Hunter's Moon

by Jay Heavner

  Tom had seen so many people never content with what they have. It was different if a man doesn’t have enough to eat or a good roof over his head to keep the rain off, but even in the poor Appalachian Mountains, people in that condition were few. So many seemed always to be trying to keep up with the Jones. Sadly, they ended up loving the good life and forgetting the Giver of the good life.

  Dear God, he prayed, May I never fall into that trap. Deuteronomy 8:11 came to mind, Beware that you do not forget the Lord your God. May I never stop praising You. You loved and saved a wretch like me. I’m but a drop in an endless sea. Such amazing love. Such amazing grace. Oh Lord, may my soul sing out to You like I never have before. I’ve nothing to fear. You are greater still than all my trials on this earth.

  A wave of peace came to Tom’s heart, a peace like he had not felt in ages. He reminded himself when he took his eyes off Christ, all he could see were his problems. He made a mental note to remember this when times got tough as he knew they would. His time with the person known as the Benefactor followed him around like a black cloud. What good, if any, would come out of this, only God knows. The Benefactor wanted information, and he would not wait forever.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw the screen door of the house start to open. Miriah, his nine-year-old stepdaughter, came bouncing out the door. Kids, Tom thought, so full of energy. He wished he had half the energy. She sat down on the old glider swing next to him.

  “Whatcha doing, Daddy?” she asked. “You look like you were ‘thinkin’ again.” She looked at him with those deep brown eyes set in a tanned face grinning ear to ear. Tom felt blessed having her in his life. She was the little girl he had always wanted but never had. After raising three boys with his first wife, Sarah, he felt blessed having Miriah and her mom in his life.

  “Yeah, I was thinkin’. I was thinkin’ about my problems and how much bigger God is, and then I got to feeling better. May we never forget that.”

  “Amen, Amen,” the young girl chirped in. They sat there in silence, enjoying the cool evening with a gentle breeze. Traffic whizzed by on WV Route 28, the winding main road in front of the old farmhouse. A mosquito looking for a meal buzzed them. They swatted at the insect, missed, and could not locate him. Perhaps the bug had gone away. A buzzing in Tom’s ear told him otherwise. He swung from his right hand and smacked his left cheek. Looking at his hand, he saw a dark splattered spot. “Got ‘em!” exclaimed Tom.

  “Yeah!” cheered the young girl. “Dead bug, dead bug. What you gonna do when we squash you? Dead bug. Dead Bug.” After the celebration, it became quiet again. The cars passing by broke the silence. Through the twilight, Tom saw a ‘57 Chevy speed by. It was bright red with lots of chrome, wide tires, and a rumble from the mufflers that brought an old memory back to Tom. Oh, how that sound stirred him. Tom drifted off into his own thoughts as they sat quietly in the ever-darkening night. The cars continued to pass by the old house and made monotonous, lulling sounds.

  Tom looked at the young girl next to him and spoke, “Did you have a busy day today?”

  She did not respond, so he repeated the question a little louder, but she did not respond. He looked at her closely through the darkness. Her chin had dropped down on her shoulder, and her breathing was rhythmic. She had fallen asleep.

  “Miriah?” he called. No answer. “Miriah?” he called a second time. No answer again. She was out for the count. It would not be the first time he needed to carry her to her bed. He picked her up in his strong arms and turned to the door. Standing just inside the house was Joann, and she startled Tom.

  “How long have you been standing there?” he asked.

  “Long enough. The night’s so peaceful, and I didn’t want to ruin the moment.”

  “Well, open the door, please, and I will take this little gal up to bed.”

  Joann did just that and stepped aside as Tom with the young girl asleep on his shoulder went by. He climbed the stairs and turned into the bedroom to the left. Carefully, he walked in the dark room. Miriah had been known to leave her doll babies lying around on the floor, and Tom had stepped on one taken the sleeping girl to her bed previously. He found one with his toe, pushed it out of the way, placed Miriah on her bed and tiptoed out the door. The passing light from a car gave him enough light to descend the stairs as he had done thousands of times in his life. He opened the screen door and found Joann sitting in the glider swing. Carefully in the dark, he took a seat next to her.

