Fleetie's Crossing Read online

  Fleetie flushed red and whispered to Mother, “Would you like to help me fix the plates?”

  Mother practically jumped off the horsehair sofa in her rush to escape the room. I moved to the kitchen too. It was too hard to stay in living room right then. With both of us gone, the rest of the women would finally begin to talk again.

  Fleetie and Mother were almost silent while they placed banana-and-peanut-butter sandwiches on plates, added candy corn, and poured Kool-Aid. When there were words, little was said other than what was necessary for directions. Mother kept her head down and bit her lower lip. She knew things had gone wrong again, but as usual, she was at a loss to know what or why. Over and over in her years living in Ross’s Point, I had seen her try to be one of the bunch, but her efforts to make real friends with neighbors in the valley always blew up, just like this one.

  For starters, marrying Daddy, a favorite of theirs, made everybody judge her hard. Fair or not, her every move was watched, discussed, and analyzed. They talked nice about her beautiful skin, deep blue eyes, trim figure, and soft laugh, but they could not forgive her “airs.”

  Fleetie finally spoke up. “Kathleen, you have the best heart I ’bout ever knowed. Geneva will always cherish that baby gown and quilt. Thank you. You are so good.”

  Mother bit her lip, probably struggling to understand what had happened. “I love to sew baby things, and since I had the material, I thought… Shouldn’t I have sewed for her baby?”

  “We can be funny about things sometimes, Kathleen. Don’t you try to change nothing. Someday, they will all know better how to take you. Ed is right smart. He knowed a good thing when he found you. Before long, you will get the hang of our quare ways. We aren’t none of us too far off from the other.”

  I looked at Fleetie’s soft brown eyes. You could just about fall into them as they swept you up. It looked to me that both of them were about to break into tears just as we heard raindrops sprinkle the window. We didn’t know it right that minute, but the winter drought was over.

  Chapter 4

  AND THE RAINS CAME

  Only the first drops were light. The storm, pushed by a rising wind and joined by rumbling thunder and flashes of lightning, soon caught up with itself. The rain pelted all of us as we hurried our goodbyes and rushed away. Leatha and I ran out the back door and down to the riverbank to watch Dolly, her mother, Susanna, and Dovie Rose pole the boat back across the river. Dolly asked Dovie earlier to help her get the boat across the river. She knew the river would be up. Waters in these mountains didn’t waste any time rising.

  We were all getting drenched, and rain began to fill the bottom of Burl’s little rowboat. Poling over had not required more than an occasional prod to avoid the larger river stones. But now, with the current much faster and the water rising fast, they had to work hard to keep the boat steady and move across as they struggled to get it to the far bank. Cold chills raced up my spine as I watched the river surge in its shallow bed. It forced the water over the gunnels and into the boat. The rain must have started upstream somewhere over Black Mountain. No telling how long it rained up there before it got to us.

  Dolly and Dovie Rose, both young and strong, were fighting to keep on course. They pushed their long poles hard into the soft creek bottom or wedged them against the largest stones to maintain the crossways movement against the current. I held my breath each time a pole was pulled away from its anchor hold because the other pole had to be shoved in place right then, or the little boat would take off down the creek and away from the mooring post on the far bank.

  Fleetie came out the door looking for us and stood stock still as we watched from the bank. I could see her body strain with each lift of the pole. Susanna had moved to place all her weight—and she wasn’t little—right in the middle of the boat. There she sat, the rising water sloshing around her ample ankles, arms welded to the gunnels, rocking gently forward with each push against the poles as if she too could help propel the boat to the far bank. In spite of the rain, the water carried their voices back to us through that peculiar silence that a flood brings with it.

  “Mama, sing ‘Rock of Ages’!” yelled Dolly. “We’re just about there. It’ll help us get the poles up and down.”

  “Sing? ’. You’re pure soft in the head,” said Susanna. “I can’t hardly breathe. If I go to singin’, I’ll purely drown, and then where’ll you be then? I’m the only thing keeping this old boat steady now.”

