Page 6 of Where the Rivers Merge

Jewelweed (Impatiens capensis), also known as touch-me-not, is found in the moist, shady woodland edges and stream banks of the ACE Basin. It is known to be a natural remedy for symptoms of poison ivy and oak, and stinging nettle.

1908

Mayfield loomed large in the distance, sitting on the hill. Its multiple redbrick chimneys rose high above the tree line. I was cradled in my father’s arms, secure in the scents of his leather and sweat and the gentle rocking of the bay as we rode at an easy gait. Despite the warmth of his arms, however, I shivered, knowing what faced me inside those stately walls.

When we drew close, the back door sprang open and my brother came bolting out, calling my name. Heyward was tall for ten years old, and his long legs covered the distance in no time.

“Lizzie!”

His voice mingled joy with worry, and hearing it, my heart filled with love for him. Heyward resembled my father with his blond hair and piercing blue eyes. His shoulders were already beginning to broaden.

He reached up to catch the reins our father tossed. “You okay?”

His eyes searched my face.

I nodded, my throat dry.

Behind him, my younger brother, Lesesne, leaned against the house door, watching. Lesesne’s hair was wispy, near white, and fell low over his forehead, shadowing his eyes. Scarlet fever ran through the family years ago, and the fever hit Lesesne hardest. He barely survived and grew up a sickly child. He was shorter than most boys his age. Though small, he had a way about him that made him seem older. I reckon it was his eyes. When he looked at you in a certain way, there was a coldness that set one ill at ease.

Daddy swung his leg around and slid off the horse. He was a big man, with shoulders like a mountain, but he moved as smooth and swift as any stallion. I felt his strong hands grip my waist, and with one swing, my feet hit the ground. Immediately Heyward’s arms wrapped me in a bear hug.

“Let loose, Heyward,”

I cried. “I can’t breathe!”

Heyward released his hold but kept his hands on my shoulders as he stared into my eyes. I was surprised to see his were as watery as a summer lake. I couldn’t remember ever seeing my big brother cry except for the time Daddy had to put his horse down.

“If you run off like that again, I’ll whup you,”

he said gruffly.

Though Heyward was only two years older than me he sometimes acted more like my father. In addition to teaching me how to swim, Heyward helped me muck the stalls in the mornings, took me riding, and taught me the trails and which critters and snakes to be wary of.

“I didn’t run off,”

I said, pushing Heyward off. “I got lost.”

“Same difference.”

I didn’t think it was at all the same, but I said nothing because Daddy’s hand was on my shoulder, gently pushing me toward the house.

“Time to pay the piper,”

he said. “Your mama’s waiting on you.”

Lesesne smirked as I passed him into the house; we both knew what was coming. As I walked up the long flight of stairs, my legs felt as weightless as they did in the murky river. But I pushed on, following my father.

Upstairs, we each had our own room, including Mama and Daddy. We kids ran in and out of our three rooms, but we entered Mother’s inner sanctum with trepidation. She often closed her door to us. When I asked Clementine why, she told me Mama was a fragile sort and needed her quiet time.

At the end of the hall, my mother’s bedroom door was now closed. Daddy and I stood before the door and my heart took to hammering.

“Go on in,”

Daddy said in a low voice.

I gave my father a pleading look, but he opened the door and gave me a gentle nudge. The curtains were drawn, and the bedroom was as gray as dusk. I stepped forward, my eyes fixed on the four-poster bed. Mama was lying there, propped on pillows like the Queen of Sheba in the stories she read to us. Her long black curls fell over her shoulders and her arm covered her eyes like she was sleeping. When the floor creaked under my foot, Mama moved her arm from her face and her gaze captured mine. For a moment neither of us moved. Then, in a swoop, Mama was on her feet, rushing to my side to engulf me in her arms.

“Baby girl,”

she crooned, near hysterical, rocking me from side to side. “Sweet baby girl.”

I closed my eyes, encircled by the smell of roses. My stiff bones relaxed, and I leaned into her softness. For a precious moment, I felt safe. Then, just as fast, the moment ended. Mama pulled back abruptly. Opening my eyes, I saw in her face the shift of emotions, as quick as flicking a switch. I braced for the onslaught.

“Where’d you run off to?”

Mama demanded. “I’ve been worried sick. We all were. The whole town is out looking for you. Reverend Sykes is offering prayers. I don’t know how I’m going to thank them.”

She put her hands to her cheeks and shook her head.

“I got lost,”

I mumbled. I’d lost count how many times I’d said those words, and each time they felt more and more feeble.

