The Road to Bittersweet

by Donna Everhart

  Momma hollered, “Wallis Ann! Wallis Ann!” and Papa, his eyes steady on me like if he looked away, I’d be gone. I didn’t see what Laci done after that, cause my view of her was covered by Momma and Papa’s bodies as they squished me into the middle of them like a piece a meat between two slices of bread. I felt their hands pressing down on me, from my shoulders to my head and to my shoulders as if they couldn’t believe I was for real. I was gripping hard onto them, breathing deep the scent of their clothes, like rainwater and dirt, like trees and wood smoke, like all the love and comfort I’d ever known, and none of it, not none of it seemed real in them first few seconds.

  Momma went from hollering to simply whispering my name with a question in it like she was finding it hard to believe I was standing there in the flesh. “Wallis Ann? Wallis Ann? Thank God, oh, sweet Jesus, praise the Lord.” And then an astounded, “You’re alive?”

  I couldn’t say nothing, I was too choked up. I couldn’t do a thing except stand there stupefied, my head on Momma’s shoulder first, and then leaning into Papa’s chest. Papa had hold a both me and Momma, cinching us so tight with his muscular arms I thought my ribs might crack. After a minute or so, we let go of each other and took a step back to look at dirty faces, scratched, tired and most of all happy. I felt a familiar, soft touch, my sister’s hand burrowing into my tender palm like a small mouse come home to nest. I closed my fingers around the familiar, dainty bones, noting how her hand was clenched in a tight little fist. It was almost more than my heart could bear, this happiness, this relief to know they was here, and they won’t dead, and we was all together again.

  Except, where was Seph?

  I hardly dared look, or ask for the one small person not present. I was fearful to speak his name, to ask the question I had in my head. Please. Not our little feller. A vision of his face come to mine as I searched Momma’s for answers. The whites of hers was red and wet with tears, but untroubled. She and Papa had bluish circles underneath, like they hadn’t slept in days, otherwise, what worry had been in them had been cleared away, like clouds burned off by the sun. Momma’s expression was clear, giving me courage to ask about my little brother.

  “And Seph?”

  Her eyes spilled over, and she smiled slightly and shook her head no, like she wanted to rid herself of a painful memory. Her differing reactions provided me no answer.

  My heart fluttered with fear, as fragile as a butterfly in late summer. “Momma?”

  She heard the alarm in my voice.

  She said, “Oh, honey, he’s fine, he’s with Mrs. Barnes over to Sugar Creek Holler.” The rest of her words come out fast, all tangled together like a patch of briars.

  “Your papa said after they fell out, he never let go of Seph. And poor Seph. He probably thought Papa was trying to drown him. He went under time and again, and Papa told me how he had to fight the river and Seph. He kept their heads clear for the most part, though Seph didn’t make it easy. Papa said he screamed, and fought him like a little wildcat. Don’t that sound like him? Your papa said he was fearless.”

  I wanted to know everyone’s story, what they had done, and how they’d found one another.

  “What about you and Laci?”

  “It took some doing to get out of the water. I still can’t explain how we both landed on a section of the embankment only about a hundred yards apart. That had to be God’s hand. We walked about a half a day, and we found your Papa coming along with Seph riding high on his shoulders like he likes to do. I tell you it was a sight I never thought I’d see. Mrs. Barnes was on her front porch, and she offered to keep him while we searched for you. Finding you here, it’s the answer to our final prayers.”

  Momma squeezed me again and rubbed my arms with her hands like she’d do when we was chilled to the bone. She shivered like me, and I noted their clothes was torn. Momma at least had her shoes, as did Papa. Laci’s, like mine, was gone. The condition of her feet looked bad as my own. Red-toed, scratched, and bruised. And nobody had coats anymore. Papa waited for me and Momma to finish.

  His eyes watching me carefully, he asked, “Wally Girl, how did you fare on your own?”

  I didn’t want to think about it, or have to live it all over again. I spoke quickly.

  “The water carried me a ways too. I don’t know how far. I was getting beat up and I figured I had to get out of the river. I somehow managed to snag hold of a branch and climb into a tree.”

