These Healing Hills Page 2

  “Ma says the Lord calls people home when he’s ready for them, and we shouldn’t look askance at the Lord’s doing.” The boy looked over his shoulder at her. “I get in trouble all the time asking too much about everything. Pa, he used to say I had a curious mind, but Ma gets worn out by my wonderings.”

  “That’s how you learn things.” Francine couldn’t keep from panting a little as she climbed behind Woody.

  The boy noticed. He looked stricken as he turned back to her. “Give me that case. My ma would slap me silly if she saw me letting you lug that thing and me with two free hands.”

  “Thank you.” Francine handed it to him. “But maybe you should just tell me the way now. You need to go on home before night falls so your mother won’t worry.”

  “Ma don’t worry none about me. She sent me up here to get some medicine for Sadie. That’s my little sister and she’s been punying around. The nurse over our way said she needed some ear drops she had run out of in her medicine bag. So I came on to fetch them. Sadie being the youngest and all, Ma babies her some. We all do. She ain’t but four, nigh on five.”

  “But it will be dark soon.”

  “Dark don’t fret me. I can find my way light or night. But Ma knowed I’d probably find a spot in town to spend the night ’fore I head on up the mountain come morning. Get me out of chores.” He grinned at Francine and turned back up the path. “I oughta be shamed about that with Ma having to do them, but I laid in wood for her this morn and she milks the cow most every night herself anyhow. She’ll have a list of chores a mile long to make up for me being late home, but she wouldn’t want me not to help one of you nurses. No sir. I’d get in way more trouble if I didn’t see that you made it to where you’re going.”

  “You don’t have any other brothers at home?” Walking uphill after him was easier without carrying the suitcase, but it didn’t seem to slow Woody down at all.

  “Nope. It’s just me and Sadie now. Ruthie, she went north to work in one of the airplane factories and Becca got married and moved over to a mining camp in Harlan County. Ben, he’s the oldest. He joined up with the army after Pearl Harbor. I been telling Ma I’m nigh old enough to go fight the Germans and the Japs too, but Ma don’t like hearing that. Says she’s busy enough praying that the Lord ain’t ready for Ben to go home with Pa.” He looked back at Francine again. “Ben’s the one what says I jabber like a jaybird. Guess you can see why now.”

  “I always liked jaybirds.” That made Woody laugh. “Where is your brother? In Europe or the Pacific?”

  “Europe last we heard. We get letters now and again, but places where he might be are all cut out of them. He’s a medic. Ma’s right proud that he ain’t just over there shooting people, but that he’s doing some healing too.”

  “That does sound good. I’ll add my prayers to your mother’s for his safety and that he’ll get home soon.”

  “That’s neighborly of you. I’ll tell my ma.”

  They stepped out of the trees to see the hospital on the side of the mountain. Not that big, but sturdy. Substantial and a little surprising. A road circled right up to its door. To the side was another building connected by a covered walkway. That must be where she’d be living for the next few months.

  She’d loved working with the mothers and babies back in Cincinnati. And odd as it was here on this mountain with the long-legged boy beside her, she was looking forward to learning how to catch those babies, as he had said.

  New life. And not just for the babies, but for her too. A new life in a new place. A window of opportunity for her to climb through. If only she could stop looking back at the door she had dreamed of walking through with Seth.

  After she thanked the boy, she watched him disappear back down the hillside. Then she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked straight toward the hospital doors.

  2

  June 11, 1945

  Ben Locke stared up at the stars glittering overhead, the same stars that spread across the sky over his Appalachian home. The moon rising later that night would spill light down on those hills the same as here in this country so far across the ocean. Not at exactly the same time, he supposed. Here it was already the deep of the night, while there twilight would just be settling in. He could almost hear the clang of his mother’s bucket as she headed out to the barn to milk the cow. The hens would be cackling as Woody checked their nests for eggs. Or maybe baby Sadie was old enough to do that now. Her fifth birthday was last week. She wouldn’t know her big brother when he got home.

