Jolene Page 13

  “Wall,” her aunt said. “It’s purt plain y’all kin see ’em.”

  That elicited an understandably hysterical response from her. “A’course I kin see ’em! Make ’em go away!”

  “Don’t be sech a baby,” Aunt Jinny replied with faint scorn. “They ain’t a-gonna hurt y’all. I’fact, they’s gonna he’p y’all. Stop dancin’ on thet stool like a tavern Jezebel wi’ five whiskies in ’er.”

  It wasn’t so much Aunt Jinny’s matter-of-fact tone as her allusion to a “tavern Jezebel” that got Anna to slowly, and carefully, and with many a doubtful look, lower herself to the floor and take her seat on her stool again. Although she certainly kept her feet well tucked under her skirt and away from the . . . things . . . which now clustered around her, staring up at her face.

  “These,” Aunt Jinny said, “is Elementals. Earth Elementals, ac’chully.”

  “Whassa Elemental?” she asked, not sure she wanted to know the answer.

  Aunt Jinny put on the face that told Anna she was about to get a lesson. “There’s a thang I call Glory. Some folks call it witchery, but I don’t hold with that. An’ I niver liked th’ word magic, on account’a magic sounds like it ain’t no work, an’ it’s plenty’a work. The Glory’s jest a nachural thang. Some got it, some don’t, like yaller hair. Issa tool, like a knife. Y’all c’n cut up dinner wi’ a knife, or murder a man. Thet don’t mean th’ knife is bad or good, an’ that don’t mean the Glory is bad or good, it jest is. They’s five kinds-a things what people with Glory can call on. They’s called Elements. Earth, Air, Fire, Water, an’ Spirit. Each one’s got critters. Th’ critters kin do stuff fer th’ folks what has the right Glory. I got Earth Glory, an’ so do y’all. Old Raven’s got Spirit Glory. Young Raven’s got Fire Glory. Ghosts an’ other spirits is what Old Raven kin see an’ get t’ do stuff fer ’im, but someone wi’ Spirit Glory kin see what kinda Glory other people hev, iffen they got it.” Jinny smiled with satisfaction at Anna. “An’ y’all got it. Like I said, y’all’s got Earth Glory. An’ thet’s why y’all got sick back in Soddy. What happens t’ th’ earth, y’all feel, an’ I feel, ’cause we’re linked by the Glory t’the earth. We get sick, cause th’ earth’s so pizened there, an’ y’all are gonna get sick anywhere’s th’ earth’s pizened. Most towns won’t hurt y’all much, but y’all ain’t a-gonna feel comfortable. Towns like Soddy, wi’ all thet pizen from coal an’ soot—they’ll make y’all dog-sick. Towns like Ducktown, where ain’t nothing kin grow? Till I shows y’all how ter pertect yoreself, they’ll kill y’all daid.”

  The thing that Jinny had called a “Domovoy” nodded its gray head ponderously in agreement. “Daid,” it echoed.

  The little creatures clustered about her, all but the tiny Indian. He hopped up on the table and helped himself to cornbread.

  It was that—and the glance full of mischief that the tiny man gave her as he stuffed a crumb in his mouth—that finally made her relax a little.

  But only a little. “How’d I git this Glory thang?” she asked, a little desperately. “What iffen I don’ want it?”

  “I dunno where y’all got it. I got it from my Granny an’ Granpappy on my Ma’s side,” Jinny replied. “Yore Ma ain’t got it, no more did her Ma. My Pa didn’ hev it hisself. My Pa knowed ’bout it, ’cause my Ma had a liddle bit an’ Granny and Granpappy had a lot. Some people got a liddle, some got it middlin’, some got it a lot. I got it middlin’. Ole Raven, he thinks y’all got a lot.”

  “But what iffen I don’ want it?” she repeated, her voice getting a little shrill.

  “Reckon Raven kin block it up,” Jinny admitted reluctantly. “But it’d be a damnfool thang t’do. Y’all wanted t’ be a Root Woman on account of y’all know y’all ain’t niver gonna lack fer a way t’ et, right? Wall, this works with bein’ a Root Woman. Makes all yore potions work better.” Anna must have looked as though she was unconvinced, because Jinny scowled. “Hell an’ damnation, girl! The fact thet I got Glory’s th’ reason yore Pa ain’t sicker than he is!”

