[Troublesome Creek 01] - Troublesome Creek (20 page)

Read [Troublesome Creek 01] - Troublesome Creek Online

Authors: Jan Watson

“Because before I went to sleep, Daddy, I said, ‘Please, heavenly Father, please tell me where Sissy is.’ And so in my dream He showed me a big, dark place in the ground, and it was by the graveyard. So that’s where Sissy is.”
 
Copper stirred. She was stiff and sore, hungry and incredibly thirsty, but soft rays of morning’s first light spilled down the shaft and cheered her. She was tired of being trapped, giving in.
I have to get out of here.
Her legs cramped from the long night on the ledge. Slowly she stood, using her hands to steady herself against the damp dirt wall.
There has to be a way.
She took stock of her surroundings. Gnarled tree roots and pieces of rock protruded from the walls of the sinkhole.
It’s like a ladder,
she thought.
If the rocks and roots are secure, I should be able to climb out.
She stepped cautiously onto a jagged rock and grasped a twisted root above her head. She pulled herself up inch by inch, groping blindly for each handhold, cautiously testing each foot-rest before releasing her weight to it. Halfway up, she was gasping for breath. Straining, she grabbed a solid loop of root and then felt the rock beneath her foot give way. It tumbled down the wall, bounced off the ledge that had sheltered her during the long night, and hit the water with a sickening plop.
Copper hung by one hand, dangling in midair. Her feet scrambled to find purchase as her fingers tightened like claws around the root. Finally, in seconds that seemed like hours, one foot wedged in a fissure.
Desperate for a stronger hold, she forced herself to take deep, calming breaths and eased her head back to look up at the opening. A tangle of wild grapevines hung above her, and a curious wooden box jutted out from its midst. After finding a new foothold, she made her way up. Scrabbling, her fingers closed over the side of the box. For a minute it held her weight, but just as she was about to heft herself up, it shifted dangerously. Then with a groan and a screech, it gave way and broke apart, showering Copper with dust and dirt, old wood, and ancient bones.
Bones!
A skeleton, yellow as horses’ teeth, slid as slowly as a waltz past Copper’s face. In spite of herself, she reached to stop it and gripped one bony hand. The skeleton hung there, twisting . . . bones clattering dryly . . . until, strained from its own weight, the hand separated from the wrist with a dull
pop
and sent the rest of the skeleton crashing to the ledge below.
Copper stared, horrified, at the skeletal fingers intertwined with her own. Then, unable to cast the hand to the rank pool below—it had belonged to a living person, after all—she shoved the bones into the pocket of her dirty overalls. She was almost there. With one foot perched on what remained of the old coffin, she groaned mightily and pulled herself out of the sinkhole.
She lay for several minutes, hugging the earth, sobbing a prayer of thanksgiving before finally she stood, knees wobbling, and made her way toward home.
 
Copper seemed like an angel to Will there at the old graveyard. Backlit with sunlight filtered through a dense early morning fog, her hair flared copper red and wild as she staggered toward him. Daniel had been right. Praise the Lord.
“Daddy! Daddy!” was all she said before she collapsed into his arms.
The joy of holding his daughter safe brought tears to his eyes as he gently lowered her to the ground. He came close to losing all composure when he kissed her fevered brow. She seemed all right, though her face was battered and so swollen he’d never have recognized her except for her hair.
I never doubted You, Lord,
he prayed.
I trusted You’d keep her safe.
He rose, his step light despite her weight as he carried her home.
 
