by Mary Ellis
‘No, there’s a rip in a critical spot. But the road on the right looks to be better traveled.’
‘And those were Jill Curtis’s last words before she was eaten alive by a grizzly bear.’
‘Black bear,’ she corrected. ‘A black bear will have to do the honors. Grizzlies only live west of the Mississippi River.’
‘You’re starting to get on my nerves.’ Nevertheless, Michael took the fork to the right.
Just when they thought the road couldn’t get any narrower or steeper, the car plowed through some low-hanging foliage and ended up in someone’s front yard. The Clark home was a rustic log cabin with a wide front porch covered by a roof overhang. Although the cabin had been added to several times, it still maintained a certain charm. There were no rusted farm implements or waterlogged toys lying around, no abandoned vehicles, and no broken windows that had been repaired with cardboard. A stone path led to the front steps, while a scraggly rosebush climbed up a painted trellis. It was a shame few people saw the historic homestead of the Cook descendants.
While Jill had been assessing the exterior ambience, their presence had not gone unnoticed. Suddenly, a raspy cough drew her attention to someone sitting in the shadows of the porch.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ she called. ‘I was admiring your home and didn’t realize anybody was outside.’
‘Yep, that was pretty apparent,’ said a hoarse voice.
‘My name is Jill Curtis and I’m a distant cousin of Dorothy Clark. She provided me with directions here.’
‘Uh-huh,’ said the unseen man as if none of this was news to him. ‘I had a feelin’ you’d find your way up here.’
‘May I step onto the porch, sir?’ Jill asked, regretting her decision to come unarmed. By now Michael had parked the car and joined her.
‘Might as well, seein’ that you came all this way. My son told me you turned off the county road half an hour ago. Never saw anybody drive that slow. Figured you musta run outta gas.’ The man laughed heartily, which triggered another raspy cough.
‘This is my business partner, Michael Erickson. He’s from Chicago, same as me. We’re not used to roads like this.’
The man in the shadows uttered a foul word. ‘Nothing wrong with my road. ’Course, nobody in their right mind comes up here without four-wheel drive. So what does that make your partner?’
Jill couldn’t keep from smiling as she approached the steps. ‘An excellent point.’
‘Tell your partner to stay where he is since he ain’t kinfolk. You, Jill Curtis, can come up here and state your business.’
Nobody had to tell Michael Erickson twice. He turned on a dime and headed back to the car, while Jill climbed the steps with growing trepidation.
On the porch sat a sinewy old man in a wheelchair. His face was deeply tanned and pitted from a long-ago ailment, while his white hair hung in a single plait down his back. His overalls were clean but worn threadbare with ripped knees like teenagers pay extra for.
‘Stop staring at me, gal, and sit down.’ He pointed at a webbed lawn chair.
‘How do you do, Mr Clark?’ As Jill extended a hand, she spotted the outline of someone behind the window’s thin curtain.
‘I’m fine. Call me Will. Then tell me why you wanted to meet me. If you’re Dot’s cousin, you were Roger’s kin through marriage, but you’re not my kin.’ The man shook her hand, then perused Jill almost as thoroughly as she did him.
‘That is correct, but I wanted to make sure you knew about the passing of your brother.’ Jill took the chair on his right.
Will’s face paled slightly. ‘Yeah, I know Roger was murdered, right there between the racks. And the cops still don’t know who done it!’
‘That’s correct. But I assure you Sheriff Adkins sent for a state police investigator who’s bound and determined to find the killer.’
‘We’ll see ’bout that. Now why else did you come?’ He squinted at her.
‘Your sister-in-law said you used to distil bourbon the old-fashioned way. Since I came to Kentucky to write an article about the bourbon industry, I was hoping you’d let me photograph your old still. I promise I won’t use your name or address.’
At first Will chuckled, then he broke into a down-and-out howl of laughter. ‘Well, at least you ain’t no liar, Miss Jill Curtis from Chicago, Illinois.’
‘I try my best to tell the truth, Mr Will Clark.’ She leaned back in her chair.
‘That’s a good rule to live by, but my answer is no. No photographs of me or my house or my former still. I ain’t no tourist attraction. So it looks like your chicken-livered partner drove you all the way up the mountain for nothin’.’
