Sarah McClanahan blinked her eyes in the dappled sunlight of a cool Kentucky morning. The covered wagon heaved and swayed through the Red River Gorge as a wilderness unlike anything words could draw stretched out ahead. Forest niches me-andered here and there; the untamed river ambled in and out of sight as they passed through the valley of Big Turtle.
"Ma, why couldn't I bring my doll?"
Her daughter Cassie's question jolted Sarah back to reality.
"We had no room for her in the wagon, honey. We'll get you another one when we get to our new home.”
How do I tell her the truth?
"When? I want her now!"
"I don't know when, Cassie. Soon I hope."
Glancing at her husband, Effird, she saw a big bovine face un-marked by any intellectual function. His slit-like eyes, a cloud of hazel with bushy cinnamon-colored eyebrows, formed a perfect furrow that followed their downward turn. His big, meaty nose hooked over his liverish lips in an unsuccessful attempt to mask his overbite. Screaming red hair, thin on top, hung straight down into a greasy jagged line. From his flabby upper arms to his assless trou-sers, his face reflected the rest of his body. Stone cold and stoic, he sat beside her, oblivious to anything but his selfish desires as he worked a grass straw up and down the gap between his front teeth as they bounced along. Around the top of his hat, brown sweat stains formed rings. His sticky claw-like fingers gripped the reins. "Don't look at me," he remarked. "We meet up with th’ wagon train day after tomorrow. I ain’t got no idea what happens after that." "Ma, I want her now!" "Can't you hobble her lips? This trip’s gonna be a long sapping one, and I don't want her snivelin’ all the way," Effird said in his strong Irish accent as he set his jaw hard. "She's eight years old for God's sake, Effird." "Don't sass me, Sarah. I said shut her up. If you can't, I will." As she turned her head the other way, she knew Effird pos-sessed a big hole where his heart should’ve been. Bitterness, boil-ing inside of him all the time, was always present. What came over her when she hitched herself up with him? "Maaaa, I miss my dolly!" Cassie squalled. "Sshh, Cassie. Come sit in my lap, and we'll sing a song." "You won’t do no such thing. Both of you shut yer mouths an’ this trip’ll be easier," Effird hollered as their wagon hit a wash in the path. "Dammit, we’re gonna lose a wheel before we even git started." "Effird, watch your mouth in front of Cassie. It's not Christian to say those kinds of things." "Don’t preach to me. I shoulda left both of you behind and gone west alone. I ain't gonna stand fer no lip! I wish I’da just tak-en th’ rail and left th’ two of you in Slade.” …show more content…
Afterward, she lived alone on the farm, unafraid, because she knew how to shoot a shotgun and wouldn’t have thought twice about popping someone between the eyes. She also kept a razor-sharp double-bladed Kentucky toothpick in a leather sheath in her pocket. A knife could be a girl’s best friend.
However, a destitute hollowness lived inside of her, thanks to Uncle Buck. Day and night it gnawed at her, twisting her gut so hard that vomit sometimes erupted without notice. When she closed her eyes to sleep, terrifying dreams grappled her. As she fought demons that flitted in and out of her head, most nights found her sitting in the wooden rocker by the fire.
A handful of neighbors checked on her after her ma died. Bear-ing gifts of homemade jams, jellies, bread, sugar, flour, cornmeal, and quilts, the wives tried to be sociable, while their nestlings of-fered entertainment by chasing each other around the barn and hol-lering like banshees. A feeling of thankfulness enveloped Sarah when everybody left. Her lack of social skills didn’t allow her to enjoy company. She soon became known far and wide as a cur-mudgeon who was tetched in the head.
On their last visit, she overheard a conversation that neighbor Polly Kershaw and her husband John carried on as they drove away from Sarah’s
"Ma, why couldn't I bring my doll?"
Her daughter Cassie's question jolted Sarah back to reality.
"We had no room for her in the wagon, honey. We'll get you another one when we get to our new home.”
How do I tell her the truth?
"When? I want her now!"
"I don't know when, Cassie. Soon I hope."
Glancing at her husband, Effird, she saw a big bovine face un-marked by any intellectual function. His slit-like eyes, a cloud of hazel with bushy cinnamon-colored eyebrows, formed a perfect furrow that followed their downward turn. His big, meaty nose hooked over his liverish lips in an unsuccessful attempt to mask his overbite. Screaming red hair, thin on top, hung straight down into a greasy jagged line. From his flabby upper arms to his assless trou-sers, his face reflected the rest of his body. Stone cold and stoic, he sat beside her, oblivious to anything but his selfish desires as he worked a grass straw up and down the gap between his front teeth as they bounced along. Around the top of his hat, brown sweat stains formed rings. His sticky claw-like fingers gripped the reins. "Don't look at me," he remarked. "We meet up with th’ wagon train day after tomorrow. I ain’t got no idea what happens after that." "Ma, I want her now!" "Can't you hobble her lips? This trip’s gonna be a long sapping one, and I don't want her snivelin’ all the way," Effird said in his strong Irish accent as he set his jaw hard. "She's eight years old for God's sake, Effird." "Don't sass me, Sarah. I said shut her up. If you can't, I will." As she turned her head the other way, she knew Effird pos-sessed a big hole where his heart should’ve been. Bitterness, boil-ing inside of him all the time, was always present. What came over her when she hitched herself up with him? "Maaaa, I miss my dolly!" Cassie squalled. "Sshh, Cassie. Come sit in my lap, and we'll sing a song." "You won’t do no such thing. Both of you shut yer mouths an’ this trip’ll be easier," Effird hollered as their wagon hit a wash in the path. "Dammit, we’re gonna lose a wheel before we even git started." "Effird, watch your mouth in front of Cassie. It's not Christian to say those kinds of things." "Don’t preach to me. I shoulda left both of you behind and gone west alone. I ain't gonna stand fer no lip! I wish I’da just tak-en th’ rail and left th’ two of you in Slade.” …show more content…
Afterward, she lived alone on the farm, unafraid, because she knew how to shoot a shotgun and wouldn’t have thought twice about popping someone between the eyes. She also kept a razor-sharp double-bladed Kentucky toothpick in a leather sheath in her pocket. A knife could be a girl’s best friend.
However, a destitute hollowness lived inside of her, thanks to Uncle Buck. Day and night it gnawed at her, twisting her gut so hard that vomit sometimes erupted without notice. When she closed her eyes to sleep, terrifying dreams grappled her. As she fought demons that flitted in and out of her head, most nights found her sitting in the wooden rocker by the fire.
A handful of neighbors checked on her after her ma died. Bear-ing gifts of homemade jams, jellies, bread, sugar, flour, cornmeal, and quilts, the wives tried to be sociable, while their nestlings of-fered entertainment by chasing each other around the barn and hol-lering like banshees. A feeling of thankfulness enveloped Sarah when everybody left. Her lack of social skills didn’t allow her to enjoy company. She soon became known far and wide as a cur-mudgeon who was tetched in the head.
On their last visit, she overheard a conversation that neighbor Polly Kershaw and her husband John carried on as they drove away from Sarah’s