Mama’s eyes flashed. “Lost? You’re always running off somewhere like a wild thing, paying no mind to who might be worried. Selfish child. Did you think about how I’d feel?”

Her hand slapped her chest. “I’m a wreck! I thought you were hurt. Or worse. I daren’t even say the words.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry!”

she cried and shook her head with disgust. “You’re always sorry. Do you know all my guests left? My weekend was ruined! And you’re sorry.”

As her gaze raked over me, I felt my skin prickle. I knew what attack was coming next. “Look at you,”

she said, her tone laced with disdain. “You look like a ragamuffin. Your gown is torn and muddy. And your hair . . . I swear you’re going to kill me with that hair.”

I looked down. I had my mama’s hair.

“Always in knots,”

she said. “It’s a gift to have those curls but look at you. A rat’s nest. Day after day, I beg you to brush it, to be ladylike. But you never do.”

“No, Mama,”

I cried. I hated to see her upset. To be such a disappointment to her.

Mama turned her head to call out, “Clementine!”

Clementine, who had been hovering in the hallway, stepped into the room cautiously. “Yes’m?”

Mama fired off orders, waving her hand dismissively as though shooing me from her sight. “Take this child and give her a good bath. She’s filthy. And wash. That. Hair.”

She grimaced. “See if you can do anything with it.”

Daddy, who’d been standing nearby during the onslaught, suddenly stepped closer. “Sloane, you ought to give her the bath. After what she’s been through.”

“What she’s been through? Don’t you mean what I’ve been through?”

Then, looking at me, she gave a parting shot. “I know you do this deliberately. Do you hate me to vex me so?”

I buried my face in Clementine’s chest and shook my head as she wrapped her arm around my shoulders. She smelled of biscuits.

I could see Daddy’s fists forming at his thighs. “You’re talking crazy, now,”

he said. “Eliza didn’t get lost to vex you. That child spent the night sheltering from the storm. Alone. We’re lucky, damn lucky, she’s alive. Do you think how scared she was? If you were any kind of a mother, you’d smother her with kisses, not scold her.”

Mama rose up, facing him like a bantam rooster. “How dare you!”

Clementine swiftly led me from the room, closing the door after us. We all knew the shouting would continue for a long time and the best thing was a safe retreat. When I passed the boys, Heyward was looking out for me. He gave me a reassuring smile. Lesesne was lying on his bed with a pillow over his head, drowning out the sounds of Mama and Daddy’s fighting.

Clementine hummed loudly as she ushered me into the washroom. “I got everything ready. The water’s heated nice and warm. Go on, now. Climb in.”

I sat in the big clawfoot tub, silent and slump shouldered, clasping my knees close to my chest as she poured cupful after cupful of steaming water over my head. My tears mingled with the cascading water. Clementine lathered up Castile soap and, with firm hands, began washing my hair, using her fingers like a comb to gently pull the soap through the strands.

“Child, don’t you fret. There ain’t no blame in being lost.”

Her voice came from her like a song. “We’re all grateful you’ve been found, safe and sound. A biddey biddey like you could get hurt in the woods.”

“I weren’t afraid,”

I told her.

“Well, you should be. Lots of things to be afraid of out there.”

She shook her head.

“I’ve never been that far out before,”

I confessed. “I just ran and ran like the devil was chasin’ me. I’ll ask Heyward to teach me the way to and from Wilton’s house.”

“That’s good.”

I turned in the bath to face Clementine. She was kneeling beside the tub, her muscled arms resting on the porcelain. Steam rose up to frame her round face, tightening the curls that escaped from the bun at the nape of her neck.

“Clementine,”

I said with a hint of accusation. “Did you know Wilton has a little girl? Same age as me?”

Her face broke into a smile. “Why sure I did.”

“Well,”

I sputtered, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why would I tell you?”

I couldn’t believe she was asking me that. “Because I would have a friend!”

Her face softened. “So, you and Covey are friends now?”

I nodded, thinking how Clementine knew the girl’s name. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to allow Clementine to scrub my head. “She’s the one who found me in the tree hollow.”

My words tumbled out as fast as the water flowing down my shoulders. I told her all about waking up confused in the tree hollow, meeting Covey, seeing Wilton’s cottage for the first time, how I felt brave jumping in the river, the smoke signal, and finally how Daddy and Wilton came to fetch me.

“Now that’s a story you’re going to remember all your life, I reckon.”

“I still can’t figure why you didn’t tell me about Covey.”

“I knew you’d find each other when the time was right.”

“Who takes care of her?”

