Casteel 1 - Heaven (13 page)

“What if you're not?”

“I won't come home until I can bring something.”

“Well,” said Fanny, rolling over on her back and staring into a small cheap mirror, "guess we won't

eva see Tom agin." Tom slammed the door and left. Fishing and hunting were both part of our daily

routine now. Part of my time during the day was spent outdoors, setting traps, baiting fish lines. Tom made the snares to catch rabbits or squirrels. We had already hunted for mushrooms that Granny had taught us how to distinguish from deadly toadstools. We had picked berries until our hands turned bloody from the briars, searched for wild bean and pea pods in the woods, dug for turnips that could be found near the edge of Winnerrow. We stole spinach, lettuce, collards, and other things from Winnerrow backyard gardens. When real cold winter came, the berry bushes stopped producing. The peas and beans dried up. The rabbits and squirrels disappeared in their hidden hibernation places, and weren't attracted to our snares and boxes now that we didn't have decent bait. And mushrooms didn't favor freezing cold nights any more than we did. And that was why our larder of food had been reduced to almost nil.

“Heaven,” complained Fanny, “cook what ya got. We kin't sit around an wait all night fer Tom t'come back with nothin. Ya got beans an peas hidden somewhere, I jus know ya have.”

“Fanny, if just once in a while you'd do more to help, maybe I would have a hidden store of beans and peas . . but I don't have anything but lard scrapings and two dry and biscuits.” All this said in a low voice that the keen ears of Our Jane and Keith couldn't hear.

For once Grandpa's ears perked up. He craned his neck and peered my way. “Taters planted in t'smokehouse floor.”

“Used all those last week, Grandpa.”

Our Jane let out a terrible shriek. “Gotta eat!” she howled. “Hurts! Tummy hurts so bad . . . Hey-​lee, when we gonna eat?”

“Now,” I said, running to pick her up and sit her at the table on a chair raised by two blocks of wood placed on the seat. I kissed the sweet place on the back of her slender neck and ruffled her soft hair. “Come, Keith. You and Our Jane can eat first tonight.”

“What ya mean, they kin eat first? What about me?” cried Fanny. “I'm a member of this family much as they are!”

“Fanny, you can wait until Tom comes back.”

"If he's gotta shoot somethin first, I'll be old an in my grave fore he doesr,

“0 you of little faith,” said I, busy heating up

the little lard I had, putting water and a little flour in a small bowl and mixing it until the lumps disappeared, before I added it to the hot lard, shaking into it salt and pepper, stirring and stirring so it wouldn't go lumpy. I tasted, sprinkled in more salt, stirred some more, actually feeling the hungry eyes of Our Jane and Keith devouring it while it still heated in the pan. Grandpa rocked on and on, eyes glazed, thin hands clutched on the chair arms, not expecting to eat again today. If Our Jane and Keith suffered most, second most had to be Grandpa, who was losing weight so rapidly I could have cried for him.

“Annie could sure make t'best blueberry pies,” Grandpa mumbled wistfully, his eyes closed, his thin lips quivering.

“Ya only got two biscuits fer six of us?” asked Fanny. “What ya gonna do, give us each a crumb?”

“Nope. Gonna give Keith and Our Jane each a half, and Grandpa gets the other half, and you, Tom, and me will split the last half into three portions.”

“A crumb! Jus what I thought! Grandpa don't need a whole half fer himself!”

Grandpa shook his head. “Ain't hongry, Heaven chile. Ya give my half t'Fanny.”

"No! I did that this morning. Fanny can eat her

portion or forget about eating until tomorrow, or when Tom comes back with meat."

“I'm not waitin fer Tom!” stormed Fanny, throwing herself into a chair by the table. “I'm eatin now! I'm three times bi: :a than Our Jane. She don't need a whole half.”

I was doing everything as slowly as possible, not that there was much to do. Two cats had returned today, a black one and a white one, both perched high on a shelf near pots and pans, and both were staring down at me with hope in their hungry eyes, needing food as much as we did. And there I was, staring up at them, wondering if anybody ever ate cats.

Then I was staring down at Pa's old hunting hound that had returned with the cats. Oh, how awful to even contemplate eating pets we loved. Yet that's just what I was doing.

