by Jay Heavner
The man was silent for what seemed forever, though it was only a few moments. He’s probably thinking about how he can get rid of me Alan thought.
“Government, government, damn they all,” he growled.
This wasn’t the response Alan had anticipated. Somewhat surprised, Alan asked, "Why do you say that."
With that, the flood gates open up. The man ranted, he raged, he whined on for 10 minutes about what was wrong with the world. Government, all governments, the world would be so much better without them. They stole people's freedoms. They were the cause of all wrongs in this world. Taxes, out of control spending, giving money to people that didn't earn it, wars, mass murder, theft, wars, terrorism, etc., etc. On and on, he went and kept going. Alan wondered if maybe he should ask to get out of the truck. Still, he was heading toward momma, and the man had made no threatening moves toward his young passenger. Alan did what any good hitchhiker does. He nodded his head and said he agreed with the driver. If he wanted to be a Republican, he'd be one too. If he wants to be a Democrat, he'd be one of those. If he wants to be an anarchist, he'd be one of them.
Finally, he finished his rant. Alan said he knew how he felt. He'd just gotten out from under the government's oppressive thumb himself.
The man looked at Alan. “The name’s Michael Levy, but most folks just call me Mike. If you’re not goin’ anything, don’t think you’ve lined up a job yet, would you be interested in helping me fix up the place in West Virginia? I can’t pay much, but you’d get a roof over your head and grub. The lawyer said the place needed work. It won’t be the Hilton, but you can leave anytime you want. You’ll have freedom, young man, freedom.”
Alan thought for a moment. The guys a little crazy, but he seems no threat to me. And no, he didn’t have anything else to go. “Okay, I’m in, but first, I want to see my momma. That road sign says my exit is in one mile. Can we stop there first?”
No problem, he said. No matter how old a son, he should try to take care of his momma, so off I 70 they went toward momma's place.
Chapter 9
The ride to the church from Cindi's was less than a mile, and with no stoplights on Route 28, it went quick. Tom pulled his truck into the recently paved church parking lot. He got out and headed toward the church office door. Father Frank used his key to open up, and they went in. The Padre quickly moved to the new security panel and punched in the code.
He said, "Don't know how long it'll take me to get used to this thing. What are things coming to? You would think people would have more respect for a church."
“Yes, you would,” said Tom. “Have you gotten things back ship shape yet? It’s been what, about a month?”
"Just a little over that. The hoodlums did a lot of damages, but we had a lot of help in getting things back together. What the devil meant for evil, God meant for good. We had such a pouring out of support from the area churches; it almost unbelievable. They provided money, labor, and lots of moral support after the church got trashed inside by the vandal or vandals. And this new security system with video surveillance was provided and installed by the people from the synagogue in Cumberland. Talk about a miracle. God really answers prayer," said the Padre with enthusiasm. "Take a look around."
Tom and Father Frank walked into the auditorium.
"Yes, you'd hardly know how much damage was done. The place looks good as new, maybe better," Tom said and walked over to the nice, clean whiteboard
“Yes, much better now,” said Father Frank.
The last time Tom had seen it was just after the vandals had written in big, bold letters, NIGGER GO HOME on the board. Tom had asked the Padre about the slur. He said to him, "You just got to forgive and move on." He knew this was where God wanted him, and he was not moving. He still had work to do here, and he was going to do it till God or the church higher-ups saw fit to move him.
“Now,” said Tom. “What was it you couldn’t talk about over at the restaurant?”
The Padre began, “The Sunday the coin showed up in the offering, I forgot to turn off the surveillance cameras outside. The thing’s so new, and I’m still on a learning curve with it. So I looked at the tapes of who came that day. It was just all locals, no visitors. The next Sunday, I asked if anyone had dropped a special coin in the offering. No one said anything then, but the next day one of the women called and said her son had dropped it in as a tithe. You know how moms have a way of extracting information from little kids acting guilty.”
Tom’s eyes widened. The Padre looked at him knowingly, “that’s right,” he has nine more of them, actually eight now. He cut one up and used the pieces for fishing line sinkers. He’s lost most of those pieces fishing.”
