Thundersnow
In the Shadow
of the Cedar
Book One
Sheila Hollinghead
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously
Copyright © 2012 Sheila Odom Hollinghead
Published at Smashwords
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All rights reserved.
For my loving husband, Carl,
my daily inspiration, and my family
Thanks also to all who helped me on my journey to publication.
Chapter 1—Ruined
“Momma, you’re hurting me,” I whispered. The wind swirled leaves and dust around the churchyard. I stared down at the ground, my cheeks burning.
“I worked my fingers to the bone sewing that dress, but do you care?”
The south Alabama red clay stained my dress, and the hem hung crookedly around my knees. The stares of the farmers and their families bored into me, and I squirmed under their scrutiny.
“Sorry, Momma.”
“You will be sorry when I get you home, Sarah Jane. Fourteen and acting like a four-year-old.”
I clamped my lips together, trying to keep the tears at bay. Momma grabbed my chin and yanked my head up. A tooth slashed the inside of my lip, and blood oozed into my mouth.
“You look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Her icy stare pinned me like a moth as she raised her hand. I braced myself for a slap, but her hand fell to her side where Ezekiel James clung to her leg. She stroked my four-year-old brother’s silky, blond hair while continuing to glare at me with her pale blue eyes.
Most of the people were moving away but lingered over their goodbyes, waiting, I thought, to see what else Momma would do. Mrs. Yard, Momma’s best friend, crossed her arms, her lips puckered as if she had just eaten a green persimmon.
“We’re in a depression, Sarah Jane,” Momma said. “You don’t care how your poppa and me work our fingers to the bone. I told your poppa you didn’t need any store-bought underwear. I bet you’ve ruined them."
Before I knew what she was doing, she bent over and grabbed my dress. "And just look at this. Half the hem is out." She yanked so hard, my dress ripped along the seam.
“Momma!” I tried to jerk away, but her hold tightened. “Momma let go!” My tugging caused the dress to continue ripping upward. My dress gaped open. Horrified, I pulled my dress back together, glancing around at the faces watching us.
She stepped back. “Now look what you’ve done. Your dress is completely ruined. I’ve a good mind to
. . .”
“Molly, that’s enough.” Poppa had walked up, unseen by Momma. He didn’t raise his voice, but Momma reddened.
She turned to face him. “Do you see what she’s done? She’s ruined her dress.”
“Sarah Jane, get to the wagon,” Poppa said, his brown eyes full of compassion.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, my throat burning with the effort. I stumbled away.
Poppa never called me Sarah Jane. Momma always called me that. Said she didn’t hold with people using nicknames. But Poppa always called me Jay. When I was little, it was Blue Jay. When had he quit calling me that? Tears seeped from the corners of my eyes as I struggled to hold the dress together.
Laughter drifted on the cool breeze, and I stopped to stare at the red clay hill. A few kids still took turns sliding down on a fertilizer sack. Why had I listened to my cousin? Laurie convinced me I wouldn’t get my dress dirty. Just tuck it in tight, and it’ll be okay, she had said. Right. Tears slid down my cheeks.
“Store-bought underwear, Jay?”
Swiping at the tears with the back of my hand, I turned to confront the source of the voice. Dan Drake. We called him Drake, the Slimy Snake. Just not to his face.
At seventeen, Dan stood over six feet tall, towering almost a foot over me. He slicked back his brown hair and narrowed his yellowish-green eyes.
“What’s it to you?” I said.
“Just wanted a little look-see. Are they red or are they blue? I'm just betting they look good on you.” He smirked.
I glared at him, forgetting my dress. As I took a step toward him, a puff of wind tugged the material from my grasp.
“What d’ya know! They are blue.” He snickered.
Warmth flooded my cheeks. I caught the edges of my dress and pulled them back together. I whirled around and bumped into someone. I gasped.
Michael. His eyes caught mine for a second, a second that ticked by with infinite slowness. With an effort, I looked away, and he averted his gaze. I staggered away with my cheeks on fire.
Holding my dress together the best I could, I scrambled awkwardly over the side of the wagon. I didn’t know if anyone was watching. I didn’t care. My head throbbed. Michael of all people. His warm brown eyes seeing . . . Had he also watched my mother berating me? It didn’t matter. Someone was bound to tell him anyway. Half the community had been in the churchyard.
I ran my fingers through my hair and caught the ends. I yanked hard. All that accomplished was to make my head ache. I leaned against the inside of the wagon and waited.
The half-dozen or so people who owned trucks or cars cranked them and drove away. The churchyard rapidly emptied. Where were Momma, Poppa, and Zeke? Our mules, tied to an oak tree, stomped their feet and switched their short tails. I drew up my knees, wrapping my arms around them to keep my dress together. I let my head droop and closed my eyes, counting to myself. I heard someone clamber in and opened my eyes. Zeke. He hovered before dropping down beside me. The boards creaked as Momma and Poppa climbed in without speaking. Poppa spoke softly to the mules, and they plodded home.
“Jay,” Zeke whispered. When I didn’t answer, he laid his head against me.
I did not shirk his comfort. I draped my arm over his shoulders, and tears silently spilled onto his hair, the hair Momma had so lovingly stroked. While darker and lighter shadows fell over us, formed as the sun spilled through the mostly bare branches, half-formed words of prayer slipped through my mind.
When the mules stopped, I bounded over the side of the wagon. But it was too late.
Momma’s harsh voice called me back. “Hold your horses, young lady.”
I stopped and turned to face her.
“You’d better get something straight. You will not embarrass me again like you did today.”
“Embarrass you?” My head snapped up. “You humiliated me! Why did you pull on my dress?” My voice shook. My dog, Chance, nudged my hand and whimpered.
“Jay,” Poppa said, his voice soft but firm.
I bit back the words on my lips and shot him a pleading look. Poppa pressed his mouth together and gave a slight shake of his head.
“James, you deal with her. She ain’t got a lick of sense.” Momma’s cool blue eyes cut like shards of glass. “Talk some sense into her. And I mean it this time! Ezekiel James, come here!” She stomped into the house, pulling Zeke behind her.
