Episode 67: Goldie Graves

Well, hey there, family.

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Coach, the energy out there felt different.

What changed for the team today?

It was the new game, Day Scratchers from the California Lottery.

Play is everything.

Those games sent the team's energy through the roof.

Are you saying it was the off-field play that made the difference on the field?

Hey, a little play makes your day, and today it made the game.

That's all for now.

Coach, one more question.

Play the new Los Angeles Chargers, San Francisco 49ers, and Los Angeles Rams Scratchers from the California Lottery.

A little play can make your day.

Please play responsibly.

Must be 18 years or older to purchase, play, or claim.

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Old Gods of Appalachia is a horror anthology podcast and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences.

So listener discretion is advised.

In the chamber beneath the mountains, a sudden silence fell like morning dew on the servants of the green and dark alike.

As Hiram Cook cleared his throat again and called a second time,

The Green calls Mary Gold Underwood of Oak Mountain, West Virginia to give testimony before the rock.

There was a shuffling and bustling from somewhere in the upper balcony and then a general grumbling of discontent as a white-sashed attendant parted the sea of witches and haints in order to lead two women down from their perch in the cheap seats to the gallery floor.

The murmuring grew louder as they were shepherded through the standing room only crowd into the chamber proper.

Nina Jennings flanked her mother.

Her attention focused on the elder woman who stood beside her.

She had chosen a suit for the occasion.

A feminine cut in a buttery shade of golden rod that complemented her warm brown skin in defiance of custom.

The suit featured slacks rather than a skirt, and she had paired it with a pair of low-heeled brown and white Oxford pumps.

In the given situation, Nina was more concerned with practicality than these folks' opinions on whether or not women should wear paints.

Though she kept her eyes on her mama,

she had taken note of the various haints and beasts present in the chamber and could feel their eyes on her now.

There were other witches and practitioners of the green present too, of course, and while some of them she counted among friends like Marcy Walker,

There were still plenty of others in the gallery that she knew better than to trust.

So if they needed to leave this place in a hurry,

she was ready to move.

Mary Gold Underwood, matriarch of the Underwood family and one of the most revered and powerful witches still walking the face of the green, peered out at the assembled crowd of onlookers with an air of quiet dignity.

She had donned her Sunday best for the occasion.

A deep blue dress with a subtle print of tiny white flowers, a neat white hat and gloves.

Mary Gold had faced down countless fiends that stalked the night, both of the tooth and claw and crossburning variety throughout her life, and neither sort had managed to do her much lasting harm.

She was not a woman to be trifled with, nor did she suffer fools gladly.

She nodded acknowledgment to the tall hooded woman seated on the dais, and the harbinger returned the gesture.

Mary Gold paid little mind to Hiram Cook, who looked both consternated and flabbergasted.

Y'all mean to tell me we've been down here wringing our hands and worrying if you were going to make it here safe and y'all been sitting up there in the nosebleeds this whole time?

You watch your tongue, Hiram Cook.

I knew your mama and her mama, too.

You think I'm just going to swoop in here and say whatever it is you want me to say without knowing what's been said before?

We got here early.

Been watching this little play show y'all been putting on.

Can't say I care much for the company you've been keeping these days, Hiram.

Mary Gold Underwood, fire of the mountain, cast a disdainful look at Miss Gray as she sat reviewing her notes at the prosecution's table.

What would your mama say?

Rest Helsa Cook's hateful soul.

Boy, you sitting side by side with one of its daughters.

What good can come from that?

Now, Miss Underwood, you know as good as anybody.

Sometimes the green and the dark

must meet in the twilight of the day and put aside our differences and work together for the common good.

And with all due respect, ma'am, you agreed to come here like all the other witnesses to make sure this this smug old son bitch gets what's coming to him.

You've lost as much or more than others here.

You have an obligation to tell your story and help us purge this charny old snake from our midst once and for all.

And if I don't, what you gonna do, Hiram?

Lock me up under the floor with your little girlfriend.

Marigold,

I mean, Miss Underwood, please, I'm trying to warn you.

There are forces at play here bigger than us.

It's in our best interest on multiple fronts to get this thing done.

Our world will be a better place without J.T.

Fields in it.

It was then Marigold Underwood allowed herself a glance at the shabbily dressed man sitting at the table on the far side of the room.

