weighed heavy in my hands. I slung it over my head. The room spun and thunder rumbled in the distance, shaking the floor of the house. The fog would come rolling in soon. I splintered my prison, spilling my sin all over his mama’s little rug, and I deeply regretted that.
The fog moved in at dawn, rolling into the open windows,giving me the feeling that I was living in a dream. I worked with efficient strength as the sun burned through. I fed the flames, leaping in the fireplace, until I finished. The flames of hell burned for hours, and then they died down to embers and became hot ashes, littered with a bright hot glow here and there. When they were cool enough, I sprinkled them over my garden plot, turning dirt as the moon rode the horizon. I would plant the seeds in neat rows. I would tend the garden, and then I would be free to leave.
His head was all that remained. Even fear, hate, and revenge couldn’t bring me to destroy his face. I pushed the head through a hole in the hollow tree on the edge of the woods. The moon slid into the tree line as I climbed the stairs to the bedroom. I slept as if I were a child in Mama’s bed.
Later that morning, I cleaned the cabin until the tips of my fingers peeled and cracked open, but still the rancid smell remained. I couldn’t scrub my sin away no matter how hard I tried. So I chose a big rug from the bedroom upstairs, dragging it in front of the fireplace. No matter how right my actions were, I was wrong. In my deed, I destroyed my life on that mountain, but at the same time, I became part of its soul. The mountain owned me and always would. It used me to take away the evil that haunted its people. Nellie died with Hobbs. Who was worse, me or him?
February 17, 1939
How long can I live with this deed? Where can I go from here? God, I know You don’t want to hear from me, but Hobbs beat me. You let him. He would have killed me. Freedom isn’t freedom aft er all. God, I’m not sorry. And that’s my sin. You don’t want to listen to me. I don’t blame You. I will live and walk this earth knowing that anyone can do bad things. I keep studying that old hollow tree. I loved him. Once upon a time Nellie loved Hobbs Pritchard.
Twenty
A person can tell how they’re loved by how much they’re missed when they leave this world. Three weeks after Hobbs’s life ended no one had asked a question; not one soul had come to visit. No one sensed his spirit had left the earth. Like a fool, I was still living in that house like I was stuck, like the mountain kept me prisoner. Time moved in and out as if all was good. My food was almost gone, but that didn’t much matter. I wasn’t hungry. I floated from one room to another trying to paint my deed as a good upstanding choice. The truth stared me in the face, cracking the mirror in our bedroom, a long deep slit from one corner to the other. But still I had no regrets. My feelings were sliced away. Hobbs stood in every shadow. His scent marked our bed. I burned the fine linens and closed the upstairs room. His laughter filled my waking hours. On more than one night, I searched for him by the hollow tree, but he wouldn’t show himself. Somehow he knew he had won with the fall of the ax.
I slept like a dead person. A weariness owned every bone of my body, and I took to feeling sick each morning. I walkedthrough my days losing count. One morning Jack came knocking at the door. I thought of sitting still. Maybe he would go away, but I knew he’d let himself into the house and find me sitting on the sofa. I went to greet him.
His forehead wrinkled. “You don’t look good, Nellie. I should have been up here before now.”
I swallowed the rank taste of hate in my mouth. He had no business caring. “I’m fine.” Past him was the ever-changing valley and of course the turned dirt of the garden.
“You don’t look yourself.” He held me with his stare.
I almost laughed in his face for being a fool, a stupid fool who couldn’t see
The fog moved in at dawn, rolling into the open windows,giving me the feeling that I was living in a dream. I worked with efficient strength as the sun burned through. I fed the flames, leaping in the fireplace, until I finished. The flames of hell burned for hours, and then they died down to embers and became hot ashes, littered with a bright hot glow here and there. When they were cool enough, I sprinkled them over my garden plot, turning dirt as the moon rode the horizon. I would plant the seeds in neat rows. I would tend the garden, and then I would be free to leave.
His head was all that remained. Even fear, hate, and revenge couldn’t bring me to destroy his face. I pushed the head through a hole in the hollow tree on the edge of the woods. The moon slid into the tree line as I climbed the stairs to the bedroom. I slept as if I were a child in Mama’s bed.
Later that morning, I cleaned the cabin until the tips of my fingers peeled and cracked open, but still the rancid smell remained. I couldn’t scrub my sin away no matter how hard I tried. So I chose a big rug from the bedroom upstairs, dragging it in front of the fireplace. No matter how right my actions were, I was wrong. In my deed, I destroyed my life on that mountain, but at the same time, I became part of its soul. The mountain owned me and always would. It used me to take away the evil that haunted its people. Nellie died with Hobbs. Who was worse, me or him?
February 17, 1939
How long can I live with this deed? Where can I go from here? God, I know You don’t want to hear from me, but Hobbs beat me. You let him. He would have killed me. Freedom isn’t freedom aft er all. God, I’m not sorry. And that’s my sin. You don’t want to listen to me. I don’t blame You. I will live and walk this earth knowing that anyone can do bad things. I keep studying that old hollow tree. I loved him. Once upon a time Nellie loved Hobbs Pritchard.
Twenty
A person can tell how they’re loved by how much they’re missed when they leave this world. Three weeks after Hobbs’s life ended no one had asked a question; not one soul had come to visit. No one sensed his spirit had left the earth. Like a fool, I was still living in that house like I was stuck, like the mountain kept me prisoner. Time moved in and out as if all was good. My food was almost gone, but that didn’t much matter. I wasn’t hungry. I floated from one room to another trying to paint my deed as a good upstanding choice. The truth stared me in the face, cracking the mirror in our bedroom, a long deep slit from one corner to the other. But still I had no regrets. My feelings were sliced away. Hobbs stood in every shadow. His scent marked our bed. I burned the fine linens and closed the upstairs room. His laughter filled my waking hours. On more than one night, I searched for him by the hollow tree, but he wouldn’t show himself. Somehow he knew he had won with the fall of the ax.
I slept like a dead person. A weariness owned every bone of my body, and I took to feeling sick each morning. I walkedthrough my days losing count. One morning Jack came knocking at the door. I thought of sitting still. Maybe he would go away, but I knew he’d let himself into the house and find me sitting on the sofa. I went to greet him.
His forehead wrinkled. “You don’t look good, Nellie. I should have been up here before now.”
I swallowed the rank taste of hate in my mouth. He had no business caring. “I’m fine.” Past him was the ever-changing valley and of course the turned dirt of the garden.
“You don’t look yourself.” He held me with his stare.
I almost laughed in his face for being a fool, a stupid fool who couldn’t see
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