  “How you doin?” he asked.

  “Much better. That cold really had me down. You never know how good it feels just to feel normal till you’ve been sick. It’s good to be back.” Having said that, she snuggled up next to Tom, put her arm around him and kissed him on the lips. She drew away after a while. “Tom, could you tell me more sometime about your early life up to the time I met you?”

  “Okay, I will, tomorrow, but not now. Tom gently pulled her back and kissed her passionately. Their lips parted, and in the darkness, they looked into each other’s eyes.

  “Wow, it’s been a while.”

  “Yes, it has. I hate being sick, but I’m feeling much better now.” And with that, she kissed him lovingly again. She could see he was smiling. “Tom, what do you say we leave the porch? We don’t want to put on a show for the motorists, and we can resume upstairs in our room.”

  Tom’s smile got bigger. “That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

  She smiled coyly and led the now grinning Tom into the house and up the stairs. He laughed to himself halfway up the stairs. “What are you laughing at?” she asked.

  “It’s funny the things that pop into your mind at times like this.”

  “Such as?” she asked.

  “When I went to 4 H camp at Camp Minco, there was an old song about the Great Chicago Fire and Mrs. O’Leary.”

  “And?”

  “She said, There’ll be a hot time in the old town tonight.”

  Joann smiled. “You know Tom. I think she was right.” And with that, she grabbed his shirt collar and led him into the bedroom. He did not put up a fight.

  The next morning, Tom woke when the call of nature had his attention. Slowly he eased his unclothed body to the edge of the bed, carefully got up trying not to wake his sleeping wife, and tiptoed into the bathroom. When he was done, he gently walked on the old wooden floor so it wouldn’t creak under his weight. He slipped into bed and pulled the covers back over him. Joann stirred next to him. Her eyes opened, and she sleepily looked at him through her strands of hair that partially covered her face. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she said and then yawned and stretched under the covers.

  “And a good morning to you, too.” He snuggled up next to her, and her warm flesh felt so soft next to his body. The sun had just begun to creep through the window shade on the east side of the old house.

  “I love you, Tom.”

  “And I love you, too.” He reached over and met her inviting lips. For about a minute, they laid content in each other’s arms, aware of the other’s warm, welcoming skin. Tom felt his wife’s gentle breathing on his shoulder.

  She looked up at him, “Tom, have you given it any more thought about you and me having our own child together?”

  Tom stirred a little bit. Becoming a father again at his age was not something he took lightly. He should be thinking of grandchildren, not making another child. He knew how Joann wanted another child. He enjoyed all of his young children and now his step-daughter Miriah.

  Joann said, “I’d really like to have one more. My biological clock is ticking, and I think it’s now or never.”

  Tom looked into the eyes he loved so much. He knew parenthood at his age would not be easy. People would think he was the grandpa cheering at the little league game for his grandson, not the daddy. But he knew in his heart; he wanted another child. The death of Brian left a big hole in it. Somehow, God would give him the strength to be a parent again.

  “Yes.”

  Jo
ann stirred and separated from him slightly. “Yes, what?” she questioned.

  “Yes, I want to be the father of our child.”

  Joann let out a little thrilled squeal and hugged him with more strength than he knew she had. “Oh, Tom, I can’t tell you how happy this makes me. I always wanted another child. You can’t imagine. But I knew this had to be something we agreed on together.”

  Joann slowly released the powerful hug on her husband, placed her head on his shoulder, and began to rub his chest. He looked at her and started to stroke her right arm. “Are you trying to tell me something?” Tom said with a grin.

  “Yes, let’s start right now, big boy. You up for it?” Joann said, also grinning.

  “Yeah, I think so. You like to wore me out last night, but I think there’s more where that came from.”

  “Good,” she said, “but first, I got to hit the bathroom and then let the lovin’ begin.”

  “Okay, okay, take care of that, and I’ll be impatiently waiting for you.”