Copper was abed for days with a fearsome sickness. She vomited every teaspoon of broth Grace managed to get down her and shivered with a raging fever. Bedclothes, wet with perspiration, collected in the corner as Grace soothed her with cool cloths and fresh sheets.
The twins were banished from the room they shared with their sister and so slept with Will instead. And every morning they huddled together on the porch, uncharacteristically subdued, running to fetch Will whenever Grace called for him.
Grace kept a big pot of pinto beans simmering on the stove and baked dozens of rounds of corn bread, for they had a constant stream of visitors. Several ladies brought sweets: stack cakes and fried-apple pies, and Mrs. Oriander Wilson brought her specialty—a cake a foot high with pink icing so sweet it made your teeth hurt.
Everyone wanted to see Copper—Grace told Will it reminded her of a wake. They’d just stand in the doorway, shake their heads, and
tsk, tsk, tsk
. Then they had to be fed. Emilee Pelfrey came to help, though pregnant again, her ankles swollen over her shoes. She parked her youngest twins, Matthew and Mark, in a clothes basket under the table and kept the kitchen humming.
John, home from his hired job, did the milking and would have sat by Copper’s bed but Grace wouldn’t allow it, so he busied himself with her chores. One morning as he went about his work he fretted to Will that somehow he’d been the cause of all this. He hung his head and confessed his part in the accident that had nearly killed Copper. Will could see the boy was truly contrite, for guilt was firmly stamped across his face.
“W-why was I so foolish as to ever take her to that cave?” John stammered like a little boy. “I might have known she wouldn’t wait on me to take her back.”
“You’ve got that right,” Will replied. “I know better than anyone that you can’t stop Copper once she sets her mind to something. Your only shame was in sneaking around with my daughter, John.” He rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder, surprised it was nearly even with his own, and gave it a squeeze. “I’ve always trusted you to guard and protect her like a brother.”
“I promise you,” John said, his eyes meeting Will’s without flinching, “I’ll not lead her astray again.”
“That’s all I ask. Now finish the milking so’s you can go in for some breakfast.” Will stuck a pitchfork into a stack of hay and forked a rasher over the horse’s stall.
“Will?” he heard John say, his one word filled with need. Will’s lips twitched with a suppressed grin as he turned back toward John. “What is it, boy?”
“When this is done, when she’s herself again, can I . . . that is, could I maybe . . . if it’s all right with you and Miss Grace—can I call on Copper?”
“Well, I reckon that’d be up to Copper, but I don’t expect either Miss Grace or I would stand in your way.”
John’s smile stretched ear-to-ear as he wiped his hand on the leg of his britches and stuck it out to Will. “Whew,” he said. “I’m glad that’s over. I been wanting to ask you for the longest time.”
Will laughed and pumped John’s hand. “You got your work cut out for you, Son. That’s all I can say.”
 
The deacons came that first evening after Laura Grace was home. They pulled her bed away from the wall and clasped hands to form an unbroken circle around her. They prayed aloud, then anointed her with oil. Brother Isaac was very faithful—morning and evening he sat by her bed and read from the Scriptures.
“She’s taken leave of her senses,” Grace told Will after the second long night. “She tosses and turns, crying about skeletons and ghosts, and this morning when I bathed her she pointed out the window and said, ‘Look, there’s a spirit that’s taken the form of a silver fox with a red tail.’”
“It’s just the fever talking,” Will responded. “She’ll be herself again when it breaks.”
And indeed she was. On the morning of the fourth day, Laura Grace woke clearheaded and hungry. After a breakfast of milk and toast, Grace let her sit on the porch, wrapped in a wool blanket, though the October day was warm. Willy and Daniel sat at her feet, and Will drank an extra cup of coffee while keeping her company.
“I’m going in to sort the laundry,” Grace announced from the open doorway. She raised her shoulders and let them drop. She was weary, so weary after four nights in a straight-backed chair. But strangely, she hated for the vigil to stop. Seemed it was the only way she could get close to her daughter, who’d turned so difficult.
It reminded her of her early days on Troublesome Creek. . . .
 
Upon returning home after they married in Lexington, Will had left her in the gloomy cabin to freshen up from their arduous journey while he went to fetch the baby from Emilee Pelfrey. As soon as he’d left her alone she knew she couldn’t stay. She’d nearly screamed in despair when she realized what a monumental mistake she had made.
The entire cabin was one room. Just one room, and it was so dark and depressing she immediately went in search of a window that would open. She had to have air. Stepping out onto the rough, split-log porch, she took a deep breath, but she found no solace, for the very air was like the hulking mountains that surrounded her—damp, heavy, tasting of rock and clay. She’d never be able to take a full breath again.
Sinking to the floor, she’d covered her face with her hands. “What have I done?” she cried. “Oh, what have I done?”
“Grace?” She heard Will’s voice, felt his hand upon her shoulder. “Look’ee here.” He knelt before her and placed the baby in her arms.
She stiffened with the burden of the little body. “I can’t,” she remembered saying. “I don’t think I can do this.”
He stood and turned from her when she tried to thrust the baby back to him. “Well, you’re here and you’re her mother now, and I reckon you don’t have much choice.” Then he walked toward the barn and left her alone, alone with her dead sister’s baby.

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