Marrying Stone (31 page)

Jesse nodded solemnly. "No, I don't guess that it does," he said, clearly not believing that at all. Stoically he sighed. "It don't matter, Roe."

"Of course it matters," he answered. "You are a man just like any man. You work and worry and die just like the rest of us; you deserve to live your life like any other man would."

"But you don't think I should… get to lay with a woman?"

"Jesse, honestly, I don't know," Roe admitted. "I think, yes, I think that you should get to do that if it's what you want. But somehow things seem different to me now than they did that night. Maybe… maybe I just need to give the idea some more thought."

The young man appeared satisfied. "It's all right. Yer still my frien' even if I never get to… get to do that."

"Now I haven't said no," Roe assured him. "I just… well, I think we need to think about it a little more. Women are… well, Jesse, women are kind of complicated."

The young man nodded. "Like ciphering?"

"At least as complicated as ciphering," Roe said. "You think, when you're just thinking about them, that you can lie with a woman and have a little pleasure and then it's over."

Jesse nodded enthusiastically. "Yep, that's what I want."

"But it's not simple like that. When it's over, it's not over."

Jesse eyed him curiously. "You mean you still remember it," Jesse said. "That's all right with me, Roe. I
want
to remember it."

"But it's not just remembering," Roe said.

With exasperation he ran his hand through his thick black hair that had grown a bit too long during his sojourn in the mountains. He didn't understand it himself, how could he explain it to Jesse.

"It's more than that. It's like… like… well, when we took that licking from your father together."

Jesse nodded.

"It doesn't seem that a thing like getting hit with a hickory switch would do much to a couple of big fellows like ourselves."

"It sure hurt like the devil," Jesse said.

"Yes, it did, but more than that, because we did that together, because it was something that we shared, it made us closer. We became better friends that night and long after the sting of that switch is gone, the friendship remains."

Jesse's expression was bewildered. "Do you mean that laying with a woman is kindy like taking a switching?"

"No, Jesse, that's not what I mean at all." Roe sighed in exasperation at his inability to express himself. "I'm not sure what I mean," he admitted. "But I do think that we need to think about it some more."

Jesse nodded and sighed. "I been thinking about it. At night I cain't hardly think of nothin' else."

Reaching out to his friend, Roe wrapped an arm around Jesse's shoulder. It wasn't until he saw the surprised expression on the young man's face that he realized what a new and unexpected gesture it was. Jesse had always hugged Roe. This time Roe hugged Jesse. The two grinned at each other.

"Don't worry about thinking on women all the time, Jesse. That seems to be about all I can think about these days, too. It must be this mountain air."

Jesse answered seriously. "I don't think it's the air, frien'," he said. "For you, I'd bet it was that new door between your sleeping place and where Meggie lays out her pallet."

Roe's mouth opened in shock. Clearly, Jesse saw more of the world than he was given credit for.

The sound of splashing captured their attention and they glanced out the door to see Meggie hurrying across the yard. She held an apron of plain cotton homespun over her head to keep off the worst of the rain. It did not, however, manage to keep her from splashing her skirt hem as she rushed barefoot across the ground.

She was quite damp when she raced through the woodshed door.

"It's really coming down out there," she said breathlessly.

Her smile Was beautiful and so welcome to Roe's eyes. He couldn't remember when he'd seen it before. No, he could remember when he'd seen it and it was part of the memory that haunted his dreams.

"How's your father?" Roe asked, grateful to have reason to speak to her.

"Not much better," she answered.- "He's sleeping finally but the rheumatism in his gimp leg is as bad as I've ever seen it."

"He's been working too hard," Roe said.

"It's my fault," Jesse admitted quietly. "With me laid up, there was just more work to do this summer."

"It's nobody's fault, Jesse," Meggie quickly assured him. "Onery does exactly what he pleases. His mind is a bit troubled this summer is all. And he stands on his bad leg too long trying to forget his worries."

Jesse looked puzzled. "What could Pa be worried about?"

No one answered him.

"I would think that this rainy weather would have as bad an effect on his rheumatism as anything else," Roe said.

