Free Valley So Low by Patrice Wayne Page A

rustling in the undergrowth to her left encouraged her and Maude walked closer.  What emerged from the woods, however, wasn’t Harry but a large, lean gray wolf.  The animal approached with sinister step and growled, low and deep.  Maude turned to bolt but she tripped, and before she hit the ground, the animal lunged.  Teeth, sharper than sewing needles, plunged into her back and she screamed.
    Maude woke screeching worse than a startled owl and sat straight up.   She tossed away the covers and jumped out of bed.  The moment her feet touched the floor she began to run, wild and frenzied.  “Maudie,” Harry said as he caught her by the shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
    She whirled, relieved to find him in the flesh and threw her arms around him.  “Harry,” she sobbed. “Oh, Harry.”  He held her close and she began to sob, face buried against his shoulder.  “Hush, honey,” he crooned. “You’re safe, I’m here.  Did you have a nightmare?”
    His quiet voice, thick with sleep, calmed most of her angst.  Maude nodded.  “Tell me if you want.”  She hesitated, afraid if she did it might come true.  He coaxed her out of silence, though.  “I dreamed I was all alone in the house.  I couldn’t find you or George or anyone,” she said.  Her voice caught on a sob.  “It was so dark and cold.  I went outside and thought I heard George crying so I headed into the woods.  Then I thought I heard you but it wasn’t you. It was a wolf.”  Maude couldn’t say any more.  Thinking about it upset her all over and she insisted on checking on George.  Her son slept in a tight curl, safe and warm.  She petted his curls with a trembling hand and clung to Harry.  “It’s just a dream,” he told her. “Sounds like a bad ‘un but it’s over.  Don’t fret, Maudie.”
    Her body quivered despite his supporting arm around her shoulders.  “I don’t know why I’d dream such things,” she told him. “It scares me, though.  Maybe it’s an omen.”  Maude believed such things.  So did Granny Whitley.  Hoot owls could be an omen of death, and dreams held power.  Harry scoffed. “Ain’t any such thing, honey.  You’re just wrought up with all that’s happened, the buryings tomorrow, all the work today.  It’s just a dream and no more.  It don’t mean a thing, I promise.” 
    Desire to believe him outweighed her fears. “Cross your heart and hope to die?” she asked, citing an old childhood vow.  Harry chuckled and hugged her as he led her out of the small bedroom.  “I do,” he said. “Let’s go back to bed and try to get some sleep.  It’s closer to morning than night now.”
    “Will you hold me?” she asked.  Harry kissed her square on the mouth. “Always, honey,” he told her.
    Nestled in Harry’s arms Maude relaxed but she didn’t sleep.  She thrust the lingering anxiety of the dream out of reach and focused on the cooking she had to do.  By the time the first fingers of dawn streaked the eastern sky with rose and gold, visible through the bedroom window, Harry slept deeply enough to snore.  Maude savored a few more moments snuggled with him and then untangled.  She dressed in the faint milk light and headed downstairs to begin her day.
    She stirred up the fire in the stove and added kindling.  Once it burned, she put more wood into the box, then put the coffeepot on the stove.  Before she could snatch her heavy shawl from the peg by the back door to head out to milk the Jersey, Harry padded into the kitchen in sock feet.  “Good morning, Maudie,” he said. “You shoulda woke me.  The gravediggers are here.”
    Her hand brushed his cheek and caressed it with a soft touch. “I figured you needed the sleep.”
    “I’ll catch it up tonight,” he said. “I’ll go say howdy to the gravediggers, then fetch the milk, eggs too if you want.”
    His help made her work easier. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll start cookin’.”
    By the old clock on the