  Papa give me a hard look, and he asked, “You climbed a tree?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How long did you stay there?”

  “Going on three days.”

  “Three days.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I bet you thought of old Coy Skinner too, didn’t you?”

  “I sure did, that’s why I didn’t stay in it any longer.”

  Papa laughed, though not with his usual easy-sounding chuckle, more like relieved.

  He said, “And once you was able to come down, you made your way here by yourself.”

  “Yes, sir, once I figured out where I was.”

  Momma said, “See? I told you she was strong.”

  Papa said, “Did you see anyone you recognized?”

  “You mean alive?”

  He frowned and said, “You seen some not?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you know who it was?”

  “I can’t be sure . . . I couldn’t tell since I couldn’t see his face. He went by me in the river. Facedown.”

  Momma said, “Oh, dear God.”

  I kept on because now I’d started, I wanted to tell them and be done. I told them about Edna Stout, and about the Calhouns, how I helped them, and how Mrs. Calhoun hadn’t made it.

  Papa’s eyes squinted. “Calhoun?”

  He frowned at me again, like the name Calhoun bothered him somehow, but all he said was, “Why, that’s got to be at least twenty miles away.”

  I’d already figured it was pretty far since I’d walked it and it took me over a day, and it felt like it had been a good ways. I told them I’d gone to the Powells and things over there looked no better than here. No sign of anyone been home.

  “I scratched my initials on the dinner bell post and dated it.”

  “You done good, Wally Girl. Real good. Look a here. You got a fire. Got boiling water. I’m proud of you.”

  Papa spun on his heels and looked at Momma, who was toasting her backside.

  He said, “How about it, Ann? Our girl here’d, she’d put any man to shame, wouldn’t she?”

  Momma said, “Of course. She’s a Wallis, after all.”

  It did me good to hear their old banter. Even better, it was good to hear Papa say the things he said. There won’t ever any praise for what was expected, only when you done something startling. I decided to say nothing about Leland Tew. What would be the point? I had to tell them about Pete scaring me bad as he did, so I launched into that story. Right about then, here come Pete to check things out.

  Papa was pleased, and he patted Pete from one end to the other while saying over and over, “This is good. We got ole Pete.”

  Papa got to walking around the property with Momma. I went along too, with Laci trailing behind me. Papa shot questions at me about what else I’d found, and I showed him and Momma both the stove and pie safe. I said nothing about the cake and nobody asked. I pointed to the skillet, and of course the water bucket back at the camp. They’d already seen the kettle with the water boiling, and the coffeepot. I explained I’d been about to harness Pete to start cleaning up some of the heavier stuff from the storm. Papa commended me again, and I felt a bright glowing heat warming my insides. Papa peeked into my little old lean-to, and he didn’t say nothing, but his chest kind of expanded and it won’t hard to tell he was proud of me all over again about how I’d done for myself and all. Momma give the property a once-over.

  She said, “Everything we’ve worked so hard for.”

  Papa said, “We’ll put things right,
don’t worry none.”

  I watched as she considered what was left, her face transforming from relief and happiness to an odd, flat expression, as if to hide her doubt.

  She straightened, and said, “I reckon we’ll have to start over from the beginning.”

  Papa walked back to the path, picked up a sackcloth I’d not seen, and handed it to Momma. He searched the edge of the woods and selected a flat piece of wood and set it on the foundation. Momma took items out of the sack and set them on the wood. There was a poke of grits, and a small container of coffee, a wedge of hoop cheese, some cornmeal, and last, she pulled out a box of matches. I smiled. No reason to knock stones together again, not for a while anyway.

  Papa said, “Wallis Ann, I take it you didn’t find nothing in the cellar?”

  Without taking my eyes off what Momma had laid out, I replied, “No, sir. It’s filled with mud and water. There’s no way to tell what’s in there, if it’s busted, or what.”

  He looked across the way, towards the garden, and said, “I can see from here the garden is gone.”

  My eyes still on the food, I answered, “Yes, sir.”

  I pointed to the kettle, and said, “I’m pretty sure the well water’s tainted. It looks like the water went high enough to go right over it.”

