ready to pull a prank or tell a joke. Maybe that was all the talk of marriage had ever been to him. A joke. If so, she had been too ready to fall for it.

  “I appreciated all your letters,” he said. “They kept me from being so homesick when I first went over.”

  “That’s good.” Fran cringed to think about some of the things she’d written in those letters about their plans when he got home. Her plans anyway. “My part of the war effort, I guess.” She started walking toward her stepfather’s car again. Seth fell in beside her.

  “Yeah.” He reached over and touched her hand. “Look, Francine, I don’t blame you for thinking I’m a bum, but I really didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s just, I met Cecelia and, well, she was there and you were here and, well, you understand.”

  “Sure.” Fran understood plenty, but sometimes it was best to take the high road. She let him off the hook. “My grandmother used to tell me things happen for a reason, and that’s what the people at the Frontier Nursing Service say too. That nobody comes there by accident. So it all turned out for the best.”

  “Do you like it down there in the hills?” Seth frowned a little. “Your mother keeps talking about how awful it is. She says she expects to hear you’ve been shot or worse any day.”

  “Worse than shot?” Fran raised her eyebrows at him.

  “Well, you know, with the sort of men in those hills.” He shrugged a little. “Moonshiners and all sorts of reprobates.”

  “There are some moonshiners for sure, but all the men, all the people treat us with the utmost respect.”

  “I guess your mother was relieved to hear that.”

  “She doesn’t much like to hear anything about the mountains, but it’s a beautiful place and the people are so true.”

  “True? What does that mean?” Seth gave her a puzzled look.

  Fran thought a minute before she answered. “It’s hard to explain to somebody who has never been there. But the way they live is tied somehow to the mountains. Growing their food or gleaning it off the land. They don’t have much money, but they have things that matter more. Like family and roots. Some of their farms have been passed down for generations. They all work to survive, and each new baby is a gift, even if they already have a houseful of children.”

  “The mountain kids in the pictures in magazines look pretty ragged and dirty.” Seth made a face.

  “Baths aren’t as easy to come by when you have to carry water from the creek or spring instead of turning a tap. And those photographers don’t give the children time to run wash their faces or hands when they find them playing out in the dirt.”

  “You sound impassioned.”

  “I guess I do.” Fran swept a stray strand of hair out of her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to preach at you.”

  “No, no. Impassioned is a great look for you. Intense and beautiful.”

  Fran shot a quick look over at him to see if he was making fun of her, but he was studying her with serious eyes.

  “There’s a difference between pretty and beautiful. Did you know that?” he said.

  “I’ve never really thought about it.” At least she hadn’t for a long time. She’d never felt she qualified for either description. But then Betty had talked about her being pretty. And just last week, Ben Locke had walked to the creek with her and let his gaze settle on her, as though she wasn’t a bit hard on the eyes.

  Now Seth was looking at her as though she were someone he’d never seen instead of the girl he’d dated all through high school. Fran wasn’t sure she liked it. Not with his intended staring at them across the street. It was time to end this old friends’ talk.

  “I’m glad you’re doing so well, Seth.” Thank goodness, Harold’s car was right in front of her and her mother was finally coming toward the parking lot. “I hope you and Cecelia will be very happy.”

  Then before her mother got close enough to stir up who knew what, Fran opened the car door and climbed into the back seat. She gave Seth a little wave before she closed the door and sat back with relief. A dozen memories poked her as she watched Seth turn away. School dances. Movies. Ball games. They had been so young and she’d had such dreams.

  She gingerly peeked back at some of those dreams. She’d truly thought she would marry Seth and have his children.

  “That your old boyfriend your mother keeps talking about?” Harold twisted around to look at Fran.

  Fran was surprised. The man had rarely spoken to her since she’d been there. Perhaps that was because of her mother chattering nonstop. “Yes. We dated in high school.”

  “Your mother said you planned to get married.”

  “Sometimes plans go awry. I think most of the planning must have been my doing and not his. We were just kids.”

  “You’re still a kid.” Harold turned to peer out the window. “Where is that woman?”

  “She’s coming.”

  Her mother had stopped to talk to Seth, but now she was heading on toward the car. She didn’t look happy.

  Harold obviously thought the same. He ran his hands around the steering wheel. “Uh-oh. Get your ears ready. She looks like she has plenty to say.”

  Fran sighed. “Don’t worry. I’ve heard it all before.”

  Harold chuckled. “Believe me. So have I. So have I. But she’s generally satisfied if you just mumble something and nod now and again.”

  Fran laughed. “Thanks. Not sure that will work for me, but I might give it a try.”

  Harold got out and hurried around the car to open the door for Fran’s mother. She’d barely settled in the seat before she twisted around to glare at Fran. “What in the world, Francine? The man trailed after you wanting to talk and you jump in the car and slam the door in his face. What is the matter with you?”

  “We talked, Mother. And then I thought Harold was probably ready for lunch.”

  Harold clambered back in the car and shifted it into gear. “Lunch does sound good.”

