[Troublesome Creek 01] - Troublesome Creek

by Jan Watson

  “Copper, stop it.” She gave herself a little shake that set her head to pounding. “You’re not even afraid of snakes.” She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and laughed a shaky little laugh to hear her own chastising voice echoing until it slowly waned. She was left in stillness so profound she could hear the ripples in the water as the snake swam away.

  Leaving the Pelfreys’ house with no news of Copper, Will hurried home. There was Grace pacing the porch as Will mounted the steps. “She’s not here?” he blurted out. “I thought surely—”

  “No. Where could she be?” Grace frowned, wringing her hands. “I’m getting worried.”

  “Try not to upset yourself,” he said as fear gnawed like a rat at his gut. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Will steadied himself. He had to believe the words he’d just spoken to Grace, though his alarm grew with each passing moment. God, he thought in silent, urgent prayer, You’ve got to keep her safe. I can’t go through losing her like I lost Julie.

  As the hours passed, darkness seeped into the sinkhole like a mist rising from the water. Copper could see light at the opening above her even as her feet . . . her knees . . . then her hands disappeared in the darkness below. She kept her head back, her eyes focused upward, until even that last pale solace faded.

  She wrapped her arms around her legs, leaned her head against her knees, and dozed fitfully. Every time she woke, she’d pat the rock around her, finding her place, fearful she’d moved too close to the edge. Thirst and cold gripped her. She wanted her old quilt and a cup of chamomile tea, but what she longed for most of all was light. Just the tiniest candle flame to ease the fearsome night. If she angled her body just so and cocked her head to the right, she could see a star shining ever so brightly above her.

  Bits of Bible verses, sweet as honey on her tongue, caroled in her mind and gave great comfort: “I am the light of the world.” “My light I give to you.” “The Lord is my light and my salvation.” “Thy word is a lamp . . . and a light.” “When I sit in darkness, the Lord shall be a light unto me.”

  Words have such power, she thought—and she had plenty of time for thinking—to hurt or comfort, even to give light in the darkness. Then something she’d said earlier came back to her. “Words, just words . . .” Her biting reply to Mam’s correction the day they’d made apple butter. If I ever get out of here, I promise to think before I speak. I promise to listen to the words of others and not be so quick with my own.

  Copper was freezing and thirsty, and her mouth tasted like vomit. Her neck ached from a crick, but she dared not move for fear of losing sight of the star: her light . . . her promise.

  Grace, her open Bible in her lap, prayed fervently for the safe return of the girl she loved as much as if Laura Grace were her daughter by birth. She put her head back and rested her eyes. Visions too horrific to give voice to skittered behind her closed eyelids: Laura Grace had fallen down the mountain and lay helplessly, her leg broken, waiting for rescue; she’d drowned in the forbidden swimming hole; that catamount Grace hated and feared stalked Laura Grace as she clung desperately to the branch of a tree. . . .

  It had to be that mountain lion she sometimes saw in the early morning patrolling the high ridge behind their cabin. Grace had begged Will to shoot it, but he refused. “No sense hurting something that ain’t hurting us,” he’d said.

  Oh, she hated this place sometimes, this place and its stubborn people.

  Grace bowed her head again and folded her hands upon her Bible. I’m sorry. Forgive me, Lord. You know I don’t hate the people here. And, oh—never Will, Father. You know I love him, but he’s a product of this place, and sometimes this is a dreadful place to be. Keep Laura Grace safe. Please . . . please keep her safe.

  Sick with fear, Grace was thankful the twins were asleep—at least she didn’t have to deal with them. They’d pestered her to no end, begging to go with Will and Daniel Pelfrey, especially when they discovered Daniel’s big boys were also looking. . . .

  All the boys but John. He was away, hired out to someone. It’s too bad, she thought. John would know better than anyone where Laura Grace might be. Those two had wandered every nook and hollow of the mountain together. Grace knew they’d have to fetch John if they didn’t find Laura Grace soon.

