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BOOK: Kathryn Magendie
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Zemry let out another stream of smoke, plucked tobacco from his lip, and went on. “The night afore they played the game, they had a secret dance. They went in a circle with their sticks and the women sang and clapped hands. And Great Grandpapa got to be the woodpecker one time.” He looked at me, as if expecting me to ask.

“What’s the woodpecker do?”

He winked. “He calls out sounds like the woodpecker, and then he turns to look out towards where the other team is. Then they’d say how’s they were going to stomp the fire out of them!” He looked at us with a fierce-eyed look, then continued on, “My grandpapa loved to tell the stories about that. He showed me how to do the stickball, but I weren’t allowed to get scratched by no bone, or get bear grease rubbed on me. My mama said no, a thousand times no.” He shook his head. “But I got knocked upside the head with the stick plenty times.”

“I could do that,” Sweetie said. “I could beat the hell fire out of the other team, I could.” She stood up, grabbed a stick and waved it around, making growling sounds, danced around, jumped up and swung around.

“That water’s still mighty hot. Be mindful of it.” When Sweetie didn’t listen, but kept on acting up, Zemry warned, “Girl . . . ”

It was just like on television shows where a person’s no sooner warned about something than it happened.

Sweetie said, “Hiya-
Pow
,” jumped backward and stumbled over and into the tub of water, calling out, “Whoa!” as she struggled to right herself.

Zemry and I let out a cry at the same time as we jumped up. He ran over to Sweetie, helped her out of the tub, while I stood with my hands over my mouth and my eyes popping out.

But Sweetie was laughing. I couldn’t believe it. She was laughing and laughing. She let herself flop on the grass, a red-skinned blonde fish.

Zemry looked her over. “Are you scalded? Jiminy Christ! I best get the ointment.” He picked her up, gently sat her on the log, and ran inside.

Sweetie called to Miss Annie and petted her nose as if nothing had happened.

“Sweetie, you okay?” I touched her arm. “Does it hurt real bad?”

“Nuh uh.” Sweetie shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t know what the fuss is about, just some water.”

“That was
hot
water, Sweetie.”

“Leave it be, Lissa. I am not hurt.” She stood up and twirled like a wild ballerina.

I wanted to smack her one.

Zemry came back with two more wooden bowls and a white cloth. “I got something here to clean you and something to put on your skin.”

“Is it bear grease?” I asked.

Zemry said, “Got some boiled slippery elm bark in this bowl and—”

“I said I am not hurt, Old Man.”

“Maybe it don’t hurt, but your skin’s red.
 
Respect the ways give you. Now take this bowl.”

She shrugged, took the first bowl and set it by me.

“This one here’s got onion paste, wild ginger, grease, and some lavender.”

“That stinks,” Sweetie said.

 
“You can’t smell that good lavender?” Zemry handed me the other bowl and the cloth. “Fix her up while I catches my breath. She’ll give me heart death one day.” Zemry sat and put his head in his hands. He mumbled, “Jiminy Christ.”

I dipped the cloth into the thin stuff first and cleaned the dirt from her skin, then patted on the stinky lotion while Sweetie sang, “I asked my mama for fifty cents to see the elephant jump the fence; he jumped so high, he reached the sky, and didn't come back ’til the 4th of July . . . ”

I said, “This stuff is pee-eww.”

“Skunk grease, Lissa. From out a skunk’s butt.”

 
“Eeeww.” I put down the bowl and wiped my hands on the grass.

“It is not. Stop teasing your little friend.” Zemry pulled on his beard. “Tell your mama I’m surely sorry about this.”

“I am not telling Mama.” Sweetie stood up.

He stood and faced her. “I’ll tell her m’self next time I see her.”

“Nuh uh. You will not.” She stared down Zemry until I saw him give up.

“Aw now, shoot.” He patted her head. “I promised your grandpapa I’d watch over his girls.”

“Mama and me take care of each other, now don’t we? And you, too, right?”

“That we do. Take care of each other.” Zemry rocked back on his heels. “Now, afore y’uns go, I got something to give.” He went inside.

“What’s he got, Sweetie?”

“You ever get tired of asking questions?”

Before I could answer her, Zemry was back with a cotton sack. He thrust it out to Sweetie.

Sweetie took it from him. “Wah-doh.”

He reached into his pocket. “You put it by your bed and it’ll sing to you in the morning, thanking you for saving its life that day.” He opened his palm and there was a little carved wooden bird. Each feather shone and its beak was slightly opened; it looked as real as any that flew in the sky.

