Page from a Tennessee Journal (AmazonEncore Edition)

food safe.
    “Take that outside, baby, so you don’t get crumbs on Aunt Becky’s clean flo’.” She left the door open a crack as Henry sat on the stoop stuffing the corn bread into his mouth.
    Rebecca walked back over to Annalaura and took over the one sound chair. One bony arm reached out for her pipe. She put it in her mouth unlit.
    “When you last heard from that sportin’ man husban’ of your’n?” Becky tapped at the bowl of her pipe. Her eyes had not yet settled on Annalaura.
    “I reckon he’s too busy to send word,” Annalaura lied.
    “Uh huh.” Becky took a draw on the dry pipe.
    Annalaura stiffened. Her aunt always had a way of dragging out the torment when she wanted to lay into Annalaura. “I ’spect he’ll be back right before the end of the harvest.”
    “Thorntons brought in the last of their tobacco day befo’ yestiddy.” Becky finally let her eyes light on Annalaura’s face. “Yours ain’t barely ready to spear yet. You need a man to help.”
    Annalaura steeled herself against those Cherokee eyes that always made her squirm. “No good not keepin’ yo’ man satisfied in bed,” Becky pronounced.
    Annalaura felt the blood rush to her face.
    “You need the conjure woman.”
    “I don’t need no conjure woman.” Annalaura wanted to take back the rise in her voice, but not the words. “I need a speck of food to feed my children until the tobacco is sold.”
    “A woman who can keep her man happy don’t need to be searchin’ fo’ scraps of food.” Becky took another draw on the cold pipe and took her time pointing it at Annalaura. “I’ll say this fo’ you. Keepin’ a sportin’ man under one set of covers ain’t easy for no woman, ’specially one as strong-headed as you.”
    “I don’t care if John Welles is satisfied or not. I need to feed my children.” She caught a glimpse of Henry coming back through the partially opened door.
    With an upward tilt of her head, Becky shooed Henry back outside.
    “Now, you talkin’ nothin’ but foolishness girl. A man ain’t good fo’ much, but a woman needs one around to lessen this world’s misery.” Rebecca frowned at her. “What you need is some extra special strong herbs from the conjure woman.”
    “Aunt Becky, if I could kindly borrow some meal, a dab of flour, and maybe some jars of greens, I will pay you back double when my harvest money comes in. I don’t need no conjure woman to make me up no love potions. A man will only double my misery.” Annalaura looked back at her aunt, who held her cold pipe at arm’s length like a rifle aimed at her niece’s face.
    She slowly let it circle in the air.
    “I could never settle my mind on why a fast-thinkin’ man like John Welles wanted to marry up with a fresh gal like you. You got a comely shape, right ’nough. God’s truth, men can act the fool over a plumped-out behind and a big pushed-up bosom. But you got yo’ shortcomin’s. Ain’t many a man wantin’ a woman with a troublesome quick tongue.” Becky clamped the pipe stem between her teeth and kept her lips drawn back. “Gal, you better bless yo’self twice that John Welles ain’t minded layin’ in a bed with a woman with a keen reckonin’ head.”
    “I wouldn’t want John Welles in my bed even if he was still around here,” Annalaura flared. “I wanted to leave that man right after I had me Cleveland.” She had heard John speak his, “I’m doin’ this fo’ our family, darlin’,” at least two dozen times too many. Even if her quick-thinking husband won more than he lost at gambling, she still hated the thought that he could lose her babies’ hard-come-by school money.
    “What foolishness is you talkin’ now, gal?” Surprise slipped out of Becky’s mouth.
    “John Welles hid my letter from Grandma Charity. The one she wrote tellin’ me where she was and invitin’ me to come live with her in Oklahoma.”
    Annalaura nearly jumped from her rickety chair as Becky slammed her hand on the wooden block of the table with such force that Annalaura wondered if the old woman had broken an arm.
    “It ain’t fittin’ for a married woman to speak such talk. Letter or no letter, you got no business running off to Oklahoma.” Becky’s voice came out of her mouth like a snake spitting venom. “John Welles may have his gamblin’ ways, but you married him. It’s up to you to lay in his bed, lumpy as it may be, let him do what he’s got to do, and act as happy as if you’d gotten your