An Enduring Love

Life in the hills and hollows of West Virginia changes slowly. The hillsides were still wooded and home to the deer once hunted by Indians. Small streams still teemed with fish. On flat ground and in the hollows, the woods have been cleared. Corn and coal; men struggled with the land and weather to feed their families as their fathers had done. In the mountains old ways endured and stories were retold. Small communities held to the cultural heritage of their Scottish ancestors; they were born by midwives and buried with solemn Presbyterian rites.

The village dead slept high on a hillside as their descendants lived and loved in the valley below. From the hollows a dense fog rose and mingled with clouds shrouding the tops of the tallest mountains. All nature was muffled, but for the faint sound of iron hooves on stone and the clinking of trace chains. A horse-drawn hearse materialized out of the mist. One by one, the community appeared clad in their best mourning attire. As each family reached its own land, they quietly slipped away down crooked lanes.

The James family homestead stood nestled between a stony corn field and the forest. The family carefully cleaned their sturdy shoes on the porch before entering through the unlocked door. Samuel James struck a match to kindling and soon had a fire going in the parlor stove. He took down the family bible from the shelf where it stood beside a collection of Poe and a worn copy of “Little Dorit.” Samuel pulled his father's rocking chair closer to the stove and settled down to read the good word on dying young.

Little Sis played with her dolly on a hand-hooked rug passed down through the family for several generations. Little Sam slipped out to the barn to dream without interruption of the wide world beyond his father's farm where glory and invincibility must surely await. Mother James and her oldest child, Barbra Rose, were left to prepare the evening meal.

“Momma, would you mind very much if I rested awhile before helping with dinner?”

“No, Sister... go lie down a while. I'll just be heating last night's stew, and I won't need you for that.”

Father James, looked up from the Good Book and shook his head as Rose closed the door to her room. “You're just too easy on the girl, Mother. Jimmy Jenkins was a nice boy, but we all must accept the Lord's mysterious ways and get on with life.”

“Hush, Father. You never noticed, but our Rose fancied Jimmy, and he is the first of all her classmates to die. Each of us must mourn, and Rose has always been given to romances. Let her mourn in her own way.”

Barbra Rose was sad, but not quite certain as to the depths of her mourning. She tried working on her embroidery sampler, but soon set it aside. She found no solace in the pages of the latest issue of Harpers and finally sat staring out at the forest beyond the cornfield. Memories of her childhood, and Jimmy constantly intruded. The mantle clock struck five, and her Mother called, “Supper.” The back door slammed as Little Sam returned. The family must be together.

At supper, Rose ate lightly and excused herself early, pleading drowsiness. Her father carefully examined the ceiling, seeking divine guidance as Little Sam appropriated Rose's barely tasted stew.

Rose didn't sleep well. Her grandmother's quilts lay too heavy, so she pushed them away only to shiver in the cold. Rose replayed in her mind the happy times she and Jimmy had shared. All of her dreams now seemed shattered. If Jimmy were no more, then Rose could no longer imagine what her future might be. Finally sleep slipped in, and unbidden dreams began. Her troubled sleep ended suddenly. Rose sat up in her bed staring into the darkness. It must be the middle of the night, she thought. For a moment, she sat wondering what had brought her awake. Was there a dream, or had she heard something? She listened to her heartbeat, and realized that the whole house was unnaturally silent. The mantle clock's ticking that measured out the family's life had stopped.

Rose slipped from her feather bed and stood before her window. The barn was an inky silhouette against shadowing rows of corn stalks. Fog still shrouded the hillside forest, and clouds raced across the sky. Flickering moonlight cast shadowy phantoms across the fields and woods. Am I still abed dreaming? Something moved within the fog. A deer come down to forage in the fields, or to drink from the creek?

Rose blinked as a human form materialized at the very edge of the wood. She leaned closer to the cold glass, and wondered who might be abroad at such an hour. The form and movement seemed familiar, but Rose couldn't think who it might be. She wiped away the fog her breath made on the window glass, and looked again. Then it came to her - it could only be Jimmy. This surely must be a nightmare. She blinked, but the vision did not change. It was the same Jimmy Jenkins buried that day. The apparition Jimmy raised its hands, pleading, or perhaps in supplication. She gasped and gathered her good flannel nightgown closer, against the chill. Jimmy seemed to float toward her through the fog and no doubt remained, it was Jimmy standing by the barn outside her room. Rose staggered back in shock and fell across her bed. The next she knew it was daylight, and her Mother was making the familiar noises of fixing breakfast on the wood-fired stove.

As Rose rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she wondered if she had been visited by the unquiet dead or merely had a disturbing dream. She said a little prayer and joined her Mother at the roaring stove.

“I'm sorry to have slept in Mother, but I didn't sleep well last night. I saw... or dreamed that Jimmy was outside standing in our cornfield. Do you think it might have been... but then. I'm sure I'll be alright now. It seemed so real.”

“It was only a dream, Rose. Once you begin your chores things will soon be back to normal. Now go wake up Little Sis, and wash your face. The men will be in for breakfast soon, and I still have bacon to fry.”