Sweetie petted it with her finger, then took it and cupped it in her palm. “It’s the most beautiful thing ever, Zemry.” She looked over at me. “I told Zemry about the day you and me started up being friends. This here bird’s about that day.”

Zemry turned to me. “Now, I didn’t leave out the other pretty girl.” He pulled from his pocket a carving of a dark wolf, its legs in a full run, eyes searching. “You got spirit. I can see it in you.”

I felt like crying. He called me pretty, said I had spirit, and made me a present before he even met me. “Wah-doh, Zemry.”

He patted my head, too. “That’s okay. That’s okay now.”

Sweetie told Zemry, “I’ll bake you a pie and some cornbread. And I’ll cook up some beans.”

“Now, no need. I like the comp’ny.”

“But we come without,” Sweetie said.

“You gave me that owl rock.”

Sweetie smiled, and we turned away to head back down the trail away from Zemry.

When I glanced back at him, he stood there still, waving at us with Miss Annie at his side nodding her head.

We were quiet for a time; we didn’t want to break up the magic of the day. When I was tired of the quiet, I asked Sweetie what was in the bag.

“I don’t ever look until I get home. But I bet he put some flour and sugar, and maybe some eggs from his chickens he got in the back. He used to put some his tobacco in there for Grandpaw.”

“I didn’t see any chickens.”

“They’s there somewhere.”

“I really like Zemry.”

“He’s good people. He and Grandpaw were bestest friends, like you and me.”

I felt warm and happy all the way to my toes. I pictured his home again, how it smelled, the masks on the wall, the comfortable bed, the doll. “Why’d he have a doll on his bed?”

“It was his little girl’s what died when she was a bitty thing.”

“Oh, that’s sad,” I said. “I guess that’s why he wants to help you and your mother, since he lost his family.”

“I told you we help each other. I take no charity.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s Even Steven.”

“Huh?”

“When you trade something off that makes it even. Like, if I did a favor for you and you didn’t do it back, it would be lopsided. But, if you did a favor back, it’d be Even Steven.”

“Huhn. Even Steven.” She swung the bag along without a care in the world.

“Sweetie?”

“What you gonna ask this time, Nosy Rosy.”

“I just wonder what makes you so tough?”

“I’m not so tough.”

“You laughed when you got scalded.”

She stopped, looked down at her legs. “Well, my skin’s still on me.” She walked on, singing, “Jack of Diamonds, Jack of Diamonds; I've known you from old; you've robbed my poor pockets; of my silver and my gold . . . ”

 
“Yeah, but still—”

“My horses ain't hungry; they won't eat your hay; I'll drive on little further; I'll feed ’em on the way . . . ” She swung the bag around a few times, then stopped. “Dang it, I forgot all about there might be eggs in there. Hope they’s not busted. Sometimes I don’t think about busting them eggs up, I just think about how fun it is to swing the bag around.” She said, “You know what I mean? Them eggs in there don’t know they’s been busted up either, so ever-thing seems like usual?”

“Hey Sweetie, look! A two-headed hummingbird.” While she titled up her head to where I pointed, I ran off laughing.

I didn’t get far before she was past me, off into the woods, laughing at me as she disappeared out of my view. She was always disappearing out of my view and I was always running to catch up with her. Some nights I dreamed I ran and ran, calling her name. I would hear her voice, but she stayed hidden away from me until I was able to get past some thing, like a rock or tree or ridge or heavy mists, that stood between us. So far, in those dreams, I’d not been able to get past those things to find her.

NINE

 

In spring, everywhere sprung with flowers. I looked up their names in books from Father’s library: lady slippers, trillium, daffodil, violets, Dutchman’s breeches, wild cherry, crabapple,
Bradford
pear. Then summer brought rhododendron and fire pinks and lilies and turkeybeard and daisies. There were so many plants, trees, and flowers, I’d never learn them all.

Sweetie tried to teach me about how things taken from the earth could heal sicknesses, but it was hard to remember which roots, stems, and leaves were poisonous and which were good. Sometimes a part of the plant would be helpful, while the other part would be poisonous. I liked to look at them and smell them, I told her, not eat them or drink them unless they came from a store. She reminded me about the teas she made me that I drank. But I kept trying to explain how medicines came from lots of the plants, how Father said they were perfected in laboratories by scientists who knew how to make them all safe for us where we didn’t have to worry about which were poisonous and which were good—the scientists figured that out and the pharmacists filled the prescriptions for sick people. She’d just snorted.

