A Jawbone in Georgia

Mama and Daddy were both dead now. Daddy had gotten sick a few years ago, but Mama’s death had been sudden and unexpected. The Youngest Daughter didn’t think she’d be seeing her siblings under these circumstances for several more years yet.

But Mama and Daddy were dead, and so the Youngest Daughter zipped up her khaki coat and began hiking up the mountain. Her watch told her she had about forty more minutes to get as high up as she could before somewhere below her, hidden away in the old house, the grandfather clock would strike six.

The trails hadn’t been used much since their childhoods, but enough deer still used the path to make it clear where one switchback ended and the next began. The only sound that filled her ears was the sound of the creek trickling over smooth, mossy rocks and the dead, brown leaves crunching beneath her hiking boots. They were stiff and chafed at her ankles, but she didn’t stop.

Everything had been so straight forward as somehow she knew it would. She and her husband had driven the family station wagon down the long, gravel driveway. They’d parked on the lifeless grass. They’d walked up the aggregate walkway and let themselves in through the screen door. They’d entered the old white farmhouse. The house had always felt frozen in time somehow–a perfect suspension of their childhoods unmarked by the passing of years. Even once their children had grown and moved on, Mama and Daddy hadn’t changed a thing. But now that they were both gone, it had felt less frozen and more decayed. There was dust where there had never been dust, and a stale smell filled the house.

The kitchen, always the command center of the house, had been full. The Eldest Daughter and her husband, and the Sons and their wives. Only the attorney had sat apart–easily distinguishable by his dark skin and suit. The grandfather clock down the hall had chimed five times.

The Youngest Daughter had taken stock of the room. The yellowed kitchen timer sat on the window sill where Mama had left it. What had been the last thing she’d used it for? Daddy’s scotch glass still sat by his chair, Mama unable to move it. The blue and green wallpaper was still peeling in all the places Mama had complained about. Daddy had told her a million times she could replace it, but never could seem to make herself do it. She’d raised her children with that wallpaper. It wasn’t an easy change to make.

The Youngest Daughter’s presence meant they could begin.

“Good evening all,” the attorney had said, nodding around the room as greeting. “We all know why we’re here: to settle your late parents’ estate. Unless anyone feels the need, I won’t go into the specific details. Y’all signed their last wishes when your father died, the last time we were all here together. Does anyone have any questions before I proceed?”

He had paused. No one had said a word. No one had looked at each other. He had nodded.

“Well it’s all quite simple then. As you know, your parents left specific instructions. Spouses, you will return in the morning. Whatever decision has been made by sunrise will be binding. I need verbal confirmation of understanding.”

An echo of agreement had resounded throughout the room. The man nodded again. The spouses had made their quiet farewells and the group dwindled to five. There was no need for discussion or farewells. Everything had already been settled. There was no turning back now.

His gaze had lingered on each of their faces for a brief moment before gathering his paper from the kitchen table and snapping shut his black leather briefcase.

The kitchen table. Where they had grown up eating meals together. The Eldest Brother smirking as he recounted tales of his team’s latest win, his election to student council, the girl that was just so obsessed with him, his acceptance to the Emory School of Law. Where Daddy had passed down his word as law. Absolute and unyielding. Where Mama had sat and let Daddy dispense whatever justice he saw fit–never interfering.

“I’ll be back in twelve hours. Remember the rules. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He had left without another word. The four had sat for a moment until the Eldest Brother had finally spoken.

“Like the man said, we all know the rules. We’ve got one hour from the time he leaves. It’s too late to bicker about it now. Anyone need any clarification on that?” he asked shortly. The others had shaken their heads.

“That’s what I thought. I don’t know about y’all, but I don’t plan on sittin’ here chatting for the next hour. What y’all do is up to you,” he had said, standing. He had turned and walked back into the hall. A door had opened and closed.

The remaining three lingered for the briefest of moments, unmoored without a familial figurehead telling them where to go. It had always been Daddy, then the Son. Mama had clung to him after Daddy’s death, always needing a man to take the helm of the ship.

Sentimentality lost the fight, and without any more ado, the other three siblings had dispersed. Only the Eldest Brother had remained inside; the Younger Brother headed towards the lake and the Eldest Sister to the fields. The Youngest went to the mountain.

She’d given this a great deal of thought. After Daddy died and Mama got sick, she’d had to start planning for this. They’d all signed the family agreement a year ago, and so they’d had time to plan. The Youngest Daughter didn’t know what the others were thinking–the logic behind the lake or the fields or the house. All she knew was that she needed to climb. Distance was her ally.

Mama and Daddy both had their families torn apart by family disputes and squabbles over wills and inheritances. Daddy had come up with a plan, and after he died sooner than expected, everyone had agreed to it. According to the will, all the guns were supposed to be locked up in the family safe, and only the lawyer had the combination. An even playing field, Daddy had said.

And so the Youngest Daughter climbed the mountain. It was November, but in north Georgia it was usually still fairly warm this time of year. But of course it was cool, and gray clouds hung oppressively low, hiding the sun as it touched the horizon. It would be a cold night, but at least the smell of rain had not pervaded the air as she climbed.

She kept a steady pace and checked her watch frequently. When seven minutes remained, a sound echoed up the mountainside and stopped her momentarily in her tracks. It sounded like a gunshot. The Youngest Daughter began to run.

The mountain was not particularly tall as mountains go, but it was steep. Even as children when they’d wandered all over looking for black bears and arrow heads, they’d head back home exhausted with legs made of jelly. But now, she made herself run.

