Valley So Low (8 page)

Fear snaked out of the silence and seized her heart.  Maude counted them, seven, and shuddered.  As a sharp wind rattled the bare, icy limbs of the trees, she imagined death laughing with glee.  From what Harry’d said, the flu carried off many more, among them people she must know, some she knew as friends.  On the heels of the world war with what some already vowed took away too many of a single generation, so much dying seemed unbearable.  Back before America joined the war effort, Jamie’d taken Maude to church to hear Brother Fanning preach about the end-times at Hickory Church.  He’d frightened her with his talk of devils rising from the pits of hell to torture the living and prophecies about how hard the end days would be on those unworthy to be snatched into heaven and saved.  Jamie half believed the preacher but at home, Granpa—who hadn’t gone—scoffed at the talk.  “If you’d lived as long as me and heard them shout from the pulpit about the end of the world,” he’d said,  “you’d not believe a word of it.  They said the same around the time of the Civil War and when times got hard in the nineties.  My own grandfather told me doomsday prophets preached end-times after the Revolutionary War too.  ‘Sides, the Bible says plain no man will know the day or hour so I wouldn’t worry, Maude.”

And she hadn’t, not then, but now Maude wondered if she should.  Then she admitted she did worry. Losing either Harry or George frightened her beyond anything she could imagine.  Lost in thought, and her mind cobwebbed with anxious shadows, Maude lingered until she noticed how dark the afternoon had become.  She trembled with cold, her shawl no match for the harsh wind cutting through the trees and up from the creek, and realized she should’ve gone in much sooner.  Maude dashed for the house and burst through the kitchen door in a hurry.  She hung her shawl and rushed through the middle room to the front of the house.  George, snug and toasty, still slept, a small smile playing around his lips.  A creak from the stairs alerted her to Harry’s presence moments before he descended the last.

“I wondered where you’d gone,” he said. “I thought maybe you’d gone upstairs to sleep.”

Maude shook her head. She must have an odd expression because Harry frowned and said, “You’re shakin’ like a leaf.  Where were you?” Before she could reply, he grasped her hands in his. “Your fingers are like ice.”

“I went outside,” she replied, realizing how lame it sounded. “It’s cold.”

“I know,” he said. “You could’ve used the chamber pot, Maudie.”

She hadn’t been to the outhouse but she let him think so.  Easier than explaining she’d been held captive by her darkest thoughts.  Instead, Maude let Harry lead her to a chair near the fire where she warmed up.  He hovered with a frown crease in his forehead, but after a few minutes he relaxed.  “You look better now,” he said with apparent relief. “You were white as snow when I came downstairs.  I worried a little.”

“I’m good,” she assured him.  He was so dear and sweet. “I’m glad,” Harry told her. “I wanted to talk to you about Christmas for the little one.” 

“Christmas?”  He nodded. “It’s just a few weeks off,” Harry said. “’Course we’ll decorate the house up.  I’ve had my eye on a good, straight cedar tree all summer long and I know where some mistletoe can be found too.  I’ve been carving a wooden horse for George, but I thought maybe Santy Claus might fetch him some candy and maybe a little drum or something from town.  I figure to go one more time before Christmas.”

“That sounds fine to me,” Maude said. She hadn’t given any thought to the holiday but now she would.  If she remembered right, there were still some nice lengths of linsey-woolsey material in Granny’s old room.  She could make a shirt for Harry, a new gown for George. “Maybe you could get a few oranges too, Harry.”

“Sure,” he said. “I could.  Our hams won’t be ready for Christmas dinner but I’ll figure something.  If nothing else, maybe you’d make your chicken and dumplings.  It’s always tasty.”

Maude thought about the things she might make and bake.  “I’ve got a little egg money saved back,” she told him. “Can I make a little list for when you go?”

“Yeah, I’d be glad to fetch anything you want,” Harry said.  He caught her and held her. “All I’ll ask in return is a kiss.”

