Quarrel with the Moon (11 page)

"Sure, but from a distance. That can play tricks on your head. But Aunt Avvie, she was different. I remember one time in particular. Mom was sick and Aunt Avvie came down from the mountains to care for her. I was just a little shaver then, but ornery as all get out. Well, I'd had my own way ever since I could remember. Anyhow, Aunt Avvie did the wash and hung it outside to dry in the sun. Nearby was an apple tree and beneath that a small pond. I don't know what I was thinking of, but I climbed that apple tree, picked a bunch of apples and dropped them in the pond, which in turn splashed dirty water all over the fresh washing. Well, my Aunt Avvie cut herself a willow branch and switched me good and proper. My parents would never have done that. They would have let me get away with it. It was the only whipping I ever had, and it did me more good than all those pats on the head."

At the end of the tunnel of trees was the house. Although Josh and Cresta did not know this, it remained much the same as when Sissy's husband had built it for her, except that two small rooms had been added on either side. A kerosene lamp sitting in the kitchen window lit Josh and Cresta's way. Someone was sitting on the porch swing, humming a plaintive melody to herself. The light from the kitchen door spilled across a pair of slender legs - the legs of a young girl - pumping herself back and forth in the swing. But as Josh and Cresta neared the porch, they realized that the light had played tricks on them. The woman was older, much older than they had thought.

She was a middle-aged woman, cradling a corn-husk doll in her arm. Her once-blond hair was streaked with strands of pure white, and a limp ribbon decorated either side of her head. Her skin, youthful and pink, had lost none of its elasticity. But her face was bewildered, as if she had endured a perpetual hurt. The corners of her mouth dropped delicately and there were fine lines around her enormous eyes. Josh's eyes traveled to the slender hands holding the doll. They were liver-spotted and laced with fine blue veins. It seemed as if the woman had not aged uniformly. A simple flowered shift added to the illusion of youth, that and the fact that she was barefoot.

Josh cleared his throat. She looked up, startled, as if she had heard a loud explosion.

"I'm looking for Avarilla Chastain," Josh said with unaccustomed gentleness. The woman, still clutching the doll, stood up and walked tentatively toward them. She opened and closed her eyes, which appeared ultimately shocked and blank. It seemed to take time for her eyes to transmit what she was seeing to her simple mind.

Her body suddenly went stiff. She drew back her head and emitted a high-pitched cry, an unsettling mixture of joy and agony. She dropped the doll, ran to the edge of the porch and fell to her knees. Her mouth moved soundlessly as she gaped at Josh. Huge tears, as perfect as jewels, formed in the corners of her eyes. She reached for Josh's hands, pressed her soft cheek against them and began sobbing. Josh was touched. "There, there, we didn't mean to frighten you. No one's going to hurt you."

Cresta was surprised by Josh's kindness. Usually, he was intolerant of weak people. She glanced at the fallen cornhusk doll. The hair was made of dried cornsilk; a face was represented by three dots for the eyes and nose and a narrow line for the mouth. Either the doll had been given to the woman unclothed, or the pitiful woman had removed its clothing. Cresta wondered whether she was seeing things. A small piece of cornshuck had been attached between its legs and a bit of thread tied around the loose end. It was unmistakably a penis.

Another woman threw open the screen door. She glanced fleetingly at Josh and Cresta, then wrapped her arms around the kneeling woman. "Now, now, Sissy," she said. It was Avarilla. She pulled Sissy to her feet and headed her toward the kitchen. Over her shoulder she said, "Excuse us. I have to take her inside. I'll be back shortly."

Josh looked at Cresta. "She didn't recognize me."

"She barely looked at you. Besides, it's dark out here."

"I wonder what's the matter with that poor Sissy?"

"She looks retarded," replied Cresta. "You seemed to upset her. She took no notice of me."

Josh tried to make light of it. "I sometimes have that affect on women."

"Not funny. Shhhh, here she comes."

Avarilla Chastain came back, brushing a strand of hair from her face and smoothing her dress. At sixty-six she was still a formidable woman. Her stark white hair was piled loosely on her head and fastened with pins. Her eyes were as clear blue as a mountain stream, but they were also shrewd. Her mouth was broad and friendly, but her lips were narrow and uncompromising. Neither weight gain nor ill health had plagued her. Only her skin, as wrinkled as a dried apple, gave testimony to her old age.

