Hunter's Moon

by Jay Heavner

  “Padre with bad news. The old block building behind the Custard Stand in Fort Ashby burned down last night, and they can’t locate three people. He asked me to come with him and help anyone who may need our kind of assistance.”

  Joann woke with a start. “What? That’s terrible.” She rubbed her eyes and asked, “How soon will you be leaving?”

  ‘Within the next five minutes. I remembered for once to set the coffee on autopilot. It should be ready, and I’ll grab a fruit bar, an apple, and of course, a bottle of water.”

  “Tom, why don’t you grab a couple of cases? Bet there’s some thirsty people over there this morning.”

  “Good idea, I’ll do that.”

  The couple dressed quickly, and Tom went to the warehouse for two cases of water. He placed them in a small wagon and pulled it to his old Chevy truck. The water was sitting on the floor where the passenger’s feet would normally be. He walked back into the house, and Joann had his coffee ready in a big cup with a lid. At one time, Tom liked to place the hot, lidless drink between his legs for easy access, but a sudden stop with spilled liquids on his various body parts made him see the wisdom to a cup with a good lid. It only took one time. As the saying goes, ‘if you want to be stupid, you got to be tough,’ and Tom did not like to do stupid more than once. She gave him a small paper bag containing two apples and several fruit bars and said, “I’ll tell Doug what happened. I hope he can get along without you today.”

  “He should be able to. I was planning on doing about a half-day on paperwork and then goin’ fishin’. Give me a call if he’s in a pinch and has to have me, okay?”

  “Aye, aye, Captain. Can I pray before you go?”

  “Yes, I think this situation will call for a lot of prayer. Please start.”

  “Precious Lord, we don’t always know why things happen in this fallen world, but we do know you will never leave us, and we can find comfort in that. Be with my husband, Padre, the firemen, and all who are at the square ministering help each in their ownway. Thank You for Your Son Jesus You sent to redeem us and save us from sin. Amen.”

  “Amen. Got to go. Call me if they can’t get by without me here.”

  “Will do and Tom?” she paused. “I love you.”

  “Love you too, honey. See you sometime this afternoon, I suspect. Bye.”

  Joann said, “Bye,” and Tom was off down the highway.

  As Tom drove the ten miles to Fort Ashby, he had time to think and pray. He needed all the strength available as he feared the worst. Rounding an S turn, he passed a metal building under construction. Rumor had it his area was getting its first Dollar Store. As he went by the gap in Knobley Mountain, which WV Route 956 ran through, he saw the fog still hanging in the Potomac River Valley though it had lifted where he was. A yellow Mineral County school bus waited to turn out onto WV 28, the road Tom was traveling. Fortunately for him, he got by before it, or he would have had to follow the bus all the way to Fort Ashby. There was no place to pass on the crooked mountain road, nor any place for the bus to pull over. Something needed to be done about this road, but it seemed the state just did not care. He rode past the old two-story gas station with the huge American flag painted on the front. Maybe someday it would reopen, but he was not holding his breath. Onward, he continued over the short concrete bridge that spanned Turners Run. The stream never ran dry even in the worst droughts because of the gushing springs at its headwaters in the gap.

  The Catholic Church where Padre was Priest passed by on his left. Father Frank’s car was already gone, and as usual, the Padre had something thought-provoking on the church marquee. “Choose life,” it said. “Your mother did.” Amen to that. How many people his age with kids and grandkids would have been killed in the womb if abortion was legal years ago when they were conceived?

  He rode on down to Siple’s curve and found lots of skid marks on the road. It looked like another bad accident occurred recently. The wind was blowing from Freddie’s big barn, and Tom got a good whiff of cows. Nothing like the pungent smell of ripe manure to greet you in the morning. The road to the town of Patterson Creek paralleled the stream with the same name intersected WV 28 on the left. One mile later, he drove over the William Shuck Memorial Bridge spanning Patterson Creek. Tom was almost there and dreaded what he would find. He passed several gas stations, the Fort Ashby Bookstore, and The Talk of the Town Restaurant. The light was green, but he had to wait for a State Trooper directing traffic at the town square. Tom looked to where the large two-story block building should be, but all he could see were smoke and some flames coming from the chaotic ruins. Traffic moved, but the State Trooper blocked Tom as he attempted to pull into the parking lot. “No stopping,” he growled. “Keep moving.”

