Grannie Bessie

Down in Tennessee, up on top of the Big Roane Mountain, sits a tiny mixed cinder block and old log house right near the North Carolina state line. Surrounded by towering pines that has long since grown up in the cleared fields that used to be home to crops of corn, beans, and plots of tobacco, it was the home of my great grandmother, Bessie.

I can barely remember Grannie Bessie since I was only about 8 years old when I first met her. An old woman, who had long since passed her prime, she had skin like tanned leather that surrounded eyes of bright blue and with a corncob pipe hanging from one corner of her mouth. She seemed to be as old as the mountain she lived on. When she first saw me, she came right to me, placing her face just inches from my own, and stared at me. Somewhat frightened, I had cautiously touched her face and marveled at how tough and hard it felt. I could see how deep and permanent the wrinkles were that crisscrossed every part of her skin. Never before had I ever met someone so old.

Yet, when she laughed, her face lit up and one could tell that she used to be a very beautiful woman before time had taken its toll and life had weathered her to the substance of rough tree bark. Her voice was quite melodious for one so ancient at the ripe old age of 86 and that night, while sitting in front of her hand-laid fireplace, I was content to hear her tell stories of events long past.

Grannie Bessie first married at age 19 and as a young girl to an older man, someone who was over 40 years older than she was, and who had been married three times before. Still, in spite of their age difference, she loved him enough and they were married until his death at the ripe old age of 73 years 4 months and 15 days, a marriage that lasted for 14 years. She had five children and was pregnant with her sixth at the time of his death.

Even so, within two months of his passing, Bessie remarried since it was almost impossible for her to survive on her own with a passel of children to take care of.

That winter, Isaac Lynch, a man who apparently just wandered into town one day from parts unknown, showed a liking for Bessie. Everyone said he had an honest look and he seemed to not mind the children, and he voluntarily helped Bessie by cutting wood for the fireplace and helped bring in meat from hunting. When her baby was born, the boy was named Isaac.

A tall man, Isaac had dark hair and black eyes, and was a good-looking man though he walked with a limp from a bullet wound near his knee. Someone had said he had been shot while playing cards and, perhaps, he was not as honest as everyone believed. That did not matter to Bessie and she considered herself lucky that he seemed to care for her and that was good enough since she had fallen very deeply in love with the man. Of course, it helped that Bessie still had a lissome figure with bright blue eyes and honey blonde hair and she owned the farm and its contents and knew that, in spite of all the children, she was still a good catch.

Through the previous years, Bessie did much of the work on the farm but now it was different with Isaac by her side. She continued to plow her garden with a mule named Henry, cured her tobacco, helped with the butchering, and preserved meat in the smoke house. She repaired fences by walking up and down the mountainside, tacking up barbed wire fencing to trees and posts. At the same time, she still took care of the children until they were old enough to watch each other. Life was not easy for Bessie, but it was all she knew. Her family grew by two more children, another boy, and a little black-haired girl that was the image of her father.

At night, once chores were done, Bessie would help the children with their schoolwork and then make supper. Isaac would carry in water and firewood for the stove and fireplace after all the outside chores had been completed. He would play with the children for awhile before they ate and went to bed. Then he and Bessie would sit in the living room while she sewed and he carved out toys and other things for his family. Then they too, would go to bed with each other.

Then, one day during the winter when Bessie was 36 years old, and while Isaac was out hunting, a stranger rode into her yard on a gray gelding with a long white scar on its neck. When he came to her door, he asked for her husband but she didn't like the way he wore his hat pulled down where it covered his eyes. She did not want the man to know she was there by herself with just the children and said Isaac had just walked over to the town, but would be back in a few minutes. The stranger said that was ok, he would come back later. Tipping his hat to her, he turned his horse and went out the gate, yet she feared he had seen the footprints heading off into the woods.

Hours passed and Isaac had not yet returned. The night came and went and the next morning, Bessie hailed a passing neighbor and told him she feared for Isaac. That afternoon, a search party found him dead in the woods a couple miles away. Someone had shot him in the back. Bessie told them about the stranger who had come to her door, but no one recognized his description, and with snow on the mountain, there was no one to ride into Knoxville to get the sheriff.

