Light to the Hills: A Novel (58)
On her last visit, Amanda had worked things out with Mama so that Sass and Fern could ride along with her on her way home and spend the night at her place. Mama sent them off, riding double bareback on Plain Jane with a packed lunch pail and bedroll and strict instructions to mind their manners and help out however they could. They’d walked down to the WPA office with Amanda, Mooney, and the little ones, Miles and Maisie, to hear the radio shows Amanda had told them about. How strange to think a voice spoke to them from a whole other place far away. Amanda had told them the president of the United States sometimes talked through the radio, too, to give updates on what was happening in the country. He called the sessions Fireside Chats, so it would seem like he was right there visiting with you, like a neighbor in your own house.
Besides hearing the radio show, Sass and Fern had helped make supper, take care of the horses, haul wood, and play with the children. Miles and Maisie were easy and so smart. It was no wonder when they lived with a librarian in their very own house, with access to books and such just down the road. When she and Fern added their voices to the singing and playing after supper, Mooney declared that angels must’ve paid a visit, it sounded so pretty. Mooney was made of kindness and couldn’t get over finally getting to meet some of the family Amanda ran on and on about.
“That one time she came back here in the morning so worn out she slid right off Junebug and straight into bed, covered in icicles and smelling like a barn. Thought for certain she’d be coming down with the ague soon after.”
“That was when we had to pull Myrtle’s calf,” Sass said with a laugh.
“I was so worried, I had half a mind to tie a young’un on each side of my saddle and ride up into the hills to fetch her.” Mooney ruffled Miles’s fine sandy hair. “I sang so many songs to a certain little beetle to get him to fall asleep that night, I couldn’t talk for a week. She was lucky, ’cause she woulda gotten a’ earful if I’d of had my full voice.”
“I told Miles I’d been out collecting rabbits,” Amanda said, “and it took me all night to get a sackful. I let him pick the one he liked best. Mooney, Fern here’s the one who thought up the rabbit idea.”
“Mercy.” Mooney clapped her hands together. “Best thing since pockets on a dress. Them rabbits pop up all over the place. I see kids toting ’em through town all the time, don’t want to let go of ’em.” Fern flushed and stared at the floor. Sass had never known her to be so shy at home. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you could turn that sort of thinking into a business of some sort down the road.”
Sass and Fern had hardly slept, their first time off the mountain for an entire night. They’d been disappointed when Finn showed up early the next morning, riding their plow horse, Lincoln, ready to escort them back up the mountain. Mooney had risen even earlier, rattling skillets and stoking the stove for a big breakfast of ham, eggs, and hoecakes. She’d invited Finn in for a bite when he arrived and peppered him with questions like Nancy Drew would’ve done, Sass thought. Did Mooney figure Finn as a suspect? For what? When they’d set off for home, Amanda had handed up a sack of apples to Finn for a meal on the way, and Sass noticed she no longer wore the ring she was so accustomed to seeing on the book woman’s left hand. A pang of sympathy struck her. It would be a shame if she’d lost something so fine.
Casting dark looks up at the woodpecker, Sass sighed and ventured out to the garden to join Mama and Fern. Bright sprigs of wild buttercups danced here and there in the breeze, and fat bumblebees flitted between the quince and forsythia. Sass breathed deep. The damp, earthy smell of everything come alive in the spring made her want to go exploring. She wished she’d risen early enough to go fishing with the boys, but she knew Finn would go back to the mines soon, now that his leg was mostly all mended, and that he wanted to spend some time with Cricket in particular. Cricket was a couple of years away from thirteen, and it wasn’t so long ago that Finn had been in his place, counting the days before he’d have to go below ground like a mole. Still, she wished she could trade the hoe in her hands for an afternoon of baiting hooks and skipping rocks. She loved to sit in silence, listening to the music of the stream as it flowed around rocks and fallen branches, the only interruption the regular plink of their lines as they cast out near the banks to reach the run-ins where roots of trees growing near the water held fish close against the land.
“Judging by that waning moon last night, it’s nigh on time to start planting taters,” Mama said. “Provided Finn and Cricket come back with a nice string o’ fish, we can throw some fish heads in the furrows.”
“Fish head, fish head,” Hiccup sang, absently parroting Mama’s words. She sat in the dirt and sorted seed potatoes by color. “Fishy fishy fish head.”
“I can make markers for the rows this time,” Sass offered, “like we seen—saw—in the scrapbook pictures.”
“I don’t doubt it, but if we can’t tell the difference between beans and taters just by looking, I reckon we might need more help than a signpost. Markers might be more for other folks.” Folks who aren’t counting on their next meal coming from their own hands’ work, she meant.
They hoed down the rows for the better part of an hour, the sun warm on their backs as they chatted and sang. It would be an easy matter to drop the seed potatoes in once the moon rose and finish the job. Hiccup had them sorted into piles of Irish, red, and sweet potatoes, and except for her muddy hands, she had managed to stay fairly clean in the process. Mama was dusting her off when they spotted Daddy stalking toward the cabin, his hat gripped tight in his hand. Something had put a burr under his saddle.