CHAPTER 1
Great Smoky Mountains, mid-1850s
The first time I saw the sin eater was the night Granny
Forbes was carried to her grave. I was very young, and
Granny my dearest companion, and I was greatly troubled in
my mind.
"Dunna look at the sin eater, Cadi," I'd been told by my
pa. "And no be asking why."
Being so grievously forewarned, I tried to obey. Mama said
I was acurst with curiosity. Papa said it was pure, cussed
nosiness. Only Granny, with her tender spot for me, had
understood.
Even the simplest queries were met with resistance. When
you're older ... It's none of your business... . Why are
you asking such a fool question? The summer before Granny
died I had stopped asking questions of anyone. I reckoned
if I were ever going to find answers, I'd have to go
looking for myself.
Granny was the only one who seemed to understand my mind.
She always said I had Ian Forbes's questing spirit. He was
my grandfather, and Granny said that spirit drove him
across the sea. Then again, maybe that was not the whole
truth because she said another time it was the Scotland
clearances that did it.
Papa agreed about that, telling me Grandfather was driven
off his land and herded onto a boat to America so sheep
could have pasture. Or so he was told, though I could
never make sense of it. How could animals have more value
than men? As for Granny, she was the fourth daughter of a
poor Welsh tinker and had no prospects. Coming to America
wasn't a matter of choice. It was one of necessity. When
she first come, she worked for a wealthy gentleman in a
grand house in Charleston, tending the pretty, frail wife
he had met, married, and brought over from Caerdydd.
It was the wife who took such a liking to Granny. As a
Welshwoman herself, the young missus was longing for home.
Granny was young then, seventeen to her recollection.
Unfortunately, she didn't work for them long, as the lady
died in childbirth and took her wee babe with her. The
gentleman didn't have further need of a lady's maid—and
what services he did want rendered Granny refused to
provide. She'd never say what they were, only that the man
released her from her contract and left Granny to her own
devices in the dead of winter.
Times were very hard. She took whatever work she could
find to keep body and soul together and met my grandfather
while doing so. She married Ian Forbes "despite his
disposition." Never having met my grandfather, I couldn't
judge her remark on his behalf, but I heard my uncles
laughing once about his high temper. Uncle Robert said
Grandfather stood on the front porch and shot at Papa, not
once, but twice in quick succession. Fortunately, he had
been drunk at the time and Papa quick on his feet, or I
never would have been born.
Grandfather Forbes died of a winter long before I was
born. A heavy storm had come, and he lost his way home.
Where he had been, Granny didn't say. It was one of the
things that frustrated me most, only hearing part of the
story and not the whole. It was left to me to piece it all
together and took years in the doing. Some of it is best
not told.
When asked why she had married such a fierce man, Granny
said, "He had eyes blue as a dusky sky, dearie. You
have ‘em, Cadi, my love, same as your papa does. And
you've Ian's soul hunger, God help you."
Granny was ever saying things beyond my ken. "Papa says I
take after you."
She rubbed her knuckles lightly against my cheek. "You do,
well enow." Her smile had been sad. "Hopefully not in all
ways." She would say no more on the subject. Seemed some
questions didn't bear answering.
The morning she died, we were just sitting and looking out
over the hollow. She had leaned back in her chair, rubbing
her arm as though it was paining her. Mama was moving
around inside the house. Granny drew in her breath with a
grimace and then looked at me. "Give your mama time."
How four words could hurt. They brought to mind all that
had been before and what had caused the wall between Mama
and me. Some things can't be changed or undone.
Even at my young age, after a mere ten years of living,
the future stretched bleakly out ahead of me. Resting my
head against Granny's knee, I said nothing and took what
solace I could in her sweet presence, not guessing that
even that would soon be taken from me. And if I could go
back now and change things so that I would not have lived
through such a time of desolation, would I? No. For God
had his hand upon me before I knew who he was or even that
he was.