The Youngest Daughter hadn’t tried to hide in what direction she had gone, but she hoped her head start and the slope would help her maintain an upper hand. The decay of leaves would warn her of any approaching predators–human or otherwise.

Darkness almost completely covered the mountainside now, and just as the moon began to peek through the clouds, the Youngest Daughter did not have time to see that something obstructed her path. She tripped and fell sprawling into a tangle of thick roots jutting from the dirt. She touched her forehead to find a cut and small trickle of blood. She cursed and rolled to see what her feet were still tangled in.

Bones. Bile rose in her throat. She leaned closer.

The carcass was old, old enough for it to mostly be indistinguishable, but enough of the head remained to reassure the Youngest Daughter that it was not human. The night was getting to her.

She stood, brushing herself off as best she could, and leaned closer. Bits of the skeleton were missing, no doubt dragged off by scavengers. Shreds of reddish flesh still clung to some of the broken ribs. The scent of rot was barely noticeable in the chill night air.

A startling laugh escaped her chest. She had made it higher up the mountain than she realized.

The thing had been a boar. She glanced around and spotted a nearby tree with a distinct protrusion. She moved closer and found that the jawbone of the creature was lodged about waist high in the tree’s trunk. It was bleached white; its colorlessness stark against the evergreen.

The Youngest Daughter yanked the jawbone. It took a few attempts to free it from the tree. It fit well in her hand, the curve of the jaw almost feeling like a handle. She took a moment to turn her wrist this way and that, feeling the balance and the weight of it. Many of the teeth were missing, creating odd ridges and sharp lines. But it was sturdy.

She tucked it into the back of her jeans and kept going.

The moon continued to pass in and out of the cloud cover, making it impossible to read her watch. She felt the time passing only by the beat of her own heart. It was in that indistinguishable time of night, after midnight but well before any human hour, that another shot rang out through the night. This time it was not the faint echoes that jolted the Youngest Daughter to alertness. This time it was very, very close.

She had seconds to consider options. She thought of climbing one of the looming pines–she’d be near impossible to spot, but it’d also be near impossible to get away if discovered. Running would give away her location and in the end, served no purpose. Movement several yards in front of her stopped her breath in her lungs. This was the moment–perhaps the only chance she had to move into check.

She squinted and silently thanked the moon for choosing that moment to once again show its shining face.

The Youngest Daughter inched closer to the Eldest Brother. Somehow she had always known it would be him. He’d always been the most determined. The most certain. When he hadn’t been able to use what Mama had called his silver tongue to charm his way out of a situation, he’d been a bully instead. So it was no surprise that he’d thrown the rules to the wind and was now stalking through the night with Daddy’s hunting rifle slung over his shoulder.

The Youngest Daughter stepped when he stepped. He was alert but with the self assurance of a man with a gun. He was not afraid of her.

He was not afraid, but he still sure felt the pain when the Youngest Daughter raised the jawbone over her head and brought it down with all her might against his skull. A wet crack filled the night, followed by the sound of the Eldest Brother falling to his knees. The Youngest Daughter wrenched the gun from his grasp.

The Eldest Brother moaned and clutched his head. His face became almost completely obscured by blood. He peered up through wet eyelashes to see his Youngest Sister looming over him.

“You’ve got a bit of my scalp there on that thing in your hand,” he said. Blood ran down his face and coated his teeth. The Youngest Daughter glanced at the jawbone in her hand. It seemed he was right. He swayed. He tried to stand but couldn’t manage it.

“It’d be easier if you’d just use the shotgun,” the Eldest Brother said. The Youngest Daughter looked at him there, hunched over in the dirt. He’d always been the predator. But now he seemed barely more alive than the piles of bones that had gifted her with her weapon.

She considered the gun in her hands. The will said no guns. Mama and Daddy said no guns. She’d played by their rules all her life. There was no reason to change that now. She threw it away from her into the underbrush.

He laughed a wet, gurgling laugh. It clearly hurt.

“Daddy said no guns, so that means no guns, right? Your brother and sister are dead because they followed the rules. He’s belly up in the lake and she’s just lyin’ out there in the fields. But this way you can still tell yourself everything was above board.” It was as she suspected. He’d killed the pawns, but now she was in checkmate.

He shook his head then winced. He grabbed the back of his skull. Blood oozed through his fingers.

Would Mama and Daddy be pleased? This had been their idea…well, it had been Daddy’s, but Mama hadn’t argued. She never did. They didn’t leave the farm to the Eldest Son, despite the fact that everyone had expected them to. It had almost seemed like this had been their way of doing just that without having to put it into words.

He gets everything but no hurt feelings. That’s what Mama would’ve cared about in the end. Any in-fighting would happen after she was gone, and that’s all that mattered. What Daddy would’ve cared about…the last one standing by dawn gets the house and the farm. The family land and really, the family name. Always the family name.

What would they think now? With their youngest towering over him? What would they say? After everything, would they try and change course now that the man hadn’t won as planned? Would they be pleased simply that they’d all followed the rules?

Their goal would be accomplished. There were no legal battles. There were no broken relationships. Someone would win, and the others would lose. They’d all agreed, after all.

The Youngest Daughter glanced in the direction of the shotgun. The Eldest Brother seemed to be struggling for consciousness.

She brought down the jawbone.

And she brought it down again.

It was by the early morning sunlight that the Youngest Daughter began her descent down the mountain.

***

Rachel Noli teaches high school English and is currently pursuing an MA through Middlebury College.