Suddenly Fanny was beside me, whispering and pointing at old Snapper, the hound Pa loved best of all. Sixteen years old, and almost blind, and yet he could always forage for himself and come home looking fat and well fed. “He's got meat on those ole bones,” Fanny said in an intense way. "Sure would like t'eat meat agin. Ya kin do it, Heaven, know ya kin. Slit his throat, like they do hogs. Fer Our Jane, fer

Keithan Grandpawhy, we could all eat . ." At that point Snapper opened his sleepy hooded

eyes and stared at me soulfully. I glanced again at where Our Jane and 'Keith sat, each moaning.

“Betta an ole dog than us,” Fanny crooned more urgently. “All ya gotta do is bash in his head.” She handed me the hatchet we used for chopping kindling for Ole Smokey. Even now it was belching out foul black smoke that stung our eyes.

“Go on. I know ya kin do it,” encouraged Fanny, shoving me toward Snapper. “Take him out firstthen give it t'him.” Snapper suddenly jumped to his feet, as if sensing my intention, and ran for the door. Fanny let out a shriek of dismay and ran after. At that moment the door opened, and, hell-​bent to escape our murdering intentions, Snapper disappeared in the night.

Tom strode in, grinning at us, his rifle on his shoulder, and slung on the other a sack heavy with something in it.

His grin faded when he saw the hatchet in my hand, and my look of shame and guilt. “You were goin Snapper?” Incredulity was in his voice. “But I thought you loved that dog.”

“I do,” I sobbed.

“But ya didn't have faith, did ya?” he asked bitterly. “I ran all t'way there and back.”

He hurled his lumpy bag on the table. “Two dead chickens inside. Course Race McGee is gonna wonder who shot inta his henhouse, and iffen he ever finds out he'll kill me, but at least I'll die with a full stomach.”

We ate well that night, devouring an entire chicken, and saving the other for the next day. But the day after, when both chickens were eaten, we were again faced with the same problem. No food. Tom whispered not to worry, where there was a will there was also a way.

“It's time now to forget honor and honesty, and steal,” Tom figured. “Didn't see a deer. Nary a coon in sight. Woulda shot an owl, but they didn't hoot. Every night, along bout twilight, when folks in Winnerrow are settling down at their tables t'eat, you, me, an Fanny gonna sneak down t' the valley and steal what we can.”

“What a wonderful idea!” cried Fanny, quite delighted. “They don't hang shotguns on their walls down there, do they?”

“Don't know,” answered Torn, 'abut we're gonna sure find out."

It was a fearsome, scary thing that we set out to do the next twilight, while we still had chicken in our stomachs to give us courage. We wore dark clothes, soot on our faces, and trudged through all the cold until we came to a small outlying farm where the meanest man alive lived. What was worse, he had five giant sons, and four huge daughters, and a wife who would have made even Sarah look weak and dainty.

Fanny, Tom, and I clung to the protection of dense scrubs and fir trees until we saw every member in that family settle down in the kitchen to make such a racket it would surely cover any noise we might make. They had a yard full of dogs, same as we used to have, and cats and kittens.

“Soothe the dogs,” ordered Tom in a hissy, scary whisper, “so Fanny and I can raid the henhouse and not use my rifle.” He gestured to Fanny. “You grab for the feet, two for each hand, and I'll grab my four. That should hold us for a while.”

“Do they peck ya?” asked Fanny, looking strange.

“Nah, ain't ya eva heard about being chicken- hearted? They don't put up much fight, jus lots of squawking.”

Tom had assigned me the chore of diverting the

most vicious-​looking dogs I'd ever seen. I had a way with animals, and most of the time they trusted and liked me . . but that great big dog looked half English bull, and from the mean look in his eyes he hated me on sight. I had with me a tiny bag of chicken necks, tail ends, and feet.

Inside, the McLeroys were eating and fussing, while I threw out a chicken foot and said softly, “Nice doggy . . . you don't hate me, and I can't hurt you. . . so eat the chicken foot. . go on, eat.”

He sniffed the dried yellow foot with disgust, then growled. That seemed to be a signal to all the other dogs. There must have been seven or eight of them left in the yard to protect the fenced-​in pigs, chickens, and other farm animals. All of a sudden all the dogs were coming my way! Snarling, barking, showing the sharpest-​looking teeth I'd ever seen. “Stop it this minute!” I ordered sharply. “STOP! You hear?”

Inside the kitchen a woman was bellowing out almost the same words. The dogs stopped, seeming undecided. While they were, I tossed them the chicken necks and tails and the rest of the feet. They ran to gobble up what they could, not nearly enough, then came at me with tails wagging for more.

About that time a terrible squawking came from the henhouseand the dogs took off, running toward the chicken coop.

