Every Hill and Mountain

by Deborah Heal

  The pews were hard, but they didn’t have to remain seated in them for long. They stood while Brother Ron, a smiling man of about forty, led them in several rousing hymns, none of which Abby had ever heard before. But like the bluegrass music, the old hymns touched a chord in her heart, and she found herself catching onto them quickly with the help of the pianist, who pounded out the music on a battered upright piano.

  Brother Ron prayed and then announced that Brother and Sister Blevins weren’t there to sing the special number they had planned. “But the Frailey family is here,” he said. “Would you’ns favor us with a song?”

  The Fraileys didn’t seem the least bit put out by the last minute request. Patty Ann’s dad thumbed through a hymnbook, and after a moment of whispered discussion they settled on a hymn and then rose and went to the platform. Abby turned in her own hymnal to the song they announced. She figured the pianist would accompany them since the Fraileys hadn’t brought their instruments. But Mr. Frailey tapped his foot to set the tempo and then the three sang the hymn a cappella, their voices blending together in a tapestry of harmony:

  Come, Lord, and tarry not;

  Bring the long looked for day;

  O why these years of waiting here,

  These ages of decay?

  Come, for Thy saints still wait;

  Daily ascends their sigh;

  The Spirit and the Bride say “Come,”

  Does Thou not hear the cry?

  O come and make all things new.

  O come and make all things new.

  O come and make all things new.

  Build up this ruined Earth,

  Come and make all things new.

  Loud amens sounded throughout the congregation. Most people in her own church would have thought it unseemly emotionalism, but for the first time in her life Abby found herself softly calling out an amen herself.

  Liberty Baptist’s pastor was a huge black man. John leaned over and whispered that he looked like that actor in the Allstate commercials. Sounded like him too. And when he began his sermon she did indeed feel like she was in good hands. He started with a reasoned argument for Christ’s deity that was so good she wanted to take notes, except she couldn’t find any paper in her purse and they didn’t have bulletins.

  As it seemed the sermon would come to an end, he launched into a paean of praise for the One he had just preached about, his bass voice rich with feeling. It was not a prayer, not like any doxology Abby had ever heard, but a worshipful listing of Christ’s names beginning with Almighty God, the Alpha and Omega, the Ancient of Days, continuing on through Emmanuel, Good Shepherd, the Holy One, and ending after at least two hundred other names with Word of Life. When it was finished, he took a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiped his face, smiled at the congregation, and said, “God bless you, my brothers and sisters.”

  The room fairly rang with amens, and the pianist began pounding out a reprise of Beulah Land. The Fraileys and the rest of the congregation stood and began to make their way to the door, chatting and shaking hands all around.

  Abby found herself wiping her eyes with a handkerchief she only vaguely remembered John handing her.

  “All I can say is wow,” she said.

  John looked as amazed as she felt. “I’ve never heard preaching like that before.”

  “Where’s Kate and Ryan?”

  “They left somewhere around Lord God Almighty,” John said.

  Sister Retha and her bevy of ladies took turns hugging them and telling them how happy they were they had come.

  A small herd of children went racing toward the open door and she called after them, “Freddy, don’t you be wallerin’ in the dirt in your Sunday clothes.” Without missing a beat, she turned back to Abby and John. “Y’all come visit us again, now, you hear?”

  The line to shake the pastor’s hand dwindled until only the Fraileys were left. “Come here, Abby, and meet Brother Alex,” Benjamin said.

  The pastor’s hand dwarfed hers when he took it gently into his own. “I’m so glad you could worship with us today.”

  Abby smiled. “We did worship, indeed. I really enjoyed the service.”

  John shook the pastor’s hand. “I’m embarrassed to say I’ve never been to an integrated church before. I’m glad we came.”

  Brother Alex’s laugh carried through the whole church. “Bet it took some getting used to, huh? Liberty Baptist has a long history of being integrated, even back in the slave days. It was an important stop on the Underground Railroad. And folks in Eagle Creek didn’t take it kindly when the Ku Klux Klan came riding in. They sent them on their way with their squirrel guns.”