He looked sickly and wan,

hardly the boisterous honey-tongued trickster that had raised hell from one side of Appalachia to the other.

She could barely see the ghost of the handsome stranger her Lee had looked up to and held close as a mentor and friend.

The Jack who sat at that sad little table was only the thinnest shade of the man she had known and grown to hate over these long years.

He met her eyes.

And she saw what little color remained in his face drain away.

He knew what he'd done,

what he'd cost their family.

He looked like he knew he was about to pay for it.

Mary Joel tore her eyes away from Jack and turned her attention back to Hiram.

All right, Mr.

Cook, let's get this over with.

These old roots run

into a ground so bloody

Full of broken dreams and dusty bones

They feed a tree

so dark and hungry

Where its branches split and new blood flows

The ghost of a past you thought long buried Rise rise a haunt the young

The shadow falls judgment comes

Tread soft my friend amongst your fellows Take your bond your word

Lest you get what you

deserve

As Mary Gold Underwood settled herself as comfortably as she could on the witness chair, the room seemed to lean in,

eager to hear whatever juicy gossip the elder witch had to share.

Granny Underwood didn't come off Oak Mountain often these days, and many workers of the green younger than sixty had never had the pleasure of the old woman's counsel.

To hear her hold forth on the crimes of a figure as ancient as Jack of Many Names, that was a rare treat.

At the table reserved for his accusers, however, things were not quite as settled.

Hiram Cook was clearly, if quietly, arguing with the painfully beautiful gray-eyed woman who'd shared the space with him.

For today's proceedings, Miss Gray had opted for a pewter suit trimmed in charcoal velvet and a simple pair of black punks.

A more appropriately somber choice than the fancy beaded dress she had worn before, Marigold thought.

She is not going to cooperate with you if she is willing to speak to you, an officer of this court, in such a manner.

I will handle it.

With all due respect, ma'am, but that's a real bad idea.

Miss Gray ignored the stammering man from Mavisdale and rose to her feet, consulting her notes as she stepped toward Granny Underwood.

Miss Underwood, might I call you Mary Gold?

Oh, no, no, honey.

You can keep my name out your mouth altogether.

I don't truck with tempters, nor liars, nor their children.

You just let little Hiram there ask the questions.

Granny Underwood, I assure you.

you.

You dare to call me Granny.

You dare to call me the way a witch who come to learn from me might call me.

Oh, child, you and your kind are not welcome on my land, at my door, nor anywhere else near me.

Hear me?

Ask your daddy when the last time he clip-clopped over the Oak Mountain was, and I bet he can't tell you.

I bet he can't even tell you where it is, even.

Marigold shot a dismissive glance in the direction of the black stag and his family.

That mountain wouldn't have you or any of your grubby young'uns anywhere near it.

You're welcome to try, but I think you know better.

The thing whose name sounded like Horned Head, but was not, glowered at the old woman in the chair.

His blood-colored eyes smoldering dangerously, his amber antlers pulsing once with poisoned light.

His other three daughters glared at Granny Underwood and had begun to rise, but at a chuff from their father, they froze.

One by one, they slowly settled back into their seats.

The great beast nodded placidly at his youngest daughter, and Miss Gray inclined her head in return.

The smile she directed at Marigold Underwood as she sank into her chair and yielded the floor to Hiram Cook was pure venom.

His eyes darting nervously between Marigold and the stag's party, Hiram rose shakily to his feet.

Thank you, Miss Grace.

So, uh, Miss Underwood, do you know the man seated at yon table with the little walker girl?

I know him.

I surely do.

Could you tell us how you know him and by what names you know him?

Mary Gold Underwood allowed her eyes to rest briefly on the withered little man sitting beside his counsel.

It was as if the years peeled back in her sight and she could see the various faces he'd worn over the years.

She saw the smiles, heard the laughter, even tasted the drinks and fine foods he'd bring when he came to call.

I knew that man by a few different names.

When my leave first introduced me to him and called him Mr.

Fields, which seemed fitting,

it was somehow perversely appropriate for the Jack of the Woods to rename himself after the wilderness that didn't maintain.

See, people hear fields and think of open country, the great outdoors, even the green.

But that ain't right.

The green is the wild growth of this world as it was made.

It's the running of the rivers, the belly of the sky being tickled by the fingertips of trees reaching up to the heavens.

The green is freedom, whole and entire.