"I'm sorry. Sissy is sometimes upset by strangers."

"But I'm not a stranger, Aunt Avvie." Josh stepped into the rectangular shaft of light streaming from the kitchen door.

Avarilla clutched her hands to her chest and her mouth formed a perfect O. "Josh? Joshua Allen Holman?"

Josh grinned. "The same, Aunt Avvie." They embraced.

Tears streamed from Avarilla's eyes, but they were twinkling with pleasure. "I never, never thought I'd see you again before I went to meet my Maker." They pummeled one another with questions, interrupted each other's answers and, alternately laughing and crying, quickly caught up with the highlights of their respective years. Cresta stood to one side, fighting off the feeling of being shut out. Finally, Avarilla looked at Josh and asked, "Josh, is this your wife?"

"No," Josh replied quickly. "A very close friend. Aunt Avvie, I want you to meet Cresta Farraday." Avarilla offered her hand to Cresta. She looked her up and down and pronounced, "You're just about the loveliest thing I ever seen." A smile creased her face. "An' I can just tell you're just as lovely inside."

Cresta was disarmed by the old lady and immediately liked her, not because of the compliment, but because of the warmth and kindness she exuded. She could actually feel it in the touch of her rough, careworn hand.

"Goodness, come inside an' sit. We'll have coffee. Oh, my goodness, my goodness." Avarilla retrieved the doll, then opened the screen door for her company.

The kitchen was large and cheerful. Dominating the room was a cast-iron stove, and in one corner sat a sturdy oak table and four chairs which had been made there in the mountains. The windows were hung with brightly colored curtains made from flowered feedsacks; bunches of field flowers in Mason jars decorated tabletops and windowsills. Avarilla set the coffee on the fire. "It's fresh. I just made it. I'll be back in just a minute. Sissy's sure to miss Only. That's what she calls her doll." She smiled sadly. "It gives her comfort."

Avarilla went into a connecting room and closed the door behind her. Cresta was about to mention the anatomically correct doll to Josh but thought better of it. Josh leaned back in an oak chair and sighed with contentment. Cresta thought that he looked very comfortable in the plain, homey surroundings and thought how wrong she had been to drag him to clubs and discos. Here was where he belonged.

Avarilla returned. "She's sleepin'. She always does after one of her spells."

"Who is Sissy?" asked Josh.

"Don't you remember me talkin' about her? Why, Sissy's my daughter." She poured three cups of coffee and set cream and sugar on the table. The coffee was strong and redolent of chicory. As they sipped from the delicate china cups, Avarilla said, "She wasn't born that way, you know. Why, when Sissy was little she was the prettiest, brightest thing you ever saw. Why, she crawled an' walked an' talked before any of the other children hereabouts. When she was five she used to call tunes at the square dances. She was the perfect child of God." Avarilla's face and her voice turned bitter. "But she wasn't meant to stay that way. When she was twelve a wasp flew into her ear. Just about drove the sweet thing crazy. I used hot oils an' I know I must have killed it, but it never did come out. An' Sissy, well, she was never the same. She always remained twelve. My little girl never grew up. Would you like some more coffee?"

They both acquiesced. Casting off her sadness, Avarilla got up from the table to refill their cups. Over coffee, Josh explained the purpose of his trip. It was an edited version, mentioning only the Indian mound and nothing of the discovery of the incredible bones and skull.

Avarilla was impressed with her nephew. "So you're goin' down to the old Indian mound. Goodness, you can't travel tonight. It's late an' the woods are dark an' sometimes dangerous. You'll stay for dinner, of course." She quickly added, "I'll feed Sissy in her room. I often do. You will stay, won't you?"

"Yes, of course," replied Josh.

"We'd love to," added Cresta.

Avarilla began gathering the ingredients for a stew. She went to the root cellar to retrieve a large basket of vegetables and a slab of meat. "Reuben will be in later. He's Sissy's brother-in-law. You see, he lived with Sissy an' her husband, Ben. And after Ben was killed in the war, Reuben stayed on. I moved in some time later to help take care of things. But it was such a small house that the men had to build a bedroom each for Reuben an' me. Of course, you're not plannin' to take your camper down the mountainside."

"No, we planned to backpack it," Josh said.

Avarilla laid the meat on a chopping block and began cutting it into cubes. Cresta started to explain that Josh was a vegetarian, but he stopped her. "Can't I be of some help, Avarilla?"