“Nine, that’s a small fortune.” Tom exclaimed.
"Yes, it is. Now you see why I didn't want to say more. I may have said too much at Cindi's already. I hope not," the Padre continued. "I told her to keep it quiet; the fewer people that know of this, the better. She said her son Tim found the ten coins in a bag in the creek while fishing. She and Timmy want us to keep the coin. It was Tim's tithe offering to God."
"So, now what? What do you do now?" Tom asked.
"I don't rightfully know what to do for the big picture yet, but I do know gold can bring out the worst in people. As it says in the Good Book, 'The love of money is the root of all kinds of evil.' I think we need to be careful."
Tom nodded, “I agree. We need to be careful.”
The conversation turned to things going on at the church, in the community, and lastly to the political scene coming out of Washington, D.C. Tom glanced at his watch. "Guess I'd better be going. Doug's probably thinking I got lost. I hope my wife told him I'd be late."
The Padre mused, "Yes, you better get a move on it. That's a fine son you have in Doug."
"That he is. I don't know where I'd be without him. He has been a lifesaver for our business," said Tom.
“You two work good together. Now get outta here. I’ll be in touch. Take care,” Father Frank chided.
"Will do, you take care too." With that, Tom left the Padre and the church and headed for his truck. It'd been a full day so far. He wondered what more surprises the day held.
Chapter 10
The trip from Interstate 70 to Alan Grey's home in the projects was short. You could still hear the traffic, especially the big trucks rolling by on the superhighway. Alan directed Mike to the parking lot between the row housing.
"This is it," said Alan. "If my old man's here, I won't be long. If mom's here, it could be a half-hour. Is that okay with you?"
"Take your time. Ain't in no big hurry. I wanna make it to West Virginia and see what kinda house and property my uncle left me before it gets late. We may have to turn on utilities, and that will be hard in the dark, 'specially seein' we don't know where nothin' is," Mike pointed out. "You still comin' with me, right?"
"Yeah, I'm coming. I won't be too long, 'specially if Dad's here," Alan said as he exited the truck. He walked to the row house, then up to the third-floor apartment Alan had known as home. He hesitated in front of the door. What kind of welcome would he get? Well, he thought, only one way to know. Alan knocked on the door and heard stirring in the house. The door opened up. There was his Momma.
"Momma, I...,” That was all he got out of his mouth.
“Alan!” Momma screamed out. Then she grabbed and hugged Alan so hard his ribs hurt. “Alan, Alan, Alan,” she cried. “I wondered if I would ever see you again. BILLY!!! Come here! Your big brother is here.”
A squeal came from the other room where the noise from a TV was coming. Then a young boy came running and grabbed Alan around the leg. “Alan!” he yelled. “Alan!”
Alan was overwhelmed and enjoyed every bit of it. “I said I’d come back, Momma, I said I’d come back.” Then he looked around. “Where’s Dad?”
“He went to the liquor store. He is as bad as ever, Alan. He won’t like it if you’re here,” said Momma.
Alan looked around th
e apartment. It was even shabbier than he remembered. "I won't be here long, Momma. Just had to see you guys, you and Billy. Somehow I'll find a way to get you out of this place, somehow I will, Momma. Y'all been okay?"
"About the same, Alan. Still can't get your Dad to go to AA. He needs it so bad. It's killing him. He won't stop drinking."
Momma went to the refrigerator to get some food for Alan. “I can’t stay long, Momma, I got a man waiting for me out in the parking lot. I’m gonna do some work for him on a place he’s got in West Virginia.”
She talked him into staying for a sandwich, dill pickle, and soda. He ate and thanked her. Then he got up to leave. “Do you have to leave so soon?” she asked Alan.
“Don’t want to Momma, but Dad will be here soon, and Mike’s waiting in his truck. I better go,” said Alan. “Somehow, someway, I’ll be back and get you out of this place. You deserve better than this. I promise; I’ll be back.”
Alan headed for the door and opened it. "I love you, Momma," he said as he gave her a big goodbye hug.
“And I love you too, Alan.”
"Don't go, Al, don't go," his little brother pleaded.