Poppa took out his pipe and tapped it gently against his palm. “Try to understand, Jay. With that bad crop last year and . . .”
I nodded. “I know, I know. The Depression.”
“All this worry about money has your momma ill as a hornet.”
“But she didn’t have to embarrass me in front of everyone. Especially Dan.” I fell to my knees and wrapped my arms around Chance.
“Jay, Momma’s . . .” Poppa rubbed his chin, his brown eyes staring into the distance. He shook his head as if clearing it of cobwebs.
“Momma’s what, Poppa?”
He sighed heavily. “Just tired. She’s had a hard life." He rubbed a hand over his forehead. "And it’s my fault.” His eyes, cloudy with pain, sought mine. “I’ll have a talk with her. Now, don’t worry ‘bout Dan. He ain’t worth a cussing.” His gentle hand squeezed my shoulder. “Just stay out of Momma’s way. I’ve got to see to Mr. Price and Aunt Sally.”
Stupid names for mules, but Zeke had named them. Zeke always got his way. I stayed seated on the hard ground and looked at my torn dress that I still clutched together. Yep, it was beyond repair.
What did he mean it was his fault? He couldn’t help the Depression. It did seem my family suffered more than others. But Poppa worked hard, from dawn to dusk. It wasn’t his fault we were poor.
I hugged Chance tighter to me. What if I just ran, just ran down that dirt road as far as I could go? Ran until no more red clay clung to me?
Cheeks still burning, I brushed at my dress, climbed wearily to my feet, and slipped into the house.
* * *
The next morning, I awoke with worry gnawing my mind like rats gnawing a rope. No escaping it. I’d have to face everyone at school, sooner or later. I downed my breakfast and bolted from the house.
The soles of my shoes flapped, stirring up red clouds of dust. The cool March breeze made me shiver, and I pulled my sweater tightly around me.
My cousins, Laurie and William, waited for me. Their mother, Jennifer Hunter Bryan, was Poppa’s sister.
William, at fifteen, was a year older than me; Laurie a year younger. It was like having an older brother and younger sister, and the thought brought a smile to my lips.
William smiled back at me weakly. “Aunt Molly was fit to be tied,” he said.
“Tell me ‘bout it. And then Dan . . .” I shook my head.
“What happened with Dan?” Laurie asked. She played with one of her braids as curiosity danced in her eyes.
I gritted my teeth and shook my head again.
“It was his fault you fell off the sack,” William said.
I looked at him in surprise. “How?”
“He threw a rock in front of you that snagged the sack. You didn’t see it?” William asked.
“No.”
“I’m gonna kill Dan,” Laurie said. She puckered her forehead. Her hazel eyes flashed, and the freckles dusting her nose darkened.
“Laurie, stay away from him. He’s got no respect for girls.” William cleared his throat and shot a sideways glance at me. “Especially Jay since she wouldn’t go to the peanut boiling with him.”
“He didn’t really want to go to the peanut boiling with me. He was just joshing.”
“No, he was serious. He really likes you.” He shot me a look. “Or did.”
I looked down at my patched dress and my worn-out shoes, the soles loose again after being glued just last week. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would he like me?”
Laurie laughed. “He likes you because you look like a princess!”
“You’re being silly.”
“No, really. I wish my hair was as shiny as yours.”
“Shiny? My hair's just plain old dull brown.”
“Dark brown, almost black. Looks okay, especially with your blue eyes,” William said, reddening.
“Blue? You don’t know your colors. They’re not blue.”
“Yes, they are,” Laurie said. “They’re the color of , of . . . Well, I don’t know. But they’re pretty.”
“They’re a dark turquoise,” William said, still looking embarrassed to be part of the conversation. “Anyway, he really did like you.”
I was mystified. Sure, everyone was feeling the effects of the Depression. But Momma wouldn’t even buy me a ribbon for my hair.
And I only had three dresses to my name. Two, now that I’d ruined my Sunday dress. Why would Dan like me when his father was one of the wealthiest farmers in the area?
“You’d better watch out, Jay,” William said. “No telling what he’s liable to do. And you too Laurie. Stay away from him.”
Laurie snorted. “He’d better stay away from me. No telling what I’m liable to do.”
William and I laughed, and William tugged at his sister’s braids. “Listen to the runt talk!”
“I’ve told you, don’t call me runt.” She pushed William’s shoulder.
William held her off with one hand, laughing. Laurie’s arms fell limp, and she stepped back with a gasp. I knew before I turned around.
Dan!
Chapter 2--The Devil with Horns
Dan rode toward us on a dappled-gray horse. He slapped his skinny legs against the horse’s sides and urged it forward. The old horse, with swayed back and belly sweeping toward the ground, plopped his huge hooves faster, stirring up eddies of red dust. William and Laurie dove toward the ditch, but my anger, pulsating in my veins, kept me rooted to the spot.
“Come on, Jay,” William yelled. “Move out of the way.”
I gritted my teeth and shook my head. I heard Dan lashing his horse and the plopping steps drawing nearer. I knew Dan wanted me to run, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, no matter how close he rode his horse to me. Although my legs quivered like jelly, I turned my back on the horse and resumed my normal pace. The school stood in the distance.
I took a deep breath. Wasn’t far. I could make it.
When the horse’s hooves brushed the back of my shoes, he snorted in indignation—probably knowing he shouldn’t be walking this close to me.
He had more sense than Dan.
The horse’s breath warmed my neck, sending shivers down my spine. I focused on the school. No way would I let Dan see me run. My legs weakened by the moment, and the school didn’t look any closer. The horse blotted out all sounds, as if we were in a world all our own. Even Dan was forgotten.
Then Laurie passed in a blur, her braids flying. My heart thumped loudly in my ears as my senses reawakened.
“Tattletale,” Dan called after her.
Laurie must be going to find Miss Jackson. My heart gave a leap of hope. Please, God, let her find her quickly.
“Hey, Jaybird Legs, got on new underwear today?” Dan chuckled.
I flipped back my hair. The rut in the road swerved to the right. The loose sole of my shoe caught on the edge of the rut, and my step faltered. One of the horse’s hooves hit my calf.
