The Road to Bittersweet

by Donna Everhart

  For all that happened, Laci seemed able to take these circumstances in better than the rest of us. I mean, she didn’t appear no different, except she’d taken to rocking more than usual. It was like she didn’t notice our home was gone, or nothing. I remembered thinking I wanted to be like her the moment after Papa and Seph fell out of the truck, but deep inside, I understood it won’t true. I felt sorry for her right now, watching how she picked at invisible strings, hearing some tune in her head. Keeping an eye on her, I found a nice sandy spot and scooped some in the skillet. Using the tips of my fingers to scrub the remnants out of the bottom, I cleaned it, then did the same for the pot. I rinsed them good and would scald them with boiling water from the kettle afterwards. All the little things I had to do, the tediousness of it, I didn’t mind. All of this was only temporary.

  I rose from cleaning and filled the bucket, and gathered up what I’d washed. Laci didn’t see me ready to leave, so absorbed was she in her head and whatever she heard there. Since my hands was full, I walked close enough to brush against her foot dangling off the rock. She stared with the glazed look she got when she was enthralled with a song in her head. She bent her head and went back to fake playing. I bumped her foot with my hip again, indicating with my head to come with me. She remained seated, as if not at all inclined to do as I said. I felt a tiny flicker of anger, like the little flame I’d first conceived days ago.

  Frustrated, I half yelled, “Laci!” making my voice sharp

  She jumped, startled, then rose quickly and fell in behind me as I stomped my way up the embankment. Within minutes I was rationalizing what she done, why she’d done it. After all, everything was different. Her routine all scrapped and in disarray. All that was expected of her had been so repetitive, and now there won’t a thing in place she could use as a way to guide herself. I felt guilty for getting aggravated with her, so quick too, especially after we’d only come together as a family again. After a minute or so, I felt her gripping the back of my dress, all she had to hold on to, since my hands was full. I felt a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth.

  Chores done, I decided to remove the wrappings off my hands. They felt some better, so I tugged at the rags, and tossed them into the fire. The center of each hand where the blistered skin had long peeled away showed two reddened slick spots about the size of a quarter. Laci was staring at them, and then she reached out, took one of my hands, and traced her finger over a wound. She blinked. I leaned in towards her looking at her eyelashes and what looked like water on them, what actually looked like tears. But Laci had never cried. Or smiled. Or laughed. I leaned back to consider her expression again, and concluded it was water splashing from the creek where she’d sat close to it. I bent over and cupped some of the leftover water in my hands and rubbed at my face. I splashed to rinse off. It felt good to clean up, if only a little. Momma sat in the same spot where I’d left her.

  I called out to her, “You want to wash afore I dump the water out?”

  She rose, moving slow, and come over to where I stood waiting.

  “Maybe that’ll make me feel better.”

  She did the same as me.

  Then she said to Laci, “Come on and wash your face.”

  Laci didn’t move. I touched her arm, and she stuck her hands in but didn’t splash her face. She closed her eyes, and I looked at Momma.

  She shook her head, and said, “Well, least her hands will be clean.”

  It was another one of Laci’s quirks coming out. After a minute Laci dried her hands, and I turned the kettle over to dump the dirty water. I refilled it from the bucket and then I stoked the fire good, knocking down the ashy logs, and sending a wave of burning flakes into the air. It looked rather peculiar, what I called devil’s snow because the tiny pieces glowed red and bright yellow, and floated about like snow. I added more wood, and went to the creek again for more water. I made two more trips. In the meantime Laci had gone to the pie safe, and was busy opening and closing the door time and again. On my last water trip, I seen Momma kneeling at the front of her stove, doors open. I was ready to sit a spell, only it was hard to do with her poking around the insides. She shook her head in despair.

  I went over and asked, “What’re you doing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “There ain’t nothing in there, is there?”

  “ No. ”

  “Do you want I should help you?”

  “No. I just got to keep busy. If I don’t do something, I’ll sit and think too much.”

  This didn’t sound like Momma.

  “Well, we could investigate the barn and see if I missed any tools when I was looking the other day. Maybe there’s some what didn’t get washed away. I was going to do that again anyway. We might find something, and then, when Papa comes back, we can show him what all we got.”

  Momma didn’t say nothing for a full minute.

  Then she sighed, and said it again. “I guess.”

  “Sure, Momma. There could be some things we can still find, right? I bet so.”

  Momma squared her shoulders and faced me.

  Her voice was too bright when she said, “Sure, we might find something useful. Let’s have a look.”

  We went into the barn and Laci stopped whatever it was she was doing to the pie safe and come too. We stood inside the door and surveyed the dim interior. I went to the left and Momma went off to the right. I looked in the spot where Papa had kept his tools and spotted one lonely tool.

  I bent down, grabbing it, and said, “Here’s Papa’s hammer.”

  The handle was slick and smooth, worn down from use. I went to searching further for Papa’s broad blade axe, his regular axe, the sledgehammer, his hacksaw and anything else he might have had, but I only found that one hammer. Momma found the harnesses used on Liberty and Pete. Last thing we located was Liberty’s saddle. Papa had it mounted over the stall Liberty used. We spent most of the day poking about the barn, and the yard, hoping we’d overlooked something useful.