  In spite of the rain or perhaps because of it, all three laughed at the idea of Susanna drowning on her own song. “Henry will be all over us for being on this river in this storm. Just you wait,” said Susanna.

  “I’d like to see how he would get across if he was here.”

  “You know Daddy, Dovie. He’ll probably tell us we should’ve walked under the boat and waded across,” said Dolly as she fought to give the pole one last hard push. She was rewarded as the boat shuffled up to rest on the narrowing bank. They were now beyond earshot.

  Dovie scrambled up and out of the water onto solid ground with the mooring line in her hand. As she wrapped it around the post that now seemed to be sinking in the rising water, Dolly helped Susanna step out and climb the sloping bank. Dovie Rose turned to wave at all of us, standing in the rain across the rising river.

  Susanna scowled, slipping and struggling for secure footing on the slick grass. I had just begun to breathe easy again as we watched them disappear into the strand of pines just beyond the riverbank. Mother walked around the corner of the house and found us watching the little party struggle away from the sheer bank.

  “I’m telling you, that Dolly is strong as an ox,” said Fleetie. “You’d never think it, as poor as she is. She never eats nothing.”

  “She’s wiry. She must get her strength from hard work,” said Mother. She gave Fleetie a quick hug. “Thank you for inviting me. Please come see me soon.”

  I grabbed Mother’s hand, and we held on to each other as we hurried through the gate. We ran across the county road and up the steep railroad crossing and to begin the long drag up the mountain to our house. Mother’s coat was soon soaked, and water dripped from the brim of her hat. We were both drenched. I shivered and pulled at Mother’s hand as we moved even faster to shorten the time it would take us to get to the house.

  I looked back down the stretch of railroad running parallel to the road and saw four of the women covering the railbed as fast as they could negotiate the cross-ties. Mother saw them too.

  “It is such a long way for them to go in this rain. Wonder why they won’t wait for just a little while. They’re going to catch their death.”

  I knew that none of the women could wait it out this close to suppertime. There was work to be done, men and children to see to, cows to milk, stock to feed, and water to carry. Each day divided itself into divisions of heavy labor. Nothing could be neglected for long. It was not that Mother was lazy or spoiled, but bless her Central Kentucky heart, she just didn’t get it. Lives around here were hard, and rain was just one more irritation in a life full of them.

  Chapter 5

  FLASH FLOOD

  Rain pounded the valley that afternoon and showed no sign of letting up as evening came on. It kept sluicing and pouring right into the dark of night. I stood at the living room window and stared at what was usually a wide view of the valley that flickered with house lights, but tonight, it was futile trying to see through the torrents. In a few minutes, I did spot the lights of Daddy’s car. As the front beams jerked, they drew jagged pinnacles against the darkness as the car hit gulley after gulley. I knew the tires would be spinning a hail of water, mud, rocks, and gravel. Whenever there was rain like this, Daddy had to fight the wheel over the ruts cut by the cascading water speeding down our hillside road.

  I always loved watching the freshets that would form and break free after the heaviest rains. They could cut deep into the light soil in no t
ime. These new streams made their own temporary creek beds with a thick arm of water that raced down the mountain. Of course, the freshet streams never lasted more than a day or so, and in their wake, they left eroded ditches that made even more deep gullies in the roads and driveways. I didn’t dare say how much I liked seeing the temporary creeks, or in the next dry spell, Mother would have me hauling rocks and gravel to repair the damage. Since I was so fascinated by the bubbling streams and the erosion, she reacted as if she thought that I was somehow responsible for the ditches and erosion. It was a good lesson for me about keeping my mouth shut. Pappy never exacted the same toll on my curiosity. He just rolled along with me and let me discover consequences on my own. How I missed him.

  Daddy pulled the car around to the side of the house and parked in the turnaround. He missed Pappy too, but being man-like, he wouldn’t talk about it. He ran from the car as I held the screen door open. He seemed to be flying through the air over the deep puddle swelling at the base of the porch steps. His feet slammed onto the porch, and he all but threw his briefcase and a sack of groceries at me while he grabbed my shoulders to keep from landing flat on his bottom. Both of us exploded into laughter.

