Page 55 of In These Hills

Calla eased the chickens into the hot water, then lifted them out a minute later, patted them dry, and handed one to Josephine by the legs.

Calla chuckled. “City girl through and through.”

“Yes, but I can learn. Just tell me what to do.”

Calla demonstrated, and Josephine followed suit, starting with the wing feathers, then moving to the breast, back, and legs. The sensation was strange as was the experience, but the conversation between them felt like second nature.

After a few minutes, Calla inspected her work. “Not bad for a first timer. Now let’s finish these at the worktable, then put them in the springhouse till it’s time for roasting.”

After breakfast, Josephine washed the last of the dishes and carried the heavy wash bucket down the back steps. She dumped the dirty water into the field grass, then paused to rub her shoulders and lower back. She smoothed a hand over her abdomen. The biscuits and gravy she’d eaten a while earlier, while delicious, had left her a little queasy.

Her thoughts turned toward home, as they often did. To Sarah and her fellow suffragists. To all she’d been forced to leave behind, and to how betrayed they would feel if they knew what she was doing now.

She stared across the fields toward the heavily wooded hills a hefty stone’s throw away, the soothing murmur of Mulberry Creek carrying on the air. The sweet warble of birds in the trees drew her gaze upward. The cool morning air was damp, and gray clouds gathering in the west promised yet more rain. But it was the mist rising from the hollows like torn tufts of cotton lifting on unseen wings that tugged at something inside her.

As backwoods as this place seemed, there was no denying its beauty. Despite that, the helplessness she’d fought to keep at bay crept closer. As did the unsettling sense that Dodge Coburn could see straight through her.

Whoever did this to you should be whipped.

His comment had shaken her in the moment, and it did again. He hadn’t said “Your husband should be whipped,” but that whoever had done it should be. Did he not believe she was married? If so, that could prove troublesome. She would need to be more guarded in his presence, and somehow convince him her story was true.

Just then she heard someone coughing, or gagging more like. Concerned, she scanned the field around the house and the slope toward the creek but saw no one. Feeling the minutes tick past, she emptied the last of the water in the bucket and turned back toward the house.

The salve Calla had given her to apply each morning and night still hadn’t dried, and the air felt chilly on her face. The concoction, its scent unappealing, did seem to be helping. Her skin was healing. Yet in some ways the injuries looked even worse now—the wounds tightening and drying at the edges, dark crimson scabs forming over the deeper cuts.

“You decided who you’re going with this morning?”

Josephine turned to see Miss Mary approaching from behind, handkerchief in hand. She hadn’t noticed her leave the house. Josephine glanced again toward the creek, then back, wondering if it was Miss Mary she’d heard earlier.

“Makes no difference to me,” Miss Mary continued. “Go with me and my sister Ophelia and her husband, or with Calla. Both churches teach the Word. That’s what’s important.”

Josephine took a fortifying breath. “Miss Mary, I’m sick and tired of your coercion and have decided not to go, and you cannot force me to do otherwise” was what she wanted to say. But, of course, she couldn’t. Miss Mary held the balance of power.

“I’ll go with Calla this morning,” she responded, though the last thing she wanted was to sit through a sermon as a man went on about God’s loving plans for her life. If this was the Almighty’s loving plan, she definitely thought she could improve on it.

“As I said, matters not to me.”

Josephine waited for Miss Mary to catch up to her. The woman looked a little pale, tired shadows beneath her eyes. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

“Fine as rain. Now we both best hurry so we’re not late.” Miss Mary hastened her steps and disappeared around the house.

Josephine climbed the back steps, her mind jumping to what Miss Mary’s ailment could be. If it was an ailment at all. She left the wash bucket to drain on the deck and found Calla at the worktable finishing up preparations for Sunday dinner.

“I’ll be ready to go right after I get the flour and spices mixed. I’m glad you’re going with me this morning.”

“Thank you for asking me.”

Calla paused. “You don’t have to put on a face for me. I can tell you ain’t keen on it. You only doing it ’cause of Miss Mary.”

Josephine hesitated. “It has nothing to do with you, or your church.” She gave a little shrug. “I’m just not . . .”

“On good speaking terms with the Almighty?”

“Something like that.”

Calla’s expression softened. “We’ve all been there, so you ain’t alone. And we won’t stay long after. I gotta hurry back to finish dinner.”

“I wish I could help you more with the meals. It’s a lot of work.”