Marrying Stone (24 page)

As Buell stepped away, Jesse said with quiet curiosity, "Pa always says he don't want to be a part of them hardheaded Piggotts a'tal."

Roe turned his chuckle into a more circumspect cough. But Meggie didn't feel much like laughing.

The service started with Pastor Jay leading the congregation in singing "How Firm a Foundation." No music accompanied him, but the preacher waved his hand and stamped his foot against the floor of the raised pulpit to keep time.

Meggie still felt all eyes on her and wondered if her dress
looked too shabby and if her hair was neat in the back. Mostly she wondered what Roe Farley thought of her church, her family, and his make-believe marriage to a scatterbrained Ozark mountain woman.

As the last harmonic notes faded, Pastor Jay bowed his head and prayed. Meggie, her heart still pounding from fear of imminent discovery and her mind still skimming over the possibilities of what Roe Farley might be thinking, barely listened to the words until she heard her name mentioned.

Her eyes popped open and she raised her head in genuine horror as the preacher's words permeated her consciousness.

"We ask, Gracious Father," the preacher said, "that you see it your way to bless the newest union in our congregation, our own young Meggie and Farley. That you watch and care for their hearts and bodies and allow that they be fruitful and fulfilling of your plan for them."

Meggie felt cold as stone and trembled. That her lie, their lie, was being made in church seemed momentarily the most wicked evil ever done. Suddenly she felt the touch of Roe's hand.

She glanced over to see him looking at her. His brown eyes wide with sympathy and guilt. But his whisper was soft and warm against her ear, tickling the fine hairs on her neck.

"It's only a small untruth and for a good purpose," he said. He squeezed her hand warmly and his strength gave her courage.

She smiled at him bravely, and found herself settling in more closely beside him. If they were to pretend to be married, it would only seem natural that they act like newlyweds. He was warm and strong and handsome beside her. And it wasn't really so big a lie as that.

FROM THE JOURNAL OF J. MONROE FARLEY

May 21,

Marrying Stone, Arkansas

Am making progress beyond my wildest dreams. The young woman with whose family I have taken up residence is helping me, with a bit of innocent subterfuge, to win over the people of the mountain. The matriarch of this particular community has given me her blessing, and with her approval, the populace is anxious to offer their knowledge and remembrances. Last Sunday at the church meeting, I received so many offers of help that I had to begin making appointments to see all of the willing participants.

Meetings and recordings are made mostly in the evening as the spring and summer is a very busy time for the mountain people. Young Jesse and I go out on mule back late in the day to homesteads and cabins all up and down both sides of the mountain.

That actually suits me very well as the farmer, Mr. Best, keeps me quite busy earning my keep around his place. Not only am I expected to help his son Jesse with planting and livestock care, I am now involved in adding a small room onto the log house in which the family lives. I have my own bed now. A gift from one of the local people. Jesse and I have set it up in the empty foundation of the soon to be extra room. I find that I don't mind sleeping out under the weather; however, I am not at all looking forward to the rain. I am learning a good deal, as I knew nothing of rail splitting, carpentry, or mud daubing prior to my introduction to it here. It is hard, hot work and I believe my very weary arms are now perhaps twice the circumference they were when I left Cambridge. I have no idea upon what occasion I might find my newfound knowledge and prowess to be needful, but still I am eager to learn the primitive ways and have discovered a certain sense of accomplishment in the product of my more rigorous labors.

Tonight, young Jesse and I will be "chasing meat." His term. We have been so busy with the farm work and building, there has been no opportunity for hunting. So tonight, having no appointments of my own, Jesse has invited me to go with him. As the young man is not allowed to carry a gun without his father present and since we will be hunting at night, I can't imagine what our prey might be. But I will go along as is expected. Perhaps Jesse will bring his fiddle and play. His music is such that I have no doubt that he could coax birds out of the trees if necessary.

IT WAS FULL dark and Roe was already weary before the night hunting expedition even began. The evening breeze lightly ruffled Roe's hair as he made his way down the well-worn trails.

The sounds of tree frogs and katydids filled the darkness. In the distance an old owl screeched angrily at some unwelcome visitor to his neighborhood. Carrying a gray burlap tow sack, Roe followed the beam of light that glowed from the grease lamp that Jesse carried. The grease lamp was merely a quart-size cast-iron cooking vessel that was filled near to the brim with rancid grease. A thin cotton cord served as its wick and what the homemade lantern lacked in brightness and reliability, it made up for in efficiency and expense.

"It's better than pine knots," Jesse had explained when he'd lit it up. "Got more control of the fire and yer less likely to dump it on the ground and start up a blaze."

Roe didn't question his statement. Nor had he thought to question Jesse about what they were to hunt, but Roe was surprised to see the young man carrying only a small, three-pronged spear tied to a length of cord.

"What is that thing?" Roe asked. "A harpoon?"

Jesse looked puzzled. "What's a harpoon?"

"It's something that you kill whales with. Whales are like very big fish."

