Sharyn McCrumb - The Ballad of Tom Dooley

They all started talking at once then, but I stopped listening. If Tom was in jail and in fear of his life, there’s no telling what he might say to whoever questioned him. I reckon he’d try to pin Laura’s murder on anybody he could think of. Except, of course, his precious Ann. That’s what I would do, if it was me in jail. Muddy the waters all I could. There was no love lost between me and Tom, so I figured it might not be long before he started trying to make people believe that I had something to do with it.

I decided it was high time I left Wilkes County.

Remember that.

I left Wilkes County . All I cared about then was keeping myself out of harm’s way.

That night I stuffed my three faded dresses, some cold biscuits left over from supper, and what little else I had in to an old blanket, and stashed them under my bed. Then I lay down and closed my eyes, waiting for morning. I didn’t bother to tell the Meltons I was leaving. They might have tried to argue about it, and there was no point in us having words over it, for nothing they could say would change my mind. Or else they might not even care at all that I was going, and if that was how it was, there would be no point in bothering to let them know. Anyhow, it’s not like they owned me or that I owed them anything. I could come and go as I pleased.

The next morning before sun-up, I got up same as I always did, and I eased my tied-up blanket of belongings out from under the bed and slipped outside. James would think I had gone to the privy, and Ann wouldn’t bother to wake up for hours. By the time they missed me, I’d have a good head start.

As I stepped outside in to the chill of the morning mist, I took a last look around the valley, as places seemed to float in and out of clouds moving across the ground. I looked over at Aunt Lotty’s little place, straight down the hill and across the road, then below the north ridge at the Reedy Branch Road that led to the Dulas’ land, and over at the Bates’ place, deserted again now, since the searchers had given up and gone back to the business of farming. Wherever Laura was, she was resting in peace.

My gaze came last to rest on the Anderson farm, situated in the low ground between us and the Bates’ place. I wondered if Laura’s nut brown boy was astir there yet, but I didn’t catch sight of him. I thought about warning him to keep his mouth shut about what he knew, but then I thought better of it. John Anderson had said nothing so far, and I think he knew well enough that it would mean the rope for him if he did speak up. All was quiet in the gray morning. Nobody saw me go.

I headed south down the Stony Fork Road until I reached the trace that runs along by Elk Creek. I was taking the same westward path to Watauga County that Tom took when he went to outrun the law. The self-same one that brought me here back at the first of March.

After the morning chill burned off, it was a tolerable walk-better than it had been in the bitter cold of late winter. It would be cooler once I got up on the mountain, but in high summer, that is a blessed thing, and I was looking forward to feeling the cool air on the mountaintop, instead of the blazing sun of a Wilkes County cornfield.

I passed nobody on the road, and I didn’t tarry, either. I didn’t care to look at the little purple flowers tucked in among the weeds along the path, nor did I stop to admire the mountains floating in front of me in a blue haze. I put one foot in front of the other, and I kept my eyes on the ground in case a snake should slither across my path. All the while I was listening for the sound of voices behind me or the thud of a horse’s hooves, but nothing broke the stillness except now and then a snippet of birdsong. For my breakfast, I took one of the cold biscuits out of my blanket-sack, and ate it dry whilst I walked.

I hoped Wilkes County would forget about me just as fast as I meant to forget about them. I didn’t care if they hanged Tom or Ann or half the county for the death of Laura Foster, as long as they left me out of it. I meant to get back to the top of the mountain, and to keep myself out of the way of the lawmen.

I can’t say that anybody was glad to see me when I finally got back. Folk there never had much use for me, nor I for them, and absence had not made any hearts grow fonder. Still I had other kinfolk there, from my mother’s family, and though they were not overjoyed to see me trudging up the path to their door, they saw their bounden duty as kinsmen, and they let me stay awhile, provided of course that I didn’t eat too much and that I did my share of the chores, and more. They would not think to tell anyone that I was there, for my coming and going interested them not at all, and news of Wilkes County never reached the holler where their cabin stood. The outside world could go hang for all they cared. I figured to settle in until the trouble blew over down in Happy Valley, and then I would see what I wanted to do next.

I had not been there more than a week before Ann turned up at the door, escorted by Cousin Sam Foster. It is easy enough to track somebody in these parts, I suppose, for there are few enough people, and not much else to do besides take note of their comings and goings. One of the young’uns let her in-Ann does not take no for an answer-and then they sent him to fetch me from out the garden, where I was hoeing weeds in the hot sun. I might have thought it was a rest to leave off working in the heat, but being around Ann was never restful. Either she was ordering me about to tend her babes or cook and wash up, being too lazy to do it herself, or else she was in a bate about something or other, and everyone within earshot must listen to her moaning and bewailing about whatever it was. I had been about as glad to escape one as the other, but it wouldn’t do to let her know that. I am particular about letting anybody know what I think about anything, because knowing such things might give a body power over me. When I came inside and saw her standing there beside the hearth, I wiped my hands on my aprons, tore off my poke bonnet, and went and embraced her as if seeing her had been my dearest wish in the world, but I took note of the fact that Ann did not come alone. I had walked all the way to Wilkes County in the dead of winter right by myself, and nobody spared a thought to my safety or comfort, but here in the middle of high summer Ann Melton must have a gentleman escort to ease her journey up the mountain. I added that to my stock of grievances against her.

Either the journey had taken the shine off her perfection, or else all the worry over Tom was taking its toll, for you’d have thought her well over twenty-one to look at her. Dark hollows shadowed her eyes and cheekbones, and her dress hung on her bony frame as if it were a hand-me-down from a woman twice her size. I did not remark upon the change in her, but I was pleased to see that she had got acquainted with suffering.

She did not mince words. “You have to come back with me, Pauline,” she said, in a voice like flint.

I never tell people what I want. I just make sure that what I want sounds as if I am doing them a favor, so I said, “I cannot impose on your kindness any longer, Cousin. You and James were good to take me in when I was sick, but I have trespassed on your hospitality long enough.” What I meant was that with the Wilkes County justice of the peace sending out warrants to arrest people right and left, I wanted to get well away from there, before I got caught in the snare myself.

That ought to have been plain enough for anybody to see, but most people cannot look past their own desires, and, since Ann was one of that sort, she believed my words instead of her own common sense.

She waved aside my protests of sparing her my presence. “It doesn’t matter, Pauline. You have to come back. Tom is still in jail, and I hear they may be looking to arrest you next. If you stay here, it will look like you’ve run away.”