  She winked at him, got out of bed, and walked toward the bathroom. She turned and saw Tom staring at her. “You like what you see?”

  Tom shook his head yes with enthusiasm. “Hurry back.”

  She winked her eye. “I will, big boy, I will.” She turned and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Tom lay there and thought to himself. What a lover that woman could be. How could he have gotten so lucky? Was he ready to be a daddy again and at his age? Well, he was as old as he was and not getting any younger. It was now or never for him, too. He was ready. He wanted another child.

  Chapter 6

  It was an early Friday morning, and Tom had the day free to do whatever he wanted. Being the owner of the bottled water company had its perks, and he was thinking of spending some quality time fishing, or at least drowning a few worms. His son, Doug, would be running the show and acting as manager of the operation as usual. Tom had breakfast and was putting together a lunch and some snacks to carry with him while fishing. The back door opened with a creak and in walked Doug with one of those ‘I need something’ looks on his face.

  Tom picked up on it quickly and asked, “Okay, just what is it you need or want?”

  Doug looked at him a little sheepish. “Well, now that you brought it up, Mister Chief Executive Officer, I need someone to make a special delivery. The order just came in, and it’s a big one, a full truckload.”

  Tom rolled his eyes and asked, “White Tails?”

  Doug nodded his head and confirmed Tom’s suspicions, “White Tails.”

  “You sure know how to take the fun out of a day, but I guess all play, and no work makes Tom a dull boy, right?”

  “Whatever you say, Pop. I just need a willing driver, and we’re two short today. Terry’s out sick, and Buddy’s at the hospital with a wife in labor. I may have to go out too on a run.”

  “There goes my fishing today,” he sighed. “I’ll do it. Guess one of the duties of the CEO is to pick up the slack. White Tails is it?”

  “Yeah, they’re having a big music festival, not clothing-optional this time and they sold out all the tickets, something they hadn’t expected. The weather is goin’ to be sunny and hot, and they want lots of bottled water available to keep everyone cool and hydrated.”

  “How big an order did they make?”

  “Our biggest flatbed truck will barely cover it. Glad there are no weight stations between here and Paw Paw. You’ll want to take the truck through Cumberland and down Rt. 51. I wouldn’t want to trust the low water bridge at Oldtown. The manager of White Tails said they have a new road for accessing the loading dock that keeps you out of the “pubic” area. Oops, I mean public area. No pun intended.”

  Tom gave another sigh of relief. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. Seeing a bunch of overweight and saggy nude baby boomers is not my idea of a fun time.”

  Doug agreed, “No argument there. Say, why don’t you take your fishing pole along and stop on the South Branch and wet a line? All I have is this one special delivery I need you for today. I think I can handle the rest.”

  “Honest Injun?”

  “Honest Injun,” Doug added, “and hope to die.”

  “Good, and I’m turnin’ my cell phone off so you can’t call me.”

  “Gotcha Pop. One delivery and then its Do Not Disturb. Oh, and one more thing, you need to load the truck.”

  Tom groaned, “I knew there was a catch.”

  “You can do it, Popster. I got faith in you.”

  “Okay, let’s get on with it.”

  And with that, the father and son team walked out the back door of the old farmhouse and headed for the warehouse at the foot of the mountain. The dogs came up, sniffed the men, and demanded a little petting before they would go away. Upon entering the building, Doug headed for the office, and Tom went the other direction. He looked over his shoulder and growled at Doug. Doug chuckled and said, “Thanks, Dad, I knew I could depend on you.”

  Tom’s attitude softened, and he smiled. “You always will. You always will.”

  It brought a smile to Doug’s face, too. “Thanks again, Pop. Love ya.”

  This stopped Tom in his tracks for a moment. “Love you too, son.”