For our explorations and discoveries, Sweetie said we’d meet at a different place on the mountain every morning to make sure we weren’t followed by T. J. and his Posse. So far, we’d not seen any of them again, but she said we shouldn’t take chances, since T. J. was sneaky. Our main station was Whale Back Rock. At the end of the day before we went back to our houses, we met there to decide where to go the next day, each taking a turn to decide. We had a special stick sharpened at one end to write down our meeting place in the dirt so no one could hear us say it if they were spying on us.

If we had to, and only if we had to, we’d leave a note hidden in the thick bushes, under a rock. Sweetie called it moccasin mail, something she’d read about in a book where the trappers left notes in the toe of an old moccasin and then put the moccasin where it would be found and read by another trapper.

I was on my way out to meet Sweetie where Jabbering Creek forked off, when Mother held out her hand to stop me.

“All this running in the mountains is good exercise, but I worry about you becoming too wild.”

“Aw, Mother. Come
on
.”

“Don’t talk to me that way. You’re only proving my point.”

I let my sigh stay inside. “It’s summer vacation. I’m not any different from other kids.” I loved saying that. A lot.

“I suppose you’re right.”

I started to turn away; she stopped me again. “Nevertheless, it’s time you bring this Sweet-tea here for me to meet properly.” She tapped her foot and folded her arms across her chest. When Mother had that look, she meant business.

“Yes Ma’am, okay.” That should stall her a bit by agreeing, then waiting until she forgot it. Sometimes that worked. It was in the How to Get Away with Stuff Rules:
Pretend to agree to something, but secretly hope not to have to do it once the parent’s old person bad memory kicked in
. Peter had relied on that one a lot.

“Ask your friend to brunch tomorrow.”

“Brunch? T-tomorrow?” I tried to imagine Sweetie sitting at the table with the good china, shiny silver, and gleaming white napkins and tablecloths. “That’s so soon, Mother.”

“And why not? Seems like the perfect time to bring your friend. Show her some sophistication.”

“What d-d-does that mean?”

“Dear, your friend lives in some old shack on a mountain with no father, and who knows about her mother. It sounds so . . . so . . .
rustic
.” She wrinkled her nose, then continued, “However, we are well-traveled. Your father and I have eaten with senators and governors. I know how to set a beautiful table. You see?”

“But she knows all k-k-kinds of things. She’s been teaching
me
. About herbs and roots for medicine and stuff, and when it’s going to rain (
them cows lay down
). She reads books and is g-g-good at math (
breathe Miss Lissa
!).” I took in a deep breath, let it out, and added, “But she doesn’t show off about the things she knows.”

“Don’t get sassy with me, Missy.”

“I’m not, Mother. I’m just saying she’s smart, even if she d-doesn’t like school.” I almost slapped my hands over my mouth. I shouldn’t have said anything about Sweetie and school.

“Whether a child likes school or not is no matter to the child. It is up to the parents to make their children do things they’d rather not. Where is her mother in all this?”

Breathe in, out
. “She’s better at math than I am. She can do numbers in her head like nothing I’ve ever seen. Her mother
makes
her go to school (
oops
).”

“Makes her? She doesn’t see the need to go to school?”

I was tired and ready to give in so I could leave. “I’ll invite Sweetie to brunch tomorrow so you can see how g-good she is.”

“I’ll tell your father we’re expecting company.” She started to turn away, then said, “Oh, and invite her mother, too, of course.”

Fat chance, I thought. I’d never even met her mother, but I wasn’t going to admit that.

When I at last escaped and hurried to Sweetie, I dug around in my brain for ways to talk Sweetie into coming to my house. She hated town. Hated it worse than raw bloody cow’s liver with a side of bloody chicken livers. Sweetie could find any spot on her mountain with her eyes shut tight, but ask her about town, and she only shrugged and said, “Why I got to know how to get around town? Got nothing there I need, except for the church and the school, and those are for Mama.”

I’d reminded her how she came to my house with the sore throat tea.

“Good thing I did, right? But, if I don’t got to go to town, then why do it?”

She had her way of thinking and her way of doing and I had to respect them, even if they drove me crazy. But having her over for brunch was different. If I didn’t do it, Mother could mess up my whole summer with her wondering what I was hiding about Sweetie.

She was already there waiting at the creek. She looked at her wrist as if checking the time, even though there was no watch there. “Huh. Miss-Lissa is late late late!” She laughed with her head thrown back, then said, “I been waiting
forever
to say that.”