In the last year I had learned tears did no good. Some
pain is just too deep. Grief can't be dissolved like rain
washing dust off a roof. Sorrow knows no washing away, no
easing ... no end of time.
Granny laid her hand upon my head and began stroking me
like I was one of the hounds that slept under our porch. I
liked it. Some days I wished I was one of them hounds Papa
loved so much. Mama never touched me anymore, nor Papa
either. They didn't speak much to one another, and even
less to me. Only my brother, Iwan, showed me affection,
though not often. He had too much to do helping Papa with
the farm. What little time he had left over was spent in
mooning over Cluny Byrnes.
Granny was my only hope, and she was slipping away.
"I love you, my dear. You remember that when winter comes
and everything seems cold and dead. It won't stay that way
forever."
Winter had come upon Mama's heart last summer, and she was
still a frozen wasteland where I was concerned.
"Spring beauties used to grow like a lavender blanket at
Bearwallow. If I could wish for one thing, it would be for
a bouquet of spring beauties."
Granny was ever saying the same thing: If I could wish for
one thing ... Her wishes kept me busy, not that I did not
delight in them. She was too old to go far afield. Further
I ever seen Granny walk was to Elda Kendric's house, she
being our closest neighbor and near as old as Granny
herself. Yet Granny's mind could travel across oceans and
over mountains and valleys, and often did so for my sake.
It was Granny who pointed me to forgotten paths and
treasure haunts it would have taken me longer to discover
on me own. It was for her pleasure I hunted hither and yon
in our high mountains to collect her precious bits of
memories. And it got me away from the house—and Mama's
grief and rejection of me.
It was Granny who put me on the path to Bloomfield in
springtime so that I could bring back a basket full of
mountain daisies and bluets. She taught me how to make a
wreath of them and put it on my head. She told me about
Dragon's Tooth, where green rock grew just like the
backbone of Ian Forbes's Scotland, or so he'd said.
More than once I'd gone there. It took all day for me to
climb the mountain to bring back a chunk of that green
stone for her. I traipsed to ponds filled with sunfish and
hollows warm with frog song. I even found the oak tree she
said must be old as time itself—or at least as old as she.
Granny was full of stories. She always took her leisure,
pouring out words like honey on a cool morning, sweet and
heavy. She knew everyone who came to settle into the
palisades, runs, and hollows of our uptilted land. We
Forbeses came early to these great smoky highlands,
wanting land and possibilities. The mountains reminded
Grandfather of Scotland. Laochailand Kai led them here,
along with others. Elda Kendric came with her husband,
dead and gone now so long that Granny forgot his name.
Even Miz Elda might have forgotten it, for she was ever
saying she didn't want to talk about him. Then came the
Odaras and Trents and Sayres and Kents. The Connors and
Byrneses and Smiths cleared land as well. Granny said if
Grandfather Ian hadn't died, he would have moved the
family further east to Kantuckee.
They all helped one another when they could and held
together against nature and God himself to build places
for themselves. And they was ever on the lookout for
Indians to come and murder ‘em. Those that didn't stand
with the others stood alone and most often died. A few
married come later, marrying in until we were a mingled
lot, castoffs and cutaways and best-forgottens.
"We all got our reasons, some better than most, for
sinking roots into these mountains and pulling the mists
over our heads," Granny said once. Some came to build.
Some came to hide. All of them did what they knew to
survive.
That morning—the morning Granny died—I went to Bearwallow
for spring beauties. She longed for them, and that was
reason enough for me to go. The flowers did grow like a
lavender blanket, just like Granny said she remembered. I
picked a basketful and brought them back for her. She was
asleep in her porch chair, or so I thought until I came
close. She was white as a dogwood blossom, her mouth and
eyes wide open. When I placed the flowers in her lap, she
didn't move or blink.
I knew she was gone from me.
It is an awful thing for a child to understand death in
such fullness. I had already had one taste of it. This
time it was a long drink of desolation that went down and
spread into my very bones.
