“Hey, look!” Dave pointed at a wicker chair on the sagging porch. “There’s a scarecrow sittin’ up there.”
A gaunt form, dressed in a red and yellow long-sleeved plaid shirt and bib overalls, slouched on the chair’s faded straw. The sun-bleached pant legs stretched straight out and ended in a pair of scuffed brogans. A thatch of dark red hair shot with gray crowned a lined and stubbled face.
The others followed Fred onto the porch. When his foot touched the top step the scarecrow slowly rose, stretched, and shuffled towards them.
“Evenin’.” The scarecrow extended a gnarled hand toward Fred. Arthritic knuckles bulged. Thick veins twisted like blue ropes just beneath the tan, leathery skin.
That must be agony in the winter, Fred thought as he gingerly reached for the scarecrow’s hand. Arthritis or not, the man’s grip was pure steel.
“Y’all mus’ be th’ bunch thet’s gonna be stayin’ up at ole Lawyer’s place.” Blue-gray eyes examined Fred’s face closely. “Yep. An’ you must be Lawyer’s great nephew. You got th’ fam’ly nose an’ cheeks.”
“Yessir.” Fred resisted the urge to rub his nose. “Name’s Kyle. Fred Kyle.”
The scarecrow nodded. “Thought so. Guess that makes us kinfolk. Perdis Flowers, though mos’ folks just calls me Purdie.” He spat a stream of tobacco juice over the porch rail. “Your mama left th’ keys with me. I s’pose y’all might be needin’ them ’fore y’all go any farther.”
Perdis looked at Johnny closely. “Son, either you’re standin’ on a ant bed or you gotta go sumpin’ awful. It’s ’round back. Got a half moon carved on th’ door. If they ain’t any paper, they’s a catalogue on th’ floor.”
Johnny turned and half ran, half shuffled around the building.
Peete shook his head. “Five bucks says he has to change his pants before we leave.”
Perdis looked closely at Peete, then at the others. Peete recognized that particular glance; he’d grown up knowing it. Until that moment he’d allowed himself to forget his difference, his blackness. He was with his friends. There was no need to guard against racism, condescension, or veiled hostility. It was a new age, a better time. Perdis’s look yanked him back to bitter reality. Fred, Johnny, Dave, and Charlie – despite their friendship Peete felt alone in a way they could never understand.
“Well, c’mon in.” Perdis pulled the sagging door open and led the way inside. “’Tain’t much by city standards, but it does fer folks ’round here.”
They followed Perdis into the dimly lit interior. Bare bulbs dangled from the ceiling by long braided cords. Their pale yellow glow fought a holding action against the darkness that tried to fill the room.
“This must be the first place Thomas Edison wired,” Dave whispered.
Rows of tilted, sagging shelves offered canned goods, hardware, jars, and boxes to the narrow aisles. Four pairs of clear glass doors lined the back wall. Many of the labels – in the coolers and on the aisles – were a faded, off-white color. The black lettering was now pale gray. Some labels, both in the cooler and on the shelves, looked to be at least a decade old. Yet, the store was spotless. Age-darkened floorboards shone in the meager light. The corners, even at the juncture of the walls and ceiling, were cobweb free. There was no dust anywhere.
Charlie stopped just before the threshold, his eyes wide and searching. Peete turned and looked at him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Probably nothing.”
“What do you mean, probably nothing?”
“There’s something missing here.”
“Like what?”
“There ought to be a shotgun leanin’ against the rail and a hound dog sleepin’ on the porch to go with this rockin’ chair. And, where’s the bald, cross-eyed, banjo-playing kid? You know,” Charlie mimed playing a banjo as he nasally intoned, “Nar-nar-Nar-nar-Nar-nar-Nar-nar-Nar …”
Peete yanked the baseball cap from Charlie’s head and slapped him across the shoulder. Both men laughed loudly as they stepped inside the store.
Fred turned. “What the hell set you two off?”
“You had to be there.” Charlie looked at Peete. Peete looked quickly away, but not before he muttered, “Just don’t sit next to Dennis.”
Charlie slapped Peete with his cap as both men erupted again.
“Mr. Flowers…” Fred began.
“Jes call me Purdie. We’s kin an’ even folks thet ain’t calls me that.”
