Marilyn Taylor McDowell - Carolina Harmony

he catbird took flight. It sailed over a wide expanse of
mountain peaks and lush valleys, over the green of summer
leaves and the winding trails of clear mountain streams.
It flew over cabins tucked in the hollers. It flew down over
pastureland, down over corn patches and fields overlaid with
the green leaves of sweet potato plants. Wings flapping,
talons taking hold., it perched on a branch low in the tulip tree,
getting an open view of the farmyard. It watched the dog
suddenly rise up on its haunches and chase the cat, which
scurried into an opening between the weathered gray boards
of the barn. The bird flapped its wings and flew again, over
the chickens pecking in the dirt, over the sheep grazing in
a meadow of grass, and over a long winding path,
where a girl was running.

Carolina ran, a hot sharp pain stabbing at her side. The path stretched out before her. Tears threatened. She shoved them away, pressing on with fierce determination, sneakers pounding the dirt. Her breaths pulsed hard, fast. Arms pumped. A leg lifted. A leg pushed off. The stitch in her side tightened. She winced. Each gulp of air burned in her throat.

The farm path was well traveled, hollowed deep with ruts and potholes that still held last week's rain. Carolina skirted a length of tractor tracks filled with mud slick as grease and felt stickers tear across her legs as she sprinted through the weeds alongside the hickory trees. She cut through the pasture, frightening the sheep. They trotted away, bleating, but the sound was a distant echo in Carolina's ears, their cries drowned out by the thumping beats of her heart and each gasping breath. The sun scorched her nose. Her cheeks throbbed from the heat. She had to squint to see the silo and the barn. Almost there, she told herself. Almost there.

She reached the back of the barn and squeezed through an opening at the base of gray ragged boards, falling into the mare's stall. It was black as night. Hurry! She pushed her arms in front of her and felt the wooden rails of the ladder.

Grasping the sides, she climbed ten rickety steps to the ground floor. Sunlight filtered in from an opening high in the hayloft, illuminating flecks of dust in its path. She brushed against hay bales stacked high, nearly to the roof. Scrambling over the rusted tractor, she tripped and bumped against a line of shovels, rakes, and pitchforks. She heard them clattering onto the floorboards behind her as she burst back into the light of day. Black and red speckled hens squawked and scattered in the barnyard as her feet beat past them.

Her eyes darted from one place to the nextthe garden, the porch, the henhouse. She caught the scent of freshly mown hay, so strong she could taste it. Across the yard towels hung on the clothesline, damp and limp as the humid air. She saw Miss Latah's skirt moving behind a sheet, saw her reach down into the clothespin bag and reach up to pin the strap of Mr. Ray's long-legged overalls.

Carolina went to yell, but only a hoarse whisper came out.

She gulped in air. She forced a scream.

Help!

Miss Latah looked up. The overalls slumped to the side as Miss Latah rushed across the grass toward her.

Carolina, what is it? What has happened? asked Miss Latah.

Mr. Ray Carolina choked out words between gasps. In the field under the tractor hurt real bad.

Miss Latah's forehead creased for a moment, fear written all over her face. Her eyes held Carolina's with a fierce intensity. Carolina thought they'd like to bore right through her. Miss Latah squared her shoulders.

Come with me, she said.

Carolina willed her legs to run again and followed Miss Latah across the yard toward an old pickup truck with round green fenders.

Miss Latah cupped her hands at her mouth. Lucas! she called out.

Carolina slid onto the seat at the same time that Miss Latah leaned on the horn.

Here he comes, said Carolina.

Lucas came into sight between rows of orchard trees. He sailed over the split-rail fence, his hand barely touching down on the post, and sprinted toward them in long even strides. Carolina pushed the door open as the tires rolled forward. Lucas leaped onto the running board and hurled himself up, crashing against Carolina as he hit the seat. The smell of his sweat filled the cab. His T-shirt was damp and stuck with bits of field grass.

Miss Latah pushed the gas pedal to the floor.

Where's the fire? Lucas asked. It was an expression he used when someone was suddenly in a big hurry.

Miss Latah didn't answer. She sped around the barn, the truck rattling and screeching. Carolina bounced up and bit her lip as the truck crashed into a rut and made a bang so loud it sounded as if the axle had broken in two. Then they tore down the path, alongside the pasture, down under the shade of hickory trees, and on toward the creek. The slatted boards of the bridge rumbled as they crossed. They were headed toward the back fields.

Carolina wondered how long it had taken her to run this same distance. She wondered how long it took a man to bleed to death. She dragged her arm across her fore-head. Her sweat turned the red-clay soil on her arms into tiny beads like blood, and as she stared down at them, she recalled the events leading up to the accident.

They'd been having so much fun. Mr. Ray was telling stories with hilarious endings, contorting his face into the silliest expressions as he acted out one character after another. She'd gotten to laughing so hard she had to hold her belly. Even Mr. Ray was bent in two. All the while, he was teaching her how to drive the tractor.

Mr. Ray said it was not too late to turn this hillside into a field of cabbages, and then he went right into a story about a family of cabbage heads. That got Carolina laughing all over again. They made each other hungry talking about spicy cabbage relish and a crock full of sauerkraut. They agreed they would have a plentiful harvest come October. Mr. Ray said it was certain to be hard planting in this field, what with the rise and all, but you had to make the best of what you were given and appreciate the blessing. Carolina figured Mr. Ray to be the most thankful man she'd ever met.

He let her hold the steering wheel and then he showed her how to use the clutch. Her heart swelled with his praiseYou're a good learner. Aye, you're a natural. She drove at a slow and even speed, dragging the wooden stoneboat over the plowed field. After a while, Mr. Ray hopped down to the ground and let her drive all by herself.

Carolina felt on top of the world as she looked down from her perch on the tractor seat, holding that big steering wheel in her hands. Mr. Ray walked alongside in the furrows, picking up rocks in the overturned soil that were bigger than his fist and tossing them up onto the stone-boat. She steered the tractor around a large boulder. Mr. Ray began working at dislodging it. As the distance between them grew, she heard him yell,