Opal Summerfield and The Battle of Fallmoon Gap Read online

  “No!” she yelled.

  She felt and heard the thumping of the boys’ feet running up behind her on the wooden bridge.

  As Opal braced for the worst, a large shadow passed over her. She dragged herself to her feet and spun around, ready to fight. Pitt and Percy Elkins were frozen in place twenty feet away from Opal. Opal was just as shocked as they were.

  A giant red-tailed hawk had landed between the boys and Opal. It had Opal’s stringer of fish in its talons and something else in its beak. Before she could do anything else, the hawk attacked.

  2

  Back at Opal’s home, Bree Summerfield was singing. The melody of her notes floated up into the clear, periwinkle sky. It was one of those heavenly days in the Ozarks that made her thankful that fate had planted her in the middle of paradise.

  Bree hung up one of her threadbare housedresses and pinned it to the line. She did the same with some of her husband’s clothing. She hung four of Hud’s field shirts, making sure to fold down the collars and iron them out with her thumb.

  She looked out past her front yard and saw Fiona McGhee walking by carrying a box of vegetables. Her two young sons, Sonny and Leroy, were giggling, yelling, and running behind a new red hound puppy. The two women exchanged vigorous waves, then Bree hung the last of Opal’s socks and headed back to the house.

  Bree had heard some white folks refer to the east side of Grigg’s Landing as a shantytown. She thought better of her neighborhood and the homes that served its inhabitants. To her, the sturdy little house, which she had helped build, was a cottage in a beautiful glade of God’s garden. By her own estimation, her family had prime land, and she was grateful to be farming and living on it.

  Today was Opal’s birthday. It was now, after sixteen years, a fine celebration. But in the early years, it had been hard for Bree to make merry when the day rolled around. While it was celebrated as Opal’s birthday, it was also the anniversary of her sister’s death.

  Over the years, the pain of losing Mae and her husband Rhodes had been gently replaced with the charm of having a little girl who brought so many touches of joy to their happy life.

  When Bree and Hud realized they couldn’t have a baby, she had prayed and prayed for God to do his healing on her. It took over two years of faithful kneeling by her bed before God answered her. The answer came in a way she didn’t expect though.

  Mae had brought the child to Bree late in the night. Mae was terrified; she used the word hunted.

  “I’m scared they got him Bree!” Mae had said. “I heard him screaming out. It was horrible Bree, horrible!”

  Bree and Mae had been afflicted with the same sad problem: a barren womb. But the joy of having a baby nestled in her arms didn’t diminish the guilt of abandoning Rhodes to their pursuers, so Mae left the child with Bree and went back into the night to find her husband. Bree never saw her again.

  Many weeks later, Hud came home looking long in the face. Some of his friends had found a horrible thing, the remains of a man who had been burned and ripped to pieces. They had followed the trail of gore deep into the woods and discovered a worse sight.

  On the bank of a nearby stream, Mae Dooley was dying. Before she finally passed away, she told of being attacked by monsters and how one, silver like the moon, had fought the others, how it had saved her.

  The men gathered what was left of the Dooley couple and buried them on the spot. That makeshift graveyard became a shrine where the black folk of the Ozarks left offerings to the good spirits of the hills.

  For Bree, the mystery of the tragedy was that Mae never explained how she got the child. She knew, however, that there was no way it was really Mae’s baby. Bree had named the gorgeous little girl Opal because of the strange necklace that had accompanied her. The necklace was such a rare piece of jewelry; Bree and Hud had agreed it was more valuable than everything the couple owned. But they didn’t dare sell it or make its existence known. They hid it away because, to them, Opal was the true gift, estimated by their hearts to be priceless.

  She learned more than she really wanted to know when the strange clairvoyant, Jane Willis, visited her for the first time.

  “Sometimes I feel that the more I know of the Lord and his ways, the less comfort it brings,” Ms. Willis said.

