were visible. I could see numerous sheds, Uncle Everett’s tin-roofed barns, his pear and apple orchards, and two tobacco beds, protected under long white sheets of cheesecloth.
We rode around a ridge, entangled with thistles, and stopped near a large swath of granite outcroppings. “See that!” Uncle Everett pointed. “That’s where your mother and Pearl will soon be picking strawberries. There’s a wonderful patch just below there.”
He slid off the horse and helped me down. Near a cedar-protected ledge, we sat on a lichen-covered outcropping and ate our picnic of biscuits and apples. “One day this will all be yours,” he gestured toward the silent hills with a sweep of his hand. An estranged and sad countenance filled his eyes. We sat there awhile longer, then remounted and rode back down to the farm.
Chapter Four
That Sunday afternoon, Uncle Everett drove me home. As we approached the house, a yellow taxi pulled out of the drive. I could see my mother and Aunt Rachel in the back seat. Aunt Rachel’s face appeared distorted. My mother was attempting to restrain her. Aunt Rachel clutched a paper bag in both hands; my mother was wiping her face with a blue washcloth. At the same time, Aunt Rachel was fending her off. Her face defied recognition. The cab driver slowed the vehicle and rolled his window down. My mother had a desperate look in her eyes. “Taking her to Marion, to the hospital,” she called from the backseat.
Uncle Everett had rolled his window down. “When will you return?”
“Tonight. Mama will take care of Tommy. Behave, Tommy! Help your grandmother and Pearl. Be a good boy!”
I sat up tall in the seat to get a better look at the cab driver and Aunt Rachel. Aunt Rachel stared at Uncle Everett. A stream of profanity tumbled out of her mouth.
The cab driver winced from under his cap. “Well, Everett, at least I know the way.”
“Yeah!” Uncle Everett replied.
The cab pulled forward and headed into town. We drove on in toward the back of the house. Uncle Everett turned off the truck’s ignition switch and slumped in silence. “Hate for you to see that, Tommy. Your Aunt Rachel’s sick. Come on. We had our fun, didn’t we?”
“Yes, sir. Can we do it again?”
“We’ll see!”
I squirmed out of the truck, but only after Uncle Everett had wrestled open the door.
Both Pearl and my grandmother had come to the screened-in porch. Pearl opened the door as Uncle Everett brought in my valise. It was an old brown-colored cloth piece with leather straps.
“Get in here, boy!” joked Pearl. “You missed all the fun!”
“Hush! What a dreadful thing to say!” my grandmother scolded her. “Oh, Everett, it was horrible! She drank, cursed, and wretched in the commode the entire time. Poor Shaula! I couldn’t bear it any longer. ‘She must go!’ I ordered. ‘Sister or not! Family or not. I will not tolerate her here!’ I am so distraught!”
“Now, Mama, I’m not so perfect myself.”
“Yes! But you’ve reformed. Rachel’s incapable of anything but drunkenness and rage. Just an inveterate alcoholic! Disgusting! Unsettling! Look at me. I’m a nervous wreck!”
“Come on, Mama. Pearl, pour me a cup of coffee and fix this boy somethin’ to eat. We can talk later.”
I don’t remember when my mother returned. Pearl put me to bed shortly after Uncle Everett left. Night came quickly to the farm, as darkness crept out of the Knobs, wrapping the night in its black bituminous shroud.
Aunt Rachel did not return from the sanitarium in Marion for several weeks. Her arrival by taxi created considerable commotion. Aunt Viola happened to be visiting. Uncle Jim had gone into town and had left her at the house. They had come by wagon, and Uncle Jim had gone on to purchase the usual staples of salt, spices, sugar, cloth, and kerosene. He had also packed the wagon with burlap bags of corn and wheat to drop off at the mill. In addition to the Whites Mill near Uncle Everett’s, a smaller mill, about a mile from our place, bordered the route into Abingdon. Its big water wheel dripped all the time. We frequently carried bushels of corn, wheat, and oats to it for processing into flour and meal. My grandmother let Pearl have the sacks to make into aprons and dresses. In fact, our own dishtowels were made of flour sacks.
When Aunt Rachel arrived, we were rocking on the front porch. She had ordered Ralph, the taxi driver, to blow the horn. My mother accepted her joviality as a good sign, an omen announcing her cure, but my grandmother’s face betrayed a darker assessment. Her cheeks had turned red and her mouth hung open with disbelief. “Would you ever!” she gasped. “The likes of it!” she placed her hands to her lips.
Aunt Rachel hung partially out of the cab’s right back seat window. Two balloons—one blue, the other yellow—bounced against the vehicle’s doors. When she stepped out of the cab, her purse fell off her lap, and its contents spilled across the drive. Ralph hurried to her rescue, while she reached back inside for her valise and a hatbox. She was wearing a stunning pink dress, cut rather low about the breasts, though she had so little to display. Even as a child of six, I knew a flat-chested woman from one with a fuller bosom. And poor Aunt Rachel had nothing to reveal, or conceal. She and my mother often laughed about it. But, there Aunt Rachel stood, her purse and hatbox in hand, with the balloons’ strings tied about her wrist, her face aglow with renewed self-confidence and the rosy blush of sobriety. I immediately scooted from my rocker and hurried down the steps to hug her. “Tommy, Tommy!” she whispered, as she bent down to kiss my cheek. Tears filled her eyes. My mother quickly followed. Aunt Viola walked stiffly behind her. My grandmother rose from her rocker, swallowed the lump in her throat, no doubt, and made her way with a bruised pride into the circle about Aunt Rachel.
“Rachel! You break my heart, but you’re what you are.” My grandmother placed her arms about Aunt Rachel’s neck and kissed her. “Who am I to condemn you? Forgive me, dear. Holman wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Mama Edmonds, there’s nothing to forgive,” she kissed her in return. “I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you, and always seem to cause. I’ll be going home soon.”
“Now, now! What family doesn’t have its delitescent sorrows? We will survive. That’s the Edmonds motto. Sic jurat transcendere montes. You must dare to cross life’s mountains! Come dear. You must be hungry as well as tired. And you, too, Ralph. Come on in and have a bite with us.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but I’ve got to get on. The bus from Bluefield will be arriving soon. But I’m much obliged.”
Aunt Rachel reached in her purse and handed him a five-dollar bill. “Thank you, Ralph. You’ve been wonderful.”
“It’s always my pleasure, ma’am. Well, I’d best be off!” he tipped his hat and returned to his cab.
It was late afternoon before Uncle Jim’s wagon came trundling into view. Grandmother tried to persuade him and her sister-in-law to spend the night, but Uncle Jim preferred to drive on. “Thanks, Kate,” he called her by her middle name, “but we can be home before dark.”
“I don’t believe it,” she said. “You and Viola need to think about boarding that place up and coming down here. I’ve got two empty tenant houses you can choose between. Anything could happen to you, and you know it.”
“Well,
