We didn’t say much to each other for a while. He talked to his kids but they was quiet, shy about a stranger riding with them. Joe glanced at me, and I turned my head away to stare at the rushing ground going by much quicker than it would have with me riding Pete. I wanted to tuck my hair behind my ears, and instead, I let the lank, dingy strands fall over my cheeks hiding the anxiousness I was sure he would see in my expression.
After a while he said, “When did your folks get back?”
I thought of them huddled near the fire and worried about Seph. I could see my little brother and that sense of urgency made me impatient and not in the mood to talk.
My answer was a little short. “Couple weeks ago.”
Joe said, “Aside from your little brother, everything else going along all right?”
“We’re making do best as we can.”
I clenched my jaw, and hoped he wouldn’t ask no more questions. He didn’t.
“Well, I’m real sorry to hear of your troubles.” He didn’t speak for a few minutes, then he said, “The Cullowhee dam broke and with the Tuckasegee flooding, not many escaped damage. Everyone, from Caney Fork to Little Canada, and beyond in the way of the dam or close to the river’s had it bad.”
“Yes.”
I’d seen it for myself days ago and experienced it, and still won’t sure how I was even alive. There was small talk here and there between Joe and his kids, and I only said what needed saying if asked. The day seemed awfully long. When we finally come into Caney Fork, it was bad like he’d said. Where houses should a been, there won’t nothing except a few piled boards, or the ones still there looked like they was about to fall over. One house had a poplar tree driven through the very center of it, like driving a stake into the ground. There was a few folks around, and you could see where some had been getting a few of their things in order. I should a thought about what I’d do if I couldn’t get a hold a Doc, but I hadn’t. I’d been so focused on getting here, telling him how bad he was needed, that no outcome other than what I’d featured in my head was considered. I never thought about what if I’d come for nothing, or about Seph getting no help. This realization sent me into a terrible sinking spell once I seen how bad things was in this town.
Joe said, “Maybe I should ask someone if he’s here or maybe close by. There. Let me go ask him.”
He hopped down and trotted towards a man standing in the middle of what looked like a wasteland. The man stared at him as he approached. I watched carefully and when the man’s head shook, I wanted to beat on the wagon seat. I could feel the sting of tears coming when, unexpectedly, I felt a soft touch on my arm.
“Miss?”
I swallowed hard, wiped at my eyes, and looked over my shoulder at Lyle.
His small face was grave. “You hungry?”
His question threw me for a moment. Joe was still talking to the man and looking grim. I’d rather wait for him to tell me, than assume, so I stared over my shoulder at Lyle again. In his hand was a long strip of jerky. He gestured for me to take it, moving the food closer. His eyes was steady, while little elfin Josie grinned at me from the spot beside her brother. My hand shook as I took his offering. I held the dried meat like I won’t sure what to do with it.
“Don’t you want to taste of it?”
“Sure. Yes. Thank you. That’s really sweet of you to offer.”
He turned red and sat down beside his sister. I stared at the jerky. It was the first real food I’d seen in days, and the smell made my mouth water. I bit down hard, pulling against the grainy toughness until I broke off a good-size chunk. I sat for a second with it in my mouth, feeling queasy, unsure I could eat without being sick. I closed my eyes, and began to chew while my stomach growled loudly as if telling me to hurry and swallow. Which I did.
Joe returned and got in the wagon as my stomach burbled with the unfamiliar sensation of actually having something in it.
He said, “I’m sorry. The man there said the doc come a day or so ago, for a few things, and that he’s gonna be gone for a while. He’s staying with some relatives of his over to Asheville.”
I listened, while all sense of purpose and hope sank as fast as the sun lowering behind the ridge. There would be no doctor for Seph. What did this mean?
I said, “I can’t believe it. I had to try though. We had no other choice.”
Another wave of sickness swept over me and I broke out in a cold sweat.
Joe said, “You ain’t looking like you feel too good yourself.”
“I’m fine. I just got to get back quick as I can.”
He said, “Don’t worry. We’ll stop at my place, give the mules some water and feed. It won’t take long, and we’ll be on our way.”