  In that conversation, Bree learned that she was involved in a drama greater than she could ever imagine. Bree and Hud listened as Ms. Willis told them how the child had enemies, how the necklace was dangerous, and how she would have to make sure the child was protected from it in every way possible. It was suggested that the necklace be hidden. Bree and Hud followed the plan and all seemed well.

  Opal grew up conscious of only the bits of truth Bree and Hud found appropriate to reveal. They never lied to Opal, but they didn’t offer information freely. Those crumbs of the real story suggested to Opal a path into a darker, more mysterious past. Bree never encouraged the discussion of it. That path led away from the Summerfield family and its small, happy territory. Bree was grateful for every minute with Opal. Opal was loved fiercely and lived in the shelter of her unknowing, and because of that, Bree considered the family safe.

  That is, until this very moment, when she saw the strange package laying on the porch where nothing had been before.

  3

  The hawk leapt into the air, furiously flapping its wings. It swiped its talons at Percy and Pitt Elkins. One talon scratched Percy across the face and the boy fell back spurting blood and obscenities.

  Opal recognized the hawk immediately by its tail. Most hawks had long clean feathers that ended in brown-pink tips. They served like a paddle, helping them push through the currents of air. This hawk’s tail looked like an alligator had snuck up and snapped out a crescent moon chunk of feathers. It distinguished the bird quite clearly. Opal knew it was Kawa.

  Kawa was a remarkable creature. The hawk was the pet of the blind mystic Jane Willis. At least that’s how it seemed to many. At the very least, you could say the bird and the old lady had a relationship. The story was that Ms. Willis had cared for it from a young age. As a young bird, Kawa had fallen to the forest floor after a violent storm. Jane heard its cries, found the hawk, and nursed it back to health.

  Over the years it would return periodically, bringing strange hawk treasures to the porch of Willis’s cabin. First it was sticks and twigs, and then it turned to small rodents. Finally, it brought prize kills like brown squirrels and rabbits.

  Apparently Ms. Willis embraced the relationship and would roast up the meat for supper. She shared the meals with her frequent visitors who came seeking portents and prophecies.

  In Grigg’s Landing, everyone talked about the hawk as if it were the town mascot. If any large bird appeared in the sky, people would stop and admire it, hoping to spot their beloved hawk. Children ran after Kawa with great glee, as if chasing a prized kite lost on the wind. At Ethel Johnson’s Café, Kawa stories were exchanged over buttermilk biscuits and coffee. To the hillfolk, it was a blessing to be visited by Kawa.

  Kawa continued to bat her wings and claw at the Elkins boys until they gave up and fled back into the forest. Opal turned to run, but the hawk seemed suddenly calm, as if her whole purpose was to protect Opal.

  Opal couldn’t believe Kawa was this close. The hawk had a small animal in her beak, no doubt the spoils of her morning hunt.

  As Opal backed away, the hawk hopped down the rail a bit closer. Opal moved further down the bridge. The hawk jumped, flapped its wings, and landed within feet of Opal. She spat out her lunch, looked at Opal with her piercing eyes, and took to the sky, quickly disappearing over the ridge of pine trees to the west.

  No wild creature acts this way, Opal thought. It was plumb crazy.

  Opal bent down to look at Kawa’s discarded prize. It was not a dead mouse. The hawk had dropped a red leather bag. She picked it up and turned it over in her hands. It was obvious from the weight of it that there was something in the pouch.

  She loosened the strings and
puckered the mouth of the bag, and dumped its contents into her hand.

  She could not believe what she saw.

  4

  Bree’s unexpected package unfolded itself and released a burp of white cigar smoke. The smoke gave off a pungent smell and coalesced into the form of an old woman. Bree almost fell backward off the porch.

  The smoke-ghost became a familiar face and started talking. Bree knew this woman but she had not seen her in years. It was Jane Willis—the mysterious maid of the mountains.

  “It’s time,” the smoke-ghost whispered in an eerie voice. “She must return to Fallmoon Gap.”

  Just as quickly as it had appeared, the smoky apparition dissipated and was swept away on the Ozark Mountain breeze.