A light-hearted joy kindled within Maude. “There’s not a pinch of mistletoe around,” she said, coy. “Don’t need it,” Harry told her as he kissed her.  His mouth touched hers and banished every dark thing back to the farthest corners of her soul.  Harry’s lips infused hers with a slow fire that crept through her blood with delicious power.  Over the past few days, they’d been preoccupied and too worn out to spoon but now Maude’s desire awakened with his kiss.

Harry didn’t hurry.  He kissed her slow and long as if time didn’t matter and she guessed it didn’t, not now.  Heat moved through her body, thick and sweet as red clover honey, and Harry’s hands on her waist anchored her to the moment.  When he undid the buttons on her dress, Maude shed the dress swifter than a snake’s skin. His fingers traced the fine veins on her breasts with wonder and awe, but when Harry reached her nipples he fingered each one in turn until they rose, hard and proud.  Her spine tingled in response and a yawning need stretched between them.  His cock came alive within his overalls.  Maude felt it taut against her thigh as he stroked her body into frenzied fever. She gave over to pleasure and let everything else in her mind slide far away.

They didn’t bother to head upstairs and Maude never worried about George waking.  Instead, Harry grasped her around the waist and maneuvered her to the oldest, bottom sprung chair.  He hiked her dress above her thighs and she scooted back, legs open wide for his entry.  Harry dived in and Maude welcomed him, her body willing and ready.  As his shaft filled her space, she thought she might burst with the extreme pleasure.  His warm cock expanded and as it rubbed against the walls of her vagina, Maude put a fist in her mouth and bit to contain the sound.  She didn’t want to wake George with an outcry, one which might scare the dickens of out the boy, but she needed an outlet.

“Oh, Maudie,” Harry grunted as he rammed deeper and tighter.  “That’s fine.”  In response, she tightened her bottom to latch him tighter.  The resulting wave of delight swamped her and she watched Harry shut his eyes with the powerful rush.  He rocked her back and forth until the intensity could no longer be contained.  Their bodies strained together and worked toward release.  When it arrived, Maude became one with Harry, a beast with two backs united in endless pleasure.  She could swear she soared out of her body to touch the moon and run her fingers through the stars.  Harry claimed her body and joined it, part of it now and forever, but their souls merged into one consciousness, one love.

Their lovemaking banished the murky shadows and the fear to a distant corner of her psyche, and after, Maude sang as she prepared a simple evening meal.  George woke happy and Harry played with the boy until he headed out for chores.  He took the kid along, bundled up against the cold, and after dinner Harry coaxed music from the battered piano and Maude sang a few Christmas carols with him to her son’s delight.  Before long, although he didn’t know the words, George tried to sing along. 

After the child had fallen asleep and been carried upstairs, tucked into bed, Maude and Harry lingered before the fire.  A rising wind buffeted the old house with enough force to rattle the glass in the windows at times.  Poignant and lonesome, the train whistle reverberated as the late train rattled down the track across the creek.  Maude could count the crossings by the number of times the engineer tooted, the soprano sound sharpened by the chill night air.

“It’s gettin’ colder,” Harry commented as they cuddled together on the sofa he’d pulled over before the fire. “Christmas weather’s on the way.”

“I think you’re right,” Maude replied. “It won’t be very merry for most, not with the flu still goin’ round, the men not back from the war, and people grieving for those who’ve died.”

His arm around her shoulder tightened into a hug. “Aw, it may be quiet this year but it’ll be a good Christmas,” he said. “We’ve had our losses but we’re together, honey, and I’m happy.”

So was Maude.  A kernel of contentment spread warmth through her chest and down to her toes. “Then we’ll have a very merry Christmas,” she said, “Just the three of us.”

“We will,” Harry said.

Chapter Six

A week before Christmas Day, Maude woke with a prickle of anticipation for the coming holiday.  In recent days, she’d worked hard toward making the holiday memorable.  In her odd moments and when George wasn’t around, she’d knitted him a hat, scarf, and mitten set from some royal blue yarn she’d found in Granny’s things.   She’d cut out new clothes for Harry and George.  Maude caught up the mending and stitched on the garments so they’d be ready in time for Christmas morning.  Although Harry still slept, Maude rose and dressed in swift silence.  Then she descended downstairs to poke up the fire in the kitchen and put coffee on to boil.

