Granny's Little Girl

“You see her, don’t you?”

It was her father.

“Yes.”

“Did you know she made Harry call her every day so she’d know you were all right? She made him do that until you were eighteen. It was the only way she’d let me sign the contract.”

“No. Harry never said anything.”

“She made him write that into the contract, too. Didn’t want you to think she didn’t trust you.”

“Why now, Daddy? Why did she have to go now?”

“I don’t know, Sweetheart. I don’t think we’re supposed to know, really. It was just time for her to go home.”

“But I could have done so much for her, now. I’m getting a lot of money for my records and concerts. I could have given her anything she wanted.”

“Granny already had everything she ever wanted. She raised her three granddaughters into women and saw them start good lives of their own. That and that little cabin up on the mountain are all she ever cared about.”

“The cabin where we used to play house?”

“Yeah. That’s where I was born. She ever tell you that?”

“No. She just said that’s where she and Grandpa lived before they built the house here on the farm.”

“Well, that’s were she brought me into the world. After you left, she had me fix it up. At least once a week, Granny’d go up there and spend the day, well, up until about a month ago, anyway. She said it was her first home, and she might go back and live there someday.”

“I think I’ll go up there tomorrow. I know all these people mean well, but….”

Her father cradled her in his arms and pulled her cheek to his shoulder.

“I know Honey. I miss her too.”

The trees and underbrush closely bordered the narrow depressed track on the forest floor, After a half-hour of following the little timeworn trail, Christy walked out onto a small flattened clearing on the side of the mountain.

The little cabin was there, it’s logs green with moss and the metal roof and its crooked stovepipe rusted red by the years of exposure. Blue jays flitted from branch to branch of the knarled old apple trees by the porch, and scolded her for intruding on their territory. Christy heard running water and walked across the clearing to the little pool she remembered from her childhood.

From the side of the mountain, the sparkling streams of several crystal-clear waterfalls trickled over the rock and merged into a shallow stream. Rocks had been placed across the channel to form a small pool and more birds fluttered in the shallows as they bathed. Pointed depressions in the bank of the pool were witness to the deer that came here to drink every morning and evening. Christy dipped her hand into the ripples and then tasted the clean, clear, spirit of the mountain in the water

The door opened easily in spite of the creak of the rusted hinges. Christy walked back through fifty years into the life Granny had left when she moved to the valley.

Here and there, Christy saw the marks of her father’s repairs, but for the most part, everything looked much the same as she remembered. The small wood cookstove had been blacked recently and some fresh-split wood filled the rack beside the boiler. There were new ashes on the grate when she opened the door. Christy pulled a chair from the rough-hewn table and sat down. She was ten again. There was the rough-hewn double bed her grandpa had made. One of Granny’s colorful quilts covered it and another was folded at the foot. She and her sisters had used that same bed when they played house. June and Evelyn took turns at being the father and mother, and always used the big bed. Christy, being the youngest, was always the baby, and slept on the trundle bed that hid beneath. The cabinet was still there too, it’s flour hopper and sifter on one side, and plates and cups on the shelves. She recognized the pattern as Granny’s “everyday” dishes.

Christy rubbed her finger over the tabletop and felt the deep scratch she’d made on the corner when she was five. Granny hadn’t spanked her for that. She’d just said that Grandpa was watching and would be sad his table had been scratched. Christy had felt more hurt than if she’d been beaten, and had started to cry.

Funny, she thought, what you remember from your childhood. She remembered Granny saying that, and knowing Grandpa would be sad, but couldn’t remember ever knowing her Grandpa. She remembered her mother a little, but that was really more of a feeling than a true memory. Memories of Granny were sharp, clear images from her past, images so real she could see them if only she closed her eyes. Granny had been her mother. Granny was the one to which Christy turned for advice and comfort. Granny always seemed to understand. A tear trickled down Christy’s cheek. Granny was…, she was…, gone.

“Oh, Granny. Why?”

Tears became sobs, and the sobs sapped the strength that had kept Christy going through the last few days. She leaned on the table, her face on her arms, and cried until the stress of the day before finally overtook her and she fell asleep.