"Please, call me Aunt Avvie. Yes, you can scrape these carrots for me an' chop 'em into nice man-size bites."

Her knife poised in mid-air, Avarilla casually remarked. "You know, Josh, it's remarkable how much you look like Sissy's boy, my grandson, Orin."

"Sissy had a child?"

"That makes Orin your second cousin."

"You say he looks like me?"

"Or you look like him. A trick of nature. Of course, it sometimes happens, an' what with your mother an' I bein' sisters...." Josh frowned. He didn't like resembling anyone else. Avarilla sensed his feelings. "You're better looking, of course. Josh."

Cresta was intrigued. "I'd like to meet this cousin of Josh's."

Avarilla seared the meat in a frying pan, then dropped it into a huge iron kettle. Meanwhile, Cresta peeled the potatoes and cut them into large, white chunks. Then the old woman added a jar of home-canned tomatoes to the pot, plus a variety of seasonings. The scent of the simmering stew soon filled the kitchen like a holiday spirit. Avarilla tasted the mixture, added more pepper. "There's the Saturday social tonight at the Community House. Maybe you'd like to come."

Josh shook his head. "Come on, Josh," pleaded Cresta. "It would be fun."

"There'll be square dancin' an' refreshments," tempted Avarilla.

Josh laughed. "How can I argue with both of you? Of course we'll go. But we can't stay late. We have to get an early start down the trail. This second cousin of mine, Orin, will he be there?"

Avarilla nodded.

The kitchen door opened and a man entered. Both his hair and his clothes were unkempt, and his face held the half-sly, half-desperate look of someone with more problems than he could handle. For a moment he looked as if he would back right out the door, but Avarilla stopped him. "Reuben, we got company. We're bein' paid a visit by my nephew, Joshua Holman, an' his friend, Cresta Farraday."

Reuben stared at Josh with something akin to shock; then he guardedly shook hands with them and mumbled his hellos.

A heavy odor of liquor exuded from Reuben like perspiration. Josh realized that he was probably not yet forty, although he appeared a decade older. His hair was thin and colorless and a network of broken veins covered his nose and cheeks with an encroaching illness.

"Dinner will be ready soon, Reuben," said Avarilla.

"No, no, I don't want anything to eat, Aunt Avvie. I have ... things to do in the barn." His voice rose and fell like an out-of-sync recording.

Avarilla nodded with resignation. "I'll save you some stew, Reuben," she said but he had already gone. She began setting the table, looking slightly disconcerted. A silence stood among the three people like a folding screen. Finally Avarilla broke the quiet. "Reuben is a drinker," she stated flatly. "Has been for years. That's his work." Her voice caught in her throat. "He runs a still an' ...," she forced a smile, "he samples his wares."

An hour later Avarilla sampled her stew and pronounced it done. She served the hearty meal - biscuits, cold buttermilk, a salad of dandelion greens and late tomatoes with a sharp cider dressing, and the stew - saying, "You all start. I'll just take a tray in to Sissy." After she had gone, Josh began to eat the stew voraciously. Cresta watched with surprise.

"You're putting on quite an act."

"I can't offend Aunt Avvie." He speared a chunk of meat into his mouth. "Besides, it's good."

The old woman returned and sat down to her dinner. "She's fine. She's fillin' in her colorin' book."

"You love her very much," Josh said kindly.

"Yes, I do," replied Avarilla. "I think sometimes we love them more when they're ... different."

"It can't be easy," said Cresta, meaning not only Sissy, but Reuben as well.

"We all have our crosses to bear," Avarilla replied stoically.

"This - ah - Orin. He live nearby?" asked Josh.

"Not far away."

"Married?"

"No, not Orin. He's still sowin' his wild oats."

Cresta said, "Another point in common."

"Yes," muttered Josh, clowning.

Avarilla stood up. "Your plate is empty. Josh. Let me get you some more stew."

The screen door slammed open, and a boy came into the kitchen. Josh and Cresta smiled in recognition. He was one of the youngsters who had been playing with Marinda in front of Sophie Balock's store. Avarilla put her hand on her hips and laughed. "Alex! As usual, you're right on time."

The boy sat down in Reuben's chair and said nothing until Avarilla had set food before him. Then, flashing a gap-toothed smile he presented a lumpy handkerchief to the old woman. "Brought Sissy some sourballs."