If the weather remained fair, Harry promised to take them up on the high ridge to cut down the cedar he’d picked for a Christmas tree.  George fussed about going to bed, so eager for the outing he didn’t want to sleep at all.  Maude wrapped her shawl around her shoulders as she ventured outside to fetch eggs from the hens.  To the east, the sun rose in a burst of pink and golden brilliance and the skies were clear.  Frost coated the worn wood of the porch floor and steps.  It sugarcoated the brown grass but Maude thought it didn’t feel as cold as it’d been.

The slight breeze rippled across her bare face, chilly but not frigid.
It should be a fine day to fetch the tree.

She’d promised a picnic if possible and once inside Maude put together a simple meal they could eat outdoors.  She gathered up some of the molasses cookies she baked the day before.  Then she sorted the apples and chose three of the nicest to put into the basket with the cookies.  Maude cut a pan of cold cornbread into fourths, then fried some of the fresh sausage to round out the picnic.  She set three of the sausage patties aside to cool and kept the rest warm on the stove for breakfast.  With a few spare moments at hand, she poured a cup of coffee.  Maude sat down to savor it and heard Harry’s tread on the stairs.  She smiled, aware he’d been roused by either the aroma of coffee or the frying pork.  He came into the room, hair still sleep-tousled but dressed.

“Good mornin’” she said. “Looks like it’ll be a good day to get the tree.  Is George up yet?”

“Nope,” Harry answered as he leaned down to kiss her. “He’s still sound asleep.  Did you bring in the milk?”

Maude shook her head. “Just the eggs,” she said. “I made up a picnic basket for when we go.  Weather’s pretty but a bit cool.”

“Just right for bringing home the Christmas tree,” Harry said as he helped himself to coffee. “I’ll do the chores and fetch the milk.  After breakfast we can bundle the little man up good and head out.”

They did just that, the three of them, Harry armed with a good hand saw, Maude with a basket over one arm.  George held their hands and dangled between them, sometimes lifting up his feet so he could swing in the air between them.  “Where is this tree you’ve got spotted?” Maude asked as they headed up hill to the side of the house.  The narrow path wasn’t wide enough to go with three abreast so Harry took the lead.  “It’s up at the top on the flattest part of the ridge,” he said. “I know it’s a rough climb, Maudie, but it’s a beauty, prettiest cedar you ever saw and just right for Christmas.”

She nodded.  The rocky trail ascended up the almost sheer hillside, and footing wasn’t easy. Maude minded each step and watched for George, sandwiched between her and Harry, but the little boy advanced, nimble as a goat.  Most of the time she kept close to home, going no farther than the dooryard, so being out in the wider world delighted Maude.  Although she didn’t fall behind, she stopped to gawk at the wonder of the woods more than once.  The higher they climbed, the more spectacular the panorama spread out below.  By the time they gained the top of the incline, Maude could see the farm below.  It reminded her of a toy farm set she’d seen once in a Sears and Roebuck catalog.  Their rambling house, the huge old barn, and other buildings seemed small from this perspective. 

Shoal Creek curved between the hills and fields, the waters sparkling with reflected sunshine.  The vista included the railroad tracks as they inched forward from the east and made their way toward town.  To Maude’s delight, a train came into view and the high, thin sound of the whistle echoed through the hills.  George clapped his hands and pointed.  “Train!” he cried and did his best to mimic the
whoo-whoo
sounds of the steam whistle.  Harry chuckled and they stood still to watch until it passed around the bend, the engine puffing white smoke through the funnel into the sky. 

A wild gaiety seized Maude and she giggled.  The outing into the forest, the season, and the love she carried for her companions brought happiness.  She wanted to run through the trees the way she had as a young girl, when she first moved from town and knew Harry.  The years since had brought maturity and she’d settled into young adulthood, then marriage, then being a widow.  Despite the troubles and losses along the way, most of them recent, she’d found in Harry a companion and the love of her heart.  Standing high on the Ozark ridge and gazing out across the wide valley far beyond Shoal Creek, Maude knew she’d never love anyone else the way she did Harry or find the deep, close relationship they shared. 
We’re made for each other in every way. 
The notion increased her joy and she smiled at Harry.  His eyes lit as if he caught her thoughts and knew them.

