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Across the front of the cabin was a sagging, dilapidated front porch on which there were twin rockers. A man I easily recognized as Luke's father sat with a banjo in his lap. He had the same coal-black hair and dark complexion, and although he looked like he had traveled a rough road, he still possessed handsome facial qualities--a straight Roman nose, strong cheekbones and strong jawline. He looked rugged, but when he saw Luke, he smiled in a soft and gentle way.
The woman sitting beside him and crocheting looked much sterner. Her long hair was tied in a ponytail that reached halfway to her waist. When she stood up, she appeared to be about my mother's age, but after she came off the porch and closer to the truck, her face added years to my first estimate. I saw she was missing some teeth and she had weatherworn wrinkles around her eyes and temples. The lines in her forehead were cut deeper, harsher, than the lines in my mother's face.
But Luke's mother had once been a very pretty woman probably. She had Luke's dark eyes, and although her hair was stained with gray strands, it looked like washing it in rainwater kept it as healthy and rich as it ever was. She had a proud, firm look, Indian proud, with high cheekbones, and she was nearly as tall as Luke. I saw that her hands, which could have been as soft and as dainty as my mother's, were rough and manly looking because of the short fingernails and calluses.
"Ma!" Luke exclaimed and hopped out of the truck. She embraced him eagerly, a mother's pride and pleasure lighting her eyes and softening her suspicious look. Luke's father set his banjo down on the rocking chair and bounced down the porch steps quickly to greet and hug his son.
"Howdy, Luke," his father said. "Didn't expect ya back so soon this time. What changed ya mind?" he asked, still holding on to Luke's shoulders.
"Angel did," Luke said.
"Angel?"
Luke's mother and father turned my way.
"Angel, come out here and meet Ma and Pa. Ma," Luke continued as I got out of the truck, "I want ya to meet my wife, Angel."
"Yer wife!" his mother exclaimed. She looked me over from head to foot as I approached, her expression of disbelief turning to an expression of disappointment. "Ain't she a bit young and fragile lookin' fer a Willies wife?" she asked herself aloud. I stood in front of her and Luke's father, waiting for a proper introduction.
"Angel, I want ya to meet my ma, Annie, and my pa, Toby Casteel. Ma, this is my Angel. Her real name's Leigh, but she's more an angel than a Leigh."
"Is that so?" his mother said, still eying me with disbelief. "Welcome to our home," his father said and hugged me. "When ya go an' do this, Luke?" his mother asked, still staring at me.
"Just yesterday in Atlanta. We met and fell in love in three days' time and were married by a justice of the peace, all right and proper, and we had the biggest and best crowd of wedding guests you ever did see--all my circus friends. Right, Angel?"
"Yes," I said. I felt so self-conscious under Luke's mother's intense gaze. Any mother would be suspicious and would look critically upon the woman her son brought home, I thought, but Luke's mother looked shocked and disappointed.
"How old are ya?" she asked me.
"I'm nearly fourteen," I said. I felt my eyes begin to tear. Even here, in the poorest part of the world, people found fault with me.
"Well yer age ain't no problem," Luke's mother said, "but it takes a lot a grit ta live in the Willies, child. Let me see ya hands," she demanded and reached out, seizing my fingers and turning my hands over. She ran her callused fingers over my soft palm and shook her head. "Ya never seen a real day's work ya whole life, didja, girl?"
I pulled my hands back sharply.
"I can work as hard as anyone," I replied. "I'm sure your hands were as soft as mine once."
There was a moment of heavy silence and then she smiled.
"Well now, ya got pride like a Casteel. Knew there had ta be some reason my son chose ya." She turned back to Luke, who stood beaming with pleasure. "Welcome home, son. What are ya plans now?"
"Angel and me are goin' to live on with you and Pa for a while, Ma. I'm goin' to get a job with Mr. Morrison in Winnerrow and learn carpentry. He was always after me to work for him. Then I'm goin' to build us a fine house, maybe in the valley where I'll work the land, raise cows, pigs, and horses, and make us a clean and decent life. I'll build a house big enough for all of us and you and Pa can come down off this mountain and live like people should live," he added.
His mother hoisted back her shoulders, whatever smile there was in her face evaporating.
"We ain't no lower or worse than those people in the valley, Luke. Ya never talked down about the Willies life before. It was where ya was born and raised
and ya ain't no worse off fer it."
"Didn't say I was, Ma. I just wanna do big things now," he said taking my hand. "I got
responsibilities."
His mother continued to eye me with suspicion.
"Well now," Pa Casteel said, "this calls fer a celebration, right, Ma? Let's cook up those rabbits."
"The rabbits is fer Sunday," she replied.
