Light to the Hills: A Novel (84)
Since they’d been spending time with their grandson, Beady couldn’t remember ever being so happy. On their way to and from visiting Amanda and Miles, she and Jack had had a chance to talk.
“Isn’t this a sweet time?” she’d asked. “Watching our girl be such a good mama?”
“I’m just ashamed we missed so much of it because of my stubbornness,” said Jack.
“My hands ain’t clean, neither,” said Beady. “If my faith and heart had been stronger, if I’d refused to let resentment build walls . . .”
“We’ve each clutched our grudges with both hands,” said Jack. “I’m sorry as can be about that. With my hands full of that mess, I had no room to hold the gifts that were waiting for us.”
“We’re both imperfect and impulsive, Jack,” said Beady. “Reckon that’s being human. I forgave you a long time ago.”
He’d kissed her soundly on the cheek. “I declare it’s good to have things restored. I’ve missed the affection of my good wife.”
These past years, their faith had surely been tested. Jack stacked the wooden boxes that had rested in the front of the church and carried them out to the barn. He’d confessed to Beady that he’d felt a distinct calling to lay aside this particular element of faith testing. Beady set her hoe against the gate and followed Jack on his way to the barn. There, he leaned over Maxine’s stall and gave her a pat. The mare’s winter coat had almost shed all the way out. Beady watched from behind the doorway as Jack picked up the curry comb and knocked it against a post. Clumps of strawberry-roan horsehair fell out onto the ground in a cloud of dust. Jack bent over and picked up a clump, then dug in his pocket. He held the bit of hair that he’d found snagged in the wood of the viper box between his thumb and forefinger and compared the two. Beady knew he hadn’t ridden Maxine when he’d picked up the reptile box from the feller who’d caught them.
She stepped out from behind the barn doorway, the afternoon sunlight streaming in around her as specks of dust floated and sparkled in the sunbeam. Jack drew in a breath. “You look a vision with your hair come loose round your shoulders and lit from behind like that.”
“Supper’ll be ready soon.” She smoothed her apron. “Maybe we can make a picnic out of it since the day’s so nice? Jack? Why’re you staring at me so?”
Jack smiled at her and closed the space between them. “Picnic sounds fine.” He put his arm around her waist and led her out into the sunshine, pulling her close. “I’ll draw some water from the well and carry a quilt to sit on.”
As they walked to the house, she looked up into his eyes with a contented smile, and he loosened his fingers, letting the strawberry-roan horsehair fly on the breeze like dandelion seed.
Chapter 26
Late one June afternoon, when the day had not finished wringing its last pleasures from the sun, Daddy came in from helping a neighbor get up a small field of hay and announced it was time to visit the lightning bugs that evening. Sass looked up from her book, and a smile spread across her face. She’d nearly forgotten. She’d been little the last time they’d gone, and Hiccup had never seen them.
“I’ll get the wagon ready,” Cricket yelled as he dashed out the door.
“Mama, I’ll fetch the ham from the smokehouse. We can take sandwiches on the way,” Fern offered.
Hiccup came inside, flushed and sweaty. She’d been catching june bugs all afternoon and flying them in circles with a string tied around their bodies. “Where’s Cricket goin’?” she asked. “He wouldn’t say. Said it was a surprise.”
“Just wait and see,” Sass breathed. “It’s magic!”
Sass was disappointed Finn wouldn’t be with them. He’d been called out with Jack Wick on a blacksmith job down at the mine. Finn’s way with horses and him being familiar with all the mine ponies and mules made the foreman hire them on as the regular farriers. Cricket had been learning smithwork, too, but he preferred the forging part. So far, he’d made an ash shovel and poker for the fireplace and an iron meat fork with a long, twisted handle so fine that he’d already had requests for others. All his skills at carving and whittling gave him ideas for how to fashion things that Jack, in all his years of practicality, had never thought of.
They rushed to pile into the wagon and headed down the path, laughing and talking. Hiccup tried to guess what sort of magic they would see.
“Is it faeries?” she asked. “Mushroom circles? A rainbow? Foxfire?”
“Nope, nope, and nope,” Cricket teased. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
After a good trek deeper into the woods, the light dimmed as the trees closed in around them. A deer in velvet crashed up the slope beside them, and startled crows cawed in protest. Soon, they could hear other families like theirs and see the twinkling of their lanterns through the trees on several sides. Daddy pulled up the horse and jumped down to tie her to a tree while everyone piled out. They’d have to walk a ways from here deeper into the thicket.
“A singing?” Hiccup asked, skipping along to keep up. “Music?” Fern took her by the hand and pulled her along with a mysterious smile.
Finally, they emerged into a natural clearing ringed by ledges of limestone rock, maybe an ancient sinkhole or a site the Cherokee used for meetings. Folks set up their blankets and lanterns all around and in the middle on the grass, wherever they found room. The MacInteers found a spot big enough for all of them, and Rai passed around their picnic supper. Talk was friendly as always when folks who usually lived far apart got to visit. The only way they knew to come was by reading the moon or word of mouth.