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Authors: Jan Watson

BOOK: [Troublesome Creek 01] - Troublesome Creek
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He unscrewed the lid and took several long swigs. Wiping the lip of the jar with his shirttail, he stuck it out toward Copper. “Take a drink and find out. I promise you won’t be sorry.”
She held the jar with both hands. The water sparkled in the hazy shaft of sunlight that streamed in through the trees. It smelled like medicine. One little sip. What would it hurt? The chatter of a squirrel distracted her for a moment, and somewhere in the distance a cow bawled, calling for its calf. Hesitantly, she raised the jar to her mouth. A leaf sailed past her face, and she looked up to find Henry staring intently at her.
He licked his lips, and his eyes looked as hot as coals. “Try it,” he egged her on.
She felt uneasy, and the smell of the drink made her queasy. “I don’t think so.” She handed him the jar.
“Then I’ll drink by my lonesome,” he slurred.
“Henry Thomas, is that liquor?”
“The best moonshine ever made.” He took another drink and smacked his lips.
“Looks like you’ve already had more than enough,” she said. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll go to hell?”
He held the jar overhead and sat against the bank. “If I do, I’ll have plenty of good company.”
“Well,” she replied, “it won’t be mine. I’m going home.”
“Aw, come on, Copper,” he wheedled. “Don’t be so prissy.” She started down the ridge to the path that led home. “I’ll pray for you, Henry,” she tossed back over her shoulder.
“Alls I need is somebody to care about me,” he cried down the ridge behind her.
She hurried down the path, anxious to get away from his voice. All of a sudden it looked to her like Mam had been right about Henry.
CHAPTER 15
 
Copper carried the milk bucket across the frozen barnyard. She tucked her chin into the collar of her coat as the biting wind whipped around her. Molly waited at the stable door, anxious for her breakfast and a respite from the cold.
A rainstorm that turned to hail and then to snow ushered in a record-cold December. Smoke poured from chimneys up and down the hollows of Troublesome Creek as families huddled before fireplaces, their front sides roasting while their backsides froze. John Pelfrey had brought news last night of a man from near Yancy’s Branch who died when a foot-long icicle broke loose from his roof and impaled him just as he opened the door.
Copper took several items from her pockets and hid them in the haystack before pulling the milk stool up to Molly’s flank. She rubbed her hands vigorously and began to stroke the cow’s teats. “Hope that helps a little. I don’t want to freeze you.”
Molly responded with a swish of her tail, clouds of steam rising from her body.
“Purty?” The low, thick voice that never failed to startle came from the empty stall next to Molly’s. “You be doing all right? It’s fearsome cold.”
Remy had been visiting for weeks now, but her voice in the stillness caught Copper so off guard she nearly kicked over the milk bucket. “I’m fine, Remy. How about yourself?”
“Better’n you’d expect. I found these gloves, and I’m near toasty. Wish I could find me some bigger boots.” She kicked the plank that separated her from Copper. “These here’s got my toes stove up. If I was home, Ma’d cut the tops out so’s I’d have growing room.”
Copper nearly laughed but caught herself, sorry her cast-off boots didn’t fit. Who would’ve expected a scrawny girl like Remy to have such big feet? Copper kept her face carefully composed so she wouldn’t offend her friend’s stubborn pride. For every time Copper tried to draw Remy in or anytime she mentioned taking the girl’s problems to Daddy or Mam, Remy reacted like a feral cat, turning skittish and mean. And when Copper would press her to spend a night in the house, to have a warm meal, to let Copper tend to her frostbitten ears, Remy would accuse her of baiting a trap. She’d say, “Let it be, Purty, else I’ll have to disappear into that rarefied air way on up the mountain.”
She wouldn’t let Copper give her anything outright, not the stalest biscuit or the sparest dress. So by leaving items about the barn—clothes and food—for her to “find,” Copper pretended the situation was normal, like every fifteen-year-old girl had a wild friend such as Remy. It was the only way she could figure to help the girl who’d nudged into her heart, first with her desperate plight, then just because she was Remy.
She thought back to the day in October when she’d met Remy in the cave. At first she hadn’t known what to make of the odd colorless being with the wild white hair, but then she’d discovered she was just a girl. Albeit a strange girl, one who wore a red foxtail affixed to the back of her dress.
Twelve years old and abandoned by her family—or so it seemed—Remy had taken to visiting on occasion, during Molly’s early morning milking. Just like today, she’d pop up in the second stall. Copper never saw her come, and she never saw her go. Remy would stand with her back to the rough plank wall that separated them—she didn’t like to be looked at—and tell stories. Copper surmised that some of the stories might even be true, but as much as Remy liked to tell tales, she was closemouthed about her family and where she’d come from.
Even her name was a secret to be guarded. But one morning she’d revealed her identity as if it were a precious gift, and Copper knew it was. Remy Riddle . . . the name fit like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle, as fey as the girl herself.
While Copper milked, she sneaked glances through the cracks in the wall, some wide enough to throw a cat through, and tried to judge if Remy was eating, if she was clean, if she had appropriate clothing for the weather.
“Purty—” she peeked at Copper now through a knothole—“air ye spoke for?”
“Spoke for?”
“Spoke for . . . I been spoke for. Quick Hopper’s gonna give Pap six gold pieces for me. I seen ’em flashing in his hand when him and Pap was drinking shine one night. They liked to have caught fire they was so purty.”
Copper wobbled on her T-shaped milking stool. “You can’t mean you’re to marry, Remy! You’re much too young.”
“That’s what Ma said. She said not ’til I get my womanhood anyways. Air you a woman yet, Purty?”
Copper’s face burned despite the chill in the barn. “You don’t have to marry if you don’t want to. I’m sure it’s against the law to buy a person.”
“Good thing is you can smell Quick long before you spy him. He’s so old, he’ll never catch me anyways.”
Copper’s temper flared. It was unbelievable to think anyone would be treated as Remy was. She’d like to thump Quick Hopper and Remy’s dad too if she was given half a chance. She wished Daddy had heard. Why couldn’t he have come into the barn for something? But her resolve to help her friend deepened. She’d never break Remy’s trust. “I wish you’d let me help you, Remy. I wish you’d let me tell my father about you.”
“You gave your word, Purty.” One pale blue eye peered beseechingly at Copper through the knothole. “Pap says that’s when real trouble starts—when folks start helping. Riddles take care of their own selves. Always have.” Remy clutched the animal-skin cloak she wore and turned to leave.
Copper felt like a tightrope walker. How was she to deal with this burden alone?
Help me, Lord
.
Help me do the right thing.
“Wait, Remy. Just a minute.” She dipped a canning jar in the bucket and set a full glass of warm milk on the manger. Knowing the girl wouldn’t touch it as long as she watched, Copper took the bucket and started toward the door. “Stay warm,” she called over her shoulder.
“You too, Purty.” Remy’s voice followed her. “You stay warm too.”
 