  Finally, Momma said, “I doubt we’re gonna find anything else.”

  “ No. ”

  She looked sad about our lack of success, while I tried to sound positive.

  I said, “Well. If nothing else, we found the hammer.”

  Momma said, “Wallis Ann, I do believe you are capable of seeing sunshine, even on the rainiest of days.”

  I won’t sure if she meant that was something good or not. It was getting on towards sunset, and I hauled in extra firewood so I wouldn’t have to get it in the middle of the night. Momma cooked some corn pone, and we ate and drank only water, saving the coffee for morning. I settled down close to the glow of the fire and let my muscles relax. I hoped Papa’s trip to get Seph was going all right. I’d be glad once he got back since I felt safer with him around. Laci tucked her hands under herself, and her head went lower, and lower, and mine was soon bobbing too, until we finally lay down to sleep.

  * * *

  When dawn broke, a cold dew had settled on my clothes overnight, despite the fire. After a breakfast of more corn pone and hot coffee, I suggested to Momma we go dig in the sodden field near to the garden to look for taters, and I was happy she agreed. We got on our hands and knees, pushing wet soil aside and hoping for little spud miracles to surface under our fingers. After only ten minutes, Laci dumped four into a little pile.

  She kept digging, apparently liking the feel of mud between her fingers given how she didn’t need me to keep telling her, “Dig, Laci, dig!”

  Momma found two. I discovered a couple rotten ones and a petrified lump what must have been overlooked last year, hard as a rock and shaped almost like a pinecone. We set the ones with soft rot into another pile far away from us. They smelled something terrible. I told Momma we could burn them in the fire once we got done. All said and done, we had us six taters and that was better than none, and we still had another row to go. We crawled along, scraping, and turning the dirt over, inching forward bit by bit. Every now and then, I�
�d glance at Momma. She was covered in a layer of grime, coating her skin making it look like she’d rolled about in the remnants of old, chalky firewood.

  Momma rose and said, “Have mercy,” as she reached around to rub her lower back.

  I stopped digging for a minute and done what she done, rubbing on my own back before I stooped over once again. The sun was out, and a breeze out of the north stole some of the warmth. At higher elevations, I was sure the leaves was turning, and my typical appreciation for the beauty of fall was replaced with a nagging worry about colder weather. As we dug there come a loud hoot from down in the holler, followed by a whistle. It was Papa’s signal, and Momma and I jumped to our feet while Laci kept going, slinging dirt over her shoulder like a hound dog digging for a bone. I poked at her shoulder. She stopped, and squinted up at me.

  I said, “Come on, Laci, Papa’s here!”

  Without waiting to see if she followed, I took off half running, anxious to see little Seph. He sat high in Papa’s arms, and I stopped running to watch how his face changed when he spotted us. He struggled to get down, and when Papa set him on his little legs, they went to pumping hard as he could get them to go. I ain’t never seen a little boy run so fast or smile so big. He screamed and went even faster, if that was possible. Momma knelt down and let him smack right into her.

  Seph was so happy he grabbed her face with hands black as pitch, and squealed, “Momma! Momma!”

  Momma got busy covering his face with kisses, so she didn’t see what else Papa had held, but I sure seen it. A great big old country ham. Papa had a grin on his face, about to split it in two. He waited patient while Momma and Seph filled themselves full of each other. Finally, she put him down and wiped tears from her eyes. Papa went over and hugged on her real tight, squeezing the breath out of her.

  He nodded at Seph, who hung on Momma’s hem and said, “All the way here, all he did was ask the same questions over and over. ‘Is Momma home? Is Wally home? Is Laci home?’ Round and round, over and over.”

  Having Seph back was like putting a bow on a gift, like the final touch of paint to the picture of our family together again. Papa held up the ham and said, “Grits, redeye gravy and ham sound good?”

  Momma gawked at it, and went still, staring like she’d never seen a ham in her entire life.

  She said, “William, you bought a ham?”

  “I did.”

  Momma stood up and walked off while Papa held the ham awkwardly, a funny look coming over his face. Seph followed after Momma, reaching for her with his arms held in the air. We’d never had us a boughten ham, not once in our lives. We always had us a few hogs for slaughter. The quick burst of happy I’d felt left me like a fox slinking away with a chicken. I was torn between what was right or wrong. Papa dropped the ham on the ground, frustrated. He went over and squatted near the fire, poking at it till it had grown a foot taller. He went and got the ham from where it sat and began sort of hacking at one end of the burlap material it was wrapped in. He cut off a few slices, and tossed them into the skillet. He wrapped the rest up and headed for a tree to hang it so nothing could get into it. When he come back, he raked a few hot coals out of the fire and slid the skillet over them. Soon the ham started sizzling and the smell what rose from the pan made my mouth water. Traitorous ham or not, I couldn’t help but inch myself a little closer to it.

  There was a noise over my shoulder, and I looked to see Laci holding the hem of her dress up, carrying all them taters we’d found.

  I pointed and said, “Look, Papa, at what we found. There’s taters in the field by the garden. We still got another row to dig, so maybe we’ll find more.”