  Just the three of them at home, unless Becca was visiting from the county over. Hard to think about Becca being a married woman when she was just a girl in pigtails last he saw her. Harder to think about never seeing his pa again. How could he go and drop down dead back there with his hands on the plow while Ben was here at war with bullets and shrapnel flying? It didn’t seem right.

  Not that he hadn’t seen plenty of dying. Some of them boys with the peach fuzz of youth on their cheeks. Not much older than Woody now. As a medic with his troop, he’d done his best to keep them alive until they got back to the doctors and the hospitals, but sometimes there was nothing to do but hold their hands and look them in the eye while they died. And hope you wouldn’t be next.

  Thank God the shooting was over here. He could lie out under the stars without worrying about incoming bombs or night raids. Hitler was dead. The Germans defeated. But he was still half a world away from home. And on the other side of the world in a different direction, the war raged on.

  Ben’s stomach clenched at the thought of being sent to the Pacific. The only place he wanted to go was home.

  His mother told him the mountains sent tendrils up out of the ground to wrap around a man’s ankles and keep him tied to the place. He hadn’t believed it then. Not that he didn’t love growing up on the mountain, even if a body had to work hard to scratch a living out of the stingy ground. But a boy could be free on the mountain. He had thought then that once he was grown, he could do what he wanted. He could pull his feet loose from those mountain roots.

  He’d never once thought that a war would yank him all the way across the ocean to Africa and France and Germany. Places he’d read about in schoolbooks but had no idea that he’d ever walk on their dirt. But a man had to stand up and be counted when war came calling. That didn’t keep him from wishing the war over. From wishing for home.

  He shifted on the blanket he’d laid out on the ground. Not the softest place, but at least out here he could breathe. His company had laid claim to a building, but too many people were stretched out end to end inside there, breathing the same air and some of them smelling up the place. After four years living in foxholes and crawling across whatever was in the way between you and the enemy, a good number of the men didn’t worry much about finding soap and water. More dirt would just be coming their way on the morrow.

  Paper crackled in his pocket. Woody’s letter. The boy was as much of a jabber box in writing as he’d been back on the mountain before Ben left for the army. Fifteen now. Eight years Ben’s junior. The kid wrote more than his mother did. Her letters were generally short, with a few lines about what she’d been doing, like planting beans or sewing a dress for Sadie. Then she always ended with the same words. We miss you, Ben. I pray every day for you and for the war to be over so you can come home. You take care of yourself, do your duty, and don’t forget us back home. Love, Ma.

  As if he could forget. Back home had stayed with him on the ship crossing the Atlantic and marched beside him every step since, through one battlefield after another. Back home was an ache in his heart that never went away.

  On the other hand, Woody’s letters were a full page, front and back, of scribbles about all kinds of goings-on. He put back home right in front of Ben’s eyes with his scrawled words. Ben sat up a little and pulled the letter out of his pocket. He unfolded it, but he couldn’t make out the words. He moved over by a fire one of the men had started up in the yard. He pok
ed the glowing coals until a flame flickered up and gave off enough light to see the loopy writing across the lined paper.

  Hello, Ben. I’m not married yet, but I guess I’m next in line after you since Ruthie and Becca done went and got hitched. I reckon you need to go first so you best come on home and start sparking some girl around here so I can have my turn. I turned fifteen back the first of June. Not that anybody hardly noticed with Sadie’s birthday coming up next week. Ma did make me a cake and I picked some ripe strawberries in the garden row. Bet you haven’t tasted a good strawberry since you left here.

  I reckon Sadie’ll already be five before you get this what with it having to get all the way across the ocean to you. She’s been a little puny with the croup, but a nurse has been coming up to see about her. The nurse says Sadie will probly get better when full summer gets here. Spring’s the worst time for croup, it seems.

