Jeb

By Cathy Dangerfield

Growing up in the Kentucky mountains in the early 1900's, Jeb Fry doesn't have much to call her own except unwavering ambition to get ahead. Grueling hard work, poverty and loose chickens running around the house are all the motivation she needs. With a mother who lives in a fantasy world, a crippled father, and too many little brothers and sisters to feed, Jeb gets resourceful to get what she needs.
    Throughout her life, no amount of scheming is out of the question. If she doesn't stand up for herself, others will steal what little she's able to grasp onto. A small whisper inside always questions her tactics, but she's able to stuff it down and live as she pleases. That is until she finds herself looking back at a lifetime of terrible choices that finally catch up to her. She'd always heard God can be that forgiving, but is it possible to be that merciful?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cathy Dangerfield
• Release date: Jul 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201366568

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

1938

Ivy Jeb Fry crouched low at the corner of the porch. Not again. They were still trying to make due from the last time the shiny, white car rumbled down their driveway. She hunkered behind an old shutter, happy for the first time that Pap had been too lazy to hammer it back up when it had blown down last spring.

At the sound of the cabin door creaking open, she whipped around to see two of her sisters racing toward the slowing vehicle. Verna and Rose clapped their hands prancing around like it was Christmas. Ivy pursed her lips wishing she could give both the girls a good whack. They were as naïve as Mrs. Ballard’s sheep right before they were slaughtered last month, skipping around one minute, dinner the next.

If it didn’t look like a plate of cookies that the hawk-nosed lady held in her hand as she got out of the car, Ivy would run over to stop the girls from acting the fools. But she couldn’t. There was so little joy in their lives it was none of her business to snuff it out when it came calling, no matter how rotten the person who brought it.

Verna stood on her tiptoes, peering at the plate of treats. Are those for us, Aunt Ivy? 

Don’t let it be said that I don’t take care of my own. The older woman’s pointy nose tilted toward the sky. Giving what I can to my family is my Christian duty. She held out the plate. Go tell your pappy I’m here.

Ivy rolled her eyes as she listened to her aunt trying to puff herself up like a rooster strutting around the hen’s coop. Why did Mama and Pap name her after such a scheming old woman?

Less than a minute later, Pap came out of their one room cabin. Ivy didn’t have to wonder where Mama was. She’d be hanging back in the shadows close enough to listen without having to face her sister-in-law.

How nice of you to come see us, Pap bellowed as he came out, his words catching as he stumbled over the loose board.

You don’t have it, do you? Aunt Ivy hissed, then whispered something indistinguishable.

Take the cookies inside, Pap ordered the girls.

When the door banged shut, Ivy propped on her knees. As she leaned closer, her elbow caught on a rusty nail sticking out of the shutter. She sucked in a gulp of air, clamping her hand over her mouth to cover the shriek that begged to pour out. Blood trailed down her arm, but all she could do was press it against her mud-stained shirt.

I’m here to collect, Aunt Ivy snapped. Money or chickens. That was the deal.

Give her what for, Ivy whispered almost hoping her pappy would hear the advice. He had to take a stand this time, not like when he let her take Millie, their only goat.

I’m lining up some jobs real soon, Pap’s voice sounded thin, not with the usual cheerfulness. I know I told you that you could take the chickens if I didn’t pay up, but think of the young-ins.

You need to be taking responsibly for your brood and pay your bills, Aunt Ivy answered.

That was all she needed to hear. Ivy eased away from the grown-ups. When she snuck far enough away, she darted full speed toward the chicken pen. Her family’s stomachs already touched their backbones most nights. If Mama and Pap couldn’t take care of it, she needed to do some things on her own. She couldn’t let that old bat take more food out of their mouths. Didn’t Aunt Ivy care her own brother’s family starved while she milked their only goat? Now she wanted to feast on their chickens, too?

A near-empty feed sack sat crumpled against the rail. Ivy grabbed it, shaking out the rest of the corn. She squeezed through the twisted branches that made the fence and snatched at the first chicken she saw. It flapped its wings, squawking so loud it sent the other birds running in a panic.  With no time to wait for them to calm down, Ivy leaped into the dust and feathers. She scooped one into the sack, but not before it pecked her on the face, barely missing her eye.