Harry grinned and before Maude knew what he was about, he’d managed to put George between them.  He lifted the boy up until the kid threw one arm about her neck, the other around Harry’s.  Her son’s face burned brighter than the sun with pleasure as he laughed, caught between them.  Harry leaned over George to kiss her, a swift peck, and the boy giggled harder.

“Come on,” Harry said, shifting George until the boy rode on his neck, hands on his uncle’s shoulders. “We’re almost there.”

Maude followed him, still smiling as they made their way through a sticker bush thicket.  Some of the sticktights clung to her skirt and later, she’d have a job removing them from everyone’s clothing.  For now, though, she didn’t mind.  They emerged onto the flat ground at the top and a trail cut by generations of wildlife led toward a stand of cedar trees.  The vivid green stood out in stark contrast to the drab winter woods.  A bright red cardinal swooped down from a higher branch and lit on one of the trees.  Maude wished she could have a picture of the vivid color against the softer green and banked it to memory.  Above, the sun climbed to the near center of the sky and sunlight lit the scene with brightness.  One tree stood out, alone and separate from the others, and before Harry opened his mouth, Maude knew it must be the one they’d come to take.

The trunk stood taller and straighter than most.  Prickly green limbs grew outward in a pleasing pattern.  No gaps or dead spots marred the natural lines of the cedar.  This tree grew upward with branches narrowing from the base to a near-perfect, inverted
V
at the top.  Maude glanced at Harry for confirmation and he nodded. “That’s the one.  I knew you’d see it right away.  Isn’t it perfect?”

“Yes,” she said.
And so are you, my love.
  She watched Harry take George over to see the tree at close range. “This’ll be our Christmas tree, buddy,” Harry said.  Eyes sparkling, the boy repeated, “Kiss-mas tree, kiss-mas tree.”   Maude laughed.

“It’ll be his first one?” Harry asked.  She nodded. “I doubt he’ll remember it later but he’ll like it fine once we decorate it.”

Harry set the child down. “First thing we need to do is cut it,” he said. “Then we’ll drag it home.”

She opened her mouth to protest, to remind him of the picnic, but he added, “We’ll eat after I cut it.  Take George and find a good place to sit while I saw.  I want you two well out of the way.  It’s not so big but I don’t want anyone hurt, not even a scratch.”

Maude nodded. “C’mon, George, let’s find a place to picnic.”  She took her son’s hand and walked away from the stand of cedars.  A movement to their far right caught her attention and she pointed in time to show the boy a pair of deer as they leapt over a fallen log with grace.  A gray cat squirrel fussed and chattered above their heads and she smiled.  They found a good spot beneath an aged oak, sheltered by the massive trunk of the tree.  Soft green moss grew beneath the wide branches and offered a soft place to sit.  Maude pulled an old, tattered sheet from her basket and spread it on the ground.  “Come sit with Mama,” she told George. “We’ll watch Pop cut down our Christmas tree.” They leaned back against the trunk as Harry lay on the ground to saw.  The boughs trembled and shook but in a very short time the tree toppled away from Harry and landed.  He leapt up with a triumphant grin and wiped his now-grimy hands, sticky with sap, on his overalls. “I’m hungry now,” he announced. “Let’s eat.”

She brought out the cut cornbread and cold sausage.  George reached for the meat but she broke the patty into quarters and gave him a piece.  The toddler chewed on it but he didn’t seem about to choke so Maude handed Harry his food.  She nibbled hers, enjoying the outing more than the makeshift dinner.  Her son clamored for a cookie after he’d eaten half the sausage so she gave him one.  “These are good, Maudie,” Harry said as he bit into his.  He settled back against the tree trunk and she leaned against him.  George sprawled across her lap, cheeks red from the chill fresh air, and gummed the rest of the cookie.  He’d be sleepy before long and she’d have to haul him home or drag the tree so Maude roused herself. “We’d better go before long.  He’ll want his nap,” she told Harry.

