Aurora Magazine 2011

After the Storm , Brenda Spiering WED

cats and chugs his whiskey. Surely puttin’ yerself through a living Hell is just as bad a sin as taking your own life to save yerself from it. As I walk through Abel’s Holler in my own white weddin’ dress, I think about how these are my last moments of freedom. I just caint stand it! I don’t think I can do it. I wouldn’t be livin’ good and true if I married Cousin Rob. He’ll always be stirrin’ up trouble, feud or no feud. No, I caint go. I’ll do anythin’ to keep from marryin’ him; even if that does mean a killin’ my own self. I hope the Dear Lord can forgive me for it, and still open up His pearly gates. I’m ready to go home—home to Heaven—to anywhere but here. I love these hills, with the cornfields and whiskey stills; but I’m gonna do what’ll keep me fromWorldly Hell. I throw off the red slippers that bound my feet and run through the brambles and tangled trees. No one’s gonna catch me now. I’m gonna be free! Nomore burnin’ houses and barns, yellin’ and fightin’. I trip, fall and scrape my left knee, and my dress is torn by the root of a cherry tree. I git up and keep on runnin’. When I stop, tired

and outa breath, I look around and realize that I’ve never been to this part of the woods before. The part of the woods by the church is outta the way. When we are goin’ thataway, we’re just goin’ to the service; not to poke around. I caint tell how close I am to the church, but hope I’m far enough where nobody’ll find me. I sit down on a big rock to rest and look around. I see red and black oak trees, beech trees and holly, blackgum, and a plenty of hemlock. There’s a raccoon sittin’ on a pine branch, a warbler bird singin’, and a cardinal too. I relax a bit, feelin’ glad to be somewhere different. I feel a little bit of that freedom I felt when I was a little child playing in the woods. I hear a noise I don’t recognize. There’s somethin’ in the brush over there. It might be a bear. “Damned trees!” I hear somebody yell. I hear some more mutterin’ but caint tell what words they’re sayin’’. Oh, no! I reckon that’ll be Rob or Uncle Cole come lookin’ for me. I scamper for a place to hide, and make my way behind some thorn bushes. “Where’n tarnation’s that girl?

37