These Healing Hills

by Ann H. Gabhart

  In spite of being wet and cold from the ride down the hill, a warm feeling crept through Fran. This was family.

  Ben hung his dripping coat on a chair by the fire. He smiled at Fran and then turned to his mother. “We need some ginger tea.”

  36

  December 1945

  The days slid by into winter. The weather bounced between nippy and bracing to brisk and cold. The houses, airy in the summer with open doors and windows, were now freezing even with the doors shut. The wintry winds sneaked in every crack between the logs and floorboards. Families gathered around their fireplaces or stoves to stay warm.

  As she went about her rounds, Fran did her best to avoid getting wet crossing the creeks. But sometimes it rained. Whatever the weather, a nurse had to go when called out.

  “Best get used to it,” Betty warned Fran. “This is mild compared to what’s coming. It might snow in December. Probably will, but January and February are the mean months. At times you have to shovel a path through the snow to the barn. Of course, the mountain men might show up to do that for you. They want you able to get to your horse if their wives are expecting.”

  After Betty left for New York, Jeralene came every day to help with the chores. Fran took care of the horses but gladly gave up milking Bella. Not only was Jeralene a happy face that made the days better, her being there was more than enough reason for Woody to show up, and rarely empty-handed. He might bring hickory nuts. Or fried apple pies or blackberry jam. And sometimes he brought his brother.

  Ben always came with a purpose. Woody told him about the loose board on the shed or a window that needed new putty. Once, he appeared at her door to guide Fran up to a spot on the hill above the center where they watched the sun go down in flaming color. He claimed some things just needed sharing.

  That evening as she stood shoulder to shoulder with Ben to soak in nature’s beauty, she wanted to believe her heart was beating faster because of climbing the hill and that it had nothing to do with the man beside her. But she knew better.

  On the way back down the trace of a path, she slipped and Ben reached out to steady her. His hand on her arm was strong yet gentle, and the picture came to mind of how he’d cradled Granny Em in front of him to take her to his house. She’d seen the same gentleness in him when he knelt to talk to Sadie or when he wouldn’t let Woody carry water until his wound was completely healed.

  Even as she kept her head turned away from Ben to hide her feelings, her mother’s words echoed in her mind. You surely have more sense than to fall for one of those hillbillies.

  Not only did her mother’s disapproval poke her, but even though Betty was in New York, Fran had no trouble imagining her disapproving frown that spoke plain as words how nurses weren’t there for romance.

  Truly she had no reason to think romance. Ben never once reached for her hand or spoke a word out of line. And yet, she did sometimes catch him watching her with a look that took her breath.

  Plus, there was the way Ben’s mother settled her gaze on Fran now and again when she was at their house. A considering look that had a seed of sadness in it. Fran seemed to hear her thinking Fran didn’t measure up. She might love the mountains, but she was city born.

  The days slid one into another. Fran delivered Mrs. McReedy’s baby. A nine-pound boy that had Mr. McReedy grinning all the way across his face, after three girls.

  Whenever the call came, Fran threw on her coat, saddled Jasmine, and headed out to help, whatever the need. On clinic day, people lined up with various complaints. She managed to treat them all without Betty watching over her shoulder, and nobody died.

  Not even Granny Em, who definitely flirted with death. But the pills Mrs. Locke made sure the old woman took, or perhaps the ginger tea, pulled her through. After a couple of weeks, Granny Em climbed back up to her cabin that Ben and Woody had repaired to keep out the winter winds.

  When Fran checked on her, a stack of wood was by the front door. Jars of food filled a shelf in her cabinet. Fresh lye soap was beside a new wash pan, and Silky had the run of the house.

  “Don’t look so rattled,” Granny Em said when she saw Fran watching the hen. “I take her out to scratch around for bugs and sech.”

  “But has she laid any eggs?”

  “’Course she has. That’s her reason for being.” Granny Em looked at the hen. “Come spring, I’ll carry her down to be with Ruthena’s rooster so’s she can hatch out some of them eggs. Just the way things is intended to be. A rooster. A hen. Chicks.” The old woman fastened her eyes back on Fran. “Same as it is for folks.”

