WIDE MEADOWS: MOLLY IS WHERE SHE BELONGS (A CONTINUING SERIES)

Editor's note: This is a chapter from Jean Bell Mosley's book "Wide Meadows" that was first published in 1960.

The next time Molly and I went up to clean Jeem's house we could tell he was carving again, and it was Janice, all right. He had started with the head.

All the matchmakers sighed with relief and secretly started making quilts and pillowcases for Janice. And Janice started making plans, too.

"First thing I'll do will be to get him down out of that eagle's nest," she secretly confided to Mom.

After staying with various neighbors it was Molly's turn to come back to our house. Sometimes Jeem would bring his whittling down and set around the fireplace with the rest of us and work on it. He was taking more pains with the carving of Janice than anybody, which was natural, of course. He'd hold it up every once in a while and squint an eye at it to get perspective. We'd all speak our admiration.

"What do you think of it, Molly?" he asked one night, looking at her steadily like her opinion mattered.

Me?" Molly looked up from her patching in surprise, blushing.

"Yes. You." Jeem spoke softly, but he was looking right into Molly's eyes, demanding an answer.

"Why, I -- why, it's pretty."

Jeem started whittling again. It seemed his concentration was out of proportion to his task, for he was almost through with it, just adding a few lines here and there. And then -- snap, a little arm broke off. We all looked horrified. So much work all ruined. But Jeem was laughing.

"I knew it was across the grain from the beginning," he said, tossing the broken doll into the fireplace. We didn't know whether he meant the grain of the wood or his grain.

The matchmakers were disgusted. That was all, just plain disgusted. Jeem Hollister didn't want no woman, or if he did he'd just have to find one himself! They were through!

So I didn't get to go back up to Jeem's for a long time. There was no one else to take. It was winter anyway and hard to get up there. But the next spring, as soon as the dogwood started pokie-dotting the mountainside and the oaks put out little kitten-ear leaves, Jeem sent word around that his carving was finished and he'd be having an all-day party and singing come the second Saturday.

Jeem sent for Molly to come up and clean up things and get ready. I went along, too, but Mama said for me to hurry right back with the news of you-know-what if there was any. But since there wasn't any, I stayed around helping Molly clean and polish. Jeem had added the Ritters' new baby, and that was all.

Oh, he had torn off a little piece of Molly's blue-checked curtain not much bigger than a postage stamp and put it over the window on the inside of his little carved cabin home. I thought that was real nice since Jeem never had said a thing about Molly's curtains she'd put up. But he had funny ways of doing things.

"There's a window on the other side, too," Jeem said, pointing to the little replica. "Maybe you'd better put a piece up at it, too, Molly. Just open the little door, and stick it up from the inside."

Molly took the scrap, opened the little door, and worked a long time, it seemed, getting the tiny piece put up.

"Can't you get it, Molly? Here, let me," I offered. My fingers were smaller.

"I got it," she said, choked-like, and then I noticed she was crying. Not out loud. Just standing there quietly letting the tears run down.

Jeem was standing across the room, watching her back. "Do you like it, Molly?" He spoke soft and low and stood so stiff and intense, as if it were the most important thing in the world to know how Molly liked it. "If you don't like it, Molly, I'll lock the little door and no one will ever know, but that's the way it will stay with me, always."

Such crazy talk. I didn't get it.

Finally Molly turned around and looked at him. She wasn't blushing this time and seemed like it made no difference at all to her that Jeem should see her crying. She smiled through her tears and said, "Yes, Jeem. I like it very much."

All the stiffness went out of Jeem, and he sent me out to gather dogwood to pretty up the place. "Get a lot," he said.

Well, sometimes people were moved to tears by a work of art and I guessed Molly appreciated good whittling as much or more than the rest of us.

The party was a big success in spite of the disappointed matchmakers. Everyone studied the wooden valley again and again in every detail. Seemed like it drew the people even closer together to see themselves all carved out of wood, each one going about his separate way of life, yet all being together like we were.

A crowd was all pushed around the log when I noticed the little blue-checked curtain in Jeem's carved house had come loose and I opened the miniature door to stick it back up like Molly had done. And then I saw it!

"Why, here's --" I began, and looked up quickly, searching for Molly's face. She winked and smiled. Then I looked at Jeem. He winked and smiled, too. I closed the little door softly, happy with my new secret. Why hadn't I guessed before? How long had it been that way?

"Jeem," someone was saying, "you haven't put Molly anywhere. Looks like she's been around here enough to be somewhere."

Then Jeem said in his soft, low-spoken way, "Molly's on there, all right. Right where she belongs." he nodded to me. "Open the little door, kid."