Something had departed from Granny or been stolen away in
my absence. Her eyes stirred not a flicker; not a breath
of air came from her parted lips. And she didn't look
herself, but rather like a shriveled husk propped up in a
willow chair—a likeness of Granny Forbes, but not Granny
at all. She was gone already without a by-your-leave. I
understood too much and not enough in that moment, and
what I knew hurt so deep inside me I thought I'd die of
it. For a while I did. Or at least I let go of what faint
hope had survived the summer before.
Mama stopped the clock on the mantle and covered the
mirror, as was our highland custom. Papa rang the passing
bell. Eighty-seven times he rung it, one for each year of
Granny's life. My brother, Iwan, was sent to tell our
relatives the sorrowful news. By the next day, most of the
clan of Forbeses and offshoots and graft-ins would gather
to carry Granny to her final resting place on the
mountainside.
Gervase Odara, the healer, was the first to come, bringing
with her Elda Kendric, now the oldest woman in our
highlands. Papa took the door off the hinges and set it up
between two chairs. Granny was laid out on it. First the
women removed her clothes, and Gervase Odara took them
outside to wash. Water was warmed over the fire inside.
Mama ladled some in a basin and used it to wash Granny's
body.
"Gorawen," Elda Kendric said, brushing Granny's long white
hair. "Ye've left me last of the first."
Mama didn't say anything. She and Elda Kendric went on
working in silence. The old woman would look at Mama, but
Mama never once raised her head from what she was doing or
said a word to anyone. When Gervase Odara came back
inside, she helped Mama.
"She told me not more'n a few days ago that she had heard
the mighty voice calling to her from the mountain."
Gervase Odara waited, glancing at Mama. When she still
said nothing, the healer said, "She told me it was for
Cadi she tarried."
Mama's head came up then, and she stared hard at Gervase
Odara. "I hurt enough without you tearing open the wound."
"Sometimes it does good to let it draw."
"This isna the time."
"When better, Fia?"
Mama turned slightly, and I felt her looking for me. I
withdrew as far as I could into the corner shadows, hoping
she wouldn't blame me for the women tormenting her. I
bowed my head, pulling my knees tight against my chest,
wishing myself smaller or invisible.
But I was neither. Mama fixed her gaze on me. "Go outside,
Cadi. This is no place for you."
"Fia ... ," Gervase Odara began.
I didn't wait to hear what she would say but cried
out, "Leave her be!" for I couldn't bear the look in my
mother's eyes. She was like a trapped and wounded
animal. "Leave her be!" I cried again; then jumping up, I
ran out the door.
Some of the clan was yet to be gathered, for which I was
thankful. Had they been, I would have run into the lot of
them staring and whispering. I looked for Papa and found
him chopping down a cedar some distance away. I stood
behind a tree watching him for a long while. It struck me
how long it had been since I heard him laugh. His
countenance was grim as he worked. He paused once and
wiped the sweat from his brow. Turning, he looked straight
at me. "Mama send you out of the house?"
I nodded.
Papa lifted his ax again and made another deep notch in
the tree. "Get the bucket and collect the chips. Carry ‘em
back to her. It'll cut the stench in the house."
The women had already seen to that, for the doors and
windows were open, a breeze carrying in the scent of
spring in the mountains that married with the camphor they
had rubbed on Granny's body. A tin cup of salt sat on the
windowsill, tiny white granules blowing onto the floor
like sand.
Mama was kneading bread dough as I came in. When she
didn't look up, Gervase Odara took the bucket of cedar
chips.
"Thank you, Cadi." She began to sprinkle a handful
alongside Granny, who was clothed again in a black wool
dress. Her long white hair was cut off and coiled neatly
on the table to be braided into the mourning jewelry.
