The Cats of Tanglewood Forest (8 page)

“You should get packing,” Lillian told the spider. “Aunt sees you settling in like that and she’ll take a broom to you.”

Aunt…

Lillian felt as though she had a big stone sitting in the bottom of her stomach.

“Oh, Aunt,” she said as she turned away from the outhouse. “Where
are
you?”

She started back for the house, then changed direction as she realized the one place she hadn’t looked was the small corn patch on the other side of the barn. She picked up her pace, calling for Aunt.

Her heart sank again as the patch came into view. The green corn was only up to her waist. If Aunt had been hoeing weeds between the rows, her tall, bony frame would have been easy to see. But there was no one there, either.

Lillian would have turned away, except just then she saw something odd down one of the rows. A smudge of gingham. Gingham like Aunt’s dress.

She took a step closer, then she was running for where Aunt was lying in the dirt in between the rows of green corn.

“Aunt, Aunt!” she called out.

She wanted to pretend that Aunt was only lying down, having a rest, but she knew something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. Stalks of corn were bent from where she’d fallen. Some were broken. Aunt lay with her face pressed into the ground, dirt smudged on her face.

Lillian dropped to her knees beside Aunt and gave her shoulder a little push.

“Get up, get up!” she cried. “Oh, please, get up.”

But Aunt didn’t move. And then Lillian noticed the two little marks on her ankle, surrounded by a red inflammation.

Snakebite.

No, no,
no
!

Surely Aunt had only fainted. In a moment her eyelids would flutter open and she would smile weakly at Lillian.

But no, this… this was different, and Lillian knew it. She was no stranger to death. She’d come across the remains of animals in the woods. She’d seen the cats kill mice and voles, spitting up a few tiny organs when they were done eating. She’d helped Aunt when one of the chickens was going to be dinner.

Lillian’s chest felt like it might burst. This couldn’t be true. Yet here was Aunt, lying gray-skinned on the ground.

She stroked Aunt’s cooling brow and realized that her dream hadn’t been some silly little thing she’d imagined. It had been a premonition. A warning. But it had come too late.

She lowered her head, pressing her face into Aunt’s shoulder.

“Please wake up,” she whispered. “Please, Aunt. I don’t know what to do….”

But she knew Aunt was gone. She cried for a long, long time.

Dusk was coming on when Lillian finally sat up. She sniffled and wiped her nose on the shoulder of her dress. Aunt was stiff now, her skin cold to the touch. Lillian was slow getting to her feet. She seemed to have no strength. All she had was what felt like a huge, gaping hole in the middle of her chest.

Oh, Aunt…

She was twice orphaned now.

Aunt had become her entire family—mother and father and every other relative you could have, all rolled up into one. Lillian didn’t really remember her mother or father. Influenza had taken them when she was only a year old. The sickness had raged through the hills, and there was no rhyme nor reason why so many died, while others, such as Lillian and Aunt, were spared.

But now Aunt was gone, too.

Turning away, she shuffled through the rows of corn. When she got to the barn, she pulled an old blanket down from its peg and put it in the wheelbarrow. The wooden wheel rattled in its brackets as she left the barn and returned to the corn patch. But once she got the wheelbarrow in between the rows and into position, she couldn’t lift Aunt onto the wooden slats of its bed. She wasn’t nearly strong enough.

What was she supposed to do now? She couldn’t just leave Aunt lying in the corn patch. What was going to happen? Why did she have to be so small and useless? Poor Aunt.

Kneeling in the dirt beside the wheelbarrow, her arms and shoulders aching from the effort, she started to cry again, but then quickly choked back her tears. If she let herself weep, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to stop. There was still too much to do. She owed it to Aunt.

She sat up and gently laid the blanket over Aunt, then pushed herself to her feet. Her footsteps were heavy as she left the corn patch for a second time.
The hole in her chest felt even bigger—like nothing would ever fill it again.

It was almost full night now. She got Annabelle and brought her into the barn. Then she went to the house and got the lantern down from its shelf. Lighting the wick, she went outside. The lantern chased shadows away from her as she took the long path that led down to the Welches’ farm.

