The Heaviest Rock (An Ozark Mountain Series Book 3)

by Alan Black

  “Larry Albright, you do work as a stone mason, correct?”

  Albright, an older man, levered himself slowly to his feet. “Yes, Reverend James. I’ve been a rock wrangler off and on for forty years now. Not so much lately with my rheumatisms, but I still remember how.”

  Mr. Hollister said, “I’ll vouch for him. He’s the best stone mason this side of the Mississippi, none better.”

  Albright nodded his thanks to Hollister and looked back at Reverend James.

  James said, “What do you first set if you want a solid base to build a house?”

  Albright said, “Well, sir. First, I’d sit for lunch since I am getting old.” A polite laughter rippled through the listeners.

  James did not attempt to hide his grin.

  Albright continued, “But, if I follow your drift, the first stone is the cornerstone. Just like the first cornerstone of this building. I remember when we set it in place. It’s a huge thing that took two four-up sets of mules to drag it where it needed to go. Then we added to that rock and built upon it, stone by stone until we had a rock solid foundation.”

  James nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Albright.” He made a casual gesture to allow Albright to sit down again. “The first stone in our foundation is the chief cornerstone. Please turn to Paul’s epistle to Ephesians, chapter two verse twenty.”

  He waited with his hand upon the heavy rock. Then he read, “‘And are built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief cornerstone.’ God is our immovable heavy rock, the base for all of our lives. Jesus Christ is the cornerstone upon which we build our lives. Stone upon stone, rock upon rock and boulder upon boulder we take the small stones of our lives, just like this hard rock I have and just like Miss Hazkit’s friendship stones, and we build a solid foundation for a wise life.”

  A very unusual chorus of amen rumbled from the rapt crowd followed by silence as the congregation strained to hear the rest of Reverend James preaching.

  Grace found her heart drawn to hearing the word of God. She was just as entranced as the rest of the congregation. She knew whatever happened she must build her foundation stronger. Doing that would give her the ability to chase a thousand with God’s strength. She wondered what God would think when she hunted down Trance Braunawall and the other men who killed Clayton. Would He understand it was her desire to protect others and not just a need to exact revenge? Would God be angry or understanding? Reverend James said with God as her rock, she would be right and just in what she did until her latter end.

  Instead of speaking further, Reverend James looked directly at Grace. It was like he was listening in on her thoughts. Eventually he said, “God bless you.” He patted the rock on the pulpit and walked out of the church.

  S UNDAY – AFTER SERVICES

  Grace sat on a blanket in the shade of an oak tree. The remains of the after-service lunch were spread around her, as were friends of all kinds. It was quiet and comfortable, laugher breezed through the air from children and adults alike. The fellowship was as sweet as Mabel’s maple syrup flavored apple pie.

  Grace knew it was God’s hand holding the weather back. The thundercloud in the east was building higher and growing darker, yet it did not move closer. The sun still shined warm and bright on the bald knob surrounding their church.

  Reverend James had asked everyone to put all their food and lunch goods into one place. He wanted everyone to share and share alike, to fellowship together, mourn the loss of Clayton as one, and to revel in the unity of God’s love. The children, as youngsters often do, separated and ran around the bald knob, breaking into age groups as suited their needs. The adults managed to stay near enough to each other to join in laughter, joking, and conversation.

  Grace sat sturdy and upright as Susanne leaned against her. Grace thought Susanne looked content and happy. School was going to start again on Monday and at Reverend James’ insistence, she was going to teach again. It would be a long ride from the Hazkit’s every day, but she politely refused to return to her old room at the Hollisters.

  Grace wanted to ask her to stay with her since the Grissom place was closer to the school. She did not. She knew Susanne had promised to help the Hazkits when the time came for the new baby, with Art recovering from being shot by the same men who killed Clayton, and all of the new chores in their new home. She did not want to take away their extra hands in a time of need.

  That was what she told herself. Deep down she was confused. Even though she knew the feeling was not right, it felt like Clayton would be waiting for her when she got home. She did not want to be alone, yet she did not want to have anyone else staying with her. She did not need anyone with her, she was as self sufficient as most married women. However, she felt the need to have someone to lean against, just as Susanne was looking to her for support. It was confusing.

