After the Storm

Chapter Five

I t was past noon before Jared made it back to the cabin with Dr. Sloane and Miss Mozelle in tow. Together, he and the doctor had gone to find the midwife, in spite of Dr. Sloane’s protests that he didn’t need “that strange woman” meddling in his work.

“Alisha wants her there,” Jared had told the ornery man. And after meeting the distinguished Dr. Joseph Sloane, Jared wanted a second opinion himself.

To his credit, however, Dr. Sloane had cleaned up and sobered up with record speed. And the man didn’t seem to have a problem walking the half-mile distance to Alisha’s cabin.

“Been walking this mountain since I learned how to walk,” Dr. Sloane had informed him as they skirted their way past deep rutted puddles and fallen limbs. “Walking is good for your health,” the doctor had reminded him.

Jared hadn’t lost the irony of that reminder. He wanted to retort with, “Well, alcohol is not good for your health or for anyone living on this mountain who needs your help.” But something had stopped him. Something in Dr. Sloane’s demeanor set Jared to wondering why the man did drink. Jared decided he couldn’t be cruel to someone who was willing to go out after a storm, with a hangover, to help another human being. Maybe Doc Sloane had some redeeming qualities after all.

And then there was Miss Mozelle. If she had a last name, no one had bothered to give it to Jared. Even though she had to be older than the doctor by twenty years, she didn’t look as old and wizened as Dr. Sloane. But then, Jared didn’t think anyone could top the doctor’s sallow, sunken face.

The midwife had skin the color of a rich mocha coffee, and eyes as brown and rich as tree bark. She wore several knitted shawls and scarves, a bright red one on her braided head, a green-and-yellow one around her shoulders and another longer thick black one for warmth. Underneath them, she had on a long denim gathered skirt and sturdy hiking boots. And she carried a large tapestry bag, her walk proud and queenlike. She also stood at least a half a foot over the shrunken Dr. Sloane.

“I was born and raised in that house,” she told Jared as she pointed to her large square gray-washed house with the long wide front porch. “My great-grandfather was a full-blooded Cherokee. He married a freed slave woman and they had seven children. My father was a hardworking, proud man who farmed the land down in that small valley beyond our house, and my sweet mother was a school-teacher to the black and Native American children on the mountain.”

Miss Mozelle was obviously very proud of her mixed Native and African-American heritage. Interesting African masks were hanging on the porch walls, mixed in with Cherokee artifacts that seemed to depict a story of some sort. The colorful masks, broken arrowheads and shiny beads, all strung and hung with leather, glinted and swayed as the weak sun tried to break through the cold, dark skies.

Not knowing what to say to the intimidating woman, Jared nodded toward the mountains off in the distance, past a plummeting drop-off that fell to a deep gully and flowing stream below. “You have a splendid view.”

“Gets even better this time of year. Like being smack in the middle of a flower garden on top of the world,” she said, her laughter as thick as dripping syrup. “Right up here close to the good Lord. I like it that way.”

Dr. Sloane snorted his disapproval then, and he was still arguing and snorting now, as they stepped up onto Alisha’s cabin porch. “You can stay right here until I call for you, woman,” he told Miss Mozelle with a lift of one bushy brow.

Miss Mozelle stopped to catch her breath, her keen eyes centered on the doctor. “I aim to go in there and tend to Alisha.”

“Not if I don’t need you, you aren’t.”

“I don’t care about you or what you need, silly man. Alisha done told me she wanted me by her side when that baby comes. And that baby done come, and I’m going in there to see to both the mother and the child. Now go on in, or step aside.”

Dr. Sloane stood up ramrod straight, that faint glint of rage back in his eyes. “Why, you—”

“Uh, excuse me,” Jared said, getting between these two very stubborn forces. “Could we concentrate on Alisha and the baby? I’ve been out all morning, trying to round both of you up, and I’m worried about her being in there all by herself. Can we go inside, please?”

Both of them turned at the same time and ran into each other.

“After you,” Dr. Sloane said, his words stretched with sarcasm and annoyance as he gave an elaborate bow to Miss Mozelle.

“Why, thank you,” Miss Mozelle replied, sweeping past him like a regal queen dismissing a lowly subject. Then she opened the door and hollered, “I’m here, baby. Miss Mozelle gonna take care of you, precious.”

The doctor snorted and scowled, but he hurried to catch up. “That woman thinks she knows everything there is to know in the world, especially about mothers and babies. And considering that she never married and had any, it’s a puzzle as to why these women around here trust her at all.”

Jared shook his head, wondering what kind of time-warp he’d walked into, and wishing he’d had the travel agent book him a safe, cozy cabin in Vail or Aspen, or a nice warm spot on an exotic island, instead of here in the North Georgia mountains. These people didn’t live by the rules and standards of the outside world. Here on this remote mountain, they seemed to live in a world of their own. And they seemed determined to keep the real world out of their affairs.

