Black Stump Ridge

by John Manning; Forrest Hedrick

  Amanda felt a tear start to slide down her cheek. She brushed it away angrily. She glanced at Fred. “I don’t care what you think of us,” she tried to keep the quaver out of her voice. “Fred needs help. Medical help. If you don’t want to help me get it, then get the hell out of here so I can do it.”

  “Relax, lady,” Loni said. “We’ll get you some help. The best in the area, so far as I know. Just no EMS and no fuckin’ cops.”

  “Why not?”

  Loni sighed with exasperation. “Because this qualifies as a racial incident as far as the cops and the media are concerned. I don’t think you want that and we definitely don’t.”

  “I don’t care about all that.”

  “You will.” Jimmy spoke from the door. “I don’t think you get the picture, yet. You call for EMS and this place’ll be a freakin’ circus. Cops an’ reporters will be all over it and I guarantee you won’t find what you want.”

  She looked at Fred. She’d gotten him into this. He hadn’t wanted any part of it.

  “That’s right,” Loni agreed. “Listen up. Here’s the crash course. There are seven clans of Western Cherokee. There’s sub-clans, of course, but the seven main clans are what matter. I ain’t tellin’ you who’s who, but I will tell you this. Each clan has it’s own medicine people. Medicine people don’t advertise and you can’t find them unless you’re part of the clan. No one will tell you. No one. Especially if you get wrapped up in some sort of racial thing.”

  Amanda’s body sagged. “How do I find one, then?”

  “Why do you want one so badly?”

  Amanda pointed at Fred. “He can explain it better, but this is what I know. A long time ago a Cherokee medicine man locked up some kind of terrible creature inside the caves on a mountain in Tennessee where Fred’s family has a cabin. He and my dad and some of their friends went up there to do some hunting about twelve years ago. One of them accidentally let the creature out.” She pointed at Fred. “He’s the only one left alive.”

  Amanda looked at Fred and then up at Loni. “We need someone – a genuine Cherokee medicine man – to help us put it back.”

  Loni looked at Jimmy. His face was pale. She looked at Amanda and shook her head. “When you people fuck something up, you don’t mess around, do you?”

  “Can we give the racial shit a rest? It’s not helping and I’m really getting tired of it.”

  Loni took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah. Okay. Look. I think there’s a way we can help each other if you’re willing to keep the cops out of it.”

  Amanda looked from one to the other and then down at Fred. At last she nodded. “Okay. No cops.”

  “Good.” Loni pulled a cell phone from her hip pocket, flipped it open, and began poking numbers. “I think I know just the person to call. I just hope she’s home.” She put the phone to her ear. “It’s ringing.”

  •

  “It’s been forty minutes,” Amanda said from where she knelt between the beds. She’d scrubbed as much as she could but without cleaning products she’d done all she could. The rug was a total loss.

  “She’ll be here,” Loni said from a chair by the window. She eased the curtain back and looked out into the parking lot. “It’s not like she has a first aid kit sittin’ by her door ready to go whenever the phone rings. Wait. I think I see her car pulling into a space.”

  Amanda sat on the bed as Loni went to the door. The girl opened it and looked outside. Amanda got her first glimpse of their visitor.

  A woman of medium height stood just outside. She wore a wide-brimmed, rounded crown hat with a black feather rising from the black satin band. Long jet hair gathered into thick horsetails by beaded bands framed her round face. Her lips were neither thin nor thick. Her nose hooked slightly below the bridge, but not unattractively. She wore a black, button down shirt, black denim slacks, and black leather boots. In her right hand she carried a scuffed black leather valise. A triangle of white tee shirt peeked from the V of her collar.

  Amanda stifled a giggle. The scene lacked only fog, a spooky streetlight, and Tubular Bells playing in the background to finish the scene’s resemblance to the arrival of Father Merrick in the movie The Exorcist.

  The woman turned to accept a kiss on her cheek from Loni before nodding at Jimmy and stepping inside.

  “How’s your father’s leg?”