  She quailed a little, and felt herself trembling. “But . . . this’s witchery, right? Y’all said some folks call it witchery! An’ don’t the Bible say ‘Do not suffer a witch to live’?”

  “The Bible also says some damn fool thangs like y’all cain’t et cheese an’ meat t’gether, nor hev linsey-woolsey skirts, nor et crawdads an’ ham an’ bacon!” Jinny retorted. “It also says damn fool thangs like that God kin send bears t’ et up liddle kids what makes fun uv a prophet’s bald haid! Th’ Ole Testyment’s fulla damn fool thangs, an’ tha’s a fact!”

  She wanted to object . . . but she knew good and well that the Bible did say those things. And . . . bacon. And ham. Why shouldn’t you eat pork? Pigs were easy and cheap to raise—and wild pig was available to anyone who was a decent shot, no matter how poor. She began to waver. Maybe Aunt Jinny was right . . .

  The little critters began to get bored, and fidgeted. Her aunt made a shooing motion and they all ran off. All except the Domovoy. It turned its heavy, bearded head to look at her solemnly.

  “You must be to listening to devushka Virginia,” it said, in a strangely accented, gravelly voice that seemed to come from inside her head, not through her ears. “I will go now.” And just like that, it slipped under the stove, as if it were no thicker than a piece of paper.

  She stared. “What . . . is thet?” she managed.

  “Issa Domovoy. Came with Granpappy from Roosha.” She got up and went to that shelf where the receipt books were kept. This time she took down a second book, and brought it over to Anna, putting it into her hands. “Here. He wrote some down ’bout all of it. I ain’t read all of it. Mostly just bits, but what I read had plenty’a common sense in it. Mebbe it’ll help y’all decide y’all don’t want t’ throw away th’ gift God gave y’all.” One corner of her mouth quirked. “Y’all said how much y’all liked them stories Missus Sawyer read. Wall, that there book’s fulla stories like them. And they’s real.”

  As if this sort of thing happened all the time to her, Aunt Jinny calmly began eating her breakfast. Anna put the book carefully to one side, and ate hers as well, though she was far from calm.

  Witchcraft! Her father had accused Aunt Jinny of that, and it turned out he was right!

  “Does my Ma know—” she began.

  “Thet I got the Glory?” Jinny sniffed. “Why d’ye think she knowed what was wrong with y’all an’ thet I could fix it? Why d’ye think she arst me fer potions fer Lew? It weren’t no secret, even iffen she couldn’ see th’ Elementals herself if they was a-standin’ on her nose.”

  So Ma knowed. An’ Ma said Aunt Jinny is God-fearin’. Ma ain’t niver lied. She might not have told all of the truth—but if Anna and her Pa had known the truth, would she have been willing to go, and him willing to let her? Probably not.

  Aunt Jinny clearly knew her Bible too. All those things she had cited . . . Anna had read them for herself.

  “Time’s a-wastin, girl,” Aunt Jinny said, interrupting her musings. “Eggs ter collect. Pigs t’feed. Garden t’tend. An’ I aim t’teach y’all ’bout where t’find some of the makin’s fer potions i’ th’ woods terday. We ain’t a-goin’ fer, but we don’ need to.”

  Reluctantly, Anna finished her breakfast, helped with the dishes, and put the book with her Bible, though she did wonder if it was going to burst into flames when it touched the Holy Book. But when it didn’t, she wondered, with everything there was to do—would she ever have time to actually read it?

  Anna and her aunt returned to the house with baskets overflowing with the makings of several different potions. Jinny’s tutelage had been very simple: show Anna the plant she wanted once. Wait while Anna examined it carefully. Then Anna herself had to seek out more, until they had enough for a bunch to hang up and dry. Then start over with a new one.

  This was probably the least chore-like chore that Anna had do
ne since she had gotten here. This was more like wandering in the woods and picking flowers, except the “flowers” generally weren’t pretty, and you had to hunt for them. But other than that—the woods were cool and fragrant, and if she ignored the little eyes peeping at her from odd places—

  She told herself desperately they were just wild things, mice, chipmunks, that sort of thing. She didn’t believe what she told herself, however, and just as she started feeling relaxed, she’d see one of them again, and get unnerved all over again.

