Shacked Up in the Valley

The news spread like wildfire - Jeremy had left his wife, Annie Mae had left her husband, and they were shacked up in the Valley, Rutting like weasels, no doubt, Aunt Pearl informed the ladies at the weekly quilting meeting and Aunt Vi gasped, Pearl! My grandmother rounded the corner of the stairs and gave me a quick swat on the behind, Scat! she ordered firmly, This ain't somethin' you need to hear.

My daddy was on the side porch, paint brush in hand, giving the steps a final coat of white paint. What's rutting? I asked him and he paused in mid stroke, Why, it's when deer ....he began then caught himself and gave me a narrow eyed look. It's when deer are hungry and have to search for food, he finished, turning his attention back to the steps. What's that got to do with weasels? I persisted with the innocence of a ten year old and he sighed, I'll explain it you later. I made one final effort, What's shacked up? and he broke out laughing so hard that he dropped the paint can, spilling paint over his shoes, the steps, and a good sized patch of grass. Instead of getting angry, he laughed even harder, sliding helplessly to his knees and into a puddle of paint. I remember thinking I would never comprehend grownups.

Domestic abuse was not a concept I understood well enough to give a name to but I did know about bruises and black eyes and that Annie Mae had always seemed to have them. Nana said she was clumsy and accident prone, that she needed help but wasn't ready to admit it, that you could only help those willing to help themselves - but there was something in her tone that was like steel, hard and unforgiving, something that clearly said this was a subject high on the off limits list. Annie's husband was not allowed in our house and I had seen my grandmother refuse to speak to him when they met at the post office or at McIntyre's. Annie herself seemed weighted down with sadness, old before her time, wearied and worn out at nineteen.

Jeremy had married at seventeen, doing what island folk called, and this I did understand, "The Honorable Thing". The baby was premature and had not survived past the first week, leaving Jeremy shattered and his wife embittered and shrewish, her natural state, if my grandmother was to be believed, Houses built on sand don't last, she was fond of saying, Takes more'n honor to make a marriage.

And so, a trapped and unhappy young man and a battered young woman had met, joined forces, and run away. Alone, they had been isolated and helpless - together they had overcome circumstances, fear, gossip and even tradition. Now and again, my grandmother said with a satisfied smile, Things that are meant to be, actually are.