  “Are you two teaming up against me?” Fran’s mother shot a look toward Harold. “I wouldn’t advise that.”

  “Not teaming up at all, Charlotte. Aren’t you hungry? How about we take Francine out for lunch today?”

  “That’s fine. If you can find a decent restaurant open on Sunday.” She seemed to have lost her irritation with Harold, but she wasn’t so easily distracted from her upset at Fran. “Are you trying to throw away your chances with Seth?”

  “Mother, Seth is engaged to Cecelia.”

  “I haven’t seen a ring on her finger.” Fran’s mother raised her eyebrows. “I sense trouble in paradise there.”

  “If so, that trouble isn’t coming from me. Nor should it come from you. Seth and I are old high school frien
ds. Nothing more. His choice, but a choice I’m quite content with now.” Fran kept her voice level and firm.

  “Humph.” Fran’s mother turned around in her seat to stare forward. “You never have known what’s best for you. I suppose you plan to head back to those hills where people don’t even have running water.”

  “They have lots of running water. All in creeks and rivers.” Fran should have kept quiet, but she was wishing she was in sight of some of those creeks and rivers now instead of facing a long afternoon listening to her mother.

  “Don’t be smart with me, Francine Elizabeth. You knew what I meant.” She looked back at Fran again. “I can’t believe you’re that eager to go back there.”

  “I love what I do, Mother. Catching babies.”

  “What a peculiar way to talk about delivering babies.” Fran’s mother shook her head and sat back in her seat again. But she didn’t quit talking. “Well, you’ll never have any babies of your own for anybody else to catch. Not as long as you stay there. Because you surely have more sense than to fall for any of those hillbillies. You do, don’t you?”

  She didn’t pause long enough for Fran to answer. That was just as well, since Ben Locke’s image popped into Fran’s head. Not that she had fallen for him. That surely wasn’t true. But it had been good walking with him by the creek, and he had given her Sarge. A little smile lifted the corners of her lips. Thank goodness her mother didn’t notice.

  “I’ve seen plenty of pictures of those mountain people. Men with coal-dust skin and hungry eyes. And the women. Worn-out looking, with a dozen kids hanging on to them. None of them smiling. Ever. And I guess not. What would they have to smile about?”

  Fran stayed silent as her mother chattered on. She didn’t know about the mountains or the people. But Fran did know, and she wanted to know more. She shut her eyes and let her mother’s words slide past her, mumbling an agreeable answer now and again. Harold was right. That was all she needed to do.

  But come morning, Fran would be on the train and then the bus heading home. What was it people said? Home is where the heart is. Her eyes were anxious to see the mountains rising up in front of her again.

  34

  November 3, 1945

  Ben kept from riding down the mountain all week. He knew Francine had returned to the center, and he told himself that was enough. She had given him no reason to think she wanted him showing up on her porch every other day. What he was hoping, as he worked to get ready for the cold weather slamming down on them soon, was that she would show up on his porch. After all, the nurses had been keeping a close eye on Becca.

  Trouble was, Nurse Dawson was there on Monday to examine Becca and make sure Woody’s wound continued to heal. She was capable, but looked like a smile might break her face. Not at all like Francine, with a smile that lit up her eyes. But Nurse Dawson’s visit meant the nurses wouldn’t likely be back up the hill until another week went by.

  Friday, the weather turned toward winter with a cold rain. Sadie woke up with a cough and Woody was sniffling. Ben had laid in enough wood for the weekend and carried water from the spring. He’d taken care of the animals and Captain. The roof wasn’t leaking. There was absolutely nothing else for him to do, but he couldn’t seem to sit down and relax. He paced back and forth as restless as a raccoon in a wire-cage trap.

  His mother frowned at him from where she sat at the table, shelling popcorn to store in jars to keep the mice out of it. Woody had talked her into raising it. He’d been proud of figuring out when to plant the popcorn so it wouldn’t be tasseled out with the bees pollinating it at the same time as the other corn. Woody said he had gathered plenty of gardening tips from wandering around the mountain. Besides seeing more than he needed to see and getting shot.

  Maybe that was what Ben should do on this miserable weather day. Go confront Homer Caudill and get that squared away. Maybe he’d just take his gun and they could have a shoot-out. Ben looked at the gun on top of the cabinet. But that would do his family a lot of good. Getting killed. Or as the people here said, killed dead. He hadn’t thought twice about how crazy that was to say somebody got killed when they were merely wounded until he went to the army. Wonder if Francine would think that mountain talk was poetic.

  “For mercy’s sake, Ben, settle somewhere. If you need something to do, sit down here and help us shell this corn.” His mother nodded toward the basket full of popcorn ears beside her.

  Woody and Sadie were already helping. To avoid Woody’s cold, Becca sat all the way across the room, hemming a baby blanket. Not that a body could avoid anything in this small house. Not even Sadie’s pup that his mother let come inside. Woody’s Bruiser didn’t get the same treatment, so at least only one pup was underfoot. The pup went squeaking away when Ben almost stepped on it.