Outside the small cabin on Troublesome Creek Christmas Eve, the mountains lay blanketed under the season’s heaviest snowfall. Large wet flakes continued to drift gracefully from heavy, dark gray clouds.
Frosty air gusted in the open door as Will kicked his boots against the doorjamb, scattering big clods of dirty snow about, then dumped an armful of wood in the box by the cookstove. “Let’s go sledding tomorrow,” he said as he turned around. “We’d go fast as Snyder’s hound down Turner’s Hill on this packing snow.”
Copper looked up from her mending near the hearth. “Oh, Daddy. Close the door.”
Daniel laid aside the dried beans he was stringing. “But, Daddy, we don’t have a sled.” Leave it to Daniel to worry over the details.
“Why, I’ll just pull a piece of tin off the barn roof, and we’ll sled on that.”
“That won’t be near as much fun as a real sled.” Daniel sighed, resigned.
“How would you know, Son? Far as I can tell, you’ve never been sledding.” Will gave Grace a wink as she mopped up the melting snow.
“I can just imagine it,” Daniel replied dreamily. “Going fast as the wind . . . but that’s okay. I like tin sleds too.”
“That’s what I like about you, Daniel—you’re easy to please. Not like some rascals I know.” Will cast a glance toward Willy, who sat on the hearth, his lip poked out, clad in his new red hat, scarf, mittens, and kneesocks Grace had pulled up over his pant legs.
“Answer me this, Daddy,” Willy said. “How can I sneak up on a squirrel if I’m wearing red socks?” He stuck his tongue through the space between his teeth. “You said when me and Daniel turned six you’d take us huntin’.”
“Hmm, did I say six? As I recollect, I said fifty-six.”
Willy collapsed in a heap, giggling. “Oh, Daddy, you did not.”
Paw-paw, who’d practically taken up residence in front of the fireplace, yawned and huffed away from Willy’s shenanigans.
Will slapped his hands against his thighs and headed for the door. “I say we wear our old gray toboggans and mufflers when we go hunting and keep these new red ones your mam knit us for church. Now is everyone ready? We don’t want to be late for Christmas Eve service.”
 
The little white church in the valley of the mountains was beautiful, its windows aglow with candlelight and its door adorned with an evergreen wreath. The place was packed. Brother Isaac always said there’s nothing like the Birth and the Resurrection to draw a crowd of backsliders. He took his place behind the pulpit, then paused to look out over the people he loved so much.
There in the first row sat Will Brown and his family. Will, with his bushy white beard, had a twin on either side while his wife, Grace, beautifully attired as always, sat beside their daughter, Copper, who held Daniel Pelfrey’s newest baby, Julie Grace. Daniel and Emilee, along with the rest of their brood, filled an entire back row. The rows between held various Millers, Hunts, Turners, Nevilles, Darnabys, Mullinses, and Fugates.
Such a blessing to minister to these rugged folk.
He called himself “the preaching teacher.” He could scarcely say which he liked best—each was an important ministry.
Isaac announced the reading from Luke and was rewarded with a whisper of pages as his flock thumbed to the place. Those who were able read along with him—and those who couldn’t, recited—the beautiful story from memory: “‘And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed. And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:) To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.’” He held up his hand, and the assembly paused.

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