Chapter 4
Coy Skinner’s ghost sat with me through the night like a heckling haint. Trying not to think about him was like being able to ignore the facts of where I was and why. I kept telling myself he’d been really old, and I was young. He’d been weak, whereas I was sturdy. His death, one of many in that 1916 flood, was legend round Jackson County only because it had been so peculiar. Momma had talked about it, and her account had worked its way right into my head the way a worm works into a tomato or an apple. Lemuel Dodd, a neighbor of his, found him dangling amongst the branches of a sourwood tree he’d climbed to get out of the water, five miles from his shack on Pistol Creek. He’d waited and waited, growing too weak and feeble to get back down. Remembering Coy Skinner’s demise only made my unease about my own circumstances worse.
I got thirstier and thirstier. I was hungry, and my empty stomach made my head pound like I was banging it against the tree trunk. The second day come, and the sun now shone bright and hard, and again I welcomed it. About midmorning it irritated me when I went right back to sweating. I was in the shade for the most part, but the temperatures climbed, and with the unseasonable heat come humidity from all the water. The bugs arrived and stayed. Gnats, skeeters, biting flies, the lot of them swarmed like I’d been put out as a feast. No amount of swatting or slapping kept them away. I went to swinging my head like I was saying “no,” whipping my hair back and forth in an attempt to keep them off my face. Sort a like a horse’s tail, only that made me dizzy. That was when I discovered I’d lost my coat. I was so busy fighting the bugs, I’d not realized it was no longer where I’d hung it. Staring down the length of the tree, I seen nothing. I felt nothing. I felt empty.
By the third day, I seen snakes, or thought I did. When I closed my eyes and opened them again, it was only a couple broken limbs waving around. If I tried to concentrate looking at something too long, funny spots danced about in front of my eyes and I swatted at them, thinking they was gnats. I spent a lot of time transferring my weight from one foot to the other, relying on the foot with the shoe most of the time. When that leg felt weak, and began to shake, I switched off a little while.
I thought I heard somebody hollering for me, “Wallis Ann! Wallis Ann!”
I got so excited I waved my hand around, thinking to bring attention to my location.
I yelled, “Here! I’m here! In this tree!”
I suspected it was only my mind fooling me again, for the voices never replied and nobody ever come. In the late afternoon, I again studied what was below, and seeing the water much lower than before, my agitation intensified. I scratched at my dirty head, pondering my decision. Should I take a chance? I stepped down onto the next branch, and then I went a little lower and once I got going, I couldn’t stop. I wanted out of this tree. Down I went, limb by limb, like a spider, like the spirit of Coy Skinner was chasing me. I made it to where I’d climbed the first morning remembering the relief I’d felt as I went up instead of down. I stopped, and lay on my belly again, considering my choices, the fear of staying or for what I might encounter once down on the ground.
From the branch I rested on, I gazed about, noticing how the muddy water hadn’t yet receded enough to follow the road. I’d have to cut my own path through unknown areas. I might get lost. Rain might come again and maybe I’d end up stuck in another tree, no better off than now. Likely worse. I rationalized on the other hand I could pick berries or wild grapes to eat, whereas if I stayed, there was no way to find food or water. No way to lie down and truly rest. Besides, eventually I might find other people, even if I didn’t find my own family right off. I concluded my chances to survive increased on the ground, not in a tree.
I braced myself to hang by my hands, which had been throbbing for the past day. I planted them and prepared to swing down, the pain shooting across my palms as my body committed itself ahead of my brain. Gritting my teeth, I hung for a second, and then let go. I almost laughed after I landed, only up to my calves in water and mud. I pulled my feet free and took the one shoe I had off. I tied the shoelaces together and stuffed my muddy socks inside. Though one shoe won’t going to do me much good, I hung on to it, unable to bring myself to leave it behind. It was all I had and I aimed to keep it. Without thinking about where I was going, I started walking, stretching my legs as far as they could go. The ground squelched, and the beginning started off as more sinking and slipping.
Everything was coated under a layer of dark muck, while a musty stench rose, making me think, Swamp water must smell like this. I tried to stay on dry ground, only there won’t much of it. I sloshed and slurped along, realizing walking won’t so bad because the ground in a lot of areas was soft beneath my feet. There was parts where it got difficult, requiring that I crawl over tree trunks, and times when I had to step on sticks and brushwood the river had collected and dumped along the way. Broken white pines, red spruce and hemlocks littered the path, and sedge grasses, once tall and green, lay flat like a giant hand had mashed them down. The river had sliced through the land like a scythe through hay.
The sun shimmered overhead, and soon I was sweating again. I kept hoping I’d see someone. I went up a hill, and seen a split rail fence with a pasture beyond, and unbelievably a couple cows grazing near a collapsed tobacco barn. I stopped to watch them for a bit, feeling better at seeing something so normal. I went on after a while, and soon come to a tiny cabin set against a hill, leaning so far over, I couldn’t picture how it still stood. In the yard littered with rubble and fragments of what I perceived to be her things was a woman with frizzy, gray hair, knotted in a loose bun. The hem of her housedress was tinged with mud, and like me, she was soaked through with sweat. She was bent at the waist, studying on a black lump of something.
