Iris counted on
Uriah telling his parents after a month or so, and maybe moving to the Bethpage
cabin after a week after that. She began to eat her evening meal with the Hitts
again, looking politely demure, to create the right kind of impression. But the
Hitts ate in their normal grim silence, and she did not possess the courage to
broach the subject on her own. She made up her mind to be patient. She imagined
that Uriah might want first to consult with his father.
She was right.
Uriah had left the barn in high spirits, fully meaning to tell his mother there
and then. But his courage failed him as he crossed the open ground between the
barn and the Hitt cabin. He was a strong man, and not afraid of much - he
certainly feared no man not brandishing a gun. The prospect of a confrontation
with Capitola alarmed him. He knew his mother could rage up at the slightest
thing, and he also knew that she claimed to have certain powers learned from
her folks down South. She claimed to be able to make both folks and animals
sicken, merely by wishing them sick, and had often threatened him in her anger.
He decided to speak
to his father first. He could have spoken that afternoon, but he was a cautious
man, and liked to work through important matters with care. So he waited for a
few days until the two men were due to go up to the still to grind corn for
their next batch of straight squeezin�s - the term local folk used for the
first step on the way to brewing good �shine. He also made good use of the
intermission, because it was plain that Iris had set her mind to working on
him. She grew rather more fond in their barn encounters, and Uriah was not a
man to refuse a gift.
But then the two men went up to the still, and Uriah
knew the time had come to talk to his father. The two men worked in silence,
Jedediah feeding corn, Uriah cranking the grinder handle, until he stopped and
mopped his brow.
�We got any of that
six year old, Paw?�
The Hitts kept some
of cousin Lem Motlow�s first class sour mash for special occasions, and Uriah
considered the occasion merited good whisky.
Jedediah nodded
without speaking. He knew his son had been shaping up for a serious discussion
for some days since, and had a fair idea of the probable subject matter. But he
was a cautious man, and he wanted no blame. Capitola could be a terrible woman
when enraged, and he was sure Uriah was on a path to enraging her.
Uriah unearthed the
bottle of whisky from under a heap of straw, sat on a full sack of corn to
uncork it, and held it towards his father.�
Jedediah shook his head.
�You go first,
son.�
Uriah took a long
swallow, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, hawked, and spat into the
dirt before holding out the bottle. He cut himself a plug of tobacco from the
pouch he kept in the pocket of his bib-alls as he waited for his father to
drink, scuffing his booted feet in the dirt. It was a sure sign that he was
unsettled.
Jedediah spat in
his turn. It was as though the two men were working through some kind of
ritual. �It be your woman.� His voice was flat, neither question nor
engagement.
Uriah took a deep
breath, lifted the whisky bottle towards his mouth, thought better of it, and
then raised it again. He spat again. �Damn, thet�s good.�
His father waited.
Uriah was silent
for a long moment, and then spoke slowly. �Well, Paw, you�re right. She�s
increasin�, and she wants her own place.�
Jedediah held out
his hand, took the bottle of whisky, swallowed, and then swallowed again. He
held the bottle up to the light. They had drunk perhaps a third between them,
and now it was time for speaking.
He cut himself a
plug of tobacco and chewed thoughtfully on it for a couple of minutes. Then he
sucked in the beard edging his lower lip.. �Well, son, I ain�t got nuthin� to
say on thet. But hev a care yo� don� cross your Maw.�
�You reckon she�ll
tek it bad?�
�Do a bear shit in the woods?�
�Will you talk to
her?�
Jedediah thought
long on his son�s question, and then shook his head. �Ain�t fer me to say
nuthin..�
�But she listens to you.�
�When it suits.�
Uriah�s face
darkened. �I�m a grown man now, Paw. I gotta right to ma own place.�
�Tell that ta yo�
Maw.�
Uriah hed out his
hand, and Jedediah passed the whisky bottle in silence. The younger man looked
at the bottle, shrugged, and corked it again. Whisky would not help him solve
this dilemma. �How d�you figger I should play it?�
Jedediah shook his
head as though seeking to shake off some presage of misfortune, and sighed.