  Grace stood abruptly, dropping her Bible to the floor. She picked it up, wiped its cover with her apron, and placed it on the table beside her sewing basket. Moving to the window, she drew back the curtain, but it was so dark she couldn’t see a thing. Tears gathered, threatening to overflow as she wrung her hands. Something terrible has happened. I just know it. She knelt then, there by her chair, and put out a fleece. Lord, my help in times of need, bring her back to us. It’s my fault she’s gone, I know. She’s trying to escape from me. Bring her back and I’ll give up my notion of sending her away.

  She had a pot of coffee on the stove and was making biscuits when Will came in an hour later. He looked haggard and old. Worry creased his handsome face, and his eyes were rimmed with red.

  Her heart ached. He’s been here before, she thought. This is not the first night he has spent searching for someone he loves. At least it’s not storming like that night. At least if Laura Grace is in the creek she won’t be lost to us. Her stomach lurched at the thought of Julie’s precious body being swept away, like worthless flotsam, by the violent waters of Troublesome Creek.

  Will sat heavily and took the mug Grace offered. “Ah, Grace—” he stood back up—“don’t cry.” He rubbed his eyes as he gathered what strength he had left. “Daniel took his boys home. We’re not doing any good in the dark. I’ll start again at first light.”

  “I can’t abide this, Will,” Grace said, turning her back to him, her voice rising in panic. “I simply cannot abide this.”

  He moved toward Grace to comfort her. When he touched her shoulder, she whirled around so quickly that she knocked the cup from his hand. It crashed to the floor and shattered, sending shards of glass and splashes of hot coffee everywhere. He could see the desperation in her eyes.

  “But what do you think?” she demanded. “A wild animal? That catamount we keep seeing up on the ridge? I’m sure I heard its scream just past midnight.” Her voice gave way, and she began sobbing.

  “Grace, Grace.” He patted her back. “You’re letting your worry shadow your faith. God will provide for Copper. ” He spoke with certainty, but his confidence had been hard earned. He’d had to decide to trust in the Lord after he lost Julie. It was that or become a raving madman. He had struggled then, the faith he’d found so easily in his youth turning brittle as shale with his loss. But God had reached down and comforted him all those years ago when he’d rambled the woods carrying his baby girl against his chest.

  At first he had been so angry when Julie had been found, drowned in the place he’d always loved so much. Those days were bleak, soul-stealing days. Shaking his fist at the heavens, he’d railed at God and blamed Him for his loss.

  But one day in the early morning hush as he’d climbed and clawed his way to the very top of Pine Mountain, the baby safely bound close to his heart, God had sent a glorious sunrise that lit the mountain like flames of fire and tipped the leaves of the trees in shimmering gold. Even in his sorrow he had to acknowledge its beauty. He’d stood stock-still atop the highest point of all the mountains and relished the scene.

  Suddenly a murmuring, low and melodious, had filled the air around him. A breeze stirred the gold-tipped leaves, and he thought a summer storm must be approaching. He stood there on that high peak as, against all reason, the rustling trees sang to him of hope. “I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine. When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee.” Julie’s favorite Scripture pierced his soul like arrows shot from angels’ bows. A strange sensation sent goose bumps up and down his arms, and he took the baby from underneath his shirt to see if she was cold. He tightened the little white knit blanket Emilee had wrapped her in, and she snuggled into his arms.

  Then it
had come to him, the knowing that would see him through his terrible loss: God is all-present. It was so simple it took him to his knees. God is all-present, whether in good times or bad. He is the author and commander of every moment of life present and life past and all life that is yet to come. Will gained a sure and present faith that day before he took his daughter back down the mountain to Emilee, and it had stood the test of time.

  Now all he had to do to remind himself of that certain knowledge, that unshakable faith, was to step outside this cabin. The mountains he loved so much were like God’s own arms surrounding him. No matter what the outcome, God was in charge of this night, he reckoned.

  Will embraced his wife, and she didn’t resist. It felt so good to rest his body against hers for a moment.

  Daniel stumbled into the room. Rubbing his eyes, he plucked at Will’s shirtsleeve. “Daddy?”