I hurried over and when I got within ten feet, I stopped. She still hadn’t seen me, so intent was she on the object in front of her. She was talking to it, or herself, while brushing a hand back and forth across the dark thing. I stood quiet until she looked over and seen me standing there.
She pointed behind me and said, “You alone?”
“Yes, ma’am, my family had an accident ’bout three days ago. We was piled up in my papa’s truck and everybody got throwed into the river. I climbed a tree and stayed till it was safe to come down, and now I’m looking for the rest of ’em.”
“I hate to say it, I ain’t seen a soul go by here in days.”
Disappointed, my voice rose in distress. “You ain’t seen nobody?”
She stared down at the ground. “I’m sorry. No.”
I closed my eyes. I shouldn’t have got my hopes so high.
I said, “I’ve not looked too long yet. I’m bound to find them if I keep on.”
She said, “Yes, it would seem the thing to do. It’s bad all over, I reckon.”
She’d went back to petting at the dark thing on the ground, talking to me in a sad voice. “This here’s only family I had left. My husband, Silas, he went on to the Lord ’bout two years ago. Some folks would say it’s crazy to call this cat family. ’Cept, Silas got her for me when she won’t but a bitty thing. Had her going on twelve years, and now she’s gone too.”
I would a never known it was a black cat by looking at it. I shivered in the heat, and rubbed at my neck.
I said, “I’m real sorry for your loss, ma’am.”
She gazed at me, the crinkles around her eyes filling in and overflowing not unlike the waterways round here.
She said, “Ah. Well. She was old. Getting on up there. Like me.” She pointed her cane at the stone foundation, and said, “That’s what’s left a my cabin.Water come down off a the hillside, looked like a river too. I told Silas we should a moved to higher ground after last time. I had to crawl into my attic and pray it didn’t come no higher.”
I brushed the hair off my forehead, and said, “Was you in the ’16 flood?”
“Sure was. Same thing happened then too. Lost part of our home. I had Silas then, and so we was able to rebuild. Don’t know what I’ll do now. Reckon I’ll have to move in with my son and his wife down to Asheville. Can’t hardly stand city life, but I got no choice this time around.”
She spit out a stream of brown tobacco juice and moved away from the cat. She got to poking around, moving aside items, peering underneath trash, and I looked back the way I’d come, about to tell her good-bye when she drew in a breath and took notice of my distressed state.
She leaned forward, eyes scrunched, and said, “Child, you look like you ’bout to pass out. Come on here with me.”
She led me to a circular stone well in her backyard.
She grabbed the handle and began cranking it. “I reckon it’s safe. Water come up over and into it, so it could’ve gone bad, ’cept I been drinking it for a few days and I ain’t took up sick yet.”
After a few more turns a dented bucket appeared with a tin dipper hung off the side. She plunged it into the bucket, then waved me closer. I stared at dingy water, then closed my eyes and drank. It won’t the sweet water I was used to. Like our own well, I was sure this one was spring fed and normally crystal clear, yet despite the murkiness, it was the best water I’d drunk my entire life. I handed the dipper to her and she filled it again and I drank that one too. I wiped the back of my hand over my mouth, and immediately began to feel better.
I said, “Thank you kindly. I’ve not had nothing to drink in days.”
She waved her hand and said, “Hope you ain’t the sickly sort.”
I shook my head. “I ain’t hardly ever took sick in my life. Momma says us Stampers are a tough lot. I was so thirsty, I’ve gone and forgot my manners. I’m Wallis Ann Stamper.”
She said, “I’m Edna Stout, pleased to meet ya. You’re part a that singing family?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s right. Me, Momma, Papa, and my sister, Laci. Seph’s too young, but when he’s older, I’m sure Papa’ll have him picking on a banjo, or something.”
My voice faltered as I thought of them, and I went quiet. Mrs. Stout turned her head away from me to spit another stream of tobacco juice into the dirt.
She wiped her mouth and said, “It’s going to be all right, child. Wait and see. They’s likely looking for you like you’re looking for them. Funny, I believe I seen you all last year at homecoming for Mount Pleasant. Enjoyed it immensely.”
I appreciated her conversation, yet felt the need to get a move on. I smiled politely, nodded, then turned in the direction I’d come.
I said, “Thank you kindly. I best be getting on. Guess I’ll keep my hopes up and keep looking. I don’t know what else to do.”
Mrs. Stout said, “Here. Take this walking stick since I got me another somewhere. And wait, I got some crackers I saved too. They’s in a tin what was laying right over there, airtight, and all.”
“I don’t want to put you out none. You might need them for yourself.”
“Aw, child, you’re not putting me out a’tall. I’ll make do. I got more, and I got water. I’m gonna sit tight. Someone in my family is liable to come by, and we’ll start getting all this cleaned up, and it’ll all be good as new, don’t you know it.”
“Well. I sure do appreciate it.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
She offered me the small tin of crackers. She filled ajar she found in the grass with some of the murky well water. I wished I had something to give her in return, except she’d already turned her back on me after handing me the jar. I tucked the tin of crackers into the front of my dress, and when she didn’t look at me again, I kept going. I glanced over my shoulder a little ways down the hill to see her standing over the dead cat again, her lips moving as she stroked the matted fur.