“Oh you’re very clever.”

“That I am.” She made her face look cleverer than the most clever girl of all.

I took off my Keds and socks, put them by Sweetie’s boots, sat by Sweetie, and put my feet beside hers in the water. We watched a red-tailed hawk circle and disappear behind a mountain ridge. I liked how the mountains looked like layers and layers, and how they could seem purple or blue sometimes, and how the mists curled around and about them and over the valley making them a secret dream. I never wanted to leave. But we always left. Always. I hoped the moving would stop. I hoped as hard as I could until my brain hurt with hoping.

Sweetie said, “That there hawk coulda been my Grandpaw. He said when he passed on, he’d turn into different critters so he could watch over me forever.”

“Would he be that squirrel up there?” I pointed to a chattering red squirrel. Then I pointed to a centipede. “Or that ugly bug?”

She shoved me. “Hush up, Priss-mouth.”

I then told her a story about how Nonna’s cat Mittens ate a whole cherry pie and vomited it all over her living room and I had to help clean it up.

“I never heard of no cat eating cherry pie.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die stick a needle in my eye, it’s true.”

“Well, I’ll be. Shoulda give it ginger root, if you had any setting about.”

“I haven’t eaten cherry pie since that day. Every time I see cherry pie, I think of cat vomit.”

“You got to get over that. Any kind a pie’s too good to never eat again.”

“I can’t help it. It looked nasty and smelled nasty, too.”

“Well, no wonder since it sloshed around in a cat’s gut.” She stood up, slipped on her boots. “Want me to show you something inneresting?”

“Yeah!” I hurried to put on my socks and shoes.

“They’s usually down in a little holler about now.”

“Who?”

“Not a who, a what. And I am not telling, so come on and hush up for once.”

Sweetie wove through thick brambles, while I kept my eyes on the ground watching out for snakes. Sweetie said they were more afraid of us than we were of them, but I bet I was more scared of the snakes any day.

As if she read my mind, she said, “Don’t be turning over any rocks or logs. Them’s where the copperheads and spiders might be.”

I’d forgotten about spiders. The webs liked to wrap around my face as we walked and I’d start yelling and slapping while Sweetie doubled over laughing. She once said something about how spider’s webs were good for cuts, but that didn’t sound right to me.

“Them snakes will not hurt you lessen you go to fooling with them.”

I carefully picked my way over stumps, logs, and rocks. When I caught up with Sweetie, she was on her hands and knees, and had her finger over her mouth in a
shhhh
. I crept up beside her on my hands and knees. She pointed down into a little hollow.

I whispered, “I don’t see anything.”

She pointed down again, and mouthed,
Look
.

Into the hollow walked two deer. They looked our way and became still. I’d never seen deer that close. The only time I’d ever seen one was at the zoo, a dead one on the side of the road, and once in
Louisiana
I saw one tied to the top of a car with blood on it and its tongue hanging out—that made me so upset, Father had to stop for ice cream.

The deer were beautiful. Their soft and delicate noses were raised in the air as they sniffed. After a while of standing still, they lowered their heads and began eating. We stayed there for six minutes. I checked my watch, so I knew. I finally had to move my legs around, and when I did, the deer jerked up their heads and ran away on their long pretty legs. Even their fright was perfect and beautiful.

“I’m sorry I scared them away.”

“Well, we couldn’t set here forever, right?”

She jumped up and ran off into the woods. “Bet you can’t catch me.”

And I couldn’t.

***

That afternoon at Whale Back, I wrote in the dirt,
My house, eat with Parents
.

Sweetie stared at the words.

I underlined them. And when she still didn’t answer, I underlined it twice more, digging deep into the mountain dirt.

“You don’t got to holler at me.”

I erased the words. “It’s important, Sweetie.
Please
. You know I don’t ask for stuff that isn’t important.” I tried not to sound too beggy. “Mother wants to meet you and she won’t let it go.”

She leaned against the rock and blew through a blade of grass to make it screech.

When I tried it, she took it from me and said, “Nope, this here’s how you do it.” She made the screech louder than ever, as if showing off to me since I couldn’t do it right.

“She invited your mother, too.”

Sweetie shook her head. “Mama’s sick.”

“What’s she sick from?”

She didn’t answer me, screeched the grass blade again.

“Well, if she’s sick, I guess she has a good reason not to come.”

BOOK: Kathryn Magendie
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