Clementine chuckled low in her chest. “Covey takes care of herself. She as bright as a shiny penny. Wilton, he checks on her, of course. And I go to their house most every day on my way home. I make sure they have provisions and I bring dinner on days I have extra.”

She chuckled again. “Which is most days. Anyhow, they do just fine. Now tilt your head back.”

She rinsed my hair with warm water that smelled of apple cider vinegar and herbs that would help take out the tangles.

“Clementine, what happened to Covey’s mama?”

“That’s a sad story. Her mama died back when Covey was just a little child. A fine woman, she was. Cheerful as a spring day.”

Clementine sighed heavily. “Covey lost her mama and a brother that day.”

I blinked hard and tried to imagine what it would be like to lose Heyward. My heart twisted in my chest at the thought. When I wondered about losing Lesesne, however, I thought I could live on. The vexing question was: How would I feel if I lost my mama? “How come Wilton never got married again?”

Clementine wrapped me in a towel and guided me from the tub. “Sometimes a man don’t want to jump the broom twice. A woman neither. When you get older, you’ll come to understand that sometimes what you need most is a good friend.”

“You’re Wilton’s friend, aren’t you?”

A smile spread across Clementine’s face that made her look young somehow.

“Yes, I surely am. A good friend. To him and to Covey.”

She wrapped the towel tight around me then paused to look into my eyes. I felt the love clear to my bones. “You’re my good friend too.”

Her expression shifted and once again she was no-nonsense. “And you listen, hear? You’re a good girl. Brave and true. Don’t you be doubtin’ that.”

She cupped my face in her palms. “You’re right pretty too. You’re a child yet. You just got to grow into your beauty. You have good bones, nice teeth. And your eyes are like full moons. They lift one up just to gaze in them.”

She dropped her hands and continued drying my body. “Your hair is a bit wild and untamed, like you, but it’s beautiful. You’ll be glad for it one day.”

I blushed at hearing such compliments from Clementine. Rare as hen’s teeth.

Clementine raked my hair with a wide-toothed comb. The vinegar did its work, and I didn’t yelp and complain as much.

“Let’s you and me try to manage this better,”

Clementine said, studying my hair. “I sometimes braid Covey’s hair. Maybe we could try braids on you, to hold your hair when you’re outdoors. I think it’ll look real nice. And we’ll brush it, every night, till it’s soft as silk.”

“Aw, Clementine, you know I hate that stuff. And Lesesne will start teasing me that I’m a girl and ought to do girl things.”

“Honey, you are a girl. Ain’t nothing going to change that fact.”

She wrapped the towel around my body, then held me in my cocoon as she looked into my eyes. “We Gullah have a saying: Mus tek care a de root fa heal de tree,”

she said. “Child, I ain’t telling you to change all your ways. You are who you are. Be the girl you want to be. Don’t fight it. Show everyone what a girl can do.”

She straightened, releasing her hold. “That’s what I tell Covey.”

“You do?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Clementine returned to my side with a jar of her special ointment. She bent over my arm and, squinting some, began to gently dab salve over the long scratches. I watched, mesmerized. I couldn’t remember my mama ever doing that for me. I didn’t hold it against her. I just loved Clementine all the more for her tenderness.

Clementine spoke as she administered the ointment. “This here is jewelweed. It’s best for poison oak or poison ivy. You let it set for fifteen minutes. Don’t move, hear?”

“Yes’m.”

Then I asked in a hesitant voice, “What does Covey do?”

“Do?”

“. . . I mean, you know, about showing what a girl can do?”

Clementine kept dabbing. “Covey don’t have time to ask herself what does a boy do or what does a girl do. That child just does what has to be done.”

Her words stung more than the ointment. “So, what does she do?”

I persisted.

Clementine slowly put the lid back on the ointment. “Well now. . . . She tends Wilton’s sick birds. Cooks. Cleans. Minds the garden. When she has spare time, she goes into the woods. Trees, plants, critters—she knows ’em all. Goes out to ponder them.”

A smile spread across her face. “Wandering, she calls it.”

Wandering. My heart beat quicker. Just like me.

“But Covey’s mighty tidy about herself too,”

Clementine continued, getting back to the point at hand. “If that busy child has time to brush her hair, I reckon you can brush yours a mite more too.”

“I have my chores too,”

I said, feeling the need to remind her.

“I know. You a good girl.”

Clementine reached over to put her hands on my shoulders. Her look was tender. “Just sayin’ you can do all you want to do as a girl. Don’t try to be like your brothers, child. Be yourself. That’s enough.”