It was nearly dark when Christy woke. There was no use trying to negotiate that winding trail at night. She’d be lucky not to get lost or fall down and hurt herself. The display on her cell phone said “no service”. Christy hoped her father wouldn’t worry. After a search, she found some candles and a box of matches. In the dim light, Christy pulled back the quilt and climbed into the bed. The feather tic felt new and fluffy. Her father must have replaced the old one she remembered. It had been lumpy and smelled like mildew.

The chattering of the bluejays woke her the next morning. She’d forgotten how cool mornings were on the mountains. Christy shivered until she finally got a fire started in the stove and jumped back under the quilt. The crackle of the flames would have eased her back to sleep if it hadn’t been for the knock on the door.

“Christine, it’s Daddy. You OK?”

Christy opened the door.

“Yeah. Sorry I stayed here last night. It got dark, and my cell phone doesn’t work up here.”

“I wasn’t too worried. You may be a star, but you’re still a farm girl. I figured you stayed up here. This feller was worried, though, so I brung him up to see that you’re all right.”

A familiar face peeked inside the door.

“Terry? What are you doing here? I thought you and the guys were doing practice cuts.”

“They are. I got a friend to sit in for me for a couple days. I can catch up when I get back.”

Her father cleared his throat.

“Uh, Christy. I need to get back home. There’s still some things I got to take care of…, Granny’s stuff, and all. Oh, the town women made so much food I’ll never eat it all. I brought some up with me. Figured you might want some breakfast. Uh, yer feller there can stay with us if he wants. He can use June’s room.”

Christy watched her father start back down the mountain. In a few minutes, he was swallowed by the trees, and the little clearing and cabin were hers again, except for Terry.

“OK, Terry. What gives? How come you’re here and not in Nashville? Harry sent you up here, right?”

“He’s pretty worried about you. Said he hoped you were taking it OK.”

“Well, you can go tell him I’m fine, and I’ll be back in Nashville in a week or so. I’ll call him.”

“Wow, this is a neat cabin. How long’s it been here?”

“Terry, you aren’t listening. I said I’d call him. You can go.”

“I heard you, but it’s a neat cabin. Who built it?”

At first, Christy was aggravated that Terry wouldn’t leave, but talking about anything was better than thinking about Granny and crying. She explained the history of Granny’s first home as best she remembered. All the while, Terry was prowling around, examining the building and furniture.

“You see this corner joint? It took a real craftsman to make that. See how it locks itself together? And look at the adz marks. Your grandpa knew what he was doing all right. Don’t see logs that smooth very often in these old cabins.”

“So how do you know so much about log cabins? You’re a bass player, not a carpenter.”

“I wasn’t always a just bass player. I used to work construction during the day and play in a band at night. One job, we moved one of these cabins. Took it apart and numbered everything, and then moved it to a park and put it all back together. It got me hooked. That’s where I go when we’re not playing. I find someplace with a cabin and go figure out how it’s made. You’d be surprised at how many ways there are. Someday, I’m gonna build me one of these and sit back and watch the world go by. Well, when we’re not playing, anyway.”

They made lunch from the food her father had brought. It was that afternoon, while they were sitting on the bank of the pool, that Christy realized it was nice having Terry there. Even though he kept going on and on about tools and how her grandpa must have used them, that took her mind off her loss. She also remembered that it got dark quickly on the mountain, and they needed to start down.

“Terry, we need to leave, or we’ll get caught up here like I did yesterday.”

“Do you think we could come back tomorrow? I’d like to draw out your cabin and the way it’s made. Maybe take some pictures, too, if that’s OK.”

The morning sky threatened rain, but they climbed the trail again. Christy carried Terry’s drawing things and camera. He carried Granny’s picnic basket and a gallon jug of tea. The air was still chilly when they sat the jug in the pool to stay cool. Terry didn’t have a jacket.

“Damn, it’s cold up here in the morning.”

“You should be up here in winter if you think it’s cold now.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. I think it’s probably pretty, though, with snow on the ground and all the pines around.”

“Yes, it is. When I was a little girl, I always wanted to have Christmas up here. Never did, but I thought it’d be fun. I’ll go start a fire. Then you can get warm. There’s a pot in the cabin, and I brought coffee. I’ll make us some.”

Terry was absorbed by the cabin, and Christy was amused. He was like a little boy with a new bike. By lunch, he’d measured and drawn out the cabin, and was working on how it was put together. He drew the details of each piece of joinery and made notes. When it was time to leave, he was still measuring and drawing.