  Abby looked at John and could see the wheels turning in his head. “How old is this building, then?” he asked.

  “It’s old, real old. I’m not sure when it was built. Of course, it’s been remodeled and added onto over the years.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask Brother Alex about the Greenfields?” Patty Ann asked with a sly smile. “Brother Alex Greenfield.”

  The pastor looked puzzled. Mrs. Frailey chuckled and shook her head. “Patty Ann, you’re such a tease.”

  “We’re helping my friend Kate—I don’t know where she went off to—with her family tree,” Abby explained. “She’s looking for information about a relative named Ned Greenfield.” She grinned. “Must be a different family.”

  Brother Greenfield chuckled. “Must be.”

  “He was born in Equality in 1834 at Hickory Hill,” John said.

  The pastor’s expression went solemn.

  “Do you know of any white families named Greenfield around here?” Abby asked.

  “I’m sorry. The only Greenfields I know are related to me, and no one named Ned, as far as I can remember.”

  Mrs. Frailey invited Brother Greenfield to come for Sunday dinner, but he declined, saying he’d already promised the Brinkleys he’d go to their house. He invited Abby and John to come back to the evening service. Darting a look toward her, John told him they just might do that.

  They found Kate and Ryan waiting beside the car. Kate explained that Ryan had begun to feel overheated. John rolled his eyes behind Ryan’s back.

  Mrs. Frailey had made chicken and dumplings ahead of time so she wouldn’t have to cook on “the Sabbath.” Afterward they helped her clean up the kitchen, and then Patty Ann took them on a tour of the farm, introducing them to her father’s coonhounds Tuffy and Jeff, her cat Meow, and the sow and pigs in the barn. Mr. Frailey showed them his sorghum mill and explained how it worked.

  Then Patty Ann led them up the steep, rocky hill behind the house. Ryan worried about the possibility of snakes until Patty Ann picked up a dead branch and handed it to him.

  “Here,” she said. “Your very own snake stick. If you see any snakes, whack ’em with it.”

  John wiped a grin from his face. “And it might help if you make lots of noise, Rye. So they hear you coming.”

  Abby smiled to herself at the sound of Ryan and Kate behind her on the path. He was enthusiastically hitting everything in sight with the stick while keeping up a steady stream of nervous chatter with Kate. It was actually quite a feat, because the hill was steep enough that Abby had to concentrate on finding toeholds for her feet and boulders to pull herself up with.

  When John reached the top, he extended his hand and helped her up the last bit.

  “I didn’t expect this,” he said. “It’s beautiful.” His voice and breathing were annoyingly normal in spite of the exertion.

  Abby tried not to sound as if she’d just run a marathon.

  A meadow covered the hill’s summit, a single huge oak tree at its center. There was a small herd of red and white cattle, some grazing in the sun, others resting in the tree’s shade.

  “How do you get them up here?” John asked.

  “There’s a rough road over yonder,” Patty Ann said, pointing across the meadow. “My grandpa used to make moonshine up here away from the revenuers. He’d truck it d
own that road and on into Shawneetown to sell.”

  “Really?” Kate said laughing. “Moonshine?”

  “Yep,” Patty Ann said. “He had other stills down in the hollows, too. Lots of folks around here did back in Prohibition days on account of Eagle Creek havin’ the clearest, best water for makin’ it. Not much else to do around here. It’s too hilly for most crops. Some are still making ’shine, too, but I’m not going to mention any names.”

  They hiked across the meadow and Patty Ann led them out onto a rocky promontory. Hills and valleys lay before them. She pointed out Eagle Mountain to the south and Eagle Creek winding its way through the valley. In the bends of the creek were little, irregularly shaped fields that Patty Ann explained were corn and grain sorghum.

  “It’s an awesome view,” Abby said.

  “Worth the climb, wasn’t it, sweetie?” Kate said, wrapping her arm around Ryan’s waist.

  “Sure.”