“Right. Um, Purdie. I figured we’d pick up a few things here before we go up to the cabin. I’m hoping maybe you can help me out with something else, too.”
“I don’t know if I got ennythin’ y’all couldn’ta got back in the city, but hep y’selves. As fer ennythin’ else, like I said, we’s kin an’ kin allus helps kin. That’s th’ way it’s s’posed to be, ain’t it?”
“Charlie! You got your list?”
Charlie always had a list. He claimed it was because he used to be in the Quartermaster Corps in the Army. The others just called him anal.
“Got it right here.” He pulled a folded paper from his breast pocket.
“Thought you might. Why don’t you see what you can find while I have a chat with Purdie?”
While the others searched, Fred pulled Perdis aside. “I need a little help with directions. I’ve only been up to the house twice in my life, as far as I can remember. When I was eight or nine, I spent the summer up there. The other time was this past July when I came up with Mom to see the place. She drove so I’m not too sure I can find it. I got a map when we rented the Jeep, but I don’t know how good it is once we leave the main roads. I figured you could give me some directions I could trust since you’ve lived up here all your life.”
Perdis smiled, showing more gaps than teeth. Those that were still resident were cracked, brown, and leaned like old tombstones in a forgotten cemetery. “You come to th’ right person, son.” He led Fred towards the back of the store. “They’s lots o’ folks lives ’roun’ here that knows th’ hills an’ woods hereabouts. I reckon no one knows’em like Purdie Flowers.”
He pointed to a large rectangle of dark paper fastened to the back wall. To Fred, it looked like some sort of makeshift patch. He stepped closer for a better look. The dark paper consisted of grocery bags taped and glued together. A small pencil-drawn square marked the approximate center. Lines drawn in different colored pencil and ink covered the coarse surface. Some of the black lines ended at other squares.
“It’s a map.”
“Yep. Made ’er m’self. Started it nigh on seventy years ago.”
“You must have the whole county on here.”
“Pert near. Didn’t have no bicycle or nothin’ when I was a boy, so, after I done m’chores, I’d go explorin’. When I got home, I’d draw in all th’ places I’d been to. As I got older, th’ map got bigger. We couldn’t afford reg’lar paper fer me t’waste. But, we allus had th’ store, so we allus had paper bags. When I needed more paper I jus’ grabbed another bag.” Perdis pointed at the square in the center. “This here’s th’ store. An’ up here…” the finger followed a curving black line upward, “…that’s ol’ Lawyer’s place.”
“This is incredible.” The more Fred studied the crude map, the more sense it made. The black ink lines were paved roads; the pencil ones were trails or unpaved roads. Curving blue lines had to be creeks. Red lines formed rudimentary elevation lines. Fred traced one narrow blue line past the square marking his uncle’s house. It had to be the shallow stream that flowed down from the mountain and curved to run just behind the front gate and fence. Perdis had even drawn in some of the property lines. Fred could see where his uncle’s land continued on over the ridge and part way down the other side. Behind that ridge was another — and if Perdis’s elevation lines were halfway accurate — steeper and higher ridge. Near the top it looked as though something had been drawn and then rubbed out. It was the only smeared place on the map.
“What’s this?” Fred touched the smudge.<
br />
The smile left Perdis’ face. “’Tain’t nothin’ y’all need t’ worry ’bout. Uster be a minin’ camp, that’s all. Mine played out. Camp dried up. Ain’t nothin’ there no more ’ceptin’ some broke rocks an’ such.”
Perdis’ finger moved to the square marking the store and the line running upward from it. “Now, y’all jus’ foller this here gravel road up t’ th’ two lane blacktop. That’s called Drayson Creek Road, ’ceptin’ everyone ’roun’ here jus’ calls it th’ blacktop road. Turn left an’ go two miles ’til y’ come to a blowed down barn. Uster be ol’ John Mayberry’s. Storm tore it up six, mebbe seven years ago an’ he ain’t never rebuilt it. Anyways, you’ll see a dirt road on th’ right ’bout fifty feet past. Turn there an’ foller it up th’ mountain ’til y’gets t’ th’ end. Th’ last house is your uncle’s.”
Fred nodded. The directions were simple enough. He just hoped he could see the “blowed down barn” in the dark. He looked at the smudge again. The old man’s subject change seemed a little too adroit. “Did that place have a name?”
