Fear, p.32
Fear, page 32
“I don’t like this one bit!” pouted the man. “I can’t hardly hear nothing and it stinks like horse apples!” His face began to turn a sickly shade of green. “I think I’m gonna puke, too!”
The Granny Woman reached into her apron pocket and took out a bundle of cut tree bark held together by a rubber band. She took one of the strips and handed it to Sam. “You chew on that for a spell,” she told him. “It’ll keep you from losing your supper.”
Sam stared at the piece of gray bark skeptically, and then bit it in half. Jeb was sure his father was going to send possum stew all over the Granny Woman’s front yard, but he didn’t. The bark he chewed seemed to quell his nausea almost immediately.
The old black woman wiped her hands on her apron and sat up. “Well, I reckon we’d best get us some shut-eye if we’re gonna leave for Adder Swamp first thing in the morning,” she said. “Ya’ll can sack out on the porch here. Looks like a mighty fine night for sleeping out.”
“Yes, ma’am, it does,” replied Jeb. He looked out into the irkness and saw a swarm of fireflies in the magnolia grove, their taillights winking on and off. The boy drew in a lungful of air and savored the smell of the garden around them. In comparison to the rest of Fear County, the place he was now in truly seemed like Paradise. It was just a shame that he only had one night to enjoy it before they left the peaceful hollow and entered Purgatory once again.
After the Granny Woman had bid them good night and retired to her cornshuck bed inside, Jeb sat for a moment while Roscoe and Sam prepared their spots on the front porch. He reached into his overall pocket and took out the silver snuff box. Shaking it, he heard the rattle of the tiny seeds inside.
“Roscoe?” he asked. “Do you really think all this is gonna work? These seeds and that poultice she put on Sam’s head?”
The bluesman shrugged his skinny shoulders. “Who knows? But I’ll tell you this. If you have enough faith, there’s a good chance that it will.”
Jeb studied the snuffbox a while longer, feeling as if he were holding his grandmother’s life in his hands. Carefully, he wrapped the tin in his bandanna and returned it to his pocket. Then he followed the others’ example and prepared to settle down for the night.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Adder Swamp
Jeb awoke from a wonderful dream.
He had been sitting in the kitchen of the Sweeny house on a bright spring morning. Robins and mockingbirds sang happily outside the open window, and bees buzzed around the lilies and irises of his grandmother’s flower garden. The kitchen table was laid out with a breakfast fit for a king. Steaming bowls and platters of scrambled eggs, sausage gravy, juicy slabs of country ham, crispy bacon, flapjacks, and big cathead biscuits crowded the checkered tablecloth, along with jars of every sort of jelly, jam, and preserves imaginable.
But the feast wasn’t the best thing about the dream. It was the state of those around him that pleased Jeb the most. Grandma was standing next to the cookstove, robust and healthy, looking like she would be around for a thousand years. And his father was no longer the stranger Jeb had known since his return from the War. Sam Sweeny sat at the table across from his son, cracking jokes and discussing the chores that needed to be done that day.
Jeb looked at that wry, good-natured gleam in the farmer’s yes and it made his heart sing as cheerfully as the birds outside. It was as if his father had never left him.
But, unfortunately, dreams never last forever. Jeb felt a spidery hand shake him gently by the shoulder and, sleepily, he opened his eyes.
He peered through the gloom of early dawn and saw a frail, stooped form standing over him. It was a moment before he realized that it was the Granny Woman who had roused him.
“Rise and shine, child,” she said softly. “Breakfast is ready and waiting on the table.”
Sluggishly, Jeb sat up. He yawned and stretched, then followed Roscoe and Sam into the cabin. The instant Jeb stepped through the doorway, echoes of his dream came back to him. The aroma of eggs, fried hog jowl, and buttermilk biscuits filled the single room. For a moment, the boy felt as if he was standing in his grandmother’s kitchen once again.
“Ya’ll sit down and dig in,” the Granny Woman directed. “We got us a long walk this morning, so you’re gonna need all you can stomach.”