A field is a piece of land that's been cultivated, stripped of all its natural brush and critters, and replanted with something chosen by the hand of man.

A field usually has a fence around it and is harvested to the benefit of a specific few.

A field is the property that exists to be kept beautiful so that it might be bought and sold by the highest bidder.

That pretty well sums up that slick little basket you see sitting there.

And

how did you come to know Mr.

Fields, ma'am?

Well, Hiram, honey, to get to that story, you have to understand who my husband Lee was before we was married.

Marigold glanced around the room, her gaze taking in the assembled onlookers.

Most of y'all here, except the young'uns, are familiar with Doc Underwood.

That's what folks called him before my man was a powerful healer.

He did a lot of good for this community, whether some of y'all deserved it or not.

And folks remember him the way he was after he came to Oak Mountain.

A respectable church-going man.

a faith healer and a root worker who cured many a baby of thrush in his day.

Y'all remember him as old Doc with his gray hair and his little round glasses.

I love them glasses.

But when I met Lee, he was a very different sort of man.

He was young and wild, foolish like all young men are.

He had the gift to be sure.

His granddaddy was an old conjure man, and my Lee had learned everything he knew back then at his knee.

But he'd lost both his granddaddy and his daddy by that time and he was a little bit lost.

He went looking for a teacher or a mentor, maybe even a bit of a father figure.

What he found was Jack.

By the time I met Lee, Them two was thick as thieves.

Hell, they were thieves.

Robbing stage coaches, knocking over banks, running cons from here all the way to Kansas City and back again.

Oh, they was trouble.

I tried to ignore him at first.

My daddy wouldn't approve of me stepping out with a man like that.

But he had this smile.

The kind of smile where you can't help but smile back.

And we just sort of

kept running into each other.

Marigold Underwood, at the time Marigold Graves, met the man she would one day marry in the summer of her 18th year.

She had gone into town with her daddy to run a few errands, her mama's shopping list in her pocket.

Judith Graves didn't much like going into town, and once she deemed her daughter old enough to assist her husband Lester in procuring the correct essentials to stock her pantry, she mostly kept to the family's small farm.

Marigold did not share her mother's aversion to shopping, particularly as her daddy was more likely to buy her some new combs for her hair or a chocolate bar or some other small treat when he was not under her mama's watchful eye.

They visited the general store first where they acquired butter and flour and various other items on her mama's list.

Once they had stowed the purchases in the wagon, her father announced that he needed to stop by the blacksmith's to ask about the cost of a new shoe for their old horse, Jenny.

Both the general store and the blacksmiths were located on Prince Street, along with most of the other establishments for black folks.

Next door to Moses' was a haberdashery, and down from that a millnery.

Across the street were a dress shop, a bookstore, and Moses' drugstore, which featured a lunch counter and soda fountain.

It was the last of these that drew Mary Gold's attention, and she asked her daddy if she might walk across the street to buy soda while he dickered with the blacksmith.

Little Goldie was ever the apple of Lester Graves' eye, and she was the youngest daughter and the only child Judith had borne after emancipation.

Their three previous children had been sold away to big plantations down south once they were old enough to work, and Judith and Lester had never seen them again.

The arrival of Marigold, a child for them to have and hold whom nobody could ever take away from them, had been a gift beyond measure.

Lester had never been the sort of parent to say no just to teach his children who was in charge, and he found it particularly difficult to say no to his baby girl, especially when what she asked was such a little thing.

And so he'd given his blessing, and Marigold kissed him on the cheek and hurried across the street to the lunch counter.

Samson Moses' soda fountain was something of a point of pride for the black community of Bayer County.

Mr.

Moses had saved up for two years and even accepted donations from local churches to purchase a tough arctic soda apparatus for the drugstore, the first of its kind in the county.

The tall, stately machine with its carved oak housing and brass fittings dominated the space inside Moses Small's patrol front.

A long wooden counter with a marble countertop stretched the length of the store in front of the apparatus, and a series of stools with brass posts and leather seats allowed customers to sit and enjoy a meal or ice-cold drink.

It was mid-afternoon now, and Marigold all but had the counter to herself this time of day.

She nodded to an older couple seated at the far end of the counter and hopped onto a stool.

The current selection of flavors was written out in a neat hand on a signboard propped up against the back of the soda fountain.

There's phosphates and ice cream sodas and ginger ale and root beer.

