Light to the Hills: A Novel (85)
“Psst, room to squeeze in?”
Sass whirled around on the blanket to see Finn grinning at her. He must have taken off smithing early to get to come. And a double surprise:
“Amanda!” Sass squealed. “And Miles!” She patted the quilt next to her, and Miles squeezed in between her and Hiccup.
“Do you know what’s happening?” Hiccup asked him, but he just shrugged and shook his head. Clueless.
Mooney came soon after. They heard her twinkling laugh in the dusky woods before she appeared with Maisie in tow. A tall, ropy feller with a bushy mustache followed behind her, carrying their supper in a basket draped with a scrap of flour sack. Fern elbowed Sass, and her mouth twisted into a smile. “Looks like Mooney’s sparking,” Fern whispered. “She’s got her work cut out for her, trying to fatten that feller up.”
“Mind if we join?” Mooney asked. “Y’all, this here’s Dale McNeal.” They spread out a blanket and arranged their basket as Maisie scampered and ran with her friends.
“McNeal? You kin to the McNeals over in Far Gap?” asked Daddy, and for the next half hour, Daddy and Dale chased the McNeal rabbit near and far, until they’d nailed down who was who, which uncle or cousin lived where, and what each of them did for a living. Satisfied all the connections had been made, Daddy took a long swig of well water and leaned back on his elbows.
Finn and Amanda settled on their quilt, his back against a sweet gum tree and Amanda leaning in beside him. On the way to the spot, she’d spoken to several families she had become friends with on her packhorse route. They never failed to be excited to see her and ask her for things to bring next time. They called her their visiting angel, their ray of sunshine. She was right where she wanted to be. So many times she remembered yearning for something else, something important or glamorous. She’d been certain whatever that was lay beyond these mountains. She watched her son giggle as he played with Sass and Hiccup. Was anything more important than that laugh? Finn’s chest rose and fell as she leaned on him, and with one hand, he absently stroked her arm just to feel her nearness. He smelled of woodsmoke and lye soap, and his warm breath tickled her ear. She yearned for nothing else; everything she could possibly want was here, on a worn quilt on a summer’s night.
A hush fell over the folks in the crowd, and one by one, their lanterns winked out so that they all sat in the dark woods, the moon the only source of light but for some patches of foxfire glowing on the surrounding slopes. They sat quietly as their eyes adjusted. Finn reached over and took Amanda’s hand. Somewhere, a baby cried and a toddler snuggled closer to his mama’s skirts. A murmur rippled through them as it began. First, a single lightning bug blinked its yellow-green signal.
“There.” Someone pointed at the beacon.
“There’s one.”
“Another.” Here and there, others appeared, almost tentative. On–off, on–off. Like shy raindrops as a storm blows in, the fireflies gathered in speed and numbers as they swept into the clearing and joined in. With each spark of light, a chorus of delight rang out, followed by a shushing when folks grew too loud.
All at once, cued by some invisible signal, the woods burst with the yellow-green glow of the fireflies. They twinkled and blinked their silent calls to each other—here I am, here I am. Hiccup held on to Miles’s arm and gasped. “Oh!”
“Wait, Hiccup, wait,” Sass whispered. In the light of the fireflies, Hiccup’s and Miles’s upturned faces glowed with wonder.
Something shifted in the air, and the fireflies cascaded as one, dipping and turning through the trees in swoops and swirls, this way and that. It reminded Amanda of a school of minnows or the massive flocks of starlings that migrated in the fall, but with a halo. Not only did they move as one, but they signaled as one, so the woods fell dark as a cave one minute—lost—and lit up like daylight in the split second they all glowed—here I am. They danced and circled, their mesmerizing lights holding their audience spellbound.
“Magic.” Hiccup nudged Sass and nodded, her eyes round as saucers.
Finn leaned over in the dark to kiss Amanda’s cheek, and his lips came away wet with her tears. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Like a secret . . .”
“Miracle?” he offered. “I told you there were some of those still around.” Finn opened Amanda’s hand and placed something small and round in her palm. It was too dark to see, so she held it up to her eyes, and when the next firefly signal lit up the clearing, she gasped.
“I made it in your daddy’s forge,” he said. “Ain’t no diamond in it, but I figured maybe God give us enough sparkle tonight.”
Amanda turned her face up to his. For once, the book woman was at a loss for words.
Her eyes spilled over as she kissed him on his warm mouth, the light of the fireflies mimicking the rhythm of their heartbeats.
Epilogue
In the years that followed, Amanda continued to ride her packhorse librarian circuit, faithfully making stops on her route until the program finally ended in 1943. Outside her official job, she visited with the families she’d encountered in the rugged and isolated hills whenever she could. It was harder with a couple of young’uns underfoot, but Miles was sweet to mind his siblings when she had need. Jack and Beady were just a stone’s throw away, close enough for Miles to ride his donkey for a visit. When he could, Finn took Miles along to the forge for the day, where he dreamed up things for Cricket to fashion and delighted his grandparents with his smarts. Finn was the father Miles never had, as steady and grounded as they come, the opposite of Frank Rye in almost every way.