  Speaking of nurses, I come across a lost one a couple weeks back. She tried to follow Jeb up the mountain to the hospital, but you know how Jeb is. You remember him, don’t you? Works some for Mrs. Breckinridge making rock walls and such. I help him now and again when Ma can spare me. That Mrs. Breckinridge has a thing for rock walls. Says they keep the mountain from sliding away and taking her house at Wendover with it. You might figure out why that works since you went off to Richmond to college that year before the Army. What with how Pa has passed on, I’m not expecting to get to follow in your footsteps there, but Ma makes me keep going to school here. I’ll probly be the oldest boy there come next school term. But Ma says Pa didn’t want none of us to go to the mines so we’ll have to learn how to do something else. I told her I can join the Army but she’s not too keen on that either.

  Anyway, if you remember Jeb, you can imagine how he wasn’t too worried about some brought-in woman tagging along behind him. He told me later she oughta kept up. But don’t worry. I knew better than to leave her stranded there in the woods. She’d come down from the north to learn about catching babies. While we were climbing up Thousandstick Mountain, I told her about you and how you always called me a jabber jay. Bet you thought I might grow out of that, but instead I just seem to be getting worse. Ma says maybe I’ll end up a preacher or a lawyer. Both of them have to have some ready words.

  Nurse Howard laughed about that jabbering and said she always liked jaybirds. She hardly talks funny at all. Not like those nurses from over in England. I’ve seen her a time or two since then and she always asks after you and says she’s still helping Ma pray you home.

  Well, I done jaybird pecked all the words I can fit on this piece of paper. Come on home as soon as they’ll let you.

  Woody Jabber Jay

  Ben folded up the letter with a smile and stuck it back in his pocket. Maybe Woody would turn out to be a preacher. Getting strange women to pray for him. Not that Ben was turning down any prayers. Not after what he’d seen in the war. He’d been raised on prayers.

  “What’s got you grinning so big, Locke?” Sergeant Wilkerson squatted down beside Ben next to the coals. “Some girl writing you love notes?”

  “Afraid not, Sarge. I don’t have a girl pining after me back in the States.” Ben gave a little laugh. “Just a letter from my brother.”

  “That’s better than some girl. Brothers won’t be writing you no Dear John letters.” Sarge poked at the fire with a stick. “How’s things in the hills of Kentucky?”

  “They’re making it. You ever been to Kentucky?”

  “Can’t say that I have.” The sergeant stared at the flames he’d stirred up. “Texas is my stomping grounds. Got a pretty little wife and a boy getting ready to start school next fall waiting for me there. Been way too long since I’ve seen them.”

  “The army ever lets us go, you ought to bring them to Kentucky. The mountains are extra pretty in June with the rhododendron blooming and everything green and growing.”

  “Right now any place in the good old U.S.A. sounds good.”

  Ben could agree with that. “You think they’ll ship us to the Pacific?”

  “Hard to know. But soldiers go where they’re sent.” The sergeant threw his stick in the fire.

  “Yes, sir.” Ben sat up a little straighter.

  Sergeant Wilkerson stood up. “But we wouldn’t mind it if they sent us on home, would we, Soldier?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You best get some shut-eye, Locke. None of us are going home tomorrow. That you can be sure of. You’ll have to pull duty somewhere.”

  Ben watched the sergeant disappear back into the house. He didn’t follow him. Instead he rolled up his jacket for a pillow and stretched out where he was. He’d slept in lots worse places in the last few years. And there on the ground with the stars overhead and Woody’s words bouncing around in his head, he could dream of home.

  3

  June 28, 1945

  “Fran! Fran!” Rocky Catlett raced into the gathering room where Francine had just slipped off her shoes and collapsed on the couch after her shift at the hospital. “Willie sent me to get you.”

  Francine sat up. “What’s happening?” She stuck her tired feet back into her shoes even before Rocky answered.

  “She says if you scrub up extra fast, you can assist with Tassie Jackson. She’s almost ready to deliver.” Rocky was even newer to the midwifery school than Francine, but they were both already getting hands-on experience assisting the other midwives.

  Francine forgot how tired she was as she followed Rocky back through the walkway to the hospital.