“If’n it did, ain’t no one ’roun’ here knows it no more. Only name left is Black Stump Ridge, but I don’t think that was the camp’s or the mine’s name. That’s just the name o’ th’ ridge where the mine and all uster be.”
Fred glanced at the old man. Perdis was lying. He didn’t know how he knew that, but it seemed clear to him. But, why? What was really up there?
“I might do a little exploring while we’re up here.” He tapped the map with his forefinger as he watched Purdie’s face for a reaction. “That looks like it might be interesting. Might find some old arrowheads or something.”
“You don’t wanna be messin’ ’roun’ thet ol’ place. It’s dangerous.”
“What’s so dangerous about an abandoned mining camp?”
Perdis hesitated. “They’s not much more’n deadfalls up there. Breathe on’em wrong an’ they could come down aroun’ yer ears. They’s holes in th’ ground where th’ mine was too shalla an’ not shored up proper. A body could step in one an’ break a leg or fall down inside. All kinds o’ ways a man could get hurt an’ no one even know. No one goes up there no more. Lawyer’s place is just about the closest.”
It sounded plausible. Still, Fred felt that Perdis knew more than he was telling. “I guess I’ll just have to be careful and not go alone. If I go, that is. I’ll probably be too busy hunting to do any exploring.”
“Prob’ly. Th’ huntin’ oughter be real good this year. We had a purty wet summer so there’s lots o’ grub in th’ woods. Not too many other folks out there, neither. Tho’ what folks is out there, well, y’might wanna be careful – ‘specially yer colored friend. Hate to see any huntin’ accidents, if y’know what I mean.”
It took Fred a moment to realize what Perdis was saying. When it finally sank in, he fought hard to hide his shock and his quickly rising outrage.
Perdis must have seen through the mask. “Now, now. Don’t git yer feathers all in an uproar. I lived out here by th’ highway all my life. I even done my two years when m’notice came durin’ the ’Nam war. I know things is different out there away from th’ hills. Hell, I got no problems with nigras. I served with some mighty fine nigra soldiers. Good fighters in spite o’ what some aroun’ here might say. But, once y’all leave the black top out front, son, it’s a different world. Folks back in the hollers, well, they ain’t changed their ideas much since th’ second independence war. If’n they see a colored man walkin’ in th’ woods carryin’ a gun, well, they’s liable t’ shoot first an’ not cry over it once they sees what they done.”
Fred turned at a sound behind him. Peete watched them from two rows away, his face an unreadable mask. Before Fred could say anything Peete turned and walked quickly out of the store. Fred turned back to Perdis.
“Listen, you red-necked sonovabitch. If you or any of those inbred cretins up there even looks like he might try to do something to my friend, there’s gonna be some shootin’ all right — and, it won’t be a hunting accident. We might be from the city but we’re not strangers in the woods. Where are the keys?”
Perdis looked at him for a long moment. “If’n I didn’t already promise yer mama, I’d keep’em an’ send y’all back to th’ city ’fore one a’y’all gets hurt. Or worse. You may be kin, an’ you may know how to hunt, but you ain’t hill folk. We don’t hold to big city ways. Some here don’t care ’bout no laws from Washington. Hell, boy, you got any idea how many revenooers is buried back in them hills? Washington might know how many’s missin’ but th’ folks ’roun’ here don’t count an’ don’t care. Y’gotta be careful back there. I ain’t tryin’ t’make ya mad. I’m jus’ tryin’ t’make sure none o’y’all gets hurt.”
“Fine.” Fred relaxed a little as he let his temper settle. “I’ll try to remember that. The keys, please.”
Perdis nodded and went behind the counter. Charlie and Dave waited in front of it, their faces devoid of emotion. A moderate pile of cans and packages covered half the surface.
“While you’re at it, figure out how much we owe you.”
Perdis pulled out a ring with two keys on it — a large brass one and a smaller, chrome plated one — and handed it to Fred. “The big’uns fer th’ house. The littl’uns fer th’ barn, though that’s mostly storage.”
He poked at the keys on the ancient cash register. He put cans, bottles, and packages into two medium-sized cardboard boxes as he did. When he finished, he hit a large key and turned a silver crank. The machine coughed and whirred. “That’ll be thirty-seven dollars an’ fifty-three cents.”
