by Ann Hite

Mama warned me against marrying Hobbs Pritchard. She saw the future in her tealeaves, death. I married him anyway, and Mama refused to attend. The ceremony wasn’t much to speak of, just the Baptist preacher, a Bible, and words, words that bound me until death did part us.

But, Hobbs was the cutest thing. His eyes reminded me of a crystal-clear winter sky. Those eyes made me see life his way. In the first days of sweet romance, if Hobbs asked me to jump off a cliff, I would have with a smile on my face. Mama always said, ‘Nellie, don’t love a man too much. A woman should save some love back to care for herself.’ I loved Hobbs with everything in me. Anyway, I had to marry him. After all, he kissed me full on the mouth and ran his hand inside my dress. That sealed the deal.

Our honeymoon consisted of one night in the back room of Mr. Hamby’s store. Hobbs paid real good money for the privilege and decided he needed to get his money’s worth. His body hammered into me, drinking that love I offered in one sloppy gulp. When he finished his business, he left me alone, no kiss or hug, but he wasn’t much on showing affection unless it suited him. I lay on that cot thinking of ways to soften him, make him a better man.

Hobbs moved me to Black Mountain the next day. Mama, standing in the door of the farm, twisting her long skirt in her weathered, worn fingers, cried like a baby. “Nothing will ever be the same. You’ll never come back home, Nellie girl.”

I prayed she was dead wrong.

The leaves had turned the mountain a brilliant orange, red, and yellow, flames shooting into the sky. I sat next to my husband in that wagon, knowing I was the luckiest girl in the world. Our cabin was near the top of the mountain. Hobbs’ aunt and brother lived in the first cabin. His mama died when he was a bitty thing. Hobbs didn’t see no reason to stop and introduce me to them. I could understand that. He was tired and we still had that old mountain to climb. We passed little cabins that looked like they might slide down the side of the mountain with a little push. Folks seemed friendly enough. They threw up a hand but kept busy at their tasks. It was a whole gaggle of boys—their height resembling doorsteps—playing in front of one cabin that caused me to tap Hobbs on the shoulder. The cabin sat in a sunny clearing all fresh and clean, even if it was simple and plain. The mama stood in the door. She wore a faded dress that hung on her slight figure. Her face reminded me of a map that had been studied by many, but was still strong at the creases.
“Who are they?” Me and Hobbs didn’t talk much going up that mountain. Mostly he just grunted at my questions.

“That’s the Connors, poor as dirt. High and mighty too. Take a good look at them. That’s what the mountain can do to a soul if they don’t stand against it. They turn their nose up at me. Won’t accept my offers of work.” He threw his hand in the air, but the woman never waved. She didn’t even smile. “She’s just trash.” His mean laugh echoed through the trees.

I looked over my shoulder. I didn’t want woman to take no offense to Hobbs, but she was gone from the door, and the boys scrambled in the yard like a bunch of honeybees swarming around their hive. I thought of playing too, running as if the world were happy.

****

The first winter on that mountain turned out to be colder than any in my life. Hobbs was gone most of the time on business. I had no idea what he did on business. The one time I ask him his face turned red and he threatened to hit me if I got in his business again. He could be like that sometimes, but I didn’t pay him no mind. I knew his heart wouldn’t allow him to hurt folks.

The cabin was better than most on the mountain, but the walls closed around me like my prison cell. Many nights when I thought I would go crazy if I didn’t talk to another human, I thought of the other families on the mountain, tight inside their cabins, happy, content until spring came around. It made me more determined to convince Hobbs to take up farming, stay home.

With the first spring thaw, I took to walking the paths in the woods. One morning a fog moved in fast. Familiar landmarks disappeared. I saw a man standing in the curve of the path just watching me.

“Are you lost, sir?” He was ill fit for the area, a town man, dressed in tailored clothes, but his knees were dirty.

“The fog plays tricks on people, turns them around. Be careful. This mountain’s paths will betray you in an instant.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “Can I help you get somewhere?”

He just looked straight through me and walked into the woods.

“You might not want to wander off the path, sir. I believe there’s a bad drop off over there somewhere.”

The man disappeared into the fog.

Hobbs’ aunt paid a visit that afternoon as the day turned cheery. I’d only seen her once since coming to the mountain, but Lord, I was grateful to see a human face. Hobbs had been gone for nearly six weeks. My thoughts on marriage resembled a tiny cut on the end of the finger. I’d forget they was there until I touched on them, and then an ache would cut right through me.