  “Much better, thanks. He don’t hardly limp anymore.”

  She glanced around the room as the door closed behind her. She nodded at Amanda and then looked down at Fred lying face down on the bed.

  “Hello,” she said in a pleasant contralto voice. She held out her hand to Amanda. “My name is Diane Ravenfeather.”

  “Amanda Carlyle.” She took the woman’s hand. Diane’s grip was firm. Her skin was slightly rough.

  “I assume that he is my patient.”

  “Patient?”

  “My niece said there was an injured man here who needed my help.” Diane took off her hat and laid it on the bed near Amanda. “She also said that you need a medicine man. Will a medicine woman do?”

  “Medicine woman?”

  “Didn’t you ever watch Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman on TV? Didn’t care much for it, m’self, but it was better than how they used to portray us.” She set the valise on the bed and opened it. She took out a pair of heavy scissors and cut Fred’s shirt open. He moaned as she pulled the shredded fabric away from his abraded flesh. She looked up. “This looks like Frank Storm Cloud’s work.”

  Loni nodded.

  “Figures.” Diane gently took Fred’s head in her thick hands and slowly moved it from side to side. Her hands slid down along his neck and shoulders. A hiss escaped his lips as her fingers probed his right shoulder but his eyes never opened.

  “That shoulder’s gonna bother him some for a couple of weeks.” Her hands moved farther down his body. “Ribs don’t feel broken. That hip’s gonna have him limpin’ for a couple of days, too.”

  She looked up at Amanda. “Your man’s awful lucky. Most folks who run into Frank when he’s drunk come away a lot worse. With this one bein’ white, he’s lucky he’s not in traction somewhere.”

  “Why’s that?” Amanda decided to let the reference to “her man” slide.

  Diane rummaged in her valise. She extracted a small, flat jar. She opened it to reveal an olive-colored paste. She swiped her finger across the cream and gently applied it to Fred’s cheek. She pulled out a small cloth and cleaned her fingers.

  “I guess it was about two years ago,” she said as she straightened. “Frank was workin’ at one of the Choctaw casinos down south. He didn’t like it much, I don’t think. Seems he was always goin’ on about how the rich white tourists were so stupid an’ how they always looked down at the Choctaw staff. He felt they always treated him an’ the others like children.

  “Anyway, somethin’ happened between Frank and one of the guests and Frank got fired. He said the white woman lied about what happened. The casino didn’t want a big scene so they took the woman’s word over Frank’s. At least, that’s how he tells it. Me, I don’t know. I wasn’t there.”

  She clucked her tongue as she looked at his back, again. “Worst case of road rash I’ve seen since Jimmy there laid his bike over on the highway six years ago.”

  Jimmy shrugged. “Least I went under the truck and not through it.”

  “There is that.” Diane deftly cut the rest of the cloth away and dropped the pieces onto the floor between the beds. She pulled another jar from her valise. “This is gonna hurt some. No, I cain’t lie to you. This is gonna hurt a lot. But, it’ll keep it from getting infected and help keep it from scarrin’ too bad.”

  Fred twitched and moaned as Diane quickly slathered the sand-colored cream over the scrapes and cuts, but he still didn’t wake up. The faint scent of aloe vera tantalized Amanda’s nostrils.

  Diane stood and looked around. “Bathroom? Oh, there it is. Do you mind?” She eased between the beds and walked to the closed door wi
thout waiting for an answer.Amanda heard the sound of water running. A moment later it stopped and Diane walked towards them as she dried her hands on a white towel.

  “Do you need help with him?” Amanda asked.

  “What? Why would I need help?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe to hold him up while you bandage him?”

  She glanced at Fred’s glistening back and grimaced. “No. No, thanks. I’m not going to bother bandaging that.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’ll heal faster if I don’t, and bandages might make it scar. Leavin’ it open to the air is best in cases like this.” She looked around for a place to sit. She saw a garish orange and brown padded chair and chose it.

