by Hite, Ann
When I came out on the other side of the woods, my favorite meadow was washed in that big old moon that hung in the middle of the sky. There sat the little house, still just as sad as it could be, leaning and peeling. I could have stood there in the tall grass forever, looking. That’s all I wanted. Sometimes a girl just didn’t know what she had right in front of her. She went looking for more, bigger, fancier. Dying wasn’t half as hard as being stuck on Black Mountain as a soul with a story to tell. Wasn’t but two people left on the mountain that wanted to know the truth. One of them was dead, Pastor’s ghost Armetta, and the other was alive, Miss Tuggle. My story was under her skin, and she didn’t even know it good yet.
The little barn out to the side of the house leaned worse than ever. Something about that pitiful building made me want to cry, just howl into the air, to sob for all those times gone. The swing on the front porch of the house rocked back and forth in the wind that was blowing just for me. Way up in the big oak—it took me and the twins, holding hands, to circle the trunk—sat an owl. Now, that was an omen. Owls brought messages. They wasn’t bad like lots of folks thought. They was good medicine.
Shoot, them boys was twenty, grown men, probably gone. When they was little, they was more than a handful. Mama left them with me when she worked the field with Daddy. That was a long time before I lost my whole world.
A yellow glow lit the front room. If the boys—Andy and Robert—were still home, they would be in the corner playing checkers, arguing over some move one or the other made. Mama would be nodding off to sleep as she did her best to sew on missing buttons and patch holes in the boys’ pants. Daddy would be pretending to read some old paper he picked up in Asheville while working his delivery job, if he still worked there. Farming on the mountain had turned so bad he took to hauling rock for the quarry the year I passed. Purely shamed him to work off the mountain ’cause his daddy and granddaddy farmed that piece of land. He couldn’t do much else with it. Nothing grew. Not that year, anyway. Some might say that was a warning. I should’ve heeded it, but I was working on leaving too early in my life.
My dying nearly put Mama under the house and was one of the reasons the mountain held on to my spirit. Or maybe she understood that my story wasn’t finished.
A loud bark came from the backyard. Blue—Andy’s dog—shot around the corner and ran right at me. And then, there he was. Daddy stood in the open door staring right at me. “Who’s out there?” His voice sounded like the gravel he hauled, rough.
I couldn’t make that Faith say a word.
“I see you there. What you need, girl?”
Blue stood right at me, growling. He knew something wasn’t right.
Daddy came down the steps of the front porch.
“It’s me, Faith Dobbins, Mr. Brown,” I lied.
He stopped walking. “What you doing out this time of night? You had to cut through them woods to get to us. Is something wrong?”
Now my plan, if I ever had one, was to just look at the house and maybe catch sight of one of them. “I was walking and got turned around,” I lied again.
He kind of shook his head. “You are a strange one, just like folks say.”
This didn’t hurt my feelings a bit. “I’m not afraid of the dark.”
“Maybe you should be.” Daddy ran his hand through his hair. It looked thinner.
“Angus, who are you talking to?” My mama stepped onto the front porch. Her hair was pulled back in a perfect knot, just like always.
I couldn’t make Faith’s body take a breath. Mama.
“Pastor’s girl is out wandering around them woods.” Daddy was tired of the whole mess.
Mama walked down the steps as Daddy came back up. “Child, what in the world are you doing out here in the moonlight for? Are you charmed?” She came closer. “Hush now, Blue. Go on.” Blue looked at me one more time and ran up on the porch.
And I took that breath. “Just walking.”
She looked at me for a minute. “No girl in her right mind would be out walking in them haint woods. Pastor wouldn’t like it.”
“I don’t care what Pastor thinks.” And the words sat between us.
Little threads of hair fell here and there around her face.
“You don’t look right, Miss Faith.” Mama moved up to the pole fence that stood between us. “Is something wrong with you?”