B
irdsong woke Lillian the next morning. She lifted her head in confusion, trying to figure out where she was, but then it all came flooding back. Her throat closed up and her eyes filled with tears. Sitting up, she wiped at them with a corner of the blanket.

The Welches’ house was quiet. Glancing out the window, she saw that it was still very early. She got up and tiptoed into the kitchen, then out onto the porch. A barn cat jumped down from the railing, startling her. It gave her a long, thoughtful look,
then slipped around the corner of the house. Lillian watched it go.

She thought about her strange dream: the circle of cats around the beech tree and the talking animals. The snakebite. She felt vaguely guilty, as though this were somehow her fault, that
she
should have been the snakebit one.

If only the dream
had
been real. She’d much rather be trapped in the shape of a cat if it meant that Aunt would still be alive.

She heard the door open behind her. Harlene joined her, putting an arm around Lillian’s shoulders.

“How are you doing, hon?” she asked.

“I…” Lillian had to swallow hard before she could go on. “It… it doesn’t feel real.”

Harlene nodded. “It’s going to be like that for a long time.”

“But how will I manage without Aunt? Aunt was everything.”

“I know. But we’ll take good care of you. I promise.”

This felt all wrong.
Aunt
took care of her. She and Aunt helped each other.

“I’d better go home,” Lillian said. “I’ve got chores.”

“No, you don’t. Earl talked to the Creek aunts. A
couple of their boys are going to look after things for the next few days. We’ll see what happens after that. You can’t be living way up there all on your own, Lillian.”

A shiver crawled up Lillian’s spine. Leave the farm? The thought was unbearable, so she decided to ignore Harlene’s last comment.

“What—what about Aunt?”

“Earl’s gone into town to talk to the preacher. We’ll lay her to rest with your mama and papa, up at the top of the hill. The Creek boys have offered to dig the grave.”

“Where’s Aunt now?”

“Earl said he laid her out in the parlor.”

It had been a relief to let Harlene and Earl take over, but now Lillian felt totally powerless. She was like a leaf caught in an eddy, turning ’round and ’round alongside the shore.

She thought about poor Aunt lying all alone in the parlor.

“Can I go see her?” she asked.

“Of course you can, hon. I’ll go up with you, and we can pick out something pretty for your Aunt Fran
to wear. But before we go, I need to see to the livestock.” She cocked her head. “Will you help?”

Lillian nodded. What else could she do?

The day they laid Aunt to rest started out sunny, but by the time they’d gathered in the small family plot on the hill above the Kindred farm, the skies had clouded over and threatened rain. Harlene and Earl Welch stood beside Lillian at the graveside. Lillian wore her good dress, and even had shoes on her feet. Preacher Bartholomew stood at the head of the grave, his Bible open in his hands.

A few other townsfolk and neighbors had made the long hike up to the farm. The Mabes, who lived a few farms over. Charley Smith from the general store. John Durrow and his son Jimmy, who grazed their cattle on the lower pastures near the road to town. Agnes Nash, who looked after the town’s library. Humble Johnson, a banjo player who led the dances at the grange.

Standing behind them were the extended families of the Creeks—dark-skinned men in buckskin and denim, the women in long, embroidered black skirts,
with their hair in braids. The aunts were in front, all except for Aunt Nancy, the oldest. She stood at the edge of the forest, half-hidden in shadow, her somber gaze never straying from Lillian.

At any other time her attention would have made Lillian nervous. No one knew Aunt Nancy’s age. It was said that there’d been a Nancy Creek living in
these hills when the white men first came from the east and that she’d still be here long after they were gone. Lillian didn’t know anything about that. She only knew that rowdy and joking though the Creek boys might be, they all grew quiet at even the mention of Aunt Nancy’s name.

She didn’t seem to be alone, standing there under
the trees. Lillian thought she could see a dark figure standing behind her, even taller than the stately Kickaha woman, whose head was bowed in sorrow. It was hard to tell, because she only stole glances at them. Sometimes when she looked the figure was there, sometimes it was just Aunt Nancy.