Her heart pounded, but she scrambled around the pen managing to catch two more before the sound of voices floated from the other side of the cabin. Ivy shimmied through the rails, banging the bag of squawking chickens as she made her escape. Without looking back, she pumped her legs as fast as they’d go into the woods. When she’d put enough distance between them, she hid behind a tree. After a few seconds, she peeked out.

She wasn’t too far to notice Pap rub his chin as he glanced around the pen with the four remaining chickens. She heard Aunt Ivy’s high pitched squeal. Her hands jammed against her hips.

Not happy about your payment? Ivy mumbled. At that moment, the birds in the sack made a ruckus. She held it close, pressing against the tree. Maybe they’d think the birds escaped from the pen and they were wandering around the woods squawking. 

No one came her way. She stood still as a stone. When silence replaced the commotion, she bobbed her head around the tree trunk. She caught her pappy’s eyes before he followed Aunt Ivy back to her car, a chicken under each arm. Was that her imagination or did he see her and give a nod?

Ivy crept back toward the pen. She took her time in case the adults returned. As she waited at the edge of the woods, the contentment she’d felt about pulling one over faded. Why would she feel poorly about what happened? So what that they had an agreement to pay rent at the first of every month. Shouldn’t kin be forgiving?

Maybe the churning in her belly had to do with the fact that Aunt Ivy had most of their chickens now. Ivy kicked at a root coming out of the ground. No, it was more than the missing livestock that bothered her. Fooling her aunt had been too easy. What if she got more from that woman than her name?

2016

Jeb Fry peeked around the heavy curtain as she studied the cars that sped by the highway in front of her house. She didn’t know why she’d decided to count only the white ones today. For some reason that she couldn’t remember, she hated that color automobile, almost as much as she hated when a telemarketer called her Ivy Fry. Didn’t they know she wasn’t that little girl anymore?

When two more cars came around the corner, she slapped her knee. That makes a hundred. White was a good choice today. Leaning back against her favorite wing chair, Jeb lifted one leg and then the other onto the worn stool. Maybe tomorrow I’ll see how many semis are riding the roads. 

Drumming her wrinkled fingers on the edge of the cushion, she focused her attention to the overgrown lawn. If Harlow had cut it like he said he would, her yard wouldn’t look like such a mess. Why didn’t people come when they said anymore? She studied the cracked cement on her patio with weeds poking through. Maybe the grass wasn’t the only problem. When did her beautiful mansion become so run-down?

Memories of what she did that morning often faded, or the names of her grandchildren, but she wasn’t delusional. Her brick house atop the Kentucky foothills was no longer as impressive as it had been.  

Jeb’s stomach rumbled. She eased her legs to the floor, grabbed her cane, and then pushed to her feet. Even though she shouldn’t be hungry after lunch, she went in search of a snack.

She shuffled into the kitchen stopping in the doorway. The sink held an empty cereal bowl and spoon. Where was her sunflower plate with the peanut butter knife? Her cane thumped against the tile as she worked her way to the cupboard. A glance was all it took to shake her memory. The plate sat in its usual spot. How could she think she had a sandwich when she ran out of peanut butter yesterday?

Jeb made her way to the refrigerator. She scanned the contents of her near-empty icebox, settling on a jar of sweet pickles. If Rhonda didn’t come by tomorrow to take her to the grocery store, she’d be living on boxed macaroni and cheese.

Jeb gripped one hand on the cane and the other on the pickles and made her way to the front door. Balancing the jar on a nearby chair, she opened the door that led to the garage and scooped up her lunch again.

She eased down two steps and pushed the button for the electric door with her elbow, then ambled into the sunshine and planted herself in the waiting lawn chair. When she dropped her cane to the ground, she twisted the jar open then dipped her fingers into the juice.

As she crunched her meal, she watched the driveway. Rhonda never missed a shopping day without calling. She’d been helping Jeb three months, which was longer than most of the others.