  Inside the remains of the package, Bree found a small red leather bag. Bree dumped the contents of the pouch onto the wood deck. There was the broken silver chain her mother had worn, a rat bone, half of a copper ring she had worn as a child, a cat’s eye shell, and a small bundle of five-finger grass tied with white string. All the curious ingredients of a right-made mojo bag were included; this one was made to ward off evil.

  It was not the necklace! Thank the Lord!

  Nevertheless, it was a mojo bag from Jane Willis, which seemed just as ominous.

  What is the threat?

  Mojo bags were hoodoo charms to protect a person from serious evil.

  Bree fumbled with the bag. She couldn’t put away the feeling that it was an unlucky omen. She just didn’t feel right about dabbling in spells. In fact, she hated conjuring and all the evil that it stirred up, but she trusted Jane Willis. The old woman would not have sent it unless it was important.

  Bree noticed her mood shift. Worry invaded her mind. Maybe, just maybe, it was time for Opal to know more? A girl has to become a woman at some point, she thought.

  Bree believed people had to make their own sunshine, no matter the weather. You didn’t just let your heart take direction from the mood of the moment. That was a surefire way to find yourself up to your neck in despair.

  She fingered her mother’s silver chain and thought about how her own family had become estranged by hardship and misunderstandings. Opal didn’t even know her own grandmother because of it. Bree had longed for a different outcome; she wanted her family to be together forever.

  She started to hum a hymn as she considered the mojo bag. With that song, she began to pray for God’s help. She looked to the heavens and to the sky.

  God was nowhere to be found, but the ghost of Jane Willis was swirling away into the center of the sun.

  5

  He was a phantom that haunted the heart of the Ozark Mountains, tuning the spiritual clockwork of the living. He had many names, but the most common was the Ranger.

  The people in and around Grigg’s Landing believed him to be supernatural. His myth had started when the story of Mae Dooley’s death first circulated. He kept it alive by hunting bad people and dealing out his own kind of vigilante justice.

  He was known to track his prey during the day, then hunt and kill them at night. He seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once. If anyone had been in his presence or spoken to him, they were not saying. Bandits, raiders, murderers—all the criminal flavors in the Ozark hills feared him. He littered the woods with death like an angry angel. The good-hearted were grateful for him, and they showed their gratitude by leaving gifts at the Dooley shrine.

  Normally there was no logic to his roaming, but tonight was different. He had been following the child for days at the insistence of the clairvoyant.

  The old woman came to him in a dream, beckoning him toward her small shack in the higher hills. He visited her two nights later. He slipped through an open window. She was expecting him with fire and coffee steaming in blue tin cups. She had supplies—the exact things he needed—but it wasn’t hospitality that drove their conversation.

  “I am grateful that you have finally come,” Jane Willis said.

  “Speak you piece and let me be on my way.”

  “I know you son, I know you got a burden of pain that tears at your heart,” she said.

  The Ranger was put off by her tone. He spat on her floor. “Old woman, I’ve had my fill of witches like you. I won’t tolerate you twisting your way into my mind.”

  “Your pain is wrapped around you so tight, it isn’t that hard to figure you,” she said. “You’re soul is slipping away son, all that anger and hate burning through you.”

  “You want something. Isn’t that why I’m here? Your idea, right? You summoned me, not the other way round. And I know you didn’t send for me to read my cards or impress me with your cracked predictions.”

  “Yes, I do need your help son. I hope my proposition will help you as well.”

  “There is nothing I want from you. I’m absolutely sure about that.”

  “No, you’re right. There is nothing you want from me. But what I’m asking is going to give you the opportunity to get something, something you most definitely need,” she said.

  “What would that be?”

  “Redemption!”

  The Ranger could not dispute that truth. So, he listened to the woman’s plan. He listened to her plea for protection for a child being hunted by an evil conjurer.

  He had battled the same evil in the past. It had left its painful mark, wounded him deeply, and cast him adrift alone and with no purpose.

  Jane Willis explained how helping the girl might offer him some hope.

