The Pattern

by Jane Peart

  “Yes ma’am, many a time,” he said softly. “Mountain moons are the prettiest, and I’m glad you’re beginning to appreciate them.”

  “Oh, but I do! Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  “I guess I thought that come fall, you might miss all those parties, dancing, and taffy pulls.” There was a hint of laughter in his tone.

  “Not when I have you and the moon,” she smiled in the darkness, snuggling against him. “It’s very romantic.”

  He laughed. Then, stifling a yawn, he murmured, “I’m off to bed, darlin’. Must’ve rode a hundred miles up and down the mountain today.” He kissed her cheek and went back inside. For the tiniest moment Johanna felt deserted. But she realized his days were long, arduous. He would be up before dawn, upon his horse, and on to making his calls. He needed his sleep. Still, it was so lovely out here, not a bit cold, and the moon was so beautiful. She didn’t want to go back inside. But such beauty ought to be shared. It was the kind of night to be with someone you loved, maybe quoting poetry to each other…

  Johanna sighed. Suddenly she felt a little lonely. Her thoughts wandered. What were they doing at home tonight? Was Cissy getting ready to go to a party? Or were they all playing a parlor game together—snap-rattle or charades? Irrationally she wished she were there—and then, almost immediately, she knew she didn’t want to be. That part of her life was over. She had what she wanted. It was just that there was a void that nothing here had quite filled for her yet. Not that Ross wasn’t enough. He was everything to her. It was just that a girl needed a friend. Someone her own age. Another girl to laugh with, someone to share secrets with, someone to talk to…

  Ross was completely at home here. He moved confidently where she felt so strange. She remembered how only a short time ago he had sometimes seemed awkward where she was so at ease. It was that very awkwardness that somehow had seemed so endearing to her, made her want to reach out to him, make him comfortable. His shyness and inarticulateness around her parents only made her love him more, made her feel protective. Her thoughts grew tender as she thought of her husband. His gentleness undergirded his strength and skill. He’d gone away to learn “doctoring,” but he still belonged—he’d come home to heal and help them. She had seen the looks of awed affection that followed him, the respect in the eyes of people as they greeted him with “Howdy, Doc.”

  Now it was she who was in a different environment. What was that Scripture verse? Hadn’t the captive Israelites complained that they couldn’t sing in a strange land? That’s how she felt sometimes, “a stranger in a strange land.” She wanted so much to be liked, to be understood. Would it ever happen?

  One sunny morning early in September, Johanna had taken her mug of coffee out onto the porch steps to drink in the sunshine. Ross had left before daybreak and had not wakened her. Since he usually returned at night exhausted from the long, work-filled days, mornings before he set out were the only real time they had together. Johanna cherished that time, and today they had missed that. A long day alone stretched out before her.

  Suddenly a piercing scream caused her to jump up, spilling her coffee. She looked around to see where it was coming from. Then, stumbling out of the brush, Ross’s sister Sue came running. “Oh ma’am, ma’am, Miss Johanna, ma’am!” she called when she saw Johanna.

  Johanna set down the mug and hurried to meet the little girl rushing breathlessly toward her. “Oh ma’am, it’s Katie. She’s—” Sue stopped a few feet from Johanna, panting. “She’s—she’s—oh, please come help her!”

  “Of course! Where is she? What’s happened?”

  Sue was sobbing. Her small, freckled face was flushed, tear-stained. She gulped and tugged at Johanna’s apron. “Please, ma’am, come. Up yonder!” She pointed to the craggy hillside above their cabin. “We wuz out pickin’ berries and started to crost the creek, over a log that had fell, and I got to the other side, but Katie, she—she got skeered, I reckon. Anyhow, she couldn’t move no more. She jest sit down and started a-yellin’. I tried to git her to come. But she jest kept lookin’ down at the water rushin’ over the rocks, and—” She halted, gulping. “She cain’t move!”

  All the time Sue was talking, she was pulling Johanna by the hand up the hill. It was steep and rocky, and Johanna’s own breath was coming fast and hard. From what Sue told her, she had a mental picture of what had happened. But she had no idea how bad the situation was until they reached the top. There she saw how high above the rushing mountain stream was the log where the little girl was stranded.