Very tight-knit and closemouthed, these villagers.

When he entered the tiny cabin, he saw just how tight-knit. And just how suspicious. The room was full of people, mostly women and a few men looking uncomfortable and closed, while the women fussed and gushed and fluffed and shifted. But all of that stopped when Jared walked in. The room went silent as all faces turned to him. Jared nodded a greeting then looked around.

There was food everywhere. Bread, cakes, pies, soup, a pot roast, a big batch of chocolate chip cookies—Jared couldn’t believe the amount. Alisha would never be able to eat all of this.

“Hello,” he heard a timid voice say from just inside the hallway toward the bedroom. “You must be Jared.”

Jared turned from the stares and nods of the people gathered in Alisha’s cabin, to find a young, blond-haired girl staring up at him. A very pregnant, young, blond-haired girl. Thinking he sure wasn’t ready to assist in yet another delivery, Jared could only nod. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Well, what took you so long?” the girl asked, one skinny hand on the hip of her baggy jeans.

Jared took off his cap, then unbuttoned his jacket, suddenly hot and stuffy. “I…I had to find the doctor and Miss Mozelle and, well, it’s still wet and messy out there.” Not used to having to make excuses or give explanations, Jared grew silent and went into a staring war with the defiant young girl.

“We’re glad you’re here now, mister,” another feminine voice said from the kitchen.

Jared looked up to find an older replica of the pregnant girl staring at him. The woman’s hair had probably been blond once, but it was now a wash between gray and gold, and pulled up in a haphazard bun around the top of her head. Her clothes looked old and washed-out, too. A faded polyester dress printed with huge cabbage roses covered her sunken frame. In spite of her plain, wrinkled face, her smile was fresh and sincere.

“I’m Loretta Wilkes, and that’s my daughter, Rayanne,” she said, waving a hand toward the hovering girl. “Rayanne, quit staring and go see if Alisha needs anything.”

Rayanne shrugged and turned to head toward the bedroom.

The woman’s eyes swept over Jared’s face again. “We just came straight here from the church services.”

“I heard the singing as we were walking back,” Jared replied, remembering the sweet, clear sound of “Shall We Gather by the River.”

“In spite of the storm and the cold, we had a good turnout for Easter Sunday.” She laughed then, pushing at loose strands of hair, one hand going out to a man who approached with a plate of pie. “Reverend Stripling, this is Jared Murdock, the man who helped Alisha last night.”

The jovial young-looking reverend pumped Jared’s outstretched hand, balancing his pie with the other hand. “Nice to meet you. We sure appreciate what you did for Alisha.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, too,” Jared said. “Both of you.” Then he extended a hand to Mrs. Wilkes. “I guess I need to get the key to my cabin from you.”

“Yes, got it right here,” Mrs. Wilkes said, digging into a big blue vinyl tote bag that stated I Love Quilting on its side. Producing the key, which was attached to a white furry rabbit’s-foot keychain, she said, “We don’t get many visitors this time of year when it’s still chilly out. Most folks like to come in late spring or during the summer—family-type outings.”

Jared saw the curiosity in the woman’s hazel eyes. “I don’t have family,” he said, his tone hesitant.

“That’s a shame,” Loretta replied. “Me, I got family to spare. I’m kin to most of the people on this mountain.” She laughed again, the sound like a soft melody.

“And it looks as if a lot of them are here with you today,” Jared said as a small boy of about seven whizzed by him, a blue plastic Richard Petty Nascar race car in his hand.

Loretta grabbed the boy without batting an eye. “Robert, slow down there.” After giving the boy a stern warning, she turned back to Jared. “Yes, sir. Sorry I had to bring along the two younger ones. Can’t leave them with their older brother. They fight too much.” She motioned around the room. “That’s my husband, Tate. He’s holding our boy, Joshua. And I think you know Mrs. Curtis from the store.”

Mrs. Curtis smiled brightly, but didn’t bother to carry on any conversation. When Jared smiled back, the older woman quickly averted her eyes.

“And Langford and Dorothy Lindsay—they run the Hilltop Diner, across from the store.”

Trying to be polite, Jared waved and spoke to the big-chested black man and his petite, smiling wife as they lifted their hands and nodded toward him, their direct stares intimidating and obvious. Jared felt as if he were being put to some sort of test. They didn’t like having an outsider among them.

But in this case, they couldn’t turn him away. Jared had helped Alisha. And since the whole mountain seemed to love and admire Alisha Emerson, these people had to be grateful and courteous to him.

For now, anyway.

The rest of the day went by for Alisha in a blur of shapes and sounds. Visitors came and went, careful not to linger too long or get too close to the tiny newborn baby.

