Every Hill and Mountain

by Deborah Heal

She caught a frown that appeared briefly on Ryan’s face. Either he didn’t want to make the trip to Equality, or he was annoyed that John had invited himself along. Probably both. No doubt he regretted he hadn’t driven Kate down in his own car.

  Chapter 6

  The first hour of the trip was spent listening to Ryan talking on his phone as he tried to find the perfect motel for the night. If any of them attempted to say anything, no matter how softly, he glared and shushed them, saying it was hard enough to understand foreigners without the added background noise. He quizzed each proprietor about amenities and price as if they were on a luxury vacation instead of a one-night fact-finding trip. Complaining that they all sounded like dumps, he finally made reservations at a place called the Shawnee Chief, saying it was the dump closest to Equality.

  They stopped at a McDonald’s in Mt. Vernon for burgers; or rather, three of them had burgers. Ryan ate a salad.

  As soon as they got on the highway again, rain started to fall. It was only a drizzle, but enough that Ryan reached over to turn Kate’s windshield wipers on.

  The clouded windows made the PT Cruiser’s backseat feel like a cozy cocoon, and Abby snuggled as close to John as her seatbelt would allow.

  “Are you sure we should go on, Kathryn?” Ryan said. “With this rain?”

  “A little rain never hurt anyone,” Kate said.

  “Yes, Kathryn, it did. You’d better slow down.”

  John must have felt the same way, because he seemed a little tense until Kate slowed the car. It always took people a little time to get used to her driving.

  “So anyway,” Kate said. “I guess it wouldn’t have been so frustrating to come to a dead end if Mom and I hadn’t gotten spoiled. She joined three online genealogy sites, and it was easy—at first—to find plenty of information. We were able to fill in a lot of blank spots on the Greenfield family tree. Of course, I knew Dad’s family came from Chicago. And when I went last weekend to visit my grandparents—”

  “And me,” Ryan added, smiling complacently.

  “And you,” Kate agreed. She raised her left hand to admire her engagement ring.

  “Hey, keep your eyes on the road,” Ryan said quickly.

  “Oh. Right,” she said, putting her hand back on the wheel. “Anyway, as I was saying, Gramps told me more stuff—which just made it all the more annoying when the trail ended with Ned Greenfield, born in Equality in 1834.”

  “Your three times great grandfather, right?” Abby said. “Shouldn’t you be grateful you went that far back?”

  “I am. Really. It’s just that I have information for Mom’s side all the way back to 1689. I want the mural to be balanced.”

  “Sounds like the same problem the Old Dears had,” John said.

  “Exactly,” Kate said. “So can’t we just, you know, go back—”

  “Maybe,” Abby said, willing Kate to stop before she said too much. “It’s really difficult to…you know….”

  “Equality is the seat for Gallatin County, so we should be able to get some information at their courthouse,” Kate said. “And then hopefully, their library will have a genealogy department.”

  “Good,” Abby said. “We’ll start there.”

  “And I have a clue that might help,” Kate said. “The records say he was born at Hickory Hill, Equality. When they name their houses they must be pretty important, right? More like an estate.”

  “Ned Greenfield of Hickory Hill,” Abby said. “I like the sound of that.”

  “That’s a lot cooler than mine—John Roberts of State Route 67. So if we can find this Hickory Hill, we can…” he stopped, obviously remembering Ryan was in the car.

  Abby nudged his knee with her own in warning. “Of course,” she said drily, “there is the possibility that Hickory Hill is just, you know, the name of a hill. We’ll just have to see what we can find.”

  “I still don’t know why we couldn’t have used the program at the kid’s house,” Ryan muttered.

  “It doesn’t work that way, right, Abby?” Kate asked.

  “Right.”

  Abby changed the subject before Ryan could dwell on that line of thought but then wished she had come up with something more interesting than their wedding plans. Kate and Ryan spent the next forty-five minutes discussing every facet in excruciating detail.

  Abby faked interest for Kate’s sake but wondered if there was something wrong with her X chromosomes. She would never be able to drum up the same level of concern that Kate had for matching her bridesmaids’ dresses to the precise shade of green as the leaves in their silk flower arrangements. She’d probably be expelled from the Universal Girls Club when her time came to plan a wedding.