  Tom looked at the man in blue and said, “I’m Pastor Tom Kenney. They called and asked me to come help.”

  The cop’s demeanor changed. He walked over to the red danger tape surrounding the scene and lifted it up. “This way,” he said and shook his head. “It ain’t pretty.”

  Tom found a tight spot to park among the many vehicles at the scene. The whole building was gone. Emergency vehicles from Fort Ashby, Short Gap, Patterson Creek, Springfield, Fountain, and Keyser sat nearby. Tom could not remember seeing this many fire trucks together in Fort Ashby except at the annual Mineral County Fair Parade. Smoke from the fire irritated his nose, and he sensed something else he had not smelled since the battle decades before in the Ia Drang Valley in Vietnam, the smell of burned flesh. Someone died here. For a moment, he thought he saw two Huey helicopters carrying off the dead and wounded. He closed his eyes. No, I’m not in Vietnam. I’m in Fort Ashby, West Virginia, and people needed me. Tom opened his eyes, and the sight of a burned-out building returned to his eyes. He hoped this was just a hallucination, too, but no, this was real. He got out of the truck and grabbed his ball cap that said CCFA for Calvary Chapel Fort Ashby. Among the firemen in their yellow protective suits and hats, he saw Father Frank. He said hello to several of them who returned the greeting. Hoping for a good report, but fearing the worst, he asked the Padre, “How are things. It looks bad.”

  Father Frank nodded, “It is. The building is a total loss, and the firemen still can’t account for three people. They think they’ve located some bodies near where they believe the fire started.” He pointed to an area the firemen were hosing down heavily. Tom’s stomach churned involuntarily. The place he pointed at was directly below where the Dowlen’s apartment had been.

  One of the firemen shouted,” I found something.” Two other men hosed the area down as they moved closer. “Yeah, I found one of them.”

  More men carrying a stretcher moved into the location. The first group shoved some more debris out of the way, looked down, and stopped. They waved for the stretcher-bearers to come. Gently the men picked up the charred human remains, put them on the stretcher, and covered them with a tarp of some sort. They carefully walked out of the debris field while carrying the burden laden stretcher. They walked behind a screen the coroner had erected. “Hey,” came a shout from the fireman who had made the first gruesome discover, “I found two more.”

  Carefully, stretcher-bearers went twice more into the ruins, retrieved the bodies, and took them behind the screen. Tom walked over, but a Deputy from Hampshire County stopped him. “You can’t go over there. Official business only.”

  “I’m Pastor Tom Kenney. I think I can identify the bodies.”

  The deputy was not yielding an inch. “Official business only,” he repeated firmly.

  “He’s okay.” Tom and the Hampshire County Deputy turned toward the voice. “I know him. Let him pass,” said Mineral County Sheriff Wagoner.

  The Deputy moved to the side, and Tom walked behind the curtain. The coroner had watched the tense conversation and motioned for him to come closer. “You think you can identify the bodies? They’re pretty burned.”

  “I think I know who they are,” Tom said. A lump which felt the size of a grapefruit was in his
throat and he feared the worst. The coroner pulled back the tarp on the first body and looked at Tom. He nodded, and the coroner covered it. They proceeded to the second body and did the same. Tom nodded again, and the coroner continued his grim work with the third. Tom nodded again and the coroner returned the covering to the body. Tom said, “The first body is Mr. Dowlen. The second is his wife, and I think the third has to be their daughter. It’s hard to tell. The body was so badly burned.”

  The coroner nodded. “Thank you for your help. We’ll get dental records for a positive ID, but we know where to start. Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. This isn’t easy business.”

  Tom was not alright. The charred bodies reminded him of the North Vietnam Regulars burned by napalm dropped in the war. A few Americans also died from the firebombs in the three-day battle. They were about to be overrun, and the close air raids were the only way to save any of the US forces. Unfortunately, a few of the bombs were off target and hit friendlies. He could still hear the screams of men he knew as the flaming jell burned them to death. “I’ll be okay,” he said as he walked away.

  A big arm grabbed him as he stumbled. “Whoa, Tom. You’re not looking so good. Let me get you a place to sit down for a spell.” His friend the Padre had found him and took him to a folding chair someone had left for the first responders.

  “I’ll be okay. Just give me a moment,” Tom said.

  Padre looked at him sideways. “Tom, I haven’t seen that shade of green since watching Kermit the Frog on the Muppet Show. You sit there and take all the time you need. You’ll be alright, and there are others here that need my help.”

  “Okay, whatever you say.” Father Frank studied him some more. “Really, I’ll be okay,” said Tom as he tried to smile.

  “Give yourself a break, Tom. I’ll be nearby if you need me. Just holler.” Father Frank smiled at Tom and then left. Tom watched as he went to a crying couple. He talked to them, and soon those big black comforting arms engulfed the two. Tom thought he saw a tear run from the Padre’s eye. His genuine love and compassion for people hurting was the biggest reason so many of the town’s folks opened their hearts to him.

  Tom sat for a few moments, regaining his composure. The scene reminded him of the organized confusion of battle; only today’s fight was with an enemy as deadly as any human foe, fire. He felt an arm on his shoulder. Surprised, he turned to see Mr. Godfrey and a woman next to him.

  Tom said, “Mr. Godfrey, you snuck up on me. You seem to be everywhere. Guess the fire got your attention. You two here covering it for the Cumberland paper?”

  “Yes, it is the big story in the Tri-state area today. I was at the office today when I heard the calls coming in over the police band. Oh, where are my manners? This is Joyce Lynn. She’s one of our new reporters at the paper. She does photography, too.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Joyce Lynn.”

  She replied, “It’s actually Mrs. Joyce Lynn, but I would prefer you call me Joyce. I like everything friendly and informal.”

  Tom said, “Well, Joyce it is. This isn’t a pleasant event today. The building’s gone, and three people are dead. The bodies are behind the screen. It’s not pretty.” He pointed to it, “and I knew them well. They were members of my church. In my mind, I can see them last Sunday with their hands held high praising the Lord. They may be in God’s loving hands now, but there’s a hole in my heart, a big hole.”

  Joyce looked at him. “I was a medic in the U. S. Army when we invaded Panama back in 1989. I’ve seen my share of death. You can’t pretty it up. It’s hard not to become callous.”

  Tom asked, “So how did you get from there to here?”

  “After Panama, I decided I wanted something else than a nursing career. I used my G. I. Bill and went to journalism school at WVU. I took this job with Mr. Godfrey’s paper in Cumberland a few months ago, and here I am today, covering a fire. Mr. Godfrey’s showing me the ropes. He’s been a great teacher and really knows his way around.”

  Mr. Godfrey quipped in, “Buttering up the boss will do you no good, but it is good to hear a compliment.”

  “No, really, Mr. Godfrey. If you were a jerk, I’d have told you so and quit. I’ve seen too many of those in my life so far. You’ve been nothing but helpful and a perfect gentleman. I couldn’t ask for a better boss,” she paused, “and please don’t change.”

  They chuckled at the joke. A group of exhausted-looking firefighters came their direction. Tom got up and gave his chair to one of them as did several of the other people seated nearby. Tom and the other two walked away from the crowd, and Tom nearly ran into Cindy, owner of the restaurant in the burned-out building. Tears flowed down her face. “Cindy,” Tom said. “I’m so sorry. There’s nothing left.”

  She reached around and hugged him. “I know, Tom. I know. Tell me it’ll be alright.”

  He hugged her back, “Somehow, Cindy, it’ll be alright. I don’t know how, but it’ll be alright.”

  She hugged him tight for a moment and then let go. “Yeah, I keep holding on to that. I’ll get through this somehow, but do you know the three Dowlens are dead? She was a great worker. I don’t know who or how the funeral for them will be paid for.”