  Papa, his mouth still pressed tight with irritation, took out his pocketknife, and said, “Hand me a couple.”

  I started to pick out two potatoes when Laci handed me two. Exactly two. I give her an odd look before I passed them on to Papa. He rinsed them in the bucket of water, peeled and sliced them into the pan along with the ham. It was hard not to think positive. Long as we had fire, water and food to eat, we’d have the strength to work. And if we could work, we could fix things, just like Papa said. Least that was how I seen it. I sat as close to the fire as I could get without getting burned. Momma continued to walk near the edge of the woods, still out of sorts. Seph won’t whining no more. He simply followed behind her like a baby chick tagging along after a hen.

  Papa broke his silence and said, “Wally, watch them ham and taters.”

  He handed me the stick he’d been using to stir. I squatted near the pan and poked at a sliced tater, watching as he walked over to Momma and started talking to her. She crossed her arms over her chest, and listened. In a minute or so, she come back to the fire. She remained quiet as she sat on the small bench Papa had fashioned out of a broken board and two rocks. Everyone was plain tired. It’s always hard to manage one’s moods when you feel wrung out.

  We ate the ham and taters out of the skillet, using our fingers, and at one point Momma conceded, “It does taste good.”

  Afterwards, I lay down by the fire and Laci lay the opposite way, her feet touching mine. Seph was in Momma’s lap, head bobbing in a half sleep. The flames threw long shadows all around us, stretching Momma and Papa’s individual silhouettes into exotic, murky phantom-like shapes. I watched them move, until, for the first time in days, I fell into a deep sleep, my mind at ease with all of my family around me.

  Chapter 9

  A drizzling rain fell in the early morning, and I wondered how Stampers Creek or the Tuckasegee would ever shrink to normal size. I’d never been so uncomfortable or miserable, the moist air causing my fingers to shrivel, while a mildew smell clung to my clothes. My skin felt rough, coarse with salt and filth. I washed my face and arms as often as I could, only when you have to haul water several times a day for boiling, you tend to not want to waste it on ridiculous little niceties.

  Silent, we gathered round and ate more hot grits with cheese, and then took turns drinking our share of the hot coffee. As always, I did feel better afterwards. Papa wiped his mouth and made an announcement.

  “I’m going to see about rebuilding our cabin today.”

  Momma’s face brightened considerably.

  Papa said, “Wally Girl, you ready?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  I got excited like Momma, though I had no idea how we’d do this without proper tools, and I suspected he didn’t neither. He went to the barn, surveyed the corners, hands on his hips, walking around and kicking at the dirt floor.

  “Hm. Hammer and no saws.”

  “No, sir.”

  He considered the inside of the barn as if he was studying on one of the fields for crop rotation. He did that until a forceful gust made a wall give a loud creak. We both scooted outside quick, and he stared at the roof.

  He said, “Too bad it’s leaning like it is. We’d at least have us a roof over our heads till we got the new cabin. I don’t trust it, though, looks like it could go any minute.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He headed for the woods and I followed, almost stepping on his heels I was so eager to start.

  Laci wanted to follow us, and I said, “Stay here with Momma, Laci.”

  She stopped and I hesitated, wondering if she should come. Her head was dipped so her hair covered her face. She won’t happy at being left behind, I was certain of it.

  I left her there and listened as Papa talked. “We’ll see if we can find trees already knocked down. With no draw blade, guess we can use the claw end of the hammer and peel the bark that way.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  We went to searching for appropriate trees, and at first we had plenty to choose from. Papa prodded at several smaller ones, then scratched his chin.

  “Maybe these three,” he finally said.

  For some reason, I wished I could talk to Joe. See what all he’d do if he was in a spot like this. Papa interrupted those thoughts.

  “Well, let’s get to work. Won’t nothing get
done standing around.”

  I was glad he wanted to get busy. Work was what I needed, and work I did, even though my hands hurt like the dickens.

  After an hour or so, Papa said, “Hold up.”

  He spotted a smear of blood on one end of a tree.

  He pointed to it and asked, “That yours? It ain’t mine.”

  I had my hands tucked behind my back. I didn’t want to quit on account of a little bit of blood. He reached over and got hold of one arm, tugging it from behind my back. He straightened my clenched fingers and stared at the wound, where the delicate, still-healing skin had been torn away again, leaving a red, gaping raw hole.

  I insisted, “I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

  “Wallis Ann, you ain’t gonna do me no good if you end up with the blood sickness.”

  “They was almost healed. I should’ve kept them wrapped. If I wrap them, they’ll be good as new.”

  Papa said, “Well. Go on and let your momma tend to you.”

  Soon as Laci spotted me she got up from the fire and followed me over to Momma, who was looking to see what she could do about the mud-filled cellar.

  She said, “I was about to bring you all ajar of water. I guess I got sidetracked looking at this mess.”

  I showed her my hands, and she started making clucking noises, and immediately motioned me to come stand by the fire. She tore off the lower hem on her own dress.

  She dipped a section of the strip in the water bucket and said, “This’ll hurt a bit.”

  “Can’t hurt no worse than it did a few days ago.”