  “True. That way of things keeps me busy.” Fran smiled.

  “And now that my ginger tea done cured my breathin’ trouble, I can be around to catch them babies of your’n when you decide on a rooster.” Granny Em’s lips curled up in a sly grin. “I’ve noted one that might be wantin’ to do some crowing to get noticed.”

  “No time for a nurse-midwife to have a family.” Fran busied herself packing up her instruments.

  “Some folks can come up with a ready excuse ’bout near ev’rything. Come up with a few myself now and agin.” Granny Em frowned. “Lived to regret some of ’em. But one thing I never did, and that was let somebody else tell me what I could or couldn’t do.”

  Fran straightened up and looked directly at Granny Em. It almost sounded as if the old woman had read her mother’s latest letters. Not that Fran planned to pack up and go back to Cincinnati the way her mother kept insisting, always ending with the news that Seth and Cecelia still weren’t married. “I’m doing what I want.”

  “That’s good to know.” Granny Em rubbed her chin. “I was thinkin’ maybe that Mary Breckinridge had done tol’ you what you could and couldn’t do when it come to certain parts of livin’. Like she tells you what you can talk about and what you can’t. No religion, politics, or moonshine talk.”

  “She wants us to get along with the people here. That’s all.” Fran took up for Mrs. B.

  “But maybe not get along too well?” Granny Em raised her eyebrows at Fran.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” That wasn’t entirely true, but it was better to skirt any talk about Ben. “Mrs. Breckinridge loves the people here and they love her.”

  “Uh-hum.” Granny Em rocked back in her chair. “I reckon that’s true enough and I ain’t sayin’ the woman ain’t done some good for the folks hereabouts. Even me. Guess it’s on account of her bringing in girls like you to pester me into getting that ginger tea that I’m still kicking.”

  “Ginger tea did help.”

  “After the snows melt, I’ll show you how to find the roots. If’n you’re still around.”

  “I expect to be. The Lord willing.”

  “Best be watching what you’re saying. That verges on religious talk.” The old woman shook a finger at Fran. “Reckon as how you better follow the rules.”

  “I try.” Fran smiled and picked up her saddlebag. “You follow my rules and get better. I’ll be back up to see you soon.”

  Granny Em’s smile sank out of sight among her wrinkles as she grabbed Fran’s arm. “Just one more thing, Nurse Girl. You keep in mind there’s times to shrug off the rules and do what you know is true in your own insides.”

  “You mean follow my heart.”

  “Heart, gut, feet, whatever. Just don’t let your oughta-dos mess up them long years ahead of you.” She gave Fran’s arm a shake. “Catching babies is a fine thing, but it ain’t as fine as holding your own.”

  “Do you have children, Granny Em?”

  Granny Em let go of Fran to stare down at her lap. Thinking maybe she had dozed off, Fran started to tiptoe out the door when the old woman spoke. “I caught one of mine. She was a pretty little thing. Not a thing like me or her pa. She come when the leaves were turning. The fevers took her and my man both before the trees put out new leaves.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No need. Weren’t your doing. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.” She l
ooked up with a sad smile. “Reckon I’m talkin’ religion now. You watch out going down the hill. I look for the weather to turn bad. My old bones don’t never lie bout that.”

  Granny Em’s bones were right. By the time Fran got back to the center, a skiff of snow covered the ground. By the next morning, the snow measured four inches and was still falling.

  Fran was pulling on her boots to go see to the animals when Jeralene came up on the porch.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d make it today,” Fran said.

  “I shoulda stayed over last night, but I thought the snow wasn’t gonna amount to nothing. But then it set in.” Jeralene stomped the snow off her feet before she stepped inside the door and stood on the little rug there. “If’n you’ll hand me the bucket, I’ll go on out and see to Bella. That way I won’t be tracking all over the floor and have to mop it later.”