The three needed no further urging. They sat down and began to heap their plates full. When they had finished with their eggs and jowl, they set to work on the mountain of golden biscuits. Jeb and Sam smeared theirs with goat butter and blackberry preserves, while Roscoe poured a lake of molasses in the middle of his plate and went to sopping. After the bluesman had finished, he cracked a big gold and ivory grin and, grabbing up his guitar, sang a few verses of his “Sticky Sorghum Blues.” Just listening to it, the Granny Woman rocked back in her chair and laughed so hard that Jeb was certain that she would suffer a fatal stroke at any moment.
After breakfast, their light spirits began to grow heavy again as the purpose of that day’s journey came to mind. “Well, I reckon we’d best get going,” suggested the old lady with the head of cotton hair and the youthful eyes.
Jeb, Sam, and Roscoe went out on the porch and began to gather up their belongings. The boy had to scold Sam for picking at the poultice around his head. It didn’t stink half as bad as it had the night before, but it still had a pungent air about it. When Jeb had convinced him that the dressing was for his own good, the big farmer grumbled beneath his breath and slung the duffle bag over his broad shoulder, looking none too happy.
When the Granny Woman appeared, she was wearing ankle-high walking shoes and a straw sun hat upon her head; the type Grandma Sweeny sometimes wore while she was out hoeing her vegetable garden. She also had an old carpetbag hanging from her stooped shoulder, packed full of charms and potions. The bag was unfastened and, from the open top, poked the green-eyed head of Midnight.
“You gonna take that ol’ cat with you?” asked Sam skeptically. He stooped down and petted Buckshot, who eyed the animal in the bag as if it were a poisonous snake instead of a simple black cat.
“Midnight, she goes anywhere I do,” the Granny Woman told him. “Anyway, where we’re going, she’s bound to come in handy. She ain’t afraid of nothing that walks, swims, or slithers on its belly.”
By the time first light broke over the peak of the eastern hill, they were already on their way down the dirt road, heading south. They left the magnolia grove and crossed a sprawling field full of wildflowers, clover, and tall stands of Queen Vine’s Lace. Butterflies and June bugs filled the morning air, stirred into motion by the warm rays of the sun. Jeb watched them play, flying figure-eights over the sea of colorful flowers.
When they reached the far side of the pasture, however, they found themselves gradually mounting a rise. As the trail topped and left the beautiful valley, they once again found themselves in a dense stretch of forest that was choked with ominous shadows. There were no songbirds or butterflies here. There was only a noticeable absence of such innocent creatures, as well as a silence that was almost unnerving to the human senses.
Immediately, Jeb knew. “We ain’t in Paradise Hollow any more, are we?” asked the boy. “We’re back out in Fear County.”
“That’s right, boy,” said the Granny Woman. “So watch your step and stick close to each other.”
Jeb did just that, moving nearer to Roscoe and the Granny Woman. In turn, Sam and Buckshot shied away from the far side of the road with its dense border of tall weeds, afraid of what might be lurking there just out of sight.
They walked along the rutted road, leaving the early hours of the morning behind. The sun rose higher in the sky, but they could barely see it. Like the stretch of road Jeb and the others had traveled a couple of days ago, this one was shaded overhead by a canopy of interlacing limbs and branches. Slivers of sunlight broke through the foliage every so often, speckling the pathway before them. At first, Jeb wished there was more sunshine to see by. But, on second thought, he figured it was better that there wasn’t. If there had been, it was likely he would’ve seen some things out there in the woods that he would have rather been mercifully ignorant of.
One such creature made an appearance when they had traveled a couple of miles down the shadowy road. The Granny Woman motioned them to halt and they stood on the trail as the weeds at the side of the road parted noisily. Jeb watched in a mixture of horror and fascination as a tiny critter scarcely the size of his hand scuttled across the road. The boy had never seen such an animal in his life, but it resembled an albino mole with nimble feet and a longer head.
Its eyes—which were shiny black and as tiny as the head of a pin—glittered at them contemptuously and it snorted out loud.