  Will pulled Daniel into the circle of their embrace. “What is it, Son?”

  “Daddy . . . I’m not supposed to tell.” Daniel leaned against his leg. “Willy said we’d get a whipping for going up there, but that’s where Sissy is.”

  “What are you talking about?” Will cupped Daniel’s chin. “You’d best tell me what you know.”

  “It’s that old graveyard. Me and Willy tracked Sissy there once. She had a picnic basket, and we wanted to go on a picnic too, but she went too far and Willy got thirsty and we went to the spring that’s up there by that big old oak tree, and when we went back to the graveyard she was gone, so we—”

  “Whoa, boy, slow down.” He turned Daniel’s face up toward his own. “What makes you think Copper might be there now?”

  “Because before I went to sleep, Daddy, I said, ‘Please, heavenly Father, please tell me where Sissy is.’ And so in my dream He showed me a big, dark place in the ground, and it was by the graveyard. So that’s where Sissy is.”

  Copper stirred. She was stiff and sore, hungry and incredibly thirsty, but soft rays of morning’s first light spilled down the shaft and cheered her. She was tired of being trapped, giving in. I have to get out of here. Her legs cramped from the long night on the ledge. Slowly she stood, using her hands to steady herself against the damp dirt wall. There has to be a way.

  She took stock of her surroundings. Gnarled tree roots and pieces of rock protruded from the walls of the sinkhole. It’s like a ladder, she thought. If the rocks and roots are secure, I should be able to climb out.

  She stepped cautiously onto a jagged rock and grasped a twisted root above her head. She pulled herself up inch by inch, groping blindly for each handhold, cautiously testing each foot-rest before releasing her weight to it. Halfway up, she was gasping for breath. Straining, she grabbed a solid loop of root and then felt the rock beneath her foot give way. It tumbled down the wall, bounced off the ledge that had sheltered her during the long night, and hit the water with a sickening plop.

  Copper hung by one hand, dangling in midair. Her feet scrambled to find purchase as her fingers tightened like claws around the root. Finally, in seconds that seemed like hours, one foot wedged in a fissure.

  Desperate for a stronger hold, she forced herself to take deep, calming breaths and eased her head back to look up at the opening. A tangle of wild grapevines hung above her, and a curious wooden box jutted out from its midst. After finding a new foothold, she made her way up. Scrabbling, her fingers closed over the side of the box. For a minute it held her weight, but just as she was about to heft herself up, it shifted dangerously. Then with a groan and a screech, it gave way and broke apart, showering Copper with dust and dirt, old wood, and ancient bones.

  Bones! A skeleton, yellow as horses’ teeth, slid as slowly as a waltz past Copper’s face. In spite of herself, she reached to stop it and gripped one bony hand. The skeleton hung there, twisting . . . bones clattering dryly . . . until, strained from its own weight, the hand separated from the wrist with a dull pop and sent the rest of the skeleton crashing to the ledge below.

  Copper stared, horrified, at the skeletal fingers intertwined with her own. Then, unable to cast the hand to the rank pool below—it had belonged to a living person, after all—she shoved the bones into the pocket of her dirty overalls. She was almost there. With one foot perched on what remained of the old coffin, she groaned mightily and pulled herself out of the sinkhole.

  She lay for several minutes, hugging the earth, sobbing a prayer of thanksgiving before finally she stood, knees wobbling, and made her way toward home.

  Copper seemed like an angel to Will there at the old graveyard. Backlit with sunlight filtered through a dense early morning fog, her hair flared copper red and wild as she staggered toward him. Daniel had been right. Praise the Lord.

  “Daddy! Daddy!” was all she said before she collapsed into his arms.

  The joy of holding his daughter safe brought tears to his eyes as he gently lowered her to the ground. He came close to losing all composure when he kissed her fevered brow. She seemed all right, though her face was battered and so swollen he’d never have recognized her except for her hair. I never doubted You, Lord, he prayed. I trusted You’d keep her safe.

  He rose, his step light despite her weight as he carried her home.