“No, ma’am. I’m leaving here soon, and it’s likely I won’t be back.” Because something was going to happen and either way all would be finished.
“Pastor’s leaving?” That special smile she always used for Pastor, the one that said he was someone to look up to, had faded to a blank face.
“No, ma’am. Just me and Missus.”
She studied me. “You seem different.”
“I am. A girl changes once she’s not pure no more.” I was talking way too much.
Mama stepped so close to the fence she touched one of the poles. I smelled pork chops and gravy on her. “What did you come to say?”
“Arleen, she loved you a whole lot, ma’am. More than she ever told you.” And there was those words I held inside with all the hurt ’cause Mama never guessed what he did to me. Didn’t keep him from hurting me. ’Cause I thought she was supposed to always protect me and know what I never said.
Her breath caught. “I always knew she loved me. She was a good—a pure—daughter, no matter what others said. She needs to be in Heaven resting with that beautiful baby boy.”
“Yes, ma’am. I think she will be before too long.”
“I surely hope so. I’d hate to think she’s caught in them woods out there. Nothing that happened is worth being stuck.”
And she was right. “Things ain’t that simple, ma’am.”
She nodded.
“A truth has to be told and souls saved.”
She smiled. “Well, I’m proud you came here to see me. It soothes my heart.” Tears was in her eyes.
“Mine too.” I turned and walked back to the woods. She didn’t call out, but I felt her watching me leave. I was her only daughter, and she loved me with every bone of her body. And I loved her too.
Armetta Lolly
THAT SHELLY WAS GOING to get herself killed, and there wasn’t no denying it. She turned her nose up at my book when some of the answers be right there if she’d just put it all together, but not Shelly. Nope. Instead, she went and built some dumb old bottle tree like a fool. That girl was dumber than I thought, but she was all I had. She had to listen before Pastor got just what he was after.
When that old white girl inside of Faith stood up to him, he stomped back in his study and sat around thinking on the time in Georgia that put him up on this old mountain. Bad stuff only a few knew, and they was dead. The man wasn’t a bit sorry for his actions, not one bit. Not one person on Black Mountain knew what Pastor could do, except maybe the white granny woman. She be smart, but she was headed down a long road without a map. I couldn’t talk to her. I tried. She seen me, but she wasn’t having none of it. Shelly had to be the miracle to stop him this time. And that thought scared me to death.
He went to stare out the window into the backyard, watching that cabin.
Miss Amelia taught me how to write pretty decent. So while Pastor was away from the desk, I took me a pencil and did my best sentences. The lead broke on the pencil, and that’s when he turned back and seen my writing.
Just a little while longer and the truth be told no matter what you try.
I whispered in his ear, “We in for some dark times, Pastor.”
He gave a little shiver, wadded up the note, and threw it in the trash.
KNOWING A BAD PERSON’S THOUGHTS is like watching a storm bearing down on the mountain. There ain’t one thing that can be done to stop the damage. All I could do was try to protect those around the terror barreling their way. I sure wished that old haint in Faith’s body would have spilled Pastor’s blood. My worries would have been finished. My story could have finally come to a rest. Bu
t I knew better than that. Some things had to happen to get my story told. That’s the part I didn’t tell Shelly about reading my book.
That dirty skunk Pastor went to stand outside Shelly’s cabin and watch them women through the window. He’d done lost his whole mind, not that he ever was in his right mind, but he had come unhinged.
“You stupid woman.” He watched Shelly’s mama the closest, like she was his worst enemy. “I gave you a home and food. Now this. You think you’re going to run over me, run the rest of my life with all your threats. You’ve taught Lydia to stand up for herself. No. I won’t put up with either of you.” The bitterness in his voice could have rotted through the wood on the porch, but them women never even heard him, didn’t sense a bit of danger.
I went through the front door of that cabin so fast I tipped a pot of chamomile sideways. Both women looked at the table. But I headed back to Shelly’s room. Dern fool was sound asleep.