  She had stopped screaming and was clinging to the rough bark of the log with both thin little hands. Johanna saw that the child’s eyes were glazed and staring, a look of stark terror on her face.

  “Why in the world did you try to cross there?” she asked Sue in a hushed voice. The child shook her head. “Dint know it was so high, I reckon. ’Til I got on it—then I knew I had to go on, but Katie got skeered and couldn’t.”

  Sue, older by two years and having long, skinny legs, had probably made it across on sheer pluck. The younger, smaller Katie probably made the mistake of looking down, got dizzy, and panicked.

  However it had come about, the situation was dangerous. Johanna tried to figure out how deep the water was, how she could get to the child to rescue her. First she had to calm her so she wouldn’t get more frightened, lose her grip on the log, and fall off. The current was fast, the stream full of huge rocks. If Katie fell, she could hit her head on one of the jutting stones or be swept away in the swift waters. Johanna knew she had to act quickly.

  “Don’t worry, Katie,” she called. “Don’t be afraid. I’m coming to get you!”

  She sat down on a large rock on the bank and untied her boots. She’d have to wade out to the middle, reach up, grab the child, and pull her into her arms, then carry her to shore. She had to do it fast, before Katie got dizzy, lost consciousness, tumbled into the water. From things Ross had told her, Johanna knew most accidents happened because people panicked.

  Johanna’s heart thundered. Her hands trembled as she loosened her laces, pulled off her boots and stockings. Standing up, she lifted her skirt, unbuttoned the waistband of her petticoat. Letting it drop, she stepped out of it and tossed it aside. Then, gathering up her skirt, she tucked it into her belt. The less she had on, the less chance that the water would soak it, weigh her down, drag her into the current.

  Behind her she heard Sue sobbing, but she had no time to stop and comfort her. She had to save her little sister.

  The first shock of the icy water on her bare feet made Johanna gasp. She would have to move quickly so that its freezing temperature would not hamper her progress. Hard rocks under the tender soles of her feet made her steps torturous. The cold water rose to her ankles and calves as she plunged forward. It was deeper than she thought and the current stronger. What if the water was even deeper in the middle, at the point on the log where Katie sat motionless, dazed with fear? Now she felt the water rushing around her knees, the edge of her turned-up skirt. Clenching her teeth against the onslaught of icy water, she pushed on. Nearing the fallen log, she almost lost her footing in a sudden drop of the riverbed.

  “I’m coming, Katie. Hold on, honey,” she called through her chattering teeth.

  The water had reached her thighs, and she could feel the wet cloth of her soaked pantaloons chillingly against her skin. The rush of the swirling water made it hard to get a foothold. She stretched out one hand. The scaly bark scraped her palms. Gripping it desperately, she inched her way closer to Katie. Please, God, help! she prayed. At last she was just below Katie. In a voice that shook, she said, “Now, Katie, I want you to let go of the log, lean down, and put your arms around my neck. I’ll hold you—just come slow and easy.” Johanna put up one arm toward the child, holding on to the side of the log with her other hand to steady herself against the current.

  “I cain’t, I’m skeered!” wailed the little girl weakly.

  “Yes, you can, Katie. Come on, honey. I�
��m here and I’ll catch hold of you. Just let go.”

  Every minute the child hesitated was agony. Johanna knew she had to get through to the child, who was now numb with cold and fear. Time was of importance, the situation desperate. Johanna was losing the feeling in her legs from the freezing water, and she still had to make it back to the bank safely with Katie.

  “Katie, come on!” she cried.

  All of a sudden she felt the child throw herself forward onto her. The thin little arms went around her neck in a choking hold. Katie’s trembling little body pressing against her nearly unbalanced Johanna. Dear God, help us! Words of Scripture Johanna didn’t even know she’d memorized came pouring into her mind.

  I have called thee by name, thou art mine. When thou passeth through the waters, I will be with thee and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee.

  Struggling with the added weight of Katie, Johanna turned, the strong current pressing against her, and made her way painfully back across the sharp stones, through the cold, rushing water, toward the bank. Finally, gasping for breath, her feet cut and bruised, she stumbled onto the grassy bank and fell on her knees, still holding the shivering Katie.