Perhaps Mama would add a white braid to the red-gold one
she wore. Granny's poor shorn head had been covered with a
white cloth looped beneath her chin. Her mouth was closed,
her lips silenced forever. A second white strip of cloth
had been tied around her ankles, a third around her knees.
Her hands, so thin and worn with calluses, lay one over
the other on her chest. Two shiny copper pennies lay upon
her eyelids.
"Come tomorrow or the next day around nightfall, the sin
eater will come, Cadi Forbes," Elda Kendric said to
me. "When he does, ye'll take yer place beside your
mother. Yer Aunt Winnie will carry the tray with the bread
and the mazer of elderberry wine. The sin eater will
follow us to the cemetery and then eat and drink all yer
granny's sins so she wilna walk these hills no more."
My heart shuddered inside me at the thought.
That night I didn't sleep much, so I lay there, listening
to the hoot of the owl outside. Whoooo? Who is the sin
eater? Whooo? Who will Granny see first now she's gone to
the hereafter? Whooo? Who would come take my sins away?
The next day was no better as I watched everyone gather.
Three uncles and their wives and Aunt Winnie and her
husband had arrived. The cousins wanted to play, but I had
no heart for it. I hid myself in the shadows of the house
and kept vigil over Granny. When they finally laid her in
her grave, I wouldn't see her anymore. Leastwise, not
until I met my maker.
Mama didn't send me out again, but she sat in the spring
sunshine with the aunts. Jillian O'Shea had a new girl
baby at her breast, and most were gratified that the
babe's given name was Gorawen. I heard someone say it was
God's way to give and to take away. A Gorawen comes and a
Gorawen goes.
I took no comfort in those words.
From my dim corner, I saw every member of Granny's family
and all her friends come to pay respect to her. And they
all brought something to share with the others be it
whiskey, sweet potatoes for roasting, corn cakes, molasses
sweet bread, or salted pork for the stew pot burbling over
the fire.
"You've got to eat summat, child," Gervase Odara said to
me halfway through the second day. I put my head on my
arms, refusing to look at her or answer. It didn't seem
right to me that life should go on. My granny lay dead,
dressed in her finest clothes, ready for burial, but
people talked and walked and ate as always.
"Cadi, my dear," Gervase Odara said. "Your granny had a
long living."
Not long enough to my way of thinking.
I wondered if I would've felt better if Granny had told me
herself what was to come. Thinking back, I figure she
knew. Leastwise, I think she prayed for the end to come
like it did, with me somewheres else. Instead of saying
she was dying, she sent me chasing after spring beauties
and departed this life while I was gone.
Only Iwan seemed to understand my hurt. He came inside and
sat with me on Granny's cot. He didn't try to get me to
eat or talk. He didn't say Granny was old and it was her
time to die. He didn't say time would heal my wounds. He
just took my hand and held it, stroking it in silence.
After a while, he got up and left again.
The Kai family came the second day. I could hear the
father, Brogan Kai, outside, his voice deep and
commanding. The mother, Iona, and her children came in to
pay their respects to Mama and my other relatives. Iona
Kai's son Fagan entered and went no further than Granny,
viewing her solemnly in all her finery. He was the same
age as Iwan, near fifteen, but seemed even older with his
quiet demeanor and grim countenance. His mother had
brought corn cakes and some jars of watermelon pickles to
share. She gave them to one of my aunts and sat for a few
minutes with Mama, speaking quietly to her.
As the sun went down, people spoke more and more quietly
until no one spoke at all. I felt the difference in the
house. The quiet apprehension had given way to a darkness
heavier to bear. Granny's death had brought something into
the house no words could describe. I could feel it
gathering and closing in around us like the night, tighter
and tighter as the day died.
Fear, it was.
Papa came to the open doorway. "It's time."
Gervase Odara came to me and hunkered down, taking my
hands firmly in hers. "Cadi, you must listen. Do not look
at the sin eater. Do you understand me, child? He has
taken all manner of terrible things unto himself. If you
look at him, he'll give you the evil eye, and some of the
sin he carries might spill over onto you."
