Somehow, the cloak of sorrow and loss and years of living in the forest with nary a friend was lifted a little. There was a great-uncle on Papa’s side down in Tennessee we’d see a few times a year, and the kids back in Troublesome I’d play with on my visits. But I never stayed long enough to get real close with any my age, except Devil John’s lot. To think, I might now have a friend and a sister. “Sister,” I said, my heart nearly bursting with hope.
“Reckon we can never have too many troublesome women where we’re headed. Saddle up,” Devil John said.
Seven
We rode into Troublesome under a star-dusted sky, the cold March air nipping at our backs. Junia knew the way, and if it hadn’t been so blustery, I might’ve dozed off in the saddle.
When we reached my grandparents’ cabin, Pearl lit the stove and stacked a few logs in the fireplace, while I hung quilts over the drafty windows. In a few minutes, I went down into the root cellar to get victuals for supper. Below, I placed the lantern on a table and the room lit up.
The cellar brimmed with food, and I marveled over the canning jars of every size, stacked on shelves that climbed to the ceiling. There were peas, butter beans, roasting ears, mustard greens, sweet potatoes, turnips, jams, and more. Papa had brought in sacks of flour, crocks of smoked apples, and barrels of kraut. Dried berries and persimmon, and strings of pumpkin; leather britches hung beside large hams, pork, sausage, and venison. All smoked and salted, the meats would easily last through this year and the next.
Hungry, I grabbed a peach leather strip and chewed on the sweet candy treat. Mama made the best. I’d help her prepare and cook the peaches with brown sugar or honey, and then we’d spread the thick peach sauce outside on large, clean cutting boards and leave them in the sun a few days. Once it was good ’n’ leathered, Mama would cut them into strips and hang them up inside. I wondered what her supper would be tonight.
I plucked up a large basket off the cold dirt floor and placed a quart jar of stew inside. I scanned the preserves and selected apple butter and a smaller bag of flour. Tomorrow morning, I would fry up thick slices of ham with redeye gravy and biscuits, along with baked smoked apples.
I finished off the peach leather, snatched another strip for Pearl, and hurried upstairs.
Setting the basket on the table, I said, “You got yourself a good fire going.”
Pearl only stared at the flames with a sadness puddling at her feet. I wondered if she was homesick like me, or if it was something more.
Not wanting to pry, I told her, “I’ve got us good victuals and something extra for you.” I handed her the peach leather. “You must be starved.”
“What is it?”
“Candy treat.”
“Before supper?” She raised a sly brow.
“I reckon it won’t bother us having dessert first.” I laughed and then stopped, mindful of what Mama would say. It wouldn’t be allowed, and I drew a sharp breath, missing her love and my parents’ protection. I thought about Bob Morgan, hoping he’d get my guardianship before the state caught up with me.
After we ate, Pearl helped with the dishes. Then I put clean linens on the iron bed that was tucked into the corner while she checked on our mounts.
It was late, and I was eager for bed, so I could get an early start to Retta’s. Climbing the loft, I called down, “I’m heading out early.” I was anxious to see Retta, to finally feel safe. “I’ll try to get back in a few days. And I’m going to stop by the library. Want me to check out some books for you?” I knew a book would carry her away from any gloom.
“Oh, a good book would be perfect. If there’s any newspapers, I’d take those too.”
“Good night, Pearl.” I climbed the last rung, comforted because I’d found someone else to talk to about books and maybe in time lots of other things, relieved because I’d soon have a guardian who would keep me out of the children’s prison.