The Run for the Elbertas Page 8

  “We’ve only invited neighbors and a couple o’ fiddlers,” Gid spoke fractiously, “but a rambling widower is apt to come unbid any place. Yet I’m more concerned about a tender sprig of a feller who’s shore to be here, one I’d ruther see going than coming, ruther to see the span o’ his back than his face.”

  Plumey paled whiter than a hen-and-biddy dish. The boys grunted.

  Old Gid began to lay down the law. “Girls!” he said, “you’re not to throw necks tonight staring at the boys. Sons! We’re going to mark the sorghum hole. We’re making puore molasses, and no candy jacks. Keep a watch on the kettle.”

  “I choose pull-candy to sirup,” Jimp said.

  I thought in my head, “I bet candy jacks would be good.”

  U Z groaned, “Pap’s bounden to dry up the party.”

  Old Gid’s face softened. He chuckled at me and Jimp gobbling pie. “You tad whackers better save a big little spot for the molassy foam.”

  “Pappy,” Jimp asked, “did you and the square sheep-fight once, a-butting heads?”

  Old Gid raised his brows and grinned. He stepped to the door and called Peep Eye to dinner.

  “I aim to see your ferret,” I reminded Jimp. “I want to ride the fly-jinny.”

  We crept into the smokehouse where the ferret was kept hidden. “A feller can’t take a step withouten Peep Eye’s watching,” Jimp complained, latching the door. In that darksome place I saw giant pumpkins squatting on hard earth, and fat squashes crooking yellow necks. I saw a bin of Amburgey apples, a mort of victuals in kegs and jars; I set eyes on three barrels of molasses. I said, “Them many sirups will turn strong as bull beef ere they can be et.”

  Jimp whistled a sketch. A furry head lifted above a sack of capping corn. I jumped in fright, and the varmint started, jerking its head down, burrowing into the sack. The ferret wouldn’t come out then for all our begging and poking cobs. I didn’t get to see the whole of him.

  “He’s scared,” I said.

  “My beastie’s got nerve spite o’ playing timid,” Jimp defended. “He’ll tackle critters double his size, jist like fisty people. Cagey ones don’t show their nerve till they come to a pinch.” And Jimp made a wry face, laughing suddenly. He popped his hands together. “I’d give my ferret to see Pap and the square lock horns.”

  “I’d ruther to see your father shake hands with Rant Branders,” I said, knowing by looks that Squire Letcher was snail-weak. “Rant might be tough as whang leather.”

  “My pap could make Rant eat straw.”

  “A man’s backbone don’t print through his clothes.”

  We listened a bit, our ears against the door; we stole outside, looking sharp. “Yonder’s Bailus coming,” Jimp whispered, and began to run. I ran after him, though it wasn’t Bailus I’d seen. I had glimpsed a girl-child staring around a corner, and she was a Buckheart, for she bore their presence. She had jerked her head away quicker than any ferret.

  We ran till the wind burnt out of us; we stopped to rest in a weed patch where noggin sticks grew tall and brittle. “I saw a girl yon side the smokehouse,” I said when I could speak. “I bet she heard a plenty.”

  “Peep Eye,” Jimp said. “You can’t say ’gizzard’ withouten her hearing.”

  “Reckon she’s larnt about Plumey and Rant?”

  “Now, no. Hit’s the first time ever I did know a thing afore her.” Jimp thought a moment. “Was it Peep Eye growed up and marrying off, I’d be tickled. Me, I hain’t ne’er going to marry.”

  “I’m not aiming to be a widow-man,” I said, anxious to go to the flying-jinny. I gathered a dozen noggin sticks, snapping them at the root. Their woody knots were like small fists. Jimp picked a bunch too, saying, “Let’s crack each other’s skulls and see who hollers first.”

  I winced, dreading the pain, but I wouldn’t be out-done. “You hit first,” I said.

  “No, you.”

  “I hain’t mad. I can’t hit cold.”

  “I’ll rile you,” Jimp said. He furrowed his brows and spoke a lie-tale. “Yore pappy steals money off dead men’s eyeballs, and yore folks feeds on carr’n crows.”

  I struck, breaking the weed. Jimp cracked one across my noggin. We broke five sticks apiece, and felt for goose eggs on our heads. Then we went on to the flying-jinny at the pasture gap, and there stood Bailus, waiting.

  Bailus’s face was grave. You could tell he had come begging. “Big Ears,” he began, “you ought to lend a hand gitting rid o’ the magistrate, else the stir-off will be a reg’lar funeral.”

  Jimp poked his lips. “Jist a trick to borrow my ferret. You got no use for him bird-hunting.”