“Terry, if I were a jealous woman, I’d be jealous of this cabin. It’s all you’ve looked at since we got here.”

“Well, I told you I was hooked. Suppose we could come back again? I just need to draw a few more things.”

By lunch the next day, Terry had finished his drawings and taken three rolls of pictures. The morning had turned warm, and they ate lunch on the bank of the pool. Christy poured Terry a second glass of tea, put the jug back in the water, and sat down on the blanket.

“Well, you get everything you need?”

“Yeah, I think so. Thanks for letting me do this, and for being so patient.”

“That’s OK. It helped me, too. If you hadn’t been here, I’d have been thinking about Granny all the time, and….”

“And?”

“I’d have been crying.”

“That’s only natural. You miss her. It’s hard to lose someone that close. Harry said she was almost your mother.”

“Mamma died when I was two. Granny was all I had for a mother. She took care of me, and…, and taught me…, and wanted me to sing…, and….” Christy sniffed. “Oh, Terry…, I didn’t even get to tell her goodbye or thank you or that I loved her or anything. It hurts so bad.”

Terry put his arm around her when she began to sob, and pulled her cheek to his shoulder.

“It’s OK, Christy. Let it go. It’ll help.”

When she stopped crying, Christy looked at him, then kissed him on the cheek.

“Thanks, Terry, for putting up with that. It was really sweet.”

Terry looked at her for a moment. Christy saw the indecision in his eyes. She was about to ask what was wrong when he kissed her on the lips. It was a soft kiss, a gentle kiss, the tentative kiss of a man afraid to do more, but unable to do less. When Terry released her, he smiled.

“I didn’t put up with anything. I care about you.”

“Since when?”

“Since I first saw you. I was in the studio one day when you were just eighteen and still singing bluegrass.”

“I guess I don’t remember that. The first time I saw you was when you auditioned for Harry.”

“I was up in the booth, waiting for my session. I didn’t come out; I just watched you through the glass. You were pretty awesome, by the way.”

“If you liked me so much, why didn’t you come say hello?”

“You were really young and I didn’t figure Harry’d let me get close. I’m a lot older than you.”

Christy laughed. “You’re how old, twenty-five, twenty-six? My God, you’re right; that’s ancient.”

“I was twenty-four, then. There was a big difference between eighteen and twenty-four.”

“Harry must not think you’re too old for me. He sent you up here, didn’t he?”

“Harry didn’t send me. I told him my dad got hurt and I had to go home for a while. I just wanted to see if you were all right.”

“Terry, if you feel that way, why are you always so standoffish?”

“I’m just a bass player. You’re the singer. Singers and bass players don’t…, well, we’re kind of in two different worlds, aren’t we? I mean, how would it look? I’m just a hick from a town in Alabama that’s too little to even be on the map.”

“Terry, the girl on this blanket with you is not some special person. I was raised dirt-poor right here on this farm. I never had much of anything until I started singing. Just because I have some records out doesn’t mean I’m special. I’m just lucky.”

“Christy, you are a special person to me. You sing like a dream, and you’re beautiful, and…,I think I love you. I have since the first day I started in the band. “

Christy kissed him, but this kiss wasn’t tentative.

Terry drove back to Nashville the next morning. Christy took the rest of the week to help her father sort through Granny’s things and to see her sisters and their families. After church on Sunday, she drove back to her hotel room in Nashville. Christy still hurt, but she knew it would be better to work than just sit and think about Granny.

Terry wanted to keep their relationship quiet, so they would steal away separately and meet at some park or a restaurant to be together. On stage, they tried to keep everything as it had been before Granny passed away, but it was difficult. Every time Christy turned around to look at the band, there would be Terry, grinning from ear to ear. When the curtain fell, the hug she gave Terry lasted longer than those she gave the other guys. If they noticed, they didn’t say anything.

Terry gave her an engagement ring the night of their last concert before Labor Day. Christy was ecstatic. She kissed Terry until he pushed her away in order to breathe.

“If I’d known you were gonna suffocate me, I’da thought twice about givin’ it to you.”

“You just wait until we’re married. Oh, I’m so happy. June and Evelyn both have families. Now I’m going to have one, too.”

“Well, you haven’t said yes, yet.”

Christy melted into his arms and kissed him again.

