Light to the Hills: A Novel (73)
“So you’re saying Gripp Jessup and that Spider Finn’s in with are the same feller? Y’all sit tight a minute while I see the boys off.”
Rai scooted outside as Harley and Finn mounted the horses. Amanda watched from the window as Finn’s face turned an angry shade of red. Amanda imagined Rai had connected the dots for them. Father and son turned the horses and headed down the trail, Harley first and Finn following, with Plain Jane’s nose practically on top of Lincoln’s tail. She could hear the dogs baying and barking as they ran ahead.
Rai came back in, bringing with her the scent of honeysuckle and rain on the way.
“It’s a good thing Harley’s with him, or Finn woulda took off loaded for bear, come what may.” She breathed out a long breath. “Ain’t much riles a man more than the thought of trouble coming to someone they’re sweet on.” Amanda’s mouth dropped open at this revelation. “The two of them are fit to be tied. It’s best they’re leaving for a spell to let the sheriff sort this mess out. Reckon things would get a far sight worse with the law if they was to set things right their own selves.”
Rai pulled out the risen dough and then dusted her hands off on her apron, leaving smeared handprints of flour. She stood with her hands on her hips for a long moment, her chest rising and falling with measured breaths. Outside, the first rumbles of thunder echoed across the top of the mountain.
“I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do,” she said, pointing at the dough in the bowl. “First we’re gonna rest. Then, just like this here bread, we’re gonna rise. Gather up that flock of young’uns out there and get ’em in ’fore the rain hits. After, we’re gonna sit here and fill our bellies. Then, we’re gonna hitch up your mule to our wagon and head back to your place. Will he pull?”
Amanda nodded. Junebug would do anything she asked.
“All of ’em can stay there for a couple days ’cause there ain’t no way I’m leaving any of ’em here while that son of a cuss is loose on this mountain. I’ll make Mooney a pie for her trouble. Then, you”—she pointed a finger at Amanda—“and me are gonna hightail it up to Pickins’s Nose and have a come-to-Jesus meeting with the preacher.” Rai paused to take a breath. “After that, well, I ain’t thought that far, but I’m sure it’ll come to me. I’ll be on the lookout for signs and wonders.”
“I have a couple stops left on my book route.”
“We can get to ’em on the way.” Rai took one breath before setting them to task. “Sass, set a table and help me get these beans a’going. Amanda, call those young’uns in ’fore they get soaked. They’re like a bunch o’ turkeys looking skyward. Liable to stand out there with their mouths open till they drown. It’s a wonder the world turns, with the foolishness of children and men the world over.”
Chapter 22
The few families who remained on the rest of Amanda’s route raised their brows a notch or two when instead of a lone woman on a gray mule, here come that mule toting a wagon full of young’uns and Rai MacInteer, to boot. These families weren’t set to host a crowd, so Amanda kept her stops shorter that day. Several children peeped ’round their mamas’ legs at the door, clutching Fern’s stuffed rabbits to their chests, and Amanda pointed them out to her. Fern told Amanda she’d studied over the patterns Amanda had given her, and although one or two looked simple enough to make, she might like to try her hand at making some out of ideas in her own head. Amanda suggested she talk it over with Mooney when they got into town, for Mooney was handy with a needle and could help her with some tricky stitches.
Rai mostly stayed in the wagon, trying to keep Cricket and Miles from scooting over the side and running willy-nilly all over creation each time they stopped. She’d call out to folks on the porch, asking after this or that one, passing along notions about how the tomatoes might do further on, or tsk-tsking when they told of earaches or risings. She’d offer advice on what they might try as remedies—steeping rue leaves in oil and squeezing some into the ear, lard and sulfur with some mashed yellow root to draw out swellings. It was plain to Amanda that although Rai was only just shy of fifty, folks saw her as a granny woman.
Mooney had stopped being surprised long ago at what Amanda collected from folks along her route. She’d come home with everything from jars of pigs’ feet and pickled okra to threadbare scraps of fabric meant for quilt pieces—and once, a live catfish that had slapped against Junebug’s flank for a solid mile and had him in a fine mood, with his long ears flattened back against his neck by the time they’d arrived. Although a wagonful of MacInteers was a load, to be sure, it wasn’t the worst thing, especially when Rai gave Mooney a loaf of fresh sourdough and a blackberry pie made from the last of what she’d put up last summer. When Amanda and Rai told her what had happened and that they were headed up the far side of the mountain to Pickins, Mooney’s lips pursed tight and her eyes grew round as hoecakes.
“Well, I’ll allow that’s the last thing I thought this day would bring,” Mooney finally said. “You aim to take Miles with you?”
Amanda shook her head. “Why would I?”
“Might ease things, having a grandbaby underfoot, is all.”
Amanda shrugged. “I don’t know, Mooney, it ain’t like they been clamoring at the door to see him so far.”