Light to the Hills: A Novel (20)

“He’s hollering for the other one to help him. Screaming like to wake the dead. Turnip’s just a’shaking him like a rag doll. His shirt’s all torn, and I can see where Turnip’s teeth has made a nice bruise already. You ever look real careful at the way a horse bites a’ apple?”

“Alice, for goodness’ sake,” said Amanda.

“’Bout that time I get my seat back and have my pistol cocked and aimed right at this third feller, who right about now has decided maybe it weren’t such a good ideer to make a grab for this particular mule. He backs off and puts his hands up, one of ’em shy a coupl’a fingers. Yammering some nonsense about how he didn’t mean nothing, the sorry sumbitch. I could see in his dirty-dog face that he for certain meant something, all right. He had a smile that made the hair rise up on the back o’ my neck. I told them to get back on that train ’fore it got clean outta sight and make their way right back into the pit they crawled out of.”

“You didn’t,” said Thalia.

“I did, most certainly,” Alice exclaimed. “My heart was hammering so hard I thought it’d beat right outta my chest. That third feller, he had the nerve to pretend to tip his hat at me with that greasy smile on his face. Makes my cheeks burn just thinking about it. Turnip dropped the one feller finally, and he got his legs under him where he could run off. Then we lit out of there like a blue streak. I never did look back.”

“You’re lucky you weren’t . . . hurt,” breathed Amanda.

“Just goes to show, you gotta keep your eyes peeled out there, ladies. Some poor devils will even take from those who don’t got much to start with. Lowest of the low, if you ask me. Might be smart to vary your routes now and again, so don’t nobody get too used to you coming along the same way.”

“Do you think so?” Thalia asked. “I do pass by a spot or two where there’s tell of a still along the way. I haven’t seen anything, and if you ain’t the law, they tend to let you be.”

“Wouldn’t hurt none,” said Alice. “And keep your gun handy. If you did happen to have to shoot one or two of these fellers, I don’t reckon the world would miss much turning for it. Ain’t no words in the world”—she patted her satchel—“worth the price they wanted.” Her head turned toward the window. “Oh, looky, I was hoping to catch Jeremiah coming back from the lumberyard, and there he goes.” She pinched her cheeks for color and flashed them a quick smile. “Y’all have a nice day, now.”

Alice took her week’s satchel and left. They all heard her boots clomping down the front steps, leaving an extra measure of quiet in the office.

“Well, now,” Amanda said, “that was a right fair warning, I s’pose.”

“Reckon some people can’t bear up anymore,” said Esther. “Want changes them.”

Amanda wasn’t as quick to offer excuses. “There’s all kinds of folks on our routes who want for things. It’s still a person’s choice that says what they’ll stoop to. Far as I can see, it’s just giving in to meanness to make ’em prey on others. We ought to tell the law what happened, so they’ll keep an eye out.”

“That’s Alice’s business. Reckon if she don’t report it, she’s got reasons,” Esther replied.

Amanda didn’t want to stir the pot. She was the newest member of their crew, and jobs didn’t fall out of the sky every day. She’d keep her pistol oiled for certain. Of all the things Alice had told them, it was her description of the man she’d aimed at that set Amanda on edge. A smile that made the hair rise up on her neck. What kind of man smiles at the business end of a pistol? She could only think of one.





Chapter 8


Among the faithful and those who remembered the Good Book (only a scattered few could actually read it), some remnant remained who considered the mountains God’s country, a place set apart for plucky and hardworking servants. A faith that can move mountains is only as big as a tiny mustard seed, they said. A faith bigger than that could track a deer in the snow for miles if it meant meat through the winter. Such a faith could grant children, turn sinners, and mend what was broken.

Sass reckoned that’s what Mama counted on when she hitched their mare to the buck wagon and loaded the four children into the back of it. Digger and Tuck trotted behind for a time, tails wagging, before eventually giving up and circling back to the cabin. A nap on the porch probably seemed like a better prospect than the effort of a trek through the mountains. Her daddy stayed behind with Finn so that he could keep the fire going and the lanterns lit. Finn’s nightmares were worse when the cabin was too dark. It was a daylong haul to the pinewood church over in Pickins, and to get there and back before it got too dark to see their way, they had to start before daylight. Mama had wanted Finn to come, too, thought maybe a laying on of hands might convince the Lord they meant business, but he slept most of the days away, sweating and moaning in the bed.

It had been nine days since the mine accident. That meant nine days minus a wage earner. Nine days that turned Mama into a knot of worry, spending every spare second sitting near Finn as he mewled as weak as a kitten. Fern found chores to do outside, even carrying a lantern on the porch at dusk to piece a quilt rather than sit cooped up inside with Finn’s misery. Cricket kept busy with nervous energy, running back and forth to the corncrib for feed, stacking wood, or jigging frogs for a supper of frog legs and greens. When it got too dark, he sat on the hearth and whittled whatever piece of wood he’d chosen that day. Within the space of a week, he had a fox, a raccoon, and a family of rabbits lined up on the stone for Hiccup to play with. Usually Finn judged Cricket’s creations and made suggestions for the next ones, but lately he wouldn’t rouse long enough to show interest.