  Fran handed her the bucket and then shrugged on her own coat. “I’ll see to the horses.” Sarge bounced out the door, his ears up.

  Jeralene laughed. “Looks like Sarge is a snow dog. I reckon that’s good if he’s gonna be following you all over the mountain. What with the way that wind’s blowing today, you best hope nobody comes hollering for you. But Ma says babies are contrary little beings who have a way of picking the stormiest times to make an entrance into this old world.”

  “Babies come all times of the year and in all sorts of weather. Sunshine and moonshine.”

  Fran followed Jeralene off the porch. Only one mother was close to delivering. Becca. But she hadn’t shown any signs of labor when she saw her yesterday. She complained with her back, but she’d been doing that for weeks. Her baby hadn’t turned into the birth position. Fran was hoping something would shift before the next time she checked on Becca in a few days. If it didn’t, she’d send Becca to the hospital to wait for the baby to come. A safer place for a breech birth.

  “Even on Christmas Day,” Jeralene said. “My little brother, Davey, was born on Christmas back when I was ten. It was like a special gift for us all. Such a sweet little thing. Then. Now he can be an ornery pest.” She laughed as she held out a hand to catch a snowflake. “Christmas is next week.”

  “At home, we always wanted a white Christmas.” Fran looked out over the yard and field toward the barn. Everything looked so pristine. “After we do the chores, I’ll get some pine branches to bring inside to decorate and we can make cookies.”

  “Or candy. I saw some cocoa in the cabinet the other day.” Jeralene turned back to Fran. “Who knows? We might have visitors. You know that Woody. A little snow won’t stop him.”

  Fran followed her toward the barn. By the time she finished with the horses and went to the edge of the woods to break off a couple of pine branches, ice was mixing in the snow. Even Sarge started looking toward the house with longing. Snow was one thing. Ice another.

  At least she had taken Jasmine and Moses to the blacksmith at Wendover to have special shoes with studs put on to be ready for winter weather.

  By noon, the snow changed completely to ice and put a slippery skim on top of the snow. Then the wind started up, whistling down through the pines and rattling the windows. A good day to stay in and sample Jeralene’s candy while she wrote her mother a Christmas letter.

  When she thought about how her mother would be frantically decorating and planning for Christmas, Fran was glad to be in a cabin sitting by a warm fire with her dog at her feet. She had mailed her mother a pair of mittens Jeralene’s mother knitted and sent Harold a jar of sorghum molasses. Christmas shopping done.

  She might go to Wendover on Christmas Day if Becca wasn’t having her baby. Or maybe she’d make cookies and stay right here at the center to hand out treats to anybody who came by. She could even wrap up some to take to Granny Em. That way she could stop in at the Locke house. Just thinking about that made her smile. She’d bought a little cloth sack of thumb-sized handkerchief dolls from one of the mountain women. Mrs. Jessup said they were church babies. Fran couldn’t wait to give those to Sadie.

  The snow and ice finally stopped late in the day. Jeralene had busied herself making soup, but Woody hadn’t come down the mountain. Nor had his brother.

  “Not a good day for traveling,” Jeralene said. “Not less’n a body has to. I ’spect Woody will find his way here on the morrow before we eat all this candy.”

  Late that afternoon, Fran had just stepped out onto the porch, headed for the barn, when she heard that familiar call. “Hallooo.”

  At least she already had her coat and boots on.

  37

  December 19, 1945

  Ben hated being stuck in the house. He’d already stacked more wood in the woodbox on the back porch and shoveled off the steps three times. He was restless. No doubt about it. Antsy. Even when the ice pellets started hitting the windowpanes, he still tried to think up a reason to head outside.

  Not only outside. If he was honest with himself, it wasn’t simply outside he wanted. He wanted to saddle up Captain and ride down the mountain. Shovel some paths for Francine. Maybe a path to her heart.

  But he couldn’t tell his mother that. She knew, but didn’t either of them talk about it. Not anymore. She’d said her piece that night in the cornfield. She didn’t approve. As far as that went, he didn’t approve. He had better things to do than fall in love. Especially with a city girl who would never give him a second look.