  Sadie gave Ben an irritated look that so mirrored his mother’s, Ben had to smile. He picked up a bowl and a couple of popcorn ears and sat down across from his mother. “Sorry,” he said.

  “No need,” Ma said. “Your pa was the same way, except he could settle down and study the Bible. Maybe you should try that.”

  “Maybe so.” Ben pushed some of the kernels off the cob to clink into his bowl.

  Sadie coughed. Ma’s brow furrowed at the hacking sound of the cough, but she kept shelling the corn.

  “You think we should send for the nurse?” Ben looked at Sadie, then back at his mother.

  “Not yet. Likely she just has a cold the same as Woody. The nurses can’t cure a cold. I’ll make up some ginger tea for her later. That always seems to help.”

  “Oh, Ma.” Becca swished the baby blanket around in her lap and began stitching the hem on another side. “Ben’s just wanting to get the nurses up here. One of them anyhows. That pretty Nurse Howard.” Her voice went singsongy. “Froggie went a-courtin’, he did ride, Uh-huh.”

  “Becca.” Ma’s voice was sharp. “Don’t be botherin’ your brother with that foolishness.”

  “Love ain’t foolishness, but it can get you in some shapes.” Becca stood up and stretched her back. “I don’t see how you stood carrying five babies.”

  “You stand what you have to stand.” Ma pitched a cob into a box to keep for fire starters. “Nary a one of you children would I give up, no matter how hard the task of bringing you into the world.”

  Becca cradled her abdomen with her hands. “I do know what you mean there. I already love this little feller.”

  “You’re apt to have a girl,” Ma warned her.

  “I reckon you’re right, but Carl was so set on a boy that I’m hopin’ for him.” She stepped closer to the fire.

  “Have you heard from Carl?” Ben looked over at her.

  “Not for a spell.” Becca stared out the window almost as if she were watching for Carl to be stepping up on the porch. Then she sighed and shrugged. “Carl never was much for writing nothing. But he’s a fine talker. He told me he’d be back to get me. And he will. Come the right time.”

  “When’s the right time?” Woody asked.

  “Some things you don’t know till they happen.” Becca settled back in the chair and picked up her needle and thread again. “Other things you can sort of guess when they might happen. Like a baby coming.” She shot a look over at Ben. “Or when your brothers are going to get antsy over some girl.”

  “Well, if you’re talking about me, don’t be comparing me to that frog a-courting.” Woody sneezed. “That frog and his mouse girlfriend came to some bad ends in that song.”

  Sadie giggled. “But it was fun when Nurse Howard sang it with us. I wish she was here to sing with us now. I like her.”

  “Me too,” Woody said. “You like her too, don’t you, Ben?”

  “Nothing not to like.” Ben pushed the last kernels off the ear of popcorn and pushed back from the table. “I got some things to do outside.”

  “But it’s raining,” Becca said. “You’ll catch your death of cold.”

  “That’s more likely to happen in here with everyb
ody sneezing and coughing.” Ben grabbed his jacket and hat.

  When Becca opened her mouth to say more, Ma spoke up first. “Let him be, Becca. I don’t expect he’ll melt.”

  His mother’s hands fell idle in her lap as she gave Ben a considering look. After a couple of seconds, she reached for another popcorn ear and began shelling again. Ben couldn’t tell if she was worried or disgusted as she muttered, “A man has to decide his own way.”

  The rain did have a bite to it as he stepped off the porch. No sleet. But the promise of it. Ben pulled his collar up and headed toward the barn. Bruiser followed him, but Rufus gave Ben the same kind of look as his mother and then dropped his head back down on his paws.

  Ben looked back at the old dog. “You’d be warmer in the barn.” The old dog didn’t bother raising his head. He was where he wanted to be, satisfied with his lot in life. A front-porch dog guarding his people inside. Not that Rufus did more than stand up, bark once, and wag his tail when anybody rode up to the house. But that was enough.

  Bruiser was another matter. He was a trial, the way he chased the hens and nipped at the cow’s legs. He chewed on anything he could get his teeth around, even the porch posts. Rufus growled any time the pup got close, and Sadie’s pup ran away with a whimper. Ben couldn’t help but admire the pup’s spirit as the rascal grabbed onto the bottom of Ben’s jeans and tugged. He just never quit. He wanted attention and he found a way to get it. Not at all content to just lie down and hope somebody would notice him.

  Ben leaned over and picked the pup up. It had grown a lot since he brought it home. “Why can’t you be a good dog like Sarge?”

  The pup climbed up Ben to lick his face while his tail beat against Ben’s arm. He’d gotten what he wanted. Ben’s attention.

  Which dog was Ben like? The old dog on the porch, satisfied to hang around and get a pat on the head now and then, or the pup demanding to be noticed.

  “Thinking about that nurse has made me addlebrained,” he muttered as he put the pup down. Bruiser jumped back up on his legs. But when Ben pushed him off, he chased after a scent in the corner of the barn, digging down through a layer of old hay. Persistence in motion.