I pitched forward, striking the ground with my knees.
In a panic, I pulled in my knees and tucked my head. Peering through my arms, I braced for the horse to trample me.
William grabbed the reins, pulling the horse away from me. I kept rolling as William shouted. Dan yanked hard on the reins. The old horse reared, his chest brushing against William.
Thrown off balance, William fell and frantically clawed the ground. He moved only inches before the huge hooves dropped down. One smashed into his ankle. William clutched his leg and groaned. I scrambled to my feet and ran to him.
“Got what he deserved,” Dan said. He wheeled the horse around and trotted away.
I wanted to scream after Dan, but my throat tightened, and words wouldn’t come. I dropped to one knee and stroked William’s arm, feeling completely helpless. Why didn’t I get out of the road when he told me to?
With relief, I saw Laurie pulling Miss Jackson, urging her on. A dozen other children followed in their wake.
Miss Jackson knelt down beside William. “Can you stand?”
He shook his head, his face grimacing in pain. “Laurie, go get your parents.” Miss Jackson searched the faces crowded around her and spotted Michael.
“Please help me with William.”
Michael, slim but strong, pulled William to a standing position. He and Miss Jackson laced hands, and William wrapped his arms around their necks, and sat on their hands. They carried William into the schoolhouse and set him upon one of the long wooden benches lining the front hallway. He fell back with a groan.
Michael stoked the wood-burning stove and gave me a curious glance but said nothing. Mr. Hargrove, our principal, came in, examined William’s leg, and clucked his tongue.
I slumped down on a wooden bench at the back of the room. One more thing to upset Momma. Why did I always do these things? And why did I always think of Momma after I did them? Forget Momma and worry about William, I chided myself.
“How did this happen?” Mr. Hargrove asked, his eyes locking with mine.
I swallowed. “It was my fault. I should have gotten out of the way of Dan’s horse.”
William stirred. “No, Mr. Hargrove, it was my fault. I should have stopped Dan sooner.” His voice was gruff with pain.
“What did Dan do?” Mr. Hargrove asked, turning his attention to William.
I caught my cousin’s eye and shook my head. I knew Dan. The less said the better. Momma always said the more you stirred manure, the worse it stunk. And Dan stunk bad enough already. Besides, if word got back to Momma, she would blame me.
Momma would be right. It was my fault.
“Nothing, sir,” I said, drawing his attention back to me. “I just got in the way of Dan’s horse, and William tried to help me.”
Aunt Jenny and Uncle Colt came into the room, Laurie on their heels. Uncle Colt took one look at William’s ashen face and scooped him in his arms.
“William!” Aunt Jenny saw his swollen leg and gasped. “Oh, my goodness. Colt!” Her hand flew to her mouth.
Uncle Colt hurried out the door with Aunt Jenny and Mr. Hargrove following. Laurie slid onto the bench beside me. She bent forward, breathing hard.
“What did you tell Miss Jackson?” I whispered.
She gulped in a few mouthfuls of air before answering. “Told Miss Jackson you needed help.”
“Don’t tell anyone that Dan was trying to scare me.”
“Why? He needs a good whupping.” Laurie’s eyes narrowed, and she tugged at one of her braids.
“Won’t do any good. It just makes him meaner.”
“Meaner? He’s already as low as a snake in a rut.”
“It’ll just make things worse. I know.” A weariness enveloped me. Why was life so hard? I leaned back and closed my eyes.
Momma and Dan tormented me. But at least I had Poppa. A shiver ran down my spine, and a lump formed in my throat. What if I lost Poppa? I shook my head, biting on my bottom lip.
Miss Jackson clapped her hands. “Everyone to your classes.”
First through fifth-grade students had two classrooms in the west wing. The younger students headed in that direction. The two other classes, for the older kids, were in the east wing, and I stood to follow the students filing out.
I took a step and yelped in pain. Miss Jackson hurried to my side.
“What’s wrong, Sarah Jane?”
I shook my head. “Nothing, Miss Jackson. Just a charley horse.” I smiled to myself through the pain. Charley horse. That was a good one.
I hobbled to class down the long, dark corridor. I didn’t examine my leg until I had slid into my desk. I pulled up my dress to examine the bruise. Some swelling, but I’d survive. Good thing the hoof had just grazed me. I shivered as I thought how close the horse’s hooves had been to me.
Each classroom had a wood stove, and I leaned toward its warmth as Miss Jackson wrote our morning lessons on the chalkboard.
The door scraped open, and Dan sauntered in. He stared at me for a second before walking to his seat and plopping down. I resisted the childish urge to stick out my tongue.
“Dan, you’re late. What did you do with your horse?”
“My horse, Miss Jackson?” He plastered on his most innocent face.
Miss Jackson sighed. “I want your father here first thing in the morning to meet with Mr. Hargrove.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He bent his head over his lessons.
One good thing. In all the excitement, no one but Dan had mentioned what happened yesterday. I was doing it again. Thinking only of myself instead of poor William. What if William never walked again? It would be my fault. Dear God, please let him be okay.
“Sarah Jane, get to work.” Miss Jackson peered over her glasses at me.
I pulled my books from my desk as Miss Jackson called the first reading group.
I finished my history, my eyes drooping, and studied the back of Michael's head. I wondered what he thought, if he blamed me for William getting hurt.
Dan and Michael had been friends as long as I had known them. Best friends. He would probably believe Dan's side of the story.
“Jay!" Laurie whispered.
I jumped and turned to look at her.
"You ain’t scared of the devil with horns." She flipped one of her braids over her shoulder.
I placed a finger to my lips. Dan also heard and glared at Laurie and then at me.
I shook my head at Laurie before she could say anything else. I ducked behind my history book. Maybe, if I were lucky, he would keep his horns to himself. I sighed, knowing it wasn’t likely.
Chapter 3--Cedar Spring
I dragged my feet heading home. Aunt Jenny and Uncle Colt had picked up Laurie early on their way back from the doctor. William’s leg was in a cast, and he would be bed-ridden for at least two weeks, the doctor said. He would stay in a smaller cast for several more weeks. I didn’t want to think about it—or about anything.