  “The square wants to hole a rabbit or two.”

  “Hain’t fair to skin varmints alive. I’m not loaning, and that’s the God’s truth.”

  I studied the flying-jinny, noting its pattern in my head. I felt bound to have Father make one. A long hickory pole it was, pegged in the middle to a sourwood stump. I straddled the limber end of the pole, hungry to ride.

  Bailus’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard a bee-swarm o’ folks are coming tonight, a drove o’ people we’ve not invited. They’s something fotching ’em here. Now, loan yore ferret and I’ll tell what.” He sniffled, but I saw it was make-like. “Creek water hain’t dull as a stir-off with a magistrate keeping tab.”

  Jimp scoffed. He turned toward me. “I’ll give you the first ride.”

  “Fellers!” Bailus spoke quickly, “both o’ you hop on and I’ll push.”

  Though Jimp’s face grew long with doubt he straddled the jinny. We latched our legs about the hickory pole. Bailus began to push, slowly at first, digging his toes into the ground. As the pole swung clear he pushed faster, faster, around and around. We sped. We traveled swifter than a live jinny. A wind caught in my shirt, jerking the tails. I hunkered against the log; I held on for bare life. The earth whirled, trees went walking, and tiptops of the mountains swayed and rail fences climbed straight into the sky. My hands numbed, and my chest seemed near to bursting. My fingers loosened, and I was tossed into the air.

  I lay on the ground, stupid with dizziness, and Jimp wove drunkenly, trying to stand. Bailus was nowhere in sight. Then I saw three bright faces, three girl-chaps melting together. My lids went blinkety-blink-blink. When my head cleared I saw it was Peep Eye, alone. She was the spit image of Plumey, though she had no mole on her cheek; she was the prettiest human being ever I did see.

  “Air you been dranking john corn?” Peep Eye teased.

  “I been ding-donged enough,” Jimp blurted. “I’d swap them knucks I’m promised to even up with Bailus.”

  “He’s hasted to steal your ferret,” Peep Eye said. “He’ll have it and gone ere you kin catch him.”

  Jimp kicked the ground in anger. “I wish that critter was dead and dust. I do.”

  Peep Eye stood pretty as a bunty bird. Jimp and I leaned giddily against the jinny pole. Peep Eye said, “I know something you fellers don’t. Plumey’s marrying Rant Branders tonight.”

  “Be-doggies,” Jimp swore. “Rant promised I was the only one to know. Secrets nor varmints nobody can keep.”

  “One secret I’ve kept,” Peep Eye bragged. “I’ve larnt why the square’s here. A scanty few knows that.”

  We pleaded with her to tell, but she wouldn’t. She would only talk of the wedding. “When I grow as tall and fair as Plumey,” she said, “I’m going to pick me a man who can jounce air one o’ my brothers, one strong as Pappy, and able to take his part.”

  “By doomsday you won’t be fair as Plumey,” Jimp said contrarily.

  Peep Eye frowned. Her mouth puckered.

  “You’re the born image of Plumey,” I said, “except for a beauty spot. Now, I choose a mole on a woman’s cheek.”

  “I kin make me one out o’ a soot pill,” Peep Eye said.

  “Be-doggies,” Jimp grumbled. “I hain’t ever aiming to marry.”

  I sat on the pole and swung my legs. “I’ll not be a bachelor or a wi
dow-man,” I spoke.

  Peep Eye looked strangely at me. She raised her arms and pushed me backward, and fled. I stood on my head yon side the jinny.

  Jimp said, “Girls allus let a feller know when they like him a mite.”

  Under the sirup kettle fire blazed so lively the darkness was eaten away, and pale glimmers of lanterns swallowed, and far tops of the gilly trees lit. I sat on a heap of milled sorghum stalks, my molassy spoon ready, anxious to taste the foam. Jimp crouched beside me, grinding his teeth in anger. He’d heard his ferret was dead, and he stared auger holes at Bailus and Squire Letcher. Oh, Bailus hadn’t got rid of the squire. The squire rested on an empty keg, sighing wearily and clapping a hand to his mouth.

  I had Jimp point Rant Branders out. Rant appeared barebones, yet in height he stood taller than the Buckhearts. He was long armed and long legged, and a grain awkward. I said, “I bet he’s a cagey one. He’s a green grasshopper of a man.” And I began counting the people who had come to the stir-off. I named my fingers five times and over. I saw Plumey whispering to a bunch of girls, and Old Gid moseying around wondering at the crowd, and Peep Eye flitting here and yon like a silk butterfly. I kept gazing at Peep Eye.