“He stays gone most of the time.”

The aunt fiddled with a little thread on her fresh apron. “Hobbs is just like that honey. I’ve raised him since he was fourteen years old. You can’t go changing a man. If that’s what you got in your head, just get it out. He’s too much like his daddy. God rest his soul. The man made a real name for himself. Women was his weakness. I’m not proud of what my brother did, used up two wives before he died, but he was a man. That’s just the stuff they’re made up.”

A sick pressure worked around my ribs. “I’m sure Hobbs isn’t like that. He loves me a lot.”

“Well, sure he does, Nellie. It ain’t got a thing to do with love or family. It’s more like a sport like hunting squirrel.”

I just rushed my words at the foolish woman to drown her out. “I saw a town man in the woods today. He looked lost. I hope he got where he was going. He just talked nonsense.”

The aunt grabbed her chest. “Lordy child, that’s the ghost of Merlin Hocket. He was a government man, who came up here—I believe it was 1916—to measure the mountain. Got lost in the fog and walked off a cliff. Old man Taylor found him dead in the creek. It preserved him right nice since the water was cold. Folks that see him always have some kind of doom come their way. I ain’t never heard a soul say he talked to them.”

“He didn’t look like a ghost.”

“Most ghosts don’t look like ghosts. They look like you and me.” She glanced around the cabin. “You’re spending way too much time by yourself. You plan on quilting with me and the girls this week. We meet once a week, talk and sew. You need something to keep your mind from brooding.”

“What kind of doom?” I thought of those dern tealeaves Mama read.

She clicked her tongue. “Last to spot the ghost was Mrs. Carson. Her husband burned in his barn three days later. Of course, I always said he was making corn whisky and the still blew up, but that’s not for me to say. Lot’s of us make whisky. With the Depression, we have to do what it takes. One thing folks don’t give up is drink. It was Henry Marks who spotted Merlin’s ghost first and started the whole legend or curse. Two weeks after Henry spotted the ghost two government people came marching up the mountain and brought that flu from Spain. Henry was the first to get it. He died three days later. That flu liked to have wiped out half of the mountain.”

I just nodded, trying to take in her whole story.

“Now, Tom will come around to get you for quilting.” Tom was my brother in-law.

“Thank you, but I’m not much with a thread and needle. I like gardens. I’m going to clear me a nice one out there.” I pointed to the flat piece of land in back of the cabin.

“Child, you have to know how to sew. Didn’t your mama teach you anything?” She said this over her shoulder.

I marked the corners of my garden plot. Flowers in between rows of practical vegetables would be just the frame for the mountains in the distance. On a clear day, I could see rows and rows of mountains like waves rolling on the sea. I saw the beach once as a child. Daddy took me and Mama on a trip to the Low Country of South Carolina to see his parents, my grandparents. Poor as they were they had the best place in the world to live. When Daddy died, we buried him there beside the ocean where he grew up. I always said I was going back, but I was about as far as a soul could get from the ocean.

My garden plot was rocky and hard to turn with a hoe. I worked at it with my whole body and mind. The work stopped the images of Hobbs with other women. He wouldn’t do that to me. I just hated his aunt for putting the thought in mind so it could run rampant. Hobbs loved me. Sometimes though, I caught his eyes glazing over when I talked of a family, our family and the farm. But, that was just his way.

Two weeks later, he finally came home late at night. He jumped on the bed, pawing me, waking me from a dream of the ghost and the fog. He tore at my nightgown buttons as I pushed my fists into his chest. I was just trying to get a breath.

The back of his hand crashed across my mouth. “You’re my wife. I can do what I want.” He ripped my gown away, the only gown I owned. “Do you understand, woman?”

The smell of whisky and a sweet scent of roses gagged me. “Hobbs please.” And, in that moment, before my life took a different turn, I saw him for what he was. It was real plain. It had been there all along.

He punched my head. “Shut up!” He forced himself inside of me. I prayed God would kill him right there and then, but God wasn’t listening to the likes of me. When Hobbs was finished with his fun, he rolled over, grew still, and began to snore. I ran outside in the freezing cold rain and lost my supper.

The next afternoon I heard him slamming around inside the house. I worked at turning the soil in my garden. I would plant seeds tomorrow, Good Friday. Mama always said seeds planted on Good Friday were bound to give a plentiful crop.