Dr. Sloane examined her, then declared she was doing okay, all things considered. And he pronounced little Callum as being near perfect—no problems there either that he could tell. He seemed to want to linger, his eyes centered on the baby, his expression solemn and quiet, even though his hands shook. Alisha could clearly see that he had a hangover. Again.

Then Miss Mozelle gave Alisha another examination, using her own unique brand of medicine—part folklore and old wives’ tale, part prayer and healing, and always, always, with the firm belief that God was in complete control.

Jared walked in just as Miss Mozelle lifted Callum out of his tiny cradle and held him to her heart. Amazed, Alisha watched as the woman gently rocked the baby back and forth, cooing to him in some ancient dialect that had a soothing rhythm to it. Jared shot Alisha a puzzled, questioning look, but remained silent and respectful. Miss Mozelle had that kind of effect on people.

“She’s saying a Cherokee prayer for him,” Alisha explained in a soft whisper. “To ward off evil.”

Miss Mozelle kissed the baby, then put him safely back into his little bed, seemingly satisfied that she’d done her job.

“Take this here,” she told Alisha later, handing her a packet made of cheesecloth tacked together with string. “It’s wild cherry bark. Brew you some tea—it’s good for the blood. You need to rebuild your blood now, honey. Lady’s slipper leaves will do the same, but I ain’t got any of them right now.” Then she’d wagged a long finger. “And remember, if the colic takes little Callum, just wrap a warm towel around his tummy. That’ll soothe it right away.”

“Thank you, Miss Mozelle,” Alisha said, grateful for the kind woman’s knowledge and wisdom. Alisha felt safe with Miss Mozelle. But sometimes she also felt raw and exposed to the woman’s keen intuitions. From the moment they’d met, Miss Mozelle had watched her closely, as if she already knew why Alisha had come home to Dover Mountain. Alisha had confided in the wise older woman, to a certain degree, at least. There were some things she couldn’t share with anyone, not even Miss Mozelle.

“You got some healing to do, don’t you, precious? That’s all right by me. Me and the good Lord, we’re watching out for you. You can rest easy now.” Miss Mozelle told Alisha that later in the afternoon, after she’d sent all the well-wishers on their way, telling them mother and child needed to rest.

All the well-wishers but one, of course.

Jared Murdock was still here. Maybe Miss Mozelle had finally met her match.

As if Alisha’s thinking about the man had summoned him, he appeared in the bedroom door with a soft smile on his rugged face. “Did you get any rest?”

Alisha stretched, then grinned. “Yes, I did, actually. Callum had his lunch feeding and then we both had a nice nap. But I think I need to get up and move around some more now though. Miss Mozelle—”

He held up a hand. “I know, I know. She said you had to keep the blood circulating through your system. Said—let’s see if I can remember—the only way to get over being weak is to get on with being strong.”

Alisha had heard that same advice many times since coming here. And she supposed that was exactly what she’d done all along. She’d been weak once, but now she had to be strong. For her son’s sake.

“Miss Mozelle is an amazing woman,” Alisha said as she slowly eased up off the bed. Taking the thick floral wrapper that Jared handed to her, she allowed him to help her pull it over her flannel gown.

“Everyone seems scared of her,” Jared replied, his touch on her arm comforting and warm.

“As well they should be. Miss Mozelle believes in the old ways of the mountain people.”

“I kind of gathered that.”

“She’s had a hard life here on the mountain, but she’s educated. Her father, Jasper Cooleridge, wanted all of his children to have an education, but especially his firstborn. She attended Spelman College in Atlanta.”

Jared looked surprised. “Wow, that’s one of the best African-American colleges in the South.”

Alisha laughed, fluffed her braid. “Yes, and she’d be the first to tell you that.” Clasping her hands, she continued. Telling him about Miss Mozelle was much safer than talking about herself. “Her father died the year before she started school, but her mother urged Miss Mozelle to go on to college. She was studying to become a doctor—something unheard of for a black woman in that day and time—then her mother passed away during Mozelle’s junior year at college. Mozelle didn’t hesitate. She came home to Dover Mountain to take care of her three younger siblings.

“Once they were old enough to look after themselves, she finished up at Spelman, then went to nursing school. She became certified as a nurse/midwife at Emory University, while she worked part-time as a waitress in a diner near the college. She could have worked in Atlanta, but she came home to the mountain.”

“Is she married?”

“No, she never married. Doesn’t have children, either. Her life was always devoted to her family. These last twenty years have been devoted to helping Dr. Sloane deliver babies safely. Actually, she helps him with most of his patients.”

Alisha wondered if that’s how her life would be here on the mountain. Would she spend the next thirty-five or forty years alone the way Miss Mozelle had?

“You look so sad,” Jared said, bringing her mind back to the woman who’d helped her heal.