It felt good to have someone make these decisions. I gripped the jerky, wanting to eat it, knowing I needed it, but my stomach wanted to act up. I waited, then took a smaller bite, chewed thoroughly and I didn’t swallow that one so fast. After we’d been going along for a few minutes, Joe handed me a canteen he had under the seat. I couldn’t decide what tasted better. The sharp, clean taste of his water, or the rich, meaty jerky. Between sips of water and small bites of meat, I recovered, and began to feel some better.
Joe made sure his mule kept a lively pace. We arrived to his cabin as the moon rose to the highest point in the sky, dressing the land in a creamy light. I was grateful, in hindsight, not to be stuck trying to make my way through the treacherous landscape by myself. I could make out how he’d repaired a good portion of where the tree fell on his cabin. Situated against the edge of darkened trees was the distinct shape of a cross what looked to have been painted white. Sally’s grave. I shivered in the night air.
He said, “Wait here. Let me get some things and we’ll keep going.”
He hopped down and first thing he did was give his mule and Pete some water. Pete slurped and slurped like he’d empty the pail. He also give them some grain and then he went into the cabin. When he come out a few minutes later, he carried another canteen, a large bundle, and he’d brung coats for Lyle and Josie. Them coats only set it in my head how I wished I could bring Seph and Laci something to keep warmer. He helped Josie put hers on while Lyle shoved his arms into his, then hopped down to help fill the other canteen with fresh water. Joe placed the large bundle in the back. He come around to where I sat on the wagon seat and handed a quilt to me, and surprised by this gesture, I shook my head no. Sure, I wanted it, and yet I refused. It was likely Sally’s own hard work and it was too beautiful, too nice a thing to take.
Joe lowered his arm, and said, “Don’t be prideful. Ain’t nothing wrong accepting this. Lots of folks is in a hard way. And, like I said, I owe it to you.”
He held it out to me again, and this time I took it. I was tired of shivering, yet this simple act of kindness warmed me even more than the quilt would. I’d never thought I’d be in such circumstances, so needy. I wrapped it around my shoulders, burying my chin into the clean softness of it, more grateful than he could ever know. The quilt smelled faintly of wood smoke and fresh air, like him. He put the pails in his barn, checked Pete’s harness, making sure he was secured, and last, he checked on his own mule and then he climbed onto his seat. Lyle clambered in and handed the canteen to Joe.
He took it, and while all this went on, it put an impression on me. Joe Calhoun was a methodical, thoughtful man. And his son was growing up just like him.
He turned towards me and said, “Alright then. Ready?”
“Yes.”
He flicked the reins and we started towards my family. I wanted him to go faster, but it was dangerous going, and I couldn’t ask him to do more than he already had.
After a while, he said, “You know, when I was a boy, I wore the same pair of coveralls near bout five years. Momma, she patched them over and over. I didn’t wear no shoes till I was twelve, I think. We all got stories about going without. We’ve all been there, one time or another.”
I said nothing though I understood what he w
as getting at. He appreciated what it was like to go hungry, to bear hardships, about not wanting to depend on no one. After a while I was fighting the urge to drift off to sleep with the sway of the wagon, no gnawing hunger, and the warmth of the quilt encouraging me to let go. I forced my eyes open and sighed. How could I sleep?
“You thinking of your little brother?”
It was peculiar, the way he had of knowing what all went on in my head.
“I should’ve watched him closer.”
“Well, at three years old, he’s likely got a mind a his own. Don’t be too hard on yourself. We’ll be there soon.”
He snapped the reins, and the rest of the ride we talked on and off about Papa’s plans for rebuilding and how he might go about it. I told him about the cabin, how we didn’t have much of nothing to work with, how the flood had contaminated the well, and how we had to boil the water, and worst, how Seph had come to drink the bad. I didn’t tell him about the lack of food, though, he might have guessed by the way I ate, the way I looked, and simply by my account of everything else.
When we got to the two poplars, I said, “Turn here.”