For one brief moment, a frisson of panic shot up Jill’s spine. Should she have taken Aunt Dot’s advice? Had she dragged her partner into another situation that could threaten life and limb?
Perhaps Will smelled her fear or perhaps he simply took pity on her, but his expression turned benign. ‘Unless you’re in the mood to sample real mountain cookin’. My daughter always sets a fine table for company.’
‘Would that be your daughter Michelle?’ she asked.
‘Before she passed, my wife only gave me one daughter, but she stuck me with three worthless sons.’ Will broke into another peal of laughter.
With that the screen door opened and a boy of nine or ten emerged. ‘Oh, Pa, don’t say things like that to this nice lady. She’ll think you’re serious.’ The boy perched on his father’s knee. ‘Hi, I’m Justin.’
‘And you’re adorable!’ Jill’s declaration brought an immediate blush to Justin’s cheeks. ‘I’m Jill, and I’m kinda your cousin, twice removed, then twice removed by marriage.’
The boy smiled. ‘We just call that “cousins” in these parts.’ He stuck out his hand to shake.
Jill was so moved by his friendliness she jumped up and hugged him instead. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you,’ she said.
‘Does all this huggin’ and carrying on mean you’re staying for supper?’ A young woman with dark, almond-shaped eyes and thick auburn hair appeared in the doorway. She was very beautiful and very pregnant.
‘Are you Michelle?’ Jill asked.
‘Who else would I be? Ma’s dead,’ she said without a hint of a smile.
‘Mind your manners, missy,’ Will warned.
‘Just want to know if the fancy writer was stayin’ or not?’ Michelle softened her tone.
‘I would love to, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble and if my videographer can eat with us too.’
‘Fine by me, if it’s fine with Pa. I always cook plenty.’
With three sets of eyes on him, Will nodded affirmatively.
‘You eat wild game or not?’ Michelle asked. ‘Lots of city folk don’t eat game.’
‘No game for me, but a plate of veggies will do nicely.’
‘I got some dried beef left. We’ll eat in fifteen minutes, Pa.’ She vanished from the doorway.
‘Michelle can cook an entire dinner in fifteen minutes?’ Jill asked, not hiding her shock. ‘I have trouble when I have the whole afternoon.’ She settled back into her webbed chair.
Will, with Justin back on his knee, smiled. ‘Don’t give her too much credit. We all knew the moment you turned up the driveway. Michelle was ready to start Sunday dinner anyway. She just didn’t know whether to add some fresh venison or that old dried jerky from last season. Don’t blame me if you break a tooth.’
Maybe it was because he made her feel so welcome, or maybe it was because he hadn’t shot her and Michael on sight as trespassers, but affection for William Clark soon filled every inch of Jill’s heart. ‘So there’s hope for me yet?’ she asked, with her face in her hands.
‘Oh, you’ll learn to cook when the time is right. Just make sure you marry somebody with a lick of sense. Now tell me what’s gonna happen at the funeral. I ain’t never been to a city funeral.’
Jill smiled at Will’s reference to Roseville as a city and explained what to expect on Tuesda
y. When Michelle announced dinner was ready, Jill went to look for her partner. She found Michael under a tree, reading the owner’s manual for his car.
‘Here, I thought you forgot all about me,’ he said, glancing up from the manual.
‘Of course not, but I had to get a few preliminaries out of the way.’ She leaned one shoulder against the vine-covered tree trunk. ‘We have both been invited to Sunday dinner with the Clarks.’
‘You really want to eat here? What’s on the menu – frog legs or maybe fried possum?’ Michael leaned back on his elbows.
‘No possum tonight. It’ll be some kind of beef stew. And I absolutely want to stay. Aunt Dot said the original part of the cabin was built in the 1700s and, to this day, the Clarks live totally off-the-grid.’
‘Can I take a few pictures inside?’
‘You can ask William, but make sure you treat everyone with upmost respect.’ Jill offered a hand to pull him up. ‘If you can’t behave, you can stay out here and finish the sandwiches.’
‘What’s the worst thing that could happen?’ he muttered, loud enough for her to hear.
Jill thought it prudent not to answer that question. After all, Michael would probably be tougher than last year’s jerky.