“I don’t want to, but I got to little brother. I’ll be back, I promise,” Alan replied.
His mother let go of her son. "I know you will. I know you will," she said with tears in her eyes. Alan walked through the door that shut behind him. He was alone, and his heart ached. Somehow he would find a way to get Momma and Billy out of this hell hole, somehow. Alan wiped a tear that ran down his cheek. He walked down the steps and to Mike's truck.
"That wasn't very long, everything okay?" Mike asked.
"Yeah," he said as he sniffed and cleared his throat. "Everything will be okay. Hey, don't we want to get there before dark? Let's get going."
“You okay?” Mike asked.
"Yeah, I'm okay."
Mike pulled the truck out of the parking lot and headed down the road to the Interstate.
Yeah, Alan thought, everything was going to be okay. Somehow, someway, he’d find a way. Somehow.
Chapter 11
The old farm on Patterson Creek Ridge
The trip with Mike west on the interstate was uneventful. Lots of beautiful farmland and woods Alan noted. Wonder how far it is to Mike’s late uncle’s place? Mike exited the four-lane highway in Cumberland and crossed the Potomac River into Wild, Wonderful West Virginia, so the sign said. State Route 28 was narrow and had more twists than a snake Alan thought, but when they turned on the Old Furnace Road, he found out what a crooked road was. They passed the old iron furnace that sat across the road from the Old Furnace Church of the Brethren. They went up hills, down hills, up valleys, down valleys, turn left, turn right, and on and on for what seemed forever. Alan's stomach tightened up. But it was only six miles. It just seemed much, much longer. Where were we now? What did that sign say? Welcome to the community of Patterson Creek, unincorporated. They slowed to thirty miles per hour as they went through the sleepy, little town. Mike turned right at an unmarked road and drove on past several barns and a herd of Black Angus cows that looked very healthy. And they smelled healthy too. There was nothing like the smell of fresh manure to get your attention. Mike slowed as the road turned right, and the creek came into view. Ahead was the low water bridge. Alan had never seen one of these and said so to Mike. Mike nodded. "Not many of them around. They're only on country roads that don't get a whole lot of use."
They stopped on the bridge and looked up and down the creek. It looked like a picture in an old-time magazine. After about a minute, Mike gave the truck some gas, and off they went again. They traveled along the side of the creek, came to a sharp left turn, and then proceeded up the steep country road through a thick forest. The road had no centerline. At the top of the hill, the road had another sharp turn, this time to the right. At this point, it straightened out and ran through a trough. Long ago, the road had been at the level of the surrounding thick woods, but years of erosion had put it at its present level. They traveled about another half mile, and Mike turned left and stopped at a gate. He looked at Alan and said, "We're here. Well, almost. The house is just up this road."
He gave Alan a key and said, “Get the gate and make sure you lock it behind you.”
Alan got out, walked to the gate, unlocked the lock, swung the gate open, and Mike drove through. Alan then shut and locked the gate. He walked to the truck, got in, and said, "How much further? I don't see a house yet."
`“Not much further. You can’t see the house from the road. It’s as I remember it. My uncle never married. He was a confirmed bachelor and kind of a hermit. He loved his privacy,” Mike answered.
They drove on, soon coming to a broad field that sat on the plateau of the ridge. "Hey, there it is," Alan pointed. They passed an ancient and colossal sycamore tree and stopped in front of the old in need of repair farmhouse.
“Yup, that’s about how I remember it. Not much, but it’ll keep the rain off your head. Let’s see if the utilities are on,” Mike said.
They got out of the truck. Mike pulled a key from his pocket and opened the front door. The house smelled like one that had been closed up for some time. He flipped a light switch, and a pole lamb came on. "That's a start, let's open some windows and air this place out."
They did, and fresh air soon filled the house. The house had two small bedrooms, a living room, a tight bath that was probably once a pantry, and a kitchen that still was full of canned goods. "Just like he left it," Mike said. "He went to work one day and dropped dead on the floor. Doctors said it was a heart attack. He went quick, probably didn't even know what hit him. Hope I go as quick and peaceful. Now, wonder if we got any water."