We was almost there and I sat straighter, my thoughts going a little haywire with the possibilities of what we might find. We arrived in the predawn hours, and the dread I’d been able to keep under control took over. My mouth was dry and I was scared of how things might be, and what might have happened in the time I’d been gone. It was a bad feeling I couldn’t shake. It had been a full day and night, and was near about morning again. Joe slowed down to circle round the big fallen oak, and after, we come to the cluster of pines and spruce bordering where our cabin once stood. The flickering light of the fire winked through the tree branches. It was quiet, but it was also still early, and they could be asleep.Without thinking, I put my hand on Joe’s arm. He pulled on the reins and stopped.
“It might catch them by surprise for a wagon to come riding up out of nowhere. Let me go see.”
“All right.”
He started to help me, and I said, “No, I’m fine.”
He settled back to wait. His kids had fell asleep, and I felt bad about them being out all night, and not in their beds. My body felt stiff, and I was dog-tired. I got down off the wagon seat, keeping the quilt tight against me, as I began to make my way through the gloom using the sputtering flame as a guide. I didn’t want to call out and wake anyone in case they was sleeping. Maybe the quiet was a good sign. Maybe Seph had got better. I walked the well-worn path we’d made going in and around the property. Momma faced the blaze, shoulders hunched. Papa sat at her side. Laci won’t sitting or sleeping. She stood a little off to their right almost like she was afraid. Laci seen me about the same time I seen her. I was shocked by the look of her. Her hair was a mess, all tangled and wild looking, like she’d been grabbing at it. Momma and Papa looked over their shoulders, their eyes landing on me. Papa helped Momma stand, and I fully expected to see her holding Seph, only her arms was empty. I searched beyond the fire, my eyes flying to all the points illuminated, the trees we’d worked on, a small stack of kindling and firewood, and . . . nothing else.
Where was Seph? The stillness was my answer, that and their mannerisms, the quietness and the lack of questions about Doc Stuart. The meat strip I’d eaten wanted to come up. I swallowed it down. All Momma did was shake her head, waving her hand in a dismissive way until she put it over her mouth. She leaned into Papa and he put his arm around her shoulder. My inside voice cried, not Seph. Not Seph. He played in my mind’s eye. Running. Laughing. Throwing rocks in the creek last summer. Trying to hold on to a slick, flopping trout Papa had caught. Pink cheeks, robin’s-egg eyes, brightest of smiles, innocence and ever-present unconditional love. My fingers wanted to feel the soft mop of dark curls. I wanted to hear his giggles and to feel his hugs.
That small voice called, echoed in my head like a ghost—“Wally?”—and faded.
Never again.
My brain snagged on my last moments with him when I’d wiped the muddy water from around his mouth, hitting him, my frantic fear overriding calm. I only wanted to rid him of what he’d took in. I thought about how I’d grabbed him tight, and hugged him after the hurt I’d caused. So fast. He was gone. His life had only been long as a whisper, yet his death delivered an impact like the strongest wind of the hurricane. My fault. Mine.
Momma realized there would be no Doc Stuart, and it didn’t matter. Her crying, quiet as it was, broke me apart. I experienced a pain sharp as a driven nail through my chest. Papa couldn’t figure out what to do with his self, and so he stared at his boots. Momma come towards me, grabbing at my hands as they hung useless by my side, pulled me into her, and then Papa did the same until they had me between them, like they’d done when they come home, only this time I was filled with a wretched sorrow and imagined a blackness come over me, what would never let go. I was certain this time I’d be sick. I went strangely hot and disoriented. I felt smothered, then cold. I couldn’t hear a thing except the force of my own breath fighting back tears.
Momma said something, and certain words filtered through, something about what had happened. Something about the horror. Something about God stealing him away only hours ago. They was only words, yet they fell on me like giant boulders. Words I didn’t want to take ahold of any more than I’d wanted to see Seph drinking the water. I needed time to sort all this out. I pulled away from them, not wanting to hurt them worse, but I felt pressured, my feelings of guilt a deep pond I wanted to sink into slowly until I was submerged over my head.
I whispered, “Where? Where is he?”