  “My beastie’s stone dead,” Jimp glummed. “That law-square and Bailus’s to blame. Had I a chip o’ money I’d hire fellers to trick them into the sorghum hole. Be-dogs, I would.”

  “Fellers’d be scared of a magistrate,” I said. “Anyhow, your ferret wasn’t shot a-purpose. Hit was mistook for a rabbit.”

  “My pap hain’t afeared o’ the Law. He could scare that square in without tipping him.”

  I caught Peep Eye watching me, and I wanted to leave the sorghum heap. I saw her face was pouty and cold. I thought inside my head, “Hit’s not like what Jimp said. I bet she hates my gizzard,” but I said aloud to Jimp, “I’m bound to eat molassy foam when it’s first done. Hain’t but one thing better, and that’s pull-candy.”

  Jimp harped his troubles. “Rant’s broke his swear-word. He promised me knucks to fit, and then made ’um shooting big. They’d fit UZ.” He fetched them from a pocket and the finger places were the size of quarter-dollars. “I’ve struck an idee I don’t want that fence rail for a brother-in-law. Oh, my pap could jounce him with one arm tied.”

  “Rant hain’t grown yit,” I said. “He might grow thick. Already he’s a high tall feller.”

  We went to stand by the sirup kettle, breathing the mellow steam hungrily, watching the golden foam rise. Leander chunked the fire and U Z ladled green skimmings into the sorghum hole. The hole was waist-deep and marked by a butterweed stalk. U Z joked us, “Dive in, boys, and you kin stand yore breeches in a corner tonight.” We stepped warily.

  Old Gid came with Mrs. Buckheart to test the sirup, spinning drops off of chips, tasting. Gid said, “Stir till it ’gins making sheep’s eyes, and mind not to over-bile.” He stared unbelievingly at the crowd. “Only a funeral occasion or a marrying would draw such a swarm, and I’ve heard o’ nobody dying. Yet, for a host o’ folks, they’re terrible quiet.”

  “Bury some’un in the sorghum hole,” U Z laughed, “and they’ll liven up.”

  “I long to see the Law eat a few skims,” Leander said, and Peep Eye was hiding behind him, hearing every word.

  U Z said, “I’m for giving the oninvited something to recollect this stir-off by.”

  “Amen,” Leander said.

  Mrs. Buckheart spoke nervously. “We ought to o’ saved a couple gallons o’ juice for candy, to please the chaps. We’ve got more sirup now than can be sopped till Jedgment.”

  “Invited or not,” Gid said, “I want folks to pleasure themselves. What’s become o’ the fiddlers?”

  Leander shrugged. “Ever hear of a fiddler loving the Law? They high-tailed.”

  Old Gid cocked his chin and spoke low. “The size o’ this crowd is onnatural. Something’s drawed folks.”

  Jimp’s mouth opened, but he’d no chance to get a word in edgeways. Gid latched his thumbs on his galluses and spiked his elbows. “I’m not a born fool,” he said. “Why, I know the magistrate come to speak a ceremony. Everybody knows. Even Peep Eye’s got the fact writ on her face.” He glanced defiantly at Mrs. Buckheart. “Woman! That spindling Branders stranger couldn’t make a hum-bird a living.”

  Mrs. Buckheart’s neck reddened. “Stranger to nobody but you. You’ve ne’er tested his grit, to my knowing.”

  “Why a daughter o’ mine would choose a shikepoke to live with is ontelling.”

  Peep Eye emerged from behind Leander. “Plumey worships the dirt betwixt Rant Branders’s toes,” she said. She threw her neck like a hen; she flicked a spiteful glance at me.

  My hunger fled. I thought, “I’ll not eat a bite o’ Buckheart foam,” and I tossed the molassy spoon into the fire. I turned away and saw Jimp whispering to U Z; I saw Jimp thrust the brass knuckles into U Z’s hand.

  Old Gid snapped, “Tell that young jake to git his growth.”

  “Speak to his face,” Mrs. Buckheart challenged. “Come, I’ll acquaint you.”

  “Sick him, Pap,” Jimp crowed happily.

  Gid’s brows raised. “Ah,” he said. His woman had him cornered. “Ah,” he mumbled, “I don’t mind shaking Rant Branders’s glass hand, but first let me blow a spark o’ life into the gethering.” And just then Jimp raised on tiptoe, calling, “Looky yonder. They’s two fellers rooster-fighting.” Two fellows had their feet on marks, their arms doubled. They smote each other.

  “Be-dog,” Jimp cried, “wisht I was rooster-fighting with some’un my size.” We hustled to see, crawling between folks’ legs, getting inside of the circle.

