Light to the Hills: A Novel (31)
He flinched. “They tell me I’m lucky. Coulda been a whole heap worse. It was a sorry mess at first. Didn’t look like I was gonna make it and didn’t much care to, to tell the honest truth. My one leg got mashed pretty good, and it won’t never be like it was. It’ll heal, but I won’t be running no races.”
“Well,” said Amanda. “And how many races did you used to run?”
Finn chuckled, and at the unfamiliar sound, Sass and Rai turned toward him. “I can’t concoct the exact total number.”
“Then I expect you’ll make do just fine,” she said.
He glanced toward his mama and sister and lowered his voice. She had to lean in to hear him. “Maybe this here’s part of my becoming real, like the hare in that book. It hurts some, but it means you’ve grown.”
“You were listening,” she teased.
“I was hung on ever’ word,” he said. “You sure know how to carry a story. Your husband must’ve asked you to read to him ever’ night.”
Heat colored Amanda’s face and she bit her lip. “He wasn’t around much, to tell the truth.” Her voice softened, and she’d almost whispered the admission.
“Then he was both a lucky dog and a blame fool in the same skin.” Finn gestured to her left hand, where she wore the ring she automatically twisted with her other hand. “Tell me to mind my business if you like, but why’re you still wearing that? Hasn’t he been gone a few years now?”
Amanda glanced at her hand and shrugged. “I guess it’s easier. Saves folks asking questions or assuming things that ain’t truth, especially since I have Miles to look after. Plus, it’s about the one nice thing I have, so it keeps it from getting lost.”
Finn nodded, his eyes soaking her in. Women alone with children were common enough. Men left their families to find work, not being able to bear the ache of a little one’s hungry stomach, and then found it easier to just not return. Or worse, started over somewhere else, hoping for a better outcome the second time around. Amanda had heard of at least a few men at the mines rowing that exact boat.
“I didn’t mean to bring up a prickly subject.” He was so earnest in his concern that Amanda marveled at it. Had her sole experience made her forget what a gentleman could be like?
She shrugged and smiled reassurance. “It’s all right. I’ll tell you about him sometime. Maybe I should take it off. Old ways won’t open new doors, my granny used to say.” As Amanda held Finn’s gaze for an extra beat, his eyes sparkled in the lantern light. Something about Finn made the closed doors inside of her creak open the slightest bit, letting in a stripe of light. It stirred a cautious but hopeful something, like the first warmth on a spring breeze after a spell of winter days. She liked him. Truth told, the whole MacInteer family drew her like the fragrance of sweet honeysuckle. It reminded her of days when nothing felt as secure as her mama’s lap or her small hand tucked inside her daddy’s big one.
“Miz Rye?” Sass stood behind her, scratching at a place on her neck. “I forgot to tell you.” Her mouth was tight, and although she looked at Finn, her words were for the book woman.
Amanda turned to face the girl. “Tell me what?”
“We saw your mama and daddy last week. Went up to the church when Finn was so puny.” Sass held herself tall and straight.
“Sass.” Rai’s voice was a willow switch.
Amanda stilled. “Is that so?” Her back went straight as a knife’s edge. “Did y’all get to chat much?”
“Didn’t get to stay until the end,” Rai admitted. “And we don’t usually travel such a piece to attend, but we had a special cause.” She cut her eyes at Finn. “The Lord was merciful. Finn’s doing a heap better’n he was.”
She might as well come out with it. “My folks and I parted ways a few years back, but I reckon you prob’ly know that. Words travel like dandelion seeds. There’s no controlling where they fly.” Amanda turned to look at Sass. “I wish it weren’t so, but it wasn’t an easy time there for a while, after my husband was gone and I had Miles to care for. Sometimes hasty words stick in your craw, especially when they ought not have been said to begin with.”
Rai nodded. “You can’t choose the family tree you climb in. Harley’s got an uncle or two I’m ashamed to share a name with, that’s a fact. My mama’s own sister was wild as the wind. Sometimes the good Lord sees fit to perch folks on the branches that require an extra measure of our grace. Sometimes those folks is us. Guess we all take turns.”
Amanda laughed. “I’ve never heard it put quite that way, Rai.”
The shadows thrown across the floor from the struggling light outside had lengthened. Amanda remembered how far she had to ride to get back to her own home, where her small son would be waiting for her to tell him about her day. She needed to finish up here. “I almost forgot,” said Amanda. “I know how much y’all enjoyed that apple pie last time, and I managed to bring along some fried pies and a few apples for Harley.” Before Rai could protest about taking charity, Amanda said, “Rai, if you could relay to me a recipe or two in trade, I’d be proud to include them in one of the scrapbooks we use.”
“That sounds like a fine idea.” Rai was happy to contribute. Trouble was, measuring and figuring were an unnecessary nuisance when it came to setting victuals on a table. Most folks put together a dish with what was available and with the muscle memory of hands that had kneaded bread and measured pinches, handfuls, and dashes for years. Seasonings were by taste, and mixing by sight. Amanda and the others in the WPA office had done enough transcribing that they had learned to translate the instructions into official-looking recipes, so Amanda scribbled as Rai began: