by Irene Brand
AN APPALACHIAN
CHRISTMAS
BY IRENE BRAND
ONCE UPON A
CHRISTMAS EVE
BY ANITA HIGMAN
SummeRSIde
PRESS™
Summerside Press™
Minneapolis 55438
www.summersidepress.com
Love Finds You Under the Mistletoe: An Appalachian Christmas
© 2010 by Irene Brand
Love Finds You Under the Mistletoe: Once Upon a Christmas Eve
© 2010 by Anita Higman
ISBN 978-1-60936-004-7
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
Scripture references are from The Holy Bible, King James Version (KJV).
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Dedication
This book is dedicated to Anita Higman, my coworker in this anthology, and to Rachel Meisel, Summerside Press editor. It was a pleasure to share this experience with you.
—Irene Brand
This book is dedicated to the wonderful folks in Noel, Missouri, who made the time I spent there doing research as pleasant and lovely as the surrounding countryside.
—Anita Higman
Acknowledgments
My sincere appreciation to members of the Owsley County Historical Society: Delcie Hall, Wallace Edwards, Ella Addison, Bertha Noble, Vicki Campbell, Audrea Farmer. Special thanks to Delcie for being our guide on a long tour of the Buffalo Creek area, especially the Faith Hill community; Wallace, who supplied dozens of pictures of Booneville and vicinity in the 1940s; and Ella and Bertha, who went out of their way to find research information in the Historical Society’s library. I would also like to thank Judy Couch of Mistletoe, who talked with us about her father, who was once the postmaster. The abandoned Mistletoe church, which is in her front yard, was an important subject of conversation, especially when she warned us to beware of the copperhead snakes, which are summer residents in the church. I’m grateful also to many other local residents who were kind to us. Special thanks to my husband, Rod, who shared the research with me, who read my final draft for typos, and who entertained himself while I spent long hours at my computer.
—Irene Brand
Much gratitude goes to my editor, Rachel Meisel,
to agent Chip MacGregor,
to author Irene Brand,
and to publicist Jeane Wynn.
Thanks to each of you for your encouragement,
your help, and your friendship.
You are a wonder to behold!
—Anita Higman
Love Finds You Under the Mistletoe:
An Appalachian Christmas
BY IRENE BRAND
Chapter One
Its driver whistling merrily, the antiquated bus climbed a hill into the small Kentucky town on a sunny September morning. With brakes squeaking and the engine groaning like a sick person gasping for a final breath, the bus eventually ground to a halt before a two-story building. Opening the door, the driver shouted, “Booneville. All passengers get off.”
Julia Mayfield gathered her bags, lifted her nephew, Bobby, into her arms, and exited the bus. In a voice hoarse with frustration and fatigue, she asked the driver, “Is there any other public transportation available here?”
The driver pointed to a gasoline station across the street. “You might hire a taxi over there.”
Julia thanked the driver and walked toward the small building he’d indicated. She hadn’t wanted to take this trip. Now that the war had ended, she had plans for the future that didn’t include honoring her sister’s dying request.
Shifting Bobby to her left hip, Julia walked into the gasoline station. The only occupant of the building was bending over the engine of a car. When he became aware of Julia’s presence, the black-bearded man straightened, took off his cap, and spit a mouthful of tobacco into an oil drum. “Howdy, ma’am. My name’s Alex. What can I do for you?”
“I need transportation to Mistletoe. The bus driver thought you could help me.”
Alex shook his head. “’Fraid not, ma’am.”
“You have a sign in your window, ‘Taxi for hire.’”
“That’s a fact, ma’am,” he agreed. “I’ve got one taxi. A man rented it this morning and took off for Louisville. He won’t be back till day after tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait that long,” Julia persisted. “Is there another taxi stand?”
“Nope. Autos are scarcer than hen’s teeth around here.”
Confronted with another delay in her plans, Julia sat cautiously on a rickety chair and let her nephew stand beside her. Grasping at straws, she asked, “Is it too far for me to walk?”
If she hadn’t been so tired and discouraged, Julia might have laughed as the man’s mouth dropped open and his faded brown eyes widened in amazement.
“Walk! Why, lady, hit’s nigh on to eighteen miles from Booneville to Mistletoe.”
Bobby looked up at her, and his blue eyes glistened with tears. “I hungry.”
Julia lifted him to her lap. “I know you are, sweetie.” She took some cookies wrapped in waxed paper from her purse. “Nibble on these until I decide what to do.”
Perhaps sensing her distress, Alex said kindly, “Wish I could help, ma’am. Looks to me like you’re between a rock and a hard place.”
“Yes. That states my situation exactly,” she replied in a cynical tone.
Alex’s faded eyes squinted in thought. “Just a minute,” he shouted. “I might find you a ride after all.”
He rushed outside into narrow Mulberry Street and waved down a dilapidated Ford pickup. Judging from his gestures, Julia assumed Alex was talking to the driver about her. Placing Bobby on the chair, she stood and anxiously watched the exchange between the two men. The driver parked his pickup and came into the service station with Alex.
“Ma’am, you’re in luck. This is Tom Morriston. He carries the mail to Mistletoe. He’ll give you a lift.”