She wiped pickle drippings off her chin with the back of her hand. I’ve been good to that woman, she muttered. Hadn’t she always made sure to offer Rhonda lunch after they got back from the store? She gave the woman little gifts too. Last Sunday at church, she gave her first dibs on the clothes she got from the second-hand store before she cut them in pieces for quilting. Surely it didn’t bother her when she said she couldn’t wear them because they were for hefty women. Rhonda knew she was bigger. 

Jeb pursed her lips. If she didn’t want to come back, she’d have no problem getting someone new. Help lined up to work when money was involved.

A car that looked like Hazel Tate’s whizzed by. Jeb sat straight to get a better view. Good, she didn’t stop. Don’t need another gallon of milk. She waved her pickle in the air. Did you hear that, Hazel? Too much milk. From the first time Jeb paid her ten dollars for bringing a three dollar gallon of milk, she tried to deliver two a week.

She couldn’t trust anyone. Don’t come when they say they will and always trying to get as much money as they can. Jeb blinked, wiping the corners of her eyes. But wasn’t that what she’d done to Floyd Crawford? Used him to get this land?

Jeb glanced around her yard. The majestic iron gate that led to the Crawford cemetery was the only thing besides the land and house that was left of the family’s fortune. All of the immediate members of the Crawford family rested peacefully in the serene setting atop the hill.

No, she earned this place. The distant Crawford relatives didn’t labor like she did to get it.

Jeb lowered the jar of pickles to the ground. As she forced her muscles to straighten, she leaned back into the creaking folding chair with a glance to her mountain. It had always been her mountain. She didn’t need a deed to tell her that. Since she was old enough to remember, Jeb wanted to live, no, planned to live in the big house. Nothing had stopped her either. Not being from the poorest family in the mountains or her limited fifth grade education.

Taking a deep breath, she scanned the empty patio, feeling the nostalgic ache for how elegant it used to be. Should never have given it all away. It wasn’t the same without the hundred-year-old wrought iron garden furniture and ceramic planters. Without the pieces, the fenced terrace looked bland.

She turned her attention to the road so she wouldn’t have to look at the deterioration that time and guilt had caused. Still no sign of Rhonda. Hopefully she wasn’t turning out like all the rest, helping with this or that, then disappearing after she got what they wanted.

A cool October breeze smacked Jeb in the face. She wrapped her arms around her middle and shivered. Did she think giving gifts would make people stick around or was she trying to make the ghosts go away? Jeb massaged her aching fingers. How many people had she hurt? She pulled a tissue from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. No point thinking that way. She’d been the one who was treated poorly. Besides, a person had to do what needed to be done and she'd never been one to shy away from her responsibility.

Without even closing her eyes, she could almost see a much younger Jeb skipping home from school. A rutted dirt road replaced the highway, the big house stood proud at the top of the hill. Jeb took a deep breath wishing she could smell the wild raspberry bushes that used to grow at the base of the driveway in the ditch.

No use feeling guilty now. She should be proud at what she’d accomplished. If only that poor, scrawny mountain girl would’ve been able to see what her future held.   

CHAPTER 2

1939

Ivy Jeb Fry, Ivy Jeb Fry, kids' chanted before busting out into an uproar of laughter.

Ivy marched on with determined strides trying to ignore the hoots that echoed from behind.

No wonder you’ve kept it a secret. You got a boy’s name. Guess it’s only right since you have a boy's haircut, too.

Ivy promised Pappy no more fights, but he started this one when he named her Jeb. She spun around and raced toward Toby. Now you’ve done it. I’m going to pop you in the face Toady Tidwell. Ivy gripped her hands in fists and stared at the kid. Her brother and three sisters approached gawking at them, along with Toby’s two buddies.

Toby took a step closer to Ivy and smiled. I knew when you wouldn’t tell Miss Grace your middle name it had to be bad. He whipped a strand of licorice out of his back pocket and ripped off a bite with his teeth. It took me all summer to figure it out. With a look beyond Ivy’s shoulder, he smiled toward her brother, Carl. It was worth it. The name’s worse than I thought it’d be.