  After days of following the child, the only thing he could be sure of was this: she was being hunted. Bad things were after her, and he loved killing bad things. The proposition showed promise. At a minimum, it offered a new challenge—the thrill of a more dangerous hunt. If redemption was wrapped up in the clairvoyant’s errand, then the task was worth doing, but he sure as heck wasn’t going to count on it.

  He preferred to focus on killing the conjurer.

  6

  “Well look at this—do I see a bit of hoodooing going on here?”

  The voice startled Bree. She thought she had been alone, but here came trouble, appearing out of nowhere, right between the laundry swinging in the wind. Big Maggie Brown smiled a crooked smile at Bree as she waddled up, like an old heifer, to the back of the house.

  “Girl, if you need to do some conjuring, you come to me. I got all kinds of fixes for you,” Big Maggie said. “Is it man trouble, baby? I got something for that, sure do!”

  The large woman pulled back her sunflower-yellow blouse to show a bit of John the Conqueror root pinned to her undergarment.

  The sight amused Big Maggie much more than Bree, who was quite put off. Big Maggie didn’t care one bit about her audience; she laughed so hard that she started coughing.

  “Aw child, I’m teasing you now. And look at me, I spooked you, and now I can hardly breathe,” Big Maggie said. “I’ve got to stop smoking that tobacco.”

  Bree scooped up the contents of the mojo bag, put them away in her pocket, and stood up straightening her dress.

  “How are you Mags, it’s been a long time,” Bree said showing great grace while hiding the effort it took to give it out.

  “Oh, don’t you know, I can’t complain, nope, not at all. How you been, Bree?”

  “Lively as a tick in a tar pot.”

  “You sure about that?” Big Maggie asked, tilting her head down toward the deck.

  Bree looked down and saw she had forgotten the bundle of five-finger grass.

  “Oh that…just an old root bag…you know I always thought every little bit does help.” She scooped up the clump of herbs.

  “Now what are you doing out our way Miss Maggie?” asked Bree.

  Bree braced for the answer. An uninvited visit from Big Maggie Brown was never a good thing. It usually meant you owed her: a balance due on a moonshine tab, a short-time loan, or something more bent—something crooked you should have avoided in the first place.

  Bree never expected what she heard Big Maggie say next.<
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  7

  Opal did everything she could to get out of her daily chores. Nevertheless—whether it was Hud’s loud, frustrated Papa-voice, Bree’s ever-present lectures, or her own guilt—her weak attempts at rebellion were always thwarted.

  None of this made it easy getting up at dawn. Once she was up and dressed however, Opal would join Hud at the barn to tend to the animals.

  They had a mule named Governor and an old horse living out his final days in the Summerfield barn, and Opal loved them both with a passionate affection. She had named the horse Ladybug. There was a scattering of chickens and chicks, and there was the rooster. The old bird patrolled the barn area like a cranky war veteran. His name was Devilhead.

  Opal absolutely hated Devilhead. First, the creature’s coloring deviated from that of most roosters. It was a dark, blood red. And Devilhead was afflicted with a double comb that gave the appearance of horns, hence his sinister name.

  When he was a young rooster, he attacked Opal daily, flapping his wings, pecking at her indiscriminately, and scratching with his nasty little rooster claws. He made a run at her whenever Opal walked into his territory, but after she’d punted him backward across the yard, day-after-day, several hundred times, he decided to change tactics.

  In his new routine, Devilhead would take a long run at her from across the yard, and then, at a distance of about a yard, make a sharp forty-five degree turn and break into a slow strut, as if to say, Got you chicken! Yeah you were scared, you were scared!

  When Bree couldn’t decide what to make for dinner, Opal often put in a plug for roasted Devilhead. Bree had yet to take her up on that.

  After chores in the barn, Hud, Bree, and Opal would have a little breakfast, and then Hud would go off to the fields. Bree would take off for the Worthington Estate where she cooked and cleaned, and Opal left for the schoolhouse near Deer Creek.