  As soon as the both of us could catch a decent breath, he shouted, “Let’s eat!” The sky could be crashing around his ankles, and still, the first words out of his mouth after work were always the same. I knew, with that phrase, he really meant we were all safe, he was home, and the night was good.

  Mother stayed at the sink, and Daddy stood close behind her, waiting for her to turn around. She had been silent ever since we got back from the baby shower, and all he got was her back. I had been here before, more times than I wanted to remember. Next, Daddy would say something to her, and Mother would throw back some sarcastic remark, and before I could skedaddle out of the way, the room would go cold and angry. A hard knot grabbed my throat, and anger hung right behind my ears. It wasn’t Daddy’s fault that Mother had prissed herself down to Fleetie’s with a present that made her look like some high and mighty do-gooder. I had heard it before. She would twist it around and somehow make him responsible for what the women at the shower had said or done. “His people!” She had spit that accusation out more than once. Tonight, it was one more time than I never wanted to hear it again. No telling what Mother would think up this time to yell at Daddy.

  I jumped in. “How high is the river? Did you have trouble getting through?”

  “It’s lapping over the county road. If it keeps this up much longer, there’ll be a tide before morning.”

  I was grateful when Jane ran into the kitchen to collect the funny paper from Daddy’s Courier, her nightly ritual. She was too little to read, so she reported on what the pictures told her. She could be laugh-out-loud funny. A car wreck picture was the “ninny-bye went boom,” and one time, when a bridge was demolished, she commented, “They need Burl’s boat.”

  “Help me, Janey,” I said. “Let’s put dinner on the table. Can you be a big girl and pour the milk?” I knew she would like that job because she was never allowed to touch the pitcher. I got lucky. Mother ignored all of us as if we were invisible.

  Daddy moved to his place at the head of the table and reached to help Jane steady the pitcher. She bit her bottom lip as she strained to hold the heavy milk jug and pour at the same time. I dreaded the mess that was bound to hit the floor. I couldn’t watch. Instead, I grabbed a hot pad to lift the cornbread skillet out of the oven.

  The rolling heat hit my face as I pulled the pan from the hot stove. With one hand, I slapped the oven door shut, and with the other, I flipped the pone over the plate and gave it one sharp rap on the cabinet. No matter how many times I slapped that skillet, I was always afraid the pone would fall apart, fly through the air, and land no-telling-where. It never did, but I kept up the worrying. I forked up the pork chops and stirred the fried apples.

  Daddy started teasing. “Now, Rach! Are you sure you trust me not to eat half of these?” His love of pork chops was a family joke.

  “Better not! We will eat all the apples if you do.”

  “Wicked girls. Logan and I are going to have to beat you with a heavy stick.”

  Janey got so tickled at Daddy, she had to run to the bathroom, and then all of us were laughing. Even Baby Logan, perched on Daddy’s knee with his spoon clutched in his hand, broke into giggles too. Well, almost all of us. Mother still looked like the thunderclouds had settled on her shoulder.

  The pork chop skillet was still hot, and I sprinkled some flour and salt in it and stirred fast before I poured the milk over it. The lumps came anyway, but Mother kept ignoring me. After it came to a good boil, I poured the gravy into the green gravy boat that had belonged to Grandmother and dished the fried apples into the blue fruit bowl, finally getting the rest of our dinner on the table.

  “Janey, look at you,” I said. “You did not spill a drop. How big you are!”

  She strutted around the kitchen table, proud as a banty rooster. Mother lifted Logan into his high chair and Daddy gave Janey a boost onto the tall stool. Maybe the pending storm in the kitchen was over, but I didn’t congratulate myself yet. With those two, you never knew. They were just as likely to yell the roof loose as they were to stand wrapped in each other’s arms for what would seem like forever. Who could figure them out? Not me.

