Quarrel with the Moon Page 9

  Tears streamed from Avarilla's eyes, but they were twinkling with pleasure. "I never, never thought I'd see you again before I went to meet my Maker." They pummeled one another with questions, interrupted each other's answers and, alternately laughing and crying, quickly caught up with the highlights of their respective years. Cresta stood to one side, fighting off the feeling of being shut out. Finally, Avarilla looked at Josh and asked, "Josh, is this your wife?"

  "No," Josh replied quickly. "A very close friend. Aunt Avvie, I want you to meet Cresta Farraday." Avarilla offered her hand to Cresta. She looked her up and down and pronounced, "You're just about the loveliest thing I ever seen." A smile creased her face. "An' I can just tell you're just as lovely inside."

  Cresta was disarmed by the old lady and immediately liked her, not because of the compliment, but because of the warmth and kindness she exuded. She could actually feel it in the touch of her rough, careworn hand.

  "Goodness, come inside an' sit. We'll have coffee. Oh, my goodness, my goodness." Avarilla retrieved the doll, then opened the screen door for her company.

  The kitchen was large and cheerful. Dominating the room was a cast-iron stove, and in one corner sat a sturdy oak table and four chairs which had been made there in the mountains. The windows were hung with brightly colored curtains made from flowered feedsacks; bunches of field flowers in Mason jars decorated tabletops and windowsills. Avarilla set the coffee on the fire. "It's fresh. I just made it. I'll be back in just a minute. Sissy's sure to miss Only. That's what she calls her doll." She smiled sadly. "It gives her comfort."

  Avarilla went into a connecting room and closed the door behind her. Cresta was about to mention the anatomically correct doll to Josh but thought better of it. Josh leaned back in an oak chair and sighed with contentment. Cresta thought that he looked very comfortable in the plain, homey surroundings and thought how wrong she had been to drag him to clubs and discos. Here was where he belonged.

  Avarilla returned. "She's sleepin'. She always does after one of her spells."

  "Who is Sissy?" asked Josh.

  "Don't you remember me talkin' about her? Why, Sissy's my daughter." She poured three cups of coffee and set cream and sugar on the table. The coffee was strong and redolent of chicory. As they sipped from the delicate china cups, Avarilla said, "She wasn't born that way, you know. Why, when Sissy was little she was the prettiest, brightest thing you ever saw. Why, she crawled an' walked an' talked before any of the other children hereabouts. When she was five she used to call tunes at the square dances. She was the perfect child of God." Avarilla's face and her voice turned bitter. "But she wasn't meant to stay that way. When she was twelve a wasp flew into her ear. Just about drove the sweet thing crazy. I used hot oils an' I know I must have killed it, but it never did come out. An' Sissy, well, she was never the same. She always remained twelve. My little girl never grew up. Would you like some more coffee?"

  They both acquiesced. Casting off her sadness, Avarilla got up from the table to refill their cups. Over coffee, Josh explained the purpose of his trip. It was an edited version, mentioning only the Indian mound and nothing of the discovery of the incredible bones and skull.

  Avarilla was impressed with her nephew. "So you're goin' down to the old Indian mound. Goodness, you can't travel tonight. It's late an' the woods are dark an' sometimes dangerous. You'll stay for dinner, of course." She quickly added, "I'll feed Sissy in her room. I often do. You will stay, won't you?"

  "Yes, of course," replied Josh.

  "We'd love to," added Cresta.

  Avarilla began gathering the ingredients for a stew. She went to the root cellar to retrieve a large basket of vegetables and a slab of meat. "Reuben will be in later. He's Sissy's brother-in-law. You see, he lived with Sissy an' her husband, Ben. And after Ben was killed in the war, Reuben stayed on. I moved in some time later to help take care of things. But it was such a small house that the men had to build a bedroom each for Reuben an' me. Of course, you're not plannin' to take your camper down the mountainside."

  "No, we planned to backpack it," Josh said.

  Avarilla laid the meat on a chopping block and began cutting it into cubes. Cresta started to explain that Josh was a vegetarian, but he stopped her. "Can't I be of some help, Avarilla?"

  "Please, call me Aunt Avvie. Yes, you can scrape these carrots for me an' chop 'em into nice man-size bites."