Ivy glared at her older brother.

He dipped his head.

She’d managed to keep the awful name a secret for all her eleven years and Carl went and blew it in one day. So what? She loosened her fists. You figured out a girl’s name. You’re not so smart. Ivy patted her hair knowing the brown pieces stuck up in sprigs. Instead of showing Toby that his insults stung, she tucked her shirttail into her tattered pants. The fact that they were Carl’s hand-me-downs didn’t make her feel much better about herself.

Ivy resisted the urge to punch Toby in the face and let her hands dangle at her sides. This time she’d fight with her words. Even though Pap saddled her with the ridiculous name, she hated to disappoint him. Taking a step back, she pointed up the hillside to the Crawford’s mansion. I’m going to be a fancy lady like Mrs. Martha. Someday I’m going to live in that house. She squinted up the hill, admiring the way the sun shown off the big picture window. You’ll just wish you’d been nicer to me.

The only way you’d be living up there would be as their maid or maybe their stable boy, Jeb Fry. Toby and his two friends broke out in hysterical laughter.

The sound of snorting came from behind. Ivy turned and leveled Carl with the meanest face she could muster. Then she focused her attention back to Toby and did the only thing that wouldn’t land her in trouble. She stuck her tongue out. You just wait and see. I’m gonna own that place someday. She turned and gave one final look to the Crawford place. Besides, I can always change my dumb old name and grow my hair back, but you’ll always look like your mama hit you with an ugly stick. Ivy kicked dirt at Toby then ran toward home. You’re slow as molasses, too, she yelled over her shoulder.

Ivy didn’t stop until she got to the bend in the road. Looking over her shoulder, she saw nothing but dust. When it cleared, she made out the figures of her brother and three little sisters. Leaning her hands on her knees she panted and waited for them to catch up. I knew that Toby was too scared to mess with me, Ivy yelled when they got closer.

Pap would’ve been real mad if you got into another fist fight. Sadie popped her dirty thumb in her mouth, her eyes wide.

Ivy ignored the five-year-old’s advice and stomped to Carl. What’d you go and tell him my name for? You may be a year older, but I can still wrestle you to the ground. She shoved his shoulder. It’d be worth getting into a mess with Pap to give you a pounding.

Stop it, Ivy. I don’t want to have to hurt you. Carl stumbled back out of arm’s reach and held his hands in front of him. Besides, the kids at school woulda found out your name sometime.

Ivy liked that Carl was still scared of her even though he’d grown a head taller. They’d never have found out if you didn’t open your mouth and blab. She lunged toward him, knocking his hat off. So what’d he give ya? If I have to go around having everyone know my name, you can at least share.

Carl shrugged and pulled his pockets inside out. All I got was a bite of licorice.

You’re a fool, Carl Lee Fry. Sometimes you don’t think at all. Toby’s dad owns Tidwell Supply. He can get as much candy as he wants. Ivy gave her brother another shove, this time so hard he flew off the road and landed in the ditch.

Ivy jumped in after him, planning to give Carl the whooping he deserved, but a familiar voice stopped her swing.

Thought I told you no more fighting, Girly.

Ivy glanced over her shoulder. Hey, Pappy. Carl and me were just messin’ around.

Ivy, stay here. The rest of you kids hurry home. Lots of chores to be done and Mama needs help with the little ones. Pap’s eyebrows rose and his lips turned down.

Ivy hung her head and waited till her brother and sisters were farther down the road. She peered up at him. I know I promised not to fight, but I had a real good reason. Carl told that rotten Tidwell boy my name is Jeb. I wanted to hit Toby right between the eyes, but I didn’t. Then Carl...

Pap held up his hand. Truth be told, I’m sure Carl deserved a good punch for telling your secret. He took a deep breath. There are more important things to tend to right now. They got no more work for me at the Ballard place. Had a good solid job with them the last few months building fences for their goats, but they told me there won’t be no more work till spring.

