Junia trotted through wooded paths of budding dead nettle, toothwort, and bloodroot, fording icy-cold waters and following the creek into town with nary a fuss or bother. It was like she knew how important this day was for me, for her.
In town, I led the mule onto the courthouse grounds and tethered her to a post in the grassy side lot used for horses. Junia gave a tired whinny and I lingered beside her, hugging her neck, stroking her nose.
The postmaster strolled past and bid me a hearty good day, but I barely heard him, as worried and eaten up as I was by what was coming next.
I climbed the courthouse steps and peeked inside the building. A uniformed man sat at a desk, reading his newspaper. I crooked my neck around the jamb. The halls were quiet, and I reckoned everyone was having dinner. Outside, I tapped my foot on the concrete, anxious for Mr. Morgan’s and Retta’s arrival. Every couple of minutes, I pulled out the timepiece. Twelve seventeen. Where could they be?
I looked over the stately courthouse steps and down at the town. Coal miners on their dinner breaks milled in front of the Company store owned by the coal company, some sitting on benches in front of it, smoking and exchanging gossip after a long morning down in the mine. Squinting against the sun, I cupped a hand over my eyes and saw one of the miners off to the side standing alone. It was hard to make out who it was when the men came out of the mines looking the same, their faces and clothes blackened with coal dust. Then the one standing alone removed the helmet and long, dark hair spilled out.
It was Bonnie Powell, one of the students from Mama’s schoolhouse route from long ago. I babysat for her in the summer and a few other times. The young woman had lost her husband to a mine accident last year, and I’d sat her son for a full week while Bonnie took her training and education classes for the coal position.
I spotted ten-year-old Wrenna Abbott, the great-granddaughter of the granny woman, Emma McCain, her long, dark curls sun-streaked and tangled, her small, heart-shaped face etched half-woman, half-child. Emma, the elder midwife and respected healer, had been doing her best to raise the wilded child. Wearing an oversized tattered coat over her flour-sack dress, Wrenna walked determinedly through the streets with a bone-white rooster following at her heels. The rooster shrilled its warnings, charging anyone it thought might get closer.
One coal miner pretended to lunge at the girl, riling the bird further. The man hooted and threw a rock at the squawking rooster, missing. Another called out, laughing, “You couldn’t hit the side of the barn if it fell on your sorry ass.”
I winced and turned my attention to the girl.
Wrenna stopped and picked up the bird, snugging its head into the crook of her arm. She stared icily at the coal miner. He choked back his laughter and turned away.
A few horses passed with their riders, heading toward the farrier, their gaits slightly off. Devil John’s son, Carson, held the post office door open for a pretty girl I’d heard he’d been courting since last fall. They stood and chatted outside a few minutes, and I watched as the two flirted with each other, their eyes smiling and cheeks rosied. Normally, I’d tease him a little, like his sisters always did when he found a new girlfriend, but looking at the two like that felt different, more intimate, and I turned away feeling like an intruder, wondering if there would soon be talk of a wedding.
At twelve forty, Retta arrived in Alonzo’s buckboard wagon. I raced down the steps and thanked her nephew. Alonzo said he’d wait while I helped Retta carefully up the steps, letting her pause as we climbed the thirty-six stairs to the top. I seated her on the big concrete ledge outside the courtroom doors.
Minutes later, a shiny apple-red Chevrolet pulled into a parking spot below. A man jumped out and waved up at us, calling out a greeting to me. Mr. Morgan wore a smart, brown business suit, polished shoes, and a matching fedora with a fancy speckled bow on the wide grosgrain band. Carrying a briefcase, he called out my name and took the courthouse steps two at a time.
“Good morning. Visiting over in the next county this morning, didn’t expect to be running so late. Honey, how you doing?” he asked before turning to Retta. “Miss Adams, thank you for joining us today and for giving Honey a home.”