Ruth Beck was his girlfriend. And every Saturday for the last year without fail, R.C. walked down the mountain and then hiked the four miles over to the train depot at Jasper Creek. He’d pay the dime to ride the train to the bigger town of Willsburg, where he’d meet fifteen-year-old Ruth. Then he’d buy the twenty-five-cent tickets at the new movie house and treat his girl to a fine date.
R.C.’s ears heated, and he blurted, “I, uh… Miss Bluet, I aim to ask Mr. Beck for her hand! If it ain’t too much trouble, ma’am, to post—”
“Doesn’t Mr. Beck work the mine?”
“Yes! Yes, ma’am, he surely does.”
“I’ll have my pa pass it to him tonight when I get home.” I warmed, wanting to help the young lovers.
“Much obliged. I’d be most grateful, Miss Bluet.”
R.C. chatted happily about his plans for a few minutes, hungry for company in his lonesome job.
A half hour later, I untied Junia and turned for my next stop.
“Don’t forget my Farmers’ Almanac, Miss Bluet. I aim to get my book-read education and become a forest ranger.”
“I’ll really try, R.C.” I hated that he didn’t have all the books he needed, that there weren’t enough around to give him a better life.
“I mean to marry Ruth and bring her up here when her pa says yes.” Leaning over the railing, he called out his vow again.
At the foot of the lookout’s mountain, I followed a creek for an hour before stopping to let Junia drink. While I gave her a break, I sat down and pulled out the old grammar book from my skirts and read from where I’d left off, waiting to see if Queenie would pass by, stopping every now and then to make sure Preacher wasn’t.
In a minute, I came upon an “essay” and called to Junia, “Junia! Come here and listen to this fine essay.”
The mule looked up from her drink and clomped over, dribbling water onto my shoes.
I jumped up and faced her. “This perfect passage is from The Wind in the Willows.”
Junia raised her mouth, working her jaw like she wanted to hear the words too.
I laughed and patted her neck. “Be still now, we have to study our lesson.”
The creek chattered on, but the birds quieted, and I looked down at the page. “‘Take the adventure, heed the call, now ere the irrev—’” I stumbled over the big word, then wished mightily for a dictionary. “‘I-rev-o-cable moment passes!’ Or is it ‘ir-rev-oc-a-ble’?” I frowned, sure I’d said it wrong.
Junia nickered like I had.
“Well, Miss Smarty Apostle, I’d like to see you read it,” I told Junia, feeling a warmth blooming on my face, though there weren’t no folks around to poke at or make fun of me.
I cleared my throat. “Shall we continue, Junia?” I said with a fancy air and read on in my radio newscaster voice. “‘’Tis but a banging of the door behind you, a blithesome step forward, and you are out of the old life and into the new! Then someday, some day long hence, jog home here if you will, when the cup has been drained and the play has been played, and sit down by the quiet river—’”
As if bored, Junia did just that and meandered back over to the creek.
“‘Take the adventure, heed the call, now ere the irrev—’” I repeated, and the troublesome word slid into a curse as I wished for a proper dictionary.
From behind me I heard soft neighs. Startled, I spun toward the noise.
It was Queenie on her old rented horse, Maude.
“Good day,” she called out. Queenie had a kind grin on her face. “Couldn’t help overhear your nice essie.” She mispronounced essay. “Honey, are you holding lessons for Junia today? Maybe you should be reading her the Bible.” She smirked.
I cringed at the mention.
Queenie didn’t know that Frazier hunted me like a bobcat hunts a wounded bird. I’d seen the preacher pass her in town, and he’d never once looked her way, or saw fit to greet her. It was as if she was invisible to him, and I couldn’t help but wish the same for me. The pastor had no quarrel with Queenie, with any fit black or white, only the odd and afflicted.
“No-no, that would be silly,” I said and quickly looked around to search the trees, then checked on Junia, despite knowing the mule always scouted out trouble through her wide nose, her wheeling ears, and big eyes that could see all around her. But now she rested quietly on the bank, content. “Just silly,” I whispered and smiled a little.