Ivy felt the familiar knot grow in her stomach. The Ballards promised Pap all the extra jobs they could muster. With only an acre of land, Pap couldn’t do more than grow a small garden and keep chickens on theirs. Except for working for the Crawfords, there was little work for a man to find in these parts, and the Crawfords weren’t looking for more men to pull coal out of their mountain. What will we do? Ivy managed to squeak out.

I’m going to Somerset. His shoulders slumped. Barney’s looking for work too. He heard there were some jobs to be had and offered me a ride.

For the first time Ivy noticed the small burlap bag lying on the ground behind Pap. No, you can’t go. A new panic started to rise, worse than worrying about not enough food for the winter. Mama’s going to be having the baby soon, firewood’s got to be chopped, and look at what Carl did when you told him to tar the roof.

She touched her hair. At least he did the job wrong and wasn’t using hot enough tar, or I’d be burnt up too. Please don’t leave. Ivy squeaked out the words. I can’t take care of everything on my own. You know how Mama feels after birthing. She gets so sad she doesn’t get out of bed. 

I know Girly, but this is the only choice, other than begging your Aunt Ivy for money. Pap picked up his bag, walked over, and placed his hand on Ivy’s head. I know it’s a lot I’m asking, leaving you with all the mess. I’ll give you the choice. You want me to look for work or call your aunt? He smiled down at her and tilted up her chin.

She scowled. Pap knew as well as she did the old woman wouldn’t give them nothing. How long will ya be gone?

Pap swung the bag over his shoulder. I knew I could count on you. You’re small, but tough. I’m trusting you’ll keep the family safe and help your mama when the baby comes. I’ll try to send money as soon as I can and I’ll be back by spring to start my job working at the Ballard’s place again. He looked over Ivy’s head toward the direction of their little cabin. If anything goes wrong, get word to Aunt Ivy. He scuffed his toe in the dirt and mumbled, She’ll help if things are bad.

A shiver went through her. What kind of disaster did he expect to happen that would cause Aunt Ivy to do something nice? 

THE TILTED CABIN RUMBLED with shouts from her little sisters and the cries of unhappy babies the closer Ivy got. She slumped onto the wood-splitting log and listened to the usual sounds that poured out of their shack. When she walked through the door, there’d be chickens to chase out, diapers to change, and meal preparations to attend to. 

Keep it down. I’m at a good part in my story, Mama’s sing-song voice drowned out the others. The house quieted for a minute, then the noise rumbled louder than before.

Ivy picked up a twig and snapped it. Why’d Pap have to go and leave her with this mess? Jasper’s three-year-old shriek met her ears. He was always the loudest. She pushed herself off the stump.

If only she didn’t have such a soft spot for that one. She wished she didn’t have fondness for any of them. It’d be easier to up and leave the kids behind. Get a job working in a kitchen in the big city or cleaning for fancy folks. Sometimes she lay awake at night thinking of ways to get out of the filth she lived in.

Ivy neared the front door. It hung on the wood with leather straps that looked like they’d fall any minute. Instead of pushing it open, she stood and stared at it. Figures of her little brother and sisters ran past the thick plastic-covered window. For all her dreams of leaving her family, Ivy knew she couldn’t go. She pushed the door and stepped into the one-room cabin.

Ivvvy. Jasper ran toward her with tears in his eyes, and lunged at her leg.

She leaned over and scooped him up. When she hung him on her hip, she felt a warm moistness against her side. Mama, how long since Jasper’s diaper got changed?

Setting down the tattered romance novel, Mama looked up with a smile. Ivy I’m glad you’re finally here. It’s been such a long day. She pointed to the open bureau drawer that held nine-month-old Rueben. Just got him to take a nap. Must be teething cause he’s been whining all day.

Ivy moved aside the unlit kerosene lantern from the middle of the dining table. She longed to light it, but the windows let in enough dreary glow to see. Oil cost too much to be wasting. With Jasper lying on the table, she unpinned his wet pants. A bright red rash covered his backside. Sadie, bring me the lard.

Nine-year-old Verna