  Her knife poised in mid-air, Avarilla casually remarked. "You know, Josh, it's remarkable how much you look like Sissy's boy, my grandson, Orin."

  "Sissy had a child?"

  "That makes Orin your second cousin."

  "You say he looks like me?"

  "Or you look like him. A trick of nature. Of course, it sometimes happens, an' what with your mother an' I bein' sisters...." Josh frowned. He didn't like resembling anyone else. Avarilla sensed his feelings. "You're better looking, of course. Josh."

  Cresta was intrigued. "I'd like to meet this cousin of Josh's."

  Avarilla seared the meat in a frying pan, then dropped it into a huge iron kettle. Meanwhile, Cresta peeled the potatoes and cut them into large, white chunks. Then the old woman added a jar of home-canned tomatoes to the pot, plus a variety of seasonings. The scent of the simmering stew soon filled the kitchen like a holiday spirit. Avarilla tasted the mixture, added more pepper. "There's the Saturday social tonight at the Community House. Maybe you'd like to come."

  Josh shook his head. "Come on, Josh," pleaded Cresta. "It would be fun."

  "There'll be square dancin' an' refreshments," tempted Avarilla.

  Josh laughed. "How can I argue with both of you? Of course we'll go. But we can't stay late. We have to get an early start down the trail. This second cousin of mine, Orin, will he be there?"

  Avarilla nodded.

  The kitchen door opened and a man entered. Both his hair and his clothes were unkempt, and his face held the half-sly, half-desperate look of someone with more problems than he could handle. For a moment he looked as if he would back right out the door, but Avarilla stopped him. "Reuben, we got company. We're bein' paid a visit by my nephew, Joshua Holman, an' his friend, Cresta Farraday."

  Reuben stared at Josh with something akin to shock; then he guardedly shook hands with them and mumbled his hellos.

  A heavy odor of liquor exuded from Reuben like perspiration. Josh realized that he was probably not yet forty, although he appeared a decade older. His hair was thin and colorless and a network of broken veins covered his nose and cheeks with an encroaching illness.

  "Dinner will be ready soon, Reuben," said Avarilla.

  "No, no, I don't want anything to eat, Aunt Avvie. I have ... things to do in the barn." His voice rose and fell like an out-of-sync recording.

  Avarilla nodded with resignation. "I'll save you some stew, Reuben," she said but he had already gone. She began setting the table, looking slightly disconcerted. A silence stood among the three people like a folding screen. Finally Avarilla broke the quiet. "Reuben is a drinker," she stated flatly. "Has been for years. That's his work." Her voice caught in her throat. "He runs a still an' ...," she forced a smile, "he samples his wares."

  An hour later Avarilla sampled her stew and pronounced it done. She served the hearty meal - biscuits, cold buttermilk, a salad of dandelion greens and late tomatoes with a sharp cider dressing, and the stew - saying, "You all start. I'll just take a tray in to Sissy." After she had gone, Josh began to eat the stew voraciously. Cresta watched with surprise.

  "You're putting on quite an act."

  "I can't offend Aunt Avvie." He speared a chunk of meat into his mouth. "Besides, it's good."

  The old woman returned and sat down to her dinner. "She's fine. She's fillin' in her colorin' book."

  "You love her very much," Josh said kindly.

  "Yes, I do," replied Avarilla. "I think sometimes we love them more when they're ... different."

  "It can't be easy," said Cresta, meaning not only Sissy, but Reuben as well.
>
  "We all have our crosses to bear," Avarilla replied stoically.

  "This - ah - Orin. He live nearby?" asked Josh.

  "Not far away."

  "Married?"

  "No, not Orin. He's still sowin' his wild oats."

  Cresta said, "Another point in common."

  "Yes," muttered Josh, clowning.

  Avarilla stood up. "Your plate is empty. Josh. Let me get you some more stew."

  The screen door slammed open, and a boy came into the kitchen. Josh and Cresta smiled in recognition. He was one of the youngsters who had been playing with Marinda in front of Sophie Balock's store. Avarilla put her hand on her hips and laughed. "Alex! As usual, you're right on time."

  The boy sat down in Reuben's chair and said nothing until Avarilla had set food before him. Then, flashing a gap-toothed smile he presented a lumpy handkerchief to the old woman. "Brought Sissy some sourballs."