  Rocky looked over her shoulder. “Hurry, Fran! We don’t want the little fellow to get here before we get there.”

  Fran. Nobody called her Francine here. Not from the first minute she had shown up at the hospital. That night Willie, the nurse-midwife calling for her now, had met her at the hospital door and ushered her over to the nurses’ quarters at the Mardi house where several women were eating in a kitchen area. They got her a plate and welcomed her in, but even before she knew their names, they were changing hers.

  “Francine.” A woman, who looked older than the others around the table, narrowed her eyes as she studied Francine. “No, that won’t do.”

  “What’s wrong with Francine?” she asked.

  One of the other women spoke up. “Too fancy. Around here, you need a better name, Francine Howard. Everybody has one. Mine’s Thumper. That’s because I’m always banging on a typewriter up in the office. Lennie was the one who lowered that moniker on me, wasn’t it, Bucket?”

  Bucket and Thumper? Francine began to feel as if she had followed Alice down the rabbit hole to Wonderland. Eventually, she found out Bucket was Dorothy Buck, who was supervisor over the nurses, and Thumper was Lucille Hodges. But all that was later. That night her head was spinning as she tried to take it all in. Even Willie, who was trying to make Francine feel welcome, had a strong English accent that added to the strangeness of it all.

  Willie was the one to come up with the name suggestion. “We don’t have a Fran.”

  “Well, now we do.” The older woman slapped her hand down on the table like a judge deciding a case. “Welcome to the Frontier Nursing Service, Fran.”

  And just like that she’d become a new person. Fran Howard. She didn’t mind the name. Fran was much better than the Howie somebody suggested later on. But Fran was already on people’s tongues by then.

  Her mother would hate it, but then her mother was back in Cincinnati with her new husband. She wasn’t likely to ever climb Thousandstick Mountain to see Fran or Francine. She had written only once. A very stilted letter, since she was vehemently against Fran going off to what she called the wilds of Kentucky. A place where every man had a gun in one hand and a bottle of moonshine in the other. That was what she had harped on when she found out Fran had applied to the Frontier Nursing Midwifery School.

  “I have it on good authority that people down there don’t like strangers. They’re hillbillies, Francine.” She had stopped pacing in front of Fran to glare at
her. Since her mother barely topped five feet tall, she always made Francine sit down whenever she was lecturing about something so she wouldn’t have to look up at her. “Are you hearing what I’m saying? Hillbillies.”

  She spit out the word. Francine didn’t argue with her. She simply waited until her mother ran out of words, then finished filling out the application and sent it off. When the acceptance letter came, she ignored her mother’s tears and dire warnings and packed her bags. Because of the same tears and histrionics, Francine had kissed Seth goodbye and let him go off to war to find a different bride.

  Perhaps he would have anyway. Anybody could look at that picture Seth’s sister had and know he’d traded for a cuter model.

  Women weren’t models of cars to be traded, she reminded herself. They were to be loved and cherished. The way Mr. Jackson did his wife. The man stopped pacing outside the delivery room when he saw Fran and stepped in front of her.

  “The wife, she is going to be all right, isn’t she, Nurse Howard? She was punishing really bad before they took her back and the other nurse told me to stay out here.”

  He looked so upset that Fran couldn’t push past him, even if the delay might make her miss the birth. Mrs. Jackson had come to the hospital a week ago to be near the doctor when her time came since she’d had problems with delivering her first baby.

  “Better safe than sorry,” Willie had told Fran when she explained the case. “Most birthings do fine in the mother’s house. Actually better than fine, but a few cases call for more observation. Tassie Jackson is one of those.”

  Now Fran patted Mr. Jackson’s arm. “Nurse Williams and the doctor are taking care of Tassie. We’ll let you know how things are as soon as we can.”

  “I reckon there ain’t nothing for me to do but stand here and talk to the good Lord.” He looked worried again. “I ain’t always done what I oughta. Do you think the Lord will want to hear anything I have to say?”