The limbs of the oaks, hickory nut trees, and dogwoods waved in the March breeze. The last of the old leaves had dropped off and small new leaves greened the branches.
The woods by the road were also thick with pines and cedars. Emerald sunlight filtered through their needles.
When I stopped to sniff the fragrant evergreens, a squirrel scampered down one of the nearby trees. As I watched it, I spotted a faint trail next to one of the cedars. I had never noticed it before, probably because Laurie and William always walked with me and kept me distracted.
Without thinking, I clambered up the bank and into the woods. The ground, coated with a thick layer of pine needles, sprang under my feet, and the smell released by my step wafted upwards.
The path led to a tiny clearing, no more than fifteen feet at the widest. On the edge of this clearing, a spring bubbled from the ground and flowed into a stream. Rocks, some as big as boulders, lined the stream.
Someone had been here before me. A metal dipper hung on a nail driven into a tree. This tree, one of the largest cedars I had ever seen, spread its branches above the spring, like huge arms opening to the sky.
I took the dipper and plunged it into the clear spring water and brought it to my lips. The icy coldness of the water revived me, and I drank the sweet water eagerly. I hung the dipper back on the nail and sat down on a moss-covered rock, breathing in the fresh air and the smell of the cedar. For the first time that day, some of the worry over William eased.
I lingered as long as I dared, but I knew Momma and Poppa waited for me at home. I pushed myself off the rock.
Before following the path out, I drank in the sights, savored the smells, and allowed the peace of the scene seep into me and wash away some of my worries.
Once on the road, I walked faster. I longed to break into a run but knew better this close to home. Away from the spring, fears welled again within me. Would William and Laurie forgive me? And Aunt Jenny and Uncle Colt? What if Momma found out?
My hand trembled as I opened the gate. Zeke scampered to meet me, Chance racing in circles around him. Zeke grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the barn.
“Hurry, Jay. Come see!”
The barn stood on the east side of the yard, made of the same gray weathered boards as the house. Black iron nails, now bleeding rust, held the planks together. I blinked as I entered the barn. The scent of musty hay and cow manure hung in the air, a scent of earthiness, a scent of the farm that clung to Poppa even after a thorough scrubbing with lye soap.
Zeke dragged me to a stall where a newborn calf struggled to stand on wobbly legs. Poppa rubbed the calf clean of the after-birth with an old fertilizer sack. The calf made a mewing noise, sounding almost like one of the barn cats that prowled around.
Poppa’s dark eyes filled with delight. “Our first spring calf. A little early but I ‘spect he’ll do fine. We’ll keep him in the barn if we have any more cold weather.”
The calf’s mother, Buttons, nudged Poppa out of the way, her tongue searching for her baby. The calf staggered to its mother and nuzzled.
I watched in silence, and a lump formed in my throat. Tears stung my eyes. What was wrong with me? I leaned forward and rubbed Button’s velvety nose to hide my tears.
“Jay, Colton came by a little while ago. He told me about William breaking his leg. Y’all better be more careful around horses.” Poppa said.
“Yes, sir,” I said, my head still turned away.
“You best get your chores done now.” He patted my shoulder before moving away to feed the rest of the cows.
“Come on, Jay,” Zeke said. “I’ll help you feed the chickens.”
I smiled. “Sure. You can keep that old rooster from spurring me.”
“Not me!” His eyes widened, and then he grinned before skipping out ahead of me.
* * *
Momma surprised me at supper by not even mentioning William. I knew she didn’t like Poppa’s sister or her family. Often, she ignored them, pretending they didn’t exist. Fine with me if that meant I escaped a lecture—or something worse.
After supper, I dried the dishes. Then I bathed and pulled on my sleeping gown. I sat down on the wood floor by the flickering flames of the fireplace. We still needed a fire to dispel the chilly nights of our cooler than normal spring.
I did my homework while shadows chased each other across the pages of the book. Poppa came in and settled into one of the rocking chairs.
Once, long ago, I had snuggled in Poppa’s lap in that chair, the only one upholstered with fleece-side-out sheepskin. I used to run my fingers over the soft, snowy fleece as Poppa rocked and sang.
I bent my head back over my schoolwork.
Poppa pulled out his pipe and lit it. The aroma of burning “lighter” mingled with the pipe smoke. Zeke climbed into Poppa’s lap, and the rockers slapped gently against the floor. Poppa crooned old hymns, and my eyelids began to droop. Momma came in with her mending.
“Sarah Jane, light the lamp and finish your homework.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I rose and stretched. I lit the lamp, and the scent of kerosene joined the smoke smells. I dropped back to the floor and opened my math book, but the words wavered before my eyes. After struggling for a few minutes, I decided Miss Jackson would just have to help me tomorrow. I closed my book.
Momma stuffed her mending into her sewing bag and stood, smoothing her hair. She took Zeke, his eyes drooping, from my father’s arms. She carried him to the small bedroom, closed off only by a curtain Momma had sewn from old flour sacks.
Poppa and I both watched the fire. As it died down, the logs glowed, shifted, and dropped coals. Poppa used the poker and the logs once again flamed.
I cleared my throat. “Poppa?”
“Yes, Jay?”
“What can I do about Dan?”
He leaned the poker against the bricks of the fireplace. “The Bible tells us to love even our enemies. With Dan, you’ll have to work extra hard." He smiled at me. "But God will help you.”
“I know." I nodded my head. "But even with God’s help, I don’t understand how I can.”
“Jay, there’s different kinds of love. This kind of love comes from your head, not your heart. You don’t have to like him—just love him.”
“I don’t get it. How can you love someone you can’t stand?”
Momma came back in. “Who can’t you stand?’
I hesitated and looked at Poppa. He gave me an almost imperceptible nod.
“Dan Drake,” I said.
“Why his father owns five hundred acres. They have a car!”
“What’s that got to do with it?” I asked.
Poppa shot me a warning look.
“What’s wrong with him?” She sat down in her chair and set it to rocking.