Mike turned the faucet at the kitchen sink, and water poured out. He smiled, "Yup, just like he left it. I don't know if this is coming from a well or a spring. We'll find out tomorrow. Let's fix some of the grub. Uncle won't be needin' it. I'm tired, and I’m hungry.”
They heated some canned soup and fixed some coffee. Soon the sun was setting. They found a couple of old rocking chairs and moved them to the front porch. A gentle breeze cooled them, and a slight movement caught Alan's eye. A small spider was building a web on the porch. Mike walked to the truck and came back with a bottle of Jack Daniels bourbon. "Want a drink, Alan?" he asked.
Alan declined. He thought of his dad. He’d seen what hard drinking would do to a man.
“No, not a drinker. Thanks anyway,” he said with a fake smile on his face.
"If you want a snort, say so. We got a big day tomorrow. Got to see what else is here, how much work we have to do to get this place ship-shape," Mike said.
Mike and Alan sat enjoying the solitude. Time passed as the frogs started their evening serenade. Mike downed half of the bottle. He rose slowly, a little unsteady, looked at Alan and said, "It's been a long day. I'm hitting the sack. You take the back bedroom. I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight."
"Yeah, goodnight," Alan replied. It had been quite a day, from the gray bar hotel in the middle of town to the old house in the middle of nowhere. Old geezer seems all right so far, though Alan didn't like his drinking, but what could he say? It was his place. And what of this cell phone in his pocket? Who was this person known as The Voice, and what did he want? Tomorrow was another day, and now, he was tired. Tonight he would get the most restful night of sleep he had in several years. The sounds of the night here in the county would lull him to dreamland. Almost Heaven, West Virginia. Take me home, county roads.
Chapter 12
Alan rose at sunrise, as he had while in prison. Old habits are hard to break. He could have slept till noon if he wanted to. There was no one here to make him get up and go with the daily rhythm of prison. He could hear Mike snoring in the other bedroom. He became aware of the emptiness in his stomach. Wonder what Uncle Michael left for breakfast? He slipped on his pants, shoes, and socks, and headed for the kitchen. There he found a bowl, some silverware, a cup, some corn flakes, and dried mi
lk. He tasted the corn flakes, a little stale but edible.
What's this? Coffee! He hadn’t had any coffee since he went to prison. Quickly, he prepared his breakfast. My, that coffee perking smelled like heaven. He ate the bowl of cereal swiftly, as was his habit in prison. The old Mister Coffee gave a final burp to let him know it was done. He rose and poured himself a cup. Oh yes, I have died and gone to heaven, he thought. The coffee tasted like the nectar of the gods. It had been so long. He walked to the screen door. The sun rays streamed through. He could still hear Mike snoring. Opening the screen door, he stepped out on the porch and sat in the chair. He noticed a spider web clinging to the porch center post. The sunshine made the dew damp gossamer treads shine brightly. It was a chamber of commerce morning. He would see many of them from this porch.
After sitting for a few minutes just enjoying his newfound freedom, he got up. I wonder what this place looks like? He walked around the old house and took in the big picture of his surroundings. It was chilly that Spring morning. He saw an old house, two double-wide, big, ancient trailers, a large shed in the same condition as the house, and a little building out in the field, probably a well house. And two old windmills going round and round. That was the sound he could not identify last night. Up here on this ridge, there must always be a breeze. He would find he was right about that a majority of the time.
He peeked into the trailer, empty, totally empty, no walls, no furniture, no bath, nothing in either, just four walls. The unlocked shed had lots of plastic pipe of various sizes, large plastic bags, assorted tools, a large number of what he thought were fluorescent lights, and a vast number of industrial-sized batteries all wired together. With his curiosity satisfied, he walked out and shut the door behind him. Off in the distance, he heard a low rumble that was getting louder. He walked past the windmills to the tree line. There he found a cliff going nearly straight down one hundred feet to the railroad tracks he could see through the trees. He watched a train rumble by with its open cars full of coal and limestone gravel. It disappeared out of view, and he heard it whistle at a distant crossing somewhere.