‘Come on in. I’m Justin.’ The boy held open the screen door as they climbed the steps and crossed the porch.
‘This is Michael Erickson, my videographer,’ Jill said. ‘Michael, this is Mr William Clark and his daughter, Michelle.’
After the men shook hands, Will hooked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘And that’s my eldest son, Billy.’
Jill locked eyes with a wiry but muscular man leaning against the sink. Like his sister, Billy’s expression revealed disdain or distrust or both.
‘Hi, Billy,’ she said.
Billy responded with a slight lift of his chin.
‘I’ve not met your third son yet …?’ Jill directed her question to Will, hoping to get a little more information on the family dynamics.
‘Yes, my middle son, Gordy, stays with a friend in town most of the time. He works at Black Creek Distillery.’
‘Yes, Gordon. Aunt Dot said he was Roger’s right-hand man.’
Justin shook his head. ‘You better not call him “Gordon”. Gordy hates that name.’
‘Thanks for the heads-up.’ Jill ruffled the boy’s hair.
‘With that settled, let’s sit down and eat.’ William rolled his chair up to the head of the table, while Michelle sat closest to the stove.
Jill waited to see where Billy and Justin would sit, then she and Michael took the two remaining chairs.
Michelle set a cast iron pot in the center of the table. ‘This is beef stew with carrots, potatoes, turnips, and onions. If there’s something you don’t like, just push it to the side of the plate. Justin will feed it to the hog later. That’s wilted spinach with a hot bacon dressing and we’ll have cornbread soon as it cools enough to slice.’ She pointed at a red ceramic bowl and a bread board with a tub of butter. ‘Now hand me your plates. This kettle is too heavy to pass around the table.’
Justin tried to give his sister his plate, but Will slapped his arm. ‘Company first, boy.’
‘Sorry, Jill,’ he said.
‘No harm done.’ Jill passed down her plate along with Michael’s. Once all plates had been filled, Michael stabbed a carrot and popped it into his mouth. Unfortunately this was just before Will bowed his head and said grace, much to Michael’s embarrassment.
As Jill passed around the bowl of greens, Michael tried a piece of meat. ‘This is real good. Thanks for including me.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Michelle murmured.
‘Say, Mr Clark, Jill tells me part of your house dates back to the eighteenth century. Mind filling me in on your family’s history?’
Will set down his fork with a clatter. ‘I got a rule – no jawboning at the table. We sit down, we eat our meal, we get on with the day. If you want to chit-chat, we can do that later on the porch with a cup of coffee or glass of whiskey.’ He hacked off a hunk of cornbread and passed the board to Michael.
‘Yes, sir.’ Michael cut off a piece and passed the board to Jill.
And so they enjoyed a quiet but delicious meal with the only sounds being the clatter of cutlery and one small burp from Justin. When they finished, Jill stacked the plates and carried them to the kitchen sink. Michelle was already transferring the stew into a smaller pot. There was no cornbread left and she scraped the tiny amount of greens into a bucket, presumably for the hog.
‘Truly, that was a delicious meal,’ Jill said when Michelle finally met her eye.
‘Thanks, I started cooking when I was eight or nine. I used to love helping Mom. Now it’s not much fun once it’s your duty every day.’
‘I’m ashamed that I don’t know how to cook.’
Michelle studied her for a long moment. ‘Don’t be ashamed. When you have a family, you’ll learn to cook. It’s not that hard. Just remember: once you start, folks will expect you to do it all the time.’ She winked playfully.
‘Sounds like good advice.’
‘Right now, I gotta check the chickens. Make sure they’re in for the night.’
‘Mind if I walk with you? There’s something else I wanted to ask you.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Michelle slipped off her flip-flops and pulled on high rubber boots.
Halfway to the henhouse, Jill mustered her courage. ‘I see you’re expecting. When’s the baby due?’
‘In three months and no, I’m not married.’ She kept her focus on the dirt path.
‘Such is the case with lots of new mothers. I have no reason to judge you.’
‘Tell that to old Will Clark. Daddy called me just about every name in the book.’
‘Parents have a tendency to overreact. He’ll soften once the baby gets here.’