  Papa frowned, and said, “Damn. I’s afraid of that.”

  Momma scolded. “William.”

  Papa give her a flabbergasted look.

  With a raised eyebrow, and a sweep of his arm to include where our home once stood, he said, “Could say a lot worse, considering, Ann.”

  Momma said nothing further and only held out her hand, palm up. Papa handed her his pocket knife. He’d always kept it in an inside coverall pocket, so it too had survived the flood. In my eyes, having these few things meant a difference in how we’d survive. I watched every move Momma made, my mouth watering.

  She said, “We’ll have to be careful, not eat too much. We need to conserve best as we can, cause this is what it’ll be till it runs out, unless we find some things around here.”

  I asked Papa, “Will you be able to go back to work?”

  He shook his head and looked away. I wish I could have said something else, something to make him smile instead of scowl.

  He said, “Lumberyard’s gone. The outbuildings got carried off bout like everything else, and that means there won’t be no job, no money ’cept what I got left in my pockets, no way to buy things for some time. We’ll have to do the best we can. For now, we’ll be thankful we found one another. It could a been a lot worse than this.”

  Papa said all this in a matter-of-fact way, and after all I’d seen and been through, I agreed, it could a been a lot worse. There’d certainly be no expectations from me. Momma stood near the foundation, staring at what she’d laid out. We had some food, we had each other, and when Seph come home, I’d have him to hold on to as well. I felt grateful. After our separation, and going so long unaware of how things had stood for days, I couldn’t imagine things could be any more unpleasant than they’d been. Yes. I was certain we’d seen the worst.

  Chapter 8

  The next day Papa was unusually quiet after he and Momma had a spit fight over whether he ought to bring Seph home.

  Momma’s voice was harder than usual, “He ought to stay put for now. Considering there’s no roof over our heads, that would be best, don’t you think? Can’t we get things situated first before he comes? He’s so young, William.”

  Papa said, “How long you think it’s going to take to get ‘situated’? I can only work so fast. It could take weeks.”

  Bothered by the unusual discord, I interrupted. “I’ll help you, Papa.”

  He shifted his look from Momma to me, eyebrows knitted together into one deep line across his forehead. I picked at the soiled rags around my hands, worriedly pressing into the still-tender sores stamped in the center.

  After a second, he continued on slow and insistent, like he was tired of explaining things. “This is how it’s going to be for a while. We’d better get used to it. Wallis Ann, you won’t be able to go to school for some time. It’s going to be some weeks to do all this work. Ann, you know the longer he stays with the Barneses, the more obligated I’ll feel. I want to get on with what needs doing here, the quicker, the better. Once I get started, I don’t plan to stop.”

  Momma said nothing. When she gets real aggravated, she’ll simply go quiet, and while Papa sometimes gives in when he knows she’s not pleased, this time neither one did. I stood near Laci, who rocked, detached from the discussion, detached from our predicament. The dank smell of wet pine and balsam filled the air, and my dress lay tight to my skin, like clothes tend to do in summer, except I felt cold. Papa motioned for me to come with him, and we worked like we always did, hard and fast, putting our backs into gathering wood for the fire. He had gone inside his self, and I didn’t talk none either. I collected what I could find, all different sizes of limbs, branches, or chunks of wood, wet or dry.

  Papa finally held up a hand and said, “That ought to hold y’all for the time I’m gone.”

  That meant he’d made a decision, whether Momma liked it or not. I took the last bit I had and dumped it on the pile close to the fire, and then I got close to the flames. Laci stood by my side, and when I turned to toast my backside, she turned too. Too quick, my front was cold. I couldn’t get close enough to the heat. My clothes smelled sour with sweat and dirt, and now wood smoke, which actually helped with the other odors. I wished for the extra dress. I wished for our big tin tub and enough warm water to soak in, and one of them bars of Ivory soap Momma would get at Christmas from Papa. I wished for all that food we’d packed.

  I sure wished for a lot.