I sighed. “He picks on me. And on Laurie, too.”
“Nonsense, Sarah Jane,” Momma said. “You’re probably aggravating him, and Laurie’s as bad as you are. That child would make a preacher cuss.”
“Now, Molly . . .” Poppa said with a slight shake of his head. “Jay, time for bed.”
I knew he was hurrying me to bed to avoid another argument. I rose and kissed Momma on the cheek.
“Good night, Momma.”
I made a quick trip to the outhouse and hurried back in to dive under my quilt. Poppa had made each of us a bed, and Momma had sewn together material and stuffed it with corn husks for a mattress.
Poppa sat beside Zeke’s bed listening to his prayer. When Zeke finished, I told Poppa about the spring I had found.
“That’s called Cedar Spring,” he said. “The water will soothe a parched throat in the middle of summer. It always comes out of the ground cool and fresh.”
“That cedar tree’s the biggest I’ve ever seen.” I yawned and pulled the quilt tighter around me.
Poppa nodded his head. “There’s an Indian legend about the cedar tree.”
“Tell us the story, Poppa,” Zeke said. “Is it one Granny Grace told you?”
“Yep. Her Indian mother told her this story when she was a little girl. So, one story and then it’s time for you to go to sleep. Deal?”
“Deal, Poppa,” Zeke said.
“This is the story the Indians tell. When God first created the world, he made day and night. Man saw how good the day was with the birds singing and the warmth of the sun. They longed for more and begged God to let the sun shine all the time. God agreed. But the people grew unhappy. The earth heated up as they toiled in the hot sun.”
“You mean the sun never quit shining?” Zeke asked.
“Yes, siree. And it was difficult to sleep when darkness never came. Plants grew in such wild abundance that a walk in the woods was almost impossible. Now the people longed for the night. They begged God to let the sun go down and never come back up. God agreed. The earth cooled down, and the people shivered as they worked. But again, the people grew unhappy. Soon, without the sun, plants began to die, and the earth froze over.”
Zeke sucked in his breath. “How could they see, Poppa?”
“They couldn’t see, Ezekiel. Not without the light. The moon didn’t even shine. The moon reflects the sun, and without the sun, it can’t shine.”
“Reflect?”
Even in the darkness of our room I could see Zeke’s puckered forehead and the tilt of his head.
“Zeke,” I said, “Reflect means to bounce off. The light from the sun bounces off the moon.”
His brow smoothed. “Oh. Like bouncing a ball?"
“Sure is, Ezekiel," Poppa said. "Like bouncing a ball. Many people died from the cold and from starvation. Now the people begged God to give back both day and night. God agreed, and the people realized God’s way was the best way.”
“That’s what the teacher said in Sunday school.”
Poppa laughed. “And that’s a good lesson to learn. God gathered the spirits of all the people who had died during the long night. He created the cedar tree and placed the spirits inside, and, to this day, the Indians consider it a sacred tree.”
“That’s a good story, Poppa,” Zeke said.
Poppa kissed Zeke’s cheek. “Good things come in pairs. Day and night. Work and play. Jay and Ezekiel.”
Zeke giggled.
“Jay, if you go to Cedar Spring again be sure to watch for snakes. Especially when it warms up,” Poppa said.
I grinned at him. “Do you mean watch for a snake like Dan?”
“Now, Jay. No more calling him Drake the snake.” He kissed my forehead. “Good night and don’t forget your prayers.” He drew the curtains closed that separated our small room from the rest of the house.
Could I change my attitude toward Dan? After what he had done to William? But that was my own fault. I shook my head until the corn husks rattled in my ears.
Poppa’s story replayed in my head, and I thought of the cedar at the spring. I said my prayers, praying for God to forgive my foolishness.
Chapter 4--Spit Fire
Poppa always built a big fire every morning using lighter knot wood. He then crisscrossed the lighter with oak or pine logs.
I used the poker to jab in the fireplace, knowing it was time for school. The fire mesmerized me, and the pungent smell of the lighter wood lulled me. The flames shot high up the chimney, and the oak logs glowed red. I plunged the poker between the logs and sparks flew. One dropped at my feet, and I stomped it before sweeping it down a crack. The planks of our wood floor, darkened and shrunken with age, with gaps between them, didn’t have any marks left by the ember. At least none that I could see.
Hopefully, Momma’s eyes wouldn’t be able to see one either.
Momma came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, and I jumped.
“What in the world are you doing, Sarah Jane?”
“I was just warming up by the fire.”
“I heard you banging on the floor.” She inspected the floor around the hearth but said no more about it. “You’re fixing to be late for school. You’d better get going.”
I picked up my books and headed out the door. “Bye, Momma.”
“And you act right!” she called after me.
I nodded my head but didn’t stop. Out of sight of the house, I broke into a run. No one else walked along the road, a definite indication I was late. I only slowed when the school came into sight. The schoolyard stood empty, and I paused for a minute, steadying my breathing and smoothing my hair before opening the door.
Miss Jackson watched as I tread softly to my row and slid into my seat. I opened the top of my desk quietly, without even daring a look at Michael. The room was silent except for pencils scratching on papers and an occasional cough. I read the day’s assignment from the blackboard and pulled out my books.
I rubbed my eyes before I opened my book and began reading. Today was warmer, and the heat from the wood stove made my eyes burn and my eyelids droop.
Yawning into my hand, I read the questions Miss Jackson had written on the board. I pulled out my paper and copied the questions.
Something hit the side of my neck. Something wet that clung to my skin. I raked at it, and a spitball fell on my desk. Ugh. I brushed it off quickly with a flick of my hand. Instead of falling to the floor, the spitball rose in the air. Horrified, I watched as it flew up to hit Michael on the cheek. He turned to look at me with widened eyes. My eyes held his as I relived that moment on Sunday.
Titters ran through the class.
“Sarah Jane Hunter! Come to my desk now!”
I tore my eyes away from Michael and stood. My cheeks burning, I shuffled to Miss Jackson’s desk.
