If the Creek Don't Rise

by Leah Weiss

I was a fool hanging hope on a weak man I thought would stand tall if we got married.

Roy Tupkin’s gonna be sorry he ever messed with me and Loretta Lynn.

Not a thing’s wrong with Marris cept most days she’s more happy than a body has a right to be. Regular folks buckle under the piss and vinegar in this world. Not Marris. Her perky words irk me something fierce. Always have. Always will.

Scraps of last night’s ugly hang round, and going to see a giant old teacher sit in Preacher Perkins’s stuffy church and be stared at by the righteous might be the spice I need.

Church always got a smell bout it that don’t sit right with me, and it gives me the itches. Maybe it’s that fake hope that hangs in the air, frustrated cause nobody gets much back from praying. Maybe it’s all that joy the preacher splashes on like toilet water when he tries to make the afterlife special when bout anywhere is special next to Baines Creek.

“Roy needs killing.”

“It won’t take a flea fart to snuff her out, but she won’t afeard of nothing. It’s like Mother Jones got angels all round her so she can sleep at night and fight all day long for working souls.”

Prudence takes sacrifice to unwieldy heights.

I used to pick wildflowers to bring cheer indoors. Prudence would turn right around and throw them out. Said, “If God wanted flowers in a jar, He’d a planted em there.”

On this mountain I often reel in my words for fear I’ll offend a limited soul.

Daddy waited for me to come home, then he died.

I believe the mystery of God’s great and varied world is captured nowhere better than on those glossy pages. If you don’t believe in God Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth, before you read National Geographic, you will after.

Them that got, give.” “You understand that truth better than most.”

I was stuck to the ground with thoughts nobody wanted—a girl nailed in a sorry place.

“Do you know what Eli means, child? Did they never tell you? It means Defender of Men. That’s what my Eli and your daddy do. They defend all men.” Even being four, I wondered who defended us girls. I was too shy back then to ask. Now I know—it’s nobody.

call him Dog, and he lets me.

I’d use a rusty saw.

Found her a wild dog she tamed with a look and a need.

“You a caretaker of the land, Birdie Rocas. I’m pleased to share my seng with you once in a while.”

Then there’s the story of the chestnut tree that up and quit long ago and was the scariest thing I ever been witness to. It flummoxed everybody something terrible. Was like the end of the world when those ancient trees decided to die. Chestnuts was here…then they won’t.

When the dying started way back when I was a girl, truckloads of jaspers come to these mountains and scratched their heads. They hauled cameras up steep hillsides to take pictures of the war zone. That’s what they called it: the war zone. The leaves dropped off early and crunched underfoot when the air was still warm. Age-old limbs shriveled up, then trunks split open showing the heart of em trees was gone. That was one sad story. The chestnut trees leaving long ago changed mountain life. It left a hardship for every man and every critter to this day. Back then, chestnut wood cut into wide boards made cabins and furniture that don’t rot. Chestnuts used to feed folks and four-legged critters with its carrot-tasting nut. And Injuns used them nuts and leaves to tend to whooping cough and heart ailments. Now we dig ginseng for money and a remedy. And shiners make hooch. Money gotta be made some other way with the chestnut tree gone.