Tennessee Touch, Sisters of Spirit #6 (36 page)

The bucket was only half full, but it would supply my wants. Aggie trotted out into the pasture, and like all cows, promptly put her head through the fence to check out the grass on the other side. I’d been repairing that fence, and she seemed to be able to find the weak spots and work on it until she pushed it down again.

I’d gotten most of the poles put back up, but needed some new posts. Until then, I really didn’t have a way to keep her inside, except she wasn’t much to wander far. But I had to have a fence up before I put in any crops, because she would eat them right down to the nubbin.

I took the milk back to the house, poured it through a cloth into a bowl, covered it with another cloth and put it in the cooler. Jacob had made the cooler by running a hollow log from our spring so that water would drip over a tin container he’d bought from some ship that was being outfitted in Norfolk. He was always so good with his hands. The water kept the sides cool. I loved that cooler, especially during the summer. Everything stayed fresh.

Then I went back to the pasture to get Aggie and the pigs. Aggie walked into the barn with no trouble, but the pigs didn’t want to go in, ducking and dodging until I finally just closed the barn door and hoped those pigs would have enough sense to take shelter when the storm hit.

I pulled my rocker inside and shoved my shoulder against the cabin door just as the storm front hit, slamming into the side of the hill like it was trying to whallop me one. I barely got the bar dropped. It brought heavy rain with it, and I prayed that Mally was off the mountain where she was supposed to be.

The chill entered the room something fierce, and I built me a fire, small, but it gave off some heat and I put the kettle on to fix me some coffee. Once I was the only one cutting and splitting the firewood, I wasn’t so generous with the size of the fires. Putting on a coat was easier than cutting down a tree.

I’d had to cut up some of my fence poles for firewood during the deep snow. I’d need to cut wood all summer long to have enough to last the winter again. How was I to do that and also tend a crop?

If I left here and went down into the settlements, what would I do? With the war over, there would only be widows there, a few broken soldiers, and ruined farms. The war hadn’t landed lightly on the South.

That night I read my Bible as I always did, hoping for comfort. And I prayed for guidance. I surely needed it. I was afraid if I left, and the boys come looking, they wouldn’t be able to find me.

The next morning I milked Aggie, then decided to go down the mountain to see who had survived and if there were anyway I could wrangle help for myself. I was looking for an old man, or some youngster who had been too young for the war, who could come up when I needed plowing done. Just how I’d pay for the help, I had no way of knowin, but a person didn’t know until they asked.

‘Bout then the pigs showed up. They’d probably burrowed in the bush when the storm went by. I looked at them and realized that, if nothing else, I could trade a pig for work done.

Before going down to the settlement, I put on my best dress. My work dress had so many holes in it, patched over, that it resembled the patchwork quilt I’d taken apart to mend it with.

The settlement down in the closest holler was gone, the tiny store burned to the ground and the house with it. The other three houses were empty and you could tell no one had lived in them for awhile. I walked around and called, but no one answered. I could walk on to the next village, somewhat larger, but I’d have to hurry. It was almost noon and I needed to get back to milk Aggie tonight.

The road between the two wasn’t as rough as my mountain path, and I walked as fast as I could, forcing myself to cover the distance. Twenty miles. I was probably on a fool’s errand.

From the ridge above I could see no movement and just about didn’t go down. Then a whip of smoke rose—or was it fog?

There it came again, steady enough that it held the promise of a fire. And people.

I ran down into the holler looking for the source and finding a small cabin. It looked like it had been set on fire once, but the people who lived there had put it out, so only a smidgin was burnt.

“Hello, the house!” I called, walking up to it.

My long time friend, Jessica, stepped out, saw me and squealed. She was always thin as a fence post, and was even more so now. “Abigail!” She ran to me and we hugged. I hadn’t been down the mountain since fall, it being the war and all. It was a time to stay close to home.

“We thought you were dead,” she said.

“I will be if’n I have to work that farm alone. You got any help extra here with you?”

“Not really. Jest my husband, Simon. He’s out in the barn. He’s only got one hand, Abigail.”

“I remember. That’s why he didn’t go to war. You had you a boy—”

She shook her head. “The Battle of Nashville. He was in Hood’s army. I got his hat back and some of his letters, but he was amongst the first killed there. Your boys?”

I shook my head. “I’ve no idea. I ain’t seed hide nor hair of ‘em for three-four years.”

“Come in and rest.”

“Cain’t. Got to go home and milk Aggie. I came to see who was left. I don’t reckon I kin work that farm by myself. Was hoping I could hire someone to come help me now and then. I got me a pig I’d trade.”

“You live up next to ol’ stone face don’tcha? The one that looks like a man with a beard?”

“Yes’m.”

“I’ll ask Simon if he kin go up once in a while. That’s a fur piece to walk and still have time to put in a day’s work. The men are still coming back, Abigail. Maybe one of them boys of yourn will return.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m not bettin’ on it.”

“I thought the Buchanans lived the other side of you.”