Meggie nodded. "I've been making his bark tea from wild cherry and wahoo to ease him. But I usually put snakeroot in it and I ain't got a bit."

"I could go out and pick some," Jesse volunteered.

"In this rain?" Meggie asked. "You'd catch the pneumonia for sure yarbing in the woods in a frog-strangler like this."

Jesse temporarily acceded to his sister's wisdom, then his eyes brightened. "I could take the mule down to Broody's place. Ma Broody keeps yarbs, don't she?"

"Yes, she does," Meggie admitted.

"It's on the ridge's path near the whole way," Jesse pointed out. "And I could wear Pa's pommel slicker and I wouldn't hardly get wet a'tal."

She hesitated.

"I know the way as well as I do my name," he assured her. "I ain't about to get lost betwixt yeer and than"

Meggie nodded. "I'd be pleased if you went, Jesse," she told him.

The young man grinned broadly, "I'll be there and back before sunset," Jesse promised. "I'll bring you snakeroot."

"And you could ask Ma Broody if there is anything better I could be giving Pa."

"I'll ask," Jesse told her. "But I know that if there was, you'd already be giving it to him."

He turned to Roe with light apology. "Sorry I cain't stay here and rive shingles with ye, Roe. But I got to get yarbs for my pa."

"It's all right, Jesse. I think I can manage the rest by myself."

The young man nodded. He was clearly delighted, aware of the responsibility that he'd taken upon himself.

"I best get started right now," he said, grabbing his broad-brimmed hat from the peg.

"Don't forget the pommel," Meggie cautioned.

"It's in the barn with the tack," Jesse assured her. "When I ride out the door, I'll be covered and dry as a terrapin in the high grass."

With that he was gone and hurrying to the barn. Roe and Meggie both watched him. When he disappeared into the broad clapboard door of the barn, Roe turned back to his shingles. Meggie hesitated at the doorway.

"I'm sure he'll be all right," she said.

"Of course he will," Roe assured her. "Jesse knows every inch of this mountain and he's a pretty good hand at taking care of himself."

Meggie nodded. "I know that he is, but I guess I still worry."

Roe smiled. "It's good to have a sister to worry about you," he said.

Meggie turned to glance at him. She gave him a long curious look. "You don't have any sisters." It was a statement, not a question. "You don't talk about your family much."

"There isn't anyone to talk about," he said. "My parents died when I was young. I hardly know the other people I'm related to."

"It seems strange, not having any kin."

Meggie's observation was disconcerting and the following silence between them was long and extremely uncomfortable, broken finally by a holler from Jesse as he left the barn. Meggie waved to him and watched until he was out of sight. Roe continued with his work.

"I suppose I should get back to the house," she said.

Roe looked up at her and then glanced out into the yard beyond. "It doesn't seem likely to let up any," he said. "It's too bad you don't have your own pommel slicker."

Laughing at the idea of a woman having her own slicker, Meggie shook out her apron and placed it around her shoulders. "This works well enough to get me between the house and the yard," she explained.

The smile that Roe had missed was there upon her face. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink and her blue-gray eyes seemed darker and deeper than he'd ever noticed before. The sight of her warmed him deep inside and from his heart, and deep within his chest the lines of a song burst forth in a full broad baritone.

"She had her apron wrapped about her

And he took her for a swan."

Meggie was astonished at the clear, pure sound of his voice. She realized that she'd never heard him sing before. With a curious sense of camaraderie she offered the next stanza in her slightly nasal soprano.

"Ah, but alas it was me

Polly Vaughn."

He smiled at her. She smiled back.

"Is that one of the songs from across the sea that you're collecting?"

Roe nodded. "Yes, it's old English," he answered. "Murder ballads were very popular in olden times. I think it may have been a way of teaching people about the consequences of crime."

Meggie was thoughtful. "Our people still sing them."

"And they have made up their own," Roe said. "Have you heard 'Poor Omy Wise'?"

"Oh, yes," she answered. "It's such a sad story."

