She looked at me strangely.
“I need to see them again. I have money—”
“Happy to have the company. I’ll be leaving next Saturday for Louisville at dawn. Meet me at my cabin.”
“Much obliged.”
She squeezed my shoulder. “I’m sorry about Miss Adams. We’re in short supply of medicine and medical help here,” the tired young woman said. “Makes it damn difficult with the poor diets most elderly are keeping in these hills. It won’t be long now. I’ll check back in tonight. She’s to be buried with her folks alongside her sister at their old homestead cemetery down the trail, her nephew said. Just keep her comfortable. My best to you, Honey. I’m very sorry.”
I squeezed out a thank-you.
Then she was off with her lantern and bag, her tall nurse’s cap casting a monstrous shadow across the yard.
Back inside, I put the kettle on to brew sassafras tea, one of Retta’s favorites, then pulled out her bedpig and freshened it with steaming water. Smoothing down the quilt, I gently tucked her in. “You warm enough, Retta? Can I get you another cover?”
“Drink, child,” she replied, her voice gravelly.
I offered Retta a few sips of tea, then read some of the marked Scriptures from her Bible for several hours, peeking over the book in between pages.
Retta suddenly reached for my hand and swallowed hard. “Child, I–I want you to have my Bible. I—” She was having trouble breathing now. “I tol’ ’Lonzo it’s yours.”
“I love you, Retta.” I kissed her hand.
“It was…a’might easy…lovin’ you,” Retta rasped and her eyelids closed one last time.
I leaned over and whispered, “Retta.” I patted her hand and rubbed briskly. “Don’t go.”
She moaned and took two rattled breaths, then spent one last.
“Don’t die.” I gripped her limp, graying hand, pressed it to my damp cheek. “Please don’t leave me, Retta.”
Fifteen
Outside, blustery weather pushed over the old mountains and licked at the weather-beaten boards as I covered Retta’s lifeless body with her quilt.
I walked out onto the porch and lifted up my sorrows to the mourning winds, my heart heavy, shattered in grief, the loneliness unbearable, smothering.
Retta had been as close as kin, what remained of any family I had left. A hope that Retta would replace the loss of my parents and help the healing was now lost to the old lands. I tightened my bruise-colored hands over the splintered porch rail, leaned over, and wailed to the trees, cried for dear Retta and my family taken from me.
From the stall, Junia hawed and kicked at her door, raring to break free and see me. Exhausted, I straightened and walked over, pressed my cheek against her neck and stroked her muzzle. Junia whisked out a trembling bray. She was all I had left now, and her big solemn eyes and worrisome ramblings told me the girl knew we only had each other.
Pennie jumped up onto the ledge of the Dutch door, purring, butting her head against Junia’s face, and the ol’ mule let her. I was surprised how quickly their friendship had developed but grateful the cat consoled her.
I turned to Retta’s darkened cabin, the nightfall crowning the hard day and harder times sweeping in. “We have to go down the mountain and find Alonzo,” I said, saddling Junia.
When I got to his tiny cabin five minutes later, it was empty and he was nowhere to be found. I banged on the door one last time, my fist darkening from my anger and dismay.
A curse slipped off my lips. I headed back to Retta’s, not knowing a lick about burials or funerals but reckoning it was up to me to handle it all. At the table I rummaged through the lining of my coat and pulled out the bills, then folded them into my pocket.