“I'm surprised at you. You know I do not tolerate spitballs in this classroom.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I tried to raise my head, but my muscles wouldn’t cooperate. I peered up through my lashes, and my mouth opened and closed but no sound emerged.
Miss Jackson rose from her chair and drew a circle on the board. “Put your nose there for one hour.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Miss Jackson, I didn’t throw the spitball.”
“Sarah Jane!” She placed her hands on her hips, and more titters ran through the class. “Do you wish to prolong your punishment? I know what I saw.”
Without another word, I walked to the board and stretched to reach the circle. Several people laughed. Dan guffawed. I knew it was Dan. No one else laughed with a snort. Miss Jackson clapped her hands once, and the class fell silent.
I sought to calm my racing thoughts. The minutes ticked by. This was worse than Sunday when Momma had ripped my dress. No, nothing could be worse than that. My neck already ached. Experience had taught me to keep my nose in the exact center of the circle. If my nose erased any part of the circle, the punishment would begin anew. Michael had to know I wouldn’t throw a spitball at him. Didn’t he? But what else could he think? My leg muscles began to cramp. I lifted one foot an inch from the floor and flexed the muscle. Maybe no one would notice. How much longer? I needed to distract myself. Michael looking at me with his velvet brown eyes wide with horror. No, I couldn’t think of him. I bit my lip and closed my eyes. God, please give me strength. The words to the Twenty-third Psalm floated in my mind. I closed my eyes and recited them over and over. When I opened my eyes, Miss Jackson was beside me.
“Sarah Jane, return to your seat,” she said quietly.
I hobbled back to my desk, my legs aching from stretching for so long. I rubbed my neck before rushing to catch up on my work.
I dreaded lunch. The weather had warmed enough that Miss Jackson allowed us to take our lunches outside. Avoiding the other ninety-three students, I headed for the seldom-used side door and slipped out to the small porch. I plopped down, my legs dangling over the edge.
I took the top off the syrup can I used for a lunch box. The rough wood planks cut into my legs, but I didn’t mind. At least I was alone. I ate my lunch, two biscuits with fig preserves, enjoying the relative silence. The sounds of the children’s voices and laughter drifted to me, muffled by the school.
Laurie came around the edge of the building, a smile on her face.
“What are you smiling about?” I asked, trying to sound annoyed but secretly pleased she had sought me out.
“I told Miss Jackson that Dan threw the spitball. He’s going to be suspended for the rest of the week.”
“Laurie! William and I have told you not to antagonize Dan!”
“Antagonize? What does that mean?”
“You know perfectly well what it means, Laurie. Or, you should. You’re thirteen. You should know. And, besides, that was one of our spelling words last week.”
Laurie snorted. “How do you remember things like that?” Grimacing, she yanked on a braid.
“I listen and do my homework.” I pressed my lips together, crossing my arms in an imitation of Momma. “Quit changing the subject. Stop annoying Dan.”
“Why? I ain’t scared . . .”
“Hah. You hit the ditch pretty fast yesterday.”
She grinned sheepishly. “I didn’t say I wasn’t scared of his horse. I just ain’t scared of him. Besides, Miss Jackson said she wouldn’t tell I told on him. Mr. Hargrove talked to his parents this morning. I saw them going in his office.”
I studied her for a few seconds and shook my head.
“What?” she asked.
“If you were going to tell on him, why didn’t you do it sooner?”
Laurie’s cheeks reddened. “Well, don’t get mad, Jay. I just thought it wouldn’t hurt you none to stick your nose in the circle . . .”
“I know. Yesterday, I should have hit the ditch too. I deserved to be punished.” I beat my heels against the side of the porch, sighed, and rubbed my nose. “We’d best stay out of Dan’s way for a while.”
Laurie’s freckles, scattered across her nose, suddenly appeared darker, and she snorted. “I ain’t--”
"Just stay out of his way. Promise?”
“Okay, I promise. At least for the rest of the week.”
She grinned at me, and I had to smile.
* * *
The next three days without Dan were pure bliss and flew by. On Friday, Laurie walked home with me. When we came to the path to Cedar Spring, I led Laurie to the giant cedar. She had never been there before.
We took turns drinking from the bubbling spring before settling down on a rock to watch squirrels scamper about the clearing. Crows cawed afar off. Otherwise, a peaceful silence surrounded us.
“How’s William?” I asked.
“He’s doing okay. Getting restless from being cooped up.”
My cheeks burned. “I’m really sorry, Laurie. Tell William I want to visit, but Momma won’t let me.”
“That’s okay, Jay, he doesn’t blame you. Anyways, Poppa says trials bring us closer to God.”
I digested that in silence.
Laurie touched my arm. “And it ain’t so bad. Momma made him a Forget Box.”
“A what?”
“A Forget Box. Momma says if you get your mind on other things, you’ll forget about your own troubles.”
“What’s in it?”
“Oh, lots of stuff. A couple of books Poppa borrowed from the neighbors, checkers--things like that.”
“Do you play checkers with him?”
“Sure. We all do. Momma plays a game with him after lunch every day.”
We never played games in our house. We didn’t even have a set of checkers. Foolishness, Momma called it.
I stood and brushed off. “I’ve got to be getting home.”
“I think I’ll stay around here for a little while. I think I saw some tadpoles.”
“I doubt if it’s tadpoles. Still too early for them. Don’t tell anyone else about this place.”
“Not even William?”
“Of course you can tell William!” I hurried down the path without waiting for a reply.
Chapter 5—The Shadow
Momma would be wondering where I was. I always had to hurry, and I hated it. One day I would be able to sit under the cedar for as long as I wanted.
A chill ran up my spine as if someone had stepped on my grave. I rubbed my arms briskly to shrug off the feeling.
When I pushed the grayed gate open, Zeke ran to meet me, Chance on his heels.
“I’ll help you with your chores today,” Zeke said as he tilted his head. His eyes, as blue and clear as the sky, entreated me.
I knew he wanted to see the calf and Momma wouldn’t allow him near the cows unless someone was with him.
I grinned at him. “Sure, baby brother.”
“I’m not a baby. I’m four.” He held four fingers up for emphasis before he skipped ahead of me to the barn.