  She watched a wagon pull into the churchyard. As was her habit, she first glanced at the team before noticing the driver. The mules were nothing special to speak of, but she was more of a horse expert than for mules. To her way of thinking, the young driver looked no more special than his mules.

  She wondered who the man was, but before any adult could move, LillieBeth Hazkit broke away from her friends. She approached the wagon with a confidence and poise well beyond her years. The young man shook his head at LillieBeth’s questions, but eventually he relented and pulled the wagon into the shade at the edge of the glade. LillieBeth spoke to Pearl Wikoff and then walked straight for the group of adults sitting near Grace.

  Pearl took a glass of berry-flavored punch to the man. She spoke to him, giggled, and then ran back to her group of friends. Roy waved to him from the group of young people, calling him to join them. The man joined them with apparent reluctance.

  Grace chuckled, seeing Pearl’s embarrassment. She could tell the young man was about the same age as Roy, but he had a harder and stronger look, as if spending his childhood working at hard labor had strengthened him beyond his years. The wagon was empty, but the name of a lumber company was painted brightly on the sides, so the obvious conclusion was the young man worked in a sawmill. It was just as obvious to Grace that Pearl thought the young man was attractive.

  Roy gently steered them together, causing Pearl to blush a deep red Grace could see all the way across the glade. The girl was almost the same age as LillieBeth, but she had not reached the same level of maturity. It would only be a few years before each youngster in that group on the bald knob was married. Pearl’s twelve years was only the beginning of her life as a woman.

  Grace was not surprised to see LillieBeth heading her direction as Art and Clare sat near her. The girl was young enough to consult first with her parents about any and every issue. Clare started to stand to go speak with her daughter, but LillieBeth shook her head. Clare settled back onto her picnic blanket dropping her head into her husband’s lap.

  LillieBeth walked up to Grace. “Mrs. Grissom, may I have a word, please?”

  Grace shrugged and got to her feet, trying to be lady-like. It was not easy to get up from the ground while trying to keep her ankles covered with the hem of her dress and not stick her backside in someone’s face. She had seen women’s slacks in the Sears, Roebuck and Company catalog. She knew every woman in America saw such things in the pages of the big wish book. Maybe big city women could wear immodest clothing like pants, slacks or, god-forbid, jeans, but a lady of the Ozarks could not wear such scandalous items, not in the privacy of her own home and certainly never in public. Still, she knew the older she got the easier slacks would make it to lever herself up from the ground and remain decently covered.

  LillieBeth turned her back to the small crowd of adults and spoke in a low voice to Grace. “That man is from a sawmill up river. He says he just delivered a load of lumber to your place. He said it was ordered by Mr. Grissom.”

  Grace nodded, “Yes, that’s right. Clayton ordered some heavy planking to use as a floor for the cabin Reverend James is stayi
ng in. The cabin only has a dirt floor and Clayton thought a man of God deserved better.”

  LillieBeth nodded in agreement, “That sounds perfectly right, but the man says his father owns the sawmill and told him to bring the cash money back, to bring the lumber back or to not come back at all. He said Mr. Grissom was supposed to pay him upon delivery. He said when Mr. Grissom ordered the lumber it was to be delivered on Sunday and then he was to come here to collect his money.”

  Grace looked startled. “Money? Oh, of course he does, but…” She did not have any money. She patted her pockets uselessly; she knew they were empty of even the smallest of coins. The family cash was all handled by Clayton. “Oh no.”

  LillieBeth said, “Hold on.” She turned to her father and said, “Daddy, may I talk to you for a minute, please.”

  Art was laughing at something someone had said. He extricated himself from the tangle of his wife’s head and hair and said, “Sure, Scamp.”

  LillieBeth took Grace by the elbow and guided her farther away from the crowd. She looked at her father as he joined them. “Daddy, the fellow in the wagon brought lumber for flooring in Reverend James’ cabin.”