�Jes� go, son. Jes� go. I�ll come up see you, once you�ve bin in there a few
days.� He paused. �She talked yo into tekkin� her back to Woodrow�s ol� place?�
Uriah nodded, and
his father hawked and spat into the dirt.
�Figgers. She�ll
feel at home back up there.�
�Will yo� bring Maw
with you?�
Jedediah shrugged
again. �Mebbe. There�s no tellin� with�
your Maw. She�s wanted your gal out of the house long enough, but she�ll
tek against your goin�. There�s no way to tell what she�ll do.�
Uriah sighed. Maybe
the railroad would hire him, house him, and cut through all these
complications. He returned to the grinder, bracing himself for a fresh bout of
work. But Jedediah did not move.
�Son, you sed
you�re gonna be a father.� He pointed at the straw hiding the whisky, and he
looked for all the world as though he might now be smiling. �I guess we got
something good coming there. Ain�t we gonna drink to your boy?�
Uriah beamed as he
held out the bottle. �He�ll call you Pap Paw.�
�We�ll tek him fishin�.�
�One day we�ll pass
the time of day in here, and we�ll drink ourselves flat.�
Jedediah frowned.
�Mebbe. But he ain�t gonna do thet in a while.� He turned to look at the
grinder. �Well, we better get back to pushin� this stuff through. Elseways
we�ll never finish before nightfall.�
The two men
finished their work as the sun began to grow low on the western horizon. They
each took an extra swallow of cousin Lem Motlow�s first class sour mash to
bolster their courage, and walked slowly back to the cabin. Both knew they were
walking into trouble.
Uriah found Iris
waiting for him by the barn door, and nodded at her grimly. This was no time
for fooling around in no hay. �I spoke to Paw. He says we wanta go, we gotta
go. Pack up what you need while I harness the mules.�
Iris nodded
silently. But inside she was dancing.�
She hurried to the cabin and began to pack up her bedding. There was not
much to go: some sacking dresses, a couple of shirts for Uriah, his Sunday
wearing and best hat, his good boots and her Bible. She could help Uriah drive
Albert and his hens into their coops when the mules were ready to go, and Daisy
just needed roping to the back of the wagon. She supposed Woodrow would have
left her churns and butter molds at the cabin, for he had no cow to offer Widow
Law, along with everything that she might need for growing food. He was not
much of a man for working the soil. She guessed she would not have to do much
clearing on her vegetable patch either, for it was still a touch less than
three months now since her leaving.� She
recalled with a slight smile that she had put in several rows of potatoes
before she left. She and Uriah would eat good come the fall.
She carried her
bedding out to the wagon, and then returned for the rest. She found Capitola
barring her way. Uriah�s mother seemed calm, but there was a dark look in her
black eyes that portended no good at all.
�What�re you doin�,
missy?� Capitola�s tone was menacing.
�Uriah an� me are
gonna set up at Woodrow�s.� Iris� flat reply matched her mother-in-law in
hardness.
�Jes like thet?�
�Jes like thet.�
Capitola turned
back towards her stove and picked up a knife. Iris stepped back quickly out of
the cabin onto the porch. She did not think the older woman would attack her,
not now that she was with child, and Capitola must know that she was pregnant
because of the way her body had begun to fill out. But she knew her
mother-in-law for an unpredictable woman.
However Capitola
walked straight past her, ignoring her completely, to stop as she stepped off
the porch step. She turned to face Iris, her face contorting into what might
have been intended as a smile, but looked more like a death rictus.
�Well, seein� as
yer also gonna be a mother, I guess we all need to call down the Lord and all
his blessin� on yer.�
Iris stared at her.
�I�ll fry us some
chicken, with milk gravy like where ma folks come from.�
With that the older
woman hurried away.
Iris stood pensive
for a moment, and then shrugged. She imagined Capitola would seek vengeance by
slaughtering the biggest chicken she could find. But hens are only hens, and
eggs come easy enough.
She was helping
Uriah stow their belongings on the wagon when Capitola returned. She glanced at
her mother-in-law quickly, and then stared in horror. Capitola was holding the
feathered corpse of Albert, her rooster, by the neck in one hand, and his head
along with her knife in the other.