  That wasn’t entirely true either. She did sometimes give him a second look. It might be easier to keep his wits about him if she didn’t. But sometimes those soft eyes landed a look on him that made his stomach go all weak. It was a look he wanted to see again and again.

  So any day he could come up with an excuse to ride down to the center, he did. Woody didn’t need an excuse. He just went to see Jeralene. But Jeralene was one of them. If she and Woody ended up together, nobody would be the least bit bothered. Francine Howard and Ben Locke, that was a different matter.

  He would have gone down the mountain today with or without an excuse, but first thing after breakfast, Ma said he needed to stay close at hand.

  “I’m some worried it might be Becca’s time.” She kept her voice low so Becca couldn’t hear.

  “The nurse was just here yesterday. She said Becca was doing fine, didn’t she?”

  “Yesterday she was. Today things are looking different. I’m thinking it might be time, and I know those nurses have a heap of training, but I’ve had a heap of babies.”

  “You want me to go fetch the nurse?”

  Ma frowned. “Not yet. But best stay close in case the need does arise. Being as how this is the first time for Becca, there’ll be time and more to get the nurse when I’m sure it’s the baby causing her to be punishing.”

  Across the room, Becca groaned as she shifted in her chair. “Ma, do you think a hot water bottle would help my back?”

  Ben followed his mother into the kitchen where she picked up the teakettle to fill the hot water bottle. “Did you tell her about the letter you got from Ruthie?”

  Ma shot a look into the next room at Becca. “Not yet. And don’t you either. Let her get this baby here before she has to be worrying about where Carl has got off to.”

  Ben’s sister had written that Carl had walked away from the factory job he’d found in Ohio and nobody had seen him since. Ruthie wrote that he should have a little money jingling in his pocket, but she wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. The young man seemed unsettled in Ohio. Claimed being shut up in a factory was near as bad as being down in a mine. Ruthie hadn’t been surprised when he went missing. She liked Carl, but some boys just didn’t know how to start being men. She was fearful Carl was one of them.

  So Ben had no choice except to hang around the house and wait out the day. Woody was reading an adventure book his schoolteacher had loaned him. Ma took the snowy day to work on the quilt she was making for Becca’s baby. Sadie was learning stitches beside Ma. Becca lay down after the noon meal and went to sleep. That seemed to say the baby
wasn’t ready to come, but Ma said it didn’t prove anything except Becca was worn out from carrying that baby load.

  Ben tried to settle down. He leafed through his father’s Bible, and his restlessness was somewhat eased by reading passages Pa had marked. Here and there he had made a notation about a sermon, and Ben wondered if it was one his father had heard or one he might have preached at a meeting when no preacher showed up. Then he was moved nearly to tears when he found a note stuck in the back of the Bible. A prayer list with the number of Ben’s unit and the first names of some of the men Ben must have mentioned in letters home.

  As he shifted in his chair, the envelope in his pocket crinkled. He’d been carrying around the letter from the college detailing the classes he’d signed up to take come January. The GI Bill seemed too good an opportunity to pass up. But now he didn’t know how he could ride down off the mountain and over to Richmond every Monday morning and leave these here to shift for themselves all the week long. It was surely a crazy dream for him to think about studying long enough and hard enough to be a doctor.

  He hadn’t told anybody about considering medicine as his life’s work. Best see if he could take the first step down the row, as his pa used to tell him, instead of wanting to skip to the end. If it was meant to happen, the Lord would open up a path. Another of his pa’s sayings.

  He supposed the same was true about Francine. If it was meant to happen, it would. At the same time, his pa did say a person had to do the stepping down the row toward whatever end he was searching out. But sometimes a path closed up.

  That seemed to be what kept happening every time he thought about confronting Homer Caudill. He would set out to go have it out with the man, and something happened every time to change his direction. Maybe his mother was right and it was best to leave the thought of vengeance in the Lord’s hands. He certainly had enough to keep a worry cloud over his head without stirring up trouble with the Caudills.