“STOP!” I ordered. “FIRE!” One dog hesitated and looked back at me as I leaned over and set fire to a pile of dead leaves left for some lazy son or daughter to sweep up and put in a mulch pit.

“Ma!” bellowed a giant of a man in overalls. “There's someone settin our yard on fire!”

I ran.

Never had I run so fast, with all the dogs at my heels. Perhaps I ran twenty feet before the swiftest hound was almost on me. I shinnied as fast as possible up a tree, and sat on a thick limb staring down at dogs gone crazy now that I'd shown fear. “Go way!” I ordered in a firm voice. “I'm not afraid of you!”

Out of the darkness came old Snapper running to my defense, and into that pile of younger, stronger dogs he threw his strength just as Farmer McLeroy came on the run with a rifle!

Immediately he fired his gun over the heads of the dogs. They scattered in all directions, leaving me to cringe up there, trying not to draw attention to myself.

Unfortunately, the moon was out. "Ain't that ya,

Heaven Casteel?“ asked the giant farmer. He could have been one of Sarah's relatives, his hair was so red. ”Ya t'one who's been stealin my chickens?"

“I'm the one your dogs chased up this tree, just cause I went huntin for Pa's favorite hound. He's been missing for weeks, and just a few days he came home . . . now he's gone again.”

“Get down here!” he snapped.

I gingerly lowered myself to the ground, hoping and praying Fanny and Tom had stolen the chickens and were well on the way home.

“Where'd ya hide em?” “Hide what?” “My chickens.” "Do you think I could shinny up that tree

holding chickens? Mr. McLeroy, I've only got two hands."

Behind him loomed three huge sons, all with bushy heads of red hair. All wore thick, coarse beards, and two had flashlights they aimed at my face, and one traveled slowly down to my feet, then up again. “Hey, looky, Pa, she's done gone an grown up t'look like her ma, t'pretty city one.”

“She's a chicken thief!” “Do you see any chickens on me?” I asked,

bold as brass. “Well, we ain't felt ya all ova yet,” said a boy

hardly older than Logan. “Pa, I'll do t'searchin.” “You will not!” I snapped. "All I was doing was

looking for my pa's dog, and that's not against the law!"

Boy, was I learning how to lie, giving Tom and Fanny time to run to safety in the hills.

Those giants let me go near the edge of the woods, convinced I wasn't a chicken thiefjust a big liar.

Tom and Fanny had managed to get away with five chickens, and Tom had pocketed six eggs, though only three remained unbroken when he reached the cabin. “We'll save two hens,” I said when I reached there, flushed and breathless, “so they can lay eggs and Our Jane and Keith can have eggs every day.”

“Where were you all that time?” “Up a tree, dogs underneath.” We became pretty good at stealing, never

robbing from the same place twice. We'd leave Grandpa in charge of our two youngest and set off each night, learning all kinds of sneaky ways to grab what we could. In the gloom of winter twilight, we waited for women to empty car trunks of bags of

groceries. Some of the women made four and five trips inside . . . and that gave us the chance to run fast, seize a bag, and quickly leave. It was stealing, out and out, yet we reasoned we were saving our lives, and one day we'd pay those women back.

One evening each of us managed to grab a bag, barely escaping before a woman yelled out, “Help, thieves!” And what I had in my bag was only paper toweling, waxed paper, and two bundles of toilet tissue. Fanny doubled over laughing. “Dummy, ya gotta go fer t'heavy bags.”

For the first time in our lives we had real toilet paper, paper toweling, and waxed paperwhatever to do with it? Didn't have anything to wrap up and save in a refrigerator.

Tom and I lay side by side on our floor pallets, thinking now that Grandpa should use the bed to comfort his old bones with softness for a change. “It makes me feel bad,” Tom whispered. “Stealing from people who work hard to earn money. I gotta get a job, even if I don't come home till midnight. An I can always do a little stealing from rich folks' gardens. They don't need extras anyway.”

Trouble was, valley folks didn't trust hill boys not to steal, and finding a job wasn't easy. In the end

all of us had to sneak again and again to Winnerrow and steal. Then came the day when Tom stole a pie he saw cooling on a window ledge and ran all the way back to the cabin to share the pie with us. I'd never seen such a delicious-​looking pie, with crust fluted perfectly even all around the edges, and juice bubbling up out of holes punched in a flower design on the top crust.

It was a tart apple pie that tasted so good I didn't really want to scold him for becoming an expert thief.