  She and Jinny came back to the cabin, hung the herbs to dry, washed up, and sat down to supper. Aunt Jinny had warned her that “she’d better get used to bean soup,” but the truth was, she never really got tired of it. And she doubted she’d get “used” to it, either.

  Even after almost two weeks of eating well, it still seemed like something of a miracle to have three solid, satisfying meals every day—and to end the day with a soup that was substantial enough to be called a “stew” put the cap on days that were mostly good, and often excellent. Besides, her aunt would “tinker” with the soup a little each morning, so that by evening, the taste was always a bit different from the day before.

  “I reckon y’all should start on thet book ternight,” her aunt said, as they did the dishes. “I’ll be a-workin’ with the potions t’ strengthen ’em up with the Glory.” She glanced over at Anna, amused. “Thet’s one good thang ’bout finally tellin’ y’all. I ain’t gotter wait till y’all goes up t’bed no more.”

  So that was what Aunt Jinny had been doing late at night! Another mystery solved . . .

  “Y’all wanter read on th’ porch or inside?” she continued.

  “Wall . . .” she hesitated. “I wanter read in bed.”

  “I ain’t a-gonna let y’all take a candle up there, fall asleep, an’ burn th’ house down,” her aunt replied, but with a slight smile that took the sting out of the words. “I’ll let y’all use th’ stove so’s I c’n keep one eye on y’all an’ th’ candle iffen y’all nods off. Climb up.”

  Astonished that her aunt was permitting her to do this, she took the book and climbed up the ladder to the top of the stove. As she had thought, there was a featherbed up there, covered with a beautifully quilted coverlet. It was warm and exceptionally cozy. But dark.

  That is, it was dark, until her aunt handed her up a lit candle in a holder with a reflector in the back of it, and showed her where to put it. There was a place made right into the stove, a kind of shelf at the head of the bed before the stonework rose to form the chimney proper, that ensured that even if the candle burned down and guttered into the holder there was no chance of catching anything on fire.

  Anna curled up and opened the book.

  The first thing she noticed was that Aunt Jinny had almost certainly learned her penmanship from her Granpappy. The words looked almost identical to the ones in the receipt book.

  But the moment she started to read, she was transported elsewhere in a way that nothing in the Bible save a very few books, like Esther, and Solomon, had ever done.

  By grace of my beloved wife Sally and the Elemental Creatures we share, I, Pavel Ivanov, am writing here for the amusement and education of those of my blood who will follow me.

  It was only when the candle guttered out and she suddenly couldn’t see to read that she emerged from her self-imposed trance. By this time she knew what a Domovoy was, that her great-great-grandfather had been driven from his home when the boyar—or “great lord”—who owned the land his village was on decided to have a hunting preserve and forest there instead. She knew that while technically a “serf” (“one very short step from a slave”), Pavel had been a very learned man because of his magic. That a priest in his village, also with magic, had taught him the use of his powers, and his letters, both from the exceedingly young age of six or so. That when the boyar had driven the villagers from their homes and set fire to them to force them to leave, he had gone to the new location and just kept going westward, making use of his abilities to keep from being pursued. And finding allies and helpers along the way. It was very like a series of short fairy tales, except all of the incidents he described ended well instead of tragically. The candle went out at the point when, in the book, he had reached Hungary.

  She looked up from the book to find that her aunt had finished her work and was looking up at her with an amused expression. “The Glory ain’t so bad now, is it?” Jinny asked with faint irony. “Iss like anythin’ else. Y’all kin use a axe t’chop wood, or t’ take a feller’s haid off. Same with th’ Glory.”

  “How’d he get the Domovoy t’ come with him?” she asked, as she handed the book down to her aunt and climbed down the ladder to the floor. “I mean, I guess this here Domovoy’s the same one he had in Roosha?”

  “House got burned up,” Jinny said shortly. “The rich man what wanted the village burned the whole place down. Weren’t no house fer the Domovoy t’stay in. So it follered him. On’y he didn’t know thet till he built this here house. An’ iffen y’all don’t go t’sleep yore gonna be dreadful sorry come mornin’.”

  “Yes’m,” she replied obediently, took the book from her aunt and put it with her Bible, and climbed the ladder into her loft.