I looked up at Mama. She stood in the lamplight, her face
strained, her eyes closed. She would not look at me even
then.
Gervase Odara took my chin and tipped my face so I had to
look her in the eyes again. "Do you understand me, Cadi?"
What good would it do now, I wanted to say. Granny is
already gone. It was cold flesh that remained, not the
part of her that mattered. All anyone had to do was look
at her to know her soul had departed. How could anyone
come now and make things right? It was done. Finished. She
was gone.
But Gervase Odara persisted until I nodded. I didn't
understand anything then, and the reckoning didn't come
until a long time later. Yet, the healer's manner sapped
my courage. Besides, I had learned better than to ask for
explanations by then. I had heard of the sin eater, though
in no great detail. One did not speak often or long of the
most dreaded of mankind.
"He will take your granny's sins away, and she will rest
in peace," Elda Kendric said from close by.
And would he come and take my sins away? Or was it to be
my fate to take them with me to my grave, tormented in
hell for what my mean spirit had caused?
My throat closed hot and tight.
Whatever secret sins had burdened Granny were betwixt her
and the sin eater, who would take them from her. There
would never be rest for me. There was not a soul present
who did not know what I'd done. Or thought they did.
"Stand with your mother, child," my father told me. I did
so and felt the slightest touch of her hand. When I looked
up with a longing so deep my heart ached, she spoke softly
and broke off a sprig of the rosemary she carried.
"Toss this into the grave when the service is done," she
said without looking at me.
Four men lifted Granny and carried her out the door. As
her oldest son, Papa carried a torch and led the
procession up the path to the mountainside cemetery. The
night air seemed colder than usual, and I shivered walking
alongside my mother. Her face was still and bleak, her
eyes dry. Others carried torches to light our way. A full
moon was up, though it was obscured by a thick layer of
mist seeping in through the notch in the mountains. It
looked like dead-white fingers reaching for us. Dark
shadows danced between the trees as we passed, and my
heart thumped madly, gooseflesh rising when I felt another
presence join our procession.
The sin eater was there, like a cold breath of wind on the
back of my neck.
Papa and his brothers had built a fence around the
cemetery to keep wolves and other critters from digging.
Granny once told me she liked the ground Papa had
selected. It was a high place where those laid to rest
would be dry and safe and have a grand view of the cove
below and heaven above.
I entered the gate just after my mother and took my place
at her side. My Aunt Winnie carried the tray on which was
the bread Mama had baked and the mazer of elderberry wine.
A long, deep hole had been dug and the earth piled up.
Granny, laid out on her bier, was placed upon that mound
of red-brown, rocky soil. Aunt Cora spread a white cloth
over Granny, and Aunt Winnie stepped forward and placed
the tray upon the body.
A stillness fell upon the congregation, taking such firm
hold that even the crickets and frogs were silent.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
I looked up and saw Mama's face glowing red-gold in the
torchlight, her eyes shut tight. When the gate clicked,
those gathered turned away from Granny, keeping their
backs to her. I did the same, the hair on my head
prickling as I heard the soft footfall of the sin eater.
It was so quiet, I heard the bread tear. I heard him gulp
the wine. Was it hunger for sin that made him eat like a
starving animal? Or was he as eager to have done with his
terrible duty and be gone from this place as were those
who stood with their backs turned and eyes tight shut in
fear of looking into his evil eyes?
Silence followed his hasty meal, and then he gave a
shuddering sigh. "I give easement and rest now to thee,
Gorawen Forbes, dear woman, that ye walk not over fields
nor mountains nor along pathways. And for thy peace I pawn
my own soul."
I couldn't help it. His voice was so deep and tender and
sorrowful, I turned, my heart aching. For the briefest
instant our eyes met, and then I shut mine at the strange
and terrifying sight of him. Yet time enough had passed to
change everything from that day forward.
Nothing would ever be the same again.