Buckshot growled between his teeth and was creeping forward to investigate, when the Granny Woman reached out with a skinny hand and grabbed hold of his collar. “Whoa there, boy!” she said softly. “You’d best not tangle with that critter. I’ve seen ’em rip a dog’s nose right off its face with one bite.”
“That little of thing?” asked Jeb, about to laugh. But, before he even had the chance, the molelike creature turned its head and snarled at them like an angry badger, displaying a mouthful of wicked fangs. Satisfied that those in the roadway had no intention of coming closer, the critter continued on its way. Soon, it was back in the weeds and out of sight again.
Even more cautious than before, they resumed their journey down the dark stretch of rural backroad. Midway through the morning, they stopped to drink water from a hollow gourd the Granny Woman had brought along, as well as snack on peaches she had picked from a tree that grew out back of her log cabin. Jeb savored the meat and nectar of the peach, knowing that it might be the last piece of fruit he would enjoy until he made it back home to Mangrum County.
It was nearing noon when they came to a sudden bend in the road. It curved to the east, entering another stretch of wooded thicket, while directly to the south lay a stand of young saplings and tall cattails. Jeb smelled the familiar stench of rotted vegetation and algae, and knew that they had reached their destination.
“Is that it yonder?” he asked. “Adder Swamp?”
“It is,” the Granny Woman simply said. She reached down end opened the top of her bag, allowing her cat room to move. “Take a look-see, Midnight. Blaze the trail and make sure it’s safe enough.”
In response, the lean black cat leaped from the bag and darted into the bramble that grew thick along the water’s edge. They stood at the side of the road for a long moment, watching as the cat disappeared from sight. For a while, they heard nothing. Then came a fit of hissing and snarling that would make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It wasn’t long before the cat emerged from the thicket, dragging a copperhead snake along behind her. Jeb was startled by the size of the serpent. It was as big around as his wrist and a good six feet long, much bigger than any copperhead he’d ever come across in the woods along Mossy Creek.
“I told you ol’ Midnight was a hunter,” said the Granny Woman proudly. She bent down and, taking a long-bladed knife from her carpetbag, cut the snake’s head clean off. Jeb was surprised when she deposited the head in a mason jar and left the still-twitching body of the copperhead behind.
Carefully, they made their way through the thicket to the edge of Adder Swamp. The body of water was muddy and murky, and covered with a thick blanket of green algae the consistency of phlegm. Jagged stumps broke the surface here and there, looking like mossy tombstones sitting atop a watery grave. A nasty stench permeated the swamp that made the poultice on Sam’s head smell like a bouquet of roses in comparison.
“Well, here it is,” said the Granny Woman. “Right ugly, if I do say so myself.”
“Sure is,” said Jeb. He peered off across the stretch of stagnant water and saw the dark bodies of snakes swimming through the algae every so often. “But how’re we gonna get across it?”
The Granny Woman already had that figured out. She dipped into her carpetbag and brought out a sturdy hatchet with an iron blade and a handle of seasoned hickory wood. “We’ll have to build us a raft to take us to the far side,” she said. The old lady turned to the brawny farmer. “Sam, you look to have the arms for the job. How’s about going over to that grove yonder and cutting me down eleven or twelve good-sized saplings?”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Sam. He took the axe and headed toward the stand of young trees. Buckshot tagged along, his nostrils flared for the smell of snake, ready to pounce on anything that might try to strike out at them.
The elderly woman then turned to Jeb. “We’re gonna need some vines, too,” she told him. “To tie the saplings together with. Grapevine would be best, but honeysuckle will do if you can’t find it.”
Like his father, Jeb set out in search of the materials they would need for the raft. A half hour later, they were again gathered on the bank of the swamp. Jeb had returned with several coils of thick grapevine that he’d found growing in a wild briar patch a hundred or so feet away. Sam had done his part, too. Soon they had laid out ten saplings that the farmer had chopped down and stripped of their branches. Roscoe helped lash the saplings together tightly with the grapevine, while the Granny Woman cut a deep notch in a sour gum tree nearby and, sticking a piece of hollow cane into the notch, let the sap flow into an empty tin can. Soon, she was kneeling over the raft, pouring the sap into the cracks. When they were finished, they laid the raft upon the water and watched it for a moment. It floated there, showing no evidence of leaking. Apparently, the sap had served its purpose well.