  She smiled and made what she hoped sounded like enthusiastic comments, and when Ryan dropped several price tags into the discussion, she kept her annoyance to herself.

  John’s eyes were closed and his head rested against the doorframe, but she had a sneaky suspicion he was faking sleep so he wouldn’t have to be a part of the tedious conversation.

  The rain had stopped somewhere along the line, but it had left behind bruised clouds above and a hazy atmosphere below. They passed a town called Eldorado, which according to the map in her lap meant they were on the last leg of their trip. When she had come from Chicago to Merri’s house at the beginning of the summer that had seemed like southern Illinois. But now they were entering the last county before Kentucky. Now they were really in southern Illinois.

  The flat terrain planted in corn and soybeans at the beginning of the trip had given way to gentle green hills and then increasingly higher ones. And the map showed they would be entering the Shawnee National Forest soon. Trees were visible on the horizon, but in the near distance, men in huge earth-moving equipment worked the red clay. A sign on the right side of the highway said “Sherman Coal Company, Big Boy Mine.” They were in coal country, all right. Sherman’s sign nearly eclipsed Equality’s welcome sign, which read “Village of Equality, Population 823.”

  Route 142 ended suddenly, morphing into Lane Street. But then orange sawhorses blocked their way, and a uniformed officer leaned against his squad car, its flashing red and blue lights doing little to add cheer to the afternoon.

  “There must be an accident,” Kate said.

  “I don’t see anything.” John sat up suddenly and looked out the window, proving he hadn’t really been asleep during the interminable conversation about the wedding.

  “Faker,” Abby whispered.

  He turned and grinned at her.

  Kate, curious as always, and not afraid to ask questions, stopped the car and lowered her window. A blast of super-charged, humidity-laden heat rushed into the car.

  “What is it, officer?” she asked. “I hope no one is hurt.”

  The officer chuckled and stooped to look inside the car. His slow, easy grin and friendly, unworried demeanor was a little like Andy Griffith on the Classic TV Channel. “No one hurt so far,” he said, his slow drawl rich with irony. “But we’ll be on the lookout for sun stroke. Maybe heart burn or sugar-induced hyperactivity with the kiddies.”

  The others looked as confused as Abby felt until he added, “You must not be from around here. It’s our annual Salt Festival.”

  She sat forward in her seat to see better. A little way beyond the roadblock people stood in the street, and a bright yellow banner, reading Salt Days Village of Equality, Illinois, established 1735, fluttered overhead.

  “We’re visiting,” Kate said.

  “Then welcome to Equality and have a good time, folks. You can park over that way.”

  “Thanks.” Kate rolled the window up and turned left where he had pointed.

  “I don’t know what a salt festival is, but I don’t care as long as they have funnel cakes,” John said.

  Kate turned to grin at John, looking as excited at the prospect as he did. “As soon as I find a parking spot we’ll check it out.”

  Ryan mumbled something that sounded like, “Disgustin
g.”

  Kate parked the car, and as they walked toward the festival she asked, “So where do we start, Abby? You’re the expert.”

  “Well,” Abby said, “we should start by just asking people if they’ve ever heard of the Greenfields. And then we’ll find the courthouse and library.”

  “Shouldn’t we see if your genealogy program is working?” Ryan asked.

  “Not yet,” Abby said. “We’ll need to narrow our search first.”

  Ryan seemed to be satisfied with her answer and took the lead with Kate. John put his backpack on his shoulder and took Abby’s hand. “Then all we have to do is look for the oldest buildings around,” he said softly. “And then get in them without getting arrested for trespassing. And then time-surf in them without Rye noticing what we’re doing. Easy- peasy. It’ll be a snap.”

  “I know, I know,” Abby said. “But I have to try. We’ll just have to be ready to take any opportunities we find.”

  As they caught up with Ryan and Kate, a microphone squealed and then the sound of lively fiddle and banjo music came to them from somewhere down Lane Street.

  Ryan called upon God’s name, but not in devout petition. “What is that awful noise?”

  Kate just smiled adoringly at him, apparently not noticing his blasphemy.