  Papa got to walking around the foundation again, looking it over, pushing on one side and then the other, studying it for stability. My attention went from watching Papa to Momma and what she’d put into the skillet. She stood over the boiling water and tossed in a handful of grits. She searched the ground for a stick and stripped the bark off it at one end. She squatted by the fire and used it to stir. I watched carefully as the grits turned creamy and thick. After a few more minutes, she pulled the skillet away from the fire and reached for the hoop cheese. She broke off a hunk and crumbled it into the pan on top of the grits, letting it melt. My mouth watered as I thought of how it would all taste. Momma took the jar and put more of the boiled water in it and added it to the coffeepot. She scooped in grounds, closed the lid, and set the pot close to the fire.

  I finally quit turning myself around like a piece of meat on a spit. I sat cross-legged on the ground, and Laci placed herself beside me. Smelling the coffee, I closed my eyes, reminding myself of early mornings in the cabin and waking to the same odor. A few minutes later, with the scanty meal laid out, Papa stopped his inspection and come over to bless the food. He spoke in a hushed tone, thanking God for our safety and each other. After we raised our heads, waiting for him to gesture to Momma as he always would so we could start eating, he spoke again. Really, it won’t part of the blessing. It was more afterthought to what he’d already said.

  He said, “It ain’t like we’re empty-handed altogether. We got us these few things here what Wallis Ann found. And there’s something else we got money can’t buy aside from finding one another.” He swept his hands in front of his self, passing by each of us, and said, “We got each other and our good name.”

  Momma remained silent while the skillet had all my attention. I stared at the grits and melted cheese, like a thick, golden gravy, and my mouth watered. Momma gripped the edge of the jar as she poured the hot coffee into it and set it aside to cool a bit. She motioned for us to start eating. We knelt in a tight little circle around the skillet, each of us using a small piece of bark to scoop grits and cheese into our mouths. It was rustic, and not easy, but we was too hungry to notice. I never knowed something so simple could taste so good. Who cared about little bits of bark and dirt left behind in one’s mouth? I cl
osed my eyes and swallowed the first bite of hot, strength-giving food, letting my tongue work over the sharp taste of cheese. Nobody talked. Everybody ate slow, taking our time so as to not spill one drop between the pan and our mouths.

  We then passed the jar of coffee around, sipping the hot liquid till it was gone. I couldn’t believe I was full from so little. I also couldn’t believe how much better I felt.

  Papa sighed, stood up, brushed off the front of his coveralls, said, “I’m going to get Seph. I ought to be back in a day.”

  Momma’s head dropped, and her eyes closed. I thought there could be words, but she held her tongue. Papa hesitated, then he went off down the path, his stride long and sure.

  I said, “Momma, I’ll clean up, and I’ll get the water, and boil more so we have enough, if you want to rest awhile.”

  Momma walked away like she hurt, limping a little as she went over to the stone foundation. I watched her gather the ragged hem of her dress, her long hair falling out of the bun to hang down her back. I swear, Momma had aged about ten years. I told myself it was only fatigue, that them circles sitting below her eyes was only temporary. I give Laci an appraising glance. She had a smudge of dirt sitting on her cheek, and her hair was in a wild tangle. Her dress was dirty as mine, and her feet too. Still, none of this took a thing away from her. If anything, her less-than-perfect look made her even lovelier. I brushed a hand over my hair, then scratched furiously.

  Momma plopped down heavily on the stone wall, looking like she was studying everything that happened to our home all over again. I went and got Edna Stout’s walking stick.

  I give it to her and said, “Here, Momma, use this till you feel stronger.”

  She took it and set it beside her. She allowed a little half smile at me, and then her eyes drifted over to the Glenwood stove sitting several yards away. She didn’t look at me again, so I went to the fire, and got the skillet, coffeepot, and water bucket. I carried them down to the creek with Laci padding along behind me. The creek was low enough now to reveal the familiar flat rock, the one I called the wishing rock. I would sit on it with Laci and make random wishes like, Laci wished she could talk. Laci wished she could go to school. Laci wished she could see what was beyond Stampers Creek. I made them wishes on Laci’s behalf, but in reality they were mine too. She drifted over to it, and next time I looked, she sat facing me, hands forming the motions of playing the dulcimer. I wondered what song she heard in her head.