A Parchment of Leaves Read Free

blacksnake up to fight,” she said. “When the copperhead struck, theblacksnake took off and the old man followed it. It went to a clump of weed beneath the cliffs yonder and latched on until it had sucked all of the juice out. The snake was healed, so the old man made juice of them weeds, and everybody on this creek uses it.”
    â€œAnd it works?”
    She laughed at his look of astonishment. “I ain’t no witch, like they say. You live amongst snakes long enough, and you know how to cure their doings.”
    T HE WOUND HEALED whole and tight, with just the scar of the knife blade as a reminder. Even though Saul told everyone that the Cherokee girl had saved Aaron’s life, none of them would hear of it. They said she was the very one who had willed the snake to strike in the first place. The only reason Aaron hadn’t died, they said, was that his mother had prayed over him for hours.
    â€œThat Indian willed it to keep that land from being cleared,” they said, “and she’s won.”
    Saul did not go back to Redbud Camp to clear the land, but not because he was afraid. He told Tate Masters that the Cherokees owned that land and he would have no part in cutting down the mountain. Besides, Saul had not relished the job of sawing down the redbud trees while they were full of their purple bloom. He didn’t tell anybody that he could not bring himself to do it on account of the girl’s beauty as well as her goodwill. He thought of her for a week before his mother gave him the perfect excuse to see her again.
    Esme packed a basketful of everything that she could think of: loaves of bread, dried apples, jars of molasses, honey, and jelly, beef jerky, crackling for corn bread. She lined the basket with a piece of her treasured linen and brought it to Saul.
    â€œI’ve studied on it, and it may be that that girl did save him,” she said. She had a hard time admitting that she was wrong, but she always did so when she realized her mistakes. “Take this up there by way of thanks.”
    As Saul made his way down the road, he could see Vine standing in the doorway. Only half of her body was visible, and part of her face was lost to the shadows.
Dark
was the only way he could think to describe her to himself. Her eyes were chips of coal; her lips, the color of peach light at dusk.
    When Saul climbed down off the horse, Vine moved slowly out of the door. She walked to the gate and did not smile.
    â€œWe don’t take no charity,” she said loudly, as if she wanted everyone to hear.
    â€œNeither do we,” he said. “That’s why I’ve brung this. This is payment for saving my brother. My mother’s sent it.”
    â€œYou don’t owe me,” Vine said, and snorted a short laugh. “I couldn’t let him lay there and die.”
    â€œShe wants you to have it. Please.” He held out the basket over the fence. “She’ll be insulted if you don’t take it.”
    She nodded and took the basket in to her mother, who sent back three cakes of soap. Vine handed him the bundle, which her mother had tied up in oilcloth. “Take these.”
    Saul grabbed the reins of his horse and began to walk it away from the fence, but Vine threw open the gate and stepped out into the road. She let her hands be buried in the folds of her skirt.
    â€œI thought your people was afraid of me. Said I was able to kill men that come up in here.”
    â€œI’ve heard tales of that, but I didn’t know it was you,” he lied.
    She laughed softly. “You believe in such? That somebody can lay curses?”
    â€œNaw, I never did,” he said, and threw his leg up over the horse. He found his place in the saddle and looked down at her. “But the others do. Ever one of them.”
    Vine stroked the strong muscles of the horse’s hind leg and looked Saul straight in the eye. “You ought to believe,” she said.