He considered this, and I could tell he wanted to know justhow healthy.
“It’s only a color, Reverend. It’s not catching,” I said quietly, hoping to ease any discomfort they might be feeling—to escape the sudden worry crawling back over me.
Suddenly, his face spread into a widening grin as he reached over to pick up hisLouisville Timesnewspaper. “Now, wouldn’t that be something if a fellercouldcatch color. Imagine it would be quite a different world walking in all them shoes.” He wagged his head at the thought. “Effie will show you to our indoor facilities, where you can clean up before Sunday dinner.”
I followed her through the middle room. Their bedroom was spacious, and the bed snugged a papered floral wall with side tables holding electric lamps flanking it. A pretty chenille bedspread rested atop the mattress, tucked around fat pillows.
On the opposite wall, a fireplace fixed with a fancy bronze summer cover of an etching of a lady in a flowing gown surrounded by garlands waited for colder weather. The mantel held a photograph of the Claxtons holding a little girl, another of a married couple, and one of a young woman. A dark wooden armoire covered most of the wall next to their bed.
“That’s my daughter, Vesta. She married and moved way out to California but visits occasionally.” Mrs. Claxton beamed. “And this one here is my niece, Susan.” She lifted the photograph and showed it to me. The smiling woman wore a nurse’s uniform. “Her parents live down in Fishtrap, and the chile has always been like a second daughter to me. When Susan came to Louisville for her nursing studies, she stayed with us. We used to have us a Murphy bed in the living room where the bookcases are now.”
I could see the strong resemblance. “She’s a lovely woman and looks just like you, ma’am.”
“Susan comes over every Sunday when she’s not working at the hospital. She’s the nursing director,” Mrs. Claxton said proudly and brushed her sleeve over the glass and placed the frame back on the mantel. “They sure keep her hopping, but the next two Sundays, she’s off, and you’ll get to meet her.”
She moved over to the chest of drawers. “Don’t reckon you will with the weather being so hot, but there’s some quilts in the bottom if you get a chill.”
My gaze landed on the ornate hand-carved box with a glass lid atop the heavy piece of furniture. Inside, two death crowns rested on a sky-blue velvet lining. Mrs. Claxton pointed. “Those angel crowns were passed down to me and are from Mother and Grandma’s pillows.”
I pressed my lips together. Time would only reveal the prophecy of mine in Thousandsticks. For now, I was alive despite the demise of my freedom.But what about tomorrow? My husband and daughter? The babe?
“No doubt the angels took them straight to heaven.” She patted the box.
I was surprised. Not about the death crowns, as my kin called them, but that a reverend’s wife would take to such superstition.
As if hearing my thoughts, Mrs. Claxton said, “I believe He sends messages of comfort to those left behind.” She ran a gnarled finger alongside the framework.
She was hillfolk, and I know’d our people would proudly display the crowns discovered in homes after a loved one had passed. It was believed if you found a hard lump of the feathers knitted in the shape of a halo inside the deceased’s pillow, an angel had greeted the loved one upon death and spirited them to heaven.
Most claimed if you found double crowns inside, it took two angels to carry the person to heaven. Others believed that discovering the wreath of feathers for some less-deserving folks meant their sins had been forgiven.
Still, some held the notion that if you found the knotted halo inside a living person’s pillow, death was near.
I’d checked Mama’s pillow immediately after, only to find nothing. But then two weeks before Pa passed, I was changing his pillow slip and felt a lump inside and ripped it open. My hands had trembled as I inspected the perfectly formed wreath. Frightened, I’d burned the crown, pillow, and its tick down by the creek, then examined his new one daily until the night of the mine accident.
I’d kept the latest one of Pa’s locked in my trunk after his passing.
I fidgeted with my pillow stuffed with the prison belongings.
As if sensing my unease, Mrs. Claxton said, “Where are my manners. Let’s get you unpacked and freshened up before dinner, Cussy.”
Relieved, I followed her as she moved us into the kitchen. A pot of greens simmered atop the stove, and a shiny griddle and jar of hog fat rested beside it.
Clean white cupboards hung on the wall. A Maytag wringer washer on wheels shouldered a fat stove beside a bowleggedstanding icebox. I gawked at the machine’s wizardry and then turned to the rose-patterned dishes. They were placed neatly on an inviting large table circled by four wooden chairs, awaiting lazy talks that come after a satisfying meal.
How I missed those with Jackson.Lingering in the kitchen with each other, making easy talk about the land, the critters, and the latest news he’d bring home from town before the daily chores swept us back to the drudgery of work.
Mrs. Claxton motioned me to the right, where a narrow door was recessed into a wall, and said, “We’ve had plumbing for years now. You can freshen up in there.” She reached for my sack. “I’ll just put this on the sleeping porch. Susan should be here any minute.”
I hurried inside, wondering what the nurse would think of me—fretted if Susan would try to pry and poke at me like all the doctors and nurses had done over the years.
Twenty-Four
A lady closer to my age rose from the kitchen chair and extended her hand. “I’m Susan. Nice to meet you, Cussy. I was just telling Aunt Effie I’ve never been to Troublesome, nor met another like you in my nursing career.”
I dared not touch her hand and risk offending her. Instead, I offered a smile and mumbled apleased to meet you.
Mrs. Claxton said, “Have a seat, Cussy. Susan’s very interested in medicine and knows more than most of those biggety-britched doctors she works alongside.”