  “But not for long. Just beyond that last rise, Sherman has strip-mined off everything. Well, except for Uncle Charlie’s farm. He’s the last holdout over that way, but he’ll have to sell soon. They blasted so close to his place that his well cracked. Contaminated groundwater seeped in and it’s no longer fittin’ to drink. They’d like to blow the top off this hill we’re standin’ on.”

  Patty Ann shaded her eyes with her hand and looked out across the hills and valleys. Then she swallowed and blinked as if trying not to cry.

  Abby put a hand on her shoulder. “But like the hymn says, Patty Ann, God will make all things new one day.”

  “Can we see Hickory Hill from here?” Ryan asked, ever sensitive to the feelings of others.

  Patty Ann turned and started back across the meadow. “It’s over yonder,” she called over her shoulder. “Nothing there for you to see.”

  “Is it far?” Kate asked. Patty Ann didn’t answer, just kept walking back the way they’d come.

  Abby shot a look at John and then hurried to catch up with her. “Wait.”

  Patty Ann stopped and stood there, kicking at the grass with her sneaker. She didn’t look up.

  “Could you tell us how to get there? You see, we have a clue about Hickory Hill. One of Kate’s ancestors was born there. We’d like to see it. ”

  At last she looked up, wearing a mulish expression.

  Kate and the guys had come to stand by Abby’s side. She smiled engagingly. “Please, Patty Ann.”

  “She’s the third person to tell us there’s nothing there to see,” Ryan said. “Which, I have to say, does nothing but make me more determined to see what is there.” He took Kate’s hand and tugged. “Come on. We’ll find it on our own.”

  “All right,” Patty Ann said quickly. “I’ll show you.”

  “Really?” Kate nearly squealed.

  “Come on, then.” Patty Ann led them back down the hill, down the Frailey’s driveway, across the road, and on into the deep woods on the other side.

  At first it looked like an untamed jungle to Abby, but then she saw that they followed a faint trail. Even so, the going was rough. Kate and Ryan were next after Patty Ann, but the third time Ryan let a branch snap back at them, almost hitting Abby in the face, John took her hand and they edged past them.

  “I think we’ll go first for a while,” he said with a pointed look at Ryan.

  The path led down a steep bank, and Abby slipped on the thick leaves of the forest floor. John caught her before her rear hit the ground, and she smiled her thanks.

  When they got to the bottom there was a little creek trickling over a pebbled bed. Dappled sunlight shone on green moss growing thick on boulders jutting from the ground.

  “It looks like a good place for fairies,” Kate said.

  Patty Ann grinned. “Or snakes. You’d do well to keep your snake stick close, Ryan. I saw a copperhead here last week.” She looked down at her arm and picked a black speck off and threw it away from herself. “And ticks. We’ll have to check when we get back.”

  Talk of snakes hadn’t really alarmed her, but the thought of blood-sucking ticks gave Abby the creeps, and she spent an anxious minute inspecting her arms and legs. When she was sure none had landed on her she sat on a boulder to rest.

  “Do you come down here a lot, Patty Ann?” John asked.

  “I’ve been exploring these hills and hollows since I was knee-high to a grasshopper,” she said. “But if you mean this path, I go this way a couple of times a week.” Then she stood and said, “If y’all are rested enough, it’s time to tackle Hickory Hill.”

  By the time they reached the top they were all panting. The path ended at a sagging wire fence that could have easily been stepped over, but Patty Ann wouldn’t let them. Abby pushed a tree branch aside and saw a glimpse of a faded red building peeking through a jungle of overgrown shrubs and trees.

  “That’s Hickory Hill?” she asked.

  “The hill,” Patty Ann said, “and the mansion on it. I help Miss Granger with cleanin’ and stuff when I can.”

  “So that’s where my great, great, great, however many greats grandfather was born,” Kate said, studying the house with interest. “It doesn’t look very…mansion-y.”

  “You’re just not getting a good look at it,” Patty Ann said defensively.

  “Do you know anything about the Greenfields?” John asked. “When they might have lived there?”

  “Nope. The Grangers have lived there for about forever. The first one leased the Half Moon Salt Mine from the government back when. It’s over that way,” she said, pointing to her left. “He got rich off it, which is how come he was able to build this place.”

