“Thank you, Devil John.” I threw my arms around him and kissed his cheek. The ol’ moonshiner blushed.
“Hope you’ll understand that I can’t be with ya in the courtroom that day. My questionable standing in the community might harm your chances of getting a favorable result.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, knowing moonshining would not be looked favorably upon by the law.
“But I’ll be waiting for ya outside on the steps. You keep yourself on the lookout for any trouble.” He pulled a card out of his long leather coat. “Here’s Bob Morgan’s telephone number. He said call him anytime.”
I slipped it into my coat pocket.
“You can use the telephone booth inside the Company store.” He pointed across the street. “Be at the courthouse next week and on time.” He tipped his hat and was off back to the farrier.
“Let’s hurry, ol’ girl.” I mounted Junia and rode her out of town, down rutted, black-stained paths left from the big wheels of coal trucks. I couldn’t wait to see Retta.
Eight
On coffee-painted paths smattered with rotting penny and butterscotch-colored leaves, I rode up to Retta’s, worrying if she’d still be willing to take me in. She’d watched me for years while Mama tended her book routes, and Retta’s cabin always felt like my second home. I needed her now more than ever and wanted her to fuss over me like always, wrap me in a quilt, then settle us in with some hot tea, molasses bread, and quiet conversation.
Scents of mud and fresh waters wafted as Junia forded a trickling stream. It was like coming home again and made me long for the days when I was a child rocked to sleep on Retta’s lap.
A noon train whistled through the blue hills. Kissing my teeth in short bursts, I pushed Junia to hurry through the woods.
After I tethered Junia to the porch, I knocked and the door creaked open. “Retta?” I peeked around the frame.
Retta sat at the table working on a new quilt, the sunlight streaming through her homespun curtains, the warmth spreading from the rays and a lit fire.
“Iffin that’s Honey Mary-Angeline, I’ve been a’waitin’ for ya, child.” Retta squinted through her glasses at the sunlight streaming through the open door. She stuck her needle into the pincushion and pushed the fabric aside.
“Yes, ma’am, it’s me!” I rushed over to her and fell into her welcoming embrace.
“My prettiest petunia,” she said in a soft warbled voice, using the name she’d called me since birth. “Such a sight for these old eyes. My poor child, you and your folks have been through a lot.” She grimaced. “Looks like you’re needing some ointment for that scraped chin.”
“No, ma’am, it’s fine. I put medicine on it this morning.” I hugged her and stepped back from the chair. She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes.
“Have your eyes been ailing you again, Retta?”
“Same as always.” Retta fussed with her white bun, smoothed down her worn, crumpled skirts.
“Reckon you should fetch Doc to give you another eye exam.”
“Soon.” She grabbed my hand. “You’ve grown almost as tall as your ma.” She picked up an envelope and frowned. “There’s a hearing next week about your guardianship.”
“Yes, ma’am, I know.”
“Your parents asked me to take care of ya until they can again.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said quietly, taking a seat beside her at the table. “The state wants to send me to the children’s prison. If I could stay, I promise to help you with chores, do whatever you ask. I can even get a job, Retta, so I can pay you fair for living here, and—”