“I might want one myself,” he said.  He unfolded his legs and stood.  Maude noticed he favored his left leg but caught herself before she fussed.  If he needed anything, she’d offer later but she didn’t want to spoil the moment.  Harry’s eyes sparkled and the lines in his face, too many for such a young man, were relaxed for now.  “Let’s go.  You might have to carry the little ‘un.”

The return journey took longer and required more care.  Going downhill presented dangers and Maude watched each step.  After the first few minutes, despite the steep decline, she carried George on one side, the basket on the other.  Harry led the way dragging the cedar but he moved slow, cautious not to damage the tree.  By the time they reached the yard, his limp was noticeable and the wind blew from the north, much colder than before. “Go on in and warm up,” Harry said. “I’ll knock together some boards so the tree will stand up, then I’ll be in.  You might make a pot of coffee.”

“Sure,” Maude said. She would linger but the baby slept, his weight heavy on her shoulder. “I’ll make some soon as I put George down.”

By the time Harry brought the cedar, which seemed much larger now than in the woods, through the front door, she had his coffee waiting.  He stood the tree up against the rear wall, well away from the hearth, on the base, with just two boards nailed in an
X
shape and attached to the trunk.  Maude inhaled the cedar aroma, fragrant and fresh, as Harry stepped back.  “What do you think?” he asked.

“It’s big but pretty,” she said.  A few bits of dry leaves and twigs were caught among the branches so she began picking them out.  Harry sat down in the closest chair and groaned.  Maude glanced up and asked, “Is your leg bothering you?”

He grimaced. “Yeah, some, but I’ve got a bad headache that’s worse.  Is the coffee ready?”

“Yes,” she told him. “It’s right here.  Do you want me to fetch you some aspirin?”

Harry nodded as he accepted the cup from her hand.  “Thanks, Maudie.”  His earlier good cheer faded as he frowned.  He looked more than a little puny so when she returned with the pills, she asked, “Do you feel really bad?”

The frown line between his eyes deepened. “Naw, I’ve felt better but I’m not sick or nothing.  It’s just one of the headaches I get, and the aspirin will help.  I’ll try to catch a nap between now and chore time.  Speaking of naps, where’s the boy?”

Maude patted Harry’s cheek.  “He’s upstairs.  I didn’t want him to take a chill when you brought the tree inside.  The wind’s turned cold.”

“I’ll bring in more firewood in case the weather gets bad,” Harry said. “You plan on decorating this thing tonight?”

She had been but now she changed her mind. “No, I thought we’d do it tomorrow afternoon.  How’s that sound?” Harry offered her a faint smile. “Real good, honey, real good.  I’ll go cut you some mistletoe in the morning, holly too if you want some.”

The next afternoon, Maude decorated the mantelpiece with holly, careful to keep the shiny green leaves and bright red berries out of George’s reach.   Harry hung the mistletoe above the front door and kissed her soundly as soon as it was in place.   He hadn’t complained of any pain but she tasted the pungent corn whiskey on his lips so he’d been nipping at Granpa’s old jug.  Maude noticed he’d favored his lame leg a good deal all day so she wasn’t surprised he’d doctored it with a bit of liquor.  His spirits were good, fueled in part by the moonshine, she thought, but she didn’t say anything.  If he was drinking, he likely needed it.

The popcorn she’d popped up and strung the evening before looped over the back of one chair in long garlands.  Other strings of dried poke, bittersweet, and elderberries hung in readiness, but Maude planned to hang those far out of George’s reach.  She’d carried down the small box with Granny’s heirloom ornaments, hand blown glass pretties handed down over the decades.  A set of tin stars and snowflakes Harry brought home from the five and dime in town years ago were in the same container.  Last night, she’d searched out any scrap bits of paper and ribbon to make a chain to wrap around the branches the way they had at Silver Moon School.  To top the tree, Maude had made an angel last year.  Fashioned like a miniature doll, her angel wore a white satin gown, material from a remnant bought in town, and wings starched taut.  She also had some dried Queen Anne’s lace and brown-eyed Susan flowers to add to the decorations and a bird’s nest, perfect and empty, to tuck inside a branch.