Junia lifted her muzzle and bawled into the sleeping woods, and I ducked lower, barely peeking over her withers.
The lawman stopped and turned our way. My gaze dropped to my .22, then fell back on the man, and my breathing hitched as I shifted toward the scabbard.
He took a few steps forward and cupped a hand over his brows, searching. My gloved palm slid over the shoulder stock. Seconds later, he dropped his arm and turned away.
Quickly, I tugged Junia deeper into the trees, climbed atop, and rode the mule hard toward Troublesome Creek.
Two
With every mile, my courage dwindled and the doubts loomed larger. Finally, I stopped in the moss-blanketed forest to see if I was being followed, the swirls of fog ghosting up into the slices of morning light, our shadows growing longer on frosted pine-needled paths. My despair settled deep with each step, separating me from them. I placed a hand over my heaving chest, the panic like a tempest inside, escaping through cold breaths.
I rode another mile before Junia slowed down. Every few minutes the mule would look back yonder to home, to Mama. I couldn’t help but look back longingly, too, hoping they would return today, praying the court would release them.
“Ghee up, Junia. C’mon, ol girl, ghee up!” Junia poked along despite my pleas and loud urgings. Dropping my whole weight into the saddle, I kicked my heels against her sides.
She swung her head and sassed back with a spray of garbled brays.
A light dimmed in me; the despair and helplessness had set in. “I miss them, too, but at this rate we won’t be there till dark.” I slid off, stuffed my gloves into my pocket, and grabbed the reins, tugging the beast along. “We’ve only gone about six miles, but we have at least twenty-five more ahead,” I told her as we walked the forest paths, stepping carefully over and around logs, on the lookout for critters.
The sun finally broke through the fog, the push of an early spring calling out to the hills. We rested by a brook for an hour as I tried to take my mind off my parents by soaking it all up. Patches of tender green shoots, blossomed coughwort, and showy toadshade sprang up from the earth. Moss and rotted wood perfumed the air. Mama had insisted on teaching me about nature, made me pay close attention and treasure it all, most especially during the coming of spring. It was a necessity, a means of survival for all Kentucky folk, but especially for us Blues, she’d said.
I pulled out Mama’s pocket watch from underneath my coat. The silver timepiece twirled on a leather string, catching a glint of sunlight that escaped through the fogged, tree-forested crown. It had been her great-grandpa’s in France, and she’d passed it to me last July when I turned sixteen. I pushed down on the pumpkin crown and released the latch. The tiny, glass-bubbled case opened, the porcelain face showing it was 9:12 a.m. I snapped the timepiece shut and tried to ride Junia again.
Five hours later, I rode alongside Troublesome Creek, the steady clip-clops of Junia’s hooves murmuring as we crossed trickling creek waters and rode up into pine-treed mountains. We passed a woman and child walking the path. She toted a basket brimming with roots and other herbs. A moment later, a white turkey skittered across, its stream of loud gurgles trailing behind.
A man carrying a fishing pole called out a friendly greeting. “Honey Lovett, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen the Book Woman and her daughter.”
“Sir, good day.” I nodded as we passed one of Mama’s old patrons.
In a few more minutes, Junia halted and brayed out warnings, then calmed. Tightening the reins, I looked between her tall ears and saw the ol’ moonshiner, Devil John, and his horse. I couldn’t make out the other person riding alongside him.
“Devil John, sir, it’s me, Honey,” I called out, relieved to see the family friend after all this time. I nudged Junia over to the moonshiner and a woman riding a fine horse, sneaking peeks at the stranger.
“Honey,” Devil John greeted me, tipping the black floppy hat with his calling card, a raccoon dick fastened to its front, his invitation to let folk know he was selling the shine—though it was known he didn’t partake of the spirits himself.