“The man is an ill-bred lout and sounds like Satan himself!” Pearl hissed.
Pulling back the curtain, I looked out, searching for shadows in the blackness, squinting my eyes for any law sneaking around. I hope Martha Hannah got word to Devil John, because I would feel much better if he were here.
“That preacher up and disappeared one day,” I said, turning back to Pearl. “No one gave much attention to the matter.”
Pearl nodded. “Father always said only the miserable, cowardly, and ignorant will stand on the backs of the meek to make themselves feel powerful. Got his due, I’d say, a righteous dose of Kentucky justice.”
I peered out the window once more into the darkness, the snow coming down hard, leaving me trapped. I thought about my parents’ warning about coming back. Shivering, I briskly rubbed my arms and said, “Looks like we’re not going anywhere right now in this weather. I should get us something to eat.”
After a quick, late supper, Pearl helped me clear the table and carry the dishes over to the sink.
“It’s been a hard day,” I told Pearl, “and I’m sorry I made it harder. It’s nearly three in the morning, and I suppose Devil John isn’t coming out in this weather. He’s probably trapped in same as us. I’ll sleep in my parents’ room, and you can have my bed up in the loft.”
“I’m just glad you don’t have to be here alone,” Pearl said. “Besides, I’m grateful for a place to stay until the Forestry can repair the steps.”
We washed up the supper dishes and talked a little bit about her people back home, her job, and the town of Troublesome.
Pearl looked around the cabin and asked, “Is there television in these parts?”
“Television?” I said, astonished, then added, “I’ve seen pictures of them, but ain’t never heard of anyone in these hills having one yet. Not a single living soul.”
“I’ll miss that the most, I suppose. Mother bought one the first year she went to work for the Palm Beach factory sewing men’s clothing.”
I’d never heard of a woman taking a factory job, and when Pearl caught the surprise on my face, she shared more.
“My father was the clothing inspector at Palm after the war, and when one seamstress retired several years ago, Mother got on.” Her eyes grew distant and a sadness climbed across her face. She suddenly waved a hand like she was dismissing a small bother.
I was shocked into silence by her mama working and making a lot of money. Two parents working in a factory. She had to be really rich, and I was suddenly embarrassed by our modest cabin, its homespun curtains and hand-braided rugs. “What did you see on the television set?” I asked.
Excited, Pearl leaned in and told me, “My favorite is Your Hit Parade. There’s all kinds of singing and dancing.” She wriggled her shoulders and snapped her fingers as she sang a snappy advertisement jingle by the cigarette company that I had heard a few times on the radio.
“Be happy, go lucky,
Be happy, go Lucky Strike.
Be happy, go lucky,
Go Lucky Strike today!”
I grinned and hummed along.
“They sing it at the beginning of Your Hit Parade. Oh, I Love Lucy and Life with Elizabeth are funny programs. I’ll really miss those television broadcasts. The movie actresses Betty White and Lucille Ball are hilarious, and once…”
Distracted from my worries, I hung on to every word, trying to imagine the cheerful people inside the screen talking, dancing, and singing to make the audience happy.
After I dried the last dish, we turned in for the night. I tossed in the bed, drained, but my mind racing to the darker, worrisome places that fear brings. Burying my head into the pillow, I let the folds of fabric swallow the quiet sobs until I was exhausted in both spirit and bone, the nightmares breaking my slumber throughout the night.