All Bessie could do was to have the men carry Isaac to the smokehouse until the ground thawed enough to allow a burial. She vowed to him, as he lay wrapped tightly in a piece of canvas amongst the hanging hams and quarters of salted beef and venison that she would get justice for his death. When spring finally arrived, she buried Isaac under the old pear tree that grew in the center of the family graveyard.

Alone once more, Bessie made the best of things, but she always kept an ear open about the man who had killed her husband. Whether buying things at the local store or having feed ground at the mill, she never said much, but she always listened. One evening, after riding her mule Henry down to her neighbor Gertie's house to take her friend some medicine, Bessie was taking her time coming back, enjoying the August evening and watching the sunset through the gap in the mountain. As she rode up the main street of the town, she saw a gray horse that seemed familiar tied to a post at the local tavern. As she got closer, she saw the jagged white scar on the side of the gelding's neck. It was he - the man who had killed her husband!

She quickly slid off the side of Henry, and gathering her skirts in her hands, she quietly strode to the window that was open. Inside she could hear the mumble of several voices, but she right away recognized the one she was listening for. He was telling someone he had to get to Myersville right away, that he had another job to complete up there and it was a four-hour ride up through the Roane pass. Bessie knew the way he was headed and immediately, she knew what she had to do.

Running back to Henry, she grabbed the reins and scrambled up on his back. Hurrying him as fast as the old cantankerous mule would go, she went to the house and started going through Isaac's old trunk. She soon found what she was looking for and then giving quick instructions to her oldest girl, she was soon back on Henry, headed toward the Roane Pass Trail, taking care that no one saw her leaving. She knew he would not leave for the pass until morning and she had a lot of work to do before then.

Bessie was gone for a day and a half. When she arrived back at the farm, Laney came outside and quietly helped her mother stumble into the house. The girl put Bessie to bed, then went outside, dried Henry off, and then put him in the barn. She brushed the mule and removed all traces of him being ridden and cleaned out his hoofs. Once she was done taking care of him, she went back to the house to take care of her mother.

Two days later, the sheriff arrived at the farm. When he knocked on the door, Laney answered and let him come in. Inside, he found Bessie in her bedroom, tossing in her bed, fevered and bundled up in heavy blankets even though it was hot outside. When he tried to talk to her, all Bessie could do was moan and wave her hands. Afraid he was making things worse, the sheriff returned to the kitchen to question Laney. He wanted to know if Bessie had gone anywhere, a notion that Laney denied, saying her mother had been ill for the past four days since her visit to Gertie, who also had been sick. The other children now crowded around Laney never said a word different, but nodded in unison at the sheriff.

He stared at the children for some time, taking a long hard look at the youngest girl. He turned and walked outside and headed to the barn. He looked around but could find nothing that indicated Bessie had ever left the farm since her visit to town a few days before. Shaking his head, he returned to the house. Calling Laney outside, he asked her once again if her mother had been anywhere.

Laney, with a guileless look, said there was no way her mother could have gone anywhere since she had been abed with a high fever for days. She told the sheriff to have Dr. Dyer come out and take a look at her mother again since he had been there the past three days. The sheriff stood there, thinking for a moment. Reaching into his boot, he pulled out a hand-carved knife. He handed it to Laney and asked her to give it to her mother. He told her a man had been found shot up on Roane Pass and that his heart had been cut out and nailed to a tree with that knife. Maybe - someone had stolen it from Bessie.

The girl just looked at the knife and then at the sheriff as he mounted his horse. For a long second, the two stared at each other. Laney nodded her head and slipped the knife into her apron. The sheriff turned his horse and rode out the gate. Laney smiled at his back, knowing he knew what had happened, but with no proof, there was little he could do. Besides, the 16-year-old girl had plans to marry that sheriff even though he had yet to find that part out. Then the secret would be safe always.

She entered the house and Bessie called her to the bedroom. When she was standing next to her mother, she handed the knife to her. Bessie stared at the knife, with tears in her eyes. The handle, carved from the horn of a deer, showed two people holding each other, one woman with honey blonde hair and a tall man with hair as dark as Tennessee coal. Between them was carved one heart that joined them together - forever.