  “Now, that we’ve got him taken care of,” she said as she sat, “Why don’t you tell me why you need a medicine woman? What’s this big problem back east?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Fred tried not to squirm as he stared morosely through the windshield. It wasn’t easy. His back felt like he had a bad sunburn. Maddening, unreachable itches added to the burning. His ribs were the worst. They ached and throbbed with each breath in or out. Diane assured him that no bones were broken, but he wasn’t convinced. He was certain he felt the sharp, jagged edges of shattered ribs rubbing against each other with every movement of his chest.

  He could see through both eyes, finally, although the left was still puffy. Wearing sunglasses helped some. Beneath the eye the skin was an aurora.

  His left hip sported a fading Technicolor bruise. It throbbed from being in one position too long – a day-and-a-half so far. A third of the length of Tennessee still lay ahead of them. Climbing out of the van made him hobble and shuffle for the first few steps like an octogenarian who’d misplaced his walker.

  He couldn’t lift his left arm more than half way without his shoulder seizing and locking. He did his best to ignore the grinding pain but also avoided any lifting with that arm. He dreaded when it became his turn to drive. One glance to his left at Amanda stretching and rubbing her neck and shifting her shoulders told him that his turn was not far off.

  The smoky pungency of Diane’s ever burning candle made his eyes water and irritated his nose. She explained how she had to take the candle with her and that it had to remain lit at all times. The flame represented the presence of the Creator. Fred agreed that they would need all of the help they could get once they reached Black Stump Ridge.

  “How much farther?” he grumbled.

  “You tell me,” Amanda replied, her voice cross with fatigue. “It’s your damned cabin.”

  They passed a green sign with white letters that read:

  NASHVILLE 82

  He glanced at the speedometer, did some quick calculations, and then said, “Barring interference from the highway patrol, we should get to the loop around Nashville in a little less than an hour. Swing around south to pick up I-75 for about forty miles. My best guess is about three or four hours.”

  Amanda stretched as much as the space between the seat and the steering wheel permitted. “I need to stop and stretch my legs and get something to eat.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Fred replied. He turned slightly. “How about you?”

  His only response was chanting.

  “You know she can’t. She has to fast so she’ll be ready for whatever’s up there.”

  “I don’t think there’s any way anyone can be ready for that.”

  “She’ll have to be. We all will. How does Shirley’s sound?”

  “Like a whorehouse. I wonder how the tuna surprise tastes.”

  She punched his shoulder.

  “Ah, shit!” he yelled as he pulled away. He reached across his body with his right hand and massaged his upper arm. “Damn, woman! That hurt!”

  “I’m sorry,” she smiled impishly as she maneuvered the car down the exit ramp. “I forgot.”

  “I’ll bet you did. You are a cruel, sadistic woman.”

  “True,” she agreed as she turned into the parking lot of a fairly busy truck stop. “I get that way when I’m tired and hungry. You gonna drive after we eat?”

  At one end of the low brick building was the gas station. Beyond that stood islands of diesel pumps where several tractor-trailer rigs idled as they took on fuel. Across the highway a large billboard proclaimed the availability of all sorts of fireworks in the modest-sized building facing the lot beneath the sign.

  “I suppose.” He glanced in the back at Diane. She sat and chanted. “Think she’ll be okay?”

  “I have all of the windows open a little.” Amanda turned off the engine and flipped the keys to Fred. “I’ve offered to leave the engine and the ac on, but she says she prefers the heat. Something about helping to sweat out the impurities faster.”

  “As long as we don’t come back to a corpse.” Fred climbed out of the van and closed the door. When Amanda had done the same, he pressed a button on the key fob. The clunk of the locks brought back memories of too many horror movies. “We might have a bit of trouble explaining why we locked a woman in a hot truck.”

  “Please,” she replied as she walked toward the glass door. “It’s not like she’s an infant or an invalid. She can leave the van any time she wants to.”

  “True enough,” he said as he followed Amanda into the diner. He stopped and scratched his head. Diane hadn’t used the rest room during any stops – other than at the motel last night – during this trip. No, she must have. No one could hold it for that long, could they? He looked back through the restaurant window at the car and its shadowy occupant.