“Shelly. Hey, Shelly, wake up, girl. It be important.”
She opened her eyes and gave me a hateful look. “Get on out of here.”
“You listen.”
“What you want?” she whispered.
“Get out there with your mama. Pastor done beat that wife of his, and now he’s on the porch watching them through the window. They ain’t even seen him. He’s done gone completely crazy, Shelly. Bad stuff headed this way. You can’t stop it now. It’s too late. And here you are sleeping like some doggone princess.”
Her mouth turned into a thin, straight line, but her feet hit the floor. “Nada.” She stopped cold, staring at the Missus’s face.
Her mama looked away. “Remember what we talked about, Shelly? Be ready.”
“He’s out there watching right now, Shelly. Go throw the door open.” For once the girl listened and darted across the room, opening the door.
There was a clatter, and we both seen Pastor jump off the porch.
“Pastor was looking in the window, Nada. He turned over our churn. No telling how long he’s been there.”
“You got to make your mama leave too, Shelly.” But somehow I knew Shelly’s mama couldn’t be made to do anything. “Now you understand about my book? You got to trust me and read. Will you?”
Shelly nodded, and I knew she’d read it without any more of her mess. I just hoped it wasn’t too late.
PASTOR WAS ALL STRETCHED OUT on the grass looking at the moon like he was some boy star-watching.
“You be losing your mind,” I whispered in his ear.
He turned his head toward me. “And you’re just a ghost who can’t help anyone. You couldn’t help yourself.”
I lost all my words. Shelly stood on the porch watching me. The ghost girl was out there on the edge of the woods looking too. A spirit with a body.
PART FOUR
Heat Lightning
June 1939
“Flashes of lightning without thunder, signaling a storm is coming.”
—Amanda Parker
Maude Tuggle
THE NEXT MORNING the sky looked like it would dump rain on us. I woke up thinking about what I found in the church records. There wasn’t any time like the present to go find that cemetery. Maybe there would be some answers there. I left a note in case anyone needed me and set out. There must have been something in the air, something driving me to get away from the cabin, some forewarning. The woods were like a ghost story. A cloudy white mist blanketed the area. As I moved up the path, I could see a splash of sunshine in the clearing ahead. A large old house, now covered with vines and surrounded by mountain laurel, stood alone. A ghost house. The church records indicated Ella Creek Cemetery was less than a mile behind the old Daniels place.
I almost missed the graveyard because of the years of neglect. Headstones were barely showing, and in some cases totally hidden behind the forest’s growth. The sun hit and glinted off something in the brush. I pushed away a pile of leaves and branches. An angel appeared in graceful beauty on her side, fallen, tangled in kudzu vines, wounded. What a silly, romantic thought. The angel’s face was finely chiseled. I was content to look at her. Something in her eyes made her seem alive. Another fanciful thought. I pushed my hand into the undergrowth and touched the cold marble. Even when something rustled, I stayed put, staring at the elegant face. “Who are you?” I whispered. A shiver ran through me along with an urge to dig her out and take her home.
I stood. That’s when I saw the words LOST and ARMETTA LOLLY written on a marker. Was this the colored girl I read about in the church records? A cold breeze moved over me and a mist blew in from the woods, spraying my face with fine droplets of water. A deep sorrow rushed through my chest. Silly. If I were Shelly, I would claim the mist, the emotion that twisted my insides, proved there was a spirit, a ghost, a lost soul.
“Lost.” It wasn’t totally uncommon for a person to become lost on Black Mountain. Patty Harkin had come up missing and was found dead. Nellie Pritchard walked off from her house and was never seen again. Maybe this Negro girl lost her way in the woods. They were thick and dark from spring until late fall. But all the mysteries could probably be explained with diligent snooping.