Mr. Morriston, a small, wrinkled-faced man with gray hair and a winning smile, extended his right hand. “Howdy, ma’am.”
She took her benefactor’s hand. “Oh, thank you, sir. I’m Julia Mayfield.”
She motioned to her luggage in front of the bus station. “If you can’t take all of my suitcases, perhaps I can store them at the station.”
He glanced out the window. “I can haul all of them, ma’am. It looks like you’ve come to stay a spell. You got kin in Owsley County?”
Julia shook her head, unsure how to explain her reason for visiting Mistletoe. She ruffled Bobby’s brown curls. “This is Bobby, my sister’s son.”
The mail carrier chucked Bobby under the chin. “Hi there, Bobby.”
Her nephew was a friendly boy, and he welcomed the mail carrier’s attention. His eyes sparkled, and he wiggled like a playful puppy.
“Hit’ll be about an hour before I start home,” Mr. Morriston said. “I can pack your things in the truck now.”
“If there’s a restaurant close by, Bobby and I will eat lunch and wait there until you’re ready to start.”
He nodded his head. “You’ll need to eat. Hit’ll take two or three hours to reach where we’re goin’, but we’ll get there before dark.” He scratched his head. “Probably the best place for you to eat is the Wilder Hotel. I’ll show you
where it is, and then I’ll tend to my town chores.”
“Thank you very much,” Julia said. “I’ll take the small suitcase with me, so I can change Bobby’s clothes while we wait.”
An hour later, Julia and Bobby were bouncing along in Tom Morriston’s pickup truck on their way out of Booneville. Bobby snuggled against Julia and almost immediately went to sleep. A few miles out of town, the uneven pavement gave way to a rough, graveled road. While she gazed with interest at the rugged, wooded landscape, Julia wrapped a protective arm around her nephew to keep him from rolling off the seat.
Although the train had traveled through several mountainous regions on the journey from Baltimore, Julia had devoted her time to Bobby instead of looking at the scenery. Her home in Maryland was located near Chesapeake Bay, and compared to the flat land she was accustomed to, these rugged Appalachian Mountains seemed intimidating and mysterious. Giant sprawling oaks, a variety of maples, and other trees Julia didn’t recognize intermingled with cedars and pines.
Time passed more quickly than Julia had anticipated, for Tom Morriston was an interesting companion and a goldmine of information. They were soon on a first-name basis, as the mail carrier asked her to call him Tom.
“People have been livin’ here since the days of Dan’l Boone,” he’d explained. “My pappy moved to Kentucky soon after the Civil War. I was born in these mountains. Except for the years I was away durin’ the First World War, this has always been my home.”
“Tell me about the town of Mistletoe. How did it get its name?”
“Hit’s not a town, Julia—just the name of our post office. The way I hear it, the government man who came to establish the route asked what to call the post office. Somebody looked up at a clump of mistletoe clingin’ to an oak tree and said, ‘Let’s call it Mistletoe.’”
Disappointed that there wasn’t a more romantic story behind the name, Julia laughed quietly. “I’ve been interested in mistletoe ever since I was crowned Queen Mistletoe in a Christmas pageant when I was in the fourth grade. The little boy who played the king waved a sprig of mistletoe over my head and kissed me. That was my first kiss.”
Tom guffawed and glanced toward her, admiration in his eyes. “I bet you’ve had plenty of kisses since then.”
Julia shook her head. “Not as many as you might think.” She changed the subject. “You say that Mistletoe isn’t a town—surely there are stores, a restaurant, a hotel, or a boardinghouse?” She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice.
He shook his shaggy head. “Nope. The only public buildings are the church and Rockhouse School. About seventy families live in the hills and hollers of Buffalo Crick, and they get their mail on the Mistletoe route. The post office is in one room of the postmaster’s home.”
Julia experienced momentary panic as her thoughts rioted. If she couldn’t stay with the Waldens, where could she find lodging? Her personal comfort wasn’t an issue—during the past three years, she had slept in many uncomfortable beds—but she must find a place for Bobby. Perhaps sensing her agitation, the child stirred in his sleep. Julia patted his back, and he didn’t waken.
Suddenly Julia’s concerns about where they’d spend the night faded into the background. Tom made a sharp right turn on a steep, rocky road, which twisted downhill like a serpent, and her nerves tensed immediately. At every curve she expected the old truck to plunge into the deep hollow, and her breath seemed to have lodged in her throat. To add to her concern, two deer leaped out of the woods and crossed the road. Tom braked sharply and missed them by a hairbreadth. By the time they’d reached a narrow creek valley, her chest felt like a volcano on the verge of erupting.
“This is Buffalo Crick,” Tom volunteered calmly as Julia struggled to breathe. “In dry weather this road’s not too bad, but we’ve had a wet spring, so it’s full of chuckholes. We’ll be fordin’ the crick off and on the rest of the way.”
Julia soon lost count of how many times the road ran through the stream, but they were in water more than on dry land. Except for occasional clearings where isolated houses and outbuildings stood, the forest pressed in on both sides of the muddy road. She felt smothered and wondered how soon this nightmare would be over. Occasional shafts of sunlight filtering through the trees afforded some respite, but for the most part it was a nerve-wracking ride.
