Velva Jean Learns to Drive (59 page)

I got there just before them. I found him standing on his front step, hands on his hips, staring out toward the horizon, as if he knew what was coming. His hat was pushed back on his head. His knife was in his pocket. He stood completely motionless, like Hunter Firth when he was tracking something. He didn’t even look at me.

I said, “A girl was attacked by an outlander. Now they’re on the hunt for other outlanders. They are coming. You need to leave. I’ll go with you. I can’t stay here.”

He said, “I’m not going anywhere.”

I said, “These men have blood on their minds. They’ve turned vicious. My husband has helped turn them that way.” I felt like spitting after the word “husband,” just like Johnny Clay did whenever he swore.

He said, “I’m not going because I’m not guilty of attacking that girl. I am not going to run from something I didn’t do.”

I was starting to get angry. I said, “They don’t care that you didn’t attack her. What matters to them is that you’re an outlander. They want them all gone. They have guns. They’ll kill you!”

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. He was dark against the porch, against the sky. “It’s not your fight, Velva Jean. Go. Fly. And remember—there is a difference between running
from
something and running
to
something. Never run from something, if you can help it.”

I went to fetch Daddy Hoyt as fast as I could, my feet flying over earth and clay and leaves and grass. Suddenly—halfway down the mountain—there was a beam of wavering light and Linc appeared at the other end of it, and over his shoulder Daddy Hoyt. Then I saw the Deals—Mr. Deal and Coyle and Jessup, carrying their rifles. And beyond them Reverend Broomfield and Reverend Nix and Uncle Turk and his Cherokee wife, Nomi, and Granny, who was riding Mad Maggie and clutching her handheld ax.

We headed up to the Wood Carver’s house together. Daddy Hoyt didn’t ask me how long I’d been coming there or how I had found the Wood Carver or why it had started. What he did say was, “What do you know about the Wood Carver, Velva Jean?”

I said, “I know that he’s my friend. And I know that for as long as I can remember, he’s been up on top of this mountain.”

Daddy Hoyt walked in silence. I could hear him breathing harder than normal as we climbed. He said, “I remember when he showed up. Ten, maybe twelve years ago. I don’t think anyone knows his real name, but there have been rumors, of course.”

I said, “People say he’s a monster that walks on all fours. They say he breaks into their houses at night and steals from them.”

Daddy Hoyt said, “People will always invent stories about things or people they don’t understand. It makes them feel better about not understanding.”

I said, “Who do you think he is?”

“Henry Able,” said Granny.

Daddy Hoyt picked up a large stick and used it as a cane, letting it work him up the mountain. We were moving fast, the Deal boys and Linc up ahead of us. Daddy Hoyt said, “Henry Able or Hank Able. From up near Spruce Pine. Young man working in the mines there about fifteen years ago. Fought with a fellow name of McAllister after McAllister tried to seduce Able’s wife.” Daddy Hoyt fell silent as he caught his breath. I didn’t say anything, just waited for him to continue. “After May Able rejected him, McAllister tried to kill Henry Able, but he fought him off with a knife, hit an artery, and McAllister bled to death. Able disappeared into the woods, turning up later in Kentucky and then Chicago. Tried to return for May, but she was gone and he was a wanted man. She lives down near Pinhook Gap now, right by Bee Tree Fork, just over the ridge there. She never remarried. I think he came up here so that he could look out for her, so that he could see her.”

“How do you know all that?” I said.

“Most of it was in the newspapers. He’s still a wanted man. The McAllister family had influence.”

“But what makes you think it’s him?”

“Something I read—just a line. Hank Able had a hobby. He liked to work with wood.” I listened to his breathing. We were almost there. Daddy Hoyt said, “I could be wrong, of course. I think, more than anything, he is a man in need of forgiveness. I think he came here to this mountain to seek it. Who do you think he is, Velva Jean?”

I thought about Janette Lowe, about her thin face and her hand-me-down dress and the way she had danced in Panther Creek the day she was saved. I thought about her dirty feet and her dirty hands and the way she carried her head, like she was a lady. I thought of her brother and her daddy and her uncles, searching for the man who had done this to her—who had attacked her. I thought of the people I knew and loved—my husband most of all—who were suddenly turning on strangers just because they were different, just because they weren’t from here.

 

I said, “I think he’s my friend.”

From a half mile away, we could see the flames. The fire inched high into the sky, over the tops of the trees, red and orange fingers reaching for the stars and the moon. We started to run.

They were throwing things into the fire—his beautiful things. Canes, birdhouses, dancing men. Harley stood next to the fire in his ivory suit, flames lighting up his face, casting shadows. Something shone from his belt. He’d found his mama’s pistol. “Put everything in,” he said. “Every false idol. He’s bewitched them all.” Men were coming from the cabin, their arms filled. As they fed the fire, the blaze grew brighter and bigger, climbing into the sky. The Wood Carver stood apart from it all, watching, his eyes black. Dell Haywood, Ez Ledford, and Lou Pigeon stood around him.

Clydie Williams walked through the madness, shoving his way through. He was pointing his pistol. He said, “Let’s just shoot him.”

Mr. Deal said, “No one’s shooting anyone.”

Clydie’s eyes flickered over to Mr. Deal, to the rest of us. He said, “This don’t concern you.”

The men gathered around tight. Linc and the Deal boys stepped up till they were face-to-face with the others.

