Black Stump Ridge (18 page)

“Somethin’ wanted out bad,” Peete whispered from behind him.

Dave only nodded. “I think I might have helped it,” He whispered.

Johnny looked at Fred. “What do you think it was?”

“I don’t know.” Fred slowly shook his head, his eyes wide. “I don’t think I want to know.”

Dave shuddered. “I know I don’t.”

“Maybe it was gas.”

Everyone looked at Peete.

“You know,” he continued. “Methane. You said they mined around here, right? I remember readin’ that sometimes there would be explosions in the coalmines. You can’t smell methane. Miners would hit the rocks with their picks, make a spark, and boom! That’s one reason miners used to take canaries in cages down with them – so they could tell if there was gas. If the bird died, then they got the hell out of there.”

Fred looked at the cistern; at the steel cover with its new domed shape; at the torn and twisted hatch. “I suppose that’s possible,” he said. “I can only think of one problem with your theory.”

“What’s that?”

“I doubt if any of us slept much last night. Did anyone hear an explosion?” He pointed at the cistern. “It would have taken one helluva blast to do that. That’s some pretty heavy gauge steel there. Boilerplate, at the least. Did anyone hear anything? I know I didn’t.”

 CHAPTER NINETEEN

Truly Mae Ketchum lay on her back on her narrow spinster’s bed. She’d had this same mattress for so long its center bore a long Truly Mae shaped depression. Its closeness comforted her at night and helped her to sleep. It was like a gentle hand embracing her.

Not tonight, however – not since those strangers came to stay at ol’ Lawyer’s place. Something happened that night. One of them did something and she feared the mountains would run with blood before it all was back like it was – if it ever could be.

She felt the darkness press down on her like a smothering pillow. She struggled to breathe, to fill her lungs, but her chest only expanded halfway. She lay on the bed and struggled against the cloying darkness for a few moments longer. She gathered her strength – there was far more to her than one would think by looking at her spindly form – and levered herself up. She sat there for a moment, her heart hammering in her chest. At last it settled into a reasonable rhythm. Satisfied that she’d averted Death’s bony touch once more, she decided it was time to rise and face the day.

Truly shivered. The coals in the hearth were banked and gave off little heat but she didn’t mind. She welcomed the cold. It cleared her mind and drove the haints away. Her toes inch wormed across the floor until they found her slippers. Her feet burrowed into the fuzzy comfort. She smiled. Jake gave them to her a couple of Christmases past. She’d protested that he should have spent his money on something for himself, but she was pleased, nonetheless – especially on cold mornings like this. She snagged a worn and threadbare bathrobe from the bedpost and draped it over her shoulders as she rose from the bed and padded into the kitchen.

She sniffed the air. Night was nearly gone and morning was on its heels. There was no sense going back to bed. Sleep was long gone. Something was happening; something worse than she’d ever experienced in the eighty-six years she’d walked these hills. It was brewing in the rocks beneath her feet.

She stood before the chipped enamel kitchen sink, her head bowed. “Mother,” she whispered, “you know I always give you my all – leastwise as much as this old body will let me. I just hope you ain’t puttin’ more on my plate than I can eat this time.”

She turned to the wooden table that had stood in the middle of the kitchen since before she was born and groped until her hand brushed against the base of the kerosene lamp sitting in the center. She pulled it across the table’s smooth surface. Her other hand found the half-open box of kitchen matches lying nearby. She removed a match and dragged its head against the rough strip on the outside of the box. She squinted against the match’s flare as she raised the glass chimney. While she held the flame against the wick, she turned the knob to adjust it. The warm yellow glow gave scant illumination to the small kitchen. Shadows danced on the walls and ceiling. She walked back to the sink and grabbed a wide-mouthed ceramic pitcher and held it over the sink in front of the cast iron water pump. Shadows flickered across the pump’s red enamel surface.

