Light to the Hills: A Novel (42)

Once Hiccup had her belly full and they’d cleaned up from supper, they settled on the hearth to read and visit. Amanda recounted news from town, bits and pieces from newspapers she’d seen at the WPA office, how there seemed to be more cars on the road passing through their little spot on the map. Both Rai and Amanda preferred horses or mules since a car couldn’t make it up the mountain switchbacks or down a steep logging trail. Neither one had ever ridden in a car, but they didn’t seem practical, and practical was the byword of the mountains.

“My friend Alice goes right by the rail depot on her route, and men are jumping off the boxcars like frogs in a boiling pot. They ride on top of the train, even in the cold. Guess this mine’s one of the few left open, and word’s out.”

“I don’t begrudge a man looking for work, but I hear tell it’s bringing some shifty chiselers in,” Rai said.

Amanda nodded. “That’s a fact. Sometimes the library office opens on Saturdays. They have a radio that uses batteries, and on Saturday evenings they’ll play the Grand Ole Opry program. Folks from all over gather up to sit for a spell and listen, and it lasts for hours. If you stay for the whole show, you might not get home till after midnight.” She laughed. “We had a preacher from a nearby town come once, trying to see what all the commotion was about and why half his church was dozing during his sermon the next day.” Amanda considered a moment. “I’ve seen a few gathered there that I’d call shifty, for certain.”

“A radio?” said Sass. “Wouldn’t that be fine to hear.”

“Oh, yes, in the summer when it’s nice out, lots of nights they’ll stay open late so folks can hear some of the story shows like Amos ’n’ Andy or The Lone Ranger. But I like the music best. There’s some fine banjo on there; a man called Dave Macon picks like his fingers are on fire. Since I’m staying over the night here, when it warms up, maybe you girls can spend an evenin’ at my house, and we can go hear the radio.”

Sass’s mouth hung low and her eyes grew round. “Could I, Mama?” she breathed.

“We’ll have to see when it comes time, but it sounds like a fine idea. I’d fancy hearing tunes on a radio myself sometime.”

When their chatter stopped, the cabin fell silent except for the whuffles and snuffs from Digger and Tuck, enjoying their privileged places inside. The icy rain had stopped pelting the shingles, and the only sounds outside were the wind howling and the creak of the swaying treetops as their bare branches swept the purple night sky clear of stars. Harley pulled his boots on, gave Rai’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, and headed out the door with his collar turned up and his hat pulled low around his ears.

“I’ll make it to the mines in no time flat,” he ventured. “I’ll check down the holler for Myrtle and get her up in the barn ’fore I head out. Don’t want this wind whistling down my neck any longer than it has to. Y’all keep an eye on ol’ Myrtle, now.”

Finn jerked his chin over at Cricket, lying sound asleep across the tick with his pocketknife open in one hand and a block of half-carved wood in the other.

“Mama, Cricket’s been out hunting all day. Let him stay in here and rest awhile. Sass and I can go sit with Myrtle and come get him if we need him.” He got to his feet and hobbled over to ease the open knife out of his brother’s hand. “I’ll lay this on the mantel for him to close in the morning. Last thing I need is more bad luck.”

Sass had jumped up and pulled on her shoes and now rummaged through the coats for one she could wear. “Let’s bring some tea with us. I’ll put some in the old kettle.”

“Mind if I join?” asked Amanda.

Finn grinned. “Sure, if you can keep the old woodstove fed.”

“Rai, once you get Hiccup to sleep, you and Fern will have lots more room in the bed with just the two of you.”

“Reckon so,” she agreed, a smile on her lips.

The three of them tromped out to the barn in the snow, Sass leading the way and breaking a path through the layer of ice to make it easier for Finn. She carried a lantern in one hand and a steaming kettle of tea in the other. Finn followed, leaning on his walking stick and making his way with careful, measured steps and a limp, and Amanda trailed at the rear, holding another lantern and an armful of quilts. The cold was wet and heavy, dampening their hair and coats. Under the ice lay several inches of snow, and the bright moon shining through the trees cast a blue glow on the ground. In the barn, Myrtle lowed, restless.

The animals squinted against the unexpected light when they walked into the barn. As their eyes adjusted, the dirt floor and paneled pens distilled into more than dark silhouettes. The barn was orderly but chock-full of handmade wood-handled tools; lengths of rope and wire looped and hung on pegs; and piles of feed and seed sacks that Rai would no doubt fashion into tablecloths, towels, or clothing once they were emptied. Wooden buckets hung on posts in front of the stalls, ready for the day’s milking. The sweet, summery smell of hay filled the space, along with the acrid tang of manure and dirty bedding. Surprisingly, the bodies and breath of the livestock cast a little warmth into the room, and it wasn’t as frigid as it would’ve been empty.

Myrtle, her white face bright in the dim light, rustled the hay as she circled her pen and cast anxious glances backward at her rounded sides. The brown-and-white goats in the adjacent pen seemed oblivious of her distress, some standing by their door with their tails flicking and others bedded down for the night, legs tucked up under their bellies. The two horses, Plain Jane and Lincoln, nickered a soft welcome, and Junebug pricked his ears at their entrance. Amanda found a clean corner to set the quilts and lantern down, and she and Sass filled the old woodstove with kindling and twisted bunches of hay while Finn checked the heifer.