Queenie shifted in her saddle and nabbed a finger toward at me. “What’s silly is hearing the smartest folks I know throwing away their own musical words to concrete them up with city airs.”
I closed my book feeling doubly foolish, but a mite prideful for her generous praise.
“You have a right nice voice, an honest one without needing to fancy the words or fatten them with the untruths of cleverer words,” she said and rode Maude over to a tree.
“I want to learn. Want to know’d…know all the words, Queenie.” I raised my chin. “All ’em and proper-like too.”
Queenie stared at me thoughtfully and dismounted. “Reckon some folks have the thirst for such. Needing to fill the brain till it busts wide open. My papa had the thirst and passed it on to me too.”
She dug around in her bags and brought over some bread and a book and then plopped down onto the grass and nodded for me to do the same. I sat down beside her.
Queenie opened up an old Webster’s dictionary and turned the slick pages until she stopped, drew her finger to a word, and tapped. “Irrevocable,” she rang out without so much as a stammer and in a sweet musical measure.
Again, she repeated the word and said, “It is irrevocable—final. You try it.” She pressed the book into my hand.
I swallowed and looked down at the column of words and sang out the word with nary a hitch.
Queenie sang out a praise.
Proud, I licked the word a few more times before handing back the thick book.
Queenie laughed, and I know’d it was in praise of me.
She laid the dictionary beside my skirts. “You keep it till you’re good an’ learned.”
“I can’t—”
“Bring me new words when we meet again so I know the book and brain ain’t gathering dust, till you is sure you’re gonna bust from them. That’s what my papa said when he loaned it to me.” Then she was up, shaking her long skirts and righting her bonnet. “How’s your papa?”
“All the time working. How’s the boys and Willow?”
“Right good lately. Be better if we could leave. You ever think about leaving, Cussy?”
I shook my head. “Where would I go? Where would you go?”
“I’d go up to Pennsylvania and meet up with more of my kind. Don’t you ever want to be around more of your kind?”
“Ain’t no more of us, Pa says. I’d just be satisfied to be around kind folk is all.”
“Heard they have some nice ones up near Philadelphia.” Queenie nabbed me with a playful secret in her eyes.
“What else have you heard about Philadelphia, Queenie?” I raised a brow and met her gaze, hopeful of good news.
She lifted her voice in singsong. “Oh, I might’ve heard something. Something about a librarian assistant job that’s come open right inside the big city of Philadelphia.”
“You apply, Queenie?”
“I did.” Her eyes were bright. “Posted it a week ago.”
“Philadelphia,” I murmured, hardly able to grasp it in my mind.
“Miss Harriett gave me the posting herself. Insisted I apply. And I was just foolish enough to do it.”
Next to me, Harriett would give anything to rid herself of Queenie.
“There’s colored doctors for my sick granny and colored schools up there for my boys. I’ll know soon,” Queenie chirped. “Oh, mercy, it’s a dandy of a place. I read there’s a relief boar
d that helps out families. With the president giving out relief, and his new programs going strong now and hiring more librarians, it’s a blessing. It’s a different world there, honey. Opportunity, the likes we’ve never seen, and ones that city folk won’t try an’ crush. Miss Eula offered to give me a reference. Oh, the chances we’ll have now. Imagine.”
I couldn’t. Maybe there was opportunity and blessings for her color, but I’d never once seen one for mine. Yet, I wanted it for her so bad, it was all I could do to lock my hands behind my back to keep from giving her a hug. “The chances will sure be wonderful.”
Queenie squeezed my arm. Just as quick, she broke away and wagged a finger at the dictionary. “Bring me new words—a brain full of them.”
“Thank you, Queenie. I will. Good luck and ride safe.”
“See you next Wednesday. Travelin’ mercies, honey.” She went over to Maude and mounted.
I watched Queenie till I could no longer see her. Thoughts about her opportunities, blessings, wishing then for mine crept in. I pictured myself in a big city like the bustling ones in my books—the friendly faces, getting a big librarian job, and Pa getting himself the finest doctor, the best medicines. Maybe in a big city I could find at least one more of my kind? A city like that might allow more than two colors, might let folks of more than two colors get on with their lives without trying to destroy them.
Absently, I swatted away a bee and then saw it, saw my sin in the darkening blue stain of my hands as I squeezed my fist tight, then even harder, and felt shamed by my useless envy.
Picking back up the dictionary, I lost myself in the B section longer than what I intended, until Junia blew for my attention. “‘Benevolent,’” I said and let the word slip twice from my mouth. I pressed the page to my lips. “A benevolent lady. That’s our Queenie Johnson, ol’ girl,” I told Junia and packed up.
* * *
The trail away from R.C.’s tower was easier than the one up. I dropped a church bulletin and letter off to the Evanses, an older couple who had no interest in chatting, rarely opened the door, and refused to look at me when they had to talk. They’d leave their loans on the porch railing, and then part the curtain and watch safely from inside. I’d quickly replace the books before hurrying on to my last patron.
Once in a while, Postmaster Bill would ask me to pass a letter to the Evanses from their son in Nebraska. Today was one of those. I’d always stare at the envelope and try to imagine what kind of place it was by searching the postmark and stamp for clues.
I wondered what folks looked like, what they did all day. I recalled reading in the National Geographic about a famous zoo there, and that the WPA had built some big cat and bear exhibits for it. I thought about the zoo and wondered why folks would do that, who would pay money to visit creatures like that. Free as rain here, and you could see all kinds of critters if you had a mind, a keen eye, and a quiet tongue. Nebraska folk sure had to be rich to fritter away money like that…
Junia trotted out of the Evanses’ yard, and I heard the door creak open. Mrs. Evans called my name. “Book Woman, come here.” I pulled Junia’s reins and turned to her.
“Mrs. Evans, can I help you, ma’am?” She held the envelope in fidgety hands, then thrust it out toward me.
“Mr. Evans went over to Burl Top for the week. I need help reading Patrick’s letter… I, well, I seem to have misplaced my spectacles again.”
I’d never seen her with any, but know’d some proud hillfolk who couldn’t read always claimed this to Postmaster Bill, some even going so far as to carry empty spectacle cases. Surprised, I slid off Junia. “Yes, ma’am, I’d be happy to read it for you.” I took the letter and opened it. There were folded bills inside, and I passed the money to her. She shot me an embarrassed but grateful smile, and I gently cleared my throat and read her son’s letter.
April 11, 1936
Dear Folks,
Abigail delivered a fit, healthy girl on the twelfth of March and we named our firstborn Sallie.
I purchased three more Herefords last month, and Maybelle birthed two fine bull calves a week ago. At fourteen, the old gal is my top breeder, and I plan to have her calve again in three months.
Abigail sends her love.
Your loving son,
Patrick
Mrs. Evans dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her apron and sniffed. “A granddaughter, and named after me. The first grandbabe, and here my son’s already become a big cattleman. Thank you, Book Woman. Mr. Evans will be pleased.”
I could tell she was, and a softness lifted her weary face, settled into her watery eyes as I handed back the letter. That I could bring a small joy to my patron, this happy news, lit my heart.
Mrs. Evans thanked me once more, then wrinkled her brow. “Wait in the yard,” she ordered and turned to go inside. Promptly she returned and held up something in a small cloth, then, hesitant, set it lightly on the porch rail for me. “I’ve done made up too much cracklin’ bread again, and Mr. Evans ain’t home, and it’ll spoil. For your trouble, Book Woman.”
“No, ma’am, weren’t no trouble—” But she slipped back inside before I could politely refuse.
It didn’t feel right taking the gift. The bread was likely the only thing she had to eat for the week. And food was the most valuable thing you could give someone—the most generous gift a Kaintuck folk could bestow on another.
* * *
Under the black willow tree at the mouth of Ironwood Creek, I waited for eleven-year-old Timmy Flynn.
Timmy lived just on the other side of the creek I could easily cross, but his mama refused the Pack Horse library service, refused to have me and the government books inside her home. But because Timmy didn’t have a mountain school nearby, Mrs. Flynn had given her boy an old banged-up pot and lid and told him to place it under the big tree across the creek. I was to “leave the boy his reading there, as long as you and them government’s books stayed good an’ put there,” she’d warned.