Michelle stopped abruptly and set down the basket. ‘This isn’t what I planned for my life – to raise a baby in a log cabin with three brothers and a stubborn father. When I told this guy I loved him, he said he loved me too and wanted to take care of me. He talked about us getting an apartment in Roseville. When I told him the good news, he handed me five hundred bucks to “fix the situation”. That was his idea of taking care of me. I threw the money in his face.’ She spat in the dirt. ‘If I had told Gordy or Billy what he said, one of them would have put that man in the ground.’
‘It’s normal to want to trust people you love.’ Where Jill was getting this relationship insight, she had no idea.
‘That’s what I get for trusting a rich guy. I should’ve stuck with guys from around here. I hate it when Daddy is right.’ Michelle picked up the basket and took a few steps. ‘Are you comin’ or not?’
When Jill heard the words ‘rich guy’ her legs turned to jelly. ‘Your baby’s father is Jamie Shelby?’
‘Yeah, how could you possibly know him?’
‘I’m writing a travel article on the bourbon industry. When Michael and I visited Founder’s Reserve, Jamie gave the tour because someone was out sick. And I interviewed him two more times on the distillation process.’
‘Ha!’ Michelle squawked. ‘That never would’ve happened if you were toothless or gray-haired. Watch your step, cousin, or you’ll end up like me.’ She patted her rounded belly.
‘I’d be more likely to bash that rotten scoundrel over the head with a stick.’
Jill’s outburst brought a smile to Michelle’s face. ‘You’d do that for me? That is so sweet.’ She continued toward the henhouse.
‘Wait up.’ Unfortunately when Jill tried to catch up she stepped in a pile of dung and let out a screech.
‘Sorry ’bout that,’ Michelle said, unable to stop laughing. ‘That’s the hazard of free-range cows and goats. Go back to the cabin and wash off your shoe with the hose. Just don’t leave until I get back. I’ll give you fresh eggs for Aunt Dot.’
Jill did as instructed then circled the house in the direction of voices. She found Michael,
Will, and Justin sitting on the porch. The boy had a glass of milk while the men had glasses of something dark amber.
‘Hey, Jill,’ said Michael, brimming with enthusiasm. ‘Did you know that your cousin harnessed the wind for his water well? It pumps water to both the kitchen and the bathroom. And there’s a hand pump in the kitchen in case there’s no wind, which isn’t very often up here.’
‘Shucks, boy. Have you been living under a rock? Windmills have been around for hundreds of years.’ Will poured Jill a small glass of bourbon.
‘I ask myself that question on a regular basis,’ Jill said. ‘And I must pass on the bourbon. It’s my turn to drive.’
‘Just try a tiny sip, Jill,’ Michael coaxed, his excitement still soaring. ‘It’s so smooth. They use propane for the stove and refrigerator, plus Will has a diesel generator for emergencies. Living off the grid is pretty cool.’
‘I think so too, but you couldn’t live without television or internet.’ Jill sipped the tiniest amount and started to cough, triggering laughter from the three males.
‘There’s coffee on the stove. Help yourself,’ said Will. ‘That shouldn’t be as strong.’
‘Sounds good. Thank you.’ Jill entered the dim cabin, still warm from the cooking stove. For a few minutes she wandered around the living room and kitchen, admiring the simple efficiency of their lifestyle.
‘You about done snooping around, Jill from Chicago?’ said a voice from a dark hallway. Billy Clark stepped into view, minus the shirt he’d worn at supper. He had a multitude of tattoos and a long scar down the side of his neck. Every muscle in the man’s chest and arms rippled as he walked towards her.
‘Sorry, just coming in for some coffee.’ Jill took a step back.
‘The pot is on the stove.’ Billy pointed with a dirty fingernail.
‘You can’t blame me for being curious. You would be too if you visited my apartment.’
‘That ain’t ever gonna happen.’ Billy lit a cigarette and blew a stream of smoke in her face.
‘Stop that!’ Jill fanned the smoke away. ‘Why are you hot under the collar? I didn’t mean any disrespect.’
‘Fine. Then go on your way, city girl. Forget all about us. I ’specially don’t want you worrying about Michelle. Up here on the mountain, we take good care of our own.’ Billy took another drag on the cigarette. Although he blew the smoke down toward the floor, there was no mistaking the look in his eyes.