[Troublesome Creek 01] - Troublesome Creek by Jan Watson

Emilee liked to tell stories about when Copper and John were little. Copper’s favorite was of when they were babies, and though John was older by a good six months, she learned to walk first. Aunt Emilee said he would sit like a fat king and hold out his hand for Copper to help him up as she toddled by. If she didn’t do what he wanted, he would grab her ankle and drag her down beside him.
    Now Copper loved to go to Aunt Emilee’s to help with the Pelfrey’s latest babies, twins like Willy and Daniel. There were twelve boys, counting John, in their family, and their house was full of fun. Unlike her own house, she thought, which was full of work, work, work.
    As if to prove her point, Mam called from the front porch, “Laura Grace, please finish your breakfast and come help with the wash.”
    The big, steaming copper kettle sat over a fire Willy was stoking, fueled by small twigs and hickory logs. Mam was stirring the first load of dirty clothing with a long-handled laundry paddle. Nearby, the washboard sat in a smaller tub of water. Copper took over stirring while Mam used the board. Mam rubbed a pair of Willy’s pants up and down its ribbed front, applied lye soap to a stubborn grass stain, then doused the pants under water before scrubbing them again. Finally she placed them on a steadily growing mound of laundry waiting to be placed in the boiling wash water.
    The sun was beginning to warm the day, and Copper paused to take in the beauty of the moment. God is good . She wished she could be up in the mountains in the distance, where the same sun that warmed her shoulders was burning off the fog that rose like gauzy gray ribbons of smoke.
    “Mam,” Copper said, “look how pretty the mountains are this morning.”
    Mam stayed hunched over the washboard. “Stop daydreaming.”
    Stung, Copper fished whites from the kettle with the wooden paddle and dropped them into a galvanized tub of clean rinse water. As Mam dumped shirts, church pants, skirts, and aprons into the wash, Copper rinsed the whites, wrung them out, and hung them to dry on the clothesline in the sunny side yard. Forgetting Mam’s rebuke, she hummed a tune as she worked.
    Soon the line was full of shirt—tails up, seam to seam—pegged to the sagging cord with wooden pins that Daddy had whittled. Copper folded sheets in half and hung them with matching pillowcases. Towels, tea towels, and a tablecloth merrily embroidered with butterflies and daisies stretched to meet nightgowns that danced in the breeze beside bashful pantalets and camisoles. She laid sturdier articles on the grass, artfully arranging Daddy’s work shirts and overalls with his long brown socks until the yard looked like an army of resting headless men.
    While Mam and Copper were busy with the wash, Willy and Daniel were charged with keeping the dog and chickens out of the yard until the clothes dried. They stood like soldiers, wooden play guns poised, ready to chase any creature foolish enough to venture into their territory. Copper thought washday must be their favorite day of the week. They loved to pester the chickens.
    Quietly, Willy waited while a hapless hen came close, pecking and scratching at the ground. Then, screaming like a banshee, he charged the poor thing, causing her to spread her wings, trying to fly as she ran awkwardly back to the barnyard.
    “I got one, Daniel,” he crowed. “I sure scared that Johnny Reb back where he belongs.”
    “Willy,” Mam said, “for heaven’s sake, just shoo the chickens. Don’t frighten them to death. And where did you get the term Johnny Reb ? I don’t think that was in last week’s history lesson.”
    Copper listened to Mam admonish her little brother. She knew Willy had picked up more than one expression Mam wouldn’t like while playing after church. It seemed the men and boys of the community would never let that terrible war die. It had been years since the last battle, yet still the boys chose sides as Yankees or Rebels