  “I’m wondering about that, too. The reason they ended up in Fort Ashby was they had little money after escaping persecution in the Middle East, and that went for the old car of theirs that died here, and there’s none of their family in this country to help. I’ll do the funeral for free, but there are a number of other expenses,” he said.

  Mr. Godfrey and Joyce Lynn listened discretely to the conversation. Mr. Godfrey spoke, “Joyce, we have a story here fit for the front page. Get some pictures, and I want you to talk with these two. Tell about how it affects her business and her personally. They both knew the deceased closely. This is a great human interest story.” He paused. “Tom, you say these people were refugees with no relatives here in the USA and just getting by literally living hand to mouth.” Tom nodded in agreement. “In times like these, my paper sometimes, as a public service, will start a fund for people, dead or alive, to help. I would like to start the fund with a check for $1,000. Do you think your church treasury could handle the donations? It would help the Dowlens funeral needs and give your church some needed publicity. What do you say? Do we have an agreement?”

  Tom replied, “Sounds like a great idea to me. You’ll need to make sure your readers know to put something to the effect like ‘For the Dowlen Family Funeral’ or similar on their checks they send. The church treasurer gets checks in the mail from our members when they’re out of town. I want to keep everything on the up and up, and we need it the funds kept separate.”

  “Yes, I see your point. I will make certain that is included in the article. I will look over the final draft personally.”

  Tom said to Mr. Godfrey, “Thank you, sir. I thank you, and I’m sure if the Dowlens were here, they would overwhelm you with their thanks. I always expected behind that firm exterior, there beats a gentle heart that cared for people.”

  Mr. Godfrey was visibly surprised. “Tom,” he said. “You have the rare gift of seeing into people. I know why you are a pastor.”

  It was now Tom’s time to be ill at ease. “Mr. Godfrey, I’m just following Jesus’s commands. “Love the Lord and love other people. It’s as simple as that.”

  Mr. Godfrey nodded. “How often I have seen a complex situation have a very simple explanation which the so-called wise miss.”

  Tom said, “It looks like you also have a gift of insight, Mr. Godfrey.”

  He smiled slightly. “When you are in the business I am in, it pays to be able to read people.”

  The two men talked a little more until Joyce Lynn entered the group. She was finished taking pictures of the smoldering heaps and interviewing Cindy. She asked Tom some questions about the Dowlens. When this was over, he excused himself and began to work the crowd with Father Frank comforting and consoling anyone who needed it. The bottled
water Tom brought came in handy and quenched the thirst of many. By two o’clock, only a few remained. Tom and the Padre left their vehicles parked where they were and walked across the road to The Talk of the Town Restaurant next to the town memorial to the fallen in our nation’s wars. It was late in the afternoon, and the lunch crowd was long gone. They took a secluded corner and told the waitress they wanted coffee, strong and black. Even though tired and hungry, they had much to talk about.

  Chapter 19

  The waitress named Wilma bought the men two cups of coffee and menus. They thanked her for the steaming beverages. She returned with a full pot, sat it down on the table, and said, “You guys look kinda tired and like you could use this. Been over at the fire?”

  Padre replied, “Yes, we have, and it was a bad scene. Lots of hurting people over there.”

  “So I heard. Been here all day since early morning, dark 30. We sent coffee and donuts earlier and some sandwiches over for lunch. Lotta people been in here today. Cindy’s breakfast crowd came over. Much as I liked the extra business, I hate to see something like this happen. It could have been this place just as easy.” She paused. “I heard three people died, too.”

  Tom nodded, “Yes, I identified the bodies best I could. The two adults were the Dowlens, and the young girl looked like their daughter, but it was hard to tell she was so burned. Last time I saw anything like that was in Vietnam. Brought back some very unpleasant memories.”

  “I can believe it. Now I got your drinks, what do you want for lunch?”

  Padre asked, “Could I still get breakfast? I missed it, and I’ve got a real hankerin’ for some scrambled eggs and sausages?”

  “I think so.” She yelled to the cook in the kitchen. “Hey Charlie, can we still get breakfast for these hungry men? They were over at the fire and missed it.”