  “It’s huge,” Abby said. “Cleaning it must take forever.”

  “It’s not too bad. Miss Granger won’t let me go up to the third floor. Thinks it’s haunted. And she only has me clean on the second floor occasionally.”

  “So if the Grangers built the house…,” Ryan said.

  “That’s what I heard. I’m not sure when, but it’s really old.”

  “And a Granger lives here now,” he continued. “then when did Ned Greenfield ever live here?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “Maybe the Greenfields owned the hill before there was a mansion,” John said. “Although it seems strange they’d include that information in Ned Greenfield’s birth records.”

  “Maybe the Grangers sold it to the Greenfields and then bought it back some time later,” Abby said. “We’ll have to check for deeds at the courthouse.”

  “Some people claim Hickory Hill was a stop on the Underground Railroad,” Patty Ann said. “Bet that house could tell some interesting tales.”

  Abby glanced at John and found he was already looking at her. Even if the clue about Ned Greenfield turned out to be nothing, it would be fun to time-surf in a building so old.

  “Cool,” Kate said. “Dad would love it if Ned Greenfield were involved with the Underground Railroad. When I paint the mural I could put a train engineer’s hat as his symbol.”

  “Or a gourd dipper like…some people hung on their front doors,” Abby said.

  “Can we go inside, Patty Ann?” Kate asked.

  “No, it’s not my day to help, and Miss Granger gets…upset when things don’t go according to schedule. Besides, we’re going to have to hurry back if we’re going to be in time for the evening service.”

  Ryan whined that he didn’t want to go to church twice in one day, and why didn’t they just go on to Shawneetown? Abby could tell Kate was about to cave. And so when Ryan went on ahead down the path, she explained to Kate that they needed to get back to the church to time-surf in case they never got the chance to get inside Hickory Hill.

  Kate came up with the excuse that she wanted to hear the gospel music again. It was lame because Kate didn’t care one way or the other about gospel music, but amazingly Ryan didn’t seem to notice.

  Chapter 11

  They were a little late getting to church, and the singing had already begun. John pulled
her aside before they went into the sanctuary. “I’m going back to the car for my laptop. Go on in, but slip out like you’ve got to use the restroom. I’ll meet you in that first Sunday School room.”

  “You’re sure it’s empty?”

  “Yep. I scoped it out as we walked by.”

  Abby sat anxiously through the first song and then, mumbling her excuses, eased her way past Kate and Ryan into the center aisle. Nothing like being conspicuous. But no one seemed concerned about her departure.

  The door was closed, and when she opened it, the room was completely dark except for the light streaming from John’s laptop. He sat at a short table meant for small children. Glancing up, he said, “Come on. We’ll have to hurry.”

  The sound of singing came to them as Brother Ron led the congregation in Amazing Grace. On the monitor an earlier congregation—the dial said October 12, 1849—was singing the same hymn in near sync with the congregation just down the hall in the present time.

  She felt a moment of vertigo and rubbed her head. “Wow. What are the odds of that?”

  John looked up and grinned at her. “Some songs just never get old.” He turned back to the monitor and began to fast-forward.

  They meant no harm—only good—but that didn’t keep Ned from feeling nervous as the preacher and two other white folk from Liberty Baptist Church led him and Nelson down a short hall just inside the church door.

  The preacher was a small, bird-like man, but Ned figured he had guts. He was one of the few who to let black folks into his church. “Right this way,” he told them.

  They came to a door, and the man they called Deacon Hayes opened it and looked inside. He was a tall man, taller than even Ned’s pap, but skinny, bald, and pockmarked. “Here they are, Mr. Phillips,” Deacon Hayes said.

  He opened the door wide and Ned saw that a white man wearing a brown suit sat at a table. The man—Mr. Phillips—looked up from some papers in front of him. Light from the room’s one window behind him made his gray hair and beard glow, and Ned had the sudden fanciful notion that they had been led to the Almighty sitting on his throne in Heaven.