"No harm done," he said softly. His quiet footfall died
away as he went out the gate. I looked toward it, but
darkness had already swallowed him.
Crickets chirped again, and somewhere close by the owl
hooted. Whooo? Who is the sin eater? Whooo? Who is he?
Whooo?
Everyone breathed again, like a collective sigh of relief
and thanksgiving that it was over now and Granny would
rest in peace. Mama began to cry loudly—deep wrenching
sobs of inconsolable grief. I knew it wasn't just Granny
she was grieving over. Others cried with her as the
prayers were said. Granny was lowered into her resting
place. Loved ones came forward one by one and threw in
sprigs of rosemary. When everything was said and done,
Papa scooped Mama up in his arms and carried her from the
graveyard.
Lingering behind, I watched two men shovel dirt on top of
Granny. Each thud of earth made a cold thud inside me. One
man looked up from his work. "Go on now, girl. Go on back
to the house with the others."
As I left by the gate, I turned for a moment, my gaze
traveling over the others laid to rest in the cemetery. My
grandfather Ian Forbes had been first, followed by a son
who had died of a Thursday after complaining of terrible
stomach pains. Three cousins and an aunt had died in a
week of fever. And then there was the stone for Elen.
Halfway home, I looked down at the sprig of rosemary Mama
had given me. I'd forgotten to throw it into the grave.
Rubbing it between my palms, I crushed the small silvery
leaves, releasing the scent. Putting my hands over my
face, I breathed it in and wept. I stood like that, alone
in the darkness, until Iwan came back for me. He held me
close for a while, saying nothing. Then he took my hand
and squeezed it. "Mama was worrying about you."
He meant to comfort, but I knew it was a lie. In truth, we
both knew it.
I stayed outside on the far end of the porch, my legs
dangling over the edge. Leaning on the lower railing, I
laid my head down in my arms and listened to Aunt Winnie
sing a Welsh hymn Granny had taught her. Others joined in.
Papa and the other men were drinking whiskey, little
interested in the food the women had prepared.
"What'd he mean, ‘no harm done'?" someone asked.
"Maybe he meant Gorawen Forbes didn't have as many sins as
she might have after such a long living."
"And maybe he's taken on so many in the past twenty years,
hers wilna make much difference."
"Leave off talking about the man," Brogan Kai said
sternly. "He done his duty and he's gone. Forget him."
No one mentioned the sin eater again, not for the rest of
that evening while the grieving was open and unashamed.
Weary in body and spirit, I went inside and curled up on
Granny's cot. Pulling her blanket over me, I closed my
eyes, consoled. I could still smell the scent of her
mingling with the rosemary on my palms. For a few minutes
I pretended she was still alive and well, sitting in her
chair on the porch listening to everyone tell stories
about her and Grandfather and countless others they'd
loved. Then I got to thinking of Granny lying deep in that
grave, covered over by the red-brown mountain soil. She
would not rise to walk these hills again because someone
had come and taken her sins away.
Or had he?
Somewhere out there in the wilderness, all alone, was the
sin eater. Only he knew if he had accomplished what he had
come to do.
And yet, I could not help wondering. Why had he come at
all? Why hadn't he hidden himself away, pretending not to
hear the passing bell echoing in the mountains? Were not
the sins of one life enough to bear without taking on
those of everyone that lived and died in the hollows and
coves of our mountains? Why would he do it? Why would he
carry so many burdens, knowing he would burn in hell for
people who feared and despised him, who would never even
look him in the face?
And why did my heart ache so at the thought of him?
Even at my tender age, I knew.
Seventy to eighty years stretched out before me, long
years of living ahead if I had Granny's constitution.
Years to live with what I had done.
Unless ...
"Forget him," Brogan Kai had commanded.
Yet a quiet voice whispered in my ear, "Seek and ye shall
find, my dear. Ask and the answer will be given ..."
And I knew I would, whatever came of it.