The young man nodded a little uncertainly.

"Well, maybe it is a harpoon," Jesse said. "You can catch fish with it, if you're a mind to." He held it up to the light for Roe's closer inspection. "This is a gigger. It's what you use to go giggin'."

"Gigging?"

"Yep."

"Is that what you call hunting at night, gigging?"

Jesse laughed delightedly. "Your thinkin' is downright peculiar, frien'. Hunting at night is hunting at night. Giggin' is giggin'. Course, most giggin' is done at night, but it ain't a rule or nothing."

"What kind of things can you hunt at night?"

"Oh, coons, possums, most anything that you've a hankering for. The light scares the critters and freezes them in their tracks. Mostly I hunt possums at night."

"And you kill them with this gigger?"

Jesse's eyes twinkled with delight. "I don't gig much for possums," he answered with laughter at his good little joke. He held his shoulders straight and proud. Pleased that on the subject of hunting, he was both more knowledgeable and more experienced. "Now, don't you worry, Roe. It ain't hard a'tal. You'll get the hang of it in a jiffy. You just follow my lead and we'll have a plate full of great eating before the night's half gone."

They had reached the widest part of Itchy Creek. Jesse began to slowly, quietly make his way along the edge of the bank.

"Just keep your ears open for the croaking," he whispered. "When you come upon a feller, you just shine the light in the frog's eye and while he's watching it, you stab him with the gigger."

"Frog?"

"Bullfrogs," Jesse answered. "You know, those big green ones. We're a-giggin' for bullfrogs."

"Jesse, what on earth are we going to do with a dead bullfrog?"

"Not one." Jesse pointed to the tow sack Roe still held in his hand. "We'll need a sack full to make a decent mess."

"A decent mess of what?"

"Frog legs."

"Jesse, I don't think—"

"Shhhhhh," Jesse hushed him. The deep-throated croak of the bullfrog was loud along the bank. With the careful, quiet moves of a cat stalking a bird, Jesse moved up the bank toward the sound of the bullfrog's presence.

With the grease lamp in his left hand, Jesse flashed the light before the big green frog. Just as the young man had said, the stunned river dweller was frozen in place just long enough for Jesse to thrust the gigger into the unwary fellow's back.

"Got 'im!" Jesse yelled with delight. "Open that sack, Roe. We got our first catch of the night."

To Roe's disbelief, the big bullfrog was more than a foot long and frantically kicking his heavily muscled hopping legs. Holding the tow sack open, he watched Jesse push the frog off the end of the forked prong.

"You ain't never eat frog legs?" Jesse asked.

"No, not ever."

"My frien', you've a delight coming that even you cannot imagine. Frog legs are so good, even Meggie cain't ruin 'em." Jesse chuckled happily.

"I'll take your word for it," Roe answered, less enthusiastically.

"See how easy giggin' is," Jesse said. "The next croaker we find is all yours."

"I don't know, Jesse."

"Now, Roe, we both know how smart ye are. Yer smarter than me, smarter than folks around here, so you are sure
enough smarter than an old green bullfrog. You can't let that dumb ole creature get the best of you."

Roe was quite willing to do just that, but seeing himself through Jesse's eyes made a difference.

"It ain't like you're a-killing some cute hoppy toad," Jesse explained. "Bullfrogs is big and ugly and just sit on the banks all day and eat flies. They don't serve mankind much purpose, except that they is meat. And if a man's a man, he's obliged to fetch up the meat."

Jesse's words were so sincere and so reminiscent of Onery's way of speech that Roe was immediately certain that the young man had been served up that exact lecture upon some long-ago gigging trip when he was as hesitant and uninterested in participating as Roe was now.

Jesse was sharing his knowledge, simple though it might be, and Roe didn't have the heart to scorn it. Smiling, Roe hoped he looked more appreciative than he felt.

"Just lead me to the next croaker, Jesse," he said. "I'm ready to try my hand at this gigging business."

Jesse grinned with pleasure and threw his arms around Roe's shoulders, hugging him with the warmth and love of a brother. Roe managed not to flinch.

"Frien'," Jesse told him. "We're about to fetch up the best mess of Arkansas frog legs a body has ever tasted."

They continued to walk along the edge of the wood near the riverbank. Jesse was slightly stooped and listening. Roe followed behind carrying the big gray tow sack, the contents of which continued to jump and wiggle within the bag. Only a couple of minutes passed before Jesse stopped suddenly. He motioned to Roe, who could then also hear the deep, bass-throated croak along the bank.

"Your turn," Jesse said with a delighted grin as he exchanged the gigger and lamp in his own hands with the sack in Roe's.

Roe tested the weight of the gigger in his right hand a couple of times before determinedly heading off in the direction of the calling bullfrog. He stepped easily, as Jesse had done, placing each foot carefully in the grass before moving up the other. The break of a twig or the snap of underbrush would be enough to warn the noisy croaker on the bank to flee from danger.