I told her how the missus Buchanan got sick and just gave up on life, and when the mister got home and she died soon after, he shot himself. I said how Mally had left once her folks were gone. “Mally was a good shot. Me, I let the boys do all the shooting. I can’t hit the broad side of a barn when it’s sitting in front of the barrel. So I cain’t hunt for food.”

“Have you tried trapping?”

I nodded. “Mally showed me how and I’ve caught some rabbits. Could I possibly get a hen from you? I’d pay, once I knew what you’d take in return.”

“The raiders killed our flocks, but I have a goose you could have. It was a baby when the rest were killed and I hid it in the brush when the thieves came by.”

“I couldn’t take your only—”

“Simon is going to go get us some chickens and more geese once the crop is planted. You take that there goose back with you. She will walk right along if you put a cord round her neck.”

“Then, thank you.”

Things were looking up. Jessica brought out a long cord and we put a loop around that goose’s neck and tied it with a bowline knot, so’s not to choke her.

My time was short, so Jessica walked to the top of the ridge with me and we said our goodbyes there. We used to see each other once a week at meeting time. I didn’t even know if the church was still standing, and neither did she. Jessica and I hugged again, and I walked the goose home.

She squawked and waddled, grabbing a bite to eat now and then as we traveled. Maybe the mountain wouldn’t be so lonely with her nearby, honking at me. A good goose was better ‘n a watchdog, for it can make an awful clamor when it’s aroused.

I kept feeling the rocks under my shoes, and when I stopped to rest, I looked at the hole that was forming there. I wondered if the whites of a goose egg would act like glue, the way the whites of a chicken egg did. I was going to try it, for egg white sure did hold well. Jacob had used it all the time.

One more thing needing fixing. I could feel the weight bearing down on me.

It was well past dark when I arrived home, as the goose slowed me down. I’d spent the last half-hour kickin’ the side of the trail to find it, as it was worn down in the dirt, forming a small ditch. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it, and I’d made it home many a times like this.

I expected Aggie to be bawling at me for neglecting her so long. But she was quiet, not waiting at the fence.

I stopped. Something warn’t right.

A light went on in the cabin and I backed away into the brush, pulling the goose with me. I tied her to a small sapling, then moved over to a stand of trees where I could see into the cabin. I couldn’t leave her tied up for long, or the critters would git her, but she was too noisy to take with me.

Someone was inside and the bulk of the body made it look to be a man. I warn’t expectin’ no man.

I went back past the goose, skirted the cabin on the far side and entered the barn. My lantern hanging there had been lit, and I poked my head in, cautious like.

A horse stood in a stall, unsaddled. I’d never seen it before, munching away on the grain I’d been so carefully saving. Angry, I went further into the barn, looking around. Next to the saddle hung a blanket, Union blue. As far as I knew, my boys had all joined the Confederates.

What in tarnation was I goin’ to do? Hide until he left? Yet...what if it were one of my boys?

If it were a stranger, he’d know someone lived here. A cow left unmilked will get milk fever or go dry. He’d be able to tell, from the size of her udder, that she’d been milked this morning. And that there’d been a fire in the fireplace last night.

Maybe I should go over to Mally’s house and spend the night there. It was pitch dark now, and I’d probably break my neck on the rough trail, but I didn’t want to face a man alone, with no gun.

Suddenly a dog barked, startling me, and as I backed up, it charged around the corner and into the barn. I turned to run, but it caught my dress in its teeth and tore it. It was the size of a wolf, and I backed away to where the pitchfork leaned against the side of the barn and grabbed it with both hands.

“I wouldn’t do that,” a man said. He walked though the door with a pistol in his hand.

“Abigail?” he said.

I looked at this stranger with his long beard and Jacob’s voice.
After five years? Could it be?

“Jacob?”

He put the pistol away. “Yes. Down, Barney. Sit.”

The dog sat immediately. My legs felt so weak I almost joined him.

“Sorry about him. He’s still young. Aggie was waiting when I got here. I milked her and hoped you hadn’t got yourself hurt, since you wouldn’t have left her uncared for. I figured you’d gone to the Buchanan’s and were just late getting back.”

“I went to the settlements. Got me a goose.”

He nodded. “Where are the boys?”

“Grown and gone.”

“Even Razzel?”

“Yes. They didn’t stay any better ‘n you.” I didn’t intend to accuse him of neglect, but it came out that way, and thinking of it, he had.

 “Did you get yourself another man? I wouldn’t blame you.”

“No.” Jacob had always been man enough for me. It was just that he had to see what was on the other side of the hill.

“You done with your seeing?” I asked him. He had grown older, there was a touch of gray in his beard, but he still had the size to fight a bear if he came across one. My boys were all like him, big men who could handle life. I could only hope they’d handled the war.

“There’s another ocean out there,” he said, his voice glowing with remembrance, “past some plains and some mountains. When I got to it, I turned around. Was coming home when a war got in the way.”

“You come to stay?”
I wanted him to. Oh, how I wanted him to.