  Sue hunkered down beside them, alternately sobbing and sniffling, “Oh, thanky, ma’am. Thanky.” Then Katie began to sob. Johanna felt salty tears roll down her own cheeks. Then she started laughing. Both girls looked at her, startled, then gradually they too began to laugh. Johanna knew it was mostly hysterical. But it didn’t matter. She’d rescued Katie. That was the important thing.

  At last, breathless from laughter, she wiped her tears away, scrambled up. Her bare feet were beginning to have some feeling again. In fact, they felt hot and tingling. She picked up her stockings and boots, slung them over one shoulder by the laces, and threw her discarded petticoat over one arm. “Come on,” she said, reaching out a hand to each of the girls. “Let’s go back to my place and get dry and have a treat.”

  Johanna thought of the tin of powdered chocolate her mother had sent in her last box from Hillsboro. She guessed maybe Sue and Katie had never tasted it. She’d make some hot cocoa and wrap Katie up in a quilt, and they’d all feel better.

  Without even realizing it at the moment, Johanna had crossed over whatever line Ross’s family had placed between them. By coming to Katie’s aid that day, she had definitely won over Sue and Katie. The very next day, Eliza came up the mountain to thank her personally, after hearing the children’s story of Johanna’s rescue. She brought a rhubarb-and-berry pie and shyly told Johanna that if she wanted the recipe, it was one of Ross’s favorites. On a deeper level, something even more significant happened to Johanna after the day she rescued Katie. She realized that the Bible reading she had been doing lately had taken hold. She was not even sure from which chapter, what verse, she had drawn that passage she’d remembered. In the midst of panic but still with faith that she would be heard, Johanna had cried out for help. “I called on the Lord in distress, the Lord answered me and set me in a broad place.” As Preacher Tomlin told her, “He does what he promises to do.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The whisper of autumn fell like a soft melody on the mountains. The air had a crispness in the mornings, a tart sweetness like a ripe apple in the afternoons. The hills were russet touched with gold, asters blue-gray swayed in the wind, goldenrod nodded on the banks of the winding road up to their cabin. In the October mornings, mist veiled blue hills, frost sparkled on the sumac in roadside thickets, hickory log smoke curled up from stone chimneys within the log cabins that hopscotched down into the valley, as breakfast fires burned on hearths inside.

  Aunt Bertie sent word that she was going to start her apple butter. “You’re to be there at dawn,” Ross told her, his mouth twitching slightly, his eyes mischievous. Johanna’s eyes widened. “Uncle Tanner gets the fire going before the sun peeks over the ridge. She’s spent the last two days peeling and paring the choicest apples, and she’ll be ready to start by sunup.”

  By the time Johanna ate a hasty breakfast and made her way down the hillside to their cottage, Aunt Bertie stood with a wooden paddle, stirring the boiling apples in a big black iron pot over the hickory fire. Uncle Tanner was sitting on a bench nearby, whittling. They both greeted Johanna cheerily.

  “You come in good time, girly. My arm gets wore out a lot sooner than it used to, so I’d take it kindly if you’d spell me once in a while.”

  “Of course, Aunt Bertie. Now?”

  “Not yet. Look at this and I’ll show you what’s next.” Aunt Bertie motioned her closer with her free hand. Johanna bent and looked into the pot, where the apples were boiling, bobbing and making little popping sounds. “I’ve poured in a jug of Tanner’s fresh cider, and now it’s ‘bout time to put in sugar and spices,” Aunt Bertie said. “You can take over, Johanna, whilst I add it in.”

  Johanna had never imagined it would be such hard work. After Aunt Bertie had poured in the sugar and spices, Johanna took the paddle and slowly began stirring. The sun climbed into the sky, time passed, and still the apples kept boiling, puffing and popping like soap bubbles. Wood smoke got in her eyes, and she shifted arms for stirring, wiping her forehead with the back of her arm and pushing back her perspiration-dampened hair. Still, it seemed, the apples weren’t ready.

