But the closer I got to the house, the more I began to fear that I had returned too late. The place was so still, and Granny was usually up at this hour. She always said her old bones couldn’t rest for long. I noticed there was no smoke from the chimney, no light in the kitchen window. I moved faster to reach the door but hesitated before turning the knob. I pushed it open slowly, not wanting to see. It was like being twelve again, opening the door to Granddaddy’s death, only it was Granny this time, slumped in his chair, eyes closed and mouth slack. Beside her on the table was not a carved box, but a cup of coffee that I was sure had grown cold. Gray light crept across the floor toward her slippered feet. I froze as I had that other day five years ago looking at Granddaddy, no breath coming to fill my lungs. I ran to her and dropped to my knees. I gathered her legs in my arms, covered in broken blood vessels like ugly bruises. I buried my head in her lap and wept out loud. Then I felt a hand on my head, fumbling at my hair. I sucked in a breath and looked up. There was Granny, blinking as if she was still half asleep. “Myra?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s me. I came home.” Her fingers tightened in my hair, tugged at the roots as she stared at me, maybe struggling to comprehend my real presence. Then she said, “Thank Jesus. I thought I was fixing to die up here without you.”
We cried together as I rested with my head on Granny’s knees, her hand tangled up in my hair. She seemed afraid to let go. When she finally released me, I raised my face and smiled at her through my tears. She opened her mouth, maybe to ask questions, but she must have decided against it. She wiped her cheeks with one shaky hand and said, “You’re plumb wore out. Let me put you in the bed and we’ll talk about it later.”
“I can’t sleep,” I said. But even as I dragged myself to my feet, I knew it wasn’t true. I could sleep, but only if she sat in the rocker for a while watching over me.
Granny pulled herself to her feet with a groan but then she stopped short, eyes growing wide. She was looking at the pocket of my jeans. I followed her stare and saw it, too, a stiff patch of dried maroon. She asked sharply, “What’s happened to you?”
“Nothing,” I said, still looking down at my pocket. Somehow I had managed to forget what I’d stuffed inside. I reached in and pulled out John’s finger. I offered it to her in the palm of my hand, the usual shine of Granddaddy’s ring dulled by John’s dark blood. We looked at it together. “They laws,” Granny said softly. “Is he dead?”
“I don’t know,” I told her. That’s when the reality of what I had done crashed down on me. “I ran off in a hurry. If he’s not, Granny, he’ll come up here after me.”
“Well.” She looked toward the bedroom. “I’ve got your granddaddy’s shotgun.”
“Oh no,” I whispered. “Look what I’ve got us into.”
She took hold of my chin. “Don’t you talk like that. I’m just praising the Lord to have you back. Don’t matter to me what it took to get you here.” She glanced down at the finger. “We’ve got to get rid of that thing.”
“No,” I said.
Her eyes flew open wide again. “You can’t keep that, and him might be dead. That’s evidence, girl! Why in the devil would you want to anyway?”
“I don’t know,” I said, crying again. “I can’t throw it away. Not right now.”
“All right.” She reached out to caress my cheek. “Don’t get wrought up. We’ll worry about getting shed of it later. But you can’t hold it like that.” She grimaced and it was the first time I’d ever seen Granny recoil from blood. It had always been natural to us here on the mountain, slaughtering hogs and killing chickens and birthing babies and treating Granddaddy’s various gashes and wounds. But this, I saw, was too much for her.
“Where’s the box?” I asked. “The one Granddaddy made me?”
“Myra—” she began, but something she saw in me, maybe the madness I could barely suppress, caused her to give up. “Come on,” she said, and I followed her to the back room. She knelt in front of her bed and pulled out the box. We stood in the growing sun as she opened it for me to lay the finger inside, still pushed through Granddaddy’s wedding ring. I put both ring and finger into the box and we looked at each other for a long moment across it. Her wrinkled face was blank. It was hard to guess what she was thinking. Then she clapped the lid back on the box and knelt, old joints popping, and replaced it in the cottony grave of the mattress hole. She took me by the arm and led me to the bed. “Get out of them dirty britches,” she said. “I’ll bring you a nightgown.”
“What if he comes?”
“I’ll set up with you.”
I undressed and climbed into bed. I was already half asleep before she returned with the gown. It smelled like her and my home. I slept for what seemed like days, having nightmares that John had come and hurt Granny and one where he ripped the child I was carrying out of my womb and ran away with it. I roused up and saw Granny sitting in the rocking chair watching over me, Granddaddy’s gun across her knees.
“Granny,” I said.
She turned to me, startled. “What, honey?”
“I’m going to have a baby.”
She stopped rocking. “Have you been to the doctor?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“I just do.”
She looked at me, thinking. Then she nodded. “I’ll make you an appointment with Dr. Weems. He’s old as the hills but he’s got a sound mind. He’ll take good care of you.”
“I’m not going to any doctor,” I said, a little too loud. “I want you to take care of me. You used to help Grandmaw Ruth with babies. You know as much as Dr. Weems.”
“They laws, girl, it’s been sixty-odd years since I seen a baby born.”
“But you still know how to do it.”
Granny came to sit on the edge of the bed. “Quit talking crazy, Myra.”
“I’m not talking crazy. I know what I’m saying. Nobody but you and I will ever lay their hands on this baby. Nobody else will ever even know it’s alive.”
Granny frowned. “Myra Jean, no baby can live like that, and neither can you.”
“It’s the only way my baby can live. If John’s dead, I’m in a world of trouble. It’s a matter of time before they come after me. If you see anybody driving up the hill, you let me know and I’ll slip out the back and take this baby somewhere it’ll never be found.”
“Lord, Myra,” she said. “You know I couldn’t stand for you to leave me again.”
“Maybe it won’t come to that. If he’s alive, I figure he’ll be after me once he’s up and around again. I don’t know what I’ll do then. But no matter what happens, John or his family can’t know about my baby. I’d kill it before I’d let them have it.”
Granny took hold of my shoulders. “Don’t you say that. Don’t you ever.” Then she drew me close. “Ain’t nothing going to happen to this baby. I knowed the minute you opened them eyes miraculous things was going to come out of you.” She rocked me back and forth, like she used to when I was a little girl. “I can feel it all over myself.”
Granny’s faith made me stronger. Days and weeks passed and neither John nor the police came for me. I didn’t understand, but I was thankful for those months with Granny. At first, I didn’t want anyone to know I was home, but it was impossible to keep secrets from Mr. Barnett. He checked on Granny at least twice a week and brought her groceries on Saturdays. There was no use trying to hide from him. I opened the door when he knocked and he looked stunned. Then his eyes lit up. “It’s about time you got away from there,” he said. When my pregnancy began to show, Mr. Barnett eyed my belly but never acknowledged its roundness. I’m sure Granny told him about the baby, but he didn’t mention it to me. Soon the Cotters knew, too. Before Bill died, he stopped by to see about Granny because she hadn’t been at church. I wanted to hide then but Granny swore it would be all right. She trusted our neighbors, and I trusted her.