“What are doing?” He stood in the door without a shirt, his pants unbuttoned.

I worked the dirt, busting the harder clods into fine soil.

“Talk to me woman! It’s my job to make a garden! What are you trying to do make me look bad?”

“I want a garden of my own.”

“I want a son. Come here!”

I looked at his face and those eyes that once stirred the butterflies in my stomach made me plain sick. The soil was stubborn in places, but with determination, the garden would bloom.

“Did you hear me?”

“I want to go to my mother.”

Hobbs covered the distance between us in three steps, grabbing the hoe and pushing me onto the ground. The soil tasted bitter and unyielding. My mind closed and the world went black. When I woke, I lay still, waiting. The taste of salty blood mixed with dirt filled my mouth. I struggled to my feet. Where could I go? Who might help me go home to Mama, to my old life? I walked the two miles to the aunt’s farm. On the way, I passed the Connor’s cabin. Had the yard been full of the boys, my life and other lives would have been different. Had Mrs. Connor stood in her door, I would have reached out, and I know she would have helped me. The yard was empty and the cabin quiet.

His aunt was washing clothes by the creek. I saw myself in her expression.

“What in the world happened child?” She jumped to her feet.

“Hobbs.”

She stepped back. “What did you do?”

I looked into her eyes.

“It’s just part of life, child.” She looked away.

My ears rang. “I want to go to my mama.”

“You can’t. You’re Hobbs’ wife. A husband can do what he wants. You better learn to do better.”

I turned to leave, a dull thought knocked in my head. “I’ll never learn.”

“What did you say, dear?” The aunt stepped forward. “Let me take care of those cuts and bruises.”

I kept walking. “No.”

“Don’t cause no more trouble, Nellie. He’s probably left for a while. Fix him a real nice supper, make yourself pretty. Surprise him.”

I laughed at the sky and kept walking. The aunt kept talking, but the roar in my head drowned her out.

I walked home through the woods. I wasn’t a bit surprised to see Merlin Hocket standing in the path; really I was quite glad.

“Sometimes, you think you know the way but you’re confused. It takes courage to follow the path that will free you. You can do it.” He dissolved into thin air.

Chopping wood builds the arm muscles. I’d been chopping wood for weeks to keep warm. I chopped some when I got home. The ax split the logs into perfect pieces. My aim was good. Then, I heated water and soaked in a lavender bath. I didn’t have many clothes, but I chose a dress that flattered me. My hair hung down my back. A fire warmed the cabin. Extra logs were stacked on the hearth. The ax leaned against the firewood. I waited in the rocker. He might not come back. He might be gone for another eight weeks. I drifted off to sleep.

Hobbs bent over the rocker, a hand on each arm, trapping me. “Look at you. I guess a good beating now and then does just the thing. Makes you realize how lucky you are.”

I was a ghost with nothing to lose.

“What you smiling at?” His breath could have made me drunk.

“I’ll show you if you let me stand.”

He grinned and moved away. “Now don’t you try anything funny, or I’ll beat you again. I may have to beat you once a week just for good measure.”

I dropped my dress to the floor. The bruises didn’t faze him. He grabbed at me with his hard, rough hands.

“I want to show you what I can do, Hobbs. I’m smarter than you think.” I guided him to the floor on the rug Mama hooked for me. I kneeled beside him and left my regrets in the shadows. The person who mounted Hobbs turned the wind into the hot breath of the devil. I embraced the heat and hammered him into submission.

When he slept, I untangled myself from his arms. A sweat broke out on my neck. I could walk away, go to Mama’s, but I knew there was no walking away, no hiding. The ax weighed heavy in my hands. I slung it over my head. The room spun and thunder rumbled in the distance, shaking the cabin. The storm would bring fog. I splintered my prison, spilling my sin all over Mama’s rug, and I deeply regretted that.

A fog moved in at dawn, rolling into the open windows. I worked with efficient strength as the fog burned away and the sun rode the sky. I fed the flames, leaping in the fireplace until I was finished, and then, allowed them to die down, and become ashes and coals. I sprinkled them over my garden, turning them into the dirt as the moon rode the horizon. Then, I planted the seeds in neat rows.

His head was all that remained. Even fear, hate, and revenge couldn’t bring me to destroy his face. I pushed the head through a hole in the old hollow tree, standing at the edge of the yard, overlooking the garden. The moon rode the sky when I went to bed and slept like a baby in its mother’s arms.