Rose fed the chickens and gathered their eggs. She swept the wide plank floors of their home and polished the wood work. She stayed as busy as any farm girl must be, but her mind wandered often. She stood once for over a minute feather duster in hand staring at the mantle clock measuring out the minutes, hours, and days. She saw herself and Jimmy in a faded photo of Grandparents she never knew. The whole day passed slowly, but in ending seemed hardly to have begun.

A gentle rain was falling when Little Sam came in from milking. “Getting dark early”, he commented as he set the bucket beside the door and covered it with a gingham napkin. Father's supper prayer was brief. Winter was near and time for preparations against the season was growing short. Mother lit the kerosene lamp in the gathering darkness. The family talked in quiet tones about the day and what must be done before the Winter. No one mentioned the funeral though it hovered at the edges of their minds. Rose said little, for her mind was fixed on the events of the previous night. No one noticed that Rose had little appetite and barely noticed when she excused herself from the table. Even before her Father snuffed out the light to save precious fuel, Rose was lying in her bed. The sound of the rain on the tin roof was soothing, and soon Rose drifted into a sound, deep sleep.

The sound of tapping, tapping at her window pane woke Rose in the night. She lay for a moment blinking and a feeling of dread swept over her. She rose from her warm bed, and swung her feet to the cold floor. At the window was a pale face; a face she knew from childhood and could not mistake.

“Jimmy”, she whispered. The apparition seemed to smile. It was the same crooked little smile that had won Rose's heart when she was only seven. Rose took a step toward the window hardly feeling the cold floor beneath her feet. Jimmy gestured for Rose to open her window. Rose looked closely, but Jimmy seemed no different than he had been last Spring. He was still wearing the suit from Sears and Roebuck he had been buried in. It was as if he had come again to take her to the school dance. She shook her head and then relented, but only raised the sash a tiny crack.

“Rose, Let me in so we can talk.” His voice was soft and gentle as the rain. There was pleading in his eyes.

Rose reached out to lift the sash, but remembered how the Devil can trick us, so she hesitated. She bit her lip and could feel the tears begin to form. “No, Jimmy you aren't here. I saw you in your casket, you are dead and I... I am alive. Go away!”

“Rose, my love, you can see me, can't you? I'm not dead, but homeless now. I found myself in darkness, and clawed my way upward and back into the light. I don't understand, but know that you are my only hope. Please let me in. Please, Rose. We can talk and settle what remains between us.”

Goosebumps rose on her arms; she shivered in the cold night air as it blew into her room. Could it be that Jimmy was still among the living? She shook her head at the thought. Not until Judgment Day will the dead rise. “No Jimmy, you must stay outside. Even if what you say is true, I cannot have a swain inside my bedroom so late at night.”

“I should have known. You were always cruel and never returned my love.” When Rose did not respond, his voice was hard, “You are a tease, and must laugh at my affection. What am I - a poor landless miner's son? Is my love not enough?” His voice began to rise, “Oh, no! You're, the daughter of the most prosperous farmer in the hollow and meant for better than the likes of me.” Jimmy's tears mingled with the raindrops flowing down his pale face.

“Jimmy, you know that isn't so. We've been friends since we were children - I've always been fond of you, and known that you would rise in the world.” Her words came in a rush, and then she paused while the words still hung in the air. Her cheeks were wet with tears. She knew he was dead, and could never be more than he was, but she could not let him go so easily. The rain increased, heavy drops drumming louder on the new tin roof so their whispers faded in the din of pounding showers.

“Let me in Rose, I'm being drenched out here. Let me in so we can talk more easily, my dearest.”

“Never.”

The wind howled beneath the eves and distant thunder rolled over the mountain tops. “Never? Rose, why are you so cold. I've seen you making eyes at that lout, Macky as he shows off his muscles. I'll bet you'd let him in - wouldn't you?” Jimmy's voice was bitter, his eyes wide with anger and his hands balled into fists. “You are heartless, Rose”, his voice now almost a shout. He was a raccoon with his paw caught in a trap. He was becoming one with the rising storm. Lightning flashed, and the thunder crashed directly over them. The old farm house shuddered as the winds intensified. Rose backed away from the violence outside and shouted, “Go away! Go away, right now! If you don't go I'll get Father, and he'll see you back to your grave, you horrid boy!”

From her parent's bedroom, Rose could hear her father's voice, “Are you alright, Rose? Who are you talking to in there? Go to bed, go back to sleep. Don't make me send your Mother in there.”

Jimmy stepped back from the window and seemed to melt away as he retreated through the curtain of rain. As Rose watched, the apparition to disolved and vanish into the mists . A flash of lightening briefly lit the fields, but they were empty.

Rose hurried back to her bed and pulled the quilts tight about her. “I'm alright, Pa. The storm just woke me up, and I was frightened. I'll be alright now.”

Overcome by exhaustion, Rose fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. When the rooster announced the dawn, she was wide awake, and it was as if she had not slept at all. Her sheets were wet, and her mouth was dry. Rose tried to get up, but rising made her dizzy and nauseous. “Mother”, she cried, but it came out a sigh.

