Carved in Bone

“Leena come to stay with us when her mama and daddy died. Our boys, Orbin and Tom, was three and five then. Sometimes she was real good with ’em, sometimes not. Leena was what you might call high-spirited, which ain’t far removed from mule-headed. But she was good-lookin’, just like her mama, I’ll give her that.”
    “Tell me about her mama—Sophie, you said her name was?” The old woman gave an oversized swing of her head. “Sophie was your sister?” Another big nod. “Older or younger?”
    “Younger. Three years? No, four.” She looked down at the spotted hands clutching the arms of the rocker. “Sophie always was the pretty one of us two. I think Thomas really fancied her, but when she took up with Junior Bonds, Thomas started courtin’ me. Reckon he figured if he couldn’t have Sophie, he’d make do with me.” I recalled what O’Conner had told me of the preacher’s sternness, and I felt sorry for the woman who had been his second choice in a wife.
    “How’d Leena’s parents die?”
    “House fire. Chimney caught one night after they was asleep. Leena jumped out the window, only thing saved her. Sophie and Junior wasn’t so lucky.”
    “How old was Leena then?”
    “Thirteen, fourteen, maybe. Leena was kindly a late bloomer, but when she finally started to blossom, she was a beauty. If they was a church social or a wedding or even a funeral, you couldn’t fight your way through the boys around her.”
    “Was one of those boys Jim O’Conner?”
    She cut me a quick look. “Well, sure. He weren’t the biggest feller around, but he was good-lookin’, and he had a lot of gumption. Like a little banty rooster, struttin’ around the barnyard, but somehow you didn’t mind it.” She smiled, briefly and sadly. “He was real sweet back then. He’s turned a mite hard since, but I can’t say as I blame him. Maybe all of us do, once we get some hard lessons in the way of the world.”
    She paused—verbally and physically—and I waited awhile before asking my next question. “Mrs. Kitchings, were she and Jim O’Conner sweethearts? Serious sweethearts?”
    She began rocking, and nodded. “Yes. Yes, they was. They was talking about getting married once he come back from Vietnam.” She put the stress on “Nam,” making it rhyme with “ham.”
    “And how did you feel about that?”
    “Oh, I thought that would be all right. I liked Jim, and I could tell she was crazy over him. Not too many girls up in these mountains gets a man like that. It’s pretty slim pickins, and you take what you can get, or else you make your peace with being a old maid.” It sounded like she was talking about herself now. “I wanted Leena to have a good life and a good husband.”
    “So you and your husband gave them your blessing.”
    There was a momentary hitch in her rocking, but she quickly found the rhythm again. “Well, we would have. I cain’t say Thomas had took the same shine to the O’Conner boy what I had. Thomas was like a daddy to that girl, so for him, no fella was ever going to measure up.”
    I knew what I needed to ask, but not how to ask it. “Did he try to discourage her? Or him?”
    Her pace quickened. “They mighta been a discussion or two. Thomas has always spoke his mind straight out. Not one to mince his words. He could be right sharp, and he said some strong words about the O’Conner boy to her once.”
    “And how did Leena respond?”
    “Why, that girl lit into him like—” She ceased rocking and turned a suspicious eye on me. “Why you asking me these things? That’s thirty years ago, and we ain’t never seen her since. Not since she got herself in trouble and run off. Never heard from her, neither—not so much as a by-your-leave or fare-thee-well or thankee-kindly. That girl made her bed, and I don’t know who she laid in it with, but it weren’t us. So good riddance, I say.”
    Inside the house, a phone began to ring. It was a harsh, metallic jangle, the likes of which I hadn’t heard in years. I expected to hear an answering machine pick up, but the phone rang without ceasing. The longer it rang, the more nervous I got about who might be calling Mrs. Kitchings, and what might ensue if she said she was talking to me. She began worrying at the fabric of her housedress, and I could tell she was about to answer the phone. I didn’t want to risk staying through the conversation, so I pushed myself up from the flat-rockered chair. “Sounds like somebody