Momma didn’t answer.
She begged, “Wallis Ann, you got to take care of him. Will you? Can you? I can’t. I can’t.”
I glanced towards the barn, and Momma put her hands on my face, turning me away. She looked fragile as eggshells, like if I touched her too hard she might break. She shook her head, shaking off the thoughts she pictured. She stroked my hair, again and again. I stopped her, my hands around her wrists. There come the snap of a twig what made us all look toward the dim outline of trees, near the path I’d come up only moments ago. Joe Calhoun stood not twenty feet away watching us. He’d taken off his hat and held in front of him like people do at funerals. His gaze went from me to Momma, then to Papa, waiting patient until we could gather ourselves.
Momma finally acknowledged him. “Who might you be?”
I didn’t sound like myself when I spoke to introduce him. My voice come out low, my emotions as breakable as glass. “This here’s Joe Calhoun. I mentioned him when we got separated in the storm. He lives about twenty miles that a way. He helped me get to Caney Fork and here.”
Papa stared at Joe hard. “Your papa was ‘Whiskey Joe’ Calhoun?” Startled, I glanced at Joe, then Papa.
Joe raised his chin. “That was him.”
“Thought so. Thank you for helping our girl. It’s best if you go on and leave now.”
Joe’s voice dropped a level and he said, “I ain’t like him.”
“Sure, sure. It would be easy enough to say that, only, you a Calhoun, ain’t you?”
I spoke again. “Papa, he only helped me out.”
“And I thanked him, and now he ought to be on his way.”
Joe raised his hands, showing he meant no harm. “Sure. No problem.”
Momma, her voice breaking, pleading, spoke Papa’s name. “William.”
Papa won’t backing down, growing louder. “Whiskey Joe Calhoun was the devil reborn. I know at least two people who say he killed someone over a card game. A card game! I ain’t having the likes of a Calhoun coming round here. A Calhoun’s a Calhoun, through and through.”
Papa’s behavior mortified me, when Joe had only helped me out. “Don’t talk to him like that, Papa. He’s been nothing but kind.”
Papa spun on his heels, his face as red as the head of a pileated woodpecker. “Don’t you speak about things you know nothing about. I’ll switch you right here and now to teac
h you better if ’n I have to!”
My face went hot, like somebody shoved my head into the fire. I looked to Momma to talk sense to him. When Papa got riled, won’t no stopping him. She turned away, and I couldn’t believe it. They’d never been rude to nobody. Had never hit me. It was because of what happened. Seph’s passing was causing them to be this way.
Joe gestured at me, and said, “Ain’t no cause to be like that to her,” and on another day, Joe’s words would’ve caught Papa’s attention, only Joe didn’t bother to wait and see how that set with him as he kept right on. He said, “I’ll say it once more. I ain’t like him. Never was. Never will be.”
He slapped his hat on his head, leaving the way he’d come, only to return seconds later with what he’d brung from his cabin. He ignored Papa’s ranting about “A sorry Calhoun” and handed me the canteen of fresh water and the bundle he’d tossed into the wagon.
Papa said, “We don’t need none of your kind of charity.”
Joe didn’t so much as give him a glance.
He kept his eyes on me and he said, “This here’s for you, Wallis Ann. Yours to do with what you want.”
He leaned in and spoke for my ears alone, “You ever want to come visit me and the kids, you’d be more than welcome. We’d be proud to have you.”
He tipped his hat to Momma and took his leave. I gripped a hold of what he’d give me, one side of it still warm from his touch. I watched him go before I went close to the fire and set it on the ground. I sat down and Laci moved closer, leaning against me, shaking with cold. I untied the rope, and all the while Papa paced behind me. He continued insisting on making his point known.
He spit into the fire. “I ain’t partaking of no charity. I’ll provide for my family. I don’t need no other man’s help, especially a Calhoun’s.”
Momma, unable to deal with any more troubles, turned away from him and Papa quit stomping about, trying to tamp down his agitation a little when he seen how bothered she was by his behavior. She lowered herself beside me.
The Road to Bittersweet Page 11