  Copper was abed for days with a fearsome sickness. She vomited every teaspoon of broth Grace managed to get down her and shivered with a raging fever. Bedclothes, wet with perspiration, collected in the corner as Grace soothed her with cool cloths and fresh sheets.

  The twins were banished from the room they shared with their sister and so slept with Will instead. And every morning they huddled together on the porch, uncharacteristically subdued, running to fetch Will whenever Grace called for him.

  Grace kept a big pot of pinto beans simmering on the stove and baked dozens of rounds of corn bread, for they had a constant stream of visitors. Several ladies brought sweets: stack cakes and fried-apple pies, and Mrs. Oriander Wilson brought her specialty—a cake a foot high with pink icing so sweet it made your teeth hurt.

  Everyone wanted to see Copper—Grace told Will it reminded her of a wake. They’d just stand in the doorway, shake their heads, and tsk, tsk, tsk. Then they had to be fed. Emilee Pelfrey came to help, though pregnant again, her ankles swollen over her shoes. She parked her youngest twins, Matthew and Mark, in a clothes basket under the table and kept the kitchen humming.

  John, home from his hired job, did the milking and would have sat by Copper’s bed but Grace wouldn’t allow it, so he busied himself with her chores. One morning as he went about his work he fretted to Will that somehow he’d been the cause of all this. He hung his head and confessed his part in the accident that had nearly killed Copper. Will could see the boy was truly contrite, for guilt was firmly stamped across his face.

  “W-why was I so foolish as to ever take her to that cave?” John stammered like a little boy. “I might have known she wouldn’t wait on me to take her back.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Will replied. “I know better than anyone that you can’t stop Copper once she sets her mind to something. Your only shame was in sneaking around with my daughter, John.” He rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder, surprised it was nearly even with his own, and gave it a squeeze. “I’ve always trusted you to guard and protect her like a brother.”

  “I promise you,” John said, his eyes meeting Will’s without flinching, “I’ll not lead her astray again.”

  “That’s all I ask. Now finish the milking so’s you can go in for some breakfast.” Will stuck a pitchfork into a stack of hay and forked a rasher over the horse’s stall.

  “Will?” he heard John say, his one word filled with need. Will’s lips twitched with a suppressed grin as he turned back toward John. “What is it, boy?”

  “When this is done, when she’s herself again, can I . . . that is, could I maybe . . . if it’s all right with you and Miss Grace—can I call on Copper?”

  “Well, I reckon that’d be up to Copper, but I don’t expect either Miss Grace or I would stand
in your way.”

  John’s smile stretched ear-to-ear as he wiped his hand on the leg of his britches and stuck it out to Will. “Whew,” he said. “I’m glad that’s over. I been wanting to ask you for the longest time.”

  Will laughed and pumped John’s hand. “You got your work cut out for you, Son. That’s all I can say.”

  The deacons came that first evening after Laura Grace was home. They pulled her bed away from the wall and clasped hands to form an unbroken circle around her. They prayed aloud, then anointed her with oil. Brother Isaac was very faithful—morning and evening he sat by her bed and read from the Scriptures.

  “She’s taken leave of her senses,” Grace told Will after the second long night. “She tosses and turns, crying about skeletons and ghosts, and this morning when I bathed her she pointed out the window and said, ‘Look, there’s a spirit that’s taken the form of a silver fox with a red tail.’”

  “It’s just the fever talking,” Will responded. “She’ll be herself again when it breaks.”

  And indeed she was. On the morning of the fourth day, Laura Grace woke clearheaded and hungry. After a breakfast of milk and toast, Grace let her sit on the porch, wrapped in a wool blanket, though the October day was warm. Willy and Daniel sat at her feet, and Will drank an extra cup of coffee while keeping her company.

  “I’m going in to sort the laundry,” Grace announced from the open doorway. She raised her shoulders and let them drop. She was weary, so weary after four nights in a straight-backed chair. But strangely, she hated for the vigil to stop. Seemed it was the only way she could get close to her daughter, who’d turned so difficult.