Coffee or tea?
she thought as she worked the cold handle. The pipe rattled and groaned as the nearly frozen water worked its way up to the spout. By the time the icy liquid spilled over the metal lip and splashed into the waiting vessel she was breathing heavily. She set it aside once it was full. As she stood there for a moment to catch her breath, she shook her head. Getting old was as inconvenient as it was inevitable. Time was she could fill two pitchers and a kettle for boiling and never raise her pulse.

Those days are long gone,
she thought sadly.

She bustled about the tiny kitchen. Soon she had two more lanterns lit, banishing the shadows. Three logs burned cheerfully in the hearth. A black iron kettle hung over the flames. Tendrils of steam rose from the water inside. A percolator burbled merrily on the matte black surface of the Franklin stove. Bacon sizzled in a cast iron skillet while the aroma of baking biscuits floated on the air from the ancient oven.

“Whatcha makin’, Granny?” Betty June stood in the doorway rubbing her eyes with the sides of her fists. A flowered nightshirt hung down to just above her tiny ankles.

Truly looked at the thirteen-year-old girl. Her wide-set eyes and somewhat flat face made her just shy of being what others might call pretty. Her hair, now mussed and scraggly from sleep, was neither brown nor blonde and yet, not quite mousy, either. It was a shade all its own. She was going to be tall when she finished growing – taller than Truly – and she was budding fast. The boys would notice her soon, if they hadn’t already. Would it turn her head like it did so many other girls? Or, would Betty June hear the call just as Truly Mae had when she was the same age?

Truly looked closely at her, as she always did, seeking the signs of the taint she knew were there. So far, though, there was no outward sign of the unholy union that produced this lovely child. She shook her head and held her arms out to the girl who ran to her. Their arms wrapped in a warm hug.

“Just makin’ breakfast, June Bug. I figure cold as it is that some eggs an’ bacon’ an’ mebbe some grits and biscuits might warm us up. What do you think?”

The girl smiled up at her, her muddy green eyes shining brightly. “I think I better get to the outhouse afore I gotta mop the floor, that’s what I think.”

Truly kissed the top of Betty’s head. “I think it’s mighty cold out there. Why don’t you just use the thunder mug instead? We can dump it in the outhouse once the sun comes up an’ warms things up a bit.”

The girl gave her another squeeze and then disengaged herself. She ran to the little room that served as a bath chamber and a necessary room. Truly chuckled knowing how the cold slate floor would only add to the girl’s urgency. The stove’s heat hadn’t reached back there, yet.

She turned to the hearth. The water in the kettle was slowly boiling. She put a pinch of salt and a couple of handfuls of white ground corn into the bubbling liquid and stirred it until it looked like thick white porridge. She then turned to the stove and the bacon in the frying pan.

Soon everything was ready. She could hear the clatter of plates and flatware as Betty June set the table. Truly started transferring platters and bowls. Once everything was on the table, they took their places, sitting in ladder back chairs on opposite sides.

“June Bug, would you please ask the blessing?”

Both bowed their heads as Betty spoke.

“Dear Mama Cerridwen, we thank you for your bounty this morning. We will do our best to put this food to good use as we go ’bout our day. Please help me to unnerstand as Granny Tru shares your teachnin’s with me so’s I can do good things an’ be a proper granny lady when my time comes. As you will so mote it be.”

“So mote it be,” Truly repeated. Both signed themselves with a pentagram and then looked up at each other.

“Blessed be, Granny Tru.”

“And, blessed be to you, June Bug.” Truly smiled, pleased with her student. “Now eat up ’fore it gets cold.”

She watched as Betty June attacked her breakfast as only a hungry teenager could. Her smile faltered a bit. The girl was so young. She turned her attention to serving herself.

“What we gonna study today, Granny?” the girl said around a mouthful of egg.

“I think it’s time we studied some special things.”

Lady, it’s just not fair.
Truly chewed her breakfast slowly and without looking up at Betty.
She’s too young to have to deal with this. She’s just not ready. What if he should…
she forced the rest of the thought away from her.