  The rooster-fighters halted and the gathering made a roar of joy for Old Gid stepped into the ring, walked past Rant, and leveled a finger at Squire Letcher. Gid’s voice rose goodnaturedly. “Me and the square have a bone to pick. Allus ago we fit, and nary a one could whoop.”

  A flat smile withered on the squire’s cheeks. He’d not the chance of a rabbit scrapping a ferret.

  Gid said, “Let’s move nigher the fire for light.”

  The crowd moved, leading the squire; it pushed and spread until the sorghum hole lay inside the ring. The butterweed stalk vanished. I saw Old Gid’s boys bunching behind the crowd, their faces bright and tricky. U Z had left the kettle, edging close to Bailus; and both Leander and Bailus grinned oddly at me and Jimp.

  But Gid didn’t tip the squire. The magistrate stepped off the marked line, giving up ere he’d begun. He didn’t even box his arms. He walked backward, keeping Gid at arm’s length; he sidled and crawdabbed until he had sorghum-holed himself. He came out green as a mossed turkle. And then it was Old Gid’s boys began pushing, and fellows shoved and fought to keep clear of the hole. Jimp and I were in the midst of the battle. Gid’s boys soused a plenty; they soused folk invited or not, and they ducked one another too. U Z grabbed Bailus, rolling him in headforemost; and Leander caught me, and Bailus snagged Jimp. They dipped us.

  I wiped the green skims off my face. I saw old Gid walk up to Rant Branders, saying, “Hit’s time we’re acquainted,” and stuck out his arm. They clapped hands. Gid’s jaws clenched as he gripped, his neck corded. Yet Rant didn’t give down, didn’t bat an eye, or bend a knee. He stood prime up to Old Gid, and wouldn’t be conquered.

  Old Gid dropped his hand. he cut a glance about, chuckling. “Roust the square if they’s to be a wedding,” he said. “Night’s a-burning.”

  Jimp and I hid behind the cane pile, being too hangheaded and shy to watch a marrying. Under the gilly trees Jimp said, “Me and you hain’t never fit. Fighting makes good buddies.” He clenched his fists.

  I knew Peep Eye spied upon us. “You hit first,” I said, acting cagey, taking my part.

  “Say a thing to rile me.”

  I said, “Yore pappy’s a bully man, and I’m glad Rant Branders locked his horns.”

  We fought. We fought with bare fists, and it was tuggety-pull, and neither of us could out-do. And
of a sudden Peep Eye stood between us. Her cheek bore a soot mole, and she was fairer than any finch of a bird, fairer even than Plumey. She raised a hand, striking me across the mouth, and ran. Jimp said, “Jist a love lick.” The blow hurt, but I was proud. And then we heard Old Gid’s voice ring like a bell, and saw him waving his arms by the forgotten molasses kettle. “Land o’ Gravy!” he shouted. “We’ve made seventeen gallons o’ candy jacks.”

  The Burning of the Waters

  WE moved from Tullock’s lumber camp to Tight Hollow on a day in March when the sky was as gray as a war penny and wind whistled the creek roads. Father had got himself appointed caretaker of a tract of timber at the far side of the county, his wages free rent. We were to live in the oneroom bunkhouse of an abandoned stave mill.

  Father rode in the cab with Cass Tullock, and every jolt made him chuckle. He laughed at Cass’s complaint of the chugholes. He teased him for holding us up a day in the belief we might change our minds. Beside them huddled Mother, the baby on her lap, her face dolesome. Holly and Dan and I sat on top of the load and when a gust blew my hat away I only grinned, for Father had promised us squirrel caps. Holly was as set against moving as Mother. She hugged her cob dolls and pouted.

  The tract lay beyond Marlett and Rough Break, and beyond Kilgore where the settlements ended—eleven thousand acres as virgin as upon the first day of the world. Father had learned of it while prospecting timber for Cass and resolved to move there. To live without work was his dream. Game would provide meat, sugar trees our sweetening, garden sass and corn thrive in dirt black as a shovel. Herbs and pelts would furnish ready cash.

  Father had thrown over his job, bought steel traps and gun shells and provisions, including a hundred-pound sack of pinto beans. He had used the last dime without getting the new shoes he needed. He told us, “Tight Hollow is a mite narrow but that’s to our benefit. Cold blasts can’t punish in winter, summers the sun won’t tarry long enough overhead to sting. We can sit on our hands and rear back on our thumbs.”

  Once Father made up his mind, arguing was futile. Still Mother had spent her opinion. “Footgear doesn’t grow on bushes to my knowledge,” she said.