Again the wave of sadness swept over me. I moved to another group of headstones close by. The Danielses. The low cloud pushed and pulled its way through the cemetery, dropping the headstones one by one into sudden darkness. The birds were silent. A few feet away I found a smaller stone, PAUL LAMAR DOBBINS. My fingers tingled as I traced the letters. Dobbins wasn’t exactly an uncommon name, but my heart knew this was the connection to Pastor Charles Dobbins.
Fear slammed square in my chest, taking my breath. Something moved through the mist in my side vision. A fleeting shadow, maybe a fox or a bobcat, scooted through the trees. I began to run, nearly falling over the angel to get out of the place. How stupid of me. By the time I could see my cabin the sun was out and I felt like a young fool. Thank goodness no one knew. Zach wouldn’t think I was totally crazy. I had to tell him about what I found in the books and cemetery.
I WAS STANDING by my truck when George Connor, a good friend and farmer from down the mountain, came barreling up the drive in his old pickup. He smiled as he climbed out.
“Maude, you look like you’ve been running around the mountain.”
Sweat rolled down my face. “Everything okay, George?”
“Well, I met Mrs. Dobbins driving down the mountain. Lord, I always give her room. She’s not the best driver, but today she was in a bigger hurry than usual.”
“Really? Doesn’t sound like Lydia. She seldom goes off the mountain.”
“I know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.
“The mist was bad in the woods today.”
He nodded. “That part of the mountain scares a lot of folks. I’d stay clear if I were you.” He smiled.
“Well, I can see why they make stories up about the place.” I tried to laugh.
“You mean the old ghost house. It be scary, all right.”
“It’s the old Daniels house, right?” I tried to sound casual.
“Yep. I wouldn’t go there.”
“Mama said once that the Danielses were wealthy.”
He laughed. “I reckon, but money sure didn’t help them none. Nobody liked them. They had one decent child, a son, who helped start the church. The rest of the lot was touched in the head. That’s what my mama said. But you know how rumors are on the mountain.”
“Really, mentally ill?”
He shrugged. “That’s what was said. The Danielses never used planting signs, and they always turned their backs on folks down the mountain. They liked to make fun of hardworking people. Mama said they died out because of their scorn.”
“But who was mentally ill?”
George cocked his head to the side. “The father kept the young daughter holed up in the house. Wouldn’t let her leave for no reason. He made one of his housemaids live in the cemetery. When he died, the daughter got out and made friends with the housemaid in the cemetery. Th
ey say the daughter nearly grieved herself to death over her daddy. Finally she got married off and left the mountain, but she be buried up there.”
“How horrible.”
He grinned because it was just like George to spin a good story. “But I didn’t come up here to tell you all that, Maude. I just came from Asheville. The sheriff says he needs you to come see him. He has an answer for you.” George watched me. It must have been killing him to know what I asked the sheriff. And of course the whole mountain knew at one time I had dinner with Zach once a week.
“Good.” I didn’t even tell him a thing. “I’ll drive down.”
He tipped his hat. “I’ll take my leave since you won’t give me a juicy bit of gossip.” He laughed.
“George, all kidding aside, what do you know about that Negro housemaid that lived in the cemetery? I found her grave today and she’s mentioned in the church records.”
He gave me a long look. “You been digging around, Maude?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
His face turned quiet. “What I told you is the truth as I know it. See, I just know enough to stir things up.”
I laughed. “Oh, that is so true, George.”
“You have a wonderful day, Maude, and tell the sheriff I’ll see him again soon. Then he can tell me all about your meeting.” George would go home and tell his wife how crazy I was getting, living all alone like I did. A new rumor to begin floating around the mountain.
“It’s a pure pleasure, George, as always.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the Negro girl in the yellow dress standing in the meadow near the woods. In a blink, she disappeared.
ZACH WAS SITTING at his desk when I opened the door to the sheriff’s office. “You got my message fast enough.” He grinned.
I took the empty chair. “You know George Connor. He couldn’t stand to hold it in long. You found out something about Charles Dobbins?”