We fed the livestock, and Zeke lingered a minute to rub the new calf’s nose. Zeke laughed when the calf licked his fingers.
“Her nose feels so soft. Like velvet,” he said.
“That would make a good name.”
“What would?” he asked.
“Velvet, silly. We can name her Velvet.” I tousled his silky hair, wishing that my hair had been wheat colored. Even in the darkness of the barn, his hair shone golden.
I understood why Momma loved him more, with his blond hair and blue eyes. His cheerful spirit radiated from him.
I took his hand, and we walked into the empty house. I looked at Zeke.
“Where’s Momma and Poppa?”
“They’re in the back field. Momma said for you to start supper.”
I nodded. I didn't mind, usually. I enjoyed cooking except in the summer when the wood stove heated the small kitchen until sweat dripped in my eyes. But it was still cool enough that I didn't mind today.
Momma had left the food on the plank counter for me to fix. I got a fire going in the wood stove and opened a jar of black-eye peas and poured them into the pot. Then I got turnips cooking before I peeled potatoes. Once they were boiling on the stove, I measured out the cornmeal for the cornbread.
A deep voice startled me. “What evil lurks in the hearts of men? The shadow knows.” I wiped my hands on my apron and walked over to Zeke by the radio.
“You know better than to mess with that.” I reached for the knob to turn it off, but Zeke grabbed my arm.
“Please, Jay? Can’t we listen just a little while?”
I mulled it over as his eyes beseeched me. “All right. But just for five minutes.” I looked at him sternly. “And don’t tell Momma.”
“I won’t. Thanks, Jay.” He grinned and settled in front of the radio. I went back to the stove to stir the peas but began to listen. I became so enthralled that it was all I could do to keep my mind on the cooking and not burn it. The show concluded, and I clicked it off.
Just in time. Momma and Poppa came in from the field.
“Something smells delicious, Jay.” Poppa grinned and set the table.
Momma helped Zeke wash up, and we settled in our seats. Before we dug in, Poppa said the blessing.
Momma didn't like for us to talk while we ate, so Zeke and I ate in silence. Poppa and Momma talked about the spring planting for a few minutes. Then Poppa’s gaze settled on Zeke.
He grinned. “Ezekiel, do you know what vegetable will be in heaven?”
Zeke puckered his brow.
“It’s one of the foods on the table,” Poppa prompted.
Zeke's blue eyes searched, and he mouthed the name of each food silently. Then his face brightened. “Peas?”
Poppa chuckled softly. “Yep, peas.”
I laughed softly.
“Peas kinda sounds like peace.” Zeke grinned.
Poppa leaned back in his chair and began to sing, ignoring Momma’s look of disapproval. Zeke and I joined our voices with his.
When
peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When
sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever
my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It
is well, it is well, with my soul.
* * *
The next day was Saturday. We did our regular chores, and I read the one book I owned, David Copperfield.
On Saturday nights we always gathered around the radio to listen to the Grand Ole Opry. This Saturday was no exception.
I spread a quilt out and reclined on the floor near the radio. Zeke climbed in Momma’s lap to be rocked.
Closing my eyes, I listened as Deford Bailey performed. Next up were the Fruit Jar Drinkers. Poppa scooted his chair a little closer to the radio. The Drinkers sang only a few notes before the radio fell silent.
“James, what’s wrong?” Momma asked.
Zeke raised his head and looked at me. I quickly looked away, but it was too late.
“Sarah Jane, have you been playing the radio?”
“Momma,” Zeke said. “We just listened for a little while.”
“When?” She was looking at me now.
Even Poppa was angry. Uncle Dave, the banjo-playing leader of the group, was Poppa’s favorite.
No getting out of it. “Yesterday.”
“It was The Shadow,” Zeke said. “You should’ve heard it, Momma! Evil hearts. That’s what the man said.”
“I don’t want that junk on in my house,” Momma said. “Sarah Jane, why did you let him listen to such filth?”
Before I could answer, Poppa spoke. “Ezekiel James, did you turn the radio on?”
“I told him he could listen,” I said hurriedly.
Poppa sighed, and my stomach churned. I wanted to put my arms around his neck and tell him I was sorry. But not with Momma watching.
Poppa gripped the arms of the rocker, and he stood. His face paled. As if invisible strings tugged him forward, he bent at the waist and clutched his side.
I jumped up. “Poppa, what’s wrong?”
Momma set Zeke down. “James?”
“Nothing to worry about,” he said, straightening. “Just a catch in my side.”
“I can go fetch the doctor,” I placed a hand on his arm.
Poppa laughed and patted my hand. “I’m fine, Jay. Just a little tired. Since we can’t listen to the radio, let’s get to bed.” He eyed the radio with mouth drawn down.
I didn't know if it was from disappointment or if he was still in pain. Although it was hard to tell by the light of the flickering kerosene lamp, he still looked pale.
His eyes caught mine. “Sarah Jane, do not touch the radio again.”
“Yes, sir.” I looked down, ashamed for upsetting Poppa.
“And that goes for you, too, Zeke.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Put Zeke to bed, Sarah Jane,” Momma said.
Worry lines creased her forehead. Poppa never got sick, never complained. Surely it was just a catch in his side. I was worrying over nothing. I took Zeke’s hand.
As we left the room, I looked back to see Momma’s hand on Poppa’s forehead.
Chapter 6—Thundersnow
Poppa seemed fine on Sunday morning. Maybe a little paler than usual, but that was all. We attended church service, and Poppa laughed and talked with the preacher. I started to relax. Maybe he did just have a catch in his side.
On the way home, ominous dark clouds gathered. Poppa said it looked like we were in for some heavy rain.
Heaviness draped over us as we went about our chores. No one talked much, not even Zeke. As an early dusk gathered, he played quietly by the hearth. The wind whistled through the cracks in our wall.
I went to the window and pressed my forehead to the cool glass. Small trees bent under the force of the wind as lightning split the sky. I counted to three before thunder rattled the window. Zeke came up behind me as drops of rain gently pelted the glass.