Fred handed the old man forty dollars as Charlie and Dave carried the boxes out of the store. Perdis handed Fred the change. As he slipped the money into his pocket and turned to leave, he heard Perdis’ hoarse whisper from behind him. “Remember what I said.”
“About my friend? I’m not likely to forget.”
“Not that. ’bout Black Stump Ridge. Don’t go messin’ ’roun’ up there. It’s poison.”
“There’s all kinds of poison in this world, Mr. Flowers.” Fred pushed his way through the door. “All kinds.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Dave slumped in the passenger seat as the Jeep crept up the road like a blind man in a strange room. Awkward silence filled the truck. Something had happened in the store but no one was talking about it. All he knew was that at one moment everyone was talking and joking around, like always, and the next, Peete was storming out of the store, hitting the door like a tornado hitting a trailer park. Whatever it was, it was bad enough to generate a storm in Fred, too, which was odd because Fred never got mad at anyone for anything.
No, that wasn’t exactly true. Charlie and Johnny seemed quieter than normal. He pretended to stretch, using the motion to hide his glance to the back. Peete stared straight ahead. His cheeks were wet. Tears? Charlie’s head was turned away as if he found the setting sun fascinating. Dave could see the man’s pudgy reflection in the glass. He didn’t know if it was a trick of the light or something in the image, but to Dave it looked like fear in Charlie’s eyes.
He tried to locate Johnny but the man was sitting directly behind him. There was no way to look at him discreetly.
Dave finished his stretch and turned to look ahead. At least the drop was on the other side of the truck. The growing darkness would have made the view even worse. He settled into his seat and stared through the windshield.
•
For his part Fred tried to concentrate as he guided the Jeep up the winding and unfamiliar road in the rapidly growing night. Peete’s face, however, kept drifting to the front of his mind. He’d never seen so much pain in his friend’s eyes as he saw before Peete turned and left the store. He tried to come up with something clever to say, something to ease the hurt, but the pervasive silence in the truck dampened thought as well as sound.
This was shaping into another Fred class disaster and they hadn’t even reached the cabin. Fred glanced in the mi
rror at Charlie, who sat right behind him. Charlie was staring out the window. That was odd. In fact, Charlie’s behavior had been unusually restrained during the whole trip. No wisecracks. No pranks. No jokes. Only at the store had there been a glimmer of the old Charlie. Something was up.
He glanced at Peete, who sat in the middle between Charlie and Johnny with his head bowed. Fred didn’t think it was in prayer.
“Hey. You can’t let some ignorant hillbilly’s stupid remarks ruin the trip for you.”
Peete raised his head slowly. He looked at the mirror – directly into Fred’s eyes. He smiled, but the pain never left his face.
•
Charlie stared out of the window. The westering sun had all but vanished behind the mountains. The topmost trees on the far ridgeline were backlit in gold. Night ruled everywhere else.
Charlie saw none of it. His staring eyes saw only Janine as his mind churned – Janine of the raven hair, of the flashing blue eyes, of the full sensual lips. Janine with those very lips curled into a contemptuous sneer as venom spewed between her sparkling, perfectly white teeth.
“What did you expect me to do, Charlie?” Her nostrils flared. Anger rouged her cheeks. “Did you really expect me to stay home all Thanksgiving weekend while you go play macho games in the woods with your poker buddies?”
“Dammit, Janine, I’ve done this every year for the last ten or eleven. You knew that before we got married.”
“You didn’t do it last year.”
“We couldn’t. Johnny’s uncle died just a couple of weeks before. It wouldn’t have been right.”
“But it’s okay to leave your wife at home alone for four days and nights. That is the proper thing to do, right? Well, you go ahead with your trip. I’ve taken care of my own holiday entertainment this year. And he doesn’t need chemical help to please me.”
“Janine…”
“I’ll bet you don’t need your little blue pills out there in the woods, do you? Does the smell of campfire smoke and wet canvas get it up for you? I can see it all now, the five of you running around in the forest, shooting your guns, and getting harder and harder with each kill. And then, when you’re back at your cabin, flipping coins to see who rides and who drives. Do you take turns with the odd man out getting sloppy seconds? Or do you all lie on the floor in a big circle? You know, one big suck fest? Tell me truthfully: which of you has the softest, smoothest hands? Well, whoever gets you is getting the short end. I know.”
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