Alisha managed a smile for him, and reminded herself that she was safe and she had a beautiful baby boy. She wasn’t alone. She had nothing to complain about. So she went back to talking about her friend. “I just admire her so much. She sacrificed a lot. She’s worked hard all her life, fighting for the things she believes in. She marched in Selma, Alabama, with Dr. Martin Luther King.”

Jared crossed his hands over his sweater. “Impressive. No wonder she doesn’t take any bunk from anyone.”

“No. She’s strong and sure, and she’s done a fine job with her two younger brothers and her sister. Their parents left them a trust fund for college. But Miss Mozelle never used that money. She worked her way through nursing school and midwife certification. She gave her money to the other three for their education. Now they’re all married with children and good steady jobs, scattered around the country. And they send her monthly checks—which she puts away in case they need the money back someday.”

“Why’d she become a midwife?”

“She doesn’t talk about that very much, but I think she wanted to do something to help the poor women on this mountain. I think she relies on her instincts, her knowledge, and the old ways a lot. All the women on the mountain trust her to do the right thing—if Miss Mozelle can’t help you, she’ll get you to the nearest doctor or clinic so you’ll be all right.”

“Well, I’m glad she’s here,” Jared said as he sank back against the window frame. “I have my doubts about Dr. Sloane.”

“He’s a kind soul really, once you get past the crusty exterior.”

“And the alcohol on his breath.”

Alisha decided not to tell Jared all there was to know about Dr. Sloane. The man was so tormented, nothing could reach him now. Best to be discreet and not gossip about the doctor’s private miseries. “He’s very efficient when he’s sober,” she said. “But then, even though they constantly argue and fuss at each other, Dr. Sloane and Miss Mozelle have helped out everyone on Dover Mountain at one time or another.”

“And they haven’t come to blows yet, I guess. That’s good,” Jared replied, his brain awhirl with more questions. “Only, you got stuck with me instead.”

“We did okay,” she said, her gaze moving over to the baby sleeping within her reach. “Miss Mozelle says Callum is twice blessed.”

“Oh, really, how so?”

She lowered her head, embarrassed even to say it. “She says he has me for a mother, and now he has you for a protector.”

Alisha could tell this made Jared uncomfortable, too. He stood up straight, stared at the baby, glanced back at Alisha, then settled back on the wall again, obviously at a loss for words.

“You don’t have to listen to that kind of talk,” she said, a tiny bit of disappointment moving through her system as she eased toward the hall. “I love Miss Mozelle, but she can be a bit overwhelming if you don’t know her. Just remember, she has a heart of gold, but not even she can predict the future. She’d tell you herself only God knows that. She’s the one who got me back involved in the church.”

At his look of interest, Alisha wished she hadn’t mentioned that. Jared Murdock didn’t need to know the details of her life.

“So you attend regularly then?”

“Yes,” she said, deciding this was a safe topic. “I attend and I volunteer two afternoons a week as a mentor for the youth group. Those teenagers need some positive guidance.”

He helped her make her way across the den toward the fireplace. “What do you do to help them?”

“I mostly listen,” Alisha said, her body protesting the short walk, her legs wobbly and weak. “You know, teenagers are the same anywhere. The big city, a small mountain town. It doesn’t matter where they live or how much money or social standing they have, they all have the same problems.”

“Such as Rayanne’s being pregnant?”

She nodded, one hand on the pain in her back as she eased down into a chair by the fire. “Yes. Poor girl. Sixteen and having a baby. And the father refuses to marry her. I could just shake that Jimmy Barrett. He sure led her right down the garden path.”

“I take it you don’t approve of the boy.”

She glanced over at Jared, not sure what to expect since she didn’t know where he stood in the faith and good works department, but all she saw in his dark eyes was polite curiosity. “No, I don’t approve of him. He’s twenty-three years old and a charmer. He makes pretty good money doing yard work and working on cars, but he’s lazy and only wants to have a good time, spends his spare time on the computer, e-mailing his friends, and he spends most of his money on music, beer and video games. He hasn’t offered either marriage or money to Rayanne.”

“So you counsel her?”

“I try. She doesn’t want to give the baby up for adoption, but her parents are having a hard time as it is. Her father, Tate, worked at the local outlet store and manufacturing company at the base of the mountain, but then it shut down and put a lot of people out of work, including him. Now they just clean and maintain the few cabins we have left to rent to tourists and take on odd jobs here and there to make extra money.”

She could almost see his mind churning with more questions. “What type of manufacturing?”

“Carpets and drapery. It was a spin-off plant from the Dalton carpet factories, and an outlet store for carpet and drapery samples on the side, but the owner didn’t have very good business sense. He was the last descendant of the original settlers on the mountain, the last of the Dovers. He lived in a fancy house in Dalton, and only came here to check on things when it was absolutely necessary, but he just couldn’t get it together and he ran up a lot of debts trying to keep the factory running. Then things got pretty bad with the economy and they had to shut it down.