Marigold asked the soda jerk for a strawberry ice cream soda and settled into her seat to enjoy it.

She had taken only a sip or two when a voice called out her name.

Why, do my eyes deceive me or is that Miss Goldie Graves?

Marigold glanced over her shoulder to find a young man had just stepped through the glass-fronted door of Moses' drugstore.

The hat he had just removed held in one hand.

He was tall and lean, with dark brown skin, close-cropped hair, and a neat moustache.

He wore a neat brown vest over a crisp, white shirt.

A shiny silver pocket watch chain dangled from one side of the vest, polished to a sheen that almost equaled that of his boots.

He seemed vaguely familiar, though Marigold couldn't quite place him.

He was regarding her with an open smile, and she answered cautiously, Yes, sir, I'm Marigold Graves.

Do we know each other?

Well, we surely do, though I admit it's been a minute.

Lee Underwood.

Davis Underwood's my granddaddy.

Mary Gold had known Davis Underwood from church.

She had attended that gentleman's funeral with her mama and daddy, and she vaguely remembered seeing a boy a few years older than her with him from time to time when she was a child.

She also remembered hearing that Mr.

Underwood's grandson had been in and out of trouble with the law since his granddaddy's passing.

Oh, yes.

I remember now.

I was sorry to hear of your loss, Mr.

Underwood.

Your granddaddy was a good man.

Thank you.

That's

mighty kind.

The young man looked uncomfortable at the mention of his grandfather.

His eyes dropped into the hat he began to spin in his hands.

His words had the ring of sincerity, however, and there was a note of unmistakable sadness in his voice as his practiced smile slipped a bit.

Mary Gold smiled back at him and she began to turn back to her soda, ready to finish it and be on her way.

It was nice to see you, Mr.

Underwood.

But Mr.

Underwood, it seemed, was not quite finished with her.

But what about you, Miss Graves?

Per d'Armoi.

Is a seat taken?

Lee stepped up to the counter and indicated the bar stool immediately to her left.

Before she could answer, he settled himself down next to her, his good humor returning as he favored her with a thousand-watt grin.

Mary Gold couldn't help but smile back as she sipped the last of her ice cream soda.

How's your family?

I ain't seen your folks in ages.

Questioned-tempered Mary Gold smile, reminding her that this young man was not the sort her parents would approve of her associating with.

She had overheard her mama and the other ladies at church saying what a blessing it was that poor old Davis Underwood hadn't lived to see how his grandson turned out.

Still, she nodded politely as she finished her soda.

Mom and daddy are both fine.

My daddy's just down the street at the blacksmith's, which reminds me he'll be waiting.

I should be on my way.

Marigold patted her mouth with a napkin and pushed her empty glass toward the back of the counter.

As she rose to her feet, Lee Underwood quickly stood as well.

I heard this barn dance this weekend over at Sullivan's.

Will I see you there?

Marigold shook her head.

I don't think so, Mr.

Underwood.

It was nice to see you again.

You have a good day now.

Lee Underwood leaned against the counter as he turned to watch her go, a crooked grin lighting up his handsome face.

Nice to see you too, Goldie.

Hope to see you again real soon.

There was a teasing note in his voice, and though she knew she should ignore him, should just keep on walking.

Marigold couldn't help herself.

She turned back and favored him with a frown.

It's Miss Graves,

and I very much doubt you will.

Good day, Mr.

Underwood.

As it turned out, she couldn't have been more wrong.

Later that week, a friend asked if she wanted to come along with a group of other girls to Sullivan's barn dance.

By that time, she'd all but forgotten about her chance meeting with a young man she'd known in passing from church all those years ago.

And when she asked her mama and daddy, they allowed that it would be all right.

She was surprised when she heard a voice that was now much more familiar call her name.

Lee invited her to dance, and of course she had declined.

But she couldn't help but notice how his gaze followed her all night.

After that, it seemed she all but tripped over him every time she so much as left the house.

He was infuriating and charming, and she couldn't seem to stop her face from returning his infectious smile.

When he finally asked if he might court her, she had told him he could ask her daddy's permission, but warned him that daddy would undoubtedly say no.

Lester Graves knew he was troubled just as well as his daughter did.

No one was as surprised as Mary Gold when her daddy agreed to let Lee take her to the county fair somehow.

Lee Underwood had somehow won both her parents over, who saw them out the door with smiles.