  With that, the two men went their separate ways. Tom found the order sheet lying on the seat of the truck and quickly calculated how many pallets of water were needed. He went over and climbed up into the forklift. It coughed once when he turned the key and then started. Quickly and methodically, he loaded the pallets of water onto the big truck. He watched as the truck bed dropped down more and more. Yup, this big boy gonna be loaded to capacity and maybe a little more. No way was he going to risk-taking this bruiser across that old bridge. He put the last pallet on the rear of the truck and parked the forklift out of the way. Next, he placed the sides on the truck to hold the water in. After that, Tom walked over to the window that separated the office from the rest of the warehouse. He caught Doug’s eye and waved goodbye. Tom mouthed the words, “No calls. Phone off.”

  Doug smiled, gave him a thumbs-up, and went back to the phone call that Tom interrupted. Tom headed to the truck, grabbed his fishing pole, some bait and lunch, and pulled himself up into the heavily loaded truck. He started it up, backed out the oversized door, shifted to Drive, and preceded down the gravel driveway to WV Route 28. Man, have I got a load. I can feel every rock. He eased onto the highway and ten minutes later crossed the bridge over the Potomac River into Maryland and navigated the city streets of South Cumberland. Soon truck and driver squeezed through the viaduct under the busy railroad tracks. Two engines painted blue, and gold for the Chessie System pulled a long string of boxcars, some colorfully tagged with graffiti. He took a right at the light and in a few short miles, was out of town. It would take an hour or more before he crossed the river again at Paw Paw, back into West Virginia. He thought of how easy he had it today. The two-lane road was a breeze compared to what General Braddock and his army of two thousand men, wagons, cannons, supplies, horses, and camp followers had when they traveled this way in the mid-1700s. Braddock described it as “the worst trail imaginable, not fit for man or beast.” How things could change in the two hundred and fifty years’ time, but one thing had not changed. Men were still greedy, and the lust for gold made them do almost anything. Somewhere in the area, Braddock’s lost payroll in gold coins worth 2 to 4 million dollars lay buried. And some of that missing information about where it was located was in his head. He still could not remember. It seemed to him like the information had been sucked into a black hole. Goosebumps came to his arms as he thought about this.

  He passed the turn-off for Oldtown, and a half-hour later crossed bridges over the C and O Canal and the Potomac River. Now back in the Mountain State, he traveled several country roads to White Tails. He slowed at the gate and came to a stop. The man at the guardhouse spoke to Tom. “Boss said you was coming and to send you right in. I’ve radioed ahead. They’ll be ready for you. Take
the new road to the right. It’s got a sign saying ‘Deliveries.’ You’ll miss all the ‘scenery,’ but I ain’t heard any complaints from the truck drivers about not seeing the flabby, nudies.”

  “Thanks,” Tom replied. “That ‘scenery’ was never my idea of awesome splendor. Thanks for letting the staff know I’m on the way.”

  The guard waved Tom on, and he pulled away from the guardhouse. The new road the guard told him about was easy to find. Quickly Tom arrived at the warehouse and backed up to the loading dock. The man waiting removed the two back panels on the truck and laid a heavy aluminum sheet over the gap between the dock and the truck. He began to unload the truck with his forklift. Tom could see the operation was going smoothly, so he walked over to the office, was there for a very short time taking care of the paperwork, and exited with the check for the truck-load of water. Never had a bad check from these people. The forklift operator made fast work of the load. “Thanks,” Tom yelled to him. “See you again soon.”

  The man waved goodbye, smiled, and said something as he rode off, but Tom could not make it out for the machine’s noise. He drove the now-empty truck down the road to the guardhouse. The man inside motioned him on, and Tom waved goodbye as he passed. In no time it seemed, he crossed the bridge back into Maryland. It was good to be done, and in just a little while, he’d be wetting a line in the best small-mouth bass stream in West Virginia. A half-hour later, he exited Md. Route 51 and headed into the small town of Oldtown. Passing the school and post office, he saw a sign that read, ‘Michael Cresap House, open today, 10 A.M. to 4 P.M.’ Tom heard of this place but had never visited. Michael Cresap was a noted patriot in the French and Indian War and also the American Revolution. His father, Thomas Cresap, hosted a youthful George Washington at his blockhouse/trading post that had existed near the current old house and supplied beef to General Braddock’s army on their way west for battle with the French and Indians.