They ate a quick lunch of leftover possum stew and corn pone, then carefully mounted the raft. It creaked beneath their combined weight and, at first, Jeb was sure it would cave in and sink. But it proved to be sturdier than he expected. Once they had spread out on the crude platform, the raft found its balance and complained no more.
“Ya’ll ready?” called the Granny Woman, who sat at the front of the raft.
The others nodded silently. The old woman motioned to Sam, who stood at the rear of the raft, holding a long pole he had fashioned from one of the spare saplings. The big man stuck the pole into the murky water and, touching the muddy bottom with the end, pushed them away from the shore of tall reeds and cattails. Soon, they were gliding smoothly across the swamp, the front of the raft parting the covering of algae like the bow of a ship.
For a half hour, they traveled the length of Adder Swamp without incident. Once or twice, cottonmouth snakes approached the raft, their pale mouths gaping, eager to bite those who stood or sat upon the platform. But Buckshot and Midnight discouraged their intentions and they passed the raft by, looking for less troublesome prey.
The sun was high in the sky and the air was sticky and humid around them, when the first sign of menace showed itself. Jeb was talking to Roscoe, when he heard a loud buzzing near his ear and felt a sharp sting at the back of his neck. “Ouch!” he yelled and slapped at his nape, which was already sprouting hair in defiance of the shearing Mr. Drewer had given him a couple of weeks ago.
“What is it, son?” asked the Granny Woman, turning concerned eyes toward the boy.
“I don’t know,” said Jeb. “Something bit the fire outta me.” Then he looked at the palm of his hand and his eyes widened at what he found there. It was the crumpled body of a mosquito, but not like any he had ever encountered before. This one was a good three-inches in length and its body was an ugly bluish-black color.
Before Jeb could yell out a single word of warning, they found themselves in the middle of a full-scale attack. A heavy swarm of the huge mosquitoes dive-bombed them, stinging them upon necks, faces, and arms, then rising back into the stagnant air. The four on the raft cussed and slapped at the vicious insects, while Buckshot and Midnight howled and yowled, nearly driven mad by the merciless assault.
It wasn’t long before Jeb was covered with the wicked things. He could hardly see or breathe; they were so thick on him. Then, when he was certain that they would smother the very life out of him, he smelled an odor like burning cedar. One by one, the mosquitoes began to leave his body and take flight. A minute later, he stood up and looked around. The buzzing swarm was high-tailing it toward the west as fast as their wings could take them.
“What happened?” he asked. “What made ’em leave?”
He turned his eyes to the center of the raft and saw that the Granny Woman had set a small cloth bag on fire. A plume of thick black smoke rose from the flaming bag, filling the air above the raft.
“They can’t stand the smell of it,” the old woman told him. “Just some cedar shavings, dried moss, and skunk hair, but it’s like a poison to them skeeters. That’s why they left so fast.”
Once they were sure that the mosquitoes were gone for sure, the Granny Woman kicked the burning bag into the water and, taking her satchel, attended to the others. She took put a jar of strong-smelling salve and began to spread it on he inflamed bites left by the giant blood-suckers. “This’ll take down the swelling and kill any sicknesses them skeeters might’ve been carrying. Wouldn’t want any of us to come down with typhoid or malaria, that’s for sure.”
After the Granny Woman had doctored them all—the dog and cat included—she returned to her place at the head of the raft. Sam continued to work the pole, propelling them forward across the still water.
They had traveled a good mile farther into the swamp, when they reached an open stretch of water that was totally devoid of algae or dead stumps. Jeb stared ahead and saw—or thought he saw—the ripple of a current in the water. But, just as quickly, it was gone and the surface grew completely motionless again.
Roscoe failed to see the shimmer on the water, but still he seemed to sense that something was amiss. “We’ve got trouble coming,” he said softly. “I can feel it in my bones.”
“So can I,” replied the Granny Woman, her ancient eyes staring across the water. “Just keep your wits about you and stay calm.”