"It's not just a story," Roe said. "It's actually based on the murder of Naomi Wise in Deep River, North Carolina, in 1808."

"He told her to meet him at Adams's spring.

He said he'd bring money and a weddin' ring.

So fool-like she met him down at the spring.

But he'd brought not money, nor a weddin' ring."

Meggie listened to Roe sing the words and joined in with him.

" 'Have mercy on my baby and spare me my life.

I'll go home a beggar and never be your wife.'

He kissed her, he hugged her and turned her around

And pushed her in deep water, where he knew

That she would drown."

"You mean it's all true?"

"I don't know if it's
all
true, but she was murdered. And her sweetheart, Jonathan Lewis, was hanged for the crime."

Meggie shook her head sadly. "It's hard to believe a man would kill a woman who was carrying his child. A decent man would want to marry her."

"Of course, he would," Roe agreed. "But maybe she wouldn't marry him."

She almost disagreed with him, as little Omy's desire for marriage was made clear in the song. But when Meggie looked up, she realized that Roe was no longer talking about two long-dead lovers in a far-off place.

She swallowed nervously. "I'm not carrying a child," she said finally.

"Good," Roe said, then realized the minute the word left his mouth that he didn't feel "good." He felt confused and relieved, disappointed and grateful. Truthfully, he didn't know what he felt, but it wasn't good.

He looked into her eyes for a long moment and she turned away.

"I'd best get back to the house," she said.

"Stay." It was whispered, but she heard it.

At first he thought she would leave anyway, but she draped her apron across her arm and turned back to the room.

She wandered aimlessly for a couple of minutes, looking at things that were familiar, not looking at him, before making a seat for herself on the crossbar of a sawbuck.

The silence between them was uncomfortable and Roe had the fleeting wish that he hadn't spoken. But the sight of her lifted his spirits somehow and if she went away the day would get that much grayer.

"I've never heard you sing before," she said.

Roe looked up and shrugged modestly. "There is so much good music around me and I love to hear it."

"You have a wonderful voice."

"Untrained," he answered. "I usually only sing when I'm all alone."

"I guess that's what most of us do," Meggie said.

Roe glanced at her curiously. "Is it?" He moved over to her and took a seat on a nearby planing bench. "I don't actually know very many people well enough to know what they do when they are by themselves. When I was a boy and scared and alone," he admitted with a self-deprecating grin, "I used to sing to myself to keep away the goblins or the bogeyman or whatever."

She smiled back at him, the tension between them lightening. "Lots of bogeymen in the Bay State, are there?"

"More than enough," he assured her.

"Did ye run to your mama's bed to ask her to chase the bad dreams away?"

"No." He shook his head thoughtfully. "I can't even recall my mother's face. I remember being in her room, but I don't remember her."

Roe heard the wistfulness in his own voice and cleared his throat before he continued. "I was only five when my father sent me off to school. I was by far the youngest boy in attendance. Even the most rigid of parents usually kept their boys at home until age eight."

Meggie's brow furrowed. "You must have been awfully smart to need schooling so early."

"It wasn't my need for schooling, it was his need to get me out from underfoot." He glanced over at Meggie, but couldn't bear the look of concern in her eyes, so he dropped his gaze and focused instead on her long, narrow bare feet, damp and muddy from her run across the yard. Suddenly, he wanted to tell her, to tell her everything.

"My mother was sick," he said. "She never truly recovered from my birth. My father wasn't much for children and I was undoubtedly loud and rambunctious." Roe was smiling, but there was no pleasure in it. "Truly, I hardly recall those days. My earliest memories are being at school."

"Where you sang songs to keep away the bogeymen."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," she said. "You must have been very lonely at the time."

"Oh, I got used to it," he assured her. "I guess I've always been lonely, my whole life until—"

He didn't finish the statement. Somehow he didn't have to. Both of them knew, suddenly, unquestionably, what he . was going to say.

Roe stared out the open doorway, then glanced back at Meggie. Her expression was understanding. As if she knew what his confession had cost him. As if she was happy that it was her family and her community that had kept Monroe Farley from being alone again. He smiled at her.