  “Hey,” Amanda’s voice cut through the low level noise of conversation, clattering plates, and tableware. “I’ve got us a booth. Let’s eat.”

  Fred looked at the van a moment longer. He shook his head, again. “Sounds good. I’m starved.”

  •

  Fred’s teeth jammed together hard as the minivan’s right front tire dropped into another half-moon shaped cutaway at the edge of the narrow, two-lane asphalt road. His knuckles whitened as he squeezed the steering wheel. The van crowded the non-existent shoulder as yet another tractor-trailer rig headed in the opposite direction blew past. The wind of its passage pushed against the van inching it even farther to the right.

  Fred wrenched the wheel to the left, wrestling the vehicle back onto the asphalt. The van rocked ominously, protesting the sudden direction changes. Once more Fred found himself wishing for the Jeep he’d driven on this treacherous road twelve years earlier.

  “I’m glad you’re driving this road and not me,” Amanda commented from the passenger seat. “It’s bad enough looking out and down from this side at all the trees. I should say tree tops since that’s all I really see.”

  “Yeah, there’s a lot of down on that side. There’s a river on that side.”

  “What’s the name?”

  “Name?”

  “Of the river. Down there.”

  “I’m not sure. The Ocoee is farther south, closer to Georgia and my mom’s place. Of course, it’s my brother Robert’s house, now. When she passed, he got her place and I got the cabin. I’m not sure what river that is down there.”

  “What about your other brother?”

  “William?”

  Amanda nodded.

  “He got half the land so he can build his own place when he retires from the Navy.”

  “How much longer does he have?”

  Fred pursed his lips as he struggled to remember. “I’m not sure. He might already be retired. I haven’t been in touch with anyone since Mom died. All that crap that happened that weekend didn’t help our relationships much, either. The last time we talked, things didn’t go well.”

  “I’ll bet. It’s a shame, though.”

  “I can’t blame them. I doubt if any of the stories made much sense to anyone. It was all pretty crazy. I think they felt it might have had a hand in Mom’s passing.”

  “That’s pretty understanding of you.”

  “Maybe.” Fred’s g
rip tightened as another semi blasted past them. “At first I was pretty upset. You know, how dare they treat me like that after all I’d been through. After I’d had time to cool off and think about it, though, I sort of understood. I doubt that I’d have handled it any better, y’know, with cops asking questions and reporters snooping around and all that. It was a real mess and none of them had any idea what was really going on. I went through it and I still have no clue. How could they begin to understand?”

  “Maybe,” Amanda leaned over and lightly patted his right thigh. “Personally, I just think you are the better man for rising above it all like that.”

  Fred slowed the minivan as a green reflectorized sign appeared up ahead on the right. He had a sudden sensation of time collapsing as he read the single, white-lettered word: FLOWERSVILLE.

  Below the word an arrow pointed to the left at a gravel road that climbed up the mountainside. The track quickly disappeared in the thick foliage that ran alongside it and curved over it and creating a lush tunnel.

  Fred waited as a Ford Explorer with a kayak fastened to its roof roared by before he turned left onto the gravel parking lot. A flat, empty concrete island marked where two ancient gasoline pumps once stood. He eased the truck past the slab and drove up to the general store. He parked and shut off the engine.

  For a long time he stared through the windshield at a scene unchanged despite time’s passage. He blinked. His vision shimmered and the differences became apparent. The corrugated steel roof that slanted over the store’s porch showed more rust than gray, weathered metal. Sunlight peeked through ragged holes and dappled the shadowed wood. Although still intact, the grime of years made the windows more impenetrable than ever.

  He heard the minivan’s side door slide open behind him as Diane exited the vehicle. He shook his head, opened his door, and stepped outside, too.

  “This must be the general store,” Amanda said as she climbed out of the passenger seat and leaned on top of the open door, her arms crossed over the upper edge. “Not much to look at, is it?”