  Art snorted and said with a laugh, “David lived, slept in and ate mud in France. A little Missouri dirt won’t hurt him none.”

  Grace said, “Clayton ordered-”

  “Of course he did,” Art interrupted. “What can I do to help? I’m not going to be much help laying flooring with this bad arm.”

  LillieBeth said, “Daddy, the delivery man wants his money now. And Mrs. Grissom does not have any with her. Can we help? We still should have money left from Mr. Hoffman’s gift to me.”

  Art nodded, “Of course we can help.” Without looking back, he walked to the man on the wagon, spoke a few words, and quickly returned to the large group of adults relaxing under the tree.

  Grace stood quietly, not knowing what to say or do. Her embarrassment grew with each passing moment. Clayton and she dedicated much of their lives and livelihood helping others in the community. She felt ashamed to ask for help so soon after Clayton’s passing.

  Art spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “Folks, the young gentleman in the wagon just brought a load of lumber to put in a cabin floor for our new minister’s place. Now, I’ve known David James for a lot longer than most of you. I can tell you that I’ve seen him sleeping in the mud more than once. So, I don’t figure he needs a floor, but since he’s a minister now, instead of just an army bible thumper, I expect he needs his place fixed up.”

  Art waited and received the nod of agreement from everyone before he continued.

  “Grace wanted to take care of this herself because it’s her cabin. She’s already letting Reverend James use it at no charge. But, I think since this old Tennessee flatlander is everybody’s minister, that we should all ante up into the kitty and take care of this for her.”

  He pulled a few dollars from his pocket and held them up. “I have an extra five Yankee greenback to start up a collection. I only need another twenty dollars to pay the sawyer for the cut lumber. Anyone?”

  He was swamped with bills and had to wave back a few offered funds. Art walked back to the man at the wagon, paid him and returned.

  Grace said, “Thank you, Art. Thank you all-”

  “I’ve been in that cabin,” Mr. Schmitt interrupted. “It seems to me that the fireplace needed some fixing with loose rocks and all. Mr. Albright, do you suppose I can pay you to fix it?”

  Albright shook his head. “I wasn’t quick enough out of the gate to put any money in for the lumber collection and Art wouldn’t take my money, so I guess I can volunteer to fix the fireplace at no charge.”

  Mr. Schmitt nodded. “Art didn’t take my money either.”

  Art laughed, “I never saw anyone reach for their wallet slower than you, Schmitt.”

  Everyone laughed, including Schmitt.

  Schmitt said, “Slow and steady wins the race. But, since Art Hazkit and Larry Albright won’t take my money, I have a good table and a couple of extra chairs in my barn that Reverend James might as well have. I’ll take them over tomorrow.”

  It wasn’t long before everyone volunteered something, either furniture or labor.

  Grace tried to thank everyone personally, but they waved her words away as if everything they offered was of no consequence.

  Schmitt laughed, “Grace, you’re doing me a favor taking that old furniture off my hands. I need the space in my barn.”

  She turned and the beginning of a smile froze on her lips. Joe Carver and Steve Buckner were standing in front of her. The older man was sitting with the adults; although he sat slightly apart from everyone, keeping his distance from Grace, yet staying well within her sight. It was as if he was patiently waiting for and willing to accept her judgment. Carver’s sons and the Buckner fellow were with youngsters more their age. She had watched them carefully across the bald knob throughout the whole meal, searching for any visible sign of evil, a foul laugh, a haughty stare, gluttony or even an unthankful attitude, hoping to justify her anger toward them. This man’s sons and Buckner helped kill her husband and any untoward activity by any of the three would have pushed her into action.

  Carver and young Buckner braced themselves and screwed up their courage to stand before her. Even seeing them up close caused her fists to clench in anger. It was an unkind thought, but she wondered if they came to her now thinking that she would not cause a scene in front of the church congregation. They would be sorely abused of that notion if that was what they wanted. Whatever they wanted, she wanted none of it.