A figure appeared out of the smoke and the darkness. “Go back,” it said. Lou Pigeon made a move and Linc made a move and the figure held out its arm and pushed Linc back. It said, “You’ll end up getting more people hurt that way.”

The figure was lean and weathered. It belonged to a man with long hair and a deep voice. He wore a beard, not long like the Wood Carver’s, but short and clean. There was a knife in his back pocket. The way he stood was confident, like he was sure of his own two feet. I felt my heart do a little jump and my palms went clammy. It had been six years, almost seven, since I’d seen my daddy, since he’d come back and I’d sent him away. It was three years since I’d seen the man at the CCC camp who may or may not have been him. I used to wonder where he was—if he had made another family or if he was long gone or if he was dead. But gradually I’d stopped wondering. Sometimes days passed before I even remembered to think of him at all.

Then the figure came forward, and the smoke cleared, and it was Beachard, looking older than when I’d last seen him, looking more like Mama than Daddy, with his narrow Cherokee face and his gray-blue eyes.

The Wood Carver let himself be led past the fire, past the dogwood tree that stood stark against the red backdrop. He was pushed and tripped and it was then I saw that he was bleeding from the left shoulder. I started to follow him, but Beach took my arm and stopped me. “No,” he said. “This mob will tear you apart, Velva Jean.”

The light from the fire lit up the Wood Carver’s face. It was a good face. He stood taller than the rest of them, looking over their heads, which only seemed to unsettle them and make them madder. They buzzed around like ants, throwing things in the fire, organizing themselves.

Root Caldwell walked around behind the Wood Carver. He was staring at him. He kneeled down and looked at his legs. He said, “How does he stand on two legs? I thought he had to walk on all fours at night.”

“I thought he changed with the moon,” said Lou Pigeon. He pointed up at the sky. “It ain’t full. Maybe it has to be full for him to walk on all fours.”

Root Caldwell stood up. He pushed the Wood Carver a little. Daddy Hoyt said, “We need to be reasonable. We need to be calm.” His bass voice boomed, louder than usual. Root pushed the Wood Carver again. Root laughed. He was leering up into the Wood Carver’s face, looking every bit like a weasel. He stared at him for a long time and then he spat at the Wood Carver. The hackles on my neck stood up. Beside me, my brothers tensed. Granny was still sitting atop Mad Maggie, her ax gripped in her hand. Her eyes were fierce. She looked like a drawing I’d seen of her granddaddy, a great Cherokee warrior and medicine man. The Deals leaned on their rifles, careful not to point them yet because pointing them would have sparked off a civil war. The fire was reaching up toward the sky. I thought: The sun is turning black. The seas are turning red. The storm is finally here.

Daddy Hoyt stepped forward. He said, “This man hasn’t done anything to anyone up here.”

Floyd Hatch said, “Except for when he wanders down the mountain to break into our houses.”

“Or snatch babies from their beds,” said Ez Ledford.

Daddy Hoyt said, “This man never leaves this house. He keeps only to the woods surrounding. He doesn’t come down the mountain.”

Clydie said, “All the outlanders got to go. There’s been nothing but trouble since they came here. We’re never going to have another in our valley.”

In the midst of it all, in the black of the night, Harley stood out. In his white suit, he was the only one you could see clearly in the dark, on his own, apart from the fire. He said, “Let’s take him down the hill. There’ll be a midnight train coming through. We can put him on that. Make sure he leaves the valley.”
If you change your mind, there’s a midnight freight that’s passing through on its way to Alluvial.
I thought of the dirty moonshiner’s boy and of the runaway orphan girl he had told that to all those years ago.

Beach said, “You’re not taking him anywhere.”

Clydie said, “Then we’ll kill him right here.”

Beach said, “Well you can just kill me too.” He walked over to stand beside the Wood Carver.

Granny jumped down off Mad Maggie. She walked right up to Clydie Williams, standing over him like she was looking down on a child. She said, “And me also.” And then she went over to stand in front of the Wood Carver. Linc and the Deals followed her, gathering close around him. Then came Uncle Turk, Nomi, Reverend Broomfield, Reverend Nix, and Daddy Hoyt.

Harley was staring at me. He said, “Velva Jean.”

I said, “I guess you can just shoot me too, Harley Bright.” I joined my family.

The muscles in Harley’s jaw were twitching. He was mad—oh, was he mad. Everyone was looking at him and at me, at him, at me. I knew he needed to save face and fast. He said, “No one’s shooting anyone. But we are sending this man off this mountain.” His voice had turned cold. He wasn’t using his preacher voice anymore, the one he used as much for himself as for other people because he liked the sound of it. Then he said, “ ‘But, behold, the hand of him that betrayeth me is with me on the table.’ ” He looked right at me when he said it.

Brother Harriday said, “Amen, preacher.” I looked for him and there he was in the crowd, dressed in a white shirt, his black-rimmed glasses catching the light of the fire. I thought: Brother Harriday? Not you too.

Harley said, “ ‘In my name shall they cast out devils.’ ”

Daddy Hoyt said, “Marlon Day, your mama comes from Franklin, doesn’t she?”

Marlon said, “What?”

“Doesn’t your mama come from Franklin?”

“Yessir.” Marlon looked confused.

Daddy Hoyt nodded. He rubbed his chin. He said, “So that makes you one-half outlander.”

Marlon stood there, shotgun in his hand, trying to make sense of this.

Harley said, “ ‘Get thee hence, Satan: for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve.’ ”