  But the mere act of placing the book with her Bible awoke all those doubts again, and a few more. Despite what she had learned about how her mother felt about her, she still loved her Ma, and after reading about Pavel’s longing for the home that was lost to him, she was homesick again. Aunt Jinny had let slip that it was possible to learn how to protect yourself from the poisons in Ducktown and Soddy—so what if she could get Aunt Jinny to teach her that, right away? Wouldn’t that mean that she could go home after all? And as strong as she was now, she could help with everything, including adding to the family larder by foraging and fishing.

  And when Ma sees how much he’p I kin be . . . I bet Pa’ll figger I’m a he’p too! Why, I’d be jest as good as a boy, almost!

  But then, the inescapable truth—to do that, she’d have to learn how to use the Glory. Which was witchcraft.

  But Aunt Jinny wasn’t the only person in this cabin that knew her Bible . . .

  And Aunt Jinny was right. There wasn’t a single thing in the whole durned New Testament about witchcraft. Not even Apostle Paul, who had plenty to say on other subjects, like it being “better to marry than to burn” and about women keeping their mouths shut tight and obeying their men, didn’t have a thing to say about witchcraft.

  Even Revelations didn’t have anything to say about witchcraft, and it was chock full of lakes of fire and demons and the Whore of Babylon.

  And even in the Old Testament, right there next to the business about not allowing a witch to live, there was King Saul, going to visit the Witch of Endor—who he had obviously allowed to live!—in order to consult with the spirit of the Prophet Samuel! And the Prophet Samuel turned right up without anything bad to say about the Witch herself, and gave King Saul the advice he need for fighting the Philistines. So at least that book of the Bible seemed to imply that it was perfectly all right to consult witches as long as they were doing the right thing, and not going around flinging curses about.

  On top of all of that . . . there were some of the things that Pavel had described himself doing that she would very much like to be able to do. How could it be a bad thing to be able to do what Aunt Jinny did, and make potions better so they could make people well? How could it be a bad thing, to be able to talk with all of those little critters, and bargain with them to help you? How could it be bad to get them to make it so your crops didn’t fail, and your animals all prospered, as long as you shared with them as needed it and weren’t selfish about it? Hadn’t Aunt Jinny said she made up bundles of food and distributed them to widows in Ducktown? If that wasn’t doing exactly the kind of good Jesus said to do, then what was?

  Finally she got back out of bed and onto her k
nees again. The cabin was completely dark now, except for the very faint, red glow of the coals in the stove, banked until tomorrow.

  Please, Lord Jesus, she prayed, squeezing her eyes tight shut and clenching her hands together so hard they hurt. Please. I don’ know what ter do. I need Y’all t’show me what ter do! Please, please give me a sign. Show me iffen this Glory, this witchery Aunt Jinny wants for t’teach me, is good in Yore Sight or evil. Please, Lord Jesus, show me th’way! Amen.

  And it felt, as she whispered the word amen, that a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Really tired now, she climbed back into the featherbed and sank down into its softness.

  And she opened her eyes again, without ever being aware that she had fallen asleep, to find that it was morning.

  And a little critter seemingly made of oak leaves, twigs, and earth, with an acorn for a head, was staring at her from its perch on her pillow, not three inches from her nose.

  Before she could move, or even take a startled breath, it giggled, and vanished with a tiny pop.

  She stared at the pillow for a very long time.

  Wall . . . I reckon thet’s a sign . . .

  8

  JINNY had made hoecakes and bacon for breakfast, and Anna had noticed a pattern about breakfast. Whenever Jinny felt pleased, she made hoecakes, and cut into the bacon. When Jinny was preoccupied or annoyed, it was mush, or fried mush. So—she must be feeling pleased about the way the conversation had gone last night.

  She’s a-gonna be happier’n a dead hog in the sunshine in a moment. “I reckon y’all better teach me how t’use the Glory, Aunt Jinny,” she said, trying to sound like something other than “resigned.” Truth be told, it wasn’t too hard, not with hoecakes and bacon in front of her.

  Aunt Jinny just smiled—the self-satisfied smile of someone who is refraining from saying “I told you so”—and drizzled maple syrup over Anna’s hoecake. “Good, we kin start ternight,” was all she said out loud. “Plenty to do till sundown.”