  Avarilla said to her guests, "Sissy is a particular favorite of Alex's. He's always bringin' her presents. A blue-jay feather, a shiny stone, sometimes something he's whittled himself. Alex, meet my nephew, Joshua Holman, an' his ... friend, Cresta Farraday." The boy bestowed a quick half-smile and dug into his food, noisily smacking his lips and using his fingers to eat.

  Cresta, sitting next to the boy, could not help looking at him. Alex's shirt was open and a shadow of hair covered his chest. Cresta was astounded. Surely he was no more than twelve years old. She looked at him more closely. His shoulders were broad and his arms well developed. Her eyes traveled downward. Alex's muscular thighs were encased in a pair of tight, bleached pants which emphasized the unmistakable outline of his genitals. Embarrassed, Cresta looked away. The boy appeared to be very fully a man.

  Avarilla was talking. "You see, the childen of the community belong to everyone. Often they don't go home to either eat or sleep, but stop by any place that's convenient. Tonight Alex favored us with his presence."

  "What a charming tradition," said Cresta.

  "Yes," Avarilla continued speaking of the boy affectionately, as if he weren't there. "Alex also calls at the socials. He has a nice, clear voice." In an affectionate gesture more like a mother's than a neighbor's, Avarilla ruffled Alex's hair.

  At first Cresta thought that Alex's dark brown hair had fallen over his ears. But no, it only appeared that way. The outer edges of his ears were completely covered with a silky down of dark brown hair.

  ***

  The barn remained in darkness but then, there was no reason for Reuben to light the lantern. He was contented in the dark ... in the barn. He felt safe there. The hay was warm, and its pungent aroma was as comforting as a worn blanket. He stretched out, still wearing his clothes. He always slept in them. Clutched in his hand, like an appendage of himself, was a brown bottle containing the top of his latest run. His illicit remedy for life ... his corn whiskey. He lifted the bottle to his lips and drank.

  Josh. Orin. It didn't seem right, them two looking so much alike. Reuben giggled. If he didn't know better, he'd think Orin got himself up in city clothes for a lark. His meditations confused him. He pressed his cheek against the rough wood planking beneath the window and scrunched up his face.

  He peered over the windowsill. The willow tree was silhouetted by the moon, its silver tresses trailing to the ground like the hair of a woman. The two dark figures appeared again. One leaned against a shovel, the other knelt on the ground. Reuben grimaced. They often came when he was watching the willow tree. Generally they came on stormy nights. He narrowed his eyes and wondered why they never moved. They were as still as carved figures in a graveyard.

  Reuben grunted and lay back down on the hay. Thinking gave him a headache. He closed his fingers around the neck of the bottle and drew it close to him.

  10

  Holding a kerosene lantern high, Avarilla preceded the young couple through the Thicket, toward the camper.

  "It won't take a minute for me to change, Aunt Avvie," said Cresta.

  "Take all the time you want, honey. I'll have me some fun lookin' over your camper. Just wear somethin' swirley - there's square dancin'."

  "Won't they mind strangers coming to the social?" asked Josh, remembering the strange reception they had received earlier that afternoon.

  "Goodness, no. It means two more young people to dance with. You're both goin' to be real popular, particularly you, Josh. There are a lot of widows up here on the Ridge."

  "Why so many?" asked Cresta. "The war?"

  "Oh no. We had a mine accident sixteen years ago. Killed every young man in the community."

  "How awful," said Cresta.

  "They closed down the mine after that. Orin an' Reuben were the only male survivors. Reuben, well as I said, he's self-employed. An' Orin wasn't to work that day, thank the Lord. He'd stepped on a trap only the night before an' he was having trouble with his foot. I guess that's why he's always had a rovin' eye. There's been so many women to choose from."

  "How does Orin make his living now?" asked Josh.

  "Oh, a little of this, a little of that. He does some carpentry - toys, furniture, coffins. You don't need much to live up here, no sir. If you live with nature, nature will take care of you."

  "Did many of the men have families?" wondered Cresta. "It must have been terrible for the survivors."

  "It was tragic, but we take care of our own up here."

  "I can see that," said Cresta. "Like Alex this evening."

  "Yes. Those of us that are left care for all of the children an' look after the young people, too." She smiled. "Even though some of them think they so grown up and they're beyond an old woman's advice."

  "We saw some of the young people when we arrived today," said Cresta carefully. "Tell me, Aunt Avvie, are many of them ... deformed?"