“Rose! Rose, enough of this moping about. Get up, breakfast is on the table, and you have chores to do.” When Rose didn't answer, her Mother looked in. “Why, child you don't look so good.” A cool hand tested Rose's brow, “You have a fever. Just lie there and rest a bit. Once I have the men away, I'll fetch Mother Wilson. She'll know what remedy you need. Rest, and I'll bring you in a nice bowl of hot porridge.”

Rose closed her eyes, but then the memory of the night before returned. Could it have been a dream? Rose drifted in her feverish mind, and then her Mother and the village midwife were bending over her. A cool compress was laid upon her head, and the midwife was poking and prodding; searching for tenderness and pain. “She seems healthy enough, if it weren't for the fever, Mother James. Has she eaten anything different from the rest of the family?”

Assured that Rose had eaten nothing unusual, or hardly anything for several days, the midwife pondered. “It might be the shock of the Jenkin's boy's death, I suppose. How did she take it, Mother James?”

“Well, she hasn't taken that well at all, and hasn't been herself since. She thought she saw his ghost outside her window day before last, and she may have had a nightmare in the storm last night.”

The midwife nodded, “That sometimes happens, especially with overly romantic girl children. The fever bothers me, but I'll give you some herbs for that. Make a broth, and she ought to be better tomorrow or perhaps the following day. Now, I must be off. The Warren girl is nearing term, and it looks as if we might get snow before the morrow.”

That night the family meal was silent. Rose's place was set, but she drank the midwife's bitter broth while laying in her bed. After the dishes were cleared, the lamp was turned low, and the whole family knelt in prayer for Rose, and her swift recovery. As the family went to their beds, the first snow began to drift down onto the hills.

Rose didn't sleep at all, but tossed and turned considering her lost relationship with Jimmy. The mantle clock had just chimed midnight, when a moonbeam finally broke through and lit the pine floor beside Rose's bed. The ticking stopped. A figure outside pressed close, and the patch of moonlight fell into shadow. Rose quietly slipped from her bed. Though she expected her visitor, she was filled with dread.

Jimmy stood, his head bowed before the window. Beyond him, the snow lay deep and undisturbed. The dread was replaced by pity and regret, so Rose slid her window open wide. A cold gust of wind caused her to shiver. She pulled her sheet more closely against the cold, but she was no longer afraid.

“I'm sorry for frightening you, Rose. You can't imagine how I'm suffering. Not knowing how I've come to be here, and what the future might be is wearing me down. What if I'm never welcome again at home or in the village? Am I to be left to wander the world alone? Please, say you understand and forgive me, Rose. Please.”

“I'm sorry too, Jimmy. I never wanted to hurt you, and Macky Brown never meant anything to me. I've always loved you, and my dearest wish has always been that we would wed and live forever within these hills.”

“Rose, we were meant to be together, please let me come inside. It's freezing out here.”

“Can you feel the cold, as I can? Jimmy, please forgive me for sending you away last night, but you frightened me then... and you frighten me still... a little."

“Yes, dearest. All that I can feel is cold, but my love for you still warms my heart. Please, please let me in. I cannot enter, unless you invite me. No one will ever know... I promise.”

Rose sighed, and held out her arms, “Come to me, my love.”

Jimmy smiled again the crooked little smile that never failed to melt Rose's heart, and then he stood before her inside her Father's house. They stood for only a moment gazing into one another's eyes. Jimmy stepped close, and enclosed Rose in his cold, cold embrace. “Now we will be warm... together through all eternity.”

The next morning, Mother James found her daughter lying on the floor beside the open window. Drifts of snow were caught in the sheet tightly wound around Rose, as she lay still with a smile upon her frozen face.

So the village hearse made another trip up the hillside. The horses stamped their hooves in the snow and breathed out plumes of steam beneath their funeral plumes, as the village laid Barbra Rose James to rest beside Jimmy Jenkins. The funeral party did not linger, for the snow began falling, drifting and obscuring the pleasant valley below. Father James led his family home. Before the James family could warm their house; before Father James could ponder The Word searching for meaning and comfort, above on the hillside the snow covered the two small mounds of dirt.

In 1918, Little Sis died from the Spanish Lady in the same week Little Sam was reported missing and presumed dead in France. The two deaths, coming so close together were too much for Samuel James. HIs sturdy heart could bear no more. They found him clutching the black bordered telegram lying on the path beside his front gate. Mother James lived on playing Bingo every Friday night in the County Home. She died during the first snow fall of 1926 at the very moment she won the largest Bingo Prize of the year, a windup clock.

Now, the James farm house has fallen into ruin, and squirrels nest below what remains of Rose's room. The unvisited and uncared for graves of Rose and Jimmy have sunk back into the earth. Wild grasses grow over all of the forgotten graves. Even the cemetery has mostly been forgotten, so no one now visits the place. Unseen by any human eye, the rose and brier growing over the graves wither every Winter, only to bloom again each Spring.

3,275 words