  “Hey, watch it,” John said. “And besides, that’s not noise. It’s bluegrass.”

  “I’ve never heard bluegrass before,” Abby said. “But it’s beautiful. Let’s go see.”

  Lane Street was clogged with a small crowd of people who were milling around the stands that had been set up in the middle of the street. Various individuals and groups were selling refreshments and handmade crafts. Squealing kids were crawling over and into an inflated Disney castle, which seemed to be the biggest attraction on the street. And the smallest Ferris wheel Abby had ever seen peeked over the buildings from one street away. The scene was quaint, and Kate immediately pulled out her pad and began sketching.

  The first stand they came to was labeled Gallatin County Tourism. The man behind the table wore a brass nametag that identified him as Mayor Windham. Abby wanted to ask him about the Greenfields, but he was explaining about tourist attractions in the area to a group of six or seven men who stood politely listening.

  “Where y’all from?” Mayor Windham asked.

  “Quincy,” one man answered. His pale skin was sunburned as if he were seldom outdoors.

  “We’re camping over at Jones Lake,” his friend said, picking up a brochure from the table. “Heard the fishing is good and came on down.”

  “Well, that’s great, just great,” the mayor said. “Welcome to Egypt.” The mayor noticed Abby and her friends standing behind the fishermen and beckoned them forward. “Y’all may be wondering how we got that nickname,” he continued with a wide smile. “Back in the 1830s when a drought sent many of our northern friends down to our area looking for grain, someone coined the phrase Going Down to Egypt. Just like the Hebrews did in the Bible—although we didn’t require them to stay and make any pyramids.” Mayor Windham laughed loudly at his joke.

  “I noticed on the map that there are several towns in the region with Egyptian names,” a fisherman said. “Like Karnac and Thebes and Cairo.”

  The mayor smiled proudly. “Right you are. Except we pronounce that last one like the syrup—Kay-ro.”

  “Really?” Ryan said, wearing a superior expression that Abby was coming to hate.

  “And some claim the Ohio River Valley looks a bit like the Nile. Anyway, I’m so glad you came on down to visit. Equality was settled by the French in 1735, and the name comes from their motto, Liberté, égalité, fraternité. Egalité—that means equality.”

  The mayor’s French was thickly overlaid with his southern Illinois accent, and it took Abby a moment to realize what he was saying. Ryan and Kate started to move away, but it didn’t seem polite to leave during such an enthusiastic history lesson. Abby held onto John’s arm to keep him there.

  “The French remained in control of the area until the British won it in 1763. Then, during the Revolutionary War, George Rogers Clark and his band of Long Knives captured the region for the Americans in 1779.”

  Turning to the fishermen the mayor said, “The General Lawler Bed and Breakfast will be opening soon. Perhaps you gentlemen will bring your lovely wives next time you visit.”

  The fishermen seemed to be tired of the mayor’s promotional spiel, and mumbling their thanks, they began to move away. It didn’t stop the spiel.

  “The Lawler family has provided the music today—The Eagle Creek Boys—and the rides. Not that you gentlemen are here for that, of course,” he called after them, laughing again. “How about you young fellas?” Mayor Windham asked, holding up a roll of blue tickets to John. “You want to take your girlfriends for a spin on the Ferris wheel?”

  Ryan and Kate had already followed the fishermen, and after gauging Abby’s reaction, John said, “No thanks,” and started to move away too.

  “Wait a minute, John,” Abby said and slipped her hand out of his. “Mr. Mayor, could you please direct us to the courthouse? We need to do some research.”

  The mayor smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, missy. We don’t have a courthouse anymore.”

  “Isn’t Equality the county seat?”

  “We used to be,” the mayor said. “But you see, back in 1850, Shawneetown stole all our court documents. Came in the night, they did, and plum stole ’em, and thus our position as the county seat. We’re still mad about it. You can see where our courthouse once stood on the town square. It’s right by our new water tower. We’re very proud of it. And be sure to see the memorial for General Michael Kelly Lawler too. He was a hero for the Union in the Civil War. He was commander of the 18th Illinois Volunteer Infantry Regiment.”