  Avarilla stopped and turned around to face Cresta. "Nearly all of them," she replied quietly. "Most of the women were pregnant at the time of the mine accident. The shock of losin' their husbands left a mark on them children. But, as I said, when your dear ones are different you love them even more."

  She stopped in front of the camper and moved the lantern about. "Is this it? It's so pretty! All white an' decorated so nice. The design'd do for a quilt...."

  "Oh, I bought a quilt this afternoon at Sophie Balock's store," said Cresta. "She should really charge more for such a fine piece of work."

  "More than what?" asked Avarilla.

  "I really didn't think one hundred dollars was enough. In New York that quilt would have brought three hundred at least."

  Avarilla paused for a moment then said, "It's easy for us. We all get together an' sew them up in just a shake."

  Josh unlocked the camper, stepped inside and switched on the lights.

  Cresta hurried into the bedroom to find something to wear to the social. Josh offered his hand to Avarilla. The old woman seemed to need encouragement to enter the camper. "Ohhhh!" Avarilla exclaimed and clamped her hand over her mouth. "It's silly, but electricity always shocks me." She laughed at her unintentional joke. "It's roomy, really roomy." She ran her hands across the stove and examined the refrigerator. Her attitude was one of fascination, but not quite approval. Then she looked in the shower stall, turned on the water and shook her head. "Oh no, no. That would never do. Now my old copper tub - that's relaxin'." Josh offered her a drink of something, but she declined. Then he excused himself and joined Cresta to change.

  After the door was closed, Cresta whispered, "I don't think Aunt Avvie approves of us sleeping together."

  "You're reading her wrong, love. I don't think she's the kind of person who 'approves' or 'disapproves' of anything."

  Cresta gracefully accepted Josh's putdown and went on searching through the small closet for something appropriate to wear. Josh kept on the same jeans but changed to a red-and-black lumberjack shirt and a pair of western boots.

  Josh kept Avarilla company while they waited for Cresta. She finally emerged from the bedroom, wearing an extravagant gypsy costume purc
hased from Bendel's, banded and ruffled in hot shades of pink, orange and yellow. A kerchief was wrapped around her head, gypsy fashion, and the inevitable gold hoops dangled from her ears. Cresta smiled apologetically. "I suppose it's a bit fancy, but it's the only full skirt I brought with me."

  Avarilla came to her rescue. "Goodness, Cresta! Every male in the place is goin' to carry on like a dog in heat. 'Course, they're real young, seventeen being the oldest."

  "Except for Reuben and Orin," smiled Cresta.

  "You're ready, then," said Josh a little sharply.

  When they had stepped outside, Josh started to lock the camper. "Goodness," exclaimed Avarilla, "you don't have to do that up here, Josh. I don't think there's a single lock in the entire Ridge. No one would think of stealin' from anyone else."

  Josh shrugged his shoulders and left the camper unlocked.

  Avarilla marched ahead with long, striding steps. Josh and Cresta tagged behind her. The open, worn path led to a dirt road. To the left lay the General Store. Avarilla turned right.

  "How far is it?" asked Cresta.

  "Just a good, healthy walk," the old woman replied. "'Bout half a mile. Good for the circulation." As they walked toward the Community House, the Thicket gave way to forest on their right. Avarilla pointed to a path among the trees, lined with good-sized rocks and rhododendron bushes. "That way takes you to the Lookout. It's a great big boulder stuck to the side of the mountain. Got the best view around here. You can see the whole valley an' Cheat River windin' down below."

  "Could we take a look, Aunt Avvie?" asked Josh. "Maybe we could see Harry's campfire from there."

  "Best not to go to the Lookout at night, Josh. You got to cross a swingin' bridge which spans a gorge an' a stream. Wait till daytime. Not much to see at night, anyway."

  They walked on, a few scattered houses on their left, forest on the right, until the road came to a covered bridge. The worn floorboards echoed their footsteps. The bridge opened once again onto the road; it was now flanked by cornfields. The wind rustled the sword-shaped leaves, and the air smelled of the ripening corn. The road began to climb. Avarilla pointed out the Community House in the distance; the twang of country music rushed down to them like a welcoming hand. The joyful sound of banjo, fiddle and dulcimer easily seduced John and Cresta.