“I wanna see!” I drew back the lace curtains to give him a better view.
“Get away from there, Ezekiel James Hunter! Sarah Jane! Don’t you have a lick of sense?” Momma came out of the kitchen drying her hands on her apron.
Reluctantly, I moved away, taking Zeke by the hand. The thunder and lightning always filled me with a sense of awe at God’s great power.
Poppa entered with his arms loaded with firewood and dumped it by the fireplace.
“I reckon we’re in for another spell of cold weather. That wind feels like it’s coming straight off of ice.” He took out his pipe and lit it, inhaling deeply. “I’ve got the animals bedded down in the barn.”
Thunder rolled in the distance, sounding like the growl of an angry bear. Without warning, a darkness so deep we could no longer see each other, dropped over our house. As if God had opened a gate, rain poured onto our tin roof.
Poppa fumbled for matches to light the kerosene lamp. When the lamp was lit, Momma and I perched in the rocking chairs, listening to the sounds of the storm. Zeke climbed in my lap, and I scooted into a more comfortable position.
Poppa built a fire, his brow furrowed. The drumming of the rain drowned out any attempt at conversation. I held Zeke close and rocked.
When the fire blazed, Poppa walked to the window and peered toward the barn. “I don't know if the barn can hold up in this wind." He paced back and forth for a few minutes before looking out the window again. "I can’t see a thing. I’m going to check on the animals.”
Poppa donned his heavy raincoat that hung on a peg by the door. He pulled his hat down tight on his head and unlatched the door. The wind whipped the door from his hands, and he struggled to grab it. Rain blew in and formed puddles on the floor. Momma ran and helped pull the door closed as Poppa continued out into the driving rain.
Momma wiped up the puddles of water before coming back to sit by the fire. I chewed my bottom lip and prayed.
The wind whistled through the cracks in the wall, and the house creaked. The minutes ticked by, and anxiety gnawed at me. I longed to go peer out the window, but I knew Momma wouldn't let me. Besides, I probably wouldn't be able to see anything.
Poppa opened the door, and a burst of lightning lit up the scene. Silhouetted behind him, large trees bent towards the ground, and leaves swirled. No, not just leaves but small branches. Poppa yanked the door shut.
He shrugged off his dripping coat and hung it near the fire to dry. Thunder rumbled overhead.
“Don’t want to scare y’all none, but I ain’t sure the house or barn is going to hold up against this wind. We might need to make a run for it.”
Zeke snuggled closer to me.
“But, Poppa, where would we run?” I asked.
A gentle smile crossed his face. “God always provides a place of refuge.” His words barely carried to me.
“Did you see Chance?” I asked.
“He went in the barn with me and stayed there.” Poppa went to the wardrobe and pulled out quilts. “It’s best if we make a pallet by the fireplace and all sleep in here.”
Zeke and I rose and helped Poppa smooth out the quilts on the floor while Momma disappeared into the kitchen. Zeke and I flopped down close to the fireplace, huddling together. Momma returned with a jar full of corn and the lard can.
Momma’s strong voice carried easily to us. “I’ve been saving this popcorn for a special occasion.” She shook the jar for emphasis.
“What’s popcorn?” Zeke’s upturned face eyed the jar with interest.
“Something you’ll love,” I said into his ear.
“We put some of this grease in a pot, let it melt, and put the corn in," Momma said. "It fluffs up.”
“Fluffs up?” Zeke’s brows drew together.
“Just wait and see,” I had only eaten popcorn once before, but the taste was unforgettable.
“Does all corn do that?” Zeke asked me.
“No,” I said. “It has to be a certain kind.”
The lard sizzled as the pot heated up. Zeke and I scooted even closer to the fireplace as cold settled into the room.
Poppa stared out the window as the popcorn popped. When the popping slowed, Momma pulled the iron pot out of the fireplace. She removed the lid with quilted potholders. The smell arising with the steam made my mouth water. She poured melted, freshly churned butter over the top and sprinkled on some salt. I got the bowls, and Momma divided the popcorn among us. I grinned at Zeke’s expression as he got his first taste.
After quickly devouring the popcorn, Zeke and I lay down on the quilts. He fell asleep immediately, but I watched the fire’s flickering flames and, out of the corner of my eye, Poppa. He bowed his head, and his lips moved silently.
I worried about Chance in the barn, but he was probably as safe as we were. At least I hoped so. I would just have to trust God to take care of him.
My eyelids grew heavy, and I slept. I awoke with Momma shaking my shoulder. It was still pitch dark, except for the flickering light from the fireplace.
“Get up!” she said, her voice pitched higher than usual.
My heartbeat quickened and I sat up, Zeke groggy beside me.
“What’s wrong?” The wind still whistled through the house, but the rain no longer beat against our tin roof. Poppa stood near the closed door with the lantern in his hand.
“Hurry,” he said.
I sprang to my feet and pulled Zeke to his. My heart pounded in my ears, and butterflies danced in my stomach. Zeke clutched my arm, and I placed my hand over his. Poppa lit the lantern and grinned.
He opened the door. Zeke and I gasped.
Snow fell from the skies and onto our small back porch, blown about by the wind. Thunder still rolled, and lightning lit the sky.
“Snow?” Zeke rubbed his eyes.
“Snow.” Poppa grinned.
“But it’s March,” I protested. “Daffodils are blooming. Besides it never snows here.” I peered out the door, unmindful of the cold. The snowflakes looked as big as saucers in the light from the lantern.
Poppa’s eyes reflected my bewilderment. He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve never seen it snow that much down here.”
Zeke’s eyes grew as large as the snowflakes. “Can we go outside?”
Poppa closed the door. “Not tonight. You could get struck by lightning. Anyway, it’s as dark as a sack of black cats out there.”
“Maybe some of the snow will still be there in the morning,” Momma said.
“But what if it melts?” I asked.
“That can’t be helped.” Poppa shooed us back to the fireplace.
I held my hands out to the fire, rubbing them together. “I didn’t know it thundered when it snowed.”
“First time I heard it thunder when it snowed,” Poppa said. He looked over me to seek Momma’s eyes.