“You gonna show me some
real
magicks? Mebbe how to make some potions?”

“Somethin’ like that, child.” She took a sip of coffee. It was strong and bitter, exactly the way she liked it. “I think we’ll start with some wards, though. Some protection magicks.”

“I already know how to make a jar and cast a circle.”

“That’s good. That’s real good. I think we’re gonna work on something a bit stronger. There’s dark work ahead, dark magick I’m afraid, and we need to be ready for it, you and me.”

“Like what?” The girl’s eyes widened.

Truly saw a touch of alarm in her expression. That was good. She needed some fear.

“There’s some things,” she began, “things I was hopin’ to teach you about later on. Some you know about; some you heard about; an’ some of it already runs through your veins.”

The color drained from the girl’s face. “You talkin’ ’bout – ’bout
him
ain’tcha?”

“Yes, child, I’m talkin’ about
him.
”

Silence grew as the girl digested the idea. After several moments she looked up. “Last night I dreamed I heered fiddle music. But, he’s locked up, right? He cain’t be makin’ no music. You showed me the wards in the cave and said he couldn’t get out so long as the wards was up. Right? He’s trapped behind the magic silver, right?”

Truly sighed and looked directly at Betty June. She saw concern and fear on the girl’s face.

“Not any more, hon,” she said as she reached across for Betty’s hand. She squeezed gently. “Not any more.”

 CHAPTER TWENTY

“I’m sure of what we need to do, boys,” Jake said as he stared up at the fog-shrouded mountain. “I’m just not real sure of how we’re gonna do it. We got shine that’s ready to ship but we dasn’t go up there to get it. Leastwise, not ‘til Granny’s had a chance to put the wards back up. It ain’t safe.”

Billy Ray looked up from the stick he’d been whittling. A small pile of curled shavings lay between his booted feet. “We can’t just leave it up there, Pa. There’s people waitin’ for it.”

“Don’t I know it?” Jake shook his head. “Doc Johnson called me yesterday from Atlanta wantin’ t’know where his delivery was. I told him it wasn’t quite ready, yet.”

“So, how long’s it gonna take for her to do what she needs to do?”

“I don’t know, son. Ain’t nothin’ like this ever happened in my lifetime. I don’t know if she
can
do it.”

“What’s the problem?” Bubba asked. He was two years younger than Billy Ray and a little slower thinking. Where Billy provided the brains to help Jake run the bootlegging operation, Bubba was the brawn. “All she’s gotta do is remake those silver marks, right? That can’t be too hard.”

Jake looked from one to the other. His sons couldn’t be more different from each other. Billy Ray was short and thin, with black hair and eyes equally dark. Bubba was tall, bulky, light haired, and hazel eyed. They were good boys, though, as good as any man could expect and better than many these days. He supposed it didn’t really matter from whose loins the seed sprang. He loved them both and they both loved and respected him. Besides, if his wife had cheated on him, then she’d already paid for it when she gave birth to Bubba. The ordeal had done something to her insides, something the doctors couldn’t fix. She died five years later broken in body and mind.

“You’re right, Bubba. If that’s all there was to it she could have it done before nightfall and we’d be back in business. Hell, if that’s all there was, you or me or Billy Ray could just go up there an’ paint little marks.” Jake glanced toward the ridge again. “It ain’t just makin’ marks. There’s stuff only Granny knows how to do, stuff that was passed down to her from her granny and her granny before her. It’s Cherokee magic passed on by medicine men a long time back. Besides, those silver marks don’t do any good if
he’s
on the outside. Everything’s gotta be done right or it don’t do no good.”

“Is
he
even real?” Billy went back to his whittling. “I mean, no one’s ever seen him so far as I know. How do we know it ain’t just superstition?”

Jake shook his head. That was the problem with the young ones these days. They saw so many movies, with their special computerized effects, that they didn’t believe in anything anymore.