  John tugged discreetly on her arm, and so Abby smiled at the mayor and said as she was being led away, “Thanks. We’ll look for it.”

  “Even though he was wounded in the battle of Fort Donelson, General Lawler went on to fight with distinction at the Battle of Vicksburg, Port Gibson, and Big Black River Bridge.”

  Abby hurried to keep up with John.

  “Later he secured the Atchafalaya River, used by the Confederacy to transport ammunition and men, and then he…”

  Mayor Windham was still talking when they got to the next stand, sponsored by the Shawnee Telephone Company. A vinyl banner announced that high-speed DSL internet service had arrived in Equality and that Shawnee Telephone Company was at the leading edge of communications. Several people were discussing the new options.

  John ducked around them and picked up a free telephone directory from the stack at the end of the table. Abby looked over his shoulder as he quickly flipped to the Gs. No Greenfields were listed. He put the directory back on the table and they moved on.

  The group of fishermen was now being accosted at the next stand by a lanky, bearded young man, who begged them to sign his petition. But the fishermen walked on past. A sign was taped to the table that read, “Stop the Destruction! Don’t Let Sherman Blow Up Any more Mountains.”

  The young man looked out of place among the other citizens of Equality. His longish hair, gold wire-rims, and beaded bracelet gave him a sort of neo-hippy look. He thrust a brochure into Abby’s hand. “Please sign the petition,” he implored. “And mark your calendars for our town hall meeting on the 27th.”

  Abby wanted to explain that they didn’t live in the area and wouldn’t be around for the meeting. But Ryan had already led Kate away, and so she and John hurried to catch up. Abby turned to smile apologetically over her shoulder at the worried young man.

  The next stand they came to advertised “home-made goat soap,” which sounded rather disgusting. But the bars of soap were prettily wrapped in colorful calico and tied with pink string. The proprietor was a dark-haired young woman whose beautifully smooth face was a good advertisement for her product. “Goat milk is really good for your skin,” she said, smiling shyly at
Abby. “I don’t put any chemicals in any of my soaps.”

  Abby picked up a bar labeled “vanilla” and held it to her nose. “Come smell this, Kate. Wouldn’t they make great Christmas gifts?”

  Kate was busily sketching the soap maker. “Christmas? Someone remind Abby it’s only August.”

  “Well, I can’t help it.” Abby grinned and then lowered her voice. “You know why I’ve been thinking of Christmas so much lately.”

  Kate looked up from her pad and grinned at Abby. Glancing slyly at John, who stood nearby patiently waiting to leave, she whispered, “Yeah, well, it’s a pretty lame strategy to keep your mind off jumping him.”

  “What?” John said.

  “Never mind.” Abby glared at Kate and turned quickly back to the soap.

  The young woman held out another bar. “A lot of folks are partial to my lavender mint.”

  “Oh, yes,” Abby said. “I can see why. It’s wonderful.”

  She went to John and held it to his nose. He inhaled appreciatively and said, “Get this one.”

  “I’ll take one of the lavender mint and one vanilla,” Abby said, taking out her wallet.

  The woman’s face lit up with a smile. “Y’all are not from around here.” Her voice had a soft southern lilt and rose at the end, making the statement a question.

  “No, we’re here to do genealogy research,” Abby said.

  “We’re hoping to find information about an ancestor of mine named Ned Greenfield,” Kate added.

  “So where’s the library?” Ryan asked, adding “Miss” after a slight pause.

  “Sorry, I can’t help with your relative, but the library’s on Lincoln Boulevard,” the young woman said. “Right beside the Dollar Store. You can’t miss it. It’s—”

  “Thanks,” John said and pulled Abby away.

  It took more time than she expected to work their way through the gauntlet of vendors and happy festival-goers. On the lookout for either the Dollar Store or the source of the music, they passed His and Hers Beauty Shop, the post office, and Anderson’s, which appeared to be a combination grocery, household, and hardware store. A sign advertising Bunny Bread was painted on the side of the building. In front of it, a pretty blond teenage girl stood on the sidewalk smiling and waving to passersby. She wore a tiara and a blue sash over her dress that read Salt Queen.