“How could I say no to a man I love so much?”

On the twentieth of December, Christy’s sisters walked down the white runner at the May’s Peak Church of Christ, and were followed by Terry’s four-year-old niece. Little Cindy was very concerned about her job, and delicately dropped the pink rose petals from her little basket. Christy’s father took her arm, kissed her on the cheek, and walked her down the aisle as the Crestwood Quartet sang, “Oh Promise Me”.

Terry was waiting at the altar beside Pastor Jackson and grinning for all he was worth. When the Quartet finished, Pastor Jackson stepped forward.

“Who gives this woman in marriage?”

Her father’s voice was faltering and Christy could see the tears in his eyes.

“Her mother, her Granny, and I do.”

Christy kissed him on the cheek, and walked to stand with Terry before Pastor Jackson and the congregation. They pledged to love, honor and cherish until death did they part.

The women had outdone themselves with the reception. After all, not only was one of their own being married that day; there would be famous artists from the worlds of gospel, bluegrass and country music attending as guests, and they intended to show these celebrities how a wedding reception was done. At three, Christy and Terry drove to her father’s farm in her car. She was proud of the “Just Married” written on the back window.

Just as the sun was setting, they stood nervously at the door of Granny’s cabin on the mountain.

“Christy, you sure this is all right with you? We could still go somewhere else.”

“No, Terry, it was a great idea. I didn’t think you remembered when I said I wanted to spend Christmas up here sometime. I can’t think of anyplace I’d rather be.”

“Well, I guess I’ll carry you over the threshold then.”

“That’s supposed to be for our first home, but I’d still like it if you did.”

Christy’s father had banked a fire in the stove that morning, and Terry stirred the coals to life while Christy lit several candles and placed them on the table. The cabin began to warm with the heat from the stove, and the candlelight lent an air of intimacy. They ate dinner from the food they’d brought and then sat at the table talking. At ten, Terry banked the fire and added a couple logs to last through the night. Christy blew out all the candles except one. They met beside the bed. When Terry took her in his arms she was shaking.

“Not afraid of me, are you, Christy?”

“No. Just a little nervous. I, uh, never did this before.”

“Neither have I. You got any ideas?”

“Well, Granny told me about it, and June and Evelyn, too.”

“What did they say?”

“June said you would kiss me first.”

“I know how to do that. We’ve done it before. Like this?”

Christy’s heart raced as his lips touched hers. She put her arms around Terry’s neck and pulled her breasts against his chest.

“Mmmm. That’s what she said it’d feel like, only that was better.”

“And then?”

“Then we get in bed.”

“Shouldn’t we get undressed first?”

“What Granny said comes next is gonna be pretty hard if we don’t.”

Terry lifted her sweater over her head and tossed in on a chair. Christy shivered at the cooler air and unbuttoned his shirt. His bare skin felt so wonderful against her palms, almost as wonderful as his hands felt on her back. Terry fumbled with the catch on her bra and then her breasts slipped from the cups. She shrugged the straps from her shoulders and let the bra fall to the floor. The slight brush of her nipples against his chest hair sent tingles through her body. His warmth drew her to him, to press her body as tight against his skin as she could.

Terry kissed her again, and as Evelyn had said to do, Christy grazed Terry’s upper lip with her tongue. When his own tongue touched hers, she felt the tingles again. Terry was slipping her jeans down and she moved her hips from side to side to help him. As they slid down her thighs, she unfastened Terry’s belt and unzipped his fly. Soft cotton brushed her fingertips when she reached inside.

Terry groaned when she touched him. She squeezed gently, and he groaned again. Part of him was so hard, yet part was soft to the touch. Christy felt his hands on her flanks, then on her hips, and then against the sides of her breasts. His touch made her weak with desire. Christy stepped away, pulled down Granny’s quilt and the blankets, and slipped into bed. Terry quickly joined her.

“You know what? You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m not a real woman, yet.” Christy pulled his hand to her soft belly. “Make me your woman.”

Christy tugged at the waistband of his shorts, and after he’d removed them, lifted her hips to help him remove her white lace panties,. Terry’s fingertips lightly touched the down on her mound, then moved lower. Soft lips met his touch, soft lips that were slightly parted in arousal. He stroked them, gently, as if they were the petals of some delicate flower. Christy made a tiny sound and parted her thighs.