  Uncle Tanner kept feeding the fire, and he insisted on taking a turn stirring, because as the liquid got redder and stickier, the stirring got harder and harder. When Aunt Bertie protested, he gently but firmly told her, “Now, Bertie, don’t fuss. I do my share of eatin’ your apple butter—‘tis only fair I pitch in on the makin’.”

  Johanna knew it was his way of giving Aunt Bertie a needed rest. She herself found the stirring very tiring and wondered when this famous apple butter would ever be called “done and ready.”

  She soon offered to do her spell of stirring, and it was hard going. The wind rose and a cool breeze blew on Johanna’s red, hot face. It seemed an age before Aunt Bertie came to her side, peered into the pot, took the paddle from Johanna, then said to Uncle Tanner, “It’s done. Lookahere, it’s so nice and thick, you could cut it with a knife. Come on, you can move the pot offen the fire.”

  Aunt Bertie gave a couple of extra stirs, then lifted the paddle, tapped it on the side of the iron kettle. Holding it in one hand, she swiped some of the apple butter onto her finger and stuck her finger in her mouth. Her eyes brightened as she tasted it, then smacked her lips. “Umhmmm!”

  “How is it?” Johanna asked eagerly, feeling she’d had some small part in making it.

  “It’ll do,” was all Aunt Bertie said. “Right tasty. Not a bit burned. Try some?”

  When Johanna got a sample, she knew that Aunt Bertie’s comment was a vast understatement. It was absolutely the most delicious apple butter she had ever tasted.

  A week later Uncle Tanner stopped one day to bring Johanna several jars of the product. Johanna felt a particular pride to have helped make it. “Won’t you come in?” she invited.

  “No, thanky kindly, but can’t stay. Too much to do. Firewood to cut and store. Winter’s a-comin’, rhododendron leaves is rolled up tight as a tobacco leaf. Soon it’ll be November, and the frost in the mornin’s means cold weather ahead,” he predicted. Then he went on his way.

  Johanna stood on the porch for a moment, her arms holding a basket filled with Aunt Bertie’s bounty, and watched gray squirrels rattle in the leaves under the hickory trees, stopping every once in a while, shoe button black eyes darting back and forth, bushy tails quivering, then scrambling up the oak tree. Shivering, Johanna went back into the house. Uncle Tanner was probably right, she thought. October was fast slipping away, and now in the mornings, the wind rustled the tree branches and whistled down the chimneys.

  Very early the next morning, she was awakened to the delicate patter of rain. She raised herself on her elbow and sleepily looked out the window. She saw silver needles of rain falling steadily. She cuddled back down into the quilts and went back to sleep. By th
e time she woke up for the second time, it was raining hard. Afterward, she wondered if she had experienced some kind of premonition. For some reason, she felt reluctant to get up and start her day. It was as if somehow it held something to dread. However, it was a fleeting feeling, and she soon was out in the kitchen, where Ross had a blazing fire going and had made coffee. As he poured her a cup, he said, “I’m riding down to Hayfork to the store to see if the medicine I ordered has come in yet.”

  “On such a bad morning?” Johanna asked with a worried frown.

  “Ain’t goin’ git no better,” he told her, grinning. Sometimes when he was teasing her, Ross deliberately lapsed into “mountain speech.”

  After he left, Johanna got busy with her chores. But to her surprise, only a short time later she heard the sound of his horse outside. She hadn’t expected him home before late afternoon. Puzzled, she turned from the stove just as he came in the door. He was dripping rain from the brim of his wide hat, the shoulders of his slicker. There was something about his face that should have warned her. But it didn’t. At least, not until he brought a letter out from under his coat, held it out to her. “It’s from your mother—addressed to both of us. So I opened it, and—”

  Somehow Johanna knew even before he spoke the words.

  “I’m sorry, darlin’—” Ross’s voice wavered slightly. “Your father is dead.”

  Unable to speak, Johanna moved stiffly toward him, then went into his arms, closing her eyes against the awfulness of those words, leaning against him.

  “No,” she murmured. “No. No!”

  They stood holding each other wordlessly for a long time.

  Then Johanna looked up at him, asking numbly. “How? What happened?”