Raise the Song of Harvest Home

Raise the Song of Harvest Home

Suzanne Marsh

The slate gray mountains held secrets, known only to Granny Tate and the members of her sect. Granny, the youngest of Nathan Tate’s daughters, lingered for several moments near a huge cottonwood tree. She fumbled around in her apron pocket for a small tin of snuff, a habit she had, since she was a young girl. Granny stood up straight as she took the trail hidden in the cottonwood trees. She made her way to the edge of the snow-covered mountain. She breathed in the brisk cold air; she had decisions to make. It was time for the annual Harvest, and a custom that her Da started. Da prayed over the family bible, for a good harvest. The crops were already half dead; the first frost killed most of the corn.

Nate tossed and turned, sleep eluding him. Finally, he fell asleep, and he began to dream. Nate heard a dark, deep voice: “So the bible did not help Nate, I can help you.” Nate turned to face Scratch himself; “Nate, your crop of corn will flourish even with the killer frost. In return, I want your beautiful daughter, Melody. This is a one-time offer; you have until dawn.” Nate heard about folks bargaining with Scratch; no good ever came from that. Nate pushed the thoughts from his mind; he could not give Melody to Scratch. He pulled the rough wool blanket over his head, hoping the thoughts would leave his mind.

Just before sunrise, the deep bass voice of Scratch returned to Nate’s mind: “Nate, what is it to be? A good crop of corn or Melody?” Nate was brokenhearted; Melody was his favorite daughter. Nate pleaded with Scratch: “I can’t give her to you, even if it means the corn crop will fail.” Scratch was persuasive as his voice deepened: “I want you to sacrifice her life for your corn. Drop her over the snow-covered peak. I will keep her safe if you place her in my keeping.” Nate needed the money from the corn, the only cash crop that grew in that area of Tennessee. “All right, you win, Scratch. I will give you Melody, now be on your way.” Nate shook his head; what had he just done? He knew that if his wife, Martha, were alive, he never would have made the pact with Scratch.

Melody hummed Amazing Grace as she swept the dirt floor of the cabin. She was content here, at home, where she was needed. Melody raised little Nate and Elsbeth, while big Nate spent his time plowing and furrowing the fields. Nate hated the thought that in five days, Melody would become Scratch’s bride through her death. He went to visit an elderly shaman, thinking he might still be able to save Melody. He was distraught at the thought. Melody reminded him of his wife, Martha. The shaman heard Nate’s knock on the door: “Nate, what brings you here?” The shaman noted the tears streaming down Nate’s face: “Shaman, I had a visit from ole Scratch last night; he wants Melody for his bride. I can’t kill my daughter, but I already made the bargain. Her life for good crops.” The shaman was horrified by Nate’s outburst. The shaman smiled at Nate: “You have no choice, Nate, you bargained with Scratch, now you have to pay a high price. The best I can do is give you a potion of herbs to make her sleep. I would not wish to be in your place Nate.”

The shaman disappeared behind a thread bare curtain, he mixed the potion. He hoped that Nate would not do anything foolish. The evening of the fourth day Nate slipped the herbs into Melody’s dinner. He hated himself for what he was about to do. Outside his window an icy breeze that felt as if it were a hand, grabbed Nate’s shirt: “Yesterday she was yours today she is mine.” The hand then released Nate.

Nate scooped Melody up in his arms; he opened the door of the old cabin. The air was so cold; he tramped through the mud toward the mountain peak. He climbed to the peak, bowed his head, then threw the sleeping Melody over the edge. It was the last time he saw her. The folks in Wallace, Tennessee, once they saw Nate’s crops flourishing while their own crops failed, caused Nate further problems. Folks demanded the truth; Nate simply said he did nothing else to his crops than his neighbors. He did not have it in him to tell the folks of Wallace that he was in league with Scratch.

Maddie Northrup, Nate’s sister, decided to visit. She heard that Melody had disappeared. Nate heard a knock on the cabin door. He peered out and saw Maddie standing there shivering in the cold:

“Maddie, what brings you to this neck of the woods?” Maddie attempted to look into the one-room cabin: “Where is Melody Nate? I heard she went missing.” Nate stood still, his huge work-worn hand clutching the door: “Maddie, she up and disappeared almost a year ago.” That seemed to satisfy Maddie, at least for the moment. Nate did not want to make her suspicious: “Come on in, Maddie, warm yourself by the fire, then we will talk.” He had no intention of telling Maddie the truth now or ever. Little Nate curled up in Maddie’s lap: “Auntie Maddie, Da has a secret no one knows about.” Nate spun around: “Little Nate, that is enough out of you. Go get your britches on like a good boy.” Elsbeth strode into the fracas: “Aunt Maddie, what are you doing here?” Elsbeth, her hair disheveled, was rubbing her eyes, attempting to understand what was happening.

Maddie stayed for several weeks; she left just as she had arrived abruptly. Nate, with several neighbors, made his way to the mountain peak, carrying Little Nate, sleeping soundly. Nate hurled his son over the cliff; he knew Scratch was waiting for the boy. The folks who took part in the ceremony were now seeing the sacrifices for good crops. The last surviving child was Elsbeth, Granny Tate. Nate often wondered why Scratch wanted Melody and Little Nate but not Elsbeth.

Granny, was now an old raw boned woman; she married and had seven children. Today, her daughter Merry was the sacrifice for good crops. The folks of Wallace began to sing and raise the song of Harvest Home.