Perhaps sensing Julia’s reaction to her surroundings, Tom stopped chatting and devoted his attention to driving. Several times the truck mired in mud holes, and Julia held her breath until Tom maneuvered the vehicle to safety. She sighed in relief when Tom flashed a smile in her direction and said, “Hit’s only five more miles to Mistletoe, and we’ve got only one more crossin’.”
Bobby stirred again and whimpered several times before he opened his eyes. Julia had hoped he would sleep until they reached their destination, but she lifted him to her lap. “We’re almost there, Bobby. You can look out the window for the rest of the way.”
“Why?”
Julia cringed inwardly, having lost count of how many times she’d heard that question since they’d left Maryland. Suspecting that she had only one nerve left, she forced herself to say lightly, “Because the tall trees are beautiful, and there’s mistletoe growing in them.”
“Why?”
Before she could think of an answer, they rounded a curve, where about a foot of water covered the road. Tom slowed the truck to a crawl. The water seemed swifter here than it had at the other crossings, and Julia tensed immediately. The truck eased slowly into the water, but after they moved forward slightly, the vehicle bumped against something rigid. With a thud it veered sideways, and the engine died.
“Of all the luck,” Tom muttered. “I must have hit a rock and busted a tire. This would have to happen when I had passengers! You stay put, miss.”
Considering their surroundings, Julia had no intention of moving. They were in the middle of the creek, which splashed gently on the truck’s bottom. She couldn’t see any way out of this predicament, but in spite of her inner turmoil, a myriad of birdsongs in the surrounding woodlands brought some peace to her heart.
“Flat tire or not, I’ll try to drive this vehicle to dry ground. Hold on!” Tom started the truck, gunned the engine, changed into a low gear, tried to move forward, and then quickly switched into reverse.
He rocked the truck back and forth several times, but if it moved as much as an inch, Julia wasn’t aware of it. Bobby, however, seemed to think they were playing a game. He swayed back and forth with the truck as if he was on a teeter-totter, yelling, “Whee! Whee!”
Julia was pleased that someone was having a good time. Panic like she’d never experienced coursed through her mind and body, and she struggled to keep her fragile control. For the hundredth time since leaving Baltimore, she asked herself if this trip had been necessary in the first place.
“Stuck tighter than the cork in a jug,” was Tom’s calm opinion after he’d tried repeatedly to drive the truck to dry land. He pulled a pair of gumboots from behind his seat, rolled up his overalls, kicked off his shoes, and pulled on the boots. “I’ll have to get some help. There’s a farm a little ways up the road. I’ll walk there and borrow a mule or horse to pull the truck to land.”
Julia stifled a groan. “What are we supposed to do?”
“Oh, you’ll be all right. The water’s fallin’ now. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
“This water looks deep and swift,” Julia observed. “You be careful!”
“Now, don’t you fret! Old Tom has been in worse trouble than this.”
Fearing that he might topple over, she watched tensely as Tom stepped into water above his knees. He steadied himself by holding on to the truck door. “You’re right, miss. It’s plenty deep. My boots are full of water already.”
“I feel so helpless sitting here.” Her stomach churned with worry and frustration. Julia was a woman of action, and it went against the grain to be in a situation she couldn’t handle.
“If you’
re a prayin’ woman, you might ask the good Lord to send help.”
If rescue depended on her prayers, Julia thought wryly, they were in trouble. Although she had once been on speaking terms with God, she wasn’t any longer. Experiencing three years of war firsthand had caused her to doubt that God was concerned with the problems of His people.
The situation was desperate, however, and knowing that God had once answered her prayers, Julia lowered her chin on Bobby’s head and closed her eyes. “God, I can’t bear much more,” she cried aloud. “I’m at my wit’s end. Please help us out of this nightmare.”
When she lifted her head, Tom still stood beside the truck, his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide with astonishment. “Miss, that’s powerful prayin’.”
Having no idea what he meant, her gaze followed his pointing finger. A man on horseback loped toward them. Julia breathed silent thanks for answered prayer, strengthened by the assurance that God hadn’t cast her aside. “Do you know him?”
“Sure, I know him. I know everybody in this holler.” He lifted his right hand and hailed the approaching rider. “David, you’re sure a sight for sore eyes!”
The man swung from his saddle in one fluid movement, and Julia took a quick breath. A shaft of sunlight glimmering through the grove of sycamore trees spotlighted the newcomer, and she stared at him in disbelief. She had seen hundreds of handsome men in the past three years, none of whom had been as pleasing to the eye as this stranger. In a cursory glance she took in his tall, powerful, well-muscled body. He was bareheaded, and his black hair gleamed like ebony in the sunlight. Jet black eyes shifted from Tom to Julia, and when their eyes met, a sudden warm glow radiated from her toes to the top of her head.
Chapter Two
Tom walked to the creek bank and shook hands with the rider. Leaning against a tree for support, he emptied water from his boots. Then he gestured toward the truck. “David, I’ve got a flat tire and I’m stuck in the mud. Can you pull us out?”