فصل 13

Chapter thirteen

October, 1874

Even after all this time and three children together, Ada still found them holding each other at the strangest moments. Earlier that day it had been out in the potato field. They had stood, their legs wide, each with one arm around the other, the other hand on their shovels. Ada had found them standing there, and had wanted to make a comment but had said nothing.

The Georgia boy had never gone back home, and had become a man in Black Cove. Ruby had kept him working hard for two years and she did not stop when he became her husband. His name was Reid. Their babies had been born eighteen months apart, all boys, with thick black hair and shiny brown eyes. They were growing into short, strong boys with pink cheeks and happy smiles, and Ruby made them work hard and play hard.

Now, late in the afternoon, the three boys sat around a fire behind the house. Four small chickens were roasting over the fire as the boys argued about who should turn them.

Ada watched them as she spread a cloth on the small table under the apple tree, and placed eight plates on it. October, 1874 was as tine as the month can be in the mountains. It had been dry and warm and clear for weeks, and the leaves were half red and half green. The color of Cold Mountain behind the house changed each day, and if you watched closely, you could follow the red as it came down the mountain and spread into the cove like a wave breaking over you slowly.

Soon, with an hour of daylight left, Ruby came out from the kitchen. At her side was a tall girl of nine, both of them carrying baskets of potato salad, corn, corn bread, green beans. Reid took the chickens from the fire and Ruby and the girl spread the food on the table. Stobrod came and put a bucket of milk by the table. They all took their places.

Later, as the sun was setting, Stobrod took out his fiddle and played, while the children ran around the fire and shouted. They were not dancing but just running to the music, and the girl waved a burning stick until Ada told her to stop it.

The girl said, “But Mama,” and Ada shook her head. The girl came and kissed her cheek and danced away and threw the stick into the flames.

When Stobrod at last stopped playing, the children sat down by the fire. Ada took a book and began to read them a story. She turned the pages with slight difficulty because she had lost the end of the first finger on her right hand four years previously. She had been up on the hill cutting trees and had by accident taken her fingertip off. Ruby had cared for it, and a year later it had healed so well that you hardly noticed the difference.

When Ada reached the end of the story, the night was growing cool and she put the book away. The children were sleepy, and morning would come as early and demanding as always. It was time to put out the fire and go inside and lock the door.