She rushed to
blocked Capitola�s path. �What�ve yer done?�
Capitola raised
Albert�s dead body triumphantly. �He were the biggest, and the best.�
�But he�s Albert.�
Iris began to sob, clutching at her stomach. She recalled the day when she had
brought Albert home as a little gold chick, just a little ball of tiny fluff
and down. It must have been going on three years since. She had kept him in a
box by the stove, and fed him on morsels of corn meal mixed with warm water. He
had learned to expect his food, popping his tiny head expectantly over the edge
of the box. Then he had grown, and begun to crow. Just a small gargling sound
at first, and Woodrow had only grunted in his sleep, because he had always been
a heavy sleeper. But a tiny crow had fast grown to an agonized strangulated
sort of yowl, and Woodrow had woken, and made her turn Albert out with the rest
of the fowl. Mind you, he had then learned his place in life fast, and the hens
had all seemed to take pleasure from him. Maybe roosters were better company
than men.
Capitola looked
surly. �He�s only a chicken.�
�He�s Albert.� Iris
repeated her words brokenly.
Uriah came down
from the wagon and looked at the two women. �Why�ya howlin� up such a fuss?�
Iris pointed at
Albert�s corpse. �Your Maw done up an� killed my rooster.�
Uriah shrugged. He
did not want any part of this fight between women. �So, he�s jes� a chicken.�
�Jes a chicken?�
Iris rested her hands indignantly on her hips, her tears running freely now.
�Lord help me, husband. That were ma rooster, ma one and only rooster. Your Maw
done kil�t him, and we ain�t got no broody hens, and we ain�t gonna hev no
chicks no more. Besides, he won first prize at the fair last year. I bought
that rooster with my own money.� Her sobs began to increase in strength and
intensity. She knew that Capitola had picked on Albert deliberately, and this
was one attack she would not accept. For a moment she thought of snatching Capitola�s
knife and inflicting a matching fate on her mother-in-law.
Now Jedediah
emerged from the barn to see what all the noise was about, and Iris glowered at
him. �Your woman done killed ma rooster.�
�Your woman? Your
woman?� Capitola raised her knife threateningly, her own temper starting to
rise. �What kind of way is thet to talk to me?�
Jedediah moved
quickly. He snatched Capitola�s knife with one hand, and pushed at Iris with
the other. �You go get on thet wagon.�
Iris� sobs ebbed.
She looked at Uriah. �We better go get ma hens in a coop, afore your Maw teks
any more of them.�
With that she
strode off haughtily, her face still streaked with her drying tears, leaving
the Hitts in a speechless cluster. Then Uriah shrugged, and scuffed his boot in
the dirt. �I guess I�d better go �long with her.�
Jedediah nodded.
�So long, Maw.�
Uriah spoke without looking straight at his mother. It was an off-the-cuff,
over the shoulder sort of farewell. Capitola did not reply. But her hands
tightened on Albert�s remains.
Iris and Uriah rode
up to Woodrow�s cabin in silence. She was a little anxious about how she would
find things on her arrival - she had visited the cabin a couple of times, more
to escape the Hitts than for any other reason - and had found nothing changed.
But misfortune always strikes when least wanted, and she feared that Woodrow,
or the Widow Law, might have come up and removed things that she counted on
finding there.
But the cabin was
just as she had last seen it. She stood on the porch step, breathing in the
evening air, and then suddenly became brisk. �Right, I�m gonna fire up the
stove and bake some biscuits. You get everything down out of the wagon,
husband, and then take Woodrow�s rod and go down the pond and find me a nice
big catfish. We�ll eat fried catfish tonight, and mebbe a mess of corn and
�maters, if some are still out there.�
Uriah hesitated. He
had just come through a bruising encounter, and felt he deserved some
consoling.
Iris grinned at
him, stepping up to him to place her hands on his shoulders. �You go fishin�,
boy, and we�ll eat real good, and then you�ll get what you�re wanting.� She
pushed him away as he tried to close up on her. �No, Uriah, you go fishin. You
start thet sort of thang �n you�ll never eat in a month of Sundays.�
Uriah walked off a
little dolefully. But to tell the truth, he felt good. He was now a proper man,
with his own place, and his own woman, and a son on the way. He would find
himself a real big sonofabitchin� catfish, even if it meant wading into the
pond and hauling out with his own two bare hands.