After a few minutes of waiting and calling for the boy, I took Timmy’s old loan from the pot, placed the new one inside, and covered it with the metal lid.
Straightening my back, I felt something strike my arm and bounce off my shoe. A small stone had landed near my feet. Then I saw him peeking out from a fat spiceberry bush, full of mischief and merry.
“Book Woman.” He grinned wide. “What’d you bring me?”
“Why, I brought you a smart book, Master Flynn. Come see.” I cracked the lid teasingly. “It’s about a nice boy named Danny.”
“You’re a nice blue woman.” He ran to my side, scrunching down to peek. Timmy’s eyes lit when he saw his favorite loan, Ask Mr. Bear.
He snatched it up and then sat under the spreading crown of the willow, propped comfortably against the scaly gray trunk of the tree, and flicked through pages with small lightning-fast fingers.
The boy was skinny, the size of a child almost half his age. Before I could help myself, I placed the wrapped bread beside him. Surprised, Timmy dropped the book. “I already ate, ma’am,” he said softly and stared down at the present.
Like most hillfolk, the boy had pride. I’d have to trick him into taking it. “I’m full and can’t possibly eat it, and it’ll go to waste if you don’t help me,” I told him, the hunger protesting in my belly. We had little money left, and even less game on our table lately due to Pa’s sickness.
He hesitated.
“Sure would hate to feed those thieving ants,” I coaxed.
The boy brightened. “No, ma’am. I’m happy to help ya, and I won’t let it go to waste none.” Timmy plucked up the bread. “I can eat anytime.” He unwrapped the food and gobbled it all down in three mouthfuls, nearly strangling on it twice. Frightened for him, I raced over to his side, ready to pound his back. In a second he looked up, leaking tears from the choking. Crumbs clung to his face, and a bright gratitude
lit his eyes. He brushed the scraps off his cheeks into his mouth and licked up every fallen speck on the cloth the bread had been wrapped in. In a minute he was back to his book.
I dropped his old loan into my saddlebag and pulled out a scrapbook. It was my grandest, full of recipes, pictures from newspapers, and smart tips that thoughtful mountainfolk had passed on to me. I wished Mrs. Flynn could see it. But I dared not walk it across the creek and hear her fuss.
I held it up to Timmy. “Hmm, look here. My satchel’s plumb full, and I don’t think I’ll have room to tote my important mountain scrapbook back.” I looked at the pot and then back to Timmy.
“Sure is a big’un, Book Woman.”
“It is. I reckon I could leave it here,” I told him slyly, “but the pot’s not near big enough and it is surely not a good place for its safekeeping.” I tapped my cheek, thinking.
Timmy squinted, scratched his head, thinking too.
“It’s one of my finest, and I wouldn’t want it to get ripped or wet. There’s a tip on whittling that ol’ Pell Gardner gave, and another that shows a fellar how to sharpen his pocketknife. And inside there’s an illustration for making a good fishing pole.”
At that, Timmy eyes widened, and he rose onto his knees. “Pa likes to whittle.”
“I hate to be a bother, but do you think your mama would let you keep it at home…? Just this once, just till I can get back?”
Timmy bobbed his head, shot upward, and greedily grabbed it out of my hands. “No, ma’am, she won’t be bothered none. Not a’tall! I’ll keep it safe in the privy.”
“Thank you, Master Flynn.” I mounted Junia and added, “Tell your mama that Libby Brown has a real tasty sugar pie recipe inside.”
“Pa and me loves sugar pie, and Auntie needs a good’un to take to the Pie Bake Dance next month!” Timmy ran off toward the creek, splashing across, crisscrossing carefully, the two books held high in the air.
Behind me, I heard leaves scatter. Junia swished her tail. I searched the trees, seeing nothing, but feeling something. Again, my eyes bore into the woodland, slowly scanning for him. Junia stared ahead, ears parked stiff, listening too.
The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek Page 11