  Toward the end of supper, the steady rain broke into a thunderous downpour so loud I stopped eating and looked at Daddy. The worry crease always resting between his eyes deepened, and I could almost feel his dread of the danger a rain like this was apt to cause everyone downstream. Living up this holler all my life had taught me about the destruction a flash flood can bring down and quick too. Every tiny stream flowing from the top of our mountain would get a hurry on and join the bigger creeks, and together, they grew and chased one another in a mad race for the river. Your smokehouse can be flung down the mountain before you can get the hams out. The flood comes so fast, it roars and crashes down on everything below before you can pull on your hip boots.

  During the evening, Daddy and I tramped again and again to the brow of the hill, straining to see through the dark as we tried to catch a glimpse of the river level. The flashes of lightning helped and showed us that the river was racing toward flood stage.

  “Damn, Rach, right there is why we live so high on this hill.” I wondered if he meant to whisper. “I know it makes it hard when the road washes out, but it beats what is coming at Fleetie and Burl. When I was a little boy, I made up my mind the last time I saw Mam and Pap flooded out that I’d never live where a creek could reach me. Remember, it’s much better to be on high ground. It’s hard to watch the destruction, but it beats being wiped out and mucking all that filth out of your house. It never feels quite right again.”

  I loved it when Daddy told me about his life before I was born. It made me feel solid, like nothing could dislodge me. He had lived through a bunch of bad stuff, and here he was, strong, a grown-up with his own family and home place. It made me sure that if he could make it, so could I. And if a flood couldn’t get me, neither could snakes or typhoid fever or things that lurked around in the dark, just looking for someone to grab. It was the safest feeling I would ever have.

  When we got back to the house the last time, Mother had already put Logan to bed. We were still stomping and shaking the rain off when we heard a wild pounding at the front door. Few people ever came to the front. As much as Mother fussed, most of our visitors made their way to the back door. Daddy beat me to the door, and there stood Nessa, Fleetie and Burl’s eldest daughter.

  “Ed! Ed! Can Mrs. Ramsey come?” Nessa was a beautiful girl, hair as black as pokeberry ink with her snow-white complexion and gentian-blue eyes. Daddy once called her a root out of dry ground.

  Daddy said, “What’s wrong, Nessa? Is someone hurt?”

  “Hit’s Geneva. Oh lordy, hit’s Geneva. Hit’s her time. Oh, can Miz Ramsey come? Mo
mmy said to say please. She said for me to tell her that she can’t handle her alone. Gen’s having a bad, bad time birthing this baby!”

  Before Daddy had time to reply to Nessa, Mother was at it, barking orders. I learned when I was about three to jump when she was dishing out work in that tone of voice.

  “Ed, pull the car around. Nessa, I need for you to stay here with Logan and Jane. I’m going to take Rachel with me to fetch and carry and keep Leatha company.”

  Well, hallelujah! For once, something was going my way. Whatever was going to happen with the flood and the birthing, I was going to be right there to see it.

  Mother was pulling on her coat. “Logan and Janey will be tickled to death you’re here. Tell them some of your Granny Clement’s stories. Put your wet coat on the hook by the stove to dry. You will find some pork chops and gravy with apples on the back of the stove and fresh pie in the oven. I bet you haven’t had a bite of supper.”

  Nessa forgot the rules and shook her head. “Pie sounds really good, Mrs. Hill. Nobody has a thought for eatin’ with Gen so bad…,” she trailed off.

  I could see fear flashing in Nessa’s dark eyes. Mother must have seen it too because she stopped rushing around and barking out orders and put her arms around Nessa. She spoke softly to her and put on one of her sweet smiles. “Don’t you worry now. Gen will get along fine. This baby business sounds worse than it is. Some babies just take their time getting here. They can be awfully slow. I promise Ed will come back up real quick and tell you what’s happening. You know they don’t let the men hang around very long when babies are on the way.”

  Nessa smiled in spite of trying hard not to. “When Geneva starts moaning and crying out, Fred and Daddy both run out the back door right into the rain. You can hear her all over the house, and it’s pretty pitiful. Men just ought to try to have a baby.”