  Carver looked down in embarrassment. He spoke loud enough everyone could hear. His tone was resolute, firm, contrite, willing to admit his faults in public and to accept judgment in the public forum. “Mrs. Grissom, my sons are idiots. They got caught up in something they thought was a lark, but it turned out bad. Real bad. They’re sorry and scared.”

  Reverend James spoke up. “The book of Proverbs says foolishness is bound in the heart of a child.”

  Carver nodded, “Thankee, sir, but it also says that the rod will drive it far from them. My boys are beyond old enough not to be called children, so I suppose I didn’t use the rod enough with them when they was younger. Mrs. Grissom, my family done grievous wrong to yours, a hurt beyond apology and forgiveness, a pain beyond healing and damage beyond repair.”

  Grace did not want to hear an apology from this man, wanting him to be quiet, to not speak and to slink away in shame. She wanted to be angry and to be angry at him, his sons and Buckner. She did not want to have to accept his apology and forgive them. She knew she would have to accept their apology when offered, that was only good manners, but she was not sure she could forgive them however sincere their regret.

  Carver said, “We’re sorry. The words aren’t enough, so we’re at your call. You needn’t speak so now, but whatever, whenever and wherever any of the Carvers can be a service, you just wag a finger and we’ll come running.”

  Steve Buckner did not look down; he stood with his head high, not with pride, but with determination to take his punishment like a man. “His son’s were no more stupid than I, Mrs. Grissom. I talked them into what I thought would be a bit of fun; it was something I thought would just be helping a wrongfully accused friend. When it started to turn bad, we all lit out as fast as we could go. I apologize and beg for your mercy. We… I… I should’ve stayed and tried to help Sheriff Grissom and Mr. Hazkit-”

  “You would be dead or shot,” Art interrupted. “You did the best you could do short of not getting tangled up in the first place.”

  “Yes, sir,” Buckner said. “But getting dead or shot can’t feel any worse than knowing what we did helped kill a good man.”

  Art laughed and gently patted his own shoulder. “Getting shot is not all it’s cracked up to be, son. Trust me when I say you’d rather be embarrassed than get shot. All you can do is to make your amends now as best you can, accept Grace’s judgment, then g
o back to the young lady who keeps staring over here at you.”

  Schmitt said, “Wait! You’re the fellow who’s been courting my daughter Fern? Dang it! If Grace don’t shoot you, then I’ll have to.”

  Buckner looked startled.

  Reverend James laughed, “Don’t let Mr. Schmitt fool you, Mr. Buckner. He’s as happy to get rid of his daughters as he is to get rid of that table and chairs he passed off on me.”

  Schmitt snorted, but did not deny the charge.

  Joe Carver said, “Mrs. Grissom, I can’t offer much but a strong back and my son’s muscles, such as they are. With your permission, if you give us direction to your cabin, we’ll go by and lay that there flooring for you.”

  Buckner said, “I can show you, Joe. Four sets of hands will get it done quicker than three.”

  Grace was shocked. She did not want these men in her sight anymore than she wanted to hear their apologies. She wanted them horsewhipped. She wanted them tarred and feathered. She wanted them run out of the state. She wanted them… stoned, maybe not killed, but beaten and bruised beyond earthy awareness. She did not want them on her property whatever their reasoning. She was angry enough to beat them senseless, one at a time, with her own bare hands. She did not doubt she could manage their beating; to the devil with being ladylike. But, they had apologized and were trying to make amends. She would have to hold her beating in abeyance for the Braunawalls. She tried to speak, but could not, so she nodded her acceptance.

  Mrs. Hollister spoke up. “I’m sorry to interrupt, dear. But, it’d be unseemly for the widow Grissom to have so many men, single or not, visiting her place without so much as another woman nearby.”

  Grace glared at the woman. The woman was right about having men around. That was simple manners. What struck her heart was to be called ‘the widow Grissom’! She had to admit Mrs. Hollister had spoken correctly and used the right words, but Grace had never considered how hard the phrase sounded to a widow’s ears. Clayton was gone. She was a widow and far too many widows gave their kind a bad reputation. Grace would never stain her husband’s memory with such goings-on, but Mrs. Hollister was right in more than just word; appearances must be upheld.