Cannie, The Hills of Home

The wind came from the east. It came, at first, with a gentleness, stirring and moving the smoky misty that rose from the cool damp earth.  With unchanging purpose the wind traveled on quiet wings of morning, passing along smoky ridges, climbing rocky rises, slipping down steep ravines, twisting in and out over rugged terrain.  Pine boughs swayed, the pine needles reaching out in mute appeal.  Leaves rustled with crisp surprise at the winds sudden passage through their haven.  Tree frogs hushed their singing. And in the winds wake, there came a strange silence, as if the forest world had been preparing for an unusual event, and now the wind lay still – waiting.

       A long figure, still and mystical, stood at the pinnacle of the tallest mountain, his long white hair spread out in the wind.  On his shoulder sat a great white bird.  Suddenly, the figure threw up his arms, and across the mountain tops resounded the heartbroken wail of a forgotten time.

       The window had no screen, yet it had been left open for the fresh air it provided.  Broadcloth curtains, gathered at either side of the window, did not obstruct the opening. Cannie pushed her hair away from her face as she reached for the heavy iron warming on the eye of the wood stove.  Poppy’s white shirt had to be ironed just right; he was preaching tonight at the Dogwood Hollow Church. Sighing, Cannie glanced toward the rear bedroom.  From behind its hanging cloth door came the soft sobs of her oldest sister, Libby.  Harley had hurt her again last evening; she had cried all night.
       “Mommie,” Cannie said aloud, “why does Libby let ‘m do this to ‘er?”
        Mommie, her hands in biscuit dough, shook her head.  “Don’t go gittin’ in yore sister’s business now, Cannie.  Yo’re turn will come sooner then you thank!  Ain’t no fun, lovin’ ‘n learning’.” “
        Wal,” Cannie said as she turned back to her ironing.  “No man’s gonna ruin my life!  Look at Cousin Nelly – she’s jest fourteen, same as me...already married ‘n havin’ a baby.  I’m not gonna leave you ‘n Poppy!  Not ever!”
        Mommie smiled behind Cannie’s back, still shaking her head, holding in her words. 
        Cannie pressed hard with the iron against white cotton, her thoughts continuing.  She wanted to do so much for her mother and father.  They didn’t have much in this two-room cabin that held nine children.  But even if the furnishings were sparse, there was plenty of love and laughter here.  Beside, Mommie hadn’t been too strong since the baby, Donavee, had been born last November.  Mommie needed Cannie.  No man would ever take her away!  Cannie hugged the warm thought close in her heart. A gust of wind suddenly blew against the young girl’s face.  Surprised, she glanced toward the window to see the curtains swaying.  Strange…did she hear something in the wind?
           “There’s a storm comin’,” she thought. Cannie hurriedly finished her father’s shirt, reached for a hanger, and hung it on a nail on the wall nearby.  Lightning flashed as she stopped by the window to gaze at the approaching storm.   From far across the mountainous range, sheets of driving rain sped toward the cabin.  To Cannie it seemed as if heaven and earth were being linked together with silver strands of steel.  It was beautiful.  The girl felt awe rising within her.  It suddenly occurred to her that God must be laying his hand on the earth with a purpose in mind. Cannie smiled and turned away from the window.
           The bolt of lightning struck with force fifty yards from the house, ripping the earth in its path.  The brilliant light appeared to zigzag, yet its course was certain. The glass windows of the cupboard cracked as the dazzling fork flashed through the window,  striking Cannie.  She never knew what struck her; she crumpled to the floor as deafening thunder shook the small cabin.