Over-hill Cherokee villages.
Conversation dwindled. Houser bent to his work, and the injured man remained mercifully unconscious, making Houserâs labors easier. Reuben kept his eyes on the leaping flames in the fireplace and tried not to hear the meaty, ugly cutting sounds made by Houserâs blade. He began to feel a bit better and decided at last he could even sustain a glance at what the doctor was doing.
âWhy is he cutting on his leg stump, when itâs already cut?â Reuben asked Fain.
âIâm no physician, son, but I think what heâs doing is getting that leg in shape to heal better. Heâll pull what skin he can down over the wounded flesh and stitch it all up right neatly. Iâve seen something like that done before. Makes a world of difference in the healing if itâs done right.â
Reuben was pale. âLord, how did that fellow do it? Cut through his own leg? Wouldnât the pain have made him stop? Iâd never be able to do that.â
âMen do what they have to do in such moments. And generally they can do more than anybody would think they could. Iâm guessing that this gent probably was in such pain already that he might not have much felt his own cutting. All the hurting kind of mixing in together, you know.â
Reuben shuddered. âGod, I hope I never have to do such a . . .â He trailed off.
âLikely youâll never face such a situation, son, but if you did, you know what youâd do?â
âNo, sir. But I think Iâd just throw down the knife and hope for the best.â
âNo. Youâd do what you had to do, whatever it was. Itâs the way the good Lord made us . . . and maybe part of the reason he lets us face such dreadful things at times. So we can learn just what weâre capable of doing.â
âI donât know that I want to know what Iâm capable of doing, sir,â the youth said.
âI understand what you mean, son. I do. I think most of us hope to pass the tests weâre put to, but thatâs no reason to hope we get put to them in the first place.â
âI need to go back and get with my kin,â Reuben said. âThank you for helping me get that fellow some aid.â
âNothing but what Iâd have done for anybody, and hope anybody would do for me.â
âEvening, Mr. Fain.â
âEvening, son.â
CHAPTER SIX
T he Molly Reese presentation had been given so many times that the preacher could have recited most of it without the aid of the papers on the lectern before him, just as the woman did her part without prompting or direction. She had it easier than he, of course, possessing no tongue and being able to produce only the most rudimentary approximations of understandable speech. She was not required to say anything to the congregants.
Repetition of the performance had helped her overcome any sense of shyness or hesitancy she had once possessed. In earlier days she had felt a normal human resistance to letting others see her abnormality, and had gone through life with her mouth clamped tightly shut most of the time. Those who sought to see for themselves what was, or was not, inside the oral orifice were turned away consistently. She would not be treated like some living horror or mutilation.
All that had changed when she met Abner Bledsoe. Something about the man had drawn her, pulled her out of herself, and filled her with fascination for him. Just what it was she could not say. It was certainly not physicalâhe was a plain enough fellow, to be sureânor was it a serious interest in his religious teachings. God had done little for her, in her estimation, and she had decided years ago she could and would do without him. And if that meant she would also do without him when she entered the next life, whatever it was . . . well, so be it. Fine with her.
She had met Bledsoe on a street in a town in Virginia. A purely random meeting,