Meanwhile Jedediah
had eaten fried chicken in silence, and taken himself out onto the porch step
with a pint of �shine. He felt unsettled, and a little fearful. He knew that
Iris had angered Capitola mortally, and that he would have to live with her
anger. He knew that he could whip his wife - he had done it before. But he
liked a quiet life, working with his son, visiting neighbors and customers from
time to time, and taking his marital rights when he felt a need. Now he was
stepping out into uncharted territory.
Capitola was busy.
She had a small shed, down the hill from the outhouse, that she kept for her
own private purposes, collecting herbs from the woods and pastures around the
cabin to brew up into potions she sold to some of her acquaintance, and wild
ginseng roots she traded with a pedlar who visited her regularly. Her face was
stern, and her manner preoccupied, as she placed her Aladdin lamp on a table at
the back of the shelf and set a chipped enamel basin beside it. Then she
reached up to a shelf and took a jar filled with earth, placing it squarely in
the basin, took a stub of paraffin candle from one of her apron pockets, and
set the candle in the jar, pressing it down firmly so that it would burn level.
She lit the candle and watched it fire up, then took Albert�s head and six of
his long iridescent blue tail feathers from a second pocket. She had tied each
of the feathers carefully with a sliver of knot grass, and the feathers matched
the wild iris purple of Iris� eyes. She set these out carefully on the table.
Three feathers to one side of Albert�s head, three to the other. She reached
again into her apron pocket, and drew out a square of dress sacking. It was
stained brown, and she had gone to a great deal of trouble to secure it, for it
came from a dress worn by Iris that had mysteriously vanished one day, and the
brown stain was the stain of Iris� blood, before she had ceased her monthly
bleedings.
She inspected her
display, and nodded approvingly to herself. Then she closed her eyes and began
to sway from side to side, holding to the table and resting her weight on her
hands. She began to hum, in a tuneless monotone, and suddenly she spoke.
�Blood turn black
and flesh turn blue, my curse on you, since you force me. My curse on your
face, my curse on your eyes, my curse on your breath, my curse on your sighs.
My curse on your child, and let it not survive, my curse on your life, and may
your days end shortly. May you sorrow quickly, sickenin� in your pain and
grievin�. May your endin� be without mercy, and may I be there to joy in your
goin�.�
She slowed, no
longer swaying, and took up one of Albert�s feathers in her left hand to hold
it in the flame from the candle. Then she took up his head in her right hand,
pressing it to her lips, and ran her tongue over the sightless eyes, first one
then the other, pressing the head of the dead cockerel to the square cut from
Iris� dress. �Powers that rule us, come to aid me. Powers of day and night,
take my bond. Take a life, and take my obedience. But wreak your wrath to the
full.�
The candle suddenly
flickered up around the burning feather, and the cockerel�s limp head seemed to
come to life for a moment, twitching in her hand. She started back, as though
she had seen some unknown demon in the flame. But the fire died down again, and
she burned each feather in its turn, until she was left with no more than the
scorched quills, a limp dead head, and a small stained square of weaving. They
seemed sorry survivors. She watched the last embers die away, and nodded, as
though she had completed a pressing, but difficult task. Then she left the shed
and walked up the slope back to the cabin. She stopped just behind the outhouse
to bury the evidence of her spellwork in a shallow grave. Jedediah was now
sleeping, the pint jar empty in his hands.
Capitola kicked him
hard. �Yo� ain�t sleepin� out here, old man. Get inside.�
She watched him
pull himself drunkenly to his feet and lurch off towards his bed, and spat in
the dirt. Men weren�t much count, when it came to reckoning.
Iris dreamed a
strange dream that night. She had fried catfish for her man, and the fish did
him credit, and they had rolled back and forth in their bedding like two young
hounds in their courting, for now there was no one to gainsay them. But in the
end they had tired, and they had slept. But she had slept fitfully, and woken
once or twice sweating freely.� She had
dreamt a black cloud lowered over her, settling on her like a vulture to tear
at her belly, tearing her unborn child from herself.� When she woke she clutched her belly to make sure the baby still
rested securely, then moved closer to her husband. But Uriah had eaten well,
and slaked all his needs, and he was snoring.