Three weeks passed and the weather turned hot. I cleaned that cabin until the tips of my fingers bled, but still the rancid smell remained. The seedlings popped through the dirt, and I walked. Two more weeks passed before Tom showed up looking for Hobbs. I explained he had never come back that afternoon after he beat me. He only gazed off into the woods.

At night I slept. Hobbs stood in every shadow. His scent marked the bed and pillows. I took to sleeping in the rocker. In the sixth week of freedom, the whole deed hovered on the edge of my thoughts, eating at my mind. I wrote a letter:

Dear Mama:

Your prediction came true. Tealeaves never lie. I am now free to allow my garden to grow. I will always love you.
Your daughter
Nellie

I walked the letter to my in-law’s house, hoping Tom would carry it to Mama on his next trip down the mountain.

“What ‘s Hobbs going to say about this letter?” The aunt watched me real close.

I shrugged. “He hasn’t been home since the day he beat me. I’m right glad of it.”

“That’s a long time even for him.”

“You can’t never tell with him.” I pointed the letter at her. “You can read the letter if you like. It’s just a letter to Mama. I know she misses me.”

She couldn’t read a flour sack. “I can’t read your writing.” She shoved the letter at me.

I read the letter aloud. “See nothing bad.”

“What was your mama’s prediction?”

“Doom and boy was she right. Hobbs turned out to be everything she predicted.”

She looked away. “Tom said you have a mighty bad smell up there around the cabin. Said it smelled like something dead.”

“I know, that smell is horrible. I had a coon hanging around some time back, but I haven’t seen him in a while. The smell is coming from the old hollow tree. I bet that coon done crawled in there and died.”

“Get some of my lime out of the shed and sprinkle it in the tree and some around too. He could have been rabid.”

“I could almost guarantee he was rabid.”

I got my lime and walked back home. I sure hoped Mama got my letter. She’d figure it out. I checked on my garden. The seedlings had turned to strong plants. I would miss seeing the vegetables come to fruit.

Two more weeks went by and the aunt got real desperate and sent Tom down the mountain in search of Hobbs. I just smiled deep inside and worked my garden. Each morning I got out of bed sick to my stomach, but it passed with a little food and the day. At night, I watched that hollow tree. Its limbs resembled the arms of a ghost ready to grab. Mostly I thought about my future.

Tom came home, telling his aunt that Hobbs hadn’t seen his girlfriend, Rose, since winter. I stood there listening and bit the inside of my mouth until it bled. Tom started nosing around me with questions. What kind of clothes did Hobbs have on the last time I saw him? I told him I couldn’t much remember seeing how he had blackened my eye and it was swelled shut. But, I figured it was his overalls. He wore them all the time.

“I want to come look around the cabin.” He looked at me like I was some kind of criminal.

“You come on up tomorrow morning for breakfast. You can have the run of the place. I have nothing to hide.”

That night it came a storm. I found Hobbs’ old shirt and overalls and stood in front of his shaving mirror, cutting my hair until it was right close to my head and stuck out like a boys. Then, I saw Merlin Hocket standing on the edge of the woods, watching. I ran outside, but he was gone. I knew he was telling me goodbye.

At dawn a fog rolled in and I harnessed the horse, stuck an old hat on my head and hid my belongings under the seat. I didn’t take too much, nothing anyone would notice, just a couple of old dresses I could tear apart for baby clothes. And, I took two hundred dollars I found on Hobbs’ that night. Lord, that was a fortune.

The fog was right hard to see through so I was on Tom Pritchard before I saw him. I turned my head down and kept going. I prayed real hard to be released. And, for some reason God was listening that morning because Tom just threw his hand in the air and kept moving up the road to the cabin. There, he would find a right nice fire burning, breakfast on the table, and a note saying I had gone for an early morning walk in the woods. I wrote how I’d been up all night worrying over Hobbs’ whereabouts and just didn’t think I could live without him.

Things have a way of working out. I made it off that mountain and changed my name to Annie Harbor. I always liked that name. I moved to the Low Country near the ocean, within walking distance of Daddy’s grave. One day Mama showed up on my doorstep. She claimed to see me in her tealeaves.

When Maria, my baby, was old enough to beg for stories, I told her the legend of Black Mountain; how a young wife, who grieved over her lost husband, walked off into the fog and was never seen again.

Mama always hated that story, but she never said a word. She just clicked her tongue and drank her tea.