He bought her an ice cream and won her a teddy bear at the ring toss, and in all ways was a perfect gentleman, and thus began to work his way into the heart of Goldie Graves.

She had known he was trouble, that he ran with card sharks and crooks and other hoodlums, but she would quickly learn that he had a good heart and a gift for healing.

All the long decades later, Marigold Underwood still smiled to think of the handsome young man who'd worked so hard to win her affections.

Once she gave him a chance, it turned out they got on like a house of fire.

He was smart and kind and made her laugh.

The one point of contention between them from the start had been the company he kept.

Marigold glanced again at the skinny older man seated next to Marcy Walker's younger sister, and then returned her gaze to Hiram Cook.

Of course, when we started courting, Lee just had to introduce me to his friend, Mr.

Fields.

Fact is, I've known that man over there almost as long as my husband.

More's the pity.

And

can you tell us why you chose to come offer your testimony?

Mary Gold's expression darkened.

her lips pressing into a firm line as her eyes swept over the faces of the onlookers who had gathered to bear witness to the wheels of justice in their turning.

I've come here today to tell y'all how J.T.

Fields killed my husband.

Well, hey there, family.

My, my, my.

How the plot thickens and the knives begin to come out as we enter the home stretch of season four.

And things aren't looking great for our man Jack, I got to admit.

I guess we'll have to come back next time to hear what Ms.

Marigold has to say.

I hope you'll come join us.

I bet you will.

Now, some big things to talk about this time around here on the post-roll.

Our friends at Monty Cook Games were so pleased with how much y'all seemed to love the old gods of Appalachia role-playing game, they reached out and asked if we might want to do a little bit of an expansion.

And we said, why the hell not?

Old gods of Appalachia, deeper still.

Coming this summer.

It brings new adventures, character options, and more content to the hit tabletop role-playing game.

There's a link down in the show notes to Backer Kit that you can click to sign up and be notified when that goes live.

And of course, the other big thing happening in the old gods world right now is Unhallowed Grounds, the 2024 live tour.

Traveling all over this great nation, going places we've never been before, like Texas and Florida and Milwaukee.

And it's going to be a good time for everybody who can make it out.

You can head on over to old godsofappalachia.com slash tour, and tickets are available for all dates.

We've announced our cast.

Every run will have a different, slightly varied cast.

Mr.

Cecil Baldwin from Welcome to Nightwell will be on a couple of runs.

Dr.

Ray Christian, Brother Bartholomew himself, is on a couple.

Tracy Johnston Crumb, Pretty Polly Barrow, Betsy Puckett, Granny White herself, Allison Mullins, who, of course, is Glorianne Bonds, who you can also find on cameo now, by the way.

All these folks, and even more with our fantastic musical guests, Landon Blood, Jacob Danielson Moore, and John Charles Dwyer shaking up like a salad shaker and mixed and matched all over the tour.

It's going to be a good time.

Go get your tickets right now.

Get them right from the source, old godsofappalachia.com slash tour.

We can't wait to see you for real, family.

Now this is your Every Time the Fire of the Mountain Burns, somebody ends up in the Ash Bucket reminder that Old Gods of Appalachia is a production of Deep Nerd Media distributed by Rusty Quill.

Today's story was written by Steve Shell and Cam Collins.

Our intro music is by Brother Landon Blood.

Our outro music is by brother John Charles Dwyer.

The voice of Marigold Underwood is Stephanie Hickling-Beckman.

The voice of young Doc Underwood was DJ Rogers.

We'll talk to you soon, family.

Talk to you real soon.

The bridge won't bloom without its friends.

The brains won't bloom without its fruits.

The brains won't bloom without its rings.

Surely it will show the rotten rotten truth.

Always it will show the rotten truth.

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You check the score and the restaurant reviews.

You check your hair and reflective surfaces and the world around you for recession indicators.

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Coach, the energy out there felt different.

What changed for the team today?

It was the new game day scratches from the California Lottery.

Play is everything.

Those games sent the team's energy through the roof.

Are you saying it was the off-field play that made the difference on the field?

Hey, a little play makes your day, and today it made the game.

That's all for now.

Coach, one more question.

Play the new Los Angeles Chargers, San Francisco 49ers, and Los Angeles Rams Scratchers from the California Lottery.

A little play can make your day.

Please play responsibly.

Must be 18 years or older to purchase light or claim.

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